the Rift


[PRIVATE] The Edge of the Map [HATCHING]

Tyrath Posts: 61
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
#1
tyrath

Dusty cloven hooves carried him leisurely through the thick brush and twisting branches, he didn't visit the Deep Forest often, but it proved to be a suitable place for the young stallion to be alone with his thoughts. The revelation of Kisamoa being Kaos was still fresh in his mind, as was the jagged, grizzly wound which raked down his neck to his chest. The scabs had began to slough off, revealing the fresh pink of scars he'd gallantly wear. While they had been beaten back, he had fought, he'd thrown himself into harms way to try and save his family. The loss and wounded pride is lessened by that notion, his head raised higher for it.

Still, a wisp voice boomed somewhere in the back of his mind, how could they have been so blind? How did the Gods not see it? His fanged maw clenched tight. An ember filled snort answered the internal voice, displeasure clearly written on his chiselled features. Did he always brood this much? He'd always been such a melancholic child, while it had lessened in favor of more mature thoughts and interests, a cocktail of hormones and jarring thoughts which barreled through his mind at inappropriate moments. His next breath comes out as a huffed sigh, another lick of embers plumed from his illuminated nostrils.

Before he realized it, he's deeper than he's ever dared to step within the gnarled forest. The wicked branches twisted and locked overhead, interrupted by brief pockets of open space to allow a weary soul on tired wings to descend. Odd, but not enough to strike him to the core. Helovia is filled with all manner of not-so-usual things. A pock marked canopy whose branches are scarred and scorched mean little to him. That is until his crimson pits spied something glittering just out of sight, a vibrant streak against an otherwise bleak landscape. Curious, he angled himself to take his muscular form toward the glittering creation barely visible through the thorny, bearded head lowered enough that the long tangled strands of his mismatched hair drag against the forest floor.
He found his answer soon enough, a nest. Worse for wear, the branches and other bedding has wilted without attention. The object of his desire is a dragonscale and his ears instinctively snapped forward, could it be? Plenty of them glitter out between the snapped twigs and careful placed stones, there had been a Queen here once upon a time. Gargatuan and great, beautiful and deadly. She's long gone by the looks of it, the cracked and discarded egg shells are scattered like broken diamonds as he stilled by the large creation. All her hatchlings have flown. Disappointment is a bitter pill to swallow, but he swallowed it anyway. It was still a discovery he intended to thoroughly explore. 

Tyrath's horned head tilted as he stepped around it carefully, eyes intently drinking in every deep gash in the earth, the scorch marks which littered the surrounding barren patch the dragonness had once claimed as her own. He barely noticed the slight noise which eminated from the depths of the nest, until it chipped the silence, an ear reflexively tilted toward it. A scavenger perhaps? He wouldn't put it past the forest creatures to come sniffing into a nest hoping for scraps, abandoned eggs or hatchlings who couldn't earn their wings. Upper lip half-curled in disgust, it dropped with another persistent noise. His eyes narrowed in on the stack of discarded eggshells while he pulled himself into the impressive pit. The Prince's muzzle is dropped in favor of nudging through the ruined pieces of shell, tipped out of the way until his nostrils flared against something solid, smooth, untouched.


An Egg. One last egg and his heart soars. Flames within his chest burned brighter with the revelation, the silhouette of his ribcage illuminated brighter against his skin. Slowly, he picked away at the prison it's been hidden beneath, until it's free, quivering as little chirped noises hissed and spat within it's confines. "You can do it." He uttered, his head remained level with it, critically he assessed each little detail right down to how the egg tilted to the left with his words. The encouragement appeared to work after a moment, the smooth surface cracked in little hairline fissues as the body coiled and battered against it, the tone of the noise changes into something etched with fierce determination and he found himself grinning.

It had spirit, he'd give it that.

Finally, minutes that appeared to drag too long for the stallion's tastes, sped back up with a final punctuated crack as a small red taloned paw broke through, grasped and found purchase against the tender flesh of his muzzle. He can't quite describe the emotions, the connection that burst over his senses at the touch. The determination to be free, the hunger, the curiosity — it's all there, rooted in his chest and mind, a second pulse which burned an equally brilliant hue. A second paw soon joined the first, while an elongated muzzle nudged through the cracks, his body finally urged him to pull away at the sharp pinch. An indignant squawk is the hatchling's reply as he's unceremoniously pulled from his egg, body immediately furled under his jaw as his tail wrapped firmly around the Tribrid's face.

"That hurt." The stallion grumbled half-heartedly, his fanged maw pulled into grin. The Dragon is less than impressed, the pointed jab which spiked through his mind is enough to confirm it as he set about dragging himself up his head to his crowns. Checking, assessing, determining his worth as a bonded already. Deciding if the Tribrid is worth his attention, he's not quite used to being looked over like this and he's unable to help the slight growl of his own which rumbled in his heavily scarred chest. The Dragonling himself is quite impressive, his red scales glitter a ruby hue, darker nubs of obsidian line the sides of his head, his jawline and the iconic spot behind his temples. A crown fit for a king dressed in red instead of gold. His eyes are a brilliant shade of icy white, not a blemish of another colour within their iris' depths. His front paws are tucked neatly to his sides, emphasis given on his wings as they grasped their fingers against the bony texture of his own horns. Long tail wrapped possessively around his perch, the tip of his tail poking languidly at the set of gold chains clasped to his newfound throne. He promises to be like his fathers red in size, if he's anything to go by now, and the thought is a pleasant one.

"Harcos." He doesn't quite know why he settled addressing the Dragon as such, but it caught his attention. Harcos' gaze shifted immediately to him, rather than focus on his own devices — a toothy grin plastered on his scaled face as he nodded. A silent approval of the name chosen for him. "Harcos it is then." He reaffirmed, the grin never faltered once from his skull marked features.    


"Talk."
This is the Hour of Twilight,
and all will burn

beneath the shadow of my wings.
image | coding


@Volterra @Astarot @Kid since you guys wanted to pop in, we'll make it a family affair.
[Image: tyrath_by_bronzehalo_d9yw5wg_by_arahvir-d9yx9ov.png]

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


Volterra has always thought that dragons can sense the hatching of another of their species. This assumption seems to be proved correct as both Vérzés and Vadir unfurl excitedly even before the gunshot of a hatching egg rings out through the forest, a sound that makes the beast's head jerk up from his leisurely grazing. They both take to the wing simultaneously, powerful scaled bodies darting in between the trees as they head towards it.

On the ground, the Indomitable follows. New dragons always intrigue him, and he is keen to see which equine has been deemed strong enough to share his or her mind with the most magnificent of companions. It isn't long before his dragons send him a mental image that makes his heart spike with pleasure and his rangy canter speed up into a full-fledged gallop - it is Tyrath. His tribrid son, source of so much pride, is soon to have a dragon! The boy will be the first of his children to bond, and Volterra can't help the booming whinny of pleasure that erupts from his jaws at the notion.

The stallion's thunderous footsteps ring out through the forest as he pelts at full speed; he hurdles fallen trees and barges unceremoniously through tangled undergrowth, nothing slowing his hellbent charge. Finally he breaks out into clear daylight, skids to a halt, and can see his son's dragon for the first time as it begins to entwine itself into his horns. Pride swells through the leviathan's heart as he witnesses this heartwarming moment, and his pleasure blossoms further when he sees the colour of his son's new companion. "A red," he rumbles joyously. Vérzés has already noticed this delightful fact, and circles over Tyrath and his bonded with a deep sense of smugness emanating into Volterra's mind. "Dragon-son has best dragon," he says happily, lowering his slow circles to try and touch his nose gently to the red hatchling in a greeting of kin, an adult ruby beast to a newly-born one.

Vadir, perched imperiously up in a tree, huffs - remarkably, she even manages to make this otherwise mundane sound come across as superior. "Why bond to red runt when he could have waited and bonded to a golden queen?" she questions, her cold voice stabbing its way into the heads of both Volterra and her red brother. The stallion ignores her. This is a happy day for his family and he will not let Vadir's royal snobbery ruin such a moment, as much as he normally approves of the gold's arrogance. He senses her desire to put the hatchling in his place, ensuring he knows from birth that she is the queen, but Volterra firmly forbids it.

Tyrath names his dragon, and the leviathan's brow cocks in approval. "Harcos," he repeats, tasting the Hungarian word on his tongue. "Warrior." A smile splits his handsome features in too as he edges towards his son, seeking to blow softly into the youth's nostrils. He doesn't extend the greeting to Harcos - as much as he adores dragons, even ones that aren't his own, he learned from a very young age not to try and touch one, especially a fractious hatchling. Lilomiel's bite scars have lingered between his nostrils to this day. "Congratulations, son. May you and Harcos strike fear into the hearts of your enemies." Vérzés circles around and lands on Volterra's broad back, whilst Vadir preens her gleaming golden scales in the most imperious manner possible.

AND THE WORLD WILL END IN FIRE
dragons: iconian fonts.dafont

[ 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 ]




Vezér Posts: 38
Dragon's Throat Filly
Filly :: Equine :: 17hh :: One year
Pare
#3
The spider web girl makes her way through the Deep forest in search of her ebony father. A grin was plastered on her young face  as she followed her father's tracks. She had been working on her tracking skills following strangers, but it was way better when you actually got to catch your prey. Her nose lifts to some bushes and she inhales deeply picking up her father's scent. Her ears prick as a cracking sound rings out, followed by the sound of hooves pounding against the ground. She tenses making sure they aren't headed her way. The thundering of hooves slowly grow fainter and she quickly throws herself forward into a steady trot. The scent of her father makes her move into a gallop as she races after him. She wanted to know what that sound had been, and she assumed that's where her father was going too.

Try as she might her tiny legs can't catch her Goliath of a father, but she tries all the same. She hears his excited call and she wonders if he is after something only he would really like, a mare perhaps. Something cautions her to stop, but she shoves it away. She'll stop before she runs headlong into him and make sure it isn't something like, well, like that. After what felt like forever she finally slowed to a halt. Her body ached and her chest heaved, but she had made it. Carefully she peered into the clearing praying she wasn't about to find something she shouldn't.

To her relive it was just her Apa and testvér standing around looking at something she couldn't see. She hears her Apa say something about a red and she steps forward confused. Carefully she steps to his side eager to see what they are both so excited about. Her heart swells and drops at the same time as she sees the tiny red dragon. She knows she should be happy,but it's hard to be excited when the green eyed monster rears up. Swallowing her jealousy she speaks aloud, "Congrats testvér!"

Once the words are out she feels better and flashes him a genuine smile. She is happy for him, even if her pride is burned. She watches her father's ruby glide towards the youngster. Where was Vadir? She looks up into the surrounding trees hunting her beautiful golden hide. She wonders why her brother would want a lower class when he could have had a queen like her.

She steps towards the tree where the golden sits and peers up at her for a moment hoping she will look down at her. She was no fool. A princess needed a queen to teach her how to rule with an iron fist. She nods at the golden a grim smile on her face before she wipes it away. She turns back to her testvér as he speaks a name and Apa replies with the meaning. She follows her father's lead and walks to her brother. She longs to touch the hatchling and steal his affections away from her brother, but she resists. Her eyes turn to her brother instead and she reaches out you small white muzzle trying to touch his dark leg. She smiles softly up at him hoping she is hiding her jealousy well. 'One day I will have one to rival even Vadir.' She vowed to herself before turning to look up at the golden queen once more.
"He looks strong, like you Tyrath." Her voice was warm as she turns to look back at the baby red. He is handsome, she gives him that at least. He really did look strong, for a baby anyway. She can't be for sure though, because this is her first baby dragon. Her heart clenches slightly as she watches the way the pair are looking at each other. 'One day.'

-----------------------------------------
Talk
Words;; 645
OOC/Tags;; @Tyrath @Volterra Sorry it isn't longer!
vezér&volterra
‎"Introduce a little anarchy. Upset the established order, and everything becomes.... chaos. We're agents of chaos...”

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Doesn't have her collar


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