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Home » Search » Roster » Whitepages » Records » FAQ » Guidebook
not with a bang but a whimper
Open Riptide Isles 
Noitcerru
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#1
NOITCERRU
Noitcerru had been following them for some time now.

The lights. He could see nothing but the lights. Coursing over the coast he had seen them from above, bright and luminous and tiny pinpricks against the dark toss and turn of the waves. He had picked them out at once, their radiance limning the seafoam and revealing the dim forms of things under the surface, nameless monsters and denizens of the deep like beings in another world altogether. Which was easier to reach - the old world of Helovia, that world that Noitcerru knew of as foreign and strange and full of light and sun, or the world beneath the waves? The birdman did not know much about the sea, about the tides or the pull of the moon - if the Rift even had a moon. He knew only the sky, only the air currents and how the sunset looked from high up. The creatures of the sea were even more mysterious to him, and if he had been more wary, if he had been less enamoured with something glittering just below him, something just out of reach...if only -

If only, because perhaps then he would have seen the danger - the bird eating whale - before it was too late.

But his head only bobbed with the ducks and weaves of the lights. They were all so captivating, catching his gaze and holding him hostage there. He could not help but dive in a steep descent towards the light. What was it? What were they, like sharp darts of white in the middle of the dark? There was no sense of the rift presence on them, nothing but a dulling white light that lowered his awareness, drew him in until the faint chirrups of interest and intrigue at the lights faded to clicks of confusion. Closer, closer, something urged at him. If he got closer he would see what the light was. But instead he followed at the same pace.

Because he wasn't alone. The birds were here too - the birds that he considered friends to him more than most of the horses he met. There was no part of him that was of bird ancestry; nothing avian ran in his veins. But he'd copied them and their movements so much as a foal in a bid to find anything like himself that he might as well have been. They were more like him than the horses he saw beneath his hooves, weren't they? And the birds were all around him now, their calls meshing with his and watching the light beneath them in the exact way as him. That gave him comfort. The flock was almost adopting him for one of their own; but for his gangly legs and the weights that lay on the end of them, and the lack of a beak, he could have easily joined them in their plumed parade. As it was his bulk stood out against the tide of svelte feathered bodies, but their calls passed his lips as well as they did their own kind, his wing beats in time with their own.

After all, so many birds couldn't be wrong, could they?

"Talk."

run boy run
this world is not made for you
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