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 Posted: Wed Dec 28, 2011 4:25 pm
Trotting amongst the eerie, contorted shadows the branches of the trees cast, a young kalona colt was attempting to find a food source. Of course, he should stay close to where his mother had left him, but he was a curious foal and couldn't help but stagger out to see what the world had to offer. A blast of icy air sent chills up the colt's spine as his pitch black eyes darted about. Although he called this forest home, he knew not to let his guard down whenever he was alone. His spaded tail flicked slowly and he stretched out his small, leathery wings. What would the night bring to him?
The troubled colt pranced along, deeper into the forest. His mind buzzing with questions that his mother had refused to answer earlier. He didn't understand why some foals feared him and others stared at him as though he were a freak show in the circus. Ahriman wanted to know what it meant to be a "kalona" and why his mother refused to tell him. His head shook as he tried to push the thoughts to the side and ignore them as his mother told him to. How could he, though? It was his nature to be curious about these things. "What am I?" He asked aloud as he stamped a hoof against the ground. Now, the colt was determined to figure out the answer to this question, no matter how long it took him.
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Posted: Wed Dec 28, 2011 5:00 pm
And a monster he could very well be.
The stallion was large, covered in muscle and scars; he was a seasoned fighter, skilled in the art of defending his home and family as well as attack and offense. Perhaps scariest of all was just how smart the stallion appeared. His glowing red eyes burned with an intelligence and calculation that many 'monsters' or 'beasts' might lack -- not Keiran. He was not prone to losing his head, to falling in to bloodlust or anger or rage. His temper had a slow burn, and while he preferred not to murder or kill, there were times and places for everything.
Unlike some of his brothers, he was not a cannibal. He didn't feast off the blood of other soquili, even if he had done his share of killing. The world was a cruel place, Keiran understood that most of all, and survival of the fittest was key. Those who were not fit, not wise, not smart enough to know the words or threats they spoke would fall. Those that were weak of body, mind, and spirit weren't to last. . . but unfortunately, the Kawani seemed filled to the brim with damned lucky idiots.
It was unusual for the ebony and silver stallion to be so far from his home territory. But his journey away was becoming more of an annual ritual. Every year he set out, to investigate nearby territories, to witness changes of herds and leaders, and to hopefully discover new kalona. Their breed seemed to be slowly suffocating - the kalona he found were often of mixed heritage and blood, and often continued to dilute their proud heritage with future generations. It was frustrating to the stallion, who grew up with the knowledge of how strong the kalona race was, and could be; perhaps he was an idealist, a dreamer in his own twisted way, one who believed that they could reclaim their former glory and power.
Oh how far the proud race had fallen. . . .but that was neither here nor there. Keiran was old fashioned, a traditionalist, and he would single-handidly remind the world of their kind and their name.
Having slowed down in his feast, the stallion forever alert, sensed a change. The smallest voice could be heard, terribly small, moving closer to where he stood eating. There was no wind this night, which was both a benefit and detriment. . . Keiran couldn't tell if whatever was moving and making a bit of noise was a threat. His whip like tail gave a nonchalant swish, muscles tense as he allowed fate to dictate his next actions.
He would defend his kill, this small area his chosen (albeit temporary) territory. Heaven forbid if lessers tried to drive him off and away. He had every right to feast on his prey - the deer had been stupid. He was causing not harm (not yet, at any rate) and had no interest in fraternizing with such lowly beasts. Just let them try to take him on . . .
He was ready. He was prepared. And he would win.
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Posted: Fri Jan 06, 2012 4:37 pm
Like most foals, Ahriman was ignorant and naive. He knew little of the world outside of the small area of the woods he called home. All he knew was what his mother taught him, stories strangers told him, and games foals played with him. Ahriman hadn't met many others, so the stories were small and the games were quick. Mostly, the little colt relied on what his mother decided to teach him, which wasn't much when it came to sensitive topics for her.
No matter how naive the colt was, he understood one thing perfectly: the scent of blood. His muzzle twitched slightly as his head lifted. Considering there was no breeze, it could only mean that he was close to the source of the scent. Pitch black eyes darted around as the colt tried to find the poor soul that wreaked of the substance that would only lead to death, if the creature was not already dead.
What the colt saw was something he wished he hadn't found. A large kalona stallion who appeared ready to charge at whatever dared to even think about the meal that lay before him. Ahriman's instinct was to run, but something drew him closer to the older kalona. Perhaps this stallion could help him. Enlighten him in matters that his mother refused to. His spaded tail flicked like a puppy's tail for a moment, before curling around one of his legs slowly.
As Ahriman stared in wonder at what most soquili called a beast, he thought of how to approach this situation. His ears flicked forward and then back. With his senses heightened, the colt couldn't help but notice the sounds of scavengers rustling in the bushes. He could feel his heart slamming against his chest and his mind buzzed with thoughts. What if this stallion wouldn't take kindly to a foal?
Ahriman's muscles tightened in his legs and neck. His eyes widened slightly and he took a step back, away from the large stallion. Slowly, he bowed his head, "Hello sir." The young colt finally spoke up. His voice was shaky, but not mousy by any means.
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Posted: Sun Jan 08, 2012 9:48 pm
The large stallion did his best to be aware of his surroundings. Because he was already on alert due to the draw of other predators to his kill, he didn't quite miss the bumbling sound of hooves against grass. Except, these hooves weren't loud or large. . . they were delicate, light, almost faint. Whatever was shuffling closer to him was something small, petite.
A foal.
Keiran kept his red, glowing gaze on the deer before him. While his body was tense, ready to move on a moments notice and dive in to action, he continued his feast unabated. He was wise enough not to gorge himself silly, but he refused to leave himself hungry. One never knew when the next meal would fall . . . so he had to be sure to eat as much as he could without hindering himself for battle. A full stomach could be deadly in the wrong predicament.
Ever patient, never one to rush himself in battle, Keiran continued to 'feign' his ignorance at Ahriman's arrival. Timing was everything, and he knew that one rule of battle was to never let an enemy know your true strengths. His tail flicked back and forth in a lazy, almost feline like motion. Finally, finally a voice broke through the darkness.
"Hello sir."
With a snap he turned his neck and his glowing, red eyes pinned on the little colt. The lowest growl entered his throat, almost as a warning, but the stallion made no move to attack. He got a good look of the colt, and was pleasantly surprised to see a kalona colt before him. It was a colt made of snow stained in blood, and black leather covered his wings. Two rams horns grew from his head, and eyes as dark as ebony peered over at him. While he lacked the traditional tendril tail, he was quite clearly of a kalona heritage.
The question remained if he was pure, or mixed. And even as a pure, one would have to ask whether or not he was of the true spirit of the kalona world. Was he worth letting live, or should he rip him to pieces before he had the opportunity to taint their blood with impurities. Hmph.
Thankfully though, everything checked out on a physical level, and Keiran's glower deepened. While he appreciated the respect of a title such as sir, it also made him feel old. Aged. He was far from a young colt after all. "One should never approach a feasting beast, foal," he spoke, words commanding, harsh. He was not known to be friendly, softspoken, gentle. . . .but. . . he also wasn't angry. Or cruel. Blunt was the best way to describe Keiran, even among his own kind.
It had been a long time since he'd dealt with a kalona foal. . . this would be a learning experience for them both. His tail flicked, almost irritably, and his fangs bared some. He wasn't actually going to attack the other, but he wanted to see how easily spooked this kalona colt might be. "Speak up, and be quick about it, colt, or did you come only to waste my time?" His wings partially flared, and his growl deepened in a snarl.
What Ahriman didn't know was that this was a test. Even if the colt ran, perhaps these few moments might harden him, might cause him to use his head and think. . . or at the very least, learn a few lessons to keep him alive. Keiran was constantly doing what he could to better himself, his physical strength, and his mental endurance. He was a warrior. Ahriman was now in his care, for however long the colt wished to remain, and he would train him too.
Even if Ahriman was unaware of such tihngs, such tests. With luck he wouldn't prove to be a failure or an idiot.
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