the Rift


[PRIVATE] Barely breathing

Isopia the Mountain That Knows Posts: 780
Dragon's Throat Apostle atk: 6.5 | def: 10 | dam: 8.0
Mare :: Tribrid :: 18hh :: 3 - is now aging slowly HP: 90 | Buff: NUMB
Hubris :: Royal Bronze Dragon :: Shock Breath & Frost Breath & Babel :: Royal Gold Dragon :: Fire Breath Odd
#1
giving life.


Everything came in rainbow hued swirls. 

The air seemed to ripple and dance with eager possibilities, not all of which were favourable. There was a darkness pushing the Helovian's in towards the Marshes--towards Kaos, and apparently not even demigoddess' were above his lure. Why should they be, if their parents were not? Isopia felt the abandonment of the Gods strongly in her bones, felt the crushing weight of what felt like a thousand lives that would never be born now.

But all that could wait, because one life would be born.

Everything had happened so quickly. Perhaps it was her astonishment at her Father and his siblings abondoning their lands and then seeming to leave all together. Perhaps it was her sadness at seeing Volterra, a new father to her twins, galavanting off with other mares as she knew he would. But it had been harder to take than ever she had imagined. Most likely though, it was her mere euphoria at seeing her precious Zero again, her lifelong friend. She might have been The Mountain, but he would always be her rock.

A familiar pain reached up across her belly and gripped her spine, pulling her downwards. Sweat broke out across her brow, which Hubris carefully blew away with an icy breath. Isopia hadn't planned on giving birth by the ocean, but something about the sea had called to her.  Still, she didn't want to do this alone. Looking towards Hubris and Babel, Isopia squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, exhaling a shuttery breath. "Find..Zero.." She murmured, before another contraction took away her concentration



Mauna Posts: 3
Outcast
Stallion :: Hybrid :: -- :: Newborn
Heather
#2
The child only knew light.

Darkness came, swift, savage, indifferent, but it didn’t last long – shifted over his eyes for a fraction of seconds before sliding away in a matter of moments – then everything was stark and vivid, pressing against his gaze, too bright. He shut them at first, wincing away the illustrious hues (the sky – blue, so blue, an entrancing sight but too bold now), shoving his eyelids back over the reddened factions of his stare, taking his first breath in one visceral shudder. His lungs inhaled, then pushed the air out again, and the boy made his first sounds – loud and crisp, a silly whinny that called for everything and anything all at once (mother was a basic instinct, crawling, rasping, grasping for the lengths of protection and guidance), and during his short tenure of a closed glare, he reached out into the void, poking his tiny muzzle into the abyss, searching, searching, searching for something, anything.

His first touch was into sand and stone, a gritty surface finessing his small, finite whiskers, and he sneezed immediately – opening his eyes again to the beckoning reaches of the rolling waves (a wondrous sound, like crashing, like folding, like power), overwhelmed by the incandescence of the earth around him. He was connected to the riches, to the treasure, to the measures of its persistence, it echoed and thronged and filled him to the core – he swallowed, opened his mouth to nicker again, to reel back into motion. Wet and new, fresh and foreign, the dunes clung to him as if he belonged to them, one of theirs (he was, he was), even as he attempted movement and wildness, unfurling one of his forelegs to rest it just so, pressing into the altering granules.

Then, before him, all beauty, warmth, poise, and magnificence, was mother. It had to be her, because she’d given him life, because she’d carried him, curled and nestled, provided for him when he was helpless and nothing – and the third noise echoed from his essence with such a sensation of delight and fixation, tiny body maneuvering towards her distinct, gilded form – crawling, smiling, a manifestation of wonder and dominion. His little maw sought her attention, brushing over one of her massive hooves, jubilant, lithe frame quivering from a blow of cold wind, and caring for naught but incessant necessities of hunger and delight. He knew nothing else – not the darkness eating away at the world, not the monsters threatening to consume them, not the war brewing between mortals and fiends; a blessing, to be so immune and ignorant, to be so new and unaware of the treacheries lacquered outside their ocean sanctuary. The world might’ve bellowed beyond them, but he would’ve never acknowledged the heavy bouts of horror clinging to the outer rims – a radiant beast born to mountains and metal.

Mauna
Crowns have their compass-length of days their date-
Triumphs their tomb-felicity, her fate-
Of nought but earth can earth make us partaker,
But knowledge makes a king most like his Maker.

image | coding


@Zèklè @Isopia

Zèklè Posts: 166
Outcast atk: 8.0 | def: 10 | dam: 3.5
Colt :: Pegasus :: 14.1 :: Three HP: 67 | Buff: NOVICE
charks
#3
Zèklè
It's time, Zero. The dragons say it with their pointed glances; the wind says it in its suggestive song. It's time, the time has come, the time is now, this is the time. You have to go- and you do go, quickly, your hooves picking out a rapid beat that matches the patter of your heart, anxiety and anticipation mixing an intoxicating cocktail in your tumultuous mind. The prospect of fatherhood still fills you with joy, but thanks to your fight with your mother there is a bitterness behind the sweet, a coppery unpleasantness that tastes of fear. What if she's right? a part of you wonders, merciless and cruel in the back of your mind. What if it's you - you who fails, you who leave, you who destroy the things you love? What if you are no better than her; what if you fail this, your ultimate test? The world is ending and you're having a child - isn't that already a sign of pretty poor judgment on your fault? Did you really have to chose this moment to no longer keep your dick in your pants?

Yes. That's what you think- nay, know- as Isopia comes into view, still a distance away but unmistakable as ever, her body a promise on the sandy shore. Even from here she is more beautiful than she has ever been, because she is bearing your child. She is calm - she is always calm - but your heart skips a beat as you watch her push, your voice echoing out in a wordless greeting as you rush as quickly as possible to her side. It seems like the space is endless, as much as you hurry, your new wing shiny yet useless at your side, your golems waddling behind at a growing distance. It seems as though you shall be too late, but in the end you are just on time, your fumbling run finally ending just as your son makes it into the world.

(Son. My son. My son.)

"Our son," you murmur, delight and awe obvious in your muted voice. You are torn between the babe and his mother, between the desire to pull your child into a protective embrace and trepidation - what if you break him? He's so tiny and perfect, and the dumbfounded wonder on your face is broken only by a goofy, blissful, crooked grin. You look from Isopia to your child (your child, both of yours, shared) and back, and your love for your best and dearest friend swells to a point almost uncontainable, somehow made greater by this addition to your family. It seems right, so right, that your firstborn should be by her - and that he should be born here, the site of your first adventure, the place where you discovered whales and learned Isopia's name and your bond with your soulmate was found and forged.

"Hello, Little Mountain," you say to the boy, tears in your eyes, happiness choking your throat.

You step closer to both of them, your metal wing reaching out to brush against Isopia, your eyes not leaving the colt who seeks the comfort of her skin, her breath, her side. You try to take your cues from her, to gauge what she is okay with; you want to push closer to her, you want to push closer to him, you want to wrap yourself in both of them and just cherish this moment. Yet at the same time you're almost afraid to touch him, to speak, to ruin this moment with your ill luck and imperfection. Because that's what your son is- perfect, whole. Four legs, two wings, and one perfect little colt.

And in the sea that's painted black,
Creatures lurk below the deck
But you're a queen and I'm a lionheart

image | coding


@Isopia @Mauna <3333333


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