Aesthetics :: AW
Age: 10Species: Equus
Gender: MaleSpiritual Rank: Conceiver
Posts: 15 Stones: 156❂ Played by: Lashes
#1



PRISONER OF MY
OWN DESIGN

This island was vast.  The terrain swept in an array of elevation and vegetation. The air was sweet, alluring, and comfortable.  This reaffirmed the tension in his haunches.  Mammoth trees and monolithic formations enchanted his eyes with emeralds, flaked quartz and mica, chrysanthimums and sweet grasses.  Wary gaze continued to search the shadows for the predators he scented, an underscore to the sensations that continued to tug his spirit further.  Yet, by fate or fortune, he had yet to meet a soul, and remained alone in his wanders across Eshteth.

The soil held power.  A reigning source that composed the Isle.  Of this, Cif was most curious.  He huffed dandilions and watched he unusual shimmer of prisms as white fluff floated away.  Considered the slight movement across the veins of leaves, the trails of foam in creeks and brooks; his home never held such extraordinary details.  The soil never felt this perplexing, as if power seeped into his hooves.  As the days passed, he felt the balance of his energies shift.  The ratios of his chakras settled in a new, equal arrangement, so an ephiphany evolved in a slow bloom.  He felt.  More.  Such a simple statement, a word that could not portray the depth he was uncovering,  yet he could not replace it.  It was an amplification of life itself, within and around. Profundity spread as a mist, and only time spent here would reveal the comprehension to its full potential.

There was a single, idle consideration, one which he promptly stomped out: would he be able to return to Sa'laghn?

As lush greenery rose before him, Cif considered his present location.  He ceased his motion, breath heaving humid tropical haze.  Birds chirped in the distance, motion of mammals darting across the canopy.  He could not scent the lupine predators, and realized he'd not for many strides.  His shoulders relaxed, eyes lifting to the incline.

It was...a construction.  A sight seen only in the different countries of his own continent, angles too accurate to be naturally made, and far to ancient to be of his generation, or any recent one.  Cif'thar exhaled his awe.  Vines and moss crawled across this sky plataeu of straightened lines, and he could see the scathes of time across limestone.  Magnificent.  He stepped forward before he thought, unable to break his gaze from the ever-lifting heights.  Did it reach the clouds?  Allowing his eyes to slowly descend, he spotted scores of designed holes into the walls, as if the otherside was a hollow space he could access.  Curiosity flared with a roar of invigoration.  Then certainly, there are entrances..

.completed. all-welcome. 


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Age: VIISpecies: Equus
Gender: FemaleSpiritual Rank: Conceiver
Posts: 6 Stones: 101❂ Played by: Tasha
A wound; a mouth to their soul and bliss therein mine.
#2

The first night. What soft moon, like a lover's kiss. It felt not unlike true peace, and yet memories of laying waste to the wretched squander of my past and origin taint the experience. I am unfettered. I know not how I can ignore my pain. The soaking blackness of the devolution of the soul would come for us all, and though I ran, I am still the filth which they gorged from their rotten spirits. Somehow, as my billowing strength carried me through this trek of cataclysmic bedlam, I was weaker than before. Too fearful to confide, too agonized and comfortable with misery to waive my shame and look past my endless supply of doubt. 

None of this would read upon my visage. I would forever be a chiseled, hand crafted doll, hell bent on shielding the rest of the world from the horrible truth and beauty of my true identity. But I am forced to admit, this petrifying fear, this grotesque anxiety, it fuels me in ways I never knew before touching this particular soil. No matter how deadened my senses always were, even my intuition could be touched upon by whatever sacred core pumped the exquisitely immaculate and poisonous island with its deviant life source. I am intrigued, but the seed is so diminutive I cannot provide faith that it will survive. Entwined within the ceaseless brush of luscious jungle foliage, midst the infinite steam and sultry heat, I still felt cold.


She dreamt of weanling lambs eternally laid to rest, having to face the brightness of the sun with looming thoughts of dark impulse and androgynous, elusive desire. Upon these soils there was a vibrancy attempting to access her aural systems, something vivacious and neutral, terrifyingly not unlike her own quietly seething impetus. Fesashka would choose to ignore this sensation, carrying forth through the heavy brush, parting each illustrious green fern with her delicate fae-like body, auds perked and swiveling carefully. 

Nostrils widened and ejected a feminine snort of exhaled exasperation. If she were a different being, a better being, she would be able to enjoy the sheer wonder of what visceral life grew blessedly in her midst. And yet, hard as she try, she would only grasp smoky whispers of real emotion within her, and soon after they would fade into nothing once more. Ever still, this fission was unlike her. Her mind was perpetually baseline all her life, a dull, yet robotically adroit and incisive tool only for scientific embezzelment. 

Form of pale, smoothened lavender parted the foliage once more, her swan neck ruffled with the luxurious tendrils of dark auburn mane craning itself apart from the deep woods, eyes reflexively widening at the sight before her. The structure was vast, decay being its constant companion through the boundless waves of time, each immaculately placed cobble, brick, and plaster amounting to a true testamonial pillar of a civilization far too long lost to retrieve. 

Perhaps. 

She approached. And the further she came, the more grand the structure became, towering over the thicket and thick expanse of jungle surrounding the scene. Out of the corner of her eye was the stillest beast, his gargantuan, hulking form a sleekened swirl of brown and black oil. He, too, seemed to be busy revering this strange remnant of the past. Would she also become like these stones, an eternal pile of bones only to be feasted upon and buried until nothing was left?

How ironic that the structure was still poised so firmly, and tall. 

Her encroachment upon him was not subtle. She had no use for stealth when no harm was meant. The closer she came to him the more mammoth-like he became, the satiny pelt upon his enormous body gleaming brilliantly beneath the sun despite its darkness. Worthy of superficial admiration surely; she would reserve judgment of him with astounding restraint. 

"An astounding remnant of abode, yes?"

@Lashes

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Age: 10Species: Equus
Gender: MaleSpiritual Rank: Conceiver
Posts: 15 Stones: 156❂ Played by: Lashes
#3



CAN YOU IMAGINE
SERENITY


He wished to enter.  The desire was an electric nerve sending pulses through his spine.  Knees kicked though his hoooves refused to leave their place.  He was enraptured, the visual stimulation consuming his thought and mind.  Reinforcing his curiosity.  From what he could guage, there was opportunity for him to walk within the structure comfortably. What may lay inside a construction so grandoise?

Steps.
Cif tensed, ears flicking behind him with flaring nostrils. Feminine aromas teased his whiskers.  Her gait was steady, and as he turned to face her, he found peaceful contemplation on her face.

She was otherworldly.  Creme and chocolate.  Her mane, tail, and pelt all bequeathed an unusual length, providing her with an aura of exoctica. Upon her brow was a cresent moon.  Cif'thar could not tell if it was a crown, or natural bone.  A set of antlers curled and twisted behind this impressive headpiece.  An astounding remnent of abode, yes?

Her lacquored voice nosed to the fortress behind him.  Cif cast a glance over his shoulder, considering the vines that crawled upwards.  He exhaled his agreement, cerulean eyes turning back to her.  The first equus he'd found since arriving on this Isle.  She fit the environment, in an unexpectedly pleasing way.  Perhaps he expected to be disappointed when he came across the plausible natives of this land.  Yet how could any be disappointed by the sight of her, or the pointed question that whisked from her lips?

Do you know of a way inside? Since she chose to forgo introductions to focus on the object of his attention, the stallion decided to do the same.  He would not be opposed to company, particularly if she could be a guide, a source of information for his otherwise general confusion on the elements of this Isle. I am Cif'thar, from the .. a tundra across the sea, He gave a nod to the south, mane falling across his inquisitive gaze.






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Age: VIISpecies: Equus
Gender: FemaleSpiritual Rank: Conceiver
Posts: 6 Stones: 101❂ Played by: Tasha
A wound; a mouth to their soul and bliss therein mine.
#4


His vessels were pumped full with the strength of many creatures long since extinct, the mammoth's body roving with endless curves and immaculate musculature, an eerily attractive stain of black ink upon the pristine virulence of the jungle. Her regard of him seemed to envelope her further, an intrinsic, and subtle need for social stimulation suddenly reborn therein her deadened state. It was a dull, obtuse sensation, but through the layers of white noise, of the sifting purgatory that was her psyche and consciousness, she felt it ever so shrewdly. 

The manbeast continued to gaze upon his, their, find, incisive gaze calculatedly scouring the perimeter of the domain with hungry fixation. “Do you know of a way inside?” Was his uncouth query directed unto her, before he introduced himself more formally. 

A mistake had been made; she knew not of the etiquette when fraternizing with a potential friend or enemy, and she made no effort to produce her name for him. It would be rectified, but not with desperation, or anxiety. In spite of the lack of life fueling the slender, deer-like woman, she felt obligated to make this congregation anything but the same, meaningless drivel she had exchanged with others throughout her entire existence. 

“I am Cif'thar, from the...a tundra across the sea.” 

Fesashka's heavily feathered eyelids closed and opened gradually in acceptance of his words, heart feeling strangely heavy that he knew to acquaint with her before she did. 

“I am Fesashka, and I...no longer remember my home.”

More accurately she did not wish to remember it. She did not wish to state with pride from whence she had journeyed. It meant so, so little, now that she found herself here, delved within the expanse of something so grand she was only beginning to understand it.

“But I do remember the fortress in which I was reared...and from the looks of the brush growing along the margin it would be wise to assume there is a moat.”

Fesashka craned her neck into a tall swanlike shape as she observed more, before, with a faint, creeping, echo of a smile and a hint of light in her callous scarlet eyes. 

“Are you a good swimmer?”


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Age: 10Species: Equus
Gender: MaleSpiritual Rank: Conceiver
Posts: 15 Stones: 156❂ Played by: Lashes
#5

And Echoed in the Well of Silence


Cif felt an undeniable desire to continuously plunge into the depths of this structure.  Heights of once ridged lines captivated his imaginaton of creatures who held the capabitliy of crafting such mammoth stone.  A yearning unrelated to the obsessive tasks of his title was a new breath.  Tail swished along his ankles as he sought to inhale the emerald fortress and the voracious artistry of Fesashka by the pool of cerulean eyes and flare of velvet nostrils.  A swell of forward thundered in his chest, a chant in time with the thrum of his heart. 

How magnificent, this moment.

"But I do remember the fortress in which I was reared.  and from the looks of the brush growing along the margin it would be wise to assume there is a moat."

 Cif flickered a frown, ears and gaze dropping to the uneven horizon cast a few paces away. A steady decline, with the glisten of water in sunlight flickering beyond layers of leaf and vine. A challenge rises.

Withers quivered with suppressed anxiety as the soothing whisper entered his mind, a stray and foreign observation. Eyes greyed as they lost focus, furrowed brows indicating his immediate mental seach. He attempted to prevent any further displays of his troubled surprise, but found himself unable to focus on the task of crossing.  

"Are you a good swimmer?"

This question was truly the obvious answer, to which Cif was none to keen in realizing.  He could swim, though he preferred leaping or crossing fallen logs too any excerise in water.  Nevertheless, though his mass made him slow, his course was powerful against the current.  Yes.  The stallion considered this same distance, yet the voice did not re-emerge. hm.  Shall you lead? You will be more swift than I in this endevour.  He met her gaze in full, features soft in a minimalistic, near unpresent smile.

Words
 


BY TASHA
@Fesashka @Tasha

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