[P] (fire) with psalms and prophecies in silence,

[Thana]

FAITH IN THEIR HANDS SHALL SNAP IN TWO,
AND THE UNICORN EVILS RUN THEM THROUGH;
SPLIT ALL ENDS UP THEY SHAN’T CRACK;
AND DEATH SHALL HAVE NO DOMINION.

Fire does not cleanse a dead thing. Weeds do not sink into the flesh and marrow of a made thing and grow life in the abyss of black rot. Pearls and paint do not write out legends on blood-red skin upon which the only story laid bare for all to see is one of wrath. 

Thana is not a thing to celebrate and roll her shoulders between the magic of a chewed-out star. 

She is a dead thing, a monstrous thing, a does not belong thing, as she walks through the crowds of lambs and maneless lions. The look in her eyes is one of lilac purpose that flashes, and sharpens, and dances with the reflection of light off the stone below her horn. At her side a star with silver eyes (who she knows is no star at all) bellows and beckons her closer with a foolish sort of hope. Thana, the regent who is no kind leader, does not turn to look. 

Instead her eyes linger on the red-glare and smoke rising up above the outskirts of her cage like shapeless dragons. Instead she lingers on the music of the lambs and the stumbling of hooves bred for dance instead of war. Instead of moving closer, or turning to look (look!), she does nothing but lift her liliac violence towards the red flashing outside Ipomoea’s city. 

Her hooves, the ones made for destruction, angle towards the main archway leading into the meadows. The crowds bleats before her when each stone, and flower, and booth, in her path turns slick with moss and rot. It does not cause her to feel remorse or anything but a terrible, vicious sort of understanding. And  like a unicorn who does not know the sound of regret, or remorse, or go gently into the flock, she does not clap a collar back on her magic. 

That magic purrs in her belly and Eligos echoes the sound as he joins her with his own flock of sand lambs running at his shoulders. 

Thana’s trot turns to a gallop and every tree in her shadow starts to dry and beg for ember and soot. The red haze of the bonfires beckon her wrath and want closer with a clarion call unicorns are made to hear. When she leaps through the first obstacle (for she cares nothing for the rules of the mortal races) her heart trills back in its own wolfish clarion call. 

And as her form cuts through the smoke of a fiery ring, before she slides to a lighting crack stop, there is a smile cutting through her lips. She laughs and even that sounds more like a sonnet to a long chewed-out moon than joy. 

<3 | @semper
"Speaking."

CADAVROUX | BERB

[Eremurus]

Eremurus had found himself at the festival of fire, he wasn't the kind to ever miss a party and this one was going to be no different than any others. Even though the spotted draft was technically off duty and his weapons were left at home until his next shift started early in the morning, he was still paying close attention to the going on's of the party. Hazel eyes stayed ever on the move, with the exception to rest on the gyrating bodies of mares, their bodies moving with the beating of drums, their shadows moving wildly with the flickering of the flames from the many bonfires that licked hungrily at the night sky.
He strides forward, wandering aimlessly through the crowds. Stopping momentarily here and there to flirt with the random mare before passing on to the next one. He stared longingly for a moment at the table of alcoholic beverages set up for the community, it's burning courage inducing much of the physical contact that was going on in the shadows that lined the edges of the meadows, as much as the tri-colored man wanted to join in on the full fledged festivities, the idea of strapping up tomorrow morning with his brain pounding out from his ears was enough to keep him far from the glass topped tables.
Gasps and groans filled the air, distracting the young soldier momentarily from the lack of alcohol in his system. He tucked his wings in close to his body as he turned to walk towards the crowds around one of the ringed obstacles that were a highlight attraction of the festival. "Excuse me." He mutters as he brushes past the shoulders of strangers until he finds himself standing on the exit end of the ring. Just in time to see his regent fly through the flame encased ring. He watches as her dangerous, lithe body cuts through the air and lands with a grace only the Lady of Death can carry, her mournful laughter fills the air as the ground around her quickly begins to decay.
Eremurus hadn't yet been formally introduced to the Regent, as of yet his rank was simply soldier and he had no purpose in knowing the Regents until his thoughts on military matters actually carried some weight. But tonight the Lady of Death was just another party goer, and Eremurus couldn't help but find himself impressed by the way she carried herself, the fire that cracked beneath her muscles and fueled her every movement. He stepped away from the line of bystanders to approach the mare, the stench of decaying plants growing ever so slightly as he drew closer to her deep red painted bodice. "Lady Thana, a pleasure to see you enjoying yourself."

sample of speech

« r » | « i » | tag; @Thana  |  words; 463 |  notes; I am so sorry this took me so long! I can't wait to get this thread going!

[Thana]

FAITH IN THEIR HANDS SHALL SNAP IN TWO,
AND THE UNICORN EVILS RUN THEM THROUGH;
SPLIT ALL ENDS UP THEY SHAN’T CRACK;
AND DEATH SHALL HAVE NO DOMINION.

Around her there is a forest worth of wood burning and rising up in flakes of ash that fall along their cheeks like snow. She is surrounded by destruction, the mortal sort, and for a moment she wonders at the false religion calling this devastation rebirth. Every note of music, as it crashes through the fire-song like a stone, sets her teeth to aching with the need to lay her mouth against the throat of whatever this religion is.

Who, in a city of slumbering lambs and an army that is slowly rising into something dangerous, would think to stop her if she unmade it all?

And what would she make then, when her daughters rose all the corpses into gods and her king the trees into behemoths that could walk to the sun instead of reaching for it? What world would they inherit then?

Eligos, with a picture of crops made from spleens, begs her to discover the answer to the question.

When the stallion finds her, just as her ode to the chewed-out moon falls to silence and fire-hiss, Thana is responding to Eligos with an answering image of mountains shaped out of the skulls of god. There had been no smile on her face to fade with the laughter and so she does not offer one when he comes to her (all her smiles have too many teeth in them anyway). “Is this joy then? And the look in her eyes, all brimstone and corpses watering the forests, is not one of joy but of an omnipresent hunger that never wanes.

The smoke lingers around her knees, and the ash gathers in her horn that has drunk so much more than ash, as she steps closer to him. She counts each of his feathers as a lion counts both cubs and hyenas. Somewhere she tallies the spanse of his wings and just how quickly he might rise into the air if she moved towards him faster than a Regent should move to a warrior in the army. Would he bow or would he defend the heart in his chest?

“Eremurus.” She greets him in return, having recalled him from the training fields. But unlike a lady of anything she does not say it is a pleasure.

Unicorns, even monsters of them, do not lie.

<3 | @Eremurus
"Speaking."

CADAVROUX | BERB