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Home » Search » Roster » Whitepages » Records » FAQ » Guidebook
The blind leading the blind
Open Tar Pits 
Valkyrie the Hopebringer
Currently championing: Caevoc
#1
VALKYRIE
She stood in the storm


Valkyrie, after a small amount of time spent repeating the circuit which had originally ensnared her progress that day (this adventure before the coppery-coated mare had been discovered), found herself freed from the labyrinth of wild timber and blinking smoke, at last. Both impressed with herself, entertaining the smug notion that she had so cunningly fooled the Rift into renouncement and relieved that the ordeal could now be forgotten, the pallid Shieldmaiden led her charge briskly through the falling rain along a well-worn path towards the desert hills—a direction that would fail to introduce the other to the unconscionable herd of Halyven.

There was little opportunity for small talk; less still, reason. Flared nostrils pumped and sucked steadily at the water-saturated air, feeding the billow-like lungs within, whose thirst became all the more insatiable the harder she pushed. Plumes of white steam ascended like an aura around her hot, marching figure, so too the breath which spewed from the fissure between her soggy, rosy lips.

The bronze earth beneath her stride was thoroughly drowned.

Deep rivulets, once miniature, Scorch-baked canyons, wove intricate courses down the hill which fell away  behind them and steeply down to the right. These rushed rapidly backwards, to join the frothing fury of white floodwater that gushed along still faster than Valkyrie could have ever hoped to travel; it spewed out from a cave inserted into the very terrain they climbed, perhaps a clever shortcut en route to the great southern sea. A dismissive smile snaked briefly through her expression—the ocean and its silly detail held little value in her grand scheme.

It was for that reason that the city in the murky, bone-chilling depths evaded mention as she paused suddenly, quite breathlessly, at the pinnacle of a hard-clay hillock; turning with a broad, ‘managerial’ smile, the self-employed High-Maiden and self-professed (for) freedom fighter, fed the other mare (between breaths), a very biased account of all the places she and K’yarie had previously passed through, gesturing with her dripping muzzle towards each location in respect to their current position. Of course she made no mention of Rixen and Roscorro’s posse—bitterness soured her saliva as thought of it crossed her mind.

“Any questions?” she asked as the heavy pound of her heart began to slow. It was a large quantity of information, Valkyrie knew, so she was more than happy to address any particulars which might now arise—attaching to it specific vagueness and personal preferences as she saw fit. The smaller horse with the wings behind her ears, stood perhaps around the same elevation as her companion, careful to assume the highest point on that slippery slope beneath them; subtly inflating her own image as she perched should any watching, wonder who was of greater importance.

Given the other’s obvious lack of commitment, the haughty Shieldmaiden figured that this would be the point they parted ways.

and when the wind did not blow her way,
she adjusted her sails.



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Vroskar
Currently championing: None
#2

It took a while for Vroskar's limbs to come back to life. They moved, but he could barely feel them as he willed his body along. His head swam and his body raged as though it were dying, his flesh shivering and burning all at once. Sweat mingled with the rain that thoroughly soaked him. If he didn't smell of wet-dog before, he most certainly did now.

(Though he felt very much like he was dying) he kept pace with his company, whom he made a dwarf of even slumped over as he was. He (she?) marched along as though leading a war charge and Vroskar felt like a more-dumb-witted Orpheus walking so willingly into hell—only Vroskar had no notions of romantic heroics; just an aching fever and a nigh-incorrigible urge to hurl himself from the top of the precipice they now stood atop. He even made a game of identifying his own imaginary organs strewn down there among the rocks. A bit of brains, some guts, some bone...

Any questions?

Vroskar's ear flicked to the side, remembering his company. Still his eyes explored the dark sticky sand that stretched on in front of him in all directions—so different from the snow-swept reaches of his birth. Though he'd been freed from the unworldly thicket of smoke and shadows and carnivorous eyes he was hardly inspired by the hellish tarpits he now faced. This is more like what he always imagined hell would be like. He was a fool to have expected anything better.

"You have a strange definition of forests and mountains," he finally grumbled, a note of humor brightening the deadpan sarcasm of his voice.

VROSKAR
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@Valkyrie I'm so sorry for the wait

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.


Valkyrie the Hopebringer
Currently championing: Caevoc
#3
VALKYRIE
She stood in the storm


“You have a strange definition of forests and mountains,” the unusual, heavy-footed stallion grumbled in return and Valkyrie couldn’t help the wry smile as it was lured slowly to life by the hint of his sarcasm, quirking quietly the crimson contours of her wrinkled mouth. There could have been no better place to deposit his good-for-nothing backside; a lake of putrid tar, the perverted flames of hell. She could only pray he’d find his demise down there within it.

“Why do you think moths throw themselves at the flame?” her voice was dry, bored…

Without offering him the space to answer—the question was a rhetorical one after all—the masculine looking Shieldmaiden continued, “…it’s because there’s no beauty without pain. It’s pretty to them, and your pretty forest is on the other side of the tar—”

As far away from Halyven as she could persuade him to be.

Valkyrie pondered idly, rain spewing relentlessly down upon her vain pinnacle, that perhaps if she could acquire for herself the ability to weave her own perspective through his mind, this whole mission to isolate those like him and forge a force to fell Hope’s herd, would be a darn sight simpler. Heavily, she sighed, a wreath of steam ascending above her shifting, pastel-featured face. Without magic, she was still too weak.

“Any questions?” the cursed Shieldmaiden asked him again—impatience both prevalent in the fidget of her printless hooves and the note of her demanding voice. The dense (perhaps in more ways than one), male was wasting her time. Glancing beyond his saturated form, she perceived the murky spires of filthy Havylen rising through the murky curtain of rain and cloud.

and when the wind did not blow her way,
she adjusted her sails.



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@Vroskar - tryina get back into our groove <3 sorry if its rusty
Vroskar
Currently championing: None
#4

…it’s because there’s no beauty without pain. Vroskar crinkles his brow. While the he-mare is not wrong (from what he has learned in his life, all beautiful things do require some sort of pain) and while the metaphor is well-suiting to his point, Vroskar never assumed moths had any appreciation for beauty. He was not so much concerned with beauty as survival.

"I doubt the moth cares much how pretty the flame is," comes his aloof retort with no elaboration to follow.

Vroskar shuffles his hooves uncomfortably. He is no longer dampened by rainwater, but sweat. It beads on his forehead, on his breast, in all the crevices of his body. His fur clumps together in stiff, wiry masses and it will be no wonder if he comes down with a terrible case of rain rot. Blood hammers at his temples and throbs behind his eyes. He clenches his teeth so the muscles play like piano keys in his cheeks and he wonders not for the last time if this is some long and elaborate psychedelic dream...

Any questions? his company asks once again, this time much less patient. Anxiety builds a tight knot in his chest. He imagines himself walking out into the wastes and never finding the other side, stranded in a fathomless expanse of tar and hellfire and heat enough to scorch even a creature of fire such as himself - except... his fire had been put out. A chill rakes his spine and sends tremors through each of his limbs.

Nervously he glances at his company. Without thinking he follows the white one's eyes to where they gaze, back the way they had come. He squints his ruby eyes, making out tall shapes and smudges of green poking through the haze of storm clouds.

He feels himself tugged in that direction - toward something more familiar.

"What's over that way?"

VROSKAR
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@Valkyrie

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.