Mauja the Frozen Light Posts: 1,392
| Outcast atk: 6.5 | def: 10.5 | dam: 7.5 |
| Stallion :: Unicorn :: 17.2 :: 14 HP: 79.5 | Buff: HUNTER |
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Irma :: Snowy Owl :: Terrorize
& Diego :: Eurasian Eagle-Owl :: Rage
Neo |
[ Rallying the former Edge unicorns! Please post before October 11th. ]
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Striking mights and maybes even more
A useless thing called life
It's a biting cold again
He hadn't stayed to watch. He had melted into the forest after announcing their defeat, taking those who still stood and wished to come. Not forgetting the others, no - he'd come for them. He'd bring them. He'd not let the dragonwhore keep them for long, should she wish to have his herd on a leash, like pets.
Oh no.
Mauja would come for them - bronzed Ulrik, faithful Delinne, the bull Lloyd... Idly he wondered who would choose to stay. To walk with mixbloods and hornless, defile themselves and become void - null. Mauja would snap the horns from their foreheads and dance on their graves.
A snarl had etched itself onto the features of his face, a contorted mask of pain and frustrated anger. So easy to blame himself. So easy to blame everyone else. Tight-lipped with silence, he crept forth east, each step making the charred skin on his hindquarters stretch uncomfortably. The fire hadn't eaten that deep but had severely dehydrated what remained, the crisp edges of skin and flesh losing its elasticity. Moving hurt like a bitch. But he had to keep going.
The sun was rising, cold and bleak in the cloudless Frostfall morning. A thin blanket of snow swirled around his frosted, muddy hooves, a little blood mingling with the mess down his cannons. The thin slash hadn't bled much, not really, but his constant movement had kept it from congealing. It looked worse than it was.
Just a little further. Damnable exodus.
He hugged the cliff, the mountain range being low here. Slipped round its bend, and the isthmus stretched out before him. Dark and quiet lay the sea, the wind calm; to the west, the sky was still colored navy, dotted with stars. Mauja heaved a shuddering sigh, and skidded to a halt. Snow pooled around his hooves. The world was quiet, as it always was when it was a winter dawn. Shafts of sunlight arced above the horizon, making themselves known in the last few minutes, the sky lighting to cold blue and pale pastel. Here was as good a place as any. He wasn't sure he could go further without losing his mind. He stopped, spun around to face his ragtag army.
Homeless. Wretched. What could he say to them?
"The Edge!" he cried, seeking to gather them close. "No matter these impostors who move in the depths of our forest, we are still the Edge." His voice was hoarse, his eyes tired, but he had to do this. Keep talking. Had Monster made it out? Blinking, he scanned his followers for the black pet. "We have to recover. Regenerate. But once we are strong again..." His gaze narrowed.
"We will show Helovia that if you play with fire, you get burned."
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CREDITS
angels, they fell first, but I'm still here
| Hidden Account |
| Mare :: Unicorn :: 16.2 :: 10 |
| Adoptable |
 Defeat - retreat - was never her favorite part of warfare. Trudging into the blackness of an oncoming night to the sound of strained grunts and pained cries echoing between the tall trees, muted - dulled - by the thick fog masking their graceless retreat. With the pace lowered, her heart not thundering in wild, wrecked excitement, mortality began to return. Her ribcage ached from a few kicks and being compressed between two bodies, her haunch throbbed, her butt throbbed. Still, one look at Mauja and she knew she was well off. His back was burnt, each movement strained, as if he'd rather just stop and roll over instead of keep going. But he did, silently trudging east. Alan's spirits were dimmed, muted, her body just plodding along without any of her usual exuberance. Even her thick mane lay flat against her neck, not standing out in a disarray, her tail nearly dragging across the snow cover. Mauja's mood was rubbing off on her, where otherwise she might've joked and tried to make it less of a death-heavy defeat. Sighing, she kept going through the night. How was d'Artagnan doing, off in the throat? Descaro? She turned to peer after the sturdy warrior, but didn't make an approach. He liked mares far too much for her to ever creep close to him. Never knew what might happen.
The ground sloped gently downwards as dawn slowly crept upon them. The sky in the east grew lighter, first simply blue, then closer to the horizon, yellow and peach. She snorted, remembering the idiot she'd helped knock out. Fitting that his colors flared across the sky on their first dawn as exiles. Mauja climbed down the gentle slope, and Alan followed in her unusual silence. Once past the wall of mountain, the cold sea glittered before her eyes, the distant lands of the tundra on the horizon. There was a harsh chill in the air, the ocean steaming gently, moisture settling on her shaggy coat and freezing. Her tail coiled itself around her hocks, trying to hide beneath her, and she snorted, skidding to a halt in the thin layer of snow too. Mauja turned to look at them, and she gave a low growl. Why had he called a retreat? Couldn't they have held out, fought back, somehow overwhelmed their enemies? Broken and waged guerrilla war on them, leading them to a certain drop off the Edge?
How dared he stand there and talk of vengeance, when he had bid them run, while their enemies still drew breath?
"Why," she hissed, tail lashing behind her like an angry cat's. Alan's amber eyes lit up with fire, the weariness of the night taking its toll and grating on her nerves. It was so easy to be angry, easier than seeing all the ways you failed. "Why did you call us off? Why did you make us run, when we could've fought until we died?" It was so simple in her world, no tactic, no black or white - just pure, raw action. Kill or be killed - retreat wasn't an option. Somehow, she found herself feeling betrayed by his orders, unable to bash herself bloody against the Qian until her eyes grew dark and her lungs drew no more breath. She would've bled herself dry for him, had he but asked. "Why, Mauja? Why?"
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| Deceased |
| Mare :: Unicorn :: 15.3 hh :: 3 years |
| Dark |
Leyra wandered towards Mauja. This had not been expected, and now her new home had been taken over by filth. She stamped her hoof, agreeing with Alan,"we could have fought, we could of won, yet you called us to runaway."Leyra snorted, her mind and body felt like she could go and get the edge back all by herself."Why can't we attack them, and save those horses that are captured."Leyra felt the cold wind ruffle her mane, and her lion tail lashed at the snow. Her ears were laid back, she went closer to Mauja."We could always attack when they least expect it, but they'll be expecting us for a while."Leyra lowered her head, thinking about those that had been sacrificed to save their herd. Those who were alive but dying, imprisoned by those monsters. Leyra shivered at the thoughts.
Word Count:145
I tear my heart open, I sew myself shut
My weakness is that I care too much,
And my scars remind us the past is real
I tear my heart open, just to feel
![[Image: 2jewqqh.jpg]](http://oi46.tinypic.com/2jewqqh.jpg)
| Aurora Basin Mare |
| Mare :: Unicorn :: 15.0 :: 4 |
| ali |
![[Image: koutable.png]](http://img27.imageshack.us/img27/104/koutable.png)
Kou
The battle for the edge was one that Kou had watched from the sidelines, her newborn daughter close by her side. She watched as their warriors had begun to fall one by one. She watched as Mauja fought, set aflame by the equines that had come to take their home from them, aided by unicorns from the edge and pegasi from the throat. She kept waiting, hoping that d'Artagnan would come bursting through the trees. The Edge needed his magic to heal them because she could do nothing. What magic did she have to heal quickly? The only thing she knew as of poultices but how could one fight and keep the poultice where it was supposed to be?
When the battle ended she turned and left, leading her newborn daughter away from the scene of the battle, out to the very outskirts of the forest. They had lost their home, but it would not be the end of them. She had waited on the outskirts for Mauja, saying nothing when he finally emerged from the trees. She followed behind him as he led them away. Where to, she had no idea. She did not care, really. Somehow the loss of her home paled greatly in comparison to the abduction of her lover.
Head lifted and ears tilted forward when Mauja suddenly cried out to his followers. With Aviya tucked protectively by her side Kou walked toward him. She had not helped in the battle, had not been able to. What mother would sacrifice her newborn's safety and very life to fight? That was not who d take a stroll right off the cliff.
Another mare approached, one Kou recognized from the battle. Her question made the mare roll her eyes. Fight until they died? Was she not aware just how very close some of them were to dying? "You would prefer to die?" She asked, eyes narrowed slightly. "Why? Why when we can regroup and hit them where it hurts? They have taken our home but have they broken our spirit?" No, she didn't think they had. "We will break them. Their bodies and their spirits. We will ruin them. Let them sit comfortably and revel in their glory. It will only make breaking them so much sweeter."
Her gaze lingered on Alan for a few moments before she looked at Mauja. "I apologize for not joining you on the battlefield, but you're aware of my situation." She said with a slight motion to the foal nestled against her side.
colourize-stock @ deviantart | prints-of-stock @ deviantart | edlo @ deviantart
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| Outcast |
| Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16.1hh :: 8 Buff: NOVICE |
| imi |
It had taken a little while for him to come round, but Descaro found himself following the former King from the Edge. Dejected and angered. Gashes marring his hide, soon to become reminders of a terrible past. The brute stood a little to the side of Mauja, listening to the aftermath. The fact they had to turn tails and run was shameful, how could they loose to such an idiotic hoard?! Although he begrudgingly admitted that Mauja had made the right decision, somehow during the fight the tables had turned for the worse and it was run or die. Descaro knew death wouldn't of been an option in the end, they needed every living racist soul to formulate a counter attack. At least now they could regroup and maybe even bolster their numbers. This time was more important than ever, how quickly could they regain their wits and formulate a workable plan. It was post war that decided the stallions from the colts and who was truly loyal to their race.
He watched, intrigued as Alan hissed at Mauja and berated him wildly for calling off their attack. The brute smiled at her simplicity, it was all do or die in that mares world to the extent that Descaro rather admired her for it. d'Artagnan shared a similar temper and he wondered idly if the fodder was different from where they came from. Leyra seemed to share in her views but had a little less bite to her tone, Descaro sighed and closed his eyes briefly. This talk would go nowhere. He was about to interject when Kou appeared with a little filly nestled to her side and beat him to the chase. A lopsided smile was proffered in her direction and he looked curiously at the little Aviya. At least the youth was kept away from the battlefield.
"I agree with Kou. Annihilation is not an option." He let his words slide from his mouth and simmer in the air a while. Their numbers were few and he wondered how many had betrayed them to stay with the allied horde. The thought made him wrinkle his nose in detest.
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Ulrik the Engineer Posts: 235
| Deceased atk: 5.5 | def: 9.0 | dam: 6.5 |
| Stallion :: Unicorn :: 17.1 hh :: 11 HP: 69.5 | Buff: ENDURE |
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Kirchoff :: Common Hellhound :: Superspeed
Tamme |
ULRIK
I'm not the only one who can't see why it crossed your mind
I see your life and death reduced into a product line
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The Engineer stumbled in late, his side aching from being rammed into and knocked out. For all of his intellect, planning and physical knowledge, he had not expected a transformed dragon mare to have that much force. And, he was furious. The blackened stallion with the bronze markings was trembling with rage, cloven hooves taking rough and violent steps. His neck was held high, two horns touching the sky, and his bearded jaws were clenched in fury. Wild, furious madness glinted in bronze orbs. The stallion was a machine of rage, and a single press of a button would yield his fury. He did not get to prove himself on that battlefield because of the bitch. Dragon bitch.
He approached his king and the others and turned his head sharply, spitting blood from his mouth. It dripped down his chin and beard like spit from a rabid dog, and his ebony ears pinned against his skull. The leonine tail flashed wildly around his hind legs, and he listened to Alan, baring his teeth in his rage, not directly at her. She was pretty enough, but he was focused on a single, simple thought - revenge. He was still breathing heavily, his ribs bruised and aching on his right side. Ulrik's eyes settled on his king.
"That dragon bitch will pay," he snarled in his deep, graveled voice.
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Credits
| Deceased |
| Stallion :: Unicorn :: 17 :: Old |
| Aud |
 This is the picture that I'd have you see, and see it very well:
An old white unicorn stands just beyond the circle of broken warriors that Mauja has called to his side. He clearly was not apart of the battle - his old body shows signs of lingering age, yet no battle wounds scar his white coat. So why was he here? Only Mauja would know of him - the others would not. They might assume, given the gnarled branch of a horn he sported, that he was merely a feeble new member of the edge - a worthless old geezer who was now humbly following in their foot steps, seeking solace and protection from whatever would happen to them now. Had Mauja promised him a home, and now he was coming to claim what was promised? Oh no. Far from it.
Myrddin's large moose-like ears flickered in annoyance as he heard some members of Mauja's ragtag band criticizing his decisions, whining stupidly about why he had not let them die on the battle field. If these were the warriors left, perhaps he should have let them die, for those who would lay down their lives for a cause are noble, but those who would die senselessly, are only stupid and forgettable. Myrddin had not lived as long as he had, by being stupid in battle. Nay - he understood the minds of Kings and rulers, and he had vowed to help this one.
Now Myrddin strode forward, stepping lithely for one so old as him - as his unicorn blood still caught valiantly against his arthritic joints, and allowed him so much grace as it could. Standing tall, he narrowed his eyes at those who had spoken out against their King - not knowing who they were, and not caring. Words in this instance, spoken louder than their actions. They had followed him into battle, and had followed him out - who were they to criticize Mauja now?
This was a war, not simply one battle - and by the look in Mauja's eyes, it was far from over. Myr finally halted a few feet to the left of Mauja, and regarded the little band which had formed, his normally cloudy twilit-eyes now cold and calculating. Yes, he would help this King however he could, but for now, he would be silent. He knew the King was no idiot and could speak for himself; this was not a ruler he needed to be a voice box for, as he had been for some in the past. He turned a level gaze to the one he had called 'youngster' not so long ago. Now however, in the presence of such battle beaten warriors, he would not. "Hile, edge regis"" ("King of the Edge" - I don't know how to say edge in latin :P). Myr greeted in an archaic formal greeting, curling his muzzle to his left shoulder in greeting.
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Lena the Songbird Posts: 663
| Aurora Basin Time Mender atk: 4 | def: 10.5 | dam: 6.5 |
| Mare :: Unicorn :: 15.3 :: 6 HP: 69 | Buff: NOVICE |
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Imogen :: Common Kitsune :: Fire
Heather |
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L E N A
this is a gift, it comes with a price
Here I am, a rabbit heart again. Lena was a mixture of emotions, and she didn’t know which one to feel, which one to trace with her mind, her soul, her body. Rage, fury, wrath? It was an instant recoiling, stewing in the hardened armaments of a once forgotten heritage, boiling and searing, like flames, like embers, dancing in the wicked bolero of her moral entity. For her fallen brethren, for the essences that combined to dissolve a nation determined to absolve their sanctuary. For the broken cadence of hope and wonder that had begun to billow in her chest. For the strength that had pervaded her sentiments, her values, her creation, and her salvation. For the ruthless cataclysm threatening her being, destroying what she’d so carefully harbored, and ultimately, not meaning anything. For the final plunge that meant naught. Sorrow, despair, anguish? For her family, this strange, collection of creatures more kin than those that had given her life, wounded, broken, for a noble cause left to rot. For her serenity, bludgeoned, corrupted and gone astray in the cords of fire, chaos and mayhem. All of these twisting strings plaited a rift in the tranquil space of her essence, coiled and distorted until all that remained was her composure, the calm charade, the stoic façade that she could paint across her features again and again, listless, fatigued, and worn. Ultimately, she’d gone against all she’d ever been, to support, to conquer, to plague amongst a hellish divination, and it had left her with nothing. It hadn’t mattered. She’d sacrificed a portion of herself that she could never regain, and none of it had helped. For a few moments, she’d been a monster, and her gnashing, biting, flailing destruction had brought only a few, scarce seconds of assistance. She’d been incapable. She’d been ineffective, pointless, deficient, and meaningless. Perhaps this was what drove against her the most, flared and incensed her core, battered and rammed along that tranquil edge before diving off the side. That her strength, that her persevering, stalwart presence, had meant very little, had barely scratched the surface of what they’d needed, desired and yearned for. She was insubstantial and inadequate – worthless all over again.
It reminded her of too many things, too many wounds, too many barbs that she’d removed from her wake only to find them attached again. Was she really so useless? Was she really so ineffectual? Was she truly so inept and misguided? What more could she have done? Should she have attacked again and again, lost her head in the timeless wake of villainy, disorder and chaotic rapture – her cranium could rattle on all the misgivings, the paltry steps, and the trifling, empty moves. It refused to offer her comfort and left her reeling in a hollow fixation of desolation, dejection, all over again. How many times she had prospered herself away from this scenery of melancholy, how many hours had she willed herself into a vessel of optimism, compassion and valiancy? Was it all undone now, unlocked, allowed to bubble and froth into these old, simmering wounds? Her eyes lost their spark, their dignity, that warm embrace of sun and benevolence, and withered. She dimmed, radiance sullied, stained, and shattered. Her steps were not light, her motions were not effortless or airy, but shifting, slipping movements that lacked any luster; that craved any light. Even her crown, once so high, once so regal, disassembled hellbound to stare at the ground.
When she finally found her gathering brethren along the frozen innards of the Steppe, they quarreled, bickered, snapping at one another in the haze of loss. She recognized faces, blurs that had been chasing after their opponents, others left to wonder, new and unfamiliar. She listened, but remained silent, not bothering to posture something across her tongue, afraid it would come out as lamenting sob or a broken warble of a once bright bird. In truth, she believed the ice monarch’s words. They would recover, regrow, and prosper, fueled by deprivation, hostility, animosity and vengeance. They would rise, billowing from the ashes of their pride, strength and endurance. But how long would it take? How much more of herself would she sacrifice – and would it do any good this time?
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I could have chosen to go off on my own, make do with my own company and plan out the next move while my injuries healed. It would have been the easy thing to do. When you are alone there is no need to consider other people in your equations. There is only you, the things that needs to be done, and the victims that will offer their blood for my satisfaction.
But being alone had its downsides too. No one to discuss problems with, no one to distract the opponent while I do the dirty work. The cons didn't outweigh the pros, and thus I found myself joining with the group of scabby, weary mongrels that slipped from the forest of the Edge. Into exile. Like a flood of lice escaping a drowning dog, only these insects would be back for revenge once they had regrouped and regained their strengths.
Towards the north we moved, into lands barren and cold. I frowned, wondering about the decision the FrostHeart was making. No one was likely to follow them into the tundra when winter was rapidly approaching, but what about the rest? Tired, injured, they would soon need both food and shelter. Water to quench the thirst, warmth to aid in healing. None of that could be found in the frozen wasteland.
Frowning slightly I picked up the pace to the best of my ability as the white king called. Limping, my gray form slipped in among the masses - once more finding myself by the side of Ulrik. I glanced around among the gathered unicorns, taking note of those with fresh wounds and those without, separating warriors from the rest. Listening to the voices and opinions, pale eyes moved from individual to individual. The face was unreadable, ears flickering without betraying emotion as they voiced their frustration, their anger and disappointment.
Was it because of my recent involvement with this herd that I didn't share their swirling emotions? Maybe I just found it easier to accept the defeat for what it was. There was no point in dwelling on the past. What needed to be done, now that was more interesting.
"There are other ways to strike back at them" I said, speaking for the first time as I began to slither through the group, enduring the pain in my leg. I closed in on the cremello mare who so far had been the only one to say anything remotely intelligent, and with a pleasant smile I sidled with her, close enough to feel the heat of the pale shoulder. Too close, perhaps, for her too be entirely comfortable.
"Let them settle, grow confident, become careless. Then, as they leave the Edge, take them out one by one. Decimate their numbers, let them taste fear. Why use a sledge hammer when the prick of a poison needle is enough?" Words rolled from my lips in a jovial tone, the way someone might discuss the weather. White orbs traveled around the group in a casual manner, then came to rest upon the small frame of the newborn filly next to Kou. Narrowing for a moment in thought, a smile suddenly spread across my lips, cold and dead as the landscape that surrounded us.
"Indeed, the smaller the better..."
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Defeat…
He didn’t want to believe it. He would not tolerate it. He would not let it be so. He… could not do anything about it. The call had sounded. They were exiled, outcasted, driven from their home. They were not the herd of the World’s Edge anymore, they were a faceless mass of racist unicorns. Stays. Outcasts. Rovers. It was not right!
The black bull had seen his brother fall to the ground. Dead? Lucius hadn’t even have time to make sure. Mauja had been slipping away through the forest and the bull didn’t want to lose him in the night. Besides why would he torment himself by looking at his twin’s battered, lifeless body? If he didn’t check, then hope would still be with him, the hope of Lloyd getting up and finding them. But he fared it was a fool’s hope.
Before his obsidian body had became one with the night he had cast one look at the battlefield just as a big mare crushed the skull of Mauja’s pet. He had closed his eyes and turned away from the gruesome sound. And then on his way out of the Edge he had found the end of Monster’s rope. He had picked it up in his mouth and now he was carrying it at the rear of the group of the broken soldiers.
Ice and snow crackled and creaked under his heavy hooves, white clouds rose from his mouth and nostrils and the sweat, which was seeping out because of his pain, turned to frost upon his back and neck. His fractured rib pained him with every step and every breath, but he kept going.
They finally stopped and Lucius listened to the spur of emotions. He would have joined in, being the emotional creature he was, but he was too sad so be angry. Silently he stood at the rear of the gathering and not until all fell quiet he moved. He didn’t want to press his big bulk through them all so he went around and came towards Mauja from the right. He laid down the piece of the black rope beside his king’s feet and said: ”I’m sorry.”
The bull then backed away into the faceless mass again. He had no doubt revenge would come, but for now he wanted to grieve. Later he could turn that grief into wrath, but not know. Not yet.
Defeated? Maybe. But they would rise again.
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| Deceased atk: 5.5 | def: 9 | dam: 5 |
| Mare :: Unicorn :: 15.3 :: 4 HP: 64.5 | Buff: NOVICE |
| Time |
I stayed close to what I knew. I knew my mother, Kou, and I clung to her more now than ever. I traveled with her, following in her steps now as the cold whiteness grew deeper and harder to move in. Her strong hooves left perfect indents for me to follow in. My gait was not as flowing as my mother's and I found myself tripping often. My legs grew stronger with each movement, each day that I had life in this cold world, but sometimes I needed to slow behind my mother after a large distance, lowering my head towards the ground as my lungs shook inside my chest. Long, sharp coughs cut out of my mouth. Pain riddled my chest as my small body shook. After these spells catching my breath was nearly impossible. As best as I could I cried out and my mother would come to me, nuzzling my body until I could move again. With all the strength gathered in my small form again I pressed on after Kou.
Kou was my guide and my safety, but I felt something missing inside of me. I yearned for something more, another voice I had grown familiar with in my dark world. My father. D'artagnan. The one time I decided to ask mother Kou why I felt this way she looked so sad and hurt. She replied with little information, and it seemed difficult, so I decided not to ask again. I felt her pain. I wanted him, too.
Settling now I pressed into Mother Kou's side. She was my strength. I looked around carefully, taking in the sights around me. Ice blue eyes lifted and found the first other unicorn I had met. His strong body looked different, ragged, torn. He smelled differently, too, and I did not like it. Taking a couple of steps back I moved my small body as much as I could underneath Mother Kou, drawing warmth from her. Many more approached and I watched each of them carefully. The all looked ragged, torn; they all resembled the spotted one's scent as well.
| Hidden Account |
| Stallion :: Unicorn :: 15.3 :: 2 years |
| Rover |
10-07-2012, 06:07 AM
(This post was last modified: 10-07-2012, 06:08 AM by Tamlin.)
They had traveled for so long. When they left, the night had just taken over the twilight and now the dawn was chasing away the night. Under the glittering stars the broken pieces of a glorious herd had fled north. They had traded muddy grounds for icy floors. They had clung to the walls of the mountains risking plunging to their deaths in the freezing waters below. They had climbed up, skidded down and now, at the grey hours of dawn, they finally stopped. Their home had been taken by filth and vermin, blood-traitors and oath-breakers, mud-bloods and infidels. They had lost a battle, but they would start a war and in the end they would be victorious for they were the superior race, the yfir fólk.
Oh how tired he was.
But the young prince knew he wasn’t the one who was worst of. During the night the little bundle of dark and light fur which was Kou’s daughter had stopped numerous times, forced to halt by her soul chattering cough. Tamlin had watched her from a distance, stopping every time she did and waiting to move until she’d been retrieved by her mother. Was he learning compassion? Maybe. But at least little Aviya had her mother’s warmth and comfort. Tamlin hadn’t even found his own mother and it was a long time since he’d fed. Despite the pelt on his back he was freezing and his stomach was making those funny noises.
Oh how hungry he was.
From the middle of the group the prince listened and watched as the adults argued. When they fell silent he slipped passed the bodies of the broken soldiers and like a ghost he crept up beside Kou and Aviya. Carefully, almost excusing his mere existence, he touched his black muzzle to Kou’s cremello flank. Then he sent Aviya a look, silently asking if she would share her food with him. He looked up at the mare next, his dual colored eyes displaying his hunger and also his fear of these sudden changes to his life.
What would happen now?
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 he sows in blood
Permission to use violence and magic against Tamlin at all times granted
Korra thrilling to think, poor child of sin - it was the dead who groaned within
The taste of defeat was a bitter one, and it was certainly not one she was used to. For a moment, the barbarian held her ground, lobes pinned flat against her neck and teeth bared in a ferocious grimace of rage. But she knew she could not take them all on alone; they had lost, it was pointless for her to keep fighting until the bitter end. If she died here, it wouldn’t matter and it wouldn’t win their homeland back. Coming to this realization, she felt like her pillars were being weighed down by a thousand pounds as she slowly began to follow her comrades. With a hiss the savage withdrew from her home, feeling hatred and panic in one big turmoil within her withered heart. To think that a horde of blood-traitors and hornless would now reside in the forests where she had peacefully dwelt – it was unbearable. Now they scrambled, all the proud unicorns that used to roam here, reduced to bleeding, headless wrecks as they fled to the border and beyond. And she did too, shamefully so, vanishing into the night.
The Steppe had often been a refuge for the savage in troubled times, and now in her darkest hour, her hooves seemed to pick the road as the most natural thing in the world. Dark bay pelt was stained by battle, antlers tainted by the blood of the enemy, but it had done no good. As an army they had failed, they had been soft and vulnerable, and then the hornless had struck and taken advantage. Korra clenched her teeth aggressively; their morals had been poisoned, the warriors had slacked off and they had been punished. A sour smirk crept upon her scarred lips, knowing that the likes of Lotus had not fought, and thus proven to Korra that she and her child-bearing ways had been utterly useless. Let us see how useful her bastard spawn will be now.
It was dawn. The dawn of a new reality. She had travelled with the others there; the savage needed some peace and quiet, some time away from the miserable faces of defeat that looked back at her wherever she turned. So she had wandered into the woods whenever it had been possible, alone with nothing but the crunching sound as her hooves pressed into the snow that covered the ground. But when her pale king spoke, she was there as well, at the outskirts with her lobes perked forward. His words of vengeance warmed her heart; all in due time, they would return with strength tenfold and smite the usurpers. When the mare Alan spoke, Korra snorted in disgust, not caring if the other heard; there was definitely more muscle than brain to that one. You needed both to be a fullborn warrior, raw power would only get you so far. Another witless wench spoke up in agreement and the savage, shaggier than ever now that she was clad in her winter clothes, limped closer and bared her teeth at Leyra, snapping at the air next to the mare’s neck. “You know nothing of what you speak, wench. Not a single drop of blood have you sacrificed for this cause, so shut your mouth or I will do it for you,” she spat in her hoarse voice, face showing every last bit of the disgust she held for the appaloosa female.
The black silhouette of Ulrik came limping in, and Korra felt her jaw stiffen. She was disappointed in him, but she would not say it; he had been knocked out by the same dragonwhore that he was now scolding. There is nothing to him but hot air, she thought to herself. Of course everyone could be unfortunate, but there was no room for that in battle. An old unicorn approached next, scrutinizing them with cold eyes, causing Korra to point her ears back and return the gesture with one of her infamous spine-chilling glares. Despite his age, his coat was unscarred, not something that spoke in favor of his character in the savage’s blunt eyes. This one cannot be trusted. Her gaze drifted to the mare Lena, who had won a great deal of respect from the seasoned savage; despite her cheerful demeanor, the femme had proven herself. Nothing like exercising a bit of violence to gain esteem in Korra’s book. Turning her attention back to her leader, the wildling stood quiet and reflected on how the world had collapsed into complete turmoil in the matter of a single night. This was but one battle and the war was far from over. Let them get drunk on their victory. Let them celebrate. They will never know what hit them.
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| Hidden Account |
| Mare :: Unicorn :: 16 :: 9 Buff: NOVICE |
| Sica |
10-08-2012, 10:17 PM
(This post was last modified: 10-08-2012, 10:18 PM by Faelene.)
A voice spoke to each one claiming a victor, she could feel what grips she had starting to slip, wanting to fail. They had lost, and had to leave. The only good thing was the fact they were not exactly holding anyone against their will. Wouldn't they be stupid to do so? Enemies living in the same territory was bound to cause more trouble. Much she wished she could pull off changing sides, it would sicken her to remain. She doubted anyone would be fooled, despite how open and accepting the Quian seemed to be. Besides being wounded, what could she do? Actions would be nothing but stupid, and fruitless. It was with a sore hide she began to follow her kind to the north. The new path the icy King had taken. Quietly she mused at least they were all now securely bonded, and committed to keep together to one day claim what was theirs. Or she would hold to believe that, she needed something to hold too.
With heavy steps, and a heavy heart the night light would start to waken to dawn as she moved with anything, but a graceful stride. The read maned fought against the pulls of her skin which had been exposed, torn, and burnt, but least it was one side, and she could favor the other. Avoiding any pain was far from able, but she could be grateful she was alive. Many had made it despite this whole world against them. Something she wasn't sure she would grip to understand. Swaying hips she hummed to ehrself, her eyes empty voids so there was not direct way to tell what happened behind her silver irises. There was meaning to her steps, strong and full of purpose she would meet Mauja's mighty call.
When the mare came upon the scene her head feeling like it would rip apar, she tried to scramble for what everyone was saying. It was hard with a brain freeze, and a conflicted heart. It was clear there was a range of emotions in the group, with a careful look she let her eyes trace around their faces. Some seem more affected than others by the outcome of their battle. Most it seemed they were ready to strike a plan. What would they do? Part of her did not really want to listen, it was not in her to collaborate now. Eyes upon the foals she became more worried about their well being than revenge. Tamlin's mother was not in sight, and Aviya was already suffering from this cold. They could no time soon attack the Quian, and keeping everyone healthy, getting them mended should be a priority. They should strike back, but they should be strong, more prepared than the enemy.
With her questions nothing but silence to their ears, it was when Lucius stepped forward, a familiar rope in his teeth, taking it to Mauja to place it before the Frostheart something in her would snap. Nothing but a blink of an eye Faelene felt herself wake up with the heat of rage and despair. Thais is dead. The cold thought pummeled her mind. The black beast had fallen. This is when she had had enough."They will suffer for this," she coldly spoke in a tone of promise. |
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| Hidden Falls Curiosus II |
| Mare :: Unicorn :: 15.2 hh :: 15 Buff: NOVICE |
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Dezba :: Black Jaguar :: Stormcall
Ina |
[Is it okay if I post here as soon as I've made a new manip for Dell? It could take a while though, so I'm writing what the basics of what my post will be like:
"Dell wanders around outside the Edge, slowly coming closer to the Steppe. She follows the scent of the herd and have troubles with walking normally due to her wound. The blood had started flowing again and her left side is bloody and messy.
She sees unicorns, recognizes them as the herdmembers and whinnies a low complaining."
That's the basics, and if it's not okay that I post this then just ask me remove it in PM ^^]
 It was with a sinking heart that the dwarven steed followed behind his herdmates, leaving the lands that he had taken to love and called his home in the last six months. He felt every bit as beaten and defeated as he looked on the outside, mismatched eyes bound to the ground before him so that no one may see the tear threatening to tumble down his cheek. His tiny body felt like one big sore, every step that he took was a matter of convincing himself to keep going. On the rump he had been seared by the dragonfire, his shoulder had a bleeding scrape but felt even worse on the inside, and his head was throbbing fiercely. Yet he forced himself to continue, blending in with the sorry flock that had once been the supreme rulers of the Edge. Aurelius had never been much of a fighter, mostly due to his lack of physical grandeur; his wits were sharper than his hooves.
But now was a different reality, he had been harmed but had caused suffering for the enemy forces as well; he had broken their bones without scruple, reduced to a machine that frantically attempted to defend what he held dear. In the midst of all the misery and the sorrow he felt for the battle lost, he had won a personal victory as well. He doubted anyone would have counted on him to do much good in a war, but he had proven to them yet again that lack of height did not make him less of a stallion. Seeing the pain in the faces around him was far worse than any pain he felt in himself, but there was only so much he could do to soothe. Time would be the best medication for what they had endured, and eventually they would regain their strength – might be they could even take back their home, eventually.
The frost of the Steppe tore at his lungs, turning his breath to mist in the early morning air. Condensation formed small crystals of ice in the hairs on his muzzle, frost falling softly and soothing the burnt on his back. He halted and watched the bickering ensue, but took no part of it himself. His gaze wandered between the creatures that had been his family, and he knew that he wouldn’t cease to think of them that way just because they were not tied together by a common home. Mismatched eyes fell upon the white frame of Mauja, the dethroned king who would remain his liege no matter that he had lost his title. A couple of mares there he had only met once or twice, but Kou was there with her newborn daughter. The small steed furrowed his brow; this cold would be no problem for the likes of himself and a couple of the others, but there were individuals here much more vulnerable to the raging winter storms. Children as well as grow-up of more delicate descent; and while he was aware of Mauja’s fondness for the snow, he ought to think first about his family.
He nodded respectfully to Descaro and Ulrik, walking up to stand next to Lena silently. She had been hurt as well, he saw, and a sad smile was offered to the femme as little comfort. He touched her affectionately as he had of habit, careful not to cause her any further pain, his warm breath upon her skin as he caressed her softly with his maw. His own despair, he saw reflected within hers, and it made everything even more real. This was the harsh truth; he was homeless yet again. But this time, he had a family to lean on. |
| Outcast |
| Mare :: Unicorn :: 14.2 :: 3 |
| Whit |
Lotus
Pregnancy once again weighed me down. Perhaps what that brown bitch Korra had said was true, perhaps I was a wash-out, a weak link in our herd. We had failed, I had felt the chill of rejection seep through my bones. I was within the Edge when it all began, I had lingered on the outskirts, praying for victory. My precious cargo would not be put at risk, not so late in the game, when a single injury could mean the difference between life and death, for both myself and the new life within me that was planted by the ashen steed Cineviam. I followed the trail of blood, feeling the safety of holding rank within a herdland drip away from me as the mists turned us away. It is no surprise that here, upon this frozen tundra, I find my herd. Snow swirled around me, and I stand to the outskirts, unwilling to be noticed, unwillingly to face the shame that I feel for not defending my herd when they needed me.
My son was a wandering soul, much like I had been for a time between when I left my birthland and found Helovia. He was seeking the company of another mare now, the nurse, Kou, I recalled from the previous meeting. I stand now, a few lengths away from him, praying he remembers me, even though it is only hours since we last glimpsed each other. My teats still held milk for him to drink, my pelt was thick with warm, down coat that would shelter him, if only he would choose my bodice to stand beside. I look to our King, forlorn, sad - and afraid. I fear what is to come, because I know not what it will be. I sigh, unable to find the spark within me to speak, to argue, to defend myself. Let them mock me, let them ridicule and hate me. The spawn I carried within me was for them, to help them grow. I would birth them the army they needed in order to win rights to our home once more.
If only they would accept me.
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Psyche the DarkEmpress Posts: 380
| Deceased |
| Mare :: Unicorn :: 15.3 hh :: 8 (ages in Orangemoon) Buff: ENDURE |
| RayoDeSoleil |
10-11-2012, 05:02 PM
(This post was last modified: 10-18-2012, 04:26 PM by Psyche.)
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White is the color of purity, or so they say. A color of that untouched by those things which would be considered sins. It is a color of innocence, or cleansing. And so it was utterly wrong for the straggling herd to gather in the home of such a color.
Unbelievable. The feeling of defeat permeated every pore of the shadow-mare's dark bodice, so obvious against the winter landscape as she escaped the Edge. How unbelievable it was that she should return, and Mauja should accept her return, only for them to be ousted from their home. How could this happen? How could she have let this happen? The light injuries at her nape and hindquarter had crusted over with dried blood by now, but it was the aches in her right shoulder and left side that reminded her of her failures on the battlefield. She was not weak, she had never been this weak. Even when she had been pregnant, she had ruled the Plague. Was it the birthing that had made her weak? Or was it running away, foal in tow, and spending months in solitude? Was she just out of practice, or was it motherhood that had done this to her? Never had she walked away from a fight in such a state. And so she trudged on.
Memories washed over her: her first kills became fresh once more in her mind. She could smell their fear, she could see it in her eyes. She terrified them. She showed no mercy, and the foolish Pegasi didn't even fight back, didn't think to fly. Their panic was a drug, and she was filled with a heady arrogance, a pride in her race, so clearly superior. It had been so easy. Amber orbs closed, remembering the ease with which she had once triumphed in battle. But this battle, this invasion, this moment when she had everything to fight for and everything to lose, when she had been called to fight for her home, for her king - though she barely acknowledged the FrostHeart and such a superior - in this battle, she had failed. Why had she failed? Her thoughts spiraled down into the depths of her memories, and the look on her father's face the first time she met him, a look of disgust at her plain appearance, flashed before her eyes. But she was the one who had sought to continue his legacy. Paladin, with his crimson coloring, had become a traitor, and Giselle, well, where had she been? Psyche had travelled, formed a group dedicated to her father's ideology - but where was the approval for which she had so craved?
Her father was gone. Her mother was gone, and at his hand. Paladin was as dead to her as if he was buried in the earth, and Giselle had deserted her. Her family had left her; she had left her home. Had she stayed, would this have happened? No, she musn't blame herself - and yet, in these past few seasons, what had she done right? She had allowed herself to be wooed into motherhood. She had run from her home for fear of Mauja. She hadn't done well enough as a mother to keep Sno from running home to daddy. She had returned, to find that Mauja had clearly moved on and that her home was expendable. She had fought for everything she had lost, and she had failed. Did that make her more lost?
There they were, in the distance, their straggling herd. Some were battle-scarred as she, but others had clearly sat out the fighting. A pregnant mare, and one who had clearly just given birth stood out, but she didn't care to continue the differentiation. If Mauja would keep them, then they were a part of the herd, and they would need as many as may be if they were to take their home back. If that was a part of the plan, of course. The shadow-mare silently slid into the back of the gathering, wishing for a private moment with the FrostHeart, wishing that she had words to describe the desolation that she felt, and knowing full well that no words of her inner turmoil would be spoken. This, too, would pass, and she would be strong once more. If he would let her, she would lead the attack on the Qian to take their home back. She would do whatever it took to return, for a third time, and to show those idiotic equalists that they were truly no match for the unicorn race. This and more crossed her mind as she stood, close enough to be part of the group but far enough to be estranged from the family. She would get her revenge, and it would be tenfold on those who had dared to defy them. She would enjoy watching their blood run.
[W/C | 816]
| Walk walk walk.
"Talk talk talk."
Think think think. |  |
| Deceased atk: 7.0 | def: 12 | dam: 6.5 |
| Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16.1 :: 7 HP: 72.5 | Buff: NUMB |
| Heather |
10-11-2012, 06:25 PM
(This post was last modified: 10-11-2012, 06:42 PM by Deimos.)
He was accustomed to loss. It poured through his veins, rampant, devouring, consumable, lavished bolero of death and devastation, turmoil and tumult; a part of him, thriving, writhing, content to ravage and revile. A portion of his everyday life, the siege, the assault, of beguiling, alluring, wanton demise, breathless, abandoned, fatal, mortal. This casualty, while irritating, and vexing, was nothing in the collection of his life, in the indignant presage of his corrupted, heinous being, for he had smoldered, torn, and lacerated the intruders, touched, scorned, laid rubble at their feet. And still yearned for more. Oh, he’d done his part, this ethereal fatality, this barbed monster, this intimidating, formidable heathen, scorched and seared, murdered and slaughtered, caressed the decadence of massacre, felt the treacherous slide of damnation hush against his skin, sin sliding in the chilling, sinister gallows. The haunting, scintillating scrape of annihilation, cracked, plundered, pillaged the life of another, again and again, the anarchical swing of rampant, feral, fierce violence, the cold, glacial menace of his meticulous, cryptic forbidding. With a vicious finesse, he’d plunged, inveigling iniquity, searing fervor, fiend and Tartarean guile, immobile reserve; the impervious statue of predacious splendor. What better taste than the sweet, ambrosial opulence of revenge? The longing, sweeping ache of vengeance? The bestial, savage, upheaval of retaliation, retribution, slicing chords of righteous din, of dedicated, honeyed, sugared hags, watching them wither, witnessing them shrivel, hope erased and ruined. The wild gallows were left open once more, wicked, poised, ravenous, to steal more precious, beating hearts. In the hollowed, diabolical insurrection of his recherché, he knew it only allowed more opportunity to see the enemies burn., silent screams echoing from empty lungs, terrorized countenances, observing their last moments in the sun, broken by a immoral raptor.
Deimos took his time, carnivore motions in the chill of the Steppe, biding, toiling in his deplorable march. There was no rush to the crying din, to the derisive scorn, to the fervent ardor of disappointed creatures, of listless spirits. He’d triumphed and he’d vanquished, would commit the ruthless actions for an eternal glow in the fiendish, animal acrimony of their malignant aspirations. When’d he finally arrived, silent, hushed, they’d spoken snippets of glory, of yesteryear, of scythes and rapiers, of mauling and recovering. He ignored all of them, crown high, imperial, righteous and disturbing in the quiet, haunting stoic quality of his movements, eerie, cold, indiscernible. He drew himself towards the back of the crowd, amongst the torn individuals, along the intertwined banshees and warlocks that demanded future reprisal. Yet, he alone, could offer the insouciant clamor of conquest, the ferocious unwinding of the battlefield, the ravenous augur of remorseless being. Licentious stare fixated on their fallen leader, wondered how far he would proclaim his monarch prowess, and proffered the baleful purr of his success. His voice scraped against the ancient, aspiring winds, hardened, raw, cool, sinuous hiss, sibilant ardor, displaying only the nefarious, enigmatic depravity of his existence, announcing the blunt, maelstrom of a slight feat. “One is dead.” Then, taciturn once more, the hollow, desolate, primordial predator remained contorted for another bestial throng.
The hard, frosty ground crackled beneath the enormous weight of the injured bull. The obsidian beast cantered across the snow blanketed plains of the Frostbreath Steppe, desperate to reach his herd. Though, he was still groggy from being knocked out, and so Lloyd stopped for a moment to catch his breath. His breath; like smoke rising from his nostrils in the cold air, it reminded him of the golden Dragon that had cause the terrible battle. They'd lost obviously. The prejudiced unicorns from Worlds Edge, thrown unceremoniously from their lands. So many of their comrades had fallen (himself included) and had been injured, all for nothing.
Lloyd set briskly off again, breathing now even and back to normal. He was trying to hurry to see if Lucius was with the herd, he knew though that his brother was safe, or at the very least alive, as he noticed there was no sign of him, or the majority of the herd still on the battle field as he regained consciousness. The bull just managed to awake in time to see the bronze marked Ulrik gallop off, or he would not have known which direction to come in.
After following the tracks in the snow he finally reached them, his herd. Or at least what remained. There they stood, bloodied and bruised yet still with their honor. When Lloyd's eyes fell upon his twin who stood at the back of the gathering, he was shocked. His mind took him back to the days of the War of Helovia all those years ago. Lucius looked exactly the same as he did then, his onyx coat littered with dirt and burns, with parts of his body at odd angles because the bones inside were broken. The bull sighed and went stand beside his brother. He wondered silently if he were to use his magic to transfer the brake from Lucius to himself, if his twin would realize.
”Talk.”
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