It flows through veins and keeps even the most minuscule
of creatures alive. It binds when spilt and it binds when given, it creates and it destroys. Blood is the reason for everything. It gives life. Yet it is so easy to spill. It is so easy to ruin everything and oh what power does one need to have to decide when to take someones lifeblood away? Not much because one simply needs to be cunning or stronger than the other to take their life away and that was the way of the world. Unfair yet necessary, learn the rules and you will become understanding of Tempus' ways. Blood was life.
Blood can also call. One's blood ran deep in a certain place or another and that was called home, where the blood lines ran. Whether it be intentional or not blood calls blood and it always flows back home. It was Alaric's time to come home. On the scent of burning wood and charred flesh he came, buzzards circling overhead attracted to his deathly scent and he was silent. The sound of the claws and teeth rattling against his neck was the only thing heard, for in the desert nothing survived by making sound.
The heat bore down on his back like a hunter to its prey and it was hungry. Sweat rolled in drops down the mans dark body and he breathed heavily through flared nostrils. The sand was his home, Novus was his, the heat did not bother him. As worn cracked hooves expertly made their way across the golden dunes a deep and unsettling cackle from deep within Alaric's chest vibrated across the sky, unsettling even the buzzards above. Because as he climbed another dune the sand turned to red stone, red like blood, cracked and old. Until the world fell away into nothingness.
Alaric knew this place because the Elatus Canyon was where he jumped. Tested to fly for he would die one way or another if he did not, and on thin young limbs he had plunged down the canyon and made it to the other side. Quickeninghis pace the dark stallion came to stand at the very edge of the canyon, his hooves knocking unfortunate little pebbles down to the abyss. Alaric looked over the dunes with violent eyes and chuckled as a gentle winters breeze tickled the dreads resting on his neck. It was time to come home. Alaric had left in blood and now he would return just the same.
"I am Alaric of Novus, of the Davke" he rumbled "where are my people? Where are the Davke?" Alaric never forgot about his herd, the ruthless horses of the sand who did not hail to the Day Court because they, they were not easily owned. When he left they were powerful and strong, little did he know the Davke had all but been wiped out by the Day courts former leader. A chilling grin graced his lips as another chuckled vibrated in his chest; "im home."
OOC:::Sorry for the crappy first post! TAGS::: @Torstein
12-12-2017, 02:00 PM
Played by
inkbone [PM] Posts: 75 — Threads: 5 Signos: 0
Trust me, you are nothing but another weak animal minding the strongest whip
The giant called these canyons, these cracked clay walls, home more so than he did the Court itself - for it was here that he was unknowingly thrust into a world he would not recognize. Not that such a predicament was what he wanted, but fate really cared little for the petty wants of its puppets, didn't it?
Traveling through this place brought sour memories that he dutifully pushed to the back of his mind. Large hooves took him on a slow amble through the weaving dips between the rock walls, along the well-worn and compacted paths that many of the Solterrans had tread day after day. Elatus was the mid-way between the desolation of the Mors and the thriving, bustling town of the Court itself... a peaceful inbetween.
Ombre ears twitched at the cackle, and one rolled forward at the masculine bellow that rang through the canyon walls. He crested around the corner of the stone divide that lead up to the peak of the Canyon. As he did, slowly his head and crimson gaze turned to regard the large sooty stallion that had found perch at the edge of the Canyon. From a distance, Tor could tell he was tall (although if this wandering man rivaled Tor himself, he couldn't tell) - Solterra truly attracted giants, did it not?
The wanderer was loud, and sounded truly self-assured, which brought a chuckle to the Warden's lips. While Tor was far from being a native, he had taken the time to learn something of the land - enough to have been told of, heard of, and read about the Davke enough to know that they were all but wiped out by Zolin.
And so here he was (although this wasn't the first time), saddled with the task of being a bearer of bad news. "Unfortunately," the Warden started, his paces coming to a halt as he stood roughly 20 feet behind the other stallion. "It seems most of the Davke were wiped out by one of Solterra's previous sovereigns, named Zolin."
Gaze regarded the stallion's stature briefly. Large, hide scarred and sooty gray, unkempt as if he had just traversed the Mors (and he very well might have), with necklaces of teeth and claws. An ombre ear of his own flopped lazily forward, and his head tilted ever so slightly. "I'm Tor, Warden of Solterra" he trailed off, always bad at introductions. "You go by Alaric, you said?"
In all his years alive the stallion had never, never, been taken by surprise by someone's presence. However, it seemed that there was a first time for everything and this was one of those times. Ears pulled slightly back Alaric turned to view the stranger more annoyed than anything else. The words the punctured the stallion's ears filled him with an unexplainable fury. It was impossible to even consider those words the truth. With a voice like gravel, Alaric dripped venom and mistrust with each word. "Impossible, my people cannot be wiped out so easily" he growled "when I left Novus we were strong." Who was this pale bean stock to tell him his family was not strong?
It was then the stranger was introduced, Tor the warden of Solterra, much had changed since he left. Nonetheless, Alaric would not bow to a man. Attempting to suppress his anger at the shocking news he received the stallion stiffly nodded his head "I am Alaric born of the Davke...yet they are no more."
Ruffling his ink like feathers a bloom of rot and smoke drifted through the air. Narrowing his eyes at the other, much taller, stallion Alaric took him in. Not much came to his mind looking at him but one thing...the teeth like cave in his chest. The stallion intentionally allowed his eyes to linger on the cave before returning his gaze to Tor's. "Tell me of this Zolin and how he is to blame for the destruction of my people"
Alaric needed to find the remainders of the Davke, his family, and make them strong. Alaric was home and home for good and whoever tried to hurt his family would pay with blood. No one would stand in his way.
OOC:::Sorry its so short and bad! <3 TAGS::: @Torstein
01-12-2018, 01:40 PM
Played by
inkbone [PM] Posts: 75 — Threads: 5 Signos: 0
Trust me, you are nothing but another weak animal minding the strongest whip
Dull eyes of mulled wine stared distantly at the stallion who seemed to be getting his feathers in a bunch. An ombre ear lazily flicked forward for a brief moment at the tangible feeling of anger and contempt that hung in the air, although no expression or reaction registered across his face. Tor wouldn't blame the other for his overflow of emotion.. but it hardly meant much to him. "How long ago did you leave, then?" he trailed off, the verbal punctuation of his words read more as a rhetoric question than something that actually needed an answer.
And while the Warden was not one to be considered soft, he did not expect a stranger to bow to him. Political formalities were beneath him. But nevertheless, he observed Alaric's body language: the tension that sprang in his muscles, like a coiled spring ready and tense, the indignation that flickered across his features at the mention of the Davke's desecration.
Ugh, and that smell.
The ear that had lazily flopped forward swung quickly back around, slipping into the mess of his mane to pin against the crowns of his horns. Had he killed a man, gutted him, and decided to wear his carcass as a trench coat? Because good Solis, that smell.
Nostrils scrunched up and a hot breath blew from them, but the rancid stench of rot and ash stayed, wedged in the crevices of his sinuses. Tor wasn't good at hiding his facial expressions, it seems. But even with his disgust and distraction, he did not miss Alaric's wandering eyes. It was not uncommon for others to stare, and he stopped letting it irritate him... but he didn't humor him with information that he had no place knowing. Instead, the tall beast just waited for the other to peer upwards and meet his gaze. 'My eyes are up here' briefly popped up in his head, and a subconscious chuckle rang through his mind.
But the rotten stallion's questions made him chuckle aloud, for Tor himself knew exactly what Alaric was plotting: revenge.
"He's been dead for some time," he mused, eyes wandering to gaze off in the direction of the Court itself. It stood proud on the horizon, but dusty and weathered with time. "His throat slit on the marble stone of his own bedchambers," a drawling exclamation that trailed off into nothing - as if a Sovereign bleeding out, choking and sputtering on his own blood, was nothing new.
A coy pause, eyes glanced back at the other: "....Killed by a Davke he tried to enslave, the parchments say."
He was sure that would soothe the raging sea that boiled beneath Alaric's skin.
