"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
02-26-2016, 11:40 PM (This post was last modified: 02-27-2016, 07:16 PM by Vanquish.)
there is no good or evil
there is only power and those too weak to seek it
The world around them erupts into blood and ash and flame, the soundless drums of war wild in all of their hearts. There is all manner of beast and demon and angel that clashed here amongst the burning Chamber trees. They watched in dying sentinel as the dragonfire continued to burn around them. Prague’s magic is too quick, too feral to be controlled and she shifted continuously, each form more deadly and exotic than the last. The draft doesn’t notice as she sends out the slithering tendrils of vines to snatch around Warships legs as he made his assault – he is already making his descent into the black Chamberling’s body, heavy hooves reaching for any mark.
Others come now and the Nightwalker can feel the thick mingling of their powers in the air as they clashed amongst the smolders. His gaze catches his granddaughter Lexa for but a breath before diamond armor, as black as his shadow skin, covered her frame and the tightness in his chest lessened just a little.
The young mare from before that had shuddered his bones with light was beset by a stallion who burned from his own conjuring. The dragon-king turns to move against the stallion and wolves that bore down upon the girl when he feels hooves and teeth against his back. His wings are membranous, pliable things fortified by boning and talons, these were no silk draperies that hung at his sides. So while the mare’s teeth and hooves find no true purchase on the dragon’s wings, her hooves dig into his black haunch. She comes upon him from behind, teeth and hooves flailing (it would be near a miracle if she managed to miss any of the cactus barbs that covered the great draft’s body) and so he drops his heavy head, coiling his haunches and bucking into whatever undercarriage he could reach – if anything at all. It is always a risky move, intermingling your legs with another, but it is only an instinctual reaction.
Soon he feels a great rush of heaviness move past him, smelling of Jungle and familiarity. He doesn’t need to turn to know it is Lagertha that has arrived, the iron-grey mare’s presence was felt in more than one way. He doesn’t move to make retribution on the mare that Lagertha was now engaging – she needed no help. He thinks to look for his battling rock-statues and who they now had moved their sights upon but he doesn’t waste the seconds on it. He hasn’t stepped over any piles of bedrock yet and so he only assumes the two were still doing what they could – with a rock brain and all.
His black-silk skin is flecked in white flesh cuts, the feathers about his feet thoroughly singed and the Nightwalker roars as he revels in the moment, in the sweet lust of war. That is, before he sees the child murdered before him, the second mare to die before his eyes today. He has no benevolence to give to the mewling tiger that reeled back from the dead girl, mouth bloodied and dripping and yet he dared to whimper as if felt any regret. The tiger says something but the words are nothing to the Deserts king’s ears.
The armored Percheron attempts to send three tall walls of sand up around Ribcage before he can falter further into the sidelines, the walls would have been made of rock instead of sand if his powers were not already so taxed. Perhaps Ribcage can scurry up the sand walls, perhaps not – either way the titan is charging into the opening, cactus-spiked hooves berating whatever fell beneath him. A flush of heat scours up his spine as Cress blows her fire but he is too focused on the child-killer to care about his burning wings.
ooc- Vanquish didnt notice Prague's vines attempting to pull Warship away so he still strikes for whatever he can. He turns to help Joselin but Starlace attacks his back, although not ripping his wings she strikes his haunches and he bucks into whatever part of her is still behind him. He doesn't attack Starlace when he knows Lagertha can handle her and turns to see Ribcage kill Larken. Vanquish sends up three sand walls around the tiger, hoping to trap him in and then he tries to trample him into an animal-print piece of shit. Cress burns his back with her flames and also two of Vanquish's rock replications are still out there so feel free to interact/powerplay/destroy those.
What have I done? Oh, my...Oh, my. This was a terrible idea, what was I thinking. I don't know how to war. I am about as useful as a babe. This air burns and there is too much noise. Why did I leave the Dale? I should have stayed. There is so much going on if I'm not trying to avoid some tree flying up out of the ground I am being chased by some grouchy chamberling. Let me tell you my little itty bitty legs are no good for this kind of work. Oh my, oh my. Why did Weir have to go galavanting off to throw himself into this war? Oh, where did he go? Oh has anyone even seen him? He has poofed before. that little bugger. Oh, my... oh my...
"Weir?!!?"
Oh, what I thinking. I hear a crack behind me and I fly in a series of double barrel kicks, squealing with fright and determination. It was a stupid pine tree excel-o-growing. I move off quickly deeper into the ever growing forest. I figure I will help Weir once I found him. At least, that is what I thought I would do.... but then I got here and it is not a good place to be for little ol me. I don't know what I thought I would do here. snap. I flung myself up in the air whirling towards the sound.
"WEEEIIIIIIRRRR!!!!"
I squeal-shout my usual tenor growing more soprano with each scare. Maybe I should just go back to the Dale. I turn but there are horses, big ones I would never outrun and they are no longer ignoring the little pony.... they look amused and intrigued. I gulp, and mutter under my breath. "oh my... oh my... this is no good."
"WEIR! WEEIIIR!! WEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEIIIR!!!!
I Turn back into the forest and take off at a run, but I know if the other pursue they will easily catch up. This is what I get when I take advice like "don't underestimate your size." and "determination will make you successful. I zig zag through the trees, but still heard others around me. Oh, I do how I find Weir soon.
» death is nothing, but to live defeated and inglorious is to die daily «
- Fynn enter chamber looking for Weir- to help him/Dale, but is big scaredy cat.
- feel tree to: chase, taunt, pick-on, and/or mildly torture the little fallabella.
02-27-2016, 03:16 AM (This post was last modified: 02-27-2016, 08:09 AM by Draconis.)
YOU NEVER SAW IT FROM MY PERSPECTIVE, THE CRAFT THAT I PERFECTED GOT REJECTED AND THROWN OUT THE WINDOW WITH NO PROPER EXIT. I WAS HUMBLE, NOW I'M NOT AS PLEASANT. I'M DROPPING WRECKAGE ON YOUR SHADY DYNASTY. BITCH I'M NOT TO MESS WITH.
The young mare pauses to let out a quick sigh of relief. So much was going on, the battle was intensifying by the very second, and having direct orders from her Khaleesi was something for Draconis to grasp onto and keep focused upon. She does just as she's told, keeping close yet avoiding the poisonous barbs as warned about. She can't imagine that it would be a very pleasant way to die were she to prick herself against that jagged armor. The firebreather sees another mare appear, small of stature, who attacks the heavy draft stallion as fearlessly as if she were of identical height, sees Lagertha joining this new melee. She follows as instructed, wishing that she had the additional ability to make her flames be harmless against allies, make them harm only those she wished, but she might as well wish for a cherry sundae while she's at it; the fire from within her did not care who it might harm once it was unleashed, and she must choose her target with the utmost of precision when battlers were entangled with one another. Of course, this *was* war, it was chaos, and precision didn't matter when bodies were charging and jostling and colliding, and she can only hope luck holds out and that no accidental damage occurs.
The small enemy mare strikes at the dragon-winged stallion, who bucks at her before moving off to strike against a tiger with a fallen child at its feet. She gasps in horror upon seeing the foal's body. Larken, Lexa's little sister? How had she gotten here? Draconis gives her head a quick shake, forcing herself back to reality, for there was no time to be mourning a fallen Jungle resident lest she become such herself. She waits for Lagertha's strike to be carried out against the other mare, then follows up, breathing out a fireblast towards where she hopes their opponent had ended up, hoping she had positioned it correctly to burn its way through the air and into fur and skin enough that it will damage her enough to remove her from the fighting. The young Sister doesn't know this mare, doesn't wish death upon her, but certainly doesn't want her to be killing any of them, either. She realizes suddenly that while she knew a number of Amazons were here in the Chamber, Rhy is not among them. Where was her mother? Draconis spares a hope that she is safe somewhere, and that they will find each other after.
The moment the stallion comes back to his ‘senses’ he turns on her, yelling at her to get down and covering her with a tattered wing. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” What kind of soldier is he, protecting the foreign princess that JUST attacked him. Idiot. “I’ll do what I damn well please, Chamberling.” She spits at the ground and wrestles herself out from under his wing. Her skin crawls where the tattered flesh had touched it, and her teeth snap out at the wing as it is withdrawn. “I don’t care about Topsail.” She’s never even spoken to the other Gates princess, let alone seen the girl. And if Topsail has gotten herself into this mess as well she can damn well take care of herself.
She can tell the stallion’s fading, and decides to back off. Well, physically. He’s prattling on again and she can’t help but snort derisively. “What the fuck are you talking about? You’re trying to tell me it’s not the Chamber’s fault because some son of Gryffen killed her?” She’s honestly a bit surprised that it wasn’t the red-eyed stallion himself, but it doesn’t matter. Fiasko had been brutalized all the same. “He’s still part of your kingdom right?” Must have been, her mother would have left the place after making a deal like that. “Still part of the Chamber. And even if he wasn’t, your bitch-queen promised her safety. Promised that she wouldn’t be harmed. She … no, all of you, failed in that promise.”
A palomino mare suddenly appears beside Killdare, taking a moment to stop and look at the stallion. “What the …?” It takes Sidra a moment too long to realize what the mare is doing - by the time that she does, the palomino is already gone. “Shit.” Well that’s not fair - the stallion appears nearly as fresh as he surely had been at the start of the battle. But there’s nothing she can do about it now. Gritting her teeth she steps forward, bringing herself head to head with the bay stallion. Then she rears, trying to strike out at him with her hooves. She’s not done with him yet.
Sidra
the wild child of jason x fiasko
TLDR: Sidra swears even more, attacks Killdare again.
02-27-2016, 08:17 AM (This post was last modified: 02-27-2016, 09:18 AM by Killdare.)
THE DRAGON'S IRE, MORE FIERCE THAN FIRE
Killdare is not his father.
He grunts, his wing lifting and smacking to the ground again as Sidra crawls from beneath its membrane prison. Girls, so moody and it doesn’t get any better as they get older- believe him he would tell you.
She’s piss and vinegar, snarling words back at him as if he had wielded the ax himself. He had planned on keeping his word, the one he himself made, that the girls would do their time in the Chamber and after they would go home. Whole.
But the fight has not left this one, she’s angered, directing her emotion at him likely because he is within striking distance. Killdare is not evil, he may be a Chamberling but he was not as sinister as some of the demons lurking within it. He was it seemed, painted with the scarlet letter, no matter what he said to this child she would not, not group him with those monsters.
He’s pleased as with help from several magicians and healers and shadow-men alike he himself might leave this fight whole. He can fly now anyways, that’s all that matters.
“Fine, you want a fight?” He barks as she rears, hoping to strike him and no sooner do her hooves connect with his chest than does he send a slate talon to her head. With his own giant melon he thrusts it into her, hoping to send her careening to the ground if she has not already done so. Let her sleep that one off.
With his refreshed and knitted wings he takes to the sky, shaking off the dull ache where the child’s hooves had found flesh. He had been hit harder by horses tougher than her. He grunted, finding the skies and in them Eight, Set and Evrae.
TL;DR killdare fight sidra back, takes to the sky to rally with eight,set, and evrae (uhh they in the skies right as like dragons and wyrms and ducky ospreys?)
The horizon is dark with the charcoal skies. The fires had burned relentlessly and over time had been extinguished but the land would be bruised for a long time, foliage is charred, broken and beaten from the actions of the equines that inhabited the lands.
The chestnut woman was not sure where to go or what to do. But she did know the Gates were in need of her.
They needed a healer.
Slim appendages pull her along, following the imbedded prints of hooves. They were solid and heavy. Nares expanding and contracting as she attempted to decipher the smells like hieroglyphics. Nails halt the small mare as she looks in desperation for the calls to be repeated where she is needed but with a sudden deep breath she is again flying on light hooves.
The empathetic feelings fill her, pulling her heart and she sees the massive form of Vanquish. She can see from her place he is suffering...in pain. In another direction is a mare (Sidra) there and fighting desperately. Now Bother (Bo) had never formally meet either of them but in this war the small mare had chosen to side with the Gates. After all, her gentle nature never would coincide with the Chamber or Valley...
But! Back to our scene.
Bother was a whopping 14.2 hands...not that big but certainly nothing compared to her mother's 15 inches. But any who, the small mare new what her purpose was. She clears her mind with her eyes closed, concentrating on a white ball of light. it is warm and soft and comforting. it grows bigger and brighter. It's consuming but mesmerizing as Bother concentrates on it, feeding it with her own being. As she focuses she conjures the form of Vanquish and that of Draconic and inserts them within the healing orb. She pictures them deep within the warm, bright and healing light. She imagines their wounds healing, their cuts and tears and sores all restoring themselves. Their broken and torn appendages mending themselves as Bother heals them with her only real power. She imagines them with renewed strength.
They may not know her and she may not know them but they all fight for the same cause and Bother would do what she could to aid from the sidelines. But wait- what's that? "Hey, hey!" She calls tentatively to a rather smaller stallion, smaller than she had ever seen before. "Are you ok?" She calls to Fynn (though she doesn't know his name). Perhaps this was not the best time to inquire but she felt compelled to check on the little stallion's well being from her bunker away from the actual violence. Her calls are a loud whisper, trying for his attention.
Bother has healed Sidra and Vanquish with her healer's abilities, restoring much of their strength and physical wounds as best as she can but not fully for it completely exhausts her.
She is able to heal as long as she can visual a horse(s) in her mind.
You can beat up on her but don't kill her.
Down is hard, Down is painful, Down is confusing. Down is not like Up but what horse would ever understand that complexity outside his own blood? Perhaps his Sire? At that he snorts, tossing his gold adorned head. From the Gates he speeds, pounding at the hard winter earth, thundering a path towards the destruction.
Down is war.
Behind he’s left his grieving sisters, his young niece, his herd. Somehow, though they can not explain it, he just knew the moment his Mother’s heart stopped beating. The beings here in Down were so very odd, so very temporary and she had done it all for what, them? What short fleeting life the Gods had given her, she had sacrificed when the Raven mare approached them in the meadow.
He’s never understood this body, these horses, it’s never really sunk in as deep as it has now. The silvered stallion tosses his head, throwing his nose to the sky and giving more to his mad dash to the fight. Guthrie remembers being infinite, he recalls the gentle laughter of the sun and simple stories of the moon. He remembers that feeling of being sucked from the Heavens, of being placed into a prison that would never last. A dark face and hand which guided him there, as vast as himself if not more so.
It was a shuddering and painful fate, it was a worse pain to accept it, but he had- he had to. Just as he had to accept the war which raged within this world, the part it played in that absence of the gentle creature that birthed him. She did not know the part in which she played in something bigger than she- she never would either, she had been robbed of that.
He wanted to look upon the face of the executioner, he wanted to see what evils Down truly held. Set his starlit eyes on the bloodstained hoof that would smite the world of such purity.
02-27-2016, 05:14 PM (This post was last modified: 02-27-2016, 05:15 PM by Lyris.)
Of course, being in the middle of a war, it doesn’t take long for someone to to pick on the fat old mare that looks a little lost. She can’t blame them, really - she looks like an easy target. And compared to what she used to be, she is - she’s old, out of shape, and well out of practice.
But she’s far from defenceless.
The moment his teeth sink into her withers she moves instinctively, calling the winds about her and flinging herself fifty feet up in the air. Unfortunately she doesn’t dislodge him - his teeth are stuck fast, and his hind legs scrabble at her ribs, scoring long red scratches through her coat. Ugh that’s going to leave a mark. Ah well, at least she still has her pretty face and winning disposition. Well, maybe scratch that last one. Ok, ok scratch both of them.
She’s momentarily distracted when she spots an oh-so-familar figure poking out of the trees at the edge of the battlefield. Bloody hell, when will that kid learn?! “LARKEN, GET YOUR ASS BACK TO THE JUNGLE!” But she’s too far away … and the foolish girl has bumped into a tiger, of all things. A tiger that quickly sets about sinking its fangs into her throat.
Any other parent would be panicking at this point, but Lyris has the advantage of a little secret up her sleeve. Once upon a time a faerie had seen fit to give her a little gift - a ‘regeneration.’ Lyris had eventually realized that she was never going to use it herself (what with the lack of wars and all … oopsies), and had asked the faerie to give it her … impulsive (but well loved) daughter Larken. She’s rather glad at the moment that she’d made that decision. The idiotic girl will die, but her body will regenerate itself, hopefully by which point Lyris or Prague will have had the chance to move her to somewhere she can’t get into even more trouble.
Perhaps Larken will even learn a valuable lesson from the this. Though that’s probably hoping for too much. The girl does have brains, she just adamantly refuses to use them.
But back to the more urgent matter at hand. The wolf’s teeth are still clenched painfully into her withers, and Lyris decides to do what any belaboured flying horse would do at this point - take him on a bit of a roller coaster ride. She drops from fifty feet in the air to ten in a matter of seconds, then takes him soaring over the heads of the other battlers (though under the dragons, she’d rather avoid those), adding in a few loop-de-loops for good measure. Hopefully he’ll end up having a hard time hanging on to her, let alone his lunch. But, just for caution’s sake she starts to head in Prague’s direction. If she can’t dislodge him, surely the magician can.
Lyris
I’ll burn this whole city down
html by maat | gif by headlikeanorange.tumblr.com
TLDR: Lyris gets attacked by Lupei, witnesses her daughter getting killed (and in wonderful motherly fashion, doesn't care), Lyris takes Lupei on a roller coaster ride over everyone's heads, spewing wind everywhere (if you wish, you have my permission to powerplay her winds - she's paying more attention to Lupei than anyone else at this point), Lyris starts flying low over everyone's heads towards Prague, with Lupei still attached.
02-27-2016, 10:08 PM (This post was last modified: 02-27-2016, 10:09 PM by Lexa.)
the dead are gone, and the living are hungry.
She lashes out at the mare, expecting her carbon enforced hooves to make contact with the mare’s blue coat … only to discover that the mare has turned tail and disappeared. “Wha …?” Lexa’s feet crash back to the ground and she pauses, momentarily confused. Why bother to join the battle if you’re going to turn and run the moment you have an opponent? Coward.
A familiar voice screams out overhead, and Lexa looks up, both startled and amused to see her mother high overhead, with what appears to be a wolf hanging off of her shoulder. Typical. Even in battle Lyris can’t help but make a scene.
But then Lexa realizes what her mother had been yelling, and her eyes follow her mother’s back to the ground and to the far side of the battlefield. Larken. Bloody hell.
“LARKEN GET OUT OF HERE!” In the same instant she realizes what her sister has bumped into. “LARKEN!” But it’s too late. Lexa watches, frozen, as the tiger rips through her baby sister’s throat. Watches, horrified, as blood pours down her sister’s chest and life leaves her helpless body.
You see, Lyris hadn’t told Lexa about Larken’s regeneration. She doesn’t know that her little sister will come back.
To her, her little sister is gone, dead. And there’s nothing she can do.
TLDR: Lexa witnesses her sister's death, is frozen in horror.
She has not seen the light of day in so long, buried away in her own nook of the world. OBVIOUSLY, these people didn't respect that others were about to head to bed and so Marsla marches her happy, old ass out to the battle. She doesn't particularly care who is on what side but she wants sleep and some solace, dammit. She sees a girl freaking out and another close by - perhaps a sister or a lover, kids these days were freaky like that.
"Hey you, yeah - fuck off, I'm trying to sleep okay!" she says, disgruntled and rearing to hit the girl. Marsla doesn't have time for your shit Karen. Well, this was going to be interesting - her entire life had been lived as a hermit and in her dying days (or minutes rather) she would be speaking for the first time and violent. Being a woman was strange.
MARSLA
damn this really sucks.
TLDR: Marsla attacks Lexa because she wants to sleep and just honestly picks the nearest target.
Murder how how you wish!
