Dark Lady[Closed]

[♣Tego]

<sub>Here is where you can Audition for the Dark Lady Position

Name:
Age:
Breed:
Gender:
Color:
History:
Example Post:
Pic:</sub>

[hearts]

Name:Dark Rose
Age:10
Breed:Fresian
Gender:mare
Color:black
History:
Example Post:She beated the hard ground as though it was a soft, delicate dough. Her hooves sounding for a dark stag that would claim her so she could rule. She did not like the unruly stags that bossed, she for was supposed to be treated like she was. BADLY. She did'n want to be killed just wanted to rule. Her dark hair draped down her coat like a beautiful leaf that hung from a sacimore tree. Her barrel shining from the glowing moon that she curses to the day. She wished that one stag would come and nip at her barrel and breed her then claim her to be his. For she didn't want to be an open mare like others, she wanted to be taken. She still hoped that the moon shall never come out and she would never have to worry about that day ever again.
Pic:

[Tomahawk]

The Crowing:: Tomahawk
Turnings:: 5
Bloodline:: Kiger Mustang
Molded:: Female
Stained:: Buckskin
Inside the Facade:: Violent, headstrong, short tempered, ferocious, rebellious, unforgiving, cold, remorseless, brutal. She'll definitely put youin your place when you need it.
Past events:: She was born in a strong dark herd, her parents being the betas of the clan. She literally ruled over all the younglings in the herd. Once she reached 2 summers, she attempted a challenge to the lead wench, but was overpowered by both the lead mare and stallion. The leads, feeling threatened by the golden hellfire's presence, banished Tomahawk to find a new land to curse.
Example Post:: ((Taken from - The Road to Assia - Don't let me know your +weakness+ -- With - Tomahawk, Moonglance

Looking through the eyes of Tomahawk, the world could be perceived much different than sane eyes. Most figured insanity to be the end, in most cases very likely, but to Tomahawk; the insanity was a release, if she wanted time away from the world of the sane, the mundane and average of the equine world and move onto a more lively stage. But, the insanity came when it pleased, and left when it pleased, only during serious issues, like battling could it be tapped into at her own will. That was about it for the insanity visiting her, for it was never often that it came to treat her to a surprise, though it stirred always within the sanity she held, clawing at the gates to be freed from that d**ned prison, yearning to take over. But every part in her would never allow it to keep hold over her mind; the rest was too headstrong and self willed to let only one section of the golden fatale have control. Without a second though towards the demonic insanity that slept within her, she remained focused upon the dappled vixen that had grown within a respect level during their conversation. It seemed they had both willed themselves into not shredding the other into mush to see what they had to offer the other, seemed they both found what they wanted. They had both found quite a useful little trinket within the other it seemed. Many wouldn’t dare to meet either of them again, as vile and cruel as both were molded, but Tomahawk was rather intrigued by the silver fem and intended to meet her again some time. A hark, tipped in ebony like an arrow topped with poison rose from thick ebony locks, listening to the vocabulary of Moonglance. A small wave of puzzlement aroused as she spoke of not being wise, just telling her what the wise are used to. Realization struck before a moment passed and she understood the meaning of the words, a sharp nod given to the dappled fem. Her words, wrapped in venom were released, slick and silken.

Ah, my mistake. And yes, I do agree, we are bound to have very different favorites of terror and pain, but it all leads to the same mother.

The silver one was correct; they were bound to have different tastes for two so alike. Because it was not unlikely for them to be compared together, and yet as night and day, quite a coincidental thought, her being golden like the heated sun, the other silver and marred like the surface of Lady Luna. Tomahawk preferred the night over the day, but who ever saw a harvest moon every night? They would trade it up eventually, Moonglance perhaps taking the place of an eclipse, while she became a full harvest moon, hanging high within the sky. Come on children of the corn, come out and play.

Tomahawk let her harks flicker upward again, falling down after a few short moments to hear the words of Moonglance. They floated through her brain pan for a moment before erupting into a million smaller shards of thoughts, thinking of all the damage that they could produce together. A deviant grin split her hard set jaw, blood tinged ivories gleaming in the sheen of the moonlight. What glorious fun it would be to pillage the landscape to find little weak lights to capture and kill. Her answer came out airily, a d**ned glee could be found within the core of her lyrical release.

Indeed, you’re name will be remembered. Perhaps another boring old rainy day we’ll go on that little outing. Truly, your manipulation paired with my torture would be the perfect combination.

Like blood and chocolate, yin and yang, tranquility and disturbia. Quite a glorious combination to think of, forget chocolate and peanut butter. Moonglance could manipulate the little tarts to come her way, take them down into some secluded place, like that cavern that led into this beach, where Tomahawk would lurk in the shadows to bring them to their slow and utter demise. Her grin spread at the thought of it, such beauty within murder, the rush of having skin between your teeth, the warm caress of vermilion flooding into your maw. Great feelings all experienced before by the golden shaded harlot. She listened once again to the current rant of the other, the mirror image, so to speak.

I see your point, but tis not the time I refer to, dear. Don’t worry about that, will be far along in the future, I’m sure of it.

Tomahawk gave the silver whelp a slight wink before listening in to the newest broadcast and sending out her own waves of toxin. Her devilish grin still there, the thought of the kill still fresh within her mind.

I concur, Moonglance, indeed we are quite alike, more like twins from the womb. But everyone has a different personality. What did they used to say? Like snowflakes I believe, every single one a different pattern. Not quite convincing if you ask me.

Tomahawk watched the other again, both interested and satisfied at the other’s ability for momentum. She was sure the other was fast as well, maybe even as fast as she was, but her mustang blood gave her stamina and speed over beauty and elegance in her strides. Though she had seen many envy her fluid movements, she would not be the most expected equine in an arena. Maybe a rodeo, she would be cut out for, because there she could go crazy, but she would not be a likely contender in an event such as dressage or hunt seat. The humans would enjoy a horse like Moonglance for such an activity, for her breed gave her the natural guidance to perform in the manner the two leggeds pleased. But Tomahawk had a feeling, that she would be in the same rodeo that she would be in if either was ever stupid enough to be captured. Tomahawk had to give her credit as well, for she was tolerable and at least not sleepers like the others are.

Harks sail upward once more, this time lowering to rest just above the thick sea of silk. She listened closely to the words and the meaning that clung to them. She let the venom sink into her before letting her voids turn to slits once again and a devious smirk of understanding before letting her few words answer the whelp.

Indeed, this is a possibility, but you seem quite, fond of Monster, in a manipulative sort of way.

That little discussion would end; Tomahawk knew that she didn’t want Magnetar for sure now. It was a good thing too, that little competition would have been a tough battle for them both to complete. Although, she had a feeling of Tar’s opinion of her and it read good so far. But you never knew, some very *friendly* person could bring her sorry self in and flaunt before the great brute and say arouse his animal instinct, rather than his leadership. She doubted it. Tossing her dial, lifting a fore from the earth, she sent it to the earth once again, the sand sprang from its sleeping position and scattered to new beds and attempted to fall back to sleep. Her occult turned to the bird once more before it sailed off to a new area, probably its nesting site with its mate, getting ready to fly to warmer places. Good, she didn’t want that d**n pearly feathered parasite flying around her. Attention snapped back at the continuing argument of what either was like and who was the light. But they had most likely found that neither had an illumination within them, all shadowed over of course.

Seems my words were too literate for myself. As for you being a flea, this is true, they are over looked quite often and only a nuisance within large numbers, and we have already established that there are not many like you or us in some cases. Perhaps you are more of a leech, much larger, though having the same purpose as a flea. They do not go unnoticed. Yes, the lights do have quite a nasty aroma to them, too holy I suppose. And I don’t run from what I don’t fear, makes very little sense.

Her deep cinnamon occult glimmered as they flicked up towards the heavy silver that hung in the sky. The night was young and thickly laid upon the land. A malicious thought came to mind and a smirk plastered to her maw. She would have to pay Tar a little visit, for when they were interrupted by that wench Forego, their conversation stopped. Little sleeper, spying on her time with Tar, but it was probably only as Tommy had predicted, being she was jealous of what she could not acquire. Snorting and ripping at the ground in a slight fury of the spotted wench, Tomahawk answered the last chords that Moonglance released, her last to the dappled wench for the time being.

Indeed, you prove to be worth your weight in gold, or silver, and we should definitely consult each other in the future, for business of death. That combination should prove to be a glorious one. But last I was with Tar; I seemed to have been intruded upon by a worthless fly, so I’ll be off to find him again. Until our paths cross once again, Moonglance, stay evil.

Tomahawk brought her knee to her chest once more, hammering her titanium to the earth before dipping her dial in respect to the silver one. Without a second thought or any instinctual warning within her, Tomahawk turned from the andalusian and strode off towards the caverns, her double beat filled with rhythm, floating and effortless. She let her banner sway silently at her sides, whisking lightly at her hocks. She reached the mouth of the cave, the one she had exited shortly, soon to enter once again. Turning towards the silver one, Tommy let loose a hell sent song, singing best regards to the dappled one. Shaking her boa, thick tendrils flickering around her thick nape. Pivoting back towards the jaws of the cave, she plunged into the darkness of the caverns, striking daggers illuminated with sparking stone. They would soon meet again, she was sure of this.

[..Dream†Weaver..]

Cry it in the Night
DreamWeaver

Shorten it if You Dare
Dream

Label the Blood
Arabian x Paint

Call out the Obvious
Minx - xy

Paint the Hide
Ashen splashed crimson

Dye the Locks
Crimson

Find the Behavior
Belligerent, tough, hard to handle, defiant, strong willed

A Look in the Past
Born to a rogue mare, Sata, and a rogue sahib, Tronde. Within a day of my beginning of life, my dame brought me to a thicket of long emerald stalks to graze upon. My sire came, and Sata pushed me down. I lay in a cove of blades, surrounding me and hidding me from view. I watched as Tronde slayed Sata, and looking around for me, his nostrils flared. Tronde didn't find me, yet. Once I'd reached the age of three weeks, I was starved, dehydrated and on the brink of death. As I tumbled down a trench into a meadow full of other equine, I stumbled upon Borgon. He took me in, brought me back to health. Soon, Borgon met Lucky, and I was tough and defiant, never disciplined. I disliked Lucky with every fiber of my essence, but I allowed her to be with my sire. As time went on, Lucky adopted my sibling, Distemper. He and I caused much mischeif, and even killed another babe. Distemper passed on, protected me, though I didn't know it. A lupe bit my lower limb, infection set in on the torn tendons, and I was thought to die. Borgon wanted to send me to the humans, my beloved Rendition helped me through it, though, and I didn't have to leave. That's when I was reunited with Tronde. He fought me, attempted to murder me, though I escaped, and am now on these lands.

Take the Test
Timbers stood tall and shaky, their bare branches eerie in the silence of midnight. The sky splashed with small pinpoints of light, called stars by the two leggeds that inhabitent other lands. Bare limbs sway in the smallest breeze, scratching the skies as if it could peel away the black canvas layed out across it. The emerald shoots were scarce and browned, most of the terrain just sodden as black as the sky. Rapid creek tore through the terra, eating away at the banks, licking away the dirt that lined the shores making a rather steep embankment that could give way once the lightest of movements was made on it. Little life was said to inhabit these parts, for all life was soon destroyed, whether it be from a carnivore or lack of feed, it was bound to happen. The silence was eerie, not at all comforting, the creaking of the timbers not reassuring in the slightest of sounds. Few shrubs lined the bare forestry, and they too were either bare or bore poisonous berries. Lone lupe stalked in and out of the foliage, its pelt clinging to its build, marking the place where each bone portruded painfully from its sides. The defined dial was held low, maw towards the ground as it searched for its dinner. Tassel dragged the ground, a tan hide matching the surroundings as it trecked silently on, padders stirring up only little movement in its light footed path.

An ashen build splashed violently with crimson, daggers tainted the lightest hue of red. Pools were tainted sapphire, radiating out into the edge of the iris, the rectangular pupil defined against the light surface. Lengthy forelock tumbled down the center of a dished dial, curving over to cover one of the aqua hued lanterns. Large, dialated hollows inhaled each breath that fueled my boddice for more movement, the oxygen taken by the cells and returned as carbon dioxide, to be expelled from my bulk to make room for more carbon. My tiara was built in an arabic feature, with the large nasal cavaties and intelligent pools. Serpentine was arched, tendrils flowing from their connecting point in the boa's crest to meet the top of my limb joint. Petite and slender appendiges were straight, muscles flexed beneath the flawlessly tainted hide. Banner portruding from my rump, cascading like a waterfall to lick my hocks and graze the sodden. A picture of perfection, but far from that.

Not everyone is a push over, like most of the Dark alliance is. Some claim to be of the dark, yet they allow themselves to be captured and tred on by the path of love. Yet, others like myself, prefer the crimson trail, killing for pleasure, and the joy of pain and torment enough to satisfy even the worst of moods. The want to fight, to win, to see your opponent lay out flat on the sodden, gasping for air as you walk away victoriously... it's too much to describe the satisfaction that courses through your mind. Now, who says just because I have the build of an angel that I can't have the wants and behavior of a devil? Just because I look fragile and delicate doesn't mean I can't kick your ass, does it? No, it doesn't.

My accoustics were burried beneath my locks, laced to their gravestones for now and ever more. My facades were hardened beneath expression, pools locked with a combination so secure that only I knew the way in. Limbs moved with a liquid grace, carrying my arabic build across the deadened wastelands, scythes slicing through the tough sodden and leaving a perfect imprint with each stride. Tendrils bounced on my arched serpentine, plush pointed to the hells as banner flagged out behind, held high in the dominance I thought I so clearly deserved, and with reason. Hollows continued their intake of oxygen, gaze never leaving the eerie forestry that I treaded through. My chassi maneuvered the timbers with amazing ease, a keen sence developed over a mere three rotations of inhabiting them in icolation.

As sleek pillars carried my painted build from the 'safety' of the bark giants, I had caught the lupins eye. I froze, not in fear, but a satisfied smirk crossing my kissers as the wolf moved in on me. Muscles were loose beneath my hide, hollows intaking the surrounding aromas, the scent of the carnivore that wanted me as his meal. His lappets curled from sharp ivories, a snarl erupting from his voice box. Audits swiveled slightly, taking in the sounds, then falling back to their thrones. Not a sound emitted my plush, as the lupe halted before me, lowering himself in a hunting position.

His dial low to the ground, forelimbs folded upon the terrain, hind limbs holding his rump high, banner low. His large accoustics were back, snarl fixed upon his facade. The lupe moved closer, in a threatening manner, as fangs lashed out at my hind, enclosing around the cannon. A smirk crossed my visage, feeling the hot sensation of crimson escaping the wound. I allowed the lupe to remain his hold, then pulled sharply. Hind struck out, dagger aimed at his skullet. Knicking it only slightly, as the lupe sprung back in the life-saving move. Hind was throbing, as crimson rolled down the ashen hide of my appendige. Ignoring the fact that the tendon was broken, I rose upon hinds, fores slashing the air threateningly. Blood curdling and spine chilling scream erupted from my kissers, enhancing the fact I craved a killing. Fore struck out, striking the lupes shoulderblade. Yelping, the tanned figure jumped back, the lunged fourth once more. His vennors grasped at thin air, as a miss was made.

Fearing death, the lupe spun on hinds, disappearing beneath the foliage. Dial swung around to face the hind, looking over the injury the lupin had inflicted. Crimson tore through, and ashen bone splintered through the gash. Holding that pillar from the topography, gaze flicked off to the distance. Infection had set in on the wound, which was now swollen and throbing painfuly. The fact I was meerely a yearling and hadn't developed a mature immune system at the moment didn't help much, either. Limbs carried my painted bulk from the spot, visions set upon the surface of the terrain, scythes upchurning the sodden in the movement I made. Limp was held in the gait, and injured limb lifted quickly from the terra firma the moment it was placed, for the fact that not only was it gushing a constant stream of crimson and infection had set in, the tendon was torn and it throbbed like hell. Hollows inhaled the sickly aroma of infection, though outweight by the sweet sensation of crimson, and a craving for blood entered my mind.

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this was a post to my friend combined with mine in my talent(forgot how she wrote it), she was playing the wolf =P[/center]

[♣Tego]

_{DreamWeaver, can you get your example post up soon so we can decide Dark Queen?}

[♠Elitation♠]

Apparently Tomahawk is the winner!

[..Dream†Weaver..]

Sorry, my dad took me to look at a Quarter Horse we just bought, just got home. I had it half written, just did the finishing touches and it's done now....

[hearts]

Ok So who is the winner???