the Rift


a game of thrones, archibald and evers

Jackal2 the King of Thieves Posts: 71
Hidden Account
Stallion :: Equine :: 15.3 ½ :: 3 years
zz
#1


The dun stallion moves forward proudly, trying to channel the generals and warriors and kings of his blood; he hopes they are proud of their grey-eyed son, previously so cowardly and stupid. He desperately wants to be brave, he wants to save this beautiful piece of land before the dead or the living or the divine dare to steal it away from him, like they have with so many other of his dearest possessions. Some part of him is ashamed for driving the dark-winged mare away; the look in her eyes when she came to the realization of her loss haunts him - but why had it been so easy to walk away - why had there been this buoyant feeling in his chest, a lightness in his heart when the victory had dawned on him? Why had seizing her place been so effortless, so laughably easy? Will the Foothills hate him for dethroning their pale queen? His mind is dizzy with questions, but blunt hooves, hardened by travel and running sorrows away, advance upon the budding grass with the confidence of youth, muscles rippling easily underneath a spotted rosy skin.

Today is lovely and bright; birds babble and sing in budding trees, and pretty flowers dot the lush, tender baby grasses of the Foothill's sprawling acreage. The callow stallion is half-tempted to race madly through it, to feel the wind running its wild fingers through the russet cascade of his mane and the frenzy of springtime in his veins, but he collects himself. Not today, the dun reminds himself, mercury eyes wide and alert - he is not the careless vagabond he was for so many years; he has married this land through the defeat of the chaser of storms, and has required himself to meet with his comrades, who seem to have neglected it for all the time of his absence.

Pausing underneath a lone willow, Jackal waits for his hunting dragon; the bronze will give him the courage he lacks, even if the cilia of their bond are ominously silent. "Dei!", he calls, the undulating tendrils of his tail giving an idle swish. Within seconds, a great metallic thing swoops from the endless clear arms of the sky, trilling cordially to his bonded whilst he lands on the broad striped back. The appaloosa twists the thick muscles of his neck to face the dragon and gives him an affectionate nudge - their bond may be mute, but the fibers of love still connect him.

After a moment of peace, Jackal's head swings forward; he faces a creek, tumbling and wild and swollen with winter's melted snow. With a soft sigh, he hails the other members of the triumvirate: "Archibald, Evers," says the pleasant tenor voice, carried over the Foothills by a playful birdsong breeze. He wants to know what has happened during his bout of wanderlust, and what he can do to remedy it.

Jackal, son of traitors and beggars and thieves, waits, half-hidden beneath the fronds of a willow, for his comrades, and ultimately wondering what the hell he has gotten himself into.
thewhitestdogalive @ flickr

Evers the Able Posts: 82
Hidden Account
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 15.2hh :: 12 Buff: NOVICE
Rita :: Greyhound :: Water Mold imi
#2
[Image: 50a8b421a75c2]

EVERS the ABLE

There was a chill in the air and it wasn't entirely because of the weather. No sooner had she returned was Svetlana to be usurped. Evers thought the mare didn't deserve the hate life threw at her, in every step she took it was for the good of the herd. Maybe, if he'd of been more vigilant, the blue boy could have stopped her being taken away. The fact still remained however, that the roan was merely a servant of his mother and the StormChaser would have to have gone either way. The child bestowed with the name Jackal had, in a way, done their growing deranged family a favour. Yet the Chief of Diplomat's could not but wish that there would come some stability, a lead that forever changed was not good for the land. For who should their subjects put their trust into. Jackal had a tougher job indeed, the skeptics would be raising their brow and it was the job of their new Chief to rise above this. Will he, become great in word and action? Or would the boy just wither and curl into a ball under the pressure of many. Time defeated everyone and time would decide his fate.

Evers moved to the sound of Jackal, ghosting through the sparse trees to stand before the creek. Azure pools watching with curiosity as he appeared before his brother did. It was an interesting situation and one that had the blue steed thinking, what would Archibald think? Evers proffers a head in greeting to horse and dragon, parting soft lips to speak a little of his mind. Vocals quiet and polite. "The Foothills is yours to command with me and my brother, but I must ask... Why did you dethrone Svetlana? Do you have a purpose behind your surprising challenge?"

The latter was what Evers really wanted to know. Was he a threat to Archibald and himself too? Or, did the child merely believe he could do a better job. He flicked his skinny grey tail and waited patiently.


Archibald the Dauntless Posts: 386
Absent Abyss atk: 6.0 | def: 9.5 | dam: 8
Stallion :: Equine :: 18.3 hh :: 10 years HP: 80 | Buff: SHIELD
Loretta :: Alaskan Malamute :: Time Slip Time
#3
Archibald's footfalls are heavy as he moves, anger ripping at his heart. The muscles that wrapped tightly around his shoulders tightened and bulged as he walked, his skin twitching with oncoming of new Birdsong flies. The Dauntless was pissed and someone was going to hear about it. A stranger had called his name, and something in the air felt different. The birds no longer sang in the same way as when they had pegasi around--The Dauntless knew the Stormchaser was no longer a part of his herd by the way the land reacted.

"I am Archibald the Dauntless, Warlord of the foothills." Archibald started, settling in next to his smaller brother with Loretta. His golden glance stayed hard on Jackal and his tail flicked across his brother's haunches. "You challenged Svetlana--the pegasus of our triumvirate--and not me, the equine that matches you. What have you to say about that?" The Dauntless took a step towards the small copper stallion, lifting his chin gently. Loretta watched Jackal carefully, tail swaying gently behind her in a bored manner. She could not hear her bondmate, but knew that he was upset.

Archibald waited for Jackal's answer as patiently as he could, sweaty body twitching as the flies returned to bite at his black hide. The dark knight was not amused at this vagabond coming to claim his herd--no, no--surely he was some type of coward for challenging Svetlana.



Through the ages of time
I've been known for my hate,
but I'm a dealer of simple choices;
for me it's never too late.


please tag me

Jackal2 the King of Thieves Posts: 71
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Stallion :: Equine :: 15.3 ½ :: 3 years
zz
#4


Someone approaches - slate grey with strange claws piercing the skin of his neck. The King of Thieves casts a nonchalant eye in his direction, as if it is normal to seem as if a pack of wolves lives beneath your skin. He offers the gaunt fellow a somewhat whimsical smile, colored by the weight of what he had achieved. Evers the Able is not a loud man; his tones are hushed, as if spoken from an ancient place a universe away, but the meaning of his question is clear enough. Jackal blinks, red eyelashes fluttering before candid silver eyes. When the first traces of a reply begin to form in the whirling matter of his brain, he is interrupted by (he presumes) Archibald.

The draft comes like a summer storm; he is dark and tempestuous, his voice as low and deep as thunder - the appaloosa is afraid lightning will jump out of his eyes. His question is terse and urgent, and he draws closer to the dun, flies coasting over his black hide like a carcass. Jackal flicks a blameless silver eye upward, portraying all the innocence and fearlessness of his youth - he is undaunted. An angelic smile tugs at his lips, although there is something wicked beneath the swirling mercury depths - perhaps the glint of a steel sword? "She is craven and haughty, undeserving of the position she once held," he begins, eyeing Archibald's stony brother, tone unbetraying of the bitterness within his heart; he is still cherubic and poised. "Are you implying yourself as her equal - do you wish for the same fate as she?" Sterling eyes flick to the immense Shire, his voice is faintly amused, devoid of the arrogance his words may suggest. Shyly, Jackal wonders if the growth of a giant's brain stops at a certain size - a size the Dauntless as surely long surpassed. Childish laughter threatens to escape the cage of his ribs, and he instead gives a dawdling glance at the dog which follows the enormous draft. Is their bond as silent as Dei and his? If so, how is the bitch not mince-meat beneath the platters of her bonded's hooves?

Jackal lets his hips swing into a position of relaxation, a toe cocked lightly on the green grass. "What has happened since you have been appointed?" he asks, calm and collected, demonstrating none of the brimstone. A breeze whistles through the Foothills and through the Thief's auburn mane - are these two as adept as their names suggest, or is their reign a mummer's farce?
thewhitestdogalive @ flickr


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