|
|
Post by Morgana on May 30, 2007 10:02:31 GMT -5
Silence in the hallways...
Thunder rolled. The sound is crisp and wild, a white snake using the sound as cover to strike across the black sky. His form leaves only a contorted, white afterimage burned into the orbs of all whom watch his midnight hunts, though it is only temporary. At the next roar of the skies, the white serpent called upon allegiances, for more writhing lines burst forth from the churning ebonite blackness that was the sky.
Lest the bishop hear...
A single sky serpent came astray and grabbed a momentary hold on a gnarled tree branch. Crimson sparks flew from the tip of the tree, a flame soon growling to life on the dry and broken plant. When the torch was completely aflame, that was when she was visible. Despite the beginning rains, the branched burned with the intensity of lusting lovers, illuminating the black goddess behind their glowing array.
Their heated cries as lovers lie...
Deep coal black eyes shone with the light from the flames. Her mane and tail whipped about her in soggy tendrils, some sticking to her gleaming neck muscles. She rose, front pistons striking the air as if at an invisible enemy. Her ebonite hooves struck at the fire, at times even entering the burning mass, and she snorted. Crania high and body poised, she continued to dance about the flames, occationally breaching the flame's outer lining, and singing her war cries to the black gods of the storm.
In bed with Satan near...
|
|
Alex
New Member
Posts: 18
|
Post by Alex on May 30, 2007 13:15:59 GMT -5
Storm
The thunderclouds send their burning pages with messages of hate towards the earth, leading the stallion's way. His dark chocolate coat should have hidden him in this night, but his four tall stockings and shocking blaze were like searchlights, revealing him to anyone near. The storm was accompanied by a heavy downpour, stirring the dry dirt into thick mud. The stallion hesitated, then splashed the black mud onto his stockings and wiped it along his blaze, hiding him quite conveniently. Satisfied with his new appearance, he continued on his journey.
Finally, he found the land where the black hearted faes waited for their fate with a dark stallion. It would be hard to see one whose pelt was colored any hue besides alabaster, but the storm didn't prevent them from excreting a smell. He narrowed his presently useless eyes and dilated his nostril, searching for the faint aroma every mare produces. Finally, he found one, and followed it faithfully. About a hundred meters from him, his eyes proved their mettle even on the darkest of nights by alerting the stallion to a fire burning, and a black shape, like a shadow, dancing around.
With his curiosity aroused, he carefully traveled closer. He was not afraid of any mare, but he didn't want to startle her and frighten her away, thus ridding himself of his first chance to take a mare as his own. But then again, he thought, if she was that scared, then she wasn't worthy of joining his herd anyways. He came closer, until he could feel the heat of the flames scorching his pelt and drying the mud covering his white markings like concrete. He stomped, shattering the mud and letting it cascade back towards the ground, where it belonged.
Ebony mare! he called, snorting loudly to catch the femme's attention. Stop your silly dancing routine long enough to speak to me! the stallion commanded, looking towards the lightning-streaked sky. Like him, he thought, the sky was in control of itself most of the time, but when it became angry, it striked with a fearful vengeance. The anger was his namesake. Storm.
|
|
|
|
Post by Morgana on May 30, 2007 19:47:05 GMT -5
Did we create a modern myth...
Dancing shadow of the enchanting fem seemed to have its own life. As the flame screamed its black cries to those who could understand them, the satanette lended open ears and responded with black vocals and fork-tongued words. She felt the heat which made her sweat lightly touch her pelt before being drug away by the cold angel tears as they watched the devil's apprentice on earth, tearing up the sod's virgin innocence like a rapier in the night. It was not her care for such things as purity and life. She was the murderer of hope, a curse in this tempting body. It was like a sheep to the slaughter. They knew not what they had gotten themselves into until it was too late. She was a sin of Lust and Dreams, an untouchable bytch not meant for the sickening caress of beasts of earth.
Did we imagine half of it...
The stallions calls were drowned out, at first, by the ravenous sky serpents loud screams. Only when the lightning illuminated the stag's form did she stop to hone in on his words. She snorted, thinking his words nothing but a rant. "The skies sinners dance," she began as her coal eyes gazed skyward to the wild lightning above, their shapes depicted by the very creatures that brought an end to the perfect Eden, "Yet you do not mock their spinning. Why, brute, must I stop myself to speak to one that scoffs the skies?" she hissed, voice alluring in a depthful and seductive way. She was a darken essa, so such vocal sounds were befitting of her. She rose her head high, banner and tassle flying in the wind as the flames burned ever-brighter, as if her words seemed their fuel. The rain cascaded sensually down her sleek bodice as if the storm itself was attempting to lure the beast to the vicious femma fatal.
Or was it just a dream...
[/size] |
|
Alex
New Member
Posts: 18
|
Post by Alex on May 31, 2007 8:59:06 GMT -5
Storm
The stallion watched, intrigued, as the mare continued her dance. Her movements were mesmerizing, and he wondered why she was doing such a thing. The ground was torn under her feet, probably incapable of growing such pretty things as flowers now, and for that, at least, he was glad. She was adding her own mystical words to the crackles and screams of the fire. Where did she get the fire, anyway? Surely she didn't just magically conjure it, and it was a coincidence if lighting had alighted this place just for her to dance around and around.
She was displeased that her dance was interrupted, but at least she had taken the trouble to speak to him, was the impression she laid upon Storm. I do not scoff the skies, I scoff you, he said drily. Are you a witch that dances and screams to try and conjure some spell? he said, a bit of anger creeping into his voice. The flames surged even higher. In addition to the mare's voice, they seemed to like angry voices as well. He shot a sidelong glance at them, deciding that they were, indeed, witches' flames.
|
|
|
|
Post by Morgana on May 31, 2007 9:13:55 GMT -5
Was it a dream?
The black femmora snorted at his comments. She was nay a witch. The flames had come to the tree and now scorched the night by pure happenstance. She had not conjured the flames from nothing. "I am neither witch, nor conjurer. I am simply a mare," she purred, her voice like rough velvet. She was seducing, like the apple to a waiting maiden. Like a long-awaited rain to quench the lands of their ever-growing thirst. The black mistress was a mare, but none doubted her mysterious qualities.
Is this the only evidence that prooves it?
Keeping her dial high, she watched him a moment. This brute was strange, not to flee from her as others did. Strange things happened around her; around cursed ones. As she was cast from her homeland, she will be cast from this one. It was only a matter of time. What she needed was a stallion dark enough to claim that he could tame the firelight's dancing shadows. That he could tame a mare as wild and unpredictable as the storm churning and the flames screams. None had succeeded, and she delighted in watching others try. It was only a matter of time until they saw the true blackness in temptation.
A brief existence shared by you and I? [/size] |
|
Alex
New Member
Posts: 18
|
Post by Alex on Jun 4, 2007 14:24:59 GMT -5
Storm [/b]
He did not doubt that there was something, well, different about the mare. She denied that she was a witch, and yet she was dancing around flames. His studious eyes traveled over her countenance, searching for one small expression that could reveal her emotions, what she was thinking. No, he wouldn't run, nor hide, because he was fully confident in his ability in battle. The mare was an enigma to him, and he wouldn't leave until he had either left with the full satisfaction that she wasn't up to his standards or until she was at his side.
She was surveying him also, perhaps wondering why he wasn't fleeing for his life, as she was expecting. Ah, so she liked to tease, then frighten away, perhaps? What fun. She was obviously a true dark, with limitless evil. He wouldn't try to extinguish or control the raging flames inside her, nor try to cull her to his expectations. She was who she was, and if that was good enough, it was good enough. So, simply a mare, he sneered. Do you have a name?
|
|
|
|
Post by Morgana on Jun 4, 2007 14:45:40 GMT -5
Sometimes death is better...
With a satisfied snort, the mare stilled herself, standing close enough to the flames that they occationally lapped at her charcoal pelt, though the rain kept them from burning her flesh. He inquired her name, and she pondered for a moment, though not long enough to seem indecisive. "I have been called many things, some names so old that only the wind and trees can still pronounce them. However, most call me Morgana le Fey," she hissed, the name seeming to add to the mystery standing in the rain.
Then a life in the light...
Now came the trick. Did he know the name's meaning? Had he heard it before? If the stallion had indeed flourished in the rumors of the Satan Mare of the western mountains, would that deterr him from her? She dug into the earth with a talon, its ebonite colour ripping the life from the grasses that she trod upon. If he chose her for his mare, than he would have to proove to be a true dark. If he was not, she would surely find one that fit her criteria. Flicking her ears back she arched her neck then tossed her mane, sending water droplets into the air. "What do they call you, brute?" she questioned, her voice a seductive lull.
So i'll keep to the shadows, and you to angels sight...
|
|
Alex
New Member
Posts: 18
|
Post by Alex on Jun 5, 2007 8:16:31 GMT -5
She stood pensively after his question before voicing a response. Did she not know her name, or had she been isolated from others for so long that she had momentarily forgotten it? Finally, she disclosed her name, Morgana Le Fey. It was slightly familiar to Storm, but not because he had heard of horses with that name. No, he was thinking about the old lights' tales, the ones that told of King Arthur and his knights of the round table. Wasn't Morgana Le Fey his enemy? Perhaps this mare was a contemperary to the Morgana of old; she was the antagonist to the good that walked the earth.
She was asking his own name in return. Storm, he said offhandedly, as if he couldn't be bothered by such petty things as his cursing. It was a cursing he had laid upon himself after he had slaughtered his parents, the leaders of a light herd. Storm was their little prince, with a little prince's name. He had shed that name and adopted Storm, a simple name, but a name more powerful than it sounded. From what did the lights run? A thunderstorm, of course. Storm was that thunderstorm.
|
|
|
|
Post by Morgana on Jul 1, 2007 23:17:49 GMT -5
The ebonite mistress listened intently with her auds. "Storm..." she mused, her voice a whisper. He was not meant to answer, she was simply trying the name on her lips, to taste it with her own lips. A smirk spread across her kissers as she began to circle him, scrutinizing him with her cold lifeless eyes. Her tail flicked over at him, like a whip, but did not contact.
She was a seductress as her mother was, and her grandmother, and so on. She was from a proud line of breeder fems and intended to continue her duty. Her future was chosen for her. It was marked in her blood, signed with her carcass and ended with her demise. "So, Storm," she hissed, watching him from beneath long lashes that veiled her depthful eyes. "How will this begin? I am here to be claimed, and you are here to claim. Obviously, I have taken your attention for this brief instant, which will eventually lead to me following you to your lands." With a devious smirk, she shifted her position and continued, her voice a pant of lust. "Shall we cut the crap? I am not one for beating around the bush," she mused, stopping when she was standing in front of the brute, shaking her powerful neck, tresses blowing wildly in the wind. |
|
|
|
Post by wowposter on Oct 30, 2008 5:17:04 GMT -5
|
|
