the Rift

[OPEN] i wanna put on my boogie shoes; [ Festival Dancing/Songs ]

Illynx the GildedBlade Posts: 413
Hidden Account atk: 7.5 | def: 11.5 | dam: 3
Mare :: Unicorn :: 16hh :: 13 HP: 67.5 | Buff: ENDURE
Kyst :: Common Griffon :: Zapping Jab Bunnie
take a look in the mirror - see the truth in your face

Part way into the night as laughter and sounds expand across the clearing, the Lady pulls herself away from her conversations and makes her way to the fore of the tent, purpose driving each step and genial words of apology extended to those who seek to call her away. She hears that clatter of hooves and the din of voices, and they reach into her soul and strike warmth into it that she had not felt in some time, adding an extra perk to each step, sweeping away all her worries and sorrows for a few hours of bliss.

She should have had this party sooner; it was nice.

Stepping out into the dance area (which was inhabited by mostly not dancing types), she glances over to Kyst – who quickly moves to the stone and smaller stone Illynx had set just before the tent earlier this evening. And, as she had done one afternoon for the Lady and her prized son, she descends to tap rhythmically against the rock, creating a soft beat that would bloom into music with the addition of hooves.

The smile that stretches across the Gilded Blade’s face is all one needs to know of her heart in this moment, as she feels the beat rise in her, tastes the tempo of battle and dance, both so intricately one that she found it hard to separate either skill, and skills that she felt deep within her soul, deeper than perhaps her own blood could run.

She had been born to battle, to be beautiful and dangerous, and now was her time above all others. With a delighted yip of laughter, she plunges forward, the dance taking her frame under its control.

Her neck arches, her golden legs flash; sweeping forward she lowers her fore half nearly to the earth before she pivots her weight about on her front hooves, dark tail streaming beautiful and full behind her as her limbs tuck tight to her belly and her rump swings through the air (one two three four). As soon as her hooves are on the earth again, she sweeps upwards into a quarter rear, delight lining her face as she leaps forward, her neck tucking her muzzle down into the crook of her chest as she bucks twice upon landing; the motions are all precise, controlled, and with the tempo filling her heart, the Lady twirls and kicks and prances all across the mushroom lit earth, hoping that others join her in her dance.

[ OOC: Dancing! Weeeee ~ If you would like to join Illynx in a pairs dance, please tag me! Had a dance for her and Rikyn set up but Rikyn... is invisible. Rofl. Kyst is continuously tapping a beat, so if anyone wrote up some songs they'd like to sing in honor of the Basin/Lord of Time, feel free to belt them out here! ]
Magic/assault allowed to be used on Illynx at any time, in so far as it does not kill or seriously maim her without my permission. 

Lena the Songbird Posts: 663
Aurora Basin Time Mender atk: 4 | def: 10.5 | dam: 6.5
Mare :: Unicorn :: 15.3 :: 6 HP: 69 | Buff: NOVICE
Imogen :: Common Kitsune :: Fire Heather
I've got this sentimental heart that beats

The sylph’s reverence had never been marked or pinpointed towards one, sole deity – she’d once stared upon the Moon Goddess’ lands and beat a steady rhapsody through the mist, she’d once been consecrated by the Sun God, given the tidings to heal through song and merriment, she’d once listened to the Earth God tell them of a mending spring, a push and shove to ignite assuaging bonds. Through her journeys, her crusades, her sovereigns, perhaps the only one she hadn’t glorified was the Time God; which in itself was nearly impudent, for Lena was a bearer of his gifts, of his trade, courting and scoring lacerations and wounds with the vestige of his wares. She’d wandered through his lands, bent amongst his followers, gestured to the mighty heights and wailing winds, but hadn’t offered him anything but the token vow of strength and valor. The shame, the humiliation, of no immolations, of no benedictions, presided and proffered to the divinity almost burned within his core, and as she marched amongst the hymns and the wondrous beat set by Kyst, the whimsical dance strung together by the GildedBlade, it scorched and flamed all the more. Was she a thankless heathen, driven and devoured by the crisp, keen slash of purpose and motivation, without the appreciation behind it? Had she become another molten villain, taking, absconding, bestowing naught more than gallows and broken trail of dust? Was she a blackhearted fool, turned, twisted, distorted, and annihilated, an icy infidel of the copse maidens and impudent heretics? Mortified, her stare stole over the bits and pieces of reverie, the glowing mushrooms, the dancing streams of wind and clouds, the bountiful heavens whose essence they shared, they cultivated, to hide in the shelter of threats and portended rancor. She listened to the crackling, snapping tunes of the feather plaited into her sable tassels, and her heart throbbed all the more for her inaction, for her idiocy, for her foolhardiness. Perhaps it could all be alleviated here? Could she toss away the inadequacies, the bold, audacious throngs, and serenade their spirit with the admiration he deserved?

Dutifully, the Mender followed in the steps and rhythm of Kyst, breathing in the soothing air, feeling the bounty of serene breeze ruffle against her blossom crown, orchestrating a repose, a symphony, a crescendo to match and accompany Illynx’s performance, to develop a zealous passion in the unfurling inferno. Carefully, intricately, she carved the wayward lapse with a ardent plunge – effervescent, glowing, and tranquil, her aria began its listless climb, growing and blooming in grandeur as her mellifluous harmony crooned and sanctified. It wove and laced, embarked and chased, amidst the clouds, along the sparkling opulence, hoping to carry its immense weight towards the chosen recipient, glimmering, shimmering, in the shades of her benedictions.

“Epochs and ages,
Storms and sages,
Intervals and gales,
Time-spun tales,
The wind and the rain,
The cosmos and the pain
Are reflected in your tenor,
In your spells,
In your measures.”

The femme paused, drew perseverance and begged her aria, her ballad, conveyed all the proper conjectures, all the searing hours and minutes of time, all the admiration and regard she had to offer; and at once, she pressed the hands of moments, stretches, stints, and durations into a fine cloak of art, webbing across the bounty as a priceless artifact, mending any and each snapped segment in her path. The finale, enrapturing, poignant and sweet, ended on a smile and a prayer, flickering into the dusk as her luminescence waned, then eventually dimmed into the remaining grandeur.

“May you continue to bless us
With every surge, every wake,
And every step you take.”

[Lena came in with a song. Next, dancing~]

Hotaru the Valkyrie Posts: 295
Outcast atk: 7 | def: 10.5 | dam: 3
Mare :: Unicorn :: 15.3hh :: 6 Years 3 Months HP: 67 | Buff: NOVICE
Alice :: Royal Hellhound :: Acid Brit


Peace time is of no consequence to the she-wolf, who preys upon any and all, regardless of whether they are at war or at peace. The crown round her poll, the World-Eater's presence in her homeland, they are her tokens of honor. However, as a mother, she refuses to let these lessons take up all of Arya's time and consciousness. Oh, she certainly raises her the warrior, the woman king embodied, but there are times to fight, to mourn, to hate...and there are times to dance.

Stars light her way as she trails onward, pinpricks that glow on fallen cherry blossoms, a plush carpet that is soft beneath her hooves. Inviting, even. Leading through the throng of others, the milling souls that laugh and smile beneath the fireflies and the glowing mushrooms round the tent. It's ethereal, enchanting. Arya is close by her flank, Hotaru protective over her little one as she maneuvers them through the jostling of those around them. Hotaru hoped she was finding some excitement in her little heart, for her precious daughter was a curious soul with a penchant for rattling questions. But the Phantom adored her, was ever patient no matter the hour or continuity of the questions posed to her. Arya, at least, deserved the experience of a party, of the warm southern parts and the fantasy atmosphere that had even the apathetic she-wolf smiling and staring about in awe.

Over the voices, there comes a steady beat, a tempo. Hotaru's ears prick, body alight with interest, and winding around a few more bodies she spies her Lady, golden hooves dancing and kissing the earth with elegant, precise movements. Clearly rehearsed. Lena's words come next, sweet and harmonious, and soon the rhythm takes her and lithe body is swaying without her consent. But why should she withhold her desires? Turning, she glances down at Arya, smiles beautifully, a graceful curve of her pale lips beneath the moonlight.

"Come, my huntress. Will you dance with me?" She sways away, pale hooves glittering and smile beckoning as she dances onto the floor near her Lady. Flicks her tail and lets her curly mane fall in waves around her nape, glittering gold and silver in the dancing lights. A dance with her is a perfect start to any celebration.

you never know the power of yourself, until that is all you have left to rely upon</style>

image credits
table by whit
[Image: 515265280ffff]

::Strong like the sea is stormy::

Please only tag starting posts, spars, and threads collecting dust!
Plot with me here!

Rikyn the Puppeteer Posts: 549
Aurora Basin Lord atk: 7.5 | def: 11.5 | dam: 4.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16.3 :: 4 HP: 70 | Buff: SWIFT
Duir :: Royal Cerndyr :: Earth Spirit Bunnie
An ugly sound escapes me as I watch mother move out into the dance floor, her body moving in the pretty steps she had taught me, the steps we were supposed to share. For perhaps the hundredth time since my transformation into a nobody, I feel great anger towards the Time God, my young heart desirous of the games and fun that go on before me but that I cannot be a part of.

And I had trained so hard, too!

The dance mother and I learned was beautiful, and it had been something that I looked forward to immensely – but now that chance was spoiled, for who could dance with someone they couldn’t see? Who would want to watch a mare dancing seemingly on her own in an obvious duet of movement?

The anger dissipates into depression. Aithniel is somewhere near by – as she always is – but I don’t want to spoil her fun, either. Sure, it’s a festival for unicorns, but it’s also one for the Time God, and she lived in the Basin beneath his rule just as the rest of us did. And, how often would my sister get to be social with people who didn’t hate her almost as soon as they saw her?

I even see Sia, who I know will be nice to Aithniel, because Sia has always been nice to me, even when we were lying and being sneaky in her herd land. I wish she could have heard me when I quipped my hello (because I often forget they cannot hear me still) or that I could go make up more songs with her like we had at the Edge’s party a few weeks ago.

But I cannot.

A dismal sigh relinquishes itself from my lungs, the lyrics to the song I’d invented for the Time God running through my head and seemingly meaningless – unless the God can still hear me.

A look of hope crosses my face as I trot more fully into the middle of the dancing circle, weaving around the figures that have come to celebrate. There is the spy lady momma likes so much dancing with Arya, and I feel another pang of jealousy threaten to steal my thunder – but overcome it. Today is a day for celebration and happiness, even if no one on earth can see me smile.

"Time came in blowing,
Turned the leaves to gold,
He brought the clouds a snowing,
He shaped our mountain hold.

White is the light that flashes,
Myriad the bend of night glow;
From flesh to decay to ashes,
Fate the Time God knows."

My song is choked off in tears that quietly ride down my cheeks, frustration eminent at not being heard and that all my work to be impressive at the party has meant nothing. With a bitter harshness to my voice, a new stanza ebbs into my song, one that mirrors my heart.

"Little boys made nobodies,
Pretty girls, wings lit by snow,
Invisible as a sweet melody,
Or the truths we all should know."

Wishlist - Plots

Force/violence is allowed to be used on Rikyn permitted it does not permanently maim or kill him (PM me!).

Rhiannon Posts: 76
Outcast atk: 4.0 | def: 7.5 | dam: 7.0
Mare :: Unicorn :: 16.3 :: 6 Years HP: 62.5 | Buff: NOVICE
Dual-toned eyes, one a burning gold and the other an icy silver, watch the forms that begin to sway with the beat of the music, provided by Lady Illynx's Griffon. Songs were sung, laughter was had, and memories were made... But Rhiannon remained on the side of the festivities, watching a figure of beautiful coral with a slightly narrowed gaze. The brindled devil had never tried dancing of such caliber, save her times as a filly and frolicking through the valleys of the Basin, but this was different. Vastly different, dare she say, and if Rhiannon had inherited anything from her dear father, it was his pride. The last thing that she wanted to do was make a fool of herself by tripping over her own hooves...

And so, the brindled soldier remained along the sidelines, focused on the twisting, turning, beautifully provocative form of Hotaru, as she danced with her daughter. 'Go,' a part of her mind seemed to demand, 'Dance with her. You know you want to...' Yes, she did. Rhiannon desperately wanted to dance with the mare that had so stolen her heart and breath, but it wasn't in her place. Hotaru was the lady, Rhiannon her knight... It would be rude of her to barge into the heartfelt dance between mother and daughter.

She was a soldier. A warrior. A fighter. Her job was to maintain the peace, to make sure that no harm would befall her herd... But she was doing a terribly shitty job of it, since her attention was completely captivated by the blonde-tressed beauty merely paces away. Nonnie snorted and jerked her gaze to the side, jealousy burning in her gaze. Damn. Never before had she been so smitten, so captivated...

Hooves began to shuffle in their place and teeth began to gnash with the feeling of familiar uncertainty. She wanted to dance, she truly did... But should she? What if she made a fool of herself and Hotaru wanted nothing to do with her anymore? What if she tripped, stumbled, fell, and Illynx saw, thus thinking her a foolish, incompetent soldier? These doubts swam in the brindled warrior's mind, twisting her thoughts and marring her self-confidence. Fuck... Could she do anything right?

What the fuck would Crowley say?

"... Oh, bloody fucking hell," Rhiannon growled out bitterly, snapping her muzzle upwards and allowing the crimped, curled strands of ice-frosted ebony to fall in waves about her neck and shoulders. Hard, black hooves pulled the mare forward, her large, powerful musculature rippling with prowess and danger as she stepped out to join the writhing bodies that danced. Throwing her head back, forelegs pushed upwards off the ground and Rhiannon reared, twisting and turning to the beat of the music. Two-toned eyes would occasionally dart to the dancing mistress of coral and palomino tresses only paces away, wondering if she had caught the tempting siren's attention...

But no matter. She was dancing. She was moving, and she was living... And it felt really fucking good.

Arya Posts: 50
Hidden Account
Filly :: Unicorn :: 16 hh :: 2
Arya followed at her mother’s side, eyes wide as she gazed about the festivities. A grin was painted across her bay face as her eyes flickered all about. Despite the crowd she was careful to remain by her mother’s side. The babe of course was eager to explore but even more eager to celebrate beside her mother. For a log moment her eyes rest upon the bay mare that sang into the night air, both ears pricked forward. She then glanced at her mother and the grin upon her face grew even wider as the question broke through the air.

The child watched her mother’s steps and mimicked them in her own awkward fashion. Every now and then she tripped over her own feet and when such a thing occurred she giggled. Arya knew full well she wasn’t the graceful beauty like her mother. She couldn’t move with a elegance and pride. Where her mother was the graceful damsel from the story, Arya was the wild shieldmaiden. Of course the babe didn’t view her mother as some useless flower, no, the child believed her to be so much more than that. That would always be the reason that drew her to her mother over her father. One day she swore in the moment of their dance that she would be the same beauty as her mother, but, with strength that surpassed her father.

Throughout the dance her gaze was focused mostly upon her mother, but she went to look at the others around them. Her eyes then turned to another watching them. A mare that moved in her own dance and all Arya felt in that moment was writhing jealousy and possessiveness. Many may assume it would be one other than her father gazed upon her mother, but she knew better. Romance had little to do with her birth and the concept of a love child was beyond her. Nonetheless, she wouldn’t let some straner get in between her and her mother.

“Mama, I don’t like how she’s staring,” Arya said returning her gaze back toward her mother. The jealousy was written all across her face.

"Typi non habent claritatem insitam; est usus legentis in iis
If I look back, I am lost
Image Credit | Table by Sevin

• tag in opening posts only 
• violence/magic is permitted. maiming/death is not without prior permission

Reginald Posts: 165
Hidden Account atk: 4 | def: 7.5 | dam: 7
Stallion :: Hybrid :: 17.1 hh :: 3 HP: 64 | Buff: NOVICE
Ka'Mate :: Harpy Eagle :: None & Ka'Ora :: Harpy Eagle :: None M.E.


He holds his piss; this place is not for him. He mistrusts the cloud, the blue fire he stalked through to come to this place. He does not feel confidence in the sky, the golden arches of the twilight, the divinity that wafts in the air so easily. His chest flutters; something brittle inside him remains defined, apparent, unfettered and unforgotten—this place reminds him forcefully of the mortality of his limbs. He is a creature for mortal nightmares—and this heavenly place sweeps them away, mere cobwebs in the piercing holy light. He is uneasy: this kingdom is not his to claim.

He observes, though, however misplaced the darkling colt may be. He reaches an area that reeks of the familiar stench of cold; the unicorns of the north have seemed to bring the aurora with them upon their backs, ushering in the savage, northern winds in the holy land as they congregate. He watches them for a time; he does not understand their revelries. They seem gripped with wild abandon, in love with a faceless stranger of delight; a beat sounds in the air, clashing with the throb of his quivering heart, coaxes something from the Grey-Eye’d prince, something he refuses to divulge. He stands and watches with attentive grey eyes, clinging to the shadows, trying and failing to comprehend these foreign customs, their frenzied, clumsy convulsions.

The cold is familiar to him; he does not understand why unicorns seem drawn to the north—his mother never was. Many times now he has been met with those who hail from the icy grip of the tundra: the red-eyed brute of fraternity; the fragile, glass-spun princess of flowers; the spindling boy of bronze and shadows; his own little spider imp. He thinks of her—he wonders where she’s wandered off to. He tires of chasing; she bowed to him once before, and it’s enough. If she chooses to return to his side—so be it. If she chooses to become an obstacle in his path to dominion—well. We warned her.

So be it.

But what a waste, indeed.

@[Jorogumo] -- (But anyone is welcome to interact with him! He's just being an awkward wallflower<3)

You can't escape the wrath of my heart
Beating to your funeral song
All faith is lost for hell regained

by: Kristi Herbert at flickr

--Please tag REGINALD in every reply!

--All force is allowed to be used against this character!

Jorogumo Posts: 70
Hidden Account atk: 4 | def: 7 | dam: 7
Filly :: Unicorn :: 15.3 hh :: 2 HP: 62 | Buff: NOVICE

visions are seldom all they seem.

Months of bitter and cold isolation hadn’t done much to benefit the Spider. Her body had grown emaciated and illness had come and gone through her body. In recent weeks she lurked about in the strange floating island regaining her vigor and strength. Weight had crept back upon her frame, filling in the developing curves and legs. With her hideous narcissism grew a vanity equally foul. Jorogumo had to give her mother a single credit, and that was she inherited Yuki-onna’s undeniable beauty, and quite honestly she was grateful for it. More flies would come toward her web and she could devour them whole. To be beautiful was one of the greatest weapons one could have, and Jorogumo was swiftly learning how to wield it.

Off in the distance she could hear the sound of music. Curiosity drove her from the shelter of the cherry blossoms. The scent of the north wafted in the air and both ears pressed against her skull at the realization she walked toward some dance of her people. For a long moment she stood at a long distance watching bodies flail about, until she spotted a particularly familiar frame, her silver prince. Both ears pricked forward and she felt a slow smirk pass over her lips. Perhaps a bit of frolicking would be of some good if there was actual intelligent company.

Jorogumo walked, her gait suave and in her own mind seductive. She ensured her path was near her silver prince, but she made simply smirked at him as she passed by, it was a sly invitation or perhaps a dare depending on how one would look at it. She found a spot amongst the group and eased her way into the music. The Spider moved with a carnal grace. It was evident she lacked teaching as it held a more feral quality than that of the refined dancer. For a brief moment she glanced back at Reginald, that sly smirk flashing over her face once again seeking to tempt him nearer. A queen was nothing without her king in the end.

"blah blah blah."

Image Credit

Icon by Bronzehalo

Roland Posts: 230
Aurora Basin Phantom atk: 7.5 | def: 10 | dam: 2.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16 hh :: 8 yrs HP: 60.0 | Buff: NOVICE
Surprisingly enough, the Thief had never had much cause for celebration in his lifetime. As a child he had taken part in the odd religious ceremony, as his herd had always been very devout, but he had been given no choice between participating or opting out. He had been an excitable child though, and the furor that often accompanied such an event had not been particularly unwelcome, when it was an excuse to let his manners slip. When the war was won their celebration had lasted long into the night and carried over into the next several days, and even triumphant he had slipped to its corners, on the quiet edge of their exuberant festivities, content to observe rather than participate.

He was not well versed in the art of such celebrations, and though he was willing enough to take part in honoring the God of Time, there remained one final problem. Roland had never learned how to dance. He was fairly confident in all his other assets; had never felt insecure about his appearance, and had only occasionally doubted his own intelligence, but if there was anything he might have been skeptical of, it was his agility. He had proven to himself not long ago that he could still play childish games, sprinting and capering across the fields and hiding in the shadows between crooked trees. He could fight; not well, perhaps, for his talents had always rested in duplicity. But this was an entirely different crusade, and as he stood at the edge of the dance floor, he couldn’t help but wonder just what had led him there.

The stars shone overhead, an incomprehensible number of them casting their meager light upon the tents. All that was missing was the signature aurora borealis that frequented the skies over the Basin, but it was unlikely they would find the lights here. Caela Insula was warm though, warmer than home and free of snow and icy winds. The Thief did not miss the cold, and even if he was still wary of standing upon the floating island, a great number of distractions had presented themselves. Now he looked out to the sea of familiar and unfamiliar faces alike, his wandering gaze finally settling when a well-known voice reached his ears.

The Time Mender’s song was brief, ariose, adding to the melody Illynx’s companion had struck up with her stones, and honoring the God who had given them a home. He had heard Lena sing before, but her voice was no less enchanting this time. Once she had finished with her song, the Thief made his way towards her, gaze flicking over the mares and children who had gathered to dance, and spotting only two young stallions in their midst. Smiling to himself, he drew up alongside Lena with a crafty glint in his eye. Her presence set him at ease, even when surrounded by such a large, exultant congregation. “You have a lovely voice,” he said quietly, almost hesitantly, and offered her an amicable grin. “I’m afraid I don’t know how to dance. Would you care to teach me?


Image Credits

Lena the Songbird Posts: 663
Aurora Basin Time Mender atk: 4 | def: 10.5 | dam: 6.5
Mare :: Unicorn :: 15.3 :: 6 HP: 69 | Buff: NOVICE
Imogen :: Common Kitsune :: Fire Heather
I've got this sentimental heart that beats

The Mender sculpted and morphed her way through her own silence, content to watch the others perform, sparked and invigorated by the timeless pieces they carved and scorched into the earth. Illynx, with her passionate display and ritual synchronicity, conforming and enacting the whimsical arts she’d so handily mastered with her son weeks before, the pale, rosy femme matching her skill for skill with her own child, waltzing with blades and swords, Artemis and connivers. Even the brindled femme, seemingly bursting with some unknown tirade, plaited together a masterful display, told and invoked her own story (she should be dotted and hued with green, envious streaks instead of ivory?). Even foals, tender younglings (one Jorogumo – an unforgettable, eerie child) were consumed by the songs, by the ceremonies, by the bewitching, heavenly air, and paired off to display their own semblances of harmony and balance. So distracted, so immersed, in the exuberance, in the ebullience, in the bliss and repose, even matching crescendos to her own croons, she hadn’t noted the Thief’s presence until he was at her side, a charming tiding thrumming along her ears. A blush, wild and scintillated, hastened at his sudden compliment, at the crafty grin centered along his lips. Without a means to fight off the flush, she ignited her lively, animated smile, centered her wholesome, honeysuckle gaze along the horizon, then swept it towards the golden sector of his brigand features, riveted, fixated, fascinated all over again. Familiar, but still bashful, her rhapsody tended to the appreciation, bending amongst the humility homespun in her heart. “Thank you.” She nearly asked him if he had any yearnings to entreat the Time God and his unearthly legacies into the mix and mold, curious and intrigued by his arrival, but his following words left her momentarily speechless.

Truthfully, she’d never been coaxed, instructed, or deigned towards minstrels of the arts either – the leaves, the grains, the boughs, and the wind had tended to her movements, to her motions, so as she twirled she mixed amongst their sector, so as she swirled, she was one of their bright, endeavoring flock. Perhaps the thorns had taught her how to straighten, how to reel, how to chase, and the deep nettles had ensured she mastered a charming, finessed pirouette, but for a few tender moments she felt it almost odd that worldly Roland, with his crafty gaze, with his unsung secrets, had somehow missed the opportunities. She was even more shocked he’d let her in on a confidential, private nuance, and the little sylph kept it tightly tucked against her heart, offering it fluttering guidance. But, as an intricate, wise, and musing pixie, she allotted him none of these things: only the widening of her grin, the ambling of her pride, and the amusement of her fairy, fey interludes. A brief aria, bright candor, honeyed, sugared sentiments, curled from her mouth with the daintiest of whispers, floating against the billowing air, assuring him his concealments were hidden in her rapture. “Of course! I’d be happy to!” For a few scarce seconds, she pondered over how to provide him with such a wide array and variety of techniques, sienna gaze scouring over the dancers as they maneuvered and bent with the wind, with the breeze, with the pulse, meter, and measure. Illynx’s recital, while strong, fluid, and dominating, would be too difficult for one who’d never partaken in the quick steps or the demonstrative march.

The slender, lithe fae, with her whimsical, flowery crown, instead, held her instruction towards the beat. She listened over and over again to the rhythm set by Kyst, thrummed, murmured, and soothingly absconded it for herself, drawing and sketching a vibrant hum in the back of her throat, composed it into a steady rapture, a devout, reverential reverie. Her body assumed a gentle, lulling swing, from one foot to the next, front to back, side to side, in time with the music surrounding, enfolding, encompassing them. Gently, she coaxed the same motions towards Roland, stepping closer, breaths mingling, blossoms and blooms tucked beneath his cranium, and soft maw tapping his shoulder to the melody. Dainty edges, soft, dulcet arias, wiled away the stream of song, bird carols and swallow tails. “Dancing is merely moving to the beat – if you find a cadence, sway to it!” Each time she maneuvered her lips towards his frame, touching, gracing, with light, minuet fronds, she raised the same leg, positioned it so he could mimic the motions. She repeated the tune, the strain, amidst the intimate partnering, brushing with fond deliverance, with gallant, valorous elegance, so their delicate refrain became a constant theme, an anchored strain, pulsating to the vibrant harmony of their bound stature. So focused and riveted on her task, so familiar again the affinity, amity, and affection between fay and swindler, she failed to turn into another roseate hue.


Reginald Posts: 165
Hidden Account atk: 4 | def: 7.5 | dam: 7
Stallion :: Hybrid :: 17.1 hh :: 3 HP: 64 | Buff: NOVICE
Ka'Mate :: Harpy Eagle :: None & Ka'Ora :: Harpy Eagle :: None M.E.


She comes from the darkness with which she’s clothed, a game already playing about the paleness of her eyes—should he have expected something different? She was always fond of games, for whatever reason. He stifles the sigh of exasperation that claws at the back of his throat; he watches her, eyes of grey impassive, searching and voracious as ever. She beckons him to the beat of the carnal dance, the revelries he does not comprehend—he goes to satiate the curiosity of his bosom. He will learn this.

She’s grown. Darkness continues to cloak her form, wretched and bleak, deepened by the ravages of the wilds—but her form has remained full, her build broken from the mold of the frail wretch of girlhood. The curve of her hock, the line of her neck, the fullness of her chest—all these things draw the grey eye in a way that has eluded his notice before; they seem important now, indicative of some grand purpose, a testament to something imperative and urgent. He ignores this; it is not so easily forgotten, however. He meets her, facing her body, standing to her left, shoulderpoint to shoulderpoint; his eye continues to be drawn to wither and the line of her leg. It must be interpreted; he does not know this code.

How long has it been? Seasons have passed, most likely; he cannot tell, for the winter seems to cling to this place, her coat, the clouds around them, even as the hordes of the north converge upon them and flail to some intuitive rhythm. He’s waited to see if his little spider whore truly meant her allegiance. Perhaps she’s merely lucky he happened to be here—whatever. She’s found him now, and reaffirmed her place in his council. She’s not forgotten. Yet. “About time,” he growls a wretched whisper for her left ear; the threat within is groundless. A tease.

She dances something wild; he himself is not a stranger to the intricacies of movement. Have not his own mother taught him how to dance in battle, to move with liquid ease and precision. His mother’s grace has passed into his blood—diluted, surely, but he moves to the rhythm of the music with his own brand of poise. He keeps close to the spider; grey eyes dart about as they move to and fro, back and forth, swaying within the sea of a raucous detestable crowd. “Name these people,” he says in a low voice, for her ears only; the command jumps easily to his lips. He realizes, now, the folly of his childhood. Before, he only believed in the occasional band of traveling interlopers; the unicorns of the north appeared in his mind as an erratic group of eccentrics who adored the freezing cold; never before has he truly comprehended the idea of a colossal, organized group—a herd. Yet now his own father has pledged himself to one, and now he is faced with another—a herd his spider is supposedly pledged to as well. No, he will not let this ignorance go unchecked. He will learn this as well.


You can't escape the wrath of my heart
Beating to your funeral song
All faith is lost for hell regained

by: Kristi Herbert at flickr

--Please tag REGINALD in every reply!

--All force is allowed to be used against this character!

Random Event Posts: 1,286
Helovian Ancient
Stallion :: Equine :: ::

A southern wind picks up abruptly. It is cold and fierce, and even dark. It brings forth a feeling of unease and anxiety bordering on panic. Something is wrong. Something is wrong.




An abrupt, horrific noise cuts through the revelry. Its the begging, bleating desperation of a buck. The stag is magnificent as it stumbles in amid the unicorns, its rack enormous upon its muscular neck; a true king of the forest. He's wheezing, his breaths a violent pink spray as blood drips from his nose. His eyes, though wild and wide, do not seem to see as he lumbers about fitfully.

He staggers from a wound on his leg, where the jaws of a wolf hold on tight, despite the fact its head is decapitated. Growls still emanate from the grey (its color is lost to mud and blood) crown as it continues to fight for its meal. The stag's limb has long since been shredded. Bone and ligament both are acutely visible. Whatever skin remains flaps around uselessly.

The stag turns to give one final bellow before collapsing. The wolf snarls, teeth champing down on bone as its prey finally submits.

The grass moves like a veridian wave as it leaps up and covers the corpse, dragging it down to the earth without the slightest blemish upon its topsoil.

The wind stops as suddenly as it had come. The uneasy feeling drifts away, lingering only in the memories of this event.


Thranduil the Laurelin Posts: 598
Outcast atk: 5.5 | def: 11 | dam: 6.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16.2 hh :: Eight HP: 77 | Buff: ENDURE
Haldir :: Common Cerndyr :: Dark Mist Hawk

Well, it wasn’t exactly a disaster. Unicorns from the Basin had made the journey to the sky island and braved the cloud ride to join the Festival for the Time God. Still the golden smiled at the lack of unicorns from other herds. Once again confirming his gilded lady’s well planned peace offerings were for not. Even the lace of sweet creatures such as Lena, or the calm Roland, or even the skills of the lady herself can not hide the bruises still permanently marking the Basin. For his own part, the golden felt the air of success, the riddle game had gone well. It would be far better had he crushed Roland, but as it were, the golden gave a nod to the copper man’s skill. It reminded him how much more he had to wiggle himself into the hearts of this land though. So in interest of such, he had come to the dance floor before the tent, where horses were dancing and singing in a blissful joy.

The golden stood momentarily at the edge of the gathering, keeping from direct eyes. He did not enjoy being in the center of crowds without purpose, even for all his vanity. Still his earth eyes find what they seek, his gilded lady dancing among others but alone. A curl of his lips tips the scales and the golden moves off. The gold dipped bay dances in olden styles, but the golden found he could match them. So as he comes to the center and to her he dances to her. Spanish neck regally curls inward, but high, pulling and stretching his crest and neck. Back curls up, to give room for his flashing gold legs to move with smooth grace. Right leg reaches before and in front of his left, crossing over himself, before allowing the left to reach out and pull him forward again. In this half pass trot the golden comes to stop in front his gilded lady. Squaring his legs the golden man nods his head to her, a light smile playing upon his lips and a flash a light in his eyes. “May I join you-“ It was cut off though in a pierced scream of death, and a cold wind blows up the gold’s mane.

Harks pin and the elegant curved brute flashes out of his stance to stand tall and straight. Harks lean and nares quiver. He had heard screams as such not too long ago. Coat flinches, and his body begins to pump adrenaline. Surely that terror could not reach here, surely in this peaceful place- But no. The dying creature comes stumbling into the crowd. Many may step away, but the golden steps forward. It is only a dying stag, but, as the question formed before in his mind, what was he dying of. Then the golden man sees it. A wolf head clings to the great creature’s leg, torn from its body but not its prey. Head raises further and body pulls back but does not yield a step. What the fuck was going in this world?! The golden was used to some gore, but this was beyond a battle wound, this was gruesome, cruel, and just wrong.

Tearing eyes from the sight of the stag at last crumbling the gold looks to his gilded lady, before back to the- wait, where was it? There, the grasses had already half covered the creature. A snort shakes through the gold, the island was embracing this horrid sight. It was not right. When it was over the world seems to stop. This was no longer a coincidence, and if it such a wrong sight happened here then this was more than a random event. This concerned the gold most of all. He welcomed chaos of the terror before, in fact laughed at its face for the trouble it caused his land, but now…now this was something much more sinister, and serious. The gold wanted the Basin under his lady to fall, he wanted to see chaos reign, and he knew he could always turn tail and run, but at the moment, nowhere felt safe.

OOC :: I had this half written before the RE as I had been promising thran would dance with illynx forever, hope no one minds.

It comes by day, it comes by dark,
No where to stay, All is stark.
Image by the AMAZING Vossity

[Image: 5381546acbe33]
Feel free to use any force/magic on Thranduil, short of killing him.
Please tag in every post.
Ask Thranduil any question in the world, he'll be forced to answer on his profile. PM with your question.

Roland Posts: 230
Aurora Basin Phantom atk: 7.5 | def: 10 | dam: 2.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16 hh :: 8 yrs HP: 60.0 | Buff: NOVICE
The Thief did not often try new things. He found comfort in the familiar, and rarely stepped beyond the boundaries of his own expertise aside from whatever stretches of the imagination his chicanery required. He was far too distracted by the unexplored territory of dance to notice Lena’s sudden bashfulness, acknowledging only the brilliance of her smile as he approached, and feeling rather out of place in the midst of the party, at odds with the exultant celebration of which he would normally want no part in. But it had been far too long since Roland had seen her last, and if their meeting would add another skill, however trivial, to his bag of tricks then there could be little harm in attempting their sport.

He stood for a moment at her side, not entirely willing to trust the coordination of his own feet; believing that he might stumble on the uneven ground, bump into Lena, or otherwise make a fool of himself, but she willingly accepted his request and slid into place at his front. He watched the shift of her feet, the dip and sway of her frame as she moved, and gradually, hesitantly, followed her lead. Through her suggestion he tilted his head a fraction, listened to the cadence of their steps, a pattern of hoof beats stamped out upon the ground along with the flinty note of rocks struck upon one another, and with it he began to carve out his own sequence. He felt Lena’s muzzle against his neck, a guiding pressure, and in the half lit darkness he focused on its pulse, gaze fixated upon the shifting image of his own front feet. As moments passed he grew bolder, mimicking the Time Mender’s movements until he was confident enough to curl his neck towards her, offer a diffident smile.

The Thief cast a curious gaze across those gathered, noting the refinement of their steps, practiced, at ease. He smiled at the inexperienced movements of a coral filly, satisfied that he was not the only one who lacked the dexterity to perform without fault. Nevertheless, he approached it with ambition, twisting and turning as instructed, insinuating a bow of his head, a turn of his hindquarters while following in the Time Mender’s wake. With every step the unease melted from his form, and he relaxed into an easy rhythm. The lights shifted across their hides, illuminated in a mantle of sterling moonlight before at once traipsing into shadow. They slipped in and out of the darkness as they danced, the occasional press of Lena’s lips against his shoulder a reminder to maintain the rhythm. The Thief’s hooves twisted in the grass as he lowered his head, tail curling against his hocks. “How am I doing?” He asked softly, to avoid disturbing their company, and sought out her gaze with an amused glint in his eye. No doubt he was a work in progress, but it was no longer the daunting prospect it had seemed at first. There was no denying the cathartic nature of dance, to know and think of nothing besides the arrangement of his own feet, to focus on the sway and swell of music, wending its way across the constant whisper of wind through grass.

So he persevered, watching the Time Mender as she demonstrated each movement until he was confident enough in the simple dance, until he could move with little doubt or question in his own actions, and a smile stayed steady upon his lips. His pace only faltered once the wind picked up, a sudden strong gale that pulled at the fabric of the tent and hissed savagely through the grass, and the Thief paused as its chilling undercurrent swept across his skin. A portentous feeling crawled along his spine, prickling at the edges of his mind as his feet ceased their movements, and he turned to search the edges of their congregation. A strangled, sinister call broke through their revelry, pursued by a bloodied stag. It stumbled its way into their midst with sharp antlers brandished, the tines failing to catch or snag upon those standing nearest to it, much to Roland’s relief. Crimson dripped from its open mouth, ragged breaths shattering the aura of merriment until all had fallen deathly silent. The Thief stood his ground, ignoring the fearful pound of his heart as he watched the buck topple, noticing only as its legs buckled beneath it that the head of a predator was still latched onto its limb, fangs sunk into fragile flesh. As suddenly as it appeared, the wounded creature was swallowed up by the earth, leaving only the ominous echo of its call. The Thief’s mind raced from one thought to another, gaze fixed upon the unblemished grass. Had it been a crude warning of things to come, an omen to heed; or perhaps some cruel joke to tear apart their innocuous festivities? Did something else lie in wait beneath the cover of night? The exhilaration of earlier had faded, and with apprehension curling talons into his skin, he looked to their gilded leader for an indication of what might transpire next.


Image Credits

Hotaru the Valkyrie Posts: 295
Outcast atk: 7 | def: 10.5 | dam: 3
Mare :: Unicorn :: 15.3hh :: 6 Years 3 Months HP: 67 | Buff: NOVICE
Alice :: Royal Hellhound :: Acid Brit

From the sidelines she comes, her dark knight with the gleaming eyes and wolfish grin. There is a shyness Hotaru has not seen from her, an awkwardness that claims Rhiannon has never before found a fitting reason to dance. Hotaru took to it like a duck to water, perhaps it was the weak blood of her mother that made her desire the elegance of the dance and the companionship her daughter brought her. She easily slides her gaze between her huntress and her knight, keeping them in equal standing, though it is not so true in realism. Arya is her world. No maiden, martyr, or mage could strip that from her, nor could any be loved or regarded more dearly than her daughter. Her huntress was the only truly important soul in this war-torn blasphemous world. Were she ever troubled or harassed, Hotaru would be there to defend her, and teach her how to rip their hearts from their chests with the horns of her lineage. A queen, budding in the flesh of a princess, prepped to fling her decorative crown and behead the kingly puppet at her side to destroy the boundaries of gender and rule the ignorant and foolish. Bend and manipulate them into loyal soldiers fitting of her grandeur.

There was no other Hotaru could be more proud to dance with.

Rhiannon sways closer, and the buzz of her presence tingles in Hotaru's skin, an awareness she can't help. Her daughter speaks, jealousy written in the curves of her aristocratic face, possessiveness claiming her mother and warding away all suitors. Poison and venom in her tone. Focusing on her prodigy, she smiles, dancing close and breathing soft clove breath upon her daughter's cheek. "You are more important, my huntress. I would rather dance with you than any other." She smiles then, all sweetness and love wrapped in silver lining of a predatory promise that nothing would ever come between them.

Her paradise is burned to nothingness by a prickle of wrongness on her spine, and as the buck comes stumbling broken and shredded into the dance her hooves plant down and a snarl rises in her chest to challenge that of the headless predator latched onto the king of the forest. She braces herself, leaping forward until Arya is pressed safe at her flank, teeth bared and ears pinned, nares wide as her body vibrates with violence and protection. Watches as the stag stumbles, hears his bleating death cries without a single care. His suffering is nothing to her. The only importance was that her daughter remain safe from whatever horrid magic was rending the island apart. As it disappears she whips her tail in a slash against her belly, stalks in a tight circle around her daughter with eyes darting hawklike around the mass of bodies. As if awaiting the ghouls to reappear somewhere and threaten her precious parcel.

When all is assured to be safe she slowly drops her guard, pressing her muzzle to her daughter's skin as if ensuring she's safe, completely unharmed. "What the fuck was that?" she snarled, bristling like a wild cat. Turning to face Arya she regarded her seriously. "You and I, we fight together. Do not leave my side. Magic like this is sick and impossible to fight." She never once told Arya to run, to cower or to hide. No. They would fight together, mother and daughter, and come out the same way. Arya would not be taught to fear, to cower and flee. But she would learn to respect the magic of the foreign and the celestial.

you never know the power of yourself, until that is all you have left to rely upon</style>

image credits
table by whit
[Image: 515265280ffff]

::Strong like the sea is stormy::

Please only tag starting posts, spars, and threads collecting dust!
Plot with me here!

Aithniel the Inquisitor Posts: 169
Outcast atk: 6.5 | def: 9.0 | dam: 4.0
Mare :: Tribrid :: 15.0hh :: 4 Years HP: 75 | Buff: NOVICE
Zerachiel :: Royal Griffin :: Molten Dagger tamme
Your spine is ablaze
Felling any foe with my gaze

Aithniel looked everywhere for Rikyn, even though looking for Rikyn was a silly idea. Instead, she looked for signs of the grass being depressed even though nothing seemed to be there, but she couldn't get a grasp on any clues. Frowning, she decided to just stay in place and maybe Rikyn would find her, and she sighed heavily. Her molten silver eyes took in the crowd, seeing quite a few familiar faces and a few new ones. The fire princess didn't exactly feel like dancing, not with visions of a dead and bloated pegasus stuck in her brain.

Though it seemed like tragedy followed her everywhere. Moments later, a stag came in with a strong gust of wind, and she felt her heart sink into her hooves. A decapitated wolf's head gnawed on the creature's leg and a tingle of fear grabbed at her spine, making her even more immobile than she was before. All she could do was stand and watch, jaws open as the stag fell with a loud, resounding thud. Her heart crashed in her chest, and she wanted to cry and hide, but she couldn't see Rikyn to do so.

Suddenly, the grass erupted, swallowing the wolf head and the stag whole, pulling them down below as if nothing had ever happened.

But something had happened...

Someone had died, and she had to find out who did it. Aithniel inhaled a hitching breath that was more akin to a sob than anything else, and she stood with her white and gold wings open, ash flowing from the feathers like snow. Wrong didn't even begin to describe what she was feeling now and how the world had shifted. The responsibility of what was going on was too great for her age and her maturity, and she just couldn't do this alone, not when the chubby blue and white one hated her for no reason.

But here was proof. Something was very wrong, and she couldn't dance or party like she wanted to anymore.

Credits: Image by Tabini with many thanks from Blu

But burn down our home
I won't leave alive

Please tag me in everything!

Lena the Songbird Posts: 663
Aurora Basin Time Mender atk: 4 | def: 10.5 | dam: 6.5
Mare :: Unicorn :: 15.3 :: 6 HP: 69 | Buff: NOVICE
Imogen :: Common Kitsune :: Fire Heather
I've got this sentimental heart that beats

The songbird greatly preferred the essence sprinkled and plaited amongst the gathered: serene, tranquil, affable, and amiable, swiftly turning to dance, to waltzing, to twirls and swaying belles, instead of ghastly bellows and ghostly trenches. She’d always wished, dreamed, aspired for the aurora inhabitants to interact amongst peaceful interludes and reposed hymns, resting in between the folds of equanimity and harmony, rather than scouring for the next triumph or conquest. Seasons past and cycles thrown, it would have been considered a grand, idle delusion, made for virtuous and innocent, ignorant and oblivious, but as she swirled beneath the heavenly abyss, she saw her ambitions had not been for naught. Amidst the glamour, the grandeur, the opulence, she spun a magnificent smile, drank in the ambrosial finesse, the predatory creatures turning to glorious, majestic fronds, dunes in the sand, beauty in the midst, striking brushstrokes on a midnight canvas. Absorbed, animated, woven and plaited into the sumptuousness, the nymph gathered her grin and placed it upon Roland, back and forth, molding her movements and motions in akin to his; watched and witnessed as her instructions were brought to life amongst a brigand’s quick footsteps. Her hum, rich and flavored, trailed down the back of her throat and out amongst each guiding breath, pulsating and pervading until the carols sauntered along the breeze and clouds, guiding, cajoling, whispering sweet nothings as the lessons morphed into easygoing gestures and well-placed footfalls. Petal soft and gracious, she bent with his turns, she shifted with his spins, she glided with his undulations, matching reticence with ease, pushing hesitant chords into mastered depths, heaving somber notes into mellifluous gestures and hummingbird quips, pressing her elegant, nimble, lithe laurels into his gilded frame, joined for tender moments, then maneuvering away, harmonic, gallant intimacy. When he gained proficiency, capability, without complaint, without protest, without objection, a swell of pride, a fluttering of her heart swallowed the idle sentiments of her mind; her smile widened, and she added another step to his repertoire. Her maw ghosted less and less across his shoulders, until it was a forgotten siren, patterned and peppered long ago, the better he became, the more she backed away and bestowed his efforts with another motion, increasing the tempo, the bolero, the minuet. Only when a gesture required correction did she tuck her cranium beneath his nape and fine-tune the regality, slip under the arch of his neck and apply redirection, mixing her caress with a laugh, a giggle, an amiable stroke.

Then he asked how he was doing, so she grinned again, breathless and cajoled, tucked and curled her lips into a pixie pursuit, lavished praise where it was due, fairy eyes capturing, enticed, by his amused gaze. “Quite well! Were you teasing me, trying to show off, and surpass my meager talents?” She wrinkled her maw and winked, a passing light in the deity’s boughs, gaze focused on the others swirling amongst the land. The sylph had intention of snagging a piece or two from another’s composition, wielding it so she and the Thief could perform it, test his predilection, glossing over the tactful frames and the bowing convention. She started again, eager and delighted, trusting in her sprite air, “Do you think you could-“, but ceased when a forbidding essence stomped, collided, and abruptly entered the soiree.

The horrific noise was first, then the battering apprehension coiled down her spine and through her limbs, terrifying and bestial, a carnivore’s gaze rippling and rankling over their gathered forces. A stag, chased by demons, mauled by monsters, stumbling, bumbling, blinded by pain, by agony, once king and mighty, now felled and alone. For a few moments, there’s no hesitation in her motions – despite the frightening inclinations, she was a courageous soul amongst heathens and infidels – pushing her frame in front of Roland’s, a protective, valorous fey with no guidance towards the tyrannical ongoing. Like all of them, she’s helpless and wanton with desire to help (or flee, her feet immobile, frozen), but sorely lacking in the knowledge, in the musing, of the transpiring shapes and figures, how to lend assuaging and soothing tones, tunes, as another bestial frame ravaged and destroyed a blessed creature. In an instant, the scene reset, bellowed one last twisted, feral, savage, and sinister moniker, corpse swindled into the nocturnal affair, and her body left to process the strange, cruel images. Her words fumbled, felt strange and foreign across her tongue, stare only inclining towards the other inhabitants, and then to Roland, by the look on his face, he too had seen the frightening debacle. “What was…” Lena was punctured and pierced into silence, either by fear or ignorance, bowing her head towards where the body had last fallen, feeling neither blessed nor content any longer, as if the ghostly entrails had undone all of the beautiful tracings and trappings; a celebration scorched and blistered with augured tension.


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