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The forest of shadows and bones had much to whisper about today.
It was not often that the pale maiden felt drawn to the Bone Shrine, but on days like this, with the Dark Mother's beckoning song drifting through the boughs, Orithia had no choice.
It was dim beneath the vast canopy and the lass was loath to admit that the silence brought on by her proximity to the Dark Mother's Tree was unnerving. As the trees thinned in place of ivory roots and hanging bones, Orithia found that she was not the only creature to have responded to the tuneless summons. Pale eyes roving those gathered, the pastel mare allowed a small grin to slide over her lips...
Nights in the Uumalahn deserts were just as merciless as the days, though the moon breathed ice as the sun bellowed fire. They were nestled up together, the child and the nursemaid, the rickety mare whispering tales of old to the babe pressed at her side. Tales of the Dark Mother and her shrines to the Restless Dead - the gates between worlds decorated with bones and teeth.
"On certain days, on cruel days," whispered the ancient mare through the dark, "The Dark Mother's lullaby is heard and one of her children can slip through the cracks in reality. Fear the children of the Lady Death, my child, they know twists and tricks to trap you beneath the weight of this world - to trade you as a means to their ends."
A gasp and a giggle, dull teeth pulling gently at a child's forelock, shushes and coos.
"Don't worry, my sweet, the Dark Mother only calls to those who have known death..."
If only that lovely old nursemaid had known that the Dark Mother had been calling to Orithia since the night she fled her desert home caked in the blood of others.
And now here she stood, a fool amidst fools.
The creature stood lengths above their heads, eyes aglow with the flush of dried blood and the stink of gravedust. It's voice was the creak of a crypt door, the distorted buzz of a thousand flies, the sifting of dirt upon a casket.
"Come, come, would you like to play a game?"
The inquiries of others were drowned out as she gazed into the depthless glowing eyes of that bleached skull, grin curling at the edges like smoldering parchment. Oh, to feel the breath of the dead scraping against her skin, to know the blessings of the Dark Mother rested upon those heavy, rotted shoulders.
What game would she not play for that same blessing?
She eyed the smooth trunk and swaying bones, the rotting dead and the smoking fissure in it's wake. A step, two, three, she was beside other equines and before the towering beast, the air growing colder the closer she came to the Restless Dead.
"What better stakes for a game than one's own blood?"
It was not often that the pale maiden felt drawn to the Bone Shrine, but on days like this, with the Dark Mother's beckoning song drifting through the boughs, Orithia had no choice.
It was dim beneath the vast canopy and the lass was loath to admit that the silence brought on by her proximity to the Dark Mother's Tree was unnerving. As the trees thinned in place of ivory roots and hanging bones, Orithia found that she was not the only creature to have responded to the tuneless summons. Pale eyes roving those gathered, the pastel mare allowed a small grin to slide over her lips...
Nights in the Uumalahn deserts were just as merciless as the days, though the moon breathed ice as the sun bellowed fire. They were nestled up together, the child and the nursemaid, the rickety mare whispering tales of old to the babe pressed at her side. Tales of the Dark Mother and her shrines to the Restless Dead - the gates between worlds decorated with bones and teeth.
"On certain days, on cruel days," whispered the ancient mare through the dark, "The Dark Mother's lullaby is heard and one of her children can slip through the cracks in reality. Fear the children of the Lady Death, my child, they know twists and tricks to trap you beneath the weight of this world - to trade you as a means to their ends."
A gasp and a giggle, dull teeth pulling gently at a child's forelock, shushes and coos.
"Don't worry, my sweet, the Dark Mother only calls to those who have known death..."
If only that lovely old nursemaid had known that the Dark Mother had been calling to Orithia since the night she fled her desert home caked in the blood of others.
And now here she stood, a fool amidst fools.
The creature stood lengths above their heads, eyes aglow with the flush of dried blood and the stink of gravedust. It's voice was the creak of a crypt door, the distorted buzz of a thousand flies, the sifting of dirt upon a casket.
"Come, come, would you like to play a game?"
The inquiries of others were drowned out as she gazed into the depthless glowing eyes of that bleached skull, grin curling at the edges like smoldering parchment. Oh, to feel the breath of the dead scraping against her skin, to know the blessings of the Dark Mother rested upon those heavy, rotted shoulders.
What game would she not play for that same blessing?
She eyed the smooth trunk and swaying bones, the rotting dead and the smoking fissure in it's wake. A step, two, three, she was beside other equines and before the towering beast, the air growing colder the closer she came to the Restless Dead.
"What better stakes for a game than one's own blood?"
[Magic: DarkxEarth (P) | Blood turns to garnets when it leaves body.]
NO PRIOR REFUSALS
um ok ori
![[Image: ypCJIiV.png]](http://i.imgur.com/ypCJIiV.png)
Honestly, kick her ass at any time. Seriously.
Any and all aggressive and non-aggressive contact permitted.
Please no permanent injury or death. We'll get to that part at some point.
xoxo
