the Rift

[PRIVATE] wolf hall

Volterra the Indomitable Posts: 785
Dragon's Throat Sultan atk: 8.5 | def: 11.5 | dam: 8.5
Stallion :: Equine :: 17'2hh :: 3 HP: 80 | Buff: SENSE
Vérzés :: Common Red Dragon :: Frost Breath & Toxic Breath & Vadir :: Royal Gold Dragon :: Fire Breath & Shock Breath Snow


The night air is devoid of any chill as the giant prowls deeper into the forest, his footsteps heavy against the hard soil and the sparse breeze hardly even ruffling his mane. It is a sign of quite how stifling this Tallsun is when even the night gives no respite from the searing heat of the day, and Volterra suffers greatly in it. He craves the icy bite of winter, when snow piles against his limbs and blizzards pound his flesh; anything except this stuffy, all-consuming warmth, unforgiving and relentless.

But he hardly even notices the temperature tonight. His mind is preoccupied, and it's even filtered down towards his heart, which beats heavily against the hard weight of his chest. He is...nervous. This is not an emotion he is used to, and the twist of apprehension in his gut is quite foreign to him. His anxiety is for good reason, however, because tonight is a very important night in the blackened goliath's life. Tonight is the night he intends to interact with all his the same time.

The idea came to him when he noticed Tyrath and Astarot's easy camaraderie in the Veins, and realised what a thrill it gave him to see his sons befriending each other. He does not know if his children have ever met their siblings, and he's eager to oversee this possible first meeting. When he is a king, and his offspring hold the weight of his legacy upon their shoulders, it will be vitally important that they have each other to rely on. Besides, he would rather they learn of each other's existence when he is there, just in case it turns...sour. He also hopes to get to know each of them more, and give them the chance to discover more about him - just another step in his quest towards responsible fatherhood.

His dragons perch on the branches around him as he slows to a halt, their bright eyes glimmering in the weak half-light. They approve of this meeting, and are as keen as their bonded to acquaint themselves with his offspring. Find them, he commands, and off the dragons go; gold and red glitter like gemstones as they zoom through the trees on a rustle of leathery wings. For good measure, the stallion gives a loud, summoning whinny, before falling silent and waiting. Tension coils in his muscles, but he attempts to smother it. He has fought countless foes, received agonising wounds, climbed mountains and tangled with wolves...surely a gang of foals cannot be that terrifying?

image credits

SO MANY EXCITES I SAY. You guys have permission to say Verzes or Vadir found your character and showed them the way, if you want :) @Tyrath @Kid @Valdis @Astarot @Sikeax and Sabre and Zhu are welcome if they happen to come out of AA during this thread 8D

[ you can't stray from what you are, you're the closest thing to hell i've seen so far  ]
[ use of force/magic on him is permitted aside from death/maiming ]

Tyrath Posts: 61
Outcast atk: 5 | def: 8.5 | dam: 6
Stallion :: Tribrid :: 17.2 :: 2 [birdsong] HP: 64.5 | Buff: NOVICE
Harcos :: Common Red Dragon :: Fire Breath Nova
Condemned to predetermined damnation for eternity

A trip to the thistle meadow had turned into a night time excursion, too far away from the Dragon's Throat to make it back before the sun slipped over the horizon to allow the moon to cast her stars and gentle glow down upon Helovia. Cloven hooves dig into the dry grasses and cracking dirt as he soldiered on ahead of his mother and sister, small chest puffed out and head held high. Leonine tail swished behind him in an idle sway, and crimson eyes remained fixed on the rolling banks and not the Wendigo trawling beside him.

Goblin was a terrible troll, preying on his uneasiness whenever the Rougarou decided to revert into that form. It could of been anything, from what he'd been told about the shapeshifters, they could pick any form they wanted. Why a Wendigo? He was pretty sure he'd called Goblin 'troll' half a dozen times to his face, and each time he was sure the wicked thing grinned at him in response. Empty sockets and rattling bones, with a banshee wail that could make a dragon piss itself, ugh. With a mental shudder, the colt pushed the thoughts from his mind with one swift kick.

There were more pressing thoughts for the Tribrid to focus on, as they walked. The trip to the Veins had been eventful, if anything else. He found out his Grandpa was a God, and now he had his very own God Quest to do! Where to start with it? Gods were a pretty big deal, weren't they? Not many wouldn't know about the Sun God, and he was pretty sure some others weren't about to perform a light and fire show for a colt that popped up out of the blue asking if they had magic. Then there was his Apa, who looked like a Stallion waiting for the ground to open up and swallow him whole, what had that been about? It was clear he hadn't known who his mother was, but it wasn't that big of a deal right? To sleep with a Demi-Goddess and have her foal, he imagined most stallions like him would relish the thought of having a Mare that powerful in his bed.

Illuminated golden scales caught his eye, familiar golden scales which gleamed with a deadly, alurring light which belonged to no other Dragon but Vadir. An ashy ear flicked back to catch the barely audible grumble from his mother's companion, didn't he like the Golden Queen? Surely, her magnificence captivated him like it did the Colt. How his churning pits of crimson tinged green at his father for having one, and his lack of having one of those creatures bonded to his side, but they also twinged the colour of pride. How could his father not have a gold to command?

The way she moved in the air clearly spoke that she wanted the Colt to follow her, and hadn't the patience to wait for him to click on at a slower pace. "C'mon, Goblin." He muttered to the creature beside him and without another word eased himself into a canter after the Dragon, not caring if the Rougarou would have to switch forms in order to keep up with his lithe frame. Deeper into the night lit forest they go, until it clears and the familiar figure of his father is all he see's.

"Apa." It's a greeting any father would hope their son would greet them with, respect and warmth. Not gritted through the teeth with reluctant acknowledgement. He slowed to a steady stop a short distance from Volterra, head tilted to the side as his wings ruffled comfortably against his barrel, nostrils half-flared from his run. "You called?"

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permission given from Zuno to have Hobgoblin accompany Tyrath.
[Image: tyrath_by_bronzehalo_d9yw5wg_by_arahvir-d9yx9ov.png]

Kid Posts: 122
Outcast atk: 4 | def: 8.5 | dam: 6.5
Colt :: Equine :: 15hh :: 3 years HP: 63 | Buff: NOVICE
The silence of the forest is calming and familiar, the solitude and peace it offers are welcome to my weary mind. Mother has come down hard, cracking the whip and demanding intense physical exertion to make sure I remain in perfect condition. She is relentless in her training, making me perform difficult and strenuous tasks to improve my stamina, strength and agility— the breaks I take are short and rare, lungs aching constantly as they struggle for air. She does not know that I am overworked and tired, that every night the fatigue consumes me and my body cries out in the morning— my muscles are tense and tight, constantly in a state of soreness as I wander the forest.

Today Mother simply isn't here, speaking of business she must attend to, but she still expects my coat to shimmer with sweat upon her return (damn). She disappears into the darkness of the gnarled branches and swooping pines, bindled body out of sight and mind for the better half of a day (thank you). But there are other plans for me other than relaxation and a moment to breathe, as is signified by the call of an all too familiar idiot— a particularly dim stallion who tries to bond with his too many children, yet seemingly cannot. My ears draw back and bubblegum wanders towards the source of the call, hoping that he was reaching out for someone else other than me. Bubblegum meets blood red, splendid scales and aerodynamics gathering my attention as a familiar reptile summons me forward. "Fuck."

So much for a 'Me day'.

I follow Volterra's dragon through the forest, winding through the gaps in the trees and dancing over the tangled roots, ears still flat against my skull as I get closer to Volterra. I can almost smell the overcompensating masculinity that oozes from his skin and the testosterone he seems to have a constant overflow of (seriously when will it stop)— it's another few strides before the big black mass comes into view, the titan towering over another familiar youth (Tyrath), accompanied by a flickering gold body and another familiar companion (Hobgoblin). My eyes reach to Goblin before anyone else, gazing at the Sikeax's companion and questioning whether it was solely Goblin or if she would come trailing after anytime soon (or maybe she's already here?)— my eyes scan the surroundings for signs of hesitant blue or a dash of amber champagne, finding solely disappointment. Damn.

With subtly furrowed brows I direct my attention to Volterra, listening to the title Tyrath addresses Volterra with— the same one Zhu used, the title his children have deemed him. But not I, for the word that comes to mind is no title of respect or worship. There is nothing grand or magnificent about it as it rolls off my tongue almost silently, slipping away into the rustling leaves and chirping birds as soon as it leaves my mouth. "Féleszű." It's spoken as I approach, whispered to no one but myself as I confidently stride towards my brother and Volterra (gotta keep up appearances).

"So what now, Volterra? Are you trying to get us all together to announce that you caught something nasty during one of your encounters?" A black brow rises, unphased expression rooted to macabre features as I look up at the brute and await his response. It certainly wouldn't be a surprise to have him catch some kind of disease with all the women he beds, really I should be expecting that announcement any day now. "And if this isn't really that important, I definitely have better things to do. So unless you're here to tell us that you've finally realized that all this sex is gonna bite you in the ass, so you're slowing down or stopping altogether— or that you've found Sabre— I really don't care." The words are harsh, cold and unforgiving as I look away carelessly, because fuck this. I didn't come out here for some petty play time with Father of the Year, Volterra— fuck that.

My eyes settle on Tyrath, a grin cracking subtly across my lips as I look at my younger brother. "It's been a while, you've certainly grown." His horns have grown more, the wings larger and body thicker, he is certainly Volterra's son. He too will grow to be taller than me. I'm the unlucky child who was born cursed to be short, stout and thick but powerful in the way I could kick a rock and blow a hole clean through someone's skull (who wants to try it out?). "Sorry I can't check up on you or Astarot, the Throat isn't exactly the most accessible place in the world for someone like me. But I'm always here in the deep forest if you ever need me." Trying to make up for lost time, (who does that remind me of?) I try to explain my absence in my brothers' lives— as someone who lacked wings or magic to get me across the gap to the Throat, I was inevitably stuck on the other side, watching them all grow up without me and waiting for the day they'd seek me out. If it ever comes.

It may seem strange or out of character, but I do care about my brothers and sister— who knows who else will (except perhaps Sikeax, maybe), with untrustworthy or non existent mothers and a slacking father, someone has to care. And I do, I want to make sure they all hit the ground running and make it through the turmoil of childhood, the damnation of living as a bastard son (or daughter) in a world where parents are supposed to teach you all you need to know. I can't be absent the way Volterra has been, I can't disappear the way Zhu and Sabre have done, can't mistreat them or ignore them the way their mothers do— I have to take on the responsible role of big brother, (because that's who I am whether I like it or not) and be there for them.

[Image: 2i94l5l.jpg]

ok yall better be ready bc salt boy is here and queer and ready 2 rumble

made by reli

tag me in everything

Volterra the Indomitable Posts: 785
Dragon's Throat Sultan atk: 8.5 | def: 11.5 | dam: 8.5
Stallion :: Equine :: 17'2hh :: 3 HP: 80 | Buff: SENSE
Vérzés :: Common Red Dragon :: Frost Breath & Toxic Breath & Vadir :: Royal Gold Dragon :: Fire Breath & Shock Breath Snow


The first to come is Tyrath, accompanied by none other than Sikeax's Hobgoblin. He can feel Vadir's distaste echoing through their bond, and with a cold smile and snorting chuckle he remembers his previous meeting with Sikeax and her companion. Vadir ended up locked in a cage of stone...little wonder she has no love for Hobgoblin.

Volterra spares a thought for why Sikeax's companion should be with Tyrath. He doesn't know that the mare has adopted Tyrath as her own - the leviathan rather thinks he's been doing a fine job of single parenthood, given Aithniel's seeming reluctance to care for her son. Volterra has done everything he can to get to know the colt, teach him Hungarian, answer his questions, show him anything he wishes to be shown, and offer him as much love as he possibly can. After all, Tyrath is the first one of his children that he's been with from the very beginning - he spoke with Aithniel when she was pregnant, attended the birth, and has been a solid figure in the boy's life ever since. It only amplifies his lingering feeling of shame that he couldn't have done the same with Zhu, Kid and Sabre.

The youth's respectful tones reach Volterra's keen ears, and he offers his son a broad smile. "Üdvözletem, fiú," he rumbles, shifting his muzzle forwards to try and touch it to Tyrath's broad shoulder. Although not the most affectionate of fathers (his children shouldn't expect regular embraces or tender touches), Volterra is still just as touch-orientated as he was when he was a boy. The best way to acquaint with his offspring is, in his opinion, through touch.

Before he can explain to Tyrath why he's called him, Kid arrives, and it would be the understatement of the century to say he is not nearly as pleased to see him as Tyrath is. Vérzés, who has accompanied the colt, gives a swift chirp of greeting to Hobgoblin before departing to search for more of his bonded's offspring - as he swoops over Kid's head to leave, he just catches the breathy whisper, and delivers it to his bonded. The goliath's brow lifts into a sardonic simper. Half-wit? Really? "I'm so glad you are putting my teachings to good use," he drily remarks.

Kid continues. His tirade is...disappointing, to say the least, and Volterra tires of the child's poor attitude by the minute. He can take a certain amount of aggro from his offspring (after all, in Kid and Zhu's case, their ire is well-deserved, to a certain point) yet he is sick to the back teeth of the boy's attempts to undermine him, his barbed comments, his evident lack of respect towards his father. Volterra has apologised, he has explained his reasons, and that is that; Kid seems intent on keeping up a grudge just for the sake of keeping it. How many times must he be told that the sole reason Volterra did not interact with him when he was younger was because he didn't know he existed? Unless the giant gains the ability to go back in time, then there is nothing he can do to change the past. In his not-so-humble opinion, Kid needs to man the hell up and get over it.

"Tell him that," comes Vadir's frosty purr of a voice. "Hatchling must learn place."

"Don't," warns Vérzés in his throaty rumble. "Will only make him hate more."

Volterra's opinion falls somewhere between the two. He is not usually one to bite his tongue when he has something to say, yet he knows any rebuttal will only result in Kid growing ever more determined to piss him off. But the stallion will not have his sons disrespect him; that is a hard line he draws, ironically inherited from his own absent sire. "That is enough," he says; his voice is a low, dangerous rumble, oddly devoid of anger and all the more terrifying for it. It is the voice of a king, the deadly rasp of a irritated father, the thunderous growl of a man to whom discipline is a familiar friend. It's a voice Confutatis would often use on him, a voice that would fill him with far more dread than any amount of shouting. "I do not expect you to like me, Kid, but you will not speak to me like that. Would you address your mother in such a manner? I think not. I quite understand your reasons for hating me, and I offer you more leeway than most because of that, but my tolerance has its limits."

In his head, both dragons marvel at the calmness of his voice. They are used to his temper being such a blatant thing, an obvious and fiery display of rage and domination. They are not used to this, the cold, dangerous rumble of the oncoming storm. Vadir approves; the chilling sternness that Volterra is exhibiting is what she exemplifies in her attitude. Whilst Volterra and Vérzés are fire, Vadir is ice. They are the storm itself; she is the first ebbings of thunder. They are the sword slipped without preamble through the heart; she is the knife in the dark. She is no less deadly than they are, yet she keeps her power contained, trapped, controlled. That is the difference in Volterra's voice now compared to his usual ill-tempered rantings - it is more tethered, calm, but deadly. Heavens, he never thought he would have his very own Stern Dad Voice.

He breathes deeply, and glances around for his other children. None seem forthcoming, and his face twists into concern. Where are Astarot, Zhu and Valdis? He has been searching religiously for Sabre, but could he have lost three other children in the process? He's so intent on this thought that he hardly notices Kid and Tyrath interacting; apparently they've met, too. After casting a hopeful glance through the trees, frowning to himself, the beast looks back to his two gathered sons.

"The reason I have summoned you both is that I wish for each and every one of my children to get to know each other, and myself. The bonds of family are the strongest any of us can experience, and it is important that we nurture that. The six of you are the future; for all I know, my ambitions could send me into an early grave, in which case I want you all to have each other to rely upon." When he thinks about it, six doesn't actually seem that many - Zhu, Kid, Sabre, Tyrath, Astarot, Valdis. For now, though, it is quite enough. Although he cannot refrain from women entirely, perhaps it is time he took a leaf out of Kid's book and learnt how to pull out.

He looks to Kid again - he expects the boy to have rebuked sharply to his previous words, but he does not let that affect him as his voice and expression softens. In Sabre's absence, he can truly sympathise with the youth - if he lost Nymeria, his world would be crushed. "Now, you mentioned Sabre. My dragons and I have been searching Helovia regularly since we last spoke, but we have found no sign of her. If we do not locate her soon, I intend to ask the dragons to begin searching outside Helovia's borders, and report back to me immediately if they discover her. I promised you I would bring her back to you - I am a man of my word."

Now his massive head turns, so he can look at both sons at once. "My newest child, who I doubt either of you will have met yet, should hopefully be along soon. Her name is Valdis, and different to the pair of you." His voice catches in his throat, his pain evident. Valdis. His youngest, his darling daughter, the living embodiment of his utter failure as a father. Blind and wingless because of some unknown threat that Volterra could not save her from. Truly, he is worried about his other children meeting her. What if they bully her, or refuse to acknowledge her as their sister? No, he will not allow that. "Different, but no less important. She needs both of you, and Astarot and Zhu too - her strong brothers." He looks sternly to both sons - if they decide they do not like Valdis, he truly doesn't know what he'll do.

image credits

Üdvözletem, fiú = Greetings, son

[ you can't stray from what you are, you're the closest thing to hell i've seen so far  ]
[ use of force/magic on him is permitted aside from death/maiming ]

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