the Rift

It's Dark In Here [Graveyard, Archibald]

d'Artagnan the Nightshade Posts: 364
Aurora Basin General atk: 6 | def: 9 | dam: 6.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 17hh :: 12 HP: 68.5 | Buff: ENDURE
Aramis :: Common Hellhound :: Hellfire & Superspeed imi
d'Artagnan the Nightshade

d’Artagnan didn’t know why he was here, a rotting barn well past its best years, nor really why he was dressed like he was. The outfit seemed good at the time and he took a rather sick humour in the way he looked all knightly and noble. Agitation laced the Time Mender’s sigh and he grumbled under his breath, noting he should’ve left the hat out as it bounced against the back of his ears, a rather large white feather tickling his neck making his eyes bulge in irritation. To say the least, it was putting the stalking beast in a foul mood and he entertained the idea of ripping it off and stamping on it. The blue and yellow cape was tolerable, however, and was something quite bright that stood out in the tiniest bit of light the barn was provided by lamps. A sword completed his outfit, useless in combat as it was made out of some substance that couldn’t even pierce flesh and for some reason it was stuck to its scabbard, so it hung uselessly by his side, held in place by leather straps that slung around his withers. The Nightshade had complimented his outfit by using the last of his fake blood, splattered down his glass weapons and marring his face in splotches of blood red.

Accompanying him as ever was his loyal soldier, Aramis, who had come in new attire as well. He looked… Odd, in a word. At least to d’Artagnan anyway. Paws had slid neatly through holes in a leather number, that stretched across his back and was decorated in silver studs. He’d covered the top of his head with blood, perhaps yesterdays dinner, and it matted his fur into clumps with a stench that made the shade’s nose wrinkle. Lastly, slung around his furry neck on a moon coloured chain, was a silver bullet that bounced against his chest. The hell dog had said nothing about his choice and simply followed d’Artagnan silently, enduring each strange look his bonded gave him now and then. Turning his attention, finally, away from his companion, the shade took the time to gaze about his surroundings.

Noting the strange looking areas tied off with some material. Odd tools that looked like they could do some damage lined the walls, behind him were closed wooden doors and moldy hay accompanied by some unhealthy looking feeders kept the locked door company. The right wall had a narrow corridor that looked as if it led to another room and a slight breeze picked up strands of tangled, black mane. Under foot the ground was hard, compact with dirt, but easy enough to walk on. The place was lit just enough for him to see properly, apart from one part of the barn, where a lamp lingered on the verge of death and threatened to impair his ability to see.

All in all the shade would have dismissed the place as rather dull and uninteresting apart from the mean looking tools on the wall. However, he wasn’t alone here. Spirits haunted the filthy abode, souls who used to work here still or live here had not yet left it and d’Artagnan shivered once, crimson lobes twitching back and forth in uncertainty. It probably wasn’t wise to remain, but the Doctor had never really given much credit to the theory that ghosts existed, so remain he did. Intrigued that perhaps, unbelievably, he was wrong.

It was then, his curious gaze spotted the giant outline, the smell of another horse and his ears laced back brushing against the muddy hat. Who was it? It wasn’t a scent he recognized, it might be someone out to get revenge, he had many enemies after all. It might be someone coming back to finish the job, there must be a reason why this place is haunted after all, maybe he was next on the list to join the undead party. d’Artagnan sneered and launched himself into a canter, kicking up the odd bit of dirt behind him, aiming straight for the stranger whilst Aramis lingered behind. Golden eyes tensely watching his bonded launch his attack, muscles on spring alert ready to aid. Rolling back his coal lips, the mender aimed for a sharp bite at the strangers right shoulder, his own gaze holding an odd sense of wildness to it.

He was most certainly not going to die in a dingy, smelly barn, that was not the way for d’Artagnan the Nightshade to end his days.

[This is an OOC Challenge Spar for the Graveyard Championships.

w/c: 767 || ⅓ || setting
d’Artagan is dressed up as a disney’s version of a musketeer.
and Aramis is dressed as a punk rocker.

Good luck time! :D]
Credits: Image by Tamme


my heart’s an endless winter
              filled with rage

Use force at your own peril ;) please tag me!

Archibald the Dauntless Posts: 386
Absent Abyss atk: 6.0 | def: 9.5 | dam: 8
Stallion :: Equine :: 18.3 hh :: 10 years HP: 80 | Buff: SHIELD
Loretta :: Alaskan Malamute :: Time Slip Time

watch your tongue or have it cut from your head

The dark was cold and dreary, and the Dauntless did not understand why the barn had called to him so. Maybe, somewhere in the back of his mind, it reminded him of the Tome Guardian’s home, the broken ghoul’s cathedral. It was an odd building though, standing tall but still deteriorating in and around itself. It was a curious sort of thing, and Archibald stood within its walls with uncertainty. His white painted face reached out as he touched his nose to a cold, metal object. It was not sharp and it did not hurt him, but the metallic scent reminded him of the taste of blood and he flicked his tail in an uncomfortable sort of manner. The brute did not feel fear as he stood in the building, but there was a thick fog of unease that nipped at his feathered hooves. Loretta, silently at his side, lowered herself to the ground and looked around with wide amber eyes, full of wonder and reverence. She, somehow, felt that whatever was in this building could cause her great pain and she was not going to provoke it in any manner.

Shaking his head shortly, with strands of forelock falling over golden eyes, Archibald shifted his weight and turned, heading down a narrow hall that was just wide enough for his hulking frame. Archibald’s crimson and black cape snagged on bits of rusted nails that poked from the decaying walls, but his strong body pulled the fabric loose and only picked small holes in it here and there. The popped collar of the cape tied loosely around the base of his neck with ribbon, the bow probably an easy thing to untie or snap. Behind him, Loretta’s cardboard bat wings knocked against each other, making a dull sort of smacking sound, as if someone was trying to gain entrance on the door. Blood, though not real, stained their maws juxtaposed, and their white feet also had the red splattering.

In the dark corridor, Archibald could see the figure of another horse. A glint of its horns solidified its genetics in his mind, and when he was about to call out to it, it turned on its heels and flung towards him with a wicked glint in its mismatched eyes. A small sense of panic flared in the back of Archibald’s mind as he felt suddenly trapped in the small hall, and he sent a will of his magic towards the approaching beast. He wanted its approach to slow, and instead of sending tremors out from his massive hooves, he sent his desire for bones to become stone. Stopping, the warlord quickly took over his curious mind, blocking out the thought of the barn and why he was here. Black ears slicked down and his chin tucked with training, hips tucking as he lifted his body in as much of a rear as he could manage. The cape fluttered over his thick shoulders, shifting more to the left side, and Archibald quickly struck his fore-hooves out at his attacker, hoping to demolish his chest or, if he chose to strike out and bite him, his head. Archibald grunted as his attacker’s teeth scraped shallowly over his right knee. A line of fur ripped from his skin, small dots of red pushing to the surface.

Archibald, in his hurry to defend himself, did not give himself enough room in the hallway. With a hard thud, the Dauntless’ poll smacked on the wall and his left shoulder smashed hard on a rusted s-hook, digging deep into the flesh over his scapula cartilage, just below his withers. A hiss of pain passed his pursed lips and his golden eyes snapped shut as pain rocked his head, shoulder and knee. Anger flared in his brain, sending electric shocks to his heart as blood began to pound in his ears. Loretta, with a sharp growl, ran forward, hoping to pass the two horses without a scrape by keeping close to the right wall. Her target was the elementally painted hellhound that stood yards behind d’Artagnan and Archibald. Her lips raised and wrinkled, an ugly snarl aiding in her deep throated growl. Jumping towards the smaller dog, Loretta reached out with her head, jaws parted, hoping to catch the youngling in her grasp and pin him to the ground like she had done to Manhattan so many times.

Archibald let his weight fall to all four of his hooves, and he rolled his shoulders forward painfully. Knowing he had to exit the hall, the behemoth pushed forward, hoping to knock straight into the blood bay and push him backwards. Archibald rocketed out many quick bites towards the right side of the unicorn’s neck, his eyes narrowed carefully as his head still rung with the pain of smacking it against the wall.

[WC: 804 | PC: 1/3 | ***EDIT: Archi is dressed as Dracula and Loretta is a bat. | Archibald uses his bone-to-stone magic, hoping to slow d'Artagnan down. He then rears slightly, striking out at d'Art's head or chest, and takes the bite to his right knee. He smacks his head on the wall as well as his shoulder, which gets a deep cut because of an s-hook. Archibald then trucks forward, biting at d'Artagnan's neck to try to push him back. || Wow sorry this is such an awkward post.]

Image Credits | Table by Stephy

Through the ages of time
I've been known for my hate,
but I'm a dealer of simple choices;
for me it's never too late.

please tag me

Official Posts: 847
Stallion :: Equine :: ::
Archibald wins by default.
No VP awarded.

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