By the time O arrives at the end of the bridge, a crowd has already gathered.
She is disappointed but not surprised. There is little in Novus as new and alluring as the promise of the unexplored island; its residents would be foolish not to explore, especially when rumors of its humming magic had spread faster than a flash of lightning. O had dashed over the rocky bridge as fast as she could on those long, spindly legs, pushing and darting through the masses as they swarmed forward, weaving like a snake, and still when she arrived on the first white sand beach panting she had not been the first to arrive.
Disappointment is a bitter tonic in the back of her mouth. As she slows to a trot, heart pounding in her mouth, the beach opens and Apolonia catches sight of a small half-circle of strangers, all older and bigger than her. But she does not fear them. She simply never learned how. And if there was something to fear (as she listens to strange, shrill song of the birds, she gets the feeling there is) it would be in the bones of the island itself, not the inhabitants of Novus. The threat buzzes like a bee from the land under her feet, and though O shifts her weight nervously she does not turn away.
She peeks forward between two of the strangers. The object of the circle’s fascination is an oil-black statue of a climbing unicorn, and they are all discussing the note attached to its horn, which she reads and mouths to herself: Time is free, time is here.
Complete nonsense.
O snorts and shakes her tiny head. She flicks a dark ear and listens as they talk amongst themselves, still mostly hidden by the shadows of the adults around her; she is nothing more than curious, for the moment. Her eyes are unusually excited as they dart around the ring.
And then, just for fun, she magicks an illusion that winks the note itself out of existence for a few long moments, curious as to who will be the first to smite her when they realize it.
oh mothers tell your children not to do what I have done
Tempus.
She wants to howl for him. Scream. Scream like a banshee, or like a child – like some wild thing. But Seraphina is quiet and dark. Quiet. Like a grave. Like the desert without wind, with only the heat and the sun. Quiet. Somewhere in her mind, she is still in a maze, with a monster at her heels; somewhere in her mind, he still has her trapped for the sake of crimes that were not her own; somewhere, in the back of her mind, she is still bleeding out on the Steppe, begging any god that might listen for more time.
(It was no god who came for her. It was a unicorn, and she is not sure that she loves her either, which – bitterly – tells Seraphina that she will not be happy no matter who comes to save her.)
With a pump of pale-and-dark wings, Ereshkigal lights on the shoulders of the statue while her bonded watches from several yards away, relaying information to the silver – but she is being as unfriendly as ever. “It seems that your godly-things are not as gone as you thought,” Ereshkigal observes, through their link. She stares at the gathered equines with her bizarre red eyes, her beak opening just far enough to show off her rows of razor-sharp teeth, then tilts her head at an odd angle, letting out a soft cackle, adding, verbally, “It seems that the little horse-things are confused, aren’t they? How sweet.” Time is free. Time is here.
She looks at the great, dark stature of the unicorn, her lips curled into a frown – what could keep the god of time captive? Hadn’t she seen him once, in the maze? Hadn’t he been there, at the summit? Seraphina feels a coiling dread in her stomach, a distant sense of premonition. If he came to her again, with riddles and monsters and lies, she wouldn’t make the same mistake twice – she wouldn’t give him the wrong answer, or she wouldn’t trust him, because, gods knew, you couldn’t trust the gods. But she did have questions.
Seraphina knows that, even if she breaks and sobs and begs at his hooves, he won’t change the past. (She can hardly think of any good that what she would have changed would alter, but, if he would, could she really stop with Raum? There were so many horrible things she would undo, if she could – she isn’t sure that she could stop. And Tempus would know that. And it would be a horrible, slippery slope. She doubts that he can give her anything of the future, either; she will continue to see her people die in the streets or by her blade or by her poor decisions, and he won’t stop her.) But maybe, just maybe, if she can find him - maybe he can tell her why the gods are back. There must be some reason for it, not just divine will…and if something is coming, worse than those creatures, worse than the tests of his children, worse than his trials for the mortal kingdoms, to force them closer together…
She hopes that there is some grander reason. If there isn’t, Seraphina doesn’t know if what tattered remnants of her faith still remain can keep her from resenting her gods, and she isn’t sure if she can let herself resent anything more that she has loved.
She does not approach the statue, at first, or, at the very least, she lingers aside from the crowd that has gathered around it – Seraphina does not want to be seen. She listens, for a moment, to the conversation with her ears erect, and she debates whether or not she should step forward. If she does, they will know that she is alive. (Asterion, at least, will recognize her for who she is. And O.)
(The note flickers out-of-sight momentarily. She wonders if it is O’s doing; either way, this is enough to make Ereshkigal erupt into laughter, her raucous voice echoing across the shoreline.)
But she does step forward regardless, the golden fabric of her hood still falling over her face; it does not obscure her entirely, but it shadows the scar. “Don’t mind Ereshkigal. She’s trying to upset you; she doesn’t know any more than the rest of us.” The vulture bobs her head at Seraphina, flashing her a toothy grin – or a snarl. “Are you sure?” She inquires, her tone saccharine.
Seraphina ignores her. “If it speaks of time, it likely speaks of the god Tempus…” She murmurs, her odd eyes lingering momentarily on Asterion, then the other figures that she recognizes – O and Maerys. “I haven’t seen Solis since the blizzard in Solterra. I suppose that Tempus never appeared in his mortal form, after the summit…but he has appeared in it before, or so I assumed, when his relic was still somewhere on Novus. The circumstances were…similar. It was a hedge maze, but it…did not make sense. It was full of strange creatures, and the geometry…and he is even stranger. Old and young, all at once.” Her eyes darken at the memory of the maze, the god, the summit – it hadn’t been that long, but it felt like another lifetime entirely. The memories weren’t good, but what she wouldn’t trade away to return to them, instead of this. “Tempus is…not like his children. He is older and stranger, and, if I had to guess, far more dangerous…though not necessarily more hostile. But he does like his riddles and his tests.” But Tempus did not see courts, or factions; he was a god for all the people of Novus, rather than just a selection of them. “Regardless – I don’t understand why he’d need to be freed…”That was what puzzled her. Could it refer to the relic? But it had disappeared… “It doesn’t matter,” Ereshkigal proclaims, bouncing from the shoulders of the statue to Seraphina’s own shoulders with a single, loose leap. “Does it matter? No, no it’s doesn’t matter, not at all. You all came here – flies to honey! And now it’s too late. He has you, doesn’t he?” She giggles, ruffling her wings. “And – we have little birdies to catch. I’ll enjoy it.” Her tongue slides out of her mouth, curling across her beak. “I’m starving.”
Seraphina does not spare a glance at the demon. “Ereshkigal…” she cautions, her dark ears flicking back. “Raum is on the island, and at least one of his followers – I’ve seen them. Be careful; gods aren’t the only thing to be wary of here.”
@/everyone || sera here to theorize and reveal her status I guess "Speech!" || "Ereshkigal!"
I'M IN A ROOM MADE OUT OF MIRRORSand there's no way to escape the violence of a girl against herself.☼please tag Sera! contact is encouraged, short of violence
06-16-2019, 12:30 PM - This post was last modified: 06-22-2019, 07:58 PM by Seraphina
"Someone's probably fucking around with us. Ha, watch this all be a trap. Just my luck too…" Sol found his focus pulled by the painted mare and was relieved to hear that he was not the only one that did not have the faith that he had been seeing. "Sounds like you have the same luck as I do..."
The big stallion watched the milling of the other horses, finding himself slowly migrating toward the mare that had spoken and he had actually caught the words of. He was still greatly out of place in this world, but it wasnt from lack of trying. He had been out and about every day, trying to find things to be able to sell, as well as trying to make any connections that he could. No matter what happened, it would be easy to say that he was shoving his way out of his comfort zone and trying to make a place where he truly belonged.
The idea of belonging was a strange one and it made him shake his head and take a moment of silence to contemplate the statue. His golden orange eyes were focused hard upon the statue, leaving him open to anyone that desired to sneak up on him... If they were brave enough that was. Most tended to be a bit intimidated by him, or at least they had been before he left his home and made his journey to where he had arrived.
Asterion’s disdain has never been the demonstrative kind, but he can’t help agreeing with the fiery paint mare - at least in part. It is hard to quell the thought of the island being a trap, especially after the last incident quite literally was one. His mouth is a flat line as he takes another step away from the statue, back into the beginnings of the crowd. He has had his look; he is not eager for a god’s mysteries.
But then there is a new strangeness.
The vulture is at first no more than a black shadow over the crowd, the imprint of its wing flaring over his own back before it settles on the statue. At once Asterion steps forward again, his magic uncurling like an opening wave within him, ready - but the bird does nothing except part its mouth to speak. Its voice, its laughter, makes the bay briefly pin his ears, eyes narrowing; he almost misses the moment when the note vanishes.
It is too much, all at once; the gathering seems to waver on the edge of a pin, held breaths and soft cries. It could teeter into chaos at any moment. Before he acts (just as the note winks back into existence) a figure steps forward, hooded in bold yellow, and Asterion is no stranger to her voice.
Seraphina, alive, he thinks - and then, when the bird’s dreadful gaze goes to the cloaked mare, and with a new companion. Now the starlit bay settles back, careful to give nothing away by his own expression, wary and watchful and listening. When her eyes catch his he nods almost imperceptibly. He keeps his lips pressed together as she speaks, and her mention of the mazes dredges up memories, things he’d heard from Florentine years ago. Gods and magic and mazes; and the king wonders then if there really is anything new, or if they are spiraling down some pathway, replaying the same games with higher stakes and darker outcomes.
Ereshkigal speaks again, gleeful words of doom, and the crowd reacts, beginning to move like the building of a wave, murmuring like a distant flock of crows. It would not take much, he thinks, to send them into a panic; Asterion can’t blame them, not really. Not with all that has been said, and all of it near enough to true.
The king can’t tell the vulture to be quiet - but he does tell the sea. With the easy reach of a thought the waves slow and the noise of them falls away, the ocean stilling to a plane of turquoise glass. It is remarkably easy, and so strange for the way the ocean’s sudden calm is the opposite of his racing heart, his tangling thoughts. Gods and kings, signs and wonders.
“Whatever this is,” the bay says over the newborn stillness, “do not explore alone. Stay together, and watch out for one another.” He lifts his voice above their backs in both command and warning - and then his dark gaze falls to the woman in the hood. Her own eyes glint as bright and strange as any of the birds’ on the island - one gold, one blue.
For a long moment he only regards her, and his expression says it’s good to see you alive though there is too much going on - there is always too much - to say anything aloud. Later, perhaps; for now there is only a roiling within him, summoned at the mention of the silver Ghost and the thought of all that he has caused. Once he might have thought that it is not his quarrel, but Asterion has learned too much from unicorns like Calliope and Isra and from men like Eik to run away any more. When he thinks of all that has happened - from Aislinn and the night regime to the cave-in on the mount, and the disasters, and the rumors of wars, and Moira, and all that might yet be - he knows that inaction is as much a sin as any wrong choice. There is no more time (it is a wry thought) and Novus no longer has the luxury of kings who wait until disaster is at the doorstep.
Asterion crosses to the once-queen of Solterra, sparing only a measured, wary glance for the eerie creature upon her back. When he speaks, it is into Seraphina’s ear only. “If Raum is here then we have an opportunity - to find him and to kill him.” He can gather the Halycon, he thinks, and Isra with her fury and her magic, and all their people behind them -
As he waits, he releases his grip on his own magic, and waves begin to roll again, hungry mouths eating up the shoreline.
@Seraphina et all. Ineloquent but wanted to get something up
06-18-2019, 11:18 AM
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Chaosy [PM] Posts: 91 — Threads: 10 Signos: 0
The snarky, tri-colored vagabond slid along the shores, minding his own business and not harassing anyone for once. Sliding to a stop, he gazed out at the ocean with a sigh of peace. He loved the ocean, loved the sounds of the water moving along the sands... Heck, he even loved the sound of the birds as they called to each other. As he watched, the ocean stilled and the world turned to silence. A tremor of unease passed through him as he turned to try to figure out what happened. A cluster of horses caught his eye and he paced closer to try to get an idea of what was going on.
“Whatever this is, do not explore alone. Stay together, and watch out for one another.” A stallion spoke, one that he had not met. Of course... he hadnt met many at this point and the one that had caught his attention the most didnt seem to be in the group. Small mercies after their chaotic and hostile meeting. After taking in the words that were spoken, Coy smirked and flicked an ear, taking a moment to examine the statue and those that were gathered around it.
"You say not to go alone... Perhaps that is exactly what who ever left that statue wants... Everyone in one group trying to find something while they sneak in and hide what ever. They could hear the thunder of hooves and stay easily ahead of it. I mean... Even a God could easily hide things if everyone is together..." The moment when the waves settled back into regular rhythm calmed his unease and he flicked an ear at the stallion again, wondering for a moment if he had been the cause of the silence.
@Asterion - and everyone else <3 Just tagging one since butthead was replying to his specific words lol
Below Zero
my frost philosophy will put no curse on me
Bel remained mostly quiet as others started to approach and voice their own thoughts, collecting tidbits of information from those that came in regards to the pantheon of this island, still not knowing too much about the gods and their lore. There was little that she could actually take, or give to the conversation at the moment.
The large vulture that arrived was not what she expected to see next however, and she silently flinched back from it, the vapors drifting off her skin suddenly turning ice cold in a silent attempt to calm the startled mare as she eyed down the odd creature. It spoke, and it's words grated against the treader and reinforced her displeasure at its' arrival. However, at the arrival of a cloaked being she noticed that her new Triton, King, her lead seemed to know her, and seemed to know of the spoken mention of mazes and these gods.
And then words of doom were spoken with such glee that the aquatic-mare took a step closer to the sea as if to dive back to it's more welcoming embrace, even if the sea around this odd island was less than what she was used to. The others around seemed to react as well, murmuring and growing in a panic, not a good thing Bel thinks. However, it wasn't until the sea suddenly goes calm and with out movement that Bel freezes, turning towards the water with almost a distressed expression on her face at the sudden removal of the sounds and noise that spoke the the aquatic creature far easier than any land-based noise could.
Her hooves seemed to prance slightly, as unease traveled up her spine, and she desperately hopes it was the actions of her king that caused the stillness, an ability produced by his water magic, and not something worse, something less natural than a living and touchable being. Her triton than speaks, seeming to draw proof in her mind that the sea was currently in his control, as he spoke of not exploring along, staying together and watching out for one another. Her expression turns away from the crowd, to the distant island, and she knows she won't listen well to the advice. It wasn't in her nature to rely on others.
And there was too much in her being that required for her to see and discover the secrets this island might hold, pieces of history lost to islands and the ocean that sung for her to release the truths. She could respect his desire to not see others not get themselves in trouble, but she herself knew the dangers of being too close together. Less room to run, to hide. Easier for members to be cut from the pod, er herd; when panic spurred everyone onwards. Splitting up caused confusion from those wishing harm, and gave a better chance for everyone to make it back together unscathed. At least, in her experience.
As the waves began to roll, the aquatic mare visibly relaxed, side stepping only once so one hoof was touched by the wave that reached up to the shoreline, seemingly touching the mare of the waters with worshiping touch, drawing around her limb before force ably being drawn away by the tide. The soft touch of the saltwater finishes relaxing her after the suddenly stillness and silence - growing up in the waters, such silent and still waters were the sign of coming doom and storms, that the natural movement was back again soothed her greatly.
Another stallion spoke up then from the crowd, and the mare felt She had to agree. One group was easy to avoid and easier to guide, and she hesitated before speaking herself, her words heavier with life-experiences, "Greater dangers come to those who stay in larger pods, as well. It's easier to force a large pod of panicked creatures to swim along a chosen current. It's easier to pick off the members, those that can't keep up, or to cut those at the sides of the group off from the others." Her words were soft, delivered on the winds of the ocean as she stayed steadily closer to the waters than before they'd gone suddenly still, but her eyes were on her Triton, so he'd know she wasn't challenging his words, merely adding her own experiences to his suggestions, "Staying in groups, is a good idea, for strength in numbers, but while it's easier to stay clear of the loud noises of a group, it's also easier to stalk and follow the same group for the same reason." Her gaze trailed off, towards the island this time, adding one final sentence, "Either way, caution is the only way to meet this island head on. Caution and care. Least we become the ghosts and secrets this island hides, ourselves." No, she didn't trust the island one bit. And she'd be schooling with the pod for now.
The doe (she still refused to refer to herself as a horse) had heard of the mess of the island, and the possibility of a god hiding items on it. It was a useless, and selfish plea that had her approaching the island finally on her own - silently hopeful that hidden items might include items stolen from portal hoppers. She put a lot of blame on the gods for why she was here, trapped in a foreign body; but she had to admit it was her own choice to step into the odd doorway of liquid. And even she can't for say it was the gods themselves that did this to her.
Cally could see a crowd gather, and as she approached she knew she'd missed a vital piece of information, as another spoke of needing to stay together. Something was agitating the group though, whispers growing and the crowd seeming to buzz with a restlessness. When two others spoke up about the negative aspects, Cally's eyes narrowed - that was not the words necessary to calm a restless crowd in any way. Her gaze immediately drew to nearby trees, hoping they might provide insight into the situation . . . and was met with silent, once again cursing at the magic locked away deep inside her with out any hint of her being able to reach it, no matter how often she dug through her psyche and chest, how heavily she meditated to find it. She couldn't even feel a trickle.
With not words of wisdom or help to catch her up coming from the trees, she got right to the problem, to the stallion who had original spoken, and the cloaked mare he'd seemed focused the most on when he spoke. The little deer-pony hybrid drew herself up as big as her 10 hands could bring, her own cloak lightly laying against her back, and her head held high and eyes steely and determined, "Nah, I agree with whomever the big bay stallion is, you'll have to excuse me for not knowing your name." The sassy little deer stated. "He is clearly speaking with an experience of dealing with the hands at work, or if not experience, a great understanding of who they are. Personally, as someone forceably placed into what ever messed up world this island is, I'd rather take my cues from someone who seems to know what is going on. If he says stick together, than we should do just that. If we let our fears play up in the face of an unseen and godly being, they'll let those fears destroy us." The little creature stated, two sets of ears flicking back with a finality, before approaching the stallion who had spoken, and nodding to the cloaked mare he'd been focused on, introducing herself to both, "Name's Cally . . . and not sure how much help I can be in keeping the crowd under control," She stated, glancing down at her small stature, before glancing back up at some of the other horses gathered around this central mass, and then eyeing the statue, "So, what's exactly going on here . . . as mentioned before, I'm not from around here - at all - but even I can tell that there's something very serious afoot, and you sir, ma'am, seem to be fairly in the know how of just what it is." She asked, determined to get straight to the source of just what was going on this island, what needed to be done - on her part - to keep her safe while here. Just because she landed on a world where the Disirax had no reach for her and her locked-away magic, didn't mean there were other terrors about.
It does not feel as strange as it should to walk across the bridge and find pearl-dust and crushed berries still throbbing out the same furious war-song her heart is singing, and screaming, and sobbing. Each dead thing trembles in the wave of her, tossed side to side on the bridge by the monstrous sea battering at its edges. Isra smiles and all she tastes is brine, and a blood-red berry sweetness.
It does not make her falter like it should. She can still hear the old echo of a Basilisk song and her eyes, like an exploding nebula, are singing a silent song back. All the magic in her blood is pooling like lava. Her skin feels too tight and her bones feel like steel trying to remember how to move with grace instead of fury.
Perhaps if she didn't step off the bridge into a crowd of horses talking about gods and then Raum Isra would have noticed the way the shore was pale as a pearl. She would have noticed how the ocean was the same color as Fable's scales in the noon-time. Maybe she would have looked at the statue then and thought of how all of this would be a wonderful story to tell her children with the northern lights shining protectively over them.
Instead all she can see is that bloody pulp still clinging to her hooves. Lightning flashes in the blackness when she closes her eyes, just long enough to breathe and tell all the furious rage in her blood not yet, not yet. It doesn't work, so she moves though the crowd and there are still ghosts of lightning flashing in her corners of her vision like tiny, caught, fireflies.
Isra doesn't stop until the statue looms above her like a false god atop a mountain that's coming down. She smiles, it's not kind, it's not sweet. It's not the smile of a mother or a queen. It's a weapon of a look that pauses on Asterion, and another queen with gold anointing her skin.
“If there is anything dangerous on this island,” She pauses, inhales just once, and it's like a weight has just been cut loose in the core of her. It's as if she's finally decided what exactly it is she wants to be. “It is not us who should be afraid.” Because she is done with gods, and ghosts, and evil. She is done with tests with no purpose but sorrow.
When she presses her nose against the base of that mountain that's going to come tumbling down the black unicorn statue turns to green-tainted copper --
i am the fire
i am burning brighter
roaring like a storm
It was quickly becoming much too crowded here and it was making Morrighan frustrated. This wasn't exactly what she had in mind when she had decided to make the trek all the way over here, plus she hated crowds anyway.
Out of the corner of her eye, the note disappeared for a moment and then there was a cackling coming from the trees. A mysterious woman came forward and went on about the gods, followed by a vulture taking a seat on top of the statue. The sight of this woman's bonded and the way that it spoke made Morr feel a little uneasy, but she made sure not to show it.
However, the mention of a relic caught her attention. The way the woman spoke, it was as if she was much older than them all and had witnessed a lot in her lifetime. The way her hood fell over her face and left it in shadow only added to her air of mystery. Morrighan narrowed her eyes at the woman, feeling very skeptical but curious at the same time. Then there was mention of Raum and that's when she decided she would need to pull her aside and ask some questions. What more did she know? Maybe it would all become useful.
Even more curious was the way the bay stallion reacted. At first, he had taken a step back, mulling over the statue and then his guard seemed to go up at the sight of the hooded woman. It was as if the ocean responded as well because the sound of the crashing waves suddenly died down. Then, he warned them all not to explore alone and to watch over each other. Well, obviously.
Morrighan did catch wind of one of the other men's responses, the one who seemed to be in the same way of thinking as her. Something about having similar luck as well; at least she wasn't alone on this. Although, she was too distracted by the sight of the bay stallion whispering something to the hooded woman to say anything in response. Something was off and she wanted to find out why.
Then, the ocean became wild again, as if someone had merely given a command. This island is fucking weird, she thought to herself, wondering if she should just ditch them all and find something better to do. Unfortunately for her, that would make her look like a coward.
A few new faces appeared with one suggesting that being in a group was more dangerous than being alone and someone replied in agreement. Morrighan rolled her eyes, her patience growing thin. She did not interject just yet since there were others that replied before her, but she felt entirely surrounded by idiots. It didn't really matter how you explored the island as long as you weren't stupid about it.
Another new arrival joined in, and while her barging in initially made Morr annoyed, she ended up agreeing with their point in regards to fear. Anyone who made their fear obvious would make themselves vulnerable and then they'd be screwed. But then when the woman asked what was going on, Morr rolled her eyes again. If they had to explain what was happening to every newcomer, this was really going to get exhausting.
The grullo mare finally opened her mouth to speak, but was again stopped by the arrival of one last equine. At last, this was someone she actually knew and so she could slightly forgive them for interrupting. Isra made her entrance as if she was on the warpath, which seemed to be her overall mood lately, but Morr lived for it. Finally, someone else who was done with all the bullshit and ready to take a stand. (Though for Morrighan, she just really liked beating others up and setting things on fire. After all, what else was there to do in life?)
Her lips curled to a smirk at Isra's declaration and she looked up as her dragon companion rose from the sea. It was all pretty dramatic really, but Morr could still appreciate it. She nodded at her queen when she came close and glanced at the now-green statue. The woman's magic never ceased to impress her. It reminded her of the brief conversation they had had back in the market square where she transformed the world around them. The fire had churned inside her, wanting to burn down every plank of wood. It still seemed to twist and turn now, but she lacked the ability to wield it in its full form.
"Honestly, it's not a difficult concept to grasp," Morrighan stated matter-of-factly, looking around at the group. "Just don't be an idiot and you'll be fine. If you do something stupid and end up in trouble, well, that was your own damn fault." She shrugged. At this point, she felt done with this conversation but decided not to leave just yet. Besides, the hooded woman still intrigued her and, now that Isra arrived, she may have more of a reason to stay.
IF ANY RING REMAINS, OF RUBBLE & CONSEQUENCE my salt heart agape, an oh to construct the shape of the whole just before -
Ereshkigal’s words strike a storm among the crowd; uneasy whispers and anxious fidgeting. Seraphina glares at the bird from under her hood, and she blinks back at her innocently. She never knows, with the demon, if her unnerving behavior is genuinely unintentional – the result of dissonant values and a serially blunt nature – or entirely intentional. Regardless of whether she meant to or not, she has disturbed people, and Seraphina considers speaking, but she wonders if, with her skeletal, hooded appearance and wary words of caution, she won’t simply upset them more.
Asterion speaks, in the silence that follows. “Whatever this is, do not explore alone. Stay together, and watch out for one another.” He sounds far more regal than she remembers – like he could be a genuine figure of authority. She notices, after a moment, that the waves, too, have gone silent, and risks a haphazard glance over her shoulder; the waves have died down in the ocean, leaving it still. She is not sure if it should be soothing or eerie, but the silence seems to provide some comfort to the crowd.
She wonders if Asterion quieted the waves; if so, he is a far more powerful mage than she thought.
Even his simple, well-meaning advice is taken poorly by some people in the crowd, and that is enough to spur Seraphina to speak again.“Don’t move in large enough groups to attract too much attention, certainly,” Seraphina says evenly, her mismatched eyes lingering on each figure in the crowd individually, “but don’t underestimate what dangers you might face on this island. The gods are more powerful than any of us alone – and, even together, I doubt that we could outmatch them with brute force. Your wits and your tongue are your most powerful weapons. This island will try to trick you, and, if it’s anything like the maze, there are creatures within it that are waiting to devour you or rip you apart if you stumble.” Her voice is cool and unwavering, nearly emotionless but sure as a notched arrow. “You’ve been bold enough to come here. If you fear it, a place like this will hurt you, or do far worse, and you should take your leave while you have the option – but you mustn’t be fearless, either. Respect the landscape, don’t trust anything that seems unnaturally serene or welcoming, and make sure that the risks you take are measured.” For all her warnings, and for all that Ereshkigal has spoken of doom, Seraphina is strangely, serenely calm, her lips drawn into a firm line. Perhaps it is because she has seen things as strange as this before and lived through them. Perhaps it is because she is a living-dead thing, caught somewhere between this realm and the void; she needs to live, to kill Raum, but she does not know if she would care if she died.
She is burning. She is apathetic. She is caught somewhere between so many things – she wishes that she could untangle herself. “I don’t understand why they’re so concerned,” Ereshkigal chirps, but thankfully keeps her comments inside of Seraphina’s head. “Dying isn’t such a terrible thing, as long as you haven’t been bad.” Her laughter resounds around the inside of her mind, like the echo nails on a chalkboard.
Seraphina doesn’t dignify her comment with a response.
Asterion turns to her, and, subtly, he whispers into her ear, after fixing Ereshkigal with a wary look – it makes her snicker. “If Raum is here then we have an opportunity – to find him and to kill him.”
She looks at him thoughtfully, for a fraction of a second, and she wonders if this man – who just suggested an execution – is the same one she met so many months ago, at a festival with a broken heart- “Exactly.”
She eyes the crowd warily, from behind the cover of her hood. Her voice is hushed, little more than a murmur. “We’ll discuss it – but not here. There are too many eyes and ears.”
If she’d meant to say anything else, she was interrupted by the appearance of a young, petite mare who introduces herself as Cally. Seraphina watches her quietly. “So, what's exactly going on here . . . as mentioned before, I'm not from around here - at all - but even I can tell that there's something very serious afoot, and you sir, ma'am, seem to be fairly in the know how of just what it is.” She seems less impulsive than the others, or more knowledgeable about the danger – Seraphina inclines her head at her contemplatively, then speaks. "It’s hard to discern exactly what is going on,” she admits, somewhat reluctantly, “but, the last time something similar occurred, the god of time, Tempus, had sent his relic out in the world for mortals to find. It was a test to see who was worthy of his favor.” And she certainly hadn’t been.
And then a unicorn comes from the bridge.
She hasn’t seen her since (something she would rather forget; the taste of blood in her mouth, the press of metal against her skin, and those white flowers growing up around her, ready to swallow her body up), but she knows her immediately.
She doesn’t feel like a savior, now – when she steps off the bridge, she feels like fury.
She catches Seraphina’s gaze when she passes, and her smile is all teeth; it is a feral, savage thing, and it promises spilt blood. “Isra,” comes her quiet greeting, her eyes shifting to examine the unicorn and the dragon who rose from the sea behind her. Dragon queen, maybe that’s what they’d call her now – and it is still Seraphina’s impulse to shy away from her, though she stands her ground, because Isra contains such volumes of power that she might call her god-like, with a magic that twisted reality itself to her will and a beast that was growing unfathomably large and powerful. (But she knows that the gods can take magic as easily as they can give it, and she knows that they dislike insubordination; she still recalls what Solis did to Bexley Briar.) When she regards the unicorn’s words, it is with a healthy dose of skepticism - the way that Seraphina sees it, the island was likely a puzzle, not a battlefield.
(Though she suspects it might become one. Places of power always did.) “If there is anything dangerous on this island,” Isra says, with a hint of something like anger – not unexpected, under the circumstances – lingering in her tone, “it is not us who should be afraid.”
She turns the statue to green copper, touches it with the sea; and then Fable comes, shedding saltwater like a second skin.
Seraphina wishes that she could believe her. If she were younger, or more naïve, or if she had any place for grandiose statements left in her heart, she might have. Seraphina-on-the-edge-of-adulthood, a girl who’d only just taken her throne, would certainly have believed that, even with the memory of the ink monster vivid in the back of her mind. Certainly, she’d made many grand promises, then – certainly, she’d thought that she could change the world, that nothing was unconquerable-
But now she knew better. And, besides, she is not Isra.
If her words will calm the crowd, however, Seraphina will not say anything to distract from them. Another woman, painted in a patchwork of browns and whites, speaks up bluntly; Seraphina watches her, for a moment, then looks at the statue again. If she were still the silver queen, she might have said something more. She has already said her piece, however, and she is no queen; there is no reason why anyone should listen to her. (Hasn’t she already proven herself the fool, time and time again?)
She draws back, away from the statue – but she remains. She listens.
@Asterion @Callynite @Isra specifically, for speech || me? write a short post? with sera? sobs incoherently || "lot's wife leaves suburbia," tanya grae "Speech!" || "Ereshkigal!"
I'M IN A ROOM MADE OUT OF MIRRORSand there's no way to escape the violence of a girl against herself.☼please tag Sera! contact is encouraged, short of violence
06-22-2019, 07:57 PM - This post was last modified: 06-22-2019, 07:59 PM by Seraphina
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