the Rift


wanderlust

Feuille Posts: N/A
Unregistered
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#1
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Feuille watches the redbirds twine like rosary upon the tree limbs, wishing she could dance along the bending bark. It stretches to a vast expanse that, to the horses' eye looks to be an impenetrable wall of dense summer green. Redbird feathers sift bars of gold, evening light to the crunchy floor, and their croon uniquely skips along the leaves. Warmth decorates sun's waning air as everyone awaits evening. Joy is certainly abundant.

Weak legs trickle forward, spent out of dance and out of spirit. There were three times in her life where she ever felt like she was ready to stop, ready to root her legs into the soft soil and grow again. This would be her fourth, and she felt it like a seed inside of her, rejuvenating and flushed spiritually with sweet water. She retained the nutrients, flushed with a dose of good, foamy sweat. Orange eyes bore holes through the knotted tree limbs and saw the darkening sky. She breathed. She listened. Instead of calling out, the mare waited and felt the sun's light separating out among blackness, like dust among the clouds. Her redbirds shuffled away and their calls silenced while the light eventually burned out. She sighed heavily, lungs two battered canvas bags stretched to the bounds of their fabric with mountainous air. It had been another day without a trace of anyone.

Orange eyes still bore through the tree limbs, resting in the navy-black as she made a nest for herself for the night.
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Solace Posts: 95
Hidden Account atk: 4 | def: 8 | dam: 7
Stallion :: Equine :: 16h :: 6 HP: 64 | Buff: NOVICE
Adoptable
#2
I had a dream I stood beneath an orange sky.</style>


The familiar sight of the forest held a sort of comfort. If Solace had anything that was close to a second home, the Threshold was the closest thing to it. He hummed softly to himself as he navigated through the forest, constantly looking about. Along with that he was waiting for a foreign scent. He had arrived in the morning and hadn’t had much luck since coming there earlier that day. It hadn’t put a damper on his mood or his spirit. Took hell of a lot to get him discouraged when he was able to get away from the Foothills for a bit and stretch his legs.

Of course, traveling between the Foothills and the Threshold was a journey he had made many a time. Slowly it was growing tedious and losing the thrill that the wanderer so desired, he was beginning to grow restless. Sooner or later he would have to permit himself to travel. Herd or not, Solace had a permanent need for travel embedded into him. There was also a pure devotion to his herd, and he needed to be a warrior, he needed to defend his homeland. Satisfying selfish desires had to be the last of his priorities. Right now he shouldn’t even be having thoughts of these petty wants. A task was at hand, he needed to find the newcomers.

After hours, Solace scented a foreigner. He ceased his humming and moved at a faster pace. Once he came within view of the stranger, he merely observed. This was his first step in recruiting. Watch, wait, and see if the strangers were potential for his own land. Silently he studied the mare before him. There was no denying her beauty. A lithe and thin creature, her coloring made him think of the leaves upon the trees in the midst of orangemoon. During his days of wandering he had seen many a brilliant tree with the leaves adorned with brilliant hues of orange and red.

So far this mare seemed harmless enough, so, he stepped out from the cover of the trees. A good chance she had already picked up the draft’s scent, was no reason to make her think he was some kind of threat. He stopped a good distance away, giving the mare plenty of room. For a brief moment he was silent, giving the mare time to study him.
“Hello,” Solace said dipping his head in his usual greeting. “Welcome to Helovia, I am Solace.”


Image Credits

Feuille Posts: N/A
Unregistered
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#3
n o t   a l l    w h o    w a n d e r   a r e    l o s t

The wanderer let the softness of the world blanket her. Roany skin mocked the stars above, yet mourned the sun’s presence. Something about the love triangle between the sun, moon, and sky was a blessing and it took everything she had not to question it. From her nest against the tree, she watched the sky burn darkly and brightly. Feuille felt rest pour relaxation into her limbs and clear the fog in her head. Canvas lungs steadily accepted sweet air. Adaptation was harmonious.

She wasn't settled here with the stars or the moon. No, there would need to be a motivation, a wind to circulate the strands of her tawny mane point her in the direction the wanderer would need follow. It seemed almost tempting, too reviving to stay here under the blanketing stars and sleep forever with the sounds of the forest as a lullaby. But the drumming of her heartbeat, the pulse of gentle blood in her limbs promised that the rest would be short-lived. Would it be worth Feuille's travels to settle, wearily lay down in the murky warm leaves to become one of them? She would need to wither and crumble crunchily under the hooves of a passerby to be kicked up by their dusts and move onward. Whether she tumble on a few feet, or inches, Feuille will go on.

A golden earring twist back against the wind to catch the rustle of summer grass in the near distance. A pair of orange eyes followed, and wearily, Feuille rocked up onto tired hooves. The night cloaked her visitor, but she could feel his masculinity. Canvas lungs tasted a foreign scent and her heart pricked willingly. She adjusted herself towards him, accepting whoever he was instinctively. Months had passed between hearing words from anyone. She felt a glowing luminescence trying to climb into her throat, but she swallowed it down and waited, painfully, for the passerby to speak. She could make out his mossy hair in the darkness.

“Hello,”

And then so genuinely, the fellow dipped his head, taking the moment to idolize his new visitor. Feuille pricked her ears forward and softened her eyes, returning his polite gesture with a dip of her own badger face.

“Welcome to Helovia, I am Solace.”

Solace's voice was filled with questions the weary Feuille would love to ask, love to fire her voice off into the night. Instead, she held her tongue, fatigue constricting her train of thought. She ambled a step forward, desiring the closeness of her unfamiliar friend. Wisely, she took a mere second to study him, finding the green of his mane to be so beautifully mysterious. "Hello Solace," she greeted back with a remotely girly voice. "I am called Feuille Jaune, my past rattles in the wind and I accompany it here." She was indeed no siren, proving more lanky than curvy, but she had a hell of a lot to woo a stallion with, and her voice was softly daunting. "To Helovia," she finished.
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Solace Posts: 95
Hidden Account atk: 4 | def: 8 | dam: 7
Stallion :: Equine :: 16h :: 6 HP: 64 | Buff: NOVICE
Adoptable
#4
Solace watched as the mare returned the gesture. It always made things a bit easier when they weren’t fearful of him. At this point in the day, he wouldn’t have blamed her had she chosen to be at the very least wary of him. After he spoke she even went as far as to step closer toward him. This mare was truly brave to come closer to a strange stallion within the darkness. Silence hung in the air, and the mare simply studied him, he tilted his head slightly to the left to get his forelock out of his right eye, so he could get a better look at the mare, and give her a glance at his own eyes that had previously been hidden under a veil of green hair.

Finally, the autumnal mare gave him her name, and proceeded to speak of what brought her here. Flowery words such as hers were far beyond his own tongue. Simplistic and to the point, that was his chose in speech. He admired those that could speak with such grace and beauty. Nothing about Solace was graceful or beautiful. He was a lumbering figure with stumbling words, but he wasn’t complaining. In fact, he was quite content with being a simple being.

“It is pleasure,” He offered her the smallest of smiles. For a long moment he contemplated whether to simply throw out the invitation to his home so soon into conversation. He held his silence for a long moment, debating whether or not to simply thrust it in the mare’s face after he soon shortly arrived. “If you have any questions about this land, I’d be willing to answer them all.” May as well throw that out there first, and after falling silent, giving the mare time to ask her questions he threw out his invitation. “Should it interest you as well, I come from a place called the Windtossed Foothills, and I’d like to invite you to my herd that resides there. We welcome all with open arms.” Again he paused, giving the mare time to contemplate his offer. “I’d also be willing to simply give information should herd life not interest you.

Ricochet the Incendiary Posts: 133
Deceased
Stallion :: Equine :: 15.2 hands :: 5 years Buff: BULK
Blu
#5

R i c o c h e t,


He was not a stallion inclined to words crafted of lusty heat and words brittle as ice, but rather a man who was carved of stone with eyes hard; teal eyes unforgiving and judgmental, but not cold eyes.

His eyes were blue fire, and their shadows cast long black fingers over his face.

From the forest Ricochet withdrew, a smear of buttery cream that glistened on the forest jade and emerald, with a wild tangled mane of ebony that drifted, knots twisting and brushed by the breeze. At his feet came his follower, all soft black fur and pristine white collar, bright, hungry brown eyes and lolling pink tongue, hindquarters swaying as a plume of a tail wagged, casting sinister black shapes on the ground painted gold with the light of the setting sun.

They moved in union, two figures that were almost silent among the trees, but for the Incendiary’s occasional foul-mouthed curse.

The birds sang, weaving their simplistic and utterly maddening songs, chirping and twittering as the couple passed beneath the branches they rested on. One passed a soft wet dropping onto the leaf mold beside the stallion, and with a snort of disgust, he moved away. He was not a silver-tongue, nor a jaded man; he was warrior, through and through, and he loved life best with a gun in his hand and bullets shattering the air, his dog howling and the twist and ache of battered muscles; all this recruiting fooled with his mind, learning to banter with a weapon he had never used to learn, for all his training- the tongue. Silk words did not come easily to him, and neither did gilded praises that could convince idiots to live under his banner and suckle from his figurative tits.

Fuck, Guns. Fuck.” The stallion declared, his voice weighted with an un-decipherable emotion. Ahead of him, his dog trotted confidently, occasionally pausing to urinate on a bush and stain the dry earth wet with his acidic yellow piss. Even worse than that acrid sense, sometimes the daft dog shoved his nose into all sorts of foul things only a hound would think to dig up.

Ricochet snorted. He would get no sympathy from his ludicrously useless collie.

By the name of Nieque, where had all the equines gone? Surely all the horses that were somewhat serviceable had not just disappeared or died in Isilme? It hadn’t been long since Gunslinger’s death that the buttermilk boy had begun to realize relying on others was not quite the good idea it had once appeared. They always seemed to vanish right when you needed them most- so he taught himself to fight even better, as he always did when he was filled with a boiling frustration.

His teal eyes flick up from the soil, his hooves’ muffled thuds echoing in his ears.
There is a scent lingering in the air.
Fresh meat.

Guns, too, sniffs it out with his wet black nose, giving out a short, sharp bark and tipping his ears forward, eyes gleaming with a vivacious light. “Go, Guns, find ‘em.” His master calls, and with a wag of his tail, the dog disappears.

Only a minute or two later, they come in on the scene, Guns dropping back before they come across him, hiding in the shadow of Ricochet.

There is a woman, not of voluptuous curves but of big fawn eyes that gleam auburn, all eloquency and thin lines, drawn so gracefully it is as if she could hardly live; she is a wisp, an autumn ghost, with a face that shines white as bone, gold rings in her ears that flash and gleam in the rich light of the setting sun. For a long moment he stares, rudely so; bold Ricochet, almost at a loss for words. He didn’t even fucking know there could be horses like this, made of bird-bones and legs so slender it looks as if she might shatter at a touch. And facing her is a stallion that is grotesque next to her avian-like beauty. He is stone-gray grown mossy, all thick bones and hefty brawn, covered in admirable scars and with verdant eyes that are carved deep into his silver face.

Ricochet the Incendiary, and the dog here is Guns. And I bet I can give you better than what he offers- and more, if you’re looking for a bit of extra.
His lips curl into a smile that promises.


table by Sarah
lines by Blu


HP: 49.5
We want you for the Equine Empire.

Feuille Posts: N/A
Unregistered
:: :: ::
#6
n o t   a l l    w h o    w a n d e r   a r e    l o s t

She turned her head like wind, away from Solace. A wandering heart could not help but linger in places it shouldn't be, and her daunting eyelashes obscured the orange pain in her eye. She felt love even in the absence of others. It wasn't a love that could stay, sure enough, and complexity riled her shallow-willed intentions. Her thoughts ambled on, tumbling through beaten, summer grasses, scorched by midday travels. She felt so suddenly distant and lone as if she was a wolf riddled with mange.

But a simple voice spilled over Solace's tongue, and they burned through her ambling mind to stop the happening insecurity. Feuille's head lifted and her orange eyes picked up, rustling like a leaf hapless to Solace's invitations. “If you have any questions about this land, I’d be willing to answer them all.” And she did have questions to raise, but she knew not which ones to ask.

Then the green-maned stallion spoke of herd life. Feuille remembered herd life, but perhaps this was a different kind that lacked tension and immaculate behavior. Perhaps this place was about freedom.

"Oh Solace... I don't know where to start. It feels like my brain has suddenly been blow dry of knowledge, like everything I knew is gone..." She spoke with a mumbling timbre, "but what is the Windtossed Foothills like? It has a beautiful name."

And as soon as her lips dropped delicate words, her ears heard something emerge from tall shadows. Her gaze turned, squinting from the dark, looking out into the green dusk. She saw a stout stallion, graced with a pale hide that was a bed for many sleepy scars. She saw thick muscles wrapping him together, and teal eyes, pulsing with all the vitality of a flame. Below his left eye she saw where the flame had bitten him, a desperate reminder of mortality. Feuille had greeting ears, she flicked her tail in natural acknowledgement. But this boy halted and, with his heated eyes, stared - for an uncomfortably long time. There was no head-dipping, like she had received from Solace, but a long, unbreakable focus, that hopefully was a good thing.

But the more she hoped, the less likely it seemed, as a docile-eyed dog emerged behind him from the brush. The staring intensified, until she looked away from him.

“Ricochet the Incendiary, and the dog here is Guns. And I bet I can give you better than what he offers- and more, if you’re looking for a bit of extra.”

It was difficult to say if the staring truly was a good thing because she felt more and more uncomfortable in his presence as the seconds ticked away. Especially as his voice hit the air, with an all business smack until a wicked, sultry tone kicked in at the end. She felt minimally disguested, but intrigued to hear what he had to say. She could almost assume he was comical, swaggering upon them the way he was. But when Guns showed up, she knew something was stirring up from the dust.

Frankly, she had absolutely no idea what to say. She glanced discretely to Solace, and returned to Ricochet, wondering how serious he was about the extra. He didn't exactly look like he was willing to crack out jokes. But something diplomatic caught the breeze in Feuille and she only flicked a golden-ringed ear.

"Hello Ricochet. My name is Feuille and I am only looking to know what Helovia is like. I have a feeling my decisions will act upon what you can tell me about this place." She smiled, one of those hopeful smiles.

(Sorry about the wait, and this post :( School has certainly kept me busy.)
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