| Absent Abyss atk: 6.0 | def: 9.5 | dam: 8 |
| Stallion :: Equine :: 18.3 hh :: 10 years HP: 80 | Buff: SHIELD |
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Loretta :: Alaskan Malamute :: Time Slip
Time |
So we lay in the dark, we've got nothing to say.
Just the beating of hearts, like two drums in the grey.
Spring was upon them, and it brought glory to the Hidden Falls. Brilliant greens embraced the foliage around him, bird's songs filling the air and the sound of waterfalls a reminder of his home in his ears. Loretta was shedding furiously, huge clumps of white undercoat tagging the forest as she patrolled alongside her master. His own winter coat faded and fell, but it was not nearly as thick as Loretta's, and so he stayed somewhat more undetectable. Only when he rubbed his massive side against the trunk of a tree did large clumps fall, gathering to make another body on the floor of the forest. When he did scratch he made sure it was in the herdland, in an area he oft chose for bedding. He did not need his patrols to be disturbed by the idle performance. Loretta, however, had no control over where her coat fell. It was retreating from her with rage.
She stood now somewhat away from her partner, ears perked and listening for threat. She stood at an entrance to the herd, one her amber eyes had caught brief glimpses of the dappled, black brother. They were usually only fleeting sights--he was a sleuth, after all--for he was nearly and illusion. His name, Knox, had been but a memory for the pair for so long. He appeared out of the darkness, with a woman in tow, and he fulfilled his duties well. Archibald, and his companion, we're glad to have the younger brother back in their council. He had taken his crown as king of thieves once more, and ruled well. His ranks seemed to be swelling, and for that the Dauntless was proud. He did have business with the brother, hiwver, and it was now why he closed the distance between he and LORETTA to wait for him.
"Knox." He spoke quietly, his voice almost lost in the crash of the waves in the distance. "Knox." He repeated, tail flicking waking flies from his hocks. Heavy, metal-shod hooves sunk into the loamy soil beneath him, rich with life and the promise of tomorrow. Golden eyes swept the terrain, remembering the rolling knolls that used to cover this place. Where was his brother, and when would he heed his call?
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| Outcast atk: 4 | def: 7.5 | dam: 6.5 |
| Stallion :: Equine :: 17hh :: 7 Years [Tallsun] HP: 67.5 | Buff: NOVICE |
| Jen |
Springtime does not excite the same passions in the hunter as it might in his brother and others around him. He has no lustful youth, only the faded heat of emotional impotence. Archibald will have to be happy with him like this. The whole herd will have to be satisfied with Knox no longer himself, whatever that is, but a callous spectre. It is simply too hard to feel.
Continuing on, even just walking through this patch of the falls, is difficult enough. He snorts and snuffles, his nose dripping with the sweat that now coats him every time he wakes. His right side is a bloody mess, scabbing in parts, scarring in others, and infected in some patch or another. The eye is the most compromised part; the body fights it as it rots, and by some unnatural process seems to become hard like a stone. Is that the magic or dragonfire or his own power to give himself sight again influencing the damn thing?
No matter. Knox doesn't need it anymore. He doesn't need much to survive as a ghost.
His body sways side to side. Casually and without forgiveness he smacks his rump against tree trunks, letting their bark drag across his now thinned coat. Not sharp enough to scrape, but rough enough to irritate--every time he starts to let out a nicker he cuts it off with a bite, a sharp clanging of his teeth. Archibald's voice, uncharacteristically tentative seeming, is no surprise when it cuts through the wood and Knox's meditative state of injury. He snaps his head in the direction of his brother like a true hunter would to face its prey. He snorts, already impatient.
Fool. Aren't I meant to be the blind one? And yet I'm almost in front of him, and he doesn't see...
{Roanne:} Yuh cloak.
Oh yes. That old thing.
{Roanne:} Yuh fathurr or maguc?
Knox snorts and nickers aloud, loud enough for Archibald to hear.
Both.
Knox shrugs off the magic that had cloaked him in the warm dapples of the light without a second thought and pushes through the last layer of brush that separates him from where his brother stands. The right side of his face is a disgusting sight. "Archibald," he parrots back mockingly, waving his head low and side to side, something that looks sort of submissive and demented all at once. But he doesn't stay that way for long, and soon his body begins to shift. That same old thing appears, eyes gold and scars on his cheek still fresh like they were just made.
The Sentinel's body tenses and rises up. He steps forward, forward to face his murderer. His gold eyes flash and his head is risen like the sun of the forest he feels he once commanded with more power and influence than Archibald could ever conceive of.
"Archubuld."
Make no mistake I don't do anything for free
I keep my enemies closer than my mirror ever gets to me |
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