The former Haruspex is one of the last through the portal - not the last, but without anyone to look after, and being rather difficult to shove, she preferred to act as the shepherd. Screams, smoke, and emotions raged about her while she buckled it all in tight and reinforced the walls, urging the Helovians forward like a battle commander, until she felt that her job had been satisfactorily done. And then in she leaps, roaring like a crazed warrior, fully intent on encountering whatever may come with defiance in her chest and an acceptance of death.
But death does not come, no, she lands on solid ground and almost trips, such is her momentum forward. The soil is unfamiliar, the light different - neon? - and even the air seems to vibrate unnaturally. Her ears fall back as she bares her teeth to no one in particular, mace of a tail whipping in agitated arcs behind her. There are other in the vicinity, and while they seem to be looking for others, as of yet, there are no threats in the area. Not yet. Not… yet. Wessex allows her ears to relax a bit, though all senses are working on overdrive while she tries to find someone she knows (the problem with coming through at the end… crowds to search through). Eventually, she finds the Basin group, and quite frankly isn’t surprised that they’ve all glommed together.
“Everyone ok?” she asks, while doing a quick scan of the assembled. Some are missing… Ode, she remembers was killed in the massacre and her chest constricts for several breaths. No Beloved, but that isn’t surprising. Rhodoc? Well, he hadn’t been seen for awhile… But Lena is also missing, and her expression darkens at the thought of the bay mare being on her own. And then - oh fuck. Oh shit. OH HELL FUCKING NO. “Goddamnit, where the fuck is Tiamat?” she asks loudly, snorting aggressively as she turns back to look at the crowds. “I had to push her through, she was practically catatonic with everything that happened.”
And that’s the difference between the newer Helovians and the older - they hadn’t had time to make as many connections, the battle may not have been as traumatizing to them. To a former mercenary like Wessex, the deaths were almost nameless because survival was key, and the Basin escaped relatively unscathed. The only question now is where are they, and what kind of things are going to come crawling out to get them. Because it will happen… a group like this can’t go unnoticed, and no land is ever truly uninhabited.
{*]SAFE! :: [ Magic: DarkxWater | Horns and tail spikes secrete a toxin which mimic the effect of a scorpion sting. ] \n:: [ Restrictions | Poison has mild-moderate effects; lasts 1 posts in battle. ]\n\n:: [ Magic: Light (P) | Slash markings glow in the dark if exposed to enough sunlight during the day. ] \n:: [ Restrictions | Of no use in battle. ]\n\n\nEnchanted items\n[*}SAFE :: [ Item: Enchanted Bone Chanfron | Defensive. Protects against attacks that target the nervous system. Shrinks and expands on command from an ivory ring worn around a horn. ]
:: [ Restrictions | Heavy when expanded. Not always entirely effective. ]
I am not sure about this one - was hoping it'd just be a regular item?
:: [ Item: Token | Shard of shattered Time God Haruspex mirror. ]
Rift-god / Kaos items: n/a
Amulets : 2 - 1 spark, 1 moon
Companion/s : n/a
Species change (if applicable) : n/a
Requests: If you want to give her a more badass look - e.g. more spikes or something ferocious, she'd be down :D
Magic:
Offensive: Horns and tail spikes secrete a toxin which mimic the effect of a scorpion sting. You can nearly hear the licking of lips as your second magic is sucked clean from your soul.
Items:
Defensive: Bone Chanfron that protects against attacks that target the nervous system. Shrinks and expands on command from an ivory ring.
The cloak is mirror shard is a normal item!
Amulets: More chewing, chomping, licking as the small droplet jewels are pulled from you in ravenous delight. And these invisible teeth, they snatch onto the spikes around your face—and they pull, hard and unforgiving, always wanting more. When the shadows finally leave you, you are left with a large, horned frill erupting from your skull.
All of a sudden there is pain, so much pain as amulets are pulled from around her neck and (dare she believe the faintest of chomping sounds, like a gnashing in her head) then SOMETHING latches itself onto the spikes protruding from her skull. As if sprouting them hadn’t been agonizing enough, whatever the invisible THING is, it seems to split her head open.
She shrieks - a sound none of them have ever heard from her mouth - and falls to her knees, eyes clamped shut. Would she had hands to throw whatever it is from her skull, to rip her own head off her body - anything - anything to make the agony stop. She tries to bury the spikes in the dirt and finds that her head actually… can’t go into the dirt like that anymore. It’s all a fog of intense pain, though, and so she keeps trying, shoving her head down, as if the ground were water and the air scorching flames.
It seems to go on forever - until the worst of it is gone and all that’s left is a trembling, panting Wessex, now with a massive hangover instead of icepicks hacking into her brain. And OH when she tries to lift her head, it feels so much heavier. Twice its size, her vision fuzzy, and god, there’s a dull ache radiating down her neck that will surely only get worse as time goes on. She growls in the back of her throat, frustrated with what’s just happened and with herself for succumbing to whatever it was that attacked her. Figures swim into view, and the horned woman manages to croak out, “I’m guessing that was special for me, right? You all seem fucking fine.”
But that’s the smart thing to do, isn’t it? Take out one of the strongest and then attack again. “S’what happened?” She manages to weakly raise her head, wincing and gritting her teeth through it all.
the ocean loved her
and knew everything that made her.
and every time she’d walk to the shore,
she’d smile at the ocean
because the waves told her story.
“I...I’m...”
The ocean mare can hear them calling for her in the distance—the others, her friends and their familiar voices, somewhere in between the dark, writhing shadows. She still feels the aching and throbbing of her fall, her muscles continuing to tremble from the impact, and her legs still folded uncomfortably beneath her battered body. Wearily, she blinks her eyes open. Her breaths escape in short wheezes of air, her lungs screaming for the oxygen that had been so roughly knocked out of her chest.
“I’m over here!”
Tiamat wheezes with all of the energy she can muster, though the words are still barely more than a whisper, and so raspy from her dry tongue that she is sure the words are unintelligible anyway. She squints her eyes shut, ignoring the haunting eyes that surround her, and groans a long, slow breath. Her heavy head sinks to the ground, her blue body rolling unceremoniously onto its side as she lies on the sodden forest floor, wishing over and over again that this is all a bad dream. “I’m over...here...” she pants, closing her eyes tighter against the nightmare that is her new reality.
“Nimue?” Her eyes roll open weakly, a fluted ear perking from beneath her sapphire mane. Nothing. Suddenly she feels so detached, so lost, and so alone. Where is her whale? “NIMUE?!” Tiamat shrieks with a terror like none she’s known before. Haphazardly she rises to her feet, stumbling once as exhaustion blurs her vision, but still she continues to stagger forward.
‘—ound the others. Over there.’
Nimue’s childlike voice rings unevenly in her mind, but it is enough to soothe the maiden’s frayed nerves. Gasping, she lowers her head towards her chest, smiling feebly in relief once the floating orca comes into view. “What?” Tiamat asks softly, reaching out to her companion and pulling her close. Nimue seems equally as weak, but mirrors her bondmate’s relief.
‘Found t—oth—ey’re—there.’
The mare’s brow furrows in worry—it’s like their connection is fuzzy and warped, interrupted by this strange world. “Oh my sweet darling,” she hugs the Leviathan closer to her chest, briefly closing her eyes while a tear leaks onto her cheek. “What is this place?” She doesn’t want to open her eyes, she doesn’t want to see the hell that Kaos has brought them to. This is all a bad dream, Tiamat tells herself again, even if she can’t bring herself to believe it. She is not going to wake up. The Basin is gone forever. Helovia is dead. And Kaos has claimed a bloody and brutal victory.
She takes a shuddering breath. “Come, show me to the others,” the blue maiden pulls away from her companion, and follows the little whale through the black trees of shadows and ruin—everything about this terrible place seems dangerous and unwelcome. How could this possibly be home now?
(It could never be).
Fortunately, the sight of a small group of people from her former herd is enough to lift her spirits—even if the euphoria is only temporary. “Wessex! Rikyn!” Tiamat calls out to her beloved friends, picking up a weary trot to close the distance between them. “I’m here—I’m here,” her voice is on the verge of a sob when she slows down, and is finally able to cross the last final feet before embracing them, pressing her face into Rikyn’s neck before turning to do the same for Wessex. The ocean mare is exhausted, and her emotions have been worn raw—she feels as though she might collapse right there, but turns her attention to the rest of the group instead.
“Rikyn, Wessex, Weaver, Oizys, Gwyn, Nox, Erebos, Glacia...” Carefully she counts them, pressing her muzzle tenderly to each of their foreheads as she does so. Seeing each of them here now, alive, is a blessing to her crippled heart. “I’m so happy that you all are safe,” her blue lips tremble, and she attempts a smile. She wishes she could promise them a brighter future and happier memories, but being surrounded by darkness and foreign creatures, Tiamat cannot lie to them.
With a heavy sigh that seems to slump across her shoulders, the sea maiden shifts backwards, her somber eyes sweeping back to Wessex, noticing the warrior’s new array of horns and her less-than-pleasant expression. “What happened to you? Are you hurt? I heard—screaming,” she feels her breath hitch in her throat, and allows her gaze to fall despairingly. “So much screaming,” she murmurs, while Nimue croons softly and presses closer against her shoulder.
Magics:
{*](SAFE) [ Magic: EarthxWater (P) | Submersion in water causes her features to alter so that she may breathe underwater. ]\n{*}(SAFE) [ Magic: EarthxWind | The ability to draw moisture from the clouds, water, and sky to create floating pockets of water that she can move at will. ] \n:: [ Restrictions | Can create up to three small, or one large, floating pockets of water and exist in 5m radius from body. ]\n\nEnchanted items\n{*}None!\n\nRift-god / Kaos items\n{*}None!\n\nAmulets : 1\n\nCompanion/s : \n[*}Nimue [ Orca Leviathan | Mythical, common | Boil | 10 months ] obtained 08-18-2016 (Tallsun, Year 7 I think?)
Requests: Bringing over her items:
:: [ Item: Light of the Turtle | Small glowing green orb charm; from the Giving Tree 2015. ]
:: [ Item: Trinket | A turtle shell charm that wiggles when near healthy food. ]
:: [ Item: Jewelry | A thin silver chain with a colored-crystal orca charm. ]
:: [ Item: Trinket | A shard of Nimue's blue eggshell encased in glass. ]
:: [ Item: Fishnet Scarf | A thick, pale cream fishnet scarf with long tassels and decorated with broken seashells. ]
:: [ Item: Token | Shard of shattered Time God Haruspex mirror. ]
07-16-2017, 11:10 PM (This post was last modified: 07-16-2017, 11:12 PM by Lena.)
Lena the Songbird
The Songbird had a penchant for perseverance. It defined who she was – rising from the ashes, a perennial, flowering phoenix, incapable of truly ever abandoning hope. It gave her life and sustenance, it bloomed and flourished and paraded through her heart, it offered and bestowed when nothing else (the doom, the gloom, the chaos, the death) ever could – and she clung to it now like a lifeline, like a piece of her soul, like everything hadn’t been torn to pieces again and again and again. But she’d always believed the Basin was a part of her too, a home (finally), where she could reign and live and cherish, proffer her kindness, her benevolence, her promises, in the hollows of the chill, bringing, breathing, life back into the cold stones and the powerful summits. She’d done it for so long that she allowed herself to grant it credence and oaths, promises and benedictions – parted her mouth and sang from its beautiful, cordial essences, a bird, a nymph, a soul who’d triumphed over the serpentine shells of pestilence and famine, of death and desecration, granting, healing, mending. Then, it was all taken away in an instant, shuttered, destroyed, altered beyond all recognition – there’d been no hope along the battlefield as she raised her shield, as she granted their final laments, as she became utterly incapable of doing anything to stop the brutal forces. Perhaps that was what hurt the most, barbed straight into her heart – that after everything she’d been through, after all the years and seasons and cycles, she’d still been useless.
You’re worthless, the old saying whispered into her ear.
The unknown beckoned and clawed, foggy mists on the outskirts of her eyes. For a moment, she thought she might be back in the World’s Edge, with haunting melodies and sharp rocks at the bottom of ravines, the minstrel tides roaring back into view – but other than the abyss, nothing else was familiar. Imogen chirped beside her, head inclining towards her eyes, and Lena exhaled, stole another breath from the void, listened for something, anything, like the traces of yesteryear, of eons before, trying not to unravel.
We can do it, the ivory kitsune hastened, and the seraph only nodded, not daring to speak, pressing those little bulbs of conviction back into her chest, vowing they’d sprout too, and everything wasn’t all for naught, they could start again (but it seemed so overwhelming, so bewitching, so intoxicating that she almost screamed and curled back into the strands of fog; wishing for mountains and ice when there was none to be found).
They were on the outskirts though, her brethren (what was left of them – she mourned Ode, the way he’d simply been taken apart), and she mumbled a quiet hallelujah to their fallen Spark God (for sure, he’d had a part, she believed in every fiber of her being, that he allowed them to find one another once more), before pressing into their sanction. “I’m so glad you’re all here,” she breathed, she whispered, blinking away tears, smiling for the first time in what felt like decades. Her eyes scanned and searched quickly, looked for traces of her golden phantom, and when he wasn’t there, she buoyed hope again through her soul like it was an anthem, a token, a beatific quality unwilling to fade (couldn’t ask if they’d seen him, if they’d heard of him, afraid there’d be an answer she didn’t want to hear). Then, they focused on the individuals, Wessex, who’d been altered, changed, and morphed (the screams, the wails). “Do you need help? I can try to heal…” But she didn’t know if this world allowed that, if there were still traces of their deity remaining in her figure, if he was just a forgotten piece of their world, and this new one had swallowed and consumed memories of Gods and their empire.
{*]SAFE: :: [ Magic: Light | Able to heal wounds and ailments through songs and hums ] \n:: [ Restrictions | Can heal minor wounds during battle, but will use up some of his concentration ]\n\n\n\n{*}SAFE: :: [ Magic: Fire | The ability to sing and summon fire ] \n:: [ Restrictions | Can summon flames up to 10m away from her body. Or when targeting a specific individual, they must be within 5m of her ]\n\n\nEnchanted items\n{*}SAFE: :: [ Item: Enchanted Shield | Defensive. Electrified shield that collapses into small collar (for Imogen) with singing. ]\n\nRift-god / Kaos items\n\n{*}:: [ Item: Vial of Crocodile God Blood | Blood from the Crocodile God of the Rift ]\n\nAmulets : (2 - both Spark)\n\nCompanion/s : \n\n[*}(Imogen the common Kitsune - Late Freeze 1169 - obtained: 1-27-2013)
Species change (if applicable) :
Requests:
Bringing over items!
:: [ Item: Time God feather | Sparkles, snaps, and crackles. ]
:: [ Item: Pink flower charm | A pink flower charm that blooms a flower every morning. ]
:: [ Item: Clock | A small clock marked with the seasons and indicators toward mild or severe weather. ]
They came: most of them, anyway. One after the other, appearing from the glowing dark of this heinously strange woodland, until we stood together; not traditionally the sort for sentiment, but feeling the oppressive fear that nothing remained slip away with each familiar face, some semblance of hope forged itself among the shadow that otherwise gnawed and consumed everything within me it could find. It allowed me to lift my head, to pretend like I knew what I was doing, though, inside, I felt like the little boy whose mother had left him alone in a storm, too self centered to have noticed I was ever there at all.
The rain here is even cold like that rain was.
"Weaver, Nox," I return, more quietly, when the painted mare and her Raven arrive, the former Time Mender hauntingly accompanying her. Gwyn’s arrival, however, completely envelopes my focus, so much so that when Oizys appears, cussing me for saving her life and not calling her by name, I look up from nuzzling my daughter’s soft forelock to look at her with an expression that likely reads, “and?”
"I’m supposed to list all thirty of you guys?" I ask, one brow raised, "I can, if you really need me to. You’ll even get to yell at me for doing that wrong, too, because you’re still alive."
I probably can’t actually name all thirty of them, but a man can boast things to look like he knows what the fuck he’s talking about. Looking at Nox with a dark expression - well it seems everyone still has their attitudes - I feel like telling him to shove it with far more words, but bite my tongue, deciding it only gives more validity to his statement in the end. Instead, I shake my head, suggesting without words that I’m fine. He should tend to others.
The call of Orsino draws my eyes as Wessex and Glacia both arrive, the snow flecked mare I’ve grown fonder of with each passing day quietly arriving alongside Gwyn. Distracted by the sight of my rather distraught blade brother, however, the glance I spare to the ice eyed woman who gifted me the most beautiful treasure in all the world is fleeting, accompanied with a brief, glad smile to have found her.
It is replaced, quickly, with a worried frown. Even Wessex’s cussing for Tiamat is only caught in passing, an ear twitching over, my mind reaching towards Duir’s tentatively. Hey, I ask, like a mental nudge of the elbow. When my deer doesn’t respond, I look over at him, and more forcefully shove with my mind: Hey!
Starting, he looks over at me, eyes wide, as if I’d frightened him. What I do? he inquires, clearly having not heard me the first time. Feeling coldness spread rapidly through my chest at what that means, I swallow it down, trying to not let my sensitive bonded catch on to the fact I’ve just noticed that our soul bond is acting strangely.
Nothing, I reply, looking towards Tiamat’s arrival as I continue, go check on Erebos.
With a bob of his black nose, he’s off to do so, gently nudging the roan’s shoulder once he gets there, to try and usher him towards the group, while bleating a question towards Orsino: where is Enyo? the bond between us queries, and I feel my already chilly heart plummet to the floor.
Fuck, is all I can think to myself, because Wessex is suddenly screaming, her head morphing and changing shape, and Tiamat is blabbering excitedly, saying hello to everyone, and Lena…
The impulse to run off into the wilderness screaming escalates by about one hundred percent; I close my eyes. I listen to the sound of all the madness, gently lured out by Tiamat’s loving touch to my neck, which draws my gaze; looking at her, momentarily still me, my eyes are wide, and hopeless, fleetingly that of a small child who does not know what to do, before I guard it away behind golden bars.
Looking over at the calming Mutant to get a good look at what the screaming was about, that nonchalance wavers; mostly because she looks ridiculous. Suddenly laughing (it’s not appropriate, but I’m having a hard time here), I stifle it to add: "Nice hat."
Many people come, and among them, her mother; tail wriggling happily at the sight of her, Gwyn snuggles into her, too, eyes happily shut to fully feel the warmth and joy of being together again. No matter what happened, now, the gold and snow maiden believed that everything would be okay. They had one another.
Listening to each of them as they arrive, searching their faces (lost, desolate, sad), she finds that only one of them seems to look as if they feel the way she does: Lena, the Songbird. Though her father’s voice is filled with determination, she could see the hopelessness swirling in him; but Lena? She was defiant. She saw the many things they should be grateful for, too.
Tiamat’s emotional arrival draws much of the filly’s attention, as well, her pale eyes tilting to her, lips smiling softly as she is greeted; otherwise, her expression is one of pondering, almost morose or bored, searching the trail of the Lady’s drying tears and brave weakness in front of her kin. While her father tries very hard to be strong (as do most of them, notes the child), only the Ocean’s Light is freely feeling what she feels, aside from Lena, perhaps, or Mortuus Nox (whose haunting gaze and fleeting attention upon her had drawn her momentarily nearer to her mother’s side, her eyes widening slightly in wariness of his, well, creepiness).
Looking at Wessex when her dad starts laughing, she doesn’t get the joke – at least until he calls it a hat. Smiling herself, and looking up at him, to her mother, to Wessex, Gwyn sort of agrees that is like one, after all. Well, if hats were sharp…
I'm just wild
so sit the f#@k down
please tag gwyn for opening posts & mentions in group threads only
07-19-2017, 03:00 AM (This post was last modified: 07-19-2017, 03:07 AM by Rift Presence.)
One can nearly feel the magic brimming in the shadows from heir gluttonous feast after so long a famine. The fluorescent glows are bright; its edges sharply falling into darkness as they illuminate the small raindrops pattering through the thick canopy.
But, despite their gorging, they are not quite through.
Sluggishly, they enclose around the two gentle, delicate creatures that have appeared from Kisamoa’s goodness.
Magic:
Transformation: Submersion in water causes her features to alter so that she may breathe underwater.
Offensive: The ability to draw moisture from the clouds/water/sky to create floating pockets of water that she can move.
Items:
Vanity: Light of the Turtle charm that drips water. *
Vanity: Turtle shell that screams in a high-pitched voice when near healthful food. *
Amulets: Only one drop of godsblood to offer? A hiss of disappointment fills the dark air around you; despite its gluttony, the Rift still wanted more. As a token of its displeasure, these warped shadows pull away what they can: suddenly the pattering rain avoids your coat. As does the humid air… in fact, your very skin is hydrophobic, and water will now avoid all but your lips. Dejected, the shadows slither away with the water.
*Normal items transfer fine. However, you’ve listed some enchanted items as normal items, and they were rolled for in the Item section! :)
[TRANSFER NOTES : LENA ]
Magic:
Healing: Able to heal wounds and ailments through songs and hums.
Offensive: The ability to summon fire by singing.
Items:
Vanity: Electrified shield that collapses into small collar for companion (Imogen) with singing.
Vanity: Pink flower charm that blooms every morning.
Vanity: A small clock marked with the seasons whose hands constantly spin and intermittently shouts the current weather. The feather of the Helovian Time God’s crackling is offensive, and the Rift steals its sparking energy. It is now a dormant, plain feather.
Amulets: Staring, sharp needles pierce around the vial of blood you dare to care—to desecrate. You have been noticed.
Amulets: The Rift snaps up your amulets so quickly that you nearly feel those sharp, unseen teeth.
Companion:
Imogen : Kitsune
OOC Obtained: 27 January 2013
Rift Birthdate: Late Freeze 1169
*Normal items transfer fine. However, you’ve listed some enchanted items as normal items, and they were rolled for in the Item section! :)
Bone cannot feel, and it takes some time for terrorized, split skin to register the fact that it’s leaking, bleeding down her face and neck in thick, sluggish rivulets. She’s dehydrated. Is that an odd thing to notice? Of course she is – and is the water here even safe to drink? It’s almost comical, the things which run through Wessex’s head in fog-covered bubbles, even when Tia presses her nose to the warrior’s own skin, does it seem somehow outside her body. This kind of experience is entirely unnatural to her, she is always present and grounded and not screaming in mind-numbing pain as her body speed-mutates (again).
She’d never have made a scene like this before. She never will again. That is a promise the warrior woman can make to herself.
Still, she does not know what happened, does not suspect that the Rift saw the mutant in her and laughed, played the devil’s imp and saw fit to expand on her imperfections. Mutant? You want to call yourself a Mutant?Then so be it. Cue evil laughter. Literally.
Offers of healing and questions of her well-being come from Tia and Lena, causing Wessex to give them both blank stares (of course, she cannot see what has sprouted from the top of her skull, shearing off forelock and sending her horns sky-high), until Rikyn (hey, fuck you, Rikyn) starts laughing and tells her she has a nice hat. A hat? Her eyes narrow as she moves her head around and realizes that no, that’s not just a headache, that’s actual extra weight. “What the…” she murmurs to herself before reaching around to grab the shard of mirror she stole from the Basin. Casting it on the ground, she finds herself in its reflection, and her eyes grow to the size of saucers.
She is a killing machine now. Her horns have nearly doubled in length, the ability to literally smash through things with her head gifted with devious twist. Yes, the thought that she is hideous, and now quite a monster runs through her head, but it is quickly followed by the thought that no one will fuck with her and hers now. No. One. “Mutant…” she says simply (fondly, even), not quite to herself, but not quite to anyone else, either. The corners of her gray lips turn upward into an unusually pleased smile. Yes. Oh yes - she could work with this.
The Portal
