| Windtossed Foothills Warrior |
| Stallion :: Equine :: 15.3 hh :: 41 months |
| Adoptable |
The light and heat of the early day, leaving Fence tired and shrouded in shadow by the time he reached the edge of home. He had moved slowly, forcing his gait and creating a bouncing trot with a characteristic look back at the bare-necked soldier as they wandered. For the most part, Fence had remained quiet on their journey back to the Foothills. It wasn't that he had run out of things to say, but that the coming shadows put him at ill-ease. Evening was no longer a time of calm for Fence, as each dark patch acted as a reminder of what he'd gone through—lived through. He still considered himself lucky to survive; he considered himself even luckier still to survive and find his way here, to this gathering of like-minded soldiers and brothers.
For with his newly acquired nervous manner there came a sort of tentative opening of his heart. He found others surprisingly trustworthy; he kept less secrets and told fewer lies. If he could remember more clearly the stallion he had been, he would have found there to be a shocking difference between his past and present self. Perhaps, then, it was better that he remembered so little.
Still, he would have liked to say his name aloud with confidence and ownership. It seemed that the words had taken ahold of him and placed a ban upon themselves. Even knowing faintly what his name was, he found it quite difficult to say. He would mouth it, chew on it and let it cross over his tongue in multiple intonations, but he could not shake the feeling that the name he was saying was that of someone else.
Fence pulled himself up into a stop just beyond the border, and with a lighthearted whinny and a flick of his tangled tail, he beckoned Emerson to follow. Hopefully the pair would run across someone of rank on a patrol, and then he could explain the situation. It wasn't simply that he wished to show Emerson the same level of kindness he had been afforded, either; as the sky glowed darker and the air chilled, he felt a fear that could only be cured by company rise to tighten the passages in his throat. Secretly he hoped Emerson would draw close enough to brush his side, to remind him that he was safe, not alone. He needed the sensation of someone solid beside him, to stop the shivers from spreading across his scarred body, lest he begin to think the shadows had returned to haunt him after all.
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Credits
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The sun was pulled away from its throne upon the sky, and with it the heat; I could feel some respite from the inexplicable warmth that had plagued my entrance into this forsaken land. Yes, I dared call it a plague, for it was in the midst of Orangemoon; the air should have been laden with heavy chills and ice, and yet it thrived as though seated in the center of Beelzebub’s own oven. I considered it an ill omen indeed, for this hellish heat to persist unnaturally where it did not belong. Besides that fact, heat had a tendency to wear on already worn bones. I was tired when I entered the Threshold; by the time we entered the border, I was very much exhausted and spent. I didn’t pant with my exertions and I certainly didn’t show my discomfort, conditioned I was in the arts of a warrior—but I could feel the grime and sweat of my body, and it was abhorrent to me. I could only imagine what sort of hell I was putting my nameless companion through, confined as he was to my side as my escort.
At the thought of the grey stallion, my gaze shifted to him and I allowed myself a curious glance in his direction. He had been silent throughout our entire venture, and yet I had the impression of him as being a rather talkative fellow; even now he exuded the air of someone who was rather tongue-tied. Did my presence intimidate him? Or perhaps my earlier hypothesis was correct, and he was merely put off by my lamentable hygiene. Whatever the case, I was surprisingly detached; the exhaustion that clogged my brain refused to afford me proper reflection and observation—or the interest for it, for that matter.
Had I a tail to lash, I would have lashed it as I listened to my companion’s whinny to follow beyond the clear markers of the territory; the vista before me boded of bountiful harvests and plenty, though it was pulled under the shadow of night as the sun’s chariot descended deeper and deeper into the horizon. I obliged my companion, coming to stand beside him; I confess that, in my study of the lands before us, a wandered a little too close to my companion’s person and accidently brushed his side ever so slightly. With a curious cock of my ear, I detected a trace of a tremble wracking his limbs; upon further inspection of my comrade, I deduced the faint alarm in his demeanor, the nervousness of his disposition; he seemed rather riled about something. Was it the idea of meeting with his superiors that frightened him so? Or was he truly antsy about traveling with someone such as myself?
I gave a soft snort, my eyes traveling into the darkness as a different idea began to bloom. “Afraid of the dark?” I asked my comrade; my voice was mild and neutral, though I admit there was a touch of friendly playfulness in there. It was an effort to make light of our company, for I didn’t want him to be afraid of me; in this land of strangers and vengeance behind every rock and shadow, I didn’t want to ruin my chance of finding a spirit that did not find my presence repugnant. Suppose I thought of this gray stallion as the embodiment of redemption?
Suppose it is a very accurate summation of my subconscious thoughts?
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Actions.
Thoughts.
"Words."
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Apollo the Merciful Posts: 251
| Outcast atk: 5.0 | def: 8.5 | dam: 5.5 |
| Stallion :: Unicorn :: 15.3 :: 11 HP: 63.5 | Buff: NOVICE |
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Zola :: Black Cat :: None
Sparrow |
Given his rank, Apollo was not one to simply patrol the Foothills. He was a peacekeeper, one who would rather portray good intentions rather than give in to temptation and bloodlust... Yet, despite his inner workings, things changed. The magnitude of trespassers upon the Foothills was greatly unsettling, and even though it wasn't his turn for patrols, the painted stallion couldn't help himself. Besides, he had nothing else to do at the moment; why not spend his evening enjoying a leisurely stroll?
It was unfortunate that Midas couldn't accompany him on this venture. The thought caused Apollo to chuckle, for the last time that he and the General of the Dragon's Throat had shared a simple midnight stroll, they had stumbled upon a marvelous adventure, filled with ancient beings and mystical places. He would oftentimes dream of the underground world he and Midas had been allowed in, and more often than not, the medic would wonder just how the jackalope that he healed was faring. He could only pray that she was well now.
Still... The memories of adventure did nothing to quell the loneliness that was always present in his ebony breast. A social creature, despite popular belief, Apollo thrived with friends... It just seemed that as of late, his friends had been more of the vegetation kind. Of course he would always be loyal to the Grey, and they would always be his family and home, but... Sometimes the Earth Medic just wanted someone he could talk to, and who would talk back.
It was during these troubled thoughts that the sound of a whinny caught his attention, causing the unicorn's head to snap up. Horn poised high into the air with his head raised, Apollo snorted at the air, honey-brown eyes searching the horizon to see who had called. Squinting, Apollo then spotted two creatures a ways off, both of whom he didn't recognize. One was spotted with a horn upon his brow, and the other was a grey equine, and concern filled the medic's frame. Were they outsiders? Deciding to approach cautiously to see just who they were, Apollo picked up his pace to a trot, tail flicking left and right as he moved. Dark hooves covered the distance between the three, and once in ear-shot, the Earth Medic gave a whinny of greeting.
"Good evening!" He called, smiling jovially as he came to a stop in the tall grasses of the Foothills. Now, at a closer distance, he could fully examine the two males who stood before him. The spotted one was indeed a unicorn, and he smelled nothing of Helovia... The grey was covered in rather vicious looking scars, and that caused Apollo's amber eyes to dim with sympathy. They looked rather painful. Still, the grey's scent was familiar; already he was covered in the familiar, earthy smells of the Foothills. He must already be one to call the Grey home. Dipping his head in respect to the grey, Apollo continued on.
"Greetings, brother," he said to the grey stallion, his smile warm and inviting, "I feel quite foolish, because we haven't met... Forgive me. My name is Apollo; I'm the medic of the Grey." Here, he turned to the spotted one. "And a greeting to you, as well, good sir. Have you just arrived in Helovia?"
[ooc: Poor Apollo post is... Poor. >___>]
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Credits
I Just Want You To Know Who I Am
Please Tag Apollo in All Posts!
| Windtossed Foothills Warrior |
| Stallion :: Equine :: 15.3 hh :: 41 months |
| Adoptable |
The even tone of his companion was enough assurance. Fence watched with a turned head as Emerson drew closer to him—let the shivers fade as the appaloosa's side brushed lightly against his own. He felt almost bashful when the unicorn spoke. Emerson was either quite perceptive, or Fence was being more transparent than he thought. His muscles relaxed and his neck bent so that he might chew his black-marked knee errantly. He traced pebbles on the ground with his gaze, doing all he could to look away from the older, bare-necked stallion.
Yes, he was afraid of the dark. And it was no proud thing for a warrior to admit; he wasn't sure he even should call himself such a thing. What was he but an unlucky soul who had fought to survive? Did a hide covered in scars make him a soldier, really, or grant him any true experience? No. He was still just a scared colt, shaking himself awake from a nightmare.
"Just... just some nights," he breathed at last, lifting his head to catch the other stallion's surely wiser gaze. But just as his blue eyes searched for meaning in his companion's, his ears caught the sound of another approaching. With his swiveling body, so moved his focus. From the depths of the territory appeared a darker paint stallion—another unicorn. Fence snorted a faint and distant welcome, and let his black hoof strike the earth to pull him forward.
Intently and carefully, he listened to the stranger. No trespasser, then; no, this was an established member of the herd, likely one that had been there longer than Fence himself. "A pleasure, brother," he offered in kindness, still grasping helplessly in the depths of his murky mind for his own name.
Why was it so hard to find something to call himself? He knew it, the old name, why did it sound so strange to say? He could even remember, almost hazily, how he once would have introduced himself.
Lev Fence at your service; but the ladies call me Fence.
But that felt wrong now. Nervously he looked to Emerson, as if the spotted stallion would know his name. But no, Emerson knew no more than himself. He waited for a few awkward moments, his lips parted and his heart lurching expectantly, until somehow, the name just sort of... fell out. "I am Fence. Lev Fence. And this is Emerson, he seeks shelter among our ranks," he spoke, his eyes lighting up as his gaze hopefully caught the new recruit's. He had said it! Called himself by his own name and somehow, filled a part of a hole.
Still, something felt strange within him. He turned back to Apollo, his expression cordial as he looked over the darker stallion standing amidst the forest night. No, Fence told himself, he was safe. He didn't need to feel strange, he didn't need to feel scared.
He was going to be alright.
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Credits
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[......AND THEN A WHOLE MONTH LATER HURR HURR]
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The jovial outburst from the approaching stallion, coming upon us cloaked in a painted shroud and donning a crystalline horn upon his brow, was a wrenching contrast to the moody, heavy solemnity between me and my gray comrade; it was as though a brittle pane of glass were shattered, delicately falling about us as an easy kind of friendship permeated the awkward fumbling of our own curiosities. My gray companion had admitted to me that he was plagued with some fears of the night; there was no judgment upon the fore of my mind, nor should there have been; I knew far too well that a warrior is not a callous beast immune to fear. Fear was a thing felt by those in possession of a soul, and every warrior possessed a soul. A beast who fought with no moral spirit coursing in his veins and marrow as no warrior at all—but a daemon needing to be scourged.
I digress. The stallion was kind enough to shatter the air of strangeness around myself and my comrade, and was even so gracious to offer his own name—Apollo. I dipped my head in a gesture of civility; my head spun with exhaustion, and some wry thought entered my scrutiny, that I might fall asleep in that very moment as my cranium came to touch the ground. The thought caused me to snort some, though I knew myself only to be delirious with fatigue, and I hoped I would not forget myself or my decorum in the presence of this kind sir. The aura of redemption still hung heavy in the air—I would not ruin it.
But it didn’t help that my companion found his tongue and his mind in that moment, suddenly finding within his ability to remember his name. Lev Fence, he called himself. The gaze he settled upon myself—the light of incredulous joy that he could state his name out loud—coerced a short bark of a chuckle to escape, shaking my sides briefly before I settled in a neutral stance. My eyes did not dance; my shoulders were held slack with tiredness. I was too removed to fully participate in my fellow’s joys—and yet, I found myself to be moved by them as well.
It was my turn to address the noble Apollo, and I lifted my eyes a little higher to meet his own gaze. “A pleasure indeed,” I said, my tone even and smooth, interested and laden with the burden of the trail’s dust and grime, “Fence speaks true. I am Emerson, and I do indeed seek reprieve from my travels. I have come far…my bones ache with it. I beg sanctuary for the time being, if you would have me.” My stub of a tail jerked some, a lingering habit to lash my tail about in idleness. I strove to keep myself coherent.
“Forgive me,” I suddenly said, something amused and apologetic creeping into my tone, “I may not be clear in my statements—any lapse of my manners or articulation is a result of my fatigue. I cry for your patience.” I was entirely unsure of myself in that moment; I was prostrate before this stranger, at the mercy of his judgment of me and my intent, and I was no more than some dusty vagabond who happened to tumble to the door of some grand kingdom I knew nothing about. I did not want this opinion to pass his view, but—ah—what could I do to help it? I could only await his verdict.
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Actions.
Thoughts.
"Words."
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[O] Even if I Tried Again [Emerson // Acceptance]
