09-08-2018, 09:49 AM
<link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Cormorant+SC|Metamorphous" rel="stylesheet"><center><div style="width: 506px; position:relative; box-shadow: 0 0 15px #000;background-color:#5d5d5d;"><div style="background: linear-gradient(to top, #000 60%, rgba(255,255,255,0) 90%),url('https://i.pinimg.com/564x/7b/e7/3b/7be73b08e25cb36468c1c16ab4bc13a1.jpg'); background-position: top; background-repeat: no-repeat;width: 500px; position:relative; box-shadow: 0 0 15px #000; border-spacing:0; padding:0; background-color:#000; "><div style="width:500px;"><div style="padding-top: 65px; padding-left: 250px; font: 16px 'Cormorant SC', serif; color:#5d5d5d; text-shadow:1px 1px 1px #191515, 1px 1px 1px #191515">it was a blood-soaked feast<BR>that never ceased</div></div><div style="margin-top: 275px; padding: 20px; text-align:justify; font:12.5px 'Times', serif; color:#a0a0a0; line-height:135%; letter-spacing:0px; text-shadow:1px 1px 1px #000; padding-bottom: 10px;">
The dark and neverending forests of Sylva had become somewhat of a <i>home</i> to the stallion, but it never truly satisfies what he so innately craves.
The drowned god had been born of salt and foam, so to it he returns.
It hisses and sputters at his fetlocks, almost kissing his skin with each sweep of the black ocean’s tide; crooning to its master, dark and foreboding <i>(powerful, all encompassing)</i> yet at the same time a willing servant to his wishes. The deep emerald and pearlescent of his painted skin twitches almost feverishly as the spray of the sea settles across his flesh, moistening the dryness of his pale lips. His tongue runs across his own mouth, tasting the salt and breathing deeply of the place he feels the most welcome.
There is a sound - barely audible over the steady rise and fall of the ocean’s rhythmic waves - but it is accompanied with pain and a solid grunt from the stallion as the force of pressure sends him to sway. He snorts sharply, regaining his balance though not attempting to peer down at what had seemingly bit into his wet skin. Maugrim cannot breathe suddenly, but it is not in a way that begins to frighten him. He knows the feeling <i>(one that is natural to him and he knows immediately how to satiate)</i>, but finds himself unable to move into the ocean. He champs his mouth, ears flicking into his neck as he realizes that he is not truly in control, eyes rolling wildly.
The dirt melts into the soldered scar <i>(healed by fire, ironically)</i> that races jaggedly across the thick muscle of his shoulder, seeping into the part of Maugrim that is familiar to both the dirt darkened by magic and the old wound that was opened by the same bit of earth.
And then, he remembers.
<i>He remembers the shuddering of the earth, the groaning of the plates as they crash together and separate, rumbling hungrily beneath his hooves. He had been standing in the ocean with the water pressing against his chest (he had felt truly alive in that moment, the frigid dark waters soothing the churning rage that dwells inside him), but it was fleeting. It was a strange feeling as the water begins to sink lower, rushing out from beneath him like someone had unplugged a drain. For a moment he had merely watched curiously, his head tilted slightly in confusion as the world behind him shattered and cracked. Then, with more power than he had ever felt, the water pulled his legs from underneath him.
He had been just a boy when his newly discovered world of Pangea had crumbled into the sea - pulling him, <i>calling to him</i>, even before his abilities had begun to ripen. He had stood at the edge, staring into the endless black ocean with equally endless black eyes, falling into its inky embrace with a peaceful gaze despite the rocks that bruised his bones or the corals that met him beneath the waves with biting, unforgiving teeth would leave memorable scars. The weightlessness he had felt was nothing like he had ever experienced. He remembers the dark, cold womb as it had enveloped him the first time and fear had not been at the forefront of his mind. The water was where he belonged.</i>
Another force of pressure into his shoulder brings Maugrim to the present, pressing into his skin mere centimeters from where the first incision had been made. This piece did not trigger any sort of memory or ‘duty’ in the Oceanlord’s brain, but he did not have to think about it very long before a voice from within occupies his mind.
<i>“You’ve all been chosen,”</i> comes the voice, <i>“My kingdom is there - ”</i> The voice pauses, but Maugrim already knew the ‘there’ into which it is referring. His dark eyes scan the sparkling horizon, already attempting to leave the calm shoreline to feel the surge of water pull and push against the broadness of his chest, despite his hooves being firmly planted into place by the will of another.
<i>“Find Pangea.”</i>
There is no hesitation as he pushes himself into the ocean, leaping into the waves without a second thought and allowing it to curl over his head with a welcoming sigh. The sea intensifies with his presence, humming with madness and life, even more so now as Maugrim uses his power to propel himself downwards into nothingness. The ocean responds to his mind, creating a current that pulls him close and allows the travel to the bottom of the sea quick and easy. He has done it before, after all.
However, the drowned god finds it interesting that there is no need for him to liquify himself to be able to breathe clearly. Even the pressure of the entire ocean does not phase him in his solid form. His lungs and throat and body are fully visible as he comes to sink his hooves into the muddy floor, the overwhelming darkness meeting him like an old friend. There is a semblance of a smile on his pale lips as he notes the creatures that surround him - some living <i>(anglers with their wide jaws, tube worms with their swaying spines)</i> and some long since dead <i>(cracked bones and skulls of those who could not find their way out of Pangea)</i>. He, perhaps, would have been among the bones if the ocean had not chosen him and spit him out in the riverlands when he was just a boy.
He had been ready to sink down into the darkness when Pangea first fell and he is more than willing to do so again.</div><div style="padding-left: 355px; padding-top: 5px; padding-bottom: 5px; text-transform:lowercase; font: 16px 'Metamorphous', cursive; color:#5d5d5d; text-shadow:.5px .5px 1px #191515, 1px 1px 1px #191515, .5px .5px 1px #fff;">m a u g r i m.</div></div></center>
The dark and neverending forests of Sylva had become somewhat of a <i>home</i> to the stallion, but it never truly satisfies what he so innately craves.
The drowned god had been born of salt and foam, so to it he returns.
It hisses and sputters at his fetlocks, almost kissing his skin with each sweep of the black ocean’s tide; crooning to its master, dark and foreboding <i>(powerful, all encompassing)</i> yet at the same time a willing servant to his wishes. The deep emerald and pearlescent of his painted skin twitches almost feverishly as the spray of the sea settles across his flesh, moistening the dryness of his pale lips. His tongue runs across his own mouth, tasting the salt and breathing deeply of the place he feels the most welcome.
There is a sound - barely audible over the steady rise and fall of the ocean’s rhythmic waves - but it is accompanied with pain and a solid grunt from the stallion as the force of pressure sends him to sway. He snorts sharply, regaining his balance though not attempting to peer down at what had seemingly bit into his wet skin. Maugrim cannot breathe suddenly, but it is not in a way that begins to frighten him. He knows the feeling <i>(one that is natural to him and he knows immediately how to satiate)</i>, but finds himself unable to move into the ocean. He champs his mouth, ears flicking into his neck as he realizes that he is not truly in control, eyes rolling wildly.
The dirt melts into the soldered scar <i>(healed by fire, ironically)</i> that races jaggedly across the thick muscle of his shoulder, seeping into the part of Maugrim that is familiar to both the dirt darkened by magic and the old wound that was opened by the same bit of earth.
And then, he remembers.
<i>He remembers the shuddering of the earth, the groaning of the plates as they crash together and separate, rumbling hungrily beneath his hooves. He had been standing in the ocean with the water pressing against his chest (he had felt truly alive in that moment, the frigid dark waters soothing the churning rage that dwells inside him), but it was fleeting. It was a strange feeling as the water begins to sink lower, rushing out from beneath him like someone had unplugged a drain. For a moment he had merely watched curiously, his head tilted slightly in confusion as the world behind him shattered and cracked. Then, with more power than he had ever felt, the water pulled his legs from underneath him.
He had been just a boy when his newly discovered world of Pangea had crumbled into the sea - pulling him, <i>calling to him</i>, even before his abilities had begun to ripen. He had stood at the edge, staring into the endless black ocean with equally endless black eyes, falling into its inky embrace with a peaceful gaze despite the rocks that bruised his bones or the corals that met him beneath the waves with biting, unforgiving teeth would leave memorable scars. The weightlessness he had felt was nothing like he had ever experienced. He remembers the dark, cold womb as it had enveloped him the first time and fear had not been at the forefront of his mind. The water was where he belonged.</i>
Another force of pressure into his shoulder brings Maugrim to the present, pressing into his skin mere centimeters from where the first incision had been made. This piece did not trigger any sort of memory or ‘duty’ in the Oceanlord’s brain, but he did not have to think about it very long before a voice from within occupies his mind.
<i>“You’ve all been chosen,”</i> comes the voice, <i>“My kingdom is there - ”</i> The voice pauses, but Maugrim already knew the ‘there’ into which it is referring. His dark eyes scan the sparkling horizon, already attempting to leave the calm shoreline to feel the surge of water pull and push against the broadness of his chest, despite his hooves being firmly planted into place by the will of another.
<i>“Find Pangea.”</i>
There is no hesitation as he pushes himself into the ocean, leaping into the waves without a second thought and allowing it to curl over his head with a welcoming sigh. The sea intensifies with his presence, humming with madness and life, even more so now as Maugrim uses his power to propel himself downwards into nothingness. The ocean responds to his mind, creating a current that pulls him close and allows the travel to the bottom of the sea quick and easy. He has done it before, after all.
However, the drowned god finds it interesting that there is no need for him to liquify himself to be able to breathe clearly. Even the pressure of the entire ocean does not phase him in his solid form. His lungs and throat and body are fully visible as he comes to sink his hooves into the muddy floor, the overwhelming darkness meeting him like an old friend. There is a semblance of a smile on his pale lips as he notes the creatures that surround him - some living <i>(anglers with their wide jaws, tube worms with their swaying spines)</i> and some long since dead <i>(cracked bones and skulls of those who could not find their way out of Pangea)</i>. He, perhaps, would have been among the bones if the ocean had not chosen him and spit him out in the riverlands when he was just a boy.
He had been ready to sink down into the darkness when Pangea first fell and he is more than willing to do so again.</div><div style="padding-left: 355px; padding-top: 5px; padding-bottom: 5px; text-transform:lowercase; font: 16px 'Metamorphous', cursive; color:#5d5d5d; text-shadow:.5px .5px 1px #191515, 1px 1px 1px #191515, .5px .5px 1px #fff;">m a u g r i m.</div></div></center>