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10-18-2015, 06:33 AM
i am the vanguard of your destruction
[ Look at me killing two birds with one stone! ;D Welcome to the family, Ehrendi and Skitty! ^^ ]
Home. What was home even? A place? A feeling? Belonging?
But Mauja wasn't sure he belonged—he wasn't sure he had ever belonged. Maybe, he belonged to the land, to the towering evergreens and the thick fog, and the cries of sea gulls and the crash of waves against tall, white cliffs, but to—with—the herd..? There had always been a distance in his heart, a wall just behind his eyes, a fear of attachment, and that was why he had been above and beyond, aloof and detached. A guide, a leadstar, the first to rise and the last to fall—there, but not quite there either. A haunting presence. A shield. A bulwark.
He sighed softly as he trekked across the face of Helovia, leading Calista steadily west in easy silence. He didn't belong now, either—in a sense, half the herd wasn't his. He ruled with a man he knew nothing about, a man that intrigued him when near, a man he loathed when not near. Mauja closed his eyes for a step. He didn't belong, because he didn't know who he was—couldn't belong, until he knew.
So until then, he merely existed, going through the motions and waiting for divine inspiration to strike him like lightning, or some such shit.
He had to make his own purpose, but he was at a loss for ideas. Nothing sparked a connection in his heart, nothing made him feel alive, and deep in his mind the two voices warred: one that growled you have no right, and one that whispered do whatever the fuck you want. Trapped in the balance between them Mauja amounted to precisely nothing.
He barely noticed crossing the line into his own home. It was only after a few steps, when Irma launched herself from his back and leaving only Diego to ride his shoulder, that he came to from his rather depressing musings, and came to a halt. His large, white head turned to watch Calista. "This is it," he told her, voice soft, forming white clouds joining the thin mist. Up ahead, it grew thicker. "The World's Edge. Come on," and he was off again, slipping deeper, tracking a pair of scents that had passed here recently. One made his heart beat with apprehension, one with curiosity.
Ophelia had brought a stranger home.
Ophelia, the pristine, forsaken creature who had in equal parts crushed him and made him soar—Ophelia, whom he had hurt deeply, and finally lost to someone strong enough to love her.
Ophelia, whom he did not know what to feel for. What to do with. Memory, habit, stupid, clinging hope had his heart skipping a beat each time he caught her scent, or sight of her, and in its wake came resentment, uncertainty, the echo of Roskuld's voice seeping through his veins, and a deep, profound desire to be able to let go.
But Mauja had never been able to let go of anything, so the wreckage of their ship dragged him down into the depths to drown him.
Finally, he caught sight of them. One the pale of midwinter snow, the other—well, there was no easy way to describe him. Tall and well-built Mauja's first impression of the stranger was handsome. Tan, with darker stripes like Maren, a white splotch breaking it up. Two horns, some kind of blue high-light that reminded Mauja of those who had come from the Rift.
Definitely handsome.
"Ophelia," he called lightly—with the fog around them distance was never as far as it seemed, and he strode out of it with the black-and-white mare in tow. "Stranger." It was gently said to Morenth, and a nod and a small smile offered to him. "I am Mauja. This—" He motioned to the slim mare accompanying him. "—is Calista."
[ @Calista @Ophelia @Morenth ]
Home. What was home even? A place? A feeling? Belonging?
But Mauja wasn't sure he belonged—he wasn't sure he had ever belonged. Maybe, he belonged to the land, to the towering evergreens and the thick fog, and the cries of sea gulls and the crash of waves against tall, white cliffs, but to—with—the herd..? There had always been a distance in his heart, a wall just behind his eyes, a fear of attachment, and that was why he had been above and beyond, aloof and detached. A guide, a leadstar, the first to rise and the last to fall—there, but not quite there either. A haunting presence. A shield. A bulwark.
He sighed softly as he trekked across the face of Helovia, leading Calista steadily west in easy silence. He didn't belong now, either—in a sense, half the herd wasn't his. He ruled with a man he knew nothing about, a man that intrigued him when near, a man he loathed when not near. Mauja closed his eyes for a step. He didn't belong, because he didn't know who he was—couldn't belong, until he knew.
So until then, he merely existed, going through the motions and waiting for divine inspiration to strike him like lightning, or some such shit.
He had to make his own purpose, but he was at a loss for ideas. Nothing sparked a connection in his heart, nothing made him feel alive, and deep in his mind the two voices warred: one that growled you have no right, and one that whispered do whatever the fuck you want. Trapped in the balance between them Mauja amounted to precisely nothing.
He barely noticed crossing the line into his own home. It was only after a few steps, when Irma launched herself from his back and leaving only Diego to ride his shoulder, that he came to from his rather depressing musings, and came to a halt. His large, white head turned to watch Calista. "This is it," he told her, voice soft, forming white clouds joining the thin mist. Up ahead, it grew thicker. "The World's Edge. Come on," and he was off again, slipping deeper, tracking a pair of scents that had passed here recently. One made his heart beat with apprehension, one with curiosity.
Ophelia had brought a stranger home.
Ophelia, the pristine, forsaken creature who had in equal parts crushed him and made him soar—Ophelia, whom he had hurt deeply, and finally lost to someone strong enough to love her.
Ophelia, whom he did not know what to feel for. What to do with. Memory, habit, stupid, clinging hope had his heart skipping a beat each time he caught her scent, or sight of her, and in its wake came resentment, uncertainty, the echo of Roskuld's voice seeping through his veins, and a deep, profound desire to be able to let go.
But Mauja had never been able to let go of anything, so the wreckage of their ship dragged him down into the depths to drown him.
Finally, he caught sight of them. One the pale of midwinter snow, the other—well, there was no easy way to describe him. Tall and well-built Mauja's first impression of the stranger was handsome. Tan, with darker stripes like Maren, a white splotch breaking it up. Two horns, some kind of blue high-light that reminded Mauja of those who had come from the Rift.
Definitely handsome.
"Ophelia," he called lightly—with the fog around them distance was never as far as it seemed, and he strode out of it with the black-and-white mare in tow. "Stranger." It was gently said to Morenth, and a nod and a small smile offered to him. "I am Mauja. This—" He motioned to the slim mare accompanying him. "—is Calista."
[ @Calista @Ophelia @Morenth ]
