06-05-2018, 10:08 PM
<style>.traton {position:relative; z-index:1; width:550px; background:#000; border-radius: 75px 75px 25px 25px; border:2px solid #424027;} .traton p{margin:0px; padding:25px;} .traton_image{position:relative; z-index:2; margin-bottom:-200px; border-radius: 75px 75px 25px 25px;} .traton_text{position:relative; z-index:10; width:500px; padding:5px; background:#828282; border-radius: 15px 15px 0px 0px; text-align:justify; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 11pt; font-family: georgia; color:#fff;}</style>
<center><div class="traton"><img class="traton_image" src="https://s9.postimg.cc/hog77mnof/traton550.png">
<div class="traton_text"><p>
The noise was the first thing that she became aware of.
She could hear the cacophony as if she was at one end of a long tunnel, and the rest of the world at the other. By the time it reached her ears, it was muffled and distorted, far from anything she’d ever heard before. It was thousands of little outbursts at the same time, endlessly, combining to form a sea of sound. The noise was punctuated by the occasional deep rumbling, not altogether unlike voices, but conversing in a language she didn’t understand. So too was an occasional <i>blub</i> sort of noise, like bubbles emerging from water. None of this was terribly unpleasant, though she did rather wish for it to stop. Really, she wished for everything to stop, give her enough time to process what was happening, perhaps drift back to dreamless sleep for a while.
But the noises persevered, and she began to realize that the reason she yearned for silence was an almighty throbbing pain resonating throughout her skull. Groggily, she began to unfold her limbs, only to realize that they were neatly pressed against her by solid, curved walls. She struggled to open her eyes, only to discover that they were open, but she was immersed in darkness. It wasn’t absolute, however, and as her eyes adjusted, she understood that there was a faint blue light filtering in the walls around her. She focused on it and realized with a shudder that the light was marbled with streaks of red, looking eerily like veins as they crisscrossed the world around her. Dark shapes occasionally passed, blocking what little light came through, though nothing was particularly discernable.
Suddenly, she was flooded in light, so bright that she squeezed her eyes shut against it. Disturbed and suffocated by the confinement, she flailed, hooves making a hollow sort of sound as they struggled to find purchase against her prison. The walls were coated in something slimy and soft, and her blows were diminished by both this membraneous lining and the lack of space in her enclosure. Somewhere outside, the deeper noises paused, then resumed after a few moments with renewed fervor. The terrible realization that these were <i>voices</i> occurred to her and she lay dormant, terrified. She had only just begun to squint her eyes open when the light vanished, leaving her blind in the darkness. Frozen, she remained motionless until long after the voices faded away. This was a tiring venture in her disoriented state, and she accepted her confinement, slumping down into the smooth curve of the wall below. Despite her worry, the complete lack of options was admittedly somewhat soothing. Or perhaps simply exhausting. Either way, she soon drifted back to sleep.
When Traton awoke, the noises had changed somewhat, and the light had brightened considerably. She still was bathed mostly in darkness, but could now see her own folded limbs, tinted a blue-green from the hue of the light. In her sleep, she had forgotten the predicament of earlier and awoke confused, only to begrudgingly remember the dreadful little prison she found herself in. <i>How</i> had she gotten here? She closed her eyes, drifting back over her memories. Some of them were… fractured, in a way. She didn’t think to connect this odd disorientation with the splitting pain in her head, nor the moment that <i>something</i> (hoof? rock? gigantic bird?) had collided with it, knocking her unconscious.
She remembered the shores of Nerine, the brilliant blue summer sky, the white caps of teal waves. She laughed as Gallia sprinted across the beach, pausing occasionally to taunt crabs. One managed to pinch the soft skin of her muzzle, and the filly flung her head wildly before it let go and went sailing into the ocean. Traton had rushed to her, worried, but the child just grinned toothily through a rivulet of blood. <i>Growing up so fast,</i> she thought, feelings of pride tinged with a note of sadness. After her daughter had left to play with the others, the spotted mare found herself wandering, adrift to a haunt she’d come to appreciate when she’d first arrived in Beqanna.
Taiga.
The redwoods had a way of absorbing sound that made loneliness feel absolute, infinite. Traton preferred a rather headfirst approach to dealing with emotions; burying her feelings in a dead forest was no exception. She didn’t believe in ghosts, but if they did exist, she silently bid them to speak to her and soothe the ache in her chest. She eventually reached the water of the sea, stretching out glassily before her, contemplating the isolation that permeated the core of her being.
Thus, perhaps her surprise was justified as her informal séance was interrupted by a rapidly rising mist from the otherwise dead waters. Transfixed, she stood, equally curious and disturbed, feeling the blood drain from her face furiously. The smell of damp wood and decay gave way to something new, salty like the ocean but otherwise musty and unfamiliar. The mist had thickened to the point of opaqueness and gathered on the shore not far from where she stood, morphing and roiling into a shape that became distinctly equine. <i>He</i> emerged moments later- or perhaps <i>became</i> was a better description- mist still rolling off his gleaming black hide, bits of seaweed and broken seashells entangled in his luxuriant mane and tail. The stallion was the most beautiful creature she had ever seen, and neither uttered a sound as they regarded one another. She didn’t remember walking to him, nor the decision to do so; only the allure of his stunning turquoise eyes and the soft green-blue iridescence of his coat. Luminescent spots dotted his body, arranged in careful lines from head to tail, glowing bright blue against the pale pre-dawn light. Those eyes… that look was so piercing, as if he could see right through her. She had the distinct feeling that he had terrible intentions in mind, but a much stronger portion of her psyche did <i>not</i> care.
The last things she could recall were his beautiful eyes and the smell of rotting seaweed.
</div></div>
</center>
<center><div class="traton"><img class="traton_image" src="https://s9.postimg.cc/hog77mnof/traton550.png">
<div class="traton_text"><p>
The noise was the first thing that she became aware of.
She could hear the cacophony as if she was at one end of a long tunnel, and the rest of the world at the other. By the time it reached her ears, it was muffled and distorted, far from anything she’d ever heard before. It was thousands of little outbursts at the same time, endlessly, combining to form a sea of sound. The noise was punctuated by the occasional deep rumbling, not altogether unlike voices, but conversing in a language she didn’t understand. So too was an occasional <i>blub</i> sort of noise, like bubbles emerging from water. None of this was terribly unpleasant, though she did rather wish for it to stop. Really, she wished for everything to stop, give her enough time to process what was happening, perhaps drift back to dreamless sleep for a while.
But the noises persevered, and she began to realize that the reason she yearned for silence was an almighty throbbing pain resonating throughout her skull. Groggily, she began to unfold her limbs, only to realize that they were neatly pressed against her by solid, curved walls. She struggled to open her eyes, only to discover that they were open, but she was immersed in darkness. It wasn’t absolute, however, and as her eyes adjusted, she understood that there was a faint blue light filtering in the walls around her. She focused on it and realized with a shudder that the light was marbled with streaks of red, looking eerily like veins as they crisscrossed the world around her. Dark shapes occasionally passed, blocking what little light came through, though nothing was particularly discernable.
Suddenly, she was flooded in light, so bright that she squeezed her eyes shut against it. Disturbed and suffocated by the confinement, she flailed, hooves making a hollow sort of sound as they struggled to find purchase against her prison. The walls were coated in something slimy and soft, and her blows were diminished by both this membraneous lining and the lack of space in her enclosure. Somewhere outside, the deeper noises paused, then resumed after a few moments with renewed fervor. The terrible realization that these were <i>voices</i> occurred to her and she lay dormant, terrified. She had only just begun to squint her eyes open when the light vanished, leaving her blind in the darkness. Frozen, she remained motionless until long after the voices faded away. This was a tiring venture in her disoriented state, and she accepted her confinement, slumping down into the smooth curve of the wall below. Despite her worry, the complete lack of options was admittedly somewhat soothing. Or perhaps simply exhausting. Either way, she soon drifted back to sleep.
When Traton awoke, the noises had changed somewhat, and the light had brightened considerably. She still was bathed mostly in darkness, but could now see her own folded limbs, tinted a blue-green from the hue of the light. In her sleep, she had forgotten the predicament of earlier and awoke confused, only to begrudgingly remember the dreadful little prison she found herself in. <i>How</i> had she gotten here? She closed her eyes, drifting back over her memories. Some of them were… fractured, in a way. She didn’t think to connect this odd disorientation with the splitting pain in her head, nor the moment that <i>something</i> (hoof? rock? gigantic bird?) had collided with it, knocking her unconscious.
She remembered the shores of Nerine, the brilliant blue summer sky, the white caps of teal waves. She laughed as Gallia sprinted across the beach, pausing occasionally to taunt crabs. One managed to pinch the soft skin of her muzzle, and the filly flung her head wildly before it let go and went sailing into the ocean. Traton had rushed to her, worried, but the child just grinned toothily through a rivulet of blood. <i>Growing up so fast,</i> she thought, feelings of pride tinged with a note of sadness. After her daughter had left to play with the others, the spotted mare found herself wandering, adrift to a haunt she’d come to appreciate when she’d first arrived in Beqanna.
Taiga.
The redwoods had a way of absorbing sound that made loneliness feel absolute, infinite. Traton preferred a rather headfirst approach to dealing with emotions; burying her feelings in a dead forest was no exception. She didn’t believe in ghosts, but if they did exist, she silently bid them to speak to her and soothe the ache in her chest. She eventually reached the water of the sea, stretching out glassily before her, contemplating the isolation that permeated the core of her being.
Thus, perhaps her surprise was justified as her informal séance was interrupted by a rapidly rising mist from the otherwise dead waters. Transfixed, she stood, equally curious and disturbed, feeling the blood drain from her face furiously. The smell of damp wood and decay gave way to something new, salty like the ocean but otherwise musty and unfamiliar. The mist had thickened to the point of opaqueness and gathered on the shore not far from where she stood, morphing and roiling into a shape that became distinctly equine. <i>He</i> emerged moments later- or perhaps <i>became</i> was a better description- mist still rolling off his gleaming black hide, bits of seaweed and broken seashells entangled in his luxuriant mane and tail. The stallion was the most beautiful creature she had ever seen, and neither uttered a sound as they regarded one another. She didn’t remember walking to him, nor the decision to do so; only the allure of his stunning turquoise eyes and the soft green-blue iridescence of his coat. Luminescent spots dotted his body, arranged in careful lines from head to tail, glowing bright blue against the pale pre-dawn light. Those eyes… that look was so piercing, as if he could see right through her. She had the distinct feeling that he had terrible intentions in mind, but a much stronger portion of her psyche did <i>not</i> care.
The last things she could recall were his beautiful eyes and the smell of rotting seaweed.
</div></div>
</center>