You couldn’t exactly accuse him of running away.
Czernobog’s running days were well behind him now; as much could be deduced from a cursory glance at the swarthy old beast picking his way somewhat stiffly through the forest, head bent dutifully to the task. He had about him the wiry toughness of one accustomed to labor, and his movements, though utterly graceless, unfolded with almost painstaking economy. Tempted by the welcoming shade, he allowed himself a moment’s rest.
He licked the film of dust from his lips and glanced back the way he had come. Somewhere between there and here, swallowed up as he had been by the gnawing silence in his skull and tending to an altogether more valuable concern, Czernobog had stopped caring how many miles he’d put between himself and the black-hearted river. All he had left was the bargain.
That was not something he would ever relinquish.
The dark stallion chewed absently at his foreleg before lurching back into motion. The forest smelled more strongly of horse than anyplace he’d crossed since leaving Iunu, and idly the part of him that yet resented all his borrowed aches wondered if it was worth the inevitable complications to linger. He ignored it.
The wilderness was unquestionably dangerous, and though against all apparent odds Czernobog had never felt particularly mortal, others might look upon this place and see something of value. He dared think they might even see safety. If for no other reason than that, he at least had to investigate.
Who knows? Perhaps the place would suit him.
Czernobog
death makes angels of us all and gives us wings
where we had shoulders smooth as raven's claws
| Hidden Account |
| Mare :: Unicorn :: 17hh :: 4 Buff: NOVICE |
| Sei |
11-13-2013, 01:37 PM
(This post was last modified: 11-13-2013, 01:38 PM by Artemis.)
Artemis
The last remnants of light were slowly fading over the horizon; the last dregs of light struggled against the lowering sun, tendrils of light clawing up over the horizon with the helplessness of a child as their attempts at staying up just a little longer were thwarted by father sol. Lazy eyes watched the horizon darken, her lips moving with slow, rhythmic movements as gnashers pounded upon sodden grass. The foliage was tasteless, yet she was indifferent to it. It did not taste particularly bad, so she really could not complain.
As she swallowed, a yawn cracked her otherwise solemn expression and she turned to gaze toward the Helovian Threshold. Despite the darkness seeping over the land, Artemis felt that the gloomy forest was oddly welcoming. She had traversed its depth so often and she was so confident in herself that she had little to fear from its shadowed expanse. Turning, she slowly moved toward it, glancing up for a moment as she felt a single droplet of rain strike her muzzle.
The clouds were deepening in hue and the mare frowned grimly, quickening her pace. The canopy would shield her from a little rain - she only hoped it did not pour before she returned home. She di not mind the rain, but she would prefer to stay dry.
There wasn't much she disliked, it seemed, yet neither was there much she was overly fond of. Such was life for Artemis - mundane and not overly interesting. Just the way she liked it. Let it never change.
As she moved, her audits twitching with curious intent as she knew that many strange souls lurked in the murky forest. For a short while she saw nothing, (though honestly she had not come here to find others - she simply had found herself wandering aimlessly as per usual) yet she persisted her hike until light teal eyes settled upon a shadow that was too deep, too solid to be just that. She squinted, the light swiftly fading and obscuring her vision. The mare approached slowly, head relaxed yet muscles twitching - you never knew who was friend or foe, and the warrior never let her guard down. now was no exception.
As she neared, not trying to mask her presence but instead walking quite normally forth, she began to make out the form of a stallion. He was shorter than she by a few hands, and his ebony pelt was tainted by what appeared t be silver flecks around his extremities. There was an odd mark not unlike scarring over his shoulders - it was hard to tell in the low light, however. Nodding her head as greeting, she announced her presence with a gentle voice; "Greetings, stranger. What brings you to this forest?" She wasn't great at greetings, or talking in general really. Oh well. It was better than simply ignoring him, right?
"chat here."
483 words.
ACTIONS SPEAK LOUDER THAN WORDS
LETS SEE WHAT YOU CAN DO
|
Czernobog paused, lifting his head as the tell-tale crackle of trampled leaves echoed into the silence of his mind, and worked his jaw thoughtfully upon nothing. The unicorn, pallid and imposing as she was, would not easily have been overlooked, and had her intentions been less virtuous he had to admit that it would have been quite beyond his capabilities to defend himself. He was not what he had once been; even tigers lose their teeth.
He returned her nod with one of his own, offering a genuine, if subdued, smile. “Well met.”
A bit old fashioned.
Well...it suited.
But what had brought the sable stallion to the threshold, or – more importantly – what would be an acceptable excuse? He had not come this far for his own pleasure. On its own the place had little more to offer him than he’d had out in the wild spaces between landmarks worth naming. He did not dream of brighter futures now that so much of his time was behind him. He didn’t dream much at all, come to think of it, about anything.
Settling back slightly on his haunches in an effort to relieve aching muscles, Czernobog answered, “Looking for civilization, you could say. Road trips aren’t exactly my area.” There was something undeniably personable in rough edges of his voice and the grizzled planes and angles of his face. He had never been much to look at and his movements unfolded more like a child’s untidy scrawl than poetry, but he spoke with surprising warmth. He’d always been good with others.
The irony.
“Name’s Czernobog,” he offered at length, inclining his head slightly. “Has my search paid off?”
Czernobog
death makes angels of us all and gives us wings
where we had shoulders smooth as raven's claws
| Deceased |
| Stallion :: Equine :: 15.2 hands :: 5 years Buff: BULK |
| Blu |
Ricochet
image by Annadriel @ flickr.com</style>If there was one thing he liked about the Threshold, it was the dust that drifted in the air and gathered on his buttermilk skin.
Otherwise, it was little more than a cesspit of assorted individuals, many of which carried the staple of an alicorn on their head or wings on their shoulders, all flocking to the gateway of Helovia with the intention of stealing recruits for themselves, like so many squabbling seagulls over a piece of fish. Ricochet detested it. He hated having to persuade and choose and carefully decide who was best for the Empire and who was not. It required a patience that the Incendiary was lacking, and not only that but a careful thought process. Even his daughter would be better at recruiting then him, not that he would ever admit it... or Eva. Yet for all he knew, Evangeline had been destroyed by the shades that had overrun Isilme for so many years. If she had survived, she had betrayed their race by lying with a unicorn, and he could not abide by that.
There was no-horse who could do it for him yet. It was part and parcel with the tedious beginnings of the Empire, and he would deal with it with clenched teeth and pinned ears.
Dust settling in his lungs, Ricochet coughed, ears pinning to his skull and tangled dark mane. Ahead of him, Guns sneezed violently, spraying the earth with the contents of his leathery black nose, leaving delicate imprints of his paws in the silt. "Guns," the Incendiary called to his shadow, teal eyes squinting after the collie. "Here boy." Obediently the dog came trotting back, plume of a tail wagging back and forth lazily. Rust red stained his muzzle from when he had eaten early this morning, catching a pigeon in the Secret Grove.
Ahead of them in the dim forest he could make out a horse. The shadows and pale lighting flickered over a dark hide and scarred pelt, with a glint of silver scattered sparsely over his coat. Worse, there was a unicorn, the color of dry bones and blood.
Fucking unicorn, you won't steal this catch from me. He lengthens his step, approaching the duo with his cold teal eyes and his dog at his hooves. "I am Ricochet the Incendiary," he calls out, voice ringing through the forest brazen and declarative. "If you are looking for a herd of your own kind, Czernobog, then come with me. You shall be cared for and respected as family, for as long as you live."
a gun in your hand don't make you a man. |
HP: 49.5
Even given what he knew, Czernobog would never have called himself a 'catch', so perhaps it could be forgiven if he expressed some semblance of surprise. In his youth he'd been something of a loose cannon, perhaps too incisive for his own good, and though he'd dealt his hand with unapologetic skill he did not necessarily make many friends in the process. He had different cards now, and he would play them out.
The dark stallion turned toward the newcomer's voice, interestedly quirking a brow. This Ricochet sounded important (or at least as though he imagined himself important, from the perspective of an uninformed observer, and experience suggested that such was often enough). "My own kind?" Chuckling softly as though at a private joke, he tilted his head in as near of a shrug as he preferred to manage through his damnable stiffness.
O my brothers, how far afield have I flown?
He absently picked at a fly-bite on one knee.
"I'd rather be put to work than looked after, one way or another," Czernobog said, glancing again at the silent Artemis as he straightened up. She'd not mentioned a herd or anything beyond her own name. It was always possible that she lived in this forest, but she didn't smell like it, perhaps she'd had second thoughts about coming forward after getting a good look at him. He would not blame her, if so. "Never much cared for retirement." There was life yet in these old bones.
Next time - if there was a next time - he'd opt for a more reliable vessel for the long haul. There were many advantages to be had under the guise of frailty, but at what cost?
"With a name like 'incendiary', I imagine you have big plans for that family of yours, Ricochet?"
Czernobog
death makes angels of us all and gives us wings
where we had shoulders smooth as raven's claws
@[Ricochet]
@[Artemis]
| Deceased |
| Stallion :: Equine :: 15.2 hands :: 5 years Buff: BULK |
| Blu |
12-02-2013, 07:21 PM
(This post was last modified: 12-02-2013, 07:22 PM by Ricochet.)
Ricochet
image by Annadriel @ flickr.com</style>
The old stallion laughed softly, and Ricochet's jaws clenched, wondering if the withered man was mocking him. His brow furrowed, deep lines carved over his eyes, and he forced a smile on his charcoal lips, a cruel sort of smile that made cowards flinch, teal eyes glinting with a flash of frustration. This stallion was probably so old all the sperm in his shriveled tests had dried up, and here he was, ignoring Ricochet like he was still a boy wet behind the ears.
He strove to rein in the anger that gnawed at him, but his lips wrinkled into a sneer, ugly as the burn on his face.
The sway-backed warmblood picked at his knees absent-mindedly, soft lips sucking on a flybite, and Ricochet flicks his knotted tail in frustration, sending a cloud of flies swarming from his milky flank. Old men- they were all the same. They thought themselves veterans of war and wise leaders of hot-headed youngsters, while they were little more than vapid shells, far from their youth and deep into the land of scarred limbs and arthritis. Of course, the Incendiary never considered he would probably be much the same when he was older- an arrogant bastard who lorded over anyone without the aching joints of the old.
And yet, the decrepit stallion went on solemnly to mutter about a preference for work over retirement. Ricochet's eyes widened incredulously, and for a moment his jaw gaped, about to snap out some short, crude retort, before his maw snaps shut. He wasn't a two-year-old anymore. If this grizzled nag wanted to be in the midst of battles, Ricochet could find somewhere where he could be killed out in the plains of war. It shouldn't be too difficult; there were plenty of bright-eyed stallions eager for their first victories, and even a minor injury would no doubt send Czernobog onto the brink of death.
"There's plenty of jobs needing done. Wouldn't be hard to find something useful for you to do." The Incendiary inclines his head, to hide the strange expression overcoming his youthful smirk.
Strangely enough, Artemis makes no comment. For a moment the equine racist's eyes flick up again, searching hers in mild curious, but when his line of sight crosses over her pearl horn, he shudders, tearing away his gaze back to Czernobog, who asks of his plans. Nothing I can tell you here, old man, the stallion thinks, and he offers a thin smile. "We would need to go somewhere a touch more private... but some pretty damn exciting plans."
a gun in your hand don't make you a man. |
@[Czernobog]
Skipping over Sei as it has been more than 72 hours.
HP: 49.5
| World's Edge Queen atk: 7 | def: 10 | dam: 3.5 |
| Mare :: Pegasus :: 16 hh :: 11 years HP: 62 | Buff: NOVICE |
|
Hemlock :: Flammulated Owl :: Heal
& Cypress :: Great Horned Owl :: None
Sarah |
After her day on the top of the world, Alysanne had become undeniably lost. All because she liked to make a point of spending most nights in the Edge, the place she was certainly coming to think of as her home.
It had certainly seemed like a good plan, and when she had descended from the mountains she thought she would have enough time – but that was when she had mistakenly thought she’d find her way easily.
She should have taken off right there in the field in the mountains and flown back, but it wasn’t something that had crossed her mind. Her instinct was to walk, though it may take longer and though it often resulted in her getting lost (such as in this instance). If getting lost hadn’t usually resulted in such wonderful encounters for her, she might think it an inconvenience. As it was, she rather did not mind it.
Still, as the sky darkened, both with the promise of rain and the descent of the sun, she realized she was not getting closer to the Edge. The trees here seemed familiar but not the right familiar. Hope was not lost, as it never was for her, and she pressed on until she caught the voice of another nearby. Through the gloom she spotted the unicorn first, admittedly – the pale white standing out most – and immediately changed her direction to move closer. Whoever it was, they might be able to help her find her way.
She was quite upon them when she realized why the trees were familiar – this was the Threshold and she had just walked right into a group similar to the one that had greeted her when she first arrived. With a small “Oh!” escaping her in realization, she came to a stop right where she was – just a little farther back than she’d normally stand for conversation.
Well there was no use in pretending she was not there now – they surely did not miss her – and besides at least one in the group might be able to help her. Quickly, she moved forward a couple steps and set about explaining. “Oh dear, I do apologize. I should have paid more intention – I did not mean to interrupt. I’m afraid I’ve gotten a little lost heading back to the Edge.” For all the days that Alysanne had spent wandering about to the different lands in Helovia she might have figured out which path to take. It was easy enough with the coast – but it was not always there to guide her.
If only she would remember those great wings of her, which were now folded tightly against her side so they would not tangle too much on the branches.
Despite her blunder, a smile grew and emerald eyes flickered from one face to another, greeting all just as happily as the next. “My name’s Alysanne.” It had not appeared as if anyone was moving off so it was hard to say at which point in the conversation she had arrived. Anyway, feeling sorry did not translate to leaving. It was a happy mistake and now she had found herself in the company of three strangers – how delightful! Might as well join in on the conversation while they allowed her. Who knows, maybe one of them would turn out to be going to same way as her. “Where are you all from?”
|
 |
| please tag Alysanne in replies | ![[Image: alysanne_by_schwartze-d89se15.png]](http://fc02.deviantart.net/fs71/f/2014/348/8/6/alysanne_by_schwartze-d89se15.png)
made by the lovely tamme | non-life threatening physical force is allowed at all times, but preference is to be checked with beforehand for any injuries |
|
.svg/2000px-Google_Chrome_icon_(2011).svg.png){kind=icon}
![[Image: 258b4tv.jpg]](http://oi41.tinypic.com/258b4tv.jpg)
