the Rift

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Deimos the Reaper Posts: 527
Deceased atk: 7.0 | def: 12 | dam: 6.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16.1 :: 7 HP: 72.5 | Buff: NUMB
Safety was a delusion, and he loathed the notion that they had to flee walls, peaks, and valleys that protected, shielded, and guarded them, because the world no longer gave credence to borders, to fringes, to power and domination. A touch of prowess, a fizzle of precision, a raucous blend of might and treachery couldn’t consume, couldn’t swallow, couldn’t devour the sinuous, bending lines of bedlam slinking past their door. He was left with a foreign bout of nothingness, because the devilish pull of his invocations, the noxious blend of his irreverence, the twist, the distortion, of his feral regime, held naught an edge of might over the schemes, the ruses, the labyrinths of their unholy perils. And even here, embarking deeper into the holds of this sanctuary, was a mysterious, foolish enterprise, because he held no ruminations over the subject, had never gleamed upon its walls, had no notion of what in its confines – whether it was to be their newfound tombs, gleaming sepulchers, decadent catacombs to hide their bones, or a true, unending sanctum, concealing them from the rotten oars of caustic imbalances and shades tangled and knotted across their eyes. The Reaper rarely roamed without deliberation, without the forethought, the knowledge, the sentiments and examination of meticulous movements; he harbored cool calculations, not the rushing harpoon of a foolish, fervent juvenile. But even now, he was ordained and dictated to run course as a ignorant beast, gambling, instigating risk instead of projections and predictions, and as his piercing eyes took in the long, extending walls, the scents of the unfamiliar, of lives paralyzed by their own actions form long ago and the current dilemmas, embroiled and unrolling into sweeping falls. He’d called his harem here to safeguard, seeking shelter when the chasm could crashing down upon their heads, and the sinking, toiling feeling bit at his blackguard munitions, fueled his instigated, ignited contemptuous soul. He sought information from its clambering forces, he reveled in the notion of grasping command, proficiency and arms from the alms of its supporting structure, and coveted the right of supremacy, ascendancy, again and again, until the machinations shook from his scathing spine, and the reticence of his brow christened his molten apathy. They’d live to see another day, to prosper, to unite, to divide, to triumph and conquer; starting with this heinous pestilence. The rest of the earth could wait to crumble.

[Basin people are free to join. I'd love some W.A.R. information (or any other info) as well, if anyone is passing by~]

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
But with the beast inside, there's no where we can hide

After the little meeting with the ought to be married couple and the strange daughter, d'Artagnan had skulked off exploring. Sticking to the darkest shadows before finding a secluded spot to sleep. Upon awaking he wrinkled his nose, caves never smelt too good, especially when it was full of sweaty horses and their muck. Aramis rose from his curled up position and stretched, arching his back as he flexed his paws. A cave was also not much place for a dog, d'Artagnan wondered how long Aramis would last before he started craving the open spaces of the mountains and the fields. Perhaps it was time they both set out on finding a little more information on what was actually going on. Shifting his bag that he was now growing accustomed to, the shade walked off to where he had been once before, where the waterfall crashed down from an unknown source. That room seemed less cramped, starting there was appealing.

He started out, keeping close to the walls as Aramis jogged in front, twitching ever so often when he heard a voice that sounded quite near. All he needed was some revenge seeking tick to jump out at him and there wasn't that much manoeuvre space to suddenly jump out of the way. He'd have to be careful and trust in Aramis' keener senses. He hadn't really much of a plan if the worst happened, he'd just have to make it up as he went a long and pray to his father's soul that he didn't die. Caves were becoming a love/hate thing rather quickly. He much preferred the little one he'd had in the Aurora Basin.

Soon they found themselves in a familiar place and the former mender suppressed a shudder when he saw the face who already occupied the room. What a stallion to meet in a damp dark cave. Even the Nightshade had to admit. "It's been a while since I've seen your ugly mug." He chuckled with relief. Deimos. Who'd of thought that even the Reaper would retreat here, but then again, the shade had to remind himself, Deimos had much more than just himself on his mind right now. "Lord Deimos, I hope the herd is well."
Credits: Image by Tamme

my heart’s an endless winter
              filled with rage

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

Deimos the Reaper Posts: 527
Deceased atk: 7.0 | def: 12 | dam: 6.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16.1 :: 7 HP: 72.5 | Buff: NUMB
The Reaper was not a creature meant to escape, to bolt or retreat; too consumed, too wretched, too rigid and unyielding to provide the notion of failure and unwinding ineptitude upon his brow – he didn’t wear vulnerability well, felt it choke like a vice around his throat. The sentiment collapsed along the taut foundation of his wake, a relentless visage of reticence and damnation, swallowed by the innards of a cavern and driving his soldiers, his brethren, his patriots, into another world with unknown fathoms and furtive depths. He’d been forced into a binding multitude of frustration, instead of extermination, obliteration, abominations, curving unholy filaments across monstrous scales and undaunted wakes, chiseling, piercing, slicing and severing the soulless eyes searching for his kingdom. He couldn’t fight malice with menace, couldn’t cast aside the weary threads of thrones and crowns, couldn’t chase, wander into the murky entrails of the searing palaces, the wayward pathways, watch the land burn, simmer, boil around him, stab and maul chaotic doldrums, embrace the labyrinth heresy. A twisted, disregarded, infernal devil, as though his hands were tied, mind fixated upon the unfamiliar, with no machinations or knowledge in sight beyond the gleam of safety and refuge upon a loam he’d never crossed, never tread, never seen. A forgotten piece of Mephistopheles’ power, left in the forgotten, stark, abandoned whims of a capricious irreverence, insignificant in the heartless throngs, lacquered for battle but incapable of arriving upon its vehement dais. With great power comes great responsibility. Thirsty and deprived, strangled and smothered in the midst of havoc, he seethed in quiet, silent, hushed licentiousness, brewing a potent anarchy, manifesting contempt through the imbalance of mortal souls, beasts left to rot and wither in their once monstrous cataclysms. What he wouldn’t give to see an icy chasm open along the ground, a sliver of frozen calamity rise from the ashes of their bleak circumstances, something he could hold, something he could claim, something he could harpoon into the veils, shades and phantoms persevering beyond the door. They’d crawl and he’d annihilate, breathe ferocious fumes over the molten havoc, touch and stroke bestial, eldritch hymns until the last of their fortitude collapsed into the hollowed void.

But Deimos was distracted from the yearning, the burning, nestled in his nefarious mind, as the creeping of another figure, too easily recognized by scent, by voice, by mere presence, that he nearly smirked. The Doctor, whole, alive and well, a rancorous, bitter reminder of unending days across fringes, borders and edges, cliff walls stoking rolling tides, scorched forests and laborious invasions fought and lost. Passing moments had meant destruction, altered croons had promised desolation, slaughter, termination by the wicked, for the wicked. When tangible ruins had been seized and possessed, ensnared and gnarled by his rapier brutality, when it was only chaos that fixated his mindset to the stoked fires and ignited infernos. Before he needed to care. Had the Nightshade been the same, dripping poison into the mouths, the ears, the eyes, of his victims, caustic and callous, permitted to bend venom into his blend of toxic derision, scorn and deceit? Upon departing, upon leaving them behind, had he found what he’d yearned for? Was his appetite sated, was his quarry left in their same disheveled ambience, distorted and decayed? Should Deimos have been envious of his freedom, no longer locked and corroded by the chains of kingdoms and palaces? He welcomed his old friend with a clenched jaw and a haggard tone, deep and loathing, not for the behemoth before him, but for the haze he’d been pulled into, a crown suddenly, maddeningly heavy. “We were forced to flee.” The uttering of truth rippled through him in a vicious, frustrated growl, tumbled into the pervading walls with a lone, agonizing hiss, sibilance of seditious souls. And what if by escaping they’d left their homeland to be varnished and cloaked with the daggers of pariah interludes, framing their glaciers and peaks, their rime and summits for gestures of a new regime, a foreign reign of deadly infidels? The notion turned him into a more unyielding state, unattainable, unreachable, burdened by the massive exploits of a Machiavellian membrane. A question posed along the tip of his tongue, for curiosity, abandoning the ferocity, the shambles, for one moment of inquiry plunging through the din of familiarity. “Did you find Mauja?”

Roux Posts: 57
Outcast atk: 5 | def: 7.5 | dam: 4.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16.1 :: 5 :: Orangemoon HP: 62.5 | Buff: NOVICE
Edison :: Red Kite :: Rage Semper


We have the answer to all your fears
It's short, it's simple, it's crystal clear

The simple red colt followed his herd, head low, eyes searching for purchase in the daylight. His blindness left him helpless in this time of fear, and the tiny bird that clung to his mane trembled, feeding off of his emotion. He had named the little guy Edison, hoping he would grow into a large, majestic, intelligent warrior of a bird. The name was strong, and he hoped it to fuel the companion as well as himself. Now, however, both were consumed with fear, confused at why the herd was fleeing and unknown to where they were travelling. Roux's heart thrashed rapidly against his growing, deepening chest, already alight with rippling muscle of youth. The organ, seeming to pump blood as well as desire through his extremities, yearned for the comfort of his twin, for the protection of the crimson and obsidian brother. It was a rare thing for Roux to want the complete guidance of his able brother, on such a normal occasion the silver eyed colt would wish for the two to stang aligned, matched, partners. This day, however, Roux wished for Sacre to stand in the lead and take his hoof.

The quest was far and it took them a great distance from their snowy mountains, causing Roux's serenity to diminish further with each step of his uncleft hooves. They reached the caves finally, and Roux found a new solace. Picture once again filled his eyes, the greyscale vision he desperately clung to in the night was with him at all times of day, only dimmed by the few streams of light that broke from the ceiling of the caverns. The boy and his bird no longer trembled, no longer walked with ears pinned flat against nape and tail tucked tight against hind legs. Instead, the pair moved with the confidence of any yearling, nostrils flaring as Roux took in the scents of the caves. They were much different than the ones in the Basin, deeper and filled with more wonder. Roux felt powerful here with his sight intact. He would be safe.

He did not stray far from his herdmates, but spent most of his time moving through the dark caves in search of his twin. Worry writhed inside him, grasping his lungs and his soul to drain the life from him. Sacre was in danger, he knew that much, for the stained boy was not with the herd. "Sacre," He whispered, peering his large head around a horner. He tilted his thick, spiraled horn towards the new room, warning any danger that he was a force to be reckoned with. The boyish, stupid bravery grew in his chest as he searched for his brother. Finding no reply to his whisper, Roux flicked his tail and walked into the room. Familiar voices filled his ears, though slightly muffled by the sound of crashing water in the distance. He knew the voices well. One was his Lord, Deimos. The other was his wayward father, d'Artagnan.

The boy picked up into a trot then, rousing his companion from his sleep. You will meet my father today, He thought to the bird, whose feathers were growing in nice and red with each growing day. The bird made a disgruntled chirp from his mane-nest and closed his baby golden eyes. As Roux closed the distance between the two stallions and himself they became brighter images, parts of them disappearing as light flecked over their hides. "Father," Roux breathed, exasperated and slightly joyous in the same instant. The colt, painted in his father's colors, stopped short of the two, standing between them yet several yards back. "Deimos." Roux said, bowing his crowned head in respect of the deadly stallion. Blinking silver eyes, Roux took a step towards his father, searching his body. The bag was foreign, but Aramis beneath him was so familiar. A boyish grin threatened to pull at the corner's of Roux's mouth as he finally closed the gap between him and his father. "Where is mother? Sacre?" The yearling asked, lipping his father's side in such a way to draw comfort from the large stallion.

Now waking to the sun
I calculate what I had done
Like jumping from the bow
Just to prove that I knew how
pixel by nikkayla

Valhalia Posts: N/A
:: :: ::
The journey to the deep cavern was not an easy one, hasty with the unicorns not being spared many breaks. Silver orbs were filled with swirling emotions, overflowing with loathing--pure hatred to the largest extent. Damned demons had ruined her experience with the Basin, annihilated any thoughts of proving herself worthy to the supreme herd. Unicorns did rule Helovia after all, the aristocrats of any civilization, watchful and dominant. Forced to flee from their land, the tawny bitch gritted her jaw with arrogant malevolence, hoping to crush every last one of them, their skulls a disturbing mess on the ground.

Led to a series of

--not finished but go on anyways--

Frost Fyre Posts: 198
Outcast atk: 5 | def: 9 | dam: 5.5
Mare :: Unicorn :: 15.3hh :: 6 Years HP: 64 | Buff: NOVICE
Altair :: Common Cerndyr :: Starpast prissy
She follows swiftly, racing after her father and the Reaper. Farenjer joins them as they leave, her gaze falling upon the teal painted soul. She offers a smile, although he likely won't notice her. The fae puts her attention to the shifting skies, the solemn tone that befalls the land. Darkness spreads like a parasite, constantly spreading over Helovia. They follow a worn path towards the Heart, its warmth alien to her almost constantly cold skin. She lets out a sigh, her bonded giving out a little grunt as she halts before him, causing him to head-butt her. Glancing at the dark calf, she lets her smile glisten in her eyes, corners of her kissers raised only slightly. What a klutz you are. She rolls her eyes, beginning to walk away from the little calf, who squeals and rushes towards her.

She enters the Sanctuary, a sudden wave of warmth washing over her as she follows her herd mates. There are so many of them, she realizes she's lost her father in the gathered crowd, her heart sinking slowly. She takes her time to tour the Sanctuary, finding more rooms that she never bothered to explore. She walks through them, admiring the many caverns, the crystal lined rooms that sparkle in her emerald eyes. The crystal fastened in her mane touched her skin, cold as ice, making her skin numb as it rests upon ebony matter. The fae turns back, following the sound of the gathered herd, spotting a few Basin residents already. She sees a little bay colt, similarly colored as d'Artagnan, the former Doctor of the Basin. The girl finds the Lord, face expressionless as usual. Finding a position in the back of the room, she listens to the thundering waterfall rather than the babbling voices of her herd. Inhaling deeply, the girl closes her eyes and thinks of Carnesir, who she hasn't spotted yet. Where have you gone, my knight? She whispers, opening her eyes to find his coal grey body standing before her, a gentle, seductive smile upon his dark lips. She steps forward to embrace him, finding her body passing through his. A cold feeling run downs her spine, a claw being dragged across her back as she realizes she was just imagining him. A sudden feeling of loneliness creeps upon her, a feeling that she's never felt... not like this. Her stomach churns uneasily, knees shaking gently as she's hit with a feeling of loss. Dim eyes scan the room again, voice ringing out gently. "Carnesir?" Worry lines her words, an innocent undertone sweeping the syllables from her dark lips.

"Words of wisdom."
drawing by the wonderful aeolle, table by the amazing time
Dawn is coming
open your eyes

Sacre Posts: 274
World's Edge Emissary atk: 5.5 | def: 8.5 | dam: 5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16hh :: 5 Years HP: 65 | Buff: NOVICE
Inari :: Red Fox :: Heal & Ríona :: Common Kitsune :: Electric imi
We set fire to our homes,
Walking barefoot in the snow
Monsters! Monsters in the Basin! No, more like zombies!

Sacre had trembled and mutely followed the rear of a fleeing unicorn, not really caring whose it was or where they were going. He was too caught up in the turmoil of his own thoughts, his two friends turned into hideous creatures. In the heat of the moment he'd lost all grip on reality and everything seemed to move in slow motion, the zombie's attacking and a bay stallion with a ruby horn succumbed to the wraith's will. He had ran, following the retreating party out of the Basin, not even knowing what had happened to the other, spotty stallion. The boy felt alone and scared, like every shadow was watching him and the air was suffocating. At the same time, he felt guilty for leaving and not standing to fight, not honouring the name of his father or making the eyes of his mother proud. A small, trembling coward. That's what he was. His thoughts continued to echo this dreary blackness until his hooves touched something hard that echoed and shiny, blue eyes finally dragged themselves back to the present.

They'd entered some kind of cave that was littered with the scents of many and the eyes of those who had run and finally found refuge. Relief, fear, confusion... The atmosphere was electric with disturbed emotion and Sacre took a long guilty breath and reassured himself that it seemed he was not the only one afraid. What had the faces of these horses seen? Had they seen what he'd seen? The horrors of the night. The dark side of Helovia. In the instant of the attack and the long flee south, Sacre was no longer a foal. He looked young and leggy, but his eyes spoke stories that no colt his age should experience. Yet, it had happened.

They delved further into the cave and came into a room with a crashing waterfall and the smell of moist earth. Sacre didn't see that, he only saw Deimos and the words simply fell from his maw. "Lord Deimos! There's monsters out there! Monsters in the Basin! I've seen them, they took one of our kin and... and I couldn't do anything!" His voice cracked between sobbing and getting the words out, he was ashamed and worried, his young mind struggled to deal with the situation presented before him.

It wasn't until he'd regained a little of his composure that he noticed his audience, more, he noticed his brother and his father. Keeping his eyes on d'Artagnan with uncertainty, the boy moved over to Roux and placed his nose on his shoulder. "Here Roux" smiling through his voice, which had grown softer now as he turned on his father. "Where is mother?"
Image Credits

There's something wretched about this
Something so precious about this

❚ Force permitted!
❚ Please tag me!

Tangere Posts: 159
Aurora Basin Medic atk: 5 | def: 9 | dam: 5.5
Mare :: Unicorn :: 15.2hh :: Six Years | Birdsong HP: 63 | Buff: NOVICE
Phrixus :: White Raven :: None Psilo
She’s exploring when she comes across the group from the other side of the open room. The sound of crashing water echoes off of the humid stone walls. She cannot hear anything they’re saying but she still takes pause and watches curiously for a moment. She is in plane side, head up, ears up; blowing softly through her fluttery pink nostrils. She recognizes the faces from the Basin, although Illynx is the only one she really actually knows.

Demios. Fellow travelers have whispered his name before – she’s probably asked a dozen times too, just out of curiosity. The sapphire glow at the end of his horn gives him away even from this far away. She rolls forward, clacking her smooth hooves on the jagged rock ground, approaching the group after she realizes that their faces have been spotted in the mountains she calls home now. Or…did call home…

She’s close now and comes to stand beside the dark glass-horned unicorn – when she lets her eyes take him in wth detail she has to catch her breath for a moment. She makes hardly any noise though, just nodding to him, “I remember you…” She speaks quietly and only to him, leaving the subject completely alone afterward. Her rosy lips contort into a grin and her eyes move to the children first with a polite nod to each, not interrupting their conversation verbally. And then to Deimos, where her eyes stay and smolder for a moment or two before letting her long lashes shut over them, curling her muzzle to her chest gracefully.

Hello everyone.” She keeps her voice low, speaking just above the tones of tumbling water. “Tangere…” She gives the group a general nod once again, not letting her eyes linger on anyone too long before moving to another face.


  • You may use violence and magic against her at will, but no death.
  • Please tag me so I don't forget anyone(:

Deimos the Reaper Posts: 527
Deceased atk: 7.0 | def: 12 | dam: 6.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16.1 :: 7 HP: 72.5 | Buff: NUMB
Flames of faith and contempt; a silent witness as his herd scrambled from their summit perches and became a mist with the rest of the fallen. Shackled and gagged from supremacy into curled, turbulent fixations of turmoil, lost and flickering in the horizon – where they should have damned, they only bled confusion, where they should have mauled, they only reigned in befuddlement and disorder, only distorted fibers of darkness into chaotic din. He scalded, scathed and brewed, antagonistic and brooding, incensed over and over again by the weakened decibels of their state, left to shout for comrades, left to burn and seethe in hollowed shells and thick, murky, unknown caves, left to wither and decay in the bounty of ignorance, chained to walls and enamel. But the Reaper refused his beasts to become a shrinking, shirked, renounced clan, he’d already been forsaken once, and he spurned, declined, the notion that his warriors, his soldiers, his brethren, so capable, so mighty, be united only in deterioration. Iron indignation, scraped and reticent, chiseled deeper into his damnation, found the steely clamor of his feral wiles, strung them together into fathoms of anarchy and bellowing subterfuge. His skull extended nods to each recognized individual, pulled from the innards of lost mountaintops, a clench of the jaw for each unsung creature left and vanished, incapable of scouring for their weary souls. The Doctor’s child, the spotted scholar (searching for another familiar sage, and no answering call received), recognized and given due ambience, the piercing slate of his gaze marking their arrival with some jaded notion, for at least they’d heeded his warning, had been there to hear his growls and hisses, his demands and commands he never yearned to utter again. Only the second colt of D’art, words tumbling, foiling, spewing from his mouth, gained the full attention of the Reaper, earned inquiry and curiosity from the spurned wreckage of his molten, acerbic tyranny. Monsters out there and Illynx’s shrieking of death already being apart of them, his touch worthless and ineffectual, seething amongst the widened expanse of his diligent mind until they grasped and grated over the information, attempted to pull together strings of worth and note. A solemn decree, formulated past his frustrated, vexed mouth, pursued the colt’s wisdom. “Thank you, Sacre.” The more they learned, the more they gained, the probability and possibility of finding a way to demolish, to wreck, to ruin, the havoc stretching over their expanse could be achieved, and he didn’t hesitate in unwinding the layers he’d collected. “We must be vigilant. Demons have already taken the GildedBlade, and are not annihilated by death.” He’d tried, attempted to salvage her behemoth wake with at least the clambering of quietus, but even then, the conviction of demise hadn’t been enough. The puncturing slate of his stare settled upon the gathered, and his sinister tongue unraveled a query into the enamel of labyrinths, mazes and ruses. “Have any others been infected?” How many of them had been torn from the icicles, from the glaciers, and placed back into the earth with foaming ivories and disastrous innards, forgoing creeds and convictions for pestilence? And how could they annihilate a foe made up of their own beasts? The world could only be conquered when they’d managed to secure a threshold of power back upon their own kingdom, their own fiends.

[-murders post order simply to move things along and gather info- ;D]

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
But with the beast inside, there's no where we can hide

d'Artagnan was careful where he placed himself, very few earned such caution from the shade, but he was no fool to disregard the reputation of the Reaper. Especially when he appeared to be so riled and angered. Something indeed had happened, the Lord stated they were forced into a flee, quite something for the unicorns to leave their snowy land, were these demons really that bad that they couldn't stand and fight? Perhaps they were, Deimos was not one to run away from much and the mere fact alone made his mind whirl at what exactly it was everyone was so scared of. Right now the Aurora Basin was wide open, it was bare of defenders and ready to be taken, it made him clench his jaw and his brow furrow in worry. He may have cut his ties from the cold realm, but he still had memories and his loyalties, those he couldn't discard. It hurt his pride to think something other than a horn bearing creature would disgrace the land by treading hoof prints in sacred snow and drinking through dirty lips in their clean lake. He almost wanted to demand of Deimos to accompany him back there now, Nightshade and Reaper, standing guard. The conversation took a different direction, however, and soon the Doctor's thoughts became distracted by a familiar picture of an idiot and his owl.

"I found him where one would go seek a God. Alive and well, though we were interrupted by a strange mare, I haven't seen him since." He informed the Reaper, half smiling at the thought of Nyx's face at calling her strange, he had found her later in the caves, though nothing yet as of Mauja. The shade didn't worry as much as a friend probably should, but he'd known his icy companion for so long to know that there wasn't much in the world that could get to him. He always turned up at some point. d'Artagnan trusted in that.

The former Mender would have continued on if he wasn't interrupted by a familiar face, a figure that looked almost exactly like him and had grown considerably since the last they'd spoke. Roux. There were some things different, the boy's legs were longer and he carried something with him, was it a bird? How interesting. Aramis wagged as memories of days gone by passed through his thoughts, afternoons of watching them play and keeping an eye out for danger. The hound had followed them to many places. It was the question his son posed, however, that made d'Artagnan sigh as he frowned, gently tugging at his sons mane. "The last I saw your mother she was well, I have not seen either of them since this darkness..." Kou had been angry the last time, he felt guilt clawing at his conscience, how was it he always managed to escape danger, but his beloved Nurse was never by his side. He would have to find her, even if it meant going out alone.

As if by answer to his name, Sacre appeared much to the Nightshade's happiness, he had grown much too. Though it seemed Roux had the edge on him in that area. Mismatched eyes gazed over his other twin son, noting the flower in his mane and the arrow in his tail. Items gained, just like Roux looked to have a friend, perhaps there were stories to these new things and all of a sudden d'Artagnan felt old. His children were already growing up, already had memories and things to cherish, he had a legacy to carry on his name and he was whithering away, slowly dying as his opportunities waned. The colt spoke fast and hurried, in a voice that was afraid of monsters in the dark and the loss of friends. Sacre was lucky to be here and his father's nose wrinkled in anger, he hated being enclosed like a trembling coward. "I don't know, son, I will look for her in the caves and then I will have no choice but to go out and find her."

He hoped for both their sakes that the Nurse had made it inside the caves.

Others came, Frost Fyre he recognized and a grey mare who spoke directly to him, the Doctor had to really search through his memory to find his meeting with this mare. She was familiar and her name rang a bell. "I'm glad you felt me worth remembering" he responded dryly, committing her face to memory once again before he listened to Deimos, learning the demise of Illynx and the shade's lips turned grim. He'd never had much love for the GildedBlade, he hardly knew her at all when she rose to power which inspired him little to follow her, but she was still a horned kin. He then looked at Sacre expectantly. How much had he seen?
Credits: Image by Tamme

my heart’s an endless winter
              filled with rage

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

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