Good God, under starry skies we are lost,
And into the breach we got tossed
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@Glacia @Lyanna @Orithia [tagging those who expressed interest]
[OPEN] Strike for Love, Strike for Fear [herd quest]
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06-14-2016, 09:16 AM
(This post was last modified: 06-20-2016, 11:04 AM by Tembovu.
Edit Reason: thread name
)
@Glacia @Lyanna @Orithia [tagging those who expressed interest] Don't let the curtain catch you, cause you've been here before,
The chair is an island darling, you can't touch the floor
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force permitted / please tag me
The sky was barely awake. But she was awake, and so were her comrades. Sleep still hung in her eyes and dragged at her steps as the small band made their way toward the dig site, the promise of sweat and progress curving the mare's blushed lips into a grim smile. It was not often that she was able to feel the stretch and pull of her own muscles due to honest work - if one didn't deign to count fighting as work. With a yawn threatening to push it's tired fingers up her throat, the mare shook her head and heaved a small sigh, eyes upon the stocky form of Dacianna as she paused to speak. At last, Orithia took the time to look about at the small gatheri-- her eyes widened in shock and frustration; only two others?! Her teeth grit as anger brushed against her heart. Didn't anyone care about the preservation and protection of the World's Edge? Didn't any of the herd members that gathered and prospered from the blessed safety of the land want to help keep it that way? With a huff the mare pinned a rather large stone beneath her gaze and went to work on it - turned out that rage was a wonderful working motivator. Soft grunts and the gentle grinding of rock moving over new earth punctuated the mare's work, her anger dimming ever so slightly in the face of manual labor. Leaning down to press the left side of her neck against a conveniently placed dip in the rock, Orithia dug in her hooves and savored the feeling of progress. Raising her chin and catching the eyes of each of the unknown mares in turn - a cyan tinged lady and another with ivory spots blanketing her dark skin - before offering what was supposed to be a grin. Unfortunately, what with her physical exertion and her lack of experience with smiling, the pegasus' attempt turned out to be more of a grimace. "I'm Orithia, what can I call you two?" @Glacia @Lyanna @Dacianna Honestly, kick her ass at any time. Seriously.
Any and all aggressive and non-aggressive contact permitted.
Please no permanent injury or death. We'll get to that part at some point.
xoxo
06-15-2016, 12:47 PM
@Glacia @Dacianna @Orithia Please tag in all posts Magic use/power playing is okay, but check before serious injury/death Image by Kiki
06-20-2016, 12:47 PM
but somewhere here in between the city walls of dyin' dreams He hadn't been with them from the start. They had known about this thing—he hadn't. He didn't know about anything anymore. He was just some relic of the past, a forgotten piece of furniture someone left behind when they moved out, and the new owners hadn't been bothered enough to throw him away. Maybe he was pretty to look at? With his pristine white fur and black spots, and winter's day blue eyes—
Get over yourself. But chance and coincidence were wonderful things. Mauja never really knew why he was anywhere these days, nor how to predict his wandering; sometimes, he just walked the same paths for weeks, sunk into some deep, cumbersome thought pattern. And sometimes, he walked erratically, sporadically, haring down on side-paths or just following the wind, or the owls, or some scent, or just followed some strange pattern of turning 20 degrees every three hundredth step. (Counting your steps was better than thinking, sometimes.) But, whatever phase he'd been in recently, that early morning found him near the Edge's border, ambling along with his nose skimming the mosses and blue eyes unfocused. And likely, he would've gone from one end of his homeland to the other, without being able to recall what he had seen along the way, if not a vaguely familiar voice had cut through the air. The wind tugged at her voice, brought it into his soft, black-rimmed ears, but it still took a good ten paces before he stopped. Frowned. Turned his head. Trench digging? Volunteers? What? Mauja didn't volunteer. Mauja—uh, Mauja was.. Mauja, but the combination of curiosity and proximity had him ambling over in the direction of the call. Just a few minutes later he spotted the sorry party: the poor mare he had knocked unconscious in the Flats, a pegasus he didn't know, another pegasus he didn't know, and Glacia. Well, fuck me. Apparently the gray mare's name was Dacianna, a pretty enough name, and she was an Edge Philosopher. (As if the world isn't small enough already.) The memory of her made him feel both awkward and guilty. He shifted where he stood, hid in the shadows and a faint veil of morning mist, unsure of what to do. Was this quartet going to clean the entire border? With their bodies? He winced as Dacianna dug her horn in beneath something; what if she miscalculated the weight of the rock, and snapped her horn? Ouch, ouch, ouch. Just, ouch. Why the fuck were they supposed to dig a trench anyway? Part of him felt like screeching and popping onto the scene like a flustered bird, yelling about nature and broken legs and whatever else, but— Just like with the fires Mirage had burned here, and the glass dragon she had erected in what he had to assume was vanity, the Edge was no longer his. It was enough to force the air out of his lungs. It was enough to bring tears to his eyes. It was enough to make the darkness roar in his ears. So he figured the least he could do was to try and make up to Dacianna for their strange first meeting. Wordlessly Mauja unclipped the leather bag and let it slide to the forest floor. Irma and Diego didn't need prompting to understand, and settled upon it, to watch and wait and guard. The crystal staff was a comforting weight in his mouth, and an excellent reason not to speak. He simply ghosted up to the group, found a suitable victim, and hacked away at the ground with his hoof until he had a small hole into which he pushed the end of the durable staff, and brought the rock up, out of the soil. Rinse, and repeat, and try not to think of all that you have lost. Mauja
the white queen
07-18-2016, 08:11 AM
Wander or Leave turn in to winter lights ☀︎
07-19-2016, 12:33 PM
Please tag in all posts Magic use/power playing is okay, but check before serious injury/death Image by Kiki
07-28-2016, 02:47 PM
Please tag IONA in all posts. Force and magic permitted, but please check before inflicting serious injury. image credit
08-27-2016, 12:35 PM
esinakh
They wandered. She was not keen to wander, but brother… Brother was brave and strong and safe. Brother was the shield to all that scared the little, slender filly. Indeed, her tiny limbs and ribby frame betrayed the hard toll her terrifying birth had taken on her infant body. Her bones were too prominent, her face too gaunt, her wings to angular with too sparse of fuzz-feathers on them. But, despite such things, the tiny filly tottered around the Edge’s borders. Mother was also safe (not as safe as brother, though; brother’s safety was why she left mother’s side at all). But mother was not here, now, so all of the filly’s minuscule attention was focused entirely on brother. His larger horn-buds, his greater wings, his thicker legs. Everything about him was more—and so she preferred it this way because he was easier to see; easier to cling onto. A shiver shook her grey body, once, the many shades of blue and black melding together as they approached a sea of adults. But, still, her focus was aimed solely towards her brother. They could be giant, flighted, spotted whales and they would hold no interest for her. Giant, flighted, spotted whales were not safe. Her brother was. And it was this tunnel-vision that ultimately failed the grullo foal. For her smaller, shorter strides opened up a distance between herself and her twin, thus allowing her to walk face-first into an arcing, flying, clump of dirt. A tremor shook her body once. Twice. The rich, wet soil clung to her face and crowded her small nostrils for long seconds as they flared and trembled. It was hard to breath; the air to thick and earthen—just as it had been too thick with blood the moments of her birth. She couldn’t breath. Pale eyes widened, rimed in white as her tiny wings flared— “Ra—” her small, infant squeal was caught by fear in her throat for a moment, before— “Rak!” a true scream ripped out of her little throat. A thick, wet, grey substance began to film her back, dripping from her withers and down her shoulders in a few, small clumps. Again, a strangled scream grey-mottled lips as her teacup hooves became unrooted in this dastardly earth; both legs and wings began to flail against the dark and dank earth that tried to claim her. Keens, wails, and whimpers intermittently broke from her small thrashing body. @Arakh
08-31-2016, 02:58 PM
but somewhere here in between the city walls of dyin' dreams "Need an extra pair of horns!?"
Only if I can stab you with them— Anger coiled tightly beneath the surface; a nest of snakes ready to strike, a match slanted against the matchbox. He didn't even know why he was angry (maybe it was better than feeling nothing?), only that he was—upset with the brash, jovial, loud intrusion upon their quiet and depressive workforce. It had suited him just fine, a heavy silence of the voices, only the strain of bodies fighting nature and somehow thinking that they could win. But all of that had been shattered. Blown apart. Mauja's black-lined ears clamped against his neck, but it wasn't enough to block out the sound of that cheerful voice chatting away and asking Lyanna how she was and exclaiming he hoped it wasn't too back-breaking. But for whom? Lyanna? Or himself? If you don't wanna your pretty back broken, Mauja thought darkly, you'd better shut up. In a brooding silence he sought to endure, thinking that the work would claim Tilney, too, and reduce him to grunting silence, focused on the task at hand. The shorter work they made of this, in the fog-hung, pessimistic and dreary morning, the sooner they'd be out of here. (Translation: the sooner he would be free of their company, without a guilty conscience.) He wanted—needed—space. To think. (To brood.) To process. (To engage in acts of self-pity.) To— Rocks and dirt and roots went flying over branches as the stupid healer sought to make victims for himself to practice his arts on (because what else could be his fucking reason?!) and Mauja's ears had seemingly glued themselves permanently to his neck. A striped, frosted hoof stomped down on the ground, hard, and he found himself meeting the green gaze of the exuberant, irresponsible stallion; his dark maw opened as he meant to rip into the chestnut man, but he was beaten by that youthful, excited voice proposing a game and looking at him like he wanted him to participate or something. The only kinds of game Mauja would play were the ones where someone died. He wanted to put rocks in a tree hollow. And whoever got the most in would 'win'. First; how about focusing on the task at hand? Second; how would they move all the clutter from the poor tree when they were done? Third; how would they know who had put what in? Fourth; "What does one win? A hot and steamy night with the Edge's most fancy, pretty little boy?" (His voice sardonic, his lips pulled into a sneer, the scythe laying by his feet.) He didn't know where it came from, but if he had been anyone but Mauja, he would've been inclined to blame Iona. But as it was, he was Mauja, cold and sharp and knowing that he never had anyone to blame but himself; so himself he blamed, but he didn't get much further than that—he didn't get to the constructive parts—before a clod of dirt went flying into the face of a little filly who started screaming and flailing and, ever so slowly, turning to stone. What. The. Fuck. "Is this even real?" he asked with a startling display of emotion; his eyes were round and pained, his voice much the same. "Surreal timing, you made a practical demonstration of everything I had against your childish ways of going about this task. You saved me from having to point it out with words. Bravo," and his voice dripped sarcasm in the spoken equivalent of an equine slow clap, cutting through the commotion the girl was causing. "You ought to be ashamed of yourself." With a final scowl in Tilney's direction Mauja picked up the scythe and resumed his work, ignoring the poor filly. He'd probably make matters worse if he tried to comfort her; he didn't feel very comforting. In fact, he thought the best way to solve this problem would be to simply kill the girl, which he knew he would regret later. Frustrated or not, he didn't want another death on his conscience. At least, he thought he didn't—a dark glare thrown from a piercing blue eye in the direction of a handsome golden stallion. [ Ignore his grumpy face. ] Mauja
the white queen
09-13-2016, 08:12 PM
Evangeline & Tallis
It was the shreiks and screams of the tiny filly that drew Evangeline to the gathering. Her heart beat a little faster in her chest, adrenaline flowed through her veins because the screams sounded and felt as if they were born out of sheer terror. While she hoped no one would be stupid enough to walk into the Edge and harm one of their own she also wouldn't put it past anyone. The stupidity that was displayed day in and day out never failed to astround her. When she found the screaming girl nothing really seemed out of the ordinary .... aside from the screaming, flailing filly. There were others that were fast at work moving rocks and flinging dirt. Mauja was griping at Tilney, Lyanna was there, along with a few others that Eva knew by their faces but not their names -- proof that she had indeed turned into a hermit. She looked away from those that were working and turned her attention to the tiny filly. A quick once over was enough for her to believe that the girl wasn't injured, and had just had her vision obscured by a clump of flying dirt, though she could definitely understand the fear that not being able to see could bring on. "Shh, little one." She murmured to the child and she shifted so that her body would block any other clumps of mud that might fly in the girl's direction. An ear twitched in Mauja's direction when she heard him speak, but otherwise her attention remained on the girl. "Calm down, you're okay. Here, let me get that off of your face." She reached her muzzle out in an attempt to brush the mud away from the child's face. As she did so Tallis trilled softly in his own attempt to calm the girl. "My name is Eva. Why don't you tell me your name?" The orange mare suggested in the hopes that getting the filly's mind onto another subject would help with calming her. As far as she was concerned the trench could wait, the panicking child was of far more importance. | |||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
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