end of silence;; [flighty & bef]

[RANJIT;;]

Wanderlust following the birth of twins from his copulation with Nirvana drove the stud to leave the Imperium Kingdom. Casual strides carried the monarch along without any care for where he was truly going, pallid carcass rippling smoothly in a flowing trot. The twins had been sleeping with Nirvana, bedded down for the evening in Obascus. Above his skull, the heavens unfurled their majesty, stars gleaming in brilliant shades and he took a moment to observe it. Spawn and Gehenna were beautiful creations and the Cadaverous Kaiser felt his heart swell each time he gazed upon them but holding stern to one realm was simply not his way anymore. The babbling of the creek that ran through the territory faded away to nothing but a whisper as he clambered his way out of the ravine and beheld solid terra firma beneath his chassis once more. Cannons easily struck forth, out of the Imperium lands; so content in his own placement was the former Dark King that he crossed directly through the Altus lands unchallenged. Out of respect, the monarch skirted the land of Antioch at the no-man's walk, feeling cool eyes upon him and a careful glance revealed the dappled buckskin Death observing him with a calculative glower. Unperturbed by this, the ivory brute simply dipped his tomb to the Kaiser and continued on his way.

Some time later, perhaps an hour or closer to two, he found himself carefully making his way through a draping canopy of ancient trees. The air turned stagnant in his nares to the point that the mogul coughed on it upon the first inhalation though he swiftly altered his breathing to adjust for it. A queer sensation, one of a fixed terror, rose within the monarch's chest and Ranjit, all but fearless, felt a horrific chill of outright hopelessness come about him. Panic swelled and the great charger lunged forth along the well-trod path, limbs launching into a wild lope. Soon enough, the hessian burst forth to a field, spread with wildflowers dancing under the moonlit heavens and he skittered to a halt, half rearing with the effort it took to slow his sudden burst of momentum. Heaving sides shook with the effort to draw breath and he pinned his audits back against his crania, trembling. Ranjit, for all his wanderlust, had never come across this realm before. Caudal flicking a bit, he made his way carefully forth, examining it with the utmost attention for any signs of malicious creatures about. Yet he appeared to be utterly alone, save for the chirping of insects and the flutter of birds taking wing. In the heavens, a star shot across the sky and his skull came aloft so as to observe it, nares drawing in a steady, slow inhalation. This place held to it an odd feeling, one that made the powerful hessian shift his weight uneasily and lower his twin towers yet again. Something, Ranjit decided, was not right here.

words: 494 tagged: flighty, bef muse: will get better

^{by ♛befera}

[Captain Flighty]

[smear:E03DC2]Circe[/smear:18448e:3]
[smear:331D94]It was me, peering through the looking-glass.
Beyond the embrace of the gods.
Like the secret face within the tapestry.
Like a bird of prey over the crest.
Emptiness followed by her wake.[/smear:F7436A:3]

Time swayed around her like the ocean; each wave a thousand heartbeats of a thousand souls. Time and life moved all around her. She could see the souls she'd already touched and the ones yet to feel her power; some to die by her power and some to thrive in it. Life, death, time. But it would never truly touch her. Her life was not her own; Fate had written her tale eons ago. Death had shunned her from it's grasp. And Time; Time had revealed every secret it had to her; embraced her as a part of it and so eternity stretched from her in every direction. She watched a thousand fold strands of futures play out in her mind at any given time; each decision she made changed those futures and each decision every other soul in the world made changed those futures. A constant loop of dancing, shifting, writhing timelines in her minds' eye. Some were more certain than others, some very unlikely, but nothing was utterly certain.

Still, the strands that brought her here, to this place, far from her cavern home left little doubt as to what she would find here. Something awaited her here, someone that didn't even know where they were. A soul nearly as aged as her own. Very little could have drawn Circe from her caverns, but this was not a simple matter. This valley was her home. Run Like the Wind was a part of her and she of it. Their hearts beat as one. Yet she was not blind to all that outside of her home. There were countless lands, endless souls that would never know her home, but their souls were not unconnected, never that.

The beast that waited for her in the dark distance was testimony to that fact. So many equine had lived in Maison Belle, so many died there too, including this one. Disease had claimed his flesh long before the land had burned, but the soul had survived and served as salvation for the survivors of that fiery era. A king of darkness, but not of evil. Evil deeds perhaps, but there was more to the soul than that. And so Fate and Time had reworked that soul into life. A new body held it, pieces of the soul still remained in the afterlife, as every life left a spirit behind even if the soul moved on.

The tiny mahogany mare continued along in utter silence then, letting her mind drift through time; forward and backward through the ages as she prepared for the meeting to come. It was because of this monarch, this eternal king that her home's fate had been woven through with the ashes of another land. So many souls now crossed the threshold he'd found. Not many mortals could boast such a thing.

She could feel the spirits moving all around her; hidden in the gentle mist that rose from the waving grass. She wondered how aware mortals were of such things. Her silver eyes danced with the fog that intensified with every heartbeat. And then, she felt him. His heart, his soul. She inhaled deeply as her heart raced in response to uneasiness in the stallion. It was an invigorating sensation to feel the powerful shake; to taste them fear. She was not of an evil nature, but darkness thrived within her.

And then the king was in her view; his stature did nothing to make her tiny frame pause as she approached in the silence only the dead could accomplish. Her eyes reflected a dozen souls that danced invisibly around them as they bore into his magenta depths. [smear:0B8675]"Be at ease, Lord Ranjit, the dead cannot take your life."[/smear:9148DB:1] She assured him. A particularly dark spirit moved swiftly behind the pale king then and the flickers of his horrid life played through her mind. A strange smile spread across her features then as her eyes followed the spirit for a moment as it paced and then they moved back to Ranjit. [smear:0B8675]"Your sanity is another tale entirely."[/smear:9148DB:1] her voice was harsh in it's beauty and powerful in it's ethereal quality.

She was far from her cavern, but she was not at all out of her realm of comfort. Eternal as she was, she belonged here in the land of spirits; just another soul. She lived, but life did not cling to her as it clung to the beast before her. [smear:0B8675]"Steal yourself for the path ahead, my lord, for this is not for the unsteady."[/smear:9148DB:1] she cautioned then; stepping closer to his massive frame; her tiny stature doing nothing to diminish her presence. [smear:0B8675]"That which lies ahead comes from behind, the past awakens in your future."[/smear:9148DB:1]

[smear:331D94]Within ghostlike rapture the final word was mine.
I would outrun the scythe, glaring with failure.
It is a mere destiny I thought, a threshold I had crossed before.
The rain was waving goodbye, and when the night came
the forest folded its branches around me.[/smear:F7436A:3]

© Flighty 2005-2014

[RANJIT;;]

No being is without fear. Even this monstrosity, whose great hand has shaped the events of two lifetimes, beholds the terror when facing the unknown and he cannot help but to tremble in the presence of this place. Darkness pooled in the corners of this realm, though in and of itself possessed no hints of having been touched by any malicious presence. Yet the monarch could not help but to gaze around in awe and unease; it prickled up and down his spinal column and made a chill run down his great chassis. Cadual flicking at his hinds, the great beast dared to venture further into the flowered realm, salmon oculars examining the surroundings of this haunted place. Around his pinions, the monarch could feel the touch of spirits and he danced in a fine passage away from it, auditory canals pinned back against his heavy poll with flaring nostrils. Rolling oculars flashed the scelera and the proof could be seen - the former king was frightened. Snorting loudly, the hessian half reared as though to escape the clinging tendrils he could feel at his hocks but the sensation did not vanish and Ranjit debated simply fleeing. Yet he had not lead armies for naught and had not fought his way through hell to rise again for naught and thus he hardened himself and continued his steady walk onward, nares flared to drag in the scents and it was how he knew the femme was approaching before she could be seen.

By the time the petite femora had appeared, the mogul already faced the fae with a steady, cold look that dared her to speak of his antics. The soft articulations had the heavy cranial tomb rising sharply with the audacity the fae spoke to him with. How she knew his title, the beast questioned not; long ago had Ranjit learned not to question such things. "My sanity has never been whole, my lady," he articulated in his low growling of a rasp, watching her as she stepped closer to him. "So I fear not for it." Caudal rasping at his hocks, the mogul cocked his tomb a bit as she spoke of his past. For years now, the hessian had been faced with a single question: who was he? The visions of his past that had been within his mentality for years rose up as the fae spoke and he saw before him once more the realm of Maison Belle that his ancestor had reigned supreme over. The hessian gave his skull a heavy shake, audits lower again as he mused over the cryptic articulations. "My past is based here, my lady. I am bound to this land and to no others." The mogul's hoarse voice died away to a rumbling laugh and his pale oculars moved away to observe the land around them. Yet for all of the bravado within his articulations, the beast could not wholly believe his own words. The memories that he possessed were simply too strong, too vivid, and he recalled things such as simple conversation too easily for them to be only dreams. He beheld these visions in the daytime as well, thus he could not contribute them wholly to dreams as well and the former monarch of Dark abhorred it.

Who am I? The question landed on his tongue, yet he did not permit it to form. The hessian did not know who this fae with answers was but he did not trust her. Oculars shifted away from her to observe the meadow again and it felt as though something had begun to call to him. The cunning mogul tilting his cranial tomb a bit, maw a frown and he took a step away from the fae, audits twisting around to the fore until the tips trembled. What am I? This thought brought upon a clenching of powerful mandible and maxilla and he snorts loudly, pushing aside these thoughts for another day. His powerful carcass moved away from the femora, though he suspected she may follow, and he strode along further into the field. Grasses tickled at his stomach and flowers danced to and fro beautifully all around him. Malicious as the hessian could be, even he could appreciate the beauty of nature and he observed it in silence as he walked along. It took little time indeed before a cold presence suddenly overtook him and the hessian came to a halt so sharp that his forelimbs rise slightly off the terra firma. Ranjit does not fear death - he has faced it too many times and brought it too many times to fear it. What the powerful, pale mogul feared was the unknown; something he could not face or challenge or fight. He feared the intangible, anything that he could not power through and overcome and this, whatever this was, challenged his faith and strength in the best and worst ways. The huge stallion trembled visibly, every muscle drawn up tight with the anticipation of fleeing at the first sign that he needed to do so.

words: 844 tagged: flighty, bef muse: this is so strange to write omg

^{by ♛befera}

[♕BEFERA]

O B S I D I A N
t h e · b l a c k · g l a s s

For a long time, there was darkness. The shadowed and swirled abyss of eternity welcomed the onyx hessian upon his death in the lands of Maisontonio like an old friend. He had seen much in his life. Born Luce and turned Score by the great King Ranjit himself, Obsidian had seen life from both sides of the coin: both the path of the angels and the trail trod by demons. He had seen the world of Maison Belle catch fire and crumble—the world he had seen rise up under Ranjit's wing of power erode and melt beneath the ash and lava of the volcano. It was a life he did not regret, but one he felt that he had left far too soon. He barely recalled how he died, but in his wanderings in the abysmal depths of what he assumed to be Hell, for Ranjit had told him it was, he looked upon his own breast to find a scar over his heart.

The ebonite stallion did not see his dear friend Ranjit die at the borders of Dreadful Valley, but he was glad he hadn't. Ranjit had welcomed him and treated him as a friend since they met that day in the Red Fields. Obsidian remembered it like yesterday: the swirling of the dust betwixt the legs of three. It was Fenwe, Obsidian realized, who provoked, who antagonized, who begged for punishment. The Luce had always wanted to assert their dominance in such childish ways, it seemed. Though the mahogany-eyed beast was young on that fateful day, he understood. He remembered asking just why they fought, why they hated each other. He could not recall the answer, but did it matter? He saw it now, the field before him. He saw Ranjit's great frame, a silhouette of power, of strength, mingling with the dust. He smiled a wicked smile, a smile that was harsh and forced, for he had not smiled in a long, long time.

He recalled Ranjit's ghost visiting him in the lands of Maisontonio, both before and after his own death. Ranjit had escorted him to the gates of Hell, a place he felt content to stand at the side of his King. Ranjit had protruding, twisted horns, and large, powerful webbed wings. He stood within the flames that engulfed Hell, cousins of those that torched the forests of Maison Belle, and owned them. The black glass himself grew wings, jetted like his pelt, but feathered like that of a raven. He kept his bird's wings folded and stood at his King's side for ages, and after a while, the time in Hell seemed blurry, unreal to the ancient stag. He had become restless there, it seemed, and for a long while, he did not see Ranjit, though he wasn't sure why. Then there was darkness. The time that passed in that age wasn't something the onyx hessian could recall, really. Maybe he had gone somewhere, done something, but it was vague and hazy.

But now, now there was light. Now there was a place, a somewhere. There was a clearing, a field, much like the Red. Trees encircled it, and suddenly, the brute could see grass. Oh, how many centuries had passed since he had seen grass? He moved to where a pool rippled in a soft wind, though he could not feel it against his skinless skin. He looked and saw his reflection: the stallion he used to know. He saw the mark over his heart where he had been slain, and let his gaze linger there. The black glass wondered where he was, and rose his arabic skull to look about. He relaxed, thinking he had probably fallen into some sort of purgatory. Maybe Hell was trying to reclaim him from the abyss. Maybe he would see Ranjit again. His thoughts wandered once more to the nature of Luce and Score, Lightness and Darkness.

After what felt like centuries of his afterlife, Obsidian understood why the Luce and the Score, the Light and the Dark, fought how they did. He understood that though the Lights called themselves holy that they held Darkness within them, Darkness that engulfed them, consumed them, made them hate their own insanity. They feared this part of themselves, though they were always, always too pompous to admit it. Darkness was the same. All Score held kindness within their hearts: for their mates, their spawn, their kin, at least. They often strained to be evil, forced themselves away from any sliver of compassion or empathy, in order to feel stronger, seem stronger. True Lightness and true Darkness, Obsidian decided, was always both good and evil. Obsidian himself was not much of an evil soul, though he allied himself with the devil-hearted. This was his path, though he may have become an equally passionate Luce if Fenwe and Ranjit's roles had been reversed that day.

It was then that the blackened ghost was hit with the pang of sound. His slightly dished facade thrashed in the direction of the voices he heard so loud in his ears that hadn't heard for eons. His inky tendrils scattered over his nape and back, grown very long, nearly reaching his fetlocks, which looked very real, like he was just another equine, roaming aimlessly. Wildflowers swayed in the dim light, the heavens above shining down to give the blooms a glow that made the ancient beast fight back a crippling sadness, but one he was glad for. It seemed that life had returned to him again, in a way, and as he began to think of life and how he had missed it, Lunis illuminated an ivory creature, moving with haste into the clearing, wearing fear like a cloak about his frame. The onyx stallion raised a brow to this behavior, wondering why the creature was so afraid. He moved closer and realized that this was another stallion, and was glad to see that he had been placed somewhere that he could visit other equines.

He moved at a slow walk, though he felt as if he was moving very fast, that every step was a flash. He halted a few yards from the brute to observe him, muddy occulars scanning him over, remembering how other equines looked. This one looked powerful, strong, and there was something familiar about him, though Obsidian could not place it. He wanted to speak, though his throat had almost forgotten how. He parted his ebonite maw and forced a word, if only to start. "Hello?" Obsidian was startled by the volume of his own voice. He had lived within thoughts, existed beyond sound, for so long, it seemed, that it was strange to him. The onyx hessian eyed the ivory stallion, waiting for him to notice him standing there, if he could. Obsidian did not know the limits of this new world.

WORDS: 1139 TAGGED: Ranjit MUSE: BITCHIN. SO MANY FEELS RN.

^{by ♛befera}

[RANJIT;;]

From the tenebrosity, milky against the expanse of stars that stretched effortless across the heavens, a sliver of ink shivered, shifted, and moved, stepping forth from that archaic darkness. The alabaster mogul quivered, visibly unease writ in the powerful lines of his tense form with nadars flared to drag in the scent of this approaching silhouette. Yet no pong came to his nasal passages and the brute's twin towers shifted to lie back against his poll, lost in the abyss of pallid strands ending in vibrant black against ashen. The whole of his calculative and often terrifying attention moved from the petite femora nearby to this shadowy shape gliding towards him, in a gait so smooth that there are doubts floating in his mentality that this creature is living and breathing. There are more things, the monarch knows, in Heaven and Hell than in the philosophies of living beings and thus, he made no attempt at convincing himself that this may only be a vision of his own imagination. Hardening both heart and shell, the mogul tightened his limbs and forced his cranial tomb to rise higher, nostrils flaring out and caudal rising aloft to show off his stature and height, to let this approaching beast recognize him for the high ranking stallion that he was. Frightened though he might be, the hessian would not cower before anything and would never let anyone see him to be scared.

Pale visionary spheres of off-crimson observed with utmost care as the beast came to a halt close enough for Ranjit to discern distinguishing features. An inky chassis, utterly starless, with a lissome stature and smaller than he in height made up this unknown mogul. Though a wind blew from behind the mogul, no odor filtered into his pale nares and the ivory hessian decided then and there that this could be no corporeal behemoth, but some specter from the beyond. As the mogul finally articulated speech, pale oculars widened in overt surprise and the salmon innards of his nares showed, cranial tomb jerking slightly. The smooth articulations had not changed in the slightest in the decades since last he - or the sleeping creature within - had heard them, retaining their suave amusement. A memory rose within his mind of his old self, the fearsome namesake, and this creature standing side by side with another swarthy monstrosity upon his other side, the namesake of his coltine, watching equines training. A name danced upon the oral parcel but escaped him for moments, even as the scene played out in his mind's eye. His namesake spoke in hoarse tones layered with a dark amusement and that cold determination for utter destruction while the mocking articulations of Spawn tickled into the atmosphere, commenting on what his namesake spoke. The smaller monarch at his left rumbled a laugh and responded in kind, no doubt remarking how the Luce would stand not a single chance against the coming war that soon would be knocking upon their doors.

He feels Obsidian standing close, close enough the frigid bite of winter is dimmed by the hessian's warm barrel against his own, auburn oculars observing what his own crimson visionary pools see as well. Thorn wheels on his fores and lashes a kick too high into the air to catch the hulking General and Ranjit's crania moves in a disgusted shake. "Fool. He has no control over his own body." The Score Lord's articulations dripped with utmost disappointment, nadars flaring to rasp in the scent of Dreadful Valley around them. Obsidian tilts his skull a touch and rumbles a noise of agreement, though he lacks the courage to remind his great Lord that the heir to the Score Empire is young still, whereas Spawn has decades of experience in fighting. "Again." The monarch orders it in a soft tone but the two fighting beasts below him redouble their efforts, Spawn moving effortlessly despite his age, elder to the youngling colt. Thorn, pale with a stripe of carmine running head to tail, rears as his uncle charges him and dances out of the way in time to slam his fores upon Spawn's great spine. Ranjit nods slowly, more impressed with this effort than he'd been with the last. "Better. Again." Obsidian gives the Score Lord a look but says nothing, merely going down to join them once the ebony and carmine hessian nods his agreement.

"Obsidian?" The hoarse growl of a voice had not changed over much; slightly higher in timbre but still holding that horrible rasp. Towers shifted around to lean forth, tips trembling visibly, his form rigid and waiting for the confirmation of something that ought not to have been possible. Yet long ago Ranjit had cast aside the idea of possible and impossible, knowing too well that sleeping demons did not remain asleep. How it seemed that he could be staring at this specter, a former General of his namesake, of his, if those dreams, nightmares, and apparent memories proved to be correct. The hessian stared down at the shorter beast, caught in the past, feeling as though he saw through vermillion oculars and when he briefly broke the gaze to look around, his heart sunk when it was not Maison Belle in which they stood. The field of flowers danced in the darkness and the beast's auditory towers lowered again, disappointment writ in the heavy lines of his articulate visage before he once more shifted those salmon tinged pools to the specter. "Is that you?" His voice trembled, just faintly, with emotions he could not identify or simply did not want to identify. The fear of the unknown swelled into that great heart but he refused to permit himself to move, standing there opposite from the ebony mogul, waiting for an answer to questions he did not want to ask.

words: 971 tagged: flighty, bef muse: almost a thousand words of pure utter shit. sorry bef

^{by ♛befera}