the Rift


[OPEN] the Blame Game

Rikyn the Puppeteer Posts: 549
Aurora Basin Lord atk: 7.5 | def: 11.5 | dam: 4.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16.3 :: 4 HP: 70 | Buff: SWIFT
Duir :: Royal Cerndyr :: Earth Spirit Bunnie
#1
What if this whole crusade's a charade
And behind it all there's a price to be paid


This place.
 
It makes me think of Aithniel, and probably always will, unless of course I’m thinking of the Sun, her father, and all those long battles and struggles that were born from the claiming of the wild lands of the Rift.
 
Oh, Gods, mother’s face when I told her, this being the first positive remembrance of the treacherous bitch I’ve had in weeks.  It draws a sneer to my lips even now that, as distraught as I had been, as worried for myself and our bond as I had been that Aithniel was half God, my mother had nearly died at the notion.  
 
I halfway hope she had, in recollection.  At the time, I had laughed, in good mood as we walked to the place that had held me together when she had left the first time.
 
Dragging behind me, my tail is heavy and sodden, but the ripple effect of the earth ahead that mirrors the sky and some unseen rainbow shimmer across everything in the world holds my focus, so I do not look behind me to see the strange elongated V of rippling wonders that spreads out behind the half moon divots in the moony sand.  I do notice that my heart still feels way too heavy in my chest, and that I rather wish I hadn’t come to this stolen beach the longer that I’m here.  My thoughts, which have been dark since my return to Helovia, are no less bleak, moving away from the dagger that is golden and comforting to focus instead on other lesser (but no less potent) pains.
 
'…then you are no family of mine – I am just a possession.'
 
Where in the hell she got that notion I don’t know.  It makes me wonder for the hundredth time what sort of crap the bird horses have funneled into her head, if they have told her the same bloody war tales of our people as my mother warned I would hear; it certainly sounds like the rhetoric, that we, the unicorns, are not the just and rightful ones at all, but murderers, slavers, those who seek to own to the world, rather than simply reclaim it, to return it to a just order.
 
I didn’t want to… I don’t… want to own Aithniel.  I want to save her, and I can’t if they blind her (though who they are I don’t really know) with their hopeless clinging to the present.  How could I bare for her to choose a world such as this, one of suffering, and pain, over the utopia promised in the waters of the Nightwalk?  
 
I can’t.  And so I walked away from her that long afternoon, and I let the rift between us grow, until now I’m sure it is a chasm further elongated by flippant female hormones.  I let the rift grow because I fear she is beyond saving, and I fear what that means; I let that dark thought fuel the fire that rises in my belly when I ignore the black truth for my carefully woven lies.
 
If she hates me, she will avoid me.  It’s better that way.
 
She left us, she left me.  It’s her fault, her fault, her fault…

For the blood on which we dine
Justified in the name of the Holy and the Divine.



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Force/violence is allowed to be used on Rikyn permitted it does not permanently maim or kill him (PM me!).

Sikeax the Sea Soul Posts: 355
Outcast atk: 4 | def: 9 | dam: 6
Mare :: Hybrid :: 16 hh :: 5 years HP: 64.5 | Buff: NOVICE
Hobgoblin :: Common Rougarou :: Water & Seoul :: Plain White Dragon :: Toxic Breath Zuno
#2
Sikeax,
Just a little bit further.
“Place bad. Place painful. Should leave.”
It’ll be fine.

A short, slithering hiss follows short, a constant reminder of the traumatic memories of this barren and seemingly-empty place. It even appeared to be worse than the Throat when Frostfall hit. Nothing grew or choose to live within its belly, and out of the need to know what might have the guts to live in it, Sikeax had drug them both out into the abyss.
Or maybe it was a search for the sea, a lust that tainted itself with greed to find the end of all of this and make it her own, something no one could possibly invade and take from her.
But with the shadows of the night making threats in the softest whispers, spreading outwards an array of colours, all of which hold their star-studded hands out to the pale beauty of an afternoon sky, begging for it to ascend behind horizon lines that fade to mountains and oceans, there is the gentle worry that comes with every mother.
She hopes that Zhu is fine, tucked beneath the caring wings of Amara and watched over by the sharp eyes of Sameira, shielded from the dangers of the world, just for tonight.
I think…
One more check, turning a crowned skull back towards the way they had come to see how much they had come and how much time they had left, ...that we should head back home.
“Good. Good. Hurry. Place bad. Place hurt again.”

She isn’t quite sure as of how to tell him that the land itself will not release flames upon them once more, that the attack had come from something in the night that she couldn’t see even with having a lantern growing out of her head, a thing that melted back into the darkness like that was where it always belonged. If she had even gone ahead with the audacity to lie to him and say that the fire erupted from supernatural forces, the lie might of fallen flat.
Fear hangs over her heart like a thick storm cloud. It drips the occasional raindrop of worry, just to remind her that Hobgoblin would waste no time in striking back at her for taking him as such a fool.
If you’re in that much of a hurry, then go ahead. You don’t have to have me carry you around all the time. You can fly again.
Claws roll into her skin before sweeping back out, merely grazing the surface as if their stimulation was meant to reflect the movement of an ocean’s wave. A huff that sounds more like a sigh bursts from a black chest.
Or are you going to be lazy?
A inner tidal wave strikes her, snorting as the feeling of his body changing brings her some sort of shared discomfort, watching as a blur of silver leaps over her head and throws itself into the open air. For only a few brief moments does he hover, flapping torn and charred wings with ferocity to uphold his body, barbed tail hanging limply beneath him.
“Am not lazy. Sia lazy. Sia sleep all day and do nothing but lay in the Sun. We go now.”
The escape alone is quick, chasing blindly as laughter haunts her brain, taunting her because her legs are sore and weak, broken down and worn by the work of the day, screaming out for a break.
In the end, it comes down to the pitiful last minute screams of a bird, watching as the poor creature is led into the afterlife by the jaws of Hobgoblin, pinned to the ground in forced submission. She can’t bring herself to watch, instead staring off into the distance, caught up in the gradual movement of a body in the distance.
Do you think it’s someone else?
“Moving rock. Sia stupid.”
Rocks don’t move.
“Still moving rock.”

Instinct tells her no, almost every past experience tells her no, especially the haunting scar now tattooed to her neck, but with the pace and direction of its movement, she comes to worry that it will indeed come to reach them with time. “We should leave.”
But he will not budge for her, littering the earth with feathers and painting his jaws with blood as he takes his sweet time with such a precious gift. Time inches by, bringing in the beast, drawing out lines and colours until she is assured that the once ‘rock’ is another of her species, driven out into the depths of a living hell.
Deja vu slides over her tongue like the cold, harsh taste of metal, staring longer and longer til she becomes sure that this is a person she once knew, forgotten with the age of time.
It’s the gold that gives them away, rapidly blinking blue eyes to calm the feeling that it’s nothing more than a mirage.
“Rikyn?” Hobgoblin’s head rises to see now, decorated with the shorter feathers of his meal. “Is that you?”
She should know by now that it’s best never to hope on strangers, even the ones that seem familiar.

OOC: I couldn't resist. Hope you don't mind <3
Hobgoblin is a silver Wyvern(a bi-legged dragon in a sense) with red eyes in this post. About 3.5 ft head to tip of the barbed tail and the wings are tattered with holes and big gaps along the edges. Looks pretty much like a Skyrim Frost Dragon if that makes sense.  


talk
credits


@Rikyn


you were angels,
so much more than everything

:: please tag me
:: minor force and power play allowed


Rikyn the Puppeteer Posts: 549
Aurora Basin Lord atk: 7.5 | def: 11.5 | dam: 4.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16.3 :: 4 HP: 70 | Buff: SWIFT
Duir :: Royal Cerndyr :: Earth Spirit Bunnie
#3
What if this whole crusade's a charade
And behind it all there's a price to be paid

I see her in the distance, her perfume indicative of her gender and also of the notion that I might know her, rousing images of pink petals drifting lazily though blue skies and the ripple rustle of silks in the breeze. Such images are memories of my childhood, sweet and shining, and it is strange to feel in the midst of my dark thoughts – though fitting, perhaps, that the land of the Sun should bring me warm things.

So it is with delight that I come close enough to discern among the ever changing sea of sand and water a woman I know, my smile youthful and handsome in the way her stare is blinking and unbelieving.

She is older, of course, but I remember her as a child, a tower as all adults were, and if there had been age on her face then, I wouldn’t know it, and couldn’t compare her to then as a consequence (and she obviously is not gray, sway backed, obviously deteriorated since we last met). Rather, she is quite exactly the same as I remember her – albeit surrounded with an air that feels more tired, stretched thin.

I discard concern, a fleeting thought, instead taking time to wonder “what sort of griffon is that?” and to take in the song of my voice slipping from her lips.

"Sia," I answer, the once small chirp of a colt (that had sang with her, songs old and new) aged into a fine vintage, rich and full of notes and flavors, my smile welcoming and one which, hopefully, chases away whatever lingers in her thoughts that makes her remain so reserved.

"I’m much taller now, as you can see," the chuckle breaks delightful, a rogue’s grin slipping across dark lips as a hind leg tucks leisurely to allow the golden tip of my hoof to penetrate the soft soup that covers this effervescent realm, "though I must say you have changed very little. Who is your companion?"

My gaze makes its way to the silvery beast a fleeting second before returning to Sikeax. I have little care for the feelings of bonded. They are not unicorn, and voiceless – it seems only natural to treat them as one treats any pet, and to speak of them as they are not there. I’ve never had much trouble from any of them but for dragons… and that seems to be a direct correlation with the keeper of the lizard, rather than the lizard itself.

"I admit I’ve never seen a two legged dragon before."


[ OOC: Yaaay Sia time! ]
For the blood on which we dine
Justified in the name of the Holy and the Divine.


Wishlist - Plots

Force/violence is allowed to be used on Rikyn permitted it does not permanently maim or kill him (PM me!).

Sikeax the Sea Soul Posts: 355
Outcast atk: 4 | def: 9 | dam: 6
Mare :: Hybrid :: 16 hh :: 5 years HP: 64.5 | Buff: NOVICE
Hobgoblin :: Common Rougarou :: Water & Seoul :: Plain White Dragon :: Toxic Breath Zuno
#4
Sikeax,
For a moment, the world goes back in time, letting Sikeax remember the sweet smells of cherry blossoms, the pink petals that always seemed to be in abundance when the wind blew with just enough force, a glowing but slowly dying crown of flowers that she had made from the flowers in the Heart caves. Rikyn, who she had tried to call Ry and had been corrected to Ryn, is still a small, frail boy when she is trying to find herself a woman when she is still a child, struggling with the mess of feelings, guilt, and regret that came from things she couldn’t remember, and still can’t remember.
But those things have left her mind now, no longer an issue she has to face. Altogether at once, her mentality decided it couldn’t take it anymore, and simply decided to give up.
His childhood voice hangs in her ears like a song she’ll never forget. How he sang so well, how they danced and sang together, forming a friendship that she came to cherish even if their meetings were few and short-lived.
When he says her name, it’s as if it is made of honey, filling her with a happiness she’s long forgotten to treasure every second of. It’d been so long since she had an actual friend who didn’t feel as if she was permanently walking on eggshells with, holding hands in a way that doesn’t feel comfortable and more awkward than anything else.
She can’t help but smile, even girlishly giggle at him. He makes the world feel as if it still hangs in the air and holds not a single worry.
“Ryn,” She almost toys with his name on her lips when she speaks it, trying to bring about a playful tone of voice. “I honestly expected you to be a small boy, but I guess two long winters have a way of changing things. You’ve grown so much.”
Now does she take the time to truly admire his aging, which has come to him apparently very well, with fine-toned muscles and a handsome coat that has long replaced his soft and sweet baby coat from years before.
Hobgoblin’s red eyes stare at them like they are strangers. Sikeax does not act this way, as far as he is concerned. Sikeax does not act as if she is a giggly child, enjoying things. Eyes narrow as it carries on.
“Time has been kind for the most part. Possibly not as kind as it has been to you, but kind.”
Feathers erupt from her brother’s mouth as he burps, taking the now mangled corpse of the bird and slinging it around, releasing more feathers into the vicinity. Sikeax frowns and he can feel her embarrassment, but it only furthers his actions. He wants to make sure he makes her as uncomfortable as possible, as much as he can make the situation become that without causing a scene.
“He’s….” Teeth flash, blood-painted, holding black feathers in between them. Behind him, his barbed tail swishes, much as a cat does. Her face is dwindling down to the point where he wants it to be, looking for the cringe or slash of embarrassment that’s soon to come. “not a dragon. Honestly, I don’t know what he is.”
Eyebrows knot, crinkling his silver-scaled skin into wrinkles as the horns above them slide into the valleys they form.
“Dragon? I Dragon? How Hobgoblin weakling?”
You look like one, when you’re like, well, that.
“Hobgoblin above dragons. Above all dragons. Dragons weak. Dragons useless. Dragons stupid. Hold no power need. Dragons BELOW me.”

She wants to cringe now, watching as his body ripples and violently hits her with a wave of water that slips over her skin, most uncomfortably. From a previous form rises a black cat, tail thrashing hatefully.
“No longer Dragon. No longer weakling.”
His body leaps from her back, slashing at her with claws extended, gripping as he scrambles to sit atop his throne, watching the man that she seems so caught up with with yellow eyes full of hate because how dare he be called such an inferior thing when he is everything they dream of being.
“But, his name is Hobgoblin. And maybe out of curiosity does she check for a companion lingering about Rikyn’s side. “Have you yet to bond?”
And while it doesn’t matter if he has or not, she wants to know everything that has happened to him during the time that they have been apart.

OOC: Casually replies five million years later c''':
Hobgoblin turns to a Black Serval when mentioned.

talk
credits


@Rikyn


you were angels,
so much more than everything

:: please tag me
:: minor force and power play allowed


Rikyn the Puppeteer Posts: 549
Aurora Basin Lord atk: 7.5 | def: 11.5 | dam: 4.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16.3 :: 4 HP: 70 | Buff: SWIFT
Duir :: Royal Cerndyr :: Earth Spirit Bunnie
#5


What if this whole crusade's a charade
And behind it all there's a price to be paid


“I honestly expected you to be a small boy,” she says, and I feel a grimace mark my mouth at first – what did she expect, after two years?  I was only meant to be small and squeaky so long, after all, as was everyone.  But, she looks me over with something that I take to be approval, and within moments the initial discomfort at being compared to the child I was fades away into the man that I am presently – the sort who drinks in attention and is eager to reciprocate, especially in the case of old female friends.

I smile at her complement, enjoying that she thinks time has been good to me.  It hasn’t – at least beyond the gracious gifts of my handsome exterior, if you ask me - but that’s beside the point.  

"It’s remarkable, considering this lands penchant for seasonal disasters," I laugh, mostly because it seems to be true – I’ve only lived two years, and have already seen more than twice that number of disastrous occurrences.  Most of them, almost ironically, had been caused by the Gods themselves, the beings who were meant to protect us and their realms from such happenstances (unless I had mistook what a God was for). 

What she says next almost escapes me – for her creature belches forth a flurry of glossy feathers, tossing his murdered bird about for good measure.  Whatever embarrassment Sia feels, I miss; it is mostly because a chunk of bird flesh has landed smack against my chest, a couple of feathers still protruding from mangled, dimpled skin.  As when Volterra’s stupid ice lizard decided it was necessary to drop dead things on me, my reaction is less than kindly, or forgiving.  That she seems apologetic for him means very little in the wake of his uncouth rudeness, and rather than yelling at my friend, as I had the mostly strange hornless beast I’d met in the dark wood, I turn instead upon her insidious little heathen.

My tail curls behind me contemptuously as I take a step closer to the hideous two legged not-a-dragon from hell, my head lowered and ears pinned.  It is a motion which is aggravated only further when the horrid little thing splashes at Sia, and she does nothing.  The two paces of my hooves against the shallow and colorful water beneath me are savage, my golden eyes growing thinner with each approach…

And I’m stopped by the strange change which takes the devilish fiend she calls Hobgoblin – like a spill of black blood it morphs and wobbles in a flashing second, changing from wyvern to cat in the blink of an eye.  Arching in disconcertment as much as loathing at this point (I don’t like this changing beast at all, and would rather like to smash it if he wasn’t bonded to Sikeax), my neck pulls my hostile features up, hooves halting immediately beneath me, so that I am left glaring at the monster that besieges her back.

All the while she still does nothing to stop him, and instead she asks me questions as if he’s simply playing with her hair.  I find that my words have nothing to do with her inquiry at all when I find them, my voice suddenly much more harsh than it had been when we’d first initiated conversation while Hobgoblin dined.

"Why do you let him treat you that way?" I ask in return, not caring for pleasantries in the face of this cretin of a creature, "I’d smash his little morphic ass into the sand were he mine, bond be damned.  No animal deemed by the Gods as suitable for servitude should treat you as such."

I halfway hope the little shit tries to come at me like he does her – my mind gathers itself, focus collecting until I feel the hum and crackle of my magic in the base of my brain.

If he tries to strike me, I’ll slam his face into the ground with his own muscular responses – no matter what form he takes, I dare him.


[ OOC: Casually replies immediately. ;D ]
For the blood on which we dine
Justified in the name of the Holy and the Divine.



Wishlist - Plots

Force/violence is allowed to be used on Rikyn permitted it does not permanently maim or kill him (PM me!).


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