A protective father is never far from his offspring's side. Admittedly for Volterra, with more offspring than most, the task is a difficult one, but it is one he accomplishes with aplomb. It is as though he has a sixth sense for a child in need, and he emerges through the crowd like a hulking black mass of malice and muscle, moving towards Otem's side. Kaos has summoned them again, rewarding them with new lands to explore - Volterra wonders how many fools will fall for his charade this time, because he is certainly not one of them.
After all, a farmer may reward his sheep with a new field from time to time, more space to roam and reproduce, but it will not stop them from their inexorable path to the slaughterhouse.
Vadir rises high on his back, hissing at anybody who comes near. Despite the Rift taking her red brother, her flame, and sometimes her ability to speak to Volterra from her, she has received one advantageous boon from this corrupted land - she's grown even bigger, to such an extent that there's barely any room on his back when she's sprawled across it. The Indomitable and his golden queen arrive alongside Otem, a protective onyx statue at her side. He stares immediately at the stallion who is addressing the children, catching just enough of their conversation to ascertain what it is about. "Be careful with your assumptions that these children are not protected. My daughter has all of the protection she will ever need, and then some." His crimson stare bores defiantly into Azarel's own, drawing himself up to his full and superior height and bulk as he stares down at the older male.
His golden queen mimics his movement, elevating her massive form and swinging her scythed tail with a loud, thunderous hiss to punctuate her bonded's point.
He moves as a dog today; it is his preferred form, giving him all the predatory strength that he could ever need. The transformation is as painful as ever and for some reason he now finds himself unable to move whilst in the throes of agony, leading to a considerable amount of frustration within the colt's mind about the new restrictions placed upon his power. Still, the second he transforms into a wild dog, all of his salt is forgotten. He feels strong once again, from the paws that caress the soil beneath them to the long muzzle packed full of savage teeth, and he runs through the lands simply for the sake of running.
Askari is by his side, the loyal whelp careful to stay just behind his alpha pack member. The pup is prone to forgetting his place, but not today; not when his bonded is a dog too, and could easily take a chunk out of him with those deadly fangs. Together the duo move towards this gathering, the first of its kind for Mbwana who was born during the twilight months of Helovia's life; he knows little of Kaos save for what his parents have told him, so he enters the meeting with an open mind. He prowls between the gathered throngs, not caring if he frightens them with his monstrous appearance. Mbwana doesn't care about much, generally.
He lingers in the centre of the crowd, with Askari cheerfully flopping down by his hindleg to play with a small pebble he's found. Mbwana casts the pup a disdainful glare and a small growl just for the sake of it, before focusing his attention on this Kisamoa.
She had decided that it would be more prudent to keep track of Kaos movements than to ignore the pull of his presence, no matter how much the sight of him irked her. Ignorance and naivety had proven costly in the past, and Erthë had no wish to pay anymore, particularly as the price had turned out the be the lives of her loved ones, her family, her friends and homeland.
In truth however, she had no wish to follow any commands of the self-proclaimed god. Giving the quarreling children and Volterra a wide berth - she had no wish to get further involved in his harem than she already was - the little mare regarded Kaos with quiet loathing before turning her attention to the mist-veiled lands he so graciously had unveiled. The bright eyes were hard as gem-stones as she attempted to see further than the fog actually permitted, but could perceive nothing but hazy outlines of trees from this spot.
In order to find out what dangers these new vistas might bring, there truly was no other choice but to explore, and the fact that it meant doing as the cruel demon said, rankled. It made Erthë feel dragged and shoved, forced and coerced, and it was the most loathsome thing she had experienced. Inclined though she was to sulk and pout and refuse to move a step further however, it would only mean that she consigned herself to ignorance and limited her own options.
Feeling the reluctance swell and writhe within her like oily black tentacles, nauseating and vile beyond words, she awarded the smirking deity with another hateful glare. If he was trying to earn their favor, he was definitely going about it the wrong way. Even if she could have been persuaded to forgive the bloodshed... no Helovian she knew had ever been very inclined to follow orders, especially from someone they disliked. Headstrong they all were, proud and cunning and fiercely independent - and those were all traits Erthë would strive to live up to, come what may.
And most importantly, she was not about to neither forgive nor forget the sins of this demon, no matter what sweet lies he might speak.
A deceiver would always be a deceiver.
Right or wrong, I can hardly tell
I'm on the wrong side of heaven and the righteous side of hell
She's been lying low since the move to the Rift, silently going about her business and absorbing all the information that she possibly can about this strange new world and its residents. She has found places that she favours - the forest - and places that she dislikes - the newly corrupted, extra whirlpool-y Riptide Isles - and has slowly began to gather intel about this place she must call home.
Ker has been by her side at every step, albeit a lot quieter than she usually is thanks to whatever strange sickness plagues their bond. It's only intermittent, and sometimes the raptor's voice is as clear as it ever was, but other times it's blurry and unintelligible. During these times, Oizys feels lost. She might ridicule her bonded at times, but she doesn't know what to do without the eagle that she's had inside her mind since she was a newborn. The two manage to get by despite their new handicap, and Ker sails idly above the young mare's head today as she heads towards the newest calling by Kaos - or, as the gargoyle now likes to call him, Bullshitamoa.
New lands being opened is a source of great interest, and the gargoyle prowls through the crowd with her ears fully erect to absorb as much information as physically possible. Her leonine tail twines behind her, and her cold grey gaze zones in on the first familiar face she sees - Erebos. Her General, because that's what he'll always be to her, stands broodily at the outskirts of the gathering, and Oizys makes a smooth beeline towards him whilst Ker lands heavily on her withers to peek around her neck at him. "What do you think?" she murmurs to him without preamble. He, like her, is war-brained; is he, like her, contemplating all the hundreds of different ways that they can bring Bullshitamoa down? "Seems to me like he's rewarding us for being good little darlings that haven't tried to kill him yet...but surely nobody here is dumb enough to fall for that again?"
He has been looking for his twin for many days now. It occurred to him a short while ago that they have not spoken properly, alone, since their mother's death. It strikes him that they should probably try to do so if at all possible, so he's been searching far and wide for any sign of her. Alas, the Rift's lands are vast, and the yearling's intelligent mind can't help but wonder if perhaps this corrupted place is purposefully keeping him from his sibling.
Finally, he sees her. The fact there's a crowd gathered around does not concern him - why should it? In Vulkán's one-track-mind, the thing he is focusing on takes presidence over everything else. In this case, it's the search for Otem. Whatever else is happening around him - the opening of some new lands, it seems - is of secondary importance to Vulkán's hellbent desire to speak with his sister. To others this way of thinking may seem at best slightly odd, and at worst downright selfish, but to Vulkán it is just normal. Finding Otem has become part of his routine, and he does not accept changes to his routine.
He tilts his wings to bring him into land nearby. There seems to have been some sort of a ruckus - his father is swiftly admonishing a stallion who had been making conversation with Otem. Again, this is entirely irrelevant to the bulky yearling as he ambles towards his sibling, seeking to place his muzzle against her left shoulder in greeting. "I have been looking for you, Otem." In other colts who have just found their twin sisters after many days of fruitless searching, their voices would be glowing with relief, high-pitched with the sheer thrill of seeing their sibling. Not Vulkán. His voice is as monotone and unremarkable as ever, without a single deviation in pitch.
It does not cross his mind that it might be silly to usher his sister away to talk when there's so much going on - the only thing that gives him pause is the sheer number of people here, so he reluctantly remains where he is for now to see if anything else happens.
When the red-eyed stag spoke again the right corner of Tilney's mouth twisted into a lop-sided smirk, a smile that remained dark and unaccompanied by his eyes. Without much hesitation Tilney subconsciously plucked into the ongoing thoughts of the buckskin, his green eyes seeking to penetrate into the mind of the sag he gazed upon. What he heard from within the unfamiliar brute's skull was quite interesting, and to know that his ego was wounded by being in the presence of the Earth God's ilk caused Tilney to draw his brows closer in contemplation. Was this traveller jealous of a child? That was something Tilney could relate to.
Or did he see her as a rival because of her impressive pedigree?
It was then that the boom and thwack of someone large and powerful came into his ears, tearing Tilney from eavesdropping further on the stranger's thoughts. Distracted, but somehow still glad to see him, Tilney gave a nod to Volterra. This was the man that had drew Aelfwine from her home in the Edge, caused her to break from the family like the dead limb of a tree. Aelfwine's words did him justice and more it would seem, for Tilney could not understand why she felt this behemoth was worth gambling away the affection of those who held her most dear. On the matter at hand, though, Tilney began to slink away from Otem's opposite side where he had taken a protective stance before the bald-faced brute had approached. Her father was here and he was no longer needed. Disposing of himself far from the bellowing boom of Volterra's snarls, Tilney sought to distance himself from the quarrel.
In no time at all the chestnut bloke came upon a familiar face, one he was more than glad to see. Erthë.
Forever it was this knobbly kneed darling who would remind him of nothing else but the edge and the ice under her skin. Perhaps he even missed her, but truly he was overjoyed when he did catch sight of her - and gods, how she had grown. "Erthë" he came to nicker, easily recalling the night he and Ultima had swept her from death's doorstep.
another mind, another soul, another body to grow old. it's not complicated.
When it was just Otem against the red-eyed stallion, there was nothing at risk. No one here knew her; she could be as bold as she wanted. Bus as Tilney appeared at her side, nodding in a way that made her wanted to wrap her wings around him and whisper a thousand thank-you's in his ears (because the gesture only came out of respect for her mother), and then Amaris appeared in the faces of those assembling, the stakes suddenly felt higher. Now there were those around her who knew her mother; she couldn't just be shouting like a wounded child. She needed to be better, someone her mother would have been proud of (if pride was the sort of thing her mother could ever feel).
But before Otem had time to think of a more or less polite way of saying that she didn't give two fucks about whatever Kingdom the red-eyed stallion was talking about, her Father appeared. The sunlight and soil coloured child tried to hide the relieved breath that puffed out of her lips as Volterra thundered towards her and Azarel, easily pulling and bearing all the tension that Otem had unwittingly created onto his shoulders.
Vulkán appeared at her side as Tilney left it, and although her ears flickered to catch his words, her gaze remained trained on Azarel now that the presence of her Father had promptly raised her confidence. "We are from Helovia." She replied, her voice a perfect imitation of Isopia's academic (and often condescending) cadence. "Kaos, or Kisamoa-" Otem's eyes flickered to the shadowy shape, unsure which name they were meant to call him now, "-brought us here."
In truth, Wessex thought the sighting a dream; some side effect of her spreading skin condition (as it now creeps around the edges of her abdomen, in stark contrast to her darkly mottled skin - she’d only glimpsed the nastiness of it recently in a still pool of water) or perhaps this bizarre world playing tricks on her. And maybe it was, maybe there are creatures here that are similar enough to Helovia’s griffins and her mind has twisted that into a familiar figure. Maybe she just wants a bit of good news to bring to a loved one. Maybe she’s hallucinating. The Enyo-not Enyo didn’t let her get too close, but in the dim light of a drizzly day, she could have sworn she’d seen the particular markings of Erebos’s second companion across the cat-bird’s body. She could have sworn that when she’d called the companion’s name, that it gave her a moment’s glance before darting into the brush.
It didn’t come back, and Wessex didn’t expect it to. She stood there, debating for a good couple of moments if it really was Enyo… and then firmly decided that even it if wasn’t, it warranted investigation. The warrior in her tries to keep orientation with the mountain as she picks her way back down it, trying to keep it at her back, but paths are non-existent and after a troubling, particularly aggressive encounter with a bull-like thing (she beat it back with her horns, the first time her impressive head gear has truly come in handy), Wessex found she’d gotten turned around.
That is, until she hears Kaos’s voice again. Again? Dear God, this guy gets around.
At least this time, she isn’t terribly late. Just uncomfortable, and with a little bit of blood on her horns. No big deal. She spots Oizys first, then Volterra, then Erebos. A soft sigh of relief escapes her lips unnoticed, as the large woman makes a beeline for the dark unicorn. Everyone else is practically ignored. Let them argue over children and whatnot - he is the one she seeks, and she hopes her news will lift his heavy heart. “Erebos!” she calls out quietly, as she moves through the crowd (like they couldn’t not notice her). I think I saw Enyo,” she says in an urgent whisper to the stallion, once she draws alongside him. “At the edge of a mountain. I could have sworn it was her.”
07-31-2017, 05:12 PM (This post was last modified: 08-01-2017, 08:28 AM by Pippigrin.)
YOU'VE GOT A FACE LIKE THUNDER
ALWAYS TRYING TO GET OUT AND UNDER
Pippigrin Littlefoot, Gladiator of the Dragon's Throat would never admit that he had spent at least two hours a day weeping in the treetops. Usually it was about food and having no real clue what to eat, though more recently it had been about the awful boils that had broken out upon his chin, muzzle and the under side of his neck and chest - the result of a run in with what he thought was a gorgeous fruit, but upon impact with his teeth had exploded into a thousand toxic thorns.
The hobbit had spoken to nothing and no one since his entry through the rift, and he was quite certain that he was alone in these jungles. It was only until he found the courage to fly above the protection of the canopy (he remained convinced that above the canopy there would be dragon sky battles or something of the sort) that the halfling finally scouted in whatever direction the wind took him - this time blowing him like a leaf in a westerly direction.
Keenly holding onto his bone slingshot between his blistered jaws Pippigrin had watched over the hills and dales for any signs of life, and he was only moments way from giving up when he caught the boom of a familiar voice wafting from the bamboo below.
Mister Volterra!
Collecting his wings against his side, the minuscule pegasus pressed forward against the constraints of time around him and began to dive bomb down with an unlikely amount of precision toward the canopy, only stopping to lightly flutter through a gap in the trees (that was the scariest bit). Finding himself in a dark, empty glade, Pippigrin gave a snorting hoot in the direction of where he heard the voice... no, voices. There were more!
Allowing wind and speed to thrust himforward, Pippigrin shot through the trees in the blink of an eye - a second later, arriving at Volterras side with a mouthful of words. "MISTER VOLTERRA SIR!" Pippin tooted, aiming to thrust his boil-laden muzzle into the direct vicinity of the former Sultan's. "I looked EVERYWHERE for you!" - a lie, truthbetold; he had actually just sat in tree tops and sobbed.
screams at @Volterra
(Pippin also uses his speedy magic and shoots over to volterra in the blink of an eye - 'May move intermittently at speeds invisible to the naked eye.')
For maybe the second time in her life, she fears for her child.
The first time is irrelevant, but also a product of her own doing. It’s odd how history seems to repeat itself, as if the once-Queen, once-Seer, always-dragon had never learned her lesson. If Yael has a fatal flaw, it is this. She meddles and meddles and calls it ‘doing good,’ when all that ever comes of it is death, destruction, and heartache. They don’t know that - none of them know the history (except for Weaver, and with any luck, she will not cross the girl’s path any time soon) etched into the years on her skin, the sandy destruction and desert heat as it burned mistakes into her memories.
If this is her third chance, her last child (fourteen is enough, thank you very much); how can she prevent herself from fucking it all up again? It will be the eternal question, won’t it? For now, she has a beautiful baby boy to think about, as well as helpless companion to care for. And to be honest, she’s never really done the single-mother thing, so this is all very new. Labor was long, which was a blessing in disguise, as it allowed her to head West from the Rainforest Cliffs towards the edge of the mist. Gidon was born in the middle of nowhere, beneath the long boughs of a Glowing Cherry Tree - mirroring much the same way he was conceived. There they rested for a day, allowing them both to recover, and for Yael to hunt for Zani. If it weren’t for something pulling her Westward, she might have let them stay there a little while longer.
Their journey is slow, but uneventful, the only particularly curious aspect is the mist as it seems to always be parting before them - and a spiked, dark gray cat which Zani calls out to, as they pass what appears to be a cave system. It gives no answer, only watching the trio pass before disappearing again. Oh, and there was the pine tree that Gidon said was moving, but Yael chalks it up to the boy’s imagination and potential sensory overload. This world is far more colorful than Helovia, far more luminescent and dark, as if the night itself will eat everything it can get its greedy little hands on, but the day here still says no, and leaves glowing tidbits to keep its ravenous claws at bay. And what is a new (if old) mother to do, in the pouring rain, as her son huddles under her wings, which are then under her cloak? Say no, you cannot go and explore - no, that thing might actually kill you, because I don’t know that it is? How can she protect both herself and Gidon when she knows nothing?
They need to find others, and fast.
So perhaps someone is looking out for them, because eventually, they hear voices. And Yael is willing to take the chance on it being fellow Helovians. When familiar rear ends come into view, followed quickly by the deep, booming tone of Kaos’s voice, Yael urges the winged boy forward more quickly, coming up to the group with more relief than she’s felt in a long time. “Eet’ll be ok now,” she whispers to Gidon as she nuzzles between his ears, taking comfort in being part of a group again, even if momentarily.
Unfortunately, in her relief and dedication to her newborn son, Yael never noticed when Zani leaps from his place between her wings and darts between the horses hooves, to try and get the attention of the God with a loud, though kittenish, mewl.
Green Labyrinth
