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Home » Search » Roster » Whitepages » Records » FAQ » Guidebook
divine absolution
Trial Green Labyrinth 
Explorer Kiada
Currently championing: Vjanta
#1

KIADA
troy falls a thousand times
in every dream i dream

She had travelled back to a place familiar to her. A place that had so much history for the girl in her youth in Helovia. The place she had found her companion, the bearded vulture that studied the sky and their trails as if their lives depended on it – to try and save them from danger when danger literally surrounded every corner. But whatever they were doing, they were doing it right. They were alive and had been since their arrival, with minimal injuries that had healed over time. The only thing remaining was the constant drowning sensation Kiada’s throat gave her. It had been months since she got it, and while it had been incredibly difficult to live with at first, she had gotten used to it – realizing that she was still able to breathe even if it didn’t feel like she could.

It didn’t keep her from coughing here and there, though. And so she began her trial, to try and find a way to fix this mess. She felt the black tar as it clung to her soul and suggested things for her to do to try and remedy her problem. The tar remained, even if the instructions did not. She needed to challenge the Magnus Metus in the Green Labyrinth, and so here she was – stepping onto familiar yet unfamiliar land to tackle a monster she had never even seen before. Apprehensive was a great word to describe the daughter of a war general and a thief. But she knew she’d have to do it if she ever wanted to rid herself of the terrible feeling of constant drowning.

She paused half way through the maze, uncertain if she was heading in the correct direction to find this beast. But the further she went, the darker and mistier the long green stalks of bamboo surrounding her became. Kiada sighed to herself, glancing up at Khairi to trailed from one stalk of bamboo to another. “What have I gotten myself into? She thought to herself, swishing her charcoal tail against her spotted rump before reaching down and pressing gently onto the rose gold plate of armor on her shoulder. It suddenly expanded, covering the top half of her body in a thick metal shield, except for her spine which was covered by another piece of armor in the shape of spines that she dared not to activate for fear of harming herself in the process. Then, with the help of Khairi, she slid her rose gold face mask on, feathers made of blades trailed from the top of her head partially down her neck before flattening away into plates, and then when she activated it, the bladed feathers began to glimmer with a teal-blue fire much like Kisamoa’s own colors.

When she felt ready, she inhaled and offered a small smile to Khairi and lifted one foot to go forward into the darkness – but she couldn’t. She felt ready, but something didn’t feel right in the air. And so she waited, on guard in the hope that it wasn’t something dangerous.

"Talk."

like ashes, like ashes,
like a star burning out —



img | bg


Only for @Erebos please <3 Getting both parts of our trials done at once :3
Kiada has to challenge the Magnus Metus which looks like this for reference!

TROY FALLS A THOUSAND TIMES,
IN EVERY DREAM I DREAM.
(LIKE ASHES, LIKE ASHES,
LIKE A STAR BURNING OUT.)
Erebos
Currently championing:
#2
Take just what I came for

The once-General didn’t expect to find another portal to the past right in front of him – but he should’ve known better, should’ve presumed everything was a piece, a puzzle, a map of innermost tortures and bestial burdens. There was nowhere within this world that held serenity, charm, or easygoing grace; it melded and molded, frayed and folded, into a patchwork scheme of menace and vices, urged to play the parts and roles of soulless figures, of hours spent in anguish, revisited for the sole purpose of mayhem and acrimony. So when he was told, when he was urged, when a whisper came into his ear, to stumble back into the ruins and grove of a kingdom that had once chewed him up, spit him out, made him stumble, made him crawl, fall, and become nothing, the apprehension stirred. Orsino’s silence was just another part of the ongoing tomb, of the faltering into more catacombs – because here he was reminded of how easily he could crumble, how far he’d been pushed, how days of youth had seemed so meaningless, so silly, so fraught with faults and errors, and how they’d never really gone away. One look into the den of greenery, of lost hours and maligned beasts, of havoc and upheaval, of thunder, of ominous masks staring back at him, was enough to make his lungs seize, make his breath hitch, make his proud, regal, defiant head lower and stare at the ground. Answer the vengeful spirits of the Green Labyrinth he’d been tasked; but he half-wondered if it would be his ghost staring back at him, wondering why he’d still accomplished so little in his motives, in his aspirations, in his cold, chilling ambitions.

Erebos lifted his crow the moment he stepped within, for as foolish as he’d become (always been), he comprehended the way this earth worked, the machinations, the foils, the clawing, gnashing grasp it played on horrors and misgivings. He forged the thoughts of another time out of his membrane, out of his skull, away into the murk and the mire, and spun it back into the Stygian qualities – pretended he was more than he was. The pretenses were dark and intrepid, a gallant little ghoul awakening the heathenous rapture of an empire that craved shadows and betrayed light, and he soldiered on, lowering one hoof and lifting another, proclaiming bravery and might in the hushed, building, glowering silence.

Then a fire flickered at the corner of his gaze, and he twisted towards it, craving its familiarity, the rush of infernos, the spread of embers, coals, and meticulous precision; knew it art because its maker was an ally, a friend, a light in the bewitching haze. He could be like her blades and armor, a sword and shield, a plunging dagger, a rapacious rapier. “Kiada!” He shouted from beyond the shadows, shifting closer and closer to her, hastening a rapid, mischievous grin across his lips, along his mouth, trying to forget the way she’d plunged headlong into the lake, more apt to rekindle the oaths they’d shared, the anarchical sway of their seditious forms. “What brings you here?”



image credits

@Kiada
Explorer Kiada
Currently championing: Vjanta
#3

KIADA
troy falls a thousand times
in every dream i dream

She remained in a state of what felt like limbo for some time – unable to put one foot in front of the other. Would she die, challenging this creature? Would anybody notice that she was gone if she stumbled into these dark pits of hell in the heart of the Labyrinth? Would anyone care? She felt a frown form on her lips as Khairi looked onto her with mournful eyes. He could listen to her thoughts, but had no way of communicating back as he had before. All he could do was croon his attempt at comforting his bonded.

He looked upon her, now, once a fiery youthful girl, lanky and disproportionate to the mix of her mother and father’s genes, now fleshed out as a young adult. Strong and powerful with a lean face with sharp features and powerful legs that could carry her miles upon miles and strike with brutal force. Her mane was longer, now, reaching her chest as well as her charcoal tail as it swished nervously against her spotted hide was thick, full, and long as well. She looked well despite what the Rift threw at her. She had finally reached her full height as well, towering over her mother if she were to see the mare again.

Yet Kiada began to dwell on that slightly now as well – was her mother even alive to see her full grown and transformed into a woman now? She didn’t know, but it did cause more hesitation, until a familiar voice broke her sorrows. “Kiada!” She turned to face the voice, a dark knight hidden withint he shadows, moving closer to her as her flames illuminated his approach from the impending darkness. Her icy gaze softened as it reached that roguish, mischievous smile and felt it contagious as a smile crashed across her lips as well. “What brings you here?” She looked upon him for a moment, thankful to have a friend here, before turning around completely to see him. “I have a trial. I’m supposed to challenge the Magnus Metus, whatever it is.” She admitted to him, stepping closer and aiming to reach her pink muzzle out to greet him if he allowed it. “More importantly, what are you doing here?” She offered a soft laugh, tilting her head to see what he might say.

Needless to say, the woman was pleased to have a friend here, someone she knew and trusted and cared for. Someone who had been there since she was a small, young child, intent on etching her mark into the world of Helovia, only for all of them to be cast away to a dreary place where she was forced to do it whether she chose to or not. It was a hard life, in her short years, but there was something deeper within her that hoped it would pay off in the long run, that she'd be able to stand and remain a beacon for those that didn't think they could survive such injustice.

She had lived through a lot, through it all. She had managed to survive the river of the dead after all, and merely get away with a cough. She was resilient just as Erebos was from everything life had thrown his way too. She felt comfort with him around, knowing that they would always attempt to do what was right, even if it took different ways to get there. They would be the ones standing among the flames, she simply knew it, and nobody would be able to tell her any different.


"Talk."

like ashes, like ashes,
like a star burning out —



img | bg


@Erebos <3

TROY FALLS A THOUSAND TIMES,
IN EVERY DREAM I DREAM.
(LIKE ASHES, LIKE ASHES,
LIKE A STAR BURNING OUT.)
Erebos
Currently championing:
#4
Take just what I came for

He listened to her, as he always did since she was a child and he was a fool (still the earth hastened to say, indulge, and mock), eyes pinpointed directly on her features, on the smile blooming despite every single action thrown against her. Erebos had to compliment her on her strength, on her persistence, because he wasn’t sure if he’d been able to take what the false God had intoned and set forth – his anger would’ve bristled, would’ve seethed, would’ve simmered until he burst. He would’ve been an inferno, a blaze, taking anything and everything down with him, mired in his hatred, in his animosity, in his entangled web of deceit, torment, and upheaval – he’d breathe it until the day his lungs collapsed and his heart choked; merciless and bitter, vengeful and blistering. The youth was one more fire Kisamoa had yet to snuff out – sometimes coal, sometimes embers, sometimes requiring the stoking, the air, the finery, of others to coax him to full flame – but then he’d be the weapon, the blade, the rapier they so desperately needed. The notion that she was here for a trial (the whole damn place was a trial), only ensued a lengthening of his grin – rapacious and glinting, intrigued both of them would be settling into predators’ dens and feasting on the remains as he dipped his muzzle to align against hers; seditious, rebellion fondness. “The same as you, though I have to answer vengeful spirits.” So they’d be pariahs in the mist again, constantly devout to the unraveling of more and more demons – his brow arched, smile grew lopsided, appearing as if the world wouldn’t swallow them whole the moment they stepped any further into its charade. He knew naught of a Magnus Metus, though if he were to hazard a guess based on their current lot in life, it was some ridiculous monster, some behemoth of a fiend, some clicking, clacking maelstrom born from Hell and nightmares. But the warrior was still a knight, twisted though his garb and armor might have been, and proffered his services only moments thereafter. “Let me know if I can be of assistance.” He had no doubts she’d emerge victorious, Kiada endured and forged on ahead while the rest of them stared and stood; so he allowed his gaze to cast back into the shadows, where the realm threatened, bristled, eager and ready to bear arms.

“Shall we?” His tilted head was an invitation, his mischievous grin a light in the labyrinth; regally defined despite his lack of noble bones and honorable refinement. It was all gone now, distorted and coiled, contorted back into the framework of malevolence and disaster – and he’d stand on the line again between morality and iniquity, fervent to blast away reflections of his innermost soul. His movements were light, silent and savage, sinister and hushed, embarking into the folds of their quests with might and determination stolen across his brow – the unsung hiss of Orsino’s following steps tracing the ominous void. What was one more damned nightmare, after suffering so many others?



image credits

@Kiada
Explorer Kiada
Currently championing: Vjanta
#5

KIADA
troy falls a thousand times
in every dream i dream

She watched her friend, perhaps her best friend now, waiting for him to mention that he was here for perhaps a more devious reason, to fight Kisamoa and work on demolishing his hold on the world. So the Harpy was surprised when his muzzle touched hers gently, velvet and scales she never remembered lingered for the moment while he spoke of a trial, answering vengeful spirits. She tilted her head to him slightly as a smile reached her lips and a small laugh escaped her lungs. “Whatever for?” She questioned, eyeing him and noticing the snake beard he happened to grow. Then, in a moment of surprise, the drowning feeling crashed over her once more and she spent the next few minutes trying to gain control of her cough.

She shook her head afterward, offering him an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry, it’s a side effect from the river.” She announced to him, hoping he remembered the River of the dead they had both found themselves at. Then, he offered his assistance and she nodded in agreement. “Perhaps they’re both down here?” She questioned, turning her head back to the dark channel – so similar to an alley that seemed to go down and down until the center of this world. But it had to stop, didn’t it? At some point, she imagined, it would end. And perhaps there is where they’d find the spirits and the magnus metus, but how long would it take to get there?

He grinned to her, asking if they should move to the task at hand, and she offered her own sly smile with an agreeing nod. “Yes.” She answered, stepping aside and lighting her headdress ablaze in the same blue-black fire that adorned Kisamoa’s body. She began the decent, noticing that the darkness continued to pour in until she could barely see Erebos’ shadow along the walls. Though, she imagined she shouldn’t have been surprised, he was the color of darkness, after all. It made her uneasy, however, not being able to see the task ahead, the creatures of the night that might be after their blood and lives. She knew there would be a fight. It was only a matter of time before they came across it.


"Talk."

like ashes, like ashes,
like a star burning out —



img | bg


@Erebos <3

TROY FALLS A THOUSAND TIMES,
IN EVERY DREAM I DREAM.
(LIKE ASHES, LIKE ASHES,
LIKE A STAR BURNING OUT.)
Rift Havoc
Currently championing:
#6
A GAME I LIKE TO PLAY
-Spirits-
Whispers grew and grew on one another until it sounded like a rhythmic hum, like a beehive after a while where the sounds continued to buzz and buzz until you couldn’t distinguish one from another. Were they talking about you? You and your partner, the two that continued to delve into the darkness of your home, where they thrived in the night among watching the world from above. Making comments about the rivers and the way the darkness continued to fade from their once lovely home of darkness and disasters.

You. Suddenly all the voices stopped being random sounds, instead the spirits worked together to make their voices project louder. It bounced from the walls, aimed at you, the dark knight that stood alongside a woman cloaked with fire. “You’ve come.” They laugh at you now, as if they were surprised you had come to answer their calls. Oh, if only the two of you knew what they were after. What a surprise it might be.

-Magnus Metus-
He was not like the surrounding, pervading spirits – adrift, roaming, omniscient and possessive. The fleshy cretin could only stay within his hold, wait, linger, listen, stalk the shadows for someone to chance by, for some lonely, wandering stranger to get far too curious, far too inquisitive. Then it’d be too late – and he’d be full again, bloated with the taste, with the relish, of another creature warming his innards.

Opportunities had become rarer and rarer, and without eyes, he hadn’t been able to spot anything else coming adrift. He used his tongue instead, unraveling and extending it out from the aperture of his cavern, gloating over the avaricious pull of others coming nearer; he wouldn’t have to do anything at all. They could stray directly towards his hole, follow the siren calls of the ghosts and their vengeful tactics, none the wiser that he was there, ready to swallow, consume, and devour them whole.

So he slunk towards the corners, where the shadows drifted over his form, and crouched, begging for his lost souls to linger within his reach.

---
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image || coding
Erebos
Currently championing:
#7
Take just what I came for

There was a craving, a stirring, a yearning for his might and prowess to be utilized for something chaotic, a maelstrom, a storm, a tempest brooding and brewing across his heart; better, bigger, braver than the ridiculous disturbance nestled beneath his chin. It was merely to reverse the asp enchantments – nothing to puncture, nothing to ruin, nothing to be gained except the removal of a nuisance. “I wish it was for something far greater or grander.” Then he shrugged, knowing full well it was partly out of vanity, but another portion hated, loathed, and was disturbed by the entire bramble of snakes coiled along his muzzle because it reminded him so eerily of his failures. It was one more memory in a series of moments where he’d been overpowered by shadows, by demons, by haunting, poignant beasts who’d known exactly where to hit, where to scald, where to harpoon – he’d been weak, he’d been foolish, he’d been stupid and vulnerable. It wouldn’t happen again. At her laugh though, for it was wonderful to actually hear amusement and exuberance in the hollows of mist and misfortune, he arched his brow and restored his zealous grin. “But I can’t stand this hissing beard.”

She fumbled thereafter, in a series of torrential, concerning coughs, and for a few moments he thought she might cease breathing altogether (and then where would he be – delivered right back into failure because he couldn’t save her for the fifteenth time in this sadistic world?). But the bold mare, because that’s how she’d always been and he could count on her for trying at the very least, resumed, explained, as if nothing had happened at all. His gaze sharpened, narrowed, but he gave away naught else – didn’t ask or pry where he truly wanted to. The inquiries still reeled, still bit away at pieces of him, still roamed across his meticulous skull, his polished machinations: Are you sure you should be out here? What happened to you? There was the constant, aching plunge resounding within his confines too, a coiled mass of serpent regrets. I’m sorry I couldn’t save you.

I can’t save anyone.

On her last voiced thought, he paused, and stared across the vast mist, the swirling labyrinth, the confines always so littered with the unknown. Couldn’t they have one moment that wasn’t seething with disaster? Couldn’t there be one time in their constant fight for survival where they could breathe? The notion was maddening, caused him to tighten his jaw, for the smile to disappear, collapse into the folds of his contempt. “Could we be so lucky?” Bitterness, rancor, clawed its way through his mouth, along his tongue, and he didn’t care any longer, for she’d understand, she’d know why this damned earth had claimed his hostility, his acrimony, his avaricious, savage loathing –

Then the whispers started. You, they resounded and reverberated, a hollow, beckoning sound, tarnished by ominous, siren exploits. You’ve come. Erebos almost laughed, following after their streamlined allure, merely walking with his head held high and his ravenous nature igniting as far as the eye could see – keeping pace so he didn’t leave Kiada behind, so each one of their flames could follow after the another, an inferno, a blaze, a kindled mass of ambition and pride. “Do you hear that?” He whispered, turned his head back to stare directly at her, piercing gaze composed with an uncanny, eerie wickedness, ready to surge, ready to fight, ready to lance and lacerate. Then he regained his focus on the foggy pathway, on the swirls of treachery, wandering closer and closer to disaster and ruin. So I have, he answered them back amongst the irreverence carved amidst his frame, eager for the slaughter: he enjoyed vengeance too.




image credits

@Kiada
Explorer Kiada
Currently championing: Vjanta
#8

KIADA
troy falls a thousand times
in every dream i dream

Her friend began to admit that the quest he was on was something that wasn’t great and she paused briefly, refraining from tilting her head to him in curiosity. Surely if it was something to be trialed for, it must have been something worth changing. She watched with her bright eyes as he shrugged. That’s when she offered him a small laugh again. “Any slight inconvenience is worth fixing, in my eyes at least.” And she offered him another one of their shared roguish grins, allowing him the ability to confide in her of his fears and worries should he so wish. Though she wasn’t one to press others into telling her their secrets – she just figured that since Erebos had known her practically from birth that it would be some sort of silent agreement, a pact, that he wouldn’t think that she’d judge him based off his wishes.

But the Rift had changed her just as it had changed him – or perhaps it was the death of his father, the king of the Aurora Basin, cloaked in the same black as his son with a dark rumbling voice and silent stature that continued to haunt him. A dark shadow crossed over her eyes in uncertainty if that was the issue of his confidence right when he raised a brow and returned the grin to her, taking the harpy slightly aback. “But I can’t stand this hissing beard.” And that’s when she realized it was the snakes he was trialing for. To change them back into the soft silk-like furs he bore previously. Another small laugh threatened to leave her chest but she held it back. “Ah. I don’t blame you in the slightest.” Kiada offered to him as honestly as she could.

Then, as she mentioned the possibility of both their trial focuses being located in the same area, his smile vanished and instead it was replaced with the cool, level-headed, and stern voice she hardly remembered Erebos having. “Could we be so lucky?” He questioned. And she began to wonder, too, if it were possible that luck was a thing that could happen in the Rift – where the darkest corners invaded your life leaving you with the feeling of being absorbed by it. That sticky black tar that tore at the edges of your soul from living day to day in darkness and hostility and sadness. It weighed heavily, and it broke you down if you so much as gave it a chance. In spite of her thoughts, she simply nodded to him, her smile fading as well as she summoned her flames in a slow roll against her spine. “Here’s hoping.” She whispered to him before she began to hear sounds as well.

When Erebos asked her if she heard the voices, she saw the glint of his fur in her small flames as he turned to look at her – his icy eyes so similar to her own. Simply, she nodded, her muscles taut and ready, nearly itching for a fight should the bearers of the voices come down on them. When Erebos turned forward once again, she stepped up alongside him, offering him warmth in the weapon she bore from her spine as well as light in an attempt to guide through the darkness. “Let’s make them pay.” She whispered to him, angling her dark head toward his shoulder. Her white rimmed ears perked to him as she watched him, hoping for some sort of acknowledgement. Were these the spirits his trial asked of him? And if so, was it spirits that could only harm with words or did they bear resemblance to the fallen Helovian family they had left behind? Deep down, Kiada truly didn’t want to know if it were the latter.


"Talk."

like ashes, like ashes,
like a star burning out —



img | bg


@Erebos <3

TROY FALLS A THOUSAND TIMES,
IN EVERY DREAM I DREAM.
(LIKE ASHES, LIKE ASHES,
LIKE A STAR BURNING OUT.)
Rift Havoc
Currently championing:
#9
A GAME I LIKE TO PLAY
-Spirits-
Do you hear that?” It erupted a buzzing laughter from the sounds that wafted over the land. It ebbed and flowed around the duo with no tangible source other than an uncomfortable feeling of dread that seemed to accompany the whispers. They moved and moved, as if luring to the Metus, bright yet haunting laughter in their wake. “Welcome to us, to our home.” They said, their many small voices merging to become one, dark and edged as sharp as a blade.

And you brought a friend.” They answered, turning their nonexistent gaze toward the fire that flickered the back of the spotted and armored mare. The buzzing turned quieter as if they spoke amongst themselves, pleased at the idea of two meals for themselves and the Metus rather than one. They continued to move, like an object aiming to capture the two in the web the Metus wove, for there was an unspoken rule between the two of them. If the spirits lured, the Metus would always leave something for them. Though the Metus often didn’t leave much.

-Magnus Metus-
They were getting closer and closer, slinking amidst the doldrums, coaxed and enticed by possibilities. Temptation was a savage, sinister weapon, forged amidst those moral and omniscient - he'd wielded it once or twice. He stuck his tongue out again, smelled them in the same pattern, and shuddered, shivered, with anticipation. Would they slink right into his den, foolish and stupid, drunk on the haze of the labyrinth? Would they know he was there, waiting in the wings, and only feel his might, his wrath, his condemnation at the very last moment? Would they scream? Would they shriek? He was too hidden, too silent, he was too many things they could never be.

Keep coming, he craved, a feral beast in the darkest of nights. Perhaps those vengeful stanzas rampaging through the fog and mist would be one more lure, one more beacon, to guide them his way. The Metus was ready for the slaughter. There'd be nothing they could do to stop his ravenous, rapacious appetite. They were his.

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