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Post by Jennycallie on Jan 2, 2019 20:38:19 GMT -6
Hello Starborn, and welcome to War-Forged Plot 706: Adrift  Team Leader: Synn Participants: Iskalder, Ulrich, Emelié, Nerys, Cerys, Lorian, Ualda, Gidal (NPC) Please keep the following in mind!- Posts must be a minimum of 175 words. There is no maximum!- No strict order is enforced, but there must be at least two posts between your own character's.- No god-moding or reading characters' minds (unless your pony is a literal telepath, anyway)
- Always get consent before harming another character!- Your team is precious. Try to interact with everyone. <3- Have fun! Even if your pony isn't. 8'D
Prompt: Summer has come, but your spirits are not lifted. After suffering many losses, and being left without strong leadership, the Flanks have tried to reach their agreed upon rendezvous. Problem is that spot is now overtaken by the thick Silverpine forest and its unnatural, thick fog. You have thought yourselves lost plenty of times, yet finally, familiar faces emerge from the morning mist. Location: Southeast Onea, deep in the forest. Time of Day: Morning Weather: Cool, humid, intermittent rain and mist You do not have to wait for your leader to post!
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Post by Sargeant-Knoxx on Jan 3, 2019 20:16:49 GMT -6
|S Y N N|
| Bloody-Flank Scout |
"Once more into the fray- live and die this day."
______________________________ The small band of equines had come over the ridge at dawn, expecting to see the destination they'd been set to reach since leaving Ghosthold. Yet what Synn saw in the valley below did not match what had been described to her in conversations passed. A forest of glistening moonlight had taken over the verdant grass and rocky boulders, the forest itself tall enough to scrape the cloud cover above. It was breathtaking, a terrifying all at once.
Months of grueling travel had brought them here- would hopefully reunite them with the others, but first they had to enter ethereal grove. They'd been trekking for some time, caution and no small about of uncertainty keeping the group close together. Synn had delved ahead with Emelie, casting wary glances ahead and behind as fog curled between her legs. "This wasn't here before you know..", the grey pulled on her harness with a stiff jerk of her green teke as her eyes scanned the luminous forest that lay before them. Despite the overcast sky the wood before them glowed. It baffled the mare, and her pelt prickled with a strange energy, a distant cousin to the magic she felt in Holmsa. The Silver-Wood was unearthly.. "I'm.. I'm still unsure what to make of it." she grumbled softly, a change in the wind causing her step to slow. Synn's heart ached when she looked over her shoulder. The horses following were family and friend alike, her clan- her home. But it wasn't whole. There was a piece missing.
If only Ansgar were here. How she wished.. He'd always been a pillar- a point of guidance. To her, he was as much her mentor as he was her dearest friend. His death, mysterious and unexpected as it was had hurt them all. They'd lost a brother, a father, and a leader. Thankfully, their collective experience had assured their survival thus far.
The ashen mare could only hope the others had been as lucky.
Suddenly, a movement in the mist caused the scout's mane to bristle and her eyes to narrow. Her telekinesis flashed to her flanks, taking the snaps off her axes and wielding them in anticipation. "Eyes up-" she hissed, ears laid back. Figures moved before them, indistinguishable from faceless shadows. They could be anyone, friend or foe, Synn prayed to the Goddesses it was the former.
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Post by manabuns on Jan 3, 2019 20:43:34 GMT -6
give me time and give me space
Iskalder puts his grieving on hold, and dons his armor with the sort of harshness one might have expected of him before his life was swallowed by the earth. The furs beneath his armor stave off the worst of the chill still lingering in the air, and the sword at his side provides a balm to the livewire nerves alight beneath his skin.
Whatever tempest rages beneath his skin is forced to abate in the wake that he is needed. Survival does not give a grace period for one to mourn, not that he's ever been particularly adept at that. He's lost uncles, aunts, sisters and brothers. Whatever tears he might ever wished to cry had calcified before they'd even kissed the air.
He has more important matters to attend to anyway, protecting what's left of them. Now they finally, after a hellish debacle, reach their rendezvous point.
He doesn't even realize he's grinding his teeth, not unlike ravenous wolves gnawing at fleshy bones in the height of winter, until his jaw aches in protest. Not until he feels red wetness seep out of his nostril and brushes it hastily away with a careless, crude flick of his teke before anyone might raise a question.
The Raider's body is still adjusting to magic's cold grip upon his soul, his Goddesses boon finally swirling in his breast. A cold, crooked hand come to sooth the fever and doubts that might've infected his already churning soul.
Resolutely, he stands unmoving beside Ulrich upon the hill, until Synn appears trudging through the mud and dew slicked grass. He says nothing at first, not to the news of a wood seemingly spawning overnight (he has long come to expect the unexpected), not at the dark circles which hang heavy beneath her jade gaze. He stares, hard and harsh down at the gnarled wood glowing in it's self-made light and snorts. Unimpressed as any might be in their situation, at another ungodly obstacle in their path left for them to navigate.
"Agreed. I don't see any way around this thing." He grunts, shifting beneath his furs before he continues, only barely keeping the grimness out of his voice. "Caution is a given. But how are we going to do this? We can't afford to stretch ourselves thinner." There are only a handful of them now, two scouts, two raiders, two medics and merchants. The latter he gives a considering look over his shoulder, before turning his attention back to Ulrich and Synn both.
They no longer have the numbers for a wider sweep, longer scouting or defense should something come screaming at them from the fog. If he was younger and similarly unburdened by loss, he might've welcomed the challenge with a champions vigor. Unfortunately, it was no longer the case. Anything that came out of that forest would face the grief of a man who wanted nothing more than to slay it for the sake of slaying it, an outlet for grief.
Post 1 | Wordcount 499 |
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Post by ThatDenver on Jan 3, 2019 21:24:48 GMT -6
EMELIÉ
It had been… Strange, after Ansgar died.
They were all used to death by now. It was an old, unpleasant companion, no longer shocking. Except that Ansgar’s had been, she supposed. It had been so sudden.
They were so used to frostbite and war, but this had not been either, and that rang foreign to Emelié’s ears.
Still, they had to march on, as they had a rendezvous to make. She wondered, absently, if any of those with the other party were still alive. Maybe they would wait for nothing? She hoped it was not so, but so far this exile had steadily gnawed at their numbers.
Emelié had to admit she was not much use as a wayfinder here. She had been a little girl when they last walked these lush lands, and her knowledge of the meeting spot was limited only to Gidal’s description of it.
Either the old man had terrible memory, or forests grew quite fast and thick here in the south, for the fields they were supposed to arrive at were a thick, silver forest. Whichever it was, the forest was a grand obstacle - a dangerous maze. Yet another new hurdle.
Emelié shivered.
She passed a quick glance at Synn. There were no answers there. Emelié could tell that Synn liked the idea of the forest as little as Emelié herself did, but they had hardly been rich in options. It was either enter it, or risk missing their meeting point entirely.
They were so few already. They had to at least try.
So they had plunged in, Synn and Emelié holding a steady lead, trying their best to keep the party from running into any strange beast or enemy that the woods might hide.
She had just been observing a set of curious pawprints when Synn's voice made her eyes snap straight ahead. She too tensed. Emelié did not carry a weapon, but instead her newly strengthened blessing shimmered close to surface, ready to give her a fighting ready form if needed.
Word count: 339
Post #1
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Post by akitapup on Jan 4, 2019 11:46:35 GMT -6
ULRICH | BLOODY FLANKS
The sight before them when they came over the hills was nothing short of intimidating. Unease set in through his veins like ice seeping in through cracks of stone, breaking the structure slowly yet steadily.
The trees stood like horns sprouting from the ground, spearing the gray sky as they grew tall, like statues of green in the sky. Ulrich knew one thing, and he knew this was not here before.
Perhaps one unused to the terrain could claim it was part of Kaia’s magic, her fertile soil having birthed a forest overnight, but Ulrich wasn’t an idiot. This was not his Earth mother. Her presence was never blood chilling like this was. Ansgar would know, wouldn’t he? What was he thinking? Of course Ansgar would, and Ulrich ached, knowing that fact.
Ansgar’s death was unexpected as any death could be, and he meant that. The passing of friends was something to be expected as a Flank, and while his heart hurt, he never let it slow him down. Ansgar, however, was enough to freeze him in his spot. He played the role of so many- brother, soldier, father, husband, leader. So many roles, left empty in his place.
Glancing between all his clanmates, the signs of age and tire were on everyone’s face, even Ulrich. Dark bags stuck under his eyes, his movements slow and unsteady. He was happy to be fatigued if Cerys and the children could manage to keep their spirits up.
Iskalder spoke, pointing out that their forces were thin, and any new surprises were unwanted, and for once, Ulrich wondered if they had the strength to deal with them. He bit the inside of his cheek, his nostrils flared at his own thoughts. They couldn’t doubt themselves now, not after everything. The fracture started by Vidar could not run any deeper.
“We ought to keep together as close as we can,” Ulrich spoke, casting a look at Iskalder and Emelié. “I’ve… been blessed- tremor sense. I can use it to sense ahead, if it will prove itself useful.” There was no more rushing in unready for this group of aged soldiers.
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Post by PaganStars on Jan 4, 2019 14:26:17 GMT -6
Lorian
Bloody FLank Medic
If I am what you say, I expect to be hanging from a wooden cross
When all this is done, is done
I don't believe in a god, let's leave religion out of all this
  
x | x It was comforting to be away from the snow for once. It had battered at their pelts for months, cold and cruel as snow tended to be. But now it had long given way to mud and fresh grass, flowers and bushes blooming slowly as the chill faded from the air. Lorian was thankful for it, thankful for the calm that resided in his lungs now rather than the rattle that had plagued him while they travelled. The chill the permitted the air was different now, cool against his back as he adjusted his light scarf, doing the same for the one wrapped around his daughter's neck, taming her hair somewhat.
The months had been a blur of travel, waning supplies and the air of death around them. It had rattled most to the core, Ansgar’s passing. Lorian had greatly respected the man much like any other, akin to a brother. He had left a shadow, a gaping hole that threatened to break the resolve of those around them.
But the Bloody Flanks pushed forward, as was written in their history.
Lorian did not think as his hooves carried him forward with the others, further back with Cerys and the little ones that had far too much energy, even with the chill in the air. When they halted, he raised his head and cast his eyes towards Iskalder, worried as always. He could practically feel the emotions boiling under the Unicorn’s skin and it made him half smile for a moment before his ears twitched towards those who spoke.
He could not clearly see over the hill and into the area where they would be meeting, eyes roaming over the treetops and the low gathering clouds that hid their peaks. He suppressed a shiver
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Post by hey-stardust on Jan 5, 2019 6:28:44 GMT -6
 CERYS | BLOODY FLANKS | MERCHANT
We’ll never get it back, but we’ll try
some things are best left behind.
Cerys was used to loss.
The loss of her home, her family, a child... and now Ansgar.
Years of practised apathy had allowed her to remain composed in the face of her companions, a seeming pillar of strength despite being battered by relentless storms; but the simple reality of it all was that she was afraid to lose control, to let herself feel anything beyond the occasional snippet of sadness, lest she be consumed by it.
She was afraid of what it would mean, the consequences that might follow if she exposed her true thoughts and feelings towards the clan, even now - for she still had one thing to do, and that was to survive.
Her children fed off the stillness, and the unease that hovered above them like an axe before the killing blow. Even their usual squall and gambet had been quieted as they mirrored their guardians - staring into the gaping void that beckoned for their patronage.
Cerys had no recollection of a silver forest being here when she was a child, but the great trunks that were almost tall enough to piece the starscape reminded her of bleached bones; of a ribcage long cracked open, with a heart nowhere to be found.
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Post by Deleted on Jan 5, 2019 14:47:54 GMT -6
The unease had set so deep Nerys wondered if it was ingrained into her very bones by now. She should have known these lands, this should have been easy. The forest, however, had changed everything, twisted the view and made it harder to pinpoint where exactly they stood.
Nerys had thought, foolishly, that she would feel victorious returning with the Flanks. The grim, thinned out group felt nothing but. She hadn’t even realized how much her group had grown to mean to her until members of it fell. Yet it was still somewhat outsider’s grief, as if she didn’t have the right to truly take part in grieving Ansgar.
She walked along quietly without a complaint, keeping a watchful eye on each member should they require a Medic’s attention. Not that she had that many supplies left, either. Just enough with constant gathering now that the summer was here and the everlasting frost was behind them.
A part of her missed the steady life she had abandoned by joining the Flanks, and she felt all the more guilty for it.
Synn’s words had her attention snapping back to present as well, and she drew her own short sword from her back. She felt the cold twist of fear in her gut that Emelié was at the front of the group, among the first in harm’s way. Nerys had no business being in there, yet she hurried her step anyway.
Word count: 239 | Post 1
Gidal (NPC)
With a small group heading out towards the meeting spot, Gidal emerges slowly but surely from the mist. The group looks alarmed and ready to fight until they get close enough to recognize the members of their Clan. Gidal’s form is the most recognizable, the wheels of his gear making an eerily familiar sound across the landscape.
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Post by Mad-Manx on Jan 5, 2019 20:17:22 GMT -6
Ualda | Bloody Flank Merchant | Mare
Ualda was exhausted.
There was no other way to describe the unshakable heaviness in her limbs, or the way her head drooped ever closer to the ground, eyes listlessly fixated on the ground just beyond her hooves. Her mane was knotted and unkempt, clearly neglected throughout their travels, and the passion for life seemingly driven from her very being.
Once, she would have regarded her own mind as one of the more refined of the Flanks, geared more towards the understanding numbers and the intricacies of diplomacy than the brute force many of the Raiders possessed. Yet like a knife used one too many times, she’d become dulled with time; a nearly constant fog clouding her mind, relentless in its presence. Grief had rendered her a shell, lacking in the vigor for life that had made her whole, leaving it its wake only apathy and emptiness.
Perhaps it was for this reason she was so slow to note the change in their surroundings, failing to recognize the familiar, impossibly tall trees that had sprung from the ground. A forest of trees she had seen once before, three months ago. Ualda raised her head slowly, her steps faltering as she hesitated, studying the branches that twisted and disappeared from sight far above.
Her crimson eyes noted something else, something far closer; the faceless silhouettes that emerged from the misty landscape. Gidal, her father, pushed onward without hesitation. Ualda's teke moved to grasp the strange, newly acquired weapon at her side, a precaution against whoever was waiting for them beyond the mist and rain.
Not that it would do much good against seasoned warriors, she recognized, the fluttering of fear in her chest dulled by the inevitability of their situation. Ualda sucked in a breath through her teeth before following in her father's wake, hoping that, for once, those they were about to encounter were in fact their long lost allies.
___________________________________________________________________Post #1 | Word Count: 318
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Post by Sargeant-Knoxx on Jan 5, 2019 23:05:48 GMT -6
|S Y N N|
| Bloody-Flank Scout |
"Once more into the fray- live and die this day."
______________________________ The movement in the trees yonder stilled almost as suddenly as it appeared and Synn had to wonder if the forest were playing tricks on her eyes. But then came a sound, muddled by the mist and the rain to the point that the scout had to focus all her energy into pinpointing the source- a faint squeaking, creaking. What is that..? Soon enough the telltale sound of hooves on uneven ground broke through, and Synn lowered her weapons, a sigh of utter relief shaking her tense shoulders as familiar faces emerged from the gloom.
"Thank the stars," she stepped forward, "You lot sure are sight for sore eyes." Synn put away her weapons, gaze sweeping the group as they emerged. Gidal and Ualda stood out, father and daughter looking more worn in body and spirit since the last she saw them. There were some that Synn had expected to see that did not stand among them however, leading the scout's gaze back to their leader. She bowed her head in regard, words caught in her throat. So much had happened. So much. The mare wasn't sure if this was the time or place to lay it all out..
In the meantime, she took a step to the side to allow those once separated to be reunited. Scarred face turned to look at the rest of the congregation, the weight of dread still heavy upon her back.
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WC | 237 |
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Post by ThatDenver on Jan 6, 2019 3:37:29 GMT -6
EMELIÉ
She could feel the tension ripple through their group like a wave through still water. They were all exhausted, all worn out by sadness, and still there was a vicious readiness in them. Flanks were not quitters – they were survivors, fighters. Weeds that refused to be culled from the field. If they were to go down, it would always be while fighting, never laying down.
Creak. Creak.
Her frostbitten ears moved around, curiously, trying to locate the sound. It was oddly familiar, like something she had heard but could not properly recall.
It was coming closer.
Then, out of the mist – that unnatural cursed mist of the wood – came a familiar figure. It was her uncle, Gidal, and his creaking mobility gear, moving with stubborn determination. Behind him other faces she knew, sweeter now than ever, slid into view. Ualda, some of the other non-combatants and many elders of the clan. Many faces were missing, too, but she noted with some relief that less than were missing from their own number.
“Kaia bless”, she almost whispered, and then turned around to call to the rest of their party, unsure how far ahead they could see in the fog: “It’s them! We found them!”
Such relief was in those words that Emelié sounded, for once, almost giddy and girlish.
Without much grace, she stumbled forward to meet them. To Gidal she gave a nod of acknowledgement, but cousin Ualda she reached to touch gently, as if to make sure she was real.
“You made it”, she said breathlessly.
Word count: 257
Post #2
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Post by akitapup on Jan 10, 2019 23:13:39 GMT -6
ULRICH | BLOODY FLANKS
Ulrich never thought that the rickety creaaak of Gidal's mobility gear would be such a comfort. He leapt forward, plodding into the fog-covered forest with a stupid grin spread across his face. Funny enough, that red brindle head was easy on the eyes as well, though he'd never say it out loud, not unless he wanted to be mocked. Even Ualda was there- his spirits lifted like bird wings.
"I don't think I've ever been gladder to see your sorry faces," he said, voice a little too boisterous, but damn it all, here they were, alive. Were there missing faces? Of course, but they had time to count their losses, but he allowed himself to have this unbridled moment of joy, because they were here. Tossing his head over his shoulder, he glanced at Iskalder, and then Synn. He sobered up, his breath hitching in his throat. Synn's face had fallen. Ulrich's gleeful face froze as well, before he dropped it all together. How foolish of him to think there could be one moment of joy, when it was partnered with loss and pain. And Synn- he frowned. Poor Synn. She was good at playing strong, at being the soldier and the now a leader.
She isn't alone, he thought. The Flanks could not survive without leaning on each other. Stepping to Synn's side, he touched the side of her neck with a twitch of his lip, a silent acknowledgment that yes, he was there. Everyone was.
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Post by PaganStars on Jan 13, 2019 22:32:39 GMT -6
Lorian
Medic
If I am what you say, I expect to be hanging from a wooden cross
When all this is done, is done
I don't believe in a god, let's leave religion out of all this
x | x Following behind after the others, Lorian kept his head lowered and ears forward as they had pushed forward. His blessing was active and though he was calm, he could feel the faint tug against the birds in the surrounding trees, quiet in their birdsong and only adding to the eerie and almost lonely feeling the forest permitted. It was unmistakable when they heard the tell-tale sound of wheels against the ground, the huffing of another group of horses; another group of flanks.
Lifting his head, Lorian had smiled faintly and looked towards the misty shapes, ears forward and heart skipping a beat. Finally, they would be reunited, if only for a little while. Reunions were always blessed times, especially when others had been lost. Letting out a breath he hadn’t known he had been holding, Lorian smiled down at his daughter. Ulrich’s boisterous voice mingled among the others made him chuckle softly, eyes flicking over to Iska.
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Post by Mad-Manx on Jan 14, 2019 20:39:37 GMT -6
Ualda | Bloody Flank Merchant | Mare
The breath she had not fully realized she had been holding was released when familiar faces appeared from the mist. A weary smile graced Ualda's muzzle as greetings were exchanged, and she bent her neck to return her cousin's light, yet grounding, touch.
"We made it," she repeated with Emelie with a wavering smile, her voiced tired.
Their familiar faces were indeed a sight for sore eyes; not to mention the new faces, which Ualda noted with some surprise. Those she had not anticipated seeing for the first time here, but she supposed even the dire circumstances of their situation failed to stop new life. She would have questions later, but for now, her gaze turned searchingly among the gathered group. Her brother, Iskalder, stood among them, she noted with some relief, as did her sister-in-law Cerys. Yet others, especially one face in particular, was conspicuously missing from the mix.
"Are the others elsewhere?" Ualda spoke, and even she could not help but cringe at the hopeful note that existed in her own voice.
The single question burned through her mind, yet with a sinking sensation as she gazed into the eyes of their companions, she realized she wasn't sure if she wanted the answer to it.
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Post by manabuns on Jan 14, 2019 21:57:25 GMT -6
give me time and give me space
Figures emerged out of the fog, and for a moment Iskalder tensed. Until the wraith mist decided to give them recognizable silhouettes and the Raiders emotions did one of two things.
They rose, rose like the waves against the shore. Then they sank, chopping and churning, waves dragging the cliff face down with it to the watery below.
Perhaps it wouldn't of been so bad if the figures had been manevolent. This was a conversation that Iskalder was vastly unequipped to handle. Neck bending, he glances over at Lorian and Ashilde, and then to Cerys and her children.
Just because they now faced friendly faces, did not mean that the silverpine was largely absent of those that would cut this conversation short. After Holmsa, the Raider found himself edging to being overprepared and overplanning to absence in the moment.
As he trudges down the hill to the group, finally, having skirted around it long enough. He passes by Synn and Ulrich both, and says as much. "I would keep that tremor sense handy, Ulrich, scan ahead for us. I don't want us to be taken unawares." I don't want to lose anymore of us, is the unspoken addition as he turns his attention to the scout.
Reunion sounded sour on his lips, makes his rattled ribcage ache.
But he puts on a face, as he nears his father and sister both. Just as she asks where the others are. His step falters, not for the first time on this godless trip. But it's the first time he has faltered infront of blood. In front of Ualda and Gidal.
"Father." He murmurs in a way of greeting, though he's facing his sister. The hope burns his skin more than any fire ever could, and he finds his face softening. Fracturing. Tentatively he reaches his nose out to her, as if it might soften the flail he brings down on this fragile gathering. "This is all of us."
All that remains of us, their family.
Post 2 | Wordcount 333 |
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Deleted
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Post by Deleted on Jan 15, 2019 15:43:39 GMT -6
Nerys’ ears perked, then twisted around uncertainly at the weird creaking sound. Her emerald teke held on to her sword as she hurried her step to catch up to Emelié, to protect with what little skill she had. She wasn’t really a warrior, but she wasn’t willing to stand down either.
Relief washed over her as she recognized the forms coming out from the mist, and she breathed a sigh as she lowered her weapon. Her gait slowed a little, allowing the more eager to catch up first. Not that she wasn’t happy to be reunited; she truly was, but she also wasn’t family.
There was a rare, small smile on her lips as she watched the Flanks greet, nodding to the other group herself. Thinner groups than what had left, maybe, but still. It felt like something of a victory, even if she did recognize that Iskalder probably was right. Her gaze immediately circled the woods, as if someone was going to jump up on them that very moment. What sank her heart more, however, was the other asking about the group. Knowing that it was inevitable to tell them about the losses.
Word count: 194 | Post: 2
GIDAL (NPC) Gidal greeted everyone with nods, smile tugging at his lips as he looked the familiar faces.
“You too, you too”, he replied, still looking around, expecting to see more of them. Expecting to see Ansgar.
The smile faded as Iskalder’s words set in, and not willing to accept what it might mean he asked, demanding: “Where is Ansgar?”
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Post by Sargeant-Knoxx on Jan 15, 2019 22:39:01 GMT -6
|S Y N N|
| Bloody-Flank Scout |
"Once more into the fray- live and die this day."
______________________________ Synn watched, and listened. Murmurs of relief and greetings began to fade out of her focus as she took in their surroundings again. Even Ulrich's sudden and hopeful outburst didn't seem to phase the scout. Her eyes had fogged as she gazed between the surrounding trees, the thrumming glow of their smooth bark almost hypnotizing.. There was a silence, a stillness, and not just in her own mind. The grey glanced to the side when a familiar presence idled close, a touch bringing her back to the present. She dipped her head a knowing look upon her face. It hurt, and there was no denying their predicament- it was likely worse than it seemed. Pessimistic? No, realistic.
Clearing a blob of lead from her tight throat, Synn nodded in regard to Iskalder's command, Ulrich would be their first line of defense at this vulnerable time. With every blessing upon them it seemed, they'd taken losses. With life, came death. With magic, came consequence. The magic placed upon the ashen mare had been less than helpful- flaring when her temper did. She had dreams, restless dreams filled with the smells of blood and carnage. Cold steel and hot ashes.. What it could have meant she didn't know. The night they'd discovered his passing... She couldn't remember.
"Are the others elsewhere?" Ualda's speech seemed to crack, a small fracture. Almost unnoticeable- a family trait.
...
"This is all of us.." A stone upon thin ice, Iska's voice - one that had once been filled with vigor and courage- was heavy with somber inflection.
Green eyes came to rest on Signe and Keldan, their tiny bodies and their father's eyes.. Synn looked up at Cerys briefly, attempting to glean some sort of emotion from her, anything to distract herself from the grief that welled in her chest like bile. It angered her, to feel so much pain. It was like losing Ramm, like Daegan, like her father. One would think that death became familiar- and it could- but it never became comfortable.
"Where's Ansgar?" Came Gidal's question, a boulder set upon the ice- it promptly shattered.
Synn's ears had laid back and she shut her eyes, drawing in a trembling breath.
"He's dead." she muttered, exhaling slowly. A long heartbeat.. The mare took a step forward, turning to face Gidal. The last time she'd spoken up before him it'd been in challenge to his decree to remain in Ghosthold, she stood before him again, but instead of defiance- desperation showed crystal clear upon her face.
"We may have come here in order to bring the fight to that yellow-bellied excuse of a Warlord Hira, but..", Synn shook her head, "We were weakened before Ghosthold's collapse Gidal- and we certainly can't raise our swords against an entire nation now. The continent is changing and not even the tides of fate are on our side. Holmsa was a disaster..".
Her eyes fell on Cerys again before she continued. "There are bigger things at stake here." Her brow furrowed and she looked at the others now. The women, the children, the warriors and the weakened. The healers and the scouts. Everyone had a piece in this now. It was time to decide.
"None of you can deny the losses we've taken.." the mare had stood tall in that moment, but it was a facade at best as her flanks shook.
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Post by hey-stardust on Jan 16, 2019 4:27:07 GMT -6
CERYS | BLOODY FLANKS | MERCHANT
We’ll never get it back, but we’ll try
some things are best left behind.
There had some been some secret joy that bloomed within Cerys while they had remained stagnant, complacent, almost lost to the outside world during the brief moment of respite during her recovery and the twins' birth.
For once they had stopped running, they had been allowed to take a breath; their mission momentarily forgotten. She knew such a thing could not last, but still, she yearned for it -
for quiet, for peace.
The unicorn watched, detached, as the rest of group descended the hill, overcome with excitement, relief, and then, eventual, inevitable, bitter disappointment as reality set in.
They were family perhaps, but by little other than the blood of her children, and the connection was not strong enough to make her step forward, to greet them like old friends.
Instead, Cerys used her body as a shield, blocking the twins from rushing forward with the others; uncertainty clouding her mind as they peeked beneath her flank with piercing red eyes.
She could feel Synn looking to her, seeking answers, but she refused to meet her friend's gaze; stifling her thoughts with a single, shuddering breath.
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Post by ThatDenver on Jan 16, 2019 5:50:12 GMT -6
EMELIÉ
The happiness seemed to fade as quickly as it had risen. That strange levity she had not known for months, strangled out by the reality of the state of things.
Yes, this was not quite all of them – a few were behind in a camp – but their numbers were strangled. A key soul had been lost, and others too.
She wished the reunion would have been a merrier one. One where the entire family, as it was, came back together to plan a brighter future. An assault, a final stand.
But what stand could they make with these numbers? Indeed, Synn spoke the harsh truth. Their numbers were diminished. When they still four captains on four ships, perhaps, but now? Vidar was a traitor lost; Ansgar was dead, Cormac was gone. Their great blood sailed ships, all tattered as far as she knew.
Who would be afraid of a band of old warriors and wives and children?
Not many, she thought. No matter how fierce they were, a part of their strength had always come from the fear they caused.
You could scare people with this.
By Kaia, how she wanted Synn to be wrong. To shout her down, to convince her and everyone else of their might, of their destiny. The Flank agenda. Her clan had always been her life, her lifeline, her single-minded destiny.
Now it was eroding. She still had the utmost belief in their ability to survive, because she had to… But a victory seemed further and further off.
She looked to Gidal, searching her uncle’s face for answers, but so far there were none to be had.
“We can’t just wander forever”, Emelié said then, quietly. It felt like an admission of defeat, and she turned her eyes away from the others, feeling ashamed.
“We are not Vagabonds. These trying months have already eaten up our numbers – more and nothing of us will remain”, she went on, suppressing a quiver in her voice by harshening her tone.
On the road they would have no home. They would eventually splinter, out of necessity or out of strife, and die out like the War Forged hoped they would.
That could not happen.
Word count: 365
Post #3
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Post by Mad-Manx on Jan 16, 2019 16:01:54 GMT -6
Ualda | Bloody Flank Merchant | Mare
Iskalder and Synn's words registered slowly, like light piercing through a thick fog. Their meaning dawned with a quiet sense of defeat, a sensation that had all but become a constant companion in the past few months. Of course Ansgar was dead. It seemed naive that she should assume anything but.
Her capacity for grief had long ago been stretched past its limits. The loss of their home, of her sister, of now not two but three of her brothers pulled at her chest, a once stabbing pain that had since become a suffocating weight. With slow, cutting strokes, life had taken away almost everything she had truly loved in this world; starting with her mother, all those years ago.
"What else are we to do?" Ualda spoke, her speech slow and seeming labored. The words, though strong, were not spoken as a challenge, but rather fell from her lips with a defeated, tired sigh. "Our trade routes have been non existent since we left Ghosthold. Even if we could establish new routes... We have nothing left to exchange."
Her eyes rose to meet her comrades, the exhaustion she knew had plagued them all since abandoning Ghosthold reflected in her crimson eyes.
"We have no home, limited numbers, and no doubt a bounty hanging over our heads. I'm not sure how many options we have left."
___________________________________________________________________Post #3 | Word Count: 226
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Post by PaganStars on Jan 23, 2019 14:02:50 GMT -6
Lorian
BloodyFlank Medic
If I am what you say, I expect to be hanging from a wooden cross
When all this is done, is done
I don't believe in a god, let's leave religion out of all this
x | x Iskalder’s words easily cut through the quiet silence that had settled around them, followed by Synn’s more firm confirmation. Lorian flinched slightly at the harshness of it, but at this point, the Flanks were used to such things. Their lives were harsh, filled with missteps and disappointment. Deaths were more than common and at this point, Lorian had learned to take them in stride. They all had, really.
Carefully pushing through past the others with Ashilda trailing behind him. He came to stand beside Iska, silently offering him support as he addressed his father and those gathering behind the leader of the Bloody Flanks. The words around them were dire and Lorian found himself frowning “My own supplies are wearing thin,” he added softly, glancing back at his fellow medic Nerys “We must be careful of illness or injury. We do not have the means to cure something fatal.” His words would only add more strife but the group needed to know just how low their supplies truly were. He glanced at Iska “There must be somewhere we could go, to lie low for now. What if we were to leave Onea?”Post 3 | 236
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Post by manabuns on Jan 28, 2019 14:22:04 GMT -6
give me time and give me space
"We have nothing." Comes Iska's cold statement, unprocessed grief and old anger shaking slumber from his bones. "No numbers, no home. We cannot bring any fight to anyone, as we are. We are a mess, a joke. The Warlord would simply starve us into nothingness than meet us on the battlefield." It's a harsh admittance, but one that needed to be said. Needed to be heard among the rest.
Everything they'd won had gone now, trade routes collapsed, allies nowhere on the horizon. Little by little, they had withered away under misfortune and bad decisions.
Gidal had two children left. In the shattered, skeletal graveyard left of their Clan, Ualda and Iskalder stood between the bones of their brothers and sisters. He had Wives frail and injured to take care of, a scant more cousins and relatives lingered behind their dwindling blood.
A hoof full of Grandchildren who needed security and safety, not a constant unpredictable movement of pillar to post. Never knowing security, looking at their elders and seeing only grim faces of mixed reception. Extinction was a threat they were facing once again, with even less than they had before.
Iskalder was furious.
Lorian's presence at his side proved to be a double edged sword, providing support and reminding him of the precarious precipice they lingered on. Ashilde's odd colored eyes stared at him, wide and confused and he forced himself to divert his attention.
The idea of leaving Onea wasn't a bad idea, truthfully. If he wanted to dig past the stubborn pride and faces of all those they lost to stay here, build something in the ice and spite. It would give them the means to lay low and rebuild, but would the bones of those sacrificed roll in their shallow graves for it? Would they spit curses from the beyond about how they had fallen. Forced to abandon their ancestral homeland?
"We need to do something." The raider grunted, grinding teeth. "First though, we need to get to camp. We are exposed and we have little ones."
Post 3 | Wordcount 342 |
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Deleted
Deleted Member
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Post by Deleted on Jan 30, 2019 15:35:27 GMT -6
As Iskalder speaks, something moves in the fog around you.
Immediately, you are alert. Gidal’s mobility gear creaks.
We are not Vagabonds.
We could be more.
It is Emelié’s voice, like an echo. Her lips are not moving.
Images of the Trespasser, immediately recognizable from her fierce silhouette, torn deep by coastal rocks.
We have nothing.
We could have everything.
We deserve everything.
Iskalder’s voice, now. Coming from the fog, loud and clear and booming with purpose.
What if we were to leave Onea?
What if.
What if?
What if there was more?
Lorian’s voice, or a convincing imitation at least. Images of the Ghosthold crumbling into the dark northern sea form in the fog.
Who will lead us?
This is Gidal’s voice, barely a whisper from the mist; filled with doubt and the pain of a twenty years in exile. Gidal himself stands silent.
The images of destruction turn to ones of glory. You, like you once were, healthy and bellies full of food. Echoes of the fortress you once knew are drawn around you.
For some of you it looks like the Ghosthold.
For others, the home you knew before that. Before the rebellion, the frost or the thaw.
The shape of a horse stands within the fog.
Astrid?
Before you can call out, she is gone, swallowed by the mist. You hear galloping hooves, pulling away, away and deeper into the mist.
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Post by Sargeant-Knoxx on Jan 30, 2019 20:34:48 GMT -6
|S Y N N|
| Bloody-Flank Scout |
"Once more into the fray- live and die this day."
______________________________ Synn looked from equine to equine as voices arose from the throng. A general- albeit begrudging- agreement coming to light. It bolstered the grey mare, but hurt her heart too..
Lorian passed by her, small and delicate Ashilde trailing in the stallion's shadow. Green eyes rose to their chieftan once more. The medic standing at Iskalder's side voiced concern for their already meager supplies, and suggested leaving Onea- an idea that Synn was not as opposed to as perhaps some of the others were. It was true, Onea was their home, her home. But if there was one thing that being amidst the Flanks for the better part of the decade taught her, it was that you either adapt or die.
"My ancestral Clan hailed from the Southeastern borders of Onea, I can't say I know the land anymore but- perhaps..?" She trailed off with Iskalder beginning to speak once more, the grimness in his tone still heavy upon her ears. The ashen equine nodded in somber agreement, best they make camp and lie low until they could construct a more solid course of action.
Emelie suddenly spoke and Synn turned to address her fellow scout, she sounded like a broken record.. Except, even as words flitted by her ears Emelie's dark lips were unmoving. A sudden chill rattled her spine as more whispers filtered through the mist, reaching a crescendo with the rallying statement of Iskalder's- except it wasn't.
Visions whipped through her minds eye to the beat of her thrumming heart, flashes of images past, of recent tragedy, of what could be...
Who will lead us?
Gidal's voice would have startled her, had an apparition in the silver-wood not caught her attention first. An eerily familiar face, pale and gold, a horn of dark stone sprouting from her brow..
"It can't-", a sputter, "Are you seeing this..?" and then it was gone.. She was gone. Except what could have been a trick of the eyes was not so- for the sound of hooffallss was getting steadily farther away. A War-Forged scout? A Vagabond?
Synn's body tensed, but she hesitated only a beat before launching herself over a fallen tree. She could hear Iska making way at her heels as well and Synn briefly glanced back with a light in her eyes."Ulrich, Emelie- with me!" Synn didn't believe that the forest was playing tricks on her, all that she knew was that they'd been spotted- perhaps watched- by a ghost. Words and visions placed in their heads by an entity they didn't understand. If it weren't the undead Synn would make certain that the impostor would find their way to the grave- one way or another.
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WC | 447 |
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Post by ThatDenver on Feb 1, 2019 17:19:20 GMT -6
EMELIE
She bit her lip at Ualda’s words. She knew there was no easy answer, no obvious solution. It was unlikely they would be welcomed with open arms where-ever they went, but they needed some permanence. This lifestyle was choking life and hope out of them, and they all knew it.
But to leave Onea? Defiance, no matter how fleeting, flashed in her eyes at the idea. She had lived her entire life in the service of their goal to retake what was rightfully theirs, so just giving up on it seemed… Terrible. So pointless. Yet what option did they have?
They would need to live another day to have any chance of achieving anything. She knew that.
Didn’t make it easy to admit, however.
“It wouldn’t have to be for good”, she mused quietly, more to herself and Nerys than the party at large. Taking a moment to regain strength and numbers wasn’t the same as giving up.
It wasn’t.
Emelié visibly startled hearing a familiar voice speaking – and only realized some moments later it was her voice, her words mirrored back. She looked into the fog, eyes narrowed and teeth bared, even as her ears flattened against her skull.
What sorcery was this?
The words themselves, however, were not frightening. They sounded almost like promises.
Then, there was the shape in the fog. Emelié gasped – she would have known that unicorn anywhere, and many times had her sad fate haunted her dreams on this journey.
“Yes!” she answered to Synn, and took off like she was the shadow of they grey scout, falling in pace by her side as they went through the thick mist, dodging trees and jumping through undergrowth.
Word count: 282
Post #4
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Post by PaganStars on Feb 3, 2019 14:03:32 GMT -6
Lorian
Bloody Flank Medic
If I am what you say, I expect to be hanging from a wooden cross
When all this is done, is done
I don't believe in a god, let's leave religion out of all this
x | x Lorian could practically feel the mixed bag of emotions rolling off of Iskalder as he stood beside him, Looking to the others momentarily as he spoke. His words were right, they would need to discuss what they were going to do but for now, most importantly, they needed to set up a camp and make due until the morning.
As Lorian turned to move with the others, a chill suddenly ran up his spine as the fog seemed to thicken tenfold, something moving among the wisps. He was suddenly alert now, grinding his teeth as he moved Ashilde to stand between her two fathers. His golden daggers were dull now among the fog. Iskalder’s voice rang out not from beside him but from deeper into the fog, Lorian inhaling sharply. His own voice called out to the others, images flashing in their minds.
Images and shadows merged into one and Lorian shook his head as they cleared, only to linger in the fog. And suddenly members were pulling away from them, dashing into the fog after the images that danced in front of them. Lorian felt rooted to the spot on the other hand, the chill still vibrating up and down his spine.
Post 4 | 247
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Post by Mad-Manx on Feb 3, 2019 22:28:17 GMT -6
Ualda | Bloody Flank Merchant | Mare
Ualda's head dropped as her companions discussed, her eyes glazed over as she half hardheartedly listened to their takes on the situation. The fight that had once driven her had all been forced out, and instead was left to quietly dwell in the confines of her own mind.
Amid the muttering voices, her ears turned slights to catch Emelie's quiet words. She understood her cousin's sentiments; Onea had been her home for as long as she could remember, from the moment she had entered this world and, she had assumed, it would be until the day she returned to Kaia's embrace. Yet, after so long, it seemed that simply was no longer a viable option if they wished to survive. Though by birth right they may have a claim to it... Hira and her followers would never stand for it, if they were to be discovered.
Absorbed as she was in her own thoughts, it took a moment before her muddled mind made sense of the disembodied voices. The others fell silently as her head shot up, following their gaze into the depths of the unnatural forest. The voices of their own beckoned them forward, their promises of glory and renown putting her ill at ease. Their goals, their dreams, laid out in front of them... And there, visible among the fog- could it be?
Ualda had spent her life trained as a merchant, a negotiator; but never a trained combatant. Her teke strayed to the new weapon still holstered to her side, undoing the strap that kept it secure as she slipped it out as she watched her comrades surge forward as a unit. Her overworked body was slow to respond and with a strained glance her gaze fell from the others and back to her father.
"We shouldn't split up," were the only words she managed to sputter out, the normally eloquent mare failing to put together a coherent thought. Already her legs had set her into motion, and at a slightly slower pace to her comrades, she plunged into the forests.
___________________________________________________________________Post #4 | Word Count: 344
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Deleted
Deleted Member
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Post by Deleted on Feb 6, 2019 13:47:47 GMT -6
Nerys’ gaze shifted between the group, and she nodded quietly when they spoke. They were all right – they couldn’t go on like this. She had abandoned the War Forged and she had been prepared to become a Vagabond, once. It had felt more like a choice then; now she felt backed into a corner with thin choices. Yet she still held her resolve and gave Emelié a solemn nod; if a more solid future meant retreating from Onea momentarily, she would go with her.
But the conversation halted at the eerie echoes of words words – Nerys looked confused at the group members speaking without actually speaking, then her expression grew frightened. Her teke clutched her sword tighter once more, as if she could have somehow protected herself against this… unknown. It was all topped off with the images, then the shape of a horse.
Nerys would have preferred to assess the situation, to consider, but the others didn’t wait and she wasn’t about to be left in the middle of the creepy mist. Her panic reaction was to want to follow Emelié, and so she did. She kept behind the scouts, her sword herd firmly even though she doubted she could have done much with it. Her Necromancy reached out, but she couldn’t feel an actual corpse. A very weird ghost, that.
Word count: 222 | Post 3
Gidal (NPC) Gidal’s face is momentarily painted with deep, agonizing grief at Synn’s words. His gaze shifts to Cerys, and no more words are needed. A confirmation. His face grows solid like stone. Now is not the time.
“The Southeast border could-“ Gidal starts, but is interrupted by Emeliés echo. His brow furrows, and his eyes narrow as it goes on. What kind of trickery?
It is the suggestion of Astrid that gets him moving. He isn’t the fastest, and the wheels creak as he leaps forward after Synn and the company.
“Ualda is right! Let’s not get separated!” he shouts, keeping at the back.
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Post by Sargeant-Knoxx on Feb 7, 2019 1:04:24 GMT -6
|S Y N N|
| Bloody-Flank Scout |
"Once more into the fray- live and die this day."
______________________________ The silver woods became a blur around her, whizzing past as iron-clad hooves flew over the uneven terrain. Synn didn't hesitate, didn't slow, trusting those that followed to keep pace or watch for her path. A growl of frustration bubbled in her chest as the figure in the mist only seemed to evade them, just out of reach. "Damn!" she huffed, the golden-haired ghost in the fog dodged in and out of view, weaving deftly amidst the trees and foilage to a point that the ashen scout nearly lost sight a few times- only to catch another glimpse that sent her into the chase once more. It was maddening- the twisting and turning, the goading on.. it's like they were being lured- perhaps guided deeper through the ethereal grove. Let it be a trap.. came the thought, bitter and daring.
The thrill of the hunt trumped any inhibitions, the journey and the loss and the desperation had pushed her this far, and this was the tipping point- the precipice of sanity. Synn stopped looking over her shoulder, dead set on the mysterious apparition. ______________________________
WC | 183 |
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Post by hey-stardust on Feb 7, 2019 1:23:22 GMT -6
CERYS | BLOODY FLANKS | MERCHANT
We’ll never get it back, but we’ll try
some things are best left behind.
Disembodied voices and visions of the past suddenly flood Cerys' mind and dread begins to fill every inch of her body. She watches as history repeats itself, as the herd tears itself apart once more before the vision shifts, changing, showing them visions of hope - the promise of a better tomorrow...
but her disenchantment with the world keeps her grounded, disbelieving.
The grass knots and twists around her feet, mirroring her inner turmoil and tethering her to the spot as she listens to the Bloody Flanks call to one another, seemingly already decided.
Fear flashes across her face as the mist surrounds them, recalling memories of the sunken town, Holmsa, and noting that this wasn’t the first time the group had galloped blindly into the unknown, herself included.
She tries to call out --namely to Synn and Ulrich-- pleading for them to stop, but the words quickly fade in her throat, sensing she had lost them to the others’ excitement as they raced after the phantom figure who had already disappeared within the forest's ghosty clutches.
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