The slicing sound of shears would awaken Fever from her sleep, her body swiftly rising as if prepared to flee from an invisible predator, her legs screaming to run though they were bambi-like as she tried to reestablish her relationship with gravity - eyes wide with an unknown panic as the echoes of someone screaming bled into her ears. As she looked down upon her body she was marveled by the horror of long, black tendrils of hair slithering up her knees, no mouths or tongues yet the hair whimpered and wept as it weakly tried to reach her face; each voice a growing choral of distorted cries all saying the same words in different times until it deafened all other sounds:
You left us. You left us. You left us.
YOU. LEFT. US.
With a gasp, Fever breaches actual consciousness, and as her head swivels to find the sentient hair, she only discovers her own luscious tail encased around her acting as her pillow and covers. Sweat dewed at her brow, each haggard breath a sign of relief as she comes to the conclusion that she had simply been trapped in another nightmare. Despite the frequency of these dreams increasing, Fever could not reason why. Perhaps a shrink could provide her answers, a clairvoyant, someone more in touch with the other side.
A growing sense of dread and guilt boiled in the cauldron of her body, giving her a sense of nausea as she slowly elevates to her feet. Daylight had yet to crawl over the horizon, the kingdom of Solterra still blanketed by a soft, lavender dawn. The woman rises, goes through her morning ritual of oiling her body, whispering quiet and loving aspirations to herself, before leaving her room to begin her day. She did not wear her jewelry today, nor the keepsake from her mother.
With straight and unwavering purpose, she would saunter the barren streets and arrive at the Coliseum.
Ever since her return to Solterra, it had been on her ever-growing list of things to do - to go where the warriors go. And when she stepped inside the ring, a strange joy washed over her body, eyes twinkling as she imagined spectators lining the seats, calling out her name, barking at her to fight, and fight, and fight until she had given all the might she could muster. Her mother would be frowning right now, wherever she was, disappointed that her daughter would choose violence.
Violence was all she ever knew.
Fever was adept at hurting others, and for once she wished it to be praiseworthy. For some reason, unless she carried the title of battlemage or assassin, she would never be recognized as a fighter. She had been fighting all her life and it would never amount to anything.
Standing in the center of the ring, she would look up at the sky, a sudden tenderness on her face as she questioned why Solis would place all this anger, all this rage, all this misery in her if not to be used as a weapon. Did He find it funny? Was she just another jester to Him? Did He like to test her flexibility, how far would she bend before she snapped?
Fever fixed her jaw into a straight line, her demure metamorphosing into a sharpened glare.
Well fuck Him.
Haunted by nightmares of hair because of Him. Placed into this body because of Him. Scrubbed the blood off the pavement, learned to be subservient, watched those you loved be sold away, would never have a parade in her honor because she was born a slave - because of Him.
Today she chose to be warrior.
Today she chose to be a Solterrian.
Hardened by the sand and heat, fierce like the mid-day sun, unrelenting and miserable like a drought.
This was as much of her home as it was theirs.
She had a right to fight in this Coliseum like anyone else.
Abruptly, she would pivot and face the entrance, her ears pinned back, coiling and patient like a rattlesnake. Someone had to come here, a warrior certainly, some poor soul would be drunk on anger, aching for a fight just like she was, and when they chose to arrive, she would be ready with open arms and a dagger in her teeth. She would prove she deserved just as much glory and guts as any of the soldiers.
So tell me your secrets ; and join me in pieces TO FALL AND REWRITE THE BITTER END
The night had an itchy restlessness that blanketed it. He tossed and turned unable to get comfortable. As though his hide remembered each and every piece of damaged flesh, that had now healed. Thoughts of nonsense had plagued his mind. Thoughts that he had long fought to gain control of. Who was he? Why was he here? Better yet who did he want to be? The shadows of his past creeping through his mind. The scent of burning flesh, hair and soot choked his very being with each breath. Drifting in and out of sleep, struggling to keep a firm grip on reality.
It wasn’t every night he was forced to revisit his entrance to Novus. But this night clearly was such a night. The sensation of falling and choking on each breath would take moments to abate when he opened his eyes. He knew a little more about Volcanoes, enough folks had told him that it wasn't his fault - for him to believe that he didn’t cause the eruption. When logic was stripped back in dreams, this was harder to maintain a grasp on.
He had spent the better part of his young life ostracized. Aeon was born with the blood of fierce fighters with an internal struggle for strength. However he had not been allowed any training or recognition due to his inability to fly. In his private life he had begun the slow process at building the muscles of his wings to support his bulk. When he was younger he did not have the bulk or feathers, or appropriate sized wings. But now, he had grown - he was flourishing and becoming stronger.
There was an element of relief - that he wasn’t faulty. Simply that his body had been biding its time before showing its true strength. Being ejected from the volcano in reality had saved his life. He suspected that in time they would have felt threatened and he would have been forcibly removed at some point…he wasn’t entirely sure what that would have looked like; but it couldn’t be good!
He had grown to be a hulking figure, a strength he was still learning to control entirely. He was proudly a warrior for the Dusk court. He knew there was much yet to learn, and he would need to take every opportunity to take advantage of the gifts he had been born with. It was odd for Aeon to feel thankful for his bloodline; but they had been tried and tested over centuries. Selectively bred for violence and bulk. He was thankful that his mind had not been tainted too greatly beyond their nonsense haunting him in his dreams.
With a thundering heart he was very much awake, shaking his head as though dismissing the soot and suffering from his mind. He was not that tiny colt anymore; he was capable of so much more. He pulled his body from laying to a standing position, stretching out his enormous wingspan. Each feather slightly fluttered as he tested their capacity. Today would be the day! He would take flight properly! He would fly with the rising sun and he would show Novus what he was capable of!
He flapped his wings, and stretched his stride preparing to take flight. His young heart racing and his mind flutters with excitement. Jumping from the ledge he found himself with the wind beneath his wings, his wingspan finally supporting his large weight. He found turning to be a struggle, and slowing to be a strange experience. These elements would take practice. But he was finally doing it! He was flying! He remembered the wise lesson of a mare he had met and he kept his eyes firmly open; there would be no mid-air collisions if he could help it.
He traveled far faster than he had anticipated. Before he knew it he was leaving Dusk rapidly. It was an interesting vantage to see the world from. From here he could not see any Volcano in the sky, but he dared not fly higher. He was unsure if he ever truly wanted to uncover his homelands. It was easier just not to.
Before long he had drifted over the realms of the day court. He pulled his wings closer to his body intending to slow down, but only found himself losing height. He was falling. In a panic he opened his wingspan again only finding himself still falling in a different pattern. He saw an opening in a building and attempted to aim for that, He didn’t want to hurt anyone with his incompetence. As he got closer his heart lept into his mouth as the mare within became visible.
He managed to stop himself to a slower falling, landing in a leggy mess of feathers and coughing beside her. He quickly righted himself and shook his feathers out, taking a step sidewards to not be invading the strange mare's space. “Uh….” he trailed awkwardly. “Sorry about that! I am Aeon.” he smiled with a boyish awkward grin. It was true, he had grown significantly over spring but there was still much growing to be done. But he was glowing, he had done it, he had flown at last.
ooc: Permission given for minor powerplay in her response if it makes sense to your reply <3 you can bite/kick him etc. if she wishes!
As if she wasn’t already convinced that Solis was conjured to merely mock her existence: she demands a warrior fit for her to challenge, someone who would make her taste her own blood and give her a glimpse of a true Solterrian solider life. She craved just a moment to make her mother proud.
And what does she get?
A boy falls from the sky, half of his mammoth weight probably thanks to his fawn-like legs and mass of feathers, he is gawky and spindly like a spring fling, and his awkward charm and smile would not spare him today.
As the shadow of his body blots out the sun, Fever looks up and makes a quick decision to dart out of the way, yet his landing stirs up the dust of the colosseum. Wayward feathers float around them, and for a moment, a soft and stifled cry of disbelief reverberates in Fever’s chest.
This is what Solis answered her with.
Was she not worthy of some battle-worn and sun-hardened challenger?
Was He rolling around his heavenly throne laughing at her? Wiping his tears and eager to see how she would handle his gift?
It made her angrier.
“Fine.” She says through the grate of her teeth.
Her lithe body turns towards the boy, her shoulders rolling back proud, and even though she did not come close to his staggering height, and her muscles were thin and sinewy in comparison to his bulk, she lifted her chin – unafraid and hungry.
“Aeon – I, Fever, challenge you. You have stepped into this colosseum and we will fight until I am satisfied or you forced a forfeit from me. Let Solis be our witness.”
She snarls as she grabs a feather from the air in her teeth – she chews it up and spits it out.
“I expect no mercy.”
Fever elevates herself onto her hindquarters, and with a leap, she springs forward to eat the distance between them, her mouth open and akin to a bear trap, her teeth eager to clamp onto the young man’s dappled and burgundy flesh, the projectile of her attack attempting to bite the joint where his left wing meets his backstrap.
So tell me your secrets ; and join me in pieces TO FALL AND REWRITE THE BITTER END
Just when he had told himself multiple times over to not cause trouble. Aeon had literally landed smack bang in the middle of it. Challenged by a strange mare who seemed intent to fight him, and who knows when she would stop. He would not be afraid, perhaps it would have been a wiser choice to decline this fight and flee. But he had been challenged and his youthful pride would not let him refuse. This was exactly what he needed. To have an avenue to stretch his strength and use his muscles.
He listened carefully to her words before shouting back rather dramatically, “ I, Aeon accept this challenge,In this colosseum of Solis we will fight!” He watches her puzzled chewing on one of his feathers. Those didn’t taste good, and she was rather lucky she didn’t inhale any fragments of it. She had chewed up something of his body and spat it out, somehow it felt…strange. Like his sense of body and space had been invaded.
He didn’t let the moment distract him for long as the mare was launching herself towards his body. His immediate instinct was to withdraw, but she moved so quickly and he found himself almost stumbling in reaction, he flung his wings open in an attempt to help push her back. He felt the sting of her teeth tearing into his flesh and sliding down his shoulder as he tried to push her off. He screamed at the sensation of pain and panic. His mind needed training just as much as his flesh.
She expected no mercy, but he still felt awkward with their size difference. She had clearly shown she was capable as his deep red blood drizzled down his shoulder and dropped on the soil. She was the first to taste his flesh, the first to fight him directly. Did this please Solis? He wondered how Vespera would feel about his actions. This is what he had been waiting his whole life for. To feel included and to fight? Was this not what he had been denied in childhood? He roared with frustration and reared onto his own back legs aiming to crash down upon her shoulders and if he wasn’t successful maybe it would force her out of his space for long enough to recover.
He suddenly found rolling laughter escaping his lips, he hadn’t felt this kind of adrenaline before. “Fever, It is clear there is much you can teach me. Show me before Solis what you know.” He couldn’t help but shout it like a maniac in the colosseum. It was something about the grandeur of it all that felt him needing to rise to the character. It was also the adrenaline and finally partaking in something that had been denied to him his entire life. Fever was finally giving the young boy what he desired for so long.
The copper tang of blood spread across her palette like warm butter on fresh bread. It wasn't that Fever particularly enjoyed the taste of it, but she reveled in the familiarity of it. In that split moment, the gilt in her eyes glazed in bewilderment and satisfaction - time slowed to a glacial crawl, and her attention was pulled away from the dirt and dust bowl nature of the colosseum.
The blood reminded her of a past life she sought to forget. It was reminiscent of getting struck in the mouth when she spoke out of turn, it was a reminder of house spars and play-pretend of warriors fighting massive sandwyrms.
-------
A young Fever stands over a house servant, nostrils flaring, a slight pant parting her dry lips. With a set of ears pinned to her skull and the sweat on her skin shining, the filly finally breaks character, a smirk drawn on her face.
"Beat ya-" She says in-between her breaths, glowering in her false glory as she watched the other pick themselves up. At the sight of their stumble, her grandeur falters, and she humbles herself enough to lend her slender body as a crutch.
"I think I lasted longer this time -" they said, eye swollen, sheepish smile on their face.
Fever smiles softly. "You're right, and I think next time, you'll be the one on top of me".
The other servant laughs; they shuffle and limp off together towards the walls of the courtyard. There, if you listened carefully, you could hear the ceremonial music of Solterrans returning from their slaying of the great Teryr.
"We will be out there one day," Fever muses to her friend, her heart skip-happy in her malnourished chest, a day-dream of a smile threatening to tarnish her spiteful and dry nature.
"Maybe you, but not me."
With a moment of hesitation, the chimera yearling is quiet, tilting her delicate head - large eyes full of hope and grit studying the other within a frame of long, wispy lashes.
"You will be with me, I promise." She whispers carefully, a well-loved secret between the two of them, a brief pact sealed with an ignorant promise. "I will deliver us from this hell."
The other was quiet - meek and unsure of what to say. They shuffled, large and gawky feet drawing strange shapes in the clay dirt.
Finally, after the silence stretched between them and a gentle breeze tussles their immature manes, the friend looks up to Fever.
"Please don't forget me when you do."
‐----
How could she forget them?
She never meant to leave them behind.
Fever thought it would be safest if she removed herself from the crime scene, thought it would give them all time to separate and create new names for themselves; adequate space to heal their traumas and nurse those mental and emotional wounds.
But here she was - instead of sparring with those she was bound to, she was fighting strangers. Who knew if she would ever reconnect with those she once held dearest to her heart.
Fever was painfully alone in her misery.
You left us. You left us.
"I didn't mean to," she says quietly to herself, just a whisper in the wind - maybe it could be deciphered as an apology to tearing into the skin of Aeon. Alas, honestly, she hadn't heard a single word he said. In fact, so distracted by her own ghosts that she did not try to avoid his attack.
As he reared up, her eyes widened as she was transported back to reality. Colossal hooves threatened to crash down on her, and she didn't have time to out maneuver them. Instead, she welcomed it, thrusting her head into his weight, hoping the spikes along her nape would provide a prickly landing.
When his weight toppled her, she wouldn't be sure if she ended up scraping him in the process. The size differences would end up hurting the mare, his weight bruising one shoulder and scraping the other.
Fever would fall quickly to her knees, unable to support their weight, swift to roll over twice and get out from under his feet, creating distance between them. She smirks as the sting of her new injuries would confirm that he, indeed, was formidable enough to fight.
"Aeon, you're a big boy. I'm sure you've already been recruited by our King to fight for the glory of Solterra, no?"
Unaware that he is not a part of her world, she sprints again, not quite as quick as before due to a slight limp in her right leg - her head is lowered like a battering ram, her duo-horns eager to impale any part of him that she is lucky enough to hit.
So tell me your secrets ; and join me in pieces TO FALL AND REWRITE THE BITTER END
It was both exhilarating and terrifying to be finally sparring. He was breathing heavily with both exertion and excitement. This was not what he had been expecting to find on his flight. This was not at all what he thought he would be doing. His heart raced in his chest during his attack. There was a thought he hadn’t considered as he saw her eyes widen. His hooves were already posed to crash down upon her, there was no turning back now. What if he killed her? He hadn’t expected to see her eyes look like that. He hadn’t expected for it to feel like this.
His moments of thought were interrupted by the sensation of horns on his flesh, and his hooves on her. The 2 prongs catch the vulnerable flesh of his chest and leave long cuts that lead up towards his neck. Seeing her fall to her knees his heart leapt into his throat. Had he killed her? In all the lead up to being able to fight, he hadn’t really been able to grasp some of the reality that came with fighting. How could he? All he had ever known of fighting was skyward clashes of brutes of equal size, more squeal than blood. He had never seen the end of the fights, he never truely had been allowed to observe them. All he had known was that he could feel the fire of their blood in his veins. That he had been excluded and ostracized for being no good, but now he was grown and capable.
In all the adrenaline he hadn’t really acknowledged the injury she had given him, his blood falling on the colosseum floor. It formed a thick warm puddle beneath him. “I fight for Vespera, I am a soldier of Dusk.” He called out with beaming pride towards Fever. Before he could get a response he saw her hurtling towards him, those twin horns ready to seek his flesh.He poised to launch himself from the ground to move out of the way of her charge. His jump and flight was awkward and nowhere near fast enough to avoid her entirely, her horns caught his underbelly, leaving two long gazes. As a result he bled as he flapped his wings and landed on the other side behind her. It was possible that Fever could end up covered in his warm fresh blood as he had gone overtop of her.His landing was awkward and he skidded under the loss of traction of his own blood.
For a moment he expected to look down and see his own insides on the ground. The cuts to his chest and underside had not been as harsh as they had felt. They had deep penetrations and would take time to heal but were nothing life threatening. He pulled himself to his feet, short of breath and searing in pain. He was prepared to keep fighting her, his mind whispered to him that he could concede and it would all be over.
“Does my blood satisfy Solis? Before Solis and Vespera we have fought.” he projected his voice not letting it waver. Trying to not let Fever sense the fear that was beginning to creep further into his chest. The fear that he could kill her, or that she would kill him. This was more than he had considered previously. Her fiery spirit and determination was both electrifying and terrifying. There was clearly much still to be learnt. He clearly hadn’t yet garnered the stomach for war.
When it comes to violence, Fever is typically insatiable. She lives for the fight: the gut-punch and blows from strangers engaging in this primal war-dance of bodies and sweat, the folding and snapping of bones under the pressure of the other's weight, and the tang of your own blood in your mouth. It was primitive, engraved into her genotype, an instinct as natural as seeking water in the middle of the desert. The desire to inflict pain was equally as great as the yearn for her own bodily harm - she wished for pain, she lusted after the adrenaline that follows after a wound, begged for the clarity the comes after dissipating in the rage.
Surely, this sick breed of masochism would eventually be her end.
Until then she would continue to sharpen herself into a weapon on the whetstone of other horses' bodies.
Fever was unaware of the scratches she would inflict on the young stud's chest, and it was too late when Aeon's words registered in her mismatched ears. She was already in the motion of the attack. Her long tines cut into the underbelly of the draft as he failed to evade her - like a hot knife into butter. Warm, sticky blood speckles her face; Fever closes her eyes, as if rain in a drought and she had been religiously praying to the Gods to quench her thirst, a soft sigh of contentment briefly escaping her. As Aeon stumbles into his landing behind her, he speaks again, asking if her God was satisfied.
He is not a child of the sun.
In that moment, she is statue-still, her lashes gradually opening to let the light of morning sting her molten gold eyes.
This fight wouldn't bring her the glory she sought.
Her anger boils in her stomach, a wretched bile of emotion, though not a hint of her brewing resentment is shown on her face - in fact, from the outside, she appears melancholy. Her black lips are curled into a small frown, the sparkle of war once in her fiery gaze now dampened, snuffed out by an unseen hand. The mare's jaw shifts side to side, grinding her molars in solemn contemplation as she stares at the invisible face of her patron deity in the sky.
Solis - what must I do in order to please you?
Am I not eager enough for war? Am I not willing to trample your enemies and cut down your foes?
When will I feel like a worthy child?
Fever blinks slowly - Aeon's blood like sap on her lashes, a splatter of sanguine war-paint as she turns her delicate head over her shoulder to scrutinize him with a menacing stare. Her line of sight tracing the wounds on his pectoral muscles, watching his skin weep and run down those duo-toned legs and puddle at the floor.
"I asked for no mercy," she announces, deadpan and impassive. Aeon, though absolutely gargantuan in size and easily able to dwarf her with his sheer strength, is coming off as too young, perhaps too inexperienced, to know how to effectively neutralize her. She pities him: if he was a part of her Kingdom he would have already been crafted into a fine instrument of destruction. But alas, he would go crawling back to the soft and meek arms of Vespera.
A soft breeze gets caught inside the colosseum, it tangles Fever's hair and whispers in her ear - reminds her of her mother telling her that enough is enough, a ghost-like attempt to pacify the spite running rampant through her veins.
Her eyes narrow. "I am satisfied." It was a lie, and she knew not if Solis would be thrilled with this outcome despite how much she wished for it.
Fever pivots to face Aeon, the limp in her right foreleg evident now that the adrenaline had begun to taper - an eggplant of a bruise on her shoulder, which would surely transfigure into a kaleidoscope of ghastly colors over the next couple weeks. The scrape on her other shoulder was raw, her own blood matting her fur, though not leaking like the other's wound. It hurt to walk, each stride a reminder of her stubbornness to stand and endure it.
Though he towers over her, she lifts her chin to him, brash and unafraid. "You may leave my kingdom now."
@Aeon after your next post, i can close up this thread : )
So tell me your secrets ; and join me in pieces TO FALL AND REWRITE THE BITTER END
Blood on her face and the limp in her stride; the stakes of this battle had been real. Reinforcing that choosing to finish this particular fight had been in his mind the correct choice. A whisper in the back of his mind wondered what would have happened if he had pressed on. Letting this mare slice him further, spilling more of his blood on the ground. What had she hoped would happen? Did she truly wish to die? Or was it her desire to see life expire? She seemed almost sad despite having fought valiantly against a much larger opponent. He didn’t want to disappoint her. That concept somehow pressed painfully deeper into his chest then the wounds.
“You asked for no mercy, But what did you expect to happen Fever? It is wasteful to snuff life for personal satisfaction.” his voice genuinely curious to what the multi-colour splashed fighter desired. Her dull and deadpan tones struck him harsher than he dared admit. They clashed and fought. They had felt the strength of each other in a clash. Blood, sweat and maybe in private also tears. He would not wear his emotion so openly to her. There was something captivating about the way she had moved and her determination.
The start of this journey of fighting had begun with his birth. With feeling inadequate, with being unable to train with his family. For being ostracized. His arrival at Novus had allowed him to grow and flourish. He was still growing in his spirit and growing into his bones.
“If that is what you wish, then I shall leave” he said softly. “I hope perhaps on another morning such as this we can spar, we can learn from each other. You are a formidable force.” he said with a chuckle. He had appreciated this opportunity. Even if he felt as though he had gotten himself into a fight he was not prepared for. He had learnt in truth the value of life. That he valued it. That he would need to seek alternative uses of force that disabled and didn’t just barriage his way through.
He winced as he flapped his wings and prepared to leave the coliseum. His mind briefly flittering to concern of how Caelum would receive him in such a state. Leaving behind the mysterious mare and so many unanswered questions. Maybe someday he would come to get to know Fever, the formidable mare of Solis. He hoped that Vespera would not be disappointed with his efforts. He would get stronger for the Dusk court.
@Fever <3
![[Image: 45505141_kShAGp5UVRG2Lvt.png]](https://f2.toyhou.se/file/f2-toyhou-se/images/45505141_kShAGp5UVRG2Lvt.png)
