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+--- Thread: [private] A God's Creation [Everclear] (/showthread.php?tid=31582)
A God's Creation [Everclear] - Deiti - 04-11-2024
D
eiti
A God's Creation | Carnage X Dynast
Land quest thread
@
Everclear I'm not sure where the last bit came from but I'm rolling with it XD
RE: A God's Creation [Everclear] - Everclear - 04-26-2024
EVERCLEAR
The relative peace of the world is a welcome respite, in Everclear’s mind. While calm and quiet are all he’d known before, even during the plague (he had not fallen ill or been a carrier of the disease, miraculously untouched), they are equally all he has ever strived to know.
Conflict does not suit him.
As such, he has always sought peace, has always sought to soothe the hearts of others when evil seemed to grip them too tightly. Perhaps it had been foolish of him to think himself capable of persuading such crooked wills to divert and reform – after all, it rarely seemed to work – but his efforts would never waver.
It is all he has ever wanted since the day he’d come to serve Heaven’s Gates so long ago. To be worthy of the home he devoted himself to, to become the ‘angel’ that Spyglass had called him. Perhaps that is why the fairy-foal had given him the halo which now adorns him, a crown of light in the fading dusk around him. She hadn’t been able to help him with his larger desire of protecting his home, but perhaps she had started him in the right direction.
If only she could have given him the full power, the true angelic strength to inspire others, to quell the anger and dispel suppositions of weakness that more invasive forces often harbored toward the Gates.
Then, at least, he might truly be capable of safeguarding the kingdom as he so longs to do.
For now, he is only left with these thoughts and hopes. He wanders the land alone, quieted by his contemplation and minor reverie of times long past. The sun has begun to settle for the evening, taking with it the general birdcalls and gentle winds to be replaced by quiet, breathy breezes and the soft chorus of the oncoming night.
For a while the muffled padding of his footfalls in the sand is all he hears alongside the lapping of the ocean on the shore. The darkened beach around him is gilded vaguely with the golden light from his new ornament and the whisper of grasses moving in the salty dunes hardly catches his notice at all. It’s only when something larger and darker becomes apparent against the bluish backdrop of his surroundings that Everclear blinks and lifts his head somewhat.
The figure stands alone and silent and for a moment so does he. While Myrna had told him that Beqanna seems to be resting peacefully at present, the wariness of darker times still lingers in the old immortal. Grim events have been triggered by seemingly idle encounters much like this in the past, but after a moment’s deliberation, the stallion moves forward slowly.
Still alert, head up and ears forward (one occasionally turning to listen to his surroundings), he approaches the stranger with caution. “Hello?” he beckons gently, hopeful that this is perhaps an inhabitant of the Gates he hasn’t met yet, or an aspirant. “Lovely night we’re having…” The observation is not truly meant to start a conversation, but more to provoke any kind of response that may allow him to gauge the figure’s intentions.
He remains alert but not overtly hostile, holding on to a nearly-naive hope that this is nothing more than another friendly encounter.
Conflict does not suit him.
As such, he has always sought peace, has always sought to soothe the hearts of others when evil seemed to grip them too tightly. Perhaps it had been foolish of him to think himself capable of persuading such crooked wills to divert and reform – after all, it rarely seemed to work – but his efforts would never waver.
It is all he has ever wanted since the day he’d come to serve Heaven’s Gates so long ago. To be worthy of the home he devoted himself to, to become the ‘angel’ that Spyglass had called him. Perhaps that is why the fairy-foal had given him the halo which now adorns him, a crown of light in the fading dusk around him. She hadn’t been able to help him with his larger desire of protecting his home, but perhaps she had started him in the right direction.
If only she could have given him the full power, the true angelic strength to inspire others, to quell the anger and dispel suppositions of weakness that more invasive forces often harbored toward the Gates.
Then, at least, he might truly be capable of safeguarding the kingdom as he so longs to do.
For now, he is only left with these thoughts and hopes. He wanders the land alone, quieted by his contemplation and minor reverie of times long past. The sun has begun to settle for the evening, taking with it the general birdcalls and gentle winds to be replaced by quiet, breathy breezes and the soft chorus of the oncoming night.
For a while the muffled padding of his footfalls in the sand is all he hears alongside the lapping of the ocean on the shore. The darkened beach around him is gilded vaguely with the golden light from his new ornament and the whisper of grasses moving in the salty dunes hardly catches his notice at all. It’s only when something larger and darker becomes apparent against the bluish backdrop of his surroundings that Everclear blinks and lifts his head somewhat.
The figure stands alone and silent and for a moment so does he. While Myrna had told him that Beqanna seems to be resting peacefully at present, the wariness of darker times still lingers in the old immortal. Grim events have been triggered by seemingly idle encounters much like this in the past, but after a moment’s deliberation, the stallion moves forward slowly.
Still alert, head up and ears forward (one occasionally turning to listen to his surroundings), he approaches the stranger with caution. “Hello?” he beckons gently, hopeful that this is perhaps an inhabitant of the Gates he hasn’t met yet, or an aspirant. “Lovely night we’re having…” The observation is not truly meant to start a conversation, but more to provoke any kind of response that may allow him to gauge the figure’s intentions.
He remains alert but not overtly hostile, holding on to a nearly-naive hope that this is nothing more than another friendly encounter.
RE: A God's Creation [Everclear] - Deiti - 04-27-2024
D
eiti
A God's Creation | Carnage X Dynast
@
Everclear
RE: A God's Creation [Everclear] - Everclear - 05-17-2024
EVERCLEAR
If he could sense the shift in the mare, her internal struggle between beast and beauty, he may have retained some of his well-practiced caution. Having lived so long, he is not a stranger to wolves in sheep’s clothing (nearly literally, in fact) and he would have shifted his amiability to the side, shuttered in a separate bastion within a grander wall of vigilance.
The moonless darkness, however, and her well-worn mask prevent his perception of any potential harm. She is but a wayward maiden along the beach; he is but a nightwatchman on patrol. The ocean plays their soundtrack, a steady gasp and sigh of waves against the shore, its faintly glittering surface yawning like a spectral void at their side. Everclear’s wariness lingers, foggy in his mind as he gauges this stranger’s intentions from her body language alone; his greeting is merely a verbal probe meant to engage and elicit some form of affirmation.
Her response is neutral, though it is nothing overt enough to lead him into believing she carries ill intent with her. Still, her subtle shifts and the opaline luster of her scales leave him with that sense of uncertainty. At the very least she doesn’t seem hostile – her muscles do not flex as if preparing to spring at him – and her delicate face seems trustworthy enough in the gentle golden glow of his halo.
He exhales gently and edges a smile to his lips, pressing a kindly expression through the apprehension he maintains.
Undue judgment is not becoming of an angel of Heaven, he reminds himself inwardly, and if he were ever to become a true angel as is his desire, it would not be right to look upon others with such doubt before their purposes are known.
So he nods to her, shifting his weight to relieve some of the tension borne in his back, and shares in her appraisal of the shadowed lands spanning north of them. “For me it is home,” he says rather plainly, obviously, and he snorts almost gruffly. “It is the kingdom that was once called Heaven’s Gates, long ago. These days it is known simply as The Gates.”
He looks back to the stranger, a minor tilt bringing his gold-gilt brown eyes to study her again. “And my name is Everclear. May I ask yours?”
The moonless darkness, however, and her well-worn mask prevent his perception of any potential harm. She is but a wayward maiden along the beach; he is but a nightwatchman on patrol. The ocean plays their soundtrack, a steady gasp and sigh of waves against the shore, its faintly glittering surface yawning like a spectral void at their side. Everclear’s wariness lingers, foggy in his mind as he gauges this stranger’s intentions from her body language alone; his greeting is merely a verbal probe meant to engage and elicit some form of affirmation.
Her response is neutral, though it is nothing overt enough to lead him into believing she carries ill intent with her. Still, her subtle shifts and the opaline luster of her scales leave him with that sense of uncertainty. At the very least she doesn’t seem hostile – her muscles do not flex as if preparing to spring at him – and her delicate face seems trustworthy enough in the gentle golden glow of his halo.
He exhales gently and edges a smile to his lips, pressing a kindly expression through the apprehension he maintains.
Undue judgment is not becoming of an angel of Heaven, he reminds himself inwardly, and if he were ever to become a true angel as is his desire, it would not be right to look upon others with such doubt before their purposes are known.
So he nods to her, shifting his weight to relieve some of the tension borne in his back, and shares in her appraisal of the shadowed lands spanning north of them. “For me it is home,” he says rather plainly, obviously, and he snorts almost gruffly. “It is the kingdom that was once called Heaven’s Gates, long ago. These days it is known simply as The Gates.”
He looks back to the stranger, a minor tilt bringing his gold-gilt brown eyes to study her again. “And my name is Everclear. May I ask yours?”
@
Deiti
RE: A God's Creation [Everclear] - Deiti - 05-18-2024
D
eiti
A God's Creation | Carnage X Dynast
@
Everclear
RE: A God's Creation [Everclear] - Everclear - 05-21-2024
EVERCLEAR
It is difficult for him to adjust to the reality that the kingdom no longer incorporates the heavenly aspect of its original name. He should not be surprised – Beqanna is ever-evolving, a constant shift and morph within its core like the molting of some giant reptile. And just like a reptile, it moved on, leaving its past behind for elders like himself to bear in remembrance, something fragile and unwanted and irrelevant.
They had been angels back then, even himself – both an outcast and a reclaimer, an aspirant and a convert. The shadows of his past may have lingered in the eyes of some, but he had considered himself one of them, a seraphim among them, their leader with his resplendent queen. He had tried above all else to give them hope, to rebuild the wreckage of their home… but it all seems pointless now, no matter how much he wishes it were not so.
The kingdom of Heaven had fallen, overcome by the wiles of the faeries, and is now reborn. Quiet, barren, peaceful, wanting…
Therefore he corrects himself when introducing the kingdom to the mysterious visitor, this nameless creature who wanders the beach at night. He studies her now, still a bit off-put by her minimal answers so that he must rely on a nonverbal sort of communication. The twitch of muscle, the depth of breath, the shift of weight. Everclear can only try to match her, pulse slightly elevated in his apprehension.
She has not returned to look at him, her bright blue eyes rimmed with the ethereal light of his halo fixated on the dark lands beyond as she dodges the question of her name. It’s then that he can see the pointed teeth in her smile, the predatory rows of a shark’s mouth, and his cautious swims back to the surface. Planting his weight evenly on his feet, he continues to watch her, unblinking for a moment.
Her words are a bit odd in these times of quietude and even stranger for such a pliant setting, the calm beach in the empty kingdom. At first he believes he could affirm her question (‘have you ever tried so hard to be someone you were never meant to be?’ Yes, oh, yes.), but he does not have a chance as she continues. He tucks his chin, eyes and ears locked on to her until her voice lapses and he draws breath for an answer, gathering the words that will not have a chance to reach his lips.
They do not make it to the tip of his tongue for, just when he finally blinks, she strikes. She twists and he brays, a hoarse shout smothering his impending response with the raw vocalization of surprise. She has moved too quickly, lashing toward his throat with those dagger-teeth and serpentine speed, silent and fierce. Everclear jerks his head upward, trying to rise into a rear to avoid the blow, but she has already come down upon him and her fangs snag against his dappled hide.
The bloom of pain is lost beneath the heat of his blood rushing through the fresh wound, rapid as it flows to meet her hungry mouth. But his motion still pulls him free of her reach as he turns too, angling his forelegs to his right and toward the ocean. Reflexively, his body wants to spin and defend itself with a lash from his hind legs in an angered buck, but he refrains. Prancing slightly away from her into the fingertip-reaches of the lapping waves, he keeps himself facing her and tosses his head with a hardy snort.
Adrenaline burns from the sudden release into his veins; his legs feel heavy but loose, his heart pounds madly in its cage. Beneath him, golden light dances erratically on the ripples of the water and froth that ring around his ankles.
“Why–?” he asks hoarsely before he coughs, shakes his mane and lifts his head again. “Why have you come here with violence?” Clearer, this time. The indignance burns in his words, sharp and tangible as he scowls at her dark form in the moonlight. His throat is darkened now by the blood trailing gently down his neck and to his breast; warmed by his body but cooled by the open air, it is a discomforting stain to bear.
But her words still linger in his ears, the talk of insanity and demons, and he exhales sharply. “If you are struggling, you surely need help.” He is still pacing slowly through the surf, circling her now so that she might not regain the upper hand. “But you should not resort to such monstrous tactics to redeem it.” His frown has softened now – it lingers still, but not as harsh as before. “This is not the place for such brutality and I am not a willing opponent.”
He has always been, at his core, a peacekeeper.
“Speak with me and I will gladly offer any aid you might require,” he finally stops before her again, a length or two out of her reach, and nods his head. The crimson at his throat gleams in the light of his heavenly crown. “But if you will not listen, I will not host company with such savagery.” A gentle threat, for he does not wish to use any sort of force against her, but his promise to the queen had been true: he would do what he must to protect his home.
“Start with your name, and tell me what troubles you.”
They had been angels back then, even himself – both an outcast and a reclaimer, an aspirant and a convert. The shadows of his past may have lingered in the eyes of some, but he had considered himself one of them, a seraphim among them, their leader with his resplendent queen. He had tried above all else to give them hope, to rebuild the wreckage of their home… but it all seems pointless now, no matter how much he wishes it were not so.
The kingdom of Heaven had fallen, overcome by the wiles of the faeries, and is now reborn. Quiet, barren, peaceful, wanting…
Therefore he corrects himself when introducing the kingdom to the mysterious visitor, this nameless creature who wanders the beach at night. He studies her now, still a bit off-put by her minimal answers so that he must rely on a nonverbal sort of communication. The twitch of muscle, the depth of breath, the shift of weight. Everclear can only try to match her, pulse slightly elevated in his apprehension.
She has not returned to look at him, her bright blue eyes rimmed with the ethereal light of his halo fixated on the dark lands beyond as she dodges the question of her name. It’s then that he can see the pointed teeth in her smile, the predatory rows of a shark’s mouth, and his cautious swims back to the surface. Planting his weight evenly on his feet, he continues to watch her, unblinking for a moment.
Her words are a bit odd in these times of quietude and even stranger for such a pliant setting, the calm beach in the empty kingdom. At first he believes he could affirm her question (‘have you ever tried so hard to be someone you were never meant to be?’ Yes, oh, yes.), but he does not have a chance as she continues. He tucks his chin, eyes and ears locked on to her until her voice lapses and he draws breath for an answer, gathering the words that will not have a chance to reach his lips.
They do not make it to the tip of his tongue for, just when he finally blinks, she strikes. She twists and he brays, a hoarse shout smothering his impending response with the raw vocalization of surprise. She has moved too quickly, lashing toward his throat with those dagger-teeth and serpentine speed, silent and fierce. Everclear jerks his head upward, trying to rise into a rear to avoid the blow, but she has already come down upon him and her fangs snag against his dappled hide.
The bloom of pain is lost beneath the heat of his blood rushing through the fresh wound, rapid as it flows to meet her hungry mouth. But his motion still pulls him free of her reach as he turns too, angling his forelegs to his right and toward the ocean. Reflexively, his body wants to spin and defend itself with a lash from his hind legs in an angered buck, but he refrains. Prancing slightly away from her into the fingertip-reaches of the lapping waves, he keeps himself facing her and tosses his head with a hardy snort.
Adrenaline burns from the sudden release into his veins; his legs feel heavy but loose, his heart pounds madly in its cage. Beneath him, golden light dances erratically on the ripples of the water and froth that ring around his ankles.
“Why–?” he asks hoarsely before he coughs, shakes his mane and lifts his head again. “Why have you come here with violence?” Clearer, this time. The indignance burns in his words, sharp and tangible as he scowls at her dark form in the moonlight. His throat is darkened now by the blood trailing gently down his neck and to his breast; warmed by his body but cooled by the open air, it is a discomforting stain to bear.
But her words still linger in his ears, the talk of insanity and demons, and he exhales sharply. “If you are struggling, you surely need help.” He is still pacing slowly through the surf, circling her now so that she might not regain the upper hand. “But you should not resort to such monstrous tactics to redeem it.” His frown has softened now – it lingers still, but not as harsh as before. “This is not the place for such brutality and I am not a willing opponent.”
He has always been, at his core, a peacekeeper.
“Speak with me and I will gladly offer any aid you might require,” he finally stops before her again, a length or two out of her reach, and nods his head. The crimson at his throat gleams in the light of his heavenly crown. “But if you will not listen, I will not host company with such savagery.” A gentle threat, for he does not wish to use any sort of force against her, but his promise to the queen had been true: he would do what he must to protect his home.
“Start with your name, and tell me what troubles you.”
@
Deiti
RE: A God's Creation [Everclear] - Deiti - 05-21-2024
D
eiti
A God's Creation | Carnage X Dynast
RE: A God's Creation [Everclear] - Everclear - 05-24-2024
EVERCLEAR
Everclear has struggled with madness before, long ago when much of his life had been oppressed by darkness. He had been lost already, wayward and woeful in the wake of heartache and loss. In the midst of this misery he had discovered his relation to the peacekeeper of the Valley, the endearing little mare whose life had been made an endless struggle by her twisted limbs. Fleshlip had always been charming and kind, a rarity in such grim places as the ‘evil’ kingdom, but no amount of sweetness could survive there for long. Everclear had watched as his great-granddaughter’s body had been torn and rent by her own spawn; Virgo’s entry to the world had tipped the scales against him.
No, not simply tipped – fully upended.
Years he had spent with a mind swirling in devastation and confusion, clouded beyond perception so that nothing made sense.
But then Spyglass had found him and brought him to Heaven. She had called him ‘angel’ and treated him as such. Perhaps it was the aftermath of the madness that had cemented the notion into his mind – that they, the residents of Heaven’s Gates, were indeed an ethereal band. Perhaps that is why the notion has stuck so firmly into his mind now, and the foal-fairy he had recently encountered only perpetuated this belief by bestowing the halo upon him.
Regardless, he recognizes the struggle within Deiti now, from her sudden string of plaintive words and the way she lashed out at him.
(Some part of him almost wonders whether his blood might taste any differently from others.)
The woman retaliates with fury and he is not surprised. Her voice is shrill against the darkness and he bears it with grace, waiting patiently for her fit to finish. This petulant sort of anger reminds him of an angry child, of a trodden snake or a wounded wolf, the way they retaliate without thought or consideration for their actions, and he only takes a steadying breath to try and calm his still-racing heart. Blood still traces against his dappled shoulder, but it does not concern him – he knows the existent magic in his blood will not allow him to die, especially not from so minor a wound (compared to those he has suffered in the past).
When she finally acquiesces with a discernible flicker in her eyes, Everclear nods his head slightly and eases some of the tension from his muscles again. Her name falls like a plea from her lips as she meets his gaze fully and he smiles softly with relief. Perhaps he would not have to fight her after all.
He steps cautiously closer again (though still not close enough for her to reach him; he is wary of enticing her with the sour scent of blood) and as his light touches upon her face again he notes the softness there now as compared to the sharpened angles it seemed to have borne before.
“No,” he says carefully, firmly, as distress stains her voice. “I have seen plenty of others who were certainly beyond help. I do not believe you are one of them.” In all his years, he’s seen so many different forms of what could actually be considered evil, of gruesome and blatantly sinister beings whose grins were even sharper than hers and their hearts even darker.
“I may not know you well, Deiti,” he goes on, reminiscent of his conversation with Myrna, “but I can see that you are fighting this conflict. I believe the key to overcoming any such internal dispute is faith. In yourself, in something else…” He tilts his head a little, glancing toward the openness of the kingdom again.
“You say this happens often?” he muses next, focused on her again. “Perhaps the first step is to discover what triggers it, or why. Does anything come to mind?”
No, not simply tipped – fully upended.
Years he had spent with a mind swirling in devastation and confusion, clouded beyond perception so that nothing made sense.
But then Spyglass had found him and brought him to Heaven. She had called him ‘angel’ and treated him as such. Perhaps it was the aftermath of the madness that had cemented the notion into his mind – that they, the residents of Heaven’s Gates, were indeed an ethereal band. Perhaps that is why the notion has stuck so firmly into his mind now, and the foal-fairy he had recently encountered only perpetuated this belief by bestowing the halo upon him.
Regardless, he recognizes the struggle within Deiti now, from her sudden string of plaintive words and the way she lashed out at him.
(Some part of him almost wonders whether his blood might taste any differently from others.)
The woman retaliates with fury and he is not surprised. Her voice is shrill against the darkness and he bears it with grace, waiting patiently for her fit to finish. This petulant sort of anger reminds him of an angry child, of a trodden snake or a wounded wolf, the way they retaliate without thought or consideration for their actions, and he only takes a steadying breath to try and calm his still-racing heart. Blood still traces against his dappled shoulder, but it does not concern him – he knows the existent magic in his blood will not allow him to die, especially not from so minor a wound (compared to those he has suffered in the past).
When she finally acquiesces with a discernible flicker in her eyes, Everclear nods his head slightly and eases some of the tension from his muscles again. Her name falls like a plea from her lips as she meets his gaze fully and he smiles softly with relief. Perhaps he would not have to fight her after all.
He steps cautiously closer again (though still not close enough for her to reach him; he is wary of enticing her with the sour scent of blood) and as his light touches upon her face again he notes the softness there now as compared to the sharpened angles it seemed to have borne before.
“No,” he says carefully, firmly, as distress stains her voice. “I have seen plenty of others who were certainly beyond help. I do not believe you are one of them.” In all his years, he’s seen so many different forms of what could actually be considered evil, of gruesome and blatantly sinister beings whose grins were even sharper than hers and their hearts even darker.
“I may not know you well, Deiti,” he goes on, reminiscent of his conversation with Myrna, “but I can see that you are fighting this conflict. I believe the key to overcoming any such internal dispute is faith. In yourself, in something else…” He tilts his head a little, glancing toward the openness of the kingdom again.
“You say this happens often?” he muses next, focused on her again. “Perhaps the first step is to discover what triggers it, or why. Does anything come to mind?”
@
Deiti
RE: A God's Creation [Everclear] - Deiti - 05-24-2024
D
eiti
A God's Creation | Carnage X Dynast