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05-09-2014, 02:23 PM
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| Outcast atk: 6.5 | def: 10.5 | dam: 7.5 |
| Stallion :: Unicorn :: 17.2 :: 14 HP: 79.5 | Buff: HUNTER |
| Irma :: Snowy Owl :: Terrorize & Diego :: Eurasian Eagle-Owl :: Rage Neo |
05-10-2014, 07:30 AM
He'd been meaning to go to the Edge—to find Kahlua again, say he was ready, face the damn herd and reveal to them, once and for all, that he, too, could make mistakes. That he, too, was afraid of things.
That he, too, had a heart.
But it could easily be the death of him. They were many, he was one; he had Kahlua, but.. she wasn't much of a fighter, was she? So in the end, he had only himself, and while he didn't plan on letting them touch him (because he was innocent, damn it).. when did things ever go according to plan? He'd been somewhere up by the Grove, ambling along, when he realized that there were some things he'd left unfinished. Some things he could not go into such danger without having done; words, words he could not speak, but didn't want to die without having said.
He didn't want to die at all. He didn't plan on dying, and so, those words could remain unsaid, lurking in his mouth but never daring to come out—but he'd had faith in himself before, and look where that had gotten him. Tarnished, and fallen, Mauja had been forced to confront his own mortality too many times. Helovia was a dangerous place, and he was not well-liked in many places, and life was.. he sighed. He'd gone over it a million times before on the way across Helovia, and it never made him any wiser, so why bother going over it again?
A shrill whinny rang through the stillness of the forest.
It caught his attention, piqued his curiosity (any distraction was good), and with Diego ghosting ahead of him he picked another path. It smelled of bear. Old bear, but still. His ears angled back. Better be cautious.
Diego saw her first. She was smaller than him, thin and dainty, her frame not quite filled out—young, then. A glass horn spiraled out from her brow, and her body was covered in patches of chestnut and white. Her head was bowed. Mauja felt like groaning. Was everyone sad these days?
He'd come too close to turn back, but felt rather disinclined to waltz up to her and pretend everything was fine and that he enjoyed chatting it up with strangers. But, still.. he had something to do. Someone to find. And Helovia was vast. He needed a bit of help.
Sighing, he went further on the bear-path, white forelock hanging down over one pale eye, and head tilted. "Is everything alright?" he asked quietly into the heavy weight of the surrounding forest.
[ I prefer to not be tagged ^-^ ]
That he, too, had a heart.
But it could easily be the death of him. They were many, he was one; he had Kahlua, but.. she wasn't much of a fighter, was she? So in the end, he had only himself, and while he didn't plan on letting them touch him (because he was innocent, damn it).. when did things ever go according to plan? He'd been somewhere up by the Grove, ambling along, when he realized that there were some things he'd left unfinished. Some things he could not go into such danger without having done; words, words he could not speak, but didn't want to die without having said.
He didn't want to die at all. He didn't plan on dying, and so, those words could remain unsaid, lurking in his mouth but never daring to come out—but he'd had faith in himself before, and look where that had gotten him. Tarnished, and fallen, Mauja had been forced to confront his own mortality too many times. Helovia was a dangerous place, and he was not well-liked in many places, and life was.. he sighed. He'd gone over it a million times before on the way across Helovia, and it never made him any wiser, so why bother going over it again?
A shrill whinny rang through the stillness of the forest.
It caught his attention, piqued his curiosity (any distraction was good), and with Diego ghosting ahead of him he picked another path. It smelled of bear. Old bear, but still. His ears angled back. Better be cautious.
Diego saw her first. She was smaller than him, thin and dainty, her frame not quite filled out—young, then. A glass horn spiraled out from her brow, and her body was covered in patches of chestnut and white. Her head was bowed. Mauja felt like groaning. Was everyone sad these days?
He'd come too close to turn back, but felt rather disinclined to waltz up to her and pretend everything was fine and that he enjoyed chatting it up with strangers. But, still.. he had something to do. Someone to find. And Helovia was vast. He needed a bit of help.
Sighing, he went further on the bear-path, white forelock hanging down over one pale eye, and head tilted. "Is everything alright?" he asked quietly into the heavy weight of the surrounding forest.
[ I prefer to not be tagged ^-^ ]
Mauja
must keep those black wings folded until the time is right
| Hidden Account |
| Mare :: Equine :: 16 HH :: 5 years ~ Birdsong Buff: NOVICE |
| Wild. |
05-11-2014, 04:05 PM
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| Outcast atk: 6.5 | def: 10.5 | dam: 7.5 |
| Stallion :: Unicorn :: 17.2 :: 14 HP: 79.5 | Buff: HUNTER |
| Irma :: Snowy Owl :: Terrorize & Diego :: Eurasian Eagle-Owl :: Rage Neo |
05-14-2014, 05:07 AM
en natt så kall och månen den var klar
He could've laughed. Why did this always happen to him? First Brisa (how was she? well, he hoped), and now this stranger girl. Trapped, and unable to get free of their own, needing their knight in shining armor—useless.
He dreamed, idly, of the day he'd have to rescue a stallion.
"Stop that," he said softly as she tugged on her stuck hair. Large, cold hooves brought him closer, his steps gentle and graceful despite the mass he carried; he chose to ignore her girlishness and giggles. He hoped they were nothing more than embarrassment at her own situation. He didn't want them to be anything else.
He didn't see her eyes drop, his own fixed on the mess of her voluminous hair. Mauja had a lot of hair himself, but he was glad it was of a more manageable length—he couldn't recall a time he'd ever been this stuck. Sure, it tangled, and sure, sometimes he stepped on his tail or his mane stuck on something and he had to tear himself free, but he'd never gotten himself this completely trapped. It didn't seem fun, and it seemed kind of painful, and he wondered how on earth she imagined him rolling a log away would get her free, when she'd tangled everything up in it all. He'd just yank her head down even more, or something like that.
Why couldn't these bothersome mares ever be easy to rescue?
She introduced herself was Abishia, from the Falls. Falls? What falls? Briefly, he glanced at her face, then back to the problem at hand. "I am Mauja, of nowhere." It was tempting to say he was no one at all, but he was trying to keep a rein on his bitterness. "And I think it's better to just try and cut your hair free. It's tangled up everywhere." His dark muzzle hovered above the taut chestnut-and-white locks. Oh, if only d'Artagnan had been here: his broken glass horn would've been perfect for this bizarre kind of job.
He dreamed, idly, of the day he'd have to rescue a stallion.
"Stop that," he said softly as she tugged on her stuck hair. Large, cold hooves brought him closer, his steps gentle and graceful despite the mass he carried; he chose to ignore her girlishness and giggles. He hoped they were nothing more than embarrassment at her own situation. He didn't want them to be anything else.
He didn't see her eyes drop, his own fixed on the mess of her voluminous hair. Mauja had a lot of hair himself, but he was glad it was of a more manageable length—he couldn't recall a time he'd ever been this stuck. Sure, it tangled, and sure, sometimes he stepped on his tail or his mane stuck on something and he had to tear himself free, but he'd never gotten himself this completely trapped. It didn't seem fun, and it seemed kind of painful, and he wondered how on earth she imagined him rolling a log away would get her free, when she'd tangled everything up in it all. He'd just yank her head down even more, or something like that.
Why couldn't these bothersome mares ever be easy to rescue?
She introduced herself was Abishia, from the Falls. Falls? What falls? Briefly, he glanced at her face, then back to the problem at hand. "I am Mauja, of nowhere." It was tempting to say he was no one at all, but he was trying to keep a rein on his bitterness. "And I think it's better to just try and cut your hair free. It's tangled up everywhere." His dark muzzle hovered above the taut chestnut-and-white locks. Oh, if only d'Artagnan had been here: his broken glass horn would've been perfect for this bizarre kind of job.
Se dem brinna över verkan se dem dansa framför bål
Se dem mässa inför satan se dem smida sina stål
Se dem mässa inför satan se dem smida sina stål
| Hidden Account |
| Mare :: Equine :: 16 HH :: 5 years ~ Birdsong Buff: NOVICE |
| Wild. |
05-14-2014, 08:35 PM
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| Outcast atk: 6.5 | def: 10.5 | dam: 7.5 |
| Stallion :: Unicorn :: 17.2 :: 14 HP: 79.5 | Buff: HUNTER |
| Irma :: Snowy Owl :: Terrorize & Diego :: Eurasian Eagle-Owl :: Rage Neo |
05-29-2014, 04:15 PM
en natt så kall och månen den var klar
He was gazing at her hair with a distant look drawn over his face, a certain stillness about him; the wind might shift his hair, his sides heave with slow breaths and lids close when he blinked—but he was glacial, a marble statue left out to weather the storms of the world. He moved to a different rhythm, harkened to a different song, and sometimes he wondered if not some shard of him was separated, embedded on some forlorn shore by another time stream. After all, there was no guarantee that Asni would've seen fit to return him whole, and it did coincide with the time when he'd begun to lose hope and soul.
Still, now was neither the time nor place to lose himself to such thoughts. The idea of cutting her hair didn't seem to appeal to Abishia. He smiled wryly. He wasn't sure he'd approve of the idea either, but he was older and wiser; he knew how it grew, like weeds, and if she would rather keep her precious hair he could leave her to her devices (and demises; there were many ways to die in this godforsaken forest). But, she was spared from some dark and gory doom. He snorted softly. He was getting good at this, saving mares, and was already eying her hair again. "I'm so fucking helpless- Oh my goodness, excuse my language..."
"Hah," he breathed, a short, harsh expelling of air. It tinted the air with white smoke, dissipating quickly in the warm spring air. The trees stood out in starker relief to him, gut growing colder. "Curse all you want. It's not I who will strike you down in this place."
Not telling who would, though. He gave his head a slight shake to dislodge the thoughts, and ignored her restless fidgeting. He had more, ah, important things to do. Gods, there was such an irony to him always having to play savior, and if it hadn't been totally out of his character he probably would've muttered about it under his breath. As it was, he remained stoic and fairly silent, breathing in the warm air and feeling it turn to snow in his lungs. Cold—it was always so cold and dark in this place, full of ice rushing through his veins and dark, dark thoughts.
Frost sprung up along her trapped mane, a rattle and a tinkle as tiny nubs of ice rose from the ground. Mauja narrowed his eyes at it. Frozen things had a way of breaking. Maybe hair would break, too. Fire would be better, though, or a sword-of-a-horn. He lowered his head to where the frost had turned it all white, winding around branches and the log itself. Irma, paler than a ghost, and Diego, her fiery shadow, alighted by his feet. It was strange to see them on the ground, strange to see them doing anything to help, but maybe they, too, knew that the sooner the girl was free, the sooner they, too, were free—of plight, to go seek a certain individual out, take on the world and rise and fall like even the mightiest of stars would do.
Detached, he raised his head again, to peer in silence at Abishia. Meanwhile, the owls began to peck and pull at the frozen strands, slowly but surely breaking their stiff fibers.
[ Note to self: don't ever write when this tired again. xD @[Abishia] tag because it was a while, sorry! ]
Still, now was neither the time nor place to lose himself to such thoughts. The idea of cutting her hair didn't seem to appeal to Abishia. He smiled wryly. He wasn't sure he'd approve of the idea either, but he was older and wiser; he knew how it grew, like weeds, and if she would rather keep her precious hair he could leave her to her devices (and demises; there were many ways to die in this godforsaken forest). But, she was spared from some dark and gory doom. He snorted softly. He was getting good at this, saving mares, and was already eying her hair again. "I'm so fucking helpless- Oh my goodness, excuse my language..."
"Hah," he breathed, a short, harsh expelling of air. It tinted the air with white smoke, dissipating quickly in the warm spring air. The trees stood out in starker relief to him, gut growing colder. "Curse all you want. It's not I who will strike you down in this place."
Not telling who would, though. He gave his head a slight shake to dislodge the thoughts, and ignored her restless fidgeting. He had more, ah, important things to do. Gods, there was such an irony to him always having to play savior, and if it hadn't been totally out of his character he probably would've muttered about it under his breath. As it was, he remained stoic and fairly silent, breathing in the warm air and feeling it turn to snow in his lungs. Cold—it was always so cold and dark in this place, full of ice rushing through his veins and dark, dark thoughts.
Frost sprung up along her trapped mane, a rattle and a tinkle as tiny nubs of ice rose from the ground. Mauja narrowed his eyes at it. Frozen things had a way of breaking. Maybe hair would break, too. Fire would be better, though, or a sword-of-a-horn. He lowered his head to where the frost had turned it all white, winding around branches and the log itself. Irma, paler than a ghost, and Diego, her fiery shadow, alighted by his feet. It was strange to see them on the ground, strange to see them doing anything to help, but maybe they, too, knew that the sooner the girl was free, the sooner they, too, were free—of plight, to go seek a certain individual out, take on the world and rise and fall like even the mightiest of stars would do.
Detached, he raised his head again, to peer in silence at Abishia. Meanwhile, the owls began to peck and pull at the frozen strands, slowly but surely breaking their stiff fibers.
[ Note to self: don't ever write when this tired again. xD @[Abishia] tag because it was a while, sorry! ]
Se dem brinna över verkan se dem dansa framför bål
Se dem mässa inför satan se dem smida sina stål
Se dem mässa inför satan se dem smida sina stål
