Lace the Silverthorn Posts: 459
| Deceased atk: 5 | def: 9 | dam: 5.5 |
| Stallion :: Equine :: 15.3 hh :: 14 HP: 65 | Buff: NOVICE |
|
Fajira :: Plain White Dragon :: Fire Breath
Chan |
The stench was incredible. It reminded him of the carcass of a whale he once had found washed up on a beach, many years and miles away. It had been dead for weeks, maybe months, and very little remained of the corpse. Barely more than bones and leathery skin, it had still emanated an odor so foul that he had stumbled away, nose crawling as though filled with maggots, ears buzzing with the sound of fat flies and with the taste of festering blubber and bloated entrails lingering on the tongue for days afterwards. It all came back to him now as he plunged through the mud of the marsh, wading in filth that reached him to the knees, that sucked the hooves in and threatened to hold him down - only reluctantly letting go with a sickening smack as air rushed into the pasty vacuum formed.
In a sick, twisted kind of way, Lace actually enjoyed the grime that accumulated on his normally so pristine coat. It gave him a morbid sense of satisfaction to think of the rotting corpses below the surface that slowly decomposed in the moisture, bones softening and eroding away in the grasp of enzymes and microorganisms created with the sole purpose of breaking down what once had been created. The return of the sun only increased the process. In the mere days since the return of the Lord the March had managed to heat up into a sweltering, damp oven filled with buzzing insects, flitting birds and shy, wary animals that scurried overhead in the canopy, staring down at him where he passed as though he was a madman. And maybe he was. It was a challenge to steer clear of the glossy, alluring pools of water that surrounded the larger lake, its surface much too smooth, the scent of its liquid too sweet and tempting.
The stallion had been there before, and knew better than to lower the muzzle into the treacherous depths. He had seen what became of the struggling beasts that foolishly had given in to temptation only to get stuck without a source of air, doomed to die from lack of air - or worse, from starvation of being eaten alive by the many predators that loomed in the shadows. This was a graveyard, a temple of death and a monument over the feebleness of life.
He was glad that Fajira was off somewhere else, away on one of her solitary adventures that usually ended in the catching of prey.
Heaving himself up on a more solid hill in the watery swamp, the stallion paused for a moment to breathe and recover his bearings. It was a mere whim that had driven him into the labyrinth of roots and waterways, a daredevil decision to try and reach the sea this way, instead of walking around it towards the Endless Blue like he normally would have done. By now he was starting to regret it; the sun was high in the sky, midday would soon have passed and he still hadn't gotten even half-way through. A grimace passed over the mud-stained face at the thought of having to spend the night in the march, and with a sigh the grullo pushed himself forward, intent on continuing on for as long as he could see where he was going.
It wouldn't do to get lost, not here, of all places.
@[Psyche]
 Dim vales- and shadowy floods-
And cloudy-looking woods,
Whose forms we can't discover
For the tears that drip all over!
Huge moons there wax and wane-
Again- again- again-
♦ Permission granted to use magic and violence on Lace and Fajira
♦ Only tag in new threads, spars and if it's urgent
The Store | The Warden
Psyche the DarkEmpress Posts: 380
| Deceased |
| Mare :: Unicorn :: 15.3 hh :: 8 (ages in Orangemoon) Buff: ENDURE |
| RayoDeSoleil |
The shadow-mare had not often wandered so far south, even before gaining the Aurora Basin as a home, and so it was with new eyes that she observed the changing of the terrain, the appearance of murky, still waters to either side of the path, and spooky, gnarled trees here and there. She was the picture of dejection as she wandered through the marsh: she carried her head low, the six scant inches of horn still attached to her cranium a very obvious show of what she was missing. She could not find the strength to switch her tail at the flies that landed along her body, no doubt fresh from some corpse somewhere. The entire place reeked of death, though she found that she couldn't care less.
Perhaps this was what she deserved. Perhaps she should just wade into the depths, allow the water to close over her maw and pull her gently into the jaws of Death. She paused, gazing blankly over the dark surface, contemplating. How easy it would be to simply slip away! There was no one left to miss her now, no one left to care if she lived or died. Her father had never wanted her, her family had all but disowned her; her own herd, the family that she had chosen and given the past year of her life to, would probably be better off with her dead. In the end, it was cowardice that pulled her from the water's edge rather than the desire to live; the thought of allowing the slimy liquid to close over her cranium gave her the shivers, and so she moved on, sadder than ever, for she could not even succeed in disposing of herself.
What good am I? she wondered as she walked along, lost in thought. She had no horn; she was no leader. She had failed in battle. She had failed to be what she had wanted to be for so long. She was, ultimately, a coward and a failure, and no course of thought managed to dissuade her from these depressing thoughts. A splash from her right caught her attention momentarily; she looked warily toward the water, searching for a source, but found nothing. She skirted that pond, quickly following a path in the opposite direction. She cared little about getting lost, not when she had proven to be so useless and unloved. It's not like anyone would miss her if she never returned; they had made that crystal clear.
It was as she traversed this particular path that she became aware that she was approaching another form in the shadows. Surprise registered briefly on her features, and then a shade of her old disgust. Her head flew up regally, dislike etched on her unremarkable features. Of course, she would find a nice, quiet place to die and it would be ruined by one of them. The hornless. But as soon as the thought crossed her mind, she blanched, realizing that like it or not, she was one of them. Tears welled in her eyes, and she halted, closing her amber orbs against the outside world. The equine would not see her cry; she had not fallen so very far, had she?
However, as tears began to leak down her cheeks, it became clear that she had indeed fallen quite that far.
Opening her eyes and seemingly unaware of the drops falling from them or the sniffles emanating from her nostrils, she swallowed hard and continued to make her way forward. Perhaps, if nothing else, the brute would just kill her and put her out of her misery. "Hey - you!" she called, her voice raw and lacking its usual venom. "Might I have a word?"
"Talk talk talk."
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Image Credit
![[Image: psycheicon.png]](http://i800.photobucket.com/albums/yy285/schwartze_asylum/psycheicon.png)
Please feel free to tag me in all replies!
Use of force and/or magic (with the exception of death) is allowed at all times.
Lace the Silverthorn Posts: 459
| Deceased atk: 5 | def: 9 | dam: 5.5 |
| Stallion :: Equine :: 15.3 hh :: 14 HP: 65 | Buff: NOVICE |
|
Fajira :: Plain White Dragon :: Fire Breath
Chan |
Golden eyes was drawn towards a black figure in the gloom just as a hoarse, oddly muffled voice called out to him. Hesitating with a frown forming on the brow, Lace watched with narrowed gaze as a dark mare appeared before him, tall and lean with muscles rippling beneath a velvet coat. There was something naggingly familiar about her. He had seen that blaze before, laid eyes on the high socks, the flowing mane and its unsettling decorations of pegasi feathers and rattling teeth.
Reluctantly the stallion stopped and waited for her to come closer, his entire body screaming out the wariness he felt towards the stranger. From the twitching ears to the swelling arch of the neck, the silken tail still regrowing from an encounter with fire - an embarrassing story, really, more fit for another time - swaying behind the hocks in an attempt to keep the biting flies away from the gray skin.
"Yes?" he replied questioningly. The normally gentle, soothing voice was reserved and short, as always when he first came across strangers who's character he was unable to grasp. This mare... She confused him. For all that she seemed to have been blessed with in terms of health and strength, her eyes were lined with red and bleary, the black cheeks streaked as though by falling tears... Had she been crying?
And then, just as he felt the heart begin to soften for the unhappy soul before him, memory struck the stallion like a whip. A tall, imposing figure on the other side of a battlefield. The sickly sweet voice as she bartered with Mirage over the release of hostages taken, the unusual event of a herd leader in the mercy of another...
What, by all the gods, had happened for the Dark Empress, the Lady of the Basin and the most wicked mare in all of Helovia to look so broken?
Thoroughly confused but too experienced to let it show the silver-maned stallion remained where he was, curiosity now quickly replacing the wariness without for a second relenting any of the suspicion he felt... This was sure to be good.
Dim vales- and shadowy floods-
And cloudy-looking woods,
Whose forms we can't discover
For the tears that drip all over!
Huge moons there wax and wane-
Again- again- again-
♦ Permission granted to use magic and violence on Lace and Fajira
♦ Only tag in new threads, spars and if it's urgent
The Store | The Warden
Psyche the DarkEmpress Posts: 380
| Deceased |
| Mare :: Unicorn :: 15.3 hh :: 8 (ages in Orangemoon) Buff: ENDURE |
| RayoDeSoleil |
As soon as the words left her mouth, she knew it was a mistake. She ought to have turned tail and ran, but no - like an idiot, she had run straight for an unknown stallion, and she no longer had a weapon with which to defend herself. Hooves and teeth were well enough, she supposed, but she had grown up with a dependence on her horn and now... now she wasn't sure she would ever be able to fight again. Not, she remembered with a wince, that she was any good at it anyway, but there you are; the memory resurfaced again of the black skyrat's hoof flying toward her face, the quick duck that had brought her crown into range of the blow, and again the shame and anguish bubbled up in her chest. Some failures, it would seem, are just meant to be relived over and over, much to the dismay of their perpetrators.
And yet she continued onward, toward the dark stallion that wandered alone through the mists of the marsh. As she grew closer, she imagined that she saw recognition in his eyes, though she was sure that she had never met the steed before. A small part of her raised a red flag of warning, but the vast majority of her being was content to continue wallowing in self-pity, effectively drowning out the more logical processes. She came to a halt before him, and his response cut through the night, a short, cool answer to her ridiculous request for company (although really, it would be rather short lived company if she managed to request her own demise as she had originally intended).
"I..." she hesitated briefly, shifting her weight uneasily from side to side. Did she really want to die? Would it really be easier to simply allow death to overcome her, to take her into that unknown afterlife? What of Heaven and Hell? What of the Gods? Would they welcome her into an eternal glory, or would they sentence her to eternal punishment? Worse, what if she simply faded away to nothing at all, never to be remembered, whether fondly or fearfully? Had her body been physically capable of such a feat, a blush would have mantled her cheeks; as it were, she cast her gaze downward in an uncharacteristic display of uncertainty. She swallowed hard. "I was going to ask you to kill me," she admitted softly. "But now I think I'd rather not."
"Talk talk talk."
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Use of force and/or magic (with the exception of death) is allowed at all times.
Lace the Silverthorn Posts: 459
| Deceased atk: 5 | def: 9 | dam: 5.5 |
| Stallion :: Equine :: 15.3 hh :: 14 HP: 65 | Buff: NOVICE |
|
Fajira :: Plain White Dragon :: Fire Breath
Chan |
He waited patiently as the black mare hesitantly stepped closer, a mask of calm relaxation concealing the steely readiness he maintained in case this was some kind of trick. The Dark Empress wasn't known for her predictability, neither for any great amount of kindness - no one could blame the Edge stallion for his caution as he allowed her to approach, gilded eyes resting firmly upon her dark frame.
It surprised him a bit to find that despite her tired and confused look, Psyche actually appeared quite pleasing to the eye. Of the same height as himself, she was fit and slender, a well-sculpted mare with equal parts strength and femininity. He could see old scars cut through the ebony coat, but they didn't mar her appearance as much as lend her an air of seriousness and respect. Lace had to admit that she must know what she was doing on a battlefield; there was no other way she could have survived to mature in such a way, to the point where he felt a reluctant acknowledgment churn the gut.
Her words, as she finally spoke with eyes hesitantly lowered towards the ground, made the silvery grullo flinch. A startled blink interrupted a shocked stare that couldn't hide the astonishment he felt, and for a long moment he remained frozen in place while processing the situation. Eventually he flicked his tail against the hocks and shifted the stance slowly, eyes narrowing around the intense look he gave her.
"I'm relieved" he said, an ear turning to the side atop the poll, "as I'm not much for killing if I can avoid it." The masked head tilted slightly as the surprise settled, once more giving place to the curiosity that always seemed to drag him into strange situations.
"Why... " he began, then cut himself off hesitantly. Did he want to know why this mare wished to end her life? Did it have anything to do with him? She was an enemy, her reign had come with numerous attempts, successful and otherwise, at disrupting the peace in Helovia. Trouble with the Throat, trouble with the Foothills, the kidnapping of countless Edge members... and they had retaliated in kind, unable and unwilling to tolerate the disrespect. Indeed, for the longest time Lace had viewed Psyche as the epitome of evil, overshadowed only by the Reaper that served beneath her - and that was only because he had faced Deimos in combat and experienced his deadly magic first hand.
But as gladly as Lace would see this mare pay for her crimes, it lent a bad taste to the mouth to see her like this. The only other time he had seen her was when she had come to the Edge to negotiate with Mirage, and that time she had been tall, proud, snarky and deceptive, commanding and condescending. This... felt like a completely different mare.
Realizing that he had been holding his breath for a long while the stallion let out a sigh and removed his gaze from the lady, uncomfortable with the entire situation. Should he leave, should he stay, what could he say to make her feel better - did he even want her to feel better? An insecure Psyche was surely a weak Psyche, and this was something he should be making use of. Should... But the thought of forcing the mare along back to the Edge didn't sit well with him, even though it was what he ought to be doing.
"What happened to you, for the Lady of the Basin to be so far away from home?" The yellow eyes that returned to her well-honed frame seemed almost kind as they questioned her presence. Some of the wariness faded from Lace's voice, and after a quick glance towards the sky he decided that he had time to spare on this meeting; not much, but hopefully enough.
Dim vales- and shadowy floods-
And cloudy-looking woods,
Whose forms we can't discover
For the tears that drip all over!
Huge moons there wax and wane-
Again- again- again-
♦ Permission granted to use magic and violence on Lace and Fajira
♦ Only tag in new threads, spars and if it's urgent
The Store | The Warden
Psyche the DarkEmpress Posts: 380
| Deceased |
| Mare :: Unicorn :: 15.3 hh :: 8 (ages in Orangemoon) Buff: ENDURE |
| RayoDeSoleil |
That he recognized her and had met her despite the lack of adornment upon his brow should have concerned her, for it hinted that he was not afraid of her, and a hornless stallion who was not afraid of the former Lady of the Basin, notorious for her dislike of those without a crown (though, granted, they were only rumors) was dangerous. He was either foolish for thinking that she would not harm him, or he was sure that he was strong enough to beat her in a fight. Either way, if she had been in her right mind, she would not have wished herself into such company, but as she had been alone for quite some time now (or, at least, it felt like a long time), any company was preferable to none.
His surprise at her request was almost palpable, and she could not blame him for that. After all, she had fallen so far from how the rumors had surely portrayed her, and he had to be wondering if all he had heard was true. Either that, or if she had lost her mind. Perhaps, in the end, the rumors were false and she was losing it and both unfortunate assumptions were true, but just now, the Empress didn't know, nor did she care. She could see the curiosity grow in his eyes, and he almost asked after her suicidal request, but seemed to think the better of it. Instead, he asked another question, or, rather, the same question in a different way.
Looking at him with lifeless eyes, she shook her head slightly, wishing she could pretend to be anyone else. Unfortunately, she had made herself all too well known to pass for another, nor would she be a very good liar at this point in time. No, the truth would be better. But what was the truth? "I was cast out," she told him. "After I lost the battle and my horn." She paused, and then, barely a whisper: "I just... don't know what to do now."
"Talk talk talk."
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Please feel free to tag me in all replies!
Use of force and/or magic (with the exception of death) is allowed at all times.
Lace the Silverthorn Posts: 459
| Deceased atk: 5 | def: 9 | dam: 5.5 |
| Stallion :: Equine :: 15.3 hh :: 14 HP: 65 | Buff: NOVICE |
|
Fajira :: Plain White Dragon :: Fire Breath
Chan |
On the whole, the situation was pretty bizarre. Here they were, equine and unicorn, racist and equalist, stallion and mare - as opposite one another as two creatures could become. One weak, the other strong (well...), one supposedly at the mercy of the other. What was he supposed to do here? Part of him wanted to cheer the mare up, but the other half screamed in horror over the idiocy such an action surely would prove to be. What, after all, was the point of cheering up a mare who's happiness likely would come at the cost of peace and innocent lives?
Lace struggled where he stood, an inner battle raging behind the stoic kindness of the golden eyes - his suave expression betraying nothing of the mixed feelings he held.
"What would you like to do, if there were nothing to stop you?" he asked, partly from obligation to continue down the path he had stepped out on no matter how slippery the slope was, partly from honest felt curiosity. As much as he loathed everything Psyche stood for, as much as he couldn't bring himself to forgive the suffering she had brought upon his family, he didn't know her. He had no idea what made a racist mind tick, and this opportunity was just too good to let go of.
Cautiously the grullo dared take a half step closer, wary against any sign of aggression from her part. He had no desire to measure himself against such a strong opponent, not today; it was too hot, too cramped and much too gloomy a place to face off on. Besides... she didn't seem to be in any mood for it, gods be blessed.
Dim vales- and shadowy floods-
And cloudy-looking woods,
Whose forms we can't discover
For the tears that drip all over!
Huge moons there wax and wane-
Again- again- again-
♦ Permission granted to use magic and violence on Lace and Fajira
♦ Only tag in new threads, spars and if it's urgent
The Store | The Warden
Psyche the DarkEmpress Posts: 380
| Deceased |
| Mare :: Unicorn :: 15.3 hh :: 8 (ages in Orangemoon) Buff: ENDURE |
| RayoDeSoleil |
Somehow Lace had greatly underestimated the change that the Empress had gone through since the removal of her crown (no pun intended). Of course, one couldn't blame him for it - after all, this was the evil queen, the Dark Empress, the dreaded Lady of the Basin. She had a reputation, after all, and it wasn't all rainbows and butterflies. No, no - she was terrifying, and she had every right to be. She was sly, she was cunning, she was manipulative, she was racist; the list goes on and on. Lace may not know her well, but what he knew of her was surely enough to have him running for the hills after she'd admitted to being suicidal. She wasn't well known for mental stability, after all - for all he knew, she could turn around and kick him in the face in the next thirty seconds. She wasn't in the mood for that, of course, but it still stood to reason that he would be wary.
The jackal knew all of this, though her mind didn't go through the details in the moments that she stood there in silence. Instead, she merely watched him through tired eyes, wondering how this conversation would be going if she wasn't one of the most feared individuals in Helovia. Why was that, anyway? Clearly the image was a farce, a well-designed trick to make her citizens fall in line. Otherwise she would be standing tall and proud among the mountains as she and her minions forced three of the four herds of Helovia to do their bidding. They would be feared, revered, god-like - but she had failed. And they all knew it, they all blamed her for it.
And yet somehow, she was glad. Somehow she was happier standing in the shadowed, murky Marsh with some insignificant, hornless twit than she had been in months of leadership among the most wonderful creatures of the land.
She swallowed hard, and the knowledge tasted of betrayal.
"I'd like to start over," she finally admitted, her vocals quiet. "But you and I both know that won't happen." She smirked slightly, a cold, bitter grimace that, rather than pulling together her famous mask of control, only served to show off the pain of her rejection and the confusion of her self-inflicted banishment. She was as much to blame for her current predicament as they, after all, having left after being confronted about her "abysmal performance" in the battle. She did not hate them for their anger, but the quickness with which they had gotten rid of her still stung. Nor could she bring herself to hate the hornless steed who, despite all prior knowledge of her wrongdoings, chose to stay and talk to her. In fact, there was very little hate in her at all. And if she didn't have that, then who was she, really?
"Talk talk talk."
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Please feel free to tag me in all replies!
Use of force and/or magic (with the exception of death) is allowed at all times.
Lace the Silverthorn Posts: 459
| Deceased atk: 5 | def: 9 | dam: 5.5 |
| Stallion :: Equine :: 15.3 hh :: 14 HP: 65 | Buff: NOVICE |
|
Fajira :: Plain White Dragon :: Fire Breath
Chan |
The black-masked head cocked slightly to the side at her comment, lips pursed as though he was sucking on a thought, not quite sure if the taste pleased him or not. He was surprised - it was threatening to become a permanent state of emotion during this conversation - but hid it well. A hoof changed position, a hollow thud reverberating through the air as solid keratin met with half-rotted wood and squelching water-logged soil; a swarm of gnats drew by, closely followed by a small, unassuming bird foraging for lunch.
"I'm not... so sure about that" he said, the words slow as if he was trying to hold them back and drag them out at the same time. "It will take time, of course. But we all have things in our past that we aren't proud of... Maybe, if you give them a chance... people would be willing to do the same for you."
The look he gave her was thoughtful, measuring. Was she telling the truth? How deep of a change would this 'starting over' prove to cause, if any?
"By 'starting over'... I hope you don't mean another unicorn band to wreak havoc with" he added, a slightly wry grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. "The Basin is causing enough trouble as it is..."
An understatement, of course. They were a source of constant worry and headache, a cause to never completely relax and to keep the border patrols constant and vigilant. Was there any horse in Helovia that slept well, knowing of the threat that loomed in the north?
"Tell me..." he said, hesitant yet too curious now that he had an opportunity to ask, "why is it that the horses of the northern herd can't settle with what they have? Why do they cause so much misery and pain to others?" Why do you hate us? But the last words were left unspoken, only asked in a saddened glance, a slight injured droop of the ears... Did she know how much it hurt to know yourself unwanted?
Yes, somehow he thought she knew that now. It made him pity her - not because she deserved it, but because of the pain he thought they both could share - finally.
Dim vales- and shadowy floods-
And cloudy-looking woods,
Whose forms we can't discover
For the tears that drip all over!
Huge moons there wax and wane-
Again- again- again-
♦ Permission granted to use magic and violence on Lace and Fajira
♦ Only tag in new threads, spars and if it's urgent
The Store | The Warden
Psyche the DarkEmpress Posts: 380
| Deceased |
| Mare :: Unicorn :: 15.3 hh :: 8 (ages in Orangemoon) Buff: ENDURE |
| RayoDeSoleil |
To truly understand the depth of the shadow-mare's hatred, one would have to truly understand the complexity of her past. Are personality traits heritable? It is a question that presents itself as one looks into the family from which the Empress came. Her father was, perhaps, the most racist stallion of all times, destroying their home and family in one fell swoop designed to erase the lessers from existence, leaving himself and his offspring to rule. His plan had failed. Perhaps her hatred stemmed, then, not from a hatred of the inferiors themselves, but from how their presence had driven her family into extinction. Of course, she had never questioned it - after all, watching one's mother burn before one's very eyes leaves a bit of a bitter aftertaste. She had lived her life with anger and vengeance held within her heart. It was only now, when such negativity had fled her mind and left her tired and alone, that she found herself able to question her true motives.
What had she been trying to cleanse, anyway? Her world? Or herself?
She started as he mentioned the Basin wreaking havoc, her amber gaze meeting his with a jolt of surprise. There was a moment of pride before her mind banished it, sneering at the weakness that drew her to support those that she had led. They cast you out, a small voice hissed. They don't care that you led them to this glory. Another voice asked if that was how she wanted to be remembered, anyway. She sighed. "I doubt forgiveness will be so easily given for me," she admitted. "My past is a bit more... colorful than most." Her vocals were musing, and calmness settled into her mind as it had not done for days. At the stallion's next question, she frowned slightly, her brow furrowing. Again her gaze left him, and she found herself staring into the swampland surrounding them, lost in thought. How much misery would she have been spared, had she walked another path? Was she truly regretful of the misery she had caused, or was she merely cowering from the pain of abandonment?
It was not the first time she had felt so betrayed. She had been deserted before. She had been lost before. And she had rallied, pushed herself to the top - but for what? Here she was again, back at the bottom.
She couldn't do it anymore, she realized then. She couldn't hold on to hatred, not when she had come to know what love and friendship (though built, perhaps, on mutual disgust) felt like.
She couldn't be who they would want her to be.
"Hatred is what I was taught," she finally answered, and for once she spoke the truth. "It was in every moment of every day... I thought I was doing the right thing..." she trailed off again, not sure how to proceed, too proud to apologize but too lost to know what else to say.
"Talk talk talk."
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Please feel free to tag me in all replies!
Use of force and/or magic (with the exception of death) is allowed at all times.
Lace the Silverthorn Posts: 459
| Deceased atk: 5 | def: 9 | dam: 5.5 |
| Stallion :: Equine :: 15.3 hh :: 14 HP: 65 | Buff: NOVICE |
|
Fajira :: Plain White Dragon :: Fire Breath
Chan |
He hummed quietly at her words, not so much displeased with the lacking answer as he was surprised that she had responded at all. It had perhaps been an unfair question. How was she supposed to know the reason behind the actions of every single horse she'd once commanded? It would have been impossible, he had to admit, and the only way he would find a definite answer would be to seek out each and every unicorn, every racist and hater out there...
A sigh slipped from him then, and for a while the stallion remained silent where he stood. Quite aware of the passing of time, he kept swatting after pesky biters with the tail as he tried to find a solution to the issues of the world, but eventually found himself forced to give up.
"You're the only one who can come up with an answer, I suppose" he said unhelpfully, throwing a sideways glance at the black mare. "Just... Don't give up, alright? Everyone deserves a second chance, and it's a big world. There will always be people who don't know you, people willing to forgive and let bygones be bygones. As long as you can forgive yourself, I'm sure everything will work out eventually."
To his own surprise the grullo found himself smiling towards the fallen empress, a warm and genuine expression he wouldn't have believed himself able to pull off, knowing who she was and the baggage she carried. The more he spoke to her however, the harder it became to keep up the vision of that bloodthirsty nightmare he always had envisioned when thinking of the basin leader.
"Come to think of it... Who leads the Basin now that you're gone?" he asked, tilting the head curiously as he looked at Psyche.
Dim vales- and shadowy floods-
And cloudy-looking woods,
Whose forms we can't discover
For the tears that drip all over!
Huge moons there wax and wane-
Again- again- again-
♦ Permission granted to use magic and violence on Lace and Fajira
♦ Only tag in new threads, spars and if it's urgent
The Store | The Warden
Psyche the DarkEmpress Posts: 380
| Deceased |
| Mare :: Unicorn :: 15.3 hh :: 8 (ages in Orangemoon) Buff: ENDURE |
| RayoDeSoleil |
The more she thought about her redemption, the more sure she became that she would never gain it; the more she pondered the concept of guilt, the more foreign it became to her; the more she considered the likelihood of forgiveness, the more it became a fantasy. How could they forgive her, after all that she had done? How could they look at her without seeing the lives that she had taken, the souls that she had terrorized, the hatred that she had shown the world? Despite the desire to make things right, the Empress could not help but withdraw from her peers, afraid that they would not accept her, that they would chain her past to her future and refuse to let go. As long as her fear held the reins, she would not be able to push past their doubts and accusations. As long as she ran from her shame, she could never hope to face them. Right then, she couldn't even stand to face herself.
And yet here she stood, with one of them giving her advice, acting as though he cared, going so far as to smile at her - and it was a genuine smile, she could see that through wondering amber eyes - without even the slightest bit of resentment or fear. He stood, relaxed, switching flies off his bum and shooting the breeze with her as though it were an everyday occurrence. And he did this even knowing who she was, knowing what she had done, knowing that she could very well kill him - or, at least, attempt to kill him. In the past half hour, the hornless steed had shown her more kindness than her own species had in the past year.
She was suddenly acutely aware of her shame.
Everyone deserves a second chance, he said. "Do they?" she murmured, half thought and half query, her gaze shrouded with self-doubt and something horribly similar to fear. "Some of your brethren would no doubt say otherwise." She ignored the last words, for she could not bear the thought of facing her own guilt and anger, now directly at herself rather than those surrounding her. How was she to forgive herself when she didn't even know how she had come to be this way?
Lace's final question caught her off guard, and for a moment a flood of betrayal interrupted her thought process. Was he only using her to gather information? Was everything he had said, every attempt to cheer her or at least advise her, a lie? But it passed quickly, for the only trouble he was likely to cause would be the Basin's problem, not hers, and she could not say that she cared anymore. "Deimos leads," she told him. "And Illynx."
"Talk talk talk."
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Image Credit
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Use of force and/or magic (with the exception of death) is allowed at all times.
Lace the Silverthorn Posts: 459
| Deceased atk: 5 | def: 9 | dam: 5.5 |
| Stallion :: Equine :: 15.3 hh :: 14 HP: 65 | Buff: NOVICE |
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Fajira :: Plain White Dragon :: Fire Breath
Chan |
It wasn't that Lace trusted her. It wasn't even that he was all that comfortable standing where he was, chatting away with someone who most would consider a nemesis. He certainly hadn't forgotten the names of those dead and gone by the doing of unicorns while this mare sat on the throne - that was probably the one thing he would have to hold against her no matter what he said to comfort her (which, by the way, was a very strange thing to do, now wasn't it). But, contrary to her belief and to his own surprise the question hadn't been asked to gather intelligence on an enemy. It had rather been an unconscious move to sate his own curiosity and, as the names of the new leaders rolled off her tongue, he realized that he had been wanting to exclude a horrible possibility.
Alas, the name of the Reaper was uttered and Lace felt a shudder of foreboding run down the spine. He couldn't even tell himself what it was about that stallion that scared him so much - purely aside from how he reeked of death and destroyed life wherever he went - but ever since the fight they'd had, the thought of that storm-gray unicorn made a mixture of wrath and terror rise like bile to fret on the tongue.
"Him, eh..." the grullo murmured mostly to himself, unable to mask the unease he felt. "I don't know about you, but I really don't like that horse." The smile had faded and as he looked over at the black mare this time there was concern gleaming behind the amber of his eyes. "I know he was your general and all, but... " this time the shudder was visible, spreading from skin to the neck to the tail and had him shake the head with a sharp snort as though it would be possible to shrug off that creeping sensation.
"Are you really going to just stand by and let him take over?" Suddenly his voice sounded annoyed, and Lace was surprised at his own anger as he thought about Psyche's story. "You're satisfied with being ousted like this?"
"As for forgiveness... Your subjects are responsible for the deaths of two of my best friends" he said, unable to hold back his thoughts any longer, "yet here I am, talking to you instead of taking revenge. Why? Because as much as I would love shoving all the blame on you I know that you weren't the ones who killed them. If your politics had been different you might have been able to stop them - but then again you might not have. Taking out empty revenge on you would be pointless, my family won't come back even if I did, so rather than dwell on it I'm going to forgive and move on. That is not to say that I will ever forget, however, because I won't."
The stallion somehow managed to keep the voice calm despite the emotions that raged within as he spoke, holding the head high and gaze locked with hers. "Don't give up" he repeated. "Many might not have the heart to forgive, but there are plenty out there who at least will give you a chance to repent. I was saved by one of them; I'm sure you will find someone too."
ooc: whoop, sudden rant xD
Dim vales- and shadowy floods-
And cloudy-looking woods,
Whose forms we can't discover
For the tears that drip all over!
Huge moons there wax and wane-
Again- again- again-
♦ Permission granted to use magic and violence on Lace and Fajira
♦ Only tag in new threads, spars and if it's urgent
The Store | The Warden
Psyche the DarkEmpress Posts: 380
| Deceased |
| Mare :: Unicorn :: 15.3 hh :: 8 (ages in Orangemoon) Buff: ENDURE |
| RayoDeSoleil |
His honesty surprised a snorting laugh from her lips, so often laced with poison in the past. If she were the soul-searching kind, she might accept that her disgrace had in fact made her a better individual. She might agree that she was better off without the stress, better off having been disillusioned with her family's obsessive hatred, better off without the constant disgust that had pervaded her lifestyle - but she was not the soul-searching type. She was not interested in introspective ponderings, not interested in finding her 'true purpose' or any of that zen nonsense - no, she was interested in action, and making changes, and being better. She just didn't know how to make that happen.
"He was my general out of necessity, not choice," the shade found herself admitting to the equine. "I did not like him, but he followed along with the goals that we - I -" she cringed at the word, as though hating to take the blame but knowing that it was, indeed, her fault, "- had set. He was useful. That's what it was about, you know - all of my officers, all of my followers, they were selected because I could use them." There was hatred there now, directed not at those she had deemed lesser than herself, but at her own naive, blind stupidity.
She quieted as he threw himself into a rant, though she would be hard-pressed to call it that - his voice was not raised or spiteful, despite the fact that she was very clearly to blame for the pain that he (and so many others) had suffered. But now, it seemed, he wanted her to do something else - he wanted her to go back to what she had been, if not for the reasons that she had before. She shook her head. "I cannot take the Basin from Deimos," she told the stranger. "I was never their choice for leadership. I was a replacement, and a poor one, in their eyes, when Mauja disappeared last Frostfall. They do not support me. They do not want me.
"And yes... I am satisfied. Would you and I be conversing if things had been different? I think not. I would not be seeking a better life. I would not be asking forgiveness. I would not be facing my own doubts about the lifestyle I have led. Is it convenient? No. But maybe it is better." She paused, taking a breath, her voice having become more earnest than she had expected, almost as though she were trying to convince him - or herself. "I am sorry," she told him. "I cannot bring back your loved ones, but I am sorry to have taken them from you."
"Talk talk talk."
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Image Credit
Please feel free to tag me in all replies!
Use of force and/or magic (with the exception of death) is allowed at all times.
Lace the Silverthorn Posts: 459
| Deceased atk: 5 | def: 9 | dam: 5.5 |
| Stallion :: Equine :: 15.3 hh :: 14 HP: 65 | Buff: NOVICE |
|
Fajira :: Plain White Dragon :: Fire Breath
Chan |
She replied in kind to his outburst and Lace was surprised to find himself placated by the calm reason in her words. His black-masked head sunk lower and lower as tension slipped from the muscles, until finally he sighed and nodded. She was right, of course. Better a lost, exiled Psyche than a Psyche on the ice throne - one could be reasoned with, the other was just a giant pain in the ass. Come to think of it, wasn't his objection more for the sake of taking down Deimos than because he thought the black queen should keep ruling her herd? It was quite unfair of him to try and push such a daunting task onto someone else...
What he certainly hadn't expected was an apology, however. It left him blinking and struggling to find words as it came, wondering for a second if he truly could accept it just like that. Such a feeble word, so easily spoken... But yes. The simple fact that a condolence actually had been extended somehow eased a bit of the pain that always clenched the heart of the gray steed - as if a piece of the iron shackles had rusted away and left a little more room for movement.
"Thanks" he whispered slowly and pinched the eyes shut, growing silent as the images of the golden paints he had loved and lost passed before the inner vision. Eventually a faint smile returned to his face, small and sad yet a smile nonetheless, and as Lace pried open an eye and peered over at the horn-less unicorn there was a glitter of amusement in the look she was given.
"Now isn't that a change... I think you might be right, this change seems to be an improvement. Who would have thought that Psyche would ever apologize to anyone..." A mischievous toss of the head let the stallion reach closer to her, and in an almost playful manner he nipped after a lock of hair in her mane. With smacking noises he pried the feet loose of the muddy holes he had sunk into as they spoke, wrinkling the muzzle in disgust at the stinking muck that covered the hooves.
"I think... I better get moving" he said reluctantly and threw a look at the sky, noticing how the sun had shifted - noon had passed, and it would take its sweet time getting out of this bog. "I'm due north.. Would you care for some company, or are you heading somewhere else?" In a way it would be a shame to simply leave now that they had begun to get somewhere, but on the other hand Lace didn't have time to stand around. Who would have known that he could find enjoyment in the company of a Basiner - the very idea would have made him laugh an hour ago. Now he realized that he didn't actually want to leave... Fancy that.
Dim vales- and shadowy floods-
And cloudy-looking woods,
Whose forms we can't discover
For the tears that drip all over!
Huge moons there wax and wane-
Again- again- again-
♦ Permission granted to use magic and violence on Lace and Fajira
♦ Only tag in new threads, spars and if it's urgent
The Store | The Warden
Psyche the DarkEmpress Posts: 380
| Deceased |
| Mare :: Unicorn :: 15.3 hh :: 8 (ages in Orangemoon) Buff: ENDURE |
| RayoDeSoleil |
The shadow-mare did not want to return to the Aurora Basin; of that, she was sure. Her body even seemed to reject the notion of the cold, having begun to shed the thick, dark pelt that had become a staple during her time in the northern herd. It was perhaps not as noticeable in the dark, murky swamp that she stood in now, conversing with a hornless brute that previously would have been just as happy to see her head on a platter, but it was happening all the same. Her auds flickered back and forth, a hind leg cocked in a relaxed manner as the shade allowed her guard to fall. If someone had told her a month ago that this was where she would end up, she would have laughed in their faces and challenges them for the blasphemy. But now, for whatever reason, she found that she could not think of any place she would rather be.
Is this who I really am? she wondered, a flicker of hope blooming in her breast as she realized that maybe, just maybe, she was not the monstrosity that those who knew her saw. Maybe she was not the dark, brooding Empress that she saw when she looked in the mirror. Maybe she was something more than what her father had shaped her to be. Somehow, this stallion - did she even know his name? - had brought her from the darkness that had clouded her mind in the days since the loss of her horn and her crown. Somehow, despite the fact that by her old standards, he was clearly lacking in the most important way (silently, she laughed at her own misguided hatred), she had come to enjoy his company, and perhaps deep down, she recognized that she owed him her sanity. Perhaps she owed him her life. He thanked her, and her ears pricked toward the sound. Had anyone ever thanked her for anything before? She wanted to laugh. She wanted to cry.
It was an odd feeling for one who was generally emotionless, even if such a state had been by choice. Now she was free.
He tossed his head with a rather mischievous glint in his eye, and he reached out to tug playfully at her mane. Upon meeting him, she would have flinched away from the motion, expecting only anger and bloodlust to permeate those who came upon her; now, he managed to draw a reluctant, almost bashful smile from her lips. When he pulled his hooves free from the mud, the disgusting squelching noise shoved her auds backwards; she shifted her own weight, and as she freed her pistons from the muck, she was sure that her own expression mirrored his. To her surprise, he invited her to join him; even more surprisingly, a large part of her wanted to say yes. He had seen through the facade that she had shown the world for so long, talked her out of the depths of despair, and for the first time in her life, she felt that she had found who she truly was. But to go north... no. That, she could not do.
She swallowed, hard, wistfulness a shadow in her amber gaze. "I'm afraid that returning north would be uncomfortable," she admitted softly. "But..." She hesitated, her gaze dropping to the ground before flickering up to his face once more. "Perhaps we will meet again."
She would like that very much.
"Talk talk talk."
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Image Credit
Please feel free to tag me in all replies!
Use of force and/or magic (with the exception of death) is allowed at all times.
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