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+---- Thread: [AW] To Drink the Wind (/showthread.php?tid=843)
To Drink the Wind - Vadim - 09-05-2017
Vadim had experienced vastness before. In his life, vast was a word for rolling seas of golden sand shining beneath a brilliant sun or silvered by the full face of the moon and stars. So much like his home, the Mors Desert held a token of such vastness and yet... and yet it was different. The very sunlight seemed a little queer as though his eyes did not behold it in quite the same way. The sand was both sharper and softer, dirtier and brighter.
The wind smelled wrong.
And so he had fled the echo of his home for a place that was totally alien to him. A lush plain, the grass turned amber by the changing of the season and the sweet smell of hay and wildflowers thick in the air. The color was largely robbed from the plain by night but it began to trickle back in as he waded through the tall grass. Dawn colored the horizon in a gentle blush of rose and lavender, lightning the ink dark. One by one the stars winked out overhead. The sickle moon sank low behind him as he strode towards the rising sun. Each step was light, a dancer's gait, the gentle breeze that bowed the heads of the wild grains buoying him up. Though he had no power of flight, sometime he almost felt like he could take wing. Like he was weightless.
Sometimes he wondered, in placed like this, if he couldn't just walk into the sun. Walk and keep walking until the fire of it consumed him in heat and brilliance. Carry him up into the brightness of the sky, above any veil of clouds. He tossed his head, a gesture that seemed incomplete on the mane-less equine. Pale eyes the color of a clear, bright day stayed fixed on the horizon. Abruptly he lept forward, long legs flying. The wind was not so strong as to draw him along but he could create a fragment of his own, whipping back his ears and bringing tears to his eyes as he raced across the flat plain, body low and long as he whipped through the grass.
The headlong sprint came to an end as abruptly as it started, slowing to a breathless halt beneath the shade of a leaning, sparsely foliaged tree. His golden coat darkened near to bronze where sweat soaked it in the joints and on the angled planes of his neck. The white on his face remained pristine, unmarked by exertion or heat. His thin, sparse tail whipped back and forth, slowly fanning his lean muscled hips. His ribs expanded in great breaths to oxygenate the hot blood that rushed close beneath his thin skin. In his flight, he had left behind the unease and anxiety that had plagued him from Solterra, leaving his mind whipped clean by the wind.
He felt empty and light.
It was a fine day to be alive.
RE: To Drink the Wind - BlackPlague - 10-04-2017
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Dawn broke, destroying the dream he had been having. It was something in the “adults only” section and involved a very beautiful Dare. She was glowing; silvery white, staring at him with those bedroom eyes. Her mane and tail, while usually tangled, were neatly in order, and her neck was arched in waiting. He could smell her, and for a moment, his heart felt whole again. But as dawn filtered sunlight onto his eyelids, waking him, he felt his heart shatter all over again. She was gone. For a moment, in the confusion of waking, he looked around, desperate to find her. What he found instead was another male running around. That son of a bitch was chasing her…herding her to his own harem. With a scream, Plague lunged forward, his muscles screaming in protest – he had only just opened his eyes! But he pushed through it. There was no way he was going to let some stranger…some interloper steal the love of his life! When the stranger stopped, Black Plague did the same, rearing up, screaming another battle cry, legs thrashing the air before him, desperate to keep him from falling over. He landed, ears pinned, thick neck arched, puffing himself up to all of his 18 hands. His dark eyes were wild, and he was seeing red. He stood near the stranger – not in his bubble, but pretty darn close. He wanted to taste blood; to destroy this male, leave him neutered and dying in the grass that he might return to his interrupted romance with the mare he had chased for his entire life. He threw his head high, dominant and aggressive, and took a sniff at the breeze. All he could smell was masculine energy. Where was she? She had smelled like jasmine, carnations, clover. He sneered at the other male, taking a small step closer. ”Where is she?” There was a tiny part of him that he was being irrational – it had been a dream. Look at the new sunlight! He had been with Dare in the moonlight…but his aggression wouldn’t let him back down. He was in far too deep now, and so he stood there, puffed out as big as he could make himself, ready to fight an unknown male for a mare (who was obviously just a dream) who must be hidden from him. And with those words, Plague fell silent, waiting for what he hoped was a damn good explanation. ”Speech” |
| I find it kind of funny…I find it kind of sad…the dreams in which I’m dying are the best I’ve ever had | |
@Vadim
Nothing like Black Plague to eff up a morning run. hehe <3
RE: To Drink the Wind - Vadim - 10-06-2017
The first scream was lost in the roar of wind and the pounding of his heart. After he stopped though, there was no wind to lose the sound. He skittered backwards from the rearing behemoth, ears flattened against his maneless skull. His flank scraped against the rough bark of the tree he'd sought shade beneath, trying to keep space between them but the black kept coming. He had no idea what he'd done to inspire such a response until the stranger spoke.
"Where is she?"
Pale blue eyes blinked, startled by the question and all together confused. Fear ran cold nails down his spine- was he mad? Madness was, perhaps, one of the things Vadim feared most. He had seen it only once in his life before coming here and it had not been a pleasant sight. There was no room for madness in the Vetish herds. It was one of the few times they turned on their own with teeth and hooves, spilling blood on the thirsty sand. Vadim groped for a reply in the following silence, hooves shifting on the soil as he shifted back again from the other stallion, giving way before him. Regardless of youth and naivete, Vadim could very well see when he was outmatched.
"Where is who? I've seen no one besides you yet today." And yet there is a hint of defiance in the words- he has done nothing wrong. It is an unjust accusation. Still he watched the other stallion with a wary eye, muscles tense to flee if he gets the chance. He doesn't see much shame in running. Better to save his skin than suffer injury under the hooves of a madman.
@BlackPlague
RE: To Drink the Wind - BlackPlague - 10-06-2017
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Mad? If you ask whether Plague is crazy or not, the answer is ‘no.’ He certainly is not crazy. But if you refer to ‘mad’ as angry, then yes. Plague most definitely is angry. How dare this young wretch try to steal his mare…his mare while he blinked away the sunlight. This wretch thought he had something Plague did not. The arab-esque stallion could not hide the sneer that came to his lips. He was master and commander of all the lands Dare ruled. He was the lead of her army, the sire of her children. He was the son of the great The Black – notorious man-whore and demon himself. Plague feared no man, and this child was not about to steal his mare away from him. ”Dare. The silver mare that I was happily entertaining.” There was a faint scent of something – fear? – that only served to enrage the beast. He stood an honest 18 hands and despite having some features that you could almost trace back to Arabia, he was a fearsome beast, and he thirsted now for blood. The colt said he hadn’t seen her. Was he blind? Did he close his eyes to chase her away? Did he really think the great Black Plague was going to fall for such a lie? He took a step closer, his voice dangerously low. ”Do you mock me, colt?” Plague knew the male was no child, but he knew that the greatest insult he had ever faced was being called a child while he was already afraid (but he hadn’t been afraid for most of his life, now). ”You smell of fear.” He paused, sniffing the air and wrinkling his nose. ”If you’re going to lie to me, the least you can do is have confidence about it.” He remained where he was – almost in the male’s space. Oh how he wanted to strike; to bite, kick, lash out and get his mare back. Deep in his mind, he still knew she was gone – lost to time and Fate himself, surely, but he was in too deep now. Now he had to play this out to see where it went. ”I am Black Plague; son of The Black and Delirious, and I will have my mare back.” ”Speech” |
| I find it kind of funny…I find it kind of sad…the dreams in which I’m dying are the best I’ve ever had | |
@Vadim
RE: To Drink the Wind - Vadim - 10-16-2017
Fear wars with anger at the injustice of the black's accusation. His eyes briefly flick away from the black, honestly seeking the silver mare he speaks of- but the plain is empty but for them and what wildlife hasn't fled the anger of the stallion. The wind carries only the scents of the two males and the plants crushed beneath their hooves. He takes another few steps back, each movement quick and light as a dancer's. Still, his voice is hot with indignation when he responds, the words not as carefully thought out as perhaps he would have liked.
"I have not lied." His teeth click together at the end of the sentence, a hard emphasis. "If you haven't noticed, you're perhaps a third again as large as I and appear to have lost your senses- a little fear is a perfectly sane response." Vadim snorts, ears laid back along his golden skull as he watched the larger stallion for retaliation. He is unimpressed by this lineage he knows nothing of- what meaning does heritage have if your own actions are reprehensible? Let every horse stand on their merit rather than their blood.
"I don't care who your are- I have not lied. Leave me be." His fore-hooves leave the ground a little, thudding back to the ground with more force than at first he seems to carry. Though Vadim has no real experience in a fight, performance he understands and this is little more than that. It is a small bluff, spurred by a mixture of pride and temper that overwhelms whatever good sense he might have.
@BlackPlague
RE: To Drink the Wind - BlackPlague - 10-16-2017
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Plague knew Dare was gone. She had been gone for years, if not eons. He knew she was probably dead – or worse – with another stallion. And he knew that this stallion was not the one she was with. Her scent lingered in his mind – night jasmine, crushed clover, prickly cactus, and pure mare. It was intoxicating, much the way a shot of Jack Daniels smells like heaven to an alcoholic. He knew this stallion was not the one who took her away, but he could not fight the anger, the disappointment in not finding her, and the fact that this other was just here at the right time (or the wrong time, it would seem). And how long it had been since he had spoiled for a fight. He needed it. Plague listens, hears, and knows that the smaller stallion does not lie. But there is still a tiny part of his brain that suggests he take this mistake to the extent – to just crush him beneath his hooves, to bathe in blood and scars, to prove himself an alpha beast. But instead, he merely watches with amusement as the other displays a willingness to fight. Plague knows better. If he truly wanted a fight, he would have lunged, would have moved closer. No, Plague wants a fight more than anything, but he also knows that a man with something to lose, wrongly accused, will fight to the death. And Plague simply doesn’t really want to kill him. He just wants his Dare back. ”Know that I am watching you. Should she be seen in your company, there will be blood spilled.” His voice was low and threatening, the way a cat growls deep in its throat. He stands, unsure if to stalk off, still attack, or disappear in some sort of unique magic he does not possess. What else can you do with such a grievous mistake? He had done what his sire taught him not to do – allowed a dream to be mistaken as reality. He was ashamed, but his pride did not let him apologize for this mishap. Instead, he remained, forcing himself to calm, however slight. While still angry, he was no longer on the brink of destroying this man who was in the wrong place at the wrong time. ”Speech” |
| I find it kind of funny…I find it kind of sad…the dreams in which I’m dying are the best I’ve ever had | |
@Vadim
RE: To Drink the Wind - Vadim - 10-16-2017
The tension still hums in the air, dangerous. Vadim shifts nervously, ever restless to his bones. The words provide him some relief though- it seems the imminent danger of a fight has passed. Which is good. Vadim has no idea what he would have done if the monster had tried to engage him. Run, probably. Run and hope that his wind-borne speed was faster. Though he came here to escape it, now he yearns for the questionable safety of the Solterran sands. He knows people there, at least, and the terrain is familiar. Funny, he had thought that he would feel threatened by someone of Day Court- and this beast certainly wasn't. Solis left an imprint on those who called his land home, and Black Plague did not have such a mark in manner or scent.
Cautiously he takes another step back from the black, then two, until there is some space between them. A soft snort escapes the golden stallion's wide nostrils. "Mares." The words is muttered, derisive. It is not that he doesn't respect the females of his kind, not at all. It is that he does not understand this power they have to drive stallions crazy. They have never held such sway over him (not that he'll admit as much to a stranger). "Watch as you will. The company I keep is my own concern."
He turns his back on the black steed. His body, lithe and angular, stretches into an easy walk to carry him back towards Solterra. He's not even sure when the Day Court became a safe place. He only knows that now he wishes nothing more than to be back there. And echo of home is better than the hostility of a stranger.
@BlackPlague
RE: To Drink the Wind - BlackPlague - 10-16-2017
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Plague heard the under-breath exclamation from the other male and couldn’t help but let a deep, hearty laugh escape him. He didn’t really find it funny, but in the same breath…it was. He nodded his head. ”Mares.” He couldn’t help but agree. And with that, the tension was gone from the conflict. Plague would always remain angry that Dare was gone; would always be looking for her, would always hope that no matter where she ended up, that she was safe. But it would seem that he would forever be chasing a ghost, one that held a power over him he couldn’t understand. She had been his first…no…his only love. ”And yet…what would we do without them?” He shook his head again. He would never admit he was wrong, but perhaps this change in demeanor would suffice for the smaller male. All he could attribute this to was the fact that he missed her terribly. He was lonely, though he would never admit it. He missed standing by her side, being her loyal dog of war. He missed spending the cold nights by her side, his eyes always watchful for dangers. He missed it all; but what could he do? She was gone, and it would probably take an eternity for him to come to grips with it. ”I am known as Black Plague. I didn’t get your name.” He knew he had already given the male his name, but he was trying to make amends. He was far from a friendly guy, but if he was paying attention, would see that Plague was trying hard to “correct” what he had done wrong. He stood where he was, listening to the rest of the words the male spoke, and saw the readying to leave. Plague would not attempt to stop him, but perhaps this could be the beginning of a friendship that Plague had not had in a very long time. ”Speech” |
| I find it kind of funny…I find it kind of sad…the dreams in which I’m dying are the best I’ve ever had | |
@Vadim
RE: To Drink the Wind - Vadim - 10-16-2017
His ears flick back towards Plague, hesitance in his step at the sudden change in tone. The golden stallion hesitates, narrow frame not precisely still but no longer moving away. He glances back with one wary, sky-colored eye caught in the salt white mask of his face. He considers the question that was put to him, rolling over several possible answers. Then he turns a little more to face the dark steed, wary but too good-natured to hold the moment of anger against him. He lowered his head a little, caught between wariness and curiosity.
"I am Vadim." A name is an innocent enough thing to give. He worries the ground with a hoof, digging at the dry ground. It's not hard, precisely. Firmer than the sand of the Mors but not the hard cracked surface of the salt plains he grew up on. The texture is different and he focuses on it for a moment. "I presume we would be childless without them"
The answer is bland, and perhaps surprisingly clinical for the slight stallion. There is even a touch of cynicism in it. While mares are all well and good as horse, he doesn't see the big deal. Though he is poignantly aware of their importance in ensuring a future for them all. After all, isn't that why he left? There was no place in the resource starved lands of the Veter for a stallion who had no interest in fathering children.
"Have you been in Novus long?" He hazards a guess- he hasn't spoken with many (anyone?) who was a native here. Everyone seems to be a stranger brought in from somewhere.
@BlackPlague