As the days dragged on, the island began to change.
It was small things, at first - a ray of purple light here, a patch of air that felt oddly thick there. Abnormalities reared their ugly heads all around the island, random and unpredictable. Sometimes a flower would sprout, bloom, wither, and die all in a single minute, or the waves on the beach would harden like ice for the briefest of moments. Such things were fleeting and hard to catch; they often appeared in the corner of one’s eye, teasingly just out of sight, so that by the time the observer turned their head it had already disappeared.
Sometimes it seemed as if time had forgotten how to turn, as if the four solar gods were fighting over the sun. An old stallion swore he had seen the sun track backwards in the sky, not once, not twice, but three times, as if it were a pendulum swinging on a string. Other times it was as if time would stop all together at random moments, and after an hours’ long trek through the forest one could emerge in astonishment to find the day at the same morning hour as when they had first stepped beneath the treeline.
For the most part these oddities were harmless, even amusing. But slowly, subtly, they became more pronounced. And also more dangerous.
It was said that one day, a young couple were walking through the forest when suddenly the ground opened up beneath them like a gaping, hungry mouth, swallowing the filly hole. Down she fell, down into the depths of the island and out of sight. And just as quickly as the gap had opened, it closed once more- sparing the colt to tell the tale.
Another told a tale of a cave, hidden between two boulders on the beach, that seemed to travel beneath the island. She told anyone who would listen of the way the air had grown hotter and more humid the deeper he ventured, and how occasionally a warm, putrid breath of air would come from somewhere within. She claimed to have traveled for hours, keeping on only to see the end, when she had entered a cavern whose floor was covered in a thick, clear goo - and the skeletal remains of a dozen horses. “It’s a good thing I stopped, and never touched that liquid,” she told her story with an undeserved sense of pride, “for certainly that is what killed all those poor souls.” As if she somehow knew what had happened in those caverns.
And of course, there were the disappearances. Some had yet to turn up - others would appear in the middle of the forest in a daze, and when questioned would shake their heads and stretch as if being roused from a deep slumber. And none would have any recollection of the past several days, nor any clue that they had been missing. The only hint was the occasional bruise or sore limb, or a scratch dug into their skin mysteriously in the shape of a strange, forgotten symbol.
Perhaps the most frightening thing was how unpredictable the island was becoming- and yet it did not stop the truly adventurous, or the truly careless, from exploring.
A lone figure walked down the beach. His coat was pale, but in a dusty, greyed out way. He was a plain man, without jewels or cloth or markings to adorn himself with, mane roached and tail bluntly cut. He walked with an odd sort of shuffle, like a gait he had invented all on his own between a lunge and a sidepass.
He walks all around the island and the sun follows him, hovering above him at all times. It weaves about in the sky like a snake, tracking his movements like some kind of predator - he does not seem to notice.
And when he stops, there at the heart of the island, the sun stops with him.
Like a mirage he fades away, his limbs turning to mist and his body crumbling into sand. With a single breath of wind he vanishes.
But the sun stays above that spot he stood as his sole witness, and it does not move.
Time has been stopped stopped. The island is destined to hold itself still within the same moment endlessly, trapping all life with it. The wind has lost her breath, the waves are frozen in place. All the world is still, all the strange creatures have disappeared.
The horses alone remain.
Strange things have been happening on the island. Perhaps some of you have encountered them directly, but perhaps others have only tales like these to go off of. Whatever you've heard, still you find yourself coming again and again to the island, to search for relics, magic, adventure, or something else.
Some of you may even notice the way the sun zigzags across the sky, as if the gods are playing tug of war with themselves. Perhaps some of you will only notice it when the day grows long, and longer, and longer, and longer, with no sign of continuing. The waves are frozen in place, the animals have gone into hiding (or perhaps disappeared), it's as if you're walking through a snapshot in time, as if you and the other horses are the only creatures left living, the only things not frozen.
Through it all is a sense of dread, for surely this means something else is soon to follow.
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, but the sun on the island will not move.
If you reply to this thread, it gives you +1 post in an SWP.
All replies after August 11th, 2019 will not be considered for a RE roll.
Possible rolls and their rewards are as follows.
1: +1EXP point
2: 125 signos
3: 150 signos
4: 200 signos
5: 300 signos
6: A strange, iridescent feather that seems to be every color in the world at once. Allows for an extra RE roll (but only for RE threads during the SWP, you will have to post a memo at the bottom of your thread when it's being used) Please message @sid or @nestle with any questions. If this remains unredeemed, you may use it in Act VI.
To tag this account: @*'Random Events' without the asterisk.
Please be advised, tagging the Random Event account does not guarantee a response!
She’d been convinced, until now, that the island was no stranger than the world around it. (O, a native with a magic that solely spins lies into reality, would know better than anyone.) Even on the mainland there are birds that seem to talk and waves that seem to crack—places where the veil of normalcy seems especially thin, just like here. She’s seen it in the purple pulses of the sky and the creatures buried underneath the sand before.
But this. This is something else.
The island becomes insufferably hot in the middle of the day, when the sun is at its highest and the humidity gathers in the sky like cotton; O has become accustomed to a routine which involves hiding out in the cold-dark of the jungle from the moment that infuriating star hits midday to when it dips below the horizon. Today is no different. Since noon she’s lain panting in the cool foliage, one eye cracked lazily open to observe the flashes of bird-wings and swirling flocks of butterflies as they pas overhead. Some of them she recognizes and has even started to categorize: every time she sees a new streak of fluorescence or patterns of dots like so many eyes, she writes it down in the back of her head.
It is far more peaceful here than at home—even counting the strange, toothy jungle cats and tales of skeletons lining the caves—and O is not planning on leaving anytime soon. (As long as she is away from Solterra there’s no reason to think about its ruin. No reason to think about her mother. No reason to worry about Caine. Or Elif. No reason. And she has been trying very hard to become a creature of reason.) No, she’s content with this new life of ritual, spending her days asleep under the waving palm trees and her nights exploring the luminescent shores.
And, if her timing is right, it should be nightfall just about now.
With a little huff, Apolonia climbs to her feet. She shakes her narrow head and a shower of leaves and dirt cascades to the ground, pooling around her feet, growing bigger and bigger as she untangles the twigs from her hair and rolls the knots out of her shoulders. It feels like being reborn, sort of. When she’s reasonably clean she starts to weave toward the alcove she’s been exploring. It’s only a mile or two from the sleeping imprint she left in the foliage. The island is becoming familiar to her now, and she picks her way through the jungle humming a little tune under her breath. Something about stars she heard as a kid, the notes jumping up and down in a sine wave: the sound is lonely in the jungle, the only marker of organized thought for miles around. Loneliness has not quite set in. She trots through the jungle with a blank head and a song on her lips, too distracted to worry about the warmth that starts to seep into her skin or the fact that the trees are utterly empty around her. The sound of her voice and the axe-weight at her hip assures her that it’s all still safe.
Until she emerges from the trees.
A pulse of blazing light sears down, splits her head in two with an excruciating noise that O realizes is coming from her own mouth, something between a squeak and a howl. She ducks her head back toward her shoulder, blinking furiously, trying to pull the hot-white world back into focus, but it only comes in gossamer flickers, a little bit at a time and not nearly satisfying. The landscape is washed out into shades of white, all the green and blue leached away, an unrecognizable abstraction of what once was a tropic. The air blazes with heat, so intense it shimmers visibly over the ocean. “No.”O barely hears her own voice—pure, disembodied shook. Overhead, when she finally does manage to look up, the sun hovers mockingly in the exact same place she left it this morning.
holy places are dark places.
it is life and strength,
not knowledge and words,
that we get in them.
The boy did not see the way the sun slowed as she reached for the mid-sky. He did not see the way the sea breathed in its last until its sea-salt lungs fell still. All the sea is a gasp, held tight. The waves rear back and stop. They reach down, down and stop…
The birds of the sky hang like stars. They are dark slashes and dots that once wheeled and swirled upon the wind. But even the wind is now still.
Leonidas turns to his sister, that little creature of ivory and gold. She is marble to his eyes, but he marvels again and again at the soft of her skin beneath his touch. She is not snow, nor cloud, now white glittering star. His body knows how warm she is and what it was to grow, existing beside her with their limbs tangled and their gold eyes shut.
His toothless gums playfully pinch the skin of her neck. His small wings flare, barely gold. They are more shadowed earth that splitting sun. The boy runs, over a too-still beach and only the sound of childrens laughter wafts into that frozen air. It echoes in the absence of sound. Not once does Leonidas recognize this strange, strange place. Not once does he consider that the world should be moving around him. Or that anything more exists beyond his sister and the distant silhouettes of his parents, who stand together, staring up at the sun.
His wings beat, and for a moment a boy can dream. For a moment he is flying and soaring and the wind is holding him, carrying him. Yet never once do his young feet leave the sand, never once does the wind gather at his summoning. But nothing matters to a dreamer boy when the sand is soft as clouds and the wind is a gale as it bears him on like a god.
He flies back, to his sister, pressing his hot lips into her nape, biting, tugging and her mane. “Come on, Aster!” the gold boy whines when she does not fly fast enough, when she brings a god-boy down from his astral throne. For what is a god without a goddess? What is a boy without a girl, the moon without the sun, yin without yang, a twin without their other…
STAFF EDIT***
@Leonidas has rolled a 6! He has found an iridescent feather on the island, that may come in handy on a future adventure...
This feather will grant him an extra roll in a future SWP RE.
And pluck till time and times are done
The silver apples of the moon,
The golden apples of the sun.
It is strange to be out in the world, where the sun is beating (and beating and beating and never moving) warmth down on her back and she can hear sounds other than that of her mother’s heartbeat and her brother’s heartbeat and the blood moving between them, a calm current, a skin-drum in her ears. The wind sighs through the leaves (shhhhh, shhhh) and brushes across her face and there is nothing else, no droning of insects, no singing of birds.
Aster thinks the leaves might be dying above her, yellow-red-brown-gone, but when she looks up with golden eyes wide they drift in lazy green. It does not occur to her that it’s strange to have all the world a held breath, that there is a way things should be and right now this is not it.
There is only now for Aster, there is only ever now. Everything else is only Perhaps.
And her twin. Leonidas lips at her skin and absentmindedly she butts her head against his shoulder like a little kid-goat and leans, inhaling the scent she was born knowing. Something soothes in her to be touching him, a troubled animal falling to sleep again, or choppy water going smooth. When he opens up his wings she leans away, beyond the flare of those small feathers, too downy yet for flight (but growing, oh, growing - her brother, already, is always going somewhere). She only watches as he beats his wings, parting imaginary clouds, crossing imaginary maps not yet drawn.
Aster knows, somehow, that she will follow him always. That there is a line drawn between them, sometimes slack and sometimes taut, and they will forever be tugging on the other - come along, slow down, look, see -
but for now he isn’t going anywhere, and she goes back to staring at the trees. How wizened they are, how furrowed their bark, how absent of ants and beetles and woodpeckers and wrens. What do they know (they must know something)? What do they wait for (and how long, how long have they waited)?
She thinks she can find out. If only given time -
Come on, Aster!
When she snorts it is only a new filly’s snort, when she shakes her finely-boned head it is clear she is only a girl and nothing stranger, not a tree or a vine or a stone or a moon. And when she charges after him, when her legs flash long and white, striping the ground with shadow and sun, shadow and sun, until she is beside him and passing him and beyond him, running just to run, her own wings flaring out and out and out -
STAFF EDIT***
@aster has rolled a 6! She has found an iridescent feather on the island, that may come in handy on a future adventure...
This feather will grant her an extra roll in a future SWP RE.
07-31-2019, 02:12 PM
Played by
Chaosy [PM] Posts: 77 — Threads: 21 Signos: 35
This crazy island was always a hive of activity... Always insanely packed with horses that were fascinated with the entire mystery and island itself. That was part of why Uzuri had stayed away for the most part. That and she was always busy training her body to defend those that needed it. She loved being a soldier for her court, loved knowing that she could come to help someone if requested. Not that many even realized that she was a member of the court.
Uzi had a tendency to keep her head down and focus on the task at hand rather than going and meeting everyone that came along. Her brother often called her a mouse in horse skin... always teasing her about her shy nature and lack of flamboyance as he would say. "No one is going to pay you any mind with that shyness... And you are a beautiful little thing when you actually care for your appearance and let yourself relax. You are always so uptight and rigid!" The words of the striking and vocal stallion echoed through her mind as she flew through the warm afternoon sky...
"Wait... It should be close to dusk..." Angling her wings, she set down in the center of the island, warm chocolate eyes taking in every leaf around her. What in the world was going on here? Why was the sun angled to the perfect height for midday rather than sinking below the horizon?
"Hello?" She called out to the seemingly empty forest, wondering if there was any answers to be found as she started to explore.
Rumors often swirled through the Night Court. Camillia was not usually one of the gossipers. But her lack of knowledge about the goings-on of the land led her to eavesdrop like a foal. This time the talk informed her of strange occurrences taking place on an island to the southeast of the Night Court's lands. Curiosity drove her to the air to try and find this strange island. She was hungry for knowledge of the deities of this land and books weren't satiating her.
She traveled above the land as much as possible. The idea of finding her muscles tiring over the ocean made her breath quicken and her heartbeat ring in her ears. It had happened before across a very large lake when she was much younger. She preferred not to bring up those memories.
As she neared the island, things began to grow bizarre. The waves slowed as she got closer to the island until not even a ripple remained. She landed to inspect. Finding a stick, she tossed it into the waves only for it to sit on top. It was if time was stopped for it just as it touched the water. Looking away and back, the stick was suddenly gone. Surprised, Camillia wondered if it had sunken when she looked away, but looking down, it was back in its original place. Finding this quite extraordinary, Camillia experimented more over the next few minutes before moving on. There was surely more to be learned from this place.
Finding herself in a silent forest, she was reminded of her birthplace, though it lacked the mist which forever encompassed that forest. Hearing a voice call out, she thought about ignoring it and heading in the other direction. She was having far too much fun with her experiments and learning to want it spoiled by another. But perhaps they could inform her of their own knowledge. Also it might pursue one of her other goals in who she wished to meet and ally with.
"Hello," she said softly, emerging from between trees into view of the other horse. "Do you have any idea what is going on here?" Camillia got straight to the point wishing to continue her investigations of the island. Perhaps two would be better than one if something unexpected happened.
Huehuecoyotl plowed through the strange day, the sun never moving as he explored the island. His acid green markings seemed to glow against the black and white pelt, matching the striking leaves that surrounded him with their bright colors. Pausing near the center, he shook his head and pawed at the strange earth. What a place...
"Hello?" The tentative call caught his attention and he smirked. Coy would know that voice anywhere. Gods knew how often he had checked on that filly as she was growing and after her mother had passed. Turning toward the direction that she seemed to be, he cantered through the brush. Coy was careful to watch for any branches or roots that would trip him. That was just what he needed... trip over an obstacle and break a leg. He snorted, remembering what Cally had said about being a poor nurse... Uzi probably wouldnt do much better since she was so dedicated to learning the art of being a soldier for her court.
Insanity... pledging oneself to a court and being stuck there... He loved the life on the move, traveling anywhere that struck his fancy and running into, or being run into by anyone that he could meet. In the time when he was laughing about her fate as soldier, the pair had stepped into the same clearing and nearly collided.
"Well then... You should avoid head on collisions, little sister... Dont want to damage that pretty face. Oh! That's right! You dont care about your looks. You would rather beat things up with your brawny muscles." He teased, though his voice was light. Stepping to her side, he nuzzled her blue roan, white, and ice blue neck and murmured a few less teasing things into her ear. Coy loved his little sister, not that they got to see each other often. She was always busy training and he was always roaming.
Uzi asked him if he wanted to join her and the pair decided to continue exploring together. "Hey... At least this way I know that I am not going to get too injured. I have a bodyguard that actually cares if I live or die." Coy teased with a wink, causing the striking young mare to groan and 'accidentally hit him with a branch as they passed a narrow area.
BETTER THE WIND, THE SEA, THE SALT
than this, this, this
The sun refuses to set. It hangs suspended upon the horizon, almost kissing the sea, and the world becomes red as war, as blood, as love, as hate, as a sun that refuses to set. Is it three days? Or is it more? Is it a week, a month, a year? Is it seconds, or an eternity? But the answer is there. An eternity of a sun loosing its track in the sky. Sometimes, it is drawn back--forcefully, angrily--and then it hinges, swings, a pendulum that no one notices. Because it does not set. It remains upon the border of one land and the next with a growing weight, a growing severity. The sky seems heavy. The heavens seem leaden. And the wavering hues of the everlasting sunset are transient, shifting, reds and oranges and yellows until they burn the eyes, and ache with all the uncertainty of a question gone unanswered, or a promise unkept. Yes. It begins to hurt to see. The light is a throbbing light, a pulsating light, that screams do not look do not look do not look I am not supposed to be here like this, I am not supposed to be suspended in time—
Time. Time. Time is still.
Boudika wanders in the stagnant light and she is the colour of blood spurting from an arterial vein. She is life’s blood, pouring out, a crimson that is insulting. It waxes over her. Becomes her. Transforms her. She feels like a monster, like she is bathed in something putrid, decaying. And inside, there is a dog gnawing on her heart, or a bird, tap-tap-tapping against her aorta. A murmur within, a missing beat, something off-rhythm, irregular, unhealthy. Out of sync. She feels out of breath as she walks, too full of mortality, and her mind turns on itself with a certain savagery. You don’t know what it feels like to have a heart gnawed on, her thoughts sneer. It was true. But I’ve seen enough corpses to guess.
Or so she thinks. And the sun aches in the sky. Boudika does not know when she finds it; but she happens upon a black cove, down beneath the jungle, and feels compelled to venture down. The descent to the sand is dangerous, twisting, from a jagged cliffside that leaks vermillion sickly, weakly. There is no life on the cliffside. There is no life on the beach, when she reaches it, and the dark sand shifts underfoot and the ocean is placid nearby. Nearly serene. Nearly peaceful. If Boudika did not know only putrid water could be so still, so untouched, so lifeless.
But Boudika is not alone. A haflinger with glassy wings moves busily about the sand, across the cove. Boudika begins to walk, and walk, and it feels like ages until she reaches the mare with feathers that reflect the bleeding light.
She is an old mare, grizzled, with eyes that are also like glass. Opaque? Seeing? Boudika cannot tell. She asks, “What are you doing?” And the woman shifts a pile of bones with her telekinetic magic. Boudika’s voice breaks the silence that has stretched since the sun stopped. She cringes. The haflinger with glass wings does not break her concentration; she tosses the bones, and Boudika sees a pointed skull, a fragment of broad teeth, some sort of femur, a broken horn, a number of sapphire scales—
“Reading your future,” the aged mare remarks, at last. And the silence breaks again when the bones clatter, singing one upon the other. Boudika is briefly, unreasonably, reminded of dancing. The crack of the finale, of her hooves upon cobblestones. A resounding finality.
”What do you read?" Her voice sounds a little like that, too.
The fortune teller makes a noncommittal sound. “There is a cave beneath the cliffside. You should go inside, and then I will tell you.”
Boudika moves wearily past the woman, towards the cliffs she mentioned. They jut like tusks, or fangs. The light bleeds over them. Boudika feels like a sacrifice. She feels like the chains are looming about her wrists, her ankles, her neck. Her throat constricts with the memory of bondage, of imprisonment. And still: she ventures along the water-line, she ventures where the oceans lays stagnant and too-bright against her hooves, and she finds the cavern yawning at the base of the cliffs. In a normal sea, it would have been unreachable for the waves crashing against the jagged rocks. But for these tranquil waters, this sick sea, it was eerily accessible. The crimson mare walks through the knee-deep water, weaving among the teeth-like rocks. Her flank brushes one, and she feels the pricking sting of blood against her flesh. Boudika stands at the mouth, staring into the deep, and the stories of disappearances enter her mind in a rush. She is silhouetted by the bloody sky. She is inseparable from it, and from the darkness that beckons her forward.
It is an aching darkness. An answer to her aching heart. A tap-tap-tapping against her aorta. A need to know—what is within?
So she steps inside, and the air is ancient. Bioluminescence blooms abruptly at her feet and that, too, is red. The walls are painted with old words and farther she ventures, and farther, until at the back of the cave she discovers as a skeleton and a ship. The skeleton’s horns are Boudika’s horns. The ship, torn asunder, is nothing save frayed old fabric and rotting planks. There is nothing alive in the cave, except for her. There is no answer in the cave, except for the pulsating bioluminescence and the staring eyes of the skull that looks too much and not enough like her own skull. She does not know how long she stares into those gaping eyes. She does not know how long she stands, swaying and exhausted, in the darkness. It is long enough to see pinpricks of light behind her eyes, to imagine the sound of waves outside, to think: just a few more seconds, and I will go outside, and everything up to this point will have been a dream… I will be home again—it will all be the same again—
Boudika reemerges an indefinite amount of time later. Days later. Years later. She feels old when the sun kisses her flesh, and somehow the sky is blue, somehow she knows that no time has passed at all. The sun is still there. The mare is still there, playing with her bones. ”What did you find?” she asks as Boudika passes, her flank still bleeding, her skin pricking with salt water.
”The future." The words are angry. But Boudika knows the answer is wrong as soon as she confesses it. She corrects herself. ”No. The past." And the grizzled mare makes a noncommittal noise, once again, and Boudika is infuriated—she wheels about, to snarl, to snap the air, to demand some answer that is more satisfying—
And the woman is gone, and her words are drifting without a breeze, they are drifting and they are not real, and the sun is too hot, and too bright. “Change is the only future. Change or die.”
Looking him in the eyes always felt like falling. It always felt like she became submerged, when the caught them just right, and they became vibrant with every colour that has ever existed within the water of the sea. The pure blue of the Aegean, or the dark cold of the pacific, the green of algae-covered coves, the splitting amber of a sea during sunrise. It was before their death sentence. They were waiting to be dragged into the streets, where it poured rain. They had replaced the chains on their backs, on their necks, and Boudika could smell his flesh where it burnt against the metal. But he stared at her steadily, and his breath just barely brushed against her neck through the bars of their cells. “I have been forced to bare the most unbearable of burdens,” he told her. “I have been forced to endure the unendurable. I am the last of my kind, the keeper of their souls, and I have failed them. But it wasn’t my fault. It was fate; the gods had already weighed our scales. When I look at you, though, I feel like there is a future… somehow… somewhere…"
And she didn’t understand, until he said: “Because it is in your nature, Copperhead. It is in your nature to survive. You are the sea and you are flame and you are both a dancer and a warrior. You are the general's son and your city's betrayed daughter. You are everything that my people love, and everything they fear. And you are everything your own people love, and everything they fear. You are the best and worst of all of us, and today, when they send us to sea, when they sentence us to die... It is not in your nature, to die like this.”
Boudika is alone on the black beach. She settles in the sand, and looks out toward the horizon, wondering if it is too late to ask a favour of a god. There is a sinking ship in her unrhythmic heart, and for all of her dancing, all of her ferocity, she cannot think of a single song. To endure the unendurable and this, yes this, seems unendurable.
Sol yawned, revealing his large white teeth to the world as he stopped his exploration to take a break. He felt like he had been here for days, though the sun hadnt changed at all. Frowning, he took a minute to really think about the length of time that he had been on the island. The ebony, gold, and ivory stallion had taken a few laps around the island, slowly moving further and further inward. There is no way that he could have done that fast enough for the sun to be in the same place.
Staring up at the sky, he pinned his ears. "What game are you playing?" He murmured, not loudly but still with frustration and confusion. Nothing about this island made sense. Perhaps Bel was right and it was bad. Flicking his tail, he gazed around him in an attempt to find something, anything, that would give him clues as to what was going on. As he looked about, a feeling of fear and dread began to settle into his bones. Yes... Bel was most likely right. Perhaps the island was the home to some dark god that wanted to feed off of the fear.
@
"Speaking." Notes: Crappy post... but at least it is a post XD
Something was wrong, Emersyn could not help but notice the absence of birds flying through the air.
And clouds - the few that there were, were nothing more than blemishes of white on a silent, still painting. The air was stifling for what it was, the area quiet and void of life at the time that she had come to see it for herself. Nothing made sense to her and she did not like that this place was so much more different than any other that she knew about. The only satisfaction that she got from following rumors about 'the bridge to nowhere' was that it was unfortunately true.
Well then.
At least her time was not wasted time.
The grullo stopped in her own tracks abruptly, no dust (she noticed that). There was no breeze to distract the sculpted rose curls and waves of meticulously styled hair, for this, Emersyn was quite thankful. But this place, as appealing as it was to Emersyn, was still very unsettling. She knew about the Gods, knew their history, considered their existence, and then found herself wondering about things beyond her. She did not like to believe in someone that could have such power and control.
But what if it was true? Clearly Time was frozen just as that old slog told it. But here, in the middle of broad daylight (night?), she found herself trying to reason her way out of his wild tale. A mysterious gray horse walked this place for what seemed to be hours, days, possibly even weeks, and a sun - this sun - followed him like a shadow before he vanished.
And now it was all as still as a statue - the very waves crashing upon shore were twisted, droplets of water suspended in time rattled the very foundations of Emersyn's comfort zones. Her lip twitched. It was harder to consider science, because if all things are still, the sun cannot possibly emanate with heat. Heat is energy. Energy is entropy. Entropy is motion. Motion is movement. We measure our movement with increments of Time.
Don't we?
It was easier to swallow the story if she just didn't think too hard about it - and considered the texts she read prior to coming here instead. The horse vanished right here, supposedly. If Emersyn's memory served her right (if the drunkard's story was even true at all) - and there was nothing here. She even spent the time to look down and all around, no trace of any foul play, no sign of any phenomena aside from what was already current.
If it had been a God, then she would have suspected the one responsible for the Sun.
"Solis?"
@Random Events (I hope I did this right?) this is open for anybody :)
STAFF EDIT***
@Emersyn has rolled a 4! She has been awarded +200 signos.
