| Helovian Ancient |
| Stallion :: Equine :: :: |
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A loud "crack" came from the cave that held the Haruspex's mirror, and upon entry, you find that a massive, strange fissure has formed on the slightly liquid surface. Strange, blue-ish tendrils of light snake outward, calling like a siren into the great beyond, but you should know better. The surface begins to bubble and snap, like boiling water, and sparks fly that jolt with a shock. Something is wrong, but the God of the Spark watches from his divine home in simple amusement. Perhaps two planes are fusing, or perhaps something is dying in the great beyond and its presence is large enough to make itself known.
The strange shadow appears again, making the light dance. A darkness, spine chilling, makes your hide stand on end, and the cave grows cold, much colder than outside where the weather is, for once, calm. Can the haruspex provide answers? Perhaps he does; perhaps he does not. What is there to know about a world that lies unseen? A magic, perhaps, to old to fully comprehend?
The shadow disappears from view, but the bubbling surface still remains. For now, the mirror sits, broken. As if a cosmic splinter is stuck on the other side, the mirror remains tense.
This thread will close in five days.
| Deceased |
| Stallion :: Unicorn :: 17 :: Old |
| Aud |
01-15-2013, 10:58 AM
(This post was last modified: 01-15-2013, 10:58 AM by Myrddin.)
Keep an eye on that mirror The God of the Spark had warned, I believe you may have trouble with it in the coming days.
Keep an eye on it. Myrddin mused over the God's choice of words. He had not yet completed the quest that the Goddess of the Moon had sent him on - it was difficult in these lands to find any who possessed the true emotions that she had asked him to find, and understand. Oh, of course many here thought they were joyful, or depressed, but in reality, where they? All the way down in every nook and cranny of their being? Or were they simply fooling themselves? Either way, he remained sightless for the time being, though that did not stop him from monitoring his mirror.
Myrddin could feel the tug of the mirror's energy pulling at the fibres of his being - it was a tantalizing feeling, at times making his bones feel young and youthful again, and at others he fully felt the weight of his age. Normally, to his mind, the mirror was a dull throb; constantly pulsing. He had stayed close to the mirror, heading the warning of the Basin's God, but was not expecting to hear a loud, resounding crack echoing from the cave. Having mentally mapped out most of the Basin Myrddin moved slowly but with diligence towards the mirror, unable to see the crack on the mirror, or the bubbles forming on its surface.
But he could feel it.
It was a feeling of unease - like the moment of discord when a dissonant melody is about to become a major one, but hadn't fully done so yet. It both repelled his mind and captivated it.
Again, the blind stag is unable to see the shadow and the dancing light which corresponds from its depths, for his blindness is a magical one - and his senses aren't even able to perceive the changing frequencies of light. Nevertheless, he can tell that something has happened to the mirror, his mirror, and wonders what implications it will have for the Basin. Feeling the cold grip the air, Myr bristles against it as it immediately works its way into his joints.The arthritic snake who lived in his joints, hissed its outrage, sending flares of icy hot venom through his bones. With great effort, Myrddin dropped to a knee at the edge of the mirrors glassy surface. His body rebelled against these movements, sending out dry cracks and groans echoing off the walls of the cave. Lowering his gnarled and twisted horn to the surface, he let the tip pierce the bubbling surface.
To go on is to go through.
At last, even the seer is cremated.
Each seed loves the dark for the light it promises.
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| Hidden Account |
| Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16hh :: 8 |
| M.E. |
The valley's warm embrace wrapped itself around Zikar-Sin's body as the dappled boy made his way back to the pungent, sulfuric mists that characterized the home of the Basin unicorns. He welcomed the soothing caress of the hot springs, his body aching and his hooves frozen after the chilling impact of the lands beyond. He longed to bathe himself in the springs and will himself to relax; to clear his mind of those tentacles of confusing, shattering thoughts-- Tolio was imprinted on his mind as though branded behind his eyes, and Sin didn't quite know how to feel about that fact. He was a pleasant stallion to be around, surely, but Sin had never been effected like this by any one individual. His mind was on the chestnut stallion, and had been ever since he arrived home, and while he certainly fancied Tolio, it was a new and scary experience and Sin was twisting his thoughts in circles trying analyze it. He was giving himself a migraine.
As he neared the basin springs, Sin took a curious look towards the caves. He chuckled to himself, thinking of his time spent there; how he was being schooled by the Haruspex, how he had sent a little foaling over that way, encouraging her to have a rest after a long, tiresome trek through the snow to a place that offered them protection and brotherhood...
Sin's eyes widened to great glass orbs; an eerie sensation crawled both ways through his spine, a ghostly sort of touch that forced his entire being to shiver at his very core. But he knew this sensation; this time, he could recognize it from prior experience. Sin remembered: Standing there before Tolio, slack-jawed and tongue-tied, he had felt this very same sensation, and he remembered what the chestnut stallion had muttered in wonder.
....Mauja?
All thoughts for the hot springs forgotten, Sin bolted for the caves, making for a place he had never tread before; the Cave of the Mirror. He didn't know why he was drawn there; but it was as though an invisible hook and caught itself behind Sin's navel and was pulling him forward, coaxing him into that forbidden place. As he drew near, a familiar scent crossed him: Myrddin. Of course his scent would be all over the place; he WAS the Haruspex after all. Though as Sin rounded the corner and glanced into the Cave, he saw a most curious sight: the old, blind Wise One, kneeling before a molten pool that churned and bubbled underneath, a shadow and a silken voice whispering throughout the tunnel. Come....Come...
"SIR!"
This was wrong, all of it was wrong; every nook and cranny of Sin's body screamed and begged for its possessor to leave this place at once and not to look back. The cold was constricting, suffocating; Sin took shallow breaths and willed his legs to move towards his superior, every step a rebellion to his instinct. The shadow continued to dance about and whisper seductively, and Myrddin's horn was piercing the surface of the twinkling, shattered pool, and Sin knew, somehow, that this was wrong, dreadfully wrong.
"...sir?" he pleaded, his voice broken.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
IMG Credit: ness094@deviantart.com
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| Outcast atk: 5 | def: 9 | dam: 5.5 |
| Mare :: Unicorn :: 15.3hh :: 6 Years HP: 64 | Buff: NOVICE |
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Altair :: Common Cerndyr :: Starpast
prissy |
01-16-2013, 01:39 PM
(This post was last modified: 01-19-2013, 10:44 AM by Frost Fyre.)
Although I didn't know what it came for on as soon as . loud crack rung through the air I raced to see what had happened. What was that? Myrddin and another had already come. With brave words I spoke, the slightest hint of worry in my tone."What has happened? Why has the mirror cracked?"I stare at the cracked almost liquid- like surface. Murdering bent down on one knee, groaning as his old body seemed to take rebellion against his action. He stooped his head down, letting his one twisted horn pierce the surface of the mirror. What's he even doing? I watch in wonder, wondering what this old grey stallion was doing to the mirror. I watch intently, my small cloven hooves taking me over the rocks, and closer to Myrddin. I stick my little black muzzle out, looking into the mirror with my green orbs. Was I supposed to see something? All I saw was my reflection, staring back at me. An Arabian- like face, green pools. Bay roan coat. A small crystal bump whereupon should growing in. Nothing out of the ordinary. I turn to look at Myrddin, his reflection was normal too.
I stared, puzzled at what Myrddin was doing. Was he trying to look within the shattered mirror? I still don't know. I peer into the shiny reflective surface once again. Nothing had happened. I was about to scream out in frustration. What was I even bothering? I stare at the other stallion, his horn curled in a strange way. I stared at him, my green pools focused on him. I turn back to Myrddin, wondering what he was doing, or trying to do at least.
| Hidden Account |
| Mare :: Unicorn :: 16.1 :: 4 Buff: NOVICE |
| Bluey |
l a r k s p u r
Loose ends, they tangle down and then take flight.
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Larkspur had been grazing, enjoying the warmth of the sun permeating the frigid Aurora Basin terrain around her, soaking into her skin and sending lazy thrills of contentment rolling slowly through her veins. Not too far away the hot spring bubbled, crystal clear glass of the water reflecting the day around it. The steady beat of her heart echoes in her ears, a persistent rhythm that is always there, and always in tune given any situation. Each day leads to a different symphony, but at the moment Larkspur fancies that she could lay down in the soft Birdsong grass and sleep right there, content to loll in the warmth of the midday rays like a lioness basking in a Savannah sun. She would have too, if it were not for the flurry and commotion of the dark gray unicorn that went crashing by from the direction of the spring. Larkspur threw her head up, gold eyes wide, surprised at the site of the dashing stallion. He’s matted, dreadlocked tail flagged out behind him, his oddly spiraled horn atop his head raised in what seemed like panic. She turned to watch him go, headed for the caves in the mountainside, and it was then that curiosity struck the young warrior.
All thoughts of taking a nap had been set aside, and the midnight colored mare began to a steady jog, following the tracks of the unicorn that had seemed to flee in terror as he went by. Obsidian locks of hair fall haphazardly across her eyes, the slope of her refined face, as she picks her way up into the threshold of the caves, the echoing sound of voices on the air. Uncertain of what is going on, the mare comes to a stop outside a larger cave mouth, aureate eyes peering inward into the gloom, and slowly she realizes what she has stumbled upon.
The Haruspex, and his mighty mirror. Larkspur lingers on the edges of the small crowd that has gathered, the unicorn that had ran past her so quickly, the small child who’s inquiries lace through the air in youthful innocence, and then of course the white stallion whom she had never met, but heard of amongst the whisperings of the Basin- Myrddin. The Haruspex was knelt down before the mirror, and Larkspur laid eyes on the deep fissure that had distorted the middle, leaving a gaping, endless hole where she assumed a once smooth surface had existed. Before she can stop herself, something draws her closer to the calamity, and silently she slinks into the cave, coming to stand beside the stallion who had lead her there, glancing at the child as well.
"What has happened?”
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Image Credits
Psyche the DarkEmpress Posts: 380
| Deceased |
| Mare :: Unicorn :: 15.3 hh :: 8 (ages in Orangemoon) Buff: ENDURE |
| RayoDeSoleil |
01-19-2013, 02:51 PM
(This post was last modified: 01-19-2013, 02:51 PM by Psyche.)
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Something was wrong.
How she knew, she could not say, but her assumption was affirmed when Zikar-Sin was seen racing to the cave of the Haruspex. She frowned, pushing herself into a gallop, following. The very air seemed to press against her, and she shivered, remembering the dream of blackness, of darkness, of Mauja... She shook her head, feathers and teeth flying around her, banishing the memory from her mind. It was no use to ponder a silly dream - or was it a nightmare? It was weak, and foolish, and stupid. And she was none of those things. Zikar-Sin's voice rang from the cave, echoing to her lobes as she found her way to the entrance. "SIR!" he had shouted, and a blossom of worry crept into her breast.
When she made her way into the cave, the young racist flicka and an older fae - Larkspur, wasn't it? - were already there, voicing her own question. What has happened? Stranger still, Myrddin knelt before the mirror, a crack running down its face, the tip of his horn touching the bubbling god's portal. She made her way through the small crowd, coming as close as she dared to the elder. The cold here was suffocating, and again she felt a panic at the pressure. The very air felt charged with - what? She couldn't say. It made her uneasy. It made her want to run. But she was the Lady of the Basin, and she could not do that.
She stood, strong and sure, watching avidly, waiting. Surely this was a sign, surely something would come of this? Myrddin was no fool; in fact, the shadow-mare held him in high regard, a blessing bestowed to few. Still, he could not see - so how would he know what had happened here? Unless the god granted him a vision, or... something. She had no idea how it worked, this odd god-mortal connection. Still, it would do her no good to shout out useless questions like her subjects had done. To Sin, she gave what she hoped was a reassuring glance. After all, Myrddin was his mentor, and Sin had to be concerned.
To the youngling and to Larkspur, she offered what she hoped were soothing words: "I am sure that if we are patient, Myrddin will offer his wisdom," her tones were neutral, and I added something akin to a motherly line for Frost Fyre: "Remember the griffons? You were patient then, and you saw what they had to give, no?" It was an oddity for the Dark Empress, to offer words of consolation, to offer a calming demeanor; but then, she would fare poorly if her herd fell to panic. There was an explanation for this. She was sure of it.
[W/C | ---]
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Walk walk walk.
"Talk talk talk."
Think think think.
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![[Image: psycheicon.png]](http://i800.photobucket.com/albums/yy285/schwartze_asylum/psycheicon.png)
Please feel free to tag me in all replies!
Use of force and/or magic (with the exception of death) is allowed at all times.
Mauja the Frozen Light Posts: 1,392
| Outcast atk: 6.5 | def: 10.5 | dam: 7.5 |
| Stallion :: Unicorn :: 17.2 :: 14 HP: 79.5 | Buff: HUNTER |
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Irma :: Snowy Owl :: Terrorize
& Diego :: Eurasian Eagle-Owl :: Rage
Neo |
[ pretending it's day because Larkspur wrote about midday xD ]
He was too restless to sleep that day. Every time he sought out the cool caves of the Frozen Arch something tugged at his mind, at his soul, at his feet, and no matter how hard he pressed his eyes shut the daylight kept worming its way inside. Before he knew what had happened, his blue eyes were open again and his frosted hooves shuffling thin snow aside. Spring never quite reached the northland.
Not that he minded.
The nights were for walking tirelessly, not the days. He had since long developed the routine of passing time in darkness by moving and trying not to think, and passing time in daylight by sleeping hidden away somewhere, where he could be alone. It had worked, nearly flawlessly, for weeks, so why could he find no peace today? Why did his heart start thundering when he paused, why did his thoughts chase him into wakefulness each time he found a sunny spot in which to rest? Again, his eyes were open and his hooves moving, carrying his pale shape into the rolling hills behind the Arch. He thought that he had seen it all, explored every nook and cranny in his earlier attempts of finding a way back home, but the sunlight guided him into a pass which he had previously not entered. Frowning, Mauja paused at its mouth and turned to look over his shoulder. How come he had not found it before? Had he not walked here a hundred times? Too curious to feel tired, he shrugged, and stepped into it.
Time passed easily as he moved, ever watchful, curiosity tugging him forward even when caution bade him wait. What if it was a trap? What if whatever force held him here had decided to play some cruel game with him? But each time the worry crossed his mind, Irma soothed him in her usual high-handed manner — just like she did each time he contemplated death, or being dead. Sometimes it irritated him, but now he was grateful for it. Nothing like something new to keep his mind off his situation, and if she thought it was fine.. then why should he not keep going? There was no reason and so he kept going, placing one hoof in front of the other, until a hidden valley spread out before him. Unlike the snow-laden Steppe he had left behind, it was covered in lush tundra grass, and the ground felt soft — the frost would sit deep here, perhaps even be gone entirely by summer. What a hidden wonder, and his 'brows rose in unhidden surprise. Did this exist in the real world too? Was he meant to find it, to bring it as a gift to his people?
Hah. How could he, when he was here, and they weren't?
Moving deeper into the secret paradise he found himself drawn towards one of the slopes. Irma descended from the skies to settle upon his shoulder, giving his scarred skin a squeeze with one talon. If he had looked at her, would he have seen the smug, satisfied look flash in her blue eyes? Was that a stirring of excitement in her soul, too large to hide entirely from him? The celestial pull kept him going, too entranced, enchanted, by the glow of blue to fully notice his companion's emotions. He slipped into a cave, one side taken up by a surface much like water, yet somehow held upright. His breath pooled into the air, rising in clouds of smoke, and through the glow and bubbles he caught a hint of white, and frowned. Was it himself, or someone else he was seeing? Slowly he drew to a halt in front of it, nearly touching it with his muzzle. It beckoned to him, and nothing in Irma suggested he should hold back (it was amazing, how he had come to trust her as his guide after her return). But what was it? His portal into death, into finally being allowed to rest? He would not mind... When Irma's rejection of his theory came, he was not surprised. Something had her utterly convinced they were both alive, and as he certainly knew no better, he let her be.
Maybe even trusted her.
Muzzle and horn touched its smooth surface, the rift of darkness widening to accommodate his height and width as the air grew even colder.
Winter was coming.
Nothing made him pause midway, nothing made him cease his step through time and space, and perhaps he was so used to deviltry that no surprise registered on his face. With easy grace his large hooves met the cold cavern floor, deftly avoiding Myrddin's kneeling shape as Mauja gently disentangled himself from the mirror. He had stepped out into the very cave where he had stepped into it, as if he had somehow turned himself inside out when he passed through it, and that was the thing which confused him the most. That the air tasted different, like something from a memory, and that two unicorns he knew and a few more he didn't was standing there confused him less. He had no power to spare to ponder that, no defense except to treat it like any other encounter. He did not understand, did not know, couldn't be certain, and at the same time, he knew that he would go mad if he tried to think about it. "Myrddin," he said, his voice deep and cool, so calm, as if nothing at all had happened. "You do not need to kneel before me."
[ Mauja also got a spark amulet the moment he stepped through the mirror but he's too frazzled to notice. xD also, unless you are an active part of the Basin or told, in a thread, by any of the horses present in this thread, you do not know he's back. ^-^ ]
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angels, they fell first, but I'm still here
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 |
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Imogen :: Common Kitsune :: Fire
Heather |
Black clouds are behind me, I now can see ahead
Often I wonder why I try hoping for an end
Sorrow weighs my shoulders down
And trouble haunts my mind
Their world was constantly shifting, changes poised and aloft, unwinding, unraveling toils and tribulations, glories and absolutions, divine courtiers and rustic hazes. Snarled, snagged strings, a treacherous, sinuous, snaking story quipped with lies and poised with threats: ghosts claimed the frozen halls, wandered the runes of archaic denizens, floated in spectral chords until they’d wrapped minds and bodies into a formidable, confusing abyss, fogging their eyes and clouding their senses. In the siege of torment and befuddlement, they altered, tangible threads seeking the light, the air, the hand that fed them, the charisma that enshrouded them into their webs of loss and life. Designs twisted, forms contorted, raptures were forgotten and reveries absconded, fighting for unknown beliefs and creeds, for loyalty and protection, for salvation and security. They chiseled away at the intangible, tore against delusion and grandeur, fought for the strength, the dominion of a world they’d cherished, loved, then lost. When they rose from the chambers of wicked oubliettes, there were some absent, some seized, and some that dwindled into their next primrose path, silent and dedicated to another scheme of life. The masks had been torn away, sacrifices had been made, and in that hallowed, hollow sector, an empty clamor began to simmer, thrive, dissonant, inharmonious, missing from the essence of auroras and exultation. For all their terror, for all their hardships, for all their strife, they’d earned porcelain and grandeur. They’d surrendered pieces of themselves, humanity, morality, virtue, benediction, to offer, to bestow this newfound sanctuary of ice and glimmer, of vivid hues and shelter. And all along, as Lena had ripped fragments of herself from her soul, she knew there were more shards missing amongst the rubble and ruin. From perseverance she’d drawn might, from strength she’d stroked diligence, from patience she’d found redemption, deliverance, reclamation from the arduous pursuits of bloodshed and brutality. But why, when she crossed parlors of glaciers, when she wandered the halls of Siberia, when she traversed plains of chilling reverence, could she not find the container of the element?
She was late to the Mirror. Unaware of any mishap, any strange occurrence, she passed by caverns and rocky bombardments, and only the curious display of creatures roaming amongst the dedicated vault led her to believe anything was amiss, altered. Though some of her ebullience had left her, stolen by the weary ways of war, earth and sky, inquiry and interest had not – she laid a gentle crescendo of movement, dancing over iced puddle, skimming over pebbled ramparts. Clusters of bodies blocked most of her visual access, and she was small, overlooked, not worth the value of a coveted seat. Her gentle eyes instead scanned the walls, the shimmer of glass, the familiar and foreign tunes of her brethren. A flurry of questions and queries marked the echoing chambers, bouncing off of the darkened assembly, confusion amidst and amongst a labyrinthine quandary that had no beginning and no end. She’d almost given up hope of receiving any answers (what if none were to be had?) when an image flickered across time. An alteration of reality, stitched by reflections and sewn by simulation, discarnate, abstract, enchantments floating across the Stygian space. Features known, regarded far and wide, seized, pulled, torn from spectral, unearthly fancies, colliding into earth, into stone, into chaos, mayhem, and finally, unclear, harmonious fantasy. The image tugged at her soul, recalled sovereignty, comfort, guidance, from the vast tomes and ruins of their mystifying songs, their tremulous whispers, their quavering, quivering convictions. A murmur was stolen from her throat before she could cease its upheaval, tender, diffident, uncertain. “Mauja?”
Nymph and sylph, fay and fairy, drove herself by dark forms, pulled her sienna frame towards the distinct, the familiar, spotted monarch. Beside Larkspur, she halted her movement, stared, breathed quiet, hushed hymns of astonishment and revelation, of distortion and splendor. Was this all another illusion? Was this a trick, a ruse? Was this deceit, specious, horrendous, calamity woven by a despicable mirror, a ploy to destroy? Were they to take him again, before their very eyes, to ruin, to damn, to wreck what had been salvaged? Or was it the hastening of their King, coming to cherish them again, resurrected from the ashes of his vanished, dissolved, dispersed form? Perhaps she was foolish, perhaps she was naïve, perhaps she was a poor, mistaken youth guided too often by heart and mind, but she conquered the taint of doubt bursting through her chest, and stepped toward the glacial ruler. One motion, hesitant, the next, soft, dulcet, sliding across floor and portal to reach the barbs of absolution, breath mingling in silken vapors, honeyed eyes watching as his did the same – alive, well, nurtured by a world they couldn’t touch, couldn’t taste, couldn’t feel. Her muzzle reached out toward him first, drawn along his long mane, the tangled, noosed tassels, coasting, ghosting over his shoulder, accepting the manifest of his existence, the solidity of his presence: real, not an artifice, not a statue, not a sculpture to damn them all, but the actuality of their lost ruler. Then she stepped away, back into the throng, allowing a deep breath to shudder through her frame, brush into the tirades of air, mist and fog, to crackle against mirror, controlled and composed when all she wanted to do was dance. Instead, she hastened her gaze to meet his, hummed the vibrant tenacity of her ardor, of her fervor, of her delight and captivation, harkened her largest, most ebullient grin. “Have you come back to us?” A steady rush of song entered her heart and enlightened her senses, crooned and murmured from her lips, a passing assuage of calm, of dreams, of a wish suddenly granted.
Lena
Sweets to the sweet
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| Deceased |
| Stallion :: Unicorn :: 17 :: Old |
| Aud |
01-21-2013, 08:33 PM
(This post was last modified: 01-21-2013, 08:33 PM by Myrddin.)
Vaguely, Myrddin heard Sin call out to him, the filly he had met near the springs as well. Then an unrecognized voice, and finally Psyche herself. Heard them, but did not care.
The feeling of adrenaline bursting in pin-hole size eruptions throughout his chest had captured his full attention. It was as if each molecule of his being was forming a one-to-one relationship with something in the mirror; pulling in a tantalizing fray of electricity. Still, Myrddin did not stir. His milky gaze remained opened, concentrated on the portion of the mirror that he could see, with his head lowered. Whatever creature - demon or otherwise - threatened to step through the cracked surface, struck no chord of fear in the old philosopher's heart. Myrddin's fate had along ago been assigned to him - at the dawn of time in fact - and he was merely waiting to see how the events would play out. The only uncertainty was how he would inevitably die, and his own ignorance would not be something he feared.
The air around Myr seemed to suddenly grow colder, and stop all together, as if the molecules themselves were holding their collective breath as Mauja emerged. From the stillness came movement, and the cave gloriously echoed with Mauja's footfalls as his hooves struck a chord with the rocky ground. Myrddin had dared to hope, against all of philosophical insight, that the God of the Spark had been giving him a premonition of Mauja's revival in his criptic words. However it was not until the boy-king spoke, that Myrddin allowed his vast mind to fully acknowledge what his soul was desperately trying to tell him - Mauaja has returned.
Myrddin knew that Mauja had disappeared - the wisened white stag had believed that Mauja merely slipped the surely bonds of Helovia and become a being of light. The thought had made Myr jealous if not disappointed that he would not be able to spend more time with the frost-king he had met so gaily all of those long months ago. Before the invasion, before he was blinded, before he became a Haruspex…Myrddin Mauja's voice was as deep and resonant as Myr remembered, and the old unicorn was suddenly very glad to have laid eyes upon Mauja while they were still able to see. You do not need to kneel before me. Moving to rise, Myr's shoulders and knees cracked with annoyance. As he stood, he turned his head, allowing his gnarled and twisted horn to brush the crack on the surface of the mirror. It felt the way he expected it to - his horn did not suddenly encounter a divot in the mirror's fluctuating surface, but rather just a change. Of temperature and energy and force and vivacity and liveliness - a metaphysical crack. "Mmmhmm." Myrddin muttered to himself.
Rising, and recalling that the boy-king stood a few inches taller than he, Myr raised his bearded chin slightly, frowning. His eyes, once the colour of a deep purple twilight, were now milky, white, and unseeing. Casting this unnerving gaze to where he believed Mauja to be, he snorted. "You have broken my mirror, youngling" He replied gruffly, his voice rough but not without affection. When first they met, Mauja had never formally introduced himself as the King of anything, and although Myrddin of course knew, to others, he may simply have looked like an old man making a fool of himself in front of their King. His stern looks didn't last long however, and soon his aged white face broke into a hearty grin.
Have you come back to us? A large moose-like ear flicked back towards the sound of the mares voice, as she spoke. Myrddin smirked sceptically, tilting his head slightly. "Yes..are you back?" Myr inquired, "Or are you you simply here to break an old mans' things?" Again, his feigned sternness did not last long, and his amusement underneath easily was seen through.
To go on is to go through.
At last, even the seer is cremated.
Each seed loves the dark for the light it promises.
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| Hidden Account |
| Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16hh :: 8 |
| M.E. |
Nothing could have prepared the dappled boy from what came next.
It was as though the very fabric of reality was wagging its finger in Sin's direction, chuckling nastily and inclined to slip a rude gesture in the process. The chill of the Steppe was still fresh in his mind, complete with the pangs in his chest and the confusion that the stallion Tolio had brought to the fore of his mind. The chestnut’s treacherous words were the afterimage in the darkness of his closed eyes; it haunted Sin for one who he apparently held so dear would say such terrifying things. The tangled vines of doubt and uncertainty had been stamped back into the vault of Sin’s Void, allowing the stallion to forget about those troubling, harrowing thing and letting him enjoy the moment as it came. He was a Basin unicorn, a Disciple of the land and its time God; he studied underneath Myrddin, the Haruspex, and felt proud to serve under the Dark Empress herself, whoever she was. These were unalienable truths, and they were good ones; Sin wove them to and fro in his mind to anchor himself to here and now, and so he wouldn’t float away in the clamor of his own ambiguity.
But then the spectre climbed through the fragmented mirror, and Sin’s security was unequivocally fucked.
The word was already floating upon the wind, from shocked exclamations and whispered amazement. Here stood Mauja the Froastheart, proud and majestic in his visage, apparently completely apathetic to the fact that he had just climbed through a spiritual mirror. There was talk of whether or not he was truly back, but Sin was rooted to the spot by the twisting tendrils of doubt that had managed to climb out of the chest in the back of his mind and wrap around the stud’s hooves, trapping him to the ground. It did not matter that he was ‘back’; the point was that he was gone just moments ago, gone to who knows where, doing who knows what. His appearance left the dappled boy shaken to his very core as Tolio’s words came washing over him once more: ”He was the best leader I’ve ever known, ever seen. I would throw away my pride for him, kneel for him loyally should he return... He is my King, and I am his Servant. Sin remembered how, out of awe in hearing these passionate words, he had wanted to meet the moving Frostheart and witness his greatness for himself. Well…now he had the chance.
The black mare Psyche had sent certain glances toward Sin, her eyes telling the dappled stallion to calm himself, not to get too worked up. This was the first time Sin had personally glanced at the Dark Empress he so cheerfully served, and the occasion was marred by the appearance of the spectral King and his owl of the snow. An urge to kneel and show reverence overcame Sin, but his dilemma was in evidence; the Frostheart was here, possibly to reclaim his throne, while the Dark Empress stood ready and elegant, calm in the stony manner that was so customary for the Queen of the Basin. Would this turn into a war? Would the herd split in two, one in favor of Psyche, the other for Mauja? Sin gave a tiny groan; his heart was surely sick. All of this, everything, was suffocating him, drowning him in its bubbling, viscous embrace. He turned to the only one he was sure of—the only one he was unconditionally and irrevocably loyal to.
“Myrddin...sir?” he asked softly, the uncertainty and confusion evident on his sour tongue. What should he do? He needed to know what to do. ’Society’ was killing him.
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IMG Credit: ness094@deviantart.com
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| Outcast atk: 5 | def: 9 | dam: 5.5 |
| Mare :: Unicorn :: 15.3hh :: 6 Years HP: 64 | Buff: NOVICE |
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Altair :: Common Cerndyr :: Starpast
prissy |
Frost Fyre
You Can Never be Too Young
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More horses had come, each one asking their own things and speaking. Then I saw Lady Psyche, and in a motherly tone she told me to be patient. I nod my head gently and turn my emerald gaze back towards the shattered mirror. In amazement a large white stallion with black spots steps out, wearing an amulet.
"Mauja."
Many had called him. Mauja, why does that name sound so familiar? Oh! I dig deeper into my memories to remember the time when mother had been telling me about the Edge when it was ruled by unicorns. She talked about Mauja, the leader of the Edge. I zoned out while she was telling the whole story, but who wouldn't? It's a bunch of boring junk.
Over the weeks I had lost respect in my mother. I no longer cared about her, as she no longer cared for me. Cloven hooves hit the earth and I stride towards Mauja, and my maw opens slowly. I wanted to speak, but what was I to say? I stop abruptly and inch backwards, retreating back to Psyche's side.
My green emeralds flicker from Mauja to the mirror and back again, drifting to Myrddin once and a while. Myrddin clearly wasn't happy about Mauja, and he suspected he was the one to brake the mirror. I laugh in my mind, not wanting to laugh aloud for fear people will begin to stare at me with weird expressions. I keep my ears forward and my eyes focused, waiting for some one to speak and shatter the silence.
[[Blech. This post is horrible. Sorry for the delay guys.^^;]]
"Chatting with others."
Thinking up her moves
Putting her moves to work
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| Hidden Account |
| Mare :: Unicorn :: 16.1 :: 4 Buff: NOVICE |
| Bluey |
01-25-2013, 03:43 PM
(This post was last modified: 01-25-2013, 03:49 PM by Larkspur.)
l a r k s p u r
Loose ends, they tangle down and then take flight.
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"I am sure that if we are patient, Myrddin will offer his wisdom.”
The Dark Empress Psyche appeared beside Larkspur and the youngling, into the cave of the Haruspex with steps undaunted and confidence befitting that of a leader, and though the midnight blue mare was not troubled by the commotion set before her, the Lady of the Basin’s words were reassuring none the less. Would the Haruspex be able to enlighten them on this quandary with his ancient wisdoms, or was this of some power even greater than he? Captivated by the unknown, the mare watched in unwavering fascination as the old stallion, white as snow, continued to bow before the fractured mirror. Her tasseled tail flicked over the rocky breadth of the cave floor, betraying her idle agitation. The cerulean unicorn stretched her neck to the side, head turned quizzically to try and retrieve a better vantage point of the situation unfolding before her. Bodies filled the cavern, the gentle harmonized whoosh of breathing coupled with the shuffling of hooves sounded like a symphony of life as their echoes bounced off the stone walls around them. Though life and nature outside the mountainous stronghold they stood within was in the midst of Birdsong’s warmth, winter seemed to linger here. It came yawning and crawling out at them from the gaping hole within the mirror as it laid split against the wall, cool fingers skulking across her skin. There was something dark that saturated the atmosphere around them, pressing and heavy, and she could feel the weight of it as if it absolved to hold down her soul. With each passing second the haunting, cosmic feeling seemed to amplify itself, fortified by her own ignorant mystification as she continued to stare unknowingly into the abyss of the mirror's fractured, shadowed depths, hopelessly searching for what remained hidden.
That is when he appeared.
From the fissure a white figure rose, translucency giving way to a solid form, and from the shadowed void a frost while stallion with eyes like ice broke through the endless darkness, a radiant light against what had been an impenetrable gloom, a great snowy owl swooping into the cavern with him as if to announce his coming. For all her bravery and courage, Larkspur could not help but shy backwards at the apparition, gilded eyes wide with shock beneath the tangled mess of her ebony forelock, glowing with disbelief, blinking rapidly in an attempt to make sure that she was in fact awake to see this unfolding . It was only the arrival of Lena at her side that kept the warrior from fleeing, for when Larkspur glanced toward the bay mare at her shoulder she could find no hint of fear, no terror or alarm in her friend’s honey-amber eyes. In fact, it was quite the opposite. Lena looked upon this stranger with nothing but serene, unmistakable joy, as if she were experiencing a dream come true. The light of whimsy, of wishes granted and shattered hopes healed, shone out the russet unicorns warm eyes with radiance incomparable.
“Mauja?”
Sweet Lena, with a voice just as warm and inviting as a Birdsong sun. Larkspur watched in weary trepidation as her friend drew closer to the stallion as he spoke with the Haruspex, cringing as she reached out to touch the ivory and mottled coat, the fine silken hair of his mane the same color as freshly fallen snow. She had half the mind to stop Lena from moving toward him, to pull her back into the safety of those gathered, instinct driving the midnight mare to protect the one person that mattered to her amongst this gathering of strangers and insignificants. Lena does not stay within the circle of the frost stallion’s aura long though, and soon she is returned to Larkspur’s side. In an uncharacteristic gesture of fondness the warrior reached out to the sienna tainted shoulder of her sister, plush muzzle bumping it gently, though no words are spoken. Though the worry is uncalled for and misplaced, Larkspur cannot help herself. Too many times she had lost things dear to her because she did not take care or caution to protect them, she would be damned and condemned to a lifetime of indescribable misery if she were to let it happen again.
“Have you come back to us?”
Again Lena’s lyrical voice, like the soft trill of songbirds at the early break of dawn, breaches the lifeless cold of the cavern, bringing warmth to the frozen, stagnant darkness that still lingered in the air. Confusion; it rested in quiet contemplation across the cerulean unicorn’s face, dancing like shadows against the golden backdrop of her unwavering gaze. What did it all mean? Where had he been, if this was his return? The others gathered here, except perhaps the manic, nervous stallion who had led her here in the first place, also seemed to hold some sort of recognition of the stranger who had stepped through the mirror. Again Larkspur looked to Lena, questioning, wondering, and trying to piece together the puzzle from what little information she had gleaned from the last few minutes of being in his presence. In her days spent in solitude within the Basin’s mountainous walls, Larkspur had not heard the stories or whispers of how Mauja had been swallowed by time’s eternity, she did not know of his accomplishments and his victories before the fall of the Edge, or the legend behind his title, the triumphs of legacy. To the sullen, brooding nymph that loomed threatningly beside Lena in stony faced incredulity, he was nothing more than a ghost conjured up out of the darkness.
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Image Credits
Psyche the DarkEmpress Posts: 380
| Deceased |
| Mare :: Unicorn :: 15.3 hh :: 8 (ages in Orangemoon) Buff: ENDURE |
| RayoDeSoleil |
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She had assumed that something had been wrong, but was it possible that something had been right? Joy for the sake of joy was a foreign notion to her, but she felt something akin to this when the FrostHeart stepped forth from the mirror. First his horn, and then his maw - she had known then who it was, but she did not believe until he stood, whole and firm, before her. He was so unlike her dream, where he had been nothing more than a ghost, where she had falled through him into the darkness, where she had been swallowed up by nothing. Was that how he had felt when he had disappeared that day on the Steppe? Was he hopeless, lost in the nothingness? Or had he simply been elsewhere?
Had it changed him?
She wanted to be alone with him, to assess how things had changed (or not). She wanted the others to simply disappear. But if there was anything that she had learned in his absence, it was that appearances must be kept up, no matter the true feelings of the wearer of the mask. Lena was the first to speak, arriving silently, late. Irritation surged through the shadow-mare, for Mauja was hers - 'Was' being the key word, she reminded herself - and she had no right to speak before the Lady. Did she? Was the jackal even the Lady anymore? Would she be expected to step down now that he had returned? Or could they rule alongside one another, like they had almost done so long ago?
Myrddin spoke next, and though his words were gruff, even she could sense the affection in them. Affection that she had never earned. Still, he had known Mauja for longer than she, hadn't he? Respect for him kept her from anger. Zikar-Sin, never having known the Ice King, softly voiced confusion, and Frost Fyre danced forward before retreating to the Empress' side. Where was her mother? Had Psyche unknowingly taken the idiotic Leyra's place? Larkspur remained silent, and the shadow-mare wondered what she was thinking. Was she loyal to Psyche, or would she grant the King her allegiance?
Despite her irritation that the others were here, that they had spoken before her, she was silent. What should she even say to him? She had to greet him, at least, for they would question her rule if she were not gracious and inviting - wouldn't they? Didn't he deserve to be here? Her dream stood starkly in her mind, when she had confessed that she missed him, had felt as though she needed him. But it was only a dream, wasn't it? Their meeting couldn't have enticed him back into their world, could it? Could she ask him, or would it make her weak? Did she truly care for him, or was it simply a dream gone wild? It had felt so real...
"Mauja..." she said, and there was no mask on her face, no poison in her tones. It was a mistake, she was sure of it, but at the very least they would not fault her for it. Or so she hoped. She swallowed, spoke again, and this time her lyrics were normal. "Welcome home, darling." What else was there to say? She would not admit to missing him, not around everyone else, and she would not reference the dream - for surely if it were real, he would want to speak of it? Or perhaps not - he was made of stone, after all. He was called the FrostHeart for a reason.
[W/C | ---]
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Walk walk walk.
"Talk talk talk."
Think think think.
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Please feel free to tag me in all replies!
Use of force and/or magic (with the exception of death) is allowed at all times.
Mauja the Frozen Light Posts: 1,392
| Outcast atk: 6.5 | def: 10.5 | dam: 7.5 |
| Stallion :: Unicorn :: 17.2 :: 14 HP: 79.5 | Buff: HUNTER |
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Irma :: Snowy Owl :: Terrorize
& Diego :: Eurasian Eagle-Owl :: Rage
Neo |
He had no expectations, no beliefs or delusions about his return — in fact, he had not been aware of it. Vague shock lingered in his gaze, but beneath his skin, it sunk its fangs and claws deeper, gripping heart and mind, body and soul. What had happened, really? Had he walked into a wall and hit his head so hard he was starting to suffer from severe hallucinations? To him, that would make more sense than actually being back. Slowly, he pulled back into himself, retreating to his castle of ice, expecting them to shatter like glass statues or dissipate like smoke any second, laughing at his foolishness.. that he, for a moment, had thought they were real.. that he was real...
Into the cave came Lena, and as always she seemed to bring spring with her, even to this frigid cavern in which breaths steamed towards the rocky ceiling. She breathed his name almost like a prayer, and it sent a shiver down his spine. Mauja. How long since I truly heard it... The air of this world was tainted with memory, like sulfur and soot in his lungs as he tried to breathe. His throat constricted with hope as his heart thundered in his chest, seeing blackness as his eyes pressed shut. Hooves shuffled over rock as Myrddin rose, berating him for breaking his mirror.
Mirror? Breaking?
Somehow, he knew he had a choice to make: to accept this as real, or reject it. But how can one choose such a thing, without proof? How can one deny the bonfire of hope, or feed it, when knowing that the hope itself was corrupt? Slowly his neck arched as he pressed his chin to his chest, his ears falling back for a moment. He could not make a choice: he could not decide if this was real or not. If anything, he just wanted to run away. Doubt had ever been his greatest enemy, and faithless as he were, one day it was likely to consume him. How long would he question his existence, if it was real, if it had ever been real? How long was he to walk Helovia and wonder if it was but a dream, from which he was to wake? Forever?
Warmth washed across his neck, the velvet nose of Lena ever so gently touching his tangled mane. Slowly his eyes opened, and before he had the time to check the flood of emotions, they held all the pain of his plagued soul; in the next instant, it was gone, swept away by wind, scoured clean as if centuries of rain had wiped the features from his face and only frost remained. If there was one thing he knew, it was that he was somewhere else; he could taste it in the air, feel it in his bones, but he couldn't recall if he was where he was supposed to be, or just somewhere else altogether. He had not wanted to play along with the clones of that other land, but could he deny these unicorns their King? If they were real, how could he possibly reject them? And if they weren't.. his resolve was thinning. If they were not real anyway, perhaps it was time that he gave in to the madness, and lived it. Surely that was easier than.. this.
As she pulled back, voicing the question which seemed writ across the faces of them, he turned to look over his shoulder. True enough, the odd face of the rock behind him was cracked, filled with a yawning gap which bubbled ominously, and stretched out towards him like hungry mouths. Was that the, err, mirror? And the crack the thing which had broken it? “Have you come back to us?” ... "Yes..are you back?" He did not turn towards them at once, did not acknowledge their questions, their demand of answers, at first; how could he tell them, what he didn't know himself? And why did the questions send up such a hammering in his chest, such a sense of pressure, of weight? Why did it make him want to shut his mouth and run away, never answering them? If a third one had asked him that question, perhaps he would've: one voice, unfamiliar to his memory, pleadingly whispered the name of Myrddin, and just after it came another voice, one he knew too well. Devoid of its twists and turns, of its purrs and drips of poison, it repeated his name, an eternity of emotion nestled within it. His blue eyes snapped to her, catching the faintest shift in her gaze as the mask slid back into place.
Not a stranger, then, but the jackal-heart herself.
But for a moment, she had been the echo of a dream.
"Welcome home, darling."
And thus, she had answered their question for him. His eyes slid to the child beside her, for a moment wondering if this was her revenge, but somehow he didn't think so; she looked more like him, if anything. Nothing like the blood of Paladin and Psyche. There was no likeness there, yet she clung to her side as if it was her mother.
Dimly he remembered that Mauja smiled — Mauja always smiled, that small little smile, a mere curl of his lips, a twinkle in his eye as he peered at you from beneath his white forelock.. but he found it not in himself to smile, not when reality was catching up and stealing the breath from his lungs. "I guess I am," he said quietly after a moment, for the first time looking upon the two strangers; one was a silent mare, looking to Lena as if looking for guidance, and the other was the stallion who had whispered Myrddin's name. Odd, that neither of them looked to Psyche. Expelling something near a slow, brooding sigh, he returned his stony attention to her. "But where is home?"
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angels, they fell first, but I'm still here
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 |
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Imogen :: Common Kitsune :: Fire
Heather |
Black clouds are behind me, I now can see ahead
Often I wonder why I try hoping for an end
Sorrow weighs my shoulders down
And trouble haunts my mind
The sylph listened to the quiet, the hush, the lull, then swinging reverberations of surprise echoing across the vast hall. Slid along the portal of curiosity and silence, she’s rendered into a state of mute tranquility, watching as the rest of the world welcomes their stolen King into open arms. There was confusion, turmoil, tribulation struck amongst the stars, the ceiling, the cavern, and the walls are lifted into a sense of perplexity that none of them could, would, solve. The ivory Haruspex, with his wisdom, their sage, their philosopher, unknown brujos and children, Larkspur, with her warm embrace and languished concern, Psyche, their jackal and sovereign, and ultimately, to the ghost, to the wraith, to the corporeal foundation of what they’d started, what they yearned for, what they trusted and devoted their lives to – solidified into the enigmatic complexities of disappearance and apparitions. Amongst the embroiled riddles, they had no answers for him, and he had no answers for them, and they’d suddenly become lacquered in mystery, awe and enigmatic quandaries, Sphinx puzzles and conundrums that left them boundless, flesh turned foul. Were she to deliver every heartfelt sentiment they had to offer, were she to divine the course of their efforts, of their unrelenting prowess, of their perseverance, of their dedication, he would likely shift away from their beings, pressured, demanded upon, loosened from the seams and cords of writhing, withering obscurities. But she doesn’t, for as she studied the chiseled features of her face, she saw the apprehension, the weariness, the dismay, and felt no need to cause him to glide away from them, no use being misinterpreted – happiness, contentment, bliss, for imposition, wants and necessities. He didn’t smile, didn’t grin, so she erased the pinnacle of her easygoing, fairy, fay beam in order to assuage the reeling guilt that crossed over her mind. Somehow, she’d done it again, provided assault with her ebullient haze, caused fault, erred in her cheerfulness, so she retreated to the muffled, muted world of nothingness, held her head high and witnessed as the world erupted over his return, shifting into the midnight hues of the cave. If her companion hadn’t been there, she would have twisted into invisibility, escaped into the veils and shades of discomfort, for she so hated, loathed, when her well wishes somehow clambered into other things, distorted, contorted into shards of piercing punctures. He didn’t deserve to be crowned with thistles, nestles and thorns when all she wanted to bestow upon him was hope.
She turned away from Mauja’s stature to address Larkspur, to comfort her in the building tension of befuddlement and amazement, winking once, nudging an ear, brushing a cheek, spoiling a friend’s heart into safety and assurance; there was naught to fear. But then his words swept over the threshold again, and Lena’s attention swerved back to their former King, the icy pinnacle of strength and sovereignty, wondering if she would be allowed to answer his query. Her eyes swindled from one creature to another, all lost in the perplexities roused by uncertainty, ignorance, doubt and mystification, and so, she wandered into the wonder again, poured her sweet murmurs into sounds. Simple, concise, she’d allow someone else fill in the holes that her spring, her essence, would try to fill and overcome the muffled chords of her solace. Perhaps she was not yet worthy to say anything more. “The Aurora Basin.”
Lena
Sweets to the sweet
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| Deceased |
| Stallion :: Unicorn :: 17 :: Old |
| Aud |
Myrddin listened was a bemused interest as the shell-shocked Mauja gradually begin to submerge from whatever foggy haze was clouding his mind.
Was this the real Mauja, the philosopher wondered, as the boy-king collected his thoughts. Myrddin hadn't known precisely what had happened to their king - merely that he had disappeared. He had assumed that the universe had simply swallowed him up - wanting his grace and majesty for itself. He had imagined Mauja evaporating into small particles of light and air - moving along the wavelengths of the timestream. It made sense, that Mauja's disappearance had something to do with the emerging God of the Spark, as he had emerged around the time of Mauja's removal from Helovia. But if Mauja had been hurtled through the streams of time, had he emerged the same? Not for the first time, the old stag wished to have his sight - even though he was unsure if the new sight the Goddess of the Moon promised him would in fact reveal the sort of details he was craving to know. Had Mauja aged? Did he retain the same knowledge he did before? Did he have more? Jealously, the philosopher pondered these questions. To have had the opportunity to wade in the steams of time; to stand where they converge and look down their winding paths to what lay ahead and what lay behind, in all directions...
Myrddin...sir? Came the soft inquiry of Zikar-Sin. The old man had a soft spot for this one - he showed tremendous amounts of philosophical insight for one so young, and his manner was pleasing to be around. He was thoughtful, and complacent - or had been, now he simply sounded lost and dazed. Scenting the air, Myr tried to place where each of them stood in relation to himself. The rocky cave in which they all stood smelled of stale water and growing plant life, and in it hung each of their individual scents. Even so, Myr was having a hard time distinguishing where each of them stood. Stretching his muzzle out, he reached nothing but air. Frowning, he grunted; he was unable to physically re-assure the boy of Mauja's arrival.
If Mauja was truly back, then there would be much discussion...would he and Pysche rule together? Would there be a re-structuring of the herd? Did the frost-king share the same exclusive views that their dark leading lady did? With a cough that sounded as though Myr's very lungs were going to come through his mouth, the old white stag turned away from the boy-king and his broken mirror. "Give the boy some space!" He mumbled to the crowd, though he was speaking to everyone except Psyche. The very young voice he heard did not belong here, and although the mare who spoke behind him sounded as though she and Mauja were familiar, this did not appear to be the time for catching up. Mauja would have much debriefing to do, and much of it concerned Psyche, and Pysche alone. Similarly with Sin and Larkspur; their place for now, was not here.
As Myrddin moved to exit the cave, he threw a wayward glance over his shoulder - as if that did him any good. "We will speak of my mirror later, young Mauja." He called affectionately, wanting to speak with the frost-king just as much as the rest of them. Myrddin no doubt, was better at being patient than they were.
To go on is to go through.
At last, even the seer is cremated.
Each seed loves the dark for the light it promises.
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| Hidden Account |
| Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16hh :: 8 |
| M.E. |
The chill of the Time-shattered mirror still clung in the air, a claw reaching and grasping for those still present, malicious and mysterious in its intent and untrusting in its innate feel. The brittle panes of Sin’s Void-heart quivered in time to the quaking of his spine, and the wary, roving eyes of the FrostHeart drove a spike into the crackling glassware. Sin couldn’t bring himself to lay eyes on him, and on the Dark Empress for that matter; the hesitancy was mirrored in his wide eyes and he was embarrassed for it, and that embarrassment led him to turn away and look upon the ground beneath him. Strange of him, and also somewhat inconsiderate, to be so unaware of all those others around him; it didn’t exactly stir a feeling of contrition within him either when he lifted his icy eyes a fraction and snuck quick glances at these other Basin unicorns who came to witness the Mirror’s breaking. His head was spinning too fast to care either way.
*"Give the boy some space!"*
Sin’s eyes snapped upward, witnessing the Haruspex depart the foreboding cave; his sightless eyes bore into the interlopers as he passed, admonishing in the milky depths of those orbs. Sin understood; The Empress and the Frostheart must be left to their own devices, surely, as Sin couldn’t be the only one feeling the strain of the shifted balance of power. Things had to be done, words had to be said, agreements had to be made….Battles may need to be fought. Sin had no way of knowing. As loyal as he was to his Dark Empress, cloaked in all her star-strewn shawls of reverence and grandeur, she was foreign to him as an individual, just as any and all were strange to him in his mind’s eye. Myrddin was different as well, but familiar with the burning hunger of the Question; he could relate to the Haruspex on that common ground, and Sin wouldn’t succumb to migraines after a conversation with him.
All these mares, however, who had congregated into the polished cave to witness the King’s return—with their finicky hearts and their silly little rules and social etiquette so arbitrary to the preservation of life and pursuit of knowledge—they confused Sin, annoying him on one level and frightening him on the next. He realized that Psyche was just as unpredictable, and likewise possibly unstable; would she fly off into a rage at Mauja, threatening war and the division of the herd? Would she share power with him? Would she relinquish control over her realms to the Frostheart? If that were to happen, who would Sin choose to serve? Psyche? Or Mauja?
He is my King, and I am his Servant. That’s how it will always be.
Sin turned to the mouth of the cave, leaving and walking in step with his Haruspex, his jaw set grimly and his eyes hooded in thought. He had entered this cave knowing—absolutely certain—that something was wrong. And now he left, totally at a loss for what was truly right.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
IMG Credit: ness094@deviantart.com
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| Outcast atk: 5 | def: 9 | dam: 5.5 |
| Mare :: Unicorn :: 15.3hh :: 6 Years HP: 64 | Buff: NOVICE |
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Altair :: Common Cerndyr :: Starpast
prissy |
Frost Fyre
You Can Never be Too Young
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Emerald orbs flicker here and there as the many horses over joy with the return of their king. All that comes from me is a snort and I step up, staring at Mauja. He was said to be the 'Ice' king. Now I understood why. His appearance, it was so.... I don't know how to explain. He just seemed to have a cold appearance. His horn and his eyes were the color of ice, chilling. I flick my ears forward, ignoring everyone's words. My brain whirls around, trying to process everything.
The mirror had cracked, Myrddin had done some weird thing. Others arrived, Mauja stepped out. What was I missing? Oh! Everyone becoming surprised at his return. I shake my head slightly, glancing up at Mauja and then letting my green emerald orbs flicker to Psyche and the others. Why was it that everyone was so surprised to see Mauja? Had he really been gone that long? I lash my tail, wondering why I was always thinking constantly for such a young one.
I was almost always thinking about matters that I didn't really need to worry about. Like mother's.... No. I won't think about her. I didn't care for her whatsoever anymore. I had pushed her to the back of my head, trying to push out every single memory and thought about her. Eyes of emerald drag slowly towards the shattered mirror. It was odd that I was the only filly (or child) to come when the mirror shattered. The other foals didn't care about matters like this. I stare at Mauja, still studying his figure. What was he doing in the mirror, how long had he been in there? These questions had yet to be answered.
"Chatting with others."
Thinking up her moves
Putting her moves to work
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Psyche the DarkEmpress Posts: 380
| Deceased |
| Mare :: Unicorn :: 15.3 hh :: 8 (ages in Orangemoon) Buff: ENDURE |
| RayoDeSoleil |
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One by one, they left.
The shadow-mare remained, gazing at the FrostHeart with indecipherable amber orbs. How did she feel about his return? Did she even know the answer? When he had appeared, she had felt an incomprehensible glee. It had lasted for the briefest of moments, it had been the most fleeting of emotions, and she had not even recognized it for what it was. But it had been there, and the raw emotion had left her powerless to stop the mask from falling away, his name falling tenderly from her lips, his appearance a remnant from a dream. The dream. The dream that had changed everything, or nothing. The dream that had hope, despair, love, and loss, all together, all apart, all at once. Or perhaps it had simply shown her nothing at all.
Here or there, now or then, nothing had changed between them. She must remember that.
"It was the beginning of Birdsong," she explained, careful to keep her tone light, resisting the urge to take just a few steps closer. "A new god appeared to us and brought us to the Aurora Basin. We are deep within the Frostbreath Steppe. I think that you will find it to your liking..." she trailed off, unsure of how to proceed. Did she proclaim her rule, wear it like the crown it was, flaunt it to one who had once held it? Would he resent her? Would he be pleased for her? Would he demand his kingdom back?
"What do you mean to do, Mauja?" And there it was again, his name slipping from her tongue like that. She almost sounded vulnerable, but it was only the one word, only those two little syllables. Would he catch the slip? Or would it pass by, irrelevant to all but her? Was she imagining things? Was she becoming soft, weak? Why does he have to come with so many questions? she asked herself wryly. It was true, for even in her dreams, he had left her mind riddled with unanswered inquiries.
[W/C | ---]
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Walk walk walk.
"Talk talk talk."
Think think think.
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Please feel free to tag me in all replies!
Use of force and/or magic (with the exception of death) is allowed at all times.
Mauja the Frozen Light Posts: 1,392
| Outcast atk: 6.5 | def: 10.5 | dam: 7.5 |
| Stallion :: Unicorn :: 17.2 :: 14 HP: 79.5 | Buff: HUNTER |
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Irma :: Snowy Owl :: Terrorize
& Diego :: Eurasian Eagle-Owl :: Rage
Neo |
I assume everyone agreed to leave, and Psyche and Mauja are alone? xD Kick me otherwise.
“The Aurora Basin.”
"Give the boy some space!"
The boy. The shadow of a smile ghosted across his face, the familiar nickname dropping from familiar lips, an echo of the past. Myrddin was the only one old, and brave, enough to call him by such a familial name — and get away with it. "Aurora Basin," he echoed quietly, turning his distant, detached gaze back to Lena, as if to thank her for answering his question. Only then, when hooves shuffled over rock, did he truly realize that the old Haruspex had been saying. The quiet, hesitant stallion readily followed the old white one out, without a word. Lena, and the mare who looked to her for guidance left too, as Mauja called a half-there half-here "Of course," back to Myrddin. He was fairly sure that whatever was on the old man's mind was not really about the mirror, but more along the lines of what lay behind it. Where he'd been. What he'd been doing. Black-rimmed ears pressed harder against a white neck at the thought, nothing of anger in his expression. He was uncomfortable, confused, lost — many things.
The painted girl was the last to leave, though she went too and left him alone with a shadow.
Mauja swallowed, before pushing out a quivering sigh. Was any of this real, did these familiar and unfamiliar faces cease to exist when they stepped outside of the cave? None of them had walked through trees, but just like the mare in the Threshold, some had been unfamiliar to him. This place was unfamiliar, aside from the fact that he'd seen a copy of it before he stepped through the mirror. Why would his mind create this warped place, and put faces he didn't know in it?
Psyche's voice snapped his roaming thoughts back, his gaze snapping to her. Left alone with a predator was like almost waking up again, wariness in his eyes as he listened to the dips and rises of her voice. Always that hidden purr, drips of poison concealed as nectar. Nothing like the bare, emotional mare from that vivid dream. It was only a dream. This was proof of that. This was the real Psyche. Right? Right. (Hell no.) He knew another side of her, from before, that had been softer, playful, but deadly yet. Had that part of her died, when she left?
The story she told was one of a new god, gifting them with this corner of the Steppe, and, he assumed, gave it to her. She trailed off but he didn't know what to say, thinking of the snow and new gods, wondering if it hadn't been enough with three bickering immortals to begin with. Still a bit metaphorically jet lagged no words came to him, until she spoke again. One sentence of purpose, one word, a name, of vulnerability and emotion. For a moment, the world went black, but then his entire body whipped around to face her, all masks falling away as the frustration built up and overpowered him. "If you think I have some grand master plan, then you're wrong!" His voice was raised, not really a shout, and tinged with frustration and sadness more than anger. Did they expect him to step out here, and have answers? To know what the hell was going on? What he was supposed to do? He'd lost himself, bits and pieces buried in the snow of a world long since gone, and what stood before he was a broken mockery of who he'd been.
"I've spent more than a season wandering a Helovia where the faces of those I know stare back at me with personalities I don't know, always twisting, turning, changing, plotting, and nothing showed me the way back. Then I somehow walk back through a fucking mirror and you have a home and a crown and you expect me to have formulated some kind of plan in the space of a few minutes? I DON'T EVEN KNOW IF YOU'RE REAL!" The last, it came as a roar, immediately followed by a thick "DAMN IT!" as the worn stallion spun around, to hide his face from her. White eyelids pressed down over blue eyes, trying desperately to contain the tears. It had all piled up, too high, too fast, and he was crumbling.
[ ... oops. ]
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angels, they fell first, but I'm still here
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