the Rift


[OPEN] a parliament of crows

Morir Posts: 79
Up For Adoption atk: 4.5 | def: 6.5 | dam: 3.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 17.2 :: 4 HP: 54 | Buff: NOVICE
Arwydd :: Raven :: None Adoptable
#1


It was without any expectations he appeared by the ancient structure as night fell. The moon rode high in the sky, only a crescent still yet steadily growing into herself; the pregnant glow was ruddy and rich, ominous and bloody. She looked in the mood for carnage and schemes - and Morir would have been only too happy to oblige with both if there were only someone around to plan murder and chaos with.

A shadow among shadows, the tall brute emerged from the trees like a ghost, his usual slow death-march accompanied by the quiet rattle of the amulet against the bone crown. He had found it not too long ago - or rather, it had found him, falling from some birds nest to land within the pallid tines and had since remained; Morir didn't care to remove it even though it made useless sound. It amused him somehow, the idea of decorating his mask with trinkets; one day he might add more, similar to the treasured feather that hung from a braid in the mane. Maybe others would find intrigue with one or other object, perhaps he'd be able to acquire more important things for them - he was not without needs after all, and a long winter was soon to approach. A stone with interesting shape, soft feathers or fragile shards of egg or ice might buy him a night within herd borders, some food or even the soft curves of a mare - who knew.

Yet, Morir knew he would trade both elk-mask and half his soul for a reply tonight. As he reached the Rotunda and ascended the carved steps to stand beneath the glassed ceiling that, someone had assured, was stained in vibrant colors and looked quite magnificent, he felt a pang of regret, not for the first time during this summer. Once a mare of treacherous words might have snapped at him for stepping unbidden into the building, might have nipped him with the kind of toxic kiss that left the skin bubbling and rotting away... Once he would have been roughly shoved aside by a massive stallion, greeted by a kick in the gut and the hiss of a dragon before chased down again - who, after all, was he to intrude upon the conversation of the Regime leaders?
But no such thing was there to greet him now, only the silence of the night and a soft rustle of dry leaves in the wind. He tried calling out, one time in the hope that someone, anyone he knew and could call brother, sister, would reply; a ringing cry that echoed through the landscape before slowly fading away into nothingness...

It sounded so lonely that he didn't repeat it.


@[Sheba] if you're interested? Open to anyone :)
"I embrace the thorny rose to my chest and
fall into the crimson sea
I continue dancing upon the
piled bodies until I die"


♦ Please tag Morir in all replies! 

Sheba Posts: 114
Outcast atk: 7 | def: 10 | dam: 3
Mare :: Unicorn :: 15 hh :: 13 :: Frostfall HP: 61 | Buff: NOVICE
Minou :: Ocelot :: Sing Shady
#2
All she ever wanted was the world.


In the name of all that is good and beautiful, what is THAT?! An earsplitting shriek splits the cool air as your horrified eyes catch a disfigured reflection staring back at you from the shallows of the river. Oh, it was unspeakable! You had approached the water eagerly, ready for a morning drink and the reassuring sight of your dainty face, but instead, the image of an ugly hag had greeted you. It was all some horrible trick! Yet another stolen glance confirms your worst nightmare: the face that stares back at you is your own. Admittedly, it’s a very wizened, disfigured face…but there is no mistaking it, as much as you want to. It looks as if you have gained twenty years in a night, and you haven’t aged gracefully at that. Tears of rage and disgust pool in your eyes, and you slash at the water viciously with your horn. You don’t know how or why this is happening to you, but somehow you know that this is all his fault. And then, slowly, as if in some horrible, twisted flashback, the flaming stranger’s words come floating back to you: you will leave here…altered…in some way. “YOU,” you growl, nearly choking on your own anger, “YOU did this to me.” You look around, half-expecting to see the fiery creature come sauntering triumphantly out of the woods to watch the fun, but he is nowhere in sight. If this is what it’s going to take to receive his gift, then he can go…well, nevermind what he can go do. You’re going to go demand that he take it back.

You spend the better part of the day hauling yourself up the mountain, cursing at him in the old tongue all the while. It takes you until nearly sundown to reach the top of the mountain, for this body seems not only to have gained the appearance of a haggard old crone, but a touch of arthritis as well. Still, you manage to hold your head high as you drag yourself up the last incline, rage fueling you as you march into the field to find it…empty. A scream of frustration pierces the twilight as you fully realize the trick he has played on you. There is to be no getting out of this body unless you can find him. Fine, you mutter under your breath as you search for a place to sleep. Tomorrow you will begin the weary descent down the mountain, for it is much too late today. “If you want to play hide and seek, monsieur, I’ll find you sooner or later.”

* * * * *


It has been weeks now since you last saw the flaming stranger, and slowly, you are beginning to become accustomed to this body. You hate every last inch of it, from the scraggly mane and tail to the jutting ribs and hip bones, but you’re gradually learning how it works. Arthritis has stiffened your joints, making your travels painfully sluggish, but you swear that you won’t rest until you get your body back—your real one, glossy coat, shining hair, and all. Though there are predators about, as often as you deem it safe, you journey under the cloak of the night, hiding from any form of life you may encounter. You cannot bear the thought of anyone seeing you like this, so devoid of any beauty.

And there is another reason. The darkness dims the vibrant colors of the season. While their beauty once delighted you, the leaves seem to taunt you in their glory. They are in their prime, and you are only a shadow of your former self. If anything, you are what they will become at the end of autumn: withered husks, crinkly, and brown, and ugly. No, you’ll skip the constant reminders of beauty, thanks.

That is why, when you reach the rotunda quite unexpectedly, you cringe. A slow anger has been bubbling within for weeks, and the sight of the structure, glimmering so perfectly in the moonlight, brings it all to the surface in a tumultuous wave. You rush at the pavilion as fast as your choppy trot can take you and jab at the nearest window with your horn, listening with delighted fury to the sound of breaking glass. Triumph, white-hot and intoxicating, surges through your veins at the crash. If you can’t be beautiful, nothing else will be.

OOC: Hasn't spotted him yet c:

@[Morir]
Please tag Sheba in all posts!

Morir Posts: 79
Up For Adoption atk: 4.5 | def: 6.5 | dam: 3.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 17.2 :: 4 HP: 54 | Buff: NOVICE
Arwydd :: Raven :: None Adoptable
#3


Was it a miracle? Someone actually came. Though, admittedly, it was hard for the blinded stag to tell whether it was because of his call or some other external factor, something he in his unfortunate state couldn't see. If one were to be perfectly honest it wasn't even so much that they came towards him as rushed towards the Rotunda, its tall pillars and glassed arcs obscuring him rather effectively from view.

He did think himself able to recognize those footsteps though. It felt like an age had passed since he heard them last, and judging by their weary tread and a slight creak of joints, something like an age must have passed for them too because the gait of this someone was much slower and painstaking than the chipper, self-absorbed trot he used to hark to. Frowning slightly beneath the callous mask the death-dealer shifted and stirred the lobes atop his poll to get a better read on the sounds coming from outside, hope and wariness contesting for hold within his chest; it was definitely someone he knew, but what was with this tinge that befouled her natural scent? Instead of flowers and blood he discerned whiffs of something decidedly repugnant, like old milk and unwashed skin...

The steps came closer in a hurry, and before the hellion had time to say anything there was a sound of shattering glass. Raising a brow in mild amusement Morir stepped over, tail curling in mingled delight and intrigue; poking the unseeing head out through the shattered frame he smirked at the female standing below.

"Sheba" he greeted with dark pleasure smoothing the deep bass of the voice - somehow he managed to refrain from skipping around in sheer pleasure to see her - "you are your usual pleasant self, I hear. What has you in a state this time; someone throw something at you?" He'd never spent much time alone with this mare, but he'd gotten the impression from the missions they'd gone on together that she was both temperamental and vain - Morir definitely wouldn't put it past her to throw a tantrum over a leaf in the mane.

And yet... there was the matter of this curious transformation, because the closer he came the more something seemed off about her, as though someone else was wearing her skin - someone who didn't care about it in the slightest. It was most intriguing and the beast was dying to hear about it.


@[Sheba]

"I embrace the thorny rose to my chest and
fall into the crimson sea
I continue dancing upon the
piled bodies until I die"


♦ Please tag Morir in all replies! 

Sheba Posts: 114
Outcast atk: 7 | def: 10 | dam: 3
Mare :: Unicorn :: 15 hh :: 13 :: Frostfall HP: 61 | Buff: NOVICE
Minou :: Ocelot :: Sing Shady
#4
All she ever wanted was the world.


“Sheba.” A dark head thrusts itself through the broken window, and you jump as though you’ve seen a ghost. It is not so much the elk skull, nor the giant beneath it, nor even his sudden appearance that frightens you. It is the fact that someone who’s supposedly blind knows that it’s you. What else can this so-called sightless creature see? Yet…if he could see, would he be able to tell that it was you? To yourself, you are unrecognizable; your current reflection and your true reflection are as different as a vulture and a swan. Without knowing it, the stag soon resolves the matter, chucking darkly, “You are your usual pleasant self, I hear. What has you in a state this time; someone throw something at you?” So he does not know that you look like crone, or that you more closely resemble a bag of bones than the beauty you once were. For the first time in weeks, a sense of relief trickles into your blood.

Morir,” you breathe, gazing up at him. “It’s a…surprise to find you here. To my knowledge, Confutatis has been missing for months. I wasn’t aware that any but myself still visited here.” You ignore his last question, preferring to keep your plight to yourself. In truth, this season has been lonely, hiding from the rest of the world with nary a trick to play nor a heart to break—why, you’d settle for a decent conversation, even if it is with a ghost from a past you’d rather forget. Your loyalties no longer lie with the demon queen, for she has failed you, but you will not admit that to Morir…not until you know where his own allegiances stand. But why talk politics, if you can help it? You will eagerly drink in the sound of his voice if it means company. He cannot see you, and for a night, you are free.

@[Morir]

Please tag Sheba in all posts!

Morir Posts: 79
Up For Adoption atk: 4.5 | def: 6.5 | dam: 3.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 17.2 :: 4 HP: 54 | Buff: NOVICE
Arwydd :: Raven :: None Adoptable
#5


He snorted at the sound of their self-appointed queen's name, a sharp and derisive sound that spoke volumes about his current opinion of her. Withdrawing the head from the window - with some difficulty as the crown of antlers had a tendency to get stuck in things - he backed up and clopped swiftly across the floor of the building, came down the steps and moved closer to the mare so that they could keep talking without looking like a shopkeep and his customer.

"Best for her that she keep staying away, after leaving us in the wind like that" he growled in belated response, stopping just short of his company's reach - he'd never quite figured out whether she was tolerant of him or not. "The only reason I've been coming here is in the hopes that she will turn up so that I can kick her ass... and in case someone else comes by." He bent the neck and adjusted the grinning mask against a black knee, his silence containing endless amounts of questions. Why had Sheba stopped coming, why had she left, what were she doing that was so important that a goodbye took too much of her time, where had she been staying all this time...

"You don't care for the Regime anymore, do you?" he soon blurted, unable to hide neither his accusing tone nor the disappointment he felt. Morir had put so much hope and trust into this project, and to see it crumble with no attempts from anyone to pick up the reins and try again was just heartbreaking. "What have you been up to anyway, you've been just as absent as the rest; I haven't seen hide nor hair of Tyradon, Veil or Farkas for seasons, and the same goes for Moniz, Morana, Adele or Cyrus..."

He huffed out the names, each absent member only deepening the sense of betrayal and loss that he felt. Just the fact that the dark, ominous looking stallion had remembered all of them was a clear sign of his devotion, his sheer effort in regards to this makeshift, dysfunctional jest of a family. It hadn't been perfect, it hadn't even been great most of the time... but for the young heathen this nest of thieves and murderers, luck-seekers and troublemakers had been home, the first real one he'd had since his parents died.

If only there had been someone left with interest in the mission, with enough drive to keep trying for that elusive dream of a home that was their own, taken by their own strength... He could have led them. He could have done what Confutatis failed to do! But the house had crumbled, the door hung open and only dust gathered in the corners of their once glorious dream, and the beast was left cold, alone and disappointed. The happiness he'd felt upon recognizing the horned mare died away, his demeanor growing cold, rigid; baring down on her with those empty, eye-less pits he awaited her reply with the air of a man who couldn't care less - nothing she said would be good enough anyway, he thought.


@[Sheba]

"I embrace the thorny rose to my chest and
fall into the crimson sea
I continue dancing upon the
piled bodies until I die"


♦ Please tag Morir in all replies! 

Sheba Posts: 114
Outcast atk: 7 | def: 10 | dam: 3
Mare :: Unicorn :: 15 hh :: 13 :: Frostfall HP: 61 | Buff: NOVICE
Minou :: Ocelot :: Sing Shady
#6
All she ever wanted was the world.


Your companion huffs at the name of the demon queen, and even from the sound of his simple response, you gather that he shares your low opinion of her. The hovering skull disappears into the black hole, and for a moment, you almost expect him to walk off, as if the mere mention of their would-be leader has disgusted him too greatly to linger. But no, he is only descending the rotunda’s steps, and you turn to face him as he approaches you. “Best for her that she keeps staying away, after leaving us in the wind like that,” he mutters darkly, confirming your suspicions. A promise of violence quickly follows, and you shiver slightly—you do not envy Confutatis her fate, should she ever return. Even after descending from the platform, Morir still towers above you, a black shadow looming out of the night. Everything about him, from his rattling death-mask to his name (which you recognize from your own tongue), screams destruction: a formidable foe he’d make indeed.

“You don’t care for the Regime any more, do you?” he asks sharply, pulling your from your thoughts. He reminds you of your absence, consistent with all of the others, and though you know he cannot see you, you shake your head wearily, the glass trinkets in your mane clinking softly. You will not deny that your trips to the rotunda have stopped as of late, as soon as you’d made up your mind that Confutatis was as good as dead. And you’d tell him as much, but a part of you still isn’t sure whether or not this is some kind of trap—a hidden test of your loyalty perhaps? You wouldn’t put it past him.

Thus, you decide to tread carefully, still uncertain as to what his intentions are. “I’m afraid I have been rather scarce as of late,” you reply, “I’ve been seeking a certain golden stranger who’s…taken something of mine. I want it back.” You statement is simple, if not bitter. “But why should I care for ghosts, monsieur? You too have been away,” you venture lightly, testing the waters. “Do you come bearing news from our leaders, or has the Regime truly ceased to be?”

Please tag Sheba in all posts!

Morir Posts: 79
Up For Adoption atk: 4.5 | def: 6.5 | dam: 3.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 17.2 :: 4 HP: 54 | Buff: NOVICE
Arwydd :: Raven :: None Adoptable
#7


For all his pretense of indifference, the sigh he heave as she reveals some of her current dealings is not so much angry as it is tired and frustrated. He shake the head wearily, deflating slightly before the mare and lower the head down to her own level - there was no point trying to intimidate the only comrade he had left, now was there.

"I told you, I have not come across anyone for at least two seasons" the demon-spawn muttered, as if reluctant to admit this even to himself. "They've been as absent as you; and I know I left too, I was wandering around trying to get a grasp of the layout of the land. It's not easy conquering a nation when you have to measure every step and get lost whenever the sun cease to burn the skin." A cloven hoof lifted and reached out to paw the air before him, indicating his usual slow, high-kneed march where every inch of leg and horn was used to reveal obstacles in his path.

"How was I to know that between one journey and the next our leaders would disappear? I thought we had a plan, that everyone was doing their part and the only thing I had to do was get stronger before the first battle." He shook the head, a vicious snap of the tail expressing the disgust he felt with himself and the irresponsible horses he'd allowed to take command. "If we are the only ones left then there is no more Regime; Confutatis ideals were not mine, nor do I care for the narrow-minded thinking Tyradon flaunted. Even if they come back they don't deserve my loyalty; I'll walk my own way from now on."

"Unless... you still care for the idea of taking over a herdland?" The big head turned to her as though to survey her with the empty pits where eyes once had rested, an ear locked firmly in her direction. The question was almost tentative, carrying a trembling, feeble hope that their days of camaraderie was not truly over. Did Sheba still desire his presence, would she allow him to call her sister and friend even now?

"But you said something was stolen from you... What is it? Maybe I can help get it back." He would do anything for a friend, even something so trivial as returning a lost object. If she so desired this dainty, self-absorbed mare could receive all the loyalty of this heathen mongrel - and every ounce of strength, intelligence and ferocity he possessed. All he asked for in return was the right to view her as family.


@[Sheba]
"I embrace the thorny rose to my chest and
fall into the crimson sea
I continue dancing upon the
piled bodies until I die"


♦ Please tag Morir in all replies! 

Sheba Posts: 114
Outcast atk: 7 | def: 10 | dam: 3
Mare :: Unicorn :: 15 hh :: 13 :: Frostfall HP: 61 | Buff: NOVICE
Minou :: Ocelot :: Sing Shady
#8
All she ever wanted was the world.


“I told you, I have not come across anyone for at least two seasons,” your companion counters, brushing away the mention of his own absence with a vague alibi of travel. With no legitimate reason to doubt him to his face, you cannot contest his word; however, you are not sure that you’re inclined to believe him…until he raises a lone black leg to illustrate his point. The gesture is practiced, yet hesitant—the careful tread of a blind creature. There is something pathetic in the movement, something a little vulnerable that resonates unexpectedly in your wheezy, caved-in chest, and for a moment, your expression softens. While your transformation has done little to alter your heart, there is a part of you that understands the dark giant, for you have learned the hard way that a body that is unreliable is truly maddening.

When he turns back to politics though, any air of uncertainty is lost: he speaks candidly, forcefully denouncing both the demon queen and her consort with a voice that rings through the night. His words are bold indeed, since you sense that Morir knows as well as you do that the Regime was comprised of shadows and ghosts, of wary co-conspirators who barely knew each other, much less the secrets of their fellows. What assures him that you will not turn on him, run straight to the queen he claims not to have seen in months, and whisper reports of his infidelity in her ear? How can this near-stranger, who can barely trust the very ground he walks on, trust you—and with a statement as inflammatory as this? There are only two possibilities, you calculate. One, Confutatis truly has disappeared, and he has little fear of her returning. It is a reasonable explanation, and it has held true for the others he spoke of—while you haven’t been looking for them, you haven’t seen hide nor hair of any Regime members in weeks, just as he has told you.

But the second possibility makes you hesitate, and your blood runs cold at the thought: perhaps your initial suspicions prove true, and Morir does not fear any treachery on your part because he is working for Confutatis himself. Your ears swivel back and forth as he speaks, and your eyes strain, struggling to catch the slightest clue of his allegiance from his tone or body language. Yet the former chief of spies earned his title for a reason, and he mystifies you, leaving you as uncertain of his loyalties as you were five minutes ago. Sensing the danger of this situation, you’re growing increasingly uneasy.

“Unless…” Morir’s tone changes suddenly, and you stiffen slightly, unsure of the reason. “…You still care for the idea of taking over a herdland?” he finishes lightly, letting the question linger in the air between you. The skull swings toward you in the dark, as if he is attempting to peer into your soul. Your heartbeat quickens, but you refuse to run—you are not your mother. Stay calm. Collect yourself. “I suspect that I desire a place to rest my head just as much as you do,” you reply diplomatically, forcing yourself to keep your tone even. “But if we are the only ones left, there is no hope of taking one by force.” You stop short, for he is speaking again. It is essential to catch every word.

His question surprises you. Abruptly, he is changing the subject, inquiring after what was stolen and offering his assistance in its return. Caught off guard, you snap back, “Nevermind what was taken!” Then, remembering whom you are speaking to, your hackles lower—after all, he is one of the last characters you wish to offend. Pardonnez-moi, monsieur; I did not mean to be rude. It is only that I alone can get it back. But…I would appreciate your aid in finding the thief. That is, if you would be willing to accompany me…?” Your tone is conciliatory, and you do hope that he forgives your indiscretion. You could use the help, yet another idea is slowly blooming in your mind—something along the lines of the age-old philosophy of keeping your friends close and your enemies closer. Not that Morir is your enemy…you’d just rather rest assured that he is not. What better way to do so than to spend every waking minute with him?

OOC: She's secretly just as lonely as he is! Please excuse the rather unbecoming paranoia >_>

Please tag Sheba in all posts!

Morir Posts: 79
Up For Adoption atk: 4.5 | def: 6.5 | dam: 3.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 17.2 :: 4 HP: 54 | Buff: NOVICE
Arwydd :: Raven :: None Adoptable
#9


Her reply is not what he is hoping for. It is vague, unclear in that infuriating riddle-like way that he'd come to expect from the mongrel queen, but for all its unspoken half-truth it sounds like a rather decisive 'no' to him. An ear tick backward in the faintest trace of disappointment, the deep chest deflating as his last hope of someone to share a cause with disappear; he listen almost sulkily as she snap at his query only to immediately correct herself and almost, kind of, accept his offer.

Was the thing she'd been robbed of such an important thing she wouldn't even tell him about it? Oh, Morir knew they weren't exactly soul-mate and best friend with one another, but he had thought there were more trust between them than this. A dark brow raised sardonically beneath the bony mask, likely unseen by the ivory vixen, and there was a slight bite to the voice as he spoke again.

"How do you expect me to retrieve what was stolen if you can't tell me what it is? But fine, if you say so... I do confess myself surprised though, Sheba. If you know who the thief is, why isn't he dead already? Never in a lifetime would I have expected anyone to be able to succeed in running away from you..." The big head tilted in a mildly teasing manner, the long tail expressing amusement where it slithered lazily behind the muscular rump.
"It sounds quite ineffective to have both of us running around chasing this guy though, and describing them to me isn't going to help much. Was that thing they took really so important that you can't live without it?"

Morir couldn't understand it. His only possessions in this world were the things he carried on his self; the mask over the face, the green amulet that dangled from its antlers and the black feather that sat braided into the long mane. None of them were vital or even important; he'd be pissed if someone took them of course, but he couldn't think of anything that would make him chase after someone to get them back... The only thing he could imagine was finding the bastard to bash their head in - which, he had to admit, was fair enough.

"Want me to kill them for you?" he thus asked, with the kind of casual tone that might comment on the weather; Morir looked decidedly eager as he asked too, the small grin just a wee bit too bloodthirsty.


@[Sheba] So sorry for the wait

"I embrace the thorny rose to my chest and
fall into the crimson sea
I continue dancing upon the
piled bodies until I die"


♦ Please tag Morir in all replies! 

Sheba Posts: 114
Outcast atk: 7 | def: 10 | dam: 3
Mare :: Unicorn :: 15 hh :: 13 :: Frostfall HP: 61 | Buff: NOVICE
Minou :: Ocelot :: Sing Shady
#10
All she ever wanted was the world.


Though you’ve softened your tone, you can tell that Morir is still a little irked at your outburst. The hint of sarcasm in his voice bursts forth into full bloom as he questions why the thief isn’t dead already, for “Never in a lifetime would I have expected anyone to be able to succeed in running away from you…” You snort, prickling at his prodding, yet unwilling to raise your voice again and risk annoying him further. “Not all of us have the pleasure of looming above the rest of the world,” you remind him, illustrating your point rather comically as you crane your neck just to speak at the empty sockets of his skull mask. “Besides,” you sniff, “He had a head start.”

Needless to say, you’re disappointed when he turns down your offer to search for the thief together. Not that it’s surprising, for you wasted your chance when you allowed your temper to get the better of you, but still…While his company would have been valuable, and his protection would have been irreplaceable. In your eyes, the stag navigates his surroundings so well that from a distance, it isn’t immediately apparent that he can’t see two inches in front of his face. Of course, you’re not afraid, but this body is less than battle-ready. With a giant like Morir by your side, nobody would come close enough to try to take advantage of the plodding old creature that you’ve been reduced to.

Meanwhile, Morir is evidently still curious as to what’s been stolen. “Was that thing they took really so important that you can’t live without it?” he asks slyly, empty sockets peering down at you. A terse laugh slips past your lips. “Oh, cherie, you don’t know the whole of it,” you mutter, casting a loathing glance at your own hollow ribs and unsightly patches of fuzz. Yet while you look, your companion has already moved on. “Want me to kill them for you?” he inquires lightly, a wicked grin spreading across his face. You freeze.

Admittedly, you’ve fantasized about this very scenario several times, mainly while wandering through the caves in the early days of your transformation as you muttered darkly to yourself. But to have your fantasy become an actual possibility? You imagine the hiss of flames dampened by blood, and in your head, you watch yourself stand over the thief, triumphant, every feature of your body—your own body—highlighted in the dying embers. The idea of revenge is intoxicating, indeed.

Yet everything comes with a price, and you’re not about to hire an assassin without an estimate of the cost. “When he gives it back, I’d like nothing more,” you murmur, “But what, mon coeur noir, do you ask in return?”

OOC: I’m just sitting here chuckling at the idea of Sheba trying to sic Morir on the god of the sun….don’t mind me xD

Please tag Sheba in all posts!

Morir Posts: 79
Up For Adoption atk: 4.5 | def: 6.5 | dam: 3.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 17.2 :: 4 HP: 54 | Buff: NOVICE
Arwydd :: Raven :: None Adoptable
#11


The mare remains as tight lipped as ever and Morir find himself left just as curious as before. Finely chiseled ears dance animatedly atop the poll as emotions sweep through, from annoyance to amusement and even stronger intrigue. What makes him most interested is the careless remark she drops of 'when he gives it back'... What was even going on here? Someone had stolen something from Sheba, and now she was hounding around trying to find him so he could give it back? Not 'take' back, but give? The nuance was faint but oh so important, and it made him want to crawl out of his skin to get away from all the questions that erupted into being.

"Why don't you just tell me what it is already?" he asked with gritted teeth, not angrily but so tensely that it would be easily mistaken as such - it was all he could do not to force her back against a tree and make her spill the truth at horn-point, such was the extent of his curiosity.

His attention was luckily averted elsewhere when the subject of repayment came up. Another horse might have blinked in confusion, but as the ghoul was without both eyelids and orbs he could but tilt the large head in mild query. Why on earth would he need payment for killing someone? Surely the act in itself would be payment... But if she asked, he sure as hell wasn't going to say no thank you and work for free - Morir was neither kind nor generous enough for that. Perhaps it would even be accurate to say he was too greedy for it.

"It depends..." he mused, long legs carrying him closer to the dove as the smile deepened on his lips, the wickedness of it melting into something altogether more charming and sly. "What do you have to offer?" He reached out a velvet nose, intending to touch the curve of her neck and the soft, warm, supple curve he expected to find there.


@[Sheba]

"I embrace the thorny rose to my chest and
fall into the crimson sea
I continue dancing upon the
piled bodies until I die"


♦ Please tag Morir in all replies! 


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