the Rift


[OPEN] Is sand worse than snow...

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
Kirchoff :: Common Hellhound :: Superspeed Tamme
#1


Ulrik made his way south toward the Dragon's Throat. The last time had been there... Well. Hm. Perhaps not the last time, but the most memorable time had been interesting to say the least. He had been on a fighting force behind Psyche, and he had watched her fall in battle. Then, in irritation and disappointment, he had turned his back on his opponent and left. A short time later, he had shoved Psyche into retirement and given Deimos his own position as interim leader.

Only the Throat looked different now. There was an ocean between himself and the middle part of it - the part that contained the oasis, if he remembered correctly. So this was troublesome. Ulrik stood there for a moment, a sour expression on his face as he considered this literally ocean between him and his goal. Did they have a doorbell? Anything? Perhaps a foghorn so that guests standing upon the threshold did not have to sit in the miserable sand awaiting an answer?

Also, was he expected to swim across? Or did some pegasus rig some sort of flying device to cross? The thought made him nauseous. He had absolutely no interest in flying, and he preferred his two, cloven hooves to remain firmly planted on the ground. "My name is Ulrik of the World's Edge, and I come to offer my services to you as allies." That much was true, but he wasn't sent. He came of his own accord.

He had ulterior motives, of course. He was not such a benevolent creature to expect nothing in return. However, what he wanted was quite easy to obtain since he had some inkling that she lived here. Essetia. Ulrik wanted to be near and keep an eye on her, as creepy as that sounded. Perhaps learning her habits in her natural environment would shed some light onto who she was? It was worth a try.

And thus he stood at the threshold, wondering which was worse: sand or snow?


table by tamme | |art by lunarblues


(Ulrik is going to make stuff for Maren :) in part of a deal)

@Maren

(Please tag me in every post)

Maren the Crownless Posts: 264
Outcast atk: 5 | def: 9.5 | dam: 6
Mare :: Pegasus :: 15.0 :: 6 HP: 70 | Buff: NOVICE
Mr. Teatime :: Siberian Tiger :: Sing Yewrezz
#2

The sunshine fell through the stiff cracks of her eyelids. Even during the flushings of icy winds it felt warm and nice on her face as she wandered tiredly through the mull grounding, almost tripping over her own hoofs once. That night the tiger mare had slept between the rocks of the beach, next to her boat, where her body had lain into a self-made, hollowed nest of sand. The sour dusts of nightly winds had covered her nicely with a blanket of salt until the morning light had welcomed her into another day. But now, as the seagulls for no apparent reason attempted to chase her away from her self-made nest, she had found herself looking around for the one that had called himself Ulrik, ally of the Throat. Or so he said.


His dark figure had dripped into her vision like a shadow, yet he was an undeniably bright contrast standing in front of her. "That's very... gallant of you, Ulrik of the World's Edge." the tune of her words stretching on his identity. "But Services these days mean many things, in case you are not aware." Her speech just loud enough that it carried as far as the sounds had needed to get; words having formed inside the framing of a smile — nevertheless, her eyes said nothing, crowned with silence. The winds screeched in the background as if to make up for it as she found herself closer to the dark stallion, gleaming in the reflecting sunlight, which was when she noticed the tribal marking covering the whole of his shoulder. Not having seen such before, her eyes rolled back to the stallion, ears curling along. Yet, she said nothing else as she found her thought fleeting in the morning. Facing the sea-wind, the mare stretched her wings, let it blow away the salt and send that had nested there in the night. With one of the feathers she scratched the underneath of her chin, after which they attempted to wipe away the nastiness that had grown out of her eyeballs. When she thought she had let her words echo long enough, she let out a light, puffy sigh. One that looked suspiciously less transparent than any normal one.


"If you don't mind, I'd like to claim that aid you offered. You know, you are lucky I'm the one to find you," she randomly congratulated him as she turned her face to find his bronze stare. "— I am one of the more reasonable woman of the Throat, after all," she smiled. Although if that was really true was up for debate. "I am the Dragon's Throat's Diviner, Maren." However, in this moment truth lay besides her point, which was to make him feel like he hit the jackpot with her having found him instead of anyone else. How could she know he was here to spy on his ladylove? She didn’t like complaints, after all. Preferred to be appreciated instead. "You seem like a strong, capable man. I could use someone like that," she revealed. "Come with me, the real sands are waiting for us on the other side."  And she turned around to wander back to the rocky formation she came from without wasting words on possible ulterior motives.


Seagulls still terrorized the place where she had left her boat. She would’ve expected them to lay to rest after she had gone, but they were still nagging about something, she realized as they swarmed and pecked at the wooden vessel (now slightly painted with white bird-shit). She made her way through, fanning her wings too shoo them away. She looked into the boat, saw a tiny striped tiger curled up in a ball, still sleeping. She called his name. “Mr. Teatime, wake up. Make space for our guest.” She said, her voice echoing inside the hollow space of the boat. She pulled her head up and turned around to face the black stallion if he had decided to not run for his money and followed her here. If he had, she would scrape her throat before inviting him in all her dry and salty seriousness: “Hop in, sailor.” After which she would push away the vessel from the shore and hop in herself (swarms of birds potentially chasing them).


""
<333 I tried keeping it short



@Ulrik
Please tag me 


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