the Rift


[OPEN] six shooter —

Kid Posts: 122
Outcast atk: 4 | def: 8.5 | dam: 6.5
Colt :: Equine :: 15hh :: 3 years HP: 63 | Buff: NOVICE
dark
#1
kid
I hadn't noticed the change, not at that time, I didn't for a while. It was a shift, something in me moving subtly until it all just— clicked. I didn't know what it was, but I could feel a different type of energy taking root. It was quiet, I likely wouldn't have noticed it. That is, until I got curious

Of course you'd get curious too if something inside fell into place so perfectly, something that set off a spark, ignited a fire inside that you knew was meant for something great. I wondered whether or not I should ask Mother or Sabre about it, what exactly it was. But I feared they wouldn't understand, that they would question what I was babbling about. Instead I kept quiet, waiting until I could slip away from our residence in the forest to the meadow that borders it. I kept my lips sealed, getting out from under the sharp steel watch of my dam, fleeing from the confines of the pines to the welcoming expanse of the southwest. 

I burst from the treeline, panting and itching to know what it was that had manifested within me. How do I trigger it? What is it? I look back, huffing in frustration. I had to piece things together, needed to figure out what had changed. Cotton candy eyes fall shut, my breathing goes hesitant— calm. I'm reaching out, searching for something that will give me a sign as to what I'm supposed to do. What is it that's clawing at me from the bottom of my stomach? It's beyond ticklish, it's starting to hurt. I have to draw in another breath, letting my body do whatever it wants. 

Click. My left hind leg rises, the hoof coming off the ground with little resistance. It's hesitant, slow, but my hoof draws in, the leg lifts higher. Click. Before I even realize my hoof is soaring through the air, whistling and kicking back. Bang. The itching pressure in my belly dulls, lessens. I hear something whizzing through the air, embedding itself into a tree ten feel behind me. Midnight ears perk up, bubble gum eyes following the invisible trail. I rush forward, eyes growing wider as I see it— a rock sunken a few centimeters into the base of a tree. 

I'm buzzing with excitement, ecstatic at the idea of having this. Whatever it is, it's will bring me a great advantage. All kings are powerful but I will bring a new meaning to power. I giggle at the possibilities of this magic, that I have been granted such powerful magic— it's fate

All seriousness aside, this was incredible! I have to go show Sabre, I want to show her how cool this is— and Mother too! Maybe she won't bite or kick me anymore knowing that I now have the power to fight back. Maybe not. I don't think I want to make Mother super mad, she'd probably eat me (she's threatened to do so before). The burning wounds of her recent lashings bring a grim reminder that maybe I shouldn't try to stand up for myself. They litter my back and withers— that seems to be Mother's go to spot. I can feel the bruises too, every time I shift my weight to my left side, my shoulder cries out. It was an unexpected attack— it was because Mother thought I was being greedy, when really I was hungry because she hadn't fed us for a day. Instead she'd wandered off and left us there. And when she returned she was angry. She lashed out at me in particular, I refused to scrunch up my face in pain despite how much I wanted to— I couldn't show weakness. 

"Talk."
the boy king
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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.

Isopia felt...


Well. She couldn't quite discern just what it was that was happening inside of her, emotionally speaking. Biologically-speaking she had quite a good idea of what it was. There was life inside of her. Life that mattered, like that might mean something - perhaps even bring her ... joy? Isopia had doubted that such an emotion was something that she was even able to experience for very long. But as it was now, with this small bean growing larger and larger every day inside of her stomach, she thought that just maybe she could.

It appeared the early stages of her pregnancy did not hinder her from shape-changing. She easily became a raven and felt no discomfort or maternal concern for the child inside of herself, and so she didn't let her mind dwell on it for too long.

The Frostfall winds wrapped tightly around her avian body, but she ignored them. Giving in to Volterra had seemingly made it much easier to keep everything else out. She was still wrapped up in the memories of their mountaintop escapades, and the passionate energy her body had created then, seemingly was staying with her now. It coated her mind and her thoughts in slick images of the two of them together - a coating so thick that not even the bitter winds of Frostfall could penetrate it.

Perhaps that was why it was so easy for her golden gaze to lock onto the boy below. Perhaps because he looked so similar in many ways to the stallion who had been on her mind. Sure his facial marking was a little more ragged, and of course he was but a boy - but Iso had known Volterra as a colt, and they did not appear dissimilar, even if Colt looked a little more petite. He was a far lighter shade of black than Volterra was too. Perhaps it was her mind playing tricks on her? Seeing Volterra in everyone that she met?

Her golden eyes narrowed as suddenly a rock was flying from behind the colt with more speed than should have been possible. The raven-girl believed she could actually hear the thing embed itself in a tree.

Earth magic? She thought to herself with amusement, as if laughing at all of the correlations she could make between the boy below her and Volterra. You're just making things up now. But at the same time ...

"What about this -" The raven-girl called from above. As she spoke, her magic ran implicitly through her body. A clump of earth rose up near one of Kid's hooves, offering an assortment of rocks pushed up from deep within the soil, while a ring of water suddenly appeared about 10 ft back.



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Kid Posts: 122
Outcast atk: 4 | def: 8.5 | dam: 6.5
Colt :: Equine :: 15hh :: 3 years HP: 63 | Buff: NOVICE
dark
#3
kid
I looked up, having heard the whistling of wings in the wind. My ears go slack, features dropping in disappointment. For a second I'd believed it to be a bird, but this was much fatter— and uglier —than a bird. I wrinkle my nose, knowing well the familiar diseased form of a winged horse. This one has a streaming banner of red waving behind her. AS if that makes her any better. I lift a lip in disgust, letting it curl and the venom of my hate brew in my gut. 

I gazed up at her, "what about this." I raise a brow, wondering why she's done this. I look back, hearing the sounds of lapping water. Does she also have magic? Who let something so inferior get such power? Bubble gum darkens, a seriousness befalling my features. Does she want to see more? I question, glancing up at the girl. Why? I eye the rock pile suspiciously, questioning what she means for me to do. Does she want me to shoot the rocks into the pool? My brow remains raised as I glance up at the ebony youth. 

My nose wrinkles up at the sight of her thick body accented by large wings, swallowing the sky above my head. How dare she think she can go above me. I'm going to be a king one day, and when I am she's going to regret ever doing this. All of Mother's words pound through my head— her burning words of hatred against the other races. And this girl— she will see no kindness on my behalf. Even if she has granted me a target range, I will not let her gifts waver my disgust at the plagued maiden. "I don't need it." I speak bluntly, ears flat and brows narrowed. I speak firmly, reverting to the ungrateful brat my Mother would never allow in her presence. 

I'd learned to hold my tongue around her, the bites along my cheek and neck are enough to show I'd learned— but that didn't mean I didn't let myself go when Mother wasn't around. It's a shame Sabre isn't here, we could be a mean team. But alas— she's probably off on her own adventures, or stuck being interrogated by Mother on my whereabouts. For now I'll stand my own to this disease ridden creature and show her what true power looks like. 

"Talk."
the boy king
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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.

Outright cruelty was not what Isopia had expected.

While some interpreted Iso as being cruel, she rarely was intentionally. That they viewed her as such, she usually believed, was their problem. Outright cruelty was, as such, something she didn't really understand or see the need for. Though this response? She couldn't believe that it was unintentional. No - the lip curling, the sense of contempt and disgust in the few words...

Though Isopia wasn't particularly bothered by it, more intrigued as to its source, it's purpose.

"I think you could." She replied, in her usual academic matter-of-fact tone. Spreading her black wings, she glided down from the tree branch she had been perched on. As she did so, her body swiftly and fluidly changed back into her regular form; disgusting wings and all. "That shot looked lucky. I bet you couldn't even get another one through the circle."

A taunt? A challenge? Isopia's weirdly academic way of encouraging the young colt to learn and do better?

Who knows.

Hubris landed on Iso's back, behind her pauldron. The bronze creature gripped her mane and stared with large wide blue eyes at the colt. However much he wanted to tell Iso that this child was obviously a brat and to leave him be, he was impressed at her willingness to begin a conversation, and so did his best to keep these thoughts to himself.

The demi-goddess looked at the ring of water which was still hovering in the air. "What good is having magic if you aren't any good at it?" Her words weren't necessarily a judgement on Kid, moreso just an objective fact.

Still, if the boy wouldn't shoot through her ring and prove her wrong ...

And then, because she was far too curious about the boy's hasty dislike of her: "And why did you have that reaction when you saw me?" Was it something about Ravens? About her markings? Her dragon?

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@Kid

Abandon all hope, ye who enter here

Kid Posts: 122
Outcast atk: 4 | def: 8.5 | dam: 6.5
Colt :: Equine :: 15hh :: 3 years HP: 63 | Buff: NOVICE
dark
#5
kid
I took notice of the shimmering bronze scales of something I had wished did not belong to her. But there, as she landed, was a metallic dragon who glided onto it's perch upon her back. My stomach dropped and my blood stirred, ivory brows knitting together as I kept my eyes glued to the winged reptile. Why did she get one? I look her over, paying attention to the growths behind her ears and the mangled feathery tumours upon her shoulders. I grunted in disapproval, letting my mind piece together that which I barely knew. 

Dragons were for equines. They didn't bond with others, so why did this one follow her? I look at it, and then back to the girl with her cruelly patterned face, and back again. "You don't deserve that." I answer calmly, flicking back an ear at my statement. She didn't. With such disgusting blood like that, I wouldn't take a second to guess she had forcefully bonded to the companion— could you do that? That's the only reason that makes sense for this pretty thing to be tagging around behind that. She probably stole it from someone unsuspecting and made away in the night, and that made me angrier than just being in her presence. 

I give her a second to register what I said before she speaks up, calling my shot lucky. I look offended almost, but angry too. How dare she said it was a lucky shot. I'll show her who the lucky one is when I get a bullet in her eye! I snort at her comment, furrowing my brows and looking up at her with seething anger. "I'll practice, but I don't need your help to do so." I flicked a glance towards the water ring, secretly trying to avoid shooting for fear of proving the smug mongrel right. I had an excuse! I'd only just gotten this magic. Really it was my fragile ego. 

I looked repulsed (I always did in the presence of such gross things like her—) and shocked that she had the audacity to speak to me like this. That she doubted I would ever be any good at the magic I had, that I would assume I was a natural born wielder of this new power (maybe I did just little bit). "I'm going to get good at it!" I practically yell back at her, looking up into the coffee coloured face with a stern look of disapproval at her doubting my abilities. Did she think she was better than me? ME? (I'm going to be the king you stupid feathered thief!) How dare she!

She asks me a question that really sets me off, my frown deepening and features getting more contorted as I tried to show how smelly and gross she was. "Because you're that." I motioned to her entire being— her entire existence. "Aren't you ashamed? Why, you're probably so sick, you don't even know how icky you are. Has anyone ever tried to get those gross wings off your sides? Don't you want them gone so you can be normal?" I say wings like it's a tabooed word, like the very mention of it might bring Mother to the field to smite me. All in three seconds flat. "And those pointy things! Yuck." I was half tempted to turn my head as if to look at Sabre for back up before recalling that she wasn't there, that I was alone. "Thank goodness no one in my family is like you." I could confirm this because Mother told me that Volterra was an equine too. That brought me reassurance, that I'm not related to anything so diseased like this pitiful girl. It had taken a few weeks to get it out of her though— that was the equivalent of a lot of punishment. Anything related to "father" was a banned topic, one that if Mother even thought we were going to mention she'd go into rage mode and beat us until satisfied that we wouldn't mention it again (Of course I did). I brought it up continually until finally she crumbled and snapped at me, clearing up the topic of at least Volterra's race. 

"Talk."
the boy king
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nice kid, straight to the point

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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.

On her back, Hubris huffed, trilling his disagreement towards the colt. Isopia on the other hand, remained expressionless as always. "It isn't a that. It's a he. And what does desert have to do with it?"

As he advised that her help wasn't needed, Isopia's large sloping shoulders merely shrugged in response.  "I didn't say you need my help. I merely implied that my magics would make it easier for you to practice, which you clearly do need." Ever the academic, all of Kid's scowls and body-language went completely untranslated by Iso's vast mind. She saw his ears flicker, his fact contort - even heard the disapproval and anger in his voice - but it didn't register on any conscious level in her mind.

Anger, was usually unimportant.

You're that.

Am what? Isopia wondered idly even as Kid continued to speak. As he referenced her wings, she moved them slightly as if it would help to shed some light on what it was he apparently found so abhorrent. Was it that they were mis-coloured? One was cream, while the other was splattered with the same dark maroon that trailed up only one of her legs. No ... his markings are uneven as well.. She said to herself, eyeballing the child and eliminating aesthetic-appeal from the list of possible candidates for his anger.

Don't you want them gone so you can be normal?

At his mention of her horns, his apparent racism was made obvious.

"That's silly." She responded in her typical lecturing-tone. "There's obviously nothing I can do about it. I was born this way. It would be like condemning you for the markings on your body. You don't have control over it. Although, in my case, even were my wings ripped off and my horns sanded down, my blood would still be tribrid. It would make no difference. It can't be changed."

Hubris huffed and patted the side of Iso's neck. Racism bothered him a lot more than it apparently bothered his bonded. Kid was perhaps lucky that the dragonling was still too young to be in possession of his magical abilities...

"So why be ashamed for something over which I have no control? I don't feel shame for earthquakes or tidal waves, and yet those are part of my heritage too." Her tail swished around her, as Kid articulated that he was glad that none in his family were like her.

You and me both, kid She thought dryly.

"Oh? And what are they like? My mother was an equine - all of my magic - and my icky, as you so eloquently put it - comes from my father."

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@Kid

Kid Posts: 122
Outcast atk: 4 | def: 8.5 | dam: 6.5
Colt :: Equine :: 15hh :: 3 years HP: 63 | Buff: NOVICE
dark
#7
kid
I looked at the dragon and then at the mare, assessing her lack of a response in the facial region. What I wanted was a reaction, some kind of response from her. It was frustrating not to get anything— no surprise, no confusion, no anger, nothing. Not getting it was frustrating, but I bit it back as she finally responded to me. It was a male dragon that settled with the girl, like that changed anything. And I never mentioned any desert (or did she mean dessert?). Her question confirms my sneaking suspicions that their brains must be smaller, that they must not be as smart as us. That or she was hard of hearing— probably the former. 

"I didn't say anything about dessert..." I rolled my eyes and gave a huff to show my annoyance. I felt like I was trying to talk to a completely different species (oh wait, I am).

I look at her, frowning further as she keeps talking (did I even say she could talk?). "Well— I don't need your magic to practice either." I spit, subtly trying to mimic the way my mother spoke to me. It still needed some work. But with the amount of trouble I get in, I'm sure I'd eventually get a hang of it. "And yeah I need more practice, I know that. I'm not stupid— unlike some of us here..." My sentence ended with the last bit falling into an annoyed mumble. Whether she heard it or not all depended on whether or not she decided to actually start hearing. But her words made my huge ego shrink down at least two sizes (I am very aware my magic sucks right now! She doesn't have to rub it in...). 

She didn't look hurt when I insulted her, she didn't cry, didn't look offended, she just sat there stone cold. She didn't give me the response I wanted, and that frustrated me. How could she just sit there and listen to me say such mean things about her (they were mean, right?) Maybe she was still processing what I said (I did say a lot, her little brain probably needs another minute). 

She drops her words, and inside I'm outright terrified shocked. This new knowledge of this issue running through blood, not being some disease— well it just about shook my whole existence. Sure, this meant that I couldn't get sick from her, but it made me think. Does this mean her parents were icky too? Now I pitied her more. She couldn't get rid of it! She had to suffer like this, even if I took her wings and her horn, she'd still be infected. I look at her like she's some pity case, not offering real sympathy for the inferior girl, but offering more of something mocking, not serious. Sucks for her (sarcasm), forced to be ugly and gross for all her life. 

I paused as I ran back over her words. What was.. tribrid. I look at her suspiciously, raising and eyebrow and questioning whether I should even ask her or not. I decided to keep my mouth shut, because whatever information she spewed probably wouldn't be correct. 

"Well, you should be ashamed. Doesn't mean you have to. But I think you should be—" I cut myself off because telling her she should also keep her stupid mouth shut just doesn't seem to fit well with that sentence. Maybe at another time. But she questions what my family is like, telling me what hers is like without me even asking (totally uncalled for, I didn't even want to know). But now I know what tribrid means. Her mother was an equine, and I guess her father was... super icky. "Well that makes your mother stupid. Didn't she know your father was icky?" I snorted, raising my head as if that will somehow show off my clean pedigree without me even having to say anything. "My mother is an equine, and my—" Well, father doesn't seem like the right word. He isn't, he's just... Volterra. A name, no face, no position in my family, not even a special label to mark our connection. "Volterra is equine too." I say bitterly, hushed, glancing to the sides as though Mother might spring out to kick me square in the face (a very real threat). 

"Talk."
the boy king
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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.

Were Isopia the type to gesticulate, she might have rolled her eyes as the cold tried to correct her. But because she wasn't, she merely stared down at him through wide golden eyes. "You did. You said, that I didn't deserve the dragon. That's what desert is - the conditioning of deserving something."

Of course the girl could understand the boy's insinuation that she was the stupid one present, but of course she ignored this. If nothing else, her previous statement proved at just what intellectual level the two were operating at. Not that she blamed the colt for being slow. He was just a child after all.

Well that makes your mother stupid. Didn't she know your father was icky

At this, Isopia actually did make a face. "I don't think she had a choice-" She began, her lips twisted upwards as if she was recalling something quite disgusting. She didn't know much about the moments that led up to her birth (likely because there weren't many). She knew Hototo died, The Earth God Chose Kahlua. And then ... Kahlua was given passive magic and Isopia was conceived. It wasn't rape exactly, but nor did the girl think that her mother would have chosen that particular story arc for herself.

Isopia might have elaborated, were the next few words not uttered by the boy. As he said the word Volterra, despite the fact that the ruby-eyed stallion had been on her mind, his name sent shockwaves through her body. But not the pleasant kind that he ushered through her before - these were cold, and heavy, and deafening.

Ever the master of stoic-faces, Isopia closed her lips and blinked, easily hiding the icy stormy welling inside of herself. He has ... a son?

"You didn't call him Father-" Isopia noticed aptly,
"he and your mother...are they .." But she couldn't make herself say together.

The word was a dagger.

"Is that where your magic comes from? From Volterra?" She tried to say his name as if it was for the first time, swallowing hard and forcing the syllables out. She knew that (the father of her child) Volterra had powerful earth magic - and while she didn't know precisely what composed Kid's powers, it certainly made sense that earth was one of them.

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@Kid

Kid Posts: 122
Outcast atk: 4 | def: 8.5 | dam: 6.5
Colt :: Equine :: 15hh :: 3 years HP: 63 | Buff: NOVICE
dark
#9
kid
I huffed, looking up at the girl. I didn't ask for her to spew shit at me like this. "Well, whatever. It's a stupid word." I murmur, glancing off to the side and flattening my ears. I didn't want to admit to myself that she was even remotely close to being smart. She didn't deserve the recognition I was giving her, the attention. I should have just ignored her when she approached me because this conversation was making my temper flare. Bubblegum locked onto the mongrel's features, hoping for any form of expression. 

This girl was surprisingly uneventful, her face didn't do anything. I'd gone through and insulted her, her family, told her her parents were total idiots and here she is blank faced. I wanted to scream and her until she did something. But there she was, as solid and expressionless as some shitty statue. I'm half tempted to stomp around her and hope she reacts somehow. Trying to assess someone who does nothing sucks.

Just as I'm about to execute my plan (insult until she cries or I get too impatient), she finally does execute a response. Her face scrunches up like she's just remembered smelling someone's month old shit that's been over baked in the sun. I take her expression, feeling victorious that my words did that to her. But I was also confused, although not showing it. How could her mother not have a choice. "What do you mean? How did she not have a choice? It's not like she had to have you." I say 'you' with a light brush of disgust, still trying to pick apart the mare and her disgusting tainted lineage. I wanted to pluck at this girl's emotions, to manipulate her emotions for my own entertainment. 

This response was especially enticing to witness, the way her mouth shut and her eyes closed. I took in the subtle movements, willing my excitement to die down. I was experimenting, testing foreign waters that would open the gates to my future, to my life of manipulation and destruction. 

I shrug at her noticing Volterra lacked the title he should have been given, the title I didn't think really fit him. "Well, you wouldn't call someone you've never met your father, would you?" I ask dully, eyes flitting off to the side, uneasy. Somewhere out there, Mother must be sharpening a thousand knives, getting them all ready for me. I swear she could hear me talk about this tabooed subject from a million miles away— and she would not be happy when I returned to her side. 

But also I wonder where Volterra is, whether he even knows of the existence of his children, if he even remembers my mother. This is a fatal slip up on my part, thinking about the whereabouts of this ghost father I seem to have. In all honesty I couldn't care less about where he is, that he's never shown his face before (I'm not aware that he hasn't because Mother would probably bite his dick off— She doesn't want him around us). 

I notice the way she cannot complete the sentence, the way it halts from falling from her lips and stays there. it lingers and does not dare come out, and I raise my brow innocently. "Are they what?" I question, wanting her to spit the uncompleted pieces of her sentence out even though I could take a good guess at what it was she couldn't say.  

Her next sentence falls out, my eyes watching her throat as she swallows thickly, noting the subtle hesitance in her syllables. If I hadn't been listening so closely and paying attention to the little things she does, I wouldn't have noticed and simply passed it off. But there I was, assessing the way she spoke after I brought up Volterra. It seemed to strike something in her, and that excited me but also brought me great confusion. Did she know Volterra?

"I don't know where it came from." I offered no help, because in reality I did not know. I didn't know that either of my parents had magic, that either of them were gifted like me. If Volterra had magic, does that mean Sabre does too? I told myself to ask Mother about magic later, when I got back— and she was less angry. 

My eyes wander to the girl's face again, determining the proper words to use against her in this scenario with the knowledge I have. I take a guess, using her response as a base to my question. "You know him, don't you?"

"Talk."
the boy king
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tag me in everything

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
#10
isopia.

 "It's hard to say no to my father ... Especially in this case. My birth was ... necessary." Isopia hedged, mincing her words somewhat. The girl wasn't used to mentioning who her father was at all, much less trying to justify or even explain why it was Kahlua couldn't have said no. It wasn't as though he forced himself on to her, but perhaps in some sense, he did. As Isopia said, he wasn't exactly easy to say no to.

Well, you wouldn't call someone you've never met your father, would you

"I-" Isopia began to say something about social customs and familial relations. How, regardless if the colt had ever met the stallion, that he was still his father in some sense of the word. Though it had taken Isopia almost a year to refer to the God of the Earth as her father, so in some respects she understood. But despite all that, she couldn't even get the words out.

Because Volterra was the father in question.

Volterra who thundered through her skull like a hurricane and dislodged her normal ability to distance herself from these obnoxious emotions, and to think clearly.

"-together." She replied, her voice soft and low. "I was going to ask if they were together. But if you've never met him, I assume that it was just a one time thing." Anyone else might have avoided telling a child that their parents merely had a one night stand, but Isopia wasn't just anyone. Not only did the political incorrectness of her statement not even dawn on her, but as the child of a one-night-stand herself, it didn't seem especially problematic to articulate.

You know him, don't you?

The words catch her fully off guard, and she does her best to hide it. But her eyes fluttered to his face a little too quickly, her ears tilting forward a tad too much. She hadn't expected the deductive leap from the colt - especially since he didn't even know what desert meant in their current context...

In another setting, she might have commended him on his intelligence, told him that such rational thinking was a rare skill to see these days, but what compliment she might have offered sat mute on her lips.

You know him, don't you?

don't you?

don't you?

don't you?


"We fought together in the Riftian Wars ... I assume that was before your birth." She replied, not untruthfully. "And his sister lives in my herd." Again, this was true. Iso didn't know why, but she felt awfully guarded about expressing anymore. Then again, perhaps it was perfectly fine not to mention how many seasons she had been pining for him, how that lust had finally come to fruition, and how she carried his child in her gut (which was now clenched and cold feeling). 

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@Kid

Kid Posts: 122
Outcast atk: 4 | def: 8.5 | dam: 6.5
Colt :: Equine :: 15hh :: 3 years HP: 63 | Buff: NOVICE
dark
#11
kid
I raise a brow at her choppy response, curious as to what she meant by necessary (and as to why she spoke so awkwardly there). How could someone's birth be a necessary matter (little do I know, mine technically was too— at least to Mother), was it that important that something so vile produce more filth? I peer up at the towering ebony female, flicking back my ears as a sign of my confusion on this topic. "How are you necessary?" I don't tone down my harshness, meaning for it to be a snide comment about her existence. I was merely trying to have some fun, a little jest if you will. If I had hands to gesture with, I would have done so when I spoke, wishing to motion to the entirety of her being in a cruel mocking manner as I spoke 'you'.

I was poking fun at her, anything to make her react in a manner that wasn't awkwardly uneventful. Somehow during this encounter I felt like I was conversing with a bag of rocks, perhaps a tree (but that's an insult to rocks— and trees). If I'd wanted an emotionless void to talk to, I would have tried aunt Nymeria. 

I listen in when she begins to say something, frowning when only a fraction of a sentence comes out. Why wouldn't she continue? What was she going to say, and why had she so suddenly cut herself off? "You what?" I demanded, narrowing my brows and showing not a shred of regret at asking the question. She was only proving her disloyalty to the future king with such foolish acts like this, not sharing information was a foul game to play against me. 

I give her time to dwell on the churning thoughts within, the spoken syllables that have fallen between us. What is it that she thinks about now as I— the most important thing at this time— ponder my own things. I didn't need to hear her pity stories, her harrowing tales of her father or some bullshit that's supposed to make me feel any better. Whatever it is she was going to say, I didn't need to hear it and I regret asking about it. It was simply an impulsive action, a reaction to having something kept from me. I was no man boy to be keeping secrets from. 

-together. What a thought. I listen to the word seep from the ebony lips slow, oh so painfully slow, as thought she can't bring herself to say it. As if the thought of togetherness is repulsive to her, like the idea of Volterra and Mother being together is a terrifyingly awful concept to her. She speaks low, quiet and deep. Something is amiss, something I can't place my foot on just yet, but desire to. Why did she care for the relationship between Mother and Volterra? Why had she had such difficulty spitting out the word 'together' as though it's poison, as if she spoke it she'd seal her fate? "Why do you care if they're together or not?" I inquire, bubblegum eyes unblinking as I gaze at her, transfixed on the skull-carved features of the mongrel before me. 

Her announcement of Sabre and I being the result of a one time fling is no news to me. I'd known from the days after my birth that I was not going to see a father figure in my life, that I was going to be raised a bastard child alongside my sister. I was quick to accept that, because I hadn't gotten the taste of a paternal figure, so I wasn't going to miss something I'd never had. I didn't see need for one. 

At this ripe young age, I have yet to develop a knowledge of love and its almighty powers— it's fake promise of conquering all difficulties that stand before it. Even now the idea is nasty, an abhorrent concept of others swooning for each other and devoting their lives to a single other creature who will eventually cease to exist. I bitterly resent those happy, prancing fools with all my might, their heads clouded with all too bright fantasies about things that aren't going to benefit anyone but themselves. There are more important things to admire— me for instance. 

At my question, she forgets being a stoic statue of stone and snaps her attention to my skeletal features, ears leaning too far forward far too quick. Her reaction is immediate, and the game is afoot. I witness the shift in her cold visage, in the way her eyes are frantically pulled to me at the question I produce. My lips twitch as I taste victory upon my tongue, sweet and splendid. 

She speaks, mentioning the Riftian wars. That I know nothing of, and it peeks my interest. The mention of war sends a shiver up my spine, prickling and exhilarating as the word befalls her lips. I am all too young to know the adrenaline pumping, pulse pounding, bone rattling excitement and joy of war, but I can feel that I was meant for it— deep in the marrow of my bones I know. I know that I hail from warlords and conquerors, from gunmen and bandits alike, I am the conjoining of two separate bloodlines— an ultimate breed made for the destruction and pillage of insignificant lands. I will become a bearer of calamity, a king of carnage and ruin. 

She has mentioned my aunt too, Nymeria. Tied to Volterra in blood, I have only met with her once. That was during my birth, when life was all too fuzzy and faint— her face only remains because our features are mirrored, our genetics passed to show our hollowed eyes and daunting teeth. We bear marks of death, tied at birth we are both bringers of massacre, bad omens to travelers and passersby— we are bad luck on legs, wielding power behind our white masks. We are fear itself, harbingers of despair and chaos. 

"What herd is that?" Mother had briefed Sabre and I on the herds, not dwelling too long on any of them. She had a resentment for them, like their names left a bad taste in her mouth. I knew limited information on them, but enough to know where they generally were, whether they could be trusted or pushed away, and whether I was allowed to wander near them (the latter two are disappointing— I cannot trust nor wander towards any of them). I ask for Nymeria's position because I'd like to know where I can seek out the one connection to Volterra, the one line that links Sabre and I to our other family. Mother seems to disapprove of this one connection— this interruption during our birth that came in the form of an unwanted relative. She seemed to loathe after the coal black woman and her dragon, but I looked up to her. At the time of my birth, Nymeria had been all that Mother appeared naught— she was elegant, mysterious, subtly petrifying and intimidating in ways that Mother could never be. I sought her out, sought for her to teach me her ways of mystery and guise. 

"Talk."
the boy king
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wayyyy longer than intended, but hopefully it makes up for the wait ~

@Isopia

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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
#12
isopia.

 Isopia's large golden eyes blinked in response to his question. She should have known that her response would not have satiated his curiousity - indeed, it seemed to have fed it. She chewed on her thoughts for a moment, wondering how to answer. It wasn't often she spoke openly of her lineage ... It seemed too much like bragging and almost never seemed relevant. But in this case ... Perhaps it was?

"Each God must have a child in Helovia." She began, her voice returning to its academic cadence, no longer stumbling over the emotional implications of before. "Seasons ago, the Earth God's son died." She considered saying he was murdered or killed, but that would suggest unnecessary judgement on the Moon Goddess. Judgement that the girl didn't feel, but nor did she feel like defending her aunt the dirty, so she dropped the value-laden word and went with died instead. "And so, another child was necessary."

I am that child. Was the conclusion, but she thought the boy clever enough (maybe) to put the pieces together on his own. Clearly she missed whatever provocation the boy had intended.

If she could have peered into his mind, heard his assumptions of her and why togetherness sounded like a repulsive phrase on her lips, she might have commended him. Further, if he could know just how much she shared his thoughts on the ridiculousness of love, perhaps that might have detracted from how horrible she appeared to him. But then again, if he knew the whole truth of it, he likely would have laughed or spat in her face. And he wouldn't have been wrong to do it.

"It was just a question." Isopia replied, again, not untruthfully. What else was there to say on the subject? Because your sibling grows in my belly? or Just wondering if there are other mistresses to commiserate with?

There is a pause, and for a moment Isopia wonders how long it will stretch for. The girl is comfortable enough with silences, and usually it is her interlocutor who breaks the silence first - either by asking her something dull like her name, or by growing exasperated and leaving. She was waiting for the boy to do the same, when he spoke.

"The Hidden Falls." She answered simply, though provided no other information. He hadn't asked for anything other than the name, after all.



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@Kid

Abandon all hope, ye who enter here

Kid Posts: 122
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Colt :: Equine :: 15hh :: 3 years HP: 63 | Buff: NOVICE
dark
#13
kid
What I lacked (very thoroughly, thanks Mother) was an understanding of the gods. I'd never before heard of them, never even bothered to think of them— despite believing myself to be some gift sent by the divine, I truthfully was inadequately educated on the existence of these deities. How many were there? Was there only one? Did they have names? Speaking of, most of Helovia's history escaped my mind because Mother has never bothered to talk to me about it (I know she's not some history major but shit, I'm clueless), meaning I don't know what roles these gods have played. She's too busy scolding me, beating and bruising my growing bones and biting my baby flesh— she doesn't have time to consider teaching me Helovia's past. It was all a blank slate, clean and untainted by any of Mother's thoughts and opinions— things that would warp the way I perceive others (and really already do). Perhaps now is the time to learn, to request knowledge from the god born.

It takes her a good time to even explain where her lines are from, that she was necessary because the demigod who proceeded her passed on— thus she was created. My mind attempts to comprehend the idea that gods needed to have children, that they could not settle their earthly matters on their own (what were they doing— whatever gods do— that couldn't wait?), and needed ambassadors. "What happened to him?" It completely passes me that gods are immortal (because I don't know that), and that it makes the most logical sense that their children inherit some of that immortality as well— so how does a child of a god come to die?

And so she proclaims herself a demigod, a child have mortal and half all mighty— a being with golden blood and mortality that is an advocate for peace among the lesser. "Yes but why, what's the purpose of a god having a child?" I pause temporarily because what are the gods? They must be oh so important if they must have little mongrels crawling around Helovia. "How many gods are there?" Hopefully not a lot, I can't imagine being surrounded by so much filth— whether they popped out of a godly tryst or not, they were gross.

I stare, unblinking into her aureate eyes with little to learn there— they're closed off, distanced and keeping something there behind them (they always are), something precious and secret that cannot be freed. Whatever she keeps in these confines, I do not know, not unless I pick and pry in an attempt to learn what she hides. I crave to discover these secrets, pleasantly thrilled at the idea that perhaps I could dig around, explore the detachment of her gaze with all the tools I have (which are few).

So I plot meticulously, looking thoughtfully into the safe mind hidden behind a gruesomely engraved skull marking— deep into a place I could not venture. "Well, you would think you cared with the way you were struggling to even ask," she had let the question fall unfinished from her lips until I demanded a response from her, pushed her towards what she sought in secrecy rather than letting her avoid the topic. I continue to prod, probing deeper into the subject to see if I could get anything more from her— that she wouldn't continue to brush the topic off.  "So what does it matter to you if two strangers are together?" I blink, playing my hand carefully in the way I prod into this woman's emotions, desperate to know what more she's hidden.

A prolonged silence leads me to believe that perhaps after this interrogation all these questions, she has finally found her level of tolerance. That in a moment's notice she'll turn and go back to that she came (not the womb, unfortunately)— but from wherever she flew in from. Somewhere in me hopes she'll first answer my question, give me the knowledge I seek, the guidance that will allow me to locate my aunt (twin to the absent Volterra, perhaps she can give me details on him).

The Hidden Falls.

It's a simple answer, one that needs no more elaboration. Mother had told me (very thoroughly, in fact) where each herd rested in Helovia's borders. The Falls was to the north, a short day's journey from our residence in the forest— far enough that I could slip away without getting caught by Mother's steel sights and return before she noticed my absence. "Have you ever talked to her?" It's an easy enough question to answer, but I fear the caped woman will take it the wrong way and I'll find her shortening the answer to a yes or no. But I didn't make an attempt to reiterate, instead watching and shuffling my feet absently with bubblegum eyes locked onto the mottled brown mare.

"Talk."
the boy king
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@Isopia ~

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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
#14
isopia.

HOW ARE YOUR POSTS SO GOOD FPFPFFFPPPFPFFFFT

The girl assumed that when the boy asked what happened to him he was inquiring about the manner of his death. For a moment Isopia could only look at him plainly, trying to decipher the motivation behind the question. Was it macabre? Mere curiosity? Something more naive? Or something more nefarious? After a handful of seconds she decided that it didn't matter. Isopia wasn't much bothered by the death of her half-brother, and speaking plainly about it didn't cause her any distress. Though apparently her minute attempt at avoiding this conversation had failed.

"There were murders a few seasons ago. Before you were born - before I was born, too." She began, studying the boy. If there was any indication that he had heard any of this before she would have skipped over parts, but as far as she could tell, he hadn't. Or at least the information didn't appear to strike him as old news, so she continued methodically along. "It was the Goddess of the Moon who was behind them. She was restoring Helovia to a balance that it had lost. To regain that balance required ... sacrifices." That was the word the Goddess had used, wasn't it? Sacrifices? Isopia had been young - very young - when she had met the Goddess, but even so, the conversation still sung sweetly in her mind. "Hototo as my half-brother was called, tried to defend the stallion that the Goddess possessed to complete the murders. She didn't do it yourself, you see. She used him. Gaucho I believe his name is. And Hototo, the altruistic creature that he was - " She had to stop herself from saying fool and letting her own personal judgements cloud the story telling. "- tried to stop her. He was of course killed."

As she finished, she moved on to his next question, finding it odd how similar it was to the conversation that she had recently had with Mesec. And she was glad for it. Anything to pull her thoughts away from the pervading coldness that came with any return to Volterra and his progeny.  "Balance, I am told. They are not infallible, the Gods. Some think so, but they aren't. Not really. And they are ... so much bigger than the rest of Helovia -" The way she said bigger seemed to indicate that she did not just mean in physical stature. They were grander, more vast - it pushed them farther away, displacing them in time almost because of their enormity. "- so we are here. Like touch-points I suppose, a way to calibrate."

Was that helpful? She doubted it. But then again, to say, because they aren't all they are cracked up to be, kid, seemed far too crass, even if it was closer to the truth.

"There are four," She recited academically. "The God of the Earth, who controls earth and water magic, Goddess of the Moon who controls dark and wind magic. The God of the Spark who controls shock and time magic, and the God of the Sun who controls fire and light magic. Each is also the patron of a herd - the Goddess watches over the Worlds Edge, the Earth God over the Hidden Falls, the Sun God over the Dragons Throat, and the God of the Spark over the Aurora Basin."

Her mind began to form a thought, something like, why haven't your parents taught you this? but that brought her back to thoughts of Volterra, and she mentally grimaced as she tried to let her mind flee. However the boy had seemingly caught onto these thoughts and forced the conversation right back into the emotional cold and dark.

Well, you would think you cared with the way you were struggling to even ask "You're just a boy. I wasn't sure if such questions were appropriate to ask. What if you burst into tears?" Isopia, queen of the half-truths responded. She almost said something like, and isn't that the way the world works? Mommys and Daddys stay together? but no ... she didn't think it was. Hers didn't. Kid's didn't. Her unborn child wouldn't have parents who were together. No, even that broad generalization seemed too far from the truth for Isopia to verbalize it, so instead she shrugged.

"I don't know. What else am I supposed to talk to a boy about? I tried to help you with your magic, but since you wouldn't let me.." Her massive shoulders slumped in a shrug, and she was pleased when his lips offered her another question.

"Yes. She came seeking membership. My rank affords me that power and so I let her in and directed her to those she needed to speak with. I've seen her only a handful of times since then."

Why had she said that? Suddenly she didn't know and her golden eyes peered deeply into the depths of Kid's bubblegum ones, scrutinizing him just as he did back to her.

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@Kid

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Kid Posts: 122
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Colt :: Equine :: 15hh :: 3 years HP: 63 | Buff: NOVICE
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#15
kid
I wait with learned patience, counting the seconds that tick by between my question and her response time (I count at least seven), eyes blinking sloooowly as she finally begins to open her mouth to speak. The information that my curiosity brings (nothing macabre or twisted, just an itching need to know what happened to her predecessor as dying doesn't cover it). Murder— the term was loosely known, an immoral action that presents itself on a platter of great disaster, a cataclysmic event to which a life (or lives) can be lost at the hands of an emotionally driven (or ruthless) individual or individuals. It's nothing pleasant, to say the least.

It is a subject Mother only once spoke of, late in the evening when Sabre slept and my mind wandered— I had found myself questioning the definitions of all the words I'd picked up in my travels, what this meant and what that meant. Mother seemed almost repulsed when I asked her what murder was, if it was something to look forward to or something she to disapprove of. Mother was immediate in her response, cold and a hollow tremor in her voice that I could not place— she looked down upon me and spoke harshly— that never should I consider murder a just thing, that I should never consider taking someone's fate into my own hands. So it's a taboo subject, for the harshness in Mother's voice sent shivers quaking through my entire being and I cannot bring myself to remember that face for fear it will haunt my nightmares (again).

And now I'm baffled (though my face does not show it), because she says a few seasons ago— but she is not a few seasons old, her still developing structure places her at a few years. Do children of gods grow up quickly? Do they stop growing? My lashes batter in thought, gazing out into my blurred realm of contemplation (a messy, poorly blended horizon) as my questions wander. Does this mean she could be as young as I am but have aged so quick I would not know? What a weird idea, one that actually seems repulsive to me Mother, to be included in the same generation as her.

"What kind of balance was she trying to achieve by sacrificing others?" This question follows immediately the sentence that inspires it— why must the moon goddess take away (what I could only assume to be innocent) lives? What was she gaining by breaking families and causing such chaos? This was no way to achieve balance, no way to be a god. It was cruel, unnecessary punishment laid upon the mortals by a divine hand. My stomach knots and teeth clench at the image of Sabre being taken by these murders, made a sacrifice to create balance— how sick.

And so the demi weaves a tale, telling me more about the history of Helovia than Mother has ever even considered.  A puppet for the goddess, Gaucho, is used as a mortal dummy to create calamity among everyone— he is a victim— but unlike the others, he does not die (at least that's what I assume, she doesn't mention whether he survives or perishes). In an act of bravery and defiance the first child of the earth falls at the moon's hands (what a terrible thing). "Was the earth god mad?" How could he not have been— his son fell at the hands of one of his associates (what a cruel joke).

She goes on to talk about the gods and their greatness, making it seem like they were unfathomably fantastic and beings of epic proportion. It was a hard thing to imagine, considering that I'm so young and my mind has yet to imagine these incomprehensible existences— that they were apart of something more than just what they perceived to be. "So you're supposed to be connectors to Helovia and them? An advocate or representative?" I'm trying to take in these words and ideas, to not cast judgement on the moon goddess or the actions of Gaucho or Hototo— but see with an open mind the way the gods live and speak to their followers.

I personally (with earthen magic, controlled by this girl's father) see no reason to pursue these gods, that I've lived months without knowing their existence— proving that I don't need to pray or sacrifice in their names to get the magic they so dutifully shared with the rest of our land, that they did not play a key role in my development until now— so why start here? It may seem selfish or idiotic to cast aside their major roles in Helovia's growth and development, but on a personal level they seemed to do nothing for me. Perhaps my magic was inherited from my creators, and the gods had played no part in granting it.

I don't live in any herd, so maybe that too plays a role in why I haven't learned anything about these gods— why they've been void in my life until now. Mother probably would have kept me from learning about them for as long as she could knowing her— dragging me from any mythical happenings to prevent run ins with deities she probably doesn't have faith in until I'm finally big and strong enough to squirm away from her grip.  

I try to hold in my annoyance, feeling offended that she would think I would cry. The idea of sobbing is a repulsive thought, absolutely not something I would ever do. My eyes run dry from my lack of tears, my willful refusal to submit to Mother's labels— weak— that is what I am not. She may force that name upon me every chance she gets, but I will never bow to it, never consider it my own. I will not fall under her ideals, not give her the satisfaction of being right. "I don't cry, or 'burst into tears'." My voice falls flat and low considering it's still at its squeaky, undeveloped state (where I sound like a chorus of mice every time I open my mouth). My lack of amusement at her willingness to skirt around the subject because she believes I might be sensitive (bullshit) sours my mood, an ear dropping in accordance to her words. Personally, I feel offended that she would even consider me bawling at how mommy and daddy aren't together!

I raise a brow, unamused at the hulking shoulders she shrugs and her confession that she doesn't know what to talk to boys about. "Anything, literally anything." I'm not having any of your gender specific conversations today, no ma'am— I am shoving that pile of shit right back at you if you think I'm going to accept that you're struggling for a topic to discuss with a boy. "It's no different than if you were talking to a girl. It's not like we have to talk about dicks or masculinitybecause I'm a boy." I furrow my brows, looking up at the giantess with disapproval and an unpleasant bitterness in my mouth. Does she think that because I'm a boy, we have to talk about specific things like muscles or strength or protein shakes? Because that's entirely incorrect.

I nod my head along, listening to her talk about accepting my aunt into the Falls, babbling about how she has only seen her a few times since then— she doesn't have all the information I need, but enough. "What's your rank?" She'll probably be something big and fancy because she's living in her father's lands— she's gotta have some privilege, right? "Was she nice?" This is another question, asked as our eyes lock in a battle between molten gold and petal pink— our attempts to see deep into one another intercepting each other (dammit). I needed information, to know whether Nymeria was someone approachable or if I risked losing my head to her (to which she would lose her head to Mother).

"Talk."
the boy king
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@Isopia pfff its mostly just the muse this thread is giving me C": also sooo much longer than i intended oops

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Isopia the Mountain That Knows Posts: 780
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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
#16
isopia.

Isopia shrugged with a genuine display of uncertainty. Something quite rare for the tribrid. If she could have known Kid's mind, she might have been shocked to feel such strong disapproval coming from him. He seemed so quick to anger that she would have assumed that he would gravitate naturally towards death and destruction, even if it was apparently haphazard. Especially with Volterra's blood coursing through his veins. But the boy's face was like a mask of marble - not disimilar to her own - and so she had no idea the repulsion that her words inspired in him.

"I don't know. Maybe it was preventative and eliminated some nefarious future that will now never come to pass ... or maybe it was to make up for something from before." Her wings splayed slightly from her flanks, an open display of that is all I know, before they folded tightly against her flanks once more.

Again that shrug. "I don't know. " It had never occurred to her to ask, it didn't seem to matter to her. "I think he was sad. Hototo was ... " A thoughtful pause. "..more like him than I am. I think he liked that."

She nodded easily enough to his third question, despite the fact that she wasn't entirely sure whether she believed it to be 100% accurate. The Gods hadn't exactly ... asked any of them to do anything, had they? They had been given companions and had been told to watch out, but other than that, they were merely glorified figure heads. Weren't they? It was like being put in an office with keys that opened every single door, draped in an obvious uniform, but having no idea what your job was supposed to be. Isopia's current business card would have just read, the mountain that knows. Though perhaps that was good enough.

"I suppose ...I'm the second of the second set. The Sun God's child erupted into flames, and so a new one was born." Her mind flickered with Aithniel, whom she had met during her Father's silly boat-project a few seasons back. "But the older two don't seem to have a better idea of how we are to meet those ends that I do."

Isopia's expression remained neutral as the boy's face appeared to contort with some semblance of frustration as his righteous (albeit squeaky) voice left his small muzzle. "How was I supposed to know that you wouldn't?" She countered, almost condescendingly, but meaning to only point out the obvious. As he continued, something like confusion blossomed on her face. It's no different than if you were talking to a girl- What? Why was he-

Oh.

Because she had said she didn't know what to talk to a boy about. In the absence of his name, she was merely trying to refer to him as a young child, but he had apparently taken some offence. Even if he had interpreted it that way, so what? His indignation didn't make sense to her, but then again, had Isopia never encountered Volterra she might have thought herself almost entirely anhedonic and asexual. That gendered language might be offensive had literally never occurred to her. "I didn't know your name. Boy was to indicate that you're young. It seemed less condescending than calling you a child." This was not the first time that Isopia had tried to actually be less offensive but ended up being more. "I grew quickly, because of having half God-blood in my veins. I wasn't young for very long. I don't know what's proper to talk about with you, boy or girl."

Isopia exhaled. "Storyteller-" Then she waved a wing, recognizing the lack of content that her title actually held. "I'm the one who communes with the God of our herd for information and whatnot. " Fitting, no? her eyes seemed to say, though with no small amount of self-deprication. "I also fight with our warriors." She added, as if to suggest that she wasn't completely useless.

Was she nice?

Isopia blinked. She hadn't expected that question - it didn't seem to be the sort of thing the boy would want to know, or would find interesting. Isopia looked up slightly, as if the answer was hidden in the trees behind Kid's ears. She chewed her lip for a moment, and then her gaze lowered. "I don't know. " She said simply. Isopia, who was rarely 'nice' wasn't actually that good at identifying it in others. It wasn't like Nymeria had given her gifts or anything. What did niceness entail? "We didn't ... fight?" Isopia said slowly after a moment more of consideration, wondering if that was a helpful clarification.

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@Kid

Abandon all hope, ye who enter here

Kid Posts: 122
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Colt :: Equine :: 15hh :: 3 years HP: 63 | Buff: NOVICE
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#17
kid
I narrow my brows, thinking about what possible futures could create such chaos that the gods need to intervene— that one of them has to murder in order to reroute history, narrowly avoiding a cataclysmic event by taking the lives of a handful of individuals. What a twisted thing. I won't voice or express the displeasure that runs through me at these vulgar ideas (who would even think of killing innocents?), instead keeping quiet as the demigoddess explains with a shrug of her shoulders. She even unfurls her wings (wow they're big) for a brief moment to express further that she doesn't quite know the reasoning behind the goddess' murder.

She expresses that she isn't entirely sure what her father felt after the death of her half brother— something akin to sadness is what she claims. 'Hototo was... more like him than I am...' "What's the earth god like?" My mind is a blank slate, the possibilities for the earth god's personality endless— a neutral god, a fair one? Maybe he has a temper (nah), or is easy to impress— I could probably sit here all day wondering what kind of persona the deity wears, but why waste that time when I can simply as his child?

"Well... isn't it kind of pointless to have representatives here when they don't even know what they're doing?" A brow arcs, wondering what things they could possibly do in their parents name (and why the sun god's child burst into flames, like shouldn't they be immune?). I shrug nonchalantly at the pointlessness of the demigods in their oblivious state— it's not my problem— I'm a king, not a peacekeeper or mystical phenomena.

I listen to her explanation on why she'd used the term boy rather than child or kid (really, if she had used that she would've been spot on). I noticed the contorted confusion that laid itself out on her canine carved features, obviously showing that she didn't realize I would misinterpret her words.

I flatten my ears and glance off to my left, huffing and puffing with displeasure because my name practically is child or boy— there's really no difference between them. Mother's unoriginality in naming me has finally reared its ugly head (I knew it would happen eventually). I heave a great sigh in protest, rolling my eyes with an obvious lack of enthusiasm in introducing myself. "My name is Kid." My title rolls off my tongue easy enough, but it comes out stiff and leaves a tart taste on my tongue. I'm expecting a laugh, `a restrained snort or tell tale tremble of her sides that shows that indeed she was entertained at how pathetically ridiculous my name was (because who names their kid... Kid?) "Will you tell me your name?" Really, it seemed only fair. An eye for an eye— right?

It was a simple enough question, but it meant so much more than an easy exchange. It was deep, a form of trust eagerly placed between two absolute strangers (could you call us strangers?)— we'd exchanged things much more important than names, you think we could trust each other now that we'd shared so much (more like she's shared so much and I've just— questioned everything).

So my theory on gods' children growing rapidly seems to be correct (lucky me), my eyes looking her over cautiously, suddenly curious on how it felt to grow up quickly— to wake up several months older and several inches taller (ha, I wish). "It all depends on the child— some are content with talking about pretty animals and shit," I almost snicker at the idea of me babbling on about buzzing bumble bees and pretty pink flowers (look! They match my eyes!). "Others— not so much." I was perfectly pleased with chatting about whatever I could— any information that my grubby little child hands could grasp. It was easy to sneak around and innocently play along, asking questions that adults wouldn't hesitate to answer because 'who would deny such a sweet child answers?' They probably don't even think I'll remember them by the time I've grown up, or my mind is so muddled and unorganized that I won't even hear half of what they're saying (jokes on them because of course I'm paying attention).

"That's— a misleading title then." Is my answer to her claiming the title of storyteller. "Do you ever actually tell stories or is it just a lie?" As fine as I am with lying, what if the children seek her out to ask for a mystical, harrowing tale? Will she pass them off to speak with her sire or actually listen to their request and settle in for a fable to share?

And she fights! As cool as it sounds, is she any good? Or maybe she just plays the part of the practice dummy and gets battered around (hard to imagine someone her size getting battered around though). "Are you good at fighting?" It seems absolutely outrageous to even consider asking her to later teach me to fight (maybe I will take her up on that offer to practice my magic), but if she has proficient skills— maybe it could work out? Except that she's much bigger and stronger than me (and will always be much bigger, I'm doomed to be a shrimp), and so her fighting style probably accommodates that into the equation while mine will factor in my size (when I grow)— so it's pointless asking, I'll find someone else.  

Golden eyes flutter shut in response to my next question (was she not expecting it?), again the words 'I don't know' come from her lips (why does she keep saying this? Can't she at least guess?), my teeth grinding together subtly at her lack of knowledge in these areas. Her words come out, drawling on in her uncertain response— what the fuck does she mean 'they didn't fight'? Am I supposed to think this means that Nymeria's nice and frolic towards her? Does it mean I should still take precautions? I need to know if I'm ever going to get anywhere with my aunt and keep my head (where the marking I stole sits on display). "Well.. is she approachable at least?" (At least).

"Talk."
the boy king
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@Isopia

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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
#18
isopia.

"Your fa- Volterra could tell you all about him."

Perhaps the most difficult thing she had done in her entire life was keeping her voice neutral even as the words tumbled out. She hadn't actually meant to say them - but as soon as the thought pulsed in her vast mind her lips were spewing the related sounds. It was all that she could do to force her tone to be even and without the bitter angry or irony that she felt in her veins. As it was, Volterra probably would even do a better job than she could, in this regard. "He's large. The biggest in all of Helovia I imagine. He makes me look normal-sized. He is .." The demigoddess paused, searching for the right string of adjectives to describe the earthen diety. Most of them she plucked from conversations with others, for she felt no real strong thoughts about him one way or another. Well, except that he had blurted her name out once, in front of an entire group, and she had felt the first stirrings of hate in her belly for that misstep. "..very kind. The Earth God is understanding and forgiving. He is probably the most level-headed of the Gods, though his fault is that he wants to see the best in everyone."

Is that the answer you were looking for? She wondered, staring into the depths of Kid's uncharted bubblegum stare.

Well... isn't it kind of pointless to have representatives here when they don't even know what they're doing? She shrugs. "I doubt trees know what they are doing when they grow large and domineering. And the gravity doesn't know what it's doing when it pushes the ocean around, but they're still needed."

Kid? His name was Kid?  Ironic that he took offense to boy.

"They call me The Mountain that Knows." She responded, for once having a name that she wasn't disinclined to give out. And in a way, it was just as good as her 'real' name. It was given to her, it was what she was called - how was that importantly different than any other name? Sure, it was longer than most, but the boy in front of her had an adjective for a name, so she didn't really think he was in a position to judge it. Though she is mildly surprised that he asked rather than demanding it. At the beginning of their conversation she would have judged him boisterous and pig-headed, though now that his inquisitive mind was beginning to show and he was demonstrating some restraint of the racism he seemed to harbour, she was actually finding him more or less pleasant. At least as pleasant as Isopia could find anyone.

Iso nodded complacently enough with his characterization of child-minded topics. She hadn't engaged with many children ... just Volterra (she swallowed hard) and Zero (this brought a soothing sigh from her lips), and both, at the time, had been pleasant but likely unusual.

"It is misleading," She agreed with something like a smirk. "I don't think it's a lie ... I think at one time it was a requirement of this position that it tell stories ... stories of history and legends and whatnot. I'll tell history if it's needed, but only real history. Not a fantastical version. " Another shrug.

"I've won some and lost some." She replied simply, unsure of how to characterize 'good' in this context. "But being large isn't all there is to winning." Isopia continued, as if assuming (correctly as it turned out) that he was thinking about her size in relationship to her win-streak.

Isopia pondered his final question, not sensing any of his frustration - not even the subtle grinding of his teeth. She was enjoying this, and, since he kept asking her questions, assumed that he was as well. It hadn't occurred to her that if perhaps her answers were more informative, he wouldn't have to keep posing new questions.

She began to say, Of course she was approachable. We had to approach each other in order to speak- But Hubris trilled with amusement in her mind as these thoughts began to form. He shook his head, indicating that she had got it wrong, but, since he was unable to articulate his thoughts, left it to her to puzzle out what it was.

"Yes?" Isopia replied, shooting a glance towards Hubris who nodded before inspecting his claws once again. "She was ... fine? She had questions about the herd ... She asked what a storyteller was as well. Nymeria said that she wanted a purpose and wondered if her brother - your fa-" (again, nearly that same mistake) "-Volterra lived in the Falls. He didn't - and doesn't "(she added quickly) and that was that. I told her where to go as she wanted to learn more about becoming a spy, and -" She shrugged with her massive wings again, That was that.

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@Kid

Abandon all hope, ye who enter here

Kid Posts: 122
Outcast atk: 4 | def: 8.5 | dam: 6.5
Colt :: Equine :: 15hh :: 3 years HP: 63 | Buff: NOVICE
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#19
kid
She catches herself before she makes a grave mistake, my eyes solidifying at the prospect of what she almost says— father. Riiiight. You mean that stallion I've never met before? Lemme just pull up my dadar real quick and see where he's at! No biggie (wow sarcasm through the roof). "And where do you think I'll find him? Should I follow his trail of bastard children?" Of course I don't know if there's anymore of us (in reality, there's going to be a small army soon enough), if Volterra can control his urges or if he's a madman with no limitations on how many women he beds (you think someone would tell him to keep it in his pants).

— But really, did this woman actually think that I could summon Volterra and ask him what the earth god was like? That as his progeny I have a magic tracking device that lets me find him instantly? And why ask something so random? Why not be like, "hey dad what the fuck why am I just now seeing you where have you been all my life?" Not, "wow so the earth god?"

Her explanation is brief, a prolonged pause inserted in the middle as she seemingly struggles to find a describing word for the deity. I'm quick to catch the silent seconds, ears twitching in response to the silence that fills her sentence. "Why the hesitance? It can't be that hard to describe your own father? Perhaps she feels distanced from her father because he's a big wig deity and he doesn't have time for her, or maybe she just hates associating with him? Whatever it is, I'm going to be nosy about it (probably shouldn't be but oh well).

I nod my head, shrugging my shoulders in defeat because as much as I'd like to jump into an argument and tell her that trees don't think and gravity doesn't live, I just don't have enough care for the subject. Let her justify her uselessness if she so wishes— it isn't my problem that she's potentially never going to fulfill her purpose (wasn't she just preaching about her necessary creation?) So I'll let her think that eventually she'll find some ultimate reason that she was given life, let her drag on her existence until finally she comes to the understanding that she cannot just sit and wait for her purpose to present itself to her— she must look for it. But I won't tell her that, she'll probably say something to counter it.

What a weird name (I say with a name like Kid), but perhaps fitting. She could pass as a mountain with her staggering height, although the real question was— "What do you know?" If she's a mountain that knows, certainly she must know something spectacular to earn such a title, or have a vast range of knowledge. And I have many things that I'd like to know, so I'd best ask my questions quick before this mountain gets annoyed and squashes me.

The Mountain nods along as I list briefly the general topics that could be discussed with children, swallowing thickly the guilt mid nod before taking a few seconds to release a gentle sigh, peeking my interest. What makes her swallow her dread, and what makes her sigh? My eyes squint subtly, peering at the taller woman as I try and look over what I'd said (is she reminiscing her brief youth?), wondering what it could be that made her react in such a way.

Her rank title (the Storyteller) can be misleading— and she even states that at a time it may have been required to weave fantastic tales of history and the like to share among herd members, but it certainly wasn't now. She would share these tales, but she would not put a little magic (if you will) into them, leaving them to be harsh realities rather than sugar coated dreams that make heroic, just kings and evil sorcerers. And this makes me wonder, how much history does she know if she was born only a few seasons ago? Maybe her father has shared harrowing tales with her, given her a run down of Helovia's past experiences, or she's sought out others to tell her such.

"Well of course it isn't, there's certainly plenty of other factors." This I can barely elaborate on, as my lack of knowledge of fighting keeps me from listing more than just 'strategy and ability'. Size does matter (haha), and it can serve as an advantage or disadvantage in terms of fighting— on one hand you can move quickly, but your strikes won't be as damaging, or you can hit hard but struggle to move fast enough because of your bulk.

I catch the mistake again, narrowing petal pink eyes with displeasure at her mess up— correcting herself but not quick enough for me to miss the mistake. "You can just call him my father if you're having trouble." Any expression has since slipped from my skeletal features, gaze shifting dismally to the shrugging wings— I'd noticed her quickly dismiss any possibilities of Volterra living with Nymeria and the Mountain, as if by somehow not adding in that he didn't live in the Falls would've given me hope that maybe he was among the members there (to which I had no interest).

"Talk."
the boy king
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@Isopia

made by reli

tag me in everything


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