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Oh look, another quest! - Grumblesnakes - 06-27-2016 Life has not been kind to the one-time Fairy Godfather. After the Nerissa Incident a dozen years ago or so, he was unceremoniously fired, stripped in an instant of his Godfatherly status and his dream of helping sad little boys and girls find joy in the bleakness of their existence. No criminal charge were brought against him, but only because no one had died. Still, it broke something in him, turning in the shiny little gold crown he'd so proudly pinned to his lapel on the day he'd graduated Fairy Godparent University. Things have only gone downhill since then. Oh, everyone loves a Fairy Godfather; they are among the celebrities of the fairy world. But one who has been stripped of his title and his tiny gold badge and ostracized by the institution that made him so beloved in the first place? No one has any use for a disgraced former Godfather. Grumblesnakes couldn't get past an interview at any respectable job; the instant his history came up, the interviewers' eyes always went cold and distant, and the meeting ended quickly thereafter with polite formality and assurances that they would be in touch if he got the job. But he never did. He soon began spending most of his time and money at a local dive bar, drinking more and more absinthe to drown the hopelessness of his existence. Ah, and that green fairy was the only one who had any love left for poor Grumbles. Well, except for his old friend Stumbleduck, who was happy enough to join him in drinking himself into the ground on a regular basis. Still, with no source of income, his money eventually ran out. Once a golden boy of Fairyland, he found himself turning magic tricks on the corner, cheap street magic that left him feeling empty inside and earned him just enough to keep dancing with the green fairy. Unsurprisingly, he was in another drunken stupor when Stumbleduck found him this afternoon. “What the hell are you doing here?” his old friend asked in a harsh whisper. Good old Duck grabbed his arm and trying to drag him off his bar stool, all the while frantically scanning the bar. Grumbles just waved his shiny green drink and hiccupped. “Yeah, well now's hardly the damn time, is it?” Duck asked, tugging Grumbles to his feet. “Whutryu talk'nbout?” Grumbles slurred, wobbling as he left his nice, sturdy seat behind. He lifted his glass to his lips, but Duck took it out of his hands. “Sorry, friend, I think you've had about enough of that for tonight—gods above, never thought I'd be the one saying that, huh? Focus, Duck, now's not the time. Ugh, here.” Muttering under his breath, Duck waggled his fingers at his friend's face, sighing with relief as Grumbles instantly sobered up. “The hell?” “You learn a trick or two about playing with blood alcohol levels when you drink as much as I do, friend. Now let's get ou of here.” Duck dragged him out the back door into the alley behind the bar before bothering to explain himself. “Grumbles, word's all over the street! How have you not heard yet?” “Been in the bar since it opened.” Duck nodded and shrugged, acknowledging the obviousness of that answer. “Heard what?” “Oh, Grumbly. Buddy. You remember—of course you remember, it's not exactly a thing you forget—okay. So. I've got to tell you something, and it's bad. Just. Take a deep breath, alright? So. Nerissa.” Grumblesnakes's blood ran cold the instant he heard the name that had haunted his existence for well over a decade. “Why the fuck would you bring her up? What about her?” Duck winced, took a deep breath of his own, and said, “Grumbles, she...I'm sorry, man, but you remember the girl who was living at her—stupid question. Lena. Of course you remember Lena.” Grumblesnakes just stared, dread slowly filling his stomach. “Right. Well. Buddy, I'm sorry, but uh. Nerissa...she found her. And you know how crazy that little bitch was, yeah? She—Grumbly, she...you know, blamed her for how everything went down, for losing you, for being blacklisted by the University and never getting another Godparent, for getting locked up in a psych ward after she set fire to the place Lena and her mom moved to and almost killed them both—right. You know. Of course you know. Well. She, uh. She was released a while back, yeah?” Grumblesnakes just nodded numbly, waiting for Duck to say the words he already knew were coming. “She...she snapped, buddy. I didn't hear everything, I don't know what triggered it, but there were My Little Pony toys involved and anyhow what I do know is she found Lena. I don't know how, but she found her, and she...Grumbly, she killed her. They found the girl's body, ponies melted onto her skin like a casing, like a plastic shell, the words My Little Lena painted across her side and a creepy-ass grinning clown face as her...what's it called, the like, tramp stamp all those weird plastic things have...” Duck kept talking, but Grumblesnakes didn't hear him anymore after that. No. No, the only reason he hadn't been thrown in prison over the Nerissa Incident was that nobody had died. They were going to come for him. They'd slap shackles on his wrists that devoured his magic as it generated, stealing away his very identity and leaving him utterly defenseless. They'd throw him in the dungeon beneath Fairy Godparent University and he'd never see the light of day again. No. He'd run. He'd hide. There had to be someplace safe he could go, somewhere they'd never find him, somewhere they'd never look. Somewhere anyone who knew anything about his past would swear he'd never go—oh. Ohhhh he could go back to—could he? And what, exactly, would he do in Beqanna? Make a damn army of scary-ass magic ponies and use them as cannon fodder against the FGU bastards who must already be gunning for him or why would Duck have sounded so frantic? Yes. Oh hell yes, that was exactly what he would do. He grabbed onto Duck's shoulder, closed his eyes, and thought desperately of Elsewhere, and when he opened his eyes, he was in Beqanna once again. Ignoring Duck's flustered protestations, he looked around at the deserted corner of the world he'd brought them to. A huge lake, untouched for decades, and there was something about it that made Grumbles breathe easier, made him feel...serene, somehow. Still, there was work to be done. He reached toward the lake and raised his hand, drawing an island up out of the center. Duck in tow, he flew out to the island, coaxing plants to grow on the newly-exposed bare earth. He built a fortification on the island, made of stone and magic, and laid a cloak around the whole thing to keep it invisible to anyone who didn't know it was there. Home. It needed to feel like home, because they were going to be here for a long goddamn while. Stumbleduck caught his eye and nodded, getting on board as quickly as ever, and then flew off into the fort to make it a place of beauty. Leaving Duck in charge of decorating meant the place would be dripping luxury, rich colors and fabrics and squishy places to sit and to sleep. One never lacked the physical comforts while Duck was around. But that was hardly the only concern. More important, at least to Grumblesnakes, was the question of defense. And this, my friends, is where you come in. Because once again our dear Grumbles took to the skies of Beqanna, stealing innocent ponies out of their everyday lives and dragging them home with him to his new digs. He took the traitless, the defenseless, those whose potential was the most malleable. Oh, though he would perhaps make an exception for a few old friends if he happened across them. And when he had rounded up as many as he could carry (and he could carry quite a few!), he flew them back to their new home in the middle of the Lake of Serenity to make them into his guardians. Well. You heard the fairy. He'll come around all invisible-like and snatch you out of your normal everyday life. He'll take you home to his new fort, down to the dungeon for now. One stall for each of you, as it happens. For round one, give us a glimpse into your normal life before Grumblesnakes pretty much magically chloroforms you and steals you away. You'll wake in the dungeon-turned-stable, with hay and water and a bit of grain to keep your belly full 'til he gets to you. (And should you run out, they'll refill themselves. Isn't that nice?) Which will take a day or two, because forging guardians out of normal horses takes some doing, after all. There's no interacting with one another just now (and probably not for the whole quest, though I make no promises at this point), so feel free to invent neigh-bors for yourself or freak out/react to your kidnapping in solitude. We wouldn't want you getting bored, after all, now would we? There will be a healthy dose of tortured screams as background noise—being forged is painful and difficult work. And when Grumbles finally comes for you, he'll immobilize you—just a precaution, you know—so please do end your post with your pony frozen in place and the stall door opening. You have until 8 PM CST on Wednesday to reply. Entry requirements:
Other things you should know:
Questions! Are shapeshifting wings okay? Yes. Still wings, as lovely as they may be. By all means. What about kingdom-granted traits? Excellent question. Those don't count, I suppose. But consider them deactivated during the quest. Can we enter ponies with defects? Absolutely. They may lose the defect for the duration of the quest, however, depending on how it impacts their ability to be an effective guardian. We'll see. Um, so defects. How likely are we talking, exactly? If you miss a deadline or don't reply, expect a defect. Otherwise it's pretty unlikely. Well, maybe some scarring, I can't swear to that part. But actual defects? Not so likely outside of missed deadlines. Can my pony and someone else's notice each other across the way? Not like, interact or anything, but for angst later. Ohhhh. Yes. Absolutely, I am all for that idea. Just no interacting, at least not right now. There may or may not be opportunities for that later, we'll see. Ummm...so there's a holiday weekend coming up. How's the timing working for that? Well hell. I didn't think of that. Normally I wouldn't give this much advance notice, but since I failed to catch that, here's the plan for the weekend. Realistically speaking, if this round ends Wednesday night, the next one will be posted on Friday and due either Sunday or Monday. That's as far ahead as I'm going at this point, but keep that in mind when deciding whether to enter or not, I guess. RE: Oh look, another quest! - Chaol - 06-27-2016 A glimpse. A small tiny piece of his world. Chaol was almost a two year old. His legs were in a much better proportion to his body than they had been months ago. His muscles were toned and actually rather well defined. Most of it probably came from the fact that he was so young still and he used them every day. Whether it was flying or running or simply just trotting along the beach, the young purple and magenta boy was constantly on the go. Well, okay, not quite flying. But he would one of these days. His mother said he wasn't quite ready to propel himself up into the clouds. That gliding was all he needed to work on now. Wasn't that some crap? He was ready to feel the sun on his face and the wind in his feathers for longer than the few seconds it seemed like it was when he gliding. The urge to fly was practically an itch below his skin. It was hard for him to shake. But he continued to, because he would like to think that his mother would one day tell him that he was okay to fly...even if he felt like it was forever from now. So this particular day he was trotting lazily along the beach. And by trotting, he means walking really fast. His head bobs with his stride and he is fantasizing about (surprise) the day when he finally gets to fly. He stretches his wings out and pretends like the wind under his feathers is the cold wind high above the ground. His hooves leave little indents in the sand, the only marking of his passing. His eyes close briefly. --- When I awake, I am only subconsciously aware of the cold stone against my belly. I think I must have fallen asleep outside again on that favorite rock of mine, although I don't really remember going to it. Sleepily my eyes open, groggily even and it takes a couple blinks for my eyes to clear and focus. I was in a box. A big box. With an opening not big enough for me to jump through or out of. Panic takes like copper in my mouth and I get to my feet. I stumble, I almost fall, banging one knee roughly against the stone before I manage to get to my hooves. I press my side against that cold stone, out of it all, it's the one thing that comforts me. Even when it shouldn't, but it reminds me home. I want to run, to fly away and get out of this place and back to my home, back to my mom and the rest of the Covelings. I want to be there, not here in this place...where ever it was. My body trembles not only from fear but from the damp. I was used to the sun, to the humidity of the ocean and the cold breezes that someones caught me off guard. There was no sun here, nothing to warm me even when it was cool out. I shiver a little even as my wide eyes continue to take in this place. Near the front, by that little window I could smell water and something else. The salty grass of the Cove was often enough for me, but this smelled the same...yet different. Sight. Smell. I could smell a coppery smell, something that made me think of blood and pain. Fear? Was that smell fear? And underneath it....was that other horses? This sends my heart racing harder, thumping against my chest until I think it is going to burst out and send my blood and bones every where. Mother. Was Mother here? Only this makes me go to the front of this box, this place I was being held captured. I force myself to calm enough so that I can walk normally and not dance up to the door. I take my time even though I want to rush and bang against the wall and do SOMETHING. I stretch my nose out the opening and then pull it back in. There was a wealth of information out there in the smells but I was afraid. I was afraid that something out there was going to hurt me. So I am careful, very careful. I didn't smell mom, but that didn't necessarily mean anything. I needed to peer out that window to see if I could see her. Odds were if nothing snatched my nose when it had been out there I was okay to poke an eye out to do a quick glance around. So I did and then I forced myself to do it a minute longer than I would have liked. I seemed to take my time, even if my stomach was a tight mess of emotions and my muscles were trembling still. No, not trembling, I was shaking. My wings were tight against my sides, the same purple that I was born with magenta tips. Sound. That's pretty much when the sound all comes bellowing to the surface. I had managed to limit my sense for the few first minutes of being here, thinking of only one or the other and adding them slowly. But now, the screams of pain and anguish and fear had me cowering against the back wall again. There were other sounds, the rustle of their movement, the sound of their hooves on the stone, even some heavy breathing.... Oh no, that was me. I force myself to calm back down, to settle back into the now. Sure I was trapped and it was very well going to suck and bad things were going to happen.... "I don't want to die here." I say, very softly, to myself. Taste. It is after hours of being still against that cold stone wall that my stomach finally growls. I haven't completely conquered my fears and every now and again a terrified scream rips through the quiet and makes my heart thump wildly and a band tighten itself around my middle. When it grumbles it's lack of food I eye the green stuff near the water. It's got to be food, it smells like it and almost looks like it. I felt brave stepping closer to it, until I sniff it. It smells good and when I chomp down on a large bite I almost groan to myself. It was excellent and it was all right here. I could eat all day on this stuff and not have to forage around for it. A drink of the water and then I am going back to the back of the wall. Touch I slide down to the ground, curling my legs against me and hope that when I wake this will be nothing more than a dream. It is still cool to the touch and I still shiver now and again.... Somehow, I had fallen asleep last night. Unfortunately I was in some horrible nightmare still. My legs were stiff when I got to them. I walked my small box, loosening my limbs and my stiff knee. Even stretching out my wings a little. Not the whole way, as this small place wouldn't let me but it did alleviate some of the tightness in my muscles. I made my way back over to the refilled hay and almost smile in surprise. I take my fill, eating a little quickly as I still don't know what it going on and what might happen, but I want to be strong and have my energy. So I take another drink from the water bucket and my ears flicker when I hear the opening of a door. I stick my head out the window briefly, only to see some shadow heading down the aisle way towards the stalls. My heart is thundering in my chest against and I go back to the back of the stall. Here was my chance, I knew it. To attack blindly with my hindquarters or too attack and be able to see? That was the question. Quickly I backed my haunches up to the place I had been laying and I faced my fears. Grandfather would disown me if I were to close my eyes and just attack blindly. He would want me to face my fears. So I did and my ears were pinned back against my skull and my body tense and ready for the fight. And then I couldn't move at all. And the stall door swung open. c h a o l RE: Oh look, another quest! - Helleborn - 06-27-2016 HELLEBORN light up the world as i fall asleep RE: Oh look, another quest! - Shannisoran - 06-27-2016 I am the steel no enemy can shatter. His life has been quiet since the last time. He had found himself with too much anger and pain to settle himself in any one place for long, so he had wandered. He had lingered at the edges and corners of Beqanna, training, working himself into bleak exhaustion each day so that he might sleep at night. And it had worked. He had settled into a mundane routine, one that forged his body into weapon, honing his mind and soul into that of warrior. Shannisoran RE: Oh look, another quest! - sleaze - 06-28-2016
RE: Oh look, another quest! - Fart - 06-28-2016 What has Fart been doing in his day to day? Existing, merely that. He isn’t exactly the life of the party, nor the attendee of any parties if we are to be perfectly honest. It isn’t that he doesn’t want to attend them, just that he is not often in the possession of such an invitation. Most days, Fart wanders. Through the Field, across the Meadow, lurking in the general common areas, and only sometimes does he have an itch to pass through the Forest. He is quite unremarkable in his travels, blending with the backdrop most seasons and otherwise being definitively ignored when he does not. Lime green roan is nothing special when it comes to the vast array of colored pelts in Beqanna. I mean, it is nice enough if you like green but aside from that it is as far as Fart’s beauty goes. While he was lucky really, to be green, it was the only speck of mercy Fart had received from birth. The little hybrid babe had been born with no mane whatsoever. Not a bit of fluff or a stray hair to cover his bare neck, which come to find out, looks extremely odd when everyone around you has flowing, luscious locks. Now Fart had a tail of course, just the tail, and a nice one too if he might say so. Of course, you’re bound to be partial to the only shock of lime green hair you have, no matter where it might have sprouted on your body. In addition to the unfortunate no-mane incident, Fart has what some refer to as ‘hare-lip’, a rather off-putting physical mouth deformity. It could be worse really, luckily his palette was mostly fused together on the inside, the smallest of gaps that made it difficult to eat as well as made one prone to choking if not careful. His lip though, no such luck, it was obviously parted just off-center. As though someone had taken a sharp knife to the soft flesh and sliced it right up to his nostril. Needless to say the boy Fart grew into the man Fart with not so much as a friend to call his own. Life was lonely, quite sad too, surely if anyone had given him a bit of a chance they could see he would be a good a friend. Maybe they didn’t like his lip, or his hairless head and neck. Maybe it was because Fart had always been a bit thin due to his condition, more often than not he could use a bit of weight, especially in the winter months. Poor nutrition mean that his coat wasn’t as grand and shiny as some, that it was not as pristine as it could be if he could properly eat without fear of death. Then again it could be that, well, he was a bit smelly. No one knows why really, he had always been that way. As if something inside him had gone a bit sour, been left out too long or forgotten. Recently, probably by accident on all accounts, Fart had somehow managed to get a mare pregnant with child. His child. He himself isn’t really sure how he managed it. Likely the poor dear had been drunk, one too many fermented crab apples. Maybe she just flat out had poor judgement, or eyesight, her nose was stuffy. It could have been any one of those things, likely it had to be a combination of them all, else we can suspect she was flat out desperate. However it happened, it did happen, much to Fart’s own surprise and elation. It had to be the longest interaction with another animal he had had in years, by far it was a record time for being in the presence of a woman. Today Fart is, as you have perhaps guessed, alone. He strolls the edges of the Meadow, careful not to get too close to anyone else, especially other males. The green male had been run off, beat up and verbally abused enough by now to know better than to creep too close to another stallion. Dirty looks didn’t bother him at this point, often he kept his eyes on the ground anyway, lifting them only to make sure he was not on course to run into anything. We can be sure he receives several glares as he passes, flicking his tail at the random flies that more often than not badger him. He has no plans, no tasks for the day besides continuing to be invisible and it is in this aimless wandering that he suddenly blacks out. No warning, no sign of a fight or danger, just blackness. When he wakes, and you can be sure that he does, everything is still dark- still blackness. It’s a bit of time before his eyes adjust to the dim light, slowly making shapes out of objects and hard lines form as walls. Walls. Stalls. Of course stalls, but how he even knows what that is, is news to him. It seems our good Fart has woken in a dungeon, a basement even. A dungeon or a basement with horse stalls, one in which he comfortably fits. In this stall there is fresh, sweet-smelling hay to eat, there is grain or mash, something he has never had the pleasure of tasting. Not only is there food to fill his sickly-thin belly but there is a trough of cool, clear water for him to drink. Deciding that he is feeling rather thirsty, he first chooses to have a long sip of the drink provided- once he stands up of course. His hairless head is pounding, aching and he isn’t sure how exactly he got here. One moment he was walking the Meadow, this he knows, the next...well, can’t say what happened next. A long blank stretched into darkness and then, bam, here. Where is here? Couldn’t say that either but now that he finds his legs, he can hear and smell others around him. Nervousness greets him first, he’s never been so close for so long, even separated by walls he isn’t sure that it is entirely safe for him to even breathe too much in their direction. His lime hued ears flutter about on his head, turning this way and that at the shuffle of hooves, the low whicker from far off- a scream, a shout. Blasting the room with sound is a cry, a shrill noise of agony and fear. Pain. The idea registers quickly, so quick that Fart jerks at the next sound, a low whisper from someone else locked away in this room. “What was that?” it asks, full of concern, full of worry. “Dunno,” another says but Fart can not see to whom the voices belong, he can smell distinctly that there are other horses, but which ones? No idea. “I can’t get out,” another calls, frightened, followed by the thuds and scrapes of hooves on wood. Another scream fills the air, covering any more of the current conversation, and Fart too wishes he could cover something- his ears. Decidedly, this was not the place to be. This was most certainly the place to not be, how could it be anything but? This continues long, long into what he imagines is the night. A lone cricket chirps from somewhere in the dark hole they have been brought, and certainly this reminds him of night, of the stars and the moon- but none of those things are present now. There is only more dark when he looks up, only the hazy silhouettes of the other horses when he dares peak out from his stall. He doesn’t try this often, insisting that they can see him even in the shallow light, somehow that they can make out the missing hair, the notch in his lip. He would say they could smell him too but even here there are too many horses to determine what stench comes from where- and in their fear it wasn’t the most pleasant smelling place at times. When Fart can not manage to sleep against the sound of cries, the squeal of screams that emerge from an unknown place, he tries to eat. He tries to savor the delicious food, the hearty grain he has been given and if he must die, he is glad to have it. Surely he will die, that is why they are here. Why else would they be locked away? Why else would they be subject to the tortured screams from other horses, undoubtedly other horses from this very same room? Maybe he has been given more than he deserves, allotted the small span of time for life and used it unwisely. Either way, he sleeps, deep and heavy with a belly unusually full for the slender, lime green roan. How long he sleeps, I can’t say, the hours are meaningless without the guidance of the sun and the moon. When he does finally wake it is because he is woken, the latch of his stall lifting and a funny looking man standing before him. A smile, a ”You’re next” and before Fart can pretest or attempt to flee he is frozen- eyes and nostrils wide with fear and uncertainty. silent but deadly RE: Oh look, another quest! - Fascade - 06-28-2016 through dangers untold and hardships unnumbered f a s c a d e RE: Oh look, another quest! - Slaybell - 06-28-2016 Merry Christmas, you filthy animal ❄ Slaybell ❄ The Christmas Bitch RE: Oh look, another quest! - Offspring - 06-28-2016 THE EARTH IS ALIVE, AND MAN IS A PARASITE. AND HEAVENLY BODIES MAKE US FIGHT.
Time. It was something he had taken for granted for much of his lifetime. Having been cursed with an infinite meter and a too-still clock that had long since ceased to tick, he had little reason to cherish his own time on Earth. There had been many times over the years that his heart and mind had been stolen away by heartbreak, loneliness and sorrow. It left a lingering ache, one that filled up the proverbial gaping wound within his chest any and every time he took a moment to wallow in it. Even now, with the adoration and affection of his sons, daughters and beloved Isle, it remained - a constant reminder of what would persist long after all of their bodies had perished and their souls had moved on. It is only a matter of time until what he clung so tightly to his pounding, yearning heart faded away, as it all had before and eventually would again. He breathes heavily, the icy chill of evening penetrating his lungs as he inhales sharply once more. He has parted from his beloved's side, sated by the knowledge that she has fallen into a lulling sleep. Their children, full of youth and vigor beneath the warmth of day all lay near one another now, solemn and quiet, cradled by the light of the moon. He puts a hefty distance between his own massive, towering body and their own petite figures; it takes careful precision and bated breath to leave without disturbing them but he has mastered the craft after many nights of doing so. Tonight is no exception. His deeply set crimson eyes hide behind thick eyelashes as he allows the frigid breeze to wash over his heavily muscled, scarred physique - his sinewy muscles tense as he flexes them, and his various puckered, pink scars shimmer in the bright moonlight. He inhales slowly and deliberately, willing his anxiety away from him - he is a serious, stoic King - a stallion of many burdens and looming troubles, though he rarely allows prying eyes to see the way that it ages his soul and the way that it weighs so heavily on his mind. His heart still aches from the bitter, terse words shared by he and his lover, and he knows that hers does as well. Their wounds had been mended on the very surface, settled with hot, urgent touches and midnight trysts (she was swollen again - rounded with the curve of his unborn child, but still their seeping wounds of distrust remain). An unusual shift in the wind causes him to rouse from his deep thoughts, and his tangled tresses fall in the way of his searing red eyes as he gazes towards the sky - when he is abruptly struck by the nauseating, overwhelming aroma of molasses. It suffocates him, drowns him, and within mere moments, the ice King is rendered useless - helpless. His tight muscles go lax and his bones refuse to co-operate with the fierce demands of his mind, and suddenly .. everything fades to black. -- He awakes, his mind and cranium both heavy with a drowsiness he had not experienced in many years. It causes him to lapse not once, but twice into unconsciousness, probed only by the shrill, pained shrieks of another. He is unsure how long he has been unconscious, but he is certain it has been far too long. Hours? Days? His heart begins to pound and rattle against his rib cage, and his blood begins to surge within his veins, but still he struggles to lift anything but his own eyes from the ground. His massive physique lingers on the hard, stone floor (which, though it is covered in a thin layer of prickling hay, only causes him more discomfort) for several minutes before he finally regains control over his muscles, which spasm sporadically. Wearily, he raises his massive skull up, peering around him. His burning red eyes struggle to focus for a long moment, but when he can finally see the scope of his imprisonment, his heart leaps and swells within his throat. Tiredly, Offspring rises, though his legs are uneven for a time until he manages to shake the remnants of his somnolence away. Wary now, he examines the thick, metallic bars that surround him on each side, anchored into heavy planks of wood that box him into a prison cell far too small for his height and bulking weight. Furiously, he moves forward, pressing the crest of his forehead with force against the bars in rapid succession, testing each of their strength - biting with his blunt teeth, only to find that they are fortified beyond what his brute force can take on. A surge of terror and rage alike fill his heart, which now threatens to pound out of his chest - he can hear the way it echoes in his ears, drowning out the pained shrieks of someone else, someone who has no name, trapped beyond a door in the distance. He turns away from the stall door, lashing out with staunch, powerful kicks, to no avail. He paces now, thick, muscled legs pounding against the hard pavement as he circles closely within his confinement. He pauses for a moment to take in the scent of dirt and sweat that lingers on the hay offered and the too-tempting water offered, and he scoffs irritably at both. But then, a thought occurs to him - water. Ice! With a sharp glimmer looming in his burning eyes, he focuses and attempts to draw out the depths of his power - willing himself to surge with thick shards of ice from every pore, urging frost to encase every square inch of his body - but nothing comes of it. Nothing. He is left a shell of his former self, warm to the core, flesh hot and burning to the touch from the mere intensity of his movements. The ice. It .. it's gone? he laments within his own mind, the energy behind his surge of adrenaline beginning to fade away. He searches around him, to the barred walls that surrounds him, to the panicked creatures lingering behind caged walls of their own. My immortality .. is it gone too? Am I destined to die here? Another cry of tortured pain erupts from behind the walls again, echoing within his mind. Over and over. Louder and louder. He looks around, dizzy once more with the realization that something bigger, more powerful than himself is looming - and then, he sees her. Painted indigo and obsidian, a four-horned female remains too still in the stall beside his own. She exudes an uneasiness of her own, and yet she lacks the same urgency he has loitering in every fiber of his being. He cannot help but to focus his darkened eyes upon her, staring with an intensity he cannot explain, when she must feel his crimson stare searing into her. She turns her cheek, emerald eyes (banded by black, intensifying her gaze) peering into his own, and he cannot tear himself away. She is too quiet, too wary. She knows something. At last, his eyes tear away from hers and his heart seizes within his chest - with a loud bang, a heavy wooden door clashes against cobblestone and heavy footsteps (two-step - was it two-legged?) settle against the floor in a rhythmic pattern. He lurches away from the door of his stall, muscles tensed again as he braces himself, but eventually the sound fades away and the cries begin once more. The minutes fade into hours, and weariness once more begins to set into him. His resolve settles finally, and reluctantly, he tastes the sweetness of the hay and the icy chill of the water. With a full and aching belly, he struggles to rest but he cannot. He cannot ward away the shrill screams, or the pleading sobs that echo in his brain. When he peers into the stall beside him for any semblance of reassurance, he sees nothing. She's gone. But when - how? The indigo-painted female is gone, stolen away. He begins to think of his beautiful Isle - of her sweet doe eyes, her gentle kisses and caresses. He lingers on Neverwas and Argo, his precious sons and their fragile innocence. Their wholesome hearts. He drifts to his precious daughters, Lieschel, Maribel and Australis, each a beautiful and precious piece of his heart and soul. His heart becomes heavy and jaded, burdened by sorrow and anger. He laments again, pressing his obsidian pelt roughly against the scratching wood of his stall as he collapses into his own woe, when all at once, he is uncomfortably still. Every piece of him is frozen into place, seized by something so much more foreboding than his mind had feared. His life begins to flash before him as his crimson eyes peer into the darkness, unnerved by the slow, low rattling of an opening door. Fear, fury and dread fill him to the very brim, washing over him like the unforgiving tide. Time. His time was up. OFFSPRING the ice king of the tundra
RE: Oh look, another quest! - Malis - 06-29-2016 MALIS makai x oksana |