I was born with a broken heart

It still hasn't hit him that she's gone. It probably won't until he's got his family settled here, until their needs are attended to, until the Rift has been declared home and his dragon is back by his side. Volterra has always been a selfish, avaricious man, so the notion of putting other people before himself is a relatively new one - he'd only developed it upon ruling the Throat and realising that as Sultan, he had to care for them before he cared for him. It is something that has been advanced since landing in the Rift, because now he has an army of children and women to care for, a herd of his own making. He has to stay strong for them, even when he's dying inside. He has to be their pillar of support, even when there's nobody around to hold him up when he wants nothing more than to crumble into dust. That is how Volterra is dealing with Isopia's death. He's not letting himself think properly about it until he has put his affairs in order and made sure his family are safe and well, because it's more important that he be the breadwinner and strong family leader rather than the mourning, heartbroken shell of a man that he truly is. Volterra the warlord, Volterra the father, Volterra the Indomitable, are all masks that he's far more comfortable wearing, like facades to hide the truth - Volterra the broken. Keeping busy makes it easier. That's why he throws everything he has into looking for Vérzés, and finding the Tamlin who cut his daughter. That's why he finds himself on an island floating in the middle of nowhere, his body soaking and darkened with seawater after the long swim over here. There is no sign of the red dragon amongst these trees, either, but he is unwilling to return back to the mainland just yet. Searching for something to do - another distraction to keep his mind from wandering to his grief - he decides to test all of his magic, to ensure it has not been ruined by the Rift. After a long and painful transformation into a cerberus and back, and a swift summoning of a stone pillar, he ascertains that those two magics are still bonded to his soul. That only leaves his golems, and that brings an idea to his head. The goliath summons a golem with a simple flick of his mind, creating a small horse-shaped lump of sentient stone by his side. It's even smaller than his usual creations, only reaching to his feathered fetlocks, because he does not intend to use this golem for anything battle-related. At first all seems in order - until the pain starts. He's burning. "Fuck," he snarls, feeling his side erupt with a frisson of flaming torture. Vadir, floating nearby, rises into the trees with a horrified shriek upon seeing her bonded's flesh ripped asunder by a vein of fire identical to the ones upon his small golem. The agony is intense but brief; it fades as soon as he releases his hold on the magic, although he's gasping with the shock of it. Ah, so this magic didn't escape the Rift's menace, but Volterra finds it hard to care. Pain has never scared him, and this....this is his punishment. This is what he deserves, for letting her die. So he reaches to his golem, braces against the inevitable, and continues. He bids its back to bubble into small, feathered wings; his back splits with a trickle of molten agony, drawing a feral growl from his jaws. He makes its head grow four small horns; the back of his own skull burns with a blinding pain as fire tickles across it. He carves the rudimentary outline of a cloak across its shoulders; his withers begin to heat up until they're almost unbearable, a volcano in horseflesh. When he is done, there is scarcely a part of him that doesn't burn, but the Isopia-shaped golem at his feet is....it is as perfect as he could have hoped with his lacking control over the rock. It resembles her, from her skull marking to her cape, albeit a crude and diminutive version of her. Still, it is her, and it is a piece of her that he will always be able to carry with him. He smiles down at the Isopia-golem, nuzzling it softly with his nose before flopping weakly down next to it, his scorch-marked skin still livid with the marks of its creation. V O L T E R R A WHATEVER HAPPENED TO THE YOUNG MAN'S HEART? SWALLOWED BY PAIN AS HE SLOWLY FELL APART

image: naia-art


@Zèklè

A short distance away, another boy in mourning stands upon the shore. You watch impassively as Volterra labors, sunbeam eyes narrow, tail licking and lashing the sand. The black behemoth builds and burns, smoke rising from his skin, and still you watch , wait, unwilling or unable to intervene. You can make some guess as to his actions - you have built enough figures of your own, birthed enough creatures to recognize the act of creation. What is he building, you wonder idly, that familiar flash of curiosity dulled by your unwillingness to approach the other. You barely know Volterra. You know that you are different, fundamentally - that's easy enough to tell just looking at the pair of you. He is large, strong, tall, complete; you are small, slight, winged, a cyborg. He wears pride and masculinity like a badge, while eager youth and bashful boyishness is your calling card. He is a warrior, you are a builder. He is a leader; you are just trying, day by day, to get by. And yet there are many things you share. He is a father, like you; he cherished the sands, like you. But more importantly, more than this, the thing that makes you brothers and rivals is that you have loved the same woman, and lost her. Isopia is a brand on your heart, a piece of you until the day you die. Her memory is a larksong, a streak of sunlight in this strange, sunless world. She is (was) your first friend, your best friend, your soulmate in ways that go far beyond romantic, meant so much more than sex. You have a child by her. Volterra has two. The former Sultana is something of a conflict to you, a piece of Isopia you cannot understand. You still remember that careful confession, the strained utterance in the embrace of the talking tree - I was pregnant. I killed it. It was a mistake. You did not know, then, that it was Volterra's child. And when you found her on the border of the Dragon's Throat, looking for someone to scour her mind, to save her from the one who had harmed her - you didn't know then that it was Volterra, either. When you came home after the Falls dissolved, after trying to steal Sparky (in jest, in jest!), Volterra was the one who greeted you, though even then you did not know that he was him.To you the Indomitable was little more than an eager young Sultan, perhaps a bit overprotective, but when it came to protecting your brother, were you really going to complain? You were impressed, then, by his dedication, his passion - and once things had been clarified and explained, you'd entered his service willingly, curious to see how this brash king would do under the weight of your father's crown. It was only later, much later, after you were lost and found again, that you finally learned the truth. And even as Iso explained, you couldn't understand. You try, though, now, as you stand upon the beach, try to see what made her love him, what redeeming quality he must possess that convinced her to take him, once more, to her heart. Was it his height? He is tall. His looks? You squint through your forelock, the wind pulling and playing unapologetic with your mane. He cuts a dashing figure, you think - but you also know (knew) Iso, and the lack of importance she places (placed) on appearance. So what was it? What does the stallion have that made Isopia, a mare who prides (prided - get your tenses right, Zero) herself on rationality, behave in such an irrational way? What did the Indomitable do, what did he say, what did he know about Isopia that you did not? What part of her did she give away? How do you get it back? Without knowing why you approach the stallion, now prone and heaving on the ground, your turtle golem in tow. How odd to look down at him, to see someone so tall brought so low. You pause a length away, not wanting to frighten, just wanting to understand. Your throat clears; you scrape a hoof on the ground; some amount of that familiar brightness, that boyish charm, makes its way into your voice. "Hey, Volterra, long time no-" And then you notice it, really notice it, the golem that rests upon the ground. Your own turtle stops, bumping unhelpfully into your hocks, but you barely notice it - such is the pain, the tightness, the anger and sorrow and agony that rises like a spike in your throat. You may have built the turtle for her, but Volterra, with smoke and tears... ...he built her. "-see," you finish lamely, your voice suddenly dull and dry. You bite your lip and swallow, chin rising as you push back tears, the softest snort of a strangled laugh rising from your throat. "Sorry," you force out, your voice barely audible against the pounding of your heart in your chest. "I just, ah, your golem, well..." You sigh, and swallow, your expression strained. You may not understand him, may even hate him for what he did, but in the end he, too, lost someone he loved, and you're too soft a soul to deny him that pain. "It's a really good likeness." OOC;; i'msorryi'mtheworst ;~; also Odd said Iso would've told Zero the gist of what happened with Vol when he got back, so I'm rolling with Zero having (some of) that knowledge

Image Credits
- table by Niki -

@Volterra

Even in the depths of his grief, instinct overrides everything else. The sound of someone approaching bids the mammoth stallion to rise, groaning, to his feet and stand shuddering whilst pain bursts its way through him. He's burning all over and the effort of standing up threatens to exhaust what little strength he has left, but he will not be caught unawares by some rancid hell-beast from the pits of this corrupted land. The Isopia-golem is protected next to his leg, like a mare would protect her nursing foal. Vadir rises up from her tree branch in readiness to fight, emitting a plume of smoke from her nostrils that she can no longer transform into fire. But the stranger is not a stranger. It is....familiar. It is the man that he once prevented from stealing Iskra, only to find that the two were brothers and that he was caught between the most elaborate practical joke; it is a man that he now knows to be Ampere's son, having deduced as much from the knowledge that he is Iskra's brother. Aside from this rudimentary knowledge, though....Volterra knows nothing about this iron-winged young stallion. He does not know that Zèklè, like him, loves (yes, loves - as Volterra knows, that's not an emotion that stops simply because the object of it is now dead) Isopia dearly. He does not know that Zèklè, like him, was friends with the Mountain from a very young age. He does not know that Zèklè, like him, has a child with the giantess, or that such a child was the last one Isopia ever bore - meaning that Zèklè was the last one to touch her like that, the last one to caress the sacred skin and bless it with the burden of new life. Through the cloud of grief that surrounds the events of Isopia's death, he gets a vague memory of this man unleashing a howl of anguish rivalled only by Volterra's own. He'd been too devastated to feel any jealousy at the time, but now it rises unbidden like a green snake in his chest. Who is Zekle, really? What was he to Isopia to have mourned her in such a way? The smaller stallion offers a friendly greeting, cut off when he notices the Isopia-golem. Despite his abject burning agony and the first hints of jealousy, Volterra feels suddenly self-conscious. He'd never meant for anybody else to see what he'd made, because that would show them how much he cares. It would show them that, contrary to the image he portrays, he's not an unthinking hulk of primitive instinct and natural drive. He's just a man who loved a woman, who loved her dearly to the point where it consumed him - he's just a man who would do anything to get that woman back, and who in her absence is forced to create a crude effigy of her just so he can pretend. It is too late now - the other male has seen his creation. Rather than mock him, Zèklè instead seems...taken aback by the sight. It's a really good likeness. The beast manages a gruff nod, still trying to remember where his voice is after so long of not using it. "You think so?" he manages to rumble out. He can feel a telltale burning in his throat; he can feel his feels rising up, a mix of self-conscious anxiety at the notion of a relative stranger seeing how much Isopia means to him, and a painful hint of the grief that he's been holding inside. He's in dangerous waters here; he swiftly moves to steer the ship away from them by clearing his throat and focusing instead on the other person that this young male lost - Ampere. "Ampere was a fine woman. Strong, driven....a perfect Sultana." Given his tendency to blunder headlong into things, Volterra doesn't stop to consider that he might upset the metal-winged pegasus by mentioning Ampere, or that it might seem crude and distant of him to offer such compliments to a woman that he only knew properly for a handful of months. Still, although her death is eclipsed in his mind by Isopia's, he mourns her deeply. "She will be missed." What else can he say? Offer sympathy that the pegasus probably doesn't want? Volterra doesn't know how to handle his own grief - he certainly doesn't know how to handle anyone elses'. V O L T E R R A WHATEVER HAPPENED TO THE YOUNG MAN'S HEART? SWALLOWED BY PAIN AS HE SLOWLY FELL APART

image: naia-art

No worries! OHman I love this thread already ;_;

@"Zekle"