the Rift

yardstick for lunatics (any!)

Bluebell Posts: N/A
:: :: ::

tell me over and over and over again, my friend
you don't believe we're on the eve of destruction

Here's how it happened, as far as he could tell: something, whether god, or fortune, or meddling sorcerer, or renegade weather, or not easily defined dark particle anomaly, or lunar drag, or tidal push, or uncommon spores, or uncanny pollen, or ripple in time, or words, or kings, or the old General himself, or antipodal butterfly, or the cold that cracked like a nut and made the glaciers fall like thunder, or the colt that died right in front of his eyes that summer in Kanane whose bones he saw when they marched back again next spring--anything but his own legs and heart and brain--got him in its teeth again, shook his memories loose, and dropped him here.

The landing was soft, at least. Deep, soft, green grass, smelling like life, welcoming him. Well, why shouldn't it? He was a unicorn. They were meant for each other. Here's the thing about suddenly remembering who you are--you never know whether you're back for good, or if this, too, is going to slide away into oblivion, like all the lost moments that led to this one. It's frightening.

Times like this, you almost wished your strings had never been cut, just so you'd have something to follow blindly back to someplace where they knew your name--where the milky-eyed, musing old master army healer rumbled unhurriedly, "Losing time again, Bluebell? It's perfectly natural. Stay off your feet for the day." And then you bolting to the meadow where the wounded rested or died, and creeping between them, and thrusting your muzzle beneath the patient ministrations of healers who saw you were uninjured, gave you a kind lick, and moved on. Most skins there quivered in agony. Yours--well, battle fatigue they called it, and who were you to say otherwise?

Had he known how many horses crossed the threshold woods of Helovia with no memory of how they came to be there, Bluebell would have taken some immediate comfort. Any threshold was a curious place. Sometimes they forced a fresh start. But Bluebell had not been given a clean slate. He knew who he was, and remembered plenty of things, just not the past few--how long was it? Days? Weeks? Those empty places in his memory crowded up against him, demanding an answer, but no.


Don't chase the damn things. Let the memories go if they want to. It had been a long time since this kind of thing had happened, but he remembered how it went. If you fought it, you went mad, simple as that.

"Cheer up, Bluebell," He said aloud but under his breath, strangely timorous. Then, with a mustered bravado that became true the moment it struck the air: "Ay, cheer up, Bluebell. You're not hurt. Look at you. Just look at you. You're fine."

He shook himself and shifted his hooves, and every action made was an imprint on the world that convinced him he was real, and here, and not going anywhere else any time soon. He considered having a roll in the good deep grass, but didn't feel like being off his feet just yet. Instead, he went to the nearest tree and scrubbed a white-grey shoulder against its bark, taking a look around while he did so. Forest, alright. Hot, weighty afternoon, alright. Smell of water nearby, alright. There was nothing bad about any of this.

Still, he thought, I think we can all agree it would have been much better had anyone bothered to ask Bluebell if he wanted a change of scenery. No bitterness in him, really. Bitterness was not difficult to sustain, but it was an admission of defeat he wasn't willing to make just yet. Wryness was the best the inscrutable workings of fate would get out of him.

Bluebell left off scratching his shoulder and faced the tree. Taking aim at a knot in the trunk, he began a slow, repetitive grating of the tip of his horn against the rough surface. The efforts were practied and precise. He could carve an alphabet with this horn, he had that much control over it. This ritual was better suited to rocks and other things more able than wood to blunt the end of a unicorn's horn, but right now, it was doing double-duty as a pacifying habit so it didn't really matter. When the strokes descended into ruder, longer gougings that chipped white scars into the bark, Bluebell exhaled heavily and allowed the tip of his horn to lodge to a standstill. He closed his glass-clear grey eyes and leaned into tree, examining the feeling of pressure it put in his skull.

"Where the hell am I?" He muttered, somewhat rhetorically, his own breath hot on his chest.



DON'T FEEL PRESSURED TO MATCH LENGTH or anything, this is just how I am

Tiamat the Ocean's Light Posts: 360
Aurora Basin Lady atk: 8 | def: 10 | dam: 3
Mare :: Unicorn :: 15.2 :: 6 years HP: 60 | Buff: NOVICE
Nimue :: Common Orca Leviathan :: Boil Reli
Look to love, you may dream—hope is home, and the heart is free.
Her journey home continues, following an ever winding and unhurried path from the battlefront. The beautiful mountains call to her mind, to her heart, but it is with an easy pace that she follows their beckoning—she will make it back one day, before long, and sees no need in getting herself tied into a knot with fretting. Instead, Tiamat enjoys herself, appreciating nature and taking advantage of the beautiful season in her travels. The long grasses, now crisped beneath the summer sun, bend easily beneath her cloven hooves, springing back upwards behind her to reach again for the blue sky.

Dappled shadows are strewn beneath the leafy boughs, sliding across the curve of her back like soft, stroking fingers, and if she could purr beneath them, she would. There is little that can dampen the ocean mare’s spirits, particularly on a lovely day like this. She inhales the clean air, feeling it flow into every fiber of her being like a surge of heavenly bliss, a kiss from her beloved mother sky.

It is quite by accident that the ocean mare stumbles into the path of another. Thin velvet nostrils flare when she catches his scent, warm and unfamiliar in the summer air, snatching her attention and piquing her interest. This is the Threshold, after all—the entrance to Helovia, the gateway to many wandering and restless souls. Tiamat remembers her own Threshold experience like it had been yesterday, with the kindly brown mare approaching to offer her not only friendly conversation, but a home as well. She had found her place that day, her home and family; to be able to do the same for someone else, is a privilege and experience that she doesn’t pass up lightly.

Flicking the length of her long leonine tail in a surge of buoyant excitement, the blue mare alters her path, finding that the source of the unfamiliar scent is not far. Her bouncy, dancing trot slows to a smooth halt a comfortable distance away from him (knowing that not everyone is as comfortable with a stranger’s presence as she is herself), and her tulip-shaped ears press forward to catch the low muttering of his words. “You’re in Helovia,” Tiamat offers brightly, white eyes shining brilliantly beneath the sun’s warm glow, a friendly smile sitting comfortably along her satin lips, “Or Helovia’s Threshold, more specifically. Welcome!” Her grin widens in her excitement, nothing but honest joy in her pretty face.

Shifting her attention to the tree he had been pressing against, Tiamat wanders a step closer, lips parting in silent, curious awe. There are carvings in the wood’s surface, fresh carvings. While the marks are likely nothing more than meaningless lines, the ocean blue mare cannot help but be captivated even a little by their unnatural pattern…it provokes memories to the forefront of her mind, ever appreciative and impressed by the beauty of nature—and what they choose to make of it.

Exhaling quietly from her nose, the mare looks back to the pale stallion, her eyes alight with happy wonder. “I have a friend who can carve wood with his horn like that, he makes beautiful pictures—he said he’d teach me how to do it one day,” she pauses for a short moment, remembering the black stallion before continuing blithely, “I daresay you’ve been here a short while yourself.” An airy chuckle mingles with her soprano voice, taking note of the depth of the carvings, and assuming that such artwork takes more than a short moment.

Her easy laughter fading into a gentle, comfortable smile, Tiamat arches her slender neck, tipping her curved horn to the stallion in a dainty curtsy of her head, “My name is Tiamat, my friend—a pleasure to meet you.” In her usual fashion—intimate and unbound by the inhibitions of strangers—the blue mare extends a velvet muzzle kindly to him, seeking to exchange breathes, touch cheeks, and seal this wonderful foundation of friendship. She is not repressed by the fears or concerns that haunt many in this world, plagued too often by its cruelties; cocooned in the purity of her innocence, Tiamat knows nothing but to assume the best, know the best, and extend a welcoming hand to anyone. She does so now to him, nothing but sincere and kind in her intentions.

notes; Woah muse! Yay! xD and welcome to Helovia, Dyne!:D I love Bluebell already<3 would you like to be tagged?
@Bluebell | image credits
please tag Tia in all replies!
magic & force are permitted.

Glasgow Posts: 127
Aurora Basin Apprentice atk: 3.5 | def: 10.0 | dam: 7.0
Mare :: Unicorn :: 14.3hh :: 11 years HP: 66.5 | Buff: NOVICE
to die by your side,
Was I thinking of leaving? Why was I back here anyway? A million thoughts ran through my head, many of them resulting in the same similar fact of feeling useless. I didn’t have anything to show for my time being here other than strained muscles and roads traveled by my hooves quite often. No friends, no company, just lonely old me. Like it had been since she died. I found myself angry and a bit sad again, frustrated at the idea that the darkness that had decided to steal my sister away – beasts of which seemed to be visible in the Rift fights. Their destruction not nearly as detrimental as my home’s had been. Perhaps that was because there were more people willing to protect their homes. But it was supposed to be our duties to protect our homes and it backfired on us. They looked to us for protection and what could we do for them? Die? Well, that’s exactly what my sister did. Died, right in front of me. And in my effort of trying to revive her or do something, the menacing black panther of night destroyed me as well. I used to be a plain unicorn, pristine and white, bright blue eyes full of life. That wasn’t the case any longer. I walked with a darkened marking on my hind left leg, scars running up both edges of my mouth in a gruesome smile, more scars running over my eyes, and finally that regretful broken horn.

I shamed myself often about my appearance. Being a diplomat back home was something that was of a high stature for the more attractive looking creatures. And here I was, destroyed entirely by something out of my control. And like most of my travels, they resulted due to the fact of being upset. I found myself wandering the trees of the Threshold once again, contemplating if I should just pass over it again and try to find a different life since this one didn’t seem to be going quite as I had hoped. But before I could make a split second decision, I heard speaking from just beyond a line of thick trees. Curiosity always got the best of me at times, but not nearly to the point of my past. You learn from your mistakes. But I hadn’t made a mistake here yet so with that idea rushing into my head, I decided to peek around the corner of it. Completely oblivious to the reminders of my scarring and my mental scars of terrifying the innocent. Pale legs carried me out into the small grouping just as a blue mare spoke. Glassy blue eyes travelled to her momentarily before turning to face the – was it a newcomer? He didn’t smell of this land. Oh would this be the day I actually could accomplish something here? Helping someone find their home? It would make so much more sense for me to do these kinds of things, given my past history and all. So why hadn’t I pushed myself to do it?

I studied the stallion for a moment, silent as I let the oceanic mare speak. He looked similar to me, pale, a unicorn, and wary. Well, we had some things in common then. When the mare finished, I smiled to the two of them, stained red scars moving with the movement of my lips. Dipping my crowned – broken – head to the two of them I cleared my throat. “Hello, friend. The aquamarine mare is correct, you’ve found yourself on Helovia’s Threshold. I am Glasgow, welcome!” I paused, voice slightly wavering but gaining a bit of strength with the more words I uttered. “Forgive me for I haven’t spoken much recently. I, too, wound up on this Threshold unsure of where I was but I managed to stumble across one of the greatest lands I’ve ever been to.” I finished softly, a single white ear shifting backward slightly in a bit of embarrassment. Had I just admitted that I didn’t speak much but then praise this place? What was I doing? Giving this creature the wrong impression from the beginning was a terrible way to start. But then again, if you looked at my face you’d think the same. “However, I live in the World’s Edge – a home located on the edge of the water and hidden by beautiful cliffs shrouded in mists. If you’re looking for a place to stay or even take a tour of to get a lay of the land, I’d happily offer you to join me.” I spoke softly, offering another small smile to the pale stag and a small glance with a smile to the mare named Tiamat. Did I do this right? Why did it feel so strange?

—is such a
way to die.
image credits

Yes welcome! :D
He's a great read! <3 if you have any questions we can do our best to answer them for you :)

Forum Jump:

RPGfix Equi-venture