"But the dream, the echo, slips from him as quickly as he had found it and as consciousness comes to him (a slap and not the gentle waves of oceanic tides), it dissolves entirely. His muscles relax as the cold claims him again, as the numbness sets in, and when his grey eyes open, there’s nothing but the faint after burn of a dream often trod and never remembered." --Brigade, written by Laura
06-20-2017, 09:36 PM (This post was last modified: 06-24-2017, 09:50 PM by Akkadian.)
Shakkad.
His eyes flashed with rage, but he obeyed. He obeyed his king as he was taught to. The fool had learned somehow, learned the meaning of his name and mocked him. Akkadian-Shakkad. Guardian of His. And he called him by the possession. His. His.
Well, he was NOT his. He was not HIS since the day his brother prince was murdered. Since he left after learning a painful family secret only to find his royal family brutally executed in a bloody massacre when he returned. He’d smelled the blood, even from the distance he’d gained. So much blood, the familiar metallic tang calling to him. It was his sole duty to protect them and he’d failed them all. All he had to do was keep his brother alive and he’d failed. He’d shamed his family.
And curse that bastard king for mocking him.
You. Light brown eyes the color of the sands of his homeland zeroed in on her, sharp and expert as he took her in a glance. Small, still young. A slight lean, uneven footing. Bored of waiting. Eyes? Bold, confident. Defiant. Feet? Solid. Legs.. slender but would grow into more muscle. Would be lean and quick rather than brawny and hammering. A balance somewhere between strength and agility. That damn lean, though.
He walked a circle around her, noting more details silently. When he reached her right shoulder, he gave a sudden firm shove, forcing her to either stumble and catch her balance or tumble to the ground. He didn't look back as he continued forward a few steps, naturally alert to curb any retaliation she might attempt. First lesson.
Nyka stood in a secluded area of Sylvia just enjoying her new home, waiting for her teacher. It wasn't long till she felt his presence. She could feel his gaze searching her bodice. You. He spoke, her auds pricked. She lifted her skull a bit, she could te;; he was about to make a move.
Was this her teacher? She hoped so. The man before her her was tall, strong, muscular besides a few scars. Looked like he knew his way around a battlefield.
Suddently she felt him shove rather aggressively into her right shoulder. Nyka, although not seaming like it by appearances, was ready. She took a few solid steps to the side, then pivoted her body to face him. She stood strong, waiting for the next 'attack'. She smirked.. "Well.. That's not a very kind way to introduce yourself." Nyka spoke. Her vocals warm, almost alluring. She lowered her skull slightly, yellow blaze shining in the sun, her dark brown orbs watching his every move.
lightning in her soul, thunder in her heart, and chaos in her bones
I V A R i'll use you as a makeshift gauge of how much to give and how much to take
He’s been waiting.
The blades master is difficult to find, but Ivar had seen him once before, from a distance. So when he sees the black horse stalking through the woods, he is ready. He follows Akkadian until the older stallion finds Nyka and only then emerges from the shadows. He’s made to effort to be unseen, but he joins them all the same, moving to stand beside Nyka as best as he can while still giving the mare room to maneuver.
He’s grown, nearly mature now, and is ready to begin his own training. The black tobiano colt watches Akkadian carefully, his brown eyes narrowed to take in the blades master. He certainly does look like a trained warriero, especially compared to the flawless Ivar. The young stallion lacks any serious scars, and certainly has earned none in battle.
