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ozymandius - Seraphina - 11-08-2020
TELL THAT ITS SCULPTOR WELL THOSE PASSIONS READ
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things, / The hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed;☼
This place is ugly.
Seraphina eyes the veneer of well-polished cobblestone stretched out before her on the street, her lips pulled into a firm grimace. There is some part of her that is repulsed enough to wish she could turn back; there is another part of her that tells herself that the bone which composes each mottled, off-white cobblestone is no different than the spinal column that made up the bridge to the city, but that does very little to console the discomfort stirring in her stomach as she makes her way through the abandoned city, ears pinned flat against her skull. Her white hair falls behind her, so long now that it nearly drags the ground, and, though she is unarmored, Alshamtueur clinks rhythmically at her hip with each step she takes deeper and deeper into the labyrinthian mass of the city, towards the heart of the place.
It is the only sound, now, and somehow that is worse than the weeping walls and strange, slithering, unseen things that she heard in the shops at the outskirts of the city. No city should be so silent, dead or alive. It feels unpleasantly still, and the silence seems to be less of a kind that comes from serenity or loneliness than it does the silence before a great predator strikes and sinks its teeth into you. Seraphina is not afraid of it, exactly. She spends her days among the Mors, which are as merciless and bestial as any magical labyrinth, and she has seen far worse than this; it simply leaves her with a lingering sense of unease, one that reminds her distinctly as her time as a soldier.
At the very least Ereshkigal has made herself useful. She swoops between buildings and down alleyways, a second set of eyes in the looming expanse of the labyrinth; but she has grown strangely silent as they descended into the bony maze, but for the occasional deranged laugh. There is something that she knows about this place, but Seraphina knows better than to ask her about it. She won’t answer – she’ll simply mock her for the question.
She knows that she should go home.
She has two children to care for, and she is no longer a queen – she no longer has any obligation to go searching for monsters unless they find her themselves. Still, since she saw the horrible, half-miraculous rise of this place, she has felt some strange obligation to keep an eye on it.
It feels, sometimes, like it is growing. She doesn’t want to think of what that means; and it is the closest that any of them had been to the gods in years, and, gods know, she deserves some kind of an answer from Solis for what he did to her.
She gives a shake of her silvered head, and, eyes narrowed, she turns a corner that bleeds into another street; and she finds herself standing at the road which leads to the great castle in the heart of this place. (The walls of it seem to pulsate and crawl when she looks at them directly, but she is sure that it is not moving.) Grinding her teeth, she moves forward down the road, which seems to her to grow shorter and longer at complete random; she does not know how long it takes her to reach the entry to the courtyard, but it feels both too short and too long at once. She does not allow herself to think too much of it. She knows that is what this sort of magic wants her to do, and she knows that understanding it isn’t what matters.
There is a gate in front of her – immensely tall and ornate, and made of metal or something horribly metallic. If she wants to reach the castle, she knows that she must go through them; but there is a lock in their center. She narrows her eyes at them, considering, and finally rattles at them with her telekinesis, sure that she is strong enough to break them down if need be-
-but the gates let out a terrible, scream, the scream of a living voice, the scream of a child or an old woman or a dead man she barely recognizes.
She draws back a step, swallowing down a shudder. Between her ears, Ereshkigal howls with laughter.
The lock is dribbling a thick substance. She doesn’t want to think that it looks like blood, or smells like blood – but it does.
@Morrighan || !!! || "ozymandius," percy shelley
Sera || Eresh
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things, / The hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed;☼
This place is ugly.
Seraphina eyes the veneer of well-polished cobblestone stretched out before her on the street, her lips pulled into a firm grimace. There is some part of her that is repulsed enough to wish she could turn back; there is another part of her that tells herself that the bone which composes each mottled, off-white cobblestone is no different than the spinal column that made up the bridge to the city, but that does very little to console the discomfort stirring in her stomach as she makes her way through the abandoned city, ears pinned flat against her skull. Her white hair falls behind her, so long now that it nearly drags the ground, and, though she is unarmored, Alshamtueur clinks rhythmically at her hip with each step she takes deeper and deeper into the labyrinthian mass of the city, towards the heart of the place.
It is the only sound, now, and somehow that is worse than the weeping walls and strange, slithering, unseen things that she heard in the shops at the outskirts of the city. No city should be so silent, dead or alive. It feels unpleasantly still, and the silence seems to be less of a kind that comes from serenity or loneliness than it does the silence before a great predator strikes and sinks its teeth into you. Seraphina is not afraid of it, exactly. She spends her days among the Mors, which are as merciless and bestial as any magical labyrinth, and she has seen far worse than this; it simply leaves her with a lingering sense of unease, one that reminds her distinctly as her time as a soldier.
At the very least Ereshkigal has made herself useful. She swoops between buildings and down alleyways, a second set of eyes in the looming expanse of the labyrinth; but she has grown strangely silent as they descended into the bony maze, but for the occasional deranged laugh. There is something that she knows about this place, but Seraphina knows better than to ask her about it. She won’t answer – she’ll simply mock her for the question.
She knows that she should go home.
She has two children to care for, and she is no longer a queen – she no longer has any obligation to go searching for monsters unless they find her themselves. Still, since she saw the horrible, half-miraculous rise of this place, she has felt some strange obligation to keep an eye on it.
It feels, sometimes, like it is growing. She doesn’t want to think of what that means; and it is the closest that any of them had been to the gods in years, and, gods know, she deserves some kind of an answer from Solis for what he did to her.
She gives a shake of her silvered head, and, eyes narrowed, she turns a corner that bleeds into another street; and she finds herself standing at the road which leads to the great castle in the heart of this place. (The walls of it seem to pulsate and crawl when she looks at them directly, but she is sure that it is not moving.) Grinding her teeth, she moves forward down the road, which seems to her to grow shorter and longer at complete random; she does not know how long it takes her to reach the entry to the courtyard, but it feels both too short and too long at once. She does not allow herself to think too much of it. She knows that is what this sort of magic wants her to do, and she knows that understanding it isn’t what matters.
There is a gate in front of her – immensely tall and ornate, and made of metal or something horribly metallic. If she wants to reach the castle, she knows that she must go through them; but there is a lock in their center. She narrows her eyes at them, considering, and finally rattles at them with her telekinesis, sure that she is strong enough to break them down if need be-
-but the gates let out a terrible, scream, the scream of a living voice, the scream of a child or an old woman or a dead man she barely recognizes.
She draws back a step, swallowing down a shudder. Between her ears, Ereshkigal howls with laughter.
The lock is dribbling a thick substance. She doesn’t want to think that it looks like blood, or smells like blood – but it does.
@Morrighan || !!! || "ozymandius," percy shelley
Sera || Eresh
RE: ozymandius - Morrighan - 11-09-2020
Morrighan,
The longer Morrighan spends in this place, the more it feels like she herself is deteriorating. There have been a few spots that Bram has caught Maeve's scent, but still no actual sign of her daughter. So while she has hope that the girl is out there, it's only become more frustrating that they haven't actually found her. They've already spent one night in this place, so it'd be nice if they didn't have to spend several more.
She is resting behind some trees in the courtyard when she hears the screech of the gates open. Her body and mind are both exhausted, so she lets Bram be the one to check things out first. When his hackles start to raise, Morrighan gets up and joins him by his side, peering around the trunk of one of the trees. By the gate is another mare and in the sky above is some type of vulture following the woman. She's not sure if the vulture is a bonded or part of this island since it would only seem fitting.
The mare's expression at the gate is somewhat amusing, but Morrighan likely had a similar one when she had been the one to open it last. Of course by the island's strange magic, it locks all on its own but not without creeping you out first with all the crap dripping off it.
"Yeah this place sucks, doesn't it?" the Regent asks as she heads over to meet the woman. Bram follows, still feeling uneasy about this stranger. Thankfully, they are both feeling a little better after Azrael's help and the little rest they got overnight, but they each still have a slight limp to their gate.
"Unless you came here for the sights for some reason." Just like Azrael, she doesn't understand why anyone would want to come here after seeing how terrible its entrance is.
And while Morrighan watches this stranger, she can't help but feel like the mare and her companion look hauntingly familiar.
“Speaking.”
She is resting behind some trees in the courtyard when she hears the screech of the gates open. Her body and mind are both exhausted, so she lets Bram be the one to check things out first. When his hackles start to raise, Morrighan gets up and joins him by his side, peering around the trunk of one of the trees. By the gate is another mare and in the sky above is some type of vulture following the woman. She's not sure if the vulture is a bonded or part of this island since it would only seem fitting.
The mare's expression at the gate is somewhat amusing, but Morrighan likely had a similar one when she had been the one to open it last. Of course by the island's strange magic, it locks all on its own but not without creeping you out first with all the crap dripping off it.
"Yeah this place sucks, doesn't it?" the Regent asks as she heads over to meet the woman. Bram follows, still feeling uneasy about this stranger. Thankfully, they are both feeling a little better after Azrael's help and the little rest they got overnight, but they each still have a slight limp to their gate.
"Unless you came here for the sights for some reason." Just like Azrael, she doesn't understand why anyone would want to come here after seeing how terrible its entrance is.
And while Morrighan watches this stranger, she can't help but feel like the mare and her companion look hauntingly familiar.
i am the fire, i am burning brighter
@
RE: ozymandius - Seraphina - 11-16-2020
TELL THAT ITS SCULPTOR WELL THOSE PASSIONS READ
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things, / The hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed;☼
The wailing screech of the bloodied lock finally gives way, and instead she is left with the raucous laughter of Ereshkigal, nails-on-chalk, ringing out like a tempest in the back of her mind. She wishes that she could look away from the drip of that thick, blood-like liquid, but she can’t quite bring herself to draw her eyes away; and she has this knotting feeling in her stomach, the same one that she used to get as a child, those first few times she learned how to kill-
She reminds herself that she is not that child anymore, that it doesn’t matter; and that is when the other woman appears, the dark shape of a wolf at her heels. Seraphina swears that she might have seen her sometime before, a lifetime ago, but, if she knows her, she does not think that she knows her well enough to think about it – that would require dredging up memories that she would prefer to forget. She doesn’t bother with them now, leaves them where they lie, buries them. It’s probably for the best. She hopes that it’s for the best.
At her remark, she gives a stiff nod. “It certainly does,” Seraphina says, a firm grimace settling across her lips – and, when she suggests that she could be sightseeing, her response is almost immediate. “No.” She gives a shake of her head, considering – is what she’s doing all that different from sightseeing? It feels like something else, a seed of discomfort and worry ready to take bloom in her ribs at any moment. (She has learned better than to trust something given by the gods – or what she can only assume is the gods -, especially something dressed in a monster’s skin.) “…but I thought there might be trouble. I suppose there always is, on this island, but it seems to be getting more and more…wrong with each season.” She isn’t sure how to explain it. Were she still queen, it would be simple, but all that lingers in place of her crown is a familiar sense of obligation, and, and, and-
(If Solis were anywhere, he would be here, and, after what he had done to her, surely she should be allowed to see his face.)
She eyes the woman and her wolf cautiously, rolling words around in her mouth until she decides on a halfway-suitable question. “Why did you come here? I assume that you aren’t sightseeing.”
Why would anyone come here? She heard stories of the jewels, of course, of the treasures beneath the earth; but surely anyone in Novus knew of the island’s malevolent draw by now.
She supposes that danger, no matter how divine or monstrous, had never really discouraged anyone; for some, it was probably even a source of attraction.
@Morrighan || <3 || "ozymandius," percy shelley
Sera || Eresh
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things, / The hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed;☼
The wailing screech of the bloodied lock finally gives way, and instead she is left with the raucous laughter of Ereshkigal, nails-on-chalk, ringing out like a tempest in the back of her mind. She wishes that she could look away from the drip of that thick, blood-like liquid, but she can’t quite bring herself to draw her eyes away; and she has this knotting feeling in her stomach, the same one that she used to get as a child, those first few times she learned how to kill-
She reminds herself that she is not that child anymore, that it doesn’t matter; and that is when the other woman appears, the dark shape of a wolf at her heels. Seraphina swears that she might have seen her sometime before, a lifetime ago, but, if she knows her, she does not think that she knows her well enough to think about it – that would require dredging up memories that she would prefer to forget. She doesn’t bother with them now, leaves them where they lie, buries them. It’s probably for the best. She hopes that it’s for the best.
At her remark, she gives a stiff nod. “It certainly does,” Seraphina says, a firm grimace settling across her lips – and, when she suggests that she could be sightseeing, her response is almost immediate. “No.” She gives a shake of her head, considering – is what she’s doing all that different from sightseeing? It feels like something else, a seed of discomfort and worry ready to take bloom in her ribs at any moment. (She has learned better than to trust something given by the gods – or what she can only assume is the gods -, especially something dressed in a monster’s skin.) “…but I thought there might be trouble. I suppose there always is, on this island, but it seems to be getting more and more…wrong with each season.” She isn’t sure how to explain it. Were she still queen, it would be simple, but all that lingers in place of her crown is a familiar sense of obligation, and, and, and-
(If Solis were anywhere, he would be here, and, after what he had done to her, surely she should be allowed to see his face.)
She eyes the woman and her wolf cautiously, rolling words around in her mouth until she decides on a halfway-suitable question. “Why did you come here? I assume that you aren’t sightseeing.”
Why would anyone come here? She heard stories of the jewels, of course, of the treasures beneath the earth; but surely anyone in Novus knew of the island’s malevolent draw by now.
She supposes that danger, no matter how divine or monstrous, had never really discouraged anyone; for some, it was probably even a source of attraction.
@Morrighan || <3 || "ozymandius," percy shelley
Sera || Eresh
RE: ozymandius - Morrighan - 11-28-2020
Morrighan,
Everyone has a purpose for coming to the island, even if it's a stupid one. Morrighan finds herself a bit relieved that this woman didn't come here for sightseeing. There is too much death and dread to enjoy anything about this place. Of course, she should have realized that the moment things seemed to change on the way here. She had been too hopeful in thinking this would be worth it for Maeve. Now look at her.
"Indeed it does," she replies with a nod. What the gray woman says is true and it makes the Regent wonder if she's visited several times before. It seems like a lifetime ago that it had been the home to a relic that everyone sought after (her included), but it seemed the strange magic here had other plans. The relic either disappeared or ended up in the grasp of someone who disappeared (or is just simply very good at hiding). Ever since then, things have gotten stranger and stranger. There is a darkness looming over these lands as the magic seems to get stronger.
If she's sure of anything, it's that this is the last time she will ever come here.
And it's only fair for this mare to wonder why Morrighan might be here if she so clearly hates it so much. "I came with my daughter," she says with a sigh. "Thinking it had a different landscape and not realizing it changed… again. Now she's lost and I'm trying to find her." She clenches her teeth both in frustration and in the throbbing pain that seems to be returning from her stupid leg wound. Thankfully, Azrael had given her a lead in finding Maeve but now it was just finding her way there.
"You don't happen to know how to get to the castle, do you?" she asks this stranger for the hell of it. It always seems to make itself known in the distance, but Morr can't figure out the path to get there. There are too many twists and turns and bones in the way. She has half a mind to burn it all down to make a damn path. If Maeve wasn't scared of fire, she probably would've done it by now.
“Speaking.”
"Indeed it does," she replies with a nod. What the gray woman says is true and it makes the Regent wonder if she's visited several times before. It seems like a lifetime ago that it had been the home to a relic that everyone sought after (her included), but it seemed the strange magic here had other plans. The relic either disappeared or ended up in the grasp of someone who disappeared (or is just simply very good at hiding). Ever since then, things have gotten stranger and stranger. There is a darkness looming over these lands as the magic seems to get stronger.
If she's sure of anything, it's that this is the last time she will ever come here.
And it's only fair for this mare to wonder why Morrighan might be here if she so clearly hates it so much. "I came with my daughter," she says with a sigh. "Thinking it had a different landscape and not realizing it changed… again. Now she's lost and I'm trying to find her." She clenches her teeth both in frustration and in the throbbing pain that seems to be returning from her stupid leg wound. Thankfully, Azrael had given her a lead in finding Maeve but now it was just finding her way there.
"You don't happen to know how to get to the castle, do you?" she asks this stranger for the hell of it. It always seems to make itself known in the distance, but Morr can't figure out the path to get there. There are too many twists and turns and bones in the way. She has half a mind to burn it all down to make a damn path. If Maeve wasn't scared of fire, she probably would've done it by now.
i am the fire, i am burning brighter
@