the Rift

[OPEN] I Fux With Calamity

Roskuld the Sparklight Posts: 424
World's Edge General atk: 7.5 | def: 9.5 | dam: 6
Mare :: Tribrid :: 15.3 :: 6 HP: 82 | Buff: ENDURE
Zchiraxicon :: Royal Rougarou :: Electric Smithers
Still ignorant of all the trouble I'mma get us in

Pa didn’t know what was happening.

And it was fucking with me.

Ever since that day I’d called him down, and he’d gently chided me for waiting so long to call on him for his help, for his guidance--but it also turned out it was the one time he couldn’t actually help me on this.

My heart ached thinking about it--I didn’t know if it were possible for me to even attempt to hate my Pa. Like I...ugh, I should, I definitely should, I dunno, nevermind, that was awful, no I shouldn’t hate my Pa, and I don’t, I don’t I don’t I don’t and even though there’s some problematic shit going on swirling around him there was not one inch of me, not one cell, not one single iota that had the heart to hate him.

But fuck if he can’t help a bitch out when she needs it.

Sparkmarrow was at my side, secure and clicking softly as I made my way through the thick blackness of a nighttime swamp. I guess it wasn’t the best time of day to come here, not logistically, but I had to come at some point and this was the first chance I’d had.

I didn’t know what I was looking for until it jutted out from the darkness, as though the demon monster couldn’t help but throw a monument up for his big, black dick for others to celebrate, to smear on all our faces after our embarrassing defeat. I had a godslaying sword belted to my side that couldn’t kill a god. Go figure.

The gods hadn’t been able to see it, so I figured I’d just come see for myself. I couldn’t attack, so I’d come and scope the bitch out, and since he-she-it had a voice, I figured she’d try talkin’ some. So I looked at the thick black dong with pulsating blue veins, considered it for a moment with a cocked ear, and I wondered, vaguely, if I was about to die. “Yo, Kaos,” I said, and the mound of fangs and fur on my back that was Chico couldn’t stop the rolling growl that’d been bubbling ever since we’d entered the evil darkness, adding eerie music to my calling, Fuck with me right quick.”

You know, the one at W. 103rd and Broadway?


Please tag ROSKULD in every reply!

Ingrid Posts: 42
World's Edge Philosopher atk: 4.5 | def: 9 | dam: 5
Mare :: Equine :: 16.0 hh :: 2 (Frostfall) HP: 60 | Buff: NOVICE

Reference Credit

Ingrid knew it was wrong to snoop. Then again, she also knew it was wrong to swear, but that rarely stopped her. When she saw a strange mare walking alone into the night, towards a swamp of all places—Ingrid knew about some of the more remote spots in Helovia by now, how else would she have managed to meet the weird magic-giving creatures?—she decided to tag along.

She tried to tell herself it was for the mare's sake, you know, in case there was trouble. Who knew when that obviously well-armed horse might have need of a light-built warmblood with no magic or fighting skills to speak of?

She snorted. Ingrid knew by now that she was a terrible liar. In reality, she'd become more nosy because everyone she'd met so far was either as clueless as she was, or thought they had way more important things to do than tell her what was going on. Eavesdropping wasn't something she took pride in, but if these horses couldn't be bothered to give her the time of day, she didn't exactly feel bad about it either.

She followed her down through the swamp, wishing to the gods that her white patches were on her back instead of on her legs and stomach. This muck would take weeks to come out of her pale coat. What in the world is she doing? she wondered. Then Ingrid caught sight of something she hadn't actually seen before, a giant spike shooting up from the ground. The blue mare stopped and yelled at it.

Chaos again. And just as Isopia had, this mare used it like a name. Ingrid wanted to ask about it, but was slightly more concerned about the fact that the mare was screaming curses at an inanimate object. Maybe it was a good thing she'd followed her after all.

She drew closer, but stayed well out of what she assumed was the range of that sword, "Hey, are you erm, alright?"


Beloved Posts: 121
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

Again, she’d come, bidden by some illusionary thread or spectral whisper to stare upon the smooth, black pillar of her Master. It was not uncommon for her to wait here, in the black mire, half her pristine form stained dark with the mud and murk, her gaze occasionally tilting inward, though the eyes were still wide and watching, so that she was but a statue, or an ivory figure occasionally babbling wet, sinister giggles from the depths of her still silence. Here, or in the shadow of the mountain, or the deep belly of the world, where the flames fell from above in a fount of embers… but that is no matter, for she has been roused from her empty staring by the shout of another, and the heavy splashing of their careless hooves.

Her eyes flutter as she returns to herself, slowly blinking her lids down over paper dry eyes that have stared unmoving for some time now. Blinking again, to clarify the image of the bulky wench shouting at her Master’s throne, her lips twitch up into a gleeful smile as another arrives, as if summoned, too, by the shouting.

"Fuck?" giggles and saunters the woman towards the patch-backed hellion in her God’s sacred Marsh; those giggles become staggered guffaws and breathless laughter, the sort that reveals, immediately, that fear must be forced into the heart of a woman such as she, who fears nothing, especially under her Master’s Tall Dark, "you?"

Those chortles are sucked in with a wet, gasping breath, her eyes narrowing, her child-like voice suddenly insidious, with the sharp ring of steel and a razor’s edge, peering from among her unnatural, displaced giggles.

"No, no, no," slowly shakes and tilts the murderous mare’s pale crown, her backward ears wobbling with each cryptic, rolling sway, snake-like; suddenly, she stops, her head wrenching to the right, so that it seems at odds with her neck, as if it were dangling, or broken, "talk, perhaps, but not fuck. If you are serious in your claim, Profane One, then Beloved accepts the challenge of your sword, for the honor of receiving the Undying God’s."

A twisted smile crosses the white witch’s lips; the Undying One, She Who Walks From the Ashes, and whom has known very few who share her… gift.

"She who dies last wins," tells the demoness of the rules, glancing to the third party as suddenly as her head had tilted, its position suddenly righted again in the sway of her slender neck, "you will witness, yes?"

[ OOC: LOL SO BELOVED HAS NO IDEA OBVIOUSLY hahahahahaha also sorry I couldn’t help myself :’D Beloved also can’t help but mess with people in the Marsh, and somehow I think Ingrid's material on her will be A+. Too many wins to pass ]

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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