| Deceased |
| Stallion :: Hybrid :: 17.2 :: 7 |
| Tribs |
Where was it.
You had to find it. It was here somewhere. Had to be, unless it didn't cross with you... or a thief dared to take it. Oh, pray the fool that would dare to touch the blade of one of the Mad King's Knights, for should someone have stolen the treasure and you crossed their path... there would be blood. Well, so you hoped. Ever since you came here and were no longer there, you felt... weaker. Not thinner, nor the weakness of hunger or that of age. Merely... wearier. As if the great strength that had once filled your body to the brim diminished to a mere trickle, a miniscule pond. Was this too part of your curse?
Finally you felt the water at your hooves, the scent of godsblood still lingering in the area around the pond. Yes.. this was where it had happened, so your weapon simply had to be around here, or at least it's scent. Like the wolf of your ancestry you drop head, muzzle grazing the ground as you sorted out the various scents. Overwhelming was that of the new god's blood, and it was a grand distraction from your quest, enough so that you, quite literally, stumbled right over the very thing you had been seeking.
Metal clanged and clammered as you fell, sheathed legs pawing first at air, then soil as you quickly right yourself, back on your feet within moments. Gone may be your renowned strength, but gone not was your reflexes, the muscle memory stored, adapted to your permanent secondary skin. Once you recovered, you turned, head low as your muzzle grazed over the steel hilt of your greatsword.
At last. Like a viper you lunge, jaws clamping around the hilt, muscular neck straining as you raise your head and tear free your extra limb from the soil in an explosion of dirt and pebbles. Oh the sweet burn, the delicious weight! In a fluid move you twist, neck swinging the blade in a wide arc to bury it deep within the flesh of a nearby sapling. It took, and bit deep...
And there was pain.
Your neck twinged, crying out in protest, and you release the handle(lucky for the blade's edge it was stuck in the tree), stunned by this revelation. Gone was the strength to wield the heavy blade with fluidity and grace... Gone gone gone gone gone gone gone.
She was gone.
You could only stare in the sword's direction, stunned for the span of a few breaths before you grip the hilt once more. Every muscle in your body heaved, pulling, and it took more tugs than you would have liked for her to come free, and when she did it about knocked you over. Gently as you were able, you laid the blade you knew to be of beautiful make upon the ground, and hung your head.
Gone was your title
Gone was your power
And now gone was your weapon. Physically it may be there, but your ability to use it to it's full potential...
just wasn't.
"Speech"
| Outcast atk: 8.0 | def: 10 | dam: 3.5 |
| Colt :: Pegasus :: 14.1 :: Three HP: 67 | Buff: NOVICE |
| charks |
  I'LL BE YOUR NUMBER ONE WITH A BULLET
a loaded god complex, cock it and pull it Zero followed the lights but missed the party, though perhaps that was just as well. The small boy would probably have gotten in the way, unbalanced and uncertain as he was, all the ungainliness of a yearling matched with the handicap of having one absent - or perhaps one extra - limb. He hated that, hated that even as he grew older he did not seem to be fitting into his body, hated that instead of the wing that had never grown in titanium now reached the point where it threatened to overtake his entire right side, and that it itched sometimes and flaked off for no apparent purpose. He hated that other kids his age were taller, more attractive, handsomer, faster, stronger.
In short, he was becoming a teenager, with all the vagrant moodiness that accompanied such transitions.
He kicked at the snow as he made his way north, past the Threshold and into the hills, with Squishy following diligently at his heels. There'd been something happening, though he didn't know what; the grown-ups had been yelling and people had come and gone, scrambling and running and leaving little Zèklè in the desert dust, alone and uninformed. Little Zèklè, the smallest of the yearlings; Little Zèklè, the closest one to Zero.
He'd given himself these nicknames, maybe because some part of him ached for a conflict quite absent from his life. He had been a fortunate child, adored and humored, but was a teenager ever prepared to appreciate that? Nah- all he could see was how he'd been overlooked, cast aside, not treated like the man that he was.
Well, that was all about to change!
The problem with sulking was that Zèklè had no talent for it. His patience ran shorter than his lacking stature, and it took very little to shake him from a funk, no matter how desperately he tried to maintain his air of aloof unhappiness. By the time he reached the strange red clearing his angst had mostly dissipated, replaced by a strange and foreboding sense of wonder, and perhaps the very first inkling of a thing called fear. Something had happened here - the air practically shook with magic - and even Squishy shivered as it followed the colt, lightning arcing faintly around the stoic golem. The boy's steps grew careful, quieter, and he pulled his blue wing close across his back. Not because he was scared, mind you. It simply seemed like something Ma would do in a new and potentially dangerous environment, that was all. Good warrior skills.
A twig snapped, and he jumped.
With something he thought might be stealth the boy crept closer to the source of the sound, sunbeam eyes aching for an indication of friend or foe. Had part of the battle split off, come this way? Was there an enemy here, waiting for him to fell it, waiting to fell him? Would this be his moment to be big and strong, to protect his home and prove himself in the hoofprints of his Ma? Was this going to be his moment to transition, to go from awkward yearling to a full-fledged adult?
Suddenly the boy wasn't so sure he wanted to be an adult anymore.
He saw the glint of light on metal first, and instantly relaxed. The boy knew metal - shoot, he was metal - and the sight of it eased his anxious mind. With an increased confidence the colt struck out, hooves pressing loudly through a bed of ice and fallen leaves, head held high with a certain, perhaps ill-advised, degree of cockiness. All he could see was armor, and cloth, and something on the ground, but the way he saw it this was his world, his metal, and there wasn't anyone who could take that away from him. Still he stopped a good distance away, just to be safe, slowly working up the courage to speak. With considerably more confidence than he actually felt the lightning child opened his mouth, and the voice that emerged was only slightly shakier than he wanted it to be.
"H- Hey! What're you d-doin' here?"
(Ok, maybe he was a little afraid. But Ma would never show her fear so neither could he; and besides, if he wanted to be treated like a grown-up he couldn't keep acting like a little baby, right?)
Z è K L è
am i more than you bargained for yet?
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