the Rift


[OPEN] the look in her eyes

Ghost the Cadaverous Posts: 219
Outcast atk: 5.5 | def: 10.5 | dam: 5.5
Mare :: Hybrid :: 16hh :: 6 years HP: 67 | Buff: ENDURE
Fantôme :: Grey Wolf :: None imi
#1
From one day to the next, Ghost had been exploring what she could of her new home in the north, where the Valkyrie had led her, it's cold hard landscape pleasing her inner cynicism as well as the wolf that haunted her side. She liked the foreboding mountains that surrounded her with its flourishing greenery, the patches of stubborn ice clinging to the shadowed areas and the general rawness it emitted, a picture of stoic stubbornness. The Falls had been a hidden paradise, the Throat an island oasis and the Basin, she thought, was more like a fortress. Though it had its finer details, she had found as she travelled, when passing a hot spring, a tent and some kind of greenhouse. Mentally she noted them for reference, as places of interest to investigate more of later, but right now in the light of midday she was stood near the lake in gentle contemplation as Fantôme drank the cool water. Places, mountains, weather, things, but no other horses yet to scrutinise. She had met the gentle healer, Lena, and the audaciously spoken Hotaru who had convinced her to come here in the first place. Yet, without the bother of anyone else, the peaceful moment allowed her time to her thoughts, they warped and twisted, her former quiet self remembered briefly in bitterness.

Looking about the damp landscape she couldn't help but feel the irony every day, that she would end up here after everything, wings still intact, but her mind affected and bent. From quiet shadow dweller to the corrosive cadaverous, her venomous monsters consuming her. Though there were times, moments, when Ghost thought back to her once nearly close friends, like Essetia and of course there was Seele... She smiled, a rare and all but brief moment of fondness, a flickering light in her darkness, a memory so precious she seldom dared think of it. The hopeful beacon of light from her past disappeared and, in its place, she was left with a gaping hole of regret in her chest. A gentle wisp of a sigh passing through her sultry lips that were now grimly pressed into a line as she pushed away the yesteryear that now felt like a mere dream. 

She hadn't really noticed, in her distant daydreaming, that her anxious annoyance had made her body tense into a rigid and uncomfortable looking position. Bitterly cold magic bled from her irritation and the floor around her began to ice over as her dark gaze burned into the outline of the mountains. It was only when Fantôme gave her a quizzical look that Ghost's stress driven trance was broken, she looked to the wolf and then to the floor around her, shaking her head incredulously. "Oh" she mused "ahh what a pain" she half-heartedly moaned, surrounded by her own home-grown ice, though her expression now looked far more amused than annoyed.

At least it hadn't rained blood, yet.

and when your house begins to rust
oh, its just, metal and dust

image credits


@Wessex <3
Let the heat of the sun
Reignite your memory
Because if we just turn and run
Let them fire the gun

❚ Force permitted, just don't kill her :3
❚ Please tag me!
❚ Pixel by Nyte

Wessex Posts: 149
Aurora Basin Haruspex atk: 5.0 | def: 8.5 | dam: 7.5
Mare :: Unicorn :: 16.3 hh :: 3 HP: 68 | Buff: NOVICE
Astor
#2

I AM IRON AND I FORGE MYSELF

The forceful destruction of one’s home has unpredictable consequences; some bend themselves towards revenge (in this case, that path was impossible), some flee and seek safety as a refugee (who would believe the broad-chested, horned woman was a helpless refugee?), and still others take the logical-to-a-fault mentality and simply… move on. Does Wessex miss her sea-side homeland? Of course. She is logical, not heartless. But the land she grew up in (however briefly) is not the home that exists now, and she has neither army nor knowledge of how to overcome rather unusual obstacles, and so why bother risking life and limb for an emotional connection?

In truth, it is her mother she misses most; the Queen was loved and respected, and most importantly - was unparalleled in battle. Wessex’s tutelage had only just begun when all hell started to break loose, but those lessons were ingrained in the aspiring soldier and kindled something inside the young heir that only grew stronger as time went on. Lagertha would be quite amused, she often thinks, to see her now: horned and orange-eyed and tattooed, and even luminescent sometimes. She’s come far from a simple, tomboyish filly who wantded to be just like her badass mother.  

The soldier in her is unsatisfied until she knows every inch of her current home, and so her hooves wander all over the often punishing terrain, enduring biting winds that still sweep down from the peaks, hitting some of the slopes and making her forget Spring was well upon them. Her lungs are slowly adjusting to her frequent climbs, and she’s come to find the cool of the nights are far more conducive to sleeping than heat is. The smell of a wolf piques her interest first, and unsure it it is a loner or a pack come to pick away the springtime babies, Wessex must do more investigation. Imagine her surprise to find the wolf at a mare’s side, and the mare surrounded by a sheet of ice.

How she got to the center of it is rather mysterious, but Wessex simply gazes on the situation, her gaze flickering back and forth between the small wolf, the mare with an amused expression, and the ice. She didn’t seem stuck… there were no cries for help from the stranger’s lips, no sense of panic. So instead of asking whether or not the mare is ok (she clearly is ), Wessex keeps to neutral statements until she can properly suss out the situation. “Well. That is certainly a hazard of living here.”  

W E S S E X
image credit  


@Ghost
-- please tag in all posts! --
-- magic and force allowed, no death or permanent damage --


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