the Rift


This Macabre Dance

Epona Posts: N/A
Unregistered
:: :: ::
#1

Epona
~No wealth, no ruin, no silver, no gold
Nothing satisfies me but your soul~





Ice eyes gently close, canceling out the swampy horizon that spread out before the mare. The creature stood stock still, like a statue in the middle of the murky earth, as if she was grown into the thin passage way. A slight breeze twisted through the thin trees, lifting the mare’s thick banners upwards in a strange macabre dance. Along with the breeze the small trinket that laid against her chest, closest to her heart along a simple string, the old and worn vertebrae that the mare kept sacred began to tap into her body. Behind her eyelids dark memories began to wiz past her gaze, steering dangerously close to the past that she tried to keep locked inside a thick cage. The face of which the bone belonged to threatening her fragile mind. The mare’s gaze snapped back open. She did not need to have one of her moments. The times when she grew weak and mourned the loss of her sanity, when she broke down and allowed icy tears to roll down her masked face. Those were the moments that she truly hated. She wanted to be strong, stronger than any equine who dared to live in the lands of Helovia. Alas she would never get that way if she allowed her emotions to get the best of her, only the weak did so. So, of course, she would have to cancel out any of the emotions that ruined her in such a way. She would have to destroy all of her old memories. Become as cold as the land that she now called home. It would take years to do so, lots of struggle and pain, but she could do it. She could become strong. She would reach her goals; reach the blessed light of blankness.

The mare shook her elegant frame slightly, riding herself of all these thoughts. Gaze trails along the murky land that stretched out before her. It was a horrid place here, not near the beauty of the Basin of which she now called home. But this land did have an aspect that Epona loved. The sweet smell of death permeated the whole land; it canceled out any other scent. It caused the mare’s pulse to race, her blood to pump under her skin, it was a sweet exhilaration. As the mare perked her ears forward the wind began to howl between the many gnarled trees that shot up from the murk. Beneath the melodies of the howl it seemed as if thousands of screams echoed inside the sound. The voices of the hundreds of equine that were trapped in this land. It was as sweet as a symphony to the mare. She knew those screams well, they echoed the sound of her many victims. Each kills that the mare greatly enjoyed. Her lust for death almost exceeded her yearning for the meat that such death provided, almost. This was why the beast had traveled to this land. She was a wanderer, she did not wish to stay put for too long. True, her home was beautiful. The sweet cold was much more preferable than the sweltering heat that the beast found anywhere else. The equines there seemed to be tolerable enough, or so she believed. She would call that place her home for most of her life, and the mare felt perfectly fine with that. But she could not spend all of her hours there; she would go even madder than she already had. So she traveled the lands of Helovia. But not every place caught her eye. This was one of the few that truly did make the mare proud of her land. Death always colored the creature happy. Few equines could understand this; few knew the true beauty of death. The alluring color of crimson blood. The melodic tune of screaming, equines begging for mercy. The lovely scent that death brought to the land. The grand splendor of defeating an opponent. Few horses understood this and so the mare was forced to find a land that did, and this was just that place. This land understood that death was a necessity of life. It came to everyone; even the strongest of equines fell to death’s frail hands. Those who shortened this time period would surely be blessed by death when the time came for them to fall as well; for they had provided death with play things, company in his murky void. The mare chuckled lightly, eyes roaming the land once more. Perhaps this was death’s land. It seemed quite fitting. How he would sing and dance to the glorious screams that echoed throughout the stale air. ”Oh death, if you are here, bless your favored servant with your company. For I am weak from travel and would enjoy the company of one such as yourself.” She was not asking to die, no her time was not now. She was only asking to see her rulers face, to acknowledge that he favored her as she dreamed he did. Had death ever shown his face to an equine? Did he waste his ghostly breath upon the air of what vile creatures lived in this land? Epona was unsure, but if he so chose to appear he would be in the presence of his most loyal servant.
@[Africa]





Africa the Starry-Eyed Posts: 727
Deceased
Mare :: Pegasus :: 16 :: 6 (Tallsun) Buff: NOVICE
Silas :: Common Zephyr :: Roc Riven
#2
AFRICA
Diviner for Dragon's Throat

She could not tell the reason which compelled her; could not find the driving force behind this journey, possibly the most unusual and out of her way since coming to Helovia more than one year ago. Pale gold and glistening beneath the dappled streaks of seeping sun-rays, the mare’s eyes were cast towards the vast heavens although their longing was quashed by the thick mesh of mangrove canopy. She was unused to thickets, forests and dense, crowded scrubland- the Threshold was filled with sparsely scattered trees, fresh pine tinged winds and glorious sunshine; and her homeland was even less vegetated, a sandy, searing desert.

Unruly tangles of confused vines tousled across the narrow, crude goat-track which offered her tentative tread small guidance; snagging unsuspecting hooves as they struggled to navigate and shun the quicksand mud lurking hungrily to each side below. Already she had slipped three times, her breath choking in her lungs as she scrambled and scrabbled to the meagre elevation that the trail provided through the marsh. Lean forelegs which normally were dressed so smartly in white were caked in sludge; in the sort of pungent filth that caused her nostrils to pinch with distaste, and her ears to recline objectionably. So too were her hind legs sheathed in slurry, and the sprawling length of her crimson and black tail was snarled with bristly burs, spiked twigs and; damp and putrid.

The stale, foul air was unpleasant to taste and even Silas’s dry avian tongue with the few tastebuds held, curled with displeasure. He rode as sentry, rocking with the switch of his beloved’s hips; gripping tightly the silken drape which concealed the dappled flesh of her rump. Beady eyes, shining black and masked by subtle purple, scanned the strange new world as it wrapped so snuggly about them and his neck was stretched dutifully upwards; on high alert. It was murky and dull where the sun struggled helplessly to touch, and although he was a creature most comforted by the shadow of midnight, this realm of must and mystery was not quite the same. Star speckled feathers were dulled by the half-light, the purple sheen when he moved in place dismal without the sheer stroke of day.

Once they had come; a previous jaunt long, long ago. Africa could not recall easily the turn of events that gruesome day (her mind had been so fouled by bitter guilt; her heart shattered by cruelty before unknown), but the ravenous gaze of a predator seemed constantly to blitz before the blink of her nervous eyes. What she felt now, burning the pit of her gentle heart was ominous and terrible and should the path have been ever so slightly broader, more stable and honest, the vulnerable one-winged creature might have quickly about-faced and retreated in the direction she had come. It was not to be though, and she wondered if that was the trap which had ensnared her unwitting soul before. She listened carefully to the steady funnelling of air as it funnelled into her body; the weight of her throbbing pulse echoed through her sensitive ears, though she was glad for it today, unable to hear those blood curdling sounds which carried on the virulent winds breath.

It was eerie and cool, and her skin prickled wildly beneath the light cloak which slipped and slid around the sleek dry mass of her walking body. Warmth plumed beneath the heavy curtain of oily mane where it fell along the graceful line of her neck, and she focused on that feeling; the cosiness when the wily fingers of wind were not slipping beneath.
Suddenly, long heavy ears lifted to listen; a voice that she could not force out, that was real and so near. Trembling legs paused and a low rumble echoed through the split of the Zephyr’s clacking beak. There was someone ahead, though not dithering across the path like she. Africa drew a breath to hold in anticipation, her heart pumping faster as her eyes sought the unfamiliar shadow of a horse through the gnarled swamp trees. The Oracle stood motionless, struck by the horror of the words just spoken; paralysed by that which her tender mind could hardly stand to fathom- and she just watched the figure milling through the cesspool with wide, uncertain eyes.




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