the Rift


[PRIVATE] Trace Each Path Passed

Dragomir Posts: 275
World's Edge Glazier atk: 6 | def: 9 | dam: 5
Stallion :: Equine :: 17" :: 7 HP: 64.5 | Buff: NOVICE
Bunnie
#1
The day grew long and lazy before him, the subtle drone of the bees whispering over the croon of the warm wind that pulled dark grey and shining silver clouds through the sky. Dragomir walks with his thoughts on few things, for once, simply enjoying the sky’s few fleeting moments of light and dryness before it unleashed the storm it was bringing in. Purposefully, he’d skirted around the Grove of Bad Memories, his mind silently perusing the stock of items he had back home and eyes watching for more things to add to his collection. Its not that he’s noticed, but all his wandering and assisting of his herd with tasks like retrieving the cart within the caves had added to his mass considerably, the young male building muscle quickly and evenly until he was a formidable force to behold, tall and strong.

So passive was the inquisitive lad in nature, however, that he rarely noticed his size at all unless presented with some one very small or actually taller than he was, more adept at labeling people by their species and demeanor rather than how weak or powerful one was. If he did take the time to think about it, he would realize that he is much kinder than many raised with the ideals he still clings to, in ways; he cannot understand that to not seek others for what they can give to you but rather for who they are is a sign of goodness rather than evil.

All he knows is that he lives between two worlds, this new beautiful kingdom and an old one that he had never even seen. It’s no wonder that his heart is so easily pulled into the way that the Edge functions, a herd of unity and patience, but it is also hard on him when he tries to find logic between the two moral sets. The old laws told him that his breed was sacred, and more worthy of the admiration of the Gods than any other. The old laws taught him that to mingle with other species, even in friendship, was wrong.

But the laws of the misty wood were far different than those he had come here with, strange and not the sort to easily fit into his father’s teachings. For instance, the Gods of this land were all the species in one body, something that defied every sense of logic that upheld the philosophies of Isilme; he was left with only the decision that while they were a part of each, it was the equine species who would appear most loyal and strong in their eyes, a change of teachings from the mass slaughter or neglect of all not equine to the acceptance of those who weren’t as he was, an inner drive to be stronger and more honorable than any others he met.

That he had made friends among the hybrids and winged people of Helovia was perhaps the most deeply disturbing thought to him, no matter how hard he tried to rationalize their existence in his life as a means to gain more honor. It was hardest when he thought of how pretty Semira was when the sun leaned against her frame (they had just come this way, not even a week past), or how sweet Alysanne could be when she felt comfortable among her company and slipped out from her shell; strongest in his mind, still, was the offer of Quilyan, their winged keeper of secrets, how easily he had placed his life before the others. If there was such valor among the dragons of the Edge, then how truly wicked could his friendships with them be? His chosen people, ones he chose to stay among even after their Weyrleader had faded and a new era had risen in her absence, were not the people of his father’s land, but they were certainly less cruel than Ricochet had been even with their strange divines.

Softly he thinks on these things, not distressed for once, truly just pondering on the things he has been told and what he has seen, how they contradict one another on a daily basis and leave him lost and reeling. He does not want to be this man anymore. He wants to be strong, to grow roots and flourish, to forget the evils that he has already committed and to reach his branches high in the heavens of this strange, magical place he has come to love so dearly.


@[Sheba]
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Any violence/magic is allowed to be used upon Dragomir at anytime, permitting it doesn't kill or seriously maim him without my permission <3

Sheba Posts: 114
Outcast atk: 7 | def: 10 | dam: 3
Mare :: Unicorn :: 15 hh :: 13 :: Frostfall HP: 61 | Buff: NOVICE
Minou :: Ocelot :: Sing Shady
#2
All she ever wanted was the world.

You hum softly to yourself as you weave through the trees. Spring is here, and as you journey southwards from that land of ice and snow, the sight of dappled light on the forest floor lifts your spirits immensely. Every now and then, you stop to tear a particularly tender shoot from the ground, enjoying the crisp taste and the satisfying crunch of fresh foliage in your mouth. Now that the snow is out of sight and you can begin to fill the hollows behind each rib that the winter cruelly cut from your already-slender body, you find yourself in a rather pleasant mood.

As you move along through the wood, something ahead suddenly catches your eye. Something that glitters. Beneath thick lashes, your brown eyes narrow, and a greedy smile takes form on your dished face. Now there’s something worth investigating, you think, striding towards the shining rocks on the ground. Drawing closer, you are surprised to find that the rocks are actually rubble, and that the rubble was once a…wall? It is in a terrible state of disrepair, but it looks to be made of crystal, or diamond, or—the crunch beneath your hooves informs you that sadly, it is merely glass. But still, the way the light catches its jagged edges is beautiful to behold. You poke around for a bit, careful to avoid cutting your dainty muzzle on the shards. If only they weren’t so sharp, they would make beautiful jewelry. Alas, you don’t want to risk picking them up. You stir the pile gently with your horn, listening to the sweet tinkling sounds of glass on glass. This amuses you for a time, but soon enough, your curiosity calls, drawing you past the wall and onward. What is beyond it? The remains of a once-great kingdom? Doe-like eyes scan the trees, searching for signs of life.

Almost instantly, you are rewarded. A tall figure paces just ahead of you. Lean muscle ripples under his mahogany coat, but to your experienced eyes, he seems young. Perfect. Just the stallion you were looking for. “Excuse me, sir,” you call out prettily. “Could you tell me what part of the world I’m in?”

Tags: @[Dragomir]
OOC: Finally off of absent! I’ve set this just inside the border for now, since she isn’t an Edge member and I don’t want her to waltz in without his permission c;

Credits: Whit's tables were an inspiration | Coding by Schwartze | Image
Please tag Sheba in all posts!

Dragomir Posts: 275
World's Edge Glazier atk: 6 | def: 9 | dam: 5
Stallion :: Equine :: 17" :: 7 HP: 64.5 | Buff: NOVICE
Bunnie
#3
She made a good guess to assume he was young, in more ways than just his physical being; shy, awkward and unused to the responsibility that had suddenly become his life, Dragomir skirts through life using means of avoidance to spend time with himself. It may seem like a mature thing unless one was to truly pull apart the layers of his heart and find that, while he was a bashful soul, he would not be so much so were it not for the lessons he had been taught as a child, leaving him all the more reserved and strange around those who were not built in a similar way to himself.

He had experienced love, and like a babe had wept and fled when he’d asked it to hold him back; he had been through a few moments of tense violence, as well, that had proven he lacked the even keel and solemn composure of a grown man.

And, as the female voice draws his eyes towards her, a pale white mare with locks of rippling snow and wearing a golden horn, the subtle surprise that reveals itself most immediately on his mask can only further confirm the suspicions of this woman that he has little experience on which to base his foundations on – quite simply, even if she had truly arrived without his notice, he should at least try to cover that shock on his face.

He does not. He isn’t the sort to really be concerned with how others think of him, at least not strangers that he owed no allegiance or good will towards. His dark nostrils flicker as he inhales her scent, strange and mingled with the myriad meadows and forests that dapple the lands between each sanctified herd, ears lifted to catch her question as his lips curve into a smile and he chuckles, more benevolent by far than he had been during his last meeting with one of the horned along his border – probably because this one was honest in her lack of knowing, and didn’t toss rude words about that pertained to those he loved and felt deep concern for.

"The Moon’s land," he says as he trots over towards her, large hooves darting and dancing between the flakes and shards of glass that are strewn through this patch of forest, halting with little to no ado before the ivory fae, "more commonly called the World’s Edge."

She is very pretty, he takes instant notice of as he comes within a clear view of the delicate lines of her face and the composed way that her small frame flows from one part to another. Aside from the horn on her face, he decides that she is quite a suitable representation of the most powerful magic all women on Loorien had been given as a birthright.

Beauty, a thorn that shreds a thousand hearts.

Still, he’s reserved, his chosen position to hold the conversation one that places himself pretty squarely between the lass and the next open section of the wall, not sure if she’s welcome within for he does not know her and not wanting to risk her making her way through their borders, intentional or not; he’s never seen a situation in which the Edge had an intruder rather than a visitor, so open minded and kind were its civilians, but he was loathe to see what would become of an unwanted guest once the Dragons were done with them.

That, and he doesn’t trust her, like he trusts no one since what had come to pass that day in the rain streaked grove. Behind even the most jovial and friendly of offers, dangerous and horrifying things could hide. Still, she is smaller than him by quite a large margin and he has a whole herd to back him should she do anything stupid so close to their family, and she doesn’t seem to be anymore of a threat than the harmless gleam of the glass against the forest floor.

"I am Dragomir, a Glazier of the kingdom beyond the wall," he offers in greeting with a disappointed air to the way he says the word "wall" (for it is not truly such a thing anymore), hoping as is custom that she will return her name to him.

@[Sheba]
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Any violence/magic is allowed to be used upon Dragomir at anytime, permitting it doesn't kill or seriously maim him without my permission <3

Sheba Posts: 114
Outcast atk: 7 | def: 10 | dam: 3
Mare :: Unicorn :: 15 hh :: 13 :: Frostfall HP: 61 | Buff: NOVICE
Minou :: Ocelot :: Sing Shady
#4
All she ever wanted was the world.

It would be easy to toy with him. As he trots towards you, then stops abruptly a few feet away, his body language seems to scream youth and uncertainty. But for once, you aren’t in the mood. The warm sunlight on your ivory back relaxes you, and today, you are merely curious. No tricks, no games, just a pleasant conversation with a stranger in the wood. Though he is a giant, looming above you by a solid eight inches, your instincts tell you that he will do you no harm. It is not just his youth, but it’s those honest eyes that betray him. They are deep and blue, serene and sincere, giving the boy an air of innocence that you are sure the world will soon beat out of him. It’s a shame, you catch yourself thinking, and you nearly chuckle—are you actually feeling sorry for him? We all have to learn to get by in this world, but still…something about the young stud makes you wish that he can keep those clear eyes for a while yet.

You flick your tail lazily, swatting at midges while he answers your question. According to your friendly neighborhood stranger, you’re in the World’s Edge. You nod your thanks before he introduces himself as Dragomir, the glazier of this kingdom. You tilt your head curiously, wondering what he could mean, but first things first. “Sheba,” you reply conversationally, giving him your own name before adding another question. You play up the slight French accent a bit, your voice lilting as you explain, “Forgive me—I haven’t been in Helovia long, and I’m afraid that I find myself quite unfamilar with its customs. If you don’t mind me asking, Dragomir, what exactly is a glazier?”


Tags: @[Dragomir]

Credits: Whit's tables were an inspiration | Coding by Schwartze | Image
Please tag Sheba in all posts!

Dragomir Posts: 275
World's Edge Glazier atk: 6 | def: 9 | dam: 5
Stallion :: Equine :: 17" :: 7 HP: 64.5 | Buff: NOVICE
Bunnie
#5
Could anything keep those blue eyes clear and at peace?

Beneath his allure of innocence was a darkness that threatened to take it from him, that had already chiseled deep grooves into the smooth ivory of his soul and filled the lines with black smut. Its what leaves him mildly reserved during all encounters with those not saturated in the smell of the Edge: the bleak memory of rain in the willows and a black body crawling through the mud, the melancholy thought of Mirage that summer afternoon when she had explained to him that his family was wrong to have taught him as they had, the lessons etched deep into his heart over the hazy eternal summer of his youth that, no matter how hard he tried to forget them, bubbled up into his thoughts again and again, warping and distorting the beautiful perfection that was Helovia into murky shades of grey that left him feeling blind, and grasping.

Perhaps that is what she sees when she looks upon him, not innocence so much as it is naivety, an inability to find ones footing in a world that constantly moves and wears so many masks. The only way he can survive in such a place is to be steadfastly himself, a humble honesty that many may view as the actions of a boy or one who is unschooled in the ways of life; his mother, however, would swell with pride to know that her youngest son had grown in so many ways so quickly as to understand that no greater life could be lead than that which was truly your own, and perhaps even his father could look upon such a noble life as an achievement though it was not one common in leaders such as Adalwulf had been. Lying was a part of life.

Dragomir was content to speak the truth and let the dust collect on his skeletons, neatly stowed away and still hidden from those he called friends here at the Edge. Let them see him for the man that had emerged from the flame engulfed grove, not for who had been while dancing in time with the darkness ebbing in his soul.

Mirage had been right.

Hatred was wrong.

She is called Sheba, the woman who poses such a threat to the spiritual ties of his youth and the newfound ones in the misty forest that spreads behind his tall and muscular figure. He smiles at the odd lilt to her voice, having met many who speak strangely the native tongue of his own family and many here in Helovia, wondering where it is she has wandered from and how far it must be if his journey took him so many months.

The ivory mare uses a lot of words that easily fill in the gaps of silence that are so often left hanging from the lips of the awkward young man, and his ears cling to them each with his mind wondering why it is she sounds so much fancier than others he’s met who have long winded words. It may just be the accent, but there is something playful and clever about the construction of the sentences, something that a more experienced man might recognize as quite dangerous – a femme who adores herself and the sound of her own sweet voice, one who quite easily pulls the young stallion into her cadence.

Her question makes one ear fall back atop his head and a wry smile slip across his lips in apology, foolishly having used a native word for his job in front of someone who was obviously foreign to it and the apology evident in the subtle changes in his features and the sparkle that is born to his eyes. ”A glass maker," he says, nodding sidelong at the wall behind them as a reference to the art he made mention of, glass encased feathers tinkling merrily against the beads strung low in his mane, just above his whither, "each herd has been given a gift from their patron God to create from nothingness beautiful things. The Moon, it would seem, admires glass." He chuckles, a humorous statement having risen to mind and the young man finding himself unable to share it. "Apparently, just not walls."

@[Sheba]

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Any violence/magic is allowed to be used upon Dragomir at anytime, permitting it doesn't kill or seriously maim him without my permission <3

Sheba Posts: 114
Outcast atk: 7 | def: 10 | dam: 3
Mare :: Unicorn :: 15 hh :: 13 :: Frostfall HP: 61 | Buff: NOVICE
Minou :: Ocelot :: Sing Shady
#6
All she ever wanted was the world.

At your confession, the boy-giant seems to recognize his mistake. An ear twitches, and those deep blue eyes seem to widen slightly, lending him a genuinely conciliatory air. A small part of you is gratified that he does not laugh in your face—he does not seem the type, but you doubt that others (Miss High-and-Mighty Illynx, for example) would be so gentle at any perceived ineptitude, whether or not it is a true reflection of the sparkling intelligence that (you fancy) twinkles behind your eyes. So when Dragomir explains that a glazier is a glass maker, you nod your mercis politely, appreciating both his manners and the sheer normality of the situation. It occurs to you that the boy is the first you’ve met in a long while who seems content to merely hold a civilized conversation in the woods. His perfectly neutral, perfectly ordinary expression belies no hidden agendas, no hunger for power, no madness (for which you are particularly appreciative—you’ve met your share of crazies, thank you very much)…company such as he seems to be in rather short supply these days.

As if he is not satisfied with his original explanation, Dragomir decides to elaborate. “Each herd has been given a gift from their patron god to create from nothingness beautiful things. The Moon, it would seem, admires glass,” he clarifies, after a moment’s thought, adding, “Apparently, just not walls.” You laugh, rather surprised that he has cracked a joke, and you look back at the wall too, tilting your head. “What happened?” you ask, wondering what could have possibly bulldozed its way through the large hole behind you. A slight breeze whistles amongst the tops of the pines, and you wonder if falling trees pose a problem to the structure. The glass is thick, but you have seen many a giant felled in the aftermath of a winter storm—you wouldn’t be surprised if the wall shattered under such colossal force. But there is no evidence of a fallen tree anywhere nearby: the gaping hole is a mystery.

While you think, the playful wind swoops downwards, ruffling the loose strands in your braids and running through the youth’s mane as well. As his dark hair flutters in the breeze, a crystalline flash near his withers catches your eye. Instinctively, you step forward, honey brown eyes glittering at the sight of jewelry. You had assumed that the stallion’s projects were limited to rather crude, large-scale endeavors such as the wall behind you, but to your delight, you realize that intricately crafted glass feathers lie against his cherry brown hide. “Did you make these?” you breathe, drawing alongside him. He is so tall that the feathers are at your eye level if you raise your head, and you survey them with a reverent scrutiny, admiring the glasswork. You have never seen anything like them. If you were familiar with our world, you would identify with the iconic image of a young woman, an expression of wistful longing permeating her delicate features as she pauses in front of a Tiffany’s window. In reality, you are more like a little girl in a candy store with her nose pressed up against the glass. In fact, it is all you can do not to reach out to touch the trinkets gently. “They are perfectly magnificent,” you murmur, angling your head this way and that to watch how they catch the light. Perhaps this boy isn’t so ordinary after all.

Tags: @[Dragomir]

Credits: Whit's tables were an inspiration | Coding by Schwartze | Image
Please tag Sheba in all posts!

Dragomir Posts: 275
World's Edge Glazier atk: 6 | def: 9 | dam: 5
Stallion :: Equine :: 17" :: 7 HP: 64.5 | Buff: NOVICE
Bunnie
#7
Her laughter meets his ears and draws a pleased smile to his lips, the humble young man fond of bringing such delight to others whenever he can and pleased that his joke had gone off well when so many others before it hadn’t. The question that comes next is common place for new arrivals who had not borne witness the wall’s grandeur before the darkness descended; looking at it now, it might be assumed that the structure of hundreds of years old, when in truth it hadn’t even lived a year.

"The wraiths came and destroyed it, is all we can assume," he answers, trying to fill in all possible gaps and wonder with his words, "we left to find sanctuary in the Heart with the others when the darkness fell upon us, and returned to discover the wall ruined. It looks about the same as this all along it." He says this sadly, for while he hadn’t really been overly fond of the wall itself, its birth had given him strong roots in this land; he had worked alongside both former and current rulers of the forest at the task, having followed a similar path himself as the mare who made it. From a seeming no one he had become one of the blessed, and for the life of him he could not figure out why or for what purpose he had been granted such responsibility.

He wasn’t well cut out for the job, as he saw it, but he surely would try to appease everyone as he had since his very first day in the mists of the Edge.

The wind brings change to the conversation as his baubles tinkle merrily in its breath, the white mare growing intensely interested in his withers – which is unnerving until he remembers that he indeed has things to focus on there other than the plain white splotch of his minimal coloring that rode the arch of his shoulders. His head rises instinctively and he holds it there, eyeing the curious woman through the corner of a blue eye and feeling his lips split into a broad smile as he realizes that she is quite enchanted with his worn memories. "Yes," he answers to the first stream of words that escape her rapture, and her next nearly make him explode with bewildered pride.

If a stallion can blush, he is at this point, his ears askew atop his head and his mouth in a silly smile that mirrors the gleaming of his eyes that flicker and dance with his happiness. It’s not that he hasn’t been praised before, but something about the way she says it all rings with so much truth that there is not a single gap though which his doubt can wriggle and that it is the symbol of his friendship with Ranjiri means all the more to him.

"It’s a charm of memories," he says softly, "specifically for my friend Ranjiri." Looking down at the unicorn with his swooning happiness still flooding him, he is struck with a sudden idea to repay her for filling him with so much confidence on this afternoon. He only hopes she does not ask him to explain why.

"I can make you something," he says, blue eyes lighting up brightly, "I don’t have any supplies with me, but I can work on it and you can meet me here in a few days. Whatever you’d like."


@[Sheba]

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Any violence/magic is allowed to be used upon Dragomir at anytime, permitting it doesn't kill or seriously maim him without my permission <3

Sheba Posts: 114
Outcast atk: 7 | def: 10 | dam: 3
Mare :: Unicorn :: 15 hh :: 13 :: Frostfall HP: 61 | Buff: NOVICE
Minou :: Ocelot :: Sing Shady
#8
All she ever wanted was the world.

You swear that you feel your heart skip a beat when the boy offers to make you something. You may not be enthusiastic about much, but nothing gets the old ticker going like the prospective of a gift—and jewelry at that! So when you turn to the boy, you can barely mask your excitement. It is only immense self control that keeps your face from splitting into a smile as wide as his own. Still, your eyes are glittering with rapture, a little hard with greed, but almost mad with joy. The gods must be smiling down upon you today, old girl, for you’ve run into an artist, and one who plies his craft for free!

You waste no time in asking him if he’s sure; you tore your eyes off of his trinkets for one reason, and one reason alone. “Thank you,” you tell him, forcing yourself to keep your tone even. “I would be honored to have a gift from an artist such as yourself.” That ought to seal the deal, you think, as your eyes flicker to his feathers again. Whatever you want… His words echo in your mind, and you pause, considering your options—there are so many! Clips, and pins, and baubles…(oh my!). Perhaps you will let the boy decide himself.

“I like to collect little trinkets and wear them in my hair,” you inform him, mind flashing back to the precious red stones from the deep wood that you have tucked away and the beautiful cave crystals that you intend to break loose. “If there was a way to incorporate them all…” Your eyes search his, genuinely curious as to what the boy will come up with. “But you’re the artist here, not me,” you finish with a small laugh, “I want to see what you create. Surprise me.”

OOC: short reply is short ;_;

@[Dragomir]

Credits: Whit's tables were an inspiration | Coding by Schwartze | Image
Please tag Sheba in all posts!

Dragomir Posts: 275
World's Edge Glazier atk: 6 | def: 9 | dam: 5
Stallion :: Equine :: 17" :: 7 HP: 64.5 | Buff: NOVICE
Bunnie
#9
The light in her eyes dances brightly and with much vivacity as he looks upon her after extending his offer, mistaking her hungry expression for one of feminine delight and nearly swooning in his happiness with self. A moment of pause takes the air and he stands, for once, quite calmly and content with life and his company, no longer worried that she was the sort of unicorn to use her horn for evil – surely nothing wicked wore such pretty smiles or gleamed with such a stark whiteness, he thinks.

The next set of words that dance from her pretty lips make him grin more broadly, to such a degree that his cheeks hurt and his head rises without willful decision, his chest puffing out ever so slightly and his heart fit to burst from all the compliments he’s been getting from this girl. Even if its just a ploy to get something out of him, he does not mind – what she offered was confidence, something that he did not think had a price, and so he was happy to appease her with what he could. For a while after this moment he will revel in this feeling, cling to it when the tasks of his life seem set to overwhelm him, and for that, he is greatly thankful.

She takes time to think over the item she desires and, to his surprise, gives him free will over the project for the most part with only a small tidbit of herself to work on. His ears drift to the side but his smile clings to his lips, for she says it with the air that she knows it will be splendid and he just simply has to make it (or it could be his already sated ego, purring away into his mind’s ear, one can never know). Nodding with minute fervor, his eyes bright and blue as he looks down at her, he repeats himself in a way but is eager to see the conversation to an end to begin his work. "A few days then, right here?" glancing over his shoulder and revealing his anxiousness to start to work (he’s not any good at pretending to be anything other than himself at that particular moment in time), he returns his burning eyes to the mare, "I think I have just the thing in mind."


@[Sheba]

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Any violence/magic is allowed to be used upon Dragomir at anytime, permitting it doesn't kill or seriously maim him without my permission <3


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