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i'm a primadonna girl; briseis [dark]
Topic Started: May 21 2015, 09:52 PM (180 Views)
IceCrystal
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The Queen of Snark (and Procrastination)
B R I S E I S
Dark eyes flickered over the rather barren landscape. This was such a desolate place. Perhaps that was the point, to make the mares that came here desperate to leave. Briseis gave a faint roll of her eyes before proceeding to stride deeper into the Homeless Grounds, tail flicking as she walked along. Hooves crunched softly on the hardened ground, the occasional fallen leaf adding to the sound. Otherwise, the area was dead silent. There wasn't even a bird in sight.

The paint was far from interested in being in this place, but in order to get anywhere, she would need to latch onto a stallion to rise to the top. Then, once she had enough notoriety, she could leave. An amused smile tugged at her lips as she stopped beside a creek. The water was running low, a mere trickle over rocks. Lowering her head, she took a brief drink before relaxing into a resting position, cocking her hind leg. Hopefully she would not have to wait long for someone to approach.
ICE CRYSTAL
briseis
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`d e p p
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I think everybody's nuts.
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[justify=400]. . . and I will find the enemy within—I can feel it crawl beneath my skin . . .
He has never been here before, and he’s not sure what draws him here now.

It is not the insatiable desire for female flesh, nor the ambition to recruit pawns in the ground building of some great kingdom. The wilderness of the Faults, though revived since the devastation of the Scourge, still crumbles and staggers like a rock balancing on a needle. It is only a matter of time before it tumbles. He would have it continue, watching with hard eyes and a nasty smile as he stands, waiting for the ground to disintegrate beneath him until it is nothing but dust that falls through the crevices of its own parched wasteland.

The painted stallion hadn’t been born of bloodlust and greed. Produced from the warmth of the womb, he knew nothing of the dark shadows that haunt children’s dreams and torture men’s weaknesses, only the love of a mother. He should have kept it all—the security, the affection, the trust. But fate, he has learned, is rarely so kind. Like a babe thrown among the wolves, so he had been thrown among the shadows, gentleness and will stripped until only anger and bitterness are left behind to seethe.

With a white tail lashing through the cold air, his dusty brown lips twist into a calloused scowl. Although unseen, he feels the presence of his wraith grandfather—hovering like the demon he is, prickling the stallion’s skin until it crawls, calculating in his silence. Despite what the eye does not see, Alastair is never alone…never alone.

For a moment the young stallion lowers his head, his broad shoulders crumpling and for an instant, it is nearly as if he will collapse in on himself. The weight of the shadows, the weight of what he has done—of what he knows he will do—is sometimes too heavy a burden to bear. But his grandfather had not made an offhand decision in choosing him. For years the dead king had waited, watching, needing someone with the strength he sees in Alastair now as the painted stallion growls, pulling from the seams of his body and forcing himself together again.

Striding purposefully forward as though his pace had never faltered, the dunalino allows his gaze to sweep across this land, a wilderness in its own right. His eyes narrow when he catches sight of a figure in the distance. It is chance that pulls the two together. He does not alter his direction, but allows his bones to carry him onward, deeper into her path. “You look like you’re expecting someone,” the stallion muses, his tease nearly monotone as he draws up next to her.


;; alastair
nasir x larena || five || dark


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Remember...if you feel glum, just shake your bum!
#EpicStrut

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paper faces on parade;
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