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Home » Search » Roster » Whitepages » Records » FAQ » Guidebook
Botany I: the beginner's guide
Trial Halyven 
Currently championing: Reszo
All through the night, blisteringly cold and unable to find rest, Eira had wished terribly that the first whisper of light through the cracks in Halyven’s eastern wall might bring too a change in weather; warmth, respite, any change from the penetrating chill of Freeze. Even though she’d weathered one and this half, it was difficult to recall just when it would end—time in the Rift, without the guidance of her parents, even Indra, seemed to be indecipherable.

Nevertheless, the waif-like young hybrid was more than grateful for the small blessing which her home offered, as far as shelter and relief offered, and on more than two occasions she had found generous heat beneath the feathered wing of her leader.

Roscorro, however, had become busier and less available through weeks past.

The morning finally came, wielding a wild, biting wind and flurries of fresh powder snow. Eira, curled tightly beneath the jut of a low rocky overhang, with the outside wing—tattered and chewed—draped over the top of her bony, angular body, sighed soft resignation and smiled. Admittedly, she preferred this bitter weather to the inescapable swelter of scorch; the coat thick around her never shed, and stifling humidity only worsened the assault.

It took a good length of time, an hour at least, to find strength enough to stretch and rise from her hardened earth bed. She shook herself briskly, perhaps out of habit more than necessity—the stiffness was always present, the hunger, the pain. Stepping out into the bright sunlight from the shade, Eira found her lashes dipping to shield her eager eyes.

Perhaps I’ll head to the portal again, she mused silently, strolling down a rubble lined avenue, vaguely curious about the whereabouts of those who dwelled in Halyven too—though the long, arduous journey lacked appeal. Instead, the blue orphan settled on a very different idea, an easier one, and began to scout about the rocks for the flora the Rift had tasked her to find; the one that would cure the familiar rash growing on her belly.


Anyone is welcome. Eira is looking for flora for her trial.
She has no horn yet despite the picture!
Currently championing:

Player is absent until


There were no herds when she was young. The world they inherited was desolate, blank, corrupted and decaying- there was no room for growth. Is that why they left, the girl wonders? Did they leave a land of death in search of blooming life, only to find the edge of the world incomplete and empty? What would they say to see it now: still rotten, still dark, but with little lights of population, souls converging to create something new? What would she think, the errant twin?

(Or are you the errant twin, Savera? You are, after all, the one who left.)

Better not to think on that, now.

Savera sighs softly, a public expression of private discontent. Beyond her, white walls and spires tower into the sky, hungry to touch the clouds before crumbling inevitably into dust. Devi is quick to pursue their peaks, spreading wide wings and launching into the air, but for now the morning star stays on the ground. The gryphon can scout for occupants; Vera prefers to keep a low profile, gain a feeling for this herd before announcing herself.

White and gold in the clear morning light, the girl cuts a pretty figure, her youth and newness contrasting with the age and wisdom of the crumbling castle. She is too young to realize that her coat has become a little too shaggy - as far as she's concerned, it is simply a warm angora, practical for the chill of freeze. Ice on snow, Savera continues to skirt the walls, waiting for something interesting.

It is then she finds the girl.

Devi sees her first, from her perch so high above. Smaller than Savera, and almost as furry, the stranger is a spot of blue in the winter white, far too tiny, winged and alone. Savera creeps closer, her silver gaze narrow - is she a trespasser, too? She certainly looks homeless, cachectic and hungry, but the girl is not ready to jump to conclusions just yet. For all she knows, everyone who lives here is starving. Or maybe anorexia is simply in.

"Hello." Gentle, polite, the morning star gazes with unfathomable eyes, her two-toned ears tilting forward as she nears the other child. "What are you doing?" Is it fun? She tilts her head, curious, face awash with childish guile. She hopes the other can speak, and that she is intelligent. She has learned you can never be sure, in the Rift.

Or maybe she's just a judgmental bitch.

Currently championing: None
You follow. From a distance today: dark eyes studying the pale ruins as Savera creeps ahead. Blessedly, she hugs the ground. Your own short, ugly wings cling to your sides, small and malformed, and the well-hewn muscle under them is grateful for the rest. You could be fitter; you could always be fitter. Better the image of your father's son. Your grandmother's grandson.

You don't recognize this place. It didn't come from Helovia. It is, instead, something new, and also something ugly. You smell others here, their presence a constant assault, and so you walk a little more carefully than you often do. Could it be a herd? A herd here in the Rift? The thought excites you a little. Angers you a little. Natives? Fellow refugees? You don't know who you hate more, when you think about it. The conquerors or those who quailed before them.

Up ahead: the sound of Savera's voice.

You allowed her out of your sight, and now she's doing something. Alarm prickles in your brain, kicks your limbs into motion. A brisk trot brings you up behind her, your expression sullen as usual, alarm buried deep behind the fathomless blackness of your eyes. But it surfaces, it does, the moment you lay eyes on — fuck, whatever that is.

"Savera!" Your voice a bark, deep and resonant. "Don't touch that." You slow to stand next to her and your face twists into a scowl (moreso than usual) as you eye the (pegasus?) thing she's chosen to converse with. It looks ill: scrawny and weak under a thick coat. Young. Pale. Like half a ghost already. You shove forward, attempting to shove your sister aside or maybe back, irritated by her lack of self-preservation instinct. And your head snakes out as your nostrils flare, as your ears flip back.

"Are you sick?" you demand, as if she lured your sister here knowingly to infect her. As if the existence of contagion is an insult to you, personally, and you need it to apologize before you snuff it out.

light shines brighter in the dark

@Eira @Savera
ooc// He will.... probably calm down.
Currently championing: Reszo
Such was her misfortune that the burning rash on her belly had returned, though, it was still young for now, but a blister buried beneath fur, and this time, Eira knew exactly how to get rid of it.

The Rift had again occupied her thoughts, whispering of uninvited tasks, instructions, and explaining once more that the only cure for the infliction it issued, was their completion. At first, she had plainly assumed that voice to be just another among the constant chorus in her head—another curse, another set of tasks—but the scaling flash she knew well, for last time it had grown to considerable proportions and devoured a good half of her scrawny frame. The experience had been excruciating and a rather torturous welcome to this unpredictable world.

Of course, it wasn’t all doom and gloom.

In return for the completion of the tasks last time, Eira had been gifted the ability to issue thoughts and images into the minds of those around her; after that, her world had been wonderfully less lonely.

As the starving young horse fossicked and foraged around the rocks, the arrival of the silvery-eyed filly behind her evaded immediate notice—so too did the snowman who waited motionlessly toward her front,  not initially see. In the very same moment, when the stranger’s young voice split the silence suspended around them, both Eira and her foul-tempered escort (an item, more than a creature), turned with a start. Snow gathered in the palm of one raised, kindling hand and the snowman hurled it with force, at the sweet face that stood near.

“Oh no!” Eira’s thoughts cried allowed, the same distress shredding the look of astonishment which had been. The other small horse had shown them no hint of aggression, and the sickly looking girl bumbled forward with remorse pooling in her eyes, desperate to rewind the hostility of the tiny thing. “I’m so sorry,” she fed into the mind of the pretty stranger, it’s not my fault, “the little beast, I don’t know why!” thoughts scrambled to make her understand that they did not share an opinion—or motivation—anything which might validate a reason for the action.

No sooner had she begun, however, than another arrived, or his voice, commanding that something not be touched. All of a sudden, insecurity tingled the nerves beneath her heavy hide, and Eira found herself stumbling backwards, fearful about whatever danger the newest stranger perceived. Dark eyes watched as the tall stallion halted beside the filly, drinking his brilliantly prestigious appearance with a visible note of awe, tracing his brawny, built line right until it found the tip of his heaven bound horn. Apparently, the feeling was not a mutual one.

The stallion’s ebony skull sliced forward like a snake, ears flattened and eyes barely visible. “Are you sick?

Eira’s entire impression seemed to thin dramatically, a stark contrast to the show of might and power before her; the barbered silver feathers lining each wing smoothed quickly, the limbs themselves cuddling all the closer against ribs like mountains and valleys. Her swayed neck dipped the too-large head at its end yet lower into submission and heavy ears wavered uncertainly to each side. Beneath her, the long tail slithered to a standstill, pressed into the shadow of the body overhead. “No,” her thoughts answered quickly, wanting not to antagonise him at all, “I’m Eira.”


She has no horn yet despite the picture!

@Savera @Virga
Currently championing:

Player is absent until


He is not so far off, her faithful shadow and yet she pays him little mind. Perhaps she has grown so accustomed to him now he simply slips her notice: mostly silent, mostly stoic, mostly reliable, mostly, mostly, mostly enough - but not quite, never quite.  Besides, what's the point of sticking to his side, of relying on his presence? She doesn't need a shadow to be safe. She doesn't need to cling to anyone: she is nearly two years old, after all.

(If she clings to him will he disappear, vanish like smoke like Neaera?)

The other filly is impossibly thin and frail, a skeleton playing poorly at life, and Savera finds her fascinating. Or she would - were it not for the indignity of sudden, smarting cold directly in her face. The girl flinches as she is struck, recoiling in shock, her gold wings flaring. "What?" she sputters through a mouthful of snow, careful composure cracking under the weight of surprise.

From somewhere above Devi cries shrilly, the languid beast brought to action by this unexpected affront on her young companion's face. There is a blur of cream and flame, and the feline falls from the cloudy sky, claws outstretched and ears pulled back as she assaults the offending assailant. The griffin is doomed to a pawful of snow, if anything, something that will only serve to deepen her fury - and for a moment the state of both girls is utter displeasure and discombobulation. Savera blinks unhappily, snorting as snow melts on her long eyelashes, her soft nose. She does not hear the girl's thought out apology; her brain is already much too loud. All she wanted was to learn a little bit, to meet someone new.

They are ready for rescue, please and thank you.

On cue, their shadow sibling appears. It takes all the girl has not to run to him, to push herself beneath his stunted wing and glare out at the world from that safe space, but she does not want to appear weak in front of him. He is not Papa, or Mama, or her sisters - he is a hammer, unrelenting, and the girl still fears him, just a touch. Still, she is glad to see him, even though he yells her name and gnashes his teeth, and as Virga rages the girl regains her calm, body growing softer while her hazel eyes stay hard.

It helps that the stranger shrinks before them, apparently quite chastised and appropriately cowed by Virga's wrath. Savera is no longer the most unsettled among them, and this soothes her greatly, though her heart still beats a quick patter in her chest. She lets her brother do the talking while Devi sulks back from her unsuccessful assault on the snow, dark eyes glaring from Savera's back as she begins to dry her feathered form. The stranger is speaking, kind of, though her mouth does not move; the morning star's head tilts curiously at this new development. Is it a special way of communicating? Can Virga hear it, too?

She turns to Virga then, her pale eyes bright. If she is anxious she does not show it, except perhaps in the steady swish of her tail. "You're scaring it," the girl tells her brother, quiet reproach in her gentle voice. "Eira," Savera parrots aloud, "I'm sorry if we scared you. My name is Savera. This is Virga, and Devi. We aren't from here." And then, silently, she adds - Can you hear me think?

ooc ;; sorry for the wait/quality lol!
Vera is currently creamy white

Currently championing: None
And the sickly thing quails before you. It feels good for a moment, until you look at her and see the bones sticking out of her, the way she trembles, and then you just feel angry. Thrashing, directionless anger pulses in your heart. Why is she like that? Tiny and sickly and so near your sister? Why is she so pathetic quivering down in your shadow?

A snort of disgust leaves you, and you step back as Savera moves in to soothe. The strange thing speaks, but not aloud, and your ears twist back in a brittle expression of distrust. Eira. You don't want its name. You ought to leave it so the Rift can finish it off.

But Savera doesn't seem to agree.

Coolly, you glance at your sister, at her features so interested. If the thing poses no threat... But why get attached to it? It's clearly bound for a shallow grave sooner or later. You don't understand, but you don't wish to upset your sister, either, so you merely stand behind her, glowering.

light shines brighter in the dark