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Home » Search » Roster » Whitepages » Records » FAQ » Guidebook
Time is the Best Medicine... Right?
Open Siren's Summit 
Apollo
Currently championing:
#1

And I don't want the world to see me
'Cause I don't think that they'd understand

The trees were what drew him to this place. The young green pines that covered the earth and swathed the air with a delicious, earthy odor had drawn him from his wandering. Encountering one, then two, then many, Apollo had let the pines lead him along, gladly following them and inspecting many more, stopping to simply breathe in the scent of pine and earth.

It reminded him of home, of the deep forests of Helovia. The memory tugged at his heartstrings, pulling, beckoning him to return to the place of his youth... But it was not meant to be. Helovia was gone from his grasp forever, and Apollo knew that he could not continue to dwell on that fact. Perhaps that was why he allowed the mysterious pull of this place to hold so much sway over him. Perhaps, should he give these young pines a chance, they too could soon become home. It was an entertaining thought, one that both made his heart light with hope, and heavy with grief.

The Merciful stallion meandered through the trees, picking his steps carefully as to not slip from the frequent rains. Overhead, the clouds were overcast and gloomy with the promise of rain on the horizon. Through the infantile branches he could spot the spire of an impressive summit raising into the air a close distance away, but that was not his main interest, nor did he desire to venture any closer to its base. No. Apollo was quite satisfied here, among the trees, among those who did not look upon them with distaste or contempt, who did not pry for his misgivings and judge him for it. It was simply he, Zola, and these beautiful, wonderful trees.

"... Do they not remind you of home, Zola?" Apollo asked the black feline, and the cat gave a soft purr of contentment from where she was nestled in the hemp satchel slung about the overo's broad shoulders.

'Yes. I know you miss them, but this place, these trees... It smells very much the same here.' And yet so very different. Zola, blind as she was, could not see the world like Apollo could. Instead of seeing things visually, the black cat could only experience the world through touch, taste, sound, and smell. She could catch glimpses of the world through Apollo's honey-brown eyes, when their bond was at its strongest, but most of the time she lived in eternal darkness.

A breathy chuckle came from the Merciful's maw and he gave a shake of his head, brushing his muzzle against the spindly branches of the closest pine tree with unmistakableeable reverence. "Indeed, it does. Perhaps with time, my precious bundle of earth... Perhaps with time." Time, as they said, was the best medicine. Apollo only wished that it was not so bitter to take.

When everything's made to be broken
I just want you to know who I am


Open to anyone!
Noitcerru
Currently championing:
#2
NOITCERRU
It was dry. Not for long, Noitcerru knew; one false step and, like a booby trap, once again showers would rain down almost as if they would never stop. But for now? A moment of reprieve, and one that the stallion welcomed. The feathers that covered his hairless body dried more easily up here, under constant barrage of the winds, and he could enjoy the feeling of being free from water. The birdman circled overhead with steady beats, one eye always on the horizon.  

The horizon was what had been bothering him, in some corner of his soul. Some part of him wondered why he was here at all. This side of the Rift was more restrictive than the rest, what with the sea and the closed spaces of the forests, the jungles. Others could see safety there, a refuge; all he saw was the potential to catch a wing, to snag a hoof, to have to do battle with branches and boughs - or, out at sea, to get caught under the waves. Drench with its disorientating storms was the worst time of the year for him, and there were other parts to this land that were more hospitable to him and his needs. Wide open spaces, for one, with strong prevailing winds. Deserts. Expanses. Just the thought of those places was like an itch running down Noitcerru's feathered spine, a crack of the whip to move on and see better things from even dizzier heights. The instinct to simply abandon this place and its disturbances, to move into better territory and seek out other adventures elsewhere, was hard to stifle.

But stifle it he would. The portal, the plaincoats...they were like the spider at the middle of the web, bouncing all the threads in turn. This was where the Rift was changing, metamorphosing, and where the rest would follow in those first hoofprints...if all went to plan. The dimension was dying; whether this was the final series of death throes, or an resurrection, Noitcerru didn't know. But there was one thing he did know: he could not indulge his instinct to fly away and seek better pastures when he would satisfy the mistress of curiosity instead. There was much to see in the land changing just beneath his hooves. And perhaps that scared him a little. Death of the Rift had once been certain. Now? Now it was all to play for. And what he saw as fear he also saw as an invitation.  

If he was staying, this was to be his base. Not a home, for the pegasus did not know the meaning of the word. But if 'home' really was a place, it was where Noitcerru could easily feel the wind under his wings. Sirens aside he returned time and time again, and why wouldn't he? The mountain was every pegasus's dream. Cliffs and crags and mountain peaks...and disturbances down below. The best kind. The birdman stopped, pausing in his circling to stare. There was a speck of something moving amongst the pines. The birdman swooped down, following the speck's trail. Well well well....a foreigner.

He lowered a little, carefully positioning himself at the widest points between the pines - never quite going down as low as ideal. Horse or not, predator or prey, Noitcerru would not go close enough to be touched. His legs swung uselessly, his wings treading the air. He eyed the unicorn curiously, hearing his words. But he was alone, clearly. "Does the Helovian talk to himself?" His voice carried the distance between them, thick and textured with an accent. Or accents, mixed together in a cocktail of countries and places and lands, impossible to place - almost musical, as if corresponding to a beat only he could hear. The pegasus bobbed his head like an bird, each movement quick and sudden. He could see now; his keen eyes picked out a small head rising from the satchel the stallion was carrying. His ears pricked in recognition, his head turning to one side. "The Helovian has a little friend."

__________________________________________________________
"Talk"
OOC: @Apollo - Hi there, nice to meet you :]

run boy run
this world is not made for you
image || coding
as above, so below.
______________________
please tag noitcerru in posts.
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Apollo
Currently championing:
#3

And I don't want the world to see me
'Cause I don't think that they'd understand

They were not alone for long.

Through the juvenile pines another came, but not by traveling upon the earth. No, the familiar sounds of beating wings and feathers cutting through air beckoned his gaze upwards, neck twisting to find the newcomer. It was there, close but plenty out of reach, that Apollo spotted him, a stallion so unique and different from any that he had ever seen before that it brought a genuine, perky smile to the Merciful's dark lips, cutting through the confusion and momentary surprise. What in the...?

Wonder coated his expression, eyes widening in pleasant surprise, honey-brown irises roaming every feature of this Riftian, for that was what he must be. While Apollo's experience with Riftian's were short and limited to only one other, he had not been disappointed in their brilliant grandeur and otherworldly appearances. They were beautiful, and unique, and like most things, he adored them. The male before him was no exception. Feathers sprouted from his body like fur, appearing soft and downy, and while he looked mostly equine, he also didn't. He was as familiar as he was strange, and immediately the overo found himself yearning to know more about this stranger.

'Does the Helovian talk to himself?'

The question came upon an accent so familiar, yet so foreign, that Apollo had to take a few moments to simply try to understand it. Did he talk to himself? Well, yes, he actually did, but the overo wondered if that was the point that this stranger was trying to make or not. Inside her satchel, safe from harm and scrutiny save for the small black tuft of her head and eyeless sockets, Zola gave a disgruntled sort of 'mrow!', and immediately the Merciful stallion realized his mistake and grinned sheepishly.

"Oh!" Glancing from the black cat in her pouch and back to the feathered Riftian, Apollo nodded his head. "Yes, I do. Her name is Zola, and I am Apollo. It's very nice to meet you. Are you... Are you a Riftian?" Then, after a moment, the Merciful went on curiously, his head tilting curiously to the side. "... How did you know that I am from Helovia?"

The name of his home, of Helovia, brought a throb of pain to his heart that served to dampen his already forlorn spirits Would it ever stop hurting? Would the yearning for his homeland ever lessen? It was a question that Apollo was uncertain if he wished to know the answer to.

One day at a time, Apollo... One day at a time.

When everything's made to be broken
I just want you to know who I am


@Noitcerru
Noitcerru
Currently championing:
#4
NOITCERRU
If the birdman was in any way perturbed by the Helovian's gaze he certainly didn't show it. Noitcerru didn't smile back - he didn't seem to recognise he had to smile back, or that it was polite. He only looked, with beady brown eyes that darted over the stallion's frame in short, quick bursts - flitting here and there without rhyme or reason. It was as if he was unable to stare at anything for long, or unable to sweep over something smoothly; where his eyes went his head followed like a bird's, as if he couldn't move his eyes independently. If he could, he certainly didn't keep his head still, instead bobbing and weaving like that of a raptor where his wings treaded air.

Drabcoat. Yes, he could see where the name came from now in the male's palette of greys and whites. Amusement ran along his mouth, pulling at the edges. But this stallion still stood, on his own four hooves, and Noitcerru could not help to notice he had no wings. The male could've had the most plain coat in the world and yet the fact he could stand was of endless fascination to the stallion who had spent nine tenths of his life in the air. And although he had no wings he certainly had a horn. The blue bands around the horn's width drew Noitcerru in, attracted to colour as he was, his eyes followed the path of the spiral as if trapped to its circuit.

Some of his fellow birds did not identify colour, or did not seem to. He had watched them and they could not pinpoint what he could. Noitcerru, on the other hand, could not help but be drawn in by it - and how the horn grew to taper to a thin point. The birdman's ears flickered back in discomfort at the presumed weapon. Whether it was brittle or not he could not discern, and he preferred not to take chances. Best to stay where he was, then....for now. The hoofed were chained to the land, unlike himself - but their horns could still be a threat, and could still catch his own limbs or his stomach if he flew too low.

He was too busy looking at this newcomer to notice that the stallion did not immediately respond to his question; if anything he had fixed his gaze on the tip of the stranger's horn, his mind occupied by thoughts of possible danger. When the black shadow erupted from his bag Noitcerru cawed in surprise - a sharp, feral sound. He drew his wings to their full span and flapped once, startled by the sudden interruption. But when the small creature stayed in its pouch he stilled, his wings withdrawing back. "Apollo," he repeated. "A-pol-lo-oh" He rolled the name around his mouth, feeling its bizarre intonation, what felt to him like just a ton of syllables rammed together. A pause. "Noy-ser-roo. Noitcerru." That was the nearest to an introduction as it got.

As for the stallion's question..."'Remind you of home'? 'Remind you of home'?" He parroted back Apollo's words from when he had heard them. It wasn't a perfect mimicry; he couldn't catch the precise sound of every vowel, couldn't quite pick up the tone. Regardless - it was an imitation, and made the point he had been, to some extent, listening. His own tone changed, became stilted as he returned to some degree of normal speech. Full sentences jarred against his usual bird-call syntax. "You are a plaincoat. Plaincoats do not come from here. Helovia is green, not black. I know." He’d been there, for a few fleeting hours, and this plaincoat was not unlike those he had seen then. But the only colours that seemed to correspond with that of the Rift itself in this male was the stallion's blue-black horn. If the stallion had had a more colourful coat perhaps he would've had more difficulty in distinguishing Riftian from Helovian.

He smiled, a crude drawing back of his lips. "'Sunstealer'. 'Godkiller'." Those were not his words, and a chirrup of laughter came from his jaws. He did not have the same anger against the Helovians as the rest of his kind. Why would he? They were all the same down below. It just so happened that the Helovians were, perhaps, even more interesting on account of their....proclivities. "Killers of gods meant to look different. Bigger." Not small and wingless. But he wasn't the thing that looked dangerous here, despite his horn. "But you don't kill Zo-laa. It is strange." He turned his head on one side, echoing Apollo's own movement as if a mirror image. But he wasn’t looking at Apollo now. What the hell was the thing in the bag? It looked...familiar, but it didn’t have the span of peacock feathers he was expecting - and its presence, whatever it was, was bothering him. "Pavo Cat. Pavo," he repeated, looking straight at the satchel - or the thing in the satchel. "Yet not."

__________________________________________________________
"Talk"
OOC: @Apollo

run boy run
this world is not made for you
image || coding
as above, so below.
______________________
please tag noitcerru in posts.
avatar source