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Post by fisher on Oct 24, 2006 17:48:08 GMT -5
Dark voids photograph the scene, an array of harlots practically throwing themselves on the masses of beasts sporting XY chromosomes. Oh yes, of course they all pretended to be their own masters, only allowing the hessians to become the overlords of their flesh. The observant dame snorted dismissively as she tossed her cranium, displacing her ebony locks. It was time for her to come out from the cover of the shadows. It was time for her to join the harlots and without pretense or facade, become one of them. Onyx flints treading lightly as her bronze appendages were propelled into a leisurley cadence. The dove's gait brought her around the edge of the field, gracefully avoiding the company of strangers until she found a piece of the field uninhabited. Here, she broke her momentum and stooped her crown to graze. It was the best possible position from which to watch her surroundings. The creation of the equine was made for such a pose. Her field of vision captured every angle and thus, she would easily rape the field of it's nourishment and be able to catch any approaching stags before they arrived.
And there she waits for a suitor, or if she's lucky, maybe suitors, to come prancing her way. A flick of her fifth appendage gave some relief to her hide which was being assaulted by pests. The swarthy tresses fought constantly to protect her veins from the onslaught of minicule vampires. Idly she watched the ever changing scene of mingling quadrupeds. Damsels came and went, hunters with and without them. She wondered what the future held for her. As she observed the outward personas of the beasts around her, the thoughtful minx noticed a common thread through most of the spitfires that came and went. So many of them appeared to be so malicious, so full of fury and rage. It made her wonder if there were many of her kind left. Despite the front of indifference that she often wore, the dual-hued vixen cherished the softer side of personality and she looked for it in other equines when choosing her allies. It did not have to be obvious, or overly abundant, but it must at least exist in their cognitive functions. She snorted again, this time dismissing her own thought pattern and the insects from her nostrils. The time to think would come. For now, it's time to wait and to watch.
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Post by thalbe on Oct 27, 2006 17:28:52 GMT -5
How odd this event was, indeed. In the mists of brawl, in the mists of hate. The grace of an angel, a demon had settled. Oh my, Ameria. The sweet giggle, unruley kin. one has left, Thalbe's intrest in the humid jungel vanishing. The dustedharem, what was willed to him. Firm grasp held the title of ruler, never to be snatched away. Rouge now clung to the roan shaded pelting of the young brute. The match had been fair, the ball in either beings court. The young against the aged, feathered against light. The sting of the ribs grew slightly, the march unwavering. From the grotto shroud laid so neatly across the atmosphere dawned the solas, shirking the luna and daring it to rebel against the vermilion fingerings caressing the light to take hold, and bane the darkness away for yet another day. The dew upon the blades of grass formed amidst the chaotic time table, and slowly, against their will, disappeared into the nothingness, relieved from the burdenous weight, the green sleeves drew erect and proud again, from their slumped composure to great the sun in all its glory, yet, the moon was not to be fooled yet, it would be back to claim the heavens for its own deeds, and spite the sun’s warm rays, in place for its soft, irridescent glow, hollow enough to chill one to the bone, yet so inviting to one prone to darkness, one who recoils from the light, and trophs the stars. One such as that was none other than the shadowy silouette looming in the distance, atop the gnoll he surveyed the claiming terrace, and its emptiness. A heavy sigh was issued from his chambers as the proud sire shook thrice to relieve his damp coat of the moist droplets having formed during the nocturne. So subtle were the hints of lavender and chamomile, the herbs of the wood, growing densely within the field, and the wooded glenn overflowing like a wave with honey suckles, bees buzzing merrily about their path destined for one path, death by one sole sting.. Pity.
To polish a gem, to make it glow. Rid the caked on dirt, the beige grains scrubbed away. Admire its beauty, admire its glow. Others smirked and whispered as you worked, scrubbing away at the dull Grey object. All beliving it was a Meir rock, a worthless common item of poverty. But such did not compress your thoughts, minimize your knowledge. A gem it was, the day it was revealed was one to praise. The whispers not dissolving, but shifting. You now chuckle as others turn to gawk, gawk at its flow. The sheen of pride, wealth, and importance. Heads shall turn my pretty doe, the gem of such labor slung around your neck. Silky threads twisted and twined, spun into threads of ebon dipping. Roses are red, violets are blue. Don't look now, all eyes are on you. Do you realize the oath you have taken, do you really? The countess of all sanity, the Barron of the guard. A rare gem, the rare gem has traveled far. Have you realized what and who the rare stone is, my dear it is you. Glowing the shade of almond, the streaking of gold slashed against the white. You hang by a string, a string of great affluence, yet so easy to reverse. To untie the twisted stands, let your form dangle. I wish not to do so, do not fail me now. Failure is not an option, not an option all. So here is your welcoming party, here we come.
A single collum stroked with maze was lifted, tendons surrounding the bone contracting and tighteing. The knee buckled, curving to an arch. Like a looming gate, the gate to your hell hole. Flint dipped in the same hue pointed, the scythe ending the peg glaring at the loose geo below. Nares of decay flared, thorns flattening against the scull, seeming to melt away in the thick threads, melting away against the sleek flesh. Boa dripped twards the diaphram, labriums curling slightly as the dial was tucked away. Like a fancy dressage horse, stallion. Firey yet collect, wild yet wise. The lifted pillar began to move foward, slicing through the dence black of the shadow. The sheen of the titanium to be sighted through the smog. Cords clinging to the thick bone and flesh of the rump snapped against the idle flank, a low weave of rumbles exiting the closed maw. The ped neared the geo, the arge lacerated, but the collection left unmarred. A deep exhail of carbon lifted into the teal survaylence camera dwelling above, occulie bearing no tale set foward. The left appendage sunk into the geo, the twin of the settled leaving its place in idle. The same movements were preformed, the left hind moving after the fores. A rythmatic martch took place, thorns slowly exiting the forge, the flingers laced in black releasing their hold upon. Tapistries of the sloping region flowed from the toned neck like the halloween punch spilling from the cup. Filled to the brim the thick substance moved down the item, kissing the diaphram and leggings set in heaving movement. The curvature of the hessian began to peirce the cloak set before him, to arrive before the one coming to serve him. Little minx.
Thick shakels clanked togeather, snipping at the rump and flank. Tips stroking the under barel as the lankey arms stretched around the flank. Occulie of a iced colbalt glazing shifted to the one drizzeld, dipped in white wine, coated in sugar. Saftey pins once holding the rubbers were removed, plush concealing the bleached crystalines. Caverns deflated, the flare lost. My rhyms have begun to spin, spinning to the tip of the tounge. Jawls held agape, the deep rumbles of his own forming begun to drip from the raw box, the poison sifting through the waves of sound.
Dear lady in waiting, would you be so bold as to share with me your calling? I am Thalbe, Ruler of the canyon terrian. Borola
His tones wavered, dial outstretching to the dame as the scents swayed his sanity. The clash of enamels found its end, framing settled before the minx quivering slightly. The tarp glued to the muscel, the thick muscel flexing cuasing the movement. Pools of liquid standing remained set in stone, no hint of feeling dripping through, surpasing the heavy barrier. Mind yourself feline, mind yourself well. Corrupt you shant become, I dare the change. Kitty walking the line, kitty hanging by a line. The bucher sharpning his knifes, the kitten hanging about the embers in the canvas bag.
A side step of the pistons, dial withdrawing to the diaphram once more. Thorns tucked hiding away from the kaze whisping around his towering appeal. I hear your whispers travel, I hear the thump of your thoughts. Your clock is still ticking, I hear it live and well. Do not force me to shatter the face, to bend the hands. A circle was drawn, but the object was not compleated. As he rounded the huanches, he broke the trace. Plate bobbed, attention wavering. A pluck of the braces allowed his turn, looking over the bleached essa, looking over what had lured him here so swiftly. Hurry one of alabaster, hurry femma of night. Sorrow secretly bashed his being, The two he was promissed, the two he had begun with, gone. Vanishing to whever their hearts carried tem. So now...here is a fresh start.
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Post by fisher on Oct 29, 2006 14:22:33 GMT -5
THEN HE came, Fisher lifted her skull and let her jewels flicker over his dull, dappled hide as he approached, taking his steps carefully, not threatening, just curious as she was. Fisher cocked her head to one side, clearly full of her own curiosity. She took note that he had many scars upon his own pelt, telling quite a story. She had yet to find out. She stiffened her frame, auds pricked forward and her nape in an arch. Perhaps he only wanted to talk, like she had been hoping, for he seem to have a very dominant scent about him. As the great stag grew nearer, her bi-colored jewels settled on his facial features, and realized that his own eyes were a misty brown, stunningly beautiful, but yet...a mystery.
FISHER JUST stood there, enchanted. It had been a long while since she had come upon another equine, and her thoughts drifted off to the winter, snow falling lightly, the pale moon...it was all so real she could almost feel the fluffy stuff melting upon her golden hide. Fisher had absolutely no idea why her thoughts kept wandering back to winter scenes, it just hung with her.
GIVING HER cranium a light shake, she focused on the stag again, he had stopped in front of her. She gazed at him, clearly amused and somewhat bewildered. Not forgetting her manners, she lowered her eyes and dipped her head in respect and submission. If she was to be a fool, she probably wouldn't last very long in this new place. She knew nothing of the customs, so played it safe. A daring child she was, but she comes forth with some brains. Fisher let her globes flicker back up to the stags own dull eyes, and she saw a smile spread across his mug. Warm, welcoming. She let her own crooked grin spread across her lips as he spoke with soft tones, not threatening.
AH MANNERS, they get you somewhere in life, don't they. She let out a girlish giggle, for the dappled steed called Thable, reminded Fisher of a young wolf cub she saw tumbling across her homeland meadow one day, so big and bold, but yet, kind and humble. Fisher also recalled that he had the appearance and attitude of a young colt she used to romp and play with...the manners changed it though. Such manners.
"Hello, Thable..." she said timidly, letting the young stag's name roll upon her tongue, setting it into her mind. " Of course you may know my unfortunate cursing, you can call me Fisher," the young flicka said somewhat louder, full of excitement.
THE DEPTHS of her curiosity raised higher and higher as she waited anxiously for a response...what was he going to say next? What would happen? Her thoughts whizzed about in her mind, until she was in a swamp, trudging slowly through the sticky mud that resembled her own questions that were un-answerable.
FISHER WATCHED the circle that was made around her. They hesitation that fell around her hindquarters was taken into inspection and her crown snapped up, realsing a soft nicker,. black cords spalshing out like a mad wave. She had never liked the feeling of males behind her, knife struck the ground as she stepped forward.
Her orbs traced his steps forward now. Her nares expanded and a careful glare watched him.
- Done-
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Post by thalbe on Nov 5, 2006 20:12:53 GMT -5
The low hum of forest life began to manafest in these regions as lady lunar took her place in the starlit sky. Breaths of winter began to chill the once scorching geo, the strapping stag slightly relifed. His treck around the dame had met its end upon the first sign of wearyness, he had no intent whatsoever of frightening the fae. Nares flared slightly, the scent of one he held dear ot his heart found, Moulin. It was his dam, wandering through the lands of claim. He felt a sense of clairity, all was right in the world. "sorry, miss." A hurried step brought him up the shoulder,chalky soil crumbling against the silver flints. Almond shaded optics wandered carelessly along the clearly drawn lines making up the feminine formation of the louring minx. Fleck of white settled amoungst the constalation of ivory meshed upon a sky of grey, the iced particles blending as a chamilion to forestry. A master of disguise. The endless wander paused at the pools, multitones stopping him dead in his tracks. She began to speak, Fisher it was? "My dear, now what do yo ufind so unattractive about your blessed calling? Fisher. It is lovley." The hessian took a few steps foward, relentless winds picking up in strength. Was she cold? Chilled to the bone? A hurried one two step carried his formation to the side of the, blocking the winds from the precious hide. "I have come a request, would you be so daring as to follow me home to Borola, the lands of which I rule." A smile curled upon the painted maw, warm. "I hope you are not too cold, have you been waiting long?"
[saave]
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Post by fisher on Nov 5, 2006 21:30:19 GMT -5
Sunkissed orbs stared unblinkingly t the hellion. her auds pushed forward taking in every word and filing it into her neat filing cabinets. What was wrong with her name? at this point she could think of nothing other then her mother and how she hated her. The ivory witch told Fisher she would never be beautiful and that her coat of ginger and black was the death upon the family. Her name was that of a past horse, this horse was like the definition of ugly. Her mother said that one day Fisher would be tht horse and stallions from miles would come just to kill her/
Fisher ran from her family, running from males and females alike and never speaking to anyone. In her mind her mother claimed her hideous and to her name and appearance was that of the lowest of the low.
'It is a personal matter of why I think my name is atroseous." Her gaze turned to the ground.
Ears perked up and large crown was snapped up to take view of the male. "You wish me to join your herd, M'lord? Is this of true fact." She allowed herself to smile. This male was simply a dream. He might want her, really want her.
Watching as he twisted his body sidways she stepped forward and nudged his nape slightly."Thank you, Sir Thalble."
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Post by thalbe on Nov 5, 2006 21:35:28 GMT -5
The twinkle of night winked upon them, the moon smiling as the rays of silver cascaded down upon the two. Standing in the open, bathing in the shimmering glow. Figure seeming luminescent, beautiful Fisher. Flawless it seemed, so fragile. His thoughts began to take flight, mind drifting away as they stood. A delicate grin tugged at his maw, the bold minx moving along with the intricate tango. Her adorable recoil, so feminine and fragile. He became excited, something about her struck him. Mind becoming a fog, watching the mistress preform her dance. My little dancer. A deep exhale of oxygen cycled through the nares, the muscled figure forced into an idle position. Lappets quickly swiveled forward, the hymn of his chosen minx sounding. His mind began to wander, the child straying from the group. Wandering back to a time not too long ago. The new arrival, and his previous queen. Without a moments notice, they where gone. To a place he had not found. It vexed him so, frustrating. He felt abandoned. But another disturbing factor had slowly but surely reached the surface. Not once, not once had he ever had a true conversation with ether dames he had once desired. His interest began to fade, for appearance was not his only desire. Whit, it entertained him so. Simply put, it was the spoken, Rather than the acted. Wordings over movements. So this was the time. No more wandering, waiting. Hoping one would return to him. As the rains slowly crawled over the sacred walls of adobe, it became known. He was not waiting any longer. He deserved.....a loyal mate. With a heavy heart he left, with each step dragging him forward creating a larger gap separating the trio. Cool dribbles scrubbing away the scents of those who chose to run for the hills. Those who chose to desert. It hurt him to do the same, images conjured from the mind in still frames behind the eyes. Visions of one returned and he not being present. He worked hard to remove such thoughts. It never came. Leggings began to release, the lock of the knees loosened. He stood a touch calmer, finding the ending to the fae's reply. Jazil. It was indeed exotic. " Fisher, beautiful I must say. I do not intend to win your hand by flattery...for I find it repulsive. The truth is all I can bare to muster, the truth is all I offer. Borola. It is a lovely place. Adobe walls shielding most from the harsh climate surrounding. The greenery is space in some patches, but in others abundant. A single pool of water lays in the middle of the terrain. Here also the sweetest of foliage has become rooted into the red soil. I do enjoy its many amentites..but it does solitude does become..depressing." His tones fell short, light mahogony occuli searching for a sign to move on, searching the endless array of hues captured by the rounds of Fisher. A fore was lifted, elevated form the loam. A pawed feverishly at the loam, chillign cold setting in. Dial dropped slowly. Cords rose slightly, threads toying with the cold breaths of the newly born winter winds. He longed for the winters chill to end, longed for control once more. Over his thoughts, emotions. No he was not naive. He new of the actions of spring. No never had he participated. But it was known. Now Fis..
He wished for her acceptance, had he gained such. The sun began to set, blinking lights of the favorite fire bugs zipping around the two. Wind slightly cooler, the moon peeking at the two as the night shift began. all is well now."Yes, my dear. I twould be my honar to have you accompany me in Borola. I am sorry but I must leave before the winters worst comes, there is one more stop I must make. Hurry now, I se the sun is rising. Warmth can be found just south of here, Borola. A mile to right. I hope to see you there." With that he turned on his heels and dissapired into the thick foliage, just on emore stop...
[sorry thalbe had to go, post i nborola if you like :]
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