the Rift


[OPEN] You May Have This Dance. [[Acceptance]]

Prometheus Posts: 75
Up For Adoption atk: 4 | def: 7 | dam: 4.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 8.2 / 16.3 :: 4 months / 6 years [Immortal] HP: 60.5 | Buff: NOVICE
Pyr :: Siberian Tiger :: Hypnotize & Flaming Touch Adoptable
#1

Prometheus & Pyr</style>


I waited for you.

Having flown far and fast on skeletal wings upheld only by magic, I had gotten ahead of you and myself. But at the edge of the Veins of the Gods, I had waited- waited until you rose over the stone bridge, waited until your paws came crashing down at my feet. And from there, together we walked. I flitted in and out of potential form, testing old wings that were still teaching me to fly, and let the fire of the phoenix rage anew from my shoulders.

Now we have arrived at the edge of the Basin. I am no fool; I fold the feather wings of my potential form tightly to my sides and send the Sun God's fire to meld them with my own flesh. The instant of pain subsides into an itching sensation as feathers tickle into flesh. I stand proud yet wingless before the open expanse of the Aurora Basin valley, angling my unbroken horn towards the twilit sky and striking the ice with the perfectly cleft hooves of a buck. My dewclaws trace lines in the thin layer of snow through which you trek. You have let yourself ignite to heat the air around us and melt the snow at your paws. At once, we express our power.

We have power.

But still we are forced to wait, like any other mortal that may have once tread upon this wasteland. No, I tell myself. This won't be a wasteland, it will simply be a cold yet tolerable place where we make our home. We have tried too many times to make a home and failed. Now I can only hope that Psyche or her minions will not deny us.


[[Theus has just finished questing so that he may hide his 'cursed' wings and perhaps join the Basin. I spoke with Rayo about this awhile ago, but anyone is welcome, as long as someone please considers taking him in. Theus would happily join the Plague as well as the Basin, and he knows about it already, having once been a member. <3]]



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Zdravilo Posts: N/A
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#2
[Image: 5160648362525]


When you think your soarin', but really, you're falling...




She had always wondered what the eyes of death looked like. She thought they'd be deep, black and endless. Nothing could be seen in them and once she'd take one look in these bottomless holes she'd be damned forever because, once you've seen the eyes of the devil only hell will be waiting for you.

Was it as simple as that? Not at all. As she walked to the border of her home, she saw a little foal. As she walked even closer, she could make out it's features. She stopped walking towards him when she was about five feet away, immediately horror struck her. His skin dangled off his body in some places and he was bald in others. Reaching her nuzzle forward and taking in a delicate breath, she shuddered. He smelt like rotten meat, and she half expected maggots to come flying outta him. When she looked into his eyes, she thought she'd see red glowing eyes that dripped blood, or some other eerie liquid, and scream. No, there was no blood, but only white eyes. Now she thought he was blind.

Her audits stayed perked up, as he didn't seem as a threat. She snorted softly seeing if maybe he would look to the noise. If he truly was blind, which was undetermined, this would be normal. So, she looked him over before speaking. She took notation of every dip and curve in his lithe body.

Now she'd let her lips part. "Who-- no, what, are you? I am Zdravilo, this Basin's scourge." She smiled, but she was still unsure if he could see. It would be cruel if the fates were playing with her, since she was slightly gullible, and worried. "What bring you to these lands?" She asked the creature, as she tried getting to the point of why he was here.

"Thinking. Speaking. Acting."

[Image: 516068d9428d6]
Table Header credits go to baylee.

Prometheus Posts: 75
Up For Adoption atk: 4 | def: 7 | dam: 4.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 8.2 / 16.3 :: 4 months / 6 years [Immortal] HP: 60.5 | Buff: NOVICE
Pyr :: Siberian Tiger :: Hypnotize & Flaming Touch Adoptable
#3

Prometheus & Pyr</style>


Were we not in such desperate need of a home and were you not so skilled at diffusing my rage, I would have turned, burst my wings from beneath by flesh, and flown away from the basin once and for all. But this rude and nosy mare won't deter us. The comforting heat of you, as flame shimmers across your coat, reminds me to be gentle. I have power, but it cannot show more prominently than good manners. Were Psyche here, I would demand a place in her herd after ridding myself from the "curse" of wings; were Mauja in the area, I would have appealed to the good nature of the stallion who first brought me to the Plague.

But no. We are graced with no such presence, we simply meet this obnoxious little mare. For she is little to us. She must have seen through the illusion of my magic for a moment, but now it is fully powered and focused so that I stand a comfortable hand above her. My eyes, perhaps white before as she would have seen them, are now purer than the snow. They glow with the magic of life, too bright even to reflect the shimmering red hues of your fire beside me.

I do not turn to her, but it is a matter only of pride. My vision is perfectly clear, but my confidence is too high to play on her terms. "We come seeking acceptance into the Aurora Basin herd," I remark snidely, making sure to stress you by my side.

You are never to be forgotten brother.
Thank you.

Your voice is still strange to hear sounded in my skull, but it is something I've grown more accustomed to. You speak rarely, understanding how strangely I feel at the sound, knowing that we understand each other even without words. When your purr turns to words, that is when I understand how important something is to you.

But though my body and mind shift closer to you, my attentions still rest on the mare before us and the conversation yet to be had. "I do not come seeking another mystified audience ogling at my existence," I go on with a downturn of my lips and a slight shaking of my neck and, in turn, the long waves of red that fall across it. My ears snap towards her, cupped perfectly to hear whatever her reply might be. "I would give you my name, but 'whats' don't have names. I suppose you'll have to fill it in for a useless lump of dead flesh like me, " I add with a dripping sarcasm, a huff of finality, and a gesture of uncomfortable distrust as I paw at the ice. Let her chew on that, I think with a snort and a whip of my lion's tail.



[[For the record, Theus was using his potential magic in my post, which meant that Zdravilo would have seen him as he looked were he alive and full grown. I worked around it, but for future reference, he doesn't always look like a dead zombie colt. ;3]]



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Zdravilo Posts: N/A
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#4
"We come seeking acceptance into the Aurora Basin herd,"

So that's what the thing wanted? Well, why not ask? I disliked this one... a lot. A disgusting smell of metal, flesh, and rotting meat came with him. So that was the package? A smelly runt foal was never fun, and when they'd stay young forever doubled the pain. My nostrils quivered taking in the thing's scent. Appalled by him, I looked at him with an icy gaze some might've though was impossible. before us and the conversation yet to be had. "I do not come seeking another mystified audience ogling at my existence, I would give you my name, but 'whats' don't have names. I suppose you'll have to fill it in for a useless lump of dead flesh like me." Lowering my dished crown so our eyes lined up, I spoke. "Congradulations, What, you've told me why you are here, you've told me to basically fuck off, and you've told me to think up a name for you. It doesn't seem to me you want to join this herd."

My words laced with venom that encased each word. My voice was quiet, deadly, but quiet. Lifting my regal crown back up to its regular position, I continued. "Young child, you ought to watch your mouth. Don't get me wrong, you can talk like that to the leaders, but when you do, I'll be on the sidelines watching your ass being kicked out." My audits now flat. I was not to be crossed today. Staring at him with a stare so obviously straight forward, he'd be stupid to not understand, I let my teeth grind together. It was quiet for a moment. I'd let him talk now in this pause before continuing with my steel voice.

Reaching my muzzle close to his, I spoke. "You smell like v-v-inager, and look like t-tar-r..." Whether it was advice to clean up or a snide comment, one may not know. Yet something strange happened. Paranormal even. He... Changed. One moment, a strange oddity, the next a normal stallion. One that had a tall structure, maybe one hand or so higher than me. Cocking my eyebrow at him, I shut up. To get into a tussle with a stallion slightly taller than her would be suicide. She watched him carefully.


OOC :: Sorry bout that post... Just barely skimming the limit... > . >
Ascended Helovian

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
Irma :: Snowy Owl :: Terrorize & Diego :: Eurasian Eagle-Owl :: Rage Neo
#5
Pushed back to early April.

það var farið að skyggja og fuglarnir þagnaðir Darkness swept in as blood painted the sky from a dying sun. Tall peaks were blocked out as dark shapes against the vermilion sky, outlined in burnished orange, but within the belly of the mountains, in the vale of the unicorns, night had fallen. The shadows had lengthened until they covered all, a uniform blanket, an urging to go to sleep, but Mauja paced the perimeter, restless. Somewhere else Irma hunted, her keen eyes picking out the slightest movement, but she had no real desire to be near his twisting thoughts. He felt like a nest of snakes had taken up permanent residence within his skull, and aside from their constant slithering, they were also too large to fit. It felt like his cranium was about to burst open and he'd keel over someplace and just lie twitching on the ground while everything went up in flames around him.

Good thing reality wasn't as dramatic as his thoughts.

He hadn't been able to shake the feeling of blood spurting onto his face, of feeling it dry and flake off as the bitter northern winds whipped against him — seeing her black body crumble, his horn lodged in her throat, each beat of her dying heart further painting him red. Delinne still lived, though how was beyond him; he'd killed her. In cold blood (in Irma's cold blood, rather). Killed that lying, snake-tongued clone of her, watched the light go out of her blue eyes. Her corpse lay rotting somewhere in the meadow, yet Delinne still roamed the Basin, and Mauja wondered how he'd avoided going mad. Each time he caught scent of the black mare he wanted to bash his head against something until the world made sense again, because right now, it didn't. On long legs Mauja paced the beaten path, frost scraping against the rocky ground and leaving a trail that shimmered with the glow of early stars. How could it have happened? How could he have killed someone who still lived?

Movement caught his attention, regal head snapping up as pale eyes narrowed; someone stood at the mouth of the Basin, white splattered with red (or was it the other way around?), proud of posture. A horn split the sky, and beside him was Zdravilo, dwarfed by his height, and none too pleased by her posture. A thundering, wordless cry rolled out of Mauja's mouth, tail flicking against his hocks as he set off at an elegant trot through the twilight. While this one didn't walk willynilly into the depth of their lands, he'd still breached the pass, and even with a horn on his head it irked Mauja. A few yards away he slowed to a walk, eyes slipping to the melted trail and the burning tiger — a knot of discomfort tightened in his gut, but he didn't let it show. His eyes were always guarded, locking away the emotions, securely guarding his fears and reactions. Someone who burned the snow ought not be here.

"What do you want?" he demanded, gaze sweeping up to the stallion again. He did not wear a familiar face.

[ uuhm what does Theus smell like in his potential form? xD ]
þegar úlfarnir opnaði augu hans í myrkrinu.
angels, they fell first, but I'm still here

Prometheus Posts: 75
Up For Adoption atk: 4 | def: 7 | dam: 4.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 8.2 / 16.3 :: 4 months / 6 years [Immortal] HP: 60.5 | Buff: NOVICE
Pyr :: Siberian Tiger :: Hypnotize & Flaming Touch Adoptable
#6

Prometheus & Pyr</style>


My dislike for this mare grows stronger with each second. She is being far too rude for my taste. Having been a wretched soul for my time on this earth, I am aware of the skill it takes to craft words so that they might bite, and I have felt the sting of a reciprocated insult more times than I might count. Her words, however, are like that of a disorganized filly's; it seems to me as if she puts them together only so that she might have something equally unkind to say to me when I speak down to her. Then again, I have always been a harsh judge. Your somewhat scolding purr reminds me of this; I am not surprised to hear you easing me into a kinder state of mind.

You are the brains of this operation, I remind myself with a slight smirk. Despite our appearances, it is your calm that quenches my uncontrollable flame. Without you, my fire would spread to strike down so many that I have met and since run from. I have made a habit of never staying long, for I leave enemies in my wake. This is, however, to be my chance, our chance for a fresh start. I swallow my tongue for your sake. I could care less for myself, but I refuse to ruin your chances of a home with my temper once more.

So though they itch beneath the flesh, my wings remain tight under the stretched, healthy skin. I stand tall and proud before the foolish mare, watching with satisfaction as my magic ripples across my features and quiets her at last. Is she shocked by my handsome appearance, or by my hidden age? Perhaps my sudden shedding of pallor for vitality alone has taken her aback. My neck arches, my tail whips, and my horn brandishes impressively, catching the remaining, painted twilight. "I'm no more a child than you, mare," I comment in deep, rich tones that resonate within my chest and sound like echoes in my own ears. "Please understand that if I weren't so intent on gaining a place here, I would leave. I enjoy your company no more than you enjoy mine, but not everyone is bound to get along in a world like this," I go on, my white, seemingly blinded eyes scanning over her. You urge me to go on in such a manner, reconciling the mess that I've made of the situation.

It was she who started it.
Yet it was you who carried it on.

Once more your words put me in my place, and so I step back, over the line of the border and further from the peevish mare. Just as her foolish and final insult strike my ears, threatening my tenuous grip on patience, the strident figure of Mauja appears from the depths of the Basin. I let a delicious sort of smirk cross my features, and listen intently as his voice is carried towards us across the icy expanse. It seems he has not made the connection between this form and the colt he met in the spectral marsh all those seasons ago. What fun this will be.

"Tut tut, Snowspot," I call back in a light and almost mocking whinny. "It is rude to make strangers of old victims, is it not? After all, I still bear your mark- and so close to my heart!" I remind him of this glibly, letting my magic shimmer and fade to briefly reveal the hole in my chest where his magic once pierced my rotting heart; my teeth chatter slightly at the memory, my eyes grow wild with the apathetic thrill of our past meeting. I recall the madness of my mind then, notice, as if from an outside view, how much I have changed. How much tamer I seem of mind, how much gentler of heart.

Before you found me.
You've changed me much, brother.

Our exchange is brief but strangely poignant. I push through it and its emotional implications, but I do not let myself close off from the sensation entirely. I've grown accustomed to the warmth that comes from our conversations, and understand the dire consequences of closing myself off from our bond. I have promised myself to never hurt you in such a way again.

I can sense the Snowspot's unease at your flame, and at my request it fades away. "We have come to find our place among you and your kin once more, if we are welcome. Your queen once offered me a home in turn for her rescue from the false Sultana's deserts, but your rather... expedient warriors got to her first." I clarify, exhaling stiffly at the memory of such a foul era and Kri's iron hoof, turning my gaze from the other mare to focus on Mauja as I speak. As far as I am concerned, she has become quickly obsolete in the presence of the Basin's very own king.

Still, I shan't forget her insolent temper anytime soon.

[He has a complete absence of any smell, it's actually sort of unnerving. I'll make sure to add it to his profile.]




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Zdravilo Posts: N/A
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#7
I stood quietly. My strange orbs studying the horse thats name would come to be known as Prometheus carefully. My teeth grind back and forth on each other as I study him. I wasn't sure if he had been an actual bloody foal or not. Though wouldn't he still act like a foal? I knew easily that foals weren't really inclined to the emotion of love, but don't get me wrong... some were. Would this foal be a set back to the herd? I knew of dopple whatevers lurking helovia, for I had killed mine. Was that taking effect on horses' magics? Would I turn into an undead also?!

No, that was silly, right?

I dropped the though and decided to speak up when they stopped talking. "Mauja." I let the name roll off my pink lips and lace through the cold Basin. A cloud forming by my mouth as my warm breath reacted with the cold air. Dipping my head respectively, I see my mane pouring into my eyes. Bringing my head back up, I flick my head to the left, allowing my forelock to move out of my eyes... sort of. I ignored my forelock as much as possible, since I would hate to look like the Basin's joker. "...I am sure you will make the right decision, King. Alas, I will leave you to your duty." I knew not to be that irritating thorn in everyone's side. Looking over the horse foal quickly, I note his appearance and store it in the back of my mind.

Turning around, I let a slight flicker form on my maw as I look at Mauja. Letting my prescience no more drain the energy from these horses, I pick my pace to a trot and leave.

Let the king reign, for I feel he is a good and strong one.

[So sorry for holding this up. Zdravilo out.]
Ascended Helovian

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
Irma :: Snowy Owl :: Terrorize & Diego :: Eurasian Eagle-Owl :: Rage Neo
#8
það var farið að skyggja og fuglarnir þagnaðir Bit by bit he started to get the feeling that something was wrong, more so than everything already was. The closer he came, the more off the stranger was — his eyes glowed, an unearthly dimness in the oncoming darkness, and despite the way Zdravilo's scent was present upon the faint wind, Mauja could catch no traces of the stranger's scent. It was unnerving, to say the least, and his faintly mocking voice was not pleasant, despite its lightness.. and least of all, were the words. "Tut tut, Snowspot. It is rude to make strangers of old victims, is it not?" At that point, Mauja's oncoming halt became a rather graceless affair, more like someone suddenly yanking a leash. Rather abruptly he ceased all forward motion, eyes widening as he barely heard the rest — strangers of old victims... but I've never killed anyone who looks like you! His pulse was roaring in his ears, heartbeat frantic; who had he killed now? And why had they come back to haunt him, clearly lifeless as their bodies rotted, but still here, tangible and alive? Only years of practice kept his face blank and eyebrows from drawing together in consternation. Instead, he simply resembled a frigid statue, the faint movement of his mane seeming light and lifeless upon the gentle wind.

Only a shimmer of his figure, a wrecking of his perfect, pristine skin snapped Mauja out of it. The despair that had been drowning him, the nameless terror of what was afoot, was coldly, cruelly, washed away, leaving him choking for air as if the sea had, indeed, been cradling him; "PROMETHEUS!" he yelled, half-scolding, half-relief. A ragged breath passed in through his black nostrils, eyes giving way to emotions as they widened and almost rolled. The sudden revelation that it was the undead colt had him weak in the knees, and he wished desperately for his old forested home where he could simply, casually, lean against a massive trunk to steady his frayed nerves — but here, at the mouth of the valley, his prospects were bleak. Not even the fading of fire pleased him, and he expelled his lungful of air in a snort to mask the waver he knew was present in his throat. Gods blast that wicked colt. All the same, Mauja was thankful there was nothing more to it, and thankful that his frantic mind had jumped to the right conclusion for once. Now that he knew who he was dealing with (and having the faint, rotten scent to remind him, though it was fading with the lulling winds — suddenly the lack of scent made sense), he could kind of recognize the pattern of his wine-red splotches.

And if Theus would still want a home after Mauja screaming at him — well, that would remain to be seen. Zdravilo, however, seemed disinclined to stay, taking her leave. Not yet trusting his voice he simply lowered his head in acknowledgment, watching her move away for a moment while trying to collect his scattered, shattered world. Ever since he'd killed Delinne things just seemed wrong, and.. surely Prometheus didn't know what a scare he'd just given him? Again, Mauja forced out the air in a half-snort, shaking his head as he turned back to the old, familiar face. "I just killed a mare who still lives," he said wearily, ignoring the subject of homes for now; some part of him felt like he owed the undead horse an explanation. "But not in quite the same way I, err, would've killed you, hadn't you already been dead... Her body lies rotting in the meadow, yet she still lives in my home." For a moment he peered quizzically at Prometheus; it was strange, to see him so tall, so.. whole, and handsome. "Let's just say your words had me slightly irrational for a moment." At the back of his mind, Irma cackled, thinking slightly to be an understatement. His head craned down, the tip of his horn motioning towards the tiger and the re-frozen ice around him. "Who's your friend?"

( lmao this just took like 6-7 hours from first word to the last! xD )
þegar úlfarnir opnaði augu hans í myrkrinu.
angels, they fell first, but I'm still here

Prometheus Posts: 75
Up For Adoption atk: 4 | def: 7 | dam: 4.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 8.2 / 16.3 :: 4 months / 6 years [Immortal] HP: 60.5 | Buff: NOVICE
Pyr :: Siberian Tiger :: Hypnotize & Flaming Touch Adoptable
#9

Prometheus & Pyr</style>


When the mare leaves my false image fades and I become myself once more. I am revealed to the ice king to be myself: nothing more than a rotting rag draped across crumbling bones. But I have strength, strength that is beyond what he might even comprehend. It becomes clearer to me that I am superior to the king of the plague and the basin especially now. His nervous mannerisms, his exhalations of relief, are not lost on me. Something more than myself has the appaloosa spooked, and I find it so terribly and amusingly disappointing.

Emotion fails to play across my features as my lips stands stiff and stretched, tightly torn to barely cover the rotting, remaining teeth within my mouth. My beady eyes watch his movements acutely, my torn ears flick forth to lazily cup around the sound of his words. Oh, brother, how he can prattle on. Does one grow fat and lazy off the spoils of royalty? Does Mauja think he has earned this right, to ignore my request and instead regale me with his own, incredibly and lavishly boring life?

No, I do not think this is the case. For I have ruled my own mind, and in my rotting heart, I have crowned myself lord of the undead, and yet I have stayed my course—steadied it, even. My selfishness is born of necessity, not luxury. My eyes roll as I turn away from Mauja and back to you, revealing black veins and releasing a small quantity of pus. I've no need to listen to this whining.

"That's quite enough, little snow-angel," I sigh with a whispered hiss and a cold tone. He really is pathetic isn't he? I think to you as my eyes trace your almost graceful, feline figure. He's really nothing of who he once was.

I rigidly lift my gaze to look at the taller shadow who stands before me and snort with disgust, slowly licking the blood which oozes out with my breath. "My, how much you've changed. Time was you'd be out on your crusade against inferior beings, waging war on any that dared step in your direction. And what are you now, Mauja?" The question is perhaps best left unanswered, but despite your suggestions I let myself go on. My lack of self control may be my flaw, but it would be a crime to let this dithering fool carry on uninformed. "Now you're running scared from a phenomenon of death. Did you not look me in the eye when you pierced my heart and I lived on? Why do you fear what you once regarded with defiance?"

You've made your point.
Perhaps, brother. But the coward must learn of his own incompetence.

And so I continue, interrupted but not without thought. "Where is the war, Mauja? My brother and I have wandered too long in the wilderness, waiting for you and your kin to strike those who live in squalor beneath you. We've come not just to return to this home, this brotherhood, but to see it rise to power as it should." I stop my speech—let myself cough and shudder with the eternal illness that is death. You stand strong beside me, allow flames once more to lick your fur. We've nothing to prove to him, brother, I assure you.

"But I see you've let the ice around your heart melt," I say with finality. My eyes are cold, my heart black. Let him feel the misery of his failure. Maybe he will chase me out, maybe. But he will know of the truth I speak.

I will not let him stew in ignorance any longer.




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please tag Prometheus in all replies!
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Ascended Helovian

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
Irma :: Snowy Owl :: Terrorize & Diego :: Eurasian Eagle-Owl :: Rage Neo
#10
það var farið að skyggja og fuglarnir þagnaðir [ warning: rambled character development incoming. ]

"That's quite enough, little snow-angel," and he knew that he shouldn't have been surprised. And in a sense, he wasn't, for he knew how flimsy and thin his skin had become, how he floundered where he had once been graceful and frigid, the way he suddenly had a heart. The words seemed to echo across time, so similar to the conversation he had had with d'Artagnan, and that had been a whole season ago. Had he truly come nowhere since then? Was he still the same broken stallion who had stepped through Asni's mirror half a year ago? Half a year — he was truly wretched, and Psyche had made him Lord. Lord, for his silver tongue and soft touches, Lord simply because she, too, had some kind of heart, but hers had teeth and his was just.. wrong. All kinds of wrong.

"And what are you now, Mauja?" Broken. Melted.
Why wasn't the frost running off his horn in rivulets? Why wasn't his coat slowly fading to dull gray, robbed of its pristine shade?
Why am I still this way?

He was silent, and motionless, some remnant of his past glory keeping him rooted in the spot, his pale eyes unreadable. He had no desire for Prometheus to see the storm beneath the lid of his iris, for it was not a flattering storm. Some part of him wanted to raise his head in defiance and say you're wrong, but I have come such a long way since then... He had spent his life atoning for past mistakes, ruthlessly hounded himself to learn to admit defeat, and admit that he was wrong, and Prometheus was right, and they both knew it. Mauja would gain nothing on trying to pretend otherwise, and thus he listened in a frosty silence. Yet, it takes a great deal to stand motionless and listen to your own shortcomings laid bare, but Mauja had sworn, never again, and listened. Listened, and agreed, and had no idea where this was going.

"Why do you fear what you once regarded with defiance?" I'll be damned if I know. His cool gaze remained upon the rotten colt, hating himself for wanting to blanch and turn aside; forcing his relaxed gaze to remain upon the white of bone and the decomposed, putrid flesh. At their first meeting, he had found the colt fascinating — and still, he did, torn between his desire to study every detail or to turn away.

I shouldn't have needed to help you kill her.
Irma's mind-voice, a jumble of emotions, concepts and colors, lay around his mind like a haze, but despite this she could not bring herself to show him the same scorn that Prometheus did. Why, she didn't quite know, but even as she rolled through the air somewhere else she listened through his ears, drinking in the sound of the undead's speech.

He wanted to say, the war is coming, but couldn't. He had nothing more to offer than flimsy, half-made plans, words of caution, of the vast numbers of the rest of Helovia — instead, he let his gaze fall to the tiger as flames erupted again. Sometimes he thought all the fire thrown around in the battlefield in the Edge was the reason his spirit had become incinerated, but it had been so long ago.. so why did it still haunt him? Still silent, Mauja tugged at his magic, and a foot-and-a-half high spike rose slightly in front of Pyr, not near enough to be a threat, but near enough to feel the wash of heat from his flames. With a closed, thoughtful look on his face Mauja watched as little streams of water ran down the weapon's sides, the heat of Pyr's fire slowly wearing it down, distorting its shape and consuming it. He knew that within a few minutes, the slender instrument would be gone, even if his mind still tried to grip it.

"But I see you've let the ice around your heart melt," the colt said, and Mauja agreed in his thoughtful silence, for what else could he do? He didn't know what to say. He didn't even know what to do to fix himself. Long moments passed without him saying a word, merely watching as the ice continued to turn into water. The pause stretched longer than it should've in a regular conversation, and in the end, he heaved a small, quiet sigh and raised his gaze to Theus' sunken eyes. "I will not deny that I am out of whack, yet to simply say 'I know' feels like I'd insinuate I am unwilling to change this fact," he said, his voice surprisingly level as the storm within faded away to nothing but the same aching bitterness, the throb of frustration over his own miserable existence. Somehow, he knew that it was linked to everything, that he had to overcome that listless apathy — that to fix one thing, would be to fix the other, but he had no idea where to start. "Are you really that weak?" d'Artagnan's voice, somewhere in the back of his mind, and as vehemently as he wanted to deny it, he couldn't hide from the truth. If he tried to deny the problem, he'd never change. If he didn't keep admitting it, reminding himself of it, he would become that weak. The deeper he sank, the longer it was to the surface, yet it felt like he'd forgotten how to swim.

Have you lived your disguise for so long that you have become it?
What happened to smiling as your gut constricted in dislike, saying I won't harm you while holding a knife to their back?

His eyes remained on Prometheus, vaguely searching, and for the first time in a long while, at a loss of words.

[ and yet I couldn't get everything I wanted in here. :c I guess Mauja's not entirely ready for it. ]
þegar úlfarnir opnaði augu hans í myrkrinu.
angels, they fell first, but I'm still here

Prometheus Posts: 75
Up For Adoption atk: 4 | def: 7 | dam: 4.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 8.2 / 16.3 :: 4 months / 6 years [Immortal] HP: 60.5 | Buff: NOVICE
Pyr :: Siberian Tiger :: Hypnotize & Flaming Touch Adoptable
#11

Prometheus & Pyr</style>


When his ice spike rises from the ground, too close to you for my comfort, I feel a spark of rage that only you can quell. Your bright eyes catch my dull ones to soothe my wracked heart; I watch admiringly as you fearlessly move closer, curling your body around the spike, biting holds into it's sides with your fire. Your tail waves, tipped in flame, towards the snow-king, and it seems you've taken on some of my fearless habit.

Isn't his cowardice amusing, brother? I can hardly contain my sick glee at watching him crumble before us. Even when he speaks, it is an admission of defeat. Has he somehow convinced himself that knowing this vulnerability is all he must do to conquer it? Oh, how wrong he is, brother. He only wishes to change, he does not will it. What a weakness, what a pathetic attempt at suckling upon the tetchy, milk-less breast of life!

I can muster only a snort in response to the whine that springs from him. I hear nothing but complaint, nothing but a declaration of failure. "It's charming that you consider decline into a dithering colt simply being 'out of whack,'" I comment blithely with a sneer of disinterest. If he has nothing more to say than this drivel then perhaps I've no desire to stay in these ranks after all.

We need a home.
Yes, you are right. If that means we must craft it ourselves from the few scraps of materials Mauja has left us, then so be it.

"My bonded does not fear you, Mauja; why do you fear yourself? You were once great, a powerful king, a master of the unfeeling. Where has your darkness gone?" I ask with a piercingly distant gaze in a low whisper. Let him feel shame as I speak to him as if he stands below me; as if I am older, wiser. Perhaps I am, in some manner, wiser. I hold more power, I am certain of this, for I have strength of mind when he stands shuddering weakly, whipped by his own self depreciation. And I must lend him that strength, mustn't I, brother? If I wish to see him strong again, standing atop a mound of the dead on the battlefield, I must help him along. I have always enjoyed being the master of puppets—the conductor of each song I play. And power, too—is it not a glorious, lust-filled creature, power?

When I had become the forger in a clan of ill-bred sand-spitters, had I not done it for the power, brother? You know yourself the extent of my greed, you bear it in unfading scars left by chains that I once wrapped about you without care. Power makes me sick and drunk, but I will never leave my want of it behind. I have learned, I have grown stronger and know that even with power I must still keep close my own bare emotions, my own few morals, but I have not forgotten that glorious sensation.

I know this, brother: I must feel it again. "Let me stand beside your throne, Mauja; lift me up among your ranks and let me remind you of that old glory, that heartless joy we once reveled in. It is not too late to move past this hindrance of a heart you've grown; it is not too late to rise up, to declare war on the equines and pegasi. Have you not wished to crush those that once stole from you your homeland? Why do you hesitate, when the opportunity hangs dead in the air, waiting for your breath to give it life?" Fervor of the newly converted overtakes me as I sense power rising in my bones. Beside me, your flames rise along your back hungrily. Yes, brother, do you feel the rush? Can you feel that splendid heat as it courses through your veins, telling you of your potential? The world is your camphor, Pyr—just waiting to ignite.

My tongue presses at the cage formed by my remaining teeth, and pressed out from between them comes a last whisper—the whisper of the living dead, come back to sway weaker, mortal minds: "Make me your council, Mauja—your general, your confidant—and I will return you to greatness."






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please tag Prometheus in all replies!
magic & force is permitted at your own peril.
Ascended Helovian

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
Irma :: Snowy Owl :: Terrorize & Diego :: Eurasian Eagle-Owl :: Rage Neo
#12
það var farið að skyggja og fuglarnir þagnaðir He didn't feel well. He didn't feel well in the way that he was adrift, had no real clue who he was, or where he should go to fix that. He didn't feel well, because he wanted to just grind his head against a rock until he fell unconscious.. because he just wanted to snarl and walk off, feeling entirely unprepared and ill-equipped to deal with this again, with someone who wasn't as understanding as d'Artagnan had been. Because the irritation seeping in his blood was not his; he was Mauja, glacial and frigid, marble-hearted and chilly. He did not get annoyed. He didn't feel like lashing out randomly. And he hated dealing with others when these emotions tumbled in, consuming the empty bitterness as he listened to Prometheus voice, refusing the urge to growl at him that 'out of whack' was defined as deviating from the norm in a stupid, not-good way and wasn't that exactly what he was? Not himself? What did it matter what the hell he called it?

He kept breathing calmly, somehow keeping the cursed tide of emotions under lock and key, hidden safely behind the blue of his eyes and deep within his shattered soul. He would not take out his own anger at himself, his frustration, on someone else just because they were clear enough of mind to point it out to him. He would not give Prometheus the satisfaction of seeing him crumble further, falling deeper from his perch among the northern frosty stars. The road back up there was long and steep, and made all the harder by the paths diverging from his own, alluring with their scents and dreams.

He felt like stabbing himself with ice in the heart.
Maybe it'd solve some things.

"Where has your darkness gone?"
I'll be damned if I know, Prometheus.


Mauja's eyes were level, steady in their frost, his voice remaining quiet as his mind heckled him; he'd at least spare himself the shame of falling to pieces in front of the undead colt, hating himself because the true words spoken by something less than half his size made him feel useless. Briefly his gaze dropped to the flaming tiger, before rising to Prometheus again. So this was the way it would go? An undead horse would somehow, miraculously, cure his heart simply by whispering plans in his ears. Really, Prometheus he thought, almost disappointed. As if it was that simple. As if Mauja was that simple. One 'brow arched for a moment, before settling back in place. He was not a dog to be led, nor did he think Prometheus could truly fix his heart (unless he stabbed it, and that'd suck), but when you're at your wit's end you're willing to try a lot of things.

And who knew? Maybe he had valuable council, even if he'd find Mauja's mind made of sterner stuff than malleable snow. Greatness, his mind echoed hollowly, seeking words to speak — he didn't want to snap and say fine, try it, nor did he want to come crawling to his feet. In the end, he sighed again, and flicked his white tail. The brush against his hocks was comforting. There's so much I could say. So many excuses. "I always appreciate keen minds." I always give people chances. "So you're welcome to be useful, ráðgjafi." It was an invitation of sorts, spoken in soft tones to not mistake the wording for something irritated, delivered with a slight shadow of his old smile, and a long, piercing stare, as if to say, don't burn this opportunity.

[ Mauja is like -flails- whatarewordsplz ]
þegar úlfarnir opnaði augu hans í myrkrinu.
angels, they fell first, but I'm still here


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