the Rift


Cracked and Broken

Naira Posts: N/A
Unregistered
:: :: ::
#1
Naira

The massive lady stood, head high, watching the sun set over the treetops. The orange caught in her brilliant blue eyes, turning them rather yellow. Her creamy head absorbed the orange too, on the sides exposed to the light. The rings around the lady's eyes Turned yet another shade of black, falling deeper and deeper into darkness.

She lowered her head, walking on once again. Her ears twitched and turned, listening for sounds worthy of raising her suspicion. She herself walked without sound, without a gait, she walked as if floating, never making a sound. It is this that had kept her alive for two years, when the old bastard of a master sent her out on hunts with her life as her payment.

She stopped again, at the edge of a clearing this time, and raised her head once again. Soft, pink nostrils flared as she tried picking out a familiar scent. "Good. Looks like I finally lost the old bitch." she giggled softly. It was the voice and laughter of a madman. Of a child twisted too much by cruelty and abuse.

Her laughter ended rather abruptly as she sensed something, a change. There was someone else around. A cruel sneer twisted her pretty face for just a second as the thought of driving her horn through the company's heart trickled into her mind. The thoughts of a madman. Mad, yes, Naira is quite so. It is in the ring of her name, in every vocal she drawls in a sweet, girly voice. Except, this voice is not innocent, it is dripping with venom.

"Show yourself, little demon. It might just spare you your worthless life." she giggled once again. The words were spoken softly, too soft for anyone but herself to hear. As quick as light, she wiped all emotion from her eyes. All but the fire of hatred and cruelty that could not be extinguished.

It was dark by now, and the lady had red-ish fireflies swarming around her. Ah, my guardian is here the thought trickled through her mind.

OCC: Sorry if this is too long, just getting into her :)
Words: +- 352
Born in cold blood.
Marco Monetti At Flicker.com

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
#2

Fireflies wouldn’t guard her.

The ivory damsel prowls slowly the wood of beginning, the rooted roots of all who had not been born to the perverted loins of this land. She had seen enough already to know that all places harbored darkness, she had crossed realms vast and powerful that crumbled as swiftly as those small and meaningless, and what ever this kingdom was named (for she did not know, she did not – did it really matter if it was to become nothing as well?), it was broken. She had seen the black blood when the sky had rained dead things, when the water had taken offense to being stared upon and ignored for all its knowing, the prelude to an end times that would delight and horrify the masses.

Perhaps… only she would find delight, or a scant few, for such things were usually taken poorly by the mortals who so greatly feared the death that awaited them all. To her, the image of their silvery bodies bloated and dead upon the earth and water, gleaming in the ruddy light of the Moon draped in murderous hues alongside the horrific corpse of a being she had not known in its life, was among the most beautiful things she had ever seen; albeit dark and rancorous, distasteful to any who would stumble upon it in the times to come, she would again and again return to speak to the bones that had died en masse around her, for her. Even if they were no longer there in reality, suspended in the alternate time that had gleamed before her like a shard of lost pasts or futures, she would know them, they would hear her whisper…

She loved them, oh, how she loved them.

Her giggle, mundane, usual from her lips, maddened and babbling and sweet as poisoned sugar to the trees that bent their dark crowns to her passing, sounds and echoes, fills the air – but there is another laughing with her, and it is not herself, for she does not have two voices that are real in the air as this one.

"Oh?” she asks the Moon, who gives no answer as she silently corrects her path to follow the sound. Her face is eager as a hollow thing may be, dark eye coursing with an undercurrent that promised death and the silver madly dancing in its thick, midnight encompassment in the sheer joy of meeting another. She knows the laws of her land, she revels in them, truly – for they have given her license to be herself, to be bold and beautiful and gleaming and to be cruel and malevolent and without a heart as she has always been, and they would love her for it, praise her, offer her alms and security!

But who will suffer her now? Who laughs into the shadow, who mocks her with false sounds?

The tiny damsel stops and peers ruthlessly at the second rise of the voice, so near that she can almost make out the dark shape of her ass in the red night – but it is her head that gives her away, pale and naked as bone, and while a hiss of disgust, the woman notes the horn atop her head, feels the recoiling of her blasphemed hope that the poor darling would be prey.

But what she says darkens her soul, sours her innocent sweetness, for the she bitch in the shadow knows her, but is entirely wrong as to the physical status of whom she probes with her arrogant words.

From her trees she emerges, silent on her hooves but allowing the branches to rustle and coo along her curves, her slight size almost comical in the towering stature of the one who calls her demon and weak.

She has met no demons, apparently. Beloved smiles, her laughter soft, haunting, a promise of the cruelty that lies waiting and hungry. "Never have I been worthless, and never was a demon truly small…” she sings, she swoons, drunk on the hunt and the bitter hatred that roils in her belly, lashes fluttering over her frenzied gaze that searches every inch of the mammoth before her, "things wicked know no size. What of spiders that crawl? Of sickness - invisible?”

She titters, a laugh that is meant to teach, a laugh that mocks. So many arrogant fools in this wood, so many bodies who deny their lack of worth and knowing… "I rename this the forest of fools. It is all I find here, idiots to taunt devils, idiots who do not know what devils they taunt.”


you've lost your demon.
Tag Beloved, please!

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

Naira Posts: N/A
Unregistered
:: :: ::
#3
Naira

Naira slowly turned a delicate ear to catch the slight rustling of the leaves after a giggle, much like her own; insane. The white mare walked to stand in front of Naira. "A ghost," the lady whispered softly to herself. "How pleasant."

A ghost yes, that is what she was. White all over, skin unmarred by scars. The scars on Naira's leg started itching with a hint of jealousy as she remembered when she was unmarred and beautiful. Her shoulder twitched as she hushed the insane whispers to catch the ghost's words.

"No dear. Demons are not small nor big. But if you think about it, there is no in between. Demons lurk in shadow, or in light, but never at dawn or dusk, no in between," she spoke, the words sharp enough to cut a sane clean to the bone, and only making sense to the insane. But Naira knew. She knew the little one before her was not sane. Not quite right. She giggled as she knew something else. 'Neither am I,' the thought tickled her brain, dark and cruel.

"And I am very sure, you have never been worthless," the lady drawled, honesty as open as a raw wound. She walked around the mare once, stopping in front of the mare once again. Pools of blue clashed with a white and a black.

Naira did what she knows to do best. She read. She drilled into the ghost's soul to find weakness, strength, and hidden secrets. She found nothing. Like herself, the ghost knew how to hide these things. But the lady did not resurface empty handed. The mare did not like taunting, and she was hungry, for blood.

Naira smiled, a twisted, cruel smile that hinted of her insanity. "No. You are of value," she spoke. "Tell me ghost, what is your name?"

OCC:
Tag;; @[Beloved]

Born in cold blood.
Marco Monetti At Flicker.com

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
#4

A change takes the dark one with her pale mask, so sudden that malevolence brewing within the ivory damsel falters and staggers weirdly within herself. An audible gagging sound breaks from her lips as her soul grapples with its own folds, as emotions tumble and break and seep dust into the faulty gears of her mind; the other mare’s eyes search her, no less ravenous than her own that probe and seek, that tongue which lashes sharp and eagerly outwards with the rancorous truths of her ruminations.

Tiny, opalescent towers rise to catch the words that fall from the heathen lips of the wanderer, Beloved sensing in the timbre of the feminine vocals that dance and flick before her a kindred madness, a lack of belonging in the fabric of the wholesome and true; she does not care. They are all crazed at the end of their hours, shown the final moments in slow motion to discover that for all their logic, all their sane planning, the end is as it always was and always will be.

The end is nothingness, unless they know you, unless your name becomes stone and never dies, a looming monument to your shadow that casts no more; will they know us? Will they remember our bones with reverence, or is this life as all the others?

Without meaning, devoid of purpose; a filter for the air, decay that feeds roots.

Eyes tilt and watch cautiously the movements of the other as she paces, the dancer pivoting her delicate frame about to retain sight on the stranger, disliking the way she wanders and weaves around her, ears again falling to lay flat and threatening atop her crown as her heart beats frenzied against the bars of her chest.

The revocation of having been called useless and a body does not stall the rage that brewed suddenly, does not quaff the waves that crash and boom loudly in the confines of her busy skull, and when she is asked for her name, the Beloved one scoffs aloud; she is not a ghost, she is not a toy, she will give her calling when she damn well pleases to those she knows will not sell it for wicked uses, for those who have earned her.

"You cannot have me," she hisses, white plume striking irritably with a whistle through cold air and a crack upon fine porcelain flesh, "no conjurer are you. A name serves you little good." With a haughty and adorably feminine harrumph, she tilts her eyes swiftly away from the mare, a low hum sounding from her vocals as the wind strokes its long fingers against her flesh.

Suddenly, the eyes return to the prize, the silver burning and molten in its frame and the black dead, motionless, swallowing with greed the light. "I have found you," she says, a whisper, a croon of love that rises deep from the portion of her soul that is only dust upon dust, layered over broken things, forgotten things, things crafted of hatred and seeping shadow, "your name." A breath, long and ragged, ripples its sickening sound through the eve, her pale lashes fluttering with each sputtering, wet sound. "I have earned it. Tell me." She blinks, slow, languorously, her tongue runs along the rims of her pink lips.

"Tell me," she states more clearly, "for I have things you will need."



you've lost your demon.
Tag Beloved, please!

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

Naira Posts: N/A
Unregistered
:: :: ::
#5
Naira

As Naira paced around the ghost, she noticed her ears pulling flat, her tail twitching irritably, her eyes faltering with a flicker of doubt. She watched the nervousness rising in the ghost, up, up, and still going, and finally she watched the nerves turn into anger and hatred. it all happened in a few seconds, but Naira sees all.

The anger quickly boiled to rage, much quicker than it should. A bitter smile crossed Naira's face at the ghost's words. "No dear. I do not wish to have you, I do not wish to own you, for I know of being held against your will. I know. But names serve a purpose, they tell us of the company, a name is a description of you, in a word," Naira said calm and cold as ever. The only thing that gave a slight indication with her own annoyance at the ghost's outburst was the twitch of her tail.

It was dark now, and the darkness cloaked the two, hugged them, soothed Naira. From far off, the two might appear a pair of ghosts, or maybe a ghost and the head of one. A deep, dark chuckle sounded from Naira's throat as she thought this. The fireflies glowed as bright as ever, changing from a bright, angry red to a crimson, like the blood seeping from a big wound.

Naira looked straight into the ghost's eyes once again. Hot on cold, fire on ice. Silence hugged the air around them, but silence could be very loud to those who listened.

Another dark, deep chuckle rose from Naira's throat, rising to an insane giggle. She stopped as suddenly as she started and her face went serious. "You have not found me, and you have not earned me, just like I did not snatch you," she said coolly. "And who, may I ask, who in their right mind told you you have earned my name, when you cannot even tell me yours?" Naira said in a voice that stated her anger without hinting how much of it there was. No, the ghost was not a toy, but crazy enough to think so. A soft, choking giggle floated past Naira's lips before her next words.

"Now I ask you again, ghost, what is your name?" she spoke in a sugar coated voice, the insanity easily detected.

OCC:
Tag;; @[Beloved]
WC ;; 367

Born in cold blood.
Marco Monetti At Flicker.com

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
#6

Why else would a bitch want a name if it was not a form of possession? For all her talk of demons and her claimed understanding, the white faced one was more insane than even Beloved, for she knew not what weight a name could hold even as she stated it aloud in the air. That the stranger is annoyed for a woman’s awareness of black magic, of conjurers and soothsayers, drives the aggravation lacing the diminutive ivory mare into a frenzy. Her own banner cracks and swishes, whirs and bites, her ears pinned and her lips curving into a vicious grimace that displays openly her desire to bring blood to the earth.

"You know nothing," she says, softly, the words rolling acrid and wicked off the tip of her vicious little tongue.

But the beast is laughing, and the white damsel feels her rage teem and twist, her teeth audible grate against one another and her wild eyes pinch and flicker with the restraint she forces over her madness, the thought of displeasing her dark Lord of Death painful in ways that only the insane can understand. For she gave him her name, did she not? He owned her in ways she did not wish for this stranger to possess her, and for all the logic she holds on such matters, none of it can make it past the chaos that is her mind.

The words tossed back to the pale one make her lips curl into a soured grimace, her tail ceasing its aggravated striking against her flanks to draw her eyes away and into the shadows, the demons within growling and scratching at their cold prisons until their nails bleed and the stench fills her cranium, until the night is oppressive.

A choking sound of frustration rises from the little one, moments before her hooves flail against the earth, clods rising with violent speed from the impacts of her tantrum as she sways and bobs in place, spittle splaying from clenched lips as the force of her small frame against the ground rattles them loose.

"YOU KNOW NOTHING!" she howls, her eyes sealed shut in the agony of the cry, her flesh trembling and quaking as she simmers in rage restrained, "lost one, wanderer! Devils walk among us. They can see you!" Another howling sound escapes her taught features, pain visible in the fine lines of her porcelain mask, the black of her markings deep and gruesome in the ruddy light.

"Call me Ghost, wench," she stamps her hoof again, breath ragged and full of angst that she cannot properly articulate for all the chaos in her skull, "it makes no difference if you’ve died." A sudden change strikes her – the rage simmers into nothingness, replaced with a crazed smile and a tittering of giggles as she discovers in her mind the beautiful image of this one covered in gore, bloated and pale as the body that had fallen from the heavens…

And its beauty steals away all memory of being annoyed, of having hated her for being too stupid to know that names mean more than most seem to think they do. She doesn’t even know how she knows or from where it was learned – but it doesn’t matter.

The sickening sound of her crazed giggles fills the clearing, her eyes misty and full of reverence when they finally reopen and find purchase on the one framed by fireflies, their red light so like blood that her mental image almost usurps reality.

A shaking breath steals her laughter, a slow pace forward draws crazed and watching eyes all the nearer.

"You. You are alone in this land," she states, the sweetness of her voice a lie, the goodness poisoned and the wickedness thinly veiled, "we know what happens to those who are alone when shadow comes. Do you?" A brow raises, another chiming giggle resounds through the darkened clearing, the recurrence of her mental painting of the woman doused in blood and gored upon the earth rousing delight from the most malevolent of places.

"Come with me," she asks, gesturing with her spiraled horn the path that led to the north, the hidden trail that went up and up into the snow, "spare yourself from your own ignorance."


you've lost your demon.
Tag Beloved, please!

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

Naira Posts: N/A
Unregistered
:: :: ::
#7
Naira

The lady stood poised with her head low, horn slightly cocked at the ghost's heart. The little white one freaked, dancing in her rage and agony. A gurgling, choking sound rose from her throat. Following the sound of frustration, a cry came, dripping in agony.

For a second a cruel sneer crossed the lady's face as she imagined the same sound coming from the ghost's throat in her last living moments. She laughed. A deep, amused laugh with a twisted sense of humour at the ghost's words. "I might just know more than you assume little ghost, " the lady cooed sweetly. Sweet enough to hide the daggers shooting from the lady's eyes.

The lady's own anger started rising in her throat like bile; fast and burning, but she hid it perfectly, the only hint being her shoulder twitching. The ghost asked if she knew what happened to those alone when shadow comes.

A giggle sounded from the lady's throat, high and girly. " Yes dear, I know what happens to those alone in the shadows. After all, I am the one dragging them into the dark. Yes, demons lurk in the dark, but so do I," she croons sweetly, lost in thought.

The lady snaps back to reality as the ghost asked to follow her. "Follow you where?" the lady asked out of curiosity. A giggle chimed from her throat as the ghost told her she was ignorant. Little did the little ghostly one know....Naira was quite happy with how she had manipulated the scene.

OCC: I got it up earlier! Yay! :D
Tag;; @[Beloved]

Born in cold blood.
Marco Monetti At Flicker.com

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
#8
Again, she answers wrong.

The pale dancer hisses, ears again falling back as she slowly shakes her head no, the motions eerie and played out to such a degree that she could be filmed in half time. Deranged, molten eyes slide into partial frames, their narrow glare cold and full of judgment as the mental play of the blood pool again streams within her cluttered cranium.

She does not know. She thinks she is dangerous.

Even Beloved knows better. The body that rose from the water and the fish that had fled it knew better. They knew that there were things darker than even the most wicked of mortal damsels, the most black hearted of knights; the pale one dislikes the ignorance of the white crowned woman, dislikes that she so easily believes that the talk is of her, just like a crazy bitch would.

Is it a wonder their conversation goes in circles, that they get no where but a tangled mass of their own egotism and half minded short comings? But even the white demon knows that she is correct to be demanding, that she has rights to things that this one does not – because she knows the cold wind in the south, she knows days of death like rain and screams more frequent than the beat of one’s heart.

She knows it because she watched it all, once. She saw a mighty kingdom fall to darkness, to ruin, to shadow, entire families devoured and whole forests felled. It did not touch her heart, the cold iron it has always been, but taught with each fearsome gain as she danced out of its eager reach – that power, that blasphemous and elegant might that was wickedness, true evil, real demons… it fueled her now.

It made her immortal, more valuable than this smut she willingly obliged to spare, more worthy than the night dark and shielding around their frames where they danced the verbal melee of the mad.

She knew, she knew, she knew…

"Do you hold the collar of death? Have you tamed such black wings?" a mad giggle, a floating song, her eyes glazed and lost in the bloody night, "a blood fest. You are not stronger than such things. Beloved is only its shadow, you know only the stench of its breath. There is no darkness here. We are within its maw already."

She smiles, too broad, her pink gums gleaming and her eyes shut in mirth that defies logical premises, as if she expects the teeth to crush her bones into dust at any moment, as if the saliva drips down into her eyes.

When she looks again, she has turned, she has asked the woman to go with her.

The woman asks… to where.

"Away," says Beloved, still grinning madly, "away to the snow. There are unicorns there, like we. They know the teeth that you cannot see."



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

Naira Posts: N/A
Unregistered
:: :: ::
#9
Naira

Anger is all she felt now. The lady was angry. At the ghost, at the pale one's words, at her master, at the beatings, at the little foal screaming in her head......The scream was loud, piercing. A single, long yell, like someone screaming at a horrible beast ripping open their stomach. But it was not real. The scream was in the lady's head. It has always been so, she knew it all too well.

She too, started dancing in place, the fire in her eyes almost so real that it seemed to dance and reflect in the dark rings around her eyes. Front hooves rose slightly in the air as the lady turned her side to the ghost. A piercing shriek of anger tumbled from her lips as she stood, her side to the ghost, head at half mas, snorting and panting for the breath she could not reach.

The breeze picked up, softly weaving through her mane, kissing her forehead. A mad giggle escaped from her tight pink lips, and she did not stop. She laughed till her sides hurt, but finally she stopped and turned to the ghost once again.

She circled her tightly, knowing that the pale girl does not like to be possessed. Owned. The circle was so tight that the lady's legs brushed against the tail of the ghost. She stopped at the pale one's side, nose near her ear. "We all have our own demons. Some are bigger than others, some more dangerous, but we all have them. And one cannot live with another's demons, so you should not tell me, anyone, that they have no demons, because we all do, even if yours might just be bigger than mine."

The words were spoken softly, only intended for the ghost to hear, and in a soft, singsong voice. The kind that would make you fall asleep, but haunt your not-so-sweet dreams after.
"Very well. Take me to your snow. But I cannot guarantee that I will stay, even if you don't really care," the lady said more clearly this time.

She began humming, a deep, twisted sound coming deep from within her broken soul. It was a hum that whispered of secrets and blood and death, something not quite right. With the little song the lady swayed gently from side to side, watching for the ghost's next move.

OCC: Sorry that the posts are so icky, my inspiration comes at the weirdest time, and usually when I'm not online XD
Tag;; @[Beloved]

Born in cold blood.
Marco Monetti At Flicker.com

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
#10
The bitch circles her, and the little one does not like it. Her body touches her own, small hoof striking out with agitation at the bodice so near to her own, not caring if this is a meeting that is supposed to be friendly, one that brings residence to the seekers. That it follows a scream that sounds oh so much like fear leaves only anger in the small dancer’s heart, no worry finding purchase in the throbbing pulse of her blackened breast, no anxiety lacing her eyes as they follow the path of the idiot who dares treat her like prey.

She’ll see, won’t she? Beloved will see to it once they are home.

She has never bloodied snow. How beautiful it must be, like Loveless, lace and elegance tattered with violence burning crimson. Would the snow be sad, too?

Even if the heartless one does not give her the payment she works so hard for, the Reaper will, or the Golden Bitch who rules alongside him. If not her, then the others, all so brutish and hardened by the ice, even those whose eyes bled happiness and whose hearts beat rashly with love for one another.

The crazy one would not be allowed to be so stupid then, would she?

Perhaps all the mad should find covenant within sanity, hide behind their whole brethren, follow their rigid and time worn paths as best as a crooked compass could. Beloved, at least, could listen; Beloved, at least, could learn.

This one?

This one is all cotton, she can see it now protruding from her orifices, she can smell the infection that numbs her brain, and suddenly her muscles relinquish their brittle hold, they release the anger that broils and gathers at the impudence of the one who challenges a damsel such as she, who dares believe herself greater than a God with her rebuttal that is, once again, framed on misconceptions and the wrong perception of what had been said.

This woman is fucking insane, and not in a good way – in the way that deserves gas chambers, fourteen teams of warriors pulling away each of her limbs as she screams, a silent prison where no one will ever touch or see her again. Insane in the way that makes one stupid, useless, undesirable in more ways than Beloved could ever bare to be.

She’d have already died to spare the world herself.

Beloved does not talk of herself, the stupid bitch, but she tires of trying to spare one who can hear no more than the ticking of their own idiot minds and tidbits that suit the rampant child that holds them from rising into true greatness, the mightiest of shadows that writhes and breaks havoc upon the masses in the sheer glory of madness, of sociopathic disconcertion and a heavenly portrayal of the aftermath meant only for eyes who can see only beauty, only what there is.

And what there is…

Is death.

Let her be blind, let her suffer as the rest who cringe and crawl away from such black velvets as the final slumber – Beloved will rise, she will soar, she will break all that walks before her into a thousand pieces by her own violence or by the raging of fate itself. They all serve her. They are all her pawns.

All but the Darkness, the wickedness that rains death and chases life from its holdings; to her, she bends her soul, her crown… to her master, beloved and jeweled in fiery rubies of glory and promise, glinting and morose in their shadowy holds.

"Listen, learn fast," she says when the woman concedes to follow her, legs taking her at a swift walk to the north, a long trek – but the night was long, it was young yet, they had time, "it is the first lesson of many."

A shaking breath is inhaled, the cold air brilliant and vibrant on her tongue, the fireflies scattering like discarded spirits in the autumnal winds as they pass.

"Not a soul gives a damn for any of us."


[ OOC: Next post in the Basin! <3 ]
@[Naira]


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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