Ranjit
Newbie
[D3v:xosidewinderxo.deviantart][Mo0:9]
Posts: 30
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Post by Ranjit on Jun 24, 2009 18:37:34 GMT 10
.s a i l.s e a s.o f..g r i e f.
a softly spoken lie Ranjit
seconds, days, years It does not exactly tell in the history, so I am assuming quite old.
between the legs stallion
swimming in the veins friesian, andalusian, shire, arabian
foolish acceptance Score
touch the sky 18 hands high
marks of the past no markings; too many scars too list
adoration murder - torture - death - shadows - fire -
loathing sunlight - foolish beings - happiness -
sweet thoughts there are none
cruel lies He is a murderer. He feels no sorrow or remorse for his past kills.
shades of black Shall we start at the head? Like most draft horses, stallions especially, Ranjit has a very thick, heavy head. In no way does to reflect his mother's fine Arab features. Set into this heavy head, is a pair of gleaming red jewels. Yes, my friends, these are eyes. His neck, like his father's, is thick and high crested, with waves of dark crimson tresses falling down it. His body is heavy-set, but in now way is he fat in any sense of the word. Every pound on him is pure muscle. Now, he might be muscled, but I wouldnt call him drop dead gorgeous; his body is covered in old scars from past fights he has been in. His tail is long and heavy, the same dark hue of his mane. With a coat as black as the midnight sky, this stallion blends in well with the shadowy places of the world. When he stands in the light, however, his coat shimmers and black-red. It has been said that he waded through blood to get this and maybe he has, but I know where it really came from. His mothers coat was a bloody red in hue and the hairs mixed into his, giving him this unqiue hue.
inside my mind Unusual for a stallion, Ranjit is quiet, rather withdrawn. He keeps to himself, even when leading his herd. He does not trust easy and does not stand for betrayal. If you pledge loyality to him, he expects you to keep it til the day you die. Break that trust and you will have a monster after you. Ranjit expects order; he expects the horses of his herd to bow down to him and do everything he asks-commands-of them, no matter what might happen to them. Indeed, if he asked you to throw yourself off a cliff, it would be smarter to do that rather than say no to him. Punishments are cruel and often dealt swiftly. Ranjit is no fool, nor will he stand for a fool. He is cunning in battle, wise in leadership. However, he is not as good in battle planning as one would think he would be. He has the mind state of a dictator and loves power. Love is not something this stallion will easily accept as something real. He never really felt love, by anyone, not even his parents. Because of this, he really does not believe it exists. However, that does not mean he wont breed with a mare to produce an heir; it might be a forcebred though. He cares not for foals, meaning any son or daughter of his wont get much love from him. He enjoys murder, torture, things along that kind of nature. You wont see him skipping through a field of flowers singing 'Tiptoe through the Tulips'. Stalking around a barren wasteland filled with dead corpses whispering evil things, yes.
whispered history There was nothing, in this black abyss that he had been in for so long. Who was he, why was he here, why was it so dark? He knew nothing, heard nothing, saw nothing, felt nothing. All there was was the blackness that had surrounded him for as long as he could remember. Crushing down on him, sufficating him. And even though he could feel nothing, he likened the feeling to being slowly killed. It was horrible, this bleak abyss of obsidian liquid that he floated upon, a sickened River Styx that would not reliqunish him into the arms of his maker.
Then, light. Sudden light, so bright it blinded him. It cascaded over his formless shadow of a body and pressed around him until he screamed for the darkness to return to him. Pain, unending pain; it traveled through him with a heat that was scorching him. Screams erupted from his as-of-yet unformed maw, ripping out of his chest. And then, bliss. Cool, quiet bliss. A body to call his own; a corporeal shape. The shape was that of an equine, as his creator, Dreamweaver, told him.
His body was coal black with streaks of red in it. His eyes were a deep crimson. He was strong, young, powerful. And yet, his creator had a job for him. He had horses to help.. But the others hated him. War rang in his mind; kill, die, murder. They would have to be slaughtered. Except for it was killing the Dreamweaver. A truce was called between the three alliances. A long lasting truce. But the damage was done; six Firstborn left, no more. Would more come?
Present day. Horses are coming. Claiming lands, taking mates, making new horses. They arrive in droves every day, each claiming an alliance. Lights, Darks, Neutrals. Alliances as old as time itself. Ancient groups of conflicting beliefs. Would another war break? The Dark one did not know. If it did, he'd be there to help his alliance, his followers.
a sample of my ablities Long lost whispers of ancient and forgotten souls echoed, lonely, quiet, darkly beautiful. High above the loam of earth, the moon floated on high winds and dark storm-tossed clouds. The winds floated dangerously along the twisted and winding paths that make up the spoken of but never traversed trails of the creek. The low pitter-patter of rain could be hear, endlessly falling down upon the crags and branches that lined the creek's banks. The soft noise of a gentle misting of rain would, now and then, turn into a roaring downpour as though Mother Nature was unleashing all of he fury upon this one small area of ground that was constantly soaked with the waters of heaven. Any being who had lived in the nooks and crannies of the rocks that hung around the creek's edges would've thought by now that the clouds high above in the sky had run dry on the rain that fell constantly to earth upon this one spot. The dark rocks around the banks were stained a deep brown in hue, mixed with intermittent splashed of grey where every now and then, a bit of rain would be blocked by something overhead.
The rain softened slightly, just enough that it became a low, gentle murmur, a background hum to the low whisper of wind that was drifting through the massive chunks of boulders. It was the perfect background music to the almost silent creature that was slowly approaching. Out of the solid blackness that had fallen since the moon had hidden her lovely countenance behind a cloud, a mass that was even more black than the beast's surroundings was appearing. Size hissed of power and strength; chassis stood almost six feet tall at the huge shoulder of the creature. 'Neath a coal black pelt that, when in the sun, was melded together with streaks of scarlet, muscles that might have been carved of solid steel flexed and rippled with every movement that the powerful beast was making. Long limbs stretched out and then moved back, dragging his massive chassis along the terra-firma. Colossal beast was moving slowly, almost boredly, along the creek's sleek banks. Hessian wound his way around the tall rocks and boulders; keen crimson'd crystals that sank down deep in his skull were keeping a sharp look.
Sinews going taut beneath his skin, musculature arched itself over a slight chasm that might possibly lead down into the blackened pits of the Underworld itself; cannons landed stiffly on the other side. Low clattering could be heard; everlasting falling rocks sliding down over the chasm's sides and down into the pit. Who knew if they were to ever land; perhaps they would fall forever. Hessian, having landed safely upon the other side of the chasm, allowed tainted jaws to twitch in a cruel smile. Empennage waving slightly in the breeze that was stirring the rain in the air, cannons dragged mass onward; massive protoplasm was being sent toward the huge willow tree that draped its impressive branches and tendrils into the cursed waters that made up the creek of Overcast. It was to this ancient symbol of Overcast Creek that the massive beast now made his way over to.
Pillars brought his frame to a pause as he came to the long strands of leaves that veiled the trunk of the tree from his viewing pleasure. Bronc allowed serpentine to stretch itself out, mug nosing aside the draping branches of the elegant tree of ancient power and beautiful innocence. Pinions were then extended to send the physique into the shady canopied area created by the hanging tree's boughs. Darkness now settled in apon the hessian, and a chill that - had he been humanoid - would've raised goosepimples all over his massive frame. Blade-length tendrils of dark vermillion fluttered as the male moved, albeit slowly, walking the circumference of the glade-like area. The sounds of the outside world - as the horse thought of it now, being within this secluded arrea - had faded away the instant the beast stepped through the shade; it was as though the stallion had stepped into another world entirely.
The trunk of the massive tree itself was as round as the barrel of the hessian, the massive duke standing near the tree. The bark of the tree was a soft burnt sienna in colourage, with the bark itself looking as though it was made of silk; there were no blemishes or welts upon it that could been seen with the naked eye. A glittering carmine lantern was swept over it, the look almost wary as he stared at the tree. The legends that surrounded this ancient mass of wood, vines, and leaves were as old as the tree itself. Even now, harks twisted around to focus on the small sounds of insects scurrying around the outside and inside the tree itself, the demonic looking beast of a horse could almost hear the screams of dying horses, the ghosts that roamed this place restless, their spirits trapped here forever more. Had the brute been of fainter heart, embodiement might have been turned away and he'd have left the massive canopy of the tree.
Serpentine was arched slightly, a rippling cascade of dark vermiel plume fluttering in the slight breeze caused by this sleek, liquid movement. After a moment, still staring at the tree, titan allowed his skull to turn away from it, protoplasm following the procession of the massive skull that was attached to his spinal column. Pistons moved, churning the leaves that decorated the floor of the canpoied area the hessian stood below, carrying his huge chassis along toward the bank of the creek. The sound of a heavier downpour could now reach his auditories; perhaps the storm-wracked clouds that roiled high above the already drenched sod had decided that the rain-tortured land needed more of a soaking. Labium twitched in a slight smirk, listeners flicking again as the brute allowed his spinal cord to lift upwards, peering up through the tangled mass of limbs that made up the huge willow tree.
A few moments passed, opticals still seeking something that the colossal beast knew he would not find. Cranium was dropped down to a normal level, chilled gaze moving across the small clearing that was protected by the arching limbs of the old tree. The sound of the falling drops of liquid was toned out with an ease that said that the stallion was used to tuning out things. Hind tendrils brushed lightly against hocks, peltage rippling as the beast moved his mass toward the creek's bank. Listeners swiveled around, straining so far forward the tips trembled slightly, a strange look coming across the scarred countenace of the baron. Mogul's nadars flared open slightly, pinkened innards showing in the blackness of the night. Slitting nares again, the bastard moved his mass forward, pillars dragging chassis along the sod until he reached the bank of the creek.
The stallion peered down into the water, his frame still protected from the onslaught of rain that was coming down in sheets from the sky. The hanging tendrils of the tree hung over the creek, protecting the area that he was standing in as he stared down at the churning creek. The waters had turned a murky brown in hue, the waters frothy and rough as the rain pelted into them. Any sign of life was swept away by the racing waters, sent downstairs swiftly. The brute's skull was quirked to the side slightly, a cool look of boredom playing on his mug. He knew it would be wise to move on; the horses who lingered here for too long more often than not ended up becoming ghosts to be used for the white witch's sadistic pleasure, however twisted it might be. For a moment, the idea of being turned into one of those foolish beings made the stallion peel his labrums back off of his teeth; if the witch knew what was smart, she would keep far away from this murderer.
Crimson opticals gave the part of the creek that he could see one last sweep, then pistons turned his musculature back around and carried him with a flowing smoothness back into the canopied area. Beast of burden knew that the everfalling rains would not cease long enough to allow for him to slip down south to get back away from this dreary place. Had it not been occupied by the witch wolf and her minions, the male might have established a herd here in this land, but with the constant driving rains, it was not worth it. Beast moved out of the safety of the willow's boughs and continued back on his way down the winding trails. Audits could hear the screams of the horses echoing forever in the heavy rain and winds, but they were ignored. They were dead; long since forgotten and restless souls. They could not touch him.
Word Count, 1507.
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I did a new post. This is the longest post I have ever done. This is the style I use with Ranjit. Enjoy.
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Post by kena78753 on Jul 2, 2009 8:35:01 GMT 10
Name: Garth
Age: 5
Gender: Stallion
Breed: Friesian
Alliance: Dark
Height: 18hh
Markings: None
Loves:
Mares
Bloodshed
mares
Tearing skin off of his victims
mares
slapping his tail against the back of his legs for no reason
mares
Winter
mares
Caves
mares
heights
mares
water of any sort
Hates:
Stallions
Fast runners
Deer
Lights
The one stag that thinks he can play 'Hero'
Anyone who thinks they are better than him
The mare that broke his heart
Good points:
A powerful stallion
When he wants to, he can have alot of class and be a real charmer, but he decides against it most of the time
His unscarred face
He is older, more mature, with more fighting experience
He has much experience with mares and playing with their hearts
Bad points:
He itches to draw blood from others
He cant stand to be around other stallions for prolonged periods
He has an issue with breeding mares He breedsalmost 20 times a season
He liked things to be run his way, and no other way
He likes to pick fights
His large size makes him slower, and less agile
Appearance:
Like most draft breeds, his body is built for sheer power. His muscles are well defined and his coat is a deep onyx, to dark it's almost purple. His eyes some could say resemble red jewls, rubies, if you will, staring back at you with menace. The only scar on his body is the one on his shoulder, about a foot long. His mane is short, sticking straight up into the air, roached naturally. His tail isn't long and magnificent, but short and quite damaged. It looks as if it had been chewed on by animals. His chest is broad, and his ears typically remained perked. His voice always sounds menacing, yet velvety. He is also quite tall, one of the taller horses for his breed
Personality:
This stallion is one to remember. He has a tenancy to breed all the mares he can find, and keep them as his toys. He loved playing with their hearts, that is, after he got his own heart broken. He feels very uncomfortable aroud fillies, and has a lust for drawing blood from others. He hides his expressions well, but is a pro at reading others exressions and emotions. He has been around longer than some of these younger horses, and feels he knows more than them and they should just step down. He perfers to be in charge and doesnt like living under the rul of someone else. He loves the sounds of bones cracking and screams in the night, but will never tell anyone that he secretly has a fetish for light mares. He loves the way they are so easy to menipulate, and likes it when they gasp and scream at what he does to others. Just tinking about them send a shiver down his spine.
History:
Garth was born in a bad place at a bad time. He only knew his parents names because others had told him of them. They died almost right after he was born, because he was bron during a forest fire. He learned to run almost second after birth. He ran as fast as he could, but fell once, on a jagged rock, splitting open his right shoulder. He got up and continued thought, and somehow, wawoke in a smoke filled black, burnt forest. He had survived, with only a few birns and a long gash on his right shoulder. He ended up finding the herd his parents were with. They were the bettas, so not he was entitled to their position, even thought he was still noly a day old. He worked hard to gain strength, but ended up seeing the leads as pointless beings and killing them, running off to raid herds along. He ended up forcing a mare, who had twins. He named the colt Midnight's Memory, after his grand sire who took careof him after his parents died, and the other was Iru. Midnight had ended up running off with a light, ubt Iru stayed dark. Garth instantly hated his son and went after him, killing his first filly, and first mate. Afterwards, he traveled with a mare named Volitare, having a colt with her and leaving him for dead. They had many children together, but all died. He then moved elsewhere, and forced mares for the heck of it, spreading his genes and killing two of his grandchildren. He befriended a stag named Nightshade as well. After Nightshade passed away, he took over the herd and demoted everyone to a slave, so he could breed the mares as he pleased. Then, a mare named Dusty came along and stole his heart, but that didn't stop him from breeding other mares while she was his mate and queen. They had a filly together named Ivy, and Garth fell in love with her (Not real love) He enjoyed his daughters company so much that she was the one that found out he was cheating on Dusty. Ivy then cried and tried to run away, but Garth didn't want to lose his daughter, so he killed her, accidentally snapping her neck as he tried to pull her back to him. Dusty found out and tried to fight him, btu he killed her as well, out of a pure lust to watch blood spill from her body. After that, he fled, coming here.
RP Sample:
Sweat was mixed with rain over his wet onyx hued coat. His skin twitched with the need to draw blood from this pathetic stallion. The blood from his haunch was being washed away, but it still kept coming and the stinging did not let up. He growled loudly as he awaited in the darkness, his head held in a defensive manner. To the stallion dodged his attack. What, he couldn't take a little pain? He was too scared to face pain? Garth could have easily dodged this fools first attack, but didn't, all because he wasn't afraid to see his own blood. He slapped his wet tail against his legs as he watched, eyes glowing in the darkness. The other stallion had come close, but stopped. Fight well enough? Ha! At least Garth wasn't afraid to spill a little blood. He shifted and waited for the stag's next move. He may have been older, but he was no idiot. It was obvious the stallion would be coming head on, then either kicking him with his front legs, or turning to buck at him. That was the only reasonable attack. How stupid could this stag be?
Garth stood as he watched the stag charge forward. He then lowered his head just as he turned, and barely enough to save himself from a deadly blow. the opposing stallion's hooves scraped over his forehead, opening a small wound, but a wound nonetheless. As the other stag's hind legs were still raised behind him, Garth took the opportunity and snapped out at the other stallions belly, clamping his teeth down on whatever he got, whether it be air, or skin, And shaking his head as he dropped to his knees and rolled to the right. He did a full barrel roll to keep himself from being trampled by the other stallion when he dropped his legs back down. He quickly got up, sliding in the slippery mud, now covered in it from head to hoof.
He noted how the stallion bolted away. Coward. This was a pitiful fight. Why did he have to challenge the one stallion that was too scared to face him head on? Ugh. He was not worth being king of the darkness. Garth snorted and sighed, stalking in the shadows after the stallion. The rain was starting to let up. Garth squinted through the tree limbs up at the sky. The Grey clouds were starting to part. Through them you could see the shining stars glowing in the night sky. He raised a brow and continued forward, being sure to stay in the shadows. The opposing stallion had gone into a small clearing. Weaving in and out of trees, The older stag circled the clearing, making sure the other stallion didn't hear him. He trotted, his ears listened to his words. Ha! Like he was going to fall for that.
It was quite obvious what the stallion was trying to do. He wanted to provoke Garth into fighting him head on. He really thought that after he tried to sneak up on Garth, Garth was going to play fair? Garth almost chuckled, but kept himself quiet. He was perpendicular to him, a perfect spot. The stag wouldn't be able to kick at him, because it was impossible to kick sideways. Garth gave the other stag a grim smile before he bolted from the trees, his powerful hind legs pushing him up over the bushes. Leaves tickled at his belly as he soared over them. He landed, almost slipping, charging towards the stag, mud flying behind him. Just as he was about to collide with the stag, he reared up, higher than he had ever reared, almost making it seem like he was going to jump over the stag, and slammed his hooves down over were the stallions back should have been. He felt hooves connect with pelt, and the sickening crack of bone.A smiled immidiately appeared on his dark facade as he felt his back break in two. The opposing stallion collapsed onto the floor before him, his brown pelt mixing with the mud and blood that covered the ground.
Immideately the rain stopped, and the clouds rolled away like smoke being blown by the wind. A magical sight, indeed. His long black tail flicked behind him as he stood over his prey. What a stupid stallion. How can you be king if you're not worth fighting? Garth lowered his head, nipping at an area on the dead stallions shoulder, tearing skin. He pulled his head back, lifting the sking from the muscle. A gross sight, but something Garth loved to do. A pool of blood covered the corpse's muscles where the skin was no longer there. Garth's tounge shot out and it ran over the muscle, the taste of iron fresh. e let the blood run down his throat as he laughed. No one could compete with him! He flicked his ears forward and took a step away from the dead stallion he had just fought. A thought lingered in his head. The body looked quite similar to Dusty's after he had gotten rid of her. Ugh. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, his ears immidiately pinning themselves against his large skull. He wouldn't think about them. He had to leave, now.
His body turned, away from the stallion on the ground. Now it was time to get back to his mares, his foals, and maybe even find more mares to breed. Let's see, how many foals did he have to far this season? 10? 15? He smiled at the thought as his bulky black pillars carried him away from the body, his own body drenching wet with sweat, rain, and mud. His legs were caked with the substance. Maybe he should go to a river ont he way home and clean up before he saw his mares. ha! Kidding. Like he would clean himself up for them. They had better clean themselves up for him, or he would do to them what he had just done to this pathetic stallions soul. His ears flicked back as he thought and he moved forward, towards the shadows that welcomed him with opened arms.
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Post by [[a]ffliction] on Jul 5, 2009 4:59:56 GMT 10
SCREAM it with your last breath
Affliction
Even those without EYES can see
Stud
These are the bloodlines to END yours
Andalusian
Even I am smart enough to COUNT
Thirteen
Since when does it matter how TALL I am?
16.1 hands
The ALLEGIANCE so strong
Dark
As EASY as it is to describe the building blocks of color
A coat dyed the purest white.
Yet it's the STAINS that get most confused
Dapples spread carelessly here and there.
And the LOCKS are easy enough to tell
White mixed with gray.
So the EYES are a loved hue
Dark blue.
Getting into BODY STRUCTURE makes this personal
Muscular, well-built.
Time to REPEAT
A stallion stood tall and proud within the elements, the wind ripping at his locks and lashing his hide. Lengthy white and gray strands of wavy mane and tail danced in the wind, the dappled stallion standing serenely in the middle of the storm. Rain splashed against his smooth hide, running down the muscular lines of his body and darkening his white pelt to gray. Black hooves stood in a position making a perfect square, his muscles relaxed beneath his hide as dark blue eyes took in the surrounding elements casually, as if assessing the situation. For the Spartan warrior stood against the stormy sky, his white hide contrasting greatly to the dark elements.
some say I am MENTAL but I think I am perfectly sane
Because he is your fatal affliction, it's easy to see how he could become quite cocky. A stallion as gorgeous as he - or so he thinks - must be a ladies magnet, no? Of course, this makes him quite sure of himself, as he fancies he is invincible and unable to be injured. The stallion loves to see pain, to cause it, to taste blood... yet the oddity in this personality is, he adores flowers. Yes, flowers. Especially the colorful ones. He's attracted to them like a bug to electricity. That doesn't mean, however, if you're locked in mortal combat with him, that he will simply drop all action to smell a flower. No, he'll wait until the battle's over for that. He also has no mercy for any... unless it's a mare with a flower in her mane, or the fragrance on her hide. If that's the case, he will simply pass by and pay no attention, as he isn't in search of love and companionship. Just power.
Everyone has DESIRES
death - bloodshed - meaningless torture - anguish - decay - murder - pain - war - flowers
Even though the HATED seem to gain more attention
love - peace - kindness - generosity - families - titles
The UNMISTAKABLE past is revealed
One would expect a dark to have had a difficult life, or one full of murder and anguish, yet Affliction is unlike that. He was born to two typical darks, two nobodies. His father the lead stallion, his mother the beta mare. Quite the oddity, then, considering his father had a lead mare and beta stallion, but then again, leads may do whatever they wish with whomever they want. And so, along came Affliction, whom was given the title of delta stallion as his mother and father could not figure out where to put him. He was not the product of love, vengeance, or anything of the sort. He was the product of boredom and the need to spread on lineage. The colt grew in the herd, and watched as others battled for lead stallion, fought his own battles for Delta position when he was challenged, and watched many mares come and go. Affliction was, as one would guess, simply there. Not of any importance, as he did not do anything great such as kill his father in the night, take the herd, and leave. The only thing the stallion can boast about, however, is sneaking away from the band by faking his death, and becoming a loner.
The life of a loner, however, is not all fun and games. Affliction soon learned this. He was no ones ally and everyone's enemy. Any band he strayed upon would lash out, suspecting a fight for lead position to be at hand. So, the stallion was a bachelor, and a lone bachelor at that for he simply could not imagine living with a bunch of hormone crazy stallions. Imagine where that could lead. He barely made a living for himself, what with being on the lookout for a band at all times, and secretly wanting to take one over. At one turn, a stallion challenged him, and he accepted. The prize? The herd. Affliction won, and found the herd in discord. Everyone had a title, and expected it meant something. This frustrated the stallion, as in his birth herd, the only positions were Lead, Beta and Delta. Here, however, there were Leads, Co-Leads, Beta, Delta, Babysitters, Upper, Lower, Middle, and Slaves. Much too many to be pleased. His first act as lead was to remove all titles, and this led to discontent in the herd. This event caused Affliction to simply abandon them in broad daylight and never look back, deepening his hatred of herds and ranks. And so he traveled onward, until reaching the Unknown.
a SAMPLE of past insanity (character - Raisur)
He shifted weight once again.
Something he seems to be doing often. He hasn't had control of the body in a while, so of course he's testing out what I've done to it. Because I'm always the bad one, who messes things up and makes them bad. Bad in a sense Tombstone doesn't like. In a sense that makes him hate me, and wish he was all alone again. Raisur, I always wish you were gone. I'm just going to stop talking to him, and I know I've vowed that a lot... but it's hard to keep, an easy vow to make though. I don't want him thinking he can control what I think through manipulating my emotions by playing with them, like he so often does. I think he got that from his mother. She's... always so... knifing. Always has a plot, to get her on top. In a non perverted way, because I've never seen her that way. Of course, she thinks I'm her son, so maybe she's never tried to lead me in that direction. She's power hungry.
Like Tombstone used to be.
A smirk crossed Tombstone's muzzle, after blocking out everything I had to think about and going into his own void of thoughts. I think I'm going to give up penetrating that shield into his mind... then when he lets his guard down... BAM! And I'll be in. Guinness. Except I heard that. Oops. Oh yeah. Drats. "Well then, if you are so certain that few others would pick up on such an aroma, why bring it into question?” He let me listen to that thought, momentarily leading me to believe that I penetrated that shield already. But it wouldn't be that easy. He's... like an onion! He has layers. Not like a cake, because it's sweet. Like Shrek. That lovable ogre... Why do I bring it in question... He mulled aloud now, to pull me out of my thoughts and so I would listen to his. I took the bait all too eagerly. Because... I'm just speaking of equine senses. Wolves are much more advanced... They pick up on more. Sonata could tell you that... His voice... held respect... for the wolf?!!
This is so not him. I like it.
Even if it wasn't meant to be answered, he'd decided to answer it anyways. Not to annoy her, but to annoy me. I hate hearing his voice. It isn't natural, because I would much rather be hearing mine. The correct terms would be... fighting with my alter ego. He lifted his skull a bit higher, as if proud that he himself had been blessed with this... curse... as he calls it. Doesn't he make me feel special? I mean, I'm a blessed curse. I can't just be a friend, I have to be a nuisance and insulted at every turn. It's called RESPECT, Tombstone. You have it for her, why not me? My voice was pleading, begging even. He should take mercy on that pitiful tone. Because, Raisur. You haven't earned any respect, unlike them. You've earned my disgust. He flicked his tail in dismissal of me, pinning his ears and burying them beneath the black and white mass of a mane he had been... cursed with.
I can do insults too, you know. They're just not very good.
A snort escaped his muzzle, his thoughts being pulled, once again, back into the dark depths of banishment. Many would think of it as something he would be ashamed of, yet it wasn't. He relished in it. It was... his pride, in a way. A symbol of exactly what he had done in his life, and the more often he was exiled, as she put it, from a group, the better. It simply meant none would bother him, simply look upon him and whisper. "There goes the exiled heir." "What did he do?" "I heard he murdered his sister..." "I heard he went up to his mother, ripped her guts out, and ATE them!" But of course, they were always rumors, and thus exaggerated. Some wouldn't even have happened. Like the mother, for example. He hadn't lain a single hoof on her, or misplaced a single one of her 'perfect' hairs in her 'perfect' hide. Not because he loves her. Because she's responsible for creating him, and should thus be alive to see what he can and will do. Only then can she be killed.
Why do I have to share a mind with HIM?!!
Him, of all creatures. Of course, I could be stuck with Wiccan's Rede or Midnight Sonata. That would be hell, as well. Maybe they wouldn't be as vicious then, because I would be manipulating them. But look at Tombstone. He pretended to fall victim to my games, and now he's... he's... WORSE than ever. Oh, good job, Raisur. Why are you so light? Look at your name. Pronounce it. Raisur. It's pronounced Razor. Razor's are what emo people use to cut themselves. Tombstone taunts me, but it does have it's effect. Am I really something people use to attempt suicide? Only thing keeping me form trying it is you usually have control. He retorts, sarcasm hidden from my hold. Wow. I feel so... so... horrible. Am I really that bad? Yes. I should just go. Away. Climb a mountain and live by myself. There's a problem with that. What? Where ever you go, I go, too. Not that I particularly want to.
Oh yeah. I'm stumped now.
Tombstone smirked savagely. You're in for it now, old chap. He taunted, grinning ear-to-ear in our mind. I officially decided, we can see each other in our mind. For... conversational purposes. He claims he can see one's soul, and he's attempting to... cleanse mine. Not very successful, I'm afraid. He faked disappointment, the expression on his face dawning on the fact that, mockingly, he wanted to be a light. That his heart was secretly desiring it. I don't think it's good for him to do all this mocking and pretending, where will it get him in the end? I think they're going to get mad. Then they'll attack him, and he'll fight gallantly... but a yearling? I mean come on. He'll die, and I'll take over the dying body, laugh, and then die, too. And I don't want to die. Tombstone may have a death wish every now and then, but I relish in life. Because I get to spend it with him. Okay. You're gay. I knew it! Wait...
Is that a good thing?
Tombstone's eyes flashed with amusement, watching the two midnight colored vixens that he had snuck up on... with the intent of murdering in the first place, now as a companion. Life's funny like that sometimes. Oh yes. Don't I sound so dark? He questioned, sarcasm in his voice. So many darks he had met made up their tales, about having murdered whole herds, their parents, everything. To make others fear them. I'm not like that. Nope, I haven't killed anything. Because you're afraid to. So? It just means I'm not afraid to be who I am? And I am? No, you're not... I wish I was a wolf. Idiot. Unlike those who claim to have done that... I have, but I don't need to prove myself. So, it will go unproved. You'll just have to take my word. The colt stated simply, flaring his nostrils slightly, as if saying he was done with that subject. Yet he wasn't. He wouldn't mind continuing it. A sadistic smirk crossed his muzzle.
She would just have to believe him.
A smirk crossed Tombstone's muzzle, for now that he had control again, he could answer the fae without me interrupting. Am I really such a nuisance? Yes. Finally, you see it. Maybe there is a God! Oh yeah, shutting up now. Tombstone tilted his skull, mulling over the titles so many fought for yet so little received. They had to be worth something, though not much, because let's face it, they wouldn't be fighting for nothing. Though I wouldn't be surprised if they were, in all actuality. Kings and Queens, such a petty namesake. None of them actually deserve it, when you think about it. He mused, though more to himself. Let me tell you, his muse isn't sweet, but it sure is sweeter than his normal tone. It's surprising, how one can go from completely lethal to just plain dark yet still be effective in the force of his voice. I don't like it, and I don't like Tombstone. I want to get out of this mind. I want my own body.
Or at least this one back.
Not going to happen. I sighed in our shared mind. A pickup line? Ha, that's cute. I still think she's pretty, maybe that should be a pickup line. Yeah? I have a better one. For you. Go to hell. Real mature. Only if you want it to be. He teased back, that malicious and sadistic tone in his voice once more. All is fair in love and war, after all. Not that this was the same ordeal, because... Tombstone doesn't love her, although I do. Tombstone doesn't love... anyone. Except Naussica. But she left, so I guess he's available again. Of course, that doesn't mean he doesn't want to love, I think he does. Do not. He snorts, and I laugh, because... he denied it. When you deny something, it makes it true. But then how do you turn down a lie? I guess you can't. But I think Tombstone's got a soft spot for her, with her being so like... him.
If she's like him, why do I like her?
Okay, I don't like her anymore. She's mean! Are you going to let her say that to me? Yup. Why do I care? You know what? I'm having a hard time keeping my mouth shut. You haven't kept it shut. Ugh. Failure. Well... that would be nice. But it wasn't nice of Raisur to take control of my body and part of my mind in the first place. So, I wouldn't apologize. His voice held a sing song note to it, similarly taunting to me. And God, is it working. My mind's too easy to toy with, considering I'm the result of a head injury. What else is to be expected? I don't think all the side effects that come along with me are usual, though. They only happen when I have control, unfortunately. I'd like to see Tombstone deal with passing out all the time. It isn't fun, and I'm more than willing to show him that. In that unconscious realm... my heaven. He doesn't belong there.
I do.
His blue eyes locked on the wolf, taking in he reactions with great amusement. She shouldn't let him bug her so much, because that, in itself, could be considered a weakness. Too quick to jump to conclusions, too quick to anger. It can get you in trouble in the end. Of course, that's why he won't say this out loud, but rather in our mind. Midnight Sonata, He started, using her full name because... it was respectful... and he doesn't know how she'd react to him using a nickname, and we both agree it probably wouldn't be pretty. What do you want me to do to make you approve of me? He didn't bother asking "do you not like me? do you want me gone?" or anything along those lines, because hell, it's obvious. His voice should have held the mocking tone he was using with Wiccan, but that was only because she seemed to approve. Nope, not it held a respectful glint that I only saw him use around his father in very rare cases, like when he was trying to sneak off with Naussica... when he was normal.
We're far from normal now.
He gazed, almost involuntarily, at his coat. The splashes of white remained only on one shoulder blade, his stockings, and blaze and star combination. Not to mention the whites and grays mixed in with his admittedly long mane and tail. A black coat, huh? Since when did coat colors define one's intentions? He questioned, remembering something his father had said about paints. My father said... 'Paints can't be trusted until you really know them. They may hold beauty, but for as many colors they have, they have that many sides.' Raisur's my other side, and... you've met him. So, there's the white. The gray is just a mixture between us... in our shared soul. He hadn't thought of it like that before, hadn't needed to, nor had the chance. Actually, when it boils down to it, he had forgotten that he was a paint at all. His attention drifted to his coloration for a while, though his breed caught his attention. ... atop a friesian build no less! Were the words in question.
He chuckled at the thought.
They hadn't guessed his crossbreeding. My crossbreeding. Our crossbreeding, happy now? No, I'm never happy. He mocked, though I'm going to take it seriously. Because I can do that. Because I'm Raisur, name said like Razor. Ha! Yes, a Friesian build. Though not purely Friesian. I'm... Arabian, Friesian, Paint, Rocky Mountain, and Quarter Horse. He recited the breeds, fumbling over them slightly because... he hadn't ever admitted to them. He's only ever shown them through different aspects of his life. Like... Friesian in build and muscle, Paint in coloration, Arabian in endurance, Rocky Mountain in surefootedness, and Quarter in speed. Put them all together, and you get the best damn sports horse ever made, the best runner, fighter, anything. Or, better yet. Us. You're exaggerating. We aren't... best. Not us. I'm better off on my own than with you, and the breeding has little to do with it. It's just a formality. He snorted, but I know the truth. Bloodlines have everything to do with it, and he wouldn't be anywhere without me.
Because we're a team like that.
That wolf is even worse than Wiccan, I have to admit. That's pretty bad, considering... wait, no, I'll be quiet now. See, now I'm imagining myself running into the deepest corner of our mind and hiding in a cave, and all you can see are two glowing green eyes. Because I have green eyes in our mind, because I'm that cool. And see the glowing red eyes? Those are mine. I'm coming to kill you now. He snorted, and I screamed and cover my eyes with my forelegs, because in fantasy world, anything is possible. Including that. Through thick and thin. Tombstone mocked his reply to sticking by her, almost saying till death do us part. Almost. Her reaction to that would be funny, yet even saying that is tempting the Fates. By Fates he means hunters, but there are no hunters worse than these two, so how could they bring him down? Ah, to hell with it. Till death do us part. He recited, the sarcasm and amusement evident in not only his eyes, but his body language, eyes, and well... everything.
He's that damn cool.
A sudden smirk crossed his muzzle at her next words, though he shook his skull in fake disappointment. No, too easy. He can't even defend himself! The way he said it made it seem like he pitied the defenseless, yet that wasn't it. Rather... the defenseless wouldn't be a good enough test. They weren't... powerful enough. His ears flicked in indifference, as if they didn't understand the thoughts in his mind and were on lookout for intruders, though with the crew he was with, what could sneak up on him? And the question after that, what would even want to try and ambush this threesome? Okay, not a threesome. That's just... disturbing. Trio sounds better, in my opinion. You fancy yourself immortal. I mused, because it's true. He's starting to think he's untouchable, yet he knows the truth and I'll remind him of it every so often. No. Hiding behind immortality shows weakness. I would rather die to someone who could kill me, because that's an honorable death. He shot back at me, and I'm silenced.
I know that's true.
His mind echoed her words, repeating each syllable exactly how she'd said it. I'm analyzing it like a girl, because girls over analyze everything to the last detail until they can't analyze it anymore. Decent fruit means exposing yours and Midnight Sonata's existence, as well as mine. At the moment... they only know of Raisur. He added the last with a tinge of disgust, yet also something along the lines of pride. He was proud he'd remained hidden and hadn't blown his cover in a sense, disgusted that he's had to lay in hiding in our mind for so long when he could've already been out and causing torment. I wouldn't let him, though, only when these two are around to keep him in check. Otherwise, we would have a wildfire at our heels chasing us down and trying to kill us. By wildfire, I mean ever surviving member of Penori, chasing us down for vengeance. I really do hate vengeance, because that means you're only doing it to get back at someone.
Tombstone does it for fun.
We both sunk into our own thoughts, following the silence that was to come after Midnight Sonata spoke. A big bang could mean so many things. I'm imagining a hammer falling and trying to kill me, because it says bang. Tombstone's pondering over ways to truly shock the inhabitants and cast massive destruction. I'm tempted to paint across his black hide "DANGER. DO NOT FEED IF YOU WANT TO KEEP ALL LIMBS, HOOVES, TAILS, EARS, AND OTHER APPENDAGES." because it would only make a fair warning, so they know what they're up against. 'Course, that could also mean they would be attracted to his presence to tempt him and see just what those words were all about. Imagine, if you will, a place worse than the Scarred Warrior. Were instead of listening to one because they were afraid of him, they would listen because they knew they were going to die anyways. How perfect would that be? I know there's no chances of reforming the dark alliance; they're too far gone. But maybe... a Thestral alliance could be made, considering that's what best describes myself, and these two as well. Though... what of a ruler?
Tombstone be quiet, you're scaring me.
Tombstone snorts, snapping himself out of his thoughts. That could be arranged. He chimed, answering Sonata about the bang. It could be... fun. He stated, glancing over at Wiccan with a questioning look. Have you heard of the Thestral alliance? They're darker than the darks. They kill mercilessly and for entertainments purposes. No fear of death, and they know what life's all about. It's values and worth... normally, they travel alone or in small bands of two or five, to wreak havoc on those who fancy themselves... immortal, powerful, and untouchable. You and Midnight Sonata fit that description, I like to think. Perhaps there are some Thestrals left, after all. Perhaps... His voice droned out there, though he was by no means done speaking. Perhaps we could restart that alliance, yet not make it official. So we can decide who comes in and out of it, without a king or queen, and only those worthy enough should bear the name Thestral... His imagination, mixed with mine, was getting the better of him.
In case you couldn't tell.
Of course, what he spoke about was true. The reason behind making it unofficial? It wouldn't be caught up in petty disputes over who rules it, because it wouldn't be ruled per say, rather guarded, so only those worthy could be let in. And once in... you would only be let out by death. He smirked involuntarily when these thoughts occurred to him, yet he was truly interested in how the two would take to the Thestral alliance, and whether they even knew about it in the first place. That sounds ravishing. He didn't know what ravishing meant, but heard it so many times in that context and had thus decided it would fit. Any species? Interested in making our existence known so soon? He questioned with a truly dangerous smile, one of his first real ones since... Naussica. He trained his gaze on both of them, for he had proposed two ideas that needed approval, and was currently trying to drown out a Lust that was rising within him. The Lust for death, decadence, blood, macabre, horror, and all other things he considered good.
At least in his mind.
Tombstone's Revenge stood stock still, his muscles outlined clearly in the night. His feathers and lengthy locks were teased in the breeze, his ears swiveling to pick up on any and every noise, as if his life depended on it. Yet we know otherwise. He was doing this for signs of... life that could be taken away... especially in it's prime, for what's better than that? His gaze was still trained on the two, marveling over how such a... sadistic and horribly delicious mare could be so appealing, even in this lighting. He didn't know why, but deep inside, there was a pulling sensation, tugging him toward her, while I stood on the other end of the rope trying to tug back. And these two are winning this game of tug-o-war, unfortunately that means me losing. And if I lose, what will happen in the end? What becomes of me, and where will I go from there? I'm just a voice inside a head, occasionally allowed to take control over a body to stretch out muscles and enjoy life. Those times I'm not aloud to though, I'm going to be stuck watching the macabre.
What a life.
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