B O A D I C E A*
Wake up and face me,
Don’t play dead,
Cause maybe,
Someday I’ll walk away and say, “You fucking disappoint me,”
Maybe you’re better off this way
The inferno painted temptress moved through the shadows, her viridian gaze wandering too and fro through the darkened areas, peering deeply into the intangible blackness. Where the light dared to caress, she avoided, her slender appendages dancing along the brink of dark and light, daring her to choose a side, but she had chosen long ago. Raising her chromed peninsula, the temptress surveyed the heavens above, her harlequin pin holes scanning the sky, observing the heavily burdened clouds overhead, the dull graphite hue only indicated a tempest was drawing near. As if to confirm her predictions, a heavy droplet of fluid fell from the gods, landing on her ivory stained facade, on the broad facial bone before rolling over her nose, lingering and pooling between her velvet labium. Boadicea opened her jaws, shifting the gathering of water from her lips into her mouth, membranous cavern absorbing the luke warm water, moistening her dried tongue. A low growl vibrated through her chest, rippling through her ribs as she struck a fore limb at the atmosphere before her physique, irritation gathering at the base of her spine at the mere thought of rain. Pushing off of powerful hind pistons, the sienna harlot moved onwards, weaving between and around the timbers that blocked her path, her anatomy moving like that of a feline, sleek and seductive.
Within moments of the first fallen drops, the deluge began, striking and pounding at her hide, only pushing her anatomy forwards. Pushing her chin to her chest, the femme fatale strode onwards, the once dry topography now dampened and made compliant by the never ending torrents from above. Slicing her tendrils at her quarters, the hairs made contact against her sodden epidermis, an audible smack echoing about her as she moved in a thrice beat over the lithosphere, her daggers mutilating the geo with crescent moons. Slowing to a halt, her once polished chestnut hide was now a dark bronze, glistening in the moisture from the heavens above. her gaze surveyed the cavern before her, small torrents of water tumbled over the rocky ledges in small rivulets, splashing into a pool below. Moving forwards stealthily, her daggers clicking against the mineral deposits as she took shelter below the solid structure of the cavern, her body moving around the edge of the pool, standing in the gaping jaws of the cave. Her rust painted agglomeration remained almost blended with the slime covered walls, her internal body heat causing the once damp hairs to become brittle and dry, splintering away from her sleek chassis. Cocking a knife onto its point, the hell witch stood in solitude, listening to rhythmic pounding of the rain into the pools, awaiting a distraction.
BH-Stables
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with that shadow upon the ground, I hear my people screaming out In every hero there was adversity, in every epic there was tragedy, in every love story there was burning hatred. Always, there were two sides to a tale, for sake of simplicity, the good and the bad. In one essence you could be the saviour of everything and in another; a cold, callous catastrophe. Life's puppet strings tugged this way and that, even if one thought himself governed by his own laws, we were all governed fate and coincidence in the end. At least, these were the thoughts of Fiore, who strictly put himself on the side of the bad, not because he was some big time ruffian with a chip on his shoulder. Nor was it because he'd taken hold of the heart and tossed away the breath of another. No; he pictured himself as a cataclysm for disaster, a walking omen who caused collapse wherever he went, even when he raised no hoof or voice. It just seemed, that the places his blue windows touched upon, a black cloud followed close behind. King of calamity, the unlucky one. That was that, and he was a simple horse who'd chosen to look upon the world in such a downcast manner for various reasons.
The rain, however, he liked.
Washing away the dirt of the past as pale legs carried his lithe body into a new land, one that was initially filled with trees and the cold embrace of winter. The cold shiver reminded him of much darker days in his past, leaving a bitter taste, but it wasn't time to stray back to that scene. He wasn't ready to face the emotion that lay hidden behind those thoughts. Fiore was in a much more pressing predicament after all. If he wished not to become ill from wet and cold, it was probably wise he did not linger much longer in the open, now matter how much he loved it. He pushed away unhappy memories, pressing into a brisk canter, being careful of branches that hung low to his face. He had travelled for around ten minutes when he came across the cavern in the inhabitant inside.
It was hard to see through the deluge hammering down from the sky if there was enough room in nature's little shelter with a mare who was a chestnut hue, darkened by the rain. He couldn't really see her expression, just the blur of her bodice through the rain and he proffered his head, hoping she could see him. "Would you mind sharing your shelter?" He asked and his voice, that was usually light as a feather, shouted above the roar of the shower, wondering if she would oblige his request. The belle seemed alone after all, not all mares liked being in the presence of strange stallion when they were isolated, in that case he hoped she'd hurry up her answer so he could bolt and find somewhere else. His own hues of auburn going a similar dark colour, whilst the white turned into a mucky grey. All in all it was a miserable day, but it couldn't be helped.
@[Boadicea]
Mauja the Frozen Light Posts: 1,392
| Outcast atk: 6.5 | def: 10.5 | dam: 7.5 |
| Stallion :: Unicorn :: 17.2 :: 14 HP: 79.5 | Buff: HUNTER |
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Irma :: Snowy Owl :: Terrorize
& Diego :: Eurasian Eagle-Owl :: Rage
Neo |
 still a credit to your ruse, what a beautiful excuse
to never open up your eyes and see the things you lose
[ Just wanted to point out that it's winter in Helovia, with snows all around :3 ]
It had been the cold, bitter end of autumn when he'd plunged into the dark, witnessed only by the distant stars, wraiths, and Circuta; the leaves had all been burnished red and brown, the grasses gilded with autumn and stroked with the finest of night frost as winter approached, as it did every year.
Winter was a patient beast. Mauja possessed some of that, and none at all all at once. Gashes half-healed like whiplashes upon a pale back, and a lingering trace of illness to burn in his lungs and limbs when he pushed himself too far—but all these things aside, he had a duty to his owl (owls?), and a duty to Helovia, because you could take the crown off his head but you couldn't take it off his soul. And that sense of duty, of safeguarding and protecting Helovia and it's inhabitants (where was all this pretentious nonsense coming from? he was the Ice King, not Midas).. of repaying the gift of life Circuta had given him—those things drove his whiskered nose outside of the Sanctuary's mouth, followed by the rest of his pristine body. Even within the humid caves his winter fur had grown out, but what should've been a winter wonderland, away from the roaring heart-fires, was nothing but a land covered in night and shadow, where death loomed behind every rock and tree.
His breath plumed into the dark, and with alert senses he defied Irma's protests, and set off to the northeast. Trying to find prey for the bird in the caves was impossible, and while he was at it, he could see if anyone else had dodged death's claws long enough to be shepherded to safety—or maybe some unwitting fool was about to walk into Hell from the outside, unaware of the lurking dangers.
And thus, Mauja crossed the face of Helovia on light, feathered feet, a stray blizzard through an endless night, until the shadows opened up near her borders.
Not that he was bathed in glorious winter sunlight and kissed with its warm golden glow, no.
Snow turned to sleet turned to freezing rain, a frenzied downpour plastering his fuzzy coat to his thick body; his knotted mane clung to his neck and his tail tangled up in his hocks with each fleet-footed step. With his ears flat he broke through the forest, head and senses swinging one way and then the other, watching for any small animal to be unlucky enough to be out in this, but his chances of actually finding anything seemed slim. What sane creature was out in this, honestly?
"Would you mind sharing your shelter?"
The stranger's voice—masculine, but it might just be the intensity—cracked like a clap of thunder through the pounding, frigid rain, and Mauja honed in on it. Frosted hooves struck another iced path, angled through the trees, and soon enough he found a rocky cavern with a rushing rapid refusing to freeze over. A painted stallion stood outside, and within, a chestnut mare hinted, tall and powerful in her build but relatively lithe. "Don't stay!" he cried through the sheets of rain, warily eying the surrounding forest even as his feet danced closer, breath smoking into the torrents of water. Would the sound of their voices alert the attention of the wraiths? His tail, with the holly branch braided into it, smacked loudly against his hocks.
You'll catch your death out there.
No, no, no I won't; I'll be fine.
You're sick already.
No! I'm fine, I'm better.
Stop denying it. Get them, get back.
He grit his teeth together, knowing the owl was right, wondering why he denied it—why he tried to make the truth into something it wasn't.
Because that's what you always do.
"There's danger afoot," he began, standing by the stallion's side, just as drenched as he, and soaked to the bone like that—he was frozen to the core, only the heat of movement keeping his blood running, pounding through flesh. He steamed. They had to move again, soon, yesterday. Blue eyes danced from one to the other. He could do little more than tell them, make them come or leave, and go, back through the shadow and hoping for safe passage, because he didn't want more wounds to add to the fine collection of cuts he already displayed. "Shadows and undeath.. too fleet of foot to run from, and it'll steal your souls if it can. There's safety under the ground, but the entrance is far from here. I can take you there, but make up your minds quickly, because I will not linger in one place long—it's a cursed time. Come or leave, but do not stay." His speech was hurried through the rainwater, louder than he wanted to cut through the falling death, and how do you explain what was going on? How do you explain the shadow tugging at your feet and lunging after you, of a foal with a wolf's head twice the size of its body with a grin stretching impossibly wide—of the madness that was afoot in this wicked, wicked world?
They had to see to believe, but to see a wraith was the last thing Mauja wanted in that moment.
angels, they fell first, but I'm still here
Wet and lost, Fiore's eyes begged the mare to hear him over the down pour, if she didn't answer him soon he was just going to have to take the chance and barge his way into the shelter. One thing was for certain, he couldn't remain out here much longer, he needed to either hurry up and leave or find shelter. Since the former was almost impossible because he had no idea where in the world he was, the latter became his only option. That was, until a voice raised above the roaring and another stallion showed up in the relentless battering of rain and sleet, the air smelt like the crisp of winter, he had indeed wandered far this time. However, things were getting rather urgent and he turned quickly to warily eye the stallion, hoping he wasn't some lover of the mare sheltering, the last thing he needed was a misunderstood fight. However, the stranger spoke of something different, something disturbing and a pressing need for haste, it appeared that it was more than just the dreary weather that plagued this land.
On closer inspection, squinting through the rain to glance at the stallion who now stood beside him, Fiore noted he was light in colour (not quite making out the spots through the rain) and far taller than himself, one of those fancy stallions with feathered feet. However, what most captured his attention in that one brief look over was the frosted outline of a spear that emerged from his head, leaving Fiore wondering if he had died of cold and was dreaming of unicorns. A dream that was far too real for his liking. His strange discovery would have to wait though, the new presence beside him spoke fast of shadows and undead, was he delirious? For a mad man he sure was in a hurry and Fiore had no desire to remain, though instinct said not to trust a stranger, he was rather pushed for options.
Are you mad? That's what he wanted to say, on a normal day that's the kind of words that would have parted from his lips. "That's mighty strange talk, but I do not desire to freeze to death either, if you can get us out of this dire weather then I will follow you and pray you don't lead me into more trouble." He rather bluntly stated his answer to an all in all brisk situation, flowery conversations were for days when the sun bleached backs and the world was less hassled.
He saved his last withering glance for the mare, wondering if it was right to leave her there, but time was making it hard to wait any longer. "Hey mare. Are you coming or not?" He shouted, discomfort filling his voice. Why oh why did the Gods lead him here?!
(sorry for skipping! I don't want to be stuck in the Threshold is all xD <33
@[Boadicea] )
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image by semper <3
Mauja the Frozen Light Posts: 1,392
| Outcast atk: 6.5 | def: 10.5 | dam: 7.5 |
| Stallion :: Unicorn :: 17.2 :: 14 HP: 79.5 | Buff: HUNTER |
|
Irma :: Snowy Owl :: Terrorize
& Diego :: Eurasian Eagle-Owl :: Rage
Neo |
still a credit to your ruse, what a beautiful excuse
to never open up your eyes and see the things you lose
( You're welcome to jump back in at any time, or follow them at a distance, etc! ^^ )
If Fiore had asked his question, Mauja probably would've said "yes" without second thought. He felt mad, standing out in the freezing downpour talking about shadow-creatures and some kind of corrupting sickness and caves, of all things! But he was just as mad as everyone else, as mad as Helovia itself. The mare was silent, but the stallion eyed him in a way he couldn't put words on—disbelief? Concern? Curiosity? But whatever the case, he wasn't impressed with the rain and sleet and chill. So when stuck between a rock and a hard place, he did like everyone did: made some funny choice. Out of the ashes and into the fire.
"If trouble finds us, it'll be of its own accord," he replied with a lopsided grin, and a flick of his eyes towards the mare. She seemed content in her shelter, not making any attempt to join their conversation (for now; maybe she just wanted to ignore lunatics?). Well, too bad for her, because Mauja had decided it was in his best interests to go back now. It was damnably cold, and the chance of discovery increased with every second spent lingering. What kind of idiocy had possessed him, and made him go out? Today, of all days? Just the idiocy he always suffered from, probably.
Just as he made to leave, the stallion spoke again, directed at the mare. Mauja paused where he was, one hoof lifted to turn away, and cocked his head. He barely saw her through the sheets of rain; safe and snug in her shelter.. for now. She seemed disinclined to leave. Why believe a madman and follow him out into the storm? Whatever. Her problem, if she didn't want to survive. "Let's go," he called through the rain, eyes saying forget her and wet tail smacking against his hocks. They had nothing to gain by staying and trying to coax her out of hiding, but much to lose.
And so, with only a backwards glance to make sure that the stranger was following, Mauja set off south, towards the Heart, towards life and safety, hoping every step of the way they would be allowed to pass unharried.
angels, they fell first, but I'm still here
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