He is a beast free of obscurities, yet with ignoble designs. He is flawless; perfected and glorified, but with malicious intent. Still he wanders (not aimlessly) with the belial, feeding from those of lesser minds. How savage he seems in all his alluring promises and deceptions. He is not unlike the ocean - always taking, never giving.
The Basin is still, silent this night. Hoarfrost mirrors the aurora borealis across the vast sea of grey that laps against the mountainsides. Somewhere along the borders of the Basin Chiron prowls, his stride taciturn, but with purpose. His muscles ripple beneath his flesh like the colors chasing the light in the sky above him. Yet his face, so elegant and handsome, is dark and stoic against the vespertinal beauty that surrounds him. As redundant as patrolling the outskirts of this land can be, Chiron rather enjoys his own company. The mundane quiet quells his calculating, cruel mind.
He follows a well used path along the edge of the glassy lake. His steps sure and careful so as not to disturb the still. All is quiet save for the whispering plume of his breath stealing away into the night.
C H I R O N |
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| Hidden Account |
| Mare :: Unicorn :: 16.1 :: 4 Buff: NOVICE |
| Bluey |
l a r k s p u r
Loose ends, they tangle down and then take flight.
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Larkspur has become a creature of the night time hours, a shadow stalker, a phantom that clings to dark crevices of the Basin’s mountain side, a devious divinity, wraith like and fleeting. Beneath the luminescence of the aurora dancing, spinning, shining vividly against the blackness of the evening sky, she lurks, an apparition composed of ebony silk and the ash-blue of a stormy fall sky at twilight. Thoughts of discontent and turmoil drive her forward, evident in the tautness of her steps, the quick snap of her knees as they flex, digging hooves into the chilled ground of the valley floor, leaving imprints of discord and dissonance in her wake. She is a tangled mess, woven and composed of doubt and indecision, and it clashes with the customary wilderness of her spirit, her typically fierce nature. The naivety of youth has haunted her in an uncustomary way, what ambition and arrogance once justified as righteous no longer provides the same reassurance. So she is left to walk herself in an endless circle of vexed inquiry, wondering, pensive, undefined and uncertain of her place.
That’s when she sees him. Aureate eyes, smoldering and baleful, watch the stranger as purposeful steps halt in their movement, reducing themselves to stillness, until she stands frozen, a picturesque statue enshrouded in smoky shadows, with only the scant starlit illumination to cast any light against the obscurity of the gloom. She does not recognize him, but she recognizes his purpose, the dangerously even and precise calculations of his movements, and the look of conviction that he carries in his expression. He is a crimson ghost, russet red and alluring, another stranger amongst the masses that she has yet to come to know. Like always she muses, contemplates conversation, craving connection, but she does not speak. Instead she chooses to remain silent, her presence defined only by the silver-gray slivers of her breath that curl and spiral toward the heavens, and the flame-like glow of her eyes against the canvas of her shaded expression. The questions fashioned by a quelled curiosity remain unspoken, but they linger, like unpleasant reminders of her insignificance, in the forefront of her mind.
Who are you? Have you found what I cannot?
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Image Credits
Long tendrils of grass drape across his path, tracing the tendons below his knees as he crawls along the lakeside. His eyes, brilliant and sinister, search the gray that is the night. He is alone for some time, left to his own devices. The inhabitants of the Basin are oblivious in their slumber as he prowls the outskirts of their home. Still, there is a tenseness in their throats, a prick against their hearts. Their General and Corporal have been stolen away, leaving a mass of Soldiers with no guidance. Yet there is something beautiful about the disorder left in their wake that makes Chiron’s lips curl upward.
He sees the gleam of her eyes, reflecting against the aurora borealis, before the smoldering shadows of her body. His eyes travel and assess her feminine curves with calculated, precise quickness. All the while he remains aware of the silence of his stride, the tickle of overgrown grasses against his legs.
Still, she stares with eyes aglow until his body quiets. She speaks to him in riddle, in masochistic poetry. Her lips, black and sultry, whisper so strangely the tenuous questions.
“I have found all and nothing.” His voice as deep as the night, as weathered as the world in which they live. “I am a soldier.” He states, the light of the moon caressing the smooth surface of his horn. He says nothing more.
C H I R O N |
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| Hidden Account |
| Mare :: Unicorn :: 16.1 :: 4 Buff: NOVICE |
| Bluey |
l a r k s p u r
Loose ends, they tangle down and then take flight.
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“I am a soldier.”
His statement is simple, words curt and sharp and short as they leave his mouth, slither past gleaming ivory white teeth that glint in the moonlight. There is something dark about this stranger and it’s not just the night time shadows playing tricks on the cerulean mare’s mind. He is a soldier indeed, she can tell by the way he slides and glides across the damp Basin ground, muscles coiled beneath crimson and ivory laced skin, intimidating, menacing, and daunting. Gilded eyes appraise him in diligent silence, but she does not respond immediately to the conversation he has offered. Instead she ponders the chance of meeting him here, two souls alone in the darkness, happening upon one another as they trail aimlessly through the night time hours. She is the one that is aimless though, not this great red creature, who seems to watch her with eyes that hide beneath them a vicious, instinctive intent. There is nothing aimless about him.
Curiosity killed the cat. Generally she would be content to leave him well enough alone, return to her solitary wandering of the valley floor, traipsing through the scattered trees and jogging through the ridges of the mountainside, lost, continuously searching, but for what she did not know. Tonight bravado beckons her out of hiding, draws her from her reserved musings and ramblings of a wayward spirit caught in the twists and tangles of fate. She approaches him, eyes watching carefully, unwaveringly, her slender black and white brindled horn slicing through the darkness as she moves in smooth, catlike strides, an apparition beneath the glimmering glow of the constellations and other heavenly bodies just above. She stops, close enough to hear the sound of his breathing, to see the silver wisps of air take flight like the ghosts of birds as they spin upward toward the star strew sky. From beneath the wild, tangled mess of her forelock, an aureate gaze lingers on him, questioning and inquisitive. The mare flicks her tasseled tail along the cool ground, ensnaring blades of grass and other debris along the way, until the fine obsidian hairs curl around her pasterns in a lazy, twisted mess.
"Do you have a name, soldier?”
It is a simple question, but there is more to it than meets the eye. More to her. Larkspur is a soldier too, strong and resilient, meticulous and conniving. Perhaps that is what allows her to linger, the resemblance she sees in this shadow shrouded stallion is too tempting to look away, the malicious glint in his eye like a shiny object fixated on by an easily distracted child.
She will learn.
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Image Credits
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keep coming back to the scene of the crime; any
