Send no angels

[OPEN] Send no angels

Moniz Posts: N/A

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03-06-2014, 12:47 PM

Frostfall was not a good time to be an egg. Moniz, unaccustomed as she was to worry, fretted sleeplessly over the little rusty egg she had discovered in the caves. When the darkness receded, she had pushed it cautiously to the opening of the sanctuary with gentle nudges of her black velvet muzzle. It was slow going, but eventually the rays of the Frostfall sun reached down and stroked the fragile shell with their bright, warm fingers. Finally enjoying the benefit of natural light, the reddish coating sparkled happily – the color of a wet clay riverbed sprinkled with wide swaths of glittering silica. And it had one little pony mare totally captivated.

Moniz did not exit the caves in very good shape herself. The ill-advised fight with that dappled Spanish bitch had left her body aching all over, and she still was not sure if her left hind leg would ever work quite the same. She had learned no lesson, and had already vowed that she would take her revenge. But the pony was not fit for that now. Besides, she had more pressing matters to attend to.

The sounds of an icy, churning river drew Moniz to this meadow, slowly rolling her egg through the thin blanket of wet snow. She stopped frequently to lie down and pull it close to her, a behavior that served two purposes: one, it warmed the egg, and two, it allowed her to rest her weary body. Together, they made their winding way towards the water. Some gnarled old trees shaded the freezing stream, and Moniz devised a surprisingly clever plan: she had seen plenty of bird nests in her time. They were twigs and leaves and horsehair all woven together into a wild bed. Twigs? Check. Horsehair? Check. Leaves? Well, they were dead and buried in snow, but they would have to do. She gathered the supplies she needed from the trees, building a large pile with mouthfuls of bitter old leaves and hastily snapped off twigs. To pull out her hair, she rubbed her tail against the jagged edges of bark, breaking it off until her dock was almost fully exposed to the biting cold.

All told, it took most of an afternoon and ended up looking like quite the haphazard creation, but given her injured physical state and the urgency of getting a warm place for her egg, it should get the job done. She rolled the egg to the middle of its bed and lay beside it, hidden by the meadow’s dormant grasses and shrubs.

And she waited. She lost track of how long she waited. The egg rested in stubborn stillness as the sun started to disappear in a dull Frostfall setting.

Until finally, under the last dying glow of daylight and slowly falling flurries, a quiet scratching sound caught Moniz’s attention. A solid black nail pierced the exterior shell, which cracked in veins that stretched across its surface. The pony stared, unable to move, as another nail joined the first, enlarging the hole. It seemed as though she held her breath through the whole process. It was under a crescent moonlit sky when at last a fat, thick-skinned scaly lizard appeared in the debris of cracked eggshells.

“You don’t look like a dragon…” Moniz spoke to herself, appraising the yellow and black animal suspiciously. Sure, it had claws and scales, but the shape was all wrong, and where were the wings? Maybe they grew them later. I’ll ask Tyradon the next time I see him. The gila monster – for that is what he really was – breathed rapidly, clearly tired from the exertion of hatching, but he turned his head and saw the pony who lay over him. He greeted her with a series of slow blinks and a curious flick of a small pinkish tongue.

Moniz could not help herself. Whatever questions she had about his identity disappeared from her mind, and she was smitten. “Never mind that,” She spoke dismissively, lowering her nostrils to the strange reptile. Seeking the warmth of her breath, he dragged his tired little body towards the soft nose before curling into a tight little ball of gold and black scales and promptly falling asleep. “Darco,” Moniz declared before granting herself the tremendous pleasure of watching his immature body rising and falling with each breath, finally safely alive. Whatever he was.

OOC: Egg hatching for Darco. @[Confutatis] and open if anyone wants to join in. Sorry this is crazy long!

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Confutatis the World Eater Posts: 179

Hidden Account atk: 5 | def: 8.5 | dam: 5.5

Mare :: Equine :: 16.2hh :: 9 HP: 65 | Buff: NOVICE

Mongrel :: Common Kitsune :: Dark Illusions wanda

03-09-2014, 10:48 AM (This post was last modified: 03-09-2014, 10:49 AM by Confutatis.)

Confutatis

They are not kindly monsters; they are abominations, heinous beasts, drawn to power as others are drawn to love; they do not sing of friendship, they crow of darkness, shadows crawling and creeping. What are they? They are death and decay, wrought in mortal form, arrogance and ambition lined in every scrupulous gleam of amber-and-crimson eyes; their presence is suffocating, demanding, and feral. Sophistication does not drip from her charcoal lips, only a broken knife of rusted beginnings, riddled words, conundrums, and paradoxes poised as conversation, words speaking of sheep and wolves and lambs and spiders. Yet, for all their conceited dreaming, wicked lust, and determination, they are still mere commoners in the grand scheme of things (but that would change soon, that it would.)

Confutatis does not amble out of the Heart Caves with vague ideas; she emerges with a stench of confidence edging on recklessness, hooves crunching through ice and snow, her yako kitsune a smear of oil swirling over crusted powder. Their minds are not unified in friendship, but in demand and desire, a passion, a hunger for anarchy and tyranny, their ideals (or lack thereof) running along parallel roads- seize the crown, steal the throne, cut the enemy's throat in the shadows. The hellion barges forwards at a regal walk, impetuous and imperious, cutting down any that stand in her way with a glance of cold yellow steel and bones materializing on charcoal hide. They fall back, even if unwillingly, as she waltzes by them, wicked leer playing over her wicked face, seemingly unsure of such a presence; eventually the little peasants are gone, and she is alone in the wide meadows.

Not quite; a shaggy silhouette on the horizon, mahogany coat thick and lush, bending over something unidentifiable in the snow. Her yako's tails twirl, mind cruel as always- images of flayed skin and bloody meat- but his compatriot in crime flicks an ear and bares her teeth in a scowl; she would not allow in the wasting of fodder.
Thus, they approach, a stately procession, her step languid and loose, expression unidentifiable.

The queen of skulls halts, curling her neck into a challenging arch, aquiline eyes pinning and enfolding the mare, examining her punctiliously, cracked lips unmoving; she strikes a queenly pose in the cool light of the winter day, all black and pale bones, smelling of fetid corpses gone to waste and rot. As she examines the mare, her smaller height, the color of her coat, the intelligence in her eyes, the darkness to her legs, her companion skips forward, tails wagging, despicably dog-like, towards them, red tongue lolling out over yellowed teeth. "Stop, fox," she snaps to him, surveying the kitsune with expected disdain. Silence broke, she returns her gaze to the little mare, offering a faint smile not quite sincere nor insincere- empty, if you will. "I am Confutatis, little lamb, who are you?"

She does not notice the gila monster nor the nest.

*Played it like she came after Moniz was talking :3

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Moniz Posts: N/A

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03-09-2014, 08:39 PM

The sound of another voice startled Moniz. The pony rocketed to her hooves, her tiny ears flying back into a mess of black hair as she rooted the protective trunks of her forelegs in front of the makeshift nest. Below, the gila monster burrowed beneath the decaying gray leaves. Moniz arose ready to fight, but the unsettling pair appeared to hold no ill will towards the newborn companion. She glowered angrily, annoyed that she had both wasted effort and been made to look foolish.

At least the introduction came quickly; the bone-covered mare labelled herself Confutatis while Moniz’s eyes roved boldly along the curves of the macabre armor. The muscles that had plastered her ears back loosened slowly, letting them settle at a more comfortable angle. Her jaw unclenched and she answered with humorless indignation, “Moniz, and I am no lamb.” She paused, letting her none-too-quick mind find something suitably clever and impressive to tack on. “I lie with the lions. What about you?”

The pony, for all her inferior size and only average intellect, was an unintimidated creature. She never faltered as she openly appraised Confutatis and the dark scoundrel at her side despite their unsettling appearance and unexpected intrusion. I could take them. Easy. As if confirming this to herself, she puffed herself up, stretching her stubby legs to bring herself to the biggest height she could possibly achieve.

Below her, Darco began to rustle beneath the heavy blanket of leaves and twigs. His whole body could be completely covered by one average, hoof-sized leaf. Laboriously, he clawed his way staggeringly towards Moniz’s front legs. Finally, a smooth yellow head poked out from behind her left hoof. The pony felt soft newborn claws grip against her heel bulb as Darco steadied himself and settled again, content now that his cool skin rested against her warmth. Moniz glanced down at him, trying to move him back into the protective bedding, but she could think of no way to do it without possibly crushing the delicate creature. Her dark eyes rose again to Confutatis’s deathly face, unintentionally holding her breath as she awaited some reaction.

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Confutatis the World Eater Posts: 179

Hidden Account atk: 5 | def: 8.5 | dam: 5.5

Mare :: Equine :: 16.2hh :: 9 HP: 65 | Buff: NOVICE

Mongrel :: Common Kitsune :: Dark Illusions wanda

03-14-2014, 05:45 PM

Confutatis

Mongrel's scheming thoughts press against hers; malignant dreams of vanquishing and fragile bones, of death clutching beating hearts. Again, she shakes her head, as if to rid herself of him, but to no avail; they are bonded, no matter her occasional hate of it. She builds sprawling castles and palaces between them, erecting walls to block him off, all cemented stone and brick, but still his beliefs and wants seep, insidious, squirming, poisoning each idea of rationality. Back she pushes— away— she demands of him, go away, but he cannot, will not; he presses and teases her with the tendrils of his magic, and her skull throbs with having to contain the emotions of entities both separate and unified. Ashen lips purse, disapproval and faint anger scrawled onto her vile face, and she casts her gaze back to the rotund woman she has come to ~~devour~~ speak with.

The curvaceous bay, only a year or two younger than Confutatis judging from her face, speaks up, bold and unquailing beneath the wickedness of the wolf's gaze; she likes that, and does love the mare's reply... even if it goes without a supplicant. Wait! There it comes, a declaration of sleeping with lions. Her vacant smile shifts in allegiance, from empty to something more sinisterly sincere. What is she? Griffin or wildcat, clever fox or... was she truly a lion? She could not be a wolf; the wolves were only of Oblivion's bloodline, descended from the king who mounted the world and fucked her until she had no more to give. Wolves were Confutatis and October, Öde and Veil;

"That is good to hear," she answers, "bravery is often sore-lacking in Helovians." Eyes narrow, sly gold and wily amber. "I am a wolf, descended from the blood of warlords, and that is my kitsune companion." Hooves shift as she moves her weight; she cocks a hind leg comfortably beneath her, letting her head sink a little. Ears shift out to side, relaxing- she is a war quean at rest.

Movement catches her gaze; her muscles tense, and she jerks in surprise. There are the hooves of the mare is a drifted pile of leaves (so she would assume); and something shifts from within it. A damp yellow head slithers free of the cozy nest, followed by a vaguely chubby body, looking somewhat wet. Nares widen; her expression is one of distaste and surprise. What is that? The harlot watches is crawl forth to the mare's hocks- and she cannot withhold her questions.

"I have never seen anything like that before... what is it?"

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Moniz Posts: N/A

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03-17-2014, 10:25 AM

The eerily skeletal mare and her disconcerting sidekick earned Moniz’s attention, if not her respect – that was not a prize she handed over so easily. But Confutatis’ apparent appreciation for a bit of pluck was admirable, and Moniz looked her over again with less disparagement. It was as though the pony was a conoisseur of some obscure acquired taste who had stumbled upon another unignorant mind in some unexpected dark alley. Only instead of fine wines and expensive caviar, the intoxicant they admired was an unquestioned god-given right to power and the refusal to accept their role as creatures of prey. Let the lambs bleat meekly in their unthinking flocks; these lions and wolves have chosen a different destiny for themselves.

Moniz had indeed noticed a certain cowardice endemic to the Helovian masses in her two short seasons here – cowering underground when the darkness took over. Never mind that she had cowered right along with the rest of them. Logic had little to do with the pony’s high opinion of herself. “It’s a good thing I’m no native to Helovia, then,” she smirked back at the mare with the professed bloodlines of chaos. By birthright, Moniz was not nearly so fortunate. Luckily, both nature and nurture shaped this mare: the ease with which she terrorized her simple broodmare dam (and the delight she felt while doing it) formed a lasting impression.

Alas, ego stroking and the setting apart of themselves from the masses could only last so long. The supple lump of newborn flesh wrapped around her hoof could not go unnoticed. Moniz bristled at Confutatis’ revolted intrigue; her irritation was only made worse by the fact that she did not know the answer to the sooty mare’s question. “He is Darco,” the pony snapped in her confusion. I thought he was a dragon but now who the fuck knows? She felt as though she needed some sort of excuse for the odd, wriggly little thing. Hastily, and with a blatant but forced boastfulness, she added, “He only looks odd because he is just a few hours old, but when he was an egg someone told me he was a dragon.”

Moniz smiled proudly, trying not to let on that the seed of uncertainty had already established firm roots in these first few hours of the hatchling’s life.

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Confutatis the World Eater Posts: 179

Hidden Account atk: 5 | def: 8.5 | dam: 5.5

Mare :: Equine :: 16.2hh :: 9 HP: 65 | Buff: NOVICE

Mongrel :: Common Kitsune :: Dark Illusions wanda

03-21-2014, 11:37 AM

Confutatis

The wolf gives a bark of laughter at the mare's rather witty reply; good thing I'm no native to Helovia then. It is not often that Confutatis finds herself enjoying company- she prefers to watch them scurry from her, rats fleeing from the onslaught of death and decay, chittering their mousey little teeth in terror of the unknown; those who did no such thing either became an enemy, or, on rare occasion... an ally. That had only began to happen recently, as she began to build her empire, her anarchy and tyranny, breathed life into her dreams of dictatorship and power, ruling and demanding, crushing beneath her hooves the commoners. She gives the bay an appreciative leer, a rabid grin falling short of cheerful but nonetheless having drifted away from macabre and sinister (to some degree, at the very least.)

Hooded eyes blink in mild surprise as the lioness bristles, hackles up; what did she say wrong? Ah, she was insulted (how silly of her); the demon daughter shifts back, one ear giving a flippant twitch. Perhaps she should apologize, but she doesn't like saying sorry and forgive me; the words are foreign to her, and taste bitter on her tongue. "Darco the he it is," she grins, spittle dribbling down to burn and blister on her scarred and calloused chin. "I did not mean to prickle at your fur." There- that is the closest she will come to apologizing, and the mare had best accept it.

That is before the mare bashes forward ungracefully, bragging of draconic tendancies; the wolf gives a snide chuckle and twists her head back and forth, but her eyes gentle, peculiarly so for a bitch and hellion. "I do not think so, little lion," she murmurs, her ragged chords soft and blurred around the edges. "Dragons are armored in green and gold, blue and red, white and black, copper and silver; but never in two colors, never in yellow and black. Still, a companion is a companion, no matter how pretty or disgusting it may look- it will be bonded to you, share in your agonies and triumphs, and you will need to raise it carefully. Coddle it too close, and you will find it unprepared for life. Push it away, and it will never return."

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