the Rift


[PRIVATE] Nothing is Impenetrable

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
#1
Z
A
N
D
O
R
A

Zandora had wondered far from her "home" or whatever the Basin meant to her. She honestly did not know, nothing made sense to her anymore, everything had become black and white in a world which was meant to be lived in vivid color. Zandora was being haunted by herself, everything she did was questioned. She still could not get over what had happened only days ago, and it loomed above her everywhere she went, like a sickness had stolen the very life threads out of the mare. Zandora still had a flickering fire within her, but it needed fuel, something to make the hot flames reach every corner of her mind. She would preserver, she knew she would, but Zandora did not understand that things took time to fix and heal. She wanted herself back, but did not know that it was going to take more then just "insta-flame."

The air around her was cold and she could feel the touch of frost, her body shook as it tried to conserve her heat. She had been so consumed in her thoughts that the ebonite and amethyst mare didn't realize she had traveled to the seemingly coldest part of the land she dwelled in. Her dished face shot up as she looked around through the night. NIGHT? It was NIGHT?! Zandora was ashamed to even think about what she put herself through unknowingly. That question prodded at her mind yet again, how had she become this way? She was supposed to be so much better then this, she was supposed to be hard and unbreakable, she wasn't supposed to wonder around aimlessly and get herself lost in the middle of a cold night.

But she had.

Zandora's legs were covered in snow and it seeped deep within her muscles, she could feel everything freeze but she wasn't going to give up. She'd be damned if she didn't try, Zandora was a fighter, a soldier, and she would prevail. Her eyes searched the landscape briefly, feeling as if something was watching. Perhaps that was how this exposure of herself to the world felt, like someone or something was always watching, but she couldn't let those thoughts touch her now, she had a mission. And there would be no losing this time.

OCC: Sorry if this is all over the place, Z's all over the place, and it's very weird having to write her this way. I'm super excited for her to meet Ronan!
Tag: @[Rohan]
Speech

Julieta on Arkana
[Image: 56a075b49df35]
No restrictions on things that can happen to Zandora, please tag in first posts only.

Rohan Posts: 132
Outcast atk: 4 | def: 8.5 | dam: 7.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 17.0 :: 8 years HP: 66 | Buff: NOVICE
Éomer :: White-tailed Eagle :: Scream Reli
#2
rohan
how fickle my heart
As if the blackness of night isn’t hindering his vision enough, Frostfall does not disappoint in her blustery storms. Tempestuous clouds, lined with ribbons of silver as the moon’s light manages to seep between the bare patches, churn angrily overhead—swollen and heavy with the promise of their winter blizzard. Before long the white flakes are tumbling from their mother tempest—slow at first, but the flurries quickly swell into roiling whirlwinds, whipping to mold together, thickening in their number as they fall.

Rohan arches his neck and back, bowing his strong body against the frosty breath of wind that dances its own chaotic ballet over the arctic tundra. The turn of the cold season has thickened his coat, giving him an ample covering to compete with the frigid frost that gusts through the land—even so, his skin is not entirely immune from the icy fingers of winter’s grasp. It nips at him, leaving him numb. Jaw muscles flex as the Warlander clenches his teeth, scowling into the snow-streaked disarray that has become his vision.

After departing from the fog-shrouded borders of World’s Edge, he had simply left—to who or to where, he had not cared. He had simply just wanted to leave. Not necessarily because it had seemed an awful place, in contrary it offers some interesting prospects, but Rohan knows that he will have some thinking to do in his consideration. And with the presence of his hosts lingering at his shoulder (figuratively, of course), it is not a decision that he wishes to make with any sort of haste.

He intends to do the opposite, in fact.

No rush, right?

Still, with every step that he takes, it becomes clear that perhaps this had not been the night to embrace the wildness of Helovia. Nature is sure giving him all its untamed glory. A weaker creature might have recoiled at the fierceness of the snow, at the stinging of the wind, and seek shelter in some place warm and comfortable (a wiser creature, perhaps). But Rohan is strong, confident, and he pushes forward—nearly urging the storm with a silent scowl that screams ‘is that all you’ve got?!’ into the blustery recesses of this stormy night.

At last, nature seems to give in. The father north he travels, Rohan notices how the blizzard gradually thins, until it eventually dissipates altogether—leaving to harass others nestled more to the south. His pace slowing to a halt, the Warlander takes a moment to shake vigorously, dispelling the layer of snow that had cloaked his body. It is still impossibly cold, but the hairy stallion finds this much more bearable, the swagger in his step returning as he continues forward, snorting the wet air from his nostrils. It isn’t much farther before something—someone—catches his eye. As dark as her hide is, he likely would have missed her, were it not for the contrast of her mane, tail, and markings.

Purple?

Well, now he’s seen everything!

Flicking his lengthy tail about his flanks, Rohan strides purposefully forward, keen on discovering what sort of genetic strangeness has happened here. “Beautiful night, no?” His deep voice disturbs the frigid chill of Frostfall air, reaching the mare before he comes to face her, standing diagonal to her shoulder. His tone, while broad, is clipped at the end—intent to not linger for long on such pleasantries. “Though I wouldn’t venture much farther south if I were you,” he adds, mock cynicism leaking into the manner of his voice.


notes; you're good:) I'm excited too!
tag; @[Zandora]
“Speech.”

image credits
[Image: 57c5195f31f1b_by_relibelli-db9li1z.png]
please tag Rohan in all replies!
magic & force is permitted, excluding death or permanent injury.

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
#3
Z
A
N
D
O
R
A

Her breath around her clouded in white puffs, her eyes of ice watching as the little cloud diffused into the air above. It was bitter here, a place that the mare wished to never see again. She was still greatly bothered by the fact that she ended up here in the first place, it certainly didn't offer any comfort in it's blanketed slopes in howling wind.

Once again Zandora had slipped into a moment of intense pondering and questioning, when was this ever going to stop? She could feel the mockery of the devil below, laughing at her mortal self looming over mortal things. Zandora used to be unaffected by meer equine and worldly problems and she knew that this strength, this advantage, had kept the one creature she hated with such a deep passion, away.

But everything had changed.

A shift in the atmosphere surrounding her made Z's head snap up like a bird. Turning her head to see what had drawn her from her thoughts and into the reality around her, she saw the stag. A cocky sway about the man of golds and creams. He was crowned with a set of beautiful ivory horns, something Zandora had always found intriguing in equines. Her eyes swept his body, judging, deciphering, analyzing everything that the brute exposed. The feathery man was quite handsome and the part of her that had been buried with sorrow and guilt, sparked.

"I would most definitely say not, snowy terrains are not of my forte." She chuckled, a real, genuine chuckle. It felt good to laugh, it felt good to have any other emotion then this constant grayness that hovered above her. Her pupiless eyes settled on the man's eyes, a little inner fire begun to burn, she needed this and welcomed the distraction with wide arms. "Why? Do you think I am incapable of such weather?" Zandora said with an arch of her brow and a small smirk. She tossed her mane, the thick and long locks catching bits of moonlight as it shook. "Do I get to know the name of such a stallion?" She asked with tones of silk and smoke.
OCC: sorry for the wait! Work and camp made me get behind!
Tag: @[Rohan]
Speech

Julieta on Arkana
[Image: 56a075b49df35]
No restrictions on things that can happen to Zandora, please tag in first posts only.

Rohan Posts: 132
Outcast atk: 4 | def: 8.5 | dam: 7.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 17.0 :: 8 years HP: 66 | Buff: NOVICE
Éomer :: White-tailed Eagle :: Scream Reli
#4
rohan
how fickle my heart
The mare’s wandering gaze does not go unnoticed. The antlered stallion seems to puff out beneath her eye, like a bird would when trying to impress a mate—proud, bold, and alluring. Not that he feels like he needs to impress her—the young hairy unicorn has many things to learn in this strange and wild world, but self-esteem certainly isn’t one of them—but he does love to feel flattered by a mare’s sensual, animalistic desires. Rohan is not expertly practiced in the art of reading others, deciphering their face and picking it part to expose their thoughts, but he understands enough to know that there seems to be no disappointment in her gaze. If there is desire though, he hopes to soon find out.

She speaks to him, drawing his green gaze from the pleasing curves of her thighs and body and back to her face—the stark purple of her eyes intense and piercing despite their lack of a pupil (or perhaps that only sharpens the effect?) in any case, the dunalino finds himself under scrutiny—something he is not entirely opposed of. One side of his brow rises amusingly at her comment, his fluted ears tilting forward with the sound of her subdued laughter. His low chuckle joins hers, but it is short and soon gives way to the rougher tones of his voice.

“Not your forte?” The Warlander muses, flicking the dark cream of his thick tail around his flanks before he continues. “Then how ironic that we should find ourselves here, in this wasteland of ice and snow. I would have thought to find you in the southernmost parts of Helovia this time of the year,” the brightness of his eyes catch the glistening light of the stars overhead, the moon’s soft glow framing his rugged features and enhancing them in sharp, bold lines, “Surely it would be more to your liking?”

His tone lilts in a way that doesn’t demand an answer, although his ears are trained should she wish to give him one. It is merely observations that he makes, not an interrogation—what she wishes to inflict upon herself is her own business. He could hardly be less bothered.

The purple and black mare continues, enticing another chuckle from the depths of the stallion’s chest, this one heartier than before. “I would not doubt your capability, sweetheart, but your sensibility,” he eyes her with a cynical smirk twisting his dark lips, “still, be my guest if you dare to brave it—especially given your apparent aversion for snow.” His voice is pointed as it drawls to a lazy and gradual close, his eyes narrowing briefly before he draws back. Whatever the case may be, the Warlander would certainly enjoy the view should she decide to march away from him and into the colder clutches of winter. He considers it a win-win situation either way.

“‘Such a stallion’?” Rohan repeats wittily, “Well my dear, I suppose it depends on what that particular description entails,” his wry smirk deepens, one side of his brow rising as his eyes question her with enquiries of mirth and amusement. From his initial approach, the subtle shift in the mare’s demeanor had not missed his attention. From rigid ice she seems to melt, sultry voice of satin and barbs wrapping his mind in hidden weapons; and he is more than ready to play her little game.

Arching the thick muscle of his neck, the Warlander simpers with mischievous glee. “My name is Rohan,” he concedes, announcing himself into the dark wilderness like the proud vagabond he has become, “And what is yours, lovely? I don’t suppose you would leave that to the wiles of my imagination.” He chuckles, eyes dancing with the promise of play. Of course, he could draw conclusions perfectly well himself—beautiful and fantastical conclusions—but wouldn’t it be more fun if she were to play along with him?


notes; so so sorry for the lateness! At least I seem to have more muse than I thought I would heh (tagging because it's only been forever xD)
tag; @[Zandora]
“Speech.”

image credits
[Image: 57c5195f31f1b_by_relibelli-db9li1z.png]
please tag Rohan in all replies!
magic & force is permitted, excluding death or permanent injury.

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
#5
Z
A
N
D
O
R
A

Zandora watched his lips as he spoke, the way they curved around his words and held a humorous tone. She remembered long before her helovia days, when she used to be filled with happiness and desire, where she always went after the man she wanted without the heavy weights sewn into her shoulders. Now it was all different, but the way he spoke kindled the barren flames inside of her. She could feel the warmth that fun and flirting brought her, something she had almost forgotten she obtained. With a renewed fire, she chuckled at his first words, tossing locks of lilac in the frosty air as she threw her head up. "I prefer to live on the wilder sides of life. Although this will be marked in my journal of unwise decisions." The mare laughed again, enjoying her own humor. "You are right, it would much more be to my liking." She paused, a grin still alit on her features. "What about you? How did you find yourself wondering amongst the frozen hills of this steppe?" Zandora asked, her refined face cocking to the side as she questioned the golden man.

“I would not doubt your capability, sweetheart, but your sensibility,” The antlered buck (no pun intended) mused. Her eyes not letting the devious look melted on his face drip away without her seeing it first. She liked his mockery, it made her laugh and want to out do his smartass comments; a little game he had created. "I wouldn't doubt anything about me--" she quickly jumped closer to the stallion, her long twisted horn resting under his throat latch. "For I am unpredictable." Zandora whispered, her words heavily weighed with diabolical seduction. Oh how she missed this side of her, it was such a lovely trait.

Zandora let her sharp weapon drag along his neck, using the adornment as a pleasure filled device, teasing, tantalizing the male. She remembered when she first used the deadly horn as such a thing on the strange crowned Panzram, whom she cast her powerful loyalties too. A business deal more like, foolish it seemed now, for she hadn't come across the paint since she had last made contact with him. 'Oh well' she thought, Zandora could careless, he meant little to her, as did most. "I would much rather to be your guest in the travels back to warmth." She giggled darkly, piercing eyes catching his moonlit orbs as she circled back to his face.

"Yes, such a stallion." She snickered, enjoying the stallion's attributes as he spoke. "Playing hard to get are we?" She cocked a brow, a smirk alit on her features. "It entails anything that I want it to." She would play too, letting him imagine for himself what she thought of the stag (it wouldn't be that hard.)

The golden man was named "Rohan" how fitting it seemed. Zandora muttered the word under her breath, liking the way it tasted on her fiery tongue. "How handsomely interesting your name is." Zandora said with honeyed words, her actions towards the stallion surprising herself. Maybe she wan't in a rut as deep as thought or rather this part of her only made her temporarily forget about what she really had to face. Whatever it was, Zandora wasn't going to question it, she would enjoy this time of pleasure and joy. She deserved it at the least. "I suppose I shouldn't keep your imagination from drifting too far" She smiled again, black lips dark with satin sin.

"Zandora."


OCC: some is good, some his bad, oh well. Literally in love with this, me so excited for your next post :DDDD
Tag: @[Rohan]
Speech

Julieta on Arkana
[Image: 56a075b49df35]
No restrictions on things that can happen to Zandora, please tag in first posts only.

Rohan Posts: 132
Outcast atk: 4 | def: 8.5 | dam: 7.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 17.0 :: 8 years HP: 66 | Buff: NOVICE
Éomer :: White-tailed Eagle :: Scream Reli
#6
rohan
how fickle my heart
The black and purple mare confirms his assumptions to her weather preferences, the smoky chuckle of her voice intertwining with words of poor decisions and humor (to which the Warlander can only agree, letting slip a wry, nearly mocking smile along his lips), and he feels the boundless, feeding pride of his overconfidence swell (invariably) within his breast. However, the dark siren continues with an inquiry of her own, questioning the reasons behind his motives and the circumstances that have found them here. “Never mind about me—my story is not nearly as exciting as yours,” he side-steps her curiosity with a practiced and habitual ease, the broadness of his voice hard beneath the velvet, a silent and immovable warning that guards his petty little secrets.

Fortunately, they do not dwell on this topic for long, allowing the devil’s curiosity to slip from their fingers like the fast, silent pull of silk (and he watches it fall with a withering, commending glare as it shrinks into the abyss). As they continue, the bright green of his eyes settles comfortably on her face, tracing the lines and curves, wandering. So entranced is he—the immoral weakness of a man, willing victim to the seemingly innate whims and wiles of a woman—that the stallion is quite caught off-guard when the mare suddenly lunges at him.

He feels the pressure of her horn at his throat, the pointed tip sharp and threatening against the vulnerable, beating flesh of his skin. He swallows against it, the flash of surprise dwindling quickly from his features and fading into a more amused, cynical expression. “I don’t question you, sweetheart,” his tone is hard and suspicious, although there is a light in his eye that clings to his play—this game that they dance with each other—and he is ever so eager to continue their wily designs. She drags the crown of her weapon further down his body, and he leans into it with a simpering smile, driven by curiosity and the adrenaline that fires his veins.

Only when she pulls away does Rohan feel his chest expand and his lungs fill again with a full breath of the night’s chilled air. From beneath the shadow of his rugged brow he watches her, the movement of her lips and the glint of his eyes (not much different than his own), his crooked smirk deepening with her expressed desire to be his guest. “Careful, dear mare, you might just get what you wish for—and then you would find more…menacing points aimed at the flesh of your vulnerabilities,” the pun is laid and open in its intent, playful and unrepentant in his roguish antics. He is (usually) hardly one to beat around the bush, after all—why not lay it all out there?

“Playing, of course—but hard to get?” The Warlander muses, his green eyes twinkling in his mischief, “Perhaps that is only in the discretion of the participant.” He gives her a quick, clever wink and chuckles deeply, the length of his cream-colored tail whipping through the frozen air to slap against his hairy flanks. Sometimes the antlered stallion likes to think of himself as a hard catch, a challenge, but it isn’t so—he all but crumbles in face of slithering, sultry beauty, if only to bring them down with him. If nothing else, he is a fine, impressive catch—and that knowledge is well enough to hold the weight of his swollen confidence.

His fluted ears flick towards the black and purple unicorn as she ponders his name, praising its handsomeness. His gives a short nod of his head, the thick muscles of his neck arching and his lips pursing in pleasure. “Is it, isn’t it?” Indeed—how fitting Rohan is without Kaerji, cut from the ties of his heritage and his blood. He likes to tell himself he is free. Is this not freedom, after all? Mingling with a pretty lady in the dark hours of the night, swathed in nothing but their double-edged words and sultry desires.

“Zandora,” Rohan continues, taking a short moment to ponder her name for himself, tasting it against his tongue and provoking another smile from his brown lips. “I don’t suppose you could afford a little more…drifting,” he doesn’t choose his words on impulse, snatching them from her lips and holding onto that train of thought. Shifting his weight forward, he reaches and tilts his head to run his antlers across her chest and stomach, their breadth large and their points sharp, grazing the skin beneath her coat with a measured, deliberate stroke. “I do fancy the thrill of unpredictability myself,” his says with a calculated sense of humor and suggestiveness, arching his neck so that his antlers tilt and are replaced by his lips at her neck. “Impulsive, are you?”


notes; sorry for the wait (again =X)
tag; Zandora
“Speech.”

image credits
[Image: 57c5195f31f1b_by_relibelli-db9li1z.png]
please tag Rohan in all replies!
magic & force is permitted, excluding death or permanent injury.

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
#7
Z
A
N
D
O
R
A

Rohan quickly and swiftly avoided her questioning, at any other time she might have poked and prodded just a bit more, but she felt is was irrelevant now, seeming that they both had other things on their minds then simple verbal entertainment. If they met again, she would be sure to poke some more, Zandora was never satisfied with a no. 

Her trick seemed to do exactly what she had desired; tempt and lure. She could feel his body lean in as she dragged and tantalized his golden skin. The game continued to deepen, the next moves that would be made could be dangerous, but Zandora no longer gave a shit about anything. She was emotionally drained and wanted what she wanted, and hastily. "Wise decision, Rohan." She whispered with a voice tranced by desire, the use of words no longer needed. It was all actions and reactions now. 

A low giggle escaped, his words were beautifully said, but easily understood. Her pools looked up at his jade gems then, her intent showing through the strands of violets and silver fire of her orbs. She took no shame in wanting to indulge in her guilty pleasures, after all she was free of any forced opinions by her father from hell. This was Zandora's choice, and she would not feel any regret. "How truly genius you are."She said, moving closer once again, her velvet voice whispering into his ears. "And what's to say that I don't want such invulnerabilities to be compromised?" A sinister look dripped off her lips, like the dirty lust that burned within her core. 

She loved the thrill of playing with fire, and in this case the green eyed man was her fire, her actions and words thrusting more fuel into the orange and red flames that licked the frosty air around. The cold meant little to her now, the heat of their conversation more then enough to warm her skin and disperse her boiling blood. "Perhaps you are right."  Her chords sung in notes of sass and humor. It was all a game, each participate hungrily seeking one goal. 

Time went by quick, words drifted among them, but they were simply fillers, obstacles in their play. Lanterns would drag across his skin, admiring her catch in the cold clutches of the night. There was no more hiding, only desperate desire for satisfaction that whistled deep in her bones. "I suppose so." the mare weighted with her own wishes, winked, everything about this encounter intoxicating her mind, dragging her closer and closer to a breaking point. 

Her skin melted at his touch, the sharp points like a thousand needles. Zandora's skin shook underneath his swords, her self control draining with every drag and pinch of the brute's antlered armor. She could hear her heart speed fast underneath her ebonite cloak as his lips drew near her face. She could feel every detail of that moment, the warmth of his breath against her neck, the tickle of his hairy muzzle upon her crest. What more could he do to tease her? 

"Impulsive I am." She said as she whirled away from his touch, circling back to face him, her eyes void of pupils clashing with his green pools. 

OCC: what your writing is so good I literally can't even
Tag: @[Rohan]
Speech

Julieta on Arkana
[Image: 56a075b49df35]
No restrictions on things that can happen to Zandora, please tag in first posts only.

Rohan Posts: 132
Outcast atk: 4 | def: 8.5 | dam: 7.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 17.0 :: 8 years HP: 66 | Buff: NOVICE
Éomer :: White-tailed Eagle :: Scream Reli
#8
rohan
how fickle my heart
She is like smoke from a fire—the last dying embers, hot and smoldering, twisting and writhing around his body. The stallion feels her slipping through his fingers, a sultry vapor and broken promises that slides over his skin, shifting and darting from beneath his touch. They play with each other—two cats, poised with their claws unsheathed, flicking their tails and narrowing the slits of their eyes as Cheshire grins play naughtily across their lips.
 
Suddenly the bitterness of winter is sweetened, the stallion’s body warming as his blood quickens and his skin grows hot beneath the thick hair of his winter coat. The worries of his past and the apprehensions of his future dissolve in the wake of the mare’s womanly wiles—and oh how he embraces it. Willingly, readily, he falls victim to her whims.
 
Zandora’s words bring a smirking grin to his mouth, coiling against the curve of her neck. He presses further, trailing down her crest to her withers, his breath billowing in hazy wisps across her back. For a moment, it would seem that he has caught her—the crafty vixen trembling beneath his touch, her slender body poised silently and her skin hot below the heat of his breath—but in a moment, she is gone. Spinning away from him as smooth as smoke, the black and purple mare dances from his reach.
 
Rohan eyes her for a long moment, his body suddenly cold with the absence of hers, the wintry winds swelling like a freezing wall between them. The stallion’s pride tells him to move—to leave. Abandon her while she forsakes him and leave her wanting (for the lust is unmistakable in her expression, the yearning trail of her eyes, and the playful curl of her mouth). But alas, she has trapped him as he has her, ensnaring him in her web as women are wont to do, and he submits too willingly to the wanton desires of the flesh. It is too late to fight it back now (and he doesn’t try).
 
Just as she loves to play with her fire, so does he with his smoke.
 
Shifting forward with the wind ripping at the long hair lining his legs and underbelly, the Warlander reaches for her again. “I was hoping you’d say that, darling,” his voice is deep against the chill of night, husky and wanting beneath the masculinity of his tone. He stands as a towering, still statue beside Zandora, despite the blood rushing through his veins and his heart quickening in his chest—his body pulling him deeper into black desires.

Angling his body, Rohan shifts his chest from hers, following his muzzle as it wanders to rest just above her croup. He would ask for permission if words were needed, but as he glances back, his eyes say enough.


“Speech.”
image credits
[Image: 57c5195f31f1b_by_relibelli-db9li1z.png]
please tag Rohan in all replies!
magic & force is permitted, excluding death or permanent injury.

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
#9
Z
A
N
D
O
R
A

His eyes bore deep into her own, digging through the layers of purples and silvers, eating at her burning core. She did not relent though, keeping her teasing traps trained on a treacherous target. The world drowned out, the cold gusts of wind no longer bothering sensitive skin. She did not let the guilt of what she was about to bother her either, nothing would distract her of this moment that was only about pleasure. Nothing Not the demons of her past, not the demons of her future, and most certainly not the demons of her present. Zandora was untouchable. Power coursed through her veins, every shred of control burning away. Silver flames flickered in purple lanterns, she wanted this.

Luxurious and utterly masculine chords whispered to the wind, vibrating with a stunning strength through her system. She watched his steps, eyeing every twitch of his muscles as he neared her once again, the heat of his body sending satisfactory shivers down her body. Zandora flicked her tail, hoping the purple draperies would catch his leg, her play not yet over. Quickly her show turned more serious as a trail of warmth traced the curve of her spine, her skin shaking once more. This time she would not turn away from him, instead she looked back to those hungry eyes, and dared him with her own. Do it. She beckoned, her body would be his.

OCC: Z GOT FUCKED!
Tag: @Rohan
Speech

Julieta on Arkana
[Image: 56a075b49df35]
No restrictions on things that can happen to Zandora, please tag in first posts only.

Rohan Posts: 132
Outcast atk: 4 | def: 8.5 | dam: 7.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 17.0 :: 8 years HP: 66 | Buff: NOVICE
Éomer :: White-tailed Eagle :: Scream Reli
#10
rohan
how fickle my heart
She doesn’t need to say anything—her eyes are enough.
 
Smoldering beneath the haze of her smoke, their gaze is wanting, and the stallion’s lips curl into a whisper of a smirk before he reaches to press them against her skin. The warmth that is shared between them is enough to chase away the icy bite of Frostfall, replacing the chill on his back with a burning through his veins, igniting a primal desire that courses through every fiber of his body. With his touch brushing against her hips, her flanks, and trailing back up her spine as he comes to angle behind her, the stallion cares not for the gales that whip winter’s whiteness around them.
 
He can feel his heartbeat thumping against his ribcage, quickening at the anticipation with every breath he draws, the white wisps billowing from his nostrils and out across the mare’s back—like a silken curtain, a soft gown flowing over lover’s slender hips before melting into the bitter night. The night is theirs for the taking.
 
His body sings with the primal call of carnage desires, needs, as he rises up, the thick arch of neck draping over hers like a banner drapes across the domain, a claim. Fiercely, passionately, skillfully he takes her as his own. He is a practiced lover. Fervent and powerful, with lips whispering along her skin with promises they both have already broken. The sun would rise, and with its glistening rays, he would be gone—their love, their passion, chased away by morning’s light and tucked away for another time, perhaps.
 
He certainly wouldn’t mind seeing the black and purple temptress again.


notes; xD i figured we could end it right about here! Hope to thread with Z again!:D
“Speech.”

image credits
[Image: 57c5195f31f1b_by_relibelli-db9li1z.png]
please tag Rohan in all replies!
magic & force is permitted, excluding death or permanent injury.


Forum Jump:


RPGfix Equi-venture