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Fever Dreaming
RP Wanted The Portal 
Currently championing: None
He didn't remember much other than the feeling of falling, plunged into darkness as the ground was sucked out from under him.

He hadn't thought much of it. Vroskar often had dreams of falling, and he always awoke just before his innards were dashed on the ground. Only this time there was no ground rising up fast from below and instead of a brisk jerk back to consciousness it came slowly and groggily, as though coming to from a blow to the head. There was the splitting headache too, that made him squint against the kaleidoscopic light that birthed him out of the void and into a strange forest shrouded in shadow.

He was a ghost from the neck down. He was only aware of his legs splayed uselessly beneath him when he looked to see if they were still there. He couldn't will them to move for a long time. Not until he grew frustrated and forced his body to stand, wincing against the prickling rush of blood as it surged back into the places it was supposed to be.

His body swayed as he gathered his footing. Nausea made him feel weak and feverish, as though he had gotten too drunk the night before.

Where was he?

It took a few minutes for him to gather his wits enough to make sense of his surroundings. There came a steady downfall from a crowded canopy up above, an assortment of menacingly gnarled tree limbs curling up toward a sunless sky. All about him swirled a heavy shade that writhed and moved as though it were as alive as he was. They were not merely shadows, but something more tangible, like smoke. As he looked closer, he noticed it was punctuated here and there by bright and blinking eyes, which Vroskar was quite unsettled by and set the hair on his back into bristles.

He thought for a moment maybe he had chanced upon some psychedelic mushrooms while foraging (because he had done that before, mind you, but even then he hadn't felt so far thrust out reality as he did now). It was like a dream, only he usually didn't notice when he was dreaming. He couldn't shake the suspicion that all of this was in fact very real, which only made the phantom eyes all the more unsettling.

Feeling rather exposed and wanting away from whatever it was those eyes belonged to, he got to moving. Hopefully he could figure out where he'd gotten himself off to.

. His blood is molten and burns to the touch. As a result his body temperature is much higher than usual and his skin feels hot.

. Enlongated canine teeth
. Long, thick fur like that of a wolf

ooc; I'd sorta prefer if @Rift Presence posts before any others!
Valkyrie the Hopebringer
Currently championing: Caevoc

The portal was a warren -a time waster- like no other.

Ever-shifting walls of obscure, black fog, living shadow in fact, created false pathways and pointless passages between tangled, colour-tortured timber and queer white-bright eyes, smouldering with wicked intent, blinked everywhere amidst it, deterring even the brazen heart from detour. Even when she imagined herself to be making progress towards the north, towards K’yarie, the impatient Shieldmaiden came upon the same mangled bough bent down across the trail that she had stepped over, nearly three times already. “Oh really…” she huffed irritably, fed up, kicking out her clad foreleg in vain attempt to scold the smoke; of course, it slithered clear of her striking round hoof, only heightening further the level of her grief.

Valkyrie had been circling the Portal for hours -an eternity, it felt like to her- and her already limited tolerance for uselessness, had reached the end of its tether.

“Will you get out of my way!” In much the same style as the boring-bay’s, earlier that day (the same juvenile display that had earned him, her, scorn), the emotionally inept adolescent’s tantrum came immediately and with tornado-like chaos. There was no winding up period, no warning. It was full force from the very start like a bomb with no fuse, just an immediate, self-indulgent explosion of ill-directed emotion. However, unlike such a blast she could go on at length, brooding senselessly, sustaining her rage - then afterwards she would justify it, excuse it and generally blame it on someone else (anyone else). For the length of her young, jaundiced life, she continued along this same course, never learning, never cooling down, always just one more insult away from greater punishment.

…like the curse imposed upon her by Hope had been futile.

Throwing her hooves against the sloppy, waterlogged soil and providing the perfect kind of gratification for the Rift’s black breath, Valkyrie achieved nothing better for the savage, rampant effort but muddied extremities and the usual, consequent ache behind her burning, bloodshot eyes. No sooner had she stilled herself though, weary and trembling with remnant rage, than the fog instantly dissipated to reveal the stupid forest’s thinning fringe, not even three lengths from where she stood – and another, a brawny, warrior-esque looking woman with a ruddy shagpile pelt.

To say Valkyrie was embarrassed would be understating it a little.

Snivelling, and lowering her masculine skull to wipe the molten tears –evidence- from her face, the pallid Shieldmaiden straightened her slouched, aggrieved posture and smiled; weakly. It was not her own behaviour though that caused the sudden exhibition of awkwardness though, surprisingly, perhaps any other might have regretted a show of such ridiculousness immediately; it was the state of her appearance actually, the chunky, angular profile which had replaced her slender feminine curves – and the fact that the creature before her was contrastingly attractive. Even if a little facial, hair did sprout from her chin…

And despite the peculiarly short mane, which framed her convex features…

“Hello,” she hummed quietly, pale-blue eyes examining unabashedly through the mist of rain the sleek horns concealing her (the stranger’s) jawline; naturally, the vain winged-horse was rather taken by the curious adornments draped around them. “I’m Valkyrie. Your trinkets are lovely,” she mentioned smoothly after - a sound that perhaps seemed odd above the resonation of her baritone note.


Notes for clarity:
- Valkyrie was cursed here. Physically she appears as a stallion, cannot remember why she hates men, and views others as the opposite gender.
- Vynter gave her a bead here that alters her body language to favour males.
Rift Presence
Currently championing:

The eyes blink and wink, disappear and reappear, moving closer; but they have no bodies.

They're just the eyes of the Rift, perhaps an echo of something trapped somewhere else, stuck between realities—or it's just a trick of the light.

A chorus of foreign birds ca-caw somewhere in the distance.

Vines, rain-wet and shadow-dark, spring from the ground around you; they latch onto your legs, holding you fast, a hold too strong to break as they slither up your legs your chest your neck your face into your nose your mouth down your throat—

Just when you think they'll fill your lungs and slowly choke you into oblivion, they disappear in the blink of an eye.

Were they ever even there?
the Rift


The Rift eats your magic.

Enlongated canine teeth
Long, thick fur like that of a wolf
» Presence of the Rift «

Currently championing: None
He tried to move his feet, but that must've been displeasing to the beings of whatever strange realm he'd been dumped into—whatever dream he'd been sucked into (he still wasn't convinced any of this was real). Vines slithered up from the undergrowth with unnatural sentience to wrap around his ankles, tentacle like, and only then did Vroskar finally snap out of his stupor.

For a moment he watched stupidly as they twisted up his legs, his brow knit as he stooped over to investigate. He tried to lift a hoof to rid it of the errant foliage but it pulled back and squeezed tighter. Suddenly alarmed he began to thrash his hooves at them, but it was useless; they kept coming, and no amount of protest could bid them away. Higher, still, they crept, til the cold wet arms wrapped around his neck. At once his heart began to beat furiously—faster, faster—til the blood hammered in his ears and the whites of his eyes flashed bright in the sockets.

His whole body was stiff with panic as the vines then crept into his nose, down his throat, provoking tears to needle at the back of his eyes. He began to choke. Normally, this is the part where he would wake up now. Wake up now.

Wake up! cried his own voice. Not his voice, but one that sounded like it, and it echoed into the stillness as he gasped for air.

Just like that, they were gone—

The vines. The eyes. And still he was stranded in that god forsaken forest, choking for air and fighting back the sting of bile in his throat. It felt as though all the blood had fled his body, the familiar warmth stolen right out from under his skin. He shivered against the cold wetness that now became unbearably absolute. He felt... empty. Hollowed out. Like a piece of his soul had been ripped away.

Vroskar swore he heard the creatures of the shade laughing at him from their refuge, pleased with the penance they had robbed from him. For a long while he sat in silence, eyes roving to and fro trying to make sense of it; trying to remember where he had been—what had he been doing?—before all of this. But no matter how hard he tried he couldn't think through the smog that muddied his brain. A smog very similar to the shades that whisked all about him.


He quaked, still halfway prone on the ground as he wrenched his body around to confront the newcomer. Feeling rather weak in the knees, he didn't make it to all fours. Instead, he kinda sat there with his haunches tucked under him and his ears drooped indignantly. Noticing it was a horse, and not some monster come to torment him, he visibly deflated a bit, reeling his gaze away in quiet condescension, keeping an ear irked in that general direction. He was resentful of having his privacy intruded upon in such a vulnerable state as he was (though relieved all the same to encounter a bit of normalcy at last).

He felt the stranger's eyes as they so unashamedly looked him over, and Vroskar's pride bled a little; a cold wet dog left out in the rain. The stallion introduced himself as Valkyrie, which struck him as a little bit odd but he didn't have enough interest to probe any further.

Especially after he made a comment about his... trinkets?

Vroskar gaped at the stranger in disbelief and shook his head with a sigh. The absurdity of his predicament juxtaposed with the oblivious casualness of the conversation prompt made him downright irritated. He had half a mind to rip the decorations off his horns right then and there. He didn't, of course. "Valkyrie," he repeated, "of... where exactly?" His voice came hoarse and humorless.

Please just tell me where I am.


Valkyrie the Hopebringer
Currently championing: Caevoc

As the fury of adrenaline in her coursing, boiling bloodstream began to subside, ebbing from existence like manic from a shrivelling tornado—which is exactly what she was—Valkyrie was able to view the stranger before her with improved clarity and considerably less vehemence; the dissipation of the shadows helped too, without question. Ridiculously tall, even perched there across bent hocks like a stuck duck, she found that she could not capture the bulky-looking mare’s entirety without first lifting her chin, sliding one length backwards, and gawking—bearing her sensitive eyes to the full brunt of icy rain.

A brisk wind hustled the soggy drape of long, milk-white hair hanging around her own broadened features and the like-coloured canvas pulled firm around her torso, shivered wildly against it’s penetrating touch.

Valkyrie was hardly deterred by the strange manner of his greeting—more so retort—and grinned smoothly, suavely, before responding unhelpfully (though solidly), “Valkyrie, Shieldmaiden of Sunnmōre.” Even though she and K’yarie had discussed her birth-home in great detail through months past—the characters, hierarchy, irreligion and cold—it was yet to dawn on the Loorien-native that the Sisterhood was not nearly as renowned as she believed; that their reputation wasn’t as fierce or widely feared as presumed. Neither were the moralistic viewpoints she both stood for and imposed, felt by others: less so still, in the Rift…

So when the thick female posed the question, innocently—expectantly—it was received with the very opposite intention, than intended. “Perhaps you would like to join the cause of the Sisterhood?…” she continued with unwavering casualness, surprising even herself with the proposal that she’d neither passed by the goddess’s shrewd mind or truly explored in any greater depth, herself. Perhaps it was the fact that the image of the mannish-looking other seemed in every respect, so intimidating—at least, there was potential (rivalling the massiveness of Roscorro)—or maybe it was simply that she’d been dormant, a grain of sand on the beach, for too long.

“Yes,” she concluded firmly, confirming the concept’s viability for herself, aloud. The brazen Sister never doubted that K’yarie would join the movement; Valkyrie felt safe trusting that her beloved queen of the stars indeed hated the pointless existence of men enough to entertain a plan to eradicate them—so the more women of like-mind they could bring on board, the better.


Notes for clarity:
- Valkyrie was cursed here. Physically she appears as a stallion, cannot remember why she hates men, and views others as the opposite gender.
- Vynter gave her a bead here that alters her body language to favour males.
Currently championing: None
Instead of answering his question—a very simple question—the stallion elaborated on his title, as though it meant anything at all to him. Vroskar's glare grew heavier, deadlier, ears deflated and his lips fattened in a scowl. A shieldmaiden? He would have laughed if he hadn't been in such sour spirits. Instead, he felt his anxiety bubble into low-simmering anguish and the rain that gushed down from the heavens—where the gods must have looked down at him with mischievous grins—thoroughly soaked him til even his bones began to shiver.

Vroskar had never been so cold. It was as if all the life had fled from his body. He imagined this must be what it was like to wake up after dying. Had he died? Was this some sort of purgatory, and he was doomed to walk in the rift between worlds—being haggled by stallions who thought they were mares?

Perhaps you would like to join the cause of the sisterhood?

Ignoring, he tried to muster up the strength to get back to his feet. His muscles were noodle-like and disobedient. The warrior of Jardis felt like a newborn colt, wobbly in the knees. For a few promising moments, he was standing, 'til his haunches crumbled under him again and shame burned hot in his gut. His whole body throbbed frantically to the pulse of his heart, beating on stubbornly.

His lungs heaved a hefty sigh. Resigned to his indignity, he tilted his head in Valkyrie's direction. He did not meet the stranger's eyes. "And what cause is that?" To make him think he was a girl too? This place must do strange things to the mind.


Valkyrie the Hopebringer
Currently championing: Caevoc

The longer she stewed on the idea—though in actual fact the span of time they had stood together in the murky rain, was brief—the more confident Valkyrie felt about the idea of taking the title of High-Maiden for herself and assembling an army of her own faithful admirers (or so was her narrow-minded, childish perspective about such responsibilities), to bring the opposite gender to trial.

It didn’t matter that she had not the art or profession to craft and brainwash her own daughters; it didn’t really seem important either, that there was no expert council to guide or expand her direction. In her own mind, the cocky Shieldmaiden had the lore and law established (she even had a goddess!), so it seemed reasonable—to her—to believe that the plan was perfectly flawless.

Though she should have been concerned, even discouraged, by the other’s visibly negative shift in attitude, Valkyrie’s obliviousness to most everything outside of her own selfish agenda, was more than apparent. Her arrogance—supreme self-obsession—perhaps was a gift, more than it was a curse for she neither flinched nor flustered at the suggestion that the other mare was intending to leave. In fact, there was a subliminal part of her which realised her company seemed stuck, preying upon that vulnerability wholly; her neat, round hoof even slid her deceptively regal figure forward as the more cumbersome one hovered upright momentarily, just in case the need for a roadblock arose. “Oh… there’s a twig in your tail,” she pointed out quickly and thoughtfully before the other’s haunches gave way.

A Shieldmaiden was pristine at all times…

When a question lifted finally beneath the breath of a heavy sigh, Valkyrie smiled with surprising warmth. “To avenge the women of Loorien,” she explained steadily—as though feminism was the top priority in everybody's life.

“—and the Rift, of course.

She was growing cold and her joints, perhaps, would stiffen and seize if she didn’t move on soon (such was the consequence of the exercise regime she’d forgotten); this presumption on her part was naturally exacerbated by the growing—impatient—desire to further her idea, impulsive though it was. There were things to do—goddesses to court and a kingdom to construct.

Currently championing: None
Oh... there's a twig in your tail.

Vroskar was now convinced he was being made a mockery of. His anguish blistered into full-blown, seething frustration—a slow-bleeding volcanic ooze, red hot in his chest. He grit his teeth so the muscles played like piano keys in his cheeks, lips peeled back in a snarl. If he hadn't been so compromised, he would have bitten back already, but as it were he merely simmered in his chemicals, cursing the blinking, breathing shadows for sucking the life nearly out of him and not finishing the job.

The stallion answered his question—uninterested though it had been put forth—with self-absorbed enthusiasm. He was completely unphased by Vroskar's not at all amused attitude. It struck Vroskar that he was either dim-witted, mad, or a combination of the two. To avenge the women of Loorien, he said, as though it were so blatantly obvious. Vroskar snorted rudely. He wasn't aware the women of Loorien were in need of avenging. He was just about to say so, but then something caught his ear, and he flicked it forward attentively.

The Rift... Right on time a murder of crows ca-cawed just out of sight, wings buffeting the air overhead. Vroskar looked all about him, noticing not for the first time the way the shadows curled and dripped and twisted, and light seemed to pool like oil in the air in some places, as though the very fabric of space were melting; as though time had been pulled apart—rifted. Understanding lit up his mind.

Vroskar had heard of the "otherplace." The place between worlds, between seconds. He never thought it was real, much less that he would go there.

The gods certainly had a peculiar sense of humor.

The molten-flow of acrimony in his chest hardened into stones in his gut and laid heavy in his belly, steaming. Once again he sighed, a surrender. Dread and resentment twisted up his insides. On the outside, he trembled against the cold rain seeping into his bones and had all but forgotten about his strange company. He spoke past the lump in his throat. "Is that what this place is called... 'the Rift?'" He asked, questioning the open air as much as his company.

He hoped this stranger would show a bit of mercy and say something useful. It seemed about as likely the shades would hear him out.


Valkyrie the Hopebringer
Currently championing: Caevoc

Valkyrie paid no mind to the various visible shifts in her disgruntled companion’s appearance, for her focus was thoroughly distracted, thoughts scattering hither and thither as the echoey contours of her pretentious mind began to fill with interesting visions and grandiose intentions, further afield.

It was easy to picture herself leading a faithful following of women—Sisters—pouring forth her abundant knowledge and instilling worldliness into their yearning, sponge-like brains; of course there would be little need for persuasion at all, as it was commonly understood that men were primal creatures of limited intelligence and neanderthal habit.

United—of course, piloted by she—the Rift’s new army of Shieldmaidens would severe the dominative control held over their fair, vulnerable race; those too who had been brainwashed, like Kiada, and—she sighed—silly Zoeya too.

Though sleek, sensitive ears swivelled like honing satellites upon her attractively helmed poll, they barely noticed the monotonous sound of the roused wildlife through the rain, instead, flattening over the suggestion of her own whispering conscious that the Sisterhood should be founded at the foot of K’yarie’s pine-cloaked summit. In all respects, the concept seemed preposterous. To begin with, Shieldmaidens needed snow; freezing conditions to better harden their resolve. The Western Mists—as far as she was aware—was nothing more than flimsy shadow and work: time and massive effort to travel anywhere.

No… she was musing quietly with an increasingly vacant expression, perhaps exploration through the north will be necessary—

Until the sudden sound of the stranger’s voice startled her progress.

“The Rift?” she mimicked suddenly, eyes refocusing a rather pointed, impatient glare towards the wandering gaze of the enquirer. “…no this is the Portal,” Valkyrie stated impatiently, carelessly, misunderstanding—perhaps not hearing—the simple context of the question. Her chin deviated upwards briskly, gesturing towards the queer sliver of darkness yet behind the thicker woman and one eye narrowed almost patronisingly, assuming the stranger to be a little slow on the uptake. She beamed quickly, however, exposing a fresh, forced smile.

A long moment of silence ensued (at least it felt a lot like an eternity to Valkyrie), then it clicked—

“Wait… you mean this whole place? Yeah it’s the Rift—welcome to hell. A chuckle rattled her nostrils, though there was an unmistakable air of seriousness surrounding the comment.

Currently championing: None

The stallion-playing-mare jeered at him with eyes narrowed into patronizing slits, as though he were the magnifying glass and Vroskar were the tinder. His words did a fine job at fanning the embers of his aggravation. A familiar heat licked at his innards—a pitiful, imaginary flame, not nearly warm enough to fend off the feverish cold that raked his body nor dry the wetness from his coat. Even more maddening was the invention of a poorly mimed smile spread upon his mug and Vroskar's ears sewed themselves ever tighter to his nape.

After a silence that stretched for a few brave moments, what Vroskar already knew was confirmed. Yeah it's the Rift—welcome to hell. It was all very fitting that Vroskar's own personal hell would be one of rain and no fire (no warmth at all in fact). He could appreciate the irony.

He supposed he deserved this. Still, he always hoped hell would have better company.

"Does it always rain this much in hell?" he scoffed. Sarcasm needled the deadpan rasp of his voice, melancholic syllables rattling from his tongue with the musical pitch of the sky-children. The peaks of Jardis loomed impossibly far away now, and though he had long been doomed never to return, he feared this was the final death.

Heartache bore deep and bittersweet in his chest with the sudden vengeance of an angry wasp and he did his best to dig out the stinger, if only to survive this exchange with a shred of pride intact.


You may always use magic/force on/against Vroskar (excluding powerplay). Please note that Vroskar's own personal opinions and thoughts do not always reflect my own and he can be somewhat offensive/insensitive.