the Rift


[PRIVATE] you're worse than nicotine

Volterra the Indomitable Posts: 785
Dragon's Throat Sultan atk: 8.5 | def: 11.5 | dam: 8.5
Stallion :: Equine :: 17'2hh :: 3 HP: 80 | Buff: SENSE
Vérzés :: Common Red Dragon :: Frost Breath & Toxic Breath & Vadir :: Royal Gold Dragon :: Fire Breath & Shock Breath Snow
#1


V O L T E R R A
OH, MY EYES ARE SEEING RED
DOUBLE VISION FROM THE BLOOD WE'VE SHED

He wants to make her a present.

The thought simply happens, an explosion in his mind. It seems so obvious that he wonders why he hasn't thought of it sooner. Ever since their last meeting, he hasn't been able to shake the thought of her, of them, of the delights that their last encounter had held. She is his drug, his addiction, and instead of chasing her around Helovia like a lost puppy, he decides to try and do something romantic for her, in an attempt to show her quite how much she means to him. There is a lot he cannot offer her - monogamy, a traditional relationship - but in the absence of those, he must find other things to demonstrate the feelings that he seems unable to articulate aloud. A present. She'll love it!

He decides he wants to make it in her secret clearing in the Falls. The place symbolises so much - it was where he first realised quite how attracted he was to her, where the first frissons of something shot through his head and loins alike. She shared it with him and him alone, and he thinks - or, rather, hopes - that placing his present there will be appreciated by her.

The only problem is, he can't find the damn clearing again.

He wanders for hours around the Falls' borders, always careful not to trespass - he might be assured of his prowess on the battlefield, but he doesn't fancy himself against a full herd of angry Fall-ians. He desperately tries to follow the path she'd led him down last time, but he'd been so entranced by her amazing ass that he hadn't paid much attention. He meanders through the trees and obscure rabbit-paths until his flesh bleeds from thorns and frustration boils across his sweating skin, and he breaks a sapling in half when he flings an ill-tempered hind hoof at it.

Well, fuck that. Instead, he decides he'll make his present on the Falls' borders, so she will walk past it whenever she returns home, and so every other member of her herd will envy her for her super-romantic, great-in-bed special friend. He uses the phrase special friend, as he isn't quite sure what else to call them - does sleeping together make them a thing? He doesn't know how to be a thing. One-night-stands, emotionless animal sex, yes. An actual living, breathing mate? He doesn't know where to start. Plus, would the demi-goddess be content with the fact she'd be part of a harem, rather than a sole lover? These are all things that should probably have been discussed prior to the act, yet they are simple beasts prone to being caught up in the moment. Rather than think about those tricky questions, the goliath simply decides to call her his special friend until told otherwise.

The sky is darkening above him by the time he finds a suitable spot, just outside the borders of the Hidden Falls. He decides to build his present next to a massive old oak, in the hope that the ancient tree will keep the worst of the elements away from his creation.

Now, what to make? A creature like Volterra, usually embroiled in blood and shadows, is not accustomed to making things for beauty.

First, he uses his structure magic to bend the earth into all sorts of shapes. Tables, spikes, small hills - alas, earthen spires don't scream romance, do they? He hums, deep in thought, and instead beckons his second and lesser-known magic, which he'd only discovered in a recent fight. The ground quakes and erupts into a knee-high golem, shaped like a small horse. It lifts its stone head, looking around with its eyes of molten fire whilst more veins of lava ripple through various parts of its body - the golems are neither sentient nor intelligent, and it stomps around stupidly whilst he tries to work out how to make it stay still. It's not going to be a very good gift if it keeps walking off, is it? Nor do they tend to last very long, and he wants his present to be something Isopia can cherish for months and years to come.

So he asks Vérzés to use his frost breath to turn the little stone horse into an ice sculpture - it's winter, so the ice hopefully won't melt too quickly, and he can worry about an alternative gift in the spring. The red dragon - with an air of a parent humouring his slightly retarded child - directs a torrent of frigid breath onto the golem, momentarily freezing it solid.

But the fire inside the golem melts the ice, and the whole thing crumbles into damp dust.

The brute swears, loudly. His dragons trill their amusement - Vadir looks at him pityingly from her perch in the old oak tree, whilst Vérzés tries to offer some form of masculine sympathy.

He tries again. Another small horse-golem bursts into life, trotting dumbly around Volterra's feathered feet. He sends Vérzés off to fetch water from the nearest source, hoping that this will kill the fire inside the stone creature and stop it moving around. Alas, as his dragon drops a mouthful of liquid onto it, the little horse's fiery veins simply sizzle it away.

With mounting frustration, Volterra kicks the golem so hard it snaps into three. "Why can this not be simple?" It is as though the Gods are conspiring against him to prevent him creating something for the earth-girl. Perhaps Father Earth himself is chuckling away in the heavens, watching little peasant Volterra's futile attempts to woo his daughter.

He decides to try one final thing. He summons a third small horse golem - trying to ignore the toll on his strength - and makes Vérzés hold it still. Using his muzzle, he daubs thick layers of damp mud onto the golem, careful to avoid touching the fiery parts. Once he has covered the whole golem in mud, he gets the red dragon to freeze the coating, turning it rock-hard. Then he applies another layer, Vérzés freezes it. Rinse, repeat. After a couple of rounds, Volterra sends a stab of his mind into the golem beneath the mud, crumbling it to dust. To his delight, the frozen-mud husk remains - a hollow, horse-shaped structure, fragile but long-lasting.

Using Vérzés' dextrous claws, he etches markings onto this little mud horse. He draws lines on both the forelegs, to represent his white leg markings, then draws a skull onto the face. Volterra stands back to admire this knee-high mud version of himself for a moment, feeling pride ebb through his system.

But there is no time to rest. Another small golem bursts into life, this one with crude wings and tiny horns. This one is placed beside the first, then receives the same mud and frost treatment until it is covered in a solid shell. Sweat lathers the stallion's neck and quarters, illuminated by the full moon, by the time he's crumbled the golem inside this muddy husk. He hobbles backwards, exhausted, aching, and fixes tired eyes on his handiwork.

He has created them. A little hard-mud Volterra and a little hard-mud Isopia, stood beside each other beneath the shade of the ancient oak tree. Their markings are as accurate as his dragon's claws can make them, and although they make be crude, they are hopefully enough to show what each horse is supposed to be.

For his coup de grace, the beast plucks up the single red rose he'd found during his stumbles around the Falls. He places this between the two mud horses, and weighs it down with a pebble.

He wants her to discover this on her own, so has every intention of wandering off now his present is complete. But he's so tired, and it can't hurt to just rest for a moment....That is how he comes to be dozing beneath the oak, next to his little pair of effigys.

image credits


@ Isopia

[ you can't stray from what you are, you're the closest thing to hell i've seen so far  ]
[ use of force/magic on him is permitted aside from death/maiming ]




Isopia the Mountain That Knows Posts: 780
Dragon's Throat Apostle atk: 6.5 | def: 10 | dam: 8.0
Mare :: Tribrid :: 18hh :: 3 - is now aging slowly HP: 90 | Buff: NUMB
Hubris :: Royal Bronze Dragon :: Shock Breath & Frost Breath & Babel :: Royal Gold Dragon :: Fire Breath Odd
#2
Isopia
         in places deep with roots entwined
i live among you, well disguised
[deletes all of Iso's happy tables forever.]

As the child had died, Isopia had been reborn. Re-purposed, or perhaps just reminded of her purpose. She was not here to make friends, lovers, or flings. She was here to achieve and maintain balance. To cultivate and grow her strength - to be more than just a mere mortal.

She didn't have time for this.

For him.

It was Hubris who alerted her to his presence. Or more aptly, Hubris who noticed the red and the gold. Although Isopia couldn't hide her emotions from her companion, her exterior expression was as stoic and emotionless as ever. Perhaps if it was even possible, more-so. Her teeth clicked together, and were it actually true that she hated him, she would have avoided the border and the sleeping giant all together. Helovia was enormous and the two had gone weeks - months even - without seeing one another.

If distance was what she really wanted, she could have found it easily.

But despite her heartache, despite the feeling of having been used, of being another nameless face in Volterra's ever-growing crowd of conquests, she did want to see him, if perhaps only to disseminate her misery.

As she pushed through the borders, moving casually towards the oak tree, Isopia shifted into her dragon form. She needed now, more than ever, to feel powerful and desirable around him. Needed him to know ... well. She couldn't actually get it straight. It wasn't in any way logical, and so her mind was failing to keep up with the wants of her heart.

She wanted him to know just what he had missed out on. But at the same time, she wanted to give off the impression that whatever it was they had, meant nothing to her.

She wanted him to want her the way that she had wanted him, but even now, she knew that would never happen. He invaded and pervade her thoughts, while she was just a passing annoyance. She daydreamed and dreamt of him, while she likely only went through his head - accompanied by dozens of others - when he couldn't find a tangible mare to satisfy himself with, or when he was imaging his harem and his would-be empire.

He had been everything to her, and she was just at number.

And one of the worst parts was, he knew it. Knew that she was his first, knew how damned cagey and distant she was. Is that why he had stuck around so long? Was that his long-con? Was he really that clever? Helping her with menial labour in order to secure sex from her later?

>>Hello<< She greeted bother Verzes and Vadir, now that her draconic vocal chords could make the sounds. She glanced towards Hubris who was also trilling a hello, though given the thoughts running through his bonded's mind, he wasn't actually sure what to do. Obviously his allegiance was to Isopia, but at the same time, he didn't want to leave the red and the gold hanging, so to speak. The red of the rose caught Hubris' pale blue gaze, which immediately widened. He recognized the figures for what they were, and had to gulp back a trill of alarm.

>>Black make for her?<< he quickly asked the pair before him, knowing that Isopia's vocabulary was not extensive enough to understand him.

"Are you waiting for your sister?" Isopia asked, hoping that her voice would rouse him, if her presence and accompanying dragon-noises hadn't already. Her voice was absolutely level, neutral, and Iso-sounding, for the most part. It did sound slightly different coming from her hinged jaw, a little more guttural perhaps, but maybe that was best. And, another benefit of being a dragon was that it would be harder (she assumed) for any sort of ... intimacy to pass between them. Remember, Iso didn't necessarily want Volterra know just how deflated, angry, and hurt she was.

She just wanted ...

Well. Who knows.


Volterra the Indomitable Posts: 785
Dragon's Throat Sultan atk: 8.5 | def: 11.5 | dam: 8.5
Stallion :: Equine :: 17'2hh :: 3 HP: 80 | Buff: SENSE
Vérzés :: Common Red Dragon :: Frost Breath & Toxic Breath & Vadir :: Royal Gold Dragon :: Fire Breath & Shock Breath Snow
#3


V O L T E R R A
OH, MY EYES ARE SEEING RED
DOUBLE VISION FROM THE BLOOD WE'VE SHED

He is snatched from his sleep by the croon of his dragons, as they respond to her greeting in their eerie, lilting tongue.

His heavy head lifts, aching muscles throbbing painfully. A smile ghosts sleepily onto his face, and he shakes the tiredness from his eyes with a mane-tangling shudder. "Kis hollo," he rumbles, stretching the long expanse of his neck with a languid yawn. She is in her dragon form, and memories assault him - their flight, her on top of him, then him returning the favour in the only way he knows - as his own companions trill greetings to both her and her bronze.

The leviathan - always so suave around women, so comfortable in his own skin - is unused to the flutters that infiltrate his stomach, or the way he suddenly doesn't know where to look. If he looks at her, then it'll be all too obvious how enamoured he is with her beauty, even in dragon form - he is not the best at hiding his emotions, and his face will be an open book for her to peruse at her leisure. If he looks at the floor, then it'll seem like he's being submissive, which he never is. And if he looks at his mud creations, it'll seem like he's drawing her attention to them, like he's expecting praise - or sex - for his gift, when in reality it's meant to be a thoughtful, altruistic present with no reward in return. That, in itself, is unusual for the young warlord. He never does anything without demanding repayment.

He settles for darting his gaze between her eyes and her chest, admiring both in equal measure. She asks if he's waiting for his sister, and his eyes widen - it shows how much he and Nymeria have drifted that he didn't even know she had joined a herd, much less this one. That's a question for a different day, as this is all about them. "No, I was waiting for you. I, uh, made you a....something." He steps aside, displaying his mud-men for her discerning eye.

Weird how his heart is racing so much because of two pieces of frozen mud. It is as though the two statues are metaphors for what Volterra can provide for Isopia, for his primitive, caveman desire to make woman pretty thing. There is so much he cannot offer her, that his beliefs and Volterra-ness forbid him from offering her, but he has to show her what he can offer. Himself. The occasional sweet gesture, like this. Protection - and oh, would he tear out the beating heart of any who harmed her, and deliver it to her on a silver platter!

But whether that is enough, only time will tell.

image credits


@Isopia

[ you can't stray from what you are, you're the closest thing to hell i've seen so far  ]
[ use of force/magic on him is permitted aside from death/maiming ]




Isopia the Mountain That Knows Posts: 780
Dragon's Throat Apostle atk: 6.5 | def: 10 | dam: 8.0
Mare :: Tribrid :: 18hh :: 3 - is now aging slowly HP: 90 | Buff: NUMB
Hubris :: Royal Bronze Dragon :: Shock Breath & Frost Breath & Babel :: Royal Gold Dragon :: Fire Breath Odd
#4
Isopia
         in places deep with roots entwined
i live among you, well disguised
His word for her sends shivers down her spine, despite her deepest intentions to appear aloof. She hates how readily her body wants to submit. It urges her to lay down the weapons that she carries to defend herself against him, to become herself again, and to fall against him - into him - once more. Is it really so bad, if you are not the only one? A small voice asks. It is tentative and timid, and yet her whole body seems to amplify its suggestion.

But Isopia’s dragon-teeth crush the thought in her mouth before anything can come of it.

Because yes, it would be too terrible. I am a demigoddess, she wants to scream, despite her utter lack of vanity or pride. I am not another. I am too good for that. She doesn’t believe the words - mostly because despite her godly heritage, she feels that it is her mind that elevates her, rather than her blood, but the thoughts do help. They might not be reasons for her, but they should be reasons for him. And ah! Now that she is thinking about it, fury rises like bile in the back of her throat, clogging away the soft thoughts of pressing herself against him.

How could he not want only me - given who I am? If for that reason alone he could - should - dispel the others..!

Besides, she had already taken her vow to eliminate her love for him, and sealed it with the blood of their child. A child he would never even knew existed.

No, I was waiting for you. I, uh, made you a....something

The words make her blood run cold. She doesn’t want to hear it - doesn’t want to know what it is he has made for her. She isn’t sure that she is strong enough not to melt before him, despite the fact that she knows she has to be. I could fly away- she thinks to herself. She’s done it before - to him, and to many others. But no, despite how easily that would get her out of this, she wants to stay. Even if staying means this forced facade of indifference and emotional vacancy, she wants it.

She still loves him, after all.

Her eyes fall upon the two small figurines. Immediately she notices the detail, the effort that must have been required, the work which must have been shared. Her golden dragon-eyes move to Vadir and Verzes, and for a moment she cares more about their perception of her, than Volterra’s.

>> Thank - you  - for - help << She offered, her words broken and childish sounding. However that level of openness and lack of competency completely disappeared as her gaze fell upon Volterra once again.

"They’re sweet-" She said, forcing her tone back into its neutral cadence as she stretched forward a scaled arm to grab the Isopia figurine, while mentally she grabbed onto a dagger-

"Have you made these for your children before? They must all adore having them to play with-"

- and plunged it into his gut.

Her voice was casual, but her eyes burned holes into the figure she clutched. She couldn’t even really see it behind the haze of fury that distorted her vision - but she had done what she had intended: she had let her words slip casually and carelessly from her mouth, aloof, uncaring, but knowing.

I know about your children, and I care so little for you that their existence doesn’t ever bother me.

Or perhaps it was more like

I am so sophisticated that your progeny don’t even register on my radar.

Or even more simply,

Kids. I know you have them.

@Volterra

Abandon all hope, ye who enter here

Volterra the Indomitable Posts: 785
Dragon's Throat Sultan atk: 8.5 | def: 11.5 | dam: 8.5
Stallion :: Equine :: 17'2hh :: 3 HP: 80 | Buff: SENSE
Vérzés :: Common Red Dragon :: Frost Breath & Toxic Breath & Vadir :: Royal Gold Dragon :: Fire Breath & Shock Breath Snow
#5


V O L T E R R A
OH, MY EYES ARE SEEING RED
DOUBLE VISION FROM THE BLOOD WE'VE SHED

She thanks his dragons rather than him, and his brow knits into a frown. That's...odd. The red and gold play their part well, preening and strutting beneath her praise, studiously ignoring the crestfallen stallion beneath them. He hadn't been expecting her to fall into his arms - and other places - but he'd hoped for something a bit more than...that.

They're sweet. She snatches the figure of herself, and the brute tenses. "Careful - it's fragile." He doesn't know how deep and how true that sentence actually is, and not just about the statuette.

But little is he to know that everything that's happened so far, everything they've shared, is just the calm before the storm. And when the storm comes, it's going to be a fucking tornado.

Her next words make the beast's muscles stiffen and his ears shift awkwardly. "My....children?" Children? Plural? That is not the main focus of his consternation, however, as he assumes it is just a slip of the tongue. No, the worrying part is that she knows about Zhu, and immediately he's on his guard. Although she doesn't seem angry, the tension in the air is so palpable he thinks it could be severed with a hoof.

His dragons tense, as well. Their uh-oh is almost audible, and for once they even consent to share the same branch whilst they focus their twin gazes down on their bonded, like gawking onlookers. "You've met Zhu, then." His voice is flat, a statement. Perhaps he should have known this was coming, that she'd one day bump into his happy little accident. Perhaps he should have told her sooner, but their last meeting had been too emotionally charged for him to casually throw in an oh by the way, I have a son.

But, stupidly - or, perhaps, hopefully - he assumes she will just be irked that he didn't tell her sooner. He doesn't think for a moment that it's a whole damn lot more than that.

Perhaps tornado was an understatement.

"I...have not yet made him anything, although I intend to teach him to fight as soon as he is old enough. That's the finest gift I can think of for him." He doesn't want Isopia to think him an irresponsible father - he might be prone to sleeping around, but when he has a herd and a harem, it will be imperative that his children know how to fight. He will not raise weaklings, although this train of thought is perhaps a tad too harsh to share with Isopia so soon. Maybe she is concerned that, should they ever have a child, he might simply abandon it, but that would never be the case. He will never be a loving or doting father, but he will be a present one, unlike his own. He will be a familiar figure in his children's lives, not to offer comfort or cuddles, but to teach the important things that they will need to survive.

Of course, these are all plans for the future. He had never intended to sire a child until he had a throne and a herd, so Zhu's slightly ahead-of-schedule appearance has somewhat thrown his plots into chaos. Nonetheless, he will be there for the boy, raising him and training him into a fine young stallion - an heir, as he is his firstborn. Volterra is not the sort of man to shy away from taking responsibility for his actions, and it is not Zhu's fault that he was an accident.

The brute inhales, exhales, fixes his gaze on the demi-goddess. "I was going to tell you about him, kis hollo, but I only found out about that he existed shortly before our last meeting. There didn't seem to be a good time." We were otherwise occupied.

image credits


@Isopia

[ you can't stray from what you are, you're the closest thing to hell i've seen so far  ]
[ use of force/magic on him is permitted aside from death/maiming ]




Isopia the Mountain That Knows Posts: 780
Dragon's Throat Apostle atk: 6.5 | def: 10 | dam: 8.0
Mare :: Tribrid :: 18hh :: 3 - is now aging slowly HP: 90 | Buff: NUMB
Hubris :: Royal Bronze Dragon :: Shock Breath & Frost Breath & Babel :: Royal Gold Dragon :: Fire Breath Odd
#6
Isopia
         in places deep with roots entwined
i live among you, well disguised


Careful - it's fragile

It took everything in Isopia’s deep well of self-restraint not to ‘accidentally’ snap the thing in two, muttering a small oops. Shattered, just like he had shattered her. But Isopia was a creator, a crafter. Despite her anger with Volterra, she would not break such a genuinely nice creation, no matter how much she might want to.

Hubris looked nervously towards Vadir and Verzes, trilling a long, low whistle that seemed to say that isn’t even the worst of it. His gaze faltered sadly as he looked at the red and the gold, assuming that whatever friendship they might all have had, had just gone up in smoke.

The awkwardness of Volterra’s response pleases her, and for once in all of this, the demigoddess feels like she is in control. Is this how you felt? Manipulating me so easily? Pushing me where you wanted, touching me where you wanted? You might have made me purr, but I”ll make you scream. Volterra might have been the expert when it came to sexual advances and preying on the virginal, but the realm of intellectual-chess was were she spent the majority of her time. His body might be a match for hers, but his mind certainly wasn’t.

And so she let the daggers fly.

”-and Kid and the others-“ She interjected with a shrug of her sloping shoulders, keeping her eyes on the Isopia-carving, rolling it between her dexterous dragon claws. She interrupted as if the matter was so inconsequential. What do we need from the store? Milk, eggs -oh and butter of course. yes, yes butter- Just like that. Harmless, inert. Common knowledge. Oh she didn’t necessarily know that there were others, but she certainly assumed so. Would it surprise her to know that Volterra had been with more than three mares? Of course not, since clearly Mirabella wasn’t even in the mix. And yet Isopia knew of three children. She didn’t doubt Volterra’s potency as a male and knew well enough the hunger inside of him. Hadn’t he told her before that it was nearly constant?

And, true to form, Isopia wasn’t lying. Her child counted as an another, just as surely as she was an other to Volterra.

Her draconian skull dipped in acknowledgement as he mentioned Zhu’s name, and finally her sharp golden stare was raised to meet his as he continued to talk. ”I would think he needs help with his speech first-“ She commented again, casual as anything. Let the implications of that fall where they may. Isopia, crafter and master of the unspoken, offered just enough information to always be truthful, but to give the impression that she knew so much more. Not only do I know his name, I’ve obviously talked with him long enough to know about his speech impediment. What else did she know? How long did they speak for? How did they know each other? Was Isopia connected to the Dragon’s Throat in some way?

Oh how she hoped these thoughts were flooding through his mind.

You may have had me, but you don’t know me. Not anymore.

”Besides, I doubt Sikeax will want him running off to be a warrior.”

Oh yes. I met her. I stood eye to eye with one of your one night stands. Do you wonder what we talked about? Clearly you came up.

I was going to tell you about him, kis hollo, but I only found out about that he existed shortly before our last meeting. There didn't seem to be a good time.

Our last meeting.

She could have killed him for that. Grabbed him and flown with him again, but instead of coming back for a meeting as he so eloquently put it, she could drop him from the clouds.

"Oh? Why would I need to know?" She asked, her golden eyes appearing purely inquisitive as her elegant skull tilted slightly to the side, looking baffled. Confused.

I would only care about that if I cared about you. Which I don’t.

And then the final blow. One to his manhood, arguably his most prized possession (a place she would never hold).

Isopia moved forward, her body shrinking and contouring back into equine-form. Despite Frostfall’s chill, Isopia’s thoroughbred lineage kept her fairly trim and she was not overly hairy, despite her long feathers. She shuffled her wings slightly around her flanks - precisely the area she wanted him to take note of.

See how they don’t bulge? See how nothing of yours lives in there? The hypocrisy of it made her stomach turn in on itself, but the demigoddess stood tall, allowing her body to speak the lie that she could never articulate.

She wasn’t pregnant. At least, not anymore.

Her body had healed quickly, and even the stab mark from Ashamin was completely gone. There was no evidence to suggest that a child had ever lived in her womb.

For the first time, a small smile spread across Iso’s lips as she met Volterra’s ruby red gaze. And that gaze said, You werent’ even man enough to impregnate me. For all your practice, all your manliness, I am a demigod and you are a mortal. You could never sow a seed here.

You are the one who wasn't good enough. Not me.






@Volterra

Abandon all hope, ye who enter here

Volterra the Indomitable Posts: 785
Dragon's Throat Sultan atk: 8.5 | def: 11.5 | dam: 8.5
Stallion :: Equine :: 17'2hh :: 3 HP: 80 | Buff: SENSE
Vérzés :: Common Red Dragon :: Frost Breath & Toxic Breath & Vadir :: Royal Gold Dragon :: Fire Breath & Shock Breath Snow
#7


V O L T E R R A
OH, MY EYES ARE SEEING RED
DOUBLE VISION FROM THE BLOOD WE'VE SHED

His dragons return Hubris' cries, sadness tinging their proud voices. They know something is changing. Although they are not privy to the workings of Isopia or the bronze's mind, they can tell from their bonded's evident concern that this is something big. Colossal.

Vadir, despite her concern over the stallion's welfare, is shamelessly smug about the fact she, moreso than the red, had had misgivings about the tryst. She wraps her knife-tipped tail around the branch, standing tall and leaning forwards so she can examine what's going on below her with a sharp eye. His agony is an emotion for her to dissect, analyse, just as she had with his lust.

She's almost enjoying it, poking and prodding at the turmoil within the goliath's skull. He hardly notices, because his world is too busy falling apart.

Kid and the others. Kid. And others. "Kid? Others?" This is what he imagines it feels like to have a stone shoved forcefully down through your throat, into your chest, nestling next to your beating heart. Surely - surely - the gods would not be cruel enough as to have created more than one child through his seed. He racks his brains, counting his conquests - Mirabella, Colt, Sikeax, Zandora. Isopia is not counted in that number, because she's so much damn more than a simple notch on an ever-expanding bedpost, but that still leaves three women who could possibly have borne his child.

Perhaps Isopia has fallen pregnant to him, too. The thought fills him with a bombardment of emotions - power, to think he could have created a foal in the belly of a Goddess, and fear, because to add another progeny to his list at this tender age...it's too much.

The beast's eyes narrow to slits as the giantess speaks again. The fact she knows Zhu has a speech problem means she's spoken to him for longer than just a passing glance, and a cold hand nestles neatly around his heart.

I don't think Sikeax will want him running off to be a warrior. "She will not have a choice," he growls, firmly, half-forgetting the company he's in. If he wishes to teach his son to fight, then he will. He will not have a sissy little brat bearing his name.

She speaks again, but her words are blurs. The beast barely has enough nous to muster a response, because he's really beginning to realise that something is badly, horrifically wrong. "I assumed you would want to know." Not for the first time - and not for the last - he feels dumb in her presence, frustrated at his inability to wield words like weapons or, in this case, like armour to fend off the daggers she's throwing at him. He can only deflect them from his heart with careless swipes of his arm, inferior swirls of his tongue.

Then, she moves towards him. His ears prick, hopeful; perhaps this unpleasant misunderstanding is about to come to an end in the form of them colliding as they had in the Fields. She becomes horse again, and his eyes darken into carnal pools at the sight of her in all her glory. He arranges himself, preparing for her to nestle beside him where she fits like a puzzle piece, ready to pepper her with bites and and use his body to make up for any offense he may have caused her. On her branch above them, the golden queen deflates. She had truly thought a fight may be on the cards.

She could still be right.

His eyes are drawn to the mare's sides, greedily hunting for the telltale swelling. It isn't that he wants her to be pregnant, as that could be far more trouble than it's worth, but the idea does not repel him as it does when he thinks of siring a child with another mare. Again.

She meets his eyes. The hand tightens around his heart, pressing, crushing, as his vastly inferior brain struggles to comprehend what she's trying to prove. Is she trying to notify him that she is pregnant, or make a point with the fact she isn't? He doesn't understand. His manhood is spared insult by his inability to suss out her ulterior motives, so it is only his mind that she has made to feel inadequate. Frustration at his own idiocy makes his ears bat momentarily backwards and his lips grit into a snarl, muscles tensing subconsciously. "What are you trying to show me, kis hollo? Be straight with me - you know I haven't the patience for games like this." His voice is firm, unwavering despite the tidal wave of emotions that pulse through his bloodstream. Surely they are close enough that they can be honest with each other - surely she owes him that, if nothing else.

image credits


@Isopia

[ you can't stray from what you are, you're the closest thing to hell i've seen so far  ]
[ use of force/magic on him is permitted aside from death/maiming ]




Isopia the Mountain That Knows Posts: 780
Dragon's Throat Apostle atk: 6.5 | def: 10 | dam: 8.0
Mare :: Tribrid :: 18hh :: 3 - is now aging slowly HP: 90 | Buff: NUMB
Hubris :: Royal Bronze Dragon :: Shock Breath & Frost Breath & Babel :: Royal Gold Dragon :: Fire Breath Odd
#8
Isopia
         in places deep with roots entwined
i live among you, well disguised


At first, Isopia doesn’t know what to make of what she perceives as surprise in his voice. She might have been somewhat ignorant of babies and how they went about being created, but she assumed that Volterra certainly wasn’t. He was the one well versed in the methods of their creation, after all. Regardless, her bitterness prevent any sort of empathy or understanding from tempering his surprise. A more neutral-minded Isopia might have allowed some small forgiveness to come over her - that if perhaps he was unaware of his progeny, then perhaps that ought to temper the blame she ascribed to him. But she wasn’t neutral-minded. She was heartbroken, and furious, and drowning in guilt.

For all that she had given him - love and life - she would not give him this. He would never have her forgiveness.

And so her massive shoulders shrugged in confirmation, so casually cruel in the face of - if surprise was truly what he was feeling - this new information.  

She will not have a choice.

Isopia’s draconic jaws clenched together beneath beaded scales. That isn’t the point, she thought harshly, wondering if perhaps his brain was as dense as other parts of him proved to be. The point was to imply that she knew enough of Sikeax and Zhu to even articulate the statement that the unicorn wouldn’t approve. But Isopia’s subtleties backfired, as it was her gut that clenched in a cold black mass at the thought of Volterra forcing Sikeax to do anything. Partially because the thought of them together - of him with anyone else was still too much to bear in the wake of the catastrophic misunderstandings on her part - but the mere idea of him acting as though he owned her -  or their child - made her nauseas. Would he have thought the same of their unborn child, had it been allowed to survive? Did he think the same of her now? Her piercing gaze scrutinized him for a moment, daring him to even think that he owned her.

I assumed you would want to know.

"Why would I want to know?” She replied immediately, her voice like the dust that hasn’t yet settled after a rockslide: dry, but with the ability to choke the life from your lungs without you even knowing it.

But then, all those verbal daggers she had cast his way, came back to her.

Isopia was no master manipulator. She had gotten what she needed from Ashamin, but that had been happenstance. He had been a willing participant, easily led by her poor taunts. She had fooled herself into thinking that she was capable of something like manipulation - for all of her wisdom, manipulation required knowing more about others, than she currently did. She was too far removed from the typical condition of the rest of Helovia, that it was ludicrous to think that she could somehow sway their beliefs and plant bombs in their minds, without knowing anything about how those systems actually worked.

His lips and ears move, but not with the brokenness that she had been aiming for.

The daggers she thrust towards him veered, swerving back towards her.

What are you trying to show me, kis hollo? Be straight with me - you know I haven’t the patience for games like this.

His words hit her like a weight. It pressed somewhere on her throat and chest, like she was being crushed. She suddenly wished that she had never become horse-like at all, that she had stayed a dragon where she was powerful and huge. Like this, while still larger than him, she was something that he had conquered. Something that he had used, and she felt every bit as discarded and dirty as the trees that he might have rubbed up against to scratch off some mud. The weight spread to the rest of her body, freezing her with the cold vastness of grief and despair. In her minds eye she saw the two of them, coupled together. Only now, the pleasant songs of her body had been grotesquely distorted, and now served as a funeral prelude over her dead son - an image that wrapped itself around her mind and blotted out any lingering fondness for Volterra.

It was so easy to hate him, filled and fuelled by such a pristine and condensed sadness. It was like that ball of grief and despair inside of her was so small and weighty, that its gravity pulled in and destroyed everything else inside of herself. Perhaps it was even easier, given that he didn’t understand what it was she was trying to communicate. The panicked and anxious swell that his words caused in the back of her throat made her want to laugh in his face for his stupidity, but also to scream at him for it.

She both needed him to understand that hateful things she felt towards him - the things she knew about him that he didn’t even know, but also his failings as a man - but also felt like it wasn’t worth her time.

Which would hurt him more? To know the depths of her anger and malice? Or to know that he wasn’t even worth the words it would take to explain?

Isopia’s mind, as neutral and calm as it normally was, wasn’t in any way competent in this sort of calculus, and so the decision lingered on her tongue like an ice cube. Burning and numbing her, even as the time to make a decision ran out.

Her mind groped towards things she might say, while still haughty and vague, that would illicit the understanding she needed from him. But her hate was too large, and her grief too loud. And so, unable to adequately decipher how best to destroy him, she opted for the latter option.

"Nothing.” She replied coldly. Flatly.

Her wings spread from her sides, and mentally she prodded Hubris. They needed to leave.

The earthen-girl retreated a step or two, her wings already catching a hold of the slight breeze. But one last dagger lingered on her tongue. She had tried to hold it back, knowing that it, if nothing else, would communicate at least part of her intention. But she didn’t really mean it. It was just something nasty and hostile that she could hold onto, that made her feel powerful. And so, thoughtlessly, she let it fly towards him, consequences be damned.

"And that isn’t my name.” She uttered, her golden gaze steady upon his own, her face hardened and masked. Quickly, she turned, throwing herself into the air and allowing her wings to pull her swiftly from the ground.

Wide-eyed, Hubris looked to the trio he was left with. Quickly he snatched the Isopia figurine - it had fallen on the ground when Isopia had transformed back into herself. The Volterra figurine was still nearer to the tree - blocked by Volterra. The dragon wasn’t entirely sure what Isopia’s little last word in was going to do to the equine, and so the bronze decided it was best to just get a move on.

Clutching the Isopia figurine carefully, he trilled a goodbye to the gold and to the red, wondering whether or not he would see them again. And if he did, on what terms. His blue gaze fell sadly upon Volterra for just a moment, before he followed his bonded into the sky.



Sorry for the wait ;-; I'm the worst forever, x100000000000
@Volterra

Volterra the Indomitable Posts: 785
Dragon's Throat Sultan atk: 8.5 | def: 11.5 | dam: 8.5
Stallion :: Equine :: 17'2hh :: 3 HP: 80 | Buff: SENSE
Vérzés :: Common Red Dragon :: Frost Breath & Toxic Breath & Vadir :: Royal Gold Dragon :: Fire Breath & Shock Breath Snow
#9


V O L T E R R A
OH, MY EYES ARE SEEING RED
DOUBLE VISION FROM THE BLOOD WE'VE SHED

She shrugs. She just...shrugs.

It would be so much easier if she just raged at him. Rage, he can understand. Rage, he can conquer. He knows it, he feels it, he owns it. He can't handle this...this coldness. If she's angry with him, why can't she not just tell him? Why can she not take it out on him with kicks and bites, things that his stupid, stupid brain can actually understand?

Why does she have to use nuances and subtleties when she knows quite well that he doesn't speak that language? Why can't she just tell him what he's done wrong?!

Anguish burns through him, meeting his confusion and igniting into a great fire of worry. She's looking at him, looking at him through eyes that he cannot read, with the face of a stranger. Why would I want to know? His ears lace backwards, flat to his skull, his own face a picture of abject dismay and confusion. "Because..." But the words don't come. Because she's her? Because she's his? Because she deserves to know what he's been up to, what he's done, what he's created? Nothing, she says. He snorts his derision - clearly there's something, else she wouldn't be acting like this. He shifts, readjusting his weight, trying to hold himself in a way that somewhat negates the size difference between them - he feels mentally small enough without needing to feel physically inadequate as well.

She flares her wings, steps backwards. He shifts automatically towards her, neck arching, muzzle extending to try and touch, to make it better - but then she's turning, she's leaving, and she's throwing a dagger at his heart.

The others had bounced off the hard armour of his obliviousness, but this one....ah, this one hits where it hurts.

That's not my name.

The giant flinches. He physically flinches. He's suffered some horrendous wounds in his time on the battlefield, but nothing - nothing - hurts as much as that. She throws it back in his face, the thing he's known her by since they were both just children, the thing he used even when he knew her real name so that he would spare her blushes, preserve her secret.

That's how he knows it's over. Because it's the most hideous and hurtful thing she could possibly do - take away that one thing they have that's special. That is the name he uses for her, nobody else - it's his own little private, personal ownership of her, their little secret, a little kernel of them-ness. And she's ripped it apart.

She's ripped him apart.

Hubris snatches the Isopia figurine and neither gold nor red motion to stop him - they simply hum their lament, arching their bodies into pictures of sorrow. They know something has changed today, that something has ended. For a second, Volterra stands where he is, stunned, watching mare and dragon depart. He is dumbstruck, numb, unable to comprehend what's just happened.

Then it hits him.

The beast roars. It is a hideous sound, a great feral howl of utter hopelessness. The red mist descends, and he throws out a hoof with a savage snarl - he shatters the little sculpture of himself into a thousand pieces. Bits of him lay scattered across the ground, in every way.

He launches himself from a halt into a full-fledged gallop, his colossal hooves a thunderous drumroll on the soil. He runs until he cannot breathe, he runs until his muscles scream and his dragons huddle together for comfort from the force of his ire - and that in itself is an achievement as they loathe one another. He runs until it doesn't hurt any more, until the only thing he feels is the raging fire inside his body, until he's as far away from that place as he can possibly be.

He runs until he forgets.

image credits


It's totally fine, don't worry! I know you've had a lot on IRL <333 I loved this thread so much, thank you!

[ you can't stray from what you are, you're the closest thing to hell i've seen so far  ]
[ use of force/magic on him is permitted aside from death/maiming ]





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