| Hidden Account atk: 5 | def: 8.5 | dam: 5.5 |
| Mare :: Equine :: 16.2hh :: 9 HP: 65 | Buff: NOVICE |
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Mongrel :: Common Kitsune :: Dark Illusions
wanda |
OOC: I don't really have any preference for who joins in, but just as a head's up, I would prefer for timelines to not get crazy as she is challenging for WE entry right now.
She's a dwelling place for demons.
She's a cage for every unclean spirit,
Every filthy bird and makes us drink
The poisoned wine to fornicating with our kings.
Fallen now is Babylon the Great.
C O N F U T A T I S
She came for the same reason they did; hunting, searching, for familiar faces, those who might still thrive within this place of fractured light and kaleidoscopic colors, her keen gaze sweeping over grass and stream to find little and less. Ruined. The construction of an empire, swept to pieces, without a leader to unite, to lead, to glow and glitter with primed crown upon her ashen locks; and it chafes her raw, glacial fury gathering in her withered, shrivelled heart.
Failure.
It seems she is forever condemned, forever damned; swallowed, devoured, by oblivion, obscurity -- her name is sung, as a trouble-maker, succubus, vindictive harlot; but not as a ruler, not as sovereign, not with the power she so craved and desired. Agony; it surges through her oiled veins, roiling, and she crumbles, weakens, her heart burning, a fever scalding her cerebellum -- purge, she tells herself, purge yourself of weakness. Yet that is all she has become; some horrific carnation, symbol, of torment, suffering --------- her mouth sours, and her eyes roll back, and acids spits and drools and slithers from her hideous maw. Legs bend, fold, collapse beneath her, a desire to succumb to death, to annihilation, cessation; she wishes she might be devoured by her own necromancy.
It blooms upon her skin -- circles of rot, precious decay, the pain her deliverance, the agony hers to carry, the torment of which she deserves -- it rattles hoarse from her chest, the death murmur, of which she so often hears heard, a poisoned, corrupt exhale.
I am a failure.
And for the first time in memory, in the entirety of her life, a tear is shed, dampness trickling down her cheekbone, as she feels horror for the lives she has not taken, for the torture she has not carried out, how she has not cleansed Helovia nor united them beneath her black banners -- how they carry on, unknowing of the greater purpose she always sought, how they will never know the feeling of serving one as great as she should have been.
She weeps openly and in silence, her mongrel roaming far, leaving her to the precocious evil of her own thoughts.
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image credits
| Hidden Account atk: 5.0 | def: 9.5 | dam: 3.5 |
| Mare :: Other :: 11/17 hh :: 12 HP: 56.0 | Buff: NOVICE |
| Raven |
06-17-2014, 09:22 AM
(This post was last modified: 06-17-2014, 09:25 AM by Arathea.)
From the meadows she had come, driven by the unsatisfied urge to explore. The curiosity had gotten the better of her again. What might have happened in the last year? What had gone and what had come while she was away somewhere. Somewhere no one would know.
With soft steps, she moved slowly across the ground. Her slim body almost slithering forward with the long tail dragging after over the leaves and twigs on the ground. The prey was ahead. All alone, unmoving and unaware of its stalker. It just laid there on the ground and the wolf sneaked carefully closer. The wind was in her favour; blowing softly in her face and took her scent away from the prey. Her lips curled slightly in a grin as she came to a halt in the longer grass growing up between some large rocks. She moved her hind legs in under herself, eyes fixed on the prey ahead and then she pounced.
The small rodent did not stand a chance as the wolf's jaws closed around it. It barely had any time to shriek before the teeth ended its life and the dark little body was swallowed. Arathea licked her lips and shook dirt and leaves away from her fur. Satisfied, she took a good look around finally and noticed the large stone structure just ahead of her. She titled her head to the side and then sniffed, frowned and turned her ears back. The scent of horse was strong and it was something off about it too. She looked back over her shoulder as if considering just turning to leave, but the curiosity takes over once again.
She moved up to the stone and got up on his hind legs briefly to look up the pillars, then she fell back down on all four. The colourful light from the glass ceiling caught her attention first as she walked towards the middle, only to stop suddenly as the smell reminds her of why she entered in the first place. She turned her gaze towards the horse further ahead and her ears moved back in an uncertain manner. "Horse seem to have seen better days...", she called out softly and kept the safe distance in case the equine would get startled and attack upon the sight of carnivore.
| Outcast atk: 7 | def: 10 | dam: 3 |
| Mare :: Unicorn :: 15 hh :: 13 :: Frostfall HP: 61 | Buff: NOVICE |
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Minou :: Ocelot :: Sing
Shady |
06-18-2014, 05:19 AM
(This post was last modified: 07-07-2014, 12:56 AM by Sheba.)
 | | Maybe it’s nostalgia that draws you back to the rotunda; maybe it’s the glitter, but either way, you find yourself moving toward the woods at a steady clip towards what was once the Regime’s meeting ground. Not that a meeting has been held there in months—the demon queen has disappeared from Helovia, and as the seasons change, you wonder if any of her grand plans will ever come to fruition. But what is it to you? You are a mercenary in your alliances, trading your loyalties to the highest bidder for what they can give you, be it power, protection, or possessions. Nevertheless, the skull-faced mare has been haunting your thoughts as of late, and it’s growing increasingly irritating. You knew she would be great, but you were wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong. And wrong is something that you hate to be.
Preoccupied, you pace through the trees, brow furrowed in a mixture of bewilderment and annoyance. For a creature who has honed her instincts, whetting them carefully with the blade of experience, and relying on them daily, Confutatis’ failure to rally is a devastating blow to your confidence; it is a sign that you are losing your touch. You should have known better, and you curse your stupidity under your breath. What were you thinking, aligning yourself with some rebel, a mere rabble rouser whose cause was in its infancy? You of all equines should know that power is never sweetly given—it must be pried loose from cold, dead jaws. When you hadn’t seen hide nor hair of your so-called visionary in months, you should have seen it coming.
Perhaps what is most infuriating is that this is not the first time you have given yourself this lecture. Sure, the suspicion that Confutatis’ fire had somehow fizzled began to cross your mind weeks ago, but you had held on to a strange thread of hope that she would return. But no matter how many times you told yourself that you must have been mistaken about her, inexplicably, a part of you insisted that you were right—you had to be. There was something about her…a veritable hunger and thirst for power, a thin-lipped smirk screaming of dominance and authority, a mind that worked like a well-oiled machine, and a body with the scars that proved she was willing to take what she wanted by any means necessary—they were all the markers of untapped greatness. How could you be wrong when all the signs had pointed in the right direction? She was a queen, and you both had known it from your very first encounter. And, though you would never admit it, even to yourself, the skull-faced mare embodied everything that you admired—she had a mind as sharp as yours, but she bubbled and seethed with the ruthlessness you lacked. She would fight her way to the top, that one…whereas you never would.
As the ancient structure gradually began to come into view between the thick copses of trees, your ears pin in anger—anger at Confutatis for leaving, and anger at yourself for still somehow believing in her. The cause is dead, and it is high time to move on to the next highest bidder. Even the thought of gathering colorful trinkets, like you had originally planned, does not soothe you now. You are growing uncharacteristically wild in your fury, snapping branches left and right, wanting to put a hoof right through those pretty stained-glass windows. You march up to the rotunda, intending to do just that…and that is when the miracle happens: Confutatis, in the flesh, is standing just inside.
Your heart drops to your stomach, and if you didn’t have an iron grip on your self control, you would have burst into hysterical laughter. Speak of the devil, Sheba; speak of the devil! You don’t know whether you are angry or relieved to see her, but the feeling that is rising in your chest is an intoxicating mixture of triumph and, oddly enough, hope. You will have your queen yet. In all of your petty emotion, you had forgotten the most important of virtues: patience. You could kick yourself for that one, but that will come later. You have thoughts only for the one before you. “My queen,” you murmur, voice echoing slightly on the cold stone of the rotunda’s interior. “It has been many weeks since I have had the pleasure of your company,” you continue, stepping into the shadows to join her. “Pray tell, how may I be of service?” It is only then that you notice that you are not alone. A large, wolf-like creature also lurks in the shadows, and your ears twitch backwards slightly, adrenaline flooding your gut. But you will not turn tail and run before Confutatis, especially since she is between you and the wolf. So, you stand your ground, awaiting the mare’s response. Heaven knows, you've waited long enough.
@[Confutatis]
EDIT: tagging because I noticed you're back c:
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Please tag Sheba in all posts!
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