HEATHENS

S A O I R S E

At some point Saoirse had finally veered off on his own, escaping the careful eyes of his fellow Helovians, for the appraising glances of the shadows lurking at every turn and corner. The boy was trading the defeating sense of loneliness and betrayal for fear instead. While it was just as exhausting, both mentally and physically, it at least distracted the boy from the searing abandonment of his mother. But even as the boy navigated the forest floors – one step at a time, careful not to trip over the roots or vines – the thoughts of his mother with another family burned in his gut.
 
It ate at his mind, and eventually borrowed deep enough that the fear had swelled with its emergence. Embracing him with the dizzying thoughts that he would never be good enough. No matter how he tried to reason with himself, the colt could not shake off the thought of having no worth to his only living family member. It wasn’t as if he’d already been hollowed out by the long-term experience of living on his own at such a young and ripe age. It was happening now – still excavating the emotional attachments he hadn’t quite discovered himself, trembling in the wake of destruction. Perhaps the rift had some part in it too. It had taken something from him at least, as with every breath he expelled he filled the air with a sickly, red vapor. It was completely odorless, but it reminded him of the event, of the feelings the shades had invoked in him. And perhaps they’d left a fragment of their ill wills inside, marking him in some way.
 
Saoirse fought through the forest, beginning to tire of the thick foliage – the vines that wrestled with his wings and body. A layer of sweat covered the colt as he breathed at a steady rate. Eyes set aflame by their incessant war with him. He had not forgotten about the potential dangers lurking with each footstep. And with the lack of space to lift off from, he understood quite well that he would be at the mercy of the forest’s natural predators. It was the only thing spurning him forward. Pushing him to his limit, hoping that maybe – there would be a familiar sky to set off from.
 
When he finally breached the forest’s clutches, he was immediately dismayed by the neon sky. While the ocean lay below the dangerous cliff sides, the sickly world around him engulfed any hope of normality. Saoirse’s weary gaze rested on the horizon, finding no other significant landmarks to focus on. Where was he to go?
 
He didn’t want to go back. He didn’t want to think. Warm wafts of air bellowed out from the ocean, offering brief moments of reprieve. The colt lowered his head, so that the wind might comb through his damp locks, and brush across his pale body.
 
With it carried the memories of ash, the smell of scorched flesh accompanied by the plume of neon green.

coding

@Valdís 

ooc:: FIRST POST FOR Valdís PLEASE

tie a rope around your neck, and let me kick you off a bungee I was trapped in the darkness, locked away with my only memory of the world no longer relevant, from it's burning bodies to it's soft blue sky. It was not there anymore, because that was Helovia, and this is now - this is the Rift, where nothing feels right, where safety does not come in solitude, but in numbers, in not even being here. We don't belong here, and we know it, the Rift knows it, it's so obvious as we crowd its lands and explore the territories presented to us. We aren't meant to be here, we're supposed to be back in Helovia, we're supposed to be safe in Helovia, we're supposed to stay there - we left it, we left it when there was so much there. There was the hot, sandy days of the Throat, the ocean's song crashing up against the shore's of Helovia, there was the gods, bright and there was the Marsh, filled with unease and unwelcome but it was so familiar - there was Momma, drifting ceaselessly through the Marshes, through all of Helovia, a kísértet, and my heart broke because she was there alone, she was doomed to wander through the ruins of an empty Helovia. I wasn't there to be a worry on her mind, Sameira wasn't there to be her guiding light, nobody was there. Helovia was gone, brought to its knees by a false god who preached his power and destroyed everything that could have been held dear. And here, in the sanctuary he offered, nothing felt right. It felt like there was always someone watching, keeping an eye on my movements, on my intentions, as if they saw right through me and I couldn't stop them. The paranoia sprouts here, rooted deep in my chest as it has been, but it has only now been egged on my the restlessness, the inability to determine whether it is day or night, whether I am alone or with company. My body has forgotten how to navigate through the darkness, how to find my way through a world I cannot see, taking it inch by inch because I am too afraid. Eventually, I hope to make my way with ease, but for now I am terrified, swallowing down terrified gulps of air as the silence drones on, as my body feels too weightless, too unstable to be stood on solid earth. For a moment, I lose sense of where anything is at all, the ground, the tree that brushes against my side, the branch grasping at a mangled wing - I lose it. I'm collapsing, tripping forward and feeling my lungs take in unfortunate, painful breaths as dirt and hopelessness get caught up in my throat, body shaking as I let out sharp exhales. "Fasz," I whisper as the panic settles in, gut twisting as my body presses against the wet dirt, smeared with cool mud and sweat that trickles down my neck. I feel the cracking of my heart, of my will to keep going because there is no one left, I feel less at home than I did before, and I have never felt at home. Not in the Throat, not among the koponya arcok, there is nowhere for me to feel at ease, nowhere I feel safe enough to put my emotions to rest, to let the paranoia slip away and fall back into twisted serenity. That was not the case now, because my throat, my lungs, my whole being is being crushed under the anxiety, under the crippling fear that I will stumble blind through this world until I wither away, until my own magic reveals the brittle bones that lay beneath my skin, peel away at the layers that hide the mess that I keep inside, the emotions that tumble together into an ugly knot, full of anguish and recklessness, hopeless and loud, it's screaming and thrashing, a tantrum to be thrown at inconvenient times. It was my refusal to leave Helovia behind, to leave her behind. I hadn't wanted to be herded into the same blob of children that shared a father with me, into the frantic mess of Volterra spawn who so faithfully followed, as if it were their duties to proudly parade along behind him into a new world. Sick. The panic is subsiding, the uncertainty is fading back into just whispers at the edges of my mind, but I am still consumed by the anxiety, still washed in fatigue and a refusal to wander my way back towards wherever my family may be. "Kibaszott gyűlölöm ezt a helyet," I mumble, spitting towards the ground as I raise myself to a standing position, knees still bent and buckled as I let my ears pick up the responses of the animals in my vicinity with the hum of noise that escapes them.

@Saoirse

S A O I R S E

Something snaps in the forest behind the boy, a guttural mutterings, indistinguishable to Saoirse. He forgets about the wind that has brushed past his neck and chest, of the longing to be held by the same affections moving past him. The colt regards the thick forests with an irritable groan instead. One that doesn’t quite escape his lips. It could be anything in there; it could be Kaos, a creature of unlimited power playing their tricks on the last of the Helovians. It could be a trap, a ruse to pull him further for some predatory snack, or…

Perhaps it was mother? Perhaps she had followed him, in some insane hope that he might forgive her if she pursued long enough. The boy teetered then from staying to breaching the forest edges. To push their separation even further, for the hot, burning tongue in his mouth to escalate their relations into a smoldering disconnect. Or to allow the silence to pull them a part, to fray and snap the loose ends with time.

Restless, he entered the forest again, somewhat more refreshed than a few moments ago – fighting the vines. Saoirse’s eyes and ears are on alert, as every second punches the poignant risks surrounding the boy. He can feel the shadows once more, the uneasy crawl as ‘something’ surveys his movements. It hasn’t left; it hasn’t given up its pursuit – the darkness, the void, is right there where he’d left it.

It’s impossible to be silent as he approaches the filly. Her figure a simple structure, silhouetted by the neon light. It’s too early to see what she really is; other than a consortment of moving shapes, that struggles to pass the forest floors. So he hides behind a rather sickly tree for the time being, leaning against its black sap. Taking in the light speckles that adorn her misshapen body.

It’s been a while since he’s seen her, since he’d offered to find some help for the wounds that cover her eyes, or the scabs that were once open and moist with possible infection. Where no one had heeded their cries, and he had been without a reason for why their herd would ignore one of their own. It’s the mane and forelock that jogs his memory, that reminds the boy of her spirited, severe tongue. And her nicknames…

“You made it.” He was shocked, surprised and wondered how she had managed to get this far. He was about to say his name, but then, he paused and refrained. Wondering if she would recognize his voice. It was different than before, he’d grown some more and his vocals were in the process of reshaping. He hadn’t realized it, but he thought it might be interesting to see her pick up the clues and come to her own conclusion. She was a smart filly anyhow, or so he assumed, as he pulled away from the ancient tree and stood a few feet from her.

“Looks like you were right after all. Looks like the sun god didn’t give a damn.” It was more of statement than an observation. Nearly mocking what she’d said all those months ago, because he’d been confused about her views on the sun god. A part of him was annoyed about that, annoyed with her impartial views, her ridicule of his former self. He wondered if she enjoyed being right.

coding

@Valdís

tie a rope around your neck, and let me kick you off a bungee Had I been able to see, had the Rift not eaten up what I relied to heavily on, I would know he lingered there behind the tree, a familiar figure that was faded from the length of time it had been since I had last seen him. The memory is frayed, torn from time and we are no longer as young as we were, while he was still childish and I was less emotional and present. He is there, recognizing me while I am completely unaware of his presence until he steps out and speaks to me in a deep voice I can barely recognise as his, telling me that I made it. It stops me, because had I made it? Had I gotten through the Portal, through the end, and pulled through? No, the answer was clear in my mind, I hadn't made it - not the me that he knew, the child, with her quick insults and sharp tongue. I am now lost to the mourning, to the despair of witnessing my mother die before me, of knowing that I was helpless and now I'm entirely defeated, stumbling blind through the world with constant panic clawing up my back. I wish I could look to him, could see how he's grown since we last met, that he is shooting past me and I am smaller now - I am hunched, I am bearing the weight of my suffering on my shoulders, crushing bone and battered wings and I feel weak beneath his surprise. "Not quite." I murmur, feeling my lungs struggle to take in air as I answer him slowly, unsure as if that's the right answer because really - I hadn't made it at all. I was falling apart slowly, gradually crumbling now that the brunt of the devastation was over. It was still a mild burn, scalding flesh sizzling and popping slowly as the flames were out but the damage was still there, scarred tissue that plagued the surface of my heart as I think about how much of me truly made it through the destruction of Helovia, through the death of my mother. "You made it too, bőgőmasina." There's a thick tone of harsh, mocking surprise, feigning the doubt that he could have made it through the end, through the rabbit hole and into some twisted realm with corrupted magic and a false god. He had been a bőgőmasina before, perhaps he was one still, weeping his way through catastrophe and coming through to the otherside unscathed. It would be just my shit luck to be the only one so greatly fucked by the Rift's cruel jokes, stripped of my sight for a second time by it's malicious hand. I think some sort of teasing humour will suit me best, to poke and prod and return to whatever childish state I was in before everything fell apart at my hooves, before my mother let herself burn away in the Heart and the gods were crushed by a foreign power. Before my excuse for vision was entirely torn away, leaving my in the same, familiar dark that had consumed me in the first few months of my life. Before my throat bled from my screams, before the world burned around me and I could only wail for forgiveness that would not come. I understand now, why the companions, the followers, the lovers and children of Gaucho had wept so harshly, had fallen into a manic frenzy of denial, had screamed when a distant, foolish child pushed aside their loss so easily. I know why they lashed out, why they fell to their knees and clung to the cooling body of the Sultan, had refused to accept that the fire that burned deep within him was doused and just smoke and ash - they were now whispers of a legacy, and there was nothing left of him to be carried on, not the bridge of the Throat or the ever burning golem, but in the fading memories of his children, his acquaintances, the generation that was there to witness his rise and fall. Understand their backlash against whatever ignorant comments I made on their mourning, because I had fallen to that same low level when my mother too succumbed to Death's vice grip. I fall into a deeper silence, taking in his words of the sun god, rolling them over, reliving the moment I told him that no one cared. It had been the truth then, and it remains the truth now. There truly was no one. Not the gods, not me, not Sikeax, she had had no one. I can feel the tension in my shoulders build at his words, because he has been through something, something awful that has chewed him up into fine grain and loss, spit him out and let him sit with the world a while - the same world that crushed all hopes and dreams, that tore families apart with ease and mutilated children without hesitation. I was the product of that cycle, of the torturous process life puts you through for entertainment, for development and a little fun. I can feel my brows twitch to his words, ears sliding back because I'm sorry - "what has changed your mind? You were so adamant about protecting the beloved sun god before, so what is different this time?" Tell me, bőgőmasina, what has happened to you to make you turn your head from your blissful childish ignorance and admiration?

@Saoirse

S A O I R S E

Saoirse watches her face: for the small movements of her brows, or the halt of her body. There is a visible burden she appears to be holding inside her. Making the air thicker than it should be, or supporting an invisible weight; or perhaps fighting through the forest is challenging her wits. He tilts his head just so, wondering what the Rift could have possibly done to her. There are too many possibilities to consider: mothers and fathers, friends, family, a life.

Considering the damages he won’t pry. When she retorts with her next line however, a snort exits his nares with a half smile that plays on his lips. There’s the Valdís he recognizes. Her caustic words, the sting in her tone – for a moment he even feels hopeful. Encouraged by this return of character; maybe Kaos hasn’t exactly won after all.

He’s kidding himself, and it’d be a fool’s dream to think so.

The colt isn’t sure why she might find his change in thought any interesting. Or why she doesn’t parade with a, ‘Hah! I told you so bőgőmasina!’ Curiosity peaks her, and without anyone to confide in – he takes the bait. Perhaps he doesn’t care enough to worry about her rebuttal. Or what she might think; as long as someone is willing to listen, he didn’t mind at all. It might even gather his thoughts, instead of allowing the whirlwind of emotions to dictate his reasoning and cause.

“He’s gone now isn’t he? The Sun God is not as powerful as I thought him to be…” He let them die, Saoirse thought. The gods let their world dissolve into fine, unsubstantial powder. Lost forever, their vigil waning by those who could only remember what their once home was like. Eventually the last of the true Helovians would die and rot away. Who then, would know of their home? Their lands would be forgotten, moot. “If a god can’t protect his people, what’s the point?” He shifted uneasily, moving to another tree and shuffling his wings. His words hissed, angry, betrayed by his naïve thoughts. He wondered if he should even continue, or if his answer was good enough.

“My… my mother had another foal, while she’d abandoned me. She has another family now.” His words felt weak, as if they’d dried his lips and carved him out. His face crumpled and twisted with his distaste, before laughing harshly. “Is that selfish of me?” Why was he asking her? Of all people? Why was he seeking any kind of validation to the hatred, and the disgust he had for that woman? There were foals that had lost their mothers, who had cried and wept in vain – never to see their loved ones. His mother had lived, and he was convinced he was in more pain by her existence. By her presence in this world, and the secrets of his conception revealed. From the start Saoirse had been ugly and unwanted by her. And he couldn’t understand why he hadn’t had a choice in it. Why she could blame her mistreatment for that sole reason. He’d been a good boy, hadn’t he?

“Damn her.”

coding

@Valdís
ooc: so sorry for the wait! work is kicking my butt

tie a rope around your neck, and let me kick you off a bungee "He is," I let the words fall out in confirmation, in agreement because there is nothing left - the Sun God, the Throat, all of Helovia has perished at the hands of Kaos, there is nothing but fine grains somewhere in a plane of existence we are no longer on, figments of memories, scattered pieces of remembrance in mortal minds who will eventually forget or fall to their mortality - whatever comes first.  "Everything is gone," I whisper, defeated, drowning in the despair of reality, hopeless, already feeling the last wisps of Helovia shedding from my skin, pooling at my hooves, gone into the dirt beneath me. There's nothing left for me, for us, for the Helovian population that crossed over - we have no homes, no Dragon's Throat to return to, no World's Edge, no Aurora Basin, there was no more Marsh, it had all been obliterated before us, swallowed by the black plumes of smoke that swallowed the world, that ate up my vision as I entered the Portal. Perhaps I too was dead, brought to ruin in the same way Helovia had been, stuck in an eternal dream of entering an unknown world, of finding my family, finding company I can remember - but no, I am here, I am present before Saoirse, present within the Rift despite every bone in my body wishing I was no longer tethered, unattached, letting go of my grounding and drifting away. Away from here, away from all of the pain that swelling in my heart with each passing moment, that infected my lungs on each inhale, that crept into my joints and rooted there, leaving me frozen and sobbing. I wanted to drift endlessly, to find a place somewhere that wasn't here, that wasn't anywhere, I could not remain with my hooves against ground I could not see in blues and greens, in oranges and reds, in the cool mists of morning a deep cool blue, and as the day came to its peak burned beneath me with vibrant red - I could not stay here where I could not see, not the trees and their sun soaked foliage, not the bodies clumped together at gatherings or standing alone across vast distances, not the companions that trilled beside their bonded, not fiery magic that swirled through the air in brilliance, in the way metal caught the heat of Tallsun and kept it close the same way my coat did. I saw none of it now, knew that there was nothing left of the place I'd cursed, where I kicked the sands in frustration, where my skin sweltered beneath the sun's rays and I just huffed, where I would seek refuge in the Marshes, in the Caves, anywhere but home when the world seemed all to expansive for someone so small. It was over. It was - over. There is strain running its course across my features, subtle and all too close to the surface as my shoulders feel heavy, as if the weight of Helovia's own pain and sorrow, the reality of its demise, all came crashing down upon me and I was left to fend for myself beneath it's crushing weight. I want to let myself sink into the dirt below me, to slip away, to withdraw from the harsh reality presented to me and find refuge somewhere that wasn't here. I shake my head, because there is no point in gods if they are powerless against others, if they are useless when the time comes for them to stand against another being - our gods were defenseless, there was no fight against Kaos, it had been simply a massacre, the end of an entire population, the end of a lapse of history, a piece of life spanning across generations, completely obliterated at the hands of a single deity. "There really is no point, not if they're rendered useless against anything even a breath stronger," I pause, shifting my weight, letting my head drop lower," but without gods to be our limit, our restrictions as to how high we can fly, how strong we can get, what is there?" I can only imagine the chaos, the wretched destruction of order as the world falls apart, crumbling upon itself, the powerful and bold climbing their way to the top, there is anarchy, there is tyranny - there is end. "You get gods among men, you get mortals with too much power who use it for their own selfish purposes, who think that they control each breath we take and step we take because they were granted too much so early," my voice is a steady whisper, firm and present but hushed, as if I was offering up some grand secret, the key to unlocking god tier status without lifting a finger to the boy before me. "I suppose even if there were no real gods, we would still have someone at the top, someone keeping us in check whether they were doing so justly or selfishly, playing the game to keep us below him." I can feel my words gain a bite, a little kick at the final sentence because all I can remember is Momma telling me the world is always against you, it is dog eat dog and you are just a snack - you are just something for them to conquer, a pawn for their twisted game and you must beat them by playing it. I listen to his story, taking in each word, the waver of his voice as he drags on the explanation, and I offered a shrug of crumpled wings. Life is not fair, it never would be, there are too many pieces, too many variables to try and balance it, to give each an equal opportunity, to give each the same chances in life, to grant them the same pleasantries. Family was no exception, each member a unique character with their own personalities, whether distorted and unpredictable or always so easily read, whether always present and a comforting presence or absent, lost to their own troubles. I toss my head to the side as my shoulders rise, as my wings dangle at my sides limply and my ears fall back. "I can't offer familiar advice, I have a father with no restraint and a mother who couldn't even take care of herself. My father was there for me as much as he could be, but dividing up time between ten children and an entire herd, well, he wasn't there all the time. My mother, she left, she gave me up because she couldn't handle the responsibility of a child when she could barely keep herself alive." Another shrug, as if brushing aside the damage done by my tattered childhood, by the ghosting father who although tried his best, was still missing as he tended to the rest of his growing flock, and the damaged mother who tried for a moment, who seemed hopeful before falling apart because I was just another one of her big mistakes. "But if you really feel hurt by what she's done to you, tell her, confront her, make sure she knows. Don't let this fester any longer than it has to, because the time comes when the opportunity is gone and past and you are left to regret. It's an awful feeling, and I don't think it goes away," my voice is hollow, barely a whisper at the last words because my inner turmoil threatens a release, it threatens destruction, to ravage my heart all over again as I admit my own mistakes. I retract, I return, I realize that I have spilled myself out for this boy, this stranger, this bőgőmasina. I was detailing my life story to him and I was suddenly so aware, aware of each painful inhale and exhale, of the whispers beyond us, of the chatter of distant animals, the drops of rain splashing down onto lower leaves, onto rocks and puddles, soaking into the dirt, and I wish so badly that I too was soaking into the soil beneath me. I'm too exposed, too open and public, too out there in the world and I feel so helpless now, tied down by my mistakes as I remain paralyzed before Saoirse.

@Saoirse