Everclear
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.