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Open Rainforest Cliffs 
Currently championing:

Welcome home...

The black voice, the the voice of death and manipulation and corruption. No warmth in the voice, only commandments, only judgement. He remembered the sly, whispering voice well. The god's presence still lingered in the shadowed corners of his mind, an endless echo in the void, a reminder of the peril and the chaos the being harbored. The dark ranger had only one duty, one destiny, and that was the Path and the Path alone. He had no duty to this god, only to this physical world and protecting the inhabitants within it from those forces that sought to see them fall.

It would remain to be seen if this new god became such a force.

Anyone gathered here who thought that they might somehow worm their way into the ethereal being’s good graces was foolishly, and perhaps tragically, mistaken. Gods were no friends of mortals. They watched with hungry, jealous eyes, corrupting and manipulating however and whenever they saw fit. Raistlyn did not enjoy being a pawn in the game of the gods, and yet, here he was, as helpless as the rest of the lemmings milling mindlessly about, roiling with confusion and terror and anger.

The ranger listened silently, wreathed in shadow and darkness, not wishing to venture any closer to the great, abhorrent beast and his black voice. The commandments the deity decreed for his newly acquired mortals are more reasonable than Raistlyn had expected. Teach, learn, play nice with each other. Judging by the cries of outrage, the worried murmurs, and venomous whispering, they all had a long way to go.

At least there was only one god now.  

No more great battles between the forces of good and evil, no more black and white. Just what was, and what would be. Perhaps the godkillers would learn something from when they meddled in affairs far greater and beyond themselves, and in the process, wrought destruction on both their world and the Rift. There was no good, and no evil. Here in the shadows of the Rift, the definition was blurred, the shades of color indistinguishable. If the godkillers thought that they would choose the higher road by opposing what they saw as the greater evil, Raistlyn suspected they all, Riftians and Helovians alike, would soon find themselves in a downward, desperate spiral once again.


these scars long have yearned for your tender caress
to bind our fortunes, damn what the stars own.
Currently championing:
feed your demons
They came—of course they came. They didn't have a choice, most of them, dragged along by the leash of his power. Some came of their own volition, and some came because they had no other choice. His eyes, burning with the lost hearts of his world, swept across the crowd as they filtered in.

First to arrive was, of course, his loyal Beloved. Kisamoa's gaze swept to her, and his scorched lips pulled into a smile at the sight of her. It twisted, baring teeth which should never have been fitted into the same, single mouth, and his monstrous jaws struggled with the expression. He gave up. Sincerity was not for him, but it did cross his mind that she was aptly named.

Some spoke up against him. That was to be expected, though it irked him on a personal level; hadn't his display of power in Helovia been enough? Hadn't he taught them to fear him, and to do as he said, and to show some respect? Teal lightning arced across his shifting hide, a promise of violence, a silent threat, as his gaze focused onto Erthë, the first to have spoken out against him.

"Hellhole?" he barked. "Hell-ovia, you mean. You and your people made me what I am—oh, yes, stitched together pieces of broken Gods. If it wasn't for your meddling, your interfering, your greed and absolute lack of communication, you would still be in your precious Helovia, with your precious mother," he finished, with a snarl. "I spare you today. Another time I will, perhaps, not be so merciful."

He was ready to abandon his whole scheme, to blast them all to oblivion and let his vacant hearts feed on the dust and splinters, but he calmed the lightning running rampant on his skin and felt his face pluck into a humorless, mismatched grin. Volterra leaned into Erthë. That was worth paying attention to.

The next question, like a bolt from the sea of silent bodies, was warranted. He turned his attention to Ilunga.

"I am your Gods," he simply said, three eyes of burning green flickering into life on his head before disappearing, amber stripes washing over his body in waves, "or what is left of them, anyway." There was an unmistakable softness in his voice as he spoke to the creature who had stayed behind and suffered with his lands. And the first voice of optimism and gratefulness was voiced by Zahra, a welcome change.

He was a spiteful, vindictive creature in many ways, but he had been wronged and forced. The one who had spoken bore the distinct mark of Helovia, though he could not recall having seen her when he brought the world down, so perhaps, she had left it behind. He flicked her a smile, grotesque for the way his body was warped.

But another, one of his loyal followers from Helovia (traitors?), was angry with him, and rightfully so. "I'm sorry," he says to Kiada's mind, a note of sincerity threading through the subtle, sinister voice. He was amused by it, because he was a piece of shit sometimes, but she had a good point, and with Erthë's open threats.. he couldn't afford to alienate her. "I suppose I'm just that fond of you." The truth of it was that the Helovian magic binding his blood to the amulet had backfired spectacularly, and he couldn't do anything about it. "I hope this gift will be enough for now," he goes on, and somehow, Kiada just knows that she can now call flame to the blades on her headdress—they will burn teal-and-black, because they were a gift from him, after all.

Life goes on, as does the protests; next was Sansa, and Kisamoa focused his gaze on her. "How selfish," was all he said, his voice an emotionless rumble. Idiot.

Their lack of compassion and understanding grated on him. Their judgment wore away at his patience. The void of power called to him, siren sweet. He had to cut the audience short, or he might.. do things to them.

"Live. Learn. Explore." His gaze smoldered, but no one died. "You will be rewarded."

And then, he was simply gone, leaving only a few, glowing embers where he had stood. All but one winked out, became nothing but black holes, but the last breathed out a puff of cyan and floated down Otem's lungs. Oak leaves, reflecting the current season, suddenly nestled in her mane.

The skies opened, a torrent of rain sluicing down from a bruised sky to drench them all.
i am kaos

Thank you all for posting here! <3 Feel free to wrap it up. This thread will be archived in a week, on August 3rd. Each character that has posted twice before then will be eligible for SWP participation RF. Stay tuned! :o

Also a reminder that it's a great idea to have an Aspirations thread for your character!

Defensive: Rose gold headdress, with feathers made out of blades. Feathers can be set on black-and-teal fire.

OTEM: Vanity Magic
Oak leaves reflecting the current season grows in her mane.
.. and kaos opened up its eyes
Otem the Hopebringer
Currently championing:
another mind, another soul, another body to grow old.
it's not complicated.

The words Kisamoa spoke to Erthe bit into the back of Otem's neck like jagged teeth made of ice. It had been so easy for the autumn-touched child to simply place all of her anger and to direct all of the blame onto the mutated (and mutating) thing before her. But- Otem's long eye lashes blinked dully as the world seemed to grow quiet. Kaos' voice trumpeted around, but Otem was numb to it for the time being. Her mother said Kaos had only lied to them once .. and that his presence in Helovia was only because of their Gods...Isopia hadn't blamed him, had she? So why then had she, arguably the least altruistic of the demi-gods, sacrificed herself?

"Live. Learn. Explore. You will be rewarded."

Kaos' final sentiment brought Otem out of her thoughts in time to see him suddenly vanish, leaving only a few charred blackish specks in his wake. Taking a breath and inadvertently sucking in the cyan wisp left behind caused Pandora to hoot suddenly and hop backwards on Otem's back. "What?"  The child hissed to her companion, not wanting to draw unnecessary attention to herself. She looked around vaguely, wondering if her Father or Iskra could see what was wrong. It was then that Pandora mentally sent a snap shot of the golden oak leaves that had suddenly sprouted in her mane. With her lips making a comical O, Otem extended a wing to nudge @Iskra, trying to be as nonchelant as possible.

"Hey, uhm.." She whispered, "is there stuff in my hair?"

Live. Learn. Explore. You will be rewarded, Kaos had said. Was she being rewarded? For what? Was this an apology? An offering such that the girl might re-think her vow to hate all Gods going forward? It didn't occur to Otem that this might be an insult. Like, here kid, sorry your mom died. Have some leaves.

art by Chloe!


You may always use magic/force on/against Otem.
Currently championing:
I'm no hero and I'm not made of stone

Of course he heard her. She should have known that hiding was futile, that it was impossible to mask her presence from one so powerful. For he was, though it rankled to admit it, and Erthë had to dig deep for every ounce of courage and fortitude she possessed to remain defiant as Kaos returned her sentiments with equal amounts of venom. The insults merely added kindle to the burning fire of her hatred, but for once she refrained from acting on the impulse to leap at the throat of the deceiver, perhaps realizing the futility of it. Or, perhaps it was Volterra's mumbled words in her ear that distracted her just enough to save her life, enough that she was able to merely press her lips together and raise the head in a proud, almost haughty gesture of defiance as she refrained from rising at the bait.

"Let us all hope that 'some day' will not be too late" she replied without turning, speaking quietly so that only Volterra would hear. "I will need to speak with you, someplace where others will not overhear... Come find me at that crystal cave by the sea when you can, if you mean what you just said."

Sparing the black stallion a quick, tense smile, Erthë lingered only for as long as Kisamoa forced his presence upon them. Then, as the demon left and rain came rushing down again to soak the feathers that had not even had a chance to dry, the little mare left the group and merged back into the forest, draping darkness about her like a cloak.

This was not over. It was only the beginning, and she would not allow threats stop her from doing what she had to do.

Right or wrong, I can hardly tell
I'm on the wrong side of heaven and the righteous side of hell
Image Credit


• Magic and violence may always be used against Erthë!
Currently championing:

I am not spoken to directly but I learn from what I hear and see and the tale that spins before me is a troubling one. The details are given in the contorted expressions of anger, whispered in the hushed tones of distrust and shouted in open hatred. This things hung so heavily in the air I was certainly I could have tasted it were it only a flavor and what a bitter thing to swallow. Kisamoa responded in kind and I glimpsed for myself what he was and divined his mercurial nature. I liked it not.

I found against myself my body bulking at the teeth that should not have been there and were, impossibly so. At once I pitied the Helvoians, the true kind, for losing their land to this figure and I spied that even among this crowd allegiance to that land had not died with it. Dissent was seething and plots were gathering I had no doubt, in particular among the two up front of the white winged one and the stout stallion that the Shifting One took notice of himself. I couldn't help but yield my own attention but I hardly agreed with their out cries. I preyed they learned to adapt and move on lest the world take them. The Beast was not playing.

When he finally left the words hung in my head.Live.Learn.Explore. This I most certainly would.


Warm glows at night
to keep away all fright
image || coding

Currently championing:

A tumult of impressions, thoughts and feelings bombarded Ilunga as ze received an answer from the being, and it was nearly too much to take in. Questions blossomed and died and budded anew upon the tongue like the ever stirring anemone of the coral reefs, but though there was so much the hybrid wished to ask, though there was so much to see and learn and understand - too much for a mere soldier, ill suited for intellectual pursuits - and though the sea-borne creature would have liked nothing more than to linger and chastise the helovians for being so loud... there was no time left.

"I hear and obey" Ilunga replied to the Deity, even as hir mind was dragged back towards the body, the astral form unraveling faster with each moment that passed. Like a door slamming shut behind the back, so did darkness replace the shimmering lights of the spirit world for an instant as Ilunga was brought back into the shell of flesh and blood; for a long while the warrior lay still in the water, fins flowing languidly in the slow torrents. There was much to absorb, too much to truly comprehend right away, but Ilunga knew two things to be true.

The first; A God had returned to the Rift, and in doing so brought a kindling of hope back to this dying world, the likes of which ze had not felt since the sundering began.

And the second; Ilunga would have faith and obey, as hir people had always done in the past. May it be that this was not Vjanta and may it be that the volcanic isles of hir home might never return, for as long as Ilunga drew breath ze would uphold the customs of old and ensure that they were not lost or forgotten.

As for the strangers... well. Obeying the God and ensuring that the aliens were kept in place might not be entirely incompatible. The word was mighty, but knowledge was also power, as well hir people knew.

Opening hir eyes, Ilunga rolled gracefully over on hir back and regarded the ceiling of the cave absently, even as ze made hir way back into open waters with a slow, exultant smile playing upon the lips. Finally things had taken a turn for the interesting.

Currently championing:
Take just what I came for

It was the same as before.

They were reminded that they were nothing – little specks of dust, granules of earth, ripe for the plucking, for dissection, for ruin, for abominations. Somehow, someway, they always have to be told that they were ruled and reigned over by another – first their own Gods, and now this one, a beast made from fallen deities.

He wanted to shout and yell about how they’d killed celestial beings before. He’d watched them fizzle, burn, yield, and eventually succumb. He wanted to scream, all fury, all might, about how they couldn’t be cowed so easily. He wanted to ignite an everlasting wave of glory and triumph over the cretins, over the creatures, who thought they could manipulate, control, and devastate them time and time again.

Because weren’t they all more than that? Didn’t they have power? Didn’t they have courage? Didn’t they have bravery? Weren’t there more of them than him?

The once-prince swallowed it down though, far into the back of his throat, felt the rage, felt the rancor, twist and bellow between his ribs. He stifled, he corroded, he coiled, all fire and muscle and brimstone. It wasn’t time. It was the only notion that stopped him from ricocheting in every direction (from falling apart from the inside out; too much irreverence, too much sedition, too much rebellion carving out his lungs, his heart, his soul) and invoking each semblance of his invocations. He’d been witness to his friends, to his kin, to his companions die, collapse, and fade into nothing too – and they weren’t strong enough now, but lord, one day (he promised, he begged, he pleaded), one day they’d be able to take down every part of that ridiculous fiend in front of them.

They would bide their time. They would wait. Then, they would strike.

image credits
Explorer Kiada
Currently championing: Vjanta

Anger pooled deep within her bones, hearing the booming voice of Kaos as he threatened those that spoke out against him. She stood tall, prepared for her own back talk from the god, coiled and waiting, ready to die so long as he knew that what he had done was wrong. He needed to know that even if he was a god, he couldn’t just break promises.

But to her surprise, he entered her mind. Immediately, her body tensed, trying to build up walls against him. Brick after brick after brick. Yet, a simple “I’m sorry” was what came. It felt sincere, and it burned against her skin just as the tender caress she had felt from her amulets before they exploded against her skin. He continued to speak, and her ears that had originally pinned against her skull lifted, her flames dying against her spine as she looked at him from beyond tear stained eyelids.

And suddenly, she just knew she had more power. After he spoke of his gift, she simply thought about her headdress that she wore, the rose gold armor placed menacingly along her face, the blades suddenly sparked with a teal and black flame. And despite the anger and agony she had, she suddenly felt somewhat better. The flames died and she continued to let her gaze linger on him longer, sighing quietly to herself before muttering a quiet thanks and turning away from him and the group.

She hated him, but he continued to reward her. Perhaps there was light at the end of the tunnel.

at the end of the world, or the last thing i see —
you are never coming home.


omg ;-; despite her being a brat, ty <3

Currently championing:

Lena the Songbird

They were a lifetime of endurance, of perseverance, of souls united in fortitude (obstinate, she wanted to say, defiant until the final dawn, the final dusk) – but they still shambled, stumbled, and bumbled along, straight into the arms of their captor. She lingered along the lines too, just as miscreant, swinging her ears back and forth to catch the words, the nuances, the phrases, daring to go between the lines and wonder what it all meant. They weren’t safe here, they weren’t safe anywhere, but she knew her skills, she knew the breadth of her power, of her salvation, of her potency, and if she could’ve caught anyone’s eye, she would’ve pledged her mending properties to their entire being – so they knew, somehow, someway, the little Songbird with her beatific heart and grand beneficence would try to save them.
It hadn’t been enough for her kin at Kao’s hands, but perhaps – amidst all these other monsters, it would be something - one more chance, one more opportunity, one more breath of life before it was snatched away.
So she and Imogen dreamed in a quiet rebellion. It was a hushed revolution, a whispered uprising, the kind with no measure of violence at all – just beautiful songs and spirited music, tones to regenerate the body, the mind, the soul. She’d fight tooth and nail for them, dig her heels in to play one more sweetened stanza, one more vicious tune, conspire and uproot, settle and stitch; the same as before, dipped in too much virtue and deliverance. The femme, the nymph, the seraph, listened, took in the echoes, the throngs, the need for education, and understood the depths of her motivations in those poignant moments – because she’d be a flower, a petal, a rose, a bloom, in all the chaos and confusion, learn everything possible to ensure the safety of those gathered in the balms of nefariousness. She wouldn’t bow, and she certainly wouldn’t break.

Image Credits
Currently championing:
  It was that terrible monster, that dreadful thing, that clawing, aching, bestial claw raking through his chest that summoned them again. He could remember all too well the depths of distortion flooding before his eyes – the little mountain boy who’d only wanted to follow his mother, who still didn’t quite understand that she was never going to return.
A part of him, because he was young, because he was a child, because the entire making of the world was difficult to comprehend, hoped that with Kaos’ appearance, his dam would soon follow suit. He was hungry, he was tired, and despite his father’s best intentions (because there was so much love and affection there), he was incomplete; his stomach gnawed and rumbled, his head hurt and craved, his motions were lethargic, nearly fragile, and he simply wanted his dam. It was a primitive, ancient inclination, sewn by primordial beings long before his time, that desperate, grasping need for one’s creator, and his buoyant, ebullient joy had been steadily robbed in her absence. He needed her – and the incessant, brewing yearning spurned him on and on, until he thought his limbs were trembling, until his head bobbed, weakened and fatigued, until he saw outlines of so many big, powerful, brawny, enduring beasts, and knew she had to be here amongst them.
But then there was only Iskra – familiar and family, and he immediately went for the blaze of blue and gold, barely listening to the throngs and echoes of learning (he did that every day – how could it be any different?), barely akin to the apprehension glowering through his entity again, for every other notion was too strong, too potent. He could hardly note any other presence save for Iskra, clinging to him, depleted, fracturing before he’d ever really had a chance, leaning his head into the older lad’s shoulder, whispering into the void. “Iskra?” His eyes threatened to shut, because he was ridiculously tired, and it weighed on him, so much that he had to shift his feet to ensure he remained upright. “Do you see my mom out there?”


image | coding