the Rift


[OPEN] the hidden won't hide

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
Rikyn

He was dreaming.
 
The mountains were tall in the distance, but blurred, unreal, the sounds and smells of Birdsong easing into the temperate mountain summers that Rikyn had come to love the moment they dawned on him.  Even in the dream, there is weightlessness to his soul that long since ascended, and while, at first, he’s not sure what the wavering figure in the distance is, the stones sink into place, slowly, one after the other.
 
It’s Uncle Torleik, out there, and those are the caverns, he thinks, looking over his shoulder to the overly dark, mighty mouths of the caves that seemed so much bigger in this frame of memory than they actually were.  His stomach sinks, even in the dream, before he feels Aithniel’s tiny, half starved little body plow into him, the descent to the ground oddly spiraling and slow.
 
Thistle sister…
 
Like dreams do, he is suddenly on his hooves again, and Torleik is giving him that sad, sad smile that adults made sometimes when they’d met Aithniel and the young Prince together.  When they heard that she was Illynx’s – and would also know that her heart, her poor, frail heart, was doomed.
 
Her lips are so soft against his neck where they accidently brush his skin as she tenderly pulls the grass from his mane, while his little voice calls her Thistlebabe, because mother hadn’t even bothered to name her anything…
 
Why?  Why am I dreaming of this…
 
She named herself Aithniel, a fractured golden bell that chimed sadly in his heart from time to time.  That bell peels through the dream, a steep, beautiful note that makes the little dream boy’s eyes well with tears, the closeness of their souls painful to recall – but warm, so lovely and soft, like sunlight, like spring wind.
 
The sound of their laughter as they descend on Irelyn, small and new, fades into the cold barking mockery of that delightful sound; the song of friendships unbroken by time, by truth, by ritual, is swallowed in the brittle and cold metal chatter of his mother’s malice.  The image of the hidden valley of the unicorns pulls away, fast, like water down a drain.
 
He is running, toying with Jorogumo in the winter snow, less visible than breath; he is falling into snow drifts, too deep to see out of.
 
Rikyn! she’s calling, fear knitted into her voice, and its like she’s calling through the dark to him, a hot flame flickering, begging for him to look.
 

 
The dream ends suddenly, the emptiness he’d fallen into becoming the cold, cool earth against his sides, which shudder with heavy breath.  Shaking his head to try and better rouse himself, stumbling in his emotional befuddlement towards the opening of the cave he’s holed himself up in to sleep out a storm, he is surprised to find his cheeks are dampened when the trickle of rain scented wind coming from outside the cavern brushes against his face.
 
Feeling quite foolish and equally morose, the sorrow turns into agitation (as is common with the young unicorn) and a rough rubbing of his face against his knees to remove the evidence of his weak heartedness.  When he looks up again, out into the world and the horizon, he is glad to see that the gray clouds are distant in the horizon, and though they still downpour on those poor souls, he is no longer one of them; instead, he looks out across the meadows stretching eastward from the sea, his cavern one of the many located along the strand of beaches, over looking the sea, that many called the Endless Blue.
 
Grumbling to himself for letting a stupid girl and his stupid dreams get to him so much, the young man makes his way to the beach itself, letting his hooves sink into the pearly sand slowly at first, before he finds that he’s running headlong, as fast as he can.  His ribs, recently mended, complain loudly as he forces them to stretch with the breadth of his steps, dashing with such abandon that those he blazes by may believe him a madman, but even their annoying protests are preferable to the sound of her calling his name out through the void.
 
Despite his speed, his recklessness, the feeling that had besieged him while he slept has chased him with each wild step.  The only thing he has accomplished, as running like a moron will often do, is to tear his ankles to hell with the partially frozen sand bank, and to reach what seems to be where the Edge meets the Endless Blue (the herd land itself towering overhead) – facts he notices only now, standing stock still in the throes of guilt, teenage rage, and the slow turn of the sand about his hooves from pale to red.  


[ OOC: Open to any!  Random inspiration post is random. ]



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Erthë Posts: 440
Outcast atk: 5.5 | def: 8.5 | dam: 5.5
Filly :: Hybrid :: 14,2 hh :: 3 years HP: 64.5 | Buff: NOVICE
Chan
#2

From her perch high up on the ledge he seems little more than an ant. Small, black, a smudge against the majestic backdrop of sea and shore, insignificant enough to step on without feeling a shred of guilt. Here, with the world spread out beneath her feet and the cold, pale rock pressing firmly against her back she can pretend not to recognize him, not to care about the sour burn of anger and envy in the gut, the one that rises like bile and turn her heart bitter and sharp like stabbing glass whenever their paths cross.

She already forgot why she didn't like that boy. All she can recall is the exchange of hard words and unfair claims, but the details are lost within the haze of forgetfulness. He must really be insignificant if she cannot even remember how they first met. Usually moments like those are clear and vivid in her memory, a painting of layered brush strokes, action and reaction stacked on top of one another until the brightness of recollection blinds her. Indeed, such a small part of her life should be easy to overlook, but for some reason Erthë is unable to tear her eyes from the ant of a horse as he careens across the sand, running as though chased by something only he could see.

Why, though. Why can't she look away? Why can't she stave off the reckless urge to spread her wings and descend to his level, to forsake this elevated position of indifference and degrade herself? She think she knows what will happen if she do - bickering, bragging, anger and pain - hurt feelings as a fragile defense is shattered by a cold and reckless tongue. It would be madness to willingly expose herself to mockery and ridicule... wouldn't it?

The wind sweeps in from the ocean, buffeting her where she balance so precariously and tug at her wings as tough to tempt her into action. It is but a thin ledge she stands on, barely enough for fragile cloves to cling to, a sliver of rock halfway up the vertical wall. Below her waves crash against jagged rock, the force of the impact tangible - a vibration that rises through the rock and spread through her limbs, urging her heart to race, to beat, to bleed. For herself though, or for him? He looks very lonely down there. She wonders what he runs from, to maintain such a pace for so long. He is much nearer now, heading steadily closer to her cliff, her ocean, her mist-veiled home. Does he realize that he will be trespassing soon, cross an invisible borders and trample upon her hearts dwelling place?

Hesitantly she breathes in the cold wind, let it fill her lungs until they feel ready to burst. Reluctantly, with a sharp, explosive sigh she heeds the call of oblivion and stretch her vast, pale wings, allow the sky to swallow her and lean into the void. For a second, two, three, she falls, plummets, until the ground is closing in and the drumming heart begs her to live. At the last moment she allows alabaster wings to catch the wind and glides swiftly across the sand, past rocks and foaming waves, down towards the heaving, sweaty stallion on the beach.

Quiet and graceful she lands several feet away from him, a fragile snowflake on the stormy beach to block his path. It's a miracle that she doesn't stumble, fall, wobble on her broken, weak legs - but she blesses the Wind for this, because it is not easy to place herself within reach of this person. He is as tall as she remember, big and bulky and stinking of sweat, rage and blood, with a crazed look to his eyes as though he wished for nothing more than to pick a fight with the world. Pale eyes, frigid as the waters off the shore, fall to the shredded coronets from whence the acrid scent emanates. Her gut twinges at the sight, but the only change in the distant expression is a pursing of the lips - annoyance, that he dared stain the ground in this time of peace.

Erthë knew she ought to say something, do something. No words come to mind. Already she regrets coming down here, regrets revealing her presence, regrets caring for even an instance. They were not friends, did not even get along. So she looked away and began to turn, fully intending to leave before he could let lose whatever demons he carried on her. Before either could do more damage.


_________________________________________

Waiting for the rain I'm bracing for the thunder
A twig that wouldn't sway in the wind


@Rikyn

~| Use of magic and violence is always permitted |~
~| Please only tag in opening posts |~

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
Rikyn
While he gathers his bearings and drips blood and sweat into the sand, the gentle thud of hooves draws his attention away from the shudder of his overexerted lungs, and the steady roar and crackle of his soul struggling against how big such a small hole could become.

The notion that the Edge was home to his family was common place – what was not common was the thought that others lived there, others he may not care for, as he didn’t care for this girl.  Her sails are broad and white against the blue canvass of the sky and sea, struggling against the wind that reaches its cold fingers deep into the heated tissue of the riled youngling, tousles his wild and unkempt hair about his shoulders.  For what feels like too long their eyes meet; his wild, white rimmed golden ones, narrowed with hatred not entirely belonging to the hybrid before him, like molten shards of metal glint through the rough, salt flavored wind to appraise her twinkling, kindly seafoam gaze as unworthy.

Its like she hears him curse her very being her, as if she knows that the hard breaths staggering through his clenched throat grow more ragged and savage at the sight of someone so very horrid to him during his time of weakness, and she turns around as if she’s going to just go away.  Why her?  He honestly would rather Ki’irha, or the white and gold mare from his dreams, and maybe its the thrash and curl of his tail, the way his whole figure stiffens and his head, normally raised, lowers, or maybe she’s just not stupid enough to go around prodding hostile unicorns who don’t particularly care for her.

Even more frustrating than her arrival is that she shows him her back, the slanted tips of her white wings permeated by the sunlight from above, the curls of her obnoxiously unicorn tail swaying in the wind that carries her mist and woodland smell to him.  Why did she even let her presence be known if she was just going to walk away, without a word?  

Did she think that, by turning away now, she could drive a dagger into his heart?  That she could spit at his hooves without a word, “you mean nothing to me, watch me see you struggle and give absolutely zero shits.”  The way she turns her back is so like the way other women have turned their backs on him, and it makes the sting return to the corners of his eyes, the beach blurring against his will.

It doesn’t suit him.  It doesn’t suit the broiling pit of loathing that spits and sizzles within him, the sight of her turned back rousing his hooves into a canter that quickly brings him alongside her, his speed spurred at the last moment to pull ahead, haunches slamming down to try and swing his fore half in front of her, cutting off her traipse down the beach.

"Where the fuck do you think you are going?" snarls the unicorn, prepared to try and snatch her up by her pretty white curls, and beat her senseless into the sand if she tries to continue on down the beach (the presence of her herd land over his shoulder already forgotten), "did the scene not suit you this time, you little nuisance?"

The light of his golden eyes is vivid, animalistic, the veins along his figure obvious in the faux black velvet of his pelt.  The tracks of tears are true black lines along the ridges of his face, torn free in his mad dash to intercept her, now welled somewhere in his throat – perhaps why such a rasp pervades each syllable of his voice.




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Erthë Posts: 440
Outcast atk: 5.5 | def: 8.5 | dam: 5.5
Filly :: Hybrid :: 14,2 hh :: 3 years HP: 64.5 | Buff: NOVICE
Chan
#4

The ground beneath her feet quivers and quakes under the force of his approach. She registered but did not think further on what it might mean, what the cause could be until the stallion shoots past her in a flurry of dark skin and long legs and flying mane. She jerked her head up in surprise and squatted on feeble haunches so little prepared to carry her weight, prepared to flee, fight, fly if he came at her.

But no. There was no attack - well at least not a physical one. He just cut off her path back to the safety within borders, slammed his big, sweaty bulk in front of her and quipped, words a vicious snarl that caused her ears to tip backwards on her poll. He glared at her and Erthë glared back, anger seeping like frigid shards of ice through her veins, causing tinted alabaster temples to pulse and pound in pace with her heart. How dare he cut her off like that! Who did he think he was, to block someone's path when they had decided not to get themselves involved! So infuriating, the way he addressed her - like she was nothing, like she could be commanded and pushed around by the likes of him!

Then she saw the tears. Dark lines streaking down his cheeks, tell-tale moisture gleaming around blazing eyes - it seemed so wrong, because, come on. Rikyn, the smart-assed, self-absorbed Rikyn, crying? What was wrong with the world, was it about to end soon or what. Erthë wanted to laugh at the sight, to point and jeer and prod that open wound of his whatever it might be, return the favor of irrational loathing and malcontent he so carelessly dished out for her whenever they crossed paths.

She wanted to mock him for this visible display of weakness; to her own dismay however, the only thing she felt was a faint, reluctant stab of sympathy.

Oh. So even stones could bleed. She never knew.

"By that... do you mean you want me to stay?" In the question danced question marks, raised eyebrows and grim, cynical humor.

She was not allowed to leave, but what did he mean by keeping her there, on the beach, with him? Not for a moment did she believe he needed a shoulder to cry on, and even if he did she would never allow it. Kind as she was, forgiving and caring as she was, there were limits to how far backwards she could bend.

"If you are only going to insult me then forget it - I'm not in the mood today."

She could have pressed on, walked on and stepped around the living, breathing, seething man in front of her. Instead she waited, a brow raised and tail snapping impatiently from side to side, pausing while he made up his goddamn mind.

What do you want with me, Rikyn? Do you even know yourself? Move along now, I haven't got all day.

_________________________________________

Waiting for the rain I'm bracing for the thunder
A twig that wouldn't sway in the wind


@Rikyn

~| Use of magic and violence is always permitted |~
~| Please only tag in opening posts |~

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
Rikyn
That the girl is always such a bitch in response to his equally unappealing behavior is a vast part of the reason why his well of dislike for her seems to deepen with each meeting.  She is not cowed by how much larger he is than her, nor does she ever seem worried that she is a hobbling cripple; the snowy damsel cares not at all for the fact that she is an inferior mutant, or that he was a Prince of a people among whom even the least desired were of more value than she.  All of these things should make her innately submissive to him, but she is, as always, obstinately her own being.

It makes Rikyn want to throttle and shake her, to say the least.

The feeling only deepens when her pretty aqua eyes flicker across his face, the softening of pity on her features deplorable, though he honestly doesn’t notice that her sympathy (however fleeting) is what makes his stomach clench and heart harden so against her.  He figures it’s just that Erthe is, well, Erthe, and that the feeling of utter disgust that besieges him is correlated entirely to her existence, rather than that he rejects his feelings time and again, preferring the ease of baser emotions.

Such as anger, what fills him now, or sadness, that which had filled him yesterday, and brought him to the beach in the first place.  He prefers elation, or even boredom, to the horrible broil of enraged snakes twisting in him now, and the little white bitch just keeps kicking the basket.

"I want to know why you even flew down here!" uproariously demands the stag, one of his bloodied hooves slamming into the beach and his tail whistling audibly as it strikes the air behind him.  

She’s right.  He doesn’t even know why he’s chased her down like this, other than that he couldn’t bare to have her walk away.  His mind mocks him in as many words, flashing images of other people who walked away, who never looked back.  He’d be damned if he let someone as punitive as Erthe do that to him, or if he let anyone ever do it again.

"Always nosing in on shit that isn’t any of your business, things that are bigger than you are," he condemns, the irony that much of what he blames the pale maiden of are faults of his own, "fighting Gods, interrupting elders, fucking with wolves to see the flash of their teeth.  One of these days…"

His lips bloom into a smile, dark.

Stone and steel, calls some small voice in the back of his head, a voice wreathed in golden light, pure, and calm.

He drives a sword through its heart, listens closely for the ragged sound of its death.

His hooves take an angled step forward so that his hot, heavy breath is close enough to touch her perfect white skin, his muscular figure threateningly close as he slips his muzzle closer to the nearest dainty white ear.

"One of these days, those teeth are gonna grab you, and they aren’t going to let you go."






Coding by Tamme - Image by Dingo

@Erthe

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Erthë Posts: 440
Outcast atk: 5.5 | def: 8.5 | dam: 5.5
Filly :: Hybrid :: 14,2 hh :: 3 years HP: 64.5 | Buff: NOVICE
Chan
#6

As she had suspected all along, he could not offer a satisfying answer to her query. In her eyes he appeared flustered where he stood, stomping and thrashing like the dark waves against her snow-covered shoreline, a spring storm rampaging against the withdrawal of a winter that payed him no attention. If only she could be like the fading season and withdraw, go on her merry way with the satisfaction of having completed her task.

Unfortunately, just as he has no answer, she stands wordless as he draw nearer, expression as frigid as the raw cold emanating from her frost-covered skin. The heat of his presence is searing, burning and clawing at her senses, attempting to melt the high walls of defense, self preservation, dignity. Erthë breathed and felt the stench of his essence well over her in waves of disgust, contempt and, despite herself, fascination.

Why was it that she was constantly drawn towards danger? Why did the night, the dark and the strange have such power over her? Born beneath a full moon, should she not be a child of light and beauty, all grace and silk-wrapped innocence? Yet when he whispered threats in her ear, uttered poisoned words of hunting wolves and swiftly approaching pain, the shudder that rippled through her skin was born from shock and thrill as much from fear, the prospect of being consumed by that which she feared above all as morbidly exciting as it was terrifying.

Erthë breathed again, inhaled a long, deep breath saturated with the reek of sweat, of blood, of musk and man, so inherently strange and foreign to the inexperienced cygnet, and her enchanted, magic-tainted eye traveled to meet his menacing golden gaze. A storm brewed within its silvery depths, emotion swirling like mist on a moonlit night; twisting, stirring, conflicting as anger battled other, less certain sensations stirred up by the narrow distance between his skin and hers.

"The entire world is bigger than me" she said, and her voice was as calm and distant as the stars, a warm breath in an cold, cold rush of howling wind. "If I were to pause and drop to my knees before every obstacle in my path I would never get anywhere."

That's all you are to me, Rikyn. An obstacle to overcome - a stepping stone I need to scale, in order to reach something greater.

A simple step to the right was all it took to escape the oppressive closeness of the stallion, and she was already moving away from him, walking determinedly back towards the towering cliffs from whence she had come.

"I came down to see whether you had grown up since last I saw you, Rikyn, but it appears I was wrong. Here's to hoping I won't have to be disappointed again."

Since you're not likely to ever mature, let's just not meet again, shall we? That would be a relief... in various ways. The effect his close proximity had on her was alarming and she did not like it one bit. A weakness at the knees, a surging heat in the gut; strange and wonderful, in a way that left her feeling tainted, unusual.

Coiling tassels danced as she flicked the elegant tail offered him a dismissive wave, an imperious wave of a monarch's hand to suggest the audience was over. The snow flower had nothing more to say and at this rate, any further conversation was likely to descend to the level of base threats... no wait, he had already hurled himself headlong down that path. Oh well, at least she could keep herself above such things...

Here's to hoping he wouldn't press the matter. Her temper wasn't half as sweet as her parting words, and patience had never been her strong suite.


_________________________________________

Waiting for the rain I'm bracing for the thunder
A twig that wouldn't sway in the wind


@Rikyn

~| Use of magic and violence is always permitted |~
~| Please only tag in opening posts |~

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
#7
Rikyn
The cold of her skin is noticed after his words still on the salt laced air, the pure snow smell giving the mists that cling to her skin a sharper note, one that melds with the cold wind that tears white caps upwards across the face of the sea. It covers the metallic tang of his blood in the sand below, or the saline stench of his sweat, so that all that remains is the sweet, grass smell of his breath against the winter of her skin, the gossamer silk strands of her curled mane.

He doesn’t notice the shudder of her figure beneath his imposition, not like he notices the burning cold of her strange eyes meeting with his own, that she, like always, is afraid of nothing.

Perhaps it is only the curse of the wings on her back, her brain barbaric and animalistic, her soul, as all souls of hybrids and pegasi, eternally writhing in the agony of being two foreign beings at once: the unicorn, keeper of the earth, and the sky bound bird. Such a conflict would leave one stupid to the notions of danger, because what was danger to a creature which defied the very laws of nature?

Perhaps, though, it was that she was, quite simply, brave.

Her words as her pale eyes hold his own flaming aureate ones are soft, almost devoured by the croon of the wind and the steady thrum of waves against the shore, the pounding of his blood in his ears. The trembling of his muscles are visible, the urge to grab that pretty white ear despite her patience with his foolish youngness growing into an uproarious clamor the longer she looks into his soul with her weird gaze. That she still doesn’t seem to understand that, sometimes, the obstacle rears its big ugly head up and bites you clean in two is something Rikyn has very little time to consider a reply to (his thoughts muddled with her cold skin and the volatile rage that crackles against the ice wall she provides).

The determination of her hobble as she steps to the side and marches back towards the cliff face is a sight that, surely, an endearing one, to many who see it. Rikyn, on the other hoof, loathes being mocked by crippled freak, loathes her ignorance of his natural born dominion over her, and absolutely loathes what she says even more than either of its previously mentioned mates.

He wants to cut her into ribbons as she hobbles on by him, like she isn’t some crippled freak all alone on the beach with a fucking bad ass. He hadn’t grown up any?! At least he knew how to mind his own business when, obviously, someone was having a bad day! A disgruntled and savage snarl breaks from his mouth, the sight of the Edge above her all that restrains him from slicing the tendons on her otherwise useless legs (though he does pull forward to snap his teeth at the flick her dismissive tail).

"Oh, go choke on hemlock, Erthë," harshly cajoles the unicorn at her turned back, "I didn’t ask you down here, now did I? No. I didn’t. You thought like a little girl that maybe, oh just maybe, if you came down here and batted your lashes we could be friends."

The sarcasm, the mockery – it covers the bleeding of being as very isolated as he is.

"News flash, you nosy little bird – we are not, and will never be, “friends.” Sorry reality has disappointed you so much, you naive, intrusive, self glorifying twit."






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Erthë Posts: 440
Outcast atk: 5.5 | def: 8.5 | dam: 5.5
Filly :: Hybrid :: 14,2 hh :: 3 years HP: 64.5 | Buff: NOVICE
Chan
#8

This time nothing appeared to block her path. The way lay open before her, wet sand stretching out in a fading line until the smooth shoreline was swallowed up by swiftly rising cliffs, the flatness interrupted as the landscape heaved and rose towards the north. Relieved she marched on, an otherwise smooth gait jarred and distorted by the horrible limp, swaying youthful curves marred by the stiffness brought on by pain constantly present.

He thought it peculiar that she could be brave in the fact of threat, but to be perfectly honest Erthë just did not take him seriously. After staring down a God and watching it fall to ruin, it was easy to get blasé about what was dangerous and what was merely annoying. That he could harm her, injure her, cause her pain and agony and even death simply did not cross her mind; it was too preoccupied with mundane worries of the long road she would have to walk before she found a hill tall enough to take flight from, how troublesome it was to walk over the shifting sand and whether she had made herself justice in the battle of words and prestige just then...

In short, she had already dismissed him as she began to leave, and it was with a certain annoyed exasperation she heard Rikyn continue to rant behind her. The words he used were blunt and poorly phrased in her opinion, his threats and curses childish and as immature as she had branded him; quite easy to overlook actually. And she very well might have done just that, simply went on without flicking an ear in further recognition... if only he hadn't snapped at her.

She felt him come, felt his bulk with all it's excessive heat and oppressive size close in on her, and with an audible crack like the closing of a door one had barely begun to swing open his childish, violent attempt to bite her tail removed every trace of sympathy she ever might have felt towards him. Though he missed, though she felt nothing more than the draft of his nose passing by the slender, coiling appendage it was enough to project her forward in a startled jump. Tucking the precious, sensitive tail tight against the rounded buttocks Erthë let out a squeal of shock and fury and kicked towards his head, ignoring stabbing pain of wobbly fetlock joins for the suddenly spiking need to retaliate. How dare he aim for her precious, beautiful tail!?

"You're an idiot Rikyn!" she snarled as she spun around, pupils narrowed in feline fury. The dainty woolen ears had all but disappeared amidst the soft curls, and though she was so small, so lithe and doll-like and pretty there was something very dangerous about the way her eyelids narrowed and the swelling, ruffled wings that suddenly appeared to double her bulk. The air around her was growing cold, the ample amount of water in the atmosphere freezing as her temper caused magical energy to spill over; frost glittered in the pale light where it spread across her back and when no water remained to freeze, the freezing dry air zapped and crackled with static electricity.

"Who would ever want to be friends with a thick-headed self-absorbed prat like you? You can just go drown yourself all on your lonesome then, since you so obviously do not want my company! Did you ever consider just letting me leave? Because if you simply shut your flapping gums for more than a second I would be out of your hair already, and I'd be much better off for it!"  

Behind her the threatened tail thrashed back and forth, snapping through the air like a ceremonial whip, all silk and ivory yet quite capable of serious damage. The familiar weight of a weapon resting against her side was enough to make her teeth ache in longing to pull it out, to ply the string and watch Rikyn cower in the face of the lethal beauty of her Niquesse.

But Erthë did not really want to use the bow on the likes of him. It would sully the weapon to use it for petty arguments like these, and when it all came down to it, Rikyn just was not worthy of such a glorious demise as the one she could offer him.

With difficulty she tempered the overwhelming desire, and for the second time the vicious dove made to turn and leave, this time attempting to increase the distance between them so that he would not reach her with a sudden move. She was so done with this person already, so tired of getting dragged down to his level.

He didn't have to tell her to get lost twice - she couldn't wait to get back home and not see his ugly, twisted face ever again!


_________________________________________

Waiting for the rain I'm bracing for the thunder
A twig that wouldn't sway in the wind


Erthë bucks and attempts to kick Rikyn in the face with her rear cloves. xD Her anger causes her to unconsciously use magic, freezing the water in the atmosphere around her.

~| Use of magic and violence is always permitted |~
~| Please only tag in opening posts |~

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
#9
Rikyn
A short laugh barks from his lips as her hooves whistle through the chilled air just beneath his chin, sending the curled tendrils of his winter beard rippling, continuing outward as she turns around like a sadistic angel to glower at him. He laughs because she was dumb enough to think her squat, broken legs could reach his face. He laughs because he’s managed to make calm, cool Erthë do something more than pretend to be a talking machine, programmed to interrupt, prod at sensitive parts of a person’s being, and walk away, and that the laugh might keep cracks forming in her icy facade. He laughs because he knows that her useless leg probably hurts like hell, and that, while he didn’t directly caused the pain, he’s managing to throw some knives back. Her female indignity only furthers the depth of his delight at having tricked her into playing his hateful game; even when she starts howling that he is an idiot, when the world around her freezes, falls about her in flakes of snow, the stallion relishes the small victory.

It is cool as hell though – the “I’m angry so watch me make the air sparkle” thing - a truth which he will take to his grave, even if he has to eat his own tongue. Something about it makes him wonder if he couldn’t one day have a power to emphasize just how very little room he has in him to deal with shit – right now he’d be radiating avalanches. Maybe then, she’d have minded her damn business and stayed where she was when she saw him below.

Instead, she takes another well aimed, metaphorical kick at the basket full of roiling doom. The things within howl as the basket twirls, and she carries on down the beach, smug as a cat having finally pinned the mouse which has taunted them all spring.

They always come in, just to walk away. They do it because I’m… me.

“Who would want to be friends with someone like you?”

No one.

But he already knows that, doesn’t he? She wouldn’t be the first one to remind him, and she probably won’t be the last.

It doesn’t change that it makes him sink inwardly, no matter how still the barely composed portrait of rage stands on the beach, his smile vanished. It doesn’t change that the rage, hot and molten, cools into impassioned steel, as if the freezing of the air around her freezes, too, his inner struggle against the darkness that threatened to devour him.

The escape from emotional hurt that he had chased down the beach… Why did he bother? No matter what he did, where he ran, life would hurt. It was the way it was. He just didn’t understand why others had to constantly remind him all the time, or to taunt him with what he didn’t have, like she had when she’d first arrived, and tried leaving without a word.

How callous mortals can be with one another, without a single thought.

"Then go," leave me alone again, he manages, the edge of his voice somehow dulled, dizzy from the emotional spiral dragging downward, the battle of the inner voice that sees the truth, the voice that strives to hide it, to twist it to a better purpose, and a third which seeks to protect the heart, "I’ve only had your company this long because I chased you down, anyway."

Its his turn to walk away now, no longer wanting to fight her as his mood swings from the slamming brutality of rage to the dark, steady sea of no fucks, the pain of his savaged ankles digging into the sand the only sort of sensation he’d allow himself to feel for the duration of the day – except perhaps the subtle ache in his temples, the residual memory of tears. He does so because it’s the only way to escape looking at the bigger truths, ones that require a lot more thinking and a much bigger headache than this small one, now.

Things like his mother’s lack of love for anyone, himself included; the loss of his home to time, the distance between himself and Erebos, the vanishing of Adelric. The truth that Aithniel had not left him, but that he had turned his back on her, again and again, that he had only ever let her down. The wonder, itching, scratching, in the back of his mind, the question as to whether or not it was his fault that those he loved now left him, too, as some recompense from the Gods, First or otherwise – and the deeper curiosity as to whether or not his heart had been deceived by lies, if his path was one which would bring him peace, and redemption, or leave him forever dwelling in the impotent outrage that had filled him as he’d towered over Erthë.

He was tired of them all. Tired of others parading around, pretending like they cared, when all they cared about was what they wanted. She had come down here for some purpose that had suited her, and when it didn’t any longer, she left. He may be a “prat” unworthy of friendship, but at least he didn’t pretend to be anything more than he was, like everyone else he met, hiding behind smiles to avoid confrontation.

He was tired of always finding that others had no answers, and that they were as lost as to the truth of everything as he was – that, maybe, no one knew.

And that… well, that scared him more than anything else.





Coding by Tamme - Image by Dingo

Wishlist - Plots

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

Erthë Posts: 440
Outcast atk: 5.5 | def: 8.5 | dam: 5.5
Filly :: Hybrid :: 14,2 hh :: 3 years HP: 64.5 | Buff: NOVICE
Chan
#10

This time she didn't care what he said, his bitter words bounced off her back like pebbles and caused no ripple, no stir, nothing but an angry snap of the tail as Erthë stormed down the beach, quietly seething. Ice spread across the sand and coated the grains in a glittering crust, her rage an icy torrent of silence that left her acutely aware of everything in the surrounding landscape. She knew when he turned, could see him slouch off in the opposite direction and imagined him sulking, beaten, defeated by her clumsy yet apparently effective display of anger. That he had laughed was in her mind nothing more than an attempt to save grace, to combat the well earned tears of mortifying humiliation he ought to shed now that he had succumbed to her superior intellect, her undeniable prowess in standing up to herself.

As she ambled on alongside the crashing sea Erthë relished the sweet triumph for as long as it lasted, sucked on the elation and confidence it game her until, gradually, the flavor began to grow stale on her tongue.

What did he mean, he "only had her company"... What kind of phrasing was that, like he was sorry to see her go! After all those things he said, who would have stayed? After those mean glares, all the things he did to her in the past... What did he mean by chasing her down and preventing her from leaving, when his whole attitude upon seeing her screamed 'get lost'... It was infuriating, because it made Erthë feel like she had missed some kind of point, as though it was she who had done something wrong and she ought to have stayed, to have cared, to...

But she didn't want to care. It was ridiculous, she hated the guy more than she had hated anyone before in her life. Rikyn infuriated her with those superior sneers he gave her, and had ever since they first met. The scene, earlier obscured in the haze of forgetfulness came back to her now and she remembered the time in the red forest where they had crossed paths over a dead god and a fairy-tale princess, competing for her attention and approval... But Erthë realized she remembered more than that. She recalled vaguely a bay body streaking across a battlefield, long limbs dealing swift blows to a rampaging God and a triumphant laughter ringing beneath revolving skies.

How irksome, that he too had proven himself brave and valiant that day. By rights it should only make her gloat even more now, after sending him packing, but it didn't. Instead something turned over in her gut that was remarkably similar to guilt, and without really thinking about it the filly slowed down, turned the head to throw a glance over the shoulder at the shrinking stallion.

"I've only had your company this long because I chased you down..."

Why did those words linger, the way they did? Why couldn't she just leave him be and let him rot? It's what she wanted, what he wanted. Right?

Clenching her jaws, the snowflower stopped dead in her track and remained there for several dragging moments, frozen in place by her own magic as the ice of damp wind and foaming waves began to build up around her cloven feet. Thoughts reeling, churning emotions and reluctance battled within her, but something clearly won over the rest because when she started forward again it was with a new determination. Faster she went, a swift (but lumbering and decidedly ugly) walk turning into a lilting trot, and when she found that her aching, stabbing legs still managed to sustain her she spread the wings in a whisper of silky feathers and ran, each gait mind-numbingly painful yet somehow still fast enough to lift her into the air. It was nothing short of a miracle that it worked - another time it might not, might have seen her tumble and fall, land helpless in the sand - but she didn't pause to consider this.

Instead she rose steadily higher into the air, battled the erratic bursts of wind to gain height until she could maneuver and then turned in a single, heart-rendering graceful arc and set off after the disappearing form of Rikyn. On her feet she might not have been able to catch up with him again but in the air she was swift and beautiful, possessing an elegance she would never be able to master on land; her vast wings brought her up alongside him with a few steady beats and kept her there above his head, a fylgja silently following in his wake.

She didn't say anything to him, because she was still angry at him for the insults and the condescending attitude. But neither could she stomach leaving him alone, not after hearing what she interpreted as a silent plea for attention.

He ought to be grateful, the stupid wretch, that she even bothered. He sure as hell didn't deserve her company. This was all due to her soft nature, her tender bleeding heart who would offer a hand even to a starving wolf, knowing it was likely going to get bit.

Stupidity on her part, no matter how you looked at it. She must be out of her damn mind.

_________________________________________

Waiting for the rain I'm bracing for the thunder
A twig that wouldn't sway in the wind


@Rikyn

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