Fimbulvetr

Nevermore

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Arête & Tywin

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A softly burning star

#1

The night had just started to fade, the sun crawling slowly past the horizon, towards the gradually moving clouds above. Rays of light peered around the bends of the Ravine, speckling the water below with light, and it is here that Malchior has found himself in. With little recollection of what had driven him here, Malchior had, perhaps out of self-deprecation, exiled himself here. If asked outright, he couldn’t really give a straight answer to his own actions, but in his mind, he felt that perhaps it was better than to desperately seek out answers elsewhere. Here, he would be separated from others, and that would be for the better. It was strange, he couldn’t dredge up his memories, and yet Malchior felt it necessary to exile himself. Was he dangerous? He didn’t know. He’d simply followed what he felt was correct, and had ended up here.

Malchior carefully maneuvered his way down the path, each hoof placed before the other, his hooded eyes sliding down and then back up once in awhile. Here, it was easy to slip and fall, and he’d rather not be another decoration on the side of the ravine, or another corpse floating in the water churning below. He licked his lips, his lavender hued eyes casting a gaze up at the sun that now swiftly climbed up the skies, sweeping away the stars that had once dotted the night sky. The heat rose just as quickly as the sun, crawling along his body like tiny, hot pinpricks. He felt the sweat that clung to his skin tickle their way down, most concentrated on the side of his neck where his mane lay over.

He was a stark contrast to the colors of the ravine around him; a mixture of browns, reds, yellows and even greens dotted here and there by foliage sturdy enough to survive in such harsh conditions. Black and white against the jagged texture that stretched all around him. There was already a thin coat of dust and dirt on his lean frame, and his  white tail, dragged behind him like some sort of limp noodle, was shot with the color of red and brown. He didn’t much care at the moment, his main concern was in him getting out of such a precarious place.

Lacking any memory whatsoever, Malchior aimlessly made his way through the ravine, pausing here and there to both look down and to look around. He didn’t know if he had ever even been here. No memories were stirred awake by being here, but he felt pressed to go deeper. If not to find the missing pieces to his puzzle, then to at least find another soul.


ooc: I'mma just swipe your table, Soupi. And then edit it slowly.

words: 449
template by soupi
Tag: @[Malchior]

#2

EVANDR



The Ravine was, perhaps, even more treacherous than the point. Evandr had heard tale of its treacherous nature from grizzled exiles his senior who had made the trek from the Valley. Most, if publiccally shamed, were cast out of their House and into the Wastes at the natural rock bridge between the plateaus – the Point of No Return. It was a ceremonious entrance. Spectators found it a holiday, a cleansing, while those on the other side (usually only the Warden or their proxy) knew it from the damnation it was.

Some chose the route of self-exiling. Evandr for the life of him would never understand who would be so foolish. What could be gained from a life of solitude in the black and red sands of the Vetr Wasteland? Besides a scalded, burned muzzle and unquenchable thirst, that was. But every exile deserved equal opportunity. As the amethyst piebald crept along the crumbling, cracked edges of the Breklauss Ravine he mused on times in the wastes where there hadn’t been any sort of establishment, when there hadn’t been a Warden. Given, his title was simply born out of tradition and subjects were typically beaten into submission via those traditions, but there was room for deviation. Again, what would it garner you?

He’d closed the Frekr Oasis to those who didn’t swear loyalty to his ideal image of their lives. He didn’t think that there was redemption for any of the souls caught in the sandy web of exile but he was determined that their lives could be for the better if they simply adapted to a herd mentality. But the all-for-one-and-one-for-all ideations were harder to instill than water was to be found in the desert. Over the years, if Evandr could sink his trust into a newly appointed exile before they were swept up by a rogue band of miscreants, the Order he desired came ever so closer.

Perhaps that was why he wandered the cavernous ravine so frequently. It wasn’t necessarily someplace he liked to visit, but it was a pertinent sacrifice made for the better of the collective. Today, he’d hardly made it to the Point, which was his ultimate destination, when he spied a blip of white against the tawny and terracotta stones. The behemoth paused, squinting through the golden sunlight for a better look. To his surprise it was one of those self-exilers struggling down the steep decline of the ravine. Evandr’s slit, sapphire gaze watched the other, curious of his chosen path. The rapids below were perhaps more dangerous than the climb, and he wondered just how the stallion had decided to cross the white capped, rushing waters. Feathered hooves drew him near a game path beaten down by the puma that stalk the ravine – they loved the trout and salmon in the rapids below and the equine unlucky enough to tumble below. But it was far to narrow a path for a beast like Evandr. So he could only watch silently, his brow drawn forward and pinched. On the cliff above he was a harsh silhouette of his image, with wind tasseled hair and unwavering attention.


W C: 522
T A G: Malchior
M U S E: 3.5/5
O O C: idk he's too thicc for this climb





powerplay excused
within reasonable limits!
always tag responses.
@[Evandr]

Tag: @[Evandr]