Fimbulvetr

Poppy

Character OTS

OTS 1
OTS 2

Aishe & Evandr

Couple OTS


Private shallow graves & bloody knives

#1
Maren

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She seems to twitch in whatever dream world her subconscious dropped her once the pain became too much and he briefly wonders what she is seeing. The fallen woman stirs at the press of his foot against her skin but does not rouse immediately. Pitch lips curl backwards over flat, but no less deadly, teeth. He lifts the same limb to prod her once more only to hear the rattling breath of words stuttering their way from between painted lips. He openly laughs, the sound mocking and contemptuous. She does not wish to die? ”Yet here you lay, on the filthy ground welcoming death with open arms.” It is fortunate for the wounded stranger that his abilities are smothered here, it is no difficult task for an angel of destruction to rip a soul asunder and fling it into the cosmos.

He inhales slowly, savoring the scents of defeat and chaos and lifts his eyes to the heavens. Time holds no meaning for him and should he grow tire of aging, he will simply slip outside the cursed places that trap him with mortal strings. Ozereus knows that not all are blessed, or cursed, with his eternal spirit and he looks down at the bloodied woman again. He leans down, stretching his neck so that his lips are millimeters from her own and studies her a moment. Again, he inhales, but this time it is the perfume of ruby life he enjoys. Pinked tongue slips from onyx lips and swipes the droplets from her own. The flavor rolls across taste buds and the Fallen smiles.

”Do not fight me.” His voice is gruff, tone short and unyielding. His reasons for aiding her are his own and it would take a strength greater than the leagues of heaven to spill his secrets. Ozereus lowers himself to her level before sweeping an oversized wing across her back and pulling her closer. With careful maneuvering, he drags the woman across his back and uses his wings to anchor her there before unhurriedly standing. The nameless, rose-adorned creature now rests with a forelimb on each shoulder and her head lies against his neck; warm and weary breaths tickle the loose tendrils of shadowy mane. He shifts marginally to test the security of her positioning as he knows she will be unable to properly grip him with the broken leg.

Their journey is painfully slow, and he is quite certain at various points she nearly succumbed to the lure of unconsciousness. He cannot help but wish for a place he did not miss until now, Elysium. There he could have taken the mortal directly to Arete for her healing gifts and simply continued with his plans for the day. A snarl escapes, the low rumble vibrating deep in his chest. No, here, he is forced to use outdated transportation and rely on nature to heal her at a turtle’s pace. If she heals at all. The likelihood of that is slim without proper care, abilities beyond his own. He walks straight through the night with her, dragging her when he feels her rear hooves give out in fatigued agony.

The following dawn spreads golden red hues across the snowy terrain but silvered eyes do not take in the sight. Instead, he turns his gaze to a small pool of melted frost just outside of a cavern. Perfect. He draws in a deep breath to scent the area, pleased upon noting the absence of recent travelers. Ozereus steps to the edge of the pool before gingerly lowering himself to his knees and tilting his body to the right. The wing on that side catches the woman’s body and gently she rolls to the ground. ”You will need to rinse that.” He growls the phrase at her, irritated by lack of sleep among other reasons that he dismisses; namely the distinct absence of Arete in his life.

Steely gaze passes over the smaller frame of the stranger as he takes a step back, wings drawn tightly across his back to resemble crossed arms. He leans against the cave wall and watches her, waiting to see if she can handle that much on her own. ”I am not a nursemaid.” The words are harshly spoken but more to himself than to her, anger teasing that Feral edge he dances with daily. Shadows pass over his eyes as he battles the urge to hunt, maim, kill. The Fallen’s stubborn nature pushes back at the wildness flickering at the edges of his vision and he rests more of his body weight against the cold wall; the action provides a spark of clarity and he speaks once more to distract himself. ”What is your name, mortal?”



Tag: @[Ozereus]

#2


M A R E N


even with these chains you can't stop me


The journey was a blur. Typically Maren’s twitching attention drew hyper-aware observations from her surroundings, or at least an understanding one didn’t expect from the deranged girl. But now? Ghostly visionaries didn’t flutter long black lashes open until finally she felt herself falling again. There was a moment where she thought she was finally slipping into the cold black waters of her hallucinations before finally her sight steadily configured. An obsidian silhouettes swam in spirals; some more transparent than others, but they continually swept over one another in a hazy image of a Pegasus stallion. His words are lost in the cotton fog in her ears, but they jerk and struggle to sweep towards the beckon.

“Is she waking?” “She’s waking up!” “Up, up, up, up!” “Maren’s waking up!”

The Women Within’s voices steadily rise, echoing in the girl’s now empty mind. But vision, hearing, and an awakened, unseen company were not the only things returning to her. Not so steadily, but sharply, the pain in her leg amplified. Already a carnal mess of gore and flesh, the jostling journey (no matter how much care was taken) didn’t steady the hanging limb and it raged hot with harrowing pain. It flooded her immediately as clarity returned to her, and beneath the watchful eye of the obsidian Pegasus her body visibly tensed. Monochromatic skin trembled across her form as a hiss escalated into a deep, guttural growl. The daughter of the Iron Rose drew away from her own injured limb, even if it was simply recoiling upon herself, with labored breaths that escalated in depth with each passing circulation.

“Oh no, no no no!” “It hurts!” “Maren it hurts!” “Make it stop!”

But sharp words snap the deranged’s attention finally towards the stranger that saved her, despite not necessarily comprehending the fact. For a moment the tension in her body builds, continually coiling as eerie eyes of saturated teal bare at him betwixt khol tearstains. A nearly indiscernible quiver shakes her visage, hanging like a snake over her injured limb to protect it. She hangs there, hunched over herself while white hot pain boils her with fever. Eventually that boil overflowed, and the girl who wasn’t beget of a god nor ever a princess like her sisters hopped up onto her good fore knee and extended her nimble neck as much as it could. Just as charcoal lips ripped back along her midnight fangs (curved and thick and eager to sink into flesh) pain crippled her.

A scream rips through her lips and she topples forward with the momentum she’d built. The melted pool slapped the side of her face as if a disappointed mother, cold and unrelenting. The stimulus overload spurred the sputtering, tortured howls as her scream faded and she rose her visage from the pool. The crystalline drops slipped along her bleached visage, mixing with the crusted blood so that the dried sanguine returned to staining her alabaster mask.

Dramatically fading, the yowls transformed into whimpers as she pulled the injured leg towards the pool. It skipped and drug along the ground like an abandoned doll’s appendage, and each and every minute movement seemed to flare through every nerve ending across her body. Hot breath rolled in columns of steam from her nostrils, plumes of teal rising and intermingling with the heat of her lungs, as she stared at the mangled limb. She couldn’t hunt with an injured leg.

Without warning her eerie gaze, not her visage but only her eyes, snapped back up to the Pegasus she had just attempted to bite. Why was she here, and more importantly, what was he doing by bringing her here?


W C: 623
T A G: Ozereus
V O I C E: Segovia Amil
M U S E: 4/5
O O C: ...






powerplay excused
within reasonable limits!
always tag responses.

Tag: @[Maren]