the Rift


[OPEN] men at work (clearing)

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
#1


Initially, Volterra had had absolutely no intentions of helping Kisamoa. Why should he break his back to assist a man who has done nothing to earn his trust, when he could be spending the valuable time sparring or helping around his herd? His initially staunch position had weakened slightly, however, when he actually came to think on it - perhaps helping Kisamoa will be for the best. If he keeps the sea beast's trust by aiding him, then perhaps he will be able to learn more about what Kisamoa's intentions are. Volterra still does not trust the enigmatic creature, and he's determined to glean more about why he's here and what he wants.

So, the day after Kisamoa's reappearance in the Rotunda, Volterra finds himself shaking off the early morning gloom and heading towards the Endless Blue. Clearing obstacles seems like his sort of job, with his great bulk and strength, so this is what he decides to set his mind to. There's a large patch of what looks like old driftwood far inland at the beach, probably washed up by some of the harsher Frostfall storms. It needs moving so the plants it's crushing can access the sun again, and the Indomitable sets at the task with gusto.

It's hot, backbreaking work. Birdsong brings with it warmer temperatures, and even the sea breeze isn't enough to dry the sweat that soon glistens upon the mammoth man's black flesh. He throws his formidable weight against the logs, shifting them out of the way and rolling them into a pile in the centre of the beach. He intends to get Vadir to incinerate the logs with her flame breath, choosing to do it on the sand rather than in the grassy inland area so as not to damage the plants beneath that Kisamoa seems so keen to save.

His dragons are too busy playing in the sea to help him at the moment, so Volterra applies himself to the task alone, grunting and snarling as he uses his massive form like a battering ram against the offending logs.

IF IT FEELS GOOD, TASTES GOOD, IT MUST BE MINE
HEROES ALWAYS GET REMEMBERED BUT YOU KNOW LEGENDS NEVER DIE
image: chan <3


@Rikyn

[ 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 ]




Sacre Posts: 274
World's Edge Emissary atk: 5.5 | def: 8.5 | dam: 5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16hh :: 5 Years HP: 65 | Buff: NOVICE
Inari :: Red Fox :: Heal & Ríona :: Common Kitsune :: Electric imi
#2

Aimlessly casting himself westward, he travelled towards the border of the Endless Blue, a pair of bushy tailed foxes spread out in front of him. Snarled, rotten and untouched for years now the deadlands were perhaps one of the lesser appealing places in Helovia that Sacre desired to visit. He’d seen enough wraiths to last a lifetime who knew if some still lingered here or perhaps even the rifts that had caused so much trouble, taken the life of his sister, still plagued this area of the world. Who knew? Sacre felt like it was the Gods should at least accompany them, but instead the mortals were being sent towards what might be danger once again and, usually, when there was chance of danger there was always the chance of death. Every time something strange happened in Helovia the fox-boy got an uneasy feeling of déjà-vu all over again. Perhaps he should just go back to the Edge and live in peace a little longer, but so many of his friends and family were already helping Kisamoa and, so too, would Sacre.

As he got closer to the dreadful border and the litter of decay that lay there, another was also sorting, or well, battering some unassuming logs. Sacre thought he had seen him at other meetings with Kisamoa, though the memory was fleeting as was his recognition. Big and scarred, he was quite intimidating, especially so close to the deadlands, Sacre wasn't sure whether to feel safe or scared as he walked his skinnier, less scarred, body towards him. Inari thought he could see dragons playing in the ocean beyond and instinctively fell behind one of Sacre's forelegs as the fox-boy came to a halt before the blight and the guy clearing it. 

Awkwardly, he also began to push a log out of the way before noticing a dead looking tree that blocked out the suns light making everything around it dark, perfect conditions, Sacre thought, for death to grow. Motioning to Inari and Ríona, the fox and the Kitsune began to climb the tree with the purpose of removing its branches with teeth and lightning. "Be careful it doesn't catch fire" Sacre worriedly warned his overly happy dusty friend who now sported sparks on all four of her tails.

Turning his attention back to his log, he glanced over at the other stallion, then to the dragons and back again. "Are they your bonded?" he asked, nodding at the playing dragons curiously, feeling a need to fill the silent void.

show me your fears, show me your scars
I'll take whatever's left of your heart

image credits


@Volterra


There's something wretched about this
Something so precious about this

❚ Force permitted!
❚ Please tag me!

Rikyn the Puppeteer Posts: 549
Aurora Basin Lord atk: 7.5 | def: 11.5 | dam: 4.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16.3 :: 4 HP: 70 | Buff: SWIFT
Duir :: Royal Cerndyr :: Earth Spirit Bunnie
#3

Rikyn

Two very familiar scaled demons play in the sea.

I watch them from a grassy rise, seeking out the monolithic being which accompanies them along the shore. It’s not very hard to find him, what with being a giant, obsidian tank on a pearly beach, and another dark, familiar form accompanies him. Not seeing the foxes, mostly perplexed as to how I know the blood stained man, an ear eases backwards in contemplation.

The Basin? No.

Out here, in the wild? I don’t think so…

Then, suddenly, it strikes me, like a revelation, the irony of having recently encountered Sikeax most coincidental. That had both been there, on the beach, and that man below was none other than Sacre, King of Spies.

I had already deduced in my age and minor wisdom that he was not truly the King of anything, but still, the memory had lingered with me with such strength and poignancy that it might be said he was the root cause of all my disastrously failed attempts at thieving, and the scars which accompanied them. It was not to say, either, that I disliked him for it, or even truly blame; all he had done was implanted an idea, a notion, a fantasy that I had played out secretly in my head, when I thought the Gods who praised warriors and valor above all else weren’t listening.

King of Spies, master of secrets. The idea of such a thing was beguiling, as tempting as the bone laden warlord which also haunted the vast realms of my imagination. It’s such a vibrant memory that, for a while, as I stand there, looking at them, working away on the soiled stretch of beach, I forget that there is a hole in my heart.

It returns, however, that nagging ache, as I return my attention to reality, stepping down towards the shore, having found that work was a suitable distraction from sorrow. Perhaps something hilarious would happen here, as well, and be a further lure from the melancholy that seems to stalk me, waiting for moments of weakness. Glancing at the crackling kitsune with lifeless eyes as I approach, only now noticing her and the other, red fox, I nod to both the men before taking my place at an untended patch of filth and debris.

"Long time no see, King of Spies, Volterra," I say, the slightest twitch of my lips into a smile, a “normal” way to deliver such a line, that I feel disinclined to give any true effort; I otherwise let their conversation fill the quiet, brine laden air, alongside the crackle and snap of lightning and muscle breaking away the built up decay.

[ OOC: Yeah he's super emo. Sorry about that. D: ]
It's better to push something away that's slipping
Than to risk being dragged down
@Volterra

Wishlist - Plots

Force/violence is allowed to be used on Rikyn permitted it does not permanently maim or kill him (PM me!).

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


It isn't long before he is joined by another, a black stallion gilded in crimson with two fox-like companions at his side. One of them is a regular fox of the sort that Vadir in particular likes to hunt, but the other is a four-tailed kitsune, which Volterra recognises because of his mother's Mongrel. The sight of the creature brings a nostalgic smile to the brute's face as childhood memories flood back, and he finds himself captivated by the little thing. The kitsune's bonded then applies his strength to the trees as well, and Volterra offers an approving nod for the assistance.

The stranger asks if the dragons frolicking in the ocean are his bonded, and the Indomitable nods. "Yes, they are. I intend to move these logs into the centre of the beach then have the gold set fire to them - I thought it unsafe to do so here as it might destroy more than it saves." It isn't like Volterra to be so careful and considerate, but he is assuming there will be rewards for aiding Kisamoa - that is the only reason he is doing this, not out of any great care for the countryside.

The next to arrive is vastly more familiar, and to Volterra's own surprise, he finds himself grinning slightly at the sight of Rikyn. "Rikyn," he rumbles, pausing from his task for a moment to scrutinise the gold-painted unicorn. Remembering the fight, a small smirk begins to play at the corners of his mouth - he'd discovered his second magic that day, and used it to create a great golem with, as it turns out, a very powerful fist. "How's the ribs? Well enough to assist us?" He does not notice the smaller stallion's melancholy mood, and his own eyes sparkle with mirth and memories. After all, the faster they get these logs moved, the faster Volterra can move onto another task, and it will be easier to complete this with the three of them.

IF IT FEELS GOOD, TASTES GOOD, IT MUST BE MINE
HEROES ALWAYS GET REMEMBERED BUT YOU KNOW LEGENDS NEVER DIE
image: chan <3


@Sacre

[ 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 ]




Sacre Posts: 274
World's Edge Emissary atk: 5.5 | def: 8.5 | dam: 5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16hh :: 5 Years HP: 65 | Buff: NOVICE
Inari :: Red Fox :: Heal & Ríona :: Common Kitsune :: Electric imi
#5

Sacre took in the towering beast's words and nodded quickly, pushing his log towards the centre of the beach so he could also add to the pile for the white-faced stranger's dragon to burn and, as he did so, he looked across briefly to the flying creatures thoughtfully. He'd never seen a red or a gold dragon before, the ones he had seen had either been bronze or white or even orange in colour, yet, he'd never even wondered about their colours before, not until now, perhaps they meant something? Did they come in other shades too? Nostalgically, it made him think of Mr Lace and his little white Fajira, the fox-boy had been so young then and the memory was joyful and fun, making his heart pine to revisit it, if only he could, and a smile wove onto his face as he watched the stranger's dragons playing before he returned to contemplate his log once again. With a grunt he pushed it forwards, eyes trained to its woody texture as he did so and for once he concentrated on his task until an interruption of another helper, this time it was someone vaguely familiar and, with him, inspiring a striking memory of meeting a foal-like band of musketeers.

"K-king?" his head lifted up from the log and twitched to one side, confusion filling his face as he drank in the newcomers appearance of black and gold before suddenly, like a light bulb flickering above his head, he remembered the meeting, in the Dragons Throat, with three young visitors back when Sacre pretended to play at King of Spies and wasn't at all very good at it. "Ahhhh, Dus... Dristan?" but even as he said it, his eyes lighting up with recognition, the other, the dragon guy, spoke up too and addressed him as somebody else entirely. Was he wrong? Was this somebody else? 

Maybe he had a twin? 

"King of Fools, more like" Inari snickered from up a tree and Sacre winced. 

Volterra, whom Sacre presumed was the big guy's name as Dristan (Rikyn?) had called him, went on to ask about... his ribs?! Had something happened? Feeling every inch the King of Fools, he shuffled around like a spare part, absently pushing his log in thought, mulling over the duplicity and audacity of foals. 

It was then that a sudden spark lit up in the background and Sacre turned to watch Ríona zap a branch down from an offending tree, allowing more light to enter the woodland. As she did so, Inari yelped and scrambled a jump out of the way, apparently the mischievous kitsune hadn't deigned herself to tell her older brother to mind the sparks. Sacre sighed and shook his head, returning his attention, which was frequently drifting, back to his own task and the two gentlemen who helped.

"Ribs? Did you hurt yourself?" he asked, glancing between Volterra and Dristan as he continued his task, wondering what might have happened.

show me your fears, show me your scars
I'll take whatever's left of your heart

image credits


@Rikyn


There's something wretched about this
Something so precious about this

❚ Force permitted!
❚ Please tag me!

Rikyn the Puppeteer Posts: 549
Aurora Basin Lord atk: 7.5 | def: 11.5 | dam: 4.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16.3 :: 4 HP: 70 | Buff: SWIFT
Duir :: Royal Cerndyr :: Earth Spirit Bunnie
#6

Rikyn


They both seem to remember me, which improves my mood only in the slightest of ways. Hell, any other day, I’d be smiling and eager to carry on with them, but today, it’s all I can do to keep to my duties. Even when I’m mistakenly called Dristan, the impish grin that would have alighted on my lips remains absent, the false title instead earning a glance, with amusement only a tracery element gleaming in the precious metal tones of my eyes.

Kicking a chunk of wood unceremoniously while dragging another, I gracelessly deposit them into Volterra’s already amassed pile. Looking back up at the black behemoth with a flat expression, I try to appear interested in our conversation; really, I do! Before I can answer, Sacre adds his own question.

Did I get hurt?

My buck relinquishes a sharp snort of laughter, prancing over towards the two foxes. His heart is not so burdened by mourning, as mine is, and he thinks to himself, as he trots: more like when doesn’t he. He greets the foxes with his usual cheer, joining the fold with a small bob of his crown, before he cautiously extracts the fallen limbs, cautiously avoiding the raining sparks of the kitsune’s blasting magic.

"Some men hold no blows, even when fighting friends," I dryly tell Sacre, first, my lips twisting into the slightest of smiles, mostly because I hold very little against Volterra for the ass kicking he’d given me. How else might I have met Aelin, and dreamt of flying? "nearly two years ago, yeah? Regardless, they are fine."

Other than, that is, having been more recently fractured again by a hormone crazed woman, whom, ironically, had been sent to attack me on emotional whims initially stirred by this very friend of mine. Did I know that? No. If I did, I might be a little more hostile towards him, for his senseless treatment of women, and how it had led me to several weeks of very painful breath, and wary watching of the horizon (not because I would actually care that he was fucking every woman in Helovia – his venereal disease, I guess - but because it had effected me). I certainly hadn’t gone back to the beach until Kisamoa showed up, that’s for damn sure.

"You manage to actually kill someone you care about in the name of training, yet?" I jest, without mirth, an emotionless smile accompanying my quick glance towards the tall, pale faced stallion. Maybe it’s a bad one, but I don’t care. Having your dad die leaves you in a dark sort of place that makes jokes about murdering one’s friends for the sake of power seem funny.


It's better to push something away that's slipping
Than to risk being dragged down
@Volterra

Wishlist - Plots

Force/violence is allowed to be used on Rikyn permitted it does not permanently maim or kill him (PM me!).

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
#7


Sacre's glance to them does not go unnoticed by either of the vain dragons, and they both twist magnificently in the air to display every gleaming sinew of their bodies for him. Volterra rolls his eyes but doesn't attempt to prevent the dragons from showing off, knowing that the stubborn little bastards will take it as a personal challenge. Instead he resumes his forceful pressing against the logs until another has been dislodged from its perch, which he moves into the centre of the beach with the others. Already he can see hints of green peeking through where the wood previously obscured, and he feels an odd sense of pride knowing that this particular patch of ground is only seeing sunlight by his command. It's an thrill of power that he quite enjoys, and he redoubles his efforts with gusto.

Suddenly, the leviathan is bombarded with hungry faces from his dragons. They have spotted the creature next to Rikyn, which appears to be a stunted deer. "PREY!" they scream in unison, wheeling through the air and circling above like vultures to ascertain the edibility of this intruder. In his mind, Volterra can see them with their knives and forks out and bibs politely placed across their chests, their salivating jaws just itching to sink into the tender deer-meat. This time, though, the stallion does stymie them with a single deafening no into their heads, which sends them recoiling with anguished, indignant howls. Under normal circumstances Volterra would encourage their predatory instincts, but not here. Not when the deer is a companion to a man that the Indomitable considers a friend.

He looks to Rikyn. "You have a new companion," he observes, scrutinising the stag. It is admirable in its own way, he supposes, but Volterra sees little use in having a herbivore for a companion when he is one himself. Branch out, he wants to tell the unicorn, live dangerously. Go carnivore or go home. "My dragons want me to tell you that he looks delicious." A wicked smirk that is devoid of true malice and a twinkle in his eye should hopefully tell Rikyn that he's not serious.

His grin widens as Rikyn mentions their fight, and not holding a grudge. As the unicorn points out that it was nearly two years ago, the behemoth chuckles. "It was one of my finest moments, I'm hard-pressed to forget it." Summoning a giant made of earth and sending it after his foe had been a dream come true for the young warlord, and that particular magic is one that he cherishes. Rikyn inquires if he's ever killed someone in the name of training, and something in the smaller man's expression and voice makes Volterra pause. Is he actually joking, or is it a barbed comment masquerading as humour? Either way, the Indomitable lacks the brainpower or the inclination to question - he just takes the remark at face value. "Not quite, but unfortunately rough brawls are all a part of training. You don't get muscles like these by pulling your punches." He flexes said muscles, feeling a pleasing ripple as they bunch and furl beneath his black flesh.

The beast shuffles aside to make space next to him for Rikyn to help move the logs if he's so inclined, whilst he resumes his own assault on the topmost piece of wood. He is careful to avoid the sparks made by the kitsune, not wanting to scorch his magnificently preened foot feathers. "Care to lend a hoof?"

IF IT FEELS GOOD, TASTES GOOD, IT MUST BE MINE
HEROES ALWAYS GET REMEMBERED BUT YOU KNOW LEGENDS NEVER DIE
image: chan <3


@Sacre

[ 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 ]




Sacre Posts: 274
World's Edge Emissary atk: 5.5 | def: 8.5 | dam: 5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16hh :: 5 Years HP: 65 | Buff: NOVICE
Inari :: Red Fox :: Heal & Ríona :: Common Kitsune :: Electric imi
#8

Thump by thump branches fell to the sound of a delighted kitsune who was rather enjoying herself and her four tails crackled with hot electric. As they fell, Sacre and Inari, along with Dristan's deer friend, began to shift them out of the way, adding them to the log pile on the beach that Volterra had suggested they made. The conversation continued as they worked, the tale of injured ribs was an old one it seemed, when blows were traded between these two... friends? Rivals? (Lovers?) Sacre hadn't yet worked out the relationship between the two stallions he was helping clear the beach with, even though they appeared quite amicable as they traded words, however, when Dristan asked about killing others in training, Sacre struggled to suppress the instinctive shudder that threatened to rattle his body. Killing? Just exactly who were these horses he was cleaning with?! Uncharacteristically, he was at a loss of words, as he watched Volterra flex his well trained muscles, feeling like a scraggly weed next to a magnificent oak tree. Was this what Mauja meant when he said to practice violence? Was it pitiful to wish that he would never meet Volterra on a battlefield? Perhaps he should stop pulling his punches...

Even the dragons looked like they were ready to rip meat from bone as they circled above and Sacre silently glanced at Dristan—had he ever killed anyone whilst 'training'? "Not quite..." he echoed part of Volterra's reply with a raised brow, but continued working anyway, it wasn't really a question as he didn't really want to know what the answer would be. To have muscle like that he must have been in many rough brawls with bloody outcomes the healer wasn't entirely sure he was ready to hear all the details of, though Sacre was only speculating. 

Thump another branch came down, "perhaps we should burn this now" he nodded to the pile of wood, if they collected anymore they could always make another. The fox-boy looked questionably at Volterra and Dristan before looking back to the sick woodland where light was now easily breaking through where Ríona had zapped, filling the dark spaces with brightness. The healer nods his satisfaction at the four-tailed Kitsune who was beginning to look a little worn out despite the exhilaration on her face. He wondered how everyone else was doing, if Kisamoa was content with their clearing and what would be next. 

show me your fears, show me your scars
I'll take whatever's left of your heart

image credits


"Go carnivore or go home" lmao inspirational Volterra
@Rikyn


There's something wretched about this
Something so precious about this

❚ Force permitted!
❚ Please tag me!

Rikyn the Puppeteer Posts: 549
Aurora Basin Lord atk: 7.5 | def: 11.5 | dam: 4.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16.3 :: 4 HP: 70 | Buff: SWIFT
Duir :: Royal Cerndyr :: Earth Spirit Bunnie
#9

Rikyn

The overhead wheeling of the dragons causes Duir too simply flicker out of existence, right where he stands, before he scampers about behind the tree they are busy clearing away. His natural magic is easily roused by the immediate threat of two carnivores, his timid nature lending to the ease with which he chooses flight, over fight. My reaction is much less minimalist, however, and involves both my ears flattening firmly to my head, and my own magic crackling within me, eager to drive into the gold one, and force her hideous face into the sand, if she actually tries to hurt my (almost only) friend.

It doesn’t seem necessary, but Volterra’s joke does little to ease the level of aggression currently lining my face. Mentally telling Duir to quit hiding like a pussy, I shrug my unarmored shoulder, as if his words don’t make me want to stab him (because they do, I’m just not sure if its my pride actually being wounded or the sniveling little boy I’ve become in mourning).

"And yours are still mutant turkeys," I remark, still unsure as to whether he’s kidding or not; my buck’s mind tenuously insists that they are far more dangerous than turkeys. Still, Volterra’s smiling, so a joke seems better than a threat, which is the best I can offer most dragons, having inherited my family’s dislike of the entire species (thanks, Mirage). That the red one of the horrible, fanged pair had once covered me in squirrel blood doesn’t do much for my opinion of him.

Equine. It’s almost synonymous with barbaric savage.

Still, this barbarian holds the muscles such people are renowned for, and though his pets are vermin, he himself is not; while he certainly hadn’t held any of strength back during our fight, I also believed that those who the massive black considered his friends would find that same strength on their side. Such loyalty was admirable, even if he was a hornless; besides, I’ve never been as blind to the truth as my mother. The flighted and crownless were lesser, to be sure, but it did not mean that there weren’t those among their kind who could be found worthy.

I simply nod in agreement to not withholding any of one’s power during a fight, refusing to watch Volterra’s manly muscle flexing. I certainly always had tried with every ounce of my strength while sparring, even if the weight of my ambition was far greater than the mass of my weaponry. I’d even fought Gaucho the Wildfire once, the Wildfire, and lived to tell the tale; the memory, however, is much more bitter than it once was.

I never got to tell dad.

"Yeah," I morosely state, in response to both questions moving to roll the logs towards the Indomitable breaks lose towards the accumulated pile.


It's better to push something away that's slipping
Than to risk being dragged down

Wishlist - Plots

Force/violence is allowed to be used on Rikyn permitted it does not permanently maim or kill him (PM me!).

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
#10


Their pile of logs is growing magnificently now, and despite his initial reluctance to help, Volterra can't help but feel a stab of pride at what they have accomplished. Because of their combined efforts, the grass can grow where previously it would not; they have changed the face of the landscape forever with the force of their muscles and companions.

He casts his gaze over to Rikyn. The unicorn seems less than enamoured with the dragons and their primal reaction to his bonded, and Volterra notes the backwards position of the ears. Ah, perhaps he has overstepped his boundaries. The mutant turkey response causes a booming chuckle to erupt from him, and inside his mind he feels the prideful bristling of both red and gold as they bellow their displeasure at the insult.

At that moment, Sacre suggests burning the pile that they have collected; with rather more vigour than the job probably required, Vadir swoops low over the gathered branches and blasts a great storm of flame from her gaping jaws. As the breeze catches it, the fire spreads easily across the entirety of the pile, only stopped from spreading further by some stones that Volterra had placed around it. As he stares at the blazing inferno, he ponders on how many insects and small, irrelevant microorganisms will have died in the furnace. Moving and burning the branches has created new life that will ultimately benefit horses like themselves, but for the millions of tiny creatures who called the wood home, it spells the end.

The Indomitable ponders this as he studies the bonfire of his own creation. It is a philosophical debate to span the ages; which lives are worth more? Hypnotised by the blaze, it's hard for him to tear his gaze away and look back to Rikyn. "How many fire-breathing turkeys do you know?" Vadir gives a chirp of delight and settles herself upon Volterra's broad back to admire her handiwork. He glances between both the men who have assisted him, nodding his great head in thanks to them.

IF IT FEELS GOOD, TASTES GOOD, IT MUST BE MINE
HEROES ALWAYS GET REMEMBERED BUT YOU KNOW LEGENDS NEVER DIE
image: chan <3


Don't know if you guys want to end this here or carry on for a bit :D @Sacre

[ 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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