The Portal
Anyone
This place fucking sucked. All around there is nothing but chaos and hate and vile things awaiting in the dark to come out and bite you. He didn't choose to be born into this wasteland; yet here the Gods had placed him, to wither away. They had deserved to die; they were all fucking idiots. Although he hadn't watched the drama unfold firsthand, word spread quick around these parts. If one person knew, then everyone knew. It was like the grapevine on steroids.
Supposedly they had tried to free everyone from the grasp of the Rift, by taking over another world far away.
Whomever thought that plan would succeed obviously was missing a few straws of hay in the haystack. With a snort the stud worked his way through the trees, eyes of rusty orange keen on their surroundings. Nothing was sacred in this wretched land, he would never truly be safe. He had already suffered much of the season's elements; there had been times where the sun had been too much and he had been graced with the scars of Scald.
Along his bodice white scars littered the ebony frame, their nightly glow contrasting against the ripple of his orange and black mane. They itched often, but over the years no matter how hard he would try to scratch and bite the scar; it remained an ethereal reminder of his idiocy. Even now as the sun began to kiss the horizon it was hot; the evening cool having not yet washed over the land. Thus his hide was slicked with sweat, heaving flanks twitching from the occasional insect that might still be about.
Despite this time of year being one of the deadliest; Ricochet never truly minded Scorch's harsh, dry heat, because no matter the occasion it was simply there. There were no exceptions to its blight, not passing go and collecting 200 dollars. It simply was, and had no intention of changing or anything. The unicorn found a strange comfort in its consistency.
Perhaps this was because there was nothing predictable in the Rift, and in all his years wasting away in this hell, he knew that for sure the seasons would often remain the same. It wasn't long before Ricochet had made his way to the Portal; its dark hues like a dark stormy night. As he watched the light pulsate eerily, he couldn't help but ponder if someone would come through. Would the Rift devour yet another victim? Or would it lay dormant for another day?
Supposedly they had tried to free everyone from the grasp of the Rift, by taking over another world far away.
Whomever thought that plan would succeed obviously was missing a few straws of hay in the haystack. With a snort the stud worked his way through the trees, eyes of rusty orange keen on their surroundings. Nothing was sacred in this wretched land, he would never truly be safe. He had already suffered much of the season's elements; there had been times where the sun had been too much and he had been graced with the scars of Scald.
Along his bodice white scars littered the ebony frame, their nightly glow contrasting against the ripple of his orange and black mane. They itched often, but over the years no matter how hard he would try to scratch and bite the scar; it remained an ethereal reminder of his idiocy. Even now as the sun began to kiss the horizon it was hot; the evening cool having not yet washed over the land. Thus his hide was slicked with sweat, heaving flanks twitching from the occasional insect that might still be about.
Despite this time of year being one of the deadliest; Ricochet never truly minded Scorch's harsh, dry heat, because no matter the occasion it was simply there. There were no exceptions to its blight, not passing go and collecting 200 dollars. It simply was, and had no intention of changing or anything. The unicorn found a strange comfort in its consistency.
Perhaps this was because there was nothing predictable in the Rift, and in all his years wasting away in this hell, he knew that for sure the seasons would often remain the same. It wasn't long before Ricochet had made his way to the Portal; its dark hues like a dark stormy night. As he watched the light pulsate eerily, he couldn't help but ponder if someone would come through. Would the Rift devour yet another victim? Or would it lay dormant for another day?
Joining Notes
NATIVE RIFTIAN
Vanity Magic: Orange highlights in mane and tail change different colors to mimic molten magma. Thin angled bands wrap around his ankles and also change colors.
True Magic: With a stomp of his hoof a line of magma will burst from the ground and burn anyone in its path. (Restrictions up to you)
