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Post by ` k i w i ` on May 24, 2011 19:23:23 GMT -7
Blood Envy
Long threads of deep brown splash down my dark colored head, forming a neat sort of temporary blaze-like marking. My large liver colored bodice, drenched in sweet, gleaming sweat, drudged forever on in the terrace of dank evilness and frightening images. I flicked my long, chestnut tail to the beat of my plodding hooves, spreading the scent of my nature like an osculating fan. Sharp, chocolate hooves pierced the ground where my footfalls landed in the hard, shadowed earth. My slick withers brushed tall, strong trunks as I pushed through the forest of terrible fears, not bothering to find a path. I much preferred to make my own path. After all, a path of well thought out destruction was the best path of all. Nares of flesh and darkness steadily drew in the gaseous air of life, spreading the simple element throughout the femme's large body.
I flicked my perfectly poised harks as I once again put a run down on my perfectly elaborate plan to gain total dominance of this strange region called Blue Moon Herds. First, I will stalk this nasty, gnarled forest until I find a perfectly insane dark lord and then give him an equally dark heir to be proud of. Then I would slowly whittle his pea brain until he could no longer think and act for himself, and rule the dark lands with the worthless scum and his heir by my side. I let out an insane giggle of pleasure as I crested a thickly forested hill, climbing out of the underbrush like a demon from a pit to hell. My yellowing pearls peeked out from between my dark lips as my shadowed eyes fell upon a clear, open meadow. Here is where I would feast.
If all else were to fail, I could just capture myself a little puppet, and play like the big dogs liked to do. Though I disapproved of femme slaves, for they were much too bitchy and far too weak for the demanding word of such a dark goddess, one ay have to do. Not many creatures of the male sort, that could be easily taken advantage of, bound to one of the skeleton trees, and used for one of my various purposes. No, not many proud nights would be keen on follow a dark queen, even if they were bound by a rope of the toughest diamond. If I were to gain a slave today, I would have to either settle for a quiet, weak mare, or fight for possession. I cackled once more, and swished my shadowed tail, spreading the intoxicating scent of heat throughout the air.
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Post by Racing on Jul 25, 2011 21:47:31 GMT -7
A pristine white form moved through the forestry, calm in the face of almost certain demise. Well, not calm exactly. On her way to these lands, she had seen the same forest in which she walked. But the snowling did not realize it was the same; else, she wouldn't've been walking in it. This Isn't Your Fight moved strolled through the forest, pale blue irises tracking any movement she saw. The American White Horse mare neighed shrilly, searching for company in such a desolate wasteland. Stallions snuck by, but she wasn't in heat, and so was of no important business unless a beast wanted such a perfection for himself. But no beast seemed to want her, so she wandered unbothered by brutes. She whinnied, half-rearing as her long white forelock and mane swept into her eyes. Blue searched the land again, and this time Isnigh scented the air as well. She scented heat, and while not a stallion, tore off after the scent, slipping through tangles and trees and leaping shrubs in a fluid ghost-like appearance. Landing on an actual path, the snowling took to wandering it, occasionally calling out to the mare she gas scented earlier. Her angelic coat shone in the dank space, and she knew it made her noticeable. Prancing in place as heat scent wafted to her once more, the mare gave chase again, and caught up this time.
Halting just on the outskirts of the clearing the other mare was in, Isnigh looked anxiously for others, but seeing none the sweet mare rushed into the clearing, with a sigh of relief when she was in the others' sight. A beaut of a liver chestnut stood there, and the angel-creature smiled at the other, a sweet, painstakingly shy smile. "Hello, miss," The 16.3 mare spoke to the shorter, pale blues dancing in relief that she was with another. All would be well now. At least, This Isn't Your Fight hoped so.
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Post by ` k i w i ` on May 1, 2012 18:21:16 GMT -7
Sharp harks perk as sound waves erupt from the trees, nearly as fierce as a stamped of ranging elephants. Instantly my rigid muscles grow more rigid, harks more alert, and adrenalin pumped harder. Here it was, the poor faithless tool I had hoped for. The pesky peasant that I had waited for so long to capture and have my very own way with. I patiently wait for my blundering clown to show himself with baited breath.
A few short seconds later I an wracked with a great surprise. Out of the great underbrush, on a small excuse for a broken path, comes a porcine figure on glitter hooves, crashing into the perimeter of my beloved meadow. A short snort of displeasure erupts from my velveteen muzzle, calling to attention mt obvious disgust.
"You blundering idiot!" I spit into the clouds. Ruffling my dark wings, I trot over the the excuse of a flesh-bag, a heavy look of malice painted across my maw. "You faithless fool!" I shout as I launch myself at the white mare, body sharp as an arrow, accurate as a throwing knife. I aim with sharp teeth, longing to tear the alabaster pelt from the bones of the feminine equid, to draw pretty droplets of crimson from the shiny pallid coat.
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Post by Racing on May 10, 2012 19:21:09 GMT -7
Startled, shock flashing across the snowling's features as the other made attacked. Instantly Isnigh was fluttering, hooves dancing madly to try to stay away. But maroon, crimson, red, the color of a wilted rose-- her blood tainted her purity. Pale blue sparked with brief anger, slight, faint worry, but the mare never struck out. She seemed to work to avoid it, in fact-- hence the name. Allowing the other to batter her, the snow-creature shrilly whinnied, hoping for a happenstance of pity. Relentless in her sudden cries, her creamy pearl of a coat quickly growing stained pink, and in several spots even like the coat of a fox, so red was it. Closing her maw, cutting off the shrieks, Isnigh finally reared up but refused to lash out, landing and bolting a few strides instead. Expecting the onslaught to continue, the pitiful creature stated with wide angelic blue eyes at the chestnut.
"Why?" She coughed out, her only word insofar. She had no desire to speak otherwise, not to this mare that had attacked her. Of course, of the other spoke, told her name and perhaps offered some sort of friendliness, Isnigh would respond in kind and be her usual self. If the other kept attacking her, the dark angel feared she would have to run, and run terribly far just to get away from this maybe crazy mare. Muscles taught, This Isn't Your Fight watched Blood Envy with a fair bot of suspicion, even though it was not something that cane easily to her. Most emotional-type things didn't, really. Whisking a somehow still pristine white tail, which quickly became flecked with pink, and drawing a breath, the snowling straightened up. Nothing to do but face down this other. It pained Isnigh to do this, even, but do it she had if she wanted to keep her life-- and it's source-- within her. Wandering soul, was not her future. Or at least she hoped not.
[329 words. The Money Tree - Blue October.]
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Post by ` k i w i ` on May 15, 2012 14:58:26 GMT -7
Yellowed teeth dig into soft flesh for only a moment, then the mare skitters away from the duchesses grasp. Little tufts of short, white hairs fall from the maw of the attacker, saliva falling on or twice onto the ground. I click my teeth a few times, letting my tongue lap at the blood that hardly bathed my pearls. It seemed ... right, to the mare. The adrenaline rushing through her veins felt so good; so dirty. Bodice moving silently, the bay mare dances around the china doll, a slow waltz, scrutinizing her prey.
"Could it be?" Envy mocks the youngling. "You are possibly one of the most petty things I have seen." The countess crouched down, muscles tensing for another strike at the dolls soft tissues. "Yet you are a pretty thing ..." the mare sniffed, standing from her crouch and circling the mare again. "In fact, I would like you to be mine." Envy's voice was sold as ice and soft as a whisper.
Turning about the bigger mare, who's soft, white coat was now stained with a beautiful crimson color, Envy shook her thick, blood bay shoulders, allowing a dark rope to spill out onto the ground. Fluffing her crimson wings, the queen bent her neck to pick up the end of the nose in her maw. A maniacal cackle escaped her velvety lips as she reared high and tossed the nose over the porcelaina mare's head.
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Post by Racing on Jun 26, 2012 22:56:25 GMT -7
This Isn't Your Fight gave a shrill snort, air shrieking in and out of her lungs in a freakish imitation of breathing. The stockier blood bay mare waxed and waned closer and farther-- a odd symbol of perhaps the Earth the Moon, or the Sun the Earth. Isnigh stared at Envy, pale blue wide with unidentified emotion-- a mixture of so many large emotions that this one emotion was a sickening puppet of small tidbits of others. The other mare seemed to enjoy the irony of the iron in Isnigh's lifeforce-- it seemed a regrettable action, this, but the other mare seemed not to. Pausing in the turning of keeping of with Envy's circles, the angeling blinked at the other's words, taking a moment to comprehend. But by the time the youngling's overworked mind figured out what exactly the words meant, it was too late. The shorter mare had let out a cackle of laughter, and just as Isnigh spooked, a length of rope settled about Isnigh's throat and yanked when she half-bolted.
Blood Envy's rearing and cackling may have startled the snowling, but almost instantaneously her heartrate steadied and her expression calmed, emotions numbing as if injected with Novocaine. Half-rearing and stepping high at the end of the rope, Isnigh whickered softly at the travesty of being tied. "Why would you want me, miss? Of what value am I, to you? Miss...?" Pausing for a name, the soft-voiced creature tilted her head inquisitively, pausing also in her antics. She was truly curious of why such a beautiful creature-mare like this one would want her-- for Isnigh was herself as a... troll, of sorts. The Ugly Duckling, the Snow White. Someone who had not had their metamorphosis yet. But, despite what This Isn't Your Fight herself thought, she had already completed her metamorphosis when she was far too young to understand it. While she had completed one of her metamorphosis's, she had not yet completed her second. Poor naive Isnigh had no earthly idea what lay in store for her.
[349 words. All The Right Moves - One Republic.]
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Post by ` k i w i ` on Jul 18, 2012 11:11:26 GMT -7
The strong, dark rope slid around the porcelain mare's head and neck, still the earth for a few moments. It seemed to envy that all time had stopped. This was it, this moment marked the fulfillment of one of the many dark dreams the Envy liked to ponder upon. As time slowed in the mares eyes, she noticed a few short things. First, the wind was calm. Calm enough to not even be considered a breeze. Second, though lack of wind, there happened to be a slight rustling sound. Truth, the mares were making quiet a commotion, but this sound was far off, at an angle. Third, a creeping sensation was causing the little hairs on Envy's body to stand on end, causing her to feel very uncomfortable.
the blood bay mare snapped back into reality when she felt the soft tug of the rope, which she had just so gently placed on the opposite mare. A negative look of disgust painted the mares features as the marionette's body visibly calmed. Her labored breathing slowed to an eerie, less than normal pace. A look of calm and clarity painted the white mares features. When the mareling spoke, her lyrics shook down Envy's spine, deepening the feeling of disgust.
"You dare speak to me in that tone, wench?" Envy challenged. "You no longer reserve the right to question, to think, or to act. You will do as you are told, or you will suffer." A sneer reached the bay horse's maw, yellowed teeth glinting the the pale not-light. "Your flesh is now mine. Your body belongs to me and I may do what I please with you." The mares paused for a beat, watching and waiting for the taller animals reaction. Blood red harks pulled back, the mare strikes at the porcelain doll's flanks again, driving her point home.
WC: 306 Muse: "Be Ready When I Say Go" by the Emperors
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Post by Racing on Jul 18, 2012 20:29:26 GMT -7
/you are my hope/
Pale blue rolled in their sockets before Isnigh calmed, blinking and ducking her head in response to the mare's words. "Yes, miss." The words tumbled out before the snowing could stop them, and the emotionless one cringed just a hint, waiting for a blow or a harsh word that she was just not used to. Lowering her head, letting her ears flop to the sides when Envy struck at her, the young snow angel worried at her fortune, trying to ease the bay's aggressiveness by being passive. Insigh did not quite hear the rustling, but it was vaguely noticeable and one ear half-pricked before she commanded herself to drop it again. Pale gray hooves rested on the sickness-filled grass, not daring to whisper movement through those blades lest her new... Master? Mistress? What would be the preferred term here, Isnigh's thoughts flickered, noticed her barest dance. Pink and red stained white hide like a bunch of Valentine's Day roses, the mare was too complacent to move and too content to realize the cloudy dream of escape. Early morning sky blue flickered around the clearing, before once more This Isn't Your Fight reprimanded herself. No moving, no eye contact, no nothing lest it anger... And it would just not do to anger.
But now Isnigh's mind was racing, a herd of thoughts crowded into one chute for processing. Wouldn't the other mare want to know her name? Why wouldn't she tell Isnigh hers? What were Isnigh's rules, what were her guidelines? Was she to be this mare's plaything only in time of heat, or would she be bait, or was she just kept for company? What was her purpose with this bay demoness? Her body may belong, but what did that say of her mind? How was she not to think? Thinking was just a process that daily could not be halted, it even happened when one was sleeping. This Isn't Your Fight didn't even dare glance up at Envy, instead keeping her eyes downcast, ears lowered, head lowered, everything about her screaming submission. She did not chance doing anything to anger her Mistress other than what she might already have done.
[363 words. You Are My Hope - Skillet .] [/blockquote]
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Post by ` k i w i ` on Jul 19, 2012 10:06:37 GMT -7
Sticky mulch pushed against my stone hooves, not unlike the sands of my home. Home--it was white, crisp, and clean, shining and beautiful. Here things were dirty and carried a somewhat creepy feeling to them. Why I have come here was a sort of a simple reason. I am tired of ruling my beautiful kingdom myself. I cannot battle the forces of darkness without another. And so I have come to one of the most sinister pieces of turf in the lands to find myself a companion, if not a mate.
I marched on through the brush, not exactly following the path which was hardly visible. A soft, breezy sensation crawled up my spine, raising the hairs upon my neck. My harks point in the general direction of forward and I pick up the tell-tale signs of a commotion. I can hear little grunts and squeals. I excited me, bringing my very own life essence to the top of my white coat.
Bursting through the seams of the wood, I peer into a queer sight. Before me stands two beasts. One is quiet short and stalk, with a shaggy red coat and wings to match. They hover over the creature in an eery way, looking much to heavy to life. Wrapped around the beasts neck is a thick, dark rope, extending out to the other beast. The rope look painfully tight, judging by the look on the others face. The other beast is much taller than the red one, much more lean. Her coat is a beautiful white, but marred with cuts and slashes that spill liquid that is a red as the creature on the opposite end of the rope. I see the whites of the lighter creatures blue, blue eyes as the red one strikes again.
I am taken aback. What quarrel could these two beautiful creatures have with each other? Two femmoras should not act this way, even if they happen to be tethered. I approach the white and the red slowly, taking in the scene as I mount the moment of acknowledgment.
"You. Mares. Do I sense a problem? What sick creature has done this to you?" I keep my voice at an almost hush, just in case the foul beast is near. I would love to sink my pearly white deep into his jugular, but maybe at a later date. Until then, I had a situation to take care of.
white the birds i'll share this lonely view;;
I whip my head around, banner whipping violently as well, to peer into our disturbance. A sneer reaches my maw as I analyze the being before me. He too harbors a coat of white, though maybe a little darker than this female of mine. His brown orbs rattle about his head as he taken in our scene. For the moment I have forgotten about my sweet, beautiful captive. I drink in the stallion before us, in all of his tall, muscular, aged glory. He is lean, but seems to have not missed a meal.
I peer abut us, trying to puzzle out the words that her speaks. True, he has sensed our game of suspense and fear, but he has yet to factor in the player. A deep, gleaming grin brushes my velvety kissers as I prepare my reply.
"Stallion. I sense your aim to help, but I am afraid that we are beyond such a thing." I glare with threats about my dark obs down at the female before my dagger-like hooves. Shifting to give has enough room to make a comfortable remark, I turn my attention yet again to the ghostly male before us.
they will see us waving from such great heights;;
WC: 601 Muse: Scar Tissue by the Red Hot Chilli Peppers & Such Great Heights by The Postal Service
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