02-21-2021, 11:07 PM
<style type="text/css">.volos2_container{position: relative;z-index: 1;width: 600px;background: #c9d2d7;font: 12px 'Times New Roman', sans-serif;line-height: 1.25;padding-top: 16px;border: 2px solid #3a2922;box-shadow: 0 0 10px #000;}.volos2_container img {margin-top:-0px;width: 600px;}.volos2_container p{margin: 0;}.volos2_gradient {position: absolute;z-index: 5;bottom: 200px;width: 600px;height: 200px;background: -moz-linear-gradient(top, rgba(201,210,215,1) 0%, rgba(125,185,232,0) 100%); /* FF3.6-15 */
background: -webkit-linear-gradient(top, rgba(201,210,215,1) 0%,rgba(125,185,232,0) 100%);background: linear-gradient(to bottom, rgba(201,210,215,1) 0%,rgba(125,185,232,0) 100%);filter: progid
XImageTransform.Microsoft.gradient( startColorstr='#c9d2d7', endColorstr='#007db9e8',GradientType=0 );}.volos2_message {position: relative;z-index: 10;background-color: #c9d2d7;box-shadow: inset 0 0 2px #3a2922;opacity:0.6;text-align: justify;width: 500px;padding: 20px 20px 20px 20px;color: #3a2922;}.volos2_name {position: absolute;bottom: 320px;left:210px;text-align: center;z-index: 50;font: 50px 'Times new roman', serif;letter-spacing: 4px;text-transform: none;color: #c9d2d7;opacity: 0.8;text-shadow: 0 0 5px #000;}.volos2_quote {z-index: 15;font-size: 14px;letter-spacing: 2px;text-transform: uppercase;text-shadow: 0 0 4px #000;color: #3a2922;opacity: 0.6;padding-bottom: 16px;}</style><center><div class="volos2_container"><p class="volos2_quote">this ain't no place for no hero</p><div class="volos2_message">Volos has known the dark nearly as long as he has the light.
It envelopes him now, the dark, fitting snugly over his sagging shoulders weighted by weariness. Night hangs over the island he calls home, though it is impossible to know it. There is no sun to push its way up and above the horizon of the sea in the morning, spilling its delicate pink and orange rays of light across the waves. There is no moon to come along and guide them gently into their evening settling, no stars to show them the way. But sleep finds them still, at times. It is something that brings some sense of normalcy when it comes, some sort of routine they can abide.
Tonight, however, is anything but normal.
The echo of a faint voice rings in his ears and startles him awake. These days his sleep is always light and easily broken with a multitude of monsters in their midst. As he listens to the unseen speaker, his gold eyes instantly go to Titanya dozing nearby. He watches for any sign that she’s heard the voice herself, any twitch of a muscle or raising of her head in acknowledgement. The voice sends a call for help, a cry to action. <i>It should probably be you,</i> he tells his mother silently, though his mind is already made up. He cannot ignore the piteous plea even if it is perhaps misdirected. Without further thought, he disappears into the thick jungle undergrowth as silent as a specter.
The ocean is a constant, too. It laps at his feet now as he readies himself for what would otherwise be a largely safe passage across. Now, children are expressly forbidden to cross. Volos frowns when he remembers this rule his Granddame implemented; he remembers, too, how he had broken it and nearly paid the price for his insolence.
<i> It had seemed like a game at first. The shadowy tentacles had reached out from the black ocean and waved at him where he stood just beyond the water’s reach. He thought nothing of the chirping, grinding sound the creature made when he took that first step into the sea. He kept going, pulling his legs up when he felt the animal make contact and begin to wrap its legs around his own. Still, he thought it was mere play. It was only when the sand began to fall away under him, when he felt himself impossibly slipping down and saw the water rising to meet him, that he thought something might be wrong. Volos shifted with little life left in him and ripped the monster apart with his teeth and claws, but not before the water closed around him like a coffin. Not before he felt the last of his oxygen slip out of him as bubbles between his lips.</i>
The chirping of the monster rings in his ears alongside the distant voice as he plunges into the inky ocean. To acknowledge fear is to give it power, he knows, so he thinks instead of his family as he powers across the channel to the mainland. Instead of the unformed shadows likely racing underneath his buoyed body, he pictures the faces of his parents, his siblings. Instead of thinking about the trouble he might be getting into (with whatever lies ahead and what waits for him back home when Titanya and Halcyon see him again), he imagines how the light will once again refract off the surface of the grotto and make rainbows in the air. He can’t wait to show his newest siblings their home in all its’ renewed splendor under the sun. All he has to do is bring back the light for all of them. All he has to be is brave enough to face the darkness alone.
He already feels the weight of all that is to come on his shoulders that are young but already broad and sturdy. As Volos pulls himself out of the ocean, he feels a creeping sensation along his spine as if he is lucky to have escaped the waves. As if, had he lingered a second longer with the water pulsing against his sides, he might not have had to worry for what was awaiting him at all.
There are more shadows here, of course, more monsters to concern himself with ahead rather than behind. He is not wholly unprepared. Living in the darkness for so long has made him adaptable. Here and there along the way, Volos breathes small jets of fire to light the path as much as he can. The fire usually doesn’t work the way he wants it to. Sometimes the line of flames is crooked, sometimes it lights the ground on fire instead (and he hurriedly stamps it out with his hooves). But like in Ischia, it gives him some light to see by for a bit of time.
All they need is a little light to spark the rest.
The voices draw him towards the towering Mountain that should cast a great shadow. Like everything else, the darkness takes away even the magnificence of the rising slopes. It doesn’t matter. They aren’t here to be impressed or wooed by a show of power. Indeed, based on the quality of the fairy tones, he doubts there would be any to be shown. There are many others called to the base of the Mountain it seems. His eyes strain to catch their vague shapes. Some are dimly lit, glowing even. He is too worried to use his fire in case it does not behave as it should. He will not risk the others so that they may see his face, but he greets a few nearby. The others skirt the edges.
He is not always sure if they are friend or foe, helper or monster.</div><p class="volos2_name">v o l o s</p><div class="volos2_gradient"></div><img src="https://i.postimg.cc/9FHhPGWM/volos-beach.jpg"></div><a href="https://unsplash.com/photos/IraMdOH78NE" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer" style="padding-top:10px;">Photo by Austin Neill at Unsplash</a></center>
background: -webkit-linear-gradient(top, rgba(201,210,215,1) 0%,rgba(125,185,232,0) 100%);background: linear-gradient(to bottom, rgba(201,210,215,1) 0%,rgba(125,185,232,0) 100%);filter: progid
XImageTransform.Microsoft.gradient( startColorstr='#c9d2d7', endColorstr='#007db9e8',GradientType=0 );}.volos2_message {position: relative;z-index: 10;background-color: #c9d2d7;box-shadow: inset 0 0 2px #3a2922;opacity:0.6;text-align: justify;width: 500px;padding: 20px 20px 20px 20px;color: #3a2922;}.volos2_name {position: absolute;bottom: 320px;left:210px;text-align: center;z-index: 50;font: 50px 'Times new roman', serif;letter-spacing: 4px;text-transform: none;color: #c9d2d7;opacity: 0.8;text-shadow: 0 0 5px #000;}.volos2_quote {z-index: 15;font-size: 14px;letter-spacing: 2px;text-transform: uppercase;text-shadow: 0 0 4px #000;color: #3a2922;opacity: 0.6;padding-bottom: 16px;}</style><center><div class="volos2_container"><p class="volos2_quote">this ain't no place for no hero</p><div class="volos2_message">Volos has known the dark nearly as long as he has the light.It envelopes him now, the dark, fitting snugly over his sagging shoulders weighted by weariness. Night hangs over the island he calls home, though it is impossible to know it. There is no sun to push its way up and above the horizon of the sea in the morning, spilling its delicate pink and orange rays of light across the waves. There is no moon to come along and guide them gently into their evening settling, no stars to show them the way. But sleep finds them still, at times. It is something that brings some sense of normalcy when it comes, some sort of routine they can abide.
Tonight, however, is anything but normal.
The echo of a faint voice rings in his ears and startles him awake. These days his sleep is always light and easily broken with a multitude of monsters in their midst. As he listens to the unseen speaker, his gold eyes instantly go to Titanya dozing nearby. He watches for any sign that she’s heard the voice herself, any twitch of a muscle or raising of her head in acknowledgement. The voice sends a call for help, a cry to action. <i>It should probably be you,</i> he tells his mother silently, though his mind is already made up. He cannot ignore the piteous plea even if it is perhaps misdirected. Without further thought, he disappears into the thick jungle undergrowth as silent as a specter.
The ocean is a constant, too. It laps at his feet now as he readies himself for what would otherwise be a largely safe passage across. Now, children are expressly forbidden to cross. Volos frowns when he remembers this rule his Granddame implemented; he remembers, too, how he had broken it and nearly paid the price for his insolence.
<i> It had seemed like a game at first. The shadowy tentacles had reached out from the black ocean and waved at him where he stood just beyond the water’s reach. He thought nothing of the chirping, grinding sound the creature made when he took that first step into the sea. He kept going, pulling his legs up when he felt the animal make contact and begin to wrap its legs around his own. Still, he thought it was mere play. It was only when the sand began to fall away under him, when he felt himself impossibly slipping down and saw the water rising to meet him, that he thought something might be wrong. Volos shifted with little life left in him and ripped the monster apart with his teeth and claws, but not before the water closed around him like a coffin. Not before he felt the last of his oxygen slip out of him as bubbles between his lips.</i>
The chirping of the monster rings in his ears alongside the distant voice as he plunges into the inky ocean. To acknowledge fear is to give it power, he knows, so he thinks instead of his family as he powers across the channel to the mainland. Instead of the unformed shadows likely racing underneath his buoyed body, he pictures the faces of his parents, his siblings. Instead of thinking about the trouble he might be getting into (with whatever lies ahead and what waits for him back home when Titanya and Halcyon see him again), he imagines how the light will once again refract off the surface of the grotto and make rainbows in the air. He can’t wait to show his newest siblings their home in all its’ renewed splendor under the sun. All he has to do is bring back the light for all of them. All he has to be is brave enough to face the darkness alone.
He already feels the weight of all that is to come on his shoulders that are young but already broad and sturdy. As Volos pulls himself out of the ocean, he feels a creeping sensation along his spine as if he is lucky to have escaped the waves. As if, had he lingered a second longer with the water pulsing against his sides, he might not have had to worry for what was awaiting him at all.
There are more shadows here, of course, more monsters to concern himself with ahead rather than behind. He is not wholly unprepared. Living in the darkness for so long has made him adaptable. Here and there along the way, Volos breathes small jets of fire to light the path as much as he can. The fire usually doesn’t work the way he wants it to. Sometimes the line of flames is crooked, sometimes it lights the ground on fire instead (and he hurriedly stamps it out with his hooves). But like in Ischia, it gives him some light to see by for a bit of time.
All they need is a little light to spark the rest.
The voices draw him towards the towering Mountain that should cast a great shadow. Like everything else, the darkness takes away even the magnificence of the rising slopes. It doesn’t matter. They aren’t here to be impressed or wooed by a show of power. Indeed, based on the quality of the fairy tones, he doubts there would be any to be shown. There are many others called to the base of the Mountain it seems. His eyes strain to catch their vague shapes. Some are dimly lit, glowing even. He is too worried to use his fire in case it does not behave as it should. He will not risk the others so that they may see his face, but he greets a few nearby. The others skirt the edges.
He is not always sure if they are friend or foe, helper or monster.</div><p class="volos2_name">v o l o s</p><div class="volos2_gradient"></div><img src="https://i.postimg.cc/9FHhPGWM/volos-beach.jpg"></div><a href="https://unsplash.com/photos/IraMdOH78NE" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer" style="padding-top:10px;">Photo by Austin Neill at Unsplash</a></center>