the Rift


[OPEN] Fire and Ice [AB DT relationship]

Ampere The Mother of Companions Posts: 719
Dragon's Throat Sultana atk: 9 | def: 11 | dam: 4.5
Mare :: Pegasus :: 14 hh :: 6 years HP: 73 | Buff: DANCE
Kygo :: Green Cheek Conure :: None Blu
#1
AMPERE
the Mother of Companions


As much as Ampere didn't relish the necessity of heading to the Basin to lay out their relationship terms officially, she was at least grateful for the break in the heat. Though this Tallsun wasn't the worst she had endured, their Sun did always get a little bit overwhelming during his season. Still, she couldn't fully understand how an entire herd could dwell in this frigid northern terrain. She heard it was beautiful in the spring with an abundance of wildflowers, and that in this season when most of the ice and snow had receded it was rather lovely - but there was always some ice and snow, permafrost that lingered year round, and that just seemed odd to her. She could get the beauty of the flowers from the Fields if she really wanted, and she got enough ice and snow elsewhere during its deserved time, Frostfall.

The same could probably be said of their confusion for her desert-life, to which she could only add, that slim, sweaty stallions were a major perk over the northern ones that bundled up under furs and were cold to the touch.

So with thoughts of heat's benefits over the cold, Ampere flew north with the convoy from the Throat. It wasn't meant to be an intimidating force, rather a selection of their ranks, there to share and speak with the northerners peacefully and freely.
Ampere circled down to land, mindful that they stayed behind the ominous sentinels that guarded the borders of the Basin. She'd heard quite the tales about them, though as she surveyed them, they certainly seemed in disrepair - it had been years since last she'd been here, and time had a way of wearing things out.

"Mind the metal guards," Ampere advised her group, before looking towards the herd for a sign of arrival to her call. "Basin! The Throat seeks a peaceful audience." She waited, but a mild tension ran under her skin that kept her from settling in too comfortably.
Credits: Image by eagle-cry-designs @ DA


@Volterra @Najya @Pippigrin @Ilios are the ones joining this thread from DT
@Tiamat @Rikyn other Basiners?
Post order is a liiiiiie

Tag me only if starting a new thread.
Magic or force permitted any time, aside from death.

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
THE INDOMITABLE

HEROES ALWAYS GET REMEMBERED BUT YOU KNOW LEGENDS NEVER DIE

A year or more ago, Volterra would have recoiled at the idea of growing to love the Dragon's Throat and its searing Tallsun heat. Back when he first joined, during a particularly scorching summer, his fitful night-time dreams had been made up of snow and ice, of glorious sub-zero temperatures and warm breath that misted the frigid air. He'd often lamented his choice in home, having always preferred the frozen north to the roasting south, and the Basin would have suited him down to the ground. His black, hairy bulk seems designed for colder climates, and the thought of bearing the crown of the snowy Basin had appealed greatly to him.

Now, though, as he crosses Helovia with select members of his herd alongside him, he can't help but muse over the fact that he couldn't imagine living anywhere else, especially not here. He's still fond of the snow and often spends his time in the Steppe rolling in the remaining patches of it, but the thought of living here permanently seems rather.....depressing. It has its own beauty, there's no denying that, but it lacks the raw attractiveness of the Throat's rolling sand dunes and sprawling oasis. This change in his mindset surprises the onyx warlord as much as anybody else, but he supposes that it proves everything happens for a reason. Sikeax invited him to the Throat and the Sun God made it his - the sun itself forged his already powerful body into one suited for severe heat, hardening his muscles and increasing his endurance. It all worked out well in the end, and there's a spring in his step as he marauds at a steady, energy-conserving canter deeper into the north. With Ampere leading the aerial convoy, Volterra moves with the other land-ridden Throatians at his back, doing his best to keep pace with his winged compatriot.

The sight of the great metal sentinels causes the beast's ears to flicker momentarily backwards. He has never actually been here before, and the eerie creatures in the mist cause him to place his bulk protectively in front of the rest of the herd, throwing up his head so he can eyeball the bizarre constructions with rolling red eyes. Ampere does not seem concerned, though, so the leviathan allows his muscles to relax and his massive head to slowly lower. "Ah, the perks of island life - not having to resort to such odd fortifications," he mutters, more to himself than to anybody else. The Basin's Sentinels, the Edge's glass spikes...all man-made in an attempt to protect the residents, but the Throat has the greatest defense of all - the sea. Again, he's filled with new admiration for his home and its natural defenses, wondering how the Basin's faithful must feel when they have to walk past these hideous erections every time they want to enter and exit the herd.

Drawing alongside the now-landed Ampere, Volterra adds his voice to her own. He, like the Mother of Companions, cannot quite shake the tension that hangs like a fog across his muscles. The last meeting with the Basin hadn't gone well, and he is concerned about the potential for a hostile reception. When he'd met Tiamat she had seemed nice enough, but things can change especially when one is fuelled by the confidence of standing upon one's own soil. The goliath glances upwards, where his dragons circle high above in the clouds, out of sight but ready to descend should the situation require it.

image by neverr the glorious

[ 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 ]




Weaver Posts: 149
Aurora Basin Corporal atk: 8.0 | def: 10.0 | dam: 3.0
Mare :: Hybrid :: 15.1 :: 3 years HP: 61 | Buff: Novice
Raven :: Australian Raven :: Terrorize Kyra
#3

i don't rise from the ashes, i make them.

Weaver could probably agree to the idea of slim, sweaty stallions. No, not probably, she definitely could. But she had to admit that despite the cold, the Basin held some pretty attractive stallions. None of them were very fun or flirty however, which perhaps was both good and bad. Though there was Rhodoc, now, at the very least. And he was basically fantastic. And if she had her say in recruiting, there’d be plenty more fun and fantastic horses joining the Basin just as soon as she could find them. And Mortuus, with his willingness to teach her about drugs and poisons.

Truthfully, she was well set on the boy front. Even if they were sometimes a little fuzzy, imagination was a great thing.

The voice of an unfamiliar woman cuts across the Basin. Weaver is in the air in raven form, her and Raven swirling about in a fanciful version of patrol. She still avoids flying with her own wings around the Basin, knowing it’s not the best idea, but surely the residents of the Basin can’t have anything against a bird. The pair make their way over to the entrance of the Basin, spotting a group of visitors on their doorstep. There’s not much Weaver can offer in terms of conversation, really, but in case they are not so peaceful, she figures she should be around.

She loves the Sentinels, by the way. They are fucking great. And they will be so much better when they work. But she doesn’t intend to tell anyone that doesn’t already know that they are actual useless.

She lands some distance away, though perhaps still close enough they can see her shift back from Raven to horse. When she approaches, she is her usual self though. Black and white with the horse-sized raven wings on her back, the tiara of horns adorning her head. Always a princess, even if only in her own head now. “Welcome to the Basin, I’m Weaver. What can we do for you?” she says, voice smoky as it always is, but her smile is pleasant enough. She knows better than to treat important-looking visitors like crap.

I'm the whole fucking fire.

- weaver -

image credit | quote by erin van vuren

Please tag in all posts
Magic use/power playing is okay, but check before serious injury/death
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Erebos Posts: 474
Aurora Basin General atk: 7.5 | def: 11.5 | dam: 6.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16.1hh :: Four HP: 75.5 | Buff: DANCE
Orsino :: Plain Kitsune :: Dark Illusions & Enyo :: Common Griffon :: Draining Clutch Heather
#4

Purpose fueled him, drove him, caused him to rise in the morning so that he could forget his weaknesses, his flaws, his nightmares, his ineffectual talents; brimming with aspirations, with fire, with motivation, wielding it like a bow, like a sword, like a knife. He sculpted through the webs and channels of his homeland with meticulous machinations; stopping first at his father’s tomb, bending his head down until his horn met cold stone, then rumbling further down the mountain, a piece of the wilderness, a maneuvering contortion of the glacial backdrop, born into its hills, into its valleys, into its sanctions – living, breathing, and dying for it. He guarded and protected, swore oaths, pledged lifelines and blood, solidified convictions as his sire would’ve done, as his grandfather would’ve done, as the whole lineage of fury and might would’ve brewed, howled, and coiled within their grasp – alive again because their empire needed it, because without the stark, desolate, forlorn world, he’d be utterly lost.
 
They didn’t wander; his path was completely intentional: eyes narrowed, focused, riveted on borders and outlines, stretching his limbs along the outskirts of pine and caverns, hunting for something to occupy his time – carving his nuances into the lines of a predator, a carnivore in the making. Orsino growled and huffed, pausing to sniff the air, and Enyo stalked the kitsune’s tails in silence, until a call, a summons, broke over the entryway, across their only aperture, nestled and blistering from the ramparts of their decaying sentinels. The prince ceased his movements, widened his nares, pondered, wondered, speculated the newest turn of events – and why so many had called amidst their glacial home lately, what they hoped to achieve, what it meant for the mountains to be received by the Dragon’s Throat.
 
Erebos chiseled, turned, towards the venue with hardly a thought, intending to protect, to shield, to become a garrison, a fortification, if necessary; but his memories of the sand and dunes, the hot, scorching sun had only been amusing, a distortion of diversions when they where children, playing and praying for adventure, well-received, never chased away, even when their tongues only held lies. Those days were gone though (Aithniel’s presence within their midst had solidified that – she’d hardly even glanced his way the last time he saw her, as if he’d been nothing; and he couldn’t argue the sentiment), and the wiles, the trials, the tribulations of yesteryears would always be at the forefront. Despite his lack of political ties in the past, because he’d run and yelled, whooped and hollered, instead of playing in the Reaper’s shadow, the General had every intention of molding himself into their sector (partly due to Isopia’s words, and another portion melded simply by outright interest), into their party, into their ambitions.
 
He wasn’t surprised, as he strode along the valley, all prestige, all charisma, all blatantly tied into the rime, into the glaciers, into the walls (it ran through his blood beside the fury, beside the wrath, beside the abhorrence), to see Weaver had arrived before him. He smiled at her, arched a brow for amusement, nodding at her presence, at her ability to guard and shield their borders, before glancing at the party before them. One was eerily familiar; the stoic, Stygian presence of Volterra; when they’d been boys, stupid, youthful, ridiculous children, they’d challenged each other in a bout of wit, in a clatter of history and lineage, underlying currents of potency, of lethality, running through their veins. Erebos had never spoken of where he’d belonged, but knew of the great beast’s blood, his mother’s once brutal assaults on their mountain range. He must have followed somewhat in his dam’s footsteps, grasping power, tenacity, and boldness. How he intended to wield it was another inquiry altogether. “Volterra, how nice to see you again!” Erebos laughed, bright and incandescent, forging his pretenses right, left, and center, following suit with a sweep of his gaze along the rest of their forces – the blue Pegasus mare he’d seen before, likely during their whole host of chaotic events, granting each of them a swift, respectable nod. “General Erebos at your service,” he obliged once again, the dark, steely sanction of his stare offering the barest of hints that their empire was still not one to be trifled with.
 
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Pippigrin Posts: 77
Dragon's Throat Gladiator atk: 6.5 | def: 8.5 | dam: 4.5
Stallion :: Pegasus :: 10hh :: Two HP: 68 | Buff: NOVICE
Brandybuck :: Wolverine :: None Neverrmind
#5

PIPPIGRIN
FALLEN OUT OF BED FROM A LONG & WEARY DREAM

"And my great-great-uncle Hedwig said that there were Yetis wherever it snowed so we never went anywere near the mountains... or anywhere else... But I don't think that was just to avoid Yetis!" --

"Well yes, you see Hobbits like me live in the hills and we haven't moved anywhere since the Doon. I used to live on top of a hill with all my brothers and sisters and my ma and da, my grandpas and mas and great ones too!"--

"I once found this frog and I called it Fish! Yap, he was green. Mrs. Ampere what do you think about frogs? I like them because they can jump sooooOooOo high!"--

"My cousin Boefer told me that the trees can hear you when you talk, so maybe you shouldn't mutter as much Mr. Volterra Sir in case they hear you and get offended?" --

♫ "*Ohh misty eye of the mountainnnn beloooOowwww....." ♫


This was a most brief snippet of Pippigrin's endless chatter on the journey to the Basin. He was most excited, having never actually seen snow before (unless it was far away on a mountain's peak). Reciting many hobbity tales and numerous jokes, as well as no short amount of songs, Pippigrin was quite in his element, choosing to flit between the party on-foot and the winged party above, all giving them something to listen to for the long journey. Whether they wanted to listen to it or not had been no concern of his, and it had not once crossed his mind.

The halfling walked beside the indomitable when snow first came into view; proper snow, the kind that was actually reachable and not a thousand miles away on distant ridges.
"Mr Volterra!" The hobbit had cried, storming ahead to place his hooves in the alien white powder. "Snow!" He announced.

It was as they progressed, that the ear-chewing chatter ceased. Nervousness and tension grew within the air, and as the half-sized stag walked he could just about hear his footsteps echoing back to him. Taking his place to the left of his Sultan and Sultana, Pippigrin fluffed his wings and keenly gazed outwards, searching for any signs of life.
The first to emerge was a woman he recognised and knew. She was a rude one, that was the extent of his knowledge besides the fact that she hailed from this snowy abode. Having met Weaver in the threshold, Pippigrins brow furrowed ever-so-slightly at meeting the woman again - he could recall their first enounter quite clearly and the patronizing sourness she had spoken to him with.
"This one's nasty... I know her" Pip whispered to Volterra, his words audible only to the goliath.
Soon the fog presented another. This time it was a darker fellow, one who reminded the hobbit of both the Sultan and Sultana combined. Erebos, a general. He seemed nice enough, though so had Mrs. Weaver only moment's ago, and he had got a very different picture in the threshold only a few weeks back.


*ed sheeran feat. Pipp the slaya


Wessex Posts: 149
Aurora Basin Haruspex atk: 5.0 | def: 8.5 | dam: 7.5
Mare :: Unicorn :: 16.3 hh :: 3 HP: 68 | Buff: NOVICE
Astor
#6

I AM IRON AND I FORGE MYSELF

Ever the vanguard, Wessex is surprised to hear yet another group knocking on their door. After a moment’s pause she realizes that it makes perfect sense for the summer to be so incredibly busy - no one but Basiners want to come this far North in the dead of winter. Emphasis on dead. As in, they’d probably freeze their noses and wingtips off, and then they’d be some pretty odd looking horses. Hell, the Corporal wonders how a hardy, badass soul like herself is going to make it through what is sure to be the most trying part of the year. Wind, snow, ice, and only the hot springs and a bearskin cape to keep her warm (perhaps she should make friends with the Weavers…). It shall be an entirely new experience, and one that she is ultimately dreading.

The mottled, horned mare is also ignorant to whatever history the two herds have between them - the racism ingrained in elders, the harsh words and deeds that drew a line in the dirt and clearly divided the two groups. All the soldier knows is that one healer came to talk to Tia, and he seemed a bit like a pushover - another came to court Tia - he was nice (though you would never hear her admit it), but stoked her jealousy. Neither were threatening, and perhaps it is because their lovely blue Lady has the whole of Helovia under her spell.

Wessex is quickly learning that she is the jealous type, she just… isn’t able to act on it and so must channel the resulting frustrations appropriately. Usually in the training arena, or by working up a sweat.

Today, Wessex finds that she is not quite as early as she thought, so the spidey senses begin to relax as she draws abreast of Erebos and Weaver, knowing that whatever is to happen, she is in good company. Already, she recognized two: Ampere, and the tiny, obnoxious one.. Having never heard the mare’s rank, the Corporal salutes the blue and black mare with an easy smile (the type she offers to her fellow comrades in arms, for there is no ill will from their spar. “Ampere,” her deep voice rumbles across the flat terrain. “Well met, again.” Reptilian eyes shift from one visitor to the next as her ears flicker ‘round, and she sorts out her first impressions.

Bending down to scratch a spot on her foreleg with one of her horns, she whispers over to Erebos, in words that should remain private, given the distance between the groups “The small one is a fool.” She’s sure that if Weaver is keen enough to hear her assertion, she’d agree. But there is nothing to betray her sentiment about the half-horse, as Wessex’s tail moves back and forth in an easy sway and she settles in to wait for either Tia or Rikyn.  

W E S S E X

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-- please tag in all posts! --
-- magic and force allowed, no death or permanent damage --

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
#7
R I K Y N & D U I R

There are but a few strangers to the mountain, this time, and I know one.

"Volterra!" I call out at the sight of him, my trotting step coming to a bouncy halt alongside Erebos, opposite Wessex. Having heard the call of the blue mare (unless my pale faced friend has had a drastic change of voice since the last I’d seen him), it had taken me a little while to make it here – but that was quite okay. I’m glad to see that there are numerous individuals gathered, including a sizeable militant force, as it appears my brother brought the army along with him, to the gate. Probably a good idea, really, considering the amount of scars littering both our visitor’s hides, but I for one consider at least half the gathering to be among the individuals I held a tentative pseudo-friendship with. He probably hits like a whole avalanche, rather than just one massive boulder, now. "I’ll say, the mountain makes even you look relatively small."

It’s good to be fashionably late, after all, right?

Moving my eyes away from the two at the fore front of the desert gathering to the rest, my gaze lands on Pippigrin, and widens. What is the world is that?! I think, with a sudden laugh I can’t hold back. Duir, arriving alongside me (having been even further out than I was), chides the laughter with a mental rebuke, but I brush him off, and carry on.

"Not as small as some though, it would seem," I grin, not really meaning offense – they’ll probably take it anyway, I think, with a bow of my head to the blue warrior mare, and my behemoth friend, then giving the rest of them of warm(ish) glance, while mirroring the words of my best, "Lord Rikyn, at your service, as well."


[ OOC: I CAN'T STOP USING THESE NEW TABLES SEND HALP ]

this is not destruction
this is your birth



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Wishlist - Plots

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

Roland Posts: 230
Aurora Basin Phantom atk: 7.5 | def: 10 | dam: 2.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16 hh :: 8 yrs HP: 60.0 | Buff: NOVICE
Glo
#8
never take advice from someone who just admitted to being devious and just confessed to treason

Much like a reptile might, Roland basked in the heat of the sun. The summer had always been his favourite season, full of life and sunlight, wild flowers and greenery, but it was treasured even more so in the Basin, where a day of uninterrupted blue sky was almost cause for celebration. He did not waste it in the shadows of a cave, or even stray beyond the borders of the Basin to enjoy the warmth in the southern forests, where he could wander the hillsides without ever encountering a lingering, stubborn patch of snow. Instead he roamed the pathways of his home, taking in the crisp mountain air and letting the sun heat his copper skin.

The Phantom was already pacing near their border when he heard the call, echoing across the grassy dunes with the request for an audience. Curiosity piqued at the mention of the Dragon’s Throat, he turned towards its source.

Already a small contingent had gathered just past the rusted, worn down forms of the sentinels. Once formidable and daunting, they had now fallen into disrepair after so many years of neglect. It was a wonder their visitors had not disregarded them entirely, and the Phantom had to wonder if they even posed a threat any longer.

The trio from the Throat did not stand alone under the shadow of the metal beasts. Already a few of his herd mates had approached to greet them, some even engaging in what Roland assumed was familiar conversation. He remained silent, seeing no need to add his voice in among the rest. He merely wished to absorb whatever information they had to offer, and learn what he might of those that stood on his own side of the border. It was a chance to discover more of what he had missed, an opportunity to reorient himself after a long absence. He hung back a ways, not shouldering his way to the forefront or drawing their attention with a loud entrance, merely a shadow lingering at the heels of his herd mates. While they waited for their Lady to arrive, he watched in silence, a welcoming gaze imparted upon those that stood before them.

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Ampere The Mother of Companions Posts: 719
Dragon's Throat Sultana atk: 9 | def: 11 | dam: 4.5
Mare :: Pegasus :: 14 hh :: 6 years HP: 73 | Buff: DANCE
Kygo :: Green Cheek Conure :: None Blu
#9
AMPERE
the Mother of Companions


"Hail, Weaver. I'm Ampere, Sultana of the Dragon's throat, with Volterra, Sultan, and Pippigrin, Guardian." She nodded to her two companions in turn before continuing, "we've come to broker the official terms of our relationship, given recent changes of leadership for both herds." News didn't always travel fast or reliably around Helovia, but leadership seemed to be that exception, and Ampere was curious about the shift away from The Reaper that had reigned in the icy north for so long.

More arrive - Erebos, who seems kind and knows Volterra to some extent, then Weaver, whom Ampere proffers a return grin and a nod of respect for their spar. Overall they are received with enough of a welcome that some of Ampere's tension slips off in the swaying of her tail at her hocks. Yet she is not blind to the fact that each addition from their front seems to be, battle hardened. In fact with Wessex's arrival, Ampere's gaze had faintly narrowed, suspicious of such a militaristic display when she had purposefully called out for peace.

She supposed it matched the trio that was she, Volterra, and Pippigrin - might for might, proof of both herd's capability, whatever the shadow cast by the Edge's recent thriving nature. That the Basin added two more to the mix, while their other two seemed to delay, was certainly another display of their prowess. Though, she marked that neither of the other two studs were of warrior make. Scars, she noted, but not that same air she knew so well.

Rikyn's approach was similar to Erebos in his jovial recognition of Volterra, but as nice as the gold marked stallion suggested he was, his laugh and quip about Pippigrin's height proved too much for Ampere to ignore. Being a smaller mare herself, she wasn't one to be intimidated by size, and despite Pippigrin's sometimes childish antics, his heart and work ethic had more than proven himself in her mind. "You've an eye for size," Ampere drawls to Rikyn, stated in such a manner that suggests something other than the front of what he was saying, a quirk of her 'brows punctuating that as her gaze pointedly traveled towards his groin region. "Perhaps that's a concern of yours often? Happens to some stallions."

Ampere's attention is finally drawn to Roland, whom lingers in the back, quiet - it's unsettling compared to the hearty greetings all the rest had offered, Rikyn included.

"I'm Ampere, Sultana of the Dragon's Throat. We've come to palavar about our herds ties to one another. We have a... long history to work through," Ampere gave a paltry smile, unable to completely shake the haunting news Volterra had shared with her about Aithniel's treatment here.
Credits: Image by eagle-cry-designs @ DA

Tag me only if starting a new thread.
Magic or force permitted any time, aside from death.

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
THE INDOMITABLE

HEROES ALWAYS GET REMEMBERED BUT YOU KNOW LEGENDS NEVER DIE

It isn't long before they're greeted by members of the Basin, and Volterra scrutinises each one with interest. The first is the hybrid mare he'd fought in the searing heat, and he shoots her a knowing grin that can only be shared by two people who have exchanged blood, sweat and pain. The second is Erebos, and the beast's expression is one of great interest as he notices how the unicorn has grown during the intervening years. Last time they'd met - during Volterra's first and only attempt at being a silver-tongued wordsmith - they'd both been young, two stallions still growing into their prime with gangly legs and confused minds. Now they are warlords, and the Indomitable recognises the scars upon Erebos' body as the same sort that litter his own. The unicorn is clearly no stranger to the battlefield, and deep in the brute's genetic makeup he feels his mother screaming at him to assert dominance over this son of Deimos, this spawn of the enemy.

He ignores her. Erebos is no enemy of his, and right now the Basin is no enemy of the Throat's either. That may change by the time this meeting is over, but for now Volterra huffs a welcoming snort to the General with his ears pricked forwards in neutrality and warmth. "Hello again, General." The Indomitable's great earthquake of a voice holds none of the hidden meanings that it had last time they'd interacted - he long ago realised that he isn't capable of lying, that he must wear his heart on his sleeve and deal with the repercussions of that. No, this time his tones are open, honest and broad, hiding nothing behind their thunderous syllables.

He glances down to Pippigrin, then. The pegasus had hardly shut up during the journey here and Volterra's ears are sore from the constant stream of babble that had entered them, but he still listens with interest as the tiny warrior informs him that Weaver is nasty. "Hmmm," is his somewhat suprised reply. He'd found the mare pleasant enough and a fine warrior, but he supposes first appearances can be deceiving. A curt nod is given to Pippigrin to show that his words have been heard and noted, and there's a hint of steel in his expression as he looks back to the Basin's members.

Another mare follows, this one armed with a spiked tail and a surprisingly deep voice. Her bulk, size and presence is enough to pique Volterra's interest, although he's sure to keep this interest strictly professional as he looks at her. Then he hears his own name, spoken in the voice of a man he's very familiar with. "Rikyn!" comes his booming greeting, followed by a chuckle at the Puppeteer's remark about the mountains.

But then, as though struck by lightning, the Indomitable's features harden to steel in the aftermath of Rikyn's laugh and his second comment. Volterra might like Rikyn, consider him a friend, even, but Pippigrin is one of the Throat's warriors and like a protective father the beast will accept no mocking of him. His eyes flash dangerously, narrowing to crimson slits as he glares at Rikyn. In his mind the dragons screech, their sights set firmly on the deer should a fight break out - it takes a lot for the stallion to hold them away. Ampere is quick to defend Pippigrin as well, and Volterra's respect for the mare edges up another few notches for this fact. Her swift rebuke is like an iron fist wrapped in a velvet glove - humour with hardness underneath, a barbed comment with just enough innuendo to not cause detriment to their hopes of an alliance. Oof, think he'll need some ice for that burn, he thinks to himself, although his initial amusement soon fizzles away as he responds as well. "Pippigrin has the heart and bravery of a warrior twice his height, and his size also lends him the ability to attack certain parts of a man that you'd prefer to keep safe. Underestimate him at your peril."

It's glowing praise from a man as versed in battle as Volterra is, and he's sure to keep his voice level as he says it as well. His frisson of anger has faded and he does not wish to compromise chances of an alliance, so he's sure to keep his tones light...although his eyes are still glowing, and as hard as chips of flint. It hasn't escaped him that Rikyn introduces himself as Lord, and the goliath raises an interested eyebrow. Before he can question the comment, Ampere speaks about why they're here, and he nods before talking himself. "And I am Volterra, Sultan of the Dragon's Throat." He introduces himself for the benefit of those who do not know him, before continuing. "We are keen to see where our herds sit with regards to each other. In times like these, it is important that we all know where we stand." Here he falls silent, unsure whether to mention the last set of failed alliance talks. He leaves the ball in the court of the Basiners, his mighty head swinging between each of them - he would be the first to confess that he's not entirely comfortable with situations like this, when words are required rather than bodies. It's a discomfort he'll need to overcome, and he's sure not to show it in the harsh, stern planes of his face.

image by neverr the glorious


@Weaver @Wessex @Erebos @Rikyn @Pippigrin @Roland

Post order is indeed a lie c:

[ 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 ]




Tiamat the Ocean's Light Posts: 360
Aurora Basin Lady atk: 8 | def: 10 | dam: 3
Mare :: Unicorn :: 15.2 :: 6 years HP: 60 | Buff: NOVICE
Nimue :: Common Orca Leviathan :: Boil Reli
#11
the Ocean’s Light
Still half-asleep from an early morning snooze she had taken (after sleeping fitfully and waking before dawn), the ocean Lady had busied herself in the Basin’s greenhouse. The familiarity of the various plants and herbs never fails to soothe her when the duties of a leader begin to weigh across her shoulders. Unfortunately, she had become too preoccupied with healer’s work to notice the initial arrival of the representatives of the Throat—when her companion finally informs her of the small crowd already gathered at the Basin’s entrance, Tiamat immediately runs to her duty with a cry of surprise.

With her slender legs carrying her at a brisk canter, she travels across the well-known terrain of her mountain home. Nimue joins her at her side around the area of the Basin’s unfreezing lake, and together, the oceanic pair complete the short journey towards the large Sentinels. “My, my, what a gathering we have here! I apologize that I couldn’t arrive sooner,” the blue Lady calls out to them as she approaches, slowing to a quick walk and ultimately settling at the side of her fellow leader.

Her white eyes roam over the three who have come to visit them, with one face already being that of a friend. “It is a delight to see you again, Volterra!” Tiamat’s smile brightens happily, and she offers the large black stallion a warm nod of greeting, before her attention shifts to the other two who accompany the Indomitable. “And a pleasure to meet you, Ampere and Pippigrin—you are the Throat’s Sultana, and its Guardian, if I overheard correctly?” She motions to each of them respectively, her friendly grin never wavering.

“Welcome to our home! I am Tiamat, Lady of the Basin,” she dips her horned head in towards her chest, offering their guests a little welcoming curtsy. Tiamat is thrilled to see the Throat here. She remembers when she had traveled with Hotaru to try and achieve an alliance before, but the encounter had been jarring, to say the least. To have a chance to smooth things over now and start fresh brings a particularly sparkling light to the sea maiden’s eye. “I would love to see our herds on good terms with one another—despite history, I know that I have no shortcomings against you,” she looks between Volterra and Ampere earnestly, wanting nothing more than peace between their herds, if they will accept it.


notes; -so late- SORRY I'M THE WORST ;-;
“Speech.”
Somewhere over the rainbow, way up high
there’s a land that I heard of once
in a lullaby.
@Rikyn @Ampere @Volterra
please tag Tia in all replies!
magic & force are permitted.

Astarot Posts: 81
Dragon's Throat Sun Physician atk: 5.5 | def: 9.0 | dam: 5.5
Stallion :: Equine :: 17.1 :: 2 (Birdsong) HP: 66.5 | Buff: NOVICE
Zafír :: Common Blue Dragon :: Frost Breath Pare
#12
kisses
from the
deep
The young stallion had fallen behind on the trek to the Basin. He thought it might be helpful if they had a gift for the healers of the Basin. Heck they were heading there to enforce bonds and he already knew a few people in the icy herd and it couldn't hurt to bring a gift. Zafir flew ahead to alert the others of his party that Astarot was coming to join them. She held a single Gumweed plant in her pearly talons. She dropped the plant in front of the massive black stallion before chirping and flying off to circle the group.

A few minutes later the dunskin man joined the desert group. Dual eyes roved over those gathered smiling at the two he already knew; Tiamat and Wessex. He noted that Pippigrin had come and he took a deep breath his eyes closing for a moment. 'Gods why did he have to come?' Zafir flew down and landed on her bonds back eyeing the strangers and cooing to Tiamat. He stepped towards the sea lady smiling around his mouthful of herbs.

Carefully he set them at her hooves before lifting his head, "Hello again Miss Tiamat, I brought Gumweed for your healers." He smiled and stepped back looking to the people he didn't know curiously. He turned to address his leaders, "Sorry I'm late, it took me longer to find a suitable gift." He looked at Ampere then Volterra before turning back to everyone. "I'm Astarot Alchemist of the Throat." He dipped his head to the strangers a kind smile on his face. Zafir leered at everyone her blue head held high scarlet eyes narrowed slightly.

Talk
Words:: 278
Tags:: @Tiamat @Volterra @Wessex
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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
#13
R I K Y N & D U I R

Well… she’s serious.

I immediately try and straighten up, assuming it’s probably far too late. Grinning at Volterra while telling myself I shouldn’t forget that some of the people around this collective of kingdoms aren’t as easy going as we are around here (and, let’s be honest, somewhat renowned for it), I look back to Ampere, just in time for shit to hit the ceiling.

The little guy hasn’t the time to respond to my tiny (hah) joke before both his leaders leap to his defense and for my metaphorical throat. My amused smile vanishes, replaced instead with the disbelieving scowl of “are you serious? I knew it…,” which is even more swiftly replaced with a tense, very, brittle, politician’s smile (even more difficult to maintain when both of them reference my penis, Ampere even oogling it).

There is also the small issue that the mare is fucking the Ampere, one of the wicked witches I’d been told innumerous (untruthful) tales about as a boy. What was true, for certain, was that our herds had never gotten along, and, from what I knew of the acts that had been committed by either side, there was good reason.

Deciding, screw it, I’ve gone this far, I continue to be tactless, but do garner a bit more respect to my tone, and streamline my boldness. Glancing at Erebos now with raised eyebrows, I hope he finds as much amusement in what I’m about to say as I’m surely going to. Ahhh, the good old days.

"Everyone in the south so interested in a good looking man’s khirrof?" and have as much sand in their butt-cracks? I ask them both with an amused glimmer to my eyes, wondering if any of our guests speak Dothraki, like Mordecai had; if not, all the better for me that I’m in on a joke Volterra isn’t. I am especially glad that I’d used a different language when a familiar, cheerful greeting twists my head back, my impish smile replaced with a more honest one.

"Hey Tia," I greet her, letting her vibrant voice otherwise fill in the silence, Duir quietly reaching out with his muzzle to say hello to Nimue, as usual.

A second late arrival comes in after the two leaders, a tawny colored stallion with light blue markings on his cheeks and a mostly white face, with a gift for our herd. Ha, how about that! Some manners, from a fellow with a flying lizard even! He seems to be a healer, or at the very least a gard…

Alchemist of the Throat, he says. Potions? asks Duir from his transpecies hello with Tiamat’s whale, looking at the newly arrived stallion with interest. Nodding hello, I figure the Ocean’s Light will probably devour him with thanks (she’s, uh, quite cuddly, our Lady).

"Same," I add, to Tiamat’s statements, in regards to hard feelings; in truth, I do have them, but they are unrelated to either of the individuals before me. These private issues are no one’s problem but mine. "Those who lived here before, and their ways, are changed or gone now. As you can see, our very company is proof."

I don’t look at her. I don’t gesture. Ampere knows, after all, if I can assume this is the same woman that the Empress and my mother’s herd had assaulted in the name of… well, insanity, I guess.

"My mother is forbidden to return here," I vow aloud, and for those who know what that really means to me (probably only Erebos), the hot fire that lights in my eyes is one that cannot be missed, "our fathers are dead, and I hear tell, too, that Gaucho passed on not long ago, as well. This is a different Helovia. We will make it so."

Looking at Astarot, I glance, also, at Tiamat for confirmation, and add:

"As a gesture of this, perhaps we could immediately set into a place an exchange of herbs, for some service or good which the Throat could broker in exchange," I nod, assuming that, because he’d had to find a gift, there weren’t many options for an herbalist in the desert (eat that, sand dwellers – oh wait, you can’t, it’s sand), and that it would be a good place to start (surely the healers had stocked piled a few herbs or two to the brim and could spare some), "or perhaps we could broker cloth. I would need to speak with Weaver Vertigo on the matter, first."

Looking at Erebos next with a smile, I let him take the lead on the Kaos issue, assuming he’d know more than I would, being the one directly in charge of the soldiers, after all.

"What have you learned on your patrols, in regards to Kaos, General?" I ask, an added tilt to my smirk when I use my best friend’s proper title.



this is not destruction
this is your birth



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

Erebos Posts: 474
Aurora Basin General atk: 7.5 | def: 11.5 | dam: 6.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16.1hh :: Four HP: 75.5 | Buff: DANCE
Orsino :: Plain Kitsune :: Dark Illusions & Enyo :: Common Griffon :: Draining Clutch Heather
#14

Old threats and new tirades began building from by-gone generations; he watched with keen interest and intrigue, bending an ear to Wessex as she muttered about the smallest warrior, but he only smiled, only chiseled a pleasant grin at the mania unfolding. There was a whittling of chaos segmented through his blood, perhaps due to his father’s taste and relish for the splendor of decadence, for the reverie of upheaval, for the conquest of other soulless hymns, but still, he said naught, vastly entertained by the levels and layers of ridiculousness spread through the insults, the defensiveness, the way festering wounds reopened merely due to directions (north and south, fire and ice, blood and snow). Rikyn couldn’t resist his jabs and jeers, and the urge to roll his eyes sprung over his mind – instead, they wandered from speaker to speaker, from judge to jury, to the arrivals of others, Queens and healers. The General even resisted the urge to flinch as their Lord spoke of his own banished mother or Erebos’ deceased father (like it was nothing – when it was everything to the blue prince), but his jaw clenched, and his eyes segmented elsewhere, settling on the decaying Sentinels because they understood what it was like to quietly fester away too. Finally, before his blood seethed, before he flickered himself apart, he curled his amiable voice into the looming crowd, playing a political fiddle, orchestrating generosity and sagacity from one of their own – they were the new writers of history, paved and granted by the legions that had once stood before them, towering, tall, mighty, and brooding, and Erebos felt no shame in what they’d (Mauja, Deimos, Psyche, and Illynx, other masters of the former realm) established. They’d just make it stronger, better, so no one would ever see the Basin as weak, as crumbling, as nothing again. “Your Sun God once told me to look forward, to the future, and not to the past.” His head tilted then, no conspiracies layered within his savage, potent grace, contortions of his sire pulsing and pervading through his essence, but his mother too, with her infinite kindness, wisdom, and compassion, who could root the shadows of another’s heart into valor and compassion. “Kaos is enough to deal with without making enemies of fellow herds. This should be a time when we work together.” The prince nodded then, taking on Rikyn’s request, funneling into the true role of General, only eyeing his fellow soldiers for a quiet moment of amusement, as if their recent adventures had been only entertaining diversions, instead of the bellowing monstrosities and horrors entrenched from bedlam. “When we were on patrol along the Steppe, we encountered a bear. After my soldiers successfully dispatched and skinned the creature, it managed to revive itself.” A chill ran amidst his veins, and he said naught more about the incident. “Another time, within the Spectral Marsh, Kaos’ strange altar began leaking some sort of liquid. When it touched the ground, the marsh became greener.” Then the warrior shrugged, utterly incapable of explaining the latter, and presuming the former was just another monstrosity breathing from the gods’ rage, fury, and wrath.
 
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Wessex Posts: 149
Aurora Basin Haruspex atk: 5.0 | def: 8.5 | dam: 7.5
Mare :: Unicorn :: 16.3 hh :: 3 HP: 68 | Buff: NOVICE
Astor
#15
for there are many ways to kill a man they say
To Wessex, the showing is just right, for in such uncertain times, shouldn’t those on the front lines, those who are most ready and able to appear quickly, despite their rank or role in the herd - shouldn’t they be the ones to greet their guests? A call for peace does not say ‘only two or three of you should appear,’ nor does some sort of bell chime when the call has already been adequately answered. Sure, they could turn back from the group, but by then curiosity has a hold and well, curiosity does not kill a horse, as they say.

In short, the Sultana need not be so prickly. Their horns are not pointed at her, though Wessex does surreptitiously eye Volterra, wondering what it might be like to go up against him. She is not so brash to think she can win, but there must be some masochism in her, to want to feel his heavy hooves against her skin… and not in the way ladies usually want that.

She listens as words are bandied back and forth, partially wondering what they would do without Tiamat, once she shows up and seems to soothe the various beasts, and again, why anyone thought Rikyn would be a good fit for Lord. The tension isn’t thick as soup, but it’s there, hiding beneath a false surface. One heavy misstep and the facade would fail, leaving both parties with nothing but arrogance and a history of hate staring back at them. Wessex is no peace keeper, but even she can decipher glib tones and subtext, wary eyes and raised brows. When Erebos speaks, however, he does not mention a thing that Wessex thinks might actually be beneficial to both sides, in the long run.

She clears her throat, tagging on to the end of the General’s information dump. “We could spar with each other, if you’re looking for something tangible to work on.” Busy bodies mean busy minds, and that means less time spent contemplating the great mystery that is Kaos.

I am Iron and I Forge Myself
-- please tag in all posts! --
-- magic and force allowed, no death or permanent damage --

Ampere The Mother of Companions Posts: 719
Dragon's Throat Sultana atk: 9 | def: 11 | dam: 4.5
Mare :: Pegasus :: 14 hh :: 6 years HP: 73 | Buff: DANCE
Kygo :: Green Cheek Conure :: None Blu
#16
AMPERE
the Mother of Companions


Ampere's gaze doesn't detract from the line of Basiners, but her ear does flick towards Volterra as he too shields and upholds Pippigrin's honor. The edge of Ampere's mouth twists with a hint of a smile, proud as always of their complementary roles and leadership styles. The changes in Rikyn are noticeable, but she doesn't mistake them for a victory. There's a newfound hardness to the taller way the Lord stands, and it seems to create a sharper edge. If that was his leadership style on relaxed, humorous terms, how might he prove himself to be when he was taut and scorned?

He doesn't seem to lose his banter at least, and as his remark calls out to them, Ampere can't help but crack a smile. Even if she doesn't fully understand the word, it's meaning can be gathered with the context. "Why wouldn't we be?" she responds, her tension easing now that she feels they've both shown off their dicks, so to speak.

It's undoubtedly for the best however when Tiamat arrives in a bundle of glee and courteous charm. She calls Volterra out by name (something Ampere is becoming less and less surprised about - does he know everyone in Helovia?) and greets her and Pippigrin, to which Ampere nods in welcoming and confirmation of her query.

The seriousness soon returns as Rikyn continues to speak, but this time it's in a manner that Ampere can appreciate, because it's about the very fears that are held close to her chest. There is truth to what Rikyn has to say, but mothers and fathers weren't the only ones of old Helovia that made it so cruel - and there was certainly still cruelty to be found in this era if one were to look, just perhaps no one knew its name(s) yet. "What of the ones who would torture the Sun's daughter. Are they forbidden as well?" Ampere called out, in between talk of herbs and cloth, her gaze hard but her body still easy as she shifted her weight with the conversation. "What do you plan to make with this new Helovia? Herbs and cloth are small, what are your goals for the herd now that it's got two new crowns?"

She not being unkind, or at least she hoped not. Rikyn's offering of trade was certainly proof to back his words, but trade was easy enough to discuss, Ampere wanted to know the larger ideals of the herd, and she was just as willing to talk. She quieted however as Rikyn beckoned to his General, eager to know whatever news they had on Kaos.
The steely unicorn spoke up, a rather politically correct way of saying play nice leaders, to which Ampere had to offer a grin. She'd play nice, but sometimes that meant kicking the bully in the gut first.

"Our patrol encountered a similar event with the leaking alter and lush ground. There were also black clovers that sprouted. We watched for illness, but the individuals seem hale." Ampere chose not to divulge that it was a filly out on her own (with another horse from a different herd, by chance) that had encountered this. A patrol sounded much more, professional. "The news of the bear however is troubling - how do you know it was the work of Kaos?" The alter was obvious, but the bear less so, especially given the Steppe was not one of the areas Ampere would have expected to be affected.
Credits: Image by eagle-cry-designs @ DA


[Leaving trade stuff for @Volterra to talk about so my post isn't gigantic. We'd like to set up routine trade of herbs and crafted items, and encourage friendly spars as well as stealths wherein if successful we don't actually steal anything from one another.]

Tag me only if starting a new thread.
Magic or force permitted any time, aside from death.

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
#17
THE INDOMITABLE

HEROES ALWAYS GET REMEMBERED BUT YOU KNOW LEGENDS NEVER DIE

Tiamat's greeting drags the warlord's attention to her, as she proclaims that it's a delight to see him again. "The pleasure is all mine, Ocean's Light," he rumbles with a suave tilt of his head in her direction. It's her final comment that makes his smile slip slightly - ah, how could he have forgotten that she was at that ill-fated alliance meeting with Aithniel? She'll be aware of the Inquisitor's accusations, although she certainly does not seem perturbed by them. Volterra has no idea what to think about that particular revelation. Obviously racism is wrong, and if the Basiners really did attempt to tear off the wings of the young Aithniel then they deserve all the condemnation they can get, and yet....should the sins of the past affect the alliances of the future?

For all his strong convictions and opinions, the Indomitable does sometimes find it difficult to decide which side of the fence to come down on. For now, he makes no comment, whilst also fighting to hide a smile at Rikyn's reaction. Thankfully the 'dispute', if it can even be called that, seems to blow over fairly quickly and the Puppeteer takes the comments about his manhood in good humour.

But there's another side to Rikyn too, it seems, as the golden-marked man mentions his mother. Despite his attempts to feign stoic, regal disinterest, Volterra's ears traitorously dart forwards with evident curiosity at the Puppeteer's words. On their handful of meetings they've only touched on their families, and the Indomitable had no idea that Rikyn's relationship with his dam was so....rocky. The man has a point - this is, indeed, a different Helovia. A new Helovia. The era of Gaucho, Confutatis, Deimos, Midas, and all the other famous forefathers is over, consigned to dust with the ashes and bones of those great leaders. Their children, scions of the most royal empires, are now free to forge their own path forwards. Volterra, Rikyn, Tiamat, Erebos, Isopia; even Tembovu, Lyanna, Ampere, older than the aforementioned. They must create this new Helovia in their name, instead of following in the footsteps of their parents, regardless of how great said parents might be.

Erebos adds his own input, speaking of Kaos and his strange events. Before Volterra can respond, Ampere speaks, and the Sultan looks to his co-leader with interest. She is vastly more experienced than he is; she knows how to handle situations like this far more than he does, although he intends to do everything in his power to keep his willful ignorance from showing through. She jumps straight to the point, speaking of the attack upon the Sun's daughter - Volterra's muscles involuntarily bunch, as though expecting Aithniel's assailant to leap from the bushes and attack him too. "Yes, the news of this attack upon our former Sultana - the Sun God's daughter, no less - was most concerning. Whilst I understand that this happened several years ago, we need reassurances that such a foul deed will never be committed beneath the Basin's name ever again." The beast's deep voice is neutral, yet there's undeniable passion in it, a contempt for such a deed that is impossible to hide.

Regarding the trade deals, Volterra nods. Whilst, as Ampere correctly points out, it's too fragile a thing to base an alliance upon, it is nonetheless useful to know where they stand with such things. "We are willing to trade our herbs and crafted items with you, and I would also suggest that we share any discoveries about Kaos. As Erebos says, this is a time to work together." He glances approvingly at the General, before his eyes drift to Wessex and her suggestion. Ah, spars - there's a language he can get on board with. She's an interesting thing, with her prickles and her great bulk, and he rather thinks he would like to test her out upon the battlefield. "As this delightfully spiky lady points out, friendly spars between our warriors would also be agreeable. It will do our soldiers good to test themselves against different opponents, and strengthening both of our forces at the same time can only be a good thing." He flashes Wessex a grin.

"Furthermore, we feel it may be beneficial if the sleuths of both our herds are allowed to practice stealing from each other, under the caveat that any objects are immediately handed back to the owner. Like warriors, thieves need to keep their skills honed and sharpened...it will also aid us in learning how best to block stealth attempts, as we have no idea whether Kaos may try such tactics." He frowns. He is morally against stealing, however he knows that the Throat's sleuths have their place and if the herd must have them, then it is only right that they be the best.

Talk turns to Kaos, to the concerning tales of both herds. The plot seems to be thickening with each passing day, and it makes Volterra's skin itch to think of the foul heathen God walking merrily around, confounding innocent Helovians. He feels as though Ampere has addressed that topic well, though, and is also keen to see the Basin's leaders answer her questions before he says anything further.

image by neverr the glorious


@Tiamat @Rikyn @Erebos @Wessex

[ 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 ]




Erebos Posts: 474
Aurora Basin General atk: 7.5 | def: 11.5 | dam: 6.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16.1hh :: Four HP: 75.5 | Buff: DANCE
Orsino :: Plain Kitsune :: Dark Illusions & Enyo :: Common Griffon :: Draining Clutch Heather
#18

Something rankled within Erebos, pulsed and presided deep in the throngs of all the valor and gallantry he’d managed to build up, as Ampere spoke of attacks and assaults on Aithniel, the Sun God’s daughter, the kin they’d protected and comforted, then watched as she abandoned them in turn. He resisted the urge to roll his eyes or pin his ears back at the ridiculous revelations and lies - because he’d been there, had been the tiny little prince with the wide, eager eyes and the fervent rush to protect. It’d been the first time he’d ever set his gaze upon her, and she’d been beautiful, a sight to behold, ivory and fire, and he’d sworn to be her friend, even eons after, when she’d disappeared then flickered back to life, without them, sending her devotion elsewhere, indifferent, nonchalant, tearing them apart in her own deceitful way. Perhaps he hadn’t seen it then, hadn’t realized her capabilities, hadn’t even begun to believe she’d sunder the world she’d once lived within – but he was a loyal, steady, stalwart fiend, and maybe she just didn’t care about them anymore. 

For an instant, his jaw clenched again, a vicious frustration rolling over his jaw, wondering why they gave a damn now and not ages before, why the world continued to unearth things he had no control over, why they barged in and craved information when no one else from their chilling world had done the same to them – they never asked why or how Gaucho had come to be possessed by the Moon Goddess, why she’d used his body to murder; drudging up old wounds again and again. This wasn’t looking ahead, but back, far, far back into the edges of the crumbling generation and the fledgling pieces turned chiseled and bestial before their very eyes – he didn’t dare look at Rikyn, for the prince was sure his eyes, his stare, would give him away. He breathed, forced himself into composure, into steel and fortitude, into might, and blended the veracity from his own experiences directly into the void – gaze never faltering from the dune sovereigns. “They’re gone.” Zikar-Sin had long since disappeared, vanished into the abyss like so many others before him, a Haruspex who’d clung to otherworldly beliefs (that their wings were murderous weapons, that heathens lay in their fiendish feathers). If there had been any others, he was uncertain to their whereabouts, the lies and pretenses muddled in between. His voice, calm and steady, lacquered with nobility and regal stature, continued, polishing over the days of youth and mishaps. “I was there. She was never attacked or tortured. I made sure of it.” How many other lies and embellishments had she extended into the sand? How many other times had she thought of them: Rikyn, Erebos, her family, and not given a damn, pushing them into the muck and murk for no reason at all? He couldn’t fathom it. He couldn’t comprehend it. “I see she failed to mention that,” he muttered, brows briefly narrowed, trying not to pulse in an incensed, ruffled conviction. He’d been nothing to her too, then. Not even worth an allusion in her half-baked truths and deceptions.
 
The General fell into silence thereafter, stewing, brooding, in his stony-faced features, any evidence of a smile fleeting and ghostlike - tossed aside just like he’d been. He listened here and there, perking at Wessex’s suggestion, pondering why he hadn’t thought of it (perhaps he was unfit there too, and here Orsino hissed something vile). “Sparring would be beneficial to everyone. I can discuss it with my soldiers and have them meet up with yours,” he nodded, only perking his ears again when Ampere twisted his adventures and sojourns back upon him. He could only shrug, casual, wondering why everyone was always in such a world of disbelief. There’d been no trickery or cunning behind his knowledge sharing, and still, they doubted. Maybe they’d just experienced too many snares and traps, too many lies in oaths, too many falsifications in creeds. But the youth kept his tone light, reminding them of the time within the Marsh, where fallen Gods had suddenly been reborn into a harsher, more unrelenting piece of persecution. “It was eerily similar to the bone monster’s sudden existence.”

 
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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
#19
R I K Y N & D U I R

Why wouldn’t we be? Dryly answers Ampere, and I smile, a sideways sort of thing that is accompanied by a glance towards Volterra.

"Maybe I shouldn’t assume, but I, uh, well I always thought Volterra here was more into holes than poles, y’know?" my mouth quirks with barely refrained laughter. I’m much less proud of my joke when Tiamat arrives, however; somehow, I want to be less… me, I guess, around her.

She thinks I’m a good person, after all, and I’m not sure that good men make jokes about their friend’s sexual habits, or a stranger’s, for that matter. Quieting up and suddenly looking much more serious in the presence of the Ocean’s Light, I find some measure of amusement in the fact that even the Indomitable seems to be subdued by her nymph-like presence. Trying to garner strength from both her and Erebos as we wade into topics that hurt, or are flatly offensive, I find my smiles gone, replaced with tight lipped hostility, and though I had tried to retain a neutral stance, my muscles have grown taut, and my ears slowly edge back at the audacity of these lies, and the blatant disregard of all that I had just said.

It is as if Erebos knows that the words that are to fall from my mouth if I speak with this face on are the sort that would burn kingdoms down. With more gusto than he has spoken of anything since the death of the Reaper, he defends our land, and offers the desert dwellers their petty answer as to what became of the one individual who had ever mistreated her: a truth that I would have withheld, out of anger, and spite.

My heart roils with the aftermath of what I had thought to be absent feelings for her, shattered and broken. It is has been so long for me, to have thought of her as more than a memory, blurred and faded, lacquered in dust, that this… betrayal feels like fire racing through my veins. What else had she falsely claimed? Who else of this realm, which had sheltered her when her own kin had cast her to death, had she sullied with her misconstrued, selfish words?

If words and stares are torture than we are all victims of vices and knives. Even her assailant merely groped at her with words. What a cowardly, selfish brat, I want to spit, contempt for my sister driving each limb to tremble and quake, as I force myself into silence.

"When did she tell you these… tales?" I ask, cold fire gently lapping up from the inferno which broils behind my suddenly hard, golden eyes.

During or after the Rift Wars?

Before or after Erebos and I confronted her for abandoning the family that had loved her, for the one which had left her to die?

I shouldn’t have plead with mother to spare her. I should have let the summer heat devour her. But like a foolish boy, I had wanted her to live… I had… I did…

How could she...? Why…?

Why did the people I love always do this to me?


I barely hear as we start to talk of Kaos, trade, and unity.. All I can think about is Aithniel’s laughter, her praise, her worried shouts as I slipped and fall into the snow, into the lake, down a hillside, always so full of abandon, and careless, in all the ways she was watching, waiting, tender…

I want to go away, find mother’s collapsed cave where we used to lay and fall asleep together, entwined, and kick the rocks until my ankles bleed, and my hooves chip away, and the night becomes the day, and loops back again. Part of me wants to shout at the Sun, or at Ampere and Volterra, because it’s better than remembering all the ways she had been perfect, to have this terrible red line marked through them.

I’d thought I didn’t miss her, that I’d carefully packed every memory and though of her away into a mental closet, with a clearly labeled door. I would have sworn it, five minutes ago.

"Yeah, that sounds good," I answer with zero emotional intonation; whatever to the spars, to the thieving. What does it matter? Everyone does as they want, anyway. Might as well have some sort of safe guard in place with which to keep feelings that aren’t already smashed from getting hurt, I suppose – and it also means I can go get this stupid girl out of my system somewhere that much quicker. "We can start spars in Frostfall, yeah? Give everyone time to get the word out to each other."



this is not destruction
this is your birth



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


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