| Up For Adoption |
| Stallion :: Equine :: 17.3 :: 7 |
| Adoptable |
He was burning.
When his eyes first lifted and he first inhaled, his lungs quivered under the devouring, consuming pain that exploded into being. Being knocked out had its pros; he, at least, had not been in such pain. Muscles, soft and untried, ached deeply, to what felt like his bone, and he had but hardly participated before realizing his atrocious behavior in attacking, going against everything he believed in. It must've been the dragons, he felt certain, seeing their shining scales and glittering brightness, flashing in the warm light of the rising sun. Unlike some, he was aware of his obsession with dragons- most of the time he couldn't quite decide if that was okay or an unhealthy thing for his simplistic, peaceful mind.
Where were they, anyways? One had been silver. Glorious, shining, shimmering silver, with spines crimson and bloody red; from his maw had roared not a flame, but ice and crackling electricity that smote him, sent him crashing down. Even now in the pain that consumed him, he admired the dragon, the dragon's glittering claws and bright eyes, wings flaring in the sunlight. Maybe the sunlight part was just a small part of when he went unconscious. He was not quite certain, for it seemed to partake in the moments where reality and dreams blend together so seamlessly one cannot tell the other apart. The draft lying on his flank, half-dozing, half-conscious, thought to the second dragon. Royal blue. What a gorgeous color... no doubt a fire-breather. Argetlam longed for a dragon of his own, a companion to cherish, one who would light the metal and help him with his metal crafting skill. He cared not for the color of the small, curious creatures, but for its love and friendship. Isdira was not quite as nice as one would hope in a sister, after all, with her gruff, abrupt ways and sarcasm.
Slowly, tentatively, the great gray body laying out lifted one eyelid over soft honey eyes, squinting slightly. With infinite caution for his massive form, he lifted his head, one cheek even more dusty and dirty than usual, more brown than silver. As he moved, he became aware of all the small pains, where the rocks dug into his skin, chafing uncomfortably on his hide. It took effort to just breathe, to ignore the half-numb, half-tingling sensation of his back, but eventually, the Shire stood, and naturally he shook, hard, dust erupting from his silver coat. Despite the exploding pain, it felt better to remove the sheets of dirt from his skin- normally he was rarely bothered by being dirty, but be covered in blood clotting with dust was another story.
Argetlam turned his head, squinting hazily, trying to make do with the rising sun in his eyes. The battle must've been brief- unless he slept until next day's noon- and it seemed eerily quiet. Who were the invaders? Rather, where were they? And what course of action did Argetlam wish to take? Little idea did the knocked out stallion have that he and the former inhabitants were to be kicked out, booted from the Foothills. Argetlam had no want to leave his home. He knew little of the invaders anyways. Perhaps the leaders had dragons as companions. In any case, the metal-bender did not mind staying, and continuing his creations, if that was okay. He could offer his service, give a gift or two as he loved. Never did he want to leave the vast quantities of metal to be found near the mountains, but neither did he want confrontation over staying. I can see what they want.
"'scuse me," The huge stallion calls softly, setting off at a slow, aching amble through the trees. There were sure to be some of the others around... and he was certain his family was gone, for the air stank of new horses. "Argetlam, sirs and misses. I'm a crafter. I don't have any intention to fight, but I would like to stay if I may. Perhaps I could stay and continue my metal-bending? Serve as mason, if you like, but I'm happy to stay or go as you want."
[I will say he was chased off if you would rather. I understand the Gray was intending to kick out all former inhabitants but considering he was knocked out, I'm not sure if he would miss that or not :/ and horses can't exactly drag other horses away. He would to remain in the herd as a mason if possible.]
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| Outcast atk: 6.5 | def: 10.5 | dam: 7 |
| Mare :: Hybrid :: 16.0 hh :: 6 Years HP: 77 | Buff: BULK |
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Tinek :: Royal Silver Dragon :: Frost Breath & Shock Breath
Tamme |
03-12-2013, 12:05 AM
(This post was last modified: 03-12-2013, 12:06 AM by Ophelia.)
Ophelia spied the gray stallion whom she, Kri and Peixos had knocked out in the first push of fighting still lingering on the borders, and the alabaster mare frowned. Why had he not gone running with his tail caught between his legs? For such a large stallion, he had not lasted in battle as long as she had expected. The burdens of being a lead in a large land had not yet tumbled upon her narrow shoulders, but as she approached the opponent, she felt the gap between responsibility and victory dwindling. She favored her hind, right leg that was nicked, but the gash on her jaw had coagulated. Blood still stained her perfectly white coat down her chest, some of the blood from Locket's crest painting her chest as well.
Dual colored eyes regarded the stallion as he spoke to her, raising a brow curiously. A smirk crossed her lips which did not last as long as her amusement. Ophelia felt her muscles quiver from use and the exhaustion from stress and battle were wearing on her slowly. All she wanted to do now was sleep, but instead she would spend the rest of the daylight hours educating the lost, misunderstanding children of the former Foothills what it meant to be in the Grey - what it meant to be family.
Ophelia's cloven hooves stopped a fair distance away, but close enough to listen and speak comfortably. She had no interest in being the object of some sort of random retaliation, so the white mare kept her distance. "You have no interest in fighting and yet you fought..." she trailed, brows furrowed. "The Grey is a family of mercenaries and spies, and we exist to fulfill contracts of espionage and violence. To choose to stay here and serve us with your metal working directly serves war and secrecy." The mare let out a heavy sigh and grit her teeth slightly, though she found that doing so made her jaw ache.
"The position of masonry will be reserved for those interested who have served myself and my sister loyally. We are a skilled group, and our crafters, healers and spies are also useful as warriors. To allow you into our group would make you a liability, though if you are comfortable with directly aiding in making metal weapons and augmentations, I could not refuse." Ophelia looked at him evenly, Tinek coming to rest on her shoulders. The silver dragon was also tired. He had worked hard in the battle and was unused to having to succumb to such maturity. He tucked his head behind her pale tresses and closed his crimson eyes. "The choice is yours."
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COME TO ME
we run away forever from this misery
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tangled-stock | Salsola stock
Undertow has come to take me. Guided by the blazing sun. Look at everything around us. Look at everything we've done.
Please. Anyone. I don't think I can save myself. I'm drowning.
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Please tag me in every response!
| Hidden Account |
| Stallion :: Equine :: 16.2 Hands :: 4 Years Old |
| Tay |
peixos & raimo
The last buck of my hooves quite possibly ended the collision. With all of an abrupt scream from the other side, the mountains contained us and stopped our scrambling hooves and trepidation as if it began. It was as if the rising sun didn’t want me to transcend a place within myself. A place that held death for a people full of new mercy. Could I forgive? Could I remember these weak hollers and these reactions that were all in vain of their leader? The child of the woman I loved never even showed his color to me, never even flashed his father’s silvery eyes in my direction. The child of the woman I loved who wore her beautiful spots on his own hide like an expression of her war couldn’t spare a glimpse of his time for his homeland. Aërwen’s loins could not have possibly created such a defect, not even when paired with the sperm of a true coward. It made my mouth salivate, foam with the intention of bloodlust. Wish that he would give his body of blood to me so I could rip it open and give him back to the shade that devoured his mother. What a crime it was.
I could not think of anyone else. Even the obvious fact that we were victorious caused satisfaction to ebb its way out of my body, onto the minimal blood that split to the lush grasses. I cannot say what I’m feeling. Is it numbness of my legs from the stretch of my rope muscles? Or is it the stinging oblivion wrapping itself around my tongue? I just see those eyes from behind a dusky trail of forelock, staring, filled with the hate of a falling sun, orange. I thought this was the way to them. I thought my own, less vibrant, more worthy eyes would find their way into her’s here. I’m on the other side. Here. Alone. But it is absent as love I felt for this land.
It comes to me then that I attempted to kill people I did not know, for people I did not know, in a land I did not know all for the one selfish desire inside myself. I would have killed for her. To feel the sweet spots of her skin against mine, I would do anything. It proved true today that I had become a careless fool. I was a cold killer like all the rest of them, willing to take lives for the good of my own, willing to sacrifice those who did not even begin to add up on account to my own subdued lineage.
I am a truant.
Peixos the Truant sounds fine.
Raimo begins to fester in my thoughts like a blister, he’d been trying to keep me away from this for a while, puffing blue images of disapproval in my head. He was just as cold a killer as I. Just as willing as I, though. We didn’t like to act upon the whims of death, but obviously we were too foolish to know otherwise.
He sensed my doubt, my rage, and attempted to quell it as he nestled in on my withers as I strode to the leaders of my army. One who called this valiant was a moron.
‘They should have surrendered, Peixos, we had no choice but to show up our capability,’ his voice crooned like the flickering iridescence of his scales.
‘I know. I just wonder why it had to be me who got into this.’
I guess I loved him because he tried.
Stalwart, unscathed body found its way to Ophelia. I joined her, trailing behind as she spoke the most intelligent words. It was the body of Argetlam, the first to knock out, up ahead. His gray mass, shivered behind the dapples on this thick skin and his honey flavored eyes, too sensitive for war fluttered open. I was lucky to aid in bringing down a beast of his size. I could finally tell just how large he was as he rose to his bulky hooves.
Raimo’s matching eyes soared to the brute, and measured them with an awful emotion of sensitive. I could sense it – he was trying to make me feel bad.
His back was frostbitten, and I immediately glanced to the gallant royal dragon who wore the white burst of frostbreath finally bringing down the stallion that was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time. I sighed, my chest expanding and collapsing with a shiver.
venomxbaby | Colourize-Stock |
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| Up For Adoption |
| Stallion :: Equine :: 17.3 :: 7 |
| Adoptable |
It was quiet. At first, he had not noticed it, but the birds did not sing. Had they been scared off by the battle? Of the screams of horses and the locking of limbs, snapping and biting teeth and flattened ears? Argetlam shuddered at the thought of the heaving body of chaos, body aching in protest to his quiver. How could he? He was glad he had been knocked out- it was blasphemy to... to fight, to destruct, to fight. Oh dear, he just said that twice. Truly, Isdira would've laughed at him for his peaceful thoughts. "I'm more the man than you, brother," his charcoal sister would snort, her voice full of black laughter. Black was a good way to describe her in general; Argetlam loved her, he truly did, but somewhere, mostly vaguely within him, he realized that she did not care quite so for him in the same way.
The Shire's dark silver ears twitched, his nostrils flared. A delicate scent, wild-scent but feminine, drifted his way. Twigs and leaves crackled, so softly, under white hooves. A mare appeared, fine-boned, a ghost nearly, with a horn as red as the blood clotting on his loin. Again he shivered- even blood he could not bear to look at, feeling it was just another symbol of war. This mare spoke coldly, with a rough burr of irritation, and hard laughter. Just like Isdira. No, he lied. She spoke evenly and quietly. Was it only his wish the Foothills were still alive that made her sound so different, however briefly? It was wrong of him to judge her. He knew nothing of her, simply that she wanted to provide for her family.
Argetlam sighed heavily, a deep sound produced from his chest in the clarion air, feeling vaguely as if he had lost something. He had no wish to serve war, however- the horses had dragons. A second had arrived sometime past, one who had been the group who had ganged up on him. Now that he thought of it, hadn't the first mare also... did she have a dragon? She did. Argetlam stared uncertainly at the silver and blue creatures, gaze flicking back and forth in fascination. He forgave them, as with their bonded. Family.
There was nothing for him to gain, however, by joining a herd of mercaneries and horses of war.
"I'm sorry miss," The great gray dapple begins, back to his soft words and gentle stutters, the slight gaps in his words unwieldy. He simply could not join war, and never fight with it. Creating a piece or two he did not mind, knowing it would make the user happy. To be wholly and fully serve it was beyond his peace loving mental capacity. "It was wrong of me to fight, when I search for a way to stop war completely. I will have t-to abstain from joining. F-forgive me. I will be on my way." One question he truly had was difficult to contain.
Where did they get the dragons? Or how did the dragons find them! Would it be rude to ask a question like that? He loved dragons. He could hardly pull his wondrous, youthful eyes off them. Oh yes, Argetlam knew full well the damage they could do. His back gave evidence to that. Yet still, he was hungry for his own heart-friend, one to cherish. What would Isdira say to a dragon with him? He wasn't sure... she would probably laugh, and shake her head. Never had she felt the fascination. Actually, come to think of it, in Dras'Leona he didn't think anyone knew about dragons. He had only seen them after...
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if you cannot defeat them, join them. [ophelia or ktulu?]
