the Rift


STARBOY

Orithia Posts: 59
Outcast atk: 7.0 | def: 10.0 | dam: 3.0
Mare :: Pegasus :: 16.2hh :: 4 HP: 60 | Buff: NOVICE
Eris
#1
It had been months since she had seen the Threshold, precious time had passed and life had surely changed for the denizens of Helovia, for the denizens of the World's Edge, even. 

Yet, things had changed for the rose as well. 

Having traveled so far to find the earth that felt familiar beneath her hooves, to feel the blessed sands whip against that pristine hide like so many needles; it had been a rebirth and an actualization. Pretty names and childish notions of honor and loyalty had made her forget her purpose - had made her weak. Secrets whispered by frozen ponds to behemoths, worldly desires admitted beneath a pink sky in the arms of kestrels, glass wind chimes and flower crowns in the guise of innocence; all weakness and all shameful.

It had taken the mare many weeks to banish cobalt blue eyes from her mind, to wrench dreams of elephants and embraces from her thoughts. She was no dove, no broken bird to coddle and handle with a gentle pity - no, Orithia was wind and sand and blood boiling over, iron and stone and rage eternal. 

Those days sipping the lie of happiness at the hands of others had come to an end, the seconds that she had wasted upon that false dream of harmony were nothing short of a disgrace. Proudly she would stand, bitter air she would breathe; no man would tame her, isn't that what she had always said? And yet, she had come so close, so close to losing that essence upon the tides of what she thought was affection from a Child of Elephants. A sharp laugh fell to the earth, the inky cruelty of it threatening to rot the mosses underfoot. 

Never again would she be mistaken for such a wretch.

Never again, never again, never again.

Distantly, she wondered at the lover she had taken upon the sands, the soft sighs and silvery eyes of an immortal god. There were no touches between them, no physical bond to put to memory, but love manifests in different ways for those of similar hearts, and all she was left with was the feeling of breath against her skin and the name of the future.

Yet the question still remained - why had she returned? Some nights, when her silhouette was painted silver from the moon's brushstrokes, she told herself it was from simple habit, a base instinct toward familiar homestead. Other days, Orithia told herself it was for revenge, for blood and retribution - but from who she did not know. In the end, when pastel hooves pressed against the soggy earth Orangemoon's wrath had left, the banshee had no answer and desired none.




So uh we're back :) anyone can come but she would probably only be glad to see strangers tbh or @Thranduil and maybe even @Volterra

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
#2


V O L T E R R A
HE SAYS "OH BABY GIRL, DON'T GET CUT ON MY EDGES
I'M THE KING OF EVERYTHING AND MY TONGUE IS A WEAPON"

Helplessness does not suit the Gladiator. He refuses to submit to the agony in his side, refuses to bow to the palpable torture that rages in his broken ribs. They hurt slightly less now that a couple of weeks have passed, the bones finally starting to knit together and restrict his movement less. He can trot and canter now, instead of being confined to the ploddy, hobbling walk that he'd been forced to adopt in the immediate aftermath of the challenge, when even a deep breath would send him into spasms of unbearable agony. His stride is still slightly disrupted by the healing pains of his ribs, but overall he's in a far better state than he was right after Isopia's brutal attacks.

Now that his days are not consumed by pain, the leviathan's mood has also improved. He is no longer sullen and ill-tempered, a rancid mass of self-loathing and frustration. He hadn't realised quite how crippling such a blow to the ribs can be, how it affects almost every single aspect of his life. Breathing, walking, eating, talking...nothing is safe from the sharp grasp of his injured ribs. It is little wonder that he was cast into such a foul mood, as he's always been a particularly able-bodied man who certainly did not appreciate having to pander to his own weakness.

He has refused to seek healing for his injuries. In Volterra's war-orientated mind, a fight is a pact (even if he does not count the Isopia incident as a fight, given that a fight requires two parties equally intent on hurting the other) and the accumulated wounds are part of that pact. To get healed breaks the pact, and part of the leviathan wants to suffer for his sins. No matter how much pain he's in, he knows Isopia's grief at the loss of their child must be far, far worse.

Unfortunately for the giant black, fighting is still out of the question. A direct hit to the ribs could undo all the arduous healing that they've been through over the past weeks, and it is not a risk he wants to take. He could cripple himself for life if he fought again so soon, ruin his chances to become the indomitable warlord he wishes to be. Refusing to simply lie low and do nothing, however, the beast has decided to come to the Threshold. Recruiting, at least, will take his mind off his woes.

Vadir still rides on his back, as her own injuries were far worse than his and so her recovery is a great deal slower. She is still not speaking to him, either; their silence has spanned since the day after the fight. Her red brother is away hunting, leaving Volterra with a sulking golden queen for company. Little wonder he wishes to hunt down a potential new recruit to give him some much-needed social contact. He prowls through the trees, his stride still holding the ghost of a limp and his face still twisted into a haunting mask of pain. Crimson eyes scan for potentials, and he soon sees one in the form of a rather familiar face.

"Orithia?" he questions as he moves closer to the mare that had attempted to castrate him. He broke her ribs for her sins, if he remembers correctly - he now has far more sympathy for her. But to his knowledge, she had a herd - so what is she doing here? "What brings you here?" His voice is still a thunderous earthquake, having regained its masculine baritone now that his ribs no longer restrict his voice.

image credits


@Orithia

[ 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 ]




Orithia Posts: 59
Outcast atk: 7.0 | def: 10.0 | dam: 3.0
Mare :: Pegasus :: 16.2hh :: 4 HP: 60 | Buff: NOVICE
Eris
#3
There was a hardness to her now, a chill where a sort of soft affection used to lay.

So as ears swiveled and pupilless pastel eyes roved about in their sockets to land at last upon the sizable frame of a ghost-faced stallion, Orithia found her grin edged in steel. An echo of an ache pressed against her chest and ribs as she gazed at that milky white face and those ruby eyes. Allowing her sight to drift lower, toward those massive, punishing hooves, the mare reveled in the memory of their last interaction - her bloodied lungs and bruised sides, the rage that had sparked in his eyes at her foul play.

What a treat it had been, to find a creature so willing to strike at a stranger, a kindred spirit. It was rare indeed to find an honest soul amongst those hearts so drunk on dreams of valor and visions of glory. Volterra, at least, had known he was a hellish beast with low moral standing - had being the key word as the pale lass inhaled the scent of sand and heat that wafted from the stallion's skin. Cocking a hoof and leaning lazily to her left, the winged mare dragged her gaze back up to those ruby reds before speaking, that iron grin not quite reaching her eyes.

"Volterra," Her tail flicked, the lengths having been shortened to just above her hocks, "I took a hiatus from my time locked amongst mongrels and false kings. It seems, though," she made a show of flaring those delicate nostrils, of catching the aroma of dragons and their brood, "That you have decided to join up with a kingdom of your own. Tell me," A sigh as she rustled her wings, a pointed stare to the pained expression, "You wouldn't be tempted to have a little bloody reunion, would you?"




yaaaay hi missed you<3

@Volterra
[Image: ypCJIiV.png]
Honestly, kick her ass at any time. Seriously.
Any and all aggressive and non-aggressive contact permitted.
Please no permanent injury or death. We'll get to that part at some point.
xoxo

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
#4


V O L T E R R A
HE SAYS "OH BABY GIRL, DON'T GET CUT ON MY EDGES
I'M THE KING OF EVERYTHING AND MY TONGUE IS A WEAPON"

His eyes roam across her, too; he knows that those curves hide a warrioress, a steel-edged soldier with cold blood and colder resolve. She was a worthy opponent, testing him with her underhanded techniques and devious attacks, and he rather thinks that if she is here alone, then her herd has lost a fine member.

But there's also something of the snake about her; Volterra does not know whether she can be entirely trusted. He thinks she can, but he has been wrong before.

She looks relaxed, idling with a cocked leg as though she has nothing to fear from the forest that surrounds them, nor the mammoth Gladiator that stands in front of her. She's astute, too, and it does not take her long to glean the reek of herd upon his coat. Mongrels and false kings, she says - a few months ago he would have been inclined to agree, would have reveled in the idea of a former herd-mare flinging off the chains of normality and shifting to the life of the outcast. Now, however, he is a fully paid-up citizen of the Throat, and his attitude towards living with a group of other horses has certainly changed.

It hasn't been easy adapting to this new way of life, nor is he one hundred percent sure that he made the correct decision. The leviathan misses his freedom, and loathes some of the more mundane tasks he is forced to perform as part of the Throat. None of this shows on the harsh lines of his face as Orithia speaks, however; he simply gives a benign smile and a sharp chuckle. "What can I say - I'm a sucker for a pretty title." And Gladiator is certainly that.

Astonishment - and a hefty dose of delight - flicker across his features in the form of a slight grin and idle twitch of an ear as she speaks of a bloody reunion. "Always....as long as we agree that my balls are off-limits." He flashes a good-natured grin that, nonetheless, holds a stern warning and subtle threat behind it. Volterra is not a master of subtlety, of veiled insults and a thousand meanings behind one slight titter or snort, but he rather thinks that he does quite a decent job of this particular facade. His ribs give an angry protest as he dares contemplate fighting again, but he's sure that they will be fine by the time this battle actually materialises.

"I am now a resident of the Dragon's Throat, where I serve as its Gladiator. You would be more than welcome to join me there; then, we could spar whenever the need took us." He fixes her with his penetrating red gaze. Having her a warrior of the Throat would be quite the coup - and the possessive beast inside Volterra shudders at the idea of losing her to another herd.

image credits


@Orithia

[ 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 ]




Orithia Posts: 59
Outcast atk: 7.0 | def: 10.0 | dam: 3.0
Mare :: Pegasus :: 16.2hh :: 4 HP: 60 | Buff: NOVICE
Eris
#5
Those ruby reds held her gently, almost respectfully - if only the brute were capable of such things.

The maiden felt the urge to preen beneath his gaze, to show him what exactly had been cultured and developed upon the desert. A lack of chains and the absence of duty coalesced upon the pegasus' shoulders in a show of confidence and aplomb that the mare had lacked for so many months now. What good it had done her to cast away the affections and attentions of a man whose heart could not be satisfied, what beauty blossomed beneath unapologetic self appreciation. So she angled her head to catch the light upon those angular cheekbones, raised her wings just enough to make a striking silhouette, and grinned that sadists grin at her beloved Goliath.

Folding her lips into a soft "oh" and raising invisible brows in mock surprise, Orithia felt a spark of mischief flare within her breast as she cooed to her counterpart, "Pretty titles? Why, Goliath wasn't enough for you?" Her voice was smoke and velvet, honey and sin - wherever the seductress had slumbered in the years past, there had always been something about Volterra that brought it out, something sly and primal about his presence that coaxed a bit of fun from the pale medusa.

The mention of his nether-regions draw a dark chuckle from her blushed lips, the memory of an attempted castration fresh within her mind, "Of course I'll stay away from the beast that lurks between those legs, though I like to think I'd look charming with a jewel or two around my neck." Then, as suddenly as it had appeared, all humor and wry warmth drained from her demeanor - even those shimmering pink eyes dimmed as she spoke, "As tempting as it may be, Volterra, I find that I can no longer bear the weight of another's law upon my spine. I cannot live beneath the rule of children playing at gods and kings - I would rather I find what I may without the requirements of a nation upon my shoulders."

With that said, a ghost of a smile flitted over her features, a memory or a realization, she could not be sure. Moving forward so that her rump was at his shoulder and her wing joints neared his flanks, the pale damsel made to run her lips over the hard muscle the roped Volterra's side - a press of contact that could mean anything the stallion wanted it to. Then, as she continued forward, twigs and leaves crunching beneath her hooves, Orithia cast a final series of words over her shoulder,

"If ever you tire of pretty titles and of living as a lapdog, you're welcome to find me."



 EXIT STAGE LEFT sorry no idea how to end threads<3 we can have more or a spar with them next if you want?
@Volterra
[Image: ypCJIiV.png]
Honestly, kick her ass at any time. Seriously.
Any and all aggressive and non-aggressive contact permitted.
Please no permanent injury or death. We'll get to that part at some point.
xoxo


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