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Post by tiburce on Mar 1, 2009 12:16:40 GMT -6
As the last trace of sun pulled itself below the horizon, a figure of deep marbled shadow became present. The nighttime aura, a blue haze provided by Lady Lunar, flattered his already seemingly pristine remains. His figure hid just beyond what sight allowed, grazed by the soundless sweeping of willow branches. The lithe tendrils seemed to caress his outline with prayer-like touches. He roamed within the shadows, concealed by the darkness where moon could not touch. The drifter paced back and forth as if reflecting on something he could not place. Fax of snow swept along his nape, each capillary moving to its own rhythm as the gall tumbled through the valley. Silver miasma seemed to attract to him like a magnet as the fog’s vapor moved towards the beast, clouding out his gammes as at last he proceeded. His ears seemed to shake slightly as they hearkened a noise unlike any other he had heard. Suddenly, the clear cut vision of crystal eyes grew livid; fury broiled beyond the ice-blue mirrors as palpably as the message given by the throaty grunts that chafed his pharynx. Although hidden by the vast expanse of fog, hooves of obsidian sunk into the mossy mounds with each step given towards the strange sound. Again he heard the nuisance, beyond a blanket of mist. It seemed to breed anger within him, unknowing and uncomfortable as it brewed in the thick air. Autumn had not been able to rid of the strange humidity that hung in the atmosphere, and soon beads of sweat formed rivers upon his pelt, hesitating only as a rogue piece of hair strayed from one path to another. Despite these obvious momentary flaws, Tiburce was truly a modern Adonis. There were certain imperfections, however, that with a trained eye could be uncovered. The way his gaze seemed to linger longer than necessary, the way his bottom labrales seemed to recede mere millimeters, the way his tendrils seemed to twist together, gave away that this stallion, like so many others, was not perfect. He was no such china doll. His harsh features left no room for instantaneous kindness, the first impression always somewhat, unfortunate. A smirk was constantly plastered to the pristine visage, though lately he had nothing to be high and mighty about. Twisted helixes bounced in close proximity to a well-muscled gullet, their dehydrated forms frail and dry. These lands had nothing to offer anymore, not even the occasional sleeper that may have stumbled into unfortunate clutches. The Devil had clearly wrapped his heinous, though somewhat beautiful, arms around the cartography and had not reduced his clutches until each and every piece of forgotten foliage lay in tatters amongst the bones of the innocent. It seemed that the wildlife had either scattered or perished upon the lands that used to bring such joy, such magnificent pride in frondescence. The serpents that strived on feeding upon the brittle-boned organisms had nothing to depend on anymore, and had herein left Isla Hell, abandoned to its small population of equine beings. But even then, who really existed? Ahead, the baron sensed no presence, No doubt it would be not the last time this feeling would occur. For who else dwelled upon the perished lands but those that had created the inferno. Hydra whipped to the west but quickly fell lifeless once more, for there was now no need for the plumage. Insect after insect had disappeared, nothing left for them to feed on. The topography had sure grown as an unpleasant underworld. Alas, wasn't this what his kind lingered upon, death and misery? He had grown accustomed to such, but the grimly feeling that lay waste upon his hyde did nothing to reassure him of the King's presence.
Trudging somberly onto said cartography, Tiburce grunted lowly, acoustics forced southward. Lowering his glistening gullet, his nares merely inches from the ground, the pharaoh's breath scattered the dirt with a feeble breath, detecting any other scents in the area. The province seemed regal enough for quite a dictator. Goad chastised his caudal end lightly, sharp intake of breath slapping the essence of a machete down his throat. A snort abdicated his passageways, disgruntled figure swaying almost drunkenly to the west. Salmon tongue weighed down into the hollows of labrums, nestled deeply and portraying the pristine Thoroughbred empire perfectly. Ah, your mother always said that nobody's perfect. Well, mother was W R O N G. The sovereign strut quietly to the right, nasals picking up no stench of another. It was every man for himself in these godforsaken parts. Tendrils slipped ever so solemnly into his labrales, the bitter taste of chromosomes diffusing onto his ever so eager taste buds. Titaniums molested the feculence as he moved closer, radars picking up the mangled remains of a willow tree. It's long-dead branches swept low, lazily sweeping the cartography in one sorrowful motion. But perhaps something else was lurking within the realm. The ghost of his father, perhaps? Or maybe only the demons that had haunted him for so long. The nymphs that danced within the shadowy carcass of suspicion, those that pleaded him to stop and give up. But he had fought the ghosts far from his mind, finally. Carcass trembled slightly as the squall caressed it, pulling him into a grim hug. It cradled his muscle-clad bodice for a moment before moving onto bigger and better things, tugging at his tendrils as it passed. The fine stench of crimson elixir strung the air with humidity, asphyxiating the bruthen and intoxicating his mind as if they were hallucinogens. Grinning madly, the pharaoh stalked placidly upon the length of a murky pool of aqua, pausing only to inspect his malignant appearance. Tiburce frowned, gazing down upon what seemed to be his father; everything he had strived not to become. His tousled chains hung lowly, licking his chest like flames. Even his carpetry seemed to be somewhat beaten. It's colorless hue was lost beneath a thick perimeter of dust, which clung to his peltage like baby possums. Was he truly the living dead? He did not believe so, his vitalities were still in check, and the baleful insectiles brought nothing but annoyance. Turning his interest yet again to the unknown, powerful vocals for forced forward."Shadow Forests belongs to me now. Dare anyone challenge me, I will take you up on that foolish offer."
CH;; Tiburce[/size][/blockquote][/blockquote][/color] |
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Post by bhuvana on Mar 1, 2009 13:02:42 GMT -6
OOC//:...wow. No way will I be able to surpass your own skill, or even match it, but here I go, lol.
Darkness seemed to consume the two shapes, leaving the larger shivering in fear. Why had the mare been so foolish as to lead her son to these godforsaken lands? It seemed the foal showed little fright, but he was too young to know of the dangers they were in.
Both stared wide eyed at the larger stallion a little ways away. The foal wished to greet the male, but something about his mothers nervous and antsy shivers said that would be an unwise choice. Was this the stallion that had molested her, creating him? No, it couldn't have been. That stallion would be far older then what this male seemed to be. Why was his mother so terrified?
It was then they finally heard the stallion's voice, speaking of the Shadow Forest. Frozen, Abhay looked around in a rush. That was why his mother was scared. They were in the dark herdlands, and this was a dark king.
A feeling, like silk against skin, went over his rump. He turned to see his mother flicking her ears to turn around. They would try and sneak away. Abhay gulped in terror. Could he be silent? He didn't wish to fail his mother by making a sound, but he didn't trust his own hooves in this terrified state.
Beginning to move, mother gently herding him away, the young male peaked over his shoulder for a final glimse at the stallion. It was an unwise choice to do so, taking his eyes from the ground. In moments, a stick had been cracked and the two stood frozen, staring deep into eachothers eyes. He didn't care move and break contact with his mothers gaze, for fear the stallion had heard the crack. It seemed his mother believed the same, as she remained focused on his own watery orbs.
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Post by tiburce on Mar 1, 2009 17:55:29 GMT -6
With a snap of the serpentine, Tiburce was fully aware of her surroundings. The subtle sound waves of footfalls reached his hearkens, forcing them to rise like. The thick outline of a matron - no doubt - and a whelp entered the peripheral of his vision. It was mottled by the frondescence, but it could not be mistaken. He watched with disgust as a smile molested his façade. A low growl was detected in his pharynx as they approached, kneecaps locked in a defensive stance. His hackles rose as he lowered his nape, visionaries still locked upon the doublet before him. Creeping closer, Tiburce took a good look at the mare before him. She was built, for certain. Brow line rose as he slunk closer, mere feet from her corpse.
The pharaoh breathed in heavily, inhaling the huntress’ odor as she trembled, knowing not that this demon was aware of her presence. She would know soon enough. His bodice, which was propped against the trunk of a tree, heaved in the scent, its flavorful properties filling every inch of him. Thick lids concealed his less-than-responsive visionaries as he held the delicate smell, glad for once to be in the presence of a hussy. Perhaps she would make a good addition to the coven…light and all. It was not that Giuseppe was a pure creature of the night. In fact, it wasn’t often that you would see him turning down a hunt, although he didn’t find it somewhat enjoyable. Ever since birth, Giuseppe doubted the existence of any such savior, as many lights believed. Instead, he believed you had to attempt to save yourself - although, as his soul told him, Hell was a sure destination for equines like him. A rough sigh was excavated from his air sacks, the putrid stench wrestling with the recycled carbon in the open air. Giuseppe was indeed a troubled soul. His mental past was not something to be taken lightly, though no physical evidence could justify it. He was what someone might call a schizophrenic. Chronically suspicious, he was not an easy vagabond to live under. Perhaps it was his charming exterior that brought so close the ladies he came to know, if you could call it that. However, his coven was nowhere to be found. His previous Queen sure was another story, perhaps reserved for another time, for her attitude would fill up far more scripts than permitted here. Cerebrum snapped up, registered visage pointed at the quintessa. A smile broke the still fragments of his façade as he prepared to introduce himself. "A newcomer, I see?" He said almost teasingly. "And what, may I ask, do you think you are doing in the Dark territory?"His voice was beyond charming, like a sonata composed singly for you. His words were true - he was that boy in college you had an affair with, the man at your job who swept you off your feet. His features were more than satisfactory, like the baby-faced boys in high school everybody was too afraid of to talk to, but imagined dating anyway. Giuseppe knew this. After all, he was not unintelligent.
Considering for a moment, the behemoth chose to hold his tongue. This paramount obviously didn’t know what was good for her. Pate snapped up, paying attention to the boy now. His tawny canvas stuck out against the dark backdrop of Shadow Forests. "Tell me lad, what is it they call you?" His vocals echoed teasingly, followed by a bitter silence broken only by the cawing of crows. Cleavers slipped from his beak, lightly stained with the color of gore. He was growing impatient. The trunk of the tree creaked as he stepped away, adjusting his weight upon his quads. Advancements brought him closer to the jezebel, and only now did the full effect of her scent rush over him. Direful simper loomed meaningfully upon skeletal features, proboscis inhaling her wonderfully stale stench. Winged vampires vexed his flesh, poking and prodding in a never-ending search for cruor. The manifestation of the nymphet pleased him so, visage tossed as she tugged at his dreadlocks. Scourge wafted away the weightless beasts, even in the winter months they pestered him so. A sharp nip was sent to her caud, drawing chromosomes for his collection in his barrel. Standing erect, the dictator looked the new prey up and down, displeased at her obviously Light stature. However, the foal could be transformed.
WC;; 774 CH;; Tiburce Sorry, not as long as last time but I wanted to get this done tonight. [/color][/size][/blockquote][/blockquote] |
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Post by bhuvana on Mar 1, 2009 19:23:09 GMT -6
Shaking away the terror, the female reared herself to usher her son away before the stallion could comprehend the sound. The softest of whinnies escaped her maw as she shoved, a bit rougher, the young foal. Her hooves itched to run, to catch the speeds she was born to create; but as a devoted mother she could do no such thing. Her son would be murdered if left behind.
A pleading look entered her gaze as she realized her son still frozen, locked in his one position. Her own back was facing the stallion now, needing to escape. It seemed, however, he son could do no fleeing. His eyes stared past her, jaw slightly ajar. About to bark a sharp 'Go!', Bhuvana narrowed her forest hued orbs. The sound never passed her lips, as a voice consumed the two.
"A newcomer, I see? And what, may I ask, do you think you are doing in the Dark territory?"
Bhuvana didn't intend to answer, but she found herself slowly turning to face the male. The hairs on her neck line bristled and her legs vibrated in fear. Her eyes instantly fell upon the cold orbs and the well defined muscles on the brute. She would fail her son. That was all there was to it. No way could she defeat this male in a battle.
Still with no desire to answer, her eyes dropped to the ground as she inched sideway to brush her pelt against her sons. Even with little hope of her own survival, perhaps her love could flee this dreadful place if she were to give a sutable distraction. Now, only to give Abhay a silent message...
"Tell me lad, what is it they call you?"
A now furied snort escaped the mares tightly clenched jaws as the question got directed to Abhay. No way would this dark hearted male speak to her son, not at the age he was. So many had fallen victum to the empty promises of the Dark; her son would not be one of them.
"They call me Abhay, and her Bhuvana." shocked, the mare turned her terrorfied orbs to the red dun male. He had just willingly released the names, and it seemed the voice he used was not terrified. A gurgling sound escaped Bhuvana as she read the looks in her sons eyes; admiration and awe.
* * * *
.:WC:.395
.:C:.Bhuvana
OOC//: Decided to go with your WC idea, fore it may help me improve my post lengths. If I keep record, I can work on adding more detail and such. Hope you don't mind...
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Post by tiburce on Mar 2, 2009 10:27:43 GMT -6
Liquid pools of cerulean void danced lazily upward, focused inattentively on the mangled canopy overhead. A vast golden orb peeked through those where the density was lessened. Puss was lowered, lipping at the ragged threads that cursed his well-sculpted chest. Platinum tendrils laced with grit and grime clung helplessly to his hyde, his silky movements coming to an end before he reached the area surrounding his lair. Eager to begin gathering an army and perhaps a matron or two, Tiburce was bored with this little menagerie. Transparent lids enveloped his dense sockets as he blinked away an insect, its miniscule body coming in close contact to the hood. Above, demented birds sung their sorrowful melodies as small mammals listened, pocketed in the folds of the frondescence. “They call me Abhay, and her Bhuvana.” The stallion grinned now, trails of crimson chasing each other down the pearly whites like spider webs. He snorted, chasm tossed to the air, dreadlocks pell-mell. Foreflint pounded into the cartography, the soggy loam sponging beneath his weight.
“Obviously, light names,” he hissed, beak only inches away from the pair. ”and so I ask you again. What are you doing in my domain?” Tiburce’s voice became dark, a low growl standing behind every word uttered. Thorns clung to his skullcap, nares bloated, blood dripping from the cracked flesh.
He circled the mother and son, muscles tense with attack. Bedrocks were forced into the quagmire, uprooting themselves with difficulty from the dank parcel. He knew this light-hearted banch didn’t stand a chance against him. Pincers clicked threateningly, chest-muscles tightening as he spoke again.”For whatever reason, you are in my territory - and dark territory at that. I suppose you have no choice but to stay.” The khan glared down at the diminutive matron, her spotted canvas reflecting in his piers. Browline rose, quirked in an odd fashion as his gaze slid downwards towards Abhay. The hellion was still yet a colt, muscles underdeveloped and mind yet to be molded. This could be a virtue - Tiburce could always turn this feeble youngling to his side. Maybe even make him a warrior for the Shadow Forests one day. Pah, I doubt it. Once a light, always a light. Grapnels delved into the hearth once more, the tips pointed downwards as if the stallion were submerging himself. “Unfortunately, I don‘t house bastard children.” He leered down at Abhay, labrales drawn back to reveal his razor-sharps. He could dispose of him, right here, right now, but he didn’t think Miss Priss would appreciate that very much. Cerebellum snapped back to Bhuvana’s direction, exterior outlined against the golden orb. Once more his audits twitched backwards as his kista too moved in the direction, apex raised high against the harsh sunlight. A grunt was excavated from his depths as his pincers raked her caud, turning sharply before the matron. A withering glance was thrown towards the colt, ruffling his pelt in disgust.”Don’t you have something better to do than stick around here? Go on-scat!” What he really wanted to say was f**k. OFF., but let’s not push mommy dearest to her limits. Lunging in the direction of the foal, Tiburce let a hiss excavate his pusspan, allowing his feral instincts to take over. If he let this little bastard stick around for too long, he could very well turn into competition for the old brute. He let out a snarl, eyes livid as he glared at the prospect of future competition. Unless, of course, the child dedicated himself to loyal servitude under the stallion. Corpse pressed against the vix, hoarding her away from her mongrel child. The next move was up to Abhay - how would he react? As if a little test, Tiburce awaited the answer.
[/blockquote][/justify][/blockquote] WC;; 629  even shorter. I promise longer next time. CH;; Tiburce[/size][/color] |
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Post by bhuvana on Mar 2, 2009 17:54:14 GMT -6
One leg extended to be placed defensivly before her son, but it was nudged away as the young stallion took his own step, forward. Bhuvana, seeing the bold look in the foals eyes, decided it was her turn to speak and finally answer the question the brujo had spoken twice.
"We were unaware of where we headed." the words proved her innocence and wilting strength, tone soft and perhaps submissive. It also proved her lack of attention, so inability to care for her ownself, never mind her son.
A bewildered snort passed her maw as he stated they had no choice but to stay. Like hell they'd stay. Bhuvana was weak, but her son would not be raised with a Dark. She didn't speak this, however, not able to find the same courage outside her own mind.
“Unfortunately, I don‘t house bastard children.”
Something sparked in Bhuvana's brain, causing her limbs to stiffen and her limb to arch aggressivly. The words about her son were true, but she'd never allow another to speak them. "How do you know I don't have a stallion coming to my rescue right this moment?" she spat, but quickly regretted it. The courage passed and her body slumped once more, eyes locked on the ground.
She didn't speak again once that had slipped past her lips, not needing to start trouble for her nor Abhay. Even as he told them to scat, she kept rigid, too terrified to even do that one order. Her clumbsy nature would only cause her running to end with her on the ground, body aching and easy prey for the stallion. No, she'd wait for a better moment...
Remembering her sons bold step towards the stallion, the mare looked back to the red dun. What was he thinking? His eyes were narrowed, locked on the male. It seemed even if the mother had run, the child would have remained. Something was keeping the foal interested. It was then Abhay turned to her, slowly at first, as if a realization was leaking into his mind.
"Mom, here's our chance to have a herd. I know you go against the darks, but we'd be safe." was all he said, and Bhuvana could see he believed his words. Eyes widening, the mare shook her head no, but the action went ignore as the boy turned back to the stallion. "Please let us remain. Both my mother and I will help you with whatever you need." as if by instinct, he bent his front legs and lowered her front, in a horse like bow. He was submissing to this male, giving into the dark...All Bhuvana could do was stand in wide eyed shock, orbs drifting from stallion to foal.
.:WC:.455
.:CH:.Bhuvana
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even shorter. I promise longer next time.