So either you're really fucking high, or there is a giant fucking metal horse just down the path. And last you checked you weren't that high. Like, you're a little wobbly and maybe just a tad too drooly but you've been worse. Like that time you crashed into a tree and some fucking pegasus fell from the sky and landed on the ground. That was a weird day. Or that time you accidentally got your herd members high too and you rolled around in the sand. Another weird one. You seem to have a lot of those. Not like that would have anything to do with your drugs...

What wasn't a weird day was when you called out Eris and beat the shit out of her. Face smashed, bodies bleeding, bruises. It was a hot mess but you came out on top. Just like you deserved to. But still they don't call you general, still they don't give you any respect. You're just Oxy the Addict, mocked by most, loved by none, tolerated by few. But mock you though they might, they'll all realize their mistakes some day. When you're stronger, when you've trained to your full potential, then you'll call out somebody even more dangerous than Eris. You'll call out the golden asshole himself and take him down in a violent clash of the titans. Someday. You shake your head. Someday is too far in the future.

So anyways, back to that giant horse. You don't think you've ever made it this far north in the cold and snow and all that crap, but you're pretty sure you would have heard of some giant horse statue in the middle of nowhere. Or maybe not. Whatever. You decide you better just go investigate. However, your companion disagrees whole heartedly. Unfortunately, the obnoxious little near-invisible wisp has recently discovered her ability to pick up objects and flail them about mercilessly. One, two, three increasingly large rocks come whizzing towards your head, knocking into your skull with all the love a cougar shows a rabbit. But, being as dense as you are, you just keep walking. Maybe you should have just listened.

@[Torleik]- leaving this open since private threads don't work at herd borders, but I'd prefer this thread stays on the small-ish size so it doesn't get too hung up, if anybody else wants to join.

Oxy

Torleik
A lone man loved by none:


How long can he live?

Of course. A guy can't ever get some peace and quiet, can he? Although, now that you take a deep breath and actually pay attention, it smells like you might have wandered a little too close to somebody's home. Who the hell lives up in a frozen wasteland anyways? You shake your head and eye the rabicano that comes from the other direction with suspicion. It's not necessarily that you have anything against him, but if this is in fact a herd and and he is a member of it... well, you know what you prefer to do to those who wander unwelcomed into your border.

Your border. It will be someday.

As the strange continues to approach you stop moving forward, frowning that you should be deprived your moment of curiosity. The hulking metal beast standing off in the distance will have to wait, for now, as it wouldn't do to push past the viking that approaches (although you're more than certain you could do it, if need be). Instead, you dig your hooves into the icy ground for support, head held just a hair too high and turned just slightly to the side. The whites of your eyes show for no particular reason other than you are mildly intoxicated. Indeed, if he has sensed there is something off about you then he isn't wrong. Only Snowflake seems to think that you're a normal horse but then... she's probably got some mental issues of her own.

As he calls out to you, your first instinct is to hurl some sort of insult his way. You've found that's almost always the best way to get others to leave you alone, anyways. Nobody wants to hang out with a crotchety Shire. Your second instinct is to just turn around and walk away but your curiosity refuses you this luxury. You decide on something uniquely... you. “Might've looked nice here before you parked that thing's ass in the snow.” A small toss of your nose indicates which thing you're speaking of. The mechanical horse. You try to keep the disdain from your voice and the insult as subtle as can be. It seems more than certain that you'll never get any better at this making friends thing.

Trying her best to keep you from getting your ass kicked the moment you barge into this unknown land, your rather annoying companion decides now is the time for comic relief. She is little more than a faint black wisp as she zooms through the air to be beside you, floating next to your face. It takes her only a moment to morph into a very good replica, in miniature, of the mechanical horse. Of course, her miniature then proceeds to crumble and crack, falling to pieces and ending in a pile of rubble. It's a good image, if fleeting, for a bite of your teeth towards her sends the boggart flicking back to wispy safety high above your head. You grunt your displeasure before returning your glassy gaze back to the rabicano, watchfully cautious of any movements he might make.

Oxy

Torleik
A lone man loved by none:


How long can he live?

“I suppose if your warriors are no good, you do what you have to do,” you muse aloud in response to Torleik's description of the mechanical beast, more chatty than you usually are. Your tone is not unkindly, simply matter of fact. It's not that you don't find the extra help useful- you certainly do- but you can't help but feel like they built it because they expect that their warriors are not enough. But ah, such failures are to be expected in a land that has thus-far failed to deliver to you an opponent you can not best. Well, except Colt. But, to be fair, she did use some sort of nasty magic to send a rock pummeling through your flesh straight to your scapula. You could hardly call it a fair fight.

Still, regardless of your previous statement, you can't help but chuckle (almost friendly?) when the unicorn informs you of his apparently benevolent act of keeping you safe. If you were a more nosy personality you might wonder how they ever let anybody in; however, you can see the benefit in keeping everybody out. It's what you do on a daily basis. Perhaps the herd has simply grown to the size they find most practical and they do not care to add any others. Although, it does beg the question, how does it know which of them to strike down and which of them to let walk freely?

As your pondering is interrupted by your companion's display and the Blödskald's curiosity, you return his gaze and find that you do not feel your normal ire at his question. To be fair, he's really the first reasonable stallion you've ever met. Well, except Gaucho, who was more than happy to get high with you on the forest floor. “It's an unfortunate side effect of teaching one very obnoxious blue and black pegasus a lesson,” you respond vaguely, but decide that if he's reasonable you should at least try to be. Through the ever-lifting haze that fogs your mind, you find the word. “Creature,” although it might not be clear if you're talking about her or you, as a long web of drool drips down from your lips. Very attractive. It's just one of your many good traits.

Glancing back at the sentinel, you can't help but feel the nagging questions return. To be fair, you're smart enough, but you really prefer to stray away from scholarly tendencies. With a quick dip of your mouth into your shoulder bag- a well-practiced motion- you produce a vine or two of locoweed. It should be more than enough to drown out any lingering thoughts of curiosity or questions. Without further ado, you ingest the plants, savoring the way they slide across your throat and down your tongue. Such sweet glory. Still, you know that their effects will be delayed until you can digest them, so you supplement your habit with a quick shock to the brain via your clandestine dark magic. The shock is swift and mildly painful, but it lasts only a fraction of a second. The real effect of the magic is to make you (or someone else, you suppose) feel your locoweed high without having to even eat the plants. It has been a brilliant blessing in your life.

Oxy

Ah, it's no wonder you find this stallion to be so reasonable. He is a fellow warrior, a man of the sword. A man of blood and war, of scars and scabs and gritting his teeth against the pain. Apparently he is also a man who believes in his battle prowess and that is something you can respect. You bob your head in response to his statement, never one to pass up on a proposed battle, but the action is as appropriately cryptic as anything else you've managed to convey thus far. You'll answer him in time, but you are interested in his words that follow and you listen with one ear trained forward, the other floating about one way or the other.

It amuses you that he is as upset by the mention of Ampere as you are, for indeed it is Ampere you that you have described. Horrible to be around though she might be, she is one of the few that you have managed to remember a name for. “She's an electric plague sent by the spark god himself,” you reply, the skin over your ribs twitching as you remember a wave of electricity washing over your body. Stealing from her had been an idiotic idea but most of your idiotic ideas seem to have worked out alright.

“Locoweed,” is the next word you speak and as you do so you eye the Bloodskald suspiciously. Does he have interest in your plant, does he desire to take it from you because you have wandered to his doorstep unknowingly? But no, you do not get that sort of vibe from him. He reminds you more of Gaucho, of a reasonable soul with a particular interest in your activity of choice. You chuckle and then begin to draw up your locoweed magic within you.

“It would be an uneven match,” you manage, backtracking a little bit in your conversation, before you attempt to release your locoweed magic upon your new... companion. You've never tried to use it while you were this high before, so you're not sure it will work at all, but why the hell not try. As far as you can tell, the effects never last much longer than 30 seconds or so when you use the magic on yourself. How mad can the proclaimed general really get in 30 seconds? After all, a small shock to the brain followed by the effects of your beloved plants shouldn't be too much trouble for him. Right? You don't bother to get ready to run off in case he might get mad. What's he going to do? Wobble towards you?

Oxy

At the viking's query about the spark god, you grunt in response, but give no facial expression to indicate whether you are affirming or denying his thought. Perhaps it is because you're not entirely sure. You've got a good mind for strategy, for war, for fighting, but you've never bothered to consider the gods very deeply and now, in your mostly high state, you can't remember if spark and time, or spark and fire, or spark and nothing go together. So you decide to just be silent about the whole affair and let the general make his own assumptions, or figure it out on his own if he's so curious. You're not even that fond of the gods, except that they make you more powerful in your fight against the unworthy wanna-be warriors that try to challenge you.

Anyways, he sure asks an awful lot of questions, and you frown as he questions you about the locoweed. What is he, some sort of philosophical warrior, a general fighting for truth and knowledge, instead of power and strength? But at least the stallion's assumptions about the drugs do not come with contempt or ire, disgust or distaste. He makes his assessment matter-of-factly, and you deign yourself to bob your head in affirmation- until he amuses you with you response to your magic. Ah, so it worked. Good to note.

The hell did you do to him? Your previous bemused expression turns to one of sheer hilarity and break into a raucous round of laughter, your body rattling about with the force of your grumbling. You stumble to the side, struggling to catch your balance on the icy surface below you. When you finally do, you repeat to him with authority, “Locoweed.” You'd have thought it would have been clear to the fellow who had previously presented himself as a scholar. Ah, but drugs do funny things, don't they?

Bored by the familiar scene, your companion sets her sites on the curious creature accompanying the Bloodskald. Morphing into a butterfly, she tries to flit about the griffin's face and body, trying to cajole the thing into a game. It seems miles more fun than any idiocy that is brewing between the two warrior beasts, and any escape from you is a good escape.

Oxy

The frown that accompanied this stallion's lack of real response was highly judgemental. "Real fucking helpful," he muttered under his breath, not one to typically curse so easily, but this male had gotten under like a splinter that he couldn't quite pick out: annoying as hell, but doing no real damage. The lack of response was something Torleik felt he'd get used to when the beast neglected to give him any indication of what the plant in his bag did, save for a head nod (which he couldn't be sure was a yes, or a tic from the thing being high as hell) - even though the general had a good assumption on his own, being an...intermediate connoisseur of state-altering substances in his own right.

And then he was hit with something, some kind of magic, and everything became strange. It was a good strange, though unexpected, and Torleik realized he rather missed how plants and strong drink could numb everything and make it all better. He would have to remedy this by discovering where this...thing...got the Locoweed from - after he kicked his ass for laughing.

With a surprisingly threatening angry face, Torleik made a stumbling charge at his newly christened foe, seeking to unceremoniously bodyslam him. Bastard. No one laughed at him.

Irelyn was intrigued by what was going on, since her bonded's mind was now oddly...swirly...and she wasn't sure what to do with that. However, as a young one was apt to be, she was distracted by a fluttering, pretty butterfly that seemed intent on landing on her face. This was unacceptable to the griffin, who reached out and tried to grab the flitty-flutter thing before it touched her.


"Talking"

Your boggart is nothing but distracting as her fright (at nearly getting bitten by the little griffin, of course) permeates your head. She flits away from the grasping beak, returning to her natural, nearly-invisible form. Her feelings, tender from months of spending time with you, are instantly hurt. She’s never been upset like this before. Insults from you, the intoxicated beast, are normal par for the course, but she’s never found someone who has rejected her brilliant advances before. Pouting, she decides to respond in the only manner she knows how, the only manner that you have shown her… violence. With the magic she has recently discovered and cultivated, the little boggart lifts the nearest stony rock, about the size of a quarter, and tosses it towards the griffin. The throw is not hard enough to cause real damage, but perhaps a bruise if it hits.

The distraction is massively unfortunate, however. Just while that idiocy is occurring, which of course you don’t approve of anyways, the now-high fool in front of you lunges forward. Tossing your head skyward in surprise, you do your best to lunge to the side in evasion of his attack- the reasons behind which are entirely foreign to you, of course. Unfortunately, between your massively high state and the snow and the distraction of your companion, you’re left a little slow on the takeoff.

His attack, though stumbling, catches you on your left hip. Despite your heft, his is enough to send you stumbling away a few steps, frowning all the while and grunting your severe disapproval. “Hey!” you bellow unceremoniously, having to physically stop yourself from assaulting him in return. You’ll just count it as fair return for your companion’s attack on his, as your hip begins to throb with mild pulsations. “Not much of a general to take a man by surprise, are you?” But then you start laughing again, this time at yourself, because it’s exactly the kind of thing you’d do. “Find me sometime, we’ll train,” you offer to him as you begin to stumble away from his home and strange mechanized contraption.

Before you get too far away, you realize that you never did bother to give him your name. “Oxy. Falls.” And then you pick up a trot, because you still never did figure out what exactly got you here in the first place.


OOC| Oxy out, I'm trying to downsize thread number since school started :( But spar soon <3

Oxy