12-03-2019, 05:07 PM
<link href='https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Alex Brush|Assistant|Annie Use Your Telescope' rel='stylesheet'><style>.Leilancontainer {position:relative;width:500px;background-color:#0F0E12;border-radius:3px;border: 1px solid #dcf3ff;} .Leilanquote {position:relative;width:500px;top:10px;font-family:Annie Use Your Telescope;font-size:12pt;color:#AC5330;text-shadow:0px 0px 2px #FEFAFB;} .Leilanname {z-index:2;position:relative;top:623px;left:180px;font-family:'Alex Brush'; color:#dcf3ff;font-size:30pt;} .Leilanimg {position:relative;border-radius:5px;bottom:0px;} .Leilantext {position:relative;z-index:3;background-color:#0F0E12;width:460px;font-family:'Assistant';font-size:10pt;color:#FEFAFB;margin:30px 0px -95px 0px;} .Leilan-name-sub {position:relative;z-index:3;top:612px;left:155px;font-family:'Assistant';font-size:7pt;color:#FEFAFB;} </style><center><div class="Leilancontainer"><div class="Leilanquote"><i>We got older and I <font color=#dcf3ff>should have known</font><br>that I’d feel <font color=#dcf3ff>colder</font> when I walk alone</i></div><div class="Leilantext">
It’s not like he’s got anything better to do.
The thought is wry and sarcastic, because it’s not true at all - sometimes what the fairy tasked him with seems impossible, sometimes he thinks he’s done plenty. Adopting a little girl who turned out to be a lion-shifter - it made life so much easier and so much more difficult -, was perhaps his hardest task. It meant that he had not only helped her survive that day, but every day after. It meant he knew he hadn’t been a particularly great parent to Yuki, and that he was trying very hard not to suffocate Beryl the way he had Chryseis. So far so good.
Icicle Isle’s summers are still cold, just more sunny and overall dry-ish. The icy tundra of the island is hardly allowing it to be called a summer at all, if not for the receding snowline showing that even Icicle Isle can thaw. He’d use it as a metaphor for himself, but he just isn’t the type. He simply recognizes that it could be.
Summer on the northern half of the Isle is recognized by only one other thing: mist. Sublimated ice condenses quickly when it discovers that the air might not be as warm as the sun shining on the snowy surfaces suggested it to be; the magical mist does not seem a whole lot different to the frosted stallion, and so he doesn’t recognize it as potentially dangerous until he is transported away in the twilight.
Twilight no more; the sun shines hot and hard where he stands, no, sinks into the loose grains. Were he not completely standing still before, he would have lost his footing.
He sees nothing but the flickering sunlight beaming down at him, and when he tries heat vision it is only worse - everything has approximately the same temperature in the desert, at least on the surface.
It takes a heartbeat. Two, perhaps even three. Then, the unbearable heat unbecomes him, and there is only suffering in the world. He’s surely dying.
Worse, he’s melting.
Of course, a stallion cannot melt - but it sure feels that way for the stallion covered in ice. Quicker than the summer melts the snow on the southern half of Icicle Isle, Leilan’s magical frosty adornments near-sublimate. They get replaced somehow, magically, at the cost of most of his own bodily coolness and whatever humidity is in his body. Ice in his veins? It doesn’t help him here; in fact, it worsens and quickens his dehydration tremendously. It’s about as bad as how much of a misfit his enhanced vision is.
He takes a few steps, hardly registers the command to go, or perhaps subconsciously so. It doesn’t matter. What matters is the vision of his parents, of several siblings and most strangely, a newborn filly, scowling at him. Why, he wants to ask, but his voice is only a croak on the hot sandy wind. He tries to walk some more, stumbles forward like a baby, until he sees what was the problem.
A palomino filly lies in the sand, coughing and dying. Beryl? His daughter, whatever anyone may say about it, and he can’t or won’t do anything to save her. Says who? He knows this and yet he stumbles forward; crawls almost through the sand and yet every time he comes near her, he desperately watches as she seems to have moved forward as much as he. This goes on for a while… On and on and on and on, until he can’t anymore, and drops down where he drags, eyes closed against the headache. Something’s wrong.
His temporary place of “rest” (of dying, of melting, of despair) happens to be in the shade of a rock, and he remembers the word.
Go.
Had he imagined all of it? Was not seeing the trick?
He tries again to see the temperature, and finally he registers the dark spot in the overwhelming brightness. Oasis? He doesn’t know, but it’s the only thing he can be sure to not be a hallucination.
Of course, deserts aren’t only sand. In that light (or absence thereof for someone who looks for heat signatures only), he stumbles blindly into a cactus labyrinth, finding his fetlocks, mane and tail entangled in prickly and irritating needles. Shocked, he switches vision back and silently thanks the heavens for the scales on his body.
Then a loud curse follows, which actually sounds more or less like a shriek as those same scales had allowed him to waddle himself wholly stuck.
Swaying on his hooves, he waddles and pulls hoping to free himself like a foal. There is laughing, perhaps hallucinated, and then he laughs silently, unable to make a sound in this terrible ordeal - the Deserts. Yes. The Dewdrop Deserts, the place that the Jungle had been allied with for so long. Wasn’t that the thing that mare had been looking for? What about it?
He wonders if this is punishment for breaking the alliance.
But that is stupid. He had nothing to do with it, too young and way too male and even more stupid to be involved. He can hear his mother’s scoff for even thinking it, and discards the thought.
Oasis. That’s what he came for.
Or rather, he has no other choice.
A final insight makes him attempt to freeze the cacti he is fighting; mane and tail get torn free or break in the cold, and he arrives at the oasis as a shiny, dehydrated cactus himself, needles sticking out everywhere.
The only good thing is that Beryl isn’t here to see.
</div><div class="Leilanname">Leilan</div><div class="Leilan-name-sub">no. 7 | ice forged in fire</div><img src="https://i.imgur.com/HJ5BtXG.jpg" class="Leilan-img"></div></center>
Heatstroke/immediate dehydration + hallucinations;
Not exactly capably of any sort of speech as a side effect
Also got attacked by the cacti
Mostly loyal to... idk Icicle Isle or Nerine maybe, but it’s Complicated and possibly Temporary. He’s technically still Lieutenant in Hyaline so you can note that, roll a dice between the aforementioned three, or just no particular loyalty if that’s easier. He’s just here because I got the muse
It’s not like he’s got anything better to do.
The thought is wry and sarcastic, because it’s not true at all - sometimes what the fairy tasked him with seems impossible, sometimes he thinks he’s done plenty. Adopting a little girl who turned out to be a lion-shifter - it made life so much easier and so much more difficult -, was perhaps his hardest task. It meant that he had not only helped her survive that day, but every day after. It meant he knew he hadn’t been a particularly great parent to Yuki, and that he was trying very hard not to suffocate Beryl the way he had Chryseis. So far so good.
Icicle Isle’s summers are still cold, just more sunny and overall dry-ish. The icy tundra of the island is hardly allowing it to be called a summer at all, if not for the receding snowline showing that even Icicle Isle can thaw. He’d use it as a metaphor for himself, but he just isn’t the type. He simply recognizes that it could be.
Summer on the northern half of the Isle is recognized by only one other thing: mist. Sublimated ice condenses quickly when it discovers that the air might not be as warm as the sun shining on the snowy surfaces suggested it to be; the magical mist does not seem a whole lot different to the frosted stallion, and so he doesn’t recognize it as potentially dangerous until he is transported away in the twilight.
Twilight no more; the sun shines hot and hard where he stands, no, sinks into the loose grains. Were he not completely standing still before, he would have lost his footing.
He sees nothing but the flickering sunlight beaming down at him, and when he tries heat vision it is only worse - everything has approximately the same temperature in the desert, at least on the surface.
It takes a heartbeat. Two, perhaps even three. Then, the unbearable heat unbecomes him, and there is only suffering in the world. He’s surely dying.
Worse, he’s melting.
Of course, a stallion cannot melt - but it sure feels that way for the stallion covered in ice. Quicker than the summer melts the snow on the southern half of Icicle Isle, Leilan’s magical frosty adornments near-sublimate. They get replaced somehow, magically, at the cost of most of his own bodily coolness and whatever humidity is in his body. Ice in his veins? It doesn’t help him here; in fact, it worsens and quickens his dehydration tremendously. It’s about as bad as how much of a misfit his enhanced vision is.
He takes a few steps, hardly registers the command to go, or perhaps subconsciously so. It doesn’t matter. What matters is the vision of his parents, of several siblings and most strangely, a newborn filly, scowling at him. Why, he wants to ask, but his voice is only a croak on the hot sandy wind. He tries to walk some more, stumbles forward like a baby, until he sees what was the problem.
A palomino filly lies in the sand, coughing and dying. Beryl? His daughter, whatever anyone may say about it, and he can’t or won’t do anything to save her. Says who? He knows this and yet he stumbles forward; crawls almost through the sand and yet every time he comes near her, he desperately watches as she seems to have moved forward as much as he. This goes on for a while… On and on and on and on, until he can’t anymore, and drops down where he drags, eyes closed against the headache. Something’s wrong.
His temporary place of “rest” (of dying, of melting, of despair) happens to be in the shade of a rock, and he remembers the word.
Go.
Had he imagined all of it? Was not seeing the trick?
He tries again to see the temperature, and finally he registers the dark spot in the overwhelming brightness. Oasis? He doesn’t know, but it’s the only thing he can be sure to not be a hallucination.
Of course, deserts aren’t only sand. In that light (or absence thereof for someone who looks for heat signatures only), he stumbles blindly into a cactus labyrinth, finding his fetlocks, mane and tail entangled in prickly and irritating needles. Shocked, he switches vision back and silently thanks the heavens for the scales on his body.
Then a loud curse follows, which actually sounds more or less like a shriek as those same scales had allowed him to waddle himself wholly stuck.
Swaying on his hooves, he waddles and pulls hoping to free himself like a foal. There is laughing, perhaps hallucinated, and then he laughs silently, unable to make a sound in this terrible ordeal - the Deserts. Yes. The Dewdrop Deserts, the place that the Jungle had been allied with for so long. Wasn’t that the thing that mare had been looking for? What about it?
He wonders if this is punishment for breaking the alliance.
But that is stupid. He had nothing to do with it, too young and way too male and even more stupid to be involved. He can hear his mother’s scoff for even thinking it, and discards the thought.
Oasis. That’s what he came for.
Or rather, he has no other choice.
A final insight makes him attempt to freeze the cacti he is fighting; mane and tail get torn free or break in the cold, and he arrives at the oasis as a shiny, dehydrated cactus himself, needles sticking out everywhere.
The only good thing is that Beryl isn’t here to see.
</div><div class="Leilanname">Leilan</div><div class="Leilan-name-sub">no. 7 | ice forged in fire</div><img src="https://i.imgur.com/HJ5BtXG.jpg" class="Leilan-img"></div></center>
Heatstroke/immediate dehydration + hallucinations;
Not exactly capably of any sort of speech as a side effect
Also got attacked by the cacti
Mostly loyal to... idk Icicle Isle or Nerine maybe, but it’s Complicated and possibly Temporary. He’s technically still Lieutenant in Hyaline so you can note that, roll a dice between the aforementioned three, or just no particular loyalty if that’s easier. He’s just here because I got the muse
Two things I know I can make: pretty kids, and people mad.
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