Character OTS


Björn & Lirr

Couple OTS

Open it's too late




There was a chill when you awoke someplace you hadn’t fallen asleep. When Evette’s umber lids flickered open in the feign sleep hadn’t necessarily needed (and still felt the weight of exhaustion after) the abyssal darkness that enveloped her wasn’t the tell tale sign of change. It was the disappearance of the floral aromas she’d planted in the quiet glade. The sweet scent of sunflowers was absent, laying stale and nearly faded on her skin. Well… if one was trained enough to smell it through the pungent odor of her own rot. Crystalline eyes blinked, a tell-tale sign of creeping confusion as the mare unfurled in the blackness.

Gooseflesh pimpled along her dorsal and for a moment a bitter chuckle passed through her lips – of all things she could feel, goosebumps. But the sour taste quickly faded from her tongue as her nimble legs drew the undead maiden to her dainty hooves. Once silken threads twisted over one another at her hinds as she flicked her tail in quiet, alarmed contemplation. What? For a moment she considered that, perhaps, she was just confined in an incredibly lucid dream. So she grappled with that idea, grasping to the only shred of possibility she felt comfortable with. Still her harks swiveled atop her flowerless crown and about her bony horns as her still beating heart quickened its pace. It’s just a dream, Evette, you’re alright.

She’d never lucid dreamed before, and of all things her imagination had concocted it was… this place? The cool damp of earth hung in the air in a somewhat familiar hug of a lost friend but it didn’t assuage her trepidations concerning the darkness. Absently, and hesitantly, her lithe forelimbs pricked and she ambled forward with a stream of wheat tail behind her. Twin nostrils flared repeatedly as she squinted through the inky blackness and wandered blindly. Each step was clipped, cautious, sometimes taken twice as she tested the ground beneath her hooves. But she felt a fool… you couldn’t die in a dream. Could you?

Hell… she’d almost prefer it.

Evette wasn’t sure how long she wandered in the labyrinth. She wasn’t entirely sure she wanted to keep herself to the concept of time since it didn’t matter anymore… but for the first time since that witch had buried her beneath the dark peat of her homeland she felt… the drag. Her limbs felt heavy, her back sunken as if she was carrying some new, invisible weight there. Like a rational mare, she convinced herself it was a side effect of the dream. It had to be. There was no other reasonable explanation. Though, she was curious… her anxiety budded no moss. At least in a cave, or tunnel, her magic would have encouraged nature’s carpet to spawn at her hooves with her nerves so rattled. Just another effect of this… dream… had to be. But claws started scratching at the edges of her chest. Could one’s own lucid dream be a nightmare?

W C: 497
T A G: Open!
M U S E: 3/5
V O I C E: Yvonne Strahovski

O O C: first post with her sorry for the crap!

Tag: @[Evette]



Radames could remember asking his father about the godforsaken tree as a child. His father had assured him the tree was important but he could never tell him why. Young Radames was never given a reason why the branches swayed with some magnetic pull. For most of his life he had avoided them-- but as of late he had been lingering closer and closer. He had entered on a few occasions, meeting a lost soul here and there. And once again he found himself walking through the weaving tunnels, ears swiveling atop his head as the passageways altered all around him. Despite his confusing knowledge of it's mysterious depths, Radames found a need for some semblance of light. The faerie light which he had only recently learned to harness was tightly woven around his horn, basking it in an ethereal glow.

His hooves made dull thuds on the ground with each step as he made no attempt to mask himself as he traveled. The lingering smell of other horses reached his quivering nostrils-- but it was not the only scent. Rot. Decay. Death. It was a smell he was all too familiar with. He could vividly remember the images and scents of the dead of winter and those that had taken their lives, broken and twisted at the base of cliffs. This was not a land for the weak of heart; he had realized that at a very young age.

The stallion turned the corner, pale brown eyes falling upon the source of the scent. The light washed across the tunnel and surprise flickered across his face. Even in the sparse light he provided, it was hard to make out all of her. Though, despite her smell, the first thing he noticed was her appearance. She was quite nice to look at. However he had no ill will when he made this quiet observation. Radames did not waste time thinking about romance and the like. He could remember a time when he was still with the bandits, being chastised for bringing a woman home to the base. She'd been whisked away and he knew not what happened to her. Likely her tongue had been cut out-- or worse. It was something he would always regret and after that, Albern made sure Radames no longer brought his drunken conquests home. Albern, the git, was now exiled and Radames could not have been more elated. He could only hope it was just his bones bleaching out in that infernal heat.

Eventually his gaze fell upon her ribs and he was quite pleased with himself for not bringing Blue around. Though he doubted she'd jump up and try and steal one, he'd rather not take that chance. Blue would return to his side when she was good and ready, but for now she was off hunting. Radames felt bad for whatever woodland creature would strike her ire this day but he tried to pay it no mind. He'd seen enough death as a bandit and just living in this wasteland.

"Are you lost?" He finally spoke, a bit guarded. He did not get closer as he posed the question, instead choosing to remain a distance away. For all he knew she could have been another doing exactly what he was. Confusion clawed at his mind as he tried to register just what she was. Despite his experience with death, Radames was not well versed in the undead. He had seen the misfit king of Vromme at the festival dancing like a broken puppet on a string around the fire, but that had been my experience. The jovial and somewhat off-putting creature had been far less impressive in person than he had been led to believe. However there were whispers of a serious matter that had hardened the sovereign and caused him to close his borders. Radames didn't pay far too close attention to politics after all. She seemed to be alive enough, at least, though it did not put all of his doubts to bed. For now, he kept his distance and watched her from a distance. Even if she was something beyond what he understood, he was a ranger and he felt a need to help those who needed it.


mild powerplay allowed.
Tag: @[Radames]




Several times she found her ribs knocking against jutting roots she hadn't seen in the darkness, and the discomfort that it brought her steadily swept away her earlier considerations. No matter how real a dream seemed one never felt the pain of that imaginative world, right? Slowly her harks fell back into the tangles of her dirt speckled mane as trepidation befell her heart. No... not physical pain at least. With every grab at her exposed sides she also became acutely aware of how hallow they were and how faint and distant the aroma of flowers. It had almost faded entirely, as if they'd never been there at all. Quicker her heart beat in her chest and she found herself swallowing a rising fear. Where am I?

She found herself struggling in a long battled debate: the nature of magic. While her bloom (which she could not feel now and fear had already started to slowly constrict around her throat) was innocent in nature and could only ever serve to help or brighten, whatever occult power had brought her to this bewitched place didn't seem to have the same temperament. As she took cautious steps forward, feeling and groping her way through the darkness now with an uncertainty she wasn't comfortable with, she found herself shaking. While part of her wanted to succumb to the overwhelming sense of terror and confusion that was building and brewing within her, Evette wasn't a stupid girl ("At least not entirely," she spat to herself). She couldn't fall victim to her own psyche especially now while the only thing she was certain of was the fact everything was unknown.

There was no telling how long she wandered aimlessly in the darkness without a single lead to guide her. At times golden light burst through openings in the roots and she let her startling cerulean gaze linger on its blinding source until common sense pushed her forward again. But where there was light there had to be sun, right? Motes of dust weightlessly floated through the spears of dappled light as she wound through twisted passages, her footsteps nearly silent as she continued with the utmost care and vigilance. Evette became so familiar with the silence and the sound of her own hooves that when a new cadence entered the tunnel she snapped to immediate attention.

The undead mare froze, her legs locked and lengthened, ready to flee if need be. Her harks swiveled around her dark ossein horns as twin nares flared, testing the air. Overwhelming flavors and aromas burst along her senses as the very male scent approached - pines, ferns, crisp air, moisture. All of Evette's weight fell into her haunches as the hooded stallion finally broke through the corner and came into view, and every instinct screamed within her to flee. But she remained. A buckskin splash stud stood before her, some years her elder (evident in the chisel of his visage and carriage of his fetlocks) but some inches smaller. A horn accounted for the height he did not possess in appendage length, and despite the cowl his tones and aura (also prickled) wasn't threatening. She kept her weight primarily on her haunches, ready at any moment to pivot away and flee. His eyes roved over her and it wasn't lost to Evette; a small snort echoed in response. While she didn't think the stud offered her any ill intent, she also wasn't here for display. She wasn't here for anyone. Never again.

Not anymore.

"You could say that..." she responded, equally guarded, as she eyed him up and down.

W C: 599
T A G: Radames
M U S E: 4/5
V O I C E: Yvonne Strahovski
O O C: ---

Tag: @[Evette]