the Rift


[OPEN] Pitch Black [Crowley]

Random Event Posts: 1,286
Helovian Ancient
Stallion :: Equine :: ::
#1

Something is different, something is strange. It is, perhaps, the reality that the night sky has fallen in the Heavenly Fields tonight. Perhaps it is tired, perhaps it is in desperate need of a break from its tireless, vigilant watch over the nightlife below. Perhaps this is its quiet rebellion.

Whatever the reason, it paints a peculiar scene. All life has left the meadow in favor of more pleasant places to rest, leaving it an empty and silent clearing. Even the crickets have gone elsewhere this evening. The once gorgeous meadows, beginning to dry and brown in the intensity of the Orangemoon cold, have become flat and black. The earth is replaced by the sky, but somehow still solid. One might be able to walk easily upon the surface, as if it were simply a frozen lake reflecting the evening stars. Above, the sky is replaced by the meadow, which fades and twists with evening mist. It cannot cast shadows upon the earth, for the somehow solid earth already embodies the blackest depths of space.

Blackness seems to encase the fields, enclosing them as if they are walled in. It is a strange occurrence, this warping of the world, and marked most clearly by the moon, which shines clear in the center of the clearing, casting a beam of light up from the ground to reflect off of the meadow grasses above.

A cold and ominous breeze sweeps the stars across the surface of the earth and rustles the grasses above. It calls out to the weaver Crowley, urging him to the odd scene of the meadow, with its shadowy walls and transformed sky. What an odd evening indeed.

[[This thread is intended for Crowley. Crowley must post first, after which point Dingo may decide whether or not the thread is to remain open or closed. Regardless of her decision, post order will be stilted in favor to Crowley and RE, and posters may be skipped after 48 hours so that this thread does not get held up.]]


Crowley Posts: 166
Outcast atk: 4.5 | def: 8.5 | dam: 5.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16.2 :: 12 HP: 62.5 | Buff: NOVICE
Talbot :: Common Hellhound :: Acid & Name? :: Caracal :: None Dingo
#2
You're busy dying if you're living in the past
Indeed, something was very much different about today, but the Weaver of the Aurora Basin hadn't a clue what it was.

Whatever it was had reached out from seemingly nowhere, calling for him, beckoning him away from his snow-capped home, his sanctuary from the hideous creatures that called themselves equals to the likes of him. But even at the thought of possibly coming face to face with one of them, nothing could stop Crowley from wandering out of the Basin. After all, the last two times something like this had happened, he'd gained his magic and the then the young Hellhound, who was now always at his feet.

Talbot seemed to pick up on the ominous vibe that was being sent to his bonded, giving a soft whine as the pair headed out of the Steppe and into the neutral grounds of Helovia. His worry might have been lessened had the moon not taken over the sky, leaving them in darkness as they traveled. What was this strange feeling that had suddenly washed over his stripy master? Had he gone insane? Had he a sixth sense that Talbot himself was not yet aware of? Whatever it was, he would remain at Crowley's side and face this unseen force that was pulling them ever so slowly towards the Heavenly Fields.

As the stallion rounded the steep, winding path that led to the top of the normally lush field, Crowley was admittedly surprised by the state it was currently in. The grasses were beginning to brown due to the change in climate, looking less than appealing to the eye of the Weaver. As he carried on, Crowley was quick to notice the sudden, drastic change of his surroundings and drew to a halt as he took it all in. Beneath his hooves was sheer blackness with tiny specks of what appeared to be stars. The brindle would never admit it, but it caused a twinge in his chest; it reminded him briefly of the Boggart he had fought alongside d'Artagnan, when the damned creature had thrown him into a faux, pitless abyss to present his fears. But Crowley was not falling, so he figured himself safe for now.

When a gentle wuff escaped Talbot, Crowley glanced briefly to the pup and followed his gaze which was towards the sky. Following it, he spies the fading of the grassy meadow ground. What had he stumbled into? What sort of fucked up dream was this? He couldn't be dreaming, though; the brightness of the moon, placed strangely in the middle of the pitch darkness, nearly hurt his eyes to look at, and the bitter wind caused his skin to prickle.

The Weaver did not speak for several long moments, simply taking in the odd scenery in which he stood, waiting for something to happen, waiting for someone to step out from the darkness and explain what was happening to the world. To assure that he wasn't losing his mind. "... Hello?" He finally spoke up, uncertain if anyone would even answer his simple, questioning word.

[ooc - If I've messed anything up, just let me know and I will fix it immediately ;D I do not mind if others join in.]
Image Credits

Random Event Posts: 1,286
Helovian Ancient
Stallion :: Equine :: ::
#3

The words of the kudu-boy stir up life in the grasses above. In the pitch black, Crowley can cast no shadow; no, it appears his shadow has taken on a life of its own. Forming itself loosely and sloppily, like an uninstructed child left with clay, the shadows on the grassy sky merge together to create a figure of the stallion himself. Talbot's own image is reflected in wisps of darkness. Like creatures from parallel worlds, they mirror each other. The echo of Crowley's hello bounces back, sounding strange and garbled as is spoken in another language, yet filled with a lighthearted joy. Each movement Crowley takes is matched in turn by his enchanted shadow. There is, for a time, an uninterrupted peace that marks the strange encounter.

But it seems not all is well in the world above. There is a wretched and accursed shriek, a dripping of black tar from the mouth of the shadow-beast above. Its dark skin stretches and bubbles, its image is torn apart in mere moments. A hissing akin to hot water on ice resonates in the evening meadow, until the meadow above begins to sink and disintegrate into blackness. The cursed tar that fell from the face of the shadow lands, spitting hot, before Crowley and his hellhound.

It would be unwise to touch the stuff. It would be incredibly, dangerously stupid to immerse even a small portion of one's body in the burning, black liquid that tore peace apart and now creates holes in the earthbound night sky. But this does not mean that the spit of the night will be forgotten. Faint remnants of the shadows gather around the liquid, guarding it as its pool fills and grows, blocking out the stars and encroaching on Crowley. Faint reflections of anyone the stallion may have ever lost or loved call him closer and attempt to ease his nerves. In a trick of the evening, voices can be heard crying in a unison chorus to the black boy with the kudu horns: "Don't be afraid."


Crowley Posts: 166
Outcast atk: 4.5 | def: 8.5 | dam: 5.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16.2 :: 12 HP: 62.5 | Buff: NOVICE
Talbot :: Common Hellhound :: Acid & Name? :: Caracal :: None Dingo
#4
You're busy dying if you're living in the past
The moment the word leaves his throat, the grasses hung above Crowley's head come to life, the shadows of the browning blades shifting and shaping until they had formed a representation of himself and Talbot. At seeing himself, the pup gave a sharp yip and stepped closer to the brindled stallion he knew and loved; what was going on here? Talbot understood the concept of shadows by now, but he knew that they did not linger above one's head in such a manner as these.

Crowley allowed the hound to press himself up against his cannon bone, but his golden eyes never left the sky, if it could be called that, watching closely the shadows cast above them. When his previously spoken word comes echoing back to him, he nearly shuddered at the inconceivable language in which it had been bounced back. But no matter the peculiarity of the situation, there was peace amidst it all. The brindle wasn't sure what to make of what was happening all around him and his young companion, but he would be damned if he didn't find out.

With the sudden outburst of an intense shriek, Talbot's hackles rose on the back of his neck and he instantly went for his favored spot between Crowley's front legs. Crowley himself had tensed at the horrible noise, ears slipping back and pressing momentarily to his neck until it had faded into the darkness, like everything else. Keeping his gaze locked on the shadow figure, he watched as its form was torn to pieces from the inside out. It would have been a treacherous thing to witness had this being been flesh and blood, and secretly, Crowley was thankful that it hadn't been.

The hissing noise was similar to the one that the hot springs made when snow fell into it's warm depths. The meadow scene above him begins to fade then, taking on the very same darkness that it beneath and all around him. Between his legs, he could feel Talbot trembling softly, uncertain of what was going on. Crowley did his best to send a wave of comfort to the frightened pup, all the while keeping himself aware of the enshrouding darkness. Idly he wondered, was there something out there, watching him? Contemplating? If so, what was it? He couldn't feel eyes upon him, but that simple fact didn't mean it was true.

Then the tar fell before him, hissing and spitting like some pissed off feline. It was unpleasant to the Weaver's ears, and it was obvious that whatever this was, it was searing hot. Crowley might have stood there for quite some time waiting for something else to happen, but he felt that nothing would, and that this bubbling liquid was all he'd been left with in this invisibly walled, dark room. "Will it cool with time?" He wondered to himself, but those thoughts were almost instantly cut off when a wave of voices begin to radiate from spitting tar.

They all called to him, proclaiming that it was safe, and that he need not be afraid. He wasn't nearly as terrified as Talbot was, but there was an uncertainty that had settled itself into the Weaver as he pondered the situation at hand. It was only when he began to recognize the individual voices that were speaking to him, that the brindle twisted his ears forward once again and considered their words. Perhaps the strongest of them all was the voice of Rhiannon's; as young as she was, her voice was still so full of innocence, even if she had already been corrupted by her father into loathing anyone without a horn. There were more speaking to him, calling out for him, but in the end he decided to focus on that of his daughter's voice. Nothing had happened to her... had it?

Filled with a sudden fear that something had happened, Crowley stepped forward and was ever cautious of where Talbot was, for the pup followed along instantly, keeping himself in the very same spot. The Weaver only came to a stop when he stood before the tar, looking down upon it with scrutiny in his eyes. There were so many questions in his mind; what did it want? Why had it brought him here in the first place? But he had to push those aside and focus on getting out of this encompassing, dark room, and that meant that the bubbling tar had to be dealt with. But how?

With a sharp exhale, the Weaver examined it, considering his options carefully. He could very well just shove his nose into it and hope that all would be well, but he couldn't imagine living with half a face. Instead, the brindle lowered his head and twisted it to the left, dipping the tip of his right horn into the goop despite Talbot's demanding whines to stop.

Would this be his end?
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Random Event Posts: 1,286
Helovian Ancient
Stallion :: Equine :: ::
#5

The tar hungers. The tar wants. Its haunted eyes, resting in the ghostly features of the figures that run from it, only to sink down once more, watch with pleasure as Crowley draws closer. The pup is far smarter than he, he will regret the motion forward when the burn overtakes him.

When at last Crowley's horn touches the tar, it springs into action. It is suddenly quick and lively, springing from the earth to grab a hold of Crowley's horn and coat it in thick, endless black. The small puddles that had begun to form and eat away the starry earth expand rapidly into lakes, flowing beneath Crowley until there is nothing but dark, black falling. Just as he fears, the world falls away into nothing but this endless pit. Tar washes over him, spreading to fill each pore and cavity. He may feel like he is drowning, may watch his vision fade until there is nothing but endless burning heat and the pain of a mistake.

He may feel as if he is dying. It might occur to him that this is the end, locked in a foolish mistake. He may feel forever as if he is falling, falling to a place with no end. Above, the earth shifts back to what it was once before. The pup was perhaps too smart to follow his master, but his inaction will have its cost. The meadow fills the holes left in the earth and the tar that dragged Crowley down into blackness is sucked into the dirt and grass that once again covers the earth. Above, all is well, resting as it has so many evenings before. The sky returns to the air, the earth to the ground.

Deep below, the fall is broken. In a cavern within the earth, the tar withers away into tendrils of shadow and reveals Crowley as he was before. The illusion of pain remaining, the fear perhaps still haunting, but the body free to move and explore the dark underworld into which it has fallen- the hidden corner of the world where shadows reign.

The shadow of his daughter stands in the center of them all, beckoning him once again, easing the illusions of pain to a tolerable point. No words this time, only silence and a smile. Only a deft turn away and a gallop into blackness.

[[At this point, anyone to join the thread will see only Talbot in the meadow. Crowley has fallen far below and beyond.]]

Crowley Posts: 166
Outcast atk: 4.5 | def: 8.5 | dam: 5.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16.2 :: 12 HP: 62.5 | Buff: NOVICE
Talbot :: Common Hellhound :: Acid & Name? :: Caracal :: None Dingo
#6
You're busy dying if you're living in the past
There are times in which Crowley often wondered, 'why the hell did I just do that?' This was one of them.

The moment that his horn so much as grazed the tar, it jumped to life, taking ahold of the keratin that twisted from his head. Instinctively the Weaver jerked back in an attempt to free himself from whatever this tar was, but it all seemed in vain. Before he could even make an attempt to comprehend what was going on, the tar had begun to form all around him, covering his body and everything else around him.

Talbot let loose a terrified yelp, scrambling back and out of the way of his master's frantic hooves, somehow unharmed and unaffected by both him and the strange mess that had suddenly exploded into action. But after his safety had been assured, Talbot realized just what was happening to the stallion and felt his hackles raise once more. With the most fierce growl he could manage, the Hellhound snarled and barked at the darkness that threatened to take his beloved Crowley away, but almost as quickly as the noises left his throat, the stallion was gone. The world slowly shifted back into it's normal form; the sky was the sky again, full of darkness but lit up by an ocean of stars. Beneath him was grass again, soft and familiar under his paws. But none of this mattered to the young hound anymore; Crowley was nowhere to be seen, and Talbot hadn't a clue what had become of him. Would he return? Was he still alive? At the realization of being truly alone in the middle of the field, Talbot gave a pitiful whine, and slowly sank into the grasses to investigate the spot where his master had last stood.

Meanwhile, below the very earth in which he had previous stood, Crowley was falling further and further with every passing second. His golden eyes were wide, the whites flashing as he thrashed to try and fight the tar away. It was useless though, for it seemed every little movement simply produced more and more of the sickeningly thick tar. It compressed his body with an intense pressure, wrapping about every curve of his body and threatening to steal away everything he had left. When he could manage, his breaths came in gasps, but it was growing more and more difficult to catch an ounce of air with every inch he descended. His vision was quickly fading, clouded by sheer darkness until there was nothing but. Within his broad chest his heart pumped rapidly, fueled by pure fear as he fell helplessly. Every fiber of his being ached and burned with the intensity of fire, or maybe worse; he wasn't sure. Blindly throwing his head back, the Weaver gave an agonizing scream, one that surely echoed those he had caused pain to in the past.

But just as Crowley began to wonder if this truly was his end, the last few painful moments of his life, the most peculiar thing happened. He landed.

Crowley wouldn't admit it, but he was fearful to opening his eyes. After a few moments, however, he did just that, giving himself a brief check. Beneath him still stood four straight, unbroken legs. His heart still beat like a crazed drum in his chest, and his eyes still shone with fear nestled in their golden depths. Taking a few deep breaths to calm his nerves and recollect himself, the Weaver tried to process what had just happened, but he could make nothing of it. Where had Talbot gone? Had he been taken away by the tar, was he safe? Or had he been left in the darkness he now associated with the Heavenly Fields? Crowley hoped dearly that the pup was safe and would be able to return to the Basin unharmed, and alert somebody of what had happened.

As he finally lifted his head to take in his new surroundings, Crowley not only found himself in the confines of an unknown cavern, but also the shadowy face of his daughter. His breath hitched momentarily, as if uncertain if his eyes were playing tricks on him. Had the same thing happened to her? Was it really even her? As she turned and galloped off into the depths of the cavern, Crowley found that he couldn't take the chance. "Rhiannon!" He called out, "Nonnie, please..." But his words seemed to have no immediate affect.

With another deep breath, the Weaver wasted no time in following after the shaded apparition of his daughter, legs still trembling but able to withstand movement as they carried him into the perpetual darkness.
Image Credits

Random Event Posts: 1,286
Helovian Ancient
Stallion :: Equine :: ::
#7

Faint whinnies call out behind Rhiannon's shadow, some sounding almost like words, but once again garbled as the words of Crowley's own shadow was. She leads him through the caverns and up along a path once hidden, back to the surface. But as she steps, spots of shadow fall upon the cold stone and spread beneath Crowley's own hooves. Shadow latches onto the crafter hungrily as that tar once had, but cool and somewhat serene. It flows from behind him in loose tendrils, following him and becoming one with him.

Rhiannon's own shadow fades as she draws him closer to the surface. Evening light appears, and an entrance to the world above beckons him. At the top of the incline she stands, nickering, calling him onward, for only a few moments more. The moonlight fades her image, until there is nothing left but the soft whispering of her voice, mixed with the voices of all dear to the crafting kudu boy.

He may stand in the meadow and realize that so much of what has just occurred has been a figment of his imagination. He may doubt the reality of the tar, the shadows, or even the inverted world of the meadow. After all, there is nothing left to mark the event- no remaining evidence.

No evidence, that is, but the black tendrils following Crowley's every movement, and the fading whispers trailing in their wake.

[[Congraultaions! Crowley now has passive magic that manifests as black tendrils of shadow which follow him. The whispers described above may remain if you would like them to be an addition to the magic. Please update the records accordingly.]]


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