Their walk across the long flatland was quiet, filled with thought. Caleb wondered if he'd run into another being while passing through the wide expanse of snow and towards the towering mountains that made a barrier around the Basin. He also wondered what type of horses would reside there. Would they be militant horses, with strong warriors? Would they be a more intellectual herd with a truly wise Wise One? Would they be a more sleuthy herd with as many spies as feathers in his wings? He concluded that this herd, along with all the rest, should be balanced rank-wise, thus they would excel in not only one thing, but everything. He had known herds that had tried this and failed, jack of all trades, master of none, but with enough training a herd could become jack of all trades, master of all
The titan had only recently been practicing fighting, though he did eventually desire to meet with a god, possibly craft, and try his hand in stealing something or someone. He wanted to not only get back the item that had been stolen from him, but possibly acquire further items. For now, Caleb only sought to battle, to learn how to attack and defend. Though massive with height and muscle, he was still young, not always sure how to use his height and mass against an opponent.
@[Rohan]
Outcast atk: 4 | def: 8.5 | dam: 7.5 |
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 17.0 :: 8 years HP: 66 | Buff: NOVICE |
Éomer :: White-tailed Eagle :: Scream Reli |
It’s his thoughts that have been running this day—running, running, running. Several weeks have passed since he had crossed the Threshold of Helovia, most of them spent in the wilds, discovering and exploring this new and mysterious world. But…but what? Still the Warlander is not nearly satisfied, and he wars with himself; is it the unknown that calls to him, or the responsibility and purpose of a herd, or something else entirely? He has never been an astute or responsible character, always restless and unsatisfied, but never can he remember being so…confused. The Edge? The Basin? Heaven, hell? It is all nonsense to him, and he snorts irritably, tossing his head with a maddened scowl.
But even through his angry and brooding thoughts, the antlered stallion is not oblivious to his surroundings. Slowing his pace to an extended walk, Rohan’s green eyes narrow as he inspects the shadow moving along the horizon. In his current state of mind, the Warlander is not particularly…searching for company, and considers leaving the stranger with a curt snort. However, their paths are already lined up to cross, and maybe he doesn’t feel wholly inclined to alter his direction. Lifting his head to sniff at the frosty air, Rohan identifies the stranger as a stallion, which initially puts him off. But then again…perhaps now it is not in his best interest to be pursuing a pretty lady (even if his body tells him otherwise).
Tilting his ears back in stubborn indifference, the Warlander continues onward, again picking up a ground swallowing trot as he angles himself inadvertently towards the shadowy stranger. As the distance steadily closes between them, it becomes obvious that this is no small beast. Perhaps he is not as bulky as Rohan is himself, but their heights certainly rival each other. “Evening, stranger,” the striped stallion’s deep voice booms out over the flat and empty landscape, broadening over the flush snowy ground without anything to deflect its sound. His greeting is neither friendly nor hostile—merely hanging on the precipice of both.
Having spoken to the winged stallion several paces before their paths finally came to a meeting point, Rohan slows to a quick, smooth halt, his body nearly perpendicular to the stranger’s shoulder. On more amiable days, he would allow himself to relax at an encounter like this—let his hip to dip sharply to the side as he rests a leg, an easy smirk on his lips, and a bright mischief in his eyes—but this evening he is in no such spirits.
His thick, hairy body remains poised, neither tense nor relaxed, but rather at a tipping point between both (much like his tone). “I seem to find many a traveler weathering the bite of winter’s darker hours,” the Warlander muses, mostly to himself, “are you of the Basin?” His gaze is cast momentarily to the rise of the mountains, and to the valley that lies beyond. Rohan presses his lips tightly together, and as he returns his attention to the other stallion, his eyes are an indiscernible mix of emotions—even to himself.
notes; First time he's been in this mood...we'll see where it goes xD
tag; @[Caleb]
“Speech.”
don’t get too close, it’s dark inside
Administrator atk: 99 | def: 99 | dam: 99 |
Mare :: Other :: 5'7" :: 25 HP: 99999 | Buff: TWERK |
Blu |
Outcast atk: 5.5 | def: 8.5 | dam: 6.5 |
Stallion :: Hybrid :: 17.1hh :: 4yo :: Orangmoon HP: 69 | Buff: NOVICE |
Henrietta :: Weimaraner :: None baylee |
He halts a respectable distance away, and the dark tyrant turns to him, faces him head on as words fall from the stranger's lips. These words, they are intensely different. The way they are strung together is all but easy to understand. In fact, it sounds more like poetry than a conversation he is attempting to begin. Either way, Caleb finds it slightly odd and begins to wonder where the traveler has been, where he descends from. "My hound and I have no home, but we do aim to join the Aurora Basin," he states, voice calm and even, the underlying tones still friendly, open. Perhaps this marauder grabbed Caleb at the correct time. His eyes sweep upwards, beyond Caleb and to the mountains that rise sky-high behind him. Caleb wonders what he sees, what he thinks of them. He is curious to know if they are more daunting to non-winged horses who spend most of there time stuck on the ground. For Caleb, he could easily fly to the top, be king of the world, stand on the highest point, but these pursuits of "I stood on the highest mountain" are pointless when there is work to be done.
@Rohan sorry for wait :x
Outcast atk: 4 | def: 8.5 | dam: 7.5 |
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 17.0 :: 8 years HP: 66 | Buff: NOVICE |
Éomer :: White-tailed Eagle :: Scream Reli |
In any case, Rohan’s thoughts are largely elsewhere. He travels as he has done for the past season or so, with no particular destination in mind and simply following the movement of his hooves, but perhaps it is a little different this evening. It’s not only the liberal beckoning of Helovia’s wilderness that tempts him with her wilds—tonight the wild call of the unknown has company, a stranger that the antlered stallion is unsure he wants to meet.
He is running—and how long must he keep up the chase? How many months, days, minutes until history resurfaces from the darkest parts of his memory and runs him off his feet? He does not like to acknowledge the possibility of such things…he is more prone to bury it, smother it, forget it and overwhelm it with far more fantastical adventures (as has become his wont). Like the ominous echoing of a war cry, his pride swells to the challenge—confiding in him promises of a better future and a dissolved, forgotten past. If only it could be so easy, but he is far too proud to look past its deception.
He cannot run forever.
Flicking the length of his tail, thick and heavy with the lingering frost of winter, Rohan’s gaze trails to the mountains that rise along the horizon. “I’ve heard it is a prosperous place,” he murmurs, a spark of both amusement and indignation flaring through the depth of his voice. Indeed, he has heard many things concerning the Basin—both its flaws and its strengths. It is a top-heavy kingdom, all of its grand glory and temptation balancing on a needle of hypocrisy, corrupt in its bigotry. He waits for it to crumble, not because he wishes to see it, but because surely it must be so.
“Breeds fine women,” the tiger-striped stallion continues on a friendlier note, the glint of his eyes shifting back to the winged stranger, “wouldn’t you agree?” Here is a topic far more comfortable between men, and it brings a light of mischief to his rugged features. Truly, many of the alluring mares he has encountered in his travels throughout Helovia have come from the Northern valley, and perhaps they might snag him yet. “My name is Rohan, by the way,” he speaks broadly, welcoming the other to do the same (or being subjected to the wilds of his imagination otherwise).
notes; I'm so so sorry for the crapiness of this, hopefully they'll get better x_x also, I left his reaction pretty general so you can respond freely with Caleb, since he has now actually joined the Basin haha.
“Speech.”
don’t get too close, it’s dark inside