the Rift


[OPEN] Lost and Found [Welcoming]

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
#1



By the time they had broken free from the confines of the woods, the sun had long since disappeared beneath the horizon, and with little light to ease their passage the trek back to the Basin went slowly. Every so often, Roland found himself casting a furtive glance at Caneo to ensure he was faring well, for the ground was uneven and the distance between the Threshold and the Basin great. It was no easy path to traverse, especially when one was weakened.

Roland kept a sharp eye out as they walked, scrutinizing every dark shape and shadow lest something be following them. Night made him wary, and ever since the wraiths had torn apart the land with their shadow and disease, he had always made sure to remain aware of his surroundings. The last thing he wanted was a repeat of his first, and only, encounter with the creatures.

Once they reached familiar territory the Thief allowed himself to relax, turning to Caneo as they were swallowed up by the mountain pass. “It gets quite cold in the winter,” he informed the boy with a wry smile, his words echoing off the rock surrounding them. After so long spent in silence, he felt compelled to fill it with something, even idle chatter. “But the summers aren’t so bad.” It had taken the Thief several months to adapt to the northern climate, and even longer to feel he fit in. Luckily, Caneo was not walking into the same, cold-hearted supremacist Basin that Roland had once lived in.

The pass gradually opened up before them, a jagged ridge sloping down into the palm of the valley, stony fingers curling into rugged, snow capped mountains. Roland hurried them past the crimson glow of the Sentinel’s gaze, giving the metal statue a considerate glance as he went. It was an ominous creature, not so much a welcome as a warning to those who entered their lands; but the lake stretching out across the plateau was a much more welcoming vision. Moonlight reflected across its rippling surface, and what stars peaked out beneath the clouds were mirrored in the dark water. Roland drew to a halt, tail swishing against his hocks as he gazed around them. “Welcome to the Aurora Basin,” he said with a smile, looking to Caneo in hopes that he would approve. Perhaps the boy would find a home here among the mountains and rock, just as Roland had.

@[Caneo]


Push your luck if it makes you a promise
that turns con men honest.

Image Credit


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
#2

        A long walk, indeed.

        They travel in silence, starlight glittering cold and lonesome overhead. The sun has gone; the shadows press in on Caneo’s flanks like wolves, but brushing soft. Every now and then his blue eyes flicker up, charting his course by the light of that strange heaven. They are not his own stars, though he thinks he knows a few – the places all wrong. They serve him no better than signposts in the wrong language; he sighs, answers their gibberish with a minute shake of his head. Something stirs in the slow beat of his heart, not homesick, but... Not homesick.

        As they walk, the land changes around them: long, long shadows of the forest giving way to rock and mountain, field and foothill. He studies the changes in silence, his gait unerring after the gentle pace set by Roland. One hardly needs stars for this journey; in time, Caneo expects to memorize this place by landmark alone. In time. And how long does he expect to stay? He watches Roland move ahead, dusky flame under the flawless black of night, and wonders. This – this journey – tickles some long ago memory in the back of Caneo’s mind. Despite his earlier reluctance, he slips into an old familiar pattern: follow silently, obediently, unwaveringly. He thinks of a time past and another set of hooves, those so much larger than his own. He thinks of grey eyes and the guiding light of stars, like a map. Back then, they always moved at night.

        With nothing better to do, Caneo every now and then watches his guide as well. Roland’s attention darts back at intervals, as if the older unicorn expects his new charge to drop suddenly, exhausted by the weight and hardship of this life. But Caneo is enduring – he knows this about himself, if nothing else. His slender legs churn steadily, mechanically, practicing by rote the first truth this body every learned. He notices, too, tension lurking just beneath the shadowed surface of Roland’s skin – not plainly visible but stirring here and there in the quick jerk of the noble head, the flash of ears. The thief moves nervously, and Caneo’s mind whirs in curiosity as he blinks at the shadows of rocks and trees. What frightens Roland now, that never did before? The silver shape moves up to pace close by his leader, never touching – never even close – but certainly nearby. Caneo wonders, after a time, if his limbs would even answer any call to run, but he puts the worry from his mind.

        Such concern is itself exhausting.

        The mountains reach out to consume them, no longer hunched figures on the horizon but real, looming silhouettes blotting out pieces of the sky. Caneo studies the giants, toes skimming over pebbles like forgotten shrapnel. “It gets quite cold in the winter.” Roland speaks without preamble after so many hours of silence. Caneo’s ears twist to catch the words; he blinks, swallowing the information. “Cold?” The air now kisses his velvet skin with a touch like frost, though he knows nothing of ice. “But summers aren’t so bad.” With a nod, the boy returns a question. “It’s summer now?” He stares at the mountains again, claustrophobia scratching over his flesh like spiders.

        Without warning, the bleak walls surrounding them suddenly fall away. A valley spreads below, lit by the stark light of stars, the weary hangnail of a crooked moon. Caneo’s lungs fill at once; he drinks the mountain air like a man surfacing out of the sea, and for the first time his steps falter to a halt. For a moment he stares, tail curling around his haunches. Imagining the scene in daytime, he chances a glimpse back toward the pass, marvels at the way this place is hidden, folded behind walls of rock – like a fortress. Then with a start he moves again, head shrinking down in something like apology – a half apology – the motion strangled before its completion. His hooves skitter over the shadow of something at the valley’s edge – a silhouette like his but thicker, bulkier, immense. He smells a strange, sharp taste around it, though Roland speeds past as if unnerved, and Caneo only looks back as they pass, ears flickering, eyes wide. “What is that?” It disappears into the night behind them, silent as the rock. But it was certainly a thing, and not imagination, and not earth. He turns to Roland, questioning, forgetting exhaustion as his senses buzz to life.

        They halt at last before a lake – oh, water – and the old instinct kicks at Caneo’s mind, and his blue eyes swing across the shore in wary hesitation, searching for phantoms long gone, grudges long settled. He finds the landscape quiet, tranquil in its beauty, and the moon shines on the black ripples of gentle waves. “Welcome to the Basin.” Roland has chosen a good place for the announcement; one ear cocks absently back to the noise and Caneo nods. His companion has a flair for delivery, though he fails to process the extent of that, for the moment. He nearly trembles instead with the weight of it all, the sudden enormity of his decision and the consequences of becoming swallowed by the strange place. A quick glance at Roland, perhaps in search of comfort, and Caneo paces toward the water on soft, nearly silent, feet.

        “Thank you,” he says, remembering his manners, though not quite certain what he is thankful for. He stops at the water’s edge to drink, his swan’s neck curving down briefly before snapping up again, eyes flicking back and forth, following patterns ingrained during childhood. But nothing evil stirs; he steps back, watching Roland again. And what happens next? The trail stops here, the journey done – Caneo knows of nothing to come after. He only knows walking. “What do you do here?” The question is more honest than most of his are, but helpless he is forced to bare the truth of it, to some extent. His eyes rove the ground as he speaks, searching for the telltale sway of grass - another habit, though he feels strange falling to graze and his attention is caught too many ways at once, shivering between old truths and new.

sxc.hu


[ er... sorry this got so long, apparently there was a lot to take in. the rest should be more reasonable. ]

Lena the Songbird Posts: 663
Aurora Basin Time Mender atk: 4 | def: 10.5 | dam: 6.5
Mare :: Unicorn :: 15.3 :: 6 HP: 69 | Buff: NOVICE
Imogen :: Common Kitsune :: Fire Heather
#3
L E N A
The breath that carried me
The sigh that blew me forward


Nymph and beast danced through the moonlight, heralded and taut by the strings of its luminescent beams. They sway and twirl beneath the aurora aperture, glistened by the rising tide of silver effervescence, cling and caress the subtle, midnight plumes, the avaricious thorns flanking off into the nocturnal splendor. Like wood sprites, they dream and speak in silent, daphne convictions, laureled and blessed, because they thrive in the evening and blossom in the morning, twilight quintessence and dawn dew. They drank their fill of the mountains’ ambrosia, cool, breathless, wanton air – honeyed and sweet one moment, bitter and indulgent the next – cast off their glories for the sumptuous line of movement and motion. Swift and calculating in the first, fine, subtle moments of bliss, then a dappling of finesse, elegance and dignity, they’re a raw dip in grandeur through the copses and glades, specks of sienna sylphs and ivory foxes. Simmering and scintillating along the ambient breeze, alight, glowing, flickering from flames and lunar infernos, the Time Mender wore her crown of spirits and drifted through the elements, one by one, sumptuous and exotic, Romani and wayfaring, drenched and drowned in the corporeal, tangible threads of the gloaming surface. All at once, a song followed, thrilling and trilling, birdsong indulgence while the true fliers dream in the heady throes of slumber, bubbling and crooning past her throat in an elongated sonnet without lyrics, without chains, without stanzas. A flickering bout of time and passion, fluid and mellifluous, building and reaching for the heavens, for the skies, for the final outcries of anarchy and its lavished decadence (to pull it down, to wash it away), a crescendo, an orchestra, a symphony of hopes, aspirations, and ambitions. It doesn’t die or yield, as persistent and persevering as its creator, her prowess, her power, manifested in the warmth, the glimmer, the radiance, of the Basin. She touched everything she cherished; from the caves, the vibrant wiles of snow and powder, icicle drips from cavern ceilings, wild, untamed boughs of pine and fir, then quickly altering her petal soft steps towards the lake and its never-ending sanctity.

The dabbling of water, the soft brim, the deep, piercing void of its depths, offered her tranquility and salvation, but as her eyes roamed from the edges of shore to the waving cattails, she noted their arrival was not the first of the evening. Imogen chirped towards the gathered along the other side, one cloaked and painted in instant recognition; Roland, newly instated Thief, furtive and gilded. The other seemed to occupy the moon itself; so refined, so chiseled, so sculpted from the pale expanse of the satellite’s surface. Maybe he was an embodiment of its core, rattled and molded from its lunar layers. She drew closer with no fear, presumed Roland had brought another from the depths of the Threshold (because the scents of its world came along the wind, soft and locked away, buried and borrowed keys slipping through gates and passageways), no trepidation. Instead, hardly any alterations were made to her features, only a bright, genuine smile elongated through her lips, a hum lowered to smooth, subtle decibels, jubilant, merry, ebullience and finesse in the shards of newcomers and friends. They polished refinement in graceful flicks, ivory kitsune racing ahead to join the golden Thief and his compatriot. She twittered and twirled for their amusement, sniffed the air and feet of the stranger, as Lena rang out in sweet, welcoming tones, exuding melodies, rhapsodies, singsong, sparrow calls and nightingale exuberance. “Good evening!” Reaching to where her companion loomed, her grin grew even further, dulcet and serenading, dipping her head towards the foreign follower, and her wily ally, raising its length to speak in buoyant tones. “I’m Lena, Time Mender of the Basin.” She extended a crafty wink towards Roland, noted the vague lines of concern etched along his face, focusing her attention back towards the youth (the tired sketch of his bones, the outline of fatigue), and carefully polished the edge of her hums, of her hymns, until they became background nuances and bird flight; murmurs, croons, of delicate finesse, of pressing, brilliant calm, serenity and repose. The sylph uttered one more necessary plunge into the queries and salutations, but no more, because pressing and prying (though deeply involved in intrigues and curiosities) could scare away the tender feelings of a newcomer’s first breath, step, into their strange home. “Who are you?”



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



The gorge echoed with wind as they passed beneath its rugged shadow, the sound of their footfalls drowned out by the haunting song of the arctic breeze as it ripped, tore, and twisted through the rocky crevices. Roland had always found it strangely stifling to be cradled between the sharp cliffs, with only a dark strip of sky and stars overhead. By then the moon had risen, and it shone its pale light across their path, bathing the granite in a wash of sterling. It was not incredibly unlike the last time he had returned from the Threshold, under the strangling cover of darkness with a child following at his heels; though, Roland suspected the gauntness of the boy’s frame made him seem younger than he looked.

His gaze drifted back to Caneo as he spoke, though it was hard to tell from the stallion’s questioning remarks if he thought of the cold as a hardship, as Roland did, or if it was, perhaps, something he had never experienced. “Yes. We have a long ways to go before the snow falls.” And thank goodness they did, for during the winter he grew a distressingly thick coat, and frost clung to his hair, making him feel like some uncultured, northern savage. It was difficult to be confident in his own skin- often used as his tool, his weapon- when it did not hold its usual sleek shine. Summer suited him much better. He could never fit in with the sullen grays and blanched whites of winter, but stuck out amongst them like a flame.

They did not linger around the Sentinel once it arose from the gloom, for even though it functioned as their guardian it was still an unnerving sight. Caneo, though, did not disregard it as just another aspect of the moonlit scenery. The boy’s voice was heavily laden with curiousity as he glanced back at the metal beast, though Roland did not slow their pace. “The Sentinel. It protects the Basin from outsiders,” he responded, maneuvering himself gingerly along the rocky path. “You have nothing to worry about, since you’re with me,” was added as an afterthought, in case the stallion was worried the thing might come after him.

After many tiresome hours of travelling, they finally came to a stop before the watery expanse of the lake. Roland breathed a fatigued sigh as Caneo met his gaze and voiced his gratitude. “Of course,” he dipped his head, smiling faintly as the boy drew towards the shore for a drink. Roland kept a watchful eye on him, frowning in concern as the stallion jerked, as if the water had shocked him. Yet it was too quickly recovered for him to make mention of it, and so he held his tongue and looked out to the rugged foothills that rose along the edges of the mountains. No doubt the sudden change was a lot for the boy to take in, but the Thief felt better knowing he would not be left to his own devices in the dark forest where he had found him.

It seemed there was no end to the boy’s curiousity; Roland would have figured he would be more interested in rest, or perhaps the food he had once mentioned, than conversation; but no sooner had he recovered from his abrupt shock then more inquiries were spilling from his lips. Or, perhaps the boy did not know where to go from here, and only found comfort in the things he was already familiar with. “I gather information, and help the Lord and Lady of the Basin negotiate and form alliances with other herds. If it is needed, I do exactly as my title suggests… thieving.” Roland quirked a playful smile at the boy. “I was never much of a soldier, though I did try to be.” He laughed softly. Best not to lure himself onto a tangent.

At the sound of singing, from whom there was no need for Roland to guess, he drew his gaze from the starlit figure of his companion and towards the shadowed forms of an approaching pair. Lena’s song reached them from across the water, interrupted by the jovial chatter of her kitsune as she bolted towards the duo standing at the dark shore. The mare’s refrain quieted as she called out to them, and Roland bent his head towards Imogen in greeting. “Hello,” he murmured, eyes lit with amusement at her enthusiasm as she leapt before them. He straightened, smiling fondly at the Time Mender as she neared. Once her attention had shifted to his new found acquaintance, he turned his warm gaze upon the boy and allowed him the opportunity to make his own introductions.


Push your luck if it makes you a promise
that turns con men honest.

Image Credit


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

        Hungrily, he drinks in all the information given. Though not a scholar, he values the capture of knowledge in his own way. Knowing is its own advantage – is survival. Caneo records without assigning feeling to these new facts, merely tucking away the threat of cold and the great, hulking silhouette of the sentinel. He keeps, too, the ease with which Roland gives out this information. If the Basin has secrets, he has yet to discover even the barest hint of them.

        But he has barely dipped his toes into the snow.

        Caneo scans the night with wary eyes as Roland answers his last question. You have nothing to worry about, the thief had said. It seems a statement more broadly applicable than it was meant, so long as Caneo stays near his companion. He blinks at the thief, and in his chest caution battles desire. His guts rumble angrily at both of them, the frail-skin body around him unhappy, as ever. “You must be very important,” Caneo observes. He imagines himself serving any lord, any lady, and nearly laughs at the buzzing blank image at the back of his mind. He knows nothing of kings.

        But the thief... he likes.

        “Fighting is dangerous,” adds Caneo. Though his expression never changes, something tinged with sorrow lingers in the edge of his voice. He still doesn’t know what he will do here, but he abstains from asking more specific questions, wondering how far he may press before appearing pitiful. He gazes at Roland, wondering if maybe there is a place for him near the thief, though it feels like a child’s dream and he refrains from thinking on it very keenly. He is a not a smitten wastrel, so grateful for any kindness as to sell himself immediately. He is not foolish enough to go giving his heart out, or his hopes, or pinning his livelihood on anyone else. He wonders again what he is doing here, why he has come, when something else cleaves through the cool night air: a chiming of bells, the silver light of a hymn.

        Caneo’s head rises slowly, turning to catch the noise as he peers into the dark. Something pale gambols out from the shadows: a low shape, like a weasel or a fox. With a weary sigh, Caneo sidles away. His tail reaches to twitch through the dark before his ears turn to the mare, her features hidden by the dim of the night and by her own shade – like spun ebony without the brilliance of the sun. She smiles, though, and the sound of her voice is like song even in speech. “Good evening!” Caneo glances once at Roland, searching desperately for a cue.

        The thief seems to know these two – seems comfortable, even. Caneo’s ears twitch ever so briefly to paint his narrow features with a frown before he looks to the mare again, always keeping the smaller creature in periphery. It seems harmless... but he remembers nothing of its like. A pet? A captive? Caneo’s slender ears capture the silver of her voice with great suspicion.

        Her name is Lena, she says. Time Mender. It means nothing at all but he nods, reluctantly breaking the brittle hold of tension all along his spine. “Good evening, miss.” Surely he may be forgiven if he sounds a little tired now, and not bright, and not particularly glad to be acquainted with strange faces in a strange place in the dark. His bones rattle like crumbling pillars between his joints. “My n-name is Caneo. Roland brought me.” His face tilts again, stretching the long neck to gaze at the pale fox – fox, he thinks, with too many tails. “Does that... belong to you?” Please keep it away. How many strange things can he learn in a night?

sxc.hu

Lena the Songbird Posts: 663
Aurora Basin Time Mender atk: 4 | def: 10.5 | dam: 6.5
Mare :: Unicorn :: 15.3 :: 6 HP: 69 | Buff: NOVICE
Imogen :: Common Kitsune :: Fire Heather
#6
L E N A
The breath that carried me
The sigh that blew me forward



Too much too soon: elation and ebullience lent her only the segmented hesitation and brittle reluctance along the stranger’s spine, and she was immediately remorseful and repentant. There had been no bitter, rancorous intentions on her part to dismay and swindle the stag away, to chase him into fleeing nuances and anxious intimidations – rueful, she tucked away the boldness of her exuberance and spirit. An alteration at swift speed followed; not the first, nor the last, where she had to contain and bottle the vibrant enchantments, the bright invocations, the exuberant clarity she forever yearned to share with others. But she also had no wish to press her characteristics on another, to will them away with the ferocity of her heart, with the audacity of her soul, so she bore veils, covers, and quiet, charming cloaks. It bit down into the core of her survival, how she’d managed to maintain roles and balance amongst the threshold of violence, of outcries, of dismal, hard, caustic faces and embittered lives. All at once, she dampened and doused the flickering beams of rhapsody and glee, cast the blinding merriment aside and harked back over the fragments of composure. The lines of the nymph’s lips fractured the enormous, gilded smile, and traced over a softened expression, not unkind, not unpleasant, but something more at ease; this wasn’t an evening of nightingale dances or luminary waltzing. She poised herself in the dulcet clamor of a quiet, maiden of song and healing, humming and hymning to the rapture of a forest choir or moonlit symphony. Polite intrigue simmered and sauntered along her vocals, not dipping below the surface of apprehension and anxiety, of crooning queries and attempted prying. Soft, light, cordial, welcoming, a blossom in hushed bliss. “A pleasure, Caneo. How do you find the Basin thus far?” Imogen, feeling the vibrations of foreign allusions, for not all adhered to her unearthly meandering, wrinkled her nose and outlined another path, swinging her tails away from the newcomer, lending her paws to playfully bat at Roland’s hooves. Even when the subject remarked and changed towards her, briefly, lined with dread, recoiled foreboding, she didn’t advance again upon the beast, vaguely dismayed and disheartened that she wasn’t constantly beloved.

That was so much more than Lena could grant or answer: the kitsune was a guardian, a savior, a secret-keeper, an eternal, unwavering friend. To deliver a simplistic reply was trailing into the obscure and unworthy. How could one describe a creature that extricated and liberated, but also provided the ardor, the passion, Lena sometimes required to move tyranny, to maul monsters, to destroy haunting requiems? How could one describe a little beast that carved strength and will, persistence and gall, the ability to cover the world in sunshine, in roses, or devastation? Who protected, who sheltered, who fought tooth and nail, side by side? Her eyes lingered upon the pale being with her ivory plumes, her proud head, her unending lines of nerve and steel, and fought back the vivid grin threatening to coil along her mouth again. Instead, her attention wandered back to Caneo, and despite his disturbance at the wily fox’s existence, presence, and wished he could see the glory, the salvation, the power, the contentment, and all the wonder she’d offered and bestowed. Fire and delight, embers and glee; slivers and slate of coins tossed and unveiled. She tried, desperately, to convey the nuances, the folds, the lines of their bond, but was afraid she’d failed utterly before she’d even begun. “Imogen is my companion, a kitsune.” She paused, mulled and thought, pressed into the bounty of gifts they’d been proffered. “You’ll find some beasts are bonded to one another. They’re constant comrades and confidants. The species, however, tends to vary.” Her warm stare flicked back to Roland briefly, remembered the slight tremor of apprehension they’d countered and conquered within the Edge (draconic wings and claws fluttering to his handsome face; the maiming that could have been); she stifled a laugh at the foolish memory, polished her gaze unto Caneo once again. “I’ve seen dragons, owls, hellhounds, and so many more. They’re blessings.” And even in he argued in the latter statement, she’d show him, she’d regale him, with the bravery, the prowess, the courageousness of her beloved.




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
#7



There had been a time when ambition had been Roland’s driving force. It had drawn him to war as a mere boy; had lead him in search of his father- an absurd and foolish endeavor. But now, he had swayed into the step of a different march. It had taken him a while to recognize it. There were the relentless winters and the ruthless winds, the mountains rising like a prison on every side. Yet after some time his aggravation had calmed, and ever so slowly he had come to realize that he was content. Any position satisfied him, any duty was fulfilling. He no longer felt the passing of time- and the heavy weight of expectation- as a pressure upon his shoulders.

He was not very important, no more than any other cog in a functioning piece of machinery. A laugh bubbled forth from Roland’s lips, some mix of amusement and exhaustion. “I’m nothing special,” he promised the boy with a shake of his head; but he preferred it that way. To labor beneath notice was a necessity in his line of work. Even if at one time he had thought that to stand above all others was the most powerful place one could be, he had come to understand it was not always the case.

His gaze fell upon Caneo as the boy spoke, a somber remark that no doubt came from experience. “It is,” he agreed sagely. Roland never liked to get his hooves dirty. He’d had his taste of bloodlust, of warfare and discord and the unfavorable thing that was conflict, an ever shifting tide. He had quickly withdrawn from it, and since then his courage had waned. He was content- enthusiastic, even- to fight for his family; but in a different way, brandishing words as weapons, the dance between duplicity and diplomacy.

A brief look of panic flashed through Caneo’s eyes as Lena and her companion approached, the boy seemingly caught up in indecision as he withdrew from their advance. Roland disliked, with a great amount of vehemence, the look of distress upon his pale face. He ached with sympathy and curiousity, for he would have loved nothing more than to know what hardships the boy had endured, what turbulence he had withstood, and what had driven him into their lands. Caneo’s gaze darted towards the Thief, questioning, before turning back to the pair before them. Roland took a wary step closer, casting him a reassuring look as he went. If there was anyone in the Basin whom the stallion could trust above all others- including Roland himself- it would be Lena. Yet he could see hard lines of uneasiness etched into the boy’s stance, settling in the shadows dipping over his skin, the inky contours between every bone, and the stark, curving lines of ribs protruding from his silver sides.

Lena was no less attentive than he; as the boy edged away and leveled an icy gaze upon Imogen, she quieted, slowed, doused her exuberance to placate the young stallion. Roland smoothed the look of concern from his own face and turned a welcoming smile upon the approaching mare. He was happy that she was there to welcome him home. Of all the crowned beasts that might have found them at the shoreline, she was the most gentle, and the least intimidating.

Blinking away weariness, the Thief remained silent as they shared their introductions, Caneo addressing her with the slightest tremble to his voice while Lena was patient, soothing. He took to amusing himself with Imogen as she turned away from the boy and assaulted his heels instead. Shifting from foot to foot, he smiled down at the white vixen as their conversation turned to her. Roland glanced up to meet Lena’s gaze and the hidden laughter in her eyes, evidently finding amusement in some private joke, perhaps even at his own expanse. He flashed her a hidden, unrepentant smirk, tail curling around his hocks. “You have nothing to fear from Imogen,” he said softly, turning to Caneo. “Besides her playfulness.

Push your luck if it makes you a promise
that turns con men honest.

Image Credit


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
#8

        Night wears on him. The distance stretches out from behind his hooves in long, immeasurable days and hungry miles. He should not have asked his questions; the answers drag on and his mind turns to restless buzzing. Struggling against the heaviness of his bones and his eyelids, he peers at Lena. Like a guttering flame, she somehow stills her brilliance, sucking it inward, silencing the buoyant syllables of her voice. So easily... Her very softness provokes in him the wariness she struggles to prevent. Caneo understands every other way of being, everything but that. Why are they so gentle here?

        With ears pricked to the sound of her voice, he turns over her question. “Dark,” he murmurs honestly, a faint smile teasing at his face but never blossoming. How should I find it? But something a little guilty writhes deep inside him and Caneo adds, “You are all very kind,” with the emotionless tone of mere observation. Perhaps he means it as a compliment; he isn’t sure. He begins to resent them both, these creatures lingering here, though in the same breath he wants only to crawl nearer Roland, the nearest thing he has to a friend in this bleak world, and do whatever the older stallion says. Or he wishes to flee once more, choosing the long, strung-out existence of his solitude over ever – ever – putting up with things like unicorns again.

        His brilliant eyes roll back toward the little animal again, watching in silence as she plays near Roland’s feet. The sight is... strange – unnerving in a way Caneo can’t articulate. It’s such a small thing... One slender ear cants back again to cup Lena’s explanation, the word kitsune giving at last a name to the in-between thing. A companion. Caneo’s head moves with a little jerk at that, a tiny motion – insignificant – except he stares at Imogen a little more keenly. “She’s your friend?” He inquires, surprise sharp in his voice. He blinks at Lena, head cocked. “How did you get her to stay with you? Can she talk?” His mind reels quickly over all the countless things he’s seen, the miles and the little animals, the other faces, the wind and the sand and the sun. Too many questions! He quivers with exhaustion and with wonder, wanting to know and wanting to leave, his frail body threatening implosion with the weight of this – all this.

        Roland speaks again and the boy glances up to meet his face. “Why don’t you have one?”

sxc.hu

Lena the Songbird Posts: 663
Aurora Basin Time Mender atk: 4 | def: 10.5 | dam: 6.5
Mare :: Unicorn :: 15.3 :: 6 HP: 69 | Buff: NOVICE
Imogen :: Common Kitsune :: Fire Heather
#9
L E N A
The breath that carried me
The sigh that blew me forward



She breathed in dulcet waves, unsung claims of her exuberance bottled and stored away for another exposition or composition of the wavering tides and melodious croons, listening to the murmurs and observations of the incoming stag. Oddly, she remained entirely unsure of how to act in front of Caneo, how to welcome, how to embody her generosity, her benevolence, without him flicking it away in low tones or wary whispers; cast aside for hesitation and ambivalence. She pondered over the rites and ruins, if all of her smiles, all of her grins, were for naught – it wouldn’t be the first, nor the last, time they’d been thrown away for smirks, defiance, or veiled calculations. The world could always sing in cruel clamors or violent throngs, and she’d eternally attempt to pluck the moral strings and strands, in hopes they’d play over the devilish chords. Even in the height of variability and caprice, however, she guarded her uncertainty, lined her features with the sweet essence of blooms and blossoms, presented and aligned her warm eyes to the pale lad with the moonlit opulence and the wayfaring musings. If the Mender was anything at all, it was determined, a persevering whirlwind of resolution and tenacity, structured and molded into the art of spirit and courage, heart lines and bravery notched into the pinnacle of her essence. The nymph battled daunting warriors and valleys of mist taken from them, she’d faced down monsters digging their claws into their frozen tundra, and she’d awakened demons from their heretic slumber; she could continue conversing with one lad who looked as though he’d rather be anywhere else than here. What was discomforting? What was unsettling, inconvenient? What could be changed to suit the beast, with his weary eyes and bothered brow? Was it her, kindness, beneficence, and virtuous, or Imogen, strange, new, foreign, and therefore, untrustworthy? Was it so daunting to be faced with charity and generosity, or was he used to the wicked wiles and brutal banter of another world?

For a few moments, as his gaze rounded back upon the ivory kitsune with her dancing and playing, she thought perhaps they’d be dismissed, asked to leave and travel elsewhere, embark another journey, another nocturnal stroll, abandoned, discarded, a leaf in the wind, far from the beast’s discomfort. But thereafter, it seemed Caneo’s curiosity propelled him into more voiced thoughts, granting queries she’d only be happy to answer. A brief flutter of relief rippled through her chest, and her persistence renewed, revived, conjured the divine attributes of her friend swaying from paw to paw, claw to claw, at Roland’s swerving hooves. So many things to say, so many things to tell, and all of them stilled within her throat, quiet, languid, willowy. The Thief spoke of naught to fear from Imogen, and Lena was inclined to agree – for she’d never been afraid of the creature in her life – but others, perhaps, who’d seen the fury, the ferocity, the fire dwelling through the domination, the supremacy, of the fox’s uncanny ability of embers, of blazes, of righteous, unholy rage, could say differently. She thought of the way the kitsune had protected her while she sang desperate coils of words and phrases to Kahlua’s monstrous form, she remembered the inferno engulfing ravenous raptors as they laid siege to demons and infidels. But the sylph didn’t tell Caneo any of this, kept it nestled within her chest as another brilliant, bright secret, safely guarded and intact, a reminder that for all the love they both gave, there were always moments of barbarity when thorns struck and stuck. Instead, she granted replies soaked in warmth, guidance, benevolent coils and shades of her most prized friend. “We’re bound together. I was led to her by another vixen.” Ghostly, unearthly, ethereal, springing from the air and leading her down bulrushes and primrose paths – the memory failed to fade. Her smile softened, her gaze traveled back and forth, from white stag to white vixen, recalling the vivid images of youth and jubilee. “She talks to me through our connection, and attempted to converse with you amongst chirps.” The healer winked, and Imogen enlightened another hearty greeting of mirth and joviality towards the newcomer, but didn’t stray from Roland’s feet. A moment later the gilded Thief was queried, and their gazes were laid upon the aforementioned: curious in their own right.




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
#10



Question after question had leapt from the boy’s lips since Roland had first stumbled upon him, and Caneo’s curiousity did not cease even once they had arrived in the Basin. Though any other might have found it a hindrance to be at the receiving end of so much interest, the Thief knew the boy would do well to be suspicious of everything he saw. The act of checking over your shoulder was a good habit to get into, especially in a place like the Basin. Roland did not, however, expect the question that the silver stallion posed to him.

He had never felt a gaping hole that a companion might fill, nor any absence of friendship. He might have kept himself purposefully distanced from others, but if he felt alone it was not that difficult to revel in society. All his life, he had never considered it. Roland did not fight; not in the traditional sense. While a companion could offer a soldier its aid in battle, or a healer its ability to bolster the spirit, all it could offer a thief was inconvenience. He would have to watch out for it as well as himself, and in most situations it would be a distraction he could not afford. His ears flickered in discomfort as his gaze drifted down to Imogen. Perhaps he was just not built for the commitment. Indeed, commitment in general was a burden he tended to shy away from unless, rather like his loyalty to the Basin, it sank its claws into his skin before he could see it coming.

Painfully aware of his silence, Roland tried to retrieve a memory from the recesses of his mind, maneuvering his way through a labyrinth of thoughts, perceptions, and recollections. Of both his parents, Roland remembered his father the clearest. He’d been three when he’d seen Ion last, fresh from war and drunk on the notion of invincibility that ran through the veins of so many youths. Despite how fitting a hellhound might have seemed at his side, his father had always worked alone. His mother, on the other hand, was nothing but a blur in his mind, a bitter figment of his imagination. How could he remember a face he had only looked upon for mere, bleary eyed moments? No, he recalled with more certainty the matrons who had reared him. They had been kind and doting, yet overbearing, and their memory had forever left a sour taste in his mouth. Roland frowned, drawing himself from his thoughts and tilting his head to fix his blue gaze upon Caneo. In his reminiscing, he had forgotten completely what answer he had been searching for.

I don’t think a companion would be well suited to my line of work,” he supplied eventually, fondly regarding Imogen and the sheen of pale moonlight rippling across her fur. Perhaps one day, if he ever managed to stumble across a creature that could benefit him, and shift its nature as he was often required to do, then he would change his mind on the matter. Roland raised his head, studying the dark, tired lines of Caneo’s face, the fatigue dragging the weight of his form towards the ground. “We can talk later. You should rest now; it’s been a long night,” he murmured to the boy. There was no need to wear himself out further when he clearly had been through trying times. The night was drawing forth, the moon climbing above them upon its staircase of constellations, and he did not want to see Caneo collapse from exhaustion as time ticked on.


Push your luck if it makes you a promise
that turns con men honest.

Image Credit


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
#11

        Something quiet crawls through the blue depths of his eyes. He listens raptly, his mind that of an able student poorly shaped. Though something of the tiny being concerns him, Caneo feels an odd yearning as he drinks in the sight, as well. To be without loneliness, to be in constant company... If he has a weakness, it yawns now within the trembling confines of his soul. But he says nothing, and his expression betrays nothing aside from vague interest. Call it wariness; call him circumspect. He tucks away the information for later use. His narrow head nods gracefully at Lena. “We had nothing like that... in my old home.” He judges it a safe enough thing to say, and swerves his mind from thoughts of other sandy shores, of meetings under the cover of darkness and endings... so many endings.

        His eyes, as ever, find Roland again when the thief begins to speak. “I don’t think a companion would be well-suited to my line of work.” The answer comes slowly, teased out after moments of silence, and Caneo wonders how much truth he may find within it. But he does not pry; he merely watches, curious and weary and morose. The thief is unlike Imogen – is unlike Caneo – though Caneo’s attention lingers there, still. They may share more in likeness than he knows; he may grow into something like that, if he tries.

        And does he wish to try?

        He nods in answer to Roland’s next statement. Caneo is tired; part of the exhaustion makes him speak too much, and quelled at last, he steps back, his hooves dragging on the bank. “Sure.” He looks up only briefly at the stars, and then once more at Lena – too bright, too wonderful – to bid her a soft farewell. It is not a perfect place, but he thinks it may be suitable, at least. “Thank you.” Caneo smiles, his tail twitching at its very tip. “I will look forward to seeing you both again,” he says, though he says it without feeling and without faith, knowing such a sentiment has slipped out too often in the past and never been fulfilled. “I am very tired though. I guess... good night.” The tail tip flicks again, a small betrayal of anxiety, and he steps away from the water, and peers into the dark, judging only for a moment the best direction to depart into. He is not accustomed to sleeping near others – not anymore. The mere idea of it makes his skin twitch.

sxc.hu

Lena the Songbird Posts: 663
Aurora Basin Time Mender atk: 4 | def: 10.5 | dam: 6.5
Mare :: Unicorn :: 15.3 :: 6 HP: 69 | Buff: NOVICE
Imogen :: Common Kitsune :: Fire Heather
#12
L E N A
The breath that carried me
The sigh that blew me forward


The evening subdued, the nocturnal spread chiming too closely to Caneo’s eyes and ears, and Lena hushed through the assuaging depths, listened to the Thief’s answers (wondered how helpful a companion could be to a sleuth, racing through the underbrush and carrying back messages), and quietly indulged in the harmony of twilight. The heavy length of silence had only made Lena presume he was thinking quite heavily on his response, and she gave a light smile towards him, then down towards Imogen, who fluttered around his hooves, then waned, ghosting back towards the sylph’s legs. The little vixen was a blessing, but she understood that not everyone longed to cherish an eternal bond, ensnared with another being, constantly intertwined with the force of another – and maybe because she remembered so many times before with nothing and no one, alone, despondent, forsaken, thrown into desolation, that she couldn’t imagine wishing to embark on a lifestyle again and again. For a few moments, she stared upon Roland and pondered if it was a life he’d always lead, drifting through the shadows, conjuring veils and cloaks, concealing daggers, never bending or lending towards others, and if he did, it was only in light nuances, a touch of knowing, a caress of existing, but naught further. Something about the sentiment struck her as lamentable and despairing, and the sprite’s eyes roamed in a downcast spiral to the frost-laden ground as Caneo spoke of his gratitude, and the aspect of rest and repose. She heaved the subtle rue and regret away in one inaudible sigh, left it lingering on the chilling wind, wove a simple grin through her features once more, and clambered back into serenity. “A pleasure meeting you, Caneo.” She meant it, she’d enjoyed his endless curiosity, his constant questions, because if interests were piqued, perhaps he’d stay and drift among them, not disappear into the void, into the hollow, where so many of her friends had gone before, and not come back (Aurelius, Larkspur, Blue Duck, she could rattle off a list of names and the heartache would return). The fairy meant to stray away, and nearly turned her frame back into the spread of darkness, when she noted Caneo seemed lost in where to go; where he might yearn to close his eyes and think nothing but wondrous dreams of the future. She smiled, pointed her muzzle in various directions, and drew a map in words and phrases. “Depending on your preference, the caves are towards your right or left. The hot springs are towards the north, and there is always the forest.” Her favored lodging, producing memories, protection, and old, ancient wraiths; she grinned, then withdrew, spiraling back into the wilderness to think, to linger, to wonder, or perhaps, to sleep.





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