![[ CLOSED♥ ] NOVUS rpg](https://novus-rpg.net/images/logo.png "[ CLOSED♥ ] NOVUS rpg"){kind=logo}
+- [ CLOSED♥ ] NOVUS rpg (https://novus-rpg.net)
+-- Forum: Realms (https://novus-rpg.net/forumdisplay.php?fid=5)
+--- Forum: Ruris (https://novus-rpg.net/forumdisplay.php?fid=6)
+---- Forum: Archives (https://novus-rpg.net/forumdisplay.php?fid=96)
+----- Forum: [C] Island Archives (https://novus-rpg.net/forumdisplay.php?fid=117)
+----- Thread: [SWP] ACT III: how reality collapses (/showthread.php?tid=3659)
RE: ACT III: how reality collapses - Valefor - 06-25-2019
and you can't go back
when you cross the line
He doesn’t trust the island, not with how fickle it seems to be -- a barrier to entry one day, and then inviting the next, the taste of wild magic in the air and sea monsters within the waves. He is young, however, and not as cautious as he should be -- he joins in the crowd of horses that make their way across the obsidian bridge, his hooves tap-tap-tapping on the stone, his tail held low and swooping across the stones every few seconds.when you cross the line
When they spill onto the island his golden eyes grow wide, his breath shaking in his chest at the way everything seems so much more vibrant and alive upon the island. Bright, striking green clashed with the clear blue of the ocean, and the sand is as clean and pure as any he has ever seen (not that he has seen very much).
He takes a deep breath and steps forward, onto the sands.
RE: ACT III: how reality collapses - Sabine - 06-28-2019
S A B I N E It was the birds, of all things, that woke her from that short, fitful sleep. Not the throbbing of an alien heart nor the tepid rumble of kindred hoofbeats against the soft soft sand, but the blood-cackle of crows that rang like irony in her ears. She knew their screams like a bat knew blood -- and once, they had even sounded like home. Beneath heavy lids, her eyes spun toward the corvine shadows circling overhead and she wondered, for a moment, what life might have been like had she been born a crow. Corpses, chalk clouds and canopies. Such uncluttered simplicities might make for a sanctuary if the circumstances were right, and for Sabine, the circumstances could not have been much worse. As the feathered creatures grew at last bored of the little red girl lying beneath the pear trees (perhaps they had realised the precious moon-blue radiating from her horns could not be harvested) she rose from her feet to watch as they disappeared into the horizon's chelsea grin. The mordancy of their fleeting arrival and departure was not lost on Sabine, for she had seen too much to miss the small bitter nuances woven into the universal fabric of life. And yet, all of this does not stop her from following them. She has nothing else. Nothing but the feeling of salt stuck in her lashes and a measureless black void snapping at her heels. Sabine does not care to wonder whether it is by nature or design that she finds her march broken by that strange, sick island. What she does find curious, instead, is the ire that builds like bile against her tonsils. Should she be surprised? That for once she bubbles with anger over sorrow? Upon that first dawn, when the sky sang black, she had spurned the crowds and the heat and the queerness. The days had since whiled away and she had not thought once to heed its call; did it think her a fool? Perhaps she was. After all, was she not stood upon its doorstep like a little lost lamb? Motherless. Fatherless? -- that was all it took. One ounce of weakness; a virginal drop in an ocean of faux-strength and the choir starts to play in her mind like a secret she cannot not keep. |
RE: ACT III: how reality collapses - Locust - 08-07-2019
IN THE PARAMETERS OF CANVAS, THE COFFIN OF THE FRAME -
the art of wreckage, how to figure ourselves in the ruins of what we can't traverse.
Looking at the ivy feels like standing in a boat in the middle of the open sea.
It is one of those rare things that feel fathomless - up there with the sky, and the concept of eternity, and the lay of the sea in a very deep area, with no land in sight. Locust is never sure, when she thinks about those things, if she should be entranced or horrified.
Worrying about the irrelevance or depth of existence is, generally speaking, unnatural behavior for a pirate. (Of the crew, she thinks that Sheera probably had the best grasp on existence, given the nebulous quality of her own. Her current crew might have a poet or a philosopher on it somewhere, but she doubts it, and she hasn’t gotten to know any of the members well enough to be sure.) It doesn’t come naturally to her, either.
But still. When she stands at the end of the bridge and stares at that ivy, Locust feels like she is seeing something like eternity, and she thinks that it might be the closest she has ever come to wondering about the weight – and distance – of her own existence. The ivy, endless, extending in all directions – above, below, left, right. Like some great veil to shield the eyes.
And, like a veil, the next evening, the ivy is shed. She watches it happen with something that would have been fascination, had it occurred more quickly - but, rather, the process is excruciatingly slow, and the day is hot. The air still holds that stagnant and sticky quality, and it clings to the inside of her lungs like breathing in water. (It reminds her of drowning, almost.) Sweat drips trails down her skin, clotting in her salt-swept hair. She paces back and forth in front of the wall of ivy. It’s dying, even though it must have been born only days ago, if not yesterday – she thinks that there are some insects like that. The lub-dub of the ivy “hearts” echoes between her ears, and she tries to drown it out with her own thoughts, because she does not want to consider the notion of ivy having a heart. She wonders if it sounds like it is slowing. She wonders if hearts slow to a stop, or if they halt suddenly, if there is some hazy span of time where you are neither alive-nor-dead or if it is like the flip of a switch.
She looks at the ivy. The way it blooms pearls. She thinks about turning back, but she doesn’t; she tosses a glance to the pearls strewn in her hair, and perhaps she smiles.
When it is dark, and the ivy is gone entirely, perhaps there are a few more pearls strewn in her hair to catch in the foreign starlight. Regardless – the moment that the path is open, Locust runs to the island, possessed by something that is not quite delight. It is barely even anticipation.
All she knows is that the island calls – and she, little wanderer, sailor of uncharted shores, is powerless but to answer.
|| for exp, 3/4. x,x we're almost done, folks. || "sea of ice," callie siskel
"Speech!" ||
RE: ACT III: how reality collapses - Lucinda - 09-02-2019
It took a lot to get Lucinda's attention. All the talk of an island appearing out of thin air after a volcanic eruption was certainly enough to get her out of the desert.
Now she's here, walking across the strange bridge crafted by lava. Her staff floats beside her and she remains vigilant in case anything is lurking in the shadows. There are creatures twisting and turning in the waters below and she simply raises a brow at them. If Abraxia was still by her side, she'd eat them for lunch. It's a shame the dragon was not here as she could easily carry Lucinda to and from the island within minutes. Instead she's left to her own devices and is forced to make the long trek on foot. Her left wing hangs limp as a reminder of the battle and the scars she now wears.
When she finally arrives, she is greeted by a whole different world. In a way, it reminds her of The Moors, but much more tropical. The sands are pearly white, birds are singing a unique song in the distance and she can hear the rustle of the trees further off. One bird lands in front of her feet and its eyes are like diamonds. She snorts at it to scare it away, but it does not seem phased by her appearance. When she whips her staff around, it finally decides to fly off, but not without giving Lu a curious glance.
The mare steps forward, her pace kicking up mounds of sand behind her. She isn't sure what purpose she'll find here, but perhaps there will be rare items she can bring back that will make useful weapons. She notices a patch of dark colored flowers resembling stars and metal. With a small smile, Lu decides to pick one with her teeth and place it in her mane next to her rose.
Her wandering continues towards the woods, feeling eager to see what this island had in store.
(Don't mind me, just bringing these threads back from the dead for xp lmao)