the Rift


[OPEN] Shadow take you.

Beloved Posts: 121
Aurora Basin Soldier atk: 8.5 | def: 10 | dam: 3
Mare :: Unicorn :: 14.3 :: Appears 6 HP: 62 | Buff: NOVICE
Orphan :: Ragdoll Cat :: None Bunnie
#1
The wind’s grip is lazy upon her, the slightest of ripples moving the delicate wisps of her mane in slow cadence with the whispers ushering from above; the high moon gleams against a blackened sky, diamonds studded across the velvet veneer, the little wicked one framed by the ethereal light, glowing as she walks along the fields of snow.

Rivulets of white drag and scar the powder that lines the crust of the ice, ivory hooves tracing crescents in her wake, and all the while her mind curls and writhes around the looming structures of ice encapsulated stone, of stones that were only ice, of things that might have been the bones of ancient things wrapped and comforted by the cold that coveted this northern land.

She is alone, to no surprise; the chill strikes deep after hours wandering no matter how slack the breeze, occasional swift buffets lifting blinding clouds of stinging frost to assault travelers of the frozen roads, and only madmen or wooly northern folk would deem such a place suitable for evening strolls.

The wench is no northerner.

She shivers, the cold digging deeper into her flesh, inspiring movement; like a ghost of winter’s melted she drifts with the grace of a thousand queens, a hundred million dancers, snowy banners streaming in the seething clouds of ice that are roused by her passing. Her eyes, empty and glistening, soulless and dark, frame with icy lashes a cavern, its mouth tall and broad and yawning.

The wind will not find her here, nor will the snow that melts against the pulsing heat of her heart. And what can be found in caves hewn of ice, crafted by sharp and prodding winds that barreled in from the mountain’s watchful crowns above? Are there beasts foul and decrepit in the belly of the snow, or are there treasures kept secret by the shimmering walls that swallow her as she delves into the shadow of its awning?

A giggle reverberates through the cool, dark air, the croon of the passing breeze singing with her, pale limbs flashing to a halt where her eyes grow wide and searching, her pace hesitantly retaken as she directs herself towards a passage that will lead her deeper into the darkness, further into the cozy arms of shadow.


Beloved
rust every place that I touch

Tag Beloved, please!

Feel free to attack her with physical or magical violence at your own risk. ;D

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
#2


Aaah, it hurt. Every moment, every breath, every fluttering heartbeat was agony such as the beast had never felt before. That he had made it this far without breaking down was nothing short of a miracle, but now he'd found himself incapable of taking even a single step further. Each of the four legs were swollen to almost double their normal size, the skin blistering and tense around hairs that were sure to gray once the surface had healed, if they grew back from their mangled, boiled and burned sacks at all; the hooves felt oddly numb in a way that was almost more terrifying than the constant, gnawing, itching sensation around the lower belly and upper legs.

The dark-touched demon shivered where he stood, hidden away in what he'd thought would be an undisturbed place far away from people. Unsure whether it was lingering shock or a mounting fever that caused it he simply tried to endure, unable as he was of curing his own illness. For the first time he regretted his lack of attention as a youth, all those times he had only pretended to be listening to the lectures of the old shaman of healing salves, herbal remedies and first aid measures. He'd never thought he would need anything more than basic wound care, wouldn't have dreamed of ever receiving something more serious than twisted joints or battle-wounds made from hooves and teeth. Now that he found himself landed with serious burns over half the body he could have kicked himself for being so arrogant - not that it would help, the burns wouldn't heal any faster for doing that.

He definitely weren't in a condition to handle other people. When the sound of hooves upon the slippery floor began to echo throughout the icy tunnels he frowned and withdrew further into his dark alcove, wishing and hoping that the stranger wouldn't notice his towering frame or the faded ivory of the mask that grinned listlessly from across his face. Weak and weary he listened with bated breath and thundering heart, praying for the arrival to turn around and leave, so that he could keep dying in peace and quiet.


@[Beloved]

"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! 

Beloved Posts: 121
Aurora Basin Soldier atk: 8.5 | def: 10 | dam: 3
Mare :: Unicorn :: 14.3 :: Appears 6 HP: 62 | Buff: NOVICE
Orphan :: Ragdoll Cat :: None Bunnie
#3
The stench, it bleeds around her, smothering and dense.

It smells like death, like rotting things; decay wrinkles her nose, narrows her searching eyes that flash dangerously in the low light that gleams in from the starlit skies above the shelling of ice that encapsulates the wintry cavern.

Like a creature of the dark, she slithers in search, each shadowed corner probed with eyes that glisten eagerly in the promise of finding bones and flesh slipping from their smooth ivory surfaces. Surely it rots slow in this snow and ice, surely it is nearly whole, with the haggard wounds that festered and spewed forth still slaked with the dry crust of blackened blood, and she licks her lips anxiously in desire for the pristine visage that awaits her.

But the source of the odor moves when she finds it, slumped in the darkness as if already dead, though it breathes and lives still. Delicate ears rise, her nostrils draw deep and long the smell of his masculine musk beneath the rancor that mars his ebony pelt, but most curious is the flash of white and the crown that adorns his face. Greedy, her wet eyes glaze the appendages that curve and jut into the air, the bone smooth and old and worn by the passage of time and weather as it has lain across his features.

She crawls, slowly, hooves the smallest clinks and clips upon the frigid stone.

Will he die? Is he already dead, though he still breathes for the moment? She hopes so. Covetous, she draws ever closer to the one who reeks of infection and pain, her eyes never drawing away from the prize that rests on the future corpse before her.

"Death sees you," she whispers to herself, though the words are for him - her tongue draws harsh and rough across her ivory lips, the redness of the flesh cryptic and wrong in the dim, blue tinted light that rides astride her flawless form, "do not hide, you cannot hide. It sees you."



Beloved
rust every place that I touch

Tag Beloved, please!

Feel free to attack her with physical or magical violence at your own risk. ;D

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
#4


He could have groaned, if he hadn't been so busy pretending he wasn't there. Was this his punishment for stealing away a life? First extensive burns that likely would turn him into the corpse the mare thought him to be unless treated soon, now he was subjected to the lunacy of a madmare. Lady Luck seemed to have turned her gaze away from him; the thought was enough to send a shudder down his spine, strong enough to force the scalded tail into motion - albeit far less vigorously than usual, it offered more of a feeble lurch than the customary snap.

It would be an understatement to say that Morir was disinclined to socialization at the moment. While the cold did seem to soothe the ache of the burns it was nevertheless freezing, he was in pain, the normally so excellent process of thought was muddled with disease and someone must have stuffed wool in his ears because every sound seemed to come from far away, the speaker submerged in some hidden spring. If he'd been able to see the vision might have been blurred and spinning wildly - at least he was spared that particular plight, steeped in darkness as usual.

The stag didn't speak. Maybe if he stayed really still and didn't breathe too deeply the bitch would give him up for dead and go away. Not even he got so lonely that he'd enjoy spending the time with a rotted corpse - he never even spoke to the skull mask, as he had a suspicion that it might actually answer if he asked the wrong questions - the talking jaw-bone had rattled his senses enough, now that he'd had time to process everything that'd happened back at the beach. Point being - if he pretended to be dead he wouldn't have to hold a conversation, and with some luck - providing the Lady hadn't abandoned him completely - he'd be alone again soon enough. It would just require some patience, and Morir was good at that. Maybe. If she hurried up a bit...


@[Beloved] Sorry it's so short ;__;

"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! 

Beloved Posts: 121
Aurora Basin Soldier atk: 8.5 | def: 10 | dam: 3
Mare :: Unicorn :: 14.3 :: Appears 6 HP: 62 | Buff: NOVICE
Orphan :: Ragdoll Cat :: None Bunnie
#5
Her ears draw back and flatten further against her ivory skull with each breath that moves the body before her, boredom and agitation grasping at her until she grits her teeth and her own silken banner of ivory slashes and writhes behind her. Dainty hooves pace across the ice, heterochromatic eyes a beam of desire and loathing that penetrate the darkness, the sharp rap of her limbs echoing through the chill air that she parts with her aggressive prowling.

He takes so long to die.

She will not touch him; his stench etches deeper into her nostrils until it simply becomes the air, forgotten but for the gruesome sight it makes against his dark pelt and the slick, ancient ice, so old it is stone, it is steel. He might fight her assault, driving his infection into her own flesh, a cruel pawn of karma sent to bring the devilish one down.

"Tsk tsk," she coos to herself, for no one will kill her. She is too clever, she is too cruel. She would drag them down into hell and rise back to life on the ether of their souls for trying.

And so it continues, for a long while, the patter of her petite frame pacing the cavern and the stink of the dying man the only companions to her maddened mumbling and tittering giggles. Aggression etches deeper and deeper into her flesh until finally she flies at the man huddled against the ice, face a grimacing mask of rage and ears pinned tightly against her fine, drifting white mane.

The snowy tassels surround her face as she glares down at him, horn tip angled as if to drive into his chest but halted just before the impact, a snarl ravaging her pretty voice into a carnal sound of hunger and a lust for blood. Spittle sprays from her lips and smacks against the crumpled beast, eyes wild and glowing, the whites punctured by the hot red of her blood as it pounds through her veins.

"FUCKING DIE ALREADY!" she nearly howls, tossing her head back angrily and rearing and stamping in the most perverse tantrum that the cavern had perhaps ever seen; her tongue is clipped in her aggression, the saliva splaying from her crazed lips pink tinged foam that stinks of metal and life. The flailing of the small ivory one ceases in a final uproar which results in several small chunks of ice being kicked quite aggressively in the direction of the stranger with the elk’s skull, a loud snort blasting through the expanse of the cave as she struggles to regain the breath that her rage stole away from her.

"Ice. Damnable filthy, frigid dog sucking ice," her words are raspy, her shouting having tortured her vocal chords so that she now gravely groans each word as she resumes her pacing, "keeps the stench at bay, keeps your death away..."

She stops, suddenly, head rising quickly and her eyes snapping over at the man she had just seconds before wanted to drift off into nothingness as quickly as possible, her fervent and deranged mind now pinned on another fact that has hit her with the suddenness of a thousand pounds of hard brick.

He had ignored her.

Mother fucker.

"You shit!" she shouts, glaring at him with an expression of contempt for having been disregarded so completely upon her arrival, "you rude ignorant shit! Don't you know who I am?! Does the rot eat upon your brain?!"

And more rocks begin sailing towards the fallen man, kicked by the aggravated bitch so unwilling to touch the festering stallion before and anymore than she had to.



Beloved
rust every place that I touch

Tag Beloved, please!

Feel free to attack her with physical or magical violence at your own risk. ;D

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
#6


She didn't leave. Instead, rather than simply stand there and be a quiet nuisance, the wretched cur started pacing back and forth, back and forth along the icy corridor, dainty hooves creating a pattering, eternal loop of echoes that quickly began to wear on him. Gritting his teeth together the stallion remained still, outwardly appearing the epitome of calm and aloofness while on the inside he was seething, roiling with steadily growing temper, enough to sear the innards and make crimson heart rage in a furious beat. At least his blood was still hot, still red and free flowing where it coursed through his veins. He was not dead, not yet - though for each second that passed he came a little bit closer to test the limits of his endurance on this annoying individual who couldn't take silence for a no.

Then she started to scream at him. If he'd been in any less pain Morir would have laughed at her for being so hilariously insane, but seeing as she was throwing insults at him the urge to smile was quite easy to ignore. Actually, he was fully prepared to keep doing just that - no tantrum in the world would be enough to make this rogue pay attention if he'd decided that he didn't want to - but the mare made one, possibly fatal, mistake.

She kicked ice at him.

Most of them just rattled to the ground around his plate-sized hooves, lacking in both sufficient force and accuracy. It was probably no more than sheer dumb luck - how ironic, that the Veiled One would choose to aid this disturber of peace rather than her faithful subject - that made one of them strike true, sharp edges smacking into a swollen, raw and oozing hock.

There was no way in all the seven hells he could ignore that. Sucking in a sharp, howling breath of agony the stag made a sudden throw of the head that all but dislodged the death-mask across the face, and with mind still reeling with pain but too angry to leave the mare alone anymore he turned the massive bulk around to face her. "Do you want to die?" he asked as he stepped towards her, every smooth step but an illusion of strength and fluidity - he could feel blisters pop and skin tear, the sudden stench of pus, blood and gore erupting into the air enough to make him want to gag. Deep bass tunes sounded almost conversational as he advanced on the intruder, merry and smiling; the obsidian spears that lower towards her chest speak a different language altogether however, and as the injured stag strive to drive her back, back back until she cannot back anymore and have to submit to his rage, he cannot help but hope that she will be stupid enough to run. How he would love to chase her down, what pleasure he will feel upon driving his weapon deep into her flesh and hear steaming blood sizzle as it splatter across the cold ice.

She want him to die? The bitch better fucking accompany him then, since she wanted to stay so badly.


@[Beloved]

"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! 

Beloved Posts: 121
Aurora Basin Soldier atk: 8.5 | def: 10 | dam: 3
Mare :: Unicorn :: 14.3 :: Appears 6 HP: 62 | Buff: NOVICE
Orphan :: Ragdoll Cat :: None Bunnie
#7
It finally moves, the last of her angrily pelted ice chunks rattling to stillness in the wake of his bulk rising upwards, the stench of his festering wounds radiating outwards in a new, heavier wave. Her nostrils wrinkle under the oppressive stench, though her eyes remain hard and she does not waver in the face of his outrage.

The question he asks her makes her nearly seize in the giggles that sweep from her lips, bihued gaze narrow with insane delight at the lunacy of such an inquiry. He was the one who had lain there, succumbing to the darkness, not she! She was the predator, the hungry one who watches and waits for prey to collapse. He was only a dying man with empty threats, a hollow anger that meant nothing to her.

Even as his horns dip and angle towards her pretty ivory skin, she titters with laughter, sculpted crown lifting in defiance as she finds him in her sights. The twin pillars of her ears still rest nestled in her mane, her outrage at having been ignored entirely forgotten in being so completely noticed.

"Do you want to die?" she echoes, rippling mirth still entwining with her words as she mocks him, tilting her head to the side to look at him with eyes devoid of fear, glistening and cold as the ice that surrounds them, just as soulless, "you’re oozing on the snow, crazy bastard."

Her tail slashes the chilly air again, striking her side with a pop against her hardened sinew, the malevolence that had enfolded her entire being only moments before lost behind her insanity, her innocent wickedness that flittered and fluttered as mindless and chaotic as a drunk bee in a miniaturized maze. "Come at me, haggard man, festering wretch," a stream of giggles takes her words away again, her eyes narrow but watchful of the spears angled at her blackened heart, "waste away your dwindling breath. I will not die here today."

She runs her eager eyes along his frame, spoiled by the decay that grasps at him, so close to an end and so full of resistance to the end that comes for him. "You are dying now, though I touched you not once. Who are you to threaten me? You, but a walking corpse?"

She scoffs, dipping her head down to swipe at his triple crown with her own singular spiral of ivory, seeking to cast their aim elsewhere but on a woman who would surely kill him while he was in such a state. "Maggot brain, rabid wolf fighting his tail. Waste of effort, you are. No wonder you are dying."

Beloved
rust every place that I touch

Tag Beloved, please!

Feel free to attack her with physical or magical violence at your own risk. ;D

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
#8


Her backtalk is tiring and he responds not, simply flatten inky ears against even darker locks as he approach, steady as nightfall and as unyielding as the approach of winter. Every move, every step was agony enough to drive him halfway out of his own mind but rather than stopping and submitting to the striking truth of her words he press on, endure and hide within the rage and lust for blood.

Alas, that she doesn't run. It is with some regret that he hear the swing of ivory through the air and feel the clattering impact of spiraling bone against solid, rough diamond, as black as his soul and a stark contrast to her shimmering paleness. No doubt he would have appreciated the differences between them, had the stag had any understanding of what black and white was; he only knew darkness though, light being something he sometimes dreamed of in restless throes of sleep but never remembered when waking. A foreign concept, an idea he'd never been able to grasp, it mattered as little to him as sound to the deaf; he only knew that her skin smelled sweet as he made a twist of the head to lock her spear between his own upper and middle horns, that the warmth of her body radiated towards him through the biting cold air and threatened to burn his already injured bulk with its intensity.

Snorting in distaste over his own body and its sensitivity to the opposite gender he pushed in close, bone-clad nose threatening to press against the chiseled face of the mad girl; neck muscles swelled as he forced his head upwards, hopefully bringing the considerably smaller mare into a half rear, the equivalent of a choke hold of the neck.

"If you're not dying then neither am I" he whispered softly, voice coarse with pain and anger and a sudden overwhelming lust attributed to youth and the close proximity to a very live, very real woman. Really, the insane girl? His standards really were low - first rabbit and now wolf, what would he go for next, parrot? "So if neither of us are dying today, how are we going to do this, hm? You hurt me, mae fy blaidd bach annwyl, and I want revenge!" With the force of a derailed freight train Morir heaved himself forward, trying to press the head of the nameless cur up and back so she would have to turn or else topple over. He was fully aware that she might try to kick at him and that he'd likely faint if any greater force was applied to any of the wounds - but between pain and humiliation the latter was harder to stomach, and if you included the intriguing idea of her exposing a set of what must surely be luscious buttocks to him there wasn't much room left in his head for sense or reason.

He was a man, after all. Women had stated through times eternal that there wasn't much room in their heads, so why prove them wrong when the alternative was so much more rewarding?


@[Beloved]
mae fy blaidd bach annwyl - my dear little wolf

"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! 

Beloved Posts: 121
Aurora Basin Soldier atk: 8.5 | def: 10 | dam: 3
Mare :: Unicorn :: 14.3 :: Appears 6 HP: 62 | Buff: NOVICE
Orphan :: Ragdoll Cat :: None Bunnie
#9
The sudden twist of his crown is unexpected and a high sound of outrage and surprise breaks from her snarling lips, his weight heavy and his height undeniable even to the arrogant and mad bitch caught in his grasp. Her eyes train upon his own, even as pain arcs down her neck and through her flesh at the pressure he exerts on her, stubbornly refusing to hold her own weight; sick and weak as the man is, no amount of rage will allow him to hold her there for long, and she knows this.

He starts talking as he leans in, his voice masculine and strong despite the decay that mars his figure, and in another display of stubbornness she finally gathers her weight well enough to push her own crown against his, the ring of their horns grating against one another loud and obvious in the echoing cavern against the song that slips from his lips.

She even laughs as the reasoning for his anger is released into the frosty air, her giggles high and deranged as she curves and bends against the pressure he exerts on her crown, his desire to subjugate her to his will. She is no stranger to domination, for she is the mistress with the whip! Her giggles drown out in the sound of a snarling howl, the mare pulling her weight up and higher, high as her pliable neck will bend, forelimbs flashing in front of her angrily that he thinks he can own her so easily.

"Your filth is touching me!" she shrills, panting with disgust as she writhes against his weight, refusing to unlock their horns as she glares with molten eyes at the empty spaces in his mask.

There are no eyes looking back at her, only wrinkled folds, a milky slit.

Resolve steadies her panic at being so near the infection, close enough to feel the sickly heat of its stench pressing against her flesh. He cannot see and therefore is even more punitive than she had initially believed, not only arrogant and stupid enough to get so devastatingly ravaged but dumb enough to pick a fight with a healthy, vision capable fiend such as the ivory damsel of dismay.

Her lips curl into a smile, a tittering and horrid sound much like a gurgle emerging from the mad laughter that breaks from her twisted and strained throat. Wrenching herself backward in a sudden motion and to the freedom he so desired her to lunge for, she bends her small body as if to lay her horn across her own back with fore hooves still splayed in the cold air between their frames; just as suddenly she uncoils, a gleaming white spring of outrage as she leaps away from him, pivoting to reface the stallion from where she hopes is a good enough distance to dodge his blind jabs. He may get a good lick in on her ass as she lunges by, but she doesn’t mind; her scars are white, white as her flesh. She will always be perfect.

"Only stones, didn’t hurt your bones," she nearly sings, child like voice cruel and sinister in the ring of their hooves and horns, crown low and snaking, her ears flat and sharp against her poll, "colt of a man. I’ve seen rabbits more brazen, jesters more wise."

She giggles, prancing now, unable to stay still with the energy that rushes through her, the stench of his musk blending with the noxious odor of decay, her own fear and rage asphyxiating in its hormonal pull. "If you’ve the strength to fight me now why pretend you are dying?"

"Why would you trick me so? I should want revenge. I only wanted you to die, you sniveling baby. Quite willing to oblige until the fearsome rocks touched you!"




Beloved
rust every place that I touch

Tag Beloved, please!

Feel free to attack her with physical or magical violence at your own risk. ;D


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