the Rift


[PRIVATE] the kids aren't alright

Zhu Posts: 23
Outcast atk: 4 | def: 7.5 | dam: 6
Stallion :: Hybrid :: 16'3 :: 3yrs HP: 61.5 | Buff: NOVICE
Zuno
#1
Nightmares and violent shapes
the state of dreaming
has left me numb
CRACK!!
He wasn’t sure if the sound of apparently frail horns cracking while still atop his skull or the sound of another tree limb finding itself being ripped from it’s main body.
“Fuck.”
Hobgoblin grunts something towards him. Had his mother been listening? Was she using her companion to spy on his every move, or was it that she thought that he might like the idea of being a ‘fearsome’ future warlord by installing a being that didn’t care for consequences on his side? Lips rise as he watches him yawn, raising a head high as the pink insides of his mouth flash. Black spots speckle the silver underbelly of the seal.
Yea, it was because of his personality.
A quick sweep of the floor brings no broken shards of glass, but he is not easily fooled. In play that had suddenly become more rough, especially as Hobgoblin had taken it, he’d driven a near permanent crack into his horn, letting the tip of the right one now be haunted by the constant reminder that some part of him is forced to be weak. Young muscles are being fast to gather and build beneath his stretching hide of night, but yet the moons for that night, his horns, eyes, possibly ears, are all frail and useless. It upsets him more than he lets people know, and while his ears are becoming better at catching words and letting his mouth form them ‘correctly’ now, his eyes aren’t doing that. A gift of a white blindfold wraps itself around his neck like a noose.
“Hobgoblin!”
Black eyes are staring at him now, he can feel them move across his skin, dragging slowly as they look for something. A large step rotates his body with some sort of ungraceful maneuver. He is built for war, not the gracefulness of some of the small beings in his home. In the thin sunlight, muscles ripple below the sheen of his coat, specifically groomed well for this occasion. A growing head slips downwards to the seal’s eye level, moons shutting as he does so.
“Did my horns break?”
Again, more intense inspection of his head, ears twitching as he tries to make out the changing of lines on Hobgoblin’s face. Nothing.
Eyelids rise and he finds himself in the eyes of the beast, frowning as the teeth in his jaws becomes increasingly more noticeable. The sadden, frail, thin, weak corpse of the tree that he’d be headbutting into is leans, bent and broken with a face that would of read of pain if it had gone. The only thing holding it into a single piece is a splintered wound.
CRACK!
In his head, he thinks to himself, at least my horns didn’t break.

OOC: Hobgoblin is with him for kicks c':

"Talk."
zhu


@Kid

Kid Posts: 122
Outcast atk: 4 | def: 8.5 | dam: 6.5
Colt :: Equine :: 15hh :: 3 years HP: 63 | Buff: NOVICE
dark
#2
KID
There's no denying I wasn't small anymore, but I was still exactly that—small. I was short, Sabre's height becoming superior to mine, dwarfing me by at least a few inches already (not that I was keeping track) and that bothered me beyond belief. I was still holding out, hoping that I had a miraculous last minute growth spurt and grew taller than Mother and Sabre— at the moment those chances were looking pretty dull. So much for being a tall, mighty king— now I'm going to be the enraged pipsqueak with an ego taller than him.

Thankfully the rest of me wasn't letting me down, because over the course of several weeks, I'd come to notice changes in my body (... this is not some book on the miracle of puberty so I'll keep it short). My body is thickening, producing muscle fit for my bloodlines— rippling beneath a monochrome canvas is the strength of warlords and conquerors, of kings. I am still not at my full weight, this was simply a preview of what was to come— a little sample of the truly delicious form my body would be taking. In time I'll be thick and powerful, a worthy opponent for my enemies and an intimidating presence to my subjects.  

Mother's eyes watched me closely, her words warning that if even a single hair of mine left the forest my end would come quicker than I would realize. I give a nod of recognition, breaking the eye contact and taking my leave— even as I walk away I can feel her steel gaze boring into the back of my head with tremendous force, sending chills down my spine as I move away from the little clearing Mother had deemed our 'home' (it wasn't fit for an Emperor or future king, but it would do for now).

I had intended to find Sabre, but my mind was easily caught by the sound of something breaking, brittle winter branches tumbling to the earth and clattering to the ground as a result of an unwarranted attack. I tread carefully, ears straining forward and eyes picking apart the brown, blurred forms of the trees so familiar to me— but there was something more. My lips twitch and grow into a twisted grin as I straighten out and step forward, batting my eyes towards the figure I guessed to be that boy I'd seen before. Zhu, I believe he called himself.

"And what did that tree ever do to you?" I comment, striding ever so confidently closer to the midnight boy. What I hadn't expected was to be assaulted with a new sight, a steadier, heavier boy that definitely hadn't existed the last time we'd met (oh no he's hOOOT). My eyes grace him, swallowing up the changes that have brought him farther from boy and closer to hot man. He's definitely gotten taller (shit, he's even gotten taller than me), and his muscles are much more defined than they were when we first met. And— oh.

My stomach lurches, bubblegum meeting clear crystalline— shit. He's not a fucking equine, just my luck. The frustration doesn't translate to my macabre face, but it's certainly there. My eyes linger a little too long on the glass horns creeping steadily from behind his ears, having broken through skin inconveniently after we'd met.

He even had a— fat mass with him (what the fuck is that?). I've never seen anything more angry and chubby in my entire life, totally not the kind of companion I saw Zhu walking around with. The thing looked like a big dump with flippers, and it was standing (laying?) there in Zhu's company, my face twisting in an attempt to keep from laughing. "Is that thing yours?" I really hope it isn't, because who knows what'll happen if I laugh and it is in fact Zhu's.

[Image: 2i94l5l.jpg]

ok so matching table @Zhu

made by reli

tag me in everything

Zhu Posts: 23
Outcast atk: 4 | def: 7.5 | dam: 6
Stallion :: Hybrid :: 16'3 :: 3yrs HP: 61.5 | Buff: NOVICE
Zuno
#3
Nightmares and violent shapes
the state of dreaming
has left me numb
Sadly, his opponents are becoming worthless, useless. They crumble beneath his growing mass, and when he feels them quake, shatter and splinter below the bombardment of his muscles, it offers a minute pleasure. Nothing lasts long enough to please him entirely.
The next chosen tree is thicker, heavier and taller, reaching above his crowned skull and looking down upon him with blooming leaves that promise him warmer days in the future. He doesn’t care. The majority of the children within the Dragon’s Throat aren’t built to fight him. He believes they would crumble at his might, quiver and shake when his footfalls move the earth. Bone strikes bark, and with cloven hooves digging into the rotting foliage that he walks upon, there is only a leaning of the challenge before him. Triumphantly, it holds his weight as his sternum drags against it’s body. Spitting in his face, telling him that he isn’t powerful enough to take it down. Even his teeth aren’t jagged enough to rip the flesh from the tree with his rage, and he knows better than to try.
He moves away from his position atop the thin tree, sliding away with his pride dragging along the longest hairs of his tail. Written across Hobgoblin’s face is plain amusement, and for a moment does he think about what it would be like to tear it off with a strike of his cloven feet. Pain clenches his heart momentarily. A good warlord must know his boundaries.
Weaknesses do always seem to show themselves at the worst of times, and when he finds himself preoccupied with snarling in Hobgoblin’s now smug direction, the recovering health of his ears lets an old friend’s voice go unnoticed. It’s a low click, courtesy of his lips, gives out the final alarm.
There’s something about Kid that pushes his buttons, whether it be that the boy had been the first to see him truly cry, had seen the inner workings of a man destined for greatness crack and crumble when under pressure and scared, or it was that the boy had a thing for appearing at the wrong times. Either way, it makes his ears draw back, turning fast, lifting his lengthening tail from the ground and holding it higher, his head following suit as he rises into a taller position. Had his friend been this small in the past? Or was it that in his new robust, aging body he’d forgotten that soon enough, he would tower like the trees, that not everyone, like his father, are giants?
Behind, Hobgoblin’s widening jaws bare more teeth, a threatening reminder that the hunter does not simply forget the prey that got away. Zhu chooses not to care.
Lines build and gather across his youthful features, moon eyes hard, studying, attentive as they go over Kid, looking for some sort of change. Nothing out of the ordinary. With speed, they alter themselves into a snarl, nose rolling backwards as he assesses the situation. Was he an idiot?
No.
In years time, his voice would be thicker, holding more depth and louder volume with an air of superiority, but now, his vocal cords aren’t there yet. No matter how assertive he attempts to sound with the annoyance paint to his words, now better formed than before, it isn’t perfect.
And as if on cue, Hobgoblin’s body is broken before their eyes, and within a few short seconds, is constructed into something new. Crying black holes in place of real eyes stare with amusement into the boy, as if looking for his soul, looking for something to take. “He’s Ma’s. Hobgoblin.” His tone is shifting back into a more relaxed setting, but doesn’t let his tries at asserting dominance fade. “Wrong things?”
A question presented as if there is never a single thing about the rougarou, loaded and waiting for the wrong response.

OOC: Shifts into his Wendigo form when mentioned

"Talk."
zhu


@Kid

Kid Posts: 122
Outcast atk: 4 | def: 8.5 | dam: 6.5
Colt :: Equine :: 15hh :: 3 years HP: 63 | Buff: NOVICE
dark
#4
KID
I witness him do a particularly strange action with a tree, plowing it over with his hefty body and holding it in place with his chest. My eyes watch carefully, looking at the way the thicker tree bends so unwillingly beneath his weight, the very top of it dipping towards the ground in its refusal. But it does not bow completely, even as Zhu forces himself over it— presses into it with clenched muscles and cloven hooves rooting into the wet earth beneath him. He slides back from it, letting the tree resume it's normal position— though now slightly bent. "Well aren't you a show off," I tease, a light smirk sprawled across my bi-coloured lips. I marvel at the strength hidden behind the black hide, at the way he pushes so forcefully into the tree, made it bend to his will (even if it was only slight).

I do not have such strength, not yet. Eventually I will be thick and sturdy (not as much as Zhu, but enough), but physical strength alone could not raise me to kinghood— I needed to be cunning and quick just as I needed to be dangerous and strong. As I promised to Nymeria, I would excel in both brains and brawn, where my diversity could aid in surpassing others who focused too heavily on one skill.

He finally notices me (took him long enough), turning with tense shoulders and thick head swinging towards me. Midnight ears flatten against a crowned skull, nostrils flaring from his wrestling match with the trees (weirdo) as his eyes wander over me. "Should I strike a pose for you?" I bat my lashes in his direction, turning to the side and flexing the unimpressive mass of muscle I've collected on my body (although my hindquarters have inflated more than the rest of my body). His eyes solidify then, gazing at me in stern displeasure (guess I'm not as appealing to look at as I would've hoped). Lengthy tail flinches, hovering over the ground near his ankles and rising the way his head does in an act of dominance— a sign of power over me. To think that he's the one in charge here, that he's the strongest and most deserving. Hell— I could choose not to give him my attention, to reject his title of 'friend' and leave him to his own devices. But his bulky figure and reflective eyes have caught my attention, and I don't think I'll be able to forget his face.

But just because he has a pretty face doesn't mean he immediately gets to assume the position of power between us. If anything it should be me (I'm a heir to an empire, what does he have?) taking up the dominant role (yeah right Kid, you'll never be a dom). If he wanted to assume this role of power, he'd have to fight me for it (not that I would say that aloud, I'm not trying to get wrecked). Not a sweaty, messy battle with flying hooves and blunt teeth— but a battle of wits, quick insults and intellectual retorts to which I know I have a better advantage in. And with Nym's teachings, I'm sure to become even greater of a challenge.

So that thing isn't his, as he explains to me in his childish voice, that in fact it is his mother's. Hobgoblin, he calls it. Is that the name or the species? In the moment he's mentioned, the creature sheds its skin, shattered pieces of its old form fluttering to the earth as it's replaced by endless black eyes and gaping maw. My eyes widen at the transformation, having never before seen anything like this before. "Cool." I whisper, wondering what more Hobgoblin could become. Were his forms infinite, or was he trapped to only a set number that were interchangeable?

Zhu's tone changes— not majorly, but enough for someone as observant as I to notice. It softens as he relaxes into a more casual manner of speaking, much better than being confronted by a tone dripping with venomous annoyance. "What wrong things?" I ask him, looking back at the shape shifting companion belonging to Zhu's mother, wondering what it was exactly. It was impressive, there was no denying that— but I'd much rather have something like aunt Nymeria's dragon, because it seemed much more suitable for me— a more natural fit. "What is it called?"

[Image: 2i94l5l.jpg]

@Zhu

made by reli

tag me in everything

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
IF IT FEELS GOOD, TASTES GOOD, IT MUST BE MINE
HEROES ALWAYS GET REMEMBERED BUT YOU KNOW LEGENDS NEVER DIE

He follows his son whenever he finds the time in his busy schedule of fighting and fornicating. Why, he isn't fully sure. Perhaps it's because what happened with Isopia has reminded him that he must grasp responsibility around the midriff and pin it tight to his colossal frame; perhaps it's because he is older and more mature now, and realises that he must not simply flee from the consequences of his actions. Zhu is the future, the next generation of greatness - it is important that he be kept safe.

And Volterra only trusts himself with such a task.

His dragons seize this challenge with gusto; tracking the boy is a task they have both taken into their hearts. Not out of any particular affection for the product of their master's loins, but because the herculean stallion has given them a mission and they delight in accomplishing it. They even deign to work together, scanning the great Helovian lands as though they're searching for prey, darting between the trees and working in tandem. It is beautiful to witness, and is precisely what the goliath dreamed of when he obtained two companions.

It is Vadir who spies the boy first; she sends her bonded an image, accompanied by a proud blast of flames just because she can. The leviathan immediately alters his path to follow the instructions of the golden queen, muscles rippling beneath his obsidian hide as he prowls swiftly through the familiar forest territory. He soon spots the colt with his own eyes - Zhu is built strongly, not that any child of Volterra's loins could be anything else, regardless of the weakness of the dam. The creature nearby is surely the mother's strange shapeshifter, to whom his dragons give a cacophony of screeches.

But there is another boy, too; immediately Volterra's interest is piqued. Has his son found an ally? Friends made in childhood can become worthy allies in adulthood, so this bodes well. The stallion shifts, so he can see the other colt better...and his blood runs cold.

The face is skulled - only those of Volterra and Nymeria's lineage have that marking, and last time he saw his twin she was decidedly not pregnant. One leg bears a bone marking, and the body itself is grullo, darker at the limbs, with bright pink eyes.

Vérzés circles, lands on a nearby branch. "Another hatchling?" he questions, scrutinising the pair of boys with an impassive eye.

I don't know. I really don't know. That's all the brute can reply.

He tries to age the lad - no older than ten months, he'd guess. Who did he bed that would fit that timescale? Sikeax - although he's sure she'd have mentioned twins - Zandora, Colt...which of them have ripened with his seed, if any? Or is it pure coincidence?

Could this be the bastard child that soured Isopia against him?

The monolith shifts, breaking free from the shadows so he is visible to the boys for the first time. His feral crimson eyes scan first Zhu, then the strange colt...they hunt for resemblances, something that could identify them as brothers. "Zhu," he greets his firstborn (or so he thinks), his voice a gravelly growl, his size titanic in comparison to the innocent youngsters. He looks to the other colt, then, his face showing no emotion but his heart racing. "Who is your....friend?"

image credits


@Zhu @Kid

[ 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 ]




Zhu Posts: 23
Outcast atk: 4 | def: 7.5 | dam: 6
Stallion :: Hybrid :: 16'3 :: 3yrs HP: 61.5 | Buff: NOVICE
Zuno
#6
Nightmares and violent shapes
the state of dreaming
has left me numb
Nerves string out the feelings of disinterest, the gradual shortening of his attention span as Kid tries to grasp it. There’s something about the other boy, and when he thinks on the subject too long it makes his head hurt and his anger boil. It expresses itself in the same manner as is typical with the night child: a raging, hurricane worthy storm, far out to sea where his mental state is tucked away at, his physical form the shore, accepting the somewhat rough but not aggressive waves that are rushed ashore. His eyes are cold and hard, like stones dug into his skull. Behind, his tail swings back and forth, watching, trying to listen well but only catching fragments that force him to fill in the spaces in between, rehearsing them in the confines of his skull and the brain tucked inside it till he is sure he has figured out what Kid means.
Frankly, Kid is slowly becoming his enemy. The boy’s small body is somewhat muscular, but obviously not being put to the maximum use that Zhu works so diligently to achieve. His words are weak, fruitless, playful, and when he listens, he can feel himself frown in disgust. The stoic look to his face is haunting, broken only for brief seconds to show the twitch of the corners of his lips and the collection of his eyebrows until the thinnest of wrinkles appear atop his eyes. He is not pleased.
His face even goes as far as to remain in this state, staring without much to show when the boy actually does pose. He can hear Hobgoblin’s faintest laughter, a low whispering sound that moves with the tempo commonly known to that display. This form for the Rougarou is one to make him unusually quiet, almost true to the nature it possesses.
When eyes hang on him and his structure, the rising that he does to prove superiority(because he could never see Kid amounting to something as great as himself with such a personality and lack of attention to muscle) slips downwards, releasing it’s grip on his muscles as he fades into his common state, not far from the air of dominance he has attempted to fill their surrounding with. No one would see him in this way, except maybe for Kid, but did it matter? The strongest in front of the lower weaklings can easily hold the facade they carry with every step, every ripple of a muscle bursting at the seams of a hide made dark as night, every second he spends moving and growing the mountain he sees himself becoming. Kid is nothing, never a threat. His intelligence seems subpar and caught up in other things. His muscles don’t scare hi-
Hobgoblin fucking wails, a noise that he’s never heard tear from the Rougarou yet but he can feel all the terror that gathers in his walls and threatens to burst when it flows with an almost ghost-like cry. Jaws are split wide, teeth made for a carnivore and definitely not for a deer which he has so lovingly modeled this monster from are inhabiting the rows that wall the expansion. A tongue is there, but he isn’t sure why. More cries follow, and all he wants to do is run, to hide to his mother, but Hobgoblin is not one to throw random outbursts in this form. If he had wanted to be aggressive, to make noise and slam his weight around in whatever fearsome way he could manage, would he have not shifted for his seal form?
He scans the area, moving along the trail that the Wendigo is making with his spread mouth and deep eyes. Dragons.
They fill him with a delight, tempting him to cry out to them with joy as he sees their beautiful bodies move through the air with grace and agility, listening faintly as their calls burn all the dull emptiness that had once saturated the air. But with them must mean one thing.
Father.
His body lunges into an erect position, head rising once more into an alert state, but not in the fashion of his full frontal assault that had previously occurred. No, this one is one of a military-like pose, trying to show his attention and muscles and all that he has worked so hard to make himself into over the last few months. He wants to make his father proud, regardless of what it will take.
A smile drapes across his lips, mouth opening slightly with happiness that is masked by the appearance that Zhu is trying to show Volterra his teeth and what they are growing into and how useful they’ll be in the future, ears perked and ready for every word. He isn’t sure if he’s missed the man or not.
“Apa.”
Is it embarrassing that he calls the man such an affectionate title in front of another, less worthy being? Would Kid even understand when Zhu’s vocabulary in that language is strung down to the fewest of words? Would the other know that the boy was weak when he loved and admired his father greatly(though he would never admit to it), simply through the usage of one word?
It wouldn’t matter. He believes himself fully capable of overpowering Kid in short time, and even quicker in the presence of their his father.
With lazy eyes does he go to inspect Kid at his father’s question, looking at him, searching for something he isn’t quite sure is. Did he want Kid to look powerful, to make himself worthy in front of his father, to make sure that Zhu wouldn’t have to bear the burden of embarrassment long after this meeting because his only friend proved himself a sad being?
“Kid.”
His voice is dry and lacking emotion as it plays the tune of that one word. Kid. It suits him, because as Zhu’s white eyes hang on the smaller boy momentarily, it’s all he can ever see him be.

OOC:
@ Snow: Kinda guessed that Vol would have taught Zhu maybe a few hungarian words??? I meant to ask earlier but you were off by then. if it's not okay i can easily change it


"Talk."
zhu


@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
Zhu is a tough to please crowd (give it time, soon enough I'll get to him), with his stoic being and scattered vocabulary— his silence bothers me. It's utter silence in response to everything I say. It's gonna take more than a few shitty jokes to get something from him (unfortunately). As someone who seeks every little twitch of muscle, every subtle change in expression, he's like an impossible puzzle that I struggle to solve. I want a reaction, an action, a response— anything. But he gives me nothing, nothing but subtle arches in the brow as my words echo around that empty head of his (seriously, is there anything in there?), and it makes me want to push harder (I'll make him crack eventually). I smile playfully, looking him over— wanting envious  of his bulk, his brawn that mimics those of a flow blown warrior than my own physique does. It's what I hope to achieve (what I need, in more ways than one)— one half of my goal (versatility in both espionage and battle, a luxury).

"Aren't you a tough nut to crack," I hum, looking at the bone bearing boy with a wide grin over my macabre features (why am I so oblivious). I give a ginger step closer, trying to focus more on the details of his being (those shiny ass horns), bubblegum settling on the furious tail that dances and twitches irritably at his ankles. Is it from annoyance? Maybe nervousness, irritation? My eyes linger on the bicoloured appendage for far too long, watching it flick back and forth in an erratic series of movements. I'm sure now (as I wasn't before), but the tail is fully controlled by its bearer— I wasn't quite sure with the last lion tailed equine I'd met (that salt filled filly), but I'm sure of it now. How interesting.

My smile fades as the ghastly cervine lets out the most hideous scream, an unreal call that in no way resembles an actual deer (like seriously what the fuck). My brows knit as I look at the shape shifter, a lip twitching in frustration at its constant wail (will it shut up). "How do you turn this thing off?!" I shout at Zhu (a totally pointless attempt), turning to the younger taller boy with utter horror— do companions normally screech wretchedly at random?

But no, Hobgoblin is not absolutely crazy and screaming for no reason other than to be an asshole— a shimmering golden similar to my crown catches my eye, head craning to observe the two flighted reptiles that move gracefully through the air, streamlined and precise in their movements. For a moment I'm caught up in the admiration of their appearance, perfect and everything I desire (almost everything)— but their colours tear me from my admiration in an unruly fashion (shit). There's two— dazzling gold and fierce red that make the hairs on my spine tingle with a mess of emotion. I hear aunt Nym's words flooding through my head, vivid memories of her explanation on who this particular duo belonged to— the master of the golden queen and crimson warrior, the devil draped in midnight and emotion.

My face falls slack, cotton candy eyes widening to three times their size as in the dragons' wake comes a titan in black— towering far above Zhu and I, standing on pillars of ivory and onyx. No, no no NO WAY. As much as I want to keep my attention focused on everything else happening around me (Zhu, Hobgoblin, annoying birds creating horrific background music to Hobgoblin's screaming), I can't draw my attention from the mass before me. Of all times to show up, it has to be now— just when I think I'm (not at all) getting somewhere with Zhu (what a big shitty cockblocker of a father I have, like couldn't he have waited?).

There's so much happening all at once, so many feelings welling up beneath my blood splattered breast that I cannot even begin to form words as the man Volterra addresses Zhu— how does he know him? I'm pulled in ninety different directions all at once, feeling all too much at once. There's fear, fear because here he is, the man that I have heard of only in snippets spoken from others (Nymeria, the Mountain, Mother on occasion). And shock, because here he is, this is truly the man I have heard of (the fool with his heart on his sleeve, the brawn to Nymeria's brain, the other half guilty of my creation)— it's unbelievable that he would show his face now of all times, at this random time on this random day (what are the chances?).

But most of all, anger.

How dare he show his face to me (me, not even Sabre and I)— to not even address me, in fact he doesn't even know me. My ears swing back and my expression sours only subtly, heart beating at my breast with absolute savage fury. It's just a chance encounter, it's not like he was looking for me (right?)— he probably had no clue I existed up until now (and he's probably convinced that I'm just some kid, some friend of Zhu's). I look up at the ruby encrusted ivory, breathing unsteadily as I gaze into his eyes— I can see the resemblance between him and Nymeria, but he is certainly much heavier that she is, with feathered hooves and a thicker barrel and a towering stance— I feel like he considers me nothing but a friend to Zhu.

What a way to meet your dad, huh? I smile endearingly at the dumb brute, trying my hardest to be as innocent and sweet as I can with my words (even though I'm salty as fuck) "Well, look who finally decided to show his ugly mug face." I bat my lashes in false innocence, soft smile spreading over my mismatched lips. "Where have you been all these months?" Balls deep in any mare willing? I give him a few moments to recollect himself (because I'm sure this is all a surprise to his oblivious ass) before I get at him again, relishing in the fact that I'm bashing him before his son and dragons, hoping that they find this just as amusing as I do (he deserves it). "Really, you should be getting a father of the year award! You really quite deserve it, I mean— you've been so wonderful at raising my sister and I." The sarcasm grows, venomous rage dripping carelessly from my lips as I look the feathered stallion up and down with absolute indifference in my expression.

I wasn't an idiot, and the term apa (used by Zhu) does not fool me— what does it sound like? Pa. My stomach twists with guilt and sickening disgust (I still like him, why? What's wrong with me?) as I gaze upon who I should now title my half brother. Younger, at that— I knew he was younger even though it may not be physically apparent (it was a few months ago), the boy to which I have become permanently infatuated with. I live for this moment, for wrenching him off his pedestal as 'first born' (but gently, can't bruise those perfect buns)— how good it feels to finally be the first, the unrealized excellence produced from such a blasphemous idiot. "Thanks for the intro, but I could've done it myself." I snap at Zhu, ears pinned in an agitated display, furious that he just stole my thunder.

"So I'm guessing Nymeria didn't tell you about me or Sabre?" I'm not blaming Nymeria, I'm sure it's hard tracking down your shit brained womb mate to tell him about his little fuck ups. She probably just gave up, unbothered to confess that his actions had consequences. "And yeah— there's two. You got the full package deal, congratulations! You're eight months too late!" I drop the innocent facade, now just looking one hundred and ten percent d-o-n-e. I'm sure to regret this later, but for now I'll take what I can get and enjoy it. I glance at Zhu, giving him a brief smile to show that I was taking care of the situation and he can shut his trap (which never opens anyway), and let the big Kid handle it. "So where do I sign up to be daddy's favourite?"

[Image: 2i94l5l.jpg]

@Volterra rip vol

made by reli

tag me in everything

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
#8


V O L T E R R A
IF IT FEELS GOOD, TASTES GOOD, IT MUST BE MINE
HEROES ALWAYS GET REMEMBERED BUT YOU KNOW LEGENDS NEVER DIE

It pleases him when his son responds in Hungarian. An alternative language is a valuable skill to possess, and the goliath is careful to educate the boy about it regularly. Admittedly Volterra, at Zhu's age, had wanted nothing to do with his dam's attempted language teachings - he only wanted to learn of war. But now he cherishes the skill for the useful one it is, and ensures the colt learns it too...whether he likes it or not.

Kid. Is that the other lad's name, or what he is? The giant looks between the boys - the sons - noting their similar ages, their similar features, their overall blatant similarity. He doesn't know what to think. Isopia made him suspect he had other children, so this isn't as much of a surprise as Zhu had been. But it's still strange trying to make it sink into his head that there's more than one, that his virility bid the bellies of multiple women to swell. At least he knows he is fertile. When he is a king and has a harem to fertilise at his leisure, he can rest safe in the knowledge that his balls are useful for more than just pleasure. Already they have sired two, both sons, both strong stallions-to-be.

A heir and a spare, he thinks with the first notion of a dark grin twitching his mouth.

Which one is which remains to be seen.

Vadir circles above the two boys, her scales glimmering in the half-light. She looks at both with a hungry queen's gaze, sizing them up, deciding if they are worthy of bearing her bonded's name. She sniffs, flails her tail, and shifts to land on a separate branch to her red brother to watch proceedings with a cold eye.

Volterra, meanwhile, is half-expecting this strange new boy to crumble into his arms, to call him Father and beg for him to make up for lost time. A foolish notion, it would seem, because the giant does not see love in those unpleasantly girly eyes (everything else about the colt is satisfactory, but those eyes are wrong, that's a terrible shame). No, perhaps he is wrong to expect love and submission from the boy - but he does not expect hate.

The boy smiles, and maybe it's going to be alright, maybe he will gain a son today - and then he speaks, and the fury bursts out of him like a thundercloud. There is something horrific about seeing such a feral, adult emotion freely expressed by a child. The skull-marked boy is too young to be this jaded, to have so much rage inside him. Perhaps guilt should be the first thing Volterra feels, but it isn't - no, it isn't.

The first thing he feels is relief. Because, damn, this boy is so much like him. Volterra spent his youth holding all his hate inside, channelling it into savage, dangerous rage, always on the edge of an explosion. Volterra's father ditched him, too. So the goliath knows, and he aches that his son is so similar to him - not on the outside, because the lad is far too small for Volterra's liking, but on the inside.

He's corrupted inside, too. It's dark in there, and Volterra knows what that's like. He likes what he sees.

So he stands, and he listens. My sister. A daughter. Kid is even more like him - he has a twin sister, too, and the beast's jaws twist into an unpleasant smile. Good luck with that one, kiddo. You're in for a shitty time when she gets bigger and develops an ass you can't take your eyes off. The thought of a daughter has never really occurred to him, but he finds he likes the idea. Sons are superior, of course, and vastly preferable, but every man needs daughters, sweet little girls who can lull men with a bat of their eyelids, who can be traded to other kings for alliances and favours, who will draw the lustful gazes of high-born men everywhere....

Yes, he is rather glad he has a daughter. Perhaps, when this boy's anger is spent, he will be taken to meet her, to determine whether she is adequate.

Nymeria. He mentions Nymeria, and the behemoth's jaw clenches. "No, she did not tell me." She had plenty of chance, too, before she tried to lure him into bed and then into battle. The fact that Isopia and Nymeria both knew about his other children before he did leaves a sour taste in his mouth, and his ruby eyes darken a fraction. He is their father, and he curses his own irresponsibility that they've grown up for so long without him.

No more. From now on, his conquests will be tracked diligently, because he has a responsibility to the bastards he sires. He is not a kind or affectionate father, but he will be a fucking good one, to make sure these happy little accidents turn out to be the foundations of his empire.

But first, he has an angry Kid to pacify. He sighs, rolls his massive shoulders and glances up to his dragons, as though seeking advice. They simply shoot him sardonic glares - you're on your own, mate - and watch from their branches, their bright eyes gleaming hungrily in the shadows. "Kid, is it? I take it you know of me." Which of Isopia and Nymeria have been telling tales on him? "I know not what my darling sister has told you, but if she knows me at all she will have mentioned that I do not approve of empty words." The leviathan shifts, but his crimson gaze does not leave Kid's own. "You are angry at me. I understand. But take out your anger like a man. Your body is your only true weapon - words will only get you so far."

The stallion stands tall, his body spread and open, his defences down. His dragons transmit their concern - he is asking to be attacked, for no reason? But he quells them with one stab of his mind - I know what I'm doing. "Get it out of your system. Channel all that anger, all that hate, and show me what you're made of, so we can move on." It's that simple, in Volterra's mind. Oh, he knows how to hold a grudge, but not against a family member. If he had a brother, this is how he would have solved things - fight it out, then move on. Squabbling, clever wordplay...ach, it is for women and fools.

He looks over to Zhu, not wanting him to feel left out. "You may help too, Zhu, if you please. It will be good for me to see what you're both made of." After all, it is never too soon to give his sons their first fighting lesson. The beast himself began training at a young age, younger than Zhu and Kid - oh, he can't be having them grow fat and useless before they even enter their manhood! Their training begins today, and he is their crash test dummy.

That is how the titan comes to be standing, stock still, waiting to feel the hammer of tiny hoofbeats and the bites of angry, loathing jaws. His features are impassive, unconcerned, but excited about the prospect of witnessing the strength of his children.

image credits

[ 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 ]




Zhu Posts: 23
Outcast atk: 4 | def: 7.5 | dam: 6
Stallion :: Hybrid :: 16'3 :: 3yrs HP: 61.5 | Buff: NOVICE
Zuno
#9
Nightmares and violent shapes
the state of dreaming
has left me numb
The more he watches, studying with deep eyes that go lengths beyond understanding to hide every bit of his feelings, the anger, hatred, all of his dislike from Kid that continues to bottle up and squeeze the bottle ever tighter, the more he is sure Kid will never last long. He is weak. He is small, stupid, as the words that endlessly pour from his mouth diligently confirm without hesitation for their barer, everything Zhu never wants to become.
Even in the darkest hours of his life and the days that come too quickly to end his life does he still carry on his vows to never fall into such a state. Pride will not be taken from his hands. Not from Death, not from either of his parents, not from the weakling that his mother has attached herself onto without a second thought as of her actions, and surely not Kid.
But he breaks. A scowl, sneering with mouth now deconstructing itself into a mess of wrinkles that clot around one another, tearing open their stitched bellies to reveal teeth broken cracked into points and jagged peaks. They do not dare part as they left themselves become exposed, a last symbol of strength as his willpower finally succumbs to his emotions.
Hobgoblin’s wail falls short as the dragons arrive, pulling together the separate pieces of his mouth and letting the puzzle pieces fit back into one another's’ places. Once his body has found itself in a whole position does his skin, bones, muscles, everything with mercy to his brain and soul, slip and slide into one another, mixing and searching for their new hands to hold as his body contorts to it’s master’s request. From the other side escapes a black cat, landing with grace as his paws kiss the earth, instantly rupturing into movement as yellow eyes trail a singular red form.
As if under the cue of his dear father’s presence, Zhu’s roughly but quietly eases back into the previous resting form, rising into his stance without even a bat of a lash towards Kid. He doesn’t see the quick change of the older boy’s face nor want to acknowledge the feeling of embarrassment that is coming along slowly. Would his father judge him for befriending without thought? For choosing to be around something as lowly as Kid? Any expression that Volterra generates, either facial or bodily, hangs under the watchful eyes of his son.
Kid is the one to break, and in return for his outburst, gains the slow turning of Zhu’s head in his direction, staring with the same eyes as before, letting his anger grow into a mass pleading for release. The tail hanging behind his legs halts and promptly coils until the last strand of hair no longer sweeps the earth. It swings once, twice, three times in this position as the boy’s ears lean forward, drinking all of his words.
The short amount of words directed towards him is ignored. Somewhere else, Hobgoblin chirps once for the crimson dragon’s attention, calling someone he’s not sure if he should consider a friend down to his side to enjoy the show with him.
Volterra, at last, like the shining beacon of the aging boy’s life, gives the cue. Release your rage.
His lips spread with the sensation of having once been glued together, rising his eyes to meet his father’s, gazing with intent to please and bring pride to his father’s heart. “Apa.” Words roll out of his mouth like hard stones and weigh the same.
Nem. Heavier and coarser this time.
“Harc csak Kid.”
With this, his moon eyes glare in the direction of his brother, waiting almost impatiently for the cue to lunge his ‘brother.’

Hungarian Translation:
Apa - Father
Nem - No.
Harc csak Kid - Fight only Kid.

"Talk."
zhu

Kid Posts: 122
Outcast atk: 4 | def: 8.5 | dam: 6.5
Colt :: Equine :: 15hh :: 3 years HP: 63 | Buff: NOVICE
dark
#10
KID
There is not a word that spills from him in all that time, not a peep that escapes his alabaster lips until my furious rant is done and over (for the time being), eyes grim as they take in my appearance— lingering a moment too long on the bubble gum eyes that challenge crimson, holding out until Volterra speaks to me (wow, finally I'm acknowledged! It only took me eight long months to get his attention!).

"Funny, you think she'd mention me— she is my mentor after all." I choose my words carefully, picking apart Volterra's reaction to my words, needing the closure of his confusion (why had she not told me?)— waiting for that second of victory that I wasn't even sure would come.

It hurts (only a little) that Nymeria failed to mention my existence, and so that gives me the assumption that Volterra has not encountered the Mountain either (why would he?)— that the world neglected telling this idiot that he was as fertile as a rabbit, mass producing children like there was no tomorrow (or so he will be). My stomach churns at the idea of his conquests, of how much he must fuck if he can't even keep track of his children, that he's a hit and run kind of brute— ears draw back at the idea of Volterra fleeing from his victories because he cannot handle the responsibility and possibility of a child spilling from the sinful thighs he'd just conquered.

My lips twitch at his words, recalling word for word aunt Nym's description of Volterra— he is foolishly stubborn and close minded, a warrior, a man wearing his heart on his sleeve, an open flame. He preaches that he is not one for empty words (does he think my words are empty? Can he not feel the heat of my fury, see the rage induced trembling of my body?), that my body is my only real weapon— and oh he doesn't even know, soon I will have a body fit enough to charm (even the straightest of) men, to use the sway of my hips and elegance of my bulk to seduce the lustful fools. I'll conquer kingdoms with ease in the way my lips will work and my girly eyes will sparkle, with the way I'll please them even better than their queens ever could. And all the while I'll have their sons on the side begging me to look at them, to acknowledge their heroic acts and lay with them for a change. I'll have them all on their knees pleading for more, because this world is full of sick, greedy bastards who can never get their fill.

But Volterra, the straightest Straight, doesn't mean that kind of weapon. He means for battle, for brawn— to discard my knowledge and let the instincts take hold. But that isn't how I work. I work with both, body and mind combined in a not yet perfected technique used to outwit my opponents, verbal or physical. It's only just begun, a simple idea put into motion by taking up the role of Nymeria's apprentice. Eventually I'll have perfected the art, but for now it's still a work in progress that would look more like a failure than a success if I dared act on it now.

Zhu has been seething with white hot anger ever since my lips opened and I acted against Volterra, tail irritatingly twitching until it made its way off of the ground (that wasn't exactly the body part I was looking to charm but... it works). As sick and frustrating as it is, my eyes still linger a second too long on Zhu's glass framed features, still hover over those almost bulging muscles, knowing that whatever ideas Volterra had for me being some mare charming man are long gone. I've only got my eyes on one thing— and that's dick.

Midnight lips part and from them seeps a language foreign to me, but not between my father and son brother. Turning my head slowly towards Zhu, the typical smug smile I wear falls back into place and ears waver as my dual tone lips part to speak to him. "I hope that was a compliment." My eyes fall to the ghastly moons, seeking out something more than the solidified bitterness that had presented itself within the last few minutes.

I look at Volterra again, quaking with the hatred that has welled up inside of me— hatred that has been building every time I stop and think, "where is he now?" Every time Mother beats me, every time spit flies from her maw as fast as her insults, every time I glance upon other children and hear them preaching of their parents. Where has he been? Would he have ever even known about me if not for this chance meeting?

My teeth grind together, macabre features scrunching up as I gaze at the still stallion, watching as he waits for me to barge in to attack him in his might— tall and powerful, he's sturdy and strong, a force to be reckoned with. But he is an open man, an emotional one who bears his emotions where they are vulnerable and carries his burdens on his shoulders and beneath his mask (like Nymeria). I flatten my ears, glancing at Zhu with eyes dragging across ivory freckled features. "If you aren't swinging first, I will."

I take myself forward at a steady pace, legs rushing me to Volterra's front with nostrils flaring and eyes dulled— all the pain that I'd dealt with thus far, all the uncomfortable nights tossing and turning on open wounds, all the emotional and physical trauma I've put up with— it compels me to strike. The first blow is a simple set of blunt teeth headed straight to the breast, an attempt to bite and tear and make Volterra match me. The second comes when I move to the side, teeth now reaching for the soft skin beneath the stomach, the spot I've come to learn to be the most painful place to be hit.

The deepest scars pulse with each passing moment, throbbing as revenge is sought on one of the two people who worked to create this hell I'm trapped in. I want him to see them, want him to look at all the etches in my skin, the abundance of suffering I've managed to brave with each passing day since the beginning of my youth (since I took my first breath).

I strike at the left knee from behind, kicking out at it as if some how it would off set the titan before me. I was lucky if it shook him even slightly. I was no powerful brute ripened with experience and battle knowledge, packed with muscle and physical strength— I was a boy with a temper and harsh bite. I proceed to bite and kick, teeth fighting to get a grasp on a chunk of onyx shoulder, legs kicking out at knees and his stomach— breath quickening in the one sided fight (but I do not fight until exhaustion).

I take steps back, looking up at Volterra and feeling unsatisfied— gross, even. He just stands still, an unwavering presence that makes me sick (it feels wrong when he's just there?). It's too much like my situation with Mother, albeit he is stronger and I am weaker, he has offered himself and I am just here. The stifling, sharp pains of anxiety overcome my anger, now dwindling to a weak flame as my head pivots to look at Zhu. "Your turn." I swallow the knot in my throat, gagging internally at the pain it brings as I speak to my brother, just barely succeeding in hiding my worry.

[Image: 2i94l5l.jpg]

@Volterra salty kid pt 2

made by reli

tag me in everything

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
#11


V O L T E R R A
IF IT FEELS GOOD, TASTES GOOD, IT MUST BE MINE
HEROES ALWAYS GET REMEMBERED BUT YOU KNOW LEGENDS NEVER DIE

The disappointment that ebbs within him at Zhu's refusal is somewhat tempered by the Hungarian that flows from the boy's lips; despite his displeasure, the beast forces his head into a curt nod, and switches his attention back towards Kid. His brow creases into a frown as the lad reveals that Nymeria is his mentor, and anger bubbles up deep within his gut - not towards Kid, but towards Nymeria, so-called sweet sister with her uncanny ability for dark arts such as lying. How long has she kept this from him? Did she not think to tell him, for one that he had a son (who Volterra is quite sure would have been considerably less angry had they met a few months ago) and for two that she had been mentoring him for God knows how long? Or had something that big just slipped her mind?

Oh, he will be having stern words with his darling sibling, and his expression visibly darkens at the notion whilst his tail slaps heartily against his flanks.

"Was your mentor. You will have no further need of her now." Why did the boy need Nymeria when he could have his father, keen to tutor him in the art of battle? For all her gifts, it is clear that Volterra holds the edge in physical combat over his twin, and thus it should be him who teaches Kid the most important skills in life. Of course, the stallion is sadly unaware that Nymeria has been teaching the colt other things, things of which Volterra would heavily disapprove if he knew.

At least Kid is quite willing to hit him - where Zhu hangs back, the grullo colt is quick to obey his father's command. He charges, and Volterra stands firm. There is time; he could move out of the way, if he were so inclined, and doing so might well send Kid sprawling to the ground beneath the force of his own momentum. But that is no way to teach. He can't have the boy disheartened - his first hit must strike gold, to give him a taste for the sweet pounding of flesh on flesh. Mother was an expert at this, allowing her children's blows to land when they both knew as well as she did that she could dodge in the blink of an eye, a coiled snake with jaws of venom and a kiss of corrosion.

But that's not the only reason why the brute stands his ground and allows Kid's teeth to hammer down, hard, onto his breast. The other reason - and one he does not intend to share with anybody, not even his dragons, who wisely shift their minds away from this particular thread of thought - is that he thinks he deserves this pain. Volterra rarely admits his mistakes, and even less often does he make amends for them, but in this he will freely admit he was wrong. He should have tracked the other mares as he has with Aithniel and Tiva; he should have ensured that his children did not need to seek mentorhood in the form of his sister, because they should have had him.

Yes, he was wrong, and he is slowly changing his ways. But he deserves punishment for slacking his responsibilities in the past, and this seems like quite a poetic way of earning his absolution. The child he left to grow up alone, the bastard, able to bruise and batter the flesh that created him. Ah, glorious symmetry!

So as Kid's teeth collide with his chest, tearing a bruise from its confines and blasting it into fruition across the hard black flesh, the beast drags in a deep breath and savours the sweet taste of pennance. The attack itself isn't too shabby, either, and the goliath's ears bat sideways with approval. "Excellent! Your teeth are your most faithful weapon; use them often." And the boy does, his teeth delving towards Volterra's tender stomach, where the flesh is softer and more delicate than the hard, solid lines that make up the rest of his body. This will hurt, he idly notes to himself, and his instincts scream at him to move away from the inevitable pain. But he doesn't - and when the blow comes, it smarts just as much as predicted. His gut shudders - the movement more exaggerated than strictly necessary, in order to feed Kid's ego - and his head dips in another gesture of approval, his eyes burning with delight.

Doubtless, it is instinct more than training that guides the boy's movements, but they are precise and effective, the building blocks of a warlord. If that's what he wants, whispers a little voice in the back of the giant's head, but he smothers that unnerving itch as soon as it arises.

The boy isn't finished yet, either. A bombardment of blows rains down upon Volterra - his leg does not buckle against the kick, although another bruise forms painfully at the impact point. More bruises pepper his skin until he's actually beginning to question the wisdom of offering himself as a living punchbag, now he aches from head to toe with a plethora of new wounds. He'd assumed Kid would have a little nip then retreat - how wrong he'd been! But, he muses as the salvo finally ceases, Kid's violence is a good thing. He'd far rather the boy be vicious in his attacks than pull his punches - how else will he learn? Allowing just a hint of his pain to shine through his expression (once again, a carefully calculated movement intended to make Kid feel proud of himself) he fixes his gaze upon the colt. "That was good - very good. There are a lot of warriors who would question the wisdom of allowing your anger to guide your movements, but I am not one of them. In battle, your rage can be your greatest ally. It makes your blows that much harder, and makes your own wounds ache that little bit less." Maybe that's why this particular set of bruises hurts so damn much - because they weren't created in battle, where adrenaline and anger goes a long way towards making a salve for the pain.

"Channel that anger each time you fight. Control it, own it. Hell, picture my face everytime you go onto the battlefield if it helps, because there's potential there, Kid. Potential I can help you reach." His ruby eyes scrutinise the somewhat sick-looking boy for signs of a reaction; does he want to be tutored by his absent father? Then the titan turns to Zhu, his gaze firm. He has tested one son - he is keen to test the other. "Yes, your turn. I wish to see where you are at too, Zhu." He turns (somewhat gingerly) and presents himself to his glass-horned son, subconsciously hoping that he chooses to attack the uninjured side rather than adding more bruises on top of the existing ones.

image credits


@Zhu

[ 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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