There’s a murmur of magic in the air, tenuous and strange. It whispers its message into every ear, calling equine and beast alike, calling all of Novus forward to explore deeper into this strange, new world. It sings a sweet, enchanting song: like a siren luring sailors to their death, like a predator dazzlings their prey with its beauty. Everything on the island is vibrant and lovely and mysterious, drawing in the horses as moths to a flame.
From the air to the pearly white sand, the tree tops to the iridescent waves thrashing on the beach. The whole place thrums with an energy that is nearly palpable, an undercurrent that inhales and exhales, tenses and relaxes in tandem.
Almost as if the island were alive. Almost as if the island is begging someone to explore it, to uncover the secret it no longer has the strength to hide.
And perhaps it is - perhaps the island is some great beast, one buried by sand and stone. Perhaps some creature dwells in the center and makes up the heart of the island, with tree roots for veins that anchor all the vegetation in place, and without it the island might break apart and tumble into the ocean. But that’s a tale to be told around bonfires at night, surely there’s no truth to it.
And yet there’s something irresistible and dangerous about the island and the way it calls each horse forward. As if a switch has been flipped, as if the magic lying dormant in Novus has finally awoken. It hums like a beetle in the back of the mind, an ever-present disturbance that grows increasingly stronger the longer it is resisted.
---
It beckons a youth, a mere yearling from the Dawn Court to come explore, to come and see the wonder for yourself. There are secrets to be found it promises, power to gain, beauty to marvel at. Come… Across the lava bridge he goes, past the rearing unicorn statue with its dark horn piercing the sky, and onto the sandy beach where the trees shiver nearby.
They whisper to him, the same way in which the magic hums in his veins: their words are unintelligible yet their meaning unmistakable. Come closer. The branches reach out like arms, their leaves tugging at his flesh. I know what you seek.
And the deeper that first horse ventured, the clearer it became. Soon enough, the wind that snakes its way through the forest canopy is winding its way into his very soul.
Time, it says. He is Here.
All at once his eyes widen, and understanding dawns. For a moment he’s caught in indecision - but the magic has taken hold of him now, it moves on its own accord through his body, and he is a mere vessel for its will. He turns and flees back the way he’d come, retracing his footsteps back to the beach. The forest is alive with the thunder of his echoing hooves now, as he races the wind itself.
It is only when he reaches the unicorn statue that he finally stops, that he tears the note hanging from its neck and scrawls upon it, adding to the two lines already recorded there:
Time is Free.
Time is Here.
TEMPUS
It is the only hint he can give before he collapses, falling into a deep sleep at the unicorn’s feet. When he awakes all memory of the whispering trees will be gone, and he will not be able to say why he wrote the note or how he came to be on the island. He’ll only look upon his handwriting and frown, and hope another will be able to decipher the tale.
And decipher it they will. The god’s name is the missing link, magic the key to unlocking the secret. The rumor will spread like wildfire, from the mouths of those who have witnessed the deity’s work before. Last time it was carried by a shaman, they tell the others, he gave his power to only one. Now he’s come again.
And then they look at each other furtively, as if wondering which of them the god of Time would bless.
All across the island the news is spread, the news that a Relic lost through the years has returned. Each horse tells a different tale of how it was lost, each has a new idea for why it’s come again. Yet they all agree on one seemingly factual piece:
He is Here.
His Relic is on the island.
A frenzy begins soon after, a hunt to be the one to find the immortal artifact. And the trees seem to smile, as they once again invite the horses deeper into the island.
Each character may reply to this post only one time. Rolls will be done and a staff edit will be posted at the end of each reply with Random Event results. You are more than welcome, and encouraged, to branch off into individual threads to interact with other characters. You may respond to the characters before you or your reply could be set at a different moment in time (this is totally up to you).
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All replies after June 28th, 2019 will not be considered for a RE roll. This has been extended until July 20th.
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Eik is thinking, as he walks for the second time across the bridge to nowhere, about how despair has its comforts. Maybe not despair itself but the familiarity of it. Like pressing your tongue to the back of your teeth, like feeling in the dark a pattern you could not re-create with clay or ink or song, but upon feeling it you could tell if it had changed in even the slightest of ways.
Despair, like the back of his teeth, had not changed. It was still, in many ways, very easy. It did not require courage, or strength, or faith. It was putting your head back, kicking your feet up, and letting the river take you.
Eik is letting the river take him across the bridge once more, and he is certain it is going to spit him out at the end of the world. He is not afraid. He is not really feeling anything at all, except... something like relief. All this swimming, all this drowning, all this sand and blood and failure, it was all so tiresome.
(he only--
he only wishes he was not alone)
He is not surprised when he reaches the end of the bridge and realizes the wall of ivy is gone. He is not surprised because how could he be, with the island tugging at his heart like that, tugging in a way that felt at first like a suggestion, like innocence, until he reached into the dark and realized how deep it was, how strong at its source. It was something like destiny that called to him, and he answered wearily but faithfully.
(gratefully, even-- oh we never could resist a rhyme)
But oh, if this is the end of the world it is a most lovely end! Strange birds and stranger fruits and a gentle breeze, otherworldly in feel. The air itself is lazy and peaceful. He trusts none of it, and yet-- he begins to relax, against his better judgement. He lowers his head to a pool of clear, sharp, sweet water, and he drinks like a dying man. (from somewhere, laughter- like a dying man. hah-- and then silence)
The silence fades, or does it rise? gracefully to birdsong and hoofsteps drawing near. Eik squints against the cheery sunlight.
Asterion.
The grey's heart races despite all attempts to keep hope at bay. He leans forward, wondering-- fearing-- this is all a strange illusion. Afraid it will crumble if he takes a step forward, if he dares to feel fully the joy and relief that coil in his chest, ready to spring forward.
"You aren't a dream, are you?" Despair was so easy. Delight, done right, was so hard. It must be certain, and it must be savored. Eventually Eik smiles-- whatever the truth of the situation, a nice dream beats a dull reality anyway. "I'm so happy to see you."
“I am all in a sea of wonders. I doubt; I fear; I think strange things, which I dare not confess to my own soul.”
He dreams of blue-green flashes. Of the curdled, dry-throated cackle of an old wingbag. He sees fur flying, bones collapsing into piles of once-was. Gone. He dreams of this again and again and again; and again, he hasn’t slept.
He stirs to the dawn chorus—bluebirds, wrens, robins—chirruping and trilling into the clean, thin air, still cool from the night. They swoop in wild aerials above, alighting from branch to branch as he watches them with unfocused, sore, red eyes.
The forest rolls with thin, filmy sheets of fog; glittering under the tight clutches of trees is an even thinner crust of overnight frost, crunching below his hooves.
Bleary-eyed and disquiet, he pushes off from the larch he has leaned is tired body against all night and sluggishly passes into the bloom of hazy light, in and out of the dappling sun, streaming through green-grey needles.
But still, it clings to him. The light. The cackle. The bones. And in his anchored, fitful mind, he hears neither of the rustles in the deep woods. Not yours; and not the one that shifts, stranger and less familiar—less equine—in the gloom.
Night came surprisingly fast, in fact it was more than that, it was alarming. One second the sun hung lazy just past noon, the next I gazed upon the remnants of dusk as it set too quickly beneath the horizon. The moon was suspiciously missing this night and I found the blackness more oppressive than normal. It seemed to close in much faster with a palpable sense of dread settling firmly in my gut. This place was strange, as strange as Novus had been-still was-at first. But there was something deeper than just strange here, it was less of a fact and more of a feeling that laid it's head across the land as the stars winked into existence, one by one.
Eyes peered out from beneath large fronds and thick bushes. All manner of unfamiliar noises assaulted my senses as I stepped, cautiously, through the dark. Ears twisting, nostrils flaring. Each step was made tentatively, feeling the ground before me in the fear that my eyes might miss something. I had a suspicion and was unwilling to risk it being true. I may have been getting bigger, I could feel it in the aching of my bones as the Spring weather brought pressure changes and early spores to Denocte, but it did not make me any less able to defend myself. The art of self defense had been a required course from the Academy, a class none of us had gotten to take as it was later in the year and- I shook my head, vigorously, rolling the rotten memories somewhere darker, to a place less traveled by. I had no desire to reminisce in such horrific images, especially with low growls and quiet shuffling behind the flora.
In the day it had been colorful and full of life, all kinds of creatures with no names or particularly distinct characteristics roamed free, unafraid as I tromped through the grass. In fact it was that very thing, I wondered, that put my nerves on edge. That little something in the background, unseen, unheard. The something that made my insides churn, twisting into tight knots as sweat dripped down my brow. Nothing about this island made any real sense. It was a massive amalgamation of everything, everything you could think of seemed to have been spliced together to make something new. Something not real. It was disarming at first, but I could see how the neon colors and bright, Utopian appearance could easily cause those unfamiliar to forget. Pass it off until it was too late. I whipped my head around as something screamed, a long, loud, undulating sound that remained in my ears even after it died away. I was reminded of the screams of my classmates, of the horses and other animals as they raced through paved streets in an effort to save themselves from slaughter. My heart thundered, I could feel the blood rushing through my veins as I stood still, so still that perhaps I might be perceived as statue.
Below Zero
my frost philosophy will put no curse on me
Dusk was only just beginning to give way to night as the mare stood at the start of the macabre bridge, her form silhouetted against the last rays of a setting sun. She had planned well for this venture, napping during the day and rising with the first colors of the setting sun painting the sky alive. She had started her trek towards the Island at that point, intending to use the cover of night to find the secrets to the island – to prove the darkness it must hold, the evil she was convinced lay with in its’ soil. Now she stood at the start of the bridge that had founded her discomfort. The first time she’d crossed it, staring at the pearls and clams suspended in a rocky tomb, and dozens of other trinkets of the water trapped and struggling among the stone and hardened lava; she had been filled with despair and a sense of loss. Now, she would force herself to walk past the trapped citizens of her home world so she might learn the truth of the Island ahead.
As she began to make her way through the darkening horizon, the mare herself was seemingly going through a transformation at the molecular level. The setting sun was activating certain chemicals, causing a rampage of chemical collisions within the follicles of that dark blue fur. It was a subtle transformation that would grow stronger the further the sun sank, and the more darkness that took the land. She was hardly focused on it, however, far too used to the effects the night produced. Instead her attention turned towards the bridge she was crossing, dainty hooves clacking against the hard rock, seeming to impress the fact she was alone onto her mind, for alone she was. It had been a large reason behind her chosen time of exploration. Less others to get in the way, less others around – it might encourage the island to be . . . . its’ self. For surely the front it wore in the daylight was not what the island was. She was certain of it. And she was just as equally determined to get to the bottom of it, as well.
Her steps carried her forward, as her coat pitched in hue, the dark blue selections starting to take on a cyan hue, lightening considerably the more time passed. It was a subtle change that would grow more pronounced the darker her surroundings got. As the night came into full effect, and the aquatic equine reached the end of the bridge, the slight cyan touch was now a glowing hue down the length of her sides, legs and tail, the female casting her own light. The dual set of eyes set into her face glowed with a matching cyan as well, and she moved with ease, trusting in her ability to see in the dark, illuminating the world with her own bioluminescence, even as the cyan seemed to wash out the rest of her pelt in colors. She moved with determination, her head held high as she waited for the island to prove what it really was to her.
The mare moved slowly, the island oddly silent as she moved through the sands, her steps light and instantly adapting to a more familiar terrain (she’d barely avoided stumbling OFF of the side of the lava-rock bridge earlier), grateful for the time being to be on a type of ground that she didn’t have to worry about forgetting her land-legs and falling face first. Her steps had turned graceful with the first touch of sand surrounding her hooves, and she moved with a grace near identical to what she had when she was beneath the waves. However, that didn’t stop her from distrusting the island – and she knew her answers lay beyond the genial beach. Her steps turned her in the direction that would take her into the depths of island, into the foresty center that hid untolds wonders (and to her imagination, horrors).
She stood at the edge of the beach staring into the darkness of tropical trees and where she imagined they most grow more dense, trying to build up her determination, her strength, her courage. She had to do this, she had to discover the truth.
Thoughts Speech
@Random Events Notes: For anyone interested in joining her in rooting out what secrets this island may have, perhaps getting together an exploration party might make her feel a little better about taking on the Island in the dark. Anyone welcome!
i feel no cold, i feel no fear inside my mind Now I'm full of energy
The pair of nesting birds, one as startlingly blue and iridescent as cut opal and the other blacker than a crow, watched him with a stillness so unnatural that at first, Caine thought them stuffed mounts left forgotten in the foliage by an absent minded explorer.
Until the blue one blinked — one filmy eyelid slipping over a second, and then a third, to reveal a slivering pupil — and drew itself up in one fluid motion, like a cobra rising to the notes of a charmer’s flute. Then, as if that were not performance enough, the bird cracked its orange beak open with a rasp that sounded like branches breaking.
Caine stilled when he saw the rows and rows of perfect teeth shining like pearls within its gaping mouth.
“A little menace you are,” he whispered, before he pinned his ears and bared his incisors in a matching snarl.
He had never been good with animals — meaning that he observed them from a distance, and limited his encounters to the occasional alley cat who, despite his warning glares, purred unnecessarily loud as it rubbed its body back and forth against his legs, back arched in smug pleasure.
Staring pointedly into the feathered beast’s mouth, Caine thought that he would rather not have that rubbing up against his legs. He would likely not leave in one piece.
Strangely enough the bird seemed to consider his snarl as an appropriate reaction, because with a curious tilt of its disarmingly beautiful head, it snapped its beak shut and ruffled its feathers against its companion, who had watched the entire exchange with little more than a nonplussed blink of its (also disturbingly three-lidded) eyes.
Caine curled his lips into a thin smile. Strange little creatures. Well, at the very least they had established a tenuous understanding. Mutual intimidation, or something to that effect. A bestiary he’d read as a child had recommended the tactic when dealing with creatures unknown to be frothing-at-the-mouth feral, or just a little unfriendly.
He turned towards the expanse of blue ocean lapping peacefully against the shore. Before he had even ventured past the island’s bone white beach, he had already encountered two of its supposedly sinister inhabitants. There was nothing amiss here, nothing close to the disaster that had been predicted to bring the End.
Caine had always thought the citizens of Novus too cautious compared to the hotblooded, dragon-loving Taeryn.
Just as he was about to leave the birds alone to their statuesque roost, he tensed when he heard the sucking of hooves on wet sand. When he remembered that he was not the only one curious enough to brave the bridge (or in his case, flew), his tail flicked dismissively against his legs.
He swivelled his head towards the newcomer and frowned when the birds followed suit, their movements perfectly matched.
“Careful.” He blinked, as impassive as the unflinching duo. “I think they bite.”
open to anyone! | "speaks" | notes: come join caine as he harasses checks out the local fauna
is this a natural feeling or is it just me bleeding?
He was taking time to learn more tea brews between studies, collecting plants and herbs, and generally meeting others around Novus. Lasairian was doing his best to soak up all the information that he could while he was around, and he felt that he was doing a pretty good job at it, considering how long he had been here so far. Not all that long, from somewhere in Winter to now, this starting of Spring. An easier season for him for sure, for both physical and mental purposes. It wasn't that the cold was all that bad to him, because he wasn't all that sensitive to it, but he had been taught that the cold was a lethal thing. He was lucky enough not to be fully the breed that the others were, and less sensitive to it than they were.
The warmth still suited him better and put his mind at ease, because where he was from, there was no Winter. The white covering of snowflakes was a little alien to him, as pretty as it was. He sort of blended in to it all, which was neat to be sure, though it was more stark against the blush tones of him. All that aside, though, the Spring made him feel more at home, more like he could settle in more. Plus, it was a lot easier to gather plants and herbs with the weather warming up like this. Only the more hardy plants were there with the frosty covering. Lasairian was working on it, on creating those collection stores of dried plants for the various purposes for medical reasons and for teas.
Today, there was something else for him to do; go back up to that peak for worship, because he hadn't gone back during the Winter. He was still stuck on his want to have the alter in the library, and that was where he worshiped most. Yet this was something he would do every once in a while, because it seemed to be the usual way others went about it. Maybe Oriens liked it better this way, or maybe he was satisfied with the library alter; Lasairian wasn't sure and couldn't know. That was alright, this covered the basis, doing it this way. Or so that was how he liked to look at it. He knew that tea was liked by the deity, and that was why he was bringing up some plants and herbs to make some as part of his offering.
Everything else had been left up there on the peaks and tucked away for this purpose, though Lasairian fully intended to get his very out tea setup and a bag to carry things around with him. He was working on it, but he wasn't there with it yet. Perhaps he could buy one at the night market one of these days, when he went back there. It was a bit of a trip all on it's own, though. Nothing he needed to think too deeply on now, because he had to get his mind in the right place for what he was about to do. He needed focus, needed to show that he was all in this. He did look forward to these trips, because it was different, because he hoped it would show that he was serious about how he felt in this, in the commitment of it.
Up and up he went, climbing and thinking about the tea he intended to make, the aroma of it that he hoped would reach Oriens from that height, if nothing more. Lasairian did not expect more than that, and even the mere idea of expecting that much was a little out there. But he wanted it to be at least known that he was making these attempts, that he was putting forth these efforts. It was with a long, deep breath that he finally reached the top with it's thinner air, and he went to go about making the tea, meditating as he waited for it to be done, then letting it simmer there as an offering, focusing on Oriens, on if there were any overwhelming feelings or thoughts that could possibly be from the deity.
There were no words to explain the excitement building up inside of him, rising like a wave that churns and spins and rolls steadily forward. Any minute now it would rise to its crescendo, crashing like a wave upon the sand that is Veneror.
But he’s content to enjoy the anticipation in the meantime. Aion is all too aware of the way his heart flip flops inside of his chest, like a runner getting ready to race, a bird preparing to fly. It’s beating too fast, alarmingly fast, but he doesn’t have time to stop and slow it down, or to slow himself down. He’s caught up in the wave, happily letting it push him forward to his destiny.
Five years ago, two years ago, even one year ago - he had not been ready. He had dug his heels in and thrown his head like a stubborn mule, refusing to accept the possibility that it was fate that had brought him here, and now fate that had thrown them into a land rich with magic and history. The time they had spent apart had been the worst thing since meeting Eros - it felt as if he had only just accepted that he was loved and that he loved another, that he had found someone he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. And like a cruel joke the world had ripped that away from him, with a downpour of rain and a spark of lightning. It was as if his life had lost color and meaning at that point.
Even his newfound magic and the revival of his wings had paled in comparison to the day he had finally seen his beloved’s face again. It was a day he wouldn’t forget, a day immortalized forever by their love for one another. Although he was not convinced that he owed that day to fate, or to gods, or to any other power in Novus - still they had made their home here, and their new home had traditions. So onto Veneror they went, and he couldn’t help but press their shoulders together as they walked, letting his wing drape over Eros’ back as they climbed the mountain.
The air was cleaner up here, crisp and pure and lovely. The world felt like a distant thing below them, smiling up at them as they finally reached the peak. Their hooves echoed in tandem as they entered the clearing, coming to stop beside Oriens’ broken statue. The sunlight catches in his feathers, illuminating them in a soft and warm glow as he drapes one wing about Eros’ back.
Aion tilts his head, blowing the dust and rubble away from the altar. Then he looks back at Eros, with both a smile and a shyness hiding in his eyes. “Ready?” his voice is a whisper, nearly lost in the birdsong drifting amongst the shrines.
This was a holy place - the hushed atmosphere, the peaceful lull despite the shattered statues attested to that fact. Aion was not sure yet he believed in their gods, yet even he could not deny the sanctity of their dwelling place. So he bows his head respectfully, then steps back to join Eros in front of the tabernacle.
Holding his breath subconsciously, he carefully places two golden rings upon the marble altar, Eros’ overlaying his. They sparkle in the sunlight, a matching pair that catch and reflect each other’s light. There’s a notch in one of them, into which the diamond studded into the other would fit perfectly when overlaid. They were made for each other; just as the equines to which they belong were.
Below them he places his offering, with as much care as if he were handling a newborn foal. A bouquet of tulip buds, tied together with a thin strip of ribbon. Pale pink flowers, one for each year the pair have been together, are surrounded by a sea of white petals. For a moment he fidgets, making sure he’s placed the posy just perfectly, before he steps back at last, and takes his place beside Eros once more.
“Oriens?” he pauses to clear his throat, unsure of the proper way to address their patron god.
But he has only to turn and face Eros for a smile to light up the edges of his face, and for the words to begin to flow.
“I’ve come here today to marry my best friend, and the love of my life. I choose you. I choose to love you and only you from this day forward. Everything I possess in this world, I give to you. I promise to make a family and a home with you, to care for you, stand beside you, and share my life with you - as long as I shall live. I ask you to bless our union to one another.”
And then he waits, without knowing exactly what it is he’s waiting for.
But as long as Eros was with him, it would be worth it.
@eros @Random Events
walk. "talk."
this is subject to be proofread and edited still
For the first few days, the island appeared somewhat-normal.
It was a world saturated in color, with strange - yet harmless - creatures that roamed its shores, seemingly unafraid of the equines they encountered. It’s strange, that the island has not been burned to a crisp by the volcano’s eruption, or that ash does not still coat its white sand beaches. The volcano appears dormant, as if it has never been in danger of erupting, and despite the events from the past few days a sense of safety holds tightly to the new land.
But safety is a fallacy, as many of you know - as many of you are soon to find out.
Under the cover of night, when no eyes are around to watch, the beach trembles. Sand shifts and parts, sifting itself to the side to reveal a smooth black bedrock. Slowly the bedrock rises, flowing like animated water. It groans and creaks, shape ever-changing throughout the night. But as dawn creeps over the horizon it becomes still, and the sand flows back undisturbed to cover the hole it had left.
Standing on the beach, where the bridge connects to the island, is a smooth black statue of a unicorn, horn piercing the sky as it climbs a mountain that resembles the volcano of the island.
And tied around the unicorn’s horn is a note.
Time is Free.
Time is Here.
The first horse to cross the bridge that morning only stares at the statue with thinly-veiled awe, waiting as others gather.
How to Participate!
This is an official SWP (site wide plot) thread! Each character can reply as many times as they’d like. There are no deadlines, but the RE account may post again to keep it moving forward. You are more than welcome, and encouraged, to branch off into individual threads to interact with other characters.
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Despite being a little tired and a little more discouraged, Phoebe pressed on. For months now, she had been on the move, traveling from place to place and scouring the world for somewhere that perfectly fit who she was. Social, active, bold, and daring, her expectations were high and continued to drive her along on her search, so far to no avail. It wore on her, emotionally; Phoebe longed to find that connection to a location, a group, an individual, that would satisfy her desire to fit in somewhere. And though it made her heartsick at times to think she hadn't yet found that place, she was still smart enough to know she would get no closer by giving up and staying put.
A great distance had already been covered, and recent travels turned her up on a new land, an island that somehow felt...promising in comparison to the false sensation of optimism often accompanying her arrival at new locations. It honestly looked no different than anywhere else--the trees were still green and grew upward, the ground was still earthy and brown beneath her hooves, and the sun still rose and set in the same pattern she was familiar with. Phoebe suspected it might only have been a trick of her mind creating the new feeling, but it didn't stop her from indulging in the possibility.
Her bright eyes stared upward through the forest canopy with wonder and a smile, treading slowly but pleasantly with a distracted grace as she wound a path through the wood. She could smell water upon the air, could faintly hear the babble that beckoned her closer, and only intended to take a sip before moving on. However, the second the trees thinned enough for her to see it, Phoebe made a soft noise of surprise and stopped short with a swish of her colorful tail. "Oh, how beautiful..."
The phrase was murmured aloud in a girlish, wistful voice, with a sigh on the end, as she took in the full sight of the creek in all its natural beauty. To her, it seemed as if the trees curled in over it, sheltering it from the midday sun and providing a secluded, secretive atmosphere to the strip of water that moved energetically through it. Even the creek itself was eye catching, clear and crisp where the river rocks beneath were visible while sunlight glinted and reflected off the uneven points of its surface. Phoebe could only imagine how much lovelier the place would look at sunset.
She sighed again and the exhale grew into a soft, giddy laugh, accompanied by a prancing step in place. Perhaps that feeling she had was right after all. Perhaps there was reason to be optimistic here. Wishing for a better view of the creek, the young horse eagerly strode forward, moving free of the trees so that she could stand on the bank and admire the beauty and promise captured in the moment.
