the Rift


[OPEN] Man and Sidekick

Caleb Posts: 135
Outcast atk: 5.5 | def: 8.5 | dam: 6.5
Stallion :: Hybrid :: 17.1hh :: 4yo :: Orangmoon HP: 69 | Buff: NOVICE
Henrietta :: Weimaraner :: None baylee
#1
The trek here had been cold, bitter, absolutely frigid. The sun rose above the mountain peaks, warming the air slightly. The dark man was halted at the borders of the Aurora Basin, daring not to cross into the herdland. He was safe for now, not trespassing and waiting for the presence of a mare or stallion that could accept him in these lands. By his side, Henrietta sat on her haunches. She watched the surroundings as intently as he did. Though master and hound were both young, they both were mature beyond their age. Their dark bodies stuck out against the white landscape, perhaps they'd even be mistaken as statues with the eerie stillness that enveloped them.

Cranium drops low, snout gentle pressing against Henrietta's flank in a comforting gesture. He could feel the nervousness radiate off of her. She'd never been through the process of initiation of even the process of simply stating, "I seek to live in your herd, if you'll have me." Caleb, however, had been inducted into multiple bands and herds and was no stranger to this. However, he had not been part of a herd in some time and he silently wondered if he'd fit in. He was dark, cloaked in shadows, secrecy, and frost. He didn't doubt that this land mirrored that, that him and the Aurora Basin would be kindred spirits if this land were a horse. A low, throaty, bugle left his velvet lips and echoed of the expanse of the Basin, and he had no doubt that someone would come, heed to his call.

Henrietta, now standing with her had low and ears flat, glanced around with the cold eyes of a predator, no doubt a you predator, but a predator no less. Caleb's own gaze flicked about, cold, detached, and shudderingly silver. His feathered leonine tail writhed behind him like a wild serpent and wings at his side relaxed, large primaries brushing the ivory ground.

joining, @[Ashamin]

Ashamin the Clovenheart Posts: 426
Outcast atk: 8 | def: 11.5 | dam: 5.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 15.2 HH :: 5 [Frostfall] HP: 79 | Buff: NUMB
Lochan :: Plain Cerndyr :: Dark Mist & Rakt :: Common Cerndyr :: Starpast Jen
#2

Take me to the border,

I will find you there.

In my heart the stranger's call

Is just enough to bear.

By my breast,

the young can rest.

Welcome one,

and all.


It was morning in the Aurora Basin, but the kind of morning that Ashamin suspected could not have happened anywhere else. He had made a daily habit of taking walks with his egg, but now his egg was to walk at his side. His egg was no longer an egg: his egg was the little being, Lochan.

Ashamin had not gotten any sleep the night before. Though now his companion, nestled in the silken sarong that Ashamin wore, had at last drifted off, he knew he could not do the same. Thus it was early when he carried his aching body out of his cave, leaving at his back the softly glowing fire and the scorpion guardian at his gate.

The light of day was bright and the stallion squinted his black eyes to slits. He looked down to Lochan where he slept, content and unmoving, in the folds of cloth. He would have been surprised that the little creature were asleep if it had not been for the excitement of the prior evening. He remembered the visiting spirit with fondness, and as he walked he let his tail sway with the new weight of his gift. The electric coil was a boon--already, it had helped him in making a fire.

His eyes were still half-closed and his tail was still swaying when he took note of the pair in the distance. They did not seem to have wandered past the sentinels, and for this he was thankful. The last thing he needed was to hear that siren song, now. The hazard of living so close to the border had been those midnight, mechanical calls. The only call now was that of the unknown youth at the border.

No, whoever this stranger was, he was intelligent enough to stay on the far side of the border. Ashamin smiled, thankful and instantly respectful. That sort of small kindness, that business of making easier the lives of those in the Basin, was what Ashamin would not forget. And so though his approach was slowed by the sleeping babe at his breast and the still-fading hinder of his gold-marked limp, he approached without a sense of threat. When at last he was close enough to see the other stallion--a creature rendered in black, coated in feathers and horns, and accompanied by a canine--he let out a call of his own.

"Faith, traveller!" said Ashamin with a smile, his voice raised only slightly for fear he might wake Lochan. But still, the cerndyr slept away the day. Soon there was nothing between the pair but a brief and empty patch of permafrost. Behind, the cloven-marked trail that led to the Haruspex's cave was worn softly away by the faint touch of wind. He knew his duty to protect, but felt no threat from the pair at the border. He crossed over it, bridging the gap, and offered his cheek to brush the younger buck's, as he most often did upon greeting. "Tell me, what do you seek?"

Ashamin had the faintest of urges to call the other one young, but knew that the recent turning of his age was not enough to give him the right. Perhaps he was comfortable now in this land, comfortable enough to approach another without much fear in his heart, but the nervousness, though well hidden, lingered. His tail swung low at his back, shooting off sparks that arced back towards the gold, and his mind returned to the night before.

By faith, by the God of the Spark, he was exhausted.

[[For @[Caleb]. :) Do you have a skype, by the way?]]

Ashamin
on his own

rainydoll-stock | webtreatsetc | larfsalot
on deviantart


See Ashamin's profile for more information about Lochan, Rakt, and his various items.
All magic and force allowed, barring death and permanent injury.
Do not tag me, please message on skype instead


Caleb Posts: 135
Outcast atk: 5.5 | def: 8.5 | dam: 6.5
Stallion :: Hybrid :: 17.1hh :: 4yo :: Orangmoon HP: 69 | Buff: NOVICE
Henrietta :: Weimaraner :: None baylee
#3
Spotless orbs catch sight of a dual-colored stallion moving towards him at slow pace. The dark stallion notices the babe cradled against his breasts as he continues his pace towards them. Behind his ass, a leonine tail sways much like Caleb's and upon his brow, a deformed horn has grown, proving that the stallion is a unicorn. He is short, much shorter than looming Caleb. The hybrid wonders if perhaps his personality will make up the lack of height. He halts an appropriate amount of space away, his voice erupting into the silent air. Respectfully, chrome-marked cranium is dipped in awcknowledgment, a greeting. His questions Caleb, appropriately, but also peculiarly.

What does he seek? He seeks mares, a herd, amulets, jewels, more mares. A ghost of a smile, guarded and revealing little, traces his lips, jaw opening and words spewing forth, answering the question how he knows he should. "I seek to join the Aurora Basin and serve as a warrior." His voice is a deep, thick, dulcet, a crescendo of tones and notes that compose a seductive lilt meant for no one in particular.

The beast of a stallion stays quiet for only a minute before releasing more information about himself. "Around Helovia, I am known as Caleb." Here, he is known as Caleb, yet before Helovia, he had many names and titles. Some titles were accurate, like the Beast, or the Frozen, but others were plain ridiculous. Either way, he would now only introduce himself as Caleb, if this stranger wanted to add some strange tag, he could, though it would most likely not stick. None of the other names had truly stuck around. "What are you called?" He inquires, part of him genuinely curious.

ooc: @[Ashamin] bayleerivero3

Ashamin the Clovenheart Posts: 426
Outcast atk: 8 | def: 11.5 | dam: 5.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 15.2 HH :: 5 [Frostfall] HP: 79 | Buff: NUMB
Lochan :: Plain Cerndyr :: Dark Mist & Rakt :: Common Cerndyr :: Starpast Jen
#4

That is all well and good and

yes you seem a genuine one, and

true you bear the mark of us, but

tell me,

can we go to rest?


The stallion, and the confidence with which he spoke, immediately intrigued Ashamin. He listened with care, straightening his posture as he became more aware of how dwarfed he was compared to the badger-faced black. Of course, the wings and broad feathered tail did nothing to lessen that image of bravado. How strange it was that age could mean nothing for countenance and appearance of boldness. Ashamin was older, but did he feel any different?

He felt wiser, maybe. Wise enough to ask a question or two before simply letting this stranger into the herd. But at the same time... what kind of impression would that give, and was it really something Ashamin felt comfortable doing?

The painted buck nosed Lochan, letting his breath travel over the sleeping child. He had drawn his face away from this stranger--no, Caleb's--countenance with ease. If the other had no intention to return the gesture, so be it. Perhaps it was a warrior's toughness that kept him at bay. "A warrior," Ashamin echoed in reply, remembering how he had sought the same thing not so long ago. And still, he considered himself a fighter at heart. Bound to the God of the Spark and his wisdom, perhaps, but a fiery soul nonetheless. Torleik, Einarr, Zahra... they had all taught him he had the power for something greater, and the will to survive it all.

"I was a soldier here, once, but fate seems determined to ease my burdens," Ashamin spoke, his voice trailing, his mind wandering. Perhaps this stallion would spar with him sometime... once he was accepted, of course. Right, that important step. "I am Ashamin, Haruspex of the Basin. My companion...." and here his tone faded to an affectionate whisper as he looked down at the resting one, "is Lochan. If it is acceptance you seek, Caleb, then it is acceptance you and your company shall have."

Perhaps he was just easy to win over, but he didn't find a reason to distrust this one. And wasn't he to treat all unicorns with respect? This was a haven for their kind, this stallion was not to be excluded. "Come, follow me. The cold is bitter even in the morning, let me welcome you here by firelight." His voice was confident, his tone certain. Was this a front, some sort of appearance he put up for newcomers? Or was he really growing this bold?

Ashamin turned, then, revealing his gold and glittering stars as the light struck his side. His tail waved, beckoning, and his forelegs began to carry him back to the cave. Maybe it was simply the exhaustion. He was too tired to be suspicious, too tired to be anywhere but resting in his cave.

[[For @[Caleb]. Posted in rank updates to get you changed!]]

Ashamin
on his own

rainydoll-stock | webtreatsetc | larfsalot
on deviantart


See Ashamin's profile for more information about Lochan, Rakt, and his various items.
All magic and force allowed, barring death and permanent injury.
Do not tag me, please message on skype instead


Caleb Posts: 135
Outcast atk: 5.5 | def: 8.5 | dam: 6.5
Stallion :: Hybrid :: 17.1hh :: 4yo :: Orangmoon HP: 69 | Buff: NOVICE
Henrietta :: Weimaraner :: None baylee
#5
The Haruspex echoes his request, and the dark beast wonders if it's with awe. Being a warrior is prestigious, and many are not suited to the art, and cannot become successful in that rank. Thus leaving few horses as fighters and forcing their prestige and nobility to skyrocket. Horned cranium bobs upwards, as quick nod, confirming the painted stallion's remark. Henrietta glows with pride for her bonded, glad that he not only has caused no issues and that this conversation of acceptance has gone with no flaws, but also that her bonded is a warrior. Proud and strong, she wouldn't want Caleb to pursue anything else, not that he would. Fighting is in his blood, in the oxygen he inhales, in every step he takes. His muscles are hardened to perfection, sculpted by gods themselves to be admired and feared. He is a weapon, and only that. Though wise and intellectual, his is a horse that runs on basic needs such as hunger, thirst, energy levels, etc. He rarely conjures up any sort of philosophical approach to anything, but when he does it is magnificent. Becoming in touch with his feelings creates something beautiful, yet at the same time volatile, and for that reason, he has created a wall around himself, allowing everyone to see the whole, undamaged outside, holding back the broken inside. All these walls he has created, not a single one of them with a door, all his emotions locked inside for good.

The stallion announces that his job has been switched from warrior to wise one, a burden eased. Caleb chuckles softly, a sound that travels over the landscape. "Haruspexs carry the same burden warriors do, the same with spies, crafters, and medics. Without one category, the entire system would collapse." Wise ones are tasked to visit their patron and converse with them. Surely meeting with a powerful entity every week would have side effects. Would Ashamin be reduced to question what the meaning of life is soon? "You're holding the herd up just as much as the warriors are." The dark beast's point was valid. How often were the warriors truly used? There were invasions, yes, but they were seldom. Other than that, it was training, repeatedly. Yet the Haruspex, he needed to do his job regularly. There was no practice for him- it was just the actual thing. Spies, they always had to be on watch, careful of those attempting to steal a herd's possession or even member. Crafters, no doubt, had to craft... constantly. Healers had to heal everyone that got injured, never resting if someone is hurt. Did those ranks truly seem to have less of a burden than the fortify rank? "And perhaps you could still train, hone your battle skills. Then, you'd be Haruspex by day, badass warrior by night." Even Caleb couldn't deny, the thought of two herdland occupations was appealing, though he promised he'd become the best fighter first.

"Well met, Ashamin and Lochan." His eyes landed on the young fawn-like animal that slept peacefully in Ashamin's cradle. He offers the towering hybrid a place by the firelight, causing his lips to tilt upwards in a genuine smile. "Henrietta," He began, eyes cast downwards at the excited dog, Caleb clearly saying without words, her name is Henrietta. "and I, would love the warmth of the firelight. I assume this cold takes some getting used to?" He inquired, watching Ashamin turn on his heels and begin moving away from their meeting place. Caleb, with no hesitation, follows eagerly, excited to see more of this land that he now called home.

@[Ashamin]

Thranduil the Laurelin Posts: 598
Outcast atk: 5.5 | def: 11 | dam: 6.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16.2 hh :: Eight HP: 77 | Buff: ENDURE
Haldir :: Common Cerndyr :: Dark Mist Hawk
#6


Cold crawled up his spine, causing him to shiver. This damn winter weather was making near everything impossible. Here he was trying to enjoy a quiet morning walk to think, and he could barely make it through the snow on the high sides of the Basin. In the creases it came up once again to his underside, making the him shake with cold and curse the winter weather. So it was for the golden here these days. Everything amounted to frustration and irritation. He had tried to leave for the Falls, and escape this dungeon for a while, but the storm the other night had stopped that. So here he was, trying his best to go for a morning run, or walk? (Might as well be a run for all the effort he was battling the snow with).

Rarely did he ever meet another on these walks, and usually he was grateful. It was time to pause and think. Time to plan. Today though would be different. Following the side of the Basin he sees before him a pair at the Arch. Strange to have visitors so early in the morning, but as they wavered before the sentinels they certainly were not members. Mind pauses, on the scene, before he takes from his satchel a black shapeless cloak. As it falls upon his back his form disappears into dust, and he is no longer seen by any eyes.

That did not mean he wasn’t there. Coming through the snow to stand behind a sentinel (because after all his trail could still be seen in the snow), he creeps up on the conversing pair. It was Ashamin, their haruspex. That stallion had always been a curious one, especially in his attached friendship to the gold. It seems though he was letting his definition of friend run away with him again, for the creature seeking entrance, nah, joining, was a hybrid. Earth eyes narrow and head rises, as he considers the creature from his hidden place.

Thranduil was not a racist, and certainly the feelings of bitterness were wearing away in this land. However, it was still a law to keep. Of course the golden was always a rule breaker. So that too was not what made him pause. Instead It was the idea that a hybrid wanted to join the Basin that made him curious, and that Ashamin was apparently willing to give it. Not many who know of the Basin’s dress code and did not fit the part sought entrance. So in the end the golden did as he did not for a hatred or burning to see the wings, but a curiosity. (Not to mention he rarely missed an opportunity to show off his crowned position. He was after all a most proud vain man.

Reaching back he pulls off is cloak, letting it slip into the satchel once more. He steps forward into the morning light just as he form reappears, filtering in like dust again. He has come as they have already turned their backs and headed down. A smile raises on his lips and he comes to stand where they have just a moment before. “Who is your guest Ashamin?” He wanted to see them jump and settled, or if not, perhaps it would be a test. His crowned head was high, but his features pleasant enough, even though his emphasis on guest might cause thoughts of otherwise. For a second he was reminded by the deer with Ashamin to be glad Haldir was not with him. The dark deer would have ruined this attempt look his position. Which would have been a pity for the golden was going to enjoy this interruption of trudging through ice and snow this morning.


OOC :: @[Ashamin] @[Caleb]
"speech"

Posting Poetics
credits

[Image: 5381546acbe33]
Feel free to use any force/magic on Thranduil, short of killing him.
Please tag in every post.
Ask Thranduil any question in the world, he'll be forced to answer on his profile. PM with your question.

Ashamin the Clovenheart Posts: 426
Outcast atk: 8 | def: 11.5 | dam: 5.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 15.2 HH :: 5 [Frostfall] HP: 79 | Buff: NUMB
Lochan :: Plain Cerndyr :: Dark Mist & Rakt :: Common Cerndyr :: Starpast Jen
#7

I am

one of two things, maybe

or three, can you decide for me?

Dear Laurelin, dear ancient friend,

what do you find me in time?

The warrior heart or the wisened young

fool

a fool, I fear I've become.


Ashamin was immediately thankful. Not only was this stallion apparently polite, but he seemed to have no qualms about resting somewhere warmer. Though Ashamin was no stranger to the cold, and in fact he enjoyed a snow-encrusted breeze just as much as the next arctic fox, he wasn't sure how well sleeping Lochan would fare in the chill. Then again, the little cerndyr was still sleeping, soundly, as if they were resting lazily on a summer beach, hooves in the tide.


Ashamin sighed down at the little one and let his gaze catch the hybrid stallion's. What an impressive beast he was, and a soldier, too. Did he have the heart of one, though? The stallion with the twisted horn allowed him to question his hastiness, but only for a moment. No, this beast and his bonded seemed noble enough. Still, he would want to see for himself someday. Half thinking, half talking, he said in a low voice, "Someday, we should take our honor into a spar. It would be good to learn from another with a warrior's heart."

Ashamin couldn't help but chuckle at that, his own string of words and the suggestion they carried. It was a nervous laugh and a small one--not the hearty, boasting, throaty rejoicing of a hardened warrior. Who was he to call himself a warrior? Was it promising himself to Einarr's ways that had brought this up in him, or the pungent memory of the pain where Torleik's horns had impaled him?


No, he wasn't a warrior yet, or maybe even ever. He was just a young Haruspex with admiration for those stronger--a broken-hearted wise one with a limp that had yet to fade. He wondered if it ever would. He regretted saying anything at all.


There was silence for a moment as the walk continued and he lead Caleb and his companion closer to the cave. This time, when he spoke up, it was intelligently and as he had always used to do: only to answer a question.


He remembered the discipline of childhood: only speak when spoken to.


He cringed with a mixture of love and regret, and turned to face Caleb with a faint, weak smile. "The winter will ease with time. Frostfall has just begun, and with it we've been gifted a particularly unkind wind." Ashamin couldn't help but look East, as the mirror had told him. East to the source of that foul, cold wind. What had the mirror been trying to tell him?


And why wasn't he smart enough to figure it out?


Luckily, the buck didn't have much time to despair. From behind them came the flicker of an image, and Ashamin, perhaps jumpier than usual with his frayed and sleepless nerves, snapped to attention. But it wasn't an intruder and it wasn't a threat standing back at the border where they had been: it was Thrnaduil, that sneaky bastard of a lead, his friend.


The sound of the leads' voice, the only sound, of course, that had heralded his presence at all, woke Lochan. Ashamin couldn't help but show his surprise as the black cerndyr yawned and pressed his hooves to Ashamin's chest through the cloth. Four little white milk teeth revealed themselves; the white mark of the eye on his brow crinkled with the effort of moving, and the white eyes blinked open for a moment. As Lochan's head fell, sloping and curious, out from the side of the sarong to look at their new company, Ashamin spoke: "Thranduil, my lord, a pleasure to be found by you this morning." He was careful with his wording--one never found the golden man, they were found and apparently, sneaked up on. That was becoming yet another quirk of this herd that Ashamin was willing to accept without question: Thranduil's remarkable stealth. Ashamin noted faintly that Haldir was not present, and at the same moment he realized it, his little 'panion rolled back over and into a deeper sleep. Apparently Lochan had only roused in the hopes he might find his friend.

He took his lord's question with reserve and quiet consideration. There was an accusation lying in Thranduil's phrasing, and it was not lost on the Haruspex. But Ashamin, even with his new promotion, knew he was in no place to defy authority. And so, with a respectful nod and a beckoning, his electric-tipped tail urging the Laurelin to follow them back to the warmth of the cave, he spoke the truth. "This is Caleb--he was quite respectfully waiting at the border and seeking acceptance into the herd as a Soldier, I saw no harm in inviting one so eager to join our ranks and come stay warm by the fire."

Would it be enough for his herd lead? Ashamin measured his confidence, distributing it carefully in each of his words, struggling to sound in control. "I invite you to the warmth of my cave as well, Sir," He added for good measure, in case his body language had not been clear enough. "The fire from our previous meeting still burns."

And it was true, that lamp still sparked by the watcher's electric gift still shone.

But again, the Haruspex wondered: would it be enough?

[[For @[Caleb], @[Thranduil] ]]

Ashamin
on his own

rainydoll-stock | webtreatsetc | larfsalot
on deviantart


See Ashamin's profile for more information about Lochan, Rakt, and his various items.
All magic and force allowed, barring death and permanent injury.
Do not tag me, please message on skype instead


Blu the Bootyful Posts: 443
Administrator atk: 99 | def: 99 | dam: 99
Mare :: Other :: 5'7" :: 25 HP: 99999 | Buff: TWERK
Blu
#8
unarchived per request
 HP: 1100

Helovia Hard Mode

Caleb Posts: 135
Outcast atk: 5.5 | def: 8.5 | dam: 6.5
Stallion :: Hybrid :: 17.1hh :: 4yo :: Orangmoon HP: 69 | Buff: NOVICE
Henrietta :: Weimaraner :: None baylee
#9
Ashamin is painfully quiet. There is little response to his words, only the feeble offer of a spar someday. Caleb, though built muscularly, is only two years of age. The recently turned stallion truly only knows the basics of spars, despite the fact that everyone that sees him automatically assumes he is honed and perfected. Ashamin, in fact, may know much more about fighting than the dark stallion. 17.1 hands of solid muscle is no good when the wielder does not know how to use it. His skills are adequate, rough around the edges, but with some training may be perfect. In the end, it may be Ashamin teaching Caleb. Still, these inner thoughts are not voiced, instead he speaks calmly, accepting the offer. "It'd be an honor to spar with a fellow Basineer." It was true, it would be an honor. He would not only learn about Ashamin in battle and hone his skills, but he could also prove himself to those around him.

At Caleb's next words, the slight smile that tugs his lips is more of a cringe then anything. The brooding beast quietly wonders what to do, not comprehending the paint's cringe. "I do love the snow though, but I await acclimation with baited breath." ASHAMIN faces the brute, his eyes kind and sincere and honest. Caleb has none of those traits. The beast is cold and indifferent, icy, yet so heated it burns. A sprinkle of gold turns solid as a stallion appears from out of nowhere, he is questioning, almost unsure that the hybrid is here, in a land of unicorns, deemed a guest, not family. Though this dark titan doesn't know if he wants to call this palomino stallion family, not yet.

Ashamin is quick to answer, calling the stud my lord and being kind, kissing his ass. Caleb's dark brow lifts, curious, as Ashamin says everything, answering for the brute who does indeed have a functioning voice. "Yes, I am Caleb, and the hound is Henrietta." At the mention of her name, Henrietta perks up, eyes leaving the piece of juicy venison in Ashamin's sarong to glance upwards at Caleb, curious as to what her master desires. Ashamin extends the invite to this lord. This Thranduil, is he a tyrant?

Thranduil the Laurelin Posts: 598
Outcast atk: 5.5 | def: 11 | dam: 6.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16.2 hh :: Eight HP: 77 | Buff: ENDURE
Haldir :: Common Cerndyr :: Dark Mist Hawk
#10


Practiced. Poised. Precise. Every move, and every expression crafted from the years. And it was all made fruitful when he sees a creature jump in fright, but still yield. A small amused grin could not be hidden as the painted hide of Ashamin flinches. The golden stands square slightly higher on the hill in the sunlight. It was all as he wished it. All as he planned it. And it made the enjoyment of that moment greater than many others despite the actual significance.

Hot breath rolled out as Ashamin turned around, always ready to please. Such a gentle creature, with a warm pure heart, if it wasn’t so humorous, the kissing up might be sickening. But these days, (to his frustration) any amount of respect, no matter how groveling was pleasing. Still his attention was not on the Haruspex. Far from it. Ears and gold flecked eyes rested on the dark follower. Not in a direct, stalker stare. No he was more trained in a quiet, distant, unassuming sort of attention. It is not a warm reception in first glance. Most who walked through the land were in awe and humble. Yet he supposed he should not forget a few were the solid quiet types. They did not feel inclined to babble like the paint was doing now.

Earth eyes never left the black bird, but one hark gave Ashamin attention. He wished the other would let the newcomer speak. This Caleb. After all he wasn’t actually interested in knowing who the creature was, but why he was here. Still the information was valuable. The creature had been respectful, but he wanted to be a soldier. Curious. He looked strong enough, certainly tall enough, but he was young. His chest was still a bit narrow and body slender with youth. Finally he speaks. It was uninteresting though his name and a dog. “Indeed.” The golden’s attention shifts to the creature. Even though he had a companion of his own waiting to be by his side in a cave, he never preferred the creatures. They always noticed things their masters missed.

Ashamin, ever gentle, extends out the invitation, but for a moment he is ignored. It can seem harsh perhaps, in the reality of the golden’s world, it might be a compliment? So well found was the dear seer, he needed no distrusting. Perhaps an ignorance of the golden’s part, for the moment it didn’t seem to be steering him wrong. The golden’s eyes instead return to the winged creature. “Tell me Caleb, what brings the summer bird to roost in the icy halls?” He looks out, in a gesture to the valley beyond them. “We have much to offer-“ then turns back slightly colder. “But the mountains will make you fight for it.” The mountains, and those who saw his feathers as below themselves. Wait. That would be giving actual helpful advice?

A strange twist, a rare turn of tide. Yet, perhaps its not so strange. The world was meant to be troubled, tossed, and shaken. What better way to unnerve the old bats who doubted him by letting their worst nightmares walk through the door while he smiled. In fact, it almost made him want to laugh. Slowly though he grin returns. “You should be sure of what you seek.” Or you will find yourself buried upon them.

Alright so it was a bit dramatic, but you have to admit, its hell of fun, at least more so than the dull day he’d had so far.


OOC ::Guys just wanna have fuunnnnn....
Wardrobe: Wolf Cape, Circlet
"speech"

Posting Poetics
credits

@Ashamin @Caleb

[Image: 5381546acbe33]
Feel free to use any force/magic on Thranduil, short of killing him.
Please tag in every post.
Ask Thranduil any question in the world, he'll be forced to answer on his profile. PM with your question.

Ashamin the Clovenheart Posts: 426
Outcast atk: 8 | def: 11.5 | dam: 5.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 15.2 HH :: 5 [Frostfall] HP: 79 | Buff: NUMB
Lochan :: Plain Cerndyr :: Dark Mist & Rakt :: Common Cerndyr :: Starpast Jen
#11


Despite the wisdom that one of his rank was supposed to bear, Ashamin was drastically and horribly misinterpreting the situation. He took Caleb's reticence for discomfort--Thranduil's pursuit as disapproval in the both of them. Though Ashamin had turned back to the cave, the preemptive haste of his movements forced him to turn back to the scene, to unconsciously pace. His fear was showing. His doubt, in himself and the situation he had created, were revealing themselves. It was all weakness.

Weakness he couldn't afford in the face of a leader and stranger, no, soldier. Weakness he couldn't bear.

Quickly he stopped, his body jerking forward as his movement ceased more suddenly than he had even expected. Ashamin's long tail waved at his back, the coil on it's end sparking as it brushed against the surface of snow. His legs shook ever so slightly, but it could have just been the cold. How was he going to fix this? His first time accepting someone into the herd, and there was the chance that Thranduil himself disapproved.

But an idea struck him, just as his companion kicked out and hit him in the chest with an errant hind hoof. The haruspex flinched, remembering old pains in spars, and then it dawned upon him. Caleb wanted to be a soldier, yes? And Thranduil was doubting that dedication, was he not? Then perhaps... Perhaps Ashamin could remedy that, if nothing else. "Caleb, perhaps the two of us can demonstrate for Thranduil what you seek, yes?"

The haruspex turned then from the badger faced male to the golden one, his expression earnest. "Let me stand up for this soldier, my Lord. For the rest of the season you can consider him my responsibility, and as Birdsong threatens to turn I will offer to spar against him before you, as proof of his worth."

With every word he spoke he felt himself worry about that horn and more importantly those wings, those hooves that might strike from above. It was altogether possible that Caleb would ruin him, inexperienced fighter that he was, before his leader and humiliate the herd's haruspex before an audience. But if nothing else, that would prove Caleb had what it took to fight for this herd, wouldn't it?

Or would it only prove how pathetic the painted buck was?

[[Ashamin's like WHAT DO I DO. Also sorry this is meh.]]

Ashamin
on his own

rainydoll-stock | webtreatsetc | larfsalot
on deviantart


See Ashamin's profile for more information about Lochan, Rakt, and his various items.
All magic and force allowed, barring death and permanent injury.
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Caleb Posts: 135
Outcast atk: 5.5 | def: 8.5 | dam: 6.5
Stallion :: Hybrid :: 17.1hh :: 4yo :: Orangmoon HP: 69 | Buff: NOVICE
Henrietta :: Weimaraner :: None baylee
#12
This illusionist is mysterious, but equally strange. He can be compared to Everclear, a beverage of 95% alcohol and 190 proof. He seems bitter at first, like the first shot you take, but with time you feel drunk and happy and calm. Then, at your last shot, you're throwing up, passed out, or dead. This is Caleb's initial reaction to Thranduil, a heavily concentrated shot. It is his understanding that Thranduil is sneaky and deceptive, and he can tell just by the stallion's sketchy approach. Maybe he'll grow to like the gold stallion, but something screams in him that he will be stabbed in the back, tricked, deceived. Maybe it's his voice that tells Caleb this, his strange wording, his disapproval it seems. Does he not want a winged rat here?

Thranduil questions Caleb's reasoning for being here. Couldn't Caleb ask the same of the golden King? The subtle switch of welcome to unwelcome in his eyes is only caught by the dark brute because Caleb is like that, only emotions flaring in his eyes. Like right now, his eyes are an interested variety of confusion, respect, and humor. "Who said I was a summer bird?" The same smirk that toyed with the King's lips is now playing with Caleb. "Your mountains do not scare me. I am prepared to fight for what I desire." It was true, Caleb joined as a warrior for a reason and he was not afraid to beat up a few pompous unicorns to get to the spot he desired, be it one tier higher or the position of King (though he most certainly does not desire to lead at the moment). "What I seek, is to be a warrior, a corporal, a general. I want to fight, it is what I know, it is what I feel comfortable doing." Thranduil would not shake him from his goal. Caleb was steadfast, certainly sure of what he seeks.

Then Ashamin pipes up. His smirk has faded by now, and his mouth the hard line it is usually in. Ashamin wanted to prove to Thranduil that what Caleb sought was honest and steadfast? The painted Haruspex wanted to spar, but why? Did it really matter if Thranduil disapproved of Caleb slightly? Still, Caleb would fight, except the challenge his is faced with. "How about we spar now? That way Thranduil knows what has just been accepted into the Aurora Basin." Ashamin would most likely accept anyone, but perhaps Thranduil didn't know that, perhaps Thranduil wanted to see what the abomination with wings could do at the moment. Afterall, leads can be rather impatient at times, Caleb has learnt that the hard way.

Thranduil the Laurelin Posts: 598
Outcast atk: 5.5 | def: 11 | dam: 6.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16.2 hh :: Eight HP: 77 | Buff: ENDURE
Haldir :: Common Cerndyr :: Dark Mist Hawk
#13


He supposed it was a little too much fun for poor Ashamin. Golden hark again lifted to him as he heard the paint waver in the snow. He only earned a glance when the noise of a spark crackled in the air. The gold, his eyes sharp but curious flicked to the paint’s long tail, but then immediately back. Caleb’s answers were far too entertaining for him to think of the meek paint now.

A grin rose visibly on the golden’s face, curling on top of itself. His eyes began to reveal more and more, a spark with entertainment and enjoyment. The black bird had an attitude, which in another place, another time might have brought him a little more than he could handle. But the golden was in a strangely good mood. They were so rare after the first of the season….

Still the answer was slightly concerning. It never really gave him the answer he wanted. Not to mention his attitude was….rebellious. What would happen when it came under pressure to obey. The war tables were not just about giving orders. They must also be obeyed. A great force was filling the black bird as he puffed his answers proudly. He was not scared. If he was not, he was an idiot. In order to be brave you must know what you face, including the terrifying features. Clearly the youth had much to learn. Yet while the answers were not as he liked, and left more questions than answers, the golden found himself humored. It was a long time since they had had one this high strung here. He liked it.

A short haunty laugh echoes after an exhale, before Ashamin cuts the golden short. Now the golden is done with these interruptions. The paint was too involved. Too up close. Head jerks up and to the paint, with harks leaned back and the good mood vanishing for a second. What silly little speech did he have now? But after his first few words the golden drew back again, his harks lifted back up and his mood calmed. He looked from one to the other, watching, listening. It seems perhaps alright, but one might wonder….was this good mood really that fragile? How thin was its crust before you came to the sticky black tar of his frustrations, anger, and depression.

He was a pompous arrogant youth, who knew not what to fear, and not when to stop. Yet, the golden found himself smiling to look upon him. He was strong, determined, and willing to fight for a place in this cold hard landscape. Not many of those come along everyday. Thoughts of spars and birds clicked. And he remembered a little upcoming event on his calendar. It sent him into a whirl of thrill. Yes, this was turning out to be a very good mood. Caleb’s last line sent the golden into a laughter. It was deep and pure, nearly dark. “Steady Caleb.” He commanded, lifting his head back up. “You misunderstand.” The gold moved now, coming closer to the black bird. He now only a few meters away.

The golden inhaled slowly, as unnoticeably as he could. Gears turned within him, and clicked, locking it in. Beautiful. “You do not need to prove yourself to me,” He grins now finally turning to Ashamin with the same friendly face the poor unicorn knew. “though I am loathe to stop a show. Ashamin did well to choose you.” He looks back to the black bird. “I accept you, as you are, though others may not and they, youth, deserve your fear.” Youth was spit in a more commanding, bitter tone, letting on a warning of what the gold thought of his attitude, yet the rest was light. The golden pulls back now, his steps moving back and head rising. “If you need me to explain it to them, you need only call.” Because that is one show the golden would not miss. To see those heartless old towers eat their words. To crush them below the powers. That would be a fine day. Well, if the mood suited him that is. If not, he might just sit back and watch. That would be fun too.

The golden turned to the valley. A grin upon his face broad and bold. “Just try not to freeze till then.” A warm gaze finally found its way to the poor tortured paint. The golden nodded to the Haruspex, short and half stopped by his turn away. Through the snow the golden moves back down the other side of the hill, slipping back into the shadows of early morning, where he can think more. More on this head strong youth. More on the laws of the land. So much to think over, so little time.

OOC :: It was fun! =D
Wardrobe: Wolf Cape, Circlet
Identities: Cashmere, Caleb
"speech"

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@Ashamin @Caleb

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