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Where was Rikyn?
A i t h n i e l Hope not ever to see Heaven. I have come to lead you to the other shore; into eternal darkness; into fire and into ice. |
But burn down our home
I won't leave alive
Please tag me in everything!
the Rift
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[OPEN] The ghost by my side
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01-12-2016, 02:24 PM
But burn down our home I won't leave alive Please tag me in everything!
01-12-2016, 03:00 PM
THE HARUSPEX on his own Ashamin was always awake. Given his cave's proximity to the border, given his tireless dedication to his two companions and their odd sleep schedules, and given the emotional buildup that had left Ashamin feeling so anxious as of late, it was not surprising that when someone came close to the sentinels, he knew about it. He had been watching from the edge of his cave, black eyes and lashes dressed with snow. The winged mare who appeared was vaguely familiar, but his inability to put a name with her face made him think their meeting must have been fleeting or unofficial entirely. Had he perhaps seen her at a battle of the Rift Gods? Well, hadn't he really seen half of Helovia then? The painted buck snorted snow from his nostrils and stepped out into the cold, his steps shadowed by his two companions. With Rakt's joining their family, Lochan had been staying awake longer and later into the day and now Ashamin often found himself accompanied by them both. With training and time, Ashamin had made himself stronger. His strides now were confident and steady, quickened with grace he'd once struggled to maintain. Though his armor remained in his cave as a trophy, he did not walk forth bare. His sarong fell across his withers like a blanket, shielding him from snow and hiding the worst of the still healing injuries from his latest spars. Though Ashamin had toughened with time he was still the welcoming haruspex he'd always been when it came to strangers, and he didn't want to scare this outsider off. "Welcome to the Aurora Basin," he called as a greeting as he wove across the frost. His two companions leapt and bounded, Lochan skittish but playful in the snow and Rakt filled with a competitive edge that put him ahead of the others. "I am Ashamin, the haruspex here. Can I help you, stranger?" Around them the cold air swirled with snow and puffs of breath. His two companions slowed and settled, Rakt's stardust mixing with the white fluff and Lochan's dark mists contrasting against the white. Rakt moved towards the mare, sniffing and shaking in faint curiousity, as Lochan watched shyly from between his bonded's legs. It was good to have new company, to find a stranger. It was good to keep the troubles off his mind. "" @Aithniel :)  See Ashamin's profile for more information about Lochan, Rakt, and his various items. All magic and force allowed, barring death and permanent injury. Do not tag me, please message on skype instead 
01-13-2016, 04:23 PM
The boy lived a feral existence. It was primal, ferocious, predacious, and fiery, and he loved every nuance of it: the carnivore crag, the immoral platitudes, the brandished blades. Even when his pride suffered, even when his confidence faltered, the dreams, the aspirations, the ambitions were still alive and well, incensed and kindled and sparking within his infernal reveries, in his toxic indulgences. He wove silly little lies and played tiny jokes on the unassuming. He garnished information on a painted Colossus. He stoked strength and power through scars and sinew, grew and beckoned and chased down the remnants of all those broken days he’d spent contemplating the hows and whys. The prince was rarely idle, smiling, grinning, laughing, while he stoked the fine coals of tomorrow, and embraced the cruel, meticulous designs of the next rapture, the heartless fortitude crawling and slithering through his veins. Eventually, Erebos knew his plans would come to fruition. They’d slide down his carefully orchestrated wiles, his plotted snares. Someone would fall into a trap. A being would falter, stumble, at his feet. His dagger would be drawn across another’s barbaric throat, and their blood would pool in one soulless requiem. What he’d do thereafter was anyone’s guess. So while he chased down his audacious, brazen, stalwart intentions and fantasies, while he pulled and pummeled yearnings, desires, wanton, feverish, frantic upheavals, he maneuvered across the grounds of his home – willing the hours until a spark crackled, until an ember snagged, until coals became more than forgotten ash. He would’ve meandered from height to height, from ice to ice, from glacier to glacier, had a particular scent not caught his thoughts, not beguiled the charismatic foils, not lured him to embark down into the fringes. Aithniel. The beast hadn’t seen her since their spat amongst falling Gods, where he’d hoped, where he’d prayed, where he’d watched her walk away, angry and forlorn, tattered and brutalized, wondering how they’d all been torn apart so quickly. She was a daughter of the Sun God – powerful and mighty, sworn to strength and flares and the immortal chimings he and Rikyn could never have touched. Perhaps she’d been too potent for them all along, winding her way through innocence and bedlam, until she realized how foolish they all were, how silly everything seemed. The flying femme had left them all behind – and no matter what he’d done to save her, no matter what he’d done to ensure her survival, it was of little consequence. She’d always be more than them. His jaw clenched out of habit, out of frustration, out of that blinding, searing rage coveting his skull. Orsino chuckled throughout their connection, emboldened by the shift, by the change, in their movements, in their motions, in the sway of keen, blunt strides, in the art of his savage, sinister design. Erebos kept it in check, folding it beneath all those carefully practiced layers, all the lacquer he’d formed and calculated and embraced, even as he spied the Haruspex (who had beaten him too – he was surrounded by those eerie, bitter reminders of how worthless he truly was, and it was brutal) greeting her at their icy gates. The lad maneuvered forward, abruptly, ahead of Ashamin and his painted wiles and his bear skull wares, granting him a quick nod out of habit, shouting over the vicious horizon,“Aithniel!” before examining Aithniel in a rush, in a haste, perusing in a vast swiftness, hoping not to find something out of place, a wound, a laceration. When he couldn’t find anything, when there appeared to be naught forcing her to the mountains, to the peaks, to the cold-blooded ways of their livelihood, he tilted his head and forced his breaths to slow. “Why are you here? Are you okay?” Erebos clever got me this far - - then tricky got me in @Aithniel 
02-01-2016, 03:04 PM
@Ashamin @Erebos But burn down our home I won't leave alive Please tag me in everything!
THE HARUSPEX on his own For the sake of the kindness of their interaction, it was for the best that Aithniel was not allowed to finish her first sentence. Rikyn was no friend of the haruspex, his ideals were far from those held by Ashamin, and their last interaction had been chaotic and venomous at best. To see this mare now, introducing another before even herself, would have left a sour impression indeed. But thankfully for Aithniel, it was Erebos who arrived instead. Erebos the sweet child of the reaper, with whom Ashamin shared a secret but did not despise. There was some imagined closeness between the gray boy and the haruspex, something Ashamin thought could someday be friendship. It would have been an odd start to a partnership, but Ashamin had begun things more strangely... hadn't he? The two cerndyr beside the haruspex watched, Lochan jumping at the memory of Erebos in the labyrinth and Rakt blissfully unaware of whatever tensions may have rested between them. If there were any, they certainly weren't present now. The painted buck watched the reaper's boy run to the stranger and greet her with a kindness that suggested he need not be on edge. Their exchange was almost tender, the closeness of their interaction almost alienating. This was not Ashamin's business, but it was taking place at the border of his herdland. When at last Aithniel's intent was made clear (though not before a sidelong glance at the haruspex,) Ashamin bristled. Without thinking he spoke, his stance defensive and his darker companion's heart pounding in his own breast. "I have not seen Rikyn as of late, I would imagine he has left and taken his nonsensical 'race-given right' with him. The Aurora Basin no longer prescribes to his archaic ideals," he interjected with a snort, his flesh prickling at the memory of the boy's horn cutting through it, thoughts roaming as he speculated on how Rikyn had perceived the tangled pumice atop Ashamin's own brow. "It's more likely that he owes you an apology, given his attitude. But I'm glad to see you've found Erebos, he's a good friend to have," Ashamin said, casting a glance at the boy and his dark companion. Did Erebos know that he had Ashamin's admiration? They had not spoken much since their accidental spar, had not discussed the bravery Erebos had shown in those unfamiliar woods... Rakt's nudging his knees brought Ashamin back to the moment, and he blinked fiercely at the realization that perhaps he had overstepped his bounds. How had she introduced herself? Yes, Aithniel. "I apologize, perhaps you know another side of Rikyn than I. And it's a pleasure to meet you, Aithniel. Welcome back to the Basin." Her wings drew his attention, and he wondered if that was what had driven her out in the past. For as long as Ashamin had been in the Basin, there had always been hybrids such as herself; thanks to him, now Zahra had joined their ranks. But when had this mare lived here, and who had ruled then? His ears flicked back and forth, and he looked down at his companions as he felt himself shrink in faint anxiety. If Rikyn's mother had ruled the Basin, what sort of life would even Ashamin have had here, then? "" @Aithniel @Erebos See Ashamin's profile for more information about Lochan, Rakt, and his various items. All magic and force allowed, barring death and permanent injury. Do not tag me, please message on skype instead
02-15-2016, 06:55 PM
Aithniel was an eternal reminder of things he couldn’t have. She was a beacon, a symbol, of his undying yearnings, of his twisted, avaricious claims, of the way life failed to conform no matter the amount of determination clinging to one’s soul. He’d revered her as a friend, as a companion, as a part of the past that had been just, swift, and free. They, the three musketeers with their swords and muskets, with their bayonets and jubilant grins, could’ve had everything and anything they’d ever craved. They could’ve stalked the shadows for adventures. They could’ve slain monsters haunting borders and dreams. They could’ve been merciless little heathens, wreaking havoc and devastation wherever they’d traversed. They could’ve taken turns playing the gallant knights or the vicious blackguards, the piercing, striking villains and the merciful soldiers. But it’d been torn apart so easily, so readily – she left, Rikyn vanished, she was a child of a God, and he was nothing, no one, just one more vigilant party in the mountains, waiting for their time to strike. The scion didn’t feel as though he even knew his friends anymore. He had no idea of what Rikyn did amongst ruins and abominations. He had no recollection or notion of what Aithniel did as she wandered the vast heights or swallowing sand of the Throat. He knew his desires, his flaws, his virtues, his defects and pursuits, the thousand of little things in between; but naught about them anymore. It almost broke his heart, to think, to believe, they’d become barely more than strangers. The boy’s eyes never left hers – willing to detect something, anything, that meant they were still bonded by the times spent in snow and ice, by days lingering in lessons and moments spared amongst sandy dunes; snickers and glimmers, laughter and soullessness. They’d been callous, mercenary babes, owning barbarity and joviality, innocence and folly. He cherished all of those moments, he thought of them every day, he wished to bring them back no matter how often the Sun God’s words drummed against his head. He longed for the past when anger hadn’t erupted and drove agonizing wedges between them, when children hadn’t died and souls hadn’t fled and they could still be regarded as together; the ambitious little trio, meant for greatness, for opulence, for decadence, for strength and power. But all she seemed to do was stare – befuddled, disbelieving. In him? In what used to be? His brow arched, quirking upward amidst the brooding, brewing silence, so hesitant and unsure in the quaking moments. He thought he heard an inflection, a delving of emotion as her lips curled over his name, as if it held more than just memories, as if there were still some ties amidst all the snags and snarls, and the prince leaned forward, lowering his maw to brush against hers. “I’m glad you’re well,” he said through their brief connection, through his gentle croon, through the wayward, Cheshire smile wound along his mouth, through the pieces of muck and fury so readily in supply the last time they’d spoken. Then he pulled away as she explained her reasoning for coming – for Rikyn (and wasn’t it always the same, wasn’t that who she always chased and Erebos was somehow yards behind, struggling to keep up, struggling to understand why no one ever beckoned for him) and himself, to apologize, to offer sentiments from seasons before when they’d all unraveled. His gaze settled on her again, eyes narrowed, head tilted, wondering why something bristled and barbed at his heart, at his mind, why Orsino hissed and burned against the grain of his sentiments, why everything always led to some aspect of irritation and despair. Even now, he was useless. He hadn’t seen Rikyn since their vicious parting amongst the monsters, demons, and fallen Gods. Before he could say anything, before he could offer, Ashamin (whom he’d forgotten was still lingering in the fold) spoke, funneling out his own thoughts of Rikyn – and the thorn suddenly felt enflamed, burning against his chest, along his thoughts, intertwining in vicious exasperation. Ashamin didn’t even know Rikyn, hadn’t seen the fortitude, the might, the compelling sway of his friend. The lad refrained from pinning his ears at the insults slung towards his companion, tucking away the bitterness, the rancor edges, for another time and place. If it laced over his features, only Aithniel would’ve been able to see it – the slight narrowing of his piercing eyes, the layers of wickedness building behind their blue depths, then disappearing altogether as he turned to address the Haruspex. “We all grew up together,” he bestowed the subtle, bare nuance of information with a half-smile, with an indentation of affability not quite there, not quite registering, not quite gathered. Then, he twisted back to the ivory flame, extending the mere granules he had to offer. “I haven’t seen him. He didn’t come back with me.” But Erebos, ever gracious, ever stalwart, ever dipped in the funnels of nefariousness and gallantry, polished over the hallowed vessels of his determination and struck. “I can go with you to find him, if you’d like.” Erebos clever got me this far - - then tricky got me in @Aithniel @Ashamin | |||||||||||||||||||
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