[AW] every night [relic contest]

[Damascus]

DAMASCUS

he was like a storm,

"Look we long for Dohv. Find we not!" 
Damascus had despaired the whole trek along the riverbank, his gaze cast into its deathly white foam as he skated across the mud. There must be a reason they hadn't found anything relic-related yet - probably because it was at the bottom or an ocean or at the depths of the Rapax. Not a trace had been left upon the earth, not a single mark or divine sign lead them to any clues either - was it even true? Was there a relic or was is just a silly prank that started small and now devoured the minds of the greedy like Kaladin? 

Wings flared and nose craning over the river, Damascus aimed ot keep himself steady as he remained perches upon the bank. Crooning his gaze over the floodwater, his brows increasingly furrowing, he knew there was no way to check under the waves for such an object unless they could ask a creature who lived below them. 
As if Tempus himself had sent it, Damascus was soon to cast his gaze upon a small family of Otters. The tallest of which was smacking a fish upon a rock, clearly the father, while the mother lined up the three children in preparation for supper.
"Speak them to Dohv? Ask we of relic to them?" Damascus asked the jerboa upon his wings.

☀︎ ☀︎

[Ipomoea]

---

He’d realized he couldn’t leave yet, not without making a trip into farther into the Court first. It was a wonder that he hadn’t already explored parts of it, given the time he had spent abroad so far. He remembered aspects from his childhood only vaguely, his memory lacking in refined details. To any other this might be an inconsequential thing, meaningless even—but to Ipomoea, it had become of the utmost importance for him to return in order to resolve this great transgression, an attempt to ingrain every detail back into his memory so that he might never forget again.

The water was cool against his muzzle, darkening his face and leaving behind droplets of moisture to collect underneath his eyes and nose. Just a few feet further out the water was a roaring monster, raging against its confinements as it rushed downstream. It was beautiful, if a little daunting; surely such a current could sweep any horse off of its feet, quick to disappear around the bend. For now he would not risk it; far better to wait until a calmer section of water to cross over.

With a flick of his tail against his hocks, Po turned away from the water and continued alongside it, picking his legs up into a steady trot. It was only a few minutes later, around a gentle bend that he saw a distinctive dark shape blotting out a section of the river bank up ahead. The name came easily to his mind, for he was determined not to forget anymore details of his travels.

“Damascus!” he called, unable to contain his excitement at seeing another equine—it never mattered whether the face be familiar or not—immediately altering his direction to head in the dark stallion’s direction. “How goes it? Still looking for the relic?” As he drew closer, ears bobbing contentedly in time with his stride, he was able to get a closer look at the otters, object of the other equine’s attention.

@Damascus
ooc: yay for liquid time man
!!!

---

[Rostislav]

Rostislav My neck straight out in front of me, I trudge along from one land to another. I wonder how many damn miles I've traveled so far? Where's my step tracker? WHERE ARE MY FITNESS REWARDS?! Have I lost weight? I need to eat. No.. I need to drink. A whimper passes my lips as I think about my missing booze. Where is the alcohol? THE VODKA. WHY IS THE VODKA GONE. I snap at my shoulder, like pinching myself to awaken from a bad dream. No... don't go down that road or you'll never come back. I have to stay focused on the task at hand, the relic, to keep myself afloat and rising above the grief that threatened to consume me when I first arrived here in Novus. My pelt twitches, an instinctive reaction to the momentary pain. "Damascus!" A voice shouts ahead and I look up from my pathetic reverie to see a familiar looking pegasus (that Damascus). The one who called, I presume, is a young-looking painted beast. I stride toward them, feeling a little lighter in my steps. The distraction has returned and I'm eager to pursue it. I stop a short distance away, some thirty feet. "Did I hear mention of a relic? I'd join your hunt if you'd have me." I nod to Damascus, remembering him from... somewhere I've been. I nod to the other and my accent comes a little heavier than normal as I speak my name. "Rostislav." Walk. Talk. Top Shelf Sexy Badass

Image Credit