Floating Key
Varuna was no stranger to the whispering voices of the rift. As a child, orphaned as he was, they haunted him many a night, eager to prey upon one so frail and alone. As he grew, they quieted. In fact, he had grown to ignore them almost entirely, much like the seafarer becomes deaf to the sigh of the tide.
Of late, they became much harder to ignore, much louder in their insistence and more enticing in their temptations. They baited him with promises of power and magic, which at first meant nothing to him and he flicked his ears at them in effortless dismissal, like water off a duck's back. But the forces of the rift were incessant. Soon enough the voices became too nagging to forget and Varuna set out to oblige their odd whims, if only out of sheer curiosity - and an odd sense of loyalty to the presence that was always there (unlike those who had left him to be alone in the world).
They lead him to the ocean, a familiar haunt of his childhood. When first he had been dumped into this place between worlds there was a rain that never ended, not for what felt like an eternity. So it was again. Varuna was not so bothered by the weather, being a creature of the storms his mother commanded. He was grateful the dreadful Scorch had ended at last, and with his sanity intact. Mostly, anyway... Afterall, he was chasing phantom voices to odd ends of the earth.
He arrived on the key in the midst of a soft drizzle: an interlude to the violent storms that had raged for the past week or so. They had let up just long enough to allow him to fly. The rain dribbled softly on his wings, which had only just become strong enough to carry him steadily in the air. He alighted in the shallows, ruffling his wings before bending them to his flanks. The water was cold as it sloshed around his ankles.
As he looked about, he found himself pulled to venture deeper into the sea. For a long while he watched and pondered the dark and angry reaches, frowning at him from a distance. He remembered the giant serpent on the shore of the Rainforest Cliffs, when the matron had called upon them to deliver their hope. She'd even given him some of his own hope to carry, which he had taken to Halyven and disappeared shortly after, but that is irrelevant now. He wondered if the giant serpent lurked about these dark waters just out of sight, and if perhaps the voices had baited him to be monster-fodder. At least the rift had a sense of humor.
With a shake of the head and a bit of reckless abandon, he waded headlong into the deep blue. Thunder rumbled in the sky afar as the water rose first to his knees and then to his chest.
There he stopped, swaying in the current, hooves grappling the sand. His heart drummed in his ears as he noticed dark shapes stirring about him. They were no more than a foot long, but there was no saying what sort of beastlings lurked in the wild waters of the rift. He was not fearful (Varuna didn't much care if he lived or died; he was not so sure he was really alive in the first place) but excited, intrigued, as he reached down to touch one with his nose...
ooc; Trial, "Float on a Velella"
Of late, they became much harder to ignore, much louder in their insistence and more enticing in their temptations. They baited him with promises of power and magic, which at first meant nothing to him and he flicked his ears at them in effortless dismissal, like water off a duck's back. But the forces of the rift were incessant. Soon enough the voices became too nagging to forget and Varuna set out to oblige their odd whims, if only out of sheer curiosity - and an odd sense of loyalty to the presence that was always there (unlike those who had left him to be alone in the world).
They lead him to the ocean, a familiar haunt of his childhood. When first he had been dumped into this place between worlds there was a rain that never ended, not for what felt like an eternity. So it was again. Varuna was not so bothered by the weather, being a creature of the storms his mother commanded. He was grateful the dreadful Scorch had ended at last, and with his sanity intact. Mostly, anyway... Afterall, he was chasing phantom voices to odd ends of the earth.
He arrived on the key in the midst of a soft drizzle: an interlude to the violent storms that had raged for the past week or so. They had let up just long enough to allow him to fly. The rain dribbled softly on his wings, which had only just become strong enough to carry him steadily in the air. He alighted in the shallows, ruffling his wings before bending them to his flanks. The water was cold as it sloshed around his ankles.
As he looked about, he found himself pulled to venture deeper into the sea. For a long while he watched and pondered the dark and angry reaches, frowning at him from a distance. He remembered the giant serpent on the shore of the Rainforest Cliffs, when the matron had called upon them to deliver their hope. She'd even given him some of his own hope to carry, which he had taken to Halyven and disappeared shortly after, but that is irrelevant now. He wondered if the giant serpent lurked about these dark waters just out of sight, and if perhaps the voices had baited him to be monster-fodder. At least the rift had a sense of humor.
With a shake of the head and a bit of reckless abandon, he waded headlong into the deep blue. Thunder rumbled in the sky afar as the water rose first to his knees and then to his chest.
There he stopped, swaying in the current, hooves grappling the sand. His heart drummed in his ears as he noticed dark shapes stirring about him. They were no more than a foot long, but there was no saying what sort of beastlings lurked in the wild waters of the rift. He was not fearful (Varuna didn't much care if he lived or died; he was not so sure he was really alive in the first place) but excited, intrigued, as he reached down to touch one with his nose...
ooc; Trial, "Float on a Velella"
STILL YOUR HEART, THE DARK IS STILL THE DARK
You may always use magic/force on/against Varuna (excluding powerplay).
