doesn't take a fool to start a fire; feast, any

[Larken]

It’s been years since she last dared show her face. 

The black and silver mare has kept to the wildlands, skirting the kingdom borders and spending her days far away from the hustle and bustle of civilization. Part of it has been the desire to avoid her sister and the child she’d left, but part of it has been the freedom that isolation offers her. 

Out in the wilderness she can simply be. She can run wild and play with her abilities to her hearts’ content, with no fear of interference or reprimand. She can call storms - lightning, hail, thunder, wind - as much as she wishes, and no one will admonish her for the destruction she brings. 

But it does get lonely at times …

She’d heard (a little rumour carried on the winds) of the party hosted by Sylva and its fiendish king, and the thought had, well … tickled her fancy. For one, it’s the exact sort of thing her sister would try to avoid (Lexa had always been rather a wet rag), and it’s the perfect opportunity for her to let loose, if you will. 

And she certainly plans on letting loose. 

She flies in on hurricane force winds, giggling as the great gusts rip at tree and earth alike. But as she reaches Sylva’s border she relents, calming her winds as the trees close in around her. It’s more out of self preservation than respect for the land - it’s unwise to call down such winds when the trees grow so close and thick. One could easily end up with a tree landing on their head. 

Instead she reaches upward, grinning as the sky begins to darken. As her hooves cross the border and continue over, lightning begins to flicker in the clouds overhead. Larken has come to play. 

Larken

i'm burning but     my heart is on the wire
dont need a thousand guards to lock me in
doesn't take a fool to start a fire
solitary spark and wars begin

@[Kristin] We can fade to black for the orgy shenanigans, but I figured it might be nice to get some IC interaction. And Gryffen's partay gives them a good excuse to meet up anyway.

Full warning to anyone posting to this thread - I will take a long time to reply, lol.

[feast]

feast.

death inspires me,

like a dog inspires a rabbit.

It has been months - not many, but enough - since he set foot in Carnage’s lair.

He walked away from it, knowing how his own heart tasted in his mouth and now, the land dies at his step and the smile he wears is grim and eternal.

I ate my own heart, he thinks.

My own heart.

That, more than anything, is what stays with him.

Not even the fact that he fought his older half-brother and slaughtered him in the blood-red apocalyptic wasteland of the dark god’s making is spared further thought. He’d kill that stallion over and over again if given the chance. Hell, he thought he’d kill his own twin or his mother but no, Feast loved himself best as that time spent in Carnage’s keeping revealed to him. Loved himself and no other.

He’s not sickened by the fact that he battled himself and struck his own killing blow. Or that he ripped into his own stomach and chest, searching for his heart. No, it is the fact that he liked it! Can remember the savory mastication of meat between his blunt teeth and the way gobbets of blood and such slide down his gullet. He’d eat his heart over and over again if he could. Now he begins to wonder if another’s heart can taste just as sweet or if such a sweetness belongs only to him because it was his, and no other’s.

Thus, Feast has a hunger.

What better place to indulge than in a bacchanalia?

So Feast, the miniature hoofprint brand on his neck smarting as much as the feathery nubbin where his one useless wing used to be, comes to Sylva on a tide of darkening sky and fierce lightning. Blight spreads from his feet, he does not think to control it - let the land fester and rot, that is how he likes it. In time, it might come back but most likely not as long as Feast is around.

However, he thinks little of the land as his flat black eyes land upon a silver and black mare. Something other than the urge to taste her heart takes over him - she looks formidable and fierce in the flashes of lightning that split the sky. It occurs to him, that the air does not smell like a storm is brewing. At least not a natural storm anyway, he muses to himself as he brings his lean shape closer to her. “Are you doing that?” He asks, no hint of suspicion in his voice. Just a flat emotionless tone but perhaps with almost a trace of appreciation. Feast might have ate his own heart but there was little left in it afterwards, except an appreciation for the wilder and darker things in life - like this little thing of black and silver and sweet feminine curves.

Feast decides he might like a taste of her after all.

Just in a different way.

@[Tinsel] he lacks social skills majorly lmfao, especially after carnagequest.