Let the bodies hit the floor -open-

[delirium]

[bg=#010101][atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=border,0,true][atrb=width,500,true][atrb=style,border-radius: 20px; -moz-border-radius: 30px; font-family: century gothic; font-size: 10px;] i've danced with devils & drank with the demons THAT'LL SLEEP WITH DEATH & FELL SHORT OF BREATH ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Wiccan’s Rede Darkness. It was creeping over the land, capturing everything in it’s cruel, cold hands, seeking out more and more items to clamp down on, possess, control. The rape of the light was a startling thing, watching the night force the daylight to play it’s game, as the sun slowly gave up, bowing down at the feet of Night, before disappearing below the horizon, running and hiding – Leaving those of it’s light on their own to fight against the dark and the dark’s minions. Of course; Wic wasn’t like that. She didn’t fear the dark, she didn’t fight the dark. Death’s Mistress helped the Darkness, for the Darkness would never be able to survive with out her. High above, an owl danced on an invisible breeze, watching his companion, his darling Wiccan preform her festival of games. For, Gua knew, Wiccan could never be kept from them. They were far to precious to her. Wiccan smirked at the thought, her tiara tilting as she observed the said darkness, her eyes hungry for more then just what the darkness could satisfy. The valley ran thick with blood, steam coiled from the hot fresh liquid, tinting the mist red. Silvery blue eyes slit as she observed the valley, seeking out what sort of destruction she may be able to cause. Destruction, and not the pretty kind either. No, Wiccan liked the red destruction, with body parts thrown askew. A demented smirk slithered across her muzzle. Broken pieces of bodies lay scattered in the surrounding foliage, a gruesome story being told by the chaos manifested with in the area. Oh, and what Chaos too… She trotted along the Valley slowly, ivory form glimmering and blending into the mist that shrouded it from view, like a Virgin Mary. Of course, this creature was far from innocent. Oh no, this mare left innocent behind a rather long time ago, and she had no desire to go back. Not now, not ever. Wiccan’s Rede was a creature of darkness, of death, corruption and destruction. Wiccan’s Rede was Death’s Mistress. The vipress moved with startling ease as she moved along the valley, wading her way through the bank of thick, dense fog. Her body shimmered under the light of the Halfling moon. Colorless tresses fell down in thick masses, shining and swirling in the mess of waves and curls that would never fall into any bounds of confinement, yet, remained as sexy in this chaotic form, that echoed from head to foot, as it would have been if any part of her was in the classification of ‘normal, working.’ The death clung to the air in a thick haze, creatures that were to small and pathetic to be classified as prey ran to hide. But one soul remained, surveying the scene they’d constructed. There wasn’t a normal thing about the finch. Wic was an oddity; an extreme oddity. A Friesian build, strong sculpted Spanish façade, thick, yet arched neck, sloping hindquarters, low set tail. It was all there. Wic could have passed as a purebred Friesian, even with her slightly more ‘delicate’ formation. Except for one thing. Where the raven coloring should have been; there was nothing but an expanse of ivory. Perlino on a black base. Pure white. Wiccan was indeed an oddity. Her form was gorgeous though, gorgeous and deadly, as she walked, the feathering around each hoof tainted with a very slight, very generous pink hue, from years of being manipulated in weapons. She walked with the grace of a feline; a walk of a killer. But what was the oddest, most alarming part of the femora was most likely the way she seemed so ready to kill. So ready to attack. The way she was more lupine then equine. Wiccan might appear to you as a horse, but she was nothing more then a wolf in sheep’s clothing – or rather mare’s clothing. More. More. More. More. More bloodshed. The trees would be coated in it, the air would be thick with the gentle metallic tang of blood. More. More. More. She grinned darkly, silvery blue eyes sparkling with a cruel fire, as she trudged on. There was a reason Wiccan had been produced to… this chaotic destruction. Things in your past alter you; alter how you act, how you see the world, how you see others. Things in your past make you who you are today; and it was the past that had shaped Wiccan to be the cold blooded, murderous fiend she is now. Wic might have been a proper lady had she been aware as to how to behave, had she been raised well; had her parents paid attention to her. Screams ate up the oxygen, taking from the living till their dying breath, as bodies twitched, crimson regret pooling around them as eyes turned dead and distant, staring but never seeing. Silent stories of their murder – never to be told. Of course, Wiccan never had a strong family base. Being an oddity would do that; but Wic’s oddity had come with her natural love for destruction and chaos. A big no-no in her family. A very big one. Her white coat was a praised ‘a gift from god’ but her black soul was shunned ‘touched by the devil.’ Touched? No. She rolled over the devil. With out her, Hell would never survive. The Grim Reaper wasn’t the one who took souls, she did it for him. Because it is what she did best. Murder, maim, it was the only life she found worth while, but then again; with Wiccan, how else would you want to rule life? She moved with a regal stride, flawless, destructive, yet oozing with power. Power over life and death in a way. Her hooves had met too much blood, her muzzle had been darkened crimson to many times. Wiccan had grown addicted to the hunt till she herself, learned what it is to experience bloodlust. Wolves? Bears? Those predators had nothing on the one before you. Because, Wiccan was on the same footing as her favorite prey. And her favorite prey, her fellow equines, would never even begin to suspect her to be the murdering villainess she was, because let’s face it. We see what we want to see, and eyes seen a shimmering, innocent, angelic form. Laughter torn from the muzzle, drenched red in the liquid of life that had been extracted from each victim. Splatters of red painted the chest, neck, and front legs. Each front leg was now capped with a crimson stocking, heavy dripping, smelling so sweet. More. She smirked; for it was true, they never knew what was coming till it was too late to run and hide. The perfect prey – her prey. Her delicious, easy to manipulate toys. For indeed, how else could she see her prey but as toys? Mindless puppets on a string. There was no other description of these pathetic beings because; well, it was easy to see that they where to daft to consider what lay before their very eyes. So, when given the opportunity, why shouldn’t she play with them? Why shouldn’t she manipulate and tug at their strings? Was it not too much to ask for some understanding at this? To realize that to Wic, there is no point in trying to fix what ever is screwed up in her head. Oh no. It’s five years too late for that. She tossed her head, expression dark as she looked around, silvery blue eyes ghastly, and hue less in the light of the full moon. The endless night, with colors of red and black painting the scene with a gruesome, Picasso style. It was like a scene from a horror movie brought to life. Blood was almost ankle deep in the valley, bodies piling up left and right. More. Need… more. The night was drawing long, the final hours of night making the world go colder in the silent warning. Soon, Night would be forced to give into day. Wiccan grimaced. A creature of darkness did not survive in daylight. A creature of darkness thrived for the dark. So she continued to walk, taking advantage of the few hours of night left, because – what else could she do? A flick of a red dusted, yet ivory tail was all that was scene as the creature disappeared, heavenly body now coated red from Bloodshed. More. More. Must find more… Who’s next? Her eyes sparked as the scene in front of her eyes dimmed and fell apart, yet sparking a desire to suddenly make it real. And what Wiccan wanted, she got. “Well then? Who is next? Come out, children. Come play…

[/b]” She purred to herself as she reared up onto her hind legs, her fores thrashing, thick, white feathering tracing the air in a wide echo around each hoof. Then suddenly the finch was in motion, each hoof hitting the ground at a different moment, a four beat echoing behind her, as her ivory tresses danced in the air, created in her wake. An angel on earth, a demon in disguise, Grim Reaper, Death, Death’s Mistress, Demon, Monster, Whore, Slut, Bitch, Freak, Killer… Names followed her from every land she’d come from, stories of an ivory finch who betrayed the colors of her coat to go dark. A finch who was only created for chaos. A finch who was ready to destroy. Who would always want more. More….

Because it will never been enough.

this post is 1579 words and completed tagged for Open and Dyzz and i just felt the need to say that So, Wic’s first post for TF. Anyone can join, though Wic is always a bitch, no matter who it is she will end up speaking too. And the scene played out in italics was a fantasy that Wic created while she was walking through the area, just so you are aware. And her owl is with her the entire time, but played no real part in this so I felt no need to mention him more than once.! lyrics are credited to passion for publication of the all amazing anarbor! this template belongs to justlikefalling of caution 2.0. enjoy my lovelies!

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when you wake up hungover
YOU WISH YOU WERE SOBER
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[zeph]

Dark and silent, the night wrapped around Houdini with long, entwining fingers. His large hooves touched the ground surprisingly softly as his black and white form moved through the thicket. A low, throaty sound escaped his muzzle as an owl hooted, breaking silence together. H6e leaned down and took a few bites of grass, but he wasn't really hungry, so he kept moving. Ears pricked up at the sound of hoof steps. Another horse was here. He looked in the direction of the sound, trying to make out the origin.He stepped cautiously forward and finally saw the horse. It was a mare, a white one, with a seemingly innocent appearance. He didn't trust this impression, however, because there was something about her that made him see through her facade. He pushed through the thicket toward her silently until he was a couple of yards away. “Well then? Who is next? Come out, children. Come play…" He could barely make out her whisper. Houdini blinked. What an odd thing to say. Then, as if hit by a sudden burst of energy, the mare reared up on her hind legs, landing and breaking into a run. An owl flew above the mare as if connected in some way. Houdini took a few steps forward, before rearing himself and following her in her gallop. He just couldn't resist a good run. Previously silent hooves beat the ground, sounding like an approaching storm. He tossed his head, feeling the air move fast over his form. The gypsy stallion caught up to the mare quite fast, having the advantage of long strides. He was nearly four hands taller than the mare, which became apparent as he made it to her side. He slowed as the female noticed him, ready for whatever she said. He had every right to run here, no matter who was here as well. If she wanted to be alone, she should go back to the dark lands.

ooc ;; I haven't really taken to rping horses yet, but I will, so don't mind the failness of this post.