He’s been here before, once, when he’d searched for an escape from the chill winds of Frostfall. He’d had company then, but today he wanders alone, moving in small, measured steps, carefully skirting the massive crater lit by perpetual flame to explore the dry, cracked earth on the other side. His interest is in this dusty plain, the curtain of stiff, yellow scrub grass surrounding it, so he leaves the pit and namesake caverns behind.

Nose low, ears pricked, he walks the barren landscape searching for any sign of claw-footed activity, any slight musk to the gritty, dehydrated earth. He’s not sure what the ideal egg incubating conditions are, but he’s fairly certain that a constant temperature is important and that some kind of nesting or burrowing behavior is involved. This small sprawl of semi-desert landscape is close enough to the massive fire to stay comfortably warm all year round and hemmed in on the far side by a wall of plains grass even higher than his bony withers, evidence of at least a small amount of subterranean moisture, so as far as Helovian topography goes, this is the ideal.

So he searches, zig-zagging across the amber crust until his nostrils, lips, and eyes begin to cake with dust and his lungs rebel against the dry air with intermittent fits of coughing. He stops then, shaking grit from his coat and envisioning a long, cleansing soak in the Basin’s various pools this evening, his usual state of filth and disarray finally reaching a tipping point. Grains of sand, dirt, and ash cling to his body where the hair is damp with sweat, making his skin twitch and his eyes sweep along the wall of dried out grass with an idea of rubbing his irritated skin along their withered stalks. What a thought.

Breaking into a smooth running walk, a gait he once reserved for special occasions, but that suits the purpose of moving without jarring his tender left shoulder, he abandons his quest and angles across the open ground, tail flicking out to one side in anticipation. There’s nothing more satisfying to an old man than a good scratch and he knows exactly where to start.

Approaching the first row of brittle stalks, he gravitates toward a small mound of reddish-orange earth, hoping to get a better angle on their tufted tops from the higher ground, but as he steps up onto the pile its sun baked top layer crumbles beneath his hooves, forcing him to step back down. He huffs angrily at the delay, being an instant gratification kind of guy, and glances down at the mound accusingly before surprise pulls his ears forward. Peeking up at him from a vaguely hoof shaped hole is a small hollow in the center of the mound.

Reaching down to investigate, he noses a few chunks of broken sand-dirt-mixture away, revealing a nest of seven leathery, soft shelled eggs - Eggs! - approximately three inches long and oval in shape. The stallion’s eyes widen appreciatively, but as he lips gently at the strange texture of one shell his brows pinch together in disappointment. The egg collapses beneath his gentle touch, obviously empty. In a similar fashion he finds the second, third, fourth - Fuck! - fifth, and sixth eggs empty too, some with large gashes along one side, some split in multiple places where the inhabitants have broken free.

He touches the last egg, half-hearted, already resigned to having been too late, when something moves against his puckered lip. He gasps in surprise, drawing back as if bitten, eyes wide and staring. The unhatched creature continues to move, bulging out the soft surface of the egg. Slowly he lowers his muzzle again, excited breaths washing moist heat over the wriggling egg. He imagines a miniature version of the dragons he met in the Thistle Meadow, a tiny golden queen to call his own, a powerful, incorruptible extension of himself.

A triumphant grin spreads across the stallion’s features, but as the writhing creature inside the egg finally splits its leathery outer surface and forces its tiny nose through the opening, his emerald eyes are met by black scales, not gold. Well, any dragon is still a dragon he supposes, queen or not. The little black nose slides farther out of its shell, revealing a row of small pits along its upper jaw, a detail he hadn’t noticed on the white-faced stallion’s dragons, but that he assumes they must have had. Then the creature pushes its head all the way through the opening, revealing two black, lidless eyes and a smooth, rounded head that widens toward the rear, scales shrinking down to a uniform size and shape along the base of its neck.

Albrecht blinks down at the tiny face, confused. It doesn’t resemble any dragon he’s ever seen, certainly not the two he’s seen up close, but he hasn’t had an opportunity to inspect very many of them and newborn animals rarely resemble their full grown counterparts in any significant way. So, undeterred, he presses his chin to the dirt in front of the egg, inhaling the scent of blood and mucus and nickering encouragement low in his throat to the small creature. The tiny head tilts, squaring one pupil-less, or maybe entirely made of pupil, eye on the old stallion.

A humid, heavy sensation pulses behind the elder’s eyes. It’s like a fog in his head, but fog that crackles with electricity and uncertainty instead of moisture. The world suddenly seems too bright, too noisy with sounds and smells, vivid smells, smells like pictures in their complexity. He draws back from the creature a second time, startled, but is unable to turn his gaze from the tiny black eye staring up at him. It sees him, watches him with a possessive intensity, an assertiveness. His hooves shuffle uneasily, backing slowly away. Is this bonding?

Trying to follow his backward movement, the tiny creature wriggles more of itself through the opening of its leathery confinement, exposing another inch of smooth, black scales, these broken by a thin dorsal stripe of copper running from the back of the oddly pear shaped head and out of sight inside the egg. Another inch follows, bringing renewed confusion to the old stallion’s whirling mind, and then another nine inches of smooth, black and copper neck - or does it even count as neck anymore? - ending in a stubby, pointed tip. “Where the fuck are your legs?!” He cries, backing quicker now. “I didn’t come all the way out here for a fancy fucking garter snake.”

Grin turned to grimace, he turns away, fully intending to leave the ridiculous creature where it lays, where he lays – why does he know that? - but before he can take a step in the opposite direction a wrenching pain grips his heart, like a feral cry of distress piercing his ears, but silent, internal, and every bit as cringe inducing. His head swivels back to the hatchling, now fully free of its prison and standing straight up, half its length stretched into the air like a tiny, scaled sapling reaching for the sun, eyes pinned to the stallion’s turned back. Anguish radiates from the snakes expressionless face, directly from his mind to Albrecht's.

The stallion sighs, unsure whether in frustration or relief, and paces slowly back to the young hatchling, his nose lowered and searching, sweeping beneath the snakes outstretched body as it leans toward him, the pain in his chest subsiding. He lifts his chin, holding the snake - his snake, because he knows in his shriveled, emaciated heart that it could never be anyone else's now, that he wouldn't let it be - on the smooth plane of his skull and watches it curl its elongated body around his brow to meet his gaze evenly. “Strom.” He breathes, naming him, claiming him, as if his actions haven't already. “Like the winding waters.”



OOC // Happy Birthday Strom! He’s a male Suma (Super Mahogany) Ball Python which appears black with a copper dorsal stripe. Pic He's about a foot long right now and about the width of a fat finger. ^.^

The hatchling python is staring into his left eye, head tilted just so, happiness radiating through the stallion’s mind like a warm touch of sunlight across his back on a chill day, only better, the warmth settling into the hollows of his heart and mind instead of his hair and skin. He’s not sure if the wash of emotion is a sign of approval over the newborn’s christening, or simply a result of his acceptance and touch, but he’s fairly certain he’d like it to continue.

This is Helovia however, so immediately a high pitched voice assaults his ears and he lays them flat in response, carefully turning his body around so that he can see the young filly without changing the angle of his head and neck, possibly jostling his newborn companion. Strom’s interest peaks as well, sending him wriggling across the stallion’s face to hang over the opposite side and peer out at this new smell, tongue flicking out and back in to draw as much information as possible from the plains dry air. Albrecht mentally spectates, trying to make sense of a world mapping system completely alien to his own, this one almost entirely dependent on smell and some type of temperature detection system while his is heavily dependent on vision and sound.

Distracted, he ignores the filly’s rapid fire questions until a second little son of a bitch comes strutting up, disapproval and condescension fairly dripping from of his golden pores. Exasperation pins the stallion’s ears even tighter to his skull, but he takes a moment to gently nod his head up and down, encouraging the serpent lying there to migrate upward and find a better place to rest among the base of his horns before turning his full agitation on the intruders.

“What good is anything still reeking of its mother’s womb?” He challenges the colt, pointedly dragging his emerald eyes across the boy’s immature body, currently made of spidery legs and baby fluff where one day there might be muscle and flowing mane if his ugly mouth will let him live that long. He turns to the filly then, remembering her questions as innocent and far less grating on his nerves, but looking between the two with full attention he can’t help but notice the black and white barring along their jaws and the tear tracks running down from their eyes, markings suspiciously similar to that of the Basin’s head Thief. Not only that, but the colt at least must be Tembovu’s, his body markings mimicking the Elephant's perfectly. “So you're what she's been up to.” He scoffs at the pair, always game to insult the Thief's professionalism, if nothing else.



OOC // If his assumptions of their parentage are too god-mody just let me know and I will change! He was too busy feeling sorry for himself at the herd meeting to notice the twins wandering around. @Kiada @Kianzo

Annoyance shifts to amusement as the older stallion stares down at his youthful company, a lazy grin spreading across his weathered face. The filly’s trailing voice, unsure which male to be more offended by, and her brother’s overly confident gibes remind him just how perceptive and still cripplingly ignorant children can be. They so easily pick up on subtle nuances that others might miss among the din of formality and expectation, but the advantage is immediately lost when they misconstrue the meaning of what they’re seeing for lack of any substantial context to go with it.

He shakes his head at the pair, unable to take the colt’s sass as a genuine insult, though for the briefest of moments he thinks he can see the boy’s anger materializing into the air around him, thickening into a fog of weightless dust that slightly obscures his vision. Apprehensive, the stallion gathers his own magic in response, an invisible miasma of energy and intention swelling around him, but the ashen cloud dissipates as soon as the filly’s tawny shoulder bumps into her brother’s brindled side, and though he has more than enough temper and noxious vocabulary to escalate the exchange, he chooses to tease instead, peering down his nose at the colt as if examining some part of him that’s gone unnoticed until just now.

“You do have quite the mouth on you,” He ponders, “How do you know we haven’t already been together?” He raises his brows then, sure the boy is quick enough to catch his suggestion without any further prompting. It’s then that his companion, comfortably wrapped around the base of one backswept spiral horn, decides to interject.

The newborn python has been content to simply observe his bonded’s mind until now, gingerly examining the emotions and expressions within as they come and go, but the sensation pulling at his insides like a tiny vacuum of pressure isn’t mirrored anywhere he can feel, so he presses the idea against the stallion’s own thoughts with an apologetic edge of inquiry. “Hm?” The stallion answers aloud, unaccustomed to the silent speech of a companion bond. His left ear cups forward, trained toward and almost touching the young snake where he sits coiled. “Hungry?” He questions, feeling the snake’s emptiness seep into his own stomach as they share and explore cognitive awareness’s.

He turns to the filly then, a millisecond of apology flashing through his eyes - he does like foals after all - as he realizes he's ignored her this entire time, likely dampening if not extinguishing her earlier concern. He looks to her tiny withers where a single row of corn silk hair sticks straight up along her crest, her lightly colored fluff of a companion clinging there haphazardly. Whatever the creature is, it can't be much older than Albrecht's snake, or otherwise is slow to develop. He can't even pick out any distinguishing features of the thing aside from what must be a tiny beak poking out of the darker fluff around it's eyes.

The colt's companion at least has a definite shape with its black stripes, stiff mohawk, and pointed ears. Turning to the boy and his pup, embarrassment threatens to creep into his stance, but the expression quickly changes to one of shrewd consideration. “So which one of you is the better hunter?" A little sibling rivalry never hurt anyone who stands to benefit either way.



OOC // Zero scruples. Zero. xD @Kiada @Kianzo

The stallion’s bearded head tilts, a quizzical arch softening his brows. The filly’s immediate admission of inferiority surprises him. Siblings aren’t usually so quick to admit that one is better than the other at anything, least of all while in the other’s presence and in front of company. She seems disappointed by the concession, but her response is adamant and the boy responds with a bold agreement. Brows furrowing again, he wonders how much of the filly’s personality is hidden behind the loudness of her brother’s. She’d been the first to approach him and her initial questions had been friendlier, more engaging. He would have tried to draw her out once, hinged the conversation on her responses to strengthen her confidence and temper her sibling's, but those fatherly days are over now. She'll just have to forge herself or else be lost in her brother's shadow.

“Would you prefer one lie over the other?” He asks the colt, turning away from the filly and all the memories she threatens to uncover. He’s enjoyed riling the boy up so far and he's genuinely interested in his next seething response, but the prospect of having to labor at catching some small, helpless thing for his young companion to eat is more compelling than the possible payoff of seeing his pompous little face twist and fluster and turn galloping home to his mother, so he relents. “You’re no son of mine.” He admits, a challenge in the dismissal. He wants to declare his progeny better, of higher mettle, say that they’d had thicker skin and defter tongues than the willful brat before him, but he stops short of forming the syllables aloud. His boys are nothing now and what might be left behind is little more than dust and broken bones, tufts of fur in wolf scat and cries that echo in his ears at night.


OOC // Sorry for the delay. @Kiada @Kianzo

The fillys patience seems to have run out, her earlier cheer and curiosity evaporating to leave a dry, chafing residue of annoyance and boredom behind. She bosses her brother and, to the stallions surprise, he obeys, felling three small bats from a shelf of stone nearby. The colts companion bounds forward to claim her prize with an unsettling yip-squeal of delight.

The stallions head begins to dip in a surprised, spontaneous nod of recognition for the boy, his show of control and focus at such a young age impressive to someone so far his senior, but as the ashy jaws of his magic - jaws suspiciously similar to that of his young companion, though larger by comparison - linger and turn their sooty muzzles in his direction, his maneless neck stiffens and cuts off the movement, ears pinning flat to his poll.

The ash hyenas dissipate, their tiny particles blowing in every direction at once, but the feeling of menace hangs thick in the air between them. The stallion curls his lips unpleasantly, exposing worn and yellowed teeth as the boy plays at carelessness, his true feelings evident in the undercurrent of his tone. "Magic is commonplace in Helovia, boy." The elder warns, "I wouldn't advise threatening those you don't know the measure of."

Eyes glued to the colt and his pup, he steps forward until he's straddling the body of the third and smallest bat, then lowers his head to create a slope for his companion to wriggle down. The python, his tongue flicking excitedly at the scent of food, makes straight for the tiny corpse and latches onto it in a blur of motion. The bat is already dead, its neck broken the moment it hit the ground, but this is the pythons first feeding and so he sticks to the letter of his instincts, wrapping his noodle-like body around the prone corpse and locking it into a vice grip of pressure.

"No time for hugging." The stallion rumbles beneath his breath, eyes still locked onto the colt and mentally prodding his companion to simply swallow the damn thing so they can leave, but even once the tiny snake manages to shift himself around to the front of the bat and begins to walk his needle lined jaws over its tiny skull it's clear to everyone present that python feeding is not a speedy affair. The stallion sighs, his scowl deepening. He is decidedly not above battling and subsequently trouncing a child, but doing so while trying to protect a squishy, newborn companion is low on his list of endeavors.

"I'll tell you what," He bargains, "If you let me show you mine, I'll let you show me yours." A mischievous grin spreads across his weathered features and though he means for their magics to be the subject of the proposal, the pervert in him absolutely demands he acknowledge the innuendo there by winking lewdly in the fillys direction.




OOC // @Kiada @Kianzo What am I even doing xD

The twins talk and the snake eats, a bulge in his otherwise lithe body appearing as the infantile bat disappears though his extended jaws. The stallions lips relax, falling down to cover his yellow stained teeth as the clamor of discomfort in their shared consciousness dims, warming to something near content. He glances up at the filly then, her measured voice suggesting that he simply tell them what he's capable of, and in a flash of juvenile mimicry, he wonders where the fun would be in that.

The boy jumps yet again on this new chance to emphasize the old stallions age, as if being as old as he is is an embarrassment to the species, a very public personal handicap, which technically speaking it is, making his joints stiff and his muscles weaken, but the benefit of experience can sometimes overrule those pitfalls, as his spar with the young black and gold asshole so recently displayed. He ignores the taunt, but then the colt, who is well on his way to earning his own personal title in the blacks mind, has to push just a little farther. The black scoffs, pinches his brows and looks down at the boy with a mix of irritation and disappointment - mostly irritation.

"Since you're so fixated on my age, you should know I'm no idiot child to be goaded by empty threats and baseless judgments. You might think yourself the superior twin because you can play God to some dust motes," He doesn't know the full extent of the boys ability, but the little shit has flashed his ash animals in the stallions face enough times through this whole exchange for him to make an educated guess. "But it looks like your sister got all the brains in the deal. You're as transparent as the glass walls of the Edge."

Meal safely tucked a quarter of the way down his body, the tiny serpent raises his head from the ground expectantly and the stallion obliges by lowering his own, eyes pinned to the colt and his young, toothy companion for the surge of temper he's positive will come. This time the stallions mental urging of his snake to hurry the fuck up is met with compliance, and the tiny python whips himself up and over the blacks right horn in record time.

The bearded head lifts, distaste clear on his face. "Too bad." He tuts to the colt, but his expression softens some in passing by the filly. He nods once in acknowledgement to her. She at least seems to have inherited some of her mothers grace and intelligence. He turns away from the twins then, willing to bet one free slap on the ass on the fillys tight hold of her brothers leash. He doubts it'll loosen enough to let him act out too harshly on her most recent admirer, but one ear stays bent in the colts direction nonetheless, this own magic held taught around him.



"Alby talks" 'Strom talks'
OOC // @Kiada @Kianzo So this thread has been going for three months. xD I figured it's about time to close it up, but I'm always open for more. :)