| World's Edge Nurse |
| Mare :: Equine :: 17.1 :: 9 |
| Adoptable |
01-19-2013, 07:19 PM
(This post was last modified: 02-08-2013, 05:49 PM by Tor.)
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Her world is unhinged. It is slow, tedious, as the mare walks, inconsolable and wracked with tremors. The alabaster mare is dull, numb, hungry for attention that will not come, and horrified with herself.
What have I done?
"Just go."
"The Gray is better without such a hag."
"All I hear is inconsistency."
"I'm afraid that's not how it works."
"You have no sense of honor or friendship."
Fly. Escape. Run. Traitor. Coward. Mongrel. Not trusted. Not loved. She had given up Ophelia for a new family. A trade. A clean break, she had told herself. The bone had not been set by dear Phi, as she had hoped. Instead, it became a fracture. Frayed lines extended either way from the snap. Towards Edge, towards Gray. Which one would hurt most? Both did. Both kept stabbing her as she walked.
She was bleeding, but there was no spot of crimson blood to mar her fresh, snow-white coat.
She was dying, as surely as a fish out of water. No one could suffer this much pain without dying. What was happening to her?
The mare was entering the Arch now, escaping the skies filled with deep gray clouds, curling with pale silver. Here she had met Mauja, the frost-king, burned, flesh twisted into a gruesome parody of former self, bleeding, furious. Here she had met Ophelia, here she had first found herself inexplicably attracted to the dear pale mare. Hadn't she said she had almost immediately enjoyed Phi's presence?
It was gone, the fragile seed that had blossomed into a beautiful flower. It did not seem there was a single dead leaf yet, or a scrap of a root. It was dead and gone, every root carefully plucked from the sweet soil it had originated in. Even the soil around it had become decayed, the blossom untended for too long during the bitter cold of Frostfall. So brittle it had become, when the two met face to face, it had shriveled away into dust, into nothing. It should've been saved with the warmth of Birdsong. Was it my fault? Had she poisoned it, killed it?
Somehow she found herself away from the Arch where her reflection was distorted (was it, maybe, a reflection of her changed personality?), along the edge of the blue-sky Basin.
It was not let her to go into trouble.
But why not?
So Tor began trotting into the territory, smelling of fresh Edge and wild flowers.
""
we all have our stories- i'll tell you mine if you tell me yours.
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image credit
WORDS OF COMPASSION ARE STRONGER THAN ANY ACT OF POWER.
| 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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Treacherous was the path that led through the mountains and into the oasis of the Aurora Basin. Larkspur had traveled it once, though in far worse shape than she appeared now, and even then she had a guide to keep her from straying too far and to certain death over the edges of the hidden, snow laden precipices. However, now the midnight mare required no aid in traipsing the dangerous mountainsides. She navigated the trails and paths through the scattered basin trees with ease, clambered with practiced agility and poise through the rubble and rock littered ridgelines. She had come to find some semblance of solace in her time spent in silent observation, moments in which she could be left to linger in her own turbulent thoughts, unbothered and unhurried by the rest of the world passing by around her. Never in her youth had she considered herself a recluse or a loner, but more often than not during the nights she spent traveling beneath the lights of the Aurora Borealis, she watched herself from a distance, a figure falling slowly into the welcome abyss of isolation.
It was during one of her promenades around the Basin’s outer borders that the unicorn spotted the invader, a rather large creature of ivory complexion against the spring greens of the foliage and stone grays of the mountains great expanse. Larkspur was nothing if not diligent, assiduous, industrious and meticulous in her study of what went on while she watched, a guardian of the utmost dedication and devotion. Her past haunted her, yet in another way entirely it was what drove her forward, forcing her to strive for perfection and purpose, to make up for the blame and the guilt that she carried upon her shoulders- a permanent weight. She stood like a statue, poised and looming amongst a graveyard of fallen rocks and boulders, a creature created of a fall sky at twilight, obsidian tendrils of hair like a river, black and overflowing as they fall haphazardly in tangles across the strong arc of her neck. Upon a backdrop of burnt cerulean her gilded eyes shone, like flames they lingered in unwavering scrutiny of the stranger who has so boldly breached their borders. Larkspur is flawed in many ways, but one thing she does not lack is loyalty. As with any allegiance there is a price to be paid, and she does so with her unwavering devotion, her resolute faith in those who had taken her in when she was at her weakest. There is no questioning or mistaking the fierce gleam of fortitude that radiates from the depths of her golden eyes, locked and steadfast upon the figure of the hornless mare. Anger festered like an open sore, infected with abhorrence and rotten with resentment, and she thought briefly of her father’s broken and battered body, a lifeless entity amongst hundreds of others upon the blood stained battle field. His death was a constant reminder of her incompetence, her inferiority, but it also served to fuel her rage and feed her frenzy.
If Larkspur could have snarled, like the beastly mountain cats that called these very lands their home, she would have. With movements not to unlike a prowling beast she doubled back from her watchful ledge and began circling around the trotting figure of the equine, skirting skillfully over stone strewn paths littered with the remnants of spring life, until she had placed herself directly in the mare’s path. Her tasseled tail whipped in agitation, black tendrils stinging the thin skin of her flanks and curling like vipers around her pasterns and her hocks, a clear sign of her unrest. Her refined visage was raised proudly, muscles coiled beneath the taught skin of her arched neck, golden eyes burning with unmatched intensity. The black and ivory brindled horn upon her brow bestowed her birthright of superiority, and she wore the token proudly, not hesitating to threaten the approaching stranger with the aim of its sharpened edge in her direction. Larkspur was a soldier, driven by duty and further fueled by the restless fire of ferocity. As much as she would have enjoyed advancing on the trespasser, brash decisions and thoughtless actions would be of no help to her now. Instead she worked like a finely tuned machine, driven by meticulous and perfectly practiced instinct, trained to asses situations and follow orders. It was not Larkspur’s place decide this newcomers fate, for she was nothing more than a guardian, and she would remain steadfast and unyielding until those who could arrived.
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Image Credits
| Deceased atk: 7.0 | def: 12 | dam: 6.5 |
| Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16.1 :: 7 HP: 72.5 | Buff: NUMB |
| Heather |
To be united within the parlors of his home again meant protection, devotion, loyalty, the cruel fixation of his insouciant travels, enamoring the foul, wicked damnation of his distinct, harsh revolution upon the earth, again and again. Terror and horror drifted through the arts of machinations and despair, twisted into the foundations of distorted calamity, incensing dread, invoking fear. He choked, he strangled and he suffocated, malicious and menacing, conjuring demise amongst the wicked doldrums of a scintillating, seditious din. He marched into the clamor of destruction and allured, beguiled, the quiet, hushed essence of slaughter, stealing the last chords of breath from an impromptu finale. Severe, savage and brutal, he slunk, slithered, amongst the bramble of cold mountain air and chilling reveries, stealing, absconding, pilfering the lavished finery and applying it to the villainous threads of his apathetic grandeur. He slid along foundations of bestial horizon and crooned heinous predilection, the scent of another, a trespasser, wavering and wandering along the grounds of his warlord possession. The walls would not stand for intruders, interlopers, caressing and cavalcading across the grounds of their heretic, irreverent bliss, their villainous convictions mauled and muted by some roaming encroacher. He’d intercepted the foolish, the weak, the ignorant before, embroiled their hides in his infernal wrath, slaughtered and condemned their souls with his silent, quaking ire, devoured and annihilated their entities with his arduous destruction. He’d watched as they lay dying along the floor, prospered further wreckage as their lungs quivered, as their bodies shook, as their veins cooled. Is that what this creature sought, the eternal quietus, the everlasting melancholy of his meticulous calculations, of his patient, consuming indifference? His sinuous design stroked inaudible thrums of obliteration, the barbaric opus of his puissant prowess, beating an archaic requiem of menacing, withering enamel along the chilled earth; the vivid, barbarous song of the depraved.
When Deimos arrived to the aperture of snow, ice and exotic expanse, there the stranger was, nestled amongst the muffled, faint motions of the aurora, a waiting, listless fool. What was to be her fatal flaw, idiocy, ignorance, divine reverence to some newfound god, some glorious hope, a wandering, tedious salvation? Would she induct them to the hallowed halls of justice and let vengeance seep through their veins? Would she vow to deliver them to sanctity if they turned over a new leaf? Or did she long for her suffering to be extinguished, for her melancholy to be stolen and discarded, aligned to the contorted sculpture of obliteration? He gave the blue and gilded femme, a new guard he’d plucked from the Threshold himself, a noteworthy, respectable nod, an inclination of distinction – she’d defended her harem against this audacious clod. Then, he advanced upon the draft. He weaved devil’s motion and movement, barbaric and ensnaring, a chosen offering of ferocious, gruesome insurrection, the violent, brutal predatory hauntings of a raptorial soul. Intimidating, vexing, overwhelming, the eldritch, otherworldly countenance of a frozen, apathetic soul captured his features, rendered them inscrutable, unreadable, while the hastening ruthlessness of his voice chided, echoed, demanded. “State the purpose of your arrival.”
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| Outcast |
| Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16.1hh :: 8 Buff: NOVICE |
| imi |
This fluid feels like pain, This stoic mood is all in vain
I reach into the dark, I tear the sun and me apart
How many years ago, How many deaths I can't let go
My flesh is temporary, my God extraordinary
D E S C A R O
Descaro twitched as he walked along their herd's border, his duties as a soldier meant a regular patrol of their territory. On the odd occasion he would make his way up the narrow path and into the snowy wastes to scour the land that surrounded them. He had been most vigilant in his duties of late, maybe it was due to losing their previous land, and he spent long periods of time by himself whilst on border watch. It was similar to his time in the Edge, always stalking through the trees and hidden from most. He trusted so few, d'Artagnan was one and his alabaster lover Kou, Faelene another. The soldier knew, however, that he had his allegiance to the herd and to his species, he would protect it with his life for as long as he could. That was the promise he had made to the Frost Heart which he carried with him now under their new Lady. Little was his knowledge of Psyche but Descaro was rather partial to mares and minded little that she now led them. Besides, their herd was made up of far more than just one soul. So it was with a dither of his body that he spotted the lone travelling Tor heading into the Basin.
By the time he approached she already had an audience. A mare he hadn't met before but he offered a nod in mutual respect, she too was as vigilant in her duties as he. Her fur an odd shade of azure with black hair hanging from a tail of a lion. Slowly, he stalked into the tension riddled group with eyes flickering in simmering warning, a horn of precious crystal had formed neatly on his head. Something beautiful yet deadly. It was then he noticed the General Deimos begin his advance and like any loyal Soldier, Descaro fell in behind. His face a terrible mix of venom and menace, coldly his tail swished and lobes curved forwards to complete his impregnable appearance. He said nothing, the words of his General carried enough power without any input from him.
He moved and listened, waiting for any order he may receive and prepared to cover the back of his superior whenever needed. The equine was foolish in her careless wandering, the consequences that followed would be her fault alone.
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| World's Edge Nurse |
| Mare :: Equine :: 17.1 :: 9 |
| Adoptable |
01-20-2013, 12:45 PM
(This post was last modified: 02-08-2013, 05:49 PM by Tor.)
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Fool. Tor tells herself, watching incomprehensibly as one more approaches in this land she has seen once before. A different time, a different ally. Now she has declared her colors of the Edge, not bearing flags of gray. Now her heart is pierced just as much as it has been fulfilled by Destrier's love. Now she is dying while living. But what, exactly, does she hope to gain upon intruding on this land? Nothing. The mare as pale as an angel tells herself, and it's true, but she came here anyway. Does she reminisce over the times when she and Ophelia walked together?
It hurts, hurts more terribly than anything she has endured. Why did Ophelia leave her? Didn't she understand? Tor was still there for her. Just because... just because... I did leave her. No, she didn't! All she did was change her colors. Change your colors? Ha! You hurt her as much as you hurt yourself! Tor hadn't meant to! Couldn't Ophelia forgive that? Why had Ophelia been so harsh about it anyways?
The mare is blue. Deepening blue, with a neck of azure clothed in ebony, and a leonine tail twisting gracefully, bobbed with a black tip. She does not speak, but prowls, a slinking vixen with cunning eyes, waiting, watching, for movement. For a long minute Tor waits. It is not long until the breeze whispers of another coming, bearing the scent of death on the wind, and the stygian approaches, earth dying with every step, killing. Murderer. Killer, desecrator. Grass turning bitter, dried, under hooves dark.
State the purpose of your arrival.
What if she has no purpose here? No reason to be here? What does she say? Saved by the third arrival, maybe, she is. A bay unicorn. Tall, seemly, handsome. But she is not swayed by beauty the way she once was. Besides, her heart is already in it for Destrier and the twins she carries inside her round pale belly. Do I tell them nothing? Fate was cruel either way.
"I need to speak to Psyche." Lie. Tor replies quietly, meeting his gaze in silence. His magic does not seem to act on her it acts on the life around it- does it maybe have something to do with being a healer, or him not focusing it on her? Both, Tor thinks to herself. "Privately." The draft adds, for no reason. Well, there is a reason- it would be easier to run if there was only one guarding.
It would be better not to fight, for the sake of her foal.
we all have our stories- i'll tell you mine if you tell me yours.
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image credit
WORDS OF COMPASSION ARE STRONGER THAN ANY ACT OF POWER.
| 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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She and the alabaster and marbled equine are not left to linger alone for long. From the breadth of the Basin’s surroundings her fellow soldiers come forward, militants marching for the cause, encircling the unprepared victim, loitering in her ignorance, foolishly deigning to consort amongst malevolent monsters and the wicked. Weeks have passed by the midnight mare in a constant blur, each day melting into the next, her heart beating solely for the purpose of driving the blood through her veins, her mind lost in the aimless, empty wanderings of remorse and regret. What a vacant, hopeless feeling it was, to be consumed with guilt and unable to restore the foundations of trust and faith. Her conviction was nothing more than broke, crumbled ramparts; ruins long lost to the timeless battle waged between the need to seek redemption and the want to remain in shameless indignation. But nothing ever stays the same, and the seasons pass in slow, unrelenting succession, nature heralding the arrival of Birdsong, and with it a metamorphosis. Even she, the infallible warrior, unfailing in her dedication, unwavering in her perseverance to uphold excellence, found that the tides of her melancholy and misery were beginning to change. And she felt it now especially, an undeniable sense of belonging, as if her existence had finally found the foothold it had been scrambling for along the sheer cliff face of her desperation.
Deimos acknowledges her, and she swells with unabashed pride, an indescribable sense of acceptance all but overcoming her. She exchanges her own curt dip of her horned brow, golden eyes fierce, steadfast, her resolution built upon the framework of her loyalty and the foundations of her devotion. She would not leave, no fear or fire could chase her from her obligation. The bay stallion also concedes her at his arrival, and again the cerulean mare is consumed with an inexpressible appreciation. For too long she had allowed herself to linger in discontent, dawdle and simmer in the biting flames of her own disquiet. However, the creature that now stood before them was not the same Larkspur that the good general had whisked away from the shadowed woods of the threshold. No, the mare before them now demanded attention with her presence, commanded respect with the ferocity of her stance, the incontestable tenacity with which her gleaming, burning eyes bore into those of the stranger who thought herself brave enough to step hoof here. In wake of Deimos’ demand and the intruder’s ensuing response, a guttural, indiscernible huff is the only noise that she offers the ivory and ash stained mare before them. Her slender ears lay pinned against the flat of her skull, ebony strands of wild hair flying against the azure backdrop of her elegant face, teeth snapping in irate exasperation. There was no need for her to speak, for the unicorn knew that her temper was as volatile as any living flame, and it would be unwise to allow it to burn the ignorant fool that stood before them, when far worse things awaited her idiocy of traipsing so carelessly into the lion’s den.
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Image Credits
| Deceased atk: 7.0 | def: 12 | dam: 6.5 |
| Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16.1 :: 7 HP: 72.5 | Buff: NUMB |
| Heather |
01-20-2013, 01:31 PM
(This post was last modified: 01-20-2013, 01:36 PM by Deimos.)
Predator, carnivore, an unsung rapier willing to be taken from its scabbard, drenched in the wicked, treacherous bouts of ruin watched, witnessed, and listened as fellow beasts joined into the corrupted sector of militia and might. No diplomats, no politicians, no emissaries, only callous, indifferent entities that protected, upheld, sheltered and secured their earth, their kingdom, from threats. Their world is not a palace to waltz, dance and make merry, it immersed the harsh, the brazen, the terrible and dangerous, pervaded the essence of inhabitants until they were solidified, archaic wardens, giving their blood for ice, for auroras, for power. Soldiers and guardians: they are a vicious stronghold, blending their contempt into a lacquered gate, locked, barred, unwilling to abide an inane request. To leave their leader with an unknown individual, one that smelled of the Edge? Briefly, he wondered if he should destroy her there, leave her body to be desecrated amongst the frozen splendor, let her bulk chill, freeze, into the perilous juncture of beauty and death. How fragile was her mind? How delicate were her sentiments? How easy would she be to break? It would be a fitting ending, vicious finale, to ignorance, folly and ineptitude, a sinking, fleeting measure of hope pealing into the clamor of her heart’s silence. But he didn’t, biding his time in the sullied aperture of snow and hostility, controlling, tightening the noose of patience and rigidity, applying the structure of his prowess into taut, coiled muscles, into vivid, pernicious enchantments that make the earth weep, wilt, and despair. His gaze refused to leave hers, the deep, looming, penetrating stare that severed and choked, that stifled and suffocated, puncturing and lacerating the foundations of bravery, of audacity, sifting through convictions until they’ve slashed away the senses of promises and benedictions. Her words carried no weight, bore no jurisdiction, and the grate of his vocals informed the draft of this, abrupt, damned, condemning the art, the finesse, of her request. “Trespassers have no right to demand.” Their Lady could arrive of her own accord, but they would not yield to the doomed perils of a vacuous intruder. They would not turn to the shadows, they would not flee from an interloper and allow her to sweep the world of her commands and requirements. They were might, they were brawn, and they were formidable. She could not have the conditions of her ineptitude, of her whims and fancies. He spoke for his soldiers, for his brethren, for the fine palisade they claimed, chiseled armaments of a promised siege. “We will not leave.”
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| Outcast |
| Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16.1hh :: 8 Buff: NOVICE |
| imi |
This fluid feels like pain, This stoic mood is all in vain
I reach into the dark, I tear the sun and me apart
How many years ago, How many deaths I can't let go
My flesh is temporary, my God extraordinary
D E S C A R O
An angered snort rips out the nose of Descaro and he lifts his head up a little higher to view the mare with contempt. Utterly offended and amazed that this mare thought she could demand the presence of their leader, who was she anyway? A bare head that had wondered into a place she did not belong was asking for a beating. Her voice was so feeble and quiet he almost laughed in her face, her body stocky but her presence was weak. She hadn't the poise of a warrior or the confidence of a leader, nor had she a reason to be here. Ignorant to her surroundings and carelessly throwing her life into the hands of her enemy. A mouse in the den of lions. There were a great many things the Soldier wanted to say yet Descaro held back, he had not been given the order to do so and that point in itself infuriated him. The bay shot a quick look at Deimos, almost pleading in his eyes to set him loose and let the beast that raged within out into the world.
Instead the General spoke and Descaro nodded in firm agreement, standing proudly and drawing himself up to look as powerful as possible. Body twitching now and then in anticipation as tail swished from side to side. Whether their leader had herd the fumbling mare come crawling into the Basin he didn't know, but he made like a bodyguard and kept his trap shut. This mare would not be granted an audience with their leader unguarded. Foolish little equine. Still and imposing he eyed the mare, what would she do now? Descaro almost wished her to come forward, within his range where he could end her life in one swift move. Take her life and tear it into small pieces, rid the world of another incompetent fool. The blue mare seemed to echo his thoughts as his lobes twitch to her snort. A formidable company indeed, the Basin's borders were well guarded.
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| Outcast atk: 5 | def: 9 | dam: 5.5 |
| Mare :: Unicorn :: 15.3hh :: 6 Years HP: 64 | Buff: NOVICE |
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Altair :: Common Cerndyr :: Starpast
prissy |
01-20-2013, 06:08 PM
(This post was last modified: 01-20-2013, 06:09 PM by Frost Fyre.)
Frost Fyre
You Can Never be Too Young
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I had saw others gathering, but why? That's what I was trying to figure out. With my cloven hooves beating the ground I make a steady course towards the gathering horses. When I finally see why, I'm shocked.
There's an equine.
And I know who she is.
With my emerald eyes wide I stare at her, recognizing her as the mare from the marsh I had seen not too long ago. But what she was doing here in a territory filled with vicious unicorns no one knew. I see father there, his bay coat stood out, looking so similar to mine. Although my coat was dusted with white and a white patch cloaked my rump. I hurry over to my father's side, giving a curious look at the mare, then glancing up at him. I turn back to the mare, she seemed depressed. Super depressed. Like she was dying of heartache or something. Was it because her friend Ophelia told her to leave? Or maybe it's because that wolf guy called her a hag. I think for a moment, guessing it's because of the mare Ophelia and the others who insulted the draft.
I scratch the earth, wondering why this equine is even here. Was she trying to get herself killed or had she gone insane and thought of herself as a unicorn?! I sigh, shaking my small arabian head before looking up. My mouth remained shut, and no words of mine would be spoken.
This poor mare though, she looked so depressed. I just couldn't get over it. How it must feel to be rejected by your once friend. I shake my head, saddened out how cruel some of these horses could be. I look back up, stepping closer to the draft mare, my words were gentle and I tried to be reassuring."Are you alright?" I flash a little we-should-put-our-racism-adside-and-help-this-poor-mare look to the others, hoping they catch on or continue to treat her like garbage. Although I myself was racist I could easily push it aside to help another. Especially when they're dying of depression.
[[This post looks like trash. Sorry. x/]]
"Chatting with others."
Thinking up her moves
Putting her moves to work
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Psyche the DarkEmpress Posts: 380
| Deceased |
| Mare :: Unicorn :: 15.3 hh :: 8 (ages in Orangemoon) Buff: ENDURE |
| RayoDeSoleil |
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The shadow-mare was in quite a foul mood.
Memories assaulted her relentlessly, driving like stakes into her remarkably vulnerable mind. Weak! an inner voice shouted angrily. You are becoming weak! Was this the beginning of the end? She shivered, thinking of the falling sensation that had ended the dream, nightmare, whatever it was - the jolt of waking, as though she simply did not exist within the darkness anymore. She had not dreams since that night, had not been haunted by eyes or screams or bodies. It was a blessing and a curse, really - after all, if she did not exist in the dream world, how long would she continue to exist here? Was her demise looming nearer, with her simply too blind to see it?
Perhaps she could shake her doomsday thoughts if she truly believed that it had only been a dream. It had been so real, her emotions so raw, and he was there, there through all of it... normally those who frequented her dreams showed up and disappeared, or showed up in pieces, or simply donated their voices to her unrest. Never had she spoken so clearly to an apparition... but what else could it be? Mauja was gone - Gone, she reminded herself firmly - and she was, quite simply, losing her grip on reality. It made her angry, really, and the more she thought about it, the angrier she became. Her feelings were rendering her useless, she thought, leaving her throne ripe for the picking. The desperate were the easiest to steal from, their fears allowing important things to fall through the cracks.
No, she thought, reining in her overactive imagination. My position is secure. My followers are loyal. I will not fall. Still, the worry wiggled at the back of her mind. I. Will. Not. Fall. The thought was firmer this time, full of determination and distaste. Since when did she give in to weakness and worry? She was strong, she was queen, and she was not going anywhere. A mountain loomed before her, surprising her; she turned and made her way along its base, passing open-mouthed caves silently. She was very close to the pass now, and something was amiss, or so it would seem. At first, she noted only those that were hers - Larkspur, Deimos, Descaro, and the youngling Frost Fyre - odd that a filly would find herself in such company, wasn't it? Actually, it was quite an odd company to find together in general.
And then she saw Tor.
The memory of the idiotic draft still left a bad taste in her mouth. After she had returned to Helovia, the Lady had run into the stupid fae in the Deep Forest. They had quarreled, and Psyche had left her mark on the mare's hide. Why she would come here, of all places, was beyond the jackal - to her, it seemed a suicide mission, particularly if she were alone. And, it would seem, she was. Perfect, she hissed mentally. It would be a brilliant distraction to beat the femme bloody for trespassing, now wouldn't it? The Dark Empress weaved her way through those assembled, halting before their unwelcome visitor. Her orbs were cold, emotionless; her voice dripped poison. "Why are you here, you hornless fool?"
[W/C | ---]
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Walk walk walk.
"Talk talk talk."
Think think think.
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![[Image: psycheicon.png]](http://i800.photobucket.com/albums/yy285/schwartze_asylum/psycheicon.png)
Please feel free to tag me in all replies!
Use of force and/or magic (with the exception of death) is allowed at all times.
| Outcast atk: 6.5 | def: 10.5 | dam: 7 |
| Mare :: Hybrid :: 16.0 hh :: 6 Years HP: 77 | Buff: BULK |
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Tinek :: Royal Silver Dragon :: Frost Breath & Shock Breath
Tamme |
01-21-2013, 05:05 PM
(This post was last modified: 01-21-2013, 05:09 PM by Tamme.)
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Tinek held onto the earthen amulet in his talons as he flew along side his bond mate. As soon as the group departed from the Spectral Marsh, she had followed the heavy hoof steps of Tor to the north. Now that her memories were back, she understood every dip in the earth and every whisper of the wind through the trees. However, as the draft steps of the grey spotted mare turned to a strange pass between the mountains, her alabaster brows furrowed deeply. What was this place? Ophelia narrowed her gaze ever so slightly and took the amulet from Tinek, holding the chain in her jaws as she willed him to stay back with a simply suggestion from her mind. The dragon was none to happy about this decision, but he grumpily agreed, tossing his silver scaled body into the snow and glaring up with crimson eyes.
Ophelia ignored his antics and trotted up the pass, cloven hooves making quick purchase on the unfamiliar ground. Her mind, ever perfect, took in the details of this place, the way the path was hidden in the mountain, and recorded in intimate detail. Mud still coated her once pristine coat, not caring about bathing until she returned the amulet that had been so carelessly tossed at her hooves. The journey had been long, but unhindered by life within her belly, Ophelia had quickly gained on the mare, and she emerged into a strange, beautiful valley when the mountain pass ran out. Oddly enough, hidden in the snow filled tundra was a rather beautiful grassy field with a lake that reminded her instantly of the Sky Mirror in Anarore.
Strange, dual colored eyes took in the sight of some familiar unicorns, one of whom nearly killed her, gathered around Tor. Ophelia frowned, grunting in irritation at the pinto mare's stupidity. With a hardened gaze, the alabaster mare approached the herd and took a place standing beside Tor. Carefully, she put the amulet back around the mare's neck, though she was still not entirely forgiven for leaving. A harsh look, angered, flashed in Ophelia's gaze toward the feathered gray and then she looked at the rather angry bunch who had gathered. Ophelia had met Psyche before, and they had come to a rather interesting understanding. Psyche knew about the grey and about their rather unique and somewhat violent purpose. She was curious as to how the black mare would react now without her loyal, red and white dog at her side and an entire herd at her back.
"My apologies for entering unannounced, but I had a debt to repay," she spoke quietly, the chime-like tone of her voice taking on a more dark nature. "I do not know why Tor has trespassed," she said, glaring hard at the mare, "but I assure you that this meeting is not on behalf of the Grey." Ophelia's body stood tense, though she was covered in mud, and her tail hung quietly behind her sloping hips. She met the eyes of those who now stood in this semi-circle, seeing some new faces as well as one of a filly who was rather familiar. "Before my friend here does anything else reckless and otherwise rash, impulsive and stupid, would you be so kind as to give her the opportunity to leave of her own free will?" she asked, her words punctuated rather sharply and directed at Tor.
First the mare left the Grey without meeting, then she told Ophelia that she was leaving in an obvious time of personal distress, and now she was throwing her life into the hands of some unicorns, one of which had tried to end her life before? Whatever blood was shed would not be on her hooves, not over this. The normally very kind and gentle Ophelia was tense with irritation, frustration and anger, and she tilted her ears against her skull, her strange eyes never leaving Tor. Whatever herd she had left the Grey for had better be damned grateful that she was rescuing their healer from her own madness.
[OOC: Elope, if you consider Phi putting the amulet around Tor's neck to be powerplay, I will remove it! ]
OPHELIA
Faith shattered and decays as frosted blood flows in my veins
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sdrcow @ DA
Undertow has come to take me. Guided by the blazing sun. Look at everything around us. Look at everything we've done.
Please. Anyone. I don't think I can save myself. I'm drowning.
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Please tag me in every response!
| World's Edge Nurse |
| Mare :: Equine :: 17.1 :: 9 |
| Adoptable |
01-22-2013, 06:13 PM
(This post was last modified: 02-08-2013, 05:49 PM by Tor.)
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She is drowning in an ocean of regret.
The death-stallion says, in his sinister-cloaked voice, he will not leave. Nor will the muscled bay stallion, or the blue vixen. Blue. It represents, so often, misery as well as happiness. Maybe Tor should've been blue as opposed to white, for it seemed most regretfully she stood in place of many different emotions as well. The draft lets those cold words swill around in an empty mind, until they drift to the bottom of her grief and finally make her sit up. Pay attention, she chides, forcing away the anguish and dejection settling over her defeat.
Quickly, another arrives, this time a face slightly familiar. A foal. The filly that had appeared in the Spectral Marsh with the one that tore her apart. This time, Tor takes better note of her. Small. Must be quite young. Dun, or maybe wild bay, with appaloosa coloring. A horn spiraling from small skull. There is more to her, but Tor doesn't really note or care. Think, the pale mare urges herself, trying to open the mouth that has dried so quickly.
There are no words on her tongue.
More hoof-beats. And more. First belong to the black fae, the mare of the forest she met long ago, dark, sinister, just as twisted as her gnarled horn. Mouth opens and closes, trying to work itself into words that are legible- hear-able? Get out of the dust, Tor tells herself again, and again, trying miserably (and failing) yet again to make coherent sense. But this time, a familiar, wonderful scent washes over her.
"Ophelia?" Incredulous, the draft turns her head, eyes seeking out the alabaster form amongst the mountains dark. No! Why had she of all horses come? And then only one word registers.
Friend.
Immediately she comes out of the water drowning her, comes up nearly perfectly formed. Maybe it is just shock of hearing the word that wakes her so- maybe it is just relief. "We should talk," Tor says quietly, trying to reach out to put her muzzle to Ophelia's shoulder- then withdraws swiftly, prickled as she realizes the hard set of Phi's eyes. "And we should leave... forgive me, Lady of the Basin- I understand I have trespassed, but will you let me walk out? I will not come near here ever again." She gathers her prayers.
Please let us leave.
[Sorry if I've skimped over anyone or that it's a bit rough around the edges. It's hard with some many people in this thread!]
we all have our stories- i'll tell you mine if you tell me yours.
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image credit
WORDS OF COMPASSION ARE STRONGER THAN ANY ACT OF POWER.
Psyche the DarkEmpress Posts: 380
| Deceased |
| Mare :: Unicorn :: 15.3 hh :: 8 (ages in Orangemoon) Buff: ENDURE |
| RayoDeSoleil |
01-22-2013, 10:49 PM
(This post was last modified: 01-22-2013, 10:49 PM by Psyche.)
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Silence.
She was not accustomed to being kept waiting. She did not expect that she would be treated much differently as the Lady of the Basin than she had been as just Psyche, the outsider - but she did expect that trespassers would jump to and answer her damn questions! Lobes flattened to her cranium; skull raised, horn a glaring tiara against the aquamarine sky. Nares flared; eyes narrowed. She hadn't the patience for this idiot to come trampling into her land with absolutely no reason to be here, much less to be treated with a less-than-respectful attitude.
But before she had a chance to voice her opinion - or unleash her fury - another form entered the fray. Brilliant white tipped in crimson found her way to Tor's side, speaking on behalf of the larger mare, who seemed rather... confused, to say the least. The Dark Empress glared. "My apologies for entering unannounced, but I had a debt to repay." There is something dark in her tone as she continues. "I do not know why Tor has trespassed, but I assure you that this meeting is not on behalf of the Grey. Before my friend here does anything else reckless and otherwise rash, impulsive and stupid, would you be so kind as to give her the opportunity to leave of her own free will?"
The Lady considered as Tor seconded the notion. Perhaps had she been alone, she would have allowed them to simply leave; but she was not alone, and she would not appear weak to those who followed her. Not when she felt so weak to herself. No, they would not get away so easily - but she had no desire to harm them, not when it meant winning the enmity of the Grey, who might indeed prove so useful. So, then, how might she use this meeting? What could they offer her in exchange for their freedom? "Ophelia, darling, as much as it pains me -" her tone suggested quite the opposite, her lyrics bored and vaguely irritated "- I'm afraid that simply will not do. I do not hold you accountable, dear; you are free to go as you please. But what would you offer for your dear friend's freedom?"
[W/C | ---]
[OOC | I had Heather and Bluey's permission to skip them, so I hope it's ok with imi and Dark as well. If not, I will remove this, and we may simply go in order. I was trying to avoid pointless "He stood here looking menacing" posts. ^^]
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Walk walk walk.
"Talk talk talk."
Think think think.
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Please feel free to tag me in all replies!
Use of force and/or magic (with the exception of death) is allowed at all times.
| Outcast atk: 6.5 | def: 10.5 | dam: 7 |
| Mare :: Hybrid :: 16.0 hh :: 6 Years HP: 77 | Buff: BULK |
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Tinek :: Royal Silver Dragon :: Frost Breath & Shock Breath
Tamme |
01-28-2013, 02:45 AM
(This post was last modified: 01-28-2013, 02:45 AM by Ophelia.)
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Ophelia's keen, strange eyes watched Psyche intently, trying to glean motive behind her amber eyes and sardonic smile. She knew that the black mare was in a poor position, being asked to give mercy in a logical situation but backed by a herd of angry, protective faces. To show mercy would make her appear weak to the brood at her heels, but to offer a harsh judgement would earn the contempt of the Grey. Ophelia waited, more curious than anything to see what choice she would make while cornered. Alabaster ears were tilted forward in interest, and her figure was naturally tense. She stood angled, slightly in front of Tor the deserter, a subconscious protective measure.
A smirk crossed Phi's lips when Psyche uttered that it pained her to have to make a decision which so obviously aligned with her joy. Ah, she was bargaining for Tor's freedom, a fair action to be made. Ophelia wondered if Tor was still a dear friend after such desertion, ignorance and stupidity, but those were thoughts to be weighed at a different time. For now, she could not abandon Tor to the Basin (even if she went of her own damned free will) and possibly lose the interest of the Edge. Though Ophelia knew little of the World's Edge, she knew Rishima and had very much enjoyed conversing with the dark mare in the Deep Forest. Returning a healer could prove to be in the Grey's favor at future intervals, so now she had to make a choice.
Either should could leave Tor here to fend for herself (which sorely tempted her), or she could offer something. Not knowing what would interest Psyche more, Ophelia had to conjure ideas. Cloven hooves settled in the arctic grass, and she gazed intently at Psyche, her presence soft but unyielding. "Naturally you could not let such foolishness go without a price, though I believe Tor's freedom, as she is no longer a Grey asset, is her own to pay." Ophelia's words were harsh, but real. The Grey protected their own, and she had left them. Any other help should come at a price. Now, she understood why friendships and alliances were so detrimental to her cause. Phi did not want to abandon Tor, not when their friendship once meant something.
Ophelia turned to glare sharply at Tor. "However, I shall make this my final act of friendship," she said pointedly to the grey pinto. The white mare's gaze turned back to Psyche. "I can offer an Amulet of the Sun, which could prove useful. The Grey is not in a position to offer favors for personal matters." The white and crimson mare waited for Psyche's response, wondering if the black mare was toying with her too, ever intent on keeping the equine from the beginning.
[OOC: Waited 48 hours. I can adjust if anyone else wanted to post!]
OPHELIA
Faith shattered and decays as frosted blood flows in my veins
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sdrcow @ DA
Undertow has come to take me. Guided by the blazing sun. Look at everything around us. Look at everything we've done.
Please. Anyone. I don't think I can save myself. I'm drowning.
|
Please tag me in every response!
| World's Edge Nurse |
| Mare :: Equine :: 17.1 :: 9 |
| Adoptable |
|
No. No, no, no, no. Please tell her Psyche had returned with a fiendish smile, nor that she stood, a corrupted inky figure with a voice as hard as iron and steel. Please tell her that she would be allowed to go freely. This could not happen; she could not afford to be so stupid as to let Ophelia take the fall. It would be more detrimental than ever, and put Tor another notch past fallen apart. This could not and would not do; Tor refused it with every bone in her body. Selfish she had become, putting her friend in danger. Ophelia meant so much, and now it continued to go downhill.
Dammit all! Why was she so stupid? Then again, how had she ever thought she was going to be followed, by Ophelia of all horses? Even so, why had she risked the foal growing inside her, slowly and steadily, to a bunch of unicorns ready to gut her?
"I understand, Ophelia, that you may perhaps feel obligated to do such an act. But you do not need to take a price from Ophelia- I have an amulet to offer myself, an Earth Amulet. I'm sure it will do you well." Tor emerges from her daze, speaking as quietly and gently as ever, heart a little empty.
Ophelia had said, once, she trusted her like hardly anyone else. And now, Tor had not helped her. She had torn her down; with her own reckless wants. Maybe if she talked about the foal, Destrier, Ophelia would understand more- the confusion, how lost she was without her pale unicorn companion.
we all have our stories- i'll tell you mine if you tell me yours.
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image credit
WORDS OF COMPASSION ARE STRONGER THAN ANY ACT OF POWER.
Psyche the DarkEmpress Posts: 380
| Deceased |
| Mare :: Unicorn :: 15.3 hh :: 8 (ages in Orangemoon) Buff: ENDURE |
| RayoDeSoleil |
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She was silent as she weighed her options, and it stretched for an uncomfortable amount of time. Fine, let them wait. Let them worry, she thought moodily. They've wasted my time enough, let's just waste some of theirs. Truly, though, she found herself in quite the predicament. To allow them to leave unharmed was folly, and weakness before her herdmates. But to keep them here, to harm them, was to bring the wrath of the Grey - and that of their allies, if they had any - down on the Basin. And, while they were strong, they were not yet as established as she would like, nor as well-trained. They all had their strengths and weaknesses, just as there were pros and cons to any situation, but she could not see any advantage to keeping them other than to settle the personal vendetta that was long-standing between she and the painted draft.
Oh, yes, she still remembered that day in the Deep Forest, seasons ago when she had first returned to Helovia. How far we both have come, she thought, and angrily dismissed the admission of kinship. They were nothing alike, the hornless and the Empress. Tor had shown a remarkable stupidity, daring to step foot on their lands with no reason. What had she had in mind? After all, she had requested the Lady's presence. Was it all for show? A parlay of sorts? Surely she knew that she would get no mercy from the Empress? Stupid, she had to remind herself, and suddenly she realized that the mare had no plan, had no reasoning, had no goal. Contempt for her grew exponentially.
Still. She could not hold them and suffer the consequences. Forbidden to ally with the other herds (not that she would have even if she could have), the shadow-mare knew that she could always pay the Grey should the need ever arise for false friendships. And what better to pay them with than amulets or other trinkets such as the one she was offered? It was a barter item, a trade of sorts, and though she did rather think she was getting the short end of the stick, she knew that it might be of use to her later. And still, despite Ophelia's presumably traitorous heritage (for from the red in her mane the Empress assumed that she had descended from the despised brother of hers), the Empress could not help but respect her, for her presence demanded it. She didn't like it, but she would at least admit it.
Besides, wasn't leniency good for a leader sometimes? No, she thought to herself, but she could see no other option. Their benefit lay in the release of the idiot mare, and she would not put her herd in danger for one so brainless. "I do not think that the price is a fair one, but I have no wish to alienate your organization through rash, stupid," she glared pointedly at Tor, ears flattened, "actions. You may both go in return for the Earth amulet." She paused, waiting to receive her payment. Finally: "Go. But rest assured, if you ever come into my lands uninvited again, you will not leave."
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Walk walk walk.
"Talk talk talk."
Think think think.
|
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Please feel free to tag me in all replies!
Use of force and/or magic (with the exception of death) is allowed at all times.
| Outcast atk: 6.5 | def: 10.5 | dam: 7 |
| Mare :: Hybrid :: 16.0 hh :: 6 Years HP: 77 | Buff: BULK |
|
Tinek :: Royal Silver Dragon :: Frost Breath & Shock Breath
Tamme |
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Ophelia found the leader's actions to be rather merciful, all things considered. She was allowed to keep her sun amulet but the black one took Tor's earth amulet. She nodded to the leader's decision, though a few of her words struck the wrong chord. "Tor left the Grey before arriving here," she clarified. "Nothing about this venture was sanctioned. My involvement was strictly personal, but your decision is respected." The alabaster mare respected Psyche in that moment; she had not been placed in an easy position, but she handled the matter with dignity and poise.
"Should we need to converse again, I will await on your borders and not breach your warning. If you need me at all, you can find myself or the Grey in the Deep forest. Until then, Lady Psyche," Ophelia regarded the leader with a title she deserved. She was a true lady, a leader. The secretive hybrid then took a few steps back, ignoring Tor entirely. How could she even bear to look again at the mare who had torn at her heart at her weakest point and then run off for Ophelia to come dig her out of a hole? Selfish. She had never once before believed the pinto to be selfish, but now?
Once out of the gap of the mountains, Ophelia reunited with Tinek, a weariness depressing her frame. "Come, Tinek. We are... whole, again. We have to be."
[Just wrapping up! :D ]
OPHELIA
Faith shattered and decays as frosted blood flows in my veins
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| |
sdrcow @ DA
Undertow has come to take me. Guided by the blazing sun. Look at everything around us. Look at everything we've done.
Please. Anyone. I don't think I can save myself. I'm drowning.
|
Please tag me in every response!
|
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