It is easy to lose himself in the depths of his thoughts, to feel the cosmos of his mind unravel and break apart as stars explode to supernovas. There are black holes opening and tearing at the walls of his subconscious and cracking at his brain. Iliad doesn’t run from it, he stares down the void and cradles himself in its emptiness. For the moment, it is comforting to rest in the embrace of his own consciousness and drift in the stories that paint his memories. Solitude makes him weary, solitude makes him think and there are times he doesn’t like it. Iliad grows existential in the isolation. There is nothing but dusk air and the sound of a rushing river, the quiet lull of the water as he lay tucked beneath the shade of a tree. His wings are tucked tightly at his side, head leaning against the trunk as his banjo rest at his side. He looks down at the instrument and then uses his telekinesis, strumming quiet cords and he shuts his eyes. Maybe it is boredom that is keeping him locked in the trance. Both eyes open again and he removes the banjo from around his body and stands up.
Iliad steps towards the water and then takes a couple steps back. He stretches out his wings and gets a running start before he takes a leap towards the water, creating a great splash as his body hits it. Cool water hits his skin and causes a glisten in the fading light of the day. He flails his wings and droplets fly off of the pale appendages. A grin passes over his lips but he remains quiet, no sound passing from his mouth before he sighs. Even the brief reprieve from the loneliness isn’t enough, it tugs at him and he shuts his eyes and just feels the water race against his skin.
Iliad
And I may go to places I have never been to
Just to find the deepest desires in my mind
“Hey-ho, Away we go, into the darkness into the black, with nothing but the wind at our back,” Iliad’s voice echoes off the empty nothing of the vast expanse of the sky. “Oh fuck what is the next verse. Oooh-aah.. Fuck.. Can’t remember it.” He says and stares down at the ground beneath him. He ponders for a moment, debating if he wishes to onward skyward but he can feel the ache starting in his wings. His eyes shut and he takes a moment to feel the wind caress his skin, toss the tendrils of his hair about across his neck before he starts violent descent. Iliad tucks his wings in close and makes a near nose dive towards the ground before masterfully catching himself and hitting the ground with a firm thud. A shock wave of pain travels upwards from the force and he grimaces, stifling a pained groan. He lifts his left front leg, stretching out the joint before he starts trotting. The afternoon air is mild, teetering the line of frigid and comfortably warm. Around him the air is clear, sun shining with no clouds tainting the sky with a gentle breeze blustering through on an occasion.
Iliad shifts his tail, hair dragging through the grass and he lets his eyes drift over the meadow. The solitude almost grates at him. No one can listen to his godawful attempts at remember that gosh darn song. “Good golly miss molly what is that sweet jam I can’t remember,” Iliad murmurs and gently tugs at the strap to his instrument to let it hang. He strums cords using his telekinesis, listening to the soft melody as he repeats the lyrics he sang during flight. “Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck,” Iliad sings the vulgarity, as he lifts his head. “Oh sweet memory of mine, quit being filled with slime so I can remember that sweet rhyme.” Certainly not his best composition, but, he can’t help but chuckle at his own joke. He decides to keep strumming his banjo as he stands in the middle of the meadow. It isn’t long before he starts carelessly dancing to his own tune, wings moving about in a dramatic movement as he steps in rhythm to the song, humming along to the tune, even without an audience he can at the very least entertain himself.
Iliad
Let me not then die ingloriously and without a struggle,
but let me first do some great thing that shall be told among men hereafter.
He has spent all day jogging to get here (save a few detours to admire the red poppies and other flora), and it certainly did not disappointed. No, the stone citadel had the opposite effect, bringing him to his knees at the first glance and metaphorically blowing him away at the second. Brick and mortar were stacked in rows upon rows upon rows, climbing high enough into the sky that he had to crane his head backwards to eye its magnificent spires. And the ivy—something many may have considered a defect, an encroachment of the wilderness into places it no longer belonged—he found it made the landmark all the more beautiful. The clash of earth upon stone, the living crawling upon the nonliving thrilled him, tickling his mind and pleasing his eye. It was beautiful.
Alorus too had seemed to be impressed, disappearing in a flurry of wings around the temple. The painted stallion watched him go for a minute, and for a brief moment found himself envious of the aves. He had not been so blessed to have been born with wings.
Pushing such distasteful thoughts to the back of his mind, he ventured slowly forward, craning his neck low to where the temple met the earth in inspection. Every muscle was bunched in anticipation, the ultimate cautioned paid as he breathed in the sweet aroma of the flowers growing upon the ivy vines, their deep throats and radial centers inherently familiar to him. Something stirred in his memory of soft voices singing over him, of flowers placed upon his brow, droplets of water sprinkled overtop him from some unseen source. The images and sensations flit across his mind for only a moment before dissolving back into the depths, leaving him with an unsettled feeling formed deep in his gut. With a snort, he pulled back from the stone wall.
His mind was already thrumming, his heart pounding up in his throat as he moved alongside the wall, skin occasionally brushing up against it as he went. His eyes were torn between the many things he had to look at--the delicate way each stone seemed stacked upon each other, the intricacy of the tangled vines woven together, the spires risen far above him; even the distant horizon beckoned him to sit and watch the treetops wave gently in the wind, hidden in the comfort of the great structure's shadow. But for now he kept moving, walking the border and counting his paces, his ears peeled for any indication he wasn't alone. For if there was an entrance somewhere he would find it; there was no way he would leave here (if he ever did) without first seeing the sanctuary's interior.
A frivolous heart beats beneath the pasty padding of the baby’s breast. Hooves delight, clattering raucously along cobble corridors with little regard for those mulling amid tall, wandering shadows therein; for sunlight gleams brightly out yonder and this vigorous game is to find each rare warm, golden shaft where it penetrated the queer stone ceiling above. The castle has become a playground, less a formal abode for the various royalty mentioned constantly by Mama and Papa and as they spend ever more time swanning about the marvellously chiselled interior, the foal seldom lets an opportunity to fantasise slip by.
The sound of headlong galloping resonates wildly off the towering walls to either side of her puny, colourful frame. The mind is abuzz, ringing to the rhythm of a multitude of hooves - an army two hundred strong - and they crash along behind her, hot breath and spittle bearing down ominously. A puddle of light lies seconds ahead, and Miette squares, strains, all focus there upon it…
And they almost take her!
Skin ignites as she slides beneath the protection of sun-warmth, and at once those chasing, begin to flounder about like stricken, stranded fish. The girl giggles, jubilance bubbling from the depth of a well-contented belly, and knees spring gleefully, excitedly, for she knows that their night-needing eyes cannot find her. But she cannot hide forever! Rid of that overwhelming flood of anticipation once more (the sound, shrill and young, hangs in the musty, dank air), icy eyes alight and travel the course next to be taken.
This time, the passage splits, branches and turns thereafter two opposite ways; Miette studies first one, and then the other but she can find no hint along either to suggest that the next refuge lies beyond. The silence is deafening - they, the troops, are plotting and scheming. One flint breaches the boundary between safety and not, the step clicks loudly and they step behind. Instantly she recoils, giddy as nervousness gnaws down on her courage. “I got thith…” She whispers, and draws a deep breath; then she springs from the sunlight and drives left beneath a maddening chaos of noise.
Dohv, who by now was standing on the very tip of Damacus's nose with his paws spread wide to clasp the magical map gifted to them by the fireflys. Niether the jerboa nor Damascus knew that Dohv held it upside down, and still it seemed their horrible map reading skills were working to their advantage - it seems somehow they managed to meander into the maze without any direction at all.
It took a few long moments for Damascus to realise that they were no longer walking up slopes or wandering over weary field,s but were instead slinking through tight hedges. "Dohv!" He bellowed, brows knitting closely together. "Read map you not? Way which are go we now!?"
Damascus was awfully anxious to see this relic, and secretly he wished ot be the first one to gaze upon it save for the man who found it; the shaman.
Treading with large glomping steps through the winding corners and twisting turns, Damascus was soon to find himself in a dead end. With no real wish to turn back and find his way out the child instead proceeded forward, attempting to push his lanky eighteen-hand bodice through the shrubs. "Ah, Dohv" He murmured soon after. "Stuck I am"
He was beginning to think these lands he had wandered into by mistake were abandoned. It had been days since he had come across another living creature, save the few field mice who had promptly fled at his approach. The entire world seemed to have fallen still, and he the only one unaffected by the sudden spell. Aion had never been one to mind the solitude or quiet, but this—this was eerie. A cold chill had settled at the base of his spine that he couldn’t shake, and he found himself wishing for the cloak he had once donned or, even better, the company of his mate to help warm him. But both were lost to him now, or maybe he was the one lost, wandering through lands he didn’t know the name of.
Like this lake. Something this massive and alluring had to at least have a name, but there wasn’t anyone around to ask. It was beginning to get to him; frustration stepping in with a single stomp of his hoof, grinding the sole down into the soft earth. This was pointless, he had been wandering for days now with no indication he was going in the right direction. The farther he’d gone the less wildlife he had seen, and if there was any indication he was on his mate’s trail he had yet to see it. A scowl fixed itself firmly onto his features, gazing down at his reflection in distaste. He almost expected Eros to come up behind him, waiting for the gentle touches against his skin and quiet whispers into his ears that he had become so accustomed to. Who would have thought that he, having worn so many different facades and personas in his lifetime (many of them bitter and temperamental) would have come to rely upon the affection of one man so entirely?
Tired already of looking in the mirror-like surface, he brought one black hoof crashing down upon it again and again, destroying the smooth surface in a series of splashes and ripples. He pawed angrily at the water, ears pinned back into his feathers as he snarled silently at the still lake. Every bit of pent up grief and frustration was channeled into this simple act of defiance, cursing the quiet lands for every moment of loneliness they had offered him. Though of course, with such an attitude as this it was no wonder he'd found himself once again alone.
first post w aion in a long time!
be warned he's grumpy
Wading upon the edges of the rippling hedges Maxence gazed coldly at the leaves that made up the well-groomed thicket. Perhaps they would find something (anything) that would render useful in explaining just how something like this could simply appear overnight - Discovering this was the only reason Maxence had flown from the east as he believed not a single word about a Shaman and had no real interest in seeking this entity out should such a person actually exist. That was a textbook way to find a witch of the woods or get cursed... or something along those lines.
With a gruff sight the brute cast his nose across his hsoulder, sussing the landscape to his rear before his nares were flicked back toward the entrance of the maze. Eyes cold and stern only dropped in temperature as his brows furrowed closed with his steps, the stallion's paces taking him cautiously and without haste into the hedges.
All was cold and blue, even the hedges and the fog that escaped his nares with each breath. The moonrise was particularly beautiful and particularly cruel tonight, shedding its frost forth over each leaf and blade - only to snap under the sun lion's heavy hooves.
Even as he searched the winding coils of the maze there was naught to be seen save for long moonlit shadows and the cloudy, illuminated sky.
The ink-spill of sky was trying its best to replicate the witch's star-speckled coat. She was a speck of spectral dust in comparison to its infinite black sea, and yet there she still stood: skinny neck cranked back to gaze not at the distant plains of space but at a wall of withering bramble. Perhaps another breed of equine would ignore the anomaly, but not the little black witch: the dry foliage was a sign that there was work to be done.
Let us be done with this shaman. My patience has worn out.
The girl spared a moment to allow a gurgling cough to creep from the depths of her throat before approaching the hedge. Black nares pulled at the air with quick, harsh breaths while she waited for it to pass. There is magic at work here, but if it is not my magic than whose? A midnight brow furrowed with worry, but the thought was quickly brushed aside. She knew that since her arrival: an unseen force had awoken a desire to hunt for an ancient relic in every individual she encountered so far; would it be unreasonable to believe that the same entity who compelled a whole army to search like mindless fools could also erect a labyrinth in one night?
It is childish. Why beg for us to join in the game if you're going to steal the prize? Grey eyes searched the length of the hedge as she considered the identity of the being responsible for its construction. Could it be a child with immense power? Or a wise elder with a cruel sense of humor?
Moonlight enveloped the girl's scrawny figure like a protective blanket, refusing to let her go as she moved on to another section of wall. It was not long before it veered off to her right, however, and showed her the depths of its gaping black maw. Time to find who is at your heart.
OOC: AHHH quick post to make sure I get in I am such a butt ;-; @Random Events
Her ears pinned back against her crown, the painted mare giving a way glance into the open mouth of the maze before her. The cold wind made her reconsider her position, the daylight shrouded by the looming walls of this place and the foul breath of fog made her shudder. In truth, she would not have sought out this Shaman on her own -- the one that was rumored to have found the coveted relic that had sent all of Novus into a frantic search -- except that she had been following another, until she had lost them in this foggy mess. She had not the slightest inkling of her companion's whereabouts now, but it left her in quite the dilemma. Did she continue the search, just for a glimpse of something rumored to be powerful? Or did she allow her fears of the unknown to send her running with her tail tucked like a kicked dog.
The mare frowned at the thought, ashamed. Her life thus far had been ruled by fear and uncertainty -- and yet a rational part of her reasoned that it was the reason she had lived so long. Caution had been her saving grace, and her unwillingness to venture into the unknown had kept her from harm. But it had also kept her from living. Inara cast her green eyes along the left side of the entrance, her nares flaring as her heart thundered in her ears like a thousand of her kind running full speed before her. Hell. Utterly at a loss, the wind blew at her tresses as she stood indecisive.
Dusted with star matter and borne upon tides of nature, hers is the beauty of wild places.[/size]
She craved battle, night and day. It was almost like an addiction, though it had none of the harmful effects of such a habit.
Well, at least not to the ebony striped girl, it didn't.
She stood once again within that dried grass ring within the reaches of the Bellum Steppe, posture rigidly straight. A slight grin toyed at the edges of the lass' mouth as she remembered something her mother had told her not so long ago, right before she had left The Temple, left the life she knew and loved in order to carve out an existence amongst those less than virtuous. Eden could still smell the honeysuckle and spring rain scent of Cerridwen's skin as her wind chime words washed over her daughter, 'Eden, loved and beloved, you would break your neck to keep your chin up.'
To this day, the girl could not fathom quite what the amethyst colored woman had meant, whether it had been an admonishment or a compliment to her stubborn, proud, flawed, righteous daughter. Regardless of the intent, though, the memory was still stamped into the girl's mind with the gold and rose hues of nostalgia at it's border. Heaving a sigh, Eden wished for her wrap and tail bangle, the two accessories having been left back at the mountain convent before she left, keepsakes for Cerridwen and ways for the priestesses to scry in the sun pool.
Snorting and shaking that beautifully adorned head of hers, the shieldmaiden grunted, remembering the task at hand; to train, to spar with her brothers and sisters in arms, and to make the holy light that blazed across Terrastella stronger than it ever had been. Eden wanted to carry that light upon her muscular shoulders, to pull the sun into the apex of the skies and keep it there. She wanted to watch as Solis' golden globe burned away all traces of darkness, of shadow and the vile things that hid there. She stomped a hoof, passion exploding to life within her breast.
Yes, she would wait for her challenger, and when they presented themselves, she would rise to the occasion
Summary: Eden stands in the middle of the ring and waits for Levi to come kick her butt
