you can't offer your poison to me
in your kingdom of filth
He does not trust this land.
To be fair, Wrath trusts nobody and nothing. Kratos is the only exception, and he guards the royal prince with his life. It is more than being duty or honor bound to the young warrior, for he has come to care for the proud and cunning soul beneath his tutelage. There are no gods that he will ever trust, and few mortals on his list. His band of brothers had been an intermediate, a halfway point of trust. You don't love in the Rift. You procreate perhaps only because you have a dormant hope that the next generation can free you of your bonds. Or in Kratos' case, and many like him, they are born purely to satisfy the ephemeral politics that make a mockery of themselves throughout the land. For there are no kings or queens in the Rift, only those who play at importance while ignoring how they are shackled to the celestial slave-drivers they pretend to worship.
There is no order, only organized chaos.
At last they have an opportunity, however. The chance to free their people, so long as they can discover the knowledge of this land. Find a way back to the Rift to share the wisdom, to bring the false gods down from their thrones to beg for mercy at the feet of those they oppressed. Wrath will not grant it to them. He will kill them without question, without doubt or hesitation. They took everything from him, and he still wears their curse upon his hide and inside his body. In all the eons they spent ruling the Rift, they never showed mercy or compassion. He would not allow any of the denizens to speak in their defense. They would be liberated, and Wrath would make sure of that.
Until then, they are left at the most profound disadvantage Wrath has ever found himself. Quite an accomplishment, all things considered. They are in a land they do not know, disoriented and lost, with no direction and no others but those who happen to come from the Rift as well. Wrath does not fool himself into believing that he and Kratos will find kinship in them. In the Rift you live for yourself, and bonds are few and precious in their evanescent nature. Just because they hail from the same place does not make them allies, and so he ushers Kratos away with a single-minded mission. Find someone willing to give them answers and direction, who would not be liable to try and attack them. Regroup. Cross the land with hopeful directions from whoever they find, and start building up a base of knowledge. Keep to the shadows, because this brightly lit world held too much fragile hope for someone as jaded as he.
Image Credit
Code: Time & Neo
| Absent Abyss atk: 5.5 | def: 9.0 | dam: 4.5 |
| Mare :: Equine :: 13.1 :: 6 :: Birdsong HP: 63 | Buff: NOVICE |
|
Sorcha :: Common Green Dragon :: Fire Breath
Laine |
  AISLING
my friend makes rings, she swirls and sings
she’s a mystic in the sense that she’s still mystified by things As a girl, Aisling had love to listen to tales of gods and heros. She must have known a hundred songs about ancient battles and duels fought for love. They had always sounded romantic to her, fantastic and thrilling like no other. She had sighed over the notion of courageous kings who fought for land or love, over knights who were brave enough to go and die for something bigger then themselves. Again and again she had wished, had dreamed, that her life could be like one of those stories or songs but something in her had begun to shift when Raven and Thunderhead had told her of the battle of the Bloodfalls. The tales she had loved had always begun with “Many ages ago…” or “In a far away land…” but when violence and bloodshed happened in the hear and now it was hard, even for a dreamer, to find the romance in it.
Again she had come to late. The little white mare stood in the shadows of the trees and stared out, wide-eyed, at the carnage the battle had left. The all of the bear god had been awful enough to hear of, but this was more horrible than she could have imagined. Broken black bodyparts for the felled wolf god lay everywhere and it seemed everywhere she looked, the survivors were smeared in blood and ash. Years from now, when she was much wiser, she would name this as the day she truly left childhood behind.
No fighter was she, but she had been determined to be helpful after her last meeting with members of the Whatch. Back in of the Isle of Éire, her mother had been a local healer and though Aisling was not fully trained, she had not grown up without learning the basics. If she could not fight for justice in the land she could help t care for those who would. In preparation, she had collected several familiar plants (yarrow root to stop bleeding, catnip for swelling, and the little purple flowers of Winter Savory to ward off infection) and tied them in little bunches in the ribbons at the end of her braided mane. She had come ready to heal but had found the scene just in time for the Goddess to make her obsolete.
With no need or wish to get any closer to the battlefield, the faerie picked her way through the surrounding maze of trees. She had spied the black and blue mare at the scene, and a few others from the Whatch but as they were surrounded by dozens of others it didn’t seem an appropriate place for a meeting of a secret society…
She spotted the steam first, rising in a eerie orange light that looked like the molten rock in the Heart Caves, and then the rest of the massive figure that went with it. She was sure he had to be one of the newcomers, they all seemed to have such strange features. Aisling decided, quite impulsively that finding out more about these foreigners would be cert contribution and so the little white mare approached the massive black stallion. It was not his size that caused her to approach cautiously, she was used to being small, but the shock of the battlefield had subdued her mindless optimism enough to favor rational thinking. She stopped several yards from the beast and peered up at him. "Have you just come through?” It was said as one might ask a friend it they were alright after some horrible ordeal, calmly and kindly. Even her horror at the realities of battle could not shake the kindness from her.
"."
[ooc// ]
[now come the days of the dreamer and they are filled with wonder and light ]
:: permission given for use of magic and force :: please tag Aisling in all posts ::
you can't offer your poison to me
in your kingdom of filth
They are not left alone for long. Wrath almost detests it, these smiling - what were their names? Hellvoonians? Fitting at least, only the insane could be so disgustingly kind - bobbleheads with their unfettered niceties. Their version of suffering is nothing in comparison to what he has faced, what he has worked so damn hard to keep Kratos from. They think that just because they are in Hellvoonia now, their scars will fade away? Wrath hates them, hates them for their kindly gods - are they even kindly? Kratos' suddenly missing wounds would have attested otherwise - and hates them even more for their optimistic outlooks. Do they not understand the horrors he has seen? How can they assume that he will acclimate to this foreign world?
Kratos, at least, has a chance. He is young and malleable, and though Wrath is rather young as well, he has seen far too much to ever consider his body to be an accurate judge of age. So long as Kratos could heal and move on, however, Wrath would allow their sickening positivity. No matter how he desired to grab them by the base of their manes and shake them about, scream profanities at them. YOU WILL NEVER UNDERSTAND WHAT I HAVE SEEN AND BEEN THROUGH. YOU WILL NEVER COMPREHEND MY SACRIFICES. Instead he prowl through the labyrinth, wary because he swears he can still see the shadows that had concealed he and Kratos no even a few hour earlier. He distrusted the goddess, did not think that the shadows would not return, the sickness and the rest of the Rift returned to overwhelm Helovia. Another conquered land, as he'd seen so many times.
He does not overlook her, he is not so full of folly to allow such a mishap to occur. He is a soldier, and though the physical battle is over, it's never truly done. Life itself is a battle, and he triumphs over it every day that he continues to breathe. Every moment is precious, and yet he can see them trickling carelessly by in the eyes of this land's inhabitants. They have no idea what it is they hold in their grasp, and he hates them for it.
She approaches cautiously, and he commends her for that, though he knows not that kindness is steering that decision in her head. Wrath turns his orange gaze upon her, craters hissing with magma, and awaits her vocals. They come softly, kindly, and he is so fucking sick of that damn word that he might choke on it if he ever tries to speak it. "Yes, he says tersely. "I am Wrath. What can you tell me about this land?" he is brutal and to the point, he is not there to entertain her he is there for information and only information. Herds, groups, directions. Anything that can help him keep Kratos alive in this new environment.
The land may be prettier and hailed as peaceful, but it would turn on them in time. It always did.
Image Credit
Code: Time & Neo
| Absent Abyss atk: 5.5 | def: 9.0 | dam: 4.5 |
| Mare :: Equine :: 13.1 :: 6 :: Birdsong HP: 63 | Buff: NOVICE |
|
Sorcha :: Common Green Dragon :: Fire Breath
Laine |
10-11-2015, 06:29 PM
(This post was last modified: 10-11-2015, 06:29 PM by Aisling.)
AISLING
my friend makes rings, she swirls and sings
she’s a mystic in the sense that she’s still mystified by things The little mare’s stormy eyes narrowed when she received a terse response. It was clear this beast would be no gentle giant, even the name he gave spoke to that, but considering that he was new to the land and wholly ignorant of his surroundings, she though he would want to show better manners. She watched him carefully for a moment to be sure he really was set on information and not on attacking. “I can tell you much and would be happy to help, that is if you’d tell me a bit of where you all have come from and what it is you’ll be wanting with this land now you’re in it.” Her little temper put bit of a haughty nip in her voice, though it steered clear of out-and-out rudeness and her lilting accent thickened. Though of home always made her feel more sure of herself, and the rebellious Éire in her blood came though in her voice when she needed to boost.
She waited a beat for some acknowledgment on his part before offering the lay of the land. “It’s Helovia you’ve come to, though this particular patch of jungle is a new addition from our Lady of the Moon. We’re on the far east edge now, and everything west of here is Helovia until you come to the sea.” She motioned westward with her muzzle to indicate the direction of the Endless blue and the ocean beyond it. “There are four herdlands, if that’s what you’ll be seeking: Aurora Basin in the northern mountains, Hidden Falls just north of here, Dragon’s Throat is the desert isle to the south and the World’s Edge is in the west. There are many that wander freely though and the lands that lie between the herds are neutral territories.”
That’s all he was getting, mostly because that’s most of what she knew. Aisling had traveled those neutral territories plenty but she’d had little dealings with the herds. “Now, what manner of place is it that you come from? Are these truly gods that have come for the with you? They don’t seem to match up to ours very well.” She hoped he would be forthcoming with such information, it would aid the Whatch to know exactly what they were dealing with. When she had met with Raven and Thunderhead, they had questioned whether the beasts slain had really deserved the fate they had met at the hands of Helovia’s guardians.
She moved a few steps, eyeing him and the younger stallion nearby, trying to weigh her words. Her was powerfully built, and seemed blunt and brutal in his manner, she did not doubt he could cause a fair bit of trouble if he wanted to. “If you or your fellows have minor hurts, I can help. If not, then Helovia is open to you…” Mustering up her courage she spoke again, gentle voice sharp in her seriousness. “Be careful though, if you wish this land or its inhabitants ill. Wherever you go, there will be watchers, overstep and justice will find you.”
"."
[now come the days of the dreamer and they are filled with wonder and light ]
:: permission given for use of magic and force :: please tag Aisling in all posts ::
you can't offer your poison to me
in your kingdom of filth
She is small but her eyes are fierce, and normally Wrath would appreciate that in a woman. Instead, he draws his frame taller, lips curling and showing flirting glimpses of his teeth. Not a threat, not yet. A warning. Watch your step, little one, you are too close to the edge. This may be her land, but she assumed of him patience and tolerance, assumed his background and his experiences. Pressed upon him her own ideals, her Hellvoonian themes that she'd grown into. "What I want of this land? I didn't even ask to be here!" he snapped, but his eyes were a little too white. Forgive me, Kratos. I've failed you yet again. It was not the young girl he was upset with, but himself, or perhaps this change, this world he was helpless in and against. How could he protect Kratos in a realm so bright, so alien? How could he adapt quickly enough?
As soon as she started sharing information, he settled, and the girl would surely notice. Hulking frame drew itself smaller, eyes attentive, ears cautiously pricked and mouth silent. He was not a threat, but a vicious predator cornered and frightened, swiping out at everything he had not already known as friend. He did not have the grace to take the time to determine who was neutral and who was foe, and even if he did, Wrath had never had that kind of opportunity in the Rift. He knew nothing else. Fight, fight until you die, don't give anyone the chance to stab you in the back. In some ways, Wrath was glad she was too vapid to see that, because she could not see his weakness. In others, he was pissed that she would dare act so pretentious and all-mighty when it was his world that had been flipped and cracked apart so violently.
Her own words came flooding out after a pause, demands coming forth - or at least that's how Wrath saw them. Harmless questions, really, since Wrath didn't give two fucks what happened with the lands of the Rift or the inhabitants. He fought for them metaphorically, fought for their freedom, but most of them he did not individually know or care for. "The Rift is a land of eternal sickness, death, torment, rape, war, and slavery. You fight every moment of every day, or you die. Quickly, if you are the few or the lucky. The Gods you saw? They are as weak and helpless as we, in this land. Of course they will fall to your own slave drivers," he snorted, remembering how Kratos had been thrown by the Goddess, his own dark distrust forever tainting the coal block of his heart.
"They are truly gods, in the Rift. They kill for sport and glory, they curse for fun and mischief. They torment, they torture, and they watch their worshipers try in vain to garner shallow favor before slaying them mercilessly when the fancy strikes." His deep vocals shook with ill-concealed rage, and his eyes could not stop restlessly shifting over the horizon, muscles locked and prepped for war. It would be months, minimum, to ever rid himself of such habits.
Everything was going well, or well in Wrath's opinion, until he saw her eyes turn to linger on Kratos. His ears immediately fell back, and he stepped purposefully into her line of sight. Was this some sort of trickery? There was no such thing as a nice or gentle soul, these Hellvoonians and their falsely kind deities would not fool him. He would protect Kratos, no matter what world they'd somehow ended up in. His teeth grit with the desire to spit venom as she warned him - fool girl, as if you could ever stop me - but his interest was nonetheless piqued. "Justice does not exist in the Rift," he grunted. "Or, perhaps in animal terms it does." Wrath had participated in that kind of judgment, the fierce, primordial laws of the world. You kill something of mine, so I kill something of yours. Or better yet, you.
"Who are these vigilantes? What role do you play in this...Hellvoonia?" Yeah, he was never going to get that right.
Image Credit
Code: Time & Neo
| Outcast atk: 3.5 | def: 9.5 | dam: 7 |
| Stallion :: Unicorn :: 17hh :: 6yrs HP: 64 | Buff: NOVICE |
| Dingo |
10-18-2015, 09:23 PM
(This post was last modified: 10-18-2015, 09:30 PM by Kratos.)
Revere a million prayers
And draw me into your holiness
But there's nothing there
Light only shines from those who share
When we had passed through that portal, there was a brief moment where I wondered if maybe, just maybe, we might find respite from the hellhole that was Estanzia. I would have done anything to make it true - if not for myself then for Jaeger - but it was just a colt's foolish dream.
This place was no better, it seemed, the seering throb in my side a constant reminder that the Gods were just as cruel here as they were back there.
The wolf God of the Rift might have been successfully slain, but was the battle truly a victory? The mauve Goddess, damn her, had survived to live another day, to kill and plunder the lives of those unfortunate enough to cross her path. Squandered had been any hopes I'd held for this place, but then I had witnessed the most peculiar of things. So many had turned against the Goddess rather than the wolf of the Rift, though they had surely been punished in ways I didn't wish to know of.
Under Jaeger's direction, we'd withdrawn from the scene of the battle. Though my side ached an incredible deal, it was my pride which hurt the most. Like a pawn I'd been thrown haphazardously aside by the Goddess; beneath my skin, my blood boiled with unrelenting anger. I wished to do something, anything to show the so-called deity that she'd made a mistake, but I was nothing more than a feeble, helpless mortal, powerless to do anything about it.
I'd skulked away from Jaeger's protective eye, promising I wouldn't wander too far and that I'd remain vigilant in this foreign place. I came to rest before a small pool of crystal-clear water, peering within it to find a perfect reflection staring back at me. The hope and wonderment that had once shined so brightly within the azure pools of my eyes had long since been extinguished, replaced with something far colder, guarded, resentful.
A scowl marred my face, and hastily I lowered my head to drink, sending ripples across the surface to destroy the mirror-like effect it held.
Before long, another's voice could be heard coming from where I'd left Jaeger. A female, one I didn't readily recognize for obvious reasons. There was a deep murmur of a voice that followed it, surely Jaeger's own, but what they were speaking of I couldn't make out from where I was.
Jaeger was powerful, much more so than I could ever hope to be, but I couldn't bare to stand idly by while he was approached by a stranger. We couldn't trust anyone, only each other.
Abandoning the pool, I turned and headed back to the source of the voices, and what I found took me by surprise. The lady was a little one, standing at the height I'd been at only a year or so old. It was almost laughable, but my expression remained stoic, unmoving as I looked the pale one over. Jaeger had stepped into her line of sight as I approached, the action both welcomed and unwanted.
Moving to stand at the goliath's side, my eyes remained condescendingly upon the mare. I'd heard little of their conversation, but I had caught the tidbit about helping with minor ailments. My interest was piqued at once, but for now, I remained silent and allowed Jaeger to do the speaking.
Could the pale one truly be trusted?
"Talking talk here."
| Absent Abyss atk: 5.5 | def: 9.0 | dam: 4.5 |
| Mare :: Equine :: 13.1 :: 6 :: Birdsong HP: 63 | Buff: NOVICE |
|
Sorcha :: Common Green Dragon :: Fire Breath
Laine |
AISLING
my friend makes rings, she swirls and sings
she’s a mystic in the sense that she’s still mystified by things Aisling watched the volcanic behemoth with a strange curiosity. He frightened her, so obvious was his physical strength, but still she wanted to linger, to ask him more questions about what he was feeling and why. The Sun God had told her to study emotion and she had taken to that task valiantly. And here was a subject who could perhaps teach her so much more. The emotions he displayed were so foreign to her good-natured, happy heart. This was more than anger (a child could be angry at his parents enforcing bedtime) this was rage. She’d heard about it in stories, heard others speak of it, but to her recollection she had never truly encountered it. What a sheltered life she had lived…
She kept here eyes on the black one while he spoke of the land he had come from. The description was brief but it made her shudder all the same. All the horrible evil things he spoke of that she could barely imagine, Aisling wondered how he dd not weep to remember. But there were no tears upon his face and what shook his voice was that anger that seemed to emanate from him like the steam that rose off the fissures in his back.
Even as she feared him, she pitted him. It must hurt so very much, having all of that anger inside of you… He had seemed to react badly, almost mistrustful, when she had tried to approach with the kindness that was so natural and necessary to her, so she tried not to let too much of her sorrow for his past show. Still, her ears fell back in an unhappy gesture. “Helovia is not perfect, but I hope you’ll find it better than where you’ve come from. I’m afraid you saw the worst in the Goddess, but her brothers are not so dark and angry as she. I don’t know much of the Lord of the Spark yet, but the God of the Earth is kind and gentle. The Sun, well he is proud and prickly but not malicious.” Perhaps he’d scoff, he didn’t seem to much enthused about the prospect of the Helovian deities. “We don’t see them often, in truth, but they gan be generous if they’ve a mind to be.”
The stud’s last questions had her pausing. The faerie was not sure how much she should say about the Whatch, if she had not said too much already. She frowned up at the angry one, but before she could decide how much to divulge, the one she’d seen in midnight blue stepped up to join them. The movement of the black seemed protective, and that did some to ease her mind on him somehow. Aisling gave a small smile to the young stallion—he seems angry too, but maybe a little less wind and dangerous. “Hello. You have got quite a burn on that shoulder there. I could help a bit if you’d allow it.” She bent her neck tug the braid across her shoulder forward so the little bundles tied into the ribbons would be more visible. “I’ve a few herbs that would suite for a bit of a salve. It wouldn’t be a magic fix, but it would help the healing along.”
Excited about the prospect of being helpful, the little mare didn’t quite wait for an affirmative before she dashed a bit away to collect a fee more bits and bobs. She nearly skipped back with a mouthful of broad leaves in her mouth and set them on the ground and got to work. Little grey hooves muddied themselves as she dug up a small patch of damp earth. once she’d cleared a tiny patch of mud of grass and debris, she tugged a few of the little purple blossoms and sweet-smelling leaves from her bundles and crushed them into the cool mud.
All the while she was working, she spoke in a gentle fashion, like her mother—a great healer— always adopted when telling a story to distract the patient from their pain. “There is a group that stays to the shadows, called the Whatch. Its members span the four corners of Helovia, every land, every herd, and create the Sky that leads us, the Ground that supports us, and both Fire and Ice to each side.” Every so often she glanced up at one or both and then back to her meticulous work. “We stand vigil. Right the wrongs that we can and offer help to those in need. We pay homage to none, and play no part in politics, we are not sell-swords. We will stand for justice if no one else will; maintain order and return the natural rights of the living where they have been taken.”
Finished with her task, she nodded at the little brown, purple flecked patch of earth and looked to the young stallion. “You’ve a princely look about you and may not think the mud dignified, but it will be cool and keep out what would make your wounds worse, The Winter Savory will help keep infection away and the catnip will subdue swelling…. May I?”
"."
[now come the days of the dreamer and they are filled with wonder and light ]
:: permission given for use of magic and force :: please tag Aisling in all posts ::
|
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