the Rift


Babylon;

Caneo Posts: 133
Hidden Account atk: 7.5 | def: 10.5 | dam: 2.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16.3h :: 6 years HP: 61 | Buff: NOVICE
Ophiria :: Dragon Snake :: None kae
#1

        The path is invisible. He follows it behind the silent flutter of black velvet wings, his toes unerring in their tired dance from desert’s edge to something else – this great unknown. Perhaps the butterfly knows better than he does, but when they met it rested on the only bloom for miles, beating out the sadness from its fluttering, lace-edged self. It has not spoken once in all that time; or perhaps he cannot hear its voice. But it moves forward, still. Forward, always.

        He follows in its quiet wake, though his steps falter now, no longer the bright gamboling dance of hours – days – lifetimes – before. Every now and then the flicker of blue eyes betrays some deep uneasiness; the silver figure, like a crownless stag, pauses from playing and turns to drink in with uncertain quietude the towering glare of mountains – strange, distant things. They look like animals asleep, or perhaps dead – some long ago leviathan now buried under soft, unthinking earth. His thoughts become a black thing crawling in the silence of his wake.

        With a shake of his narrow head, he leaps after his guide. They have come a long way – long enough that distance leeches heat from the air, though the sun remains. It kisses a shimmering brightness into his hide, though as the shadows lengthen still he glows: a luminescent skeleton, a hollow silhouette built from matchstick bones and canvassed with that too-rich splendid hide, too soft for a land boasting trees. Too thin for the distant, near-extinct promise of snow cradled amongst towering peaks. The place he traverses now rejects him, and he feels its presence all around him like a vice, though he moves forward anyway. Perhaps because it is the only direction he knows.

        The sun paints bloody colors in the sky as finally, the shadows on his horizon turn to trees: high, jagged, long-toothed trees groaning in soft, ancient voices as a breeze threads through and then abruptly dies. At the forest’s edge his guide doubles back, black-patterned wings kicking dusty-soft against his worn-skin face. Then they are up – into the dusk – and gone. “Good bye.” His voice is fearful music to join the chorus of noises beyond, dying quickly under the brighter songs of birds and the feet of small, scurrying things. The butterfly might never have been there; might never have known itself followed, at all. It certainly gives nothing in return before departing, and he watches until his eyes pick out no more than darkness, purple and green.

        The forest is large.

        His tail moves like a blind snake, a slow trundling crawl along his side before it snaps away. He is accustomed to the sight of new things but not this, this place of ground always covered and shadows, shadows moving right and left and behind. Intention quivers on his skin like sweat, but without the butterfly he stands like something carved from marble, errant, and concerned. He is small: a brilliant fleck of light unable to cross wholly yet into that other side.

        And so he hesitates, a wraith on the doorstep – waiting, perhaps, to be let in.

sxc.hu


[ Uhhh still adjusting to his voice. ;-; I think I would prefer the Basin or the Falls, but anyone is welcome to stop by. There's a chance he won't join any herd at all, depending on how things go. ]

Roland Posts: 230
Aurora Basin Phantom atk: 7.5 | def: 10 | dam: 2.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16 hh :: 8 yrs HP: 60.0 | Buff: NOVICE
Glo
#2
ROLAND
In the midst of dusk, the forest truly seemed to show its age. Shadows leapt the lengths between trees, knotting together beneath stooped boughs to form a cage across the ground, a tangle of prison bars to match the gnarled canopy overhead. What little was left of the sunlight filtered in between twisted branches, shards of pale gold scattered across the uneven ground. It had been a while since Roland had last set foot in the Threshold. He much preferred the familiarity of home and its surrounding steppes, though the change of scenery was not altogether unwelcome. It seemed a long walk to take for the sole purpose of clearing his mind, but it was not a dull one. He followed the forest to its edge, underneath the shadow of mountains, and just beyond the reach of their rocky roots. Birdsong was scarce, only the odd haunting whistle echoing through the labyrinthine corridors as the sun hastened towards the horizon.

The young stallion standing amidst the gray thickets took him by surprise, and Roland might have missed him entirely were it not for the blue of his eyes. Cast in shadow as he was, he looked terribly like a skeleton with twigs for legs, one more pile of bones amongst the timeworn trees and their archaic carcasses. A frown darkened the Thief's eyes as he neared, drifting across broken twigs and dry leaves with as light a step as he could manage. "Hello," he called out softly, almost afraid to speak in case he startled the boy- for he was evidently young, though taller than Roland himself. The fading light of eventide fell upon his ragged coat, casting into shadow every hollow between bone, every gaunt line across his body. Were it not for the lack of madness in his eyes, Roland might have mistaken him for a wayward wraith.

Nevertheless, he offered his hospitality in the form of a gentle smile, inclining his head in greeting even as he wondered what sort of hardships the stallion had faced. Though the urge was there, to question if he was alright, he held his tongue. There were far more opportune times to go poking at sore spots than on the cusp of nightfall.

"Are you lost?" Roland questioned finally, thinking that he certainly looked that way. Perhaps he had stumbled off some path beyond their threshold, ending up on the brink of their empire in a maze of swiftly darkening woodland. It could simply be that he was in need of directions, or, possibly, he was in search of a new home. There was so much to see beyond the stooping, moss laden sentinels they stood beneath; a whole realm hidden behind the ancient forest.

((Probably shouldn't be writing posts at 1 am ._. Hopefully this isn't riddled with mistakes!))

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Caneo Posts: 133
Hidden Account atk: 7.5 | def: 10.5 | dam: 2.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16.3h :: 6 years HP: 61 | Buff: NOVICE
Ophiria :: Dragon Snake :: None kae
#3

        Something draws near: fire in the underbrush, twigs cracking beneath the leisurely assault of cloven hooves. Silver ears draw slowly up and forward, answering the sound. He watches, eyes glimmering in one part fear and two parts open curiosity. A flame – a brilliant orange half obscured by shadows and the coming dark – appears between the trees. It takes the form of a unicorn, spear curling like an old tooth from between the eyes – blue eyes.

        The wraith blinks blue eyes back at it.

        Something unhappy lingers on the orange creature’s face, as if he finds the scene unsatisfactory. “Hello.” His voice, though, travels gently through the shadow-heavy air. In answer, muscles pull the long silver neck around. They slacken though along the slender legs and through the haunches, shifting like light on the surface of a lake. “Hello.” The wraith’s voice lingers quietly around the soft skin of his lips, bright but low. Thoughtfully, he studies this newcomer: sturdier than he but smaller. Something indefinite colors the orange stallion the lead in this conversation, though – it lingers in the difference between them, the ease of muscle under orange skin compared to the push and pull of tension under finer silver hide. The stranger knows the forest, and fears nothing in it.

        All this the wraith assumes, though he bets the future of this interaction on his intuition guessing right. In answer to the stranger’s smile, he merely cocks his head. The question afterward is trickier – can the homeless ever be lost? Or perhaps the youth has always been lost, so accustomed to that way of life he fails to understand any alternative. His head tilts farther, leaning out on the thin curve of his neck. Blinking, he turns the question over, the answer rising from his chest in a curious hum. “Lost? Hmm.... No, I’m okay.” He simpers back, wondering why the question was asked, at all. It carried no menace or threat, but he expects those words to mean as much, by now. It threads together to a logical conclusion, and daring to remove his eyes from the stranger for a moment, he regards again the trees, those mighty things so different from the only ones he’s ever known.

        “Do you live in here?” asks the boy, supposing perhaps he is in trespass, though unsure as to whether he regrets the act. When he bothers to scent the air, he does taste the faint, intermingled smell of others lost to time; the indefinite nature of the evidence clouds his expression briefly with the nearest thing to a frown, one ear sweeping delicately back before those blue eyes return again to the other stallion’s face. He wonders if he ought to say more, but under no threat save his own imagination, he waits for an answer to his question first. There is no hurry, really, though he struggles to avoid checking the progress of the sun, wondering how this world looks in the true darkness of night.

sxc.hu

Roland Posts: 230
Aurora Basin Phantom atk: 7.5 | def: 10 | dam: 2.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16 hh :: 8 yrs HP: 60.0 | Buff: NOVICE
Glo
#4
ROLAND
The stallion’s gaze was a mix of apprehension and consideration as he first met Roland’s eyes, his uneasiness no doubt bolstered by the ominous song of the forest. The whistle of wind accompanied the Thief’s arrival, and leaves rattled against each other overhead, a coarse melody to contradict the benevolence in his greeting. He did his best to appear unoffending, though it is not often he is perceived as a threat. Perhaps his golden hide implied innocence rather than iniquity, which in the end would only do him favours when his intentions were all but virtuous. But for now, he meant no harm to the boy standing before him.

Though a soft hello followed shortly after his own salute, Roland’s proffered smile went unanswered, and only seemed to further perplex the silver youth. Had he been without kindness for so long that he did not know how to react to it? Or had he never known warmth, as the state of his malnourished figure suggested. The boy did offer him an answer to his question after a hesitant breath, though it wasn’t exactly the explanation Roland was looking for. When the outlander turned his gaze towards the forest, the bones of his shoulders and spine became all the more pronounced, cutting in and out of fading sunlight and shadow as sinew shifted over bone.

The boy's inquiry reached his ears, a wary question posed above the evening chatter of birds and insects. Roland chuckled quietly, glancing around the darkening woods with disapproval. Vagabonds and pilgrims had passed beneath the venerable boughs, but none had ever stayed long enough to call the forest their own. It belonged to all the herds, in a way, for unless they were born to the deserts or mountains beyond, all had travelled through the Threshold. “No,” he replied with a shake of his head. “My home is to the north. If you need a place to stay, you are welcome to return with me.

Perhaps he was getting ahead of himself with the offer, but he couldn't bear the thought of leaving the gaunt stallion on his own again while darkness descended upon the forest. There was no commitment required, of course. The boy could simply stay a night, see Lena if any wounds needed healing, and be on his way the next morning. Or perhaps he already had some home he could return to, waiting beyond the reaches of Helovia; and if so, the Thief would say his farewells and wish him good health, though the boy was unlikely to depart from his thoughts all too soon. With a jolt, he realized that he had never gotten the stallion's name, nor had he given his own. "I'm Roland, Thief of the Aurora Basin." The name might not do him any good, but at least he would know what to call him.

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Caneo Posts: 133
Hidden Account atk: 7.5 | def: 10.5 | dam: 2.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16.3h :: 6 years HP: 61 | Buff: NOVICE
Ophiria :: Dragon Snake :: None kae
#5

        He watches – every subtle flicker of expression, every small movement of the fiery man’s silhouette. In part, the grey struggles to find some reason for this other creature’s presence and his manner. Clearly, he fears nothing of the forest – but he quells the first assumption bluntly. “No.” With a little sigh, all but soundless save to the keenest of ears, the grey accepts this denial. The other unicorn must know something, or possess some power, which renders impotent the mortal fears of the world. He must be dangerous – though why such a being might choose kindness toward the ghostly thing here waiting at the eaves – unfathomable.

        The boy’s ears twitch forward as the stranger continues to speak. In following the words, the silver head turns subtly north, contemplating that nameless, foreign land. Others must dwell there, too, but what kind? Are they powerful, as well? The pale eyes shift, returning as ever to the orange face. He is a riddle wrapped in gentility, his voice smooth as unblemished ice but warm, warm as the dappled colors of his sides. And why? Teasing out the answer to that question feels important, ever more so as the orange stallion’s offer comes, unasked for. Why grinds harder in the pale youth’s thoughts; his face nearly contorts with a frown, but merely smiling instead, wryly, he sidesteps, expelling tension born of surprise from the careful twitch of muscles. “Why?” It bubbles from his lips like laughter, half amused – far better than the only alternative emotion. Fear makes him clumsy.

        Roland. He learns the stranger’s name at last, engraving it immediately upon his memory. With a graceful bow of his head, the silver creature answers: “Caneo,” though the word tastes awkward in his mouth, and somewhere in the back of his mind he feels guilty, almost like a thief. Is that his name? It is a word he knows, a word spoken at him. It is the nearest thing to a name he owns – the others are all too derogatory, all except for boy but that is worse. “It’s nice to meet you,” he says, still wondering if the pretty words are a game or something else. For an instant he ponders the thief’s introduction; something silly, a winsome smile, twitches across his face. “I don’t have anything to steal.” Unless the thief means to steal him... as the notion settles over his mind, he stills, watching Roland with cool caution. What use is a half-grown orphan to this man? But what use is the orphan to himself, if he only passes the time chasing butterflies, and his heart quivers under the shadows of the forest?

        More softly then, he asks another question, subdued but somehow keen in the low, musical tenor of his voice. “Is there food in the Aurora Basin?”

sxc.hu

Roland Posts: 230
Aurora Basin Phantom atk: 7.5 | def: 10 | dam: 2.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16 hh :: 8 yrs HP: 60.0 | Buff: NOVICE
Glo
#6
ROLAND
Out of the frying pan and into the fire seemed to be a fitting descriptor for the boy’s mood, though Roland had no way of telling just what went on behind his troubled eyes. From the brief dance of steps to one side, Roland thought he might be nervous. The rough laugh punctuating the stallion’s question was a familiar sound to his ears. It was a humorless noise, and he himself had spoken with the same tremble to his vocals many times before. Perhaps the boy was exasperated, or irked in some way by the Thief’s presence or the twilit forest around them. But why? Why what? Roland tilted his head to the side, fixing the stallion with a bewildered look. Was he truly confused as to why shelter would be offered to one who looked as he did, on the verge of collapsing against the pressure of the cool evening wind? “You look like you could use some rest,” he supplied at long last, not unkindly.

The boy gave his name finally, and extended a courteous bow to the Thief. Roland retaliated with a curl of his own neck, tucking chin to chest before giving Caneo a pleased look and a heartfelt, “likewise.” The stallion was polite at least, not some savage caught between boy and manhood, wandering the edge of the dusky forest. A smile played upon his dark lips then, pursued by his meek attempt at a joke. At least, Roland hoped it was meant to be a joke.

He was left puzzling over the stallion’s remark for a few moments, and when realization finally dawned upon him he laughed blithely. The darkness must be painting him to be some creature he was not; something to be feared, or at the very least, wary of. In truth, he was far more often docile than dangerous. Nonetheless, he returned Caneo’s hesitant grin, tail lashing against his hocks. “You have nothing to fear from me,” he assured the boy, pouring as much sincerity as he could fit into the few words. The uncertainty in the silver’s stance pained him, for Roland would not let any harm befall the wanderer while he stood with him. Just as a good soldier fights only when it is necessary, a good thief only steals when he must. Tonight, he was not in search of pockets to pick or trinkets to pilfer.

Amusement was short lived, quelled by the question following timidly on the heels of the boy’s fading levity. The Thief frowned once again, feeling a stab of sympathy in his chest, a thorny sort of anguish that he hadn’t felt since he’d cared for Sia. “Yes,” he intoned gently, making as if to move closer and then abruptly thinking better of it. “Yes, of course. Anything you need, we will provide it to the best of our abilities.

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Caneo Posts: 133
Hidden Account atk: 7.5 | def: 10.5 | dam: 2.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16.3h :: 6 years HP: 61 | Buff: NOVICE
Ophiria :: Dragon Snake :: None kae
#7

        “You look like you could use some rest.” A sentiment far more objective than Caneo likes, though he casts a doubtful eye once over the narrow angles of his own body. Caught between an adult’s height and a child’s frame, he is like a sawhorse in comparison to Roland – all bones, the canvas wrapped too tight. He is accustomed to the sight, accustomed to the hungry stab of lean-bone legs and sunken eyes. He thinks of the desert again, the lidless eye of the oppressive sun. Something occurs to him then, some grain of truth springing brilliantly to mind.

        This place is different.

        He sees it not only in the trees but also in his new friend (are they friends?). There is no hunger in the other stallion’s eyes, though Caneo has long tried in vain to find it there. Not only the hunger of unkempt bones – but other things, things which recall the tang of blood. Perhaps this place adheres to other laws.

        Absently, one ear cocks back to paint his delicate features with a mild frown. He is tired; his stomach moves like a beast between his ribs. But no one has ever asked him if he needed rest – at least, not within his memory. It remains a suspicious query, though he tires of guessing about it. “You have nothing to fear from me.” The reassurance falls on a suspicious mind. Caneo waits, ears canting forward in anticipation of an answer to his question. Already, the sharp corners of his mind work toward the logical conclusion, but he hesitates, certain he finds himself walking into a trap – frustratingly unable to see its teeth.

        This Roland is strange, he decides upon hearing the answer. It sounds like eagerness underlying the speech, and Caneo cannot fathom why. Yet Roland cannot seem to understand even the need to ask why, and the youth merely turns over the last statement, tensing all the same when the other stallion appears ready to walk forward. For an instant, the silver skin tightens, certain at last of meeting some unwanted end – but nothing happens. They both remain still, quiet and completely unremarkable to any outside eye.

        “Hmm.” The noise is quiet, thoughtful and tinged with weariness. He thinks for a moment about running away, but the question of the stranger stands before him, impenetrable, and he wonders what awaits in the Aurora Basin. His stride is longer than Roland’s; he could most likely outrun the stallion, if pressed. And his body keens hungrily, this wire-taut fragile thing trembling all around him. “I’ll go with you then, I guess.” Even as he speaks he is not certain why, except something in the stranger is so warm... It calls to him as if he is all fluttering wings, no better than his wayward guide. This unknown thing is like a wound, demanding to be picked apart.

        The narrow skull turns north again, the blue eyes peering at a darkening sky over the trees. “I’ve nowhere else to go.” He shrugs, as if it is a thing of convenience, playing to his own vanity as, with a flick of his tail, he steps forward for the first time, closing by inches a distance he does not particularly wish to close between himself and the other stallion. He wonders for a moment if he ought to ask about it, but if they travel truly he will find out, anyway, and better maybe to see without any expectation of the view. He looks to the thief again, resigned if not entirely decisive, outwardly a benign scarecrow of a thing, easing at last through the door he stood in awe before only moments ago.

sxc.hu

Roland Posts: 230
Aurora Basin Phantom atk: 7.5 | def: 10 | dam: 2.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16 hh :: 8 yrs HP: 60.0 | Buff: NOVICE
Glo
#8
ROLAND
As evening drew on, their conversation was joined by the warble of birds as they settled for the night. Claws scraped against branches overhead and wings beat the air, and though Roland’s attention was now divided between his company and the roosting flock above them, the boy’s flinch did not go unnoticed. The Thief fixed the stallion with a furtively curious look, drawing back a step to allow more space between them. Perhaps that was, in part, why the boy seemed to be quivering on the edge of flight. The air of easiness that had briefly settled between them was short lived, and once Roland stirred, tension descended over the shadowed copse again.

The stallion made a quiet, considering noise in his throat, and as Roland waited he dropped his gaze down to the boy’s slender legs, his knees and hocks all sharp, fragile lines. Caneo’s verdict tumbled hesitantly into the air, a relatively unenthusiastic reply considering the offer. Did he feign disinterest to preserve his dignity, Roland wondered, or was he truly so impartial? How strange, that the boy would wander into the forest with nothing, not even an inch of fat to his bones, and would choose his fate with a guess; though, there was no mistaking that the boy had some sense of self preservation. He held himself away from the Thief as if the golden stallion gripped a dagger behind his back.

They are not as different as they might seem, at first glance. The silver stallion does not carry the same sheen to his hide as Roland does, nor the confidence with which he stands in the inky forest. Yet the Thief sees himself in the boy. There is an echo of guarded suspicion in both their gazes, and it will serve Caneo well, to trust only if after time, the individual has proven itself trustworthy. “Follow me,” Roland murmured with a final glance at the boy’s blue eyes. He turned on his heels, crushing brittle twigs and dry leaves beneath his hooves as he pivoted to face the darkness. “It will be a long walk.

((Sorry for the wait! I'll get a thread up in the Basin as soon as I'm able.))

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