how much heartache can we take; any

[Reuen]

Is it just me, Or do you wonder if we're put here just to see, Scars tell a thousand stories. Hidden beyond the ash ridge depths, there are sorrowful tales, heartbroken prose. I wish I could understand them, to piece them together. But they are as confusing as the constellations in the sky. Large clusters of them, silver and twinkling golds. Nebulas far, far away. I can only imagine what it is like up there, in the vast ebony skies. What it would be like among the stars, falling, falling. Beneath the starlit night, I wander. Each step, takes me an eternity, for I stop, dip my head and inhale the dry earth beneath my feet. I continue this, until I am in the middle of the meadow. Hollow eyes then reverting to the sky, blinking thrice, then closing my eyes and picturing the ebony skies. It had been dark, ever so dark. Screams, furious, deafening screams. I shiver, the only memory is pain, and it pulses in my deep scars — still healing, grateful for Wichita’s aid, they would probably be far worse. The worse ones are on my side, parallel against my ribcage. They had been bone deep, and I could feel the sinew bend and bow with every movement. The skin had started to cover it, but it was still salmon pink and sore. That went for my others. Each one had a tale, I wish I could tell. But everything is blank, everything is lost, and this irks me so. There’s a coldness inside of me, like ice embedding itself into my joints, freezing me in place. I stand there for hours, until the witching hour strikes. Even the stars disappear from the ebony heavens and leave nothing but a slither of silver moon. My creamy locks, knotted with burrs and thorns, fall in cascades of dreadlocks over my scarred neck. But I do not move. I watch, hollow eyes staring out into the night. The dull ache in my feet, my tendons, does not will me to shift. Nothing does. I stay there, immobile and watchful. As if now part of the landscape. Up in the trees, the heavy boughs of summer leaves, I hear the caw of birds. They call and someone answers. I do the same, my call, it pierces the foreboding night, with an urgency that goes heart deep. I do this, over and over and yet nothing returns, no one answers. I am alone, as alone as my body feels, as my mind is empty. Oh, what it feels to be alone, truly alone. How much heartache we can take, Without hanging from the tallest tree? - resident of the gates -

[Mast]

His story starts in a forest somewhere, probably the Meadow, and he imagines that it was nearing dark. That odd time between day and night, when both the sun and the moon hang low in the sky. It was quiet, he thinks, when the two lost souls of his parents bumped into one another. Perhaps bumped wasn’t the right word; they crashed into one another, a comet meeting the earth with the all-consuming fire hanging behind it. It had been tumultuous, forbidden, but passionate none the less. They had loved with a love that was more than a love. One of them, Oceanus, had sought to make their relationship more than smooth whispers and teeth on skin. Bless him, for he had been known to be a fool when it came to love. He had sought out the assistance of a magician, making deals and promises of the most lethal kind. And so Oceanus the stallion became Oceanus the mare, and now he (she?) could be with Garbage, his (her?) love. And so in the quiet of the night some years ago, Mast had been conceived. Just short of a year after that date, the gray now-mare Oceanus had fallen on the Beach, heavy in foal. Mast had been born, and before he had gained his legs his mother had been dead. It was his only memory of her, seeing the blood flow so freely from her (his?) open jugular.

The Gates have saved him. The gates have given him more than just a place to lay his head; it has given him purpose. He is forever in her debt, king or not. This land is where he will live eternally. And so he slips through her forests and meadows, laying himself occasionally against the trees in the way a friendly cat might lean against its masters legs. Night has fallen, and the sound of Whip ‘Or Whils and crickets is a soothing sound. Somewhere an owl calls, mournful and low. The gray king smiles, his eyes half closed. It is then something catches is eye. A mare in the distance, standing dappled in moonlight that filtered through the trees. She is completely silent, and the only movement he could even hope to see was the rise and fall of her barrel through breathing. It does not take him long to reach the stranger, taking note of the over all wildness of her. He clears his throat so as to give her some warning of his impending approach. “Hello there, miss. Welcome to the Gates.” he says, friendly despite this being an odd time to appear in a kingdom. “I’m Mast. Care to give me a name? Forgive me if I’ve interrupted your thoughts.” And so he waits, eyes soft as the smile on his lips.

mast

be my asleep at last

[Reuen]

Is it just me, Or do you wonder if we're put here just to see, The inky darkness wraps it's dangerous tendrils tightly around me, wrapping them fingers as tight as the can around my neck, kissing my chocolate form with kisses like some old lover, some old, dangerous lover with a grudge. The bruises lay beneath my skin as prominent as the scars that could tell a thousand stories. Tales of woe, tales of blissful pain, but I.. I wouldn't even know where to begin. It is like a blank page before me, my shaking hand clutching a quill and I dare to write something, anything but nothing comes. All that slips from me, is a hunting lullaby from my lips. A hollow pain that sits just in my chest, where my heart is meant to be. It feels empty, as vacant as my mind, and my stare. The Gates had welcomed me, strangely. Arms of roughy bark opened and embraced me, the rolling viridian fields lay by my feet. the running crystalline waters had given me sustenance and fill and had bathed my wounds. There is much gratitude in me, if I knew how to express it. Instead I stand like some shadowy figure, immobile and as still as an angel in a cemetery. Weeping quietly, her broken wings limp by her side. Ah, but I am no angel, I am sure of that one thing in my life. Angels do not have scars as rigid and as deep as mine, and Angels, they knew what their purpose in life was, and I, I knew nothing. The sound of footfalls breaks my thoughts; and the crumble like a thousand glass crystals at my feet. All very well, I was not getting very far with piecing together anything. I match his steps, lifting one hoof, then another, then my hinds, but I do not move forward not back, simply staying in place. Marching nowhere but still allowing the mechanical movements to throb my muscles. 'Welcome to the Gates.' I say, like a magpie I repeat him, a lark's song, broken and clipped, I tilt my head, hollowed eyes meeting his. The night graces him with a gentle touch, and the Gates does not shiver with disdain or fright. He is as part of the Gates as the great oaks, or the tender blades of grass. I extend my muzzle, a strange creation of a smile pulling and twisting my lips. 'Name. Name is Reuen. All is Reuen, all is ruin.' the same, it is always the same, broken words slipping like delicate shards of crystal, being held with shaking fingers. I step ever so slightly forward, and then retreat back to my invisible pedestal. Gargoyles needed to stay put, and as I was not an angel, nor a demon, a gargoyle seemed far more fitting. The screams echo in my ears, past history galloping behind me. I turn my head, widened eyes watching out into the night. Nothing. No one. A feathery sigh slips my lips and I turn my tawny gaze to Mast. 'The Gates saved me. Wichita. Tioga. Fiasko. Jason.' I word each of them, crystalline clear, rolling across my tongue as sweet as the emerald blades hidden within the forest. I dip my head along to each name that slips my lips, and then I swivel my crown to look at the creek beyond the shadows. 'The Gates. Home. Safe.' I pause, drilling my eyes into him, curious, curious indeed. 'You know that, don't you?' How much heartache we can take, Without hanging from the tallest tree? - resident of the gates -

[Mast]

I've heard there was a secret chord
that David played and it pleased the Lord
but you don't really care for music do you?

There is something about her that pulls at his heart strings. The pain is etched on her face like words into stone, and even the small smile cannot hide it. The Gates had seen it too, had welcomed her, and it was a healing place. It had healed him not so many years ago. Somewhere in the thick forests and lush meadows of the kingdom he had shed the suffering like a heavy winter coat. He hadn’t realized just how much it weighed until he had lain it down. Once removed he felt free, light-hearted even, and forever in her debt. Now a broken soul stood before him, and he couldn’t help but remember the kindness of a king and queen past. How they had taken beneath their wing a pitiful, skinny little orphan. They’d asked no questions or placed no judgment. They had simply raised him as best as they knew how and had instilled in him an enormous feeling of gratitude. Perhaps this was his chance to practice the kindness he had been shown and taught.

Somewhere along the way winter and snuck into the kingdom, and Mast shivered slightly as an icy wind lifted his black mane from his neck. Before him the mare stood, staring wide-eyed into the dark nothingness and the king felt his eyes follow hers involuntarily. There was nothing there, save for the looming shadows of the surrounding trees. “Reuen. A beautiful name, nothing ruined at all.” he says simply, though he longs to say more. He longs to tell her it will be ok, that she is safe here and no harm will come to her. His heart is pulled to her. This could have been him, if he hadn’t been brought here. “Yes, darling, the Gates are safe. As safe as you can imagine.” he pauses, remembering the first time he entered the kingdom, “I know it, yes. The Gates saved me too, several years ago.” Around them the night grew even more still, and with a smile he reached his muzzle towards her. He didn’t touch her, but left the gesture up to her. Though she clearly needed someone, he wasn’t one to push. But there was so much pain there, so much sadness…he wanted to help her.

M A S T

ooc - i'm just not sure about this, but here it is lol

[Reuen]

I found myself lost within his stare; as though I was bit some suspended star upon a nightsky and he were looking at me with such a stare that was only kept for those starlit nights. I felt as small as such an astral, lost against the dark swathe, my hollow grey eyes as crystal clear as the running waters in the creek. I watched him with the same intensity, as though he was the only one reaching out in my deepest, blackest darkness. He was a kindling of fire on a cold winter's eve and he was the spires of sun that broadened the horizon after a dark, ebony night. he was also not of shadow and bone, of blood and mauled flesh. I listened, as one could when her eyes trailed just beyond, to watch the shadows that darted against the pitch night. I felt the cold gnawing feeling grind at my stomach, rise to clutch at my throat. Mast gestures with a smile, his words some sort of a blanket of sanity, of comfort. 'Beautiful? The sky, when the light touches it at dawn. That is beautiful. the night when it is peppered with stars and the fullest of moons. That, is beautiful. Reuen? What is Reuen. What is Reuen?' My words trailed off in clouds of hazy breath. the very though chilled me. chilled me like the winter's wind as it touched my frame with unrelenting hands. My empty eyes drew back up to Mast, noting his grey frame, his kind eyes and his gentle soul -- he too had felt something not as nice as this. He too had felt pain, pain of something, pain of someone, perhaps. I was watchful, I could articulate things that not many could, for my eyes were observant as a wolf, but as bleak as the grey skies. I often wondered why it was Reuen. I wondered why, what, my mother had been intending. For when a child is born, the name is given for life, for an eternity, even as it lived on in precious memories. I shook my head, the silver tendrils falling in knotted ringlets over my eye. 'Darling, the gates are safe. the gates are safe as long as the shadows do not consume.' I mimic him, a gentle, soothing voice. As he outreaches a kind, caring hand (hoof, muzzle) I coil slightly inside. Expecting pain, expecting far more than a gentle gesture. Pain. Harshness. Blood. Flesh. I shiver, whether the wind or the memory, but it propels me forward and I stumble a few steps, wayward hooves as uncoordinated as my mind. 'Saved from pain, saved from the darkness that eats away at you, that hurts.' my haunting voice slips from tilted lips, to resemble some sort of a smile. I push my muzzle forward and meet his. Warmth. Tender. I feel his flesh, not the cold, corpse-like steel of the dead, but the warm, heart-beating flesh of the living. It spurs me on, blocking the memories that come like searing flashes. And I stumble forward again and press my muzzle against his shoulder, so close, perhaps bordering upon security breaking, but I wanted the warmth, the sunshine in his eyes. It fought off the shadows in the distance, and the blackness in my mind. 'The sun lights the darkness. Mast. The sun, it lights the shadows.' Reuen the little ruined girl resident of the gates

OOC: Mast is precious <3