the Rift


If it's not with you, herd meeting

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


The skies begin to clear.

A nose, wet and sore, probes the clean post-storm air like an animal coming out of its den after a long winter of hibernating. He lets the humid air course through his nasal passages, feels it swell his lungs and course through his blood, as if he died beneath the black clouds and was reborn beneath this sky of pristine blue. Goliath has run away from David, the dun notes with a sardonic twist of lips; the shire seemed so confident in his abilities, but a little lick of dragon fire felled him easily enough. Twice the king of thieves, he muses, sighing sharply as he limps sorely on his near knee. Victory comes with a price, and without a healer, the dun may be as lame as a kitten for some time.
Dei is curled up tightly on the flat of his back, snoring softly and dreaming of giant black shades with flames swallowing them whole. The dragon had been so, so tired after their skirmish, drained by the wretched red mutt's nefarious magic. As their bond had returned shortly after the brief, rainy battle, Jackal had questioned the dragon about his momentary confusion, but the bronze dozed off in defiance of the inquiry, leaving his bonded mildly irritated and thoroughly worried. Lowering the fine russet head, he grazes peacefully beneath a clear spring sky, the forage cool and wet on his tongue. A bird sings merrily in the distance, drawn from its nest by spring and the promise of a beautiful day. It is fresh, as if the storm swept away all the violence and darkness from the Foothills, leaving only sun and birdsong and a victorious dusty son reaping his vibrant emerald feast.

The herd must know sooner of later of the Dauntless' defeat, and with weary eyes of silver, he reluctantly raises his head, a soft breeze caressing his sides like hands of a gentle lover. Vaguely, he wonders what the Able will think of his brother's usurping, although dismisses the worry with a lazy flick of a rolling auburn tail. With a fitful gait, the King of Thieves begins to limp toward the apex of the hill he had been grazing below, a menagerie of greedy insects in his thrall. Dei yawns extensively as he is roused from his slumber, stretching his impressive wingspan. Light filters through the delicate membrane of his magnificent wings, reflecting it off the dun's hide in brilliant bronze and gold.
When they reach the summit, Jackal pauses, gaze sweeping over the handsome domain - his home. His heart threatens to skip a beat as his eyes trace the mesmerizing curvaceous sweep of distant snowcapped purple mountains which cradles a winding creek, fed by icy mountain water. A smile tugs at the edge of his lips, drawing his face into a proud grin. "Foothills!", he calls, his gentle tenor cry tumbling through the valley below him like vigorous spring breezes. There is an edge to that voice, however, hardened by tragedy and battle. The youth seems old beyond his years, white scars tracing his smooth rosy hide like the etchings of fate on stone. An ear, torn and shredded by some spectre's teeth, tilts backward, and he awaits the Foothill's residents to crawl from their dens as if born from the earth herself.


forever is a long long time when you've lost your way

Willow Posts: N/A
Unregistered
:: :: ::
#2

WILLOW & ERMINE

.arborun lignea .. .mare. ..23 years. .. .16.3 hands.





She comes, dutiful as ever, although arguably less than others compared to her most recent absence. She has her reasons however, should any wish to query her, but she assumes most would prefer to judge rather than ask.

Such is life.

The echo of the summons still seems to drift on the winds as the spin around the large mare, shivering through her tree to send the leaves into soft music. She flicks her ears, not recognizing the voice that calls, but not doubting the sincerity with which it is used. So she crests the hill, ambling at something near a snail's pace. It's a good thing she was already nearby or the meeting might have been over with before she ever got there. A wonder she managed to win that equine race - all depends on your motivation. The threat of cold and risk of life certainly is a spur in Willow's side.

Hills have never been an ally of hers. The weight of the tree upon her back threatens to yank her over, but she leans into the climb, hooves digging into the thawed ground for purchase. Her neck is darkening with a light sweat when she reaches Jackal, yet another sign of her recent absence and the following disuse of her body. She grunts at her weaknesses, shaking the worry from her mane as if it's nothing but dirt. Finally her gaze coasts to the being that yanked her up this rise.
She wonders only briefly now if he meant to remain on the hill alone and look down upon the herd in the lower portion; it is often a lord's want of such heights. She does not bother with it however, for she sees almost immediately his ails.

The features of his face are lost to her, let the thieves keep track of such details, and the ripple of muscle under a healthy coat is unnoticed, let the warriors be troubled with such affairs. All Willow sees when she looks upon the red is the way his body weight leans away from his left side, how his haunches are tucked to support himself more than normal, and how the flesh is swollen about his knee joint and stiff by his shoulder. Next she sights the dragon, its body so still for a moment she fears it's been knocked unconscious - if dead she would expect a larger spectacle. She sees the gentle rise and fall of it's ribs, but the face of the King of Thieves tells her enough. The dragon's health is not in dire straights. Sleeping then, perhaps.

"You are hurt," she says by way of greeting. It's not a question, as though asking for confirmation or motion to treat him, nor is it an empty statement gilded with a threat. She strides confidently the rest of the way towards him, pulling up sharply in front. The movements cause her tree to sway, branches moving with a whisper. "Ermine," she calls, her voice strict and unyielding. She is in her element now she takes it seriously.

The stoat pokes its head from the veil of her tree's leaves, nose sniffing the air for a moment, beady eyes regarding Jackal in curiosity, before his attention skips to Willow. "Ermine, as we practiced. Grow Eucalyptus," Willow instructed. The Ermine's talents had arisen over Frostfall and they'd spent a good deal of time practicing with it. He already knee a good host of plants by name, having been with Willow for some time, though he was not as well practiced, but his potential was dizzying to the mare that was happy enough to have a companion for her travels.

The tawny body of the ermine wound down her trunk, paws leaving small scratching noises, before he leapt of her shoulder and down to the ground. He sniffed at the grass for a moment before sitting on his haunches and closing his eyes. From the soil a small sapling began to sprout, it's trunk pale and thin while it's leaves were long and thin, giving off a slight odor. As Ermine worked Willow reached back to find a broad lily pad tucked against her tree. She yanked it around and set it by Ermine who had begun to pluck the leaves from the sapling. When he'd gathered enough and set them on the pad, Willow nodded. She strode forward, wordless as she remained intent on her action, and began to bruise, squash and otherwise grind the leaves with her massive hoof. The aroma grew pungent then, though it was not overly offensive.

Finally she glanced back up towards Jackal, a thin smile parting her lips to ease the awkward tension. Ermine began to pull the ruined leaves from the pad, revealing a murky liquid left in the bottom. It wasn't much, but they hadn't the time for something more proper. "I'm not the herd's healer, I was the storyteller last I knew, Willow's my name. I am practiced with herb though, so if you would... this will help soothe the aches and lessen the swelling. It would do well to be hale in front of the herd, in body and mind, as I imagine your news will be strong words to hear." Willow wasn't entirely sure who this was or what his injuries meant, but she'd come into the Foothills in similar fashion, where Paladin had stood half beaten, trying to temper the hearts of a throne he'd just wrestled from it's past leader. His exhaustion had given way to frustration mid-meeting. Willow wondered how much of the chaos and wounded feelings could have been avoided if the stallion had been more properly tended to, or perhaps if he just hadn't thrown himself into battle at all. Willow knew that expecting stallions not to fight would be no different from hoping the sun would rise in the west.

She leaned down to take the lily pad, motion to approach Jackal where she would pour it on his shoulder and drench his knee in it. There should just be enough to accomplish that. "It will tingle some," she warned, though the feeling was not painful it was different. If he would prefer to wait after the meeting however, she could abide by that. He was not as bad off as Paladin had been, and perhaps his youth gave him more vigor.

Faintly Willow wondered if Paladin had been who this stallion defeated. It's recent leadership changes had gone unknown by her as she hibernated in the depths of the waterfalls, training with Ermine and trying to keep the chill from stripping her tree, and her life, bare.




Kimber Posts: 82
Hidden Account
Mare :: Equine :: 15.2 hh :: 4 (Ages in Tallsun) Buff: NOVICE
Kaiden :: Common Kitsune :: Electric Kachie
#3
Among the first to heed the call of the King of Thieves is one oh-so-familiar, so similar yet different. Her hooves carry her toward his voice at a jaunty pace, emerging from the tree cover like a living shadow that surges up the hill with casual grace and power. She is young, full of the vigor of untested youth, yet still older than he who calls her and her fellows. If just barely. Barely does the mouse grulla slow as she crests the hill, falling back only as her vibrant blue eyes take in the battered form of her favorite, and only, nephew. "So quick to be like father?" She teases gently, crossing to brush her muzzle against scars that mark his once unmarred coat. She knew he would know who she meant, in theory at least. Her father was his grandfather, Gunslinger the Unbroken. The lead stallion that wore battle scars with pride, leading those who followed him with a firm hoof.

But then her brief gentle moment was over, teeth lightly nipping at his right shoulder and tugging on his mane in a playfully affectionate gesture. Her muzzle was briefly extended in a greeting to the bronze dragon on his back, before she danced away to stand just below the hill's crest, watery forms dancing around her hooves as she moved. There she paused to wait and learn what he had called them all for, while contemplating the younger stallion's rise to leadership.

Evers the Able Posts: 82
Hidden Account
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 15.2hh :: 12 Buff: NOVICE
Rita :: Greyhound :: Water Mold imi
#4

EVERS the ABLE


Evers moves with duty in his stride for his brother had left after his defeat without a word. His mother had disappeared. What was he to do? Should he watch the throne of the Foothill's until another opportunity arises, or should he have left with Archibald? The latter he thought to be a rash decision, one did not simply give up the lead without a fight. Even the quiet diplomatic Evers knew that, he may be more prone to the peaceful way out of things, but he was still a son of Mandrake. He would not muddy her name in a cowards way out. On her command alone he would leave or be beaten. So the blue came when Jackal called out to the herd, he had already suspected something of this nature would happen, he stepped calmly onto the rock and schooled his expression into one of gentle greeting to his herd. They were, after all, still a huge responsibility that Evers took to heart and of the two leads left standing. He was the most experienced and the longest in charge.

A diplomatic gaze looked on at Willow as she expressed concern for Jackal's injuries, her kind voice and medical concern winning over the skinny blue in minutes. She was the former Story Teller and the way she spoke Evers understood why, her wisdom fit everything the role entailed but she had left. He wondered why. Walking over to the pair, Evers offered her a grateful nod. "Your knowledge and wisdom have and will continue to serve this herd well, Willow. We thank you" came his quiet voice, acknowledging her abilities with gratitude.

With that he contemplated the land before and waited for others to join. A young grulla came next who seemed to know the King of Thieves and Evers looked on with a small curiosity before turning his gaze back to the horizon. He thought back to his own challenge, an unknown stallion who had claimed he was better fit for the roll. Evers never did get his name for the fight didn't even get started. Did it count as a victory? Who knew. He had defended his place, maybe others would see him in a better light. He hoped they thought him fit enough to lead, he may not throw his weight around like his brother had done but diplomacy was also an art that must be practised. He wondered idly if Jackal possessed any. Going around dethroning people like it was going out of fashion. The child seemed so kind when he had first met Evers and Archibald, maybe he had a multiple personality disorder.

Who knew.

[Image: greyhoundtable.png]
Image © davehamster

Cyrus Posts: 20
Up For Adoption
Stallion :: Equine :: 16.1 :: 3 Years Buff: NOVICE
Semper
#5

 Cyrus</style>

 When it was dark, you always carried the sun in your hand for me.

</style>

The leads call, and the ruby skinned colt is quick to respond. He dreams of hearing the leads concur over one another, but he dreams even more of hearing them argue. Cyrus canters through the stiff hills, nearing the meeting beside the heart where you can hear the faint roar of the massive waterfall that catapults into the primary drinking source. He hears the young call of the dun horse Jackal, who has been newly named the supreme title as the Kind of Thieves. Though, Cyrus doesn't exactly consider himself a thief, but perhaps could be among the thieves of maturity because all of his has been robbed.

The colt slows his pace, remembering to act noble in the presence of his leads. It is important to sustain good posture and keep a keen mind to understand the political and structural words passed.

He bows as he approaches, coming into a square halt. "Thank you for having me here, my leads." He spots the tall arbourn Lignea, Willow, and makes his standing spot close to her. Cyrus' teal eyes flick in recognition as he makes his standing place. He patiently awaits the arrival of others.

image by I Am Not I @ flickr.com</style>


In all Chaos
There is Calculation
please tag cyrus


Jericho Posts: N/A
Unregistered
:: :: ::
#6

J E R I C H O
a hero is born from a soul that's forgotten




Jericho had been quite the stranger to the Foothills, much to his dislike. It surprised even him that he was so adventurous in this new land, often wandering away from his herdland and exploring the lands further in all directions. Run-ins with others had been rare, for the Pegasus was much too flightly when it came to meeting others.

The youngster had been busy grazing when a call echoed out through the land, causing his head to snap up with a start. Only a second later did he calm, however, recognizing the voice as that of their newest leader. His opinion on the Chief had yet to be determined; he had already taken Svetlana out of the picture, whom he had thought quite highly of, but he had yet to meet Jackal. Perhaps today, that would all change.

Bound to the ground as always, the ebony and ivory stallion made his way across the rolling hills, relishing in the feel of the lush grass tickling his forelegs. It was much better in comparison to the snow, which he was glad to see gone. Picking up into a canter, it didn't take long for the forms of five others to come into view. The first he noticed was not of their leader, but of an elder mare with a tree, of all things, growing from her back. As strange a sight as it was, it somehow seemed to fit the draft.

He offered a brief nod of his head and the flash of a smile in greeting, before coming to a stop before the only one who could be Jackal. He dropped his head in a respectful manner, yet did not speak. Jericho's amber gaze landed on the bronze dragon accompanying the Chief, and suddenly, his interest had been perked. Such a curious creature the dragon was, and suddenly the childish side of Jericho, which was basically his whole being, wanted nothing more than to greet the dragon above all else.

But even if he were allowed, it would have to wait.

[Image: Jericho-1.png]



Jackal2 the King of Thieves Posts: 71
Hidden Account
Stallion :: Equine :: 15.3 ½ :: 3 years
zz
#7
[ others may still come, but I'm just replying for the heck of it :D posting order is null in this thread ]



The first to heed his call is a strange creature; he has seen many odd things in his short lifespan, but none as half as strange or lovely as she. Lips curl upward dazedly as she arrives, although his eyes are intent on the willow tree sprouting from her back. Her words are clear and terse, and she wastes no time in assessing her latest patient. Jackal does not dare interrupt her; the certainty in her voice struck a chord in him, and he is silent under her careful eye. A slender red-furred animal peeks out from underneath the tree's graceful fronds upon her command, and their eyes meet before he scurries down her trunk and onto the lush spring grass. A strange thing happens then - something the King of Thieves will not be able to explain for quite a while; the stoat closes his eyes in concentration, and soon, a thin little tree is called into existence, its smell foreign and strong, although not entirely unpleasant. The tree-mare pulls a leafy green disc from her trunk, which he identifies as a lily-pad, and sets it by Ermine, who places the long, young leaves of the new tree onto it. Then, with a large, deft hoof, the Lignea begins to mash them expertly. His nostrils twitch as they inhale the increasingly pungent smell - it is new, and stings his passageways.
When she glances up from her work, he offers her a half-hearted smile. She introduces herself as a former Storyteller, and he raises an eyebrow in surprise. "Willow," he murmurs, listening to her words intently - they are wise, befitting of a mare of such a high rank. She speaks much more sense than most full-blooded equines he knows; perhaps the tree's knowledge flows through her veins (leaves? trunk?) and blesses her with reason. Willow comes forward, pouring the strong-smelling mixture onto his lame leg. It tingles at first, a strange feeling which reminds him of a sleeping limb; the feeling fades into coolness, however, and he heaves a sigh of relief. "Thank you," he murmurs, dipping his head in respect.

No sooner than his wounds begin to cool, rhythmic hoof-beats herald the arrival of a familiar face. Blue eyes, the color of sea-water, watch him fondly, and her heat against his body is a welcome feeling. Their muzzles brush together briefly, breath exchanged. He has missed his aunt tremendously - he has even worried after her. A broad smile graces his face, affection and respite in his pale, colorless eyes. Her voice ring sweet in his ears, like honey to a bear. The words surprise him; Jackal only knows of his grandsire (Kimber's sire) through brief mentions, although he knows the Unbroken to be a ruthless and brave ruler. The smile becomes rueful, "I only did what seemed right," he replies coyly, a tender muzzle tracing the scars on his already tattered hide. Pride swells through his chest; the cowardly colt turned King of Thieves has done his blood justice, he believes, hopes wishes, twisting his head to face her's and nudging her cheek gently before averting mercury gaze to the valley before them.
Gentle teeth graze his shoulder, and for a moment, the dun is beneath a black sky, body slick with relentless rain. With an inhale, he reminds himself that the day has cleared and the shade is gone, but bitterness clings to the back of his throat, and he watches Kimber greet Dei (who sleepily bumps her muzzle with his own), and dance away from them, strange water creatures in thrall.

Evers the Able had come long before, but Willow's attention and Kimber's reunion kept him from addressing the older stallion. Grey eyes scrutinize him carefully, tracing the claws on his neck, the placid look in his eye. The Able does not acknowledge him, and Jackal half wonders if it has something to do with his brother's dethroning. Surely, Evers is higher than that; a diplomat always keeps his duties before his heart, does he not? Mouth twists into a thoughtful line, but he turns his gaze toward the two other that have joined them, a handsome ruby colt, and a lean, amber-eyed pegasus. The boy, who can't be much younger than himself, offers the leaders kind words. Jackal glances at Evers once more, wondering if he is as suited for the position as the King of Thieves had originally thought. The pegasus seems more interested in Dei than the leaders, and Jackal cannot help but smile. Roused by the attention, wide jade eyes stare back at the dark stallion, a light purr rumbling at the back of his throat.

Hesitating, the dusty dun assesses the group before him. Sterling eyes are serious, resolute as they graze each face like a surgeon's scalpel. "Archibald is gone," he says bluntly, flicking an ear casually in Evers' direction, curious to his reaction. "The Foothills have passed through countless hands, but as long as the blood runs hot through my veins, I intend to bring it into an age of prosperity," a carefully calculated pause, a flick of the tail, "But I cannot do so without your help. We need every man, woman and child - we need warriors, apprentices," he frowns, turning his face to look at the tree-mare. "Willow, you will be our healer," the eyes soften on her face, although his mouth is set in an ever adamant line. "Our storyteller will be Paladin the Valiant," he pauses, searching the ranks for the familiar black dun. After a moment of silence, the appaloosa continues, "We will rise, and rise again. Help us build this home of ours; we will be proud to call it our own."


forever is a long long time when you've lost your way

Romani Posts: 205
Outcast atk: 4 | def: 8 | dam: 7
Mare :: Equine :: 14.2 :: 9 HP: 66 | Buff: NOVICE
Kasai :: White Tiger :: Wind Whip Sparrow
#8


Romani

Romani heard the call echo across the land, her head lifting from where she had previously been grazing. At her size, little Kasai paused in her games, likewise becoming distracted when the stallion’s call beckoned all of the Foothills to come to him for an audience. With a wary, and hesitant sigh, the Haflinger turned her neck and nudged the cub’s side affectionately. “Come, darling… Let us see what the Thief of King’s wishes from us.” It was a slight on Jackal’s title, one that she spoke with bitterness that came with change.

She hadn’t forgiven Jackal for driving Svetlana away, resulting in the ivory Pegasus’ ultimate demise. She had been loyal to Svetlana, and the herd, but ‘Lana had been… She had been the one who had found Romani, who had welcomed her to this strange land with open wings and who had offered the beautiful land of the Foothills as a place to call home. Now, she was gone, and although she had left, Romani had remained loyal to the herd.

Kasai gave a soft purr of acknowledgement to the mare’s action, and when the warrior turned one her haunches, the black and white cub obediently followed. Through the thick grasses did the mare go, heading towards the resulting place where Jackal’s voice had derived from. Already her azure eyes could spot the group that had gathered, recognizing some of the individuals, but not all of them. When she arrived, it was obvious that she was late, and that was something that the mare found herself scolding herself for. I didn’t due to show up late. Regardless, Romani came to a stop next to Jericho, the ebony Pegasus who she had found and brought home from the Threshold. He had been somewhat of a rare sight around the Foothills, but he was one whose company she thoroughly enjoyed. The palomino looked to Evers and dipped her head in respect towards the other Chief.

Her thoughts were stolen, however, when Jackal spoke.

‘Archibald is gone.’ Romani bit her tongue. Of course… Would Jackal not stop until he was the only one leading the Foothills? Did Evers understand, and accept, what the King of Thieves had done to his brother? Regardless, it looked obvious that Jackal had received as good as he had given. Remaining polite despite her growing agitation, as she had been raised, the Haflinger simply waited for Jackal to continue speaking. At her side, Kasai sat upon her haunches, understanding the severity of the situating and resisting the natural, curious urge she felt to meet others. Through their internal connection, the feline could feel her bonded’s heart tremble. Kasai didn’t like it.

Only when Jackal’s speech, while surprisingly admirable, came to a close, Romani spoke, her voice lifting through the crowd. “I don’t believe that loyalty and drive of the herd is in question, Jackal,” she said softly, respect clear in her tone. Even if she didn’t like him, Romani knew that if the Appaloosa had defeated both Svetlana and Archibald… Perhaps the blood of a leader did flow through his veins. “I won’t lie; you’re foreign to me, King of Thieves, so forgive me if I’m wary of you. Archibald was a good leader, a sturdy warlord… What can you offer the herd that the others could not? Why can we thrive under your rule, when we could not under others?” There was no bitterness in the warrior’s voice; simply genuine curiosity. What, indeed, could Jackal offer them?

Tilting her head, the mare's forelock shifted, falling in front of her azure eyes. "Perhaps later, we can speak in private, King of Theives?" There were issues Romani had, following this stallion to battle, but holding onto them could hold dangerous results. She hoped that he would take her up on the offer; for they needed to speak, alone.

[OOC: Sorry I’m late, guys… XD]


The true Soldier fights not because
He hates what is in front of him,
But because he loves what is behind him.


colourize-stock | arctic-stock | imi art

Nadira Posts: 76
Hidden Account
Mare :: Unicorn :: 14.2 :: 2 years (Birdsong)
s3ilver
#9

it has come to pass...

The day was new, but a stillness in the wind spoke of things to come. The colorless moon girl had spent the night unknowingly close to the site of the meeting grounds. Her travels had required some amount of rest, which she had come across late. A young and blooming willow tree held a heavy over hang and provided a superb view over the meeting grounds, but held it’s own privacy. For only the second time since she had set hoof on the soil of Helovia, had she slept without any interruptions. No nightmare’s to drown her, which was rare. She had come across many faces, and had made introductions. But now, as the call to gather had disturbed her nap, she quietly stayed put. She was extremely new to these lands, and wished yet a few days to become acquainted with the lands, before being overwhelmed with formalities.

The wise unicorn grasped each individual who had pledged their alliance to these lands, as they came to gather in front of one of the leaders…? She assumed there to be more. Possibly the unicorn stag that stood close to the injured chief was another leader. And then came the healer. Once a storyteller, and now mending the injured, she was quite a site to behold. Each creature came before them, paying their respects. Well frankly, they had to earn her respect and trust. She had to give them a little credit, being as she was the newcomer. She was not one to cause distractions, so she would wait and see how this all played out.

As this speckled equine stallion spoke of Archibald, gone, her pale ears swiveled to pick up the murmuring among the crowd. And how under his rule they would prosper. A frown creased her features, and if she had wrinkles, they would be deep. Ears slightly lean back, in receding fashion. His tone did not agree with her, and how he made his speech did not move her to cheer. Her blazing hot, icy azure pools frantically skimmed the crowd for Romani’s shape, as this be the only creature she was familiar with. Though she couldn’t spot her immediately, she caught the advancing form silently approaching the group. It wasn’t until after the main speech, did her vocals softly penetrate the realm.

NADIRA smiled to herself. So she was not the only one with questions and reservations. She was glad to see ad hear it. She would not be as vocal about it though. In time, everything happens for a reason. Patience was a virtue she had been lavished with. She wasn’t about to go and make rapid decisions based off of one little morsel of information fed to them by one breathing creature, who had somehow claimed his spot. He seemed so young too. But never mind that. Introductions would be made soon enough, and maybe first impressions would be erased. But until then, the snow-white mare kept her distance. Being an onlooker wasn’t always such a horrible idea.




Thoughts || Normal Post || "Previous Speech" || "I am talking."





N A D I R A
the essence of timeless beauty



Paladin the Valiant Posts: 153
Deceased
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16.3 hh :: 15 Years Buff: DANCE
Tamme
#10

I WANT TO FEEL THE PAIN AND THE BITTER TASTE
OF THE BLOOD ON MY LIPS AGAIN</style>


Leaders came and leaders fell. The Foothills seemed more cursed than any herd with faltering leadership, and Paladin knew that he was partly to blame. He had trusted the residents to choose their leaders, and they had chosen one very poorly. Ricochet, the rambunctious bachelor, had been run off, he heard. Archibald was put in place, a decision Paladin believed was strong. The pegasus with the inky eyes had died at the hooves of his charcoal friend, and then his charcoal friend was apparently defeated by the son of his old friend, Silverline.

Paladin had done much the same thing himself when he saw Gossamer squandering the herd and Indy too cuckolded to make an action against his opinionated mate. The black dun had paid dearly. Thick burn scars ran across his left side and down his shoulder, white and crimson mane not able to grow back properly. He emerged victorious, tried to restore the herd, and eventually grew too bitter at the resident's anger at him for challenging Gossamer in the first place.

Then, Smoke had whined about being demoted when Gossamer treated her as an inferior. The disorganization, whining and petulance following his ascension had been enough to give up his leadership in the form of elections. If the herd was that damn opinionated, then they could choose their own leads. And, they had chosen poorly. Regardless, the black dun had a bit of a chip of his heart resting in the hills here, and he found again that he would rather serve. Paladin did not want to be lead; he just wanted the power to bring status to the rolling countryside of the east.

As much as he respected Archibald, the way of battle was acknowledged as a right to leadership. So, as he strode quietly into the fray of new faces, the black dun bowed his head in respect, crimson eyes naturally darting to the dragon. Any intelligent unicorn should know better than to turn their back on the scaly demons, but the bronze thing seemed to be sleeping hard enough to warrant relaxation. The black dun came to stand next to a unicorn mare who reminded him of his own daughter, Ophelia. However, this pearly creature held none of the crimson and devilish marks of his lineage.

When the chestnut mare spoke of a study warlord and her problems, he admired her courage and her the way she voiced her concerns. Unlike the whiners in the Foothills before, she was respectful yet honest. Kindly, he turned his wicked, crimson eyes and nodded to her. "Paladin the Valiant," he introduced himself. "Archibald is a fine warrior and a loyal friend who stood by my side in battle. I never doubted his heart, however, Jackal has shown us through his skills that he is capable of protecting the herd. He has displayed honorably, in the way of our forefathers, that he is worthy of leading."

The Valiant smiled then and turned his gaze to their young leader. "However, some of the questions she asked remain true, regardless of leadership. How do you intend on succeeding where Gossamer, myself, and the former triumvirate failed?" The question was not pointed, not unkind. In fact, Paladin asked with an open mind, eager to hear new ways in which to bring prosperity to a herd.



Boltar Posts: N/A
Unregistered
:: :: ::
#11

Boltar answered the call, as he had always done.

The warrior moved slowly, his marbled black legs moving across the land like liquid lava—slow as time itself, but just as smooth and creeping and undeniably progressing each and every moment, destruction and devastation in its wake. In fact, Boltar rather wished he were a great pile of steaming lava. Anyone could outrun the slow decay and hardening of molten basalt.

But no one could out run lighting.

He was ill at ease among the gathered group and chose (as usual) to linger on the outskirts of the herd, close enough that the fall and exchange of words would not be lost to the foothill winds. He spotted Nadira first. She was pale as freshly fallen snow—no, she made snow seem yellowed and foul. She was a star, bright and burning and untouchable. He felt unusually self-conscious as he uncharacteristically waded through the group to approach her, more aware of the tangled dreads and braids and tendrils of his wild black hair threaded with fine strands of gleaming silver than ever. And since when had he ever felt so, well, old? She was the very epitome of youth and beauty and all things pure. Where she was flawless and radiant as the cold dawn, he was grizzled assortment of livid scars and wounds and walked with a vague shadow of a limp. No matter, he felt glad to see her, and moved as close to her side as he dared. It would be a shame to blast such a pretty thing into oblivion.

"Nadira," he said quietly, inclining his head slightly. "It is good to see you well."

There was no discrimination in his gaze next turned to observe this young buck, usurper of the StormChaser, thief of the throne of the Foothills. From a warrior's perspective, Boltar admired his easy courage and steel determination. From an older horse's perspective, the grizzled warrior sighed gently. Change. It was inevitable, just as the spring and wild green grounds and hot summer wind fades to listless grays and decaying cold, change would come and go as it pleased. But that didn't mean Boltar had to like it. But for the most part, Boltar accepted the young thief king's words, for he was a friend and supporter of any who cherished the Foothills as he did. He did not know Svetlana well, and so he was rather indifferent to her absence. Archibald, however, was a different matter. Boltar was unpleasantly surprised to hear the great warlord was gone.

No explanation. No good-bye. No nothing.

It was so difficult to put trust in anyone or anything these days. But Evers remained, Paladin had returned, and Boltar was glad. The stallions were as steadfast as the rocks rooted into the foothills, steadfast as the foothills themselves. It Boltar were to place his complete faith in anyone, it would be Evers the Able and Paladin the Valiant.

- B O L T A R -

image credits

Jackal2 the King of Thieves Posts: 71
Hidden Account
Stallion :: Equine :: 15.3 ½ :: 3 years
zz
#12


Others come; a palomino mare, not so different than the colt standing beside the new healer, and a pale unicorn who seemed to be taken from folklore. They both seemed angry - for what? Svetlana, although engaging, was never there to lead, and Archibald was unworthy of such a position. Jackal's shoulder pulses with remembrance; he had felled the giant under a black sky - shouldn't that merit some sort of respect? He studies the two naysayers with the steel eyes that had won him this throne. Archibald boasted of his prowess on the battle, but he had run just the same when he was beaten, and the King of Thieves bore the scars to prove his victory. The red mare, with a white cub of some sort by her haunches, questions him, and the dun inclines his head to listen. She is not wrong to inquest her, as far as she is aware, untried, new leader. A humorless smile tugs at the corners of his lips - suddenly, he feels ancient, as if he has been saddled with a tremendous burden; he has.

A familiar voice answers her question far before he can. They are honest words, molded perhaps by years of inquisition and battle, and Jackal cannot help but admire the strength and wisdom behind them. Paladin turns the questions toward the dun, however, and he tilts his head lightly. "I understand your uncertainty," he begins, glancing at Romani. "But, forgive me, Paladin, the triumvirate was chosen by the blood in your veins, not your ability or drive to lead," voice is clear and unwavering, although a hurricane of uncertainties lay on his breast like a newborn babe. "Gossamer, although diplomatic, lacked vision - and you" he pauses, choosing his words wisely. As far as he knows, the Valiant had stepped down to make way for his triumvirate, the very same that he had vanquished with two strokes of his glittering blade. Mercury eyes turn to the tattered warrior, a vague smile on his lips. "You fought for, and relinquished your crown for the sake of the triumvirate, but you led the Moonlit Tides to greatness, and I have no doubt that you would have done the same with the Foothills," his tone is gentle, not chiding or sharp, and he flicks an ear toward a distant roar, the cascades. "I have been chosen by battle, and I intend to honor this privilege with my life." Like Willow, the Valiant's wisdom will come useful in times of turmoil, and peace. Jackal needs to surround himself with as many sage minds as he can, including the stout palomino, whose skepticism dares the dun to reach far more than his predecessors. She requests to meet him in private, and Jackal watches her for a moment before giving her a discrete smile. "Of course," he says, beckoning her forward with a faint toss of his head and whispering, "Meet me by the waterfalls after the meeting has culminated."

Returning his attention to the herd, he vaguely notices another in the midst, a marbled stallion, a warrior, he assumes, from the strength entwined in his muscles. "I am not a tyrant, nor some power hungry colt," he says honestly; the King of Thieves has a niggling thought that most of these veterans may perceive him as such, including the Able, but what has the blue stallion done, but follow his brother's examples and watch the world go by? Has he proven himself, beyond sitting on his throne for an inordinate amount of time? The dun is rather fond of the strange unicorn, and chooses to quiet his doubts about him. "I was simply tired of watching the Foothills decay under neglect. We were, are, sitting ducks, plump and ready for any fox's passing fancy. We need more warriors, more apprentices, more scholars to discover this world we stand on," his speech winds to a close; he wants to crawl off and rest from the rigors of battle, but he reminds himself of Romani. "Change is inevitable, and we are pass due," the King of Thieves concludes, "I do not wish to keep you longer than necessary. Paladin, Willow, Evers, stay with me, please."


forever is a long long time when you've lost your way


[ meeting adjourned :D thanks guys! If you guys can, could we carry on a little with Evers, Willow and Paladin? And Sparrow - could you make a thread for us, please? ]

Kanti Posts: N/A
Unregistered
:: :: ::
#13
(OCC: So sorry Kanti missed this!)

Evers the Able Posts: 82
Hidden Account
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 15.2hh :: 12 Buff: NOVICE
Rita :: Greyhound :: Water Mold imi
#14

EVERS the ABLE


Evers watched as one by one they came and greeted their new leader. He was glad they were so adaptable to change yet it saddened him how quick they got over a leader. His brother had done more for these herd horses than Jackal ever had, yet it seemed a show of physical power was all it took to win his herd over. The Able began to doubt his decision of staying, it was true that Mandrake had disappeared and Archibald too had fled. There were no sign of his brothers in the Foothill's anymore, was this a sign? The Able watches Jackal pick out those to fill the empty roles, the ranks had almost all been filled. The land was slowly beginning to prosper, and all they saw was the victorious King of Thieves.

Evers sighed. A leader must be strong in both heart and mind, body and soul, have the capability to shoulder responsibility. The blue had excelled amongst the triumvirate as it allowed him to focus on the side he prospered in the most; diplomacy. Archibald had the power and Svetlana the organization. The balance had been disrupted and Evers felt insignificant.

It was time.

With a heavy heart but a sure mind, the Able presented himself before Jackal. Azure eyes turning hard, his speech was pretty, but not enough. "The words you speak are true enough Jackal, but a land cannot prosper with constant changing leadership. The triumvirate was barely given time to take off and the Foothills was slowly healing under our gaze" he paused then and gave the young leader a measuring look. "This land won't heal fast, I dearly hope you are up to the task. You'll need more than your warrior prowess."

With that the roan turned to Paladin with a look of apology. He still held respect for the former Chief whose return to the Foothill's would surely help. "Forgive me, Paladin. I truly do wish this land to return to it's former glory, and when I took up your offer I did so in certainty that I could help rebuild this herd." Evers then turned to them all and voiced his true feelings. This would be the last time Evers the Able stood side by side with them. "But I feel I no longer have a place here, my kin have left and I have a duty to be by their side. Consider this my renouncement. The title is yours alone Jackal, I hope your actions will mirror your words."

With that, the last son of Mandrake still within the Foothills left. Never looking back, eyes only for the horizon and his brothers. He must find them again. He must know what was going on. What they were going to do. Chief to outcast, his life was certainly getting more interesting as he got older.

[Image: greyhoundtable.png]
Image © davehamster

Kimber Posts: 82
Hidden Account
Mare :: Equine :: 15.2 hh :: 4 (Ages in Tallsun) Buff: NOVICE
Kaiden :: Common Kitsune :: Electric Kachie
#15
Quietly she watched as other gathered to the hill, listening as other young souls expressed doubts and older ones spoke words that bordered upon the same. She was uncharacteristically still, as was the watery fox that crouched now before her forehooves.

Pride warmed her heart for the words of her nephew, and she inclined her head slightly in agreement to what he said. But then Evers spoke, and her ears tipped back somewhat. There was something ominous about how he spoke those words. That dark feeling only grew when he turned to Paladin, and Kimber stirred. This was going over about as well as when Paladin defeated Gossamer!

One hind hoof stamped against the grass in outer expression of her agitation, but Evers was walking away before she could form her thoughts into words. But she wasn't about to stand aside and let things leave at that.

"A change of leadership does not break the land. The land is not hurt so long as the heart of what it stands for remains whole. Have we not kept to the heart of what the Foothills stood for, when Gossamer was appointed by the Earth God himself?" The young grulla stepped forward as she spoke. "Peace, equality. Look around you. Equines, unicorns, pegasi, and more. Our heart is firm, but the mind wavers. Leaders come and go, but so many here have lived here since the herd's founding. Myself, Jackal, Boltar, you too. And some others. The lives of the everyday citizens do not change much here, whoever leads us. So we should step up, fill the roles of herdlife that are empty and need to be filled to build up that stability for those who are newer. Because no matter who our leader is, it is US who forms the herd. And we are still here."

Her gaze fell upon the naysayers, blue eyes gleaming with conviction, before she turned to Jackal. "I stand with you, and would follow the warrior's path for you. And learn all that I can of other things too." Never was one to do things half measure, was Kimber.

Willow Posts: N/A
Unregistered
:: :: ::
#16

WILLOW & ERMINE

.arborun lignea .. .mare. ..23 years. .. .16.3 hands.





A smile tempers the stern crease that had become Willow's lips as Jackal not only permits her attentions, but seems to appreciate them. To often has she known pride to rebuff need, a constant sorrow for her. Yet this king, thief or no as the whispers may say of his name, still remembers how to lower his head. You would think the weight of a crown would be a reminder to the royal to remain humble; instead they lock their necks and jut out their chins, turning their nose at anyone beneath their line of sight. When their nape stiffens and the muscles ache it makes them sour and cruel, for even then they still resist the urge to bend.

Willow thinks she will like this young lord.

Another crown appears. Green eyes shift from their focus on the tilt of a lily pad, settling on the blue expression of the Able. His tone, like his gaze, is cool and calm. He stands with a casual grace and an affluent attention to this gathering soon to come. She wonders quietly what is thudding behind those pools of ice he wears as eyes, thoughts beating in sync with the rhythm of his heart. She does not know him for who he is. When last she was around Paladin was the battered sovereignty, and Evers nothing more but another face in a crowd of many. Recognition glimmers in Willow's features as she nods politely to the blue, appreciative of his compliment. She cannot place his name however, nor his rank, though the tilt of his head suggests it is something of importance.

The moment is broken by the sudden appearance of a young mare. Another blur of a memory from seasons passed. Willow takes that time to drop her lily pad, Ermine dutifully shuffling over to grab it. He slinks off through the grasses, heading off to wash the useful frond so that they may use it again.

As others begin to stride forward Willow retreats from the rise of the hill to stand with them, her mending as done as it can be for now. Jackal needs to appear strong now, and he cannot manage that with a bizarre mare fluttering at his side like an anxious bird.

Red lips part with such ease Willow understands at once that Jackal's talents stand with his tongue as much as his hooves. His namesake is well worn, she thinks with a hint of a grin tugging at the corner of her maw. She is attentive to what he has to say, drinking in the information, her roots craving it as much as water. His mention of her startles her from her quiet hole she'd dug in the crowd - well let's be honest, a giant with the back ornament of foliage can't truly hide in any crowd unless it's a forest - her head lifting with response. Green eyes widen momentarily as the words drip from his lips like cold honey. It doesn't register at first, the idea that her dream has finally been answered after twenty-three years of longing, hoping and travelling, but when it does tears brim at the edges of her gaze which have softened to an algae mush.

She laughs a gentle, short and nervous thing, but bobs her head in acceptance. "I'm honorted," she manages to make out in a grateful sigh.
Teeth work at the bottom of her lip, cautious to act further a silly filly.

Paladin's name tilts her ear however, and she is surprised to learn he is still in the herd. That it seemed others bore the title, Willow had only assumed his defeat. She turned then, wondering of where that dark stallion was that had granted her this opportunity in the first place, amused that he would be taking the role she'd once filled so clumsily.

Distractions among the crowd with dissenters soon tore the green eyes elsewhere. Willow passed no judgement on those present, though she couldn't help but admit a growing fondness for the King of Thieves, but she would hear what was to be said no matter from which throat it sprung. She would need to learn better of her herd and her people.

Paladin's voice cut like a steel blade through the din of distrust and tension. Willow's whiskers trembled with her smile, her gaze spotting him at once. She hoped to catch his eye and pass him a friendly gesture, but he seemed not to notice her as involved as he was. Her heart sank somewhat, though she supposed she shouldn't have expected anything more, Paladin had always seemed a very troubled and busy stallion - he hadn't the time for talking trees.

Jackal pulled himself forward to speak again and fill the air that settled like a calm after Paladin's strong tones died away. The speckled dun did not waver as he beheld his kingdom, faces as likely to split into a smile as a frown. A prickling sensation filled Willow's mane as the winds began to stir. They were gentle, but persistent, these winds of change. Jackal spoke with a lady's eloquence and a warrior's fortitude, shedding light in the way a sneaking cat shifts the shadows in the forest it stalks in, while building up the truth as a crafter forges their trade. Jackal stood as capable of all manners of trade and it put the Lignea's heart at ease to know he would yield to opinions and questions without breaking or rebuking.

It should have ended there. Willow shifted her weight, ready to be swept away from this meeting to disperse into the lands, barely able to contain her bucks of playful readiness, but as another quiet began to unfold like dusk on the land, the blue pulled forward to remind the herd of the crown he still bore. Or did.

It will always be a strange thing to watch a king pull his crown from his head and cast it aside. It does not clatter awkwardly like a sword falling, does not whisper like the coiling cloak of a sneak, nor crush the earth like the loosed hammer of a crafter.

A discarded crown merely settles onto the dirt of the floor, gathering dust as all things are want to do. When you finally look down upon a crown, as you only find yourself doing when it has been left on the ground, you can almost watch the gleam of its metal start to fade and tarnish until it is so discolored and plain you can't seem to remember what was so extraordinary about it before. It seems to absorb all the silence from the room so that you are left with nothing but noise; the screams of the abandoned public that realize they are faced with nothing so different from themselves.

Kings are supposed to be undying things that we can bury under the weight of all our wrongs and misgivings. They are supposed to die in glory or fall in grayed age, timeless even as their eyes flutter shut. Kings are not supposed to simply walk away, the trail in their wake the same as our own. It shakes the mortality of our existence and we shudder with the reality that we are nothing.


Willow exhales.

She hadn't known she'd held her breath, but as Evers' tail flicks behind him, she feels a wrenching in the depths of her heart. Though she knew him not for the king he was, she watched him now as a lost one and mourned all the more for the missed opportunity of beholding him for his assumed greatness.

For the better or not, a city always weeps when it loses its figure head.




Paladin the Valiant Posts: 153
Deceased
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16.3 hh :: 15 Years Buff: DANCE
Tamme
#17

I WANT TO FEEL THE PAIN AND THE BITTER TASTE
OF THE BLOOD ON MY LIPS AGAIN</style>


Paladin listened to Jacakal's answer to his query and found it to be well-put and honest. The colt did not deny his predecessor's strength or abilities, but rather found in them the same weakness he had seen in Gossamer. Perhaps the black dun was at fault for handing over his power so quickly, but after leading the Tides to its longest period of peace, he had experienced his fair share of herd politics. Though the mood of the herd was nearing the same level of discontent as when he defeated Gossamer, Paladin was pleased that most stood beside the red dun. He had found hard and won according to the sacred laws that was inherent to their nature. Though they could try and deny the pull, every creature whose hooves made birth on the ground had violence in their blood. Only the honest found themselves thriving on the power and emerging into victory.

"I was young when I lead the Tides, just as you are young now. Vision and youthfulness often bring prosperity where the dreams of old warriors fail," he offered with a kind smile. "The Triumvirate served its purpose, I believe. Perhaps the herd appears more open to other species now than before, but that remains to be seen. Gossamer forged ties which I was unable to reform, but yes, she lacked vision." Paladin looked back on their battle, remembering how self-confident and haughty the white mare had appeared. The black dun believed her to be delusional, but she was still quite popular. She believed a disease that was running rampant to be eradicated by her mere presence, and Paladin was old enough and wise enough to see otherwise. Jackal seemed to have the skill of honest vision as well.

"You reclaimed this land for the same reason I did. I warned against complacency, against lethargy, but I was absent during the triumvirate's reign. I cannot speak to their activities as I can Gossamer's." Paladin furrowed his brows then as the grey, horned stallion, former unicorn lead, approached their new one. Some of the grey's words were true. The Triumvirate he had installed was but a few seasons old, hardly long enough to build a herd, but he could not speak to their workings. When Evers turned to himself, Paladin frowned. "Your presence will certainly be missed, Evers. You owe me no apology."

Suddenly, a tree moved, and Paladin realized his mistake. With a snort through scarred nostrils, he eyed the half-tree, Willow. The stallion let out a soft, embarrassed laugh. "Willow, I apologize for not seeing you earlier. Forgive me, but I mistook you for the landscape in my inattention." Kindly, he dipped his head to the former storyteller, hoping that he would impress her now that he stood in her place. Maybe he was being foolish, but their Jackal was a lonely king now, and Paladin was intent on lightening the mood. "Today is not a day for sorrows, but for celebration. We have a new king who has promised us greatness. Now, it is our turn to not abandon him to his position."





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