AEON
pure faction
[M:0]
played by cepheus
Posts: 18
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Post by AEON on Aug 12, 2011 19:58:11 GMT -5
falling, falling, up the stairs, towards, the moon, stars,
and a venus-kissed mars. the ever-warring mars
The evening sky was a curious shade of deep red, thick with clouds and dimming rapidly. Perhaps a bit blood-like in its quality, Aeon mused, giving it a cursory glance every once in a while to mark the progress of the sun. She hoped to reach her destination soon, for it would be foolhardy in the extreme to be out and about in the dead of night, particularly for a lone horse. The Dead were not typically hindered by sunlight--such stories were easily dismissed as the hopeful ramblings of the naive and inane--but there did seem to be a quality to the night air that called to them, for lack of a better phrasing.
No doubt their black hearts find a kinship in the night, she thought irritably, tail flicking in sharp gestures to match her mood. Logic dictated that this was not the case, that it was simply easier to hunt for living beings when they could not see so well to defend themselves, when they were already on edge because of superstitions and night-blindness, but Aeon was not kind enough to offer them this mercy. No, the dead were monsters such as those out of the cautionary tales she was told as a foal--and no matter how childish it seemed, it seemed appropriate that the blackness of the night swallow up the dead and mutated alike.
Her next glance to the horizon revealed the spire of the cathedral clearing the crest of the hill, its once grand and austere face ruined by years of neglect. It seemed odd, the regret that Aeon felt when she saw it, but she thought little of it. As one who held an appreciation for aesthetics wherever they might be found, it seemed only natural to appreciate this piece of human architecture, though she did not understand its purpose beyond a place of worship. She had often wondered if the humans worshipped the dead--such a religion would explain their strange tendency to place their dead in mausoleums grander than the homes of the living. She had seen those on the island before--some of them were little more than one-room shacks made of driftwood and rolls of hay, whereas the dead were entombed in stately graves of stone and beautifully carved caskets.
The gothic architecture, despite its disrepair, was still quite beautiful. Aeon finally crested the hill, pausing, as she always did, to admire the finely wrought iron molding in the windows and enjoy the play of light off of the shattered glass beneath the facade. Stepping daintily around the glass--both for fear of disturbing the beauty and to avoid hurting herself, Aeon stepped silently through the now-rotten doors to the cathedral. What little remained of the doors showed strange scenes, once again leaving Aeon to wonder about the oddity that was human religion.
She passed by rows of wooden pews, many of which had collapsed beneath their own weight and years of rot. She turned her eyes upwards, amazed, as ever, by the building's height. Human ingenuity, indeed. It seemed a shame that the building was so far into disrepair, for Aeon would have loved the opportunity to see the building in all its glory.
She reached the rounded end of the cathedral, silently regarding the faded mosaic in the half-dome that made the ceiling. Strange figures--some animal and some human--made up the mosaic. This was almost a ritual unto itself for Aeon, to come here and contemplate the meaning of these symbols. Experience, however, required that she not devote her entire consciousness to the mosaic--no, her ears remained pricked for any sort of sound from the darkness and she routinely paused to glance at her surroundings. She would be an idiot--and soon, deservedly dead--if she did not recognize that, while the stone walls offered some security, the ruined windows and doors offered none at all. Understanding of the paintings would be a cold comfort if she ended up joining the ranks of the dead.
she says there is a downward spiral, from the moon, the stars,
the ever-warring mars. the ever-warring mars.
tags? nope, completely open, people! feel free to join--but remember that Aeon isn't a nice person to begin with and will respond poorly to the non-pure, especially the dead. she'll go out of her way to belittle your character if they aren't pure!
notes? i am totally playing too much oblivion. they have an obsession with the word "sanguine." and no, i'm not hating on religion--but i do suspect that horses would think human religions were silly, were they able to speak (similar to how many western religions think reincarnation is a strange concept).
songs? lyrics came from "sanguine sky" by tristania. gothic metal ftw! [/metalhead]
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Post by Hysterics Periculum on Aug 16, 2011 10:21:41 GMT -5
[shadow=black,center,320] So u n a f f e c t i o n a t e
So //insecure//
You claim to know, a thing or two about heartache
And what it’s like, to have your i n s i d e s pulled out [/shadow]
Hot breath rose in steams, clouding the chilling air between his mother and himself. The lightness of crystallized ice came trickling down from the gray expanse of the sky, veiling slightly the alabaster coat of the beautiful mare. He leaned forward, his small head closing the distance between them, her pale skin filled with warmth to the touch. The drumming of red could be heard caged within her breast, rhythmically pounding to the beat of his own. Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump. A childish smile drew across his snout, the closing of his multiple eyes drawing comfort from the cold. She was his comfort. She was his home. But she wasn't real.
His ebony and crimson orbs flickered open, the rising bodice of the stallion frightening whatever critters began to gather about him, the flavorful scent of death thick in his musk. He twisted his head to and fro, stumbling for a moment before realizing where he was. The Graveyard. The land of the dead. Here, where those who have passed could carry on with their descent into darkness without their bodies to anchor them from the journey ahead.
It was also the place of his mother's burial.
Of all the places the lavishing mare could have breathed her last, she chose here, the moments where she would have spent mourning her son's death, his own funeral, refusing to believe that the monstrosity that rose before her horrified gate was the one she begged to be given back again. Oh, the suffering she, the precious woman, had felt as the shocking, decomposing corpse of her once beloved colt appeared so rotten as it seemed. He hadn't a proper face to show her, the delicate smile he would place upon his lips, the tenderness of his face replaced with the grotesque pale bone. He could still remember her screaming. The shrieks that she unleashed. Even the image of his father barreling through, knocking him off his feeble limbs, the atrocity of his being alone sending him utterly frantic. His father was the one who took his angel away from his reach, out of his sight and into oblivion.
He grimaced at the faded memory, the most imposing thoughts that drifted and played into his mind. He had been having this particular dream for so long, it was as if every time he shut his eyes he was able to see the serenity of the moment, with his mother on a winter's eve. He could still smell her feminine odor, a light fragrance of chamomile and vanilla, the gentle waves of her mane trickling down in such a beautiful manner it almost appeared as the crashing waves lapping against the sandy shore of white, the alabaster waves sparkling like jewels when caught just right by the falling sun. Oh, she was absolutely perfect. Everything about her, her breath, her frame, her voice... What he would do to have her back with him to gallop as they did so many decades ago... I would have given the breath from my lungs to have you here again with me, mother. If only I had the breath to give...
Onwards he went, the clicking of his hooves muffled beneath the cascade of black feathers shrouding his legs. The sun was beginning to set, his entirety beginning to crave the sweet embrace of the scarlet liquid held within the evanescent carcass of the recently deceased. Oh, to appease these intentions he would have to end the life of another, just as his life had come to an end. The blood of none equines never quenched his thirst, and those that were held taint in their taste. Especially the heavily mutated souls. It was as if flavoring the descent into madness, a fulfilling darkness enveloping the warmth of the unholy red. He had even gone so far as to taste the flesh of the dead, his cravings pushing him thus far. But nothing could soothe his hunger more than the blood of the Pure. It was fresh, clean, embodying the grace of life itself. The purity was just so... so irresistible. The mere thought of having vermillion pools splash against his weathered coat, the trails of liquid gold spreading across his chin, filling his whole with the energy once felt when alive. Even his heart would begin to pump again at the excitement instilled with the sensation.
It sent him into a deranged frenzy.
He galloped across the darkened dirt, the muted greys of the crumbling structures created so many centuries ago, the scent caught in his flaring nostrils of a glimmer of just what he thirsted for. He weaved his way through the obstacles of the falling granite and stone, leaping effortlessly over the rubble, alas breaching and resting his sights upon the feminine figure that stood before him. Oh, this would be fun.
[shadow=black,center,320] Obscured by the D A R K N E S S
Dancing across your f a c e
And when the blackness veils// your eyes // in pain.
I know what it’s like when memories make you wince [/shadow] ---------
I’ll forget the past and lay it to rest! |
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AEON
pure faction
[M:0]
played by cepheus
Posts: 18
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Post by AEON on Aug 18, 2011 18:02:52 GMT -5
IT'S AN EXODUS, FROM THE DARK
Under normal circumstances, Aeon would have taken comfort in the stillness of the night. She found the silence to be soothing, a reprieve after the chaos of the day and her continuing efforts to organize the Pure. Lacking any interest in being seen as the true head of the Pure, she vastly preferred operating from the background. After all, if she did not hold any official title, she did not have to worry about being constrained by the politics of leadership and the herd's opinion. She doesn't have to worry about countering coup attempts and begetting heirs to create dynasty (something she accepts may be in her future, but certainly not in the near future; even if she had any fondness for foals, it seemed a cruel action to bring a young life into a world so dominated by monsters).
Despite her usual feelings on the night, however, she found herself on edge. There was an undeniable feeling of wrongness to the air, and Aeon had long since learned that she should not ignore her intuition. It had been her experience that instincts could be trusted even when the eyes deceived and the brain was too clouded to think properly. It had kept her alive many times.
Aeon supressed the urge to panic and wheel about or flee, instead focusing her senses into finding the source of her unease. Her ears rotated in their sockets, her eyes straining in the dark to see through the thick shadows of the old human building. She saw little, however, for the cathedral blocked out the precious light from the moon and stars, and so she was left with only her sense of smell. She had learned that the Dead could be found via scent, as well, but she had also learned that, unless there was a brisk wind, the scent carried so slowly that they were often upon their prey shortly after they caught their scent. Those lost moments could spell death for the living.
Her attention fixated on the entrance behind her, the sound of clattering hooves making her bare her teeth wryly. All that effort to detect one who announced himself so blatantly? A waste, to be sure.
She turned around to regard him, eyes narrowed but mouth now set into an impassive line. A Dead stallion, by the looks of it--quite far gone, too, judging by his exposed skull. Some idle part of her mind wondered briefly if his brain was at risk of falling out if he shook his head, but she quickly dismissed the macabre thought. It served no purpose now and voicing such a question might anger the beast. Or ingratiate her to him, which seemed just as odious a possiblity. Instead, she made no effort to hide her cursory examination, then bent an idly curious look on the stallion.
"And what brings you here? The opportunity to pay your respects to the dead?" she asked, inclining her head slightly in the direction of the graveyard. Her tone offered an unspoken meaning to the word "dead": those kind enough to remain inert.
Silently she glanced to both exits of the cathedral, debating which side would be best; one led through the graves, which might buy her some time if she wove through them in her escape, but risked her tripping and hurting a leg; the other was largely clear until it reached a forest and, while she gave herself a fair chance of outrunning him, she suspected the Dead beast could sprint faster than her.
The graveyard seemed the safer option. But curiosity compelled her to stay and hatred compelled her to ask: "Or is it your nature that drew you here? Have you come to feast on my blood to continue your 'life'?"
THE NIGHT IS BREATHING, THE NIGHT IS EXHALING
tags? hysterics, but still open to others!
notes? and i raaaaamble!
songs? still jamming to "sanguine sky" here! (well, not constantly, but you know!)
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Post by Hysterics Periculum on Aug 18, 2011 21:44:16 GMT -5
[shadow=black,center,320]
She lives in a fairy tale
Somewhere too far for us to find
Forgotten the / t a s t e / and / s m e l l /
Of the world that she's left behind
[/shadow]
The thundering of hooves carried the stallion onwards, piercing the muffled silence the now arising fog had created, shrouding his massive bulk amidst the rubble of these fallen ruins scattered across the bed of the dead. He could feel the burst of speed against his exposed skull, the wind playing madly with his thick mane, weaving and twisting in a blanket of ebony and silver strands that danced ominously along the galloping male. He heaved as his broad muscles pulsed and erupted with power, like pistons propelling him further, his lust pulling him along with the promise of appeasing the hunger, never sated as it would without the forbidden fruit's moist juice of crimson. How he yearned for the spill of the elegant pools, his alabaster jaw stained with its mark. The sweet, iron fragrance, made him especially dazed. He had one objective plaguing his thoughts. To kill. To feed. To be alive once more and taste the sweet satisfaction of breath in his lungs. Even more so to amend what was once lost many decades ago.
And he would have his way.
Hysterics couldn't honestly say that he had never taken part of the consumption of flesh taken from another, even less in the taboo act of cannibalism. However, this stallion has needs to be filled, and chewing on a tasteless piece of bark simply wasn't going to cut it. No, this particular male, as many other of his fallen kind do, thirsts for some alternative, something much more dark and, rather, relatively difficult to acquire without the merciless act of murder and homicide. It had been rumored that even the most blood thirsty would ravage the flesh in the most inconvenient ways, turning up permanently deceased thanks to their insatiable hunger that drove them maniacally into uncontrollable and clouded rages. It was true. If you suppressed this necessity that held itself deep in the core of your being, eventually there would come a time of breakage. A snap in the link between sanity and monstrosities, if you will. What better way to avoid these matters but to give in to these cravings?
At least, that's how Hysterics looked at the issue at hand. And so, with those thoughts lingering about the cavity in his mind, he barreled forward, the purity now becoming thick in the air. His victim was close. He could sense it. The caving and expanse of lungs filling with air, the drumming of a thumping heart, the pulsing red coursing through the delicate veins... so fragile. A little cut, if even to small, and it would be exposed to his lustful soul.
He slowed his pace, alas having caught sight of a feminine figure, obviously aware of his presence. He wasn't one to sneak up on others. He made himself bluntly announced, and he wasn't one to fear another either. He trotted further into view, allowing his image that would turn others away to be revealed. Perhaps it would frighten her. Perhaps it would enrage her. Whatever the case, he had no interest in her anymore.
Damn mares.
His interest was quickly fading, and he was just about ready to snort and turn tail, his shoulders beginning to guide him away, his neck twisting the broad neck out of view; then she spoke. He froze. Pay respects to the dead? How absurd. She made no hast to conceal the meaning behind her choice of vocabulary, neither did she to continue further taunt him. And now she dare ask of wanting to take her blood.
He immediately spun around, his face plainly parallel to her's. His orbs of black and crimson peered darkly into her own, a slight spark of discomfort shot through her due to his naturally born gift.
And then he laughed.
It was soft at first, but it progressed continuously, becoming louder and more deranged. His chest heaved as he shivered with the rippling laughter rolling off the stallion, his head falling back, throwing it for a dramatic effect.
My, my. Don't you think highly of yourself, mare. I wouldn't take your blood even if you begged for it. This wasn't entirely true. If only she wasn't a mare...
Abruptly his chuckles were cut short, his eyes falling back to engage hers. Though why or where I wander is, really, to you, none of your concern. Why are you, darling, out here and all alone?
[shadow=black,center,320]
I won't // b e l i e v e // it
But if it's true
You can see it with your eyes
Oh, even in the dark
And that's where I want to be
[/shadow] |
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Dominik
pure faction
[M:0]
roleplayed by coco
Posts: 13
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Post by Dominik on Aug 21, 2011 22:38:44 GMT -5
'No Dominik, please!' the wench screamed, her eyes white with fear. He was turned away from her, his muscled body powering forward even though he was only walking. Black-rimmed ears were pressed against his head in anger, his blood boiling beneath golden skin. Disgusting, repulsive. How dare that abomination have his blood coursing through her tainted veins! He had half a mind to turn back and snap her tiny, new neck. End her suffering before it had even begun. But no, he couldn't bring himself to it. Perhaps it was weakness that stopped him from killing her; it certainly wasn't compassion. The mare that followed him had managed to catch up, she nipped at his name as tears streamed down her pretty face. Dominik wheeled around, teeth flashing before they sank into that wickedly pretty face. He dragged his head downward, the motion pulling screams of pain from the bitch's throat. He let go, the taste of her impure blood leaking across his tongue. He spit on her as she sank to her knees, blood streaming down her face from the gash he had given her. 'How dare you follow me, you filth,' he hissed, standing over her as she wept fiercely. 'You are not Pure, the blood that fills your vile body is tainted as the rest of this god-forsaken place!'
'No Dominik.. I.. I am Pure!' she moaned.
He laughed at this, a vicious, humorless laugh that made her cringe. His eyes moved to the filly that lay in the near distance; even from here he could see her still struggling to stand, to follow her dam and sire.
'Perhaps your daughter would be able to stand if her whore of a dam hadn't cursed her with a mutation..' he mused, watching as the filly's extra legs struggled weakly to coordinate with the others. For of course it was the mare's fault that the filly was doomed; his line would never produce something so disgusting.
'Please Dominik...' the mare whimpered, 'We can go somewhere else... somewhere away.. she'll be safe there!'
He laughed again. 'No... no that just wouldn't do. Go lay with your monster. She'll never stand, but don't feed her. Don't prolong her suffering.' He dipped his head to touch the mare's bloody cheek with his soft mouth. 'Stay with your child until it dies. It won't be more than a fortnight.'
He left them both then, the young mother's broken sobs finally fading into silence as he put leagues and leagues between them. Whether the filly truly died... well, it was no longer his concern.
The memories faded into the back of his mind. His pupils narrowed into focus, taking in the light that illuminated the landscape before him. The Cathedral rose in all it's dilapidated glory before him. With an intake of breath he quickened his pace, the three-beat pattern of his footfalls falling nearly silently. Black tresses brushed against his neck in the breeze he created, unveiling the pale blue irises that moved constantly in their sockets. They were hardened and icy, personifying the heart and mind that lay behind them.
He didn't often think about his past. It meant thinking about his failures. It was not his fault that this children were born mutated; that fault lay with the deceiving broads that had bore them. They had claimed to be Pure, and on the outside they appeared so. He had carefully inspected them before impregnating them - every inch of their bodies had been scoured by his icy blue gaze. But he couldn't have seen the taint that festered in their bodies, in the wombs that created those little monsters. A scientist would've told him that it was actually his genes responsible for the mutations. Through drinking Moorwater his genetic code had been twisted and changed, awakening genes in his innocent offspring that caused him to exile them.
But science was not known at this time, nor would it ever be. So in Dominik's mind it was the dames that were to blame for failing to continue his lineage.
As the Cathedral grew closer he slowed to a two-beat pace, his black and white legs creating a confusing pattern as he moved amongst the ruins. He was relatively calm, until the scent of rotting flesh hit him like a brick wall. His head recoiled from the scent, eyes narrowing. There was a demon lurking here, no doubt with its head to the ground like a dog as it sniffed out the lifeblood it craved. He could practically imagine the saliva that would drip from the beast's rotting jaws as it found its prey. No doubt it already had some poor fool cornered, maybe it was already feeding. All of these questions flipped through his cunning mind as he drew closer, his pace now a swift but silent walk. He stayed in the shadows as much as he could. Although he would be able to defend himself if attacked, he did not want to risk an injury.
As he rounded a corner the dead beast came into view. It was a dappled grey stallion; his stomach churned as he saw the extra eyes inlaid in the exposed skull. A perfect example of the abominations that had nearly taken over this land. Nearly. The Pures resembled the last stand of normalcy, one last island of perfection. And he would do anything to protect it.
The stallion tensed to spring forward, maybe land a surprise attack before the beast noticed him. He froze as the beast spoke. It seemed to speak to another, another Dominik had not noticed at first. Ah, but of course. She was living, and though the dead stallion had surely noticed her from a mile away, Dominik could not smell the lifeblood that sustained her. He hoped to never be able to smell it.
All alone the dead one said, and anger flickered through the stallion's heart. The mare did not seem particularly alarmed, but perhaps she was just hiding it well. Dominik came forward then, the moonlight falling upon his golden hide and turning it silver.
'Not alone, no...' he nearly growled, brushing past the dead stallion as he came to stand near the mare. He could not tell in the darkness if she was Pure or not - but he would protect even a mutant against The Dead. They were the ultimate enemy. He had heard what the stallion had said about not wanting her lifeblood - all lies of course.
'If you do not come here to feed, then why do you curse the night with your presence,' he spat, eyes piercing the red ones of his enemy.
ooc: Whoo over 1000 words! xD I usually go for quality over quantity (hence the no word count) but the muse was flowin tonight!
I also couldn't think of any lyrics atm so... no lyrics!
And Ceph I LOVE Oblivion and I know what you mean about them loving the word sanguine xD Especially with the Black Hand lol.
(can't wait for the new game to come out)
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AEON
pure faction
[M:0]
played by cepheus
Posts: 18
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Post by AEON on Aug 22, 2011 16:54:45 GMT -5
I SEE THE DEAD AWAKEN
Aeon remained silent throughout the stallion's laughter, unwilling to allow his apparent attempt at intimidation to affect her. When he spoke, however, she smiled bleakly. "You would not take my blood? Yours is a strange existence, then, Dead One; is it not your lot in life, to hunger for blood? For the life you lost?" Logic dictated that she should remain silent; perhaps it would even be prudent to thank the stallion for his decision to spare her life, but Aeon was just as hateful as logical. And there was a part of her that knew that angry tongues told far more than calm tongues, both from experience and observation, and she wanted to know why this stallion denied his nature. Outraging him might be unwise, but there was always value in understanding the nature of one's enemies.
Her ears pricked at his dismissal and the following question. She barked out a laugh, resisting the urge to roll her eyes like a foal. She turned a wryly amused glance on the dead stallion, bravado masking her growing nervousness (she had always found the Dead to be unsettling and had never actually spoken to one before). "'Why or where I wander is, really, to you, none of your concern,'" she said, her gaze challenging as she used his own answer. She was not at all inclined to offer a more detailed answer, doubting that the stallion had any real interest and certain that he would find the curiosity that drew her here to be a childish flight of fancy. Aeon refused to look the fool before the bastard.
Aeon's gaze turned to the shadows, her ears flicking forward in curiosity and some surprise as another stallion materialized. Inspecting him silently, she supressed a relieved sigh at the presence of another horse, one who appeared to be living. Though she could see no mutations on him, she knew better than to take that as a guarantee that he was Pure; however, she also knew better than to try provoking both at once. While the Dead might cling to some silly notion of chivalry, there was no guarantee that this newcomer would have the same ideals. As it stood, the mutated had just as much to fear from the Dead as the Pure--and what was the old adage? The enemy of my enemy is my friend, or something similar; it held surprisingly true here.
Instead of saying anything to the new stallion, she slowly watched both during the exchange. In fact, the only acknowledgement she offered the living stallion was a slight inclination of the head. She meant no disrespect with the action, but prudence deemed it wise to not spend too much time on the pleasantries. Once the Dead was gone or dispatched, they could comment on the weather and introduce themselves--though that would only occur if the stallion was properly Pure and not just another Common beast--but not before. Aeon had survived the encounter thus far and she'd be damned if etiquette would be her downfall.
my fate forsaken, i'm free
tags? hysterics, dominik, and i don't mind anyone else joining either!
notes? omfg, i'm so excited for skyrim, coco; i've got a skyrim desktop on my laptop and everything! and i loved the dark brotherhood quests, even if the ending really felt like shooting the shaggy dog. >.<
songs? sanguine sky... two posts and i've decided to try and maintain it
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