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Home » Search » Roster » Whitepages » Records » FAQ » Guidebook
Nothing is ever certain (Part 1)
RP Wanted The Portal 
Zahra
Currently championing:
#1
Zahra & Ilham
It was pride that turned angels into devils
Who am I…?

It was a question long haunting the golden-bellied girl. Nearly a week had passed already since she had swanned back into the public eye (plunged into this, the belly of purgatory), with a sour outlook and poison-slick tongue. The accumulated burden of pessimism, of everything that she had ever wanted not to be, had hobbled her in this prison of unhappiness and hopelessness; and Zahra had nowhere left to turn. 

She was desperate…

Misleading vision of her Da’s tragic death pressed heavily upon her moral conscious. Lifeless and cold, she remembered the shell of a once gallant ruler, a father who’d loved his child deeply - but, through the eyes of her Ma. So conflicted (and long lived), was the memory - so achingly convincing - that Zahra had grown to trust those bitter pangs of guilt; why else would she remember it all so clearly if not for the logic of culpability. 

In stark contrast, the depressed child knew nothing of the fall of the Starry-Eyed; actually, the flaming mare held no bearing or familiarity in her past, at all! 

It had been in one final act of that trademark, irrational selfishness, that Africa had bestowed upon her child’s mind, every step along that path of her own life’s crooked journey. All of the suffering, the constant shadow of sadness, had been sent to tarnish the the spirit of the brand new babe, iced across the surface with a  flimsy, remorseful band-aid layer of the frivolous, manic episodes, lived in between. In the same moment which her magic had been brandished, the one-winged fool had robbed her daughter of those final hours together - of their memory, and the crazed, tortured lead up to that brutal end. 

The spider-girl remembered the grey - the tormented glaze across her eye - so to the sun-kissed stallion with his golden cloak and the other, massive, with the psychopathic smile… 

She remembered fleeing that scene with Bird, into the white northern wonderland, confused and helpless.

Zahra had returned inland, slipping once more into the place with the living, lurking shadows. The familiar weight, of cold, burning eyes watching, raking her saturated skin, did little to daunt the breaking heart within and the chilling echo of those who had been cast down from the marsh around her, had at last eased. With a quiet and sorrowful eye, she sought refuge from the ceaseless rain beneath a narrow arch of tangled-together vine; the eerie fluorescent light which had once turned her stomach, now repelled some of the murk so enticed by her growing vulnerability. 

Before that stinging breast even hit the sodden loam, forlorn tears were already channelling down her cheeks. 

Da, I’m scared… "I want to go home.

The spiral of anguish fed fatigue through her core, and eventually she fell hard, against the pillowy bosom of miserable slumber.

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Eleos
Currently championing:
#2

We, the spirits of eternity, aren't encouraged to interfere with the ongoing of mortality. The perishable flesh is corrupt…their imperfect decisions shouldn’t affect our peace nor alter our permission for flawless indifference. Until now. Though the clearing, our utopia, itself is a separate thread in the web of their existence -a presence held apart- we perceive the deficient of those deities that oversaw us. Twilight has come, their destruction is nigh. Even as they amass and foster war against their oppression, their murderer. Bleakness, helpless…both the proud and meek fill heaven with horrified, terror filled screams.

One after another is consumed; mounting desperation.

While they wriggle and squirm, their divine power begins to fade, until finally -unbelievably- it is snuffed from existence. Their latest harbinger emerges victorious; his spoils are the entirety of many nations.

A world.

Stale emotions churn up like a tornado; shedding their cobwebs and flinging dust. The immense tragedy of that magical realm creates a gaping, brackish emptiness inside me... Hungrily, his darkness crawls into every crevice, sickening my beloved home - nay, manslaughtering it. Groaning, we, the souls of their departed, stir. Concern blossoms to the surface of my heart; a fragile bloom of fractured, unfocused humanity. It wasn't my place to interfere...nar...still, I couldn't resist the lure which drives this spectral form to their bleak, pulsing floor.

Even without physical form, the perception of intense power is almost tangible. The like of which I’ve never been tasted before. Names, countless, their precious faces are flung to the front of my mind while surveying the wake of their self-destruction. Zahra…Ranjiri…Cera…my beloved children didn’t emerge in the clearing... but neither are they here, in this broken land.  Growling frustration and restless yearnings tug upon my interest.

Where are they?

Her presence warms me from behind, she is a spirit of purity and compassion; her untainted aura brightens our gloomy atmosphere. Quietly, the ethereal creature whispers and reaches with abundant tenderness for my figurative self, offering comfort. Assurance. Laboriously, I turn to face her brilliant, glowing expression...but the softness and love in those eyes isn't enough to quell the unease that bubbles to the surface. She frowns slightly and casts our focus to the gateway; that pulsing array of wild magic. Crackling as it creates a torrent – buffering the air with static energy.  

Curiosity tugs me to the lips of that forbidden place. Whatever lay beyond…more than likely it wasn’t meant for spenders who’d cashed in their last nugget. Though…again, I couldn’t quell the impossible yearn to reach out, discover for myself what became of our lineage. Anxiously, she rubs against my intangible form. Her urgent gesture stills that forward momentum; purposeful words filter through our timeless connection, “they might still be here.” There is never question that my return to her utopia wasn't reassured. And as such, unsurprisingly, her understanding is swift -- we didn’t need tongues to convey the paternal song which rang in my heart.

She knew.

Without further hesitation -fearlessly assuming my death has nothing to dread- this form passes into that kaleidoscope mouth. Instantly, her guiding light is engulfed…a chilling, vibrating darkness weighs upon my ghostly shape! The peace found from the ease of divinity is cut off. Panicked, stagnate emotions begin to fill in those vacant scars which time has left behind. Then…pain, sharp and prickling as unseen fingers entice; creating impossible shivers while they probe and trace those previously forgotten corridors. Defying my intangibility with vile certainness. Mercifully, consciousness relieves my memory…

----

Earth…solidness. Groggy emotions swell into view – arising from their slumber with vengeance. Frantically, I move…my head rises weakly, dripping as it lifts from the sodden floor. Aches…fevering cramps still linger in my gut and hindquarters…in my… Ashen shutters peal apart, their ebon lashes casting rain aside, they tilt…gravitating upon an insane, sideways sprawl of adult legs that would better suit that of a newborn by how weak and useless they looked. Ivory, sun tipped arms lay on either side, flopped into the grim without care. The air…stagnant, bitterness. Thick with moisture. A terrified sound floods these gasping, underused lungs like a raspy smog; ivory teeth clank, crushing together. Every breath is labored – uncustomary.

Silver goblets still fall…panting, they splash frigidly upon over-sensitive skin. Wobbling, swaying – my head follows the will of memory to peer at the wrecked threshold just behind me. That doorway…it’s still there -- sitting with its sickened, multicolored mouth. A small thought of kindness…mayhaps that is the way to return again. Horrifically, the notion is instantly tailed with a disarray of others, what would happen if...broken, disjointed questions cut my ongoing concerns off. Hundreds of unanswered utterances fling themselves forward all at once!

Sensations -wet, cold, shivering- are introduced into this body all at once. Another broken cry lifts from these lips as swaying brims lean into the muddy, sodden ground.

OC

{Safe?} Passive | Golden touch :: pure gold springs up from where his hooves touch, turning nonliving things into gold. The effect is temporary and will fade after a moment.

Magic | Sand control :: Able to control sand and condense it into shapes.

Magic | Metal crafting :: Able to smelt any metal and use it to craft non-magical items.

Item | A silver, heart shaped charm nests close to his pulse, beneath the gloss of jetted hair. That stunted, platinum chain on said minuscule token has become woven into the fibers of his hair -- it isn't easily jolted.
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Rift Presence
Currently championing:
#3
Dark shadows curl, twist, churn through the air like smoke; their shadowed shapes formed by the neon glow that bounces around the thick undergrowth of the Portal. One can feel movement in the shadows; can feel stares of hungry, feeding eyes.

But the shaded smoke hovers just beyond the reach of this new creature. Darting in to taste, before quickly withdrawing. As if seeing how to savor such a meal.

After a few moments of these darting, twisting tongues, the shadow’s jaws open wide to engulf you.

Yum.
the Rift

[ACCEPTANCE NOTES : ELEOS ]

Magic:
Though perhaps taking longer than usual to enjoy their meal, the shadows do not miss a drop and swiftly consume all of your magic.

Normal items are accepted fine! Simply use this thread as link-proof in your profile! (Also, I'm pretty certain there's nothing 'enchanted' about the heart charm. If there is and I just misunderstood, let me know and I'll roll/edit this!)
» Presence of the Rift «


Zahra
Currently championing:
#4
Zahra & Ilham
It was pride that turned angels into devils
It was the sudden chill through her core which pulled the fallen girl from tense slumber. Even the potent strength of her exhaustion could barely stand firm against the leering, looming presence of cold, white, burning, eyes. Their sinister, constant glare was stark and eerie against the slippery, slithering shadow of this neon-coloured underworld; though unlike their hungry, blackened host, they never seemed to come closer. Subconsciously unnerved, Zahra’s skin quivered, flinched and prickled as the presence of the rift curled in nearer. Its desire for magic was insatiable, tempted once again, perhaps, by the thrum of the winged’s enchanted veins. 

Golden blood surged below that taut, yellow-dusted canvas like broiling, bubbling stew, venting otherworldly fragrance through waterlogged pores in the form of randomly spawned insects. 

An ant, a beetle, a fly…

Like tendrils of thick, smothering smoke, the shadows licked wickedly at her slumped ebon hooves - tasting, testing - yet as she lifted her aching, skull into the air, they recoiled and split clean around her, repelled. It was neither the first, nor second time that Zahra had witnessed their hunt, and though her legs slipped quickly beneath the quickened pound in her chest, there was only very small concern strung through the expression. With a forward focused heave and trembling limbs she ascended from the soggy earth, and - though she had been sheltering beneath a bridge of vine - water poured down the contours of her lean frame. She was cold, bitterly so, after days spent soaked through to the bone. 

‘Ilham?’ 

Their bond had grown deathly silent. 

The huge weight of loss only served to fuel the fire of depression as it snaked through her resolve, to conquer and command. So alone and forlorn did Zahra feel, that there wasn’t a single waking second within which the prospect of death didn’t appeal. She drew a long breath, wings sinking to the soggy surface of the strange earth and willed the wicked wrath of those ravenous shadows in to claim her. 

Not even the cold, devouring breath would gift her death. 

Hunched like a waterless sapling, hopeless and tired, she’d failed to notice the arrival of another nearby; it was he who the darkness watched this time, he who those intangible fangs worked now quickly to engulf. Sombre eyes rise to the bait of those flicking, darting movements, and at last the winged man falls beneath the fraying skirt of her awareness. The demise of this one’s power was hardly as spectacular as the glow-lights which had assumed place upon the ugly head of the giant prior; she watched quietly across the way until the shadows began to receed, and then turned to leave, before he’d have a chance to notice. 
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Eleos
Currently championing:
#5

The braided labyrinth of cringing discomfort gradually begins to ease…ugh…but that putrid taste of water-logged hostility is all the satisfaction these eccentric, aching lungs are going to receive. Choking, drizzled brims are flung ajar to release another fit of grated coughing. Ears pivot backward, seduced by the whet dagger of unfamiliarity. Scrunched features are given seconds to gawk, absorb the bewilderment which mercilessly gnaws into my naïve assumption of how the world is supposed to work. Inked fear and terror strokes my renewed heart to engage when…

...movement...

Unsteadily, I throw a sideways look to the source; panicked alarms blare off in my head...stumbling nerves are undone by how those alien colors seem to come alive; contorting – threatening! Gilden pupils, soupy and befuddled, find the energy to sharpen as the shadows converge. Anxious, trembling legs draw inward, pushing their length across the saturated earth into the weeping patchwork beneath the fallen, grubby canopy of sun-kissed pearl. Livid, jeopardized lips draw apart on the cue of memories which serve to remind my instinctual defenses how to act. But that show of meek resistance does nothing to hinder the crowding, repulsive shade. IT attacks before my disdain for this helpless situation gets the chance to find a foothold in the chaotic, slippery screen of emotions… Feebly, I reach for those spools of aged energy; untouched for years. Teeth brandish, gashing together as those brackish fingers tiptoe over me. They withdraw…taunting, sickening my fortitude with uncertainty.

"S-s-," wounded, impossible denial – quivering from the dugout of pitifully crafted threats, "stop it!!" The shade races in! Arms elevate to shield me, but their effort is useless...they crash, splash down -never finding contact- and fling sludge in the process. These painted limbs gather beneath me, shying my collapsed frame sideways in a helpless attempt to escape. Molars grind, jerking upward -snapping at the air around me- but that horror doesn't cease, no matter the gash of teeth or internal resistance. While the wild, savage smoke rapes...engorges...demanding compliance...an eruption of hot, pulsing pain washes over my throbbing, tight breast. Writhing...the darkness envelopes my cry and recoil.

…too weak to resist...

The fear of death didn’t sway me, nor did pain; but this uncertain, alien world...

...it did...

Surprisingly, the vile smog retreats from my groaning, shivering carcass. Those quivering spools are absent their magical threads…but life (mine) still resides in this fleshy, mortal body. One shutter peels apart, narrowing on the retreating shadows and the kaleidoscope world through a sideways perspective....A shape...bobbing, wavering in the sobbing, blue green atmosphere. Once more, my head pushes upward. The pale, ghost-like creature begins to move off. One quivering leg pushes itself beneath me, slipping on the mud and jarring the attempt to make it act like a prop, “w-wa w-wait," the soft, rasp of my voice pleads with that retreating shape. Frail glances circle the wooded grove -- expecting my tormentor to return any moment, "p-please…"

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Zahra
Currently championing:
#6
Zahra & Ilham
It was pride that turned angels into devils
He was the newest in this world of hideous hue and haunting eyes, just another dumped, sacrificial lamb on the heinous alter of an underbelly world; he too (like countless others before him), was robbed unmercifully, castrated and then discarded like old meat by those ravenous, rapacious shadows. Though morbid - in a sense - the golden-bellied girl was fascinated by the process. Perhaps that was the reason she was constantly drawn back; maybe for the obstinate belief within her, that anything would be prettier than life. 

With hooves falling silently upon the soft, water-laden turf, she moved from him without any care to look back. 

Until…

His strange, rasping voice was broken (more even than she!) as it begged pitifully through the stagnant, wet and stinking air; it reeked of vulnerability, fear. As her lean legs shuddered reluctantly to a stop, lungs sucked slowly a long, wistful breath. Why should she care about this one? What made him different? 

They were all  soulless vampires, in one way or another… 

Tired, wretched thoughts fought bitterly against the heavy, hot onslaught of stirred-to-life compassion - the empath, she reminded herself, had long been dead inside - but her resolve was unravelling and the cold, callous shell she now always huddled beneath, was beginning to splinter. 

Resenting wholly his undermining power (though she had left him sprawled upon filth like the pathetic corpse he was), smoky ears slid backwards, pressing angrily across the stuck, wet mane of her poll; similarly, that sodden, velvet nose pinched uglily, as the brazen fingers of sympathy plucked at the loose harp of heartstrings within. 

Why...?

Each movement was deliberately slow, disinclined, as she swivelled back around to face him, and the expression that pasty, white face wore, failed to embrace anything warmer than stale irritation; the grim fatigue of a beaten soul

Narrowed eyes fell with frigid ferocity upon the obsidian span of his well-chiselled features - sorry and sickly, they looked. Clearly a stallion (once…), he was propped up against the stiff pillar of one black and white leg, and though she perceived the golden hoof part buried below sludge, her sour mood defied any presumption that its consideration was worth while. 

Without moving any closer, she observed him, scrutinised, waiting for this, his blaring logic that bid for her return.  

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Eleos
Currently championing:
#7

Whatever the intention toward sympathy/aid my pitiful consciousness is prepping to beg for -those selfish, instinctual prayers of self-preservation and their plethora of unanswered questions- they become silent. Her (that musk and feminine proportions hint toward naught else) milky, glistening retreat comes to a stern halt…wide irises abandon the shadows to catch notice of those sodden tawny ribbons tailing her ashen roots. I glimpse the partly concealed brush of gilt beneath the canopy of those ebon wings.

The torrent seems to groan as a breath of ominous air teases the adjacent smog, pulsating that sickening variety of saturation. But (for a moment) their malice has lost most of it's potency. Widening irises rest gingerly upon the pale length of her teary face; they trace downward, passing the damp whiskers accenting her somber, inked mouth. Fear driven oscillation hammers, thrumming hotly to the chemical mix of captivation and disbelief...curiosity propels me onward. Down...to the glittering platinum which encircles her breast/shoulders and disappears into the interlocked tangle of hair. Jowls inch apart, displaying their astonishment. Hastened jolts of befuddlement wickedly canter throughout my soul; paralyzed, unreasonable fears are slapped into passive submission. A choking lungful of smoggy air is pulled inward...nostrils quiver, sipping…naydemanding verification.

Unmistakable…

A pixie babe twirls to the front of my imagination. But…she wasn’t the same bright-eyed infant who’d clung defenselessly beneath the fire teased shade of her dappled guardian…

While these ears cautiously rise from their muggy scabbard of thatch…her name emerges, given life on a dithering breath, “Z-zahra?” Despite the weakening suffrage of previous horrors, I discover enough vitality in these reborn bones to push up from the shameful, peculiar ground. Slipping on mud all the while, my front half teeters. Locking, bracing while I suck heavily and test the resolve of these new legs. Sticky, muddy dreg seeps to the floor; a brownish layer of grim and litter cling to my splashed, soil branded contours. Heavy arms drag the ground; remaining useless in their momentary infancy.

Icy pellets fall crisply upon my receptive meat – their chilling touch sends goose chills to sprint; prickling the dark skin beneath that meager shield of fur. Discomfort unfurls throughout my midsection, warning against any idea of slow/hurried movement. Spitefully, these hindquarters stutter – pushing me upright. Bony knees become locked in place, aiming to support this scant, malnourished carcass I've come to inhabit. That right arm elevates, easing to find a natural, bowed position alongside. Hidden beneath the mouth of those hollow reeds, a pristine (primary) gilt hued feather sits atop the grim. Straightening with a grunt, these dribbling lips spread apart, “do you,” the question unpeels with careful articulation, “know me...?”

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Zahra
Currently championing:
#8
Zahra & Ilham
It was pride that turned angels into devils
Through the dull roar of rain tempted a word against her conscious - a breath of unreciprocated recognition to skew her staunch mind - and momentarily startled from their sour resolve, those ears wavered forward with certain surprise. Their  visible intrigue was fleeting, mind you, each sliding again backwards as the stranger moved in turn to stand; frigid gaze examined the quivering, trembling profile of his poorly body - he perched downwind with all of the ungainly grace of a newborn - yet she failed to find the connection and snorted briskly, a crude spray of spittle, through the wall of air between. 

The skin draped along each bony ridge was slathered in mud to obscure view of tinge; swan-like wings, pale perhaps, wilted without vigour at each side, and the palest points elsewhere across the famished-looking frame, were well dulled by this, the filthy brown murk of his bed - his grave… And with a snails haste, he worked laboriously to right himself, only adding to the rising irritation that haloed the waiting girl's presence. 

As seconds bled by, so did Zahra’s cool interest begin to wane; her chin shifted east and her attention fell towards the tide of shadow as it mulled ever further from their spot. It was hunting again, lured by the sweet hum of another enchanted soul. Another victim. So distracted did she become - so distant were her thoughts - that the breathy, broken gesture of his humble words, their intention, was not wholly absorbed. With a cutting eye and ears still pulled down across wet mane, she beheld the winged creature in front. "You?" she almost snarled, face contorting with overplayed incredulity. 

It was her security - her sanctuary.

For a moment, the glowing scarlet face of the previous stallion emerged to rest above those weak, fetid shoulders before her; he, had been fair game, fit and gullible, yet as his image dissolved and revealed again the forlorn impression of this other, her unwarranted anger faltered. “No..." she sighed simply, resignedly, crest bowing easily beneath that old familiar blanket of despair. "I'm sorry." Those expressive ears sagged then, tiredly from their nest.
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Eleos
Currently championing:
#9

Mud splattered ears tilt rearward as they absorb and swallow the hot melody of her hostility. Meanwhile, our unyielding atmosphere continues to fluctuate, mayhaps irrationally frustrated with my (our) neglect of them. Those gloomy tendrils morph; becoming our depraved, toothy audience whose very presence heightened the physical simulate for aggression. Ignoring outside negativity almost entirely, these ebon corners barely twitch – my entirety remains unmoving, fixed solidly as the near downpour continues to swamp around us. The subconscious mind slips into that archive -- but those eternal memories are faded parchment and didn’t par well with the sodden woman who stood before me.

Above me.

Her denial of recognition comes as no surprise (though disappointment scores me) and had our situation/companionship been slightly less morbid...no matter… My crown follows the lean curve of the shivering branch which supports it; turning into the narrow arc of one blackened foreleg. Gently, I brush aside the soiled remnants against that upper muscle; though a poor rag at best, those few swipes clear the majority of mud from my drenched expression. The remainder slowly become cleansed by the merciless elements. Weary, bottomless irises return centerfold; holding her position gently…without resentment. While those kaleidoscope threads continue to harass, growling in the near distance. One gilden foot lifts from the murky floor before planting itself deliberately to suggest forward movement. “Have you,” dribbling brims scatter the rain. I'm hesitant to directly confront her memories...but there is no way of measuring how long my aged soul will remain in this existence, “forgotten the face of your father?”

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Zahra
Currently championing:
#10
Zahra & Ilham
It was pride that turned angels into devils
There was a furious flame in her eyes, hurt beyond words, "my father… is dead!" The undertone wavered and wobbled with wretched accusation, though she held his queer, coloured (uncanny), eye with remorseless conviction. "I sealed that fate a long time ago." The latter was scarcely a whisper above the murmur of rainfall, burdened noticeably by the unimaginable guilt she had carried for the years since his passing. 

The Gallant’s bones lay now, entombed below the ruins of his father’s world. 

What would he think of his golden-child now?

He was nothing.

Trembling, soggy lips lowered involuntarily to brush against the cold metal memory she wore in his stead. No warmth stemmed from its roots to comfort her now, no breath of that renowned forgiveness; even memory of his beloved face had become but a disfigured fog in the shadow of much louder self-loathing. The struggling girl felt the potent surge of toxic disappointment boil in her veins, numbing all sensibility - such was the power of the blackness long suffered - and with a sharp snap of her neck, Zahra pulled free from the garment.

There had been a time, years ago, that she and Zero had gazed upon the stew of bubbling lava by Helovia’s heart; perhaps she should have thrown the collar, the curse, and destroyed it when the weight had first grown unbearable across her shoulders. She was weak spirited though then, still now, as flimsy as the cold, crystal veil that hissed on down from the sky. 

The stallion stood at last solidly, hardly taller than she, and his quiet, meditative aura unsettled her to the core. It occurred to her to leave, to vanish - to evaporate into the aether and avoid this confrontation - but those legs beneath her convulsing, sobbing wreck stood with stubborn resolution against her desire, forcing the heartbroken girl to endure.

Through the glaze of molten, welled-up emotion, she could see suggestions of colour against his washed black face, gold? Perhaps… a flicker of suggestion that was easily swiped by the antagonistic side of her within. There were other mutterings of familiarity too, which beckoned interest to peel from the floor; like a bath, the water constantly cleansed him, revealing snippets of the character lurking beneath sickness and soil. 

With a reluctant eye, she watched him, snivelling still bitterly, filled to the brim with enough resentment for them both.  
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Note to Admin: Confess guilt of a crime that she did not commit.