| Outcast atk: 4.5 | def: 8.0 | dam: 7.5 |
| Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16.3 :: 11 HP: 66.5 | Buff: SWIFT |
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Irelyn :: Plain Griffin :: Molten Dagger
RedGod |
08-20-2013, 02:26 PM
(This post was last modified: 08-20-2013, 02:29 PM by Torleik.)
TORLEIK
Death follows into your watery grave
Icy blue eyes turned upward toward the moon, the large black Friesian stallion cocked his anvil head to the side slightly. This moon...unnatural, he thought to himself. How many days had passed? With the white orb firmly affixed in the sky as it was, time was hard to discern. His circadian rhythm was skewed and of little help. The massive beast was not sure the last time he actually slept.
Breaking the siren's call of the pale disc, Torleik directed his attention downward, pawing at the ground briefly. The ground was frosty and crunched like broken glass beneath his hooves. His travels had brought him to this place, whatever it was, and he wished to find a part of it that felt like home. Home. The thought was tinged with muted anger and regret. He had no home now, no place to find solace. Snorting in irritation, the tacit beast picked up his pace, slipping into a trot. North. Always north.
North was like home. North was right.
The cold. The frost. The ice. These things were familiar to him. The black rabicano narrowed his chilly blue orbs and slowed his pace when he sensed that perhaps he was no longer alone. Most likely his broken isolation came from resident wildlife or a simple change in the air; it had a funny quality, air - normal one moment, thick with purpose the next.
Torleik halted, unafraid."Show yourself," the stallion commanded calmly, unperturbed at the silence that met his vocalization. He could be patient. Something was out there. That much he knew.
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Afrolovertje & ximpossible @ DA
No man is an island.
Pixel by: Tamme :D
Please tag me in all posts! Thank you!
| Deceased atk: 7.0 | def: 12 | dam: 6.5 |
| Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16.1 :: 7 HP: 72.5 | Buff: NUMB |
| Heather |
The midnight oil of the heinous doldrums still ignited a constant flow of gloaming, twilight reaching past the pinnacles of their frozen terrain. He dabbled in its murky heresy like a long-lost companion, soaking his pernicious ardor in the satanic finery of its wicked, deceitful grandeur. The Reaper plummeted from peak to peak, drinking the devilish, infernal ambrosia of all the powerful, nocturnal cataclysms, wandering past the borders of tundra and rime, slinking into the noxious shadows, cloaks and daggers of the moonlit Threshold. Then he searched, distantly scouring the lengths of glades, shrubs and pines, becoming witness to weakness, to audacity, to pungent ineptitudes and lacquered ignorance; but what he wanted was power, deep, menacing roots tackling fettered chains, beings with malice carved into their hides, souls with menace etched into their souls. He pursued monsters with behemoths grinding into their veins, with precious abilities and masteries of the unknown, enigmas glowing in heathen reverie, titans and turbulence holstered to their brows. The Basin deserved those covered in prowess, potential, sumptuous swings of fiendish, wretched damnation, condemnation in the passing seasons; too many things were left undone, and many more warriors necessary for conquering the world. Commanding the air with a sinuous grasp of demise, of quietus, of invocations returned in their all mighty rancor, his movements slid towards one individual, his piercing gaze pinpointed upon ebony, horns, hushed tenebrous reigning in the darkening traces, frozen features matching the nonchalance and indifference molded across the General’s face.
Perhaps he’d not been as silent as he’d thought, for mere moments later the stag called out to the gloom, a demanding vocal nearly ceasing Deimos’s regard altogether – very few decreed his actions, and never a newcomer. He shifted and ceased motion for a moment or two, before proceeding from behind the fellow demon, procuring his authority and control with the pernicious machination of his stride, with the purposeful inclination of his ragged voice. “Deimos, of the Aurora Basin.” He swung his puncturing gaze to the beast again, studied, calculated, devoured the atmosphere with his raptorial consideration, as a predator stalks prey, as a hunter gathered forces to add to his proud empire. Yet, before he recruited another, he wished for more information, forced himself to ask queries (for one of his nature did not waste time pursuing aimless wanderers, motive was required). “What are your pursuits here?” A kingdom to stretch far beyond the means of mortals? Enchantments to quarter the enemies? Or mere nomadic tendencies, designed to waste time amongst wild groves?
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 |
Not often did Ulrik ever visit the forests from which he had come through long ago, but now seemed a good a time as any. The great machine that is mother nature had failed him, cast him aside. He could no longer create and recreate from her flawless angles and perfect trajectories. Impotence in the magical area had struck him down, squeezing him tightly into stagnation, and his mind did not function well with stagnation. The blue prints in his brain rattled at him in irritation, flailing away any other rational thought he might possess.
He could feel judgement coming from the bond between he and Kirchoff. The black stallion cast a snarky glance down at the 2 month old pup who toddled in a pathetically small black puff in his massive wake. "Runt," he grunted. Though intolerant, brutish and even cruel sometimes, there was a soft spot in the stallion's black heart for the pup, and children. He liked children. They were the future minds and deserved to be brought up well.
Rustling in the distant caught the engineer's attention, so the muscular, tall steed moved into the area, tilting his head to the side in a mad was as he spied his general, Deimos, and a stranger standing at the borders of this god forsaken, bare-headed infested land. A grinned crossed Ulrik's lips that was far from sane as he looked upon the two horns that graced this brother's brow. What a fine catch... a fine catch indeed. Good job, Deimos, for discovering this handsome devil.
After glancing at Deimos, Ulrik inclined his head in an off-kilter, proper greeting. "Oh yes, yes..." he said, his deep baritone more of a gravely disaster with a thick, brutal accent. "Do you have any plans, any intentions, any... ideas?" The stallion asked, bronze eyes peering into the blue orbs of this stranger, leaned forward almost uncomfortably close in his space. "My name is Ulrik." He said finally.
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BRINGING YOU ANOTHER DISTURBING CREATION
from the mind of one sick animal who can't tell the difference
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Credits
| Outcast atk: 4.5 | def: 8.0 | dam: 7.5 |
| Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16.3 :: 11 HP: 66.5 | Buff: SWIFT |
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Irelyn :: Plain Griffin :: Molten Dagger
RedGod |
TORLEIK
Death follows into your watery grave
The silence that permeated the air did little to assuage Torleik that his perception of being stalked was incorrect. A sense of heaviness, of leaden decay permeated the winds, the land's icy chill tightening its bitter grasp. Motion at his right flank caused the black beast to snap his head around, blue eyes narrowed in suspicious annoyance. Torleik was not fond of theatrical entrances, let alone the hubris that oozed from this male's strangely iridescent pelt.
This one is self important, he thought with a furrowing of his brows in annoyance as Deimos stated his name after making a show of his powerful strides. Torleik gazed, unimpressed, back at the fellow male, studying him. Single horn, blue on the end. Nearly hairless tail, save for the tip. Eyes were dark, like two dead pools of solidified azurite.
Death. Torleik was familiar with the event. Perhaps that was why this steed did not not perturb him overmuch. Certainly this Deimos character was of the dark, unutterable places souls go to search for unforgivable desires, but he could not force Torleik to be afraid. Fear was a choice, and a choice the rune-horned demon opted not to make. That Deimos did not even query his moniker irked the beast; after all, it was only polite
"I have not yet discerned the purpose of my existence - what makes you think I am cognizant of my purpose here?" he returned, deep voice quiet but steady.
Another presence caught his attention then and the stallion grunted, maneuvering himself so that he kept both strangers in front of him. The newcomer had a fascinating bronze marking down one of his forelegs and...seemed to be sporting a small little pup bumbling alongside him? Torleik dropped his substantial head and sniffed at the little animal. Though he felt little for the other equine types around him, he had a soft spot for younglings of other types - especially little furry or pathetically feathered things. Righting his posture once more when the newer horse approached and invaded his personal space, Torleik drew his head back only fractionally, intending to show he was not going to back down from a show of intimidation. However, when he spoke, the rune-horned stallion realized this Ulrik was not attempting to bully.
That one is self-important and this one seems odd. This place is strange.
"Here is an idea: this inquisition is unnecessary," Torleik responded. It seemed no one in this place much cared for his name. That was just as well; he did not feel inclined to effuse about himself.
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Afrolovertje & ximpossible @ DA
No man is an island.
Pixel by: Tamme :D
Please tag me in all posts! Thank you!
| Deceased atk: 7.0 | def: 12 | dam: 6.5 |
| Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16.1 :: 7 HP: 72.5 | Buff: NUMB |
| Heather |
The beast tilted his head, curiosity and inquisition marking the corners of his insouciant brow. The fellow monster didn’t know of his purpose, of why he sought the scattered lands and runes, why he drew lines upon the sand, why he caught the moonlit traces of sedition? Deimos had known the wicked avarice of his decadent desires for long stretches of time, when invocations ensnared, wrapped their devilish claws and sinew into his flesh, simmered into his mind, smoldered with his father’s creeds, oaths and assurances. He’d held power in the beat of his frozen heart, felt its callous indiscretions seep into his lungs, his veins, his villainous cranium until they were driven deep into his core, bound to the dominating prowess of his pernicious persecution. He couldn’t fathom traversing in aimless wandering, with no souls to snatch, with no violence to enact, with no brutality to unravel. The Reaper’s voice crossed over the horizon, twisted in the darkness, grating, unrelenting, prospering his intrigue. “You dabble in ignorance?” Was it foolishness, to continue pursuing this stag with no aim, no goal, no aspirations, who snapped at the layers he prodded and poked with a simple query? Was it dangerous, for an entity to dabble with no ideas, no predilections? His gaze narrowed and continued the perusal of the newcomer, when Ulrik made his presence known. A solid nod was given in his direction; the General had no qualms over the mechanic’s company, already assured of his allegiance to their cause since long past. But now the creature before them had been chipped, fettered and unraveled from their questions, from their shadowed glimpses and stances – and even amongst the refusal of investigation, Deimos didn’t cease. He was not to be commanded by a stranger, especially when he was willing to extend a helping hand for a potentially lost spirit. Did he know abhorrence? Could he conjure hate? Was he capable of extending their travesties, abominations, heresies and transgressions? Did he harbor the weight of the world and wish to extend it upon his enemies? The thoughts crooned over his mind, whispered their savage, nefarious sentiments, and prospered in the nocturnal gloom. “Perhaps we could aid you.” And maybe, in a strange court to assuage damaged feelings, he conjured one more reply, a rare occasion sprouting across a muted, hushed mouth. “Your name?”
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 |
08-20-2013, 10:01 PM
(This post was last modified: 08-20-2013, 10:02 PM by Ulrik.)
Ulrik snorted a little in amusement at the demon stallion's word play, taking such a meaning from such a question. Indeed, the response displayed the musings of a clever mind, and a clever mind was useful. At least he was not some dull, foul creature possessing bare-headed features that instantly made one a dolt. Perhaps... this little game of words could extent to other games as well? Did this one like machinery? Did this one loathe the other kinds...? Oh the possibilities!
While Deimos responded, the stallion smiled. Now, now, Deimos. No need for feelings to get injured. Ulrik watched the game of peacock and puffed chests for a moment before turning his head over his shoulder, staring at nothing and for no other reason than to stare.
Kirchoff enjoyed the positive attention as if he deserved it. The pup leaned into the demon-stallion's touch and attempted to lick at his whiskered nose. The metal "fuck you" Ulrik got through his bond was enough to make the stallion grunt. "He doesn't feed you. I do." Was his metal return. Kirchoff's mental response was a haughty emotion of "jealous, much?". The pair were off to a great start of an eternity of mental connection. "His name is Kirchoff," Ulrik relayed to the stranger.
Ulrik was affronted in an almost dramatic way at the stranger's words which had been directed at him. The stallion scoffed, the noise audible from his throat, as his ears tilted forward. "Why, this inquisition is everything!" He explained, swishing his thick, lion's tail around his hind legs. "One must know exactly who they are inviting into their home, whether or not they wish to... participate in certain... well, battling encounters," he returned, nodding his head in earnest.
The stallion eagerly awaited a name, bronze eyes gleaming with interest.
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BRINGING YOU ANOTHER DISTURBING CREATION
from the mind of one sick animal who can't tell the difference
|
Credits
| Outcast atk: 4.5 | def: 8.0 | dam: 7.5 |
| Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16.3 :: 11 HP: 66.5 | Buff: SWIFT |
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Irelyn :: Plain Griffin :: Molten Dagger
RedGod |
TORLEIK
Death follows into your watery grave
Had Torleik had access to Deimos' mind, he would have further judged the strange creature as having an unhealthy obsession with darkness. Though, perhaps that was not the fellow stag's fault. His brusque manner left much to be desired, however."Some call lack of knowledge ignorance. Some deem awareness of this lack as wisdom," he returned to the reaper's question. "Life's journey is to find a purpose and fulfill it. Perhaps I may find purpose here."
Distracted by was was mayhap a solitary weakness in his emotionally stoic facade, a soft, tiny smile tugged at his lips when the little pup sought to lick his snout and whiskers. "Careful, tiny one. You have much growing to do," he murmured, glancing up at Ulrik who named the fluffball as Kirchoff. "How is it you acquired so small a companion?"
Listening to both Deimos and Ulrik inform him that, in short, they would not be leaving him alone, he sighed inwardly. Prying eyes and mouths were so very irksome. However, Deimos showed a modicum of class by inquiring as to their newcomer's name. "Torleik," he answered succinctly. "You say you can help - I am no fool. What would you require of me in return?" the two-horned demon asked, thinking specifically of Ulrik's mention of "certain battling encounters." Were these a warring band? Torleik could fight if it was required of him, but he needed a reason that was sufficient for his own motivation, not merely the request of others.
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Afrolovertje & ximpossible @ DA
No man is an island.
Pixel by: Tamme :D
Please tag me in all posts! Thank you!
| Deceased atk: 7.0 | def: 12 | dam: 6.5 |
| Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16.1 :: 7 HP: 72.5 | Buff: NUMB |
| Heather |
The argent monster listened, returning to his ruminating stances and hollowed, voiceless musings, resonance ceasing as the darkened threads of his brutal sentiments collided and corroded the atmosphere. They could give the stag purpose; they could draw him from stone and march him across the din of battlefields, they could usher him across borders and have him guard their kingdom of ice and rime, they could prod him to sneak into enemy territories and plunder their goods, wares, livelihoods, possibilities were endless when a creature had not yet found his role in life and desired to fulfill it. The Reaper’s stare twisted, fixating upon the mechanic’s companion and newcomer meeting, calculating with the chilling prowess of his rank, experience and wisdom. But did the stranger, this Torleik, feel disdain? Yearn for it upon his opponents? Want them spinning, withering, writhing, screeching for salvation, burying them under their prayers and laments, dirges and requiems? Was he infused with malevolence? Perhaps, if pushed, if forced, if compelled to wind his way around the layers and seditions of abhorrence, but to the General, he didn’t see the wayward glimpses of contempt, the spark of insurrection. The notion of the mentioning the Plague died across his cranium, and he sent a noteworthy gaze towards Ulrik rendering the same notion; perhaps in another time, another place, when the walls around them had shown Torleik supremacy, dominion, and where he should stand among them. There were no reasons to unravel secrets, munitions and weighted loathing upon a soul showing none of its shared beliefs. But now, the two-horned asked what they would require of him, and Deimos nearly smirked, a corner of his mouth creasing, lifting, in light indentation. The necromancer practiced the stranger’s calling, rested it firmly along his tongue, nodded his head in a firmer, perhaps more affable, greeting. “Torleik.” He wouldn’t be greedy, avaricious or conniving, because their assurances were simple, contained in the bouts of frigid air and haunting beauty, where enigmas gathered, mighty, staunch, valorous and proud. He would ask the same as any for the labels he strung across his mouth now, unadorned and classic, an empire’s ambience. “Loyalty. Strength.”
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 |
Ulrik could care less about the purpose of life. The great machine gave him glorious ideas, and he served her well in return. Eventually, his corpse would return to the ground and feed the cycle, and he would not bother trying to decipher her riddles otherwise. He would live his life how he believed it should be lived, and if the great mother nature decided to reject his body once he died, then fuck her. Purpose was what you made and what you forged, but he was not about to go popping the philosophical cherry on that one.
Instead, the black stallion remained rather silent, content to listen to Torleik's responses to his own indications. The little pup sat happily in front of the friendly stallion and wagged his tail, a stupid, tongue-lolling grin on his face. Even though shocking mature, the pup was still a ham. "One day, he will grow," he countered, reminding even himself that Kirchoff was only two months of age. Ulrik's mad eyes gleamed with a hint of sanity. "I bested a strange, cloaked figure in a game of riddles," he explained. "Whatever it was, it found me entertaining and gave me a strange orb. Nearly fourteen moons later, the orb cracks like an egg, and there is Kirchoff in both physical form and in my own head."
Ulrik had not spoken so many words and once in his entire life in this land. As such, the stallion quieted, growing almost taciturn in a matter of seconds. Such was the mind of a genius that more often than not rested in madness. The black stallion awaited Deimos' response and nodded. "Not such a high price, but not one that is cheap. Should your presence be needed in battle, it will be called on. Otherwise, I would assume, you would be free to roam and do as you please. I've seen many from the northern herd on my travels," he replied, looking at the ground for a moment and pushing his cloven hoof into the dirt a little more.
"You are welcome to follow me." Did Ulrik have a friend? Was he trying to make one? Or, was he just being as manipulative and conniving as he usually was. That remained to be seen.
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BRINGING YOU ANOTHER DISTURBING CREATION
from the mind of one sick animal who can't tell the difference
|
Credits
| Outcast atk: 4.5 | def: 8.0 | dam: 7.5 |
| Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16.3 :: 11 HP: 66.5 | Buff: SWIFT |
|
Irelyn :: Plain Griffin :: Molten Dagger
RedGod |
TORLEIK
Death follows into your watery grave
Torleik, for the most part, was an uncomplicated stallion. Left to his own devices he did not form twisting, intertwined, Machiavellian motives and plans. He was a naturally solitary creature, an introvert if there ever was one, quite content with the simple pleasures and simple observations about life.
This was not an indication of simplicity of the mind. The unicorn was sharp and observant, clever and capable of holding his own in a mental spar. A physical spar as well - which is what these two seemed to think would eventually be necessary of him. The black stallion lent an ear to Ulrik's speech, his curiosity highly piqued by this land. Was it strong in magic? Were the gods felt here? A strange, cloaked figure...he had heard such stories amongst his people before they received gifts of many kinds: some physical objects, some healing, some new skills. He wished to mine Ulrik's mental veins for the ore of knowledge the slightly unhinged male seemed to possess.
The topic shifted again to his potential membership within this clan. Deimos pressed for loyalty, Ulrik for something not quite so concrete. Torleik was inclined towards Ulrik's offer though he knew Deimos to be the more higher ranking of the two.
"I will join you," he said slowly, thoughtfully. "But loyalty is something earned, not something given. I will, however, lend my strength when needed."
The blue eyed demon gazed curiously at Ulrik. Was he offering companionship? That seemed...untoward, with what little observation he had gathered of this engineer. Perhaps he had made a miscalculation in his initial judgement; perhaps not. Torleik was no stranger to the world of manipulation and intrigue - he simply chose to avoid it when he could. It was not a stretch of the mind to think that this entire meeting was a set-up. Deimos, the leader, intercepting him after watching his travels for however long; calling a trusted warrior or spy to his side: Ulrik; the plan unfolds as they expect and Ulrik fills his role of new friend purely to keep an eye on this newcomer, to learn his secrets and weaknesses and how to exploit him most easily.
All of this crashed through Torleik's mind like a storm-tossed ship against a rocky coast, though his face was as untelling as the glassy, reflective surface of a lake undisturbed by even the slightest ripple of wind. "A knowledgeable guide would be useful," he returned, shifting towards Ulrik. He turned his horned, anvil head towards Deimos once more. "I am certain we will meet again."
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Afrolovertje & ximpossible @ DA
No man is an island.
Pixel by: Tamme :D
Please tag me in all posts! Thank you!
| Deceased atk: 7.0 | def: 12 | dam: 6.5 |
| Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16.1 :: 7 HP: 72.5 | Buff: NUMB |
| Heather |
Acceptance, perhaps begrudgingly so, settled over the shadowed terrain and Deimos considered, to the words dabbling the earth, to the resonance flickering along the gloomy horizon, and to the pending fortitude of their augured world, empires falling, kingdoms crushed. He knew of loyalty, its power, its potential, its foundation rooted deep into the psyches of one’s distinct pride; his father’s prowess, nestled in the dark crevasses of his sentiments since he was a wandering, forlorn child, the arts and finesse of oaths, assurances and confidences, the brimming truths and convictions sprouted from worthy tongues. Perhaps, in time, Torleik would come to favor their beliefs, rupture the earth with their credence, assured, devoted, strong and dependable, like so many of their fellow soldiers, like so many of their staunch, resolute warriors. The world would tell, from his actions, from his motives, from his indulgences and rituals whether or not he could cross the wires they’d carefully molded and sculpted, the secrets shared between heathen asps, vipers and cobras, snakes in the tundra grass. Capability brewed from within, and whether they snagged it by feeding contempt, enacting on trial and tribulations, or merely allowing his growth across the vestal gardens of the Basin’s frigid exterior, he’d keep his piercing gaze upon Torleik. A General watched over his patriots, and a Reaper conquered those harmed in his protective veil – though he presumed this creature could hold his own (otherwise – what would be the purpose of him arriving here, ready to deliver another into the mouth of the Aurora?), even in the twisting sedition of their mighty supremacy. The beast nodded towards the newcomer once more, acknowledging the dialogue, the compliance, and delivered one word to tie them all the segments of the passing tides together. “Undoubtedly.” Then, he turned, allowed Ulrik, eternally proficient, charge of the fellow cretin, drifting off into the endless shadow until it swallowed his form, satanic scion returned to its Tartarean hold.
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