the Rift

[PRIVATE] we could carry each other

Rikyn the Puppeteer Posts: 549
Aurora Basin Lord atk: 7.5 | def: 11.5 | dam: 4.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16.3 :: 4 HP: 70 | Buff: SWIFT
Duir :: Royal Cerndyr :: Earth Spirit Bunnie


sweet bitter words, unlike nothing I have heard:

I’d thought I could go back, back to where I had stacked rocks on top of rocks on top of their bodies, until there was a mound that hid the blood from my eye, but not my mind.  I don’t know how long Amalrik stayed, or when, exactly, he carried off the metal wolf that had always moved alongside my father, but I don’t suppose that matters, just as it does not really matter when I’d left, either.
I hadn’t been back.  That was the important truth.
My buck reassures me with a nudge from his damp, dark nose; it leaves a glossy mark on the smooth summer skin of my shoulder, where a small, white blip exists, a remnant of a past, and a girl, I thought less and less of.  She, too, would have told me to go on, to reclaim my peace of mind from this place, to find, once again, solace and comfort beneath the dancing lights through the colored glass.  From her, it wouldn’t be selfish, as it is with Duir, tired of feeling my melancholy through the binding which makes us one.  Xynia would simply want me to happy.
Yet, I think of her, and the lines of her face that I’d once recalled so poignantly are blurred; her mane is still pale as moonlight, her eyes like stars swept down from above, but her smile is gone to the ebb of memory, and her laughter cast to the winds of time.  The light that would have reached in, and cupped my own, shallow flame in its embrace is gone from the mental picture which I procure, and there is no strength left to Xynia’s love for me, or my love for her.
Maybe it was never love at all, then; merely a dream, warm and lazy, through which I’d spent a summer swimming.  A dream that had suddenly become a loop of death; from the dead bodies on the field of war which had taken my naivety to the truth of what blood smelled like, to the loss of my mother’s nurturing, to the culling of my father by his own contraptions, and the swift, silent death of my Uncle, as if the scythe had struck them both in tandem.
It leaves me feeling reckless, and small.  Duir does not understand, because he can only borrow the loss.  It isn’t his.  He cannot feel it, not like he would if he had been older, had known them as I had.  It’s not strength that allows him to urge me onward, like he seems to think it is.
It’s coldness.
And I won’t be moved.

[ OOC:  Midafternoon at the edges of the wood, near the Thistle Meadow or western border. ]

sing along, mockingbird; you don't affect me.

Image by TheArtlex@DA


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Gyda Posts: 11
Filly :: Hybrid :: 16.1 HH :: 1 Year

If time were not linear, but instead a series of images and actions that stirred round and round without end, one would wonder what to do with it all. However, you, Gyda, appear careless of time and its importance. To you, it is a fastidious chore, always keeping it, watching it, and wishing it away. Time. Even as you tell yourself that it is extraneous and ultimately uncertain, somehow it has lately become a subject of your concern. When you left the Dragon’s Throat you felt as though you’d been liberated from the constructions of time spent learning, growing, and promising to become a contributing member of society. Yet, time has once again found you, a whispering, nettlesome thing, in order to remind you that it waits for no one and nothing. 

Perhaps that is why you waste away pretending to apply yourself to one thing or another, be it traveling or preparing, though you cannot say for what. Somehow all this wandering and wondering gives you purpose or reason enough to claim your own time well spent, even if you cannot always believe your own lies. That is why, on another day spent just like so many before, you find yourself exploring that which you do not know. You name trees that have already been named, try plants that have already been tried, and dream dreams that have already been dreamt. That is the purpose of you as a creature in a world where no one knows your name.

As you glide along the outer verges of the treeline, just beyond your favorite meadow, you regard the inner wood as a sentry, diligent and concentrated to a fault. During your time in the south you could recall soldiers doing much the same along those sandy fringes you left behind. However, it isn’t something you find yourself very partial to and you quickly retired to a leisurely stroll. That is, until you stumble upon an eccentric young stud shaded by the path ahead. He is much older than you and you find yourself uncertain, not like with Saoirse, for he had been a boy close to your own age. Funny too. However, this unicorn has seen more seasons and more truths than anyone you have met thus far. Maybe that is why you engage him from beyond, nervous and alert, but aware of common courtesy. 

Great minds think alike,” you proffer whilst noting the route you share. It isn’t until you are close enough to decipher the vivid gold of his eyes that you also catch sight of the young buck alongside him. Both are intricately gilded with matching marks that you can never hope to replicate and both are equally intimidating in their own right. Yet, instead of noticing these things and maintaining your simple sense of modesty, you stare unabashed, alternating from one to the other. It is then that you realize just how horribly plain you must seem by comparison, a stone next to diamonds. “My name is Gyda,” you manage while gawking at the two. They appear a fortress together, lost amid some battle you cannot see or hear. It is likely something you cannot understand at your age, having been fairly fortunate in life as it stands, but you reason with yourself that age does not determine one’s ability to listen or distract. Just as Saoirse did for you in the Meadow so recently, you decide to provide a buffer between the unicorn and his thoughts. “Could you use some company?

In some deep part of your mind you know that you are unrefined and unaccustomed to proper protocol, but also that those things have never stopped you before.

Image Credits

@Rikyn | Praying this didn't quadruple tag you into oblivion, because Linds makes mistakes x.x

Rikyn the Puppeteer Posts: 549
Aurora Basin Lord atk: 7.5 | def: 11.5 | dam: 4.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16.3 :: 4 HP: 70 | Buff: SWIFT
Duir :: Royal Cerndyr :: Earth Spirit Bunnie
R I K Y N & D U I R

The stranger that arrives alongside us is dark in color, and seems familiar, in the same way that so many of them do, around here. Maybe I’d glimpsed her in some gathering, or spectacle, but I don’t dwell long on it; she is merely a yearling, after all, and, glancing briefly at her in a side long, cold way, I wonder why it is Helovians are all so friendly.

Duir, less nervous about the filly than he is the grown horses, nervously drops behind some paces upon the realization he’s being gawped at, to watch the ongoing greeting from a safe distance. Predator, he warns me, because only wolves and hawk stare at something so intently; the notion of the girl being a threat at all earns a mental scoff from my behalf. A child, I remark, instead, drawing to mind images of himself, as a fawn, eagerly examining flowers, or Remy’s soft ears.

"Hello, Gyda," I answer, "I am Rikyn, and the coward back there is Duir."

And no, I do not want your company, I hold within, not wanting her girlish tears, or angry mother, either. Instead, I lie. It’s the least I can do. Duir, meanwhile, looks most offended, and hurriedly returns to my side, with a proud (and embarrassed) expression.

"We were just returning north," I tell her, because, well, fuck going to the Rotunda, as planned. I can’t deal with that yet. Who’s coward now? retorts my companion, from alongside me, my ears tilting backward, bent by withheld aggression. "Company would not be so bad."

Easing my pace to allow her to keep up more easily, remembering how my mother had simply surged ahead, without care for my smaller limbs, and inquisitive eyes. Though, currently, Duir and I seem to be the focus of the youth’s attention, there is no telling what may catch her eye (and slow her up) along the way. It’s not like it matters, if she holds me up – I don’t have anywhere better to be, after all, and a small voice is a good distraction from the big ones inside my head.

"Do you live nearby?" I inquire, both a means to keep the conversation going (subsequently, my ghosts at bay), and to ensure she’s not some vagrant child with a horribly worried, overprotective mother out there somewhere (liable to punch the shit out of me for being nice to her kid). I guess I could just ask if she’s actually allowed out here, but, I’m the cool uncle sort of guy, not the mother hen everyone wants to find their kid out alone in the woods. Besides, the kid is at least a year old, and I'd been out on my own, in the wild lands outside the safety of Helovia, at that age.

this is not destruction
this is your birth

image credits


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Force/violence is allowed to be used on Rikyn permitted it does not permanently maim or kill him (PM me!).

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