Solanis brightest hour, darkest night - Printable Version +- the Rift (http://riftrpg.net) +-- Forum: Archives (http://riftrpg.net/forumdisplay.php?fid=20) +--- Forum: Year 1173 (http://riftrpg.net/forumdisplay.php?fid=29) +---- Forum: Incompleted (http://riftrpg.net/forumdisplay.php?fid=26) +---- Thread: Solanis brightest hour, darkest night (/showthread.php?tid=541) |
||
brightest hour, darkest night - Kisamoa - 08-08-2017
[ Open thread for anyone who wants to chat with Kis! First come, first serve, so it's up to the first who responds if they want to let more people join. c: ]
Solanis. It wasn't a place he remembered as intimately as he remembered the Rainforest Cliffs, Ennunyenda, and the Summit—it wasn't a place he barely remembered, like the Labyrinth itself. The wild specters snapped at even his heels, and it was hard to discern the spectral forms of the bamboo when it kept on swirling and changing, never still, never silent. Always, a voice humming, roaring, shrieking, keening, crying. Never a moment's peace, never a true memory, the splendor of the Riptide Isles lost in the same haze. Holes, where the land's hearts had been ripped out. Everything awash in the blood, a tide of power, draining the Rift from within. Drying it up. Bringing the Helovians here hadn't fixed things. Their Gods had seen to that. It offered them respite. It gave them a few more days, a few more weeks, maybe even a few more months, but unless they began to give—which would be faster than him taking—they were still lost. At risk, he liked to think, but the anger washing through the land was too strong to ignore. And it seemed to follow him, just like the burnt prints of his mismatched feet did. Even Solanis, a strange and wondrous place, seemed to dim in his presence, as the rain sluiced down in thicker and thicker sheets, like needles trying to hammer into his back. In the distance, the thunder roared at him. Kisamoa ignored it all. He swept into the illuminated forest, a large shadow, a monster in such a place of light—truly a demon, leaving a scorched trail for any to follow. His rain-wet skin smoked from the heat of the little suns, and they chapped his lips as he stopped in a clearing, and began to pluck them from the earth. Strangely enough, none of them went out as he severed them from their roots, but rather, one by one they rose in the air around him, little globes of light following the shadowbeast. beauty in darkness kaos in light RE: brightest hour, darkest night - Alysanne - 08-08-2017
I'd like this to be private with just Aly please! RE: brightest hour, darkest night - Kisamoa - 08-08-2017
He was not alone anymore.
Not that he ever was, not even in such a place as Solanis; the eyes were everywhere, and even inside, he was not alone. He was four chaotic minds arrayed in a single skull, four wills coalesced into five, of all damn things. On some days, he knew a kind of quiet he thought might grow into peace, when the wills of his predecessors aligned. And on some days, he forgot what he had been thinking mere moments before, because his thoughts shifted so wildly. Sometimes, he wasn't sure why he was doing what he did, why he had found himself moved to make a dangerous promise, but he had, and whatever parts of all his four wills realized it was a chance of saving themselves. And for that reason, they were in agreement, and would honor their word. His aching lips closed on another stem, jagged teeth sawing through the root, and the little sun cast its warm, friendly light on his marred visage. He remembered enjoying the forest for what little time he had, wandering its glowing pathways, but what had transpired in the shadows he chose not to think of. Most of it had happened in the shadows. It left few memories of the suns. He chose not to think about that, either. He enjoyed the forest now, too, but he felt guilty doing so in the presence of others. “Oh!” she finally said, as if she had no idea who she had been following, and walked in on, as if she was surprised to have caught up with him. Kisamoa didn't believe her, and he didn't quite believe himself either, because the sound of her face plate spreading and the wariness on her face once he glanced at her hurt him. Well deserved he chided himself, and raised his head from the ground. "Hello," he said pleasantly, or as pleasantly as one can when one's mouth is full of mismatched teeth. His eyes, his only permanent feature, glanced at her fetlocks before sliding off her to the floor again. He wondered if it was polite of him to not stare. He wondered if it was polite of him to not use their names, as if he didn't know them, but he knew them. He didn't say anything else. beauty in darkness kaos in light RE: brightest hour, darkest night - Alysanne - 08-18-2017
RE: brightest hour, darkest night - Kisamoa - 08-22-2017
He buried his broad nose in the sun flowers, let them burn his skin—his fetlocks already blistered and bruised—for it felt easier than watching her in silence. These days, it felt like silence was all he had. He saw them from underneath his cloak, but he could not join them. He heard them and he felt them and he tasted them on his tongue each time he breathed in, but no words passed his lips.
In part, it felt futile. So many of them doused him in vitriol whenever they had the chance. It had one of three effects: it made him angry, it made him sad, or it did absolutely nothing. They were a mountain he could not climb, and to destroy it would bury him in the rubble. He found himself losing faith and heart, listening in the long hours of darkness to what he had once been, before his.. revelation. It was a thing of cynicism and rationality, he told himself, a choice made, but one that presented life in a frustrating light. An unruly world. A people that would not obey his every command without thought. No, in order to achieve anything, he would have to win them, but how? “I lived here once.” "As did I," Reszo said with Kaos's mouth. There was no bitterness in his voice, it passed from the shadow beast merely as an observation, while the wolf within remembered dark pathways and hidden sins. Kisamoa pulled his blistered muzzle from the heat of the flowers, and watched her. He smelled anger, but he did not hear it, and it confused him. Why this information that refused to add up..? He blinked, and let his eyes watch hers, drink in the green of life and forests, the green of memory, the.. the green that wasn't teal-and-black death. Somehow disturbed by it, he turned his twisting neck to watch his own body. Gods, he was a mess, wasn't he? Alysanne was far more pleasant to look at, so he turned his gaze back to her. "Are..." He hesitated, and thought of Castiella in the beach, and what she had told him of loss and lands. Kaos licked his scorched lips. "Are you happy, to be here again?" beauty in darkness kaos in light |