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Home » Search » Roster » Whitepages » Records » FAQ » Guidebook
Some Princes Don't Become Kings
Open Kingdom of Halyven 
Currently championing: Reszo
Oh, my tongue's the only muscle in my body that works harder than my heart

A key difference between things that happen in stories and things that happen in life: stories mean something. The prince wins because he is brave. Because valor is a virtue. The princess lives because she was kind. Because all children should be kind to one another. The wizard is defeated because he was cruel. The old king dies because he was too greedy. On and on. There is an order to it. A sort of justice.

But here is something true: The prince did all he had to do, was very brave, was very clever, was very selfless. Something else: His kingdom fell into the sea. And one last thing: The only creature he loved at all disappeared.

Korri was feeling particularly gloomy. He rarely allowed such things to affect his demeanor, but the feeling shone through on this cold and colorless day. Korri was himself a stray burst of sunlight atop one of Halyven's broken buildings. High up. His wings half-folded at his sides, eyes scouring the landscape before him. A wind with teeth sang up and rattled his feathers, but he ignored it. He was searching: searching with grave intensity. Attempting to plan his next move. He could not believe his raven lost. Could not, because she could not be.... He would die before losing her. And on this particular day, maybe he contemplated the consequences of this deeply held belief more rigorously than he usually did.

What if he never found her?

What if —

He sighed, his breath a phantom carried off by the wind. "What the fuck," he hissed to himself, and turned his attention to the streets below.


@Waker idk

collect your tears, shoot 'em down
even giants hit the ground
Currently championing:
Crumbled buildings; ivory spires, washed with dust and grit and gray. Roads, empty, echoing. Moss and grass between the tiling in less cold seasons. Snow, now, piling into drifts, the wind funneled between the walls, roaring, biting, but today, only biting. Long tendrils of dark hair blow about your hocks, flakes drifting past your ankles.

You hold your wings loosely against your side, your surprisingly thick winter coat insulation against the biting cold. It seems a flimsy defense, but unless the wind blows, you're fine.

You're not used to snow.

You're used to having a home, but you're not used to it being this home.

So, a ghost, you wander the streets. You peer into ruins. You watch the spires, and how the bleak sunlight strikes their empty windows and glitters upon frosted, sharp peaks. You see all this, and despite your fondness for those you now call herd mates, you cannot see it and think home.

Home is a rain-washed, temperate plain. Home is the wailers's mountains on the horizon, a red-tinged smudge. Home is summer thunderstorms and long, warm nights.

Home isn't ankle-deep in snow. Home isn't downpour after downpour after downpour. Home isn't a cruel sun beating down from a cloudless sky.

Home is with your Ma, your friends, your mentors.

Home is lost.

You clamp your jaws together, striding through the snow. A lonely, dark thing, leaving a lonely trail.
Currently championing: Reszo
Oh, my tongue's the only muscle in my body that works harder than my heart

A smear of black: wings, hooves, horns. Korri recognized the stranger from the herd meeting. Waker? Had Rixen called him? Another pegasus, though this one crowned himself in a row of spines. Another pegasus, but still a little larger than Korri, who had himself been tall in the kingdom of Osslen. How strange to be now the small, fuzzy thing in a kingdom of giants when he had once been lanky and sleek. Handsome, he liked to think.

He watched morosely for a time. Waker never looked up, but carried on braced against wind and snow. Lost inside his own mind. What was he thinking? Where was he going? I am a healer, Korri thought, remembering the quiet solemnity of his voice. He had seemed… an outsider, almost. Something quiet and dark on the fringes of the meeting. Unintrusive.

Korri followed his progress in silence, eyes pensive behind long, thick lashes. Then before Waker could pass him by completely, he called out: "Hello, Waker!" His voice rose bright as a peal of laughter, unaffected by his mood. A false cheer settling easily over his features — less a mood than a mask. The person he was with other people. He flared his wings, preparing to jump down but unwilling to startle the other man.

"It is Waker, right?" Korri called, leaning his head down over the edge of the building. "My name is Korri. I saw you at the herd meeting." His ears pricked forward, eyes keen, waiting to gauge a reaction. He wanted to say more, but he didn't.



collect your tears, shoot 'em down
even giants hit the ground