"But the dream, the echo, slips from him as quickly as he had found it and as consciousness comes to him (a slap and not the gentle waves of oceanic tides), it dissolves entirely. His muscles relax as the cold claims him again, as the numbness sets in, and when his grey eyes open, there’s nothing but the faint after burn of a dream often trod and never remembered." --Brigade, written by Laura
The fairy who stands with those who have chosen to rescue the entities leads the gathered horses farther up the Mountain. There, it shows them a place where the veil between Beqanna and the Afterlife is thin, and where they can pass between worlds. They enter one after the other, but when they emerge, it is alone, and it is in the darkness.
A monster had been lingering on the far side, and it plucks them up as they enter, swallowing them down its colorless throat. They fall and fall and fall, and when they finally land, it is on the bone-white Beach with a body that is not quite intact, saved at the last moment by the magic of Beqanna.
You have been eliminated from the Quest, and will be intangible (or ghost-like in other aesthetic ways) for up to 1 BQ year. You will return to solid form eventually at the pace/timing of player’s choosing. This is non-genetic.
The fairy who stands with those who have chosen to distract the monsters is taller than its companion, though they each wear matching cloudy skin and several beautiful yellow-green eyes.
They must enter the Afterlife, it explains, they must cross the ruined wall that separates the realms. It shows them that where it stands the veil is the thinnest, weak enough that anyone with purposeful intent might simply walk through.
Though they enter one after another, they arrive alone on the other side. It is a world rather like their own, and yet there is a sense of impermanence about every part of it. As though nothing here mattered, not the way it did in the world they had left before.
The fairy raises a hoof, and the ground beneath them begins to glow. They will follow this path as quickly as they can, the fairy says, and they must draw as little attention to themselves doing so as possible. They encounter others they knew as living creatures, but they cannot delay too long. When they reach the end of the path, they must make as much noise as possible to draw the attention of the Monsters that remain in the Afterlife.
Just as they near the end of the path, it splits.
One path leads up, along a cliff, and the other leads down beside a river.
Which path do you choose to follow?
Some notes:
- Horses who chose to distract must describe entering the Afterlife following the glowing path, and interacting with at least two of the truly dead, at least one of which they were close to in life (can be real or NPC)
- clearly indicate which path you choose to follow: Cliff or River?
- posts must be no more than 1234 words
- Entries are due by 11:59 PM CST on Saturday, March 20th (aka Saturday night just before midnight)
- Message us here or on Discord if you have any other questions!
that day even the sun was afraid of you and the weight you carried
Firion is aware that his mother leaves him—aware that he is again by himself—and the part of him that is still a young boy breaks. The part of him that is still the golden, jaguar-dappled son of Ryatah and Atrox wants to cry out, wants to hit his knees, wants to wail for the unfairness of having his mother see him like this and then be ripped away from him. But the only sound that he can make is a gurgling groan, the sound unsticking from his throat like rust and agony, shaking its way into existence.
He takes a stumbling step forward again, trying to focus filmy eyes on the fairy before him.
A headache begins to brew somewhere deep in his rotted mind as he focuses on the unearthly thing, but he does his best to listen—to try and take in the instruction that he can. He had promised, after all. He had said that he would distract and he would do his best to uphold that promise, even though he very much doubted that he would be able to do much more than he was currently doing—which was to say little.
He follows the fairy through the veil and is alone with them on the other side. The pain intensifies and it’s all he can do to swallow it down. But he is aware enough to see the ground beneath him glow and he leans his head to the side, trying to eye the path that splits. He hears the rest of the instructions as through underwater and begins to stumble forward again, his broken flesh dragging in the wind as he continues.
Firion can hear the murmur of the monsters again, thick-throated and loud, but there is no fear that rises in response. There is nothing but an echoing sorrow that reflects back at them. He, too, is a monster, he thinks. He is nothing if not the same as them and his breath whistles out of him as though calling to them—as though beckoning them forward, as though murmuring his understanding.
When something crashes closer to him, he blinks slowly up at it—trying to make out the figure of the thing that had stumbled into his vicinity. It is a dead thing, but so unlike his kind of dead. It was a pale figure, nearly translucent in spots, and he blinks again, trying to focus in on it. There’s something familiar about the way that it stares at him. Something familiar in the scars across its throat, the empty socket where its eye should be, and the humanity in him shudders, balking against the understanding that comes.
“Murderer,” it cries, its voice thin and reedy, and he shakes his decaying head.
“Shh,” he tries to mouth, tries to form the syllables with a tongue that will not cooperate. “Shh,” he says again, but it stumbles closer. “Murderer. Murderer.” He swallows dry saliva, looking away with a white-ringed eye before looking back, and feels a sense of knowing settle like a stone in his rattling chest.
She was the first thing he had killed when under the curse.
She was the first victim of him succumbing to this terrible disease.
Its voice gets louder and his pulse would skyrocket if he had one at all. “Stop,” he croaks, knowing that he has to be quiet, but her shriek has taken on a terrible pitch—and he closes his eyes against it. Tries to forget the way she looked when his predator teeth had sunk into her throat. When her blood had splashed against him. When he had ripped out her eye in a kind of savagery that he never knew in the day.
She screams again and he lunges gracelessly forward.
He blinks and she is on the ground again, her blood painted on him.
He blinks and she is gone and it is just him.
Shaken, confused, agitated, he moves forward again, doing his best to not look back again—keeping his eyes trained forward on the glowing path that twists and turns in front of him. There is nothing but the sound of his ragged hooves muffled against the dirt and the harsh breathing of he monsters that move further in the darkness. Nothing but the sound of nothing—an endless supply of it echoing around him.
When that silence breaks again, it cracks like bone.
His head swivels to the sound of soft tears, a furrow in his peeling lips. It’s off the side of the path and he feels himself moving forward again when the intensity of the cries increase. He hesitates, looking forward and then back toward the source of the sound. He opens his mouth to say “Hello,” but he can only make the first letter before it dies in his mouth. It carries on the wind, nothing more than a quiet breath.
But the cries pause.
“F-Firion?”
Hearing his name like that startles him, nearly breaks through the stupor of the curse, and he takes a step back, more inclined to flee than investigate further. “Is that—is that you?” He shakes his head dumbly, but that doesn’t stop the girl from stepping closer, illuminated by the glow of the ground below.
He remembers her.
Remembers the young girl who had grown up in Taiga, the forest bordering Hyaline. She had been witty and charming and had always known just how to make him laugh. She had eyes that were a startling green and a way of telling a tale that made you want to listen for hours.
He remembers doing just that. Hours.
He remembers finding her in that same forest—after the wolves had done the same.
This time, the scars on her throat are not from him, but he still shakes as though they were. He still trembles and when her pale face crumbles with confusion, he stumbles back. “No,” he croaks. “Stay away,” he warns—and he is not sure if he is warning her away from him because he may hurt her or she may hurt him, but it doesn’t matter. She calls out again and he turns away, head pounding.
No, he thinks. He didn’t kill her.
He didn’t kill that one.
He didn’t.
Right?
The thoughts blur together, the pain ringing in him, and when he finds the split in the path, he doesn’t even hesitate to follow it toward the sound of the crashing river.
The only sound that could drown out the screaming in his own head.
so you saluted every ghost you've ever prayed to and then buried it where bones are buried
As they each make their choices, Reave is left standing amongst a small group, gaze straying briefly to where his mother now lingers alongside Cheri and Memorie. He swallows hard, hoping they would succeed where he is certain he could not.
His attention is swiftly returned to the weary visage of the fairy before them when it begins to speak, outlining the task ahead. His eyes shift, scanning the air behind the fairy, as though he could pick out the frayed edges of the veil she spoke of. It is impossible, of course, but still he tries. In the end however, it seems he would simply have to trust in their plan.
When the time comes, Reave does not hesitate. Squaring his shoulders as he sets his thoughts to the task at hand, he moves forward. Will and determination are two things he has never been in short supply of, so it is with relative ease he passes through the thinning veil of the afterlife.
As his feet settle on earth not unlike their own (yet somehow entirely different), Reave releases a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. His blue gaze roves hungrily around them, taking in the nearly ephemeral view as he attempts to reconcile his imagination with reality. But as the path begins to glow and the fairy explains the journey they must make, Reave’s attention focuses, honed by the resolve to do as he had promised.
His feet quickly find the glowing path, settling into an easy, ground-eating jog.
He is startled at first when he notices they are not alone. But the dead do not bother him. He swiftly contains his surprise and continues forward without a word, now bent on ignoring them too. But it is not long before one appears to notice him. It is a stranger, but his face holds fear, eyes wide and wild.
“Run,” he hisses, moving closer. “They are everywhere.”
Reave swallows his alarm, shying away to avoid the touch of the stranger. But, conscious of their need for stealth, he doesn’t speak, instead shaking his head in clear refusal. “Run!” the ghost hisses again, so close now they could nearly touch. Reave sidles around him, skin prickling as he moves further down the path. Fortunately for the red and white boy, the prognosticator does not try to follow, instead crossing the path to continue his aimless wandering and senseless ramblings.
Breathing a soft sigh of relief, Reave picks up his pace, refusing to allow himself to be shaken by such a strange encounter. Newly resolved to ignore anyone else he sees, he gazes steadfastly forward, mouth set in a determined line. Though he takes note of those that appear - mostly in the distance - he makes no indication he has noticed them. That is, until one face strikes him as familiar.
Doing a sudden double-take, he blinks at her as his feet slow unconsciously.
“Reave.” His name on her lips brings him to a halt, and as he stares at her in dawning recognition, her name escapes his own throat. “Milia.”
There is sorrow in her gaze as she peers at him, as though she knows something he does not.
“What are you doing here?” he continues, his voice hushed despite his sudden excitement. She had been among his first friends, the only one who seemed to understand his guilt and rage over his mother’s death. The only one who had also experienced such a loss (one even greater than his own). “Did you follow the…” he trails off as he realizes she had not been there. She had not been called here by the fairies. In the end, he can only manage her name, voice cracking as he belatedly realizes how she must have gotten here. “Milia.”
“I’m okay, Reave.” She steps closer to brush a comforting stroke along his cheek before retreating, a reserved smile blooming across her features. “I found my father you know.”
Reave is forced to swallow several times as a knot grows in his throat before he is able to reply. “I found my mother too.” He pauses, throat working. “You could come with me,” he suggests almost desperately when he is finally able to continue. “You and your dad. You don’t have to stay here.”
Milia is shaking her head before the words have even fully left his mouth, her smile now sad despite the resolution in her features. “Please don’t worry about me, I am content here.”
Reave, unable to help himself, tries to press further, “Are you..”“I am sure,” she interrupts, her gaze steady as she holds his own. As she assures him, both with and without words, that she would be okay.
As the lump grows, Reave can only nod. He reaches forward to press his nose against hers, a silent goodbye, before turning back to the path to keep her from seeing the tears he is trying so hard to hide.
“Reave.” Her voice stills him, head turning so he can peer at her even as his eyes blink rapidly in an attempt to clear them. “If I… can I just ask you to do one thing?” Reave nods faintly before managing to choke out, “Of course.” His voice sounds strange despite his best attempts at normalcy. “Can you… keep an eye on Roque? He is alone now.”
For a moment he can only stare at her, new grief heavy on his heart. But what else could he do but agree to her final request? Even after he has agreed, he finds himself staring at her, wondering how this had all gone so wrong. Until she breaks the silence. “Goodbye Reave.” Her voice is soft as she bids him farewell, the sorrow in her gaze muted only by the peace she seems to feel in this place.
“Goodbye Milia.” he finally whispers before turning abruptly back to the path and breaking into a swift lope. As though he could escape his own heavy heart.
His thoughts are so tangled that it is only when he reaches the fork in the path that he finally recalls himself to why he is here. To the duty he must still see to. Rather than causing a distraction as he had been meant to do, he had been the one distracted. Though it is not easy to set aside his tumultuous emotions, in the end he forces them into a distant corner of his mind, resolution blockading them there until he can complete his task.
As he breathes out a steadying exhale, he eyes the two paths, one leading down to a river with dark and turbulent water, the other leading up towards edges of the stony cliffs overlooking it all. After only a moment of consideration, he moves up, taking the path to the cliffs. From that high perch, he could easily see and be seen - could find stones to pitch noisily down the sides. Certainly that sort of clatter would be enough to draw them to him and away from the rescuers.
There is no telling what the other group will face, if they must die to pass (who am I kidding, we’ve probably all been dead since the moment we committed to this), if they will make it or not. It’s not the path I chose - I’m here to give them their fighting chance. My mind is with the Taigan leader for longer than I care to admit, but I can’t afford to pine after someone whom I long ago set free - if I ever had any right to claim a tie to her, that is.
The children are safe, is the mantra I keep repeating in my head. I only have to see Reave in the corner of my eye to know it’s not entirely true, and so I try the tactics of focusing on the fairy instead. But the task is simple. Go in, make a ruckus, the end. I breathe in slowly through my nostrils, give Ama and Reave a half-smile, and one my one we enter the realm of the dead.
Funny, I never thought I’d get this far. I’ve been rejected at the door so many times; unworthy of dying in a sense. Perhaps with the veil torn, this works both ways.
I’ve always wondered what it was like to die.
Greyness fills my vision, rather a shock to what my dragon eyesight is used to. It’s dull here; how could anyone stand it? I wouldn’t dare to call it outright boring though - there is room for exploration, and in fact a glowing path to follow. My senses feel all wrong, here, and my normal instinct to not be that obedient now suddenly seems like a bad idea. Perhaps part of me still wants to live, despite knowing that I probably won’t.
The golden path seems to attract visitors. Ghosts in the distance watch each of us pass, or at least that’s how it feels to me. We must be all wrong to them, in a sense, just like a ghost in the land of the living would stand out.
We’re not here for the dead, though, so I shake my head. Focus. The path continues, winds around rocks, past tropical trees, a waterfall and a brine scent. I frown, but then I see her shape, and my frown makes place for a wide grin. My older sister shares my colouring, with exception to the gold I earned later in life, and any child of Scorch would recognize the shape and manner of another - at least, so I think. ”Ea.” I greet the silver bay roan, following up with a chuckle. ”Fancy seeing you here.”
As she scans me, I can feel her burning gaze which is not unlike my mother’s. ”Leilan, you idiot. What are you doing here if you’re not dead?” She frowns, and I suppose she must be rather confused at my undead presence here. Which is strange considering the time that the Afterlife had been open, now. I tilt my head. ”You hadn’t heard? The veil is torn. This path led me in, but, you know, perhaps it works the other way around as well.” It’s the only conclusion I can draw - her having settled here, in fake-Ischia’s greyness. ”Don’t tell me you’ve given up,” I add for good measure, and then I see her eye color change and don’t know how fast to move aside to let her pass. ”See you on the other side - if you make it.” I grin because I know how it would have provoked me, and see her silvery tail leave for the exit with a feeling of utter satisfaction.
I continue on my way forward, leaving the smell of tropics and salt behind. The scenery changes, red and pine trees make way for a more wide, hilly landscape. I slow down a little, but the path leads right through the red rocks. It reminds me of Loess, and I know it could contain anything and anyone from Arthas to Castile.
”You’ve got some nerve coming here,” I hear the voice from about seven o’clock, and glance backwards to something colored in white, yellow and blue. There’s no malice, however much he’d tried, so I grin and receive a fanged grin myself. ”You’ve looked better,” I state the obvious nodding at his grey-ish, see-through self. ”Though… worse as well, I suppose.” This triggers the old familial way we used to banter, same way I did with the Andalusian and he with both of us; then I nod towards the path and the way it continues in the distance. ”Some fairy dust to follow. You know… actual monsters to fight. Wouldn’t mind the company,” I tell Wolfbane, emphasizing the word monsters just a little more than I should. He shakes his head. ”Nah, I’m done with that. I’m good with chasing this one out of my territory,” he claims.
As we continue down our banter, a match that I feel we could keep up for eternity, I figure that maybe it’s just information he needs. So I update him a bit on the north, tell him about Yan beating me with his emotional trait with a wry shake of my head, tell him about Nashua moving north and managing a small family. ”You know, I’ll tell Lilli and the kids you said hi. Like, the real you.” I leave out the part of Lilli’s other children - mine - because for some reason I don’t feel like stabbing what’s already dead. That must be a first, I think - but then, the implication that I’ve had a closer relationship with his sons might just be enough of an under-the-belt stab already.
I leave before he gets the chance to actually get angry with me, just in case.
Leaving the ghosts of the past behind me, I soon find myself at a split. I frown - the fairy would probably not have done that intentionally. One of these paths must be fake, but there is no way to tell which way is the right one. There seem to be hoof marks on both, one set from the cloudy leopard stallion who went in first, the other must be Reave’s. Only a few of us can be right.
I should follow Lilli’s son, I think. It’s what she would want me to do, to keep him safe. But safe is an illusion out here - falling off a cliff is the better way to die, than to drown in the river I hear rushing nearby.
Cliffs remind me of Nerine, of home, of safety.
I didn’t come here to be safe, so I go down to the river instead.
Two things I know I can make: pretty kids, and people mad.
03-20-2021, 07:20 PM (This post was last modified: 04-04-2021, 09:27 PM by flower.
Edit Reason: i needed my html :(
)
She is surprised by the weight that settles inside her chest when the group divides for their separate purposes. She had known it would happen, had even understood why, but it is hard to watch the smaller groups (families, friends) being pried apart by the differing moral compasses within every heart. When it is just those like her who felt drawn to distract, she allows herself a moment to let her pale golden eyes wander over each face, studying them until she is sure they are committed to memory, six new constellations against the midnight of her mind. She only wishes she had names to pair them with.
When the fairy speaks, Flower’s attention returns to her. She doesn’t smile or nod, hardly even blinks at the news that they will journey into the afterlife. But the pit in her chest widens and she wonders again about the family she had chosen to leave behind, all the goodbyes she had kept buried away inside herself. It’s hard not to wonder if she should’ve given them away first.
The fairy lifts her leg, and like an enchantment that seems too lovely for the task at hand, a path unrolls into the dark all aglow with soft light and hope. She doesn’t mind that she needs to be quiet, doesn’t even mind that she needs to draw as little attention to herself as possible. That has always been easy, and she cannot imagine death would change that.
Like each of the others she places herself on the glowing path, and when the membrane wavers just before her, the afterlife a presence she can feel in her chest like the color grey, her steps slow. It is a hesitation not born from doubt, but from the yawning unknown of what comes next. But she hardens her resolve and with her chin lifting higher, she thrusts herself into the afterlife.
It feels like dying.
It feels like grey loneliness, like a strand of forgotten memories, like all the laughter sucked out of a moment.
It feels like nothing matters anymore, and for a moment she is flat and broken and dead-eyed at the world around her that seems so void.
But purpose rises in her, a flame not quite smothered, and she blinks and gasps like she is breaching the surface, like she had been drowning and only just realized she needed to breathe. She looks around and fear strikes her like a drumbeat as she realizes that she is alone. It didn’t matter that they had all been strangers, some part of her hoped they would be able to stay together. She blinks again, gold eyes all aglow, every fissure in the red glass lit by the light of the path beneath her.
Movement to her left draws her eyes as she realizes there is someone there after all. But it is not one of the faces she memorized, not familiar at all, and she frowns softly without meaning to at the dark mare muttering to herself. “Are you alright?” Flower asks before remembering she was meant to be quiet, to go unnoticed, but she might as well have held her tongue for all the good her question had done. The woman just babbled about wings and stones and old bones, about children and monsters and bad dreams - and even after Flower tried to leave her, the old woman followed beside her for a while until the strange cackle became an almost comfort in this empty place. “Shining, bright, mine. Made this, all mine.” It was all nonsense and Flower felt badly for the old mare, but it didn’t keep her from feeling a pang of loss when her stranger suddenly melted away into the hazy grey-dark again with just a gentle touch to her hip in farewell.
She couldn’t help but to feel like she had misunderstood the woman somehow.
Still, she stays the course and keeps the glowing path beneath her, grateful for the way it feels like a tether to the other side, to her purpose. There is something about this place that whispers in her ears and fills her thoughts with static, something that makes her feel quiet and complacent like there is nothing beyond this. Nothing more to worry about. She wonders if the others can feel it too, wherever they are, but she hopes they cannot. It is a kind of erosion that she isn’t sure her heart can withstand, something she is sure will stay with her for as long as she exists. She hopes it won’t be as long as the mare who had followed her, the madness was frightening.
“Do you know where the mountain is?" The voice is so abrupt and so suddenly close that Flower all but cries out in surprise. But when she turns and her eyes find the silhouette of a girl in teal and sunset colors, with iridescent wings and a face carved from stone and into flawless perfection, Flower can only smile.
“Hypatia!” Flower steps closer, eager to embrace her old friend, but it is as though Hypatia does not recognize her, perhaps does not truly even see her.
“I think I’m lost.” The words are matter of fact, though Flower can hear a note of odd desperation as the beautiful girl looks around herself almost blindly. “Do you know where the mountain is? I heard the call, did you?” But the madness, though subtle, is enough to keep Flower quiet now as she looks on with a knot in her chest at the girl who clearly did not realize she was dead. Had it truly happened on the way here? Had Flower walked past her dying body without even realizing it? “Hello?” She says again, as empty as an echo. “I think I’m lost. Do you know where the mountain is?”
There is no life inside her now.
Pain is a blade and it carves great swathes of faith out of Flower’s chest until she is nothing but flayed doubts and distrust, nothing but wishing she were as empty as her best friend's eyes. How could someone like Hypatia die, while someone like Flower lived. It was a cruelty that death had found Hypatia before she could crush it, a cruelty that death had shown Flower the cost of letting her heart care for someone so mortal. She would stay with Hypatia if she could, but the path beneath her feet is like a beacon drawing her on, her friend a reminder of what all there is to lose.
So she leaves the girl who is still asking for the mountain, still clinging to life even in death despite the madness it brings her. And when the path splits and Flower must make a choice, she hesitates only for a moment before turning towards the sound of water that whispers in the same voice as home. The river is an instinctive choice. It is only when the path ends and the pain catches up to her again that she remembers what the fairy had asked. So screams and she shouts and she allows all that hurt to pour out of her, and she is glad now to be on this path alone.
He watched silently as a fraction of those gathered stepped up to join the distraction effort. The majority had joined the rescue and he couldn’t blame them. It appeared to be the safest option. One of the children who had appeared and the walking corpse even volunteered, much to Kaenros’ disappointment. He wished the colt had gone with the rescue and the husk had stayed home. He couldn’t blame them for trying but it was still hard for him to watch them step up to the plate for the more dangerous of the missions. Thankfully, the bold brute who was the third to arrive came with. His tense form eased slightly knowing he’d have him with the group.
Watching the rescue group tread further up the mountain, he breathed a shaky sigh of resignation and shifted his weight uncomfortably. The fairy’s weary voice returned his attention as it explained what must be done. One at a time, his new comrades crossed a once imperceptible barrier and he watched them disappear. Taking his chance, he slipped into their ranks and steeled himself for the Afterlife.
He closed his iridescent eyes the moment the first black capped limb punctured the veil. When the rest of his lithe form crossed and he had reopened them, his heart dropped. It was much the same as it had been no more than a second ago. The similarity wasn’t what had chilled him to his bones; it was the lack of anyone besides the creature that had demanded their sacrifice. The very air had shifted in permanence, raising his burnished hairs. Even the way it filled his lungs was just wrong. And yet here he was. Alone. Afraid. Staring wall-eyed at this thing that had once brought some semblance of peace, his body screamed at him to turn back to the real world.
And that is when the ground lit up under the fairy’s raised hoof and his next set of directions came. Directions. He could follow directions. Quickly. He could do that. Definitely do that. These last few months had been a crash course on stealth. He wanted to get started immediately and get out of this place that wasn’t quite a place. Hopefully find the others. Hopefully get this over with quickly.
Dipping his head in acknowledgment but keeping his focus now on the ground, Kaenros picked up into a rocking lope. He wasn’t sure how long this path would be and so wanted to only put as much pressure on his rear as necessary on the journey. He was mindful as he placed his steps, keeping his hooves on the softest terrain possible to minimize noise. With steady, even breath, he kept his ears pricked for the slightest disturbance as the scenery shifted from the rocky base of the mountain to long stemmed fields to empty, broad-leaf forests. Every now and then a rustle or deep-chested groan could be heard which lead him to abandon his path. Deeper into the forest, or around a large, rocky outcrop, he would wind around the hidden beasts. The monsters. Even though Kaenros knew them now as fractured souls and harbored less fear and repulsion, he still didn’t not want an entanglement. Especially with the mission he had been given.
But one such groan was a little more equine. A little more familiar. It caught his attention rather than drove it away as he passed across a vast sandy expanse. He turned his gaze to cast it in the direction it had come from, searching the darkness for any sign of its maker. The fairy had spoke about beings they had known once as living, however he had no connections to this land. It was easier to avoid the strange ghosts just as he avoided the monsters but this was different. He left the path again, this time in pursuit of the creature making the noise. His black capped hooves soon slowed to a halt before a painted stallion, red and white with mismatched blue and brown eyes.
”Mirin?” Kaenros’ could barely breathe out his name. Mirin was supposed to head this last expedition accompanied by his sister and his partner. The only one crazy enough to join the knowledge hungry Kaenros and drag his small family along with. The only one he’d fight through a 20 day desert storm with. The only one who’s sister he wouldn’t touch. He hadn’t thought about him since... the storm that knocked him off course and cast him onto Beqanna’s shores. If he had more time to dwell, he might’ve pondered just how much he lost from before.
“I-we couldn’t find you.” Came the pained response. Mirin had stopped his listless stumbling to stare through Kaenros with an empty expression. “We thought we lost you to those things.”
“The monsters,” the dappled bay searched through his friend’s once bright eyes, trying to find even the smallest sliver of light or understanding in them. Mirin took a step forward, forcing Kaenros back. Blue and brown eyes burrowed into his, oppressively blank. Behind him he could make out the sound of hoof beats in the shifting sands, causing him to snap around. Slowly one, then two, then four, then seven forms moved from the darkness to his limited field of vision lead by Anni, Mirin’s sister. They whispered quietly amongst each other with their voices steadily growing louder as they circled around the rooted Kaenros. They spoke of washing up, of washing out, of drowning, of monsters, of saving them, and saving them, and saving them. If he had hands, he would have clamped them over his ears.
No wonder such things could turn into the hellish creatures that plagued this world.
He drove himself through their midst with head tucked tight to his chest like a curved battering ram. They didn’t try to follow, instead returning to their soft groans and aimless pacing as if Kaenros had never been there. The shell of the stallion he had once traveled with, would’ve given his life to, quickly faded from his field of view as his now galloping steps whisked him back to the glowing path. And he slowed only enough to become wary towards his surroundings once more despite the fire now raging through his haunch until his path split.
And when it split, he let his beaten spirit split in two from the very depths of his chest. The sound of water turned him away, low ground would give him the advantage of running away but he was already set on his mission. The fairy had asked him to make the most noise he possibly could and, by Rajir, he would. The high ground with its scattering rocks beneath his now purposefully thundering hooves was where his voice would carry best. The searing pain from his rear was no match for his lungs as he screamed them raw within the first minute of his ascent. On top of the cliff, he continued to dance about the stone surface and cry out until something, anything happened. His thoughts nearly drowned out by his own voice, he prayed with eyes squeezed shut that the rescue team was successful and timely, that the rest of his group was safe, and that this was the last thing needed of him before he got to go home.
They are seperated into their groups, and the night coated mare offered Courage to all who were willing to take it. It was a fragile emotion. One that hung precariously in her own heart as she watched the sisters walk away from her, hoped with everything she had that her choice had been the right one.
It wasn't. She wouldn't know that for some time, though. Not until this task was at an end, and they faced whatever came after it. Together again, that was the only possibility she could bear to consider, the only reason she could seperate herself from her family. The chance that by doing so they could all together again feel the sun on their backs and go about their lives free from the fear that dogged every uncertain step.
Mouth set in a stubborn line, she plodded after the group of distractors. Witnessed the patch of air that warped and rippled as they stood before it, and one by one passed through. Until it was her turn, and the butterfly blinked and held her breath as she passed into the Dark.
It was a moment of pure, unadulterated emptiness. An absolute lack of sensory input that made her lurch and ribbons of panic squeeze at her heart a moment longer past the point the lifted, and the world resolved itself around her again.
The world, but not as she remembered it. Trees, grasses, stones, all the makings of home, but placed so very carefully. There was an uncanny symmetry to the patterns of branches. The stones were too round, perfect in the way that nature seldom allowed for. Ama froze for a breath, doubting every choice that had lead to this moment. It was too late, though. Whatever thinness in the walls of reality she'd been lead through, it was gone now. All that remained was the empty path beneath her hooves, and whatever lay ahead.
She could do this, she promised herself. There was no point getting cold feet now, not when she'd passed the point of no return. Not when this was her chance to do her part in keeping her family alive. All it would take was one step after another, and then she would be on her way. On to the next step of the reckless plan that had been lain out for them to do or die in part of.
Each step was a small victory and soon the repeating landscape lost its hold on her. She could see, and that in itself was a blessing. She was also seemingly alone, though she knew they had all gone through the gate close enough that she ought to have found her fellows by now. Another layer of the lock they were trying to dissolve, she suspected. Easy enough to believe, until the empty landscape blinked, and she was no longer alone.
A small herd, five or so horses that grazed quietly on the too green grass, their manes and tails drifting on a breeze she couldn't feel. Black and bay and chestnut, colors that blended peaceably into the landscape. Familiar and foreign to her, her throat ached as realization fell like pebbles in a still pond.
"Neverwhere?" She whickered, closing the distance between them hesitantly. This hadn't been mentioned by the instructing Fey. Not even hinted at. Yet here stood the mare who had taken her in as a barely born infant, who had vanished again seemingly as soon as Ama had been old enough to fend for herself. "What are you doing here?" She asked after a moment, worried that the answer would be the obvious one.
This was the Afterlife she'd been sent into, after all. What was the Afterlife without the dead to occupy it?
Neverwhere turns her pale face slowly, eyes settling a moment too long on the gem-crusted mare as though trying to dredge up memories lost. This is not the gangly teenager that she remembers, this is not the child that she plucked from the Den long ago. How long ago was it? It feels like years and years, like eons. When did she get those wings? But those eyes still make her head swim when she looks into them. Amarine – or a credible imposter.
“I’m having lunch,” she answers coolly, suspicion weighing heavily at the corners of her lips as she dips her head to crops the tips of the silver ghostgrass, “What are you doing here?”
So that was it then. Ama looked to the faces of the other's who went about the business of eating without pause. If Nev was dead, so were these souls. More questions than answers swam in her head as a greying stallion paused his grass cropping long enough to smile encouragingly at her.
She returned the stranger's smile, wondering if these were horses Neverwhere had known over her own lifespan, or if it was death that had brought them together. "The fairies asked for help," she answered softly, breaking eye contact with the grey as she did. "You know me," she added ruefully. "I had to do something." There was more, so much more that she wanted to say.
She wanted to tell Nev about her own children, about the family she'd been busy carving out for herself in the redwoods of Taiga. All while Neverwhere's body had been decaying... somewhere. She could spend ages trying to catch them up, but that wasn't why she was here. Somewhere up ahead, her girls were doing their best to fight the dark, and she needed to uphold her end of things.
"When all is done, I'll find your bones and see them rested right," she promised firmly, knowing Nev had never once expected any fuss made over her remains. Which was why funerals were for the living, as she hoped the gruff mare would understand.
She leaned forward to kiss her adoptive mother's paper-dry cheek. The scent of her was missing on this plane, she realized sadly. "I love you, Nev. We've all missed you back home. I'm glad I got to see you again, even like this." The jewel-eyed girl stepped away again, knowing in her heart that time was out. If she didn't leave now, she never would, and every sacrifice she'd made so far would be wasted.
She looked over her shoulder once. The strangeness of the place had replaced Neverwhere and her herd as soon as she'd walked away, leaving Ama alone again with her thoughts. She was nearing the end now. The road split, a high road and a low one, as she'd been told it would.
With a deep sigh, she turned to face the rising path, the trail turning gravelly as it rose to a familiar sort of cliff. One that she knew from experience that sound would throw itself from over and over until the space below finally swallowed it. The clear choice, in her mind.
Onward and upward to where the wind caught her own mane and the air was cold and empty where the land suddenly stopped existing.
"Hey!" Her voice broke away like a gunshot, harsh after so much quiet. "Come and get me, you horrible things! What are you waiting for? Just push me off the cliff already, I dare you!" It was what they'd brought her here for, she believed. A sacrifice, so others might live on.
OOC Note: Nevewhere dialog provided courtesy of Ratty
Once he has made the decision, confidence swells like the tide within him. He is not one to hesitate once the choice is made; he sets his shoulders to the task and readies himself for death. Because that is what the fairy promises them, of course. That is always where he was headed (where most of them are headed, but especially him). His family tree has been twisted and gnarled by the Reaper’s hand so many times that it is only natural that his branch would be next. As Volos stares back at the yellow-green eyes of the fairy, his own are not full of resentment or regret at knowing he was meeting Death far sooner than he expected to. They only harden with his resolute certainty.
The Afterlife rushes over those set shoulders like water as he passes through. It doesn’t tingle like he thought it might. It doesn’t burn like he hoped it wouldn’t. But there is a difference to him, to his very atoms, even, that he cannot name. He doesn’t feel dead, not really, but he doesn’t feel as vibrantly and wholly alive, either.
It is a strange sort of existence somewhere in between.
The muted earth on the Other Side is suddenly illuminated at the raising of the fairy’s hoof. He is told to be quiet, to pass by unnoticed as he makes his way along the path she has laid for him by her light. It is only then that the colt realizes he will be doing so alone. The others who chose to distract have not made it to the same place as he in the land of the dead, it seems. He will be by himself. Volos is not used to doing things alone. He’s had a built-in co-conspirator his entire life in his twin; he’s not sure what he’ll do without someone by his side. But he knows he must. The darkness cannot linger. The monsters cannot stay. Though there is strength in numbers, he must now believe in the power of one.
Hope lightens his feet as he moves away from the fairy after a small smile her way. He will do his very best. After all, there is no worry he will die trying - he’s very much already dead.
Volos follows the path deeper into the unknown. Just ahead, ferns brush up alongside of the brightened road, bending over and creating eerie shadows like snakes on the ground. He gulps but swallows his doubts and forges ahead. The fronds reach over and trail across his back as he passes them. Then, a firmer touch that cannot be anything but flesh. He whirls around and sees the grey figure poking through the dense undergrowth. ”Come here, stay awhile. I know you.”. It’s a silvery mare that he’d met once on the shores of Ischia. She’d told him she knew him then, too, but she’d been alive then. Here, he isn’t sure. There is a look to her eyes that he doesn’t trust here. Something dark and sinister in the way she stares.
Volos runs ahead several paces as quietly as he can away from his dead grandmother. He is unnerved but not completely undeterred. There is work to be done. The path leads him further on. A small voice does, too. He startles when he finally sees the colt swaying beside the path ahead. He is still as green as he’d been in life, but it’s a shade too sickly. “Baloss!” Volos moves in, smiling already. But the colt turns and half of his face is caved in. Or clawed in, really. He remembers how they had wrestled and sparred in the playground. He remembers how he had told Baloss he would be a great warrior and protect everyone one day. And now? What has happened to his good friend? Where was his protector?
Volos leaves the lost soul to circle around. Around and around alongside the path. He wonders if that is his sad fate. A life lost too early to the dark.
There is a fork in the road he finds. It is clear he needs to make a decision. The sound of water is like home, and he runs, screaming and yelling for all he is worth down in. He pounds the ground with his hooves, distracting as best he can.
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