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Post by ».d.r.e.a.m. [ღ] on Jul 8, 2009 13:59:04 GMT -5
SCREAM it with your last breath
Tombstone's Revenge
Even those without EYES can see
Stud
These are the bloodlines to END yours
Arabian x Quarter Horse x Paint Horse x Friesian x Rocky Mountain
Even I am smart enough to COUNT
Thirteen
Since when does it matter how TALL I am?
17.3 hands
Getting PERSONAL involves weight
1600 lbs
Sing the ALLEGIANCE out loud
Incendist
As EASY as it is to describe the building blocks of color
A coat dyed the purest white.
Yet it's the STAINS that get most confused
Black stockings, blaze, and patch on his shoulder.
And the LOCKS are easy enough to tell
Black as the night itself.
So the EYES are a loved hue
Dark blue.
Getting into BODY STRUCTURE makes this personal
Heavy, stocky, mostly Friesian.
Time to REPEAT
This stud hosts a large bulk, thick and bulky skull, and muscular limbs. His pelt shines white in any light that strikes it, though black drips from his shoulder blades down to his leg joints, an obvious reminder of his cross breedings. Ebony creeps up his legs, to his knees and hocks, like the stud had stepped into black paint and the result remained. The last speck of black starts in a large blob in the center of his skull, rolling down his facial features to end in a snip. The one peculiarity of this marking is the scar that runs smack dab in the middle of the beginning, a mark from his childhood left from his twin sister. Rolling and wavy locks of a dark midnight hue extend from a rounded heart shaped rump, to drag the ground. Lengthy mane of the same staining extends to his leg joints, and his forelock normally covers the scar and the main point of his blaze, unless curved over like commonly done. Eyes of a rich seductive blue peer out from beneath such locks, always watching, always alert.
some say I am MENTAL but I think I am perfectly sane
That would have to be something that changes quite consistently. In the beginning, he was mentally deranged, perhaps more so now that he is alone in his body. The stallion craves bloodshed and anguish, finds delight in others pain, relishes in the fading of life from one's eyes... yet the brute leaves it as just that. A mutilated corpse, for the buzzards to eat and to announce to all others the deed that's been done. Quite cynical, this boy is, belligerent as well. Traits all inherited from his parents themselves.
Everyone has IMPAIRMENTS
A scar in the center of his skull
The UNMISTAKABLE past is revealed
Born on the lands known as the Scarred Warrior, out of a mare named DreamWeaver to a stallion named Spiritspawn, Tombstone was at the up most advantage. Formerly called Tombstone's Revenge at that time, he was born with a twin sister, Tempest. His father, Spiritspawn, was the Feared One of the land, Tempest was named the heir because she was the more dangerous of the two. Living in his sisters shadow, the two were inseparable, despite his jealousy. The two rough housed frequently, and at one time, Tempest reared and struck Tombstone in the center of his skull. He fell, unconscious, for a few hours, where his new and deranged world arose. When he awoke, he'd found himself mute, and refused to talk. A war was arising against his father, thus the darks were gathered in an army around him. Tombstone was told to remain as far away from Naussica as possible, because Naussica was destined to become his lover. The colt soon disregarded his father and snuck off, away from Tempest, with the filly. She was the first one to help him find his voice. Soon after, an earthquake struck the Scarred Warrior and killed Spiritspawn and DreamWeaver went into grieving, staying behind at their herd land ruins, while the survivors went on to find the new lands. Tempest became Feared One, though Naussica talked Tombstone into taking the throne, thus resulting in him murdering his sibling. His mind became more warped, and his actions unpredictable. After having a foal born to him from a mare other than Naussica by force, he went truly insane, and found his way to these lands, where his persona was forgotten and his other part of his mind took over, naming him Raisur, and Tombstone's Revenge lies in the shadows of his mind, the two often conversing, that is, until they split. Raisur went into a wolf's body, leaving the equine one to Tombstone - it was only fair, since it was Tombstone's body in the first place. They had crossed many lands, leaving their homeland far behind, and crossing paths with many. One mare is the sire of his foal, though he knows nothing of the resulting child or the mare, and it's a detail of such minuscule importance that he forgets it ever happened. Of course, he met Wiccan's Rede and Midnight Sonata, and nature took it's course. Now, Wiccan's his lover, Sonata's Raisur's lover, and Skyelark is the evidence of Wiccan and Tombstone's deeds. The two were left behind after Tombstone departed, straying to these lands.
a SAMPLE of past insanity
He shifted weight once again.
Something he seems to be doing often. He hasn't had control of the body in a while, so of course he's testing out what I've done to it. Because I'm always the bad one, who messes things up and makes them bad. Bad in a sense Tombstone doesn't like. In a sense that makes him hate me, and wish he was all alone again. Raisur, I always wish you were gone. I'm just going to stop talking to him, and I know I've vowed that a lot... but it's hard to keep, an easy vow to make though. I don't want him thinking he can control what I think through manipulating my emotions by playing with them, like he so often does. I think he got that from his mother. She's... always so... knifing. Always has a plot, to get her on top. In a non perverted way, because I've never seen her that way. Of course, she thinks I'm her son, so maybe she's never tried to lead me in that direction. She's power hungry.
Like Tombstone used to be.
A smirk crossed Tombstone's muzzle, after blocking out everything I had to think about and going into his own void of thoughts. I think I'm going to give up penetrating that shield into his mind... then when he lets his guard down... BAM! And I'll be in. Guinness. Except I heard that. Oops. Oh yeah. Drats. "Well then, if you are so certain that few others would pick up on such an aroma, why bring it into question?” He let me listen to that thought, momentarily leading me to believe that I penetrated that shield already. But it wouldn't be that easy. He's... like an onion! He has layers. Not like a cake, because it's sweet. Like Shrek. That lovable ogre... Why do I bring it in question... He mulled aloud now, to pull me out of my thoughts and so I would listen to his. I took the bait all too eagerly. Because... I'm just speaking of equine senses. Wolves are much more advanced... They pick up on more. Sonata could tell you that... His voice... held respect... for the wolf?!!
This is so not him. I like it.
Even if it wasn't meant to be answered, he'd decided to answer it anyways. Not to annoy her, but to annoy me. I hate hearing his voice. It isn't natural, because I would much rather be hearing mine. The correct terms would be... fighting with my alter ego. He lifted his skull a bit higher, as if proud that he himself had been blessed with this... curse... as he calls it. Doesn't he make me feel special? I mean, I'm a blessed curse. I can't just be a friend, I have to be a nuisance and insulted at every turn. It's called RESPECT, Tombstone. You have it for her, why not me? My voice was pleading, begging even. He should take mercy on that pitiful tone. Because, Raisur. You haven't earned any respect, unlike them. You've earned my disgust. He flicked his tail in dismissal of me, pinning his ears and burying them beneath the black and white mass of a mane he had been... cursed with.
I can do insults too, you know. They're just not very good.
A snort escaped his muzzle, his thoughts being pulled, once again, back into the dark depths of banishment. Many would think of it as something he would be ashamed of, yet it wasn't. He relished in it. It was... his pride, in a way. A symbol of exactly what he had done in his life, and the more often he was exiled, as she put it, from a group, the better. It simply meant none would bother him, simply look upon him and whisper. "There goes the exiled heir." "What did he do?" "I heard he murdered his sister..." "I heard he went up to his mother, ripped her guts out, and ATE them!" But of course, they were always rumors, and thus exaggerated. Some wouldn't even have happened. Like the mother, for example. He hadn't lain a single hoof on her, or misplaced a single one of her 'perfect' hairs in her 'perfect' hide. Not because he loves her. Because she's responsible for creating him, and should thus be alive to see what he can and will do. Only then can she be killed.
Why do I have to share a mind with HIM?!!
Him, of all creatures. Of course, I could be stuck with Wiccan's Rede or Midnight Sonata. That would be hell, as well. Maybe they wouldn't be as vicious then, because I would be manipulating them. But look at Tombstone. He pretended to fall victim to my games, and now he's... he's... WORSE than ever. Oh, good job, Raisur. Why are you so light? Look at your name. Pronounce it. Raisur. It's pronounced Razor. Razor's are what emo people use to cut themselves. Tombstone taunts me, but it does have it's effect. Am I really something people use to attempt suicide? Only thing keeping me form trying it is you usually have control. He retorts, sarcasm hidden from my hold. Wow. I feel so... so... horrible. Am I really that bad? Yes. I should just go. Away. Climb a mountain and live by myself. There's a problem with that. What? Where ever you go, I go, too. Not that I particularly want to.
Oh yeah. I'm stumped now.
Tombstone smirked savagely. You're in for it now, old chap. He taunted, grinning ear-to-ear in our mind. I officially decided, we can see each other in our mind. For... conversational purposes. He claims he can see one's soul, and he's attempting to... cleanse mine. Not very successful, I'm afraid. He faked disappointment, the expression on his face dawning on the fact that, mockingly, he wanted to be a light. That his heart was secretly desiring it. I don't think it's good for him to do all this mocking and pretending, where will it get him in the end? I think they're going to get mad. Then they'll attack him, and he'll fight gallantly... but a yearling? I mean come on. He'll die, and I'll take over the dying body, laugh, and then die, too. And I don't want to die. Tombstone may have a death wish every now and then, but I relish in life. Because I get to spend it with him. Okay. You're gay. I knew it! Wait...
Is that a good thing?
Tombstone's eyes flashed with amusement, watching the two midnight colored vixens that he had snuck up on... with the intent of murdering in the first place, now as a companion. Life's funny like that sometimes. Oh yes. Don't I sound so dark? He questioned, sarcasm in his voice. So many darks he had met made up their tales, about having murdered whole herds, their parents, everything. To make others fear them. I'm not like that. Nope, I haven't killed anything. Because you're afraid to. So? It just means I'm not afraid to be who I am? And I am? No, you're not... I wish I was a wolf. Idiot. Unlike those who claim to have done that... I have, but I don't need to prove myself. So, it will go unproved. You'll just have to take my word. The colt stated simply, flaring his nostrils slightly, as if saying he was done with that subject. Yet he wasn't. He wouldn't mind continuing it. A sadistic smirk crossed his muzzle.
She would just have to believe him.
A smirk crossed Tombstone's muzzle, for now that he had control again, he could answer the fae without me interrupting. Am I really such a nuisance? Yes. Finally, you see it. Maybe there is a God! Oh yeah, shutting up now. Tombstone tilted his skull, mulling over the titles so many fought for yet so little received. They had to be worth something, though not much, because let's face it, they wouldn't be fighting for nothing. Though I wouldn't be surprised if they were, in all actuality. Kings and Queens, such a petty namesake. None of them actually deserve it, when you think about it. He mused, though more to himself. Let me tell you, his muse isn't sweet, but it sure is sweeter than his normal tone. It's surprising, how one can go from completely lethal to just plain dark yet still be effective in the force of his voice. I don't like it, and I don't like Tombstone. I want to get out of this mind. I want my own body.
Or at least this one back.
Not going to happen. I sighed in our shared mind. A pickup line? Ha, that's cute. I still think she's pretty, maybe that should be a pickup line. Yeah? I have a better one. For you. Go to hell. Real mature. Only if you want it to be. He teased back, that malicious and sadistic tone in his voice once more. All is fair in love and war, after all. Not that this was the same ordeal, because... Tombstone doesn't love her, although I do. Tombstone doesn't love... anyone. Except Naussica. But she left, so I guess he's available again. Of course, that doesn't mean he doesn't want to love, I think he does. Do not. He snorts, and I laugh, because... he denied it. When you deny something, it makes it true. But then how do you turn down a lie? I guess you can't. But I think Tombstone's got a soft spot for her, with her being so like... him.
If she's like him, why do I like her?
Okay, I don't like her anymore. She's mean! Are you going to let her say that to me? Yup. Why do I care? You know what? I'm having a hard time keeping my mouth shut. You haven't kept it shut. Ugh. Failure. Well... that would be nice. But it wasn't nice of Raisur to take control of my body and part of my mind in the first place. So, I wouldn't apologize. His voice held a sing song note to it, similarly taunting to me. And God, is it working. My mind's too easy to toy with, considering I'm the result of a head injury. What else is to be expected? I don't think all the side effects that come along with me are usual, though. They only happen when I have control, unfortunately. I'd like to see Tombstone deal with passing out all the time. It isn't fun, and I'm more than willing to show him that. In that unconscious realm... my heaven. He doesn't belong there.
I do.
His blue eyes locked on the wolf, taking in he reactions with great amusement. She shouldn't let him bug her so much, because that, in itself, could be considered a weakness. Too quick to jump to conclusions, too quick to anger. It can get you in trouble in the end. Of course, that's why he won't say this out loud, but rather in our mind. Midnight Sonata, He started, using her full name because... it was respectful... and he doesn't know how she'd react to him using a nickname, and we both agree it probably wouldn't be pretty. What do you want me to do to make you approve of me? He didn't bother asking "do you not like me? do you want me gone?" or anything along those lines, because hell, it's obvious. His voice should have held the mocking tone he was using with Wiccan, but that was only because she seemed to approve. Nope, not it held a respectful glint that I only saw him use around his father in very rare cases, like when he was trying to sneak off with Naussica... when he was normal.
We're far from normal now.
He gazed, almost involuntarily, at his coat. The splashes of white remained only on one shoulder blade, his stockings, and blaze and star combination. Not to mention the whites and grays mixed in with his admittedly long mane and tail. A black coat, huh? Since when did coat colors define one's intentions? He questioned, remembering something his father had said about paints. My father said... 'Paints can't be trusted until you really know them. They may hold beauty, but for as many colors they have, they have that many sides.' Raisur's my other side, and... you've met him. So, there's the white. The gray is just a mixture between us... in our shared soul. He hadn't thought of it like that before, hadn't needed to, nor had the chance. Actually, when it boils down to it, he had forgotten that he was a paint at all. His attention drifted to his coloration for a while, though his breed caught his attention.... atop a friesian build no less! Were the words in question.
He chuckled at the thought.
They hadn't guessed his crossbreeding. My crossbreeding. Our crossbreeding, happy now? No, I'm never happy. He mocked, though I'm going to take it seriously. Because I can do that. Because I'm Raisur, name said like Razor. Ha! Yes, a Friesian build. Though not purely Friesian. I'm... Arabian, Friesian, Paint, Rocky Mountain, and Quarter Horse. He recited the breeds, fumbling over them slightly because... he hadn't ever admitted to them. He's only ever shown them through different aspects of his life. Like... Friesian in build and muscle, Paint in coloration, Arabian in endurance, Rocky Mountain in surefootedness, and Quarter in speed. Put them all together, and you get the best damn sports horse ever made, the best runner, fighter, anything. Or, better yet. Us. You're exaggerating. We aren't... best. Not us. I'm better off on my own than with you, and the breeding has little to do with it. It's just a formality. He snorted, but I know the truth. Bloodlines have everything to do with it, and he wouldn't be anywhere without me.
Because we're a team like that.
That wolf is even worse than Wiccan, I have to admit. That's pretty bad, considering... wait, no, I'll be quiet now. See, now I'm imagining myself running into the deepest corner of our mind and hiding in a cave, and all you can see are two glowing green eyes. Because I have green eyes in our mind, because I'm that cool. And see the glowing red eyes? Those are mine. I'm coming to kill you now. He snorted, and I screamed and cover my eyes with my forelegs, because in fantasy world, anything is possible. Including that. Through thick and thin. Tombstone mocked his reply to sticking by her, almost saying till death do us part. Almost. Her reaction to that would be funny, yet even saying that is tempting the Fates. By Fates he means hunters, but there are no hunters worse than these two, so how could they bring him down? Ah, to hell with it. Till death do us part. He recited, the sarcasm and amusement evident in not only his eyes, but his body language, eyes, and well... everything.
He's that damn cool.
A sudden smirk crossed his muzzle at her next words, though he shook his skull in fake disappointment. No, too easy. He can't even defend himself! The way he said it made it seem like he pitied the defenseless, yet that wasn't it. Rather... the defenseless wouldn't be a good enough test. They weren't... powerful enough. His ears flicked in indifference, as if they didn't understand the thoughts in his mind and were on lookout for intruders, though with the crew he was with, what could sneak up on him? And the question after that, what would even want to try and ambush this threesome? Okay, not a threesome. That's just... disturbing. Trio sounds better, in my opinion. You fancy yourself immortal. I mused, because it's true. He's starting to think he's untouchable, yet he knows the truth and I'll remind him of it every so often. No. Hiding behind immortality shows weakness. I would rather die to someone who could kill me, because that's an honorable death. He shot back at me, and I'm silenced.
I know that's true.
His mind echoed her words, repeating each syllable exactly how she'd said it. I'm analyzing it like a girl, because girls over analyze everything to the last detail until they can't analyze it anymore. Decent fruit means exposing yours and Midnight Sonata's existence, as well as mine. At the moment... they only know of Raisur. He added the last with a tinge of disgust, yet also something along the lines of pride. He was proud he'd remained hidden and hadn't blown his cover in a sense, disgusted that he's had to lay in hiding in our mind for so long when he could've already been out and causing torment. I wouldn't let him, though, only when these two are around to keep him in check. Otherwise, we would have a wildfire at our heels chasing us down and trying to kill us. By wildfire, I mean ever surviving member of Penori, chasing us down for vengeance. I really do hate vengeance, because that means you're only doing it to get back at someone.
Tombstone does it for fun.
We both sunk into our own thoughts, following the silence that was to come after Midnight Sonata spoke. A big bang could mean so many things. I'm imagining a hammer falling and trying to kill me, because it says bang. Tombstone's pondering over ways to truly shock the inhabitants and cast massive destruction. I'm tempted to paint across his black hide "DANGER. DO NOT FEED IF YOU WANT TO KEEP ALL LIMBS, HOOVES, TAILS, EARS, AND OTHER APPENDAGES." because it would only make a fair warning, so they know what they're up against. 'Course, that could also mean they would be attracted to his presence to tempt him and see just what those words were all about. Imagine, if you will, a place worse than the Scarred Warrior. Were instead of listening to one because they were afraid of him, they would listen because they knew they were going to die anyways. How perfect would that be? I know there's no chances of reforming the dark alliance; they're too far gone. But maybe... a Thestral alliance could be made, considering that's what best describes myself, and these two as well. Though... what of a ruler?
Tombstone be quiet, you're scaring me.
Tombstone snorts, snapping himself out of his thoughts. That could be arranged. He chimed, answering Sonata about the bang. It could be... fun. He stated, glancing over at Wiccan with a questioning look. Have you heard of the Thestral alliance? They're darker than the darks. They kill mercilessly and for entertainments purposes. No fear of death, and they know what life's all about. It's values and worth... normally, they travel alone or in small bands of two or five, to wreak havoc on those who fancy themselves... immortal, powerful, and untouchable. You and Midnight Sonata fit that description, I like to think. Perhaps there are some Thestrals left, after all. Perhaps... His voice droned out there, though he was by no means done speaking. Perhaps we could restart that alliance, yet not make it official. So we can decide who comes in and out of it, without a king or queen, and only those worthy enough should bear the name Thestral... His imagination, mixed with mine, was getting the better of him.
In case you couldn't tell.
Of course, what he spoke about was true. The reason behind making it unofficial? It wouldn't be caught up in petty disputes over who rules it, because it wouldn't be ruled per say, rather guarded, so only those worthy could be let in. And once in... you would only be let out by death. He smirked involuntarily when these thoughts occurred to him, yet he was truly interested in how the two would take to the Thestral alliance, and whether they even knew about it in the first place. That sounds ravishing. He didn't know what ravishing meant, but heard it so many times in that context and had thus decided it would fit. Any species? Interested in making our existence known so soon? He questioned with a truly dangerous smile, one of his first real ones since... Naussica. He trained his gaze on both of them, for he had proposed two ideas that needed approval, and was currently trying to drown out a Lust that was rising within him. The Lust for death, decadence, blood, macabre, horror, and all other things he considered good.
At least in his mind.
Tombstone's Revenge stood stock still, his muscles outlined clearly in the night. His feathers and lengthy locks were teased in the breeze, his ears swiveling to pick up on any and every noise, as if his life depended on it. Yet we know otherwise. He was doing this for signs of... life that could be taken away... especially in it's prime, for what's better than that? His gaze was still trained on the two, marveling over how such a... sadistic and horribly delicious mare could be so appealing, even in this lighting. He didn't know why, but deep inside, there was a pulling sensation, tugging him toward her, while I stood on the other end of the rope trying to tug back. And these two are winning this game of tug-o-war, unfortunately that means me losing. And if I lose, what will happen in the end? What becomes of me, and where will I go from there? I'm just a voice inside a head, occasionally allowed to take control over a body to stretch out muscles and enjoy life. Those times I'm not aloud to though, I'm going to be stuck watching the macabre.
What a life.
STATS: you know I'm cocky, so what to expect but all high ranking?
Strength: 6
Agility: 2
Intellect: 5
Wisdom: 3
Looks: 6
Tombstone's Revenge
Even those without EYES can see
Stud
These are the bloodlines to END yours
Arabian x Quarter Horse x Paint Horse x Friesian x Rocky Mountain
Even I am smart enough to COUNT
Thirteen
Since when does it matter how TALL I am?
17.3 hands
Getting PERSONAL involves weight
1600 lbs
Sing the ALLEGIANCE out loud
Incendist
As EASY as it is to describe the building blocks of color
A coat dyed the purest white.
Yet it's the STAINS that get most confused
Black stockings, blaze, and patch on his shoulder.
And the LOCKS are easy enough to tell
Black as the night itself.
So the EYES are a loved hue
Dark blue.
Getting into BODY STRUCTURE makes this personal
Heavy, stocky, mostly Friesian.
Time to REPEAT
This stud hosts a large bulk, thick and bulky skull, and muscular limbs. His pelt shines white in any light that strikes it, though black drips from his shoulder blades down to his leg joints, an obvious reminder of his cross breedings. Ebony creeps up his legs, to his knees and hocks, like the stud had stepped into black paint and the result remained. The last speck of black starts in a large blob in the center of his skull, rolling down his facial features to end in a snip. The one peculiarity of this marking is the scar that runs smack dab in the middle of the beginning, a mark from his childhood left from his twin sister. Rolling and wavy locks of a dark midnight hue extend from a rounded heart shaped rump, to drag the ground. Lengthy mane of the same staining extends to his leg joints, and his forelock normally covers the scar and the main point of his blaze, unless curved over like commonly done. Eyes of a rich seductive blue peer out from beneath such locks, always watching, always alert.
some say I am MENTAL but I think I am perfectly sane
That would have to be something that changes quite consistently. In the beginning, he was mentally deranged, perhaps more so now that he is alone in his body. The stallion craves bloodshed and anguish, finds delight in others pain, relishes in the fading of life from one's eyes... yet the brute leaves it as just that. A mutilated corpse, for the buzzards to eat and to announce to all others the deed that's been done. Quite cynical, this boy is, belligerent as well. Traits all inherited from his parents themselves.
Everyone has IMPAIRMENTS
A scar in the center of his skull
The UNMISTAKABLE past is revealed
Born on the lands known as the Scarred Warrior, out of a mare named DreamWeaver to a stallion named Spiritspawn, Tombstone was at the up most advantage. Formerly called Tombstone's Revenge at that time, he was born with a twin sister, Tempest. His father, Spiritspawn, was the Feared One of the land, Tempest was named the heir because she was the more dangerous of the two. Living in his sisters shadow, the two were inseparable, despite his jealousy. The two rough housed frequently, and at one time, Tempest reared and struck Tombstone in the center of his skull. He fell, unconscious, for a few hours, where his new and deranged world arose. When he awoke, he'd found himself mute, and refused to talk. A war was arising against his father, thus the darks were gathered in an army around him. Tombstone was told to remain as far away from Naussica as possible, because Naussica was destined to become his lover. The colt soon disregarded his father and snuck off, away from Tempest, with the filly. She was the first one to help him find his voice. Soon after, an earthquake struck the Scarred Warrior and killed Spiritspawn and DreamWeaver went into grieving, staying behind at their herd land ruins, while the survivors went on to find the new lands. Tempest became Feared One, though Naussica talked Tombstone into taking the throne, thus resulting in him murdering his sibling. His mind became more warped, and his actions unpredictable. After having a foal born to him from a mare other than Naussica by force, he went truly insane, and found his way to these lands, where his persona was forgotten and his other part of his mind took over, naming him Raisur, and Tombstone's Revenge lies in the shadows of his mind, the two often conversing, that is, until they split. Raisur went into a wolf's body, leaving the equine one to Tombstone - it was only fair, since it was Tombstone's body in the first place. They had crossed many lands, leaving their homeland far behind, and crossing paths with many. One mare is the sire of his foal, though he knows nothing of the resulting child or the mare, and it's a detail of such minuscule importance that he forgets it ever happened. Of course, he met Wiccan's Rede and Midnight Sonata, and nature took it's course. Now, Wiccan's his lover, Sonata's Raisur's lover, and Skyelark is the evidence of Wiccan and Tombstone's deeds. The two were left behind after Tombstone departed, straying to these lands.
a SAMPLE of past insanity
He shifted weight once again.
Something he seems to be doing often. He hasn't had control of the body in a while, so of course he's testing out what I've done to it. Because I'm always the bad one, who messes things up and makes them bad. Bad in a sense Tombstone doesn't like. In a sense that makes him hate me, and wish he was all alone again. Raisur, I always wish you were gone. I'm just going to stop talking to him, and I know I've vowed that a lot... but it's hard to keep, an easy vow to make though. I don't want him thinking he can control what I think through manipulating my emotions by playing with them, like he so often does. I think he got that from his mother. She's... always so... knifing. Always has a plot, to get her on top. In a non perverted way, because I've never seen her that way. Of course, she thinks I'm her son, so maybe she's never tried to lead me in that direction. She's power hungry.
Like Tombstone used to be.
A smirk crossed Tombstone's muzzle, after blocking out everything I had to think about and going into his own void of thoughts. I think I'm going to give up penetrating that shield into his mind... then when he lets his guard down... BAM! And I'll be in. Guinness. Except I heard that. Oops. Oh yeah. Drats. "Well then, if you are so certain that few others would pick up on such an aroma, why bring it into question?” He let me listen to that thought, momentarily leading me to believe that I penetrated that shield already. But it wouldn't be that easy. He's... like an onion! He has layers. Not like a cake, because it's sweet. Like Shrek. That lovable ogre... Why do I bring it in question... He mulled aloud now, to pull me out of my thoughts and so I would listen to his. I took the bait all too eagerly. Because... I'm just speaking of equine senses. Wolves are much more advanced... They pick up on more. Sonata could tell you that... His voice... held respect... for the wolf?!!
This is so not him. I like it.
Even if it wasn't meant to be answered, he'd decided to answer it anyways. Not to annoy her, but to annoy me. I hate hearing his voice. It isn't natural, because I would much rather be hearing mine. The correct terms would be... fighting with my alter ego. He lifted his skull a bit higher, as if proud that he himself had been blessed with this... curse... as he calls it. Doesn't he make me feel special? I mean, I'm a blessed curse. I can't just be a friend, I have to be a nuisance and insulted at every turn. It's called RESPECT, Tombstone. You have it for her, why not me? My voice was pleading, begging even. He should take mercy on that pitiful tone. Because, Raisur. You haven't earned any respect, unlike them. You've earned my disgust. He flicked his tail in dismissal of me, pinning his ears and burying them beneath the black and white mass of a mane he had been... cursed with.
I can do insults too, you know. They're just not very good.
A snort escaped his muzzle, his thoughts being pulled, once again, back into the dark depths of banishment. Many would think of it as something he would be ashamed of, yet it wasn't. He relished in it. It was... his pride, in a way. A symbol of exactly what he had done in his life, and the more often he was exiled, as she put it, from a group, the better. It simply meant none would bother him, simply look upon him and whisper. "There goes the exiled heir." "What did he do?" "I heard he murdered his sister..." "I heard he went up to his mother, ripped her guts out, and ATE them!" But of course, they were always rumors, and thus exaggerated. Some wouldn't even have happened. Like the mother, for example. He hadn't lain a single hoof on her, or misplaced a single one of her 'perfect' hairs in her 'perfect' hide. Not because he loves her. Because she's responsible for creating him, and should thus be alive to see what he can and will do. Only then can she be killed.
Why do I have to share a mind with HIM?!!
Him, of all creatures. Of course, I could be stuck with Wiccan's Rede or Midnight Sonata. That would be hell, as well. Maybe they wouldn't be as vicious then, because I would be manipulating them. But look at Tombstone. He pretended to fall victim to my games, and now he's... he's... WORSE than ever. Oh, good job, Raisur. Why are you so light? Look at your name. Pronounce it. Raisur. It's pronounced Razor. Razor's are what emo people use to cut themselves. Tombstone taunts me, but it does have it's effect. Am I really something people use to attempt suicide? Only thing keeping me form trying it is you usually have control. He retorts, sarcasm hidden from my hold. Wow. I feel so... so... horrible. Am I really that bad? Yes. I should just go. Away. Climb a mountain and live by myself. There's a problem with that. What? Where ever you go, I go, too. Not that I particularly want to.
Oh yeah. I'm stumped now.
Tombstone smirked savagely. You're in for it now, old chap. He taunted, grinning ear-to-ear in our mind. I officially decided, we can see each other in our mind. For... conversational purposes. He claims he can see one's soul, and he's attempting to... cleanse mine. Not very successful, I'm afraid. He faked disappointment, the expression on his face dawning on the fact that, mockingly, he wanted to be a light. That his heart was secretly desiring it. I don't think it's good for him to do all this mocking and pretending, where will it get him in the end? I think they're going to get mad. Then they'll attack him, and he'll fight gallantly... but a yearling? I mean come on. He'll die, and I'll take over the dying body, laugh, and then die, too. And I don't want to die. Tombstone may have a death wish every now and then, but I relish in life. Because I get to spend it with him. Okay. You're gay. I knew it! Wait...
Is that a good thing?
Tombstone's eyes flashed with amusement, watching the two midnight colored vixens that he had snuck up on... with the intent of murdering in the first place, now as a companion. Life's funny like that sometimes. Oh yes. Don't I sound so dark? He questioned, sarcasm in his voice. So many darks he had met made up their tales, about having murdered whole herds, their parents, everything. To make others fear them. I'm not like that. Nope, I haven't killed anything. Because you're afraid to. So? It just means I'm not afraid to be who I am? And I am? No, you're not... I wish I was a wolf. Idiot. Unlike those who claim to have done that... I have, but I don't need to prove myself. So, it will go unproved. You'll just have to take my word. The colt stated simply, flaring his nostrils slightly, as if saying he was done with that subject. Yet he wasn't. He wouldn't mind continuing it. A sadistic smirk crossed his muzzle.
She would just have to believe him.
A smirk crossed Tombstone's muzzle, for now that he had control again, he could answer the fae without me interrupting. Am I really such a nuisance? Yes. Finally, you see it. Maybe there is a God! Oh yeah, shutting up now. Tombstone tilted his skull, mulling over the titles so many fought for yet so little received. They had to be worth something, though not much, because let's face it, they wouldn't be fighting for nothing. Though I wouldn't be surprised if they were, in all actuality. Kings and Queens, such a petty namesake. None of them actually deserve it, when you think about it. He mused, though more to himself. Let me tell you, his muse isn't sweet, but it sure is sweeter than his normal tone. It's surprising, how one can go from completely lethal to just plain dark yet still be effective in the force of his voice. I don't like it, and I don't like Tombstone. I want to get out of this mind. I want my own body.
Or at least this one back.
Not going to happen. I sighed in our shared mind. A pickup line? Ha, that's cute. I still think she's pretty, maybe that should be a pickup line. Yeah? I have a better one. For you. Go to hell. Real mature. Only if you want it to be. He teased back, that malicious and sadistic tone in his voice once more. All is fair in love and war, after all. Not that this was the same ordeal, because... Tombstone doesn't love her, although I do. Tombstone doesn't love... anyone. Except Naussica. But she left, so I guess he's available again. Of course, that doesn't mean he doesn't want to love, I think he does. Do not. He snorts, and I laugh, because... he denied it. When you deny something, it makes it true. But then how do you turn down a lie? I guess you can't. But I think Tombstone's got a soft spot for her, with her being so like... him.
If she's like him, why do I like her?
Okay, I don't like her anymore. She's mean! Are you going to let her say that to me? Yup. Why do I care? You know what? I'm having a hard time keeping my mouth shut. You haven't kept it shut. Ugh. Failure. Well... that would be nice. But it wasn't nice of Raisur to take control of my body and part of my mind in the first place. So, I wouldn't apologize. His voice held a sing song note to it, similarly taunting to me. And God, is it working. My mind's too easy to toy with, considering I'm the result of a head injury. What else is to be expected? I don't think all the side effects that come along with me are usual, though. They only happen when I have control, unfortunately. I'd like to see Tombstone deal with passing out all the time. It isn't fun, and I'm more than willing to show him that. In that unconscious realm... my heaven. He doesn't belong there.
I do.
His blue eyes locked on the wolf, taking in he reactions with great amusement. She shouldn't let him bug her so much, because that, in itself, could be considered a weakness. Too quick to jump to conclusions, too quick to anger. It can get you in trouble in the end. Of course, that's why he won't say this out loud, but rather in our mind. Midnight Sonata, He started, using her full name because... it was respectful... and he doesn't know how she'd react to him using a nickname, and we both agree it probably wouldn't be pretty. What do you want me to do to make you approve of me? He didn't bother asking "do you not like me? do you want me gone?" or anything along those lines, because hell, it's obvious. His voice should have held the mocking tone he was using with Wiccan, but that was only because she seemed to approve. Nope, not it held a respectful glint that I only saw him use around his father in very rare cases, like when he was trying to sneak off with Naussica... when he was normal.
We're far from normal now.
He gazed, almost involuntarily, at his coat. The splashes of white remained only on one shoulder blade, his stockings, and blaze and star combination. Not to mention the whites and grays mixed in with his admittedly long mane and tail. A black coat, huh? Since when did coat colors define one's intentions? He questioned, remembering something his father had said about paints. My father said... 'Paints can't be trusted until you really know them. They may hold beauty, but for as many colors they have, they have that many sides.' Raisur's my other side, and... you've met him. So, there's the white. The gray is just a mixture between us... in our shared soul. He hadn't thought of it like that before, hadn't needed to, nor had the chance. Actually, when it boils down to it, he had forgotten that he was a paint at all. His attention drifted to his coloration for a while, though his breed caught his attention.
He chuckled at the thought.
They hadn't guessed his crossbreeding. My crossbreeding. Our crossbreeding, happy now? No, I'm never happy. He mocked, though I'm going to take it seriously. Because I can do that. Because I'm Raisur, name said like Razor. Ha! Yes, a Friesian build. Though not purely Friesian. I'm... Arabian, Friesian, Paint, Rocky Mountain, and Quarter Horse. He recited the breeds, fumbling over them slightly because... he hadn't ever admitted to them. He's only ever shown them through different aspects of his life. Like... Friesian in build and muscle, Paint in coloration, Arabian in endurance, Rocky Mountain in surefootedness, and Quarter in speed. Put them all together, and you get the best damn sports horse ever made, the best runner, fighter, anything. Or, better yet. Us. You're exaggerating. We aren't... best. Not us. I'm better off on my own than with you, and the breeding has little to do with it. It's just a formality. He snorted, but I know the truth. Bloodlines have everything to do with it, and he wouldn't be anywhere without me.
Because we're a team like that.
That wolf is even worse than Wiccan, I have to admit. That's pretty bad, considering... wait, no, I'll be quiet now. See, now I'm imagining myself running into the deepest corner of our mind and hiding in a cave, and all you can see are two glowing green eyes. Because I have green eyes in our mind, because I'm that cool. And see the glowing red eyes? Those are mine. I'm coming to kill you now. He snorted, and I screamed and cover my eyes with my forelegs, because in fantasy world, anything is possible. Including that. Through thick and thin. Tombstone mocked his reply to sticking by her, almost saying till death do us part. Almost. Her reaction to that would be funny, yet even saying that is tempting the Fates. By Fates he means hunters, but there are no hunters worse than these two, so how could they bring him down? Ah, to hell with it. Till death do us part. He recited, the sarcasm and amusement evident in not only his eyes, but his body language, eyes, and well... everything.
He's that damn cool.
A sudden smirk crossed his muzzle at her next words, though he shook his skull in fake disappointment. No, too easy. He can't even defend himself! The way he said it made it seem like he pitied the defenseless, yet that wasn't it. Rather... the defenseless wouldn't be a good enough test. They weren't... powerful enough. His ears flicked in indifference, as if they didn't understand the thoughts in his mind and were on lookout for intruders, though with the crew he was with, what could sneak up on him? And the question after that, what would even want to try and ambush this threesome? Okay, not a threesome. That's just... disturbing. Trio sounds better, in my opinion. You fancy yourself immortal. I mused, because it's true. He's starting to think he's untouchable, yet he knows the truth and I'll remind him of it every so often. No. Hiding behind immortality shows weakness. I would rather die to someone who could kill me, because that's an honorable death. He shot back at me, and I'm silenced.
I know that's true.
His mind echoed her words, repeating each syllable exactly how she'd said it. I'm analyzing it like a girl, because girls over analyze everything to the last detail until they can't analyze it anymore. Decent fruit means exposing yours and Midnight Sonata's existence, as well as mine. At the moment... they only know of Raisur. He added the last with a tinge of disgust, yet also something along the lines of pride. He was proud he'd remained hidden and hadn't blown his cover in a sense, disgusted that he's had to lay in hiding in our mind for so long when he could've already been out and causing torment. I wouldn't let him, though, only when these two are around to keep him in check. Otherwise, we would have a wildfire at our heels chasing us down and trying to kill us. By wildfire, I mean ever surviving member of Penori, chasing us down for vengeance. I really do hate vengeance, because that means you're only doing it to get back at someone.
Tombstone does it for fun.
We both sunk into our own thoughts, following the silence that was to come after Midnight Sonata spoke. A big bang could mean so many things. I'm imagining a hammer falling and trying to kill me, because it says bang. Tombstone's pondering over ways to truly shock the inhabitants and cast massive destruction. I'm tempted to paint across his black hide "DANGER. DO NOT FEED IF YOU WANT TO KEEP ALL LIMBS, HOOVES, TAILS, EARS, AND OTHER APPENDAGES." because it would only make a fair warning, so they know what they're up against. 'Course, that could also mean they would be attracted to his presence to tempt him and see just what those words were all about. Imagine, if you will, a place worse than the Scarred Warrior. Were instead of listening to one because they were afraid of him, they would listen because they knew they were going to die anyways. How perfect would that be? I know there's no chances of reforming the dark alliance; they're too far gone. But maybe... a Thestral alliance could be made, considering that's what best describes myself, and these two as well. Though... what of a ruler?
Tombstone be quiet, you're scaring me.
Tombstone snorts, snapping himself out of his thoughts. That could be arranged. He chimed, answering Sonata about the bang. It could be... fun. He stated, glancing over at Wiccan with a questioning look. Have you heard of the Thestral alliance? They're darker than the darks. They kill mercilessly and for entertainments purposes. No fear of death, and they know what life's all about. It's values and worth... normally, they travel alone or in small bands of two or five, to wreak havoc on those who fancy themselves... immortal, powerful, and untouchable. You and Midnight Sonata fit that description, I like to think. Perhaps there are some Thestrals left, after all. Perhaps... His voice droned out there, though he was by no means done speaking. Perhaps we could restart that alliance, yet not make it official. So we can decide who comes in and out of it, without a king or queen, and only those worthy enough should bear the name Thestral... His imagination, mixed with mine, was getting the better of him.
In case you couldn't tell.
Of course, what he spoke about was true. The reason behind making it unofficial? It wouldn't be caught up in petty disputes over who rules it, because it wouldn't be ruled per say, rather guarded, so only those worthy could be let in. And once in... you would only be let out by death. He smirked involuntarily when these thoughts occurred to him, yet he was truly interested in how the two would take to the Thestral alliance, and whether they even knew about it in the first place. That sounds ravishing. He didn't know what ravishing meant, but heard it so many times in that context and had thus decided it would fit. Any species? Interested in making our existence known so soon? He questioned with a truly dangerous smile, one of his first real ones since... Naussica. He trained his gaze on both of them, for he had proposed two ideas that needed approval, and was currently trying to drown out a Lust that was rising within him. The Lust for death, decadence, blood, macabre, horror, and all other things he considered good.
At least in his mind.
Tombstone's Revenge stood stock still, his muscles outlined clearly in the night. His feathers and lengthy locks were teased in the breeze, his ears swiveling to pick up on any and every noise, as if his life depended on it. Yet we know otherwise. He was doing this for signs of... life that could be taken away... especially in it's prime, for what's better than that? His gaze was still trained on the two, marveling over how such a... sadistic and horribly delicious mare could be so appealing, even in this lighting. He didn't know why, but deep inside, there was a pulling sensation, tugging him toward her, while I stood on the other end of the rope trying to tug back. And these two are winning this game of tug-o-war, unfortunately that means me losing. And if I lose, what will happen in the end? What becomes of me, and where will I go from there? I'm just a voice inside a head, occasionally allowed to take control over a body to stretch out muscles and enjoy life. Those times I'm not aloud to though, I'm going to be stuck watching the macabre.
What a life.
STATS: you know I'm cocky, so what to expect but all high ranking?
Strength: 6
Agility: 2
Intellect: 5
Wisdom: 3
Looks: 6
