the Rift


[OPEN] Breathe Again [Any]

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

Cera
Humanize inhuman ends - it's all the same for the dreamers - it's all the same for us

Birdsong was approaching. The desert was warmer, the weather more hospitable, and his bones far less frozen with each night. Ranjiri no longer avoided him, but she certainly found her time to be more pleasant outside the Throat and away from him. Or some other reasoning he could not fathom aside from the fact that it meant she was not there. And so he suffered the nightmares, the old and the new, in silence and despair. He'd stopped thrashing and screaming out before he'd even reached his first year. He liked to think of himself as an overachiever. 

He was ragged, but work was better than sleep. He patrolled the borders endlessly, plodding along if only to keep himself awake another hour, minute, second longer. It was damaging physically, especially in the season that despised him so much with his frail body, but he'd take the exhaustion over the nightmares. So he worked. And worked and worked and patrolled and worked some more. It was his only consolation, his sanctuary. And as no orders came from above for crafting, Cera found himself returning eventually to the well he'd started. Incomplete, he noted sourly. Not as if they didn't have plenty other crafters. 

And just as normal, the only thing to truly comfort him in the end was forging. He lay beside the deep well with its pathetic covering, seeing no need to exert energy with standing. He had a decent fire in the sands that he'd spent a few solid hours on, and the coals were hot enough to bend and shape the metal. From there it was simplistic, shaping and dragging the metal to him, Ilaria idly batting around little clumps of raw metal nuggets to entertain herself. It was a lazy sort of endeavor to anyone else, but the exertion was the same regardless.

Slowly the top of the well began to take shape, and then three decently sized bars in a half-rectangle shape above it. The bucket was the last piece, but his strength was wavering and he'd run out of metal before that could be accomplished. Sighing, the Prince lay prostrate on his side in the sand, wings askew, staring idly at the lip of the otherwise completed well. 

At least he'd finally done it. 


Image Credit
Please only tag starting posts, spars, and threads collecting dust!

Megaera the Sunspear Posts: 306
Absent Abyss atk: 6.5 | def: 10.5 | dam: 4.5
Mare :: Pegasus :: 15 h :: 8 [Birdsong] HP: 70 | Buff: NOVICE
Gwaihir :: Golden Eagle :: None Laine
#2

I have been called a weapon
the Sun’s spear in the sands
but I must also be a shield
with open heart and hands

Days passed, as days will, so very slowly in the moment’s reckoning; Megaera could count the hours by the times she wondered when each day would end. The strange thing to her was that as long as each day seemed, she might look back and find that ten had passed in the blink of an eye. Days upon days and each seemed so much the same. Patrol and training and prayer, each thing fine in its own right but she was starting to itch from the monotony of it. Frostfall was long and slow and hateful but nearly over and birdsong eagerly awaited.

Something a little different for today, she thought, and she knew just the thing. It had begun to worry Megaera just how little she knew her herd. She loved them, worked to protect them, but too often she would be making her rounds a see a face she didn't know. Megaera the soldier might not have minded too much if she knew only her fellow fighters with any intimacy, but the Megaera the Sunspear was turning out to be a bit different. She had lived once under the rule of a tyrant, who cared more for his subjects obedience than their wellbeing and she had no wish to be that kind of Sultana. If Gaucho and the Sun God would place their trust in her she would be the best she was capable of, nothing else would satisfy her.

She had completed her sweep of the Throat in double-time today, and though that left her half spent and likely to be sore in the morning, she would take the extra time to socialize. In the past months any spare moment she had had been spent chasing down her wily daughter, but Mordecai would have to share her with the rest of the herd today. Megaera set out from the oasis at an easy pace, having left Gwaihir to his hunting around the lake.

It wasn’t long until she found Cera, and as she’d spied him working from the air during her rounds, it did not surprise her to find him stretched out in the sand. She moved forward coming to stand next to the stallion and peering down with a grin. “You’ve done a fine job forger, but that’s no reason to get lazy!” It was a joke well meant, and came out with a soft laugh, but almost before it was finished the regret came. He looked terrible. Not just a full days hard work but her friend looked like he had been laboring for weeks without rest. Concern crossed her face and furrowed Meg’s brow before she spoke again. “Cera, are you alright?” If she’d known better she might not have asked.
FAC FORTIA ET PATERE
be brave and endure
:: permission given for use of magic and force :: please tag Megaera in all posts ::

Sheba Posts: 114
Outcast atk: 7 | def: 10 | dam: 3
Mare :: Unicorn :: 15 hh :: 13 :: Frostfall HP: 61 | Buff: NOVICE
Minou :: Ocelot :: Sing Shady
#3
Though you couldn’t say you were truly well, this place had been good to you. Ever since the mysterious mare had somehow transported you here, you’d had no way of getting off of the island. With no choice but to stay, the mild winter slowly had allowed your body to recuperate, and you’d even managed to put a little meat on your sunken ribs. You still wheezed with age and ached with the arthritis prematurely induced by the fiery god’s curse, but your ancestors had been built for this kind of environment. Basking in the weak winter sun, you felt more comfortable than you had in months. 

Still unsure of where exactly you were and how you’d gotten here, you’d taken to wandering the Throat. You had seen several inhabitants milling about, but in this state, you preferred to keep your distance. Unless they were imperative to your survival, you had little interest in approaching any—for the moment, at least. Rostislav’s words still echoed in the back of your mind, and you were slowly coming to accept that he might be right: perhaps old Fireball was a creature of his word, and there was a way out of this body after all. Convincing someone to be your friend couldn’t be that bad, could it? You were sure there were plenty of types out there with a savior complex who’d just love to throw their over-inflated convictions of self-righteousness at your decrepit old self; you’d already run into two last winter. But the thought of their pity sickened you, for even in a fake friendship, your pride could not suffer that indignity. So, for the time being, you remained alone.
 
Wandering the desert in this manner, you had spotted the young pegasus stallion early this morning. He had caught your attention with the fire he had built—something unusual, in any case. Your vision was not as sharp as it used to be, so drawing as close as you dared, you had settled on a dune far away enough to prevent interaction but close enough to observe. And as the well began to rise from the sand, Cera had your full attention.

You watched greedily as the metal twisted and torqued over the fire, eyes soaking up its bright glint and caressing its smooth curve. The work of a craftsman had always been one of the few weaknesses you admitted to your self, and though you were much changed from the mare you had been when you had watched Dragomir create your baubles in the Edge, your love for the art remained.  Drunk on fascination and pulled by the lure of shining metal, you slowly inched closer, careful not to disturb the master at work. 

When he was satisfied with his creation, the young stallion appeared exhausted, flopping over in the red sand. Encouraged by his obvious inability to disturb you, you drew near to inspect the well. The craftsmanship is obvious, and though your personal preference lies with trinkets and pretty things of the smaller variety, you cannot deny the great skill that has gone into the structure. “This is…nice,” you murmur in his general direction, nodding at the well. For his sake, you hope he can take a compliment. 

Before he can answer, a rustle of feathers reaches your ears, and your eyes dart up to see another pegasus drop from the sky. You aren't exactly pleased by her arrival, but the well keeps you here. You suppose it would be best to keep things civil though, so you do your best to manage a pleasant(ish) nod. Hello to her too, you guess.

OOC: oh look, a wild Sheba appears...with a desire to join society?
Please tag Sheba in all posts!

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
#4

Cera
Go ahead, you're never going to take me - you can bend but you're never going to break me

They are watched, gazed upon by distant solitary figures that go unnoticed. A guardian of pale figure and wizened bodice, blending into the glaring horizon of the light striking the pale sands below her. Neither soul was paying attention to their surroundings, native souls that had been born and raised in the dunes. They aged and changed with the sands, never straying nor faltering from their dedication. As eternal as the gods, even in their evanescent mortality. True followers and believers of the Sun and the Light, even when shrouded in the darkness of their own despair. Darkness that they chased away by furthering their community, giving aid and purpose to their family.

Gazing sideways at the gleaming metal of the well's top, a flutter of dull pride lifted the stifling apathy from his soul for a moment. It was beautiful, hardly any imperfection marring the surface. Because you are a master forger, Cera, Ilaria spoke softly, big burgundy eyes turning to settle on him, metal nuggets abandoned. The corner of Cera's lips lifted, for it was something he'd worked his whole life to achieve. It was questionable, coming from his bonded, as she was undeniably biased. Had he finally achieved what he'd set out to do since he'd first discovered what crafting was? What it entailed? 

Before he could think on it farther and determine whether it was true or not - though Cera was a humble soul, he'd likely never think so anyways - Ilaria lifted her fuzzy face towards the newcomer, finally hearing and noting her approach. An unknown beastie with a pretty face and a muted coloration, beautiful even in her age. Cera shuffled just enough to shove his right shoulder beneath his body, hardly proper for a first introduction but his energy would accept nothing more. She seemed far more fascinated by his creation, regardless. Cera hoped she'd not be offended, somehow, by his apparent exhaustion. 

"Thank you, miss," he murmured in response, tired green eyes shining sincerely at her compliment. Tired or not, he took pride in his work, and to have it praised lifted the agony a little more from his frail shoulders. "Functionality over beauty," was confessed on a tittering laugh, his inner peacefulness warring with the cold that had iced over most of his heart and soul. How was he to be kind when he still suffered? But he was a being of light and fire, and it seemed no matter his own pain, he was cursed to eternally attempt to be fair and just. Why could he not even be allowed the chance to suffer in silence? "I'm hoping it will help when Tallsun comes, an alternate source of water, and I'm planning an irrigation system that will spread it and make water more accessible throughout the Throat." Not...that she needed to know that, or was even likely interested, so Cera's face burned with thankfully concealed shame and embarrassment and he dropped his eyes. Thankful, at least, for the distraction from his own internal musings. 

A rustle of feathers and a distant form of darkness, this one noticed earlier than Sheba's silent approach, Ilaria's eyes to the sky as the Sultana descends. Cera turns his head to Megaera, feeling a tight band around his heart weaken and loosen as she speaks. It had been so long. She and Hector, they were perhaps his only close friends. Yet, just as with Midas, he seemed to never be able to steal Meg from her duties. It was a sad reality, but he never minded, as quiet and complacent as always. She was still dear to him, nonetheless, and he managed a bit larger of a smile if only for her sake, her joking light and teasing. Cera had always been able to laugh at himself, at least. 

"Lazy?" he threw back at her cheekily, turning his eyes to one of the small nuggets Ilaria had been playing with. Though it was unnecessary he tapped his hoof against the ground, and it splintered into a perfect tiny sunflower. His grin turned absolutely mischievous as he lifted his head back towards Megaera. It faltered and died beneath her sincerity, her concern, until the playful emerald lights flickering lantern-like in his eyes were snuffed out. "Midas is dead. Ranjiri is grown and suffering from having witnessed it. Why sleep when I can work, and drown the screaming in my head?" It was said mechanically, stiff and emotionless. As if that could somehow dull the strike of pain inside his heart that came as he was dragged back from his distraction into the pits of his mind where everything was fire and loss. "This and my quest...it is all I have, the only distraction. I've lived too long with night terrors to seek them freely." Vacant eyes lifted to Megaera, face drawn and tired but determined, jaw set hard. "I can still work. I promise you I won't falter in my duties as your forger." Cera was aware their relationship was far more than Sultana and Forger, but he would not let her think he was incapable of fulfilling his obligations. He couldn't. This was all he had left.

Turning to Sheba to distract himself from that intimate confession that she'd undeniably been privy to, he forced a smile onto his weary features. "I'm afraid I don't know your name, miss. I'm Cera, the head Forger. What is your calling?" That, at least, could start a meet and greet that would take the spotlight away from himself.


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@Sheba and @Megaera
Please only tag starting posts, spars, and threads collecting dust!

Sheba Posts: 114
Outcast atk: 7 | def: 10 | dam: 3
Mare :: Unicorn :: 15 hh :: 13 :: Frostfall HP: 61 | Buff: NOVICE
Minou :: Ocelot :: Sing Shady
#5
If the crafter was exhausted, Sheba didn’t mind. Though she was no longer the great beauty she once had been, it gratified her to privately pretend that the prone young stallion was groveling at her hooves, paying her the respect she deserved. Enjoying the fantasy, she shot him a rare magnanimous smile before continuing to inspect his handiwork. Of course, from a practical standpoint, the old mare really did prefer her companion’s position on the sand. It made her feel less vulnerable, and as she listened to him describe the well’s purpose, his submissive posture encouraged her to relax considerably.

“Functionality over beauty,” he was explaining, chuckling a little at the well for a reason that she could not understand. Sheba tore her eyes away from the gold long enough to study him, watching his face as he described his creation. His manner was much more erudite than she would have imagined; most of the crafters whom she had met were gypsies given to fits of whimsy and impractical beauty. Well, she remembered, that was not entirely true. Dragomir had had something of the same air about him even when creating her baubles, approaching the task with a similar scientific precision to the young pegasus before her. Though she was not one given to scholarly discussion, the wizened mare could at least appreciate his intelligence. So many were vain, stupid little creatures only wrapped up in their own troubles, Sheba thought self-righteously. So, she nodded along in acknowledgement as he spoke, for though the design of the well held little interest for her, its creator did.

Therefore, when the second pegasus arrived, Sheba was rather annoyed at the shift in attention. She greeted her with a distant politeness, but took a step backwards into the shadow of the well, silently observing as the other two conversed. The pair clearly knew each other; that much was evident from the two seconds of banter…but then the conversation turned more serious, and decidedly more interesting. It seemed her soft-spoken engineer acquaintance had a dark side to him. It surprised Sheba that he would discuss his personal demons so freely with a stranger present, but his carelessness was to her advantage. Without calling attention to herself, the old gray mare merely stood and listened, storing away the information diligently, just in case it would prove useful later. Of course, she mused, perhaps the strategy to being so free with one’s secrets was just that—they weren’t secrets anymore out in the open, and admittedly, that took away from the impact of the whole thing. A risky concept, but a fascinating one nonetheless.

Finishing his response to the winged mare, the crafter turned to Sheba once more. As if nothing had happened, he introduced himself belatedly as Cera the forger and inquired after her own name and calling. Though she appreciated the inclusivity, Sheba had instinctively tensed in the time since Megaera had arrived, and the party before her would find her replies rather tight-lipped. “I am called Sheba,” she answered, tone carefully neutral. “As for what I do…nothing as productive as you, I’m afraid,” she continued, directing the last comment at Cera. “I was only recently brought here, in a rather…unexpected turn of events. Can you tell me what this place is?”

OOC: Yay for Shady changing perspectives mid-thread xD


@Megaera
Please tag Sheba in all posts!


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