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Home » Search » Roster » Whitepages » Records » Guidebook

Buoyant are her golden wings
Trial Solanis 
Eleos
#1

Mortified by the sight of our putrid  existence, heaven mourns with the makings of an official dowager. Those marbled sheets blubber continuously, brandishing their sorrow. Never mind the threat of flood, or death by exposure -- or that these lands would benefit from less of their pity. Those clouds were bipolar schizophrenia, they'd continue wail to bitter tears of grief upon those that drown in their sight.

The weather in this vast, queer land could be as deadly, mysterious and merciless as the native plant and animal life that resides here. There was little relief to be had even in sleep -- if the howls of terror didn't wake us at their witching hour, the brackish mist, pulsing with garbled voices would. The sheer inconsistency of this landscape suggests that it's entire quilt had been sewn together by crude, uneven thread. And the patches had been chosen by an overzealous, impractical infant. The demons (there are many) simply took with/without provoke -- they didn't seem capable of fighting with honor. They commanded obedience...hardening the line between master and slave. Between captive and captor.

"Africa," revered, somber notes slip from ashen, dribbling lips, "I wish...you were here with me." It was a selfish, cruel desire...and half of my soul rejected the idea with instant violence, vowing in shame and disgust to never utter it again. The other part is weeping like a babe, crying for relief; begging to feel her soothing presence and silken, plush voice.

That's when they come...drawn by vulnerability and isolation.

The slender, damp hair on my nape and spine begin to tingle warily. A roll of thunder barrels across the sky -- these ears twist, rotating uneasily. I can feel those foreign eyes, hot on my skin like a serpent running his tongue over the pelt of another victim. Tasting, relishing the terror and pain. Someone had answered...

A peculiar, unwanted presence teeters on the edge of my awareness. "Who are you?" The question is whispered, but no less powerful and resentful; my tarnished, corroded patience becomes strained. Despite efforting to remain collected, my traitorous pulse reacts, quickening to feed adrenaline. Silence is my response -- but the sensation of being watched seems to thicken, defiling me. Resentment builds as the seconds tick on, this jaw tightens -- anger lashes, stabbing desperately, "speak or leave me be damn you!" For many disgusting moments...there is no response.

"We're willing to return something you've lost," the voice is flat, detached, neither feminine or masculine.

Molars grind furiously, agitated optics scan the timber -- right, left, behind? Nostrils swell, drinking the taste of mildew and rot. The remaining feathered limb quivers, resettling with an agitated shuffle. The voice returns suddenly in the same monotone, sterile drawl, "you can look, but you won't find us." Fury steams, boiling in the pot. This felt very much like the old wisdom of never make deals with the devil, "what do you want?" Though the pitch and frequency of that voice doesn't change...I swear it seems to grin...a nasty, 'you've been hooked,' grin.

image credit

OC--
Eyes follow you, even when you leave the forests behind. They should be gone, they should stay in the trees, yet still they follow. There are, it seems, no bodies to those eyes. They simply watch you, follow you, stalk you until you heart is racing and your nerves are so on edge you might jump at every snap of a twig. Do they want only to torment you? No, there must be something else, must be something you can do. To rid yourself of the eyes that will not leave and earn the Rift's help, you must…

• Steal a male Pavo Cat's tail plume.
• Trick another into stepping on the Yenda Puffball.
• Make something pretty

@rift presence
Zahra
#2
Zahra & Ilham
It was pride that turned angels into devils

He was different - though, she revealed to him nothing of her suspicion.

As they lingered on in the vibrant, towering flora of Solanis, even after the walking pine had been captured and unfortunately slain, the stallion had become less and less like the picture of the hero recalled from her youth. Often she found herself immersed in concern, watching with pained longing the bitter stranger, but always she said nothing. If he discovered the focus of her softened eyes, Zahra simply smiled with all of the warmth their reconciliation had returned to her.

It was the resonant rumble of thunder in the ominous swathe above, that roused her from a deep stew of thought.

Black ears lifted from their soggy, silvery bed of flattened hair and her muzzle withdrew from the lush sprout of coloured growth she was nibbling; though he was yet to witness the true dangers of this ridiculous season, she had, and wary eyes absorbed the hue of the heavens beyond giant leaves, soberly. Thankfully, the rain was still plunging steading down. Nevertheless, the winged mare turned her neat hooves across the waterlogged, puddly earth to return to her friend’s side.

“Eleos?” She hummed quietly when she broke through the dense undergrowth between them.

He did not immediately answer.

“…what is it?”

There was an unsettling strain in stallion’s gilt eyes as they flicked rapidly around him. Crimson flashed beneath the flare of his sucking, pumping nostrils and though each pillar beneath him appeared stiffly rooted to the ground, there was agitated movement in the sleek, wet hide canvassing him. Zahra, her eyes guided afield by his own, approached with due caution and aimed a soothing nudge towards the skin below his collar. Even cleansed by the constant company of rain, there was the distinct flavour of sweat and metal about it.  
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Eleos
#3

Only when that detached voice dies off -casually forsaking me to mull over it's vague, alien instructions- did her repeated inquiry/presence trigger my disturbed perception. Nostrils swell anxiously, sampling the dank air. She reaches into the fog, towing my concentration from this current episode of derangement. Wide, anxious eyes find her - their molten center is a smothering, endless depth of gold. I extend, twisting back and sideways -- returning her merciful (grounding) comfort with rare, genuine affection -- roving in tender, patient steadiness to the center of her pale forehead, intending to leave a kiss upon the sleek, wet fur.

"I think I've finally gone insane," that depressed admittance is leashed with a long, weary sigh of desperation. Sporting a mask of deceit had never been my strength...nar...and in light of the most recent development, there was nothing to do but admit the inevitable. Brims pull away, curling inward toward glistening, reflective metal. My uneasy focus remains in motion...unable to stomach that sickening impression of violation. Unwilling to give up on the slightest chance of unveiling the tormentor.

The monotone, sexless demon didn't offer any support; it isn't hard to imagine that it was amused to neither confirm or deny the suggestion of failing cognitively, "there's a disembodied voice," I knew (assumed) said fiend(s) didn't have a physical body  -- the same way my heart knew the fabric of sanity was inching apart, unraveling one thread at a time. Ebon temples dig into my skull while these ears rotate sternly in reverse, displaying their agitation and skepticism, "promising me a reward -- if I do as it bids." Aurelian irises jerk across the vivid timber and saturated ferns; the kaleidoscopic of foliage has nauseating strength in this damp, muted light. "Also...it won't leave. Not until..." corners tighten grimly, "I agree and fulfill it's requests."

image credit

OC--
Eyes follow you, even when you leave the forests behind. They should be gone, they should stay in the trees, yet still they follow. There are, it seems, no bodies to those eyes. They simply watch you, follow you, stalk you until you heart is racing and your nerves are so on edge you might jump at every snap of a twig. Do they want only to torment you? No, there must be something else, must be something you can do. To rid yourself of the eyes that will not leave and earn the Rift's help, you must…

• Steal a male Pavo Cat's tail plume.
• Trick another into stepping on the Yenda Puffball.
• Make something pretty

@rift presence
@zahra
Zahra
#4
Zahra & Ilham
It was pride that turned angels into devils
A soft misty chuckle emanates from the flaccid, sooty rim of each searching nostril, but its sound is not derisive in any way. Zahra’s heart hums with swollen compassion as he bares aloud to her the frayed roots of his mind. “It’s not you,” she interrupts with continued softness, the mellow croon of her young voice nurturing and supportive as it seeks to cradle the melancholy in his own. As he recoiled, her pale amber eyes traced his wearied movement with an element of longing; Eleos seemed so unlike her father, the Gallant Helovia called him, but this figure was barely a shell of that memory.

His voice again roused her focus. Pointed ears, yet to disband their post, still angled forward towards him and her eyes drifted slowly along the network of strained lines on his face, until they found the stark golden gaze at their end. The decorated feathers at the end of each wing shook lightly by the warm curve of her saturated, pallid barrel and as he went on, she felt she almost understood. Zahra’s sleek skull bounced gently. “you are not going mad Eleos… it is this place, The Rift,” she soothed earnestly, no doubt in vain, reaching marbled teeth to smooth back a skewed white feather near his wither.

The young mare’s gaze wandered forth to inspect their surroundings. There was nothing, save for the constant veil of rain and irrepressibly vibrant hue of the giants they stood amidst.

Zahra wanted desperately to reassure him, but she knew all the same that the Rift was cruel and callous - without glancing that way, her thoughts turned grimly to the naked shoulder on his other side and the moment he had plunged into deadly descent, from the sky. There was no knowing what punishment could befall him if these tasks were ignored. “What must you do for it?” she queried carefully, returning her warm eyes to his front.
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Rift Presence
#5
You might already have seen one.

Pavo Cats are prevalent amid the mists of the west, and even as you speak, paranoid for good reason (the Rift is no delusion), a young mother of four treads a path in your direction. Breathtaking to behold, her devoted mate watches from above, though perhaps you have not noticed the fierce glare in his eye, for his ostentatious array of slimmed tail-feathers, blend all too well with the giant foliage between you.

Four kittens follow, leaping and tumbling despite the vocal reprimand of their hungry dam. It has been raining for the full eight weeks of their lives and they are bored with the drear. One strays left, lured by the delicious flavour of avian flesh. Another pounces right, capturing the twitching black tail of number three, and the last dawdles more wearily, dragging behind him a leg with broken bones.

They are heedless as they travel, comfortable among the list of apex predators that call Solanis home. Though the low drone of voices stirs reaction from their ears, they continue without pause or consideration. The mother’s stride quickens as the stench of fear ignites her senses and as she comes upon the alien duo, an inaudible, brooding purr resounds inside.

Razor teeth strike out a silent warning, well received by her kin. Four kittens vanish into the vibrant ferns, and the mother waits, watching. They are far too large to hunt, and she knows this well.
the Rift
what lies beneath
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» Presence of the Rift «


Eleos
#6

This place...she rationalizes, the rift was at fault. Aye, my brain cackles with dry, humorless vigor. 'Ye say true and I say thankee, Sai.' An elder artifact, from a time before the world moved on, before it was slaughtered and prepped for adulteration, decay. Her accusation (however true it was) offers little comfort. It passes the blame and solidifies desperation.

In all reality, we are trapped; we are vulnerable birds in a wooden cage. One with rot at the bottom -- were maggots writhe in the filth, wiggling and squirming -- awaiting their moment of satisfaction to plunge teeth into wet, warm flesh. Slip their soft, ashen bodies down the blood-soaked halls.

Water plops continuously, slipping lithely from leaf and twig to the sponge below. Silence weighs the air between us; these lips tighten their corners, waiting dutifully...but said disembodied voice doesn't break cover. This dripping head shies over, nakedly meeting her quizzing, thoughtful eyes. Those queer orders still whirl in my head -- and though my tongue works to make sense of it -- the effort would fall painfully short.

He relays everything, addressing her question in a flat, even tone.

No sooner had those lips finished relaying their nonsense did the sentinels blare their warning! Molten cores rotate anxiously, glaring sideways to scan the vibrant grove around us. Movement...nostrils swell and ebon brims curl, barring their ivory swords. The fine hairs on my spine tingle aggressively and velvet soldiers notch rearward.  
image credit
Zahra
#7
Zahra & Ilham
It was pride that turned angels into devils

Though she hoped her small reassurance would soothe at least some of the disharmony radiating glaringly through his exterior, Zahra knew all the same that Eleos’s transition into the Rift had been nothing less than traumatic. Drawing upon the pains of her own bitter experience (and the time too very recently, when she had lashed out consequently), the maturing pegasus found the weight of enormous empathy sinking her stomach. She wanted so desperately to apologise to him, for she felt somewhat responsible having lured him from everlasting slumber, but all the same, she craved still his company; loved the memories which having him so close, inspired.

As her honey-brown eyes delved into the smouldering pools of gold upon his face, she found before her the expression of a stranger, nay… a friend. Neither, however, seemed to share semblance with her Da.

Eleos stood unnervingly silent for a long while and Zahra’s long ears swivelled, testing the airwaves beyond the stroke of rainfall, near certain that something was moving around them. Restless, she adjusted the lean, strong arms by her side and though there was no sunlight to touch them, the glass-like feathers fringing each wing’s end shimmered with colour. Perhaps encouraged further by her warm kind of patience, the dishevelled stallion began at last to speak.

When all had been revealed, the painted mare sighed heavily.

In truth, she had no clue what a puffball was, or where they might find one, but surely she could assist with the crafting of beauty - though such was in the eye of the beholder, and a good many things less tangible, held loveliness. “Perhaps my weaving could help you create something?” she suggested hopefully. “…I believe also that the cat that you must find lies within these western mists, rather not south or east of the Portal.” Even as she spoke, a rustle of leaves and pale mutter of movement drew her notice hither, and Zahra’s eyes diverted along with his, to scan the near shrubbery.

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Rift Presence
#8
The mother watches with bold, fearless eyes, examining the structure of rain-soaked pair. There is an element of curiosity about her, perhaps the reason she feels so compelled to remain, and the very tip of the tail coiled around her twitches visibly.

Her mate, from his vantage point up above, grows weary waiting, bothered by the grumble of his empty stomach. He prowls now slowly along one limb of the woody tree, and a guttural yowl slips by his twitching blue lips. They have not eaten in many days - and he relies on her to kill - so he leaps down from one perch to the next, until he is within range to summon her back her focus.

A small scuffle ensues, the peacock-male hisses and bared claws return like greeting. As tufts of black and blue fur fall, the kittens reemerge to play. His tail flares ostentatiously through the air, a stunning spectacle to draw the eye of any, and hers clamps down between taut haunches. It is a brief display of dominance, over even before your third blink.

The mother mews softly for her offspring and finds a new path to skirt the strange equids. Her mate dallies a moment longer to groom each long feather in his glorious tail back into their slimmed down position.
the Rift
what lies beneath
image
» Presence of the Rift «


Eleos
#9

There wasn't any apprehension of expectation – no prediction of hope to observe an animal of common thread. These (like most dreadful creatures found in the rift) were exotic, mutants. Their coats gleam with beautiful, stunning color – dauntless, brilliant lime and cerulean. Quills and pins that shouldn’t naturally conform to the lean rump of this feline breed; but it did and did it so handsomely. Their scuffle reminds me of a lover’s quarrel and while those parents reassure their position in life…a cluster of kits emerge from the undergrowth, exposed for naked eyes to view. Brows furrow, thankful for the momentarily distraction from rift demons and bizarre requests. “Isn’t that…a Pavo?” The question sinks into depths of a harsh whisper in effort to leave the beast(s) undaunted.

A choppy knife of adrenaline rockets my pulse restlessly ahead, this jaw clenches thoughtfully even as these irises dart across their collection with a cruel combination of disdain and admiration. Steal an eye feather, it said…and ka provides with a cat to take if from. If those disembodied voices could snicker - I felt they would. They’d admire the circumstance and my unwillingness to serve. Because…regardless of their illusion to offer choice (be it for or against their order)…I knew they would end up being served regardless.

Damn it…

“Hile,” the rough spun greeting flies to freedom, grateful to rise into our dank, musky atmosphere. Best case scenario…it drops a feather. This unimaginative, practical brain couldn’t fathom a quick, easy way to steal from said animal. At least, not one that didn’t end in violence...The green memory of our recent tangle with nature still pricks my shoulder. Softly, without looking toward the gilded woman, “we could set a trap,” nothing immediate had come, but a solution for the time ahead was possible, “lure it with bait and hobble it with vine?”

Zahra
#10
Zahra & Ilham
It was pride that turned angels into devils

Beneath the intensity of the focus which so suddenly consumed her, there was the dead weight of apprehension. Time and time again, the Rift, devious and dangerous, had assaulted the stallion she stood with, torturing both his mind and his boy, and souring his impression, perhaps for good.

Zahra watched the remaining cat, as apparently did Eleos, with one raven-hued ear pressed forward towards it and the other swaying hither and thither, personifying the grim internal concern for the potential of history repeating itself.

Briefly, her eyes were severed from their hold,  flicking to view the collared male and discern the nature of his intention.

Before she could stop him (Zahra felt she needed a moment longer), an overt greeting was used from his lips. Her eyes narrowed into a scolding glare. “Shhhh…” she hissed through clamped molars, squeezing tightly feathered appendages against each flank with frustration. She thought unfairly to herself, interacting with this world’s nature has become a special pastime of his, but regretted it almost instantly. The truth of the matter was (in her opinion, of course) that Eleos quite abhorred the Rift and its inhabitants and his efforts to conceal the fact from her seemed weaker with ever encounter.

More humbly she smiled, switching her attention back to the remarkably attractive looking animal, and whispered (quite unwilling to entertain the idea of a trap this time), “…or I could provide a decoy, and you could stand on his tail?” It seemed a far simpler plan, and as she took a moment to rehearse its viability her eyes glanced upwards to glean his reaction.
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