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5 [Year 500 Spring]








Welsh Pony x Curly Horse


13.3 hh







Last Visit:

03-28-2020, 03:38 PM


Signos: 30 (Donate)
Total Posts: 7 (Find All Posts)
Total Threads: 2 (Find All Threads)

Saphira is a stocky Welsh Pony, and in her hayday she was solid muscle. Her size might make her look vulnerable, but she was and is a skilled fighter. Now, she has grown soft with indecision and wandering, but her form is round and rolling as the green grass hills. Her face is finely formed, soft and sloping, with large, expressive eyes. Her gaze is a deep, sapphire hue and her namesake. Saphira naturally grows in a thick, curling, seafoam green and gray "salt and pepper" coat that is smooth in warmer weather but curled in the cooler months. When shed out, her striking off-black undercoat is revealed. Her coat and hair have coppery highlights, but her undercoat shines a stark crimson in strong lighting. It is then also that one can see her binding tattoos, all metallic silver linework. On her right flank is a scene of an equine hunting a bound Khashran, while her brow and cheek are marked with arrows. On her left hip are three large silvery arrows; her face is bisected by an arrow - a spear - flying into the waves draw around her mouth. In the winter, these are hardly visible, if just a shimmer in the light. Prior to arriving on Novus, Saphira would keep her coat shorn, but it is now grown out and reflects the loss of her status and home. Saphira's mane and tail are seafoam white and thick and wavy, and during her warrior years she kept her mane roached and tail cropped and braided or otherwise tied up. With enough brushing, her hair could be smooth and shining, but she has not kept it so since her own mother brushed her hair as a child.

Find me in my own ashes. I am a self-destroyer, not a phoenix. Burned myself to nothingness and never came out of it, no. Drowning would have been better; I could have swam away, became the water, became the Something Else. Instead I think I am the Same but Worse. A decaying thing, but not quite either because I still live and I know it, gods I know it every day. Hot ashes, stir my embers when they cool and keep them good and hot for walking on. They’ve got to be red-hot. If you walk just fast enough and just slow enough they won’t burn. (Just don’t get any caught between your toes).

I’m incapable of love, I would say. Maybe it’s true, but I would say it and I’ve been wondering some time whether I’ve ever said anything true. I’ve had a lot of time to think, these days. The love was false, I thought it was true, and if you think something hard enough then it becomes a living thing. Sometimes it flies away.

Look, I’m not gonna lie to you. I’m always/never lying. Stop asking. The truth is but a lie.

What I’m thinking is this: my seams ripped. Not good, especially at a party. But the party’s over and I still haven’t changed my pants.

I can’t be trusted with the care of others. I failed so terribly last time. I went and told myself I loved him and then I let him die! I deserve the same fate. I will hang on like a barnacle to a ship’s bottom. That’s where I belong, anyway. The bottom, for what I’ve done.

I’m lost. Don’t tell anybody. I’m not gonna ask for directions. I’ve got to look like I know where I’m going. He said, “If you do not change direction, you may end up where you are heading.” I haven’t decided on a direction but I’ve just got to stick with it, tell everybody I’m sticking with it, but there’s no one to tell because no one is allowed to live between my ribs anymore. Orestes wasn’t the only one I lost that day. Those are forever aches, those deaths.

I don’t know what to do with myself anymore. I pine for it all to have been fake and for it all to have been real; to be back in my prison because the freedom has come at too high a cost. That’s all I wanted. To be free. And now I am free from everything that held me there, and it’s terrible. Worse than I imagined it could be, obviously. I had endless possibilities before I became a person with Duties and now, through the worst kinds of suffering, I’m a person without duty. Free! Imagine. All I ever wanted, and I wouldn’t trade it for the world. I wouldn’t go back, if somebody could make it so. No, no. I wouldn’t go back. I’ll keep my freedom, it’s bought and paid for.

I used to be a warrior. A strong one, a good one. They knew it from the way I looked, my little girl-self would be a great defender. Worthy of being trusted with the protection of dearest Orestes. I accepted the greatest honor with stars in my eyes, only to have my freedom stripped from me like a pelt from a carcass. I loved those people. I loved my sisters, my friends, my Orestes. If I loved him like that - I don't know. I told myself. I told myself. I told myself that I had to, that he was the One for me because who else would be worthy? Who else could I grant my time? Only to another sister, yes, but I was blind, so blind, and I thought that in my sacred little prison there was only one who could have my heart and I threw it at him. And when he died, he took it down to the depths of the ocean, the great black chasm at the floor of the world.

I would never die for anyone again.
But you're alive, you say. I know, I know. But something inside me died that day - my heart, yes, but something else - and now all I've got is that immortal hating soul. Grief turned inward turned upward and over and everything but outward, because who would I give it to? No one. No one can have anything of mine anymore. I'm not loaning it out. I'm free, and nobody gets to have any piece of me again.
Once, I was loyal. Now? Don't expect anything from me.
The girl I was before was vibrant, loving, and delusional. The love thing - you know already. She was trapped. But even in that trap there was happiness, and devotion, and something, I think, of a kind soul. She stayed childlike, in some ways, right up until the end. I don't know what parts of her are left. I don't like for others to be hurt, and I don't like to hurt. I'm always hurting. I'm not sure I want to kill anyone ever again. If there was enough hatred in my soul - maybe. But that time is gone. Murder begets murder begets murder. I don't want to hurt anybody. A chip of compassion lives in my heart, somewhere. I miss having friends. I don't like to let them go. I still haven't. I can't let any of it go, and therein lies my second prison.

There is a deep and terrible madness in me, and it comes from within, within, within, and some may say without but really, truly it originates inside me. It is my fault, my curse, my everlasting reality. I cannot flee it - what good with that do? I cannot end this life of mine, o, how I would but what good, I ask again, would it give me, leave me, etc.? Nothing. It would be bad, all bad. Maybe not bad for everyone else but bad for me because I would be dead, see, I would be dead and that would be it, and having no way to go up or down from death leaves me with nothing.

Orestes, I- no, not here. Don’t start from here - I can’t. This is not the right place. Start at the beginning.

In the beginning, there was a girl. A child, pure and new. Well, not new-new, but- new enough. New enough to be…considered, I suppose, for that great honor of guarding Him; the prince of the sea, the sun, the gold as it dribbles from the nostrils of the gods, and so on. He is beautiful, as am I, supposedly, and through some mysterious decision-making I am chosen. It seemed then like my life would be full of possibility, uncountable futures laid out before me that were not there before when I lived as anyone else (or any other Khashran, really). All this did was narrow my options, in fact, I had none other than to do what was asked or told of me, to be His guard, and that would be…it.

I should have loved him. Or - I think I did. Did I? I could have. Maybe I did. But that was the question, the thing which drove me to madness more than the pursuit of duty could. The Failure. One day they came and they tore us all apart and I - I -

I could have done better.

Did I love him?

Well, I thought it was love.

It would have been…common, unsurprising. Perhaps even - a good thing. Possibly. And I wanted it, gods, I wanted it so bad but in the end what I wanted was nothing that he or any man could give me. The man that declared my fate Changed - he could not. And this man, Orestes - he couldn’t either, and in the end, in the end, I failed on all accounts. He is dead, my Orestes, and who am I but a shipwrecked beast, robbed of my greatest talent, my singular escape into freedom, hiding from the world in the hopes that it will bring me something I have forgotten how to have.


Since arriving in Novus, Saphira has adjusted to life in the Dusk Court and become a peddler of sorts, gathering trinkets and pretty items in the wilderness. She makes a meager living, if that, and sleeps under the stars most nights.

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i have but two cows and one wife

Played by:

Muirgen (PM Player)


thousandcurs    //