Scrying Mind

Female. Lives in Ghastly Gorge, Equestria. Born on August 20, 2001

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Earth Pony

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OPEN

About Me

"All these he wondered to behold, for which (as I do gather)

Himself was to be wondered at, or to be pitied rather."

â€”The Poet of the Metamorphoses, regarding Narcissus

Roleplay Universe

FiM

Roleplay Type

Narrative

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Scrying Mind

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Kuruka Barrelbrindle Scrying Mind

August 17, 2025 9:15 am RP

It seems to be the average day in town, folks casually ambling into the coffee shop, seeking the holy caffeine to kickstart their work days, fillies and colts cantering to school as fast as they can, ... View More

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Scrying Mind

Scrying Mind mutters a curse under her breath and gallops after the flying zebra. She shifts her saddle bags as she runs, careful to protect her lyre and her notes. Years of malnutrition have left her too weak to safely keep up, but she pushes her limits. As she runs, she develops a limp, but this ... View More

Like August 17, 2025

Kuruka Barrelbrindle

As Kurkua looks back, only speeding up into a racing gallop, about to take flight, he's managed to slam himself into a lightpole at full speed ; denting it and knocking himself nearly unconscious as his legs flail around as if they themselves were discombobulated by the event. He's braying loudly, s... View More

Like August 18, 2025

Scrying Mind

After pulling herself up, Scry grins triumphantly. She limps over to where Kuruka lies and gently presses her hoof on his back to still him and prevent him from leaving. She looks down at Kuruka as though she doesn't truly see him, and says in a distracted sing-song voice: "Again, again! Again intr... View More

Like August 18, 2025

Kuruka Barrelbrindle

"Oh, no—no, of course not," Kuruka says, the words dripping with dark amusement. A crooked, venomous little smile flickers across his muzzle, there and gone like a snake’s tongue. "My parents were the lucky ones. Perfectly ordinary cutie marks, perfectly ordinary talents. Dad’s name was Tossup. His ... View More"Oh, no—no, of course not," Kuruka says, the words dripping with dark amusement. A crooked, venomous little smile flickers across his muzzle, there and gone like a snake’s tongue. "My parents were the lucky ones. Perfectly ordinary cutie marks, perfectly ordinary talents. Dad’s name was Tossup. His mark was a pair of dice mid-roll." He gives a soft, humorless huff. "We never really understood what it meant… not until much later." He starts walking again, angling toward the lazy glint of the river in the distance, wings half-unfurled as though the memory itself is heavy on his back. "He was a good father," Kuruka continues, voice quieter now, almost fond despite everything. "Normal dad. Loved his kids, told terrible jokes, burned the toast every single morning. What we didn’t know—what he probably didn’t even know—was that his special talent was randomization itself. Pure, chaotic chance.. woven right into his soul." He stops beneath the shade of a crooked willow and lifts his gaze to the sky, wings spreading wide as if appealing to the clouds for mercy that will never come. "He had other foals before me," he says, barely above a whisper. "A lot of them. Most came out normal. Mild talents no pony. Most were harmless. A few were odd and indecipherable. But me?" His laugh is brittle, cracking in the middle. "I won the grand prize." Kuruka’s throat works; he swallows hard, eyes glistening for a moment before he blinks it away. "My mother was a zebra. Zebras don’t get cutie marks—never have. When I was born striped and feathered, they thought maybe, just maybe, I’d be the one who escaped Dad’s curse. That I’d take after her. Be blank. Be free." He snorts, a raw, wounded sound that tears out of him like a splinter. "...they were wrong." He turns his flank just enough for the mark to catch the light—a crescent moon, glowing faintly, alive with someone else’s destiny. "Mine is theft. Literal theft. I can reach out and take any mark, any talent, any piece of a pony’s soul I want. Rip it right off them and pin it to myself like a trophy." His eyes close. "I don’t... But the world decided what I am, long before I ever proved them wrong." The glow pulses once, mockingly cheerful. Kuruka looks back at you, and for the first time the bitterness softens—just a fraction—into something almost gentle. "Yours, though…" He tilts his head, studying your mark with open curiosity. "It’s beautiful. Simple. Honest. The quill and the blooming ink—perfect. Tell me… does it make you speak in rhymes, or is that just you being unfairly charming?"

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Like November 29, 2025

Scrying Mind

At the question, Scry jerks her head up from her work. Partway through the story, she had taken to jotting some kind of notes in her notebook. "Hm? Ah, no, it doesn't make me speak in rhyme." She glances around and lowers her voice as though sharing a secret. "That would be my muse." She draws her... View More

Like December 2, 2025 Edited

Kuruka Barrelbrindle

Kuruka’s ears dipped back slightly as she mentioned her muse. He shifted his wings with a soft rustle, tilting his head. "Never really understood that stuff," he admitted, scuffing a small circle in the damp earth with one hoof. "Heard unicorns talk about art before, but it never stuck with me." ... View More

Like December 2, 2025

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