the Rift


[OPEN] What may come

Luneia Posts: N/A
Unregistered
:: :: ::
#1
"Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid" the pale mare muttered incoherently to herself as she pulled the thorns from her hind. How could one be so stupid as to fall. yes, Fall into a thorn bush. What had she been doing in the first place that even had her, not paying attention for such an event to happen. She felt like a right porcupine.
Some even embedded deep enough to cause her great pain; a pain that made her drool with excitement, as she expertly removed each individual spine. Muscles rippled as ones where plucked from her pelt, but the mare did not cry out at all. She did not ever cry out in pain, especially not when someone could be watching you. Her face did however twitch with the pain she endure. A rare thing for the pale mare indeed. By the end of it, she'd most likely be a darker shade, with patches of crimson.
The intricately painted mare was becoming more and more agitated with herself, the more she plucked. Anger boiled up inside of her, like a bomb ready, waiting. If anyone was around they should think of themselves very lucky, for since entering Helovia, the mare had not had one single incident. You'd have thought it would have settled the mare down. But when you'd always lived in fear of your own self, that never changed. She only knew how to hate what she had done, what she could never control. A wake of death followed in her footprint.
The mare may have loved the forest, shown a kindness to nature. But that's all she ever did show such feelings towards. Upon one occasion. The one guy she had shown something more towards. A new life was created, only for him to leave her and take her first born along with him. How could someone do such a thing. A guttural growl formed from within, if it were even possible, her eyes would have burned a fire-y red. Hate resonated from within and now she wished more than ever that that burning sensation would return to her. To feel the heat close to her skin.
It had been far too long since she'd had an incident. Especially when she was having them quite frequently before coming here. Had something happened to her upon entering these lands? Was the mare now free of the thing she most feared in life?
The mare so oblivious to everything, still hung onto her past, never moving on-wards and upwards, like she should be doing. Except she was soaking in all the pain she had once cause, now inflicting that upon herself in so many ways, so unintentionally.

OOC: ITS stupid and stinky. But I had to type it. I had muse here.
@[Deimos]

Deimos the Reaper Posts: 527
Deceased atk: 7.0 | def: 12 | dam: 6.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16.1 :: 7 HP: 72.5 | Buff: NUMB
Heather
#2


Demonic king plucked at the snares, the ruses, the machinations of his infernal schemes, permitted to finally wander from locked confines and into the chilling, sinister air. A vicious web, a heretic spiral, of malevolent undulations and precise motions, the conviction and deliberation of licentious endeavors, like a feral flame he conducted the ferocity, the depravity, of Satan’s favored statue, come to life to spear debauchery into the hides of men. Detached and infernal, he spread his potent puissance into the earth, finessed forbidding, ravenously poised the plundering, the immorality, of his arched seething, searing, scathing maelstrom, an enriched, unholy possession of ethereal ruins and plundered treacheries. Consumed, ravaged, swallowed by the grasp of corruption, he sought only the wretched convictions of his bloodthirsty creed, greed coiled in infidel entrails, nefarious innards, callous destruction. A ruin for bedlam’s opus, rubble for havoc’s orchestra, fallen monuments for Mephistopheles’ symphony, forging onward to pay the virtuous their begging reel for absolution, plunging forward to burn, desecrate, pierce ineptitude. Hollowed, indifferent, apathetic, he craved enmity, listened for its hostile croons, its hedonistic murmurs, its devilish whispers, a plague upon wandering houses, wayward and trenchant, mordant and cruel. With an avaricious plunge, he searched, scavenged, scaled wintry walls and ashen hearts, master of malice, of menace, of toiling disregard and warrior contempt, devouring and slaughtering, secrets slain, bodies flayed, leaving the remains to be burned, bleached, in dust. He watched for afflictions, for weaknesses, for the call of abhorrent disdain, for the wretched strum of disdain to play its simmering chords, domination and supremacy carving pariahs into movement, antagonistic prose and pose, poised horror, savage temptation, ravenous, unforgiving, and reticent. Compassion ripped, torn, disheveled and thrown aside, sin singing a Machiavellian sonnet; violent and baleful, rampant chasm of the monstrous, the evil, the vile, black, black hearted.

Beyond, his puncturing stare caught a victim nestled in its bristling pace, ripping out foolish nettles, painted and without a sword, without a shield. Where was the femme’s armor, her chainmail, her carapace? Did she linger outside their Basin, their walls, their mountain towers, their icy hunting grounds, without a care, without a thought? Did stupidity choke, strangle, and suffocate the lives outside their glaciered hold, playing the game of survival without holding thoughts of how to conquer its diversions? Could he lay siege upon it, watch the triumph, the ferocity, angle, fade, wither away from her eyes, and only death, stillness, quietus blend into its slits? A predator, a raptor, a wolf, the beast stalked, haunted, possessed, calmly, composed, claimed the shadows of snowdrifts and piles: pursuing newfound prey. Rapacious and exploitative, he made no acknowledged sound towards her frame, did not announce his presence, forged silence into the rime and frost, and chiseled the grave apertures of his deadly, lethal nonchalance, devastation lurking, waiting, shadowing inanity with rotten, primitive hostility, boughs of the meticulous, of the diligent, of the conniving, argent domination. Wild and heinous, a foretold, augured wound twisting, coiling, reeling around its intended casualty, ensnared and licentious, impending minatory enticement; the ruler and the killer.



DEIMOS
the reaper


texture - resurgere.deviantart.com


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