| Kilchii</style>
The Devil's Den
We all live in the Devil's Den
He liked this place. It reminded him of home. To him, there was nothing like feeling the icy breeze weave through his mane and tail. It might have been TallSun, but this place was not as hot as other places have been. It was not hot, but not cold. It was cool. The ground was frosted and a bit icy. Mountains loomed over Kilchii’s head, and sent him in a state of awe. The way the sun hit the peaks was just so marvelous. The colt knew that this was the Aurora basin, and that only unicorns were accepted here, but he wanted to join. He did have a horn on his head, and they would never know that his mother had wings. He would not tell anyone.
Blue eyes scanned the land. The path that he was treading in was narrow, and the mountains hovered over him, assuring the foal that he was heading the right way. A casual grin was smeared across his maw as he walked and walked. He was excited to be here. The bay only hoped that they would take him in though. Maybe they would be able to recognize that he was not pure unicorn, though. They surely would detest him for that. They might even keep him as a prisoner if so. Maybe they could smell Pegasus. They surely would be able to smell the difference in blood in Kilchii then. Oh god, now the colt felt sick! He didn’t want them to decline him! He wanted to be part of a herd. He could not stand being alone! He wanted to talk to someone when he was feeling sad or lonely or even happy. He wanted to please someone. But most of all, Kilchii just wanted a friend. Maybe he could find one here.
Suddenly, the bay saw the path widen. Now in front of him was a small valley. He stopped. The colt’s heart began to race and he hesitated if he should turn back or not. He was afraid, but yet thrilled. He would wait here until he saw someone. If they were friendly towards him, then hell yeaaa! If they were kind to him that means that they would not recognize his other side. If they were treating him, oh… then that would not be good.
[[Kilchii is looking to join! If someone could come accept him, that would be great :D]]
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| Deceased atk: 7.0 | def: 12 | dam: 6.5 |
| Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16.1 :: 7 HP: 72.5 | Buff: NUMB |
| Heather |
would you mind if I killed you?
A drum of persecution, abomination and heresy, a ticking, winding watch of mutiny, sedition and decadence, sinuously slithered over the brambles and barbs of his homeland, his empire, tirelessly scraping against the entrails of infidels, pariahs and trespassers. Indulging in the toxic, venomous raptures of violence, poised against his vehemence, his vigilance, he struck the inner columns of glacial pathways, monster and behemoth haunting meticulous corridors, desecrating with the dawn, destroying with the dusk. The recent exploits of interlopers, equine no less, had heightened the charge, the awareness, of his molten, malicious pursuits and exploits, and the King, the Lord, the sovereign, marched with ever-increasing observation, hunting, predacious, carnivorous, and vulturine. Were it not a foal unfolding into the lacquered brutality of the treacherous property, into his barbaric senses, he may have scarred, maimed, ripped and torn without a second thought, with callous disregard, with malevolent apathy, with villainous enmity. But children, especially ones that wandered in with swords upon their brows and intentions marred across their features, were easily malleable creatures; little cretins nestled in legends, myths and creeds, awaiting opportunities for consumption, corruption and damnation. Was that what this babe sought, as it sauntered, swayed and hesitated upon the borders – the raw tangibility of their immorality? Of their cruelty? Of their unholy fringes, of their iniquitous boundaries? And if so, could he be molded into their puncturing, piercing lacerations, into their training, honing of skills, into their heartless manifestations? Following the juvenile, he wound his nefarious steps with the art, the finesse, of calamity, of acrimony, of devastation and exploitation, daunting, intimidating, ominous and forbidding, the chiseled rapier of cold-blooded insurrection, Ares’ beloved warrior, Mephistopheles' favored weapon. He appeared as a beast, as a behemoth, as a monolith of chilling, rankling quietus, the poignant, haunting degradation and pulsing, pervading rapture, reverie, of demise, lowering his skull to stare into the colt’s eyes, narrowing his pernicious gaze into reticent, stoic study. The roughened grate of his curt, terse tone surrounded, pursued, possessed. “What do you seek here, child?”
would you mind if I tried to?
Deimos
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Credits
| Outcast atk: 4.5 | def: 8.0 | dam: 7.5 |
| Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16.3 :: 11 HP: 66.5 | Buff: SWIFT |
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Irelyn :: Plain Griffin :: Molten Dagger
RedGod |
TORLEIK
Death follows into your watery grave
The stallion was taking a stroll with his newborn griffin, whom he had quickly discovered was a female. He didn't know how he knew but...he just knew. She was almost two weeks old now and he had finally settled on a name for her: Irelyn.
Nestled securely in the nest/toy Ulrik had constructed for her, Irelyn was quite thrilled to be exploring with her dark friend. Her young little mind could not form words yet, so he had no name to her, only a feeling of warmth, security and happiness. His scent was the first thing she had smelled upon entering the world, and it was all the comfort she needed to feel safe. Torliek glanced back at the little owl griffin on his back and smiled as Irelyn happily clicked her beak at him and ruffled her feathers in pleasure.
She was enjoying this trip, he could tell. As they walked, Torleik felt the air grow...colder. Strange, for Tallsun, he thought, wondering if they had merely walked into a draft, or if something else was at work. His question was soon answered when he found himself approaching the newly crowned Basin Lord, Deimos the Reaper. Having met the Lord's daughter, Torleik now saw this creature differently; less monochromatic.
He still didn't very much feel he could trust Deimos, but Ulrik seemed to. Not that Ulrik's trust was much of a badge of merit: the Engineer was partially mad. Still. Cautiously coming alongside his leader, giving him a wide berth, the dual-horned stallion nodded respectfully. The Reaper seemed to be eyeing someone in the distance, and Torleik wondered if their borders were being more heavily enforced than before - and had Deimos encountered the mare, Fallyn, yet?
The Basin Lord asked what this child wanted from their land and Torleik felt his owl griffin experience fear for the first time. He is on our side, little one. We have nothing to fear from him, for now, he reassured Irelyn, who dubiously buried herself deeper in her nest, bright eyes peering out over the rim. Torleik said nothing to the newcomer, or Deimos; it was not his place, not yet. However, this was a chance to see how his 'Lord' would operate.
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Afrolovertje & ximpossible @ DA
No man is an island.
Pixel by: Tamme :D
Please tag me in all posts! Thank you!
| Kilchii</style>
The Devil's Den
We all live in the Devil's Den
The colt had not been waiting for long before seeing another figure looming in the distance. Kilchii had to admit, he was a little afraid. He did not know who the one approaching was and he did not know its intentions. The bay assumed that the stranger was a warrior patrolling the borders that just so happened to see the new face waiting ever so patiently for someone to come over. Though, the foal could be wrong. He could have been a warrior, but maybe he was just a member or even a rank of high importance.
Whatever rank this dude was, he was scary! He was quite tall and was painted with shadowy and dark hues. His lapis orbs were narrowed and held a sinister gaze. The most chilling thing about him though was his helix horn. It was long, longer than any Kilchii had ever seen. It was murky grey with a dark blue tip in color. The colt couldn’t help but back up a step as the silhouette came closer. A pang of fear rushed up the boy’s spine as the stranger lowered his head to stare into the blue and red eyes of the bay. The sides of the colt's lips curled into a terrified half smile. “What do you seek here, child?”
Before responding, Kilchii’s gaze slipped slipped from the dark figure to another soul standing not too far away. He, too, appeared to be cloaked in the color of the shadows. He wore two horns atop his head that again, the foal had never seen before. He also had someone with him, but he could not make out who or what it was.
With his full attention turning back to the scary dude, the colt spoke. “Umm… I seek a home, I guess. If you don’t want me, then I totally understand, I’ll just turn around. Wait but, this is the Aurora Basin…right?”
| |
| Deceased atk: 7.0 | def: 12 | dam: 6.5 |
| Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16.1 :: 7 HP: 72.5 | Buff: NUMB |
| Heather |
would you mind if I killed you?
Potential ran in different qualities; through pulling, vying strings of quiet, unsung capability, through masteries of subjects and faculties, through enchantments and invocations, through beguiling, enticing snares, from the heinous, choking fixation of violence. The Reaper stared deep into the depths of the boy’s gaze, and wondered what inherent, latent abilities smoldered there, into the confines of youth, juvenile innocence, corruption and consumption smothered, lacquered in the folds of development, of history, of augured, presaged, foretold shadows and veils. Was this child destined for their life of slaughter, of demise, of war-torn sinew and flesh, pernicious, poisonous, desecrated absolutions, buried, strangled, awakening under the paragon of bloodshed? Or was he measured and molded for the livelihood of peace, of repose, of divinity, and the reverent beings tested him even now, at a few tender months, boiling and brewing in the fuming tirades of ignorance? What lay in his heart – beyond the terror, beyond the fear, beyond the horror and abominations before him? He drew his attention away from the lad for a few seconds to attend to Torleik’s appearance, a muted nod following the presence of the soldier, before ruminating, fixating back upon the babe. The Lord’s own childhood had been severed at a year, and subsequently sculpted into the satanic reverie, into the nefarious, sinister opus and oeuvre of heathens, swallowing the charred edges of rectitude, simmering amongst the embers of iniquity and immorality. He’d sought the Basin, wandered, pressed, traversed until he’d come upon the icy pinnacles, the glacial walls, the cold, chilling expanse – why? Had he heard of their power, their creed, their defiance, their fortitude, the dominating, supremacy amongst their cruel, indifferent shades? Had he heard of their passions, their yearnings, their malevolent maelstroms, their vindictive derisions, their scorn, their wickedness, and the stories, the mythos, had been what he’d craved? A home, an empire, a kingdom, a sovereignty to declare himself upon, to train and slink, to crawl and slither, to warble and croon in the darkest clamor of its riotous din? The grate of Deimos’ vocals hissed into the Tallsun air, frozen, marbled. “It is.” He tilted the impassive, stoic quality of his skull, harpooned curiosity and intrigue into the form of his words, curt tone pressing into the atmosphere again, demise and death delved into licentious interest. “Why the Basin?”
would you mind if I tried to?
Deimos
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Credits
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