On what was essentially a whim, she had thrown her shiny anchor overboard, letting it sink into the World's Edge. It was now time to explore, although the reasonable voice in her what would otherwise be a repertoire of bad ideas suggested she make sure that its hold was steadfast and solid. But here she is, half a mile off ground, broad dove-wings stretching wide in a cruising glide, the royal blue of their thick luxurious feathers fanned out with a burlesque flare, tips brushing cloud. She wasn't nearly big enough to blot out the sun, dim as it is behind a film of haze, but a definite shadow chases after her with unrivaled resilience. It skims across treetops, unwavering in the gradual growth of its length, its gentle shape transforming into one of a pillar crowned in thorns. A stretch of white grows in her vision and she belatedly realizes its snow; she's heading north, watching white tufts become a bride's gown that drapes down the sides of the world as the malignant mass of mountains that crests Helovia rear up before her. Green is eaten, washed away in time.
As she begins swerving away from the range, she takes the time to enjoy the grandiose sight that is laid out before her, a buffet of severe beauty that glitters with infinite gems sparkling lemon-gold with light. Black and grey clusters of jagged rock dapple the unforgiving cliffs, thousands of hungry eyes peeking out from the alabaster taffeta that enrings them. Unease grips her, souring the taste in her mouth, distracting her from the snowstorm that rolls over her; a tiny fly against a behemoth.
A swift, brutal flurry overtakes her in a matter of seconds and she panics, nearly blinded, fluttering helplessly as freckled steel-blue earth rushes up to greet her. Fear seizes her, squeezing her throat, the whites of her eyes flaring. Only one thought passes through her mind --"Shit."-- before it is seared into a purity of nothingness that only terror can manage.
Atropos does not have Saphiron in her sights, however. Yet.
The brown mare catches herself enough that her following landing cause minimal damage. After crashing to the ground in a violent spray of snow and azure feathers, she is motionless, emitting only one pathetic squeak. Eventually several of those feathers drift down, swaying back and forth in an arch, as she slowly she begins to unfurl herself, phoenix-like, wincing as she moves her tender wings in various ways, testing for damage. Good; they were sore from overworking, trying to save her stupid ass, but serviceable. Next she took stock of her body, particularly her legs- the back left's ankle burns when she puts weight on it, its circumference already beginning to swell. Pinning her ears back, she growls out a string of epithets, following it with muttering. "Dumb, dumb, dumb, dumb." Her glossy locks are now in complete disarray, frizzy and damp, peppered with bulbous flakes; puffing a stray strand of that windswept raspberry-sherbet hair from her eyes, she levels her gaze.
Features contorted hideously in absolute contempt over her situation smooth out upon seeing her surroundings in shock. Like the great peaks, the seat of the basin, this place has an eerie quality within its magnificence. She is at once both terrified and awed, the sheer solace resonating deeply within her. That same sensation of discomfort that misguided her crawls its way back up with the acid in her throat. This must be the place Abishia spoke of. It is vaguely bowl shaped and, she gasps loudly, there in the sky: its namesake. "Gods and goddesses," she purrs reverently, standing there like a fool, gazing at the rainbow-firestorm dance, undulating in silent and feral abandon, playing out above her head.
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[OOC: OH GOD I'M SCARED DON'T EAT ME PLEASE I HAD TO. Also auroras tend to end around April, so I am pretending they maybe last a few weeks longer. I hope that is okay. :3]
Illynx the GildedBlade Posts: 413
| Hidden Account atk: 7.5 | def: 11.5 | dam: 3 |
| Mare :: Unicorn :: 16hh :: 13 HP: 67.5 | Buff: ENDURE |
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Kyst :: Common Griffon :: Zapping Jab
Bunnie |
& not to pull your halo down
around your neck and tug you to the ground, but...
She returns from the Threshold, sour and bitter over her second loss to the white pegasus, though relieved that this return did not warrant a bath to rid her of a thick layer of black slime. The prettiness of the new season is lost to her bruised ego, the writhing outrage of her thoughts that such a stupid bitch had won out over her linguistic talents and gone home with such a fine male specimen as the one with the strange mane adornments. Surely, he had been raised incorrectly, but the golden wench was not so easily dissuaded from the task of corruption; in time, perhaps, she could woo him away, here to the mountains, and he would stay.
There would be time for that later, however, as she is aware that her rendezvous has set her behind in her chores in the mines, and with no prize to justify her absence from the tasks at hoof she was sore to admit that she had been off wandering in the forest aimlessly. To add to her rancorous disposition, the heavens had opened its relentless mouth to unleash a snow storm just outside the gateway into the mountain abode of the unicorns, perhaps the last glimmer of the perpetual winter that seizes the passes during the cold months. It leaves her with ears flat atop her crown and head low, snow piling atop her back and shoulders as she slowly prowls her way home, hoping against hope that some poor soul will fall out of the sky and allow her to vent some of her frustrations out.
As she enters through the threshold of the Basin, just that happens.
She stands still and in awe for a brief moment, watching the turkey preen its wings and assure that it will not die from its sudden plummet from above. Closing her mouth slowly, her lips inch upwards, sinister and amused that she is ever so fortunate and that her God loves her for all she has done for his people.
Spurring herself into a long limbed canter, she floats through the falling flakes of snow and across the thin layer of remaining frost and powder that layers the floor of her dancing hall, black hair streaming behind her in undulating ripples that mirror the dark pulses of her soul as she spies such easy prey. There are no laws that she can break, when this one has trespassed; even if she killed her, the herd she belonged to could claim no foul play. Still… she pauses near the mare, about a dozen feet or so, wondering if it would be wise to reenact the same scenes that had led to the downfall of her sister.
And then… she remembers Luneia. And her grin grows all the more visceral, her eyes gleaming brightly against the rippling sky that has captured the mouse’s attention.
”It is unwise to linger among wolves, small sparrow," she croons to her, neck arching gracefully as she gazes upon this prize from a tilted face, "no matter how striking their den."
I'm more than a little curious how
you are planning to go about making your amends to the dead
with your halo slipping down, your halo slipping, your halo slipping down
slipping down to choke you now.
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image by candy<3
Magic/assault allowed to be used on Illynx at any time, in so far as it does not kill or seriously maim her without my permission.
Bathed in the empyrean light of the celestial kaleidoscope waltz, the intruder --a demitasse shot of espresso in unbroken hues of café mocha topped with strawberry cream, an accent of rough denim blue for completion-- sways on her three useful feet, the deviant limb favored as it still finds the pressure of the ground offensive. It is warm enough that there isn't a powdering left behind on her pelt; instead, dark and damp blotches spill across her chest and sides, her ventral portion entirely soaked in the melt. Threads of hair are plastered across her forehead and high-boned cheeks, netted and tangled.
Turning at the sound of a deceptively dulcet voice, she stares death in the face. Illynx's beauty is of legendary proportions, the kind that starts wars, even marred by angry puckered cicatrices as it is, but it is easy to see through the mask to the pitiless machine beneath. A chilling realization hits Saphiron; it isn't because the dark lady can't hide it. She simply chose not to, at least here, now, with the two of them alone in an empty field that stretches unadulterated from mountain to mountain. In another time, in another place, another life perhaps, the pegasus would admire the golden warrior; not solely for the sacred craft of her form from the smooth slope of her strong back to the metallic crown of involute aureate that marks her as unicorn kin, but the compendium of battle that is written out all over her well-exercised body. This was someone she could look up to, idolize maybe, a mare physically capable; if she was in the habit of preferring those who looked at her like they wanted to eat her and be done with it, that is.
Although built similarly, their bodies whipcord lean and regal in elegance, it is the way Illynx carries herself and the hungry gleam in her fierce eyes that elicits a tremor from the younger one. There is zero interest in sparring here, and her blanched yet wary expression is good evidence of that.
Subsequently, her first desire is to dissolve into a slobbery mess of apologies and solicitations to spare her life, but she knows that would be tying her own noose. Predators thrive on that reaction, turning almost uncontrollable, the pathetic image of a breakdown almost too much for them to contain the disgust and anger that froths up from such a poor sight. So as much as her little heart pleads with her to flee, each hummingbird hammer inside the cage of her chest a desperate prayer, her razor fine perception manages to pull through and smother the anxiety before it has a chance to ruin her. Likewise, she refrains from putting on a front; surely this grand empress has been bored to tears with the masquerade of fearlessness and blatant disrespect so many others costume themselves in with clownish flare, as if throwing off a creature with the tenacity of ancient evil was reasonable and probable.
She chooses to speak to her earnestly, not treating her as a woman to be conquered or some untouchable goddess to appease with false worship. "I see that I am trespassing," she states, a sotto voce for the 'trespassing' but otherwise matter-of-fact in its delivery. "I was south of here, getting a lay of the land, and this storm," she gestures with a shrug of her shoulder, although not at anything particular, "knocked me off course. I'll leave. I've no desire to meddle in your affairs, mistress." And I am sorry, I really did not mean to remains unsaid, but hangs there in the pregnant silence that follows.
Any more information she would offer if prompted. The nuns at the monastery were surprisingly well equipped to deal with hostage situations and espionage; while they did not particularly go out of their way to teach a silly filly decorum in regard to potential enemies, the occasional snippets of advice managed to filter down. One of the rules was to keep your tongue from being loose, or find it gone. What she can glean from this encounter is physical and subjective; the truth, the real manner of temperament of her enthraller, is an abyss of the unknown and not something to taken lightly.
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[OOC: Yay I got an @[Illynx]. No matter what happens!]
| Deceased atk: 7.0 | def: 12 | dam: 6.5 |
| Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16.1 :: 7 HP: 72.5 | Buff: NUMB |
| Heather |
 Tangled amongst infernal ease, the eldritch titan bore a thousand itches to scratch and was left wanting. Chiseled into the stony apertures of his home, cloaked in daggers and enmity, he stoked, stalked and seethed behind an iron, reticent brow, patrolling the earth, waiting for a chance to enslave some portion of ineptitude. The world had taught him many things in the past season beyond the art of vigilance and violence; in order to parallel corruption and contortions, he had to enact his own, consume, devour, implore travesty and treachery – otherwise other demonic forces took his place, enforced condemnation without his vicious rapier embedded in their chest. The Reaper had waited too long in the devil’s hands, chains, and shackles, left into the dust and decay of caverns and sanctuaries, when the crooning luxury, the avaricious opulence, of his kingdom had been waiting for them, the only toxic palace, refuge, and haven they required. So the shadow burned along its wake, scathing and coiling, rippling through the masses of pine and fir, beating zealous, fervent mazes of decadent warrens and prying for massacres, when the whittling of another scent poised aloft, foolish, unfamiliar. No longer listless or withering, he sought the debauchery of trespassing cretins, with their imbecile gestures and sown ignorance, remembered the taste, the spectacle of the last intruder. He and Arah had dragged his body through the gates, out into the chilling, sinister winds and frosty, gelid glades, still far more alive than he’d wanted – and the many others before his wounded figure. A Pegasus with a shattered wing and heart, a comrade fallen to the ground, poised in demise, bones bleached and forgotten beneath layers of snow and ice. What would he find within his sovereignty today, neither blessed nor consecrated, waiting to atrophy and perish in the wicked, callous, ruthless endeavors of a malevolent soul?
He was not the first to encounter the flier; the honor went to the GildedBlade, and he hid his disappointment in not being able to scrap and peel apart the enamel of the stranger’s veins, cords, and sinew. Words were spoken, tongues flapping into the breeze, but he heard none of them, too far away to piece the webbed imprudence together (were they strings of excuses? Sonnets and strings of phrases over how they’d failed to locate their sense of vision?). Instead of harking murderous endeavors, though the thought crossed over his monstrous, Machiavellian mind, he simply haunted, loomed, pressed into the terrain as an intimidating fixture of the land, death pervading the distance, closing the gap between intruder and Lady. Reticent, impassive and collected in the fine fervor of a precise warlord, the demon drummed his silent, infidel maelstrom towards the femmes, and said nothing. Only a single look passed from his expression, proffered to Illynx, a hushed depth of query, an arched brow of warrior prowess: if he needed to unleash his sword, fell the stranger into heathen, underworld embrace, or merely stay within the boundaries, a threatening glimpse of savages and monsters dwelling within icy corridors.
DEIMOS
delivered from the blast
last from a line of lasts
and now the kingdom comes crashing down undone
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background pattern by webtreatsetc.deviantart.com
image credits
Illynx the GildedBlade Posts: 413
| Hidden Account atk: 7.5 | def: 11.5 | dam: 3 |
| Mare :: Unicorn :: 16hh :: 13 HP: 67.5 | Buff: ENDURE |
|
Kyst :: Common Griffon :: Zapping Jab
Bunnie |
& not to pull your halo down
around your neck and tug you to the ground, but...
She had expected the bartering; after all, what else was left when physical violence had been set aside for predatory glares and the rumbling of her black heart? The Lady catches the words in dark lined ears, smiles cryptically to each syllable in turn, the way that the girl’s face had contorted and twisted as she tried to explain her presence here. For a moment, Illynx wonders how it is one is expected to act at the other borders aside from her own; all she knows is that her kin take to trespassing lightly, storm or shine, especially when the one found on the premises is utterly unworthy of the sights she absorbs.
That she knows she was unwanted here causes the ears of the queen to grow all the more flat atop her crown, the following bend of words already soiled with lies for the simple fact that the stupid air cow had not taken immediately to the skies after landing so gracelessly in the land of unicorns. The golden Lady runs her eyes along the appendages rising from the younger mare’s shoulders as she hurriedly explains herself, wondering if her new electrical powers would prove useful should her toy take flight before she has a chance to fully decide what she is to do with her.
A familiar footfall tugs her attentions towards him, the black death riding the sea of fading white towards them, the midnight tendrils of his hair waving behind his powerful movements like the banners of war. He looks to her with an expression that mirrors her own confusions, her desire to tear asunder the victim before her and a secondary need to appease the golden hearts of some of her people. It is an awful place to be, pressed between two ideals so very different from one another, and the confusion on what to do drives into her and leaves her feeling as surely panicked as the Lady Psyche had felt.
It only reads as savage hatred on her face. Perhaps… that is all it is, anyway.
"Why in such a hurry now, little sparrow?" she croons, dancing her way more between the mare and the pathway out, though Illynx doubts she’ll be attempting to run with functioning wings on her back and a limb seemingly out of commission, ”You already linger on stolen time. You owe us more than just a quick apology and a sudden departure."
She laughs, a bright and mocking thing that flits through the air.
"Oh, how about a game?" she says, feigning childlike innocence with a stream of bubbling laughter breaking from her lips as she restlessly dances on golden dipped legs. "You win, you can go home." An eye angles towards her black counterpart, the nefarious creature that ruled the herd alongside her, the delight in her game rising to the surface of her features.
"If not, he can have you."
And believe me, feathered one, you would much rather you didn’t lose.
I'm more than a little curious how
you are planning to go about making your amends to the dead
with your halo slipping down, your halo slipping, your halo slipping down
slipping down to choke you now.
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image by candy<3
Magic/assault allowed to be used on Illynx at any time, in so far as it does not kill or seriously maim her without my permission.
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