the Rift


[PRIVATE] cold flames

Elsa the Icebound Posts: 644
World's Edge Protector atk: 6 | def: 10.5 | dam: 6
Mare :: Pegasus :: 16.2 Hands :: Six (Frostfall) HP: 73 | Buff: BULK
Edgar :: Plain Zephyr :: Arctic & Wakiya Klare
#1
Elsa

Leaving the meeting was relieving. Elsa felt as if a huge weight had fallen off her shoulders, despite the words from the currently incapacitated General. If she hadn’t of been pregnant, Elsa may or may not have had a showdown right there. That was exactly the reason she had abandoned her throne. As she sat and listened to Tembovu try to mediate the situation with calm words and neutral speaking, she realized that once and for all, that was not her. She was not to be bound and strapped into a life due to a title. 

Edgar was perched on her head, delighted that such a heavy burden had been removed from his bonded’s heart. He missed the “suck my ass” attitude she held before the Falls was lost to the previous owners of the Edge. Once again, she found herself as a protector of a thriving herd. However, there was a lingering suspicion that something could go wrong. Every hill had its valley’s, but she hoped dearly the Edge would not suffer during theirs.

So the captain and her companion were nestled quietly near the Edge’s edge. They could hear the distant roar of the waves crashing against the rock below them, and a gentle summer fog had stirred in these early morning hours. For once, staring over that cliff face, Elsa didn’t feel the need to contemplate her life. Instead, she thought back on the massive amount of changes that had quickly changed the entire infrastructure of the herd. She was sure Alysanne would be a good queen- the one that everyone thought of. She was caring, but strong in her own will and Elsa was pleased with her replacement. Mauja had taken the second head beneath them, and once again she was not surprised. From the little she gathered, he seemed to have his head on relatively straight. So for now, there was no one she felt would be a direct threat to the Edge through negligent superiority.

Elsa exhaled a long sigh, looking around her in the fog. Of course no one would be awake this early, but she actually had an itching to speak. As much as she hated to admit it, Tembovu was probably one of the only ones she spoke to constantly. Her only friend, but now a distant memory. By now she had expected to be used to the pang of loneliness, but it still lingered deep in her heart. It seemed that no matter how hard the Icebound tried to hide her feelings, there would always be that slow fire burning deep within her waiting for the moment to truly break free.

"Morbi vestibulum mollis nibh a varius."
________________________________________
sometimes we expect too much of ourselves,
afterall, we are only mortal.
The Icebound
/ image


@Mauja
  • Any force can be used against Elsa.
  • Please tag any posts that involves Elsa.
Ascended Helovian

Mauja the Frozen Light Posts: 1,392
Outcast atk: 6.5 | def: 10.5 | dam: 7.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 17.2 :: 14 HP: 79.5 | Buff: HUNTER
Irma :: Snowy Owl :: Terrorize & Diego :: Eurasian Eagle-Owl :: Rage Neo
#2
It's not easy being made of stone. (You're thick and heavy and each movement needs such precise calculations, and every thing you do is like mountains falling, reverberating through earth. You are beautiful, perhaps, sometimes jagged, sometimes smooth, just as the artist has thought. Your heart is cut from the finest marble, white and scarred.)

It's not easy being made of ice. (You're so limited; you move, slow and steadfast and oh so stable, but you chip and chip and chip and chip and chip and when you clash against the strangeness of this world with its heat, you fracture. You fall apart. Bit by bit as you advance into the world as the others know it you come apart, and in the end—there will be nothing left.)

It's not easy being made of chaos. (It's such a destroyer.)

When the stone shatters and the ice breaks, there's a supernova waiting to be unleashed—he slips through the morning fog, winding through ghastly, ancient trees and hunting, hunting, hunting, but what for, he doesn't know.

He's just thinking of that—stone, ice, chaos—as his breath hushes in and out of black nostrils, eyes dancing distantly over the horizon but seeing other things painted in his mind.

He sees the black torrent of chaos. How it engulfs everything.

And he tries to tell himself, it doesn't have to end that way.

(But he can't make himself believe it.)



To wear half a crown was just as heavy as to wear the crown; he had cast it aside, and yet its shadow found itself falling across his head again. And in a sense, this was worse, a blinding band of black cast across his eyes. For was not the role of councilor to be the hand which guides the sword?

Mauja didn't think he could ever control Tembovu; the Elephant King was too strong in his own heart and mind to fall under the spell of any councilor. Nor did he think he wanted to control another, least of all a friend.

But the position still carried weight: his opinions still carried weight. He would have to be the hand to soothe both King and Queen when they were angry, and the one to push them when they stalled. He would have to be diplomacy.

It was his role.

Simple as that.

His blue eyes scanned the thick fogs as he drifted along, just another cloud blown by by the gentle breeze. He wasn't entirely sure about the title 'Emissary'—it sounded too much like foreign relations, and despite all the years which had passed, Mauja was still a spitting, seething beast who wanted little to do with the others. He didn't need others. He was strong enough on his own. The Edge was strong enough on its own—sinful pride and the pinnacle of everything—

Hesitant sunlight began to glitter in the water droplets and Mauja's lashing tail twisted into a cobweb, tearing it apart. The danger was not in not having allies; the danger was in letting the others become allies.

If he could blow up every trade agreement, every peace treaty, every war alliance, he would.

Anger slithered beneath his skin, arced over nerve connections, lay like a sheen across his soul just the way the sunlight lay on the fog and dew. He didn't know where it had come from. It was just there, a restless itch traveling down a pale, scarred spine, a hunger in his teeth. (Slowly, reluctantly, he decided he only liked duty when he was the one in charge.)

Elsa stood like a specter in the fog, a wraith from past and present and future, haunting him. (One ear turns back.) Wings held tight, bird on her head, eyes trained into the dank nothingness of their world.

(We're just gray, you and I—)

White smoke steamed from his nose as he exhaled; he was angry without being angry, fury without fire, and on sturdy legs he stalked closer. Part of him expected the chill ire to leap from his heart to his lungs to his mouth and slip out like sharp reprimands and needling questions, but as with all things—company made him behave in a way that was both disconcerting and relieving. Everything fell back beneath the surface with a crash, the seas stopped heaving, and all was calm.

"Elsa." His cobweb-tangled tail slapped against his hocks, the noise wet and unpleasant and sharp as a whip, all at the same time; both ears turned back, briefly touching his neck. Sweat and water stained him dark gray. Dreary and drab, his eyes still sparkled, two brilliant sapphires peering from the visage of something tired and half-melted and still somehow conveying life and interest and that peculiar warm-cold, like pale winter sunshine on a calm, cloudless, (frigid) day.
His head tilted to the side. "Does it feel better now?"

[ So, so sorry on taking forever. @Elsa ]
lord, the demands you're making-
help the monster on two feet
walk him down the hall, repeat
and when he's strong enough to stand alone
you'll notice what big teeth . . .
angels, they fell first, but I'm still here


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