[For @[Volterra] . Let's kill some stuff! I have an idea :D ] ISOPIA
IN REALITY'S SHADOW THE BLIND SEE BEST
|
Dragon's Throat Sultan atk: 8.5 | def: 11.5 | dam: 8.5 |
Stallion :: Equine :: 17'2hh :: 3 HP: 80 | Buff: SENSE |
Vérzés :: Common Red Dragon :: Frost Breath & Toxic Breath & Vadir :: Royal Gold Dragon :: Fire Breath & Shock Breath Snow |
YOU'RE THE CLOSEST THING TO HELL I'VE SEEN SO FAR He brings death freely. Alas, not simply because he can. Any kills he makes are strictly in the name of prey, because his crimson dragon needs feeding. Vérzés is perfectly capable of hunting for himself now so Volterra's help is often needless, but still he performs the deed regularly. Why? Not out of altruism towards his dragon's stomach, that's for certain. No, there are a number of reasons why Volterra practises the craft so freely. So he can continue to hone his body through the thrill of the hunt, and his mind, so he becomes numb to such casual murder. So he has an excuse to chase things down and kill them under the guise of feeding his dragon. So yes, maybe there was an aspect of simply because he can. But he has never killed anything larger than a small deer, certainly nothing he would consider as truly sentient. No horse has yet fallen beneath his hooves, for example, nor has one tumbled to Vérzés' claws. In time they likely will, but for now the duo are content to simply hone themselves through intense training and hard work. When not hunting the pair are subjected to Confutatis' rigorous regimes, and the World Eater is a slave driver if ever there was one. Running against the wind through thick sand or uphill to increase endurance, standing outside and unsheltered in all weathers to lend hardiness, pushing against small trees and rocks to create strength. All of these are things Volterra - and no doubt Nymeria, too - have performed at their dam's bidding, and all help him when it comes to his favoured passtime of crushing small and furries. In turn he pushes Vérzés to his limits, having the young dragon fly until his wings scream for mercy, or swim against strong river currents. He is his mother's son, after all, and the regimes of both dragon and colt have combined to make them robust and strong beyond their years, something aided further by the fact they have grown up as herdless outcasts. He moves today at a gentle walk, Vérzés riding on his hindquarters. They have given themselves a day off training, and have come to the Heavenly Fields to simply mooch. It holds a warm place in the beastling's heart, given that he had been born here and spent most of his time here. Usually, though, the Fields don't possess eagles made of water, and the youth's brows elevate as he moves towards the odd sight. Ah, he should have known who it would be. "Kis holló," he greets. Damn, since when was she so big? He squints at her, tilting his head. Must be an optical illusion. Nobody grew up that fast - although, he reminds himself, demi-gods aren't nobody. "Is there anything you can't do?" he asks with a small chuckle, looking up at the water-eagles. With a scream of delight Vérzés leaps from his hindquarters, flying towards the nearest eagle and using his claws to try and slash it into pieces. |
[ you can't stray from what you are, you're the closest thing to hell i've seen so far ]
[ use of force/magic on him is permitted aside from death/maiming ]
User-based Random Event |
Stallion :: Equine :: :: |
F I R E Perhaps the Gods knew what they were doing. Perhaps they knew that should the heat reign down hard and long enough a fire would break out. A fire to cleanse the wounds that the Moon Goddess had opened. Maybe it was not only the hearts of those who had been hurt by her actions who needed to be purified. Perhaps it was the land as well. As any who have been in dry and hot climates will know, a forest fire can start for any number of reasons. Compounded with the absurd amount of magic that Helovian's and their companions seemed to possess, telling a story about what started the blaze would be relatively easy. Figuring out how to stop it however, would not. Unless you moved quickly. The trees that grew in the fields were by no means as thick as those in the deep woods, which allowed plenty of oxygen to fuel what was quickly becoming a self-righteous blazing inferno. The fire leaped from limb to leaf, quickly igniting the already dry and crisp fauna and flora. Thick black smoke climbed into the sky as green boughs began to burn, and sap burst within the trees sounding like tiny explosions. The leaves and dryer grasses were the first to go. They blazed hot and bright as the fire consumed them. Some of the branches turned black but did not yet catch fire, for deep within the boughs were still too green to ignite as quickly as the leaves. Still, the fire worked, and worked. Birds flew from the trees, while squirrels and other small animals tried to make their escape as well. Some were fast enough, others were not. The sound of dying plants and animals screamed out for those who cared to listen, as the fire raged on. |
Dragon's Throat Apostle atk: 6.5 | def: 10 | dam: 8.0 |
Mare :: Tribrid :: 18hh :: 3 - is now aging slowly HP: 90 | Buff: NUMB |
Hubris :: Royal Bronze Dragon :: Shock Breath & Frost Breath & Babel :: Royal Gold Dragon :: Fire Breath Odd |
The girl turned what was quickly becoming a rather regal and elegant head towards the sound of the approaching duo. She had been so focused on her thoughts and her magic that she hadn't even registered the sounds of them until they were nearly upon her. At the sound of her nickname, the girl jumped slightly, causing her hold on her magic to break. Simultaneously all five eagles lost their form, and rained down upon the plants. The girl's gaze snapped to where puddles had formed, and she frowned slightly. I guess that's one way to do it she thought to herself with a grumble. ISOPIA
IN REALITY'S SHADOW THE BLIND SEE BEST
|
Dragon's Throat Sultan atk: 8.5 | def: 11.5 | dam: 8.5 |
Stallion :: Equine :: 17'2hh :: 3 HP: 80 | Buff: SENSE |
Vérzés :: Common Red Dragon :: Frost Breath & Toxic Breath & Vadir :: Royal Gold Dragon :: Fire Breath & Shock Breath Snow |
YOU'RE THE CLOSEST THING TO HELL I'VE SEEN SO FAR His face lights up at her response, his crimson gaze alight with amusement. "Ah, it can jest!" And here he thought she was made of stone. He watches the eagles fly, his dragon chasing after them, and a lazy grin finds its way onto his face at the sight. It is then that the acrid smell of burning reaches his nostrils. Immediately he is alert, ears pricking, titanic young frame shifting and turning towards the sickly sweet smell. Vérzés detects it too and desists from his pestering of the water-eagles, wings flaring as he moves higher and higher into the sky. Through their bond he sends Volterra an image of the forest ahead burning, birds erupting into the skies with frantic squawks as rodents dart free from ashy undergrowth, some on fire, screaming. The earthen colt feels for the animals trapped by the flames - he know how it feels to burn. His fetlocks still bear scars from Abraham's dragon, and that had been over just a small area of his body. Imagine that sensation, everywhere. "We should get out of the way," he says to Isopia. There is nothing they can do - even her water-birds wouldn't be a match for the blazing inferno. The fire is a force of nature, as hot as the surface of the sun, but it will burn out in time. Shoots will rise from charred soil, the birds and the beasts will return, and life will go on. Two young children are nothing against the simplicity of nature's wrath, powerless to stop the natural way of the world. So, then, why on earth is the girl running towards the flames? "Where the hell are you going?" he hisses at her, alarmed. Does she have a death wish? But, unbidden, his legs begin to move into a gallop to mimic hers, hauling him after her. He is not the fastest creature, because no amount of training can overcome the shortcomings of his draft heritage - his endurance is second to none, but his speed is sorely lacking. This means he has no chance of actually catching her up or overtaking her, but he does his level best to keep close behind, his dragon soaring along beside him on joyous wings. He regulates his breathing without even thinking, entering into the zone he uses during his rigorous training, focusing on the beating of his hooves as he runs after the little raven girl. Truthfully it shouldn't matter to him if she runs into the fire and burns to death in a screaming mass of meat and flesh, yet it does, and he doesn't want to abandon her to her fate. |
[ you can't stray from what you are, you're the closest thing to hell i've seen so far ]
[ use of force/magic on him is permitted aside from death/maiming ]
Dragon's Throat Apostle atk: 6.5 | def: 10 | dam: 8.0 |
Mare :: Tribrid :: 18hh :: 3 - is now aging slowly HP: 90 | Buff: NUMB |
Hubris :: Royal Bronze Dragon :: Shock Breath & Frost Breath & Babel :: Royal Gold Dragon :: Fire Breath Odd |
The trace of a smile caused by Volterra's words had long since disappeared off of her oddly patterned face. The glow of flames ahead reflected in her golden stare, but she would not be deterred. If today was her day to die then so be it. But if not, she had work to do; a part to play. She would not fail her Father in this - she would save whatever she could. ISOPIA
IN REALITY'S SHADOW THE BLIND SEE BEST
|
Dragon's Throat Sultan atk: 8.5 | def: 11.5 | dam: 8.5 |
Stallion :: Equine :: 17'2hh :: 3 HP: 80 | Buff: SENSE |
Vérzés :: Common Red Dragon :: Frost Breath & Toxic Breath & Vadir :: Royal Gold Dragon :: Fire Breath & Shock Breath Snow |
YOU'RE THE CLOSEST THING TO HELL I'VE SEEN SO FAR The blood-dragon flares his wings, halting in alarm as two massive water-dragons appear beside him. But, at Volterra's urging, he continues his headlong flight forwards, dwarfed by his watery compatriots. Despite the seriousness of the situation, the beastling feels a considerable stab of envy at the girl's magic. Like turning into a raven isn't enough, she can make dragons too? No fair. He feels Vérzés bristle, offended, and an image of the crimson appears in his head, as if to say you don't need water-dragons when you have the real thing. A fair point, the colt concedes. Finally they reach the wall of flame and he slams on the brakes, his massive feathered hooves churning up a tidal wave of dirt as he grinds to a halt, sweaty and frantic. "Detain it?!" His voice is incredulous, eyes wide with the whites clearly visible as Isopia begins to dig. Help me, she demands. This is the most animated he has ever seen her - she is as full of fire as the flames before her, and Volterra is taken aback by the force of her desire to protect nature. He wants to help her, but how on earth can he? He is not blessed with magic, and Vérzés is made of blood and steel, not water. Vérzés! His attention had momentarily wavered from the crimson dragon, and he looks now to see his mind-partner making a determined beeline towards the flames after the watery replicas conjured up by the raven girl. In his youth and exuberance the ruby one does not understand fire, and certainly hasn't experienced its wrath as Volterra has. His infantile mind doesn't yet grasp the danger the red-orange-yellow mess poses, and he thinks that if water-dragons can help by diving into it, then so can he! "No!" bellows the colt as he watches helplessly on, his dragon flying closer, closer to the flames, closer to searing oblivion. The red's mind is blocking him out, unwilling to listen to reason, such is his enthusiasm. Fear like Volterra has never known before grips him at the possibility of losing his precious companion, so soon, not yet. Somewhere deep within the boy, the fear triggers a spark. A tiny little iota of magic squirreled away in his genetic makeup, unknown to him until now. Perhaps it simply took an emotion this strong to trigger it; Volterra simply wanting magic for the sake of being greedy hadn't been enough. This terror, this need to protect his dragon, is just what the spark needed to ignite. In front of the fire, between Isopia's trench and the searing wall of fire, between Vérzés and his impending demise, the earth bubbles, then erupts. A wall of rock stabs out from beneath the soil, pushing singed grass aside like hair as it ascends higher than both the gathered foals. Dirt tumbles from the structure as it grows outwards as well as upwards, forming a barrier between the fire and the foals - the flames lick greedily at the stone-hard surface on the other side, but find no way through. There is a dull thud as Vérzés flies straight into the wall and falls to the ground, dazed and bruised but alive, confused at the sudden immovable obstacle in his path. Volterra watches in awe, watches his magic create the structure that just saved his dragon's life. Such glory! But his elation lasts only a fraction of a second, because suddenly the life drains out of him as though sucked by a vampire. Fit and healthy he may be, but this is not like the tiredness he feels after running for too long against the wind. He has never used magic before, is unaware of how it requires energy the same as any other movement - black spots float before his vision and his legs fold beneath him, skinning his knees on the hard ground as he collapses into a heap. A groan leaves him as he holds onto consciousness by the thinnest of threads, his conjured wall wobbling slightly but holding firm as Volterra pours every ounce of power he has into maintaining it. "Didn't...know...I...could...do...that," he gasps, but he doesn't even have the energy to hold his head up and so allows it to flop down chin-first, eyelids flickering. |
[ you can't stray from what you are, you're the closest thing to hell i've seen so far ]
[ use of force/magic on him is permitted aside from death/maiming ]
Dragon's Throat Apostle atk: 6.5 | def: 10 | dam: 8.0 |
Mare :: Tribrid :: 18hh :: 3 - is now aging slowly HP: 90 | Buff: NUMB |
Hubris :: Royal Bronze Dragon :: Shock Breath & Frost Breath & Babel :: Royal Gold Dragon :: Fire Breath Odd |
The girl is unaware of the back and forth between the colt and his companion. Having never experienced such a bond, the girl is ignorant that such communication is even possible - although if she were to sit down and think about it, she would likely be able to piece together roughly how it works. For now, her mind is focused solely on the fire. Let me know if you want me to re-write the small PP? ISOPIA
IN REALITY'S SHADOW THE BLIND SEE BEST
|
Dragon's Throat Sultan atk: 8.5 | def: 11.5 | dam: 8.5 |
Stallion :: Equine :: 17'2hh :: 3 HP: 80 | Buff: SENSE |
Vérzés :: Common Red Dragon :: Frost Breath & Toxic Breath & Vadir :: Royal Gold Dragon :: Fire Breath & Shock Breath Snow |
YOU'RE THE CLOSEST THING TO HELL I'VE SEEN SO FAR Everything aches. His muscles scream for release the same way they would had he just ran an uphill marathon, his lungs gasping as they fight for breath. Who knew magic could be so damn exhausting? His skinned knees sting as he desperately tries to clamber to his feet, but he can't, not without releasing the tether of magic that draws him to the wall he's created. So he flops limply back down, legs bent uncomfortably beneath him. His pain isn't helped by the fact he can feel Vérzés' aches, too. The dragon had, after all, just flown full-tilt into a wall of solid rock, and he rouses himself from the ground with a disgruntled chirp. Bruises rupture beneath his crimson scales and his pain mingles with Volterra's, their interwoven minds a blur of agony. But the red is alive. If it weren't for the wall, the titanic colt would be suffering a far greater pain, as Vérzés would be naught but a bloody smear on the ground after flying directly into the searing flames. Now his adrenaline has worn off, the dragon seems rather sheepish, finally realising his bravery had in fact been little more than idiocy. He crawls across the ground, too sore to fly but needing to be close to Volterra, and rests his chin upon the fallen colt's neck. The boy's flesh itches as feathers press against him, and he remembers Isopia. She presses close to him, urgently trying to rouse him - at first he's touched by her concern, until he realises she just wants him to use his magic to dissipate the fire from the inside. Charming. He fixes his crimson gaze on her, finding it hard to keep it level as dizziness threatens to overwhelm him. Now Vérzés is safe, though, he realises his wall is no longer needed; screwing up his forehead, he tries to draw his magic back towards him, sucking the wall back into the ground from whence it came. The structure crumbles with a heavy thud, and fragments of strength begin to crawl back into the colt's bones, enough for him to be able to unfurl his legs beneath him and rise delicately to his feet. He wobbles, a newborn all over again, blood trickling down his knees onto the burn-scars that tinge his white stockings, breath still coming in harsh gasps but no longer feeling like he's about to pass into the abyss. His gaze, stronger now, continues to level on Isopia. "Oh sure, I'll just, you know, magic myself to death to stop some random forest beasties getting roasted." His voice drips with sarcasm. Why does she care so much about this damned fire? He only cared because his precious dragon was about to fly into it. The countless birds and mammals inside the forest? Their fate is sad, yes, but he sees no reason to concern himself over it. This is nature. It happens. But nor does he wish to appear weak in front of Isopia. She is a demi-god; she has power beyond his very imagination, and a bloodline even richer than his own. He cannot appear feeble before her, not when he's finally discovered something unique about himself, some hidden power that makes him worthy of the future he has planned for himself. That is the essence of Volterra's very nature at this young age; he cares what others think, and he abhors weakness. He will drive himself into the ground to prove his strength. He will not back down on pain of death. He will magic up a structure for Isopia, even if it kills him, because the alternative is being branded a coward unwilling to risk discomfort, unwilling to push himself to the limit. No, the limit is where the black behemoth exists, and today will be no different. He steels himself, and feels his dragon's claws as Vérzés clambers onto his hindquarters. The red one emits a small chirrup and Volterra feels the dragon lending him his strength, their minds melding closer together than ever before so their very essences become one. With his bonded's power behind him, the colt drags in a deep breath and reaches for the nub of magic he'd so accidentally discovered. Without the onslaught of emotion, it is surprisingly difficult to access the magic, and he knows that if he survives this he will have to practice in order to make this second nature to him. Finally, he unlocks the door to his power and sends tendrils of thought down into the ground, slithering under the fire until they reach the centre. The distance from Volterra to his would-be structure is yet another concern - he knows this is going to tire him out just as much as his wall, if not more. Coupled with the exhaustion that already plagues him...he casts a sidelong glance to Isopia. "If this kills me, you're getting your ass haunted for all eternity. Fair warning." With those could-be last words, the colt allows his magic to explode out of him. In the centre of the fire rises a tower; not particularly high, because height isn't necessary for what Isopia has in mind. Instead he focuses on making it thick, strong, wide enough to make a difference to the hungry flames. It pushes the fire away from it, fragmenting it, lessening its power by virtue of making it into two smaller entities rather than one massive one; but the concentration saps what strength remains in the colt and he collapses back to the ground with a heavy thud, clinging onto consciousness by a thread. A small groan leaves him as fatigue claws at him like a hungry monster, death lurking in the shadows to claim him - it takes every ounce of strength he has to resist the pull of darkness, and he thanks his mother for her ardous training, because a weaker boy would have already succumbed. What little energy he has left goes into maintaining the rock structure for as long as it takes for Isopia to do whatever she intends to do, but he knows he won't be able to last much longer - death beckons, calls him, and if he continues expending his magic then he will soon enter its embrace. |
[ you can't stray from what you are, you're the closest thing to hell i've seen so far ]
[ use of force/magic on him is permitted aside from death/maiming ]
Dragon's Throat Apostle atk: 6.5 | def: 10 | dam: 8.0 |
Mare :: Tribrid :: 18hh :: 3 - is now aging slowly HP: 90 | Buff: NUMB |
Hubris :: Royal Bronze Dragon :: Shock Breath & Frost Breath & Babel :: Royal Gold Dragon :: Fire Breath Odd |
The girl ignores the sarcasm in his voice. She doesn't understand it, or the inflections. Her mind can't grasp why he would not 100% be onboard for her plan, or why his weariness or potential death should have anything to do with it. He is just some random forest beastie after all, as is she. Why do either of them deserve to cling to life more than the other creatures who dwell on the globe? Is it merely selfishness on his part? A small-mindedness combined with an inflated sense of importance? ISOPIA
IN REALITY'S SHADOW THE BLIND SEE BEST
|
Dragon's Throat Sultan atk: 8.5 | def: 11.5 | dam: 8.5 |
Stallion :: Equine :: 17'2hh :: 3 HP: 80 | Buff: SENSE |
Vérzés :: Common Red Dragon :: Frost Breath & Toxic Breath & Vadir :: Royal Gold Dragon :: Fire Breath & Shock Breath Snow |
YOU'RE THE CLOSEST THING TO HELL I'VE SEEN SO FAR He slips in and out of consciousness, and only the thin strand of his bond to his dragon tethers him to life. If there is a god, he does not see it; he sees only blackness, its arms open to him like a lover's embrace, beckoning him closer, closer. Through the red reptile's eyes he sees what Isopia is doing, dropping dragons of water onto the seperated flame. His dreams are haunted by the image, and he longs to remain where he is and lapse gleefully into the next realm. But Vérzés has other ideas. The blood-dragon has no intention of losing his bonded so soon, and he jabs his nose insistently into Volterra's neck. Poke, poke, poke goes the bony beak of the red, and the colt releases a low and self-pitying groan as his eyes flicker open. Vérzés continues to prod him, even daring to nip at his taut flesh, hard enough to draw a pinprick of blood. Volterra gives a hiss and idly flicks a front hoof in the direction of the dragon, but it doesn't deter him. Poke, poke. Finally the colt forces himself fully, reluctantly, into consciousness, eyelids flickering as they fight against the lead weights trying to draw them shut. The light burns his eyes and his muscles scream as he fights to clamber to his feet, each stocky leg spread wide to balance him unsteadily. His structures crumble back into the ground, their deed done, and return him enough strength to move, but there isn't a part of him that doesn't ache. Despite it, though, he is proud. He has discovered his magic, and broken through the pain barrier to use it. He is strong after all, and practice will only make him get stronger. Whole new realms of possibility are open to him now, and he intends to explore them. Isopia's voice rings in his still-addled mind, and he wobbles delicately towards her. Vérzés, still too sore to fly, clambers up his leg and sits atop his withers, his usually proud head held low with the sheer effort of the movement. He sees the hybrid filly stood over two deer, and his gaze travels downwards to them. Mother and fawn, their shattered legs bent like fragile twigs, their pain evident. Something in him goes out to them, some spark in his dead heart. Is this mercy? Is this what Mauja had wanted Abraham to show the unicorn mare when he had bullied and abused her dying frame? That had been an act of cowardice, and Volterra still knows not why the older man did it. These deer are in a similar situation to Quinn, and whilst killing them would be a kindness, he sees no reason to abuse them, to take advantage of their weakness. To bully something weaker than yourself, that you hadn't even defeated in battle, was an act of weakness in itself. He watches through impassive eyes as Isopia ends the fawn, sends it to peace. Mercy. The mother's scream of terror sets the colt's teeth on edge, and he doesn't know what he feels as Isopia indicates that he should take care of her. He had killed before, when he hunted small creatures for Vérzés' first meal, but none of them had looked up at him with such beseeching, intelligent eyes. None of them had been so obviously sentient, so clearly aware of what was about to happen. They had been a means to an end to him, but this deer was so obviously alive, so obviously understanding of the fate that awaited her. For a moment his resolve wavers. But it lasts only a split second; one day, if he is to be the warmonger he longs to be, he will have to end lives, lives of horses no less. Lives of equals, of large and intelligent creatures with families and hopes and dreams, and when that day comes he will not be able to show weakness even for a second. His father would not show weakness when he slaughtered unicorns and pegasus for the crime of not being equine. His mother would not show weakness when she ascended to queenhood over the peasants. He needs to practice this now, so that when the time comes to kill for real, it will be as easy as blinking. He needs to crush out all emotions from himself when it comes to this deed, needs to become an assassin who slays without even thinking, without empathy or fear or sorrow. So he steels his heart and lifts a heavy hoof, bringing it down swiftly on the mother's neck. The bones crunch and snap and she passes into the abyss - a swift, clean kill, and one that leaves him feeling strangely proud of himself. Vérzés loses no time in diving from his bonded's shoulders and tucking into the meat of the two dead deer, his head burrowing deep into the sides of the carcasses until his red scales glimmer with blood. Volterra looks to Isopia, his expression stony but quizzical. They had just shared something...something, killed together, fought fire together. It is a strange kind of kinship he now feels with her. "What now?" he asks. Do they leave the other forest beasties to their fate, or continue their crusade of death through the singed landscape, ending the injured and the broken? |
@[Isopia]
[ you can't stray from what you are, you're the closest thing to hell i've seen so far ]
[ use of force/magic on him is permitted aside from death/maiming ]
Dragon's Throat Apostle atk: 6.5 | def: 10 | dam: 8.0 |
Mare :: Tribrid :: 18hh :: 3 - is now aging slowly HP: 90 | Buff: NUMB |
Hubris :: Royal Bronze Dragon :: Shock Breath & Frost Breath & Babel :: Royal Gold Dragon :: Fire Breath Odd |
The seconds that pass between the last syllable of her command and the boy's movement seem to stretch on forever. In those moments the girl doubts that Volterra is anything but naive and childish. Will she really have to explain to him the necessity of what she has just done, and what she has asked him to do? Could he really have named his dragon after blood and then shy away when she commands that he bring it forward? How could he be bonded to such a primal and strong creature, and yet be so weak and pathetic? All of these fears and tentative emotions bubble up inside her, somewhere in her chest, but are almost immediately doused by confirmation. ISOPIA
IN REALITY'S SHADOW THE BLIND SEE BEST
|
Dragon's Throat Sultan atk: 8.5 | def: 11.5 | dam: 8.5 |
Stallion :: Equine :: 17'2hh :: 3 HP: 80 | Buff: SENSE |
Vérzés :: Common Red Dragon :: Frost Breath & Toxic Breath & Vadir :: Royal Gold Dragon :: Fire Breath & Shock Breath Snow |
YOU'RE THE CLOSEST THING TO HELL I'VE SEEN SO FAR It is perhaps odd that one of Volterra's supreme self-confidence seeks guidance from a younger creature, and a girl at that. But in his short life, he knows nothing other than following commands. Mother bids him do something, and he does it. Nymeria asks something of him, and he does it. Of course, he aspires to lead one day, but before one can lead they must learn to follow. He knows he is not yet perfect, knows he must become the soldier before he becomes the general, before he becomes the king. His mind is still a delicate, newly-formed thing which is growing day by day as he ages, and it needs to be moulded by those around him. He follows because he trusts her, understands that she knows more about this than he does. And yes, perhaps there is a part of him that respects her powerful heritage and can detect strength in her, something he well appreciates. They are bound now, at least. Bound by the deed they have just committed together. Whenever Volterra uses his magic he will remember the fact that he discovered it with her. Whenever he slays, he will remember his first true kill came with her, at her request. We finish this. The black monolith dips his head, the gesture weary. He summons his dragon back to him, having to gently coax the crimson creature away from his supper, then forks away from Isopia to hunt for other dying woodland life to end. Numbly he sends broken-legged rabbits into the abyss, shattered-winged birds, screaming rats and whimpering voles, even a badly burnt fox who bravely rages against the dying light and savages Volterra's forelegs as they descend on his agonised orange body. The cuts stand stark against the colt's white forelegs, already burn-scarred. It is tiring, bloody work, and by the time he can see no more lives to end, he is exhausted far beyond what he thought possible. He moves back to Isopia, his aching and stinging legs quivering slightly with exhaustion. He should return to Mother, should nestle beside Nymeria and collapse into a well-earned sleep, but there is still so much he wants to know. Needs to know. "The way you reacted to the fire - you were like a woman possessed," he remarks, his hooded red gaze locked on the filly's skull-marked features. Vérzés, as tired as his bonded from his exertions and with a full stomach from devouring the corpses, nestles with a sigh into the crook of the colt's withers, falling immediately into slumber. "Why? Why did all the forest animals matter so much to you?" There is no judgement in his voice; his initial anger and confusion from before is long gone, disappated along with all the lives he'd taken. No, he is genuinely intrigued by Isopia's motivations, on why the fire affected her so much. When he first met her, she was stone, stoic, almost dead, but the fire had turned her animated, almost passionate. What had triggered the transformation? Was it perhaps the God's blood that ran in her veins? |
@[Isopia]
[ you can't stray from what you are, you're the closest thing to hell i've seen so far ]
[ use of force/magic on him is permitted aside from death/maiming ]
Dragon's Throat Apostle atk: 6.5 | def: 10 | dam: 8.0 |
Mare :: Tribrid :: 18hh :: 3 - is now aging slowly HP: 90 | Buff: NUMB |
Hubris :: Royal Bronze Dragon :: Shock Breath & Frost Breath & Babel :: Royal Gold Dragon :: Fire Breath Odd |
She is covered in blood now - her coat stained even more than it was before. The skull markings that line her face are still clean however - pristine even. It is unsettling and fitting of her. Her golden eyes do not seem weary behind her mask, if anything, they are all the more alive for the killing. It as if the lives she has taken have somehow given her a second wind. Her righteousness that stole their lives now fuels hers. And it shows. ISOPIA
IN REALITY'S SHADOW THE BLIND SEE BEST
|
Dragon's Throat Sultan atk: 8.5 | def: 11.5 | dam: 8.5 |
Stallion :: Equine :: 17'2hh :: 3 HP: 80 | Buff: SENSE |
Vérzés :: Common Red Dragon :: Frost Breath & Toxic Breath & Vadir :: Royal Gold Dragon :: Fire Breath & Shock Breath Snow |
YOU'RE THE CLOSEST THING TO HELL I'VE SEEN SO FAR His stout limbs quiver, his eyelids threatening to slam shut over those blazing crimson eyes. So tired. He has never felt exhaustion like this, fatigue that reaches right into his bones. He needs to leave, needs to rest, but he can't. Not until he's drained every ounce of information out of this curious filly, this raven with the stone face and the cold heart, which only glows when faced with a fire she insists should never have happenened. She speaks of a Moon Goddess, of shoulds and shouldn'ts, and the colt stares at her blankly. He shakes his head to rid his vision of the black spots that hover in his eyeline, focusing his attention as much as he can on Isopia. He should wait until he's rested to ask these things, when he's more lucid and not on the verge of slipping into a damned coma, but he can't. He can't leave without finding out now. "This Moon Goddess...what did she do to be thrown into the Edge?" He's almost slurring, his tongue fumbling over words that usually slip from it like blood on ice; he's not with it, his brain needing to shut down, to refresh. He has heard of Gods, but never of a Goddess - he has so much to learn, so little time. Isopia is a font of knowledge, one he is keen to sip from. He doesn't understand the concept of equilibrium, of balance; all he knows is that he has killed with this earthen filly at his side, and that he needs to know why. She talks of a Hototo, a sibling who died - well, that explains what crime the Goddess committed. The information surprises the titanic youngster, and it shows on his sleep-deprived face. Why would a God kill the child of another? Volterra had been under the impression that they were all friends, or at least allies, united in their power. Not like the Gods his parents had told him about - three of different species, doomed to war for evermore. He'd assumed these hybrid Gods were kinsmen, yet it appears not. "I'm sorry," he says, somewhat awkwardly. What else do you say when somebody tells you their brother was murdered? When they say that they were engineered, born for a purpose? In a way, he can relate. Mother makes no secret of the fact that her twins were created to become warmongers in their parents' name; born to destroy, sired out of lust, not love. As it should be. "That is quite a weight upon your shoulders." She seems almost prideful at her statement, yet Volterra thinks of the other side; the pressure, the lack of freedom, the tether to a destiny not of your choosing. It does, at least, explain why Isopia is so odd. |
@[Isopia]
[ you can't stray from what you are, you're the closest thing to hell i've seen so far ]
[ use of force/magic on him is permitted aside from death/maiming ]
Dragon's Throat Apostle atk: 6.5 | def: 10 | dam: 8.0 |
Mare :: Tribrid :: 18hh :: 3 - is now aging slowly HP: 90 | Buff: NUMB |
Hubris :: Royal Bronze Dragon :: Shock Breath & Frost Breath & Babel :: Royal Gold Dragon :: Fire Breath Odd |
She can see that Volterra is tired - and some small part of her aches the way that he does - but her mind is so detached that she doesn't feel it. She knows that something is exhausted, she just doesn't identify with that something, and so puts it out of her mind. For the same reasons, she doesn't offer Volterra strength or thanks, it doesn't seem of much consequence just now, especially now that he is asking for information that she holds. His inquisitiveness draws her in, and a spark of approval glistened in her hardened stare. ISOPIA
IN REALITY'S SHADOW THE BLIND SEE BEST
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Dragon's Throat Sultan atk: 8.5 | def: 11.5 | dam: 8.5 |
Stallion :: Equine :: 17'2hh :: 3 HP: 80 | Buff: SENSE |
Vérzés :: Common Red Dragon :: Frost Breath & Toxic Breath & Vadir :: Royal Gold Dragon :: Fire Breath & Shock Breath Snow |
YOU'RE THE CLOSEST THING TO HELL I'VE SEEN SO FAR Murdered. The word rings in his ears, echoing alongside the gentle buzzing of tiredness that urges his brain into sleep. Murdered. He feels a strange pang in his heart; this Goddess was condemned for the murders, but Volterra and Isopia between them had just slaughtered twice that number. Did they deserve to be thrown into a stone prison for their sins? What they had done was for the greater good, ending the misery of the agonized, but from what Isopia was saying, the Moon Goddess had killed for a reason, too. If something was done for a reason, did that make it wrong? Were he and Isopia criminals now, for killing then trying to justify it? Sure, the Goddess had killed horses whereas he and the filly had killed lesser beings, but they were still alive, still sentient life. Did doing the wrong things for the right reasons make them criminals, outlaws, or martyrs? Her brother had been the last victim - if that was Volterra, he would have sworn vengeance. If somebody killed Nymeria, no matter the reason, he would not rest until their bloodied carcass lay broken and bent beneath his hooves, mutilated by the force of his rage. She is his world, which is why he apologizes for Hototo's loss; stupidly he assumes Isopia feels for her dead brother, even if she never met him. Even if his death was the reason for her existence. But her awkward expression - which his tired eyes pick up on far more than his well-rested eyes probably would have - and her sharp words say otherwise. After all, she isn't like others. She isn't like him. What she felt for Hototo was nothing like he feels for Nymeria; love bordering on obsession. His words of apology were hollow, insincere, but he said them anyway. He looks to the hybrid. "So in a roundabout way, this Goddess' murder spree is the reason you exist? That explains a lot." About Isopia's love of balance, her hellbent determination on maintaining it. Her duty. Yes, that is a weight on young shoulders, or so the boy thinks. Isopia, it seems, disagrees - her words are complex, and the colt's exhausted brain is hardpressed to wrap around them. Damn, he really should have waited to have this conversation until he was more with it. "You make it sound like...like your life is written for you. But what if you go against your fate? What happens if you throw your duties to the wind and live for yourself, not your destiny or whatever the hell it is?" He looks at her, intrigued, almost pitying her but not allowing that to show on his face. She doesn't need his pity. Her question renders him silent for a moment. "I have...a basic idea," he begins, casting his mind back to the shadowy figure of his warmongering father, stood over him at his birth like a sentinel of death. He knows what that man wants him to become. He knows what his mother wants him to become. To an extent, he knows what Nymeria wants him to become. But the wonderful thing is that he has no obligation to live up to any of those things. If he wants to, he can become a peace-loving hermit who goes against his warrior background and dances around in a bed of flowers - he never would, but at least he has the option. From the sound of things, Isopia doesn't have that choice. She is enslaved to her duty, bound by invisible chains. "But I'll get back to you on it. When I can think straight I'll be able to give you a better answer." On wobbling legs he shifts to leave, his slumbering dragon barely shifting. "Until next time, kis holló." His muzzle suddenly extends to try and touch her shoulder, an almost affectionate gesture - they have just shed blood together, indulged in magic together, so it seems only natural they say farewell as compatriots do. As friends do, perhaps. Even as he makes the movement, though, the beastling is unsure how it will be received, and with a final nod to her he staggers home. |
@[Isopia]
[ you can't stray from what you are, you're the closest thing to hell i've seen so far ]
[ use of force/magic on him is permitted aside from death/maiming ]
Dragon's Throat Apostle atk: 6.5 | def: 10 | dam: 8.0 |
Mare :: Tribrid :: 18hh :: 3 - is now aging slowly HP: 90 | Buff: NUMB |
Hubris :: Royal Bronze Dragon :: Shock Breath & Frost Breath & Babel :: Royal Gold Dragon :: Fire Breath Odd |
She didn't think that it was just a roundabout pattern of cause and effect, from the Goddess to her, it seemed fairly linear. Still, she shrugged her shoulders. Volterra seemed to have the gist of it - far more than others did when she tried to have this conversation anyways. Her dark nose subtly nodded at his conclusion. "Yes." She echoed. "His death - and her part in it - are why I am here." weeee such a great thread! Thanks Snow <3 ISOPIA
IN REALITY'S SHADOW THE BLIND SEE BEST
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