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  where it's black and blue (relic hunt)
Posted by: Iscariot - 07-11-2019, 07:51 PM - Forum: [C] Island Archives - Replies (9)


HOW DOES A MYTH COME TO BE?

It is a sweet night that descends on the island.

The spring wind a little warm, a little cool too, like a kiss. The stars overhead are faint enough to be pretty but not threatening; strung between their lanyards is a waning moon that sheds silver on the water like so many scales, moving gray-white-blue as each wave crashes. The darkness of the jungle has been amplified a hundred times, so that each swirling leaf has turned from green to black, and the shadows have become pure, perfect ink. 

And Iscariot is not deserving of such a perfect night, oh no, she has work to do, but—who is she to ignore a gods-given gift?

The island has calmed somewhat since she crashed into it. She hasn’t talked to anyone since the portal threw her in, but she’s picked up information, bits and pieces, from listening to the conversations as they pass her. 

From what she can gather, the island is new. And… not normal. It sprang up from the ocean. From a volcano. Under the tongue of a god—gods? And they say that it’s bursting with magic. (Which Iscariot has to laugh at—magic, yes, maybe, but hardly. Like a sneeze in a hurricane. Their magic is pathetic, nothing compared to the magic of her mother, nothing compared to the magic of her debtor. But let them think it’s magic. It’s nice to laugh at something instead of snarling.)

Anyway: the night is sweet, and Iscariot, against her better judgement, is enjoying it. Her spindly frame is splayed out on the beach, cheek pressed against the sand, which is still warm from today’s sun; her eyes are open but only lazily, and her dark tail splashes back and forth behind her. For the first time in a long time, she feels.. calm. Her heartbeat is slow. The world is quiet. Only the low sound of the wind and the movement of birds resists the silence that lingers above her head. 

In the faint dark, she could almost be a phantom.

@Obsidian <3

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  I give you my love before preaching or law;
Posted by: Marisol - 07-11-2019, 11:43 AM - Forum: Archives - Replies (10)






deep calleth unto deep
Marisol has been writing a lot of letters. Or at least more than normal.

She has too many words in her head, too many books that were read and not processed, too many feelings, and now they’re fighting to get out, when she’s still, when she’s moving, all the time. She wants to write. She has to write. It will burn a hole through the inside of her if she doesn’t.

She has been thinking about Asterion, too, more than normal. His dark eyes. How he can’t not love. It reminds her of herself, or how she could be, maybe. But everything looks like him. It might be how the smell of saltwater follows her now, or how when the stars play on Terrastellan cobblestone, they almost make the purple of his skin (and she’s been under the stars a lot more than the sun, recently.) They haven’t seen each other since the meeting Marisol came crashing in on, and the knowledge of that is a bitter tonic against her dry tongue. There have been no apologies, no explanations. She had dragged herself to the hospital burning with fury and came out of it drowned in sorrow, and nowhere in-between had she bothered to speak to him, or Theodosia. Or her cadets, except to tell them it was business as usual. 

They all deserved a little better reception, even from a kelpie. Even from Marisol, whose teeth would not hesitate to eat her own heart. But Asterion… Asterion especially.

She loves him, he must know that. She can’t say it, and he must know that, too.



Asterion,

If I were capable of saying sorry I would say so now, but you know that I’m not, so:

I have much to tell you and I’m sure you have a lot to tell me, in reference to the interrupted meeting or anything else. I figured I would give you a warning beforehand. None of it (on my end) is near to good news. The hospital may have fixed my fever but it did not do much for my countenance. If you see something hair-raising on the streets, fear not, for it is either me or something I am near to killing. 

My heart has a mouth which says: I regret, though I hate to admit it, that I did not come to you sooner, and worse than that, that I have not been kind. You must know I am stubborn as much as I am your sister and these are two circles that overlap perfectly. I would rather kill for you than kill you, which I cannot say for many others.

There is a significant uproar in the Halcyon this weeksand I cannot justify leaving the barracks until everyone is calm. If you have time, please come by. You know we’re civilized. Cirrus is welcome too, though she might find it claustrophobic.

In lieu of a signature, or anything too sickeningly tender, have this, and don’t you dare hold it against me:

If we want the rewards of being loved we must submit to the mortifying ordeal of being known.

I submit.

<3
aimless | kokovi

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  lavender bones
Posted by: Ipomoea - 07-11-2019, 12:08 AM - Forum: Archives - Replies (9)

Fight Type: BATTLE
Prize: N/A
Contact Made: YES

Character #1: @ipomoea
Bonded: Odet, Steller’s Jay
Magic: Nature Spirit
Armor: N/A
Weapons: N/A
Current Health: 35
Current Attack: 25
Current Experience: 65

Character #2: @asterion
Bonded: Cirrus, Pallas’ Gull
Magic: Water Manipulation
Armor: N/A
Weapons: N/A
Current Health: 52
Current Attack: 48
Current Experience: 90




with our secret pact



It is a warm spring day, with a sweet, southerly breeze to refresh the mind and white, pillowy clouds scattered about to decorate the sky. A perfect day, to the naked eye.

But to Ipomoea, the air on the mainland felt noticeably cooler than the air on the island from whence he came. It was like stepping into a different world entirely, one that was considerably dull and lifeless in comparison. Ipomoea had harbored a fascination of the island since the day he first set hoof upon it, marveling at its wonders and allowing himself to be drawn in deeper by its charm each day. The island felt more a home to him now than Novus. Any longer and he might have lost himself within its fantasy, and then he would never have found his way back; so perhaps it is good that he has returned.

The plants of the earth greet him as their old friend as he does, wildflowers blossoming within his hoofprints in streaks of blue and orange and white. Here in his presence, the grasses of the steppe stand up straight and tall, their once dry and broken stalks turning from yellow to green and snapping with youth. All around him the world takes on a little more color, a little more vibrancy - as if Ipomoea has brought a small part of the island back with him.

And over them all the shadow of Veneror looks on like a silent, brooding giant, as if a reminder that the gods, while distant, remain present all the same. But whether they looked on in judgement, or approval, he could not be sure.

He supposes it doesn’t matter in the end.

Once, he may have been nervous walking to the Bellum Steppe with the knowledge that in a matter of hours, he would undoubtedly be walking away with bruised and even bloodied skin. But he has changed since his last visit to the rugged plains.

The Ipomoea who came here today was not the same boy who had come here last winter.

Now he walks with a purpose, flower-crowned head held high despite the trembling that has found a home inside of his ribs. He hides it well now, his fickle heart. He is learning how to be strong, how to be brave

His wings stretch out slowly, gingerly sweeping the ground and stirring the air about his feet. The breeze whistles softly through the steppe, bending the grasses on their long, thin stalks. They shudder and stoop low to the earth - and they begin to whisper. 

He’s here, they say without words, shivering with barely contained delight. And when Ipomoea looks towards where they point, his rose-colored eyes fall upon the king.

“Asterion,” his voice is as soft as the delicate petals of the flowers that spring to life beneath his hooves. His words are followed by a smile, and he steps forward to meet his opponent. Odet is circling above them, blue wings spread wide, calling out a warbly greeting of his own.

Ipomoea inclines his head subtly, sweeping into a small bow. “Your move.” It is more of a command than a question.

And his wings slowly fold, tucking themselves about his slender, spotted ankles, in preparation of what was to come.





there’s a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out

i say, stay in there
don’t be sad




@asterion ! i'd like to apologize in advance
this thread will be full of me figuring out how to write po in battle mode
”here am i!“






Summary: Ipomoea comes to the steppe and waits for Asterion, then allows him the first move.

Attack Used: 0
Attack(s) Left: 2
Block Used: 0
Block(s) Left: 1
Item(s) Used: N/A

Response Deadline: 07/18/19
Tags: @asterion, @Sid, @inkbone, @Sparrow, @nestle, @aimless

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  love's a shrine, or else a scar
Posted by: Marisol - 07-10-2019, 11:06 PM - Forum: Archives - Replies (7)

marisol


THE ARCHIATER.

A bird and a letter, theoretically. 

Isra —

Isra, I — 

Hope you’re alright, and I miss you, like a wild thing; like how I’ve been missing my iron now and the smell of salt—

Isra, I’m in trouble for going to see you, and I almost don’t care, which worries me immensely— 

—like old yellow wine. Like a book I’ve read a million times.  Like how fish always know where to go home. Like flying. 

Of course none of them are sent. A bird and a letter, but only theoretically.



It’s hard to sleep. It’s always been hard for her to sleep. But now it’s worse.

She sees Ard’s face (which is Erd’s face)(which is basically a tragic mask) whenever she closes her eyes. If she doesn’t keep her jaw clenched her teeth fight to breathe outside her mouth. The smell of blood makes her drool, which is inconvenient, considering the Halcyon training schedule. When the night sets in the quiet does too, and so there is nothing to distract her, and so everything that hurts—her torn muscles, and her heart that begs to be let out, and the saltwater in her blood—hurts a hundred times more than in the day when the world is loud and bright and not so open to interpretation. 

It’s night. She should be sleeping. She wishes she were sleeping—her bones are heavy, and her drooping eyes. But now it seems impossible. 

The city is cool and dark. Spring is settling in, but not without a fight—the wind has sharp, cold teeth and dawn is still a phantom object. The moon is out of sight over the mountains, signaling the nearness of daybreak, but the sun has not quite kissed the sky yet. Instead the light that streams down is pale, watery yellow from lanterns fading out of their sconces, washing the cobblestone streets in faint webs of gold. Marisol feels like she’s been walking in circles for hours. Has it been hours? Who knows, who cares—

She wouldn’t be sleeping anyway.

There’s a bakery at the corner of two wide streets that Mari stops at. It’s small, tucked between two other shops, but feels homey; the lights inside have been turned on, as if somebody is already starting a batch of dough in preparation for the morning rush, but the store itself is perfectly still. Tables stacked. Displays empty. A vase with calla lilies sits on a lone shelf. Something about being witness to a scene so simple makes her heart hurt so bad she wants to cry.

Marisol feels like she’s floating. Her head hurts so badly it seems to have been thrown off-center from her neck. She remembers this bakery from when she was a kid, a real kid, a real little kid. Little enough o have been spending time with her parents. They had sold these pastries she scarfed down by the basket, braids of buttery dough studded with raisins and spices she’d always thought of as coming from Denocte. (Of course she had no evidence. Again—this was a kid thing. But it was a nice thought, that her Terrastellan family could eat Denoctian food without starting some kind of war.)

She can hear someone clattering around in the back. The door is unlocked, and a gust of warm wind comes flowing out, like someone has just turned on an oven. Marisol closes her eyes. She smells the spices.

She thinks of Denocte.

She thinks of the bird.

@isra <3

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  !! not one without the other
Posted by: Kindred - 07-10-2019, 12:55 AM - Forum: Archives - Replies (6)

It had been a long journey, or at least realistically it had been. In her mind, though, it had lasted only seconds. She could only remember being ushered out in the darkness of night; her nose pressed tight against the cloth moon to hide her mind from the noises. Her panic-driven steps ever-so-slightly too loud, hips scratching against the stone walls that encased most of the graveyard ruins which were their camp. The same words repeating in hushed whispers - “they will execute you if we stay” - spiking louder between the throbbing of her heart that was being tossed around her skull. It was a vain attempt, blocking the panicked whisper which was only a figment of her imagination through her pendant – but she had tried, dammit. She had tried for Wren. Each of her movements based off of the body language of Wren’s wings and the swinging of her hips. Words weren’t particularly needed between the pair – even though Kindred could go on for days describing the beautiful things before her. 

It had to have been five seconds later, yet it was dawn and it was far colder than she recalled it being. It didn’t make sense. She vaguely recalls asking where they were, and if it was winter, but she doesn’t remember the response Wren gave her. The pair moved along, much closer this time in an attempt to keep each other warm and to keep Kindred from dissociating to the point where she could do nothing but shake, stuck standing in one place. Another twenty seconds and she could clearly see towering trees pulling into view – actually the entire breadth of her perception was trees. Warmth had finally started to radiate off of her coat.  

The words “We’re safe now. Stay close, must lose them in here. Confuse them,” rung clear in her head after Wren gently moved her nose away from the crescent moon which Kindred had started to cling to again. She remembers a pause, the feeling of Wren’s wings against her shoulders, and the concern breaking the almost monotone voice as Wren inquired, “Are you okay? Can you stay with me?” Kindred’s voice was almost a croak at this point, “Safe? Yes... staying...” her eyes wide as they stepped into the forest. A nod from Wren was all the encouragement she needed for the panic to begin to ease from her body. Whispered numbers being muttered under her breath – too muted to be picked up by anyone who wasn’t very close, but loud enough to force her mind to register them.  

Kindred fumbled over her thoughts, trying to recall what had happened. She knew it had been a few evenings at this point – sleeping in different sections of this vast forest – but she couldn’t place exactly how many or the different spots they had been in. Honestly, had Kindred been fully out of the dissociative state she might have been able to help Wren navigate this forest, but with her mind not completely her own all of the twists and turns looked the same. She shook her head, visibly trying to pull her mind back into her body as she steeled her legs and stopped in place. Her breathing was still quicker than usual, but at least it didn’t seem to place her close to hyperventilating or cause her pain. “Wren...” her voice trails off as she blinks away the thought of her sister disappearing in the shadows. “Wren, have we been moving in circles?” Baby blue eyes peered at trees, trying to find some kind of marking that would confirm or deny this belief – though if it confirmed it then it would only serve to stress the teetering mare even further. Kindred wasn’t certain she’d be able to pull out of it quick enough to stop the feeling of floating again. And, as she looked to meet Wren’s gaze it was almost as if her eyes were pleading for her sister to lie if they actually were going in circles. 

“We’ll... we’ll get out of here, right?” Her voice was anxious, probably a little louder than it should have been – and it definitely was betraying the fear she had been dealing with since they had left in the midst of the night those months back. Now, all there was left to do for the mare was to hope. 

----------
ooc: I have permission from @Brit to explain what Wren did prior to this post
Also @Wren; anyone else can join at any time (don't necessarily have to wait for Brit to post Wren).

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  all of those burdens [relic hunt]
Posted by: Jetsam - 07-09-2019, 11:49 AM - Forum: [C] Island Archives - Replies (1)

WHAT IT MUST BE LIKE TO BE GENTLE
to reach out and not want to hurt
@Mathias

The word had reached them a week ago via the crowds bustling in and out of Delumine’s library that something strange was afoot … There were goings on that needed to be investigated, and while it is always tempting to stay cooped up with his thoughts, his journals and his lover, Sam would be the first to admit that he could never say no to the possibility of adventure. Besides, it would do them both good to be on the road again, he had thought before they left. He’d never seen his partner so docile before, and truth be told, it was a little unnerving.

For many years, Mattie had been known to many as a spitfire, a villain, a plain old shit disturber, yet now? There seems to be no trace of this. His rigid posture has stuck, as well as his generally sour disposition, but he is somehow less grandiose in the way he chooses to display his frustration, less … Perhaps just less. So Sam had packed whatever he could carry and decided they should follow the others and quest for some long forgotten relic. So far, they had managed to make it out of Delumine and into the wilds as far as … well, if Sam is honest with himself now, he’d been unable to read the map he’d squirreled away for quite sometime now, and it’s starting to get to him. The forest looks exactly the same as it did a mile ago, and he’s starting to wonder if they’re going in circles.

He pauses then, drawing in a deep breath, scenting the air and thanking the gods - just this once - for his preternatural abilities. A cool wind brings with it the scent of water, and where there is water there will be a break in the tree line, which means they will be able to determine where on the gods’ green earth they are. “I’m gonna check this out,” he tosses over his shoulder, ears tilted in his lover’s direction before swiveling eagerly toward what must be a current. (It has to be, god he hopes it is.)



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  the tears of gods
Posted by: Random Events - 07-09-2019, 11:47 AM - Forum: Archives - Replies (1)


her only weapon, her salvation


Smoke still fills the city, ash still falls from the sky. The damage in Denocte has been done but the effects of the food storage fires will carry on for weeks and months to come. There’s something eerie about this particular morning. The sun just barely trying to peek over the horizon while the rest of Denocte is still. The sky is filled with pinks, yellows, and oranges, trying so desperately to break through the smoke-covered city. The only sounds the once vibrant city can hear is the steady “clip clop” of Isra’s hooves as they move through the cobblestone streets while surveying the damage.
 
And out of the fog of ash and smoke comes something beautiful and unusual in this part of the city. A young female clouded leopard guides her cub through the city, her eyes searching for something with a very clear purpose. Her movements are soft, fluid, and absolutely quiet. Her coat blends in with the natural colors of the wood and stone that make up the citadel. It is when she rounds the corner and sees Isra that she pauses. Their eyes meet and just as soon as Isra makes eye contact, there is a pull that happens. Isra may not quite understand it yet, but that pull to follow the leopard will be strong. 
 
The leopard stands strong for a few moments longer, allowing that bond, that pull to intensify. And when she finally breaks that eye contact and turns, she is silently demanding that Isra follow her and her cub. It is with soft, purposeful steps that she then leads the queen to the source of the ash and smoke that fill the sky.
 
When she gets to the first fallen food storage, her cub enters the debris-stricken room. The cub goes to the center and slips beneath the cover of a fallen beam. Once he returns to his mother’s side, it is clear that he is carrying something within his teeth - stone that looks very similar to a ruby. It is a colorful gem, harboring colors that mimic the sunrise - red, pink, purple. The colors swirl together and upon closer inspection, it can be noted that this is not a ruby, but something far more precious and unique.
 
The cub places the gem onto his mother’s back and falls into step with her. One look behind Isra and it is clear that she is to continue to follow them along this journey. The mother leopard and her cub take Isra to the second of three fallen food storage rooms. Once again, the small cub travels into the debris and ash, this time returning with what seems like an ordinary piece of cloth. It is weaved and neutral in color, appearing most like burlap. The cloth is folded and placed below the gem. And once again, the pair begin to walk further away from the city towards the final burnt down storage.
 
When the pair arrive at the final storage room, the cub once again weaves through the fallen beams and burnt stone, this time pulling out a roll of red string, thick like yard but more durable than twine. As the cub returns to his mother’s side, he keeps the roll of thick string between his teeth. The pair then lead Isra towards the mountain pass. The bond between them grows strong and if Isra has not figured it out by now, there is no denying that the mother and son pair wait her to follow them.
 
They lead her to a small alter at the base of the mountain. It is approximately 5 ft high and 5 ft wide. The center is a basin filled with the tears of the gods. The leopards place the objects on the ground as the mother turns to Isra. Their eyes meet and she makes a request. “Your bow, Isra…” It is a command, but a gentle one. The leopards know of the lunar bow, the bow forged out of Isra’s own magic. The cub steps forward, intent on taking hold of the weapon and bringing it back to his mother. 
 
Only when the bow has been given to him does he return. The mother offers Isra a nod, a silent thanks as she sets to work at wrapping the bow in the seemingly ordinary burlap, tying the cloth closed with the thick twine. When the bow and its arrows have been wrapped tightly, it is placed in the basin of tears. “Pray.” Her command is soft, her intention clear. Isra is to pray over her weapon, asking the gods to bless this weapon and make its victories abundant. 
 
When Isra has begun her prayer, the gem seems to raise from the ground on its own accord. It levitates upward and towards the basin, hovering over it but never touching the tears. And when Isra’s prayer has finished, the gem falls into the basin. The basin is filled with lunar fire, bright blue and heatless reaching over 3 ft tall. It is so bright that if looked at directly, the light will burn the retinas of the onlooker. The fires last but a few short minutes and when they finally are put out, leopard turns back to Isra. “Gather your bow and use it for greatness.” And when Isra steps towards the alter, she will find that the burlap and twine that once hid her bow from view has been burned away. The gem is gone, and there is nothing in the basin but the bow and its arrows. No burlap, no twine, no gem, and no tears of the gods. And if Isra looks back to the mother and her cub, she will find that she is alone.




@isra, if she chooses to follow and wait for the leopard and her cub, will be lead by them to the base of the Arma Mountains, where it seems a basin waits for her alone. She will be prompted to give up her bow, to wash it in the tears of gods - and then to pray.

Thread requirements: 1 reply, 500 words. Please tag the RE account in your reply.
How to tag this account: @*'Random Events' without the asterisk!
Once you respond, you may post to claim the quest EXP

This quest was written by the lovely @Zombie.

Enjoy!

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  a sacrifice of blood
Posted by: Random Events - 07-09-2019, 11:15 AM - Forum: Archives - Replies (1)


a nightmare become reality


Something pulses in the gulch today, bright and alive - the Elatus Canyon has only one true desire on this day.

Seraphina, the world seems to call.

The canyon path is narrow and uncivilized as a spritely gazelle bounds through it. Arid-dwelling plants grow in every which way, leaving minimal room for the path itself. The dirt trail snakes around ancient, withering trees, with sandstone flanks towering on either side and loose stones littering the ground. There is a beauty to it - raw and barren - even with the grainy wind and tumultuous heat as the nimble creature moves with a dedicated pace and dexterity through it.

The gazelle is no conventional creation. She is ethereal and immortal - a heavenly entity with refined excellence greater than all that surrounds her. Her twin horns are wrapped with ivy and white blooming clematis while her body seems to glow and sparkle in the pale sunlight. The creature is atypical of her kind - her color more pastel and build more delicate than her well-known sisters and brothers. The only thought on her mind is powerful and overwhelming as her cloven hooves carry her to the one known as Seraphina.

It is not by chance that Seraphina will discover the gazelle, for the lithe creature has waited with bated breath for the day she is able to bestow her gift on another worthy enough for it, for the day Solis promised. To the mare, she may appear to be nothing but a mirage at first, some sort of delusion - but the wonder and doubt will fade quickly as the creature approaches, her body defining itself as a reality in the process.

Come, the gazelle will say, her voice so magnificently enchanting that Seraphina will find it essentially futile to resist the request. The creature will answer no questions and offer no comfort as she tries to lead the mare to something greater than what she has ever previously witnessed. It is a thick crack in the wall - a splendid alcove. Should Seraphina look for the gazelle now, she will notice that the creature has all but stayed, vanished as quickly as she appeared. 

It matters not if it is curiosity, worry, determination or something else which leads the mare into the cave, for if she has made it to this point there is no turning back. At first, it is dark in the cavern, but after a moment flaming torches spark along the walls and bathe the area in a flickering orange glow that reveal a myriad of cave drawings and runes that have existed long before Seraphina was born. She will notice only one scene on the wall in particular, something peculiar and not exactly right. It is a series of runes that circle a vague depiction of a sun, a vulture, and a grey mare spilling her own blood. With the horrible whip of realization, she will know what it asks of her as she decodes the runes and grows to understand the image.

To gain what she seeks the most, Seraphina will have no choice but to bleed beyond what is natural.

At her feet, she will see a stone bowl carved with a depiction of the sun. Beside it is a sharp blade.

The choice is her’s. She knows what to do.

(Somewhere, Solis is laughing.)




@Seraphina alone will see the gazelle. And when the gazelle sees her, and calls to her to follow, she will be unable to resist. Through the canyon they go, following a path Seraphina undoubtedly has followed before, only this time there is something different, the expectation of something great to follow.

And in that small alcove is a scene inherently familiar to her. She knows what is being asked of her - the only question is, is she prepared to make the sacrifice? 

Thread requirements: 1 reply, 500 words. Please tag the RE account in your reply.
How to tag this account: @*'Random Events' without the asterisk!
Once you respond, you may post to claim the quest EXP

This quest was written by the lovely @kealie.

Enjoy!

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  it cries through the night
Posted by: Random Events - 07-09-2019, 11:07 AM - Forum: Praistigia Cliffs - Replies (1)


praying someone will come


There had been a storm the night before with wind that had howled and pounded against the Dusk Court -- mothers held their children against their sides as the rain poured down, had prompted them into cover with nips and squeals -- but in the rising light of dawn, the entire Court is beginning to awaken to weak sunlight and a clear sky of blue. There are signs of spring beginning to peek through, small buds nestled down amongst the grass, and yet there is damage as well -- destruction from the storm blocks the path of a young explorer eager to roam.

And in the early hours of the morning comes a song -- there is something calling you, weaving its way into the midst of your very heart. There its grip tightens and grows cold, and it yanks you trembling to your feet. You may resist it at first or you may bound into the swamp immediately -- but the result is the same either way. You will follow, and it seems to know and delight in that fact. 

However, finding your way around the downed trees and across the swampy ground is no easy feet. The song guiding you seems to pull you straight into the heart of the swamp, but you must make your own path. It grows louder the closer you get to the Cliffs, like a cicada buzzing in your ears, like the waves crashing against the salt-crusted rock. Help me, the voice calls out, loud and piercing the closer you get, over and over again until it feels like your heart might break along with whoever is crying.

At the top of the cliffs, you will find a mighty tree that has fallen onto its side, and the crying is coming from within the tangled mess of branches and leaves. In a small pocket of free space within the limbs sits a destroyed nest with an osprey chick inside, crying out for the parents who never returned from the storm -- but you have found her instead, and when you look at each other, you think perhaps that it is fate that drove you to find each other after all.




@Charlotte will be awoken by the call, a song without words that speaks directly to her heart. And when she finally gives in it will lead her through the swamp to the cliffs, where it will intensify exponentially, like a crescendo. There she will find a tree, downed by the storm from the night before.

But there is a chick in the tree, where a destroyed nest has been abandoned. And it may seem to her, that it has been the chick calling her all along, or something magical bringing her here.

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This quest was written by the lovely @bruiser and edited by sid.

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  dreaming of you
Posted by: Aion - 07-08-2019, 12:34 AM - Forum: Archives - Replies (7)




we never had to force love
we were drowning in it the moment we met

The sun was falling from the sky in slow motion, drifting ever closer to the horizon when the two stallions stepped into the forest. The waning light turned the trees golden, gilding them in bright, gleaming flames. It was as if they had stepped into a fairytale, where two lovers could walk side by side down a path lined with daisies and sunshine and hope. 

The trees grew thick around them, and through the foliage the sound of the babbling creek grew more distinct. All around them the air was alive with the calls of crickets and frogs, dust motes spinning in the air as they passed. For all the time he had spent in Viride, Aion had never wandered so far south - and why should he have? He had heard the rumors of what was to be found in Amare, and there had been no reason for him to go when he had lost his partner, possibly forever. 

But now, now he had every reason in the world walking beside him.

While the rest of Novus was a continent away, exploring another land full of magic and magical creatures, they had made themselves a world of their own. All was as it should be, so long as they were together. 

And as they walked, Aion couldn’t help himself from stealing every glance and touch he could. He leaned in close, until he could feel his lover’s pale skin against his own, and every step they took was perfectly in tandem. And even then, it wasn’t enough.

It felt to him as if heaven has finally merged with the earth, if only for them. They were married now, married, a reality that he was only now beginning to understand. The months they had spent apart had torn a hole through his chest that would take many more kisses to fill, and since their trip to Veneror he was all the more determined to steal them. 

A shiver courses down his spine as their shoulders touch, despite the warmth of the spring night, and he presses himself happily into the pressure. 

A thousand fireflies light the path they walk down, and Aion is surprised to hear his own laughter filling the air when they appear before them. It’s a soft, almost timorous sound, one he doesn’t reveal nearly often enough. He laughs into Eros’ neck, and punctuates it with a kiss to his crest.

“You are beautiful.” They are, perhaps, the most honest words he’s ever spoken, besides I love you. Tonight his lover is framed in gold, and positively glowing in the soft forest light. The very sight of him is intoxicating, and so Aion pulls him closer, pressing his lips against his neck, his throat, his cheek, unable to resist. He tells himself it’s the time they’ve spent away, and the encounter on Veneror, and the wine lingering in his veins from before they left the Court.

But in reality it’s Eros - it has always been Eros, changing him from within with every breath he took. 

Normally it would be Eros initiating the contact - but tonight, oh tonight Aion is gluttonous, and the very idea of withdrawing is far from his mind. 

Tonight it’s just himself and Eros, and all the world is spiraling away into dust.







walk. "talk."
@eros

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