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 Posted: Mon Oct 22, 2012 8:56 pm
She still has a sexy fan. Lifen here when I am more awake.
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Posted: Tue Oct 23, 2012 7:41 am
He did not know what he was anymore.
He did not know where he was anymore.
The stallion belonging to the horseman of Mengyao Miao shrieked and tossed its head, but it was already becoming weaker, fading, disappearing into nothingness. The body of the horse dissolved, and a hand formed, then an arm, and then the rest of his body, dressed in the long flowing robes of that he was always so proud of and took such care with. His hair, which was pinned up the way it usually was, was sleek and shiny and without all of the tangles and mess of the Haunted House.
The phoenix was dissolving, and with it came the wispy, white figures of hundreds, thousands of beings that formed from its ashes. Tall, ghostly people, shorter, pale shadows of figures that had once been a part of the clans. Mengyao's eyes sought through the throngs, flickering from one face to the next, his heart beating rapidly in his chest, his thoughts askew, messy, unable to be sorted through properly.
He did not see her.
Several more crowds passed, and still she did not come. Mengyao was becoming desperate, though his shoulders, always pushed back and strong and confident, were slowly lowering as his body curled into itself, shielding himself from the inevitable pain of her loss.
More passed. He was starting to lose hope.
And then, as a group of somber looking Famine soldiers passed across his line of vision, he saw her, standing silently by herself, her dark hair twisted up into an elegant knot at the back of her head and stuck through with a pair of golden sticks that matched the ones in his own hair.
He felt his heart seize in his chest.
He had survived.
She had not.
The guilt was overwhelming, consuming, sinking into his body like a weight he couldn't ever be rid of. Why should he have been the one to survive? He was not that special. He was arrogant, even he knew it. He held his chin higher than everyone else, towered over those he did not find to be worth his time or effort. He had always been this way, and it was not something to be changed so easily.
So why should he have lived and she have died?
He could not look at her for a moment, his eyes cast upon the floor of where he stood motionless, but after a second he could hear footsteps coming towards him, and then a ghostly hand lifted, hovered beneath his chin.
"Brother, you were never good at being meek. It is an ill suited look for you."
Mengyao raised his head, and he could see the smile that stretched across her beautiful face, so lovely and free of judgment that it made his heart ache. Her little hand touched his cheek.
"I miss you," he whispered, hardly able to stand it. "Mèi mèi, I miss you."
She was still smiling. How could she smile at him like that when she was no longer among the living and he among those who had managed to survive - although with a price?
"I know," she responded, and stroked his cheek gently. "I know, big brother. And I miss you too. But you will be all right."
"Dàn wǒ bù zhīdào rúhé," he started to say his tongue faltering in the old language, which he had not spoken in some time, but she pressed her fingers to his lips and winked at him, stepping away. He reached for her hand, and held it, not wanting to part just yet. "I cannot do this without you!"
"You will do fine," she told him again, and she was beginning to fade, the edges of her body starting to blur, as though the memory were fading. Desperately Mengyao clung to her, but she laughed and shook her head, her dark eyes glimmering with a familiar mischief.
"You have people in your life that care about you, big brother," she said, and now she was translucent and he could see straight through her to the other side. "Let them into your life and allow them a place in your heart as you have done for me."
"I can't," he said, desperate to keep her with him, desperate to not let go, to have her stay with him, but as he moved he realized that his legs would not move. As he looked down, he could see the grey crawling up his body, reaching his knees, keeping him in place, and he looked back at her, eyes wide with fear.
"Do not be afraid," she said, and her voice was a whisper now, barely audible. "You will be all right."
"Zhēnguì de bǎozàng," he called after her, desperation in his voice, but she laughed, and the sound was music to his ears, a drop of warmth in his heart.
"You will be precious to me always," she said, and the grey crept up to his chest, his arms, his neck. "I love you, big brother.
"Until we meet again."
And then she was gone and the solidified figure of Mengyao Miao stood still, one arm still outstretched, as though he reaching for something he could no longer grasp.
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Posted: Tue Oct 23, 2012 6:23 pm
As the phoenix dissolved, it took with it the affliction of Insanity, and all horsemen turned to stone would find themselves complete again. Tainted now, just a touch, a light mark of where the Insanity had crawled under their skin-
- But for them, Insanity was not an affliction. It was a memory. And there was nothing wrong with keeping memories.
The light jingle of bracelets, as Medea called for their attention. She paused, looking a little beyond the last gathered horsemen, a distance away, before giving a small smile. Secretive. "Death does not come that easily now, does it?"
Before anyone could ask what she meant, she turned, pushed the fog away with her Fear -
- And it obliged at last, twisting into a gate. But not back to their Lair, not even back to the Lost Clans reserve. It showed something else, a mass of deeper greys, a familiar, painfully familiar landscape. The chattered, tattered remains of their Islands.
And yet, something in the center. A patch of colour, vibrant greens and blues, a small building half-formed made entirely of organic wood, something growing through the chaotic lands. Medea continued. "They could not keep us hidden forever, they have no ability to make us forever hide our heritage. The longer we live, the more we fight, the more we also grow, both past and present." She pushed one hand through the portal: a gush of warm air passed through, the feeling purely nostalgic. Their old home. Their true old home. "The distortion pushes through Insanity, fight and be fearless, fight and be proud of yourselves, we will become strong, and one day, we will regain our name as both of the Lost Clans, and of the Four Clans."
Hope.
She nodded. "The more Fear, the more distortion we gather, the more we can push away the Insanity in our old home. One day, everyone will remember us once again."
One day. The head priestess's eyes burned strong.
Soon. OOC - ALL HORSEMEN CAN POST A REACTION POST, and then as they step through the portal, they arrive back in the LAIR. Now, taking on LAIR TASKS will help purge away the Insanity from their old islands, the more distortion they collect and use. - Everything is simply a step closer until....
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Posted: Tue Oct 23, 2012 6:43 pm
Do no shame. A good goal, a good purpose. Simple, effective, driving.
Lan had not moved on, but rather, she would simply move forward. One day she might. One day, she would have made her peace in whole. This was but a fragment. And a fragment was still a start.
[Exiting]
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iStoleYurVamps
iStoleYurVamps
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Posted: Tue Oct 23, 2012 7:23 pm
Soren's home was gone. Gone with the last of the fragments. The physical place meant little to him but if they could grow strong again...he existed for the clans now. So keep fighting, keep fulfilling the Clan's tasks. He could do that. He would do that.
He stepped through the portal.
[Exit]
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Posted: Tue Oct 23, 2012 9:23 pm
The sight of their old home was a bittersweet thing, but what the dark priestess saw there in the middle had her stepping forward. Among the destruction something else had formed.
Or rather grown. The details were lost, but Nergui could see enough to inserted, and with that comprehension came hope. What once was home could be again, they just had to work for it. Continue to work for it.
Chin lifting, the mare stepped through the portal. There was work to be done.
[Exit]
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Posted: Wed Oct 24, 2012 6:34 am
He was not dead. He was not stone.
He was still alive.
But as Mengyao stood there, still uncomprehending of the situation as a whole, and he saw the home that had once been, he could notice one thing, one very important thing.
The whispers had begun to stir once more inside of his head.
[ exit ]
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Posted: Wed Oct 24, 2012 6:37 pm
His body crawled suddenly back to life. Hands dropped to his side, digging into the grey ground, pulling him upright as Kiwi rose to his feet.
He was fine now, fine. Yet something familiar whispered gently in the back of his mind, brushing at his conscious like a bittersweet memory ... He flinched just slightly, willing it away. Not now. Please, not now ...
Medea's voice caught his attention. Kiwi turned, and what he saw nearly caught his breath.
Home. Their home. Their true home. It was beginning to come to life again. Excitement welled in his chest. He wanted to reach out a hand, to touch it, to feel it, but he knew better. Not now. Not quite yet. Kiwi smiled softly though as the thought came to him, filtering through the quiet whispers:
Soon. They were going home.
[Exiting]
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Posted: Fri Oct 26, 2012 6:56 pm
Eisheth could not believe her eyes. And ears. And thoughts. It was the question of sanity in its pure, true meaning: she could not trust her own senses, the second after she felt a tiny wind blow, arid, warm, so familiar, that her entire skin was ready to leave her old bones and fly towards the illusion, towards the vision. Apparently, Medea just used some kind of illusion to tease them....
No. No way, No Jacking way there is the chance to get back their Home. Why should they cheat themselves with that false hope?..
On the other hand, could they be to obsessed with their loss, too depressed, too exhausted to accept reality the way it was? Could they get down to such a lowly, lame excuse as "poor homeless ponies, could that feeling be so strong they forgot about possibilities excited about the misery of their situation? Their lives were miserable now; they were vagabond, a shadow, an effigy of they once were, and this feeling was tempting enough to succumb to it entirely. And the reality never changed: there were always the possibilities, and everything could happen.
But on the other hand, it will just mean more struggling. More fighting. More... living, again, and again, as if they were machines made to struggle and suffer, suffer and fight, kill and die. Is that what they wanted? But they didn't want a thing: they simply followed their nature, they were who they were, and it could not be helped.
Eisheth sighed.
The future seemed quite troubling for the alchemist.
[Exiting]
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