07-13-2017, 03:30 PM
<link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Dancing+Script|Pacifico" rel="stylesheet"><style type="text/css">.DVC_container {position: relative;z-index: 1;width: 500px;height: 990px;padding: 15px;background: #1B1B1B url('https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/564x/3a/57/f5/3a57f5737062052a28cf11e813ca7144.jpg') no-repeat center top;border: 0px solid #fff;box-shadow: 0 0 1em #000;}.DVC_container1 {position: relative;z-index: 5;width: 450px;height: 445px;padding: 2px;background: transparent;border-left: 4px solid #F1D3B9;border-right: 4px solid #F1D3B9;margin-top: 520px;border-radius: 50px;}.DVC_container1 p {margin: 0;}.DVC_message {text-align: justify;font: 12px 'Times New Roman', serif;padding: 0px;color: #D5B199;width: 400px;height: 350px;overflow: auto;}.DVC_message::-webkit-scrollbar {width: 1px;background: transparent;}.DVC_name {text-align: center;font: 40px 'Dancing Script', cursive;color: #EDE0D0;padding: 0px;text-shadow: 2px 2px 4px #fff;}.DVC_quote {text-align: center;font: 14px 'Pacifico', cursive;color: #EDE0D0;padding: 10px 0;}</style><center><div class="DVC_container"><div class="DVC_container1"><p class="DVC_name">-Diorae-</p><p class="DVC_message">The fear was enough motivation to flee to the looming mountain.
With every step she takes her legs feel heavier and breathing actually started to hurt. Each gasp for air felt like getting stabbed in the chest. In any other situation she wouldn’t have pressed forward, would’ve given in to the struggle of breathing. The fear, however, won it over the lack of energy, although the latter is slowly winning terrain. The leaded hooves – or is it the lack of oxygen – slows her down little by little.
Eventually Diorae finds herself standing at the base of the mountain, heavily panting. Her sides expand and deflate with each gasp for breath she takes. The howl is nothing more but a dying echo and in that moment of eerie silence she silently wishes it was still there. Her eyes are set on the mountain, only to notice all the small changes.
It seems lighter, though there is no actual light. And against the light that now illuminates the ashen cloud coming from the very top is more visible. But still, without this new sense of sight, no horse would’ve been able to see it. It – the clouds – are still moving, but now she sees it’s not just that. It’s a storm, which probably explained the movement she had previously seen too. Still dark, so very dark, almost as dark as the black see in the west, almost as dark as the forest she fled from. But one thing so very different.
Squinting her eyes the golden mare takes a step closer. Even though the storm is raging not far away, her mane and tail only move in sync with her own movements. There is no wind tugging on them, yet. Another step and she can feel the call of that what makes the storm so very different from the forest and the sea – and the whole lot of Beqanna – becoming stronger. It lures Diorae in like a mot attracts a flame. She’s the mot, the orb the flame. And it calls her. Promising an answer to the answer she desperately seeks. Not simply where am I? But more, why am I here?
Not a moment does she think of resisting, of taking the path that leads into darkness again. She doesn’t want to go there, doesn’t want to face it. Okay, Diorae had to admit that defying the storm wasn’t a good thing either, but the light, the orb, it called her. And she desperately needed the little light in this dark dark world.
And thus the option of taking the path around the base is abandoned. Or, it never even had been a possible option in her mind. Her brown eyes leave the path, and instead Rae faces the storm. With a knit in her stomach and trembling nostrils as she still hasn’t caught her breath.
Never having had a voice, Diorae is also unfamiliar with addressing herself in her thoughts. She simply decides that she has to do it, she would have to find out if she can or cannot soon. Very soon. But that doesn’t mean it doesn’t scare her. Just.. facing the storm seemed a better option than going around and face the darkness again. She wanted the light.
Her hooves still feel like they’re coated with lead, each step so hard to take. Pure will power is that what has her actually moving forward. Slowly, much slower than her run from the forest to the mountain, but slowly and surely she makes her way up. It starts with a few droplets, and soon her whole golden coat is drenched. Pale mane are dripping and clinging to her neck, equally as pale – though also a bit dirty – tail wat and swaying.
It drip into her eyes too, clouding her amazing vision and forcing her to squint her eyes a bit to keep the water out of them. Rae sometimes stumbles, having to catch herself after a wrong step. The orb also looks like it had gotten less bright, but perhaps it just looks like that in the pouring rain. What was a storm without rain? This time there is more movement too. The wind coming with the storm tugs on her, blazing against her and pulling on her mane and tail, sending them flying.
She can only hope that the orb will show her which way to go, how to continue from this, or simply just she could go back home.
The higher she goes, the thinner the air becomes. Before breathing was already hard, but up here it only gets worse. She’s soaked to the bones too, teeth rattling and muscles trembling. She’s cold, so cold. But she has to keep moving, she has to get to the top, to reach the orb. The orb will answer all her questions. She hopes.
It feels like hours, no, even like days, before she reaches the peak. Rain has her drenched from top to bottom and if the storm wouldn’t have been there to accompany her all the way, sweat would’ve gotten her equally as wet. But she’s there. Finally there. Diorae stands above the storm now, but the orb is still not within reach.
She’s cold. She’s panting. Soaked to the very bottom of her being. Perhaps it hadn’t been the wisest idea to go to the peak after all.</p><p class="DVC_quote">A beautiful face is a mute recommendation.</p></div></center>
With every step she takes her legs feel heavier and breathing actually started to hurt. Each gasp for air felt like getting stabbed in the chest. In any other situation she wouldn’t have pressed forward, would’ve given in to the struggle of breathing. The fear, however, won it over the lack of energy, although the latter is slowly winning terrain. The leaded hooves – or is it the lack of oxygen – slows her down little by little.
Eventually Diorae finds herself standing at the base of the mountain, heavily panting. Her sides expand and deflate with each gasp for breath she takes. The howl is nothing more but a dying echo and in that moment of eerie silence she silently wishes it was still there. Her eyes are set on the mountain, only to notice all the small changes.
It seems lighter, though there is no actual light. And against the light that now illuminates the ashen cloud coming from the very top is more visible. But still, without this new sense of sight, no horse would’ve been able to see it. It – the clouds – are still moving, but now she sees it’s not just that. It’s a storm, which probably explained the movement she had previously seen too. Still dark, so very dark, almost as dark as the black see in the west, almost as dark as the forest she fled from. But one thing so very different.
Squinting her eyes the golden mare takes a step closer. Even though the storm is raging not far away, her mane and tail only move in sync with her own movements. There is no wind tugging on them, yet. Another step and she can feel the call of that what makes the storm so very different from the forest and the sea – and the whole lot of Beqanna – becoming stronger. It lures Diorae in like a mot attracts a flame. She’s the mot, the orb the flame. And it calls her. Promising an answer to the answer she desperately seeks. Not simply where am I? But more, why am I here?
Not a moment does she think of resisting, of taking the path that leads into darkness again. She doesn’t want to go there, doesn’t want to face it. Okay, Diorae had to admit that defying the storm wasn’t a good thing either, but the light, the orb, it called her. And she desperately needed the little light in this dark dark world.
And thus the option of taking the path around the base is abandoned. Or, it never even had been a possible option in her mind. Her brown eyes leave the path, and instead Rae faces the storm. With a knit in her stomach and trembling nostrils as she still hasn’t caught her breath.
Never having had a voice, Diorae is also unfamiliar with addressing herself in her thoughts. She simply decides that she has to do it, she would have to find out if she can or cannot soon. Very soon. But that doesn’t mean it doesn’t scare her. Just.. facing the storm seemed a better option than going around and face the darkness again. She wanted the light.
Her hooves still feel like they’re coated with lead, each step so hard to take. Pure will power is that what has her actually moving forward. Slowly, much slower than her run from the forest to the mountain, but slowly and surely she makes her way up. It starts with a few droplets, and soon her whole golden coat is drenched. Pale mane are dripping and clinging to her neck, equally as pale – though also a bit dirty – tail wat and swaying.
It drip into her eyes too, clouding her amazing vision and forcing her to squint her eyes a bit to keep the water out of them. Rae sometimes stumbles, having to catch herself after a wrong step. The orb also looks like it had gotten less bright, but perhaps it just looks like that in the pouring rain. What was a storm without rain? This time there is more movement too. The wind coming with the storm tugs on her, blazing against her and pulling on her mane and tail, sending them flying.
She can only hope that the orb will show her which way to go, how to continue from this, or simply just she could go back home.
The higher she goes, the thinner the air becomes. Before breathing was already hard, but up here it only gets worse. She’s soaked to the bones too, teeth rattling and muscles trembling. She’s cold, so cold. But she has to keep moving, she has to get to the top, to reach the orb. The orb will answer all her questions. She hopes.
It feels like hours, no, even like days, before she reaches the peak. Rain has her drenched from top to bottom and if the storm wouldn’t have been there to accompany her all the way, sweat would’ve gotten her equally as wet. But she’s there. Finally there. Diorae stands above the storm now, but the orb is still not within reach.
She’s cold. She’s panting. Soaked to the very bottom of her being. Perhaps it hadn’t been the wisest idea to go to the peak after all.</p><p class="DVC_quote">A beautiful face is a mute recommendation.</p></div></center>