| Aurora Basin Soldier atk: 8.5 | def: 10 | dam: 3 |
| Mare :: Unicorn :: 14.3 :: Appears 6 HP: 62 | Buff: NOVICE |
|
Orphan :: Ragdoll Cat :: None
Bunnie |
11-30-2016, 11:32 AM
(This post was last modified: 11-30-2016, 11:33 AM by Beloved.)
 Heaven has fallen onto Loorien, the malevolent angel’s eyes wide, limbs carrying her breathless body in dancing pivots, pirouettes, and capricious bounds as she walks among its descended pillars. In stuttered, wet gasps, her choked laughter fills the silent, snow laden realm of Blood (for her lungs are empty, burning, each cracked noise borrowed from a fleeting pull upon the winter air), her ghostly banners rippling and slapping against her dancing limbs, and her diminutive, perfect figure.
Each strike of her blades upon the blanket of white reveals the world’s pooled life force, red, crimson, burgundy, flawless, the light spilling through the boughs heavy with snow tinted rosy by the remaining, dead foliage that clings. Enamored already with the wood, her babbling delight becomes the moans of true passion when she beholds the fount of blood which scars the serene, winter world, its cascading force disallowing the red rivers born of it to freeze, as had all the others she had passed, before now.
"Oh, oh," she sighs and murmurs, her already small pupil almost vanishing as a welling of desire floods her. To the vein she dances, her nose twitching, each breath longing, desperate, her tongue, pink and wet, searching her lips long before her bone hued muzzle breaks the surface of the chilly water.
So sudden, she becomes the wicked one, the nefarious beast, all snarls, and violence. Her excited moans and giggles become the guttural sound of malevolence given weapons, her pretty face distorted by rage as her dark hooves pierce into the frigid water again, and again, her crown striking, the blade rending quickly mended gouges into the blasphemous river.
"LIES!" the banshee shrieks, her wails scattering birds and rabbits from their hidden places, droplets and miniscule waves spraying about her wild assault, penetrating the snow with deep, circular wounds, revealing the red foliage cast away beneath, "deception! Truthless, wretched, foul temptation!"
[ OOC: AHAHAHAHAhahahahahahalololol open for anyone ]
you've lost your demon.
Tag Beloved, please!
Feel free to attack her with physical or magical violence at your own risk. ;D
| World's Edge Seer atk: 7.5 | def: 11 | dam: 2.5 |
| Mare :: Pegasus :: 14.2 :: 39 - appears 8 HP: 63.5 | Buff: NOVICE |
|
Zani :: Serval :: None
Astor |
Insidious as it is, there is no surprise that insanity finds the wee little mare once more, as defenseless as the first time it attacked. Such alabaster skin, painted to look like cool marble and would it feel just as chilly if she were to brush up against it? Isn’t that how the with lured her in? Playing on the desert’s heat that baked itself into her flesh, drunk on the spicy sweat and frankincense and myrrh that dripped from her pores. Would that the desert rose had thorns to prick her with.
Even the broken, stilted laughter is similar; Yael’s limbs freeze as her mind unwillingly yanks her back through time. And unlike the prancing, laughing wild woman, she does not blend in with winter. Snow-bound trees cannot hide her gilded, glinting feathers. Nothing can erase the trail she’s punched in the fluffy crust. Were Yael in full possession of her faculties, she should have taken to the sky at the first peal of the mare’s erratic emotions. But she didn’t. And so whatever happens is as much her own fault as it is this monster’s (she can think of no other appropriate word - such savagery and delight in blood is a true sign of a madman).
Blood -blood?! flies about and the color rips her from her paralysis. Horrified, Yael takes a step back from her spying place and steps on several twigs, cracking them loudly enough to be heard over the woman’s banshee-like howls. Her oh-so-sweet brown eyes go wide, flying to the white mare so intent on destruction. Panicking for several heartbeats (perhaps two too long), there is easily enough time for the other turn before Yael wishes with all her might that she become invisible.
The next time the pegasus looks down at herself, there is nothing to be seen but an indent in the snow where all four hooves are placed, and a couple of thick broken twigs.
yael by night, tie your heart to mine, and the two
together in sleep shall defeat the darkness |
|
horse lines | wing lines | coloring & coding
@Beloved
Referencing the ‘treat’ Yael got from this thread. Invisible for one thread. Idk what this post is butttttt here we go!
Please only tag in starter posts, or if the thread is getting dusty
Force and magic allowed, no death please
| Aurora Basin Soldier atk: 8.5 | def: 10 | dam: 3 |
| Mare :: Unicorn :: 14.3 :: Appears 6 HP: 62 | Buff: NOVICE |
|
Orphan :: Ragdoll Cat :: None
Bunnie |
12-19-2016, 10:52 AM
(This post was last modified: 12-19-2016, 10:53 AM by Beloved.)
Plumes curl from the nefarious slits of her nostrils, the blood pulsing in the tender, pink flesh of her muzzle until it is red, red as the water that it drives into again and again. Little heed is given to the shadow, or the encircling wood, for Beloved fears none; no notice, then, is bequeathed on the watcher, at least not until the watcher devolves into prey.
Snap! sings a staccato rupture, and the singing song of water raining back into itself stills; the howl and murmur of her outrage is devoured in a single inhalation, and the battle against the treacherous pool is stayed. Her pale legs still, the cold crimson again pooling, smooth, mirror-like, about the remnant wakes of her assault, ears again flicking, searching, atop her perfect crown, as her gaze slowly looks over her shoulder, into the shadow. A shuddered inhalation of breathy delight rises as the maiden of mayhem pivots, her tiny blades striking in cacophonous grace against the damp shore with slaps, bi-chromatic stare eager as it dances in search about the bracken, and trees. Her pale plumage, aloft in her delight in the hunt, is a ghost that ripples behind her, ethereally floating on absent breeze, and as she approaches the trees, her muzzle lowers, to gust the powdered snow across the earth before her with hot, steady breaths.
The song of her laughter, tittering, small, peculiar, ricochets upon the nearby, frosted trunks.
"Little mouse, little mouse, such a tiny, frightened thing," softly sings the banshee, the bloodied darling, her hooves now breaking the silence of the shadow with her pace with the clicks, pops, and shhhs of the wood breaking as she passes, "in your house, in your house, little mouse do come out…"
Throwing herself about the boughs of what she believes to be the source of the clandestine creature which stalks her, her snarls rend the silence as she finds it void of the mouse, the hunger of her cries obvious, and drawing into a shrill scream of denial. Biting at the empty air before her, the she-witch fills the small space with the sound of her tail striking the unblemished ivory of her side; the scream quickly melds into a squeal, into a wet, horrible giggle. Towards another tree she stalks, her eager nostrils quivering with desire, for she smells fear, fear thick like blood on the cold, stagnant air.
"So afraid, so afraid, little mouse won’t come play, little mouse, little mouse," a tiny neck for me to wring.
[ OOC: Scariest game of hide and seek ever I guess? :'D ]
you've lost your demon.
Tag Beloved, please!
Feel free to attack her with physical or magical violence at your own risk. ;D
| World's Edge Seer atk: 7.5 | def: 11 | dam: 2.5 |
| Mare :: Pegasus :: 14.2 :: 39 - appears 8 HP: 63.5 | Buff: NOVICE |
|
Zani :: Serval :: None
Astor |
like a jar, you housed infinite tenderness
and infinite tenderness shattered you
Mouse, mountain goat – what’s the difference when prey is Prey and the hunter sets his sights on you?
But what if the Prey grew a backbone, or reached back into a forgotten life and remembered a time when it was Not Prey, but the top of the food chain? A time when it could grow talons and breath fire and set a whole kingdom ablaze in its righteous fury. What happens when Prey is stuck between fight and flight, between the past and the present, between fear and grief and that stage of denial where we rage, rage, rage against it all; what happens when Prey has nothing left to lose?
Now, Prey is well aware of her inherent height disadvantage (to the majority of equine kind) and her slim frame – easily buffeted by the cold, she relies more on her great golden fluff of feathers to keep her warm than muscle mass or a thick coat. That might change in the future, but for now, Prey is hardly a thing to be proud of conquering. The ease of this is of no consequence to the Hunter though, is it? In fact, Hunter herself is a whole bunch of crazy packed into a liiiiiittle tiny package – and perhaps has that many more triggers just poised to go off. Prey freezes, stock still, as she watches the white woman pivot and search for her. Rationally, she should show herself, let the hissing and spitting hellcat know she has nothing to fear, and therefore, should let the harmless little mountain goat go.
But the white walker’s eyes tell Prey otherwise. There’s a maddening glint in them that she’s seen before. Seen it standing over her first grandchild, seen it in the shadows as it lashed out, she’s seen it because it always, always comes back. It is the insidiousness in the darkness, the opposite of her golden, angelic light! Hunter goes the wrong way at first, giving Prey time to gingerly step away from entangling, spindly boughs that would catch and hold her fast. One step, then two, while the horned banshee shrieks her dismay. It is slow, going and Yael has no illusions about how far she can go before her Hunter sees hoofprints. She cannot take to wing now – between snow and trees, its very unconducive to a clean getaway.
But what if…? Yael freezes again, and turns her invisible face towards the crimson-stained woman. With a deep breath, she opens her throat wide and ululates, crying out to the heavens the way the women of her tribe have done for centuries. Their throats brought sounds of despair – hers brings one of defiance. “Aye-yi-yi-yi-yi-yai!” resonates around the empty woods, bouncing off the ice and frozen rock, rushing through skeleton arms of trees and falling violently to the snowy ground.
Little mouse, indeed.
|
|
lines | coloring | coding
@Beloved (Fun fun fun!)
Please only tag in starter posts, or if the thread is getting dusty
Force and magic allowed, no death please
| Aurora Basin Soldier atk: 8.5 | def: 10 | dam: 3 |
| Mare :: Unicorn :: 14.3 :: Appears 6 HP: 62 | Buff: NOVICE |
|
Orphan :: Ragdoll Cat :: None
Bunnie |
The prey is elusive.
Like smoke, curling away when grasped, or light, warm, radiant, tangible, but bodiless, shape-shifting… conniving. Prowling between the stark outlines of the trees, Beloved hunts, her anger so quickly turned into hunger driving her without thought to the signs of passing a creature might leave; her gaze is upon the horizon before her, about each weathered trunk, searching for the flutter of foliage as the prey flees. She does not seek tattered branches, worried Earth.
Monsters are not animals. It is why another word was invented: to describe something without honor, without thought, an avalanche with the ability to precisely locate where to strike.
She crashes through another shrub, her cries of anguish piercing the air again. Still, she feels herself growing closer, that instinctual knowledge of the feast lingering at the tip of her tongue driving her forward, her desire so vast that her tiny, black pupil trembles, and her perfect white skin shudders across her gaunt, small frame.
Suddenly, the forest is screaming. Driven to her haunches by the sound, as if it presses upon her chest, a physical force, and the witch howls in reply, a caterwauling wail of shock and rage; stabbing at the chilled air, her plumed breath wreaths about her sculpted crown and pearlescent blade, her forelimbs striking at the air before her wildly. Landing with splayed, dancer’s limbs, her dual toned eyes shift through the nothing, the red forest, her heart beating against the white cage of her chest. Like a starved beast cornered, she bares her teeth, her giggles of the hunt now snarls of defense, a mad woman unsure.
Perhaps that is even more dangerous than a Monster.
With a wild charge, she unleashes a cry of her own, a trumpet of rage, madness, and fear, entwined into the wild crash of her body through the wood; without thought, she madly cavorts about the forest, her blade and teeth striking ahead of her wherever she dashes. It is not long before her laughter returns, the water-streaked maiden shivering from the cold against her skin, her teeth clattering between the stammered, peculiar rumble of her ceaseless mirth.
It is time she ended this… game.
you've lost your demon.
Tag Beloved, please!
Feel free to attack her with physical or magical violence at your own risk. ;D
| World's Edge Seer atk: 7.5 | def: 11 | dam: 2.5 |
| Mare :: Pegasus :: 14.2 :: 39 - appears 8 HP: 63.5 | Buff: NOVICE |
|
Zani :: Serval :: None
Astor |
What. The. Actual. Fuck. has she gotten herself into? The white walker throws herself into her scream, vocally ripping at everything and anything with such savagery that Yael is simply… stunned. For a moment, she acts just like Prey does - freezing on the spot, eyes wide, wondering how she ended up in such a situation. Is that what goes through little bunnies’ cotton ball heads? Jesus effing Christ, I just want to eat some tasty grassy tidbits, and now I have to deal with this sharp-toothed, greedy motherfucker? They usually sneak up on you and don’t know it - but this one? This one wants to smell the rancid odor of fear.
It gets her off. And the Hunter is right. There’s nothing more dangerous than a madwoman.
When the Hunter’s attacks begin anew, there is no avoiding it; without thought or reason, there is no trying to sense out its path and avoid conflict. One cannot outwit what does not think, one can only guess and hope for either the best or (in this case) some divine intervention; and there is no G-d out here for Prey today.
The only thing Prey can do is move - run like the wind and hope to gain enough speed to push off from the ground, rising faster than her Hunter. With a deep breath, she leaps forward, seeking some gap between the close-knit trees. For once, her great big wings are cumbersome and set her at a disadvantage. Her movement rakes across low hanging branches, causing movement that might be noticed if the Monster isn’t absorbed elsewhere. Prey does her best to keep her head, but her concentration on remaining invisible is waning in her search for enough space. She flickers, gold and shiny against crimson, brown, and red. Realizing that the trees will not help her, Prey suddenly veers back towards the pond, seeking speed and the open space above the pool. She hadn’t been far from the pool to begin with, and the clearing is quickly growing closer - but she dare not look back to see where the giggling Hunter is.
Just. A. Little. Further.
yael by night, tie your heart to mine, and the two
together in sleep shall defeat the darkness |
|
horse lines | wing lines | coloring & coding
@Beloved
Please only tag in starter posts, or if the thread is getting dusty
Force and magic allowed, no death please
| Aurora Basin Soldier atk: 8.5 | def: 10 | dam: 3 |
| Mare :: Unicorn :: 14.3 :: Appears 6 HP: 62 | Buff: NOVICE |
|
Orphan :: Ragdoll Cat :: None
Bunnie |
"Mouse!" shrieks Beloved, her eyes beholding a vast shuddering disturbance in the crimson boughs, ringing the deceitfully red waters. Her legs sway beneath her, her body lithe, and wingless; an arrow which weaves, she aims for the head of the invisible comet, and basks in its glittering wake of fear.
Pale banners ripple and snag upon greedy boughs, hungry for a taste of the white witch. Queer tinsel lingers in the shattered-branch strewn path of the wench, but her notice is not given as each delicate, lengthy strand is shorn away by her reckless charge. She sees only the prize, which flickers and blooms into reality from the nothingness in which the mouse had hid. Laughter, wild, fretful, blooms among her rabid pants, Beloved’s warped reality further twisting.
Gilded, like a trophy should be, the mouse makes a rapid dash towards the open air above the bloody lake; her shine rouses headier lust, more poignant a desire. The yearning draws a moan of need from her as she lunges, and leaps after her prey, so close to escape.
"No, no!" snarls the hunter, throwing herself across the final distance between herself, the hunted, and the realms of freedom that the jester’s lake represents, hopeful that she is swifter than the flight of the winged rabbit. Her blade leads her insatiable assault, a trustworthy friend, a trained accomplice in her arts of death, and suffering; the strike itself sweeps upwards after the initial, gouging lunge, and her teeth follow, savagely grasping for the air, or the flesh, if she is deemed worthy of this prize, by the primitive Gods of blood, and the chase. Though the ribbons of her consciousness can no longer recall why she’s chasing, or what the hunt is for, her hunger is no lesser, her wanton eagerness to taste the blood of gold no less overflowing.
Beloved
rust every place that I touch
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@Yael
Tag Beloved, please!
Feel free to attack her with physical or magical violence at your own risk. ;D
| World's Edge Seer atk: 7.5 | def: 11 | dam: 2.5 |
| Mare :: Pegasus :: 14.2 :: 39 - appears 8 HP: 63.5 | Buff: NOVICE |
|
Zani :: Serval :: None
Astor |
The witch’s scream of frustration should make her smile and egg her on, but there is no time for such luxurious emotions. Could the mouse fight back? Absolutely, but she is not good at non-magical (and even then, mostly defensive) battle. She does not have the savage heart, the instinctual (or mad) movements that warriors do. Yael would rather outwit than strike a blow. And so there is no point. When she was wingless, she ran; with wings, she can escape the majority of threats on the ground, if given the space and time.
Her legs flounder momentarily in the snow, slipping in the icy slush, giving the Hunter a few precious seconds of time. It is enough of a mistake to mean that Prey will not escape scot-free. The trees disappear past her lines of vision, and as they do, Prey gathers her breath and her weight, shifting backwards in order to unfurl her wings and leap as high as she can. She does, pushing away from the ground with all the strength she can muster. There is a beat against left wing, as if something were trying to pull it down, keep her earth-bound. The Hunter’s aim must have been a tad erratic, but Prey daren’t look back.
Her wings pull the air down, pumping, straining to get higher, and it would not be so far-fetched for the Hunter to get a face full of feathers. And then there is a sharp sting from her tailbone, her own squeal of pain, and a ripping sound as a mouthful of silver and black-tipped hair is savagely yanked from her rear end. With it comes a bit of blood, dropping to the trampled ground behind Prey as she escapes without serious injury - this time.
Looks like Hunter gets her blood after all.
yael by night, tie your heart to mine, and the two
together in sleep shall defeat the darkness |
|
horse lines | wing lines | coloring & coding
@Beloved I'm sorry this took so long!
Please only tag in starter posts, or if the thread is getting dusty
Force and magic allowed, no death please
| Aurora Basin Soldier atk: 8.5 | def: 10 | dam: 3 |
| Mare :: Unicorn :: 14.3 :: Appears 6 HP: 62 | Buff: NOVICE |
|
Orphan :: Ragdoll Cat :: None
Bunnie |
"No, no, nooo!" are the incessant shouts of the wicked one, her teeth gnashing and gnawing upon the air as her prey evades her reach. Curse her inept legs, bound to this earth, such a shoddy chalice for her magnanimous spirit! Though the mouse slips upon the snow, and the white witch’s blade dines, it is but a taste of the ambrosia she had wished to bathe in.
Her scream of disgust is snuffed when her mouth is suddenly full of her victim’s tail, which is savagely ripped and shorn as the bitch pivots her head back to spit it away. Still chasing, her hooves splash back into the cold water, her goose-bump prickled flesh ignoring the bite of the cold, for the deeper lash of failure which beats down over her again and again. Each mental strike of that whip draws a bestial roar and snarl from her, where she watches her prey escape on wings she does not have, her legs churning, striking, and lashing out at the water about them, as if each blow might somehow travel the aerial distance between she and her failed hunt.
"Fuck you!" barks the wench, to the water, or the prey, perhaps both, before her demonically cruel face grotesquely twists about towards the shore, long before her body does; her bi-chromatic eyes shift to each shadow with suspicious glares, and she exhales shuddering, wet breaths. The cold bites into her wet skin as she slowly floats back into the wood, her head low, ears endlessly moving atop her crown; occasionally, she looks back, to where the mouse had flown, and mutters to herself, without mirth, without giggles: "next time, little mouse…"
[ OOC: You’re okay. <3 Thank you for the super fun thread Astor! ]
you've lost your demon.
Tag Beloved, please!
Feel free to attack her with physical or magical violence at your own risk. ;D
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