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Nora: 10 Rift Force | |||||||
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Born to a world awash in summer; forged from a dying ember in an ashen hearth. A tea-cup dove. The figurative child of yin and yang; coffee and cream, woven, swirling throughout her artistic canvas in total harmony and perfect disarray. Two sisters. The pale one, merciful; she is the spirit of vulnerability and purity; the darker twin is sharper, roguish; she appears more assertive and confident. Together, they form the creature which is, Nora...
Breed • Arabian
Age • Four
Season • Summer
Torso • Petite proportions and delicate curves
Head • Sweet, tapered nose; wide, active nostrils
Color • Liver splashed cream
Scarring • bodily wounds haven't been excessive; flesh lacerations and bruising have mended over time, they've left no trace of historical abuse
Eyes • (L) Blue :: (R) Light Pink
Height • 14.3 hands high
Mane • Licorice black, thin/wispy; four inches beyond her shoulder
Tail • Tri-colored. Cream, champagne, licorice; plush, naturally carried at an arch
Legs • Delightfully slender; patched with liver on the (L) :: unblemished pastel on the (R)
Hooves • (L) Black :: (R) Pale; tawny
Wings • Average width and breathe; soft down feathers mimic her liver base; secondaries and primaries are cream.
Voice • Subdued; silvery
Scent • Warm; feminine
Wearing • x3 braiding strips; soft deer leather. 2 inches wide, 12 inches long
That first glance gives the impression of coyness -- coiled apprehension. She is -in all- a wispy, fluttered thing; harboring distrust for unfamiliar faces. Her loyalty has the potential to be unwavering, but earning faith takes external effort(s). Kinship and reliance help fabricate a bond within the kiln of her cautious heart. Doubt, pessimism...Nora often wages internal battles against numerous fear(s)...though, she rarely shares those struggles with anyone. The ones who delve through those initial layers of anxiety are rewarded with a glimpse of rarity. Beneath her misgivings and silence is the pulse of a vibrant, yearning woman -- one who is both passionate and resilient, humble and quietly intelligent. The world continues to mold the clay of her personality...but she will always be influenced by...
• Hunters // demons rise from her negativity like a plague. Tragic experience is both a boon and curse. She has dined upon life as a toy, a slave -- mere prey for callus whims. They are the hissing voices of uncertainty. Corroding...
• Honesty // her expression was beaten into submission long before the game of falsehoods could take root. Nora will often opt for silence...rather than lie or reveal her concealed truth.
• Kindness // though her heart is meek, there is mercy and genuine warmth for those who are afraid, gracious or young.
• Obedience // the link between master & slave has been severed -- but that downcast, necessary survival trait is harder to shake. She visualizes herself as unfit to test the word of others verbally/physically, even if it disagrees with personal morals and/or expectations.
• Pessimism // her world isn't butterflies and rainbows -- she is far from naive about danger(s) or threat(s) -- and has no faith in ground-less promises.
• Motherly // children/animals are favored. Their faultless souls have always easily thwarted her guarded concern.
✠ Introvert.
✠ Dreamer. She has vivid dreams about her violent history; and frequently mutters nonsense in her sleep.
INTRODUCTION
My dearest friend,
Have you heard the scrawly names they call us? ‘Orphans of the Scorch’, pitiful 'runts' of sand and ruin. But our proper title wasn’t so crass -- we lucky few are the beloved children of a world beneath the mountain; sprites of stone and mystery. Remember? Our cavern home was everything -- those sleek, marbling walls that delve deep into the earth. I remember what fun we would have; countless games of hiding in shadows and dancing through halls. When our playmates grew bored, grand’da would tell stories. Yes, I recall your favorite...The birth of the Scorch!
Gravely, he told us about the many other seasons; spring, autumn and winter.
Then he told us about the summer that never waned...
It went something like this:
When the nights began to grow short and the northern air ceased to blow, our fathers looked to the sky, but underestimated the danger. They became blind with expectations and hope. Our fathers and grandfathers had bore witness to rapid climate change and did nothing -- now they became as equally hopeful as they are ignorant. Their regard for that unyielding heat was full of skepticism; but, given the circumstances who could fault them? Nothing natural could last forever...Those mighty sirs knew that eventually, the cooler weather would come. So they wait...and time passes...but it wasn't much later that their folly is unveiled.
At first, the heat was bearable; only those who relied solely on grass suffered much in the early weeks. The first casualties were our grass and the small creatures who consumed it; fragile things couldn’t withstand that unnatural, sweltering heat. When rain didn’t fall, our trees began to wither beneath the sun; they lost their leaves and grew brittle and grey -- like the old bones scattered beneath their awn.
Every green thing became a matchstick, brown and useless. Soon, the recipe for fire was horrifically complete; despite the lack of storms, it wasn’t long before an untamed flame broke out (its origin became lost in rumor)…the fire grew to an impossible size, feeding upon every dry grain. Destroying our homeland in one fell sweep, until nothing but ash remained. Streams, rivers and lakes faded, the skeletons of fish lay in untold numbers along the muddy banks, eventually, they became like cracked stone a perfect mate for the bleached terrain. But there was hope for us -- our people found refuge in the mountains. They built a home from the caves that ran down to untouched stashes of water. Within that maze-work of caverns, we find our salvation. For a short time, our people thrived; they learned to farm and harvest; make use of the protection afforded us. But above the ground, our world was rapidly rotting away – wars broke out, all in a vain struggle to control what little resources remain. We stayed apart, cowering behind our marbled walls and nurturing another generation from the blood and ash.
After a time, even our resources began to dwindle – sickness dulled our light and hunger hollowed our bodies. There was little else the mountain could provide, but by the time our people decide to leave…their chance had come and gone. But even so…there was hope. A few of the young were strong; we few are the children of the scorch that were nourished above the rest. They sent their namesakes into the desert; a merciful banishment…
May their sacrifice give us strength.
PROLOGUE
After crossing past the rim of her scorched homeland, our weary, little wanderer is forced to enter into a clutch of cruel, steep mountains. For many weeks she ascends -- climbing relentlessly, outdoing those slim odds. Bruised and malnourished...at last she descends and finds (to her delight) an untouched gem. A sanctuary. Her weary eyes settle upon a vast territory of thriving habitats; all of which seem unaffected by the wrath of that endless summer. From her vantage, on that clifftop looking down into those unnamed valleys -- she felt paradise is within her grasp. But our wayward, naive summer babe would soon discover in as little as a week...paradise would have a steep cost.
Members from a local cult, -ruled predominately by felines- forcefully cornered her. And though she valiantly fought their high monarch for freedom, her struggle against him failed.
Their race is a lofty, begrudging one; cult members often force prey type creatures into captivity for sport and questionable pleasure. Her freedom is torn out from beneath her; but their intentions are for no other purpose than to have another trophy to be passed on a whim. She is fated to serve as a collectable to the high ranking families; a trinket, a pet in essence. Their world, customs and tongue are withheld purposely, her foreign origin made it easy for them to maintain control with little effort. Luckily, she befriends a sympathetic man, a potion master and healer. For whatever reason, he takes a particular interest in her and bargains with his position to make the winged filly his personal hostage. Little by little, she win his confidence. Eventually, he lengthens her figurative tether and she begins to explore the world around her volcanic cage. Other slaves aren't so lucky, the combination of physical and emotional abuse infuriate a vast majority, many are maimed and killed in their fight to freedom. Rebellions and escapes are frequent -- though the vast majority all end in blood...
HELOVIA
Afterlife (enter Helovia) - I twist to face him…swallowing the waves of uncertainty as they break. Nostrils drag, sipping his essence from the stagnate air. Salt and something…foreign. Irises drift, sliding from that wide rim to the feathered arms nestled against his fidgeting carcass. Motley flesh and pale feathers; both of which are forged with steel cords and decorated in generous swaths of lustrous hair. He is a king…a prince… Once more, I’ve found myself at the mercy of a more powerful, terrifying opponent.
Lilac wine - Chops slither upward, revealing the warm, wet daggers beneath. Ebony locks of layered silk whirl against my neck as I turn, attempting to pull the monster from my blind spot. These wide, fearful irises settle upon an unexpected harbinger…rather than the lean, feline body of an assassin…it was the massive, cream and gold frame of my savior and guardsmen. Hot fear dissipates like fog beneath the sun. My jaw remains tactfully open, gaping at the titan. Anxiety of a different sort plodders across my expression, heating the narrow lines, flushing those pale corners.
Thieves landing (joining Basin) - Above us, the storm becomes relentless; bold strokes of white outline his towering frame, contrasting the dark backdrop. Though, the rational part of my brain didn’t automatically assume he meant me harm – his unknown goals collide against muddled comprehension and a year’s worth of prior experience. Disorientation mocks our situation; my subconscious becomes less understanding and more receptive to base emotions – dismay, distrust – the air is a breeding ground. My wounded limb shivers, triggering a miserable wince as I lift the leg apprehensively from the ground and replant that wretched foot.
Shining, shivering - Paper thin nostrils flare, drowning in the pheromones of unmarked terrain. That self-preserving, learnt instinct to be the wall flower – to feel self-conscious and cautious -- becomes momentary preoccupied with compassion and the all-consuming flavor of him. To me…he smelled like summertime, salt and sun-dried wheat. But also, there was something sweet and inviting about him… like the shade of a weeping pine or the cool, forgiving soil beside a stream. Brows arch, signaling questions that I didn’t know how to ask. Instead…I follow the pull of my subconscious as she eases me closer.
Basin blunder - Sliding in – following his instruction via body language – my eyes shift naturally to Noah’s dark, shapely companion. An informal (instant) opinion begins to form. She (like my eagle) is blessed with height; her body is painted like the shiny, burning rock of my volcanic host…the one who’d held me in captivity. No…my subconscious murmurs, openly denying the negative resemblance…and swapping for a positive one. She that tiny voice whispers, captures the essence of midnight and the harvest moon. Irises dance upward, tracing the spiral dagger sprouting from the center of her face.
Little fish, big pond - Relief and anxiety are subdued by the new reality of my frigid predicament. The stranger speaks and these vibrating ears pivot, sorting and absorbing the melody of his foreign words. There is familiarity in his voice (even if those words are lost to me)…but my lungs seemed unwilling to suck a deep enough breath amid the chattering to form a reply. I glance up, realization comes quickly. This is one of the men from weeks prior -- one who'd discovered our typhoon brewing trio ascending the face of a mountain. Drenched...and dirty...the irony of our second impression burns the tips of my ears.
Don't rush, no pressure - A light shiver dances from snout to hoof -- feathers loosen, shaking the dust from their mist. Sounding far less shell shocked after a moment of sharp blinking, I utter on the next breath, "Bonjour monsieur," while those effects of dreariness fade, my resolves allows a meek smile to etch itself gently into the crease of either corner. We've been sharing language with each other for many weeks. His tongue (the simple notes) are becoming more familiar and advanced. My subconscious shrugs as only a figurative creature can, we both agreed that the more I heard and studied his tongue...the more of a preference arose.
Birds of a feather - The dragon! Up till now, my focus hasn’t been on the absence of magic. I dismissed the missing talents as a curse or payment for my new life when they didn’t reemerge. But...dragons are regarded as creatures of great wisdom; without a doubt, if anyone could restore me, he could. Mini me lurches forward, excitable jitters racing down her spine, ‘ask,’ she naturally assumed that the mythical creature would dispense of the barrier. Temples arch, searching that beautiful, scaled flesh and those curious webbed arms...but...no serpent of legend.
Our souls turn into a boat of dreams - Amber threads of milky clouds become skewed by twilight; the brilliant sun wanes his power while the first of many stars begin to poke through the moonless night sky. Below, we’ve traded paradise for…rivers of fire…even from afar, their dazzling, bizarre hue has started a war against the rise of tension building in my chest. These nostrils tremble, sipping the horrible taste of gas. Pockets of hot air become easier to find – and harder avoid – their invisible conflict balloons against my secondary and primary feathers, upsetting that perfect harmony I’d spent weeks practicing. “Noah!” Pale lips draw back as my thundering heart nosedives – galloping into action. These arms rotate, attempting to work with (rather than against) the current.
All sorts of yayness inside - My lips ascend, stretching toward his honeyed cheek – eager to trace and scout those vivid (previously inaccessible) contours. Rims dance, leaving their moist imprint down his iron clad, incinerated neck. I have always been drawn to him – but now…the pull is irresistible. He is the light who invites the fragile moth. Those siren-like hormones are impish, rousing…delicious. Caged sensations loosen the bars of their confinement, slipping free. My dock impulsively arches, flagging a tri-fold of silk earnestly against the arc of either hindleg.
Visitors - I follow him obediently to the ground; but his choice of pit-stop is received with a cross of repulsion and unease. This is by far the lowest on our chart of enjoyable sightseeing. Wet, sloppy, dark, squish. I hate how these toes sink down into the cold, unexplored deep of stagnate…salty, swampy land. I could literally feel the twitch and itch of mosquitoes and gnats closing in...irritably, my ears flick and my tri colored tail lashes against these sweaty hindquarters.
Windblow - When he ambles off to investigate, I follow (hanging back) – confident enough in his ability (handling whatever) to dip my head, tonguing at the grass in passing. Velvet listeners rotate, absorbing the muffled rhythm of unfamiliar hooves. Blades of barley jut from their slots while I turn (still chewing) to find the source. A lovely child…her strawberry, dappled body is without the mutation of feather or horn and…a bleached canine. Both of which are closing in. Eyebrows arch, protective judgement narrows on the alabaster predator warily.
Two lover hand in hand, eye to eye. Two parts of a loving whole - “N-noah,” a soft petition, trembling from the undertow of a shaky exhale. Despite how his proximity offers comfort and insulation, I can’t seem to halt those violent shivers as they continue to defy me...My breast pinches sorely; the pulse is battering, overpowering. “We,” my tongue becomes like lead, rooted in place. Fibers are wooden. My forehead bears upon his solid neck, attempting to foolishly pull on his unwavering strength, “I-I…have child.” Shutters crack…the hot smog enveloping his neck becomes trapped inside me…waiting...
Blind leading the blind - Optics flick up, addressing that habitual desire to obsessively check on the ridge line…as if something might change in the few seconds… Optics squint, peering into the bluegrey canopy from afar. Two outlines…feathered! These forelegs tremble, the drug of elation is shot into my bloodstream. They break upon the scene and my pulse leaps into overdrive. The leader (also the largest of said pair) is who holds my attention. I could make out the curve and length of those arms; the pale abundance of hair and…bronze flesh as it fleets into view of that overcast sun. He’s…back!
Threadlog 5 threads |
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Active Threads | |||
Subject | Location | Participants | Last Post [ Order By ] |
This character does not have any active threads. | |||
Archived Threads | |||
Subject | Location | Participants | Last Post |
» An Unexpected Party | The Pinnacle | Rift Presence, Roscorro, Hertz, Ruwin, K'yarie, Zahra, Eira, Virga, Rixen, Savera, Amarantha, Valkyrie, Galahad, Rexanna, Kiada, Seiji, Korri, Nora, Noah, Waker, Mauja, Taivas, Aedion, Arithena, Sansa, Sapphira, Calypso, Peregrine, Yves |
08-02-2018 by Seiji |
The blue pill, or the red pill? | Halyven | Noah, Nora |
07-20-2018 by Nora |
Armed I am with love. Disarmed I am. | The Portal | Noah, Rift Presence, Nora |
07-11-2018 by Nora |
Hidden doors to the unknown | Rainforest Cliffs | Nora, Noah |
07-11-2018 by Nora |
A beautiful shade of hurt and soul | Floating Key | Nora, Waker |
06-28-2018 by Nora |
- Can walk on water.
- Her body radiates a soft, pale glow when happy.
- Dark parts of her body extend in flower like shapes, blooming and wilting with the seasons.
- Attempt to steal MITN's armor
- N/A