DOTW is a semi-realistic wild horse role-play game aiming to keep it simple. We expect a minimum of 200 words for every in-character post, and reward you with a tight-knit community who love roleplaying and are always eager to make new friends. After an 18 month hiatus, DOTW is ready to write a new history.
Hey doods, don't mind that I've been a little absent lately. I'm reading loooooots of manga <3 but I'm definitely online every day, so don't worry about having PMs or questions or joining posts go missing! I am catching them all :)
The young stallion had found himself in a particularly grey area; underfoot were rocks and decaying leaves blown from the nearby forests, the sky was blanketed by dark, thin clouds, and the rich, vibrant trees were distant and faraway. He had never intended to stray this far from the snow-white beaches that he called home, but his growing independence had led him miles away; moving for hours before he finally had the sense to realize just how far he had gone. This place was dry and desolate; rocks shifted underfoot and thin trickles of water ran through some of the deeper crevices between the stones, but it was a far cry from the lush grasses and soft sands he was used to. Now the daylight hours would soon run out, and Fiore was certain he wouldn't find his way home before then.
He had paused, turned to stare back the way he had come. He felt proud and powerful: never had he made such a journey before, and while he had never sincerely considered moving away from the beaches permanently, he could imagine the attraction it held if every journey resulted in exhilaration like this. Grinning, the young horse turned toward the distant, unfamiliar forest. It didn't look like the ones he was used to - it seemed darker, somehow. The trees grew like great spires, casting a jagged shadow against the sky, and he very much wanted to investigate this strange, sharp trees. He set off at a heady trot; white-socked legs pulled high against his chest. He looked unnatural, here. The dull surroundings only made the red hues of his pelt seem brighter, the deadness making his healthy roundness look strange. He was beginning to grow out of his coltish appearance - muscle replacing roundness and thickening his mane and tail, but it did nothing to help his fine shape, his delicate face. His eyes were as gentle as the day he was born, and though his mare-like looks had earned him a few taunts here and there, he wasn't disturbed by them. Looking as much like a female as he did had some positives, too. If he had grown too masculine, he didn't doubt that the birthing mares on the beaches would have banished him long ago.
He continued onward for what felt like hours, but made little progress towards the forest. Truthfully, the journey was beginning to take its toll - he hadn't eaten since early that morning and moving at such a demanding pace had parched him. The water between the rocks proved to be, for the most part, unreachable, so he slowed, frowning lightly, flicking his tail thoughtfully against his legs. There were few places he could go from here but forward, as each direction simply lead to more of the same rocky terrain, and he began to miss the guidance of the mares he surrounded himself with. Maybe it was just their mothering instinct, but they always had a kind word or two for him. Fiore sighed, gently. He wouldn't let himself regret making this journey: it was an adventure, after all, but he did wish that he hadn't made it alone.
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ooc eep, this is kind of awful, sorry x-x 526
If it's been a while since I've replied to a thread, I've probably forgotten it's there.
Post by ~Stephykinns~ on Jul 6, 2014 4:43:48 GMT 10
No Happy Endings
The surroundings were bleak and dull, lacking both life and the will to live. Gerato was lying down, leaning precariously against a tree. His white pelt that once shone so bright was caked in mud, and his feet were overgrown, cracked and chipped. The stag gazed out upon the open lands in front of him with dull and lifeless eyes. He was beaten. "How have I come to this?" he questioned to nobody in particular. Gerato thought about everything that he used to have, and though the list seemed endless, only two of the things on it were of any importance to him, Winter Mist and Lithium. Both were wonderful mares, each with their own perfect imperfections. He wished he could see them one more time, have one last chance to apologize. Mist was the first mare that had broken through to him, the first one to show him that there could be good in the world. Before her, he was a cruel, cruel beast with a lust for blood and who forced himself upon mares just because he could. In fact, he had forced Mist herself, and she still had had faith in him. Not long after, Gerrie had realized he loved her. Lithium came later, after Mist. The stag had loved her too, just as deeply, but he had lost her when Mist came back into the picture and out of anger over losing Lithium lost Mist again.
Of course, telling the story in this manner makes it seem almost as though he was just a love-stricken pony who got dumped, when it was so much more than that. The darkness within him that followed these events flowed through his blood like poison, infecting all who came near. Gerato had been so close to dying so many times he had lost count, but he knew exactly how many he had killed. Images of their last moments flashed through his mind, tormenting him at all hours of the day. Their ghosts followed him around, some mocking his worthless life and others asking if it was all worth it in the end. He was halfway insane, sometimes screaming at empty space, just trying to get rid of the memories. Nothing about him was even remotely happy anymore, and he deeply missed how his life used to be, and every day he travelled, trying still to run from his past. Years had gone by, and still he couldn't leave himself behind.
Suddenly, a bright figure came into his vision; a gleaming red beacon standing in the middle of a gray and empty warzone. "Who on earth would want to be here but me?" he asked, almost unknowingly outloud. Struggling to do so, the once powerful beast stood, feeling the rocks slide beneath his feet. As awful as he looked lying down, he looked even worse standing; like a skeleton that has yet to be buried. Regaining his footing, he glanced up again to make sure he had not been imagining the red equine he had saw only moments ago. Stumbling across the landscape, he stepped past the last couple trees obscuring his view, only then realizing that he didn't particularly want company. As carefully and quietly as he could, which was not very carefully or quietly in his state, the stag doubled back and made his way through the trees, mumbling jibberish to himself and praying he had not been seen.
Words 565 | Muse "Thistle & Weeds"-Mumford and Sons | Status: Complete
Last Edit: Jul 6, 2014 9:10:52 GMT 10 by ~Stephykinns~
The day crept on, the sun beginning its decent - it would reach the treeline, soon, and Fiore knew that he would be in trouble when it did. He kept moving, trotting when his fatigue allowed it and slowing when he grew too tired. He was not afraid, but a shivering worry had set into his bones; he wondered if this was why horses traveled in herds, to prevent the anxiety from settling in. He considered the idea for a moment - perhaps when this was all over, he'd find somebody to partner up with, build a herd all of his own. The thought made him smile, thinking back to his earliest months amongst the crowd of his birth-herd. He missed his family - he didn't like to think about them, but sometimes the memories crept upon him and there was little he could do to prevent it. He sighed, softly, and drew his eyes back toward his destination. He was close, now, close enough to see the shapes of branches instead of just a vague shadow against the sky. Narrowing his eyes, he saw something move against the dark tree trunks, a pale, unsteady figure that rose from the ground like smoke, and Fiore paused in his approach, childish ghost stories echoing in his mind. He recalled the warnings the adults had told him: don't go into the woods, or the spirits will snatch you away. He had always giggled, totted along the treeline waiting for the ghosts that never appeared, but the sight of this white figure, now taking a few paces in Fiore's direction, made him wonder if perhaps those stories hadn't been entirely fictitious.
He felt himself taking an automatic step backwards, uncertainty driving his flight response, but as he did, the ghost turned and retreated into the trees, and Fiore saw it for what it was; a while equine, thin to the point of fragility. It stumbled noisily away, and Fiore followed. He was a friendly young stag, and it seemed impossible that he would leave a stranger who was so clearly in need of help. Though not entirely certain that the creature he had seen was not a specter from the afterlife, he decided to take his chances, and began to follow at a hurried trot, thirst and exhaustion forgotten, for the moment.
He met the trees only a minute or so later, and the sheltered air was dark, thick with humidity that filled his stinging throat. The thin shafts of light that fell through the trees lit up the brightness of his pelt, and had he been more aware of himself at that moment, he would have realized that it made him almost impossible not to see in the darkness. He took a few, slow steps forward, not entirely sure where the white horse had gone. His eyes; pale enough to look white in the dull light, flickered each way, looking for evidence of the stranger's movement, and as they scanned the cracking soil and pile needles, he noted a continuous disturbance directly ahead of himself. The white equine's exit had not been particularly light-footed, and so Fiore supposed it made sense that he would be easy to track. Following the path left by the ghost-horse was easy, after that, and besides pausing for a moment to consume a small patch of wispy grass, Fiore was intent on his goal.
Before long, he could see the horse through the trees, and he quieted his steps, worried that if he was too boisterous, the stranger would simply flee, again. Looking closer, the white equine was clearly emaciated, skin sweeping over his jutting bones with each step, tail thin and messy. The stallion seemed to have a black patch over one eye, but in this light, it simply looked like a great chunk of his skull ceased to exist in the blackness. Despite all of this, Fiore felt...apprehensive. The white horse seemed powerful, even in his state, a great figure deserving of his respect. He swallowed, and spoke softly, voice gentle enough that it barely broke the silence. Ordinarily, he was loud, talkative, but he feared the repercussions of disturbing the thin horse's peace too much.
"Excuse me, sir." He began, head low. "Are you alright?"
Nerves fluttered gently in his chest, and he fought them away. He was never nervous, never. Lifting his head an increment, he continued. "Only...I saw you by the trees and thought you were a ghost. I have been traveling for quite a time, so perhaps it was only my mind playing tricks on me, but when you departed I thought maybe you were in need of some help, and since I'm the only creature nearby, I thought I'd ask..." He trailed off, clearing his throat. He had a habit of rambling, and silenced himself before it could get out of hand. He took an inquisitive step closer, eyes curious. He had never seen a horse as thin as this one - he was usually surrounded by large, healthy equines. He wondered what had happened to this horse to put him in such a state of ill-health.
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If it's been a while since I've replied to a thread, I've probably forgotten it's there.
Post by ~Stephykinns~ on Jul 8, 2014 14:25:28 GMT 10
No Happy Endings
Even before he could hear the fumbling of steps behind him, Gerato had felt that the stranger would follow. All he could hope is that if he kept walking the equine would lose interest and wander away. As the once-powerful creature walked on, almost continuously tripping over exposed roots and larger rocks, he began to notice ghostly figures sweeping in and out of sight. They always appeared at night, and he had come to expect their company during his sleepless wanders through the darkness. In the usual manner for him, the next several minutes felt like hours as the beast heard both screams and whispers in his ear at the same time. In the usual manner, his pace quickened as he tried to outrun his own mind. And, in the usual manner, he stumbled and collapsed to the ground. Despite the chaotic frenzy of non-existent noise that made his head feel like a derailed train, he somehow managed to sluggishly climb to his feet again. The stag felt the familiar feeling of blood trickle down the side of his cheek, knowing far too well how little of the crimson liquid he had to spare. He tried to figure out where he was but everywhere around him all he could see were memories. Gerato spun frantically, feverishly looking for a way out, a light to pull him back into reality, but he knew it would be of little use to try anymore. The noise filled his skull and a splitting headache crawled to the back of his cranium.
More suddenly than the switch of a light it stopped. Everything stopped; the noise, the ghosts, the pain and his spinning. Auds flicked backwards to catch the sound of footsteps trailing close behind. The stag glanced around where he was standing and took in his surroundings. Below him, a small circle of chaos marked where he had been spinning, and all around the darkness was beginning to set in. The skeletons of trees reached high above, tickling the edge of the cloudless skies. A small voice, so quiet it was hardly even audible, came up from behind him. "Excuse me, sir" it whimpered. Despite his misery, the stud was almost flattered to be referred to as sir. It had been quite some time since anyone, himself included, had respected him enough to award him such a title. "Are you alright?" A bubble of rage grew in the pit of his stomach. Auds pinned flat against his bony skull, he snapped his head back to look at this fool who was daring to talk to him. The equine was small and very young looking. A bright red pelt painted with white stared back at Gerato, as well as glistening, grey looking eyes that were clearly full of concern. Every ounce of the stranger looked both as if he wanted to help, and as if he were terrified. His hopeful stare was only met with a cold glare on Gerrie's end.
Now much more visibly nervous, the young stud spoke again, meeting Gerato's hostile response with hope. As his short, rambling speech went on, Gerrie turned away slowly, his mind wandering to his own son, who had always acted in a similar manner. Snapping back to the present, he sat silently for some time, glaring at the dirt in front of him, thinking of nothing in particular. He broke the uncomfortable silence though, shifting his nose slightly to one side to speak. "Not everyone can be helped kid," his low, gruff voice made him sound like an old smoker, but he continued anyway, "And if you ask me, you are probably the one who needs help right now, you stand out too much to be hanging out around here by yourself." Gerato straightened out his stance, once again staring blankly in front of him. If the young stud responded, he didn't even notice, and after a minute he started walking forwards once more, weakly and slowly.
Only a few steps forward he stopped. "Water is this way," he mumbled, and continued on his way. The beast didn't know why he had offered the company to the young stud, as poor as the offer had been. Perhaps he was just lonely enough that someone to grouch at was a welcome new sight, or perhaps the red equine reminded him just enough of his son that he wanted him to stick around. Whatever the reason, it had happened, and for whatever reason, he didn't regret his decision.
Words 750 | Muse "Thistle And Weeds"-Mumford and Sons | Status: Complete
The large stallion was still, for a time, as Fiore spoke, only to jerk his head towards Fiore and glare at him, ears flat to his skull. The response was one that Fiore had not experienced; never had he been met with such unsolicited fury, and he recoiled from it, drawing his head backwards, ears shifting uncertainly. Fear flared hotly in his belly, and he considered turning to flee - his desire to help only stretched as far as his desire to survive, and a tiny voice warned him against staying nearby somebody who so clearly did not want him. Before he could take a step away, however, the larger stallion looked away, and remained silent for a long while after Fiore's speech ended. Fiore peered at him, eyes flickering, curious beyond his nerves about the stallion's sudden change in mood. He let the silence stretch, hesitant to break it, and the other horse eventually spoke, voice heavy and rumbling, catching in his throat in a way that sounded distinctly unhealthy.
Not everyone can be helped kid, he said, and Fiore dropped his gaze. He thought, briefly, of his family herd. He had fled before he could see the worst of the bloodshed, but he'd pretended not to hear the stories strangers would tell of his herd perishing. He shook the thought from his mind, and listened closely as the white stallion continued; And if you ask me, you are probably the one who needs help right now, you stand out too much to be hanging out around here by yourself.
Fiore frowned and spoke.
"Oh," he said, confused, and turned his head to glance over himself. The bright red of his pelt was striking, even in the darkness. "Oh." He said again, and dropped his head from its defensive position: he hadn't thought of that. Truthfully, he'd never thought of it; the idea that he could be hurt while out alone was something he'd been warned of, but never taken seriously. Even now, he put his anxiety down to being wary of the darkness and the strange stallion before him. Looking up to respond, he saw the stranger was already moving, and didn't hesitate to follow cautiously, taking tiny, hurried steps so that he wouldn't overtake the larger horse. The white beast moved as if it pained him, and paused after only a few feet; not because he suffered, but to speak. Water is this way, he murmured, and Fiore remembered his thirst, forgotten in the adrenaline and excitement of meeting the stallion. Grinning, he risked moving nearer, close enough that if he wanted to, he could reach out and touch the male's bony haunches. He strayed slightly to the left, and as close as he was it was impossible to ignore how the white equine towered over him; he was at least a head taller than Fiore, and while Fiore was certain he would grow a little more as he got older, he couldn't imagine ever reaching the height of the massive stallion he followed.
Time passed in silence, Fiore's ordinary rambling quieted by his conversation's earlier reception. He thought that the stallion wanted him around, since he had invited his company, but he didn't want to ruin that and lose his chance to drink after his long day in the sun. He eventually did speak, tone friendly, but softened somewhat from his regular cheeriness.
"I'm Fiore." He said, "It means 'flower', I think. My friends used to say I have a girl's name."His gaze darted expectantly to the eyes of the other horse. He had always been taught to introduce himself with his name, and hoped his doing so wouldn't result in anger like he had been met with before. "What's your name?" He asked hopefully, cocking his head to the side. The more he talked, the more his confidence grew, and he began to speak without thought. "You're really tall, huh? My ma was almost as tall as you,"He squinted, as if imagining, "I'll never be as tall as that. I don't think I was really hers, you know. My brothers and sisters all looked just like my ma, but not me." His tone was light, bordering on cheerful, and he flicked his tail, his anxiety slowly sinking away.
He peered around, unable to see where they were going or the promised water, but everything was so dark that he supposed only those familiar with the area would know their way around. He would usually be sleeping long before now, and the darkness was novel and interesting, so he spent a few long moments staring into the shadows, silent.
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ooc Fiore is a dork oooops~ 777
If it's been a while since I've replied to a thread, I've probably forgotten it's there.
Post by ~Stephykinns~ on Jul 11, 2014 14:58:02 GMT 10
No Happy Endings
The younger stud followed closely behind Gerato, a little too close. Too tired and weak to do anything about it, Gerrie swished his ratty tail in his direction and moved on, trying to ignore him. This newfound company felt strange to the stag; it had been so long since anyone had accompanied him anywhere, he wasn't entirely sure how to react. Should he even attempt a conversation or just continue on in painful silence? Being him, the beast opted for the latter. As awful as the silence was, he had grown used to it, and he depended upon it to be there for him when nothing else was. And so they travelled.
It wasn't long before he once again began to see gloomy figures lurking about; they loved the darkness that pressed in all around him. Their whispers filled his auds, painful reminders of his past, each word feeling like a knife wound in his chest. Despite the dropping temperatures, dark patches of sweat began forming across his pelt, an occasional drop spilling off his body and landing softly on the ground below. "I'm Fiore." said the red stud. His voice had startled Gerato, who had nearly forgotten he wasn't alone. "It means 'flower', I think. My friends used to say I have a girl's name." he continued. Gerrie could feel the gaze of the youngster upon him, waiting for a response that the beast wouldn't give. A few more moments of silence went by before this Fiore kept talking. "What's your name?" Another sentence gone unanswered. "You're really tall, huh? My ma was almost as tall as you. I'll never be as tall as that. I don't think I was really hers, you know. My brothers and sisters all looked just like my ma, but not me." The kid seemed to grow more and more chipper with each word that rolled off his tongue and flowed out of his tiny mouth. Gerrie swished his tail again, and his ears slowly pinned flush against his skull, but still grudgingly croaked "I'm Gerato" as they weaved through the trees which became increasingly dense the further they moved.
The terrain was beginning to slowly shift from a rocky landscape into edible foliage, that cloaked the ground in a greenish gray mass. Except for small streaks of dim moonlight that had somehow managed to crawl to the earth, everything was dark, and Gerrie travelled mostly by memory, following the same trail he had for weeks (which was now dug into the earth a couple inches from his footsteps). The large creature remained silent until they finally reached the water, which seemed to take hours but was likely no more that 10 minutes. The water source was a tiny stream that trickled along slowly, weaving its way in between trees. It was no more than 2 feet across and barely deep enough to cover a hoof, but it was water nonetheless. He paused to take a brief sip of the cool liquid, even though he could have used much more, and then stumbled across the stream, tripping several times on the slippery rocks. Exhausted, Gerrie leaned against a large tree, slinking his way down to the ground. Suddenly remember he had a follower, he turned his head back slightly and ushered the youngster to come over with a small nod and a snort.
He couldn't help but to feel sorry for the little guy; Fiore seemed lonely. 'Not as lonely as you are' whispered a voice. He mentally scoffed and began to wonder how the red stud had ended up on his own in the first place. He looked and acted both young and inexperienced, clearly having had a pretty sheltered childhood. What sort of a normal horse would follow a skeleton into the woods? The fearlessness in the little flower child amused Gerato; as he realized how easy fearlessness was to come by when you are young. It came through so many different channels. Some acquired it through trust, like Fiore, and others like Gerato had already seen it all and had nothing left to fear. Others still just didn't care about the dangers in the world. However they came about it, it often seemed a gift short lived, with very few keeping it throughout their life.
The faint sound of thunder brought him to his senses and his auds scanned for danger, though it was a futile effort with the voices that already filled them. Giving up the stag lowered his head, resting his chin on a mossy, exposed root, his mind wide awake but his body praying for rest. He softly closed his eyes, wishing that sleep would finally join him.
Words 780 | Muse "Thistle and Weeds"-Mumford and Sons | Status: Complete
