It was amazing, if he was being honest. He had been alive for so long yet he had seen so little of the world. And so little of the world had been touched by the shadowed forced that had decimated his homeland that he had to wonder what it was all for in the first place. It wasn’t like Vladic to be so retrospective, but when you had been travelling for several seasons and found yourself alone, it was hard not to lapse into bouts of solipsism. Especially when entering new realms. He had seen plenty of them, some of them he lost friends and comrades in – though perhaps ‘lost’ was too strong a word. They had found new lives, away from the tumult and chaos of an endless, unwinnable war. He couldn’t blame them, but those places were not for him. They were too young, green lands settled by green rulers that didn’t know what they were doing. Recipes for disaster and not something he wished to be part of. It did not stop him from wondering how they had all got off so lightly, when his own home had been destroyed – a long war, years long, stopped because both sides were threatened and nearly wiped out completely by a mutual and undefeatable enemy. Looking back, there was nothing left. Centuries of years of life gone in little under three years. And yet the outside world was untouched. So far from home, he was left only with questions that would remain unanswered.

It was strange. He was now so far from where he started he wouldn’t ever be able to find his way back, yet he didn’t care. Never had he felt so apathetic to the place where he spent the best part of seventeen years. Strange indeed. He had enjoyed his time exploring, if he was honest. So many years in one place – his whole life in fact – it was an interesting experience, getting lost. New places, strangers and foreign customs. Places where they didn’t speak the same language he did; places where they took one look at his tank-like build and fled; places where that same build had mares flirting with him before they even knew his name. None were appealing, but each was fascinating.

His opinion on where he now stood had yet to be formed. It was a heavily wooded area, not unlike parts of his origin and places he had been. The day was warm, but nothing he had not experienced before, and there was the smells of…many strange things. And magic. There was a feeling in the air that prickled his skin and alerted the more primitive part of his brain. Be on alert, it said. He was not a spellcaster, he was a man of brute strength, but he had fought it before. As it stood, there were no threats to him here, but he would not be caught off guard. If this truly was the end of the line for his wanderings, then he was going to give it his full attention.

[[ooc: i've not done horse in well over a year. still shaking off the rust]]

His pace was a slow amble, a walk with purpose but not urgency. He felt no need to rush anywhere and his current speed had taken him from realm to realm without issue. But age was starting to catch up to him and he could feel himself slowing with every step. His bones creaked, joints protesting as he slowed to a stop; rolling his shoulders and feeling the knots in the muscles. Curling his chin to his chest, he stretched his neck until the familiar click and pop of weary joints was felt and he released with a sigh. A sound on his blind side caused him to twitch and adjust his position, large head swinging around to fix the cause with a blank, benign stare. A young mare – no, a filly – a dainty little thing with a dark coat that looked as if she had come through a snowstorm. And so very young. Back home, one of such age would not be allowed away from their guardian’s side – they’d be in training for whatever job they had been assigned to. They certainly wouldn’t be allowed to wander unaccompanied in the wilds. It just hammered home how far he travelled.

As she spoke, he blinked at her, slowly. Vaguely she reminded him of one of his messengers and had her spots been that little bit whiter and her horn that little bit more crooked he would have considered her to be the reincarnated spirit of the mare he knew well. Mismatched ears flicked idly, switching between focussing on the filly and keeping tabs on the area around them. A pretty, if gangly youth, her age showing on her body. He had seen so many children through the years, it was easy to predict she would be the kind to turn heads once she matured. She identified herself as Cypress and he hummed in thought – that was before those thoughts were interrupted by another.

Another mare, older this time, of similar yet different colouration to the first. Elegant, radiant. It seemed to be a theme. Her speech was refined, her movements seeming rehearsed and perfected. Professional, and something to be respected. He mirrored her slightly, dipping his head in greeting as he pondered the name ‘Helovia’ along with the mare’s own. He focused momentarily on the mare’s companion, brows twitching in curiosity. “Hmm,” a deep rumble, down in the depths of his chest, ragged lips pressing together. “Lena. Cypress. My name is Vladic.” A deep voice, like rolling thunder in the distance. Gentle, calm, passive. “I seek and end to my wandering, if such a thing exists.” Once again his attention was pulled to the fox-like thing that tailed the mare and he frowned at it. “Miss Lena, if I may, I have never seen such a creature like your companion. Enlighten me to what it is?”

While most of Vladic’s attention was turned to the strange, elegant creature that accompanied Lena, he kept the filly in the corner of his one good eye. She concerned him slightly as simply being alone at such a young made her a target – and also because there was definite fearful vibes coming from her. His ragged, tip-less ear focused on her at the sound of her sigh but his attention was pulled by yet more muffled footsteps. The newcomer grabbed his attention and he regarded the stallion with the same passive, if curious, air that he had the two women. This one, Vladic noticed, lacked a horn – though this fact mattered little to the old stallion, he considered it an interesting footnote that this place was not exclusively unicorn. “Well met, Ciceron,” he replied simply, a nod of his head set to mirror the ones he had given previous. The two adults had mentioned what he presumed to be herds, but the filly had yet to speak up about where she was from. Perhaps she was a mere wanderer like himself, a concept he was less than comfortable with but figured that it was merely tradition that caused such thoughts.

Even so, he returned his attention back to the spotted youngster. Blinking slowly, ‘brows furrowed in thought, a rumble of thought rattled through his expansive chest. “Young Cypress, sate an old man’s curiosity. Where are you from, and why is a youngblood like yourself alone? Are you born of this land, or elsewhere?” He wanted to reassure her that right at that very moment there was nothing to be fearful about, considering that moments ago she seemed to be concealing a very real fear of what might leap from the shadows. But somehow it didn’t seem appropriate, and so he bit his tongue and merely made an effort to keep an eye on her for the time being.

It was the voice of Lena and the joyful movement of her companion caught his attention and he watched as the delicate fox danced in and out of his limited field of vision. Back in his homeland, companions were reserved for the most high-bearing of society. The sovereign family all had birds, constant eyes in the sky – there to look where their owners could not. While their regency counterparts had small mammals, similar to the kitsune but also very different. And far more feral.

He considered the offer put forward by the mare for a moment, running his tongue around the inside of his front teeth in thought before licking those dry, ragged lips to reply. “Your home does sound desirable , Lena – as does the notion of your Foothills, Ciceron,” he said, looking from unicorn to horse. “However, I come from a land where war was it’s lifeblood and I seek a life away from that. If you know them, I would wish to know of your lands views of such.” His voice rumbled, head shaking vaguely in thought. “Do your leaders seek out conflict? Am I likely to walk into a warzone? Understand that I am willing to fight, but I am tired of it.”

[ooc: sorry for the wait, i've been stupidly busy :/]

The young filly’s response – and her impromptu nickname for him – pulled a low rumbling chuckle from his lips. It was not the first time he had been given such titles, though for once it was refreshing to not be looked upon by youngsters with a reverence born from fear. Most took one look at the scars, the blind eye, and shied. But not her. And that silently buoyed him – perhaps she was not as nervous and scared as he initially thought. He hummed in thought at the mention of dogs, thinking it strange that they would target the adults rather than the youngster but dismissing it. He wouldn’t be the one to guess circumstance, that was just rude. His curiosity sated, he let his attention drift back to the conversation at hand. That of homelands and herds and this strange land in which he had decided to stop in – at least for a while. While two representatives had appeared to greet him, something made him doubt there was only those two herds. There was more than just the smells of the Basin and the Foothills on the wind and if he had to guess it was just as large as his homeland – though he doubted that a good chunk of it was a literal no-mans-land where folk feared to tred.

He listened thoughtfully as Ciceron spoke, vouching for his homeland and what sounded like their leader’s peace faring ways. It was an interesting prospect, and a tempting one. Oh to get away from fighting and conflict, was such a thing fanciful? Could a creature born for war ever truly escape that fate, or would he eventually be pulled back into the ring. Skill had kept him alive in the past, but age was against him now and he wouldn’t blame anyone who betted against him. To fight now would probably mean his death – either on the field of battle or of his injuries. Idly, he leaned from one side to the other, shifting his weight to distribute it more evenly over creaking joints and tired muscles while moving his attention to the mare. Indeed, he was struck by her honesty. She freely admitted the fact that the Basin held, at it’s core, the threads of tension wound tight when he was expecting an avoidance – after all, honesty was not always the best policy. But such machinations was for diplomats and leaders, his own persuasion was always at the blunt end of a hammer and so he found a deep respect for her truth. He nodded once and said, “I thank you, few would be so willing to admit such.”

But it did colour his views on her homeland and he had to weigh his wants and needs over preference. The Basin sounded glorious, but the sword of Damocles hanging by a thread was enough to cause him to step back and take a moment while the filly spoke. Once all had fallen silent, he cleared his throat and nodded, mostly to himself. “My apologies Lena, but I fear the undercurrent of instability within your Basin leans against it’s appeal. Ciceron,” he tilted his head so that his single working eye fell completely on the stallion, “I will follow you.” Finally, he turned to the filly who had so confidently proclaimed she wished no part of herd life. “Young Cypress, I hope you find your way. Stay safe, and should you need it, you may call upon whatever aid I may be able to give.”


[ooc: i suck, sorry for the wait]