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Equine 318yo Female, Short & Thin Native 26 posts 0 Honor 284 ☪ Liv
There is little this land knows of peace anymore. She’s fought, dutiful to her cause with the hope that one day they may live in harmony again. But their reckless abandon had done nothing more than prove ill. She is tired - of the fighting, of the hate - and so she ponders a reason to go back to it all. Was it all to see what damage they’d caused in their fight for power?

Verona had felt her magic be stripped away, and for what it’s worth, she knows she deserved it. There is no gain without sacrifice, and if she had to live out the remainder of eternity without it, she’d do so in a heartbeat. All for peace, all for love. They’d become too strong, too omnipotent - maybe a world without their auras is what they all needed to finally settle the differences that has spanned centuries. 

In the grand scheme of things, she is very much young, though she feels beyond her years. Bloodshed was nothing new to her, pain was not foreign (especially now, as she wanders aimlessly, unsure of who survived), but she longed for the days before her, where the power-hungry narcissists lived in tranquility with one another. “Gods” they had called themselves...but what good was godhood if there was nothing left?   

Feral Rim is the last place she’d wanted to end up, but nevertheless she is there. Verona had traversed much of the treacherous landscape in the last month and yet she was nowhere closer to being in the Interior Realm. It felt as though every time she was getting close, a rockslide would force her to flee, or the fog would make her lose her sense of direction. 

Verona tiptoes across the blackened rock, each step carefully calculated - one wrong move and she’d find herself plummeting to the jagged rocks below. Her stomach heaves and her nostrils flare as she takes in short breaths, sweat gracing the skin across her neck and chest. Raw, unadulterated exhaustion aches in her bones, as she reminds herself that she’ll be there soon. 

Or so, she hopes.

Canine 6yo Female, Short & Thin Immigrant 56 posts 0 Honor 771 ☪ Witty
So strange, this land, she thinks to herself, leaving behind the tombs of great beasts, all that death- devoid of decay for some time, but it hung in the air nonetheless. The tales she had heard, War, she carried that knowledge in her heart, and there it hung like a weight- she tried to push it away. Yet, she could not, all that fighting, for this loss? It was a shame, to be true, at least in the golden eyes of a woman kissed by clouds.

Dingy and stained, she was looking more auburn as she carefully traversed the land of rock. Crumbling stones and piled hills of broken earth, perhaps becoming calico in appearance, the colors changing as the hillside expanded. Hillside, this really was no place for her, it made her winded finding footing, slipping when the earth gave way.

A stumble, falling against a jagged stone of copper, feeling all too real when it sliced her chin.

“Oof, God’s bless it!” Much louder than she had hoped, but the biting wound had surprised her, and pricked her in a most uncomfortable spot.

Stinging, nasty, business, she would need to clean it, but as she looked around, she saw nothing of water. Instead, she heard many things, rocks tossing end over end, crashing against the hillside as they fell. This was not somewhere good to be at all, part of her looks back, thinking about turning around. Coming the way she came, her mind tells her that is a foolish choice, so she grits her teeth and seeks purchase on the shifting slopes.

It’s not easy to find her footing, but she does so anyway, labored breaths and all- heaving sides that seek to fill burning lungs. Slower movement, she was worried that another fall would really cost her, that’s why she came to a standstill.

Frozen, nothing of cold had followed her from Beastwreck, and yet she was rooted to the spot. Before her a sooty horse, silver, dusted with a dark pigment and leafy toned hair cascading passed her shoulders.

Immediately her ears fall, pinning, she was afraid, the ghost stories leaving a fresh mark on her mind. Just as fresh as the cut beneath her chin, dripping tiny droplets of blood to the earth.
photo from unsplash-words: 385-tags: @Verona

Equine 318yo Female, Short & Thin Native 26 posts 0 Honor 284 ☪ Liv
Verona had very rarely ever found herself in the position of being alone. For so long, she’d lived under the rule of kingdoms and their heirs. Now, all is lost to the War; an ominous, bitter feeling gnaws at her insides - loneliness. This was what it was to be lonely? The path is becoming more treacherous as sunlight begins to fade. Soon, she will have to rest (is there ever rest in the Rim, though?), and try again the next day (if there was still a path, if there was still a way back home). 

Verona’s charcoal-tipped ears point forward at the sound of a voice - an exclamation - proving too pitiful to ignore. With a sigh, she changes path, following the echo as it reverberates off the walls of black around her. She comes to a halt before the creature who had made the sound, and to her surprise, it is a canine. The alabaster wolf's ears pin flat against her head, as she stares up at Verona through terrified amber eyes. 

"Seems the stories have gotten to you before I," Verona states calmly, her stance firm as to not frighten the stranger away.. "I will not hurt you, dear wolf. Other equines may, but not I. They call me Verona." She bows her head politely, but her minty gaze never leaves the canine - she knows too well the stories of attack, and while she doubts this one will, she can never be too careful.


Canine 9999yo Genderfluid, Tall & Bulky Native 23 posts 0 Honor 99,395 ☪ Staff

An Illusion Orb has been discovered!

Canine 6yo Female, Short & Thin Immigrant 56 posts 0 Honor 771 ☪ Witty
Ears tell tales, the wolf of white had her own chapters, slowly unraveling in this strange and unknown land. Writing new sonnets, tracing new scenes against fresh parchment, etched with charcoal pen. Faced with danger, she freezes, a statue made from flesh and bone, where would she go, where could she run? Her thin head looks around, each path more treacherous than the next, foreboding slopes of iron and ruby crumbling before her- around her.

New land, her mind told her, but her heart was leaning towards new World, it smelled nothing like home. No familiarity was held here, frozen beaches with bleached tombs, metals missing their forges, crumbling against mountainsides.

A setting sun lends to the way the hills bleed, the amber light slinking down, how long until dark? Part of her did not want to know, for what creatures did the night hold in this jagged bluff?

Calm, the mare’s vocals are sweet, steady. There is no malice in them, no underlying rift of menace. Not the way there was in these hills, the ones that bit her, sliced her beneath her chin, but that pain was slowly fading, what she would not know or see, was that it was healing on its own, this unremarkable scratch.

“You’re not? You wont?” Ears perking, head rising up, Reckitt allows her tail to wag softly- nothing but belief. It is now that she takes tentative steps forward, choosing her paw placement slowly, deliberate, and careful. Neck stretching out, nose scenting with quick inhales and exhales, her pale nostrils work to know more about the creature before her.

“I’m Reckitt,” she yips, unable to be cross, hard pressed to think this one meant her harm. She didn’t look very dangerous, rather she seemed nice, and that was enough for the snowy woman. “I just-” her words are cut short, another floating sphere floats around the bend, this time she backs away- uncertain if the last contact was for the best.

“Mind that,” she nodded, gesturing to the lit up orb, “never know what that thing might do to you.” Her hackles bristle, as if she could fight off the magic should it come to close to her- again.
photo from unsplash-words: 377-tags: @Verona

Equine 318yo Female, Short & Thin Native 26 posts 0 Honor 284 ☪ Liv
Verona shuffles against the red rocks, moving closer to the wolf as her ears perk up and her body eases at the sound of her melodic voice. The wagging fluff of white causes a smile to form wide across her charcoal lips, and she nods in reply to the wolf's questions. "Of course not, I have nothing against you or yours," She says, neck bending to meet the stranger at eye level. Reckitt, she had said her name was, and Verona commits it to memory, grateful to find something other than perilous rocks or obscuring gray haze. 

"Though not all who call Ourania home are as friendly, Reckitt." She warns, seafoam eyes closing to block the view of the ivory wolf. There are those who kill. Those who can't forgive. She wants to say, but thinks better of it - there was no use in frightening her more than she already was.

When her eyes open once more, Reckitt stands before her (closer now), neck hair bristling as a curious ball of light circles around them. Verona cranes her neck out, beckoning the rose orb closer to them. "Don't fear..." She speaks aloud, half to Reckitt and half to the sphere. "Magic runs deep in Ourania's bones...though, I'll admit I've never seen something such as this before." 

Finally, the orb touches her nose, and a spark of energy surges through her. A feeling long since lost, gone as the earth split in two, fills her entire body with warmth. Was it coming back to them, would their magic be restored? For a moment, she is excited, but it soon fades at a realization - they'd overexerted their powers once, what made them think they wouldn't do it again? With survivors unknown, the war could surely continue with these discoveries. 

Verona swallows the growing lump in her throat, looking back to Reckitt. "It won't hurt you." She says, although she isn't quite sure if this is true. The orb wouldn't hurt the wolf, but the magic...the magic had the power to. 

It had had the power to turn the world upside down, after all.


Power Name: Aura Reading 
Slot: Tertiary 
Description: Aura Reading is the ability to visually sense the dark and negative energy from any living creature; a dark and ominous cloud encircles those a user can sense precarious danger in, and it can range from the smallest outline of charcoal (for those with only the occasional wicked thought, or white lie) to the deepest, most insidious black, feathering out around the most evil of evil.


Canine 9999yo Genderfluid, Tall & Bulky Native 23 posts 0 Honor 99,395 ☪ Staff
Magic Accepted!

@Verona, your magic application for 'Aura Reading' has been approved with the understanding that Aura Reading should not be over-used or be used to abuse the Metaplay rules. You may now select an icon from the Icon Selection (more icons are being added shortly!) and add it to your character profile. Please also make sure your new magic description is listed under the 'Aura Magic' section of the profiles.

Canine 6yo Female, Short & Thin Immigrant 56 posts 0 Honor 771 ☪ Witty
It is almost comical to behold her now, hair rising, body on edge. Against her neck and back the hair prickled, snow falling up, instead of down. Reckitt was the last thing from a warrior, she had never raised a paw to anyone. Her talents were of the softer nature, tending the ill, caring for the young. This was a mask to wear, and one that was not easily made viable, if you were to know her as I do.

Still, she makes a show of it, knowing the glittering orb will have a punch of power locked within it. The very same object having floated around the beach of bones, until she thought it a toy. Toy it most certainly was not.

Every day is a lesson here, and thankfully this one does not come at a cost. Though she is sure that, in due time, there will be costly rules to learn, but today is not that day.

“The last one did something to me,” she admitted, though she knew not what it brought now, and understood very little of magic. That was another thing to learn, something told her that in the end, that was were the danger was, Magic, such a strange animal.

Tentative steps are taken, backing, so as to avoid such conception. There was already magic birthed within her for the first time, the feeling was foreign, a buzzing in her veins that she did not have words for. In fact she wasn’t even good at using it yet, managing to make her tail vanish, or an ear.

“It’s a finicky art,” she commented, watching the sphere place itself gently against Verona’s nose.

“Does it ever, hurt?” Of course she wasn’t sure if ever the Magic was vengeful, wrathful like a forsaken God.
photo from unsplash-words: 305-tags: @Verona

Equine 318yo Female, Short & Thin Native 26 posts 0 Honor 284 ☪ Liv
Verona is unsure if she's ever experienced anything but the chaos their magic had caused. She'd always been aware of her aura, the sorcery held close to her breast, within her very soul. She'd perfected her art, spending hours a day twiddling her mind, testing its strengths and finding its weaknesses. It was the way of their world, the way of Ourania...magic was present before her and it would be their after she began to fade from the memories of those close to her. 

No one is indispensable, she reminds herself often. Oblivion will all find us one day, and when that day comes, I don't want to fall to my knees and beg for another chance. The more she thinks on it, the more clear it becomes...they'd killed their gods and so magic became their divinity. When death would one day find them, when they all inevitably met their vulnerabilities head on, when their immortality was finally challenged...there would be no one waiting to give them an afterlife. They'd rot and decay, they'd grow and rise from the ashes but they could never be what they once were. 

And that was the scary part, wasn't it? They only had one chance to get it right. 

Verona realizes then she hadn't spoke in quite some time. She swallows, clears her throat and tries to forget.  “It has given you magic, dear wolf,” Verona says, watching the orb flutter and fade away from them. She looks over to Reckitt, who still stands defensively. The sooty mare steps over the rocks and rubble, bending her head down to nuzzle the white wolf compassionately. “Indeed it is. With time, and patience, you will learn to control it.” She tells her. 

Does it ever...hurt?

That question is enough to make her heart drop to the pits of her stomach. Verona sighs, giving Reckitt another gentle nudge as she decides what to say. Though...there was no good way to say it, so the words billow out. "That's quite a loaded question," She admits, shoulder shrugging. "In its simplest form, no. Your magic won't hurt you, save for the minor headache from testing it out. Though, there are many in Ourania who see this gift as a weapon. Too many became careless with their gift, wanted too much power...the equines and the canines began to resent each other. They formed packs and herds, attacked each other needlessly...alliances between the two species emerged but it never seemed to matter. Everything came to a head a year ago and..." Verona quiets, tears stinging at the edge of her eyes. "...the War was left unfinished. The world, most literally, divided. An unknown number dead. I don't want to see a continuance of the war, now that Ourania is giving us our gifts back...but I'm sure not everyone feels this way." She lets this sink in a moment, lets the white wolf think on this discovery.

"I can help you to the mainland. The danger is too great in the Rim, and I'm afraid you won't make it far alone with your limp. Once you're there, you have plenty places you can go. But Reckitt..." Verona looks deep into the canine's golden stare. "Do not let others trick you, and mind everyone you encounter if you choose not to travel with me. Protect yourself." She ends this with a feeble smile, then turns to lead them out of the mess of Feral Rim.

@Reckitt  Heart

Canine 6yo Female, Short & Thin Immigrant 56 posts 0 Honor 771 ☪ Witty
Finicky, so much truth held in a single word. The fickle study of unknown Magic, had left her exposed and alone, making trails in terrene she was not accustomed with. The journey from the beaches had been an arduous one, given her limp, most adventures were. It made them no less exciting, once she found peace with the initial shock of solitude, became more cautious with her chosen paths and hiding often when unknown sounds shook the atmosphere. This was a step back from her normal, bubbly nature, the uncertainty of the unknown had taken a toll. Had Ourania tainted the purity of her nature, the softness to her soul?

No, do not worry my child.

Then again, she was just afraid of running alone, being that lone wolf she had heard so many awful things about. Pup tales, stories meant to cull children into good behavior. The white woman would be little more than helpless, relying heavily on quick action of thought. (Her legs had refused her speed, but her mind was another story, interjecting with thick, bold ink.) Would her Aura Magic do as she asked when needed? Offer her the needed escape from danger, should she encounter it on her own? Mostly, she had no desire to find out.

While Reckitt was insanely docile and humble, submitting to the role of Omega, something she knew how to do well- she was not stupid, make no mistake.

An opportunity to learn, once more, another take on the world, a viewpoint in difference. So now she hears the tale, a world at odds, Magic making a rift between species. Causing corruption to those it touched, (did that make them weak, would they just repeat the past, did any of them have the strength to overcome the thirst?) it is a thought that roots itself, tangling in her thoughts. Kitt would not let it break her.

Do not let others trick you, protect yourself..

Fodder, she could not help the way her memory rolled back to Blodreina, the dark warrioress. She refused to believe the woman was inherently bad, tainted, she could not allow herself to paint them black. No matter how dark their souls truly were.

“Thank you Verona, I would appreciate the help very much. Wolves, we are not meant to be on our own. I must seek a pack…”
photo from unsplash-words: 396-tags: @Verona