Riptide Isles
07-24-2017, 01:55 PM
She should love this place. It basically screams of an acid trip without losing your senses. Everything glowed and eyes followed you damn near everywhere and the natives were glowing things and toothy things and all sorts of trippy ass creatures. She really should love it. All she can think of though is how Kaos forced them from their old home. All she can think of is the Basin being consumed by darkness and how damn helpless they all were, fighting someone else’s war, saving someone else’s home. Why didn’t they get a fucking choice? Why didn’t someone ask them “hey, do you believe in the crap your gods do, or should we give you a free pass for just being stuck calling them your Gods?”
Weaver only had one God, and though she had nothing against the others, they were not her God. The Helovian gods and the Riftian gods and whatever other gods were out there all served Death, in the end. The Helovian gods may be hard to kill, the Riftian gods were clearly hard to kill, but they had all died in some form of another. Death claimed them all, in the end. Yet here they all were, paying for the mistakes that they had no say in. She’s pissed, truthfully. Too pissed off to care that the glowing mushrooms in the Rainforest are probably delicious and toxic and definitely worth trying. Too pissed to be anything but a ball of unspent energy. There was no army to train for, no place to fight, and nothing to do but wander this cursed place and hope something better turned up.
Something better does turn up in the familiar form of Nox. Much of the Basin came through, but still, she’s particularly glad their once Time Mender had been at her side. She’d be shocked to find out he followed her though. That possibility hadn’t crossed her mind, but rather she’d assumed that like her, he’d plunged through fearless of death. They were both terribly hard to kill, after all, and it had seemed logical that they would both go first, pave the way. Her thoughts have never strayed to the possibility that she’d be enough to change your whole life for though, even if she pretends that she should always be enough for such a thing. The façade she wears on her sleeve is just that, a façade. She plays at a fool but she is not one, not likely to believe that she is nearly as important as she pretends.
His hooves are nearly silent, drowned by the sound of the whirlpool that screams of the damage done by the Helovian gods. The Riptide Isles were gone, swallowed by the darkness. Why hadn’t Kaos brought his lands back? Why leave this place so ruined? Though she barely hears him, she is aware of another, a glint of a green gem on a horn catching her attention first. She’d know it anywhere, and only turns her head slightly to greet him, lips curving into her usual Cheshire grin. He doesn’t say hello, doesn’t ask how she is, and this is why she likes him. What a stupid question. How are you dear, after the world ended and we were spit back into some layer of hell? Oh, just great, thanks. Fine and dandy and all that shit.
Instead his thoughts coincide with hers, talking of the gods, of the damage wrought to this place. “One man’s justice is another’s injustice.” she says, her tone flat, lacking all her usual flair. Why pretend? More to the point, why pretend with him? He saw through her anyway, and she didn’t mind. “Why didn’t Kaos bring the lands back with him? Why leave is place ruined and tattered and yet bring us through?” She shakes her head slightly, tossing her mane, knowing there’s no answer to these questions. They are just pawns in this game. “Truthfully Mortuus, I just don’t even know what to do.” She lets the words hang there, unmasked and raw, not expecting an answer but hoping for one anyway.
Quote by Ralph Waldo Emerson
Weaver only had one God, and though she had nothing against the others, they were not her God. The Helovian gods and the Riftian gods and whatever other gods were out there all served Death, in the end. The Helovian gods may be hard to kill, the Riftian gods were clearly hard to kill, but they had all died in some form of another. Death claimed them all, in the end. Yet here they all were, paying for the mistakes that they had no say in. She’s pissed, truthfully. Too pissed off to care that the glowing mushrooms in the Rainforest are probably delicious and toxic and definitely worth trying. Too pissed to be anything but a ball of unspent energy. There was no army to train for, no place to fight, and nothing to do but wander this cursed place and hope something better turned up.
Something better does turn up in the familiar form of Nox. Much of the Basin came through, but still, she’s particularly glad their once Time Mender had been at her side. She’d be shocked to find out he followed her though. That possibility hadn’t crossed her mind, but rather she’d assumed that like her, he’d plunged through fearless of death. They were both terribly hard to kill, after all, and it had seemed logical that they would both go first, pave the way. Her thoughts have never strayed to the possibility that she’d be enough to change your whole life for though, even if she pretends that she should always be enough for such a thing. The façade she wears on her sleeve is just that, a façade. She plays at a fool but she is not one, not likely to believe that she is nearly as important as she pretends.
His hooves are nearly silent, drowned by the sound of the whirlpool that screams of the damage done by the Helovian gods. The Riptide Isles were gone, swallowed by the darkness. Why hadn’t Kaos brought his lands back? Why leave this place so ruined? Though she barely hears him, she is aware of another, a glint of a green gem on a horn catching her attention first. She’d know it anywhere, and only turns her head slightly to greet him, lips curving into her usual Cheshire grin. He doesn’t say hello, doesn’t ask how she is, and this is why she likes him. What a stupid question. How are you dear, after the world ended and we were spit back into some layer of hell? Oh, just great, thanks. Fine and dandy and all that shit.
Instead his thoughts coincide with hers, talking of the gods, of the damage wrought to this place. “One man’s justice is another’s injustice.” she says, her tone flat, lacking all her usual flair. Why pretend? More to the point, why pretend with him? He saw through her anyway, and she didn’t mind. “Why didn’t Kaos bring the lands back with him? Why leave is place ruined and tattered and yet bring us through?” She shakes her head slightly, tossing her mane, knowing there’s no answer to these questions. They are just pawns in this game. “Truthfully Mortuus, I just don’t even know what to do.” She lets the words hang there, unmasked and raw, not expecting an answer but hoping for one anyway.
Quote by Ralph Waldo Emerson
- weaver -
@Mortuus Nox
