the Rift


[OPEN] A Reverse Vertigo [Ophelia, Ktulu]

Skeleton Key Posts: N/A
Unregistered
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#1





He had slipped away for sometime. Hmmm..... Well, that wasn't the best way to put his missing part in this land, but yes, he had slipped off and lost contact with most that he had met in the time he was here. With intents to follow a mare named Arah home, he got lost and confused in the process, and felt a slow voice taking a blast from mountains back home calling his name. So he followed, and then just arrived back to the land. This time it lacked the rain, along with most things. Including the Sun, the Moon, the stars, the daily cycle. He pondered over the issue for some time, yet let it pass off in a gentle manner that he had grown accustommed to. Time is such a precious thing; why should it be used to wander about over things he probably wouldn't get an answer to later on. There always seemed to be better things coming on above the horzion, and for now, he intended to find some place to settle back and relax at where there wasn't always the threat of enemy living right across the street when the street seems to be just a thin stream of water. Ah yes, please ma'am, a place without much threats being there. He wasn't running from war, no, war is everywhere you go. When you attempt to build a structure where war does not exist, war will come and bring heavy blows. War seems to be part of the usual life cycle. We cannot live without it, yet it is something that kills a great many.
A thin layer of snow was across the ground, and it seemed to put out it's own light when there was nothing more than strange glowing trees about. He would look at them, think for a few seconds upon their presence, and then just let it slip off. They were there, they produced light when and where it was needed, and seemed to do no harm. It was just a natural part of the land and the ecosystem now. His black coven hooves slid into the snow, and he held himself in the dark. Above, there was nothing more than just black. At his standing point, an aray of scents flew into his nostrils with each breath. A pair of red eyes showed his relaxed manner whiles searching for signs of others. They had to be there. No one would just push off a stallion standing at the border (keeping a good three feet from the real border. He held no bad intentions with the first impression.) as if to be looking for someone. He was looking for someone, if you must know. He was looking for the leaders, having come to ask if he may join their ranks and become part of their herd.
With a single turn of his head, small, dished and different with the mane and tail he held, he gazes down each side of the border. Has something happened while I wandered out? Has a plague come about and taken lives with relentless greed for death? The thought seems dark, something that seemed to have slipped out after he shut out most of his dark thoughts. It was part of his breeding, and that is the only thing he can use as an excuse. A pair of red ram horns have grown out of his skull, having wrapped over the top of both of his black ears and curving about below them. His body is built like his own mother's: Arabian, finely designed, and well proportioned. The rest of him, it is Stathan in the form of a smaller horn.
For the child of a man who seemed so preoccupied with war with his best friend, keeping his firstborn daughter from another female to do his bidding, and making sure everyone hated him, Skeleton Key was almost the opposite. His friends at home would comment that he had more of his father's enemy's personality inside him, that maybe he was cursed to be the son of his father. His father was inside, yes, for when you looked to his red eyes, there was a flame inside him that said Hell, the mane and tail that grew to ground and pooled, thick and wavy like any proud Friesian would have, and the black coat made of midnight sky. The only white on him was three bold stripes on both of his sides that began at the withers and ended at the beginning of his stomach, and then there was that white spot on his chest. Just a white spot, nothing more.. Feathering seemed to be taken fairly well taken care of with his mother's blood. It was thin, but it was still there. He could never escape who he was.
One sigh parts from him, and suddenly he feels rude from seeming impatient. Would they judge him upon being impatient? Commonly not, but there were chances they were that judgemental. There are people out there in the world just like that. One false move and you're screwed for the rest of your life. He shifts his weight in the snow, eyes moving about for the signs of life. Has he taken on the idea of being something strange before they even know his name? Arah was polite and seemed welcomed by his kind actions in the threshold, and maybe if the ones here didn't take to him that much, then he could return with her. But for now, he knew full well to get a break from places that seemed like home. For now, if he can reach acceptance, this is good enough.
"talk talk talk"


AND I'M NOT THE MONSTER YOU MADE ME OUT TO BE


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