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Post by ♥--Tilly on Jun 10, 2014 15:59:42 GMT -6
F r i g g a we gladiate but I guess we're really fighting ourselvese roughing up our minds so we're ready when the kill time comes wide awake in bed, words in my brain, Minute indentions littered the dune, curving up to its peak – a height of no true significance to a full grown beast – but one that had proved to be quite the challenge for the filly for sand was something new to her. It slipped underneath her movements and her spindles buried deep within its depths. The climb had been tiring for the youngster, more so because she got distracted by particular formations in the curves of the sand and promptly bounded over to crush and mold them beneath her limbs before resuming her brisk climb. The results concluded with the dusty hued filly’s ribcage rapidly expanding and falling to greedily regain her breath, and once she did – she lost it once more.
After rising from the shadow of the dune, she beheld a glittering expanse of open sand and stars. They were two distinctly different worlds that melded into a perfect beauty before her. A smile grin overtook her dark labrums, and then she was moving again. A lope overtook her appendages and she rolled across the flat expanse, knowing with some forlorn knowledge exactly where she was meant to be.
The knowledge of her place in the world is attributed to the past four months of her life – and it had changed two days ago with her weaning. Upon the day Frigga and her twin were born into the world their father had removed them from their mother’s presence. Vidar had stated it was an agreement between the two of them – the consensual solitary upbringing by their father. They moved to some far reach of the lands, and there they called home for four months. Vidar’s teachings began the next day and a mare named Groa had taken it upon herself to provide the two with nursing. Vidar had an agenda from that day on and he pushed them tirelessly into the molds that he desired they would fill.
Frigga’s mold was a powerful one; filled with duty, respect, and an uncanny ferocity of the soul. The desire for action plagued her and flooded her veins with energy. She hungered for thought-provoking, body-fulfilling, life-enhancing experiences; so much that she doubted she could acquire it all from one life. So she would live a dozen, if duty required such. Vidar had raised them on many ideologies, but the one he had pointed to her had always been ‘do what is necessary.’ So Frigga would do what was necessary for her life, where her loyalties lay, and the lands themselves. And whispers spoke of a role that needed filling in the caverns of this desert. The Syndicate needed a lady to act on their behalf; they needed an infiltrator for their contracts.
A gentle breeze fluttered across the desert, not strong enough to pick up the sand but strong enough to flirt with her short tresses. Beauty looked promising upon the gangly filly, and a keen look suggested of the power and strength she might one day wield. But for now, innocence claimed her with its soft grip. Already though lean muscle claimed her, rigorous training had been another montage of her father’s lifestyle. Even at her young age, she carried wisdom and outside of her curiosity she was already developing into a mature, capable creature – unlike her brother who often seemed much younger than she.
In the cool night air, she gathered herself and let a nicker pour from her vocal cords – belting out into the night to summon the keepers of this land. Sand kicked up behind her flints, as she moved her sinewy body in the direction her instincts requested - a hunger alighting in her belly. This was her future; this was what she was meant to do – the necessary – and it swallowed her up and rebirthed her dutiful, able, and willing.
"secretly you love this do you even wanna go free?" let me in the ring, i'll show you what that big word means words: 634 tags:The Meta/Open extra: Super excited to play her!
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The Geneticist
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Post by Δ Beauty With The Booty on Jun 11, 2014 0:37:06 GMT -6
[smear:bbbbbb]S A T A N A E L[/smear:444444] This big dog will fight when you rattle his cage.. Mis-matched orbs opened to look upon the world. The lids immediately closed over to protect the sensitive oculars, pain spiking up though the young colt's skull. After a moment, he tried again, his pupils shrinking to accommodate the extensive brightness. It was much bright in this world than it was in his mother's womb. It was the same heat, though the wind was a bit cooler. The breeze ruffled the bit of fluff he had for a mane as he sat up, his body still coated in the after birth as he lay behind his mother. His skull turned to look up at the bright red oculars of his dam. His little auds half pinned and half perked forward. She was like a demon in the flesh. Her black face and neck hidden by her thick mane with bright, glowing orbs peeking out as she reached forward. Her muzzle touched him and then her tongue glided over his tiny body as she cleaned him. With each lick, the fear he had waned and he licked her pitch face in return. In a matter of moments he was clean and her attention turned elsewhere. The youngster lifted his skull, attempting to get a look and could just barely see the coat of another. His brother He let out a small neigh, only one that a foal could muster. He got an answer back from an equally foal-ish voice and then his dam turned, giving him a better glimpse of his sibling. The older colt was looking at the extra appendages, trying to get a feel for them. Satan immediately looked to his own spine, finding none upon his back. He furrowed invisible brows and then looked to his dam as she moved to stand, but ultimately found herself too weak and lay back down. She did not have wings. He looked back at his brother and nickered. He wanted to see these appendages up close!
The little smokey cream colt pushed up and bounded up, only to fall head over heels on his mother's limbs. The demoness grunted and nudged the little colt with her nose. He tipped over onto his side and then tried once again to find his feet. He slid back agains this mother, whom was watching him oddly, and used her as leverage, scooting his rear legs up, his bum sticking up high in the air and then he finally stood on his front limbs, perfectly balanced. He took one step and rolled right into his brother, his limbs tangled up among themselves and his brother. He gave a small grunt and focused on the two-toned pelt of his brother, their nearly matched eyes locking. Satan's lips parted in a smile and he pulled harshly on his brother's fluffy mane. Their mother grunted at the two as she watched them from her laying place and then she attempted to get up again; letting out a groan. If there was one thing Witchcrypt knew in that moment, she had to get up to nurse her sons. But birthing the sons of The Meta had been more challenging than she expected. The hessian found her feet and wobbled slightly, wincing in pain. She nickered to her boys. Her only sons. The two turned to look upon her and then quickly untangled themselves, going straight to their food source. Witchcrypt snorted harshly at their biting gums and pinned her auds. These two were going to be a handful..
That was four months ago. Satan's mother had finally healed but even now she was still sore and it was bothersome for her to leave her home of Cocytus. He never understood his parents' relationship. It confused his young mind greatly that he had to walk so far to visit his mother and most times he had to stay the night and he was left worrying over his father. Though there usually was no reason to do so. But today, he was in his Father's lands. Reach. Where he was born. He knew these lands like the back of his hoof and he was currently skipping out on training. Don't get him wrong, he loved the prospect of being a Mercenary. He wanted it so bad. To be like his dad. But the training was something he was not liking. He had no idea if his twin had skipped out either, but right now he was just worried about hiding from Uncle D, Uncle Hark and his dad. He skipped through the many passageways until he was at the entrance to the lands. He looked out over the vast land, and contemplated going into the cold of Cocytus. He had not seen his mother in a week and he sorely missed her. She was a bit rude at times and was definitely not a doting mother but he loved her. And he liked to think she loved him. And his brother and father. And even Uncle D and Hark as well as Vittori and Condannare, his 'cousins'. yes, he would visit his mother today.
Before he could take one step towards Cocytus, a call rang out. For a moment he thought he had been caught, but it was too feminine and foal-ish for Uncle Hark or his father, maybe not Uncle D though. He looked around, expecting to see Tori, but even then the sound was too female for even Tori. To answer his question, a filly about the same age as he, walked over a dune and he cocked his skull to the side. He watched as she moved, his eyes flickering from her to where she came from, expecting a mother running after her. Nothing. His odd eyes focused back on the young filly as she strode confidently forward. His harks pinned slightly and he looked around, unsure of how to react. The only other filly he had met was Maleficent and she had never even given him a passing glance. The horns growing upon his facade glinted slightly in the sun and his lowered his long tail, letting it sway much like a cat's. He shuffled on his hooves slightly. He was quite the looker. His pelt mostly comprised of a silver smoky cream, while a smoky black blanket covered his rum and spread into brindles along his nape and face. With on blacks sock on his right front leg. He was a handsome fellow, but he was very nervous despite the fact he had no reason to be. 'You're pretty.' He immediately cursed himself. He remembered his cousin Con, telling him bluntness should be a crime and Satan definitely did not want to break any rules. He shrunk in himself slightly and waiting nervously for her response.
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Major General Dick Biscuit
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Hell is Empty. All the Devils are Here.
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Post by General SigmaButt σ on Jun 11, 2014 5:13:55 GMT -6
we are THE Μ Ξ Τ Λ no one man should have all that p o w e r
| Sigma | Theta | Omega | Eta/Iota | Gamma | Delta | Beta |
The Meta had finished his final routine exercises for the day hours before. The faint sheen of perspiration that had darkened his golden and ivory pelt had long since dried and left his flesh feeling slightly itchy, but he had grown accustomed to the sensation after years of enduring it. He had watched the final stragglers finish off their sets before drifting off to rest for the night and did a mental head count. It was then that he realized he was one head shy of his full band. His son, Satanael, seemed to have wandered off again. It was not a surprise to The Meta. Often times one or more of the foals would try and sneak away from practice and lose track of time playing. After questioning both Harkness and Dietrich, they both confirmed that the boy hadn't been in their training group. That only meant that he was sneaking about.
That led to The Meta wandering the open, sandy expanse of Reach, trailing the faint scent left by the coltine. He couldn't rest until the boy was returned to the herd. Not just for peace of mind, but more so to placate the boy's mother, Witchcrypt. If he reported him lost to the femme, Meta already knew they would end up in quite a spectacular fight. The two had a very...vitriolic relationship. Not many understood the dynamics. Sometimes Meta questioned it himself as the two fought nearly as much as Harkness and Dietrich. The only difference was that Meta doubted the two brutes had as amazing makeup sex as himself and Wicca. Then again, he could be wrong. He never did figure out the two.
He shook the thoughts out of his head, not wanting to travel down that road. Beta snorted in his head. 'Why not, Meta? I think we were just getting to the good part!' Meta just sighed lightly. Beta could be as bad, if not worse, than Dietrich and Witchcrypt with her mind. Fiery opts drifted over the horizon in an attempt to spot the young buck. So far, he has yet to catch hide nor hair of the pale coltine. It was also possible that the boy was sneaking off to Cocytus to be with his mother. It wasn't odd, as Satanael seemed to be quite the mama's boy. He just didn't seem to realize the danger that lurked between here and there, waiting to snatch up a youngling like him.
Meta cut a turn, heading toward the direction of Cocytus. The sooner he found the boy, the sooner he could sleep. He never was a pleasant being, but he was even less so when he missed sleep. Mentally, he began to make a list of punishments for his son should Meta have to stay up all night searching for him and extra ones for having skipped out on his training. He knew Satan wanted to become a mercenary and that he worked hard for his age to achieve his goal, so he cut his son some slack. Still, he should know by now that wandering off and making his father hunt for him was never a good idea.
A call made him halt his motions for a moment. By the pitch and tenor of it, it was a filly. He would have thought it Vittoria, but her voice was just a bit deeper than this particular call. She also would have yelled something offensive or inappropriate instead of the nicker that broke the silent atmosphere. Hellish oculars flashed over to the area it came from. Just on the outskirts of the lands. What on Earth would a flicka be doing on the borders of Reach at this time? He would say at all, but Vittoria and Condannare had appeared at random as well, claiming to be spawn of Harkness. A claim Meta originally thought ridiculous until he seen the eyes and took in their scent. 'I swear, if this is another kid of Hark's or D's, I'm kicking them in the balls.'
He deviated from his original path; this time heading toward the yearling who called out. His attention, however, was still on searching for further signs of Satanael's whereabouts. That, however, seemed to be unneeded as he soon caught sight of the boy near the flicka. 'You're pretty.' The Meta almost snorted. An amused smirk curled up his velvets at the words. As he drew nearer, a low chuckle came from his chest. "As tactful as your mother, Satanael. You skipped practice. Again." Fiery oculars burned into the eerily similar ones of his son. His facade was now straight and serious, though he lacked the usual fierceness given to others. He never could be so harsh to his children. It was an obvious fault he had, and he knew it. His attention then turned to the filly. He eyed her critically, taking in her silver dun painted frame, before looking across the terrain, as if an ambush laid waiting. It was a simple, yet effective tactic to use a foal to drew out a target into an indefensible position. His flinty gaze then went back to the flicka. "What brings you here alone?"
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Post by ♥--Tilly on Jun 11, 2014 10:29:38 GMT -6
F r i g g a we gladiate but I guess we're really fighting ourselvese roughing up our minds so we're ready when the kill time comes wide awake in bed, words in my brain, Visionaries swept over the star-studded expanse, noting nothing on her path towards the caverns of the Reach. Over the course of the four months she spent under Vidar’s supervision, she had learned the basic layout and chain of command of every allegiance and band in the land. The Syndicate had called to her, and some unknown tether had drawn her here – she had walked all day and into the night to follow its pull. But it was not long until her call was heard by another, a colt who was presumably around her age by the size of him. The pale foal approached her quickly, and she admired the way the starlight shone upon his flanks and turned a quizzical eye upon her own flanks. Did she gleam like that as well?
Within a few heartbeats, they were upon each other and Frigga eyed him with a profound attentiveness. This was the first being she had met outside of her brother, their nurse, and her father. He was an oddity, and hairy at that. Horns were beginning to emerge from his brow and a beard trickled down from his chin. Then there was his tail, and Frigga cast a shadow of a look back at her own feather-duster of a banner. But just as she was about to speak, the creature bolted out two words that took the filly aback. Pretty? Frigga had never viewed herself as such, the teachings of her life had never allowed for vanity to besiege her. A flush seemed to rise to her and she shuffled uncomfortably in the sand, a hot breeze blowing across her pastel carcass. Deep smile rose to her labrums, embarrassment riding highly throughout her flush. An awkward step placed her a pace to the left, and her visionaries danced between the sand and oddity that was the colt.
“Uhm..” As she opened her throat to speak ready to prepare a truly articulate sentence, another being entered making their conversation a trio. This character she knew however, her father had described the leaders of each group to them in great detail. This was The Meta – an outsized palomino with an acutely disfigured façade. It was the low chuckle and the words that followed that were slightly confusing to the young flicka. She had anticipated him to be severer, but certain placidness seemed to course through him. Then the connection between the two brutes registered, this was his son. Teal prophets bore into the colt, eying him with a substantial curiosity but her gaze was turned with The Meta’s mirroring him as she beheld what would be her leader.
But as his optics slipped over her she felt the pressure from her father, appearance was the first step in performing a duty correctly. Frigga was ready to rise to the occasion and will do so, taking in a breath she became more aware of herself. The slender filly straightened, lifting her dial high atop her sinewy nape and placing her flints squarely beneath her. A certain seed of pride rippled through her and a small smile – the offspring of her foalish excitement – fluttered across her labrums. The lyrics spoke did not upend her quiet confidence, and she let them tumble through her mind as a response formed. What would Vidar wish her to say?
Frigga’s skull dropped slightly and she delved deep into her mind, formulating an answer that would suit the situation best. ‘Your mind will come with practice, my dear.’ Her father had said and then the youngster lifted her façade towards the sun-kissed brute once more. “I believe it is my fate to be here.” Came her voice, small and girlish but strong in the face of a crippling moment of her life, “I have come to join The Syndicate; I wish to learn from you – The Meta – to become a mercenary.” It was similar to lines she had rehearsed over and over within the caverns of her mind and she let out a quiet breath of relief that the moment had come and passed where she would need them. She guessed that to be the most difficult portion of this brief meeting, although somehow all of her sidelong glances at the colt seemed to be proving quite the struggle as well.
"secretly you love this do you even wanna go free?" let me in the ring, i'll show you what that big word means words: 713 tags:The Meta/Satanael extra: ----
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The Geneticist
Friendly reminder that even if it takes ages to reply, I still wanna rp with you.
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Post by Δ Beauty With The Booty on Jun 12, 2014 16:53:06 GMT -6
[smear:bbbbbb]S A T A N A E L[/smear:444444] This big dog will fight when you rattle his cage.. The young colt mentally smacked himself over and over. Why would anyone straight out say that? It wasn't a good conversation starter at all. Everyone took it the wrong way or took it the right way; no one was the same. To top it off, he didn't even know this filly's name or anything about her. That was just a big 'no-no'. His mother was a blunt mare, through and through, would tell anyone what she thought of them, but even she would look at him oddly for what he had just said. A small blush crept over his pale pelt, coloring him almost blood red in the process. The filly did not answer, aside from a confused 'uhm?' and that made the colt shrink on himself a bit more. He didn't mean to cause her discomfort. His long tail lowered, swaying just above the sand as a silence drug out. He was no good with females. The only ones he had interacted with was his Mother, Tori and occasionally Beta and neither of them were any help. His mother was a good mother, but she had all females until he and his twin came along but really, his father should be the one helping him in this field. But, he was graced with Meta as his father and he didn't have conversation skills at all.
A small red panda bounded after Satan, her short legs giving her a hard time on keeping up. Once she found her way through the sand, she settled between Satan's bony legs and stared up at the filly. The little panda let out a sharp call, which made Satan pin his auds in annoyance. The little female was normally quiet, but she apparently did not like the new comer. 'Panda, hush!' He said sharply, his tail poking her from between his hind legs. She growled sharply but quieted down; sitting in her position obediently. Satan smiled down at he before casting his gold-red oculars on the filly. 'I apologize for her behavior. She's...a bit of a prude at times.' He said, smiling shyly at the female.
Before he could speak up again, a scent hit his nasals and his whole body froze and it went even more ridged when the owner of the scent spoke up. His father's deep and grungy vocals washed over him and he knew he was in a world of trouble. His skull flipped to the palomino bodice of The Meta and he put on the best grin he could, hoping to placate any anger that may be in his father's bones. He couldn't outright see any, but he knew about the 'fragments' in his sire's head and was always cautious about them. He decided to brush off the words about having his mother's bluntness and just shrugged, watching as his father drew closer. Satan had always been a mama's boy, always wanted to see her and be around her, but if he were to follow any of his parents, it would be his father. He loved his father just as much as he loved his mother. He was going to be a mercenary like his father and he hoped to make him proud.
His smile faded as the last bit of his sentence and the colt faltered in his stance. 'I'm sorry, dad. I already know the routines, though, why do I have to keep doing them, it's boring.' He said, almost forgetting the filly was there. He could not hold his father's gaze and looked away, at the filly. He wondered if Cy had skipped out too. Probably not. He listened as his father addressed the filly. It was a bit rough in the wording and Satan couldn't help but flinch. His father was not a sugar-coater, that was for sure.
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Post by Eris on Jun 13, 2014 23:59:34 GMT -6
FURATIS VOXDo that dance in the dark, Sharpen your teeth and bite as hard as you want
The lanky beast picked his way slowly through the sands toward the cavernous opening that lead to the barracks, his leisurely pace giving him time to sort through his thoughts before returning to the scheduled life of a mercenary. Head dipping low to skim his lips against the sands, Furatis Vox smelled the slightest scent of a newcomer upon the earth. Quirking a brow and swiveling his ears forward, the stallion half listened for interaction; he preferred to know of newcomers before they knew of him. Enveloping himself in his thoughts, the smoky stag considered the contracts that he had fulfilled and thought of how he now had nothing to fill his days.
Suddenly, the scent of the stranger grew stronger. Lifting his head, he saw that it was nothing more than a filly; her small bodice draped with youth and naivete. Ears twisting back in a slight show of annoyance, Vox became frustrated at the sight; what was an innocent doing in the lands of Reach? There was no innocence here, the inhabitants of the territory were all soldiers and had long ago destroyed the part of themselves that felt anything akin to purity. Tossing his head and glaring at the distant figure, Vox began a slow canter toward her, relaxing ever so slightly when he noticed that the two figures before her were The Meta and his colt.
Slowing to a stop as he approached the trio, Furatis Vox gave a curt yet respectful nod to his commander, making sure to position himself between the colt and the fee; he could practically taste the hormones flying through the air. Fixing the filly in his gaze, the stallion’s gold flecked eyes flashed with annoyance and a hint of disdain. “Greetings, foal.” His tone was even, but there was no mistaking the distaste in his flinty expression. Turning his attention to The Meta, Vox spoke again, this time there was the slightest note of affection mixed into the towering beast’s voice, “I patrolled the borders on my way back into the territory, sir, nothing worth noting save for the scent of rain on the wind; we should move our novice training to the covered caverns, they may lack the skill to train accurately in a downpour.”
Eyes of pitch sliding over to rest upon the blushing form of Satanael, Vox snorted a greeting before parting his lips to speak, “Not one for chatting with lasses, boy?”
WORDS: x TAGGED: x MUSE: x by ♛befera
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Major General Dick Biscuit
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Hell is Empty. All the Devils are Here.
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Post by General SigmaButt σ on Jun 14, 2014 1:52:48 GMT -6
we are THE Μ Ξ Τ Λ no one man should have all that p o w e r
| Sigma | Theta | Omega | Eta/Iota | Gamma | Delta | Beta |Searing depths studied the two foals for a moment. Satanael seemed to have frozen upon realizing his father was there, and with good reason. The Meta wasn't known for his leniency. The smile painted on the coltine's lips seemed to dissipate once he realized he had been caught. His stance shifted to show his discomfort; something The Meta would have to work on correcting. Mercenaries certainly didn't let little gesticulations as that to give away signs of doubt and weakness. They had to be stoic in appearance and calm in gestures unless otherwise is needed.
'I'm sorry, dad. I already know the routines, though, why do I have to keep doing them, it's boring.' Meta withheld the urge to sigh at his son's response. Instead, he fixed him with a heavy, penetrating stare. "You want to be a mercenary, you have to work for it. Doesn't matter 'how boring.' Might have missed something new today that could save you in the future. There'll be no one to blame but yourself for that folly." His gaze then left Satanael's and flipped back to the flicka; oculars just as unforgiving.
He watched with vague interest as her stance changed. She snapped to shape as if she were trained to do so; something he could certainly relate to. The only thing off was the little smile, one of almost childlike fervor, that lifted her velvets. He doubted that small grin would last far into the future. Not in this area of work, at least.
She seemed to take a moment to find the proper answer in her head. Her eyes then drew back to him when he assumed she was ready. “I believe it is my fate to be here.” Though her lyri were toned with feminine youth, he could feel the strength driving the words home. He noted that with distant curiosity. Strength may be given upon birth, but it is cultivated through lessons in life, and he wondered where it was she had been learning so young.
“I have come to join The Syndicate; I wish to learn from you – The Meta – to become a mercenary.” At this, Meta let out a low, contemplative hum. She seemed rather qualified, as far as foals came. She appeared to have the heart and drive for duty, as well as the discipline. But it would be quite foolish of him to judge her whole character based on a short study. He's seen some of the strongest fall, caused a few to crumble, and knew the trials ahead would be tough on one so young.
'If I may, she seems to be of good constitution, Meta. She may be a foal now, but if she endures, she could end up being a valuable asset to our goal, and, of course, your band. I see no harm in allowing her in, even if to just have a trial run.' Meta could concede to that. So far, she gave no signs in which he could interpret as weak or sub-par. 'It would be unwise to accept her in without further scrutiny. She could be functioning much like a Trojan Horse; gaining access to the band through faux-amiability while giving the enemies an opening to attack.'
That was also something he had to take in to consideration. It wasn't an unknown tactic to use a well-trained mole to gain access into enemy territory and deliver a crippling internal blow. 'Oh for fucks sake, just say yes. If she plans on double-crossing, we'll be ready. It wouldn't be the first coup you went through.' He could practically feel her eyes roll in his head. Omega snickered, a sound that bordered on a snarl, in delight at the thought of another large-scale battle.
When he spoke, his voice dipped low in decibel and grated harshly against the airwaves. "Fate or not, this won't be easy. Training will be rigorous, your path will be bloody, and your character will be tried. Do not expect to come out unscathed in the end. You won't." His tones were flat. He had no interest in frightening the child so he did not adopt a more menacing tenor. Nor did he care to comfort her, so he lacked the paternal comfort in his words. Meta spoke to her as he spoke to anyone else who came here in interest. "If you truly want this, you will have to work for it. Prove you deserve it. Free rides aren't given. Slacking isn't tolerated from anyone." This time, his visionaries slipped over to Satanael, letting him know he wasn't off the hook yet.
His attention was then drawn from the two foals as another figure entered the scene. Furatis Vox, one of the newer members to join The Syndicate. He was a mercenary, just as The Meta was, just as Satanael was training to be, and just as the filly was aspiring for. It suddenly struck him just how quickly his band had begun to grow. Intense optics flicked over to catch the darkened hues of the brute. Meta hadn't had much of a chance to talk with Vox yet, but was aware of their similar disinterest in socializing and other beings in general.
He listened as the bronc addressed the foals brusquely. “Greetings, foal.” The antipathy for the two was obvious, despite the flat tenor of his vocals. Some might jump to the defense of their young at such an averse expression, the golden czar found no reason to. No threat had been placed. Distaste was a common and unavoidable trait among equine, particularly ones prone to violence such as those found in The Syndicate. So long as no action was to be taken to threaten the foals, he found no reason to react, and he doubted Vox would do something so foolish.
The bronc then turned to look at Meta. He noted a mild change in tenor. The aversion was gone, replaced with a sort of camaraderie. “I patrolled the borders on my way back into the territory, sir, nothing worth noting save for the scent of rain on the wind; we should move our novice training to the covered caverns, they may lack the skill to train accurately in a downpour.” Meta gave a short nod in response before speaking. His voice was deep, almost impossibly so, and guttural with its grit. "Good." Whether that was directed toward the lack of trouble found, or the fact that he reported promptly wasn't cleared.
Crimson and golden hues glanced up toward the sky before looking at the three gathered. "They have to learn sometime. Better the present. But, we can begin making our way back to the caverns. It is getting late and training will begin early. Even earlier for you, Satanael." Attention was then drawn to his crimson-faced son. It would be the beginning of his punishment. Earlier training that ended later than the others with more rigorous routines. “Not one for chatting with lasses, boy?” Meta gave a low snort at that. Where Satanael got his embarrassment from, he would never know. Meta certainly lacked shame, and he knew Witchcrypt didn't have any either. He glanced back to the filly and spoke once more. "Name."
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Post by ♥--Tilly on Jun 15, 2014 14:38:46 GMT -6
F r i g g a we gladiate but I guess we're really fighting ourselvese roughing up our minds so we're ready when the kill time comes wide awake in bed, words in my brain, Darting through the sand was a little fiery beast, and at its sharp call as it slid between the coltine’s limbs Frigga’s sneer spread. What on earth was that? Visionaries narrowed and she crooned her dial forward to peer more closely at the odd creature. “Panda, hush!” Slightly taken aback, she watched the pair with a vague interest and nodded at his words. “It appears your pet is not fond of me.” Came her lyrics, falling in a youthful singsong into the chilly desert air. But, the dwellings over the apparent Panda did not last long and her cerebellum soon fell to other thoughts.
The reprimand upon the colt was not kind or particularly harsh; it was a middle of the line warning that the youngster should not skirt his duties again. The foal seemed to wilt slightly under his father’s gaze, and Frigga could not blame him. Perhaps one of the only frightening things to her was the disappointment and disdain of her own father; Vidar was similar in manners to The Meta in fact. He carried a similar detached, cold gaze; Frigga found it both a comfort and a curse that they resonated as similar to her. But, due to this similarity she knew it to be true that The Meta would be a grand instructor much like Vidar.
It was not long until that gaze flickered to her, but as Frigga’s voice fell upon him and he let his opinions filter out onto the air between them that tiny inkling of fear faded. Fate had arrived and settled its heavy burden upon her and she would bear it with honor, its weight would be nothing. Audits caught the baritones, tilted forward to catch every decibel. A curt nod followed; the obedient mark of a soldier, oddly placed atop her frail foal skull. Frigga almost offered up that she was born for this, made for this, conceived nearly for this purpose – but she held it back thinking it might sound suspicious if The Meta did not know of Vidar’s past.
Vidar spoke of it often, of how he and his family amongst the other royal family had been charged with defending the lights. Vidar had been a soldier for the light army – a torturer, a kidnapper, a killer – he had been the necessary for the good. Frigga was to follow in his likeness, to be a pawn of the greater plan. Whereas her twin brother was to fill Vidar’s sister, Ariella, position of gentility, acceptance, protection, and wisdom. Frigga would never have such a placid lifestyle, but she took it in her stride and embraced the obstacles to come.
“I will not stop until I have proven it to all.”
The strength rippled from the words, a promise to those who would listen to that small voice – a promise of what she would one day become. Earnest attributes clipped the words, a humble note; she sought not to come off as cocky but rather to come off as steadfast. But not long after the words were spoken a fourth equine slipped amongst their numbers – cutting the colt off from her immediate vicinity. In clandestine, she was relieved there was more meat between her and the riled panda. The newcomer’s voice was clipped and gritty, disdain spread thick across his brief greeting. Not put-off, Frigga’s teal oculars flicked up to his visionaries and sought to hold his gaze. “Sir.” Was her greeting, just as brief and just as void of anything remotely interesting.
The two ripened creatures spoke to one another, and Frigga took the chance to eye Satanael again. The flicka took in his eccentric exterior and pondered over its occurrence for a few brief moments. Everything about him was so peculiar. But before long, she bowed her consideration back upon the immense brutes to her immediate sides. "They have to learn sometime. Better the present. But, we can begin making our way back to the caverns. It is getting late and training will begin early. Even earlier for you, Satanael." Before she had the chance to entirely think through her words, they tumbled from her labrums in an abrupt waterfall. “May I train early, too?” A chirp of excitement adding a strange trill to the words she had spoken and displaying a true example of her age through her eagerness to learn.
Frigga’s visionaries sidled off into the distance, admiring the glittering stars and the slow expanse of the clouds – which likely harbored the rain they spoke of. It was breathtaking and beauty was something the filly could lust for. The art of life, and how she fawned over its grip on everything and pined to know a life that was full of everything. This was the beginning of her adventure, and she was pulled from her admiration by a frank sentence, “Name.” A true smile broke the placidness of the young beauty, her labrums twisting into a wide grin. “Frigga, I’m Frigga, sir.” She was in it appeared, at least for now and the giddiness spread quickly and unknowingly to the rest throughout her aside from her grin.
"secretly you love this do you even wanna go free?" let me in the ring, i'll show you what that big word means words: 851 tags:The Meta/Satanael/Vox extra: ----
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The Geneticist
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Post by Δ Beauty With The Booty on Jun 17, 2014 16:45:33 GMT -6
[smear:bbbbbb]S A T A N A E L[/smear:444444] This big dog will fight when you rattle his cage.. Satan was not quite used to his father's penetrating stares, he wondered if he'd ever get used to them. Most likely not. "You want to be a mercenary, you have to work for it. Doesn't matter 'how boring.' Might have missed something new today that could save you in the future. There'll be no one to blame but yourself for that folly." As much as he hated to admit, his father was correct. His auds flickered back as he looked upon the fiery eyes of his father. The eyes he gifted both of his sons. He held his Father's gaze for a moment and then the stallion's eyes were upon the filly. As the two exchange words, Satanael shifted his stance to where he was standing taller, his blush gone, mostly. He wanted to make his Father proud and cowering in the presence of a female wasn't going to break it.
Panda shifted to stand next to him as she straightened, odd orbs watching the filly as she seemed unfaltering in his sire's gaze. She was the essence of confidence in his mind. He wondered if she was any bit unnerved by his Father, like he was. Satanael was graced with parents that weren't the most comforting in the world. It was more like being raised by a hive of hornets than actual parents. But he wouldn't have it any other way. He listened closely to the filly and his sire's exchange. He grinned at the filly as she presented herself. He was in awe, she reminded him of the confidence in his mother's stature, but there was no sexual attraction to Meta. She was a headstrong female and he adored that about her. He couldn't hide the admiration in his face; he couldn't help it. He couldn't help but watch her every move, his two-toned lips curling in a grin. She would be even more beautiful as she aged, he could see it now, the fluid movements that would ultimately be in her bodice and he knew she would have a wondrous voice; one he was sure he could listen to all day.
He was at first, oblivious to his sire's words, but he felt the heated gaze upon his flesh and the pale coltine turned to look at his Father, this time, not shrinking in on himself, but he did lower his head; acknowledging his fault. He did not speak for there was nothing to be said about what he did. He knew he would be punished and he could not deter his Father. He had no right to do so. The emotions in his mind were in a turmoil. He fought against his rebellious desire to disobey his Father and he fought the want to beg forgiveness. But the main emotion he felt was excitement, an overwhelming excitement that Meta had allowed the filly into The Syndicate. He barely kept his excitement at bay, even as the new comer entered.
Blazing orbs looked up at the dark stallion, his stance sliding into a defensive one as he addressed Frigga in such a distasteful way. Invisible brows knit together as his orbs turned fiery with barely withheld emotions. The distaste for this stallion was clear upon the brindled and appy bodice of the colt. He was suddenly no longer the shy and naive colt, he looked as if he was a hardened soldier, his eyes held a fierceness that could only come from years of experience, and yet, he was only four months old. His eyes watched the stallion as he interacted with Meta and he found he did not like anything about this Furatis Vox. He did not like the changes in demeanor or the words that spilled from his maw.
Then the brute turned to Satanael and his companion, Panda, stood up and snarled as Satan flared his nares. If looks could kill, he would most definitely have a twitching body lying at his feet. 'My business is my business, how I deal with things, is none of yours.' He snarled, his voice somewhat resembling his Father's but with a foalish tenor to it.
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Post by Eris on Jun 17, 2014 17:59:16 GMT -6
FURATIS VOXDo that dance in the dark, Sharpen your teeth and bite as hard as you wantThe darkened stallion held the fiery gaze of his commander as he spoke, nodding as the hardened brute gave his council and suggested that the group moved back into the relative safety of the caverns below. Pivoting an ear toward the filly as she spoke, Vox quirked his brow; the youngster’s excited replies pouring from her lips in measured sentences. She had been practicing, a quality that deserved some respect. Cocking his head to the side, the stag stared, pitfalls of ebony spattered with gold inspecting each limb and muscle ridge for flaws. Finding nothing of note upon the daintily built filly, the seasoned mercenary straightened his stance, his level of distaste for the fee lessening by a single degree.
Furatis Vox was intent on continuing to inspect the filly - Frigga, was her name - when he heard a prepubescent voice pipe up from the other side of his focus. Eyes sliding over to rest on the gangly form of Satanael, Vox listened to the lovestruck colt’s proclamations of independence and held back a snort. Lips curling in a small, joyless smile, Vox stared silently at the colt, eyes dissecting every inch of the malformed youth, noting that his body language was similar to that of an annoyed rooster. Finally, after several moments of wordless scrutiny, the ivory splashed male parted his lips to speak, “Boy,” he said not unkindly, “Drop the prince charming act.” Smirk growing ever so slightly, Vox motioned to Frigga “She is no helpless damsel in distress and needs none of your…. ‘help.’” The last word was spaced from the rest and spoken with a sardonic lilt, the stallion making it obvious that he held the filly in a higher esteem than Satanael.
“Besides, boy,” his tone grew colder, if only by a notch “have you forgotten that the Syndicate is both a business and a family? There are no private matters here.” Giving the young male one last reproachful glance, Furatis Vox turned and began making his way toward the entrance to the caverns, day dreaming of his chambers. WORDS: x TAGGED: x MUSE: x by ♛befera
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Major General Dick Biscuit
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Post by General SigmaButt σ on Jun 17, 2014 21:27:08 GMT -6
we are THE Μ Ξ Τ Λ no one man should have all that p o w e r
| Sigma | Theta | Omega | Eta/Iota | Gamma | Delta | Beta |The bronc watched his son practically wilt beneath his penetrating stare and heavy words. Meta didn't feel bad seeing Satanael's reaction to his verbal reprimanding. Not in the least bit. He was never the 'comforting' sort of parent, nor was Wicca. He didn't coddle his children. That seemed utterly senseless to him. It only sheltered them from the ways of the world and the nature of other beings. It made them weak and vulnerable. That is something he would absolutely not have his sons be. If that required harsh words and strenuous training, then so be it. He was not out to win Father of the Year, just to ensure they could survive in a world that preyed so heavily upon the weak and naive.
His attention was then drawn to the flicka as she spoke. “I will not stop until I have proven it to all.” Meta gave a grunt and slight inclination of the skull to show his approval of her words. She seemed to contain a strength deep in her soul that drove her. He could practically feel the passion burning within her veins to prove herself and become all she looked to be. He could not deny that it was an admirable trait. He just hoped that the fire didn't turn into an inferno and burn her up from the inside out. Too often, he seen the brightest burn out after being consumed by their own spirit. Carolina had been one of them. A slight tremor rippled down his spine at the thought. The fragments, Eta and Iota in particular, rose up at the thought of his old team mate. Their voices rasped and slithered through his crania, damning in their tenor. 'Killed her. YOU killed her. Your fault, Meta. She was ours. Killed her. Gone, gone, gone. F o r e v e r. Because of you.'
It was both odd and unsettling to hear the voices of love and happiness hiss and snarl in spite. It was true. He had killed her. They had been such close friends. He took heavy wounds to protect her on missions and she had his back. But in the end, she had to die. It was the only way to get Eta and Iota. In some far off and nearly forgotten recess of his mind, the memory pained him. Overall, however, he felt little to no remorse over his actions. She was insignificant in comparison to Him. It always came down to Him.
He was distracted from the increasing pressure in his skull by the soft lyrics of the filly once more. “May I train early, too?” For a moment, he had trouble recounting what she was talking about, drawn far into his memories and the fragments' desires. But with quiet prompting from Delta, he was able to respond without too much hesitation behind his words. Fiery depths pinned the dove down and his vocals were just a tad rougher than usual. "You may." Short and to the point, as is usual for him. He never felt the need to speak more than absolutely necessary. “Frigga, I’m Frigga, sir.” Once again, he gave a short nod, acknowledging her words.
Before he could respond, his attention was drawn away as Vox and Satanael traded verbal blows. Optics roamed over the almost feral stance of his son and the fury burning in his mirrored oculars. 'My business is my business, how I deal with things, is none of yours.' His actions, right down to the snarl in his vocals, reminded Meta of himself. Whether that was comforting or disconcerting, Meta had yet to distinguish. He'd ponder it later. For now, he had a show to watch.
Orbs flicked over to the pitch bronc who looked upon his son in a condescending manner. There was moment of silence as Vox eyed Satanael. “Boy, drop the prince charming act. She is no helpless damsel in distress and needs none of your…. ‘help.’” Meta listened with vague interest, more concerned with analyzing their body language as a means to prevent a possible brawl, though it would be fairly one-sided as Satanael was but a young buck still. Vox spoke once more. “Besides, boy, have you forgotten that the Syndicate is both a business and a family? There are no private matters here.”
Meta gave a low, rumbling sound, somewhere between a grunt and a growl. Before Vox took more than a few steps, Meta spoke up, his voice heavy with mild irritation. "I believe Frigga can decide for herself if she wishes for help or not. She is standing right here, in case you two forgot." Visionaries switched over to look at the filly. "You already know me and you've met my son, Satanael. He," Meta made a slight motion toward Vox to illustrate who he spoke of. "is Furatis Vox, mercenary and your new mentor." The tone of his voice left no room for argument.
His gaze then drifted back to switching between Satanael and Vox. "No more bullshit from you two. Satanael, before you turn in, spar to work off your anger. With whom, I don't care, so long as they are awake. I won't have this affecting your performance tomorrow." Crimson and gold optics flashed between the three before making a slight motion toward the caverns. He waited for them to walk first, prepared to bring up the rear to monitor both the group and the territory.
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Post by ♥--Tilly on Jun 17, 2014 23:14:04 GMT -6
The hot gaze of the Satanael fell upon her and in the spare moments that no one else but him laid eyes upon her, she seemed to blossom with a naïve innocence and seemed to pull away and rise up like a warrior all at once. Was he infatuated with her? Vidar had spoken of how many would fall to their ebbing hearts for her, how she should use that to her advantage when that time came; but she did not think she would use such a thing against the colt. His admiration shown with a grace upon him and she seemed to shyly smile in his direction before dropping her gaze to his feet, the moment only fleeting before her attention was gathered in other directions.
The brief nod from The Meta was all the encouragement the young vixen needed, and with that the soft embrace of happiness settled upon her sleek shoulders. Her fate was seeking her out, rising to the occasion and gripping her steadfast in its grip. Eventually, she would be a great asset to the band – a tool to use to accomplish all the tasks that were required of her and them alike. A day would come when she would rise to her full potential to better serve herself and more importantly those she pledged loyalty to.
Suddenly, she was the topic of conversation between the colt and the newcomer and Frigga felt a heat rising quickly over her. The flush coursed through her veins and her heart leapt within her chest, the awkwardness rising bitterly in her stomach. ‘She is no helpless damsel in distress and needs none of your…, ‘help.’' Frigga’s visionaries flickered up to Vox at her side, and grin swept her labrums. Frigga had never been a damsel in distress, and pride rippled throughout her at that acknowledgement. A nod – mostly intended for herself – followed those words, assuring herself of her own handling of her actions. Sooner than later she would reach the zenith that no one would ever need to consider her fragility again, she knew the limitations of being a child but the positives of being a child is that one grows. Frigga would to grow and into a powerful, manipulative, and vital piece of this band. Daydreams of what she hoped to shed her cocoon and step into the light as seemed ready to plague her mind with their childish assault, but she willed them back as The Meta began to speak.
‘Furatis Vox, mercenary and your new mentor.’ A mentor, and a mentor who was not her father in fact. The notion was foreign and it beset her with respect for the older brute – having been engrained with the idea that mentors were masters, and if Furatis Vox was to be her mentor than he commanded respect for teaching her his art. Frigga turned her pale azure visionaries upon Vox now, and gave a short nod. A smile crept across her dark labrums before she moved towards the head of the party, awaiting the movement of the others before moving towards the caverns.
Audits caught the decibels of The Meta’s words, eager to see how they trained Frigga’s mind quickly set about trying to formulate a way to be the colt’s chosen sparring partner. “Satanael,” Came her gentle voice, his name tasting odd on her tongue, as she twisted her dial back to look upon him, “If you want to help me, I would like to spar with you.” It would give her an insight, outside of the eyes of her mentors, into what their training would be like. Frigga could judge their skill, as well as put herself up against a potential competitor – knowing your friends and your enemies was a vital skill and Frigga believed that meant in every way.
The mahogany vixen turned her façade back towards the caverns, and then upturned them to the growing tempest overhead. The sky would soon pour its burden down upon them, and Frigga’s bodice nearly shivered at the impending fact. Spring rain is depressingly icy, and she would rather not get caught in it, at least not at night. Visionaries flickered all about her settings, the sentiment that this was now her home weighing heavily upon her. The young vixen pined for her right hand – her twin brother, Forseti – at her side. Sleeping without him for the first time, would be difficult. Frigga would have no one to protect any longer.
words: 744 tagged: The Meta/Satanael/Vox muse: Good, love this thread. by ♛befera background image: harold.lloyd
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The Geneticist
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Post by Δ Beauty With The Booty on Jun 18, 2014 1:09:47 GMT -6
[smear:bbbbbb]S A T A N A E L[/smear:444444] This big dog will fight when you rattle his cage.. The filly was completely forgotten as Vox came upon the pale colt, his fiery opts bore into the black voids of the stallion. There was a good size difference but that did not deter the colt. His sire was much taller than this stallion and while he did shy away from his sire at times, the brute size of him did not frighten the colt. Satan was a worrier since birth, he was protective of all that he felt a connection to. The filly that had come up had instantly become an object of his protection. Just because the colt had decided to protect her did not mean he thought her weak. It was a natural male reaction to protect a female. It was engraved into the male geno. It was like going against protocol to ignore. “Boy, drop the prince charming act. She is no helpless damsel in distress and needs none of your…. ‘help.’” An emotion unknown to the colt washed over him. It did not burn like anger. It did not freeze his bones like fear. No, it was fluid and washed over everything and then all oxygen was taken. He recognized it as hate. It rolled behind his opts as he stared the stallion down. Frigga and Meta were no longer there. His pale nares flared as the smirk caressed Vox's features and Satanael's tail coiled like a viper. If he only had a barb on the end. The mocking vocals grating upon Satanael's mind for future reference. He filed away this encounter.
“Besides, boy, have you forgotten that the Syndicate is both a business and a family? There are no private matters here.” This made the colt's eyes narrow and his lips curled into a slight snarl, the faintly glowing red part of his iris glaring into the gold flecked eyes of the stallion. "Before you speak again, you should learn to practice your own preaching." His voice ground out, face ever so serious. There was no trace of the fumbling foal from before. Even as he scoffed and spoke again, "Family? It's turning into more of an asylum. You're in the wrong place if you are looking for a Family." His vocals hissed and his Father's vocals broke the tension slightly; "I believe Frigga can decide for herself if she wishes for help or not. She is standing right here, in case you two forgot." The colt gave his sire a glance but never made any notion that he acknowledged what he said. But his sire's next words did not bode well with the colt. He opened his lips to protest, but decided against it, watching as Vox left them to escape the storm. Meta's vocals lashing at his auds again, "No more bullshit from you two. Satanael, before you turn in, spar to work off your anger. With whom, I don't care, so long as they are awake. I won't have this affecting your performance tomorrow." His auds pinned at the words and his odd optics flashed to Vox again before glancing at his father, "Who ever said I was angry?" He said in a deadpan and monotone voice; enough to rival that of Harkness. He stood stock still as he waited, unwilling to move just yet.
"Satanael, if you want to help me, I would like to spar with you.” Her feminine and gentle vocals hit his auds and he turned to look at the filly; feeling terrible for forgetting about her. His auds pinned as he watched her; turmoil was like a hurricane in his body. He glanced at his father through the corner of his eye and then focused back on the filly. 'Whatever pleases you.' He spoke and stepped forward, ahead of his Father. He didn't stop by the filly, but kept moving. He came to the caverns and turned the opposite way to the covered training area, his small hooves stopping in the middle of the main training area, where rain would certainly pelt them. " Might as well learn to train accurately in a down pour." He ground out, glancing at Frigga. If she did not come out to spar in the rain, he would go find Uncle D or his son, Zsadist.
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Post by Eris on Jun 18, 2014 16:46:21 GMT -6
FURATIS VOXDo that dance in the dark, Sharpen your teeth and bite as hard as you wantThe stallion slowed to a stop and looked back, allowing his eyes and ears to wander as the lad spoke to him, the squeaking vocals of the prepubescent colt fading out of focus as the shadow kissed brute dreamt of a healthful rest and a belly full of grasses. As his mind wandered, the stag’s golden flecked eyes rested absently lightly on the lithe form of Frigga then drifted over to that of Satanael - still talking - and lastly they found purchase on the muscled frame of The Meta. The commander began to speak in his rough voice, reprimanding both Furatis Vox and his own son for their childish behaviors. Vox had the grace to not show his emotions, but felt sheepish nonetheless; he was a mercenary of the Syndicate, a fully trained brother within the ranks of a powerful band, he should not be trading vocal blows with a foal.
Glancing at Satanael, Vox felt a pang of pity for the lanky youth, though his stoic facade never changed. Satanael wasn’t like his father or his mother; the boy was soft and kind and not in the correct environment for the goodness of his heart. Suddenly, Vox heard his name spoken and his gaze was ripped away from Satanael to that of The Meta. /Furatis Vox, mercenary and your new mentor./ The stallion’s head jerked back slightly from surprise and he stared at his leader for a few moments in stunned silence. A mentor to the lass? Watching the filly as she strode toward the caverns, her small frame swollen with pride, Vox felt the urge to refuse boiling within him; but his commander had ordered it and there was no refusing The Meta.
Swallowing his words, Vox gave his ally one last, confused look and moved away, easily matching his pace to that of Frigga’s with his long strides. Opening his mouth to speak, the towering male had to once more hold back his words as Satanael piped up, speaking of sparring in the rain. Waiting a few moments to make sure the stringy creature had nothing left to say, Vox spoke quietly to his new charge “If you choose to spar in the rain this evening, I will watch your performance so that I may critique and begin to train you correctly.” His eyes of blackened pitch never left the filly as he spoke, he knew the path to the training arenas by heart and his hooves lead him slowly toward them, “If you choose to begin your training on the morrow, I will show you to your chambers… The ones across from mine are empty and as I am now your mentor, it is only logical that you shall fill them.” His voice held a tone of gentle authority, he had had charges before and knew how to handle them, but they had been older and far more bullheaded, the stallion wasn’t sure how to handle the little beacon of confidence that was Frigga.
WORDS: x TAGGED: x MUSE: x by ♛befera
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Post by General SigmaButt σ on Jun 18, 2014 20:18:48 GMT -6
we are THE Μ Ξ Τ Λ no one man should have all that p o w e r
| Sigma | Theta | Omega | Eta/Iota | Gamma | Delta | Beta |The Meta watched the other three convened interact, waiting for them to walk forward. Frigga seemed pleased with the news that she would be under Vox's tutelage. Sanguine and ocher oculars took in Satanael's reaction to his words. He gave Meta but a glance of acknowledgement, otherwise staying silent. The palomino bronc could let that slide, for Meta acted in a very similar manner when spoken to. Minutely, his eyes narrowed when the colt opened his mouth, as if to protest, but then his son seemed to decide not to argue. A wise decision on his part.
His attention then drifted to Vox, who held an apathetic front at the events. That was something The Meta could appreciate. Excessive displays of emotion not only befuddled the brute, but they irritated him as a whole. Emotions merely got in the way of, well, everything. The less one felt, the clearer they thought. That was a method harder to practice than it was to preach. Especially when fragments of pure emotion inhabited his mind and forced their decisions upon him.
Such an occurence was taking place now when Meta caught the pinning of his son's harks. "Who ever said I was angry?" His tone and expression was devoid of anything but apathy and Meta felt he could only blame Harkness for teaching his son that, intenionally or unintentionally. But that was a quickly banished thought as Omega snarled to life after Satanael back talked; jumping at the chance to increase Meta's already growing irritation.
'Disrespectful little bastard. He needs to be punished, Meta. Show him his place. Break him and make him bleed. Teach him some manners. Do it, Meta. I can feel the desire to do so in your very essence. No one will stop you.' Meta hadn't realized just how still he had become. He also didn't realize that a deep, thunderous growl was rumbling in his chest and his jaw was clenched so hard, he could almost taste blood. His throat seemed to constrict and he swallowed thickly in an attempt to rid himself of the feeling, but it didn't help one bit. Brilliant visionaries flashed with Omega's Rage.
Slowly, he turned to face his son. It seemed he missed an exchange between the three, but that meant nothing to the bronc. Then, he lowered his crania as to get eye level with the coltine. His optics seemed alive with fire and the stony set of his scarred visage spoke volumes of the war in his head. When he spoke, his tenor took on a deeper, grittier tenor as Omega encouraged Meta to physically reprimand his son. [smear:ff8800]"This is your first and last warning, Satanael.'[/smear:4e1e8b:3] There was a brief pause between his sentence, allowing his words to sink in before continuing. [smear:4e1e8b]'Don't forget who it is you're speaking to."[/smear:ff8800:1] The words came out steady and low, but the intent was clear. Meta may have adopted a domestic lifestyle, but as Beta liked to remind him, 'you can take the killer from the carnage, but you can't stop him from creating more.'
Meta remained motionless and unblinking for a moment before snapping back to his previous pose. He gave the three a heated stare before speaking. His vocals began drifting away from Omega's influence. [smear:4e1e8b]"Oversee the spar, Furatis. Report the results in the morning. Frigga and Satanael, your training will begin when the sun breaks the horizon. If it's cloudy, I suggest you try and get there before I do. And Satanael,"[/smear:ff8800:3] His hard gaze dropped back to his son. "I suggest you don't be late." He didn't feel the need to elucidate on what would happen if he did, and he certainly didn't feel it necessary to tell him what would happen if he didn't show up at all. Fury rippled beneath his flesh, making him a timebomb ready to blow.
He had ordered his son to spar off his own anger, as it might mess him up during training tomorrow. Meta doubted he was used to dealing with such scorching emotions. But this was feeling that Meta was far too used to. He was accustomed to the searing intensity of pure rage pumping through his veins. It is what drove him on many days. So, instead of finding a sparring partner, he walked off toward the caverns, gait strong and pose rigid. No partner would quell this rage. Only death would sate Omega. So, Meta would merely have to suffocate the desire as he usually did anymore.
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Post by ♥--Tilly on Jun 19, 2014 21:31:36 GMT -6
Frigga’s attention wandered from the petty internal squabbling within the band, arguing had never suited the femme. It was a waste of intellect and a waste of oxygen. Pale visionaries flickered out over the caverns, and she pondered their faintly illuminated outline. Calm settled across her, and a gentle, complacent smile rested atop her deeply hued labrums. The young beauty’s mind settled into the distance of those caverns, pondering the secrets they may yet hold for her. The life they may yet hold for her. Fate had long ago placed its fingers into the lives of her family, taking them and shaping them with the strength of their forefathers and adding the lessons of their mistakes – her family had once been a powerful one, and the youngster had hopes yet to live up to the legacy and leave an impact upon the stepping stones of future generations.
But, Frigga’s mind wandered from fate’s sweet temptation – a foal-like folly – and she pulled herself back into the awareness of her body. Wiry muscles pulled taunt and relaxed as her pace carried her headlong towards the grottoes, noting that Satanael rushed ahead of her. A faint snort fell of her nostrils, her warm breath mingling with the cold air and rising like smoke away from her, becoming a few more fate-less molecules of carbon that flirted with the star shine. ‘Whatever pleases you.’ Sounded the underdeveloped vocals of the colt, and Frigga felt something give way within her. Was it a trace of her brother she saw in the rebellious youth? A nurturing instinct seemed to writhe within her briefly, and a fondness thrummed across her heart. She would do her best to ease the colt’s pain, and perhaps they could use each other to grow stronger in spirit and body.
The filly opened her jaw to speak, but before she could the dark creature that was to be her mentor sidled up to her opposite shoulder. Frigga’s visionaries flickered over him, a degree of respect developing within them, and her audits caught her granite-like vocals. ’If you choose to spar in the rain this evening, I will watch your performance so that I may critique and begin to train you correctly. If you choose to begin your training on the morrow, I will show you to your chambers… The ones across from mine are empty and as I am now your mentor, it is only logical that you shall fill them.’ The chocolate hued vixen listened to his vocals, and nodded in response.
“I train at every opportunity given, sir.”
Came the brook-babbling voice of the ess, as she followed in Satanael’s traces and turned into what she presumed was an uncovered training area. Soon rain would fall upon them, drenching her downy coat and soaking her to the bone. It would be cold, which would intensify any pain from sparring. But, Frigga was not deterred by that idea, she had been taught to hold her own in all situations.
The Meta spoke up now, his voice sounded above the echoic caverns, and Frigga merely nodded in response as her mind flicked back into previous memories. ‘One day, Frigga,’ sounded the sandpaper voice of Vidar, ‘there will come a battle you cannot win, but until that day comes you will fight with righteousness and be the triumph that is necessary.’ Necessary, the constant theme in her entirety – Forseti was compassion, love, acceptance and Frigga was necessary, intellectual, and unfeeling if she had to be. Was there injustice in the paths that Vidar had picked for them? Perhaps, and perhaps a day would come when Frigga wished for the peaceful life of flowers and morning dew – but that day was not today.
With great poise, she stepped into the arena and moved towards the center, visionaries taking in all that lay in her immediate surroundings. It was dimly lit, and her creative mind immediately began to search for strategies. Satanael was a pale hued beast, visibility would not be a factor she had to weigh harshly – he would be seen easily in the darkness. The quiet confidence and strength the vixen harbored seeped through her bodice and she straightened lifting her dial, and turning it to Vox and Satanael in turn. Frigga had never been trained to make the first move, so let him come or let direction push her first.
words: 728 tagged: The Meta/Satanael/Vox muse: Not my best by ♛befera background image: harold.lloyd
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The Geneticist
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Post by Δ Beauty With The Booty on Jun 20, 2014 14:16:06 GMT -6
[smear:bbbbbb]S A T A N A E L[/smear:444444] This big dog will fight when you rattle his cage.. The colt's limbs pulled up, muscles bunching up to halt his forward movement as the visage of his Father came into his line of sight, he bumped muzzles with Meta, but the colt immediately back pedaled, taking a step back so his eyes could focus on the scarred cranium. His eerily similar optics took in the steel facade and Satanael could almost taste the rage boiling from his Father's eyes. He instantly knew there was a war brewing in his skull. The colt's small chest picked up with his lungs, which were trying to catch up with his sudden spike in blood pressure. He struggled to calm himself, he needed to take what he had been taught and put it to work. "This is your first and last warning, Satanael. Don't forget who you are speaking to." The gritty vocals of his sire were knocked down a few decibels and Satan knew he had hit the nail on the head. He had angered his sire. His words had stirred one of the voices in his Father's head and he instantly regretted his words. He was never truly sure if the voices put a strain on his Father, or if deep down he was trying to silence them. Meta was a mystery to the colt. He knew everything about the palomino brute, everything he had been let known but even then, his Father was shrouded in mystery. His entire demeanor wilted beneath his sire's harsh gaze. Glad and a bit put-off that he had grown angry with his own son, rather than the blackened stag. On the surface, Satanael was angry with his sire for not defending him from the black hessian. It hurt. But deep down, engraved into his head and into his very bones; he knew why. There had been no threat, there was nothing for his Father to react upon. Satanael was just failing in his training. This angered the young colt even more. He was failing everything he had been taught. Which meant, in extension, he was failing his sire. Something he never wanted to do. 'And Satanael, I suggest you don't be late.' The threat was there and the pale male lowered his skull, eyes focusing on his Father's large hooves.
He watched his Father stalk off to the caverns, eyes watching his rigid frame and he knew he would be in hell tomorrow. He wondered if he hand endangered his twin or his mother by angering his Father. He hoped beyond hope that Cyclone was asleep and Witchcrypt stayed in Cocytus. He shivered slightly, and not from the cold. "… The ones across from mine are empty and as I am now your mentor, it is only logical that you shall fill them.” His auds twitched at the sound of Vox's voice, just as rain sprinkled down. It was not yet heavy, but more of a light sprinkle. The colt's eyes turned to look at the duo. Frigga was ready to spar. Vox off to the side, monitoring. Satan pinned his auds and stood in his position, his body moving into one that was primarily defensive but could easily switch to an offensive stance if needed. He had no want to even be in Vox's presence. He wanted nothing more than to leave them both in the rain and wander off into the caverns; perhaps something he got from his Mother's side. He didn't know. He grit his teeth, long tail grazing the ground in a lax manner. Time ticked on as he waited, the filly unmoving. After a moment, he spoke up. "I'm not going to attack first. It's a stupid strategy to do so." His voice was slightly tinged with a layer of boredom and malice mixed together. He wanted to be happy and enjoy his company in the name of Frigga, but the black beast wasn't helping. He locked eyes with the filly and his pale lips curling into a soft smile; attempting to hide it from Vox. He could not be angry at her and did not want her to see him in that light.
'Would you rather spar out here, in the rain or would you like me to show you around?' He no longer cared what Vox said, it would tinge his nerves but he would ultimately just brush the stallion off. He knew his Father had told him to spar to work off his anger but he didn't want to. This was definitely from his mother. She was a defiant mare and barely did anything Meta told her; which was absolutely nothing. He walked up to the filly, his body relaxed but he could quickly go on the defensive if needed. There would be hell to pay tomorrow, but he didn't care.
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Post by Eris on Jul 3, 2014 8:26:50 GMT -6
FURATIS VOXDo that dance in the dark, Sharpen your teeth and bite as hard as you wantThe stallion listened to the exchange between father and son with little more than slight interest, the boy was fiery, Vox would give him that. The gent began to wonder what the youth would be like as he aged; the bone structure of the foal suggested already that he would develop into a behemoth and the odd deformities sprouting from his being hinted that he would hold an intimidating figure. Pulled out of his reverie by the chilly voice of his commander, Furatis Vox nodded in agreement with his new assignment and began working through training and mentoring strategies in his mind; he was to make his new charge nothing if not unbeatable.
Whickering a quiet farewell to the well muscled mercenary, Furatis Vox strolled leisurely beside both his pupil and Satin Sheets Satanael, his muscles loosening in response to the familiar scent of sweat and blood that filled the practice arena. Choosing a small, raised platform of sandstone to view the session from, Vox watched the two lambs square up across from one another with vague curiosity; what would his charge do?
As he waited for the first strike, the stallion observed Frigga’s posture and stance, giving a slight nod of approval as he noted her relaxed state; it did no good to tense up in a battle. Onyx eyes sliding over to rest on the slight form of Satanael, the nightshade brute’s lips curled disapprovingly as he beheld the pinned auds and emotion rolling off of the colt in near-visible waves. “Frigga,” Projecting his voice so that it reverberated throughout the circular cavern, Vox inclined his head and adopted a looser, dancer-like pose, his lithe musculature coiling fluidly as he moved, “Loosen your muscles, stay light upon your hooves, move as if you are made of water - you cannot lose if your opponent cannot land a strike.”
Resuming his normal posture, the stag watched as Satanael walked toward his pupil, his gold flecked eyes catching the slight curve of the colt’s lips as he approached. Delicately sculpted skull cocking to the side as he studied the pair, Vox’s ears swiveled toward them, listening to the lad’s suggestion and scrutinizing the filly’s response; this was to be her first test in her training and Gods help her if she failed to hold to The Meta’s commands and her own word. Watching from his vantage point, the lanky stallion waited patiently for what could very well make or break the child.
[/font][/div][/div][/div][/div] WORDS: x TAGGED: x MUSE: x [/div][/div] by ♛befera[/div]
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Post by ♥--Tilly on Jul 23, 2014 16:41:40 GMT -6
Overheard, a tempest gathered in its vile wrath, the storm gathering itself until it could no longer hold back its anguish. They fell, in little droplets all around her; icy visionaries flicked sideways to watch them cascade all around her. Currently, they were minute; but Frigga predicted that they would swell to plump beads. Her tutor’s voice rang out – commanding and deep – into the belly of the caverns, bouncing off the walls and falling with grace upon her audits. “Loosen your muscles, stay light upon your hooves, move as if you are made of water - you cannot lose if your opponent cannot land a strike.” As if she was made of water..
A memory bubbled around her and she briefly let herself call it to her, a fleeting glance of two foals wading out into a brook. It swirled around their spindly limbs, its current strong to their newly birthed forms. A crimson coltine who seemed to meld to its touch, his gentleness evident in every tender stride her took. Then Frigga – a muddy hued filly - came slashing and cutting into the aquamarine depths with a burning ferocity – out of her element, although she admired it so. It was no clandestine who was better suited to the water, and who resembled the passion of hell. Frigga was molded like flames, but as she heeded to her mentor’s lyrics she channeled her brother and felt her body drop to fluidity.
The change was beautiful as it fell upon her, as the last traces of tension slipped from her shoulders and she took a dancer-like stride forward. The filly would one day grow to be a wonder; it was evident in the poise she held now. It was perhaps predicted that she would be the weakness of many great hearts. Now however, with her tuft of a tail and gangly look she was a mere fraction of what one day she would be. Still even then, she captured an essence that seemed beyond her time in ways. Satanael began to speak, and Frigga’s listened to his words intently. Audits flicked back at his disgruntled tone, and like a flower she seemed to almost wilt but that was captured only in her visionaries. But on the coattails of his harsh words came reassurance, a ghost of smile that tiptoed across his labrums. Gladly, she returned it – whisking it upon and off again quickly.
Once more, he spoke and as Frigga considered his words – her visionaries locked with his and he strode closer. A smile grew upon her labrums, and she took a glide of a step towards him. “Exploring sounds delightful,” Came her butterfly-chasing voice, as she moved to his side – daring not give any indication of her next move. But as she rounded upon, she lifted her lithe bodice off of the turf and attempted to slam her shoulder and the majority of her weight into his own shoulder which was directly to the left of hers. Whilst her teeth sought purchase on his nape, the pressure she hoped to apply behind them not enough to break the skin but enough to bruise it if they met their mark.
Before he had much of a chance to react, Frigga sought to get distance from the situation and she sidestepped as though it was second nature before backing a few strides further. “Unfortunately, I have a duty tonight.” The lightning flickered in the firmament overhead, igniting her silhouette in its likeness. Visionaries fell upon him and she let devilish smile play across her lips, they could still have fun even while sparing. Frigga’s frame moved slowly left, her cranium not leaving the line of sight that she held upon Satanael’s own. Droplets spattered down and fell upon her audits with a resounding hush as her footfalls matched their slow beats; she waited – like a lithe predator, like a dancer ready to pirouette. Frigga’s instincts coupled with her training and the very nature of her blood seemed to spring alive – this would be her first true spar outside of those with her brother and father. A determined thrum of her blood announced its cool adrenaline to her, and she felt the tinge of fire that awoke in her belly. Frigga stilled, and moved to face him, somehow seeming as one with the rain that fell in sluices around her and then she waited for the next opportunity to open before her.
words: 739 tagged: Satanael/Vox muse: Eh, it’s okay. by ♛befera background image: harold.lloyd
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The Geneticist
Friendly reminder that even if it takes ages to reply, I still wanna rp with you.
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Post by Δ Beauty With The Booty on Jul 29, 2014 21:24:17 GMT -6
[smear:bbbbbb]S A T A N A E L[/smear:444444] This big dog will fight when you rattle his cage.. The gaze from Vox searing annoyingly into his pale flesh and his mind raged like a store, his entire nervous system on the edge of telling the stallion what for. Stress was evident in the colt's expression, no matter how lax and carefree it looked. His mind was running in multiple directions. On one end, he wanted to laugh and play around and show Frigga the lands of Reach, on another hand he wanted to stalk off and never disobey his sire and Vox; this part of him didn't care what the hell Frigga thought of him; another side of him worried what would happen if he disobeyed his sire, he didn't want to anger him and disappoint him but at the same time this side worried what Frigga thought of him. They all battled each other for dominance. But in the end, neither of them would prevail. 'How the hell did I end up with parents like these?' He wondered as Frigga stepped forward, her vocals hitting his auds pleasantly. He truly did not want to spar with her, he wanted to do other things, things like swimming in the lake or running and chasing. Foal things. From his birth he had never been treated as a foal, even by his Mother. He wanted to be a foal for once.
“Exploring sounds delightful,” These words gave him a bit of hope and his grin grew wider. His mind completely erasing Vox for the time being. But that smile was wiped right off his face when she attacked. The colt gave a grunt when her shoulder connected with his and on instinct he tossed his skull up, hoping to bash her in the jaw with his growing horns, they weren't sharp yet but it would hurt something awful to have them connect with a bone. Satan had always had a grand reaction time. The reaction time may not melt into his words but fighting, the reaction time was polished and instantaneous. It was something he would need when he grew to his full size, which would be a lot bigger than even his sire. Crimson and golden visionaries flared as they locked onto the filly. All playing was gone instantly. This was one thing Satan had gotten from both of his parents. While Witchcrypt did play around physically like Frigga was trying to do; with Meta, when it came to true fighting and even sparring, she was serious. Satanael's facade turned apathetic and blank. Expressionless. The rain beat down upon him as he rolled his shoulder; his eyes followed the filly as she moved around him. Everything faded away; it was just him and her and she was going down.
One thing Satanael did not do was attack first. Even though Frigga had already attacked, he would not run at her, that wasted precious energy and while he would be bigger than most equines of RLTW, he would never do the full on attack procedure like many large equus did. It was a waste of time. He would let the smaller equines come to him, a strategy he had picked up on his own and had not been told otherwise if it was wrong or correct. “Unfortunately, I have a duty tonight.” Her words fell on deaf ears. Satanael snorted and let out a slight growl, almost as if he were enticing her to attack. It clearly said "Come and get me if you can." His long tail curled and swayed behind him, almost like a lure though he was not intending to use it as one, it moved on its own accord at times; swaying and moving to distract his opponent. He side-stepped to the side, head low and alert.
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