the Rift


Good Morning!

Wilibald Posts: 44
Hidden Account
Stallion :: Equine :: 14.0 hh :: 8 years
Sarah
#1
Oh no, this simply would not do. It was very pretty, of course. All the trees above him were covered in a thick layer of snow and bits were falling here and there, mingling with that which was falling from the sky and making it through the thick canopy. Little bright red birds flew about here and there, stark in contrast against the white, and overall it looked very nice.

And perhaps he shouldn’t judge this place based on it’s winter dress but he wanted warmth and grass and lush environments. How was he supposed to judge whether this place would be worth sticking around if he found himself here during the winter! It was pretty but gloomy.

He could be rooting around for sweet hidden grasses in his favourite winter valley right now, or burrowing into the snow for a nice nap. It wasn’t the same as some nice soft, spring grass but it was comfortable nonetheless.

But there wasn’t even enough snow on the ground here to make a nice bed. And most of the litter was made out of needles and everyone knows that they are prickly and can get caught in all manner of unpleasant places if you’re not careful.

Being particularly fuzzy lately, as a result of this wonderfully brisk weather, Wilibald was even less inclined to make a bed sometime around here because those sappy needles would just never leave! "Oh Wilibald, what have you done? Given up a comfy home for such a big risk!" Without someone with him, he had taken to talking to himself - and usually the conversations involved scolding about the trip. But even still, he wasn't willing to just pick up and go home without at least seeing if there was somewhere even nicer than what he had left behind.

It was about late-morning and he had not been walking for very long, but it certainly felt longer. Phew he was tired. Another late start but what was he to do? Wake up, eat, rest, eat a little more, make sure all that food is nice and settled, and then continue on. Soon he was going to have to find a spot to wait out the middle of the day because it was unlucky to do much travelling then.

For now though, all this he did was sigh and continue on – travelling into the southern portion of the Threshold (though he wasn’t aware of that – not knowing the name of this place and certainly not where one land bordered the other). Sooner or later, he hoped, he’d find a nice place to settle down. Maybe even some company!

Yes, a little bit of company would be quite pleasant.



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Slaiter Posts: 30
Hidden Account
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16.1hh :: 13
Shoikan
#2

Slaiter
Searchers after horror haunt strange, far places.
-H.P. Lovecraft



A faint voice filters through the forest, drawing the attention of the ghoul. His head snaps up, ears pricking in a vain attempt to hear the speaker better, but the words have ceased. Still, the corpse-son is ever curious, setting off in the direction that he believes the sound to have come from. It is simple enough, for the leafless trees and bare bushes do little to obscure his vision, revealing far more now than they would in summer, and the brown coat of the stranger stands out fairly well against the snow.

He draws closer, cautious, only to freeze suddenly, uncertainty flooding his features. This newcomer is tiny, with fur hanging thickly from beneath his chin and stomach, just like the stranger he had been forced to confront in the caverns. He vividly remembers the encounter, the way his new-found wolf friend was unfairly attacked by a striped midget, the way he had stepped in as defender, only to be treated like a foolish child. The tip of his massive tail begins to flicker at the memory, a clear signal of his mood, should one happen to view it. Still, perhaps this odd little creature is different. If not, Slaiter decides, he can always leave the beast here, far away from cowering puppies.

Yet, he does not move to greet the pony, issues no salutations. He simply stands, watching with his dark eyes, ignoring the fact that he has probably been seen by now. Better to let the tiny stranger make the first move, rather than come charging out of the trees. He has learned much since coming to Helovia again, has heard stories of ghastly wraiths haunting the land. With his moldy pelt and hollow-seeming eyes, it is easy to be mistaken for one of the undead, and he has no wish to be attacked by a would-be hero. No, much smarter to wait here until acknowledged, for otherwise he may be seen as a threat. Maybe this way, the chestnut stranger will be just as curious about the green unicorn as Slaiter is about him.



Permission granted to use magic and/or physical violence on Slaiter, as long as he is not killed.

Wilibald Posts: 44
Hidden Account
Stallion :: Equine :: 14.0 hh :: 8 years
Sarah
#3
Now, Wilibald had heard about strange coloured creatures, of horses with horns sticking out of all manner of places and even some with wings, but did he expect to come across one? Not even in the slightest. He had just experienced a little bit of a stomach pain, which usually meant that he was either a) hungry or b) about to experience something very odd. He was usually hungry of course and he had not experienced very many odd things so far in his life, so one might forgive him for being surprised when he found out this was the ‘odd experience’ sort of stomach pain and not the ‘you’re hungry again, old boy’ pain.

But, his dear mother had raised him right and no matter how strange this fellow looked that was no excuse to not go over and greet him properly before continuing on his way.

If he was going to balk at the first sight of something different than he really made a mistake on leaving home, didn’t he? Wilibald was made of stronger stuff than most, he liked to think, and even for someone tall… and green… and a little ghoul-ish, he was not going to go with that instinct that was popping him. Everyone else he knew would have taken one long look at this stranger, nodded, and then turned around and left quick as their little legs could take them.

But not him.

As he stayed, though, he rather wished for a nice heap of fresh apples to help calm this turmoil in his belly but there would be no apples for some time to come. “Hello there sir, and good morning to you.” He called out in an amiable voice, warm eyes narrowed, taking in the strange sight before him as he waddled over a bit closer. Not too close! Tall strangers were always worthy of being wary about, even if you had made up your mind to be polite. A cheerful smile appeared before long, he always did rather love pleasantries. “I’m Wilibald, son of Hamfast. Wha– sorry, um - who are you?” Well that wasn’t a very polite little slip-up, but hopefully it would go unnoticed.

table & picture by semper <3
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Slaiter Posts: 30
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Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16.1hh :: 13
Shoikan
#4

Slaiter
Searchers after horror haunt strange, far places.
-H.P. Lovecraft



Good morning? Slaiter's brow furrows and he shifts his weight back and forth, swaying slightly in confusion. The only person to ever wish him a good morning had been his dam, and he'd always assumed it was something that only mothers did. But this little stranger seems to be male, and even he knows that stallions cannot be mothers. Though, he never knew what it was like to have a father... Do they also bid their children good morning? But, he is not this man's son, for his father is a zombie, a roving corpse, and his fellow is most certainly alive. Does he have a son who looks similar, and mistake the ghoul for family? That doesn't make sense, because the next words to come from the odd creature are those of introduction, and surely he wouldn't introduce himself to his own son. He also shouldn't have to ask who his son is. So, clearly this is not a case of mistaken identity.

Rather confused by the proceedings, his tail slows, going from wildly lashing to merely flicking at the tip. His hooves are also uncharacteristically still, for he is too busy being befuddled to be nervous. Still, his dam had also stressed the importance of good manners, and so he answers the halfling's question. "Slaiter." Perhaps he should say something about his father, too? This Wilibald had mentioned his, after all. "Son of..." He realizes then that he never learned the name of his sire. He had never asked, too occupied with stories of monsters. Well, maybe he should just say what the man was. "Son of a zombie." Was that enough? He's never been good at such things, raised alone and forced to remain far from living horses for most of his life. Ghouls aren't supposed to like people, after all, but skulk in graveyards.

Now that he thinks about it, he really doesn't make a good ghoul.



Permission granted to use magic and/or physical violence on Slaiter, as long as he is not killed.

Wilibald Posts: 44
Hidden Account
Stallion :: Equine :: 14.0 hh :: 8 years
Sarah
#5
This stranger seemed confused by what he had been greeted with, though the pony tried to think back and see if there was anything confusing about it. ‘Good morning’ was standard-issue as far as greetings went, at least in the morning. When the light started to shift, he would use ‘good afternoon’ or even ‘good evening’. Maybe he had wandered into a land with different customs, a thought that was even more frightening than the idea of being surrounded by crowds that were taller than him like this fellow! Oh dear Wilibald, what have you gotten yourself into.

Despite that little speed bump though, the conversation did progress – even if Slaiter (as he introduced himself) could use a good lesson in manners.

Now, Wilibald had never heard of zombies. Had absolutely no clue that there was an actual term for things that rose from the dead and started walking around being all… undead and such. So when Slaiter said he was ‘son of a zombie’ what Wilibald translated that to was ‘son of Azombie’ and though he might not be a big fan of these foreign names, he supposed that one wasn’t too bad. A little harsh on the tongue and in the mind but not too bad at all.

Despite the complete oddness of his company, that blissful expression didn’t waiver – content that they had gotten the introductions out of the way. “Well, Slaiter son of Azombie, would you mind telling me where I am and if there is a meadow nearby where I can rest my weary bones?” And eat! It was a lot of work, carting this much fat around on such a small frame and already he was feeling pains in his legs from remaining upright for too long. A snow filled meadow would be pleasant for napping, as snow had the wonderful ability to conform to all his nooks and crannies and make a delightful bed, plus there would be some sweet grass to dig up under that snow. Before or after the nap, he hadn’t quite decided (sleep or food was possibly the most difficult decision anyone, anywhere would ever have to make).



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Slaiter Posts: 30
Hidden Account
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16.1hh :: 13
Shoikan
#6

Slaiter
Searchers after horror haunt strange, far places.
-H.P. Lovecraft



As the pony remains calm, the ghoul begins to relax. He had expected the nature of his father to frighten Wilibald, or perhaps provoke him in to a mad frenzy. This simple acceptance, while rather unusual, is almost soothing to the monster-boy. Maybe the pony came from a place where zombies were commonplace and complacent, and their offspring were considered horses rather than abominations. Mother had never told him of such a place in her countless stories, but she had neglected to mention small, fuzzy strangers as well. A simple oversight, he thinks, or maybe she was too busy telling him of other monsters and just never had the time to tell her macabre son that particular tale. She had known so many, able to raise him for a year without ever repeating a tale, except for his favorites that he had requested over and over.

Wilibald has a request, two really, and the unicorn ponders for a moment. He knows the answers, of course, assuming that the land hasn't shifted since his last visit, but knowledge is power. That was something his mother had taught him, both plainly and cleverly woven into several myths and fables. Should he share his power? He supposes it doesn't matter, for the chestnut could easily gain the same information from someone else. Besides, if he grants this boon, Wilibald will be in his debt. Not that the ghoul will ever collect, he's far too easily distracted for such things, but the idea appeals to him. "Helovia. Umm, that's the land's name. This forest is the Threshold. Thistle Meadow is west." He hesitates, hooves dancing slightly and stirring up the snow, coating his legs in white. He is restless, longing to resume his wild ramble through the trees, but he also wishes to be polite. Yes, his version of politeness can be odd, he knows this, but he tries.

Finally, he compromises, finding a solution that satisfies both urges. "I can lead you there, if you want."



Permission granted to use magic and/or physical violence on Slaiter, as long as he is not killed.

Wilibald Posts: 44
Hidden Account
Stallion :: Equine :: 14.0 hh :: 8 years
Sarah
#7
It seemed to be a fabulous piece of good fortune that Slaiter seemed to know the answer to his questions! How helpful. It would have been quite unfortunate, and quite his luck, to come across someone that was a great deal more unfriendly. Was that not what the stories the elders had told them growing up? The outside world was a dangerous place, filled with large and hateful creatures. If you’ll pardon his French, Wilibald quite thought that was a load of balderdash with a sprinkle of poppycock and would tell them so whenever he returned.

Now, Wilibald wasn’t entirely sure about this ‘Thistle Meadow’ place. It sounded rather nice but thistles did not make good bedding material. Perhaps they would be mostly covered by snow, however, or maybe the entire area was not covered in them as his mind immediately assumed. What a tragic setting that would be – travel all this way only to find himself with prickly napping locations. But if this place was big enough to have a name, there might be more spots here and there that were a bit comfier.

He had not gotten this far in life by snubbing a napping spot just by the name!

Besides, though he was tired and his legs were aching, it would be good to have some company if they were going to be walking for a little while longer. He was sure that Slaiter would be able to distract him from the very real grumblings that had started in the pit of his stomach. Nothing beat good company as far as distractions went!

With an amiable nod, he consented to the idea that was presented to him. “What a fine suggestion! I would greatly appreciate that, friend.” And with that, a bright grin commanded his features as he looked up at Slaiter and waited for him to lead the way. Sure, this… horned fellow was a little strange looking but Wilibald wasn’t a colt any more. He didn’t jump and run away at things that unnerved him anymore or pestered the neighbourhood hunting down ghosts and gobhorses. Those things didn’t exist!




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