Neutral Lord Auditions

[»liliha.]

Make a post on this thread about anything you wish with the character you want to portray this role. I will make the decision on who gets the role based on whom I feel will be the best for it. After you have held the position for one week, other people may challenge you for the role. You may accept or decline, but declining means you forfeit your position.

[pardalis]

This is with an old charrie but the one trying out is Amuleto.

.Makani.
There are always survivors at a massacre.

¤Winter’s stony grip has hardly loosened this close to spring; patches of grimy snow still litter the ground, though not near the beach. No, it is like traveling in two different worlds, to come from Death Mountain to Battle Beach. One reaches vainly for the moon and the skies, yet shall never reach its destination, even if it is littered with the Lady’s flowers, each frozen and individual. The other is on the very boundary of this patch of land near the ocean, never snowed upon, though it is literally covered with snow’s tropical cousin sand. Yet they are very similar. Death Mountain is swamped with the blood of the damned, as is Battle Beach. Both are eroded, day after day, by the pound of water or the wailing, shrieking winds. Eroded just as each life is eroded as the minutes go by, every second one less to spend alive. But how does each life in? Is there anyway to tell? Can some prophet discern those that will die bloody, painful deaths from those that fade away peacefully? Of course not. If they could, what would the point of living be? If you know how you will die, there is no need to strive ever higher toward invincibility. No need to truly enjoy each minute as if it might be your last. All that Makani did was strive for more, more power, more life. And indeed, it had seemed as if she had succeeded. Not many slave’s daughters rise to queen of the damned in five years. In fact, have you ever heard of another like her? Not I. Especially no mute ones, either. Yes, you heard me. A mute queen. Got a problem with it? I didn’t think so. She hadn’t always been mute, no, it was her stupid idiot of a Light slave’s fault. Why couldn’t she just let her daughter be weak, but witty? But nooooo. She just had to go dunk in the damned Healing Springs and pull her out minutes to late, strong but mute. Cursed idiot. May she rot in that hell of a terra Synster Gates had rescued her from. It seemed as if a succession of idiots had ruled there, excluding Syn, of course. First there had been Shadowmancer, a playboy of a fool who had been killed by Synster. After Makani and Syn left, her younger half-brother had taken up the lands, only to be slaughtered by his incredibly intelligent queen, though maybe not so smart, to wait so long to destroy him. Now the silver femme’s nephew ruled, some scapegoat who felt he had to pay for the sins of all those who had come before him. Retard.

¤The Lady shown down on her silent mirror as the silver buckskin walked slowly across the damp sand of Battle Beach. No sound reached her ebon-tipped audits but for the pound of the waves crashing endlessly onto the shore. They were dark in the night, no longer a grey blue but a black shade that seemed like the deepest trench no matter how shallow the depth. Roiling and crashing endlessly, oh so like the anger that surged and retreated in the Connemara thoroughbred’s soul. How dare this bitch challenge her? She had no right, no claim to the throne. This Odessa was just some demented Loner. She was even blind! Slits flared violently as a massive snort was blown from deep within her chest cavity echoed against the emptiness. No. She could not enter battle this way, even this first time warrior new that simple fact. Makani must be calm and cool, let the other femme work herself into a thoughtless rage. Pausing, the witch stared down into a tide pool, the only clear water in sight. It was like a aquarium, the ‘quine could stare in at the marine life, but they paid no mind to her. Was this what the gods did, she couldn’t help but wonder as she gazed in at the small purple octopus; multiple star fish; a withering, menacing, green eel; and, curiously enough, a baby shark. Did they check on their favorite equine’s progress along their previously chosen path? Or were they all around us, poking and prodding our heart and soul to guide us? There was no way to tell, at least, not in this life time. But there was always that chance, so obvious tonight, that this would be her last hour on this planet. It was either win or die. May Nike, goddess of victory, smile on the 16 hand female tonight. May she guide her to her throne, the throne that awaited Makani, not Odessa. If she could even find it. Aw Crap. Just forget the whole calm thing. It ain’t working. Tossing back her lock-laden tiara the femme contemptuously pawed the clear water into a frothy mess, sending water droplets flying like misplaced diamonds. Unnoticed by Makani, the clouds had begun to gather, veiling the Maiden from sight, leaving only the silver femme in place of the brighter moon, her pale hide gleaming eerily in the almost absent light supplied by the odd pinprick of a star shining through the thick layer of cumulonimbus clouds, dark thunderheads that towered menacingly into the atmosphere. Rain drops hit her pelt, forced by gravity into the famously clichéd tear drop shape. Already, even though only a few drops had splattered upon her coat, the Queen was changing color, from light buckskin to a dark grey. Sand flew up from her moving hooves once more to land clingingly on to her pistons, grabbing hold to her scant feathers and the cracked, dry surface of her hooves. What is she fighting for? Family? As if. Makani was no cursed Light, always fighting for others, besides, her only family is listed above, excluding the princess of course. The princess wasn’t worth anything, couldn’t do anything. Hell, she couldn’t even be bargained off to forge a strong alliance. What kind of respectful-or not so respectful-brute would want a weakling as a mate or queen? None, that who. She was to be hidden, hidden from any prying eyes, until she was worth something to someone. Synster Kiss, not even worth a glance. Sure, she was pretty enough for a foal, after all, she looked exactly like her dam. But really, that wasn’t worth much on an island filled with gorgeous females. Maybe she could be auctioned off to some second son. Hmmm… But that was a thought for another day, tonight she must concentrate, concentrate on what was important. Fighting for greed, power, and ambition. There was nothing to hold her back, no threats of death would stop her. Makani was only a ghost, only a femme who could not speak.


¤Amber optics lit with barely contained fire as Makani spied her blood bay opponent, the antagonist, at least in this story. Of course, our protagonist ain’t exactly an angel. Harks lay flat upon her nape, hidden by her tangled tresses. Snake-like muscles withered and wrestled beneath her ghostly hide scarred and scored by the hordes of thorn bushes that had abounded in her previous home, no, she refused to even think of it as a home, it had been a prison, holding her down like a flightless bird. The Queen of Damned had an aversion to prisons, to tell the truth. It lay hidden in her name, meaning ‘like the wind. And oh! How like the wind she was in so many ways. Silent, but for moments of rage or grief. Hidden, hardly seen but effecting the world, or island, constantly. Volatile, changing so quickly from a gentle caress to a stinging fury. Like the wind indeed. But it is ironic, for she was caged by the worst cage of all. Some considered her stupid for they did not know of her disability, others believed her to be thoughtless, since none of her plans were voiced. Prejudiced beasts. But was that not similar to judging Odessa simply because she was a Loner and Blind? Ah, those rare thoughts that float divertingly even from the darkest souls. Should they be listened to? Of course not. Squash them and never pay mind to the annoying things. Shaking her tiara violently, the female did just that, popping the bubble, silencing it forever and for always. Chain cut through the air to land stingingly upon her strong hocks. The words of the challenger flew to sting and bite at her pride. Who was she to say such things? The blood in your veins proved nothing, nor did where you hailed from. Was she blind in soul as well as eyes? Apparently, Makani herself was proof that it mattered not what you were, what your path of destiny was, you could all ways change it. Build a new path and twist and meld the Gods’ desires into your own. Life is a forge, dear Odessa, but you are not the ore within it, you are the smith, pounding endlessly upon what you make of your life. Be it dainty bangle, or blood-thirsty sword, it was yours. Be it strong shackle and chain, or scepter and crown, it was yours. So pound away, reheat, and melt down. Life is whatever you make of it in the forge of your desire. The vixen halted from her momentous two-beat to face the blood bay femme. She stared for a second, in the silence that followed the other’s monologue, before a single piston rose to slam into the earth in a great spray of sand, alerting Odessa that Makani, Queen of the Damned was here. No, she would not sneak in silence to her flank and slash though her hamstring with a single blow, she would fight this fairly, using her wits and her strength, to prove that she was not just the consort of a King, but that she was the Queen. Amber jewels caught the shifting of her muscles, caught her lambrums as they drew back. Time seemed to slow, as if the ‘quines were submersed in molasses, leaving only the pounding of her heart in her chest cavity and the straining of Makani’s lungs as adrenaline took over. She could feel each inward gasp, and every outward push. That’s strange…why was she breathing in time with the tides? In as the surge. Hold as they break. Release as they flee. The witch surged forward, incisors aimed for Makani’s throat, landing upon a vein, and just nicking the surface of the oxygen-deficient vessel. She would not bleed out from such a wound, but considerable amounts of blood would be lost to the sand below her. Even now, she felt the trickle of fluid trailing down her boa and onto her leg, leaving behind a dark crimson trail in her pale coat. Twisting upon her haunches the lady knight swiveled, tearing her neck from the other femme’s grip, leaving behind a fairly large block of flesh. A wound that would heal, given time, but leaving a scar, a dent in her neck.

¤Now for a counter-attack. What should be done? No rear upon her hind legs, that would leave her soft underside and mortal gut exposed to the admittedly sharp teeth of the bay. But what? A kick, perhaps? Aimed at her windpipe, it could cause considerable damage… yes, that would work, like the saying goes, fight fire with fire. Silently, the fae slinked about the blind femme, the only noise in her audits the slight shift of sand granules as they gave way beneath her irons. Wait, the dark form of the Loner wa nearly indiscernible without light, if the kick was made now, her chances of missing would be far higher. Finally, a brief flash of lightning lit up the malevolent castle formed from clouds, outlining the challenger. Swiveling once more, the silver buckskin struck, her hind leg extending like a viper, seeking for soft flesh and the give that must follow. Not waiting for the satisfying thunk to reach her audits, she executed a strategic retreat, halting merely a few strides away from the briny depths; their crashing once more the most important thing in her harks. In. Hold. Out. Over and over as the molasses faded and once again her heartbeat accelerated to a rate equal a hummingbird’s. What a picture she was, the very essence of battle. Oh, if Aries could have seen her form, surely he would have swooped down to steal her and make her his queen. For despite the ruby waterfall cascading sluggishly down her front, Makani held her tiara high in defiant pride. Her ribs were yet visible beneath her thick winter coat as she laboriously breathed, but no, she had borne to foals, this was nothing next to the endurance required. In fact, two foals are, in effect, giving birth four times, because of the after birth. So there you go, the silver lady’s endurance would not falter. But oh! If only she knew more of her own anatomy. For then, perhaps a small shadow of doubt would have grown in her mind; the vein that was nicked? It was ever too close to an artery. And no artery would gently flow, as her wound was now doing, but gush great torrents, until there was no blood left, and her carcass was all splashed and splattered with her own life’s blood. And then what would happen? Let me tell you. Makani, my dear heart, would lay there near the ocean and bloat in the sun, until the tides swept over her and drew her deep inside of them, to be hidden from sight. But that would not happen any time soon, at least, I hope not.

Among the vicotrs, if no where else.
.Makani.

Status: Complete
Attacks: II
Dodges: I

[»liliha.]

_{wellllll, you're supposed to post with the charrie you are going to rp. but oh well. I'll let it slide this once. accepted}