| Deceased |
| Stallion :: Pegasus :: 17 hh :: 10 years Buff: NOVICE |
| Dark |
I hated it here.
Hated it.
I didn't care if there were unicorns, if Delinne was here. We were over. She clearly loved that... Mauja. Whoever he was, I swear I would find him, and I would... I would... destroy him. I swear. I kept my golden legs moving, in a haste to get away from this freezing land. Swinging my head to and fro, I keep my ears forward. The silver moonlight poured down onto my back as I moved through the Basin, my hoof steps falling silently to the ground. Keeping my head low, I begin climbing up one of the mountains. Slowing, I begin to unfurl my wings.
Screw everyone here.
I wanted to scream it aloud, but instead, all I do it set a bush ablaze. Then another, and I myself to burn yet another. But I don't do it. No, I just stand there, watching the snow melt around the hungry red flames. Relaxing for just a moment, I'm lost, staring into the flames. Somewhere nearby, a lightning storm brews. Long, narrow whips of lightning reach towards the earth. The rolling thunder echoes through my skull and I force myself to look and see the flashes of light. Cursing under my breath, I realize my plan may go haywire because of the lightning. Glancing back, I begin to walk towards the Steppe, holding my breath. Please... no one notice me. Please no one notice me. I murmur within my head, biting my lower lip. Moving farther up the mountain, I rest at a large ledge, gazing down at the snowy landscape. Fiery orbs burned with a hating passion, and I whisper. "Let the Sun God burn you all to ashes. Every last one of you." I scared myself when I spoke, the way my voice lowered and sounded so cold. Turning away, I rest for just a few moments atop the stoney ledge.
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"When you grow old, you will die and rot on the ground,
Other horses will dance when you all crumble, when your kingdom falls.
When your crowns break."
| Outcast |
| Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16.1hh :: 8 Buff: NOVICE |
| imi |
Descaro trudged on at a pace that spoke volumes of boredom and ears flopped to either side of his head, thick neck low and eyes scanned the area. His mind was always awake. It seemed his life was slowly picking up, he'd been in a fight, picked up more recruits and overall he was much more satisfied for now. Each metaphorical step was desperately slow, but patience was key to reach the top and he intended to do that even if it took him to his death bed. He would be the stallion that lived in the shadows, doing his duty solidly and creep his way up in his superiors favour. It was both invigorating and agonizing, but he would do it. The snow crunched under his cloven hooves, the air was colder as Tallsun finally left the land and made way for the changing colours of Orangemoon. Descaro glanced up the mountain, noting that the snow would get worse soon and the trek's across the steppe would be even harder, the white wastes would get deeper and more tiring. One would not want to be stuck in a blizzard up there for too long.
The Soldier sighed and his gaze shifted to look at the horizon before him; however, he stopped as he caught a flash of something against the moonlight. Or someone climbing the mountain. Desacro frowned and took a different route up, picking his gait up into a canter and only slowing when the ground got tricky. It wasn't until he was well on his way up the mountain that he noticed the crack of lightning and the rumble of thunder, a storm plagued the night sky and was heading into the Basin. The ground levelled off and the warrior pounded onto the narrow mountain pass, effectively placing himself between the steppe and the basin. His mind churned and he turned to gaze at the golden stallion with crimson and white feathers, he'd seen his flesh before, a prisoner of the Basin and somehow connected to Delinne. Though Descaro cared little for the latter half. He had not heard his General or Psyche issuing an order of release for the feather brain who had made the wrong kind of enemies.
Slowly, he walked towards the stud with an eerie calmness and a raised brow. Enjoying the dramatic edge the storm added with his forelock plastered to his deep bay face. "No, no, no. Don't be rude and leave without saying goodbye." His tone was cool and malicious with a smile that echoed his intent to bar their prisoner from leaving.
For a moment, he looked skyward and shook his head. Did the brute really think he could get anywhere in a storm like this? If he took flight he'd surely be shot down by a bolt and erupt into flames, or was that his intent? Maybe he'd rather die than remain in the realm of unicorns. Well, one could say, he was an idiot for coming here in the first place, he marked himself a target that day. Descaro had no idea what was to be done with him, or what the intentions were of his higher ups, but he had not been given an order to allow any prisoner to leave. Therefore, he would remain in the way of this feathered idiot until told otherwise.
You won't get much closer
Until you sacrifice it all
You won't get to taste it
With your face against the wall
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Ulrik the Engineer Posts: 235
| Deceased atk: 5.5 | def: 9.0 | dam: 6.5 |
| Stallion :: Unicorn :: 17.1 hh :: 11 HP: 69.5 | Buff: ENDURE |
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Kirchoff :: Common Hellhound :: Superspeed
Tamme |
ENGINEERS CREATE THAT WHICH HAS NEVER BEEN
Ulrik's bronze gaze diverted from his task of building a mechanized gate for just a brief moment, but what he saw held his attention longer than he had anticipated. A winged runt appeared to be escaping. With a grim expression on his lips and a violent flash of his leonine tail, the engineer abandoned his task for the moment and urged the thickly corded muscles on his massive frame into a brisk trot. The stallion's ears ticked forward, but not in an expression of pleasure or joy; no, the attention he was giving was malicious, offering a brutal juxtaposition to a gesture normally considered gentle.
Cloven hooves carried him to the side of the mountain, thick snow swirling around his figure and catching in dark lashes. The engineer strode up boldly next to one he recognized from a long time ago to be Descaro. He and the bay had fought for the supremacy of unicorns on different shores before, and he offered a quick nod of recognition. A sky of stars and color illuminated the mountain as arcs of shock pierced the sky with resounding cracks. The rumble of thunder echoed through his chest and awakened him.
The machine at his heels struggled against the cold of the snow and the wetness that seeped into even sealed circuits. A whirring noise could be heard faintly above the roar of nature. With a swift tick from his lips, Ulrik shut of the machine, having found a tiny little switch that provided remote power to the metal hound. Descaro taunted the fiery winged one with words, and the engineer offered a slight smirk in response.
His mind gathered the correct information from the mountain, scouring for a path that his hooves could manage without feathers. Ulrik sprang to life, curling his hindquarters beneath him and launching his body up on a ledge. Cloven hooves skittered across the snowy surface, but the toes provided him the stability of an over-sized goat. With a slight grunt, he wound his way up the mountain, bounding, climbing and skittering until he finally reached an adjacent ledge to where the pegasus, he hoped, was still waiting.
"Get back down there where you belong, skyrat," Ulrik growled, his voice deep and graveled with a thick, brutal accent. Bronze eyes bored into red with little ounce of sanity. Ulrik was indeed mad. Wildly mad. Genius often bordered on the line of madness, and he managed to straddle that line. "You do not want me to make you. Ask the beloved seer of the Throat, Cassiopeia, if you do not believe me." Was she still sporting that limp from her encounter? |
 |
| Deceased |
| Stallion :: Pegasus :: 17 hh :: 10 years Buff: NOVICE |
| Dark |
Oh great.
A stick head decides to ruin everything. Such a bastard! I let out a snort of disgust, fiery orbs gazing at him. He approaches me, his bay body washed with silver moonlight. Flicking my ears back, I let out the closest thing an equine could make to a snarl. I forgot to say goodbye? What?! Narrowing my eyes, I paw at the ground. "Goodbye." I speak with a low tone, my fiery eyes focused on the stallion. Glancing at his crystal horn, I grin. Maybe if I moved fast enough, I could snap that thing right off. Take it in my jaws and shank him with it. Oh what fun that would be! My cream colored tail slaps against my golden leg, and I glance at the bushes that were now fully engulfed in flames. I could always push him towards it....
Oh look! Another bastard joined us. What fun. The cloven hooves clacked against the stone, and a dark figure appeared. My gods, are they magnets? Or bees? I snicker at the thought of unicorns running around, their horns on their rears and their bodies covered in yellow and black stripes. How amusing that would be! I perk my ears, listening to the black stallion. "Oh, so now you're going around demanding I go and stay in the Basin? My oh my! I feel so happy. What can I say? Oh! I know." I pause for a short moment, a big grin on my face. How fun this was! "I hate it here. Maybe if you were smart enough, you'd know this. And I'm pretty sure you horn-heads hate me being here. So why don't you just let me go?" I kept my wings tucked firmly to my sides, just in case they tried to lash out. And then he spoke of the one mare of the Throat, Cassiopeia. "Oh... why don't you tell me yourself what you did? Oh, but wait. I don't care." I snort, my ears flat against my head.
I wanted to get out. Now.
[[weird Azz is weird.... >.>]]
|
"When you grow old, you will die and rot on the ground,
Other horses will dance when you all crumble, when your kingdom falls.
When your crowns break."
| Deceased atk: 7.0 | def: 12 | dam: 6.5 |
| Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16.1 :: 7 HP: 72.5 | Buff: NUMB |
| Heather |
The renditions of pleas fell on deaf ears, a wail, a howl, a moan of frustration that obliterated, festered and fed the withered halls of a desolate, forlorn sovereignty. Indifference swung from the idle hands of the Siberian dusk, hallowed and carnivorous, apathy and nonchalance simmering over the warbling laments of a caged foe, plucked, discarded, forgotten amongst the rancorous, treacherous pathways of satanic finesse. There was naught to save him in the haunted, looming, hedonistic elation of villainous devils, not the wind, not the cold, not the chill that permeated and entangled in the wisps of ravenous dedication. Chained and locked, held in a wintry oubliette, the prisoner whined to the merciless, remorseless, ardent fiends that burned, corrupted and pierced – winding lacerations of heinous, fierce, feral, rampant decay across the corridors of enigmatic depravity. Azzaron was not shielded from their malice, he was not protected from their nefarious immorality, he was not veiled from the unholy carnage of their antagonistic sedition. He’d wronged, he’d irked, he’d vexed, and with the sinuous, slinking brushstrokes of their meticulous calculations, he’d found himself possessed by supremacy. Should he be rewarded for weakness, for ineptitude, for ignorance and idiocy? Should he be abandoned, liberated, for the distortion of his serenity, for the disturbance of his tranquility? Should they grant him clemency for the allure of danger, for the hostility of his wagging tongue? The answer resounded in the approach of their devouring arrogance, in their overwhelming, eldritch tones, in their taut expressions and haughty maneuvers. No.
Deimos, death and desecration, destruction and demolition, coiled in the demonic clutches of the shadows, watched the flaming beast reach for the skies. He was intrigued, for the moment, at witnessing their prey attempt one last effort of safety, of freedom, of sanctuary from the bedlam he’d incensed. A fly caught in a spider’s web, beating his tired wings, haggard, wretched, exhausted, but so deeply consumed by his race for life. A rabbit, wilting in the seams of leaves, sides quivering, limbs shaking, quivering, hoping his hunter has lost his winding trail. A rat, dangling between the paws of its captor, awaiting a salvation that would never arrive. What was more fascinating – the slow, passionate waltz of a dying animal, lingering in its last, solid breaths, or the quick, sudden, swift, execution, slaughter, of a constant irritation? His movements, methodical, taut, minute motions that spoke of authority, that whispered of control, that crooned of power, reeled into the scene and declared pillaging, the hushed reticent glow of arcane bedlam, ardent friction, the silken thread of heinous discord. A single nod was given to Ulrik, the reasonable engineer, and Descaro, the faithful warrior, before the deep, grating damnation poured from his condemning lips. Simplistic, blunt, the chords of the wicked twisted and turned, spoke nonchalance in the bestial, ethereal ruin of his forbearance. “Then you choose to die.”
Godless, forsaken, renounced, the cold-blooded, acrimonious brushstrokes of Mephistopheles coiled in his lungs, in his veins, in his brutal, callous heart, struck against the land. Intertwining, combining, weaved and spliced into enmity, into the serenade of swinging gallows, into bewitching, spellbinding demise – the breathless whimper of extermination and eradication. It promised torture, it arched detachment, it howled of primordial treachery and arts of unforgiving maelstroms, infernal incantations wrought to paralyze, torment, maim and devastate. Unleashed, it brought forth the ringing glide of despicable, horrible, deplorable depravity caught in the wings of the Basin, aiming to surround, bind, and chain once again, an enveloping veil of violence.
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