Eat the Rude
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she/her
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Underworld Lead
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Post by A z z y on Aug 19, 2022 1:51:23 GMT -7
TW: this thread will contain themes of death and drug use. There will be descriptions of gore and some injury. Please bare this in mind before reading on.
Fraternising with the enemy had hardly been her intention when she answered the call of the Utopian Lady. Thomasin had no intention of agreeing with the helkaer mare, let alone standing side by side in the face of their now mutual enemy… to then ending up spending the night with her in the depths of the helkaer lands. Was it shame she was feeling? Pride, perhaps? That even the helkaer weren’t above their carnal desires – and neither was she. They were, in her mind at least, more alike than they perhaps wanted to acknowledge. Yet, still, here she was, just before dawn, somewhere in the free lands soaking in a large, clear pool, rinsing the stench of treason and lust off her spotted hide. The night still had a grip over the world, the sky was inky black with stars beginning to dim as the sun broke the horizon, cutting the night with welts of gold and red, dim, but the dawn was coming, nonetheless. The witch queen sighed slightly, her wistful gaze scanning the shadows of the jungle like topography around her. It was peaceful, something she wished to find within herself. So many negative vibrations within the world, within her, heinous pessimism and flared tempers. The Vigilum had given her the names of likely suspects as to who murdered her beloved goat, Kraken was on the mend at last and so mostly, things were in motion. Yet the motion lacked direction and she was yet to converse with her King regarding how to play the hand they now had. She wanted fire and fury, she wanted the light kingdom to really pay for what they had done to her, to her family, to Black Phillip.
A noise behind her, somewhere in the shadows, roused her attention and the spotted monarch spun in the pool, water crashing over her spine and sending translucent droplets over her neck and chest as she peered at the familiar figure on the bank. Belial. Thomasin felt her body stiffen, a natural reaction given that he seemed intent on pushing her buttons, of overstepping his boundaries and physically attempting to keep her in check. The unstoppable force and the immovable object. He radiated aggression, evidently enraged by either her late-night escapade or that he was sent to find her. “Joker told me to come and fetch you if you weren’t home by dawn.” The clipped words were forced through clenched teeth and Thomasin felt her lobes instinctively crumble to her poll. Whilst she had told Joker to send a party if she was not home by dawn, the fact it had been Belial, given their previous interactions, was not the face she needed to see right now. “Funny, I don’t see the sun yet.” Petulant, childish… she almost laughed at herself. Queen of the dark kingdom and seemingly unable to handle a situation like this? With a heavy sigh, her shoulders sagged slightly, yet the irritation was still etched into her features. “Thank you, Belial, for coming but I need some time to myself. I will make my own way home. I will seek you out as soon as I am back at the Keep…” The snarl the demon forced through his teeth was enough to rattle the strongest of bones, yet she did not flinch. “As you wish,” he growled, his lobes melting as he held her in his gaze with contempt for a moment before turning abruptly on his quarters and heading back into the shadows.
After a few long minutes, her body relaxed once more, but her mind did not, hoping the bastard would follow at least this one order. It would be a matter of hours before the sun was fully up, shining a light on her once again, to be the queen she was. But is this what she wanted? Thomasin lingered for a moment longer in the still, clear waters of the pool, deep in thought. Only when satisfied that the scent of Nemesis was gone from her coat, she pushed herself from the water, streams of fluid rolling off her slender physique as she stood upon the dirt beach that surrounded her bath. She let the water run from her, let it roll over her barrel and drip-drop from her underbelly into small pools at her feet. Her golden pools studied the deep and imposing jungle that surrounded her, eyeing the well worn path Belial had walked upon not moments before with unease. Instead, she chose an almost hidden rabbit track, one that wove through the undergrowth, deep into the ominous woodland beyond.
A lesser horse may have feared the shadows that shifted and danced around her, the dim light of dawn offered little solace but instead only worsened the depths of said shadows. Was it a trick of her eyes or was she being watched? There was nothing to say Belial or even the helkaer could not be lurking in the undergrowth, both ready to take a chunk out of the dark queen. Both ready to bring her down a peg or two. Maybe Hound was close by, or hell, even Julius and Albion, the two creatures named as potential, but very likely, suspects. Steeling herself, the witch queen carefully picked her way through the undergrowth, vigilant of low hanging vines and roots that dare to trip her up. Whilst picking her way through the jungle, her thoughts turned sour, shifting to her beloved companion. So long it had been since she had heard his voice, let alone see the spark in those ruby red eyes. She would not admit it, but she missed him fiercely. The pain was still there, she ached from his loss daily, only now it was normal to her. It was normal to feel the way she did, the pain had become a part of her. It was all she had left of him…
Whilst combing through the deep myriad of pain, she did not see the path fall away before her. She did not see the sheer drop she was about to encounter with full force. Her forelimb extended unwittingly, searching for purchase but finding none, sending her body down. In her panic, she unwittingly grasped at low hanging vines, her enamels clasping around the serpent like structures with force. It was enough to soften the blow, offering her some suspension before she hit the ground. The vine snapped however, remaining in her jaws, it’s bitter yet earthy taste filled her mouth, seeming to be enough to keep her mind focused on the foul taste and not the pain and shock her body was experiencing. The witch queen spat the vine out as she pulled herself from the earth, checking herself for injuries. Bar a few cuts here and there, the only thing truly bruised was her pride. Thomasin shook herself, her golden pools snapping onto the vine that had broken her fall, yet truly left a sour taste in her mouth. Light was unable to penetrate the dense canopy overhead, she saw no stars, no moon, no golden slices that promised dawn. No hope in this pit she found herself in…
If she’d have had better light, and maybe if she’d paid more attention, Thomasin would have seen that the vine she had used to break her fall was that of an ayahuasca tree. She had unintentionally drunk it’s venom and swallowed it’s bark. Instead of checking it again, she moved on down the narrow path she now found herself on. The path was made of dirt, with towering sides of rock either side, she now walked in what she believed to be a long dried out riverbed, rocks and roots strewn in her path. The air was cold, it raked over her flesh with invisible hands, tantalising the slowly heating meat below her spotted skin. The path wound on and on, seeming to bend this way and that, where the water had once carved it’s way through, now it was her road to walk. Nausea crept up her spine, it sent clammy heat over her body, sweat darkening her pelt as she moved on. Was this fear, or something else? Thomasin halted, leaning against the cold embankments of the riverbed, closing her eyes as she pressed her dome to the rock. When her eyes shut, instead of familiar darkness she was met with blazing, ferocious colours that danced and spiralled, increasing the sense of nausea more, enough to make her open her eyes, her golden pools now black from the dilation of her pupils.
The first wave came up slowly, a steady euphoria along her nerves that shifted her fear into something almost enjoyable. Yet the darkness seemed to swarm around her, it buzzed like flies and whispered names in her lobes in a language she did not comprehend. Shaking her crown vigorously, she moved onwards, forcing herself further into the darkness. Every step felt like hard work, an arduous journey of epic proportions was about to make itself known to the witch queen, her calling, her purpose was about to be unveiled to her. A reunion of herself and her soul, of her reason for being. Thoughts swarmed her mind and then fell into nothingness, matter and meaning falling into the abyss of her mind. Faces she knew morphed and danced in front of her but soon faded into the shadows. A soft groan escaped her, the hag soon knowing precisely what had happened. At first, she had considered concussion but now, in the opening stages of this trip, this hallucination, she saw it for what it was. As she rounded a bend in the riverbed, the sight that met her was enough to make her shy violently backwards, her daggers struggling on the turf until eventually her quarters met the rock, forcing her to look, to observe, the scene before her.
There, in the middle of the path, her path, was a horse, or what was left of them. In the meagre light, beneath the unyielding canopy, she could make out the withered skin that clung to long dead bones. The quarters of the cadaver were spotted, the areas of their lower limbs also spotted. The mane and tail were black and the skin was a dull blue hue, with softer brown patches on the joints. Where she expected to have seen brilliant golden eyes staring up at her, she was met with hollow sockets. It was her. She lay dead before herself. And the ravens, that she had not noticed at first, were plucking at the cavity where her organs should have been. “Thomassssiiiiiinnn…” her name, as her goat had said it, richocheted through her skull, causing her to shake her head violently. “THOMASIN!” it roared then, demanding her attention, causing her to focus on the scene once more, as painful as it was to do so.
“WHAT?!” she bellowed her answer to the world and was met with only the sound of beaks on bone and the gentle chatter between the corvids. Silence was all that replied, bar the ghostly laughter that seemed to echo both within her grey matter and in the forest around her. “What do you want?” she asked, who she wasn’t sure. Then, one raven hopped upon her cadaver, staring at her with brilliant red eyes. It was a pied raven, with areas of white dashed against the usual abyssal hue of the bird. It cocked its head, blinking it’s almost reptilian eyes at her knowingly. “Thomasinnnnn” it came again, the voice, the raven hopping in time with the voice. She eyed it warily, studying the way it danced on her cadaver almost gleefully. “You cameeeee. We – I - thought you’d never come…” Again, the bird hopped around excitedly, motioning with its beak for her to come closer. But the witch queen didn’t move, she simply stared at the creature. “Come to where exactly?” she questioned, her words stronger this time, more self-assured. “Your death.” Came the twisted reply from the bird, all of the flock of ravens began chattering, laughing, at the witch queen then. “ And – more importantly – your birth. All we needed to start was you and look how long we’ve been waitinggg….” The voice hissed as the bird eyed her with glee, hopping again on her long dead body.
The walls of the riverbed seemed to close in on her then, as if forcing her forwards, towards whatever it was the ravens were excitedly chattering about. As she moved unwillingly forward, another figure emerged, standing behind the gathering of birds. As the spectre stood behind her cadaver, the flock sprung into the air, cawing their displeasure and shock until they too fell eerily silent and still, perched upon the cadaver, watching the ghostly apparition take form. The being, if that’s what it was, changed shapes. It was formed from a collection of identities, The Surgeon, Akroma, Xerxes, Rasa, various faces she had met through the years until finally what stood before her was a pure white version of what she assumed to be herself. Her golden eyes shone back at her with the ferocity of a thousand suns, her usually bluish black hide and black mane and tail were silver, with the white areas of her coat blindingly so. From her temples, a huge set of antlers protruded and within the curve of the pair of horns, a moon hung there, glowing, radiant, powerful. Much like the translucent being that held it. It looked only at Thomasin yet also seemed to stare straight through her. “What is in motion for you, cannot be stopped.” It spoke although its lips did not move.
Thomasin blinked, a mixture of fear and awe overriding the once euphoric wave she had been riding. “What is –“ she needn’t have bothered asking for the being spoke once more. “So much pain you have endured. So many wrongdoings. Why must you delay?” Thomasin cocked her jaw, her brow furrowing. “Come, join me.” Hesitancy took hold of the queen then, uncertainty filling her, self-doubt taking hold as it so often did. “WEAK. YOU ARE MADE OF BONE AND FIRE AND STARS AND YET YOU ARE WEAK. YOU WILL CRUMBLE IF YOU DO NOT BECOME WHAT YOU ARE SUPPOSED TO BE.” And the ravens began cawing and bouncing and flapping their wings. The moon between the spectre’s antlers shone even brighter, blinding the witch queen. Thomasin noticed now how the legs of the ghost were gnarled like roots, grounded into the earth below her, her hair seemed to flow on an immortal breeze, but the strands dissipated like an ocean spray with every movement. Something told her it was now or never, all or nothing. That ghostly laughter she had heard earlier now deafened her – was it her it was laughing at? Brazenly, she stepped towards the ghost, closing the distance until she was then a part of it. She her and her she. One being. One soul.
The cry of the corvids became cacophonous, deafening, maddening. Their joyous, sadistic cries bounced through her grey matter l8ike skipping stones, each one hitting the inside of her skull and going off in another direction. It made her woozy, confused… The mortal queen, blinded and reaching the apex of her trip, fell into the soft embrace of unconsciousness, her body folding towards the earth gently as if supported by unseen hands. The ravens continued to sing and dance, but this time upon her back, her skin twitching in an effort to deter them before sleep took hold of her completely. Her dreams were wild, painful, vivid.
She wasn’t sure how long she had been out, but she awoke to a sharp, stabbing pain in her shoulder. Thin layers of epithelium shivered and slid back over golden pools that winced as the dappled sun in the canopy overhead bore down upon her. Stab stab stab, it came again, and Thomasin unfurled her limbs, suddenly, forcing herself from the turf with a vigorous shake. The pied raven she had seen earlier now took partial flight from her body, before landing on the ground before her. It stabbed it’s beak into the earth three times before hopping towards her, looking at her with its vivid sanguine eyes. “Thomassiiiiiiiin…” came the voice again, the familiar tones of her once beloved goat now seemingly coming from the curious corvid at her feet. Was she still sky high? Inhaling slowly, she grounded herself, watching the blinking bird with a stoic ease, an acceptance in her gilded pools. Marduk! It cawed, bouncing towards her again and thrusting its beak into the ground. Her gaze narrowed surreptitiously before craning her dome over her shoulder to view the wound inflicted by the bird. It had pecked at her, presuming she was either dead or ready to be woken. Claret pooled down from the puncture wound, but she barely felt the pain. And what pain she did feel, she enjoyed.
Marduk! The bird screeched again, more aggressively, raising it’s marbled wings at her. She looked down at him, her brow quirking slightly as she took stock of her surroundings, of the log that she had mistake earlier for her corpse… all other signs of the ravens, of the ghost, had gone. It was her and the angry bird. “What is it?” she queried the bird, who cocked his head at her before taking flight and perching upon her withers, pushing his beak once more into the hole he had already made, blood staining his black hooked beak. The witch queen winced but then, surprisingly, laughed slightly. “Lets go home, Thomassiiiiiin… let us find the ones who did ittttt.”
POST WIP
"Speech"
Table by Whisper
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