the Rift


My People! [Friends of 'lana]

Svetlana Posts: N/A
Unregistered
:: :: ::
#1
S V E T L A N A
The StormChaser
My wingbeats were steady and sure as I flew, even despite the mass of tangled knots filling out my left wing muscles. I was sore from my fight with Kri, but I would heal. Eventually, anyways. It was a good day to fly, a quick wind carrying me along in its midst, easing the weight of my body in the sky, sending me soaring. I had come for those who followed me, after meeting with Leander who was taking his friends from the Throat. Yes, it was time to create a band, at the least; a proper band that was just and righteous, with a more democratic society. Still, I and Leander would be leaders- but wouldn't that be only fitting, as we had created it?

Ah, well. That could be figured out later. Right now, I was coming for my friends, those who may have follow me- and my daughter. She would be safe, if she came with me, safer than with the jackass son calling himself 'Jackal'. My eyes skimmed over as I soared above the Foothills, feeling a pang of longing and loneliness as I watched the familiar water fall from the cliff, watch the rocky foothills with its tiny scraggly trees brace itself against the wind.

I begin my spiral downwards, descending towards the earth, and land softly on the grass, by the roaring waterfall beside me. "My people!" I cry out, ears pricked for movement. "I have come for those who are my friends! Have I not served you well, only to be overthrown by a young upstart without my experience? I ask of you to come with me, to a society ruled fairly by I and Leander. One where I will do my best to serve you again." I pause, and inhale quickly. "If you do not come, I understand. But I would hope that at least one of my friends and allies may come with me to a band fair and kind."

~
walk walk walk
"talk talk talk"


Jackal2 the King of Thieves Posts: 71
Hidden Account
Stallion :: Equine :: 15.3 ½ :: 3 years
zz
#2


Tumbling winds carry an alarming smell.

A handsome russet head jerks upward from grazing, blades of grass falling from clenched lips like brittle prayers. He hopes it is but a memory of her - stray hairs or fallen feathers, but these hopes are betrayed when his ears catch the faint chime of her voice; muscles tense with the anticipation of a battle never fought. After a moment of deliberation, he pushes himself into a headlong gallop through a lengthy emerald plain. Hooves strike against turf, tossing it carelessly in his wake, leaving a scattered trail of ugly dirt indents. The terrain begins to tilt upwards as a mountain grows before him; his pace slacks to a steady lope. He feels his heart in his throat as blood roars in his ears - is this his punishment for being the King of Thieves? A laugh titters in his brain as his breathing becomes labored and heavy - she must be daft for returning. Her defeat was obvious and her scorn moreso; wasn't the memory of failure enough for this mare?

His strides become tenuous as the path becomes steeper and the footing becomes looser and more treacherous. Early afternoon sun glistens on sweat and dirt, stroking the struggling stallion with graceful fingers. Mercury eyes catch the Stormchaser as she rallies some invisible force where the dun had defeated her. She shouts like a madwoman, an idiot - why does she think anyone will stand behind her when she has abandoned them by bending the knee and fleeing like a frightened squirrel? Hooves clatter noisily as they skitter over limestone. When he feels dirt and grass underfoot, he snakes his neck downward, and resumes the previous breakneck pace. Every step brings him closer to her - every breath drawn brings the smell of her hide, the oil on her wings. "Leave!" he bellows, charging toward her, ears flattened and teeth bared menacingly against the wind. He hopes she will jump off the cliff and fly away - what business does she have here, skulking in his herd, commanding his citizens as if they are her own?

Vainly, he wishes that as Svetlana escapes over the edge (as she had before, dark tail between her legs), those big wings will forsake her and she will plummet to her death on the rocks below.

The vicious pound of hooves bring him closer to her pale body.

Leave.
thewhitestdogalive @ flickr

Madyrn Maskan Posts: 87
Deceased
Stallion :: Equine :: 17hh :: 16
Whit
#3

The brothers were thirsty for knowledge. But they were more thirsty for action.

They watched the happenings with mild interest. Eyes of orange, eyes of predators, tracked the flight of the mare, the landing, the self-righteous way in which she held herself, the commanding tone she attempted to impart in her voice. They sneered at her, from their hidden lair amidst the shadows.

Thundering hooves told them of another's approach. He was young, but he had won, he had taken the victory from the pegasus who thought so highly of herself. The brothers knew all too well to never judge a book by its cover. The King of Thieves may thus far prove himself to be a worthy leader - he would be the first since their original joining o the herd beneath Gossamer.

He was intense in his actions, rage fuelled him. The brothers knew of rage, of anger, of the crimson, blood-red cloud that obscures all the senses and drives one to make rash decisions.

And they respected him all the more for it.

Swift as flames devouring dry leaves, and silent as shadows moving across the land, the brothers were in the wake of Jackal's path, trumpetting their support. They did not know the specifics -specifics matter little to them - they only saw that their new leader was charging the previous one away.

They were going to help eradicate this idiocy from the lands.


larfsalot.deviantart.com


Svetlana Posts: N/A
Unregistered
:: :: ::
#4
S V E T L A N A
The StormChaser
His scent comes to me. His scent- the scent of a traitor, the scent of a thief of titles. My mouth twists wryly- his title is so very suiting for him. The King of Thieves he is and forever will be, and it is a poor thing for him, not a good one. I, at least, will always be chasing a new dream- but he is a lowly thief, even if he has beat me down and away. Another scent comes along with it, the scent of two, the scent of Foothills.

I watch him gallop towards me, looking for all in the world the righteous horse he is meant to be; but it doesn't ease my injured pride and so I pin my ears to my skull in disgust; for he is only a liar and a traitor, as far as I am concerned. At his sides come two black horses- neither of them I saw in my reign- and the two of them come thundering along with him like a right pair of stock. Ah! How long has it been since I said 'stock'? Curst my tonguth!

But I let the stubbornness ebb from my bodice, and instead I turn, my head seeking the feathers of my left wing, teeth meticulously returning each black feather back to order; I did think highly of myself, I would not lie; but so was a fault found in many horses; and now I had, at least, realized I was not invincible as I was in Svikruch; maybe they were simply better warriors; but, maybe my skills have deteoriated.

Finally when the russet horse and his night-shaded sidekicks did be a bit closer did I return my attention to him below the rocks, and I tip an ear forward idly, but he doesn't speak, even though every line of his body indicates his want for me to leave. But I am a sore loser, and so I sigh softly and try to push away the lesser emotions. "Jackal, Jackal. If you trust the loyalty of your horses, and none come, I will leave; but you have made an enemy, you already know." I pause, my black eyes seeking his. "Of course, would you not let a mother fetch her child? Or maybe your morals are even lower than I know." I outstretch a black wing, turning it before me to inspect the disheveled feathers of my right. Humph. "You won fair and square. Now let me have my chance to have any who are loyal come with me- if they are not loyal, so be it, and you have my well wishes." I stare down at the orange boy, eyes sharp and cold.

As much as I wish I had dignity left, I have little; surely he must grant me this.

I take off, wings thumping, putting myself into the air above the three- for the two large equines are intimidating, but at least they can't fly. Ten feet, twenty feet; there I hover, there I stop, eyes narrow, and say; "Good. Bye. Don't forget me."

~
walk walk walk
"talk talk talk"


Jackal2 the King of Thieves Posts: 71
Hidden Account
Stallion :: Equine :: 15.3 ½ :: 3 years
zz
#5


Her words fall on deaf ears; he runs and runs until she escapes as he had intended. Haunches pull downward and his forelegs dig into the sod - he slides to a stop where she had jumped moments before. Don't forget me, she calls, like a child, and he snorts in disdain, righting his posture. Dark warriors, vaguely familiar, draw behind him, bellowing their rage. "You are a coward - the only things you chase are foolish dreams," the King of Thieves roars, forehand ascending and trashing over the yawning abyss of the cliff. The waterfall thunders behind him, affirming the rage of the black brothers and the dun. Hooves clatter noisily as they return to the limestone and grass, ribcage heaving as he draws the thin air in, fast and hard. "Leave; I'm tired of seeing you. Return, and you won't be as fortunate," he calls, affirming the words with a defiant jerk of the head, white rimming his silver eyes like the hate the froths at his heart; he will rip off her wings with his teeth and throw her off the cliff himself.

Everything said and done, the young king swivels towards the brothers, suddenly tired. His muscles ache and sting with exertion of racing up the mountain - they complain as he moves towards them, head bent with gratitude. "She is nothing but a craven, too proud to admit her defeat," he says, panting, offering them a hurt grimace, disguised as an infirm smile. "She merits what she has earned - she will rot and fade away in the wilderness," the dun concludes, limbs trembling as he turns toward the waterfall, hoping to soothe his body with the coolness of its kiss. He plunges into the shallow pool, turning an eye toward the brothers - they are tall and able-bodied, with fortitude that sang as they dashed after him to scare the pigeon-hearted Svetlana away. In a herd of weaklings and alarmists, they are the fabled warriors from the tales of his youth.

Cool mountain water clings to the waves of his long red mane; it washes his ire and its ilk away, its fingers brush the pain from every fibre of his lanky frame. When he clambers from the deafening basin, he is clean and cold, and the water trails behind him in thralls. He does not shake it off, but lets it drip onto the grass. The dun turns toward the swarthy duo, praise in those eyes. "Thank you, brothers. Your tenacity is commendable," he says softly, "she will not come again," what a futile hope.

[IMPROMPTU BATHING SESSION FTW]
thewhitestdogalive @ flickr

Madyrn Maskan Posts: 87
Deceased
Stallion :: Equine :: 17hh :: 16
Whit
#6

Blathering, useless, monotone, words were spouted from the mouth of the insufferable banshee, evidently expecting the King of Thieves to be willing to linger and chat. She was sorely mistaken, as their leader did not slow down, and neither did they.

Thunder reverberated through the earth at their approach, she was a fool to think their momentum would cease just based on a mouthful of petty, empty words. What had she accomplished for the Foothills during her time as leader? The only reason she had even been appointed was because of her race - the Triumverate. It was a foolish notion, to think that any outcast could enter the herd and claim leadership simply to fill a spot. They understood the reasoning behind it, but did not appreciate all the flaws that it also contained. Flaws, it would seem, that were being chased off a cliff.

Hocks dug into the earth as deep trenches were dug, the cliffside nearly took the brothers over its edge - but they were a bit more aware of their own capabilities than that. Ears did not rise from either brother, as deadly, orange eyes watched the retreating frame of Svetlana. Snorts or steamy air erupted from their nostrils, forefeet stomped and the twins looked ready to leap over the edge just to pommel her into the ground once more. But they restrained themselves, as they saw the threat had been vanquished, they shook their crowns and ensured she was not foolish enough to return to their homeland, seeking members for her own gain. That was an act that she could do on any other turf - not theirs.

Attention of the duo swivelled to their newest leader now, taking in his build, his age, the confident way in which he holds himself. He reminded them so much of someone, of many some ones, in fact, they felt themselves be drawn in by his charisma, their loyalties in this hopeless land slowly restored. Perhaps, amidst all the shuffles of leadership their herd had seen recently, one worthy being had finally risen? Perhaps the brothers were bias, being so connected to the World's Edge that they were, they still grew annoyed at the apparent laziness and silence the new leaders had shown in confirming the alliance that existed between them. It was an act of good faith that they lingered here at all - certainly, since Paladin left, they had no more than their strong moral centres tying them to the land - or perhaps it was fear of their sister's wrath that kept them here.

Crowns dipped to the stallion, bodies turned and followed him, obedient, yet wild at the same time. Low rumbles agreed with the words he spoke, wry smiles upon their lips softening the harshness of their stare to one of shared amusement. The pull of fresh water against their skin proved strong enough to make them plunge easily into the shallows of the pond, its cool touch steaming against their warmed hides. Ever the guardians, however, their eyes did scout keenly for any who would be approaching - it would seem none would come to the call of Svetlana - did she truly have no allies within her own herd? Or had they scared her away, and any within their own ranks who might follow her? All the better to be rid of them, the brothers thought together.

"She would be a fool to allow her hooves to touch upon the Foothills again; we know this land better than she would know the skies - there is no place for her to hide within our borders." Maskan's deep, poetic tones confirmed what the King spoke, with his brother's rougher, gravelly voice adding on. "Though we have spied your face and know of your name, King of Thieves; allow us to formally introduce ourselves."Rogue, rugged grins curved their lips as each spoke their name with the nod of their crown.

"Maskan."
"Madyrn."
"Brothers to Mirage the Dragonheart and Rishima of the World's Edge. Warriors of the Foothills since the reign of Gossamer the Benevolent." Maskan's voice rounded the introduction off, hoping to ensure this stallion was under no illusions as to the weight of their modest rank. They had been here longer even than any of the leaders themselves - a feat not often made by lowly servants of the land.



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