| Hidden Account atk: 5.5 | def: 9.5 | dam: 5 |
| Stallion :: Unicorn :: 15.2 :: 3 HP: 62 | Buff: NOVICE |
| wanda |
He was a philosopher with young eyes, a theorist and egalitarian, who vouched for his words with a stubborn resolution. He was a believer, a worshiper, of the stars and the lunar system, the rotation of the sun and the realms of the sky; but he was also a dreamer, so that sometimes his ivory horn stuck into the alabaster clouds. He moved in light-stepped ease, his cleft hooves not making even a ghost of a sound, all gay grace, poise, and delicate finesse. He was Carnesîr, the twilight ghost, the sun prince, the shadow lord, painted in silver and garbed in shadow, a sovereign who had become a nothing, and loved it.
From the porcelain shores he slipped, making his way down south from the sleek white sand and the steady roar of cold salt water smashing against the alabaster. It was not long until the earth grew damp with rotted leaves, and the trees engulfed his lithe form, swallowing up his shadow in a moment until he was a wraith in the dark smears of the withered old trees with their cracked bark and gnarled branches. The sun rose as he trekked on through the night, unafraid, at ease despite the rustles of bushes without identifiable sources, all liquid muscle and feline agility, tail twitching and kinking, soft plume of ebony hair just inches above the ground. The white eye of the Sun God bled yellow over the dark blue, a crisp shade of gold that twinkled with the stars that did not want to let go, clinging in desperation, little burrs on a velvet pelt. It illuminated the dark world in filigree aubreate, the dew-wet leaves glowing faintly with the kiss of the sunrise.
Rain began to fall, silver mist rolling in from the ocean, pale gray and dusty white clouding the world and enveloping it in a thickening fog. Ever more than usual Carnesîr blended in, only his soaked obsidian mane visible, catching dewdrops until he was a net of silver. His tail-tip whisked over the damp earth, ebony hairs trailing just faintly on the earth, almost, just almost, comforting him as his thoughts swirled backed to Onni, the ray of sunlight in the perpetual tide of darkness. The stallion, the boy of the edge of manhood, paused by a spectral marsh of thick black mud and boggy earth, narrow trails and bloated corpses. Down his eyes were cast, looking at the placid, cold water hiding white bodies tepid and dead, god they were dead, oh my god he couldn't remember seeing anyone dead before, and they were rotting away, crumbling and decaying and turning putrid and god never mind, let's just run away.
Onwards Carnesîr moved, till the swamp-waters turned to squelching peat and damp earth, the pine trees thicker than the dead, barren sticks that were white and ghastly rising up and clawing at the skies. He slowed to a halt beneath a silver tree, tall and luminous among the shadows, and inhaled and exhaled, letting his chest quiver and shake a little, and stared up at the dead twigs that had flowers blossoming on them, delicate white flowers that gleamed faintly with an ivory light, as if they were daring to be alive among the dark and the death.
carnesîr,
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for @[Israfel] the fire princess ♥
| Hidden Account |
| Filly :: Tribrid :: 16.1 hands :: 2 Years |
| Sparrow |
09-27-2013, 05:34 PM
(This post was last modified: 10-26-2013, 04:46 AM by Israfel.)
Israfel Azardokht
Dawn had at last come to Helovia.
Through the lands she had traveled, a pale facade of vulnerability. Young, innocent, and ignorant to much of how the world itself worked, the sun child had left her safe home of the World's Edge to expose herself to these very things. Innocent she was, but vulnerable she would never be. The flames of her father ran through her very being, dancing fires and shining lights incarnate, and it was time to act. No longer would she stand idly by while the rest of the world danced around her, mocking her for her foolishness and self-righteousness. Young though she may be, the Sun demi-God was tired of her inactivity. It was time to rise.
Through the world she traversed, the recent rain and humidity causing the ivory strands of her mane to hang damp about her cherubic face, curling in golden-tipped waves about her neck. Gilded wings lay folded and close to her sides for aid in protection against the wet elements, a condition that the child of fire found detestable. A soft snort left pink-kissed nostrils, sharp, cunning vermillion eyes surveying the thick fog that spun around her. Never had she wandered these parts of Helovia, these unnamed manifestations of stench and decay.
The joy of the dawn was lost on the sun-child, who was stricken by a case of unnamed melancholy due to the rain. Israfel detested the rain. She loathed the way that the drops of water clung to her skin and her coat, the humidity in the air causing the feathers of her wings to be heavy and water-logged. Around her, the air was thick and acrid, and each breath filled her with a foul sense of trepidation.
"... Disgusting."
That was the only word in which Isra could relate this place with. Disgusting, condenmable, deplorable. Around her, dead trees and rather pathetic plants of lacking foliage attempted to cling to life, stretching skywards like hands of the undernourished pleading for salvation. Golden hooves sunk into the peat and the decaying earth, each step causing a rather unsatisfactory squuueellch! to resonate within the stale air. Isra made a face of contempt and yet continued her journey. But towards what?
She had left the Edge to fulfill her father's wishes, so perhaps there was no set destination... While the land of the moon and the dancing mists would always be her home, she had now become a wanderer. A gypsy. Israfel paused and then snorted in laughter. A fire gypsy. Were there such things?
"What a peculiar thought," the young female muttered to herself, taking a rather large step over a puddle of what looked to be bubbling mud. Yet another thing to be counted as 'peculiar'. "That I should be traipsing through a marsh as deplorable as this, searching for something that I don't even know of..." Trailing off, Isra's crisp vermillion depths surveyed the fog around her, and the young fire-child spotted something in the mists. Was there another, or had it been a trick of the eye? It was so hard to tell with the fog as thick as it was... And yet, she had thought she had spotted a body; large, dark, and muscular.
Taking another step forward, Israfel's neck stretched outwards, a few damp strands of her forelock sliding downwards to hinder her sight. "Hello? Is someone there?"
[ooc: Wanderer, your writing is absolutely gorgeous. <3]
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slime-stock.deviantart.com | AlzirrSwanheartStock.deviantart.com | foureyestock.deviantart.com | LucieG-stock.deviantart.com
| Hidden Account atk: 5.5 | def: 9.5 | dam: 5 |
| Stallion :: Unicorn :: 15.2 :: 3 HP: 62 | Buff: NOVICE |
| wanda |
Ah, what are those graceful, joyful words again? Young love. Bodies curling together, tails twining, the moon bathing pale flesh, shocks flaring atwixt the two children like an electric eel. Nostrils flaring, quivering, drinking in the scorching hot scent of electric boy and electric girl, for a moment one entity, burning with their fevered passion, united. The world turns to ashes behind them, fading away in their glaring brilliance.
Carnesîr, like any young boy, wishes intimately to lay down with a pretty girl. Of course, also like any young boy caught lollygagging between handsome, swaggering stallion and vaguely awkward colt, he is not, perhaps, the most adept at fishing out girls, nor are girls typically drawn towards him (ah, but wait! They are, as he likes to think, charmed by his eccentrics and peculiarities.) Still he dreams, entertains, conjures images of idyllic love and big-eyed girls with sleek curves. He will chart and map those curves, look at the swooping lines, admire the soft, forever off-limits, seductive and sexual bodies of the many attractive ladies who seem to swarm Helovia in droves. This is a stallion who wants to wake up on the right side of the wrong bed, who wants to press close to those distant, luscious flanks, but he would never dare voice his lust.
It is an impurity on his white soul, and he must purge himself of it as Galathil did before him, and his mother, and all of his royal predecessors.
He bathes in the rain, pretending it washes away the dreadfully mundane and mortal thoughts. It runs down his face, frigid fingers swirling idyllic patterns down his cold face, dripping off his thick, coal-black eyelashes and glistening on the small of his silver back. Up he looks, at the barren expanse of white branches clattering, creating a small, marvelous wonder of art; the gray grinning dully through the deathly pale twigs. Slowly at first, he begins to stir, his cleft hooves trailing through the leaf mold and the old, weary earth. Then he moves faster, quickening, heart thumping in his chest.
He begins to dance.
Carnesîr moves, each step almost weighted, as if the wrong movement could set forth a disaster; he drifts and swirls, a leaf caught by an invisible wind, legs stepping over one another with sure-footed elegance only snared by weeks of practice. The rain falls harder on his face, fat wet drops that explode and shatter, tiny bullets. They can't get through. He is invulnerable, impossible to defeat, invincible! Again and again he turns and shifts, drifting and floating, pulled along by this unexplainable need to dance, to revisit the grace he spent months capturing and binding to his gangly body. Only then, suitably numbed by the utter sensation of loneliness, do his eyes drift shut, head tilted upward, soaked, tangled mane caught on his neck. He is ugly, but beautiful; grotesque, but suave; awkward, and yet more exquisite than all the swans.
The pure, unbrindled joy on his face- a special happiness born from nothing but the patter of the rain on the damp earth- can lift broken souls from the earth and send them to heaven.
Then he is interrupted, pulled from his dance by a fire-girl with a mantle of gold and a cloak of cream.
"Dance with me!" He laughs in answer to her question, drifting closer to her form, eyes sparkling madly and searching for hers, appearing from the rain without sound. There is a grin on his face, wide and big as the world. "Come on! I'll be your king for a night, and you can be my queen!"
carnesîr,
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| Hidden Account |
| Filly :: Tribrid :: 16.1 hands :: 2 Years |
| Sparrow |
Israfel Azardokht
Her question seemed to fall on deaf ears, for the dark shadow hidden beneath the thick fog made no indication that he had heard. For a few moments the pale creature had stood there, dripping wet and soaked to the core, vermillion eyes squinting through the churning fog to see if her question had even reached the ears of the wayward stag.
Pale lips opened to form another greeting, ready to raise her voice above that of a beckoning call... And yet a sudden, coiling blur of movement caused the words to die in her throat, and her mouth to go just a bit dry. Twisting, turning, dancing, the figure cloaked in darkness began to lift his feet and move in a way that Israfel had never seen a creature do. Even the birds could not move with such grace, such heartfelt and pure joy... Through the mists the dark-clad male came, the mop of his thick mane sullied due to the rain and clinging to his muscled features. As he approached her, twisting and turning like a newborn on its first frolic, the young fire-child could do no more than take a step backwards in pure shock.
What in the name of the Gods was he doing?
She could not fathom the joy that this brute felt, the all encompassing desire to simply whirl through the air like the wind, as if fueled by the onslaught of wetness around them. And yet... Despite the surprise, the shock, the abruptness of it all and the uncertainty that glistened within her pale breast, Israfel could not help but feel drawn towards the dance. A pale muzzle outstretched, tinted pink, fiery orange depths captivated and enthralled by the twists and turns of the horned male. A yearning began to rise within her, starting within the pits of her stomach, and moving both northwards and south. Something unnamable, something... Feral.
What was this?
"Dance with me!" Came the shout from this joyous youth, as he had finally paused in the midst of his rain dance. It was enough for her to finally assess him, to truly see him for what he was. "Come on! I'll be your king for a night, and you can be my queen!"
The unnamable feeling still remained, the yearning to join this fellow in dance, and yet... Never before had a male looked upon her with such intensity that he did, the wild, all consuming, mad look. It made her self conscious, and unwittingly the pale creature had pulled her gilded wings even closer to her sides, as if shielding herself from his prying eyes. He asked her to dance... Would it be rude to turn him down? And in the rain, no less?
"I... I'm afraid that I don't know how," Israfel spoke at last, her voice soft, low, sensual like warm honey. Her gaze, once averted, flicked shyly towards the earthen orbs of the dancing male. "I-I have never danced before, at least... Not upon the ground." Dancing in air, however... Now that was an entirely different story.
[ooc: Sorry for the long wait, Wanderer <3 Thank you for your patience, and I'm also sorry for this not so great post. xD]
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slime-stock.deviantart.com | AlzirrSwanheartStock.deviantart.com | foureyestock.deviantart.com | LucieG-stock.deviantart.com
| Hidden Account atk: 5.5 | def: 9.5 | dam: 5 |
| Stallion :: Unicorn :: 15.2 :: 3 HP: 62 | Buff: NOVICE |
| wanda |
12-02-2013, 04:02 AM
(This post was last modified: 12-02-2013, 04:05 AM by Carnesîr.)
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carnesîr
Through the deluge that presses frigid fingers into slate flesh, turning rivulets down his spine and constellations upon sable lashes, he sees the fire-girl retreat from his oncoming physique. The encompassing bliss and jubilance is replaced by a twinge of melancholy, striking as the lightning that dances within ashen clouds of soot far above the Earth, and dual creatures, below. For in response to her pulchritude, he is but pabulum and disfigured, a cygnet in comparison to it's matured, glorious growth.
His falter but lasts a moment, for the fiery girl brings forth her maw, creamy sinew and flaming oceans that captivate the elven child with the desire that grows as candlelight within, and once more elation burns within his breast, down into the marrow of his bones, the long, spindly ligaments that move with the beat of his heart and the patter of the raindrops upon the mud.
As he pauses his dance among the downpour, leonine tail twisting and curling and swishing as if he still drifts with the leaves, the breathless smile upon his maw is shining with the ravishment that blooms as flowers along his entire frame, sides heaving with exertion, chilled sweat mixing with the rain upon clammy skin. His breath whooshes forth from widened nostrils, creating milky clouds that rise high into the atmosphere, though Carnesîr feels anything but cold at this very moment. Lá, he is aflame, shimmering as the droplets that catch the brilliance of the fire girl and reflect her warmth, umber pearls twinkling with delight,s indulgence in the sight of the mistress before him as he awaits her response.
He does not miss the way the way she brings flame-kissed wings flush against her sides, almost as if she wishes to hide herself from him, and he cannot fathom the reasoning as to why. The girl is sumptuous, dazzling as the stars and bright as the Sun, and he feels his gangly ligaments move forth as he attempts to close the short distance between them, dome lowered ever so slightly in a friendly fashion, warm orbs fastening upon her face. Don't hide away. His mind whispers: I'm nothing to be afraid of.
He does not come too close, for he doesn't want to crowd the fire child, and instead extends his maw this time, a offering, if she shall take it, a greeting that promises the gentlest brush of skin against skin, although he will understand if she does not take it. He is a stranger, after all, nothing more. (Although, does he not feel a craving grow within his mortal flesh, a want for her to be more then a pretty face?)
And then she speaks, a soft, sensual murmur of admittance that leaves his spine tingling and goosebumps to rise upon his frame. The warmth from his core spreads across his entire frame as she flickers her gaze once more to him, she has never danced before and the way in which she says these words (as if he would snap and snarl and turn into a hungry wolf at her lack of knowledge) scalds him. He wishes to comfort her, to silence her uncertainties, and yet he does not know how.
Her last line of speech causes his earthen gaze to drift to her wings, then to the rain that falls still around the two of them, blankets them as the warm body of a mother against her still young child, and once more to her. A longing stirs within him, a yearning of knowledge, a passion that spreads through his pearls, for she is the source of this influx of emotions. Mirth mixes with desire, and as the rivers that flow through the meadows, his voice low and soft and sweet.
"Show me, hiril vuin."
— Hiril vuin : Beloved Lady
Credits
The card games and ease with the bitter salt of blood
I was in but I want out
My mother's love is choking me
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[P] the sublunary versus the heliotrope
