01-22-2018, 05:08 PM
<link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Oleo+Script|Parisienne" rel="stylesheet"><style type="text/css">.R3y_container {position: relative;z-index: 1;width: 500px;padding: 15px;background: transparent url('https://78.media.tumblr.com/51f0e0dd37fd6c21cda42d81ab224c02/tumblr_oz83mp1hxO1wc2gv3o1_1280.png')center;border: 2px solid #292929;box-shadow: 0 0 2em #000;}.R3y_container p {margin: 0;}.R3y_image {box-shadow: 0 0 2em #000;border: 2px solid #292929;height: 484px;}.R3y_message {text-align: justify;font: 12px 'Times New Roman', serif;padding: 15px 15px;color: #f7cada;background: #000;box-shadow: 0 0 2em #000;border: 2px solid #292929;}.R3y_name {position: absolute;z-index: 3;text-align: center;font: 50px 'Parisienne', cursive;color: #f7cada;top: 440px;left: 220px;text-shadow: 1px 1px 0px #fff;}.R3y_quote {text-align: center;font: 18px 'Oleo Script', cursive;color: #fff;padding: 20px;text-shadow: 1px 1px 4px #000;}</style><center><div class="R3y_container"><p class="R3y_name">Rey</p><img class="R3y_image" src="https://78.media.tumblr.com/b0a0cd9494a6fca3c1594a8b3f96054e/tumblr_p2m3o9IXbD1smku65o1_1280.jpg"><p class="R3y_quote">-Black cat in disguise-</p><p class="R3y_message"><i>A seemingly ordinary horse…</i> scrawls in illegible, chicken scratch across what normally would be the sky and I feel rather miffed at this turn of events.
Oh, being stolen away by a higher power wasn’t so terrible, I suppose. Realizing that I have the ability to discern language in written form didn't upset me either. But <i>normalcy</i>? It sets my teeth on edge.
What can I do but accept? The parchment beneath my hooves bursts open in a geyser of color, a hemorrhaging purge of ink that fills the four corners of this world with a fresh new scene. Walls form themselves around me, expanding to build a rather worn-down but lovely facility. The time of day is set in a hazy afternoon swelter; flies begin to riddle the peace with their noise and, soon thereafter, a pleasant hum builds from the appearance of stable hands, riders, and the usual barn riff-raff.
I’ve never seen anything like it. Worn cobblestone that clattered noisily with the back-and-forth of walking horses, heavy vine growth clinging to the walls and window frames. Even my confinement space (dark and dank as it was) smelled of worn wood and musty grain. A charming picture - almost enough to shake my reality.
<i>“You’re new.”</i> Someone says, leaning elbows on the edge of my lower door to peer into the shadows where I’m waiting, pushed against the back of my stall. I prick my ears with a bit of a start - jerk my head up and widen my eyes to peer at the figure sidelong. <i>“And such a lovely color, too.”</i> They speak again; now I can see the semblance of a pitiful smile offsetting their dark lips. I’m curious myself - what was so appealing about my puce green?
Hesitantly, I manage to take a step forward and <i>that’s</i> when I see the new tint of my legs. I’m no longer ‘Beqanna Normal’, I’m Cremello: Rosy pink skin, trembling tendrils of off-white mane, and (if I could see myself fully) I’m betting there are two blue eyes in the place of my gray ones. <i>“You’re a mount fit for mythology, come close - “</i> They beckon with a lazy wave, inclining further through the opening as if they’d like to share a secret with me.
<i>“The shape of your destiny is that of a Horn,”</i> They whisper against the curve of my ear, once I deign to lower my head to their level, <i>“break free of your chains and embrace the hills.”</i>
The tickle of their words has me flicking my head softly but, no matter - the intruder has already leant back into the warm sunshine and is easily striding across the open courtyard, their silver hair picked up by the breeze and revealing two slender, pointed ears of their own. Impish, kind of Elfish. <i>Odd</i>, I think. What could they mean, the shape of my Destiny is that of a horn? And something about ‘embracing the hills’?
With an exasperated snort I flick my tail, no closer to the answer than I’d been before. The rasping <i>click</i> and glide of my door hinge interrupts me, though. Someone else is here. A leggy human female slips into my stall, one hand shy and reserved behind her back while the other presents me a peppermint. I know the smell, but the sight of that red-and-white swirled treat is too much to resist! Almost against my will, I bury the small of my nose into her palm and find - shockingly - that it was a trap. Like a whip, the half-grown girl yanks some contraption over my face and deftly clips a hinge beneath my chin. Just like that I’m a slave again.
<i>“Flatwork today, girly.”</i> She sings as she goes about her business, rudely jerking my hooves off the ground to scrape noisily against their bottoms. <i>“Brian wasn’t too pleased that you dumped him last time.”</i> She tells me, but I can’t find a way to tell her that I don’t <i>know</i> a Brian, or anything about dumping him. This little tall-tale was infuriatingly thorough.
Guiding me like some overgrown puppy, the two of us meander across the same courtyard my guest had skipped through earlier, walking beneath the arched shadow of a grand entryway and out into the open world.
And that’s when I see them.
I don’t even think twice about shying away, or ripping the cord straight from my handler’s grasp, because the hills are a welcome outline on the near horizon. They jut out from the earth like some sleeping beast, tail and head wound around a thick forest while the stony back protrudes into the sky. There’s no question about their purpose in this tale of mine; everywhere is flat as a pancake.
<i>“LOOSE HORSE, SHE’S MAKING A BREAK!”</i> The girl screams behind me, empty air that can’t stop the rolling thunder of my feet as I edge nearer to my destiny. Other swayback mounts pause mid-dinner, their blank faces wide with shock as I streak past them, lead line whipping my shoulders, my neck. I can’t be stopped - I <i>won’t</i> be stopped, not even by the picket fence looming steadily in my foresight.
Were a few boards and some nails all it took to really break us in spirit?
<i>So long, suckers!</i> I squeal with glee, the sound escaping in a high whinny as I tuck and leap.
My lead line snags - catches itself on that same fence I’d promised to vanquish - and with a painful twist it yanks my pearly head backwards and sends me sprawling onto the grass. I’m dazed for a moment, struggling blindly to rise on unsteady legs, and my neck is <i>killing</i> me but dutifully I continue with my plans for escape. The humans have mounted an assault already - they stream across the field I’ve just left and are, no doubt, planning to return me back to that horse cage.
I’m frantic; I pull back, dance around and try to rear or hop but it’s got me tight. The humans are closing in, maybe a hundred yards or so to go before my window of opportunity slams shut. They can tell I’m struggling, that I’m fighting and won’t give up, so their pace increases and my urgency rises. <i>Come on, come ON!</i> I scream in a throaty bellow, yanking and jerking and somehow, winding myself even tighter.
It’s hopeless, and I feel as such when the same, leggy girl who’d given me a peppermint trots up to me before the others. <i>“Hey now, easy there you knucklehead.”</i> She soothes, both hands up in a defensive gesture. Quivering, my nostrils flared, I steady and watch her approach. <i>“That’s right, just gonna -”</i> She grunts, and then leaps as if she’s going to snatch the lead.
Not today, though. The same moment she goes for it, so do I, my parted mouth coming down to snap together on her hand. With an agonising scream the girl falls back and I take this as my last shot - leaning backwards again to strain the rope before rushing ahead to slam my shoulder into the top board. Luck is with me; the board <i>wrenches</i> free and so do I. The chase is on again.
I dart across a worn dirt road, plunge myself into the thick of some farmer’s corn crop, and disappear between the rows, thinking myself as good as gone. I <i>should</i> feel bad about the little human, but I don’t have time to as the quick <i>*pop* *pop*</i> of distant gunfire scatters crows into the air. <i>“... Last time those damn animals break into MY CROPS again!”</i> I can hear someone hollering, and then the same <i>*pop* *pop*</i> sounds again.
A bullet <i>whizzes</i> past my fast and takes a few heads of corn with it. This guy wasn’t playing around. With the quick switch of my strides I opt to weave, bursting through one row and then diving back into another, all the while that harrowing sound of <i>*pop* *pop*</i> coming every few seconds, and closer each time. I think I’ve evaded him after a few moments of silence (how long does the corn stretch for god’s sake?!) and so I slip again through a row with hopes of finally escaping.
There, feet from where I stand, is the end of the cornfield.
The farmer is also waiting, standing proud in the bed of his metal horse and with a great, shiny stick pointed accurately at my head. <i>*Pop* *pop*</i> the gun fires and I shy away, eyes rolling in fear as I plunge and twist without thinking of direction. The brief sting on my cheek is telling me that I’ll have something to worry over later, but for right now I just want <i>out</i> of this freakish nightmare. In answer to my thoughts, the rows break in uniform again and I see an exit - clear of farmers - that leads to a riverbank and, hopefully, the end of this Human’s property.
I don’t have my wings anymore but that doesn’t mean I don’t fly. Even when I land with a grandiose splash and scurry up the opposite bank, muddy, sweaty, streaked with blood, I don’t stop flying. Past the growing trees and deeper into the heart of wood, I pump my legs and run until my lungs are near to giving out. Only then do I collapse, <i>literally</i>, at the base of the sleeping hills.
<i>“You made it!”</i> A cheerful voice calls out, the hollow sound of clapping hands echoing against the trunks. <i>“Hard without any help, hmm?”</i> The Elfin creature laughs, appearing suddenly in my vision as they lean over me. Their pale hand stretches down, icy fingers drifting across my cheek to pull back covered in blood. <i>“But you had the strength. Follow me.”</i> They demand, (pushy creature) turning their back to me once more.
I rise as quickly as can be managed by someone in my condition. The Elf is studious of me, a wily grin brightening their sharp cheeks as they turn to face the sloping hillside. Together we watch the earth transform - shudder and then take the shape of an oaken door, engraved with the tree of life and ringed in ancient script. <i>“Destiny awaits.”</i> The Elf reads without peering back, and I step forward without them needing to. It was inevitable all along, there was no need to be shy now. The door hums softly and fills me with warm light as I pass through; a new story unfolding, a new tale taking shape.
<i>“Thoughts?”</i> The Elf interrupts me, coming to stand at my shoulder with the presentation of a gilded looking glass. In my reflection I’m more Beqanna than I was before, a silver spiral grown firmly from my forehead to match the silver tendrils of my mane and tail.
I should be happy, but the deep gouge in my cheek is more unsettling than any other change I’ve received. Its presence meant something frightening; Unicorn or no, wherever this story took me, I would be able to feel and harbor pain.
I was never much one for Horror.</p></div></center>
Oh, being stolen away by a higher power wasn’t so terrible, I suppose. Realizing that I have the ability to discern language in written form didn't upset me either. But <i>normalcy</i>? It sets my teeth on edge.
What can I do but accept? The parchment beneath my hooves bursts open in a geyser of color, a hemorrhaging purge of ink that fills the four corners of this world with a fresh new scene. Walls form themselves around me, expanding to build a rather worn-down but lovely facility. The time of day is set in a hazy afternoon swelter; flies begin to riddle the peace with their noise and, soon thereafter, a pleasant hum builds from the appearance of stable hands, riders, and the usual barn riff-raff.
I’ve never seen anything like it. Worn cobblestone that clattered noisily with the back-and-forth of walking horses, heavy vine growth clinging to the walls and window frames. Even my confinement space (dark and dank as it was) smelled of worn wood and musty grain. A charming picture - almost enough to shake my reality.
<i>“You’re new.”</i> Someone says, leaning elbows on the edge of my lower door to peer into the shadows where I’m waiting, pushed against the back of my stall. I prick my ears with a bit of a start - jerk my head up and widen my eyes to peer at the figure sidelong. <i>“And such a lovely color, too.”</i> They speak again; now I can see the semblance of a pitiful smile offsetting their dark lips. I’m curious myself - what was so appealing about my puce green?
Hesitantly, I manage to take a step forward and <i>that’s</i> when I see the new tint of my legs. I’m no longer ‘Beqanna Normal’, I’m Cremello: Rosy pink skin, trembling tendrils of off-white mane, and (if I could see myself fully) I’m betting there are two blue eyes in the place of my gray ones. <i>“You’re a mount fit for mythology, come close - “</i> They beckon with a lazy wave, inclining further through the opening as if they’d like to share a secret with me.
<i>“The shape of your destiny is that of a Horn,”</i> They whisper against the curve of my ear, once I deign to lower my head to their level, <i>“break free of your chains and embrace the hills.”</i>
The tickle of their words has me flicking my head softly but, no matter - the intruder has already leant back into the warm sunshine and is easily striding across the open courtyard, their silver hair picked up by the breeze and revealing two slender, pointed ears of their own. Impish, kind of Elfish. <i>Odd</i>, I think. What could they mean, the shape of my Destiny is that of a horn? And something about ‘embracing the hills’?
With an exasperated snort I flick my tail, no closer to the answer than I’d been before. The rasping <i>click</i> and glide of my door hinge interrupts me, though. Someone else is here. A leggy human female slips into my stall, one hand shy and reserved behind her back while the other presents me a peppermint. I know the smell, but the sight of that red-and-white swirled treat is too much to resist! Almost against my will, I bury the small of my nose into her palm and find - shockingly - that it was a trap. Like a whip, the half-grown girl yanks some contraption over my face and deftly clips a hinge beneath my chin. Just like that I’m a slave again.
<i>“Flatwork today, girly.”</i> She sings as she goes about her business, rudely jerking my hooves off the ground to scrape noisily against their bottoms. <i>“Brian wasn’t too pleased that you dumped him last time.”</i> She tells me, but I can’t find a way to tell her that I don’t <i>know</i> a Brian, or anything about dumping him. This little tall-tale was infuriatingly thorough.
Guiding me like some overgrown puppy, the two of us meander across the same courtyard my guest had skipped through earlier, walking beneath the arched shadow of a grand entryway and out into the open world.
And that’s when I see them.
I don’t even think twice about shying away, or ripping the cord straight from my handler’s grasp, because the hills are a welcome outline on the near horizon. They jut out from the earth like some sleeping beast, tail and head wound around a thick forest while the stony back protrudes into the sky. There’s no question about their purpose in this tale of mine; everywhere is flat as a pancake.
<i>“LOOSE HORSE, SHE’S MAKING A BREAK!”</i> The girl screams behind me, empty air that can’t stop the rolling thunder of my feet as I edge nearer to my destiny. Other swayback mounts pause mid-dinner, their blank faces wide with shock as I streak past them, lead line whipping my shoulders, my neck. I can’t be stopped - I <i>won’t</i> be stopped, not even by the picket fence looming steadily in my foresight.
Were a few boards and some nails all it took to really break us in spirit?
<i>So long, suckers!</i> I squeal with glee, the sound escaping in a high whinny as I tuck and leap.
My lead line snags - catches itself on that same fence I’d promised to vanquish - and with a painful twist it yanks my pearly head backwards and sends me sprawling onto the grass. I’m dazed for a moment, struggling blindly to rise on unsteady legs, and my neck is <i>killing</i> me but dutifully I continue with my plans for escape. The humans have mounted an assault already - they stream across the field I’ve just left and are, no doubt, planning to return me back to that horse cage.
I’m frantic; I pull back, dance around and try to rear or hop but it’s got me tight. The humans are closing in, maybe a hundred yards or so to go before my window of opportunity slams shut. They can tell I’m struggling, that I’m fighting and won’t give up, so their pace increases and my urgency rises. <i>Come on, come ON!</i> I scream in a throaty bellow, yanking and jerking and somehow, winding myself even tighter.
It’s hopeless, and I feel as such when the same, leggy girl who’d given me a peppermint trots up to me before the others. <i>“Hey now, easy there you knucklehead.”</i> She soothes, both hands up in a defensive gesture. Quivering, my nostrils flared, I steady and watch her approach. <i>“That’s right, just gonna -”</i> She grunts, and then leaps as if she’s going to snatch the lead.
Not today, though. The same moment she goes for it, so do I, my parted mouth coming down to snap together on her hand. With an agonising scream the girl falls back and I take this as my last shot - leaning backwards again to strain the rope before rushing ahead to slam my shoulder into the top board. Luck is with me; the board <i>wrenches</i> free and so do I. The chase is on again.
I dart across a worn dirt road, plunge myself into the thick of some farmer’s corn crop, and disappear between the rows, thinking myself as good as gone. I <i>should</i> feel bad about the little human, but I don’t have time to as the quick <i>*pop* *pop*</i> of distant gunfire scatters crows into the air. <i>“... Last time those damn animals break into MY CROPS again!”</i> I can hear someone hollering, and then the same <i>*pop* *pop*</i> sounds again.
A bullet <i>whizzes</i> past my fast and takes a few heads of corn with it. This guy wasn’t playing around. With the quick switch of my strides I opt to weave, bursting through one row and then diving back into another, all the while that harrowing sound of <i>*pop* *pop*</i> coming every few seconds, and closer each time. I think I’ve evaded him after a few moments of silence (how long does the corn stretch for god’s sake?!) and so I slip again through a row with hopes of finally escaping.
There, feet from where I stand, is the end of the cornfield.
The farmer is also waiting, standing proud in the bed of his metal horse and with a great, shiny stick pointed accurately at my head. <i>*Pop* *pop*</i> the gun fires and I shy away, eyes rolling in fear as I plunge and twist without thinking of direction. The brief sting on my cheek is telling me that I’ll have something to worry over later, but for right now I just want <i>out</i> of this freakish nightmare. In answer to my thoughts, the rows break in uniform again and I see an exit - clear of farmers - that leads to a riverbank and, hopefully, the end of this Human’s property.
I don’t have my wings anymore but that doesn’t mean I don’t fly. Even when I land with a grandiose splash and scurry up the opposite bank, muddy, sweaty, streaked with blood, I don’t stop flying. Past the growing trees and deeper into the heart of wood, I pump my legs and run until my lungs are near to giving out. Only then do I collapse, <i>literally</i>, at the base of the sleeping hills.
<i>“You made it!”</i> A cheerful voice calls out, the hollow sound of clapping hands echoing against the trunks. <i>“Hard without any help, hmm?”</i> The Elfin creature laughs, appearing suddenly in my vision as they lean over me. Their pale hand stretches down, icy fingers drifting across my cheek to pull back covered in blood. <i>“But you had the strength. Follow me.”</i> They demand, (pushy creature) turning their back to me once more.
I rise as quickly as can be managed by someone in my condition. The Elf is studious of me, a wily grin brightening their sharp cheeks as they turn to face the sloping hillside. Together we watch the earth transform - shudder and then take the shape of an oaken door, engraved with the tree of life and ringed in ancient script. <i>“Destiny awaits.”</i> The Elf reads without peering back, and I step forward without them needing to. It was inevitable all along, there was no need to be shy now. The door hums softly and fills me with warm light as I pass through; a new story unfolding, a new tale taking shape.
<i>“Thoughts?”</i> The Elf interrupts me, coming to stand at my shoulder with the presentation of a gilded looking glass. In my reflection I’m more Beqanna than I was before, a silver spiral grown firmly from my forehead to match the silver tendrils of my mane and tail.
I should be happy, but the deep gouge in my cheek is more unsettling than any other change I’ve received. Its presence meant something frightening; Unicorn or no, wherever this story took me, I would be able to feel and harbor pain.
I was never much one for Horror.</p></div></center>
Immune to The Plague
Helped raise Pangea