the Rift


[OPEN] clear your throat and face the world [patrol]

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
#21
The bear tries, really. It’s a valiant effort, but he never stood a chance. Not against them. In a way, she is amazed at how easily they come together, how seamlessly they move around one another. That she didn’t get stabbed by someone else’s horn is a miracle. No, instead her horns pierced seven lovely horns into the bear’s side, and the blood dripped down them now, creating red veins that cut through the natural blue ones. Some of the blood dripped onto her head, but she didn’t mind. It would necessitate a bath, but the place where his flailing paws had raked across her neck needed a bath more. They weren’t deep enough to worry about, most of the bear’s strength gone in those last moments, but blood trickled down her neck as well.

She almost laughs as Erebos calls to them like they’d just completed some training exercise rather than killing a bear. She wonders briefly if he’d known, if somehow he’d hoped or planned for this. Though she shakes the notion away, suspecting he’s too good and kind and honorable to hope they might have to fight a predator. He asks if they are alright, and she nods. “Fine and dandy,” she says, because she is. Her own wounds are minimal, and she’d come in late after making sure Vertigo was okay, so of the group, she suspects she’s come out of it the best. “Are you?” she asks Erebos, who’d taken a good slice from the bear.

He talks to the girl, and they finally get a name. Vertigo. She apologizes, and Weaver looks at the frightened behemouth for a moment with some envy. The girl is built for fighting in a way Weaver never would be. Weaver fought as she did, without fear and without reservation, because otherwise she stood no chance. The girl could bowl half her opponents over.

Shame that her large frame is wasted on someone too terrified, but she can’t find it in herself to entirely blame the girl either. Weaver can’t die. It is easy to be fearless knowing that. “Not your fault. If he didn’t go after you, it would have been someone else. “ That may or may not be true, but whatever. She’s not mad. It was a beautiful feeling to kill something again. To feel strong and capable, even if only for a moment.

When he offers the bear as spoils, she looks to Raven, who enjoys collecting things. He glides back down, hoping most of the way over to the bear though refusing to get particularly close. Instead, he just points with his beak at the claws. So she takes them, clearing a paw to keep a few for herself, and passes one over to Raven who clutches it tightly it in beak and returns to his perch on Weaver. She has little need or desire for anything else, so she steps away, making sure there’s room for the others to take whatever they want.

- weaver -

Image


@Beloved

[Weaver takes a couple of bear claws]

Please tag in all posts
Magic use/power playing is okay, but check before serious injury/death
Image by AmoretteRose

Beloved Posts: 121
Aurora Basin Soldier atk: 8.5 | def: 10 | dam: 3
Mare :: Unicorn :: 14.3 :: Appears 6 HP: 62 | Buff: NOVICE
Orphan :: Ragdoll Cat :: None Bunnie
#22

A dizziness begins to dull her shrieks, the sounds whirling down with the black and white bursts of nothingness that threaten to make void the world. From the shorn flesh of her mask pours forth a fount of red, but as it drips, drips, drips, it seems to darken. As the bear’s last death shudders still into the statuesque state of death, and never ending sleep, the demoness pants and heaves, groans and giggles, and her blood begins to drip black.

Perhaps it was that her aged heart has had its residual memory of life with an end spent, or perhaps there had been some minute part of herself that had not yet slipped away into the ever expanding depths of shadow, but that cardiac tissue within her breast no longer heaves with the same mortal pace as those around her, suddenly does not recall that it was born to end. With a final thrust of deep, horrid crimson, that which flows from her facial flap is onyx, and shines like oil beneath the Sun.

As she notices this enchanting enhancement to her being, the world really begins to tilt, and sway. Looking over at the General as he speaks (something about wearing the dead), and the bumbling apology of the large girl they’d all leapt in to save (except, of course, Beloved, who had attacked to, well, attack), she scoffs, her laughter brittle, and sharp...

Even if she wobbles a bit from the blood loss.

you've lost your demon.


@Wessex
Tag Beloved, please!

Feel free to attack her with physical or magical violence at your own risk. ;D

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
#23

I AM IRON AND I FORGE MYSELF

The bear fought a good fight, but the moment it tried to go for one of the herd, it was doomed. Wessex cannot fault it for simply being a bear and doing what bears do. Its own hunger, its own baseness got it killed - the Basin soldiers were simply the facilitators of its demise. None of these thoughts come to Wessex in that post-slump moment, of course, having bowled a half-dead thing over, and very nearly tangling herself up in its no longer flailing limbs. Her withers burn, stinging with every drop of sweat that slips down against the raw, bleeding flesh. Blood darkens her shoulders, her barrel, but is not so free flowing as to drop to the muddied, squalid ground.

Breathing heavily, she registers The General’s praise and is only half-amused. Well done? Perhaps. But they are not as successful as it appears - riddled with gashes and spouting veins, they can now say they’ve killed a bear, but they never should have encountered it in the first place. They are very much a rag-tag group and unaccustomed to fighting as a team. Hell, Beloved might be more of a danger to her comrades than to her rival. She scowls, grim and displeased. “Fine,” she calls back, for nothing crunches when she walks, and she is not weak from blood loss. And you know, she still has both ears.

What is more than odd is the blackness that drips down the white mare’s face. Ok. Let’s not think about that.

What does appeal is the prospect of a trophy. No one else steps forward to claim anything big, so Wessex speaks up, half muttering to herself and half to the band of warrior women and their fearless leader. Her tone is oh-so-dry. “So getting a bearskin cape out of this debacle…” It would keep her cave nice and warm during the hell that is sure to be winter. And so she sets to separating flesh from fur, using her knife and horns to slice away something worth hauling back.  

Maybe their weavers could put themselves to good use and help her. Since she hasn't seen them do anything... yet.

W E S S E X

image credit


@Erebos  
I swear I posted this like, a week ago. Sorry :/
-- please tag in all posts! --
-- magic and force allowed, no death or permanent damage --

Random Event Posts: 1,286
Helovian Ancient
Stallion :: Equine :: ::
#24
random event
Suddenly, despite the fact that the bear has now been torn, broken, ad mostly skinned, it begins to move. All of the disassembled parts of it suddenly wriggle as if connected by invisible string, and it begins to piece itself back together. Well, not exactly back together. More like it's being magnetically drawn back together. The pieces of its flayed body loosely reassemble themselves, and from somewhere, a scream rises on the frigid wind.

From the sky, despite the relatively mild Tallsun weather, ice shards begin to plummet.

The howling continues, and suddenly the bear is covered in a thick layer of malleable ice. Large teeth and claws like giant icicles now adorn the moments-ago dead creature , and it suddenly turns its dead eyes upon those standing near, roaring its silent disapproval



image

Enna Posts: 172
Aurora Basin Time Mender atk: 6 | def: 9.5 | dam: 4
Mare :: Unicorn :: 14.1 :: 5 ( TALLSUN ) HP: 61 | Buff: NOVICE
Mehr :: Arctic Wolf :: None kels
#25
take me back to the place where my heart was on fire

Your indifference for the kitsune has never been a secret. As the stygian beast barrels onto the stone floor of your cavern, littered with scattered piles of things, you pause in your tidying for just a moment, the only acknowledgement that you had even noticed him a quick flick of your ear, the slight tug of a smile on your lips in anticipation for the jest, the stupid remark (because they almost always are, though you never tire of them, of the boy and his silly, mercurial ways). You wait, your tongue coiled in the same spirit of witticism, but it does not come. Impatience is first to settle into your bones as you turn on thin heels, eyes narrowing as emptiness fills the space where his smile should be. You look beyond the reach of the cavern, to the stony path lined with pines, the mildness of the summer still restless within the valley, before you look to the little fox, the permanent annoyance stapled to his face slightly askew, different, rushed, sparking a sense of urgency that you fight against as you clamor from your hall.

'If you're trying to frighten me it's not going to work.' You tease, calling out to the daylight, waiting for laughter, for anything that would dispel the unease growing within you, following the fox through the shadow of the forest. it is at first only tricks and mischief that you find swirling in your head, pursuits of laughter, gone about in childish ways. At first it is only indulgence, a dumb grin pinned to your lips as you trail behind his companion, expecting at any moment to understand what this was all about. At first it is only a game, but as the fox's steps quicken, as he leads you through the valley without so much as a pause, your optimism begins to wither, your heart sinking further and further into your chest.

You think better than to ask him where he is going despite your unearthed worry, the thoughts that have bled into darkness, knowing that he cannot answer, now fearing what he would say if he could. It is only as the atmosphere thickens that you begin to understand, as the scent of blood hits you impossibly heavily that you recall what it had been for him to find you, broken and bloody, and you quietly give in to the mounting panic, finally breaking from your languid pace. You find their beaten (all of them alive, save for the crumpled mass of fur and flesh) bodies on the verge of tears, the lump in your throat tempering your voice to only a whisper of his name when you want to yell, glancing from the carcass to the rest of his band of fools, your stare caught somewhere between anger and utter disbelief of his stupidity.

Just seconds pass before you swallow, force yourself from your stupor and reach for him, closing your eyes as you do so, not wanting to see the wounds of a battle he had no business fighting, not wanting to know how close he had(nt) come to being too far gone for you, for anyone, to fix. It takes all of you not to flay him as you have a hundred times for what feels like the same thing, not to indulge the anger (stemmed from his hurt, your fear, of your worry that one day he will push too far), that clouds your heart, your jaw clenching as you summon the spark inside of you without waiting for so much as an utterance of approval.

It is only as you pull from him, your eyes flickering upwards to find his, that you turn to the rest of them in turn, thankful that only the bear (as unfortunate for him as it had been) had perished for their misadventure.

*

Your labor is completed with a heavy sigh, beads of sweat lacing against your skin and exhaustion sinking into your soul. There is only a moment of peace, time for a glance in Erebos' direction, when an other-worldly scream drowned only by the sound of something altogether grotesque rises on the wind. You are hesitant as you turn towards the sound, a shiver rumbling along your spine, feeling his glare before you see it, your breath catching in your throat as you turn. 'What the fuck is that.'


image credits



*farts out entire post*

tldr; shows up wanting to smack erebos and ends up healing pplz in time for the zombie bear to pop back up

ps: * indicates she went around healing whoever wanted it. feel free to have her heal your character/skip them/decide how much & what she heals. its easier this way rather than asking everyone for permission to pp. <3



please tag enna in every post
violence permitted barring permanent injury / death

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
#26
Take just what I came for

The General thought it was the finale, where the pieces all fell together, where they rested, took a breath, counted their lucky stars and their devilish incarnations. He kept his head steady, tried to mute the pain tearing along his side, and maneuvered his attention from mutilated beast to Vertigo – proclaimed damsel, observer of mutiny and defiance. She appeared ashamed and embarrassed, eyes turning to the ground, apologies muttered, and still, motionless thereafter, and he nearly told her he’d once been in her stead too (only he’d fought and become much of the same way, just a broken little sliver on the floor, torn and bloodied, contrite but not repentant in the slightest). Fear was an atavistic trait, passed on through blood and instinct, and he was still afraid of things, still frightened and terrified of the unknown, of friends falling, of family dying, but his audacity emboldened him, his courage, his strength, divided him from the regions of horror and trepidation, pushing past the unease, the apprehension. Perhaps Vertigo hadn’t been ready for the chill of the unknown, the callous disregard curiosity sometimes held, like a noose, like the gallows, a surging catacomb, an unwinding sepulcher, before its victim even knew or understood the breach; so he smiled at her again, listened to Weaver’s careful remarks. He wasn’t angry, he wasn’t frustrated, and he wasn’t vexed by the calamity and chaos spun along their hooves (lived for it in some ways, stood amidst the chill and inhaled bedlam, reveled in its decadence curling, foaming, seething in his veins). His features reflected it, kind and charismatic all the more, the prince amidst his people, his soldiers, his flock. “No matter, as long as you’re well.” A portion of him wanted to utter some oath, some proclamation (don’t die with a clean sword), yet, as the scion glanced upon her again, he know he couldn’t ask it of her; she didn’t seem eager to wield any weapon. He nodded instead, delivering another charming grin before moving on, stalking over the foundations of his warriors, listening to their responses (hardly surprised at all that none of them relent to torturous agony and anguish; even if it’d been there, they were tough, they were formidable, they were strong and mighty, hardly capable of allowing a bear’s claws or power to fold them into anything else but their unrelenting selves). Bloodied and battered, but not broken, and for their first patrol, that was good enough for him. They’d get better. They’d become something, savage and forthright, ferocious and unwinding, and the world would be afraid of them.
 
So they picked apart the bones, flesh, and sinew of their enemy, and he stood watch, not taking anything for himself. His gaze narrowed briefly to Beloved, whose blood failed to run crimson, but black, like a Stygian flow, like a ruined, marred shadow, and his mouth parted, half in intrigue, half in alarm, intending to call out to her about its peculiar color, when a familiar figure dotted over the rise, when Orsino’s hiss unwound along their connection. Irritated healer, incoming was the only warning he received, and so his attention swung to Enna, caught in her wild snare.
 
The youth hadn’t thought about the consequences of asking her to come – he was always one to leap first, puzzle later, obstinate and unyielding, born to thrive in the realms of the impossible. She’d seen him bloodied and mauled too many times to count, but such was the life of a warrior, thrust into battlefields and killing sprees, where muscles and scars dotted the scenery, where chaos reigned and acrimony savored, where the plunge into another’s chest was treated with reverence, and wearing the enemy’s blood was considered a triumph. So he expected something, anything, to reel from her mouth, a screeching tirade, an impending lecture, and his smile grew a little more sheepish at the foreboding nature of her arrival (disbelief and contempt emblazoned the chord of her features and he thought he’d be done for, eaten alive by her fury right in front of his troops). He attempted to cut her off, meet her halfway before her imminent explosion, a quiet “Enna,” murmured and crooned between his breaths; however, she said nothing, nothing at all, and he was more stunned by that than anything else transpiring around them. His eyes widened, and his lips closed, body heeding the call of sparks and time as he’d done so many times before, watching her jaw clench, keeping his stare entirely on her as the world pulsed and the realm seethed. Only when her gaze finally swept up to his did he attempt a grin, a small smile, sheepish and boyish, appealing to the lighter sides of her wrath. “Thank you for coming.” Then he watched her move on, paying no mind to his newly stitched scars, tending to the rest of their brutal force, when more movement caught his attention.
 
Not the end after all, came Orsino’s warning, tugging on their line of bond and bewilderment. At first, Erebos was dumbfounded by the strange motions – because the bear had been dead, torn, flayed, left only to bones and dust, punished for its attempts on another’s life. But he witnessed the cartilage and sinew reassemble, drawn back together in a grotesque, skeletal structure, never to be what it once was, on the rise of a frigid wind, on the decrepit horrors of a primal scream. The prince considered the sudden oncoming of ice shards to be the least of their problems as its empty sockets turned towards them – and he’d seen this all before, back when Kaos had revealed his secrets and duplicity, when he’d merged carcasses and allowed its mass to hunt, to prey, to ravage them whole. He’d witnessed the warrior from the Edge fall and never regain her mobility, her strength, her breath, and he had absolutely no intention of this beast, this heathen, being allowed to do the same to his clan. “Time to go!” He hollered over the howling winds, seeking their eyes, their absolution, their feral glances; Erebos wouldn’t be surprised if any of them hurled themselves into the fray, but it wasn’t the time nor the place. Their abilities would be useless against the undead; the world had already tried. “If this is Kaos’ doing, we have no chance,” he beckoned, nodding his head back towards the Basin, where there was still sanctuary, still a chance to live. Then, because he was brave, because he was courageous, and because sometimes he was just stupid, he placed his frame between them and the bear, intending to hold the beast off while they made their escape. “Head for the Basin!” The command was feral, quick, and blunt, molten on the threads of ferocity and iniquity – and one he hoped they’d listen to.

[Erebos tells them to get the hell out of dodge, then puts himself between the bear and his soldiers.]


image credits

@Wessex @Weaver @Beloved @Vertigo @Enna

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
#27

I AM IRON AND I FORGE MYSELF

Even after a couple of months here, Wessex has yet to meet everyone. The Basin provides just enough opportunity for its residents to hide themselves away from the world or mix and mingle according to their moods. She’s found they are more solitary than, say, other groups she’s been a part of, but that suits the mottled mare just fine. Too much chit-chat grates on her nerves. If something can be said in four words then use four, not eight. The exception seems to be for Tiamat. Wessex would allow the Ocean’s Light to babble in her presence all she wants, and would never say a word against it. Such is the power of infatuation. Whichever camp this healer falls into doesn’t matter to the mottled warrior, she simply offers the mare a stiff smile when she arrives - it soon turns to one of mixed skepticism as she watches the woman and the General interact. Is that a look of affection she sees from this far off? A breath of love, conveyed simply in the way he says her name?

So the Tin Man does have a heart after all.

When it is her turn, Wessex whispers quietly to the Healer before anything is done. “Leave some scars - the ladies seem to like them.” The magical part of the healing is a bit of a mystery to her still, but that doesn’t diminish her appreciation as the stinging dulls and fades into a distant throb. Her head bobs up and down in thanks, accompanied with a gruff, “Appreciate it.” She’s sure Enna’s services will be needed again soon enough - for as long as there are idiots who throw themselves against each other, there will be smarter folk who knit them back together again.

Reaching down to grip the bloody bearskin in her teeth in order to sling it on her back, Wessex’s hair begins to stand on end as a devious, chilling winds rises from nothing. It howls around them, and just as Wessex spots the bear rising from the dead, she is bombarded by several stings, in succession, from her flanks to her nose. Utterly surprised by the turn of events, she cannot hide the tinge of fear that colors the yelp that squeaks out as she skitters to one side, head lowered in warning to the undead beast. Erebos’s voice cuts through the danger, finding some sort of explanation for the miraculous, but even as he commands the troops to leave, he places himself in harm’s way, playing the noble card without ever thinking that he needn’t sacrifice himself for this. They could easily outrun this magically knit together creature.

It’s a particularly stupid move in her mind, and so she turns to face the stallion, aiming her horns at him now. Sharply, she half-yells, “Don’t be an idiot, Erebos. We all go - split up and outrun it!”

See, there’s this thing called ‘leave no man behind’ (unless they’re already dead). That’s a hard and fast rule for Wessex - for better or for worse.

W E S S E X

image credit


Sorry about post order
@Weaver  
@Vertigo  
@Beloved  
@Enna  
@Erebos
-- please tag in all posts! --
-- magic and force allowed, no death or permanent damage --

Beloved Posts: 121
Aurora Basin Soldier atk: 8.5 | def: 10 | dam: 3
Mare :: Unicorn :: 14.3 :: Appears 6 HP: 62 | Buff: NOVICE
Orphan :: Ragdoll Cat :: None Bunnie
#28

She panics, when the healing magic first touches her, its warm, wonderful sensation foreign and entirely different from the ebbing pulse of her black blood’s seeping. The spiraling glimmer in her mind’s eye is momentarily replaced with a real one, and when that magical essence returns to Enna’s being, and the witch is left shivering, but whole, Beloved narrows her eyes upon the healer. Watching her tend to the rest, observing how the General follows her with his gaze (having not been lucid enough to catch how gently they had exchanged each other’s callings as the Mender had arrived), the bitch sneers from behind her wary scowl.

The General’s whore? Thinks the mare to herself, crown tilting, laughter tittering, unaware how deeply the blue pelted man might gouge her were he to overhear her mental query; unaware, too, how one might care enough about another to rip holes in anyone for speaking of them in such a way. Regardless, it is for those glances alone that the wicked one does not tail the healing maiden, her lips wetted by a tongue hungry for blood; the witch does not take kindly to healing magic. The mending, its very essence of replacement and creation, makes her vile heart twist and writhe, and though she knows it was, perhaps, necessary, and that her ear now longer hangs and her head no longer swims with bloodlessness, she hates Enna for it.

The hate does not have time to become action, however, the tethers of her feeble loyalty to the title and place that the Basin has allotted her holding her until, with a shudder, and horrid groan, the bear returns from the realm of the dead.

Suddenly, all she can see is that glorious, undying fiend, her vision tunneling in upon it, the shouts and warnings of her comrades lost to the electrical energy that radiates between she and the monster, as she stares. Her gaze quivers, and her laughter rolls forth, nervous, afraid, but beholding splendor, also, her whole being shivering with elated lust as Erebos proclaims it a potential creation of Kaos.

It is only when he throws himself before the bear that the woman looks over, her sneering mouth twisted and cruel; she catches Wessex’s words, and cackles.

"Cowards," she mocks and sings as the many-crowned mare threatens the General onward with her myriad points. Beloved’s hooves dance beneath her with uneven, peculiar rhythm as she steps nearer to the bear, alongside her arguing herd-mates; she will remain, not the idiot boy with love in his eyes. What chance did he have, rightfully having asked the rest the same? None. None with all that fear twisting tight in his feeble, mortal heart. "You go, General, with the rest who have but one death. Let your fear fuel your hooves as you run. But we do not die here, nor anywhere! And we do not flee!"

Whipping her gaze from the General, and glaring at the undead beast, she snarls, the sound ending in a childish giggle.

"Undying, Beloved does not fear you!" she proclaims, spittle flying from her lips, "we are brethren, bound by death, tethered by word, ruled by that which does Ever-Change! Beloved does not fear you!"

[ OCC: uhhhh RIP stupid. Sorry Erebos D: just fire her ]



you've lost your demon.
Tag Beloved, please!

Feel free to attack her with physical or magical violence at your own risk. ;D

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
#29
The healer she has never met comes, looking first to Erebos, and Weaver watches with a strange interest. But soon Enna is turning to the rest of them, offering her services, and Weaver considers telling the Time Mender to pass on her. Her cuts are minimal, but here is a healer, and Weaver isn’t one to play brave because she thinks it’s smart. She just doesn’t feel like bothering a healer for every cut, but if one is already here, she might as well. So she lets Enna stitch her back together, and soon as the pieces of the bear begin to move, she is intensely grateful she didn’t pass on the opportunity to be healed.

Raven screeches as his prizes rattle and shake and pull from his grasp, though it is not a protest that leaves his mouth, it is fear. And Raven, like Weaver, fears little. He takes off, gone before the bear can reform, but Weaver stays put, hardly one to turn down a fight. Though even she isn’t entirely stupid. As she watches the dead thing pull itself back together, she knows it’s not a fight they can win. The ice drops around them until the bear is covered in a layer of ice itself.

And Erebos, of course, sticks himself between the undead thing and all of them. Wessex is the first to yell, telling him not to be stupid. The Beloved, who tells them all to go but it clearly still being stupid, because she intends to fight. But she notes that she was right, that Beloved too cannot die. Or maybe can, as Weaver does, but will not stay dead. Either way, she charges into the foray, coming to stand beside Beloved.

“Go. Beloved and I can hold him off, he can’t kill us.” Sort of. Close enough, but she wasn’t explaining the finer points of resurrection versus immortality right now. “As soon as you’re safe we’ll get out of here.” She was probably going to have to drag Beloved kicking and screaming, but she would if necessary. It was foolish to die if they didn’t have to, but she would stand between the undead ice-bear and take the hit to save those that couldn’t.

Her attention turns to Beloved. “There will a time for revenge, Beloved. Just not now. Let’s make it sweet.” Because if they tried now, they would only fail. She spreads her wings, trying to distract the bear, trying to give her companions cover to get the hell out of here so she could follow. But for now, she tips her head just slightly, aiming all seven horns toward the bear should it try anything.

- weaver -

Image


Tell them all to runs and joins Beloved in blocking the bear, tries to convince Beloved to leave as soon as everyone is clear.

Please tag in all posts
Magic use/power playing is okay, but check before serious injury/death
Image by AmoretteRose

Vertigo Posts: 34
Aurora Basin Weaver
Mare :: Unicorn :: 17.2hh :: Four
DarkShadow
#30
vertigo

Ve was taken aback when the winged two tone mare was kind in her words. Shocked even still by the lack of anger from their leader. The large mare wasn't sure how to take this so, instead, she nodded. She was thankful for the fact that there was kindness, even though she was of no help. Snorting softly, Vertigo watched as some claimed a piece of the bear for their own. Still, she made no move to do the same. She had no right, at least, that's the way she saw it.

The Draft shifted her weight, wincing slightly at the pain that shot up her thigh. She was quiet though, noticing that no one else complained of their wounds. She would at least be brave in this aspect. It wasn't long before someone else joined the band. Ve had no idea what or who she had come for, but only when she began her healing did the female understand.

Smiling softly in a silent thanks, the maiden allowed her leg to be healed. She sighed, stretching the limb slightly. That was better, way better. The stinging had subsided and the soreness was completely erased. The rust color was still present however, the only sign that anything had happened to her. She was feeling better, more relaxed now that the danger had past. She had survived, sure, but that wasn't enough for Vertigo.

The youngster doesn't have time to think about 'could-have-beens', for as soon as all seems calm, there's a chill in the air. The sudden drop and the rapid fall of ice causes the Shire to shy away from the resurrecting beast. “Holy s...” her words are halted as a piece of ice pelts her face, causing the female to squeal. Shaking her large head, the mare shakes it off, realizing that it wasn't as painful as her previous injury. Their leader begins barking orders and it doesn't take long for Vertigo to leap into action.

She knows she can't fight. Knows that she won't. Taking a final glance at the undead beast, Ve snorts and bolts towards the Basin. Thank the Gods for the healer. Glancing over her shoulder, she notices that everyone else is arguing. No one else has decided to turn tail and run. Snorting, the female skids to a stop, turning to face the direction she came from. She takes a moment to call for them, her fear kicking in again. Pacing back and forth, Ve is unsure of what to do. Now wasn't the time to pretend to be brave....

"Talk."
[Vertigo runs when told, but stops when she notices everyone else isn't. She waits for someone to make the next move.]
I need you.
I don't know why, but every now and then in my life,
for no reason at all, I need you.

image | coding


OOC - Sorry it took me so long!
I'm back now ^^
[Image: ve_chibi_by_hoofbeatdesigns-daya7ew.gif]
Please tag Vertigo in all posts
Non-Lethal Magic/Attacks Allowed
Pixel by me :)


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