REVENANT
i'm waking up i feel it in my bones, enough to make my systems grow
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Beautiful were the frost-covered trees – crystals upon green that shimmered quaintly beneath the early morning sun. Bedroom eyes swayed to and fro around his surroundings as Revenant inhaled deeply. Frigid air punched down his throat, nestled chokingly in his lungs, and sent a shiver galloping down the length of his spine. He’d never been blessed with a thick winter coat but rather remained sleek through out all seasons. He’d been told it looked pretty… but he found the impracticality of it all bothersome. Perhaps he was beautiful? He was cut from obsidian, hard angled, and chiseled. His neck was long, his face symmetrical and peculiarly marked with wispy ivory strips. His eyes were mysterious and pale – enchanting in their mystery, so apathetic he was a constant enigma. He stood on long sturdy legs and walked with a gallant purposeful stride even if he didn’t know where he was going. Yes, to the certain beholder he could be considered quite lovely…
But beauty mattered little to him. It was a trivial thing… and a curse.
Atalanta had been beautiful… and she had been salacious. Her spectacle was alluring, inviting, and she’d snared him with a sidelong glance from her venomous green eyes. They were eyes that he once would have called potent… but he knew now they were poison, poison that slowly drained your will away from you and rendered you under a devilish greedy spell. It was beauty that gave her the confidence and the gall to play the part of a cruel bitch. It was beauty that had enraptured the noble that had beckoned her into his arms – away from Revenant. ’Away from me.’
Was it beauty that had forced her hand upon their child?
No. That was malice and selfishness. Those were two things that Revenant never wished to yield within himself. It took him some time to snap from his reverie, to truly witness the atmosphere he’d encountered: a blood red pool (but was it blood?) encased in a small clearing in the thickets. He tested the air and couldn’t detect the tang of rust, of salt, and horror that was blood… so was this a natural wonder? He sauntered closer; his ears attuned to his newest fascination, and peered into the crimson water expectantly. His reflection stared back at him, tired looking, nonchalant despite his interest. It was then he noticed the gems lining the bottom of the pool – rich, ruby, and a little eerie. ”Treasures.” He said hollowly – things of little value to him. They were cold inanimate objects… even if they weren’t a dime a dozen.
A gem was just a glorified rock.
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SVETLANA
shadow kissed
moonlight dipped
oh so fine, oh so noble
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"Hrefa, lirak biun. Tazmin, herin." Oh the words! I've missed my language, missed its sweet taste on my tongue. The harsh, grating vocals, rolled with pride and sharp elegance. I am trotting, muttering an old rhyme under my breath. "Hrefa, lirak biun. Tazmin, herin. Minan, minan!" As more and more of the words return, the quicker I trot, until I am cantering so swiftly through the woods, leaping over the dark shadows that appeared as the sun rose. Morning was a lovely state of day- snow painted rose and gilded gold, black shadows dirtying the white, a stark contrast. I enjoyed the contrast. It sharpened every branch, set white fire a-glistening on the white snow layering the pines and blanketing the dark earth. "Hrefa, lirak biun. Tazmin, herin. Minan, minan!" I laugh, a pure chiming of bells, so open to this glorious day of light. My black wings are tucked tightly, but despite the fact I am tied to the ground, I love this day. It is magnificent, beautiful, splendid, superb. I am flying over the snow, hooves drumming, snow kissing my lips, through this muffled silent world. Until I nearly dash myself upon a dark stallion, shadows condensed into equine form. With a half-rear and proud whinny, I leap to the side, spinning on my fores to face him. A unicorn! Yet he seems so sad, so bitter. I was like that once.
"'Lo, greetings. I'm Svetlana the StormChaser, leader of the Windtossed Foothills." It's difficult not to lapse back into Ki-Rin, but I manage. My voice is a sparkling melody, richly layered with compassion and brilliant excitement.
"blah blah blah."
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| Hidden Account |
| Mare :: Pegasus :: 15 hands :: 8 years old |
| Phantom |
cassiopeia
it is not in the stars to hold our destiny
Such a fickle thing, frostfall. Things never seemed to stay the same. One moment the world would be peaceful, beautiful, even; then a zephyr would arise in a fit of insurrection as if to profess winter's true formidability. Jealous leaves smothered the ground beneath a pristine blanket like the bark of a tree whilst ice clung menacingly to nature's exposed bones.
Such a strange season, indeed - yet, a lovely one as well, there was no refusing that.
Gossamer light leaked down from the massive, glowing orb in the sky, bathing the world in a warm, dulcet glimmer. It was rich and golden, its gilded fingers passing attractively through the crystalline frost which embraced the trees greedily. Iridescent was the light as it bent and finally caressed the earth's ivory bosom. Beautiful, whispered a voice in her head. Only in the eyes of the beholder, chimed another, almost dejectedly.
The dove's strides came in a leisurely tempo, dished hooves strumming along the snow-laden terrain without haste and with much eloquence. Her destination lay onward, and it would appear as though she would have company. Curiosity, as it always had, propelled her onward, and she dipped her head cordially to the pair which had chosen to also tenant the region.
Pale feathers ruffled inadvertantly atop her back as she neared them, an expression implicit of amity softly contorting the delicate panes of her face. "Good morning," she chimed. "I do hope I'm not intruding."
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REVENANT
i'm waking up i feel it in my bones, enough to make my systems grow
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Warmth of flesh so near to his shivering body – a mare sprung from the brush towards him then danced away just as quickly. If he were surprised the emotion never marred the clandestine mask he wore on his face. It was perfect and icy. It shrouded him in falsity as he felt his heart race in a short-lived staccato of fear. He lied his courage, his boldness, as his pale eyes settled levelly on her iron-grey form and then to the black pearls nestled in her skull. Her eyes were demonic, voids he deemed he would have seen no end in if it weren’t for the voracious emotions that were illuminated in them. They were raw and free and her voice was an amiable one – it resonated the tangible warmth he felt radiating from her fluttering breast as she breathed in, and out, in and out.
Another woman happened upon them before he could formulate a suitable response to the first one – Svetlana she’d called herself. She spewed politeness that was rare in these modern ages – coyly inquiring her place among them, if there could be one. Who was he to refuse her? ”I like to be alone… but this world is free and your presences are with right.” Revenant sighed as he turned his attention back to the blood red pool – to its metaphorically macabre depths. He’d drink from it if he didn’t feel he’d sully his insides, gems be the culprit for its color or not.
”What storms do you chase, Svetlana? What is your cause if you are a leader?” He wondered, addressing the first mare without looking at her. No. His attention would remain focused on the water – not on the youthful women, not on their loveliness, for they would devour him heart and soul as Atalanta had if he let them. ”My name is Revenant.” It was such a peculiar thing to come across females that ruled and were unattended. They were figureheads in his homeland – specimens for breeding and carrying on one’s lineage. Rarely were they outspoken. Rarely did they have minds of their own.
’Atalanta had been like these two.’ He thought: cheery, social, and polite. It was what had attracted him to her… she was stark in comparison to the soft-spoken damsels that populated his homelands.
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![[Image: b_and_w_by_ladyfey-d5j1ndw.png]](http://fc08.deviantart.net/fs71/f/2012/299/2/b/b_and_w_by_ladyfey-d5j1ndw.png)
SVETLANA
the StormChaser
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Today, not even the surliest of moods could create anger in me. The snow shines too bright, the sun is too warm, the icicles sparkle too sharp on the snow-laden green pines. Immediately, I take note of the black's imminently saddened nature. Although he had looked at me, he turned away, looking at something set in the snow. Black hooves shifted under me, and I caught a glimpse of some red thing. Blood? But no. My nostrils did not capture the scent of salt and pain, only crystalline ice, snow, the fresh wild of the stallion's warmth, and a foreign mare. Unbothered as I was by the stallion's melancholy, I could not help but feel a twinge of surprise at his question. What storms do a pegasus chase? Why, the sky and the lightning and the thrill and the snow and the thunder. I had just opened my mouth to reply when a mare strolled in. Of course, I couldn't be too surprised- after all, Helovians seemed to be everywhere and in no small numbers to, like a rat's nest, although that simlie did not betray the wide variety of horned and winged, hornless and bad-tempered. This mare was a pegasus, like myself, and beautiful, if not slightly scarred. Then again, I had my share of dark gray scrapes as well marring my fine silver coat.
"Morning. A fine one indeed." A fine smile lifted my features as I tipped my head in greeting towards the pegasus. I returned my attention to the fair black unicorn. "I chase away storms that threaten my family. I fight storms metaphorically and physically, for I must admit I cannot resist the temptation of wild adrenaline that arouses you when you see the gray clouds, the forks of lightning and the roar of rain intermingled with the snarl of thunder." I am pleased of my proud, but not haughty, reply. What would he say to that?
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| Hidden Account |
| Mare :: Pegasus :: 15 hands :: 8 years old |
| Phantom |
10-26-2012, 02:05 PM
(This post was last modified: 10-26-2012, 02:06 PM by Cassiopeia.)
[ You can skip me for now. Can't think of a reply at the moment. >.> ]
REVENANT
i'm waking up i feel it in my bones, enough to make my systems grow
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She must have visions of grandeur behind those void eyes of hers, he thought. That, or a recklessness they didn’t share. He was no chaser of storms, metaphorical or literal. He was simple and it was his simplicity that made him utterly unspectacular. It made Atalanta pry his heart from his chest and trample it – oozing blood, screaming as though it were an entirely different entity from his own. It cried and shrieked with far more despair than any victim of demons that snarled, spitted, and raked their claws across the unfortunate and the forsaken. ”Is your family your everything, little mare?” He asked dryly, without expression. ’It used to be mine.’ "Why do you chase adrenaline and danger if you seek to protect them? It would be unfortunate... if you died." He was so cryptic and morbid company. Perhaps they would see now why he'd be poor at entertaining him? Why they should leave him to his foul mood, a mood that didn't touch the chiseled contours of his impassive face. "I think, perhaps, that you may devastate yourself one day?"
What good was she if gobbled up and spat out like gristle by her whims? She would lead no one then, protect no one.
The other mare was a silent little nymph though seemed utterly unperturbed by him. Was there a reason she refrained from speaking then? Or did she simply happen upon them seeking the warmth of flesh, skin against skin, and hushed camaraderie that Revenant himself desired most days whether he wanted to admit it or not? He would not coax her to converse, would not goad her either. Instead, he turned his pale eyes back upon the blood red pool and thought of them all: all of Helovia's creatures, how they were all the same, and how they all bled red.
The Grey cared little about racial differences. He'd cared little about it before he'd met Ophelia in the Threshold and joined them. He did often ponder though, how she'd managed to catch him in her tendrils... and keep him when he'd convinced himself long before he would never belong anywhere again. That he was a shade, a drifter...
He could still drift within their grasp. They had gentle hands and slack leashes.
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SVETLANA
the StormChaser
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I would be quite willing to admit his dark tones and sad voice startled me as he posed the question of my recklessness and the possibility of death. It was something I had never really considered before, an aspect of my personality that was more more important than I realized. As it was, his question made me uncomfortable, at least, slightly uncomfortable, although I did not feel threatened at all by the black steed tipped with white. Melancholy, despondent, despairing, cheerless, dejected- all wonderful adjectives to describe this stallion. Yet, I did not feel he would pose any danger to me, no matter how easily sadness could turn to bitter anger. In honesty, I felt pity, if anything. How one could allow themselves to turn so easily into a mournful, lugubrious being was hardly comprehensible to my bright mind.
This time, he questions if everything is my family. No. Those who are undeserving, those who run wild, those who will not listen. That is not to say I am the holder of power, but I listen to any who wish to speak, and I would only expect the same in return. "I am reckless, and I may be foolish. But everything is not my herd- those who have proven themselves, those young and those old, those who may not protect themselves. I believe I am one of the few bringers of justice to this world, but a mare, or stallion for that matter, cannot change the world alone. It's vain of me to say so, but is it wrong for me to say?"
However, he had posed another question, so I pondered it. It appealed to the deeper layers of my personality, it wove in and out. I suppose my personality is structured of two main things- my upbringing and the madness that strikes from time to time. I've always been a believer in honor, in righteousness and a strong mind. Reckless? I've been taught strategy and strength, but I guess going slowly in the midst of the battle has never been my strong point. As for death... death is inevitable, whether you pass away in the leaves of an autumn twenty years from now, or are speared by the unicorn's horn, or your throat ripped in two years by an equine's teeth. Death shapes me as well. Living bright and living strong is a gift of life, and you should live to your fullest before the passing of ways, where your soul parts from your body and enters the hall of the spectators of earth.
I allow myself to form words on my tongue, words I feel are better formed to suit this broken soldier. "I chase the danger and I should learn, and I do take it to mind." Perhaps that muddled, mangled sentence did not connect well. Let me try again. "What I mean to say is, why should I let my heart be broken and cut into little pieces, and allow myself to linger on it? Moving forward, always moving, is best." My words soften a touch. Chances are this stallion is heart-broken. "I always live in the present, at least for almost always, and why should I allow myself to wallow in self-pity when there are places to be and places to see? Death will come and take us all one day, whether it be tomorrow or in twenty years, or in six months."
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