the Rift


[OPEN] We Are The Wicked Ones

Panzram Posts: 64
Hidden Account atk: 4.5 | def: 9 | dam: 6
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 17 hands :: 8 Tallsuns HP: 62 | Buff: NOVICE
Xyroca
#1



So many ideas circled around my mind regarding the shadow that I was leading to the Aurora Basin, though not even a glint in my eyes gave away my intentions. Instead, I filled the silence with general information about the herd as far as I knew. I mentioned that only unicorns possessed the Basin, that I was a 'Phantom' rank, and only the very basic description of the territory. No need to tell her every little thing, she could easily figure the land out on her own. As the air began to thin, a chill in the wind tickled my coat, a clear sign that we were quickly approaching the place that I had been calling home for recent months. Before long, the bronze mechanisms that resembled our kind were visible in the horizon, gleaming in the sunlight. Coolly I stepped closer to them without fear, but I did toss my muzzle towards them as I explained what they were to Zandora. "They recognize those that belong to the Basin, any intruders are met with one hell of a welcoming..."


My orbs narrowed at them slightly, as though daring them to attempt to block Zandora. However, nothing happened. Well, step one was a success. Now, just to get the official welcoming committee. As I walked deeper into the lands, my lips parted to call for one of the leads or higher ranks. Once I had made my call, I paused to wait beside the ebony and violet mare, ivory tail lashing at my flank. "Now, let the show begin." I whispered to the vixen slyly before anyone would even have a chance of overhearing my words, a devilish gleam in my eyes reflected my hint for her to do her best to get on the good side of whoever would come to welcome her.

OOC: @[Zandora] and anyone!

Please tag Panzram in first posts only. Violence and magic can be used on him, just please do not kill or permanently injure/maim.

Zandora Posts: 85
Outcast atk: 7.0 | def: 10 | dam: 3.0
Mare :: Unicorn :: 15 HH :: 7 years HP: 60.0 | Buff: NOVICE
Evara :: Black Leopard :: None ShadowMare
#2
You lost a bet when you met me dear
you know that I'm no good

Zandora eyed her path, the feeling of foreign soil and brush spilt her emotions on new grounds. She liked the sense of the unknown, but she'd much rather be able to gallop without worrying about splitting one of her delicate hooves. Instead she had to settle for this, annoyingly tripping over every hidden hole or root of an ancient tree that she had yet to notice. Ebonite ears laid back on her mane as she listened to Panzram inform her about the surroundings and details of her soon to be herd. Zandora soaked in the information that Panzram had given her, she then painted an image in her mind, giving her something to do as they trekked across the lands.

Shiny bronze caught her pale lanterns, and the horned mare picked her head up to examine the shiny sculpture. Her ears flipped to the sound of Panzram's voice, he explained what their significance was and the internal geek inside her was awed. No longer caring about the bronze creatures, Zandora caught up with Panz. Her eyes still held their natural look of mischief, but she tried to her best to wipe it away taking into account his warning. "Let it so." She whispered quickly in reply, her voice laced with wickedness. Zandora raised her head and tossed her mane in an attempt to look formal for those whom would greet them. She was excited, hopeful that whatever this basin had in store, it was going to be worth it.
TAGGED:
@[Panzram] & Anyone
WORDS:
252
Other:
N/A
OCC: God I'm so sorry for being so late on replying, real life is a real bitch my friend. The flow on this post is just shit. Bleh.
Template by Melz/mizlopez89 @adoxography  and  Caution2.0
[Image: 56a075b49df35]
No restrictions on things that can happen to Zandora, please tag in first posts only.

Deimos the Reaper Posts: 527
Deceased atk: 7.0 | def: 12 | dam: 6.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16.1 :: 7 HP: 72.5 | Buff: NUMB
Heather
#3


Strength and dominion comprised and composed the summits, the cliffs, the valleys, stoking licentious finery deep into callous crags, subversive stone, and iniquitous immorality. Each member of the bestial Basin were courted and swayed into the conquering maelstrom for purpose, for reasons, for aspirations and goals – talents lain dormant, capability surmised or seen, varnished and gleaming. New blood stoked and held the enduring crowd from each and every cumbersome munitions, curiosity compelled new heights, sought avaricious plumes and sumptuous wiles. The Reaper couldn’t complain, even if public domain and fleeting conversations were not part of his esteemed repertoire (those segments were filled with coiled demise, with bloody, savage interludes, with miscreant endeavors and the devouring wake of devilish, unholy ramparts), as King, as Lord, as sovereign, he still held the duty of meeting with strangers, with interlopers, with the inquisitive and brave. Some flickering around the borders, indulgent and ignorant, had been turned away: demanding urchins, ridiculous fools, grasping, entitled dunces proffered naught but vigilance and violence, while others had been scrutinized, studied, examined, for their potential. If there was a flicker of ability, a bed of bedlam’s talent, the ruler acquiesced their request, granted them passage into the formidable chambers, into the wayward winds, into the chilling, rapacious halls. Another’s beckoning twisted and turned the funneling of his ears, and he snapped away from the dark caverns he’d been crouched within, a predator, a carnivore, amongst rubble, ruin, and devastation, lingering past the folds of the unfreezing lake, beyond the shards of the hot springs, a moving maelstrom, intimidating, overwhelming, breathing damnation through the fluid ministrations of his sinister sway. The piercing slate of his eyes fixated upon the lingering creatures beneath the threshold of the Sentinels (not buried or smothered by the fervency of their power; not foes, but allies, potential?), and upon his approach, he delivered a swift nod towards the stag, though readily unfamiliar, he’d been seen along meetings, and deserved a chord of recognition for his efforts (he’d brought the other here, deep into the denizens of the frigid, of the consecrated creed). Then, the monster’s stare became wholly reserved to the femme, all obsidian and violet, a blend of intrigue along her gaze, no pupils, nearly soulless in their scrutiny – but one couldn’t measure potency from the lack of something – so he tilted his skull a fraction, the avaricious behemoth kindling Machiavellian machinations. Giving naught else away except idle curiosity, the nonchalant features of the Reaper’s face only parted his jaws to anoint the newcomer with brief affability. “Deimos, Lord of the Basin. Welcome.” The introductions cast, he continued in curt strokes, only ensuing necessities, never one to express more than required. “Who are you and what do you seek here?” The answer was usually a home, but there was so much more contained within the singular word: whether they yearned for power, for subterfuge, for capricious turns of the world, or longed for it to remain unsaid, hidden, as clandestine as the rest of them.

[Sorry for the wait!]
tablebykite [horse©venomxbaby/bg©darkdevil16]

Zandora Posts: 85
Outcast atk: 7.0 | def: 10 | dam: 3.0
Mare :: Unicorn :: 15 HH :: 7 years HP: 60.0 | Buff: NOVICE
Evara :: Black Leopard :: None ShadowMare
#4
You lost a bet when you met me dear
you know that I'm no good

The shuffle of another's entered her ears, Panzram's call had been answered. Zandora's amethyst eyes focused on a stallion, presumed the answerer of Panz's beckoning. He carried a cloak of rich and fine chocolates and blacks, as well as a two-toned single twisted horn that sprouted from his cranium. He seemed to hold an aurora of swagger around him, one that held power and authority. As his voice slipped into the silence, she realized that her assumption was correct and he was indeed of high authority. The stallion introduced himself as Deimos, the lord of these lands. Lord. The word sounded rough to her, like it was drawing her to her knees in submission. Ignoring the nagging of such a authoritative word, she pondered over the words that Deimos had spoken second. She had expected such questioning, but Zandora strove to be different, to be better, so her response required a few seconds of looming in order to suppress 'average' (well at least from her views).

"Pleased to be in your company" she said with a very necessary dip of her head, Zandora perfered to not give respect to those who hadn't yet earned it, but she had to compromise if she wanted to thrive in this new Realm of mysteries. So with a dip of her head and a slight pause, she spoke again to answer his questions. "My identity is Zandora, and I seek the comfort of these lands for a purpose. I want to do something that drives me each dawn and dusk to live." Zandora said, her chords untouched by fear or low confidence. She was pleased with her answer, not just because it was good, but rather because it was true. Zandora is a lady of many faces, and truth is a mask that she prefers to keep rotting in the back of her mind. Perhaps she would take advantage of this new chance to recreate herself, perhaps she wouldn't, but all the petite mare knew at this moment was that she wouldn't let her existence fade to oblivion, she was to be known by all.


TAGGED:
@[Panzram] & @[Deimos]
WORDS:
252
Other:
N/A
OCC: God I'm so sorry for being so late on replying, real life is a real bitch my friend. The flow on this post is just shit. Bleh.
Template by Melz/mizlopez89 @adoxography  and  Caution2.0
[Image: 56a075b49df35]
No restrictions on things that can happen to Zandora, please tag in first posts only.

Deimos the Reaper Posts: 527
Deceased atk: 7.0 | def: 12 | dam: 6.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16.1 :: 7 HP: 72.5 | Buff: NUMB
Heather
#5


He automatically doubted her first statement, because very few found his company pleasant, but he listened regardless, constantly yearning to fill the Basin with strength, with vigilance, with vehemence. She brimmed with confidence, and though whether or not it was earned with strength, with conviction, or mere audacity (an entitled dominion, flanked and emboldened by things they thought they deserved, meant to be smothered, choked, then strangled until they took their last, lingering, foolish breath), if she had any ambition at all, she could serve the mountains and peaks well. What would drive her to dusk and dawn was another thing altogether, and the summits provided several options – but she’d have to be willing to grasp hold, because none of them would draw her towards the necessary flames unless she participated, unless she yearned, unless she craved. The considering Reaper, a master of demise, of death, of quietus, had long since found his occupation for upheaval, for chaos, for bedlam, for all the treacheries folded and entombed in the earth, but many others wandered across empires with nothingness tied to their minds, empty minds and useless bodies. He had no intention of providing resources, information, wisdom, erudition, and experience for a creature intending to wither off into the horizon, chasing indulgences and impassioned impulses. His gaze narrowed, speculating, scrutinizing, inquiring amidst the Machiavellian wiles of his Lucifer mind, yearning to empower his herd while not layering it with indolent, shiftless, remiss strangers hoping for charity and stoking foolishness. Where her purposes were incised, fueled, and empowered could be an intriguing conclusion, proffering or bestowing her chosen path, or confirming the unknown was doomed to haunt her. The deep chisel of his voice, eternally candid, forthright, and only transcribing necessities, regarded her statement, sculpted more deliberations and calculations. “And what drives you?” Power? Prestige? Domination? Supremacy? The unsaid clamors pierced and lacerated through his stare, for he knew all of the nefarious arts, the sinister regimes, the harpooning slate of sedition and irreverence. He probed and barbed, threw another set of thorns to see which one she tore, bit into, conspiring eager revelations or taut, rigid concerns. “We have ranks in healing, thievery, warriors, emissaries, and sagacity.” Which spurned assertion, ease, or transparency?


tablebykite [horse©venomxbaby/bg©darkdevil16]

Zandora Posts: 85
Outcast atk: 7.0 | def: 10 | dam: 3.0
Mare :: Unicorn :: 15 HH :: 7 years HP: 60.0 | Buff: NOVICE
Evara :: Black Leopard :: None ShadowMare
#6
You lost a bet when you met me dear
you know that I'm no good

Zandora's eyes shifted to Panzram, the lord had quickly come and she knew that it would be useless to waste his time when he was no longer needed. She gave him a small curl of her lips, she would find him again for what they had started was most certainly not over. Turning a horned cranium back to the successor of this herd, she listened as ominous voice wafted towards her. He was poking, wishing to know more about the mare that stood before him. What drove her was personal, mere authority wouldn't drive that out of her. But for now, all Deimos needed to know was; if he gives Zandora a mission, she will achieve it. That's all she wanted, what drove her was a concept that she refused to touch upon, something she didn't want to face. "What gives me drive is merely something that needs to be done. I am one that will plunge into a mission with all I have and not stop until a decision of achievement has been made." She said with icy, venomous chords. They weren't rude and vile, rather they held an aurora of mystery, she was after all, a temptress in which her works involved playing a game of gamble and tricks.

He had next spoken of the positions that the Basin offered, each sounded interesting, some more then others, but Zandora could careless where she was placed. As long as she only had to care for herself and not others, she was going to be at peace. She would tell him this, let him decide based upon his judgment and need of sources where the ebonite and amethyst mare should reside in the ranks. "They all hold certain interests within me, so I offer the choice to you. Where you need me, I shall be. As long as my work defers from caring for others, I am flexible." She said with chords indifferent the the ones she spoke with earlier. Zandora wasn't against working with others, that did not bother her, rather the caring of someone else. She viewed the world as if it was survival of the fitess, and she preferred to keep to herself instead of extending aid to another.
TAGGED:
@[Deimos]
WORDS: 360
Other:
N/A
OCC: God I'm so sorry for being so late on replying, real life is a real bitch my friend. The flow on this post is just shit. Bleh.
Template by Melz/mizlopez89 @adoxography  and  Caution2.0
[Image: 56a075b49df35]
No restrictions on things that can happen to Zandora, please tag in first posts only.

Deimos the Reaper Posts: 527
Deceased atk: 7.0 | def: 12 | dam: 6.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16.1 :: 7 HP: 72.5 | Buff: NUMB
Heather
#7


At least the mare was willing, pouring convictions and promises into her speeches. There needed to be a drive, a zest, a fervency for actions, no matter if it was brandishing a sword into an enemy’s chest, driving harpoons through their spines, or political designs, manifested and machinated for particular plots, wiles, and schemes. Where she yearned to address these aspirations and ambitions was another thing entirely, and he tilted his head for a fraction, a quiet, scrutinizing study, a reticent monster brooding and brewing over decisions and tasks meant for the sable and lavender femme. Healing, mending, and assuaging was already declared unsuitable, so he mulled over which ranks needed to be filled, where she could be the most useful, if she deigned to her creeds and oaths as readily mused. There were an overwhelming lack of scholars, but would she adhere to Gods’ and philosophies (he’d never truly considered the rank himself either, too emboldened and ferocious, too fervent and zealous on the construction, on the armaments of war)? Thranduil would enjoy another pupil to torture or irritate. Would she be interested in the notion of crafting, mending holes in cloth, stitching away the seams of objects they needed the most? He furrowed his brows slightly, tight and rigid in thought, processing each sentiment, notion, and situation carefully, before parting his great jaws again in unrelenting, behemoth squalls. “Soldier, then.” The Reaper, the Lord, the sovereign of winter paused then, nodding his affirmation, but providing her with an avenue, a means of escape. He wouldn’t hold someone to a title they didn’t crave, yearn, or want: one only drifted along if their motivations were fulfilling (if their edges burned at the sight, at the taste, of everything they coveted), and if she found the act of warriorhood not acceptable, she could meander elsewhere. “If you find this rank inappropriate, you may change to suit your needs.”


tablebykite [horse©venomxbaby/bg©darkdevil16]

Zandora Posts: 85
Outcast atk: 7.0 | def: 10 | dam: 3.0
Mare :: Unicorn :: 15 HH :: 7 years HP: 60.0 | Buff: NOVICE
Evara :: Black Leopard :: None ShadowMare
#8
OCC: Zandora will be a soldier :)
[Image: 56a075b49df35]
No restrictions on things that can happen to Zandora, please tag in first posts only.


Forum Jump:


RPGfix Equi-venture