There was not thought as he walked, just the movement of his muscles rippling underneath his buttermilk pelt. |
HP: 49.5
World's Edge Glazier atk: 6 | def: 9 | dam: 5 |
Stallion :: Equine :: 17" :: 7 HP: 64.5 | Buff: NOVICE |
Bunnie |
He began on the outskirts, admiring the lazy boughs of the bent trees and the various wildflowers that bloomed even in their emmense shade; the breeze that had cooled him on his short journey here had pushed the grey clouds overhead, and with the first few drops broken and bleeding on the ground, the dreary overcast sky began to empty itself. The rain wasn't cold, heated by the plethora of summer light that seemed to stem from the Sun's displeasure at having been absent so long; Dragomir grinned boyishly in happiness as he turned inward towards where he knew the pool to be, still curious as to what may lie at its bottom.
A movement and stream of words drew his attention, most specifically the name of the God most praised upon his parent's lips. By the name of Nieque, said the male stranger, and the young man immediately stopped in his tracks, his smile faltering in the nostalgic bite of the word.
Drawn nearer the source of the noise, suprise writ itself across his features as a dog bolted past him, soaking wet with its tail tucked between it's legs. He followed its noisy path through the trees some distance, pale blue eyes scanning the brush into which the animal had vanished until the sound no longer altered the noise of the being who had spoken. Realizing that he had halted to observe the flight of a wet hound, the tri-hued stallion snorted annoyedly at himself and set back along towards the rustling that he believed to belong to the one who had named his God so personally that Dragomir could not deny it was worth investigating.
His arrival was noisy, no heed given to his movements in his rush to catch up to the stranger's side; as soon as he saw the pale, buckskin flesh through the misty green leaves of the willows he nickered a deep and masculine greeting, trotting with long, powerful steps to close the distance between the two of them. As he had expected, the man was an equine, and not so much his elder as to make him uncomfortable - he was also male, a key factor of Dragomir's limited socializations that allowed him to maintain his wits and confidence, the addition of his curiosity in the stranger leaving him unusually fearless and bold in his presence. "Brother," he began, feeling a comradere with the buckskin horse that had been absent in all of his encounters so far, "I didn't mean to eavesdrop, but the name you spoke, was it what I believe it was?" His face was eager, crystal eyes sparkling youthfully and spread wide, ears alert and focused in on the one who knew the power of the father of the horse. Hoping to fall in line with the man's path, he realigned himself and slowed his pace as he spoke, deep tones rumbling and cheerful.
The terrified dog, the dreary morning and rainy afternoon, none of it settled as an ill omen to the naive boy, pre-conditioned for the wicked plans that the man alongside him held within his mind. All he felt was a slender beam of light in his lonesome den of solitude, a soul who understood the world as he did; that they were all seperate, that it was sacred and necessary to remain so. This one knew how it truly all began, and it was likely that, if he knew the name of Isilme's greatest divine power, he may know of Dragomir's father and mother. They were ties, weak ones, perhaps, but the young man did not view them as such, this stranger more of a brother to him than Mirage was a symbol of great power. "Have you come here from Isilme?"
Any violence/magic is allowed to be used upon Dragomir at anytime, permitting it doesn't kill or seriously maim him without my permission <3
Deceased atk: 6.5 | def: 9.5 | dam: 4.5 |
Filly :: Hybrid :: 14.2 :: 8 HP: 63 | Buff: ENDURE |
Chan |
Shadow
It is not in the stars to hold our destiny, but in ourselves Voices. A shadow raised its head slowly in the gloom beneath the low-hanging trees and clipped inky ears in faint interest. Nique, Isilme... They were words that held little meaning to her, but that in itself was enough to kindle a spark of curiosity with the raven maiden. Normally it would have brought her out into the open, to join the conversation with endless questions and eyes glittering of excitement at the tales unfolding. But something about the stallions that crossed path some distance away made her hesitate; not so much the fact that they were both tall and intimidating, but rather the obvious lack of... everything. No wings, no horns. Shadow was fairly certain that this was the first time she laid eyes on barren equines since her arrival to Helovia, and between intrigue and the wariness she always felt when faced with unknown creatures she hung back in the bushes, quietly stealing as close as she could to fully hear what they were saying while attempting to make herself as inconspicuous as possible. It was a trick she had picked up after lots of practice. That if she tried to imagine herself as nothing but a shadow to the point where she began to feel transparent, others around her didn't seem to notice when she was there. A nifty trick, very useful for one of her profession - and today she was making full use of it in order to hear what the barren ones were talking about. She quite looked forward to partake in the discussion, as a quiet, hidden third party. ooc: Eavesdropping... Shadow is using rank magic Chameleon and cannot be noticed. Hope it's okay with you guys! |
table by whit
HP: 42
Healed
Deceased |
Stallion :: Equine :: 15.2 hands :: 5 years Buff: BULK |
Blu |
Guns came back, naturally. No matter the rage of his master, he would not dare stray for too far or too long. |
HP: 49.5
World's Edge Glazier atk: 6 | def: 9 | dam: 5 |
Stallion :: Equine :: 17" :: 7 HP: 64.5 | Buff: NOVICE |
Bunnie |
"If you mean Nieque, the first of our kind, then yes," the stranger says, and the naive youth positively beams in response to the words, his enthusiasm deepening as the buckskin elaborates upon his Isilmian roots. Had he known his mother? His father? Had he seen the great Gods of the horse? The questions broiled across Dragomir's surface thoughts and bumped against one another, threatening to spill forth in an incomprehensible tumble goaded onward by his desperate (albeit moderately ignored) feelings of homesickness and overwhelming loneliness, his lack of understanding of the beliefs he had been fed in the absence of any true culture.
All questions he had were silenced by a question of the stranger's own, a curious arrangement of words that, to those of Helovian descent, would seem corrupt and vile, vain beyond even the most valorous of fools. But to the boy, he only smiled, all that he had been taught during his years on the Isle of Dragons swallowing all that he had learned in his months within this kingdom. "Why else honor His name?" he answered, his smile quirky and humorous as he looked upon the hound keeper, images of his father having asked him very similar questions fringing his thoughts. Proudly, in honor of his bloodline, he raised his head, such clear emotional strength that was only present, at this point in his life, when he spoke of those who had passed on their blood and bone to comprise his own body. "I am Dragomir, son to Adalwulf the Steadfast and Requiem the Dragoness. It is good to meet a true brother in a land so removed from our Lord." humbly stated the young man, his words without a single note of boastfulness; he knew very little of his parent's rule but what they had shared with him, and never a foolish child, he dared not speak of their exploits without having them confirmed by an outside source. It was a lesson he had learned early in his life; Svello had told him a tall tale of he and Vihar's exploits, some thing along the lines of having killed a basilisk along the edges of the island. Perhaps it would have been a humorous joke to a more wise creature, a young and two headed physically weak being defeating such a foe, but to the child that was Dragomir, it was a very plausible event indeed, and it had frightened him.
The mocking laughter of his father as he explained to the wide eyed and awed child that his brothers had lied still stung in his memories, and so tales of his father's valiant deeds remained glued firmly to the roof of the painted stallion's mouth.
Any violence/magic is allowed to be used upon Dragomir at anytime, permitting it doesn't kill or seriously maim him without my permission <3
Deceased |
Stallion :: Equine :: 15.2 hands :: 5 years Buff: BULK |
Blu |
It wasn't often that Ricochet was happy in the presence of strangers, or even those familiar to him. He wore anger like a familiar jacket, one that he preferred over any facade of dishonest joy or ecstasy- and in most cases, he had due reason to rage and rant with spittle dripping from his lips. It was difficult to remember any sort of meeting where he had enjoyed himself... even with Kimber and Smoke's presence, it seemed they only brought black news in tow. Ricochet didn't recognize that he was more often the cause of his volatile own anger than external causes, that he was little better than gunpowder waiting for explode. Yet for all his unpredictable and hot-headed flaws, no one could say he wasn't fiercely loyal to his cause with a passion hard to match. |
HP: 49.5
World's Edge Glazier atk: 6 | def: 9 | dam: 5 |
Stallion :: Equine :: 17" :: 7 HP: 64.5 | Buff: NOVICE |
Bunnie |
For the first time since arriving to Helovia, Dragomir felt he was in the presence of one of his equals, not a shadow hovering around the outskirts of the ideals that Mirage had presented to him as the heart and spirit of the people of this unknown land. It was not that his fellow Edge dwellers had even meant to belittle him; in fact, they'd been warm and receptive, offering him chances to learn and grow as a man. Despite their compassionate attempts to make him feel as part of their family, the painted boy found himself unable to truly connect with any of them or their three faced Gods. But for Kahlua, the most beautiful woman he had ever met, and Mirage, a fine leader by her own right, he felt nothing for those who filled the forest in which he made his home. They could not love him for who he was unless he was willing to throw away his racist Gods; Mirage had made that perfectly clear.
But he knew nothing else, and change never came easy to those who had been firmly set into a path as he had.
His own eyes flickered nostalgically as the buckskin's teal, inspired by the words of fellowship that slipped from his blackened lips, remembering his own lessons in bigotry (though he did not consider these ideals to be so) from his father. The pain that normally accompanied such thoughts, however, was absent, leaving his pale blue sights clear and sparkling with the fond recollections of all the legends of his people and the first of their blood. His curiosities peak as the conversation moves from an endless search to the source of the inquisition; each word is weighed, the hidden messages that he heard slightly unnerving.
Did this stranger intend to leave a wake of blood in his path?
It was not that he hadn't heard of all the violence that made up the daily life of Isilme; but the stories that were shared with him were painted in such a way as to glorify the equine people, demonizing their lesser cousins. Perhaps his father would not have paled at such allusions to death and dismay, seeing the glory to be earned in such a path; Dragomir, however, was not Adalwulf. His mother's blood had softened the long lineage of warriors with her compassion, leaving her youngest son with a heart that desired honor and a mind that sought the most logical trajectory to achieve a goal. He could stand behind the desire to create a kingdom comprised of only earth-dwellers, but to kill them? His gut tightened as Semira's face rose unbidden to his thoughts, smeared with blood, her forelock splayed across the crimson earth.
Did something so beautiful truly deserve death for being born as she was? And what of children, innocent and not yet as horrifying and wrong as the adults of their kind?
Ricochet's voice pulls him from his thoughts, his faded smile coated in a veneer of rain as he attempts to recover his confidence that had been in place before the wrench of potential war had been thrown into the easy flow. Outwardly gazing down upon the man and inwardly looking up to him, Dragomir was caught in a strange mesh of thoughts and emotions that he had come to find rather common place; in ways, he was perfectly Adalwulf's son, and while he did love his mother, it was the pride of a father that drove the boy in all his actions. Requiem would have kept him on the isle all his life, protecting him from the confusion that now assaulted him from all angles now that he was on his own. But his father, a true man if there ever had been one, would never truly honor a child who hid under his mother all his life.
And so here he was, speaking with a man known as Ricochet, son of Gunslinger. He felt as if that name was familiar to him; unable to place it, he moved on to grasp at the figurative hand that had been offered him, despite the undertones of death that had been implied. A part of him believed he could influence a more peaceable movement, too naive to understand that wickedness did not come in a reduced fat formula, too desperate for a connection with anyone to deny this opportunity to stand alongside a man who knew the name of his God. "I don't see why not," mumbled the deep tones of the boy as he raised his eyes to meet those of Ricochet, the vivacity returning to his features and pale gaze in light of the cheeky smirk on the face of the Incendiary, despite his reservations about agreeing to the blood-thirsty stallion's plan. "I will join you," he stated more resolutely, almost as if to assure himself that no harm would come to him from the pact shared in the midst of a summer rain.
Any violence/magic is allowed to be used upon Dragomir at anytime, permitting it doesn't kill or seriously maim him without my permission <3
Deceased atk: 6.5 | def: 9.5 | dam: 4.5 |
Filly :: Hybrid :: 14.2 :: 8 HP: 63 | Buff: ENDURE |
Chan |
Shadow
It is not in the stars to hold our destiny, but in ourselves At a first glance there was nothing strange at all about the scene that unfolded before her eyes. A first meeting between two stallions, horses that didn't know each others names but who seemed to strike it off from the very beginning, kindred spirits if you will... But sadly, as the conversation unfolded the brow of the black pegasus raised higher and higher, alarm bells soon beginning to sound at the back of her mind. Intent on not missing a single word uttered the mare stalked closer, small hooves soundless on the moist ground, careful to stay downwind of the equines and keep herself in the shade beneath the trees. The rain and haze made it easier for her to some extent, but also increased the risk of accidentally blowing her own cover; waterlogged branches could bend, droplets cascade down into the underbrush with a rush of sound - and there were no birds to explain away the suspicious noise now. They were all tucked away in hollows and nests, riding out the drizzle with saint-like patience. The Sleuth had no such thing as patience. Annoyed at the lack of visibility she tried to inch even closer, heavily confident on her own invisibility. She wanted to know more about this Nique, about the names they threw around with such reverence in their voices. She had to find out more about this business of 'ridding the country of stains' as the buttermilk buckskin so vividly described it - it had a nasty ring to it, and she didn't blame the younger tobiano for his hesitation. The whole matter left a bad taste in her mouth, it reeked of rebellion, of no good intentions; she had to know more. Thus, she became careless. In her effort to move to a thicket just beside the two horses she took her eyes off the ground, and almost immediately managed to step on a twig - not yet soaked through by the rain, still dry and dead in the core. It snapped. The sound wasn't overly loud, but in the stillness of the day it could as well have been a gunshot at night, and of course it would have to go off just as they both fell quiet. Shadow bit back a curse and froze where she stood, holding her breath; would they notice her? A quick look around revealed that she was well covered behind a thick wall of greenery, young saplings of willow growing so closely together that it was all but impossible to get through. Yet at the same time her ability to camouflage herself was fracturing as the concentration was broken... Would they come to check it out? Would they see her? By the moon, she would be in for a whole world of trouble if they saw her now. |
table by whit
HP: 42
Healed
Deceased |
Stallion :: Equine :: 15.2 hands :: 5 years Buff: BULK |
Blu |
Ricochet was not overly observant; it was one of those things that his father had taught him, but had faded into his memories, slipping away month by month. It was his confidence that led to this foolish belief that he could deal- meaning fighting- with anything that could otherwise be avoided, which let his guard down. But that did not mean he was entirely the fool, either. The buttermilk boy relied on Guns, with his sharp nose and pricked ears, to act as a warning system. |
HP: 49.5
World's Edge Glazier atk: 6 | def: 9 | dam: 5 |
Stallion :: Equine :: 17" :: 7 HP: 64.5 | Buff: NOVICE |
Bunnie |
The sound of the water made the crackle of the branch much less keen than it would have been on a dry day, the young stallion feeling the water drip off of his face as he stood and stared his new friend, waiting for whatever words would come after his agreement to join in on his nefarious plans to rule the world. He wasn't oblivious to the shattering sound of wood, however, his ears lifting and eyes turning abruptly towards the crackle in the tree line, his new found companion asking the question that threatened to come from his own lips - "Did you hear that?" The flash of lightning in unison with the fact that Ricochet's teal eyes were narrowed suspiciously gave the normally mundane sound a much more sinister overtone, the boy silently nodding in response to the question without breaking his searching gaze from the region in which he believed it to have come from. At first, the barking of the dog is believed by the stag to be a response to the flash of light that had burned the bleak sky, but it was accompanied with a guttural growling that made both of the men tense and heighten their attentions towards what the canine had discovered. Dragomir's own ears meet his skull with little hesitation; his father's blood had granted him a keen ability to adjust to a battle mindset, and what training he had received and his brief life experiences told him that caution was the best approach when facing unknown noises. Ricochet is first to head off towards the noise, masculine tones shouting the dog's name as if it would reveal whatever it was the hound had discovered. Dragomir isn't far behind, though his own steps are much less hostile than that of the buckskin, his long legs swinging beneath him in a smooth trot, pale eyes searching the willows for whatever devil was causing Guns to be so fervently loud. At first, the black mare appears as only the curtain of rain slipping through the branches, and Dragomir wondered to himself momentarily what crazy plant the dog had gotten a hold of that made him hallucinate and bark at nothing what so ever - but then, he sees the gleaming outline of a wing; a brief flicker, to be sure, but the boy had never been one to second guess what his senses took note of, and his heart instantly begins to slam itself quite violently about in his chest. She has heard us, he thinks to himself, smart enough to know that her hidden position meant that she could only be spying upon their conversation, mind flying north and home to Mirage and her foreboding words, the law of her woodland herd, how long has she listened? Did she hear my name? Please, don't let her have heard my name! His eyes stare wide in disbelief of this trick of fate - he had found a kindred soul among this sea of strangers and even more bizarre gods, and for what? To lose all the other friends he had made along the way? He would have hesitated to attack her despite the obvious threat to his comfortable life among the dragons of the World's Edge, but for the cry that is shouted into the heavens as Ricochet lunges forward; for a moment, he had even thought of slowly slipping away while Ricochet was preoccupied with the infiltrator. It is the call of war, a praise to their lofty God, and Dragomir cannot resist its pull, his youthful enthusiasm getting the better of him as he charges in behind his new found friend, the mare's black wings all he needs to justify that this will appease their bloody God of hate and his father too far away to know what his foolish son was getting himself into. The dangling and lazy branches of the tree slap his pelt as he charges through them, attempting to come around towards the pegasus's side as his crystal blue eyes glazed over in the lust that had overwhelmed him; when all was said and done, this emotion will terrify him, that he can so easily become a primal and vicious creature who sees only the points of weakness to be targeted on his foe, no matter that she had done nothing more than listen in on a conversation that could very well cost him the comfort and security that he had found under the easy to respect Weyrleader, a conversation that wouldn't have been any danger to him at all if he'd just said no. His massive bulk comes bursting through the trees towards the wraith, his teeth bared in a sinister smile of sorts before they snap out towards her hideous black wings and his broad fore-hooves rise from the earth towards delicate ribs. Another crackle and burst of light fills the sky up with it's silver splendor, and he spies from the corner of his eye the dog and his buckskin friend attacking with equal fervor; whether his own attacks were landing mattered little to the youth, who's conscious (the part of him that had been filled with his mother's kind soul) plead with him to cease the madness. But he had no control over his rage, no understanding of why he hated this woman so fully - he had not known her before now, hell, he still didn't know who she was; all this selfish aspect of himself knew was that she had heard something that was such a threat to his current existence that it was worth killing her for. He had never had anything to regret before; he couldn't know how hard it was to wear the weight of another's life on his soul and his mind in it's current state would hear nothing at all of consequences beyond a few bruises and a grand accomplishment to take home to his father. |
Any violence/magic is allowed to be used upon Dragomir at anytime, permitting it doesn't kill or seriously maim him without my permission <3
Deceased atk: 6.5 | def: 9.5 | dam: 4.5 |
Filly :: Hybrid :: 14.2 :: 8 HP: 63 | Buff: ENDURE |
Chan |
Shadow
It is not in the stars to hold our destiny, but in ourselves The stillness shattered like a piece of glass. It all seemed to happen at once; a crack of lightning, the loud bark of a rain-drenched dog and a sudden howl of rage from the buttermilk stallion. And just like that her cover was blown, the illusion keeping her from being noticed fell from her frame like a sheath from a naked body, revealing her inky form in embarrassing clarity. Even as the buckskin started towards her the sleuth knew that she was in trouble. It felt like everything moved in slow motion, a blur of limbs and half-finished thoughts and impulses flashing back and forth between body and brain; she threw the chiseled head back and reared, wings trying to explode outward in an instinctual flight response but were caught partway by the dense shrubbery. She tried to back, finding herself trapped in the very thicket she had used as shelter - if it hadn't been so dangerous she surely would have found something amusing about it. There wasn't anything funny about the slender collie that charged in and leaped up towards her though. She could see its glistening teeth glimmer in the half-light beneath the canopy as it snapped towards her left wing, and heard a sickening crunch as they crushed feather pens together around the thick appendage, piercing through the skin and ripping it open as she swatted it, trying to shake the beast off. A shriek of pain expelled from the chest of the raven; with bared ivories she snapped towards the neck of the dog, trying to catch it between her own blunt fangs to rip it loose and toss it away, out of her way. Then its master was there, barging through the dense thicket like a pale tank. Shadow caught a glimpse of a scarred face, raging teal eyes and a flurry of thick black mane... Then he spun around and unleashed a buck towards her, with frightening power and accuracy. Even as Dragomir worked his way in on her other side the pegasus threw herself forward, daredevil refusal to let them get the better of her as she slammed onwards to press herself past the pale equine. She felt his hooves connect with her right front knee with a disgusting thwack and almost blacked out from the excruciating pain that shot through it - but there was no time to stop, no time to think about it or let it slow her down. Shadow was in trouble, and she knew it. She could smell the murderous intent on them, felt it with every cell of her body; they were trying to kill her. Maybe it shouldn't have surprised her after what she'd heard, but it did. Their blood-lust struck her squarely in the chest, squeezed the breath out of her and made her movements slow, sluggish even as she struggled to break through the slender willows, feeling the thin whips slap at her skin like countless lines of ice, ripping and bruising the skin for every frantic leap. She thought she would make it. She was wrong. It wasn't that she had forgotten about Dragomir, nor that she believed she had escaped him. Just, the blackbird hadn't accounted for his greater reach, or the blind folly that drove him to act. As she finally was able to spread the wings wide she felt something heavy strike down on the left, already injured one that scattered blood in searing crimson droplets for every move made. She was unfortunate; the blow of large solid hooves that would have otherwise struck her ribs bore down on the fragile aileron, pinned it to the ground and snapped its bones with an audible crunch. The shriek that pierced the clouded sky was horrifying. Fear and pain and a dread so tangible that it must curdle the blood of anyone hearing it, all lined with a singing rage that surely would have set the forest on fire had it not been for the damp weather. In a red haze of pain and fury the small mare lashed out, a sharp buck aimed for the tip of Ricochet's left shoulder while her teeth sought to deal damage to whatever part of the brown tobiano she could reach. With a maddeningly painful tug she ripped her wing loose from beneath the hoof of the murderous beast, leaving inky black feathers behind as she heaved forward with the appendage dragging over the ground, surging away from the three. South. It was the only clear thought she had as she ran, sweat of terror lathering the folds of her bodice, knowing for sure that they would come after her. South was good, south was safe, south meant home and safety and scorching sun over endless red dunes, an ocean of sand guarded by strong, fierce, brave warriors. She had to find Midas, had to let him know, had to find safety... Then, as suddenly as the entire skirmish the pegasus swirled around and changed direction, letting instincts guide her as she instead charged north; safety was not a long, arduous journey across open terrain, where two strong and largely uninjured stallions could hunt her down. Safety was north, behind a gleaming glass wall guarded by allies - much closer, and through forests that would offer shelter and protection, slow her pursuers down... All the good forces of Helovia, be with me now she prayed as she barreled on, crushing through the underbrush with no thought on anything but survival. |
table by whit
HP: 42
Healed
Deceased |
Stallion :: Equine :: 15.2 hands :: 5 years Buff: BULK |
Blu |
|
HP: 49.5
World's Edge Glazier atk: 6 | def: 9 | dam: 5 |
Stallion :: Equine :: 17" :: 7 HP: 64.5 | Buff: NOVICE |
Bunnie |
The fear radiating off of her frame hit his wide nostrils and propelled his outrage, he himself endowed with a fearlessness that the cry of his God's calling had filled him with; the sound of Ricochet's hooves striking the black mare's limb drew a grimacing smirk to his lips, his ears pinned savagely to his crown as he drove towards his prey. She fled before them, and the wave of power that he felt in the wake of her panic was inebriating, the savage pounding of his heart an undulation of drunken stupor that propelled his movements and bit back the sickening sensation that build in the pit of his belly as his hooves met with plush, ebony feathers. The noise that filled the air was cryptically satisfying, the disgusting crunch of delicate wing bones and the shrill, feminine scream that split the air meeting the boy’s ears so pleasantly that he felt his flesh shudder along his entire length. Ricochet’s call of encouragement was lost to the lust that thudded like hammers in his brain, though his voice is a faint stimulate on the water-soaked air. Her teeth closed down hard and savage on his neck, but the pain was almost as delightful as the noises that had come from her breaking body. The pressure of his blood pounding through his temples was dizzying, electrifying as the energy that swept through the sky in white hot light, the new ache in his sinew driving him deeper under the wake of his simple rage. He had almost forgotten why it was that he had been assaulting her in the first place – until her southward path turned north, towards the gleaming glass wall that he had assisted in forming, her lamed wing ravaging the leaves strewn along the floor of the grove as she dashed away from them. He gathers himself and follows her, outrage building towards the sneaky woman with each hoof fall, the rain water buffeting his face as he follows after the lamed mare with a ferocity that he has never experienced in himself. "Where do you think you’re going, bitch?" his deep vocals cry after her, the sky’s tears leaking into his mouth with a sweet innocence that was lost in his state of rancor; it blends with the salt of his sweat, which has accumulated in the pulsing of his heart, the dark excitement that this moment brought to him on pitch black wings. He cannot allow her to reach the misty forest; they will learn of his betrayal, of his failure to change into the perfect man that Mirage wished him to be. He literally leaps from the earth as soon as he thinks her haunches are near enough to send his weight crashing into her, the thuds of his war-brother’s hooves alongside him drive his motions. She cannot outrun them, limping and flightless as she is now, and subconsciously he knows this; but the fear of discovery maddens his normally calm and thoughtful state, makes irrational assumptions that he must maim her to save the slender foundations of his life. His fore-hooves are tucked to his frame in the beginning stages of his bulk rising towards her exposed ass, but extend to reach out and over her spine if she is not tricky enough to escape his deranged assault, maw gaping and wide in his fervor; he wants to pin her down to the wet earth, smear that inky black coat with grey mud and fallen willow leaves. He wants to rip her tongue from her mouth, crush her skull, and obliterate the unsightly image of her wings rising awkwardly from her would-be beautiful body. He should be humiliated by his actions, his murderous intent; he really should. The sky weeps down it’s shame for him. Dragomir</style> falling asleep in chalk outlines -falling asleep inside the chapel</style> |
JETTSTOCK : SED-RAH-STOCK : GALAXIESANDDUST</style>
Any violence/magic is allowed to be used upon Dragomir at anytime, permitting it doesn't kill or seriously maim him without my permission <3
Hidden Falls Tiro |
Mare :: Pegasus :: 17.2 :: 9 Buff: NOVICE |
aeolle |
The day started normal enough. Rain dribbled down scalding flesh, cooling, calming, across avian feathers and promising a downpour later. Messy mane windblown, pressed flush and sticky against damp, clammy flesh, steam rising and billowing into the air as the heavy wings worked to avoid dropping her as a stone from the depths of the ashen skies, vision obscured as her skyward journey led her through a misty abyss of cloud and rain, dampening the already soaked woman further. This was not the first time she had flown in the deluge, she had been subjected to it on her first journey into the land of Helovia, albeit with much more violence. In comparison, placed side by side, this rainstorm was saccharine, passive, and lethargic. Regardless, the Princess could not deny the stormy skies would most certainly result in that of a face meeting stony cliffs if she did not land soon, and so with a great shudder of strength from the appendages that held her wings upright, she angled her primary and secondary feathers downward in a gradual fall from grace. Even the sight was gorgeous, and the Princess was not impressed so freely, nor was she impressed so readily. The sight below eagle's pearls was the darkest of emeralds, damp leaves and gnarled trees, umber trunks of oaks that stretched on for what seemed like miles. It reminded her of Elysia, the comfortable landscape of her homeland, and the Princess appreciated it with ease. If she could find a opening within the cracks of the thickened canopy, the rest of the forest would welcome her with outstretched branches beneath sheltering limbs. It would shield her from most of the onslaught of the rain, perhaps even protect her from the imbeciles of her homeland. She had traveled quite far enough, had she not? The Princess had run into few of her herdland with wings, besides the pretty girl that ruled over her as Queen - It still disgusts her to even think of the word - and she doubted her majesty would dare ruin her sparkling rump by traveling through a storm. Curse even the idea that she would get her dazzling coat with damp Earth. At least, it would have been gorgeous. If the scream that shattered the peaceful morning air had not threatened to rip her eardrums out of her damned skull. Slamming down into tendrils of damp mane as fast as they could, the woman almost faltered to flap in her surprise of the sudden call. She did not know when the shriek tapered to a end, did not recognize it had, for it echoed within her harks as if it had been the drums of war. It was not the agony that filtered through to her mind, not the all-consuming misery, for the Princess was used to that. It was the terror, the horror, the dread that pierced the stone heart, caused her bones to tremor and overall sense of helplessness that filled her afterword that shot off alarm bells within her mind, caused bronze pearls to gaze down into green depths, green depths that cracked and shuttered, green depths that caught the vermilion stained, black frame of a Pegasus within them as they barreled forwards, the sickening strange flash of a limp wing dragging behind as if it was a chunk of dead flesh, the idea that the shape was likely not supposed to be stained red. Water dribbled down into her gaze. She didn't blink. No, the Princess kept flying for a few moments, moving forward with a steadfast determination. Stained red. She had no reason to investigate. As if it was a chunk of dead flesh. She had already done her good deed for the month. Pain. Fear. In danger. Can't go. Can't go. Can't go. Can't go - A scream retaliated through the air, deep and bellowing, harsh and so, so, infuriated, so maddened, the blood within her own veins seemed to boil. And then the woman dropped from the sky, wings pressed flat against a hardened frame, bronze gaze on fire. She doesn't flinch when her wings are yanked up and out to cease her fall. She doesn't flinch when branches and twigs stab into feathers. She doesn't flinch when blood dribbles down from a small branch that has lodged itself into the flesh of her right wing. She doesn't flinch when hooves hit the ground hard enough to cause her entire frame to shudder. A wild gaze sees buttermilk and mahogany, alabaster and charcoal. She sees blood. She sees a black frame of a Pegasus that smells like a female. She smells panic and fear that ricochet off the girl in shock waves as they race together. She sees red. She also smells stallions. Her mind replaces the image of the black woman with the image of her youngest sister. She chokes. And with a roar worthy of the army of Elysia, she barrels after the closest figure to her, with all the grace and subtility of a train wreck, and all the unstoppable force of a train. It just so happens to be the short, stocky equine, with a burnt maw and equine, equine, equine, EQUINE. "GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM HER." Rage and resentment mix with centuries of taught racism, lifetimes of built in hatred for the male race, decades of taught warfare. Exterminate. Exterminate. Exterminate. And somewhere, within the back of the woman's mind, the ink blinds everything away, except for the dual men. She would crush his damned skull and place it in a fucking basket. Just to think. The day started out so normal. AN: I was meant to make it with Circuta. Ended up not having muse roll that way. And it's a horrid post anyways, I'm so sorry about that. Next one will be better?
Brighid</style> PUT ON YOUR WAR PAINT</style> |
BURTN : XROCKINROBYNSTOCK : CHUNGA-STOCK : GALAXIESANDDUST</style>
Deceased atk: 6.5 | def: 9.5 | dam: 4.5 |
Filly :: Hybrid :: 14.2 :: 8 HP: 63 | Buff: ENDURE |
Chan |
Shadow
It is not in the stars to hold our destiny, but in ourselves The whole scenario was one she knew all too well. It was achingly familiar, in a blood-curdling, heart-pounding kind of way that left a metallic taste of blood and fear on the tongue. A rain-drenched forest, the pursuit of murderous predators, the sound of her own ragged breaths as she stumbled and wobbled onwards with pain burning her legs, her wing, her throat, her chest... The knowledge that she had injured both of them didn't soothe her, did nothing to lessen the fear that raged through the mind or hovered around her in a stinking cloud letting everyone know that she was out of her depths, with water way over the head. As the hooves of the mahogany stallion made contact with her rump and knocked her out of balance the girl almost wanted to laugh. The whole situation was just so bizarre, so incomprehensible... Since when had horses started to hunt other horses like wolves do their pray? When had things gone so wrong that she had to be hated to the point of murder just for eavesdropping on a conversation? Squealing in terrified pain the little mare was flung to the side by the blow. In itself it wasn't that powerful, it would bruise the dock and had managed to scrape open the skin just enough for small droplets of blood to trickle through. Any other day she would have snorted and kicked back, then followed up on it with a scolding that would set the stallions ears glowing in embarrassment. On another day, she wouldn't be sent crashing to the ground by it as too much weight was put on her aching knee, so that it buckled and caved beneath her. She wouldn't have plowed into the ground with her good wing under her, wincing as it too was twisted in an awkward angle, not so much that it broke but thoroughly enough to make flight impossible (had her left appendage not already been crushed by merciless hooves and rendered useless). But this was a bad day for the shadowmare, and so she found herself rendered completely helpless where she skidded across the ground, air knocked out of the lungs and head rattled and confused. Right away she began the struggle to get up, but in her heart she knew it would be futile. She was too heavy to move quickly, weighed down by a swollen stomach full of foal with legs that made her gasp in pain for every move, the bones in the wing grinding against one another and pricking the skin from the inside was enough to make black dots explode before her eyes. It was over. She would die here. There was nothing more she could do, nothing at all. Then, without warning, an angel descended. Midas she thought at first through the haze of pain and fear and water that clouded her vision, the shimmer of gold around the thrashing wings stabbing her with a spear of hope that was as painful as it was unexpected. But no, it wasn't her Sultan. It was another, dyed in earthy hues rather than the stark black and white and much taller - though their fury was the same she thought. Shadow could hear the thunderous roar of the angel as it challenged Dragomir, and realized as she stumbled up on her feet, barely able to stand yet stubbornly starting to drag herself away from the battlefield and into the surrounding forest, that it was a mare. And what a mare! Had she not been so busy trying to save her own life the raven would have been jealous, of the bold bravery, the raging fury and the magnificence of her apparition. This lady was everything the blackbird had wanted to be as a child, everything she couldn't become. Once she had accepted it and tried to pave her own path - now it seemed all her wild filly dreams was coming back to haunt her. Wishing, hoping that the appearance of another pegasus would distract the stallions, the ebony girl dragged herself off into the underbrush until she couldn't see them anymore, only hear the sound of hooves thundering across the ground in pace with the lighting and the rain. There she sunk down in a heap on the forest floor and panted, trying to keep her breaths quiet as she dragged the chameleon cloak over herself again - maybe, just maybe it would keep her hidden long enough to make them loose track, give up, and leave. ooc: using her rank magic to hide herself and cannot be seen. |
table by whit
HP: 42
Healed
Deceased |
Stallion :: Equine :: 15.2 hands :: 5 years Buff: BULK |
Blu |
|
HP: 49.5
World's Edge Glazier atk: 6 | def: 9 | dam: 5 |
Stallion :: Equine :: 17" :: 7 HP: 64.5 | Buff: NOVICE |
Bunnie |
The sound of wings other than the mutilated ones before him drew him off of the black mare even as she began her tumble to the ground; nostrils wide and mask a grimace of loathing, he pivots about on his haunches to face the intruding bitch with a vengeance so unbecoming of the normally sweet young stallion. His large hooves gouge into the wet earth, straining his limbs as his weight is set back towards the front and leaves him charging the strange earth-toned bird that has dared challenge he and Ricochet’s claim to the kill. He does not notice as the raven slips away, but something unsettling lingers in his mind – the way her stomach curved just then, her weight pressing it flat upon the ground. Wasn’t it too broad for a mare so otherwise toned? He shakes the thought from his mind, literally. There is the matter of this indignant and overly proud woman to deal with, this rodent who has ruined his chase and charged at his new found friend. If there is anything the man has, it is loyalty, and it gleams with a haunting light along his features as his tangled black hair settles back along his tri-toned flesh. His charge becomes a thundering trot, slows into an uneasy and wrathful stomp to a halt across from his buckskin companion and the ever faithful dog, observed through a gleam of crystal blue eye and noted fondly somewhere beneath his desire to now remove the wings from this sky creature as well. She is big, a true challenge in comparison to the not so clever crow now lost in the wet underbrush, and he sizes her up with sweeping inquisition. "The raven is gone, brother," rumbles the wolf within him, it’s hackles smoothing back down across it’s silken ruff, though his features still glint dangerously as they eye the golden tipped fringes of her wings. Would they crush as easily as the other mare’s had? The thought of that delightful sound sent the shivers rushing back along his spine, the belly sick sensation flooding in along behind it as it had the first time. "Yet, indeed, this is none of your business. You are out numbered by two; you have saved a spy so she may tell your secrets, as well. Dabble less, woman," his crystal eyes narrow and he takes a bold step forward, features dark as his anger slips away to reveal the haunting paranoia that glitters like a riverbed of glass beneath the frothing water, "go back to the lightning, with your wings." Lest I break them, too. Dragomir</style> falling asleep in chalk outlines -falling asleep inside the chapel</style> |
JETTSTOCK : SED-RAH-STOCK : GALAXIESANDDUST</style>
Any violence/magic is allowed to be used upon Dragomir at anytime, permitting it doesn't kill or seriously maim him without my permission <3
Hidden Falls Tiro |
Mare :: Pegasus :: 17.2 :: 9 Buff: NOVICE |
aeolle |
| |||
Deceased |
Stallion :: Equine :: 15.2 hands :: 5 years Buff: BULK |
Blu |
|
HP: 49.5
World's Edge Glazier atk: 6 | def: 9 | dam: 5 |
Stallion :: Equine :: 17" :: 7 HP: 64.5 | Buff: NOVICE |
Bunnie |
He stands quietly listening to the exchange of words between the two, the beast in his heart howling in dismay that he didn’t allow it to blindly charge forward and draw an end to the exchanging of words with the heaviness of blows. He figures it will come to this anyway, the way the bitch stares at him after he has tried to get her to draw an end to the madness that had occurred in this perfectly peaceful place. Somehow, he already knows Ricochet will not so quickly forgive her for intruding. He is quickly met with the affirmation of this fact in the form of Rico’s blunt and savage shout at the woman’s face. At first, Dragomir is afraid it was directed towards him, head rising and turning to look at his new friend with raised ears and curiosity until he realizes that it is the pegasus he is calling a fucking idiot. The young man smiles despite himself. He quite agrees with Ricochet. He is not afraid of this mare. He is afraid of what he will do to her if she insists on carrying on like she is now. The words he’d chosen defined his points against her well, and he knows enough of the monster within him after the first encounter this afternoon that she will not be safe from him, either. Not even being the heroine as she truly is can still his insulted pride, an ego tempered and crafted with dragon’s fire to hold an edge biting and unkind upon it’s cusps. That she cannot see the wariness to join in on this battle stems from knowing that it is two versus one, that he is afraid to kill her, too, as he is relatively sure they have done to the poor black mare. It seems Ricochet is not containing himself so pleasantly, however. A glance is given to the heaving of his sides, the froth that accumulates on the edges of his lips. The hound within the child of the dragon isle snarls and raises its fur, but Dragomir does not spring into action until the winged bitch does it first. She drives her head towards Ricochet, enough of a forewarning to lift Dragomir’s fore from the earth as she spins to assault him in turn. Her head slams against a knee as it lifts, his mouth contorting in the sudden brightness of it, the vengeful roar of the beast within him nearly swallowing his conscious whole as it had before. "Just leave you fucking idiot!" he manages to scream at her as her ass is suddenly turned about in his face, hind hooves landing hard with a rap-tap against his chest that forces the last word out of his mouth in a woosh of sound that leaves him momentarily breathless and with a star laced gaze. Swallowing the sensation as best as he can, the young man attempts to regain what the hooves have stolen from him as he lunges forward on hind limbs, equally massive fore hooves aiming for the upper shoulder and wither where the wing was born from her body. Bitch, his brain repeats, a loop that never ends as she returns her assaults to the buckskin stallion. The sound of her laughing makes him want to smash her even more fully; what is there to be amused about? There is so much blood on the ground, running through the rainwater. Are his hooves not stained enough as it is? He and his friend, could he notice such things in the heat of blood lust, work well in unison, each assuming the proper side for the assault on the top line of the earth toned wench, her wings assaulting the air from nearly every angle. He feels their soft touch against his legs. There is little time to think about potential impact, however, as he notices a familiar sound, light, and odor rising from the other side of the winged whore - fire. As he becomes one with the earth again, the knee that the wench has knocked with her head cringing on the impact, he quickly pulls away from her to get a better view at what it is Ricochet has done. The fire consumes quickly, and without delay; steam hisses and writhes in the air where once only bodies had danced. His eyes grow broad at the sight, taking note of the close proximity of the bitch to the flames and that Ricochet had stepped out of it’s way, in a ring of sorts. He mimics the motion, hoping to allow escape to come only from the heavens and far away from both men unless she wanted to fight her way through either of the new-found brothers. Dragomir</style> falling asleep in chalk outlines -falling asleep inside the chapel</style> |
JETTSTOCK : SED-RAH-STOCK : GALAXIESANDDUST</style>
Any violence/magic is allowed to be used upon Dragomir at anytime, permitting it doesn't kill or seriously maim him without my permission <3