I don't think I'll ever land; misra, kirin, any

[Oswyn]

----- She’s heard of the Cove of course, how could she not?  Khaos had been her dearest, most talented child.  The one most destined for greatness.  She’d watched with pride as he’d built his herd and spread the family line, giving her a multitude of wonderful, and even sometimes talented, little grandchildren.   But then that bitch from the war had come and had destroyed her son just as she’d destroyed the Valley. Oswyn’s avoided the Cove since then.  The thought of seeing her darling son’s body, left for the elements, fills her with both a rage and despair. But recently rumours have reached her of Khaos’ son, her grandson, carrying on the work in the Cove, albeit in his own … interesting, fashion.  Even if she doesn’t entirely approve of his methods, he’s caught her interest.  And when she’d become pregnant again, well, she’d had an idea. She enters the Cove at midday, keeping a close eye on the tiny black filly at her side - the girl is only a few hours old yet, and still a little shaky in her steps.  She’d been most pleased to discover that the girl had inherited her father’s wings, and she hopes yet that the child will display another one of her father’s gifts before she gets too much older.  But if things go as planned, she won’t be here to see it. She lets out a low whinny, calling out to her grandson.  He will not recognize her of course, but with a little explanation, she hopes he will be pleased with the gift she brings.  Smiling now, she glances back down at the girl at her side.  “We’re here now Misra.  This is the Cove.” oswyn I don't think I'll ever  land

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altered by squirt

@[Misra]
@[Kirin]

[Misra]

please don't take my sunshine away

The sea air felt brisk against her fragile skin, sending a shiver down the course of her otherwise rigid spine. Her steps were shaky, heavy and uncertain and her clumsiness came forth to the surface as a single misstep onto a single polished stone threatened to uproot her from the ground. Fortunately, she had managed to maintain her composure, but not without tweaking a muscle. 

Though her time spent on Earth had been little thus far, her shining brown eyes had seen much - the grassy hills, the sloping mountains and their brilliant peaks of sleet and snow, and now the ocean in all of its glory. She had never seen something so enormous, and it was captivating, fully entrancing her and causing her to stop all motion. Though the cove was only a teaser of what lie beyond, its visual alone was compelling and terrifying.

Softly, the obsidian feathers that lined her delicate, bony wings fluttered in the gentle breeze, pushing her and pulling her all at once. Suddenly, she was self-aware of the fragile appendages glued to her sides. Her heartbeat began to race as she realized that the warmth she had so carefully sought since birth was suddenly absent, and she urged her awkward limbs forward to catch up with her. Gently, her lips brushed along the rounded side of her mother's curves as she curled up against her to seek her affection, unaware of her thoughts and intentions. 

The shrillness of her mother's voice echoes, startling her. Who is she calling to? Anxiously, her gaze wanders, trailing off to the sky as if it held the answer. And perhaps, amidst the thick fog that had begun to roll in onto the beach, it did.

[Kirin]

And she'll always get the best of me, the worst is yet to come
All the misery was necessary when we're deep in love

Greed.

Forgive me Father, for I have sinned.

These words would never fall from his pristine lavender lips. Not even with a dying breath would he utter them, because Kirin did not repent. Kirin did not feel sorry for what he took, he did not feel guilty either. If what he stole away was so easily taken, well, it didn't belong to you in the first place now did it? No, he would say not.

This though, this belonged to him, he thought tilting in the air over the ocean waters. The air had begun to thicken, turning from clear to cloud as he made his passes over his herd lands- something he so often made a point to do. As did he see befit to delegate to others their fair share. Kult, and Kingpin for instance made rounds as well. His family was his existence, each an invaluable asset in their own ways. So valuable in fact, that he had slowly been bestowing to them prolonged life- via Potion.

Kirin had been on the move, turning back towards the coast as the call filtered through the growing fog. For a moment, he wasn't sure how to respond. They seemed to know him in their request for his presence and he could not say he shared in that knowledge. However this was his land and he pressed forward, pumping his wings until he broke the veil.

Two stood waiting, one woman, on child. He smiled slyly at this sight, pulling to the earth with a grace unbefit most birds. Breaching the shore to stand tall and proud before them, eyeing them perhaps too closely for a stranger. "Ah and should I welcome you to the Cove or do you know of it as well?" He places his questions carefully, reaching his eyes to meet the woman's. "Kirin. You already know that though don't you?"

Kirin

son of Khaos

[Oswyn]

----- It doesn't take long for her grandson to answer her call. The lavender stallion alights to the earth in front of them with surprising grace, eyeing them with an obvious interest. Oswyn appraises him right back, dark eyes lingering on his pale lavender coat and wings. She can see Khaos in him - in his handsome face and strong build - and it brings with it a rush of both affection and sadness. This grandson, no matter his resemblance, is not Khaos. Her son (she’s pointedly avoiding looking towards his iron body) will never walk these lands again. She pauses for a moment, lost in memory. Khaos had so much potential - so strong and cruel beyond his years. He could have gone far, had that vile Quark not interfered. She’ll get her revenge some day. “Yes, yes I do.” She smiles broadly at him. She is a little disappointed that he clearly did not inherit any of Khaos’ iron blood, but he is at least not ordinary. Not in the slightest. “A grandmother likes to keep track of her grandchildren. Especially those of her favourite son.” She pauses for effect, letting the words sink in. She has no way of knowing whether or not Khaos had ever spoken of her to his children. “I am Oswyn. Khaos was my son.” Then she reaches down to nudge at the little filly at her side. “And this is Misra, your aunt.” oswyn I don't think I'll ever  land

original html by rottie
altered by squirt

[Misra]

please don't take my sunshine away

Kirin. The name almost seemed to echo in the dense fog that was ebbing and flowing onto the shore, enveloping them in a damp blanket of cold air. She wasn't certain if it was the fault of the breeze or the way his hazel eyes bored into her, but she suddenly felt another chill crawl down the length of her spine. She stepped back for a moment, nestling her muzzle against her mother's side in a small but desperate effort to escape his view. 

It is then that she sees the iron statue, looming over the land as if it were a careful lookout. It left her unnerved, but wholly curious. She could not bear to look at it for too long. At last, her attention swiveled back to her mother and this .. nephew of hers, though she hardly knew or understood the term, her mother had warned her of their destination prior to leaving.

What she had not disclosed was why she had taken her there in the first place.

Carefully, she listened, still standing close to Oswyn's side. Her brown doe eyes traced the large, all-encompassing lavender wings of the male standing so close before her, her vision lost among the beauty of his fluttering feathers. Somehow, she knew he was dangerous, regardless of the beauty his stance and stature portrayed. An enticing danger, alluring and deadly, and his silky smooth voice rang in her delicate ears as a warning. 

[Kirin]

And she'll always get the best of me, the worst is yet to come
All the misery was necessary when we're deep in love

It's the least surprising bit of information he had expected to hear. Once or twice he may have caught that name, Oswyn, whispered on his ear as a child. Something spoken softly to him by his Mother before he drifted off to sleep, because Oswyn was family, and that much they had given them. Family was a serious subject in the Cove, it was not a topic taken lightly by any of them- as far as Kirin knew. He instructed nothing else to his siblings, to his children, all else was blasphemy.

He smiles, the ends of his lips drawing up wickedly to reveal rows of straight white teeth. "Of course, Grandmother." Now taking on the roll of gracious host, bending in to kiss the woman lightly against the cheek. "I am sorry Father is not able to welcome you himself." He frowns, eyes narrowing at the thought, his lips pulling his words to a tight close.

It was a shame Father had gone to another place without them, the husk of his body left behind to look upon. He made no motion to eye the statue now, taking note how his Grandmother's eyes never wandered to the cliffs. She knew, she knew very well where Father was. "To what do we owe the visit? Come, you are welcome here." He lifts his wings, beckoning to them to enter his kingdom by the sea. Partly because he was grandiose, theatrical and flamboyant. He had also noticed his little aunt eyeing the soft lavender feathers, Kirin was nothing if not a showman.

"Dear Aunt Misra, come my pet, have you ever seen the ocean?" He inquires, tucking a single wing over the girls own, tugging her closer as he leads. "I've always been partial to wings myself." He smiles down at her, though the intention of his facade is breached by the glimmer of his silver eyes.

Kirin

son of Khaos

[Oswyn]

----- The moment he learns who she is, Kirin is the picture of grace and civility. She smiles broadly as his lips brush her cheek. Clearly Khaos had at least made sure to instil the importance of family in the boy before the bitch had taken him from them. “It’s alright. That is most certainly not your fault.” Her lips momentarily form into a thin line, remembering. She’d seen Quark during the war - it would’ve been hard to miss the great beast flying over their heads raining destruction over them. It’s how she’d known who’d been responsible for what had happened to Khaos. With that dragon eye carved into his side, and the state of his body … who else could it have been? She seethes inwardly at the thought, though keeps it to herself. There is no use in bringing such memories before her grandson, not now anyway. She’s here for an entirely different purpose. Kirin stretches his wings dramatically, both beckoning them forward and bringing Oswyn back to the present. She smiles and steps forward to join him. “Well, I heard that you were making an effort to continue the family line. And I thought that another gifted child,” she indicates Misra with a flick of her nose, “would not go amiss.” She does not miss the way that Kirin’s attentions already linger on the child and the way that he focuses in on her dark wings. She’s heard rumours of his ‘methods,’ and while she’s not overly pleased with them, she’s also heard of the many of his children populating the Cove. And how can she argue with that? Her greatest son’s blood deserves to be passed on. oswyn I don't think I'll ever  land

original html by rottie
altered by squirt

[Misra]

please don't take my sunshine away

     She recoils, her small and fragile wings pressed tightly to her sides as she attempts to shield herself from his touch, uncertain. Her gaze is innocent and cautious, doe-eyed and gentle, searching for her mother's approval. Seeing her warm smile, her worries are soothed and his charm begins to ease her. She presses forward, away from her mother's side, her limbs shifting beneath the weight and warmth of his wing as he cradles her closer. "I haven't," she breathes aloud for the first time, her deep brown eyes now peering out towards the tide, which continues to crawl its way up the shoreline before falling away. It comforts her and distracts her - until he speaks to her again.

     Misra flexes her limber, still tenuous wings, spreading them to each side. They are undeniably beautiful, and though her coat is stained a deep, almost impenetrably, inky black, the feather tips appear bleached. Tinted white and slowly blending into a a charcoal gray and eventually the same obsidian of her pelt, her ombré colored feathers flutter gently as the ocean breeze slides along the downy barbs. She is so enamored by his kind words that she misses the mischievousness hidden away in his silver eyes, so pleased by her own appendages that she cannot see the danger of his intentions. 

     Nor the intentions of her mother.

     Giddy, she begins to sprint and bound towards the gentle waves that lap along the beach, her hooves parading in the damp sand as the icy cold, salty water splashes up along her forelimbs, washing her innocence away with it.

[Syntyche]

Let the oceans run red with blood, let the sky blacken with dark clouds and the pounding of the drums of wars fill the ears of every man, woman, and child whom chose to make her their enemy—let it be the last thing they ever hear; for she is Wrath, and Hell hath no fury like her when she is scorned..

The ocean roars and slams against the cliffside, spraying seafoam across the smooth stones; water pools in the cracks, unable to escape, it gathers around his rusted hooves and the old wicked Queen feels her black heart begin to sink. “Khaos?” She whispers, inching closer towards the edge. The wind tugs at her mane and tail, lightning crackles somewhere further away from shore and the thunder rumbles—more lighting, the thunder gains volume as the storm draws nearer to land. Khaos does not move, he stands as still as those goddamn statues she once destroyed during her stint in The Valley. Syntyche can feel tears threatening to seep from the corners of her green eyes, but she blinks them back. Whatever beast had done this to her darling grandson would have to pay for it.

A dragon eye for a dragon eye, you see.

“Falk,” She glances behind her, searching for her youngest son. “Let us find out who lives here.”

They might have answers.

She might peel their fucking skin from their bodies if they don’t.

Really, she’s open to anything at this point.

It’s the familiar call that draws Syntyche out of musing, she spots her favorite daughter wandering below the cliffs and smiles. It’d been years since she last saw her dearest Oswyn and it only brightens her spirits all the more when she spies a little winged child in tow. How marvelous. “You’re fine, Falk,” she assures the colt as both their hooves leave the ground and they begin to glide towards the duo—who are soon approached by a stallion. Syntyche says nothing as both she and her son land softly behind Oswyn, though her ears flick forwards and a slight smirk curves her mouth. Oswyn? A grandmother? And her great-grandson, so handsome. So gifted.

She’s never been more proud.

“Dearest daughter,” Syntyche says, before her eyes flick to Kirin. “I highly doubt you’ve heard of me. I am Syntyche, mother of Oswyn—grandmother of Khaos.”

[Falk]

He peeks around her legs.
For a moment, it scares him. The stillness of it; its features held so queerly inert that it looks almost painful. Almost unreal. And nothing he has ever seen has been made of such dark and smooth stuff. So it mustn't be real at all. Or not real like mother is real, or like he is real. Maybe real like the rocks are real or the trees are real. Breathless, cold things.
He wants to scare it back. To nudge it with the nubs of his incoming horns to test the weird flesh.
He makes to ask mother what it is and if he can touch it, but the quiet and grim way her lips are set straight hushes him.

Thunder cracks and lightning licks the sky.
Bright light glints across that strange thing and he can see the way its face (it has one) and body (one of those, too) are like his and like mother’s. More like mother’s—bigger. Sea spray hisses and bites at him through the air, sending a shiver down his shoulder. He flinches away, backing from the froth of salt and seaweed that coughs up on the smooth and perilously slick rocks.

When mother calls him away, he is glad.
“Okay, mum.”

He wants to be away from that thing and from the edge of the ocean.
(But he glances over his shoulder once, wondering what it might be like to be stuck like that forever.)

He moves slowly. His feet are made for this, split in two and dexterous. But heneeds to be extra careful, he has learned, because things are always trying to trip him. Mischievous things. Things he cannot see or hear, but he will find, one day. And he’ll make them pay. Mother will make them pay. He is better in the air. No way to get caught up in their tricksy snares up there.

He pushes off, flapping hard once or twice to gain altitude against the turbulence of the storm. He follows her, keenly watching the fluid movement of her own flight and mimicking it. She is good at this.
When she angles down his gut clenches and he squints to see if he can see them. Not the gather of things like him and mother (he can see them just fine), but the impish little devils. Behind the rocks, he thinks, part admiration for their game and part irritation. When mother lands gracefully, he lands only slightly less so, splaying his legs out so each two-toed hoof lands as square as they can, pumping his wings so the ground comes up under him slowly.

He sucks in breath, looking for a moment to mother and smiling, but she is talking to the others so he look to them, too.
With a serious face.
—sending sidelong glances at the girl tumbling towards the wash of dark water.

FALK
Pollock x Syntyche