HELOVIA || The Way to the Sun
This is not a game [Confutatis Challenge] - Printable Version

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This is not a game [Confutatis Challenge] - Ophelia - 12-26-2014



This is war.

Two names were uttered from Deimos’ lips, his memories and her own filling in the blanks. Confutatis had been captive prior to her ascension, but the pieces of the puzzle had never been in the correct order until now. Each curved edge fell heavily into place, like men on a chess board making a lethal formation, prepared to isolate and eradicate the queen. No thought which stormed in her mind was positive, having cast aside all manner of pain and suffering at the conclusion of her battle with Mauja. The tears she had shed still shamed her, and the scorch marks were still healing beneath elegantly simple lines of metal that curve her back and sides.

The tree and turtle, so happily out of place in the sea of her misery, had granted her protection she had blindly ignored – until now. Forsaken by the gods, perhaps; but fate, it seemed, was on her side this time. One half of her gray lips curled upward upon the advent of this thought, tension rising like a thousand flies buzzing around carrion. Chaos. Confutatis had tried to rip her away from home, from her mantle as leader, and for what? To steal more from the Basin? Were the white, antlered mare and her children not enough to satisfy the filth? Or, did this have to do with her half-brother? In this war of vengeance, the pale princess would deliver tenfold. Today was not the day to fuck with Ophelia the Forsaken.

Her naturally dancing gait carried her south to the Thistle Meadow, standing in the middle of a field of flowers with a grin on her face as she filled her lungs wide. In her expulsion, she bellowed. “CONFUTATIS!” The chime-like tones of her chords only served to increase the insanity that wavered on every note. “I CHALLENGE YOU FOR YOUR TITLE, YOUR PRIDE, AND YOUR DIGNITY – WHATEVER YOU HAVE LEFT!” Ophelia’s delicate cranium spun around, dual colored gaze boring into the trees, seeking her prey. The breath of any shadow brought a surge of adrenalin to her body, wiring her tight. She was a compressed spring, prepared at any second to snap and unleash terrible, violent force. For the anger over this simple failure was not the only weight that she brought with her today. Upon her shoulders was the fury of seeing Mauja again, the anger over the hypocrisy of the other herds, the run-in with Gaucho, and the fight with Torleik (despite how it turned out).

Generations of warlords and murderers bled through her veins, giving rise to the bloody crimson that adorned the ends of her untangled hair, and she curled gray lips back from her teeth, snorting once in impatience. Where was the little snake? Hiding in the trees? Would she run when challenged, like a true coward? Part of her desperately wanted to know why, but that could easily be raped from the bitch’s unprotected mind, harvested like fruit out of season and torn from the vine. The world could certainly use some brutal pruning…

Kindness, gentleness and understanding were swept away by her imperfections, yielding to the oncoming, catastrophic blizzard that howled in her soul. Fire and ice clashed, leaving only black smoke and a frozen wasteland, but never before had she felt quite so alive. The feeling was like a high, spiraling upward until she felt as though her heart would beat straight into the divine halls of the gods, and there she would stand, staring down at her opponent with naught but a smile – invincible. Raw delusions were dangerous, able to confirm or deny with brutal honesty when reality set in, but for now, she embraced her wicked confidence.

Giving way to the blackness in her soul was easier this time than the last. The pain she had endured from seeing Mauja after so long had bruised her soul too badly, unleashed too much pain. Night had cast her shadow, leaving her little choice but to pray for release as she drowned, the light fading fast beneath the sea of her despair. She thought, with a bitter taste on her tongue, that she should thank him for this newfound emotional power – this place where she could not be touched.

There is no peace here, and war is never cheap, dear. Lids snapped open again, and she let her demons run.

------------------------------------------

[[(Intro) (0/3 posts)
- Ophelia is challenging Confutatis for her title (if possible, admin?), if not, then just as a show of force
- The location is the THISTLE MEADOW just before DAWN as daylight will begin to break
- Since the stealth failed, Ophelia knows about the attempt; what happened to Arah was learned through Deimos' memories and the names and her association were given via Deimos in their leadership thread in the Basin
- It's up to you if you want to accept this challenge since Confutatis is pregnant, but another admin will reroll the foal stats if you do choose to fight! You can contact Aud or Sevin about this if you want to
]]


OPHELIA
Faith shattered and decays as frosted blood flows in my veins

sdrcow @ DA



RE: This is not a game [Confutatis Challenge] - Confutatis - 12-26-2014

CONFUTATIS
But we're talking kings and successions



Ears twitch, reluctant, swivelling to face the childish, petulant crowing for her ethereal company, nostrils quivering as she lets free a deep and unabashedly disappointed sigh, so endless it crosses into the boundaries of mockery. Sullen girl! Did she not realize she had been blessed to have been targeted by the wolf, the World Eater; that the very fact Confutatis had given a single fuck to attempt stealing her was a compliment beyond express? She was a goddess made flesh, a deity to rival even the Moon Mother, an archangel of slaughter and massacre and undoings of her greatest foes -- and she had given up precious time in order to ambush, deceive, and trap (although to no avail.)

Lips curl, caressing across yellowed fangs; she foams, bubbles, salivates, acidic spittle dribbling down her whiskered chin (filthy! Hideous!) The stench of her magic progresses into a reek, of murder, of decay, of shadow; she is unrivalled! Unparalleled! Genocide, carnage and and butchery!

She will fear me. One of the many silent vows, quaking promises, the wolf makes in the heat of the moment, but no less true for it. How she hungers for blood, how she longs for malignant annihilation... but she must wait. There lies within her the seed of Tyradon, which has begun to sprout into bone and weight, lying heavy upon her stomach, swelling her sides, dragging on her spine. Hollow flanks have been bloated by the outward press of twins. The World Eater is encumbered, burdened, tied down by children. And even despite her predisposition for violence, war, bloodshed, she cannot risk her family, cannot risk the murder of her venerated kin, the little worms she will bring into the world to grow and raise into warlords -- warlords not chained by their parents' mistakes.

Time is taken as she saunters, casual in her arrogance, towards the perpetrator of the call, stopping to nibble at grass or examine a corpse here and there. If the white queen is so eager for a beating, she can wait a while longer. After all, what better thing to do than let her fester in her impatience, let her rational thought by decayed by starvation?!

And at last she enters, her mongrel at her heels, impudent, impetuous, impulsive. Cold is her gaze that rests upon the woman who calls her; frigid, in truth. Let her feel the power of what she has summoned here today -- let her quake in unbridled terror.

"You are eager for bloodshed against a pregnant woman and yet you do not even know the cause of why I tried to steal you." Hard words, like broken glass, a rasp of dismal uncaring.

"Don't you want to know why before you march to war?"



0/3
Word Count: 493
Notes: n/a


credits



RE: This is not a game [Confutatis Challenge] - Ophelia - 12-27-2014



Ophelia watched the fat, encumbered mare waddle her direction, the show of indifference dramatic and petulant. The pale princess waited, white, delicate ears folded tightly along her neck with a single brow raised in dark amusement at the show. After some time of waiting for the bloat to close the distance, she turned her gaze to other fascinations – like the fact that the sun was fast rising in the sky with each passing second – possibly minute if the “World Eater” kept up this lazy display. Certainly such a form needed no more grass, she thought bitterly, keeping her teeth firmly pressed lest such foolish words tumble ignorantly out of her mouth. Obviously the mare had no well spun insults formulated for being demanded and thus had to be defiant through other means – much like a child after losing an argument and dragging his hooves after mother.

Details emerged on her approach which were utterly revolting, mainly the dribble of sickly slime gathered in her whiskers and pouring from her maw. Ophelia curled her lips back in disdain, giving her opponent crude once over and finding little to fear. The taller mare appeared half-blind, scarred and reeking of illness, all together an unbecoming picture. She wondered how this creature had ever tried to rage against the might of the unified unicorns, but the answer was rather simple –arrogance. Ah, but arrogance has nothing to do with greatness. Arrogance was a gilded ship with a critical leak on a sea, soon shipwrecked by the laughter of gods.

Adrenaline, heightened senses and tension of one thousand voices ringing in her ears all faded into a single, dull note that sang only one word over and over again: unimpressed. The recollection of winning the herd from Jackal and his pointed absence from the war were filled with similar feelings. Disappointment. Unimpressed. Underwhelmed. The synonyms were many and dull. Confutatis’ cold gaze rested upon one that was stony and unmoved. Ophelia’s mind had given over instincts for memory since birth, and while this caused many issues in her past, mainly culminating in near death, in this case, she was almost pleased. Fear did not once tickle in her mind, and her objectivity (and disgust, perhaps) were powerfully written in the firm posture of her lithe, muscular figure and the wrinkled expression on her lovely, feminine face. A fuzzy creature followed in her wake, the other’s presence sending the scaled silver from his skyward perch, down.

Tinek pulled his wings in, snapping them open moments before impact with Ophelia’s armored back, landing with surprising grace given his size. He was at the apex of his life, a royal with wisdom and power, tied in a loving, soft embrace with Ophelia’s deep and tragic mind. The silver would protect her with his life, guard her as she had done for him, but her life was hers to command as was his. Their symbiosis was exquisite, brimming with life and affection which only two sharing halves of the same soul could possess.

The mare spoke, and Ophelia raised a disbelieving brow, expression twisting in mock amusement. A single, harsh laugh bellowed from her delicate maw. She was an elegant shield-maiden, radiant, temperate, powerful and vengeful at once – a potent combination for such a woman. Her life was lived as a spy and a mercenary, dark, cunning and lethal intentions well concealed by such a flawless and effete exterior. “Aahh Confutatis,” she laughed. “Hah! Do not play that game of ‘pity the poor pregnant mare’ with me; I know what children really mean to you…” The babes of the white, antlered mare would no doubt hold trauma their entire lives over her cruelty. Ophelia rolled her strange, dual colored eyes with impudence.

“Sure,” she replied flatly. “Regale me with your tales of grandeur.” The white mare’s eerie gaze bored into that of her opponent, wrapping her mind around the other’s thoughts to read for truth. Memory, though often faulty and tainted with lingering emotions (in others anyway), would be more honest than any bile leaking from the coordination of her tongue. Standing, waiting for lies from this creature was not a test of patience but a test of will. Two bloodlines stood head to head, but blood, like arrogance, did not ensure greatness. The two were foundations of sand, only part of the necessities to build a solid house. Accomplishments were stone.


------------------------------------------

[[(Intro) (0/3 posts)]]




OPHELIA
Faith shattered and decays as frosted blood flows in my veins

sdrcow @ DA



edited in a tag as resquested.
@[Confutatis]


RE: This is not a game [Confutatis Challenge] - Blu - 12-28-2014

@[Confutatis]

tagging as requested, forgot tagging in posts not your own doesn't work << >> i.e. above.


RE: This is not a game [Confutatis Challenge] - Confutatis - 12-29-2014

M A T U R E for seriously bad language.

CONFUTATIS
But we're talking kings and successions



The silhouette, painted silver and stained with crimson, sharpens as the wolf approaches, turning from an alasbastar figurine to a real and abysmally disappointing woman. Ophelia is all thin lines and poised elegance and sharp intelligence. Graceful, surely, but what she wants is bulk and bruises and scars, bloodied muzzles and broken teeth and shattered bones, the epitome of extremity and tragic warfare. A true challenge. And so instead of sizing her up, instead of examining her, all she does is tilt her head, grizzled hairs playing over a swarthy neck, lips curling back in a sickly grimace.

There's no joy in it, no love, no longing for blood, carnage, war; Confutatis has long passed that point of foolish ambition. It sits within her, but her intent is to pass it on, let the ember spark and blaze into the hearts of children. She might've fallen short of her mark, but they would continue her legacy, improve upon it --

Become what she had wanted to be for so long.

And so how this woman, so foolishly encumbered by honorable ideals and mindless obedience, could think that really believe that she could take anything from her, was beyond her comprehension. Did she think that she was doing herself a favor, dominating the World Eater? Did she think that fucking Confutatis over { even if it did come to that } would change the nature embedded into her soul? Time and time again she had picked herself up again, reassembled those bruised sinews and blew the dust off her arrogance. It was impossible to down her entirely; she would just come up with new ways to be a fucking pain in the ass. With all the sensitivity of Helovians, all their "honor" and "guileless nature", it wasn't difficult.

All you had to do was not be another knight in tarnished armor.
The challenge was meaningless.
When would Ophelia realize that?

The wolf bristled, haloed by spikes of necromancy which pierce outward from her skin -- sinful projections of her rage, waves of rot and storming destruction hardly contained as the Forsaken dares venture into territory she knows nothing of. How can she? How can this cunt claim to know anything about her? She doesn't know her, has never met her; she can not know her mind, cannot know what she thinks of her children. It sickens her. Her children, her progeny, were of utmost importance.

D E A T H would take her before harm befell them.
A thousand armies would be slaughtered, millions of bodies deposited into a graveyard, billions of hearts would be broken, before she would allow a single hair on their heads to be harmed (by another other than her.)

SHE SAYS NOTHING.
And that is worth a thousand words.

Let this mare stumble on with her presumptions and assumptions and suspicions and haughty flair. Let her dance on, nest deeper into idiocy, stupidity, apathy, sloth, and shitty attempts at being sarcastic.

Her name is Confutatis. She is the Eater of Worlds, the Devourer of Hearts, the Queen of Skulls, and Ophelia may as well fuck herself as far as she's considered { she'll have more fun with it than trying to war against darkness itself. }

"I wanted to steal you and bargain with you away from the influence of Basiners. I wanted you to understand what I have to say with a clear mind, instead of being distracted by the wants and needs of your family and whatever they want from me." Eyes roll; insanity glints. "I wanted to garuantee safety for my children, so I can raise them in peace."

And then I'm getting the fuck out of Helovia to live with my King.



0/3
Word Count: 639
Notes: For the record, Confutatis is telling the truth if you wish to use Ophelia's mind-reading magic on her c; All she wants is to raise her children and then leave Helovia (right now she's currently thinking about Tyradon and how much she misses him and his evil-making lmfao, and the safety of his kids.)


credits

@[Ophelia]


RE: This is not a game [Confutatis Challenge] - Ophelia - 12-30-2014



The fault lay in the assumption that evil was inherently different. Demons rested in the hearts of all, but few possessed the strength of will to capture them and hold them at bay. The violence of Gaucho a sin, tempered by the loving loyalty to his kind, the lies of Phaedra excused by her beauty, the seeping lifelessness of Deimos held fast by servitude to his herd were but a few examples of the war waging not only socially but inwardly. To say that life was good and evil was seeing black and white in a world of color. Vibrancy reveals thousands of possibilities and a million differences hindered by such a narrow scope of view. No one was special because there was no one star that shone more brightly than any other. What set an individual apart from the sea of tumultuous actions and reactions was the ability to rise above or dive below the surface of monotony, yet high above or down below, the labels disappeared. Both directions were just a way out.

The pale princess had always walked the pathway between, the grey areas that rested between two halves. Unicorn and equine. Beautiful and cunning. Leader and spy. Liar and honest. Thus, as she stood, she made no attempt to valiantly defend her herd from the terrors of a single mare. A band of unicorns needed no help dealing with a single, rotten egg, no… She stood here because within her heart was a well of vengeance, violence and rage. She stood, furious, that this nothing-mare had dared to try to steal her from her home – that she thought so highly of herself that she could not take the walk to speak her peace. No slight dealt against the Forsaken was over until it was repaid tenfold and until her opponent was beaten so far into the ground that they had to beg to stand again. Gone was the girl who shouldered the weight of the world. She had shed the pain of others, sick of drowning, and was fighting for the surface again. Those who dared touch her would receive their just reward, and perhaps, a little more.

What stood before her now was a foul-smelling, disgusting mortal. She was painfully and dismally average and yet she demanded the world with the same petulance displayed by her rude sauntering at Ophelia’s challenge. Darkness lay in wait within the hearts of all – just because she failed to clean her jaw of grime and spit did not enhance her romance with demons. The proof was before her now, standing pregnant, weak and pitiful. What power did she have against her now, hindered as she was? Was she delusional as to think she had any recourse against the spy of spies, a silver dragon and her armor? Never before had Ophelia seen arrogance and misery combine in such a mindless display of impotence.

Her words made even less sense than the picture she painted with her presence. The white mare simultaneously furrowed and raised a brow. Guarantee safety of her children? What reason did she have to guarantee safety of her children? None. The Basin could take care of itself as far as this wretch was concerned, and stealing would only earn the opposite of a clear mind. Rage would have woven a crimson sheet behind her eyes, tainting whatever she saw with wicked fury. Ophelia could not help but laugh again at the nonsensical charade this had become. She was hoping for a battle and bloodshed, but instead she bought a ticket for a comedy.

“You want to raise your children in peace… when you did not allow the same respect to the twins and their mother you and your depraved band stole?” she asked in disbelief, a twisted grin on her mousy maw. “And you want me to somehow afford you this comfort?” Ophelia snorted in amusement, shaking her head. “What reason do I have to help you, thief?” she asked. “And don’t try to use my half-brother as an excuse. You can miss him all you want to, but the fact that he is their father means nothing to me.” The Forsaken had her family. She had her twin. She needed nothing else in this life (so she thought). This mare’s mind was a book of contradictions, but at the end of the story, the denouement could be summed in a single word: selfishness.

“What makes you so special?” she spat. “Guarantee the safety of your own children. Leave now. Go live with your king in the fantasy if your own delusions. Or, stay and fight.” Ophelia lowered the point of her horn and charged forward, gathering strength in her well-muscled hips. Confutatis could run or die.



[[[(1/3) (791 words)
Ophelia charges at Confutatis with her horn pointed]]]


OPHELIA
Faith shattered and decays as frosted blood flows in my veins

sdrcow @ DA



RE: This is not a game [Confutatis Challenge] - Confutatis - 12-30-2014

CONFUTATIS
But we're talking kings and successions



There are no adjectives which can adequately describe the fury that begins to burn through her scarlet veins, no sentences, no paragraphs, to elaborate upon the rage, the resentment, the bloody longing to devour, kill, and slaughter. As amusing as their encounter has become -- to see Ophelia babble and blubber and mumble on about worth -- there is nothing humorous as she needles, nettles, and prods the sleeping dragon. Family; family is everything to her, her only weakness to her plated armor.

It at last materializes over charcoal flesh as the wolf --
the beast --
chuckles.

Wolfish brows shutter over enamored retinas, nostrils flaring wide.
Ophelia laughs, chitters, snickers, and it does not bother her as it once may have -- but it does not change the truth. The truth of it is that Ophelia, for all her confidence, for all her belief, is little more than a speck of dust in the wind, a rain drop in the storm, an amoeba to the world; her claims, her words, are ash in the wind. Has she slaughtered children for the fun of it? Kidnapped, stole, from families, because she could? Eaten, devoured, her own kin, because they threatened to usurp her from the throne? Has she broken, beaten, desecrated souls, kept a reign of fear and terror going for over three years?

NO.


The Forsaken knows nothing of true sacrifice, nothing of life and death but whatever her petty mind can conjure up from a melodramatic heart. And this is why the wolf begins to laugh, to chuckle, moved to hysterics by the Basiner’s audacity, vanity; for she is truly, wonderfully, out of her league, beautifully foolish, beautifully arrogant, beautifully, stupendously, idiotic.

Her laughter does not stop her from the horn pointed towards her.
And she waltzes out of the way, gracefully sidestepping the Forsaken in entirety, not bothering to waste her breath upon saying something to change her mind; let Ophelia think she has the upper hand!

Confutatis will get her when she’s down —————
Mother!

Trodden, trampled, stamped into soil, the screaming wail of her companion is echoed in her mind, a screeching, dire thing that does not end, a hideous sound which makes the World Eater halt; frozen. The pain, the agony, rips and tears through the bond, and she is numbed. How - how - Mongrel, Mongrel, her idiotic mongrel! And she succumbs to her rage, whirling towards her beloved kitsune, hideous teeth snapping him up (so awkwardly) to pick him up, to take him away.

Her heart is being rendered into two.
"Leave us." The wolf croaks, and then she flees.

But not forever.
A month, or two, and her children will be here.
Ophelia will pay in blood.



0/3
Word Count: 469
Notes: Confutatis is defaulting.


credits

@[Ophelia]


RE: This is not a game [Confutatis Challenge] - Official - 12-30-2014

Confutatis defaults to Ophelia. 0.5 VP awarded to Ophelia.

Confutatis retains her Legend Title as it was decided this is not something that can be challenged for.