"But the dream, the echo, slips from him as quickly as he had found it and as consciousness comes to him (a slap and not the gentle waves of oceanic tides), it dissolves entirely. His muscles relax as the cold claims him again, as the numbness sets in, and when his grey eyes open, there’s nothing but the faint after burn of a dream often trod and never remembered." --Brigade, written by Laura
He is a robust colt that had yet to venture from the meadow before yet but he seems to notice the internal compass that guides him to Sylva. His mother has gone off to who knows where but even his young mind and body do not yearn for her. She had been a beautiful creature but much like ice, cold and relentless. Warskin (the name she had given him) had only ever heard her utter the word 'Sylva' with a jut of her dark head, pale mane silhouetting her against the evening sky. War had returned the nod with equal callousness and they quietly parted ways.
He is the color of smoke after a fire has ripped through a loving home. His eyes nearly float against the charcoal with their pale blue-grey under the thickness of his growing mane. Sylva was a contrast to the little he know of Beqanna but he imagines there must be more. The boy had heard of Gryffen, his sire, dwelled her with a cruel eye and iron fist. Warskin knows this because horses talk loudly when they think children are playing. Had he ever really felt his foalhood slip away? How is it that he felt his own mortality in the slip of a sunset at his young age? War does not know but perhaps he is following the lead to something much greater. He damned his young body and bones quietly, watching as taller, stronger men moved around his lanky form with huffs and snorts. He narrows his eyes, remembering their faces and scents before trudging on, wondering what the man looked like that had contributed to his very existence.
Stars do not glint in his eyes. He moves with purpose and with an old soul already occupying his bones. His mother had groomed him to feel nothing, to see only a greatness that lay in the backdrop of his life sequence. These faces, these names, all paltry blips on a massive radar that spun for all existence. Who were the friendly watercrafts and who were the missiles?
Blip. Blip. Blip.
w a r s k i n (gryffen and karsi's little fuck trophy)
He knew nothing outside of Sylva. Though he's wondered what lies beyond the orange and yellow canopy. Often he found himself on the edge of the territory. Looking out into the sunken Taiga. Not knowing his father had taken part in it's falling. He found the northwestern border dull. So unless he was taking shelter in the cavern his mother often occupied, he did not waste his time there.
The forests were busy with elders rushing here and there. Nearly 6 months old he was not dependant on his mother so he ventured farther. A couple of foals he had recently met played innocently in the shadows. Their colors were quite fetching, especially the fillies. They had parted ways though. His silver frame slipping away with the morning haze. He lacked height but made up for it in bone. Constantly on the move his muscle mass was bulking up. Always finding a rock to climb or open path to test his speed. The raven - never too far - was often his competition. As it bounded from branch to branch, taking flight under the dense canopy, him racing along on land.
He grew bored of the same old stuff and today set out to find a new outlet...
~ You are more than just a pretty face ~ Gryffen x Karaugh
So I thought maybe(since I believe they are the same age?)... That they might have fun doing a mock or being trouble makers...?
The spawn he spits out into the world rarely mean much to him. Most are found to be lacking, their only worth as pawns in political schemes or used to force their mother’s to bend the knee. He has yet to create a child that actually deserved the title of his progeny. Zayn had been the only one to come close but he had flown to close to the sun and perished long before his father did. That child (created from the rape of the Gate’s Queen after he sacked her kingdom) had been close but was still far from satisfactory.
The memories of last autumn are a distant memory. Hazy and unimportant. It was the present he is focused on, of what’s to come. He was unaware that when he had planted his seed in Karsi (just another pretty face and alluring body to cast himself inside) that she had coveted it and raised it. Kasanova had not been his only child that year, the only son. There was another.
His red gaze is watchful from his spot beneath the broad hickory tree. Narrowed and focused on the two colts. One was familiar, remembering the silver glint of his skin in the dim light of Karaugh’s cave. The other was a stranger and yet… There is something that makes him watch closely. Something that brings the white wraith from his spot beneath the trees. ”You lost boy?” He growls as he closes in on the two, glancing from his son to the unknown colt. There is no touch of affection or glittering looks of approval for his child. If they wanted to be seen as worthy in his eyes, they would have to prove it.
The young stallion of ash and smoke is soon greeted by a another of similar age. He is a think silver strip as where War is smudged with charcoal and dirt. The dark eyes scrutinized as she is cautious but relaxes slightly when the other settles not far off. The male lifts a brow curiously as he settles into his hip. "Out for a walk?" The sharp caw of a crow causes him to jerk his head at a peculiar angle before the sight of a pale animal is creeping up to his left as to where the silver youth is on his right.
Eras flick forward as his expression remains flat even as the stallion bears down upon him, spitting words with glowing red eyes and an ugly sneer. "No, old man." It is all he cares to reply as he meets the man's eyes with his own, straightening himself. 'I'm looking for Gryffen." The younger horse does not care to offer the title of king nor indulge these residents in such manners. Karsi had not been the best mother.
His right eye slides to look at the other boy so there was not some sort of ambush before returning his gaze to the cream stallion with the bloody eyes. There was a tug in his gut-, "Are you him?" Warskin murmurs as he keeps an eye on the silver buckskin every so often just in case this man decided he wanted to act out on whatever aggression was boiling just below the surface of his porcelain mask.
w a r s k i n (gryffen and karsi's little fuck trophy)
11-05-2017, 10:55 PM (This post was last modified: 11-05-2017, 10:59 PM by Kasanova.)
Kasanova
As he raced under the forest trees - weaving thru the dense confines - a shadowed figure was spotted with his hazel eyes. A sharp snort pierces the stale air as he buckles his hindlimbs. Halting just to the right of the colt. Black limbs square as he steadies himself. Ears flick forwards to catch his words then press back in defense at the comment. "I don't go for walks," a hint of insult in his voice. "Who are you and what are you doing here?" His tone now demanding.
The colts eyes are trained on one another, so when a deeper voice comes from the left both look into the shadows. A familiar ghostly figure nears. His father's blood red eyes focusing on the stranger. He merely listens as each speak. Gathering information before interjecting his two cents. The shifty eyes of the colt cause him to wonder what his purpose is here. Remaining square on his limbs his muscles coil under his silver coat. Suspicion rising by the moment...
The strange colt has guts. It could quickly be his undoing. His silvery son is haughty but fails to be quite as insulting as the cocky colt who so quickly digs a barb at the King of Sylva. The sneer seems to deepen across his lips, sinking deeper and deeper as if the flesh is melting from his lips and only bone remains along his jawline. ”Old man huh.” He muses aloud, crimson iris’s darkening and narrowing in on Warskin. So many years had slipped by, was he starting to gray around the muzzle? Age was but a number, he had years to go before death would find him. And even if it did, he expects to turn death by its axis.
”And what do you want with Gryffen?” He asks innocently, toying with the boy and hoping his son is watching closely and learning something for once. This was a small tadpole floating in a very big and dangerous pond. The skeletal smile remains, ghostly and still as the fog rolls in around them. There is a strong desire to reach out and snap the boy’s neck. To feel his flesh cave beneath his blunted teeth and his hooves crunch against his young hollow bones. Simply for his disrespect.
However.
He would satisfy his curiosity first and find out why the fuck he showed up here to begin with. Perhaps he belonged to someone, perhaps he may be worth his while. And if not.
Warskin breathes a long sigh that is easily associated with frustration at the remark of the silver boy with the shifty eyes and accusing tone. They are but boys and War knows the other is attempting to assert himself except Warskin does not fucking care about what the other boys wants. Instead his eyes flick to the stallion.
Let down your smoke and mirrors.
There was a small curl to his young lips as he knows his little jab has struck a nerve somewhere deep in the spine of the wraith stallion. Still, War is too young to make the connection that the man is his sperm donor and typically it was a leader who sought out new faces and scents.
"I've come to introduce myself." His reply is cool and his tone drifting away from a haughty rift as he tilts his dark head with a little smirk. War decides to leave it at that as he passes another glance to the shiny colt. They are not too different in build (but most colts are typically the same leggy things) but the other is bright where War is the color of charcoal stained sin. The male is a creamy hued of curdled mare's milk and War is nearly certain this could not be his mother's lover.
w a r s k i n (gryffen and karsi's little fuck trophy)
The lengthening black whips of the silver colt twitch in irritation. The ashy intruder is offering little information to his purpose here. He remains unmoved as hazel eyes shift to the red gaze of his father, who again questions the colts purpose. This was an invite only kingdom and from the looks of it, no one invited the boy...
Ebony laced ears press against his silver crown as the colt offers again a vague explanation. A snarky grin upon his too confident features. His eyes narrow back onto the colt as his gaze shifts back to him as well. Nearly a year now he has never been submissive of nature. His lineage itself was full of the blunt and bold. So the apple does not fall far from the tree. "Well...? Come come. We haven't got all damn day," his tone annoyed. "State your name and purpose here before I give you one you won't want," he emphasises won't with every intention on backing his statement up if the colt so chooses to keep avoiding details the ruler has requested...
