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paradise - Volterra - 01-05-2015 @[Abraham] VOLTERRA you will remember me for centuries Well, this is very odd.
He had simply been minding his own business, exploring a curious new land. His sense of adventure grows healthier with each day that passes, taking him further and further away from his mother's warm side. He had craned his neck at the sight of an island in the sky, but the next thing he knew...a cloud had grown beneath his feet, scooping him up like he would lift a blade of grass. A most ungainly yowl had left his muzzle at this, and he'd done his level best to get off the objectionable cloud, to no avail. That was a few minutes ago - now he stands stiffly on top of the cloud, realising resistance is futile but unwilling to yet accept this fact. He bounces up and down, stomps, bellows like the mighty stallion he is, but the snow-like stuff beneath his feet refuses to budge or shudder in fear. Finally, the cloud halts, and he jumps off it with gusto. The second he lands, his hindlegs unfurl from beneath him and he throws his weight onto his forequarters, kicking out hard to try and smack the cloud into the middle of next week. But it's already disintegrated, and his hooves clatter into nothingness. He returns them to the ground, ears laced into the tufts of his mane and lips peeled in a maddened grimace, but there is no foe to attack, no would-be predator to annihilate. He shakes himself off and begins to wander, purposeless and idle, worry gnawing at his belly at the notion of how he's meant to get down from here. The colt arrives at the edge of the cloudy paradise, but there seems to be a buffer preventing him jumping - not that he would, because he doesn't want to end up as a splat, thank you very much. He reverses away from the edge, because the height is making him feel queasy, and closes his crimson eyes until the vertigo begins to fade. With typical boyish carelessness, he decides to worry about getting home later. This is a whole new land ripe for exploring, and with a savage battlecry (otherwise known as a foal's squeal) he breaks into a high-legged trot, enthusiastically drinking in his surroundings as he moves. "" RE: paradise - Abraham - 01-13-2015
RE: paradise - Volterra - 01-14-2015 @[Abraham] VOLTERRA you will remember me for centuries Boy!
The word enters the young titan's mind, head turning to observe the caller even as he carries on his trot. As a result he finds himself unable to run in a straight line, falling in through his shoulder and trotting on a rather ugly diagonal path that, if he doesn't turn around again soon, could result in him crashing into a tree. Now that would suck. So he turns, feathered hooves skittering across the ground as he draws to a halt to examine the source of the voice. It is an older colt, probably a year or so Volterra's senior, and he bears the twisted horns of the unicorns. Yet - and the youthful beast's eyes light up at the sight - he has with him a beautiful white dragon, and, as ever, envy begins to bubble in Volterra's chest. Everybody here seems to have either a magical ability or a companion (or both in the cast of Nymeria, the lucky cow) and in the absence of both, the colt is forced to be content with admiring the talents of others. The white is smaller than his father's green had been, but she is still a dragon, still stunning, and Volterra's blood-red gaze devours the sight with greedy awe. One day, it will be him approaching idealistic young boys with a dragon at his side, as proud and regal as the stallions he so admires. Perhaps he will be so fortunate as to bond to two, as the green said he was able to do. Think of the envious glances he will receive then! He's breathing quite heavily from his run, fledgling muscles tense with exertion, but he doesn't want to blow too loudly for fear this older male will think him weak. "Your dragon's really pretty," compliments the youngling, admiration heavy in his voice. He thinks of his twin and her precious black egg, of the creature that lurks within, of the fact she will grow up with that companionship that his father and grandfather alike succeeded in obtaining. "Is it a girl?" He can't help but think it would be mightily odd to have the consciousness of a girl inside his mind, although, he reasons, he would simply love to have the pleasure of Nymeria's thoughts intermingling with his own. RE: paradise - Abraham - 01-18-2015
RE: paradise - Volterra - 01-18-2015 @[Abraham] yeah that is a bit better now :D I've made the text on mine a bit darker because I found it hard to read on screens with less contrast. VOLTERRA you will remember me for centuries His father had not fled the Rotunda that day - he held no fear about two green colts, and was certainly not weak. He had simply left at his own pace, sickened by a hybrid unicorn bonded to a dragon despite the quest that bid him to befriend it, revolted that his own green had played so freely with her. Of course, Volterra knows not of their meeting, knows not what thoughts go through the elder's head, but if he did he would most certainly protest for his father's strength. After all, boys naturally idolise their sires, and the young titan is no different. His mother, too, is fiercely defended and, of course, so is Nymeria. Woe betide any man or woman who says a single foul word about his precious sister.
He watches the dragon, still awestruck, his breathing returning to normal as he observes every flutter of those beautiful wings, drinking in the way the flame blossoms from her scaled gullet like a burning promise. Eyes watch in thinly-veiled delight as she flies around him, large hooves pivoting to follow the path of her flight. Stunning she may be but that doesn't stop the young warmonger shaking his broad head at Abraham's words, remembering Amaris' teachings and all the lore he knows of dragonkind. "Only golds are queens, or dragons bonded to leaders. Whites are low-ranked. No offence - she's still really pretty." He flashes the older male a toothy grin and a waggle of his ears, his usual tactlessness meaning he has no idea his words could be construed as rude. To him, it is a simple correction of facts; the only queen dragon is one bonded to a king, like Cynder, or those with gold scales, or both like Amaris' mother's companion (and, unbeknownst to him, his own grandfather's gold). Unless this older colt is a king, but he seems too young, despite all his obvious power. When it comes to dragons, Volterra is a complete nerd; he practically has My Big Book of Dragons open inside his head at all times, to spew facts like that one geeky kid you really want to smack. The white-legged one circles him too, and Volterra continues to spin until he feels decidedly dizzy. He pouts as Abraham shifts away, the elder's plan working as the attention-hungry colt struts after him, crimson gaze looking up in admiration. One day he will be big, a titan like his sire; all hewn muscle and easy arrogance like the man he remembers from his birth. The older one introduces himself, and the beastling returns the favour. "I'm Volterra," he says proudly. "Did that bad cloud bring you here, too, or do you live up here?" RE: paradise - Abraham - 01-18-2015
RE: paradise - Volterra - 01-18-2015 @[Abraham] he's that child that you smack and ground and take their xbox but it STILL. WON'T. GO. TO. ITS. ROOM VOLTERRA you will remember me for centuries Suddenly there is rage; suddenly the very ground on which he stands is aflame. Any sane-minded child would scream and flee, but not Volterra. Instead, he utters a small huff of delight and leans down to inspect the simmering flame that dances around his hooves. Him, honoured with the flames of a dragon? Yes, it's every bit as hot as he'd often wondered, so hot it singes the tips of the feathering around his feet, but in a display of brazen defiance - or mind-numbing stupidity - he stays where he is. He is a dragon king - he remembers the scars on his sire's body from his green's flaming tail, the way the stallion hadn't even flinched when the fire tickled his leathery skin, so used to it was he. If the young titan is to claim mastery over dragonkind, he must learn how to cope with fire. He sniffs at it, feeling the acrid smoke burn the inside of his nostrils, and finally decides to move out of the way when the agonised stinging of flame licks above the fetlocks on his forelegs, ruining skin and creating scars that will undoubtedly stay with him as an eternal reminder.
It hurts almost unbearably and he winces slightly, imperceptibly. He will not show pain. He will never show pain. As his dam taught him with her venom-laced bites, pain is for the weak. He's also learnt something else, something to file away in his encyclopedic knowledge of dragonkind - they're proud. He'd gathered as such from Amaris, but this dragon's vanity is a damn sight more destructive. One brow quirks, lips ejected in a grumpy pout. As much as it's a learning experience to be burnt by a dragon for the first time, he can't say he particularly appreciates this older man's tone. And the beastling is a mouthy little shit who doesn't know when to be quiet; he has no older brothers or father to dominate him, to put him in his place, to show him that boys whose balls haven't dropped have no right to assert authority over those who have. He answers back, he defies, he backtalks, he pushes and prods and needles away like a virus, because right now he admires this white-legged man something rotten and wants to see more of that anger. "What's she killed? Bunny rabbits and little foals?" Crimson eyes narrow at the dragon, unable to mask the fact he's still full of adoration. Her fire is the best, and he's wondering if he can maybe goad her into giving him some more burns on his back or flanks, to take home and show Mother. Admittedly his legs are throbbing incessantly, heat spreading through each stout limb, but the badassery of dragon-burns far outweights the pain. He follows Abraham's horns as they lower, almost going cross-eyed in his haste to examine the lethal tips. So. Cool. The older man continues to spew vitriol, however, and the young titan's ears flick back with displeasure. "Hey, I didn't just spill forth, I'm nearly a month old! And birds are teeny, they wouldn't stand a chance against me." The nuances of the speech are, of course, lost on him. Abraham rears slightly and, in awe-struck mimickry, the colt copies, lifting his RE: paradise - Abraham - 01-31-2015
RE: paradise - Volterra - 02-01-2015 @[Abraham] VOLTERRA you will remember me for centuries Pain pulsates through his forelegs, his young chest aching to gasp and drag in the breath he needs but that seems to catch in his throat with the agony he's in. "You take the lives of children? Woah, impressive." Sarcasm drips from a venomous young tongue, so very barbed. Still he needles, still he pokes, unwilling to back down, unwilling to give in to the inevitable. How far can he push until the white-withered man snaps? How much can the little troll get away with before he's forcefully put in his place?
The answer is, not very much. His dam has been teaching him and Nymeria their battle since the day they could walk, yet at this age the colt hasn't been taking a great deal in. Goofing off and being a pain in the ass with his twin is far more fun than being taught attacks and defences by his mother, but as Abraham begins to charge the beastling wishes more than anything that he'd paid more attention to his lessons. He makes his mind up to be the perfect student from now on - if he survives. He racks his brains for what he can remember, bracing his legs apart so he has greater movement, arching the neck that will one day bulge with a stallion's muscle, focusing his crimson gaze on his opponent's movements and hoping that instinct will do the rest. The older man's sidestep throws him off and he hisses with frustration, not knowing what to do, where to go. He continues to observe, hoping something will come to him, that he will suddenly gain the ability to read minds or dodge bullets... But it is to no avail. He has had little practice, knows not how to use what he's learnt in an actual fight, so all he can do is spook to the left with flattened ears and a feral snort as Abraham's dual horns come for his right shoulder [you didn't specify a shoulder so I eenie-meenied and went with right xD]. The movement probably stops the horn ripping into muscle, but it doesn't prevent it hooking deep into flesh, etching a horizontal laceration from the front of his shoulder to the back of it. Agony explodes, blood oozes, yet still the colt refuses to cry out. As anticipated instinct takes over and he lunges forwards with his jaws, aiming a bite for Abraham's right shoulder where it joins his neck, hoping that his fledgling teeth and hardened gums will cause a bruise at the very least. So intent is he on his attack that he forgets about the dragon - for shame! Claws dig into his back and drag painfully, gruesomely downwards, and this time as he shies to his left it causes the talon to create an arc-shaped cut, starting midway down his spine and ending just before his right flank like a flourish. The pain is indescribable - he hurts everywhere, and as expected instinct takes over. Not the instinct he wants, though, no, because it isn't making him suddenly know what he's doing on the battlefield; quite the opposite, as what little self-preservation he possesses finally kicks in. He submits. Body lowers, hunching, quivering legs still splayed and blood pissing down his body like angel's tears. His head lowers, breaking eye contact, chest heaving as he stares at the ground. He speaks the most ancient language of all; body language, the silent acknowledgement of his superior. Not a single cry has left his dry lips throughout the encounter; not a single scream, not a single beg for mercy, and now not even a word escapes him. He stands, a young colt giving into his elder, an elder that he will one day For now, he continues to stare at the ground, suffering pain so great that he wonders if it will ever stop - but the sizzling light of defiance still bubbles in the depths of his heart. A heart that only needs a stronger, older body to do all the things it craves. RE: paradise - Abraham - 02-02-2015
RE: paradise - Volterra - 02-04-2015 @[Abraham] VOLTERRA you will remember me for centuries Limbs vibrate with pain, sweat beading liberally across his neck and quarters. He didn't even manage to bite onto Abraham - to his considerable surprise, since he has little idea how something so big could move with the grace and speed of a ballerina - so he's left shamed and pained atop a cloud that he has no idea how to get down from. His head remains lowered, body submissive and hunched, chest heaving, tail flickering against the flies that are already trying to persecute his open wounds. If he's not careful the gaping cuts will grow infected, and he can't say he fancies dying of gangrene at his tender age. Perhaps there's more punishment to come - perhaps the older man wants to thoroughly crush the spirit from the defiant little boy. The thought is not a pleasant one, but the young monolith knows he will face any further pain with the same guts as he's faced the previous blows.
Abraham shifts, and Volterra allows his head to lift to catch his eye again. His gaze naturally darts, avoiding keeping lingering eye contact as a further sign of his acceptance as a lesser, because to stare is to try and dominate. The older one encourages him to embrace pain, but the colt shakes his head, wincing as the movement causes his fresh cuts to rip and ooze. "I'm not allowed to show pain. Makes enemies think you're weak, and you need them to fear you, because an enemy who fears you is halfway to losing already." That's what Mother has taught him, anyway, and Mother's word is gospel to the beastling. She is firm with her teachings, always pushes her children to the limits, but always knows when to stop. He respects her, adores her, and he thinks Nymeria feels the same. They are a wolf pack, all for one and one for all. He is beckoned behind the older one and his white dragon, and the colt follows with as much eagerness as he can muster. The bounce is gone from his step, because each stroke of his hooves against the ground causes a spasm of white-hot agony to explode through each wound. He does his level best to keep pace with Abraham, though, stride elongating despite the considerable pain it causes him. His vision goes fuzzy around the edges, but he fights it aside. Must follow. Must be strong. "Where are we going, mister Abraham?" he asks, trying to inject his usual childlike cheer into his voice but coming up tragically short. He hurts too much to be able to sound as bouncy as before - he can keep the pain out of his posture but it's impossible to keep it from out of his voice. RE: paradise - Abraham - 02-08-2015
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