the Rift


[OPEN] the return

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


The fearless warrior quivers.

The sight of her beautiful homeland makes her heart ache with gladness, even as it nearly cripples itself with worry. She has missed the Edge so, so much, and can hardly wait to be amongst its warm caress again, where her hooves know every rock and her teeth know every blade of grass. But returning means continuing her lie, and it still does not sit well with the silver soldier. It makes her gut twist with guilt, her mind throb with anxiety.

But part of being a warrior is making difficult decisions, decisions that rip you limb from limb. It's not all sunshines and rainbows - it's hard, and sacrifices must be made. Nyx has had to make one hell of a sacrifice to cover up her idiocy, but it's for the greater good. Her lie is for the greater good. This is how she sleeps at night.

She bids her daughters to keep close to her heel. She has briefed them on what they are to say and what they aren't to say - Oizys' livid harpy-scars help fuel the lie Nyx plans to tell, although the fact she's bonded to a godforsaken eagle isn't particularly helpful. The girls are a few weeks old now, and Nyx has spent those weeks trying to pile on the weight she lost during pregnancy. She looks far better than she had shortly after birth, when she'd almost died - her coat is sleeker, her sides and face removed of their gauntness, her muscles rigid beneath her fur. She'd even made sure to travel the four corners of Helovia, so her limbs look travel-worn and her coat holds a multitude of scents to give the impression that she has wandered far and wide. For all the world, it looks like she's been travelling on a long, arduous mission to find her father - not spawning demon children.

Only her eyes give any hint of what she's been through - they're hard, haunted. For all her bravado, all her wit and innuendo, the ironheart has a soft centre. She feels. Only a fucking stone statue wouldn't have been affected by what she's been through - long months of self-imposed solitude during the hardest season; a difficult and painful birth; having to witness one daughter have her face torn asunder by her own father whilst his heavy hoof presses down on the head of the other frail little girl, a fraction away from ending her life...

Nyx shudders, clamps her tail tight to her thighs, as though that will erase the memory of him between them and them tearing their way out of them.

She draws to a halt, her fillies close by. She draws in a heavy breath, arranges her face into a mask of iron - inscrutable, unreadable - and bugles for her King. To all the world, this must be her triumphant return from a long, albeit ultimately fruitless, mission. The world must not know.

The world will not know.



For @Tembovu , @Enyo , Oizys and @d'Arcy if she wants :D

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

Oh, how the little darlings have travelled! Oh, how their fledgling muscles have hardened, how their soft young hooves have worn troughs into many a road, how they've seen so much in so little time! This wondrous, infamous World's Edge is just another sight for the young grey eyes to behold, and they find it satisfactory. The little demoness stays close to Mother, as commanded - Father has taught her how to follow commands, and she is such an obedient darling daughter!

She trots alongside Enyo, always staying close to her womb-mate, never far from her beloved. Ker rocks on the filly's scarred withers, half-asleep. Her head rests beneath one grey wing, a wing slowly and surely shedding its fluffy downy birth-feathers to replace them with new adult ones. She looks unkempt, an unmade bed, half-baby half-grown, and still she cannot fly. She tries, bless her, and how Oizys splits her side at her futile efforts! Cruel, perhaps, but the harpy-scarred child is not nice. She is born of pain and misery, and she embodies it.

They halt. The gargoyle peels away from the close contact with her sister and moves to Mother's side, Ker still dozing softly on her shoulders. Her scars stand out livid against her face, still fresh, still grotesque - Mother has told her how she got the scars, the New Truth that she must tell whenever she's asked. Oh, no, they are not harpy-scars, savage trophies of Father's wrath - they are vulture-scars, from a creature trying to peck her living bones clean.

She does not like this lie. She would not deign to sport scars created by a scavenger! But she holds the tale close, as she knows she must.

She waits with baited breath and keen eyes, an eaglet snoozing on her shoulders whilst her whipcord-tail snaps around her hocks.


image credits

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

Father’s words echo in your mind (Always watching, watching, watching, always listening—) They entwine with your Mother’s tone, for once. They match. It must be important.

Yes, you’ve learned her, finally (finally!) as your Mother. And who is she, this silver satin woman whose hip you cling to? Who is she to you, besides a dam? She guides, yes—but do you care for her guidance? She teaches—yet can you tolerate her lessons? She loves you, you do know this, don’t you, Enyo? Accidental love, surely. She hadn’t meant to quicken your egg, you know.

(Do you accept her love? Do is matter if you do?)

She is warm and soft, though, despite the hardness in her bones, the way she’s built for war. A small machine, mind, beside the grey bulk of your Sire—but it is a machine, oh yes, you are born and bred in the blood of battle, the sweat of conquest. You are not sure what that means for you, yet.

You’ve been learning so much, haven’t you? You’ve learned the winter, how the cold is bitter against your tiny hide, how you must huddle with Sister and Mother for warmth; you’ve learned the smell of blood comes from others too, carcasses of creatures who were unable to stand the chill of the season. You have learned the sky and its creatures, the forest and her creatures, the water, sweet and bitter, and how it’s not safe to swim, not yet. You’ve learned the careful story you’ve been tutored to keep close, the identity that fits you poorly, a scratchy, too-tight chemise upon your fine, sensitive skin. You’re learning and learning and learning and--oh, my Enyo! I’m almost proud of you.

You’re learning of this place, now. The World’s Edge--that’s important for you to know (Father’s echo is near). It will be your new home now, instead of the wilderness and the lonely moon and Mother’s worn, boney legs. She stops beside you—and you learn of borders, of the scent of multitudes who may reside here, and you will learn them, too, in good time.

You snort in the stinging cold, a plume of smoke rising from your nose, and you press your cheek against your Mother’s knee. You feel the call rise loudly, powerfully, from the depths of her gut—and you wait for more things to learn.  


"talk talk talk"


day1953@pbase

Tembovu the Elephant Posts: 805
World's Edge Captain atk: 7 | def: 9.0 | dam: 7.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 18hh :: 10 HP: 77 | Buff: SWIFT
Mbwene :: African Elephant :: Ashen smitty
#4
He had been rooting through the snow, lips nearly frozen as he sought an afternoon snack— but his head flew up at the sound a familiar bugle rolling through the Edge. He cannot help the grin that crosses his muzzle— part relieved and part delighted— to hear the call of Nyx. She had been gone for much of Frostfall; had had been worried that the General might not return…

But those worries and been inconsequential because, as the sound announced, the iron warrior had come back. A ground-shaking canter brought the Elephant swiftly and loudly to the source of the call, occasionally breaking to a trot to maneuver his thick bulk between particularly dense trunks.

But his steps falter, canter breaking to a jog, and then a slow walk. Navy eyes first sweep the athletic, grey body of Nyx— she was whole and uninjured. Flared nostrils caught many scents, an olfactory confirmation of her travels, but they did not scent blood or injury. Then his gaze fell to the two foals at her side. His brows were raised, silently questioning Nyx, even as his head dropped to the filly’s level on his approach.

His nostrils flare, taking in the smell of the two little ones. They smelled like the General; because they had travelled together? Neither of the fillies truly looked like the woman— not as d’Arcy and Libertad had. Those twins had clearly belonged to the ironheart. He huffed a greeting to the foals, before raising his head and reaching out his muzzle to the General in welcoming.

Despite the confused curiosity that splintered his eyes, there was still warm relief that covered his face at seeing the woman again. “Nyx, I am glad you are home,” his low voice rumbled with sincerity, “But I send you to find a fierce warrior and you come back with fillies? They are a bit small to be soldiers.” His head cocked slightly as the edges of his thick lips turn up in amusement.

His sights drop back down to the foals. One already has a companion nestled on her thin withers, vivd scars on her face causing a shadow to pass through his. He continues his inespection, looking over the smaller filly that clung to Nyx’s knee. Again, at the familiarity, his brows raise further. “Hello little ones, I am Tembovu. Do you want a healer for those scars?” Though the wound was healed, perhaps a Moon Doctor could heal away the scars. His eyes raised to Nyx, “Do they need a wet-mare?” The question was a carefully curious.

He felt a tug through his bond as the lumbering, shuffling run of Mbwene finally brought her into the clearing. Though, at seeing the silver warrior, she trumpeted in irritation, ears flapping as her eyes swept for the ferocious white lion. She halted at Tembovu’s forelegs, curiosity piquing as she swayed her trunk in greeting towards the fillies.
Tembovu
the Elephant King
image
@Nyx

Please tag Tembovu.

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


Her daughters stay close, and she turns her muzzle to touch it softly to both of their fragile little bodies. She tries to offer comfort, the steady knowledge that Mother's here. They might be unwanted, they might be children of hell itself, but they're hers.

She smells him before she sees him, and her heart soars. Dominus has taken himself off hunting so he isn't tempted to eat Tembovu's elephant companion, so she relies fully on her own senses to detect his arrival. He is a cacophony of sound and size, and she twitches eagerly in anticipation.

Then, she sees him. Despite herself, despite her suffering, despite her fear, her face splits into a smile. He is home to her. He embodies the Edge, its comfort and familiarity, its protective, welcoming embrace. She longs to move to him, hold him close and tell him how much she's missed him and her home, but she restrains herself. He deserves more than to be touched by a liar.

The ironheart sees him looking at her daughters, and she fights not to stiffen or show her fear. They do not look like her, that much is true - they are miniature embodiments of their sire, which is perhaps a blessing in disguise. Still, she worries that he will know - he is a clever man, although she hopes the measures she's put into place will maintain her facade. "Tembovu." Her voice embodies the relief she feels, her delight at seeing him; the haunted look in her eyes could just be the weary gaze of a traveller, the resigned expression of a woman who failed.

His words bring another grin to her face - it feels like a weight lifted from her heart as she uses muscles she hasn't in months. Something about him puts her at ease, despite his size and strength. She trusts him, although her trust in stallion-kind has been considerably shaken by her recent experience. They are a bit small to be soldiers. "Oh, you'd be surprised. They're little survivors, I'll give them that." This part, at least, is the truth. "That one is Oizys, and that one is Enyo." Misery and war - she quite hopes her King is not up on his mythology.

When he addresses the girls directly, her heart warms further. For a man to be able to speak to children as equals, instead of irrelevent objects...God dammit, why could her womb have not ripened with his seed, instead of the grey demon's? She breathes deeply, preparing to speak, ready to explain; he asks about a wetnurse, but rather than answering that directly, she decides to tell her full story, to save having to spin multiple webs which she has to monitor and maintain. "My trek has been long and arduous, my King. But, as you can see by my lack of a father, it was not successful." Her head droops - she channels all the emotions she'd felt during all the times she had hunted for Nato and failed, and wields them now. They are real, true emotions, in an attempt to lessen the amount of actual lies she must tell. Real, true emotions, just at the wrong time.

"Dominus and I travelled far outside Helovia, following the single trail left by the stallion we saw. However, clearly tracking is not our forte - we ended up following more deer paths than we did horse trails." She snorts - this, too, is a truthful tale from the past. She really does suck at finding things. "I asked any wandering rogues that we came across, and they confirmed the presence of a man who looked like my father - apparently, he was a member of a large roving herd. We followed the directions given to us by countless strangers, until we...until we found..." Here she chokes, summoning every ounce of sorrow she can. This is the first true lie, as she has never experienced anything like what she's about to say. This, for the first time, is foreign territory.

"It was a massacre. I don't know what had happened, and I probably never will - I don't know if I want to, either, but I suspect I stumbled upon a battlefield. Bodies, everywhere. I searched, fearing the worst, but I couldn't find my father. I choose to think he escaped, that he's alive somewhere...he is too proud a warrior to have met his end in a place like that." She averts her gaze, her face a picture of woe. This, again, is borne from truth - she does sometimes fear that her father is rotting on a battlefield such as the one her imagination has conjured, and the idea of the man dying in such a way, alone...it makes her ache.

But her story cannot end there. "That's when I saw these two fillies, with vultures swarming overhead. They were still alive, Tembovu, and screaming, and the vultures were still eating them...That's how Oizys got her scars, whilst the carrion-eating bastards squabbled over who got to peck out her eyes. There were the remains of a mare nearby, her body so scavenged that she was hardly recognisable as a horse. She was sort of...lying across them. I like to think she was their mother, and that she died saving her daughters." This is how Nyx thought she herself may have died during the birth - protecting them, whilst their father's birds pecked her bones clean. This is how she summons a disgusted shudder; again, she draws from personal experience. "I had to help them, Tembovu, I couldn't just leave them to be eaten...I choose to think that they're related to my father, maybe his daughters or granddaughters. Even if I couldn't find him, it comforts me to think that I may have a piece of him nearby." This, she hopes, will explain any familial resemblance that the girls hold to her. "They were weak and underfed, so I couldn't possibly continue my search once I'd discovered them. I had no choice but to return here." After all, what kind of woman would drag two orphaned darlings halfway across the world in search of her sire?

"I've managed to produce enough milk myself to keep them going - but if you think it would be better for them, I'm happy for you to find them a nurse-mare." Inwardly, she hopes not; she enjoys feeding her own children, and sees it as her responsibility. But she does not want to risk disrupting her lie by seeming overeager, so does her best to be nonchalant. "Will you allow them to stay, my King?" She very much doubts Tembovu would turn away two foals in need, but she does not want to risk anything by presuming.



OOC: I did a bit of research and apparently mares can produce milk even if they don't currently have a foal, especially if they eat a lot of clover - see Helovia can be educational too! At least that's what I tell myself xP

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

She looks to Sister, then to Mother, and then to the giant approaching them. He is even larger than Father - but nowhere near as terrifying, and he doesn't have harpies, beautiful savage harpies - and Oizys' eyes look over him in approval. Is he to be her King? Mother has explained to her what a King is, and how she must show respect to him, and how she must learn of scent borders and herd boundaries and other adult things.

She is not entirely sure she likes it, when she is so used to roaming, wild and free.

Mother introduces her daughters, and the gargoyle wrinkles her nose. "You forgot Ker." The eaglet squawks, and eyeballs the big grey thing that stampedes towards them. To her surprise, the massive man addresses her directly - she stands proud and strong, seeking approval, as she had when grey-eyed-sire had examined her and found her suitable, determined to smother any chance of the Cough bubbling up into her unworthy throat.

He gives a name - Tembovu - and she nods, but her scars curl hideously as he asks if she wants a healer. She simpers, snorts her derision. "No," she says, scornful, her chest thrusting out and her cold grey eyes glimmering. "I'm strong. Don't need no healer." Her mother's leg nudges her, clearly warning her against her abrupt tone - Oizys sniffs, shameless, unrepentant. What would Father think, if she tried to get a healer to take away her beautiful, beautiful harpy-scars? She wears them with pride, a memento of the day she was allowed life. She had stared into the abyss, but she'd come out of it, as well - that is not something she wishes to forget.

image credits


@Enyo

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

The man who comes to greet you is big.

Bigger than Fath—

O O P S.

Your mouth creases shut as he approaches, your tongue bitter with the thought you almost allowed yourself to think. That he was larger than Father was. Greater, maybe.

Is that what you were thinking little Enyo? That he was greater than Papa?

Is it?

You huddle closer to Mother as the great beast approaches—for the truth of the matter is, the creature is huge no matter how you turn it around in your head. His shadow is a cool one, his bulk is threatening, and you wish you had your sister’s steel to look him in the eyes with the defiance that was seared into her marrow.

You look up, of course. But you’re studying his face, the massive horn, those huge eyes that are washing over your tiny bones carefully. You do not like how close he’s coming towards you.

He’s a gentle thing, but it’s sad, really, how wasted his generosity is upon your ungrateful little back. You don’t trust him—you’re mad at him for being so big and gentle with you. Mother speaks to him, explaining…thigns, a story she had taught you, a limerick you had memorized by heart. You’re good a memorizing, you realize.

And you’ve learned you’re amazing when it comes to big eyes, soft and full of tears; a little girl’s game. You shift uncomfortably as your Mother retells the story of the vultures, of a false thing that is supposed to terrify you, throwing you into mourning a mother who has died (who should have died). It’s amusing, really, how close the truth came to be falsehood. Father’s harpies could’ve dined well that night. He probably would’ve stomped real Mother to death, out of spite. Who knows.

Your eyes are too golden to be swathed in shadow—but that’s how it feels as your sister stands proud beneath his gaze, boldly declaring Ker’s existence, valiantly defending the scars upon her brow from the threat of healing. You’re watching the great Tembovu, sniveling as you are in a King’s presence, and you make careful note of his size, his careful demeanor, the grey thing that comes barreling with a detestable trumpet for the grand King’s legs. You’re not sure what it is, but it’s ugly and you don’t like it; you’re watching it as well, shocked by its size, wondering if it would be something for a harpy to eat.

Your brain works, and works, and works. It sees, takes note, remembers—keeping the details straight in your mind. A realization comes to mind—you should probably greet the large beast who may or may not allow you residence in this place. Despite your fear—despite your displeasure. You’re not sure if you want to call this place home, yet.

“Hello,” comes soft like a blossom falling from mousy lips, tucked into your Mother’s space as you are. Your eyes are too gold to be a shadow. That’s okay. You can be a glimmering shadow, for all you care.
 


[I am the worst of things]
"talk talk talk"


day1953@pbase

d'Arcy Posts: 21
Outcast atk: 4 | def: 8.5 | dam: 6.5
Mare :: Unicorn :: 16.3 :: 2 years :: Tallsun HP: 63 | Buff: NOVICE
Laine
#8

[Note: Please remember d'Arcy got aged up a bit! xD ]

The sound of her mother’s voice had brought her running. For one shining moment she had felt an overwhelming sense relief; she wasn’t alone anymore, and maybe now that mother was home her brother would come back to her as well. d’Arcy had been transported back in time by the familiar sound to a time when that voice and meant safety and trust but the grey mare had not even come into the red shadow’s view before the girl stopped dead and all the bitter anger seemed back into her heart. In the past weeks d’Arcy had clung to the cold anger; it was so much more palatable to her that the hurt she felt. They had left her! Mother and Libertad both had left her to face the depths of winter on her own and in someways she would never forgive them that.

The red girl moved forward again, slipping through the late winter woods until she saw her mother. Tembovu was already there and….

Something twisted in her gut. Was it jealousy?

There were two little dark things: one that clung to Nyx’s side and another that stood boldly in front of the King. She caught the end of the Ironheart’s story, picking up at the part that hinted that the two little things might be relations of her grandsire. The possible familial connection did nothing to soften the adolescent’s heart, these things meant nothing to her.

She emerged from the trees behind Tembovu and moved to stand with a clearly delineated no-mans-land between her and everyone else. Tambov received a nod from her, as was his due as King of the Edge(mother had taught her that much, at least) but for the first time she failed to give her mother the same honor. d’Arcy’s face was cold, and she worked hard to keep it that way. Where other adolescents might have yelled and wailed at an adult so merely fixed her gaze on Nyx to stare her mother down. The frigid wells of cobalt spared not another glance at the king or the younger children but stared. It was defiance, a red flag planted in the ground that said “Mom, you fucked up.” and it was as much a slap as she dared. “Libertad is gone. I haven't seen him since you left.” She could not let her voice betray how much that fact hurt her, would not give up that sign of weakness. As far as d’Arcy was concerned, no one was allowed to know that she even knew what hurt was.


ain't no mercy in my smiling
only fangs and sweet beguiling
Art by Frostie <3

when I tell you that i love you
don't test my love
accept my love, don't test my love
cause maybe i don't love you all that much

Tembovu the Elephant Posts: 805
World's Edge Captain atk: 7 | def: 9.0 | dam: 7.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 18hh :: 10 HP: 77 | Buff: SWIFT
Mbwene :: African Elephant :: Ashen smitty
#9
The masculine parts of his mind reveled in the easy grin and happy relief that covers her face at his arrival. Though they have known each other carnally (a memory that he is reminded of every time he sees the steel general), he relaxes easily into their friendship. “They’re little survivors, I’ll give them that.” His ears twitched at that remark, curiosity growing further as his eyes glance down a the fillies. ”You forgot Ker.” His eyes are drawn to the scarred girl and her squawking eaglet, a small grin covering his maw, “Oizys, Enyo, Ker,” his great horn’s tip dipped towards each of them as he spoke their names in his deep voice. Though his grin fades and lips line slightly at he belligerence of her denial of a healer. But Oizys falls silent beneath the warning nudge of Nyx’s leg, and so he does not voice his mild displeasure. The small shadow at the General’s other knee breaths a quiet greeting, but otherwise reminds quiet behind a golden, wide-eyed stare. The King studies her for a moment longer, wondering briefly if her shyness came from her sire, dam, or her wretched beginnings, before returning his attention to Nyx and her story.

He listened to the tale of her travels, moving closer towards her as sorrow and pain dart through her body. He begins to reach out, seeking to place a comforting touch on her muscular shoulder. But the back of his mind whispered: ”Why is a general choking at a battlefield? Why is she woeful at the bodies of war?” Yet these misgivings say in the back of his mind, in the shadows to feed his demons and build their strength for another day. For a day of reckoning.

But today was not that day. Today, his warm breath sought his silver skin, ears tilting backwards as she relayed the mental image of vultures eating the fillies alive. He stiffens for a moment— his family had been burned alive— and so his eyes and muzzle are drawn down, back towards the youthful girls, re-inspecting them for the life that they were spared, unlike his own son. “I am glad you found them, Nyx,” his quiet, sincere rumble broke into her story of vultures fighting. He fell silent again, listening.

His eyes dart back to hers as she reveals that she’s choosing to think of them as her father’s progeny (as her sisters?) To the King, it seems a stretch. But who is he to rob another of their hopes for kin? So he merely nodded, relieved that she produced enough milk for them. But of course she did— she was a woman of strength whose womb knew only strong warriors. Her body was trained, disciplined to obey her needs. And she needs to nurse these foals. Warmth stirred his his chest, accompanied by something ugly; was it regret? Regret that his own seed had not taken root in her? These (selfish) thoughts were roughly shoved aside, to be mulled over for another day. Now was a time for these two, young lives.

”Will you allow them to stay, my King?” His quickly pinned and unpinned, announcing his displeasure at her question. She knew him well enough to know he dearly valued foal’s lives; and she knew him well enough to know she did not need to call him King when asking something of him. Though, he simply said, “You need not ask, Nyx. They are welcome here. And you, as a woman and a mother,” his voice grew strange at the word, “know better than I—“ his words paused for a moment as d’Arcy approached, nodding towards himself and staring coldly at her dam, “—know better than I if you need help in nursing them.”

d’Arcy’s carefully flat words followed on the heels of his own. He raised his brows, looking to the General. He would let the woman talk to her daughter, only intervening if necessary.
Tembovu
the Elephant King
image


ooc| I'm sorry the flow/timeline of this post got a little discombobulated. There was a lot to reply to. @Nyx

Please tag Tembovu.

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


d'Arcy.

There she is, her beautiful, darling daughter. Goodness, how she's grown! No longer is she the stilt-legged filly that Nyx left behind - she resembles a woman now, with svelte curves and firm muscles, almost of an age where she could bear children of her own.

Nyx expects d'Arcy to close the distance between them and embrace her, but she doesn't. Alarm bells begin to ring in the silver's mind, but she ignores them for now; she moves from her newest daughters towards her eldest (in Helovia, anyway) and extends her muzzle to try and huff gently, lovingly, into the young mare's nostrils. It does not escape the ironheart's notice that she now has to look up to meet her child's gaze, a gaze that d'Arcy seems intent on penetrating her with - she has inherited her father's height.

It makes her worry what Oizys and Enyo might inherit from their father, too.

Hoping her daughter will not reject her embrace, Nyx tilts her proud head, her own gaze slipping away slightly. She does not like eye contact at the best of times, even less so when it's so accusatory, but there is nothing she can say or do right now that will make the girl understand. She will speak to her, woman to woman, later on, when they do not have a crowd around them. "d'Arcy. Goodness, how you've grown! These are your sisters, Oizys and Enyo. Girls, this is d'Arcy." And, indeed, they will be sisters; even within Nyx's lie, they would be adoptive sisters. But, judging by the coldness in d'Arcy's body and eyes, she does not think they will be the warmest, most loving of bedfellows. Still, what would she expect?

When her daughter speaks, concern darts across the mare's face. "He is? Don't worry, my dear, we will find him." After all, finding missing family members is what Nyx does...according to her web of lies, anyway. It is quite a concern that her son has disappeared, but, she reasons, he is of an age now where his roamings might be borne from a desire to seek out mares - she doesn't like to point this out to his sister, of course, as she knows enough about her twins to think d'Arcy may not appreciate being reminded that her brother is a young stallion with a young stallion's....tendencies.

She looks back to Tembovu. Something about the way he reacts to her tale makes her brow furrow, and she can't help but wonder if he has experienced a similar scenario to the story she weaved. If so, that would make her feel even worse, to bring back bad memories for him just to feed her own lie. After all, she reminds herself, she may have bedded him, but she knows next to nothing about him - but it is not her business to pry, so she ignores anything she think she might have seen in the stiffening of his body. She only knows that she respects him more than she has respected any man in a very long time, and, like him, she wishes it was his seed that swelled her sides. Unlike the grey-eyed bastard, Tembovu would likely not attempt to murder his own offspring, which straight away earns him brownie points in Nyx's book.

I am glad you found them, Nyx. Relief makes her body sag - it reaffirms what a good man he is, and how undeserving she is of having him as her king. His following words only solidify this, and she nods gratefully. "Thank you. If I have my way, you'll get two fine young warriors, instead of the one old one I promised you." She shuffles backwards towards her newest daughters, to ensure she is a warm presence beside them should they grow afraid by the circumstances - unlikely, but it is a mother's job to worry. "If you don't mind, Tembovu, I'll show the girls around the Edge and get them settled in. Whenever you are free in the near future, though, will you update me on everything that's happened in my absence?" After all, during the long months of solitude, Nyx wondered how the Edge was faring without her. Had Rohan become the general? Had her soldiers performed the tasks she gave them? Such dwellings kept her sane as her mind threatened to lose itself in the emptiness of nothing.

She looks to d'Arcy again, then, her gaze holding a mother's combination of softness and firmness. "I also wish to speak to you alone, d'Arcy. I'll seek you out in a couple of days." She needs to explain herself, to ensure her daughter doesn't hate her - because that's the absolute last thing she needs. Best to solve their differences now, before they fester.

Unless she is stopped, Nyx nudges her newest twins in front of her and takes her leave to show them around their new home. She bows her head low to her king, and huffs a goodbye to d'Arcy, before heading into the depths of the Edge. Her heart still races, and her body is still instilled with a great sense of self-loathing, but there is relief, too, and even happiness threatens to come floating back as she treads the familiar paths of home.


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

Suddenly, there is another.

She is bigger than Mother but smaller than Father, and her fur is made up of rich red tones rather than the monotone grey that the gargoyle has grown used to. Nonetheless, there is a resemblance in the face of this stranger, and Oizys narrows her gaze suspiciously at this new, unknown mare. For some reason, the stranger is glaring at Mother, and the filly's tiny little ears flicker backwards, irritated. Who is she, and who does she think she is?

All quickly becomes clear. Mother moves from the sides of Oizys and Enyo and heads towards the stranger, introducing her as d'Arcy, as Sister. The serpent girl wrinkles her nose distastefully, jealousy flaring up in her soul. What if she doesn't want another sister? Enyo is all she needs, and they are all Mother needs. What if this interloper tries to take their milk? Ker bristles on the youth's stout back, ruffling her grey feathers in an attempt at intimidation. Bad Words bubble up into the girl's throat, but she bites them down the way she bites down the Cough, something she likes to think she's grown rather good at. What little ounce of tact she has tells her that now really isn't the time to alienate Big Sister - there will be plenty of time for that later.

So she slaps on a mask of demure innocence, twisting her ruined face into a neutral expression. When Mother finishes speaking and begins to usher them away, the dread child trots along quite willingly, her eaglet bouncing around on her shoulders. She looks forward to being shown this big new place, but a small ounce of uncertainty bids her to stand close to Enyo and seek comfort from her twin's familiar frame as they move deeper into the land that is to become Home.

image credits


@Enyo

[ the gargoyle queen ]
OIZYS IS ALWAYS RATED M FOR STRONG LANGAUGE IN HER POSTS




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

Another one comes—someone to distract you from the bigness of a King who so graciously allows you to intrude upon his home, welcoming you and your dear Sister to find asylum here after the fake tragedy. You look at this red girl with something smeared across her face and neck (white splashes), while Mother (real and fake and new) informs you of a ludicrous thing: this is Dear Sister, too.

You cannot help it; you snort softly, looking on at this tall, older stranger and how a chill seems to emanate from her limbs. You do not know who she is to look at Mother that way, like a statue of ice, and there’s a wild moment where you think Mother is lying about you having another sister. You know it’s not a lie, of course. You know better. You’re simply in denial, and you find yourself in possession of a newfound, simmering, burning hatred. You don’t like this place. You don’t like this place. You have to give up your Father, and accept a Sister you never wanted, because you don’t need more than one of those things and Sisters aren’t strangers.

You don’t like this place at all. You consider throwing a fit. It would certainly be lively for you to throw a tantrum here, and you can already feel the buzz in your bones and the spark in your muscles to make a scene here in front of all these “nice” people. It would entertain you. It would be calming.

But you do not have your chance. You are whisked away, then, by Mother as she calls out thanks and gratitude and all sorts of flowery things. She will talk to this Darcy later, and your golden eyes stare at the red filly as mother shepherds you deeper into the herd land, where you might find some place to sleep. You decide: You will talk to Darcy later, too.

"talk talk talk"


day1953@pbase


@d'Arcy
[Image: pixelcomm4_by_sourful-d9xl8aw.png]
Pixel by Sourful!


Please tag Enyo in all posts!
All force is permitted against her!


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