there's a monster living under my bed
whispering in my ear
there's an angel, with a hand on my head
she says I've got nothing to fear
Spring.
I enjoyed the warmth of a bolder sun on my hide. The promise of finding a better environment to soak in its attention drew me from the World’s Edge. Though I considered that place home enough, the new forest failed to hold my attention quite so readily as the Mystic Woodlands once had. As I grew stronger, I grew bolder, and the changing of seasons strengthened my courage – I wished to explore. Familiar with the scent of trees and the play of shadows, I journeyed west.
My travels led me to the sea.
Its sighing voice broke over my ears before the glimmering expanse met my eyes. Life in the Edge, however brief it had been thus far, had done much to habituate my senses to the sound of surf, even the smell – but not always the sight. As a creature given to wandering the woods rather than the cliffs, I avoided that particularly intimidating stretch of blue, on most days. As I left the trees behind for the soft, uncomfortable wash of sand, though, I supposed I might enjoy the way sunlight reflected off the beach. Though my winter hide clung tenaciously to my lanky frame, I appreciated such warmth – craved it. Winter had been so long… it felt like years.
I walked slowly, my gait leisurely as I edged ever nearer to the play of surf. Memories played in my brain – of a different beach, a different version of myself. This place smelled of no particular herd, no master and no law – only the passing of many vagrant hooves. But on a different day… I had paced alongside the ocean a motivated being. I had met Evangeline then. I had taken her home from long days of captivity.
And why, in the end, had I ever left her?
I did not wish to dwell on it. With a shake of my head, I dismissed stray thoughts of Paladin, of the strange healer he kept for his own ranks. Too long ago they had faded beyond the realm of my existence… But with them were wrapped up memories of my own herd – my own friends? I had no longer very many friends, though I had grown a small collection of acquaintances. I supposed I was not a man disposed toward friendship – I had little use for it. But I could not deny the loneliness gnawing at my brain, the desperate need for some purpose – a need to be needed – which had always propelled me forward in the past.
I walked along a beach as I once had – but without reason. I moved in empty ways, unimportant ways. I had regained some healing rank – but a low one. Unnecessary. What had I become? If not dead, could I still be a ghost? I could not name sorrow as the feeling in my breast – what had I to mourn? – but I felt strange. Adrift. My hooves met the lapping white tongues of the waves and I sighed, the taste of salt bitter in my nose. It would be easy to walk forward until the ocean had me, but why do that, either? Why anything?
Ears tilted back, I turned to nose at a little creature near my feet – a crab. I might have killed it if I wanted to – it was much too small to properly observe. But I merely studied its progress instead, as it scuttled away from me and toward a small, rocky shelf a few paces distant. I supposed its impetus was little more than survival – but could that ever be enough for me?
|
[ @[Tandavi] here's your thread, charks! Also for anybody else who wants to jump in <3 ]
| Hidden Account atk: 4 | def: 7.5 | dam: 7 |
| Stallion :: Hybrid :: 17.1 hh :: 3 HP: 64 | Buff: NOVICE |
|
Ka'Mate :: Harpy Eagle :: None
& Ka'Ora :: Harpy Eagle :: None
M.E. |
04-07-2014, 09:18 AM
(This post was last modified: 04-07-2014, 09:24 AM by Reginald.)
[BOOM CRASH. Hope you don't mind me throwing Reggie in here <3]
Warm wind replaces bitter, lashing gales; bulbs sprout, grasses burst from the frozen ground. The air thrums with the life of it; birds sing and chatter with life, animals emerge full of life, everywhere and all things—life bursts from it. So too, does it burst from the Grey-Eyed Prince.
See him there! Chest, full—legs, long, stocky, the boughs of a great, ashen oak, sturdy underneath him, sure in its action. Haughty. Life bursts from him, from his eyes and his warbling tongue, for he laughs in the strength he feels. He grows; his chest does not constrict so easily, now. He cannot run like his brother—but so what? He leaves his younger sibling, and his growth is apparent, his strength undeniable without the afterimage of his lesser, greater womb mate. In the dark colt’s travels, he feels himself so much bigger, his skin tough as diamond, his eyes piercing glass, quick to cut his prey, calculating and cold, so cold, despite the growing warmth. He thrives, and Mama’s milk is growing bitter, always bitter. He leaves her side often enough.
The sea—he does not know the sea. His mother has told him stories of an ancient kingdom here, balanced on the Edge of the World; she spoke of strange creatures and oddities of horses, submersed in the dragon’s magic of times passed, where obscene happenings take place. He did not believe her then; he does not believe her, now. He does not see a kingdom here, he does not feel its magic.
He explores, though. In the warmth of the sand beneath his hooves, he discovers. He finds the shell; he investigates the mollusk. The air is tanged with hidden salt, as is the distasteful, brackish, sticky water; he leaves it. Sand gives ‘way beneath him, and he laughs at its weakness under his growing bulk. Things scuttle away from him, and in his fading coltish fancy, he follows them; sea creatures and water-spiders he does not know, pinching his feathers as he reaches for them with his solid, boulder-esque hooves. They live like all small things do—like the mice of his meadow home. He ends those small lives it like he’s done with the others, all the others.
Someone is here; Reginald grows wary. It is a large stallion, only large, not monstrous. The sea holds them captivated; the Prince grows bored with him. He chases crabs once more, though he does not know their name—he only knows they live like mice, die like mice, and he will kill them all the same. Their carapaces snap beneath him with an enjoyable report; their armor is no match for him. He is delighted with their death; tail lashes beneath him, curling with glee. Warm wind replaces the bitter, lashing gales, and it is spring time; he is happy.
”Watch for Circe.”
|
There's nothing here for free
Lost who I want to be
My serpent blood can strike so cold
|
Image Credits
there's a monster living under my bed
whispering in my ear
there's an angel, with a hand on my head
she says I've got nothing to fear
The crab vanished after a long struggle: tiny legs forcing it inexorably for the shade and safety of solid rock. I blinked at the crevice it chose, breathed out, and returned my gaze to the sea. So it would live; I, too, must choose that course – but I would not hide away. I had done so for too many years; it chafed at me. My constant flight… I was too old for running, and too meek to fight. My tail lashed in agitation at my hocks. What, then? I could pinpoint no single source of my unhappiness – only knew discomfort raged like a beast in my chest.
Movement sprang to my attention: a shadow darting through periphery. Instinct conditioned long ago to such a sight drew taut my frame; stringy muscles jerked at brittle shanks of bone and I whirled, for a single instant back in Isilme, the specter of death closing its teeth over my heels at last. I did not intend to die; my melancholy fled, replaced by the vitriolic fire of adrenaline, and answering to instinct far removed from rationale thought, I levered down the full, heavy length of my horn. It was sharp with disuse: unabused and solid, keen with over a year of neglect. Sunlight would have caught the edge, in such a way; I suppose for a moment I may have seemed stronger than ever I had truly been – a soldier and not a doctor, a creature answering with teeth bared to the movement of threat.
But I was only frightened.
I saw the boy for what he truly was a moment later: merely a child, strapping with heavy blood but very young. He was not black at all, but grey: matte, dark, quick and fierce as any blade. I raised my head, my gaze appraising despite the shameful hammering of a desperate heart. In the back of my mind, I still wished to flee. Had he seen? Would he interpret my stance as a threat? I would not fight – could not, even ignoring ideology. I was far too wasted and too clumsy; breath came difficult, now and then, despite the healer’s work at my lungs. ”Boy.” I decided to speak, perhaps smoothing the misunderstanding with words – though I thought of nothing intelligent to say. I thought you were a ghost might work on an older creature, but a child? I did not wish to become a joke in the eyes of a mere boy – especially not those eyes, keen and cruel with intent as he darted after the small creatures of the beach.
”Have you nothing better to do?” I asked at last, irritation just sharp enough in my voice to imply the vague threat of authority. I was older than him, at least, and taller despite his bulk. He ought to listen – I hoped he might listen. Perhaps he would take his game elsewhere; perhaps he would at least cease the restless moving, the uncanny predatory snapping back and forth. It recalled things better left far buried in the very depths of my dark mind – old things, wounds scabbed over and not healed. I did not like his look; I did not like the roar of water in my ears, or the scent of the beach. Even the sun felt distant though it had been welcome, moments ago.
|
[ Not at all! :D Judging by the way you described him and the fact Reggie's still young, I figured Ruske is taller than him atm -- if that's incorrect I'll change it. ]
| World's Edge Nurse atk: 6.5 | def: 9 | dam: 4 |
| Mare :: Equine :: 16.1 :: 5 HP: 65 | Buff: NOVICE |
|
Natraj :: Plain Kitsune :: Fire
Charks |
Tandavi</style>
i'll light a fire in your new shoes</style>
The ocean stings insistently at her nostrils, salt building along the line of her poll. She eyes it speculatively, careful to keep forehooves just out of its reach, shuffling uneasily at the motion of the waves. They make her dizzy in an odd, tantalizing way, as though their ebb and flow pulls at her mind, pushing at her bones. For a moment the world spins around her, and all she sees is waves, water, a speck of foam; then she blinks, and realizes she is dangerously close to collapse, and laughs.
She used to visit the sea, when she lived in the Throat, used to stare at its depths and wonder when her mother would come. Now she knows her mother will not come, and the sharp ache of it is a constant thing, a piercing blow she cannot forget, only ignore. Instead she thinks of the sea, and the secrets within, secrets she questioned then and still. She wonders what it feels like to swim, the way distant whales and fish and seals do, wonders what that submersion would do to her; but just as flying, she doubts she shall ever know, and that frustrates her.
With a swish of her tail she turns away from the sea, angry now, black eyes bright and ears turned back. Far ahead, the black spot of Natraj howls, sensing her anger and sending back mirth, enticing her to try and catch him. She frowns, unwilling, but his joy is infectious, and she finds herself moving against desire. Natraj's love of sand and sea courses merrily through her veins; the girl's frown softens, lines shifting slowly into a mischievous grin. Long limbs limber, pace is quick- and then she is running after her brother and friend, braided mane and tail bold banners in the wind, laughter caught and thrown away as she hurls through the playful breeze.
It is impossible to stay unhappy, on a day like today.
It is as she flees from him, having caught and deemed him "It", that the awareness of others enters her periphery. Still caught in the thrill of her game, she casts her eyes wildly around, attempting to pinpoint the others nearby. A stallion flickers into her gaze, large and brown with a spiraling horn; she arcs away neatly, attention torn between the stranger and Natraj, hooves flying wildly in the sand and the---
"Oof!"
Her left shoulder makes contact with the younger boy first, and she stumbles and swings her head back around, wincing as that, too, collides with hard flesh. A sharp whinny tears its way from her throat, even as she bounces away from the boy, snorting in the sand, ears pinned back tight. Anger bubbles beneath her skin, temper enticed once more and threatening to blow; then Natraj is there, coiling around her hooves, soothing and slight in the shadow of flame. But it is not the boy who most upsets her- it is the feeling of his power riding the waves of her bursting emotion. She breathes heavy and closes her eyes, taking in his scent of smoke and the black of his magic, focusing on the tingle of it now in her, willing her heart to not explode as stone begins to crust over the gold of her legs, the specks on her back, and the slash in her face.
@[Reginald]
|
Uhh so I totally did not see your post, Kae, and I think this still makes sense in the context of it, but let me know if anything needs to change x)
o. pixel pony credit to tamme
o. permission granted to use force and magic on Tavi
o. only tag me in opening posts, please!
| Hidden Account atk: 4 | def: 7.5 | dam: 7 |
| Stallion :: Hybrid :: 17.1 hh :: 3 HP: 64 | Buff: NOVICE |
|
Ka'Mate :: Harpy Eagle :: None
& Ka'Ora :: Harpy Eagle :: None
M.E. |
04-10-2014, 01:16 PM
(This post was last modified: 04-10-2014, 01:19 PM by Reginald.)
Crabs whistle when they’re boiled. Reginald doesn’t know this. The screams he hears from the trampled creatures underhoof are imaginary. They plead with him, bargain with him, offer boons and request his mercy. He laughs at the visions behind his eyes, a pleasant scene; the gore oozes from the shells in bluish, reddish gleam and his daydream makes their blood all the sweeter to his eye. Some are able to escape him. The sand is soft; it is their sanctuary. He cannot chase them all, but he adores the chase regardless. He is wild with revelry.
”Boy.”*
Reginald pauses; craps scuttle away, safe by his idleness. He turns and sees the stallion who spoke, staring, wordless. Eyes are cool against the warm springtime breeze, the salt of the sea impervious to the grey windows of a corrupted soul. He waits for the admonishment—there is no true fear, perhaps only the foalish caution for retribution, evident in the defiant lines etched into the Prince’s visage. The wind stirs; the ocean croons a mournful tune. The stallion is speechless, and Reginald does not know his hesitation, where it’s borne of, why it is—but it’s there and snake-breath feels it.
*”Have you nothing better to do?”*
Reginald smiles a boyish smile, charming, a flash of teeth as he scoffs away the feeble hint of an admonishment. He hears the threat in it, yes—but still he sneers and his suspicions are correct. He was bored with the stallion before; he is bored now. It does not matter that he must raise his eyes to look into the stud’s gaze fully; it does not matter that the brute might be two, three, seven, ten times older than the darkling colt is now. Youth is impatient; arrogance is boundless, and Reginald is satisfied with himself well and surely. He does not heed the value of age. He finds a crab and kills it, the blood of the noiseless victim smeared across his hoof; he glances at the older stallion, that charming smile evident, a dare, a taunt.
Something moves in the corner of his eye—he turns to see it, but it is too late to react before he’s even begun a reaction. He is struck--his balance is gone, the air leaves his lungs—a cry escapes his lips unbidden, a whinny that is cut short as he turns his head instinctively, trying to see whatever has struck him, his muzzle being roughly clipped by the nose and teeth of another. His maw clicks shut—he bites his tongue—he cannot find his feet, and the impact makes him sprawl in the sand, landing on his side harshly, painfully, before he can stop gravity from pulling him close to earth. Things scuttle away from the blast radius of sand and dirt. Crabs shuffle sideways, shooting him covert glances, clicking their tiny pinchers—they applaud his fall.
He cannot stop the flames inside his stomach, always burning deep within, flared suddenly at this impromptu assault. He scrambles for a moment, seething; his legs have grown, but they are long and he cannot untangle them right away. “AaagAGAHGH!!” he cries incoherently; he is sick with humiliation. He finally folds his unruly limbs underneath him, shooting upwards as fast as possible, and his glare is a barbed dagger for the thing that has caused him so much shame.
He sees, and is even more angry—it is a filly. Always, it is a filly. Reginald gnashes his teeth, ignoring the dull throb of both shoulders, the metallic tang of the tip of his tongue. The anger rising within him cannot be reined in fast enough, and it explodes from him, uncontrollable and furious. “You….bitch!” It is a snarl that leaves him breathless, wide-eyed, and slightly timid—for even with his bold, haughty, coltish bravado, he cannot help but feel the weight of the curse he has uttered, a word his mother warned against many times, a spoken taboo. He says dangerous things.
The word cools his blind wrath, however, and he can see what he glares at. She is a filly, a tall one indeed, older perhaps, wiser maybe—yet she is painfully slender and rangy, a detestable girl decorated in silly braids of her unruly hair. Something large stretches across her face—a birthmark? A marking? Reginald doesn’t care, because it’s ugly and she’s ugly and she knocked him down regardless of her scrawny frame. There is no retribution for her.
@[Ruske]
@[Tandavi]
”Watch for Circe.”
|
There's nothing here for free
Lost who I want to be
My serpent blood can strike so cold
|
Image Credits
there's a monster living under my bed
whispering in my ear
there's an angel, with a hand on my head
she says I've got nothing to fear
The boy was mute, but in his silence impudent. He smiled at my words and something faltered in my chest. Such behavior was abnormal for a child: nothing in the stark grey mirrors of his eyes, nothing in that farce of a smile. He mocked me; my tail thrashed like a whip, annoyed yet impotent. What could I do? I had a terrible compulsion to run him through, drive something sharp into the soulless surface of one eye. Did hollow creatures feel pain? Did they scream? I tilted my head. ”Are you –” The unfinished question never formed whole in my mouth.
Something else joined us before it could.
I saw her as a blur, paler than the boy, nearly the color of sand. My ears twisted to the noise of her footsteps even as I spoke, but she drew nearer with reckless abandon and, concerned, I shifted my gaze to the speed of her arrival, as well. Something followed in her wake: something small, fleet, furry. I struggled to make out some purpose to their flight before, as one, they broke away from me. No time to anticipate the imminent collision afterward; I stared at the sudden crush and tumble of bone between the girl and the silent boy.
He was not silent much longer.
They both cried out, in their own way. Safe beyond the radius of the absurd collision, I could do little beyond observe the tangled floundering of limbs. Sand sprayed in all directions, scattering like dry rain over the my thick hide. With a start, I retreated from the sting of such assault. A snort ripped from my chest, noise bred of nervous energy and sick confusion. A very near part of me wanted to run; in the breath of an instant, I cared nothing for either child. They had interrupted my afternoon alone with little more than folly and arrogant play…
The boy, then, spoke – words ill-fitting his age but appropriate to my brief assessment of his character. I found my voice soon after, though it fell from my lips hoarse and furious before even I accepted my notion to speak. ”Be silent!” A growl, shuddering in the ill-kept ruin of my lungs. I tired of him; I tired of everything, but most of all this arrogant young creature bursting only with malice. My limbs dragged forward; I rushed to the children in a tangle of hair, ears pinned and teeth bared (be gone!). But I did not intend to give chase; I paused near the girl, the foremost source of my concern – when finally concern did blossom in me – and nearly recoiled again, caught in the throes of wild surprise.
Where to begin? Something – the shadow from before? – curled dark and flame-red near her limbs. I hesitated in the face of it; my tail curled, anxious, around my hind limbs. One ear twitched toward the boy; my eyes shifted to mark him, wary. Then back to the girl – something was wrong with her – abnormal. Stone sprouted in place of flesh, crawling like malevolent new growth across the strange mark slashing her face, the discolored portion of her legs. I stepped back; magic. The breath of it compelled my heart to beat again at double pace. Her magic? I could not fathom the expression of her face; fear? Anger? The ragged breath in my lungs turned to a cough, a deep barking shudder.
Collecting myself, I lifted my head at once to its full height and gazed down at her, supposing I could offer no aid without more information. And from who? My voice rang out, louder than before, harsh with some vestige of authority. ”Enough!” I supposed it may be a defense mechanism; as such I was not certain I expected a response. My gaze flickered to the boy again. ”I sincerely hope that magic is not yours.”
|
[ @[Tandavi] Do you want to be tagged? ]
|
.svg/2000px-Google_Chrome_icon_(2011).svg.png){kind=icon}
