the Rift

[OPEN] Unite and Spread the Heart Apart [Herd Meeting]

Deimos the Reaper Posts: 527
Deceased atk: 7.0 | def: 12 | dam: 6.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16.1 :: 7 HP: 72.5 | Buff: NUMB
He’d rotted in the dungeon, in the sanctum, in the sanctuary, a satanic, seething road of withered irreverence, a blade dulled and edgeless, decomposed. One breath, one taste, one savoring of the arctic wind, of the winter air, of the frigid rapiers nettled and soaked into his skin, and he was seduced into the calloused, nefarious villainy again; recaptured, reanimated, beguiled and swindled into the true embrace of violence, satanic reverie, malice and menace an unholy fuel. They’d lived, they’d survived, they’d chiseled and scraped, crawled and slithered, hastened and chastened through labyrinths, caves and warrens, revived and reincarnated into corporeal beasts and barbaric masters. They were given back their munitions, their arms, their alms, the beat of their Tartarean hearts and the derisive slate of their noxious gazes, the cruelty, the animosity, the building, brewing apathy and enmity; rancor’s steel, relentless mettle. Fervent, infernal, deplorable, horrible minions murmuring primordial treachery, rigid, possessive supremacy bleeding into scintillating annihilation, clinging to the raptor eaves, the diabolical insurrection, the hunger, the need, the yearning of their glacial kingdom, Siberian wiles and licentious credence. Ripping out compassion, potent, predacious, eager, and wanton, they flowed and followed into the wild beyond, screaming animal acrimony, feral indignation, ruthlessly fixating on the wake, the climb, the barbarous contortions and pathways of their beloved home – granted, abandoned, renounced, forsaken in mortal coils until the twisting, the turning, the assembling of their desires foretold, presaged, augured regeneration. Again, they’d been defeated, collapsed, depleted, and once more, they wound the silent chords of their fierce friction, of their meticulous, scrupulous ruins, consumed, ravaged, possessed, persevering, conquering, devouring. All the promises of cryptic conceit, all the unfurling, uncurling, hedonistic elation, ate at his enigmatic depravity, flooded into feverish motion and movement, into the distorted, precise puissance of his treacherous considerations, of his might, his brawn, his supremacy, to ensure that their reign, that their ravenous plumes, imperious gallows, pariahs to hope and mercy, could thrive anew. Savage temptation, heinous danger, a chance to unwind, to spill, to revolt and delude in one anarchical swing, to watch their kingdom rise while so many others crumbled into ash, into dust, into decay. They would not be subdued. The summits, the mountains, provided it all – they just had to stoke the right embers, engulf the world in heathen infernos, Mephistophelean decadence.

They molded into the earth, time at the Reaper’s helm, contorting mayhem into strange, unfamiliar reverie. As they walked, as they moved, as they chased after snow and folly, the Time God’s measures flowed around them; life restored for the barest of seconds. Minerals, sustenance, lapping waters to quench the basest of their cravings, provisions for the long journey to auroras and peaks. Marching camps and glowing bodies, figurines followed the wayward, siren call of a refuge they knew well, harbored and harpooned, flew beneath vivid banners and cried for at the height of battle. Only when they crossed the borders, when they touched upon home, did the gilded promise of the deities’ incantation end, simmer, die, leaving and leading them to the restoration of icy squalls, of winters’ ravaged, spun strikes, of power and dominance. He bowed at the entrance, paid reverence to glaciers, to summits, to caverns, to the sinister landscape they seized, grasped, and molded to their beings, to their sanctum, to their barbaric necessities. When he raised his forbidding skull, the world was just as they’d left it, and as they filtered in, as they gathered, it was no longer absconded, forsaken, or desolate – filled with the turbulence, the tenacity, the persistence of the corrupt, of the petulant, of the trenchant, mordant, and incorrigible; unattainable again. For the slightest of seconds, with his eyes caught on the highest peak and the borealis nestled behind its chilling supremacy, a smile curled into his baleful lips; a blackened heart appeased, grateful, at ease. It was theirs to protect, guard, and build, shelter and shape, and with its power, with its will, theirs to corrode other realms into cinders. With their followers, brethren, spirits behind, alongside, in front of the mountains, the valleys, he bellowed their return, procured another bow behind his reticent brow. “Welcome home, comrades.” A suitable pause, a snippet of his unholy gaze extended towards the GildedBlade, seemingly free of her own pestilence, before he proceeded into the fervent, passionate venue. “Convene with us. We have much to discuss.”

[Mandatory herd meeting for Basiners. We’ll be talking over quite a few rank changes, monitoring who is still fully present, etc.

Please let @[Illynx] to go first, then you may file in!]
delivered from the blast
last from a line of lasts
and now the kingdom comes crashing down undone
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Illynx the GildedBlade Posts: 413
Hidden Account atk: 7.5 | def: 11.5 | dam: 3
Mare :: Unicorn :: 16hh :: 13 HP: 67.5 | Buff: ENDURE
Kyst :: Common Griffon :: Zapping Jab Bunnie
The journey to the mountain had been easy and without delay, the magic provided to them by their God well suited to keeping all those who journeyed with them safe and well fed. She ate well, as she figured when the Time Lord had offered the temporary power, and as she stood and looked down on her people, she felt well for the first time since the darkness had fallen onto the land.

Her people, on the other hand, had been forced into the caves, most of them for much longer than she herself had been; she was not sure it had been a fair exchange. A prison would have been fair in trade for her loss of self, the blood that had been spilt that was of her people and not the enemy. The only gift she had been given out of the whole exchange, it would seem, was a new magical ability that seemed was not temporary as some of the fluke reactions to the magical charge that they lived in; from her horn, she could draw electrical currents.

She’d discovered it in the caverns and had practiced quietly through out the times she was alone, learning that the bolt, while singular, was devastatingly accurate once she gathered enough control over it to begin directing its aim. Any who knew her well enough to notice a physical change could see the marks of her hours weaving the talents of electricity – her bangs were singed and much shorter than they had been before.

It was a high price to pay for magical prowess. She’d had quite the head of hair before Deimos had ripped the one chunk loose during their spar and she’d fried a good bit of it being a novice electrician.

She bows her head in time with that of the Lord alongside her, meeting his glance with a soft smile that lies in spite of her heart. She will never love him, this is to be sure, but she will tolerate him; if he is to be a failure, he will remove himself. She cannot be bothered to fret so heavily on a sociopath male when there is so much at hoof to do.

With a gleaming, golden gaze, she looks over her herd at the statue that still stands and gleams in stunning bronze, and her heart remembers the man who made it, bidding her eyes to search for him among those that have gathered. She does not recall seeing him in the caves, and while she is loathe to admit it, a pang of worry over the antisocial crafter overtakes her.

After all, he has much work to do.

"There is much to discuss indeed; but first things first. Welcome home," she begins, looking to each face in turn and attempting to take note of who is absent and who is new, "we have survived yet another dark trial together. If any of you know of another who is missing, possibly still infected or lost, please let some one know here and now so we can assist in returning them to the mountain."

"During the period in the caves, much has changed among our herd while as much as remained the same. As you all know, we held a tournament on the brink of the disastrous events of late for the positions of General and our Corporals, though that tournament was interrupted by the villainous plague that swept across the land. A decision has been made on these ranks, and many others."

She pauses and takes a breath, her exhalation misty and sparkling in the pale light.

" The Lord Deimos and I still hold council, as does Faelene the Thief. The open position of General will be filled by Torleik, who has proven his bravery and valor in the field of combat and who we both feel will provide excellent strategic advice and training. We welcome our guardian of the mountain paths Belial into our herd alongside fearless Deodat as his corporals."

Allowing for the men to speak should they wish and granting each a graceful nod of her crown, she continues onward.

"Crowley, our long term weaver, has rescinded his position. While he can never be replaced, we have welcomed his assistant, Farenjer, and the machinist, Ulrik, as our new cloth makers. As many of you know, d’Artagnan and the nurse Kou departed our company some seasons past, and while both are now among our company again, the Poisoner will not be returning to the rank of Time Mender."

Smiling broadly at one of her most favored subjects, her eyes fall upon the sweet bay mare and burn with a light that remembers a day when she had saved her from an infection that surely would have taken her life.

"The healer Lena will fill this position, if she will take it, for her endeavors during the plight of the infected to save as many as she could from that terrible fate," she pauses again to let words pass on the decision and then charges onward, still seeing her massive mental list and already feeling her throat threatening to crack and grow dry, "the position of Haruspex is now open once more, as Huyana has decided to step down from the rank. Any interested in the position should contact Deimos or myself for more information."

"We welcome a new healer and a new emissary to our numbers, Tangere who will be studying under Lena and Zuriel who will be providing diplomatic services to the herd."

"Our God is kind and powerful and has protected our home well during our absence, of which I have been assured personally. You should find all your things as they were when you left them. We will be continuing with our herd improvement projects; mainly the sentinel statues, of which one stands inactive at the moment. This will involve mining into the caves which will serve both purposes to make the statues move and to broaden the living quarters within them. Those interested in assisting in these projects can contact either of our Weavers or Deimos and I."

"I believe that covers it all," she says with a bright smile, looking over at the man next to her and wondering how they have come so far since their last similar venture, "If any of you have any other news or information of importance, now would be the time to voice it."

if I only could make a deal with God.
Magic/assault allowed to be used on Illynx at any time, in so far as it does not kill or seriously maim her without my permission. 

Lena the Songbird Posts: 663
Aurora Basin Time Mender atk: 4 | def: 10.5 | dam: 6.5
Mare :: Unicorn :: 15.3 :: 6 HP: 69 | Buff: NOVICE
Imogen :: Common Kitsune :: Fire Heather

Hope was a beautiful harmony, blessed and consecrated, a heated, fashioned rhapsody unfettered, unwavering, persevering in the darkest halls or lamentable doldrums. She’d have waited a thousand years in the refuge, in the haven, for the notion they’d one day be released from forced deliverance, granted and given true liberation in the form of icicle walls, arctic whims, and Siberian foibles. Home cast a lively tune in the decibels of her compassionate heart, nestled, crooned, and hummed in the fathoms of her chest, of her blood, of her soul. She’d yearned for the endless peaks, for the unyielding summits, for the deep, constant valleys, for the chilling winds and rapture, reverie, of ice, rime, frost, snowflakes resting, melting, drifting, ambient, listless, languid. The sanctuary had been a hallowed, sanctified endeavor from the Gods, christening safety from the fluid shadows preying and clawing, rasping and grating, but it would never carry the pedestal, the candle, the auroras, the Basin held over her seraphic mind. Desperate and starved for the touch, the caress, the stroke of feral breezes and ferocious allures, she followed the wake of time and relished sparks, the lord and lady leading their way to fruition, finality, pieces and snippets left waiting and wanton. If the faulty ire, if the clawing wraiths, if the bestial specters and barbaric wraiths had left their kingdom broken, the nymph promised to help mold it back together, carry piece by piece, stone by stone, rubble by rubble, back into their ordained, beatified depths, until it was whole again. No damnation, no extermination, no pestilence could hold back the might, the swing, of their power, of their perseverance, of their unwillingness to concede their swords, their rapiers, their wit, their schemes, their love and devotion towards the ice-laden pinnacles. Stars, constellations and borealis interludes lit her spirit and fueled her strides, her movements, her motions, and the smile, the grin, sculpted into her lips, enlightened, stroked mellifluous chords, aspirations and confidence; if they could sink into the bowels of the earth, then they could carve, chisel, and rise again.

Their arrival hastened her reverence again – she stared into the beauty, the splendor, the opulence, and nearly wept for the untouched world. Stones unmoved by time, by hours, by minutes, by phantoms and poltergeists, by curses and spells, placed in the same fortitude, a fortress for kings, queens, brethren and icy spirits. In awe, in disbelief, her jaw dropped as her gaze fixated upon caves in the distance, of a lake still stalwart and valorous against the scythe of winter, of hot springs bubbling and coiling their ardent steam, promises and assurances. She displayed her acclaim, her admiration, her appreciation for the wondrous palace with a dip of her head so low she kissed the snow and pressed her sword into the rime, felt the touch, the sizzle, the cold sink into her skin, refresh, invigorate, renew what was lost in the chambers of shelter. Imogen played the same part, measured her chirps into wild, frenetic, zealous hums, brilliant and bright, passionate and ardent against the sculpted glaciers, echoing her companion’s ebullience, happiness, and elation. Thankful for the essence, the reality, the nature of their journey, the pair grew silent in respect and esteem, listened to the candor of their friends rejoicing, the din of celebration. Only when their rulers began speaking did she draw herself from the ecstasy, from the pathways she’d crossed and could now waltz upon again, for the dances she envisioned along frigid, wintry boughs, for the speculations and spells, for the enchantments, songs, and invocations she yearned to spring from her lips.

Compliments and felicitations were to be offered towards many of her friends, for one by one, they were crowned and hallowed with distinction. Her pride swelled and her grin lifted, turning her honeyed, ambrosia gaze towards the creatures mentioned, distinct, honored, earning their newfound glory. To Deodat, the stately, the dignified, the formidable and determined, to Farenjer, the gifted crafter hiding his wares in caves, blessed for his capabilities. When her own name rang amongst the gathered, however, she paused in her own rapture, stunned, befuddled, surprised and shocked. Her brow nettled into a series of emotions, furrowed and jolted, astonished and bewildered, until Imogen pressed into their shared convictions and laughed. Take it! Be proud! Dignity and honor were molded containers of her vessel, but never an outward relish of her appeal, and she wasn’t sure what to do, how to react, except with obvious confusion, a widening of her eyes, and the fixture of her constant grin. So she accepted, caressed the title, and wondered how she’d ever fill the hoof prints left by the former, good Doctor. Her voice, a sudden quake, a cherubic aria, only expressed the indebted, obliged utterances of a sylph raised to new heights, unsure of where she fit in the slate, but dedicated, consecrated, to every measure of their sovereignty, bowing to the endeavors of the Basin and all of its mighty constituents. “Thank you. I will gladly accept the role.” Thereafter, she raised an immediate toast, a bright, unhindered enthusiasm, for her fellows marked and labeled into the stead of their heroics, of their efforts. “Congratulations everyone!”

where there is love, there is life.</style>

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Torleik the Bloodskald Posts: 354
Outcast atk: 4.5 | def: 8.0 | dam: 7.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16.3 :: 11 HP: 66.5 | Buff: SWIFT
Irelyn :: Plain Griffin :: Molten Dagger RedGod
A lone man loved by none:

How long can he live?

Whatever the vicious plague that ravaged the land had begun to recede, and Torleik, though he did not mind the caves, was glad to be above ground once more; Irelyn even more so. It seemed a season had passed in which they were refugees under the earth and Torleik's broad, muscular chest expanded with the deep inhale of crisp, wintry air he sucked into his lungs.

The Basin seemed...untouched, frozen in time and not just winter. The warrior came when summoned, knowing it wiser to show his face at herd meetings than to remain in the shadows. Briefly he wondered if his cousin even had the mental capacity to devote thought to such a thing, but he doubted it. Ulrik was a genius, and geniuses were notoriously terrible at social anythings. Still, he...wondered. He hadn't seen hair nor heard whisper of the Engineer while they had been underground, and Torleik worried. The male was racist and mad, but he was family. The dual-horned stallion would do anything for family.

His steps were slow, carrying him back inside his home at a reduced pace, eyes taking in everything he could. Deimos and Illynx had already taken their place at the head of this little herd summons, and Torleik noted he was one of the first to respond. Curious. Was everyone else sluggish? Unwanting of this meeting? Infected?

With a frown, his thoughts turned to the women in his life. Brisa. Where was that gentle, lovely mare? Ophelia? Had she survived this plague? A sick knot in the pit of his stomach made him nauseated to think she had not, lonely wanderer that she was. And....Serenity. The pegasus mare he had encountered but once. The one he was still not convinced was a test from the Moon Goddess. Surely she was fine, capable of taking to the air as she was? When this was over, he would seek them out to see. Ulrik as well. Those important to him needed to be kept track of.

It was not long before Deimos spoke, and Illynx followed, the gilded mare's words far more than the psychopathic lord's. As she spoke, Torleik inspected her, wondering what it was that seemed...different. He had only interacted with her up close once prior, but they had been face to face and he knew something about her appearance was different now. Unfortunately, he could say not what it was. Irelyn's settling on his shoulders distracted him, as did her cooing through their mental bond. The owl-griffin was immensely fond of Illynx, as Illynx was -


...and Irelyn loved shiny things. Torleik was amused and smiled a little, softly shaking his head at his bonded. Her avian tendencies were constantly entertaining him. Prior to the summons for this meeting, the Lady of the Basin had briefly spoken with Torleik to inform him he had been chosen as their General due to the impracticality of continuing the previously begun tournament. Pleased, he had accepted, and was not surprised when this was announced now. Illynx's pause after and nod towards him indicated he might speak, and he turned to the others present.

"My homeland raised fighting to be as much a part of my blood as breathing and eating. I cannot always promise you victory, but I can always promise you a chance to live and die gloriously in your last moments!" Such was a common statement among the fighters of his people, and he echoed it now, carrying on their traditions though these here knew little of them. "Know that I will respond to any threat brought against the Aurora Basin swiftly and thoroughly - from within or without," he clarified. "And for many of you I am sure you are realizing you cannot fight since you do not know how: let me tell you, everyone can fight in their own ways. Not everyone need charge into battle on the front lines. If you do not wish to learn the art of war, then I implore you to seek me or one of my corporals out for knowledge of the necessity of self-defense. I would have all in my home well-equipped and well-protected," the warrior demon declared, head held high and proud, feeling the rush of purpose pounding through his veins.

Training needed to begin soon. Those who would be warriors needed to prove themselves. Assessments needed to be made and a program in place for all to learn how to fight or defend themselves - for he was no fool. Those here were not like his people, all ready to fight at a moment's notice. Here the roles were more clear, more delineated. A healer might not know how to wield their horn with deadly accuracy. A weaver might have no concept of battle. Torleik sought to remedy that, now that he had the power to do so.

These were his people now, and he would see them prepared, equipped, and capable of handling whatever hand fate might deign to deal them.

Credits: Image by Eagle
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No man is an island.
Pixel by: Tamme :D

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Déodat Posts: 174
Absent Abyss atk: 3.5 | def: 10 | dam: 7
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 17 hands :: 12 HP: 67.5 | Buff: NOVICE
Odette :: White German Shepherd :: None Minx

The pillars of ice and snow meant home was near. Déodat closed his eyes and basked in the cold around him. No more wraiths, no more caves, and no more bedding beside the impure blood of the earth. The unicorns of the north had finally returned to their frozen fortress. The Blood Prince would make the Basin a name to be feared, as it should be. For now though, he would focus on rebuilding what may have been lost. When he looked around, he noted nothing seemed too different from when they had departed.

As they all returned to the Basin, he heard the call of the king and queen of their cold home. He walked in and joined the group, stepping alongside his friend Lena. The mare seemed to be alright, despite the hell that had consumed the land. Odette shifted and poked her head out of the blanket made out of his mane. The white pup eyes and ears were sealed shut, and Déo hoped for her sake that they would soon open. Really it was sad the bitch couldn’t witness the beauty of the snow around them. Someday soon she would.

As the lady Illynx began to speak, Déo’s ears perked forward and he listened to each word intently. At the mention of the tournament curiosity sparked. Would they resume the bloody activity? His question was answered not long afterward when she continued on speaking. General was handed to a stallion named Torleik, and immediatel the Blood Prince’s eyes drifted over to the individual. Hm, an unfamiliar face, but he trusted his leader’s judgment well enough to assume he was worthy of such a title. More promotions were due it seemed, his eyes drifted over to the other corporal. At the mention of his own name, Déodat’s ears perked forward and a feeling of surprise hit him, though his expression remained relaxed and unreadable.

Torleik spoke, and as the words poured from his mouth Déodat could see the potential for a leader in the brute. Hopefully his eloquence matched his abilities on the battlefield, for a silvertongue with no ability to shed blood was a useless general indeed. Once the new general said his piece, Déodat decided then to speak, though he knew it would be nothing like Torleik’s spiel.

“It is my honor to serve the Basin, and I hope I can be worthy of the title,” Déodat dipped his head at the lord and lady. Short and sweet, that was all that was needed. His actions would display his worth over a lecture. Nonetheless, his thoughts moved forward as Illynx continued on with promotions. New weavers, nothing that interested him in particular, but at the mention of his cousin his ears perked again. His cousin and his little wife had left? Well, Déodat was most certainly behind on the times. When the queen stated the promotion of his friend a tiny smile passed over his lips and he looked over at the mare bay mare.

“Congratulations,” His voice was soft, and loud enough only for ears, and if one listened hard enough they could hear how proud he was for his friend. Then he listened through the rest of the promotions in silence. A reassurance was offered, and the mentioning of familiar projects that had passed over his ears when the darkness had first appeared. “If any assistance is needed in mining, I will be glad to help.” He said with a dip of his head.

"Speech speech speech"

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[Image: QV8O7HU.gif]
Cut from the cloth, of a flag that
Bears the name of "Battle Born"
con by aihnna@dA

Farenjer Posts: 68
Hidden Account
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16 hands :: 5 Buff: NOVICE
It is time. Time to withdraw from the reaches of the Sanctuary. To pour from its caves in swelling numbers and to be pulled in by the chilling winds and the frozen soils to the North. Home as the unicorns claimed it to be. Where the frosted tundra met with his hooves, the crafter was closer to where he belonged. Icy winds bit at his wintery coat, and it brushed his dark mane across his face. He chuckled silently. "It seems that the snow welcomes me back." An amused mutter came from his lips and he looked ahead with an anxious gaze. Treading along the frozen soils he followed behind silently, much more ahead was Déodat. Who Farenjer had been with before at the Basin meeting back within the crystal caves of the Sanctuary. Sharing information back and forth with the handful who had arrived.

Farenjer steps within the Basin along with the accompany of other unicorns. Icy orbs rake along the handful who had followed Deimos and Illynx before he had reached the meeting. Lena and Déodat stood side by side. A man Farenjer had seen much around the Basin before but never actually met or knew, stood there as well. All familiar faces were here. Hopefully the others will follow soon. He thoughts privately.

The stallion silently stands, his ears rotated forward in attention. Watching Deimos as he spoke, welcoming them all back home. Excitement surges through Farenjer as the Basin's lady begins to announce. The mare begins with the introduction of how they survived other dark hours as well. A shudder ran along his neck, remembering how the land's light curled into a sudden darkness, the plants were shriveled and broken off, the cold increased, and how they couldn't even have the moon and starlight to see through this evil. It was a very dark time for him, as he had the shadows dance around him as if he were their horrid king. Farenjer shook his head a little in distaste as he continued to listen to Illynx. Now to the tournament discussion. The stallion lifted his head up in curiosity on who would now claim the rank of General. She announced it would be Torleik. Farenjer slowly turned his head over to the dark pelt of the familiar stallion. A mystical owl gryphon stood by his side. He turned towards the crafter and the fellow unicorns among him. The newly crowned general began to speak with deep vocals. Farenjer listened intently to the proud stallion's speech and he nodded his head in honor of the general and spoke up "Congratulations." A small grin lit his dark face as he spoke to Torleik.

Farenjer looked upon Déodat, who spoke few words for his rank, and dipped his head after to the lord and the lady. The crafter gave a little nod and thought. Amen. Illynx continued to speak to her people about the new men among the higher ranks, starting with the crafting tier. For the first time in a while, the stallion gulped as she spoke about Crowley's step down. "While he can never be replaced, we have welcomed his assistant, Farenjer, and the machinist, Ulrik, as our new cloth makers." The new weaver grinned even more as the invitation was announced and he dipped his head with respects towards her greetings words. It was exciting to think of such new doors that were opened for him now, and alongside him on top of the crafting tier would be Ulrik. It was rather dizzy feeling, thinking of working alongside the great unicorn. Farenjer had looked up to him as a role model for when he worked on his threads, even if the dark coated stallion preferred his iron works and machines.

She continued to announce of D'artagnan and a nurse, Kou's absence. Ah, the Time Mender. He remember that the same man had invited him with open arms to the Basin as he had arrived within the Threshold. He remembered when the unicorn was called a "brother" for once in his life. It was warming, inviting, and so he had followed this man to the North and within the confinements of the mountains. To this day he still never regretted his choice. It was good to hear that the Time Mender would be returning to his position among their ranks. Farenjer continued to press his ears forth in hard listening. Haruspex is open for all... Tangere among the healers now.... He blinked as Illynx spoke of the Time God, preserving their dear home in their absence. His tail swept the frozen soils with excitement. Perhaps that bundle of cotton he had arranged within the corner of his den was still lying there. It was not a waste of time after all... Then to the projects. Yes, the statues. A lot of work they were going to be to make, but with the help of Ulrik who worked with metals, and the volunteers from the other ranks to work with the statues, they were sure to have it done in under a couple of seasons. But art took time, especially useful art like the progressing statues...

After Illynx had finished, Lena spoke up “Congratulations everyone!” Farenjer dipped his head towards her warmly and smiled. He spoke "It is my honor to be with the crafting tier as one of the leaders." All my work has paid off. He thought eagerly, stepping back within the arrived unicorns and looking up to the leaders with a warm gleam in his icy orbs.
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Ulrik the Engineer Posts: 235
Deceased atk: 5.5 | def: 9.0 | dam: 6.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 17.1 hh :: 11 HP: 69.5 | Buff: ENDURE
Kirchoff :: Common Hellhound :: Superspeed Tamme
Each point in space (and time) is associated with a vector that determines what force a moving charge would experience.
Ulrik had missed out on quite the commotion in his brief absence. The stallion was never one to let anyone know where he was going anyway, and he had no rank or tie to hold him in one place for a prolonged period of time. While the Aurora Basin was still home, the Engineer still wandered from time to time, specifically to gather bits and pieces of what he would need for the machines. Illynx's idea to make two, massive sentinels at the narrow entrance was... simply perfection. He had sorely underestimated the mare, but he would never admit it to her face.

As he quietly strode into the fray, hearing his cousin, Torleik, give some speech about self-defense. Ulrik smirked and raised a brow, eager to see how that worked out. Some of these unicorns here were as lazy as they were fat, doing nothing but eating and sighing at the mention of work. Still, he had to give Torleik credit for trying of course, especially for how well rehearsed and heroic his recitation was.

On his way up, he had caught a few of Illynx's words - something about he and Farenjer being weavers. Ulrik was not at all insulted by this position. Working with textiles and cloth would only add another, glorious element to his creations, and he was looking forward to utilizing these skills. His mind began to churn at the thought of cured, mechanical wings, but alas, everyone was just too fat. Still, he could add a proper, cloth brush mane and tail to the sentinels, and now they could have bags with which to carry the metal pieces he would need. Naturally, he would need a tend too... ideas, ideas.

Naturally, the soft little blossom of a mare, Lena, would be the healer. He tried to hide the grimace on his expression as he imagined what a brain full of flower petals would be like. As he stared at her face, he could almost imagine dandelion fluff sprout from her ears - at least she was well spoken. Deodat was also a welcome face in this incredibly small gathering. Was this all that was left? Pathetic. Recruiting would have to be a priority, and maybe he could get his trigger happy cousin and the other weaver to help him sway the minds of newcomers.

The entire idea of a sickness or illness having driven out the herd was entirely lost on Ulrik, and he stood naively as if they had never left. Yes, he was confused as to why the ranks were all changing, but he assumed that Illynx and Deimos had just pulled their noses from their asses and decided to promote those who actually worked and showed up. Ah well, he could dream.

"I can help Torleik spar with others if he needs another body," the stallion rumbled in his wild, guttural tones. "First, though, Farenjer and I need a project. Might I suggest our primary goal be bags and metal collecting for the guardians at the entrance?" he asked, eager to get started on his massive, beautiful machine.

(Please tag me in every post)

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 never realized the sky was that vast, always taken for granted and most days ignored, it was only upon leaving a crowded dark hole that he could really appreciate just how enormous it was. It was difficult at first, the light stung his eyes and he spent a day or two wandering around the heart trying to regain his bearings, his legs feeling wobbly with the sudden increase in space and the Nightshade was almost certain he would probably never enter a cave again. Not willingly that was. He even began to feel uncomfortable in small places, of all the things he never thought he'd one day turn claustrophobic, not with his previous love for caves. Then again, maybe he was other thinking it and it was just because he'd been inside for so long, or maybe his madness really had gotten a hold of him forever. Who knew. For now he did his best to hide this 'fear', his enemies needn't see or know this weakness. If that wasn't enough, he still hadn't found Kou. These days they seemed doomed to live apart, the members of the Aurora Basin had returned but d'Artagnan still lingered in the wilds, searching for his pale Queen with a sick feeling that maybe she might have been caught by the wraiths. He would know wouldn't he? If anything had happened, it was supposed to work like that wasn't it?! From time to time anger had once again clouded his vision and branded him with new little scars along his legs where he'd reared in frustration and snagged on something, the pain jolting him back to the present.

Aramis had watched on, knowing this was no way for his bonded to live at the same time he knew there was no way to stop him. When they had first met each other, the Nightshade had triumphed in a battle, so typical of him and his ego that needed no further boosting. Yet, day by day, he was slowly becoming the hollow shape of that former stallion. What was undecided was which way he was going to go, retract within himself and slowly descend into misery, or fall into dark madness with no sense of who he is or used to be. Two cruel fates for a cruel soul which life had twisted beyond repair. It was almost hard to believe that he was once an innocent boy.

In time, d'Artagnan and Aramis had made their way back north and towards the Basin, returning on the will of Kou who had curled her lip and shouted at him for leaving. He had been irresponsible and uncaring, in that moment he wondered if she truly hated him now, maybe that was why they didn't see each other much any more. Yet, d'Artagnan couldn't help trying to set things right, returning to the Basin was what she wanted him to do right? Though it hurt in a way to know that she might now follow him everywhere like old times, though they had different responsibilities now, responsibilities that Kou knew better than him.

Wading across the winter stricken steppe was no easy task either, it was easy for one to get lost in a blizzard up here, but luckily for d'Artagnan he had the nose of Aramis who guided him dutifully. By the time they'd made it back to the pathway into the Basin, his coat was riddled with frozen snow, the whiskers from his nose were a shade of white and his once brown leather bag was now even more of a weight as snow had collected in its pockets. Great! He was now carrying half the Frostbreath Steppe with him, was this all karma had?! If there was any time in his life when he felt truly old, this was it. He wandered down onto the frosty surface with a thunderous face set in place, noting the gathering of horned kin and he rather grumpily stomped over to join them. Snow filled man purse in tow.

"What a meagre gathering." He announced his presence in his typical gruff manner which was tactless as ever. "Corporals and Generals with no soldiers. A thief with no spies and two knitting buddies... A Lord and Lady with no army" he noted as he slid in beside the noble brat, Deodat, and nodded to Deimos before looking at Illynx. "And you want us to go mining?!" Aramis sat down beside his bonded with an expression you could almost describe as an eye roll, they'd been together over a year now and in that time the hell dog had learnt that as the months rolled by his friend was becoming that little bit more cynical each day. Herd gatherings were never really d'Artagnan's thing, they lasted far too long and required him to remember names. "I suppose I better go find us some soldiers whilst you broaden the living quarters" he grumbled as he set himself his own task, managing to hold his tongue successfully before he fatally plunged on into the irk he had of mares in charge.

"Congratulations Lena" he offered randomly to the bay mare who was now his successor. Their personalities couldn't be any different, but maybe in her reign more lives might be saved than lost, the Nightshade preferred watching someone die than watching someone live after all.

Lastly, he looked around the gathering and didn't find any of the faces he wanted. No children, no Kou. He sighed quietly and apprehensively whilst observing the meeting unfold.

[ooc; ack sorry for length and him being an ass!! He's getting too old for all this new technology of moving statues and such ;D]

my heart’s an endless winter
              filled with rage

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

Krieger Posts: 43
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 18.2 :: Seven Buff: NOVICE

If I’m a flame, I’m a forest fire speaking savage tongues
'Finally we get to go back, I haven't even gotten to explore the whole area yet.' The giant thought as his monstrous feathered hooves crunched through the snow. He had heard the other herds were heading back to what they had left, anyway. He chuckled darkly as he thought of the others racing around to fix their lands or whatever they had. He knew he was lagging behind the others, but he was clearly not concerned. Very rarely did this killer worry, he would continue to be late until he earned respect for his leaders. He carried his huge horned head low even with his shoulders, carefully making sure his blood red forelock concealed his only weakness: the sightless sun yellow right eye.

As he neared the gathering point he was just in time to hear who held the title he longed to own, General. He waited silently on the edge of the group sizing up the other unicorns assembled around. He listened as he watched, only slightly interested. As a small bay mare, Lena, accepted her position he waited for his general to speak. Krieger was not disappointed as the double horned stallion spoke up. He snorted softly, he was to take orders, once again from a puny excuse of a stallion. 'At least it isn't a mare.' He thought smirking silently. His attention was caught by the odd creature next to the general, half bird half some furry creature. He was interested by this animal. His sunny orb was torn away as another stag spoke. At least this other stallion was larger than the general, but still short next to Krieger's immense bulk. Heavily muscled shoulders flexed as he stepped closer to the herd.

Another older stallion spoke causing his head to lift higher into the air as he drew his red and white pelted body to it's full height. His avalanche of a voice rumbled from his chest, "Excuse me sir, there is a soldier here." He dipped his head in turn to the leaders, general, then the corporal. "I am Krieger, ready to defend this heard until all enemies have fallen." He put extra emphasis on the last piece, making sure they would all know he would not fall to another.

"Devil's Tongue"'Horrific Thoughts'

Please tag Krieger! All degrees of attacking is fine besides killing him, besides power-play(ask permission!)

Valhalia Posts: N/A
:: :: ::
The grand herd of the Basin was forced into the residues of the prison, the sanctuary. Darkness was like a thick blanket, enveloping them in an embrace of hopelessness, anger, and other rotting emotions boiling together. It sparked a sudden rage, a dull and never ending rage within the tawny, crowned mare. Hatred gleamed in those hard, orbs of silver, loathing of the beasts that robbed her of a new life of a supremacy. Valhalia had yearned daily to go out and crush those beasts, seething at the fact that they could easily infect one, crushing any spark of rebellion. But finally the call of one of their leaders, Deimos, whom she had only seen once, summoned the unicorns back to the icy refuge of the Basin.

The frigid air pounded against her flanks, a feeling that she had longed to feel, the harshness, the deathly cold. A smirk played upon her velvety lips as her body moved in a jovial rhythm. The loud voice boomed and she felt herself drawn in, along with others, some of whom she recognized. Illynx took her turn to speak after the words confidently, spoken from the regal stallion who stood, watching with a gaze appealed by the appearance of his comrades. Listening carefully with pricked audits, Valhalia stood quietly, accepting that she was still freshly new, and did not have any part to speak yet, unlike the older members.

But her time would come soon to mention the fact she was ready to give her body as a vessel to fight and protect her herd mates. The other jobs that were mentioned by the golden eyed mare didn't suit the petite warrior. Her life was stained with blood, her body craved the thrill of a battle, the adrenaline surging through her veins, she was born and raised a soldier, one meant to bring glory to her military. The one named healer, a bay femme with a spiraled horn spoke with gratified tones, and with a meek appearance, accepted the role. Lena. Valhalia made mental notes, taking in the names and appearances of her companions.

The man named general, Tolreik, , had a proud aura, confidence radiated from his horned being. The ebony stallion addressed everyone with a level voice, and like her, lived a life of battles. He seemed very excited, eager to begin a new life of purpose. A tiny smile reappeared, but as quickly as it came, vanished with the unforgiving, bitter wind.

Valhalia spotted Deodat, the stoic man that had led Valhalia to her new life, with no mercy for a tired damsel. Pft. Damsel. Such a petty title implied on most mares of her stature. She enjoyed the personality that he played, a toughened up one, hardened to the concerns of pity and laziness. The tawny mare felt great respect for him as she did for Illynx and Deimos. Solemnly she watched on the meeting, catching the familiar figure of a man she met in the tunnels. She remembered gentle, hushed tones offering an aid of assistance. Valhalia did not recall his name, for anger blinded everything, but one day she'd get to know him once more.

Again, the dark stallion spilled congratulations, as Valhalia silently listened. A voice rang out, mentioning the electric blue unicorn, Farenjir. The stallion mentioned something about guardians. In the future, Valhalia would ask someone the ranks and their meanings to the Basin. It was useful to collect information if she was going to live here. But one stag came to contradict the words of the leaders. Blue pools lightly contrasted against his dark frame, and criticizing words spilled.

A smirk managed to fight itself back to masking her mouth. No soldiers? What was she inducted for? To be some useless mare, another mouth to feed. Snorting softly, only for her ears to hear, she stepped besides the ivory and scarlet stallion speaking up against the stallion. "I am Valhalia, new to the Basin, lead by Deodat some time ago", at least now was an appropriate time to speak. Dipping her head respectfully to everyone, especially the Lord and Lady, stony, silver orbs addressed the crowned unicorns in the meeting. " I was born and raised a warrior, and that is what I am here for. I am absolutely willing to die for the Basin, and will prove my use. You have another soldier for a military", her smirk was wiped off her face, and her tone was solemn, confidently filling the air.

Valhalia meant business, and was ready at any cost to prove her worth. She mentally laughed, knowing that others would look upon her and snivel at the sight of such a small woman. But her hooves were ready to crush skulls, her teeth aching to bite soft flesh and bring agony to her opponents. The tawny femme yearned to be on the battle field, even now, fighting to be the victor. Awaiting whatever left was to say, she backed up again, besides the massive alabaster brute, Krieger.

Roland Posts: 230
Aurora Basin Phantom atk: 7.5 | def: 10 | dam: 2.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16 hh :: 8 yrs HP: 60.0 | Buff: NOVICE
never take advice from someone who just admitted to being devious and just confessed to treason

Roland had never been happier to leave a safe haven behind. The first breath he drew beneath the sun flooded his lungs with fresh air, purging his bloodstream of the mildew, the rot and mould that prospered in the caves, and injecting life back into his system. He didn't waste any time lingering around the Heart, trying to gather his bearings or survey the land for dangers, instead he headed home, turning his back on the caverns without sparing them a second glance.

Rather than a wasteland, he returned to the Basin much as he had left it. In their absence the land had renewed itself, shed the shadows and ichor, and flourished beneath the snow as it always had. The sun glanced off the mountains, a bright sky spread above their heads, and finally Roland could breathe clear air. Gone were the lingering undertones of mould and the rhythmic dripping of water resonating throughout the hollow tunnels. The monotonous song of the underground had been replaced by the whistle of wind, howling and haunting, but blissfully familiar.

And now he stood among his comrades, basking in the sun's warmth as the voices of his leaders rang out across the rocky crags. The space that surrounded them, open and vast, was unfamiliar. He had grown accustomed to the finite spaces of the caves; the dank, stagnant air and overwhelmingly earthen smells. But for all that the Basin seemed relatively unharmed, much had changed. Many ranks that had once been filled were in need of occupation, and some of the herd had decided not to follow their Lord and Lady home. He listened in morose silence as old titles were bestowed upon new owners, voicing his congratulations along with the rest of them when Lena was named Time Mender. Many spoke up, pledging their allegiance to the herd, and offering their protection. While Roland no longer had the fortitude of his earlier years, and couldn’t find it in himself to offer his armaments in the case of war, he would do all he could with the skills he had to protect his home.

image credits

Beowulf Posts: 48
Hidden Account atk: 4 | def: 7.5 | dam: 7.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 18Hh :: 8 winters HP: 65 | Buff: NOVICE
Mykah :: Canadian Lynx :: None Eaglecry
"Lonely? I don't know. They tell me this is cold. I don't know what cold is, because I don't freeze"

Finally the caves were behind him, far behind him indeed. Snow licked gracefully upon his cloven dishes, Something he had longed for since entering the caves. Those had really taken it's toll upon the beast. His calm manor upturned by a simple labyrinth of caves. Never again would he seek refuse inside the caves. No matter what lay at hand. The hairy Beast would simply face the matter eye to eye.
A white blanket of cold embraced him with open arms. The grin once lost, now found its place back upon his features, The sheer brightness didn't even seem to hurt his eyes, but instead helped him to see again. The world was splendid, even if there was something different about these lands now, something dark still lingered in the distance. Possibly left over from whatever plague had swept over Helovia. And even through all of that, he managed to find his way back home.
Stood upon the entrance, his mind remembered the time he first ever arrived at the place. He wasn't alone that time, Arah and Torleik had guided him there, shown him the way from within the thresholds and since then he had not seen either. In fact he had not seen many of his herd at all since the darkness had spread. But he had heard of the gatherings going back on, everyone was slowly returning to their home regions.

He past through the arch, moving with a slow grace to him. Beowulf never saw the need to rush, he took his time, taking in everything around him as he did so. The beast swore to never leave the snow capped mountains ever again. They were his home as much as his true home was, now.
He felt a wave of security rush over him as soon as he stepped hoove upon the Basin grounds. Excitement flooded through his veins, his speed; for once in his life, quickened. He was home, where family waited for him. Or so he desperately hoped they were. He missed Arah, Torleik, Illynx. The only few he had met so far. Even if the man did not see them as friends, he had missed their company. They were family to him, no matter how little time he'd actually spent in the Basin. But now that would change. He was back, for good.
Then something twitched inside of him. Quinn. He had made a friend in the caves. Met someone he could actually be himself around and now, she was gone. Would he ever see her again? How long would that time be before he did. Now he felt suddenly torn.

Voice's wavered in the cool breeze as the beast moved closer to the circle. Others just joining, could be seem vaguely through the wind tossed snow. Something fluttered inside his stomach the closer he got to the herd. There were many more there than he actually knew, and only two he could call by name. Where was Arah? He wondered. If anything had happened to her, he would not be too happy about that. Even if he did not show much friendship towards the lady, he cared about those in the herd as much as everyone else potentially did. They were family to him and that meant he had to protect each and every one.
He stepped into the meeting, possibly a little late, but the conversion was still in progress. There were many here indeed he did not know. But at the same time, it was a small group. Perhaps now was his time to get to know all that called this place home. Orange orbs fell upon the dark stallion. Torleik, stood closest to the front, where the lady Illynx took her position. He had met her briefly upon entering and joining the herd, but never had it gone much further. Now was his chance to show himself a worthy herd mate. one that wasn't just all fur.
Though a solider he was not, fighting was clearly not in his blood. But instead persuasion of words and looks where part of his charm. Perhaps he could be of use in guarding the entrance.
"I am happy to be back and call these mountains my home." he spoke with a bow of his cranium, minding others as he did and speaking only when those had finished. "I will gladly help in anyway possible, but I will not fight. It's against my ways and I apologize greatly for that. Though instead I can be of help in guarding the ways. I believe my size can be of use in that area" He was indeed the largest of all that had gathered here. Some found him rather taunting, almost like the troll under the bridge.
Beowulf would be of any service they so wanted of him.


Zikar-Sin Posts: 78
Hidden Account
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16hh :: 8

The basin had been abandoned for nearly an entire season—abandoned by all things indeed. The waters had dried into something ghastly and corrosive; the flora had withered into black ashes and filth. The stars above had extinguished themselves and even the flowing ribbon of the aurora had ceased to exist within the blackened plane of decay. No horse had resided here—well, no mortal, life-breathing, flesh-donning horse, that is. For the Disciple had stayed true to his Northern abode, and indeed, he had stayed true to his innermost natures.

“Let’s see here…” he muttered to himself, his head ducked and his cloven hooves working swiftly, diligently, precisely among the blackened lichen, the odorous stench of dead flesh and the pale yellow of greasy horse-fat. “…The muscle here has quite clearly…detached from this bone…” He was a tall and gangly horse, yet in this moment Zikar-Sin stood carefully stooped, studiously focused on what seemed to be a most delicate specimen; if one where to see his expression, one might suppose he were attending to the care of a most precious child. “What interesting decay,” he whispered to himself, that cloven hoof of his needling the discolored flesh of his quarry, “The immediate change of his flesh seemed to be from rapid degeneration, yet here it’s evident that…time itself is still able to…induce the average deterioration of flesh…hmmm…”

And so it went—and had been—for nearly an entire season. Nothing but black and acrid winds and bitter cold, and the tainted Disciple laboring over the body of an infected infidel he had found searching in the wilds. Indeed, Sin had been enthralled with this intriguing sort of virus, his excitement growing when he himself caught the plague. He had, with ample excitement, felt the itch of his ruined flesh; felt it when his own left eye simply fell from its socket, dangling there on a delicate pink tendon; felt it when his mane and tail began to grow like ravenous, matted weeds around his neck and fetlocks. And yet, it seemed, his mind had stayed completely whole and unaffected by the ravenous virus—or, perhaps, his mind had been unwholesome and decayed to begin with. He didn’t reflect over these peculiarities, much…

…for there was science to be had!

To study one’s self in a reflective pool to better study the effects of this sickness was one method of examination—to be able to witness it in another body, however, that was true discovery! And thus, the deceased body of some poor fool of a diseased equine had been salvaged from the outer lands, those lands that reflected the ruined state of Sin’s own homeland. He had dragged that body back and taken to studying the effect of time over the state of the disease that still resided in that ruined flesh. Oh, how time ticked on! It whirled passed the Disciple, molding the world around him without his notice, so that when the stars returned, the water became pleasant to the tongue, and the aurora once again twinkled brightly ahead on some nights, Zikar-Sin didn’t notice, so enthralled he was with his project!

It wasn’t until a strange scent entered his field of perception that Sin was shaken from the intensity of his passion. Strange it was, because Sin was accustomed to the scent of rot and unclean, and this scent surely came from the bodies of healthy, sweating, blood-flowing, air breathing, clear eyed companions. His companions; his herd!

Zikar-Sin knew well enough the tendencies of his comrades; the concentrations of horse-smell told him that there was a meeting to be had, and he must attend to it, as duty befitted. As such, when Sin made his way swiftly towards the congregation, he failed to realize his own disheveled, infected state—that he was very much a plague bringer, and that the dead body that bore the brunt of his passionate discoveries was very much a talisman of ruin as well. He failed to think of these things, for he was overwhelmed with his joy to see his herd again—for science is exciting, but dead bodies do not make for good company.

“Ho, friends!” He called out merrily, trotting gaily towards the large group of hard, scarred brutes that he had come to call family, “Oh, it’s so wonderful to see you all again!”

[SINNY IS STILL INFECTED. As well as the body of his specimen (which is Ricochet's dead body, btw). Both can still infect herd members! I think!]

IMG Credit:

Lena the Songbird Posts: 663
Aurora Basin Time Mender atk: 4 | def: 10.5 | dam: 6.5
Mare :: Unicorn :: 15.3 :: 6 HP: 69 | Buff: NOVICE
Imogen :: Common Kitsune :: Fire Heather

[Mauling post order to heal Zikar! ;D]

The road opened to the rest of their hallowed world – she watched as they trickled in, one by one, enamored and whole once more, no longer chained to walls or rubble, hastening back over the supremacy of the beautiful mountains, of the towering summits. Her heart pressed into vibrant, pulsating beats of pride, of devotion, of creeds christened through the icy emblems and banners, and her smile enveloped the entirety of her features as she blossomed, bloomed, with more promise, more purpose, more motivation through the art of their salvation. The fairy dipped her head towards her brethren, her companions, as they drifted back into chilling winds and enigmatic labyrinths (of their own choosing, instead pathways of rock and stone), a welcoming blessing as they wandered through their icicle courtyard. From Deodat, Roland, Farenjer, D’art, and even those still unfamiliar, she extended a bob of her head, a whisper of solidarity, a compassionate vein of triumph and conquering shades. Through the misty, murky shrouds of their existence, for they’d survived, she pondered in idle form, wondering where certain creatures tread, if not in the glacial realm, in the sovereign kingdom. Where were Arah and her beautiful children, nestled like ivory and golden lambs? Where had Faelene wandered to, wily and wonderful?

She was distracted, momentarily, from the essences of their missing spirits, when another scrambled in (though she couldn’t recall his name, his frame was familiar; a breath of recognition only extinguished through the mood-altering figure of decay and ruin). He was noteworthy for many reasons, but she sought to focus only on a scarce few: the sinister ambience of pestilence shriveled what could have been a handsome complexion (where did the beast begin, and the disease end?), and a body trailing from his nefarious wake, seemingly dragged from the innards of Tartarus. The fey softened the gasp threatening to bubble from her lungs, and instead, obliged to compose herself again: regal, mighty, stalwart through the darkest hours, persevering through the awakening bliss, when all nightmares may not have been cleaned, mended, assuaged. Drifting away from the safety of her friends, a nymph monarch in the building crescendos, in the marching beat of her heralded tunes, her attention remained solely fixated upon the mauled Disciple, his merry calls, his unfaltering attitude towards life. The smile faded as her lips parted and reveled in the quiet, dulcet bells of her song, bewitched carillons swinging amongst the wanton breeze, exhilarating, enticing, beguiling, alluring, aria reveries anointed through a valorous heart. She’d conducted the same symphony over and over again, through the midnight veneers and the nocturnal melancholies, awakened monsters from catacombs and spread serenity instead of the spliced, scathing chords of a lost sepulcher. Lena endured to do it once more, the sweet, soft serenade composed from the fortifications of her strength, singsong rebellion casting away the anchored ships of malice, of menace, of maelstroms. Her eyes closed, her hallelujahs exposed, and she was another bird, calming the wicked doldrums of unshed venom, hope’s magnificent opus.

where there is love, there is life.</style>

image by safetylast @

Illynx the GildedBlade Posts: 413
Hidden Account atk: 7.5 | def: 11.5 | dam: 3
Mare :: Unicorn :: 16hh :: 13 HP: 67.5 | Buff: ENDURE
Kyst :: Common Griffon :: Zapping Jab Bunnie
The meeting went well enough, at first. They trickled in to hear her words and gaze upon the boring steel splendor of the Lord alongside her, their faces familiar and sweet to her for the most part while others were somewhat more obscure. With each announcement of positions, the names stated rose to speak their part – she did not see one of their Corporals, however, or the face of the red haired Thief, and many others were missing. While Torleik’s words broke into the void between her own, she sends her golden eyes searching for them all, her brethren in arms, and finds that she is disappointed that some have not come to the call, and worried for others.

Where is her moon-eyed child, who she saved from the clutches of a dark forest? The one who had condemned her for an ill fated adventure?

Perhaps they are patrolling, or perhaps worse has happened to them. She does not let her face falter in worry and quickly subdues the thoughts for another time; there will be room to discover what has become of her legates in a future schedule. Today has already been booked.

Her crown dips in a timely fashion to conclude the snow flecked unicorn’s brief speech on his appointment and the subsequent and extremely miniaturized one of the present Corporal, a smile subtle and hovering about her mouth in pleasure of his enthusiasm. Not once did she remember the Lord Deimos so openly inviting his comrades to partake of the most valuable lessons to be learned in life, and while she was coming to understand that such public outbursts were impossible for the frigid son of a bitch, it was still refreshing to see a man of such charisma leading the fighters of the mountain.

Might your fire ignite itself under all their fat asses, she thinks, her grin growing into a soft smirk.

After her speech had concluded and Lena had both accepted her new position and given praise to all others who had been promoted, the Lady’s smile is widened by Farenjer’s own proud words; she had been watching him, so studiously gathering cotton and other implements of the weaving craft, a loyal student to Crowley. She did not know much of him other than that he was of good foundations with a faithful heart, but that was all that truly mattered to her; if he was willing to work to benefit the herd, in ways, he would be benefitting her.

And that, my friends, is what this game of life is all about for the Gilded Blade; easy favors earned for easy tasks.

A familiar and gruff voice draws her eyes next, her golden orbs finding the strangely handsome figure of the Engineer as she had assumed; he is mostly late as always, a thing she has come to expect from the haggard and usually quite filthy stallion. She remembers a time she had once leaned on that disgustingly muddy shoulder of his – and wonders why she had decided it was a good idea at the time, even as worn down as she had been from the electric dragon. It had taken a good number of baths to wash the smut from that brief encounter from her skin and, even then, it had been with an amused smile on her lips that she had bathed it away.

"Then make bags," she laughs, her grin cheeky and her voice playful and lilting on the cold air, "and let all here who have interest in seeing our sentinels come to life begin work on mining; know I too will come to help when necessary and available. I am assuming you know to which caves to send them to?"

As quickly as it had been born, her good humor is smashed into small, jagged pieces that desire to lunge out at the next voice that slips into the clearing; she had not expected it to rancor her so, considering the man who spoke the words. Her ears and face both snap to his position at the first mentioning of meager, brow arching viciously on her usually charming face.

She parts her lips to retort, but is cut short by the voices of some of her fighters, the parted expression on her face closing into a curved and quite smug smile.

"Here stand our numbers, d’Artagnan, but they are proud and stronger than your words paint them, few as they may be," she says, her wisp of a smirk fading at the beginning of her words, "and not a one of them will compare to the sentinels when they are complete, not even the Lord Deimos. We mine to fortify our borders, not for additional comfort; doing both at once is a matter of proper utilization of time and resources. I will not waste time returning to broaden the caves on a later date when the workers are already present and mining to gather metals." A pause slips into her phrasing, her golden eyes glinting with a promise that she will accept little outbursts from a man so newly returned to their fold, a man who fled from a position he had been given in good faith.

He had already proven he was incapable of good decision making, so easily driven into the wilds by two stolen foals and a failed invasion to rescue them.

An entire war, staged for one man and his boys, and still he was dissatisfied.

The size of the ego on some of these men was enough to make a woman go mad.

"You are a man of great worth to our brethren, Doctor," she concludes, "be less quick to stain your reputation among your kin with hasty words born of a weary soul. Trust in the strength of our herd, believe that we might guide the Aurora Basin into a better tomorrow, or challenge one of us yourself for the rights to decide what is done within it if you feel that you can do better." She tilts her head ever so slightly, a smile returning to her lips as she looks upon him with what she hopes is portrayed as a face that wishes for him to stay and at least try to trust in the leadership that was provided to them.

Her final words to the Doctor are followed by the arrival of a large and hairy brute, a short bow given to his leaders before he gives little intelligence on himself. He is unable of a fight, but wishes to guard the borders? He has one thing right, at least, and that is that he’s big, and size does matter for some things. "The crafters will have use of your brawn, sir," she says, planning on detailing him more specifically on who and when would be appropriate for such measures, though she gets no such chance.

A stench turns her face away from the newest speaker, an odor she had hoped to never smell again. It is the putrid wind of the spider child, the black feathers of the pegasus mare. Her gaze is broad with temporary fear as she turns to face the source of the smell, body preparing to potentially re-infect herself in order to add validity to her just concluded speech to d’Artagnan and to make her prior sacrifices worth more than a vast jar of nothing.

But the face is familiar, no matter how fetid the beast has become, and she feels such sorrow for him. It is her fault he is this way. She remembers now.

What in Time’s name is he still doing here? Shouldn’t he have gone to prowl the mouth the caverns with the others, pulled to the healing pools by one of the myriad warriors or healers as she had been? That he was still on the mountain astonished her, the vague memories she had of her wraith’s existence full of a restlessness, a seeking for more to destroy, to ruin.

But the boy, now that she thought of it, didn’t seem to have had much sense to him in their last meeting. After all, he had been searching for Myrrdin, a man long gone from their ranks, as if the ancient unicorn had only disappeared a day prior, and rather than fleeing as she had hoped he would – he had sacrificed himself for her.

She sees the black feathers that fall like rain around them, the blur of his dark body intercepting the winged devil that sought to harm her. The lunatic man had tossed himself in the path of wolves for naught. She had been turned anyway, regardless of his selflessness.

And then he speaks, and she is horrified and intrigued at the same moment; he has changed not one bit but for the decay consuming his body.

"Do not approach or touch him!" she calls to the herd as Lena, sweet and dedicated Lena, rises to meet the challenge of fixing the broken Disciple. Turning her golden gaze to the monster in their midst, she smiles as sweetly as she can, hoping to keep him still long enough to let Lena’s magic do its work on the ruins of his flesh. "Just wait right there for a moment, darling," she simpers towards him, "Lena is going to reward you for saving me from that atrocious flying black monster."

[ OOC: omgardnovel! I think I got everyone mentioned though? xD]
if I only could make a deal with God.
Magic/assault allowed to be used on Illynx at any time, in so far as it does not kill or seriously maim her without my permission. 

Ulrik the Engineer Posts: 235
Deceased atk: 5.5 | def: 9.0 | dam: 6.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 17.1 hh :: 11 HP: 69.5 | Buff: ENDURE
Kirchoff :: Common Hellhound :: Superspeed Tamme
Each point in space (and time) is associated with a vector that determines what force a moving charge would experience.

No other voices mattered in this palaver save for that of d'Artagnan. Ulrik heard his words, heard the intention and his bronze eyes glinted madly with consuming anger he rarely felt. The tall, muscular stallion's lips curled back from his pale teeth as his ears tilted against his skull, tail flashing angrily at his hocks. Knitting? And what, pray tell, did the good doctor do? Ulrik would knit the fucker a noose so he could further hang himself on his words. The irony would be beautiful.

Unable to contain his anger, even after Illynx stood up for him and his creations, the Engineer kept his hooves firmly rooted to the ground, afraid that they may carry him into battle otherwise. "Coming from the first to kneel at the hooves of an equine in the Throat battle, your words have no weight," he spat, remembering that pathetic fight in which d'Artagnan fell and then Psyche. "Go beg for followers, since it's what you do best. I shall knit with Farenjer and engineer the sentinels."

Ulrik cast an angry glance at his cousin, Illynx and Deimos before turning his back on the doctor and stalking to go mine, a rather useful task. The battle for the Dragon's Throat had been a disaster, such a disaster that Ulrik had simply walked away from his opponent, not stupid enough to fight a losing campaign. Psyche, in all of her brilliance, had pushed this, and the rest of them fell like dominoes with d'Artagnan at the head.

[[lol Ulrik is a little butthurt]]

(Please tag me in every post)

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