the Rift


[PRIVATE] Daddy's Girl

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.
#1

Cold silence has a tendency to atrophy any

sense of compassion
</style>

Find Oizys, guide her here. Ka’Ora had left some time ago, for master’s command had been clear.

He waits now, where moonlight bathes the purple thistles swathed before him, a sea of beautiful, prickling things. The chill is gone, mostly, and the sun had been bleeding a balmy light, a healing light, that soothed the aches and pains of the earth, allowing her to grow. Ka’Mate thrives; he is gone from master for now, gorging himself stupidly upon the endless litters of rodents, the armies of pink babes powerless against his onslaught. He has been feasting for days; he is growing fat, and sluggish. Master will have to fix that soon, this hedonistic lifestyle that stales the grand harpy’s potential; Ka’Mate is too much like Reginald in this instance, and Reginald hates him for it, for being a perfect representation of his soul.

He does not care now, however; the shadows are a deep, regal blue, the moonlight friendly and pristine, and the night calm velvet as he waits for the firstborn of his First Born. It does amaze him, thinking of his daughters and how angry he had been at the audacity of their birth, their daring to be born with a vagina (as though they had had a choice in the womb). He had spent his days as both a child and an adult daydreaming of greatness, planning and scheming for the day when they will now him as K I N G--and yet, somehow, it is a careless mistake that focuses him towards greater climbs, a whole new method, a possibility that is no longer a dream. His daughters. He had wanted them dead so quickly, so badly, and yet, as he stands there in the moonlit field, he realizes they could very well be his greatest accomplishment. If he remains focused, and all things go according to plan.

Oizys is his firstborn; he will call her first. He had never believed in the power or greatness of a twin’s bond, not really; he and Abraham are great only because they are great, and never, in all of Reginald’s life, has he felt himself so much more powerful, capable, with Abraham’s ivory shoulder by his side. Oizys and Enyo—yes, they were born together, and he can tell they shall complement each other greatly (he must plan). He does care for their bond as wombmates, however; they will be great on their own merits, and not by the shadow of the sister by their side. He will see them individually. They will receive their own lessons, their own assignments.

speaking


Image credis: krazie

@Oizys



--Please tag REGINALD in every reply!

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



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
It is Ker who alerts her to the presence of a harpy.

The eaglet begins an ungodly cacophony of screams and squawks, staring up at the heavens with an expression of abject horror on her beaked face. She is still young and pathetic, small enough to be picked up and eaten by a larger, stronger bird, small enough to not yet be worthy of the term raptor. Although her grey downy feathers have given way to be replaced by adult brown ones, and although she is now capable of rudimentary flight, she is still a weak, weak little thing compared to the adult she will become. She is prey, because she has not yet earnt the right to be a predator.

With her mind full of "!!!!!" from Ker, Oizys lifts her head to the black heavens. Her scars ache and twitch at the sight of a harpy, but it does not take her long to realise that this is Good Harpy. This is not the one who ruined her face - this is the one who saved her. With a sharp stab of her mind, she quells her companion's protestations and bellows a greeting towards Ka'Ora. She follows the eagle gratefully, with half a mind to wait for Enyo first - but no, the harpy seems to have come for her and her alone.

Ker makes a valiant attempt to fly behind her, but her young wings aren't yet up for the challenge, so she nestles down on the gargoyle's broad hindquarters instead. The headlong running makes the Cough roar in the child's chest, and it pounds against the bars of the cage Oizys keeps it in. Never has it been more important for her to keep it down. She will not show her Weakness in front of Father. He would slay her for it.

Or so she believes. She cannot possibly know that it is probably him she inherited it from in the first place.

Finally, she sees him. There he is, in all his massive glory, and she is somewhat relieved to see that Bad Harpy is not with him. Oh, it makes her squirm to think that she feels fear, but she still has a soul, try as she might to smother it. She still has a heart, weak as it may be. And, thus, she still has real, equine feelings like fear, fear at the thought of the creature who caused her such agony.

She does not show her relief at Ka'Mate's absence, however. She does not dare.

Ker has never met Father before. She quivers slightly on her bonded's quarters, looking warily upwards at the harpy she will one day soar alongside, then towards the creature who sired her mind-partner. Unlike Oizys, Ker has not yet learnt to hide her fear, or any of her emotions for that matter. She shows everything the filly cannot, and she does it openly, brazenly. But at Oizys' forceful command, she ceases her quivering and tries to stand tall and strong, to demonstrate that she is worthy of being bonded to a child of the Basilisk.

Oizys looks at Father, and lowers her head in a nod of greeting. Respect is etched into every line of her body, but there's defiance, too. She gives him deference, but not outright submission. Respect, but not grovelling. There is a subtle, but important, difference. "Father." Is she allowed to call him that? She'll soon find out. "You sent for me." She tilts her tri-horned head in infantile curiosity, careful not to bend it in such a way that it may entice the Cough to rear its ugly head.

image credits


@Reginald

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




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.
#3

Cold silence has a tendency to atrophy any

sense of compassion
</style>

Ka’Ora is gentle; Ka’Ora loves. She croons to the child as her shadow guides the young thing through the night, making sure she makes it over the borders of the Edge, weaving her through the potential dangers of moonrise. She is encouraging, kind. She is reminded forcefully of the younger sister Macaria, her sweet, sweet little ‘Cari, and her breast swells proud and sad as she regards the child beneath her boldly facing the challenges of her father. Ka’Ora’s claws are sharp and ready to protect, should the occasion arise for her protection—but the trip is smooth, Ka’Mate is busy, and soon they see master himself framed by wreaths of moonlight in a familiar meadow of thistles. She alights on her master’s wither, her powerful wingbeats careful and quiet upon her master’s back. She regards Oizys with mild eyes, and awaits master’s appraisal.

Reginald turns to see his child; it is a foal he sees, of course, yet the undeniable swell of growth has graced her, giving her a chest too large, a face too heavy, hooves too wide and knees too bulbous for her frame. All of these things are good, for they are foundations of a large frame, and there must be time given for her to grow into it. She is sound.

As for her coat, it remains long and ugly with winter thickness—but she is not at fault for a course of nature. Neither is she at fault for the one white hoof that mars what would have otherwise been a perfect hide. Even and plain, her face and legs darkening into an acceptable gradient, her mane and tail appropriately dark and uniform, her eyes an interesting, welcome contrast to even out her features. He decides she is not ugly. To tar that white hoof would be an overreaction indeed; she is fine enough.

He studies the line of her back (oh yes, he does spot the eaglet on her rump, though he will get to that in due time) and the muscle there, the infantine muscle that ropes about her spine. His eyes spot her horns—growing into three wicked spears upon her brow. He notices how her tail grows, the girth that begins to swell in its growth, and he can imagine a great whip of a tail in due time. What he sees, in short, is the bud of a monster in all her glory standing before him, so short and small and helpless still before the harpy’s claws.

Father, she calls him. She presents herself.

He is pleased. So much more so after his visit up north, with his newest child, Bathsheba. He is pacified by the appearance of his eldest being so right, so according to his plot, fitting so ideally within the images of his grandest daydreams. It eases the disappointment of his northbound child; she saves the plot.

“Oizys,” he says by way of greeting. He regards her a moment longer, then turns his gaze back upon the field laid out before them, swathed in the shadow of night, in the light of the moon. He does not reveal his immense pleasure at the pitiful pile of feathers sitting across her back, something young, something familiar. He remembered how horrid and ugly his own harpies had been (Ka’Ora shifts at these thoughts), and yet look how they turned out: large, regal, vicious, obedient. He had not even commanded such a feat for his young daughters, and yet his eldest has surpassed his expectations so quickly, so young. She has found something with flight; she has found something with ferocity.

“What is its name?” he asks without turning around. Let’s see how she speaks to her Father.


speaking


Image credis: krazie

@Oizys



--Please tag REGINALD in every reply!

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



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
#4
She feels his gaze on her, and she knows that she must pass muster. She stands tall, careful to bulk out every muscle and display every sinew, to hold her head high and display the foundations of a strong neck, stout legs and wide, childbearing hindquarters. For a moment, she fears he will be able to see the Thing inside her; that he will sense her weakness like a snake senses fear, and that he will condemn her for it. There is nothing Father cannot do - it would not surprise the gargoyle if he could see her weak, pathetic little heart beating in an otherwise perfect chest, if he could detect that tiny, hideous flaw that plagues the young goddess.

But no, she cannot think like that. If he knew, she'd be dead already. She isn't, so he mustn't be aware - and she will do everything in her power to make sure he never is.

She shifts a fraction, to display the hideous scars that ripple across the right side of her face. They have largely healed now, but it is quite clear that hair will never grow across the ugly pink welts that run in crooked lines across her right eye. The eye itself is unhurt, but the skin around it will always be marred, imperfect. Father does not like imperfections, but surely he will allow her this, when he is the one who created it? For those agonising few minutes, he was the artist and she the canvas; his harpy was the paintbrush, engaving beautiful, deadly art onto the tender young face of his daughter. It is a sign of her strength, that she survived pain and bloodloss that would have crippled a weaker filly. Whenever she catches sight of her reflection and sees those scars, they remind her that she is only alive because he allowed it. That she was only given permission to take her first wobbling steps because Father said so, and that at any moment he might revoke her right to life and finish off what he started that day in the forest.

If that's not enough to make a daughter devoted to her father, then Oizys doesn't know what is.

He says her name back to her - thank the heavens Mother gave them good, strong names, names of goddesses, names of queens - and she dips her scarred head in acknowledgement of it. He turns away, then, and disappointment bubbles in her chest - it is quickly replaced by relief, because if he hadn't found her satisfactory, he's sure she would know by now. He asks Ker's name, then, and it is the eagle's turn to puff up importantly at being addressed by him. "Her name is Ker. It is a name out of Mother's mythology; the singular of Keres, female spirits of death." The gargoyle turns to eyeball her companion, hoping that one day she will live up to her name and be feared for the death she brings. She is not much now, but neither is Oizys - one day they will be.

"She is not a harpy, but her mother was quite magnificent." All brown and black feathers, savagely hooked beak and a delightful crest upon the head; ah, yes, the mother was beautiful, and high expectations rest upon Ker's quivering shoulders. She falls silent - she is itching to ask how old Father was when he found his harpies, but she does not want to forget herself and overstep her boundaries.

image credits


@Reginald

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





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