the Rift


[PRIVATE] house of wolves [birth]

Nyx Posts: 292
Deceased atk: 7.5 | def: 9.5 | dam: 6.0
Mare :: Unicorn :: 16hh :: 11 HP: 72 | Buff: SWIFT
Dominus :: White Lion :: None Snow
#1
TL;DR In the very far right of the Labyrinth, on the edge of Helovia. Nyx is collapsed in the roots of a massive tree at night, with the two foals next to her and Dominus sat by her head.


It has been a long, long few months.

The silver soldier is a social creature, so having to spend the duration of her pregnancy in solitary confinement has been agony. She has lurked around Helovia's furthest borders, watching the hours turn to days, the days to weeks, and the weeks to months. Winter's harsh grip seems reluctant to leave the lands, and the stress of being pregnant during the least forgiving season has taken its toll on the grey mare. She is weak, with what little sustenance she can find beneath the snow not seeming to fill her as her child gorges greedily on her fat stores. Her muscles, though still rippling and firm beneath her silver fur, seem unable to hold her weight for long periods of time. Her sides are grotesquely swollen, and she fears she holds a large foal within her womb.

Or, worse, two foals. The thought terrifies her - and Nyx is not a woman for whom fear is a familiar feeling.

At last, the day has arrived. Familiar pains burst through her stomach, like she's being carved open from the inside - this is usually a happy moment, the welcoming of a new life into the world, but this time there's just a burning relief that her ordeal is almost over.

To his credit, Dominus has stayed by her side throughout the months of solitude, the one social contact she has had - and the only one she needs, in his opinion. He stands by her now, pressed protectively to her side, growling ominously in the depths of his throat to ward off any potential threats. Together they march towards the place Nyx selected many weeks ago, a massive tree with gnarled roots that create a small, earthy cavern. It is sheltered from the elements, and nicely ensconsed away from the hungry eye of predators. The mare settles herself down on some trampled leaves, nudging away the snow to ensure her child does not freeze to death when it leaves her body.

Because this foal might have ruined her life, but it is still her responsibility. It is a living, breathing creature who does not deserve a slattern like her as its dam.

Labour progresses quickly. The soldier rests her head on a tree root, watching the day turn to night as the hours pass whilst her stomach ripples with contractions. Dominus remains beside her at all times, an ivory sentinel glimmering eerily in the weak moonlight, his back straight and mane ruffled protectively to enhance his size. As the pain reaches its crescendo, the mare rises to her feet, feeling the warm, wet body slip free from between her thighs. It lands on the ground with a moist splat, and instinct takes over as Nyx turns to clean it with her tongue. It is a filly, black in colour, but with the legs and head marginally darker than the body - an indicator that she will probably grey out as she ages. Three small nubs of horns grow down her face, and a lion's miniscule tail twists behind her damp little body.

Relief blasts through the ironheart, and she sags against the tree. Her lips and muzzle work over her daughter's body, memorising the contours and shape of her. The filly twists and squirms, trying to rise to her feet, her own muzzle shunted greedily upwards to sniff back at Nyx. "Oizys." The name gives her a strange sort of vindictive pleasure. Her dam, Querida - a cruel and abusive mother whom she wouldn't wish on her worst enemy - had taught Nyx of the origins of her name when, to the LightningQueen's disgust, she had realised that her firstborn child could not see. Nyx, goddess of the night. She'd thought it delightfully ironic, to give her blind disappointment of a daughter a name that implied eternal darkness. She'd also taught the silver of the other goddesses, children of Nyx; like Oizys, the goddess of misery, and that's precisely what this foal's existence has brought her.

Of course, she could never be as wicked to her new daughter as Querida had been to her. She will love the child and nurture it, despite its origins. But she wants something to soothe her corrupted soul, blackened and tarred by long months of solitude. She wants something to serve as an eternal reminder that her own uncontrollable lust created this unwanted little filly - she hopes it will serve as a deterrent in the future, to make sure this never happens again. I brought misery forth from my womb.

Continuing to lazily groom her newborn, Nyx muses on her labour. She is reluctant to describe anything as painful as childbirth as easy, but in comparison to her others, this one had indeed been quite a breeze. Strangely, the pregnancy in this dangerous season had been a lot harder than the birth itself. And, save for a small, racking cough that shakes her whole body, the filly seems healthy enough. Yes - easy is the word.

Too easy, she should have realised.

Her blood runs cold as pain arches through her once again, like a knife to her spine. Oh, no. Dread turns her legs to jelly, and she folds like a house of cards. Oizys, lost in the difficult process of trying to stand for the first time, squawks indignantly as her dam collapses beside her, but that doesn't stop her from nudging insistently at Nyx's leg to try and reach the milk beneath. Pain spasms through the mare's midriff, but the second foal seems stuck fast. Already exhausted from the first birth, Nyx fears this could be the death of her - her energy is gone, and yet if she does not push, both she and the foal will perish. So will Oizys, as she would have little chance of surviving alone.

Breathing through the pain barrier, summoning the last vestiges of her strength, the fallen General ejects the second foal from her body in a wave of blood and agony. A great groan leaves her lips as her remaining energy abandons her, and her head clatters to the ground with a muffled thud. She has just enough strength left to lift it again, to clean her second daughter - smaller than the first, black, with a blue blaze down the face, as beautiful as Oizys and yet as deadly as nightshade for the way she's almost killed her dam - and to shift her hindlegs so both girls can access her teats despite her position on the ground. "En...yo," she murmurs - the goddess of war. War, like she's waged on her poor mother's body.

That is how the silver soldier comes to be lying prone in the embracing roots of a great tree, snow falling softly onto her steaming flanks whilst her two little goddesses flop and flail around beside her. Her eyes flicker open and shut, barely conscious, barely alive, whilst Dominus sits sentinel by her head, his worry pulsing into her mind.



@Reginald

Other characters have permission to use magic/violence against Nyx at any time.


Oizys Posts: 134
Aurora Basin Soldier atk: 7.0 | def: 8.5 | dam: 6.5
Mare :: Hybrid :: 17hh :: 2 HP: 73.5 | Buff: NOVICE
Ker :: Philippine Eagle :: Curse Snow
#2

Daughters of darkness
Sisters insane

She arrives in a great eruption of blood and filth, and hits the ground with such a force that it immediately stirs her into life.

The child of misery shifts, lifting her proud young head and greedily devouring the world around her. There's frigid white powder landing on her body, dissolving when it touches her damp young flesh, and there's a great tree nestled around her like a wooden hug. There's a fluffy white thing sat nearby, and she idly wonders if it is made up of the flakes falling from the sky. Then, there's Mother; she smells of sweaty silver fur, milky teats, and Mother-ness.

But there is something missing. Where is she? The filly looks hopelessly around for her, for womb-friend, for the warm body she'd spent the last few months curled around like punctuation. Where. Is. She? She begins to bray, crying for Sister, but swiftly crumbles into a fit of hacking coughs. Her heart aches, flutters, the only sign that she isn't as healthy as she first appeared. Her name lands on her eager young ears, and she finds it suitable.

Nature seizes her like a vice, and she folds her wobbly legs beneath her to try and stand. Her first attempt ends in a tragic tumble back to earth, and she dissolves into another fit of coughing. Once the shaking jolts have left her, she tries again, and this time she succeeds in staying on all fours - wobbling precariously, but stood. She whinnies triumphantly and turns to silver-dam, expecting praise, but to her horror the mare crumples downwards like falling leaves. Oizys squeals her displeasure, annoyed that Mother has the audacity to fall over when she should be complimenting her daughter, and another coughing fit sends her toppling back to the ground beside her dam. She shoves her nose beneath the mare's hindleg, hunting for food even as Nyx's body shudders and twitches in the throes of childbirth.

The young goddess pulls away from her pursuit of milk, suddenly intrigued. Is this her? She rams her little face beneath the silver's tail, watching with gruesome intrigue as sister arrives alongside a wave of blood and disgusting goo. Oizys whinnies her delight, suddenly feeling complete in the presence of her womb-mate, and she joins her mother's muzzle in snuffling across her twin's damp little body. "Enny," she repeats, as Mother names the other girl - she finds this to her liking, too.

Then, the silver's head falls to the ground. Oizys pivots, mildly concerned, but her mind is tugged away from this small semblance of empathy when her dam's hindleg shifts to expose the teats beneath. Like a ravenous dog falling upon a dying animal, the filly dives towards the milk and suckles greedily, quite relieved that Mother's awkward position isn't inconveniencing her in any way. Because that is all that matters.

image credits

Enyo Posts: 27
Outcast
Mare :: Unicorn :: 14hh :: 2
Onei :: Gyrfalcon :: None M.E.
#3

Daughters of darkness
Sisters insane

Who are you?

You’re sliding—tumbling--stumbling from your mother’s body, and that’s when your life starts to pulse in your tiny, tiny limbs. You stir as you hit the ground, all liquid and black. Your head lifts, your tiny nostrils sniffing a new air that is much, much too cold for your senses. It settles in your lungs, freezing, oh dear! You lay your head on the ground, resting a miniscule skull that is too heavy, regardless.

You shouldn’t have been born.

You don’t know that, of course. In fact, you don’t know anything. There is a grand titan of a tree that looms above you, a great forest sentinel just for you--but you don’t know that, do you, ignorant, newborn child as you are? You are barely aware of the warm body that ejected you from its womb, how ruined it is because of your unexpected conception. Oh, yes, of course. You don’t know that either, do you?

You almost killed your mother.

Will you learn this, later? I wonder if you will. Right now, you are nothing but the smallest of shadows, a pathetic little thing, let’s be honest. All you’ve done so far is formed yourself from the seed of a demon—oh dear, you’re such a mistake--and accidently attempted to kill your mother. Do those count as accomplishments? I will keep those on standby, if you need those extra tallies.

Ignorance is a bliss, isn’t it? You’re learning how to breathe, but that’s automatic, and I doubt that counts for much as learning. Right now, for you, the world around you is a velvet black unknown, a cloud smothered around your ears and eyes, because, poor thing, you don’t care. Hmm, interesting. You don’t care and your tiny little filly heart is at peace. Does that count as peace, if you’re born with no trouble (debatable, really)? Can a happiness be tallied if one has known no strife? You’d think about this later, probably—with that brain of yours built to think, think, think. Right now, however, you’re at peace.

Enny.

Ah, yes. Of course. You were not born alone. A great, bellowing bleat escapes your maw as you spy slender black legs beside you, already strong, already standing.

She is a thing you don’t even have to learn! She is an always, a constant, the right child you leeched your skin and bones and life energy against to help quicken your development. And you know what? She accepted it! The embryo could’ve absorbed you, intrusive little foaling you are. But no, she decided, I guess, that life would be just that much sweeter and worthy if she had a sister of her own. And no, not a sibling, not a creature born a part from a new seed, a new womb, a different mother, perhaps. No, she decided she needed someone of the same womb-water to call her own.

She.

You do not know her name. You don’t know anything.

“Oh,” you say, because you’re a baby. Oh.” It is all you can say. You see her standing like that, using these long, tangled limbs as something useful (you still don’t care to notice Mother yet). You decide—yes, this must be a thing you must do! You must emulate your sister and her fine example! Her clever use of her body!

You try to stand, and it’s a fruitless endeavor. You’re so wobbly and the air is so cold and you don’t really care so much, do you? The world is a great, big eh for you. Passionless creature. You were blessed with a whole heart, a whole pair of eyes, a whole set of limbs—all of them pretty and well formed—and you don’t even have the decency to care about standing!

You try again, if only to mimic your sister. The legs clumsily unfold underneath you, and your tiny body is so heavy to you, and you give your tiny snort and heave, heave, heave yourself off the ground.

You don’t make it to your feet. Not quite.



image credits

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.
#4

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 comes, a tower of burning rage.

He sees them, those foals that the silver-backed whore had borne. He sees them and he smells them—and he knows them to be fillies.

He emerges from the green that surrounds, and Ka’Mate bursts from the skies, fueled to a manic happiness by the wrath that pulses from his master in great, sickening waves. He dives for the wet, dark creature with the audacity to stand; he dives and his talons find her head, her fragile baby’s skull, gripping her in a vice and dragging her to the earth, where she belongs. Ka’Mate is a great beast, full grown and fledged, and this baby is nothing to him—it does not even phase him that it is the flesh of his master, for master hates it, and master wants it dead and gone. He drags the filly creature to the dust, screaming his victory, waiting for that precious moment where master allows the vicious servant a decent meal of the newborn.

Master cannot articulate himself, however. He is dumb with rage.

He approaches the second-born foal, the smaller one that is too dumb or weak to stand (that is his natural assumption). Even as it squirms in the grasses, he reaches forward with one great hoof, pressed against her chest and neck and cheek (she is so small) as he readies the piston of his leg to press her down, to squish the life that already kindles so faintly in that tiny, tiny, miserable, offensive breast.

Ka’Ora must be swift.

She dives just as her brother had; she screams just as her brother screamed before her. Her breast, however, is torn with anguish to see her master act this way, towards his children; he is cleaving her in two. She dives upon his leg and he growls, ROARS at her, for her talons grip the feathers of her master’s limb, begging, begging, begging. Please! she cries, and yes, there are tears there, and the harpy is frantic with her hasty worry.

The fangs almost burst from the Grey-Eye’d’s mouth. You will MOVE, Ka’Ora! he rumbles through their mental link.

It is the first order she refuses from him. No! she begs, and the tears pour, and the older filly bleeds.

Move!

No!

How dare you, Ka’Ora?

Please, no! Your child!

I will not stand to have fillies born in my blood!
All this time he does not notice the mother, dying in her silver pelt. She is nothing now; the passionate night is passed, and her pussy is ruined, at any rate, so she is of no use. Besides she birthed him fillies. It would be right for her to die in her disgrace.

Ka’Ora is sobbing. Her mind is wrecked. Master, please, no death, no dying—

Stand aside, Ka’Ora, or I will punish you as well.

Please, PLEASE, your daughter, they yours—

—They are weak Ka’Ora, and I will NOT—

You born weak, too!


This stops him.


[You can play him as having awkwardly paused if that helps <3]
"talk talk talk"


day1953@pbase


@Nyx



--Please tag REGINALD in every reply!

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



Nyx Posts: 292
Deceased atk: 7.5 | def: 9.5 | dam: 6.0
Mare :: Unicorn :: 16hh :: 11 HP: 72 | Buff: SWIFT
Dominus :: White Lion :: None Snow
#5

Life flickers, light fades. She moves between this realm and the other, and only the nudging of her feeding children keeps her from slipping away completely.

"Birds." Dominus' voice echoes in her mind, a great rumble to rouse her from her slumber. She blinks up at him, unsure why he sounds so concerned about birds. "BIRDS!" Suddenly he's gone from her side - suddenly, there's the hiss of savage wings and the scream of a child.

Her child. Their child. She screams like a trapped animal, and Nyx feels the warm splash of blood as it squirts from the girl's face and lashes against her side. Terror grips her and she tries to rise but can't - all she sees are devil's wings and the great, looming tower of the sire.

Dominus roars. He might be small, stunted for his species, but his roar shakes the ground and bids the branches of the great tree to quiver. His thickset hindlegs crouch and he lunges, claws unfurling like broken promises from the sheaths in his paws, seeking the harpy's face, wings, anything to get it away from the filly it is killing.

There's a hoof, a massive, feathered hoof pressing down on Enyo, and Nyx bellows her fury, her fear. He's killing them, he's killing them! That small, dissenting murmur in the back of her mind that points out how much easier life would be without them is smothered by the mother fucking bear instinct that lends women the strength to move trees from their newborns, kill bears, swim oceans. "Don't you fucking dare," she howls, howls like the wolf with murdered cubs, and she would give anything, anything to be able to move from her prone place upon the ground, but her limbs won't work. They betray her, as her body betrayed her when it drove her to spread her thighs for the length of him.

She looks at him, hateful. Those muscles which had so turned her on are suddenly threats that need to be neutralised; those haunting grey eyes that had drawn her like a moth to an open flame are suddenly windows to the black soul of the devil. A man who could kill his own children, his own flesh and blood; Nyx has seen and screwed beasts, vampires and murderers in her time, but this is truly abhorrent. This turns her stomach, twists her gut with disgust.

There's another eagle, this one attacking the leg that presses. The broken soldier feels magic bubbling up inside her, because that's the only thing she can control, the only thing she has the strength to use; it presses against her skin, begging for release, and it is almost free when the demon suddenly pauses.

She doesn't know why he has hesitated, but she fears that should she use her magic as her body is telling her to, it will rekindle his anger. Reluctantly, she sucks her powers back inside, and looks at him through hateful eyes. "They are yours. You, and your....sperm. What sort of a man are you if you would slaughter defenceless children? Your own children? You were a foal too, once - I don't think you spewed from the womb as a fully-grown big-dicked heathen, although I stand to be corrected." She spits the words, she hates them, because the soldier never begs and that is what she's on the verge of doing - pleading for their lives. If she was able-bodied, if she hadn't just birthed twins after surviving a torrid pregnancy in the depths of Frostfall, she'd fight him to the death. As it is, her strength is gone, her life almost with it; she cannot fight, and yet she cannot let them die.

Her helplessness makes her ache with hatred.


Other characters have permission to use magic/violence against Nyx at any time.


Oizys Posts: 134
Aurora Basin Soldier atk: 7.0 | def: 8.5 | dam: 6.5
Mare :: Hybrid :: 17hh :: 2 HP: 73.5 | Buff: NOVICE
Ker :: Philippine Eagle :: Curse Snow
#6

Daughters of darkness
Sisters insane

Agony comes in a blur of wings.

She turns to see who is approaching, who has come to bathe in the glory of her - for she cannot think of any other reason why anybody would approach this birth - and that's how she comes to be seized. Her face is ensnared in the claws of a beast, and only the instinctual shutting of her right eye saves it from being torn out by the eagle's ravenous talons.

She screams. She howls as her face explodes in a wave of fire, ripping flesh from muscle, rending skin from skull, and she's flung to the ground like a ragdoll. She thrashes, flails, kicks out at the harpy - the beautiful, magnificent creature, so powerful, so deadly! Her head swings side to side, trying to wrench it free from the talons, but the grip is harder than a vice. The white furry thing jumps to try and defend her, but she knows not whether it will work - even if it does, is survival worth it if it's going to hurt so much?

Like Mother, she is helpless. Like Mother, she loathes it.

There's Enyo, pressed beneath the weight of a monstrous hoof. Through a tidal wave of blood, Oizys sees Father for the first time; he is glorious, he is titanic, he is murder incarnate! Alas, they are the source of his ire, for what they lack between their hindlegs; they are born from his seed, but are unworthy to bear his name. They will die for the crime of their very existence. They will never have the chance to bear him strong grandsons, belated apologies for themselves.

As she lies in a pool of blood, dazed and on the verge of lapsing into unconsciousness, the little goddess decides that there is no finer way to die than this. She has hardly had chance to live, but at least she will perish at the claws of greatness. Mother speaks, but Oizys is not holding her breath that it will work; she kicks out at the harpy again and again, but knows not whether her eyes will ever see a sunrise.

image credits


@Enyo

Enyo Posts: 27
Outcast
Mare :: Unicorn :: 14hh :: 2
Onei :: Gyrfalcon :: None M.E.
#7

Daughters of darkness
Sisters insane

Oh.

Oh!

(You can say that much, can’t you? With your tiny little foal’s mouth?)

The world, so boring and black and full of nothing, is turned on its side suddenly! Where before, the only thing capturing your interest was following your sister upwards--it is all torn to meaningless dust, that interest of yours, as control of your body is ripped from you. You are thrown to the ground—you don’t notice the great grey shadow falling across your sister’s face, felling her as well. No, you only feel the pressure against your tiny bird’s chest, the way a great stone hoof presses into the soft, tender things inside of your throat. You feel the heaviness constrict you, bind you to the cold, hard earth. A bellow escapes from you, again, as though the hoof presses it from your minuscule body.

You learn something—isn’t it great? You finally get to learn a thing! And it turns out to be pain.

You learn pain.

Your body is aching underneath that hoof—that hoof, that hoof! Dark and grey and terrifying, a goliath, a giant squeezing your little parasitic soul back into hell. Your golden eye rolls wildly in its socket, and everything is a mess of grey—grey hair, grey hoof, grey feathers fluttering all around you, and there is screaming from Mother’s maw, sister’s maw, your maw—screaming, screaming, the world is screaming, and there is blood in a place you can’t see and all you know is pain.

…until it ceases.

The hoof disappears from your chest and neck. You begin to gasp, feeling the beating of your heart. That is your heart, y’know. You feel it now, pumping so hard and furiously, because you almost died. That pumping means life. You are alive, little Enyo—don’t you know?

You look up into the shadow that had brought you so much pain--you see nothing but grey, grey, grey, and it’s a monster you see, a monster who even has eyes that are grey too. And those eyes are looking into you, into you, so hard and cunning, so angry, angry, angry! Those eyes must know you shouldn’t have been born.

Ooooh, but I know who that is. Paaaapa.

He’s your  Paaaapa.

Him, with those grey eyes that are so furious with your tiny, tiny body. With that hoof that had come so close to snuffing the tender life from your breast.

But it didn’t!

Yes, yes, that’s the trick, isn’t it? That hoof didn’t crush you like it should have! No, it taught you a thing, didn’t it?

Pain.

And life.

And you look up into those eyes of his—




image credits

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.
#8

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?

—It looks up at him, even as the beast takes his hoof away.

She looks up. A filly. His daughter. He cannot deny those eyes; he cannot deny his blood within their veins.

His daughters.

Ka’Ora’s heart thunders in her chest; she knows her work is not done. Master, listen, please, listen, her thoughts are quick to form, and she is careful with her words. Young babies. Your babies. Grow big, grow strong, train! Train, train, train!

Reginald is furious indeed with Ka’Ora’s antics—but he cannot help but be impressed with her daring, with her cunning words, regardless of her mercy for the abominable sex. He had not told her about his heart-sickness as a foal; he had told no one of his weaknesses since becoming a man. He would will himself to forget them completely if he were a perfect, soulless creature—but Ka’Ora, she is the keeper of his spirit, and he supposes she had gazed upon the memories of his suffering childhood through his subconscious, through the waking dreams he cannot design. He wonders how long she has known, how long she has kept those secrets of his past tucked in her breast, careful to avoid his notice and his wrath. Smart, smart harpy she is, wily in her passionate love. She knows how he feels about his childhood.

She must be desperate indeed to use such a weapon against him.

The battle between their wills clamors within him; he does not notice how the stunted white lion attacks Ka’Mate, willing him to flee from those alabaster claws. Ka’Mate leaps into the air, indignant, for it is his meal to savor! His wings beat furiously as he endeavors to escape the lion’s pounce; claw-tips raze his tail feathers, though he dodges the shot, even as he leaves the foal’s ruined face in the dust. Master has not said to kill this lion, yet, nor has he allowed him to eat the filly. It is strange, how preoccupied master is.

And yes—he is preoccupied. These babies cry shrilly, their lungs powerful even as their limbs and body are nothing but baby-fat and cartilage. He is gazing into the golden eyes of the filly he was so close to killing—and all the while, Ka’Ora is speaking quick, well-timed words into his ear.

Blood is good, good blood, lovely foals—your daughters, master, master’s daughters!

Daughters, Ka’Ora,
he spits at her. The filly is a failed creature. You know this.

‘Cari failure? Mother failure?


He could’ve wrung her neck for such offense—but she is quick to talk.

Your blood, good blood, they your blood. Train blood—good, good kin!

He considers her implication. Every worthless, spineless, complaining, gross filly he had encountered in his youth had been the spawn of some weaker bloodline; he does not remember having ever encountered a female of his own kin, besides his mother, his beautiful little Macaria. Perhaps it is all in the blood? And he has seen how useful the mare could be, with her fiery (albeit naïve) passion, her dedication to the cause, and those warm, warm lips. The filly is a nuisance, the mare is a tool, and these children—they are of his blood.

His eyes tear from the filly; he turns his gaze away, pensive with the implications, the possibilities, the choices he is faced with. Ka’Ora goes silent, still; she knows it would be unwise to over-press her master. His teeth grind in the back of his mouth, thinking, thinking—and it is only when the Mother of his daughters speaks to him, all kind of fiery harpy-fire, that he is brought back to earth.

*”What sort of a man are you if you would slaughter defenceless children? Your own children?”*

His eyes widen—manic. The grey pierces into her blues, and something dark comes into the set of his mouth, the edge of his fang. “I am the sort of man you fucked,” he hisses, and there is a deep pleasure there on his tongue, knowing how he anguishes her with his actions, his words—knowing she can do nothing about it, ruined as she is from giving birth to a monster’s children.

His children. The thought settles in his mind in an eerie way.

His eyes study his children once more—the daughter with a face ravaged by the great harpy, though she still breathes; the daughter who he so nearly crushed, with eyes of a gentle gold he cannot stomach straight. There is a pause; Ka’Ora holds her breath; Ka’Mate is waiting for order to feast.


“…Are they named? he says roughly to the silver harlot.


"talk talk talk"


day1953@pbase


@Nyx



--Please tag REGINALD in every reply!

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



Öde Posts: 145
Aurora Basin Disciple atk: 5 | def: 10 | dam: 5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 17 hh :: 4.5 HP: 64.5 | Buff: NOVICE
Blu
#9
ÖDE
He comes to this place with a certain quiet, a reverence if you will. It is a place of his death, one of many, and it is a place of a god's death (one of many). Its a significant prison, its green vines like bars that cage the souls of the mighty, so large and unyielding that it is plausible that they hold back cosmic forces and devour mortal ones. Öde finds it suitable - he has found all their lands to be thus.

Cries that break through the background music of the lurking nature capture his attention, pulling him from his wanderings and his prayers, He stills, holding his breath and tilting his ears to better listen to the sound of despair. It draws him in, encourages him to approach, the way a hunter is attracted to weakness. So he stalks through the brush, curious even if he isn't hungry, and he's not today, hasn't been ever since the failure of a pale filly. He was starving in his youth, feasting and gorging but never satiated. He thinks back on it often lately, ruminating on what changed, pondering which stomach pains are better (the gnawing ones or the numb silence?)

He thinks the satisfaction of a full gut is something preferable - better is perhaps a strong word to use.
He's taken a page from his cousin's book, realized over time and immersion into the culture of herd life (so different from his mother's wayward methods int he wilderness) that a predator among a flock is frowned upon. Show your teeth and they either scatter or they brandish their own weapons on you, and you come to find teeth are not the only thing that hurts and cuts. So he hides his grin beneath curling lips instead, the way a fox smiles, the way something patient smiles. He needs to cultivate something before he can wreck it, and that makes it all the better, doesn't it.

And what if he forgets to wreck it when the time comes? What if he comes to love it as he helps it grow?

He doesn't know, he isn't there yet, but part of him wonders, is that so bad? Gods can be powerful benevolent.
He thinks Lena would approve. It buoys his heart.

It doesn't mean that just because he isn't craving depravity, that he can't continue to appreciate it, the way a vegetarian finds themselves drooling as a savory aroma of meat wafts by. So it is that Öde finds himself watching the scene of violence that unravels before him. He can't remember when he arrived, when he came to a halt, when he leaned against a tree and cocked a hip, simply content to observe. He can't remember, but when he grows aware of it, he makes no move to change. He merely blinks, wondering, studying, drooling over the nefarious deeds wrought by his brother.

He doesn't know the children are his, not at first, or else Öde might have taken action to stop the hulking monolith that is Reginald. He would have stopped him not out of altruism for the children, but out of devotion to an ideal that blood is stronger than all else, and that even a marauder such as Reginald ought to respect that. He doesn't have to, Reginald comes tot he realization on his own, and Öde grows aware of the significance of the infant brutality after it has passed.
So to him, he did nothing more than look on upon a dying mother and her twins as Reginald displayed his rightful savagery. Why? Why not Öde thought, comfortable, entertained even.
I have become DEATH
the destroyer of worlds.
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Tag me only if starting a new thread.
Magic or force permitted any time, including death - no decapitating.
Be aware active magic doesn't work in his vicinity due to his magic!


62.5/62.5 HP
Helovia Hard Mode

Nyx Posts: 292
Deceased atk: 7.5 | def: 9.5 | dam: 6.0
Mare :: Unicorn :: 16hh :: 11 HP: 72 | Buff: SWIFT
Dominus :: White Lion :: None Snow
#10

The lion tumbles back to the ground, empty-clawed save for the graze of some tail feathers. He moves to Nyx's side, growling savagely, awaiting her command to strike again.

It doesn't come. Whatever the second harpy is saying to the grey-eyed monster, it's working. She sends a silent thanks to the bird, to the conscience that, thank god, the dappled beast does actually possess. Through a haze of exhaustion, the silver breathes a sigh of relief. Her daughters live another day - although her gaze travels to poor, bleeding Oizys, her face so matted with blood that it's hard to tell if she has any sort of a face left. With herculean effort, Nyx leans forwards to try and lick her girl clean, but the filly squirms away with a low growl of pain.

It can wait. The bastard speaks, his words grating against her guilt. She raises an eyebrow, even though the small effort of twitching her face muscles seems to exhaust every last cell of her strength. "I did, and it was lovely, but no bad deed goes unpunished. Sometimes, sunshine, when you shove tab A into slot B enough times, foals happen." Had his mother never taught him of the birds and the bees? Are these his first children, for him to react so violently to their existence? His heirs, his progeny, and he would have slaughtered them in cold blood if not for the timely intervention of his companion! Skin that he made sing now shudders and recoils at the thought of his touch; the euphoria that he erupted inside her body is burnt away, replaced by the ashes of disgust.

She really needs to start selecting her conquests more closely. She can put up with a lot in her choice of dick, but she draws the line at infanticide.

The silver blinks, and realises how reluctant she is to open her eyes again. She needs rest; she has lost a lot of blood, and dreads to think how gruesome her downstairs department is. But like hell is she sleeping when there's a monster nearby, not now she knows what he's capable of. She asks Dominus to herd her daughters close to her, just in case their sire should have a change of heart and try to strike at them again.

He asks their names, which is promising - why put a name to a corpse? "The three-horned one is Oizys; goddess of misery. The blue-blazed one is Enyo, goddess of war." She wonders if he'll change them, just to spite her; she's hardly in any position to argue, prone and helpless as she is. Name them what you want, as long as they get to live.

She does not notice the presence of another, so close is the attention she's paying to her lover and their brood. Her fierce blue eyes - the only part of her body that still have fire - fix on the grey beast's face, wondering what his next move will be.


Other characters have permission to use magic/violence against Nyx at any time.


Oizys Posts: 134
Aurora Basin Soldier atk: 7.0 | def: 8.5 | dam: 6.5
Mare :: Hybrid :: 17hh :: 2 HP: 73.5 | Buff: NOVICE
Ker :: Philippine Eagle :: Curse Snow
#11

Daughters of darkness
Sisters insane

Her face is gone, or so it feels. She is minutes old, and knows nothing but pain - the evil, searing, ripping, stinging pain.

Then, the weight of talons vacate her face. Their absence is even worse than their presence, as it leaves the wounds gaping and open to the air. Her screaming ceases, edging down towards a low murmur. Strong daughters don't scream. Survivors of eagles don't scream. Goddesses don't scream. But it's so hard not to scream.

Mother tries to touch her, to nurse the wound as mothers do, but the filly snatches her head away with an agonised gargle. The thought of anything touching her injuries, even mother-tongue, fills her with dread. She can see nothing out of that side; as far as she knows, her eye is lost. It's only when she dares open it that she realises she still has sight, albeit blurred and stinging from the blood pouring in great furrows from her brow to her jaw.

The daughter of the serpent is alive, but the Thanatos drive in her mind points out that perhaps she'd be better off dead, if this agony is the alternative.

No. She is young, but this thought is quite lucid. She cannot die. Goddesses cannot die!

So she turns, slithers on her knees towards Father. Standing is beyond her; the blood loss is too great, and she'd hardly dampened her lips with mother's milk before the harpy took her. But she looks up at him through defiant grey eyes - his eyes - and turns her head to display the ruined, ravaged right side. See? she screams, silently. I survived.

Your strength is my strength, father. I survived. Is that a hint of reverence, obsession, in her face, or is it just the blood? She glances at Enyo, sister survivor, then looks back to Father. Let him look at what he has created! Let him gaze upon what he can nurture, raise, mould into perfection!

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@Enyo

Enyo Posts: 27
Outcast
Mare :: Unicorn :: 14hh :: 2
Onei :: Gyrfalcon :: None M.E.
#12

Daughters of darkness
Sisters insane

Your nose is a tiny twitching thing, your breathing heavy (or as heavy as your breathing could be with those little bird’s lungs of yours) as you watch your Paaaapa’s eyes veer away from you. You feel a weight leave you, a large thing that had been growing in your chest as you lost yourself in the depths of those deep grey eyes. You give a tiny grunt at their absence, and he does not seem to notice.

It aches when he doesn’t notice you—Bringer of Pain, He Who Allows Life. You want him to look again; you want to feel that wash of grey on you, you want more, more, more!

You sneeze, like many babies do with their minuscule annoyances. He still does not look at you; he’s speaking, a low guttural rumble in the pit of your chest as he addresses Mother. Oh, yes little Enyo, you have a mother! You follow his gaze behind you, to a mass of sweaty, matted silver fur. Hunh. That is your Mother, trembling pile of flesh that she is. You’ll grow more interested in her later, of course. I’m sure you will. But for now, your eyes trail away, the disinterest creeping, creeping, creeping once more—until your gaze falls upon sister, and you learn another thing: blood.

Your sister’s face is covered in it; her eye is stained with it. You give another snort and your voice escapes: Oh! What has happened to your sister, Enyo? Do you know what has happened? Of course you don’t; you were so very nearly crushed by your beloved Paaaapa, you had no time to witness the fury of the harpy feathers fluttering upon the ruins of your sister’s face. Hmm. I’m not sure whether to blame you or not for such an oversight.

No matter; you’re not thinking like you should be. Your filly’s brain is much too small and flighty to consider implications like that. You see sister. You want sister. You smell the blood and you come to associate blood and pain with each other. See? You have the makings of cleverness already, don’t you?

You know Paaaapa is watching. His eyes are creeping along your spine, even as you spring your legs beneath you, attempting, once more, to bring them to heel, to make them work. Your chest is in pain, yes, and so is your neck, so is every piece of you that your Father tried to grind to dust. You still try, though. Of course you fail—many times. It’s expected of a baby to fail. But they sting anyway, those failures of yours, especially under the glow grey coals of your Father’s eyes. Oh, Paaaapa, be merciful! She’s trying, y’know.

Ah, there it is! You manage a precarious balance beneath you, your legs damp paper twigs doing their absolute best to carry your weight, as slight as it is. It is a start. You attempt to walk, and of course those are failures as well—but somehow you do manage it, eventually (I will spare you your embarrassment, little Enyo, and gloss over those rare moments of clumsiness, as long as I don’t witness it Ever Again). You make your way to your sister’s face, your nostrils huffing, twitching, smelling her scent, smelling her blood, seeing the glimmer of her eyes as she looks up into Father’s face.

You follow her gaze and your balance is acceptable. He’s seen how you can stand, now.



image credits

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.
#13

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 watches them, those babes he had decided so swiftly that they should die in their feminine crime; he watches them squirm about, tiny black bodies breathing regardless of his hasty wrath. Hasty, he decides; his actions had been rash, filled with passionate anger with the foal, the detestably inconsistent tendencies of the woman. She is not the first he has had in his lifetime—and yet her body is the first to choose, inexplicably, the hard frost of the frozen months to quicken his seed, and deliver them in this world. His seed. His children.

His children. Ka’Ora holds her breath. She feels how those words, that idea, shifts in her master’s brain.

They wiggle beneath them as best as they can—for, of course, he must concede their newborn status, and allow them that weakness of newbirth. There is one covered in blood by his doing, and he sees how she refuses the feeble ministrations of her mother, how defiant she is, even in the new spirit of her life. He watches how the younger sibling, despite her near-death, craves the side of her sister—and stands to see her, to walk over to the other dark filly. The struggle is evident in a newborn’s bones, yet she proves herself determined, and, regardless of the danger presented in the shape of her own father, she risks it anyway, and takes what it is she desires—that is, the side of her sister.

Defiant. Determined. They build their character in his mind, so soon. They both look up at him—with fierce eyes of blue grey, with soft orbs of inquisitive gold. They become more than fillies in that instant; the potential is seen there, in their souls. He recognizes.

Something in his mind becomes certain, and Ka’Mate bursts into the canopy of the trees, screaming his impatience, his disappointment, his hunger-- while Ka’Ora cannot stop the trill from breaking from her throat, her talons releasing the foreleg of her master. The decision has been made.  

The mother scolds him, uselessly, for he cares not for the irritated warble of her ruined corpse. His ears train only on the names she had already christened his—his children.

Oizys; goddess of misery. Enyo; goddess of war.

He turns the names in his mind; he caresses them between his teeth.

Oizys,” a dark croon, Enyo,” a wicked hum. It is phenomenal, what she has done in this time of charged, electric hatred flowing between the two of them: he finds his ego stroked sensuously once more by her skilled ministrations, his pride purring with daughters named as goddesses. Could he mold them into goddesses? Could they be reared in his image: great, glorious monsters, rich with blood and the legacy of legends?

His eyes—they soften somehow, resting upon the daughters as they feel their bodies, train themselves, even in that moment, for greatness. “Hmm,” he says, and that is his only sign of approval. Yes, she has named them well.

“Are you dying? he asks—blandly, the care and concern pointedly missing from his words. He only wonders if he needs to take charge of their wellbeing, or if she will be strong enough to rear them passed the milkteeth. His interest is clearly waning; he will be gone, soon, if there is nothing he need do.


"talk talk talk"


day1953@pbase


@Nyx



--Please tag REGINALD in every reply!

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



Nyx Posts: 292
Deceased atk: 7.5 | def: 9.5 | dam: 6.0
Mare :: Unicorn :: 16hh :: 11 HP: 72 | Buff: SWIFT
Dominus :: White Lion :: None Snow
#14

Her girls, her Goddesses, move away from her to look up at their father. So brave of them, so foolish! Do they not know he could crush them like mosquitos? Her breath catches in her throat and Dominus growls low in the back of his, praying that the titan will not snap and end their fledgling lives before they've even begun.

He does not. He repeats their names, their strong, godly names, and is that approval she detects or has pain and fear addled her mind? She struggles against the ground, adjusting herself so the fillies may suckle more easily when they return from gazing up so lovingly at the man who would have killed them. If they are to revere anybody, they should turn their adulation onto the harpy who saved their lives, who stayed the blade of their would-be assassin.

He asks if she's dying, and her laugh is sharp, humourless. Somehow, she doesn't think he's asking out of concern for her wellbeing. "You needn't worry that your girls will be without milk. I will live." This, she knows. Last time, it took a healer to save her, but this time, despite the pain, she does not think the fillies have destroyed her inside. Just outside, where it stings and bleeds - horrific, biblical revenge, the area that let him in so ravaged by his monstrous children. But that will heal. She will heal. She has to. Rest and food should restore her stolen strength, and time will ease the rest.

"I left my home in the Edge to spend the pregnancy alone - they do not know that I was with-child, and it will remain that way." She does not know if she's being stupidly trusting, to tell him this - is it wise to share her secrets so easily? Yet she cannot risk a slip of his tongue unravelling her lie like a burnt spiderweb. "I will tell them that I found the twins with their herd massacred, whilst their sweet still-living bodies were ravished by vultures. Almost the truth." She looks to Oizys' poor face, hoping the Edge has a decent healer. At least the girl's wounds fit her story - her scars stand testament to the thread that Nyx will weave.

She shifts again, hunting for comfort. The urge to sleep is overwhelming - she thinks she will wait a week or so before she returns to the Edge, to give her body time to heal and her mind time to enter the correct frame to tell yet another lie. She looks at the stallion through mistrustful eyes, praying he will leave her to rest - she is sure they will meet again, as undoubtedly he will want to involve himself in their daughters' lives, but she has quite had her fill of his menacing facade for one day.


Other characters have permission to use magic/violence against Nyx at any time.


Oizys Posts: 134
Aurora Basin Soldier atk: 7.0 | def: 8.5 | dam: 6.5
Mare :: Hybrid :: 17hh :: 2 HP: 73.5 | Buff: NOVICE
Ker :: Philippine Eagle :: Curse Snow
#15

Daughters of darkness
Sisters insane

Sweet sister stands, and Oizys hungers to mimic; she has risen once, and it was wonderful, yet she has lost far too much blood for it to be a realistic possibility again today. The snow is stained red with the juice of her veins, so she has to settle for simply bulking her fledgling, baby-bird muscles to demonstrate to Father what strength she has, whilst twining her dextrous twig of a tail around her still-damp buttocks.

They are fine, black twins with their injuries and their defiance - they are daughters worthy of him, man mountain, master of eagles! There is hope for them, when they come from the seed of stone and the womb of steel!

She just wishes she didn't hurt so much. Then, she would be able to stand and display her finery to him, to bound amidst his monolithic legs and dream of one day growing to a height akin to his.

Suddenly Enyo's muzzle is there, and she inhales her brood-mate's scent - it mingles with the reek of her own blood, but even the coppery tang cannot overwhelm the heady aroma of sister. She whickers, greeting, loving, learning that the bond she shares with this other furry bundle will be an important one.

The little goddess has already learnt one valuable lesson today. Mother loves them unconditionally, without question. Father's respect - for she knows not if he can feel love - must be earnt. Mother will hold them as they take their first steps, support them as they run - Father will stand in the distance, a hulking angel of death, so they may feel his ire should they fall. Mother will be impressed, whatever they accomplish; Father must be impressed if they are ever to be allowed to wear his name on their shoulders.

This is known, now. She understands that her parents are different, and that Father will not offer his affections as Mother does.

All the more reason for her to fight to obtain them.

She has also learnt of pain today - what it is, how to fear it, how to respect it, how to own it. Little grey filly is learning, absorbing, devouring knowledge like a carnivore eats meat!

After pressing her velvet muzzle to her sister's warm flank, the grey filly crawls back towards her dam's welcoming side. She arches her neck, diving for milk, drinking until it dribbles down her chin and turns ugly grey as it mingles with blood.

Then, with a final glance to stone-sire and brood-sister, she collapses into slumber at her mother's flank, absorbing the mare's heat to keep herself warm against the winter chill.

image credits

Enyo Posts: 27
Outcast
Mare :: Unicorn :: 14hh :: 2
Onei :: Gyrfalcon :: None M.E.
#16

Daughters of darkness
Sisters insane

Oh, good! He’s looking at you again, those grey eyes of his washing over you, leaving you in grey silks, grey velvets, a stony granite crown laced upon your little lady’s brow. You don’t know quite what to do under his gaze, in all honesty. I don’t believe you ever will know what to do.

It’s a shame, really, how frozen you are under his gaze. He speaks, and you know it as speech and learn that, yes, things are supposed to leave your maw.  “Uwgh,” you say back to him, before learning (painfully, I might add) that you are not who he’s addressing. You listen to the color of your Mother’s voice, now that you’ve given her your attention (what an ungrateful welp you’re turning out to be; she nearly died to give birth to your accidental fetus, and yet here you are, barely noticing her existence). You listen to how low her voice is, how capable it is to be gentle, to be a Mother’s voice. Perhaps you’ll hold onto her voice one day as well. You do not know—you’re a baby aren’t you?

Sister has come up with a brilliant plot! You watch as she crawls (so strong, always strong!) toward your Mother’s teat, and it’s in that moment, watching your sister suckle blood and milk greedily, that you learn of your own hunger. And by “hunger”, of course we both mean the literal gurgling in your stomach, and not the searing ache that Paaaaapa’s eyes leave when they turn away from you. This rumble in your stomach is wet and disgusting, a natural cause, and it causes you to stumble your wet-legged gait closer to your mother’s side, stretching your short neck down to feed upon the surprisingly warm, surprisingly sweet liquid.

Oh, what a long day it’s been. What with being born and being very nearly slaughtered by the stone hooves of your great Father, it seems as though the milk that now stretches your belly’s edges has weighed you down even further, forcing you into a lull that droops your eyelids and makes your joints feel as liquid. There is no fighting against it.

You curl yourself beside your sister, tightly, as though trying to recreate the womb-room you two shared for so long. It’s not the same, but your baby-sleep does not demand perfection (unlike me). You yawn and your eyes flutter shut, and you’re asleep before you realize this will be the final time you allow your weaknesses to bare themselves so shamefully before your Father’s gaze. You must do well to have him forget you’re naught but a baby.


image credits

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.
#17

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?

So the harlot will survive, then. The Grey-Eye’d nods once, acknowledging her fortitude. She has proven herself to be vexing of the mouth and the mind, like all others of her sex—although, it seems, the strength he had seen in her previously proves itself sure. For her to be his first dam is not such a disgrace as it could be.

Ka’Ora’s heart beats easier as she surveys the calming of her master’s waters. The more he contemplates the situation at hand, the more his mind churns with ease, with something gratifying coming to rest upon the idea of his children. He has ever been the daydreamer; even then, in his mind’s eye, he imagines the lives of the fillies before him, those lives he had been so eager to snuff, and he sees promise in them, a grand design he had missed in the abhorrent error of their sex. Ka’Ora sees what he contemplates. Her heart gives a weak, futile flutter of worry; she knows better than the hope for more than the spared lives of the infants. The horrors of the future bellow only in the future, and for now they are given the chance to grow and be children. She must be grateful for that.

A grey ear cocks forward, and Reginald’s eye cuts to the dam even as she speaks of her place in the Edge, of the ambiguity of the children’s paternity and her role in it. The Edge--Reginald knows this place as the kingdom where his Father reigned as King, before the tides of battle swept the land and his warlord sire chose to seat himself instead on the throne of the Hidden Falls. The politics of the herds are lost on Reginald; he does not know how he feels about his daughters associated with that land.

He continues to gaze down upon the silver woman—contemplating her, wondering who she is that she must renounce her role as mother. She is no common mare, that much is certain, the knowledge pacifies him, as well as the knowledge that no one knows whom it was that sired these children. It is a detail he did not anticipate, although he suspects that it will be beneficial later down the road, to set up his children as ghosts—poltergeists. “You have my word to secrecy,” he says, and his gaze locks upon her own, “if only I have yours.” No, no, he does not think it would do well to broadcast to the Dragon’s Throat that he has sired children outside of the herd’s boundaries. He remembers how Gaucho had pried and hemmed and hawed over Reginald’s decision to remain a part of his family—he does not need that sort of righteous snooping now.

He surveys the scene, how his daughters curl themselves against the warm side of their mother, weak with sleep—how they lay there in the deep emerald forest, how, if it weren’t for the blood and the thick, cloying air of distrust, it could’ve been a happy scene of a new family, their first, bright portrait.

He turns, and walks out of the frame.


[Reginald OUT! Good game! :D]
"talk talk talk"


day1953@pbase



--Please tag REGINALD in every reply!

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




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