Posted by: Sol Bestiam - 06-20-2019, 03:46 PM - Forum: Archives
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sol bestiam
Sol Bestiam snorted as he soared through the quickly thinning air, enjoying the feeling of the wind under his four massive wings. His golden eyes searched for life, besides the birds that seemed to be randomly appearing below him. Turning toward the peak that had caught his attention randomly through the time that he had been in the realm, he let his wings power him through the air. He enjoyed the feeling of fighting the air currents, feeling powerful as he did so.
He frowned as he thought to the good bye that he had received from the female just a few hours before. It seemed that many of the equines in this realm had faith of some sort... But he had never had positive reason for faith... Taking a deep breath, he pushed himself toward the rocky path that he could barely see from his height.
Landing with a thud, Sol gazed up the path. As he got his legs used to holding his weight, he stretched out and then tucked in his wings. He did this the same way that he usually did, tucking in first the rear set and then the fore set over top. This was the easiest way for him to get them settled, and the most comfortable. Stretching his neck, he began the trek up the final bit of path.
Reaching the top, he eyed the columns and the almost temple like area that he had found. This was... not what he had expected. Not that he had any idea what in the world to expect. The idea of coming face to face with the gods themselves was laughable... but maybe priests that spoke for them? Shrugging, he strode to the center and looked around him. Hmmm... Dawn court... that was the God that he should be worshiping...
"Oriens..." Sol started before pausing to make sure that he was alone in the area. Gods knew that he did NOT want anyone to witness him here if it all turned out to be dumb and a waste of time. "I suppose that I am not... well... not the one that you would expect in your court. I am no scholar... I am the furthest thing from wise or calm... I try for honesty and strive to be neutral... now..." This was not the interaction that he had intended. Who would have thought that the massive grump would be willing to spill his heart to a God that may or may not be real?
"I have done many questionable, even bad, things in my life... I almost killed a filly in a fit or rage. I was raised to rule and it was not the best way. I was cruel and power hungry... I was... Well... I was headed to a bad place. But this is a new chance.. I hope. I dont know if you are really there.. I am most likely speaking to myself like an idiot. But I had to get it off of my chest. I have felt nothing but guilt for the last year and have no idea where I should belong. If you are real, I wouldnt blame you for just striking me with lightning and getting me out of your mane." The last was said with a slight chuckle as he sighed and looked around him once again.
@Random Events
"Speaking." Notes: Well... not the post I had thought to write XD
The parchment trembles between her telekinesis. She knows each tight coil of ink, every trace of all the letters that are carved like angels atop gravestones; she knows where the sentences lead and how the letter ends and yet -- each time she breaks her gaze across the paper, the girl cannot stop herself from hoping that this time the words will have realigned and her world will not be as broken as it is right now.
( My little bird )
These words have traversed universes to be here; in this moment; to be read by moon-wide eyes rubbed red. It carries traces of Her still; as the last thing she had touched before -
( I do not have much time )
She treads slowly; each distracted, stilted movement bringing her closer to a warring city she no longer fears. Her once-lustrous ribbons of hair have spun into knotted spirals that quiver like nests of caramel against her dusty skin, and as the sunlight thickens with the thudding tide of midday, it burns bright enough to reveal a network of tear-stained pathways that beat down her cheeks.
Only the glassy blue of her horns shines, still, beneath that devastating wash of gold swallowing the desert whole.
( I need you to know that I am sorry )
Worst of all, is the smell of smoke etched into the parchment's delicate wrinkles. It leaches into her bonemarrow like a virus she cannot shake; infecting the small sacred memories she had kept safe for so long. Sweet, white flashes of an afternoon by the lake, when everything had been quieter and simpler and her mother had still been able to smile.
( I am sorry I was not the mother you needed me to be )
She cannot feel her lips, but she knows they are as cracked as the arid earth upon which she moves. She cannot feel her breath, but she knows it swings on like a pendulum between her lungs and the air, animating her body that feels a casket to carry all the shattered and jagged shards of her heart.
( Please look after your father... he needs you more than you know )
Rhoswen's final words fall into the chasm that now exists in her place. There is nothing left to read.
Sabine thinks of her father and sees a world painted by a brush dipped in blue. She sees the blade that cannot glint for the six feet of soil crushing it so. Echoes of laughter and godless love detonate violently like celestial grenades within her ribs and suddenly the capitol rises up from the sand like a great mythical beast. She sees the face of her mother in the brilliant, brutal walls that stare at her so viciously and the realisation brings her body to its knees beneath the unearthly weight of her all-consuming grief.
---
When the first sentry reaches that blue-eyed girl standing like a wraith at the gates of Solterra, they will not see beyond the gaunt kiss of her too-sharp hips or the industrial virginity of her hollow gaze. They will not notice that dark, jaded parchment folded against her hip. She will tell them she has come to request an audience with the king, and they will bark a laugh that is cut short by the black bleakness of the child's stare.
If death should be the price, Sabine was ready to pay.
The appaloosa mixed stallion launched onto the beach with a powerful stride, enjoying the feeling of his muscles sliding under his skin and the sand under his hooves. His black, white, and acidic green tresses kissed the beautiful blue skies as he moved and his matching coat gleamed under the warm sun. Coy was strong, healthy, and feeling fabulous as he raced along the beach and let his acid green hooves kiss the waves as they lapped the sands. Even the little mark that had been left on his rear was nearly healed and barely noticeable through the rich, splattered pelt. Somehow, the tip of the little doe's horn had managed to hit one of the black spots in his blanket, making it easier to hide the wound.
Sliding to a stop, the friesian built stallion grinned at the waves of sand that erupted from his movement. He reared high into the air, lashing out at the cloudless sky with his white dipped forelegs and trumpeting to the mostly quiet world. Dropping his legs back to the sand, he paced the few steps to the water's edge and pawed at the waves.
Launching forward, he waded into the ocean until the waters covered his stomach. The patch of pure white on his stomach was completely submerged and his green band was nearly covered as well. He had always been a fan of the feeling of the warm sun on his back while his legs and underbelly were submerged in cool, bordering on cold, water. It was refreshing and woke him up in ways that very few other feelings did.
@"Al'Zahra" "Coy Sass" Notes: Crappy starter is crappy... but I suck at them, so it probably is better than usual lol
The volcano, now dormant, remained a disconcerting shadow against the too-blue sky. An aching sky. A grasping sky. A sky, if one craned their head at, caught their eyes on, would swallow you. So Boudika did not look for the sky, as she broke through the brambles and the dense undergrowth of the forest. There were few game-paths or easy-to-follow trails. But Boudika knew, with a dogged determination, that this forest would not conquer her.
The beaches were smothered with too many people, as though the relic were waiting to be discovered in the bleached-white sand. As though it would be easy. This had begun to frustrate her more than she had words to express. Boudika felt tethered, utterly, to the sea—when she wandered too far from it she was brought back to the precipice of the land, staring, waiting for something impossible, imperceivable. Waiting for something hopeful, tumultuous. But the sea was choking. It was choking with equines too timid to pursue the deeper parts of the islands, equines frightened by bizarre birds and gleaming jungle-cats.
Then why, Boudika found herself asking, did she stay. At last, Boudika broke from the beach with a simmering anger. She took to the forest at a run, delving into the depths like a whetted knife. The branches, even now, lashed her face. Leaves and thorns tore at her flanks and she felt the hot swell of blood where they broke skin. Boudika returned the small pains sevenfold, tearing through the deeply tangled trees into a small clearing. For a moment, she could reassess her surroundings—and there, the volcano continued to loom, like a relic itself. Like a temple. The mares flanks heaved; her ribs swelled out and then retracted with each heavy, laboured breath. Her skin was flecked with foam, her eyes wide and white, nostrils flared.
From there, she took her journey more methodically. Boudika transitioned smoothly between a walk and a canter, closing ground quickly. The earth had begun to slope, and she took the incline in stride. By midday, Boudika had reached a half-way point on the volcano pleasantly disguised as a mere mountain. She rested on a ledge, overlooking the whole of the eastern side of the island.
Perhaps she was a fool for venturing so far inland, for abandoning the familiarity of the sea. It gleamed at her, a cruel abyss, and her eyes shied from the wicked brightness. Boudika took a moment to look, instead, at the deep forest. It was deceptively ebullient. The life in it overflowed, swollen with colourful fruits and berries, blossoming with spring flowers—
Boudika’s thought were cut off as a large, falcon-like bird dived toward her. It did not make a sound; instead, it ducked its wings and descended like a flash, talons bared. Boudika narrowly ducked the assault and stared incredulously as the bird repositioned and resumed the attack. Boudika snorted and backtracked, swiping her horns in the air to wave the avian off. Then it screeched at her, and hovered above for a moment, with a head far more reptilian than bird-like. Boudika bared her teeth, snapping them at the air with a resounding click, but the bird dived again toward her eyes—
And was joined from more from the canopy below. Boudika swivelled, tossed her head, but the ground beneath her gave way, and she suddenly found herself tumbling several feet down the slope. After multiple, terrifying seconds, Boudika slowed her fall by catching her front hooves on the nook of a fallen log. Breathing heavily, she pulled herself, shaking, to her feet. Her body was covered in cuts and scrapes, and Boudika was certainly bruised, but at least nothing felt broken. Boudika glared up toward the bare edge of mountain where she had stood—the birds were still circling, celebrating their victory.
for beauty is nothing but the beginning of terror which serenely disdains to annihilate us
The longer Boudika remained on the island, the more it felt as though it were made for her. A type of purgatory, wrenched up from the sea by a terrible god to punish her for her sins. Ins one ways, it felt as though she had been returned to the bars of prison; as if she could only stare forlornly out a slatted window. Boudika had to remind herself, it was Tempus. Novus’ god. The god of time. The statue erected upon the island would leave no doubt, of that. And was time such a terrible god?
In some ways, perhaps. But in some ways, all gods were terrible. That is what she thought of, in the darkness of the island’s night, where the moon’s light could not quite reach, and the star’s seemed colder than usual. Boudika stood on the beach’s edge, staring out toward the ocean that was undulating in the colours of non-precious stones. Clear and bright like moonstone, deep and flecked with teal and red like blue jasper, glittering with streaks of yellow like lapis lazuli, or trapped stars. Then hard and dark like rough sapphire. Then smooth and bright and the green-blue of turquoise.
It sang to her in a voice sweet and pure. In a voice sharp and melancholy. It sang to her, the grief of widows, the grief of sailors drowned, the triumph of navies, the predatory cry of the orca and the silence of the shark. It sang to her, and always, Orestes’ voice with it, telling her, beauty is but the beginning of terror. A poem. A poem, his people loved. A poem, he had shared with her, when he saw the adoration in her eyes that she could not hide.
Boudika stepped forward, up to her knees in the water. It felt strangely warm, and the salt tingled along her legs. Beneath her hooves she could feel the island’s perpetual heartbeat, one she was not certain was real, or merely imagined. The night was strangely silent, as though the strange birds of the day were forgotten, just for a moment. She closed her eyes and raised her head, ears pinned against the breeze, against whatever the ocean would throw at her.
She loved it, because it felt like Orestes’ island.
She hated it, because he was not here.
And all the time, she hoped the relic would be spat out by the sea.
Run together, like birds of a feather
We howl like wild beasts
Erd awoke to the sound of muffled laughter and the sweet scent of jasmine incense. Turquoise eyes blinked open slowly as he gradually lifted his head, looking around at the room that he very specifically remembered not falling asleep in. Where was he?
The four walls of the moderate room were just that; average in size. There was no discernable factor as to explain where he was or why he was there, but… This was not the Dusk Court. That much he knew. Silks and tapestries hung against the walls as though in decoration. A few various trinkets decorated the sparsely placed table tops, lavish cushions meant for lounging spread throughout the room.
Pulling his legs closer to his chest, the pale warlock took a moment to collect himself and try to stop the frantic beating of his heart, the rising fear that slowly crawled its way up his throat. He couldn’t panic. Panicking would do nothing but potentially get him hurt, and then… His eyes closed, his breath stalling.
Ard.
Gods, how long has it been? Was Ard alright? Was he safe? The thought of his younger brother terrified and frantic, left all alone in Terratella twisted his heart in the worst way. He needed to get out of here and get back to him before Ard did something drastic.
Outside of the walls, the faint laughter continued. Whoever found something so very funny was a distance away, but still hearing it caused his pulse to race. Erd thought back to the woman he had encountered in Terrastella, and realized that he had been played like a fool. She had batted her pretty eyes at him and played the innocent victim card, asking if he would be so kind as to take him back to Denocte only to… To what? What had happened? He recalled pulling the little boat up onto shore, moving to assist the red woman, and then… Nothing.
“You really did it now, Erd,” he grumbled to himself, trying to shake off the last of the cloudiness that plagued his mind and proceeded to ever so slowly unfurl his thin legs, pushing himself up to his full height. “Focus. C’mon. Ard needs you.” His legs wobbled unsteadily for a moment, his vision swimming with an intense bout of vertigo, but eventually it passed.
He took one unsteady step towards the door on the far end of the room, then another, until the dizziness faded and he could move with lithe silence. It was a good thing he was so small and nimble, his lack of size allowing him to move around the room with catlike grace… With his heart pounding in his throat he tried the door, cursing softly to find it locked. Why? Why was he locked in this room? Where the hell was he?!
Backing up from the door, the grey warlock gave a soft, muffled scream between his very teeth. He spun, frantically searching for some means of escaping, the panic beginning to take hold. No, no, no… He needed to get to Ard! Why was he here?!
DO YOU HEAR THE WORDS OF THE CONQUERORS OR DO YOU HEAR THE VOICES OF DEER? --
In the pines, each grasping branch – thin and sharp, with rugged bark and sweet-scented needles that lay sticky with sap – that brushed Septimus’s side felt like an embrace.
Strange birdsong echoes from the highest reaches of the canopy, but he cannot see the birds from the ground; he would like to get a better look at them, but they are flighty, wild things, and he can respect that. (Besides, the trees are far too densely-spaced for him to spread his wings.) The light that filters through the pine trees is hazy and unfocused, dappled with little patches of shadow and bright light; in some spaces, it is so brilliant that it seems like sunbeams have filtered right through the trees, but, in most, it is the dull gold of late evening, and you can make out all the little things – dust and leaf and small, strange, glittering beetle – floating down to the forest floor.
Septimus runs, graceful and deerlike, through the brush.
The forest is kinder to him than the shore; the sand shifts beneath his hooves in a way that makes his stomach turn, and the sticky tangle of salt-slick moisture in his fur, mingled with sweat, makes his skin crawl. The world around him smells of mud and leaf, of stripped-cedar and decaying log – he clears one in a single, graceful bound, landing on the slick mass of mud, wet leaf, and just-sprouted weed that covers the ground in front of him with practiced ease. His antlers catch in the brambles and branches, on occasion, but he knocks the obstacles aside without much of a struggle. He hears the forest. He hears it in the soft heave of his breath and the low buzz of passing insects – sweat bees and flies, the occasional gnat. He hears it in the dull thud of his hooves, the shifting of foliage beneath his every step. He hears it in the distant hum of birdsong, distorted by his movement, and the occasional rustle that suggested there were other things about, watching him from the trees. He even hears it in the clink of the gemstones that adorn his antlers and his ears, that harsh sound that two stones make when they scrape against each other. The tamed parts of him have been pushed aside; his glasses are tucked into his satchel, which is, in turn, hidden beneath the feathered mass of his wing. This is Septimus as he was in his home, half-feral and all teeth.
Septimus spills out of the dense forest to stand in front of a small pool, colored murky green with a sheen of algae. Small shrubs, the wrong kind for a coniferous forest, hang over the edges, and, near the center, the algae twitches with the occasional suggestion of movement; frogs, maybe, or a snake. Night is falling fast, and the dusky golden remnants of the light are fading away to stretches of dull green and navy. However, with the disappearance of the sunlight comes another kind of luminance -
Tiny lights spring from the brush, floating up towards the treetops. Fireflies, he realizes, as they blink in-and-out of sight, dancing lazily across the clearing. He is reminded of himself as a boy, creeping away from his mother at night to watch the lightning bugs rise up from the undergrowth when darkness began to fall, during hot, sticky summer nights; some were sprites, and some were will-o’-wisps, but some were simple bugs, little traces of normalcy amongst the eldritch angles of his childhood.
He watches them from the shore of that strange pool, momentarily enthralled; there are many beautiful, terrifying, wonderful sights on this strange island. This might be the loveliest he has seen so far, simple though it may be.
Marisol wishes she had spent more time in the fields, as a child. She had always been drawn to the sea and its terrible beauty, the terrible, beautiful drop of the cliff into the crashing water — perhaps it was her downfall. Perhaps, if she had been more attached to the cobblestone buildings of the inner city or the beauty of the way Susurro stretches into infinity, she would not be… like this. Grief-stricken. Stone-hearted. The Commander with the bloody smile.
But it is far too late. Now, willful or not, she belongs to the ocean.
Even as the Commander trudges further into the fields, she feels the sea calling her, tugging with nagging insistency at the salt in her heart. She hears its roar in her ears, though it must be a mirage (it is too far away for the waves to reach her). As the sun settles lower and lower on the horizon, the sky turns from blue to purple to fleshy petal-pink. The stubby golden grasses of the field become a reflection of the sunset, and suddenly they are awash in shades of warm red, orange and violet, undulating in waves as the wind goes rushing past and bends the blades to meet the dirt. The world is very quiet and very warm. The air smells of something familiar, between hay and rain.
Normally, the fields would be bustling. They are often used as a meeting place, not just for Terrastellan officials, but for the trysts of lovers and gaggles of teenagers sneaking out at night. Today they are unusually silent. Mari cannot see anyone else for yards and yards, and there is no sound except for the stubborn beat of her heart, the wind churning, and the whisper of the million blades of grass moving against each other. She comes to a stop in the sea of flora and closes her eyes.
A deep breath in, a deep breath out. For a brief moment respite comes to her. Her mind goes blank, her pulse steadies, her stance strengthens; perfectly still, Marisol is simply a vessel for calm, letting it pass through her like a tidal wave and trying desperately to keep herself in its path.
she was powerful not because she wasn't scared,
but because she went on strongly despite her fear.
When she imagined the shore, the powder was the most gentle hue of gold, almost earthen and muted, the humble star of the scene. The seaweed, the flowers of briny tides, was the profound viridity of any high summer foliage, freely floating in the chop. Adorning the softly rolling dunes was the outlandish weed that whispered so sweetly into the gusting breeze. This beach on this island fragmented all of these notions so effortlessly and speedily that it nearly gave Maerys whiplash when her eyes first witnessed it.
The sand she stood on now on this exotic archipelago was ice-white, so reflectively glistening in the sun on this heated mid-day. The water mere feet away was jewel green, too vibrant to be regarded as standard. Every aspect of the island hummed enchanting songs of danger and magic. The plants were intricate, each more probable than the next to be fatal. The heavens above her back were inconstant and irregular, scorching and clear one moment and hailing the next. Nothing felt sane about these lands, not the long bridge she took to get here, not the too-white beaches or too-green waters, not the strange horned statue, confusing notes or the evil-looking plants. Novus proved constantly to break all her perceptions of what it was; just as she began to understand the land, it threw her another curveball.
Today she and her dragon looked for something specific and special- a relic. Maerys hunted on the ground, looking beneath stones and under petals while Vradara, her pink-mottled dragon looked from the skies, her eyes trained on the tree-tops and higher places Maerys could not see. In this part of today, they found themselves on this strange beach, looking for the relic as the rest of Novus most likely did. Maerys was not certain it was a relic that needed to be found, but she had heard others whisper about it and decided that she could explore and learn about the land while looking for the relic; she could kill two birds with one stone.
Cally stood at the edge of the bridge as a fire was slowly lighting in her vibrant green eyes. A slight breeze gave lift to the cloak draped over her back, as her pose turned almost eager and poised for action. In a different setting she might appear the deer-hyrbid joan of ark ready to take on the world, but she was far more adept to take on an adventure as Callynite. And Cally was certain there was an adventure to be had. The island screamed 'come and explore me, see what can be seen'. It was only the second time she'd been to it, but even that first time when she'd focused on fact gathering rather than the more serious exploring she had been eager to see what the island had to offer, what secrets it could produce, and how willing it would be to give them up.
The former druid stood ready as her eyes took in the sights. This early in the morning, the sun only beginning to rise in the east, she wasn't surprised that there weren't too many individuals around. In fact, she was certain that most others would start showing up in the next hour or so . . . did Novus pass time the same way the Thicket did? She hadn't seen any time keep devices from what little she had explored and seen yet, but she was sure the days were the same length. That had been another reason it had taken her a small bit of time to get to the island and really look it over, she'd been going through quite the process to get used to this world.
Well not just this world, but the changes that had happened to Cally as well. The transformation was slowly growing to be something she was more familiar with. Her steps were easier, now used to the odd hooves that adorned her feet, and more particularly her longer and leaner limbs. She'd even grown used to the odd equine shape of her body and the thicker fur. Thankfully she still had some of her more familiar features, like her dual ears, large eyes, fawn-shaped tail, horn and antlers. Even her nose was hers, but her face stature was odd. She couldn't quite understand what was the purpose of the transformation other than the fact that everyone she'd come across seemed to be mostly equine and she'd been born a deer - she still was a deer in her mind, she refused to identify as anything else, and certainly not a mutant of a hybrid . . . hearing that be a way to describe her had really messed her up, even if the odd stallion had apologized later, it had been the best way to describe her odd mix of horse and deer . . . a mutant. Not a positive word, but she wasn't too positive with the changes.
The biggest change was what she didn't have though, what she couldn't feel. This close to the trees and brush, she should be hearing their voices, feeling the presence of the natural world. She should be able to greet them in warmth, and ask them for directions. She should be commanding vines to move obstacles from her path, speaking to the very being of nature to get her bearing. Her form should be fluid, a transformation between deer and any other creature she desired to take the shape of (even if it was usually the small white fox she'd grown fond of). But those druid abilities were gone, and with their disappearance a hole had formed in the center of being, a hole that wouldn't be filled until she could find a way to unlock anything of her former magical prowess. She didn't fit into Novus much to begin with, that she'd lost so much in the transformation made it even harder.
But enough on the past that couldn't be changed now, and back to the journey on hand. Cally headed forward, her tiny form moving smoothly. She stood tall as she made her way through the sands, green eyes looking for a good place to start before finding an almost obscure trail that was clearly used by game and the creatures of the island. It was just the faintest flattening of vegetation, almost hidden by those who weren't trained in finding those sort of things. Thankfully Cally had the training, from being taught by the forests of her home in what to follow, and the old, old lessons from her Ranger father. The ex-druid new what to look for, and knew if she wanted to discover the secrets of this world, sh;d need to think like the citizens of the island. She pushed through the brush without hesitation, her steps careful but steady as she began her trek to the center of the island.
