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Home » Search » Roster » Whitepages » Records » FAQ » Guidebook
she died easy of a broken heart disease
RP Wanted The Portal 
Currently championing: Vourib
like breaking diamonds with your hands
[ Fair warning, this is awful. ]

The darkness stretched. Lingered. Filtered around his eyelids, pressed against his face with cold, wet hands, and for a time, he had the distinct impression he was lying in a river, but nothing ever happened and he couldn't quite get a hold of his own body and open his eyes. He even thought he heard the soft murmurs of waters rushing by.

Then it all changed. The same force which had tugged him into the Portal tugged him out of it, a sickening lurch as the magic spat him through a rain-soaked forest and onto the wet, mossy floor.

(I'll be stuck chasing time—)

He groaned. Something stuck into his ribs. Rain sluiced from the heavens, soaking him to the skin, cold seeping into his bones. Slowly, he cracked open his eyes. The world was.. purple.

So—when some vengeful creature has killed your Gods, your children, your lovers and your friends, destroyed your home, and thrown you through a Portal. What do you do? What do you do?

You don't just lie on your side in the rain, wondering if you finally died once and for all, but.. that was still what he did. The rain sang against his skull. The breaths smoking white in the moist air. Too sunken sides rising and falling. He hadn't been in good enough shape to deal with the world ending, and whatever fire he vaguely recalled feeling when the world as he had known it collapsed was distant, faded; an echo of a memory, a sliver of someone else's life. He blinked a little. It felt like a lifetime ago he'd watched Kaos blow up a lot of things he cared about.

And maybe it had been. He, vaguely, recalled an expectation of being flung into the middle of something, not.. not nothing. A hub of activity. More Helovians picking themselves off the ground, looking for their loved ones, for their—

Their whatever. Their hearts, souls.



He bolted upright, or as well as he could in his half-starved state; he only got about halfway before getting stuck, leaning against his extended forelegs and looking around himself in a gesture which felt so absurd after seven years of just knowing where the fuck she was

(The fuck he was, for that matter.)

She was so white in so dark a forest, there was no way he could've missed her. She sat on the ground, huddled into herself against the rain, something vacant in her gaze, as if she was confused or lost or hurt or dazed or something and not just missing from his soul—he felt his breath come in tight, panicked gasps. She wasn't faded, distant. She wasn't there but hard to reach, like static on the radio. She wasn't a raw, gaping hole where her life had been torn from his.

It just was like she'd never even been part of him.

"Irma," he whimpered, his voice thick, pleading, undignified as the rest of him, limbs quivering in his half-sit. Her eyes finally sharpened, and her head snapped around, the cold glare settling on him.

Nothing. No recognition. Not anything. "Please," he whispered, but she spread her wings.

And flew the fuck away.

"NO!" The shriek tore itself out of his throat, and before he knew what he was doing—before he saw where Diego was, because he still fucking knew that shit—he had grabbed his other, strangely distant and muted, owl by the wing and swung him up on his own back, and tore after the white ghost. Irma's wide wings were like moonshine in the purple haze, a beacon so bright it hurt to look at and his heart was hammering—

He just wasn't fast enough. He just wasn't good enough. He was out of hope before he was out of breath, out of breath before too long, and out of chances before he'd caught up.

There's no catching an owl in a forest.

And just like that, she was gone.


He screamed. He swore. He cried and he pleaded until his throat was raw.

Then he just stood there, in silence. Stunned and broken and alone.

[ @Tamlin @Glacia + anyone ]

  • SAFE: (Ascension magic) Immortality: Cannot be killed, as body regenerates magically from even the most disastrous/complete injuries. Can only be killed during a lunar eclipse.
  • So, this one is weird, and should be split? As, technically, it's... kind of two things, and these were the two original things and yada yada and no it should never have ended up condensed this way on Helovia but it did and we rolled with it xD
    • Can summon ice spikes from the ground
    • Can summon ice crystals in the veins of another
  • Can summon flaming birds which fly outward from him in a semi-circle
  • Soul and mind are blocked from psychic view

Enchanted items
  • SAFE: Moon Scythe. A 19hh tall crystal scythe with a core of dark vapors. Scythe blade can be summoned and dismissed with a thought.
  • SAFE: An indestructible, medium-sized leather bag.
  • Pink flower charm that blooms a flower every morning
  • Runeblade: A very cold dagger engraved with runes
  • Glowing Rock: A small, permanently glowing rock.

Rift-god / Kaos items
  • Glowing Green Claw from the Tiger God
  • Vial of Tiger God blood

Amulets :
5 (3x Spark 2x Moon)

Companion/s :
23 Feb 2014
Late Drench 1169

29 September 2012
Mid-Drench 1166

Mutations: N/A

Species change (if applicable) : N/A


Normal items:
Leather Shaffron
Leather Vambraces
Diamond snowflake charms on a string
angels, they fell first, but I'm still here
Currently championing:
She hadn't intended to return to the dreadful place that Kaos had so carelessly spat her into; her first introduction to this freshly revived, crooked world. But she needed a reason to escape. A handy excuse to explore unhindered by the small filly that now clung so helplessly to her side. She isn't used to it and the thoughts in the back of her mind make her doubt that she'd ever get used to it. She couldn't abandon her, no. That would make her no better than the father she'd hated for the last two years of her life. The father that Kaos had stripped from her with such ease. She isn't angry at Kaos for that (should she be?) but that doesn't mean she has to like what that corrupted mess did to the only home she'd known.

With concealed relief (and to some extent: pure, unadulterated joy), she leaves Alerie behind with Petyr and her mother in Solanis (easier done following her baby brother's birth). It was too easy for her to leave her foal behind. Too easy to slip away without remorse, without regret, without any mental anguish with which to speak. The stress melts away the further away she goes, anxiety sliding from her form as if finally being whisked away by the persistent raindrops. And for once she didn't mind the rain. The chains momentarily broken, Naerys shakes her waterlogged feathers - temporarily lightening the load and leaving her feathers merely damp. As she slips from the relative safety of the oversized ferns, her wings unfurl and after a running start the girl launches herself into the air.

Wind rushes over her, combing through her dark hair and caressing her perfumed feathers. Flared nostrils inhale deeply of the open air and she has to fight to keep her teal eyes open - out of delight rather than tiredness. She isn't ready to fly blind just yet, not here in this corrupt and unpredictable place (not without Petyr there as a second pair of eyes to keep her from crashing down to certain death). But oh how she longs to! This taste of freedom nearly consumes her, planting a small seed of guilt in her gut - guilt that she was enjoying this so much when only moments ago she'd been miserable with her filly by her side (her first and only child). Guilt cannot touch her right now, not here in this strangely dark sky, not while she soars on her large vivid wings for the first time in what felt like ages.

Yet as the ghastly, gnarled branches - with their odd, purple glow - surrounding the portal come into view, the girl descends from the sky. Vibrant and free, she lands with steady hooves on the mossy forest floor just outside the dark trees from whence she came. Though her hope had been to find some of the familiar faces they'd been missing, she hadn't been expecting a familiar voice to tear across the corrupt and angry terrain. "IRMA!!!" he screamed, and this time it was her that came running. Metallic green wings snap shut, folding quickly against her much smaller sides and like a bullet she bolts - dodging branches and leaping over the underbrush threatening to tangle her limbs and trip her. She charges until his mostly familiar white spotted form comes into view - he's thinner than she remembers but it's him, it has to be. How long had it been since she'd seen his face or heard his voice? Far too long and though she longs to throw herself at him, embracing him in her flower perfumed wings - she approaches with more care and restraint than she'd have thought possible. "Mauja." she breathes, reaching forward to touch her soft nose to the base of his neck. Although there is a swirl of questions flooding her mind, no other words manage to slip past her lips. There is only silence and a longing to embrace the stallion she'd adopted into her family.

which is more dangerous, the dagger brandished by an enemy,
or the hidden one pressed to your back by someone you never even see?
image || coding

{Image: icon_naerys_by_nikkayla.gif}

permission for all except death and dismemberment
** please tag naerys in replies **
Currently championing:

Suddenly she was there. Allie. The blue, hoof-sized butterfly that he only saw in his special good moods. Well, butterfly was not really the right word; she looked more like a glittering, glossy, flying and fluttering flower. Tamlin had named her Allie because ever since the first time she materialised in front of him he had felt like she was his only ally. She represented the escape from his broken mind and he thought she helped him separate reality from dream. But she was so fleeting. Always fluttering away from him - leading him on a chase and then vanishing. This was when the headaches usually started and he thought that if he could only keep up with her he would be spared the pain.

Tamlin refused to see that Allie was as unreal as the other ghosts that he so often saw during his special moods. This was most likely because she had helped him get over one particularly scary spectre of the past; the great spotted stallion with the frosty horn. Allie had made Tamlin see that the image of his regal father was only just that - an image. He was no longer cowering before it when it appeared.

The black stallion trotted after his butterfly through the neon-fringed forest. He was looking shabbier than normal with his mane hanging in matted strands like black ropes and his angular, emaciated body covered in dust and hardened mud - although the dust and mud had started to dissolve from him crashing through rain soaked bushes. His horn, forelock and brow were caked in recently dried blood and gore and his white rump and tail were so dirty they almost looked as black (or dusty gray) as the rest of him. His eyes, so filled with fire when he was a young colt, were now sunken and glazed over as if he did not really see his surroundings. In short, the once beautiful prince had turned into a monster.

Tamlin was too high to recognize the voice echoing between the trees and when he suddenly dashed out of a bush near Mauja he did not even break stride. He did not register it, but Mauja looked much like Tamlin himself with sunken sides and a gaunt face. The pristine white color of his father’s coat caught the deadbeat son’s attention, but he did not turn his head. He showed no surprise at seeing him there, not even the slightest twitch of a muscle in his face. He kept going, only throwing a few words at the great stallion: “Good morning daddy! Looking good today, not as blurry on the edges as usual.”

Tamlin kept going as an another (he did not even look too see who it might be) arrived at Mauja’s side. In front of him Allie picked up speed, leaving a glittering blue and silver trail behind. The shaggy stallion leapt after her, pushing his numb body into a headlong gallop to not lose sight of his invisible friend. Behind the junkie unknowingly left his father. Mauja was there - in the flesh! And Tamlin thought him only a ghost.


ooc; It was not awful! ;P
I however am sorry to ruin this beautifully emotional thread with this goofball ^^' Looking forward to a real reunion thread soon <3
he reaps in blood

- Every kind of violence may be used against Tamlin at all times -
Rift Presence
Currently championing:
A feast.

The glowing lights and sharp shadows that have lingered in Portal are rewarded for the patience (or their gluttony?). Those that have stayed instead of venturing further into the Rift to follow these delectable morsels of magic have found themselves in the presence of power.

They did not care that his life shattered around him. They did not care that part of his soul fluttered away, through the trees. No, these silent, frozen, screaming mouths of shadow streaked after this magic-laden form. Long, forked tongues of light licked even the dripping rain from the spotted coat, in case that, too, had any semblance of power.
the Rift


Immortality: Cannot be killed, as body regenerates magically from even the most disastrous/complete injuries. Can only be killed during a lunar eclipse.
Offensive: Can summon ice spikes from the ground.
Offensive: Can summon ice crystals in veins of others.
Defensive: Soul and mind are blocked from psychic view
The Rift consumes one magic that you had carried with you into the land, even if these new forces wouldn't quite let it linger within your reach.

Offensive: Moon Scythe. A 19hh tall crystal scythe with a core of dark vapors. Scythe blade can be summoned and dismissed with a thought.
Vanity: An indestructible, medium-sized leather bag.
Offensive: Runeblade. A very cold dagger engraved with runes.
The flower and rock are robbed of their powers.

Rift-god/Kaos Items:
Glowing Green Claw from the Tiger God
Vial of Tiger God blood
Your items have been noticed by the Rift. Watch your step, frozen one.

These shadows scream in delight, consuming with delight the mass of godsblood you bear into the Rift. They are too absorbed in their meal to leave anything behind.

Diego : Eurasian Eagle-Owl
23 Feb 2014
Late Drench 1169

Irma : Snowy Owl
29 September 2012
Mid-Drench 1166
» Presence of the Rift «

Currently championing: Vourib
like breaking diamonds with your hands
His heart, was empty.

His mind a storm so wild it became perfectly still—a noiseless sound, a contradiction, spanning the distance between the walls of his skull. A black reflection of a black sky, placid, so utterly still, but not frozen.

How long he stood like that, he didn't know.

It seemed wrong of his heart to keep beating, but it did, a steady, rhythmic vibration threatening to shatter whatever fragile spell kept him from crumbling. The lake's surface began to quiver. The sound that was not a sound became a low, distant roar.

As if refusing to acknowledge what had transpired would undo it; as if staring through the hazy forest where she had disappeared could bring her back. It's a dream, was his first coherent thought, as his lost son ambled by and looked like death itself. It's just a bad dream he told himself as Naerys skidded to a halt next to him. It's just a nightmare he lied to himself as she touched his rigid neck.

It did nothing to soothe him. It did nothing to break him. He remained motionless, transfixed, a statue fighting the inevitable.

Fighting a truth so deep and so dark and so terrifying he was not sure it would fit in his skull; a reality so hopeless he did not know if he wanted to exist in it. Better, then, to be a ghost, carved from ice, a thing with no mind, no memory, no heart, no future.


But his treacherous breath kept on slipping in and out of wide, tense nostrils. His damned heart kept on beating, carting warmth through his veins and thawing him from his shock. His skin itched where incorporeal tongues licked his hide, stealing things from him.

It all paled in comparison to what had left him in the rain-soaked forest, and what he had left did nothing to soothe it.

It's a dream, his mind began again. It's just a bad dream. He began to shake. It's just a nightmare.

The rain, Naerys, Diego—it felt too real.

It's not a dream. His too-tense muscles began to spasm, unable to keep their hold on the tension; his jaw worked grotesquely. It's not just a bad dream. It's not just a fucking nightmare

His eyes rolled back and he staggered, crashing madly for a few steps as he flailed and fought to keep from falling on the owl he had left, and when his shaking limbs finally stilled he was shored up against a tree, trembling and crying.

It was real.

Irma was gone.

[ @Naerys ]
angels, they fell first, but I'm still here