the Rift

A beautiful day || Death. Open.

Ázzuen the Ardent Posts: 94
Stallion :: Pegasus :: 15.1 :: 8

It was the dawn of a new day, and two things on this day were certain.

It was a clear, beautiful day, where the wind only just tickled one's mane as it shifted across one's nape, just enough to take the bite out of the heat of TallSun.

And the General was dead.

It was a very normal, quiet morning. The Ardent one had risen early, as he always did, he had bid his family farewell as he proceeded to wander away from the Oasis of the Throat, through the great stone wave, towards the border of the land.

He hadn't made it to the borders.

In the curve of the great wave, there laid a great hulking form of mostly dark feathers, though the odd white one wove its way through like a river of contrasting colours. Muscles formed from years of activity rested, at last, never to move again. Lungs did not fill. Nostrils did not quiver.

Eyes did not change from their warm, rich indigo hue.

Legs were bent beneath him, as if he had chosen the moment before his death to lay down, to curl up and await death's cool embrace to settle over him. Peace was upon his façade, a deep satisfaction of a life full of adventure, of love, a life where he served those he cared for with honour and integrity. The spear that usually tucked itself amidst the masses of feathers had fallen out, and now laid beside him.

What happened to our fallen General?

Born in the lands of Isilme, to the greatest and original leaders, Naryl the FireSlayer and Azureus the WeaponMaster, Ázzuen was a twin, a brother to the vibrant and electric steed Voltaic. They felt like they ruled the lands, even as they grew in gangly yearlings, learning the ways of the wind and fully intending upon leading the herd one day, in the wake of their parents.

Tragedy had struck then, an event that would change the outcome of their lives forever.

They had watched, helpless, as their mother killed their father, with their father's own spear.

And then she killed herself on it.

Stained red with the blood of his parents, the spear had become Ázzuen's then, he had wretched it from his mother's very chest and flew from the lands, forgetting in his grief that his brother was left behind, that the herd would fall without both of them there to help it survive.

The Cliffs had fallen then. But they had risen again too.

Ázzuen would not be rising again.

What had happened during those years of running, hiding, fighting? Exactly that; living without a purpose, he had fought for any cause that seemed worthy at the time, he had lost himself in the blood and grit of war, he had fought blindly, mastering the weapon which had killed his parents, wanting to return home but unable to face the history that was written in blood back there.

Helovia had been the beginning of his life, the true place where he was able to find his purpose, to live, and fulfil the potential his bloodlines had offered him.

The StarBreather, oh, how she had breathed life into him. She had stolen his gaze from the beginning, his heart shortly after that. He had sworn to be her protector, to provide her with a home, and together they had secured just that, and brought forth a family too. The blue roan maiden had gifted to him more than he had ever thought possible, she had made him realise his dreams of having a family, of having something to fight for, to live for, to cherish and hold above all else.

And then Helovia had brought him a most curious twist. A historical repetition, a flashback, as scents of Isilme flooded his senses and Kri came in with her mission, a link to his brother. And then his brother had come too - and just as swiftly as they had reunited they were torn apart, as war stole his brother's life from him before he even had a chance to tell him… tell him what? How much he loved him? How sorry he was?

Did it even matter now?

What had happened to our fallen General?

Ázzuen had lived a good life. He had accomplished almost everything he had said he would when he was but a young, foolish colt. He had risen through the ranks to a respectable position, he had served his leader with honour and devotion, he had raised a family who filled his heart with endless surges of pride and joy. He had earned the title Ázzuen the Ardent for the life he had lived.

Two things on this day were true.

It was a beautiful day.

And the first General of the Tuuli was dead.

Cirrus Posts: 233
Outcast atk: 6.5 | def: 9.5 | dam: 6
Mare :: Pegasus :: 15.1 :: 8 HP: 69 | Buff: SWIFT

Habits of my beloved's father were well known. He left before dawn for his morning walk, always asked us to go with him, and Cirrus would always grumble some excuse to stay where she was, sleeping, or playing with me or her sister, or enjoying the quiet company of her mother. This morning was no different, it suggested nothing of the tragedy that would shake the Dragon's Throat. With a kind, loving smile, the Ardent had left us to our own devices in the pre-dawn glimmer of the sky, the beautiful coloured rays decorating my beloved's hide like a canvas that perfectly portrayed all around it. I yawned and stretched beside her, wagging my tail to and fro, letting the morning light slowly restore the happy energy that pushed us into motion do just that.

With a spring in her step, I watch my little filly friend take springy steps in her father's wake. He left not long before us, it was habit for us to follow him at a faster pace and then catch up, burning more energy than necessary but accomplishing the same finish. We always joined him for the first half of his patrol, we always bonded with him, absorbing any snippets of warrior's wisdom his lips might utter in the meantime, until the sun would have made a quarter of its journey across the sky, and he would chase us away to practise in the arts of healing he had successfully convinced my cherubic bonded to take up.

This morning would be no different.

Would it?

As we entered the great wavey wall of red stone, a strange sound was heard. It was a muffled thump, a swallowed groan - and then a silence, a stillness that caused both of us to jump in surprise, and stand just as still as the heavy silence around us screamed. I heard the rushed breath of my beloved little cloud filly dart in and out of her nostrils, I felt the panic inside her rise. With barely a chance to yip at her, she was in the skies then, pushing herself forward in a flurry of wings and legs, and I was following, my lanky legs and paws scrambling to run in her shadow as it skimmed across the red stone, my own nose drinking the air and hating what it smelled. I whined as I ran, unwilling to admit that I knew what was ahead.


"NO!" Her voice was loud, shattering the deadly silence. It screamed, it protested, it wept as her body landed roughly beside the body of the great stallion, running incoherently to his side, thrusting her nose against his nape. "No..." It whispered now, as tears stained the dawn tinged hide of the belle, as sniffles muffled her breathing, as her wings drooped to her sides, where I stood, by her side, buffeted by her heavy wings and presented with the cold, stark death of one we both loved. I felt the waves of emotions rushing through my little cloud girl, and I wondered at how she was able to still stand against the torrents of emotions; the love, the sadness, the regret, the sheer devastation. Her father was dead.

He was dead!

Sorrow tugged a deep song from my own throat then, as my lips formed a sad 'o', and my crown tilted to the sky that lightened with every passing moment. A hellhound's symphony, a long and mournful howl, a sad lament to what was lost. I felt more emotions stir within my beloved then, but still I sang, maintaining the song for many seconds, minutes, hours, as long as it took for her to work through her feelings. With wonder, I watched as Cirrus called upon the magic she had been given by the lands, the healing magics she had seen her mentor, Onni, employ upon her uncle, Voltaic - Onni had failed then, but Cirrus clutched to some shred of hopeless faith that she could do what her mentor could not.

She was swallowed by a brilliant, fiery light, her form became a pillar of strength and healing light, I could feel its brilliance radiating from her, and through the bond. I could feel my song grow only more powerful as it swelled, reached out to the body of our father - but it rejected him, it swirled and danced over him, it refused to touch him, to revive him, to heal what was already lost. I felt the exhaustion washing over her, even as my song continued to echo from my maw. I felt the sheer devastation consume her again, as the healing magic dimmed again, leaving behind a hint of extra shine in her pelt as she fell to the ground beside her father, wings strewn outwards, her right one slung over his body, her left one over my own, as I continued to sing my farewell to the stallion who was father to us all.

Unwittingly, the maw of my beloved rested upon the wooden handle of the spear so often wielded by the stallion, I noticed, and I made a vow to ensure that it always was by her side - it was hers to wield now.

And still, I sang, a hellhound's lament to a great soul leaving this life.

as changing as unforgiving as the wind, as bitter and chilling as the cold, as warm and deadly as the heat

  • I enjoy being tagged.

  • please do not feel pressured into mirroring the length of any of my posts
    I write what I feel at the time
    and hope everyone else does the same c:

    Ascended Helovian

    Gaucho The Wildfire Posts: 1,004
    Deceased atk: 8.5 | def: 11.5 | dam: 8
    Stallion :: Pegasus :: 17.2 :: 12 HP: 85 | Buff: PINNACLE
    Mara :: Black Mamba Snake :: Paralyze & Vorsa :: Plain Zephyr :: Phoenix Odd

     GAUCHO </style>

    With fire to keep us warm & tools we made from rocks and bones
    [Image: 5105621d5416e]</style>

    [Posted with Phan's permission]

    Having been on patrol, as per my-dus, Gaucho had seen from afar the lifeless form, and the girl.

    Softly, the warrior had moved closer, displaying a respectful sort of emotion that was ill befitting his primitive appearance. His blue-gray gaze was thoughtful, nostrils quivering as he picked up unfamiliar scents, though ones which were still recognizable as being from the Throat. Trying not to draw attention to himself, he folded his massive black wings to his sides, staying a healthy distance away. He would only come closer, if his skills were required.


    Gaucho was not moved to tears by those who had died - they simply went onto another, greater plain in the sky, or so he believed. Gaucho was a spiritual creature and although he viewed death differently than most, he still understood what a difficult time this could be for others to comprehend. He also knew that death often brought a crowd. Standing about 15 feet away, Gaucho stood stoically, simply watching the pair. If a crowd came, Gaucho would guard the perimeter, and ensure that whatever time was needed before the body was claimed by earth, fire, or water, was allowed to be conducted peacefully. Even though he didn't understand the rituals that the grieving performed, he would ensure that they were allowed to continue.

    Please tag me in every post! Magic/Force is allowed on Gaucho at any time.

    Aryel Posts: 229
    Dragon's Throat Soldier
    Mare :: Pegasus :: 14.4 :: 4

    Never in a million years had Aryel expected to see one of the Generals die. Never in a million years had she expected to hear his daughter's keening cry of grief.

    She still couldn't believe it.

    It was the hellhound's howl that drawn her, the mournful note stirring worry into the pegasus. Even she could hear the emotion in the hound's cry. Concerned, she had taken to the air, and followed the origin of the howl, spying the young hellhound with her nose to the sky, singing a song of lament. Surrounding the pup were several other Throat horses. She landed some distance away, walking up to the group. "What's--" she stopped, expression becoming blank as she realized what was under the overhang. Her face gradually became more horrified as she realized what Cirrus was splayed over, crying.

    Azzuen. Oh gods.

    She took a few halting steps forward, head shaking in disbelief. The Ardent dead. How? She almost asked Cirrus if she had tried to heal him, but the look on her face was enough for her. Azzuen wasn't coming back. For a moment, she couldn't even speak. She had not know him personally, but she had respected and admired the dark stallion. She looked at Cirrus again, trying to force her tightened throat to say something, anything, to console the filly.

    "I...I'm so sorry."

    She dropped her head, unable to say anything else. She needed time to accept this, that their great general was gone forever. It wasn't fair. She was aware that everything died eventually, but why did he have to die now? He had a mate. He had two children. Tio was still at large, possibly gathering an army to sweep them away at this very moment. How could he leave us now?! Anger was only one of the beginning stages of grief, but somehow, she felt hers would last for a while.

    Walk walk walk walk.
    "Talk talk talk talk."

    In blood and honor, we will prevail.</style>

    image by gpabill @
    Thanks for the good times, and no hard feelings for the bad times.

    Vicer and Aryel's new threads never happened.

    Cassiopeia Posts: 171
    Hidden Account
    Mare :: Pegasus :: 15 hands :: 8 years old
    When the sun peaked past the horizon, there was no indication this day would be much different than any other. The sky was bent into an array of vibrant colors, the clouds slinking slowly across the pale cerulean vault of the atmosphere like the masts of lost ships. He awoke as he did every day, saying goodbye to his family then going about his normal duties.

    Something strange overcame her not long after he and Cirrus sailed out of site. It was an overwhelming sense of peace as she gazed out across the desolate sands, Azulee curled up in tranquil slumber at her chest.

    Then the far-off trumpet of Sitka vibrated against her ears.

    Her hooves pounded against the russet stone below her in thunderous progression while the unrelenting song of Sikta grew louder with each stride. She came to the undulating formation of stone known as the 'Wave,' gliding over the edge and to the rocky bed of the peculiar gorge in a fluid motion. She watched as a great light engulfed her daughter. The magic reached out for a figure below her, but it rejected to touch him.

    Every muscle beneath the Oracle's peppered hide grew tense, riveted by this direful spectacle. Fear swelled within her bosom, for she had seen Onni do the very same thing when death had stolen Voltaic away. She stood for a moment in shock, her eyes wide, lobed ears pressed forward atop the zenith of her crown. Hesitantly, for fear her newly formed suspicions would be deemed true, she approached. Her hooves clapped lightly, her mind and heart racing. She craned her dark face over the body of her dearest companion with an expression of sorrow, slender ears tipped back.

    For a moment she merely allowed her gaze to roam across the scarred canvas of his figure, not wanting to acknowledge this to be her lover, but there was no denying it. She looked toward Cirrus, rivulets of tears streaming down the youth's beautiful face. Beads of water began to form along the rim of her own cerulean specs to see her daughter in such a state of lament, pressing her muzzle to her cheek to wipe the shiny pearls from her skin. She lowered her body next to the filly's left side, a single downy wing draped across the youth's pale body and the hellhound Sitka, seeking to comfort her grieving child as best she could.

    "Oh, Azzuen." Her voice was a soft croak as it spilled from her lips. Only then, upon uttering the name, did her resolve begin to crumble. She felt the prick of tears welling behind her eyes. She pressed her face against his cheek, if only to feel the cool miracle of his skin one last time. Warm tears rolled silently down the dark satin of her face like small stars glittering faintly in the light of the rising sun and they fell to the russet stone below her with a soft, mournful sound. Some even found their way to his dark coat, disappearing within the sleek hairs.

    She did not cry for her lover. She did not cry for the pain he suffered, for he had suffered none. She did not cry for his soul, for where it was headed was a place far greater than even conceivable. She cried for herself, for her own sorrow, for the plight of her eldest daughter, for the absence he would leave behind, for the fact he would never watch his daughters blossom into mares and have daughters of their own. She cried for her herd, for the beauty of this day, for the love she still held for him with an ardent ferocity.

    She traced the grooves of his muscles along his nape with the plush velvet of her maw, the motion tender and mournful, as if familiarizing herself with them for a final time. They were meant to grow old with one another, to see their daughters grow, to watch as seasons past and eras sped ever onward, watching as the world changed in ceaseless progression and their love remained as strong as ever, unaffected by time. She pressed her soft maw upon his half-open eye, blowing a tender kiss and closing the dark lid for good. Another surge of tears streamed down her soft cheeks.

    [ ooc ; Hope it's good enough. ;-; ]

    Kri the Resolute Posts: 243
    Hidden Account
    Mare :: Pegasus :: 14.3hh :: 10 Buff: NUMB
    Boom Boom!

    speak of all the love we lost and what it cost us</style>
    left us to beg our breath would stop, but we kept on</style>
    AND WE WERE STRONG.</style>

    The day greeted my eyes with a beauty that often preceded tragic circumstances. It is those days that are so breathtaking, the ones which stop your heart and make you stare outward at the earth motionlessly, that are the ones which bring the most regret, the most heartache. I could not forsee the loss of my beloved General, but perhaps in my heart grew the inkling that today would be one I would mourn.

    My daughter had reconciled her anger, perhaps out of some miracle, but on this day she stood with me on the rise of the sun. Her back had surpassed mine in height long ago, and the soft lines of her pale face had always been gentler at rest than my best effort to be soft. Her sky eyes mimic the pale hues of blue that follow after the rising sun and mine the night which is being chased away. We are calm, quiet, and serene. My daughter has never felt much need to speak when in my presence, but that is comfortable. There is a bond that exists between your family that requires no words to provide you with the best company. As long as you are safe and warm by the side of your beloved, what more can you ask for? If my world were to come to an end today, I think very much that I would be pleased knowing that it started at the side of the girl I had grown to take the most pride in raising. The Desert children were my family, but Onni was my sun.

    When the sun had risen almost toward the crown of the sky, a song reached two sets of chocolate ears.

    I look over at the shaman beside me, her pale face looking at me with worried lines. I did not know the strange call that emanated through the land, but Onni's mouth opened immediately. "Sitka," she says, with little other warning before gallantly running forward in the desert, her brown wings opening and throwing her into the air. I follow swiftly, my wings gracing the skies with ease as the wind finds its way behind us. Our pace is swift, yet it seems we were farther than many. My dark eyes look at the gathering curiously, finding a depth of abyss as they land upon the face of Azzuen. The face of my General. The face of my Brother.

    I careen downward, falling like some flightless bird from the sky in an ugly manner as my wings tip madly, tugging up only just before I become a mess of blood and bones on the red dirt, my hooves landing with a resounding clack on the desert floor. Red dust explodes from around me as the wind hits the ground next, expelling a cloud of crimson around me which clears to reveal a face torn with anguish and shock. I need not be a healer to know what would bring such a mournful face to a lover. I need not be a healer to know why the dog was singing now, why light seemed to cling to the skin of Cirrus. Unlike the direct family of the great General, I remain motionless, like stone that had been carved from the very desert, I stand completely still. For perhaps the first time in years, the air around me dies down into a slack. The wind does not move. The Resolute cannot move.

    An ear flicks backward as I hear another set of hooves land upon the earth. Onni. She comes to stand beside me once more, a large chocolate wing draping over my shoulders in solace, her head bent low. The shaman does not speak, for maybe she knows words mean little to the dead and to their company, but her sky eyes look toward the peaceful face of the General, a sad smile on her lips. I follow suit, my own smile growing as I find the words which had been held back in my chest. If I do not say my goodbyes, Azzuen would still not remain here. If I do not say them, I will regret it. I step from the embrace of my daughter, moving a few steps closer and dropping my head down toward the floor, bowing toward our bereaved Oracle and her daughter.

    More importantly, I bow to the stallion who has served this herd valiantly. His life laid out for the cause of the Tuuli, for my wishes, for our safety. I bow to the great creature who has met his end here in the desert. A single tear falls down my face as I close my dark eyes, replaced instead with a hopeful expression that I intend to give to all gathered here. "Rest easy, brother," I say to Azzuen, his dead ears which would not hear my well wishes for him. "You have earned your peace." I raise my head, looking out toward the crowd gathered, my face calm. There would be much mourning for the loss of our first General. His strength would be sorely missed, but the power he had given the soldiers which stand in this home will not be taken with him.

    Azzuen could not so easily be taken from our hearts.

    KRI the RESOLUTE</style>

    image by vinothchandar @

    Azzaron Posts: 85
    Stallion :: Pegasus :: 17 hh :: 10 years Buff: NOVICE

    I soar high above the sky, soaring into the clouds. I weave my way through the sky. My appendages outstretched, keeping me aloft. I swoop down to get a better look at the red dirt below me. As I'm scanning the ground below I see several black spots. Instantly swooping down towards the blotches. As I hurtle down towards them I realize what they are.

    A large group of others.

    And a body.

    I gasp, speeding up. I swing down, landing. There were so many feelings as I came down. A stallion stood multiple feet away, a bone stuck between his nostrils. I wince, but this was no time to be thinking about that. Not at all. Instead, death and depression hung low like a cloud of mist. I was affected by it too, swallowed up in all the emotions. The smell of death and decay drifted into my nostrils. I flick my ears back as grief began to take over.

    I fold my wings, staring in shock. Only now do I notice the similarity between the dead stallion, the filly and the mare. The filly was a mix between the mare and the deceased. I gasp, realizing this must be their child. Sadness grips my heart as I stare at the dead stallion. Only now do I realize who he is.

    He's the General of the Throat.

    More grief tears at my flesh, I try and hold back the tears. My fiery eyes begin to drag along, staring at all the horses that had gathered. So many... all of them grieving. I even spot Kri. I see all these saddened faces. Everything seems to grieve for the lost General. From the clouds in the sky to every insignificant grain of sand in the desert. The hellhound moans a sad tune as everyone gathers, all depressed.



    These are two popular emotions in the heart. We grieve for what is lost, and slowly depression slips over us. It coats us in a layer of sadness. Sadness that is deep, like a deep and bloody gash. It takes time to heal, but it never truly heals. That is how I'm feeling now. Grief. And lots of it.

    I keep my head lowered, the only this I can say is, "I'm so, so sorry."
    I close my eyes, feeling a gentle breeze pick my mane and tail up, throwing the wisps here and there. I breath in deeply, in and out, in and out. And then, I wait. Wait for some one to speak. Shatter this silence. But I wouldn't be the one to do that. No, I would remain silent for as long at I could.

    "Blah blah blah."

    ooc: Azzuen! D:
    word count:446

    "When you grow old, you will die and rot on the ground,
    Other horses will dance when you all crumble, when your kingdom falls.
    When your crowns break."

    Sumati Posts: N/A
    :: :: ::

    The sky is a merciless blue, stained a shade Sumati's eyes had yet to see. With such deep, rolling clouds one would think the day to be like any other hot desert day, but a day like this holds a certain sulk, a purse of puffy white lips, perhaps. Some disdain is clouded with the misery of blue - sadness buzzes in her ears.

    Sumati paints herself in this sky as the low, magical howl sings an awful song of mourn. Distress, what have you. Some balance is set tumbling down red mountains. The mare is a fleet of thundering wing flaps, she heads away from the dawn-lighted oasis with red grains falling away from her body in foul smoke. She is a mess, but she isn't the only one. The voice carries itself high in the wind, miles over the gale that weeps with signature sound. The air is stale and arid, much like the soul of someone nonexistent. This moment in the sunrise doesn't feel like it survives the wild unknown of her thoughts. Her own soul has exited her body now, and is long gone in the trail of scattered red dust.

    'Who?' her mind questions, the sound an anxious rattle in her eardrums. It only beckons more, and more to the chasm of mile-deep sandstone. It is a hazardous gorge for the inattentive.

    The body at the bottom was not an inattentive one.

    Sumati's eyes stop - hazel frozen blue as the merciless sky above winks with pursed lips. An evil snare rattles from the Hellhound as her own darkened gaze falls upon the broken body of her General.

    Ázzuen is dead.

    Her hooves finally smack against the stone, chipped and cracked by the dryness of desert. Sand rolls in the grit of her teeth, as they bite away tears. The Sinbird's tears build like whelps in her eyes as the sight of Cirrus' little broken heart pulls emotion from deep in her own chest. The shame of loss is not just for the herd, but for everyone who ever met the genuine soldier who willingly risked his life for the good of his herd. These were the kind of souls worth mourning, these were the kind of souls who shouldn't be dead. A heartbeat ricochets, and somewhere in all of the blindness she sees Cassiopeia, the fire sizzled out under the river of tears. Her eyes capture glimmering constellations, red, bleeding the passion of the cavern's walls. Sumati ruffles her wings before she folds them to her sides, and presses her wet eyes into the white down of her wing joint.

    The tobiano Sultana does not find the other members, but hears their prayers lost out into the dark shadow of red sand motes. She hears Kri's voice like gravel, she speaks more for herself than anyone else. She knows that ears of the dead are the most active, and speaks her own prayer without noisy words.

    'We'll miss you Ázzuen. You're honored in all hearts.'

    He who is a good ruler must first have been ruled.</style>

    image by aigle_dore @

    Random Event Posts: 1,286
    Helovian Ancient
    Stallion :: Equine :: ::

    Though known for being cold and cruel, the Sun God protected his own, but he could not protect from the gentle embrace that cradled Azzuen on this day. Instead, he offered his condolences to the heartbroken mortals in a unique way, honoring the loyal general who served this herd with dignity and grace. Between tallsun's clouds, a ray of sun shone brightly, casting a white light upon the stallion's body. Every peaceful line and gentle contour of the stallion's body was illuminated gloriously, a halo to ring his entire body.

    A brisk breeze pushed past, rustling the fibers of his wings, and the light became more intense. The edges of his strong feathers began to catch fire, but it danced and burned in blue. The flames spread slowly and reverently, eventually covering his body in the wreath of magic. On the same wind flew a zephyr, burning gloriously and coming to hover above the deceased stallion, looking down with emotion filling burning eyes. A single tear blinking from her eye and dropping into the flames. As if sparked by the healing magic in the zephyr's tears but not able to knit back a broken heart, the flames burst into a glorious pillar of blue and orange, swirling quickly and pulling up his body into a stunning, ashy cloud.

    With a loud crack and a small shockwave that rose dust from the ground and pushed hooves backward, the general's body burst into particles of electricity, hissing, snapping and popping until all of the blue lights faded. Nothing remained of the warrior except for his spear and a few feathers that a knowing wind moved toward the colorful daughter. The zephyr of fire came to land before the child and her hellhound, pulling a piece of magical string from between her talons. Carefully and with deft claws, she wrapped the vein of one of the warrior's feathers into the child's mane.

    Then, the zephyr tied the second feather to the end of the spear and turned her head to the side curiously to regard the group of loved ones. Beautiful emotion often encouraged the beauty of nature, but the wild spirits of life were not often tethered to glorious deeds. With a mournful cry, the fire bird launched herself into the air and made for the ocean, eventually becoming nothing but a daylight star on the horizon.

    Another whisper came through on the breeze, and the feather in Cirrus' mane danced against her neck. The breeze turned into a violent wind, a storm that wrapped around her like a maelstrom - the spirit of a warrior. Winds caught beneath her winds, lifting her above the ground without effort. With a final breath, like the sigh of death, the winds sank into her very skin, fusing with her bones and wrapping around her soul. The breath of a warrior and the spirit of storms beat side by side with her mourning heart.

    The passing of a warrior, and the rising of a daughter.

    A similar wind began to move through the crowd, wrapping around Kri's mane and brushing beneath her feathers. Gaucho, Azzaron, Aryel, Cassiopeia and Sumati were caught in the maelstrom, each of them embraced with a similar kiss of strength. Blessed. The five mourners were blessed.


    Cirrus has gained her magic from the giveaway

    :: [Magic: Time x Wind | Able to control the local weather patterns in a 30m radius]
    :: [Restrictions | Effects last only 10 minutes at a time with only the intensity of a rainstorm]

    Kri, Gaucho, Aryel, Azzaron, Cassiopeia and Sumati all gained the temporary ability to control small wind storms! This effect will last until 2/15/13!

    Ascended Helovian

    Gaucho The Wildfire Posts: 1,004
    Deceased atk: 8.5 | def: 11.5 | dam: 8
    Stallion :: Pegasus :: 17.2 :: 12 HP: 85 | Buff: PINNACLE
    Mara :: Black Mamba Snake :: Paralyze & Vorsa :: Plain Zephyr :: Phoenix Odd

     GAUCHO </style>

    With fire to keep us warm & tools we made from rocks and bones
    [Image: 5105621d5416e]</style>

    They came, as Gaucho knew they would. It was as if the spirit of those who are very great, are given one last moment to impact the living; to draw them to their bodies for a final goodbye. As the fallen's name was spoken, Gaucho understood that this was the ass-yewnnn that my-dus had spoken of. Would the paint think Gaucho had spoken prophetically when he said that he would not be reporting into Azzuen? With quite, watchful eyes, the bay surveyed the perimeter ensuring that those who would mourn the fallen general were allowed to do so in peace. He had been told of a threat - tee-oh - and was slightly anxious, expecting him to arrive at any moment and boast of his part in all of this. Yet given the state of peacefulness in which they found the General, Gaucho knew it was unlikely.

    As the heavens parted, streaming light onto the fallen body, Gaucho inhaled with a deep respectful reverence. Nostrils quivering, he watched with awe as the Zephyr enchantingly flew above the body, and seemed to offer some gift to those very close - widow and child, he wondered. As the light breeze increased in fury, Gaucho pinned his ears, aggressively turning his body away from the group to try and find the creator of the supernatural gale. As a feeling of empowerment ebbed through him, the warrior realized that this was no attack, but a gift, from a General to whom Gaucho never had a chance to swear loyalty. Complex emotions like regret and longing were not ones that the bay understood well, yet in that moment part of him felt regret, for having not had the opportunity to serve alongside such a true spirit.

    Please tag me in every post! Magic/Force is allowed on Gaucho at any time.

    Ascended Helovian

    Midas the Gallant Posts: 1,164
    Stallion :: Pegasus :: 14.3 hh :: Immortal :: Soul is 7 (FF) Buff: HUNTER
    Fina :: Common Zephyr :: Phoenix & Wakiya & Neve :: Common Zephyr :: Arctic Angel

    We were all born the same. Unicorn, Pegasus, and those without the embellishment of either, from the moment body burst from mother’s womb to the time we came of age. There was a short break between, a lapse for learning, exploration, and innocence. Like all things, the innocence slips away and our minds widen to new understanding. Magic begins to take hold, terrible, beautiful magic. Our lives fashioned into something more than ourselves, we find love, friendship, and purpose. Be it in a family or on the outside looking in. We find reason to draw breath, and push ahead.

    Some moments have you wishing that for a few hours, you could just be small again. Forgetful of the horror, blood and battle of remembered in daylight dreams. Ignore the responsibilities of our hearts and push aside those that called to us for action. Sometimes, you just wanted to fly absent thought of expectations or problems. Without a care for those that lay far below, the only thing that mattered in heaven was how well you could soar.

    Just as each creature entered the same, we all died as well. Some more graceful than others, but all went through a similar journey shrouded in mystery. Religion helped shed light upon this journey and offered comfort to those that had been left behind. It wouldn’t however mend all wounds instantly—people needed time to grieve and shed a tear.

    I couldn’t have realized that this day would spark new waves of sorrow across our family.

    Only the lords above might have foreseen tragic loss at hand.

    My eyes opened to a new morning, normal in every sense of the word. My pyro child sat on her branch, snoozing away with head tucked between burnt orange feathers. Another figure lay beside me, his creamy colored body curled comfortably into the contours of earth. He looked so peaceful and innocent when at rest, it moved me to reach out and blow warm air across that little muzzle affectionately; smiling when it seemed that the beginnings of a frown started to form.

    Pulling away and lifting neck toward the eastern horizon, I let the calm wash in and sooth as it might. Totally ignorant at what heart-stricken event was happening as Helovia stretched awake for another day in paradise. For once, the darkening thoughts of my bitter heart didn’t linger on conscious, wings stretched to full extend as I pulled from underneath the shade of our old magnolia. Gathering each muscle before giving them a light shake to rid both them and myself of what remained to be drowsy.

    Suddenly, the quiet morning was broken. My gaze turns north as a shrill scream and a forlorn howl send prickles of discomfort down spine and widen eyes into fury. Fina awakes sharply with a scowl upon her beak, harshly she questions through our bond. I respond with momentary confusion. Yet the possible answer that fashions sends my body out of comforting loll and into a tense wakefulness. Mind thinks back to the rumored invasion. Was it happening now? Why hadn’t the midnight guard warned of an attack, surely they would have seen something?

    But no…wait. I give pause as Cassiopeia looks my way, Azzuens family had bedded close by--and she asks that I keep watch over her youngest child. Nodding readily in response, I’m without chance to properly answer before the coal colored woman dashes off--leaving their littlest foal Azulee behind in my care. Stepping closer to where the storm child lay I glanced back at Cera, wondering if he had been jarred awake by all this and slowly lowered muzzle to whisper, “Rest easy for a moment child, let’s wait and see what happens.”

    Eventually the sound of hooves and wings approaching come into sight, a flock was gathering around something. Something that couldn’t be seen from this distance, my tense composure grows more and more anxious. Fina flies from her branch and lands near Cera protectively, watching me and the dust stirring in ahead with lifted wings ablaze.

    It surely wasn’t a battle, for no trumpets called us to war.

    Finally I turned head to regard the foals and said softly, “Come Cera, Azulee, let’s see what all the commotion is for.”

    Just as we started to get within earshot.

    A powerful light comes from the source of this; my gaze was cast aside for fear of its blinding intensity. Jerking into a trot I urged the pair of youths forward, not long after the strange glowing magic a cry similar to that of my dear firebird ignited the heavens. Fina, who was dragging sky overhead obviously heard the call as well and responded with an earsplitting roar of her own.

    Approaching the scene just as the ash faded, our eyes fell upon family. Tears and gloom darkened every face; and the mother of the storm filly lay in the dust with her elder daughter. Drawing near, forcefully my steps pushed through the crowd, not rudely but also not with quarter to be given at this moment; I gave clear path for little Azulee. What had happened? A tangling of feathers and wings, everyone was peering at heaven and at a scuffled spot where a fallen friend had only moments ago laid.

    Utterly confused by the fresh tears in Cirrus’s eyes and the now decorated spear that belonged to only one stallion in this group….Azzuen…were was Azzuen?


    Suddenly, like an unfortunate light; the act dawned on me. “He is dead.” Finding this silent notion impossible and utterly ridiculous I search for Kri’s eyes. Her wisdom had always been something to look up to, upon meeting them my question is verified. My friend, my mentor.

    Was gone.

    Face threatened to fall apart in anguish and for a brief moment I didn’t care. Straightening I turned round, walking through the group a few paces until my frame lingered on the outskirts of said gathering. Head stared straight ahead as managed shock soared and tore at my heart with grief. Tendons along my neck tightened until the pathway for air nearly felt closed off, he couldn’t leave us now. He just couldn’t. But it was so, and no amount of wishing in this world could change it.

    Feeling turmoil and trembling heart, my child lands upon back. Sapphire eyes full of sympathy and love, my eyes turn to hers burning from withheld tears that refuse to come out for the sake of pride.

    “Brother, you have left us to soon.”

    your dying love is a rose I have buried somewhere close to you
    [Image: 5388c9b80fe59]

    Aryel Posts: 229
    Dragon's Throat Soldier
    Mare :: Pegasus :: 14.4 :: 4

    As Azzuen's body began to catch fire, Aryel took a startled step backwards. At first, she thought somebody in the mournful gathering was cremating him, but one look at the light streaming down from the clouds made her realize something else was happening. She watched, silent, as a large zephyr bird flew down to hover above his body, a teardrop from that same bird igniting the dead stallion's body into a beautiful inferno of orange and blue. Awe managed to creep it's way across her expression as she marveled at the sight, at colors richer and deeper than she had ever imagined.

    She snorted in alarm as the shockwave pushed her back a few inches, but stayed where she was, watching as the bird approached Cirrus, weaving a feather into her mane and onto the spear that sat embedded in the ground nearby. Just when she thought the display was over, the wind whipped up again, surrounding her in an aura of power that lifted the filly off the ground, then moving to dance between everyone else, leaving her with an odd hum in her veins. Azzuen's final goodbye. As the wind died down, she bit back a sob and lifted her wing joint to her forehead, primaries slightly extended over her head in a pegasus salute. The anger at being left with danger looming on the horizon still remained, but now there was a sense of closure. The herd would live on, even though their General did not.

    Respects paid to Azzuen, she lifted her head to scrutinize the clouds. Since coming here, she had been somewhat skeptical as to the Gods' caring about the mortals, but today had planted a seed of respect in her. She gave a small nod to the air.

    Maybe they did care.

    Walk walk walk walk.
    "Talk talk talk talk."

    In blood and honor, we will prevail.</style>

    image by gpabill @
    Thanks for the good times, and no hard feelings for the bad times.

    Vicer and Aryel's new threads never happened.

    Cirrus Posts: 233
    Outcast atk: 6.5 | def: 9.5 | dam: 6
    Mare :: Pegasus :: 15.1 :: 8 HP: 69 | Buff: SWIFT

    My song continued.

    Others arrived, and they all said farewell to our father, some with words, others with simple, respectful gestures. Mother arrived, her wing draping itself over my beloved, her tears splashing upon the dry earth to mingle my Cirrus', with my own.

    Still, I sang.

    The leader arrived, and with her, Onni, our mentor, the kind hearted and true paint femme who would surely help steer our path towards the one that he wanted us to have. Kri gave her fitting words, my song dimmed slightly as she spoke, before rising once more to the volume it held before. I felt as if there could be no end to my lament, to the sorrow that twisted itself around the guts of my beloved, to the melancholic depression that marred her beautiful smile into a sad, twisted expression of pain and grief. I could only hope to howl, to keep on howling, until my song lifted her sorrow to the heavens that I pointed my muzzle towards, as if by projecting my melody upwards would also lift the darkness attempting to settle over us.

    It wasn't working.

    So I continued my song.

    I had lived but a young life, and before my beloved had found me, fed me, and bonded with me, I knew nothing but pain and suffering from the depths of hell itself. I knew what it was like to be chained by iron that burned white-hot, I knew what it felt like to not be able to breath without whimpering for the burning that pained one's throat. I knew what it was like to choke upon an emotion that threatened to swallow you whole with its darkness.

    I would not let this happen to my Cirrus.

    I don't know if it was my song that summoned the event that followed next. But as it occurred, I felt the fire along my back ignite, a brilliant, very real flame that would burn any except my beloved. With my muzzle pointed skywards, I needed to only open my eyes between tears to view the magnificence that descended upon us. The great zephyr seemed to ignite our father, and it was all Cirrus could do to pause in her own sobbing as the body of The Ardent rose once more - for his final flight.

    My song dimmed again, my attention stolen by the happenings, glued to the pillar of brilliant light that stole away his body, both Cirrus and my eyes stared, unblinking, as the light brightened, and again, as it sparked and crackled with an energy not of this world. It was not until a dusty, ashy cloud remained of him that I felt Cirrus' body begin breathing once more - my own too - we had both held onto our breaths, onto some hopeless hope that maybe, just maybe, he would be revived.

    But he was not coming back to us, not now, not ever.

    The fire bird approached my beloved then, tying one of the last tokens of our father into her mane, and even upon the spear that was left behind. A spear tainted by so much blood, and now, the feather of a dead father - and yet, even as she reflected upon this, she brought it closer to herself. My beloved even attempted to reach to the bird, to touch it with her muzzle, she did not know entirely why - did she want to give thanks? Or to ask the creature what had happened? Was it all real?

    But the bird moved too swiftly, it's shining form taking its leave for its heavenly post once more. Cerulean eyes traced its path, so enraptured, so willing to cling to any distraction, it was not until a sharp bark echoed from my maw that my beloved even felt the wind stirring at her sides.

    Instinctively her wings opened, even as she was lifted with effortless magic to over above us all. Wrought with worry, I bounded as close to her as I could, the winds causing the flames upon my back to dance haphazardly in and out of existence. Just as the magic of a Physician lit her up, so too did this phenomenon, before it seemed to go beneath her skin, within her - I could feel it too, the strange sensation of one's skin crawling as internal foundations were altered, or perhaps, just allowed to realise their full potential. The maelstrom seemed to die down as the power settled itself within her, just as it delicately placed her back upon the sandy base of our home.

    In an instant, I was by her, my wet nose nudging her foreleg, my tongue licking at her muzzle as she lowered it to me. She was crying still, and so I kissed away the salty tears that would try to stain her.

    There was no happiness in her, only a small sense of wonder at what had just happened, what had changed here, both within her and within the lands themselves. Wings still half-spread, she took a step forward, and claimed the spear of her father as her own, tilting her tiara as she lifted it to place it among her feathers as he had done for so much of his life.

    It started raining.

    It was a drizzle, a fine mist that seemed intent on dampening the gathered. It's strangeness was barely noticed until we looked around, and saw that only this area, this Wave of the Throat was affected. I looked up at my beloved, and saw the writhing of storm clouds across her pelt, though they only gathered in a patch of sky above the group. I recognised the stirring of magic, though I know not whether she knew...

    She was making it rain.

    as changing as unforgiving as the wind, as bitter and chilling as the cold, as warm and deadly as the heat

  • I enjoy being tagged.

  • please do not feel pressured into mirroring the length of any of my posts
    I write what I feel at the time
    and hope everyone else does the same c:

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