For the first few days, the island appeared somewhat-normal.
It was a world saturated in color, with strange - yet harmless - creatures that roamed its shores, seemingly unafraid of the equines they encountered. It’s strange, that the island has not been burned to a crisp by the volcano’s eruption, or that ash does not still coat its white sand beaches. The volcano appears dormant, as if it has never been in danger of erupting, and despite the events from the past few days a sense of safety holds tightly to the new land.
But safety is a fallacy, as many of you know - as many of you are soon to find out.
Under the cover of night, when no eyes are around to watch, the beach trembles. Sand shifts and parts, sifting itself to the side to reveal a smooth black bedrock. Slowly the bedrock rises, flowing like animated water. It groans and creaks, shape ever-changing throughout the night. But as dawn creeps over the horizon it becomes still, and the sand flows back undisturbed to cover the hole it had left.
Standing on the beach, where the bridge connects to the island, is a smooth black statue of a unicorn, horn piercing the sky as it climbs a mountain that resembles the volcano of the island.
And tied around the unicorn’s horn is a note.
Time is Free.
Time is Here.
The first horse to cross the bridge that morning only stares at the statue with thinly-veiled awe, waiting as others gather.
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Maybe it is wrong that the thing he feels, as night gives way to pale spring dawn and reveals the silhouette of that unicorn, is hope.
What he had told Isra only days before was no lie: I have always felt braver alongside a unicorn. Asterion will never forget the first time he saw one, as he dreamed beneath a dogwood tree, only a boy with his head stuffed full of stories. That is the day he had met Calliope, and the day his life had changed.
It is the black unicorn he thinks of now, as his dark eyes catch on that figure that could be a silhouette or a shadow of the lion-hearted mare. His breath catches in his throat for a heartbeat, two, and then it wisps away like a sigh of smoke as he approaches. Up and up he climbs in the cool morning, and the sky begins to blush with dawn, just bright enough that he can make out the words scrawled on the note.
After he reads the words he bows his head, as if in prayer, another silhouette that might be taken for a statue. And yet his body trembles, giving him away, and his thoughts race, half worry, half wonder. They branch in a thousand directions, like streams or capillaries, golden water and bright red blood - thoughts of Florentine, of Tempus, of Ravos and the Rift. Of magic that makes and unmakes, eats and eats and is still hungry.
Softly, reverently, he touches his nose to the smooth black shoulder. And then the Dusk King withdraws, and looks down the slope to where others are gathering, and the quiet sea beyond that is growing vibrant with morning.
“Does anyone here still speak with the gods?” he asks, soft. Even as he asks it he hopes the answer is no - for though this place feels holy, holy, he doubts it is the work of god.
the woods are lovely, dark and deep but I have promises to keep.
He coasted through the skies, early dawn light dancing along each feather and turning his wings a soft gold, fringed in violet. A warm draft pulled him upwards
Aion hadn’t meant to drift so far away, but now that he had he supposed it was too late. First he had seen the beach, torn up by the hooves of countless horses who had watched the volcano erupt. Then he had explored a little farther, and the black, twisted bridge had caught his attention, the bridge that had been the subject of every conversation he’d heard in the last few days.
I’ll only go a little farther, he had told himself. But a little farther had meant traversing the entire expanse of the bridge, and then when the island blossomed like a new spring flower beneath his searching gaze, he had been hooked.
But it was the crowd of horses slowly accumulating below that caught his eye first, and down he’d gone in a lazy spiral.
The ground was strangely warm underhoof when he landed, huffing and folding his wings. There was a tension in the air, a wave of hushed whispers that darted back and forth, so fast and so quiet he could only make out the occasional word. Overnight. Strange. Suspicious.
Magic.
He pressed closer, weaving through bodies to the front of the crowd, where a bay man touched the black speck he had seen from above. Only it was no longer a speck, but a unicorn as black as the night, carved from stone.
His ever-present frown deepens.
Aion steps closer, catching the note that flutters in the wind with his telekinesis. “Time is Free,” he reads aloud, pale blue eyes scanning quickly across the scarce words. “Time is Here.” That’s it? he wants to add, but thinks better of it. That’s all they’ve given us?
He shakes his head. “Time,” there’s a bitterness to his tone that he doesn’t bother to conceal. "It would certainly be easier to talk to the gods if they were here."
i am the fire
i am burning brighter
roaring like a storm
At first, she wasn't going to set one more hoof on that damn bridge. Then, the rumors started.
Everyone was talking non-stop about the mysterious island and how the ivy had wilted away to reveal a kind of utopia. She got mixed information about what exactly it looked like- something about birds singing and pearls along the shoreline. Not much more was said about the strange berries that were alive or the creatures lurking in the ocean waters.
Morrighan didn't want to bother. It was a waste of time to walk all the way across the bridge just to find some place that just sounded like someone's hallucinations. But as days passed and the talk continued, she finally brought herself to head out and see what it was all about.
When she finally arrived at the island again, her annoyance had returned. The island may have changed, but the bridge didn't. It was still just as long and unstable looking and now she really wished she had wings. Not surprisingly, there were others who had arrived already, but they were looking at something. A statue?
The mare walked over to see what all the fuss was about and it appeared to be a black statue in the form of a unicorn. A note was attached, but the message sounded like a riddle. She hated riddles.
A man asked if anyone still talked to the Gods and Morrighan did not stifle her snort. "Does anyone speak to the Gods in the first place? If so, I would love to meet them. I have many questions." She did not hide her disdain when she replied and she had one eyebrow raised while she looked between the two men. They were strangers to her and it seemed no one knew what was going on.
Below Zero
my frost philosophy will put no curse on me
There was something about this island that seemed to set Bel’s hide tingling, a since of . . . discomfort. While it seemed genial enough, she felt like there was a ticking bomb beneath the sands, a beast waiting to lunge out and swallow those it’s leered into its trap of promised beauty. Yet she returned. Time and time again she would make her way across the macabre bridge of trapped and tortured sea life. Time and time again she would pass the agitated waters of sea serpents only described in nightmares. Time and time again she would step upon the island . . . and still the island would never not surprise her.
It seemed a place of dreams, or thoughts and wild imaginations made real. It was a place that beyond its peaceful seeming exterior she really worried of a much more sinister secret hidden within. Perhaps her worries were found-less, but she worried all the same. She was making her way back once again, however, and today she wondered just what she may come across when journeying to the island . . . she wasn’t expecting the slight pile up at the end of the bridge however.
The aquatic-equine moved slowly, her tail held aloof and just high enough not to drag on the hardened lava. Others were gathering ahead, standing together, some silhouetted much darker. Only one form did she recognize easily upon closer inspection – and namely for the gull that kept her triton company. The others gathered around were strangers. As she ventured closer she noticed all but one really seemed to be moving, watching – the one stilled was the one the others focused on, and she started to grow worried. Had something happened to the individual? Where they hurt?
As she grew closer she could hear others speaking of the gods, and wondered what it was about. It was only then that she grew close enough to see that the one she thought was a stilled horse was but a statue, although fairly lifelike. She let the others discuss as her dual set of eyes took in the statue. The second set continued to sweep over the statue of a horse climbing a mountain, while the primary set were focused on the note, reading it silently to herself.
She didn’t speak of gods as the others had, instead her voice seemed almost soft, a slight quiver to it that spoke of discomfort she tended to feel about the island, and particularly the bridge. “It’s like a scene . . . . ” She spoke mostly to herself, but allowing her voice to pitch to those who might be interested in her take on the statue, “A scene frozen in time . . .” She glanced up at the others for a moment, “Although I haven’t a clue what the note most mean. Time is here, but free . . . Unless it’s referring to the oddness of the island, how it seems to be . . .” She didn’t complete her sentence aloud, but she had to admit the island did have an oddness to it, like it was pulled out of time and set into its own world. Finally her words returned, this time rounding back to the topics of gods, her gaze turning to the others, before glancing towards her king briefly, cyan eyes concerned, “This place doesn’t feel like one blessed by any god.” She said, gaze sweeping from the mare and across each stallion in turn, “It feels . . . . wrong.” She fell silent as her gaze turned back towards the statue, finned ears flattening faintly as she stared at the odd masonry work that hadn’t been there a day before.
she was powerful not because she wasn't scared,
but because she went on strongly despite her fear.
Spring's vibrant rays of sunshine had warmed the daytime with increasing passion on this particular morning as a crowd began to form. Maerys knew not yet why, but as she advanced discreetly, Vradara flew ahead to scout the area. The dragon, both elegant and striking in the air, notified Maerys of a statue, though relayed little other information which left Maerys to figure it out on her own as she closed in on the crowd. The dragon, uninterested in the situation developing, circled in the air once with descending altitude before landing with ease on the ground next to Maerys. The mare simply eyed the dragon for a moment in regard before her attention refocused on the statue and those around her.
Lagging behind the others, her mauve orbs caught sight of the phenomenal figure that stood unafraid. The cast was one of a unicorn persisting proudly and valiantly, horn thrusted upwards. The design of the creation was far from ambiguous but the meaning was not. It was easily identifiable as a unicorn climbing some formation and Maerys noted that it seemed like a powerful creation, but did not understand what it truly meant. Did it mean that bravery was of the utmost importance? Was war on the horizon? Should they all run to the volcano and climb it? The possibilities were truly endless.
Her darkened ears flicked forward as she perceived that written on a note around the horn were the words time is free, time is here. There was no instant understanding- no ah ha! moment. The words meant nothing to the girl and by the lack of certainty that gleamed in the eyes of those around her, she assumed others didn't understand either. One of the horses lingering near her seemed to murmur something about the oddity of the island (which Maerys wholeheartedly agreed with) before her voice faded away to silence.
So that was it? No one knew?
Maerys had no idea how she could aid the small gathering- she was too new and inexperienced. She didn't speak to the gods nor could she decode the message. She remained silent and simply listened, perplexed and deeply fascinated by the beautiful and dark statue. So simple compared to the complexity of these lands, she felt somewhat lost but remained regardless, intent on finding answers.
M A E R Y S
maerys doesn't know wtf is goin on or how to help :x
Sol wandered silently though the area, exploring the bridge and watching life. How he could move his bulk quietly was a thing that usually surprised others. He had flown in that morning to explore, landing roughly half way across the bridge of cooled lava. His golden hooves left prints of slightly molten rock, each glowing for a few moments before they faded back with the prints embedded within the rock.
Shaking his head, he snorted and decided to jog back toward the solid land. His hooves clipped on the rock, the prints less pronounced as he moved at a faster pace. However, as he arrived near the end of the bridge, the statue and the horses that were milling around seemed to startle him. He did not remember them from when he had arrived to explore that morning.
His hooves slid into the damp sand, sending up wisps of steam and the sounds of sizzling water. Sol stepped more slowly, taking in the scene with golden eyes and making sure that his twin sets of wings were tucked tightly against his ebony coat. He heard murmuring words and then the incredulous reply from one mare. Before he could reply in any form, a strange little mare spoke up and let her thoughts be known.
“This place doesn’t feel like one blessed by any god. It feels . . . . wrong.” Sol eyed the mare with one ear pricked and head slightly tilted. "So something not blessed is wrong... Perhaps it is blessed by a God that you have yet to find in the pantheon... or perhaps it was a gift by the gods for us to learn and discover without their interference. Or... Perhaps your gods are just ideas and there is no real god. So many responses can be made to that one simple phrase." He replied, his deep voice drawling with an almost velvet like smoothness.
It wasnt that the ebony and sunlight stallion didnt believe... well, not exactly. More along the lines of being skeptical and not believing in blessings after the chaos of his life to this point. He had never had any experience with any higher being, nor did he really want to if they would start screwing with his life even more.
His hooves continued to emit steam and hissing sounds from the sand and water disagreeing with the heat as he settled in to listen and wait to see what would happen next. Curiosity was peaked and he wanted to know from first hand experience rather than from being told later.
He recognizes the first man to approach, the first to answer, but only dimly.
It is impossible to guess from where; he has spent years in Novus, now, has drank spiced pumpkin juice and worn a flower crown in Delumine, has spent summer nights in Denocte with the only light the fireflies at the edge of the forest and the bonfires, ever-burning. Asterion watches mutely as the striking paint reads the note, and when he shakes his head the bay feels his heart tighten like an ancient tree in the cold.
At dawn, at the birth of spring, it is still cool - that is what the dusk king tells himself, when a breeze makes him shiver as those few words drop like thick pearls. At the sound of a snort, he drops his gaze to the woman it came from, and as she speaks his eyes are dark and cool and steady. “Yes,” he says simply, and thinks of the summer that the Denocte regime vanished. The summer that the gods called them out from their courts, and buried them on the mountainside, and bickered in the dim as the scent of stone and soil smothered them. Asterion thinks of Vespera, her false form vanishing away like a cast-off robe, and how Isra had said Caligo looked on the night she chose the unicorn to lead. And he remembers his own prayers to Vespera, when he had climbed that long and narrow path up the mountainside, and how she had answered him but not enough - never enough to save anyone.
He might have returned his attention to the first man, then, had not an approaching figure caught his eye. Asterion nodded at Bel, glad to see her despite the worry that touched him like a pebble into a pool - small at first, rippling outward. The king is not sure what to think about his people, here, and how he will defend them, no matter how far from Terrastella they are - no matter what worlds open up.
Asterion nods again when the Treader catches his eye, though he says nothing of her pronunciation. He agrees with her (though it has more to do with the gods and their blessings than the island) but he doesn’t like the way her saying wrong makes him feel. The word rings something inside of him like a bell, somber, deep, touching everything and changing it.
He still wants wonder, still wants magic. Asterion wants Isra, or Eik, or Florentine - someone wiser, someone braver, someone who might laugh at their dark guesses. Someone to say it will be alright, and if it isn’t, we will make it so.
There is a ripple in the growing light of dawn, a piece of pale sky that has broken free. At the sight of the dragon Asterion’s shoulders tense, remembering other such beasts - but there is something appreciative, something with awe, in his gaze as he watches it land beside another stranger.
Once more his attention is drawn away before it can linger; now another man speaks, the gold and white of him bright against the black, and Asterion wonders at the smoke that seems to curl from his hooves. It’s a small thing to notice, here with magic all around them (of varying sizes, varying dangers) and he thinks briefly of how much of Novus he doesn’t know. But as he listens - stepping away from the statue, as he does, to let others crowd close and see for themselves - a smile blooms on his dark mouth, small and wry.
“It may well be a gift, or a warning. But the gods of Novus are more than ideas - for good and ill.” For a moment he turns his eyes skyward, half-hoping Vespera would appear out of the shimmering dawn to challenge him, to strike him down, to answer the questions she had denied her people, offering them death instead. “And they are fond of their tests.” There is no denying the drop in his tone, the rare anger of it.
Asterion will not stand by again and see Novus punished at the foolish whim of its gods - but he wonders whether this is something beyond even their control.
the woods are lovely, dark and deep but I have promises to keep.
He hardly notices as others arrive, hardly reacts as they push their way forward to inspect the note themselves. Only his ears betray his otherwise stoic nature, as they flick back and forth between each newcomer when they speak.
Words are burning on the tip of his tongue, curt and dismissive. He could tell the first mare how little she knows of faith (even though he has none himself), or the second mare how little she seems to know of Novus (although he is far from a native himself). Even the way the pale mare stands silently vexes him - but to be fair, most everything, most everyone is guilty until proven innocent in his eyes.
Yet for all his pessimism, in spite of his sharp and cold nature, there’s still a part of him that longs for wonder. He had been deprived of a proper childhood, excluded from the thrills of young adulthood - there was still a part of him that was young and proud and hungry for adventure. It was why he was drawn to Eros, like a dull and aimless moth drawn to the brilliance of an open flame - it was natural, loving the other man was natural.
But whatever this place was, with its strange statue seemingly guarding the entrance, was not.
So he stays quiet as they murmur and ponder, and his eyes stay upon the note. A frown works itself into place on his lips, as his mind repeats the words over and over in his mind. Time… he shifts his wings, golden light illuminating the note. The god of Time…
Finally he looks away, though whether it’s in disgust or frustration he can’t be sure.
“Perhaps the gift is in the warning,” he relents at last. Perhaps gods only like to test us to see us fail, so they can rest easy knowing they’re above us.
He gestures vaguely at the island. “Whomever - whatever - left this here wanted a reaction. Why else leave such a cryptic message? Why not stay and explain?”
There’s a part of him that wants to leave now and forget about this strange new world and its strange secrets.
Yet the other part of him - a stronger part - is still hoping for magic and mystery. That other part of him is still hoping he’s wrong to see the world so bluntly.
i am the fire
i am burning brighter
roaring like a storm
Morrighan's comment got a bit thrown to the side as others began to gather. The bay stallion that was here originally simply said "yes", but then nothing else to explain. Yes, there were gods that watched over them? Yes, they spoke to the gods?
She supposed it didn't matter much now that there were others joining the group and putting in their guesses. An aquatic horse - which confused Morrighan a little bit - arrived, speaking in a tongue similar to the written riddle. One showed up with a dragon but didn't contribute to the conversation. There was a winged man who seemed to share the same skepticism that Morrighan had which seemed promising. At least someone here was thinking more clearly.
What they all could probably agree on was that this place was strange and didn't feel right. The bay stallion spoke of the Novus gods, claiming they liked tests. Great. Another one of the men spoke, suggesting this was all to gain a reaction from them. Morrighan was starting to feel restless, so she decided to interject.
"Someone's probably fucking around with us. Ha, watch this all be a trap. Just my luck too…" she grumbled and rolled her eyes. Though, some action at this point would at least make this trip worthwhile and maybe make her feel some thrill of adventure.
![[Image: i-jTNwWx8.png]](https://photos.smugmug.com/BelowZeroNovus/n-X9d9fZ/i-jTNwWx8/1/e09fb6c3/O/i-jTNwWx8.png)
