"Life’s pretty good, and why wouldn’t it be? I’m a pirate, after all."
The ocean is mild this evening. It glistens sweet orange and red, glows with a faint golden light, and the each salt-spun waves is iced with pale rose-white foam. Low above the mass of water, is the sun, dying, bleeding red, a good chunk of it swallowed up by the blood-coloured liquid lapping against deceivingly tranquil golden shores, devoid of life.
But under the waters is quite a different story. Corals glow in a stunning array of different colors, not at all faded, from brilliant orange to indigo to emeralds. And in the reef are a wide variety of creatures, from the skinny-finned red-and-white fish to the fat-lipped, bug-eyed yellow and violet fish moving in a slow flick over the sandy bottom, to the arrays of small delicate creatures that scuttle and swim here and there, to the one or two barracudas, to a surprisingly large pod of dolphins chattering and squeaking through.
But most peculiar of all is the glittering black beast, eyes a predatory amber pooled with gold and scattered with yellow, flecked with vibrant, sharp oranges. Strangely, it looks like a horse- but what horse, pray tell, has translucent fins beginning at the hoof and crawling up to the stomach, and what horse has a tail thickened and twisted into a sinewy fin? A horse that has been transformed by the Water Lord, better known as the Earth God. This horse's name is Cormac, and he has lived in these waters for a little over half of Birdsong now.
He moves with infinite grace and balance, and pauses precisely when a jut-jawed reef shark smoothly crossed his path, seems to know the rituals of this land under the ocean very well. In fact, he even knows the giant predatory fish like to come out and hunt in the evenings and dusk, so he retreats into a little den under the reef for a good while. When the sky is nearly indigo black, he then pulls his once bay, turned black from water, body out, and comes towards the shore.
Cormac lifts his head from the heart, paddling in closer, yet remains very careful to keep his gills underneath the water. The stallion does not feel pain, but he can well recall the sudden sensation of passing out after he had kept his gills out of the ocean for too long. He would prefer not to do it again- for without pain, he does not know how much damage he has inflicted upon himself.
Much to his disappointment, the sleek-bodied Irish Horse does not find a form to rest his eyes upon, so he stands in the shallows like a fool as the moon rises above him.
""
-- Cormac
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Jackal2 the King of Thieves Posts: 71
| Hidden Account |
| Stallion :: Equine :: 15.3 ½ :: 3 years |
| zz |
(i'll write this story down, but you'll never guess the final twist)
The sand chafes everything.
Although the sun no longer hangs in the sky like a child's plaything, the sands contain its essence, dry and hot. A dun form, pricked and ruined by white spots and scars, picks its way through the beach, often stumbling over stones and stray pieces of driftwood. He has lived on a beach, once, but that was long, long ago, and he chose not to remember those days. Grey eyes, pale in the darkness, trace the distant horizon, mesmerized by its possibilities. It never ends, he knows, and if you just keep chasing it, it goes farther and farther away. Wandering hooves stop, dry sand seeping over them like hungry things, creeping over his legs and burning his flesh. Moodily, he kicks it away with a foreleg, watching the grit spray into the air and fall away, invisible on countless other fragments. A pregnant moon rises over his head, and he tries to count its pock-marks. The shapes remind him of a giant crab, trapped inside an orb; or a child, stuck in its mother's womb, awaiting its birth. Frowning, the King of Thieves drags himself forward, slender legs dancing over the swiftly cooling sand clumsily, sinking through the loose coast.
Dei hunts soundlessly over the sea, the hunger in his belly driving him to find the choicest bit of fish. He ignores his moping companion, discounting it for a beginning-life crisis or something of the sort. The bronze swoops close to the ocean, lowering a hind foot to stroke the water; it is cool, like liquid night, and suddenly keen jade eyes catch motion beneath the dark surface, and he slows his pace, wings tucked expertly to his lithe body as he makes the kill.
But the fish, a big one, at that, is not a fish at all. It has a tail, but its torso is equine, and its eyes are yellow. Cawing loudly in disappointment, he careens away, unfurling his wings to flap noisily in the opposite direction. Fish-horse here, no dinner, he alerts his bonded, piquing the dun's attention. In little time, they are together again, and Jackal meets his dragon with coltishly wide eyes. What is it like?, he turns his head toward the shoal and searches frantically. Big. The dragon glides wordlessly toward the sea, and the dun has no choice but lope after his bronze friend.
At first, the dark horse seems to be drowning, sprawled out across the shore, although something is wrong - his haunches are fishlike, his legs are fins. Head held high with apprehension, the stallion makes his way to the fish-horse, dragon circling overhead like a carrion crow. "You," he says, dark-rimmed ears tipping back with alarm. "What happened to you?" He pauses, extending his nose toward it, hoping it won't bite.
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"Life’s pretty good, and why wouldn’t it be? I’m a pirate, after all."
There he rests, not quite listening, not quite paying attention, lost in thoughts of warfare and gunfire. He remembers that gut-wrenching, pulling sensation of the rippling bang, galloping through the cobblestone streets, lost without the comforting weight on his back. The bit is numb and cold in his muzzle as he runs, wild, hooves clattering and aching without horseshoes on, and he's picking up speed, rushing headlong, until finally, finally, he scents someone familiar.
Cormac slows to a wobbly trot, head lowering, and it's a miracle he hasn't trapped one of his legs in the reins hanging around his hooves. Blood. It glistens scarlet on the sooty stones. Death. Death. The muzzle roams over to the face, nuzzles it, pushes the pale spot in the darkness more insistently, looking for that reprieve he always gets when he wakes up his companion. Nothing. There is chilling sadness, an explosion of it, it numbs him, pains him, stops him from breathing, and the stallion drops to his knees beside the dead human that was once his companion. Not some feeble bond they had, like friendship- true companionship, like one of a dragon and horse.
Something disturbs his memories, and Cormac is thrown back unpleasantly to this ocean of salt. Something golden was above his head. No. It is bronze-scaled. Bronze-plated. Bronze-winged. What the- the noisy wing-beats it gives drowns out his quiet, but nevertheless ugly swears. He watches it, amber eyes glistening, as it goes flying away, towards another dark shape lit by the pale moonlight. Yet this form is undeniably equine, and it comes trotting towards him.
What happened to you? It's some puffed-up youngster, extending a curious muzzle, and the stallion, immediately annoyed, reaches out and aims a nip on the side of its nose. "Rather rude of you to go around sticking your nose in other peoples' faces, kid." Cormac snorted, amber eyes hard. But then they soften at looking at the dragon. "Cormac, some call me the barbarian or the pirate-king, but young son, you can just call me Cormac, yes? This apparel is from the Water God. Must live underwater for Birdsong, hmm?"
""
-- Cormac
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Jackal2 the King of Thieves Posts: 71
| Hidden Account |
| Stallion :: Equine :: 15.3 ½ :: 3 years |
| zz |
(i'll write this story down, but you'll never guess the final twist)
The fish-stallion aims a choleric nip to the side of his face. Jackal recoils, as if just catching wind of rotting fish, head snapping backwards and nose crinkling up with disgust. "Watch your mouth, fish brain," he counters, irritation flashing in those strange pale eyes before they give way to amusement. As long as he stands far shore, the merman's ugly teeth serve no use but to flap uselessly. Lips crease into a wicked grin as the bay introduces himself with all the arrogance of a heathen. You should be a blowfish, the dun thinks, exhaling sharply to rid his nose of the smell of fish. "King of pirates?" he scoffs in a satire of indignation, giving a violent lash of his tail; how strange you are, Helovia - not only is his healer a tree, but this pompous thing is half trout! Dei caws raucously in laughter, fangs clicking together with merriment as he lands on Jackal's crest, wide jade eyes eager to spy the oddity. "Well, Cormac, prince of fish, I am the King of Thieves, and not one to be trifled with." As if proving a point, a faint breeze brushes the stallion's long mane from his neck, revealing a quilt of spots and pale scars. Nostrils curl inward - he still reeks of the sharp, menthol-smelling poultice Willow made him to relieve his sore shoulder.
"What have you done to merit such a handsome garb?", from a goddess, no less. Jackal's teeth click shut to punctuate his words, his lips curling into a wry smile.
[omg sorry this is so short ;^; I couldn't write anything else]
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"Life’s pretty good, and why wouldn’t it be? I’m a pirate, after all."
Perhaps it is the stallion's intimate, clearly disgusted reaction to Cormac. Perhaps it is the way he retorts like an idiotic colt. But Cormac does not like him, not at all, and immediately narrows his eyes and flatten his ears. The dark stallion watches with curiously empty eyes as the bronze dragon comes to rest upon the rusted stallion's neck.
"Oh? I do not care for thieves any more than I care for you, my dear King." Somehow every word in the ocean's endemic mouth turns to frigid threats, quite unlike the fine spring day. The wind caresses his soaked neck, and the bay pins his ears again, noticing the masses of scars upon this impertient foal's neck with interest- but not fear. "I am questing for the ability of moving water- a wonderful defence against dragon-flame." Cormac's voice drips with warning- only an idiot would not see he was not one to be "trifled" with either.
The stallion considers the possibility of attacking this horse, and making him see sense- but seeing as he has backed up onto land, Cormac supposes not. But perhaps should he provoke him... "You seem mighty full of yourself, colt, for a 'stallion' who walks away from a horse-fish. Can you put your hooves where your fat mouth is?" Can he? Is the King of Thieves really what this appaloosa thinks he is? Cormac wonders how young this horse is- if his dragon is anything powerful. Are there real dragons in Helovia? Big ones? This one is puny, after all.
ooc; clearly they aren't kicking it off like i thought they might... >.<
-- Cormac
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Jackal2 the King of Thieves Posts: 71
| Hidden Account |
| Stallion :: Equine :: 15.3 ½ :: 3 years |
| zz |
01-18-2013, 07:20 AM
(This post was last modified: 01-18-2013, 07:30 AM by Jackal2.)
This fish prince begins to irritate the King of Thieves.
Tail snaps in annoyance at the fish's words; he tries to be frightening, the dun can tell from his tone of voice, but after you've dealt with a Storm Chaser and felled a giant, a choleric fish just doesn't make the cut anymore. Dei circles in the salty air above them become tighter and lower, and he tilts his slender head whilst watching Cormac with growing interest, hunger in his big jade eyes. The pirate's slight to the dragon is the straw that broke the camel's back, so to speak, and without warning, the bronze dives toward the beached stallion, a swath of well-aimed flame bursting into the merman's direction. "Stop," Jackal says quietly, a hint of badly veiled amusement in his eyes. I am not in the mood for roasted carp. Smoke unfurling from his nostrils, the dragon swoops upward, his scales clinking together in a music unlike that of armor. Silver eyes regard the creature once more with badly concealed disdain, noticing how similar he and the Dauntless are, a ghost of a smile tugging on his lips. How arrogant to believe someone smaller, less seasoned, etc., would shit their pants, if you were to merely cough in their direction; Archibald had made that error, and paid the price, ass set aflame by a creature less than a quarter of his size.
"I can put my hoof in your fat mouth," he says impatiently, cutting the stallion's words from his tongue. Ears flicking backwards in increasing acrimony - any trace of amicability has vanished from those swirling mercury eyes, leaving only stagnant pools of steel. "You begin to irritate me, prince of fish," the dun edges closer, head leveling with Cormac's, hooves sinking into the loose sand with every step, muscles rippling with effort. Dei spirals onto his back, landing deftly, eyeing their fishy friend with longing. "If you are any better than the bottom-feeding scum you appear to be, give me a reason for me to prohibit my dragon from making a bouillabaisse of you." You will stew in your own piss. When was the last time Jackal had ever felt the fingers of anger stroking him so harshly?
if you're still breathing, you're the lucky ones,
'Cause most of us are heaving through corrupted lungs
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"Life’s pretty good, and why wouldn’t it be? I’m a pirate, after all."
The bronzed dragon is a fickle little beast, and then there is flame dancing on the water, brilliant red and gold flame that burns and chars even as he submerges, coming up several feet away, emerging just as Jackal orders the copper dragon away. For one long, startlingly beautiful moment, the night was lit on fire. The stars danced on the ocean black and glittered brightly, flared and flickered hungrily.
He is not a pretty sight to see, the stallion with a thousand scars, skin still bubbling grotesquely on a long stretch of his left neck, yet he shows no sign of pain where the hot flame hit him. Charred skin glistens with drops of water, the skin around the burn hot, painful- but he cannot feel pain. Amber eyes are just as hard as silver when they meet, and he does not break contact, not for a long moment as the stallion comes closer, sand whispering under hooves.
"You make enemies where you walk, King of Thieves. It is the price of being a leader and I hope you learn how to control your temper better." Cormac says calmly, ears flicking forward in mild interest, as if observing a bug scurrying underneath his foot. But the condescending tone is gone, the little prince should be pleased to note. "All I say is good luck." With a flick of his tail he vanishes, the only sign of him remaining the ripples on the surface of the ocean vast, and hopefully the stallion will realize he has not made a friend.
Back to the deep where the sharks roam and the fish fly.
-- Cormac
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