you're dripping like a saturated sunrise, anyone

[Briseis]

She is not one of them. This land was wrought with history, she felt it vibrating from the rain-soaked ground as she walked. Something hung in the air, like a suffocating fog. Something drastic had happened here, a change. But she is not part of it. She can’t even remember how she got here, a huge chunk of her memory a black void. On a beach she had awoken, the edges of the waves lapping at her crumpled form. Washed ashore like a battered piece of driftwood, she had blinked the gritty sand away with bleary eyes. This place was not home. And even though she knew she would be weak on her own, without the protection of a herd, she had climbed to water-weary feet, her eyes on the treeline that sprouted away from the coast.

She had been walking through the forest for some time now, and even though she had yet to come across another horse there were signs of them everywhere. A well-worn path was winding amongst the trees, and every now and then she would see a tendril of mane or tail clinging haphazardly to the brush. Her steps were cautious, peering around from behind the curtain of black forelock to check her surroundings. It was difficult to be quiet, but she was being mindful of her steps, keeping them light against the damp ground. The air was cool, but through the tops of the trees she could see the sun trying to strain through. It had to be afternoon, if she were to guess.

Suddenly, she stops. Her muscles grew taut beneath her ragged, raven-black coat, her plain head elevating higher. With ears strained forward she listens, her breathing having nearly stopped. Up ahead was the quiet hum of voices, the indiscernible chatter of conversation bouncing off the trees. She cannot tell if they are friendly voices, and instinct tells her to not go any closer until she is sure. It would be foolish, to throw herself right into the lion’s den. The young black mare changes her direction just slightly, stepping off the worn path and ducking quietly into some thicker brush, trying to figure out a way to view these strangers without being seen.

briseis.
you’re ripped at every edge but you’re a masterpiece

warning to anyone who replies: I can only post once or twice a week, so if you're super active, sorry :/

[Mortal]

MORTAL

when its all the same
you can ask for it by name

Onward, he tells himself as he presses his bulk past the Meadows and into the Forest. He had work to do, or he made work for himself, either way it had to get done. Mortal had taken it upon himself to scour the common areas for horses to invite to his brother’s cause, their cause- was it? Surely it was because here he was, traipsing through the wood on a well worn path, his heavy feet plodding into the earth and breaking up the loose dirt. And when they found a home it would be just as much his as his brothers and just as much his as the other horses that had stumbled across their paths. (or walked mind you, some even ran but regardless they were all acquainted now)

Mortal is less picky about the whole invitation thing, the selection process if you will but he knew that wasn’t the goal. The idea was to have a land for non-magic folk, for those not traited where they could feel safe and secure from the world of those that had gifts. Where they could seek seclusion from those horses, horses like himself.

Now that might seem sort of counterproductive, joining a group where he was the very thing which they sought freedom from but he was born into it if you will. No one picks their family, just as they do not pick their birth rights and Mortal had been born the gifted twin where Hellbane had not. No, instead he was the little brother casting the shadow on the eldest and by the Gods his brother loved him for it anyway. That’s why he was here making good on the plan, nostrils flexing in the damp air and his ears perking when he caught the tell-tale scent of another.

His bulky head lifts, neck straining forward as he inhales and exhales his nostrils following suit with each flare of his big nose. He didn’t bother to stay out of sight, he was too cumbersome to hide most places and the shock of lime green hair sprouting from his neck and hind were terrible to try to camouflage. “Hello?” he tries, his vivid green eyes searching the bushes. Against his back the sun that breaks through the trees displays dappled leaf light against his black coat and coaxes a shine from the slick feathers of his inky colored wings.

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[Briseis]

His vividly colored mane and tail gives him away, his shadowy form nearly melting into the darkness if it weren’t for the shocking contrast. In the dappled light it catches the shape of his wings, and immediately her eyes widen and she takes a step back into the brush. She did not come from a land like this. She had never seen anything beyond natural colors, and certainly had never seen anything that resembled wings sprouting from a horse’s back. Even though her curiosity is thoroughly piqued, so is a certain kind of fear, an instinct that tells her this is not right, this is not normal.

”What are you?” She blurts the words out before she can stop herself, stepping boldly from the veil of darkness as she does so. The shadows hardly seem to fall away, her own coat so strikingly black, although it is marred by scars and dirt. She was young, but clearly had not been living the life of luxury. Everything about her screamed wild, from the muscles that had been hardened from constantly traveling, to the tangles and burrs in her thick mane, and in the way her dark brown eyes stare at him accusingly. Everyone was dangerous to her. Everyone was untrustworthy, especially in this strange land she had happened across.

With a tilt of her chin she stares up at him, every muscle drawn taut, her legs seeming to tremble. Not from fear, but with the idea in the back of her head that she might need to make a run for it, although she was already running various scenarios through her mind and wondering how she would escape something that could fly? Growing up in her small herd, outsiders had never been welcome. Her interaction with strangers was limited, but at this point she wasn’t even sure if this was another horse she was speaking to. There was also a tiny voice inside of her reminding her that she was the outsider, and that she was surely not welcome here.

briseis.
you’re ripped at every edge but you’re a masterpiece

[Mortal]

MORTAL

when its all the same
you can ask for it by name

In the half-light he can just barely make out the shift in the branches of a bush. Immediately his ears tug forward and he blinks at the gentle sway of the plant with interest. There was someone in there, he was sure to smell them, distinctly female if he was to be certain. Oh and how Mortal liked to be certain of things, it’s the only way.

First it speaks or rather whoever is hiding within the foliage does and he pulls his head back with a snort.
What are you?
Well then, surely she meant Who are you but of course perhaps she didn’t mean that at all. The world was terribly accusatory now that Magic had been snatched and traits had been siphoned from those that wielded them. Except for a select few that is, in particular Mortal had wings still, not his own wings but even imposter wings were better than none. He’d never admit that of course because he was terribly sour that they were bird wings, how was anyone to take him seriously when he strutted around like a giant crow?

Wings yes, all feathered and that he found odd. Then there were horns, he’d spied them from great heights on a flight and they all spiraled to a point in the middle of others heads. He knew that was very well not the case before so he could deduce that some had been exchanged and that they too were imposters- impostor horns.

The smell of dirt greets him as she breaks free from the tangle of twigs and yet still her hair is home to some. Dirt, earth, tangles, in short a mess if he were to be honest. Her coat was otherwise like the night, like his but she was decidedly plain otherwise. “Well, I’m equine if that’s what you mean.” Of course she doesn’t, those chocolatey eyes speak otherwise. “A pegasus of sorts, these aren’t the way they are supposed to be though,” he shifts the two appendages on his back, opening them just a smidge and fluffing them up. “My name he Mortal, which might be a better answer to seek. What’s yours? Are you lost or new, or what I mean, were you here before the Mountain?” Chatty thing wasn’t he? Mortal likes answers though, likes to know things and the only way to know them is to ask.

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[Briseis]

If Briseis could read minds, she would challenge him that all wings and horns were imposters. It was all so incredibly strange to her, and this was without knowing that these kinds of things were fairly normal in this land she had washed ashore on. As far as she was concerned, the stallion in front of her was the only peculiar creature, and that was enough for her to be cautious. She was still holding her somewhat accusatory stare, though her muscles had loosened a little, having finally decided that he was most likely not dangerous. Despite the wings, his body language did not seem threatening.

His answer makes her jaw clench, her eyes narrowing a little. Since the shock of seeing wings had finally worn off she had noticed her poor choice in words, but that didn’t mean she liked having it pointed out to her. Briseis was young, only three years old, and like most adolescents she was not immune to having a bit of an attitude, although she mainly kept it in check. She was not a cruel creature, and her mother had always taught her to be respectful and hold her tongue.

Her head tilts when he says ‘aren’t the way they’re supposed to be’, and hesitantly she says, ”What do you mean? And how are you a pegasus? Those aren’t even real.” He was clearly real, standing directly in front of her. She can smell him, she can tell from the fairly short space between them that if she were to reach out and touch him that he would be solid, made of muscle and blood and bone, just like she was. But still, mythical creatures were not real. They just weren’t.

If possible she would have lifted an eyebrow when he offered his name, because “mortal” did not seem fitting for him. She was mortal. She was plain, she was only four legs and mane and tail, simple black, and dark brown eyes. Nothing special, and it had never occurred to her that there was anything other than what she was. ”Briseis”, she says, ”My name is Briseis. And I guess I’m lost. I am not from here, wherever ‘here’ is. The ocean spit me here.” And just when she thinks he cannot possibly get anymore bizarre or confusing, he starts spouting off something about a mountain. ”I don’t know what you mean by before the Mountain. Were mountains not present here before?” She gestures to the path she had just come from, for from that shoreline she had been able to see a mountain range. It didn’t look particularly strange to her, but obviously she was wrong.

briseis.
you’re ripped at every edge but you’re a masterpiece