the Rift


War is Never Cheap Here [Deimos/d'Art]

Tammenia Posts: 2
Hidden Account
Mare :: Unicorn :: 15.1 :: 13
Tamme
#1


TAMMENIA
Your soul is able, Death is all you cradle
Sleepin' on the nails, There's nowhere left to fall


How long had she been running now? She could not remember. Seeing her son, handsome, proud and alive has been too much to handle. The once young colt who had been ripped from her side at birth was now a fighter for justice, but what justice existed in this world? He would drive himself into the ground trying to please the masses with the wonderful opiate: "peace". Peace was a horrible and bitter lie, fraught with wickedness and cruelty; it was unattainable. To want it was to condemn yourself to a hellish life of reaching for a star that would always just be out of your grasp, and she was smart enough to not fall into a pit of self-loathing and masochism. However, chasing after the opposite was just as foolish.

Tammenia knew she was nothing special. Because her coat was achromatic and did not sport the bloody crimson of Riekahn's line or any other color for that matter, she was a commoner. When she carried Paladin, she had been far too young and in a love struck craze that she now remembered bitterly. The Crimson King had been a charming bastard up until the point when he knew he had her in his grasp, and she was too stupidly loyal and wrapped up in false emotions to try and leave. Not until he started the wars. The day he plunged their people into the first bloody battle of feathers and horns, she had tried to escape, but all she earned was a swift kick in the chest. On cold days, she could still feel the ache of the damaged bones. Breathing had not been easy for many suns, especially not while in foal.

Isilme had almost been a dream. She stumbled upon the dawning of a new world before any had made footing there, and she had stood on the Tides with three other unicorns who were now just a distant memory. Unbeknownst to her, Paladin had taken the Tides. Tammenia had not named the child. She did not know that Paladin was her son, not until now. And, she had vanished into the gaping hole of apathy with a medic named Ruske. He had helped her recover from herself, inviting her into the Woodlands where she made her new home, or at least, she was not forced out. The Sect had called to her then, and she apathetically followed.

As a unicorn among equines and the feathered, she was royalty; as a unicorn among unicorns, she was nothing special. Tammenia did not hold the unique features of her herd with bright color or rich magic. She was average. Without magic, chocolate eyes, small stature, and white with black points made her a commoner, and she accepted her position with all the grace and behavior of a lady.

Now, she picked her way through soft grass, the sky above bright and blue. The gaping hole in her chest seemed to swallow the brightness and drown it in misery. Black hooves moved with natural grace, though her posture was far from confident; she moved as one who would rather go unseen, unassuming but delicate. Thick, black forelock hung down her chiseled face, mane hanging in helpless knots, and her tail swung listlessly behind. Keen eyes looked out for any who might be watching, ever aware of her surroundings.



[For Deimos and d'Art]




d'Artagnan the Nightshade Posts: 364
Aurora Basin General atk: 6 | def: 9 | dam: 6.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 17hh :: 12 HP: 68.5 | Buff: ENDURE
Aramis :: Common Hellhound :: Hellfire & Superspeed imi
#2

"You lack the requisite spine and testicular fortitude to study under me"
-- Patrick Rothfuss

Green. It was too green. The warmth of the Sun had returned and caressed blood soaked fur as birds took up their high pitched song which grated on disgruntled lobes. The smells too sweet and fresh, Bird Song blinked awake from the harsh grip of Frost Fall, the latter a month the shade much preferred. The snows in the North were his only relief and he left them behind reluctantly to start his search in the Threshold as representative for the new Aurora Basin Time Mender. A different magic filled his entity now, just like the Moon had before, the God of Spark had seen it fit to bestow a similar gift. Sealing the lips of the reluctant Nightshade, he would have to accept the God as the patron, not that he would worship the clever bastard.

Trees soon engulfed him and d'Artagnan found himself wondering through the Threshold, flicking his tail from side to side in a relaxed manner. He spent a short while ghosting around tree trunks and ducking under branches until he found a mare. The shade came to a halt, pools of curiosity observing the pale femme. She looked bedraggled, like someone had grabbed her long pitch tail and dragged her rump first through a hedge, knots of mane hanging lifeless. It overshadowed her intricate body of small delicate proportion and a spiralled horn had grown sharply through limp forelock.

Happy to of found a unicorn on his first trip for the Basin, d'Artagnan made his presence known by stepping around a trunk and presenting himself before her. Leaving little room between them as he turned dual coloured oculars on her. "Welcome to Helovia, it's a pleasure to meet my own kind. I'm d'Artagnan" voice as morose as usual. A clump of his own inky forelock lay tangled in the clutches of reindeer horns, deadly but unwanted. Especially the nose.

[sorry it took me so long to get to you Tamme <3]



my heart’s an endless winter
              filled with rage

Use force at your own peril ;) please tag me!

Deimos the Reaper Posts: 527
Deceased atk: 7.0 | def: 12 | dam: 6.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16.1 :: 7 HP: 72.5 | Buff: NUMB
Heather
#3
Rampant decadence tucked in the boughs of their frigid, bestial monstrosity, looming across the surface of antagonistic fervor, beating, bleeding, a clamorous requiem of debauchery and annihilation. Anarchy coiled, embroiled, the helix scheme and distortion of supremacy; it incensed, ravenous and devouring, clinging, clawing, unforgiving, oppressing, cherishing and consuming. The pariahs melted and molded into heinous sinew, swiveling the vicious chest of endless carnage, of unholy possession, of imperial poise and prose; he felt the world beat against his daggers in a staccato rhythm of mercy, begging, breathing, ushering the whimsical tides of a enigmatic lament – despondency and melancholy ignored. The edge seared into their lungs, into their muscles, tempting, beguiling, alluring, the fingers of cloistered immorality springing into the tumultuous siege of heathen brushstrokes, alight, ignited, finessed into the wicked clamor of primal treachery. How destitute the world would become underneath their hooves, shrieking, mournful cries echoing from the enveloping chambers of narrowed hallways, gallows set up for the weak, the delicate, reeling from the loss of their hearts. He, pariah and revolutionary, the seditious, subversive, mutinous, watched and witnessed the ferocious, feral indignation seize damnation within its fist, become hungry, ravenous, famished, want, need, yearn, more and more, the unforgiving, severe clarity of titans, of behemoths, of monsters. Already forsaken, he marched ahead of the minatory militia, of the minutemen, domination and ascendancy, the silent, hushed arrogance, the arched detachment, the nefarious plunge of Tartarean art, demonic canvas, unholy insurrection. He’d pierce, perform, another act of terror, devastation, danger, scintillating bedlam brewing in the primitive enmity of his enigmatic, feral soul. Brutality, menacing and savage, woven so precariously into his bloodstream, bent another absolution of malice into the corridors, trenchant ascendancy.

He swung into shadow, reclaimed its Stygian airs as it clung to his darkened pelt, a coat of damnation he never relinquished or released. His movements were sinuous and winding, the wandering, wayfaring glide of nefarious serpents, of guiled, infernal demons, stroking the ground with the power to obliterate the capricious fancies of the realm. He held no true purpose to his travels, a common hymn he rendered in childhood, scarring and destroying the pathways of merchants and men, offering naught but the finery of his dissonant tranquility. Here too, in the dusk of the Threshold, he bestowed little but the infinite heresy of his creation, his terrible, piercing gaze locking onto the silvern mare, rough in the pale light, and the glass-sworded D’Artagnan, as he arrived in an interval of meticulous predilection. Was this yet another creature to chime away to their plains of predacious grandeur and remorseless acrimony? What did she have to provide besides the scorn, the loathing, and the contempt? What more? He tilted his head, silent in study, still ethereal, still brilliantly damning in the harsh grate of naught. He allowed the Mender to be the diplomatic greeter, harken salutations, for detachment and impassivity had molded itself to the wiles of his tongue, the parting of his lips, the caustic shades of his nonchalance. One breathy segment of noise left his throat, indistinct and muffled, a pallet of unsaid notions, scrupulous and methodical distinction; concise, inscrutable, Delphic design. “Hn.”


Tammenia Posts: 2
Hidden Account
Mare :: Unicorn :: 15.1 :: 13
Tamme
#4


TAMMENIA
Your soul is able, Death is all you cradle
Sleepin' on the nails, There's nowhere left to fall


A pair of unicorn stallions made their way into her dark chocolate view, and she regarded them with a stony expression, a furrow barely perceptible over her clear, delicate features. Upon closer inspection, one of them had a red nose. Odd, but not entirely unusual. She had seen worse. What did stallions of antlers and darkness want with her? She could turn tail and run out of the land she so tentatively walked in to, or she could remain where she was and face whatever wrath they held for her colorless coat. Whether out of bravery or foolishness, the small, older mare remained rooted to the ground, tail swayed like boughs of the emerald trees.

The earthen sweet smells and chatter of life were addressed by her senses and summarily discarded into the hold of nothingness that seemed to swallow any predominate emotion that grew too great. Those emotions were threats. After years of abuse and cruelty, her mind had altered itself accordingly, as did her frayed heart. At the deepest core beneath layers of filth, grime and wickedness was a kind, gentle soul who stood beaten and crying in a corner, but the cold gaze in what should be warm brown orbs belied nothing.

Two colored eyes and those more blue than the deepest point of the ocean regarded her. Blue and brown seemed more warm, though both pairs seemed to shimmer an ancient darkness. Tammenia lifted her neck ever so slightly, not out of pride, but defensively. Twin, tulip towers shifted to the side, ebony tips turning inward. A deep voice spoke, void of the excitement that hung in the meaning of his words, and she narrowed her gaze slightly, studying to see if he was mocking her; her conclusion was that he was not.

The subsequent grunt from the stallion who made her hide crawl with uncertainty was both comical and disconcerting at once. She wouldn't know whether to laugh or defend herself from harm. Absently she wondered if he did that on purpose. "Greetings," she replied, her voice subtle and smooth, like honey. The way he worded his statement lead her to believe that one, there were not many of their kind here, and two, he preferred his own kind over another. "My name is Tammenia," she replied.

"I will admit that it is pleasant to be greeted by my own kind. You are an exclusive herd then?" she asked, regarding the pair with less suspicion than before.






d'Artagnan the Nightshade Posts: 364
Aurora Basin General atk: 6 | def: 9 | dam: 6.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 17hh :: 12 HP: 68.5 | Buff: ENDURE
Aramis :: Common Hellhound :: Hellfire & Superspeed imi
#5

"You lack the requisite spine and testicular fortitude to study under me"
-- Patrick Rothfuss


Undergrowth moaned in the arrival of the deathly General, his dark hide appearing beside the Mender with his usual haunting air. d'Artagnan offered a short nod to the silent creature who was now in charge of all things militaristic, quite ideal for a steed of his talents. The shade making sure he stood at least a few inches away from him, his lance long and deadly as always. Eyes flickered away and to the pale femme occasionally being drawn to his red nose, it was highly distracting much to his despair. A short indecipherable noise left Deimos's maw and d'Artagnan gave him a look of mild amusement, wondering if there would ever come a day when he would suddenly start talking in eloquent speech. The image in his mind threatening to keel the red boy over in peels of laughter.

A sleek level voice speared his daydreams of a talking Deimos as the mare introduced herself as Tammenia. Antlers following nose he swung to listen, lobes twitching forwards as he gave quite a vibrant proffer of his head in return. Glad her question had gotten them straight to the point, "that we are! Only unicorns may enter our borders and they must swear to adhere to that view." If was the closest he could get his voice away from a growl, wearing a small smile after a magnificent bow. With that he turned to Deimos and wondered if could manage his own name, a rumble of laughter vibrating though a red covered body.

"I am d'Artagnan and he is Deimos." He followed up with his own introductions, leaving out their titles for now until he understood exactly what the mare wanted here. She seemed a little older than himself, not a common thing to d'Artagnan often finding himself the grandpa of parties.




my heart’s an endless winter
              filled with rage

Use force at your own peril ;) please tag me!

Deimos the Reaper Posts: 527
Deceased atk: 7.0 | def: 12 | dam: 6.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16.1 :: 7 HP: 72.5 | Buff: NUMB
Heather
#6
He allowed the Time Mender to do the talking; the monster did not delight in conversing, preferring to remain the aloof, apathetic behemoth, trenchant and mordant, locked in the fabric of shadows and lethality. Instead of rendering his voice, coarse, blunt and stark, he listened and studied. A creature woven in the scrupulous, methodical intrigue of despair and bedlam, the chilling rancor of his glare remained poised upon the femme, scouring, pondering over the state of her turmoil, the unrest of her bidding, the sentiments of her appearance. Unrelenting in the wake of their chaotic, turbulent haze, she didn’t appear ruffled, perturbed or agitated by the promise of their brutality, by the wicked cataclysm of their sculpted machinations. Was she alike to their doctrine, blended and blurred by loathing, contempt, executing and bludgeoning the feeble until they were ultimately discarded, thrown away to pieces of ash, comfortable killer in the midst of anarchy? Was she barbed, sainthood scrapped, stripped, from armaments of seething, assailed falsehoods? Did she crave what they did, bent, patient, bleeding desire for the calamitous arches of presaged, augured allurement, the danger, the predacious grandeur of the ravenous, the avaricious, the voracious? When the seditious splendor of his stare found no more information, he twisted his gaze towards the leaves, devil’s witness to their defeat at his hands, curling, unfurling, devoured by the disorder, the puissance of his beguiling existence. Eternally wicked, everlastingly iniquitous, he broke the silence of his rapacious stature by uttering the query that his fellow patriot had not, slinking the blue haze back to her ivory figure, capturing the canvas of her entity with the atrocious ether of his depraved abhorrence. His voice, the resonance of diabolical fiends and nefarious croons, cast the shade of their sinister intentions, why they stoked the flames of the Threshold, why they locked the chords of upheaval; to claim creatures of their own barbarity, of their own licentious creed. “What do you search for?”



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