the Rift


[PRIVATE] hell spawn --

Colt Posts: 68
Hidden Account atk: 3.5 | def: 9.0 | dam: 6.5
Mare :: Equine :: 14 hh :: 5 years HP: 63 | Buff: NOVICE
Dark
#1


Colt had taken note of the swelling of her sides, witnessing the growth of life from a distance despite the transformation taking hold of her body. She accepted such a fact at the early signs, knowing that from her crimes against purity she would be punished. Only this had been an unconscious desire, a need that she fulfilled within due time. She had been released, set free  from her sandy prison by the ebony mongrel. He merely wanted her to apologize, foolish as it was, but she still respected the man for his prowess and strength. Thinking that she lost to him leaves a bitter taste to her mouth, but she forces herself to swallow and keep her head up, one defeat could not bring imbalance.

One mistake Colt realized she had made was the fight, the brutality of their battle could easily have ruined the life inside of her, and she would not be surprised if she gave birth to a corpse or a distorted body. She assumed the latter for she had felt kicking naught but a few days ago, leading her to believe the child was at least alive. But its death would have been only a minor draw back, she was a woman after all. She was built to make children upon a whim, her body was crafted to deal with this bloated nature and the young life that grew within her womb. She was seen by men as a machine that they could stick their dicks into and watch it dispense an army. Producing another child to replace a deformed baby would be no trouble to her, and Colt quite enjoyed the sex.

She could take her pleasure and walk away with pride still in her step and dignity still in tact. Colt didn't need to be emotional, to get to know the man atop her, who dared to dominate the Emperor. They together forged the beast with eight legs and bore the burden of desire and false passion before slipping away into the darkest crevices to never again cross paths. It was a ritual Colt could see herself performing again. 

Today, Colt knew it was time. She could feel the restlessness of the babe within. Her body knew it too, because it began to ache and churn and expand, she felt anxious and unhappy. Colt moved herself into the most secluded space, panting and grunting as she hauls herself along into an area farthest away from everything, ears flat against her skull as she ambles along. The thought of exposing her child to such disgusting shit before it can even speak brings a burning rage to her body that leaves her trembling. Their mind would be molded by her and her alone, outside influence would taint them with thoughts and opinions that she could not support or allow. The child would be raised as she saw fit, she would feed it lies and manipulate it to create the perfect heir to the Empire. She would have no remorse for the children she bears, she would not ponder over her guilt of striking them or turning against them. They would live strictly by her rules and hers alone. Colt lowers herself to the ground within a short few seconds, crumbling and gasping as her body begins to strain itself. 

She pushes and heaves, feeling her body releasing the life it had been growing. But the pain does not end there, it continues even after the child has spilled from her, the pain carries on until the feeling repeats. Under the watch of these familiar trees, she learns that there was not one but two that had been taking up residence in her uterus. This loop that she's thrown through, it sends her into an annoyed and upset state. This wasn't planned, she'd only asked for one. The second follows closely after, graceful and spectacularly impressive for a newborn. Colt feels disgusting and groggy, hauling her weight up and sweeping herself around to view what she'd created. Purest onyx and marble grey pool side by side in a tangled mess, steel sights softening as she looks down at the small children. One is marked by death itself, the other has an obscure bald face, but each carries a blood splatter, a family mark. She bends down to clean them, lapping at their skin and letting her natural drive take hold of her. They are clean now, her tongue tasting of cold iron and sickening body fluids, she wants to rub it against tree bark to rid it of the foul taste. Colt presses her nose to both, pushing and urging for them to stand. 
"Rise, my children." Her voice is unexpectedly soft, cooing out a mother's gentle tone. It makes Colt sick. 

"TALK TALK TALK"


SOME REMEDIES ARE WORSE THAN THE DISEASE


@Sabre
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Kid Posts: 122
Outcast atk: 4 | def: 8.5 | dam: 6.5
Colt :: Equine :: 15hh :: 3 years HP: 63 | Buff: NOVICE
dark
#2
kid
My unexpected entrance is grand, the best thing to happen to this god forbidden world. I come spilling out in an ocean of bodily fluid and grace, landing upon the ground with its soft embrace keeping me afloat as I adjust to this world. I've fallen beside something else, something I disregard because its familiarity means little to me. I feel brittle, easily breakable as cool air hits my moist skin and leaves me trembling without control. My body shakes when I do not want it to, my frustration growing as I feel something slop against me, slurping and swallowing whatever lingered on my body.

Whatever cleansed me was disgusting for stooping so low as to let such foul things touch their mouth. I dare to open my eyes, to see this lowly being staring back with some form of admiration but burning rage all at once. I fumble with my thoughts, my first wreck of emotions hitting me at the speed of sound. I have to love this, this that degraded and defiled itself by consuming the fluids that dripped from me, that came from its body. My nose wrinkles and a discontent grunt spills from my dual-tone lips as she moves on from me, murmuring something as she goes., She just leaves me me to lie there on my own, I can't do shit, I am helpless and I hate it. I want attention though, therefore I will get attention. My cries for her eyes and care and comfort do not go unnoticed, teeth biting into my clean flesh and spreading my blood around my cheek. This was my first look into the future of my life, how my mother would treat me. 

It plants the seed that would take root in my heart, in my very soul. I was destined for greatness, destined to be a ruler of all, to be king of the world. My sides heave as I roll onto my stomach, determined to prove that I was the alpha, that I was the stronger of the two that spilled from the womb. My sister, I do love her without reason, unconditionally as we grew together in the confines of a fleshy prison. We will know every inch of one another, we will become great together. But I, I will become mother's favourite. It will be I who she admires most, who she praises for good behaviour because I will let myself melt into her mold of the perfect Emperor and I will become what she wants of me. 

I push past the weakness of my joints, the newness of my bones, I rise like the king I am. My forelegs straighten first, showing promise of strength and agility as my rear end begins the ascent. I look to mother for approval, eyes gleaming with hope and I pray she is watching her flesh and blood strengthen, taking the first step to a future of respect and power. Indeed, her grey eyes linger on me as I pridefully take my first step forth, ears pricked forward and mind set on accomplishing this monumental step in my existence. 

"Talk." 
-- THE BOY KING IS HERE F YEAH
the boy bandit king
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tag me in everything

Sabre Posts: 21
Outcast
Mare :: Equine :: 16.1 :: 3 years
Cutlass :: Royal Gold Dragon :: Fire Breath Reli
#3
show me how defenseless you really are.
I am not so much pushed into this world, but rather leap into it.

That’s how I see it, anyway—and almost instantly, I regret my brashness (a hard, prickling sensation I will become used to in life, but never learn from).

A cold chill swathes my damp skin with a bite that is new and unfamiliar, my clammy eyes blinking almost blearily against the strange light that hurts. I want the darkness, the shadows, the warmth, and the familiarity of all that had been mine for as long as my budding mind could comprehend. With lanky muscles jerking wildly, I fight for control of my own body in a wobbling mess, gangly legs thrashing about and my head flailing as I search for some semblance of balance—or any recognition of self, for that matter.

Snorting through the liquids that are clearing from my lungs, I release a high-pitched bleat. It is not a cry for help—never a cry for help—but rather of frustration, my senses overwhelmed and frantic with this strange place that I have dived into. Blinking violently against wet lashes, I bleat again, simply because I can. But something abruptly silences me—a shove of someone joining me. A familiar, comforting, and delightfully welcome familiarity of my brother’s presence. Tossing my head, I reach to nip at him, gums seeking to graze his soft skin in a rough gesture that is something like affection.

It is her touch that snaps my attention then, warm tongue grazing my damp coat for reasons I do not care to understand. All I know is that she dares to touch me, a right that has—up until now—only been reserved for my brother, and my little heart flares fiercely at her audacity. Instinctively I pin my fuzzy ears, lips pulling back to reveal what would one day be powerful weapons, but despite all my might and fury, she does not halt her advance. Still she licks. And so, with a huff, I resign, grudgingly ignoring the fact that the massage might even feel a little bit good.

Before I know it, brother is moving.

Gradually, shakily, he rises—and intently, proudly, she watches him. Now it’s not like I have the same need as brother to be revered or whatever, but I definitely do not like being ignored.

Bleating and grunting, I thrust my little butt up into the air. For a moment I’m stuck like that, bright eyes pinning the both of them as I reach out to nip at them before completing my rise. I’m not graceful or anything, but I’m fairly steady, and I puff my chest out happily. There! My fluffy tail wags behind me, and I stamp my hooves, not quite understanding the idea of moving around yet, but it doesn’t take me long—soon I’m marching after brother, my steps heavy and more of a stomp, as though I could hold the earth beneath me with every dainty hoof.

And why couldn’t I?

I stomp around some more, but the excitement quickly wears off (old news), and suddenly I realize something. I’m…my…my stomach hurts. What kind of crap is this?! The pain shoots right through the middle of me, grumbling and rioting, and I riot right along with it. Screaming my displeasure, I look first to her and then brother, expecting one of them to fix it.


notes; Eeee yay!:D
“Speech.”
You’re so cold,
but you feel alive—
lay your hand on me one last time.
@Colt | image credits
JOIN THE EMPIRE

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Nymeria Posts: 182
Outcast atk: 5.5 | def: 8.5 | dam: 6.0
Mare :: Equine :: 16.2hh :: 3 years HP: 69.5 | Buff: NOVICE
Lilómiel :: Plain Black Dragon :: Fire Breath Wanderer
#4
Nymeria & Lilómiel
Revolution from dissolution

In the deeps of the forest, there was only stillness and vacant shadows, but Nymeria welcomed the atmosphere that went along with it. Her breath was too loud, and her hooves sounded like thunder—but that did not prevent her from taking full advantage of the shifting shadows. Through what felt like night (so deep and lush was the darkness), she and her dragon roamed freely through the Wilds, in a loose and idle exploration of the familiar. Off in the distance was a faint and nevertheless pungent reek of amniotic fluids and iron-tasting blood, simultaneously hard and soft. She had never encountered anything quite like it (except in the very oldest of wasted and largely forgotten memories), and that was all Nymeria needed to go on a wild goose chase.

If she had known the complexity of the situation that would soon be facing her, she would've turned around, but she did not know, and the gods would not have it any other way.

It was Lilómiel who first found the mare and the twins as usual, and he who whispered to Nymeria to hurry. Her stride lengthened languorously, the sounds of her passing through the forest muffled yet loud, like a growl from bared fangs, or a distant howl in the night. The smell was strengthening, deepening, into a foul stench that caused her eyes to water. Nymeria was not a stranger to brutality, but this... this reek was a far cry from anything she had experienced before. It didn't incite her with hunger and longing for war or battle or carnage, but instead awakened distant, primal feelings, feelings vague and almost... almost maternal in nature.

Perhaps she shouldn't have been so surprised when she pushed her careful, cautious way through the press of trees; perhaps her heart should not have taken such a catastrophic tumble. The distant, sympathetic feelings, whatever they were, did not prevent her from the sudden and potent rage that tightened her breast beyond understanding, the rage that blistered away all rational thought and logic.

Looking at the mare with her callous face—she whose aesthetic was all barbed wire and bloody knuckles and cold bullets—Nymeria knows with a very real and physical pain too much. There, wet and slimy on spindly legs, was her face, her eyes, all the tiny and intricate little details that made her her; they were fucking imposters, fucking beasts, fucking creatures who were no better than the soil beneath her feet or the earthworms in the ground, grub who should be dead. She knew, with full and dreadful certainty, that the—the—the spawn were her brother's, because who else would've fucked this dread-eyed girl, who else could've made those hideous creatures?

Again the rage flares up in her breast, and the blood beating in her ears is so loud that she cannot hear herself think. She stares—and stares—agonized and pained, but why should she be? Why should she care?

He betrayed you.
Only she deserved him; only she could lay claim to her brother.
Maybe he needs to be reminded of that again. And how easy it would be to do so now: to crush the life out of her brother's fragile bastards, to smash their bones to dust and devour them alive, to hear their screams and make pay the whore who had been mounted by her brother. She wants to—she aches to, with an urgency she's never felt before—but she does not, because she is Nymeria, because she is a liar and a bitch and there were other things she could do to make her brother regret his promiscuity.

Previously silent in her musings, Nymeria steps out of the shadows, a faint and innocent smile curling up her lips. "Let me guess—" she says, courteous and giving the mare plenty of room for security—"the father's name was Volterra?"

image credits


@Colt


Yes I lied, don't think about you all the time
All my switchblade words ain't aim to cut your sweet delusions


Colt Posts: 68
Hidden Account atk: 3.5 | def: 9.0 | dam: 6.5
Mare :: Equine :: 14 hh :: 5 years HP: 63 | Buff: NOVICE
Dark
#5


There's a moment where Colt feels something well inside, watching the young child rise to his feet. He seems determined, his fragile figure trembling on unused supports, eyes wide but proud. This boy, he will go places, he will rise to meet her challenges, Colt could see it now during this clash of steel and bubblegum. His twin follows suit, but she comes up butt first, pursuing the boy with a more aggressive stride. Her stomping about leads Colt's smile to widen, as she has potential as well. Whether these two will strive to outshine each other or work side by side, Colt is intrigued to see, she wants to know what these children of hers will grow into.  

The screaming, oh the screaming. It begins with the little midnight filly, whose vocals are not needed and only cause a resounding whine from the colt. Colt could not take it, she could not bear the sound of this wailing brat, only just born. She was exhausted, physically, mentally, and her emotional instability at this time was too much. She would crumble, she would snap, and she guaranteed devastation. Her teeth grind together as her brows narrow, ears falling back as sour, unruly thoughts plague her mind because these pitiful wails just go on and on"Shut up!" She snaps, hooves smashing into the ground with little restraint, panting and husky as she swallows her pride and pushes her nose towards the babe, trying to force the weak brat to drink form her. Somewhere Colt wants to deprive this child of her food, to teach her that this is how things will run when you misbehave, but she cannot do that, not yet. They are still too young to understand most of her words, to know the concept of punishment and pain, to know their rights and wrongs. That did not keep her from breaking skin on the cheek of the second born, but she doesn't regret this choice either. 

Colt hates the idea of this thing taking nutrients from her, relying on her, being dependent on her to provide meals and safety. "Drink, Sabre."" She urges, letting this name slip from her tongue. Colt realizes that this name was unintentional, but it falls naturally and so she keeps it, but a second name cannot bring itself as easily. It hides away, burrowed deep out of her reach, where her fingers cannot grasp at it. "Kid," she forces out, looking at the colt. He stands still, blinking with widened eyes, a dribble of dried blood smeared along his cheek as his attention remains glued to his dam. Colt calls for him, motioning with her nose to the location of his first meal. "Eat, child." 

The iron clad son does as he's told, and she smirks. Already he has learned to follow her words, to do what is wanted of him. Promising indeed, she watches him gently take down the first swallows of his meal, knees shaky as he eats. Her head snaps as soon as she hears someone approaching, tired body tensing as she prepares to defend her newly born offspring. Her lip curls up, and she pins her ears back, ready to spit venom and whip around to take aim. This other woman, tall and thick (rather delicious, but faintly familiar), curvaceous and threatening in a way that Colt had never encountered, she was dark and pretty and the way she strode from the darkness brought back the feeling of lust and desire from which Colt had only just recently discovered. She was the type of woman to slip poison into your drink, to smile as the blood pools in your mouth and your stomach churns with foreign liquid, her mask of death and softly burning red eyes make Colt's spine tingle with familiarity. 

Colt halts then, looking at the girl and then her son, Kid's beady eyes rising to meet her sights. Her brow rises, and she has to memorize the shaping of his markings before bringing herself to face the stranger. Oh. Colt brings forth a serious look, straightening herself and raising her head before the taller female, untreated wounds screaming in agony at her shift in position. "I never learned his name," she tries not to sound aggressive, merely stubbornly put. She roots herself to these words, but still ready to become a snarky bitch if the need for it arises. The hormonal woman was given to time to rest after the babes' birthing, and her fatigue was growing, straining her temper as she stands face to face with the shadow mare. 
"TALK TALK TALK"


SOME REMEDIES ARE WORSE THAN THE DISEASE
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The Equine Empire wants YOU! Assuming you refers to an equine.
Join the movement.

Tag me only if starting a new thread.
Magic or force permitted any time, aside from death.

Kid Posts: 122
Outcast atk: 4 | def: 8.5 | dam: 6.5
Colt :: Equine :: 15hh :: 3 years HP: 63 | Buff: NOVICE
dark
#6
kid
The king has risen now, I have begun my long race to the glistening crown that still settles upon mother's head. My sibling, we will reach the crown, whether it be together or with one ahead and the other dragging behind, we shall see. These next few weeks will be the most important in determining the status of our relationship, to see if we can handle the crushing pressure of our mother's expectations as well as shoulder the burden of companionship with the competition. Would mother crown us both, or will we be unknowingly tested? These complicated thoughts spread through me, this worry and stress of never being good enough has already consumed me, but I do not let them affect my steps. I will push forward, and sister will follow. 

I can feel her steps, thrumming after me with a sense of superiority, a thundering will to trail behind me. It goes on for a while, and I can feel the excitement of walking, and suddenly I'm tripping forward with unexpected speed, my legs are trembling and as eager as I, swinging with a lack of grace as I trip around mother in quick circles. She seems rather amused to watch me go, all until sister begins to scream, and my prancing stops and my ears flatten in annoyance at the demanding wails of my wombmate. I try to form a word, something to shut her up, but my lips are sealed and I cannot even fathom a word that defines what I want at this moment. So instead I let loose a subtle whine, a plea for silence that I pray mother does not hear because I know that more of my blood will spill if she hears how needy for quiet I am. A quick glance at me makes my shoulders straighten and I feel my knees quiver because I feel fear.  

Finally she snaps, mother's voice ringing our ruthless and cold, her temper swelling as she slams her hooves into the earth and shouts. Shut up, that's what she says. I flinch when her hooves hit the ground, when spit flies from her mouth and veins pop up from her forehead. She is angry, her unsettling look seems to compel me into shuffling closer to her, as if standing away from her will get me some kind of backlash, like she has me tethered to a leash and just snapped it back. She tries to get my companion to duck beneath her, calling my darker twin Sabre, Sabre. My head cocks like a confused hound at the word, the title presented to my female counterpart, because I didn't have one. I wanted to be called something, I wanted to have a title in which to call myself, to be able to know that I had a purpose and a name to go with my death marked face. I was nameless now, a boy without worth as I stand beside mother, candy eyes lingering on her pale hide before she speaks again. Kid. That's what she says to me, our eyes locking for a brief heartbeat to confirm that this is who I will be known as from now on, that this is the name I will wear and answer to.

I dutifully answer her request, my grumbling stomach telling me that what she's offering is what I need. I take the first steps to my food, lips finding the source of my nutrients and the first gulps of warm fluid make their grand entrance, slipping into my stomach and bringing satisfaction. The grinding, twisting pains that had plagued my stomach before dissipated with each greedy swallow. I'm almost done with my first feast when I see a black blur approach, growing more and more defined as it gets closer and closer to us. Mother's body practically burns with anger, her temper flaring as she shifts her stance and stares directly at the slightly horse like shape. I let myself take a few more mouthfuls before pulling away to stare at this stranger, blinking and taking another step towards them. 

We are one in the same, my face marked by the same ivory skull as this woman, contrasting our dark skin and holding our vibrant eyes against a monotone backdrop. How alike we are does not make sense to me, this strange idea of relations outside of mother and Sabre is alien and unaccepted by my young mind. The mere concept of a father does nothing to me, in fact this word doesn't even exist in my vocabulary (at least until the stranger says it) nor does it bring any compelling emotion to me. And it won't, not if mother has her way. 

Volterra, Volterra. Is that too, a name? Does someone wear this as theirs, and does mother know them? I look up to her, watching her search my face like she's trying to solve a murder, and I don't know what she will find buried in my unclean face but it must be something important because she looks for it for a good few minutes. Mother pulls away with something, just a fair grasp at just what it was, but it doesn't seem to be enough for her to be sure, so she stares sternly at the shadow draped girl and talks low and firm. 

"Talk."
@Sabre <3
the boy bandit king
image credits

Sabre Posts: 21
Outcast
Mare :: Equine :: 16.1 :: 3 years
Cutlass :: Royal Gold Dragon :: Fire Breath Reli
#7
show me how defenseless you really are.
“SHUT UP!”

She yells, bellows, her voice (so gentle before, I had barely even noticed it) is like a roar now. An angry roar. It hits me like a wave, shutting me up mid-cry with jaw hanging open and everything, my eyes widening in surprise more than anything else. What the crap?!??!??????? My expression screams in the silence that suddenly rings with the absence of my irritable shrieks—and my little mind can’t grasp at understanding for long. Probably not even a second later, she smashes her hooves into the ground. She is large, hulking, and strong; I can feel the ground vibrate beneath me, and I stiffen before she ushers me forward.

Her—Ma, I finally decide, she is my Ma—shepherding is hardly gentle, but should I really expect it to be? I know nothing else, after all (having thus far spent a whopping five minutes in this strange place), and so I do not anticipate anything but this from her. Being no delicate flower myself, I accept it without question, my adolescence driving me to obey despite the stubborn burning of my ignorant heart. Snorting, I—stomp—as fast as I can to where she directs. Tucking my white face beneath her belly, my lips finally find what instincts encourage me to, gums latching onto life as I suckle vigorously.

Drink; that is what she says, so that is what I must be doing, what this is called, and the word is filed away among the handful of others that my fuzzy ears cup into comprehension. And—Sabre. Perhaps there is something primal in every newborn. Some type of primitive need to be named, to have a christening that gives us a title that belongs to each of us, and us alone. Somehow I know that this is mine. Sabre. I can feel the hair on my neck prickling in pride as it blooms across my skin.

Fleetingly, I take notice that my stomach has stopped screaming at me by now. The rampaging and surly pains have—finally—subsided, leaving behind a delightful warmth that blossoms in my belly. I dare not move until Ma ushers brother (Kid, I discerned from his own naming) forward to take his turn, and even then, I only back off because he’s brother. My wombmate.

But wait—eat she says to him, not drink. Instantly my brow puckers in curiosity, wondering what this eat is—and why couldn’t I get any?! Flicking my ears back indignantly, I dart my head under Ma’s belly again, watching brother with bright eyes. He doesn’t seem to be doing anything different than I had…and as long as he’s not getting anything different, I’m satisfied. In any case, the burning of curiosity quickly diminishes in favor of something else. Licking my lips and smacking them happily, I retreat once again, marching around on spindly legs to Ma’s other side, where brother is still nursing.

I notice her stiffening first. The coiling of her muscles is abrupt, and the tension seems to shoot out from her body, chilling the air and creating an atmosphere that is vastly different. My spine tingles instinctively, yellow eyes narrowing when I turn to see the dark stranger. In all of my limited knowledge, I do not grasp the complexity of relationships, or what possible ties this mare might have to me—and I do not care. All I know is that she’s definitely not Ma.

Brother’s movement has my eyes snapping to him when he wanders a step towards the stranger. Following him with less grace, I charge mightily forward, throwing myself in front of him and shooting him a glare that says stop, stupid (but gosh I love you anyway idiot) before I eye the black shadow. It is only now that I realize how…big she is! She is larger than Ma, but not as angry apparently, and my little heart simply can’t fathom anyone besting a hero like a mother. So when Ma speaks, I almost nod to back her up, adding my own silent warning. So take your Volterra and go!

Yeah.

That’ll show them!


“Speech.”
You’re so cold,
but you feel alive—
lay your hand on me one last time.
@Nymeria | image credits
JOIN THE EMPIRE

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please tag Sabre in all replies!
magic & force is permitted, excluding death or permanent injury.

Nymeria Posts: 182
Outcast atk: 5.5 | def: 8.5 | dam: 6.0
Mare :: Equine :: 16.2hh :: 3 years HP: 69.5 | Buff: NOVICE
Lilómiel :: Plain Black Dragon :: Fire Breath Wanderer
#8
Nymeria & Lilómiel
Revolution from dissolution

Nymeria did not hear Colt’s voice cutting at her children, and she could not know Colt’s desire to starve her own brethren, but had she—well, she might’ve been predisposed to act upon the violence thriving in her veins, rather than tamping it down.

It was due to her lack of knowledge that she instead smiled bright and wide, looking to be but a friendly face that might offer camaraderie in the twins’ early hours. She was good at such expressions, having honed them to a fine art, and they came automatically to the subtle planes of her face. They made kindness out of cruelty, innocuous trust out of insincerity; they were a safe fallback, one that she used often and confidently.

… Yet whatever her mouth and her eyes might say, they did not reflect the turmoil and rage of her mind, the rampant need to desecrate and ruin and burn. The other mare, striped like the ribboned body of a poisonous sea snake, dripping with venom, lifted her head in challenge; Nymeria did not miss the curl of her upper lip, the angry flash of white teeth before realization sinks in. It didn’t do anything to help her temper, which was already wired tight with frustration and inability, already held taut by her impetuous self-control. It only stretched the coils closer to a not-so-far breaking point.

My brother fucked you.
Images flashed to the forefront of her mind in a blatant and ugly declaration of his disloyalty. It did not take much imagination to see the rise of his forelegs, the bracing of his hindquarters, the tension that no doubt swelled between his legs—or to imagine the bulbous grunts and sighs of his pleasure. She wondered who had initiated the intercourse first: brother or bitch?

There’re eyes snagged on her flesh, caught and tangled in the glistening sheen of black drapery. Nymeria’s nostrils quivered in answer; her gaze swung towards the little prick watching her. Bastard boy, she thought furiously—and my nephew, presumably. Regardless of the rage and anger dwelling in the cage of her ribs, she would not leave him to wander alone (not like Ophelia the fucking Amaranthine.)

Her smile is a gracious and diplomatic offering to the bastard foals; she clucks her tongue in verbal command, and Lil swoops from his perch. Clutched within his claws is a glowing gem colored ivory and onyx, edged with filigree gold and attached to a silken red ribbon. Nymeria had found it some time ago (or rather, her companion had); and while she was loathe to part with it, the gift was a gesture of goodwill, one that she planned to use to her advantage.

“Volterra,” Nymeria says again. His name hurts to say outloud, as if by verbalizing the name of their mutual… friend?… she gives Colt more power over him. “He is tall, dark, and feathered. White face. Red eyes. Does that ring a bell?” There are knives in her heart, carving away to reduce it to bloody fucking pieces, but all she does is tilt her head and flick her ears and look serene. Lilómiel pauses, hovering in place a few feet away from the twins. The amulet is still pressed between his dexterous fingers as he awaits a final command from Nym—“Volterra is my brother, and I am Nymeria. If you are bound to me by blood now, as it appears you are, then allow me to give you a token of my faith.”

Lilómiel sweeps forward in attempt to tie the amulet to Colt’s mane, provided she does not object.

“All I ask in return is that I have a hand in my niece and nephew’s life.”

image credits


@Colt
OOC: Provided Colt accepts Nymeria's gifts, I'll post in the Character Records to make sure Nym's spark amulet is transferred to her! ^^


Yes I lied, don't think about you all the time
All my switchblade words ain't aim to cut your sweet delusions


Colt Posts: 68
Hidden Account atk: 3.5 | def: 9.0 | dam: 6.5
Mare :: Equine :: 14 hh :: 5 years HP: 63 | Buff: NOVICE
Dark
#9


Her children take the first drink, without hesitance accepting the meal she lays out before them and the label she gives them. They are her prized possessions now, they are her children and hers alone to raise, to feed and nurture and discipline. She is a gardener, they are her plants, she will water them, bring light to them and watch them grow under her guiding hand. She will trim away the brittle browning leaves, keep away the pesky bugs that may try to bring ruin to them, she will be as patient as she can with them. But Colt is not known for her patience, and it wears thinner than thread, straining and feeble compared to the rest of her. 

Her children stand in awe at the woman they see, the only other witness to their beginning moments with clumsy limbs and curious faces, while they feel out what is their body and the earth beneath their feet. She almost wishes she'd headed deeper into the forest, perhaps slipped past the borders of Helovia to delve into the miracle of childbirth, to keep her children from the eager maws of justice and peace and virtue, where their sinless beings trifle with unfair gods. Colt has turned her eye to the belief of such gods, they have never done a damned thing for her, for who would take pity upon a sinner like her? What god would look down upon her and give her their sympathy, who would cast aside her acts against the calm of Helovia, the unfair equality they lived beneath, and take her in. No god would, nor would they look at her children that way— as though they are pure and innocent when they are twins of calamity, when kings and fools alike will bow at the destruction they will cause, where they will be revered by the equine community as revolutionists. 

Colt watches greedily a dragon draped in midnight, scorched with darkness, entrusted with power and jewels, descending to provide to her an offering. A precious metal, an amulet used commonly by the majority of Helovia, a magical item entrusted to the residents. Some gave protection, others offered a storage for magic to be used during battle, this particular one being offered to the brindled Emperor deflected magic, casting it back to the opponent. How greedy and eager she was to receive this gift, gunmetal eyes falling hungrily to it with anticipation (she tried not to appear so impatient, she didn't want to scare the pretty mare away). Colt lets her messy mane become subject to change, feeling the winged companion tie it to her onyx tresses, her eyes flickering to the skull-faced damsel. 

The description of the male brings back the taste of his skin, feeling a ghost of his touch while her eyes grew half lidded and a smirk grew across her features. "Yes, that sounds like him." She gives Nymeria, the supposed wombmate of Volterra, another once over. Colt eats up her curves, her youth, envious of her tall and composed stature, her femininity, she could entice whomever she pleased with a body like that and that thought made Colt ever so jealous. She hadn't been gifted with beauty or delicate curvature, instead she was stout, compact and held herself arrogantly. Colt was vicious, a solid kick to the shin, an aggressive snap at your accusing finger, she never held her tongue and perhaps that's why she's hated by so many. 

Colt eyes Nymeria, brows furrowed as she questions the reasoning behind such a request. This idea of letting darkest black taint the minds of her offspring made her sick, to think this mare could counteract everything she tells her children, and maybe Colt would never know. This so called aunt of theirs would play no major role in their lives, she'd simply be a piece to be batted around and chatted up on the occasional mild day, nothing more and perhaps less. Grinding her teeth, she glances at the two before bowing her head in agreement, trying to replace her displeasure with a false calm. "I'll allow it," her steel sight lifts as she raises her head and lets her expression fall, wishing she was taller so her gaze could be more intimidating that amusing. A step out of line, and Colt would wear this girl's hide like a cherished prize upon her back, the killing blow would be clean and her aim would be true. 
"TALK TALK TALK"


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Kid Posts: 122
Outcast atk: 4 | def: 8.5 | dam: 6.5
Colt :: Equine :: 15hh :: 3 years HP: 63 | Buff: NOVICE
dark
#10
kid
Mother was powerful, a woman to look up to. She was confident, she was headstrong and despite only being in this world for a short period, I already I knew she was vigorous and unforgiving. From the way she stood to the way she spoke, mother was relentless and that excited me. I wanted to be intimidating just like her, I wanted to know how she carried herself with such a confident manner, I wanted to be like that, an imposing force against even the biggest foes. Because even though I'm destined to be smaller than most, I'm still the one with the most importance and power, the one who was a god sent gift to teach the world what true beauty is. Sister will be beside me too, because she too will be strong, and together we will conquer. 

Mother gets a gift, something pretty, something I want. But what I want more, is what delivers the prize, a scaled beast that looks powerful and I want it, I need it like I need air, my natural pull towards the species specific companion is immediate, wonder in my eyes. I open my lips, letting them close and open over and over because I cannot produce any words, I can think of what I want to say, but the act of actually making noises from my mouth other than frustrated grunts and whimpers is still a difficult concept for me to grasp. I push closer to Sabre's side, looking at her in hopes that she too is enticed by the dragon. The way it fluently shifts through the air, grace and elegance hidden behind a deadly facade, it was what I needed, because I too would become that one day. "WwAAnt." I look taken aback by my own speech, shocked by my first word, but frustrated because my tongue did not work how I wanted, and my voice was squeaky and less threatening than I would like it to. Having a high, childish voice was not on my agenda, I couldn't sound like a kitten while threatening the public. 

I turn to mother, I look at her like she'll know what to do to stop me from sounding like air escaping a balloon, like she has the knowledge to stop this sick sound that leaves my mouth in the form of shrill words. I may be a child, but I certainly do not want to sound like one, it makes me sound like a soft babe that wants to enjoy rainbows and puppies, when I want to rule with a crown on my head and an army at my feet, with prowess and brutality by my side, and a loyal sister whose power will be parallel to mine. But what I cannot achieve, is just that, not when I sound so icky.

The stranger talks, she keeps saying Volterra, Volterra. It's like she wants mother to remember something, or to know something, perhaps this name is important to mother? I look up at her curiously, wondering who this Volterra is and why they're so important, which doesn't seem possible because I'm the one who's supposed to be important here, the one who matters in this situation. Shouldn't mother be looking at me? Appreciating me? Sabre and I are the important ones in this situation, we were just born! Shouldn't we be marveled at with our monotone forms and accented crimson, matching in skeletal shapes and splattered fluids. I look at Sabre, trying to express my frustration through distorted facial expressions that make me look ridiculous rather than show how I feel. 

I shuffle closer to Sabre, feeling my new found energy bubbling. Standing so still when there were things to be done was a waste, I wanted to find out what these tall shadows were, why they loomed so far above me. They were overpowering, and as I crane my neck they seemed to all meld into one mass of colour and blurry shapes far above my reach, a place I could not go. How annoying, that there were places I could not reach, things I could not touch or take. My small huff is the only sign of my frustrations, ivory brows knit and a subtle frown lingering on my dual-tone lips. 

"Talk."
the boy bandit king
image credits


@Sabre <3

Sabre Posts: 21
Outcast
Mare :: Equine :: 16.1 :: 3 years
Cutlass :: Royal Gold Dragon :: Fire Breath Reli
#11
show me how defenseless you really are.
Well—the tall dark woman hardly seems to even notice me and my little spat of untrained, protective, childlike anger. She just keeps right on going, talking with Ma, exchanging words that I don’t care to try and understand. I feel miffed by this, the cold feeling prickling through my chest and itching down my spine. Flicking my little ears back, I release a shrill snort, shaking my head in this new irritation before turning to brother. I lip a few times at his feathery mane, his closeness is comforting to me. Already by some primal instinct, I know I can rely on him more than anyone, and with him, I can be more than anything.

Huffing a loud sigh with a dramatic roll of my skinny shoulders, my attention wanders to other things, bored now that this stranger isn’t giving me anything to work with. The darkness of the forest is soothing. I feel comfortable in the fluid shadows, reminded vaguely of that warm place, my home for as long as my cognitive mind could comprehend—I suppose this place would better if it wasn’t so dang cold, or the ground so hard against my raw, newborn hooves. I quiver briefly from a breeze, my coat still damp from—delightful—bodily fluids and Ma’s spit.

If nothing else, at least I’ve got brother here with me.

When I feel him lean into my shoulder, I press back, realizing a moment later that he’s trying to direct my attention. I almost roll my eyes—what could he possibly have found?—but my focus is immediately awakened when I notice it. The dragon. How in the BLAZES had I not noticed THAT thing earlier?! The creature, he is magnificent. I’ve never seen anything like it (granted, I’ve seen VERY few things at this point) but immediately I am captured, ensnared, and pulled by the firm, vicious grasp of greed.

I want it.

Smacking my lips in a display reminiscent of hunger, I take a step towards where the dragon had landed next to Ma. I want to reach out and touch it, take it, but the shrill, fledgling voice of brother distracts me. Whipping my head around fast enough that it almost knocks me off my feet, I stare at him, wide-eyed. For a few seconds I look at him like that, stunned, before laughing. I mean I adore him and all, but compared to the gruff and brazen voice of Ma, he sounds so…small. Surely I can’t sound that way too! Puffing out my chest in the biggest inhale I can muster, I try to force my young body to cooperate, powerfully heaving out a word: “MmmIINE!”

Okay, so—

I just about knock myself off my feet again with the effort I put into this, and my voice is definitely bolder than brother’s (right?), but (despite what I believe) it is no more intimidating. It’s like the miserable bray of a donkey.

Thrashing my fluffy tail indignantly around my rump, I look to Ma, my eyes lingering on the new shiny thing in her hair, before I follow the flight of the black dragon. Suddenly, the business between Ma and the dark woman have very little importance, masked so completely by this creature. He doesn’t seem very far away, so I reach out again, dark nostrils quivering as I take in his strange and beautiful presence. I want to touch him. Hardly shy—and definitely not understanding what control is—I take a step forward. I make sure that I can still feel brother’s body against mine, but I can’t resist this sweet pull of curiosity.


“Speech.”
You’re so cold,
but you feel alive—
lay your hand on me one last time.
@Nymeria | image credits
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