| Hidden Account |
| Stallion :: Equine :: 14.0 hh :: 8 years |
| Sarah |
 Their trip to the meadow that had been described was… quiet. Wilibald, despite feeling rather curious, was not sure he felt like knowing the answers. Surely, anything that he asked of this strange, horned companion of his would only deepen the unrest that was in his heart. He had found himself in an odd land - that was for sure! Every time they passed someone he didn’t know (which happened a couple times) he shied a little closer to Slaiter as though the larger stallion might protect him – but as soon as he realized what he was doing he would drift away again.
This fellow might be the only familiar face here but let’s not ignore the facts – this place was a nightmare and he hadn’t quite figured out whether or not Slaiter was a part of that nightmare or something to guide him through it.
Really, everything depending on whether or not this meadow was as wonderful as Wilibald had made it up in his mind to be. After the walk that he had today (and MORE now, what was this? No one walked this much!) he’d probably be satisfied with just about any old meadow.
Fortunately for the both of them, it was a pretty nice meadow.
Wilibald picked up his pace a little bit when the trees started to open up, his belly jiggling in a not-very-subtle manner with the quicker pace. He couldn’t keep the pace up for long, of course, he just wanted to reach the tree line where he then stopped and looked around at the snow-covered meadow. With a satisfied grunt, the chestnut pony waded into the snow without much grace, forging a bit of a path before looking towards his companion. “A fine meadow you’ve chosen, Slaiter son of Azombie. I thank you for bringing me here.” He nodded politely, feeling a little more at ease in a comfortable surrounding. As he looked around for a good spot to roll in the snow, he decided that maybe it wouldn't hurt to indulge in just a little bit of curiosity. “Does your family live in these lands?” Helovia, such an odd name for a land. But then, Wilibald had the sinking feeling in his stomach (underneath the hunger) that this entire place would be rather odd – the name would therefore be the least of his worries.
@[Slaiter] |
| Hidden Account |
| Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16.1hh :: 13 |
| Shoikan |
Slaiter
Searchers after horror haunt strange, far places.
-H.P. Lovecraft
The journey is uneventful, no wraiths slink from the shadows to accost them, no wolves leap from the trees. Slaiter is rather disappointed, but keeps quiet and pretends to be content. Wilibald, he notices, seems a touch nervous whenever they move by another horse, but again he does not comment. He knows well just how cruel horses can be, and he's got his size to protect him. The pony doesn't even have that, and so it is only natural that he be uncertain about these large strangers. The ghoul isn't too sure of them himself, but he walks past as though nothing is wrong. Confidence and purpose, he is learning, can dissuade many from attempting to bother him.
The trees begin to thin, and Wilibald forges ahead, presumably to check out the meadow. The ghoul doesn't mind being left behind, though he does allow his stride to lengthen out a bit. He'd been reining himself in a bit to accommodate the shorter legs of the pony, and it feels good to walk at his natural pace again. He catches up just as the chestnut begins plowing his way out into the meadow. The snow is a bit deep, he notices, and Slaiter wonders if he should help his companion out by breaking a trail. Would such help be welcome, or would he seem patronizing and overbearing? His tail, as always, betrays his uncertainty, sweeping restlessly over the snow and tossing power up in a cloud around him.
His thoughts stop briefly when Wilibald thanks him, mind blanking at the unfamiliar words. He knows what thanks and gratitude are, of course, but no one has ever bothered to offer them to him. He is a ghoul, after all, and no one wants to feel thankful towards such a creature. Still, his manners prompt him to reply quickly, as though such things are common occurrences. "You are welcome." Feeling a bit more confident, he steps further from the sheltering trees. A query draws his attention again, asking about his family. "No. Mum lived in Ryvegyr. Dad..." he pauses, not certain how to explain the conundrum of something undead living anywhere. "Dad didn't live," he finally explains, feeling a bit foolish. He turns away a little, foraging at the snow so it looks natural. He's a bit hungry anyway, so it's not technically a useless, lying gesture. Besides, the pony will probably be hungry too, so it's only polite that he digs up food for his companion.
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@[Wilibald] Sorry about the delay!
Permission granted to use magic and/or physical violence on Slaiter, as long as he is not killed.
| Hidden Account |
| Stallion :: Equine :: 14.0 hh :: 8 years |
| Sarah |
Was Wilibald losing his touch at striking up conversations? Or was Slaiter just not all that interested in maintaining one? He seemed friendly enough but… maybe family was just the wrong topic to bring up. “My condolences.” Was all that he could think to say about Slaiter’s father. Of course, the fact that his father was actually a zombie and that was not simply his name was still lost upon Wilibald. Such things did not exist where he had come from - but then, neither did horses with horns upon their heads. There was no need for horror stories in his herd, they were a peaceful herd that instead wove tales of wonderful feasts and summers that stretched on forever.
The occasional warning tale of a pony that strayed off the path, of those that left for ‘adventure’ and never returned home. He wondered if he had made it into one of those cautionary tales, warnings for the foals that would be born in the upcoming spring. It was pretty likely that there were in fact some tales being told. He quite liked that - at least if they were talking about him they were going to remember him. Plus it would make a great ending to the story when he showed up eventually, safe and sound.
Okay, maybe he should change the subject? But there was at least one other question that felt appropriate to ask. “Is Ryvegyr far from here?” Focus on the parent that was alive, that seemed like a good idea right?
Wilibald needed to salvage this conversation!
He watched with a curious little smile growing on his face as he saw that Slaiter was digging for food. Now this was more like it! With no small amount of shyness, Wilibald moved a little closer to help him out while trying to come up with a little bit of a conversation - especially since the last question he had asked resulted in a rather sad answer. “So, Slaiter, do you have a favourite food?”
@[Slaiter] and I'm sorry for the delay on my part D: |
| please tag Wilibald in replies | | non-lethal force is allowed at all times, but preference is to be checked with beforehand for any injuries |
| Hidden Account |
| Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16.1hh :: 13 |
| Shoikan |
Slaiter
Searchers after horror haunt strange, far places.
-H.P. Lovecraft
The pony offers his condolences, and Slaiter's brow furrows in confusion, tail lightly flicking as he wonders why. Was Wilibald sorry that the ghoul had an undead father? He doesn't think anyone has tried to comfort him because of this. Looked horrified, yes, or a few individuals had found it intriguing, but this? It is baffling, but the boy decides to put it aside, chalking it up to some quirk of the land his companion came from. The man does seem rather cordial, and has definitely proved that he has good manners, so perhaps he just hadn't known quite what to say but was attempting to be polite anyway. Slaiter often does the same thing, and he's actually glad to see that others have the same problem. Maybe Ryvegyr and Wilibald's home were close to each other, he thinks, for that would explain the seemingly similar customs.
Speaking of, the pony is actually asking about Ryvegyr, and Slaiter is more than willing to respond. "Yes. Many seasons travel past the mountains and through the Forest of Night." Curious, he asks a question of his own. "What land are you from?" The ghoul wonders if he'll have heard of it, or maybe even been there. He's traveled a lot, after all, though he doesn't remember a land full of ponies. He did pass through a place full of giants once, the horses standing at least eighteen hands, but he doubts that his companion had lived near there. The giants, he recalls, were not very nice.
His ear flicks as he hears the crunch of hooves in snow, and a quick glance shows him Wilibald coming closer, and then doing some digging of his own. So, he was right in seeking out the buried grass then. Another question follows, and the unicorn mulls over it for a moment before replying. "The moss in the Glowing Room is nice. Sweet." A smile crosses his face then, and he steps away from the small patch he has just uncovered, using a quick head gesture to offer it to the smaller horse.
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Permission granted to use magic and/or physical violence on Slaiter, as long as he is not killed.
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