the Rift


[PRIVATE] I'll Be A Better Man Today {Death}

Calstron Posts: 43
World's Edge Protector
Stallion :: Pegasus :: 16.2hh :: 8
Goatfairy
#1
Calstron
THE fading light shines off the ocean in brief sparks. Each wave brings another memory to the surface of his mind. The moat around his home, rivers, training grounds. Step, crash, gone.

He sees his birth and his mother so happy. Step, crash, gone. He sees his father's stern face light up as he runs for the very first time. Step, crash, gone. He remembers his father and all the harsh words, all the expectations. He sees himself, barely half a year old, slitting the throat of an accused traitor while they screamed they'd done nothing wrong. Step, crash, gone. He sees himself running across the practice battlefield in all the glory of his youth. He feels the joy, the success of dominating like he should. But still, the face of his mentor haunts him. It never leaves. Step, crash, gone.

But he also sees the dust swirling in the beams of light in the great hall, early morning, and the smile of the pretty young filly with green eyes. He feels the warmth of her breath as they run through the gardens. Fresh yearlings whispering secrets to each other in the crisp night air. Naive adolescents flitting about the castle as if nothing could hold them back.

He'd held her as she died, gagging, gasping, bleeding. Murdered. A perfect light stomped out. The dust swirling in the morning light lost its magic.

The laughter of his friends as they spar in a river reaches his ears. They'd talked about all the things they'd do when they were older. All the girls they'd fuck. All the parties they'd go to. And he remembers their last words and cries when they were felled on the battlefield. He remembers the way he lost the light in his soul with each good thing taken from him. The assassins, the battles, murders, the abuse from everyone around him...all the while maintaining the facade of the graceful prince, unperturbed, stoic.

He remembers the isolation, that castle on the hill and how much of a cage it became with no one there that he loved. Why should he  be good when the truth was that it didn't matter what you did. You could be so fucking pure that the heavens'd be put to shame and still die the same as the serial killer standing next to you. You could be selfless and kind and someone'd still hate you. You and your life and the ones you loved didn't matter to anyone anymore than the next horse. You didn't matter. That wasn't emotion, that was logic, rough and true. The stallion had never meant to become the devil but pain, damage, it was the only thing that made him feel alive. It was only when he was doing worse things than he'd seen did he forget the bitterness of his past.

He remembers Rexanna too. And the curves of Raeden's body beneath his own are still fresh and bright. The new smell of his foals, now a year old, was something he'd never forget. But sanity was a cruel king and just as he could not forget the good he'd never be able to forget the bad. He'd never really be good. He could try all he wanted but his broken soul would always be a hazard. 

The blood knight, now away from the ocean, reaches the Heart Caves. His dark expression turns tortured. The world had made him do bad here too. Not anymore though. Not anymore. He'd not be twisted into a barbed shape again. Fuck that, fuck the world, fuck his past. Fuck it all. He was going to die when he still had something right in his life. The lava calls to him but he just stands there, unable to do it. Tears of pain, of guilt, of rage stream down his face. The stallion screams a primal noise at the molten rock in despair. He was too fucking weak to go without telling someone why. Weak, just like always. Weak, just like his father had always told him he was. What a piece of shit he was.



"speech" 


I'll Fall So You Might Live
SKYLARK


OOC: Obviously, this is using liquid time here. The idea is that this takes place after all the other threads with Cal in them (The birthing, the talk with Rex, the kids, probs one with Rae) have ended

Heather is going to be posting  @Erebos . He and Cal will post until Cal is dead. @Rexanna and @Raeden , please only post after Cal has died/posted his final post for the thread (Just to keep stuff simple). After this, anyone else who would like to post is, of course, very welcome to do so! <3  (ie, @Tembovu or etc)
 
WARNING:
Calstron is a dark character that often utilizes curse words and his posts may contain triggering content.  PG-13, not PG

Erebos Posts: 474
Aurora Basin General atk: 7.5 | def: 11.5 | dam: 6.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16.1hh :: Four HP: 75.5 | Buff: DANCE
Orsino :: Plain Kitsune :: Dark Illusions & Enyo :: Common Griffon :: Draining Clutch Heather
#2

On the days he didn’t run on anguish, he was fueled on hate. It was a conniving rage, incensed and brutal, corrupt and bleak, forged by the flames of his ineptitude, on his broken, failed promises, on his ability to overcome, to devastate, or to conquer. Bitter pieces of memory would fall into place as he hunted, as he scavenged, as he scorched the land, incensed and mercenary, blending into the shadows, a blade, a knife, a dagger aimed at hearts and souls. He’d recall beautiful, little Arwen and her brilliant, ivory tassels stained in blood, the towering Colossus standing before her, defiant, ready to fell another just for the sake of murder and condemnation, just because he could, and the sickening pulse of contempt flooding through his noble, princely mind, the Machiavellian twists and turns – then meeting him again, putting a wound on his side but nothing more, nothing else, nothing that made him bleed and bleed and bleed until there was naught left but his empty, useless carcass. He’d recall a intruder sliding through their frozen doorstep, blending into the surroundings as if he owned the world, pressing his nefarious whims towards Enna and her son, and then how he’d rushed at the stranger as he threatened, as he garnished, as he tried to toss a cutlass into his figure, and even then, naught happened. He remembered Ashamin, the monster in the shadow of the labyrinth, how he’d thought and believed he’d be able to conquer and destroy this unknown enemy, how the jaws had slunk over his frame and made him cower, made him fall, made him weak and pathetic and forced into regrets and disdain.
 
Then, there’d been Enna again, nearly destroyed on the cave floor, battered, bruised, bloodied, left to die, left to fester, left to wither away in silence, and he’d vowed retribution in his rage, in his feral, savage, nefarious oaths. Even when she’d begged him not to, he’d looked and chased, stalked and hounded, became a shadow, a twisted, gnarled, wretched fiend, following a fellow monster – and hit only dead ends.
 
So he’d come to be the useless little prince, the boy who stood for so many things – vengeance, revenge, an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth, a life for a life, completely incapable of dispensing any of these measures. He often wondered what others saw when they glanced his way: some pathetic brat, some worthless imbecile, some scion who had all the potential in the world, but none of the means, none of the qualities, none of the ability to carry them out, a waste, an empty, lingering piece of irreverence falling apart at the seams. What good was he to anything, to anyone? What was the worth of his assurances? What was the value in his contracts, in his commitments?
 
You will be better, his father had once said, and the boy had tried, he’d tried, but it all spiraled into pointlessness.
 
So the anger came easily; fury rested right between his bones and his veins, bestial and audacious, bold and barbaric, pooling, festering, entangling amidst his indignation and derision, pulsing, pervading, stealing his breath, his soul, his essence, scorching, seething, swallowing, consuming in its vicious cycle. His movements were made on madness and distortion, his motions were made on uproar and disorder, and his thoughts were made on rebellion, insurrection, toxic, indulgent mayhem. He bristled, he fumed, he smoldered; a storm on the horizon, a fire stoked, an inferno threatening to rise towards the skies and block out the sun. He wanted to prove to the world that valor held merit, that his promises weren’t empty, that he was worth something; however small, however miniscule, however trifle.
 
And, even though she didn’t crave it, even though she told him not to follow the cretin coiled within, he wanted her avenged.
 
Him, came a hiss, came a growl, came a stroke of kitsune intellect, and the prince slowed, was left standing, staring, at the proclaimed demon, at the image Thranduil had once given him. He wasn’t bloody any longer, not poised and scarred from Enna’s attempts to defend herself, to fight back, but he knew, he knew it was him, that disgusting, pathetic being who’d maimed and torn and mutilated (he could see her now, flayed because she’d refused to give in, because she’d tried to live). It took every effort, every restraint, not to rush against the wind, not to lower his head and stab him where he stood, to not rip him apart like he’d done to her. Soon, Orsino laughed, an echo in his head, and Erebos agreed, almost chuckling too, as if the divine beings had finally granted him a worthy gift, and Enyo was in there somewhere too, clicking her beak, uncertain of where to go or what to be.
 
But Erebos understood what he was supposed to do – and it was methodical, it was bewitching, it was alluring, a beckoning bellow to all the cold forbearance, to the chilling nonchalance of his father’s frozen features – except he twisted all his hatred, all his malice, all his enmity into a Cheshire grin, an impish delight, an air of mischief instead of alarm, before he carved the beast’s heart out of his chest. “Hello!” He called, like an amiable figure on the horizon – shrouded in belligerence, in rancor, in spite, in death and desecration, wandering closer along the lava’s reaches, the bubbling fire pits, the eerie, eldritch whims of hate and loathing. The General pretended not to see the tears, vivid, clear, on the stag’s face, pretended he hadn’t heard the scream echoing through the chambers, and pretended he wasn’t swallowed by the abhorrence searing through his veins. “What brings you here?”

Erebos
clever got me this far - - then tricky got me in

image || table

@Calstron

Calstron Posts: 43
World's Edge Protector
Stallion :: Pegasus :: 16.2hh :: 8
Goatfairy
#3
Calstron
DEATH comes, dressed in a blue-black hue, with a skull on his shoulder. Calstron sees this when he turns to gaze upon the welcome intruder. Crimson eyes stare dully at the other stallion, all bright and full of glory. He hadn't seen anyone, hadn't recognized a presence, on his way here. It would seem this youthful specimen was to be his hunter and he the prey. He wasn't sure, of course, but why else would anyone have appeared so suddenly. It was almost a perfect reversal of his previous visit here.

He smiles. The failed king returns his gaze to the glowing lava with a long sigh. "I have done a great many things deserving of retribution." An idea takes root in his mind. The blood bay chuckles and looks to the other male. "Perhaps, you might grant me a request, good knight?" He tilts his head, "I have always wondered how I might be judged if someone knew all of my transgressions, my joys, my pains. Might you be willing to hear my story and let me finish it? All of it. Even the blackest secrets of my cracked and broken soul. A curiosity for a passerby or a pleasant surprise for someone seeking revenge. However, if you think I am deserving of death when all is finished you must not hesitate to swing your scythe. So what say you, my dear Reaper? "

It was weak; gasping for air when you were already well beneath the waves. But wasn't that what he'd always been? It wasn't as if he'd ever be better than that. No, if he was ever going to be better it would be in the moment when he finally stopped breathing. No longer a burden to the planet that had taken his light. He was certain he would have managed the act eventually but this would be better, more familiar, for someone so well acquainted with twisted games. Besides, someone would finally know. Someone would be able to explain to Raeden his reasons and the depths of his love when all was said and done. Perhaps, the chap might even tell others, Rexanna, whoever. Maybe he'd explain that not all of him was darkness incarnate. That the world had taken root in him and corrupted everything he'd hoped to become.

  
"speech" 
I'll Fall So You Might Live
SKYLARK


@Erebos
 
WARNING:
Calstron is a dark character that often utilizes curse words and his posts may contain triggering content.  PG-13, not PG

Erebos Posts: 474
Aurora Basin General atk: 7.5 | def: 11.5 | dam: 6.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16.1hh :: Four HP: 75.5 | Buff: DANCE
Orsino :: Plain Kitsune :: Dark Illusions & Enyo :: Common Griffon :: Draining Clutch Heather
#4

Perhaps he knew – the way that some monsters foreshadowed their final days, understood their time had come, when they’d committed too many sins, taken too many lives. Maybe he’d prophesized the prince’s arrival, the stormy, tempestuous General who’d refused to bow, who’d refused to give in, who’d endured and endured for this small, significant moment. By chance, he might have even envisioned the acrimony behind the pretenses, the blistering, unfurling, unwinding fervency, the callousness, the armaments, the ravenous, pervading tokens of a predator’s feast, just waiting, waiting, waiting, born to patience and control. Even as the beast, the fiend, the demon spoke, Erebos maintained a careful composure, a roguish complexion, tried not to betray every thought, every feeling, every eager, ardent urge to plunge his sword directly into the infidel’s heart and end it all (or to push, to pulverize, to smash him into the lava pits, watch the embers bubble and foil over the edges of his skin, gone, vanished, washed away from any memory, no bones left to trace, no fragments left to sketch). Annihilations scorched every inhale, every exhale, every raw, undulating precision of power, brooding, brewing, a puissant disposition gathered right behind his eyes, and at first, he wanted to laugh at his opponent’s request. Who was this tyrant to ask for anything, when he’d already taken, already snagged, already ensnared, already broken another? The traces of a sneer folded over one corner of his mouth, and he turned away to look at the lights rasping at the walls, pushing the iniquity down, down, down, hastening it back into bedlam, into his lungs, into his mind, into his malice, where the rampant decadence could stay still, silent, for just this trifle instant – he could feel Orsino growling through the webs, through the Machiavellian veins, and the eldritch, audacious trappings nearly swallowed and consumed him there, in between glory, revenge, and impending, sinister terror.
 
The boy pretended again – arched his brow, drew a masque across his features, acted as if it the whole farce was intriguing instead of toxic, was curious instead of chilling. “Truly?” He whispered at first, quiet, presiding like a concerned citizen, as his mother would’ve done, as she taught him to do (but resting there, like poison, like daggers, was the blood of his father, was the licentious, formidable power, was the temptation to simply end it all, nonchalant and vicious in the wake of his enemy’s last screams). Erebos was to be painted as Justice – but didn’t have her flair for the blindfold, for the scales, for the balance of right versus wrong; he already knew too much, he already craved feral renewal, nefarious outcries, and the longing, sweeping ache of vengeance. He was a meticulous carnivore beneath the gallant forefront, an immoral raptor, an indulgent pariah, but the moment that beast said the word Reaper he nearly flinched and broke apart, fumbled for his threads, for his garb, for his veils and shrouds and daggers.
 
Did this cretin know who haunted his dreams, whose figure he craved, what he’d already lost? Did he see the scion beneath his father’s shadow, smiling, grinning, and laughing, before the terrorizing end? Had he seen his father pass that scintillating weapon towards his child, feral, fierce, cold-blooded violence in the hearts and minds of connected chasms (because he hadn’t, he hadn’t, and he’d never had any intention of following his sire’s footsteps – he just wanted Enna avenged, he just wanted heathens to pay, he just wanted retribution for all the lives slaughtered, condemned, and altered by this asinine brute)?
 
Just run him through, came the echoing, ruthless hiss of his companion, and he almost took the plunge, almost lowered his head, almost aimed to harpoon his menacing sword into the monster’s wicked chest – but there had to be more, more, more, this couldn’t be the end, it couldn’t be so damn easy. For some strange, foolish, twisted notion, he wanted to give him the barest modicum of hope, so he could see it dashed away from his face the moment the prince proclaimed his judgment. “I doubt it could be so bad,” he winked and lied, foiled back into fox incantations and Cheshire whims, mercurial and turbulent under his layers – truly, disastrously wicked, condemned to a diabolical task he intended to savor. He could hear Orsino laughing within their chaotic bond, and it nearly made him chuckle too, echo across the grounds with such a vicious, dark sensation of glee – but instead, he swiveled his avaricious gaze solely on the harbinger of misery for so many lives, and waited for the ruthless end that had already begun. “Do tell.”
 

Erebos
clever got me this far - - then tricky got me in

image || table

@Calstron

Calstron Posts: 43
World's Edge Protector
Stallion :: Pegasus :: 16.2hh :: 8
Goatfairy
#5
I am sorry....its like.....really long. -coughs-
Calstron

OF  course Calstron did not know the origins of final new acquaintance. He knew only that the stallion before him must become his executioner. Sweat was beginning to peek through his coat in spots. Fear, stress, a focused calm. This thrilling reversal of roles was creating such strange, unusual emotions.
He barks out a dark, deep throated laugh at the young dog's declaration that all must not be so bad as it sounds. The creature was a mirror of his youth. Charming, charismatic, powerful, intelligent, sly. But oh, how Calstron was going to relish turning that gluttonous gaze to one of revulsion. "Oh, but it can."

A breath is taken; slowly the air wheezes in. There was much he'd never told anyone and much he'd only ever told one soul, now long dead. The thought occurs to him that this young stud's face would be the last he'd ever see. This story, the last words he'd speak. It was so undeserved, this lengthy version of final words, compared to how short he'd cut other's final requests. He'd better make it good. He'd better say all that he had to say. He'd better hope and pray that someone else was listening in, was hearing what he had to say, that maybe Castiella would learn, that Akriel might know and be made strong. He'd better hope that he took someone destined for the black tide of abandon and made them rage against the world corrupting them. Fight, he thinks silently to his offspring. Do not become like me. Be better.


"While I have been here I have gone by the name Ron. But my true name is Calstron. I was born far from this land. In a place with many different kingdoms I was born to the most violent of these. I was their prince. Its about as bad as the usual sad sap story about a good mother and an asshole father. But it was also more than that. He beat me as soon as I was old enough to leave my mother's side for a few moments. He beat me until I killed the small animals he'd caged. He made me slit my first equine throat at 6months old. No one cared; they all just passed by. A Prince was not a mortal and thus his treatment was allowed to be whatever the King saw fit. A Prince must be strong, adept, violent, intelligent, calculating. A Prince must be better. Emotions? Empathy? Useful facades and nothing more. The world expected more of me.

There was a filly, when I was one. The daughter of an attendant or something. The purest soul you might ever see and yet she was stronger than iron. She had eyes the color of jade and a body more sleek than a cougar's when she ran through the maze near our home. I told her all my secrets. I confided to her about the beatings, the killings, and..and my battle trainer. He had started doing -things- to me when I was 6months old and had never stopped. (Though he would when I reached two) But you see, this was my mistake, for the battle trainer was ever near. He overheard one day and the next morning I was holding her body as she vomited blood, gagging, gasping. Murdered. All because of me.  My father never knew who killed her only that she was dead and that I had broken one of his rules in having a friend.
 
He found out, then, that I had others he didn't know about. Ones who held no purpose, who were bound to no career, and he ordered his advisors to kill them in front of me. I was not told. We were out playing a game when the assassins came out of the bushes. They killed all 6 of my friends and then walked away. I did not keep friends after that. This pleased my father. But then, I began to kill whenever I was mad, sad, anxious. Whatever. It didn't matter. I just killed to kill. This frightened the advisors and so my father decided he'd sate my bloodlust by sending me into battle.  I was a year and a half when I left the castle. Even though it was a march of death for many they were all in good spirits. They talked about the mares they'd take when they got home and the drinks they'd have. Before the battle we all rolled in a gloriously cool river and sparred and laughed. I remember the exact blue of the water, the way leaves would periodically fall in someone's eyes. I remember it all. Other than my clandestine meetings with the filly this was the only other moment of my youth where life felt normal. Then the battle happened and they all died. Well, the ones who had been in the river anyways.
 
Then there was Rexanna. She was given to me as a mate in a treaty with a nearby nation. She tried and, after a time, so did I. Eventually she became pregnant and our kingdom was overjoyed. One night, when she was babbling away as mares are wont to do, I used the mind magic I'd possessed at the time on her. I found out that her marriage to me had all been a sham by the enemy nation. She was only some bastard child born to a whore or something and the kingdom had used her to make a joke out of me. Just another lie in my life. When my father and the advisors found out they demanded action. I took our entire army, and Rexanna, and destroyed her homeland. I killed a great many that day. During the chaos she escaped. She did.....a great many things to me after that day. Our son, he...died. Left in a shallow grave. I became obsessed with revenge, with hate, with everything that she represented about how my life had gone thus far. And so I followed her here.
 
I killed a great many on my way. I raped. I burned down buildings. I was, I was worse than I'd ever been. The red tide, the blackest darkness that overtakes you when you feel the kind of rage that I did. You cannot stop it. It cannot be controlled. I found her here, I stalked her, I tortured her. I came here and I did a great many things that most would consider atrocious. I don't, of course, I haven't really understood why the masses care so much for a long time. Sometimes I feel, sometimes I do not.

I even almost killed someone here, in these very caves. I was enraged, I was hunting, I was gone and I thought she died. But her bones are not here now so I presume she lived.
 
But then I met my mate. She was strong and dark and feminine and she holds what little is left of my soul now. We have twins together and I can see the beginnings in them of what problems led me down my path. I see their beautiful little minds and I see one as he struggles with rage and the other as she struggles with how to fit in and I know that my being there, being with them, will be of no help. I do not want... I, I know I must die so that they might live. That is why I am here. So that they might not do bad things. So that the ghosts of their past will not follow them and so that they might continue on in peace."


He stops then, he knows this is the end, he knows he's already stolen too much time."I do not hope that you've heard this story and come out thinking I deserve mercy. I don't. Others have had lives similar to my own and not done as I have. There are always pressures. There is always terrorism. There is always death and there is always greed. I let the world break me, I welcomed it, I asked for it. I merely hope for empathy, for understanding...perhaps? In some sort of odd way I wish for someone to know. To understand. If you can, tell my mate thank you for what she gave me and my foals that I loved them. That is all. Please, dear Reaper, do as I deserve."

Calstron sighs and takes in the trees, the skies. That whole thing seemed so cliche, so selfish, so dumb. But who cared, he way going to die. Might as well. He could have said all that sooner, to Rexanna, to anyone. But it wouldn't have made a difference. His fucked up, piece of shit, broken ass mind wouldn't have cared yet. None of it had mattered until he had his foals. There had been no perspective. But now he would do what needed to be done for the sake of all who knew him. Today, he would never hurt another horse. Today, he would be a better man.

"speech" 
I'll Fall So You Might Live
SKYLARK

OOC: Might do like an ending post after this one? Might not? We'll see how Erebos writes it I supposed. Then everyone else is welcome to join in.

@Erebos
 
WARNING:
Calstron is a dark character that often utilizes curse words and his posts may contain triggering content.  PG-13, not PG

Erebos Posts: 474
Aurora Basin General atk: 7.5 | def: 11.5 | dam: 6.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16.1hh :: Four HP: 75.5 | Buff: DANCE
Orsino :: Plain Kitsune :: Dark Illusions & Enyo :: Common Griffon :: Draining Clutch Heather
#6

Here was hell, he surmised, through the coffins, the webs, the catacombs, the parchment of tales and stories of a heretic’s beginning and downfall. It came on devastation and unhinged, dissonant immorality, a licentious ensnaring of souls born to capability, but forced into something else entirely – forged into brutality, into calamity, into corruption – because of weakness or nature? He couldn’t tell – he’d known so many souls who had been enslaved to decadence, who had only known the squall, the tempest, the viciousness, and never turned into this harsh, unfurling, ravenous complexion, who lacked control, who drowned in the wake of their own misfortune, who’d fallen apart and been incapable of escaping it. The prince stood, frozen in place, a still, reticent statue, entirely grateful for the days of his strong father, the true Reaper who’d allowed his son liberation, deliverance, and freedom, who didn’t beckon him to death’s gates or yesteryear’s ferocity, and for the wisdom of his beloved mother, who taught him kindness and valor, who smiled and beckoned him to her side just to hear the silly remnants of his day. The youth had been entitled, lucky, fortunate to have been loved, cherished, and adored – the crumbling beast in front of him hadn’t been given the chance to feel a flicker of those emotions (then why didn’t you fight? Erebos wanted to ask, wanted to hiss, wanted to growl - why didn’t you try?). Was giving in the easiest way out? Would it have mattered if the fiend had fought back as a child? Had he done it simply to survive, and then knew naught else, condemned, ruined, and consigned to oblivion before his first year of life? Could he have disappeared, run, clambered and climbed his way from the savage, distorted world, or had it been too late? Erebos didn’t know whether to pity the monster in front of him, or turn his ruthless, bestial gaze upon him, chisel a reflection, fire upheaval into the flames, conjure every ounce of nefariousness back into the reaches of this seething, puncturing enamel.
 
There was no one here to stop him.
 
But there he was too, crawling amongst these pendulums where seraphs no longer existed and the empires threatened to flare into chaos, into bedlam, into infernos – enticed by minatory predilections, swallowed and devoured by the need for revenge. He was calm, a wicked wind stirring from Poseidon’s keep, he was composed, a brooding, brewing figure, drawn to the shadows, to his hate, to his wrath, to his fury. The General would’ve been completely, silently poised in his executioner elegance, in his Mephistophelean finery, in the wicked munitions gathered behind his eyes, had a familiar name not flickered past his ears.
 
Then there was Rexanna, it echoed, it spun, across the cool, rancorous fringes of his cranium, and the enigmatic immorality twisted, contorted, and coiled back upon him, lingering down into the treacherous yearnings, the ferocious tidings, the seditious mayhem snagging over the gallant edges still remaining in his figure. He thought of the femme he’d known, the gilded mare who’d helped their icy lands prosper, whom he’d battled when he was a mere fledgling soldier, who’d tied herself to the Elephant King and left their wintry home – only to return after his father had perished. The boy had been so angry at her, because she’d left, because she’d fled, because…now he understood – she earned her freedom in the only way she could, for history had told her to vanish, to take what she could and think nothing of the consequences (and there’d been none to speak of – the Reaper had been saddened and told no one; faded away on the embankments of the lake).
 
What about all the other palaces he’d destroyed? What about the people within – innocent, blameless? What had they done to deserve Calstron’s infamy and abhorrence? What about all the ruins left behind? What gave him the right to take and take and take, simply because he could?
 
Erebos could feel his heart quicken, vicious and mauling, his breath losing its distinct nonchalance; he swallowed down the virulent, hostile indulgence, the desperate need to release his primordial fury, and then the fool spoke again, and the boy was forever lost inside the torment of another day, another moment-
 
I even almost killed someone here, in these very caves.
 
Everything else was hollowed, carved out, nothing afterwards. He didn’t hear the bittersweet end to his tale, where he’d found love and devotion and all these other things he didn’t deserve (how many had he taken from that, how many had he destroyed who’d never even had a chance for happiness and contentment?). He didn’t hear anything about understanding, because the prince wouldn’t, couldn’t, had already been bottled up with enough predacious ferocity to make another break apart. The beast forced his eyes to look upon this monster, this foul, disgusting, vile piece of filth, and he hoped the other beast saw his finality, his demise, there, riddled in the bits of sea slate and machinations, the predacious, sinister slide of his wolfish movements, haunting, promising only wickedness and naught more. He was a blade, a rapier, a cutlass, ready to run him through. Orsino and Enyo only stood back, amidst the shadows, not necessary for the foretold retribution. He sank into oblivion and didn’t think twice about it, couldn’t hear Enna’s begging pleas for him to cease, couldn’t process anything else but the fervent, callous need to rip, rampage, and avenge (just her frame, bloodied, battered, too still, too silent, nearly encompassed by death).
 
“Your story hasn’t changed my mind.” His vocals were eerily tranquil, eldritch, otherworldly, a cloaked, choked infusion of fellow, heinous beings, ravenous and sinister, crossing over a line, a point of no return. The warrior pressed closer and closer still, until they seemed chest to chest, and he’d be able to watch everything unravel and fall apart, relish in the intoxicating, vicious end to a pathetic menace. “I’ve been hunting you for some time,” and here a smirk appeared at the implied layers of his persistence, right at the corner of his mouth, and he was neither his father nor his mother in that moment – a heathen all his own – content to witness the impending destruction. He breathed again, took in the toxins and smoldered, seethed, fumed, bristled, awakened and on fire; and the invocations, the enchantments, within his soul simmered to the forefront, beating a derisive, bloody crusade through his veins. They slid towards the foul beast, potent and infuriating, and while he spoke, they attempted to sketch themselves in lines and scars, in pain and torrent, in brutal, remorseless, fierce cycles; a mirror of Enna’s blemishes and lacerations, dark, malicious intentions cutting, sliding, gliding through flesh and bone. “I’m glad you remember my friend in the caves.” He relished in the crescendo, in the rapid twists and turns of his magic, lingered there, in the wild springs of carnage and contempt, feeding into the frenzy of hate, of malice, of vindictive, infernal creeds. At least this was one oath, one promise, one proclamation he could finally keep. The son of the Reaper’s voice lowered to a whisper, merciless and iniquitous, a step away from slaughter. “This is for her.”
 
I will not grant you peace. I will not grant you mercy.
 
The violent, seething ends of his fury pulsed and pervaded the makeshift tomb, his eyes were pictures of fervent derision, his body an audacious, emboldened declaration of retaliation, contentment, and brutal, sadistic satisfaction. The dark, loathing forces gathered in his soul, in his sorcery, blended together in a sickening, invoked calamity, intending to strike, to hit, to devastate, to destroy, aiming directly for the monster’s heart – intending to murder what little bit of its essence prevailed. The devil’s hand pointed him down the right path, and he swung his scythe.


Erebos
clever got me this far - - then tricky got me in

image || table

@Calstron

Calstron Posts: 43
World's Edge Protector
Stallion :: Pegasus :: 16.2hh :: 8
Goatfairy
#7
Calstron did not protest or squirm or cry. He did not beg, he did not flinch. He barked one breath of laughter as the darkness cut him. Yes, he thought. This is what I've always wanted. The darkness hit his heart, he fell, and the spark left his eyes. He looked to his reaper and spoke his final words. "Thank you."

His family was free, Rexanna was free, they were all free now.

(I know, I know, word count limit. But its the end and I didn't feel like writing a long one <3)
 
WARNING:
Calstron is a dark character that often utilizes curse words and his posts may contain triggering content.  PG-13, not PG

Raeden Posts: 188
World's Edge Specter atk: 7 | def: 11 | dam: 3
Mare :: Unicorn :: 15.3hh :: 5 Years 3Months HP: 66.5 | Buff: NOVICE
Tin :: Plain Cerndyr :: Earth Spirit Dressy
#8

The mare decided to go for a walk today. She wanted to take the twins out and get them use to the world. There was not much time left in Helovia, and Raeden could feel it brewing. Darkness was Taking over, and times were changing. Her cream hooves traveled the different lands. Teal orbs watched the world, keeping an eye out for any danger. There was a place she had not been in years. She enjoyed the spot when she was a child, but it had been years. This place was special to her, and she looked to her children. "When I was your age, I use to play in the heart caves with my sister. Aunt Ru and I got to explore so many places. Hopefully one day soon you will get to meet her. Twins run in the family ." She chuckled lightly as she began to near the caves. Tin trotted next to the group. His watchful green eyes made sure that the children did not run off.

Something felt off to the mare. Coming to a halt, the woman looked at the twins. "Stay here with Tin. I will be right back." Tin nodded his head and looked to the kids. Raeden trotted off around the corner. Her eyes could not believe what she saw. There was a black figure standing there. His body was haunting and ghostly. She had to blink a few times before she could believe her eyes. Was that Ron? What was happening? The confusion started to settle in and then it was fear. What were they doing? She wanted to call out to him, but no she was too late. The grim reaper claimed his soul. Horror washed over her body, Raeden felt like she was going to faint. No.. no.. NOOO! This was not fair! The winged body fell to the ground. The thud could almost be felt.
"STOP NO!! WHAT DID YOU DO!." Her voice was hoarse and screaming. Blood coursed through her veins and her heart fluttered. The feeling in her stomach was like lead.

Her pale form slid past the dark man. Fear washed across her features as she looks at him. Dropping t her knees the woman burried her face into his cream mane. Her body pressed against his still warm form. He was gone he was dead. " No, please don't do this." She could barely speak. Her muzzle tried to move his wing. She tried to get him up. Raeden did not want to believe the father of her children would not be there for them. A single feather fell from the heavy wing. Her blurred eyes looked down and picked it up gently. "Please don't leave me.... Please I.. I.. Love you" hushed whispers fill the air as she laid across his neck.

"Talk."
calstron & raeden
"You're lovin' on the psychopath sitting next to you"

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@Akriel


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