.:the shadows beckon to me:.

[Grace]

Sleek ebon form slipped into the terra of claimance. She didn’t want to be here. But it was where all vixens needed to go to find a home. Pah. She didn’t need such a place. The shadows were her residence. Her slim figure was a tempting target for most hellions, but how can you catch a fae that is not to bee seen. That’s how easily she blended in with the darkness. It was the same darkness that wrapped her beating heart in thick coils. Whipcord snapped sharply against her flank, tresses of ebony letting off a metallic hue. Danger seemed to scream out at every move she made.
Who was this vix that was not afraid of any equine? Instead, it seemed as if they feared her. Canvas was glossy and a ray of the sun made it shine. Quickly, she stepped back, aware that it could blow her cover.
Unwilling Grace expected to be revealed at the due time. But it was clear that it would take some brute to actually brand her as his own. For she would not go willingly with just any stag. Maybe said that they were Dark. But their actins proved otherwise. She was witty, and could fend for herself. If no stag showed fit for the likes of her, she’s return to her life as a wanderer. That life was something she was quite accustomed to.

{Horrible intro, but it was a rushed job... Meh.}

[Sashe]

Fulcrums perpelled the ebon chassi forwards, nape swinging, hung low, grazing the ground with his kissers, making the grass dance. What had the ground ever done to them? Nothing, it provided them food, yet they tromped over it as if it was nothing, battleing not only there 'ponet but the ground 'neath them... But yet, some how it always seemed to spring back up?

He lifted his contour, arching it slightly, and then bringing it to its normal stance. His movments cesed, as onyx hide shown in the stars that 'beat down 'pon it. His satillites sliped forwards, concaves flared, taking in the sent 'round him. Nothing met his serching satiltes, but a sent danced into his caves, the sent of another equine. His bod tenced slightly, lanturns pering threw the gloom, in serch of the ones whom sent reached his concaves. Finally, the lanturns beam became focused, focused 'pon a lone minx. His harks slid backwords slightly, more out of instinct then anything else.

His 'pendages began to work once more, his well filled out bod advanced twords the cat. His pace slowed as he drew nearer, lanturns beem still focused pon his target, but his satilites were aware of what be going on 'round him. Fiannly, the gap closed, or engouth for now, and he slid into a stand still. Night washed hide still catching the rays of the moon everyso offten.

His lanturns scanned the one that stood before him, studying her bod, learning it, and then finally he locked his gaze pon hers. He stood, slinenced for a mere molment, and then he spoke.

'Lo. I assume you have a curse?"

He hissed. Words rolling from his tounge, and twords the horns of the other. He stood, waiting for the retort, lanturns still watching her, ready to notice body languge, just as much as his satilites were ready to catch her words.

[Grace]

Twin zeniths were pressed firmly back against her skull, narrowed pools surveying the bastard who had caught whiff of her. A disgusted snort left her nares, shaking her tiara. As the brute came to a halt before her, she slunk out of the shadows, dial held just as high as his. She was certainly smaller in statue. Not many were beneath her in height. But she carried the air of being very powerful and fearless. Though her thorns remained laced to her attic, his words still reached her in their due time.

“I’m assuming you are correct,” she hissed in reply. An ugly smirk slid over her mug as her nape remained in a slight arch. Slim yet sturdy pillars carried her lightly in a tight circle around the shadow hued stag.

Tassle was held in the typical Arabian fashion, arch above her rump. After completing her circle about him, not a word was spoken. Muscles tensed beneath her glossy hide, expectant of what ever was to come in the next moments of her life. For every breath you breathe is a step closer to your dying day…

[sashe so lazy]

Such a pretty little wench, such a tiny form to hold such a tounge to one of higher towering than one whom has arrived before you. Spit your dubbance now foolish muck, for you do not wish to bore thy.

The bruten dipped in nocture eyed the circelign wench, glare pinned to the thin flesh fo she. Asif she were an article of glass, such a pretty ordament to gaze at, but so easly shatters. Shards of glass the wench shall become, the pleads of mercy blocked by the imfumous cackel of the bruten. He held no remorse, only pride.

Labriums curled, form rising in a vertal motion atop the loam. The gester appeird as a ebon shadded waterfall, one producign a horrid scream of disproval. Iron rocks pointed as a spear, hinds inching foward atop the wench. The shuddering scream came a hault, form shredding through the silence as the ebon shadow came plummeting down before the femm. Strike he may, the large mass was held overcast atop the meek dove. He would accsept no disrespect, only the few moment of rising will show of the banches recovery, and sure marrings of the linning.

[Grace]

Orbs of raven glittered in the fading light. As lightning strikes in the blink of an eye, so her pools of darkness did flash. Adding a dangerous shade to the scene. Of course, it was an easy way to frighten those poor, pitiful Lights. She knew it would not much affect any true Dark, but it was a habit she had produced at a tender young age.

Boiling within her, a horrid laugh threatened to become verbal, but she chained in down, twin zeniths glued to her slender skull. Occuli observed the hession with frigidness. No emotion ever crossed her dished visage as his scream rang out through the lands. Although it did start a slight ringing in her auds that she cared naught about.

Sensing his heavy form to come raining down ‘pon her, swift movement was made to avoid being crushed by his weight. She snorted darkly, unknowing if the dart away was enough to deter the hellish brute from his mad intentions.

“So you want a fight?” she hissed, venom dripping from her spoken words. Whipcord lashed out, snaking with a popping sound against her lean barrel. “Pretty boy that you are, I would have thought otherwise,” she snarled. Insulting was the best way to start a fight, in her opinion. At long last did she allow her chuckle to emerge out of her vocals, although it was more as a witch’s cackle. Muscles churned beneath her petite frame. But she was more than just good looks and a smart mouth. Orals were bared, orbs gleaming wickedly. She craved the taste of his blood upon her lips.

Crest and dial lowered in a fighting stance, her orbs watched him intently, waiting for the first move. When it was the least expected, she lunged forwards at him, propelled powerfully, by her hinds. Daggers reflected off the light as they pinpointed for his shoulder. While her gaping jowl aimed to strike him upon the neck.

[Sashe]

A sharp pinch was felt upon the lower chest region, the lunge of the wench scoring the loam only at slight. The heigth gained was great for the towering, but the poor wench held such minuet towering. In the same instant the brute rose to the hinds, inner braces torn by the falling irons of the she. Enticing the wench appired as she moved swiftly, wishing to bring down the czar. But this shant happen so easly, oh no. He returned to the loam, no strike excerted at this time.

Gouges upon the dial for the purpose of sight held a stance of bore, no tale to be told. Dence shadow linned the vessel he stood upon, thick braces stamping in a rythmatic pattern. Asif he danced upon the flames of hell he marched on, a warrior emerging to make brawl. A low yet metalic shrill of rage shredded through the waves of silence, the brute was here, the one casting rule upon the relm of the undecided. Empire thrusted into a bob, the thrashing continuing only breifly as he exited the thick glum he once lurked.



So you have dared To challenge the likes of I? Upon the grounds of which no ruler shall come to your aid, no substance to make your weak clock tick? You have discarded the truth of the matter, your meek frame shant last .

The sharp hisses were feral, hedious to the auds. Ruch rancid sputters he managed to excert, cold and lifeless. Iron barbes clacked togeather, jawls tightening as he judded foward with such liquid movements one may belive they were preformed atop cool azure. The brute pulled foward beside the barrel, optics suddely rolling behind, white exchanging roles with the nocture. A last scream of defyence set a shudder through the vinals of only decoration to the lands, the mass of ebon seeming as a waterfall shaded in coal.

Dial thrashed, toned curvature looming above. Tresses dribbeld in thick ribbonds down the slick slope of pelt, cords raging war with the hind stones. Knifes held by the fore appendeges dipped to a point, as an arrow shall be pointed to the bullseye the brute shot for the week shoulder. Exactly below the nape of the serpintine the trifeling stand was brought surging down to the loam. Such a blow my indeed by fatal, but not to all. Serpintine extender downwards, the hushed wish to grasp the falling flesh crept foward. Enamels clashed, diving for the figure. Only time would tell of the damage compleated, but none shall be given the touch of an angel in this meeting, for mabey both shall leave with broken bones...if that.

[Grace]

Upon seeing that she had make her mark upon the ravaging beat afore her, the inky fae did not allow herself to smirk in victory. Oh, such a thing would be entirely foolish and childish. For only now had the real games begun. A game that could so easily stripe the live from their mortal bods. Oh how she loved to chance at death. The gleam dancing in her orbs was as a flickering bonfire. Starting small, but able to destroy great things.

She chuckled at the sound of his words. “Perhaps many have not tried, but it will take more than a mere knocking to settle my soul.” Words were issued forth in a hiss, the end having a snarl to it. Auds pinned to her tiara tightly, giving her the look of what she was. A demoness.

Movements were quickly made, comparable to the fluttering winds of a humming bird. For being of such small stature had it advantages. Though the bastard who had tried to wench her name from her towered like a mountain beside her frame, Unwilling Grace was not an easy one to be deterred from her paths. She would not willingly give up her curse until he did the same.

The hard blow delivered to her shoulder blade, made the baroness scream in fury. Her wild, unmanageable shriek terrorized the birds around them and they flew away in fright. Sweet crimson liquid leaked from her canvas, but the pain was nothing at all to her. The brute’s orals closed it, but her duck had been fast enough. Only strand of her tresses had been caught. They were torn away from his grasp with a jerk of the dial. Her mind was as shadowy as her looks as she plotted the next moves.

Moving as the snake that she was, quick darts were made inwards towards the hession. Fake attacks. Her unkempt tresses waved wildly about her curved visage. Whipcord tangled around her hind ‘pendages. Rearing up, she was careful to protect a vulnerable spot. The under belly. Sharp talons arch, making an angle at headed straight for the ebon stag’s spine. She threw her weight forwards with this one, ready to strike with accurately. She was deadly at her fullest. And the speed in which this attack was enforced was quite great.

[Sashe]

A fire ignited, such a dangerious yet wonderus sight. Asif the bastard was a type of pryofanatic the optics sent in onyx held such embers, embers that shant ever die, falter. Oxygen was suckeld form the lythosphire by the raging growth, one that might appeir as a hellish figure rising from below rasping at all near. Beckoning it closer, closer before swallowing it whole, its entierty taken by the flame. As the dark bruten he indeed was, was the flame, the three logs of which began such a fright.

Learn my name now, Sashe you shant forget. The one wh my leave you now, laying in your own pile of flesh, or the one whom as abducted you to the rancid loam he patrols. The choice is upon you, make it wisely.


The temperature was ranking in royalness, the global degrees shoving upward, the red liquid saturating its compacted reside, near to tripping over the sides. The celcious had already began to fume, its label at the start of shaking its containment from the furious switch of level. The ferenheight toppled onward and onward, inching its way to the loyal stand, a mob at their last few pestering guards to tackle before drowning onto the famousity. The atoms struggled to link arms with another, molecules hugging and bellowing that it was the last of their days, the tall-pitched voices pinching the sacks of adrenaline into their sources, exploding themselves into heart attacks.



Relax.
I need some information first.
Just the basic facts:
Can you show me where it hurts?

Their breaths were swift and rasped as they hypervennilated, their vascular trying to maintain the speed, lungs rapidly deflating and bloating to supply oxygen. Salivary glands shutdown, mouths becoming dry, folding to their knees while begging for hydration. Alas, they surrendered, perspirant acting as a lubricant to pry mother's hold to her child's delicate fingers. Dribs of boiled water drooled over the sides, screetching as they perched on the burner, morphing into their chemical reaction of steam.

Thoughts came an abrupt hault, reigns tightenign upon his ever drifting mind. A sneer marked his visage as the wench once again attempted such a flying leap fo faith, had she not realized on set at 15hh at most cannot match one of 19? Foolish wench, perhapse he should leave her here, laying lifeless in her own pool of rouge. She had begun to bore her, such general attacks, the one set now oddly similar to one he had just desperced.

He allowed the wench to becoem ever so close to the spine, low rumble subbmitted. Adrenaline had taken his form, he shant be so light as he had before, he was to treat her as the rancid beast she was. Without a second more of wait he hurdeld foward, the chance taken with outstanding speed. The wench would now be at his mercy, her weigth placed upon the one of thick standing, irons of the she raking his rump at slight. Dial snapped upwards, a ruthless blow directed below the chest cavity, the most fragile bones linning the region. Traps split, the urn to grasp the tender flesh take, a dive taken, If the wench was to loose ballance from the blow to the tender cavitiy she would topel over, her rumpus meeting the loam.

[Grace]

{I am absolutely horrible at fighting posts. -sigh- You are a very good RPer sashe. Although sometimes I have to struggle to understand what you are actually saying. lol, but it helps my skills. Anyways, I just wanted to commend you. –nods- And sorry if I PP. –hides-}

The whole game had been not well waged, and Unwilling Grace knew it well. Of course, she would never like to admit it. For seemed that she and Sashe had at first been fighting a battle of wills rather than flesh. Both were of the arrogant, prideful type and so their darkened personalities had clashed together. It would have been difficult for any average horse to come out as a victor against the ink dyed femm, but the brute towered abnormally over her and any normal sized equid. This of course, proved to be his advantage throughout. Also his weight was another factor, of course. Being so heavy when striking out at her, caused another point to go down on her side.

Cursing darkly, the vix was not to admit her fault. Rearing to escape the heavy blow dealt to her, a trickle of blood still made a river down her fore pistons. His incisors closed in around her nape and she fought to try and get free. Barred ivories sought to get her own grip, aiming for his windpipe. Form was sleek with sweat, adding a metallic gleam. Scarlet fluid made pools of its own atop the loam, some patches even looking ebon as the night sky.

Orals grasped onto some part of him as she knew a fall would come. But she would not fall. Gripping whatever had come between her jaws, she hung onto the stag. Heaving herself back to a balanced for, her words were muffled from her hold on him.

“Well, Sashe. I see that you have ‘passed’. I go by Unwilling Grace. Why is it that you so wish to claim as a prisoner of your own?”

[Sashe]

[oh thanks, i was just dragged around by megan or kemor w/e she goes by here. im her friend in rl, just makin the best of it. thanks though, ur not bad urself. and yeah i do get distracted in posts, and switch subjects to fast. ill post soon]

[unwillinggrace]

{Ello? Anyone home?}

[unwillinggrace]

{*waits*}

[Sashe]

Ivories of the wench grasped the lower poton of boa as the braces of the heffar began to collapse, yet the minx did not falter. Blance was restablished, surrprised the brute was. A fight she had put up, a fight indded. The skank cloaked in nocture shall be his, his along with now only one other. The foolish queen of his had become lost in time, lost to him. A dissapirence chained to her screamence. The rouge dabbed scross his pelt began to dry, crustation of lifes liquid streaked in ribbons.

His form remained stationary, heavy breathing causing the barrel to expand then deflate rythmaticly. Cords matted in hardend loam snapped against the flanks of he, nares flaring as the cold glance of he laying cloaked upon the wench. Harks swiveld backwards, cupping the dome of he as the serpintine was raised. He had long befor loosend grip upon the wenches serpintine, the bruten having no intention of perminate marre. Tones of the rugged one tunneld through the towers of the hessian, labriums curling only slight.


A prisoner one as you may not be, ones whom follow with a timid passage hold that position.

The horrid words of he ended abruptly as a circle was cormed along the boundries of the wench, optics never leaving the wench. Dial snapped upwards as he came behind, a possible kick unable to reach the dome. Once passing the hinds dial lowerd slightly again, thorns flickering foward.


Move now Grace, lands grow restless due to the absence of presence.

The tones of mockery sounded, rasped and fieral. Wake was spread infront of the wench, ebon hide melting with the dence shadow. The low rumble of he was the only sound heard, he would await the new wench.

[Grace]

As the tight grip upon her lower boa was release, she too did the same. Jowls parting to release the ebon bastard's flesh. Enamels dyed scarlet, the bittersweet taste was left in her maw. The crimson liquid that has once flowed freely down her bodice came to a halt. Turning a dark hue of sienna and would later turn into hardened scars.
A morsel of respect was what the stag had gained out of her. Tiny though it was. Crest held in a proud arch, she snorted somwhat, auds swiveling to cathc his whereabouts behind her figure. Ribcage moved in and out rapidly, breathers flaring to grasp more of the cooling air.
As he took position before her, inky 'pendages rushed her smoothly forwards. Awaiting the sight of this brute's territory.

{Short postie for meh. xP
Shall we go to Sashe's terra?}

[Sashe]

ooc: yes post there, ill reply quickly lol