, exit alive
Magic is a thing unheard of in the old testament of the mare. Chronokinesis, invisiblity, the ability to move things with one's mind, these are all things new - new to Emersyn, for such magic did not exist in kinds of stories the soldier grew with. She chose to stay three days ago when she first arrived. On the account of magic, she has chosen to continue her journey deeper into the island, investigating what she can, refusing to admit that it is more of an exploration due to the fact that she has no idea what it is she is looking for. Similarly, she has no clue what drives her to stay knowing that she may find nothing - that she may find her death (or Death Itself). What would she say to something like that, if Death is who she finds. For isn't the keeper of time itself none other but the reaper? The one who chooses whether you are coming, or going?
This isn't for you, turn back Emersyn, turn back now.
Her father's voice irradiates her mind of all present thought. Just before she discovers the hoofprints forming in the sand, she thinks about adhering to Nicolai's advice. Perhaps this is not for her to know. Perhaps there is nothing here at all to be achieved. Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps. She hates how incomplete the word seems to be. How untold it is. The soldier does not like not-knowing. She has always been that way. Emersyn lags in the shadow of Nicolai's fair warning, turn back? stay? wait?.
...
It is pure ass luck that she accidentally drops her hair pin into the sand. Not realizing her own magic, she leans down and reaches for it - and that is when she sees hoofprints forming on their own in the sand. Azureous eyes look on incredulously as the rings continue to move forward and away from her on their own path. "What is this?" Emersyn questions with intrigue, and to no one in particular - for the soldier has chosen to walk alone. Before she knows it she is walking with the footsteps, not away from them. As if in a spell, they take her away from the shivering sea and the quaking sands she has barely begun to fathom the stillness of.
They lead her into the shade of the lush trees and deep into a wilderness she has never imagined before. She has never imagined much quite frankly, and despite her overwhelming feelings of doing everything that comes unnaturally for her she carries on. Thick and green and full of life, the jungle is suffocatingly rich with flora and not much fauna (much to the young woman's relief). But what else may lay in the wake of such an easy journey? Emersyn awaits it fully with mental preparedness, physical duress, and tactical reasoning; logic flew the coop days ago, when the sun first defied the stars, days ago.
Emersyn comes to a standstill, gated off by roping vines and the fat trunks of ancient elder trees. The rank of wet, hot soil does nothing to help her fortell of ways to get around her obstacle. She will not give up, although with no knife or sword to cut her way through - no magic (that she knows of) either - the chances of being left behind grow more apparent. The soldier watches the hoof prints progress through the muddle as she is left behind.
"W-wait for me!" That is ridiculous Emersyn! Who are you talking to? She cannot tell if it is Nicolai who chides her or if she is reminding herself not to be so ridiculous.
Frustrated, the woman rears up and cuffs the first set of vines with her hooves as if she is going in for a fight. If it is anything like the trainers that fought with her, they'll be better off staying out of her way. The vines come apart with enough force from the mare's powerful limbs. The rest she tears at with sharp, hard teeth when she can. Some she stubbornly presses through - even when the jungle aims to make a quarry out of her by tangling her up in unimaginable ways.
It takes too long to get where she wants to be. It is almost as if the jungle is trying to protect the new comer, as if it knows by now that Emersyn may not be the One to understand what it is that she may find. The wood holds her back with a promise, a promise of safety, a promise of comfort - comfort from whatever disturbing truth that lies in the beyond, the unknown. Little does this jungle, this island, this sea which surrounds them like black around a star know, that all of it will not contain Emersyn. It will not keep her safe. It will not comfort her. For she will tear through it all with tooth and claw and sheer will. She will not be surrendered. She will not be forbidden to the riches of the new world in which she lives in.
By now, perhaps the footsteps have found the way back to their owner? Emersyn rolls her eyes at her own thoughtless wondering. It is just enough of a personal aggravator that she breaks free of the natural restraint. The velocity of her well-muscled weight against the sudden give of the vines sends her stumbling like a fool into a clearing where she is no longer alone with herself. A quick scan of the area reveals many other horses gathered here today - perhaps lead by their own phantom footsteps. Each one of these people following (or finding) their own path - the same way they walk through life. In any which direction they go, it always leads to death in the end, doesn't it?
"What is this?" she asks anybody, everybody. Her deep blue eyes fall to Relic resting quietly in the very center of the dell. Like so many others, the black and silver grullo with the white face does not advance on the artifact. It is not fear that holds her back (and certainly not vines, not this time) - but respect - even if it feels alien and displaced when she tries to understand why she feels this way. This is a new testament, Emersyn believes to herself. In leaving the old world she has died. And a cold, tired world she has left behind if this one can be so nourishing and fortifying to her decaying soul. In death there is rebirth, however, and Emersyn thinks that this may be something possible, for even her.
This isn't for you, turn back Emersyn, turn back now.
Her father's voice irradiates her mind of all present thought. Just before she discovers the hoofprints forming in the sand, she thinks about adhering to Nicolai's advice. Perhaps this is not for her to know. Perhaps there is nothing here at all to be achieved. Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps. She hates how incomplete the word seems to be. How untold it is. The soldier does not like not-knowing. She has always been that way. Emersyn lags in the shadow of Nicolai's fair warning, turn back? stay? wait?.
...
It is pure ass luck that she accidentally drops her hair pin into the sand. Not realizing her own magic, she leans down and reaches for it - and that is when she sees hoofprints forming on their own in the sand. Azureous eyes look on incredulously as the rings continue to move forward and away from her on their own path. "What is this?" Emersyn questions with intrigue, and to no one in particular - for the soldier has chosen to walk alone. Before she knows it she is walking with the footsteps, not away from them. As if in a spell, they take her away from the shivering sea and the quaking sands she has barely begun to fathom the stillness of.
They lead her into the shade of the lush trees and deep into a wilderness she has never imagined before. She has never imagined much quite frankly, and despite her overwhelming feelings of doing everything that comes unnaturally for her she carries on. Thick and green and full of life, the jungle is suffocatingly rich with flora and not much fauna (much to the young woman's relief). But what else may lay in the wake of such an easy journey? Emersyn awaits it fully with mental preparedness, physical duress, and tactical reasoning; logic flew the coop days ago, when the sun first defied the stars, days ago.
Emersyn comes to a standstill, gated off by roping vines and the fat trunks of ancient elder trees. The rank of wet, hot soil does nothing to help her fortell of ways to get around her obstacle. She will not give up, although with no knife or sword to cut her way through - no magic (that she knows of) either - the chances of being left behind grow more apparent. The soldier watches the hoof prints progress through the muddle as she is left behind.
"W-wait for me!" That is ridiculous Emersyn! Who are you talking to? She cannot tell if it is Nicolai who chides her or if she is reminding herself not to be so ridiculous.
Frustrated, the woman rears up and cuffs the first set of vines with her hooves as if she is going in for a fight. If it is anything like the trainers that fought with her, they'll be better off staying out of her way. The vines come apart with enough force from the mare's powerful limbs. The rest she tears at with sharp, hard teeth when she can. Some she stubbornly presses through - even when the jungle aims to make a quarry out of her by tangling her up in unimaginable ways.
It takes too long to get where she wants to be. It is almost as if the jungle is trying to protect the new comer, as if it knows by now that Emersyn may not be the One to understand what it is that she may find. The wood holds her back with a promise, a promise of safety, a promise of comfort - comfort from whatever disturbing truth that lies in the beyond, the unknown. Little does this jungle, this island, this sea which surrounds them like black around a star know, that all of it will not contain Emersyn. It will not keep her safe. It will not comfort her. For she will tear through it all with tooth and claw and sheer will. She will not be surrendered. She will not be forbidden to the riches of the new world in which she lives in.
By now, perhaps the footsteps have found the way back to their owner? Emersyn rolls her eyes at her own thoughtless wondering. It is just enough of a personal aggravator that she breaks free of the natural restraint. The velocity of her well-muscled weight against the sudden give of the vines sends her stumbling like a fool into a clearing where she is no longer alone with herself. A quick scan of the area reveals many other horses gathered here today - perhaps lead by their own phantom footsteps. Each one of these people following (or finding) their own path - the same way they walk through life. In any which direction they go, it always leads to death in the end, doesn't it?
"What is this?" she asks anybody, everybody. Her deep blue eyes fall to Relic resting quietly in the very center of the dell. Like so many others, the black and silver grullo with the white face does not advance on the artifact. It is not fear that holds her back (and certainly not vines, not this time) - but respect - even if it feels alien and displaced when she tries to understand why she feels this way. This is a new testament, Emersyn believes to herself. In leaving the old world she has died. And a cold, tired world she has left behind if this one can be so nourishing and fortifying to her decaying soul. In death there is rebirth, however, and Emersyn thinks that this may be something possible, for even her.
@
STAFF EDIT***
@Emersynhas rolled a 1! She has been awarded +1 EXP.
