the Rift


[OPEN] Even Angels Fall

Cera the Golden Prince Posts: 419
Outcast atk: 5.5 | def: 9.5 | dam: 4.5
Stallion :: Pegasus :: 16.3hh :: 6 Years HP: 65 | Buff: NOVICE
Ilaria :: Red Panda :: Heal Brit
#1

C e r a</style>
          & Ilaria
forgive me my weakness

There was no denying an order from the Sultanas, Cera couldn't even begin to imagine doing so. Though he had very strong reservations about the metal he was conjuring into place, forming into a sound structure, he would not speak them aloud until he found them worthy of being spoken. Part of the higher tier or not, wise one or not, he did not find fault in the order that had been passed down to him in secret. There was no need to fear, for he had no reason to when he knew the object taking form beneath his eyes, sweat beading upon his forehead as he tempered the metal again and again, dragging the particles from the earth simultaneously. There could be no pause, in his mind, for the strands and chains had to be perfect if it was to hold any manner of size of horse. Should the chains snap or cuffs be too big or small, Cera would be the one to blame, and he would not give a shoddy piece of work to his Sultanas.

There was the brief notion of asking for help from those seeking apprenticeship, but none he knew of had made any blatant interest in the subject, and it was a small enough piece it didn't warrant searching for metal or help from any outside source. Though it was potentially able to be done the moment Africa explicitly asked for it, he hadn't wanted to test his abilities in front of her and be disgruntled enough by his anxiety to please her to suddenly fail. Especially since he hadn't ever used the newly gained magic before. It seemed there was no need for the doubt however, as if the crafting that had always existed in his blood was only stronger when imbued with magic that could bring his ideas to life.

Prickled with sweat with his own desire to make the shackles perfect, he checked over the object with a keen eye, going over it in multitudes before finally deeming it worthy of his Sultanas. Sighing deeply and letting his concentration slide into a wave of tired relaxation, emerald eyes shuttered momentarily, only opening to stare down at the shackles, more like hobbles truly. The world of war, of prisoners, was nothing strange to the youth. But it wasn't something he liked having to prepare for, in a time of peace at least. Lifting his head he called out for Africa, he wondered if he had done a well enough job of the task she'd set for him.

@[Africa] and anyone else welcome :D

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table by whit
Please only tag starting posts, spars, and threads collecting dust!

Africa the Starry-Eyed Posts: 727
Deceased
Mare :: Pegasus :: 16 :: 6 (Tallsun) Buff: NOVICE
Silas :: Common Zephyr :: Roc Riven
#2
There was reason for this madness, and though ordinarily Africa would never have thought to bind a horse and rob them of their freedom (she knew how devastating it was), she was frightened; concerned naturally for the threat posed to the family she loved and had been set to guard. She walked with a ruffled heart, melancholy dancing behind the glow of soft, sandy iris’, desperate for the simplicity of peace and quiet to flood through their home once again. There could be no such thing though while villains strolled through their midst.

With shoulders slumped beneath the weight of the clandestine plan, she approached her holy young friend. The reason for the visit set no cheer though her mind and a weak smile struggled beneath the heavy veil of her concern. Soon this will be over, Silas soothed, black feathered throat rumbling as the strain of her thoughts began to infiltrate his own. Africa knew it was true, but she was not brave; nor was she wrought for the unavoidable conflict to come.

As she moved to stand by the stallion’s delicate caramel wing, tender eyes fell across the hairless scar before it. She wore one similar, but doubted easily that Cera’s was the consequence of stupidity... Quivering lips reached to perhaps brush fondly against him, comforted by the budding friendship she thought they shared; especially while she was so torn by the woes of responsibility and placidness of her nature. “Hey Cera,” she greeted him with warmth lacing her wavering tone, “They look...” her gaze was trained to the fruit of his labour; the metal shackles which would soon enough rob someone of their right to liberty.

She closed her eyes tightly and sighed.

“Thank you.” Unable to look at them any longer, her dappled, well rounded hindquarters turned so that she could face him instead. “Do you think there is a way to pad the inside bit, so that it won’t cut the wearer?” They weren’t intended to inflict damage... she would hate for them to hold too tightly or rub until the skin beneath was burned. For the time being at least, while peace had cooled all tension between the herds of Helovia, Africa was reluctant to act.

Image | Table by Silk

Cera the Golden Prince Posts: 419
Outcast atk: 5.5 | def: 9.5 | dam: 4.5
Stallion :: Pegasus :: 16.3hh :: 6 Years HP: 65 | Buff: NOVICE
Ilaria :: Red Panda :: Heal Brit
#3

C e r a</style>
          & Ilaria
forgive me my weakness

From the quiet of the sands she came, a dust devil with the beauty of a desert flower, silent and so full of worry it seemed to crackle like a tangible surge of lightning between the shrinking distance of their bodies. Greeting was understandably strained, a weariness Cera desired to wipe away curling like acrid smoke upon elegant features. His own tired smile lifted pale lips, similarly conflicted at the object before him. War, instruments of such? He had no qualms. Captivity? Eradication of freedom? He found it to be a far more terrifying prospect than any valiantly fought bloodbath.

Touch was accepted, invited even, frame relaxing like a marionette with severed strings as warm breath ghosted over pale flesh. Arched neck in an attempt to press cream kissers against the delicate plane of her forehead. Her hello had yet to be answered. "Hello, Africa," he greeted kindly, smile becoming a bit more genuine with her posing a friendly distraction. One she seemed incapable of commenting on. Grassy eyes softened in sympathy, understanding the conflict that lay within her breast; it lay just as heavy in his. Perhaps more so, as he had been the one to craft the chains despite Africa being the one to give the order. "I know," he whispered, empathy shining in his eyes as he attempted to catch hers, show in those two words that he really did understand why she found it so hard to speak.

Relief grasped frame as she turned to view him plainly, and his smile gave a tentative return. "You're welcome, my friend. It is the least I can do, to spare you more work and trouble." Cera understood well the duties of his Sultana, and desired only to lift the burden from her fragile shoulders as much as he could manage. Soft lyrics drew him back to the horrible contraption between them, and mentally requested Ilaria leave to seek the soft leaves near the Oasis. Lifting wing, the youth grimaced as he harshly ripped a few pale feathers from the flesh, eyes tight but determined. If he had to condemn a creature to slavery, to ownership, he would do so with as much comfort to the wearer as possible. No matter his own expense. Ilaria returned in a timely manner, and together with her careful paws curved the leaves until the ends were nearly touching on the outside. Thin metal hands were conjured and secured with thick pins, the same process conducted with Cera's feathers until a nice soft padding had been created. Eyes lifted to Africa in search of approval or disapproval. "It should be easy, they swing inward for placement and cannot be removed without another hoof to help press it down with considerable weight." Eyeing the newly padded cuffs he tried not to frown and lifted eyes back to Africa, suddenly widening and smile brightening.

"Did you still desire your mortar and pestle? Perhaps I can make it for you now?" Of course the youth would have been far more pleased with a stone creation, but he was confident enough in his abilities to create a serrated, pocketed inside similar to the texture of the stone he desired to have used. It would be a welcome distraction from their shared discomfort of the shackles, at least.

image credits
table by whit
Please only tag starting posts, spars, and threads collecting dust!


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