the Rift


[OPEN] [WELCOME!] thieves landing [HEALER]

Toulouse Posts: 146
Aurora Basin Impersonator atk: 8.0 | def: 11.0 | dam: 4.0
Gelding :: Equine :: 17hh :: Six HP: 74 | Buff: ENDURE
Boomslang :: Green Ratsnake :: Paralyze Neverrmind
#1

TOULOUSE
TINKER SAILOR SOLDIER SAILOR RICH MAN POOR MAN BEGGAR MAN THIEF

Home appeared on the horizon and yet, there was still hours to go until they could be tucked away nursing their strains, bruises and travel wounds. It was certainly no normal feat travelling as far as they had and especially in their condition. Already their detour had cost them time, a detour which thank the four had proved useful in further healing their wounds, yet still Toulouse questioned whether to rest for the night or push through those last miles and attempt to get home. They were not at the mercy of any beast nor foul monster, but that of the gods.
In the north they were constantly keeling to the weather and it was this precipice that the unlikely trio now tread along as night rolled in. With a storm brewing to the east, one which Toulouse could only guess was filled with bone-chilling sleet, lightning and ice, again that vital question was posed. Should they find dally here and try to find shelter? What if they did not? Surely the tiger's victims would freeze right through - already they seemed as weak as an hour old foal.
Or should they press on and try to outrun the storm? They'd be flogging their already-acquired injuries, exerting themselves beyond most bodily function. With the end in sight, and the threat of death on their heels, who knows what they might be capable of.

The Theif's hoof stomped deep into the earth, his sweaty head craning back towards his followers. A decision had to be made, and it had to be made soon. Now.
The threat of brontide loomed, quaking the earth beneath him with every rumble. How dreadful it would be to become caught in such a storm. He had no doubt it would mean death for them all.

The decision was made.

"We must hurry!"
The pale one boomed over the crackle and smack of lightning "To be caught in that storm will mean the death of us all"
And with that the gelding took his feet to the earth, pressing onward up the slope towards his home. He trotted where he could through the varied terrain only allowed for his exhausted, heavy footsteps.
Over one more hillock and the arch would be in sight, he knew it.
"Are you both alright!?" He called below, finally reaching the summit. The slope, for now, was gradual and flat towards the arch, the kind that wouldn't require half as much energy. He did hope, however, that help was watching, and that the flock he lead had managed their ascent without injury.
A raindrop, iced and cold pattered upon his rump; It had caught them.


YAY! Everyone come welcome/HELP our newest herd members @Nora and @Noah !

I AM THE KEY TO THE LOCK IN YOUR HOUSE—
DO NOT CRY OUT OR HIT THE ALARM
YOU KNOW WE'RE FRIEND TIL WE DIE—

EITHER WAY YOU TURN, I'LL BE THERE
OPEN UP YOUR SKULL, I'LL BE THERE
CLIMBING UP THE WALLS

SO LOCK THE KIDS UP SAFE TONIGHT
CLOSE THE EYES IN THE CUPBOARD

Nora Posts: 52
Aurora Basin Mare
Mare :: Pegasus :: 14.2 :: 3
Angel
#2
Rolling bluffs, mighty cascades and those disordered foothills become a far-off memory; the terrain contorts, mutating into a snarling tier of ridges and towering alps. The air becomes biting, every breath is filled with a charged, frosty tinge. I graze the bare trunks of distant pinnacles, their faces rise to an impossible height and their thrones sit above the world, watching the small folk as we mill onward. Gnarled currents quarrel with my spring-tide coat, tangling and disrupting. Feathers tighten guardedly – I’ve weathered far worse, but those twisted, darkened trails in the past weren’t skewed with the fog of uncertainty.

I couldn’t help but drink in the plague of doubt as it mists my mind. Where is he leading us? Irises forsake the ridge-line, pivoting instead to inspect our cloth adorned guide. Mistrust breeds sour emotions; nostrils flare, snorting free a wispy miasma. These ears crane backward, listening for the caboose of our train. Noah...I think to glance rearward...to sink into the quiet, stern company he has offered. But as the sun disappears, the temperatures tumble; bearable air turns uncomfortably cool against my warm, travel beaten body. Optics flick warily to a sinister sky.

While that heavenly barrage becomes savage - crackling and roaring - beneath the ground, the mountain strives to have a heartbeat. The false pulse trembles with labor pains as though the rocky loam was contracting.

"Monsieur," I strain, mindful of my instinct to recoil from unnecessary notice, "sommes-nous proches?" Unfortunate timing places my voice under down stroke of a thunderclap; that soft inquiry would likely go unnoticed. Confirmation comes half a heartbeat later when he lifts his dark baritone above the noise. I crane forward, attempting to comprehend…but none of that rapid, windblown jargon can pierce the invisible barrier. He quickens into the next slope – I press on, pushing to keep up. Unfortunately, it isn’t long before the terrain takes a sharp curve upward and loose bits of gravel are sliding out beneath me.

Lungs pant, sucking gulps of thin air. My focus dares a glance upward to orientate, scanning for his (or Noah's) familiar, murky frame against the distant outcrop. That brief slip of concentration is tallied -- my right foreleg oversights. It jerks out in front, the sudden offset in balance ushers me into a sloppy bow. Teeth click together, effectively muffling my startled cry. While my left knee grinds painfully against the bedrock, the right becomes my crutch. Wings unfurl, lending their support. Lips unhinge, allowing my cry to emerge in the form of a hiss and gasp while these lungs claw for breath. Rocking, I lean backwards and right myself. Grunting and straining. Throbbing heat washes my wound and pain is swift to follow. I pause, holding fast.

My snout drops, flaring against the quivering cut(s). Faintly, I can smell blood…

Panic seethes, gashing figurative teeth. Optics flash up, glimpsing the distant frame of assumption (and hope) when the lightening creates a false, blue daylight. Though resentful and anguished, these forelimbs respond with a dull willingness to press onward -- and so I do.

@Noah


Noah Posts: 59
Aurora Basin Soldier atk: 4.5 | def: 7.5 | dam: 7
Stallion :: Pegasus :: 16.3 :: 3 HP: 64 | Buff: NOVICE
Riven
#3
Like jagged teeth before the bruised, evening-blue sky, a mountain range rises, ahead - to the north. With glazed eyes and a notably detached expression, the stallion examines the horizon, the sharp, white peaks spanning its long length, and a rocky, rugged tundra-scape rolling down to meet their path. He sighs softly to himself and muses about how absurd it is, that they (he and the porcelain princess), should trudge so primitively across such merciless terrain, while feathers are left wanting, yearning for that famous thrill of wind; perhaps they had not the strength to fly yet anyway, he supposes in silent disconcertment. A least the air he breathes holds the beloved thinness of altitude.

A broad storm-front has been brewing to the east, and the rising resonation of its pulse draws forth the interest of one rogue ear (its twin still cranes forward alertly). He is from island paradise, the tropics, where the monsoonal onslaught seems endless and electricity arcs through a soggy blanket cloud both day and night; yet he has seen nothing of the sort since leaving Manangatang and the distinct static sensation stirs familiar anticipation through his weathered core. Lavish, loose, flaxen tendrils bounce and swing frivolously from and along the horizontal length of his crest, and the chiselled, tapering skull at its narrower end, hides broodingly behind the same; the bountiful forelock which cascades like bright flowing water around cheeky golden tips. Wearily he continues behind them, marching into the wild unknown - and there was something queer, off-putting, about the one that lead (no matter the wellness of his aim).

So much country had been covered, and blindly, yet he dares not severe from the course set for fear of further attack. His skin still crawls with savage paranoia, and he has spent countless hours scrutinising the wilderness mumbling beyond them - her…

Like a babe upon new legs, the delicate doe loses balance, traction, and plunges knuckle first into the wickedly sharp terrain; then, dotingly, and driven by an unfaltering sense of duty, the loaded coils beneath taught golden skin, launch his larger frame quickly into action - again. He rides the wind forward artfully, with bold, feathered arms set ajar and chin tucked against a hot, throbbing jugular. Huge hooves, lost beneath a swirl of loose ivory, touch down safely upon the same grit just as she ascends to continue, but whiskered lips dance across slowly, brazenly seeking to block her way; softly puffing breath bids for cooperation and at the same time, tender eyes survey the glistening bulge of blood above the gash.

Concern brews within and a network of lines fracture the remarkable disinterest he has been heralding- she has been through enough, he believes. Withdrawing his skull from the region of her succulent, sweet-scented breast (if indeed it had been allowed so near), he asks her firmly to “wait…” Then into the wrath of turbulent air (above heaven’s rage), he throws his face and calls out a vivid response to their lead, “…no! Please, hold up!” They will not linger long (some urgency has flanked this latest leg of their journey), and he slips off course quickly to hunt. Muzzle sinks swiftly as senses search through sparsely placed tussocks for something in particular; he finds the best quickly, nestled into the rotten bed of long dead timber and pushes it free with a determined fore. Beneath, the taste of rich, moist earth rises into flared nares like the scent of blaring spring blossom, and blunt, pearly teeth seize a handsome bite.

Quickly he turns back, falling to his battered charge after first pausing to offer reassurance (an optimistic venture given last time), followed by a gentle glance and kindly murmur, “it’s alright…” With a vast wing extending to offer shelter (icy droplets plunge from above and strike his shivering spine), lips - if given the opportunity, will work to seal the whole surface of her knee with a muddy, makeshift scab. If nothing else, the gesture will serve to ease ‘his’ mind alone. Already a towering presence, he draws back his head and moves further along so that his wing, now crooked, can perform as a generously sized umbrella over her head. “Come now,” he beckons, stepping forward carefully, with attentive gaze upon her summoning too, “you can rest again soon.”
Plots | Absences | Wishlist
Please tag me in openers and spars
Permission for all except death
(no need to ask)

Roland Posts: 230
Aurora Basin Phantom atk: 7.5 | def: 10 | dam: 2.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16 hh :: 8 yrs HP: 60.0 | Buff: NOVICE
Glo
#4



A dark and angry sky had dropped low over the mountain tops as evening progressed, breeding chaos in its midst. The clouds rolled and churned like the waves of a wind-tossed sea, electricity crackling through the air. Already a fierce wind had begun to stir, racing through the trees and over the rocky crags with a haunting whistle. It was dark and ominous, and the Phantom was not at all eager to be caught in the thick of a brewing storm. The comfort of his cave was not far away, promising relief from the biting wind and oncoming rains. He could hardly wait to duck into its shadows and weather the storm in peace and quiet.

The path towards the lake from the higher foothills was deemed even more treacherous in the dark, any lingering daylight having been swallowed by the swiftly gathering clouds. Roland’s gaze was fixed upon his feet, every step chosen with care, lest he stumble and fall. His heel caught a loose rock and he jolted forwards, heart seizing in his chest. It was at that same moment that a distant voice rang out across the hills, hardly distinguishable above the burgeoning roar of the tempest, almost lost to the current of wind that raked across the mountain sides. The first icy drops of rain hit Roland’s skin like shards of ice as he paused, hardly daring to breathe as he waited and listened. Nothing moved against the dark backdrop, the ridges were empty and abandoned, aside from himself. Then another shout echoed over the hill, and without further deliberation, Roland had turned himself in its direction and hurried up the slope.

As he drew nearer to the source, he began to deliberate, his pace faltering; to meet uncertainty- whatever it was that lingered, toiled on the other side of the hills- was to risk throwing himself into the jaws of a beast. Yet, there had been a note of desperation in the voice. He could not turn his back on a cry for help, even if it invited more danger. So his feet carried him onwards, upwards, towards the very edges of the Basin’s domain. The soil churned beneath his hooves as he quickened his pace, a flash of lightning illuminating the hillside. By the time he met the hill’s crest, Roland was short of breath. The land had begun to even out, sloping gradually upwards until it reached its apex, dropping off on the other side to a winding trail. A figure stood at its edge, dark silhouette carved against an angry sky. He recognized Toulouse at once, looking back down the trail, and without a moment’s hesitation the Phantom bounded across the uneven terrain towards him, his early trepidation forgotten at the sight of a familiar- though not well known- face.

Toulouse!” He cried above the calamity of the storm. His gaze fell upon the Thief’s companions as he drew near enough to see them clearly, struggling up the steep incline. They looked as if they had been through hell, bruised and battered as they were. The scent of blood lingered on the wind, metallic and unsettling. Roland's eyes widened as he took in the scene before him. The rattle of thunder over the mountains tracked a shiver along his spine, and he moved in closer with a growing sense of urgency.

What happened?” He demanded, breathless still from his run up the slopes. Above them the storm worsened, wind hissing through the tall grasses and pulling at his short mane. The rain began to fall with purpose, running down the planes of his face, and the water droplets felt heavy against his skin. Questions and explanations could wait. They needed warmth, shelter, and someone to tend to their wounds. The answers would come later. “Never mind that,” the Phantom dismissed his earlier inquiry with a hurried shake of his head. He began to make his way down the slope towards the two winged strangers, drawing round their side as if to take up the rear of their party. "Home is not far," he assured them, watching as the stallion extended his wing, shielding his companion from the rain. The trio looked as if they would not last a moment longer at the mercy of the elements, and Roland would not chance one falling behind and becoming lost in the middle of a storm.

@Toulouse @Nora @Noah


Push your luck if it makes you a promise
that turns con men honest.

Image Credit


Toulouse Posts: 146
Aurora Basin Impersonator atk: 8.0 | def: 11.0 | dam: 4.0
Gelding :: Equine :: 17hh :: Six HP: 74 | Buff: ENDURE
Boomslang :: Green Ratsnake :: Paralyze Neverrmind
#5

TOULOUSE
TINKER SAILOR SOLDIER SAILOR RICH MAN POOR MAN BEGGAR MAN THIEF

A plunging step upon the ice was the pale one's only hold to it, his gaze not daring to look below. Ahead was their goal, the throne of the north; he would not let as much as a storm throw these life-hungry mutts from the edge of the abyss who had already come so, so far.
With another crackle of lightning, the veins of the sky erupting with the spark, Nora's voice was captured upon the air. Turning his nose and pinned ears, Toulouse sought to hear the woman's voice again should she attempt to repeat herself, yet no such attempt was made. Continuing one foot after the other, the serpent struck his way up the hill, his mind trying to process the pieces of sound he had heard escape the doe's maw. Carelessly the thief continued on, deciding that the brute he lead might address any issues.
Perhaps he relied on Noah too much.

Growing to ignore the brontide and hissing strikes from the daring atmosphere above, Toulouse's ears were not failed by the grunt and hiss that came from below. Craning his head and cautiously turning upon a pinned front leg, Toulouse turned to see his companion skidding into the unforgiving, razor-like surface of the earth.
"Nora!" He bellowed, reaching out with his own teeth in a chance attempt to catch any part of her before she fell, like the angel she was, right down the side of the mountain. To his most fervent relief, the woman stayed in her place with her knees grating against the bedrock; his mind hardly even crossed to the potential injury she sustained, only to what catastrophic state they would have found her body in should she have fallen. Turning to continue, Toulouse was halted by the copper eagle's cry of warning and halt. Brows furrowing, Toulouse turned back to watch the pair as the gallant fool uttered to her and then strode off... as if into the senset.

"Noah!" Toulouse cried "What in... Why-" The gelding was speachless, momentarily pondering if the man had in fact just decided to leave them and head for the cover the pine might provide. "What in the name of the four are you DOING!"
His forelegs taking wide, licking steps along the ice, Toulouse skid his way down to Nora and attmepted to fasten himself underneath her right wing to support her. Perhaps if they attempted the final part of the ascent together, as a team, they might just make it. "Where in hell did he go" Toulouse cursed, throwing his nose over Noras neck should she allow it, searching for the man who had until recently been one of the three in their unlikely trio.

Without must searching the man was located, thundering back from wherever it was he had run off to, returning with a mouthful of something that to Toulouse only looked like mud. Toulouse, who by now was far past the point of protesting, gave an impatient stomp and began to lurch forward, beginning the final ascent.
Toulouse!
The  voice was one he had heard before, though it was also one he hardly recognised. Turning his hardened gaze in the direction of the voice and the thundering footfalls that accompanied it, the pale one caught sight of another phantom, comrade, and herd-brother. Roland. He would probably never be so glad to see the well-groomed unicorn ever again.
"Roland!" Toulouse cheered, lurching forward once again to reach him. There were questions, though still the palomino could only shake his head. All would be explained, just not now. "Help me get them past the arch!" The phantom boomed to his chestnut brother, pacing towards Noah and attempting ot gather himself under his free wing. Whether the stag liked it or not, he was getting their help. They both were, and they would see this through.


<3
@nora
someone to accept them pls!

I AM THE KEY TO THE LOCK IN YOUR HOUSE—
DO NOT CRY OUT OR HIT THE ALARM
YOU KNOW WE'RE FRIEND TIL WE DIE—

EITHER WAY YOU TURN, I'LL BE THERE
OPEN UP YOUR SKULL, I'LL BE THERE
CLIMBING UP THE WALLS

SO LOCK THE KIDS UP SAFE TONIGHT
CLOSE THE EYES IN THE CUPBOARD

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
#6


ЯIKYN


The dark roil of the clouds in the sky is, perhaps to some, a foreboding sight; towering, with thunderous crackles and illuminating, fleet flashes of lightning, most of the herd has moved indoors, beneath the protective awning of their stone shelters, or the thick pines. I, however, move through the valley unprotected but for the metal plate adorning my shoulder, and the company of my buck, our golden marks gleaming in the brief, bright light that floods the world when the Spark ripples across the black and gray swath of clouds above.

Picking up our pace as we near the border, feeling the thrill and rush of the storm above begin to flood our veins as the promise of rain begins to sing in the distance, its sweet, welcome smell as it hits the sun-warmed stones ushered in by the cool winds of its arrival. Both children of the Spark, I born here, and bound in service to him, and Duir marked by his very essence, the sight of the treacherous sky bodes a rush rather than ill, to men such as we.

That eager delight to escape the toils of my newfound responsibilities is quickly crushed, however, for as my companion and I charge over the rise and into the paths beyond the valley, we are met by quite the distraction.

Toulouse and Roland are abreast the final stretch of the land leading to our cleverly disguised-by-the-mountain-itself passage, some strangers among them. Though the light is dim, I can immediately discern that they are winged, and wounded.

A grimace crosses my face at the thought of having to touch them, especially the male. He has no perfume to distract me from the odd, silky touch of his feathers against my skin, nothing to make the emotional distress I’ll merit from each peculiar sweep worthy of the effort but his thanks.

"Who are these strays?" I ask, because, well, they look like someone has beat them with a stick all the way here, exactly the sort of thing you imagine when someone describes some mangy, homeless creature turning up at your threshold; they’d seemingly been attacked, but judging by the age of the wounds, and the general lack of speed with which they clambered their way forward, I figured whatever it had been was far behind them. Turning my head to my buck, standing still at the far end of the trail, wistfully watching the rain pour down over the rolling hills and rocky outcrops, and down through the shady boughs of the tall pines, clustered tightly together. "Duir, go find a healer."

With magic, not just some idiot with plants and linen scraps, I mentally add, earning a blast of frustrated breath from the nostrils of my handsome companion as he bounds of to do so.

"Did you kill whatever it was?" is my next inquiry of those gathered (unsure of anything more than that they are here), slipping down alongside the painted mare, and offering a shoulder for her brace herself on reluctantly, "we can send someone out to deal with the menace if need be."

Tell them your name, idiot, chimes my buck from his dash to the healer’s cavern and greenhouse, where they are most likely to be found. He’s right, of course, but I still retort: shut up.

"I am Lord Rikyn," I tell them, glancing about at the tall, palomino splashed man, while aiding his female companion (if she’d let me) up the last of the slope, otherwise simply walking alongside her, opposite the massive guardian who accompanied her; with a gesture of my golden horn as we speak, I try to hide the fact that I’m not entirely okay with letting them into it, even if most of my comrades are, "Roland is right. The pass is just over there."

No one seems to take kindly to the old ways anymore.

[ OOC: @Lena you can powerplay Duir making it to you and back here a bit <3 ]



call me a safe bet
I'm betting I'm not



Art by VeerDesigns@DA | Table by Me

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

Nora Posts: 52
Aurora Basin Mare
Mare :: Pegasus :: 14.2 :: 3
Angel
#7
My rigid jawline kneads, openly wincing and murmuring quiet relief as the cry of our lead and my name whisks in. Walk...mini me urges, come on. Thus…a battle of will ensues; though physically spurred by fierce elements (and the wisdom to not fall more behind,) the inner drive is pierced with distress, fatigue and dread. The swollen heat radiating from below…it’s a sample of the horror to come should I fall again. But...I couldn’t trek their path indefinitely…how much further? Wait…lips strain apart, gasping.

Between a hammering heartbeat and the celestial drum-fire, my perception is disorientated. I couldn’t predict that Noah is still behind me, nor that his heavy feet would easily overtake my stuttering pace…until his pale, dappled body comes swinging abruptly into view! These forelimbs quiver and stutter, forced to falter from their perseverance into a swaying halt. Nostrils flare anxiously, snorting out a sweltry mix of astonishment and barbed alarm as it sizzles over my expression. Noah!? The delicate line of my head slumps, an automated response born from the instinct to survive in a world suited for the strong. Self-doubt and unreasonable fear gnaws at my gut…fueling my deference in an effort to appease whatever grievance might arise.  

What did he...?

Nostrils flare, drinking his collected, assertive aroma. I can feel the first kiss of rain dusting my skin, icy deposits that cool the travel worn heat. Irises fixate upward, granting him my leery, stunned engrossment. These hind-feet yearn to stumble backwards; redraw the boundary of personal space. But his large, damp face has already sealed the distance between us. Eyelids broaden, regarding him cautiously; heavy wings resettle against my sides, providing isolation against the elements.

Above us, the storm becomes relentless; bold strokes of white outline his towering frame, contrasting the dark backdrop. Though, the rational part of my brain didn’t automatically assume he meant me harm – his unknown goals collide against muddled comprehension and a year’s worth of prior experience. Disorientation mocks our situation; my subconscious becomes less understanding and more receptive to base emotions – dismay, distrust – the air is a breeding ground. My wounded limb shivers, triggering a miserable wince as I lift the leg apprehensively from the ground and replant that wretched foot.

When his creamy lips shuffle apart, ears creep fractionally from their saturated nest, foreseeing a nonsense ramble in my imminent future.  But the single utterance is simple enough to overhear and understand. Wait. I understood the meaning of that word…Tense muscles constrict uneasily; brows furrow, washing my regard with fresh befuddlement. Why? My eyes follow as he turns from me, looking to the apex of our journey. Rich tones plead above the storm, reaching for our trail header. By now, those icy droplets have begun to fall in greater number; the wind snarls, whistling by like a siren as it echoes across the rocky alcoves.

A response comes from somewhere ahead, loudly following Noah as he noses the area just adjacent to the path. My throat constricts, warning flags spring up. I recognized the song of said speaker, but I couldn’t understand his foreign notes, nor why he bellowed with frustration…anger?

No…that faint voice whispers, tailing Noah and the angry warrior some distance beyond…I can walk.

With his body clear of the path, effectively removing the hamper from my view -- I find our cloth laden leader. His agile toes skid down the mountainside. Unsure of his intention or reasoning, the front half of my body replies on the notion that he meant for us to retreat. I flinch (limp) a handful of steps sideways as he draws near. Nostrils flare, filled to the brim with charged, savage air. The storm feeds aversion; inducing a perception that his proximity and scowling, enormous annoyance had a reason…and could dangerous. When he boldly strays closer, my courage snaps like a twig – I balk from the pale, gilded stag. Hindfeet stumble over the loose gravel; for a second, heart snagging terror and confusion darken my logically self.  

I steady myself just as Noah turns back; a fierce shiver races down my spine…eyelids flutter, blinking moisture from my eyes. Calm done…my subconscious murmurs, attempting to sooth my fraying nerves…nothing to…the voice of encouragement dies out as my fledged savior inches forward, speaking softly. Irises lock on him, grounding and watching anxiously for the solution...the translation. Toulouse steps upward...assuming the lead again...just as another cry vibrates the air! My head jerks upward to follow the sound, this injured leg rises, pulling beyond Noah’s straining lips and carrying me a step or so from his umbrella-like comfort.

Thunder consumes those unfamiliar voices as two other men join our group – their approach is defiant and unwary. Our two become a quadruple, a cluster of giants. Storm clouds darken my eyes; their alien songs are fast and loud…I couldn’t begin to understand them. Ivories grind, fighting against the tension of claustrophobia. So many bodies all closing in at once! The end of my rope begins to fray; lips curl backwards, unsealing my clenched teeth. Wings flex apart, allowing the wind and rain to stream down into previously untouched crevices.  

Hindquarters tense as the latest addition approaches my thin bubble; ears flatten deeper into the tangled array of matted hair. Every muscle is taunt, providing them a clear warning to back off. Short grunts blare free, misting into the cold, shivering air. Wild, untamed emotions are freed, fueling the flame of uncertainty and uptight horror. I aim to pull from their mist, shifting upward; frantically skidding along the gravel for traction. Hindquarters quiver; my wet, heavy tail lashes – attempting to sense the dark, crowded area behind/around me – anticipating the need to strike at the slightest perception of aggression.

OC: Sorry I took so long!


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

Lena the Songbird

The capricious weather sulked and brooded outside the greenhouse walls, dark, cloudy, moody, shifting in mercurial efforts, giving them just enough time to tend and finish with their current duties; Lena shifted a few sprouts here and there, Imogen cleaned up any fallen shrubbery lining the sod floor. She hummed a merry little tune despite the inclement gathering amidst their sanctuary, only a little more hurried in her efforts, presuming to return to her cavern before sleet or rain struck its formidable, chilling blows, when the mountains roared, when the tempests echoed. However, a strange sense of urgency curled and coiled within her soul as another being clicked against the glass, and both nymphs turned to see Rikyn’s companion, Duir, pushing his hooves along the veneer. The Mender dipped underneath their opening, smiled, grinned, beseeched the noble stag with a fine, regal nod, friendly and amiable as ever, but he seemed rushed, fervent, restless, immediately bleating out commands she couldn’t understand, but Imogen caught, snagged, and hastened to her brow.
 
Need you carried on the wind, between their connection, along the blue depths of the fox’s gaze, and the Songbird stared briefly along the horizon, wondering who had been caught in the elements, who’d been snared, who’d been gnarled, who’d been whittled down – and wasted no time thereafter.
 
They were another segment of the tempest, following Duir’s clattering beat, a rise and fall of echoing rhythms, emboldened, daring, forgoing the possibilities of being lost amidst the mountain, the whipping snow, the chilling wind, the strong, enduring persistence of a wailing summit; it didn’t matter, not when someone required her powers, not when another ailed and faltered, stumbled, bled, scarred, wounded, and obliterated along the onslaught of so many terrors. She tried not to ponder any further than necessary, uttered oaths and prayers under her breath, only narrowed her eyes when the pellets first hit her face, as they drifted away and away and away from their precious sanctum, blending into the fold of malice and menace; a beacon of light, a vessel of hope. Everything became a blur then though, she barely managed to trail after Duir, calling out to him every couple of strides, waiting for his answering call before turning or twisting in that particular direction, racing, pulsing, pervading the loam with her essence, struggling to maintain calm in the midst of the unknown.
 
When she came upon the group, they were initially mere outlines in the nocturnal bedlam; she drew closer and closer so that they weren’t shadows or silhouettes, but didn’t waste her time prospering hellos or granting respectable nods of her crown – if she’d been summoned, there’d been a reason, a notion, for the foreboding gathering. Her eyes swept from one to another, Rikyn, Toulouse, Roland (and here she attempted a smile just for him, but it was gone in an instant, effort and promises fueling her, invoking her, conjuring her to do more than stand), and the two strangers, locked in an embrace, blood pooling, wounds open, lacerated, torn.
 
“I’m Lena,” she said to them both (winged, stragglers from elsewhere), kindness, warmth, and delicacy pouring from her stance, from the depths of her grin, to the beneficence enshrouding her entire being. “I can help you,” she murmured, and at once, took a massive intake of air, didn’t mind the rainfall, the enigmas, or the torturous divide. She simply closed her eyes and began to sing.
 
The tune was mellifluous, fluid, sublime, a triumphant coil of virtue and splendor, forgoing and forgiving trespasses, sweeping hands of fate, kismet, serendipity, curling back over ruined sanctions and bloodied sinew. It rippled along marred flesh, persistent like it’s owner, angelic, seraphic, dream-like in its haze, gliding upon the tyrannical winds and the urgent melancholies, fixating on repair, on mending, on soothing aches, pains, and anomalies. The hands of time swept through too, echoed on the fringes of her power, illustrious, golden, gilded by the passage of sparks and divinity, polishing and pulsing until their flesh was whole, until it was steady, until exhaustion was no longer a blight on their brows, a press on their bones. The song went on and on, beautiful, incandescent, radiant against the definition of darkness, eventually ending on one more tender note, and her eyes opened again, hoping she’d done enough. “How do you feel?”


Image Credits

Noah Posts: 59
Aurora Basin Soldier atk: 4.5 | def: 7.5 | dam: 7
Stallion :: Pegasus :: 16.3 :: 3 HP: 64 | Buff: NOVICE
Riven
#9
Island life.

In the tropics, sunlight drenches every long, lazy, day, and vibrant, vocal storms cool the muggy eves to follow; a million or more dazzling diamonds glisten across a clear, endless midnight sky. The reef tracing the slow curl of a soft, powdery white shoreline, nestles into shallow, warm seawater - the brightest, brilliant blue, and countless varieties of rainbow fish thrive amid the city of delicate coral castles.

Dugongs graze peacefully across lush meadows of waving seagrass, while hundred year old Loggerheads glide majestically overhead; sharks prowl by with jagged jaws agape, and dolphins skim through breaking surf, as it tumbles and turns gently about. The land is equally fertile: beyond the pure beach, palms reach with rippling green streamers to the sun, and coconuts ripen between them in the rich, golden light; a field of thick emerald spreads inland to the foot of a luscious rainforest, and beneath sheltering foliage scurry curious pouched critters (that sleep throughout the day).

Idyllic, bliss.

The Yirrganydji are a peaceable, bohemian people, who live in solitude, sprawled across the pristine sands of the island - they are at one with the natural world. Spiritual and artistic, they paint meaningful stories in picture upon their bi-coloured skin (stain, derived from their environment), about their beloved ocean sister, and her intrinsic relationship with the moon; to whom they raise their prayers. Seasonal celebrations (parties too, for birth, death, and love), take place beneath a picturesque, moonlit sky - when her reflection shines upon them and their watery kin most beautifully. Song and dance lead a full, vibrant night of festivity, after which decorated displays of class talent (mock battles and healing thereafter), take place.

Wild and cultural, beautiful and resilient.

But everything he knows and loves, feels a lifetime away…

He stands now, beneath a rising flurry of sleet and penetrating ‘cold’ like he has never before felt, while biting, cruel wind tempts a downhill spiral into the oblivion below; he is trembling, filled too with apprehension beyond the realm of his understanding and experience.  

Sharp, doting eyes skip from the brazen, sloppy man they had followed impulsively through the wilds (the nag of regret stings), to the ethereal, dainty doe he promises (still) to guard; expressive ears skim backwards the second the other male trespasses too near, and should he not have been so attached to the welfare of the frail fairy perched between, the young stallion might have launched into the second bout of defensive toil in just as many weeks. As it stands however, he is all to aware that the brandishing of voices and ego alike, sit uncomfortably with her; the weight of distress upon that exquisitely dished, feminine face (any fear in her enchanting pink, blue eyes), is not something he strives for.

The temper simmers, but fails to bubble over.  

It had been with only the very best of intentions, that he’d deviated from the tail of their line, and still it had been not particularly far (he would never have slipped beyond reach should she need him). The clattering of indignant hooves upon ice and a section of needless froth vocalising the ornery, horned prince’s disbelief braves the exploding elements to touch his waiting ears; they stir in his mind such frustration, that it takes every inch of willpower to ignore. Certainly he, a stranger (one who days before had wavered on the brink), deserves a little less condemnation for this unrelenting care he gives.

While the northern wind buffets his burly frame, testing both the strength and the resilience recovered during their detour south through the springs, fresh voices are born upon it; mud in mouth, the winged-one slips from her bubble (umbrella skewed sideways), skull lifting high and nostrils panting sharply beneath the stiff prick of both ears. Another body has appeared above them at the pinnacle, if indeed it existed - standing before his seething, dramatic backdrop. A tall, tapering horn juts meanly from the the face, and the new stranger powers forward, down to meet them with a fraction of the audaciousness (Noah thinks) of his chum. The young warrior is scarcely impressed: expressive ears fasten instantly backwards in answer and the smooth velvet end of his nose pinches warily.

Never before has he felt so ill-tempered…

Perhaps he is a fool - but it is not the first time that death has licked hungrily at the heals of the feathered pair. Although he looks worse for wear, the long scabs sealing his shoulder were firm, and the strains and twisted tendons suffered through the ordeal in the forest have long been pacified by calm magical waters. Noah is a flame to be reckoned with, a mounting wildfire - and fall to the brazen commands of a flustering, blustering prince, he will not (no matter the aid given, up until now). Beneath a flurry of long, water-logged flaxen, his neck snakes just short of the pushy male when he nears to bolster; teeth flash definitively, assertively, and sea-green eyes glare, illuminated by the thrill of savage lightening above. “Don’t you dare…” he growls (such irritation looks ugly upon him), bristling, growing, ballooning to the bellowing taste of testosterone.  

His young, manful mentality is stressed, frayed, thinning through the middle - the fact decorates his demeanour like silvery stars in a midnight sky.

Yet another comes: how many linger still, concealed out passed the rise? Smarting eyes squint through unruly rain to behold him - them, when they’ve all at last arrived, and to his dismay they gather close like a plastic blanket of unfamiliarity; a fence, a prison! Apparently the rain, sheets lashing down against them, freezing, violent wind and the monstrous storm resonating, isn’t quite enough to deter the unlikely (although all three do have horns in one fashion or another), allies’ queer reunion, and before this never-ending journey can resume, the lattermost speaks - suggests that they are strays. In the seconds to follow, the dove slips her shackles and begins a lone ascent; she is fearful, confused, the soggy taste of it floods each nostril as she slides swiftly by.

The rain, now bucketing, makes the slope all the slipperier, and he (though filled to the brim with gallant intention), can feel his grip slipping, sliding; it forces him to slow as he attempts to press bulk between she and them. “Careful,” he calls to the doe, worried for her, tracing the scrabbling line of matchstick legs on their pilgrim journey to the (seemingly) top of the world. Dimpled, dripping chin wavers at height and broadening, bold eyes strain through the obscure veil before her should any glimpse of this ‘home’ be there for the taking.  

Noah’s lungs project a harried sigh - the stranger presents the need to talk, and his tone bares the pitch of very unexpected casualness (so too grandness that the others, he thinks, lack), given the setting - he can make it out, just above the thunder. “You needn’t…” comes the low, tangible rumble of his thinning patience (that which had never been tested so critically before); he begins before any of the other men present have a chance… “It’s sorted,” he adds through gritted teeth, passing a monitoring glance by the dove; craning after her when he’s confident she is on her way. With prickling skin and narrowing eyes (not only for the sake of the weather), he climbs with them, behind.

“We are grateful for aid,” he responds for the both of them while shifting to view the prince, uncertain truly, whether their (collective) sudden existence in her life, is for the better or worse; would that demon have found her had he not been standing there so glaringly visible? With a light, decent dip of his skull (the concept of royalty is unknown), he settles into productive silence. Perhaps predictably, although the painted hadn’t picked Lord Ricky’s request for healing help, another appears through the thickening storm; though she is immediately unlike her male counterparts, and meets their gaggle with fresh warmth and compassion.

Despite the raucous, he can hear her voice, the feminine grace, the calm, the gentleness, and responds with something of a smile - he is tired, wants to arrive and find his dove safety. She tells them her name, Lena, and adds that she can help; without so much as a second glance, those weather blurred eyes seal and glorious tune fills his ears. It descends from their surface, passing through he funnel of his mind and lifting his thoughts, mood and heart for the better - so too does the scar upon him hum, it heats with all the radiance of the old summer sun. In the same fashion, worn ligaments seemed to untwist, and the cramps burning each calf doused altogether; so queer was it, that stunned eyes set upon her charming face. Soon her gaze returned,  part hidden beneath strings of wetted mane, and he answered disbelievingly where he’d paused, “I feel… new…”


@Roland
Plots | Absences | Wishlist
Please tag me in openers and spars
Permission for all except death
(no need to ask)

Roland Posts: 230
Aurora Basin Phantom atk: 7.5 | def: 10 | dam: 2.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16 hh :: 8 yrs HP: 60.0 | Buff: NOVICE
Glo
#10



The rain was a persistent, relentless thing, driving into the hillside with such force it seemed determined to wash them altogether from the cliffside. Already Roland was soaked to the core. His hair clung to his hide, slicked against his neck and over his eyes, and the chill of a northern wind raked against his sides without remorse. He gave his head a shake as he drew near to the couple, his hooves stumbling gracelessly over the worn stones. Despite the darkness that swarmed around them, he offered primarily a small, if not distracted smile, and a promise of safety just over the hill. Yet, as he swept around their side, he was met with sudden, unexpected hostility. The mottled stallion lashed out towards him, a flash of angry eyes in the dim light of evening, the venom in his voice akin to the rumbling of thunder overhead. Roland jerked back immediately, hooves scrabbling for traction on the wet path as he blinked the rainwater from his eyelashes in momentary shock.

An apology was waiting on his lips, ready to slip forth, but an interruption came in the form of a clatter of rocks behind him, a shadow nearing that left any atonement long forgotten. The Phantom’s every nerve was on edge, singing with tension, and the enmity he had been met with only served to aggravate his uneasiness, a growing sense of urgency driving him on. He took a step back, minding the placement of his feet to avoid losing his footing entirely as he studied the pair through the downpour. They must have been through a great number of trials, marked and scarred as they were. A little aggression could easily be forgiven, considering their circumstances. From the looks of it, their journey so far had not awarded them much kindness.

Darkness gathered round as their party grew. A deep voice thundered from overhead, throwing casual commentary into the mix, and Roland craned his head around to spy through the murk of night the gilded form of Rikyn, making his way down the treacherous slope. He could sense already the distrust growing, seething, in the quivering form of the wounded mare and her protective counterpart. As the young Lord drew near, Roland removed himself from their immediate vicinity to allow them space to breathe.

Another shadow crested the hill then, one more answer to the call for aid. Relief flooded Roland’s chest as he recognized the elegant form, and he let out a heavy exhale as he watched Lena descend hastily towards them. A flicker of a smile was aimed in his direction before her focus was turned upon the winged pair struggling their way up the incline. Roland took a step forwards, his wary gaze affixed to the painted stallion lest he lash out with the same hostility as he had to the Phantom himself. Instead, the suspicious glare softened, his ire receded, and amiability replaced the defensive posturing as Lena drew close with a murmured, melodious greeting. No ears pinned in her direction, no lips curled, and so Roland allowed himself to relax. He withdrew again, casting his gaze around their congregation. The trees bent and swayed against the gale, sheets of rain driving into sheer rock. Distant flashes of lightning illuminated the sky like pinpricks of pale flame, there and gone again in the blink of an eye. The rumble of thunder was a whisper in comparison to the rush of wind and water, the chorus of voices and commotion orbiting around the winged pair until all, at last, fell silent.

Roland was no stranger to hearing Lena’s voice; in joy and rapture, in fear and desperation, a song was sewn for every occasion. Still, he never ceased to be quieted, awed, by their harmony. Mellifluous and gentle, her anthems were everything the howling winds and driving rain was not. It was almost easy to forget the icy water that slid down Roland’s sides, and the forks of electricity that cut through gloam and shadow flared unseen in the distance as he listened.

There was a renewed energy, a vitality in the dark gaze of the tall, winged stallion as her song ceased, a wonder in his voice when he spoke. Roland smiled, glancing at the smaller mare to ensure that she had also been rejuvenated by the Songbird’s magic. He would have reached out to Lena, a gentle touch to show his affection, his respect, but he had not yet forgotten of the storm raging overhead. Angling a look back to the rest that had gathered, he gestured then with a northward nod of his head, towards the crest of the hill. “Come, we should not hesitate any longer,” he called above the vicious winds. Rather than carving a path ahead, he held back, making his way further down the jagged path to allow the rest of them ample room to ascend first. He would take the rear, ensure they made it up safely and all accounted for, or perhaps serve as a barrier to any who might lose their footing on the rain soaked stones.

@Toulouse

Push your luck if it makes you a promise
that turns con men honest.

Image Credit


Toulouse Posts: 146
Aurora Basin Impersonator atk: 8.0 | def: 11.0 | dam: 4.0
Gelding :: Equine :: 17hh :: Six HP: 74 | Buff: ENDURE
Boomslang :: Green Ratsnake :: Paralyze Neverrmind
#11

TOULOUSE
TINKER SAILOR SOLDIER SAILOR RICH MAN POOR MAN BEGGAR MAN THIEF

It was the next wraithto appear uponthe slope that sparked Toulouse's hope once again, the Lord emerging from the arch with urgency and (as usual) without any manners.
Who are these strays?
"From the threshold-" Toulouse grunted, splaying all four legs across the gravel as is split and crumbled beneath his weight. "Attacked-" the gelding shook his head, breathing heavy and laboured as he struggled over tht one final piece of the ascent. While his head remained heavier than ever, his shoudlers and spine sagging beneath each pressing drop of rain, the champion would continue. Taming his place beside the steady Lord, Toulouse waited for the flanking trio to reach a similar altitude before he would intervene once again with a push, shove, or pull upwards.

"It is no more" Toulouse confimed for his herd-brother and Lord "details later" - there was far too much to discuss now. For now there was naught to take in but the howl and scream of the wing, the shudder and boom of the mountainside and the crackle of splitting pine and wood. Each sound was a new threat, a new reminder of their dire situation.
Nora's discomfort did not go unnoticed however, and it was her strain and tension on her step that drew Toulouse's attention toward her once more. A cloudy exhale was expelled form his nares as he sought to cross the terrain once agin toward the reluctant woman who it seemed was fearful of the approaching Roland; a gentle man, and a handsome one too, who meant only to help her.
Don't you dare,
Noah, who by the time the thief had reached his side, seemed at boiling point. It was those three words, words that the pale one had trouble distinguishing which of the three other males present they were directed at, that caused him to stop in his tracks with a grand snarl upon his maw.
"Well!" He boomed, allowing his hooves to skate but a few paces down the mountainside so he might place himself directly behind Noah. "We can just leave you here on the glacier if you'd prefer!?" was his next aggravated growl, soon to send his entire shoulder in the direction of Noah's backside in an attempt to heave the stag forward, up and over the final hillock of the ascent in one final heave. The unlikely duo had been granted Toulouse's aid from the begining; they could not toss it aside so easily, nor pick and chose how it was given. As far as Toulouse was concerned, their only goal was to get safely past the arch and out of death's eye.


<3
@nora
sorry this took me so long, i've been super unwell this week!

I AM THE KEY TO THE LOCK IN YOUR HOUSE—
DO NOT CRY OUT OR HIT THE ALARM
YOU KNOW WE'RE FRIEND TIL WE DIE—

EITHER WAY YOU TURN, I'LL BE THERE
OPEN UP YOUR SKULL, I'LL BE THERE
CLIMBING UP THE WALLS

SO LOCK THE KIDS UP SAFE TONIGHT
CLOSE THE EYES IN THE CUPBOARD

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
#12


ЯIKYN


“It’s no more,” says the pale maned thief who’d found them, and I don’t really have time to process what he’s said before everything goes to hell in a handbasket.

The mare shoots up the mountainside like a frightened rabbit, and her protector swells up and strikes out at Roland. With a shout of "The fuck!" as I move forward with all the more hurry, I wonder what sort of bird-brained nut jobs Toulouse has brought home. I’m about to add the rhetorical inquiry of “do they attack all welcoming parties where you’re from?” when the golden pelted spy chimes up for me, sweeping forward with what I’ve come to expect from him.

Sarcasm. I snort at the harsh sentiment, sort of agreeing. I don’t have time for this sort of… drama? Psychopathy? Still, I think, letting my eyes fall across their harried hides and forlorn faces, as the woman looks back like a frightened dove as her tender hurries after her, my racism hardened heart softens to their situation. I’d attacked Ashamin my first day back, too, and that had just been a bad day. They’d had, from appearance, anyway, the week from hell. I guess I can get being a bit… testy.

"Oh, leave him be, Toulouse," I sigh and laugh (you know, diffusion of the tense situation and all), looking over at the quiet fellow with a smirk, "Roland of all people understands what the love of a woman can make you do."

That amusement is short lived, replaced with the tension of the moment. If I look like I’m less than amused with this ordeal, maybe they’ll get it, too.

Stalking along with brooding silence at this point (to be honest, knowing my tongue probably is best kept away with tempers as they are), I keep glancing towards the passage into the valley for the return of Duir. Toulouse and the strange male both reassert to me that whatever had attacked them is dead or dealt with (what else does “no more” mean, really? Be more cryptic, please), and I nod, because, well, that’s good.

"Thank you for coming, Songbird," I greet with a nod, when the bay appears over the rise, instantaneously doing what three brutes could not; with the lilt of her healing voice, the warrior, at least, eases. A figure who has always been there for me, the healer is perhaps renowned across Helovia for her abilities, and I look over at Duir with a happy grin.

Good job, idiot, I tell him, earning a snort from the gold marked, lithe deer as he nervously approaches my rain-wetted sides.

Striking out together as soon as it seems appropriate to do so, I lead the way, not about to make the same mistake of trying to help anyone anytime soon. Keep up or fall down the mountain for all I care, I think, with the moody fluctuations that are becoming common to me the longer I put off dealing with emotions I’m better off not ignoring.

"There are two really big, metal unicorns in there, forewarning," I recall warily, glancing back at the two (thus far, anyway) paranoid pegasi with a golden gaze that is probably condemning, as much as it is trying to be helpful. Still oblivious to the language barrier (the fellow had answered in common, after all, accent or no), I plod on as if they both can understand me perfectly. "They can’t hurt you, or anyone, for that matter. To be honest, even you could probably push them over in the condition they are in, miss."

With a great stride of maturity, I withhold my joke, deciding that the gold and white stranger will probably take it the wrong way and bring in the punchline early, on the wrong person, but tell it to Duir, looking down at him with an amused smile as we walk: wouldn’t recommend it though, or I’d see to it someone pushed her over, too.

He rolls his eyes at me and hurries ahead, having had quite enough for the day.

[ OOC: how dare you try to skip me neverr i'm OFFENDED ]


call me a safe bet
I'm betting I'm not



Art by VeerDesigns@DA | Table by Me

@Nora

Wishlist - Plots

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

Nora Posts: 52
Aurora Basin Mare
Mare :: Pegasus :: 14.2 :: 3
Angel
#13
Lean, monsoon drenched hindquarters yield into a stumbling rhythm. Though my ears are folded, I can hear the down stroke of garbled voices (chasing me) before the gale consumes them. My grazed knee bemoans every loose bit of gravel; it mourns the wind as the squall threatens to unseat my feathery, skeletal frame. A terrified, unhinged cry rockets forth from the core of my trembling, pounding chest. Wings unhinge, offering their aid via balance as I convince these tired legs to climb upward – clawing in some capacity.

Just get me beyond their embrace my frantic, panic driven heart begs...beyond the perception of confinement and tethering.

Slanted irises tilt my dripping face heavenward just in time to see a hazy outline appear on the ridge…fearfully, my subconscious hisses...reacting negatively toward that unknown shape through the fog of my uncertainty and terror. A shaky, powerful exhale sends goblets of water springing forward as the shrouded creature descends upon me. Unevenly, my hooves sink into the slippery mud, leaving little choice but to cling upon the rocky terrain, leaning…careening with every burst. Lips begin to curl in readiness. There is nowhere to run, so I stand...baiting the darkness with false courage. That blurred shape takes on the likeness of those behind me...realization highlights my misstep...

The harbinger apparition (the perception of it) vanishes.

It wasn't...

Faintly, I wonder if perhaps an explanation was offered; but since nothing had been tailored for me...there was only assumption...and the notable, universal language of simple gestures to pull from. These ears lift fractionally, intrigued…but mostly alarmed with those foreign, unexpected notes. The gale continues to move through our mist, unrelenting as it falls upon the people stuck on their last leg; angered maybe by the insane, beautiful, brazen creature that harnesses a melody despite it.

My knee twinges; whispering the promise of hotter aches should I continue to ignore it. Magic…her voice summons it. Power soothes over me like the downpour of summertime rain; warm and comfortable. Healing fingers take the numb ache from these chilled limbs, they pull the swollen pain from my knee. Taunt, rigid muscles drink greedily – every portion taking their turn. A fraction of my sanity reappears…

Faintly, I recognize that their muffled voices have fallen silent...I couldn’t hear them. Over active imaginations of the worst proportions signal a raw sliver of fear...spurred by the reappearance of concern. Noah...Toulouse. My ears return to their nest; warily, I spare half a glance in reverse as the healing melody dies out.

Good thing too…my glance rearmost comes just in time to see a newcomer (from just a few minutes ago) abandoning their mist, daring to push his luck despite the dangerous hillside. Wings seal shut as I shy left - opposite the healer - aiming to step off his path and clear the way for whatever he intends. As the bay, horned bulldozer moves on, my reinvigorated limbs stretch to follow. More voices…but none of those sharp, loud tones bring clarity. Mini me expresses rising agitation and grinds her teeth; I concentration on climbing as she boils with frustration from a caged vantage. It was comforting for me that his greater strides put a reassuring amount of distance between us, so I didn’t have to.  

Just a few more steps...maybe I would emerge astride the world.


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
#14

Lena the Songbird

Through the wind, the storm, the pelting hail and ice, she looked only to her wounded, tending them as much as she could – defiant to the last, an echo of the mountains at their finest, ready to go into battle at their worst. But they seemed well enough, capable of carrying on amidst the onslaught, and perhaps that was all she could do for now, render them as another part of the summits and valleys, where the strongest prevailed and the weakest disappeared; already initiated by their newfound home. “Please let me know if you need anything else,” she uttered into the chill, into the ground, into the rain and torrent, only nodding towards the King at his thanks for her arrival, eyes glancing from one wounded bird to the other, intending to stir up her songs over and over again if they required her aid. Only thereafter did she relinquish herself to the commands of their superiors bellowing across the tirade, turning to stare into the tempest as if she’d seen it all before, had been part of the sculpting, of the weaving, of the sketching of the gales, and knew it too would come to pass. She sidled closer to Roland, a small smile touching the corner of her lips, intending to match his motions stride for stride, behind the ailing others, providing care and restoration in gentle hums and beatific whims should their strides falter, should their limbs ache, should their wounds reopen from her careful, time-honored stitching. They’d all carry on again, potent forces, pledged, fortified beasts, digging deep into their souls, and coming out on the other side with resolution and determination forged into their essence – the Songbird knew, understood, and comprehended the layers of mettle and grit between their bones, because all of the surrounding beings had it too, and Helovia had always taught them lessons in willpower, in valor, in might. Safety was on the horizon, and they would reach it on faith and hope and ambition; eternally sterner stuff, no tragedies marking the pages of the present.
 

Image Credits

Noah Posts: 59
Aurora Basin Soldier atk: 4.5 | def: 7.5 | dam: 7
Stallion :: Pegasus :: 16.3 :: 3 HP: 64 | Buff: NOVICE
Riven
#15
Incredulous blue-green eyes peer out between sticky webs of wet, blonde forelock, straining into the whirling beyond, trying as he might to draw the outline of each stranger’s ever moving body amid torrents of rain. The expression pooling within them, leaking like disease along the lines on his face, is stunned, affronted, but as the tides of a cloudy, night-cloaked heaven unleash down upon him, all is hidden from public perception. Neon veins of bright lightening as they echo through the vast openness, offer only a warped, flicker of insight into the mood as it’s unfolding.

Amid the writhing tempest: the beating, wind-lashed rain, the ear-splitting thunder and the blinding, cracking lightning ‘happening’ all around them, it seems reasonable (even expected), for the crowd of overbearing, ‘touchy-feely’, and pushy strangers to misinterpret messages – both expressed verbally and through body language. They are taking their mistake, however, to a whole new level of insensitivity (Noah believes), and all quite without the same discretion with which the confounded winged stallion, had initially offered his low, ‘growling’ warning – not to Roland, who is yet still, to act in any way impolite.

- - - - -


That puny snarl, issued to the fool alone who thoughtlessly charged himself to interfere physically with a stranger (the second he’d muscled up beside Noah like an unwanted, unnecessary crutch), had triggered it all – a landslide, which really needn’t have been… All of the wounds which might have served to hamper the silver and gold’s ascent up the mountain had been healed, twice (the Song-bird marked thrice) – not that the winged was ungrateful), and all this had been even before Toulouse’s own eyes. He of all should have known there to be no reason whatsoever, for any decision to man-handle.

Lord Rikyn’s offensive and wry reaction to his quad-horned companion’s bullheadedness proved to secure the blooming cloud of mistrust and tainted opinion clawing through Noah’s mind. At least the respectful male (Roland), and the Songbird, were a better, healthier representation of what future might await them after the mountain’s top.

The very unfortunate sequence of events which had followed Noah’s warning to ‘Toulouse,’ however, quickly escalated into a futile struggle of wills, nothing short of ridiculous. Should the winged warrior have been able to pluck all of the ill-calculated words and mannerisms from of the grip of the overriding weather, he might have about faced at that point and vanished into the ether altogether – yes, off the edge of the cliff with wings unfurled, and not bothered to waste his energy trying to reach an understanding (or the pinnacle) at all. The creatures, the ‘horned-ones’, were indeed another alien-type race altogether – and quite reasonably inappropriate it appeared (perhaps by their standard).

- - - - -


The stallion, all the time, is concerned solely for the dove, and she flutters off ahead into the wild without him.

Like an obnoxious child flaring in the face of needed reprimand, the cloth-draped prince roars loudly his outrage at being warned away – never had the well-natured island-dweller dealt with such a pigheaded beast. As if to add salt to the metaphorical wounds Toulouse, himself, had already caused (by way of being outwardly forceful and careless), the other skates by Noah to the rear and proceeds to spew a further insult of verbal vomit, senseless vexation, into the gale.

Has he no self-control?

Bewildered, tired and undeniably angry, the winged stallion’s hindquarters coil tightly. Perhaps it’d be easier to engage the rude prince in battle, yet now is not the time; the taller (just), might easily plunge down off the path to his end… Instead, those thighs unleash a burst of forward propulsion, thrusting his burly bulk forwards and beyond the (queerer every minute), group’s middle. Words given by Lord Rikyn to soothe the prince off his high-horse, fall thankfully short of his ears (the wind howls in his ears while he moves); he does hear however some of those which follow - regarding big metal, yet his stride never falters (it certainly, clearly needs no aid), as it attempts to recover the distance between he and the rogue dove.  
Noah
I was born a warrior
I was born a warrior
Image | Coding


@Roland - if you have any muse left for this lol. Sorry for the wait!
Plots | Absences | Wishlist
Please tag me in openers and spars
Permission for all except death
(no need to ask)


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