hey came to him as clearly now in the light of day as they had last night, a million eyes that smile without mouths, as if hiding some great secret that they can hardly wait to tell. He can see them now, although others might not; the blue of the sky is not so bright to him, not when he can see the ghost of stars hiding within it. He had never seem them so clearly in the day before; it is as if they’ve seared their image upon his mind, so that he may find them more readily when he turns his gaze heavenward.
And his gaze is always turned toward heaven.
It has always been easy for the stars to distract him.
He stands there in the meadow now, wings half-flared like he’s ready to fly, and all he’s waiting for is the sky to invite him up. If the heavens asked him to he would fly forever without stopping to land, or sleep, or eat, or do anything other than lose himself in the galaxies swirling around him. They swim around him, a mass of stardust and miniature suns too untamed to yet pull themselves into shapes. Nor does he ask them to, not yet; he can see the bright dog-star, the one they named him for, drifting near one of his wings. And past that one the three centauris chase each other across his back, around and around again. A hundred stars he doesn’t know the name of (yet) crowd his face, pressing against his skin until they look like so many glittering white spots dusted across his coat.
His tail twitches, but aside from that he doesn’t dare move, standing there with his wings half raised to heaven while the cosmos drift down to join him on the earth.
Sirius isn’t sure how long he’s standing there - he loses track of time when he’s like this, when he can almost pretend that he, too, is made of stardust - when he becomes aware of another horse wandering nearby. He waits until they come closer, and closer, close enough to hear the whisper of his voice above the wind, and then -
"Does hear them, you?" He asks the stranger, without turning to see them. And he lifts one wing, watching as a line of stars dance across the feathers. Sometimes, when he was quiet and still and focused on nothing else, he could hear them telling him each of their stories, the way they had when he was younger.
"The stars? Speak to you they do?"
He doesn’t want to imagine what it would be like if they did not.
I'LL BE WITH YOU
@Darkrise
for any of your kids! I’m still down for cast and sirius if you’d like, but whoever works best <3
Everything moved so fast in this new place. The dark stallion had yet to take in the landscape as a whole yet he was already swept up into some court as one of their soldiers. Every little bit of him hissed in protest at the idea of lingering longer than needed, cursing him with that sense of restlessness that he hated oh so much. After wandering for so long after leaving Elysium it almost felt as though a part of his identity as a whole was being compromised in the pursuit of a bit of peace. It was if a part of his soul knew it would always belong to those long nights of mischief and debauchery where the only company he had would be the occasional passing soul and the moon above. Of course, he was fine when he stayed with the Heretics but that was a completely different story. It was a story where he was not being controlled. It was a story where terror and chaos thrived. A story he could lose himself in. His heart ached for those times long gone, but that aching was lessened by the beauty of the world before him.
Cold water curled around his pasterns as he stepped towards the water, a deep sigh escaping his lips. The world was still for once with only the faint sounds of birds ringing through the air as the sun painted the sky brilliant colors while is slipped closer and closer to the horizon. A small shuffle of Abrin's front hooves stirred up a murky cloud along the shore, small pebbles rolling and water churning. There was certainly a part of him that wanted to sink into the water, to let the chilling touch of the pond steal him away into another world. He could only imagine the feeling of total submersion as he stood there, lost in thought. It was picturesque as he stood there. Ears tilted forward, a lazy expression dusting his features, the last few rays of sunlight shining on his coat in an oddly charming way. It was the sort of appearance where if you didn't know any better, you might think him to simply be another creature of the world, entirely inconsequential.
It wasn't till a distant sound drew Abrin's attention did he shake himself from his trance. His thoughts so desperately tried to reclaim him, but there was no going back to that peaceful moment. A bird squawked overhead, angry most likely due to some sort of transgression that had gone on away from the stallion's attention. A small, disgruntled huff left his nose, a small frown taking hold. The once peaceful looking creature pried himself from the water, ears out to the side as the bird's call eventually left his earshot. 'so much for a bit of quiet,' he had murmured to himself, his tail giving a small flick of annoyance. His body desperately ached for a bit of rest, but he pushed on alongside the water, determined to see a bit more of this place before he let himself be claimed by the darkness. Sleep was a tempting mistress, but one that could afford to wait a bit longer on him yet.
ooc - first post with this boy on here so i apologize for the rustiness/length <3
"Just give me the world and I will give it back to you
Just tell me it hurts and I will fix it for you"
There was a chittering in the trees, high pitched and alarmed as a small colony seemed to cling together as the limbs of the tree shook and quivered in an aggressive fashion. The snack securely held in the darkest member's paws was soon ripped free as he was forced to release the prize and cling to the branch. Beside him, the lightest of the colony was mirroring his action, her dark eyes wide as she chirped worriedly, even as he shifted to place part of his body half over hers protectively. Off to the side, closer to the trunk, he was proud to see his Beta, Gizmo doing the same to the other females of the colony, sheltering them against the tree that seemed to have come alive with the turning of the seasons.
A startled chittering cry was ripped from the tawny female as a cascading wave of leaves suddenly erupted around them like blood from the limbs of the formerly dark hued tree. Now, it was as light as snow, so Bandit stood out against it in contrast, where as Sugar blended in seamlessly. Slowly the shaking seemed to draw to a stop and the five gliders slowly looked around at the suddenly changed and rocky landscape. Sugar chittered towards the other two females, checking in on them with a relief when Willow and Amber chirped the confirmation that they were okay. Together, Gizmo and Bandit rounded the colony up together as the five sat cuddled together looking out over the changed land.
They'd come to the island on a whim, having escaped from a trader intent on selling the colony. Whether as pets or something else where they'd be rendered down for parts, the collection of five didn't know. But escape had been on their minds from the moment they were subjected to the wood and twine cage. And as the cart they were carried in had spun on the snow and ice, their cage catching air before slamming into a tall oak - the colony had made their escape, ultimately stopping on this peculiar island that at the time had been crafted with snow, ice and sparkling fairies. Now, none of it was visible, and the five were beginning to question their decision to come here. A new escape was in order, but first they'd have to get off the island - and keep together.
Callynite stared at the changed landscape, having watched it from afar, and like any adventure, she had felt a desire that drew her closer and closer to the island with each passing day. It was a sad song in her heart that she hadn't been able to enjoy it during the snow and fae lights, and even now she didn't plan to linger for long (Viride needed her with the current poacher at large, and she didn't intend to leave the forest for long). But the energies of the land had encouraged her travel, often highlighting the flows that would bring her to the island as if it had a secret to share with her. So after long last, the little female was here, her steps light as she was brought across the odd natural bridge that would bring her to the island.
The natural flow of energy that seemed almost as disconnected as the odd island itself rose up and greeted her with eager petting to her mane and curious tugging at her pelt. The flow was distinct though - edging her in a direction that seemed pre-determined. There was no hesitation from the energies, no debate about where to lead her first. They all rose up, nudging and coaxing her, while the visual strand of energy that hovered over her pelt seemed to rise up to look over her shoulder - as curious as she was - about what the island wanted her to see, or experience. Cally's hooves moved with a calm tread, the split formation easily carrying her over the now rocky incline of what appeared to be an almost mountainous range. The grass swayed around her, lit by the color of fires that was mirrored in the ruby leaves upon boney trees.
It was almost a macabre scene, and for a split second, Cally almost turned back to head towards Viride once more - as if taking a sign from the landscape to focus on the poacher. The energies were persistent though, keeping her moving forward, as her tiny form snaked through the trees, and her gaze looked around waiting for something to stand out, something to make note off. She didn't expect the fruit falling from a tree limb to be her first clue however. It struck between her eyes, smushing against the white blaze, staining her hide with the purple juice as it snaked down her bridge towards her muzzle. Cally sniffed lightly, before wiping her face against her limb with distaste, before being alerted to the the chittering in the trees.
Cally's head snapped up - expecting to find a squirrel or two, only to be nearly blinded by the chaotic flow of energy around what appeared to be five creatures. Small, with long tails that seemed to wrap around each other just as much as it did the limb of the tree they clung to. Cally couldn't help but coo at the small, and cute stature of them - but that was all the sound she needed to make. Like one organism sharing a mind, the five tiny creatures turned to stare down at her, before instantly bolting as if alarmed (unknown to Cally - the green energy cloaking her pelt had risen up to survey the creatures, startling the shy animals into running).
The energies returned in full force, almost buckling Cally beneath their combined pressure with the pressing need to help, and to chase. And for the first time since the magic had been unlocked with in her, the voice of the Earth whispered to her, help them, they are merely scared. The druid couldn't ignore the plea, and the tiny mare turned to chase after the small creatures as the scurried and glided from one tree to another - amazing Cally with their quick movements and acrobatics. Her cloak flared up around her as she ran, her tiny but strong limbs covering the uneven rocky distance with an ease that was derived from her dual, hybrid nature, as her voice sung out to the scared creatures, "Oh, stop! Please! I just want to help! There's no need to be scared! Come on now!" The gliders merely chittered, glancing back to see that scary green aura still flaring (though it did so in concern and a desperate need to reach them and calm them) and they ran all the faster.
"Speech" Thoughts
@Icarus
- keeping it open in case we entice anyone else on our mad chase of the quick sugar gliders xP
"the sharp knife of a short life
i've had just enough time"
Rainbows refracted in the sunlight.
A prism of color lit the iridescent wings of the faerie as she hovered over the meadow. Her limbs were tucked in close to her body, her head angled down as she observed a small colony of bunnies below nimble on the early buds of dandelions, hidden by the swaying grasses of the hillside. It was a peaceful scene that Caelum had stumbled upon while on a leisure flight through the prairielands, and it was moments like these than she had a preference to savor. When one could witness the innocence of life go about their daily business.
A long ear twitched.
As if in unison, the rabbits all frozen, noses twitching before they split - bounding off in different ways, the majority of them diving in nearby burrows hidden behind the long grasses. The long furred, red tail swayed above the fringe of emerald, as the fox sniffed before seeming to dejectedly slump at an early spring meal hidden away. Caelum smiled sadly at the obviously hungry predator, too thin after a winter of hunting with little success. The fox slipped through the grass, and before long was out of sight and hidden to well for Caelum to continue to watch it's attempt to hunt for a meal. Instead, the fae turned back to her calm flight, her wings once more gliding through the air, and throwing rainbows where the sunlight touched the shimmering veiled wings.
She matched the sky.
From the light of the sun reflecting on her wings - to the bright blue of her body - to even the white of her hair that mimicked the clouds - it wasn't too strong a stretch to see why her parents had named her after the celestial heaven. The wind billowed against her long locks, pulling them back from her face, and painting the otherwise clear blue sky with streaks of ivory. Her eyes shut against the cool breeze, still chilled from the recent winter months that had just passed. But the air smelled clean and crisp, and the sun was once again warming the earth. Already leaves were budding a new on the trees, and flowers were beginning to grow up and preparing for blossom - a sight the nature loving fairy couldn't wait for.
Spring, a time for new beginnings.
A time for rejuvenation, a fresh start, a new lease. Caelum was hoping to experience a variety of these through out the new year that came on the wings of the dying winter and blooming spring time. A chance to continue healing from the wounds and scars of the past, to rebuild herself up stronger than before - rather than patchwork ducttaping the pieces of her heart and soul together in a quick fix. Caelum was hoping for Novus to continue the healing she so desperately hoped for.
Her limbs slowly unfurled.
Long, lean legs pawed through the air, as if swimming through oxygen as her wings angled to earth. Nearing the ground level of the current hill, her hooves made gentle contact, first the front left, then the front right, walking herself out of the landing as her hind hooves came into contact with the terrafirma beneath her. The long grass tickled at her knees, as the fairy horse tucked her delicate wings against her back, her gaze still watching curiously those around her, even as her smile turned soft and serene on her face. What ever spring held in store for her, Caelum couldn't deny the attraction to the season.
There was something refreshing, about coming back to life.
Posted by: Sebastian - 02-10-2020, 12:12 PM - Forum: Archives
- No Replies
The black tears stain his smooth, pale face as the old marble threatens every day to crumble him into nothing more than ruble of the long dead...but is purpose, his essence, his very being continues to keep the hollow chest pulsating with forbidden magics.
Softly, his joints grind against one another in the soft way one rubs a thumb into the groove of a worry stone. The sound of his hooves ricochet against shells and stone alike as he treats them, the black eyes blindly turned up an away.
Sebastian feels the ache of his life. It ripples in his bloodless veins and beats in time like any other heart. He is a burden to most and does not know why he has chose to seek the sea...could he even feel the breeze here...was the ocean of salt like the dead had murmured long ago? Black blind eyes blink as he considers it all for a moment then continues to walk on.
The sound of waves are the indication he is close. It’s warm here in the open grounds yet his skin stays cool and smooth to the touch. Some voice lift and fall like the white crested foam waters and Sebastian tilts his heavy head slightly. Were still voices of the dead? Those drowned or murdered by faults of their own? He sighs slightly that is resonance of windfall in naked trees.
Who would honestly care to keep company with a blind, marbled stallion who looked terribly out of place on a sea side shore?
Some days, Ipomoea wishes he could be as flexible, or as beautiful, or as dangerous as the island.
Some days he wishes that he were so full of magic that it bled into everything he did, dictated every word he spoke, changed the very tune his blood made whenever his heart sped up. Or what it might feel like to create a new world, to paint the hills over and breathe the meadows to life like a god To be able to become someone, something new whenever he wanted, to transform himself any time the novelty begins to wear off, and to not feel regret for any unfinished lives he may leave behind, or to wonder at the things that could have been, should have been, had he stayed.
All he ever thinks about now is how different things might have been, if he was someone else.
But then, he doesn’t think the flowers would still love him if he was always leaving them for another. Or that they would still cling to his heels if he was always imagining new flowers, flowers that were brighter or taller or more fragrant than the last, flowers that made him forget about all the other flowers he might have loved before. He wouldn’t blame them - but a part of him still wondered what it would feel like to pull their petals apart like he was searching for their secrets in the pollen.
Since the first time visiting the island he had wondered what it might be like to create a flower from scratch, one the world had never seen before. And as he stares up at a flower whose outstretched petals span wider than his body, he wonders at what kind of god or magic or florist could have designed it. And he remembers the crystal tulips of Eluetheria, and the floating orchids of Viride, and all the strange and wonderful flowers he had seen on the first island, and for a moment he wants to try -
When he leans in he expects the flower to reach for him the same way he reaches for it.
But it leans away. And then its petals begin to tremble, and one tender leaf on its stalk begins to wilt and fold in upon itself.
Before Ipomoea can think to step away the entire plant begins to shake, and specks of rot eat hungrily at its skin. And then it’s too late, and he can only watch as the flower begins to collapse in upon itself, and he swears he can hear it starting to sob when faced with death.
If feels as if he’s moving through a dream, half-aware of his surroundings, half-feeling the forest soil crunching like broken bones beneath his hooves. No matter how many times he shifts his glance back and forth over the same stretch of trees, he doesn’t see them, not truly; the paper-white trunks all blend together, and as obvious as he hopes the scars would be, they aren’t.
The forest had never seemed so empty as it did today, with frost limning the trees and clouds turning the sky an endless shade of grey so deep and so perverse it made the air itself taste melancholic.
He knows he should hate it.
Maybe there was still a part of him that did, an Ipomoea whose skin was crawling and whose wings were trembling and whose entire being revolted against being here alone, whose every instinct begged him to turn and return to the flowery, sunlit safety of the court. He liked to think there was - that he had not yet changed so irrevocably so as to not recognize himself in the mirror. Some days, when he looked around and saw little more than blood and blood-stained papers (and realized, with a shock, that he didn’t mind seeing so much red), he clung to that thought as a way of clinging to his own sense of self. But if that part of him lived still, it was hiding deep enough for him to not feel like he was anything more than another dark thing walking in the forest.
And when the rest of the forest had gone quiet, afraid to speak his name or reach for his shoulder, there was nothing else left to remind him to be something different.
So he wanders half a ghost through the same few acres, trekking his way back and forth, back and forth like he thinks moving his path three paces to the left each time will make a difference.
Even so, he almost walks right past the trap waiting half buried in the leaves.
Though she had spent nearly half a year in Novus now, and nearly all that time in the land of Terrastella, she had yet to explore the lands capitol. As spring had crept in, she had largely taken to spending more and more time in the hospital, replenishing stores and sorting old ones. discarding herbs that had gone bad. Slowly she had recovered from the toll winter had taken on her. Though it could still be seen by any around her that she was a sickly creature, there was some semblance of life creeping back into her eyes, and she had enough strength to go out and wander, a little further each day.
This day, as the sun rose, tossing fiery colours across the waters of the swamp, she made her way to the dusk court. By the time she arrived, the sun had made its way to the top of the sky, casting hard shadows over the cobblestone walkways. The most impressive of which was that of the citadel, the tall tower which she could only assume was where the queen and her regent resided.
She moved past them, hooves clopping against the pathway, toward the walls. Over which she could just barely make out the sea beyond the prastigia cliffs.
She lifted her neck to see over the wall and found in wonder at the view. The waves were rolling in high, due to the melting snow, and the spring rainfall., sending white spray up as they slammed into the cliffs. Every once in a while she could see a rock tumbling down, where a wave had knocked it loose.
She could hear footsteps behind her, though she thought nothing of it, seeing as this was the hub of Terrastella afterall
Luvena had spent most of her winter scavenging for what little grass she could manage to swallow, and slumbering within a bed she had built up in the fields. She had trampled down a bed of grass before the snow fell, and when it did, she used it to build up the sides. It kept the wind out, and though the snow was cold on her skin (Her hair was patchy at best in the colder months) it was better than the bitter gusts of wind. Herbs were hard to come by in the winter, and she had run out of stores rather quickly.
So she waited quietly for the snow to melt, and the sun to warm the earth so that new plants could spring in winters wake. The first day the snow thawed she had intended to go and collect herbs, replenishing both her personal stores and those she reserved for others. She had tried, but she was weak after the winter and had not made it far.
She spent the following weeks rebuilding what little strength she could. She forced herself to swallow mouthfuls of freshly sprung grass and to take walks to rebuild her endurance.
She caught sight of herself fin a puddle after a day of heavy rain. Her hips jutted like mountains, and her ribs threatened to burst through her skin. This was nothing new. But her mane was what caught her off guard. In Elysium, Picoro had combed it with his claws and wove it into braids and twists, to hide the thinning strands. Now, it was matted and tangled.
Earlier she had wandered the tinea swamp, picking her way through the boggy mess to find valuable herbs. Her first priority was feverfew, to ease the aching in her head. Than Lungwort and Borage. She navigated the swamp slowly, packaging the herbs in leaves, and clumsily tying them with long strands of grass.
Her three bundles complete she made her way to the hospital. Though it was not the first time she'd seen it, the structure impressed her. It reminded her of Herstal, the way it was woven with and between the trees. She made her way up the winding staircases, wheezing by the time she reached the top. She took a moment to catch her breath, before moving to unpack her herbs, and laying them on a shelf to dry.
She could hear others moving about within the hospital, hooves clopping against the softwood. She wondered if this time she would meet any of the other medics around.
aware, aware you stalk your prey
with criminal mentality
There was a part of him, as he stalked through the trees in a part of the forest that was dark and overgrown and feral, that thought he understood what it might feel like to be a hunter. And he knows this is not the first time he’s walked a forest looking for gods and monsters and men who take, and take, and take and never stop to consider who they’re taking from, or what they’re taking.
The more he presses his shoulder to a tree and feels nothing but anger instead of growth, the more he thinks that maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to raze it all if it meant finding the culprit.
But Ipomoea was made to save the forest, not destroy it. And even his anger was not enough to turn him into the kind of man he tracked like a hound to a blood scent.
The last forest had been different - he could taste the magic in the air there, and the thick canopy had barely kept the sunlight from breaking in. He had been far from home then, but the magic that ran rampant between the flowers and the vines had made him feel like he was just another part of the wild that claimed the whole island as its own. Despite himself, he had loved it. He had not known it then, but he knows it now because his heart is beating to the same tune, a war drum that has him moving with a too-quick step through the tangled undergrowth.
The branches are clacking their tines together overhead, but there is no sunlight streaming in through the gaps they leave. The clouds are hanging low in the sky, a dark layer that colors everything gray. When Ipomoea lifts his head he can taste the rain, and the lightning, and the thunderstorm that is brewing.
Today only foxglove and hemlock grow in his footprints, and even then sparingly. He doesn’t stop to wonder at the way his magic is changing, or worry about the danger he leaves in a trail behind him. He only walks, weaving a new path that dares someone more dangerous than him to follow along. Selfishly, recklessly, impulsively - he hoped they would.
He cannot see the individual trees he passes. Ipomoea is looking for the blood marking their barks and their leaves, for the tracks of a body being dragged through the brush. Every misshapen root looks to him like a trap, and the more roots that turn out to be only roots make his heart tremble all the harder.
Maybe later he would stop to wonder at the way the anger rose up overnight to consume him. Maybe later he would wonder when the teeth he now clenches tightly together had started to feel more like they belonged to a wolf than him. But today a sob is rising inside of him, and he already knows the beast inside of him will not hesitate to howl when the moon comes out.
Tonight he would sleep in a graveyard and make friends with the ghosts.
And up until the moment he lays his head down to close his eyes, Ipomoea will search the forest from one end to the other. And if the trees refuse to answer him, he will find the answer for himself.
