| Hidden Account |
| Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16hh :: 8 |
| M.E. |
His hiatus was a hibernation of studious inquiry, of endless discovery lost in the ivory snowdrifts and soulless tundra gusts capable of picking a scavenged corpse clean. This last analogy had been a phenomenon the Disciple had observed himself, spending many hours and days at a time with glazed, frozen eyes at the progress of the voracious wind. It was one of many marvels of the wild northern frontier that Zikar-Sin had taken upon himself to go to great lengths and document in his memory, tainted and free as it was from the weight of humane morals and empathy; his vapid enthusiasm blanketed totally all realms of his so-called affections—and in these balmy seasons, his passion for the sciences won out.
As the sun turned and tilted in the sky in its skewered path in the heavens, so did the seasons turn and shift almost underneath Sin’s feet—he could almost taste the difference in the air, the lack of warmth and added harrowed fang in the squalls of northern tundra. As much as it would have excited Sin to further observe the business of nature’s habit in the dead of winter, the dappled stud knew in the back of his brain that it would be foolish indeed to attempt to withstand the harshness of winter. Perhaps a brawnier fellow than he would taunt the savage northern winds, but Sin was naught but fur and bones and perhaps a birdling’s chest; he would not be built for prolonged insulation. And so, as the fang of winter’s wind began to bite a little harder than was customary, the Disciple knew it was time to return home once again to the twisted, shadowy peaks of the Aurora Basin.
Sin had left on the heels of an invasion—though the call for it had missed him entirely. Rather, he had been called to action, and Sin could not comprehend the reason for his summons; he was no warrior; surely he would do naught but bring shame and ruin to his family if he went to battle. He was called, yes, and he had not paid it much mind, choosing, instead, to spend his seasons in seclusion from the hustle and bustle of herd-life. Even so, he missed this valley and its warm, soothing hot-springs; its curious light-shows that proved to dazzle the Disciple every time he happened to set his eyes on the dancing lights of the Aurora; the sheltered caves that dotted the snowy plain, offering comfort, shelter, and seclusion from the bitter wind and the prying eyes of herd-mates.
One of these caves proved to be Zikar-Sin’s destination; he entered one with wide, scanning eyes, mildly angling himself toward a particular corner of the alcove. He found the spot rather easily; dragging his hoof over a rather shallow indentation in the dirt of the cave; he was rather pleased to see his sheepskin and horn preserved well in the cold of his eternal winter home. With a satisfied nod, Sin covered the spot once again, leaving a mental note that he should discover the Weaver Crowley as soon as it was convenient; now, however, there was another stallion with whom Sin wanted an audience. His head coming up straight and alert, Sin took a few moments to listen and smell for the old one’s scent, knowing he was prone to haunt these caves; he then lifted his voice somewhat, mild, pleasant, and oh-so perfectly polite as he called for his master.
“Myrddin?” Sin called, wandering out of the cave and scanning the vista before him, attempting to detect a hint of white against the snowy backdrop of the Basin. What an impossible task. “Myrddin, sir! I have returned, and I’m at your disposal as your Disciple, sir.”
[Sinny has returned and has no idea of herd changes! Someone should help out the poor little lost lamb ;-; ]
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
IMG Credit: ness094@deviantart.com
|
|
Illynx the GildedBlade Posts: 413
| Hidden Account atk: 7.5 | def: 11.5 | dam: 3 |
| Mare :: Unicorn :: 16hh :: 13 HP: 67.5 | Buff: ENDURE |
|
Kyst :: Common Griffon :: Zapping Jab
Bunnie |
A figure was seen alongside the caves that rimmed the banks of the lake, the same set of coves that held the Haruspex mirror. She had watched him arrive with slight interest, recognizing him from meetings over a year past but not recalling his name, a stare provided to the objects that he carried with him. Unsure why he had been absent or if he meant to stay, she hovered several yards away and hopefully out of noticeable distance, her golden gaze pinned upon his dark pelt with a curious expression that drew a glimmer to her eyes.
It seemed he was looking for someone, but who? She knew the Weaver resided in a cave nearby this location, and once, the old Myrddin had lived within the same set. She had not seen the ancient creature in a long while, however, and so she could only assume that he had either died (most probable) or wandered off to find a place to die (also highly probable). Her question was answered momentarily by the sound of his voice, surprisingly innocent on the fragile mountain air, calling out for the ancient unicorn.
Her smile was soft and partially mocking, in part amused with his devotion to his master and yet ostracizing him for being gone for so long as to seek a man who was no longer there. Stepping forward from her cover, as she took note of no others approaching to converse with the unique and dirty stallion, Illynx approached with no sense of secrecy or danger, her crown proudly raised and steps purposeful.
Once within ear shot, she playfully calls out to him, a soft song on the mountain air. "He’s no longer among the unicorns of this mountain," dances her voice, followed by her golden etched frame, "the one you would seek to learn of the Spark is called Huyana, now." She pauses a respectful distance away, more for her own pleasures than the comfort of the man. He smells like the wilderness, the same strange odors that permeated Ulrik, but his scent was not masked with the sparkling smell of metal and electricity. He smelled like something dead.
Another look at the pile of objects he’d carried in with him draw to mind a memory of the same stallion coming to a herd meeting, the fetid pelts of dead animals clutched between his teeth. She barely restrains a shudder.
"How long have you wandered, Disciple," she asks, a cruel jest at his lack of knowledge wrapped in a gauze of kindness, "that you seek a master long gone from our numbers?"
There was a river once,
with many round stones
enchanted by shallow hopes
of embracing the ocean;
water is peculiar this way,
how its life is a line
that cannot bend or change
without the approval of its bed.
|
Magic/assault allowed to be used on Illynx at any time, in so far as it does not kill or seriously maim her without my permission.
| Outcast atk: 6 | def: 8.5 | dam: 3 |
| Mare :: Pegasus :: 15.1 hh :: 6 years HP: 60.5 | Buff: NOVICE |
|
Sameira :: Royal Hellhound :: Hellfire
dark |
 | |
Through the snowy mountains cold the rotted demon flies, swerving to avoid ice cold clouds. The sun begins to fall back, and the creature smiles. The night was closing in, preparing to attack Helovia, the land of growing darkness. Her laugh echoes into the valley of horned, the stupid fools that called themselves high and mighty. I will show you. She spits into her mind, rotten ears flicked back. She sees them there, standing offering themselves to her. She sees two shapes perfectly aligned, perfect to strike upon. Swooping down, wings extended, she lets her dark feathers fall to the unicorns. Let them wonder what creature left such horrifically smelling feathers. T'was the demon that left these hideous signs, signs of the upcoming horrors.
Descending rapidly, she lets loose her rotted, bone spiked legs. Her deformed bone structure creaks as she presses her weight to the snowy ground, shivering. There, yards away, stood two horses. One looked so odd, a small oaf with a curled horn atop his head. She ignored the little steed and instead lunged for the gold accented woman, who looked fierce. Wings are tucked tight until the last minute, in which the witch releases the hold and lets them flail around for confusion and distraction. She would spread her sickly disease through bite, through a hideous touch of her tainted spit. The black cloud that trailed behind her had touched a tree, withering it.
Leaping away from the bay, she offers her maw once again to the flesh of the Lady. She doesn't know if this will hit her or not, but it didn't matter, this bite was simply a back up. Pale eyes flicker to the dark stallion as wings outstretch, hind legs bunching what muscle was left. Preparing for flight, the once sweet girl cackles and offers words. "Let it spread across the land! Let it destruction and death take rein!" She calls out, flying upwards so she remains out of reach of those daggers. They would not touch her with those swords as she examined them, waited for the effects to take place. She did not lunge for the dark stud, for she was sure the Lady would take care of him.
"Talk talk talk."
[infected Amara strikes again!]
| |
|  |
Image Credits
| Administrator |
| Stallion :: Equine :: :: |
| Official |
Zikar-Sin and Illynx may post once more before the RE dice roll will determine their fate!
| Hidden Account |
| Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16hh :: 8 |
| M.E. |
01-12-2014, 12:57 AM
(This post was last modified: 01-12-2014, 12:58 AM by Zikar-Sin.)
His attention caught, Sin allowed his gaze to flow pleasantly over towards a gilded lily who approached, the gold of her legs and mane catching his eye for a span of studiously observant moments before he politely gravitated his gaze to her eyes.
Ah, poor Sin! The way she moved toward him, the words on her tongue, the twist of her lip that molded her words into something sing-song, slightly derisive, and even more so chastising toward the tardy Disciple—well, Sin picked up none of this. These subtle cues of hers flew straight over his pate and the tips of his ears, his brain unwilling—or unable—to catch them, and so they escaped his notice entirely. Such were the weaknesses of the philosopher; he was well versed in psychological play and even more dedicated to his attention to the detail of life and scientific pursuit. Alas! He simply could not grasp the niceties of society, the hidden rules sandwiched in-between the bold black lines of text of the handbook of civilization. He only read the lines themselves, frank and polite in their tone—so, as he heard the delightful tones fall from the lady’s brown, supple lips, he read them as well-mannered and airy, and his eyes widened accordingly, pleasantly assessing the mare before him.
He was not aware he was in the presence of his current monarch; as it was, he dipped his head in reverence, for rank didn’t matter in the Disciple’s eye: All were deserving of his courtesy. “I’m sorry to hear that,” spoke the dappled stallion, speaking on the subject of Myrddin’s status within these airy peaks. He did not lie—he WAS sorry for the old stallion’s departure from these lands. Sorrier still was the inner notion within the back of Sin’s head—a tiny inkling he was ashamed of, because he knew how honest his inner thoughts were—that was not completely surprised with the state of things. Somewhere inside the Disciple’s intuition was the knowledge that Myrddin would leave this place one day. No, not this place-- Sin knew it was he himself that the old Haruspex would leave behind, his faithful Disciple left underneath the shadow of the borealis with a pack of bloodthirsty wolves. It was a reoccurring theme of his history that he should be abandoned—and with a heavy heart, he recognized it now.
Zikar-Sin heaved a great sigh, allowing his eyelids to fall over the white-blue of his irises for a moment, giving himself heartbeats to mourn the loss of his master. Then, he was done. The time for such sadness wasn’t now, not when he was entertaining a lady; he would not be so rude to her, oh no! That would be unforgivable for sure. “I will have to meet this Huyana you speak of,” he mused partially to himself; the prospect itself didn’t excite him much. In fact, he found himself subconsciously preparing for disappointment, unable to fathom a stranger’s face sitting in the seat of his old master. It felt unclean; adverse.
*"How long have you wandered, Disciple, that you seek a master long gone from our numbers?”*
At this, Sin’s visage brightened perceptively, for the reprimand under her teeth was missed by the Disciple. No, to him, all he heard was an excuse to divulge his findings—and he was always excited to divulge his findings. “Why, miss, I’ve been conducting researches of my own in this land of ours,” he said cheerily, lamp-like eyes unknowingly concentrated with frightening intensity on the golden madam in his rising, frenzied passion of his studies, “You see, there is very little opportunity to undergo long-term research on a constantly shifting area such as these herd-lands—there is always someone about to disrupt the natural rhythm of things, I’m ashamed to admit. I desired to start my researches afresh in isolation so that I may observe and study at my own leisure the dynamic properties of our tundra home!” A spark glinted in his eye; indeed, Sin seemed to go mad with his own excitement, totally delighted to find someone who might be interested in his findings! “I’ve also taken the opportunity to conduct my own experiments in ways where they won’t be influenced by atypical variables—the wandering, clumsy citizen, the curious child, so on and so forth. Why, I’ve even been able to study my own—“
The Disciple’s speech was very suddenly interrupted as a shadow swooped overhead, seemingly raining a putrid sort of debris as it charged passed. As a piece of it landed lightly on the curve of Sin’s horn, he gazed, cross-eyed, at the stinking matter. “Oh my,” he said with a shake of his head; the feather wafted off of his face, falling lightly onto the ground below. Blinking rapidly, Sin whipped his head around, trying to find the source of the disturbance—it was a last moment glance a flailing, fluttering thinghurling for the dame of golden fancy, and instinct urged the dappled stallion forward.
“Excuse me!!" he yelped, apologizing for his rash actions—he bolted for the lady’s side, attempting to ram his shoulder into her, out of the way of the curious, stinking bullet of a thing hurtling for her. While pushing was rather rude in itself, he decided it would be atrocious for him to ignore her plight and allow her to be attacked. He was a gentleman, after all. However, Sin became caught in a flurry of more putrid feathers and confusion—he felt something rather sharp twinge at his opposite shoulder, and a great weight seemed to ram into him, knocking the breath out of the thin lungs. Any other, larger stallion could have withstood the blow—not Sin. As the air left his chest, he was pushed back rather violently, thrown to the hard-packed earth just as the thing retreated.
Raising his head blearily, Sin sought the thing out—his interested piqued when he discovered their assailant was a young Pegasus filly. Though, as he studied her more closely and listened to her words, Sin scrambled to his feet not with fear or apprehension—but a growing sense of curiosity and wonder. “I say!” he said excitedly, his lamp-like eyes popping alarmingly as he studied the young Pegasus before him. “What a captivating disease! Is it viral, or bacterial? Magical, or entirely natural in design? I see it works by inducing decomposition in a live specimen—is this achieved through the death of the skin and muscle, or is this the corrosion of living tissue? Oh, I must learn more!”
[I'm so sorry this took so long to push out!!]
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
IMG Credit: ness094@deviantart.com
|
|
Illynx the GildedBlade Posts: 413
| Hidden Account atk: 7.5 | def: 11.5 | dam: 3 |
| Mare :: Unicorn :: 16hh :: 13 HP: 67.5 | Buff: ENDURE |
|
Kyst :: Common Griffon :: Zapping Jab
Bunnie |
01-20-2014, 12:32 PM
(This post was last modified: 01-21-2014, 09:13 AM by Illynx.)
For some reason, she believed the shabby little man when he stated his condolences as to the old man’s disappearance; it was slightly touching to know that such loyalties still lay among her people, that they could still feel such compassionate sensations towards one another as nostalgia. She herself hadn’t seen it in many others but Psyche and herself, though she was sure her dearest friend had been close to her own political companion, Mauja. They had, after all, produced a child, hadn’t they? Still, she could not know if either would die for the other as she surely would to save the Empress, should such a situation arise – the thought that it would only succeed if Psyche didn’t have the same idea in her head drew an out of place smile to her lips, which she quickly stifled in the presence of a sad subject.
This was why she had always chosen to be alone, hadn’t it?
Thankfully for her, she discovered the dapple’s eyes shuttered and a subtle sigh escaping his lips, allowing her to have hopefully covered her slip up in his sorrows. That it was as if the God’s themselves had allowed for such tactful covering of her chipping mask sent a thrill through her that added an extra gleam to her friendly façade, the twinkle burning in her golden eyes as they watched the milky ones of this strangely horned man rise his own back to her.
She smiles in response to his words on the Haruspex, nodding in concordance with his polite decision. She cannot blame anyone for being hesitant to replace their teacher – not that she could understand such nuances of emotion, or let them bleed into her own personal affairs. Like much Illynx knew of how to appear normal and filled with flower scented sparkles, she had learned this fact from observation, and observation alone.
The poor wretch hadn’t ever been taught how to feel anything other than hatred and how to build her walls as thick as the mortar could support.
"Huyana is kind and wise, I’m sure you’ll find her to be quite suited to gaze into the mirror," attempts to comfort the bitch, her lips a soft curve that hides her inner distrust of the woman. She had mothered a filly of Deimos’ loins, and Illynx was no fool – the Haruspex belonged to the Basin or to the Reaper, and not her. The fact was bitter on her tongue, festered in her mind, as did all the invisible ties looping them together; if she was ever to be successful, they would have to come to love and respect her, wouldn’t they?
Simple minded as she is, she does not believe that they can love both of their leads, as different as they are. She believes she is the only suitable candidate for office, and fully intends on slandering and burning her way to the top of the roster if it grows necessary. For now, she was doing what Psyche would ask her to do (of this she was sure) by simply observing, planting small seeds where she saw the opportunity to turn a blade to her favor.
The chatty stallion draws her interest with his next stream of commentary, though it is not so much the subject (she’s not really much of the studious type) so much as it is the enthusiasm with which he rambles onward with it. In the rapid chattering of his voice, she finds a good hearted friendliness that contradicts the less-than-sane appearance of the bloke; to Illynx, however, the combination only makes him all the more intriguing, having found herself listening to his tale of the wilds with a rising interest until something black and horrible splattered onto the stallion’s head.
She’s backwards and away from the shocking scene about three feet before she even knows she’s moving, and just as suddenly as the feathers had splattered to the earth, she is there. Illynx finds her with a broad golden gaze that is laced with fear, a primal terror inspired by both the appearance and aura radiating from the winged bitch. She wants to run, but hesitates in the presence of the Disciple, looking back to him shocked and horrified as she has ever been in her life.
Is this what Deodat had warned of?
"What in the world is tha-" she manages to half shout, half moan at the stallion before he’s shouting back at her. Excuse me? she thinks to herself as the small male in suddenly in her shoulder, tossing her backwards and in a semicircle as she tries to maintain her balance. She’s growling with fury at the insult until she sees the stallion flying away from the shuddering impact of the zombie whore, her snarl of offense blooming into one of terror and honor inspired loathing.
Sometimes I wonder if she isn’t half wolf, herself.
"Just who the fuck do you think you are?" she finds herself belligerently screaming at the monster, limbs trembling from want of escape while her heart beats the drums of war. She knows it is in vain, to shout at the devil so, though isn’t really sure how she knows; perhaps it’s because the thing is clearly dead. Perhaps it is because she radiates the aura of the soulless. She does not know.
All she knows is that she’s pissed… and suddenly quite distracted by the chattering of the little deranged man. Her stare is one of disbelief, that he can be flung so easily by a mare who obviously has naught the strength to do so and still be distracted by science, eyes flying from the monster to the stallion nervously.
"I’m afraid we must go, darling," she says to the little man, though whether or not he’ll take her lead is up to him. She can’t force him to run anywhere. "We needed to go yesterday." She is backing away with her eyes trained on the devilish fiend, the notes of her tender voice pleading for understanding in the light haired stallion that it is not safe to remain here.
But she won’t leave him. She can’t.
She wears a crown of ice, does she not?
There was a river once,
with many round stones
enchanted by shallow hopes
of embracing the ocean;
water is peculiar this way,
how its life is a line
that cannot bend or change
without the approval of its bed.
|
@[Random Event]
Magic/assault allowed to be used on Illynx at any time, in so far as it does not kill or seriously maim her without my permission.
| Helovian Ancient |
| Stallion :: Equine :: :: |
| |
Zikar-Sin defends Illynx but becomes infected
Illynx is pushed aside and remains Uninfected
|
.svg/2000px-Google_Chrome_icon_(2011).svg.png){kind=icon}
