the Rift


[OPEN] the last ember

Reginald Posts: 165
Hidden Account atk: 4 | def: 7.5 | dam: 7
Stallion :: Hybrid :: 17.1 hh :: 3 HP: 64 | Buff: NOVICE
Ka'Mate :: Harpy Eagle :: None & Ka'Ora :: Harpy Eagle :: None M.E.
#5

He scents the brute upon the dry winds of a desert, and he knows precisely why the monster has come to call.

Ka’Ora has learned--is learning, so well, so quick, so very unlike her older, harsher brother. She detects the scent from the mind of her bonded; she stores it in her memory, etches it in the stone of her mind, ever faithful, ever studious. Sire? she offers, soaring above, her wings beating upon sunrays. Yes, her master concedes. It is Father who approaches, the bearer of the seed that sparked such grey-eyed brilliance.

His stomach twists in a way he cannot abide by—for it is a twisting he cannot control, subdue, escape. He knows why his Father comes within these halls of sand and heat; he knows what his Father searches for, the ultimate subject of his conquest. It is wrapped in the starlit form of a filly the Dauntless himself helped to create; he has come to fulfill a promise the Gey-Eye’d hated making. It is time for Macaria to go home.

He must lose his baby sister.

Ka’Ora shifts in the gentle breeze. ’Cari, she says, her primitive, hesitant speech glowing at the bastardized version of his sister’s name. She loves Macaria. It is one of the rare loves Ka’Ora possesses that Reginald abides by.
Reginald gives a soft snort as he watches his Father meet with the potentates of the harsh desert wind. She will be leaving us, he tells his bonded, Macaria shall go now to the hills and valleys of the north.

Leaving? the harpy repeats, an anguish coming about her thoughts. Leaving, leaving, leaving. It is a keen from her, an outpouring of emotion that causes the Prince’s ears to pin against his rock-hard neck. It is a dire cost of her intelligence—for Ka’Ora learns as her brother does not, and she feels as her brother does not as well. Ka’Mate listens to these things, even as Ka’Ora does. He does not care for them, does not understand the meaning of the word “leaving”. He hunts, rabid and stupid and giddy in the blood of vermin cobras between his talons. He is careless. Mindless. Reginald prefers this dim-witted, obedient bloodlust to Ka’Ora’s constant feeling, feeling, feeling.

She is an echo he cannot escape. And that is what he hates.

His eyes focus instead upon the approach of Megaera and the Wildfire, watching as they meet his Father at the border. This scene interests him in many ways; it always bemuses him that such a little spick of a mare could think herself so grand as to ever dare look in the eyes of such great, hulking creatures. Her audacity astounds him almost to laughing tears; she is barely large enough to fuck (although it seems someone managed the endeavor nonetheless), much less lead armies of men! And yet here she is, clear in her power beside the Wildfire, important and confident, as though it were her place.  

Eyes of grey shift the other Sultan, the one who at least appears to deserve the rank—and here the interest kindles even hotter in the breast of the Basilisk, for he remembers the tension between Gaucho and himself when he first proffered himself as a warrior for these lands.

“Why you stay, away from family and with an enemy of your Father?"

Why indeed?

Reginald chews those words, just as he had chewed them before. He swallows the spatting response, for he keeps his fangs clean and in control within the boundaries of a herdland. I am my own man, and I have my own enemies. I have lived apart from my Father since I was a young boy. My life is free for me to choose, and I have chosen the desert sands to reside in. There are many things he could say, many things he should’ve said, many things that no longer matter, for the speck of a harlot allowed him entry regardless of his…loyalties.

…but none of these musings matter. He knows why he allows them to stay his hoof, to keep him rooted. He sighs; Ka’Ora continues to keen overhead. He does not need to greet his Father. The Dauntless did not come for his son.

Leaving, leaving, leaving!

He turns; there is someone he must fetch, and he knows where she loves to play.

."talk talk talk"

R E G I N A L D

Walk the razor's edge
Cut into the madness
Question all you trust
Image Credit



--Please tag REGINALD in every reply!

--All force is allowed to be used against this character!




Messages In This Thread
the last ember - by Archibald - 10-10-2015, 11:27 AM
RE: the last ember - by Megaera - 10-13-2015, 12:00 AM
RE: the last ember - by Gaucho - 10-13-2015, 09:24 AM
RE: the last ember - by Archibald - 10-16-2015, 09:14 PM
RE: the last ember - by Reginald - 10-27-2015, 06:24 PM
RE: the last ember - by Megaera - 11-10-2015, 09:58 PM
RE: the last ember - by Gaucho - 11-20-2015, 04:25 PM

Forum Jump:


RPGfix Equi-venture