Post by xXSarcasticXx on Jul 10, 2010 15:51:14 GMT -8
It can make you suffer unbearably. Make you cry out for the shame of it. It can hold you in a moment, and never free you. It can make you stand for ages, admiring the pure effortless effect it has. It can make you cry, or laugh, or scream. Beauty can be hideous; it can be a force of nature. It can cause things to happen when they should not. This beauty is in everything. If you don’t see it, you aren’t looking- really looking. This harsh, undeniable beauty is life itself; that and the living.
There is something in obvious beauty that draws equines in, the creatures are deaf, and blind to the plight that they face- only following the facade that beauty taunts them with. Obvious beauty is dangerous: it can be as dangerous as a sharpened horn, fire-hardened hooves or flashing fangs. If only you know how to use it. The power of suggestion, mixed with that of beauty can tempt fate; it can cause a natural disaster. It can cause an unnatural disaster.
The water was warm to the touch, and reflected off the sun that was setting slowly. Increment, by increment the stag dropped his head and broke the still, silent beauty that the water held within. He wanted to be apart of that beauty, but he knew it would never happen. This is the reason why he disrupted the beauty before it could transfix him. He raised his cranium and tossed his head, silver, and storm-cloud grey hairs strewn about his muscular neck as his mane blew out of any orderly fashion.
Well that’s that. I guess dusk is upon me, perhaps I will find some where to spend the night, or go flying for a while.
Suddenly the orange glowing circle in the sky vanished, consumed by the rotating earth. There was still light though. It was dusk, one of the stallion’s favorite times- if only because it blended so perfectly with his silver, grey pelt. That very pelt rippled with sinewy muscles, as the stag moved. He stepped away from the still pool, honey optics scanning the area around him for shelter, and pasture for the night’s food. Seeing nothing that would suit him perfectly, he decided to take to the skies.
As if knowing his thoughts, his pure white wings rustled, slowly opening with great reverence. Each individual hair seemed to exhale with relief at the thought of being set free into the air. The entires’ chest rose once, twice and then a third time. He was inhaling the earthy scent of growing life before he took to the skies. After his third breath, his wings rose up into a high ‘V’ before thrusting him down, and propelling him into the air. It wasn’t a graceful rising, it was harder to do it from a stand still then it was to take off from a run- preferably a gallop.
He soared into the air, quickly finding a rhythm on the warm thermals that were still; luckily, rising off of the lake that he’d paused beside. He took in a deep breath; it was warm down at the base of the mountain- even for winter. There were still a few hardy plants alive, as well as the coniferous trees that rimmed the clearing.
He adjusted each pummel separately, these longer, finer hairs allowed the air to pass threw his wings steadily and freely, this made for a smoother, silent flight. His golden eyes caught, and flashed in the pre-dark light, and his horn glimmered slightly for an instant, before the cold white spiral was bare once again. He changed his flight pattern, heading north, to a higher, colder attitude. As he flew, his mind drifted, he was thinking of all sorts of things- like his childhood, his drive to become something else, anything else; to be one thing that his dad could’ve been proud of. He inhaled, the fresh scents deceiving him to think that there was another near by. He snorted, clearing his nostrils, confirming his belief that the scent was stale, old, and that no one was around.
Spotting a decent place, he slowly spiraled to the ground, wings buffeting slightly before placing him safely on the earth. His onyx hooves dented the snow as they touched, his white wings settled, and he walked stoically to the cave that he’d spotted- it would do for the night.
Indeed, night had fallen; dusk had fled from the sky… And as darkness returned to the earth, it returned to Vi’s soul. He thought of his childhood once more, and fell into a waking nightmare. “You fly like a duck. Be smoother, faster, and silent. I could hear you wing beats from a mile away- clumsy, slow.” His father bared his horn angrily, “why do you bother with flying, when you could learn to fight with this? Stupid child.” He pierced the air with his 4 foot long horn. “You’re useless, annoying. You belong with your mother and her kind. Filthy flyer. Scrawny shoulders and ugly head.” The older stallion snorted decisively, before flicking an ear back and strolling away. Even in his sleep he was overcome by his constant foalhood companion.
Despair is a constant ever evolving enemy. Dark and sticky it clings to your soul. It doesn’t give for a moment. It smoothers you. You fight. You fight and fight and fight. With all your strength. But despair has back up and you do not. Despair brings its friends into the battle. Loneliness and anger. Anger comes first. We lash out at those who we love. Driving them away. Then the loneliness comes. We say, ‘they don’t care.’ We dig our own hole and then blame others. We think, ‘what is the point of going on.’ No one cares.’ You think you can’t win. You think you can no longer fight. You loose hope. Your breathing slows. You give up. You are lost in despair. You gave up on the battle, and lost the entire war. He was one of those that were those lost to despair. Hopelessness effulged them. Now they are lost. They might smile and act like everything is okay. But it isn’t. They made laugh and shout, giggle, and joke, while they are dying inside.
His eyes blink open as his flanks rise and fall quickly, sweat soaking his gleaming silver hide. The whites of his eyes show as he startles into the night- running blindly. His only thought-
Who will save me?
Fear. It can drain you. Cause you to stand in petrified silence as you watch your own death stalk you, step by step. It can freeze you, lock you muscles, crease you movement as if you were made of stone. Your senses can heighten, suddenly you can hear your own heart beat, and finding it so loud; you cower, thinking that it can hear it too. Your sense of smell become impossibly abstract, you can scent the salty tang of your sweat, and taste the coppery hint of your blood, in your month. There is a possibility that you will brave your fear and fight against it. You will force you muscles to bend, raise your head high, as the almost unbearable fear crashes down on you. Wave after wave of it. You can wait it out, in slow, agonized silence, until, the fear subsides, or your heart gives in.
There is one last option that comes aware to your frantic mind. This is usually the one that has the most hope in it. You can flee. You can run as fast as you can, for as long as you can, and pray to any god or goddess who might be listening; that it was enough to escape. You can implore, entreat, beseech, plead, and appeal to any higher power that you can think of. The sad thing is; that even if they’re listening- they probably don’t care.
So, what happens when you’ve run as far as you can, gone the distance, taken flight into the darkness in hopes of something beyond your control; in hopes of a miracle, no less comes to a close. What do you have? Nothing. Your belief system has vanished without a trace, and so you wait, without even a glimmer of hope for your death. For the deep blackness to swallow you. Occasionally luck is on your side, for the blackness moves on, conceding to you. But luck is a very chancy thing, and many take that chance and wind up losing.
Long slender pillars thrashed against the ground, long twigs whipped across his silver hide, goading him on. His hooves dug into the malleable soil, destroying fragrant plant life, and scarring the earth with deep gores. Golden honeyed-hued optic pools were gigantic with horrified panic. Vi was running on pure instinct, saving himself last minute by sheer reflexes. A tree zoomed up in front of him, and with a quick rotation of his left hock, and a bunching of his haunch muscles he threw his sleek, silver body out of the way. His hooves skidded on the snow underneath him and he ended up over balanced, swaying way to right as he galloped. It seem as though he was staying on his hooves by pure self will and determination.
The snow under his hooves was thickening as the trees started to thin. He began to gallop full out, sweat darkening his back and his flanks. He struggled for a moment as he came to a deep bank, falling into to about the middle of his chest. His daggers snaked down to the earth in a staccato rhythm, keeping him steadily moving forward. He was puffing badly, and as he inhaled he froze. There was a scent of another horse, one that was being carried on the wind. Vi snapped back into his calm, rational, and logical being. He knew that he had, had a nightmare. He usually had them once or twice a week, and almost every time ended up waking from his fright-sleep state in such a way. He settled, slowing to a walk as he carried himself out of the snow bank. He shook, sending up a fine spray of sweat. He was over heated, and the adrenaline that had kept him going, was slowly disappearing from his veins, leaving vague aches and tiredness in its parting wake.
His eyes slowly regained their normal shape, and his harsh breathing, slowly deepened back to its original tempo. Glancing behind him he imagined black tendrils creeping towards him- the last traces of his nightmare. He dropped his body to the ground. Legs bowing underneath his muscular form until he dropped, rolling on to his side. He rolled in the snow for a few minutes, cleaning the sweat from his coat, and cooling himself off. Now clean, he staggered back up on to his feet. He shook out his long, fur-covered wings. The fur of his wings was a marking of his royal birth; he was part of the imperial line; after all. His mother was a pure Draumur, and his father a unicorn with the pedigree of a Jafnvægi. Though the unicorn part was a disgrace, he was what he was, and no one could change him. His nares quivered, and his took in a deep breath; the white snip that was perfectly centered between each nostril gleamed brightly. Vi reared up, steel-strong forelegs cutting the air as they wind milled to help him keep his balance. He stayed up proudly on his back legs for a few moments, his muscles bulging before taking wing into the air. Two upstrokes and one down stroke was all that was needed to get him a good forty feet in the air. He inhaled deeply and arched his port wing, steadily flying towards the unknown creature. His wings were made for a smooth flight, and he stretched them out and soared. Gilding through the brisk winter night, he wondered if this was what it felt like to be free.
Is this as good as it gets? Is it wrong to strive for more? Is it wrong that I have the best of both the land and the sky, yet still I am unhappy? Where are the answers to these questions? Will I ever find a place where I can truly be myself? Where I can truly be free of what my father was, and who my mother was? Is there such a place… Or must I simply create an area of tranquility among this region of chaos?
-----------------------------
Word Count: Approx 2,120
Muse Level: Hard to start, but afterward; pretty good.
Comment: You get a look at what happened to him as a foal, and this is very important in his whole character make-up.
There is something in obvious beauty that draws equines in, the creatures are deaf, and blind to the plight that they face- only following the facade that beauty taunts them with. Obvious beauty is dangerous: it can be as dangerous as a sharpened horn, fire-hardened hooves or flashing fangs. If only you know how to use it. The power of suggestion, mixed with that of beauty can tempt fate; it can cause a natural disaster. It can cause an unnatural disaster.
The water was warm to the touch, and reflected off the sun that was setting slowly. Increment, by increment the stag dropped his head and broke the still, silent beauty that the water held within. He wanted to be apart of that beauty, but he knew it would never happen. This is the reason why he disrupted the beauty before it could transfix him. He raised his cranium and tossed his head, silver, and storm-cloud grey hairs strewn about his muscular neck as his mane blew out of any orderly fashion.
Well that’s that. I guess dusk is upon me, perhaps I will find some where to spend the night, or go flying for a while.
Suddenly the orange glowing circle in the sky vanished, consumed by the rotating earth. There was still light though. It was dusk, one of the stallion’s favorite times- if only because it blended so perfectly with his silver, grey pelt. That very pelt rippled with sinewy muscles, as the stag moved. He stepped away from the still pool, honey optics scanning the area around him for shelter, and pasture for the night’s food. Seeing nothing that would suit him perfectly, he decided to take to the skies.
As if knowing his thoughts, his pure white wings rustled, slowly opening with great reverence. Each individual hair seemed to exhale with relief at the thought of being set free into the air. The entires’ chest rose once, twice and then a third time. He was inhaling the earthy scent of growing life before he took to the skies. After his third breath, his wings rose up into a high ‘V’ before thrusting him down, and propelling him into the air. It wasn’t a graceful rising, it was harder to do it from a stand still then it was to take off from a run- preferably a gallop.
He soared into the air, quickly finding a rhythm on the warm thermals that were still; luckily, rising off of the lake that he’d paused beside. He took in a deep breath; it was warm down at the base of the mountain- even for winter. There were still a few hardy plants alive, as well as the coniferous trees that rimmed the clearing.
He adjusted each pummel separately, these longer, finer hairs allowed the air to pass threw his wings steadily and freely, this made for a smoother, silent flight. His golden eyes caught, and flashed in the pre-dark light, and his horn glimmered slightly for an instant, before the cold white spiral was bare once again. He changed his flight pattern, heading north, to a higher, colder attitude. As he flew, his mind drifted, he was thinking of all sorts of things- like his childhood, his drive to become something else, anything else; to be one thing that his dad could’ve been proud of. He inhaled, the fresh scents deceiving him to think that there was another near by. He snorted, clearing his nostrils, confirming his belief that the scent was stale, old, and that no one was around.
Spotting a decent place, he slowly spiraled to the ground, wings buffeting slightly before placing him safely on the earth. His onyx hooves dented the snow as they touched, his white wings settled, and he walked stoically to the cave that he’d spotted- it would do for the night.
Indeed, night had fallen; dusk had fled from the sky… And as darkness returned to the earth, it returned to Vi’s soul. He thought of his childhood once more, and fell into a waking nightmare. “You fly like a duck. Be smoother, faster, and silent. I could hear you wing beats from a mile away- clumsy, slow.” His father bared his horn angrily, “why do you bother with flying, when you could learn to fight with this? Stupid child.” He pierced the air with his 4 foot long horn. “You’re useless, annoying. You belong with your mother and her kind. Filthy flyer. Scrawny shoulders and ugly head.” The older stallion snorted decisively, before flicking an ear back and strolling away. Even in his sleep he was overcome by his constant foalhood companion.
Despair is a constant ever evolving enemy. Dark and sticky it clings to your soul. It doesn’t give for a moment. It smoothers you. You fight. You fight and fight and fight. With all your strength. But despair has back up and you do not. Despair brings its friends into the battle. Loneliness and anger. Anger comes first. We lash out at those who we love. Driving them away. Then the loneliness comes. We say, ‘they don’t care.’ We dig our own hole and then blame others. We think, ‘what is the point of going on.’ No one cares.’ You think you can’t win. You think you can no longer fight. You loose hope. Your breathing slows. You give up. You are lost in despair. You gave up on the battle, and lost the entire war. He was one of those that were those lost to despair. Hopelessness effulged them. Now they are lost. They might smile and act like everything is okay. But it isn’t. They made laugh and shout, giggle, and joke, while they are dying inside.
His eyes blink open as his flanks rise and fall quickly, sweat soaking his gleaming silver hide. The whites of his eyes show as he startles into the night- running blindly. His only thought-
Who will save me?
Fear. It can drain you. Cause you to stand in petrified silence as you watch your own death stalk you, step by step. It can freeze you, lock you muscles, crease you movement as if you were made of stone. Your senses can heighten, suddenly you can hear your own heart beat, and finding it so loud; you cower, thinking that it can hear it too. Your sense of smell become impossibly abstract, you can scent the salty tang of your sweat, and taste the coppery hint of your blood, in your month. There is a possibility that you will brave your fear and fight against it. You will force you muscles to bend, raise your head high, as the almost unbearable fear crashes down on you. Wave after wave of it. You can wait it out, in slow, agonized silence, until, the fear subsides, or your heart gives in.
There is one last option that comes aware to your frantic mind. This is usually the one that has the most hope in it. You can flee. You can run as fast as you can, for as long as you can, and pray to any god or goddess who might be listening; that it was enough to escape. You can implore, entreat, beseech, plead, and appeal to any higher power that you can think of. The sad thing is; that even if they’re listening- they probably don’t care.
So, what happens when you’ve run as far as you can, gone the distance, taken flight into the darkness in hopes of something beyond your control; in hopes of a miracle, no less comes to a close. What do you have? Nothing. Your belief system has vanished without a trace, and so you wait, without even a glimmer of hope for your death. For the deep blackness to swallow you. Occasionally luck is on your side, for the blackness moves on, conceding to you. But luck is a very chancy thing, and many take that chance and wind up losing.
Long slender pillars thrashed against the ground, long twigs whipped across his silver hide, goading him on. His hooves dug into the malleable soil, destroying fragrant plant life, and scarring the earth with deep gores. Golden honeyed-hued optic pools were gigantic with horrified panic. Vi was running on pure instinct, saving himself last minute by sheer reflexes. A tree zoomed up in front of him, and with a quick rotation of his left hock, and a bunching of his haunch muscles he threw his sleek, silver body out of the way. His hooves skidded on the snow underneath him and he ended up over balanced, swaying way to right as he galloped. It seem as though he was staying on his hooves by pure self will and determination.
The snow under his hooves was thickening as the trees started to thin. He began to gallop full out, sweat darkening his back and his flanks. He struggled for a moment as he came to a deep bank, falling into to about the middle of his chest. His daggers snaked down to the earth in a staccato rhythm, keeping him steadily moving forward. He was puffing badly, and as he inhaled he froze. There was a scent of another horse, one that was being carried on the wind. Vi snapped back into his calm, rational, and logical being. He knew that he had, had a nightmare. He usually had them once or twice a week, and almost every time ended up waking from his fright-sleep state in such a way. He settled, slowing to a walk as he carried himself out of the snow bank. He shook, sending up a fine spray of sweat. He was over heated, and the adrenaline that had kept him going, was slowly disappearing from his veins, leaving vague aches and tiredness in its parting wake.
His eyes slowly regained their normal shape, and his harsh breathing, slowly deepened back to its original tempo. Glancing behind him he imagined black tendrils creeping towards him- the last traces of his nightmare. He dropped his body to the ground. Legs bowing underneath his muscular form until he dropped, rolling on to his side. He rolled in the snow for a few minutes, cleaning the sweat from his coat, and cooling himself off. Now clean, he staggered back up on to his feet. He shook out his long, fur-covered wings. The fur of his wings was a marking of his royal birth; he was part of the imperial line; after all. His mother was a pure Draumur, and his father a unicorn with the pedigree of a Jafnvægi. Though the unicorn part was a disgrace, he was what he was, and no one could change him. His nares quivered, and his took in a deep breath; the white snip that was perfectly centered between each nostril gleamed brightly. Vi reared up, steel-strong forelegs cutting the air as they wind milled to help him keep his balance. He stayed up proudly on his back legs for a few moments, his muscles bulging before taking wing into the air. Two upstrokes and one down stroke was all that was needed to get him a good forty feet in the air. He inhaled deeply and arched his port wing, steadily flying towards the unknown creature. His wings were made for a smooth flight, and he stretched them out and soared. Gilding through the brisk winter night, he wondered if this was what it felt like to be free.
Is this as good as it gets? Is it wrong to strive for more? Is it wrong that I have the best of both the land and the sky, yet still I am unhappy? Where are the answers to these questions? Will I ever find a place where I can truly be myself? Where I can truly be free of what my father was, and who my mother was? Is there such a place… Or must I simply create an area of tranquility among this region of chaos?
-----------------------------
Word Count: Approx 2,120
Muse Level: Hard to start, but afterward; pretty good.
Comment: You get a look at what happened to him as a foal, and this is very important in his whole character make-up.