| Outcast atk: 7 | def: 10 | dam: 3 |
| Mare :: Unicorn :: 15 hh :: 13 :: Frostfall HP: 61 | Buff: NOVICE |
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Minou :: Ocelot :: Sing
Shady |
02-23-2014, 12:24 PM
(This post was last modified: 02-27-2014, 08:19 PM by Sheba.)
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What a grim place. You are tempted to turn around and return from whence you came, but there is nothing for you there. With a past like yours, littered with discarded hearts and angry strangers, you make it a point never to go back merely for the sake of going back. So, you press on through the snowy forest. Your lips curl with distaste at the way the wet cinders that taint the snow do likewise to your slim alabaster legs. Your poor tail is getting the worst of it: you raise it slightly to keep it from dragging in the freezing black mud that clings to your hair, turning ivory to ebony. Why do you even bother? The confounded soot is everywhere. You snort in frustration, sputtering on the ash that enters your lungs. Perfect. Wonderful. You need a distraction.
Yet no one is in sight. Have they all abandoned this godforsaken place? You can’t even hear the rustle of a bat wing, much less a single bird in the trees. In fact, if you were a more sensible sort, this place would be starting to give you the creeps. But you laugh in the face of danger, don’t you? Not because you’re not afraid, but because you will never admit to yourself that you are. And if fear is the only thing that makes you hesitant to continue your leisurely little stroll through the crooked, charred, skeleton trees, then stroll you will, if only to prove a point. Even if it’s only to yourself.
Compelling as your logic may be, your ground-eating trot—don’t rush now, you’re not afraid, remember—has made you thirsty. You glance around, but the only water in sight is a stagnant puddle, and very near frozen over at that. Of course. Nonetheless, you approach the shallow basin, if only to see if you can catch a glimpse of your reflection. Sure enough, your pale face stares back at you appealingly. You look like a ghost in these creaky woods; the image is only spoiled by the smudge of black soot across your left eye. You flatten your ears at your reflection, smug smile slipping off of your lips. At this rate, you might as well roll in the cinders! You kick the dust into the polluted puddle and move back toward the path. You’ve only gone a few meters when you pause, feeling like someone is watching you. Is it only the woods, or do you have company?
@[Confutatis]
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| Hidden Account atk: 5 | def: 8.5 | dam: 5.5 |
| Mare :: Equine :: 16.2hh :: 9 HP: 65 | Buff: NOVICE |
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Mongrel :: Common Kitsune :: Dark Illusions
wanda |
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Into the depths of the ruined forest she delves, on the hunt for beasts nefarious or well-meaning, vindictive or gullible; of their persona she cares not, so long as they join the slowly swelling ranks of the Regime willingly. As for the usage of force, she is unconcerned, and confident in her elitist belief she could win any fight necessary to secure the loyalty or captivity of the idiot who refuses such an honorable offer.
Soot and ash muffle the sounds of her hooves as she moves, scarred hips swinging gently to and fro, eyes sharp and ears pricked. Every few minutes the dark lady will draw in a deep inhale, searching the air for subtle scents of other monsters which may linger in the decaying shell of the wood— and it takes some time before she finds a trail, the prints of hooves pressed into the charcoal and ashen snow. In quiet she pursues to follow, her Mongrel at her heels, and the tracks space out from walk to trot. Faster she moves, breaking into a canter, the tattoo of her feet hitting soil absorbed by the grim sentinels of earth and sod, tree and fern; ribs expand at the quickening of breath, and at her feet runs a shadow dark, a grimy smear that is her kitsune, far enough from her as not to be affected by her black magic.
They slow to a respectable pace to see a woman, columbine unicorn, beast of legend and fantasy, hovering over frozen pond; her skull tilts, ever so slightly, in vague curiosity at why a horse of virgins would be here. Still, smile appears on charcoal lips and she approaches, brushing up against the low-hanging branches as to warn the maiden of her advance; Mongrel quivers and slithers off to disappear into the shadows, uninterested in humble banter.
"I am Confutatis, leader of the Regime," she speaks, her voice rust and iron and frayed around the edges, giving a slow dip of her head in order to signify common respect. "Welcome to Helovia... I assure you, it is not normally quite so vile." The succubus' smile widens, turning to a grin more reminiscent of a wolf's leer closing in on it's prey. "I am afraid you have come at a bad time- may I suggest we get to cover? Other things creep and crawl, and I know where safety can be found."
She wonders if the unicorn is a prize worth taking for her own- if she will prove useful in the course of things to come.
CONFUTATIS
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image creds
dear, dear, this was not best .__. forgive me!
| Outcast atk: 7 | def: 10 | dam: 3 |
| Mare :: Unicorn :: 15 hh :: 13 :: Frostfall HP: 61 | Buff: NOVICE |
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Minou :: Ocelot :: Sing
Shady |
02-23-2014, 11:27 PM
(This post was last modified: 02-27-2014, 08:18 PM by Sheba.)
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A rustle of branches behind you confirms your suspicions. You turn, and find yourself face to face with someone more ghoulish than yourself: a skull-faced mare stares at you from mismatched eyes. The milky one stares blankly ahead, but the amber one seeks to pin you in its yellow gaze. "I am Confutatis, leader of the Regime," she tells you. "Welcome to Helovia... I assure you, it is not normally quite so vile." Her words are pleasant, you think to yourself, but the smile tells you otherwise. She is a mare you would rather not cross, especially out here in the shadowy once-forest.
So, you bob your head, braids rustling around your face as you return her greeting. You don’t speak…yet. She is not finished, it appears. "I am afraid you have come at a bad time--may I suggest we get to cover? Other things creep and crawl, and I know where safety can be found." Other things? You allow your eyes to widen, but they convey casual interest, not fear.
“Perhaps that would be prudent,” you reply, your low purr of a voice silky against her grating one. “I know little of these parts. I am new here, and already I seem to have found myself in your debt…Confutatis.” You look the mare directly in the eye as you intone her name, and as your brown eyes meet her amber ones, you tense. Nostrils flare, and your muscles stiffen. Eyes roll, straining towards the sky, heavy with stormclouds. You draw a ragged breath, before the words come, slow and melodic: “There is great power to be had, queen—seize it now…it is within your grasp…I hear your name whispered, cursed on battlefields and exalted in the courts…I see—” You blink, seeing suddenly to come back to yourself. Nervous laughter escapes your velvet lips, sounding most improper after your startling speech.
“Forgive me, highness. I possess a rather…unpredictable malady. I beg you not to hold it against me; it is triggered sometimes in the presence of a powerful aura.” Your cat-eyes regard her, wondering what she will make of your little outburst. You cough delicately, posture submissive, but without breaking your stare. “Oh…how rude of me. I never introduced myself. You may call me Sheba.”
@[Confutatis]
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| Hidden Account atk: 5 | def: 8.5 | dam: 5.5 |
| Mare :: Equine :: 16.2hh :: 9 HP: 65 | Buff: NOVICE |
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Mongrel :: Common Kitsune :: Dark Illusions
wanda |
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Teeth glint in a scurrilous smile at the nod of the mare’s head; foam bubbles and drips from those onyx lips, scar tissue thick around her muzzle. Her ears pivot forwards, listening to the sigh of braids rubbing together, writhing and squirming over one another in the graceful movements of the silver unicorn; and she exhales softly, tension sliding free of her unconsciously locked muscles. It is a difficult thing to think of this petite bird of harming her.
Yet she cannot help but note the mare does not seem afraid of news of the unhealthy and the undead- indeed, she seems inquisitive, rather than afraid, and Confutatis feels the first movements of excitement in her oil black chest.
Will she be the next to join the Regime?
The stranger answers in a voice spun of silk and sugar, velvet and the tumble of a stream beneath a sheet of ice. Eyes meet hers; earthen soil against copper gold, and for a moment the succubus queen seems to struggle internally- she is WOLF, this girl prey, and no fawn dare looks the feral canines of the woods in the eyes- and her ears slant and pin to skull. Yet her annoyance is short-lived; for what happens next, but a seizure, a fit, a stiffening of leg and neck and shoulder and chest. Sibilant seer (how she detests those who commune with gods), or lying hoax? There is undeniable truth to her candied declarations, honesty speaking of queens and power and courts- her future, Confutatis wonders? Is it the prophet’s future she declares, or the hellion’s, malignant omen of death and cruelty? Audits tip forward in resulting eagerness, and there is a subtle lean as she arranges her balance forth- is there more to be heard? Eyes glint with a wolf’s ambitious hunger (she wants truth, where is it?)
There is nothing but an anxious laugh bubbling from between those precious teeth. Is she to have wool pulled over her eyes? Or is this girl, virgin white, truly a soothsayer, an oracle, a diviner of the timelines?
Disappointed sigh curls into the air, plumes of silver to drift in the cold, yet her greed is soon to be satisfied by subtle flattery and easy compliments. Powerful aura- indeed, what is her aura but not mighty? She arranges a ghoulish smile, forgetting to be wary of traitorous beasts of manipulative intent, consumed by artful handling. “I am pleased to meet you, Sheba,” Confutatis says, her voice falling short of cheerful but certainly a slight more positive.
“We should get a move on- just in case,” and she turns, scarred hips swinging, authorities and dominating, not checking over shoulder for a follower snow-white; “I am curious to know, are you interested in taking up residence in a herd during your stay? Or do you prefer being alone?"
CONFUTATIS
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image creds
| Outcast atk: 7 | def: 10 | dam: 3 |
| Mare :: Unicorn :: 15 hh :: 13 :: Frostfall HP: 61 | Buff: NOVICE |
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Minou :: Ocelot :: Sing
Shady |
02-25-2014, 04:57 PM
(This post was last modified: 02-27-2014, 12:54 AM by Sheba.)
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She is pleased to meet you, she says, but her face could have told you otherwise. Her demeanor isn’t exactly welcoming, but you don’t need someone warm and fuzzy, you remind yourself. You just need a ticket out of here.
As if she has heard your thoughts, the skull-faced mare turns her back on you, presumably to leave. “We should get a move on, just in case,” she informs you, and your ears prick at we: so she has decided to include you after all. How interesting. She has made no mention of your babble, but her subtle invitation confirms her interest. You noticed the way she leaned in a minute ago; you heard the slight exhalation of breath when you dammed that visionary stream. Perhaps she neither likes nor trusts you, but you have her curiosity.
She does not look back to see if you follow, and you admire her easy leadership. This Confutatis, as she calls herself, is the very picture of control. Obediently, you pick your way along behind her, smiling to yourself. “I am curious to know, are you interested in taking up residence in a herd during your stay? Or do you prefer being alone?" she calls back to you. So you have arrived at the moment of truth, you think. She may be sinister, but you did away with notions of good and evil long ago. The question now is, what will best serve your purposes? To remain alone has its benefits, but becoming a solitary foreigner in a strange land doesn’t quite strike your fancy, especially if there are things crawling about, as she says. On the other hand, the concept of herd life has always been foreign to you, but you can tolerate it. At the very least, for as long as you remain a useful novelty, you have a feeling that Confutatis will protect you.
“It depends on who is doing the leading,” you reply, a hint of coyness to your voice. “I trust that this Regime of yours may come into play?” You pause, letting the question hang in the air between you, unanswered. “If you should offer me a place amongst your ranks, I would be a fool to turn you down. If that is not to be the case, however, I shall do my best to ferret out the next-best option…though I suspect such a golden opportunity will be hard to find.”
@[Confutatis]
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| Hidden Account atk: 5 | def: 8.5 | dam: 5.5 |
| Mare :: Equine :: 16.2hh :: 9 HP: 65 | Buff: NOVICE |
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Mongrel :: Common Kitsune :: Dark Illusions
wanda |
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Mongrel is curious; he has circled back to watch them begin to move, picking their way over frozen earth in relative loudness to barren quiet of the winter woods. Eyes, vermilion and amber, glisten as he observes the graceful columbine dove glide over crusted snow. He doesn't trust her. Then again, he trusts no one except for his queenly companion and her dearest co-villain, Tyradon and Cynder, King with his Dragon (and even then, he is suspicious of the warbringer.)
It bleeds through their bond, mistrust and squandered uncertainty; the succubus beast resists the urge to flatten her ears, such is the strength of the kitsune's impetuous disdain directed towards the virgin white unicorn. Their thoughts are tides crashing against each other, beating and burning, ocean waves of flame and shadow, bitter and bruised. It is wearisome, the fighting of their ideas, the caress of their figurative fingers on one another's reins, holding tight the bit between clenched teeth. Such is their personalities; determined in their cruelty, tenacious in their ambition, wicked in their wildness. How can they find peace in the sanctuary in their minds when their own types of evil are so different? They are the crumbling of empires, the ruination of kings and queens, the feralness of wolves snapping teeth at the throat of a deer; yet they fight over every inch of space atwixt one another, even as they work together towards the greater good.
Today Confutatis wins their confrontation of beliefs, through reasonings both twisted and logical.
"Let me tell you a secret, dove," the hellion murmurs, her voice jagged as broken ice and splintered wood; she drops back, closer to Sheba, eyes fierce and filled with hostility directed not towards the unicorn but to Helovia. "The Regime will come to rule Helovia." She exhales, her breath poison, sardonic smile crawling on twisted charcoal lips. "Stay with us, and you will rise high among our ranks; but before you join willingly let it be known that the Regime is to be kept secret, to be withheld from the common populace. We will strike in silence, shadows appearing from sunlight, when they have been lulled into security. Take up the Crown, Sheba, with us; to find a family and eventually a home." She is feral in her joy, unmatchable and unattainable in her ecstasy.
"But traitors to the Crown will not be tolerated."
CONFUTATIS
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image creds
| Outcast atk: 7 | def: 10 | dam: 3 |
| Mare :: Unicorn :: 15 hh :: 13 :: Frostfall HP: 61 | Buff: NOVICE |
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Minou :: Ocelot :: Sing
Shady |
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She drops back, and you arrange your features to convey a more carefully conciliatory expression. It is not that her presence intimidates you—no, never!—but it would be better if she considers you friend, rather than foe. You would prefer that she chooses the former, yet the withering hostility in her voice gives you some doubts. “Let me tell you a secret, dove,” Confutatis hisses, and you work to keep your face expressionless. Despite your desire to net a most valuable ally, you will not have her think you some weak thing. “The Regime will come to rule Helovia," she breathes, and you allow the most fleeting knowing glance: a split second of steady eye contact. Indeed it will, your gaze seems to say. After all, you were the one who foretold it not five minutes ago, were you not? With her at its helm, this Regime is bound to rise—you can see it, see it in the way she walks, hear it in the way she talks. The passion in her voice is unmistakable. Confutatis nearly caresses the name of the Regime, that much is true.
"Stay with us,” she continues, “and you will rise high among our ranks; but before you join willingly let it be known that the Regime is to be kept secret, to be withheld from the common populace. We will strike in silence, shadows appearing from sunlight, when they have been lulled into security. Take up the Crown, Sheba, with us; to find a family and eventually a home.” Ah, you think: secrets. Your lips, of their own accord, very nearly turn up in delight—yes, secrets, this is a trade with which you are familiar. Information is a valuable commodity, you have discovered, and you store away this tidbit in the corner of your brain. Perhaps you will need it later; perhaps not, but if there is one thing you’ve learned, it is always better safe than sorry.
A fierce grin (more of a grotesque leer than anything else, you think to yourself) is plastered across that skull mask, and just when you think that the smile cannot stretch any wider, cannot grow more foreboding, it does. “But,” she adds, voice dangerously low, “traitors to the crown will not be tolerated.” The scarred lips murmur it lightly enough, but the yellow eye seems to stare straight into your soul, burning a hole in your ivory forehead. Let her stare, you parry mentally. If it is your soul she seeks to see, she will not find anything there anyway.
So, you lower your delicate head in submission, the picture of a humble follower, and two words drip from your velvet tongue as you signify your intentions:
“I accept.”
@[Confutatis]: I think we can call this thread done! Would you like to do another in the wilds somewhere so that she can give Sheba instructions?
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I Came in Like a Wrecking Ball [Regime]
