[AW] [Relic Contest] KANSAS

[Oz]

A GOD, SOMEWHERE IN THE SKY, TELLS HIM TO HUNT, AND HE GOES, BEGRUDGINGLY, BONES BENDING TO A TIME TITAN'S GAIT.

HE DECIDES, HE WANTS TO GO DREAM
IN PLACES NOT OF HIS OWN . . .

LIKE IN A DREAM, THE GREAT, RED-STRIPED PRAIRIE BENDS HEAVY WITH LARKSPUR AND HIDDEN HINTS OF FAIRY-THINGS, MEADOW GRASS RICH, MADE PREGNANT AND SILVERED BY THE SEASON'S WHITE DRIZZLE, AND FULL-FRESHET RAINS.

A SPRING GREEN, HORRIFIC, WOUND-GOUGED AND BURNED, NAKED MAN WALKS ALONE IN THE WHITE VALLEY, SUN STREAKING ACROSS HIS BACK, WITH BLOOD MUD-THICK AND A DISTRACTED HEAD CRUSHED BRIGHT, AND SHINING IN CORDED SCARS.

WITHOUT REALIZING IT, SOME NOW-GREYED, ONCE-TAUGHT LULLABY PUSHES FROM HIM, CALLING OUT THE HIDDEN-GRASS-THINGS AND COAXING BIRDS ONTO HIS BEATEN, EARTH-SWALLOWED PATH. FROM THEIR LACKA-DAISICAL ATTITUDE (RUNNING ABOUT HIS SLOWLY PLODDING FEET!), HE WAS MORE SENTINEL THAN MAN, THE HEAVING, BOULDER

HULL OF A 
MOUNTAIN CRAG,

(INSTEAD OF ANYTHING MUCH ALIVE,)

BARELY A SOUND IN HIM TO OVERTAKE THE CHIRPING AT HIS NECK: A STRING OF BIRDS LIT ON HIS SHOULDERS, PEEPING THEIR PONDERINGS TO EARS CURRENTLY DEAF TO MUCH OUTSIDE OF HIM.

FROM FAR AWAY, IT COULD HAVE BEEN ANY RATCHETY SOUL WANDERING LOST IN QUAINT EDEN, OR THE PIOUS FIRST OF WAR PHANTOMS RETURNING HOME.

HE WOULD BE IMMENSELY ANNOYED AND WELCOMING OF SOMEONE YOUNG AND SPRITELY CHIRPING AT HIM ABOUT THE BRAVE NEW WORLD, AND ALL ITS EXPECTED RELIC-RELATED SPOILS; HE WOULD BE PLEASANT COMPANY FOR ANY OTHER VERSED IN MILITARY TROUBLES, OR WEIGHED EQUIVALENTLY; HE WOULDN'T SAY NO TO A PRETTY FACE INQUIRING, AND OPEN TO INQUIRY.

LEFT IT QUITE OPEN. FOR ANY POSTERS, NICE TO MEET YOU, AND HAPPY HUNTING. ✌

[Seraphina]

Delumine was soft.

Whenever she passed through the lands of Dawn, she felt as though she was shedding the harshness of Solterra like a second skin - awkward and strange even when she wasn’t trespassing in search of a relic, like worn sandpaper in a sea of lush velvet. Life crept through every nook and cranny of these lands, undeterred by cruel weather and heat, and allowed to them grow and flourish and become beautiful. It felt new and ancient all at once, like a fragile creature existing just outside of a merciless world – but, then, Dawn was the first part of each day and peaceful, frail, and ephemeral as the bloodred poppies crushed beneath her hooves with each cautious step that propelled her further into foreign territory. Seraphina felt unpleasant here, as though she were more of a violation or an inkblot than in any other land she’d trespassed in. The Illuster was, after all, the pride and joy of Delumine, and each pace further into dew-ridden flowers, scent hanging sticky-sweet in the air around her, reminded her that she did not belong.

The creature that she spotted just a ways in front of her, however, felt far more foreign to this delicate landscape than she; he seemed to be stitched from two different creatures, a riddled mesh of comforting brown, nauseating green, and discolored bruise. This was a man dressed in the trappings of war, she decided, perhaps more scar than flesh and constantly oozing. A more delicate individual might have been horrified, but Seraphina was far from delicate – if she felt anything at the sight of him, it was firm and distinct admiration that he remained standing. She was a warrior, and she was far from unaccustomed to the sight of men such as him. (They did not often get up.)

She eyed him cautiously, surmising that any creature that had retained those wounds was more likely a danger than not. She also assumed that most creatures that were serious threats would not be wandering around with a full line of songbirds clinging to their frame. How had they gotten on him in the first place? Why did they remain? It was an odd contrast, seeing such small, fragile creatures perched on the shoulders of someone so far detached from their own delicacy. Seraphina supposed that she was obligated to offer some sort of greeting, and she was, admittedly, a bit curious about this stranger besides. (As she was most aged warriors; she could only assume that he was one, anyways.) “Hello?” She offered reluctantly, voice raised above the melody of birdsong that was evident even from her distance away.

@Oz - your posts are ridiculously fun to read <3

[Oz]

STAGE:

BIRDS: THEY PEEP OUT THEIR GOSSIP AND LEAVE THE FRAYED HEM OF HIM.

SHE: DAMSEL (NO NEED OF SAVING) WANTING COMPANY.

HE SAYS TO HER IN THE TURN OF AN ELASTIC NECK (WEIGHED DOWN BY BURNAGE, MALE ARCHITECTURE AND A RAVAGED ANATOMY, BREAKING AS DO RUBBER BANDS, AS IT SNAPS, INTO PIECES, BACK INTO THE SKELETAL CLOTHESLINE OF HIM; TRANSMUTED AND TRANSMOGRIFIED-- SO IT NEVER ENDS--) AN ACKNOWLEDGMENT. THEIR VOICES ARE SO DIFFERENT:

HERS LEAKS SILVER WITHOUT A WISP OF ROAN.

HIS BURSTS OPIUM OOZAGE STREAKED STILL IN THE BLOOD OF ITS POD; LOW, BURNT RED, AND CRAWLING.

I open my Mouth and look still through the Eyes of Oblivion.

The Lace on her is so fresh and vivid, young, it blinds me.

"Hello,"

I say,

wondering how long

before she runs.

THE RESPONSE RINGS IN THE AIR WITHOUT SHOUTING.

IN TONE, IT WAS THE METAPHORICAL OFFERING OF A SCAR-WRETCHED AND FLEETING, BLACK HAND, THE WRIST TURNING ELEGANT FOR ALL ITS DUST AND MUNDANITY, UPTURNING AS TO TAKE HER OWN SOFT AND PINK-GREY PALM.

SHE WAS RIGHT-- HE WOULDN'T HURT HER.

AIN'T THAT SWEET! SERAPHINA: WHAT A SWEETHEART!

@Seraphina

[Rostislav]

Rostislav I move north from the Dawn Court, leaving Weir behind me (though I am sure I will catch up with her sooner rather than later). I take a short nap in the midst of nowhere, passing out with a giant snore through the evening. So... maybe more of a coma than a nap. I wake up in the morning to the sound of birds chirping around me. With a groan I shake the sleep off and rise to my feet. I rub my eyes against my knees then slowly make my way farther north into a great, beautiful meadow. The sun is soft, the world beautiful, and I sure do feel like a hot ass mess in the middle of it all. I wander for awhile, not really thinking at all about anything. I could.. but why. Instead, much better to just not think. But such innocence and ignorance doesn't last forever, and that really shouldn't surprise me. Voices catch my attention, and I open my eyes (they had been closed?! huh..) to see a couple of horses in front of me. One looked familiar and I recognized her as Seraphina, from when I had visited the cliffs of Terrastella. With her is a stallion that is perhaps more peculiar looking than myself. In fact, WAY stranger than I am. He looks like someone got bored and slapped different earth parts together and said YOU MUST STICK. Or something like that. Upon him are a bunch of birds, and I wonder if somehow they're possessed because why on earth would sitting on him be comfortable? A chuckling snort escapes my nostrils, followed by a loud sneeze as the tickle proves too much. I raise my gaze again and smile, somewhat pretending that I didn't just do that. "Greetings, Comrades." I nod to both of them politely, more politely than I normally might. Walk. Talk. Top Shelf Sexy Badass

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[Seraphina]

Seraphina was not sure how she expected the stallion to react to her greeting; she had not even been sure if he would hear her voice, quiet as she was. He turned, a movement that struck her as practiced and graceful in spite of how painful he looked, so riddled with oozing blisters and scars. She felt a squirming ache simply looking in his direction, like ants crawling just beneath the surface of her skin. His wounds were not the worst she’d ever seen, even in her short – but wartorn – lifespan, but Seraphina had never seen anyone in his state of permanence. Those wounds did not look like they healed. He turned – a movement that was, all things considered, bizarrely elegant – and offered a greeting that mirrored her own; there was no threat to this man. Perhaps – or likely – there had been, once, but for the moment, any danger he might have posed with his warlike build and multitude of scars was extinguished.

Silence came creeping in to fill the space between them, and she shifted in a semblance of awkwardness. She was not a social creature, beyond pleasantries and obligations, and she was unaccustomed to being expected to carry the conversation; it should be simple, she told herself. Cough up her name and ask a question, and perhaps he’d start talking. “I…” She began, hint of uncertainty coloring her tone, “…am Seraphina, warrior of the Day Court. Are you…searching for the relic?” Encountering others was easy on patrol, or on the sands of Solterra. It was completely, horribly different when she found herself on foreign soil.

The sound of movement and a thickly-accented greeting drew the mare’s attention, and she glanced back over her shoulder to eye a familiar shape. Rostislav, the stallion she’d encountered while wandering Terrastella. She offered a stiff nod to him in greeting, acknowledging him with a simple, “Rostislav.” (Her tongue still wrapped awkwardly around his foreign name, drawl not quite accommodating the syllables.)

@Oz @Rostislav - this is super late, sorry, especially for an event thread ;-; I've had a time lately