12-18-2018, 11:30 PM
<link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Cinzel|Cinzel+Decorative|Cormorant+Garamond|" rel="stylesheet"><style type="text/css">.rhabutt_container {position: relative;box-shadow:0px 0px 10px #000;z-index: 1;width: 625px;background: #000;border: 5px solid #0f0c0b;border-radius:03px 0px 00px 00px;}.rhabutt_container p {margin: -30px 0px -8px;}.rhabutt_image {width: 625px;border-radius:00px 00px 0px 0px}.rhabutt_gradient {position: absolute;z-index: 2;top: 397px;width: 625px;height: 20px;background: -moz-linear-gradient(top, rgba(0,0,0,0) 0%, rgba(0,0,0,1) 100%);background: -webkit-gradient(linear, left top, left bottom, color-stop(0%,rgba(0,0,0,0)), color-stop(100%,rgba(0,0,0,1)));background: -webkit-linear-gradient(top, rgba(0,0,0,0) 0%,rgba(0,0,0,1) 100%);background: -o-linear-gradient(top, rgba(0,0,0,0) 0%,rgba(0,0,0,1) 100%);background: -ms-linear-gradient(top, rgba(0,0,0,0) 0%,rgba(0,0,0,1) 100%);background: linear-gradient(to bottom, rgba(0,0,0,0) 0%,rgba(0,0,0,1) 100%);filter: progid
XImageTransform.Microsoft.gradient( startColorstr='#00000000', endColorstr='#000000',GradientType=0 );}.rhabutt_message {position:relative;z-index:3; background: #0f0c0b;width:550px;border-radius;text-align: justify; color:#795851; font: 12px 'times new roman'; padding: 20px 20px;box-shadow: 0px 0px 20px inset black}.rhabutt_name {position: relative;z-index: 10;left:150px;top:-277px;text-align:center; color:#211612;font: 40px 'cinzel decorative', serif;letter-spacing:10px;margin: 0px;padding: 0px;}.rhabutt_title {position: relative;z-index: 15;top:-47px;color:#e6d4cb;font: 12px 'cormorant garamond', serif;letter-spacing:5px;text-shadow: 0px 0px 4px;}.rhabutt_quote {position:relative;color:#cea997;text-align:center;font: 13px 'cormorant garamond', serif;padding-top: 10px;top:-263px;letter-spacing:19px;left:155px;text-shadow: 0px 0px 10px;}</style><center><div class="rhabutt_container"><img class="rhabutt_image" src="http://toastcommercial.co.uk/wp-content/uploads/2015/02/25-116-post/008-music-and-band-photographer-commercial-photography-leeds-manchester-sheffield.jpg"><p class="rhabutt_name">Rhaegor</p><p class="rhabutt_quote"><b>the playboy</b></p><div class="rhaebutt_gradient"></div><p class="rhabutt_message">It pains him, passing through the southern mountain passes of his birth home without hearing a single other soul about. When he closes his eyes, he can almost see Will and Koko racing him down their mountain in the dead of light, their only thoughts on beating one another and getting to the lake first; Rhae smiles, too, at the memory. But when his cool brown eyes open, no one greets him with a kiss or a hug; both his mothers now reside in the Cove, and the Caretakers of Hyaline are evidently busy. A good thing, most likely, considering that he'd trysted with the both of them during his younger years (read: less than like, eight Beqanna months ago).
Alas, as he journeys onward, the bedraggled and sullen pegasus veers further south instead of soldiering east; while some might assume him to be on his way to visit his mothers, one thing tops even that need: the mountain. It looms triply as tall as the tallest peak in Hyaline, though Tephra's volcano nearly matches it for size. Thus, it is not necessarily the physical greatness of the mountain which renders Rhaegor somewhat shaken and uncertain, but the magic aspect of it; the boy, though young, knows what happens here. His mother Kagerus speaks of her adventures seldom, but with enough gravity that the boy fears this place: respects its infinite power, and its endless wisdom.
A part of him wants to turn away as he comes; but the larger part, the one which always occupies his mind but never the world around him. Its voice rings angrily, needily, pressing him on although his plague-ridden body falters with every third step. The sound of his fatigued hooves scraping and tripping across the rock-strewn base of the mountain can be heard all around; but the trip from Tephra wears on even the healthy, and Rhaegor is far from that. When at last he arrives at the beginning of an incline, he stops for a moment, and considers.
<I>This could go very badly.
Or, it could go well.
I get around well enough as is.
No, you don't.</i>
In the end, nothing the voice says to him changes his mind; instead, a powerful gust of wind sends him stumbling up the mountain. This is sign enough for the pegasus. To the Gods he shall journey.
Within the first ten steps, he tastes iron. <i>Funny,</i> he thinks; <i>I usually get nose bleeds.</i> No other signs of distress leave him, even as the blood pools around his molars and gradually seeps from the delicate tissue lining his naturally pink lips. The warm liquid drips with every step, marking his grievously slow path up the mountain. As his lungs strain to drag in enough oxygen, and his heart struggles to pump it to his extremity's, that which surrounds Rhaegor's delicate organs shows with great detail through his dull yellow skin. Jagged and pronounced, one might wonder just how the stallion keeps himself together; but perhaps there is something to be said about the poignancy of immortality, or maybe one can simply put the stallion's actions down to pure mental prowess.
After all, that is what he comes in search of.
What feels like hours pass until finally he reaches an appropriate plateau. Only a narrow strip of ledge leads to it, however, and as the emaciated figure creeps across it, never daring to glance down, he is reminded of Chryseis, and of their secret plateau in Hyaline. With the image of his love standing with the wind cradling the delicate, beautiful features of her golden face, he swallows the last of his dread, surging forward the last few steps to the safety of the bare, wind-whipped rock.
The howl of the moving particles ensures that no uttered words would ever be heard; but that is no new phenomenon to Rhaegor, whose voice virtually no one can hear. And every word he does speak? A struggle against the lump in physical lump in his throat and the mental one in his brain; a fight against an inborn anxiety which couples innately with use of his vocal chords. This anxiety the man keeps carefully under wraps, never letting on that to speak is so strenuous; to do so is not that hard, as he simply will not speak.
Ironically, when he voices this to whichever Gods are listening, it is in the form of a thought.
<I>Please... Oh mighty ones... I come in with a need. I am unable to speak without undue mental and physical exertion, and my voice is an embarrassment to the gravity I attempt to apply to my words. I want to help cure this land, I want to help Tephra, Magnus has suggested that I pursue an advisory council position... How is a mute ever supposed to do something as grand as that without ever being able to speak? How does one give advice in silence?
<B>Please. I would give you the very wings off my back if only to be able to use my mind as a tool to exchange thoughts between myself and others... Wings I was born with. And I will do anything on top of that. Anything you ask.</b></i><br><br><br></p><p class="rhabutt_title"><br><br><br><i>...my name on your tongue and your tongue on my...</i></p></div></center>
So, it was suggested that I bring rhae to quest for telepathy, which I am now doing. However, he would have 7 spaces worth of traits if he is successful, so please tear his wings off or something. Make him a sad sad boy.
XImageTransform.Microsoft.gradient( startColorstr='#00000000', endColorstr='#000000',GradientType=0 );}.rhabutt_message {position:relative;z-index:3; background: #0f0c0b;width:550px;border-radius;text-align: justify; color:#795851; font: 12px 'times new roman'; padding: 20px 20px;box-shadow: 0px 0px 20px inset black}.rhabutt_name {position: relative;z-index: 10;left:150px;top:-277px;text-align:center; color:#211612;font: 40px 'cinzel decorative', serif;letter-spacing:10px;margin: 0px;padding: 0px;}.rhabutt_title {position: relative;z-index: 15;top:-47px;color:#e6d4cb;font: 12px 'cormorant garamond', serif;letter-spacing:5px;text-shadow: 0px 0px 4px;}.rhabutt_quote {position:relative;color:#cea997;text-align:center;font: 13px 'cormorant garamond', serif;padding-top: 10px;top:-263px;letter-spacing:19px;left:155px;text-shadow: 0px 0px 10px;}</style><center><div class="rhabutt_container"><img class="rhabutt_image" src="http://toastcommercial.co.uk/wp-content/uploads/2015/02/25-116-post/008-music-and-band-photographer-commercial-photography-leeds-manchester-sheffield.jpg"><p class="rhabutt_name">Rhaegor</p><p class="rhabutt_quote"><b>the playboy</b></p><div class="rhaebutt_gradient"></div><p class="rhabutt_message">It pains him, passing through the southern mountain passes of his birth home without hearing a single other soul about. When he closes his eyes, he can almost see Will and Koko racing him down their mountain in the dead of light, their only thoughts on beating one another and getting to the lake first; Rhae smiles, too, at the memory. But when his cool brown eyes open, no one greets him with a kiss or a hug; both his mothers now reside in the Cove, and the Caretakers of Hyaline are evidently busy. A good thing, most likely, considering that he'd trysted with the both of them during his younger years (read: less than like, eight Beqanna months ago).Alas, as he journeys onward, the bedraggled and sullen pegasus veers further south instead of soldiering east; while some might assume him to be on his way to visit his mothers, one thing tops even that need: the mountain. It looms triply as tall as the tallest peak in Hyaline, though Tephra's volcano nearly matches it for size. Thus, it is not necessarily the physical greatness of the mountain which renders Rhaegor somewhat shaken and uncertain, but the magic aspect of it; the boy, though young, knows what happens here. His mother Kagerus speaks of her adventures seldom, but with enough gravity that the boy fears this place: respects its infinite power, and its endless wisdom.
A part of him wants to turn away as he comes; but the larger part, the one which always occupies his mind but never the world around him. Its voice rings angrily, needily, pressing him on although his plague-ridden body falters with every third step. The sound of his fatigued hooves scraping and tripping across the rock-strewn base of the mountain can be heard all around; but the trip from Tephra wears on even the healthy, and Rhaegor is far from that. When at last he arrives at the beginning of an incline, he stops for a moment, and considers.
<I>This could go very badly.
Or, it could go well.
I get around well enough as is.
No, you don't.</i>
In the end, nothing the voice says to him changes his mind; instead, a powerful gust of wind sends him stumbling up the mountain. This is sign enough for the pegasus. To the Gods he shall journey.
Within the first ten steps, he tastes iron. <i>Funny,</i> he thinks; <i>I usually get nose bleeds.</i> No other signs of distress leave him, even as the blood pools around his molars and gradually seeps from the delicate tissue lining his naturally pink lips. The warm liquid drips with every step, marking his grievously slow path up the mountain. As his lungs strain to drag in enough oxygen, and his heart struggles to pump it to his extremity's, that which surrounds Rhaegor's delicate organs shows with great detail through his dull yellow skin. Jagged and pronounced, one might wonder just how the stallion keeps himself together; but perhaps there is something to be said about the poignancy of immortality, or maybe one can simply put the stallion's actions down to pure mental prowess.
After all, that is what he comes in search of.
What feels like hours pass until finally he reaches an appropriate plateau. Only a narrow strip of ledge leads to it, however, and as the emaciated figure creeps across it, never daring to glance down, he is reminded of Chryseis, and of their secret plateau in Hyaline. With the image of his love standing with the wind cradling the delicate, beautiful features of her golden face, he swallows the last of his dread, surging forward the last few steps to the safety of the bare, wind-whipped rock.
The howl of the moving particles ensures that no uttered words would ever be heard; but that is no new phenomenon to Rhaegor, whose voice virtually no one can hear. And every word he does speak? A struggle against the lump in physical lump in his throat and the mental one in his brain; a fight against an inborn anxiety which couples innately with use of his vocal chords. This anxiety the man keeps carefully under wraps, never letting on that to speak is so strenuous; to do so is not that hard, as he simply will not speak.
Ironically, when he voices this to whichever Gods are listening, it is in the form of a thought.
<I>Please... Oh mighty ones... I come in with a need. I am unable to speak without undue mental and physical exertion, and my voice is an embarrassment to the gravity I attempt to apply to my words. I want to help cure this land, I want to help Tephra, Magnus has suggested that I pursue an advisory council position... How is a mute ever supposed to do something as grand as that without ever being able to speak? How does one give advice in silence?
<B>Please. I would give you the very wings off my back if only to be able to use my mind as a tool to exchange thoughts between myself and others... Wings I was born with. And I will do anything on top of that. Anything you ask.</b></i><br><br><br></p><p class="rhabutt_title"><br><br><br><i>...my name on your tongue and your tongue on my...</i></p></div></center>
So, it was suggested that I bring rhae to quest for telepathy, which I am now doing. However, he would have 7 spaces worth of traits if he is successful, so please tear his wings off or something. Make him a sad sad boy.
![[Image: rhae]](https://66.media.tumblr.com/c013fae479a9e0c775688ff921306b4e/tumblr_pivbqpgHuG1xsr748o1_250.png)