So—uhm. There was that thing about the Threshold. And not just how it seemed a lot of vagabonds had some kind of internal compass pointing unerringly at Helovia (heck, he'd done the same thing). That was, in some backwards sense, normal. Like, who wouldn't want to live here, and have their heart torn out and spat upon? Because that was what happened in Helovia, sooner or later.

Then again, some came from worse, and Mauja wouldn't blame anyone for taking second chances, or trying to start over. Rebuild in the ashes, in the ruins of their past, to overcome.

No. The strangest thing about the Threshold was how it seemed to exacerbate everything, almost as if the very air itself contained some kind of magical amplifier. Everything just ended up getting fucked up in one way or another. Nice people were nicer than usual. Fake people faked better. Cheeky people were cheekier. Flirtatious people turned into whores. And sad people?

Sad people cried.

And still, in the selfish quest for new blood, for swelling the ranks of their herds with untested, un-trialed newcomers, they flocked like vultures to a carcass, pecking and hoping to pick them up before another herd. Perhaps it was flattering to be contested for in such a manner, but coupled with that amplification of traits? And the difference in backstories? It could make for very, very strange encounters.

Like, having some distant soul blare out an unfamiliar song. Mauja's ears flickered uncertainly upon his head. He didn't know how he felt about that. It was—uhm, anything that wasn't smooth and streamlined like soft serve ice cream had a tendency to disturb him. And lately, he didn't know if he was truly irritated with anyone who dared make some noise, or if he was just envious.

"Lothario!" someone screamed, and the song got cut off like someone had stepped on his artery. Those black-rimmed flickering ears glued themselves in the direction of the scream, and before he had contemplated what he was doing he was trotting through the forest, wiggling his way down well-traveled, sometimes narrow, paths. And he couldn't help but think of Myrrine, and Katerina, both of who had come here through portals, forever stripped of their ability to go home—

And the Rifts opened, and the lost souls spilling out into the mayhem and chaos of battle—

But what he found was a mare, an achingly familiar shade of blood red bay, not-quite-a-skull mask of white upon her face, and slim legs painted in the same shade. His eyes rolled over her, lungs heaving as he sampled the air; no blood. And, there, there was—uh, right, what was that? It stood on four legs, it had a head like a horse, a neck like a horse, a body like a horse, proportions like a horse, and the unnaturally big ears were the least crazy thing about it. The thing's legs were all wrong, and his tail looked like his ass had tried to grow a second neck but then either failed or thought better of it.

Still—who was he to judge? No one, no one. Disparaging as his mental commentary's word choice had been, he felt no actual dislike towards the not-quite-horse creature, just a mild bewilderment, for he didn't even understand what the not-horse parts resembled. Politely, his ears swept forward, blue eyes displaying little but openness and curiosity as he dipped his head in greeting to Hlutur (it somehow sounded nicer if it was in another language, even if it was all in his head) and the mare, whom he assumed was the source of the distressed call. "Greetings," he said, softly, gently, as if he tried to rope the sunlight into his words and dispel the shadows. "Welcome to Helovia. I am Mauja."

[ @Pythia | Just a friendly reminder we're not allowed to change font color of a post without having a set background color, too. :D ]