Heaven if you sent us down
So we could build a playground you'd be so proud of what we've made
Iskra found himself frequenting Solanis more and more. Although his love would always be deserts and shorelines, he found most aspects of Solanis to be intriguing (rather than ferocious and vicious like much of the Rift). Besides, sometimes the deserts and the shores reminded him too much of home, and that wasn't a wound he wanted to play with today. Not after facing his mother under Kaos' guise of giving.
Sqiushy followed dutifully after him, the golem's gait its usual slow tottering accompanied by the occasional random vulgarity. Up ahead Castiel had already swam (flown?), just as delighted by this place as Iskra. He liked to weave between the tree branches, and gurgled contentedly as he did so.
Iskra smiled, though it was faint. His heart was still heavy, and he was beginning to lose hope that anything could be normal around here. It was hard enough to hold on to his remaining family and friends, and every day they were threatened with some new monstrosity or terrible event. It was becoming harder and harder to ignore the calling of his bloodline; peace was beginning to seem less and less like an option in a world that demanded only the strongest could survive.
he'd trade his guns for love I s k r A but he's caught in the crossfire
@Melita
For Iskra's trial he has to kill something and coerce someone else to kill something. I think the Harpax would be good? I can play it on the Rift Havoc account, and I think I'll have it attack Iskra first so that when he asks for Melita's help, he inadvertendly coerces her into killing it with him? xDDD
Harpax - These predators are the size of mountain lions, but that is where the resemblance between them and any known species of feline ends. Their bodies are hairless and muscular, built for hunting in the forest of Solanis. Large feathers sprout from their shoulders and can be flared to help leap from tree to tree. Their head is dominated by a hard, black exoskeleton that protects their brain from damage and shields their eyes while hunting. Like the forest they are native from, these predators are splattered with vibrant colours. Horses are their favoured prey and it is strongly encouraged that you keep an eye out while wandering the deceptively peaceful world of Solanis.
Magic or force permitted any time, aside from death.
Kisamoa’s recent plots had all but demonstrated she was naught but an exuberant loudmouth. She could rant and rave about the terrors, about the horrors, about the torment they experienced every day, but when it came to those moments, those shards, those god damn terrifying incidents, she was just as much a shivering lamb as the rest of the world.
The burn mark across her skin only proved it further.
So she spent her time with rocks and cliffs, determined to do something in this empire of chaos and mayhem; because she was not going to be a shuddering, fearful sheep again, not when her sister required protection, not when her friends needed her the most. In those hours, she’d climb to a rock large enough to support her weight, unfurl her wings, and descend; wait for those moments when her feathers granted her the tiniest of lifts, when she could feel the wind curl through them, when she could do more than just fall. She’d clatter to the next highest, then the next, then the next, launch herself to feel brave, to feel enlightened, to be someone who could rescue instead of fall apart. Her plumage wouldn’t be worthless. She wouldn’t be inept. When she came crashing to the ground, when her knees buckled, when her limbs became tattered and bruised from poor landings, the girl bit her lip, blinked away her tears, and carried on. There was naught else she could do – persistent, enduring, persevering because it was the only thing she knew how to accomplish in a world that insisted on condemnation and ruin.
Eventually, she’d managed to soar for more than a few seconds, and she laughed, giggled for the first time in days, ignoring the erupting pain covering her childish form, looking to Sila watching her from the leaves. “One day you’ll be able to do this too, Sila,” the honeybee girl cried in between her fits of laughter. “We’ll be unstoppable,” she winked, and the youthful bird squawked, unfurling her baby wings, and in those delicate moments a piece of her sadness glided off into the abyss.
They wandered again, back into the throngs of mayhem and eldritch chicanery, amidst thrones of ferns, willows, and lush greenery. She should’ve expected something hiding in the midst, a form of danger (because this world delighted in the torturous unknown), but the only thing ghosting through the horizon, glimpsing along her mind, was the familiar touch of blue and gold.
The girl was stunned into silence. Ordinarily she’d bounce, exuberant and wild, another piece of the savagery, straight towards him, regale him in another silly story or ask what he’d seen – but the latest events curled and coiled a harsh noose in her stomach, and she had to swallow down the bile glimpsing over her throat. What was she supposed to say? Should she pretend that nothing was wrong? That his mother hadn’t come alive again, wounded her, and attempted to stab him in the back? Were they simply meant to go on and on like the world wasn’t slowly annihilating them? Her eyes watched his companion float along, traced over the faint edges of his smile, and yearned to do something to make it real, make it whole once more.
So she burst into the horizon, impulsive and unleashed, the same bright, brilliant smile etched along her lips. Nothing’s wrong, she almost screeched. They can’t change us, she nearly sang. But those words would’ve been tainted as soon as she spoke – they were already altered past the point of return. Instead, she bounded and leaped towards him, Sila behind her, pretending for the world wasn’t splitting them apart. “Iskra! Look what I can do!” In a flash, she’d lifted herself the barest of inches, beautiful sienna wings flanked by her father’s unknown lines and heritage, drifting and gliding until she came to a stop at his side; struggling to be proud, trying to be stalwart, brave, and mighty, when the whole earth deigned to devour any goodness left. Her eyes drifted to his and she longed to ask if he was okay, but the answer was already there, right in front of them, without any prompting necessary.
Solanis
