She wasn’t really afraid, but the little blue orphan with the blue, shag-pile coat didn’t feel very comfortable amid the winding, swollen sea of sweat and voices (of flesh and humidity). She had a natural aversion to exactly the sort of event that she’d unsuspectingly become caught up in, and found a quieter position with the stragglers - the more pronounced being a striking black and blue pegasus like her mother, and the same pale-coloured mare which had witnessed the fall of the Living tree (the leaf of whom still glowed beyond her knowledge, behind her ear).
As they poured into the north trailing like loose ends behind the Matron and Kisamoa (she knew him as the demon who had summoned the dead by the river), a great fissure opened beneath the rocky spire of a mountain. Eira had never seen The Pinnacle, had never ventured further than the big tree in the West or the beach to the south. The Eastern Flats and the living shadows which cloaked the north were unknown territories, no doubt teeming with creatures more ravenous and deadly than those she had met - perhaps Indra was lost or searching, somewhere therein.
Illuminated by the hot-white light emanating from the crevice in the monolith, the Loricatrunc turned to address her followers. The sickly filly paused by the thigh of the familiar white mare (there were others she knew, certainly, but they were concealed within the throng), and listened as the low, pulsing rhythm of music began to grow around them and her nostrils quivered as the pungent hue of so many packed together dissipated as a gentle wind washed by.
As her quiet, thoughtful gaze began to wander between the faces and forms of those around her, her chipped hooves slid subconsciously nearer to the pale woman until her shoulder was pressed into the soothing warmth of her thigh. The black and teal feathers by her breast fluttered with excitement, lulled from rest by the proximity of their master and thrilled still further by the brightening atmosphere.
"I am a book of snow,
a spacious hand, an open meadow,
a circle that waits,
I belong to the earth and its winter."
She had failed to notice the waif-child at first, for her measly presence was hardly worthy of acknowledgement, but when it - she - nestled in against her thigh, Valkyrie’s eyes turned from the speaking Matron to find the source of the pressure. The frigid woman was unquestionably surprised, even startled and despite her instant urge to pull her pure flesh clear of the filthy orphan’s touch, there was a feeling inside her that overwhelmed the stomach-turning disgust, something maternal; warm and fuzzy.
So, against her better judgement, she leaned subtly back to support the growing weight of the small girl’s insecurity and when the voices again rose in chorus above the jovial music, the proud Shieldmaiden swerved her neck sharply to address her tiny companion.
“I didn’t catch your name last time,” her feminine voice presented with an unusual element of kindness (for on some, even distant level, they were still women - perhaps…). Without specifically removing their connection altogether, Valkyrie swindled on her neat, sure toes so that she could view the emaciated filly without the burning cramp. The music was soothing, inspiring, and though she didn’t realise it the sweet sound leaked a strange sweetness into the rigidness of her soured soul.
She continued, glancing briefly across the crowed now apparently dispersing into smaller groups or pairs, “Call me Valkyrie.” The rosy, velvety tip of her nose lifted in gesture to the glowing green leaf in her hair; it had a marvellous semblance to the foliage of the Living Tree which had perished before them both in the rainforests weeks before. The Daughter said nothing of it though and recoiled in quiet thought. There was a nasty smell about the child and she moved her focus to the putrid looking skin. A visible rash had eaten away at much of the body - even rising up the arms of her pitiful looking wings,
As much as this frail girl repulsed her, Valkyrie couldn’t help the rising want to rescue.
The smooth drawling caress of the pale mare’s question pulled Eira free from her wandering thoughts. It was easy for the dreamer to lose herself and the small grip she had on reality, when the avalanching memories began to tumble like lucid visions around her; one triggered by another, and then another, and another…
Eyes, solemn and unsettlingly old, turned to see Valkyrie gaze down at her and she realised then, that she had come to be leaning on her, the exquisite figure of a horse. The wings which had sparked such curiosity in the rainforest before, hung like heavy ears below each of the real, slim white and erect upon her poll. Stunning volumes of clean, pallid hair moved about her face and neck like free-flowing water; or a frame, around the chiselled, sophisticated features of her face.
Realising that she was staring, dark lashes dipped across her hollowed eyes coyly.
“I’m Eira…” her heart offered bravely, though no words quirked her sooty lips, nor sound emerged to infiltrate the cheery ambience. The starved foal (for she certainly still appeared to be one; stunted and gangly), hadn’t spoken a word since the river… since the realisation of her loss had, at that point, dawned. Instead, her earnest, trusting and candid gaze conveyed forth without trying, the immeasurable hurt and mental torment which she suffered through each second.
Eira smiled softly, nodding her too-large head.
As Valkyrie’s attention slipped away to examine her (the way they all seemed inclined to), the filly’s own interest turned to the crevice and the tall silhouette which was emerging from it’s glowing centre. Matted ears reached forward towards the spectacle, as did her wondering eyes, and curious soul; her body and very essence seemed altogether drawn by the materialising, antlered stranger, and as the goddess paused by the Matron before then all, the orphan held her breath.
"I am a book of snow,
a spacious hand, an open meadow,
a circle that waits,
I belong to the earth and its winter."
Though the music didn’t dim, and the height in general of the atmosphere didn’t shift, a sudden lull did fall across the crowd there before The Pinnacle and Valkyrie’s softened face turned towards the reason. An unusual deer-like creature (though she seemed by all accounts to be grander, godlier), had come to stand with a luminous smile and peaceable expression beside the large Loricatrunc. Surprised, the Shieldmaiden examined the figure: tall, graceful, adorned with beautiful orbs much like the one, velcro, which had unfortunately adopted her upon arrival. The eyes set upon her long, thin face were alight with the soft vigour of new fire and just as memorising.
She addressed the crowd with a voice so strikingly different to the thunderous bellow of the rotting monster. Size wise, it seemed across the way, that they were somewhat on par - but Hope was clearly feminine and he was -
In her presence there, immediately the watching pegasus felt at ease - felt the rigidness that lined her sinewy torso so naturally, ebb away beneath the quiver of relaxation. The sensation was as wonderful as it was unexpected.
Of course, no matter how elated she felt, a rude sneer still formed in her mind as she began to notice the many men she had met, scattered about ahead of her - how she despised them. There was no time to dwell, however, or allow that loathing to corrode her mood, for Hope’s voice lulled beneath a new roused chorus of thrumming music, and the body of flesh gathered together, once again began to pulse with movement, in celebration. Turning an eye towards the transfixed urchin by her side, Valkyrie sighed and wondered if perhaps this new felt obligation for the helpless thing, would see them venture further afield - to Halyven, and beyond.
Suddenly, the nonsense that had engulfed her arrival in this ridiculous land, was beginning to make more sense.
04-07-2018, 03:30 AM (This post was last modified: 04-07-2018, 03:30 AM by Eira.)
Eira...
Standing towards the back where the gathering was thinnest and the sodden desert sand began to fall away down the slope, Eira stood with big, blue eyes agape and small quirky smile pulling vigorously at the left corner of her mouth. Who was this stranger, standing before her halo of heavenly light, with eyes like warm sunlight and a smile forged of the same shine, as it dawned upon this ripening land; the sickly creature’s in contrast, was but a meteor of the night, just a flash of momentary light.
Although her heart sang along with the happy melody of the hour, there was an element of doubt lingering on in her mind, a warning whisper, cancer, for she was yet to find or feel any goodness in this world.
Valkyrie stood beside her as a pillar of strength - health and confidence, the very things she lacked - and there were two others who had crossed her path once or twice along the way. They were friends, she felt and hoped, in absence of the nurturing family who had been ripped from her side in the first few months of her life. Eira had weathered the cruel, cold hand of neglect well: her lungs filled with air as she gathered together her courage, and adrenaline spewed through the hot surging blood in her veins when moments later she stepped forward.
There was life in her, though perhaps she looked dead.
“Please,” her thoughts implored bravely as the black and blue stallion finished his words, and her troubled eyes lifted toward Hope. “Have you seen Indra?”
The deer was tall, lithe and lean, with benevolence wrought her immaculate posture and the waif drew another bent knee forward. A soft smiling glance was passed before the Matron, but there was something still more soothing about the first. Her brother lingered in the Rift, she had seen him and felt him - she was so sure. But the doubt in her mind was as ravenous as the rash wounding her skin… and she wondered now as she waited hopefully before the pair, what in this life was real, and what was not.
She wasn't driven to hide like she was from Kisamoa, wasn't filled now, with the same ferocious fear.
"I am a book of snow,
a spacious hand, an open meadow,
a circle that waits,
I belong to the earth and its winter."
- Pablo Neruda, Winter Garden
@Hope
Eira approaches with a question (she's mute).
He felt it first as a subtle shift in the air, something he could easily blame on the Pinnacle itself, or just the flux of the Rift. It wasn't until the smell of it, pure and celestial and sharp, hit him that he furrowed his brows, and paid it real mind. The threads of Hope he'd been following in his mind were.. stronger. Brighter. Vaguely uneasy, and not quite sure why, Kisamoa opened his eyes.
A silhouette stood in the glow, not unlike his own, but far more refined—lithe and elegant were he was crude and unshapely, well-formed antlers rising from a becoming head.
The unease deepened. Kisamoa's ears angled forward, his tail twisting behind him, teeth itching.
It stepped from the blue light, further and further, until it revealed itself to be a warmly rust-colored deer, but about as overgrown as Kis himself. Its eyes smoldered and blazed. All the Hopelights, including his own, swarmed around its head, mirrored by the sparks from its tines.
Kisamoa vibrated like an engine, caught between his desires to just fight it here and now and curiosity; who was this? What was it here for? Why had it awoken now? He'd never seen it before, and yet, it was familiar...
She spoke, her voice both light and deep at the same time, warm and comforting, but it only served to further his discomfort. Hope, her name was, a physical manifestation of what they had done the past few seasons, a crowning achievement that was not his.
He was the one who had brought her into the world, because he had found the lost hope floating around in the space between realities, and he had brought it back into the world. Her eyes fixed on him, promised help in fixing what was broken, and with effort he silenced the urge to shout at her that he was doing fine on his own! He didn't need her help!
He, who had not managed to fix anything for nearly a year.
Kisamoa's ears fell back, his nostrils slits, and his dark eyes fell accusingly on the Matron. Had she known this all along? Planned this all along? Had she used him to further her own cause, to bring this.. rival, this creature of purity and light, into the Rift?
He wanted to fight them both. The Rift's populace was his.
She remained watchful, listening as others danced and stood in awe of what was happening, murmuring along with one another at the great presence among them. She knew not to let it get to her head, but her smoking eyes still slid to Kisamoa – a hint of sadness and sorrow passed through that gaze as the tension radiated from the other creature. She let her eyes linger a few moments longer to note the vibrating rage that emulated from the dark king of the land before her arrival.
But then Hope’s eyes left him as he stared, glaring at the Matron while Hope surveyed the inhabitants below her. And quietly, as they continued to talk among themselves, she found her bones aching to speak to Kisamoa, to tell him that it wasn’t the Matron’s fault. For the poor creature had no idea what slumbered within the Pinnacle, only that something did, and it was Kisamoa with the first lonely hopelight that had brought this all together.
So she picked up her heavy copper hued legs and made her way through the crowd toward the mismatched creature and looked upon him, dipping her own antlered head in greeting specifically for him, before lowering her head slightly. ”Do not place the blame on the Matron. She did not know.” She offered Kisamoa quietly, hoping no prying ears would hear. ”She only knew that something slumbered here, and thought by chance the lights that you found would help wake me. She managed to guess correctly. And I am not here to steal anything from you – we have the same purpose, you and I. Two sides of the same coin, if you will.” She attempted to offer him a small grin before reaching out and pressing her velvet muzzle to his shoulder, radiating a gentle caress into his vibrating pelt before stepping back and surveying the crowd. Indeed in the time their orbs had traveled and danced about her head, they spoke of their creation, of their adventures, their attempts to wake her all because of Kisamoa. And she wanted to make sure the Rift inhabitants knew that.
”You all have done well, but it was not entirely you that had woken me. Were it not for him –“ She gestured with a tilt of her heavy head to Kisamoa beside her. ”All would be lost. So I personally thank you, Kisamoa, for being the first snowflake to start the snowball.” She beamed before turning back to the crowd, flashing them a dazzling smile. ”Lastly, you have no need for these orbs anymore, but they will still remain a part of you. I hope you don’t mind.” Hope offered in her sweet voice as her eyes glowed brighter and the orbs that danced at everyone’s hips both here and far grew sporadic, wiggling about until they slammed themselves into their carriers, imbuing them with a small palm-sized glowing marking wherever they hit in whatever shape they chose. Then, she turned to Kisamoa and grinned once more before simply vanishing much like he did in the light folds of the world.
Your Pieces of Hope no longer float with you! Instead, they have collided with you all and left behind a palm-sized marking that glows. Where it hits and what its shape is, is up to you. But it will be recorded in the records as a “Glowing palm-sized Piece of Hope marking.” You can describe the shape and location of this marking in your profiles! :)
The soft kerfuffle of hooves landing in the rock and sand behind her is lost in the sea of music and dancing. Her darkset eyes remain fixated on the warm, friendly face of Roscorro. The shaman's attention keeps solely to that friendly face until another draws her attention with a short, joyous greeting.
Hi.
The shaman turns with a neutral expression to view the beaming face of Waker, the boy she saved months before in the forest surrounding the Portal into the Rift. Recognition instantly dawns in her eyes, and she grants the dark pegasus a scant smile, though it reflects some of the massive warmth of his own. After being alone for weeks, trapped between realities, it was a relief to see the friends she had unwittingly left behind. "Waker," she greets him, slight smile still present vaguely on her lips.
Her heart feels warm and and light, much like a warm spring breeze and she the leaf.
Yet, the soft feeling reminiscent of pink, blossoms, pleasant days and company is marred by the sudden turn of expression by Kisamoa. The energy radiating off of the mutated god is hard to miss, even from Taivas's distance away; he is clearly irritated, though, she cannot say by what. It is not until the delicate voice of Hope is called over the crowd that she understands.
A misfit who did not get the credit he deserved. After all, the little orb floating at her side was a gift from Kisamoa, as much as it had been a responsibility. The shaman is distracted, looking for any visible change in the god's attitude, when the orb of light spins around toward her chest. The sensation of warmth returns but more intensely than she could ever remember.
The light pulsates across her own glow for a moment, making her beam like a vibrant star instead of the pale glow of the moon. Then, in the center of her chest amid the dusty grey of her father's coloring, a shape begins to take form. A roughly edged star with eight points is left behind, with the cardinal points reaching further out than the rest. The pale white marking gleams more intensely than the rest of her figure, standing out from the pallid shine of which she is accustomed.
So seize the day 'Cause you have come so far Watched a million frowns turn into smiles Lost all track of time Felt the energy of a million stars You'll feel love again after the rain
She nodded to Rixen with a small grin aimed in his direction. “Yes.” She breathed, quietly until a small pleasant laugh escaped her maw. But it was short lived as the tension from Kisamoa radiated out, and she found her head swiveling to the vibrating god with concern lacing her face. She wanted to move, to comfort him somehow, to tell him he wasn’t alone like she had done when she faced her death in the Scint River. But before she could make room to move, Hope was spreading through the crowd, aimed completely on the other god. She watched him with curious eyes as Hope spoke to him in a quiet tone she couldn’t understand, but she hoped to read into what went across Kisamoa’s face.
The mismatched god was an impossible read, however. And soon, Hope’s attention was back on them as the antlered creature thanked Kisamoa in front of them. A broad smile crossed Kiada’s lips as she dipped her head in acknowledgement. It was true, without Kis, without the pieces of hope, all would be lost. Her ears tilted forward as she listened about the orbs, about not needing them anymore, and before she could say anything to maybe try and keep that comforting presence, she turned her head to Rixen in time for her orb to go insane.
It danced and moved in such sporadic ways that Kiada was worried it’d explode – but instead, it shifted and dipped, creating a beautifully loud SMACK as it collided with the dark hues of her flesh behind her left ear, the one closest to Rixen. She immediately pressed her ears back before lifting it slowly to see what happened, but all she heard was Khairi’s laugh down the bond. “It’s a falling star, behind your ear.” He croaked to her with a beaky grin and Kiada sighed quietly, looking to Rixen to see what his orb had done.
"Talk."
there is something moon soaked and dawn flavoured about her.
something kissed by the wild and loved by lightning
Dancing, celebrating. And then the appearance of a godly deer. It all happened under the level eye of The Watcher. He could not deny the surprise he felt in seeing Hope, a manifestation of all they had done. In tat moment he knew things had changed. Though he had little time to process it all. The world was abuzz and his brain did not want to sort through everything through this noise. He hated crowds.
Sensing his job was done the man turned to leave. When Kaos suddenly began vibrating and Hope was speaking. She was trying to appease him. To soothe the beastly god. it was only natural for him to act this way. She had invaded his territory, and he was highly possessive. He had paused to observe the scene when his ball of hope suddenly slammed into his left rear leg. What the heck? His head whipped around as he watched the glowing orb embed itself into his skin. Taking the form of more swirling lines like unto his face markings, encircling the face of a clock. He frowned in disapproval. This was not a reward he would have chosen. He studied the marking as it pulsed with its own inner light a moment longer before refocusing on Kis. How would he react to Hope?
"Talk."
You have three choices in Life:
Get up, give in,
Or give it all you've got!
An unhappy Ru receives a marking of swirly lines surrounding a clock.
You have my permission to use magic/force against Ru.
Maiming and killing is not allowed. You can always message me if you're not sure about anything/want to plot something out. =D Avatar Credits
The Pinnacle
