Novus
an equine & cervidae rpg
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Novus closed 10/31/2022, after The Gentle Exodus

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Kaladin
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#11

Kaladin had never before feared for his life. He recalled his short few days of glory, flying high above, cities falling at his very whim through the power that surged through his veins. Shifting his form as he desired, his very being as malleable as clay. He could not have been killed, for one must be mortal to face death. When you could simply reform as another being, when the only part that remained static was an ethereal soul, age dared not touch you, nor any bodily harm threaten you. But then, he'd fallen.

Tethered to the earth, each step heavy with cursed mortality. Trapped in chains heavy as the acts he had committed, lives he had stolen, in his brief brush with true freedom. But he had never thought of those lives before - never stopped to contemplate the extinguishing of flames that would be necessary to bring the world to life anew. Not until this very moment had he ever felt what they must have.

Feet slippery on the earth, he rushed ahead of his companions, barely keeping touch with the ground as the wind sought greedily to sweep him up and toss him into the canyon below, a meal for vultures once the clouds should lift. His heart beat loud as a bass drum, adrenaline a soft purr of violin strings in his orchestra of panic. "Damn,"he growled, as the unsteady earth beneath his feet crumbled like breadcrumbs. He fell back, barely managing to keep his footing as his clumsy, treacherous body weighed him forward into the gorge. The stones below seemed like the teeth of some monstrous predator, bared in preparation for its next meal.

He was walking with eight hundred years of experience, he realized. But his companions...he turned in a half-rear, his mane thrown around his face and tangled about his ears. It was a brief glance, but a worried one, as he ensured himself that he had not lost them in the gale. The young pegasus had fallen behind, his ridiculously elongated tail an obvious nuisance in weight as it became drenched in the pouring rain. Still, he found himself glad that they, at least, had not abandoned him, when clearly the rest of the world had.

In a mad, final dash, he managed to duck into the cavern. After a moment's relief, he glanced about himself, suddenly realizing that he had escaped from one deadly trap to a second. As his companions crowded around him, he found his breath catching in his chest, the press of bodies in a stone sepulchre all to familiar. He fidgeted beneath the cold glare of the stones, trying to ignore the dreadful cold that emanated from them. The air became thick all of a sudden, and his pants grew heavier even as his body gained respite.

Oh, not now...not now... he cursed this mortal body, this clumsy sack of meat and bone that would have him slipping off cliffsides in one moment and choking on his own breaths the next. "We need to get out of here," he growled, though he knew it was as useless of an idea as hiding beneath a tree. "I can't be here..."He was shaking, he realized, to complete mortification - some part cold, some part adrenaline, and some part pure, frigid fear. He was back in his tomb...if the mountain collapsed upon them now, he would be trapped for another eternity, and this time it would be a slumber from which he would not wake.

@Damascus @Seraphina Kaladin may or may not be incredibly claustrophobic....
code by avis










Played by Offline Jeanne [PM] Posts: 399 — Threads: 81
Signos: 100
Inactive Character
#12

As the storm had raged on above them, Seraphina had wondered if she might lose one of her fellows in the gale – Kaladin felt fragile in a way that she could not completely explain, and Damascus was clearly unfit for climbing mountains in a gale, with his tangled mass of a tail and massive, if delicate, wings. For her part, she had let her gaze linger single-mindedly on the cavern, teeth gritted in a desperate attempt to restrain the instinctual shivers that threatened to run down her flanks. She was not meant to look weak or accessible, and any illusion of delicacy or humanity needed to be repressed. Viceroy had always told her that pain was something inside of her, something that could be controlled, and it was only that stubborn illusion of control that had finally allowed her to take his magic standing. It was that same stubborn illusion that kept her statuesque and regular in the midst of the roaring tempest beating down on the mountainside all around her, eerily calm even in the face of deadly missteps. However, by the time she reached the entrance, ushering Damascus and Kaladin in before her, she had ground her teeth so firmly that she swore she could taste the familiar, hot copper twinge of blood dripping down her gums.

As she moved into the cavern, hooves practically dancing to an awkward tune to avoid stumbling on Damascus’s ridiculous expanse of tail, she was forced to swallow down a bit of unfettered apprehension. She kept the collar around her neck as far away from her pair of companions as she possibly could while still facing them; though she did not mind how close they stood, forced to brush up against each other in almost suffocatingly close quarters, Seraphina did not want them to touch the collar. She did not have much time to consider her own nerves, however, because Kaladin, already drenched and shivering from the storm, seemed to be teetering precariously on the edge of a breakdown. She had expected relief from him, when he had come bounding into the cavern, but he was gasping as though he was still running, slick sides heaving with each rasping, choppy breath. At first, Seraphina wondered if the trek had simply worn him thin, but the way that his eyes darted across the cavern, on the brink of rolling, combined with his sudden, hissed need to depart their shelter, made her realize that he was likely experiencing something else entirely – she stared at his form, racked with frantic shivers, helplessly. She had seen soldiers like that, before, usually the ones that had encountered magic users and returned from battle burnt to a crisp or plagued by nightmares. (Even Viceroy, she recalled, had been like that sometimes; he would recoil in horror from things that she could not see, and sometimes he woke up in the middle of the night screaming.) She did not know how to handle this sort of a situation, but, swallowing, offered a surprisingly soft, “It’s too dangerous to leave right now.” He probably already knew that. She didn’t know what else to say, but it would be bad if his panic made him flighty in such closed quarters. She supposed that a well-aimed knock to the head would probably put him out cold for the duration of the storm, but she doubted that would help. Instead, she added a quiet, if uncomfortable, “You’re safe in here,” attempting to lock her mismatched gaze with his own.

Outside, the storm continued to rage.




@Kaladin @Damascus







I'M IN A ROOM MADE OUT OF MIRRORS
and there's no way to escape the violence of a girl against herself.


please tag Sera! contact is encouraged, short of violence








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