Tatter
12-03-2019, 11:08 PM
<center><style> #somuchlesscomplicated {background-image:url('http://pre14.deviantart.net/78d0/th/pre/f/2013/174/3/e/recycled_texture_background_by_sandeep_m-d6aeau9.jpg'); width: 540px; padding 20px; box-shadow: 0 0 8px #000;} #ahcallhowdoueven {background-image:url('http://i.imgur.com/PzXXcRC.gif'); width: 500px; height: 206px;padding 20px; box-shadow: 0 0 8px #000;} #crazycrazylady {background-color:#173e4f; width: 460px; padding: 20px; font: 13px 'Times New Roman', serif;text-align: justify;color: #00101f; box-shadow: 0 0 8px #000;} #tatterquote {font: 14px 'Cinzel', serif; color: #508999; text-shadow:1px 0 2px #000; background-color:#173e4f;} #tattername{position: relative; font: 25px 'Homemade Apple', cursive; color: #508999;text-shadow:1px 0 2px #000;}</style><div id="somuchlesscomplicated"><br><div id="ahcallhowdoueven"><div style="background: rgba(49,35,26,0); background: -ms-linear-gradient(top, rgba(125,185,232,0) 0%, rgba(23,62,79,1) 100%); background: -moz-linear-gradient(top, rgba(125,185,232,0) 0%, rgba(23,62,79,1) 100%); background: -webkit-linear-gradient(top, rgba(125,185,232,0) 0%,rgba(23,62,79,1) 100%); background: linear-gradient(to bottom, rgba(125,185,232,0) 0%,rgba(23,62,79,1) 100%); padding-top: 200px; position: relative; top: 6px;"></div></div><div id="crazycrazylady"><div id="tatterquote"><center>Burn everything you love then burn the ashes.<br>In the end everything collides;<br>My childhood spat back out the monster that you see.</center></div><br> Unfortunately, Tatter hasn’t had the opportunity to discover any chaos just yet. Despite the veil between the worlds being torn open, everything in this strange new Beqanna is oddly peaceful. Maybe it’s the lesser amount of kingdoms bickering between one another, or just the calm before yet another storm, but peace has never been Tatter’s cup of tea. Hell, he had designed slave pens and captured his own grandmother in them, letting the poisons and chains suck the life out of her until she faded away. He had participated in battles and wars and a bear-horse had nearly torn his eye from its socket and still he had fought on, never letting the dullness of peace wash over the Chamber until he literally had nothing left to give.
He has noticed the mist creeping along the ground towards him as he crops the grass in the Meadow, but he thinks nothing of it – it is a chilly, wet morning and the fog doesn’t bother him one bit as it creeps around his hooves, curling up his ankles and around his legs. It isn’t until he realizes that it’s <I>pulling</i> him somewhere that confusion crosses his face, but he doesn’t panic as the ground beneath his hooves changes textures and the temperature begins to rise. He has prayed for destruction, after all – perhaps this is just the beginning of it.
When the mist clears, he is standing in a desert, and the familiarity of it nearly takes his breath away. He hadn’t visited the Dewdrop Deserts often when his dragon child had ruled it, but he had visited enough to recognize the ever-shifting landscapes and the blurry horizon and the blazing sun that he had despised so much. Instantly he begins to wonder what had ever driven Nocturnal to ruling this kingdom out of them all; he would have given her the Chamber if she had asked, or gifted her any of the other kingdoms she could have desired. But the <I>Deserts</i>? This infernal hellscape was enough to drive any of them crazy... and perhaps that’s why she went out the way a star does, all at once and burning fiercely as she went.
The painted stallion can almost see the kingdom residents in the background, and he wonders what point in time he has been pulled back to. There is the image of an oasis just past the residents and he almost wonders if it is a mirage; Nocturnal had warned him that dehydration and sun exhaustion could cause horses to see things that don’t really exist in the desert, but he has only just been transported here. Surely if it were a mirage, he wouldn’t be seeing it just yet.
He starts in the direction of the oasis with confidence, but soon finds himself slipping and sliding on the sands. It is not easy to maneuver when the ground beneath one’s hooves is constantly rearranging shape, and as he loses his feet once more he lets gravity take over, dragging him painfully down the dune he had been trying to walk along. Thankfully he doesn’t collide with a cactus at the bottom of the dune, but he nearly wishes he had – they are a valuable source of water, and he knows that distances in the desert can be deceiving.
Thankfully, at the bottom of the dunes he is shielded from most of the scorching sun and abrasive winds, though his fall down the dune has left him a bit battered. Small rivulets of blood run slowly down his sides, and he wonders ruefully if he’ll attract the scent of predators – coyotes maybe, or perhaps one of the birds of prey circling lazily overhead. For now though, he is alone while he crosses the shifting sands, only climbing the dunes when it is impossible to take a different route. Perhaps that is his saving grace; he doesn’t expend so much energy, so he doesn’t feel his water reserves depleting so much as the others.
It seems as though evening is beginning to fall when he hears the yips behind him, and his ears perk as he turns to see the coyotes. There are only a few of them, maybe three or four, and Tatter laughs as they approach, driven by the scent of blood and a hunger for horse flesh. If they think he is going to lie over and let them attack, they are even stupider than he can possibly imagine.
He launches himself at the leader of the small pack with a fierce trumpet and they all rush forward, converging on him as he tears into their leader, teeth and hooves flying as he forgets everything and succumbs to the ferocity of battle. It is over nearly as quickly as it had begun and Tatter flops back into a sitting position, breathing hard while staring at the bloody scene in front of him. <I>That’s more like it,</i> he thinks as he catches his breath, looking at the four bodies strewn across the sands in front of him.
Eventually his breathing slows and he stands, rolling his shoulders and grimacing at the pain. He is not badly injured – just a few new scars here and there – but he knows that he’s going to be feeling it later, and he is not eager to be in the middle of the desert when the adrenaline wears off and sand settles into the bloody cuts.
He doesn’t stop again until he has reached the edge of the oasis with the rest of them, and the painted king huffs as he stands on the border separating them from the cool waters that will fill their bellies and rejuvenate them. He isn’t sure what is stopping them but he stands with them all the same, finding exhaustion already beginning to set in. What he wouldn’t give for a quick rinse in that water, and to refill his stomach on the sparse jungle grasses growing on the shoreline. <center><br><div id=tatterquote>Tatter.</div></center></div><br></div></center>
tatter falls down a cliff like an idiot, attacks a pack of coyotes like an idiot, and is starting to get a little dehydrated. no affiliations with any lands.
He has noticed the mist creeping along the ground towards him as he crops the grass in the Meadow, but he thinks nothing of it – it is a chilly, wet morning and the fog doesn’t bother him one bit as it creeps around his hooves, curling up his ankles and around his legs. It isn’t until he realizes that it’s <I>pulling</i> him somewhere that confusion crosses his face, but he doesn’t panic as the ground beneath his hooves changes textures and the temperature begins to rise. He has prayed for destruction, after all – perhaps this is just the beginning of it.
When the mist clears, he is standing in a desert, and the familiarity of it nearly takes his breath away. He hadn’t visited the Dewdrop Deserts often when his dragon child had ruled it, but he had visited enough to recognize the ever-shifting landscapes and the blurry horizon and the blazing sun that he had despised so much. Instantly he begins to wonder what had ever driven Nocturnal to ruling this kingdom out of them all; he would have given her the Chamber if she had asked, or gifted her any of the other kingdoms she could have desired. But the <I>Deserts</i>? This infernal hellscape was enough to drive any of them crazy... and perhaps that’s why she went out the way a star does, all at once and burning fiercely as she went.
The painted stallion can almost see the kingdom residents in the background, and he wonders what point in time he has been pulled back to. There is the image of an oasis just past the residents and he almost wonders if it is a mirage; Nocturnal had warned him that dehydration and sun exhaustion could cause horses to see things that don’t really exist in the desert, but he has only just been transported here. Surely if it were a mirage, he wouldn’t be seeing it just yet.
He starts in the direction of the oasis with confidence, but soon finds himself slipping and sliding on the sands. It is not easy to maneuver when the ground beneath one’s hooves is constantly rearranging shape, and as he loses his feet once more he lets gravity take over, dragging him painfully down the dune he had been trying to walk along. Thankfully he doesn’t collide with a cactus at the bottom of the dune, but he nearly wishes he had – they are a valuable source of water, and he knows that distances in the desert can be deceiving.
Thankfully, at the bottom of the dunes he is shielded from most of the scorching sun and abrasive winds, though his fall down the dune has left him a bit battered. Small rivulets of blood run slowly down his sides, and he wonders ruefully if he’ll attract the scent of predators – coyotes maybe, or perhaps one of the birds of prey circling lazily overhead. For now though, he is alone while he crosses the shifting sands, only climbing the dunes when it is impossible to take a different route. Perhaps that is his saving grace; he doesn’t expend so much energy, so he doesn’t feel his water reserves depleting so much as the others.
It seems as though evening is beginning to fall when he hears the yips behind him, and his ears perk as he turns to see the coyotes. There are only a few of them, maybe three or four, and Tatter laughs as they approach, driven by the scent of blood and a hunger for horse flesh. If they think he is going to lie over and let them attack, they are even stupider than he can possibly imagine.
He launches himself at the leader of the small pack with a fierce trumpet and they all rush forward, converging on him as he tears into their leader, teeth and hooves flying as he forgets everything and succumbs to the ferocity of battle. It is over nearly as quickly as it had begun and Tatter flops back into a sitting position, breathing hard while staring at the bloody scene in front of him. <I>That’s more like it,</i> he thinks as he catches his breath, looking at the four bodies strewn across the sands in front of him.
Eventually his breathing slows and he stands, rolling his shoulders and grimacing at the pain. He is not badly injured – just a few new scars here and there – but he knows that he’s going to be feeling it later, and he is not eager to be in the middle of the desert when the adrenaline wears off and sand settles into the bloody cuts.
He doesn’t stop again until he has reached the edge of the oasis with the rest of them, and the painted king huffs as he stands on the border separating them from the cool waters that will fill their bellies and rejuvenate them. He isn’t sure what is stopping them but he stands with them all the same, finding exhaustion already beginning to set in. What he wouldn’t give for a quick rinse in that water, and to refill his stomach on the sparse jungle grasses growing on the shoreline. <center><br><div id=tatterquote>Tatter.</div></center></div><br></div></center>
tatter falls down a cliff like an idiot, attacks a pack of coyotes like an idiot, and is starting to get a little dehydrated. no affiliations with any lands.