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they've come to get me again; ;; ember
Topic Started: Mar 2 2015, 12:04 AM (188 Views)
`d e p p
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I think everybody's nuts.
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[justify=400]. . . power is my mistress . . .
I have worked too hard at her conquest to allow anyone to take her away from me

The dunalino mare had never expected herself to be here—for as long as she can remember, she had thought that she would never have to lower herself to the destitution of the Homeless. Here is where the lonely and the desperate come to squander away the last of their hope into the shadowy faces of strangers, but not her. She is better than that. But a lot of unexpected things had stumbled into her life, inadvertently chipping away the carefully-sculpted plans, bit by bit, until she is left with this.

Nothing.

It seems, even if she hadn’t known it, the heavens had always been working their wrath against her. Born an illegitimate child between her parents, she had left her mother’s side while young, in search of the power and wisdom that her father held. She had thrived under his wing, but it was too soon when a dark beast rose from the shadows and smothered her budding magnificence. Taken as his prisoner, Ember was forced to bend to the monster’s will—but she never broke.

It is dreadfully ironic how the pieces began to fall after that. Captive-turned-collaborator, how quaint. None of it had been done for his benefit, of course—she simply knows where the power lies, and has both the wits and the insight to use them. But has it been enough? Is this what she really wants? Before now, the overo would have scolded herself for being so petty, but times have changed. Has she changed? She has nothing to show for herself, for her craving and bloodline, and she can hardly stomach the sight of that loathsome black stallion whom she has worked so closely with now.

Is this really what she wants?

Ember pins her ears in disgruntlement, a bitter scowl curling her black lips. They wouldn’t want her to be here—she had slipped away from the dusty red territory she has called home, wandering with a seemingly aimless route and minor purpose. It is rather fitting that she has found herself here, of all places. She picks her way through the thin wood, the ground wet and still sparsely patched with white, her carriage still proud despite her painful discomfort.

She had not escaped from the Scourge unscathed. Patches of what used to be raw exposed flesh, torn and burned away from the muscle, are now healing—the skin is dry and cracked, sometimes oozing blood, but not as gruesome as it had been only weeks before. Her gait is uneven and her energy wanes quickly, but it does not stop the dunalino from the one thing she still carries, something that cannot be taken away from her—her royalty. It might be an old and empty crown by now, but Ember wears it proudly. Perhaps the fragments of her life can be stitched back together, perhaps she can still gather the ground beneath her.

Or perhaps she can let the wind finally waste them away.


;; ember
cian x crescent || five || dark
- ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ -OOC: I just want to give a fair warning that I might not be keeping this girl around. This topic is really to see if I’m still interested in her, if anyone else is interested, and if I have enough muse for her character alone. That being said, the character in question is, well—in question haha. I can see Ember either continuing to be a power-hungry Dark, or perhaps even soften and “run away” to a stallion, if it is the right stallion. Maybe she could settle for just feeling wanted. But! Idk, like I said, I’m still playing with her.

[/justify]
Remember...if you feel glum, just shake your bum!
#EpicStrut

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paper faces on parade;
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ƒierce
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i've not yet begun to defile myself.
and suddenly, i felt nothing


The stallion had come to the Homeless for what seemed like the first time in his life. He might have come before, but it must have been a very long time ago, because he didn't remember. The Ranger Hybrid walked the length of the land twice before committing to the idea of trying to bring someone home with him. Home itself was a new idea to the stallion, having just returned to the land of his colthood with his sister Fate. It was a little bit of a wonder that no mare had ever decided to come home with Romanov. He was a handsome deep day and white near-leopard stallion. Spots across his whole body, his forehand more bay than white. And his hindend more white than bay. He is muscled, athletic, hardened by the world and a beast to behold. His face holds a commanding expression, his eyes dark. His sister often thought him to be brooding over something meticulous, but it was not always so.

Then again, the leopard male did not stay in one land too long his entire life. Briefly he had settled in Infernal Meadows and another land or two, but always he wandered, as if looking for something. The male turned his forehand inland, pacing away from the shore and toward the possibility that he may in fact start a herd. As he wandered, Romanov came across a mare, a pretty dunalino spattered with white. He didn't think himself skilled in reading others, though he tried, but she seemed almost restless, undecided. The mottled stallion approached her, taking care to nicker upon approach before stopping a few feet from her. "Hello."


Romanovson of Diego and Nicolate
ruler of Grindstone

ƒierce   (adj.)   ferocious; bold; intense; dauntless
if i am chaos, then you are the storm inside of me
Aura | Fatale | Harlem | Phalaenopsis
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28 || adoptions -- log -- mare plotting -- to do list Asylum | Flannery | Hoarfrost | Israël | Magdalena | Rivulet| Salvatore
Sears | Stheno | Tribulation | Vermillion -- ( up for adoption )
Hollow | Ristian | Sémillon -- ( potentially adoptable )
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`d e p p
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I think everybody's nuts.
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[justify=400]. . . power is my mistress . . .
I have worked too hard at her conquest to allow anyone to take her away from me

She ignores the pain. The ravaged skin that patches her body, matching white with red, stings in the balmy air. The cracked, scabbing flesh is ugly, tender, and weeping with parched drops of blood. And yet, somehow, it is not revolting—on any other creature it might be, but torn from the royal mare, her carriage does not allow her to be lowered to such a state. Not yet, at least. The Scourge might have wounded her, but the overo’s will is hardly broken. Only she has the power to let herself go—and she never intends for that to happen.

With her dark lips twitching against the blistering heat that sears through her injured veins, Ember arches her proud neck. Her gait is slow and not quite as lithe as it once was, but the noble elegance has not been lost. Dainty hoof prints are left behind as she saunters through the wood, leaving merely a whisper of her presence behind. Her mismatched eyes stare keenly through the timbered shadows, only half expecting to find another soul this far on the outskirts of the borders.

Part of her hopes she won’t find anyone—that no one will know that she was here. Here, where only the desperate come, where all other options have abandoned you, and there is no choice left but to be thrown to the wiles of stallions. Is this really what has become of her, then? The thought coaxes something between a smirk and a scowl from the maiden’s dark lips. Once upon a time she stood upon a pedestal of wealth and opportunities…a pedestal that has since been withered and stolen.

Is it her family’s honor that she seeks vengeance for? Or the power that she has told herself that she wanted from the day she was born? Or is it something else entirely? It is a question that has never occurred to her until this point in her life. What, exactly, does she want?

The presence of a stallion interrupts Ember’s (surely) petty musings, her fluted ears perking with his nicker before she draws to a halt, her mismatched gaze resting on the male in question. “Hello,” the dunalino greets him neutrally, her eyes narrowing a fraction before she continues, “I hope you have more interesting remarks if you want to waste my time, Stallion.” Her tone is not as harsh as her words would suggest, but there is frankness nonetheless. She does not settle down yet; only a slight pinching of her lips gives way to the discomfort of her wounds as she stands erect before him.


;; ember
cian x crescent || five || dark
[/justify]
Remember...if you feel glum, just shake your bum!
#EpicStrut

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paper faces on parade;
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