| Hidden Account |
| Mare :: Unicorn :: 16.1 :: 4 Buff: NOVICE |
| Bluey |
larkspur The way the parts of me,
they always disagree.
It's a wonder that this body doesn't break.
Stars.
They line the sky, countless gleaming, spinning shards of light scattered throughout the colors and shades of faraway galaxies above. They cut through the black backdrop of the midnight sky, like holes pierced in the floor of the heavens, so bright in the company of the moon that even in the dead of night the Frostbreath Steppe is illuminated. The shallow drifts and slight hills of summer snow, small wonders in comparison to the steppe in the middle of winter, roll as far as the eye can see. The mountains are a wall that surround the Aurora Basin to the north, while the steppe fans out before them, a frozen tundra - empty. Not entirely though, the lonesome place of ice and snow has at least one inhabitant this night. The horned shadow floats over the remnants of the summer ice and snow, dusk blue and black against the seemingly endless expanse of pale plain she traverses. She prowls, golden eyes fierce, flashing. She is fierce, formidable - a vicious storm to disturb the calm of this uninhabited place. There is a storm in her heart too, and it rages relentless, impossible to escape. It eats away at her, piece by piece, and has done so ever since her return. And so she found herself here, upon the empty plain of the Frostbreath Steppe, searching for shelter from herself, but failing to find it.
Larkspur worries her hooves into the snow, gleaming eyes peering out from beneath her wild and wind tossed forelock as it falls across her face, her long, tasseled tail whipping back and forth in slow, precise calculation. A hunter considering its prey. Yet the thing she hunts is not of this world, it has no physical form, no earthly existence. She seeks redemption, reassurance, restitution.
She wants to remember, and she wants to know why.
She probably never will.
Fleeting, faint shadows of her past haunt her. A childhood entirely forgotten. Her home beyond Helovia, blurred images of a family she knows once existed, but who’s faces are lost to her, now only hallucinations. Even the Aurora Basin, a place that had once given her solace and a sense of belonging, no longer filled the void of her insecurities. The same people she considered family are strangers, and her memories of them are twisted and scattered, a chaotic collection of recollections she cannot deciper. Regardless, she clings to the one thing she has always known, and that is to serve at the pleasure of kings and queens, tyrants and destroyers. She is - if nothing else - a tool of destruction, a reaper of those that rule, a warrior amongst lesser, weaker men. She is unwavering, a watcher in the dark, a wraith.
Larkspur knows that if everything else is lost in this world, one thing will undoubtedly remain, whether it be amongst broken kingdoms or broken hearts - and that is war.
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| Outcast atk: 4.0 | def: 7.5 | dam: 7.0 |
| Mare :: Unicorn :: 16.3 :: 6 Years HP: 62.5 | Buff: NOVICE |
| Sparrow |
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"Ah..."
The chill. The familiar chill. The beautiful, wonderful, amazing, pleasurable chill of the Steppe slowly seeps into her stationary figure, slithering like tiny frozen snakes up the hard gems of her hooves, upwards against elegant canons, caressing the length of the Brindled Devil's legs, thighs, and the firm curvature of her ebonite body like a familiar lover. The frigid kisses fondle Rhiannon's insides, eliciting a breath of content pleasure to escape from her nostrils, mist furling upwards like a dancing spectre.
Icy-silver and scorching-gold irises slowly slide open, and Rhiannon's gaze lifts upwards to the stars that lay across the blanket of the night sky. She had pondered many things while standing upon the frosted earth of the Steppe; life, love, triumphs, failures... Demons. Oh, yes. One could never forget those damnable things.
The brindled mare's teeth begin to gnash with impatience, with displeasure, with anger, as often were the results after pondering the darkness that had become her life. Since the Wraiths had attacked Helovia, robbing the world of darkness and Rhiannon of her sanity... Living underground, stricken by darkness and only shadows to call your friends, well... It had certainly done a number on her.
Still.
The soldier lowered her head, another breath furling upwards in a visible personification, willing herself to relax. It did no good for her to get riled up over things that she could no longer control, no matter how bothersome they were. Dual-toned oculars flick outwards to survey the surroundings of the Steppe, and for quite some time she ponders possibly returning to the protective, motherly embrace of the Basin before a splotch of darkness crosses her line of sight.
The Brindled Devil's eyes narrow cautiously, head raising, ears tipping back as teeth began to clench together. Hooves shifted and shuffled in the snow, kicking up thin powder of white, but Rhiannon's eyes stay locked on the stranger in the distance. Lithe, dark, dangerous is what the creature looked... And enticing. Oh.
"Oh my..." The whisper was soft, like how one may speak before devouring a decadent treat of chocolate, and Nonnie felt her jowls begin to salivate.
A familiar curl began to build within the soldier's loins and a gleam of delight flickered in Rhiannon's eyes, a wide, dangerous grin suddenly pulling at the young killer's dark lips. Uncertain if the stranger had seen or caught smell of her yet, Nonnie tossed her head and nickered in the stranger's direction, the action causing her crimped and furled mane to curl about her neck and bosom, bobbing about prettily.
"It does no good for a dark beauty like yourself to wander alone, stranger," Rhiannon beckoned, eyes alight with mirth and general mischief, "Perhaps you wouldn't mind some company?" Because Rhiannon knew that she sure as hell didn't mind. Especially with this golden-eyed beauty.
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| Hidden Account |
| Mare :: Unicorn :: 16.1 :: 4 Buff: NOVICE |
| Bluey |
larkspur The way the parts of me,
they always disagree.
It's a wonder that this body doesn't break.
Night walks are as much a part of Larkspur as breathing, where shadows and silence are her only company, and the darkness moves, and walks, and bends with her as she treks through the snow. Icy slivers of silver air spin and twirl up into the starlit air as she breathes, sighs, and watches the ghost-like apparitions rise and evaporate into the sky. Frost clings to the long hairs of her fetlocks, her tasseled tail, and it clings to the edges of her mane and forelock, and eye lashes too, golden eyes framed by natures glitter, her eyes lined with a rim of fine and faint ice. She revels in her solitary existence here, the deafening quiet of the tundra, the sound of her own pulse beating steadily inside her head - alive.
However, Larkspur isn’t as alone as she previously thought. The call of a stranger snaps the warrior to attention, and her head snakes to the side sharply, eyes narrowed. She subconsciously cusses herself for not thinking to check if anyone was down wind of her, but she doesn’t linger on the triviality - there’s no time for it. The stranger is already approaching her across the snow, a shadow against the pristine white. If it weren’t for the distinctive scent of the Aurora Basin that accompanied the mare’s presence, Larkspur would have thought herself fallen back into the world beyond the mirror, a place full of demons and phantoms alike.
As this phantom draws closer, Larkspur squares her stance, her tail waving behind her once - then twice. Gilded eyes peer from beneath their curtain of black, and Larkspur appraises the new comer as she speaks, her own expression distant and brooding.
"It does no good for a dark beauty like yourself to wander alone, stranger. Perhaps you wouldn't mind some company?”
As the stranger draws closer, materializing into full form in front of her from the darkness, Larkspur hesitates - there is something uncannily familiar about the young unicorn, but try as she might what glimpses of the past that taunt her refuse to show themselves completely. Typically she would have met this mare’s cheshire cat grin and mirthful spirit with a smirk and snide remark of her own, but instead she remains expressionless, preoccupied with her own thoughts. Did she know this shadow solider? Larkspur curses the Time God then, curses his damned mirror, and curses her lost memories. How many people were forgotten, how many had she lost ever since she left?
Her eyes narrow again, and she tilts her head to the side, considering the creature in front of her. She is a pretty thing, young, but Larkspur is hardly a fool to dismiss her. Behind her mischievous smile she fancies something far more sinister lurking, lingering in wait. They are two shadows against the endless tundra, a land lost in perpetual winter, two gold-eyed wraiths stalking through the ice and snow, and though half of Larkspur longs to snap and deride this child for following her in the first place, something about her keeps her from driving her away. Perhaps it's because she sees a reflection of herself - for a moment - that she almost recognizes.
“Misery loves company.” Larkspur considers it fair warning. “I know you’re of the Basin, but I cannot place your face. Do you have a name?”
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| Outcast atk: 4.0 | def: 7.5 | dam: 7.0 |
| Mare :: Unicorn :: 16.3 :: 6 Years HP: 62.5 | Buff: NOVICE |
| Sparrow |
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'Misery loves company.'
The response that her words garnered wasn't something that Rhiannon was terribly surprised to hear. This dark mistress with detached golden eyes didn't seem the sentimental type, nor much of a social butterfly, but that worked in her favor. The Brindled Devil didn't always need a reason to associate herself with a creature that was pleasant to look at... And pleasant was, perhaps, a terrible understatement for this nighttime wanderer.
And hot damn, if she didn't love the sound of her voice! A breathless beauty, a siren in disguise... Oh, the striped soldier's loins tickled, and her pink tongue roamed the inside of her mouth to collect the saliva before she became a horrendously unsavory drooling mess. That would make for poor introductions. A rueful grin tugged the corners of Nonnie's dark lips upwards, causing the warm-gold and chilly-silver of her keen eyes to glimmer mischievously in the sparse moonlight.
The midnight siren continues on, and Rhiannon can't get enough. Briefly her mind drifts to how she would say her name, the way that her lips may form the syllables of the title that the horned lady had been dubbed with as a youth... The soldier shifts her weight where she stood, hooves crunching the sparse snow that lay beneath them, and her tail flicks idly to the side.
"I do, ma chérie," Rhiannon answers swiftly, her cheshire grin remaining, "I am Rhiannon, daughter of Crowley and Arah, but you may call me Nonnie, if you'd rather. And may I get your name?"
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| Outcast atk: 5.5 | def: 11 | dam: 6.5 |
| Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16.2 hh :: Eight HP: 77 | Buff: ENDURE |
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Haldir :: Common Cerndyr :: Dark Mist
Hawk |
07-31-2014, 09:00 PM
(This post was last modified: 07-31-2014, 09:00 PM by Thranduil.)
He was not a shadow. Moving through the snow covered rocks and mountains the golden still shown. Thranduil was used to that, and honestly, it wasn’t exactly an unsetting notion. The gold liked to be noticed, and he loved to put on a show. A game or two never hurt either. Lately though those games had gotten a bit more serious. With choosing to continue on here in Helovia, and rising into the ranks of the Basin, he found a heavy weight were there had not been. It was not the mantle of responsibility. No soldier’s burden here. It was the burden of continuing to wear a mask. For the gold was not used to keeping the same lies together everyday. It dragged on him, and so he was out in the night, dragging himself through the snow.
He hadn’t expected to meet anyone. Not many venture to these heights especially in the chill of night. It was the cold that had woken him though. The golden son, not knowing much of how to live in the icy lands had chosen a rather poor cave. Seeing a large one untaken he had thought it a prize, but the first night a cool breeze blew through, he found why it had been left. Tomorrow he would find another, and rest easier his heat seeking body. Soon he would be going to the Throat, and that eased him as well. At least there he could play another role than he had here. Tie another mask on. The cold had woken him though, and being a creature who could not stand still very long he found himself walking. And he just kept walking.
It wasn’t exactly a pleasant thing. It had been only a few days since the wolves charged upon the Basin. The golden still growled to think of it. He had not been angered by their daring to attack the herd that had been rather foolish, however joyous it was to watch. No, it had been those two who had attacked him from behind. The cloven hoof was still tender, and his hip still gave a noticeable dip to take the weight off. Thranduil, the poor son, was untrusting, and so did not apply to any other for aid to heal. Luck was on his side for it was healing fairly well on its own, just needed time. A small cut on his front left shoulder was also healing nicely. Considering the pristine condition the gold kept his coat it was luck it also kept the cuts clean and so they were healing well. The wolves had not faired so well. Their carcasses still lay near the opening of the valley, and the golden was determined to keep his word and fetch that one’s hid at some point.
Tonight was not that night though. Tonight was a night for wandering. His restlessness overrided the sight discomfort of his hind. So lightly limping along he moved up the mountains. Mind at ease in the serenity. It was the third time he’d come to theses peaks. Each time he had met someone here. So he should have known better than to think he was alone.
Shadows moved. Body stopped and kept its place as they moved past him. Then voices rose over the gentle wind. Hark leaned in and could barely hear. They leaned back and the lion tail switched about his hocks. Meeting others had not been the plan, but from their scents which he could barely catch, they were of the Basin. The gold had been looking to meet more of the curious members. The more he knew, the more he could shake about to fall. Still, his weariness and ill did not cause him to want to waltz into the opening and greet them. Perhaps a subtle meeting would do well. Perhaps it was the change he needed to rest easier. Besides he couldn’t hear them from here, and want’s eavesdropping any good for if you can’t hear.
The golden stepped into the opening. The creature stopped and looked squarely at them, the wind blowing up to push back his vanilla tassles. Playing he’d seen them for the first time the gold nickered, nodding and moved forward. Being a proud beast he tried to hid the limp he carried, but the slightest dip betrayed him. Ignoring it he hoped it would go unnoticed. Stopping between them he smiles gently. One is sleeker than the other, and wears a crown straight and true. Her eyes are troubled, and body burdened. The other’s body is drained of color along her back, strips running down her sides, and her horns resemble his own. He’s seen this one before. Speaking to Arah. Coming up just as she finishes speaking he discovers why they were talking. Rhiannon is Arah’s daughter. It took some skill not to raise a brow and give a weary but wicked grin. Still the gold keeps passive and quiet. Not a usual trick he plays. “Evening ladies.” It was low and soft. This was a tale he hadn’t spun in a while. It did though low easier, smoother. Like the lies he spoke formed his own lullabies. “I see I’m not the only night walker tonight.” He let himself be easy and relaxed. Against the two shadows he rang out like the coming of day.
OOC :: Hope you don't mind if he jumps in. =] If you do I'll poof him off. But I thought it'd be fun for him to meet a lesbian. XD
"speech"
A sleep walker's night,
Is supposed to be quiet,
Yet the gold does so love,
A bit more entertainment.
![[Image: 5381546acbe33]](http://images.helovia.net/index.php/view/5381546acbe33)
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