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Post by Zookcan on Oct 20, 2018 8:46:34 GMT -6
WHAT LIES HIDDEN
ENIAH & SRIRACHA
POST - CHAPTER 6
Time of Day: Daytime
Location: The Oasis
Osulas is destroyed, and Wilson lies trapped outside the Oasis, leaving Eniah somewhat lost and estranged. Having joined the Serorans very recently,
he is still trying to make sense of the herd and its customs, and desperately seeks guidance. He is closed off, tired, and afraid of the future. Perhaps someone
can help show him the way?
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Post by Zookcan on Oct 20, 2018 8:50:28 GMT -6
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ENIAH
your scars will be remade in gold.
  
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A golden body slips into the delicate shade of a rosy tent, slightly muddied hooves tracking sand and dirt onto a rough mat. He had placed the piece of fabric there himself: not one for trailing soil on another's property ( perhaps his time as a slave had taught him more manners than one may think, ) Eniah hastily scraped his hooves clean until he was satisfied. Stretched out before him was a blanket, its soft, cool hues contrasting with the red colors of the tent canvas. It was held into place by wooden studs and heavy objects.
This was not his home. It lacked sturdy, stable walls of sandstone. It was without spotless, but strong glass windows. It even went without filigrees of gold and polished marble. The home he knew was also home to the wealthiest horses in all of Valore. They had been born with silver spoons in their mouths and thus, saw themselves befitting of only the finest estates. His old corners, while not fancy, had been quaint and comfortable. He had had an actual bed, and a bookshelf, and tomes to read and write in. For a very brief period of time, he lived in an illusion that he actually had belongings of his own. But then again, he never truly had his own belongings back then, did he?
All an illusion.
Though he is lost here, at least he is free? All that most of these tents had to offer were blankets and pillows. Furniture was scarcely placed. Dim candlelight served as the only source of lighting. Architecturally, the Serorans lived a much different lifestyle from Aodhians, but that was only just scraping the surface.
He lays himself down on the blanket, and stares outward toward the tent opening. Beyond the edge of the Oasis lies the barrier -- the only thing between him and his old captors. Monsters. Persistent wasps. Eniah feels himself shudder with anger and fear. He only hopes that Wosil has evaded capture thus far.
"Ho-ooh..." Feeling traces of loss, the colt presses his head to his blanket, anxious to ease his racing mind. | |
Word Count: 351
Tagging: spectraheart
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Post by Spectre on Oct 20, 2018 13:59:39 GMT -6
Sriracha was at the end of his rope.
His home was in ashes, his sister was scared, and he didn't know the fate of his mother. He had saved very little from his home, a few photos and key pieces of furniture (He refused to leave his father's desk behind). Along with his loss of precious of memories, he had no assurances to give his sister- the poor filly was a mess and he was running out of ways to distract her. Above all that, for all he knew, Lilliana was dead. While she had been fading, she still was his mother- even until the bitter end.
Each new stress only added to his burning hatred of Adohians and their fire god. And worst of all, he couldn't rain hellfire upon them. No, he was stuck behind the fish bowl called the barrier. He had tried hitting it multiple times... and failed.
He felt trapped with no options and nowhere to go. He honestly felt claustrophobic. He wanted to fly, to race hard and fast until he collapsed on a random mesa somewhere. But the barrier didn't yield and he was grounded.
So he wasn't having a good day.
Today he had taken to patrolling around the tents, trying in vain to calm his racing mind and just breathe. He had been walking for an hour and thankfully brought his mind some semblance of peace, how shaky it may be. As he walked he tried to ignore the barrier above his head and how his wings ached. Maybe some stretches...
He was snapped from his thoughts as he heard a distressed groan from a rose tinted tent. Quirking an eyebrow, Sriracha walked over to the tent and peered inside, finding the distressed golden colt before him.
The colt seemed around Coriander's age, and that was reason enough for Sriracha to intervene. While he wasn't the most fluffy guy, he knew a distressed soul when he saw one. Sriracha quietly moved into the tent and brought his head down slightly to the kid's level and asked, "Hey kid, you okay?" His voice came out slightly choked from his lack of use. Frowning at the sound, Sriracha quietly worked his jaw as he waited.
WC: 372 | Post #1
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Post by Zookcan on Oct 25, 2018 13:43:19 GMT -6
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ENIAH
your scars will be remade in gold.
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Scarcely does he ever admit his true feelings in the presence of strangers. That is merely his nature. Perhaps since he had been taken in under the wing of the sky goddess's herd, Eniah had felt more an outsider than he ever did as an Aodhian slave. Yes, he had a cold, hard bit that he would have to gnaw on throughout the day, but at least his captors spoke of Ignacio with humble and pious words, while they frowned upon the Wing Mother and her terrible deeds. Here, it was though the gods had swapped heads! The Serorans worshiped Alya like she was the All-Mother, the superior being -- save for a few who seemed to speak her name with uncertainty. But without doubt, they hissed the fire god's name with disgust. There was no room for him here.
Hence, Eniah wonders if there is any room for him, either. Feeling insecure, Eniah hastily reaches for the nearest blanket to pull over his shoulder as a winged stallion draws near, the blue cloth guarding the otherwise glaring insignia of the enemy branded upon his pelt. Though the pain had numbed months ago, it is still a mark of shame to him. He feels uglier here than he did within Valore's walls. At least he shared such a mark with all other slaves.
"I'm fine." Eniah answers softly and reluctantly. The red colt spins a quick excuse for his exhausted nature. "It's the heat. It's very hot today."
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Word Count: 247
Tagging: spectraheart
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Post by Spectre on Nov 3, 2018 9:05:52 GMT -6
S R I R A C H A
Sriracha merely quirked an eyebrow as the kid hastily pulled a blanket over- something. His cerulean eyes narrowed as the colt denied his obvious stress. "Just the heat, huh?" Sriracha merely rolled his eyes, he knew better. While he wasn't the best comforter around, he didn't like leaving anyone in distress- much less kids of any age.
Playing along, Sriracha huffed and sat down in front of the colt. He pulled out his water filled canteen and haphazardly moved it over to the kid. "Well, I can't have you overheating on me. Much less becoming dehydrated. So go ahead and drink up and cool off, I'mma stay here to make sure you don't pass out on me." He sent a friendly smirk the kid's way and shifted his wings.
Coming up with nothing else to distract himself, Sriracha pulled out his boomerang and pretended to inspect it. (He knew full well it was in top form, but he needed something to distract himself) As the minutes ticked by, Sriracha glanced at the kid multiple times, making sure he was actually calming down. Soon enough, the silence grew to much and Sriracha asked, "Got a name squirt?"
WC: 196 | Post #2
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Post by Zookcan on Nov 3, 2018 20:01:08 GMT -6
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ENIAH
your scars will be remade in gold.
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Red ears perked at the canteen that was offered to him. Every so often, Eniah would mistake this kindness for pity. He never meant to; it was a result of his own lack of self-confidence, conditioned unto him by his slavers and masters. A leftover from his days where he wore a bit in his mouth, he had always believed that kindness and mercy from those above him were the same as pity.
The child mustn't forget where he stands now. His past is behind him, and the Serorans' generosity has never been feigned to him once. It is only a shame, that the only thing that now stands between him and the past that haunts him is a single barrier. That the Serorans were trying to find a way out of. That the Aodhians were trying to find a way in. He might as well be a canary in a cage -- for a cat looms outside the bars, hungry for him.
With a sigh of defeat, the fire-colored colt takes the canteen in mental embrace, letting it hang in sky blue aura for a moment's worth of reluctance. Then, he drinks from it, and dowses a few droplets sparingly into his wild mane before he offers it back to its owner. The coolness of it is refreshing. In Valore, he had taken its bounty for granted. How could he have believed he was truly suffering back then, when his masters had at least provided him with food and water? Even as a slave, he had still had luxuries.
"Thank you." Soft, sky blue eyes would cast themselves on his rosy-colored hooves. He is never one to make eye-contact. Perhaps that was a result of his conditioning, but he was never one to look another horse straight in the face either unless commanded to. It just felt downright awkward. "Squirt" was a nickname that did not settle well with him, but he doesn't correct the pegasus. "Eniah, sir." He answers diligently and respectfully, quick and curt-like, as slave would. He felt it'd be rude to ask the same question.
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Word Count: 349
Tagging: spectraheart
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Post by Spectre on Nov 5, 2018 10:07:01 GMT -6
S R I R A C H A
Sriracha never enjoyed the quiet. It was filled with to much room for thought and regrets. It allowed his mind to slow down and be filled with memories he'd much rather forget.That's why he was always on the move, jumping from one thing to the next in attempt to out run his own thoughts.
He was honestly surprised that more people weren't annoyed with him. He was a constant ball of energy and he just never sat still. If anyone wanted quiet time with him, they would find out quickly that he wasn't quiet. He would be shifting constantly, humming random tunes or flicking his head around to find something to entertain his eyes.
Which is why Sriracha was thankful that the kid didn't stay quiet for long. Sriracha wordlessly took the canteen and tucked it away into his saddle bags. His ears flicked back as the kid thanked him and he hummed out his reply. Cerulean eyes snapped up when the squir- Eniah said his name.
Sriracha smirked and nodded his head in acknowledgement. Though a small part of him frowned at the colt's curt answer. He rose his head and smirked once again, "Name's Sriracha."
He frowned as the silence stretched on- He looks like he needs to move... With a huff, Sriracha bounced up and stretched his wings and legs. Smacking his lips, Sriracha lazily strolled towards the tent entrance, stopping and sending a look Eniah's way. "If your feeling up to it, why not join me for a walk? Might help you get acclimated to the heat- and you can get some more water." Sriracha shrugged his wings and pretended to inspect the path outside, " 'is up to you though."
WC: 285 | Post #3
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Post by Zookcan on Nov 14, 2018 21:43:48 GMT -6
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ENIAH
your scars will be remade in gold.
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He refrains from making eye contact, as he usually does, even as the winged stallion offers him his name. All that is given in reply is a nod, before his golden head lowers to the scratchy blue cloth stretched over his withers, obscuring ugly scars from view. It's funny how much time he has spent within Sedo, and yet he still has not yet adjusted to the fact that he was very naked. As a boy who had always worn a cloak to hide unsightly pelt in public, he could not have felt more insecure in the presence of strangers without it. Hence, when the offer is made for him to join the pegasus, Sriracha, on a stroll into the desert heat, Eniah very clearly hesitated.
A telekinetic, metaphorical hand reaches to clutch the blue sheets closely guarding his brand ever closer. Besides the scars given to him by his old masters, there is also the unsightly and disconcerting symbol of the dragon forever burned onto his shoulder: the trademark insignia of Aodh. Since he had arrived here, those who recognized it either met him with dismay or pity. They were at war with his former keepers, the ones who had bred and borne him -- and he feels that it would at least be a little concerning to spy the mark of a former slave boy on his own pelt.
Still, in spite of his obvious discomfort and his hesitance to accept the request, Eniah treats it more or less like an order. It vaguely reminded him of how his last master spoke: many times, he was invited, not ordered, to join Ron's side, but in every instance, Eniah did not decline for he believed he was required to fulfill all requests. After all, he was a slave. Reluctantly, the colt slowly begins to rise up from the blanket, but he stops before the horrible mark could be revealed to the eager pegasus. "If I may, is there a cloak here to borrow? I would like to shelter my pelt from the sun."
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Word Count: 343
Tagging: spectraheart
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