The militant mare had sought one thing: dive to Akvo.
But Craonos was weak. So weak. Even in the water, the young Narwhal calf could not refund his strength. And there was this new strangeness that pervaded their bond; a sick undercurrent that had the mare gritting her sharpened teeth against.
So she aborted the mission to dive to the depths of Akvo. Instead, she found the waiting, pleasant Floating Key. Part of her was surprised at how easily the great turtle’s isle was to find…and that it was still in existence in the face the Rift’s sickness. She had assumed the shadows would eagerly consume such a place of bright magic.
Though it seemed, as her webbed hooves breached the pale sand, that this floating land was untouched by sickness. Too-large eyes sweep along the beach, unblinking. They found it deserted, and so Aquila turned back to her listlessly drifting companion.
Scaled ears uneasily flick to and fro, lips pressing together as she surveyed him. There was a root here, one that often alleviated the burn of certain Capitocorals. Perhaps it would help her companion?
Turning back into the warm sea’s shallows, she guided the spotted, dark narwhal into a small, half-moon shoal. A mass of coral made the entrance tricky for any large creature, so she assumed he would be safe.
Her muzzle dropped, gently pressing to his rubbery skin, “Reen baldaŭ,” she murmured quietly in her throaty voice.
And then she was gone, leaving the leviathan floating in the warm shallows.
Still livid about my magic being corrupted, I stalk around the pieces of our land not obscured by shadows. Everything is going to shit. My horseshoes are broken, my magics are paired with excruciating consequences, and I’m suck in this humid wet hellscape until our land’s magic can get itself together enough to allow us back home.
I find myself walking into clearer air with each step, and realized that I have managed to stumble upon the Floating Key. I’ve only seen this place a handful of times, but most of the days I come looking for it, it has seemingly been carried off. But today it’s just what I need. I need a break, I need clarity, to consider my next move.
And god dammit these horseshoes and their infernal buzzing are going to give me an aneurism. I’ve considered prying them off of my hooves, but they’re nailed in so tight that it’ll be a two person operation, so for now I’m stuck with them. And even more than that, I found myself snarling curses at the corruption of their magic, and a swell of voices filled my ears, taunting me, whispering secrets and vulgarities, but one promised a solution, and when the situation arises, I will be sure to hop on the opportunity as soon as possible.
Unfortunately, even though the lack of dark magic here is calming, the voices don’t seem to care that I’m just trying to escape them, and they follow me to the turtle’s back. I try desperately to ignore them, and have little success, and the anger that swells inside of me is threatening to pour over on the first thing I see.
And that happens to be a wall of coral.
I storm up to it, ears flat against my skull, and I raise up and claw at the open air with stoney hooves, and I claw at the living material, a terrible scream escaping through my teeth. I claw and scratch at the growth, feeling pieces crack and fall away at my blows. I spin, crashing down upon those front hooves, and my rear ones lash, kicking out, my haunches driving them into the damaged coral. I nearly fall as the heaving chunk gives way, and a sharpened piece deals it’s own damage as it buries into my muscle, tearing the silver-white pelt I wear upon my body. I growl again, shaking with anger, but before I am able to react to the defensive assault, I notice that the hole leads towards a small sandy hollow. Peering through with eyes that match the green blue of the surf, I see the smooth surface of water harbored from the waves and tide of the rest of the sea. Something has found safety in the pool, and I want to know what it is.
Pushing through the remainders of the mass, myself and my voices emerge upon the sands of the shoal. Slowly I make my way towards the bank, and the voices have begun to agree, urging me forward, beginning to chant haunting and murderous thoughts. Floating in the water, moving carefully, was a whale. But not a true whale, no, for one of those would never fit in this small area of water. I tip my head, finally coming to a stop within the water, feeling the lukewarm water lap at my knees.
“Well, hello,” I croon, nostrils flaring, a smile crossing my face. The voices speak now in hushed whispers amongst themselves, and I know what must be done. But before I can make this quick, I decide no better time than now to test the only magic ignored, scared to see how it had been ruined as my transformative magic had been.
I feel the flicker within my chest as I reach out towards the narwhal’s heart. “You float so slowly,” I whisper, “I wonder if the same will be true if your heart races?” I lash out, feeling my magic erupt forward. I am thinking of a pounding heart, a dizzying twist, a nauseating arrythmia. I want to see if the whale will jet away, or sink like a stone, or maybe its small heart won’t be able to bear the abrupt tachycardia.
But as soon as I send the magic out, my head spins and I want to wretch as I feel my own heart begin to thunder within my chest. I cough and sputter, falling to my knees, and as the magic is broken I feel my heart rate begin to decrease, and I take a moment to recover. However, my eyes never leave that little spotted asshole’s hide. I climb upwards, regaining my footing, and shake my body off. I don’t know if my magic even effected the companion, nor do I care. I lunge forward, teeth bared, head snaking towards the beast, trying to drag it towards me and my flailing legs. I rear, hooves heavy as clubs, and I come crashing down, hoping that the water that will splash back upon me will be filled with blood.
The young leviathan drifts on the rolling tide; his pale belly just barely touching the waves that ebb and flow, made gentle by the the coral that breaks any large or powerful swells. His entire body feels heavy and his mind, usually calm and clear, feels as if it is filled with cotton. Coherent thoughts are hard to form; instead, there is this overwhelming wildness that threatens to take him deep beneath the waves. Away from Aquila, away from this sentient magic that flows between himself and her soul.
The Rift’s sickness is as constant at the sea within the calf.
Crashing brings the narwhal's attention away from the continuous call of the deep; dull, liquid black eyes roll in his rounded, pale face. And he watches, body vaguely away of the innate urge to flee from such violence.
But the small leviathan is tired. He is lulled into security by his bonded's promise to return and by the cove of coral he is surrounded by.
However, it is from this safe shoal that two agitated hazel eyes light upon his listlessly floating body. His small bud of a horn slowly shifts towards the crooning voice, inky eyes blinking sluggishly at the smile.
A soft, deep croon of his own answers the pale mare’s. His breaths come in and out slowly—until his torpid heart begins to increase his tempo. Craonos’ soft croon morphs to an agitated wail—a haunting sound never meant to be heard by ears above water. Faster, faster, his already sickened and tired heart hammered against his young ribs. Atria and ventricles contracted out of sync, painfully sloshing blood around in his small heart.
His Rift sickness has already dulled his bond with the sea-mare, and Aquila’s distance from him entirely muted his distress.
The narwhal calf sinks slightly, as if the sea may somehow halt this onslaught of pain in his chest. His wail deepens and spreads more easily through the water. Though his sad, old eyes never leave woman who drops to her own knees—never dropping the gaze that doesn’t leave his.
Even as she snakes towards him, even as her bared teeth sink into the the soft flesh behind his pectoral fin and his bright red blood wells and drips into the calm shallows beneath them. His wail halts, though, when she bites him. His eyes blink once, tightly, against the pain, before popping open to sadly stare at the woman whose hooves now whaled against his rubbery skin, leaving contusions that would darkly color later on. Why? his sad, tired, passive stare seemed to ask.
But any stillness was broken by a sudden roar that split the briny air.
Aquila had returned.
The militant mare is a blur of sharp teeth, plated skin, and swinging barbs. Every weapon at her disposal seeks to rip, tear, kill this pale creature that harms her Craonos.
Stripes burn with bright boils—a gift from the Rift—that erupt with a fluid that stings her own skin—but her battle-trained body pays it no mind. Perhaps it will sting this own, foul creature’s skin if she dares to bite or retaliate.
Her tail swings—and vaguely she wonders if poison has returned to their barbs—seeking to slash any its long length can reach.
Another, furious roar rips through the air, “Lando malpuraĵo!!”
The boils on her skin leak a stinging fluid.
Her tail barbs are filled with pherhones that increase sex drive (but she thinks it's normal poison, she doesn't know it's mutated yet ;P )
08-07-2017, 05:43 PM (This post was last modified: 08-07-2017, 05:44 PM by Kahli.)
KAHLI
I bear the smile of a wolf, and my canines sink easily into the oily skin of the whale. Red rises to meet my tongue, though there is something fatty about this creature. Still, this is not about sating a hunger, though at this point I’m not really sure what this is about at all. Perhaps passing my anger and frustrations upon this senseless little beast will turn up futile, and I will be just as angry leaving as I did entering this scene, but whatever. When was I one to allow a shambling weeping conscience to stop me?
The sounds he makes throughout this whole experience have provided a haunting melody, a macabre score, and it’s beautiful. But many fleeting things are beautiful. Still, I release my grip, and I step back and survey the gaping damage I have inflicted. Eyes fall upon his, and there’s some sort of sentience nestled within the dark pools, and I find myself staring, wondering, thinking about just walking away.
Well, that thought was short lived. A furious scream rips my attention from the water-bound creature, and my nostrils flare and eyes narrow as I swing my crowned head towards her. She is made for the sea, made from the sea, so it seems fitting that this thing is her pet. Should I have had more time to react, I may have sighed at my choice of targets, because who really wants to fight with a woman who is leather and spines and battle all rolled into one. Or, I may have side-stepped her, laughed, and danced off into the cover of the woods. Unfortunately for me, the hell-on-wheels barreling towards me is blocking the makeshift entrance I had crashed through.
I do attempt to sidle, and again I grow angry that my shifting magic has been so cruelly bastardized that by the time my transformation completes, I will be a bloody puddle of mash beneath the woman’s heels. This has rendered my magic nearly unusable, so I'm stuck remaining a solid target. I am almost able to avoid her completely, but a sweeping sting ripples up my side as a barb splits my pelt.
An awful shrill noise slips through my clenched jaws. Her proximity and how she is covered in armor and weapons has left me suddenly feeling overwhelmingly trapped. I have never been a fighter. Manipulator? Sure. Hunter? Just as a spider traps a fly. Killer? Absolutely. But brutish hand to hand combat has never been my expertise, and especially not against beautiful women. And this flashy dame, with water sleek against her plated curves, a seductive deadly glint in her eyes, her war cry, she was the most beautiful of them all. And her words, foreign and untranslatable by my ears, they call to me. It is a ballad of love, seduction, like that of a siren.
Blood slips free of my wound, and yet I crave her touch again. In this game of cat and mouse, a game where I was always the cunning feline with claws bared and teeth waiting, I just wanted to be the mouse. If I had known that my feelings were caused by poison, that it was venom leeching into my muscles and nerves and chemoreceptors, perhaps I would have tried to fight the feelings that raced through my veins. “Beautiful words,” I laugh as I attempt to spin away, but only for a moment, before turning towards where I believe she is again. I prance forward on dancer’s legs, attempting to aim a playful bite upon the woman, but where my nose barely brushes I yank away, the fluid running down her stripes (more beautiful than my own stripes, she wears them so well) burns at the softness of my left bare and I yelp, pulling away, letting my legs try to carry me away.
I halt several paces away, sides heaving, and I angrily cast my gaze over my shoulder, looking to see if the woman will pursue. Rage and lust burns within my white-rimmed eyes. I am so conflicted. I want to leap forward, I want to get close enough to touch her. I want her to plant bites down my shoulders, down my spine. I shake my head desperately, trying to shake free the thoughts. Something is wrong. The stinging wound again draws my attention, and my face twists with anger.
“You terrible wretch,” I hiss, and though I’m usually a fan of talking dirty, those words are typically a purr. I turn towards her, ears pinned, teeth bared, lips still stained with kisses of blood and a wisp of burned flesh. “You dare poison me with desire? What kind of game are you playing?” I reach forward with invisible feelers laced with magic, reaching for her heart. But this time I do not urge hers to race, I urge it to slow. I feel my own hammering heart calm, and I hope that perhaps that touch can calm her enough to give me time. Time is all I need to escape this dreadful encounter.
Floating Key
