demented as the motives in your head; astarael

[Jackel]

Now I'm quite sure that I don't look my best today.  How disappointing.

The gleam of my golden coat is muted with a film of dirt, mixing with various shades of bright red and drying burgundies.  Truly, my conflicting shades of yellow, reds, browns and black match perfectly with the cool, fiery place I call home.  Where do these stains come from however? I'm not entirely certain this time.  My memory flees from me occasionally, with periods of utter blackness.  Had I been asleep? No, I'm fairly certain the only times I really slumber is when I die.  Actually, perhaps that was what had happened after all, I think, breathing in the salted scent that lingers stubbornly upon my marred coat.  I do that sometimes, decide to test the boundaries of life and death, seemingly there was no clear divide in my simple existance.  This is a probablem I would have to fix with absolute certainly, but not now.

Because the decay of body parts hanging listlessly drawn my null gaze, looking at the pieces for the first time in a long time.  So many various shapes and sizes, remants of bygone unknown lives hanging precariously from the grasp of the pillared giants.  They'd been given gifts, the giants, and they would not be so quick or easy to part with them.  I know this simply, because they are not given gifts on the regular basis.  Whatever possessions that were to be bestowed upon their watch would forever be theirs, clutched in greedy fingers on display forever, just out of reach.  Unless you had the right words to convince them otherwise, of course.  And at this point my blackened vision lingers upon the heart atop the peak of their possessions.

It looks nice up there, I think.  And really, I have no such use for a useless organ anyway.  I can still hear the phantom beat of it deep within my chest, forever ticking, singing the cruelest of songs to a life never ending.

My sides heave with impish laughter, crackling the drying blood upon my flanks and bringing on a fresh flood of crimson.  The pain of it is sharp and well-welcomed, spurring my laughter to a wilder degree.  It is then that I remember, all of the blood speckled upon my tawny flesh is not all of my own.  Ah, but that is a story for another time.

I take it back.  I do look my best today.

@[Astarael] thought it was time for them to meet, and to thread with you!

[Astarael]

Astarael

Demoness of Sylva

Sylva had grown tired as the lands surrounding them continued to shift and change. Once again, the light proved itself to be fickle as the dark remained constant and assured. However, it seemed, even their neighbors had fallen victim to the rolling restlessness of change. The whispering of the wood told of a new face upon the throne - the challenges of leadership weighing too heavily upon Arthas. Astarael had never met the mare, but she disliked the mention if him. He was not a true servant of the darkness and his unfaithfulness made him a foe in her own eyes. Unfortunately, since his resignation, she no longer remained certain of Loess' intended relations with them. Thus far they'd held anunderstanding, if not a similar motive. Now that was being brought up to question.

Slinking though the forest Astarael trained her senses to the first sign of her only diplomat. Chosing a familiar path her nose braced itself against the scent of decay and death. Beneath her hooves the ground shifted colors, transforming from a placid grayish to a deep burnt red. Above her the bodies of the deceased, swung in the breeze. A gruesome sight. The demoness did not flinch away from the reality of it - life and death was the natural order. It only, occasionally, proved beneficial to speed along the process a bit.

The sound of gleefull romping caught the queen's attention and her ears swiveled towards the innocence of it. Leading the way, snaking fingers of red aura weaved through the trees to find its victim. Playing in a fresh batch of victims, the buckskin Jackel tossed herself about in a fashion expected by one much younger. It was plain to see that evil and pure derangement were not one and the same. Pushing into the opening she boldly approached, waiting for the playful mare to notice her queen's attention.

Darling, you have no idea what's possible...

@[Jackel]