the Rift


[OPEN] .. och jag såg dig springa över skaren
Ascended Helovian

Mauja the Frozen Light Posts: 1,392
Outcast atk: 6.5 | def: 10.5 | dam: 7.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 17.2 :: 14 HP: 79.5 | Buff: HUNTER
Irma :: Snowy Owl :: Terrorize & Diego :: Eurasian Eagle-Owl :: Rage Neo
#1
but somewhere here in between the city walls of dyin' dreams
(I'm hunting for stars—)

If they could fall, from their places in the vast, dark sky, and land like silver and dust here upon the snowy steppe; if they could melt, those cold and distant lights, and trickle down to grace this world with more than their frigid judgment. And, what would they be able to tell? What secrets would they spill? They had seen much, those stars, witnessed everything; death and ruin, love and life. They had seen the glorious rise of kings and queens, the brutal apex of the reign of tyrants, and they had seen a thousand kingdoms laid to rest.

They had seen every child born, grow old, wither and die. They had seen not only those who had burned the brightest, but all that had fallen into their shadow, no matter how brief their lives.

If any were wise, it would be the stars, but he knew they cared little for the distant lives of Helovian mortals—or any mortals, for that matter. They had not cared for the lives of Frerinn mortals, nor of the Magnar, or any other that Mauja had ever heard of. They simply watched, and waited, and blinked and glittered, remote and beautiful. It was the same lethal sharpness which lurked in the eyes of the Moon, in the razor edges of Maren's mystical gaze. They not merely saw—they judged.

He didn't want to think of the Moon, nor of Maren. He didn't want to think of anyone with the sharp smile of a knife, and the cruel keenness of a predator. (He didn't want to think of bad choices, blue influence, and the question of whether or not his mistakes would lead him to yet again be an unintended, unwilling father.)

So he was out in the north, hunting for stars, eyes glued to the dark vault up ahead as he danced through the thin layer of snow—there was a grace to it, an easy joy of sorts, a little leap each time one fell. He joined it in its brief flight, crashed down as it faded into oblivion, and each time his heart ached just a little more. What awaited it, there in the darkness? (What awaited him, at the end of his brief life?) Would another one take its place? (Would he ever see d'Artagnan and Kahlua again?) Or would they go out, one by one, until the night sky was completely dark, bereft of all light but the moon's? (Would the earth one day become black and barren too, all once living things dead?)

You were born with hope, a fluttering flame in your chest, a tingle in your nerves, a light in your eyes—and you chased that butterfly, dreamed and hunted and ran, and in the end, what would it amount to? When you were dust and bones, did it matter how you had lived?

Yes, he thought, tentatively, all four hooves leaving the starlit ground as yet another streak of light fell among its kin. Yes, it matters, because it was my life.

He couldn't trust that he would get another. And he couldn't find the words to put on it, but—if he would die anyway, he had two choices. Either he would burst his heart here and now and go to his unchangeable, final doom, or he would live while it lasted. Why waste your life on listless apathy when you would die regardless of what you did?

And still, it was tinged with sadness, a crystalline sorrow that it would have to end (—regret, that he had made it end for others). "I'm sorry," he whispered to the first appearing streaks of red and green, shimmying in the glory of its light. "If I could go back, and change it, I would—if I could somehow make it right, I would." But in the face of death, they were all equally helpless. There was no going back, and if he did, he would not be who he was today, and it would be the first few pebbles of a landslide, and the world would be irrevocably different.

Things turned out the way they did for a reason. You could be wiser after the fact, but at the time you made your decision, what other one could you have made? You did not know then what you knew once you had seen its consequences.

He had been cruel, then, and selfish. He had drowned his guilt and shame and sorrow in blood.

Mauja's dance grew somber, then faint, and then it ceased altogether. The northern lights were vibrant, untamed and beautiful; the stars still glittered behind the flame-like light, smugly knowing that once the show ended they would remain. Red chased its way along the lines of his face, courted his moon-shadow, fell upon the snow like a haunting memory of all the blood he had spilled—gleamed in the cold metal of a sentinel, placed there so long ago. Once, it had greeted him as kin, allowed him to pass unchallenged into the northern realm. Now .. now, things were different, its face foreboding, and cold, so cold.

And he wept, again, stars glistening in his tears, for buried in the snow here laid so much grief, so many mistakes and words left unsaid. Slowly, he turned to look behind him, at the vast, empty world. There was no one there to see him standing beneath that silent guard, no one to see him drawing nearer, ears flickering uncertainly as his to the mountains once familiar voice breathed into the cold, quiet air: "Lena?"

But there was no way she would hear him, and he dared not shout.

[ He's still outside the borders. Open to anyone. :) ]
Mauja
the white queen
image credits
angels, they fell first, but I'm still here

Lena the Songbird Posts: 663
Aurora Basin Time Mender atk: 4 | def: 10.5 | dam: 6.5
Mare :: Unicorn :: 15.3 :: 6 HP: 69 | Buff: NOVICE
Imogen :: Common Kitsune :: Fire Heather
#2
L E N A
Tomorrow will be kinder



The winds whispered, and she didn’t sing back. Instead of marching to their stark, Orangemoon tune, she delved deeper and deeper into the abyss, listless and languid, with no real purpose, with no real design. She morphed from butterflies and swallows to just another being on the horizon, tired and worn. No matter the diversion, she seemed to fall into the same routine – because each thought was heavy, every sentiment was overwhelming, and she’d hang her head against the midnight sky and the bright veils, hoping to find something in the roots, in the snow, in the rime, to tell her where to go next.
 
The Songbird had sought many things in her life, had melded and molded determination through her mind, through her heart, conjured love out of nothingness and cast it to every corner of her wanderings – and somehow, it was never returned to her in quite the same way. Her smiles would lift and her grins would cascade and her merry, bright, beautiful sentiments would scatter amongst the world – and they’d be taken with aplomb, with virtue, with something akin to camaraderie and kindness. Then, just as quickly, they’d forget about her. They’d walk away. They’d flee. They’d disappear. Or they’d shrug, countering her beneficence in broken pieces or shattered shells, as if it were nothing, ineffectual, pointless. She’d be left, eternally unaware of how or why, what she’d done, or why the realm simply didn’t crave what she craved, why they never respected the notion of benevolence, the sanctity of promises, the tenacity of warmth - why the realm always fell to sin instead of rising to virtue.
 
Yet, time and time again, she proffered, she bestowed, she extended her tenderness, her generosity, until she was completely, utterly empty.
 
The pattern would continue, endless and enduring, and her heart felt hollow, idle, futile, and useless. Nothing changed. Nothing altered.
 
The nymph, the sylph, the fey, lifted her head to peer against the dancing constellations, the searing stars, the presence of the heavens beckoning across centuries, voids, and the heady, heavy abyss; smiled because it was what she’d done all her life (enduring sacrifice after sacrifice, abuse after abuse, grinning for virtue, for sanctuary, for some small bit of compassion to flicker, filter, amidst the heresy and brutality). Imogen did the same, replicating the stance until they were just two more beings, two more restless souls, wandering the plain of ivory and rime, tracing over signature molds. Together their breaths mingled in the night air, and together they wandered along the borders, more pieces of the puzzle they could never solve.
 
When would the world stop sacrificing the generous souls?
 
A scent wafted through her nares, familiar and tangible, fragments of memories left untouched for seasons or more, and she stopped for a moment, pondering over the reasons, the whys and the hows. She stared over the dazzling skyline, conjuring motivations for Mauja straying here, deep into the denizen of what he used to hold, what he used to have, while he currently reigned over the Edge – an empire they all grasped once. But sweet Lena couldn’t fathom his deliberations, had rarely been capable of doing so when he held either crown, and nearly ventured away from his hallowed sanction. He wouldn’t require her presence. No one did.
 
But her ears flicked, because she could have sworn her name crooned over the wind and the snow; perhaps it was all a hallucination, all a mirage, and she just wanted to be wanted, required, needed for something other than a creature of the mountains. Her gaze sought Imogen’s, and the fox shrugged, just as lost, just as unsure and uncertain as her bonded.
 
Then, she turned, back into the fray and the abyss, shifting through the powder and the ice, performing the same elegant dance she’d always conjured – graceful, dignified, and poised despite overbearing thoughts and confounding notions – never daring to slip into the most melancholy of cretins. Her eyes caught him near the borders, hovering out of reach, not brazen enough to wander beneath metallic stares or cold, nonchalant features.
 
Imogen chirped and she murmured, allowing the cold breeze to stroke the incantation of her voice and song. “Mauja? What brings you to the Basin?”




Mortuus Nox Posts: 187
Aurora Basin Time Mender atk: 3.5 | def: 10 | dam: 7
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 15.2 :: Immortal HP: 66.5 | Buff: NOVICE
Dressy
#3
Mortuus Nox
Your fears have just become all too real, for the Devil at the cross road wants to make a Deal

Stone colored orbs looked to the land around him. There was a black frozen feel to the earth around him. The mountain's towered above him like they were reaching to keep everything out, or everything in the Basin. The frozen world is what he called home, and he hoped that would never change. His cracked hooves floated over the icy and snow like a ghost. He was a shadow in the Basin that stayed away from the excitement. He lingered in the rocks and the depths of the cave, only to come out when he thought it was needed. There was a lot of trouble someone can get themselves in if your not careful. It was very easy to get tied up in the drama of others, but he was a soul that was careful of that.

He let his mind wonder as he walked through the icy land. Soon he found himself at the entrance of the Basin. His eyes looked over the wonders of the large metal machines that were suppose to protect the Basin. They were a hunk of junk now. The machines were crumbling and falling to pieces before his eyes. There is no way these things would protect the Basin in any way shape or from. He shook his heavily crowned skull and continued. His onyx ears picked up the tones of a male voice, someone he had not heard in a long time. He then heard the melodic tones of their very own healer. Lena spoke, but she was to far away to hear what the sweet mare was saying. The dark shadow walked closer to the sounds of the equines. When he crept from around the rock he saw the sweet bay mare, and then that white stag he had met in the threshold seasons ago. He came up to the two standing there. His muscled onyx body stood still. The powered icy flakes scratched at his body with the cold bitter wind. "Have not seen you in a long time Mauja. Odd to see you hovering around the Basin. Is there something you seek?"" His deep Latin voice roared from his large chest. He looked to the brown sugar mare and dipped his head "Wonderful to see you again Lena, you look radiant and lovely like always."" The deep tones hummed from his mouth with the compliment.

His ears flicked forward as the black stallion stood wondering why he was here. The last time he encountered the white stag he seemed arrogant and full of his own shit, but now there was something different about him. His stature seemed more humbled and his body looked like he was yearning for a spot to fill his frozen beating heart. Nox watched his every movement, with dark, cold gray eyes. His ghostly body stood out against the cold winter land of the Basin Mountains. His Demonic crown turned to look at Lena wondering why she showed up to greet this frozen stallion. Did he call for her to come, or were there other motives for him being here. Nox did not know very much about this stallion, so he stood quietly next to the song bird waiting for the responses of both unicorns.  

"Talking here""

@Lena  @Mauju

Image Credits!

Please tag Mortuus Nox in all posts
magic & permanent injury is permitted excluding death.
Ascended Helovian

Mauja the Frozen Light Posts: 1,392
Outcast atk: 6.5 | def: 10.5 | dam: 7.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 17.2 :: 14 HP: 79.5 | Buff: HUNTER
Irma :: Snowy Owl :: Terrorize & Diego :: Eurasian Eagle-Owl :: Rage Neo
#4
but somewhere here in between the city walls of dyin' dreams
For a moment, he expected her to come—his senses strained, ears flickering forward as he teetered there on the border, leaning forward, digging his toes into the thin, pristine snow. . .

But there was nothing. Just the emptiness of the Basin, just the cold starlight, the northern lights, the empty, dead sentinels and their long years of dust

Their ruin, their slow and silent metallic decay lent their alien faces something foreboding, something even darker, a subtle twist that made them even more foreign. Debris lay covered by the snow, like more secrets dead and buried here in the frozen wasteland upon the doorstep of a hidden paradise. Mauja's face slowly fell, ears shifting backwards in uncertainty; there was no one else here. He was alone, Irma circling the empty sky and Diego off somewhere, digging (—digging? what had he found now?) in the snow and the loose, black rocks beneath.

It was just Mauja and the dying sentinels, and somehow, it felt oddly fitting. For a moment he was tempted to step within their reach, to see if their eyes would flicker to life and their bodies groan as badly-oiled joints grind against one another in their quest to seek out this interloper—but it would just be foolish, a foolish risk, for the more he stared at the once so familiar machines the more he pitied them. They had been the pride of the Basin, tall, foreboding metal Gods calling the supreme blood home and guarding them, long before the Throat had become an island. They had served without question (never mind they had been programmed that way) and what had they received in return? Had anyone ever offered them a word of kindness, or a spot of maintenance?

Idiot, he told himself, momentarily flattening his ears. They're not sentient. They don't need kind words.

But everyone needed kind words, even machines, so Mauja crumpled beneath his own folly and said "Thank you for your long years of service and unfaltering loyalty," and it was likely he would've given them an entire speech had not a figment of his past spawned in their shadow then and there. He had to be dreaming, or the machines were upgraded and could summon those asked for, or he had developed some new, interesting magical ability, but—but to hell with all that. It was Lena, dainty, graceful, kind-hearted Lena, who had survived years with the Plague and still bloomed in the shifting lights.

Wherever did she find the strength to remain as such? Was her heart filled up with so much compassion and love and joy that she was incapable of grief and blues? Or was she so frigid nothing affected her? No—while it would certainly be a twist none of them had seen coming it felt too foreign, too absurd. He couldn't—wouldn't—believe that of her.

"Lena!" he cried happily, a slight delay in his reaction because he had, truly, not expected to see her—and part of him had wanted to stall, because how could he make up for these years of no communication, of his cruel, unintentional disregard for her presence at the selections for a new Edge lead? But here she was, and he would lie if he said he wasn't glad for it, bounding carelessly through the snow towards her until they were close enough to touch. "I chased falling stars and I found you," he answered, something light in his voice, something mischievous, happy, even playful as he reached out, hoping to touch her soft muzzle with his.

Oh, there were a thousand things he wanted to say—ought to say, as they crowded his tongue and fought to get out first—things like, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to say that you were fallen, just that you were a star, and more things, about the Edge, about Snö, about Deimos... But he didn't have the time to say any of it, for another presence materialized on the edges of his consciousness. In the blink of an eye his attention had shifted, keen eyes staring through the cold air and finding someone he vaguely recognized. It was someone from the Threshold, his name was something short, like Nyx, but not quite. Nex, Nux, Nox, something. He hadn't left much of himself in Mauja's mind—just another face in Helovia, unknown but not entirely unpleasant.

"Is there something you seek?" I found what I sought. But he went on immediately, not giving the snowghost any time to answer. "Wonderful to see you again Lena, you look radiant and lovely like always." And Mauja, ever calm and ever patient, bristled for a moment, the the lines of his facing drawing hard and taut, jaws clenching, eyes growing dark—radiant and lovely... Oh, he was not going to argue the facts, because Lena was both radiant and lovely.

A moment later the seas calmed, his eyes grew light and gentle, open and inquisitive, and his face smooth like the undisturbed snow spread all around them. "Tell me," he began, nothing but curiosity in his mild voice, "do you also greet your male friends with the phrase, 'you look radiant and lovely like always', or any variant thereof?"

[ Sorry for the wait, I got sick. <3 @Lena @Mortuus Nox ]
Mauja
the white queen
image credits
angels, they fell first, but I'm still here

Lena the Songbird Posts: 663
Aurora Basin Time Mender atk: 4 | def: 10.5 | dam: 6.5
Mare :: Unicorn :: 15.3 :: 6 HP: 69 | Buff: NOVICE
Imogen :: Common Kitsune :: Fire Heather
#5
L E N A
Tomorrow will be kinder


Cast away, back into the earth to live as virtue, to conspire and twist into blossoms, into petals, into spring’s whimsical caress, into rays of sun and reverence, her heart was left strangled and bleeding at the image of days before war, days before strife. Mauja remained, real and tangible, corporeal and solid, a manifestation of times spent near cliffs and the wailing shore, where mists blanketed the scenes and gentle, rain-hued mares laughed, where gilded ponies stuck out their stalwart chests, where little dotted daughters wrinkled their petulant noses. She didn’t know what she missed the most – the pieces of her soul that hadn’t been mottled and stained and savaged by the desolation and chaos of invasions and cataclysms, or the pretense, the notion, that she’d ever been innocent.
 
It was all so long ago now.
 
Her ears caught his happiness, the chime of her name, and she wanted to ask why he was delighted to see her, the little Mender who stoked and tried and never seemed capable of delivering on her ambitions and determination. Her friends disappeared. She attacked Gods. She healed monsters. She became one of them, another mass of the malevolent multitude, beckoning and rummaging across the horizon, forgetting how she’d begun and how she’d always wanted to rise above the crowd, above the hate, above the vehemence.
 
He bounded, closer and closer still, and she hung between the rigid stare of the sentinels and the drifting snow, eyes widening, bewildered at the kindled faith in her compassion. Imogen drew a thin line along her lips, perhaps disappointed in her, disappointed in him, or disappointed by the sad, serene situation. A smile was almost conjured along the nymph’s lips, though, as if remembering a piece of heaven, a fragment of reverence, of rhapsody-
 
I chased falling stars and I found you - the meaning was lost on her, and the grin fell apart. The fairy’s heart lurched and her eyes fell to the ground, missing the triumph of his mischief, of the happiness exuded through his voice, because she realized he knew just how far she’d fallen. Maybe she’d been dazzling, captivating, and beguiling once – lost on a glimmer of constellations and heartfelt, singsong words, maybe she’d stroked and stoked the fine caliber of tenderness and generosity, stretched her lissome grace to the tallest cretins and the finest beasts, wished them good fortune, healed and hummed their fiendish wounds. And maybe she’d simply become naught in the aftermath, tossed and shoved and forgotten too many times.
 
But he knew she was a mess, and that sentiment hurt even more.
 
Something pulled around her eyes, tears maybe, tugging and inching along and she wished, willed, them away, blinking rapidly and gazing forlorn at the snow, struggling to come up with anything to say in response. I’m sorry all you found was me? Imogen cut through her senses, shaking her head, her tails, but nothing seemed to help.
 
Would they ever understand one another?
 
“Why-,” her gentle voice murmured, beckoned with a sad, quiet song, and was ultimately interrupted by the sound of one more gliding along the ice. Her head turned, disrupting the closeness, the shadows, the frail bout of tranquility fostered between once friends, stare fixating on the darkened form of Mortuus Nox arriving.
 
She wasn’t sure what to say to him either as he seemed to take up the mantle of a blackguard, suspicious of Mauja, gesturing to her with compliments, flaring the spotted Lord’s animosity for some reason. It was all so foolish, so silly, so trivial, and she wanted to tell them, wanted to flare and speak up and admonish whatever ridiculous regard seemed to be spreading over the snow. Her eyes peeked towards Mauja’s, but all she saw was inquiry – and she wasn’t certain about the layers in his voice, about all the things left unsaid in the murky quiet.
 
The Songbird managed a brief sigh, but no tune came out, a painted-on smile extending towards Nox. “Good evening. I trust you’re well?” The melody was soothing, pacifying, intending for the eerie predilections to go no further – but she sensed sanctity had been rotted and ruined, left in pieces and slivers, just as it had always been.





Mortuus Nox Posts: 187
Aurora Basin Time Mender atk: 3.5 | def: 10 | dam: 7
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 15.2 :: Immortal HP: 66.5 | Buff: NOVICE
Dressy
#6
Mortuus Nox
Your fears have just become all too real, for the Devil at the cross road wants to make a Deal

He dipped his head lightly as the white stallion ignored him. At this pint he could give a shit less if he even said one word to him. His black body was still until his muscles began to contract and move a step closer to Lena. Her smile could warm the coldest of all hearts. He looked over her small bay body and smiled softly "All is wonderful, thank you for asking. I was just leaving the Basin and heard some voices, just thought I would drop y and make sure all is well."" He looked to the white stag with a blank expression. He just wanted to make sure he meant no harm to the Basin or anyone within its walls. He stood and waited a bit before he began to turn away from the two unicorns. The wind blew through his tangled black mane and tail flying it behind him like a darkened ghost. His muscled body did not feel the chill from the wind though, he was numb to it by now. His black hooves steeped forward walking away from the two.

"Sorry to bother you two, I will be about my way now. I see no reason to stay and intrude on your conversations. Good bye"" His deep Latin tones were short and sweet as he body carried him away with out one more word. He had other things to do today and chilling in front of the mountains talking was not one of them. He knew he needed to find a Herb to bring back to the bay mare, and he will talk to her once his job was done. His gray eyes did not care to look behind him as he went about his day. He had the feeling they did not need, nor want him there for any reason. That was fine by him.

"Talking here""

@Mauju
@Lena

OOC:: He is leaving now, short and sweet post so yall can have your moment! Nox just wanted to check it out before he left the Basin !

Image Credits!

Please tag Mortuus Nox in all posts
magic & permanent injury is permitted excluding death.
Ascended Helovian

Mauja the Frozen Light Posts: 1,392
Outcast atk: 6.5 | def: 10.5 | dam: 7.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 17.2 :: 14 HP: 79.5 | Buff: HUNTER
Irma :: Snowy Owl :: Terrorize & Diego :: Eurasian Eagle-Owl :: Rage Neo
#7
but somewhere here in between the city walls of dyin' dreams
And it's all just a sad, sad song—

Mountains could crumble and all lights go out—gold turn to rust, heavenly song turn sour, the choirs ever silenced... In that moment, when her smile was beginning to blossom and his voice broke through the frigid air, in that moment he was soaring, his heart nearly bursting with unbridled joy, words running off his tongue before he had any idea what he was saying. He was just so happy to see, her to be greeted with her—

—withering smile.

And the happiness turned to choking, freezing, heart stumbling and trembling as his nostrils opened and closed too rapidly, flickering eyes giving away their sudden panic.

What did I do—

What happened—

He had never before seen such sorrow upon her face, written so plainly in her eyes, such defeat in her stance; gone was the dancer, gone was the bird, wings clipped and bones broken. What had he done? He couldn't ignore the timing, he couldn't, ugh, and in the midst of all that was—well, whatever N-something-x his name had been, and Mauja was hiding beneath his wall of ice, trying to solve one of the world's mysteries while at the same time attempting to hold back the dark, terrified flood of oh god what did I do to her.

But it was all for naught. Mauja's question didn't just go unanswered, it went entirely unacknowledged by the stallion: not even a dirty look was given. He was simply turning to meld back into the snows, and it did nothing to soothe Mauja's mounting confusion. "Take care..?" he offered lamely to the stallion's retreating back, unsure of what had prompted his sudden change in, well, attitude.

But everything seemed to come down to a single point: Mauja.

He watched Nox for a moment in silence, 'brows drawn over sorrowful eyes. "The worst of it is," he was saying, voice low and dark, "is that I don't even know what I did." He was silent for a second, feeling the grip of something heavy in Diego's claws, watching the shadow of Nox melt into the night. He swallowed. "I never know what it is I've done." Slowly, his gaze slid sideways onto Lena, to the fragile smile she had shown for Nox, to the weight in her eyes. "I'm happy to see you, and at the sound of my voice you look like I just told you I wished I'd never found you again. I ask him a simple question, he doesn't even look at me." An edge of frustration snaked around his words, ears falling flat for a moment. "What is it about me that always ruins things?"

But he didn't expect her to have any answers.

[ @Lena Nox :c ]
Mauja
the white queen
image credits
angels, they fell first, but I'm still here

Lena the Songbird Posts: 663
Aurora Basin Time Mender atk: 4 | def: 10.5 | dam: 6.5
Mare :: Unicorn :: 15.3 :: 6 HP: 69 | Buff: NOVICE
Imogen :: Common Kitsune :: Fire Heather
#8
L E N A
Tomorrow will be kinder


“The world is always wary of what they don’t understand.”
 
Her voice pooled across the void, but she stared at the borders, at the metallic sentinels, at the hollowed vessels carved out of snow and spite. The truth layered over the lies, over the barbarity, over the sinister aspects, over the ways in which she never could guess what he was doing or why he did it. She couldn’t comprehend his actions and he couldn’t fathom hers, and it’d been that way since they’d known each other, deep in the brush, fog, mist, and clifftops of the World’s Edge, or in the rime and ice of the Basin.
 
It was as if nothing had ever changed between them in all their time apart. No matter how many edges she’d try to smooth, no matter how many fleeting glances, no matter how much hope she instilled in him (and prayed he’d felt it, even from many miles away), naught had altered. They’d left off where they’d always been – confused, muddled, befuddled by either kindness or some stinging, barbed words that hadn’t meant to be thorns (but hurt nonetheless). Her eyes watched Mortuus Nox go, dissolving into shadows, chased away by false impressions and misreadings. Perhaps they were all poor interpreters.
 
But Mauja continued to choke out his confusion, and finally her gaze reached back over to him, narrowed down to spots and uncertainty, and her thoughts, her notions, her sentiments wanted to drag him away from this petulant sorrow that seemed to follow him wherever he went. But wasn’t it some of his own doing? Neither she nor Nox had blasted him with insults, had regarded him in rudeness, and still, he’d layered his voice with clips and phrases that rubbed them raw; her head tilted, her smile wore away, and the gentle, serene dip of her song coiled amidst the midnight decadence. “It’s what you say and do.” The boldness, the bluntness, slipped past her and manifested itself as a ghost, as a phantom, of regard and audacity – perhaps she’d lose him here too, and they’d forever be instilled as two more beings who couldn’t shake away their demons, who were always lost in a sea of uncertainty and ineptitude. But he’d wanted to hear it. He’d yearned for an answer, and she’d give it to him.
 
She didn’t let her frustration ignite, kindle, or incense her words. But it built behind them, along the wall of her chest, across her heart, within her mind, slowly unfurling and rippling, chastising their ridiculousness, their definitions of poor communication. Her voice was quiet and serene, but murmured without sweetness, without sugar, without honey, and instead they chiseled, sculpted, and remained simple and tranquil, rich in candor. She’d spent a lifetime keeping things away from him, funneling and brewing secrets, diversions, thoughts and upheavals – but not this evening. “You tell me I’m fallen. You taunt another.” Imogen remained silent, perhaps wisely so, tails fanning the veiled wind as Lena continued, invoked and incandescent. “What did you think was going to happen?”

[Whee! 500 <333]


@Mauja @Mortuus Nox
Ascended Helovian

Mauja the Frozen Light Posts: 1,392
Outcast atk: 6.5 | def: 10.5 | dam: 7.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 17.2 :: 14 HP: 79.5 | Buff: HUNTER
Irma :: Snowy Owl :: Terrorize & Diego :: Eurasian Eagle-Owl :: Rage Neo
#9
but somewhere here in between the city walls of dyin' dreams
“The world is always wary of what they don’t understand.”

And he could relate to that—one of Mauja's most prominent characteristics was paranoia, inability to trust, always second-guessing, always doubting, always thinking about the worst possible scenario. He would rather not love at all, than to love and risk pain.

He could not understand the machinations of others, and what drove them; what empowered them, and what frightened them. The only reason he had ever been what he had, was that he had distanced himself. He had been cold. He had not been there for small talk. His mind had been honed to a startling openness, refusing to pass judgment until having all the facts—to ask questions without making them pointed, to fish for personal truth while inviting trust with his open eyes.

And thus, her words made sense. If Mauja did not understand the world, why would the world understand him?

Still, it saddened him—to hear that she was wary of him, even though she had good cause. How many times hadn't they been here? The years passed, and still they stood on their own side of that line drawn between them. She was.. strong, he realized in that moment. Broken, perhaps, but still strong. She had always resisted the subtle ways in which he manipulated, refused to be part of his world order, desisted from bending to fit the boxes he carelessly threw upon others. In her silence, she was resilient—in her song, she was divine.

She had a clarity he did not possess, a perspective by nature denied to him. She was the one who heard his words, his voice, and felt them; she was not to blame for his shortcomings.

“It’s what you say and do.”

Mauja's eyes closed. Of course it was—he doubted Helovia had a blanket hate of spotted ponies. But it wasn't that she said it, that she pointed it out, it was the fact that he knew this was not the end of it: just the beginning. He had asked, and she had answered, unveiling one of the many things he did not understand. And while he could've hoped for some outlandish theory of how a little pink bunny had told all horses that Mauja was evil incarnate, he had known that the truth would be this: solid, tangible, real, close.

A flaw within himself. A flaw in his schematics. In his youth, they had seen promise—but if they had hoped in his heart, he had let them down, striving to silence the organ and shape himself into a perfect machine. And none of them had seen it. None of them had helped him. None of them had done anything about it.

And then it had all been his fault, his failure, and he had not known how to deal with it.

So he had fled.

And now he stood here in the frozen wastelands of the north, staring at the hot darkness on the backside of his eyelids, knowing that he was nothing more but flesh and bone armed with sharp words struggling up from an impaled heart. He had never been perfect—could never be.

But no one had fixed him, and now he was old, struggling to fix himself even while he came apart in a torrent of glass shards.

What he had said and what she had heard was worlds apart—just like them. Fallen. Taunting. What did he think was going to happen.

He had thought they would understand what he meant. He had thought—no, not thought. He had forgotten they were not like him, that their thoughts did not bend at the same angles. He had, in a moment of careless ecstasy, and in a moment of sour revelation, forgotten that they existed independently at all.

He wanted to say, I didn't mean to—, but it sounded weak and childish. He had asked for insight, for explanations, for clarity, and she had given it to him, raw and whole. Softly, Mauja sighed, sagging beneath the weight of his defeat. Not even the starlight's touch could make him seem lustrous again.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly, not sure if she wanted his explanations or not—not sure if they would fix anything, or just further deepen the rift between them. Still, it felt important to explain to her, that he hadn't meant it like that, to.. well.. everything was always too late, wasn't it? That's what they ought to call him—not Frostheart, not Ice King, not Queen, not Frozen Light. Mauja—too little, too late. "I.. my tongue ran away with me.. I meant, I was chasing them, and they showed me you, and you were a star, you know, like the gold at rainbow's end..." His voice was a soft thing, slipping through the snowy, starlit darkness.

"As for him—" and his muzzle waved in the direction Nox had disappeared in, "I was genuinely curious." And he wanted to leave, to sink through the snow, follow the unknown stallion into the darkness and disappear—leave Lena behind in the snow, where his words could no longer hurt her (—or anyone). Something always had to happen when he was around others. He fucked Snö up. He fucked Glacia up, a little. He fucked Ophelia up. He fucked Kahlua up. His insecurity drove him to madness, and in his madness, he did not fit in this world.

He didn't want to deal with it. This.. pain, in him, and in others. He avoided it to the point of brutality, but when he could escape it no longer, it destroyed him.

But something in him rebelled against the idea of leaving her behind. It would be.. wrong, somehow. Admitting to that he would never change. Never try hard enough. As if he attempted to hide behind his grief, as if it could exonerate him from what he had done.

He swallowed, eyes dry and burning, but said no more, lest his voice harm her again.

[ @Lena || eee congrats on 500!! <3 ]
Mauja
the white queen
image credits
angels, they fell first, but I'm still here

Lena the Songbird Posts: 663
Aurora Basin Time Mender atk: 4 | def: 10.5 | dam: 6.5
Mare :: Unicorn :: 15.3 :: 6 HP: 69 | Buff: NOVICE
Imogen :: Common Kitsune :: Fire Heather
#10
L E N A
Tomorrow will be kinder


There was a delicacy in the air now, ethereal, fragile, tangible – like a piece of snarled thread, and given the right tug, the right pull, it’d be broken in their stead. She simply watched and waited as he toiled amongst himself, as he battered wayward winds and strange masses, as he listened to her words, as he seemed to honor them with thought instead of barbarity. She didn’t know what to expect from him, had never been able to predict or regard the set of his actions (why did you disappear so many seasons ago - how did you come from a mirror when the world seemed cracked and splitting - why do you always seem so haunted, burdened, and sad each time she glanced upon his figure). But the weight was across his shoulders now, sinking into the snow, gliding along rime and glacial expanse, and the nymph felt a sigh roll past her lips, because she didn’t know what else she could do for him. She didn’t know how many spells and incantations he’d woven across his own throat, she didn’t know how many nooses or snags kept him tied and tethered to demons, she didn’t know what was to become of him, of them, of anyone at all.
 
Or why he still remained here, taking in her proclamations, her questions, her statements and truths, when years before, he simply would have disappeared.
 
Her eyes shifted, not downcast, not gloomy, but bright sparks of strength and renewal, of inner warmth and vivid clarity, staring at the gloom, at the gloaming, at the notions of apologies strung from his breath. Perhaps he’d grown in all that time, ruling his World’s Edge again, content with the fog and the mist, with their poignant failures no longer so vivid, no longer so entrancing. Perhaps sovereignty had done him some good, kindled an old spirit, an old tenacity, and stuck it in between his ribs and heart, spiraling ghosts and phantoms away; she wished she could be rid of hers so easily.
 
You were a star, you know, like the gold at rainbow’s end…
 
How wonderful it would’ve been, if she could truly be a star, dancing across the heavens, outlined by beauty, by midnight veils, by endurance and fortitude – never forlorn, never desolate, never forgotten. Maybe the notion was too late now; she’d done too many savage, sinister things, she’d committed too many atrocious actions, to ever believe she’d be brought to Elysium. But she still smiled, still let a grin fold back over her lips, her mouth, so she didn’t seem so broken and chipped away, segmented and carried off into the Stygian abyss. “I doubt I shine as brightly,” and here she laughed, allowed him to embrace the notion that he’d been forgiven, that all was right, that she wouldn’t fall apart in front of him. She shook her crown, and while no stardust scattered from her mane, she maintained her luminescence, her earnest boldness. “It doesn’t hurt to think before you speak.” The femme winked, smiled again, and sparked, kindled, an opportunity to right all these strange, ridiculous wrongs. She yearned to break the cycle of their discourse, of the snapped, slivered things always managing to coil back onto their discussions. There was more to their livelihoods, to their thoughts, to their sentiments and feelings than making one another bitter and cracked. “What have you been up to, Mauja?”




@Mauja
Ascended Helovian

Mauja the Frozen Light Posts: 1,392
Outcast atk: 6.5 | def: 10.5 | dam: 7.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 17.2 :: 14 HP: 79.5 | Buff: HUNTER
Irma :: Snowy Owl :: Terrorize & Diego :: Eurasian Eagle-Owl :: Rage Neo
#11
but somewhere here in between the city walls of dyin' dreams
There were memories buried in the snows here—like shards of silver covered by ash and snow, just a few odd and ends poking up and washed bright by autumn rains long since frozen. He had lived here, beyond the dark gates of the snow-capped mountains, in the safety of the sentinel's shadow. So much had happened here.. all of it revolving around a black shadow. His 'brows furrowed. His heart ached.

He didn't like life moving forward.

He wanted it to freeze over. He wanted to be trapped in the world he had lived in as a two and a half year old, when there hadn't been so much behind him, and not so much in front of him. He didn't want to be half a world away, mired in bitter regret, haunted by loss, plagued by doubt and worry, lost in the blizzard raging in his heart.

He remembered each place he had been. He remembered each part of his life like an era, inevitably left behind; buried, dull silver beneath the ground. And no matter how terrible, no matter how misguided, he wished he could go back, to any of those times, hide in the comfort and safety of the familiarity, and stay there.

So it was with a thin darkness clouding his eyes that his gaze flicked back to Lena, teeth pressed down hard to hold back the tide of oh god things have changed too much, too fast, and some things will never come again—. “I doubt I shine as brightly,” she said with a laughter, and Mauja merely smiled in response. His dark lips curved, a small, soft smile, but it felt empty inside, as if the torrent of thoughts, the storm brewing, was converting everything into anxiety (—a soft kind of fear thundering beneath his skin).

No, he thought to say, but the words didn't come out of the mess of his heart, afraid they would fall like dead, cold weight between them, sunder what tentative amends were being made, brighter.

But it all died in his mind, unsaid. “It doesn’t hurt to think before you speak.” His eyes glittered, seeming to stay alive as he withered below its protective ice; if he took those words too close to heart, he would never speak again. He would get lost in the winding pathways of his mind, never find the perfect words, and if one thought too hard about anything, what was the point of saying it at all? It would be redundant, or useless, or insulting, or wrong, or he would start doubting himself, his emotions, his thoughts, his logic, his right. See? Already he was second-guessing coming here, talking, answering, existing. Might as well go throw myself off a cliff.

“What have you been up to, Mauja?”

Fighting hostile gods, losing my best friend, and burying my daughter.

He opened his mouth, but no words came out at first. Then, "Not much, lately. I .. stepped down after the last god battle." There was no reason to include his silent death-wishes, his attempting to offer it to Roskuld, the crowding or friends and herd members... He blinked. Once. Twice. Many times. The thickness built in his throat, and he looked away, scrunching up his face and trying not to cry. "Snö died."

[ @Lena || Sorry for the wait, struggling pretty bad with muse/writing... :/ ]
Mauja
the white queen
image credits
angels, they fell first, but I'm still here

Lena the Songbird Posts: 663
Aurora Basin Time Mender atk: 4 | def: 10.5 | dam: 6.5
Mare :: Unicorn :: 15.3 :: 6 HP: 69 | Buff: NOVICE
Imogen :: Common Kitsune :: Fire Heather
#12
L E N A
Tomorrow will be kinder


She was used to the silence, to the brooding, floating whims of everything and nothing all at once – and she wanted to fill it with song. She yearned to slash through the wickedness, the nefarious, capricious doubts and the mercurial expositions with a sweet aria, with an untarnished melody, with a flourishing symphony. But the nymph feared it wouldn’t cease anything, only delay the inevitable, only sweeten the sorrow. Her heart twisted amidst her chest, for him, for her, for everyone else who used to remain tucked amidst their Basin fortress with not a care in the world – because they’d held something together. They’d conquered loss, they’d persevered, they’d lasted and lived through being driven into dust, into dirt. She remembered each and every one of them (the good Doctor D’art, no matter his gruffness, his beloved nurse Kou and their bounty of children, Psyche, a viper, an asp, but so utterly capable, Mauja, flung from mirrors and time and tragedies), tied herself to their strings, to their souls, so that when they no longer lingered on this earth, so when no one recalled their names, she could. She’d tell the world about their conquests, she’d whittle and sculpt and entangle each and every story, every myth, every legend until they appeared in dreams and sonnets of the young, until they were living, breathing ghosts again.

And it seemed, no matter where Mauja ended up, he was portrayed as a wraith, as a phantom, weaving between the threads of his past lives and harsh, undying memories. Her eyes yearned to fall away from him, away from the torment and the pain burrowing beneath, but she forced herself to remain just and strong, an anchor of the snowfall and the springtime and the illustrious days spent in simple, rapt harmony; not wishing to be a curse, a haunting, poignant reminder of what used to be. She smiled when he did the same, matching his distinction with her assuaging, mending strokes, a futile caress, a balance of the disjointed, of the tarnished, of the discordant.

The grin smoothed to a fine line as he spoke, I stepped down after the last God battle, and the words caught over her throat in a harsh, unrelenting snag, eyes widening, honeyed gaze piercing and unmoving. He’d walked away from it again; from something he’d craved, from something he’d once had (and she’d been so proud of him too – so unsure but so proud anyway because he’d found a way to return to what he’d been). Her mind whirled with the whys and the disbelief (what could’ve forced him away? What could’ve bound him from that precious Edge? Hadn’t he loved it? Hadn’t he cherished it? Hadn’t it always been his?).

The answer to her silent inquiries followed thereafter; and her features broke into pieces, saddened, dismayed, piecing together the mess his life had become. Sno died. She recalled the filly, the child, the girl who hid amongst the mist and the fog, who craved her sire’s affection, who strived and lived along petulance, who’d been taken from their stead so many years ago (and they’d snagged her back, marching to the Throat, to Kri and her flock of predacious whims). From then on, she hadn’t seen her. She probably wouldn’t have recognized her – grown and steady, stalwart and strong, spotted and unrelenting – but Sno all the same. How she’d arrived at her demise, how she’d been snagged again (only this time by the Grim), didn’t settle along her mind; only how to bestow sanctum and refuge to the fallen daughter’s father, who seemed to be withering away at the seams. But what to say to a man who’d lost his daughter, who’d lost his throne, who’d lost (like so many of them) things that mattered, things that resounded, things that claimed and enticed? “Oh Mauja, I’m so sorry,” she said on a despondent, miserable tune, pressing forward until she was just in front of him, reaching and reaching, extending her maw towards his in a soft stroke of comfort, in what little solace she could provide.



@Mauja
Ascended Helovian

Mauja the Frozen Light Posts: 1,392
Outcast atk: 6.5 | def: 10.5 | dam: 7.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 17.2 :: 14 HP: 79.5 | Buff: HUNTER
Irma :: Snowy Owl :: Terrorize & Diego :: Eurasian Eagle-Owl :: Rage Neo
#13
but somewhere here in between the city walls of dyin' dreams
It hung like that between them—heavy and filled with things unsaid, memories remembered, tears lacing the edges of their existence. His voice—presence—the bane of joy. He didn't need to see her to feel it, hear it, sorrow settling like snow upon them.

(Except it was already in him—)

It had its roots and teeth sunken deep, deep in his flesh, thin threads of poison leeching into his blood. Some days, as he felt his marble heart stumble in his chest, he wondered if he hadn't become stone (grief).

But he still bled, bright red blood instead of stale dust, so he figured he was still alive.

“Oh Mauja, I’m so sorry,” for what else could be said? What else could be done? His eyes closed, containing his many useless tears, and her muzzle pressed against his; sighing out white smoke he pressed back. I'm so sorry seemed to sum up his existence, and something in the darkness yawning in him frightened him—as if the stars would fall in his wake and darkness chase him as he ran for the mountains—the ground split open and he'd fall into sheets of golden light

Those had been dreams; Lena was real, her muzzle soft against his as their breaths mingled for a moment. "I'm sorry too," he whispered, voice thicker than usual, but still oh so Mauja: light and gentle. "For everything." Pale eyes slipped open in the snowy darkness, slipped behind him, the way he had come. Irma came out of the darkness, but Diego remained behind with the thing he had found.

The glare of the sentinel was cold.

A threat.

Ulrik was a master at his craft. Run-down as it was it was still an imposing structure, looming against the black backdrop of the towering mountains, and standing there in their shadow, stealing a moment with Lena... He knew that he did not belong. Not anymore. He was a stranger here. Beyond those mountain walls lay only memories, of grief and death and ruin.

"I should go," he whispered, heart pounding too fast, too fast, and the sentinel seemed to whisper that he had outstayed his welcome; former master or not, he did not belong to the Basin anymore.

I should go, before I forget the way back.

The world suddenly seemed darker, colder, more unfriendly.

[ @Lena I'm sorry D: this was awful... ]
Mauja
the white queen
image credits
angels, they fell first, but I'm still here


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