01-02-2020, 11:15 AM
<link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Alex+Brush|Poiret+One" rel="stylesheet"><style type="text/css">.oriash_loweredhorns_background{position:relative;z-index:1;width:550px;background:#112331;padding: 15px;border-radius: 50px;box-shadow: 0 0 10px #000;border:1px solid #000;}.oriash_loweredhorns_container{position:relative;z-index:2;width:550px;background:#040309;font:12px 'Times New Roman', serif;border-radius: 50px;box-shadow: 0 0 10px #000;border:1px solid #000;}.oriash_loweredhorns_container p{margin:0;}.oriash_loweredhorns_gradient {position: absolute;z-index: 5;top: 270px;width: 550px;height: 100px;background: -moz-linear-gradient(top, rgba(11,27,27,0) 0%, rgba(4,3,9,1) 100%);background: -webkit-linear-gradient(top, rgba(11,27,27,0) 0%,rgba(4,3,9,1) 100%);background: linear-gradient(to bottom, rgba(11,27,27,0) 0%,rgba(4,3,9,1) 100%);filter: progid
XImageTransform.Microsoft.gradient( startColorstr='#000b1b1b', endColorstr='#040309',GradientType=0 );}.oriash_loweredhorns_message {position: relative;z-index: 10;width: 450px;top: 10px;text-align: justify;padding: 20;color: #415971;border-top: 2px solid #112331;}.oriash_loweredhorns_quote {position: relative;z-index: 10;color: rgba(217, 231, 242, 0.6);font: 12px 'Poiret One', sans-serif;letter-spacing: 2px;text-align: center;padding-top: 20px;padding-bottom: 20px;}.oriash_loweredhorns_name {position: absolute;top: 325px;z-index: 15;right: 175px;bottom: 60px;color: #112331;text-shadow: 0 0 5px #C1C2C4;font: 70px 'Alex Brush', cursive;letter-spacing: 2px;}</style><center><div class="oriash_loweredhorns_background"><div class="oriash_loweredhorns_container"><img style="width:550px;border-radius: 50px 50px 0 0;" src="https://k.nickpic.host/bztFVD.jpg"><div class="oriash_loweredhorns_gradient"></div><p class="oriash_loweredhorns_name">Oriash</p><div class="oriash_loweredhorns_message"><p class="oriash_loweredhorns_quote" style="margin-top:-10px;">they promised that dreams can come true</p><p>The magical summons of Beqanna never come to her (or perhaps, she is never listening to them). What need does she have of more magic? The allure is tempting, of course (she would be a liar to say it is not, for magic is always tempting, such is the nature of it after all), and yet she cannot quite be sure reality would not unravel entirely beneath the weight of more power. Magic is something real but unreal, and Ori already toes that line.
Yet tonight, the summon finds her.
It is a quiet thing at first, an old ache that fades quickly, a metallic taste in her mouth, a restlessness that kept her from sleep. It is the sort of tug she is likely to ignore, but then it comes again, sharp and stinging like a knife. For the first time, she finds herself answering, though perhaps she was never going to be given the choice.
Perhaps she ought to spare a moment to wonder why the magic finds her now, but Ori has never been quite so introspective. She is an invisible, lost thing, drifting and tossed like wood on the waves of a storm. Perhaps this is the start of something new, or perhaps the call finds her because she is finally determined to become something. She is not yet someone, but she is something. She is a dream and illusion, she is a tangle of nightmares, and she could be a force. Could, but would she?
There is no time for quiet reflection, even if she were to spare it a thought, not tonight. She is still lying on the ground, legs tucked beneath her, when the magic takes hold. She blinks, and the landscape is no longer that of Loess but something soiled and stained. The taste of blood coats the back of her throat, the ground around her a deep red. Is soil ever that color naturally? She doesn’t know, but it seems <i>wrong</i>. Scrambling to her feet, Ori nearly stumbles, finally realizing her balance is wrong. Her wings. There is nothing there but the phantom itch of them. Her head too, light and almost weightless without the antlers that usually weigh her down.
She misses one instantly, but not the other.
It is a heartbeat later she realizes the implication. Reaching for her illusions, she does not find them. The world around her stays as it is, dark and deadly. Her heart skips a few beats, dancing the sound of panic in her chest. She is in Beqanna, she knows, but even without her power she cannot determine how real this is. Yet the sting of the knife is not so easily forgotten, and it <i>feels</i> real. Maybe that is all that matters, the feeling of a thing. If it feels real, perhaps that is real enough. The hollow feeling within her at the loss of her illusions is certainly real. It is a pit, one she never knew could exist within her.
She takes a breath, looks up.
What she is supposed to do in this moment, what path forward has been thrust upon her without choice? Two monoliths stand before her, lit only by the dim light of the stars above. Still, she can see the difference in their color, one black as the shadows around her, another almost black but shimmering with something more verdant. Their purpose is clear, carved into them in more variety than she can count.
<i>Pick,</i> they seems to say, though there is no magical voice. She simply knows what she is to do, and the choice is easy. She has had both, and she only misses one. One is heavy; one is the shadow of her mother looming large above her, unshakable and unescapable. The other is freedom; the other is Solace and her love, buoying and strong. Ori doesn’t hesitate, but makes her way to the jade monolith with a strange confidence she cannot explain. This choice, at least, she is certain of, for she knows her own heart even if she does not know her own mind.
When her wings reappear with a flicker of pain, but they seem to simply find a home where they have always been. Unfurling them, the weight and feel is familiar, comforting. Experimentally, she flaps them a few times, making no attempt to leave the ground but simply testing to ensure they are <i>hers</i>, that there are no tricks or some new tick to learn. Nothing presents itself, and she finds herself grateful for the fact she’d never had strange or impressive wings to begin with. Just feathers and freedom.
Freedom. This is not freedom, this quest that has been thrust upon her. But maybe, just maybe, it is a path to it.
</p></div><p class="oriash_loweredhorns_quote">but they forgot that nightmares are dreams too.</p></div></div></center>
Land affiliation: Loess
XImageTransform.Microsoft.gradient( startColorstr='#000b1b1b', endColorstr='#040309',GradientType=0 );}.oriash_loweredhorns_message {position: relative;z-index: 10;width: 450px;top: 10px;text-align: justify;padding: 20;color: #415971;border-top: 2px solid #112331;}.oriash_loweredhorns_quote {position: relative;z-index: 10;color: rgba(217, 231, 242, 0.6);font: 12px 'Poiret One', sans-serif;letter-spacing: 2px;text-align: center;padding-top: 20px;padding-bottom: 20px;}.oriash_loweredhorns_name {position: absolute;top: 325px;z-index: 15;right: 175px;bottom: 60px;color: #112331;text-shadow: 0 0 5px #C1C2C4;font: 70px 'Alex Brush', cursive;letter-spacing: 2px;}</style><center><div class="oriash_loweredhorns_background"><div class="oriash_loweredhorns_container"><img style="width:550px;border-radius: 50px 50px 0 0;" src="https://k.nickpic.host/bztFVD.jpg"><div class="oriash_loweredhorns_gradient"></div><p class="oriash_loweredhorns_name">Oriash</p><div class="oriash_loweredhorns_message"><p class="oriash_loweredhorns_quote" style="margin-top:-10px;">they promised that dreams can come true</p><p>The magical summons of Beqanna never come to her (or perhaps, she is never listening to them). What need does she have of more magic? The allure is tempting, of course (she would be a liar to say it is not, for magic is always tempting, such is the nature of it after all), and yet she cannot quite be sure reality would not unravel entirely beneath the weight of more power. Magic is something real but unreal, and Ori already toes that line. Yet tonight, the summon finds her.
It is a quiet thing at first, an old ache that fades quickly, a metallic taste in her mouth, a restlessness that kept her from sleep. It is the sort of tug she is likely to ignore, but then it comes again, sharp and stinging like a knife. For the first time, she finds herself answering, though perhaps she was never going to be given the choice.
Perhaps she ought to spare a moment to wonder why the magic finds her now, but Ori has never been quite so introspective. She is an invisible, lost thing, drifting and tossed like wood on the waves of a storm. Perhaps this is the start of something new, or perhaps the call finds her because she is finally determined to become something. She is not yet someone, but she is something. She is a dream and illusion, she is a tangle of nightmares, and she could be a force. Could, but would she?
There is no time for quiet reflection, even if she were to spare it a thought, not tonight. She is still lying on the ground, legs tucked beneath her, when the magic takes hold. She blinks, and the landscape is no longer that of Loess but something soiled and stained. The taste of blood coats the back of her throat, the ground around her a deep red. Is soil ever that color naturally? She doesn’t know, but it seems <i>wrong</i>. Scrambling to her feet, Ori nearly stumbles, finally realizing her balance is wrong. Her wings. There is nothing there but the phantom itch of them. Her head too, light and almost weightless without the antlers that usually weigh her down.
She misses one instantly, but not the other.
It is a heartbeat later she realizes the implication. Reaching for her illusions, she does not find them. The world around her stays as it is, dark and deadly. Her heart skips a few beats, dancing the sound of panic in her chest. She is in Beqanna, she knows, but even without her power she cannot determine how real this is. Yet the sting of the knife is not so easily forgotten, and it <i>feels</i> real. Maybe that is all that matters, the feeling of a thing. If it feels real, perhaps that is real enough. The hollow feeling within her at the loss of her illusions is certainly real. It is a pit, one she never knew could exist within her.
She takes a breath, looks up.
What she is supposed to do in this moment, what path forward has been thrust upon her without choice? Two monoliths stand before her, lit only by the dim light of the stars above. Still, she can see the difference in their color, one black as the shadows around her, another almost black but shimmering with something more verdant. Their purpose is clear, carved into them in more variety than she can count.
<i>Pick,</i> they seems to say, though there is no magical voice. She simply knows what she is to do, and the choice is easy. She has had both, and she only misses one. One is heavy; one is the shadow of her mother looming large above her, unshakable and unescapable. The other is freedom; the other is Solace and her love, buoying and strong. Ori doesn’t hesitate, but makes her way to the jade monolith with a strange confidence she cannot explain. This choice, at least, she is certain of, for she knows her own heart even if she does not know her own mind.
When her wings reappear with a flicker of pain, but they seem to simply find a home where they have always been. Unfurling them, the weight and feel is familiar, comforting. Experimentally, she flaps them a few times, making no attempt to leave the ground but simply testing to ensure they are <i>hers</i>, that there are no tricks or some new tick to learn. Nothing presents itself, and she finds herself grateful for the fact she’d never had strange or impressive wings to begin with. Just feathers and freedom.
Freedom. This is not freedom, this quest that has been thrust upon her. But maybe, just maybe, it is a path to it.
</p></div><p class="oriash_loweredhorns_quote">but they forgot that nightmares are dreams too.</p></div></div></center>
Land affiliation: Loess
Use of mild power playing is allowed; no injuries without permission