| Outcast atk: 4 | def: 8.5 | dam: 6.5 |
| Colt :: Equine :: 15hh :: 3 years HP: 63 | Buff: NOVICE |
| dark |
06-05-2016, 10:29 PM
(This post was last modified: 06-05-2016, 10:30 PM by Kid.)
I didn't feel remotely the same walking away from my encounter with Volterra, didn't feel any closure or satisfaction— no more than I felt when I first saw him. I was left hanging, desperate to know what I couldn't, to understand fully the man who I share blood with. Where could I get that information? Nymeria came to mind, but I'd sought her out already and she'd told her fair share of him— now it was someone new I must find.
The Mountain resurfaces, peculiar mask and hollow gold reflecting my impish features— all words and nothing beyond such, a black canvas of emptiness that was closed off from everyone. Pieces of more than just a "chance encounter when we battled in some obscure wars." She never gave more than that (other than the clarification that Volterra did not reside in the same place Nymeria and the Mountain did), simply leaving it as is. She spoke few words of aunt Nym as well— leading me to assume she was just a distance stranger here to observe the destruction rise of an empire (an army, as Volterra would think of it). So she was not a person of interest.
Zhu (and any other undiscovered kin) came to the forefront, familiar harsh features and callous moons cast down upon me. He would certainly know more of Volterra (less so than Nymeria, but enough), seeing as how he was given the opportunity to have some father-son bonding time with him (unlike someone). I could certainly search for the stoic son, the more favourable prince, charming and brutish and strong— with power and thick physique (am I jealous?), thick skulled and easily a candidate for Volterra's favour.
And of course— the man himself. I could find Volterra and his aureate queen and blood knight, could call them out in cusp of day and evening and question them in their motives. It seemed entirely possible that Volterra would tell me, would preach of victories won through brawn, could enlighten me on the magic of being a strong man, perhaps he'd take it far enough as to tell me how to fix myself (these eyes aren't going anywhere, daddy dearest) to appear more appealing to all the mares I don't want. I could even share some of my own experiences (let's see, which beating would you like to hear about first?), the interesting personalities I've come across in my exploration of Helovia and its residence. I'm sure he'd love to hear all about the trials and tribulations of my short and brutal childhood.
Instead I have chosen to linger alone at the mouth of the Caves, remembering very vaguely the time Zhu and come across me confronting some strange stallion, attempting to protect Sabre despite being the smallest and weakest of the two of us. She seemed not to mind my outburst, nor seemed to care— it was the same when I took her punishments, when I bring myself forward in her stead and let Mother do her worst (she does not waste such easy prey).
I grind my teeth together and stare into the warm glow emitted from the cave entrance, trying not to let my mind linger on the idea that Sabre was missing, that she hasn't returned to the forest in weeks— that I have unwillingly become an only child. I want to convince myself that it's simply a temporary situation, that soon I'll see the familiar black body weaving through the trees, back in all her stubborn glory. But the idea of permanence does not leave, hovering over my head like a stormy grey cloud, bringing to me the idea that Sabre is lost somewhere I will never find her (somewhere where no one ever will, living or otherwise).
"Talk."
kid posts will get better i swear, just wanted to get it going x:
tag me in everything
| Outcast atk: 5 | def: 8.5 | dam: 6 |
| Stallion :: Tribrid :: 17.2 :: 2 [birdsong] HP: 64.5 | Buff: NOVICE |
|
Harcos :: Common Red Dragon :: Fire Breath
Nova |
There is nothing sweeter than finally being able to soar in your own dominion, it's the sweetest arbor, how it slides down the throat warm and it's fire heats the belly in a way nothing else quite can. He'd trade it for nothing, and the prospect of flight as a Dragon? Well that's a whole new pleasure of it's own. His feathered banners carry him now with new found swiftness, his maiden flight long behind him as he now focused on perfecting his aerial prowess. They are larger than expected for a colt of his age, not that he minds, he raises them proudly and their ashen appearance is magnificent in the sunlight. He will beat his tired muscles into quiet submission, they will be silent in their aches and pains in time, as they learn to carry him to the horizon and beyond by his command.
He's no longer some small infant left to the care of Strangers and their beloved foals. It still pulls a soured curl of his lip, and strained his brow with disdain, he had been just a side piece on another happily ever after. He had Sia now, occasionally Tiva and he had his father. There had been ample teachings and meetings with Volterra, though the colt had never openly questioned his Apa, far too busy drinking in his lessons and his words. His uncanny appearance whenever the winged son had been on the mainland, he had assumed his father had actively been following him. Making sure his young son was becoming a capable young man in his own right.
He is the first born of his mother's name, something which he can bask in, however little light is there now, her alter is ash rain and wilted grasses, but not the first of his father's. He has more siblings than just Astarot. Sikeax has birthed a colt as well, with death's own eyes in his sockets and horns which twist like a devil's in a midnight glade. It's caused conflicted feelings, given that they all appear to have notions of power and prowess. They all want to be the heir to Volterra's future Kingdom. It had brought Tyrath much amusement, to him it's no bother than he is not the eldest, heir is a title — not a birth right.
Still, they are all family no? Tyrath would not abandon family, he'd strive to know them all, their personality, their strengths, their weaknesses. If one falls behind then they all fall behind, they are only as strong as their weakest link. A snort escaped his ashy muzzle as he finally made his descent, the font of the heart caves within his sights. He had heard from the other throatlings that the Heart Caves were filled with all sorts of hidden delights, and possible terrors. What better way to spend the day? As he neared the ground, like a great vulture descending on it's carrion prize, molten pits of blood landed on the lingering body outside the mouth.
A body the shade of slate, with pink hued eyes and blood markings splattered on his coat. While the boy intrigued him, the thing which intrigued him all the more was the skull marking upon his head. Crowning him as it did his own, though it lacked the impressive horns now beginning to coil from his own head to greatness. It didn't take a particularly intelligent creature to assume who his father was, and his own chest tightened with a strange mixture of feelings. On one hand, his family has possibly grown to incorporate another Prince into it's fold, another brother to fill the void that is his mothers side and it's lack of members. However, this skullface is another potential threat to his own lofty gains within his father's dominion, and his own.
"Are you going to stare at the mouth all day? Or are you going to go in?" His voice called as cloven hooves touched the dirt, wings flared high above his head before they tucked against his sides. His tone is light and airy, with a hint of a devils smirk upon his dark lips. His strides take him a couple steps short of the older colt before he stilled, tail slithering like a serpent to loosely coil around his feet. "I mean, it is a marvelous view of a cave mouth, I can see why you're just stood here gawking." Tyrath decidedly leaves out the building questions, swallows them like the sea does unlucky ships. He'll find out in his own time if he is indeed a son of Volterra, and silently judge whether he's anything like Astarot, Zhu and Himself.
talk talk talk
Tyrath If Chaos Drives
Let Suffering Hold The Reins
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image | coding
@Zhu @Kid
| Outcast atk: 4 | def: 8.5 | dam: 6.5 |
| Colt :: Equine :: 15hh :: 3 years HP: 63 | Buff: NOVICE |
| dark |
08-02-2016, 02:42 AM
(This post was last modified: 08-02-2016, 02:42 AM by Kid.)
my kingdom come
I have spent too long gazing into the depths, lingering at the jagged entrance to the dark caves. I am not scared to enter, nor eager to— simply standing, looking down into the darkness and listening to all the hushed sounds that filter through. I wouldn't be surprised to find wandering souls cornered by the cavern walls, to see all those lost childhood hopes and dreams I never had drifting aimlessly among the rough stone and raw gems.
My ears pivot back at the rustling, head swinging to get a look at the child who approached. Wings are draped at his sides, hints of curling horns tangled in a mess of black forelock— he reminds me of the Mountain with his dual horns and elegant wings, wielding the potential to be a powerful ally or enemy. He is a son of Volterra. My eyes do not even need to reach the skull that marks his face to find out that we share blood, the resemblance in build and coloration is enough to convince me— there's another one. Bubblegum reaches the glittering red eyes that watch me carefully, the same eyes that belong to Nymeria and Volterra (the eyes I do not have).
"You're a son of Volterra." I tell him, stating the obvious fact as my skin crawls and the idea of Volterra fucking more women reaches my mind, ears falling back. There are not enough as is, and he's only just recently learned of Sabre and I— what gives him the right to have more? I want to scream at this child, to stamp my hooves and demand Volterra understand that he is an idiot, that he can't take care of his three children right now, so what makes him think he'll be able to take care of four? But I don't express this fury, don't shout out at someone who isn't here, don't throw a tantrum over shit I can't control. Let him do who as he pleases, whether it's a stupid decision or not, I'm not going to waste my time thinking he'll get any better and learn from his mistakes.
The question slips past my lips easily, haunting my mind as I stare down at the tribrid boy— it's a question I will grow accustomed to asking all the rest of Volterra's children, wondering whether he's attempting to be any better of a father or still lacking (so far, I'm betting on lacking). "Have you met him yet?" It's distant and unwavering, the beginnings of a deeper (sweeter) voice lingering on the bitter syllables as they left my lips. There was nothing behind the words, a casual, easy volume and tone— this was nothing demanding or extreme, a question that will always need to be asked.
I turn back to the caves, looking deep into the swelling darkness that whispers of breathtaking waterfalls and precious secrets, tantalizing treasure tucked away behind years and years of illustrations and glistening gems. If I enter the caves, I may spend too much time getting lost. I will never want to leave behind the familiarity of the caverns, refusing to return to the surface where Mother's fury burns bright and her hooves and teeth seek my flesh. "Perhaps," I say simply. Perhaps I will succumb to the desire of exploration and curiosity, will lose myself in the winding rooms of the underground and forget about all of my problems while I discover new worlds. "Will you accompany me into the underground? And what shall I call you?" I place a single cream hoof at the border, where the dry plain grasses give way to solid, uncut rock— stepping into limbo, where the surface and the underground clash and reality blurs along the edges of my vision (although my vision has always been a little blurry there in the distance). Let him follow me as they all will.
"Talk."
permission from zuno to skip zhu as hes in aa rn
tag me in everything
| Outcast atk: 5 | def: 8.5 | dam: 6 |
| Stallion :: Tribrid :: 17.2 :: 2 [birdsong] HP: 64.5 | Buff: NOVICE |
|
Harcos :: Common Red Dragon :: Fire Breath
Nova |
Bubble gum eyes swept over him, and Tyrath found himself standing a little straighter with his head held high. The flickering flame in his chest flared a little brighter with it, that leggy foal abandoned in the sands refusing to have anyone look down on him again, even his own flesh and blood. Especially his flesh and blood, any imperfection found on his skin will ripple from one son to the next, and sisters, if he has any that is, he's not quite sure how many siblings he has — or will have, once his father is done siring.
So far, between his new found brother which gazes at him, Zhu and Astarot — he is the only one with wings. It seems his father has a taste for mares who prefer a life with four hooves on the ground, not pursuing the delights which reside within the currents of the air and whose feet scrape upon the clouds. It doesn't bother him right now, whose tail Volterra decides to chase, maybe in the later months and years in his life, he will grow tired of the thrones of skull faced children which stand shoulder to shoulder with him, and if there are any like him, angry and frustrated that they had to suffer until a kindly mare took them in. The elder of the two spoke, and his lips part into a smile of sharp front teeth as his head bobbed with his words. "And you're a son of Volterra too."
Tyrath didn't fail to notice the way the equine's ears fell back as he asked the question, hinting at some unknown displeasure that the younger wished to question him on. Perhaps when they're better acquainted, he can ask him questions, pick his elder brother's mind for opinions and answers that satisfy his curiosity. He asked if he had met their sire, and he nodded again. "I have, when I was a couple days old. He helped me fend off some wolves." He replied as if it was no big deal, to be out alone without his mother, a bitter taste soured the back of his throat. He wouldn't of been attacked, if he had a mother to stop him wriggling out of the Throat and getting into trouble. Instead, it had been his father than day which appeared at the right moment, a moment too late and he might've been nothing more than a carcass for Volterra to indentify.
Their attention both turned back to the mouth of the cave, he'd heard tales of what was inside them, the different caves with hidden wonders and history. You could see the heart of helovia, behind a wall of ancient crystal, he vaguely remembered a mare saying. It's an appealing idea, to explore inside the vast caverns with his brother, see if any who had dwelled within before had left something for them to find. "Sure, I've been wanting to explore the caves for awhile. What better time to do it than now, with a new found brother. My name is Tyrath, what do I call you?" He hummed in response, cloven hooves already carrying him towards the mouth, content to let the other lead the way. If there's anything sinister in there, he can always use his big brother as a shield, since he oh so kindly elected himself leader of this little expedition.
talk talk talk
Tyrath If Chaos Drives
Let Suffering Hold The Reins
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image | coding
@Kid
| Outcast atk: 4 | def: 8.5 | dam: 6.5 |
| Colt :: Equine :: 15hh :: 3 years HP: 63 | Buff: NOVICE |
| dark |
"Yes." Is all there is to it, simple, short. I don't need to explain anything more, don't need to elaborate on our relationship or my connection to our sire— it is all there, laid before us and awaiting our young eyes. We are brothers, the same titan blood coursing through our tender veins— our father is the same foolish man, but our mothers are far from the same. They are vastly different beings (his mother is the beginnings of a goddess, just like the Mountain), with a great difference in morals. My mother leaves flowering black bruises against my skin, lets the blood she draws cake to my body like some kind of humiliating reminder of what I am (worthless). His mother is who knows where doing who knows what, and perhaps it's better that way— mothers can be cruel and cold, nothing like they should be, they care little for your well being and solely for your path in life, what you are going to achieve while under her watch.
And at least Volterra knew of him— rather than spending months of obliviousness to his existence and trying so hard to make it up, scrambling to get his child's approval and bond with him so he doesn't feel left out. Too late for that. "Was that the only time?" What bothers me is that Volterra effortlessly jumped in to save his son, when he did little to look for Sabre or I— he did little for Sabre and I. So upon hearing him heroically fend off a pack of wolves to save his child, it makes my lips twitch with distaste and ears remain twisted back. The bitterness on my tongue harsh at the idea that he would protect the precious son, the newest, greatest son— he is a son with god's blood coursing through him.
But has Volterra taken his time to check on the rest of his children? To dote on Zhu, to dote on Sabre, to dote on me. He has spent little time with me, and no time with Sabre (but that's only because she's—), and he says he's trying. Bullshit.
He moves on quickly, our eyes both locked onto the glittering darkness of Helovia's insides— warm rocks were bathed in brilliant orange light and the howling winds from inside the tunnel swept up bits of my forelock, beckoning us forward. I glance to Tyrath (my newest, more welcomed brother) and begin the decent into the mouth, a spark of curiousity and burning excitement dispelling the nothingness. For a moment that deep seeded black that's hung over my head for too long splits and falters, and the innocence of childhood peeks through (what a rare feeling).
I wait too long to offer anything more to him, bi coloured lips woven shut until our hooves met flat earth and clicked up against the rough stone of the caverns. Through a clear wall of sparkling crystal the pulsating heart of Helovia could be seen, an awe inspiring mix of warm tones. "Call me Kid." I look to him for a reaction, a response to the pitiful unusual name, half expecting a laugh or him to ask if it was a joke. I wish it was, because damn what a shitty name. I don't think I'll ever get over it, how unfortunate I am to be the individual named Kid. That's like naming your dog Puppy or cat Kitty, and what of when I'm no longer a child? When I'm not a colt but a stallion? What then? I will still be called Kid.
"I hope your mother treats you well, for Volterra has a tendency to sleep with the wrong women." My mother for instance, who cannot register when she has taken it too far and has brought only ruin to the mental stability of her son. So let's hear it, Tyrath— does your mother love you? Does she tuck you in at night and fret over the scratch on your knee? Does she spit on you and kick you down into the dirt, tell it to you as she sees it? Is she even there for you at all?
"Talk."
kid
@Tyrath i return from the dead wowow
tag me in everything
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