the Rift

saints just swimming in our sins again

Deimos the Reaper Posts: 527
Deceased atk: 7.0 | def: 12 | dam: 6.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16.1 :: 7 HP: 72.5 | Buff: NUMB
Time wore on, rusted, scorned, and scorched, beating back all the triumph, all the conquests, they’d managed to snag and grasp – victories washed away at the turn of a hand, at the strike of a chord, at the sentiments of a fool. For all the persistence, for all the strength, for all the dominion and might the Basin represented, it wasn’t immune to change and alteration. Permanently immersed in the intricate, treacherous webbings of winter, it amassed grand prowess, regal supremacy, and overwhelming potential, but even with its sinister brutality, it couldn’t keep everything in place, aligned, or together. Their world was molding back upon itself, chiseling and funneling its way through more mishaps, more tactics, more heretics and raptures lining up for future predilections and keen reveries. The Reaper, so tied, so tethered, to its chilling creeds and overbearing nefariousness, had begun to wonder why so many strayed from its savage heights, from its crisp barbarity, from its living upheaval time and time again: an eternal cycle of shifting leaders and tossed crowns, names consigned to oblivion, woven back into the layers and lacquer of belligerence. What brought them in, only to have them undone? The monster, the infidel, the demon had stood beneath its turrets, its minarets, its scaffolds and ramparts since it was discovered – became witness to Psyche’s departure, glanced around for Mauja when he drifted away, stayed amidst the kingdom when Illynx was sent off on another mission, and bore Ophelia’s angry words when he refused her further offering of guidance as she bid her leave. Did she build us up to let us fall? Like a stone, like a statue, like a marble monolith, he broadened his shoulders and took the brunt of each egress, fed the fuel of his ire, of his wrath, of his contempt, into the fervor and fever of the auroras and all its hallowed, hollowed voids, and channeled, churned, the notions of responsibility, of oaths, of assurances, back into his mind. He’d have to tell the brethren of the north their Lady had left them all over again.

How many would care? How many would ignore, still detached, still indifferent, just waiting for another day of annihilation?

Was that a gift, a talent, a knack for living amongst Siberia: immunity from emotions, from feelings, from sentiments? Had they endured so many alterations that one more wouldn’t even feed their menacing souls? Would they simply nod their heads, and wait for the next bout of wreckage to storm through, the beasts standing in the wings? The Basin always survived, no matter the danger, no matter the strife, through obliteration, through slaughter, through damnation – they’d persevere amidst this anomaly as well.

He took to the center of the valley, the cold, winter King, and stared across the horizon, his home, for seasons upon seasons, and pledged to continue his service (to dig deeper, to solidify bonds, to strive and strike and annihilate again and again for the sake of the snow and the mountains; twist the knife, bury the sword, condemn the enemy), bowed towards the rising peaks and the glacial summits, before brewing his voice to a beckoning, twisting zeal. Deep, penetrating, piercing, it exuded the fibers, the tones, the decibels of their perilous world, and the brandishing, the enamel, of flickering, wavering tides. “Members of the Basin, I urge you to gather.” He waited, calm, composed, the same reticent figure as before (while his mind embodied all the swift, rapid changes, tried to convey them through the distorted, contorted notions), while they convened in the cool, last, lingering vestiges of autumn, in the brush, in the stroke, of Frostfall’s next seditious plunge. When enough had begun to linger, the beast continued, summoning the necessary words, the token commands. “Lady Ophelia has renounced her title for personal matters.” Instead of lingering in the bouts of rage, in the tumultuous tenors of loathing (because he so wished to do just that, strangle and suffocate the fool who’d so merrily raised them upon their pedestals again and then hacked away at their bearings), he shifted towards the replacements, the chosen ones who would continue to ensure the Basin’s success. “In her stead, I have chosen two individuals to lead: Thranduil and Hotaru. Together, we will guide the Basin through a triumvirate.” Not lingering on the weight of these decisions, or how suitable either would be (both had earned the roles and proven themselves), he continued on his path of shorn, curt, blunt speeches, attempting to fill a void he’d allowed to spiral long ago. “The Basin and Edge were victorious in the recent invasion. We will soon be journeying to each herd to either solidify alliances or establish new ones.” His resolute eyes, his steady, unwavering gaze, flickered to each of them, their bold, intrepid, stalwart members, their ghastly, horrifying, bestial cretins, and gave one more semblance. “We will be reshaping and moving forward.”

[OOC Note: It’s strongly advised your character attend this meeting in order to gain new IC information. Stay tuned for open rank applications, refurbished rules, ranks, and projects coming ahead!

Please let Thranduil and Hotaru post first! ;D]
delivered from the blast
last from a line of lasts
and now the kingdom comes crashing down undone
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Thranduil the Laurelin Posts: 598
Outcast atk: 5.5 | def: 11 | dam: 6.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16.2 hh :: Eight HP: 77 | Buff: ENDURE
Haldir :: Common Cerndyr :: Dark Mist Hawk

What a strange few days it had been. Haldir was finally finalizing his growth, and Ophelia’s strange tongue in the Threshold that he did not trust. All in all, it left the golden in a mired pools of thought. It was a most confusing moment in his life. And certainly after the season it had been a most fitting way to end it. He was rarely ever confused. And certainly he was almost never uncertain. The golden always had purpose, and drive, but this time had left him in anxiety. He had paced the floor of his cave every night. Haldir, the small dark deer tried his best to stay awake with his bonded, but his eyes always drooped off. So had he not been called out, or these ‘duties’ (ew what a gross word) not demanded him to come out and face the world, he might have stayed quiet and alone.

Whether for good or ill he was here. It was perhaps, good though. Coming to the rise beside the dark reaper, the golden painted on his usual self. His crowned head turned slightly, and lips playing a smug grin. Though he was of the shadows he was a lover of power, and standing here above others was a most satisfying feeling. It was a needed feeling. All the jumble Ophelia had caused, with her anger and unasked for apologies was eased, as his pride, always powerful, smooth over the rough patches. It gave it a purpose. A positive, in a so far negative playing field. He could get used to that. Watching others gather for Deimos’s call, there can a most soothing feeling that eased all the troubled starts of this mess away.

Haldir collected behinds the golden, collected by his side. He too could feel the change of this gathering. In both the bond with the gold and their standing higher than the others for once. He could feel the height, the importance. Small dark head, with the knobs of antlers just beginning was held tall. His steps high and sensitive, and ears and eyes mirrored those of his ancestors. He came to stand with the most proud and haunted step by the gold, looking over the gathering crowd. The golden for once was most proud of him. Well proud he didn’t run down and about like the usual idiotic flare.

The golden looked to the dark reaper as he spoke. His pride pulsing an elegance and regality to his frame. It was a somber moment, but not necessarily for him. He still held most smug smile, and unlike usual he didn’t care if his inner emotions showed. He was here and they were there, and it was quite a nice moment to enjoy. Of course he wasn’t here alone. Hotaru was here as well. Of course he tried to ignore that fact. Instead the golden flared out his pride and spoke. “Winter is coming. Prepare and keep well, for when spring dawns, it shall not find this land asleep.” It was short and pointless, but he let the phrases come forth from him with a venomous assurance. Even if Ophelia said there was nothing to prove, he could feel her eyes still burrow here. The Basin had stagnated, paused, but if anything was to come out of him standing here instead of in the back, it would be that the world would tremble once more to hear their name.

OOC :: @[Hotaru]
Summary:: Thranduil stands by Deimos (with Haldir beside him), and after he finishes gives his own warning.

The itsy bitsy spider climbed up the waterspout.
Down came the rain
and washed the spider out.
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Feel free to use any force/magic on Thranduil, short of killing him.
Please tag in every post.
Ask Thranduil any question in the world, he'll be forced to answer on his profile. PM with your question.

Hotaru the Valkyrie Posts: 295
Outcast atk: 7 | def: 10.5 | dam: 3
Mare :: Unicorn :: 15.3hh :: 6 Years 3 Months HP: 67 | Buff: NOVICE
Alice :: Royal Hellhound :: Acid Brit
As strong as the seas are stormy.</style>

It seemed of the newly crowned trio, the sole maiden was the only one to feel the loss of her predecessor. To call her such felt odd, stiff and unnatural on her tongue. Outwardly, the thief had never had qualms with self-esteem, for she'd built herself an entire vessel which she could occupy and play the part with. Internally, old echoing whispers haunted her. She stood fragile and young between the two Lords, wondering in a sort of quiet desperation what Ophelia had possibly seen in her. Why she had pronounced Hotaru as her choice for replacement. Of all the successes she had gripped and wrenched from the unwilling world around her, Hotaru could not determine which one had earned the attention she'd always wanted from the frosted mourner. She longed for resolution, solidarity, explanation. Old, tattered remains of a soul long denied cried for comfort, and she stifled the haunting echoes as she did with every part of her past. She lifted to face the rising sun, closing her eyes and pretending she could feel its warmth upon her skin. How is it that I never noticed that what I'd always wanted from you, you'd already given me?

It was destined to remain unanswered, for hers and Thranduil's vows had been taken and administered to the Reaper that held their contracts. It was not so binding for the sole Lady; she'd carved her bones into panoramas of the frost-capped mountains long ago, had let her blood drain into the earth beneath her feet and hoisted the weight of her quiet little family upon her shoulders long ago. Crown or no, she had been Lady in her heart since she'd stepped foot in the lands that should have been her birthright. Her inheritance. Stepping into Ophelia's position was daunting, if only because she doubted her own abilities, her youth making her tremble where nobody could see. Could she hold the peace, become the equator, the impartial party, the scale to the ever-tilting sides that Thranduil and Deimos had become?

She ascended on the opposite side of Deimos, his secondary champion arising at his call. Hotaru held to her heart, Alice proud and regal at her side as they strode to meet those gathering in turn. She held their medium ground, neither stoic and serious like Deimos nor smug and pleased like Thranduil. Calm eyes gazed out across her fellows - the ones she was to rule, to lead into eras and guide out of storms. A bewitching smile curled on her lips, one of the few sincere gestures anyone had ever borne witness to. Calm, radiant, resplendent.

Her fears were written in ancient, indecipherable runes upon her organs. Pulsing with every motion, every reminder that she had made it. In all the ways she had ever considered, she had achieved the end game. From the corner of her eye she glimpsed a coat as red as blood, another golden pelt dappled with starlight and ivory kisses. Hotaru breathed in a slow, quiet breath, not daring to turn and attempt to look. Are you proud of me? A lost part of her whispered, desperate and wanting, aching for love and approval. For so long she had railed against their distance, their loveless souls and shadowed eyes. How many steps had she taken, risks validated, trials conquered all in the name of her bitter desire to prove them wrong? And yet somehow she yearned, because if Ophelia was not there to reassure her, who else knew her? Who else cared to know more than a modicum of information about what lay at her core?

Blinking slowly she dispelled the illusion, breathing chilled air deep into her lungs. No, she had stood on her own for far too long. An island, surrounded by the waters of her own creation. Hotaru did not need their approval, their reassurance. There is no reason to doubt myself. And so she smiled, evanescent, waning slowly, but apparent. Welcoming the travelers and the grounded alike to her fold, to her heart where she would keep them safe and protect them from the travesties that had ruined her so long ago.

"Our might has been tested, and we have prevailed. Let us grow stronger still through the winter, for our greatness does not end here. They have reason to hold us in equal awe and fear - as the weather kills and cradles this land, so we shall thrive in contrast." Not quite the oath, the promise of the future that Thranduil had proposed, but Hotaru's own brand of encouragement and insight. Young she may be, but her heart was mighty and scarred, and it shone like sharpened crystal in her eyes. Perhaps the edges of her smile turned a little crisp, reflected a glint of something dangerous. Or maybe it was just an illusion.

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::Strong like the sea is stormy::

Please only tag starting posts, spars, and threads collecting dust!
Plot with me here!

Arya Posts: 50
Hidden Account
Filly :: Unicorn :: 16 hh :: 2
She's just like the weather. Can't hold her together.
The huntress hears the call, so she goes. Disinterested in what will most likely be a boring session of political prattle. Both of her ears perk forward when she sees her mother. Arya notes the placement she has amongst the Reaper King. Deimos speaks and mentions their lady stepping down. Arya shifts uncomfortably. Disheartened that the north will be ruled solely by the menancing figure of the Reaper. Already she derives images of him looming over Helovia, and she fears to see why they call him such a name. There are few that the huntress truly fears, and Arya definitely considers Deimos amongst those small numbers.

What comes from the Reaper's mouth makes Arya's face alight with joy. She looks over at her mother seeking her gaze. Desperate to make eye contact with her lifegiver. Yes, Hotaru will make a glorious queen. Arya knows that the man has made a good choice. Her mother was born for this role. Hotaru has so many things the huntress lacked. Eloquence, wit, and beauty that had even lured her father in. Part of her is tempted to shout and jeer for the announcement, but, she doesn't wish to reduce her mother to such embarrassment. The new Lady needs respect and a disruptive daughter will do little for that. So she simply grins, glowing with pride. The hunteress vows she will rise like her mother. Arya will find her way in the world.


• tag in opening posts only 
• violence/magic is permitted. maiming/death is not without prior permission

Mirabella Posts: 35
Deceased atk: 3.5 | def: 8.0 | dam: 7.0
Mare :: Unicorn :: 16.2 :: Two Years HP: 62.5 | Buff: NOVICE

He calls. We come. The same old story time after time, season after season. I pull my batle scared frame up from the cave floor that I had once shared with my Mother. I was glad to be home, don't get me wrong. Not just home but back safe where those two legged things can't beat on me or try to take my horn off. As I exit the cave, the bitter cold wind of FrostFall pulls at my ebony and pink locks. Guess I'll be going with the windblown look today.

I move quietly, taking my place next to my half sister. Her mother had been the first to welcome me home... So I guess it's only right that I stand here now, like I belong here. Violet rimmed aqua eyes look around for Odette or Dad. Either of them would be a welcome sight. I hate these meetings. I always have.

As I shift uncomfortably The Reaper begins to speak. What he says, stuns me. My Step-Mother or Adopted mother of sorts... Was now Lady of the Basin? Wow. That is something my own dam could of never accomplished. Even my Dad had not moved above a Corporal... My respect for her tripled in a matter of seconds. I wanted to be like her. Just like her. Climb my way from the bottom to the top. I will do the same. I will make something great out of my humble beginnings and wild childhood. I glace to my side and the grin of pride of Arya's face... Well that spells it all. Sisters, and competitors.

"Sed interdum rutrum urna, sed pellentesque sapien tempor in."

x - x

I'm braver, because I fought a giant and won.
I'm stronger, because I had to be.
I'm happier, because I've learned what matters.
I stand taller, because I'm a survivor.

[Image: 53924d1345a8c]

d'Artagnan the Nightshade Posts: 364
Aurora Basin General atk: 6 | def: 9 | dam: 6.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 17hh :: 12 HP: 68.5 | Buff: ENDURE
Aramis :: Common Hellhound :: Hellfire & Superspeed imi
Meetings; the tedious time in his life when he gathered with his fellow kin to listen to those who would name themselves Lord and Lady. Crowns for the fit and the unfit, it didn’t matter really, in all his six years there had been monarchs come and go. Only the greatest stuck in memory and the rest fell to the wayside. It was a job d’Artagnan never sought, never wanted, a crown was a burden not a privilege and the Nightshade knew he would serve the Basin worst with a lofty title stuck to his already notorious name. Still, he sometimes looked at the leaders past and present, wondering if he was following the right road, were these horses still his kin? It had changed so much, the Plague had all but dispersed and Kou had left him to roam the frost land alone. They had taken part in a battle for the Hidden Falls and won the capture of Oxy, the shade was quite content with that, but what else? They sent good horses south for what, an old grudge? The Doctor was game for taking revenge as much as the next old guard, but what was the point when they returned with nothing but one prisoner. Still, he had gone missing during the build up to it and couldn’t really complain as they had captured the horse he had so fervently sought, so his lips would remain sealed. Even d’Artagnan knew when he had no say in matters.

He gathered as ordered by Deimos, a Lord he could say would live in his memory, though he had been unsure of his old friend rising to such a position at first. The Reaper had earned his title in the Doctor's mind. Aramis was by his side, watching proceedings with a bored gaze, companions weren’t generally needed in such gatherings, but d’Artagnan liked him there to at least complain at. So the hellion indulged his bonded’s bad habit.

One brow rose to the departure of Ophelia and the shade shrugged, the removal of a hybrid from Ladyship was not unwelcome news to the shade, although he seemed to be lingering in a minority over the species debate. Where had she gone anyway? What was the point of her Leadership if she was simply going to renounce her title, or perhaps this was all just one sick joke to her?

From then on, the meeting seemed to go a little downhill and d’Artagnan stared at the Reaper with tired, solemn eyes. There was a moment, however, in the announcement of new leads that he turned to a familiar mare and a small smile rose to his lips. "Remember that rough diamond we found in the Steppe with that weird tiger hybrid" he motioned to Aramis and the dog laughed along "look what happened!" the Doctor exclaimed looking at Hotaru. In hope, he willed her to continue her seemingly good progress. The other, Thranduil, was a name he had heard, but not a stallion he had spoken to. Three leads. Was this a wise choice or indecision?

Next, alliances, why must they be joined with the world, the Doctor hoped that in this new turn they wouldn’t grow complacent. Being so isolated had made them powerful, feared; it was the only way d’Artagnan knew how to survive, both in this world and his old one. They played up the battle. Victory this and victory that, this wasn’t victory, they had been mercenaries and under paid ones at that. The shade wanted the prisoner and the land, not one or the other. Greatness wasn’t winning one battle and returning to the exiled mountains, it was winning many battles and taking back what was theirs. Yet, the thought occurred to him again, maybe this Basin was no longer the Basin of old.

Poison is in everything, and no thing is without poison. The dosage makes it either a poison or a remedy.

yewrezz | larfsalot
on deviantart

my heart’s an endless winter
              filled with rage

Use force at your own peril ;) please tag me!

Ki'irha Posts: 176
Outcast atk: 4.5 | def: 9.0 | dam: 6
Mare :: Unicorn :: 15hh :: 5 years old HP: 64.5 | Buff: NOVICE
The midnight mare picked her way over the frozen terrain. Cold, alone, and unfathomably lost - though, how could she be lost with no exact aim to begin with? - she wanted nothing more than to fix at least one of these problems. The frigid cold seemed to permeate into her bones, crystallizing in her joints. Fuck this cold, she thought to herself. Of all times to arrive in this frozen wonderland, she needed to pick the coldest season of the year. But, a home was a home, and if anything, this place would provide safety, shelter, and further training.

A voice cracked the frozen air. Ears sprang up, her head twisted, and she stopped moving. The voice was powerful, like nothing she had ever heard before. Stormy eyes scanned the land around her, looking for a source. 'Ophelia?' she thought, wondering why the name sounded so familiar. She then recalled that d'Artagnan had mentioned her during his lesson on the Basin, and had referred to her as the Lady of this land. It appeared their lady, their queen, had renounced her title. Ki'irha scowled. How could a leader abandon her subjects? Better off, I'm sure. As the words crossed her mind, she believed that room would open to someone devoted to the herd.

Something called, no, urged her to find the stallion who had cast his words into the mountains. Who knew what would be waiting, but hopefully she could at least meet others who lived here. She set off at a canter, white hair fluttering. Malnourished muscles still propelled her forward, though her endurance was painfully compromised. She was sure it wouldn't be until Birdsong that she returned to her previous healthy form

Soon she came upon the meeting place. She slowed her pace, noticing a small congregation. The blue mare approached cautiously, eyes alert and ears peaked. Though small and respectful, she was still a stranger, and was unsure as to how this group would to react to her. She noticed a familiar face in the meeting, as the stallion who had taken her from the Threshold had already arrived. She looked towards him, attempting to meet his eyes, and dipped her head in silent greeting. She then cast her eyes upon he who had called to her. The dark stallion that towered before her spoke of invasions, of victories, of new leaders. A golden stallion, possibly Thranduil, and a lovely unicorn mare, perhaps Hotaru, took their places beside the grey unicorn. She assumed they were the two he called by name, stating they were the new leaders, by the way they stood with him and called out similar inspiration of strength, victory, and preparation. She saw she came during a time of great growth in the herd. A spark grew in her heart. These leaders, these kings and queen, knew their future, knew the means to reach the end. And Ki'irha was inspired, knowing she wanted to play her part in it - whatever it may be.

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Please Tag Me ○ Permission for magic and injury is granted. Just no death or permanent harm.

Sialia Posts: 169
Outcast atk: 6 | def: 8.5 | dam: 5.5
Mare :: Unicorn :: 16.1 :: 8 Years HP: 62 | Buff: NOVICE
I tried to sell my soul last night, it's funny he wouldn't even take a bite.

It seemed to be that time yet again. It felt like only yesterday that I stood here, and listened as a new queen was crowned, Ophelia... But that had been nearly a year ago. How did the time fly so quickly?

And now, I move towards the growing crowd, as once again the herd is brought together. We are formed, and reformed, that second position never seeming to be easily kept.

Upon approach, I see the Lord Deimoose (As always, because it's his job and he is running the puppet show we are watching) with his deathly and terrifying aura, but next to him stood... Two others. Slowly, ears press forward, to listen as the stoic demon speaks to his band of shaggy northerners. Ophelia had resigned, for personal matters.... Supposedly. While I was sad to hear of her leaving, I didn't linger on it. My attentions where almost immediately seized to the next pressing matter. The newest lead... Or should I say leads.

I am mildly shocked, as now we would have two lords, and one lady. My eyes shift to Hotaru and Thranduil. While I do not doubt the capabilities of Hotaru, Thranduil's intentions while seemingly selfless, I find a hard time trusting. He was close with the Gilded Tongue, Whom I had also considered a friend, but he had also climbed those ranks so easily. He reminded me of a snake, a sexy snake, but untrustworthy at the least. After all, he had been on some very secret missions from Illynx... Who knew what he was up to. But for now I would sit back and watch the events unfold.

Suspicious eyes hide behind kind ones, and a sassy smirk. "Congratulations to the both of you, I am sure you will both do well in you're newly appointed positions." The black and white head lowers in a nod to the both of them, before the triple colored body rocked back to watch the proceedings even further.

"Speech here."
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Arah Posts: 343
Outcast atk: 7 | def: 10.5 | dam: 3
Mare :: Unicorn :: 15hh :: 5 HP: 65 | Buff: NOVICE
Wynter :: Royal Griffin :: Draining Clutch Frostie

Happiness can be found, even in the darkest of times, if one only remembers to turn on the light.

She arrived as one of the first, she had always come when called. True sometimes it had taken her a while when summoned but she had not failed The Reaper yet. Glancing at those who had already arrived she was silent and polite waiting for the meeting to begin. Wynter settled on her withers, watching everyone that approached with distrusting eyes. Deimos moves to speak, Arah glanced around for the red tipped mare who had become their Lady not too long ago. Her confusion was answered with The Reaper's first words. Ophelia was gone? When? Why? The questions burned their way through her mind as a frown creased her brow. Still this surely meant that a new lead was about to be chosen, perhaps this one would remain! It honestly did seem like the Lady of The Basin always ran out on them. Her golden orbs darted between the two that stood beside The Reaper as he announced them as new leads. Thranduil and Hotaru.

It was as if someone had hit pause. A high pitch silence struck at her ears while her eyes darted between the three that stood above them all. Everything slowed as a dizziness took over, the doe squeezing her eyes shut to try and clear her mind. Inside her however something was building slowly- an ember in her chest that still had fight within it. It fizzled and then lit, the fire feeding's itself on the long calming breaths Arah was attempting to take. Barely hearing the words they spoke, hardly noticing Wynter's soothing touch on her mind, finally she snapped. "Are you kidding?!" The words where meant to be whispered quietly to herself. Yet they echoed around the space, the doe's gaze remained on Deimos. Well...she had started, no point in not finishing.

This would be her last confession.

"For many long gruelling years I have served The Basin." Taking a step closer she studied the one who had been her Lord...her King for so long. "I defended your rule in the beginning, I have done everything you have asked of me without question and I have never done anything for personal gain." Golden orbs dart between the two new leads, rage sparkling in their depths. The silver doe seriously doubted the same could be said for the other two. How did they plan to keep ties with the other herds when both had enemies lurking everywhere? "What have they done that betters my years of service to this you?"

All she had sacrificed.
All she had suffered.

She couldn't help it.
It was like she had finally unlocked the emotions, the rage, the anger and the shame.
Now the feelings were as free as the words she was furiously spitting.

First she turned to Thranduil, the rage burning within her so fiercely she wondered if those around her could feel the heat radiating from her very core. "You have no idea about tough winters. One passed through and suddenly you're a survivor?!" Arah laughed whole heartedly, head thrown back as she basked in the pure hilarity of the thief's choice of words. "Try waking up to find the sun gone, wondering if it's ever going to rise again. Then try to raise children in the darkness." They had been chasing rabbits in the sunshine when the wicked struck and captured them. The very first sunshine they had ever seen and it was ripped away from them.

Shaking her head furiously, she quickly realised that this golden idiot would never be able to save Aurora Basin. Instead it would be twisted into whatever he needed it to be. "Try watching your mentor die for the greater good. At least she actually gave a shit about her spies!" Arah doubted he actually ever given a damn about anyone but himself. A normally soft musical hymn was what she spoke with, now nothing but a venomous voice filled The Basin, she could not believe this was happening to her home. "Faelene was her name. You never knew her and you will never amount to who and what she was." Arah stared at Thranduil with absolute anger, the last words she hoped she'd ever have to say to him were spat at his feet. "You will never be anything but selfish and manipulative. Now you're going to lead? Be responsible for others?" Because she did not trust him and others shouldn't either. After all, she knew him, seen the tricks he played. What did the golden stag understand about leading? About making sacrifices for those beneath you? When they had first met he had attempted to begin an all out fight for entertainment.

Now he was a dog with a crown on it's head. The very worst kind of leader.

Next she turned to Hotaru, some of the hatred died from her eyes. This mare was naive, her previous words had proven as much, Arah did not wish to offend the pink mare. No, she wished for the pink spy to understand her stance. "Grow stronger? Please." The first hint of sadness laced with pity filled Arah's voice. "Refresh my memory, where you you when we fought The Throat? When the darkness came to Helovia? When Lady Psyche left? When Lady Illynx disappeared?" Arah rolled her shoulders, eyes peering into Hotaru's soul. Neither her or Thranduil would ever be apart of The Basin's history the way Arah was. Perhaps she was throwing that all away now but she felt as if it was her love for this once great herd that was driving her to say these things. "You can't grow strong because you've never been here during the weakest and most trying times." It was nothing but the truth, Arah had been present through most of it. She thought back to the words her father had whispered once 'But we live and learn that history and the past are lessons.' Lessons these so called 'leaders' would never know. Arah didn't entirely want to be a leader but she felt that there were a few much more deserving than these two. After all, Arah had been here longer than most (including these two), she felt like it was her right to speak against these promotions. Perhaps they were more sneaky, more clever but she had been loyal to a fault. Until now.

"You speak of greatness but you've never been present for this herd's truly greatest moments." After a moment Arah decided to through the pink spy a bone, "although you are more capable than him," the doe's crowned head jerks in Thranduil's direction. Still this wasn't much as she did not believe Thranduil to be capable in the slightest.

Once this herd was feared by all, nobody just wondered in to have a look around. No one doubted their ability to defend their home or at least avenge it. "Our names were once spoken in hushed tones by outsiders. They feared us like we were death itself." Perhaps a sick part of her had enjoyed that side of The Basin. "Now look at us!" She wondered if they saw themselves as she did. Arah knew how she must look to them and in truth she was bitter but her faith is divine.

It was too much, she could not remain here under this leadership. She turns to Deimos, The Reaper, the one who she had trusted with everything.

When it rains it pours. When you’re soaked and the world tries to fuck with you, you only need to trust in yourself.

"No more."
Was she a traitor?
We all get our hands dirty when we’re seizing the moment.

With that she is finally finished, her slender body turns and Arah heads towards her cave.
They would not see any tears from her. None were falling.

Fuck this.
She was off to see an old friend.

And I ain't afraid to die, I’m afraid of going to hell.

✽ Force and magic permitted. ✽
✽ No fatal or permanent damage. ✽
✽ Please only tag in opening posts. ✽

Thranduil the Laurelin Posts: 598
Outcast atk: 5.5 | def: 11 | dam: 6.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16.2 hh :: Eight HP: 77 | Buff: ENDURE
Haldir :: Common Cerndyr :: Dark Mist Hawk

Well the shit just hit the fan. Might as well have sounded off a bomb. The smirk upon that golden’s lips twisted, irked by the sharp voice cutting in from the crowd. At first he does not turn. His eyes only hardened and jaw clench. If she had stopped there it might have been alright. He would have had felt the boiling of his blood rise, but that pale princess was valuable. Though certainly she had done as much as others. Who or what did she steal through stealth to add value to their home? What part did she play in the gathering of information to keep what he was sure, was her precious peace? She had fought in the invasion, her loyalty proven, but Hotaru had organized it, and the golden himself lead it. Their rankings were set clear by what they had done. It was the one moment the golden was actually fair about his favorites. But apparently someone had gotten too big of britches.

She begins to snap at Deimos, and the golden can feel the rage that Ophelia awakened, washing over him again. His crowned head snaps to her, and those horns, feeling the weight of their threat rise. Haldir, looks to his bonded and back to the doe. The tension he could feel in the bond caused him to slink back from the golden. Oh but that girl, she had months, and years of resentment ready to spit out in front of them. The golden was filled with enough hate. He would have no one questioning his place.

Then she turns to him. Harks pin back and teeth bare, and all that keeps him from letting his horns interrupt is the anger bursting inside. Touch winters. Hard seasons. The golden anger flew back the accusations with memories, thankfully his fires too hot to pause upon the pain they also bore. Try burning sands, and yearlong droughts. Try to feed dead children with dead mothers. You would welcome the darkness, he wanted to spear, but she kept going. Mentor die?! What the fuck did that matter. If she had a mentor is was a pathetic excuse for one he was sure. She actually gave a shit. She actually gave a shit. How about Arah every giving a shit. The golden did not watch the princess for others took her place. Oh but she wasn’t done, she kept going and going.

She was not wrong, but that might be why she was so in the wrong to the golden’s eyes. He had been responsible for her damnit! Who answered Gaucho’s call for her presence? Did she not know what risk it was to toss aside his guide for her? (Of course that was not the point then, but it seemed a grand one now) He was willing that day to stand in front of her and charge the wildfire from the Basin no matter her act. He was anger for she saw nothing of the ‘upstanding’ qualities he would claim. She was throwing out a one-sided story of a pathetic tale of do nothings.

Oh but she kept going! Hotaru was next, and the white dame had the nerve to blame the girl for everything she too young to do. The golden was the pink spy’s competitor. And in his breast rolled a bitterness for her. But she was still his. Her actions protected as Arah’s were the day Gaucho called her name. She was not gifted it lightly. She had earned it. The girl had been there to capture Confutatis. She had followed the hot trail of murders, so much so she paid her freedom. She had slide one of the largest most stubborn creatures in Helovia to peace without lifting a hoof. She had swept through the Falls and stolen their most precious and watch possession. She had been the Basin’s strength. And these great moments missed? They were the Basin’s downfall. The Basin had lost in the Throat. The Basin fell to the darkness. The leaving of leads can not be blamed on a child! Though you may witness them you are the dust that people blow away from the story. You are a clinger, not a maker. Where was Arah’s name at the head of these stories? Not mentioned but in passing, a footnote, an end credit. Even the golden had sense enough to argue this, but she kept talking!

There name whispered in fear? For what. It made no sense! They whispered it for pain of death upon a racist horn! The very crime of copying she pulled to blame him! It made no sense. Whether from his rage or from actual reason, when she spat her pathetic attacks it simply made no sense. Look at us now? You will fucking look at us now. Though the Basin found weak moments the threats were still strong enough to banish thoughts of attack. The Edge sent a request for allies not surrender. They were strong. Stronger than her precious friend Midas had been. What was she wanted? Total war? That had caused the Basin to fall. Did she want full diplomacy? That had failed Midas. No one dared move to stealth upon it for the spies, were like hornets. All kept hushed tones still, not for death, but for knowing others lurked near. And what part had she played in that?! Nothing. What she done? One measly stealth. And nothing else but a haunting of the Basin. When had she ever travelled south to the Throat and stood before Gaucho? Or slipped past his patrols? She had stayed home. A house wife, crying the soldiers were useless. And now no more?

The golden broke, his rage complete and his fire fueled by the time of reasoning. “You! You throw out knives that you must first draw from your own flesh.” He spit at her, with golden hide trembling from the anger. “Listen here woman at what others have done while you huddle in your cave as a housewife.” His voice rages. “Who was it who captured Confutatis, the stealer of your children?! Not you, though you had every resource to do so. And do not give the pathetic excuse of raising children, for there stands the proud one she raised too. Who was it who headed the invasions successes, who employed the stealths to secure its victory?” The air about him hummed with the heat of his blaze. “What have you done in the strongest ranking of thief’s in Helovia to further its name? Passed unnoticed through the herd of others? All three were open to us while you huddled here in the dark. Captured one spy? Others have stolen ten times what you have. The powerful Midas among them." The hoards of the Basin were legend now, and no one was beyond their grasp. "Where were you when murders befell Helovia? Where were you when Illynx vanished? What are you doing when Ophelia deserted? Your name was not on her tongue for a reason.”

A cloven hoof slams on the earth, though it makes no sound the earth trembles. “I should have let Gaucho set his fires against you when he called you out. You who see my protection as so worthless a trinket. There is nothing in you but a child, screeching out for what she does not deserve. You want this land to be powerful again, you feel you can do it better? Then work for it. It is not enough to stand idly by in the world any longer, not with powers rising all about. You must work." The golden may have had selfish purposes, but he had the skill to guise them under the Basin's banner. He did not sit idle. No one would claim it so. Ophelia may have had the same doubts, but she had at least the brain to recognize he earned this title. "For all your insults you will not stand here and say Hotaru and I have not worked. And do not call upon your children as your products either for if you look about you, they are not here." That dark stripped warrior Rhiannon, and the pale one were not in sight. Gone, deserted, or uncaring, the crimes were all the same. Her parenting had not been strong enough further the future of the Basin (though he cared little for it) and so her efforts were nothing. "You have earned nothing. If there is a dimming of the Basin’s glory it is your sickness that causes it. The loyalty you claim nullified." As she turned her back the golden's vehemency rose to a climax, and he hissed. "You are no better than a traitor.” As she turns her back the golden a bitterness grows in his mouth. Left foreleg strikes out, pawing at the earth. He grew silent, his crowned head tucking and recedes back in his thoughts. But the bitter tastes would not leave. They would not wash away, and if the course of events did not challenge him, she would not only hear the sting of those words but feel them.

OOC :: Ten seconds till self destruction, anyone feel free to hold the man back. @[Arah] I do love Arah, but Thran doesn't take the insults (even truthful ones) well....

The itsy bitsy spider climbed up the waterspout.
Down came the rain
and washed the spider out.
Image credit.

[Image: 5381546acbe33]
Feel free to use any force/magic on Thranduil, short of killing him.
Please tag in every post.
Ask Thranduil any question in the world, he'll be forced to answer on his profile. PM with your question.

Ulrik the Engineer Posts: 235
Deceased atk: 5.5 | def: 9.0 | dam: 6.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 17.1 hh :: 11 HP: 69.5 | Buff: ENDURE
Kirchoff :: Common Hellhound :: Superspeed Tamme

Ulrik came when called, obediently summoned by the whistle of his master. He was a glorified dog, now. Do this, Ulrik. Do that, Ulrik. Make a flag, make a tent, tend to the sentinels, and all of that was well and good until they dragged him into politics. Ophelia was gone. Torleik was nowhere to be seen, and he had to assume that they had left together. Why? Why had his cousin, the only fucking family he had, left him here to rot in the snow? The massive, black stallion strode into the meeting to listen, feeling the delicate chords of his patience being plucked, the frequency growing every strong with each additional harmonic.

Thranduil… and Hotaru? Ulrik had no idea Ophelia had suggested either of them, but it would make sense given that they were more or less her spies. What confused him the most was why Deimos had agreed to go along with such a decision when Thranduil had the temper of a two year old colt and Hotaru was too beautiful and too young to be taken seriously. Ophelia had been beautiful, but she had also been down right scary. Now, she was gone – for whatever reason (probably involving his cousin’s dick), and he had to serve goldilocks and the pink princess?


Alliances? Wasn’t that all for show? Moving forward into what? The stallion’s ears flattened against his skull, and he seemed to grow in size, muscles rippling beneath his shiny, black coat.

Three leads.

A critical bronze gaze stared unflinchingly into the eyes of Deimos. Deimos, the stallion he had elected to lead himself. One, masculine ear tilted in the direction of Arah, a mare he’d gotten to know fairly well when the world was covered in water. She was intelligent and kind, but this dark streak? Well, he liked this dark streak. Without interruption, he listened to her speak, wondering if she wanted the crown for herself; she had been here long, after all.

Ulrik took a step forward, attempting to stand BESIDE ARAH. He wanted to be a silent support to her words, a stalwart force against this engine of change. The stallion watches as she turned to heat to her cave, perhaps lingering a little too long on the perfect white of her coat.

Each word Thranduil uttered damned himself in the Engineer’s eyes, and he narrowed his silent, catastrophic gaze. Cloven, bronze hooves settled like the canons of war, and though he rarely spoke at these meetings, he decided that his anger could no longer be hidden.

“ENOUGH!” he barked, the bellowing gravel of his tone reverberating through the mountains. His accent was thick and cruel, lion’s tail curling wildly around his hocks. "If I wanted to witness a fucking PISSING CONTEST I would have joined the ranks of the FALLS!" The stallion's ribcage expanded with the force of his breath. “You are no leader,” he growled, his hushed tones more frightening and dark than his yell. “A leader can take the criticism of their subjects without insulting them. Arah has been in this herd for nearly as long as d’Artagnan and myself. She was there when Mauja fell. When I REMOVED Psyche from her position! She was there when Illynx left, but in the shadows. For she is not as ostentatious as you.”

Ulrik’s wild stare was positively mad, and he sneered, curling black, velvet lips from his teeth. His gaze swung to Deimos, and he jerked his thickly corded neck upward, grinding his teeth. “You have not failed me before, and I have never doubted your leadership – until now. If you support this one, then I deal directly with you alone. I will have no part in the crowning of a gilded disease.

He needed to find his cousin and get to the bottom of all of this. The Engineer followed Arah first, to see if she would be all right.

Credits: Image by LyrebirdBlue @ DA

@[Arah] (tagging you because you were mentioned! )

(Please tag me in every post)

Lena the Songbird Posts: 663
Aurora Basin Time Mender atk: 4 | def: 10.5 | dam: 6.5
Mare :: Unicorn :: 15.3 :: 6 HP: 69 | Buff: NOVICE
Imogen :: Common Kitsune :: Fire Heather

The Songbird didn’t wander into the junctures of harmony, of serenity, of tranquility or bliss: those few, scarce moments had come and gone, and she ended up waltzing into a cluster of acrimony, derision, and loathing. The crackling monstrosities lit at the announcements made by their Lord Deimos, and as she cycled through it (Ophelia gone – another leader churning into the sands, into the dusk, into the abyss; new leaders crowned – the rosy Hotaru, the eerie Thranduil), there came a righteous song bursting from the lungs of one she’d never expect. Her eyes widened as she maneuvered into the sanction, as if she’d been placed right back at the latest Edge meeting, taking in and witnessing every ounce of vitriol, every nuance of venom and toxins. But she listened, she soaked in, she absorbed all the words Arah had to say, all the notions spouting and foaming and reaching towards their sovereigns (of sacrifices, of vows, of promises and oaths); and all the fibers of her possession, all the wires of her frame, stoked a calm, composed reverie. It sauntered with the wind, light, delicate, airy, but strong in spirit, enduring in claim. First, to the newly crowned, she bowed her head, elegantly poised and perfected the whims of her valor, the core of her determination, into a warm grin, an amiable smile. “Congratulations to you both,” and she hoped the sonnet would rise, fly, and glide above all the tyranny, all the lashing, all the mud-flinging strokes slung across the grounds, ridiculous and petulant. Then, to the rest of the world, to the edges of Arah, to the temper of Ulrik, to the rising flames of Thranduil. “What has happened to us?” Because she wanted to know at one point they’d lost everyone, where they’d sauntered away, came back crawling as subversive cretins and condemning, denouncing embers. “This isn’t how a herd grows stronger. This isn’t how we maintain force or might.” This is how we fall apart. The naiad paused, unrelenting and potent, establishing a graceful, finessed equilibrium amidst the fiendish storms and the brutal tempest, before she continued, trying to weave the right notes, the harmonious conjectures, to aid and assist in leading her family down a more enduring road. “Why are we maligning someone who hasn’t had an opportunity to lead? To show us what they can do? Why can’t they become strong?” A quiver of irritation filled her sights, built and brewed within her; brimming and foaming to the top, but never sent out into the void. It wouldn’t have made anything better. It wouldn’t have salvaged the meager situation. She’d been through the years, the seasons, of hardship and perseverance, didn’t grow offended when no one asked her calling to be given a throne and scepter. “This meeting isn’t about Arah, isn’t about Ulrik, isn’t about anyone but the herd. If they were chosen to benefit the Basin, then I wish them luck, and I will provide all that I can to aid our sovereign.” Finally, her gaze flickered and fluttered back to the disappearing Arah, to the suffering Engineer, to all the other beasts gathered amidst the rough, tempestuous surroundings – proffering the same advice she’d given to the rancorous lad in the Edge. “If you don’t like the choices, then do something about it. If you believe you can do better, then challenge. If you believe you’re the better option, show them.”

Lena the Songbird

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Deimos the Reaper Posts: 527
Deceased atk: 7.0 | def: 12 | dam: 6.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16.1 :: 7 HP: 72.5 | Buff: NUMB
What could been triumphant, glorious, and unrelenting was suddenly driven into chaos. Unraveling edges and frayed ends, knots untied and thrown out to sea, out to ice, out to some other shelter he couldn’t see, couldn’t find. Normally, he anointed anarchy, smirked inwardly at its potential, at its outcries, at its absolute mayhem spiraling and convoluting and distorting every rapid measure, every laid out stone. He’d cherished and consecrated the unholy armaments of enmity and antagonism, fed them his raptures, his reveries, his dominating spirit. But to watch his herd unthread before his eyes was something else altogether (and the layers of frustration over the past few weeks built and built, crooned ire and murmured wrath) – and he was suddenly reminded of every weakness he ever possessed. If the Forsaken’s rapid, molten discourse hadn’t punctured and rasped at old wounds, Arah’s speech certainly did; rupturing over cold, nonchalant callouses, over the brick and mortar of immoral, soulless voids, clasping and clenching and smirking at the way the world had come to rest at his feet – dark, desolate, and forlorn. Standing amidst the center of his empire, he suddenly felt truly, deeply alone.

When he was young, that’s all he’d ever wanted. He’d yearned for a hole to crawl within and never come out. He coveted peace and salvation in the shadows. He chiseled his way through caves and catacombs, festering and feasting on the remnants of his life. He protected himself, he guarded others, by being away from his family, by being away from everything and everyone he may accidentally harm from the brutal, malicious, savage swing of his necromancy –

And now, he’d done it again, without ever meaning to.

He’d pushed Arah into a rage. He’d pushed Ulrik into a simmer. He’d pushed Thranduil into an all-consuming wrath. The Reaper had somehow, someway, managed to miss the social revelries, the puncturing whispers, the needy glances, until they erupted, until they exploded, into a sea of petulance and upheaval. His thoughts were a mile a minute, a swift keen of machinations and calculations he may have forgone for the sake of violence, for the hints of vehemence. Had Arah ever actually wanted to lead? How was he supposed to know that (was she some chosen being he’d needed to ask, gain permission from?)? Their world couldn’t grow strong? They were no longer feared? What were all these falsehoods? What was all this nonsense? His skin crawled, his mutinous frame grew taut, rigid, and the strokes of his finality pierced through the imbalance. No yelling, no screaming, no screeching or howling; the monster’s omens were a keen note of brevity, a harsh, punctual blade driven into the crowd. “Stop.”

The demon didn’t want to lose Arah. The monster didn’t want to lose Ulrik. The devil cherished the few loyalties he had, the few manifestations of trust he’d managed to procure, but they couldn’t carry on as brats and beasts, hooting and hollering with no justification but peevish entitlement. Something had to give, something had to wane, something had to be fostered and built out of all the nothings he was being left with.

And as much as he balked, as much as he strained, he had to grow. The Reaper had to admit the wrong too (but where was it – because he’d chosen Thranduil, because he hadn’t chosen her, or something else altogether, a notion he couldn’t understand?). His arrogance, his confidence, and his pride had taken too many hits in the past few days to do much else but listen, reflect, and act. But not with anger, not with vexation: they’d get nowhere, and he’d be the one deserted again. Before the couple retreated in their contempt, before the insults had time to wither and die within his chest, his voice ricocheted over the horizon, just as deadly, just as nefarious, just as commanding and demanding as his prior vocals, but with no necessity towards deafening bellows or bleating madness. Steel, resolve, and determination echoed in the chasms of his oath, of his declarations, in the narrowed, puncturing, piercing slate of his infernal stare. “We will discuss your opinions when you choose to act appropriately. I can meet with you when our gathering adjourns.”

His gaze swiftly churned towards the gilded, fellow King, and one overwhelming ache of monstrosity fueled and flared over his sinister emblem, over his chiseled, reticent features, so insouciance became fire and fury, an unholy, vicious whisper. “You will hold your tongue and cease acting like a child. You will listen to your brethren because they are all you have.” The infidel paused, stoking the rawness, the composure, he’d lost along the way – but it needed to be said, it needed to be defined. “If you cannot behave properly, you will not be able to lead this herd.” He leaned in closer, a rampant predator abiding sudden, instantaneous advice, carving a carnivore control, unleashing a torrent of warnings and foreboding. “You will be insulted. You will not be thanked for your roles, protection, or guidance. The world will turn just as quickly on you as they did. What will you choose: to mock, or flourish?” Deimos knew his decision, because the Basin was what made him, what sculpted him, what caused him to chase down enemies and bludgeon fools. He wouldn’t forget the way Arah’s screams blistered him, the way Ulrik’s potency immersed him in Machiavellian calculations and a searing, tidal wave of ruminations – but he didn’t know what would become of Thranduil, if he couldn’t overcome barbs, if he couldn’t overcome nestles and thorns.

delivered from the blast
last from a line of lasts
and now the kingdom comes crashing down undone
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Hotaru the Valkyrie Posts: 295
Outcast atk: 7 | def: 10.5 | dam: 3
Mare :: Unicorn :: 15.3hh :: 6 Years 3 Months HP: 67 | Buff: NOVICE
Alice :: Royal Hellhound :: Acid Brit
As strong as the seas are stormy.</style>

Everything dissolves, falling apart into catastrophe, and all the young maiden can do is watch as everyone roars to the fore with words of venom and hatred. The love and pride that had bloomed in her chest to see Arya and Mirabella gazing up at her, idolizing her, wilts away into something tender and reticent. Words directed at her, at her successes, spitting on all the hard work Hotaru had put into achieving the title she couldn't even revel in for a bare moment. They hurt and slash at her, inspiring discomfort and hurt alongside a sudden well of anger. It was only a matter of time before something such as this occurred, the Basin had been on too linear a path to be believable for a very long time. Before she can so much as wrap her head around the issue around the words, there are already more. So many more. Unbidden, her gaze falls to her daughters, for Mirabella is as much hers lately as Arya. And everything falls into a momentary quiet.

Hotaru could respond with anger, with injustice. She could point out everything Arah didn't do, all her failings as both a mother and a herd member. It would be easy. If Phaedra had given her anything, it was her silver tongue, and that dagger in her mouth could cause more damage than the older mare could imagine. Oh, it would be sweet to see her bleed. That was undeniable. And it would be easy. But she looks into their faces, upturned and hopeful, dreaming of their futures, and Hotaru pauses. The world falls away from her, leaving those two little girls. Standing side by side, camaraderie and sisterhood, she what Ophelia was to herself. An idol, a mentor, a protector.

What kind of lesson would she be teaching them, by not accepting criticism? By not showing them that there was more to being a woman king than brutality?

Thranduil rushes to her defense, his fury as tangible as her own, and unexpectedly her heart warms and pulses as her eyes drift to caress his golden hide. He defends her, as he has from those who sought her body to cease her pillaging of the land. Though she hides it mostly well, her eyes widen subtly and her heart quivers in her chest. Hotaru had stood on her own, in perfect solitude and independence, since her birth. Nobody had ever cared for her, for her awkward coloration or her disturbing bicolored eyes. Hotaru had suffered, had broken. And in her defeat, her loneliness, she had looked at her own shattered self and found some diamond core of strength that she had never anticipated. But even as she rose through the years, clawing her way to the top - where she belonged damn it, no matter what Arah said - Hotaru had never been protected, defended. Perhaps it was why she'd always distrusted Thranduil a little too much, why she'd never known how to act or react around him. He was a threat to her, but maybe he was also a threat because the maiden didn't know how to handle his possessiveness, his claim on her.

Their Engineer awakens, and Deimos tries his best to keep a handle on things, and at last it is her turn to speak. She slides up to take her place at the forefront, to draw attention to herself. But as she does, her eyes flicker to Thranduil, evanescent and beautiful. There is a tiny gleam of gratitude, of a certain shyness, because she doesn't know how to react to his fervent defense of her - the almost pride of his lauding regarding her personal achievements. For how long had he watched her? It troubled the woman that she had not noticed, or perhaps not as much as she should have. But it was also...interesting. Something to be taken up later, as her gaze spoke quietly to him.

To Arah's retreating back she called, her voice clear and crystal, calm. "If you are going to attack me and my position, I will listen. But it is only fair you give me a chance for rebuttal, otherwise it is merely childish. And that's coming from the one who you just deigned too young for the crown." It is not fierce, she does not spit it as she very well could have, but a tiny wry grin does appear on her face nonetheless. She hopes it calms those angered, to see her being a little humorous - somewhat sarcastic though it was - in the face of her degradation. Her eyes turn to Deimos, but her words are for everyone. "No, there should be no concealing her thoughts before everyone. The Basin is supposed to be a family. I have no qualms with addressing her issues now, where everyone can see and hear." And so her face hardened into seriousness, more so than before, as it turned to regard Arah and those gathered - whether the ivory mare returned or not.

"Lena has spoken, and I appreciate your sentiments," she added, her eyes falling to the mare who was so often overlooked. The one who had saved her daughter's life just as surely as the immortal magic in her veins had. "I wasn't here for a lot of what occurred, but that makes me stronger does it not? Old wounds, bitterness, desires for revenge for ancient snubs, where has it gotten the Basin? Nowhere but failed invasions and distrust, forced isolation. You may look down upon my achievements, but I have helped us all gain allies, gain our own people in positions of power in the old Edge lands. With the help of Illynx, my mentor, whom you say I watched leave without feeling or loss. But I digress, I am trying to take this in with the proper respect that you deserve. For Ulrik is not wrong." Shaking her head, Hotaru sighed softly, tail flicking idly against her hocks. What would words even do? Did it even matter, or would they still simply regard her as a child and tune out her attempts at explanation, diplomacy?

It was both her children and Ophelia's ghost that lent her the strength and surety to go on. Ophelia had brought diplomacy and patience, words and wisdom. She had appointed Hotaru as the Lady in her stead, to be held equal against a perfect sneak and a perfect warrior. And she saw enlightenment. Was that why she had been encouraged, brought to the forefront of Deimos' thoughts on the election? Ophelia had seen something far before Hotaru had, but the rosen girl finally saw it in that moment, and she was never more sure of her words as they left her mouth. "I am young. But I am tempered by two older leads, if my potentially childish passion is what you fear. Illynx and Ophelia were my mentors, and they have shown me what I can do. If you cannot trust in me right now, trust in what they think of me. You claim you care so much for their memory, I ask why you therefore do not trust their judgement." Though she wished to curse the brat for bringing up Faelene - how dare she, she didn't know anything, didn't know a damn thing about Hotaru's godmother and how she felt about the woman - she did not. There was no use, it would only give Arah leverage and further prove her point.

"All I have to say is that yes, we were once feared. But we were also hated. We were cornered in this northern sphere, and we suffered because we had no allies. We had nothing but our own supposed strength, which we couldn't even utilize. The Throat has long reigned beneath powerful, successful rule. And alongside it? Allies. Always. Yes, you have been here longer than me, Arah. You have seen these seasons pass and watched the darkness that consumed us. But you are bitter with old glory that did not truly shine," it was said almost softly, as if gingerly touching a wound. "I don't expect your gratitude for stealing the one who hurt your children, or for securing the friendship of the titan that currently holds her. As Deimos said, I shouldn't expect it." A light shrug of her shoulder, her momentary bitterness displaying itself in her prior words rather than the latter explanation.

"But if you doubt me now, if you doubt my abilities and age, then either do something and do better or let me prove myself. Because I will." It was a vow, a promise. Hotaru would show them that she deserved her crown, age be damned.

Image Credits
[Image: 515265280ffff]

::Strong like the sea is stormy::

Please only tag starting posts, spars, and threads collecting dust!
Plot with me here!

Öde Posts: 145
Aurora Basin Disciple atk: 5 | def: 10 | dam: 5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 17 hh :: 4.5 HP: 64.5 | Buff: NOVICE


He hobbles in from the southeast, tracing back the path that he had carved out on legs much more eager and capable than the ones he uses now. He follows the trail that he had yet to walk back from the invasion; left behind to rot when the dust and the blood settled, and so he had. Caught in the spear of an angry, wounded bull, Öde had withered and fallen, and there where his blood had pooled his corpse had fed. Little by little he worked himself back into existence, and all the while his soul galloped through the dark with his shadow king.

Öde's mind works furiously over all that they had discussed as he limps back to his stead, not even bothering to waste the time on wondering why he was never sought, never buried, never missed or wondered of. Such pinings were for a boy that he had since outgrown; Oblivion had pulled that last thread of childhood away, exposing the stallion that lurked beneath. This is not to say he would not still lose himself to his temper, or his naivety, but he was now aware of some sense of duty in this world, a task set before him. Follow the blood. Build the faith.

So he moves north, trudging through snow and ice, his life flickering like a candle in the wind as he competes for strength and mortality while a realm of weakness and nothingness beckons him back. His ability to recover from beyond did not automatically mean he was healed, not all the way at least, just enough to function again in life. It hurt, but it was becoming a familiar thing, and there was some sort of comfort in that, however twisted.

He doesn't notice the crowd at first as he struggles past the sentinel, but he notices the absence. Wandering, he finds their shapes in the distance, and there settled into the back to hear out the whole thing. He knew honestly very little of them, and like a priest looking into his church, he recognized now what Oblivion had meant. He needed their worship for his faith, and in order to have that, he needed them, but he didn't have the faintest clue about them, nor they he (no wonder he was left to die). All this rancor spit back and forth was meaningless to him, because the events they spoke of, the names they revered and those they ddin't, they buzzed like words and nothing more.

Only when silence snuck in, when cold had come after all the hot anger had left, only then did Öde step forward, shuffling beside Lena. She was still his mother, in some way, but his eyes were trained on Deimos, a name whom Oblivion had listed. He had a new vigor in him, to see that face and connect it with that name that echoed in the voice of his god. "How can we help the herd?" he asked, then, uninterested in their game of thrones when his eyes were set on heaven.

How can I know my herd? How can I bathe in my blood?

[sleepy post]

Tag me only if starting a new thread.
Magic or force permitted any time, including death - no decapitating.
Be aware active magic doesn't work in his vicinity due to his magic!

62.5/62.5 HP
Helovia Hard Mode

Tangere Posts: 159
Aurora Basin Medic atk: 5 | def: 9 | dam: 5.5
Mare :: Unicorn :: 15.2hh :: Six Years | Birdsong HP: 63 | Buff: NOVICE
Phrixus :: White Raven :: None Psilo

She took her spot atop the shallow, icy hillock. Her ears bend slightly to the sound of his booming hollow voice. She can hear the details of his breath as he exhales the words tightly wound in his eerie, unsettling voice to match those creepy unsettling eyes. She sighs to herself and to her bird just before he takes wing to swoop down to the group and perch in a nearby pine…watching, listening. She watches them gather just as Phrixus has, being dutifully, plentiful little subjects as they should be.

She is the outcast tonight – and quite literally. After accepting the position of time mender she then vanished for reasons she will not explain. She would rather take the lashings, she’d rather be the odd one out than spill old history into her unmangled, well managed new version of reality. She descends, joining the crowd of obeying minds and hungry ears, trying to blend easily into them as she squishes in on the side. She’s surely late. Another thing to frown about when it comes to her display of dedication to her government and community.

What a bad girl. Pure delinquent, this one.

Truthfully though, in the past year or so – mostly after this most recent vacation (we will just call it that…), she has been much less bubble and a lot more prickle. It was there before, the far-away look and the small bouts of suspicion and sarcasm – but it is thicker now. Thick like an accent that sticks to your mouth years after you’ve moved away from it. She focuses her distracted mind back to the words and looks being tossed around. Each thing digesting quickly into the corners and canals of her ever working mind. She unintentionally lets her unfocused stare fall onto Deimos, even when he stops talking, just blankly staring at him while her ears take in the surrounding voices and sighs and fidgeting feet.

Ulrik’s voice startles her from her weird listening trance and her eyes dart willfully to his body and familiar face. She doesn’t stay on him long though, Lena has entered the scene and her eminence captures Tangere’s stare. A smile subtly pulls at her lips as she looks her over. Others speak, but by now she is looking at her new leaders. She’s seen them both, maybe even talked to the golden boy, but has never known them for real. Soon, perhaps, they will get to know the aloof, non-contributor that she is. For now though, she would much rather blend in with the crowd and find Deimos after to discuss her position in the herd.

Or is she supposed to discuss that with Hotoru and Thran? She gets lost in the thought and decides to leave that subject alone as long as possible. She returns to quietly listening to the huffs, arguments and dagger looks being pushed back and forth. All else falling dimly into the background.


-gag- i'm sorry for the shit quality.
things will get better when i shake the cobwebs off a bit more c;

  • You may use violence and magic against her at will, but no death.
  • Please tag me so I don't forget anyone(:

Rexanna Posts: 499
World's Edge Mare atk: 4.5 | def: 8.0 | dam: 5.5
Mare :: Unicorn :: 15hh :: 7 years HP: 61.5 | Buff: NOVICE
Marembo :: Marbled Polecat :: None Skylark

With quite the adventurous heart, it wasn’t surprising that the mare had taken awhile to find her way to the meeting. As she approached, she took note of quite the gathering. However, it appeared as though there was quite the little argument going on. Familiar faces were illuminated, however there was also new faces that she hadn’t come across before. As she came closer into the circle, she found a spot near Lena, feeling as though within the spot of arguments that the mare might have more grounded ideals, nodding her head lightly in a hello to Lena, she turned her attention to the group; glancing around toward the end of this young mare’s speech. She took note of those she knew, Deimos, Thranduil, and Lena. However, there were more faces that she didn’t know; perhaps when tempers simmer she should go around and learn who everyone else was.

She did keep her eyes from lingering on faces for too long. Teal orbs landing on young mare who she hadn’t met yet. Although it did appear as though she held some authority from the way she spoke and the way that she stood next to the Reaper with Thranduil on the other side. She began to wonder what all she had missed; New leaders? Is her superior now one of the leaders of the group? How interesting. The vixen’s words hit her ears as she finished the point she was making toward another member she hadn’t met yet. Abilities and proving herself? Something must have happened. Where Rexanna came from, she knew that age hadn’t mattered much at all when it came to getting through the ranks. Drive and passion where the residing factors. However, she was knew here. She wasn’t going to say anything. She wanted to look as good as possible.

It was now when the darkened male entered the circle and spoke of the herd. Silence still struck upon the golden mare’s lips as she watched the scene unfold before her. Curious but keeping herself as a phantom, a fly on the wall, just observing. Her eyes danced across the faces once more before they landed back on Thranduil and the mare. It had been quite some time since Rex had spoken with Thranduil, but she held this slight bitter taste in her mouth that perhaps today was not the day to catch up.

"SPEAK!" | OOC: --

[Image: lovelyskylark.gif?8]
Permission given for moderate power play.
Feel free to use magic/force on Rexanna, without killing her.
Please tag in every post!

Déodat Posts: 174
Absent Abyss atk: 3.5 | def: 10 | dam: 7
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 17 hands :: 12 HP: 67.5 | Buff: NOVICE
Odette :: White German Shepherd :: None Minx

The call comes and so the Blood Prince answers. He approaches and already he can see several figures. Déodat watches the Reaper quietly as he announces Ophelia’s departure. Another departure of the Basin Lady. He snorts and shakes his head slightly. Personal matters. A petty excuse to forsake those that she had been sworn to protect and for. Then he announces the new leaders and Déodat nods his head in silent approval. A brief glance at both his daughters he can see the swelling pride and a small smile passes over his lips. At least one parent hasn’t failed them. At least one parent is amounting to something more than a meaningless foot soldier.

Then Arah speaks. An outburst of rage and bitterness and it makes one ear press against his skull. The mare speaks of her worth, her dedication, and her sense of entitlement is written in each syllable. It makes his stomach twist in disgust and rage. But he bites his tongue. He will not feed the turmoil or let the division widen. Their herd needs unity amongst their numbers. Déodat remains silent, but glares smolderingly at Arah until Thranduil speaks. The Golden man throws his tantrum and declares petty insults at the white mare.

He rolls his eyes at the discord unfolding before him. This isn’t the unified northern force he has grown accustomed to. Others give their speeches and he sighs and shakes his head. After Hotaru speaks he gives her a slight nod. A confirmation of his support. He remains unsure of the golden one, reluctant to follow some arrogant fool.

“I wish both of the new leads luck in their future endeavors.” He says nodding to each, his eyes remain on Thranduil for but a moment, a warning in them. “May you each have the wisdom to lead this herd properly.”

"Speech speech speech"

[Image: QV8O7HU.gif]
Cut from the cloth, of a flag that
Bears the name of "Battle Born"
con by aihnna@dA

Erebos Posts: 474
Aurora Basin General atk: 7.5 | def: 11.5 | dam: 6.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16.1hh :: Four HP: 75.5 | Buff: DANCE
Orsino :: Plain Kitsune :: Dark Illusions & Enyo :: Common Griffon :: Draining Clutch Heather
The prince arrived later than intended, maneuvering and shifting across the rime, across the snow, in his usual fervent, frantic pace – bounding and pushing through the perils of glaciers and powder for the opportunity to bask in the glory of their Basin. He stood along the outer apertures of the crowd, blending and molding into the shadows so perhaps his father wouldn’t see how tardy and belated he’d been, sporting a scion’s grin and nodding to the few he knew (raising his skull just a fraction, just a hair, over several others, hoping to spy some of his companions – but none remained nearby, and he lowered it back to its former position and took to staring at those assembled). The growing lad did his part and listened, absorbed the surroundings, the throngs, the resounding perils and bits of information flourishing over the horizon: Ophelia gone, renouncing her throne (and then sharpened details of wonder piqued his interest; for who ascended to crowns and titles, only to relinquish them soon after? He’d certainly never dream for a power of that nature; whatever he grasped, whatever he held, he wanted to have for eternity), two others standing with his sire (Hotaru, pink and rosy, Thranduil, eerie and golden). He may have slunk into more curious antics, presided into more precarious thoughts, had Arah, the gilded one, and the Engineer not suddenly flown into rancorous edges and haughty tones – his eyes rounded, fascinated, at the emboldened displays of anger, of righteousness, of who deserved what and why hadn’t they been named. While Deimos managed to absorb the blows prospered towards him, Thranduil did anything but, releasing a torrent of replies, and little Erebos, with his avaricious toils and his gleaming, spellbound stare, could do naught but witness the occurrence. He might have done the same if in the golden’s position, fired off shot after shot, gone out in a blaze of infernal reminders of his prowess and potential, but disregarding Arah or the Weaver so quickly could have been a binding conundrum. Too young, too unsure, too new and foreign to the inner politics, to the working streams behind Cheshire grins and withering, dying loyalties, he merely assimilated the actions into his brow, into his mind, into his membrane, for further rumination, pondering how he’d react to constant punctures.

Take just what I came for
x - x

Roland Posts: 230
Aurora Basin Phantom atk: 7.5 | def: 10 | dam: 2.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16 hh :: 8 yrs HP: 60.0 | Buff: NOVICE
you're a fraud and you know it
but it's too good to throw it all away

At times it seemed their little northern kingdom hovered in a state of constant change. Ophelia had stood at their helm for so short a time, and now they were traded into new hands, expected to adjust to a different style of leadership once again. Roland hoped the Lord and Lady would bring profitable change to the Basin, alongside their veteran commander. He knew both had proved they were deserving of the title through their actions, but there was a dangerous ambition he had noticed within Thranduil that would have to be kept in check. There was no doubting that he had demonstrated his skill time and time again, but Roland did not rest easy knowing their family was in his hands, no matter how capable he might be at twisting arms and charming hearts. He harboured very little trust for the golden stallion, and did not feel any sort of satisfaction in knowing that he held more power than ever now. He was willing to give him a chance, the benefit of doubt, but he would not let his guard down.

A chorus of congratulations followed the Reaper's announcement, but Roland remained silent. His head turned to watch as the pale form of Arah stepped forwards, her voice rising above the rest. The mare's outburst was aimed first at Deimos, before she turned her ire upon the gilded Lord, stripping him down, disputing his superiority. Roland observed the proceedings with a stone face, though he was startled to see such outrage come from the kind and soft spoken mare. She withdrew immediately once her argument had been spent, turning her back upon them all and removing herself from the crowd. It was not the wisest of moves, and he had to wonder if she would leave, denounce them entirely and remove herself from the family she had been a part of for so long, or if she was simply preparing to make another rash move. He debated following after her, but his limbs were stayed when Thranduil's rebuttal cut through the air, just as enraged as the Impersonator.

Roland's teeth ground together as he listened to the Lord's biting words, frosted and cruel, spewing forth threats and belittlement as he lashed out against her before the collective might of the Basin. Foolish. They were falling apart before his very eyes, disunity and discord sewn amongst their ranks in the chaos. Once the stallion had finished, another joined the chorus, bringing to light several points the Thief could agree with. Lena's voice of reason rose once the Engineer had fallen silent, and the argument carried on from one voice to the next. Roland hovered on the edge of it, a seething shadow caught in indecision, anger and composure; he wanted to give them a chance, but he did not wish to be caught in the midst of a herd that was at conflict with one another. He had weathered one too many civil wars, and was loathe to be trapped in the fallout once again. He was barely content to keep his opinions to himself, but one more voice thrown into the cacophony would make little difference, and he wanted to trust the Reaper's judgment.

sometimes you even fool yourself a bit
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