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Home » Search » Roster » Whitepages » Records » FAQ » Guidebook
the lonely are such delicate things.
Open Uwaritace 
Taivas the Hopebringer
Currently championing: Reszo
#11
Taivas
Kisamoa speaks, but it leaves Taivas with more questions that he may or may not wish to answer.

Who is Reszo?  A god, perhaps?
Was Kisamoa not the only god?
Where had the rest of them been?
What of Hope, did she count as a god?
Why did he choose to save Uwaritace's husk but not restore her?
Were gods not all powerful beings like she had heard?

The shaman listens intently, her face glowing with a rarely seen, expressive light.  Curiosity is painted plainly on the normally dull exterior, adding dimension and focus to the soft, pale glow of the moon.  The misfortune of the Rift becomes clear, yet Taivas remains surprised by how violent the past had been.

To think that her mother had been sending her to Helovia, where the Gods had slain and destroyed another world (and for what purpose) shocked her.  Surely, mother had no idea the ill intent of the former Gods she worshipped.

In the Fields, they had no such beings as "gods"; only the spirits held a special place within their religion, and so she has a difficult time understanding the true ferocity of change which shook the Rift.  The girl was also under the foolish and naive impression prior that Gods were immortal, unable to be slain or destroyed.  Thoughtfully, the mare listens, and thankfully, Kisamoa is kind enough to give her a comparison she would understand.

I'm sure you can imagine what tearing the heart out does to a body.

"The Rift is dying," she says calmly, thinking about how her first impression of the world had been ravenous.  The world sought energy and life to restore that which it was losing.  The odd nature of the realm began to fall into place, a logical solution to the overwhelming problem it faced.

Taking a brief pause, Taivas considers her options, knowing now the struggle which faced them all.  She could not return home, and therefore, this world had become her home from the moment she slipped through time and space into the Rift.  The task of maintaining the world draining of life with each passing moment belonged to all, not just this poor, strange god beside her.  "How can we restore the heart of the Rift?"

"How do we save this world?"
moon dust in your lungs
stars in your eyes
you are a child of the cosmos,
a ruler of the skies
Kisamoa
Currently championing:
#12
"The Rift is dying," she correctly surmised, and the beast beside her couldn't help but droop. "Yes," he simply said, voice quiet. Despite his best efforts and intentions, the Rift was dying: bleeding out, day by day. Some of the light lost had been restored with the awakening of Hope, but she had done nothing to stem the figurative bloodflow. And Kaos? Kaos was out of ideas. Kaos hadn't even been intended as a tool of redemption and recovery, just one of vengeance.

And vengeance had been had. The memory of it did little to soothe or thrill him now, only satisfied the ghosts of the dead gods he was made of.

The Rift, as a whole, reminded him of Uwaritace. Rescued, but too late. He let her mull on it, once more finding his gaze wandering the boughs of the burned tree.

Of course, she asked the questions he had dreaded, the questions he had asked himself for a year, or more: how do we fix it?

He had tried to reverse the effect with sheer influx, thinking that, perhaps in time, the wounds would heal. He had found the Hopelights, and handed them out, hoping that strong enough hope would seal them.

But it just kept on bleeding, day after day. He'd sought for Helovia, to take back the realms the dead pantheon took from him, but he couldn't find it. Whether it was lost or simply closed to him, he didn't know.

He was silent for a while, long enough that it almost seemed he would not respond. Then, he heaved a deep sigh. He was over being angry about it. Yelling at Taivas wouldn't fix it. Still, he itched for something to take out his frustrations on, something to scream at until his voice was hoarse and his heart exhausted.

"I don't know," he simply said, the detached calm of his voice an indication that this was, perhaps, dangerous territory to venture into.
beauty in darkness
kaos in light
.. and kaos opened up its eyes
Taivas the Hopebringer
Currently championing: Reszo
#13
Taivas
Yes.

A simple word confirms the gentle girl's suspicions, and she cannot help but droop with the demigod.  To have lost her former home, arrive here, and be faced with the reality of losing yet another home... the reality made the gentle-hearted shaman want to escape from the world, if only for a few moments of respite.  Running away would do little to absolve them from their current plight, however, and soon enough logic takes over the girl's mind.  Even if she was often absurdly naive, Taivas was practical.

Irritation briefly engulfs the god for a moment, though it is entirely missed by the softly illuminated mare at his side.  The silence which hovers between them, like that of an aggressor with a raised fist, does not bother the painted lady.  She remains remarkably still and patient, thinking surely that Kisamoa would have the answers.  That childlike naivety overrides the glaringly obvious fact that, if he had the solution, he would long since have put it in place.  Instead of being clobbered by Kisamoa's biting words, the fist gives way without so much as a broken sigh.  The weight of the Rift was crushing Kisamoa, slowly and steadily.

I don't know.

Taivas looks away from the deformed figure beside her, feeling his consciousness drift away, as one often does in deep thought.  The shaman knew enough, at least, not to probe him further.  Instead, compassion overrides her curiosity, having sensed that this issue was one that constantly dug into his psyche.  He must be tired, tired of looking for answers, but most of all, perhaps just tired of carrying the burden alone.  She remembers the softness of his features after those gathered agreed to spread the pieces of hope.  Surely, this soul was unused to the cooperation of others to further his goals.

Her dark eyes find a new target to examine, giving the god much needed respite in silence.  Uwaritace watches over their conversation, a lost soul and the ghost of the once magnificent Mother Tree.  As her eyes run over the scars of the fire, broken by pure ivory bark, Taivas thinks back on the lore of the wood dwellers.  Unlike those in the Fields, who worshipped the sky which spanned endlessly above, the wood dwellers firmly believed that trees held the source of power in the world.  The shamans of the wood were very similar to her own peoples, in that they believed in spirits being the fundamental life force of the world.  As such, Mother Trees like Uwaritace were instrumental in their teachings of balance, order, and life in the world.

She remembers the tale of the sister trees, Tasapaino and Voima.  Much like Uwaritace, they were giants in the wood near the fields.  Their boughs stretched endlessly toward the sky, their leaves as large as fully grown pegasus.  Many of the Order of the Wood lived within the branches of the great trees, and thus the sisters were central to much of their teachings.  On a visit to the woods, Taivas had visited with the Elder Whisperer - a tree-speaker.  Back then, she had been very young, but she remembered his teachings well.  Much like the verses which were chanted to the sky at night, the wood dwellers had developed communications with the spirits of the trees.

Tasapaino and Voima were the very first trees of the wood, and from them, all other trees were born.  According to the Elder Whisperer, the life force for the entire forest hinged upon the survival of the sister trees, and he claimed that even the earth surrounding them depended upon the strong veins of their roots.  The mystical energy of the spirits provided a life force, in much the way those of the Fields believed that starlight bathed the world in power and provided life.

Suddenly, a switch clicks in the brain of the shaman.  Her head snaps toward Kisamoa, a flicker of excitement dancing across her face.  "Uwaritace's spirit remains untouched and powerful," the girl starts, her voice moving quickly - unusual for the normally placid shaman.  "If you were to restore her, she might be able to heal much of the damage done to the forests, if not even other parts of the Rift."  Thinking back, she pictures the Tree of Light, the illusion created by the Matriarch and other Loricatruncs during the festival.

"Would it be possible to bring her to life again?"
moon dust in your lungs
stars in your eyes
you are a child of the cosmos,
a ruler of the skies


[ ooc - I forgot that I was coming to work earlier today so I had some time to throw this up!  ]
Kisamoa
Currently championing:
#14
His mind wandered, but it found neither solutions nor ways out. He couldn't even tell what he thought of: it was just a mixture of impressions and emotions, fleeting memories, lost dreams, hope and starlight. Like ink flowering in water, brief and meaningless.

He contemplated leaving Taivas then. After all, what did he have to offer? He had told her of Uwaritace, of how she had come to be here, but if she had more questions, he wasn't sure he had the answers.

Besides, he hurt. His body ached.

Yet he found himself rooted there, in a place where the desire to leave could not quite overcome his apathy. He could've stood for eons in that wet, sorrowful place. It mirrored his mood.

But, beside him, the gentle little girl suddenly snapped her head towards him, and, rather startled, Kisamoa looked first over his shoulder, then down at himself, wondering what possibly could've evoked such a reaction in her? But when he saw her face again, heard her voice, both were brimming with excitement, with the very thing he had sought to restore: hope.

It was as painful as it was beautiful.

He wanted to tell her, no, Uwaritace holds no sway over these lands—she was not one of the Living Trees, who had helped ground the Rift when it was still in its cradle, a time Kisamoa could not remember, for there had been no gods then.

But how could he say no to the pale, flickering fire in her eyes? How could he say no to what he had asked of them—help, and hope? He was fickle, he was tired, and just like Zekle's sorrow beneath this very tree had moved him then, so Taivas moved him now.

"I am not a life-giver," he said, slowly, after a moment. He couldn't lie to her. He couldn't claim to know how to heal the charred body of the tree, and revive the wounded spirit within. He looked to Uwaritace, and then back to Taivas. Oh, if only the Gods had never fallen... perhaps, in a less sick frame of mind, Reszo, or Vjanta, who was the aspect of life, could've saved her.

"But," he went on, not wishing to disappoint her, or see her face fall; he wasn't sure he could bear it. "The Rift works in mysterious ways. Perhaps you could help her." He peered at her with his dark, dark eyes, the cogs and gears of his mind turning, now that it had a problem of a slightly more manageable magnitude to tackle. "A tree needs strong roots, and sunlight," he mused. "The latter is not a problem, but her roots are cold and silent, and you are still a tumbleweed. You will need to put down your own roots, if you are to help her."
beauty in darkness
kaos in light

[ "Putting down roots" is rather vague, but signifies something large, ie: coming to the point that she feels like some horses in the Rift are family (doesn't need to be romantic), joining/founding a herd, having a foal, etc. It's kind of up to you/Taivas to decide what feels like having put down roots in the Rift! ]
.. and kaos opened up its eyes
Taivas the Hopebringer
Currently championing: Reszo
#15
Taivas
I am not a life-giver.

Something, deep within the soul and spirit of Taivas knows this to be true.  Looking at the emulsion of spirits, shadow, flesh, and bone, there is nothing within Kisamoa that speaks of life.  Light does not reflect upon him like it does on other bodies, much less does it radiate from him.  If she had not lost her connection to the spirits of the world, the starry eyed girl might have gotten more insight into the inner workings of the strange, beastial god before her.  Instead, she is left to muse over his power on her own.

"But, I am," she whispers calmly, her face turning back toward the once pure ivory bark, running over the charred veins of flame.

Born to Talin of the Night Sky and Onni the Illuminant, Taivas had been birthed with the innate ability to mend and heal.  Her teachings with the Elders had only bolstered that natural talent, given form through communication with the spirits.  The thought that she could no longer hear them or call upon them would distress her if not for this fact.  For, as she closes her eyes and breathes, she can hear another voice speaking to her with warmth and affection.  It is the light we find in the darkness which shines most brightly.

Father.  Oh, how she misses him.
For a moment, the weight of what she would take on begins to make her feel like a naive child.  Surely, she could not be so strong and important as to heal the Mother Tree.  She was not versed well in the lore of the woods.  She had no right to think she could manage to accomplish anything.  The effort was futile.

She opens her eyes upon hearing Kisamoa speak once more, his voice only affirming what she had tried to anchor within her own mind.  That flicker of shame at her delusion of grandiosity and strength is quashed, allowing her to firmly accept the next task for her in this world - the Rift.

The tree who had offered her solace in the darkest period of her life would become the wind underneath her wings now.  Every effort she would make would be directed toward the restoration of Uwaritace, so that the kindness and kinship could be returned to the ghost that simply refused to die.

You will need to put down your own roots, if you are to help her.

Smiling, the little moon appears thankful and warm for a brief moment before her face returns to the same, flat canvas from moments before.  "Thank you, Kisamoa," her voice is delicate and soft, carrying with it the faded remnants of sorrow and helplessness.  Now that she has a direction, she can easily follow it.  For someone who is not a life-giver, Kisamoa has given much to the small shaman in her time of need.  A kindness she would not soon forget.

"I will help you save the Rift, or stand with you at the end of all things."

Either way, Taivas would be content.
moon dust in your lungs
stars in your eyes
you are a child of the cosmos,
a ruler of the skies