the Rift


[PRIVATE] look her in the eyes, see her story there.

Frost Fyre Posts: 198
Outcast atk: 5 | def: 9 | dam: 5.5
Mare :: Unicorn :: 15.3hh :: 6 Years HP: 64 | Buff: NOVICE
Altair :: Common Cerndyr :: Starpast prissy
#1

Her bonded had aged, yet no signs of elemental abilities showed. A frown creased the girls lips as she examines her Vessel, wondering if he was just.. a later bloomer. Certainly the Gods couldn't gift late bloomers to their loyal worshipers? The small creature struggles to get away, but the girl is larger than he, and she easily overpowers him. Whining like a baby he finally gets his way, the girl releases him, lets him run away from her for a moment. She stands and watches the Vessel roam, a gentle breeze lifting her locks. A word echoes through her mind, a delicate voice reminding her heart of where it lies.

Carnesîr.

She misses him, the stallion of her own age, the one with the sweet smile. He was flirty the first time they had met, and that made her happy. Someone liked her, and not someone she didn't know. She smiles at the image of the stallion, her stomach fluttering. Her hormones rage within her, her body itching. She walks forward, almost falling. You knock me off my feet you bastard. She smirks, her tail weaving loosely between her legs as she steadies herself. Her vessel nudges her side, and she looks down and smiles. The cold creeps beneath her skin, making her shiver.

She leads her bonded to the Springs, exhaling gently as she steps forth into the warm waters. A screen of steam rises, disfiguring her image. Her skin is moist as she soaks in the water. It relieves her tense muscles, relaxes her aching body. She exhales, her worries flowing out with her breath. She wants to see him again. She needs to see him again. Yet she knows its going to turn into one of those sad love stories where the girl falls in love at first sight, but in the end their love is something she made up in her head. Her Vessel lays down beside the Springs, basking in the steam. She settles in, relaxing in a silent moment that wouldn't last.

"Speech."

FROST FYRE
Second chances they don't ever matter, people never change.

image credits


@[Carnesîr] BECAUSE SHE WANTS HIM
Dawn is coming
open your eyes

Carnesîr Posts: 60
Hidden Account atk: 5.5 | def: 9.5 | dam: 5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 15.2 :: 3 HP: 62 | Buff: NOVICE
wanda
#2
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Grievous, poignant bitterness pervades through mortal flesh, cauterizes a beating, vermilion muscle inside the contours of an elegant chest, burnt, twists his stomach in a endless cycle, illness plaguing his
bodice as a cloud that hung in the harvested skies. The scholar has not clutched such acidicness to his bosom in centuries, ions, and still it pervades, there is blood upon his knees and sanguine that stains his lower flesh, sweat and bleakness rolling off his sinew as rivulets of water from the crevices of the darkened Earth itself. He had been composed, indulgent, meek and mild-tempered for decades, endured the scorn, slander, affront toward his person, ignored the catacomb of voices inside his mind's eye of that whom has piqued damage, there is resentment and sorrow and he remembers now with startling clarity just how close the obsidian and alabaster man had been to killing him.
And for what? What had he done, what had he done that caused such displeasure, such animosity, such distaste? He cannot regret what occured between the Shadow and he, for the childe born from her womb has fixated him with adoration, affection, rolling tides that clash and battle between one another. The young one was innocent, excellence: It took two to create a babe, and it was not all his fault that the youngling had come into the world. The woman had consented, and he had not taken her by force.

Not like it mattered. She had treated him as filth, when mere concern laced his mind, joyous and exalted to see her once more, he was cast from her sight, treated as that of a foe, a enemy, and somewhere within a locked chest remains the sentiment that perhaps, perhaps she deserved to be treated the same, to experience hatred, dislike, distaste as much as he (a even darker part of his mind whispered, maybe, just maybe, the loathing he had received had been due to the pearl horn that juts forth from his brow, had not all those whom had spat venom towards him been winged as the avians? he thought they were).
Would they have despised him, had such aversion to him, if he had come on the wings of angels? Would they have wished for his demise quite so much, if he had not come from the northern lands?
It may have been bitterness that mutated his mind, reformed, rebuilt the very walls in which he stood upon, perhaps it was the lingering feeling of a gritty hoof upon his cheek, the harsh voice that flooded his auditory glands with such emotion, and perhaps the hostility that was so seldom felt would dissipate as the leftover rivers from the rain did in the heat of the Sun above.
But Carnesîr doubted, hestiated, to forgive those whom had so readily acted upon but thoughts. They did not know him. She did not know him.
He did not want her to.

Because then she would know truly how correct she had been, how righteous she had been, when she had called him weak.
She would know how much of a monster he was.

And Carnesîr shrunk from that very thought.
So here he was, wandering, weaving through mindless endeavor, dancing among the growing snow and ice of the Basin, reaching with grasping strings towards the billows of steam ahead of his visuals, and a weight is lifted off damned withers because this, if one thing is to be certain of, is home.
He does not expect to see the girl, still all charcoal and terracotta, glaciers scattered across her rump, disfigured by wafts of super heated clouds rising from the inviting water's, and he tries to remember and— ah, there it is, Frost Frye. But there is something different, something amiss, and he notes a furry ashen figurine next to her. They were not equine, no, most certainly not, and as he comes closer he sees that it resembles that of a deer, mixed with that of a elken creation.
Taken with inquisitiveness, curious, examining before speech attempts to flow forth cracked lips, he is thirsty, craving, and a sad little smile drifts across a sooty maw as he slips into the consoling depths of the Hot Spring. Liquid sloshes against his hide, tail swishing with ease beneath shielded waves of heat, wistful chocolate gaze settling upon her voluptuous frame. She has grown in his time from her, and he drinks in her scent as a dying man may gulp lifegiving water.
"Frost."

A single syllable, sapped from its strength, soft and lilting accent remaining behind a torrent of exhaustion. It has been used well.
For shouting. And crying.
It has been used well for pleading upon deaf harks, too. Fractured as it is, the faintest glimmer of delight begins to thrum within his soul, for were they not friends?
"It has.. been a while, no? Mana— who is this you have alongside you?"
but secretly
they're saviours

Credits
BALLARE : SUNOWL : PHOTOGRAPHYANDGOATS</style>

Frost Fyre Posts: 198
Outcast atk: 5 | def: 9 | dam: 5.5
Mare :: Unicorn :: 15.3hh :: 6 Years HP: 64 | Buff: NOVICE
Altair :: Common Cerndyr :: Starpast prissy
#3

Emerald pools catch movement, a dark shape closing in on her. Through the thick veil of steam, features are blurred and indistinguishable. Flicking delicate lobes forward, the girl watches a face appear before her. It is him, the man she was thinking of moments prior. He must see her companion, for his eyes flick from her bodice to somewhere off to her side. She lets free a meaningful smile, one that is not faux, it is instead something real. Her heart melts into a thousand butterflies, all trying to flee from her hollow frame. Her stomach curls itself into a multitude of knots, lashes flickering. She wanted to believe it was all a dream, a fake reality she had woven in her own mind. But she knows it is no dream, no fantasy of hers, it is indeed reality. Her lips open and quiver, her words are soundless.

"Frost."

Oh how good it felt to hear his sweet voice. His words were always so wise, so noble. There was something wrong, however. His looks, his perfectly carved features were off, and that sweet, delicious tone to his voice had been overthrown. His next words are tinted with delight, yet she cannot tell if he is hiding something deep, a feeling that is so raw within him. She offers delicate words, her joy ready to pour out from her brim. "It has been quite a while. Tell me, what have you been up to?" He mentions her vessel, which brings her to turn towards the coal dusted child. She smiles, inhaling. "That is Altair, my bonded. I received him from a beached whale, who had risked her life to give the egg to me." Eyes are raised up to meet his, cheeks feeling warm. Inside she wanted him to admire her curves as he had done before, in the same spot as they stand now. It had made her feel... special in a way, being hungrily devoured by a stallion's lustful gaze.

Her own eyes travel, covering all terrain. She begins at his gentle yet masculine features, his horned brow the main attraction beside his beautiful orbs. She makes her way down his neck, appearing graceful and perfectly proportioned to his lithe grey body. His legs were made for dancing upon delicate grounds, weaving through obstacles unknown. His lionine tail appears before her, gently moving in the bubbling water. Oh how she wished to press herself against him, sharing warmth, breathing in his sweet scent. Her stomach tingles at these thoughts, heart giving a tearful wail. It was being tortured, all because he was so close... yet untouchable to her. She wanted to reach out now and press her muzzle to his, let their horns rub against one another gently. A delicate sigh is carried from her kissers as her fantasies roll on in her head, never to fall from their cage. They are trapped doves, never to be released from the confines of her mind.

"Speech."

FROST FYRE
Second chances they don't ever matter, people never change.

image credits


i got super excited and had to reply now xD
Dawn is coming
open your eyes

Carnesîr Posts: 60
Hidden Account atk: 5.5 | def: 9.5 | dam: 5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 15.2 :: 3 HP: 62 | Buff: NOVICE
wanda
#4
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Enervated cinnamon, in it's absorption of the lass, trails with hazy intentions across billows of steam, forming images and creations with the meticulous lashing of a leonine appendage, mixing, stirring the secrets forth from crevices and shadows beneath foggy waters. He wonders, wonders of the state of his lad in a realm full of those with feathers and wings (regardless that his boy sprouts wings, as well). They are not all barbarous fools, he knows, as his thoughts drift to Onni, and yet he cannot help but fret and weave images into his conscious as time meanders onward.
Primary impressions stick with one the longest, it has been noted, and he does not argue it to be fact, for truer words have naught been spoken.

She queries, drawing, yanking dreams to harsh realities, undivided acknowledgement traversing to her dome, to the heavy set of her lashes and faintest of rosy blushes spreading across dark cheeks. Starvation sinks into his bones, lush flesh and warm whispers, stripped down to bones and marrow in the emptiness of a cursed world. Leonine moves to and fro, to brush against superheated flesh of a damsel not-so-much in distress if she shall allow the barest of butterfly touches to her front pillars. A frown nags at the back of his mind, for what she has asked him is difficult, hard, brings the elation of her actions toward him to a standstill, and yet still, a alluring smile dances across ashen lips. Flirtatious in body and mind, he awaits her next words, explanation in that of a elken bonded. The foreign word is tasted upon his mind's contours, reverberating, trembling, and yes, he decides despite it's clumsy language, it is a nice name to be given. Altair.
The girl offers him what he has needed. Vocals drop a pitch, lower, deeper, a masculine hum in his elven throat as she feverishly devours a tree-nymph in his homeland. The art of seduction is a knowledge.
And Carnesîr craves knowledge (although the clammy flesh of a voluptuous girl is not bad, either).


"It seems even the beast's of the sea are charmed by you, no?" Umber eyes turned deep and adumbrial, sweltering, scalding as he allows his gaze to consume mahogany sinew and supple curves. "Indeed. Lle maa quel, Frost."
Flowing words as that of the wind and rivers are drawn from his lungs, accent drifting more prominently with the deepening of his tones, and he cannot deny that the experiment in which he is partaking piques even his interest. How will she react? How best can he twist, learn, shape her words into what he desires, wishes, how may he turn lyrics into the beat of music upon watery depths, shift the future to satisfy his own hunger?

But he cannot deny her own queries, her own questions as she has answered his, and so the lilting timbre of his voice shifts to accommodate the change in conversation. A sad twinkle glittering in his eyes, he answers, soft and slow. "I make mistakes. I have made mistakes." Cumbersome language. "I regret them. I wish to redeem myself. What of yourself, Frost?"
The somber tones in which he sings are gone, replaced by mere kindness, and perhaps they were never there.
"How have you been?"

AN: Lle maa quel = You look good
but secretly
they're saviours

Credits
BALLARE : SUNOWL : PHOTOGRAPHYANDGOATS<
</style>

Frost Fyre Posts: 198
Outcast atk: 5 | def: 9 | dam: 5.5
Mare :: Unicorn :: 15.3hh :: 6 Years HP: 64 | Buff: NOVICE
Altair :: Common Cerndyr :: Starpast prissy
#5

FROST FYRE
But with what we have, I promise you that. We're marching on.

She watches greedily, mossy eyes shimmering, glowing against the steam of the pool. The joy in her heart swells as she stares into the eyes of the knight before her. A smile has graced her lips ever since his presence was felt. Despite their lyrics not ringing through the space, there is all but silence inside the damsel. Her normally relaxed heart thrums wildly, threatening to jump from her chest and towards what she desires most. No words are exchanged as a grey tail dipped with dark tassels jumps forth towards her front legs. She does not flinch as her knight's tail brushes her legs, his dark hair wrapping around her moist skin. She struggles to breathe, her body tingling as his skin presses to hers. Oh how lustful she was feeling, how she was hungry for a slice of warm, scholarly flesh. Her mother would scold her for the thoughts that pass through her head at this moment. Her lids flutter, dark lashes catching the moisture in the air.

She tells him of her companion, her sweet little vessel who carries a piece of her. He was growing slowly but surely, yet he still had a ways to go. Carnesir comments upon her and how even the untame beasts in the sea are charmed by her. She giggles, accepting that comment with a hungry, lustful mind. She wishes to respond but he leaves her no time, speaking in a foreign tongue in a suggestive yet deliciously sweet tone. How she enjoys the savory deepening of his lyrics, saturating his delicate accent. She does not know how to reply to words she does not know. Deciding she craves the knowledge of what these words mean, she opens her soft ebony lips to speak sweet melodies. "So... what do these words mean? You can't just leave me hanging." She offers delicate tones, sugared words sliding from darkened kissers.

His tone deepens, sweet hues turning sour. A solemn moment falls upon the girl and her knight, her dark lips gong from a happy little smile to a more serious expression. He speaks of mistakes, but never specifies of what kind of mistakes he's made. Her smile has reversed, now a darker mood has fallen upon them. He talks of regrets and redeeming himself. She feels as though she has touched a place she shouldn't have, a place she should never have gone. But she supposes that is the first step towards something new, something fresh and sweet. He then asks of her, and she does not know how to respond. She's caught up in all that he has said, ans those numerous thoughts parading along behind his words. "Not much has happened since we last... talked."She doesn't know whether or not to call it a flirt fest, but whichever it was she enjoyed it.. a lot.

She decides to try something she has never tried before, clueless on whether he will take the bait or leave her there. Sweetly batting at her lashes, she steps forward and leans towards her knight in shining armor, trying to press her chocolate skin to his iron grey tones. She flicks her looking tail towards his back, planning to run a single strand of black hair down his spine. She offers words so sweet, lustful and seduction to hold it all together. "Won't you tell me what mistakes you've made? If you do, I promise to.. reward you." Such sweet words she sings, head cocked slightly to add an accent to her speech. She raises her horned brow in the a gentle manner, lobes perked forward, ready to catch any of his delicate tones.
"talk talk talk"

Dawn is coming
open your eyes

Carnesîr Posts: 60
Hidden Account atk: 5.5 | def: 9.5 | dam: 5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 15.2 :: 3 HP: 62 | Buff: NOVICE
wanda
#6
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Tension and constriction is laid bare between the dual figurines of a terracotta maiden and a ashen nymph with gangling pillars and lashing, twisting tail. It shimmers in the air as such fireflies, gleams, twinkles with as much luminescence as starlight, and the elven lad maneuvers with careful step between each whisper, each murmur of hidden suggestions and tantalizing lure. There is ease in the way he reacts to each flirtatious beat of lyrics that passes between darkened lips, and perhaps a less warmed area of
Carnesîr's soul sings to him that if he remains by the girl's side, for one minuscule night, he could forget the touch of the Shadow's hooves, the bitter feeling that creeps upward into his soul as a mantra.
Your fault. Your fault. Your fault.

He is brought back by the girlish giggles that escape the maiden's maw, bubbling at the surface, and a wanly smile graces his face. If nothing but a game, he muses, it could grow to be a intriguing one. They are young, foolish, do not understand the price in which these seemingly harmless flirtations shall pay later on in their existence, and for now, they will dawdle among saccharine words and honeyed touches.
It is in this that he takes a cautious step forwards, chocolate pearls flickering as candlelight to the elk companion she has deemed Altair, before attempting to reach around and nibble at the girl's withers. It is a common occurrence of affection, grooming as important to the survival of a herdland as loyalty, beneficial to both parties and soothing to frayed nerves. She queries him, of his homeland, his language, and a chortle escapes his throat, for it would be so easy to deny her, to watch her huff and puff and create harmless jokes in elven that she could not begin to understand.
And yet, with a mischievous twinkle in his eye, he moves back to answer her. "This language is cumbersome to me. I believe it would be translated into you look good."

With her next inquiry and the somberness that trails behind as a pack of thirsting hounds, Carnesîr notes her sudden sobriety with a mix of disappointment and guilt. It was not the maiden's fault, the decisions he had made, and he did not wish to bring his sorrow upon her, his fault, the mistake in which caused him to stumble and trip back into the familiar ice of the Basin.
He does not respond to her lyrics, placid and serene in the overwhelming heat of the Spring. He sways, a leaf in the force of a gale, the only hint of his nervousness and uncertainty in the continuous motion of his eyes, followed by the gentle lowering of umber lashes.
Then.. it happens.

The maiden steps forth, a siren from the deep, emerald glittering as precious gems beneath the surface of the land in which they stand. Terracotta follows her movements, stiffening if for a fraction of a second as she presses against his warmed flesh, breath fanning against sinew and causing goosebumps to grow along damp flesh.
He is well and truly damned as the tickle of a obsidian tassel brushes along a sensitive spine, and if he was any more feeble, than he would have simply thawed and melted down to the bone, puddling into the rippling waters beneath them then and there.
But he wasn't. And so as blurred pearls stare dazedly at where she used to stand, he notes that there is a darkness growing in the skies behind the mountains that surround them. It wafts and curls as smoke, a gradual force at first, and in his confused state, he does not recognize the danger in which it brings. It reminds him of the Reaper, of Deimos, an he wonders with brief intent if something is terribly wrong with their homeland.
"Guruthos..?"

Attention is snapped back to the curved girl pressed flush against him, peering at him with twinkling eyes.
What has.. oh.
Oh. Well then.

Ba-dump goes his heart.

A stuttering breath is drawn forth from his maw, and does the maiden even know what she has promised? He is afraid she does not, afraid of the consequences, and yet speech still flows from his maw in a drunken quickness. "I trusted one of the winged ones." He hears shouts in his mind. He hears her voice. He feels the scuff of a hoof against his flesh. I said I wasn't ready for it. When I agreed to let you use me as target practice I believed you would be intelligent enough to make sure to prevent something like this from happening!

Ba-dump. Ba-dump..
"I met her again and they screamed at me. She.. she hated me." Baleful pearls gaze towards the emerald gems. There's still a dusty hoof print on his cheek.
There really isn't.

Ba-dump. Ba-dump.

But he can still feel it.
"She hit me." He turns his gaze to the swirling depths below, steam rising and forcing him to blink rapidly, harks dropping to tendrils of obsidian mane.
"I trusted her. And she hit me."

There is still darkness growing on the horizon.
Shadow's..

How blissfully ironic.

AN: Guruthos = The shadow of death, death-horror
but secretly
they're saviours

Credits
BALLARE : SUNOWL : PHOTOGRAPHYANDGOATS<
</style>

Frost Fyre Posts: 198
Outcast atk: 5 | def: 9 | dam: 5.5
Mare :: Unicorn :: 15.3hh :: 6 Years HP: 64 | Buff: NOVICE
Altair :: Common Cerndyr :: Starpast prissy
#7

FROST FYRE
But with what we have, I promise you that. We're marching on.

There was silence for quite a while, the veil of steam making her Knight appear as a misted figure, a man from a dream. The fae focused on him, and only him, her bonded, and the world around her, did not matter for just a moment. She watches as his movements bring him forward, leaning over to nibble at her withers. Grullo and bay collide, their bodies exchanging warmth from one another. A gentle smile creeps upon her face as she feels him work away, deciding she should do her own share of this 'cleaning'. She reaches towards her Knight, offering a gentle nibble along his withers, just as he does to her. He moves away to respond to her question about the languages he speaks, and what those words... Lle maa quel meant. She looked at the earth toned eyes, trying to find something to grasp. She opens her lips, trying to hold them still. "Really?" She swiftly glances back at herself, all she can see is her speckled hind end and her somewhat mature frame. She looked into her slightly irritated reflection, seeing a girl with gentle features and dazzling emerald orbs. She straightens her posture, still looking fairly stunned. She couldn't tell if it was a mere lie he wove, a lie to seep under her skin, to hold a faux love before her. She doesn't know what to do... what to say. She stands and gazes at him, wishing to step forward upon him and tell him she's all his, all of her is his to conquer.

She is a singing siren from the seas, gentle song echoing through their steamy little fort. She feels guilt, imaging her mother staring down at her sternly. But... her mother had done this before, had she not? Using her feminine charm to get closer to a man. Hadn't she charmed father that way? The girl throws her mother's image from her head, instead enjoying how close she had come to her Knight. He seems... unsteady, afraid she might see something horrible, or he might say too many things. He speaks again in his little foreign tongue, eyes locked onto something in the distance. The girl's mossy gaze darts over to the massive smoky figure engulfing the skies, drifting down to the Steppe. It was as though the land was draped in a thick, black veil, a demon claiming the land as its own.

His lyrics around found nudging at her lobes, her crown gently moving so she can stare at him, still pressed close. He says he trusted one of the Winged, the sailors of the skies. She presses back her ears, letting the auds settle upon her skull. He speaks of how she hated him when they met again... again?. The fae ponders upon his words until masculine melodies ring through the steamy air, and she looks at him. "She hit me." "Would you like me to make it all better?" She wonders, raising her brow ever so slightly. She already had a reward to give him for telling her these words of trusting the Winged. She didn't know what kind of reward she could offer him... she was a little young to be letting stallions enter her divine kingdom... for now. She could already imagine herself walking upon a cold path, her mother's cloven tracks before her. She can see a path untrod, but already she was beginning to tread in her mother's steps, leaving that blank path behind her and forgotten. "What had you done to her?" She wants to inquire these next words, leaning closer to the man, softening her gaze. She tried to make herself most alluring for this stallion, gracefully weaving a trap for him. Already he had dabbed in at the woven trap, and one hoof of his had been caught. She was so close to snaring him, to claiming him as her own. Her tokens of gratitude would be most... pleasing.
"talk talk talk"

Dawn is coming
open your eyes


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