|
|
Post by jereve on Dec 28, 2012 22:21:44 GMT -5
Defeat never has nor ever will be an option. To be defeated means that one is weak, and weakness simply does not flow in Leonidas’ blood. Leonidas Virtus Makhai: named for the great war heroes of the ages, for the victories and battle cries of the centuries. This name, this heritage and sacrifice was not meant to be lost in the crumbling despair of defeat. Nay, Leonidas was built for destiny, for greatness. Whether this means Leonidas will live up to this name or not can not yet be told. The young stallion of only six years has seen a lot in those years… including, but not limited to, defeat. The continuous degeneration of his mother’s mind took quite a toll on the stallion… no, not toll: the health of his mother has influenced him quite a bit. Leonidas is not fond of the terms “toll” or “stress.” They indicate weakness and vulnerability. A true soldier does not show either one of those qualities. A strong soldier is continually hardened by battle, grounded by duty and guided by instinct. But yet, here Leonidas finds himself, wondering through the dangerous Tanglevine Swamp where the memories of his family sting. They do not sting like the pain of a knife caressing the top layer of pelt but rather like a festering boil or burn that yelps in the steam of the water.
Pain is weakness leaving the body. Hadn’t he heard that somewhere? Perhaps once, in a distant memory of a chief, brutal and tasteless in the ears of a young colt. The fear pressed into the heart of Leonidas--the fear of his parents’ health--now seems silly and naïve. The chief did what he had to do in terms of ruling the Loxacin clan. Of course, there are things he could’ve done differently to spare the health of two very important clan members, but the clan was protected. Leonidas regards some actions of the chief as cowardly, as he could’ve stepped in more himself, but cannot truly blame the chief for the state of his weak mother. There was too much pressure on her from the start--the arranged mate, the heritage to press on, the continuous strive for improvement…all for what? Leonidas Virtus Makhai: the legend. The legend that is now wondering the countryside alone. He hasn’t spoken to another equine in over a year, but instead has survived off of the land, growing strong. Leonidas can only hope that, one day, he can be a better leader himself.
Sharply, Leonidas turns to avoid a dangerous grouping of Tanglevines. Most equines on Aeon avoid this area; it is simply not safe to the average horse. But Leonidas finished his adulthood in virtual exile on the outskirts of Aeon, including the Tanglevine Swamp where his mother took her last breath. She did not cry or speak, but simply used her last will and power to let her family know how much she loved them. A small, stinging sensation reaches the top of Leonidas’ pelt in remembrance before he pushes it back down, deep down inside his chest. A successful soldier does not bring his home to war or his war to his bed. A separation is needed for optimum performance in both areas so it is probably best that Leonidas only has one area to maintain. Tanglevines are extremely deceptive; they do not seem harmless to the untrained eye. For the normal equine, it would best to avoid all vines or the area altogether. Leonidas’ horns sit stiffly atop his cranium, making movements a tad tedious at times. Long, mangled plumes swirl with ivory and ebony slowly as he gingerly steps through the area, his cloven hooves digging deep into the terrain with each sure-footed step. The markings on his bodice dare not glow nor move at this placid time and stay the usual contrasting colors--or lack thereof. Stern acidic yellow visions search quietly through the area, tipped audits swiveling to catch any signs of life. While it may be true that there is hardly a soul in these parts of the lands--and that’s’ usually what Leonidas prefers--who knows? A small stir in the brush, a quick chirp of a bird…each sound could mean something’s coming. Nostrils flare in order to catch the drift of the wind, but Leonidas dare not sound a piercing cry. For, on the outskirts, he has learned that you might not always like what answers your call.
WC: 650+
OOC:// open to anyone and anything; sorry the post is a tad crappy
[/size][/font] |
|
|
|
Post by ♛ Dova Soupi on Jan 8, 2013 12:27:34 GMT -5
DIOMEDES
Much the opposite of the brute referred to already, Diomedes was not bred for greatness or legend. He was not consummated to be some leader of a great tribe or herd land. Oh, goodness me, no. Diomedes was but a spawn in a herd meant only to grow in strength through the offspring of the lead. Despite being what one could consider a possible heir, the boy was obviously not created for the position genetically. Struggling in nearly every social circumstance imaginable, Diomedes was a plague on the face of organization and order. And the best part is? He likes it.
With a massive, herculean body that still clung to several sleek characteristics of the thoroughbred that lingered in his blood, Diomedes traversed the moist, damp landscape of the swamp as if it were but a mere sure-footed prairie. Black sludge slapped against his ebony hide, some hardening on his underbelly in concrete molds. His cannons were caked with layers of the gooey, harsh goo, the innards already hardened and holding on for dear life to the hairs of his pelt whilst the outside was blown dry by the wind that raced by his aerodynamic body. There was no carefulness to his mad man's gallop, no precautionary ideals that adjusted his directions. Diomedes simply ran, giggling to himself in his twisted, demented way. Limbs threw themselves into random directions, sharp teeth peeking beneath obsidian lip. Here, the flora around him was dangerous. He paid no heed to the red flowers that warned him of their poison, nor did he stray in a single location long enough for the living vines to consume him. Oh, goodness no.
The sun indicated it was about noon this day, where the shadows dropped straight, or near to, to the ground where they hid everything in a veil of darkness. Especially the canopy covered, vine ridden location such as the Tanglevine Swamp. Had Diomedes taken the briefest of moments to consider the dangers that surrounded him, or even the gravity of the location in which he played, perhaps he would have slowed his pace and proceeded with at least the slightest hint of tentativeness. But that just wasn't how Diomedes' brain worked. Which is most likely why he nearly plowed down the brute whom also wandered the swamps, though with much more intelligence, precision, and ease than the black demon.
In a sudden, almost flawless avoidance, Diomedes came but two feet from the fellow stag, still laughing madly, blackened, forked tongue hanging from the side of his mouth, before he threw himself to the brujo's right, creating a steady arch around him. Even further with his impressive stunt, once he was back on his path and finished his arch, Diomedes planted his forehand, before spinning on it in a fast-paced pivot. His hinds swung around him, whip-like tail ringing in the air as it threw the white hairs around vicariously. Once all four pillars struck into the ground, the spines down his back quaked with the sheer power the beast exhumed for such an act. Silver eyes bore into the back of the fellow stag before him as his head curled to the side on his nape, muzzle twitching back and forth, his duo rows of teeth bore for all to witness. What had he found in this strange place?
status: complete
ooc: Oh Dio, you mad dog :P
[/justify] |
|
|
|
Post by jereve on Jan 25, 2013 20:29:03 GMT -5
The sun bakes down upon Leonidas’ pale coat, the rays straying through the thick swamp touching his pelt with warmth and longing. A sudden burst of movement sends Leonidas’ zeniths twirling to catch the noises growing ever near to the stag and he snorts heavily when he realizes the scent is of equine blood. What other monster would dare to venture here? In all of Leonidas’ exile in the outskirts had he hardly heard or saw another soul wondering through the swamp at such a quick pace. Surely the horse would not be so familiar with the terrain; unless they remained well-hidden, another family has not been raised here in Leonidas’ adult years. The curiosity causes Leonidas’ armour and protruding collarbone to quiver as he awaits the mysterious one who is approaching. Almost out of nowhere, another stallion bursts into the clearing where Leonidas stands stock-still and begins whirling around Leonidas’ ivory and cobalt bodice. Leonidas snorts heavily, annoyed, as the brute makes an arch around him and continues with his antics. Surely the stag has went mad! Leonidas has not seen the same crazed look inside the visions of an equine since his mother neared her last days, and he begins to fret about how the stallion made his way through the dangerous terrains at all. Was he an outsider such as Leonidas himself? Surely with the metallic orbs and the massive spines down the stallions back he would’ve remembered the stage should Leonidas had seen him before. But what in the world is he doing? Leonidas shakes his medium-length, thick mane which sends his long, dinosaur-like horns dangerously close to the bantering stranger. But Leonidas remains still, sensing no immediate danger to himself from the brute. In as many battles as he has seen, Leonidas can sense when he should stand ground and when he should fight. But running away, running away was never an option.
The stallion continues, planting a maniac nose into the grounds and spinning as Leonidas has not witnessed another equine do before. Not sure whether to be bothered or fascinated, Leonidas remains still as the brute makes an arch or semi-circle around him, obviously amused with his own antics. Finally, as the spines shake on the stallion and his tongue lolls from the side of two jagged rows of teeth, Leonidas takes the conclusion that he is raving mad. The laughter bubbling from the stranger was only a foreshadowing of what his mind must be. Anger begins to fuel in Leonidas from aggitation, and he finally barks at the stallion in a deep tone with frustrated undetones.
"I say, just what business do you have here and just what are you doing?"
The militaristic way with how Leonidas speaks is custom and normal to the stallion, but the stranger may take offense to this way of talking. However, based upon the observations and the conclusions that the stallion has gone mad may have an influence over this anger in which he finds this formal and strange way of speaking amusing. Leonidas’ own body contains armour just as the strangers does. Not only does Leonidas contain a massive amount of muscle from the ruggish outlands and height from his draft blood but he also has thick, stone-like protrusions running down his front two legs. Horns slant as he tilts his cranium to the side, and his neon yellow visions cannot help but stare into the strange mouth of the stranger for a moment or two. How much saliva he must have! Leonidas breaks from his gaze to glance back at the stallion’s silver visions and then along the length of his powerful but slender bodice. Leonidas’ wrapped plume shakes to rid himself of nasty, blood-sucking insects deep into the swamp.
How mad this stallion must be, to run without worry through the dangerous tanglevines. Forget that the vines are hard to distinguish from another, but the dangers of the flowers, insects, other animals… the stallion seems to disregard all of them. Leonidas’ own mother perished at the hands of this swamp, but she herself was too far gone to see the reality of the situations and even constant watch could not save her soul. Could it be that all mad equines are not blank in the state of mind? What does this living, breathing example of mental health posses that Leonidas’ mother did not? The case is beginning to fascinate him, and he studies the animate brute for new movements or antics. Perhaps Leonidas is making assumptions. After all, he has not yet heard the stag speak. Is it possible that his looks are just a mixture of genetics? Could Leonidas’ own golden orbs deceive him? Yet instinct is hardly ever wrong, and the way this stallion moves is obviously not something normal. But who is Leonidas to say what is normal? His own life has been anything but, and he has avoided the main lands for such a long period of time. However, there’s just something about the stag that reminds him of his own dear mother, and he cannot help but wonder if he is disturbed or just beginning to feel like he has company for the first time in years.
OOC:// sorry, shitty post is shitty. XD
WC; 850+[/color]
|
|
|
|
Post by ♛ Dova Soupi on Mar 4, 2013 16:40:59 GMT -5
DIOMEDES
Extreme power stood tall and still. He'd regained his legs in a matter of several tumbling steps, and now held the most commanding poise. Splayed hooves were ready to propel forward in a launch in any second, his tail twitching nervously like some tempered feline. Silvery eyes stared, not glared nor watched, but just stared at the counterpart that he'd nearly crashed into to. Diomedes didn't even so much as flinch when the dinosaur-like horns came shaking in his direction - for it was not out of fear or defense, but something else. Though the stallion wasn't the most socially experienced brute as to pin point exactly what this strange stallion had been doing, he knew that he was laxed, and therefore not posing himself as a threat.
Every now and again, his bodice would twitch uncontrollably in a spasm of muscle, as if his body itched to do more but stand there, staring, head sideways at this fascinating stallion. What was it that it wanted exactly? Well, Diomedes wouldn't even know until he allowed his iron grip control of his body dwindle. Soon, the stallion spoke, and the black-white brute wouldn't have heard him had he not spoken with such demand and authority, as if he owned these parts (Dio had been far to impressed that he was not the only spiked fellow here). Eyes of melted silver coin continued just to stare the the brujo. Saliva dripped from his open mouth, his teeth glinting with the slightest of movements. They remained white, pure as to their new age, and unstained like they would become in the future. Still, his tail writhed behind him.
"No reason." He suddenly growled, quite literally, his voice rough like gravel yet somewhat alluring all the same. "You?" His concern held a mocking tone, and his head rotated to an equal degree on the opposite side. A sickening smile pulled his elongated lips taunt.
status: complete
ooc: gotta love him XD
[/justify] |
|
|
|
Post by jereve on Jun 1, 2013 19:20:31 GMT -5
[/blockquote]
The stallion before Leonidas tumbles and twirls into a strong stance, his posture obviously defensive. So maybe he is not completely mad after all. Leonidas’ mother, on the other hand, could not even distinguish faces some days. Could it be that there are varying states of mental health? Do all equines not get progressively worse in health as Leonidas once believed? Fascinated, Leonidas relaxes his position and tilts his cranium to stare at the creature. Again, golden orbs swing to the mouth of the stag, and for a second Leonidas becomes fixated on the wide tear running along the length of his jowls. Remembering not only is it rude but also distracting to stare, Leonidas straightens up to observe what other antics the stallion may bring. Spasms continue to quiver through the stranger and his tail moved as though it were under some sort of pain. Leonidas straightens his posture, his audits bringing forth on his crown a sense of alertness and military pose. While Leonidas has avoided the main lands for the past few years of his life, he had certainly never seen this stallion before, even though the stag seemed to be of around the same season. Leonidas’ mind is sharp, and he is certain he would have remembered the stranger had he seen him before. Even with a dull mind, one cannot help but remember something that looks like the devil himself. The ivory teeth on the stallion glistens with…with what? Saliva, of course, but there seems to be something more behind the unusual amount of liquids in his maw, dripping down like poison onto the loveliest flower in the meadow on the first day of spring. The very curiosity Leonidas holds regarding the brute seems to be the same thing that tells him something is definitely not right about running into him here.
Suddenly, the stallion lets forth a growl of a response to Leonidas’ somewhat demanding question. No reason? One does not just come through the Tanglevines, frolicking like a yearling for no reason. Unless…no, it couldn’t be. Had he gone mad? Leonidas shakes his cranium once more, trying to clear his mind. Out of all these years that he has avoided others, how could his first encounter be with someone of such strange being? Certainly no amount of military upbringing could prepare him for this. Sure, Leonidas had been trained by the Loxacin that any strange or dangerous being should be immediately destroyed, and for the most part Leonidas follows that practice. But what about this stranger did he find himself so attracted to? Leonidas speaks again, his voice the same cold and flat tone as before, but he shrugs and decides to give the stranger a little piece of his own history: “I live out here, away from the mainlands.” He flicks his plume carefully, his words simple and clear. “I do not see many others out here among the Tanglevines. Certainly not unless it is for a good reason, and you claim to have none. Tell me, just what allured you to one of the most dangerous places on Aeon? I do not remember seeing your face before. Are you not a clans member?” Blunt. Direct. Seeking. Leonidas watches the stallion blankly, his tail ceases swishing for a moment. Invasive? Of course. Rude? Maybe. Leonidas was trained to act as such by the clans leaders of Loxacin. The Chosen One, as they called him. Perhaps he wasn’t so chosen afterall. Perhaps he was just meant to waste here, rotting in the outskirts of Aeon.
Leonidas snorts, irritating himself with such thoughts. Of course he was never meant to stay hidden away in these Tanglevines and barren terrains. He was of great blood, afterall. Does blood pertain to greatness even if poisoned by insanity? Would his mother of ever spoiled if she hadn’t of pushed herself so much to please the clans leaders to keep him safe? Such questions are negative and tedious to Leonidas when his mind is straight. But out here with nothing to do but think, dangerous things can happen. Golden orbs seek the stranger again, carefully surveying muscles for signs of movement or agitation. But with all the twitching going on, Leonidas must rely upon instincts. He sighs in both fascination and irritation--not only at the stranger, but at himself. Focus, Leonidas. Focus.
[/blockquote][/color][/size] [/td][/tr][/table][/center] |
|
