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Home » Search » Roster » Whitepages » Records » FAQ » Guidebook
I've dragged these bones across the floor
Open Blood Falls 
Currently championing: Vourib
like breaking diamonds with your hands
"Come!" Okay.

"The Rift is dying!" Okay.

"We'll revive some Gods!" Okay.

"Pick one to follow!" Now hold up—

Mauja had stood with them, a lamb in the flock, listening to these news, delivered by someone who definitely wasn't Kaos. The last time Mauja had been among his own people in this bloody realm, it had been the shifting, hideous creature that had done the announcements, and ordering. Now, it was some.. burning gender-nonconforming doe (as former Queen of the World's Edge, Mauja approved). She was definitely not Kaos, and Mauja had looked around a little—the most interest he'd displayed in months—but hadn't seen neither hide nor hair of the Deceiver.

Well, whatever. They had all taken from him, and from his loved ones, and having names to put on their faces did little to alleviate that hurt.

So, he departed the gathering, in silence. Diego rode on his withers, as usual, as they made the trek towards the north again.

Kisamoa had, in those last, fervent moments of Helovia's existence, taken Ophelia from him—though in many ways, she had been taken from him earlier. His own inability to face her after leaving had pushed a wedge in between them, and then she'd met Torleik, anyway.

But now she was dead. Dead. It was so difficult to understand, sometimes.

Vourib, he had nearly killed Irma, when—who was it, good ol' Sparkplug?—had wrenched the Blood Falls into Helovia. The bear hadn't been a pretty sight, and it was only the shockwave nearly taking the life of his owl that had turned Mauja against him.

Then the Moon had taken the Green Labyrinth, and Reszo had killed Aviya.

Sun had stolen the Halcyon Flats, and the crocodile.. had probably killed someone. Erthë's mother? Or was that just when Erthë broke her leg? He frowned.

And, last but not least, Earth had taken the Riptide Isles, and Vjanta had killed Snö.

Mauja climbed the foothills in silence, something growing in his heart.

Pick a motherfucking God, from these alternatives, sans Kisamoa, of course. Was that deer kidding him? What if reviving them just set them down the same path the Gods had been on before: greed and destruction? Benevolent Gods. He found the idea of it an oxymoron.

Mauja stopped halfway to nowhere, his thin sides heaving, sweat darkening his thick-furred flanks. Ribs and hips poked out. His neck had lost its regal arch. He felt every year, and every death, and it didn't feel good.

He heaved a sigh, and kept on moving, dodging the spittle of mud pots, and keeping a wary ear and eye out for avalanches. Hadn't he been thinking for years about not being so damn bitter? About not holding on to everything that had been, because at this point, it was just a bit too much to carry? He was never going to be five years old again, full of life and grandiose, misguided ideas. He was never again going to feel the thrill of recruiting Psyche into his plans, or the confusion upon meeting Ophelia—he was never again going to sneak his way into the good graces of the Sinbird in the Dragon's Throat, about to dupe an entire herd (until Kri would've found him out and slit his throat, anyway).

Besides, as someone who had developed a peculiar affinity for justice and rationality, hating the Gods for defending themselves against a horde of bloodthirsty horses was absurd.


He heaved himself up another ledge, something strange and familiar pricking at his mind, but he couldn't place it, because it was the last damn thing he was expecting.

Vourib. Caevoc. Vjanta. Reszo. He glanced at the sky, the deepening night, the red sunset disappearing in the west. He glanced at the first traces of stars and northern lights beyond the mountain's jutting back. He thought about the Heimasborg, his childhood home. He thought about Sarazheha, wondering wherever his poor brother had gotten to.

He had felt for the bear, before it threw his owl into the ground.

And it seemed he had ruled over the north, in times past.

He could live with that. He felt something slide to place in his soul more firmly, and as he peered out over the red mountains, he thought grimly to himself: the bear in the motherfucking north.

Yeah. He'd do this thing for Vourib.

[ Open for anyone! Soon there will be owls galore. ]
angels, they fell first, but I'm still here
Currently championing: None
Without Tallis at her side, Evangeline had wandered around The Rift aimlessly and blindly. With him flying overhead she could see what he saw -- the layout of the land, anyone that might be around, forests, beaches, potential danger. Now that it was just her she had to rely on her own senses to navigate a foreign land on her own. It was like she had been thrust back into her childhood and she was struggling to cope with the immense weight of loneliness, fear, and apprehension that plagued her with every step.

Her late arrival also meant that she had no idea of what had been happening in The Rift. She had been absent when Hope had called everyone together to set them on the task of resurecting the gods that the Helovians had killed. Even if she had been present it was unlikely that she would choose to champion any particular god of her own accord. Every land that she had lived in had its gods. And every land had met its untimely end because of their shortsightedness, greed, bloodlust, or thirst for power. What would make these gods any different? What would make them avoid the path of corruption that every all powerful being seemed to travel down?

Evangeline's wandering brought her to the north, a land she might have recognized as the Blood Falls that the God of Time had stolen had it not been covered in an endless sea of white snow. She moved carefully, picking her way through the thick snow until she came upon a trail left behind by someone before her. Her head lifted, emerald eyes looking in the direction the path led. Tallis would have been able to fly ahead and tell her who had left the trail, but without him she was left to rely on her own instincts, and those instincts told her to follow the trail.

And so she did.

The orange mare didn't know what or who she expected to find. She hoped that she would find someone from Helovia, someone who could offer a little but of comfortable familiarity, but was also prepared to be disappointed. When she spotted the white and black spotted stallion in front of her she was pleasantly surprised. Mauja? She had stayed in the Edge after the invasion of the Falls and had seen him take his position as leader. She had remained on as Moon Doctor even when he stepped down and Tembovu had taken over. Of course she knew who he was. Whether or not he knew her was another story entirely, but still he was from home.

"Mauja?" She called out his name, hoping that she was correct that it was him and not someone that just looked like him.


autumn is a second spring when every leaf is a flower
Currently championing: Reszo
You could still be what you want to —
(what you said you were when I met you)

Night fell like a bruise. Korri lingered in the north, daydreaming maybe about his childhood home. About the part of his soul he had left behind. He ruminated, too, on what Miin had told him. Indecision shuddered through him: an ugly crack in his resolve. Perhaps he knew nothing, after all. Perhaps every decision he had made had been a mistake.

It would make sense.

He began somewhere up in the mountains, but he threaded his way down, now. The distant roar of the blood falls caught his ears, and his hooves turned vaguely in that direction even if they had little reason to do so. Perhaps Miin would be there. Korri found he was fond of her, for some reason. She wasn't evil — just damaged. Perhaps he could relate. Perhaps — all of this — was just a haphazard attempt to hold the shards of himself together. Point them all in the same direction, and they resembled a whole being.

He moved slowly, his eyes following ice crystals as they drifted in the wind. The cold hardly bothered him. His body expected savage temperatures and adjusted accordingly; his thick winter coat warded off the worst of the chill, and his wings hung loosely at his sides. As he descended, he was thinking: thinking about the past. About the future. About black wolves prowling mountainous paths.

So he was maybe not paying as much attention as he should. He was maybe a little distracted when he first caught sight of the stranger around a bend in the path. White — the clear color of ice. White and black, glittering just so in the moonlight. Korri paused, and the word left his mouth in a breath, a murmur, not quite meant to be overheard but loud enough, maybe, if the stranger had keen ears. "Frikki...?" No; no. The stranger was too big(towering). No wings. Just the straight length of an icy horn. The only wings — the only wings belonged to the owl upon the stranger's back.

Korri blinked. Maybe something wretched crossed his features briefly, but he swallowed it. Swallowed it all down and managed a soft, bitter laugh at himself. "Hello," he called more loudly. He noticed, now, behind the stranger: another horse. A lick of flame against the snow. Vaguely, he recognized her, but failed to place her name. "I didn't realize this was such a popular spot," Korri said. "Am I interrupting?"


collect your tears, shoot 'em down
even giants hit the ground
Currently championing: Vourib
like breaking diamonds with your hands
But then what? He had expected something to change, for something to happen—but nothing did. Nothing changed. The mud pots churned and snapped. The snow remained undisturbed. Night rolled in like the tide. No divine herald cried out that Mauja had chosen a god to champion.

Silence weighed heavy on them.



At first, he did not understand. He hadn't heard his name in a year or more. How come someone still knew which syllables to put together to describe his soul? One black-lined ear turned back, his entire being disturbed and irritated (he had been on the brink of something, some revelation, something light and wondrous that had slipped out of his grasp), and then he turned his entire head.

It was Evangeline. And she was alone, a torch stuck in the snow, a face that made him absolutely, horribly aware of the sorry state he was in. She'd come across his walking death at least twice before, if memory served him right. Something close to shame made him turn his head away again, glad his shaggy winter coat hid just how horribly he had mismanaged himself.

"Evangeline," he said, peering out over the white-and-red slopes. "I didn't know you'd ended up here."

A nudge—he assumed it was Diego, though he couldn't understand the owl's sudden, if distant, outpouring of affection—had him turning his head, peering up the slope just as a tiny tan pony stopped to look at him. Mauja stared right back.

"Hello," the other called after a moment, and some of the tension left him. He wasn't sure why he was so on edge, except—he was weak and emaciated and in a land that had, on occasion, proven to be very, very viscious.

Good job.

"No," he simply answered, his voice clear and light and tired, "you are not."
angels, they fell first, but I'm still here
Currently championing: None
Having been a Moon Doctor for years it was natural for Evangeline to look over those she met, but especially the ones that she had lived with and cared for in the past. Mauja had been in the World's Edge with her for a long time and, if her memory was correct, she'd helped to heal him a couple of times, but she had also heard of when Alysanne had to heal him. It seemed he was always getting into some sort of trouble or not caring well enough for himself.

His winter coat hid a majority of his physical ails from her, but it was nearly impossible not to see that he was thinner than he should have been. She remembered him being thick and healthy, not thin and frail like he was now. Either he had given up on taking care of himself or the Rift had been exceptionally hard on him. The healer in her wanted to know what was wrong so she could fix him while the mother in her both worried for him and wanted to smack him in the head and tell him to eat something goddammit.

"None of us were really given a choice." She finally said in response. "It was come here or die and I wasn't ready to die yet." Finally, she moved closer so she could stand beside Mauja rather than off at a distance. "You're the first one from home that I've found since I've been here." She wondered why that was. Had that few of them made it through? Had they figured out how to escape? Or had they fared as poorly as Mauja and succumbed to the Rift?

Another voice drew her attention away from her former herd-mate and she looked in the direction that it had come from. She recognized the small, tan pegasus but, like him, she couldn't place a name with a face. "Hello." She returend the greeting then echoed Mauja. "You're not interrupting."


autumn is a second spring when every leaf is a flower
@Mauja @Korri