AMERICA'S FAVORITE, I DO MY BEST AND THEY HATE IT -
Is this what it means to be alive? Apolonia stands at the edges of the crowd in the ballroom and watches its components swirl against each other like waves, like the frantic wingbeats of birds. The soft song of a flute warbles through the warm air. Overhead a chandelier sheds split light all over the marble floor, so many pieces of silver and opal, and O is an easy gold thing against the cobblestone walls, watching and watching and watching with those triumvirate eyes. Is that what it means to be alive, to stand outside and look in?
For her it might be. This is not bothersome. She thinks dancing might not be her thing, anyway. Either way the beauty of the room is overwhelming, and watching the people is nice, and to stand in the half-light wearing her mask made of opal and to be, for a moment, normal, is enough for her.
But still she feels her hurlbat sharp at her side, and still she feels that third eye burning in a hole in the center of her forehead, and still she cannot shake the gnawing in the pit of her stomach that says you do not belong here.
It is deep midnight outside now, and she knows she cannot leave. The trek back to Solterra is too long to make in this cold, and not worth it, anyway, considering she reached Denocte only a few hours ago. With gritted teeth Apolonia resigns herself to staying a little longer, and with a practiced narrowing of her shoulders she goes slinking through the crowd toward the open door leading into the next room, unsure what it holds.
When the last of them comes to the fourth path the mare has nothing else to say. She only watches them with her heavy eyes made of moon-stone and moonlight. At her side those mighty wings of nightshade bloom and flutter. Each beat of her wings comes faster than the last, until this entire part of the maze feels like a storm.
Petals streak like bullets around them and the air is thick with perfume, pollen and poison. At her back a small tornado blooms, a funnel of flower and ivy and stems. It even groans like a storm should and each moan makes the hedges rattle like old, dying bones. Closer and closer the tornado of flowers comes and the entire path leans towards the center of it.
Just as the first wave of flowers touches the strange mare she explodes into petals and light. She's a planet of silver and wild flowers. The winds settle and where she once stood there are two holes in the maze where there was nothing but solid leaf before.
The first hole glimmers strangely. It looks almost like glass, but surely the light dancing across the pathway like a rainbow suggests diamonds instead of plain glass. At first it looks like that pathway leads to the right. Another look makes it seems that straight is the only way to go. The third glance makes it seems like that path leads to the left. Maybe it's a path of mirrors and illusion, maybe it's nothing more than a trick of the light to hide another end.
The only way to find out is to try it---
The second crevice in the wall smells sweet, too sweet. Teeth could ache for the sweetness of his path. Pink and finely spun sugar floats from the opening. It drifts in what's left of the breeze like a million
dandelions seas. The bits of candy-floss seem almost alive. A closer look finds them dancing against the breeze and it's easy to wonder if they bits of cotton candy or if they are small insects who might bite.
Further down the second path the pink floss gross thicker and each breath tastes sweet but bitter with fear. Will there be any air left at all or only sugar?
@Shrike @Caine @Toulouse
RULES
This part of the maze will break off into two choices. The first is a hall of mirrors. The second path is full of cotton candy. Please pick one and post it at the end of your reply. Replies are due by 12/28
For this path I've send each participant 20 signos since it's still continuing.
The third path does not rot and burn like the two before it. This part of the maze refuses to be anything but grace and beauty. And so it's more flowers the great the mare who choose this way instead of decay. More and more yellow flowers bloom and the pollen of them dusts each petal in a fine sheen of pink dust.
The mare blooms with her path. Soon it's not skin over her bones but petals and stems. Bits of white-bone and organ shine though the garden of her skin, lovely in a macabre sort of way. There is no gore, for it's pollen rushing through her veins like glitter instead of blood. She looks like truth, beauty split open to show the inside of it.
Each step she take towards the mare brings her flowers with her. The pull like wallpaper from the hedges and rush like a river back into her skin. With one last blink her eyes too are nothing but roses blooming from her skull. Each of her teeth, when she starts to speak, is a flower. Each word pulverizes them between her lips (that are strangle still flesh instead of foliage). “Beauty is always cruel.”
And when her body is nothing but flowers and her hooves mounds of soft soil her body collapses into a meadow of wild-flowers.
Ahead there is nothing but empty hedges, dull and plain with no paths to reveal.
The white and golden mare greets the only one brave enough to follow the sunshine path with a smile.
It's strange though, that when their eyes meet the mare in the red-flowers seems almost full of pity and regret instead of sun-like vibrancy. The sun on their backs grows hotter and hotter until the flowers and the hedges seem to dry and smoke. Soon it's not light the spindles around them but funnels of smoke that twist and taunt at their legs like snakes.
“How fearless you seem!” The sunshine mare exclaims as the smoke billows out with the gale of her words. Higher and a higher the smoke rises until it pools between their heads and the enchanted canvas sky. Soon this passage is not golden and full of summer but sooty and full only of death.
The guide of this path coughs from all the smoke, because even though she's grand enough to seem unreal her lungs still need fresh clean air. It's almost easy now to see that it's not only pity glinting in her eyes but fear.
This path shouldn't be on fire, but it is.
“It seems we both forgot that the day can bring death quicker than the night.” An apology rings in her voice and she steps her flowers and her grass and her inspects to burn. “But now we both must run. For us the maze ends here.” Her hooves kick up into a gallop and it seems that maybe the fire didn't come from the heat at all but her.
@Elif
Note: This path ended, but I've sent 50 signos to each participant. A reply to this before 12/28 will also earn another 50.
Each of the horses bring with them another revelation of the first path. At first it's a cloud, shifting dusky pink and orange. The cloud swallows up the sun and leaves a strange coolness behind to dapple their skin. Another joins and all the shadows at their hooves thicken and lengthen until their climbing up the walls like black, leaves of ivy.
Something looks almost alive in those shadows. When the dusky cloud shifts away from the glowing, painted sun there are two flowers blooming in each of the shadows like pairs of eyes made of pollen and silk and life. There are four shadows, one for each of the mortals that travels the path of dawn.
The last two bring with them a touch of decay. The flowers around the leggy, god-like mare, start to wilt and wither. The edges of each petal turns brown and turns to ash like all of this world if a trick of paper and a fire has started to smolder. The mare's eyes too fester in that decay, and all her pastel tones turn to rust.
And when she laughs it's a strange sound, like broken harp strings shivering between her teeth. It's easy to think that her tongue is no tongue at all but a cracked bell (chiming the witching hour inside her jawbones). “Of course you will never see me again,” She says to Mateo, because of course she is a god-like mare and he nothing more than a simple, black pegasus.
To the others she only smiles. The look reaches her eyes and it seems almost as if her look is too full of teeth to be anything kind. “I am the end.” Her voice rings out and the flowers and the shadows recede back to nothing but plain hedge. Even the canvas above their head dims and fades to something sheer instead of golden.
As she steps from her wilted flowers and begins to dissolve back into the bushes it's clear to see that there really was nothing behind her but a green, living wall.
Coming here hadn’t really been something Ulric wanted, at least, not entirely. Oh, sure, he wanted to; for all his straight-faced patrols and unyielding loyalty toward Delumine and assuring her defenses were at their peak, the Warden enjoyed having fun, and knew how to have a good time if given the opportunity.
Opportunity wasn’t what had brought him here, but rather a demand spoken by Somnus himself. They had bickered in a way that most would do with their best friend, though this had been fueled by considerable worry from Ulric about the safety of their home during their absence. What another fire were to somehow start and destroy what remained of their forests, their food and other resources? What if they were attacked and overthrown, someone were harmed or worse, what if someone needed him?
In the end, however, he had given in and begrudgingly promised to accompany Somnus and the others. At least this way he could keep an eye on them as they traveled south to Denocte.
The masquerade had tempted him, but such a fanciful event wasn’t in his taste, particularly without anyone at his side for it. The maze had piqued his interest, but Somnus had a family to spend time with and the last time he saw Florentine, she’d gone tumbling down a mountain out of sight – the memory still made him sick to his stomach and made him want to crawl into a hole with his guilt, but to go without either of them would feel wrong after their first adventure together.
Meandering through the city after Somnus had pressured him into a bit of exploration, the cacophonous sound of talking, cheering and instruments managed to draw him in, and as he drew ever closer, his senses were overridden. His nose was assaulted by spice and sweet sugar wafting on the breeze, but it wasn’t enough to chase him away. Entering into what was a bustling marketplace, Ulric had to watch his step so as not to be swept away by the sea of moving bodies. Keeping his wings folded and pressed tightly against his sides, doing his best to ignore the agitating sensation of anyone who brushed against his left, the Warden carefully made his way through them until an opening presented itself to him.
Breaking free, he exhaled the breath he’d been unaware of holding, grateful for reprieve. Before him were rows upon rows of vendors, some appearing more popular than others. A contemplative look carved its way into the ebony hood of the Warden, and with far more interest than before he inched closer to browse, first an image of an alabaster and scarlet woman and then an idea beginning to materialize in his head.
ooc - Guys look he's not in Delumine :DDDD Anyone welcome!!!
HE WHO DRINKS FROM THE DEEP WATER
MAY HE KNOW THE DEPTHS OF THE WELL
At the masquerade, his unadorned face seems to offend. It makes it harder to move freely through the crowd so he grabs the first mask he can find that isn't too lavishly decorated and gently ties it to his face with a piece of ribbon. The opalescent white mask is simply but expertly carved. From some angles it appears to be crying, and (perplexingly) from some angles it appears to be laughing-- it is a clever trick of light and form, or else some kind of minor magic. He doesn't care.
Eik weaves like a needle through flocks of silk and paint, peering at everyone's face with an intensity that is out of place at an event so carefree. He passes through many small rooms, slowing when he reaches a great hall where the crowd is gathered with a sense of gravity. His attention is drawn to a mare that everyone in the room pretends to not notice. Most every eye seems to rest carefully on everything but her, except to steal glances now and then. He doesn't recognize her at first, and he possibly would not except when he looks at her his gaze meets eyes he's come to know well. "Oh."
He steps forward, and the crowd parts without even realizing they do so. Their attention on him burns. "You look... Nice." The long pause is not because it is not true (she looks beautiful) but because it doesn't really seem like a compliment when it's coming from him to her. If anything it's the opposite, because what has niceness ever done for them? And how often does it come at the expense of someone else? Normally he'd try to make it clear he didn't mean the compliment in a left-handed way, but right now he's distracted. His eyes and ears take turns scanning the room, and when his lips curve up ever slightly it is a hollow smile.
When he becomes aware of Seraphina's company staring at him, he steps closer to the queen. Someone somewhere laughs loudly at a poor joke and he winces at the sound. Its so damn loud in here, he can hardly think. The thought of unleashing his magic in this crowded place makes him queasy. "I was looking for you. Can we speak alone? It's important." Surely she'll hear the importance in his voice, but he says it anyway..
Eik leads the young queen through the crowds and deeper into the court. Although he does not know where exactly he's going, he's certain that there must be somewhere quiet. Finally they stop in a room painted in sunset shades across the floor that deepen as the walls rise, until they become the dark silver-blue-black colors of night where the walls meet the ceiling-- except there is no ceiling in this room. Above them starlit clouds lazily drift across the sky, and the crisp air brings a summery nighttime smell that makes him nostalgic for a past that was not his own.
He turns away from the night sky and back to Seraphina. "There's a dangerous man on the loose." But of course that does not really explain the tension in his voice, the race of his heart. The world is full of dangerous people, the two of them know that well enough. "He attacked Isra once. He might do it again." Eik is so full of love and fury that when he says Isra he starts to pace back and forth. The sound of his heavy steps echoes on the painted stone walls until he sounds like two angry men, then three. Not even the gentle night breeze can cool him.
COME FULFILL THIS PROPHECY
WITH OUR DEMONS OF DEBAUCHERY
Footfalls, soundless within the hushed environs, carried her physique among the obscured expanse of nightfall as it engulfed the coastline. Darkness, it comforted the beastess. One of the few things that set her fevered intellect at ease. The nearer she drew to the seawater’s edge the heavier the scent of brine wafted through her nasal passages, scythes sinking into the pliable foundation beneath her embodiment feeling the shift from soil to sand, contentment seeping into her being little by little with every step. As placated as you’d ever find the usually irate fatale. Not that the resentment and rage ever strayed too far. It was with her always, latching to every fiber of Cyanides being just waiting to arise. This endearing attribute left little to be desired in ways of company. Most let her be. The ones that made the mistake of approaching her generally did not make it twice, or live long enough to have the choice.
Her pace decelerated as The Rebel came closer to the tide, drifting in and out like the thrum of a lullaby, accentuated with the clatter of crashing waves off in the distance. Her well-muscled serpentine was arched elegantly as she came to a halt before the aquatic flow, allowing her poll to practically graze the front of her chest. She was a masterpiece… as exquisite as they came. Slender and yet powerfully built, an aura of unwavering confidence radiating from every pore of her glowing dermis. See - from a distance she was glorious, captivating in all aspects of the word. Yet one look into her hollow scarlet eyes and you knew she was everything but an angel. At closer glance you noticed the scars that littered her physique, each a mark of the numerous battles she’d partaken. Yet these were not the only indications of a rough past life. Her right flank bore the brand of a sun sign, a scar that once brought Cyanide shame. A slave, the word spat itself within her mind like a bad taste. Yet the demoness was far from such now. Even a year within the child army didn’t conquer her or set out the fire that burned with a vengeance within her soul. The warrior still wore the dented silver collar around her throat with pride, on display for all to see; even Viceroy couldn’t break her.
A taste for violence and a talent for the trade of carnage allowed her out of the lowly ranks she’d previously held. Ironically enough she had found herself among one of Solterra’s warriors, fighting for a land that once held her captive, which put her through so much agony and torture under Zolin’s rule. Supposedly it was different now, or in the process of transforming. The great new Queen attempting to alter history, the past they had all grown up in. Solterra had been nothing but a leech all of Cyanides existence. Sucking dry everything it touched, killing the life within its walls. The notion that it would somehow reform seemed unstable, if anything, to the maiden.
Occuli rolled within their sockets at her own contemplation, an exasperated snort expelling from her nostrils into the still atmosphere. Fools, the lot of them. Solterra was still weak and malleable within the hands of the corrupt, which was the sole reason Cyanide had stayed. Despite everything, she would not see it fall to such ruin again. Although she was deemed as a monster to most who’d come in contact with her, she would not allow Solterra to chew up and spit out anyone else as it had done so violently to her. If Artaxias had taught her anything, it was that some people deserved to be fought for.
TAGGED - open NOTES - First posteh with Cy. She is just kinda standing there contemplating things so feel free, if you dare, to disrupt her. xD First post in forever so bare with me here, haha.
trigger warning: discussions of trauma and suicidal thoughts
you shouldn't have to pay for your love
with your bones and your flesh
Around him, the court is awash in a frenzy of festivity, drowning in visitors and merchants alike -- he slips through the crowds like a shadow, wrapped in the softest silks that hide the tender underside of his bare throat and the short-cropped hair on his neck. He is drawn taut like a bowstring, deep bruises beneath his eyes from the dreams that constantly haunt him, and if asked at that moment, he never could have answered what he was looking for.
And yet -- he finds the tent amongst the many others, slips inside and settles himself on the soft cushions, as bruised eyes look upon the shed-star with exhaustion. “What am I still doing here,” He asks, his breast aching with everything he has endured, his mind echoing why am I still alive when he finds he can’t finish the question aloud.
Once you have purchased a restricted item, you must respond to this thread with the form below in order to have your Character Pass item recognized. For more information on the restricted item process, please read this guidebook page.
Character Pass (Original Item)
Code:
<blockquote>
<span class="officialheader">Redeeming Character Pass</span>
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![[Image: apolonia_by_erasvita_dcmlqry_by_beccazw-dcnhnsj.png]](https://orig00.deviantart.net/4a1e/f/2018/265/e/7/apolonia_by_erasvita_dcmlqry_by_beccazw-dcnhnsj.png)
