| Aurora Basin General atk: 7.5 | def: 11.5 | dam: 6.5 |
| Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16.1hh :: Four HP: 75.5 | Buff: DANCE |
|
Orsino :: Plain Kitsune :: Dark Illusions
& Enyo :: Common Griffon :: Draining Clutch
Heather |
For once, the boy didn’t wander.
He was not lost, not afraid, not strayed or undaunted – marching with keen intent, with vibrant, vehement focus. His dreams had been kindled, his aspirations had been realized, and the ambitious call of his nefarious, unrelenting determination drove at his veins, scarred and scorched over his frame, drew him from beguiling whims to soulless assaults, from seething horrors to gallant acts of vengeance. The scion’s pursuit was an endless, unwinding one, bending and coiling and curling with sinister, savage ease, starting with a girl battered and broken in the snow, to the Sun God granting him the wisdom he needed, craved, and yearned for. The flames had been generous: granting and coaxing and incensing the belligerent, boiling fire within his heart, so with every step he became all the more ignited, all the more glorious, all the more eager, ready, for the fray.
But it would take so much more than the need, than the want, for destruction. It would take cunning. It would take charisma. It would take persuasion and power and the definition of treachery, and he would have loved to lay claim to it all, every avaricious, passionate bit; relished and savored and brutalized the game for all its players and pawns. His father calculated and his mother made the rain and his sister strung her blossoms and hate together; he could be the boy with the conspiring mind and the impish smile, devouring and destroying with savage grins and Cheshire whims. Starved for justice, for revenge, for requital, he lavished the stage, the mercenary brands, the signature arts of fire, and the devil on his shoulder, dark, twisted Orsino, labored over their strides, their art, their magnificence to ensure they were worthy of it all.
The Sun God had said others were too: he’d require cohorts, compatriots for the future (and he knew of some, disappeared and vanished and vanquished that he’d always wish for: a half-deity cloaked in her own fire, a stag painted with runes, a future doctor stitching sutures, but maybe they were just gone too and he was just left to carve his own path without them). Erebos coveted their menace, their malice, their vehemence too, fed on the notion of others’ hate, that he wasn’t the only one who desired the fall of a Colossus, who wanted to savor his crumbling into dust, into ruin, piece by piece, pedestal by pedestal. How many would it take to annihilate this noxious foe? And how many would fall in the interim, while they waited and schemed and he tried desperately to grow stronger, mightier, a sword, a blade, a cutlass, a scintillating, searing pulse of the wicked and powerful?
Zenobia of the Dragon’s Throat, the divine being had told him; and so he traced over the path he’d taken once before, pretended to falter and stumble in the sands, set up more and more pretenses like the child he’d once been (Ignatius, stalwart and bright, granted and gifted with light; then his friends disappeared and died), edging in on the dunes and gulls. He shuffled along the borders, Orsino resting on his hind, stoic and brave, noble and indulgent, calm and nefarious, blending into the outcrops, into the dust, like one more brilliant, blinding prince searching for his fortune, for dragons, for allies. He pressed against the walls and bellowed only once, precise and specific, listening to his voice ricochet across the strand. “I’m looking for Zenobia," and recalled the way her temper crackled, the way her morality sizzled, and the sway of her loathing. Did it resemble his?
OOC;; [If there's anyway for someone to come and tell him she's fighting Abraham that would be so awesome. But if not thats cool too. XD]
TAG;; @[ ]
"talk talk talk"
|
image credits
- table by Niki -
| Outcast |
| Filly :: Pegasus :: 15 :: 2 |
| Frostie |
Aelin
On the shores of The Dragon's Throat a single figure stood. Not too long ago the break between the mainland and her homeland had prevented her from exploring the rest of the world. Indeed during her first months of life she'd assumed that the entire world was The Dragon's Throat. In her mind nothing existed beyond the sandy shores, the island was her home and the world. Comprehending that there was an entire world for her to explore? Perhaps at the time it would have overwhelmed her, been far too much for the filly to think about. Now however she'd seen more of the world, meet others who belonged to different herds or to the wilds. There was only one thing Aelin had realised through her travels - she hadn't know anything. There was much to learn and so many souls willing to teach although some methods were cruel or selfish. Some she should keep away from if she wished to remain safe from predators. Still, dangers did not keep her from exploring and learning. Such things where her passion, despite the dangers she would head out and usually the prizes gained during her journeys made such explorations very much worth the risk. While at the end of the day it was nice to know that she would always have a safe haven to return to.
Despite her young age she enjoyed watching the comings and goings of The Throat, enjoyed watching the herd work to keep each other safe. Perhaps she wished to feel as if she contributed which was why she was currently roaming along their borders. With a few beats of her wings she left her homeland, gliding through the skies with ease and danced along the outer borders of her family's home. Pausing for a moment she smiled, inhaling and exhaling. The sense of freedom, the joy of being able to explore made her chest swell. This was what she lived for. Learning, exploring and enjoying life. The lifestyle of her battle ready family was not suited to the girl's personality or build. The girl was far too trusting, eager to make friends and learn everything she could. Knowing about dangers didn't keep her from stumbling into dangerous situations.
Making her way up the mainland she almost stumbled as a figure appeared in the distance. Thankfully she managed to keep herself upright, looking on inquisitively. A dark unicorn, his strong build was impressive. The sandy princess had watched the older boy approach, a curious expression clearly painted on her face. Was this a unicorn from The Basin? The ones Elsa had seemed against her visiting? This one was at least young, not quite an adult. Perhaps she could hold her own against him.
Aelin assumed he was a stranger to their sands, the way he stumbled over the ever changing mounds. This action brought amusement to the girl, surely he would not be a danger to her. Besides, she could fly, he could not. It was not the sight of the boy, the warning from Elsa or even the difference in their strength that made her second guess her assessment of the boy. It was his words. Words that asked for her sister. Tucking her wings against her sides, squaring her shoulders the girl slowly approached him. His dual coloured eyes roamed over him, taking in every inch, assessing every hair upon the boy's body. Allowing a fair amount of distance between them, Aelin made her stand. Tilting her head to the side she waited a moment, allowing the boy as assess her should it be his desire. An unimpressed expression painted her delicate features. The boy did not introduce himself or state his purpose with her sister, he did not have a peace offering. Sure, he seemed innocent and there were no blaring alarms when she looked him over. "What do you want with her?" The girl's voice is soft, curious and not all unwelcoming. Straightening up she pushes her lips into a gentle smile, "I didn't catch you name?" Tell me something personal, then I might tell you want you wish to know.
Underneath the starry skies,
A single dreamer walks among the dull colours.
Before her there is nothing but dark and dull colours,
Behind her is there is the true colours of dreams.
Every colour imaginable vivid with life.
|
@Erebos
I guess jealousy's the curse that the struggle inspires.
☀ Force and magic permitted. ☀
☀ No fatal or permanent damage. ☀
☀ Please only tag in opening posts. ☀
| Aurora Basin General atk: 7.5 | def: 11.5 | dam: 6.5 |
| Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16.1hh :: Four HP: 75.5 | Buff: DANCE |
|
Orsino :: Plain Kitsune :: Dark Illusions
& Enyo :: Common Griffon :: Draining Clutch
Heather |
His eyes were riveted and raptured from one dune to the other, patient and stoic, a blue figment on the skyline, outlined and flecked by justified intentions and resolute pursuits. The scion did his best to appear princely and regal, refined and cordial, nonchalant as the striking, scorching air brooded along his lungs and through his chest (he already yearned for the indulgence of the Basin’s bitter breeze) – he didn’t know how long he’d have to wait on the sands, scouring and plunging, hoping and clinging. Instead of lingering on the bestial claws of the noxious heat, he imagined draconic flares and barbarous wars, fledgling soldiers rampaging across the dastardly shoal and firing their ambitious rockets; warriors nestled between rock walls and chiseled islands. He may have even amused myself with pictures of what the inward chassis looked like, contained, had Orsino’s sibilant hiss not ricocheted across their connection.
They were no longer alone.
Truth be told, he’d expected guards and soldiers, grimaces and barbarity, smug, immoral lined-mouths and a growling petulance, flying knights patrolling the skies, waiting for him to threaten, to warn –
But this was a child.
He stared, gaping in reserved silence, confused, befuddled, and torn over what to do next. He’d prepared a speech in his head, memorized it along their sojourn to the crimson wasteland, but he’d been eager to deliver it to a beast in charge, to someone who could lead him to the dun girl. This one, young and tender, fragile and delicate, furnished in the oils of dried, acrid, rancorous worlds and mismatched gazes, likely couldn’t bestow or grant him anything. Orsino draped himself between the lad’s forelegs and stared, mute and unforgiving while Erebos bit back a sigh. Was he doomed, damned, thwarted again by the cumbersome path set before him?
Perhaps too stubborn, too resolute, too obstinate and inflexible, he was determined to make the most of it – to try to get past the child guardian.
The scion outfitted his features in the most genuine, disarming state: a pleasant smile, without the ruffian shades, an eager, polished grin, without the impish, cretin designs, an amiable, charismatic slate to his clever blue eyes, settling their gaze upon the youth. No lies, no trumpets, no wiles or schemes – pure and innocent, charismatic and affable, no matter how far he wished to delve into the sinister, savage outlooks. “I’m Erebos, of the Aurora Basin.” He could understand the notion of protection surrounding the dark girl, with her unimpressed physique and her reluctant, restrained heart, he could comprehend the need to safeguard those cherished, those beloved; but he wanted to avenge the ones he’d lost. Her comrade, this Zenobia, could aid him, if he managed to sneak and slither his way through each and every barrier. “I mean her no harm. In fact, I was wondering if she could help me.” The boy’s ears flicked once or twice, alarmed at a sudden burst of noise from within the center of the unknown, uncharted land, a raucous din, sounds and clamors he’d heard before because he’d been thrust within mayhem and blood, bedlam and ichor. Eyes ghosted and coasted along the horizon, but didn’t catch anything out of the ordinary, and were drawn back to the girl rapidly, speech continuing as if there were no distractions.
“We met during a conflict – I believe she and I have a common enem-,” his conversation ceased the moment he saw a glimpse of an ivory dragon hovering beyond them, past the gates and through the sands, deep into an oasis he’d never seen, never witnessed. His eyes widened, and a sentiment of absolute rage clouded over his skull; he thought he knew that flying lizard, that petulant beast, that menacing sway of wings and molten enmity. They cooled quickly, even if his blood didn’t. He didn’t look back to the child, only talked as he stared into the abyss, into the confusion, into the fray. “Is there a battle in your land?”
OOC;;
TAG;; @[ ]
"talk talk talk"
|
image credits
- table by Niki -
@Aelin
| Outcast |
| Filly :: Pegasus :: 15 :: 2 |
| Frostie |
Aelin
The stranger smiled at her. For a moment Aelin was taken aback, wondering if she had misjudged him after all. After a shocked few minutes she smiled back. It was shy and timid, perhaps an offering of friendship or at least companionship for a short while. If his intentions were not to endanger her or her family then surely he would be welcome to ask his questions and meet her sister. The smile grew bigger, a little more radiant and welcoming. So he was from this 'basin', a place the young girl desperately wanted to see! She had been warned away, told to never stray too far north yet those warnings against the frozen land only made her more desperate and eager to explore the lands she was being protected from. Still the young girl still held her ground, wanting to really assess the young lad and deem him worthy of at least meeting a higher ranked member of The Throat.
Help? Why did he need help from her sister? The sandy princess frowned, brow furrowed deeply as she considered his words. "Zenobia doesn't really help." Aelin informed him, loosening her brow in an attempt to appear indifferent about his strange request. "She's more of a take charge girl." A sudden burst of noise sounded behind them, wincing Aelin attempted to pretend as if nothing had happened. Although the boy had surely noticed, his eyes searched her homeland, looking for the commotion. Shuffling her hooves in the sand she watched the grains roll away in the breeze before returning to the boy. Now he was watching her closely, she in turned allowed her gaze to wonder behind this Erebos as if there was nothing interesting going on behind her.
Of course they met in a conflict.
When was her sister not stirring up trouble?
Sighing in frustration by his words any response she would have made was cut off. It would have been a miracle if Erebos was blind, deaf or dumb. Even better if he'd been afflicted by all three conditions. Because that's what it would have taken for him not to notice the raging battle that was currently being wrangled out behind her.
Is there a battle in her land? Wasn't there always?! "Yes." Aelin now turned and watched the figures in the distance, for a moment she caught a glimpse of a misshapen shape. Distance distorted what she saw, unable to quite make sense of just what she was seeing. "You've found Zenobia." Aelin huffed. If her sister didn't win this challenge then his dark stained Erebos was probably not going to have much luck convincing her sister to help him. Zenobia was a fiery character. She would take loosing very hard.
Another loud crash, the filly shook her head wondering what was taking so long. Surely it didn't take an excessive amount of time to beat each other into a pulp? "My sister has taken it upon herself to help out another filly." Feeling she ought to elaborate Aelin continued, "this Abbham?" No, that wasn't right. What was the name her sister had screamed out? "Abruham?" No that still wasn't quite it. "Whatever his name is, stole a feather and Zenobia wants it given back." It was a nice thing to do Aelin supposed, only it was a little too bloody for the speckled girl's liking. Turning back to Erebos she pondered her options, he could wait here and once the challenge was over she'd be more than happy to alert Zenobia to his presence. Or maybe she should invite him over, only she didn't feel that would please her father much. The girl ruffled her wings and stared at Erebos.
"I don't know if she'll want to speak with you." Turning back to her homeland the girl smirked. "I guess you'll just have to wait." If he wanted help so desperately then he'd need to be patient and wait with her. Something that please Aelin greatly. "What's it like up north?" She asked dreamily, already envisioning the snow, the biting cold and the pretty northern skies.
Underneath the starry skies,
A single dreamer walks among the dull colours.
Before her there is nothing but dark and dull colours,
Behind her is there is the true colours of dreams.
Every colour imaginable vivid with life.
|
@Erebos
I guess jealousy's the curse that the struggle inspires.
☀ Force and magic permitted. ☀
☀ No fatal or permanent damage. ☀
☀ Please only tag in opening posts. ☀
| Aurora Basin General atk: 7.5 | def: 11.5 | dam: 6.5 |
| Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16.1hh :: Four HP: 75.5 | Buff: DANCE |
|
Orsino :: Plain Kitsune :: Dark Illusions
& Enyo :: Common Griffon :: Draining Clutch
Heather |
The charisma he’d enacted had been a wondrous oeuvre: no sooner had his smile curled over his lips did she bear a matching one, and any apprehension, any nerves, any sense of strife cooled, tucked back into his chest in a silent, begrudging murmur. His grin enveloped and strung along his handsome features in almost angelic disarray, woven like his mother’s tender traces, but never quite derived from gentleness, from warmth and fondness. His was a elegant, poised mask, a masquerade of nails and indulgence, barbs and thorns and nettles eager, ready to sting, tipping only gently to one side as the girl spoke, whittling and carving the result of his expectations. Even while she frowned, even while she puttered over the circumstances, Erebos maintained his vigilance, ignored Orsino’s noxious plumes, his terrible wishes, and thought of the other femme deep within the pockets of a battle with Gods – while he’d lunged at the painted Colossus, she’d disappeared, somewhere else in the midst of chaos and bedlam. He’d never had an opportunity to ask, pledge, anoint, consecrate the foil of circumstances piled around them; and it’d been over, with no other chance.
But now, now he surged into the sands and the hallowed hills of unholy heat, on the fringes of one more battle, one more skirmish. He continued listening to the edges of the crusade, because he knew the pummeling din well, because he’d faced down monsters just like the rest of them, came away with more scars, mischief, and pride. The darker child’s words were a ghostly drumming in his ears, you’ve found Zenobia, and my sister has taken it upon herself to help another filly, and he knew before she said anything more that he’d been too late.
She’d already gone to assail the monster, and his moment was gone: crashed, gnarled, and broken.
His jaw clenched, tight, taut, and his features struggled not to curl into a vicious, irritated snarl – exasperation clawed at his chest, at his skull, and Orsino dared to laugh through their connection, punished the haughty conjectures with more audacity. His vengeance was being enacted by another – different crimes, but the same beast, and that stupid notion of pride, of arrogance, of tenacity and determination pummeled through him, rooting at his heart, silly, foolish, and damning. If the girl looked back at him, she’d see the appealing depths of his smile were gone, replaced with a thin line of consternation and upheaval. Zenobia had already gone to take what he wanted: requital, reprisal, and vengeance.
But this child of the Throat had at least given him something other than disappointment: the luster of a name, though garbled and strangled through ignorance. “Asshole would be more fitting,” he ground out, choking back the wrath, the hate, the contempt flooding through his voice. “We hunt the same creature.” His stare continued their idle rapture at the battle scene miles beyond, blurs of flying lizards and girls chasing after blood, gore, and revenge, and the indulgent motion of spite spread through him again. Without looking at the child, he spoke of his loathing, of his reasoning. “He killed my friend when we were children.” His eyes narrowed, lost in pockets of memories: a fiend nestled above his friend, Arwen in a pool of crushed, gnarled bones and puddles of blood – completely, utterly broken.
I want him dead, he didn’t say. I want him massacred, he didn’t mention. Instead, he listened to her talk, a scion of the hot sands, distracting him from wretched memories and helpless babes trembling in the snow. The prince’s gaze eventually found hers, with an ear always turned towards the ongoing campaign, trying to riddle a small smile back across his face. Up North – she wanted to talk about his homeland, instead of the wretched figure trying to tear her comrade apart – and a bitter laugh almost pervaded his soul; he caught it before it could escape into the void and leave them all deplorable. “Cold, chilling, and beautiful,” was his simple answer, and then, before he knew it, because perhaps he too had been caught in someone’s spell, his speech turned into a flourish of poetical nuances. He loved his home, his kingdom, his paradise – it was a shame Arwen no longer got to see it. “Picture endless mountains, pine, fir, and caverns, with a lake that never freezes, with hot springs to warm your bones,” the smile grew, larger still, enraptured again and tangled away from the harsh outcries of reality dotting the horizon. “Its my favorite place.” Then, he paused, as if remembering a segment of manners. “What's your name?”
OOC;;
TAG;; @[ ]
"talk talk talk"
|
image credits
- table by Niki -
@Aelin
|
.svg/2000px-Google_Chrome_icon_(2011).svg.png){kind=icon}
