| Hidden Account |
| Stallion :: Unicorn :: 17hh :: 5 Buff: NOVICE |
| charks |
He felt curiosity, and so he followed it, pursuing the thread of interest against a mahogany backdrop of rustic trees and dimpled forest. There is a stench of death that accompanies the pretty picture, an undertone of new life against something decrepit and distraught that fought to permeate the ancient ambiance. He ought to have felt out of place in this land of age and mystery, a youthful figure starkly contrasted against the cruelly ancient trees, the fallen giants who mark a once proud realm with determined tenacity, despite the great black streaks and whispers of fire. But he did not feel out of place, he did not even care about them, their majesty. He stepped into streams and kicked up stones, his dense figure a careless traveler beneath a cloudless evening sky. Occasionally, the bright fire of the setting sun pierced the trees and became trapped in his mane.
His friend walked at his side. It was nearly perfect, this time, and he felt pride at the figure, the way its steps beat against the ground, the way its black mane caught the light, and bound it. The smooth line of its socks, the silver eye that gazed back at him. The only problem, really, was the way the earth refused to shift against it, the refusal of the leaves to fly beneath its hooves, the way the wind stubbornly denied its existence, giving no way for Belial's imaginary friend. The fact that, when put to the challenge of touch, there would only be warmth, the warmth of stolen sunlight and sustained illusion.
Belial snorted at his double, and his double looked at him curiously, its bright forelock stagnant against the gentle breeze. "Do you think we'll find anyone?" the colt asked his companion. He did not wait for a response, but went on, "I mean, I know we will - but when? It doesn't smell like they all died. Maybe they don't like the woods. It is pretty burnt." The illusion laughed, its grey form shaking in the motion, piercing the stale air and failing to cast shadows. Belial grinned back at his companion, and together they continued on, approaching the end of the woods, two youths in the fading light, grey and bronze, real and imaginary.
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Belial
| Deceased atk: 7.0 | def: 12 | dam: 6.5 |
| Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16.1 :: 7 HP: 72.5 | Buff: NUMB |
| Heather |
 The cold air invigorated the senses, devoured the overbearing, stifling warmth of the summer’s infernal indignation, becoming an almost appeasing influence over the diabolical shades of the ruthless, serrated pariah. Statuesque immorality crooned over the latent, listless lands with a perennial rapier, toiling, travailing; fatal subterfuge in the heinous veils of ferocious blends, breathing animosity in the deplorable boughs of his derisive existence. Unholy carnivore splendor, licentious bearings trapped and twisted in the Tartarean rapture and reverie of chilling, glacial indifference, the sumptuous, slender clarity of severity and smoldering havoc, the undulating, argent sinew entangled innate enmity. Bestial temptation, wild, feral decadence, enticing, alluring, rapacious abhorrence in the scathing, seething rigidity, muted, taciturn, sinful credence of a silken predator, captured in the menacing opulence and grandeur of Mephistopheles’s masterpiece; deadly elegance in a poet’s savage, nefarious prose. Feasting, consuming, and swallowing the tombs of raptorial predilections, harboring the strife of damned beings, corporeal foes layered into the conceited catacombs of illustrious death and monstrous divinations, so sculpted from the outstretched arms of heathens, so discarded from the virtuous strings of society. Insurrection and sedition unfurling from the trenchant, macabre chords of evening’s tremulous desires and morning’s resolute longings, festering and brooding amongst the deplorable treacheries of a callous, heartless demon. Bestial brutality, writhing, wrathful wraith, arching, sliding, slipping, slithering in the frigid calculation of another inveigling, iniquitous day, the meticulous, hot friction of rigid, possessive movements, the pulse, the beat, of Satan’s eternally damned, of Lucifer’s majestic creation. Stygian mayhem, arcane calamity, immersed in the tumultuous mantle of violence, annihilation, devastation, he drove perilous clarity into the fragile hearts of innocence, of purity, of seraphic, silken steps, impending, formidable menace and malice slinking into their chaste countenances. Here, he cut, slashed, and scraped; the heated, molten rasp against their lungs, the burning, scalding laceration amongst their veins. The acerbic caresses of the devil, the mordant embrace of the reaper.
Portentous, his vicious fervor scorched over the coils of another’s scent, simmering with the same audacious meld and mold as many others, the foolish, inane wanderings of the impudent. What drove their witless madness, their vacuous ignorance, their reckless endeavors to scour the plains of another’s? What provided their minds with such wanton sentiments, the youthful yearning for petulant indulgence? Oh, he could have murdered them all, diabolical termination, overwhelming slaughter, blighting and igniting, meticulously massacring, severing, the cords of the dense – yet, he was not permitted. And how was it fair, to not savor the quick sword of his brutality, of his lethal, malignant detachment, the piercing, pulsing maelstrom of his dominion, and instead, entreat these imbeciles with the lavished court-calls of a polite, genteel welcome? He offered nothing to embody these frustrated sentiments, naught but the rush of indifference, the ushering of cool detachment crossing over his lips, his cruel gaze, the haughty, poised nonchalance of a ruthless sovereignty. Steps pulsed, awakened by the promise of ruin, bedlam, rushing over the glazed shadows of scrupulous, fierce, imminent possession – and when he chiseled into the stranger’s presence, too late to hear the arch of the child’s mutterings, his enigmatic recoil and grace kindled, indiscernible, unreadable necromancy of a predacious being. The ruthless blue of his sinister stare locked upon the youth, and some strange recognition passed over him, of years gone by, of relative conformation, a hint of familiarity nestled in unwavering Tides and resolute, potent horned beasts, bloodlines shared over mauled generations. The minor flicker of interest did not pass over his features, remaining in their callous deviation of greeting, dispassionate and apathetic. Instead, the rough grate of his vocals seized the tense air, discordant query incensed by raw tenors, grasping, clutching, and capturing strings of terror and demand. “What do you want?”
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Ever since the rabid dog came under the control of Mauja he’d evolved - first he’d stopped mindlessly charging people after Mauja’s lesson of “no drip, drop”, then he’d gone from an almost mechanic behavior to the behavior of a happy pet and now; signs of him thinking was showing from time to time. He spent the days playing with Snö, always keeping an eye on her, because ever since she’d been stolen he’d had a constant fear that she would disappear again.
Now he hadn’t seen either Snö or Mauja for quite some time and he’d gone from the state of “gahh-I-am-never-going-to-see-them-again!” to “oh-my-god-I-am-so-bored”. He was so bored that he walked around in a circle, watching his black rope dragging over the ground. But suddenly he found a distraction from his boredom - the scent of a stranger.
The Monster’s ears pricked up and he stopped in mid stride. The last time he’d felt a strangers scent he’d gotten into a fight and the memory of that day sent adrenaline through his body. With dirty head kept high and tangled tail like a flag behind him the stallion started trotting towards the smell of the stranger.
Leaving the denser forest behind two figures then enters the Monster’s field of vision. But by closer inspection it seems to be three creatures and the intrigued pet lengthen his strides. One of the three is a stallion who’s scent the Monster has felt from time to time, he’s an Edger and thus - family. The Monster is eased by Deimos’ presence, but as he passes the dark steed his movements becomes weirdly slow, like he ran into a pool of syrup or something. He feels a bit dizzy and tired, but then suddenly the feeling is gone and he has reached the bronze stranger and his companion.
The monster sniffs the colt, detecting no scent that he had smelt before and he was very satisfied with not finding the scent of Dragon’s Throat. Ever since he’d seen Snö by Kri’s side he’d hated the pegasus mare and the stink of her herd.
He passed on to the grey companion by the side of the unicorn colt, but it had no scent whatsoever. The Monster was thoroughly confused and extended his muzzle to touch the grey unicorn.
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| Hidden Account |
| Stallion :: Unicorn :: 17hh :: 5 Buff: NOVICE |
| charks |
The arrival of newcomers was caught by the demon, a bland taste of interest surging upon his palate. He tilted a head too refined for his neck, heterochromatic gaze drifting through trees to seek out some explanation for the disturbance of his empty kingdom. While it was true that our child had sought subjects for his realm, the realization of their emergence from what had before been mere imagination ignited within him a strange well of disenchantment and anxiety. He snaps at his companion - "Be still!" - a pointless command, for in the absence of his desires, the illusion automatically maintained stasis, even falling behind the heels of its maker. That he should not feel anger at a myth of his own creation was an idea oblivious to the mahogany devil's mind; perhaps if he put more thought into it, he would stumble upon the irrationality of his shallow emotions; but the anger was short lived, quickly diminishing once more into disinterested obscurity. Grey companion flickered in the loss of its creator's love, false figure losing stability and quickly reforming, although this time it had adapted to bear a blaze not unlike that on Belial. The colt stood firm against the onslaught of its friend's new form, eying the apparition from his position as its lead, remarking "You look better like this," with naught but friendship in his voice. He had no time to further praise his creation, however, for at last the far off footsteps evolved into heartbeats, an ashen figure at last emerging from charred boughs.
He stared at the greater unicorn, and felt some twinge of a forgotten memory, a hint of familiarity in the power of his stride, the blue of his gaze, the scent that hovered uniquely about him, a shroud of lineage and whispered history. It recalled to his mind memories of his dam, her own ivory whispers of family ties and descendants of greatness. The demon watched his accuser's approach, the way this behemoth strode through the woods as their master and defender, when it had been he who discovered them, at least for this moment. Eyes latch upon his own, childish stare engulfing the monster with intense response. He felt a surge of wild instability, a sudden and cruel desire for some outcry, some sign of recognition granted by the shade of memories, even anger at his trespass within the woods. Instead, the grating vocals of the beast crash against youthful intention and eager desire for affection and inclusion; he replied with still unbroken chords, "To know."
Yet the conflict of sundered family was not one to remain exclusive, for the arrival of blackened limbs and hollow heart offers an intrusion upon their ill met dance of ideals. The child had not noticed this one's approach, so taken had his mind become with the burnt and ashy titan who first commanded his purpose; he was taken aback by its sudden proximity, forced into a tense stillness even as it neared him. There was no true fear beneath the surprised mind, for the colt did not know fear, only a dull curiosity and expectant dread. That the brute should pass him by so easily cast some amount of displeasure across his heart; what was it that the monster found so incredibly disinteresting? He followed it in silence, gaze pursuing the black unicorn's motions; and as it reached out for his illusion, he scowled, a quick and near indiscernible expression followed by the grey companion's abrupt rear, whinny, and disappearance into the stagnant air.
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Belial
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