the Rift


whether do i wander [open]

Scheherazade Posts: N/A
Unregistered
:: :: ::
#1

There were times when being a nomad was an interesting life. So many things to see, so many new experiences to encounter on the constant and open road. But, Scheherazade lamented, most of the time it was inherently dull. She had learned this within her first year of travel - and that was nearly five year ago. The trick was finding spots of interest to offset the face-eating boredom that a traveller was doomed to face for miles on end. Occasionally it was seeking out small herds just to ask them where she was, what the status of the land was, if there was war or not. The last one was a big one. There seemed to be war everywhere recently. Bickering, infighting, blood feuds, racial backbiting. The last two were the most common and perhaps the most droll. It was one of the reasons why she had never stayed anywhere for more than a season or two. Either the herd was too small and she was expected to bear the lead stallion’s children (not likely) or she would be expected to fight in a war that wasn’t hers (ditto). Not that she minded. It wasn’t like she was naturally nomadic, but without something other than eat and reproduce to do, herd life just seemed so unappealing. And compared to what her job should have been had she stayed in the land of her birth then a life on the move was infinitely better.

It was with great curiosity that she had learned of a land where war was not at the forefront of everything (at least, that was the rumour). A name of a realm spoken in whispers after dark, spoken by mares that possessed a dreamy look in their eye and a hunger to get away in their soul. Hera knew that they never would, they were bound to their leader and their land too tightly to ever give up their comfortable life, but the roan mare had no such ties. While the other mares, chained to their static existence, dreamed, Hera had already gone. Stories taken with a pinch of salt. An air of caution. Just in case it was all just rumours and hearsay. If she was honest, the story that she was hoping to be true was that of the heat. For so long had she longed to just bask in the warmth of her homeland again, but nowhere came close and she wasn’t about to go back just for the warmth.

It was then, with much disappointment, that she found the temperature to be only slightly warmer within this strange new land. It steadily built as she wandered further in, but never quite got to the heat of the warm sands she missed so much. There was signs of warmer conditions recently, however. The deciduous trees turning the shades of fire much earlier than she was used to - commonly seen, she knew, when the summer had been a particularly hot one. Heaving a heavy sigh, she paused and cast pale blue eyes at the sky above. Not a cloud to be seen but the faint breeze told of coming rain and cooler weather in the future. That was annoying. Scheherazade didn’t like the cold and it didn’t like her much either. Turning her attention to the scenery around her, nothing but trees, she rolled her shoulders and moved off again. Patience and persistency, she told herself, was the key. Without it, she might have gone stark raving mad years ago.

[open to any. this took far too long for such crappy quality]

Ascended Helovian

Ophelia the Amaranthine Posts: 701
Outcast atk: 6.5 | def: 10.5 | dam: 7
Mare :: Hybrid :: 16.0 hh :: 6 Years HP: 77 | Buff: BULK
Tinek :: Royal Silver Dragon :: Frost Breath & Shock Breath Tamme
#2




The Sun God was freshly on her mind with his gift that he had given, expecting nothing in return. She still sorely missed the future she had imagined with Osiris, and though she loved Ktulu's child, she could not help but wonder why the Sun God had not chosen her for a similar honor. Still, he had given her a gift, and she would not question. A breeze blew past her pale face and she smelled the oncoming of Frostfall, a season she eagerly awaited.

Another scent crossed her grey nostrils, and her ears tipped forward curiously. She recalled every inch of the forest in perfect detail, her memory a living encyclopedia of images, words, sights, sounds and touch. With cloven hooves, she picked her way through the forest easily, curious to see whose scent had come her way and just why it was so very foreign.

White and crimson tendrils of mane blew around her back, and she tossed her full tail behind her, getting irritated as it caught between her legs. Ophelia moved out from behind a tree to see a rather established mare of a silver color. Her blue eyes were crystalline, and her horn was rather menacing and rough, a stark contrast to Ophelia's heterochromatic eyes and classical, twisted crown.

Her figure was thin and lithe, and Ophelia was shocked to find that she was actually more muscular and heavy than this foreigner. Even with her warmblood-like heritage, she was normally quite streamlined - at least compared to the rest of Helovia. Phi moved closer, her eyes still youthful, though they held age and wisdom beyond her short years; the young mare had experienced much.

"Hello," she said, her brows furrowed quizzically. "Welcome to Helovia. Are you from Isilme? Or farther away?" she asked.

[OOC: Sorry for the fail Phi post. Welcome to Helovia!]







Undertow has come to take me. Guided by the blazing sun. Look at everything around us. Look at everything we've done.
Please. Anyone. I don't think I can save myself. I'm drowning.


Please tag me in every response!
Ascended Helovian

Mauja the Frozen Light Posts: 1,392
Outcast atk: 6.5 | def: 10.5 | dam: 7.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 17.2 :: 14 HP: 79.5 | Buff: HUNTER
Irma :: Snowy Owl :: Terrorize & Diego :: Eurasian Eagle-Owl :: Rage Neo
#3
Mauja did not mind the lessening heat at all - in fact, he welcomed it, waking early each dawn to breathe in the moist coolness of night, drawing that peculiar scent of oncoming autumn deep into his lungs and feeling the chill settle in his veins. He was a creature of frost and snow, ice and bitter winds, and he relished knowing that it would come, hoping that Earth and Moon would take their revenge on Sun by covering the land in a thick, soft blanket of snow. Mauja wanted blizzards and ice rains, wanted to feel the wind cut to the bone and watch as everything turned white and soft, even the Sun's precious Throat. When the leaves were a little more yellow each morning, and the fog a little thicker, a little cooler, he could hardly contain the desire, the longing, and often found himself hopping through the Edge forest with a semi-crazed, absent-minded, deranged yet harmless little smile upon his face. Winter was coming, and he was like a little child waiting for the first snows. Likely he'd be doing equine cartwheels out of joy when it finally came.

It was a wonder his herd hadn't decided that he was a lunatic, but that would surely come soon. He snorted to himself, amused, and tried to keep from prancing through the Threshold, but it was hard to keep the winter spirit in - after such a long, horrible summer, two wildfires in the Edge, sun bitches, sweating an ocean, having his daughter kidnapped, and suffering from the effects of a constant drought... Well, let's just say it was very hard for Mauja not to be happy now that all those trials were past. He'd been sorely tested, nearly driven himself out of his mind, but finally he could breathe out, and watch his breath turn to fog in the moist morning air.. when it was a moist morning, that is. Which it wasn't now. But Mauja's mind was lost in a haze of daydream and longing, and the result was that he nearly walked into a tree. Blinking, the monarch stopped, scowled at the bark, sidestepped, and kept going, but slightly more aware of his surroundings this time.

What he found was most interesting. Little Ophelia he knew, with her slender white body, pale like snow, and her blood-red fringes. She was just greeting a very lissome stranger, and his eyes traced her appearance. Silvery blue roan, thin, short coat, white legs, blue eyes, and a black horn rising from her brow. Satisfied, Mauja slapped his tail against his hocks, and gave Ophelia a nod in greeting. They'd managed to patch most of their broken relationship up, going from "near death experiences when around one another" to "friendly acquaintances". Quite the improvement, if you asked the King. Likely a boring turn of events, if you asked Deimos.

"Welcome indeed. I am Mauja. Who are you, sister?" His smooth voice tagged along at the end of Ophelia's statement, not bothering to repeat the question of where she came from. It would just be redundant, and if she did not answer Phi, well, why on earth should she answer the second time? Smiling slightly he cocked his hips, leaning a hind hoof on its tip, and waited, curiosity shining in his eyes.
angels, they fell first, but I'm still here

Scheherazade Posts: N/A
Unregistered
:: :: ::
#4

The faint breeze whispered through the treetops and brought about many new scents. Of pine and tree sap, leaf mulch and the faint hint of ash. Hera had, of course, smelled all these things in lands passed, but each time they were different. The lands, the magic, the residents, everything changed the way the land was. Every place was unique. It was why she found it so disorienting. She was sure that at some point, she had taken a wrong turn and now she was just walking in very large circles. Ironic really, that while most got lost in the desert, Scheherazade could navigate it with her eyes shut - yet put her in a forest or in a hilly area and she got lost within moments. She found it infuriating. And she was quite sure she had seen that tree before. She didn’t come all this way just to be bested by a large clump of trees. That was just insulting. And embarrassing. And the scents were all off. There was no defined smell anywhere. Normally she would just latch on to a trail and follow it until she found her way out. But the breeze seemed to come from everywhere and just confused her further. Of course, admitting that she was lost was something she’d never do, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t be vexed about it.

Then the wind brought her the perfume of another horse and she stopped walking. There were various other equine scents, but none stood out as clearly - because none were as close. Movement caught her eye and pulled her attention to the pale shape as it became visible, brilliant blue eyes locking it in an unblinking stare. Hera stood stock still, quickly analysing the stranger and taking in as much information as she could. Pale, but tipped with red as if her hair had been trailed through blood. And it was a her. That figure was far too feminine to be anything else. Lithe, but still bulkier than herself (nothing new there) with a definite youth to it. The girl was young, very young. But in those strange, two-toned eyes was something which was distinctly not childish. Scheherazade’s mother once mentioned ‘old souls’ and Hera herself had come across them from time to time. She had to wonder if this wasn’t another one of them.

Finally, as the mare approached, her eyes rested on the horn. While it was not what Hera was used to growing up, she had quickly discovered that her family unit’s horns were not the norm. If anything, the one belonging to the girl before her was the archetype and Hera’s was the deviation. While it startled her when she was younger, to find such wild variance in her fellow unicorn’s horns, it now washed over her like nothing. As the young girl spoke, she couldn’t help but let a faint smile. Her eyes said she experienced much, but she still held curiosity. Good.

Black ears flicked forward and her head tilted at the place the mare spoke of, brows twitching into a frown momentarily. “Isilme?” Even with her exotic accent, the word tasted foreign and strange. She shook her head. “Much further.” Hera glanced skyward, pinpointing the sun and quickly determining the direction before pointing her pink muzzle eastwards. “Walk towards the rising sun for three years until you come to the smoking mountain, then turn south.” Her words were gentle and lilting, her gaze once again resting on the pale mare. “Walk until you reach an endless sea of sand and then continue for twelve days without water until you reach the oasis. There, the Sha’lok tribe will welcome you. That is where I am from.”

She had noticed the approach of another as she spoke, his pale spotted hide catching the corner of her eye and attempted to pull her attention from the mare. It was only after she had finished she let her gaze drift to the baroque stallion that had entered the frame. He was…interesting to look at. But his whole appearance made Hera feel cold. Even his horn looked as if it was carved from ice. And that term he used. ‘Sister’. It confused her momentarily and she merely looked puzzled, staring at him for a second or two. “Hmm. Forgive me, but has been a long while since anyone called me such. I am Scheherazade, brother.” She dipped her head in greeting and fell silent. She was familiar with this process and would let it play out, interested in how it would differ from other lands.

Ascended Helovian

Ophelia the Amaranthine Posts: 701
Outcast atk: 6.5 | def: 10.5 | dam: 7
Mare :: Hybrid :: 16.0 hh :: 6 Years HP: 77 | Buff: BULK
Tinek :: Royal Silver Dragon :: Frost Breath & Shock Breath Tamme
#5




Ophelia would have been flattered by the voice in the rain roan's head, but she was quietly oblivious. Though she now possessed the power to reach into another's thoughts and delicately browse through their most precious memories, she abstained. Phi understand the importance of keeping the mind a whole and private place, for even she held her own secrets that she would be loathe to share. Indeed, she had the maturity and the ages of memories to be an old soul, and she observed the newcomer's slender, lithe form with interest.

She smiled. Why? Was she still a child in the eyes of Helovia? The thought was irksome, but she stifled the emotion. After having the incident with her feelings over Osiris, she should be considered a child - a foolish child. Still, she listened with this inner child who was fascinated by the blue mare's exotically tilted accent and words of distant, dangerous lands. They incited in her soul a spark to once more explore where she lived, to know its paths intimately, and she wanted to thank her for this.

Dual colored eyes followed the direction of her muzzle and memorized the directions with perfect accuracy, wondering if one day, she might see these sands of which the stranger spoke. Perhaps not, but dreams were just as important as reality. Phi's thoughts were interrupted by a familiar scent and the sound of heavy steps, and she smiled softly as the King of the Edge strode in proudly. He called her 'sister', and Ophelia wondered if Mauja knew of her impure blood; he had not called her as such, despite the horn on her brow. This curiosity brought forth many questions, mainly concerning her two, young brothers. What had they managed to get into now?

The crimson and white mare also dipped her head in a polite greeting to the snowy king before turning her attention once more to the stormy Hera. "You have traveled far, Scheherazade," Ophelia replied softly, the mare's name coming off strange and thick on her tongue. Though the tenor of her voice was gentle, her accent was not nearly as stunningly fluid. "Though I could tempt you with an invitation to my homeland - a desert oasis, much like what you have spoken of, I shall instead be honest. I live primarily among the winged skyfolk in the sands of southern Helovia; only I and my sister are unicorns among their kind, but they welcome all who are open of mind."

She purposely labeled herself as a unicorn; she did not need Mauja knowing that she was of impure blood - not when she did not know just how far his racism delved. "However, if you prefer to live among your own kind..." she trailed, lifting her elegant jaw and smiling gently at Mauja. "... Then I encourage you to follow King Mauja."








Undertow has come to take me. Guided by the blazing sun. Look at everything around us. Look at everything we've done.
Please. Anyone. I don't think I can save myself. I'm drowning.


Please tag me in every response!
Ascended Helovian

Mauja the Frozen Light Posts: 1,392
Outcast atk: 6.5 | def: 10.5 | dam: 7.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 17.2 :: 14 HP: 79.5 | Buff: HUNTER
Irma :: Snowy Owl :: Terrorize & Diego :: Eurasian Eagle-Owl :: Rage Neo
#6
She was detailing a very long journey when Mauja came upon them, and his coal-tipped ears flipped forward, drinking it in. She spoke of sunrises and years and sans and smoking mountains, and he found himself incredibly grateful he wasn't required to go there. He disliked sand, disliked warmth, thrived in snow. Besides, he was far too busy trying to mass a unicorn army here to gallivant off on six years of adventure. He'd probably be roasted alive before coming back. But he smiled slightly, dreaming of distant lands he would hear of but never visit - perhaps if he had been a different stallion he would've traveled, but as it was, he felt rather comfortable doing his dirty work here. Puzzled, the mare with the odd accent stared at him for a moment. He raised one 'brow in a kind but questioning manner, and when she revealed the source of her confusion it went down. It was a habit of his, calling his herd mates brothers and sisters, and often he used it when trying to recruit new unicorns - it made them feel, well, welcomed. Familiar. If he'd known Ophelia's thoughts he would've reassured her that the horn upon her brow made her a sister too, but circumstance was what had prevented him from ever using that label on her.

Scheherazade was her name, and it was as foreign as her thick accent. Many strangely speaking horses traveled through the Threshold, but he didn't think he'd heard one of this particular dialect before. It was interesting, the multicultural environment in which they lived, united by their species - or, as the case of the other herds, by their stupid open mindedness. Mauja gave Ophelia a smile, listening to her talk. Her honesty was admirable - most came here detailing the falsified glory of their own land and herd, while shunning the others. He was grateful that she had enough sense to let Scheherazade know that mostly Pegasi lived in the Throat. Aaaand here we go... Of course, Ophelia dropped his title. He didn't even bat an eyelash at it, but strangely enough he usually preferred to go without it. Sometimes the situation required it, but most of the time he tried to earn respect for who he was, and not the throne he sat upon. Still, he could hardly berate Ophelia for her kindness in filling this stranger in. He'd tell of his home, but wondered if it was a lost cause. If she had come from a desert, it was likely she'd feel more at ease in the Throat, than in the dark, misty forest of the Edge. "I am King at World's Edge," he informed her kindly, gently, voice smooth and soft and so at odds with the frigidity of his appearance. "A forest upon a cliff, with a sheer drop into the ocean. You would be welcome, should you wish to live in such a place. I've gathered it's nothing at all like your homeland," he added with a smile. There were also the Foothills, but Mauja couldn't be bothered telling her about them. Despite the way Kri acted, he preferred the feisty mare over Gossamer. Indy was probably the only good thing to have come out of the Foothills ever.
angels, they fell first, but I'm still here

Scheherazade Posts: N/A
Unregistered
:: :: ::
#7

For any normal nomad, usually speaking of their place of birth and raising became the subject of misty-eyed nostalgia and the faintest whiff of self-doubt. Why had they left in the first place, what were they searching for? And on occasion, those who they were conversing would pick up on this reminiscence and decide to twist the knife just to see if the traveller really did long for home. Scheherazade was never one for looking back with rose-tinted glasses. She did not long for that place in the middle of the desert anymore and, she suspected, that place did not long for her either. Instead, she viewed it the same as any of the other lands she had stayed in - and no doubt how she’d view Helovia one day (should she decide to leave). She had been called heartless because of this; callous and cruel because she seemed to have detached herself from those that loved her. Stupid accusations dripped from the lips of those who presumed to know her past. It was both amusing and insulting at the same time.

So it was with mild relief that the young mare before her merely showed interest, and no desire to poke and prod at what she had no business in. And a brief look to the stallion gave Hera an impression of indifference - but then she was quick to come to the conclusion that he would be hard to get a read on either way. The girl’s voice pulled her attention swiftly back, a single ear twitching at the way her name sounded coming off of a foreign tongue. It was always fascinating, how those from different regions pronounced her calling - how the father away from her birth land she got, the more estranged the accent became. It was never a negative experience, even when she had to teach one particularly dull-witted stallion how to pronounce her name by sounding it out for him (even then he got it wrong). It was probably one of the few things that she enjoyed about being a nomad no matter where she ended up.

She listened in patient silence as the young mare spoke truthfully, about how she lived among the sky-folk that some unicorns detested so much. Hera did not count herself among their number - if anything, she was curious about those who had harnessed the sky and rode the warm breezes. It must be terribly freeing, to be able to fly. Sometimes, to her at least, it seemed almost like a burden. Oh and the temptation of going somewhere warm and dry was so very strong. The last two places she had called ‘home’ (and she used that word loosely) were cold, damp and wet even in the summer. But she wouldn’t be so quick as to jump at the first offer that came her way. For the sake of balance, she would listen to the stallion - whom the pale girl had just identified as a King. Hera didn’t know if she should be flattered or not. She chose to not be, royalty were just like the rest after all.

Yes. Very hard to get a read on. The stallion carved from black-spotted marble with chips of ice for eyes. Soft voice from cold edges. His motivations unclear, his true nature hidden or worn on his sleeve - Hera couldn’t tell. She watched him impassively, taking in every little movement he made as she desperately tried to pin him down. She was fighting a losing battle. World’s Edge seemed a fitting name for the place he described and a nerve in her shoulder twitched on it’s own accord as she tried to imagine the climate. Costal areas are usually damp and cool but it depended on the temperature of the water the winds were coming off of. No doubt it’d be breezy, the closer to the edge you got. She might be speaking out of term, but if his conclusion made her doubt that.

“I thank you greatly for your offer, sir, but I am afraid the pull of warmth is too much for someone who grew up in a sand pit.” She smiled gently, dipping her head. She was genuinely grateful, normally she only got one offer on a ‘take it or leave’ basis. Turning her attention back to the mare, she retained the smile. “I have no ill feelings towards those who fly rather than run, and your southern sands sound too tempting to resist. I shall follow you there, miss.”

[so sorry for the delay ;___;]



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