Isopia The devil is not as black as he is painted. I live here now, the girl thought quietly, picking her way through the forest. What did that entail? Did she have new responsibilities and duties to this land into which she was born? And if so ... why? It was merely happenstance that she was born here, and likely if the events were traced far enough back, it would merely be happenstances that Kahlua was here as well. Just a bunch of random events that culminated in her being born here, in the lands of fog and cliffs. Gently the girl moved towards the edge of the cliffs, allowing her already long limbs to move her body elegantly towards the sharp descent. Looking down, her golden eyes regarded the depths below with intrigue. She couldn't fly yet - her mother didn't know how - and very few within the Edge possessed wings (or horns for that matter). Falling from this height might herald her death - although with the blood of a God flooding her veins, perhaps it wouldn't. As if to test her own mortality, the skull-faced child spread her oddly marked wings from her flanks. Gently a salty breeze combed her feathers backwards, also pulling on her raven hued mane and tail. The longer she stood like this, the more she became stone. The rocky surface upon which she stood appeared to bleed upwards through her long legs. Her blood-stained limbs began to fade to a de-saturated gray, complete with cracks and particles of dust which fell as the wind buffeted against her. She could feel the constricting of her limbs, but it didn't bother her. The reminder of her Father's lineage was ... comforting was not the right word. Perhaps it grounded her. She had come from somewhere and was going somewhere, even if she didn't know where that was. "Why am I here?" She whispered softly to the breeze, perking her dark ears forward as if expecting an answer, though receiving none. Maybe @[Archibald] or @[Kaj] ? |
[OPEN] I live here?
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03-05-2015, 12:32 PM
"Why are any of us here?" His voice answers the girl from within the mists, but he soon materializes beside her. He doesn't stand so close as to frighten her, only close enough that she can make out his features through the swirling fog that inhabits their home. He is not normally one to intrude upon private reflections, but something about the girl intrigues him - and not just the way the earth clings to her limbs, climbing ever higher as though trying to make her into a statue. She would make a lovely piece of art, an immobile marble guardian placed precariously over the waves below their cliffs; but he doubts that this is why she has come, doubts that she hopes her life to be dashed away so easily. She is too young to want her memory carved into stone and her breath snuffed out, a candle blown cold too early. No, the melancholy that usually accompanies such musings seems oddly lacking, and it is perhaps this that intrigues him more than her strange magic or her unknown lineage. "Where I come from, our myths say that we are all created with a purpose, and once we have found it and completed it, we will be free to ascend to Heaven, where our gods will smile on us," he adds, flexing his wings slightly to settle the feathers against the salty breeze. His mane flutters in the wind, caressing his cheek and covering one violet eye; through the other, he watches the girl sedately and almost expectantly. Who is she to have such a mature question at so young an age? Why does she stand alone on the cliffs, watching the waves crash below? Should she not be playing with her friends, following her mother, learning from her father? Or is she alone, as he was once alone? "more words." Quilyan
counting on the night for a beautiful day;
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03-05-2015, 04:20 PM
03-05-2015, 04:53 PM
Why are we here? It is a question for and of the ages, one that in equal measure delights and infuriates philosophers. The prince had never been much in the way of enlightenment, often preferring to merely follow the directions of the palace priests. He thought little of his religion and the gods, back then - he had prayed, as everyone had prayed, for health and happiness, for the stability of the throne - all perfectly normal, routine things to pray for. But the gods hadn't really answered him in the end, had they? He didn't place much store in his gods back then; nor does he now. But at least Helovia's gods are undeniably real. Why are any of us here? He watches her earthen coat crack and fall to pieces, and something in the lost beauty of it all makes him momentarily sad. But it is only a moment, and then he offers a friendly smile to the pristine filly and her wise queries. She has all the curiosity of youth, and yet she does not pelt him with questions. She seems to take his words, roll them around in her mind, ponder them, taste them; then she returns a concept, a question, something not yet understood. And it isn't silly, or petty, or any of the other useless things that foals tend to say. It's intelligent and genuine, and he is suddenly reminded of his sisters and the other brilliant women he had known in Th'orqui. She would have been at home there, it seems. "So our religion would have had us believe," he admits. "In my homeland, our priests tried to simplify life by assigning arbitrary meaning and calling us god-touched. But I don't think it's as easy as that, do you?" He pauses, casts his gaze out to sea. "Here, we are assured that we lead our own life - the gods can intervene, as we've seen time and again, but ultimately we choose our path. We may be given our time by chance, but we choose how we spend it." "more words." Quilyan
counting on the night for a beautiful day;
subtlepatterns.com | kaydeniro & larfsalot @ deviantart
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03-05-2015, 05:22 PM
03-05-2015, 05:56 PM
He watches patiently as she mulls over his words, turning them over and over again as she formulates a response. Again he wonders who she is, and whose she is, to be so knowing, so young. But he is not willing to interrupt when she is trying so hard to understand. From her customary nest in his mane, Zarina appears, scampering easily up his neck until she can perch atop his poll; she regards the girl-child with a great deal of interest and none of the animosity that older females receive. Do you think our children will be like this? the prince asks his companion, not daring to hope that he and Resplendence might be blessed with such natural intelligence in their offspring. -Could be,- she offers with a mental shrug. -If you raise them right.- "Give it time, youngling," he advises kindly as she wavers in her meditation. "You don't need all the answers today. Think, and let life teach you what it will." He remembers his own youth, how he wanted to know everything about anything he was interested in right now. There would be no later, he had been convinced then; and yet, as he has grown older, he has found where his heart and beliefs truly lie. It is only with experience that we can grow and understand, he is sure of that now. "I am not like others in this land because I am not from this land," he says by way of answer. "How I came to be here is quite the tale, youngling. I am happy to tell it, if you have the time." "more words." Quilyan
counting on the night for a beautiful day;
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03-07-2015, 11:36 AM
04-07-2015, 07:41 PM
Something about the girl sparks his interest more than any other children he has met. He wonders vaguely if his own child will be like this, when he or she arrives. What events has this girl seen to have made her so solemn, so wise, so mature? What has happened in her life to mold her and shape her, to guide her into the form that she has taken here and now? Who is she, to be almost half-earth, statuesque both in form and in mind? He finds himself admiring her, intrigued by the intelligence that shines from behind those golden eyes. She would have easily belonged within the royal court of Th'orqui - but alas, even if he had been able to offer her a place there, he senses that she is somehow tied to the land. "This is Zarina," he says by way of introduction. "She is a pygmy marmoset, and she is my companion. She says hello, by the way." The little marmoset chitters hesitantly, interested in the filly but naturally wary of strangers. She doesn't even particularly like the prince's own sister, much less some new stranger - but her bonded's response to the filly's presence encourages her toward calm and acceptance. "There is quite a lot to tell," he admits, his eyes sparkling with mirth. He has always enjoyed sharing details of his homeland, though some of the finer points have often been lost on Helovians. Helovia is a simpler land - not necessarily and less intelligent, but merely lacking in knowledge. The magic in Th'orqui had allowed them to record their history, their lore - to preserve it all permanently, to store it in massive, soaring buildings made to house the inhabitants of the land. A small part of him misses the intricacy of it all, but for the most part, he has found the simplicity of Helovia refreshing. Still, he cannot help but wish for more culture. "My homeland is very far away - somewhere east of Helovia. It was called Th'orqui, and it was destroyed by anarchy. Do you know what that means, child?" "more words." @[Isopia] - I'm so sorry for the wait! Quilyan
counting on the night for a beautiful day;
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