The Burning Grounds [Psyche]

The Burning Grounds [Psyche]

Psyche the DarkEmpress Posts: 380

Deceased

Mare :: Unicorn :: 15.3 hh :: 8 (ages in Orangemoon) Buff: ENDURE

RayoDeSoleil

12-18-2012, 11:59 PM

The jackal-mare is restless, and she hopes it does not show as she wanders her hallowed grounds, each step a reminder of all that she had done and lost to have arrived at her current position, to have become who she was. Memories assaulted her relentlessly, a poison of her mind from within itself; it was something that she hadn't the patience for, and yet she found herself driven mad time and again by the same inexorable, unyielding process. She was dragged through a disappointing childhood in which she could do not right, even as she struggled to please her father. She was forced to watch again as her mother's flesh burned and wrinkled before her eyes, like leaves in flames. She would flee her father's rule, and yet she carried on his legacy despite her hatred, targeting the inferiors solely for the fact that their race was not hers.

This, of course, was what drove her on, the twisted Lady of the Basin. It seemed fitting, now, that her horn was not the perfect spiral of her kin, but a gnarled, though lengthy, appendage. She was not beauty. She was not perfection. She had never been either of those things. This she knew, and accepted, and perhaps even appreciated. But she was stubborn, and ambitious, and these were qualities far above the prestige of appearances and perceived perfection. And in her madness, she thirsted for the blood of the impure species. The skyrats disgusted her, their mutilated bodies a subject of her pity and hatred. They were mutants, destined for death even as their lungs filled with life. And the equines were little better - though they were not mangled, merely defective, lacking the horns on their head that marked them as royalty. They were slaves, or they should be.

And yet all of them had decided to live in revolution, denying themselves their proper places in the world. They would be happier that way, some of the kinder-hearted racists would say. It was their role to fill, and without filling it, allowing it to encompass them, they would never feel fulfilled, instead remaining in a constant state of searching. Wouldn't it be kinder, they said, to put them out of their misery and simply assign them the roles meant for them? But the shadow-mare said no such thing. They are vermin, she told her followers. They do not deserve to live. At the very best they only deserve to serve. We must exterminate the plague of inferiority amongst us. It is the only way. And so they had fallen into line, as simply as you please, lining up like little ducklings in a row to go off into the merry world of murder and violence.

She was proud, she supposed, though they hadn't been quite as active in their terrorism since their arrival at the Basin. Perhaps they had simply been settling in, but to a matriarch with a militaristic outlook on life, they had failed. She and Elizabeth had been stolen, and what had her Plaguelings done to save them? Nothing. If you want something done right, you must do it yourself, she reminded herself, but it did not good. They had not tried, and somehow that was worse than failure. Perhaps, she mused, it was time for new blood. Someone to ascend their ranks and provide order. Perhaps she should take Faelene's words to heart and invest in diplomacy - someone to sweeten their enemies before slipping the poison between their unsuspecting teeth.

Ahead, the sun is setting, its last brilliant rays lighting vivid displays in the sky above the mountains. Still, their valley is in shadow, and she can feel the air cooling around her. It is a welcome change, the night, one that she appreciates as its cool breeze caresses her bodice, curls into her banner, whispers in her lobes. And so it is that she hears the movement of another, shortly before the scent reaches her. It is a unicorn that she has yet to meet; she cannot place her smell with a face. The Empress calls out, a short bugle of greeting, knowing full well that she blends into her surroundings. Perhaps her companion does too. She hopes that she will find a kindred spirit here in the darkness.

[W/C | xxx]

Walk walk walk.
"Talk talk talk."
Think think think.