the Rift


Slave To The Grind [Archi/Open]

Ailith Posts: 47
Deceased
Mare :: Equine :: 15.0 HH :: 8
Adoptable
#1

No matter what we breed, we are still made of greed
This is my kindom come, this is my kindom come



A dissonant tune was sung through the canopy overhead and while the heat of Tallsun showed no mercy, Ailith was content to bath herself in the golden rays. Whatever had passed between herself and the frozen queen felt like just a dream now, a mere fantasy that had allowed her to pass through the threshold and into the heart of the dunes. She had felt so quiet in her presence and it was a charming thing to find such an amiable socialite out of the rigid reputation the alabaster mare seemed to inhabit. There were still questions left unanswered but the golden girl was in no hurry to have them appealed. Once more her hooves found the comfortable rise and fall of the hills beneath her and the soft crunching of dried grass announced her arrival. She was home.

Countless hours were spent simply admiring the various shades of shadow that fell over the grasses as idle clouds moved hesitantly above her. At times, she felt that merely standing to watch the world pass by was enough to entertain her downtime. Though, there were moments when a restless soul was bent to seek more. What she sought was not something that had ever acquired a name and perhaps it was better left untold…

Frosted tips fell over an amethyst gaze that looked entirely out of place on such plain beauty and if had not been for those very same eyes, her plainness would be something that defined her. However, beneath that exterior there lie something much more. Physical attributes had never been something that made the mare, no, it was a sense of reality that deterred those hopeless dreams. Whether it was truth that drove her or the lies about her desires was to be debated. But with such light came incredible darkness if one were to look carefully enough.

And sometimes that darkness was better left untouched.


Archibald the Dauntless Posts: 386
Absent Abyss atk: 6.0 | def: 9.5 | dam: 8
Stallion :: Equine :: 18.3 hh :: 10 years HP: 80 | Buff: SHIELD
Loretta :: Alaskan Malamute :: Time Slip Time
#2

The soft rays of daybreak turned into harsh, unforgiving tendrils of Tallsun heat. The Foothills was bathed in the golden rays, painting the green grass that was once charred and dead underneath the inglorious foothold of the Sun God. What happened so many seasons ago was not stored in memories of those that newly graced their lives in the rolling hills, but it was etched deeply into the hearts of those that truly belonged. However, there would forever be a veil of darkness that loomed over the brightness of the Sun, for it had caused too much damage to remain with dignified glory—at least, in the dark warrior’s mind, the Sun reigned with untamable dishonor. The Dauntless felt an incredible peace now that he was back, roaming the dips and arches of the Foothills, despite the shadowy past. He moved now with no intention, merely acquainting himself again with the territory he had been apart from for weeks. He was truly at home here, not even the Mystic Woodlands could compare, for this was Archibald’s true home.

His meandering, however, transformed by one single scent that crossed over his pale muzzle. His mind instantly recognized it as the buckskin mare he had battled with in the recent invasion. Archibald’s bright eyes narrowed slightly, a dark haze shifting their appearance. With a simple flick to his tail, the Dauntless turned his hooves to seek out the mare. Loretta, noticing this change, searched his mind for his answer. Images and memories of Ailith and Archibald battling for the claim of territory filled her mind as she used her bond to unlock chambers of her bondmate’s memory. Snorting, Loretta quickened her pace to drive ahead of Archibald. Her amber eyes, wide and observant, took what they saw and implanted it into Archibald’s brain to replace his own sights. Their bond was complete trust, trust beyond anything Archibald had ever known before.

Loretta’s haste proved true, and the pair finally was rewarded with a clear image of the mare. Loretta, still sharing with Archibald, glanced up to gaze into the pink hued eyes of the mare, and from her throat spilled a small sound between a growl and a whine. Moments later, Archibald approached from behind his companion, shaking her sight from his eyes. ”Have you decided to stay on these lands as a rogue, unwelcomed; or, have you been invited by the new authority?” Archibald’s voice was deep, low, but clear. His golden eyes, eyes that matched Ailith’s coat plainly, locked onto her crystalline amethysts, waiting for a response.




Through the ages of time
I've been known for my hate,
but I'm a dealer of simple choices;
for me it's never too late.


please tag me

Circe Posts: 101
Deceased
Mare :: Unicorn :: 16hh :: 5 Buff: NOVICE
M.E.
#3
Circe


This itch in Circe’s side was beginning to become bothersome; the sorceress continued her pacing through the strange hills of her supposed “home”, her hooves discovering the tender textures of the fertile land, feeling every bump and valley as she carried her smoky form over the uneven terrain. Surely there should have been some modicum of calm and tranquility after the raging storm that was the invasion; surely Circe should feel at peace with herself, finally settling into the bosom of a respectable clan.

But she wasn’t.

The sorceress felt….wasted. Circe held a position of power, yet had no inkling of how to use it; she knew she must prove her mettle, yet her azure eyes could see no path to carry her forward. It was a deplorable, sinking feeling that strangled the pit of her stomach; a sour taste coated the frosted fae’s tongue. With every hoof-beat, her mind continued to whirl with memories and worries, impatience and anxiety, old angers and new, emerging passions. Every muscle was tensed, as though readying the mare to lash out at an imaginary enemy; it felt as though Circe was stuck in a rut of waiting for some grand battle of the fates-- and she did hate it. The sorceress was tired of waiting.

Supposed she imagined it—but Circe raised her head a mite higher, catching a rather peculiar scent in the air. When she first came here, the entire region smelled like a stranger’s home, filled with all sorts of odors that were inevitably tied to the stories of lives lived in this fertile crescent. The time spent here allowed Circe to become accustomed to the aroma of the Hills, as well as the scents of her unacquainted herd-fellows. It was such that, as she paced ‘twixt the valleys with a proud, high kneed gait, it was easy for her to discern that this was truly different from what she was used to detecting. Yet there was still traces of these aromatic grasses present within the scent…Perhaps it belonged to a stray who wished to remain in their original homeland?

The disquiet Circe felt in her limbs refused to allow her to ignore the strange scent; she followed her hooves as they swiftly lead her to the strange scent, and perhaps the stranger who possessed it. Though she only moved in a trot, the sorceress’s hooves flew in her haste—her eagerness—to intercept this stranger. As she came closer, Circe realized that there was another scent present; though this time she was able to discern them to be a member of her new family. Surely someone she hadn’t been able to meet yet, though a member nonetheless.

*”Have you decided to stay on these lands as a rogue, unwelcomed; or, have you been invited by the new authority?”*

As she came upon the clearing where the well-built brute of a stallion and the magenta-eyed nymphette stood conversing, the notion came to Circe that she may not be required to be present for this confrontation. The idea irritated the sorceress further; she was deeply unhappy with her idleness. However, she also didn’t mean to impede upon the authority of others or push her way into unwanted regard. She forced the energies within her limbs to quiet. “I apologize,” she said with sincerity, her words flowing from her mouth as might the pure, cooling waters of a crystalline brook pour and wash over smooth, granite rocks, “I meant not to intrude upon something private. I merely wished to patrol the borders of this, our new home.” She looked to the large stud with the steely disposition—the one who possessed the scent of her family. “Would you have me leave, brother?” Circe asked, testing the boundaries of her acceptance; would the brute consider her truly a member of the Grey? Perhaps, one day, she would need to shake some forbidden tree to garner something note-worthy.


[OOC: Hope you don't mind me plopping Circe in here :P ]








Ailith Posts: 47
Deceased
Mare :: Equine :: 15.0 HH :: 8
Adoptable
#4

No matter what we breed, we are still made of greed
This is my kindom come, this is my kindom come



The scent of the Hills had been tainted with the masculine fragrance of the Warlord and she could sense his nearness even before his bulk was presented before her alongside Loretta. The mutt’s excited yelps did nothing to calm the sensitive nerves now humming to life from within and as the mare lifted her face in his skeptical gaze, she was able to relive her time spent upon the plains with him. Her lips parted at the seams as if she meant to respond and perhaps she had, but the folds of her tongue began to twist and no words could find their way past her mouth. Her wide eyes looked carefully from stallion to dog before she finally had the sense to pull herself together despite the dormant anger that had been forcefully awaken. Her shoulders seemed to quake in remembrance of his attacks and she was content to merely look past him for a moment before once more turning her brilliant gaze to his. “It depends on how much it would plague you to know that you must rely on me now when it would have appeared that you were intent on killing me only a few days ago.”

Her body grew tense before him and she cast a nervous glance to his bitch as if the thing would stop taunting her with pointed teeth and predatory yelps. Ailith remained quiet though, still debating her words in spite of them already hanging before her like a noose. Emotions seemed to well up from her gut and spoil in her heart; there was no way of avoiding him anymore even when her nightmares had seemed to cease after such an event. He had brought her meaning and given her reflection and instead of thanking him for the opportunity, she figuratively laughed in his face. It would take some time for her to feel comfortable in his presence and more time still to understand his participation of invading the Foothills- but she hoped the time would come. Otherwise, what was this family if not everyone in it could play nicely?

Though, when the chance had presented itself to rid herself of the uncertainties, Ailith decided to grab it with open arms.

Her attention had been momentarily distracted from the Dauntless to favor the approaching figure of a horned mare. She was nearly indigo in color and her company was more than welcome amongst the existing pair; so much so that Ailith was smiling by the time that her apologies reached her. However, that very same smile seemed to fade as her words seemed to pass over her upon such a distasteful request clearly aimed for the Warlord alone. For a moment, she scowled, so displeased with such rude introduction that she almost turned her face merely to spit upon her. Did mares hold no authority in this place or was it merely that she had been a former Foothills resident? With all the enthusiasm of a child, she looked away and avoided the mare altogether, as if by ignoring her she would get the hint and leave.

Ailith had been the sole company of this spot before the two had so coarsely interrupted and she intended for it to remain that way.

OOC|| Circe is fine! I just wanted to make that clear so you didn’t think I didn’t want you here. Ailith is just a meanass.


Archibald the Dauntless Posts: 386
Absent Abyss atk: 6.0 | def: 9.5 | dam: 8
Stallion :: Equine :: 18.3 hh :: 10 years HP: 80 | Buff: SHIELD
Loretta :: Alaskan Malamute :: Time Slip Time
#5

Ailith's demeanor solidified the answer to the general's question, and her words made him smirk darkly. "It plagues me just as much as it will plague you that you must listen to my commands. As General of the Foothills, and you a warrior, you fall under three rulers: myself, Ktulu and Ophelia." Archibald flicked his tail, assuming quickly that she was a warrior as well. She had fought truly, though foolishly, during the invasion and knew Ophelia would not let that foolishness among the ranks of her Intelligence. Archibald, somewhere deep and dark, was sickly pleased that Ailith would have to answer to him--he knew it would cause her turmoil.

Turning his attention then to Circe, the Dauntless merely nodded. "You are welcome here, executioner, this is your home just as much as it is her's." Archibald turned his eyes to Ailith briefly and pinned his ears in a warning. "This is your family now, Ailith, as it is mine, and you will speak to each member with respect." The Dauntless lashed his tail and Loretta growled lightly.

Hoping his warning would be enough, the brute turned his attention on Circe again. It was not really in the Dauntless' nature to sit and have conversation, but between two of his soldiers it would be fine. Only days had passed since the invasion, and Archibald figured there would be stragglers like Kimber that his infantry would have to chase out. "Have either of you been patrolling, learning the land and which are welcome and which are not?"

"Speak"




Through the ages of time
I've been known for my hate,
but I'm a dealer of simple choices;
for me it's never too late.


please tag me

Circe Posts: 101
Deceased
Mare :: Unicorn :: 16hh :: 5 Buff: NOVICE
M.E.
#6
Circe


*“As General of the Foothills, and you a warrior, you fall under three rulers: myself, Ktulu and Ophelia."*

The shadowmere’s neck seemed to straighten as she listened to the banter between the two. He was General, then? It made a certain kind of sense—the unyielding steel behind his countenance would certainly fit the position of such power and responsibility—though while it was clear he was a warrior to Circe, she hadn’t banked on him being her direct superior. Somewhere in the winding hills of her new home, while she had been grumbling and groaning and itching to be of use, some wayward twist of fate had decided to present Circe with the chance to impress. The idea alone was enough to beguile ghost of a smirk to mold her features—but the sorceress resisted the urge for the time being.

*"You are welcome here, executioner, this is your home just as much as it is her's."*

Circe’s eyes traveled to the pale-gold mare who accompanied them, a new spark of interest in the blue of her gaze. The gold mare was indeed of the Grey—though newly instated it seemed. With a cock of her ear, Circe noticed the way the magenta-eyed fae was turned rather stiffly away from the shadowmere, as though deliberately trying to avoid the Executioner’s eye. That observation, coupled with the Dauntless’s admonishments on the matter, really did cause a smirk of cynical amusement to transform Circe’s features; in a tick of nervous, tickled habit, Circe crossed her forelegs together briefly before settling back into a balanced, neutral stance. Is this a mare’s idea of fun? Circe wondered, noticing quite clearly now the affront in the hard lines of the female Ailith’s countenance. Inventing and abiding by silly rules of etiquette? What have I done to offend her --ignore her? I have no words to give her. This was a woman’s type of game, and as the shadowmere was not raised in such social graces—being a feral child of lawless, careless, cut-throat ways—she elected not to play in them.

Her attention returned to the General as he addressed the both of them, inquiring as to their activity as recruits to the Grey. Circe snapped to attention at once. “Yes sir,” she responded bluntly, learning with the Poisoner, Lakota, that succinct answers were taken well with the members of the mercenary band, “I have been patrolling the borders of the Foothills and learning the territory, familiarizing myself to the scent that accompanies our brethren. I admit—I’m ignorant to those outsiders who may be allowed in our borders. It was this ignorance that lead me here,” she inclined her head toward Ailith, suppressing another smile, “as her—that is, your scent—isn’t entirely acclimated to the territory. You seemed a stranger, and so I investigated.” Circe turned her attention to Ailith this time, showing that, yes , she was very much an acknowledged member in their party.

Such a show of courtesy seemed almost childish to Circe—as though she were assuaging the hurt feelings of some child who was pushed down in the dirt…Goodness, but it was hard for the shadowmere not to laugh at her own thoughts.








Ailith Posts: 47
Deceased
Mare :: Equine :: 15.0 HH :: 8
Adoptable
#7
Ailith
Take my love and bring me under..
Her anger was stoked blue with the words of her “general” and though her eyes grew wide with surprise, she was careful to keep her expression in check. If he thought he would be able to throw her, he would be sadly mistaken. Ailith smiled smoothly at the Dauntless, her lips parting with slow finesse as the words began to form like silk at the back of her throat. “I am honored to serve you General. Your wish is my command.” Her tongue fell over the last few words and a sickly sweet smile replaced whatever doubt that appeared to linger in the golden mare’s thoughts as well as her depthless eyes. She would not be fooled into believing that the Grey was represented by creatures such as these, no; Ophelia had been kind and understanding and while she had never laid sight on Ktulu, Ailith could only imagine that she was a mirror-image to her sister’s endearing personality.

However, all thoughts of resolution were cast aside in favor of grating her ears with the sound of the General’s rather clever reminder of “family.” The word nearly made her scoff- she certainly didn’t feel like the Grey was her family… not yet anyhow. She was more than forgiving when it came to trying to understand the motives behind the new residents of the Foothills, but if they were trading wool for gold, Ailith couldn’t seem to agree with their bargains. “I’ve said nothing in the way of insults if you’ll kindly recall.” Like thick honey, her words were intoxicating and breathless. Angling herself away from the General, Ailith turned to face the dark mare with an impervious gaze and smiled. But of course, introductions were far from redeemable and before she could break past the wall erected between them, the shadow bitch was taunting her with underhanded threats.

Just when she thought things couldn’t get any worse, Ailith burst out into incredulous laughter. The small flame had finally been sparked and before she could wise up and hold her tongue, the retort that she’d been holding in for some time finally made its way to the surface of the inferno. “As far as I’m concerned, your scent is the only thing that is not acclimated here. Do you forget that I have called this my home long before your ignorance led you to my doorstep? I find that you are more strange to me than I to you executioner because these lands-“ Ailith paused to gesture to the surrounding dunes, noting the rise and fall of life that had long since been and gone. “-were mine”.

The golden mare’s disgruntled gaze fell away from the dark mare once more and though she knew better than to ignore the problem that she had brought about, she could no longer refrain from the anger that coursed deep within her veins at these… mongrels that were so eager to force their power above her head. How long would she have to endure their taunts and blatant disregard before she too, was part of their whole? She wasn’t sure if she ever wanted to be…

They were so different, so cruel. Admittedly, at times Ailith too could be cold, but as the General had stated this was supposed to be family and if they couldn’t damn well treat her as such, then perhaps she would be better off elsewhere. Her heart slowed as heat rose to her cheeks, half out of anger and half out of embarrassment. She wasn’t sure how she was supposed to feel about this nor did she know how to cope. So instead, she turned to face the dunes once more, eager to ask them for escape in spite of the fact that her voice could be heard rising above the gentle breeze. It was stony and cold and nothing like she felt, so haphazard and lost. “I do not need to learn these lands twice General, I’m quite aware of who belongs and who doesn’t.

With that, she flicked her frosted tail and fell away into herself to hide from the truth of her decisions.
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