[warning] b i o h a z a r d {claiming}

[».d.r.e.a.m. [ღ]]

T O M B S T O N E ' S
R E V E N G E

The sun began to fade and set on a promising new land. It’s hills rose and fell like waves of the ocean, the grass yellowed and tough like a savannah’s hair, though this foliage was much, much shorter. Bare trees reached for the atmosphere like claws, desperately trying to tear into space and create their scars. Their limbs screeched with movement from the wind, their trunks creaking from the added weight burdened with each stressful blow against the dead and stiff bark. A small creek wound it’s way through the grass, carving it’s existence from the mere soil of the land. Pieces of the terrain were completely devoid of foliage, whilst others hosted a variety of dead shrubs and trees. The soil wasn’t fertile enough to support life, and thus, death and decayance had set in to fill that gap. A large rock rose up out of the side of the hill, jutting into the air. It’s surface was almost completely flat, creating with it the pedestal for the lead to survey his new found land… a land of death and complete silence, but a land none the less. The only creature of life that considers this a home, besides the equine, is the vulture who had followed the stallion. The vulture that had decided the stallion was too weak to survive such a terrain… and a meal would soon be found… yet that poor vulture was wrong.

For who was the stallion that created the trek across the soil? None other than Tombstone’s Revenge. The stallion’s dinner plate sized hooves pounded the land relentlessly, leaving atop the terra the shape of his hooves. Feathers swarmed around his hooves, whilst black crept from the very sole of his hoof to his hocks, his knees, and in one place, his shoulder. The rest was dominantly white, staking it’s claim ferociously to the behemoth’s hide. Black didn’t give up the battle so easily, however. Atop rolling muscles of his shoulders, it laid in an overo splash. It claimed the gnarled and wavy locks of his mane and tail, riding proudly atop a lifted tailbone and an arched crest. His skull was held parallel to his chest, nostrils flaring as the scents reached them. One nostril was dominated by black, the other by white. The black crept from his lip in a thin blaze to a star within the center of his skull. Inside that scar was a foal-sized hoof print, a scar from his past. Dark blue eyes surveyed the surrounding terrain with amusement, as it seemed none others had decided to tread the soil and make it their’s first.

Of course not, who would want a simple valley when one could have the terrain of the king? A title of royalty and claim to fame, a guarantee that your name would be echoed around the entire continent forever, even after you’ve fallen? Who wouldn’t want that? Why, the stallion here, obviously. He’d turned to an unclaimed land, to put off a battle for a terrain he had not yet received. The behemoth stag halted, his muscles tensed. His skull lifted from it’s protective position, nostrils flaring and snorting into the wind. The scents of others never reached his nostrils, thus he knew he was alone. A smirk slid across his sadistic muzzle, weight shifting to his hinds as fores slashed through the atmosphere in defiance. Not a sound was made in his claiming, as hooves clashed with soil once more. His head tossed, eyes closing as his body bathed in the last glow of the afternoon sun. A home. Who would‘ve thought I‘d decide to settle? But of course… I settle for different reasons than most… I settle… to strengthen others… The stallion had long ago lost faith in royals, when his father - a royal in his own birth land - disappeared to leave his mother to fight the war alone. Royals…

Well, royals were weak. So long they had claimed to make their alliance the best, the strongest, to make darks truly feared… and they had all but failed. He’d watched from the shadows as their attempts were slaughtered, as those who thought they were dark called themselves forth to answer the call. Now, the king could do what he will with those darks… but Tombstone? He had a different plan in mind… to gather the darkest of the darks from all four corners of the continent, to unite them under the name Thestral… True killers. A smirk slid across his muzzle, contemplating those who would come. The Thestrals wouldn’t be run like any other alliance… but more like a gang, with different ranks given and not two, but four leaders. Who those leaders would be… would be up to the members. He and Wiccan’s Rede had long before been leaders, yet she had disappeared… and only he had carried on the legacy of Thestral. Whether or not there would be others worthy of uniting under the name here? That was the question that needed answering… As well as what the king would do, when he discovered the secret alliance beneath his own. That one… would be fun to deal with.

Land Name; Sakros
Description; It’s hills rose and fell like waves of the ocean, the grass yellowed and tough like a savannah’s hair, though this foliage was much, much shorter. Bare trees reached for the atmosphere like claws, desperately trying to tear into space and create their scars. Their limbs screeched with movement from the wind, their trunks creaking from the added weight burdened with each stressful blow against the dead and stiff bark. A small creek wound it’s way through the grass, carving it’s existence from the mere soil of the land. Pieces of the terrain were completely devoid of foliage, whilst others hosted a variety of dead shrubs and trees. The soil wasn’t fertile enough to support life, and thus, death and decayance had set in to fill that gap. A large rock rose up out of the side of the hill, jutting into the air. It’s surface was almost completely flat, creating with it the pedestal for the lead to survey his new found land… a land of death and complete silence, but a land none the less.