11-13-2018, 08:11 AM
[div style="width: 200px; overflow: auto; width: overflow: auto; font-family: timesnewroman; text-align: justify; max-height: 400px; "]// im so sorry for the muse vomit. tldr; exo is riding on luci's back, singing her war chant and waiting for a chance to swoop down and attack. she is open for battle, with medium to small injuries. let me know preferred injuries for y/c if engaging. she is listed as medium difficulty but is brutal when attacking
exodus sits atop lucifer, listening to the leathery crack of his wings. cracks like the endless thunder that is mother. black against the tender fabric of sky imprinted all around them and forever. ebony meets what keeps them aloft and alive and breathing through trembling, complex hearts and tender pink lungs. the wings kiss and ensuing, engendering whirls of winds are birthed from lucifer's lancing strokes like a knife.
mother has conquered the skies long ago, and it is evident in the way he moves, weaving soft and silken like stems of jasmine. exodus sinks into this motion as she sits atop mother's back, learns to mold into the sinuous movement as if she were made to glide through air on triumphant, sun blessed wings all along. flying is no stranger to her, and it is belayed in her eased posture, though the caverns and inner machinations of her very being weave a different tell. a tell of crimson laced ink and drums of war punctuated only by the tandem of her furious heart.
up here, she feels invincible. exodus is a passionate soul; the fire and the fury. the heart and eye of the tempest, and guided by only the brightest star in the sky, the sun, which shines before her. the sun, which mingled with the carnal curtains of flesh and written in a record of monstrous creatures from a time where the earth was not quite as gentle with it's tenants, and had bore creation in the form of titans terrible enough to touch the sky with their limbs and viscera soaked teeth.
exodus was a stocky being; an archaic monster not yet dashed across the sands of times to be discarded like a meer pest. ferocious enough to bring the world toppling to it's knees. the brute had come with her tongue glued to the roof of her mouth in anticipation, and the glory of battle within her heart like a toxic fuel and fire in her lungs. fire as bright and hot as the one spilling from mother's jaws.
her gaze, though emblazoned like the sigil of merciless embers, are lathered in something poised and purposeful. they were the reapers of death after all, sweeping down from the celestials to burn the earth to dust like mother's pearlescent breath and steal life in it's slumber.
when they are done, there will be nothing left in their wake.
exodus can taste their fear. it is intoxicating, and there is no greater pleasure. it makes joy coil thick in her stomach and writhing at her very core, knowing they were the reinforcing their positions as utter forces to be reckoned with, cutting down the unworthy in their path.
and as far as exodus is concerned, she and her siblings are deities in their own right.
beneath her, everything looks tiny, insignificant. she spots the indominous, a bilious freak of nature attempting to touch lucifer, who sweeps through the impossible lace of the sky, riding and manipulating it's fabric to rain hell down below. a gust of hot, warm air carries from the slits of her nostrils like warm water expelled from the angry nozzle of a hose. she wants to taunt him for his efforts, but luciferus's spacious vessel carries her higher, up up in the air, higher than can be reached through natural means, and her pulse is hammering so hard in her wrist and up her throat that she is too distracted to even bother. like the queen that she worships feverishly, exodus turns away with a derisive huff. she has far better things to focus on. like the funny thrills of war. war that she has never tasted before, yet she finds tasted so profound because it rings true to her very rugged nature.
mother had told her that the enemy were foolish beings seeking to enslave them, as if they had the right to rear their ugly heads over another creature, as if they weren't inferior themselves. it is unthinkable; the very thought that someone would try to tame her, control her-- sends rage, a venemous friend, slithering into her fiendish soul, hot steel slithering through cracks in vulnerable skin.
the enemy were weak. they all were. softer than her wicked claws, of ivory and bones, that would slice through them like a honed blade. they are only the paper tiger before the storm.
it is what mother wants, after all. she is here at the Glorious Morning Star, and the broodmother's behest.
true crimson begrimed her feathers in a garish display tribalistic marking; a habit learned from their journey away from tethers of amiable sand and sunfire-kissed waters, so flawlessly and blue yet glistening iridescent with the loving reflection of the day's star. it was so unorthodox, because it was abnormal for their kind to want to be coated in the stickiness of filfth. the need to be clean was programmed deeply into the lines of their genes like a spiderweb's careful hands interwoven into the jagged bark of a tree. being dirty made their feathers clot after all. but it anything, the barbaric warpaint was a remark on their will and resolve and undaunting will to spill even further blood.
the sanguine paint of life's ebb and flow runs down her back in a single stroke, and mars her austere face in erratic stripes. a face not beautiful like her sisters's elegance and radiance, but strong like rock and stone and soldiers of war.
exodus feels the fire fill her veins rising till she churrs out in shrill, bestial song. her aninalistic tribble fills with the subsonic tones of a war chant; a petrified song lost to cracked, dusty yet everlasting skin of time's orbit, yet known only to her and her young heart because it is a memory carved into the part of her mind dictated by instinct.
it is a feral sound; not of the fresher veins of modern language, only known to her and her packmates for it's sheer unintelligibility. it is a wild war cry. a beat only they can dance to, a melody to urge them to arms, something to move throughout her sibling's veins, sluggish and warm like lava to ignite them, scream them into phases of brutality. it was a beckoning roar.
and it is so curious because she has never yet known war. she wants to taste this new landscape of possibilities and endless bloodshed. and she comes not knowing the risks to her or her siblings or the damage that could be done.
atop mother's sable wings did they soar to battle. bright and glorious, because this was what she and her species knew. an ancient dance un-trumped by the passages of age. exodus longed for the blood, heavy in her mouth till she could no longer breathe.
even still, she continued to sing her terrible song. but she waited for the order of her iridescent alpha, the Queen of Queens, before she charged into the bloody broken dance of a battle fray.
fire lashes the ground once more, and exodus sweetly inhales the burning like she could memorize the glory of mother's blame forever and keep it in her chest and lungs. the destruction is so fascinating that it makes her heart kick a little fastee, ravaged claws stealing against blackened scales in quick anticipation.
soon, it will be her turn to raze the wicked!
[align=right][glow=black,2,300]You got to see the artistry
In tearing the place apart with me, baby ★[/glow]
exodus sits atop lucifer, listening to the leathery crack of his wings. cracks like the endless thunder that is mother. black against the tender fabric of sky imprinted all around them and forever. ebony meets what keeps them aloft and alive and breathing through trembling, complex hearts and tender pink lungs. the wings kiss and ensuing, engendering whirls of winds are birthed from lucifer's lancing strokes like a knife.
mother has conquered the skies long ago, and it is evident in the way he moves, weaving soft and silken like stems of jasmine. exodus sinks into this motion as she sits atop mother's back, learns to mold into the sinuous movement as if she were made to glide through air on triumphant, sun blessed wings all along. flying is no stranger to her, and it is belayed in her eased posture, though the caverns and inner machinations of her very being weave a different tell. a tell of crimson laced ink and drums of war punctuated only by the tandem of her furious heart.
up here, she feels invincible. exodus is a passionate soul; the fire and the fury. the heart and eye of the tempest, and guided by only the brightest star in the sky, the sun, which shines before her. the sun, which mingled with the carnal curtains of flesh and written in a record of monstrous creatures from a time where the earth was not quite as gentle with it's tenants, and had bore creation in the form of titans terrible enough to touch the sky with their limbs and viscera soaked teeth.
exodus was a stocky being; an archaic monster not yet dashed across the sands of times to be discarded like a meer pest. ferocious enough to bring the world toppling to it's knees. the brute had come with her tongue glued to the roof of her mouth in anticipation, and the glory of battle within her heart like a toxic fuel and fire in her lungs. fire as bright and hot as the one spilling from mother's jaws.
her gaze, though emblazoned like the sigil of merciless embers, are lathered in something poised and purposeful. they were the reapers of death after all, sweeping down from the celestials to burn the earth to dust like mother's pearlescent breath and steal life in it's slumber.
when they are done, there will be nothing left in their wake.
exodus can taste their fear. it is intoxicating, and there is no greater pleasure. it makes joy coil thick in her stomach and writhing at her very core, knowing they were the reinforcing their positions as utter forces to be reckoned with, cutting down the unworthy in their path.
and as far as exodus is concerned, she and her siblings are deities in their own right.
beneath her, everything looks tiny, insignificant. she spots the indominous, a bilious freak of nature attempting to touch lucifer, who sweeps through the impossible lace of the sky, riding and manipulating it's fabric to rain hell down below. a gust of hot, warm air carries from the slits of her nostrils like warm water expelled from the angry nozzle of a hose. she wants to taunt him for his efforts, but luciferus's spacious vessel carries her higher, up up in the air, higher than can be reached through natural means, and her pulse is hammering so hard in her wrist and up her throat that she is too distracted to even bother. like the queen that she worships feverishly, exodus turns away with a derisive huff. she has far better things to focus on. like the funny thrills of war. war that she has never tasted before, yet she finds tasted so profound because it rings true to her very rugged nature.
mother had told her that the enemy were foolish beings seeking to enslave them, as if they had the right to rear their ugly heads over another creature, as if they weren't inferior themselves. it is unthinkable; the very thought that someone would try to tame her, control her-- sends rage, a venemous friend, slithering into her fiendish soul, hot steel slithering through cracks in vulnerable skin.
the enemy were weak. they all were. softer than her wicked claws, of ivory and bones, that would slice through them like a honed blade. they are only the paper tiger before the storm.
it is what mother wants, after all. she is here at the Glorious Morning Star, and the broodmother's behest.
true crimson begrimed her feathers in a garish display tribalistic marking; a habit learned from their journey away from tethers of amiable sand and sunfire-kissed waters, so flawlessly and blue yet glistening iridescent with the loving reflection of the day's star. it was so unorthodox, because it was abnormal for their kind to want to be coated in the stickiness of filfth. the need to be clean was programmed deeply into the lines of their genes like a spiderweb's careful hands interwoven into the jagged bark of a tree. being dirty made their feathers clot after all. but it anything, the barbaric warpaint was a remark on their will and resolve and undaunting will to spill even further blood.
the sanguine paint of life's ebb and flow runs down her back in a single stroke, and mars her austere face in erratic stripes. a face not beautiful like her sisters's elegance and radiance, but strong like rock and stone and soldiers of war.
exodus feels the fire fill her veins rising till she churrs out in shrill, bestial song. her aninalistic tribble fills with the subsonic tones of a war chant; a petrified song lost to cracked, dusty yet everlasting skin of time's orbit, yet known only to her and her young heart because it is a memory carved into the part of her mind dictated by instinct.
it is a feral sound; not of the fresher veins of modern language, only known to her and her packmates for it's sheer unintelligibility. it is a wild war cry. a beat only they can dance to, a melody to urge them to arms, something to move throughout her sibling's veins, sluggish and warm like lava to ignite them, scream them into phases of brutality. it was a beckoning roar.
and it is so curious because she has never yet known war. she wants to taste this new landscape of possibilities and endless bloodshed. and she comes not knowing the risks to her or her siblings or the damage that could be done.
atop mother's sable wings did they soar to battle. bright and glorious, because this was what she and her species knew. an ancient dance un-trumped by the passages of age. exodus longed for the blood, heavy in her mouth till she could no longer breathe.
even still, she continued to sing her terrible song. but she waited for the order of her iridescent alpha, the Queen of Queens, before she charged into the bloody broken dance of a battle fray.
fire lashes the ground once more, and exodus sweetly inhales the burning like she could memorize the glory of mother's blame forever and keep it in her chest and lungs. the destruction is so fascinating that it makes her heart kick a little fastee, ravaged claws stealing against blackened scales in quick anticipation.
soon, it will be her turn to raze the wicked!
[align=right][glow=black,2,300]You got to see the artistry
In tearing the place apart with me, baby ★[/glow]
im like a bull in a china shop
knocking off a knock off .
"cause i got no culture of mine" — exodus — typhoon — feathered raptor — info