Despite her sturdy (healthy, considering), preference for time spent far away from society, the period spent walking and talking with Eleos felt refreshingly natural; like she had known him for years…
Eyes wandered along the shoreline, ever grateful for even vague distraction. There were no crabs on their beach, scuttling madly as subtle shadows swept across their post, no invisible worms, bubbling beneath the waterlogged sand; not even the guttural song of those awful prolific gulls, could be heard above the thrash of ocean fury. It was bizarre, unsettling, and their queer, otherworldly replacements brought little in the way of comfort, as she gazed upon swirling, sailing group.
Through a moment of silence, meditative rather than awkward, a spine-chilling sound drew forth the interest of her ears.
Out of the corner of one eye, Zahra could see that Eleos too had noticed, for both heads were turned towards that murky, wet-horizon. The voice quickly became ten, easily thirty, maybe more, and a nervous shudder inched up, along the tired girl’s back; and then they were gone, a new phenomenon rising in the distance.
The strange funnels (the likes of which she had never before witnessed), fell out of the sky, and with them, sight more enticing. He is drawn to it, voice giddy with roused vigour and though she is uncertain, unwilling, a soft voice agrees to follow; there is a note of imploring that strikes a chord in her heart, and the black, gold and white can hardly refuse - not after the felony he has so valiantly, forgivingly cast aside. Wings flare behind him and hooves splash along the vast coast until speed grants the fond flurry of air she needs to lift.
Unicorns, she knew, were stupid animals.
She trailed her father slowly and warily as he drove a bold course towards the light - the sun? She surely hoped…
Beneath them, paddling like useless dogs adrift, three or four wingless-ones (horns, presumably) struggled a still slower, laborious journey, in turn, through the spreading blood of the discovered ruined sea-beast. Ahead, their kin soared with effortless grace and momentum, riding rough thermals like dolphins surfed waves; Zahra recognised neither and drew subliminally closer to the gliding stallion alongside.
The rain was torrential. Up above there was no respite from the rage of the sea, the winds, the maelstrom that sought to destroy everything in its clutches. The gusts howled around him, snapping at his withered legs like hounds and whipping up a wild froth of spray. Noitcerru grimaced at the splash of freezing water - and the reek of stinking fish. It washed over him with the salty tang of the sea, a biting, overpowering stench flaring into his nostrils. His feathers were slickly pressed into his body by the wind and rain, water dappling his feathers dark.
He cleaved through the winds, forging a path through the deluge as if carving through something solid and tangible - not the invisible forces working against him. He shook the droplets out of his eyes, forcing his powerful wings to thrash the gales into carrying him. There was no current to glide upon here, no breezes to coax and win over; he could only batter the cyclone, work through the winds with nothing but the utter strength of his wings. Each beat propelled him further through the torrent.
This was not his element. The birdman could not help but eye the seas below, tossing and turning as wave broke into wave. The water was in uproar, like one single beast dashing itself against the rocks. Clouds of red blood mixed with the seafoam, tinging the waters an ominous ruby - and then swept by the current down into the deep, the surface never remaining still for long. The churning of the sea beasts groaned beneath him, the rising behemoth lit in its own eerie glow soon dashed against the rocks - it was brutal, and dangerous, and full of wild untempered power that was not the stallion's to call home. His very bones wrenched against the sight, lips curled back in disgust at the carnage.
But the call called him onward, onward, onward - and he had no choice but to obey the summons, and if not that, the summons of his own curiosity towards yet something else shifting in his native land. He had to know. The stallion's eyes are fixed on the central point of light, on that homing beacon sending horses like him directly into the eye of the storm. Others were answering the call beneath him; the birdman's keen eyes spotted the rise and fall of endless coats, sagging with sea spray and washed as sleek as seal coats. Dark fur, white fur, brown and in-between - they disappeared under one wave and then appeared again, fighting the shifting tides. He did not envy them, in the roll and pitch of the currents. But it was hard enough for those who flew - the dim forms of other pegasi, unknown to him, passed him by. All heading to the same place, to where a pulse was growing stronger and stronger...
The sea had gone quiet but the light pierced his eyelids, making the male snort in discomfort and squeeze his eyes shut. But still the light gave him no mercy and the physical pain was almost too much to bear. What was light like this? How was it so bright? He was used to the dark murk of the Rift, not this. As he adapted to the great light he opened them again - only to see the form of a three-eyed tigress. His eyes widened. Vjanta. Noitcerru came to a stop, hovering in the air to watch the goddess at work. Both sea giants were restored, knitted together, patched up as though no collision had happened. He couldn't tear his eyes away - not as a hippocamp from the ocean was given a pendant, not as the light magic spread.
And then it was all over too soon, and he could only stare at the place where the goddess had once been. The stallion was frozen, the reality of what he had just seen sinking in. The birdman looked up to the sky for more lightning bolts and, for the first time, deliberately lowered himself to the waves. Not even those in the air were safe, or so it seemed. But he was silent. He knew no one here, and after a moment's look he worked out why. Helovians. Were they behind this? Did they - ?
He stayed silent. What words could he utter, after seeing the death of a goddess - and amongst these strangers? His eyes followed especially the hippocamp, the one with the tiger's eye pendant.
SPARKS WILL FLY, THEY IGNITE OUR BONES
WHEN THEY STRIKE, WE LIGHT UP THE WORLD
Iskra spent a lot of time at the Riptide Isles because out of everything they felt the most like home, which was a small comfort for the wrecked boy. He slumbered along the shore, startled awake at last by the storm and the screams that tore from the water's depths. He scrambled to his hooves, wings puffed out as best they could manage under the ceaseless water that drenched them. "What!?" he cried out in confusion, spinning this way and that, but only chaos extended as far as he could see around the Isles. Horses were caught in the midst, swimming, driven towards the ravaging decimation of another realm.
It stopped abruptly with the Tigress, whom stood as a beautiful thing, a perfect image of calm among the travesty. Her smile was knowing, haunting, soothing. It was reminiscent of his old gods, and so he found himself smiling too, daring to be relieved. Perhaps there was more than Kaos here after all, maybe she could help them! It was already clear that was influencing the Isles, mending them, restoring them. Iskra stood on tip toe with delight at it, at her.
Until disaster - lightning (mother??) - a scream and a void of hope as the tigress vanished.
Iskra wailed out for her, but there was no point.
I S K R A
Magic or force permitted any time, aside from death.
08-02-2017, 02:57 AM (This post was last modified: 08-03-2017, 01:46 PM by Eleos.)
Arms unfurl their width, allowing those fidgety hollows to sweep outward from their humid latch. Blond quills pummel downward; tousling the underused, idle fringes beneath. Her noiseless cue inspires these painted hindquaters to contract with unbending forelegs bracing expectantly. Anticipation rockets from a smothering nest of confliction. Restless excitement surges throughout my singing veins; igniting this slight build into a lumbering canter. Pale grains ascend in the wake of our thunderous, churning feet. Moist feathers swell, driving in retaliation against the constant, idling drizzle... Irises slant for a fleet glimpse of my aerodynamic daughter. Pockets swell with every thrust; each downstroke creating the promise of elevation. The intense pressure multiplies, both outward and inward, excitable knots become taut... bursting into a glorious admission of delight as the gloomy coast steals away beneath us. Despite the lack of previous use, these aged recollections guide my instincts, I only had to surrender into the tide of previous knowledge.
A wide beam garnishes forefront; but paternal instinct snarls for my enamored attention to spare a glance rearward and check on my prodigy. She, the apex of exquisite perfection, dominates the sky. Satisfied by her apparent capability, my obsession resumes its fixation on the burnished promises ahead. When I glance back again...it appears even the grounded folk have been lured in. One by one, they lunge into the brackish tide.. and somewhere in my head a logical warning springs up. Optics widen as disbelief ebbs softly, 'why would they risk drowning?' Brows carve inward; irises scan the mirror-like surface...that grey green water turns slightly rustic...blood in the waves?
There was hardly time to appreciate the scene as it unfurls before us...wings arch, leading our flight into a crawling spiral. That haunting glow, beautiful and vibrant, becomes all consuming as it expands...revealing utopia. There was something...or rather...someone at the heart of said paradise. Irises narrow upon the banded fur of an illuminated feline.
A scream...scoring into my fragile hope; the crack of deafening light shatters her bewitchment and reveals the falsehood...our foolishness. Sharply...my cloaked memories of seared, pealing flesh claw for breath; these nostrils can taste the pungent flavor of cooked meat and foul smoke. Nerves scream, sending ghost pains rippling throughout my body - limbs uncurl as if struck. With my pulse racing in overdrive, frantic and hot. I balk, wings pivot as they work to uphold me. Irises squint against the bright spots that linger in my vision. Betrayed anger rises from unaddressed grief and unfocused anger, "turn back," breathlessly spoken from around clenched teeth "back to the beach!" Yelling now, to be overheard above the storm
The ruse is sprung...
Massive towers of liquid rise from a turbulent floor -- ascending, shooting up at random! Frantically, I curl toward Zahra. Arms thrust deeper, faster, "hurry child!" ....my naivety put her in unnecessary danger... Molars set themselves in the back of my mouth as churning resent heightens, feeding my wounded fury and bewilderment. Sunkissed fringes ease their speed, aiming to get behind her. Concern pings my focus onto the unicorns caught in the surf...jaws rotate irritably. My front half leans, descending until their struggling troop comes within shouting distance...mayhaps the close proximity would raise my voice above the howling wind. "Return to shore! The storm comes again!" Those clouds overhead seem to rumble in agreement; or their crackling darkness could be mistake for laughter for our gullibility.
Their aerial journey toward the light progressed faster than that of the fools bathing in, stained by (surely), glaring crimson death, below; still, even they were slower than one creature in particular, whose sleek, glimmering sheath beneath the cursed, turning tide, defied all understood mortal capability. The queer murmur of movement (for the murk disguised it well), the playful trick of light, that serpent-like beast slithered so swiftly through that uninviting stew of aquatic wilderness, that Zahra often lost track of it as she sailed on more ambiguously overhead.
All the while, that light, the sunlight, appeared to the unwitting eye to be growing.
It beamed with warm intensity, illuminating the rocks - the flourishing isles - nestled without ocean below, and suddenly, for pale yellow eyes had indeed grazed a more slippery, shining surface moments before, stood the superb figure of a striped tiger. The young arachnophile had seen many of the feline variety before through her roaming, but never had those marvelling eyes beheld one so exquisite - so enthralling. While she gazed down upon it, sailing through a smooth, navigable aerospace, she was furthermore oblivious to the crumbling resolve of the painted man nearby.
It was a breathtaking display that quickly paled the sour breath in Zahra’s heart.
A miraculously formed apparition…
A sudden crack of lightening split the image through the centre and the tiger vanished with a haunting scream (it penetrated mind, body and soul), and for the seconds which followed, the golden-bellied girl flapped disorientated, deafened and stunned. As rattled consciousness bubbled back to the surface, the sound of his voice - yelling - struck a stinging note of fear through her core.
A vision of those final moments in the marsh weeks before descended forebodingly through her mind, and she turned hurriedly towards the beach; to safety. One spout of water knocked her off course as it rose menacingly, wickedly through the air before her; others too, spiked towards the horribly bleak sky. With many years of experience under her belt, Zahra avoided the rumbling storm and drew the fastest route to earth, that the flying sea would allow.
even after the darkest of nights, dawn comes again
It was beautiful, glorious, a birth (re-birth?) of a goddess, a healing, a blessing. Amaris watched, the golden rays of this pseudo-sun glistening on her own scales, illuminating her - she was a beacon, a mirror for the sunlight, she was drawn to it, and had she not been so entranced she would have approached it, neared it, sought to touch it, to hold it, to treasure it like a dragon treasures its hoard of shiny things.
But such bliss was not to last - the dragonmare, along with everyone else, watched as the world shifted again, as the actions of the apparition ceased, and the haunting melody thrummed through her very soul - "NO!" it exclaimed, it cried, it shook her very core, and she was weeping from the sadness it summoned within her.
And the world was chaos again, rain and storms tossing around the flying occupants of the realm like leaves caught in a breeze. The brilliant light of the pseudo-sun had faded, and Amaris tried to blink back the emotion that this vision had summoned up within her, swallowing it down, pushing it aside so that she could focus on the now, on surviving this latest develop, this new hurdle the Rift seemed intent on throwing at them.
It was Dramyrth who saw her, the mare from their previous home, their rankmate, their friend. Amaris recognised her in the moment before the storm settled in, and somehow managed to keep her within sight even as the ocean raged and churned angrily again, as the rain pounded and winds pulled and tugged at her.
"Ingrid!" she called, she bellowed to be heard over the crashing waves. What was the girl doing in the sea at a time like this?
Probably the same as what I am doing in the skies, she answered her own question, before swooping low to the swimming mare. "Not far now, come on, follow me!" she urged, encouraged, hoping that whatever light still reflected off her scales was enough to illuminate a watery path for the mare to the safety of the shoreline (where, once Ingrid arrived, Amaris would also land nearby to rest her weary limbs).
08-04-2017, 07:47 PM (This post was last modified: 08-04-2017, 07:47 PM by Eleos.)
Typhoons stir up insensitive gales which fluctuate beneath me; their severe flux of speed/direction hamper my aptitude to stay immobile above that unfledged trio. Pinions hammer downwards, groaning their frustration toward being compelled by our unfortunate heist to press onward. Regretfully, the swimmers would have to manage alone. Just as mobility is purchased, another pillar of icy, brackish water catapults from the ocean floor! Bringing a deluge of salty rain that spills upon my shuddering, hyper-sensitized meat. Tendrils of clumped hair are sucked aside from my steaming neck while these arms rotate and broadside. Painted columns fold against their prickling sanctuary. Eyelids narrow, shielding their iris from yon storm.
My silvery collar pulses quietly on the backburner; anticipating, straining for the call to arms. In a flash of wild logic (and uncertainty as to WHOM our puppeteer was) my wary instinct considers it…nar...summoning the armor would apply extra weight to our rapid flight, tarnish my ability to maneuver the sky AND possibly morph me into an iron clad beacon of potential for conducting electricity. Through the haze of divine tears, my wavering focus glimpses the tri-colored girl bee-lining toward our beach. From afar, her obsidian feathers appear adequately ruffled by those conflicting gusts of air (likely saturated as well) but possibly unharmed.
…shrinking relief dares to ease my remorseful spirit fractionally from the bleak haven of confused anger and disappointment...
Forelegs jut out as the beach looms hither; never before have I been so readily grateful of the sight of those waterlogged grains. Churning daggers touch down alongside Zahra. But that smooth canter is stunted by digging, splashing hindtoes. Shivering flanks become as stone while they press into the squishy loam and expertly carry the front half of my body upward into a shallow rear. Forelegs dance reflectively, pivoting acutely (and in one motion) until my entirety is sideways upon that narrow strip of elevated surf. Honeyed toes drop solidly upon the ground, sinking instantly. Arid, greygreen water licks wickedly against pasterns, their foaming embrace taunts between cannons.
The base of my muzzle extends, searching for her with these dripping nostrils sucking hard on the humid tit. “Are you hurt!?” A rasping, hoarse probe for hint of aliment. Optics scan, hunting for verification; wings flex inward, loosely hanging from their muggy, drizzled sheath.
SPARKS WILL FLY, THEY IGNITE OUR BONES
WHEN THEY STRIKE, WE LIGHT UP THE WORLD
The loss of the tigress brought the return of chaos to the isles, and the hungry winds and thrashing waves ate Iskra's audible terror. Iskra was already on the shore, watching, but squinted through the rain and the fury of the realm as others struggled in the sea. They were shouting at each other, paired off in groups trying to help, and Iskra stood on the edge with punctuated concern. He was small and young still, but he wanted to help, he couldn't just stand and watch them be swallowed up by the sea. So with a carelessness his mother would be proud of, and a bravery born of his father, he hurtled himself into the waters. He struggled with lashing hooves to keep his head up, but the gills on his back helped him breathe, and the little Leviathan at his side helped guide him.
He swam, helpfully or not, towards the one familiar horse - Volterra. "SULTAN!" he cried out, sputtering amongst the sea and salt. "WHAT'S HAPPENING?!" and though his voice trembled with fear, it wasn't cowardice, but rather concern for the tigress, loss of another shred of hope in what seemed a benevolent being in an alien world of danger and cruelty.
I S K R A
@Volterra Iskra is low key stalking him I guess ;D
Magic or force permitted any time, aside from death.
V O L T E R R A
HE SAYS "OH BABY GIRL, DON'T GET CUT ON MY EDGES
I'M THE KING OF EVERYTHING AND MY TONGUE IS A WEAPON"
Swimming had been hard enough in the calm seas; now, as they churn back up into something akin to a typhoon, it becomes almost impossible. The already exhausted stallion can feel himself struggling against the tide, and he silently berates himself for not doing more swimming in Helovia, to strengthen these muscles that he hardly uses. He turns, knowing that he has no choice but to head back to shore - nothing seems to be happening anymore, now the tiger goddess has been smote by a bolt from the sky.
Sultan! It's that familiar word again, a ghost from his past; its speaker is the same as last time, but now Iskra is struggling against the angry waters as well, and a bolt of concern shoots through Volterra's bones. "Iskra," he rumbles, his voice gargling halfway through as a wave smacks him clean in the face, forcing him to inhale a mouthful of salty brine. He coughs, splutters, but redoubles the effort of his pedalling limbs beneath the surface, directing his massive body towards the flailing colt. He has no idea that Iskra has gills and an aqua-based companion so is actually better off than Volterra himself; he only sees a boy who seems to be in trouble, and those Sultan's instincts return tenfold.
He closes his eyes against another wave, and for a moment he could be back in the Throat again. Iskra is thrashing in the Throat's ocean, and it's up to Volterra, his trusted Sultan, to save him. For a moment, the beast is back to doing what he does best - ruling, helping a child that isn't even his own simply because he's part of his herd, because he's the son of the Indomitable's friend, because it's the right thing to do. His eyes snap open, stinging from the salt, and he's back in the unfamiliar, churning ocean of the Rift once again. He might be a Sultan no more, but those instincts are still there, locked away inside him.
Suddenly his tired limbs are filled with renewed vigour; adrenaline pours through his muscles, bidding them to increase their pace and power him towards Iskra. "Whatever it is, it isn't good. We need to get to the shore, and fast." He seeks to approach the colt on Iskra's left side, and Volterra bulks his right shoulder out to try and hook it beneath the boy's left wing. He aims to support the youngster against his great bulk, hoping that his haggard breathing won't fail him now, hoping that his lungs won't collapse against his chest and send him sinking into the abyss. Inside his mind he pictures Ampere, and despite his concerns about drowning, despite his exhaustion and burning muscles and stinging eyes and utter fatigue, he smiles. Worry not, Sultana, your boy is in safe hands.
With every ounce of strength he possesses and the defiant, indomitable will that gives him his name, Volterra tries to guide Iskra back to the shore, supporting the colt with his body if he is allowed to do so.
08-06-2017, 06:32 PM (This post was last modified: 08-07-2017, 05:25 PM by Ingrid.)
Ingrid
Ingrid bobbed up and down in the water, trying to get a better look at what was going on. An enormous cat-thing was walking the shores of the island. It had shimmering stripes, and three eyes?
What is with the Rift and these weird ass critters... she thought. The appearance of the cat was followed by dawn, a real dawn where sunlight parted the clouds and streamed down over the sea.
Apparently the clouds didn't enjoy being chased off, because they returned a moment later with lightning that struck the demon-kitty in the chest. It writhed in pain before vanishing with a resounding, "NO!!!" that broke Ingrid's heart just a little. She'd always been fond of cats. Then, Ingrid heard a noise, a drone in the background. It started softly but was growing by the second. Ingrid turned in the water, trying to identify the source, and when her eyes fell on the open ocean beyond the isles, her heart jumped up into her throat. Huge, ocean waves were crashing towards her. In another minute, they were all around her, leaving her fighting to keep her head above water.
That's when she heard a familiar voice calling to her. Amaris had arrived, gliding above the waves nearby. Without hesitation, Ingrid plunged after her friend.
"Alright! I'm coming," she called, her hooves churning the rough waters. Was something nibbling at her fetlock? The sensation sent a shudder down her spine, and she kicked even more frantically towards the shore.
Not much fucking farther. C'mon Ingrid, get your shit together.
It felt like it took forever, but eventually, Ingrid's hooves struck the sea floor. She stood there gasping, the waves rising up past her belly and salt water dripping from her forelock and rolling down her face. She looked over at Amaris, who had alighted on the beach, and grinned.
"What the hell have we gotten ourselves into this time?"
Riptide Isles
