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+----- Thread: [SWP] ACT III: how reality collapses (/showthread.php?tid=3659)
ACT III: how reality collapses - Random Events - 06-01-2019
just as one world dies, another is reborn
For days the berries keep beating and throbbing like hearts. The breeze blew through the ivy wall constantly, but soon it started to feel almost hot, like breath from a carnivore’s lungs instead of wind. And still the berries keep beating like hearts.
Lub-DUB, lub-DUB, lub-DUB
They grew louder.
And louder.
And louder.
The horses on the bridge could barely hear their own thoughts above that beating heart. They started to think that they would dream of it, or that their own hearts weren’t even beating their own song anymore, but rather the song of those berries. Some turned away, towards their homes. They vowed that they would stop crossing bridges and dreaming of wonder and strangeness.
The berries kept throbbing, humming, singing.
Lub-DUB, lub-DUB, lub-DUB
Until, with a tremble and a sigh of that hot, smoke-tainted breeze, the heartbeat stopped. The silence felt like a tangible thing, weighted and waiting. For a day it was only silence, only the soft hum of horses too startled to speak loudly. Some horses returned to the bridge, others left because the silence seemed almost oppressive. The night came as normally as it always does, with streaks of dark blue layers one upon another.
The silence remained. Even the constellations seemed still in the quiet, their flickering giving way to steady, constant light.
And when the day came at last, the ivy began to die. It started with the browning of a single leaf - first it loses its luster, its sheen fading as it returns the light it had once stolen from the sun and moon. But soon the sickness spreads like wildfire, as surrounding leaves succumb to their neighbor’s plight. They wither and die and the bystanders can only watch in awe as the incomprehensible wall of ivy begins to fold in upon itself. It is as if time has sped up, but only here, only affecting the wall that separates known from unknown.
The berries split open and it wasn’t red juice that leaked out but pearls. When the first one fell, it made a only a small, discreet splash, sinking quickly beneath the waves, lost forever. Petals tear themselves free from the wall, but not a single horse could remember seeing flowers blooming on that wall of ivy. And soon the air is filled with leaves and petals that rain down upon the earth, berries rupturing to spill their pearls, littering the stone bridge with treasure.
Noontime came and went and the ivy was still dying. Evening came and the ivy was nothing more than an suggestion of something dreamlike, dead and brown and colors that have no name. But as the horses closest to the now revealed end of the bridge lifted their heads, each of them forgot all about any wall of ivy, about the flowers that bloomed from nothing and the pearls that burst forth from berries.
A utopia waits at the end of the bridge. The sand is as white and smooth as any cleanly picked bone, and the waves are rolling over it in frothy curls of seafoam. Birds are flitting through massive palm trees, but they do not look like any birds of Novus. Some are as brightly feathered as the sun and when they fly, fire and smoke trails in their wake. A sand-piper is waiting, peering strangely at the horses on the bridge. But something about him is not quite right, for his eyes are bits of sodalite swiveling in his head. Another bird joins him and this one has tines of bone curling up from his head like a halo, and from the tines heliotrope blooms. They sing and harpsichord music pours out from their throats.
Further into the island the trees are fat with fruit. There is a pool of clear-water that tastes almost sweet on the tongue instead of cool. Flowers bloom dark black in the sunlight and the sun shines on the metallic center of them. For some the flowers might look like constellations, for others they might seem nothing more than an omen of destruction.
But the island does not care what the horses think. It cares only for the birds that are not from this mortal realm, and the strange wildcats that are calling from the canopy of tropical trees. The sun sets on the island, and yet at the center that sweet water is still shining like it’s swallowed the sun.
Even in the night the island begged to be explored.
Lub-DUB, lub-DUB, lub-DUB
They grew louder.
And louder.
And louder.
The horses on the bridge could barely hear their own thoughts above that beating heart. They started to think that they would dream of it, or that their own hearts weren’t even beating their own song anymore, but rather the song of those berries. Some turned away, towards their homes. They vowed that they would stop crossing bridges and dreaming of wonder and strangeness.
The berries kept throbbing, humming, singing.
Lub-DUB, lub-DUB, lub-DUB
Until, with a tremble and a sigh of that hot, smoke-tainted breeze, the heartbeat stopped. The silence felt like a tangible thing, weighted and waiting. For a day it was only silence, only the soft hum of horses too startled to speak loudly. Some horses returned to the bridge, others left because the silence seemed almost oppressive. The night came as normally as it always does, with streaks of dark blue layers one upon another.
The silence remained. Even the constellations seemed still in the quiet, their flickering giving way to steady, constant light.
And when the day came at last, the ivy began to die. It started with the browning of a single leaf - first it loses its luster, its sheen fading as it returns the light it had once stolen from the sun and moon. But soon the sickness spreads like wildfire, as surrounding leaves succumb to their neighbor’s plight. They wither and die and the bystanders can only watch in awe as the incomprehensible wall of ivy begins to fold in upon itself. It is as if time has sped up, but only here, only affecting the wall that separates known from unknown.
The berries split open and it wasn’t red juice that leaked out but pearls. When the first one fell, it made a only a small, discreet splash, sinking quickly beneath the waves, lost forever. Petals tear themselves free from the wall, but not a single horse could remember seeing flowers blooming on that wall of ivy. And soon the air is filled with leaves and petals that rain down upon the earth, berries rupturing to spill their pearls, littering the stone bridge with treasure.
Noontime came and went and the ivy was still dying. Evening came and the ivy was nothing more than an suggestion of something dreamlike, dead and brown and colors that have no name. But as the horses closest to the now revealed end of the bridge lifted their heads, each of them forgot all about any wall of ivy, about the flowers that bloomed from nothing and the pearls that burst forth from berries.
A utopia waits at the end of the bridge. The sand is as white and smooth as any cleanly picked bone, and the waves are rolling over it in frothy curls of seafoam. Birds are flitting through massive palm trees, but they do not look like any birds of Novus. Some are as brightly feathered as the sun and when they fly, fire and smoke trails in their wake. A sand-piper is waiting, peering strangely at the horses on the bridge. But something about him is not quite right, for his eyes are bits of sodalite swiveling in his head. Another bird joins him and this one has tines of bone curling up from his head like a halo, and from the tines heliotrope blooms. They sing and harpsichord music pours out from their throats.
Further into the island the trees are fat with fruit. There is a pool of clear-water that tastes almost sweet on the tongue instead of cool. Flowers bloom dark black in the sunlight and the sun shines on the metallic center of them. For some the flowers might look like constellations, for others they might seem nothing more than an omen of destruction.
But the island does not care what the horses think. It cares only for the birds that are not from this mortal realm, and the strange wildcats that are calling from the canopy of tropical trees. The sun sets on the island, and yet at the center that sweet water is still shining like it’s swallowed the sun.
Even in the night the island begged to be explored.
How to Participate!
Who was the first to cross the island? No one seems to know, for many had given up waiting and gone home by the time the ivy began to wilt. But when you brave the bridge once more, crossing over scattered pearls and dried up leaves, the way before you clear at last, it doesn't matter. Nothing could have prepared you for the land you cross into.
It's as if the island is separate from Novus, not only by distance but also in some ethereal, otherworldly manner. Even things that ought to be familiar are not; the white beach is glistening like a jewel, the waves carry an exaggerated vibrancy, on and on. The animals are foreign to you, the plants seem just as likely to bear fruit as poison, and you can nearly cut the magic in the air with a knife. And yet something draws you in deeper, some invisible force that seems to tug you to the heart of the island, stirring your blood until it roars in your ears -
- and then abruptly falls silent. The world is your's to explore.
The island is officially open for your characters to explore! You can post as many threads as you'd like in the new board, Bridge to Nowhere. Threads taking place on the island also have an increased chance of encountering a Random Event. If you have any questions message @sid or @nestle for info!
One more note... In a few days a mini IC event will be posted! We'll be bringing back a familiar item that disappeared from the game a while back, which will give your character an opportunity to go on a daring, possibly dangerous adventure. Keep your eyes peeled!
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). This event will last for several days IC time.
If you reply to this thread, it gives you +1 post in an SWP.
All replies after June 14th, 2019 will not be considered for a RE roll.
Possible rolls and their rewards are as follows.
1 : 40 signos
2: 80 signos
3: 100 signos
4: 140 signos
5: 180 signos
6: 120 signos
Who was the first to cross the island? No one seems to know, for many had given up waiting and gone home by the time the ivy began to wilt. But when you brave the bridge once more, crossing over scattered pearls and dried up leaves, the way before you clear at last, it doesn't matter. Nothing could have prepared you for the land you cross into.
It's as if the island is separate from Novus, not only by distance but also in some ethereal, otherworldly manner. Even things that ought to be familiar are not; the white beach is glistening like a jewel, the waves carry an exaggerated vibrancy, on and on. The animals are foreign to you, the plants seem just as likely to bear fruit as poison, and you can nearly cut the magic in the air with a knife. And yet something draws you in deeper, some invisible force that seems to tug you to the heart of the island, stirring your blood until it roars in your ears -
- and then abruptly falls silent. The world is your's to explore.
The island is officially open for your characters to explore! You can post as many threads as you'd like in the new board, Bridge to Nowhere. Threads taking place on the island also have an increased chance of encountering a Random Event. If you have any questions message @sid or @nestle for info!
One more note... In a few days a mini IC event will be posted! We'll be bringing back a familiar item that disappeared from the game a while back, which will give your character an opportunity to go on a daring, possibly dangerous adventure. Keep your eyes peeled!
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). This event will last for several days IC time.
If you reply to this thread, it gives you +1 post in an SWP.
All replies after June 14th, 2019 will not be considered for a RE roll.
Possible rolls and their rewards are as follows.
1 : 40 signos
2: 80 signos
3: 100 signos
4: 140 signos
5: 180 signos
6: 120 signos
RE: ACT III: how reality collapses - Corrdelia - 06-02-2019
STAFF EDIT***
@corrdelia has rolled a 5! She has been awarded +180 signos.
RE: ACT III: how reality collapses - Illu - 06-06-2019
Time was certainly a fickle thing, not at all flexible or forgiving in its infinite march toward the End. It only seemed like yesterday that I had come to this world, Novus, upon the back of an animal so large it was surely unreal. Just a dream. Except that it was not and I could still see the morning dew upon the serrated grape leaves in my minds eye, the rolling valleys that gave way to the Family compound where I was born and raised. The scent of wine tickled my nose as I walked across the sand, the same sand that once witnessed my introduction and abrupt abandonment. Months had come and gone since that moment and time was proving that not all was entirely lost, though more often than not it felt that way. Despite the warm welcome by Isra and Fable, their desperate attempts to make me as at home as possible, I yearned still for the long grass of Vaalclary and even the irritating cotton spores that made you itch in the Spring. Denocte was not horrible, but it was not home. Home.
This place was definitely not Home. In fact it was completely and utterly out of place. I could specifically recall that this strange bridge and it's multi-florous archway had not been there. The closer I drew the more I could see that I was not the first to discover this anomaly. The sand was hugely disturbed, it looked as if a million footprints had been branded into its white face, all turned toward the bridge. It looked very much as if a scuffle had been had with how scattered it all seemed. My skin puckered as I stopped just before touching the roam-grey crust that seemed to make up the entirety of the structure. No stone, no steel, no cement. Nothing to say that I would not fall through at the first attempt at crossing. My sense tingled, the atmosphere was not necessarily ominous, but rather uneasy. Small, round gems appeared to have been dropped upon it's craggy surface. They shone like pearls though I could not say for sure, the art of Gemology had never appealed to me. There was so much going on while at the same time being eerily quiet. Only the occasional shriek of some wildlife broke the silence. On the other side was what looked like an Island. Naturally I was confused, looking back on the few teachings we had had on the formation of islands and how they typically came to be. Access by a natural land-bridge was not normally something you found in those cases.
With great tentativeness I took a step forward. Then another, and another, until all at once I had crossed unharmed over the bridge and into what could only be described as a bizarre utopia. A feeling of dread coiled in the pit of my stomach, churning uncomfortably as I gave the spread a long, distrusting once-over. Everything in my body tensed and I was hyper-aware of my heart drumming in my ears. This place was... wrong. Despite this, with a flick of my tail, a twitch of stiff ears, I took the first few steps into a plane of chaos I could not begin to understand.
ooc; Surprise, I made it.
This place was definitely not Home. In fact it was completely and utterly out of place. I could specifically recall that this strange bridge and it's multi-florous archway had not been there. The closer I drew the more I could see that I was not the first to discover this anomaly. The sand was hugely disturbed, it looked as if a million footprints had been branded into its white face, all turned toward the bridge. It looked very much as if a scuffle had been had with how scattered it all seemed. My skin puckered as I stopped just before touching the roam-grey crust that seemed to make up the entirety of the structure. No stone, no steel, no cement. Nothing to say that I would not fall through at the first attempt at crossing. My sense tingled, the atmosphere was not necessarily ominous, but rather uneasy. Small, round gems appeared to have been dropped upon it's craggy surface. They shone like pearls though I could not say for sure, the art of Gemology had never appealed to me. There was so much going on while at the same time being eerily quiet. Only the occasional shriek of some wildlife broke the silence. On the other side was what looked like an Island. Naturally I was confused, looking back on the few teachings we had had on the formation of islands and how they typically came to be. Access by a natural land-bridge was not normally something you found in those cases.
With great tentativeness I took a step forward. Then another, and another, until all at once I had crossed unharmed over the bridge and into what could only be described as a bizarre utopia. A feeling of dread coiled in the pit of my stomach, churning uncomfortably as I gave the spread a long, distrusting once-over. Everything in my body tensed and I was hyper-aware of my heart drumming in my ears. This place was... wrong. Despite this, with a flick of my tail, a twitch of stiff ears, I took the first few steps into a plane of chaos I could not begin to understand.
ooc; Surprise, I made it.
STAFF EDIT***
@Illuhas rolled a 5! She has been awarded +180 signos.
RE: ACT III: how reality collapses - Maerys - 06-06-2019
she was powerful not because she wasn't scared,
but because she went on strongly despite her fear.
but because she went on strongly despite her fear.
The wall of ivy had proved impenetrable for days, steadfast and unwithering. Maerys had actually wandered back to the mainland for a bit, unwilling to starve watching the ivy. When she had made her way back, however, things felt different.
Maerys could feel the steady throb of her heartbeat being replaced by those of the berries. She felt them pound in her chest, ears, mind- she couldn't think, couldn't focus. Her eyes simple watched the swell and shrink of the little fruited vines with grand curiosity. The great pounding, such a steady pressure; the beat of drums. Tha-dump, tha-dump, tha-dump...
And then it went silent.
The silence was thick and though the throb of the berries had ceased, she swore she could still hear it ring in her ears. Some began to walk away, uninterested in the ivy or perhaps very tired of being so highly curious for such a great span of time, but Maerys stayed.
As night came and went, the ivy began wilting away. The wall began to thin with each passing vine. The berries bled pearls and the air was steaming with leaves and petals that Maerys swore had not been present before.
And then it was revealed- the land beyond the ivy. Beaches so pristine they resembled newly fallen snow. Birds of fire and smoke owned the skies and treetops. The waves were more vibrant than any she had seen before. There was commotion in the air, a lively mix of conversation, gasps, awe, shock, and music? Maerys truly did feel overwhelmed, but she remained with the throng of horses that pushed forwards and onto the island, her curiosity ever persistent.
Maerys could feel the steady throb of her heartbeat being replaced by those of the berries. She felt them pound in her chest, ears, mind- she couldn't think, couldn't focus. Her eyes simple watched the swell and shrink of the little fruited vines with grand curiosity. The great pounding, such a steady pressure; the beat of drums. Tha-dump, tha-dump, tha-dump...
And then it went silent.
The silence was thick and though the throb of the berries had ceased, she swore she could still hear it ring in her ears. Some began to walk away, uninterested in the ivy or perhaps very tired of being so highly curious for such a great span of time, but Maerys stayed.
As night came and went, the ivy began wilting away. The wall began to thin with each passing vine. The berries bled pearls and the air was steaming with leaves and petals that Maerys swore had not been present before.
And then it was revealed- the land beyond the ivy. Beaches so pristine they resembled newly fallen snow. Birds of fire and smoke owned the skies and treetops. The waves were more vibrant than any she had seen before. There was commotion in the air, a lively mix of conversation, gasps, awe, shock, and music? Maerys truly did feel overwhelmed, but she remained with the throng of horses that pushed forwards and onto the island, her curiosity ever persistent.
M A E R Y S
<'3
STAFF EDIT***
@Maerys has rolled a 2! She has been awarded +80 signos.
RE: ACT III: how reality collapses - Elif - 06-07-2019
little pilgrim
the Indian's axed your scalp.
the Indian's axed your scalp.
It had felt almost traitorous, her relief when Caine - when anyone known, she told herself - had landed behind her. Wasn’t she brave enough, wasn’t she old enough, to be able to manage alone? But a wiser part of her said that it was alright, to find comfort where you could, when the world might be ending.
So she had summoned up a smile, when he spoke, and tried her best not to look afraid - no matter that it always ended with her looking arrogant, instead.
It was hard to keep track of how much time had passed (time seemed thinner, here, like moonbeams through your hands, or maybe thicker, like tar) especially with the awful heartbeat of those berries. But the sudden silence woke her up, shivering in the night, stamping and shifting and nervous with the other horses gathered at the end of that long black bridge. Elif was far enough back, then, that the ivy on the wall was indistinct; when the pearls began to fall it only sounded like soft, strange rain. When the breeze shifted, dried leaves and scattered petals and seed-pearls swept along the bridge and into the water, and Elif tried to guess what it meant.
She did not have to wait too long.
First there came a wind - a strong gust that scuttled the remaining leaves across the bridge with the sound of rattling bones, that scuffed up the surface of the wave and ruffled her feathers and tore at her short hair. Behind it was a breeze that smelled of strange things - sand, but not the kind she knew, and deep-green trees, and the tang of magic.
When she leapt to the air, she found (with relief) that it was not too thick to fly in, that nothing kept her back. The wall was gone; the island laid before her, blue sky, blue water, swaying quiet trees, and something in the middle that seemed to glow and pulse like a heart. Even from above she could hear the birds calling out to one another in no tongue she recognized.
Elif did not yet descend. She hung in the air, uncertain, not wanting to be alone.
STAFF EDIT***
@elif has rolled a 1! She has been awarded +40 signos.
RE: ACT III: how reality collapses - Ipomoea - 06-08-2019
I P O M O E A
He kept an eye on the island, even when he left the beach and retreated back to Denocte. Even when he went about his business and tried to forget about the bridge and its strange wall of ivy, still it returned to him in his dreams.
He could see the ivy so clearly each time he closed his eyes, with their bright lobed leaves and the dark veins running through them, a cluster of green so thick he could fall into it as a bed. Through it all the berries kept thrumming, glowing brightly in his eyes as they hijacked his heart so that it beat to their tune, a song set by magic. His dreams were feverish, and many times he woke in a cold sweat to moonlight streaming through his window, and when he arose and went to it the waves from the nearby beach sent water and salt spray washing over him like a baptism. On these nights his mind felt chaotic, delirious and burning and spinning, always spinning, his thoughts turning so quickly he could hardly process them.
One of those nights he thought about flinging himself out his window. It would be so much faster to the beach that way - he imagined the waves would rise up to catch him, that some great beast of the sea would cradle him in its arms and carry him past the wall of ivy to the island hiding out there in the dark.
But he always came to his senses before he could; he always awoke before his dream-self reached the beach. It fueled the curiosity within him, until the desire to know what was hidden by the ivy became nearly insatiable, and he needed to see it the way he needed to breathe.
And so when the berries hummed louder, and louder, and louder still, he came to them. When they split open he caught the pearls that came forth in his telekinesis, and breathed in deep the smell of the wilting flowers when their petals spun past his nose. He waited that day, as the leaves withered and fell away and slowly, slowly revealed the pathway.
It was night when he finally crossed, walking upon a bed of leaves and petals and pearls.
He held his breath when he first stepped upon the beach, watching the way the waves glowed beneath the moonlight, listening to the strange bird calls coming from within the forest, feeling the cool breeze that seemed to come from within the heart of the island.
For a moment he could only stand there and wait and soak in the magic like a sponge soaks in water.
But then slowly, carefully, so as not to miss a single thing, Ipomoea began to explore.
He could see the ivy so clearly each time he closed his eyes, with their bright lobed leaves and the dark veins running through them, a cluster of green so thick he could fall into it as a bed. Through it all the berries kept thrumming, glowing brightly in his eyes as they hijacked his heart so that it beat to their tune, a song set by magic. His dreams were feverish, and many times he woke in a cold sweat to moonlight streaming through his window, and when he arose and went to it the waves from the nearby beach sent water and salt spray washing over him like a baptism. On these nights his mind felt chaotic, delirious and burning and spinning, always spinning, his thoughts turning so quickly he could hardly process them.
One of those nights he thought about flinging himself out his window. It would be so much faster to the beach that way - he imagined the waves would rise up to catch him, that some great beast of the sea would cradle him in its arms and carry him past the wall of ivy to the island hiding out there in the dark.
But he always came to his senses before he could; he always awoke before his dream-self reached the beach. It fueled the curiosity within him, until the desire to know what was hidden by the ivy became nearly insatiable, and he needed to see it the way he needed to breathe.
And so when the berries hummed louder, and louder, and louder still, he came to them. When they split open he caught the pearls that came forth in his telekinesis, and breathed in deep the smell of the wilting flowers when their petals spun past his nose. He waited that day, as the leaves withered and fell away and slowly, slowly revealed the pathway.
It was night when he finally crossed, walking upon a bed of leaves and petals and pearls.
He held his breath when he first stepped upon the beach, watching the way the waves glowed beneath the moonlight, listening to the strange bird calls coming from within the forest, feeling the cool breeze that seemed to come from within the heart of the island.
For a moment he could only stand there and wait and soak in the magic like a sponge soaks in water.
But then slowly, carefully, so as not to miss a single thing, Ipomoea began to explore.
@Ipomoea xx
”here am i!“
”here am i!“
STAFF EDIT***
@ipomoea has rolled a 3! He has been awarded +100 signos.
RE: ACT III: how reality collapses - Below Zero - 06-08-2019
Below Zero
my frost philosophy will put no curse on me
The wall of ivy seemed to set Bel's nerves a lit; just not as much so as this horrid design of the bridge, the aquatic life lost and trapped into an existence of rock and decor. The waters were odd even, no calming song that she was familiar, the soft crashing of the waves, or the subtle whistle of the wind over rocky outcrops. It was twisted, dangerous, unfamiliar. The berries of the vines seemed to thump, growing louder in her head (or perhaps it was merely the lack of additional sound to draw away from the noise), either way the pounding seemed to be speeding up the rhythm of her own heart, her skin seeming to itch and tinge like thousands of jellyfish stings to her nerves. It felt wrong, this entire place felt wrong . . . .
Then the ivy seemed to shift, folding in. The berries popped, pearls dropping and Bel's hooves danced in irritation. More treasures of the sea stolen by a wayward darkness?! Ripped from the tongues of creatures that created them. So wrong this bridge may be . . . but it was nothing compared to the sight beyond it. Ivory sands, odd creatures, bountiful fruit trees. It seemed so perfect. Dual sets of cyan eyes narrowed in tandem, both focused fully (an odd sight for those that knew the mare tended to use the eyes separately to give herself a fuller range of vision) on the island. It was too perfect.
Others began to move forward, and after a moment's hesitation, so did Bel. Only for a crunch below her hoof to startle her up. Her gaze sank down, horrified at the now crushed mollusk. Her nose brushed against the shell, and only the sight of it being empty did she feel a little more relieved, at least she hadn't (herself) destroyed anything more of the sealife like this bridge . . . this island? . . . . had. She gently swept the shell aside with a hoof, only momentarily pondering on if it would have been a treat safe to eat with the current strange-ness in the air.
She let herself ponder it no more as she ventured further, onto the sand, where her cautious walking shifted into a more natural gait on the familiar substrate. Her delicate steps seemed to gain more grace and movement, more akin to the natural grace she held in the water. Finally a type of ground she was familiar with walking on and could do so with out making a fool of herself. It didn't give the island any brownie points, however. She was to certain it was a dangerous place to be fooled by such pleasures. This island reminded her of a shark watching a school of fish trying to decide if it was hungry or not . . . and Bel really didn't want to be eaten when it decided it was.
Thoughts
Speech
@Random Events
Notes: Using the Mollusk Shell she got from the previous thread in this one :)
Then the ivy seemed to shift, folding in. The berries popped, pearls dropping and Bel's hooves danced in irritation. More treasures of the sea stolen by a wayward darkness?! Ripped from the tongues of creatures that created them. So wrong this bridge may be . . . but it was nothing compared to the sight beyond it. Ivory sands, odd creatures, bountiful fruit trees. It seemed so perfect. Dual sets of cyan eyes narrowed in tandem, both focused fully (an odd sight for those that knew the mare tended to use the eyes separately to give herself a fuller range of vision) on the island. It was too perfect.
Others began to move forward, and after a moment's hesitation, so did Bel. Only for a crunch below her hoof to startle her up. Her gaze sank down, horrified at the now crushed mollusk. Her nose brushed against the shell, and only the sight of it being empty did she feel a little more relieved, at least she hadn't (herself) destroyed anything more of the sealife like this bridge . . . this island? . . . . had. She gently swept the shell aside with a hoof, only momentarily pondering on if it would have been a treat safe to eat with the current strange-ness in the air.
She let herself ponder it no more as she ventured further, onto the sand, where her cautious walking shifted into a more natural gait on the familiar substrate. Her delicate steps seemed to gain more grace and movement, more akin to the natural grace she held in the water. Finally a type of ground she was familiar with walking on and could do so with out making a fool of herself. It didn't give the island any brownie points, however. She was to certain it was a dangerous place to be fooled by such pleasures. This island reminded her of a shark watching a school of fish trying to decide if it was hungry or not . . . and Bel really didn't want to be eaten when it decided it was.
Thoughts
Speech
@Random Events
Notes: Using the Mollusk Shell she got from the previous thread in this one :)
i feel no cold, i feel no fear inside my mind
Now I'm full of energy
STAFF EDIT***
@Below Zero has rolled a 2! She has been awarded +80 signos.
STAFF EDIT***
@Below Zero has crushed her mollusk shell, and therefore granted a second roll! She has a 1! She has been awarded an additional +40 signos.
RE: ACT III: how reality collapses - Theodosia - 06-11-2019
let our eyes show the
fire in our hearts tonight
fire in our hearts tonight
She makes the journey a second time, on wings that are beginning to ache from exhaustion, and with a mind that stays centered on the mystery in Terrastella -- but perhaps this island held the answers that she sought, and the missing friend she was beginning to fear for even more as the days continued to pass.
The bridge seems to pass quickly, this time, and she almost misses where the ivy had once stood, except for the petals and the pearls scattered across the ground. She does not stop to investigate -- no, her flight is a rush, meant to only be a quick check of the island, to ensure that Erd is not hiding somewhere within.
gotta get that exp
STAFF EDIT***
@Theodosiahas rolled a 6! She has been awarded +200 signos.
RE: ACT III: how reality collapses - August - 06-11-2019
The hardest thing is getting the noise of it out of his head.
That awful heartbeat, the continuous drumming, like leaning his cheek against the chest of a beast. August thinks that it is a little unfair, that this should be the part that sticks with him - why not the musical sound of pearls falling from withered berries, or the dry rustle of ivy-leaves before they blew away, or the first sight of that strangely vivid shore?
Like Minya, he hides how he feels, how uneasy it makes him. They are practiced at this; they have been since the beginning. Before the Scarab - or, perhaps more fairly, before the death of his mother and before he learned the scent of blood in baking heat - there was nothing duplicitous in August. Now everything feels like a game where the winner has the truth and nobody mentions the stakes.
He smiles at her, the way she turns his question on him like it might be a knife. “Maybe I am,” he says, and laughs. “The thought of death doesn’t panic me any more than it does you, Minya.” After all, they had both seen it before. After all, they both would again.
If he is surprised when she brushes past him, when she continues on with her head high as though this were no bridge born of black glass and stranger things but a catwalk lined with would-be lovers, August doesn’t show it. He just follows, her words rolling as gently through his mind as the waves lap at the bridge.
When they reach the end, the tension of the crowd presses down like a golden hand, heavy on his back. The heartbeat sounds in his ears like his own, and when he closes he forgets the smell of sea-salt and whatever lies beyond the wall; instead it is his own heart in his ears, the same ragged racing feeling as when he was a boy with bright eyes watching a slaughter. Horses falling neatly as trees, sharp cries punctuating the air like the whistling of an axe. August tries to keep his eyes open, and looks at all the horses around him, and guesses at their secrets, and lets the time pass.
At last, the wall collapses. At last, paradise is revealed.
He finds Minya again, then - she is so hard to lose, with her bright antlers and her dark skin and the way her trinkets are never silent. Like a cat with a bell, he thinks, and twice as likely to strike - but as he sidles alongside her it is he who looks feline, languid, easy. Another little lie.
In truth, he is relieved. In truth, he is terribly eager to explore that strange expanse before him, where even now a breeze stirs and birds call and light changes like water.
“Well?” he says to her, and his grin glints like a mouthful of pearls between his teeth, and the only dreadful heartbeat is his own.
@Minya
That awful heartbeat, the continuous drumming, like leaning his cheek against the chest of a beast. August thinks that it is a little unfair, that this should be the part that sticks with him - why not the musical sound of pearls falling from withered berries, or the dry rustle of ivy-leaves before they blew away, or the first sight of that strangely vivid shore?
Like Minya, he hides how he feels, how uneasy it makes him. They are practiced at this; they have been since the beginning. Before the Scarab - or, perhaps more fairly, before the death of his mother and before he learned the scent of blood in baking heat - there was nothing duplicitous in August. Now everything feels like a game where the winner has the truth and nobody mentions the stakes.
He smiles at her, the way she turns his question on him like it might be a knife. “Maybe I am,” he says, and laughs. “The thought of death doesn’t panic me any more than it does you, Minya.” After all, they had both seen it before. After all, they both would again.
If he is surprised when she brushes past him, when she continues on with her head high as though this were no bridge born of black glass and stranger things but a catwalk lined with would-be lovers, August doesn’t show it. He just follows, her words rolling as gently through his mind as the waves lap at the bridge.
When they reach the end, the tension of the crowd presses down like a golden hand, heavy on his back. The heartbeat sounds in his ears like his own, and when he closes he forgets the smell of sea-salt and whatever lies beyond the wall; instead it is his own heart in his ears, the same ragged racing feeling as when he was a boy with bright eyes watching a slaughter. Horses falling neatly as trees, sharp cries punctuating the air like the whistling of an axe. August tries to keep his eyes open, and looks at all the horses around him, and guesses at their secrets, and lets the time pass.
At last, the wall collapses. At last, paradise is revealed.
He finds Minya again, then - she is so hard to lose, with her bright antlers and her dark skin and the way her trinkets are never silent. Like a cat with a bell, he thinks, and twice as likely to strike - but as he sidles alongside her it is he who looks feline, languid, easy. Another little lie.
In truth, he is relieved. In truth, he is terribly eager to explore that strange expanse before him, where even now a breeze stirs and birds call and light changes like water.
“Well?” he says to her, and his grin glints like a mouthful of pearls between his teeth, and the only dreadful heartbeat is his own.
@
August - -
this above all: to thine own self be true
STAFF EDIT***
@august has rolled a 2! He has been awarded +80 signos.
RE: ACT III: how reality collapses - Pravda - 06-11-2019
PRAVDA
Pravda had read many histories. And that was what they had been called. Histories, kept immaculately in the library of his homeland. Some even detailed the end of a World, which always varied, and was never the same. Certainly, there were similarities: the coming of gods, meteors, lack of water, failing crops, disease, invaders. Many, many similarities. His mind was jumbled with the sheer number of them as he pondered the ending of this World, and whether he was so unlucky to partake on his second journey in a doomed land.
He came after the beating heart. He came after the silence.
He came when the novelty had worn away, and many were certain the end had not yet arrived.
And when Pravda journeyed across the cracked lava bridge, decorated with pearls and moonstones and iridescent oyster shell. He walked with his head held high, Marwari ears twisted into a perpetual curl. Even there, there was a sense of sophistication about him, in the immaculate braids of his mane and tail, in the vibrancy of his heterochromic eyes. By the time he reached the sands, he had reached a sort of internal peace at whatever curiosities he would find.
Pravda did not expect to reminded so profoundly of home. It was the pristine nature of the sand, he supposed, and the very delicate way it shifted beneath his weight as he trekked further up the beach. Perhaps it was the vibrancy of the birds, or the imploring stillness of the island itself, as though it had simply absorbed the beating hearts of the berries.
He lifted his head against the breezeless air, and decided to explore, to find the heart. Pravda wandered inland, toward the crystalline pool. The water shone, pure azure, and he caught his reflection trembling at its surface. He did not drink the water and instead turned away, catching more glimpses of brightly coloured birds—one like blood, another lustrous gold, and a third that landed near him with all the iridescence of nacre. It did not tweet or chirp, but screamed at him, a blood-curdling sound that Pravda flicked an ear at.
Interesting—further, further still, he went. And a metallic wildcat flashed between the boisterous emerald of the leaves, eyes like amethyst or… or something deeper, nebulous, and Pravda was lost momentarily. But the wildcat was gone, long moments before, and the trilling melody of the birds continued overhead. It was almost overwhelming… almost.
But he had once read a story about a Priest reborn in a world where glaciers were made of diamond and everyone lived in floating crystal ships… That was surely more fantastical than this. But as he stared at the bright colours and the pristine sand, he could not help but feel an inclination of distrust, of uncertainty.
After all, the most brightly coloured of snaked were the most dangerous. With that in mind, Pravda continued cautiously past the pool. But he did not have the self discipline to ignore the longing within his own heart. He was not so rude as to refuse the island's imploring call...
@Pravda "speaks"
STAFF EDIT***
@pravda has rolled a 5! She has been awarded +180 signos.