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 Posted: Tue Nov 18, 2008 6:49 pm
Your Name: [CNP]Ails Von Helson
Soquili you own/co-own: Marie Von helson , Lucifer Von Helson are my only current two. smile
Name for the basket: METZTLI (god of the moon, the night, and farmers.)
Temper: Vengeful
Who will raise the basket, or will the basket face the world alone?: My indian persona will raise the foal, until adulthood.
Prompt Response:
(Before i start the prompt I'd like you to know no other Soquili besides Brigitte and the foal will be in the prompt, and my Indian persona.)
The afternoon breezes were crisp against the bare feet of Ulisigi. She grasped onto the wet clay and took a whiff. It smelled of death and corruption... She knew something must be wrong.
She stood and picked up her staff, and left the site... heading toward the grave yard.She traveled for days and weeks, watching the creatures of madness to a eerie location, a eerie mist had climbed upon this site. With one quick sniff she knew she was in a place of death. She maneuvered her away through the maze of graves until out of the corner of her eye she spotted a yellow sphere, glowing iridescently in the blinding mist. As the she approached the object, she heard the sounds of hooves approaching, she knew instantly only a skin-walker or some other ungodly beast could live in a place such as this. She made a dive for the object, grasped it tight in her arms, and ran.
After about an hour of running, the woman stopped, falling to her knees and taking deep, slow breathes. She straightened herself out and looked at the object which she had stolen. To her surprise it was a basket, she could feel the life stirring within it, but something in her very being told her to destroy it. But an immediate sense of pity fell before her. And she decided to take it home.
For many nights Ulisigi watched the basket, it gave her chills as she watched the basket, the glowing sphere and something resembling mist swirled around the basket, giving it an aura of cruelty and hatred. But Ulisigi had grown attached to this abomination.
When the foal one night decided to finally free himself from his basket, Ulisigi decided to name him Metzli and in her opinion, it was a fair name for the colt. She sang the colt stories of battles between great men and beasts, and the colt favored those in which the beast prevailed. Ulisigi knew it was only time before she's have to send him off her lands, until then, she taught everything she knew, where the best pastures where and where the safest havens were. In the safety of her lands, no one could corrupt him, and perhaps, if not with only the slimest chance, he would prove Ulisigi wrong and become a envoy of great deeds and honor. But Alas, It was not so...
As days turned to months and the colt became large and strong, he became erratic and attacked Ulisigi. She pointed her staff towards him and said. "I curse you, dark one. I curse you to be chained to these lands, never shall you pass onto deaths, nor shall you experience the true joys of flight or swim. You are bound to these lands, Metzli, hear my words."
The colt understood perfectly and ran. His spiritual teachings tore at his brain, he could not believe she would do this to him, the two-legger whom he considered a mother. In his thoughts he thought of revenge, murder, but most of all... Redemption. He vowed to himself he'd free himself of this curse. And once that was done, he would visit her again... and get his revenge. But for now, he sought out the darkest of creatures, his mother. Only she could give him the guidance he sought, or so he thought...
The End!
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Posted: Tue Nov 18, 2008 8:22 pm
Your Name: Bloody Anubis
Soquili you own/co-own: Nope, not one.
Name for the basket: Ghede -the name of a Loa of the Dead, or in some interpretations a surname of a type of Loa. Directly connected to the Loa Brigitte. I thought it was appropriate, both for his personality and the continuation of voodoo names.
Who will raise the basket, or will the basket face the world alone? Likely I will arrange for him to be raised by another Soquilli who can act as his surrogate mother, or mentor. I have friends who I'm sure may be interested.
Prompt Response:
(#1)
It just felt so right. The stallion felt a tremble take hold of his very bones at the mere sight of the grave-site, nostrils flaring unbidden to take in the scent of wet earth as well as a stabilizing breath. He didn't think it'd take him over so hard, after all this time.
Despite the air of solemnity that hangs over the place like a mist, there is a certain allure to each of those markers. Come, come and see. Ghede has no will to deny himself, never has. Ever since he was very young, he had felt a certain attachment to the dead, and no level of ghost story had ever made him so much as flinch. To merely see Ghede could waive any doubt of this potentially morbid kinship, to actually know him would find it just as perplexing as he. He was loud, he was vulgar, he was boisterously benevolent and proud. Sure, there was a certain level of madness to him, the dare to press at all stability...
When he passes the first headstone, all semblance of that wildness seemed to draw upon itself and loose its hold. His yellow eyes, startling serpentine intensity, sweep themselves over the area. His hoof-steps are so soft it's as if he is trying not to bend even a blade of grass. The dead sleep below, he is so keenly aware of that, and he treads as softly as if he were a colt trying to sneak away from his guardian's side in the night. There are certain rules, he thinks, just like there are rules for dealing with fairies and demons and angels, if not even more serious. He stands to reflect a moment. This all seems so familiar, perhaps from dreams he can barely recall. When his sides heave, he sighs smoke. He senses her before she barks her reproach.
She is terrifying, but he is not afraid. Ghede watches the mare as she approaches, her accent tickling his ears, her glowing eyes calling him in. He is intrigued. Any other place, his fangs and teeth would be bared at her in his sly and playful way, he would have had something smart and carefree to say in response to her jarring speech. But here he is reverent and thoughtful, and he is reminded of something by her harsh and uncensored tongue and realizes it is himself in bare traces. She is so much more serious, and so much less sane. Her eyes are flames, smoldering, judging. She knows something more. This is no ordinary challenge of territory, this... this is a sentinel defending their charge. It dawns on him very quickly, and he follows his instinct.
He bows. Spreading his legs somewhat and bending at the knee, he sinks low in the grave-soil, wings folding close to his back. It is a sign of respect for that which Ghede cannot comprehend but feels he must or feel his very soul torn. He submits not out of weakness but out of awe. His forked tongue is revealed as he speaks, almost like a prayer, "I wish to know your ways."
And he leaves himself open to her scrutiny, sincere, and exposed to do with him what she would.
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Posted: Tue Nov 18, 2008 10:16 pm
Your Name: Lt. Gnatty-Bug Soquili you own/co-own: I have RP rights to: Scaesaris, Brugge, and Chandria, I also co-own Tai’jin with Amirynth, but she is just sig candy (no RP rights), but I have no idea if that was ever written down anywhere *cringe*, and you obviously know of Jame *nodnod* Name for the basket: Cipactli (meaning crocodile) Who will raise the basket, or will the basket face the world alone? Scaesaris, once he finds her. She thinks of herself as a Goddess, and will teach him to think of himself the same way. After growing up, he’ll leave the swamp in search for people to worship him in all his grandeur, or at least find more interesting things to do. Swamp was fine as a kid, but starts to get boring. Prompt Response: Prompt 2 You've read the story so far. Tell us what happens to your basket from there! Is it found by someone else? Does the foal emerge from the basket and face an insane mother? Does someone else manage to find and rescue the basket from the gravesite? Is it really considered lost if you don’t know where you started? If you didn’t know where you were from or where you were going? The foal didn’t really care; he never had any sense of belonging. He had crawled out of a basket with only the sound of cicadas to comfort him. He cried out, hoping for some reply, sure he had once heard voices, some must of put him in the basket, and why would they leave him here? Whoever it was would be back for him shortly, right? Except no one came, despite how many times he yelped out, no one came. After a day of wasting, wanting, longing, hoping, he pushed himself up on his wobbly hooves. He would find somewhere to belong, somewhere that they would appreciate him. Turns out the large bugs were edible, unlike the grey moss hanging from the trees. And despite the green pigment to the water it didn’t turn his stomach, at the same time it didn’t really quench his undying thirst. So he wandered, searching for greener forests and clearer waters. The serpents of this quiet land were his only companions, often lulling him to rest when the light faded with their hissing hymns. What he found did not quite fit, but he thought it was heaven. The bog had a soft mist floating across, and did not smell quite as stank as the others he had found. The cicadas’ tune didn’t server to pierce the silence, but only enhanced the tranquility of alligators moving in the lush waters and the quiet chatter of the birds all around him. It was more welcoming than any other place he’d been, that was until a green blur started charging toward him. He’d never seen another of his kind before, but he couldn’t help but find her beautiful. She moved in this place as if she was a part of it; he wanted to be like that, to fit in somewhere so secure it was as if the underbrush shifted to make your walk easier. She had seen so firm, until she finally reached him, then she seemed just as perplexed and astounded as he felt. His head tilted to the side, not comprehending what she could possibly find so confusing about him, and why did she seem so angry? He was a strong foal, and would only grow to be stronger. She snapped strange syllables at him; they seemed to hold some meaning, but not to him. He did the only think he could thing to do – mimic them back at her. Even with his little knowledge of the mannerisms of his race, he could tell that displeased her. But he was starting to comprehend some of the noises; one in particular struck a cord within him – home. His yellow eyes left her for the first time since she approached him, taking in the marsh and grinning, the lush greens, the slight smell of decay in the breeze off the bayou, he liked it. Bringing his focus back to her, his smirk only grew, and he echoed her sounds enthusiastically, “Home!” If he had been looking at the mare’s face, he would of known she did not take too kindly to the idea of him staying, but his mind was set. The foal lunged forward, nuzzling her legs as he’d seen other critters do with their caretakers. She squawked more at him, but he only beamed up at her from between her legs and nipped at one of her damp locks. “Home,” he plainly stated at her again. Her retort was to frown at him and step back so he was once again standing in front of her. Her two-toned eyes took him in, examined him, analyzed, he could almost see the cogs in her head ticking away before she nodded and walked to the water’s edge. The foal stayed where he was until she looked over, twitching her head in the direction she was heading, beckoning him to follow.
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Posted: Tue Nov 18, 2008 11:24 pm
Your Name: dracoXK
Soquili you own/co-own: My only one, Eros
Name for the basket: Well as of right now it is between Ometeotl (Aztec, meaning the god above all, the being both male and female who created all life and existence. Because If he comes out of a basket and Eros does not know what baskets are, it is kind fitting sense he came out of no where) or Ohanzee, meaning Shadow (Native American). (These names depend on what the baby looks like as well as what Eros would name the child. He is the on I pick to find the foal and raise it and when naming it will also be from his POV, not just mine)
Who will raise the basket, or will the basket face the world alone? Eros will raise the boy
Prompt Response: Promp 2!Eros had no knowledge of what the basket he picked up held. All he knew was it was of interesting shape and there was no owner about. Eros Had thought to keep it with him. incase anyone should turn up claiming the black basket with the yellow gem, that looked almost like a cat eye, pretty yet mysterious… Eros had a habit of keeping the basket with him, caring it around or just curling up by it. With out even realizing he would talk to it, tell it about things and describe things to it, as if he knew there was something inside, with out actually knowing. One evening at twilight, as Eros was eating on some grass at the edge of a forest he heard a rustling looking over he saw a foal sticking its head out of the basket. He stared for a bit at the young head that had appeared there. Eros smiled and helped the little one out of the basket. The young boy’s first reaction was to bite the bigger one in front of it. It was new and well… new! But then it spoke, and that voice… there was something familiar about it, “ Welcome little one, welcome” the boy kept from biting instead trying to clime out. The bigger stallion did his best to help. The world was… wobbly unless the bigger stallion was there.. he seemed to make the world straight, less sickening. He looked around, leaning on the bigger stallion slowly getting the hang of this walking. Beh, walking… who needs it? He would be content just staying in his basket forever. His eyes slowly got use to the brighter light of the outside world. Everything was at a nice color, the color of twilight. It was not the darkest of dark, yet not bright. The yellow-golden hues of this new place, this place outside place. It was so bright, and not welcomed, and yet, the boy wanted to see more. He could not decide if he liked it or hated it. He wanted more, yet wanted to have nothing to do with it. He looked at the stallion who was there for him, he decided that this person would be his teacher, but one day would be his follower. The young boy knew he was different. Why he did not know, but he knew. And he also knew he needed to learn more about this place, and what better way to do that then by learning and using the teacher that had been presented to him?
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Posted: Wed Nov 19, 2008 4:06 am
Lt. Gnatty-Bug: You might want to have something written up and linked to for Tai’jin by the time the contest closes. Yes I know Amirynth and its not that I don't believe you - but according to the rules of the shop Soq that don't have a co-ownership agreement are considered 50% owned by both owners, including the ability to RP them. I just want to be fair to everyone, so I'm going to stick to the rules set forth on the front page.
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Posted: Wed Nov 19, 2008 5:56 am
Your Name: Naggeela
Soquili you own/co-own: I don't own any.
Name for the basket: Tlallicoatl (I hope that it means 'earth serpent' as I just combined the words for 'earth' and 'serpent' together and I just liked it.
Who will raise the basket, or will the basket face the world alone? He will face the world alone at first, before makeing some friends.
Prompt Response: I used Prompt #2
In the moonless night, the wind howled across the graveyard as if to tell others to stay clear of it. Red mist clings to the basket and flutters in the wind as the foal inside decides on what it wants to do. He felt his other siblings being taken from this place and he longed to follow. He was a little sad when they were all gone, but not mad at all since it had been another who had taken them. Still, he was confused and alone.
Only as the wind died down slightly did Tlallicoatl start to break from his prison. As he’d thought there within his basket, some of the red mist wandered into the basket and whispered to him that ‘Tlallicoatl’ was his name. He never second guessed that he could be named something else after that. Getting some of the basket open, he stuck his nose out to smell the night air and to sense for danger. Unknown to him, though, Brigitte was wandering ever closer, attracted to his small movements.
Finally free of his basket, he stood on unsteady legs and opened his eyes to find Brigitte staring straight at him, her red glowing eyes sending shivers down his spine. His mind ordered him to run away as far and as fast as his legs could take him. Meanwhile, something else told him to be still, to try not to bring her full wrath on him. Mindless rage to protect what was hers drove her to give him a piece of her insane mind. Falling to the ground and closing his eyes, he tried to process what he was told even as his own mind crept closer to insanity. Brigitte then moved off as he blended with his surroundings, disappearing from view.
Tlallicoatl wandered the graveyard just as insane as Brigitte and tried to forget what happened the night he broke free of his prison. It was the only way to try and grasp the difference between fiction and reality. As his senses slowly started to return, Tlallicoatl watched Brigitte closely to see what was good to eat and what not, so as to avoid making her mad. With the moon growing fuller every day, more and more of his sanity returned, but he still found himself regarding Brigitte as the goddess of the graveyard and that caused him to try to please her in any way he could.
“To please the Goddess is what my task is. She has given me everything I know and so to anger her will bring the wrath of hell on me. I must never do this, as it would take a lot to repent for such a sin.” Tlallicoatl repeated to himself in a dream-like state as he quested for things Brigitte liked. “Darkness is a part of the wrath of the Goddess…”
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Posted: Wed Nov 19, 2008 1:33 pm
Your Name: Nuclearity Soquili you own/co-own: Taigi, Aglaia[co-ownership agreement, no IC rights]Name for the basket: Itzpapalotl[if female] Obsidian Butterfly. Beautiful, demonic, armed with the claws of a jaguar. The female counterpart of Itzcoliuhqui[will be name if male]; both are Aztec. Who will raise the basket, or will the basket face the world alone? My indian persona [who isn't officially posted in the indian persona thread just yet] will take care of the basket until the foal inside comes out, then set it on its own. Prompt Response:Bright red eyes. They shone through the musky darkness that swerved about the deserted grave site. To the adolescent indian girl, it was like looking death in the face. The skeletal head was turned to the side, however. And even though there was a mass of scorched fallen leaves littering the ground, looking as if the still air alone would crumple and crunch them, this was chance enough for Chosovi to contemplate the nearest cover available: A dark, lonesome crawl-in space between a fallen tombstone statue of an angel and a withered mess of bushes. Taking a slow, silent, deep breath, which she held for a long moment until her lungs burned and her eyes watered, she lunged for it. Only when she was there did she notice her heart beating faster than it should have been. Luckily, there was but a very slight rustle; The mist and misery swallowed up everything here. Then it was still. The girl felt the dark mare's gaze at the disruption, cold sweat beading up on the nape of her pale neck. When this feeling passed, warmth flushed into the native's cheeks and she slumped against the cold stone helplessly. So she would have to wait. This was most distressing seeing as the space was no wider than a standard totem pole. There was a single up side to hiding in a totem pole, though, it was more often than not as tall as three grown horses, each standing from the tallest point of the other. Cho would've giggled at this thought if not for the impending doom not father than fifty feet away. This space was, indeed, in all likeness to the totem poles of her village. It appeared to be a long abandoned burrowing hole, stretching into the darkness. Chosovi crawled deeper, because the dark mare was much too big to squirm in after her she felt safer, even though it got darker and a strange scent, very like incense smoke at a meeting with the local shaman, filled her nose and curled up around her mind, drawing her deeper. Bump! Something stopped her mid-crawl. It was rough and smooth at the same time when she reached a wary hand and felt it. There was also the feeling of soft, lukewarm smoke curling around her fingers. When she tried to push it out of the way, she found it a little on the heavy side and a little round, but it turned about, scattering some loose dirt in the process. A bright yellow glow met her eyes, burning them after the prolonged exposure to naught but darkness. It was pulsating. Breathing. It was a basket. --Three Months Later-- Itzpapalotl pranced around the meadow, feeling safe near her two-legged guardian and her "brother" Taigi. She tossed her black mane and grinned at those two she knew best, yellow eyes as luminescent as the sun. This orb of light above them heated and reflected off of her serpentine green back. It made the red smoke that swerved and curled around her ankles dissolve save for the occasional flicker here and there. Oh, how she loved the sun. As for the girl who called herself Chosovi, Papa would catch her space out and re-experience some event in a far off location. The light-skinned Indian girl was admirable to the Soquili, though. The filly's parents, who were said to be gods by Cho herself, left Papa's basket to the human and bade her to raise and mind to the foal when it were to tumble out. This story was unlikely, after all, Gods? That would make Itzpapalotl a goddess, now wouldn't it. She whinnied at the thought. But she trusted her adoptive mother above all else, the story wouldn't be that far fetched. There was a sad bit to the story as well, however. When the strange filly matured at last and gained the courage to walk off and pursue her roots, she was to do just so. The human was going to let her go. Or rather, Papa was expected to let the human go. At this, the to-be mare's eyebrows knit in concern. She tilted her head back to her small family to observe as Chosovi noticed her expression, smiled, and rose to embrace her "gift". No, she would never leave this two-legged native, Itz thought as the stick-thin arms wound around her neck and grasped her mane. Their souls were deeply intertwined.
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Posted: Wed Nov 19, 2008 1:37 pm
Your Name: Azael_Rose
Soquili you own/co-own: Absolutely none
Name for the basket: Ameyaly : Aztec girl name - meaning birth of water; sprout (if the foal turns out to be a boy I will pick another name)
Who will raise the basket, or will the basket face the world alone? The basket/foal will face the world alone. (adds more drama wink )
Prompt Response: 1. He is now an adult, and despite not having a clear memory of his birthplace, he finds his way back to the graveyard where he was born. Strangely, the place seems right to him. However, just as he's exploring this connection that he has with this location, he comes face to face with Brigitte. What does he feel? How does he act?
((For rp purposes I'm going to rp the basket/foal as female for now))
Ameyaly could never find the right herd and had spent the majority of her lifetime moving from place to place because of that. Ever since she had emerged from her basket, Amey felt as though she was missing something. As a child she was shunned and even chased or beaten just because others were afraid. She taught herself everything she knows, things that a parent or herd would have...
Even now as she wandered through the darkening forest, she could not remember where she was born or even if her parents were there. She'd never met them and grown cold about the idea of friends or family. The mare enjoyed her solitude or at least grown to like it.
The wind stirred the forest floor and the gust threw some leaves into her face as though she weren't welcome. Amey shook her head trying to avoid the dead leaves. Then just like nothing had happened, the forest was silent again but it was a strange silence. She ignored the forest's warning and continued further.
Ameyaly stopped short when a shadowy figure moved towards her. In the dark it was difficult to make out details but...this presence was familiar. In the brief glimpse of moon light, she could see it was another mare. The shadows warped around her skeletal frame moving when she did. Only was her face left bare with fiery coals for eyes.
Amey stared into those eyes and found herself lost in a memory. She had just taken her first breath of air outside the womb when she was quickly pushed inside a basket. Ameyaly turned to see who or what had moved her, two red orbs set back in a face of bone looked back at her. Then the face gave a brief nuzzle and vanished as the lid closed. The newborn, exhausted from her own birth fell into a deep sleep...only to wake to a cold dark world without a mother or father...
Ameyaly came back to reality in a rush. The memory had felt so real. She looked back at what was her mother, tears starting to blurr her vision. "Why?! Why did you leave me?! I was all alone...I was just a foal!" She shouted, pounding her hooves into the dark soil.
Angry and blinded by tears, Amey charged the shadowy figure she would have called mother. The dirt and leaves picked up under her as she closed the short distance between them. Amey shut her eyes waiting for the impact but found none. Confused, she stopped and looked around the forest. Her mother had vanished.
Ameyaly dropped her haunches and hung her head, the tears still falling, her voice just a whisper. "Mother why did you leave me?"
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Posted: Wed Nov 19, 2008 4:37 pm
Your Name: Sweeny
Soquili you own/co-own: Scarlet, Sweetpea, and Claude
Name for the basket:Sugarsnap (Oh dear, Scarlet's naming skills bear thiers every amusing heads)
Who will raise the basket, or will the basket face the world alone? Scarlet will raise the dear, of course.
Prompt Response: Is it alive? The question had the foal cowaring in the far end of her basket. What was that supposed to mean? Of course she was. Or... she thoguht she was, at least. The only comfort, however little, was that the voice who asked was sincerly worried.
"Woah, ma, look how it's shaking," a male voice said softly. She heard the nervous flutter of wings coming from the direction of the voice. She heard footsteps coming closer and she shook harder.
"Oh, the poor dear. Where do you think her momma is," the female voice asked again.
"I don't think there is one, ma," answered a different male voice. There was silence. the filly cowered in silence while the diliberation took place. finally the female voice said defiantly, "Well, I'm thier momma now."
"What, you don't know what in there! What if it's a Kalona?" the filly was suddenly insulted. she didn't know much, but she knew she was NOT a Kalona.
She wiggle defiantly and popped her head out with an angry whiney.
"I am NOT a Kalona!"
"Sugarsnap," a matural colored mare exclaimed happily as she bounced over and nuzzled the filly.
"Sugarsnap," asked a red and orange colt. His wings confused Sugar, but she let it go. She turned her atention to the mare and gave a curious look as well.
"That's her name... unless... she has one already."
"Er... no, I don't think I have a name..."
"Fabulous! Sugarsnap it is! Can you walk baby?"
Sugar looked around atherself nervously. She chuckled and said, "I don't... think so."
"Well, we can't have you in there, can we," stated the colt as he knelt infront of Sugar. "Hop on, I'll carry you."
Sugar looked carefully at the colt and then took her first tentative steps. She finally reached his back and fell across it. The colt chuckled and lifted himself easily.
"Welcome to the family, Sugar," another colt called from the small mare. sugar smiled. Family?
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Posted: Wed Nov 19, 2008 5:58 pm
Your Name: Tamiko_kitten Soquili you own/co-own: AlexielName for the basket: Itzcóatl (Aztec name meaning obsidian serpent) Who will raise the basket, or will the basket face the world alone? he will raise himself alone, and though he will encounter others he will be wary of becoming too close, and as such end up isolating himself Prompt Response:The thick, matted leaves sank underneath the weight of the stallion as he moved soundlessly through the graveyard, clouds of red smoke dancing around his dark form. It felt strange, this place. Unlike any he had been before, he did not feel restless here, did not feel the urge to leave. It felt like a different world, far different from the one he was used to. Different than the one he had grown up in.
The world Itzcóatl had grown in had been cold and unforgiving, and as such, he had turned his back to it, forsaking it’s beauties to seek out it’s most forgotten, desolate places. Places like himself. The brilliant fire of the setting sun could not turn his eye, nor the majesty of the great mountains inspire his soul. He looked to them, and felt only pain. The world had never cared for him, and so he cared nothing for it.
Born alone, he walked alone even now, accompanied by nothing but the swirling red smoke that trailed around him, the sole witness to his journey. But he did not mind. He had never craved the company of others, save for when he was a foal. But he had soon learned. There were no others. Only him. Always him. But then there were times too, when he would feel something brush lightly against his consciousness, whispering to him in a red hazy dream, calling him. Like a magnet, it pulled him, but to where and for what purpose Itzcóatl did not know. Only that he must follow, heed the irresistible call and let it lead him wherever it may. He still had not found it, even after all these years. Always moving, always searching. He stayed little in one place, looking briefly for some connection, and then leaving with nothing but a dragging sense of loss. Occasionally, he doubted it was even real. But it was, it must be, for it was what had named him, given him some semblance of an identity. And some nights, when the cold breeze rushed past his ears and the wind cut through the trees like a whip, it would sing to him. An eerie, strange melody; not even a real song, but a feeling that cut him deep into his core. He needed to find it.
Moments of perfect clarity were interspersed with times when a red haze would seem to creep over him, and Itzcóatl would see shadows, hear whispers in the dark where none have previously existed. He suspected it had something to do with the rust coloured smoke that trailed him, but he had never confirmed it. Mostly it came in his dreams. And the older he grew, the more frequently the dreams had come, flashes of mad, disjointed images that screamed at him in a whorl of thick smoke, distorting his senses. Secretly he feared that one day the madness (if that was indeed what it was) that bit at the edges of his mind might consume him, cloaking him in the smoky red dream, trapping him inside forever. And whenever this thought came to him, he resumed his search with a half panicked fervour, all the while unsure whether it was showing him the way to freedom, or simply drawing him deeper into the darkness that he ran from.
But perhaps here would be different. Here among the phantom shadows that stalked the ground, paying tribute to the dead spirits with ghostly wails, he would find what had been sought for so long. And as he watched, a dark figure emerged from between two gravestones, a thick dark smoke flickering like tongues of black fire around bone hooves. And as the figure drew closer, Itzcóatl saw that it was a mare, both brilliant and terrible in her dark perfection, faint images of ghostly screams traversing her body and two gleaming ruby eyes that stared out at him in a crazed fervour from a pale skull. She was strange, frightening, but something about her echoed within him, not quite a kindred spirit, but something close. Closer than he had ever found in the world outside.
And suddenly, like a bolt a lightning cracking open the sky, he knew. It was her. His madness in physical form, the very thing that he had run from. Something in the back of his mind recognized something different in her, something that, were he a different stallion he might stop to examine further. A strange feeling as he looked at her, seeing bits of himself. Family? A voice at the back of his mind questioned. But he ignored it. That voice was useless to him, the word meaningless. He did not have a family, nor did he want one. His only interest lay in the crazed look she held as she watched, the way she stared through him with a possessed glow in her eyes. The same glow he had. A brief sense of dissapointment filled him as he observed her longer, but rapidly, it was replaced by the scantest bit of hope
No, she was not what he had been searching for. But perhaps she held the answers.
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Posted: Wed Nov 19, 2008 6:03 pm
Your Name: Brize
Soquili you own/co-own: Blacklight, Bright Dusk, and Vartan.
Name for the basket: Maitre Carrefour (In the Vodoun pantheon, Maitre Carrefour - literally "Master Crossroads" - is the loa of sorcery and bad luck.)
Who will raise the basket, or will the basket face the world alone? Blacklight will stumble across the basket and consider it an omen. She will take care of it with help from her son Bright.
Blacklight is hedonistic, bohemian, and deeply superstitious. Her mate Swift Wind is a barely-reformed womanizer, and her son Bright Dusk is a flashy showman who uses his knightly alicorn looks in order to con the unsuspecting. Thus Carrefour will be raised in a loving but very amoral environment. His adopted mother will teach him a strong respect for ritual, but his practices will be much darker than she realizes. Prompt Response: Quote: 1. He is now an adult, and despite not having a clear memory of his birthplace, he finds his way back to the graveyard where he was born. Strangely, the place seems right to him. However, just as he's exploring this connection that he has with this location, he comes face to face with Brigitte. What does he feel? How does he act?
Pity that there wasn't some water at hand. The taste of last night's conquest still lingered on his lips, and he did hate to mix spiritual experiences with disposable pleasures. Making up slick, sensual rituals in order to get pretty mares to raise their haunches didn't count.
"They say a monster lives here," Carrefour mused, nosing at one of the standing stones that humans left to mark their dead. The thought of interred bones did not bother him. Sleep was silence, and silence spoke volumes. "They being frightened little lambs with nothing but nonsense in their heads, of course."
He raised his head to scan the horizon. The mists whirling about his legs mingled with the dull morning fog.
"Well? Are you there, monster? Do not fear, ma cherie. This scholar comes to your home as a humble supplicant."
Carrefour knew ways to summon bad luck. He prayed to gods the Kawani shunned, and fancied that he could cast the evil eye with nary a flutter of his thick lashes. But he would not employ force against the object of his interest unless she tried his patience.
Thankfully, she did not. Birds took flight, branches cracked, and he heard a flurry of bellowing and stomping in the distance. It did not take long for a dark and skeletal mare to burst onto the scene, erupting from the mists like an emissary from the gates of hell.
The wild state of her mane made Carrefour smile. He didn't care to speculate why. Instinct was a force far more powerful than crude logic, and he made it a point to follow his as often as he could. There were few things Carrefour wouldn't do in the pursuit of his own happiness.
"Bonjour, Madame." The stallion slid into a half-bow, in order to mask the poison in his eyes. "I am, as you can see, a student of fortune. But I find that the path to the future does not always follow the signposts of reason. It would oblige me very much if you could teach me to go mad."
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Posted: Wed Nov 19, 2008 7:10 pm
Your Name: Mindsend Soquili you own/co-own: I co-own GLaDOS with Kamiki Name for the basket: Xiuhcoatl (Fire Serpent / weapon of destruction. Genderless name) Who will raise the basket, or will the basket face the world alone? Face the World Alone. Prompt Response: Prompt 1 Xiuhcoatl had been roaming the land, testing his legs and trying to discover exactly what had haunted him all this time, lingering in the back of his mind. Something had always been missing, making him restless. He had somehow, just barely managed to come out on a razors edge, between good and evil, forcing himself to be unfeeling, to convince himself that rage was just an illusion, as was sorrow. Suddenly the shadowy stallion was snapped from his silent wonderings, slowing to a stop as hooves rapped sharply on large, cracked stones, and let his eyes roam the dark graveyard. Minutes pass, and he lowers his head, stepping past the gates, drawn into it. Weak memories bubbled up, memories of emerging from his basket and hiding silently from a large, shadowy figure, and eventually being drawn from a burial site such as this one by hunger and fear of being caught. This couldn’t possibly be…? Is this…?A sharp clack draws him out of his connection and he turns his head in its direction to suddenly have his vision filled with red glowing eyes and a bleached white skull, the mare’s face so hauntingly familiar of the creature from old and dusty dreams. She was smaller then he remembered. But just as frightening. And somehow infuriating. Fear is just an illusion, just as is anger. A primitive instinct that sentient beings can overcome...Xiuh turns to face her, standing strong, meeting her mad eyes. Suddenly the pieces fall in place; the graveyard, the memories, the rage, and his right eye twitches slightly, his jaw clenching, finally speaking in a cold, forced tone, “ …Mother…” And in silence he waited.
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Posted: Wed Nov 19, 2008 7:20 pm
Your Name: Ac.Wings Soquili you own/co-own: None Name for the basket: Aucaman Who will raise the basket, or will the basket face the world alone? This little one will face the world alone unless if allowed to set up a plot thread. With the plot thread I could see, with your permission, if I can find anyone suitable for him who would be willing to watch over him until he is fully grown. Prompt Response:Quote: 1. He is now an adult, and despite not having a clear memory of his birthplace, he finds his way back to the graveyard where he was born. Strangely, the place seems right to him. However, just as he's exploring this connection that he has with this location, he comes face to face with Brigitte. What does he feel? How does he act? Darkness casted over the land as the great moon rose and shone itself through the thin scraggily treetops. It had been many years since fresh green leaves sprout upon their ruddy graying stems. No matter how high they spun upwards, the tree branches lives were cut short from lack of water. Their bristling stems, stretched towards the sky, still pleaded with the clouds for rain. Yet the struggling saplings cries were in vain. This was a graveyard. Only the dead were here. Life was but a thing of the past. Tucked away behind the mountain and placed close to it’s rocky ridge allowed this bitter and broken landscape the gift of going unnoticed. For those who did pass by, perhaps on a journey of some sort or seeking out the rich tasting peppers that grew around the area, rarely gave this spot a second glance. Certainly nothing of value could be found in such a deserted wasteland. So why had Aucaman, the one who sought to find something…anything, step into this foreign abyss? This place seemed not one where memories were found, but lost. His nostrils flared as the air, thick with heat and the smell of sweet decaying death, strangled his senses. Cold moss and sludge rippled across his hooves as the young stallion stepped forth into the tall brush. Immediately, before his venturing front foot could make contact with the ground, Aucaman felt something hard scrap along his hoof. Glancing downwards, the bold male could see a stone carved to stand tall and rigid lying in the muck. Without thinking to take the odd object into account, Aucaman continued forward. His stomach turned at the fact that he could feel the brown and black sludge lap at his feet as they sank into the earth. This feeling….it chilled him to the bone. A fragment: a lost memory darted by his senses. This fear, the threat of sinking into the mud seemed so real. But he was so big. He could fight it. He was old enough and by far strong enough to leap from its grasp. Yet there was a faint cry, it seemed so long ago, like a child that screamed in the back of his mind; that shouted for help against being swallowed up by the wayward earth. “Enough.” Aucaman told himself with a shake of his head. Why was he acting so…childish? This was not the place to loose his head. Glancing to his left where only a sea of dark green brush lied, and then to his right where something white and murky sat, Aucaman settled his mind and managed to dart past the shivers and quivers. Pulling himself through the waste with a harsh tug here and there, the young stallion trailed through the rough land. Without much care, he climbed over the stones that were placed not too close and not too far from one another. It was as if they were there for a reason. Yet to even question that reason did not strike at the head of this stallion. For he never thought that this foreign land was that of a graveyard. It was too vague and too natural. Such a place could not be one for burial. Burial places were not lost and forgotten, but kept crisp and remembered. Just as his thoughts trailed to the topic of the dead, Aucaman was brought back to the present when his wandering eyes caught sight of something wedged under an uprooted tree root. Curious, the stallion moved closer and lowered his head to peer at what lied twisted and torn upon the ground. It was ripped and beaten, as though something had fought hard to escape from its bowels. It was….a basket. “Why….?” Such a simple word but it was the only question that could escape Aucaman in time before a dozen others boarded up his mind. With a vacant look brought upon by confusion, all he could do was stare at the ripped treasure. It was old, quite old actually. The color had faded and now matched perfectly with its surroundings. It was just as dull and vacant as the scenery. What a sad and lonely little thing. Yet upon staring closer at the forgotten bundle, Aucaman’s muscles tensed. His lungs closed and he struggled to breathe as the trees seemed to draw closer. He felt…trapped. The world was shutting him in; back into the heated darkness. Trapped inside, at a loss of what to do, kicking and mewling for someone…anyone. A cry like that of some ravaged beast broke Aucaman’s tattered thinking. He was brought back to the present from one shout that tugged at his ears. Surprised and with a racing heart, the mighty stallion turned himself around to come face to face with a shady creature. Dark and brooding, the inky shadows licked at her boney features as she remained transfixed in the night’s darkness. How long she had been standing there the young male did not know. But the feelings that exploded from every socket that connected his bones felt like a raging river as they ran through every vein in his body. It was, one word, amazing. Those eyes…Her eyes…Aucaman couldn’t look away. They glowed like the sun if it had been dipped in blood. Tumbling. Spinning. Out of control. Aucaman’s mind was a blur. This place with it’s broken scenery. The air he breathed with its clouded and earthy scent that burned his lungs. This creature. No, this mare. Those eyes. That basket. A connection. A something. He had found a something. In this desolate land, he had found the key to opening the lock that had blocked him from his quest. But now…as he stood before the key keeper what was he to say? What was he to do? Once again, he was….lost.
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Posted: Wed Nov 19, 2008 7:33 pm
Your Name: GrnGriff
Soquili you own/co-own: Aluana
Name for the basket: I still want to think about it…but possibly Ahq'ab'—Mayan for night or darkness. I would like to research names a little more, and see the foal.
Who will raise the basket, or will the basket face the world alone? Aluana would raise him, at least to begin with.
Prompt Response: #2
Aluana stood in the morning sun, looking over the gravesite, but not standing too close. She was new to the area, and where she came from they did not have many of these places. She found it to be interesting. She always liked the kind of reverence that was usually found in places where the dead slept, it was quiet and comforting.
However, Aluana could tell that something else resided here, as well. Something, not really evil....she couldn't tell, really. But she knew she should try to steer clear of it. This place was special, and not a place where the living were often welcome, she decided.
With a quick nod of her head, out of respect for both those that slept in this place and the being that guarded it, Aluana turned to leave. As she did so, something caught her eye. There, not too far into the graveyard resting under the shadows, was a basket. And within it, was life.
Aluana had learned that the young of the horses in this area were put into baskets....and that meant there was a new young life in that one.
"This is no place for the young," whispered Aluana. Aluana could not see the guardian, and the basket was not too far into its territory.....
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The young foal woke from dreams filled with shadows. If he had been a normal Soquili, he might have found them frightening. But he was young, and hardly knew fear. And while he knew he was not normal, he didn’t' know just how different he was.
When he had emerged from the basket he had found before him a white mare, who had a single horn on her head. The world around him had been filled with light, and warmth....it was drastically different from the darkness of the basket, and the cool shadows of his dreams.
The young foal looked around him, taking in the view of the forest from under the tree he had been sleeping under. The unicorn mare (that is what she said she was) was standing a few feet away, munching on the grass.
The foal stood, and looked down at his legs. He wondered why he was so dark...the color of the shadows that danced in his dreams. He wondered why he mare was so bright; what was the difference between them? He had asked that question before, once, in the few weeks it had been since he emerged from the basket. Aluana had told him he was no different than any other Soquili. This had led to the question of what a Soquili was, and she had seemed much more willing to answer that one.
"Is anything wrong, little one?" asked a sweet voice that broke the morning silence.
"I was dreaming of shadows," the foal answered.
"Shadows?" the mare prompted.
"Yes, but not like these," he nodded his small head towards the light shadows that danced under the tree. "Darker shadows, like those that come out at night...shadows like me."
The mare moved toward the foal. "And do these shadows frighten you?" she asked.
He shook his head, "No."
"Then it is fine if you dream of them," the mare said, as she tapped her nose against his neck. He found this touch comforting, though he remembered it had been frightening when he first left the basket.
"Do you dream of shadows?" he asked the mare. He pulled away to look her in the eye.
"Not usually," she answered. "But do not worry. Some are meant to dream of shadows, and some are not. As long as you don't fear the shadows, I think you will be fine."
"But why do I dream of shadows, if you don't. You said we are both Soquili, both the same. But we are different a--"
"Look around you," she interrupted him with a nudge of her nose. "See the trees? They are all trees, but they are also all different. It is the same for you and me, and any other Soquili in the world." She sighed. "I think you are the color of shadows, and dream of shadows, because you were born in Shadows. Just like some trees are born by the river, and some on the mountains, Soquili are born in different places, too. But, just because you dream of shadows, or don't look like me, doesn't mean you are not the same as me."
He snorted. Her answer made sense to him, the trees were all the same and all different. "So," he began, "it is okay if I look like a shadow, and dream of shadows, and find comfort in the shadows?" He looked up, trying to read her face.
He was greeted by a smile, and a look...the same look she often had when she looked at him. If he were older, he might have recognized it as a look of motherly love.
"It is fine, dear," she said. He smiled back at her. She spoke again, "Well, are you hungry? I think we should find you something to eat."
"Yes!" he said happily. She turned and stepped into the sunlight, leading the way. As he stepped into the light after her, he noticed its comforting warmth again. He liked it...but he wondered if he would ever like it as much as he liked the cool, dark comfort of the Shadows.
*Gah! I didn't mean for it to be so long...but it is under the limit!
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