the Rift


[PRIVATE] broken ashes of a flaming heart

Tandavi The Fire Dancer Posts: 245
World's Edge Nurse atk: 6.5 | def: 9 | dam: 4
Mare :: Equine :: 16.1 :: 5 HP: 65 | Buff: NOVICE
Natraj :: Plain Kitsune :: Fire Charks
#1
Tandavi
I'll light a fire in your new shoes.
She flees the world in a fervor, broken ashes of a flaming heart scattered, reckless, to a wailing wind. She knows not where her hooves will take her, only knows the stretch of muscle beneath skin, the ache of tendons overtaxed, the searing burn of fatigued lungs as oxygen levels steadily deplete. The earth is unyielding beneath her hooves, shock waves jarring up fragile bones; it fights against her very being, resisting her hooves upon its back. How dare you, it whispers, after all you have done?

Whispers of disappointed faces, smiles fading slowly to harsh words and death. She remembers every loss, every failure, each one burning coal in her heart. Some grew strong in the face of adversity, but the Fire Dancer had only grown wan, pale and meager and haunted by her past. Unable to voice her woes to the world, so easily able to blind them to her darkness, she is trapped within the nightmare of her mind, a struggling force of resistance and anger. Shall this be the final mark of the moon-mare's child, a burnt-out shade who brings anger to the faces of those she loves?

Hungry branches tear silver strands from her streaming hair as the girl runs, aimless, blind. Dimly she remembers Kaj, but she is numb to the agony of him now. She deserves it, she thinks, though she is not sure why. Deserves his hatred, deserves his dismay. She is the last of her lineage, and brings upon it naught but shame. She is a failure of a friend, of a sister, of a daughter. A failed Sultana, and a failed priest.

The girl spent so long trying to be a light in the darkness, but even the sun must by night set, and night has come to claim her. She fears in with all the passion left within her wretched heart, but tonight she embraces that which she loathes, for the things she hates are the things that leave her twitching and exposed for who she is.

Like him.

Her trail has not been aimless, and a small part of her resists what she is about to do. He is here, and she knows it, just as he has always been when she has needed him- his loathing, his derision, his refusal to see her as more than she is. He is the only one who has been honest with her in all this time, and she needs it now, needs him, needs not to be forgiven but to be put down, because only from the ground can she fight her way back up. Her brother follows, frightened, pleas to stop falling upon flaming, heedless ears. His sanity is too lofty for her fallen mind, his hope too bright for her hopeless heart; he lingers as she trips up the stairs of stone, whimpers as her voice cuts dark and deep into the night- "Reginald!" she bellows, her word a summon, a curse, begging and berating him and full of righteous anger. Fire leaps around her figure, outlining the tensed muscle, the wild hair. "Reginald!" she cries again, a desperate challenge ringing through the unnatural environment. In her mind her brother sobs, and she sobs with him, sobs for all she lost and all she is losing now, mourns because she knows what tonight will mean: the end of idealism, the conclusion of youth, and descent into a darkness she has tried all her life to overcome, or at the very least flee.

Image Credit


@Reginald

o. pixel pony credit to tamme
o. permission granted to use force and magic on Tavi
o. only tag me in opening posts, please!


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.
#2

Some say you're trouble, boy Just because you like to destroy All the things that bring the idiots joy Well, what's wrong with a little destruction?

He does not know whom he hates with a greater passion: is it Ka’Ora, that meek, dutiful harpy of his for catching the sound of his name upon the wind, her curiosity bubbling through the barricade of his iron will—or her, that pock-marked, ugly little ember of a mare who dares (dares, DARES) to summon him to  that grove in the first place?

(or himself, for that thrill he feels and cannot help)

Sense says to ignore it; pride screams to scorn it. And yet, that yearning, bubbling thing in his breast brews so much more powerful than the iron mind he was blessed with—he simply cannot fathom her power. She must be a witch; he cannot deduce how such a scrawny creature as her could inspire such a pull against his very being, an aching that is just as repulsed and filled with hate as it is—

He wonders why she is there of all places (a useless wondering; he cannot be deceived, not even by himself—). Why is she not back in the blazing Throat? Is that not her home as well, and does she not have her own set of duties to attend to? He snorts in the wind. Ka’Mate can feel the blood pounding in master’s veins, growing and growing in that steady rhythm of a need the harpy begins to understand and emulate. Ka’Mate is a simple creature. He does not understand the twist in his master’s belly at the thought of a mare; he always assumed master enjoyed the taste of mare. The subtlety escapes him.

Ka’Mate’s urge taints his mind. It makes the whole thing that much more difficult to ignore.

There is no choice in the matter; his bones move and his body thrums without his permission, but she is a herd mate, and he cannot ignore her summons. A powerful thing rushes within him, hissing, a monstrous creature, fanged and regal and displeased with the Grey-Eye’d as he marches (dutifully) for the rotunda.

He sees her standing there, at once. (A feeble spark trapped in the ivory bars of an ornate oil lamp—)

The monster within him roars. It cannot abide by that damned, wretched flutter in his gut.

The defense turns out to be scorn. The eyes that fall upon her ruined hide are smiling an evil thing; the smirk that greets her desperate calls twists in a mocking display of contempt. Something is wilted in her countenance—and so he must smile at it. “And why are you here, Tan-da-vi,” he growls deep in his throat, stones rocking back and forth in hypnotic, handsome accusation, “when our radiant herd land needs our constant vigilance?” A snake’s tongue caresses these words, polishing the knife-points hidden within. He knows how weak the female is; he must now rely upon that weakness to break her, to show her just how much of a wretched creature she truly is.

(and then, somehow, his heart will learn as well, and all things will be right)

"talk talk talk"


day1953@pbase



--Please tag REGINALD in every reply!

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



Tandavi The Fire Dancer Posts: 245
World's Edge Nurse atk: 6.5 | def: 9 | dam: 4
Mare :: Equine :: 16.1 :: 5 HP: 65 | Buff: NOVICE
Natraj :: Plain Kitsune :: Fire Charks
#3
Tandavi
I'll light a fire in your new shoes.
He comes because he always comes; he is her destiny, her doom, the darkness she shies from made mortal and cruel. His figure casts a heavy shadow across her own lithe frame; his grey gaze falls upon her, cast with the force of a stone. For a moment she flickers, falters, poised on the brink of running away from this, from what she is about to do, from him and all he means to her- nothing, yet everything, the only thing that makes her feel this strange self-loathing, that allows her to stop trying to be good.

("Ungrateful child!" Kaj spits in her face.)

Because she isn't good, isn't strong; she's simply a pale reflection of some greater glory, a watered down light with all the heat of winter's day.

He comes, and she does not flee, not because she is weak, but because she does not want to be strong. She yearns for his abuse, his hatred, for her hatred to slip above the dismal haze of tragedy and desolation which floats like fog across her mind. She clings to his fervid accusations, drawing them close against her breast. Her name is a mockery within his voice, and the anger within her blazes cold and bright, brittle heat swelling within her heart. "I might ask you the same-" she could say, but does not. She need not be polite for him.

(And if it had been someone else- if there had been anyone else? What would she have said, then?)

Her words surprise her, though she knows they are true. "I need you," she tells him darkly, defiantly, and draws herself taller, black eyes glittering in the firelight. I need you to hurt me, because nobody will help me. I need you, and you need me, or else why would you have come?

And that need, his need- well. She is willing to give it to him, if he will earn it, if he will be honest in his disdain, open in his wrath, because she needs it, too- can smell it on herself as clearly as on him, the raging spiral of hormones and the shuddering weight of desire, tainted as it is by despair and rage. Hate me, and I will let you love me- and the thought almost makes her giggle, even as her brother's mind rebels and screams.

Because isn't that what this is about? Isn't that what it was always about? Being broken, being claimed, being the possession of someone else, their plaything, their pleasure, even as they became yours? She cannot say for sure, of course. She knows she needs him-

(- and would it be the same with someone else? What if it had been Caneo, or Sacre, or even Lace? -)

- and she knows she does not love him, because love doesn't matter, because she has given up on love -

(- but it doesn't matter, because they're all gone.)

For a moment she regards him, heart beating heavy in her aureate chest, body eerily still- she does not know what happens now. Perhaps he will reject her after all, laugh at her childish weakness, scoff in the face of her vengeful desire. Or will he leap at her, crush her beneath his considerable strength, take her in his gaze and attempt to douse what's left of her once so fervent flame? Either way she'll fight- it's what she wants, after all, a fight, an honest altercation, a clash of bodies and the spilling of blood

(Who am I? What have I become?)

and then... and then... whatever and then is.

(It doesn't matter if my soul is dead. There is no one left to care.)

Image Credit


@Reginald
(idfk)

o. pixel pony credit to tamme
o. permission granted to use force and magic on Tavi
o. only tag me in opening posts, please!



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