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| Welcome wanderer! You seem to have stumbled across Kormada, a wild horse roleplay approaching its ten year anniversary on the net. We are a very friendly and very active community of players of all ages and experience levels. So take a look around, join us, and experience the chaos of life on a planet cheating death with every day of continued existence. Join Kormada and enter the realm! If you're already a member please log in to your account to access all of our features: |
| the zealous hearts don't love you; and that's not gonna change || dark mare | |||||
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| Tweet Topic Started: Jun 24 2013, 03:17 PM (498 Views) | |||||
| alittlelamb | Jun 24 2013, 03:17 PM Post #1 | ||||
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i'll dig a tunnel from my window to yours.
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![]() x To say she's on edge is, well, a bit of an understatement. If you ask her once if she's nervous, she'll up-and-down deny it. Ask her again and she'll hit you, but truth be told: Yes, Wendla is the tiniest bit nervous. Today is something of a turning point, a fresh page free of any marks; and while it might not determine her whole future, it will decide most of it and that's a harrowing concept to wrap a mind around. Not to mention she has virtually no control over how any of this unfolds -- all she can do, really, is react. Such is the plight of a female, perpetually doomed to walk the globe under the boats of males, fumbling around trying to discern between what's a worm and what's a lure, constantly feeling like a complicated metaphor. Her movement is uncharacteristically jerky, exactly as loud and vibrant as it is usually is smooth and unobtrusive. Some would say it's a product of nerves, but some would be wrong, because Wendla knows what she's doing. You see, her idea is that, if she calls attention to herself, more stallions will take notice and approach, therefore widening her options. It's got a high rate of backfiring but, then again, standing around mumbling songs about princes doesn't seem like a very good approach either. She crashes through the brambles at the forest's edge and breaks out into the hazy light of early morning. Wendla pauses a moment, assesses, then starts forward again towards a small tree just a little ways out into the meadow. Out in the open, easily visible, but not entirely vulnerable. The soft light reflects off the warm red-brown of her body, the wind catching at her dark mane and twisting it over her face. She comes to a rest underneath the tree, because while the shade isn't necessary so early in the day, there's no telling how long she'll have to be here. please don't go, i'll eat you whole (i love you so, i love you so) |
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★ between the click of the lock, and the start of the dream. | previously rhythm/riddikulus | | |||||
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| TheIceViking | Jun 29 2013, 01:25 PM Post #2 | ||||
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Edited by TheIceViking, Jun 30 2013, 03:57 PM.
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Active characters Pearl • Durin • Izabella | |||||
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| `d e p p | Jun 30 2013, 02:14 PM Post #3 | ||||
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I think everybody's nuts.
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![]() and a larger version of the beautiful boy<3
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Remember...if you feel glum, just shake your bum! #EpicStrut ![]() paper faces on parade; | |||||
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| ƒierce | Jul 1 2013, 11:59 AM Post #4 | ||||
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i've not yet begun to defile myself.
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MARTYRDON'T ASK ME TO BLEED ABOUT IT; I NEED THIS BLOOD TO SURVIVE The uniquely-colored male moves forward with confident strides. His white face turns right then left; this movement is slow as he searches for mares to speak with. The seven year-old stallion was finally making his move to forming his own herd. It would have been foolish of him to wait any longer, especially if he was waiting until he got back in the Province. As he meanders about the island, a red sort of brown mare catches his attention. The bright blue shade of his eyes follows her actions, her crashing through the forest's brambles and then coming out into a meadow. His corn-spotted form follows hers, only to find not one but two other stallions approaching her. Martyr does not speak at first; his blue roan overo form moves slowly toward them, managing to be close when they spoke their names and lands. The black of his lip twitches when he notices the stripes on the more solidly colored stallion, Aeson. This could be a son of Rowan's, a stallion he had tried to ally with. Perhaps this son would be more interested than his sire before him. The raven length of his tail swishes against his hocks and gaskins thoughtfully; neither of the other young stallion had asked after her name. The Mustang Hybrid inclines his white face to her, low tenor voice vocalizing his name and a question. "Hello. My name is Martyr; I come from Loon Echo Lake. Might I inquire after your name?" He makes no other move, besides casting a vague sort of smile of greeting toward the rather plain-colored mare. HERE'S ONE YOU DON'T COMPROMISE; LIES COME HARD IN DISGUISEmale . blue roan overo . mustang hybrid . 15.3 hands . dark . loon echo lake |
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| alittlelamb | Jul 7 2013, 09:35 PM Post #5 | ||||
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i'll dig a tunnel from my window to yours.
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It must say something about the state of society that a mare as plain as herself only has to wait literal minutes before the tides are washing to shore. Now, Wendla isn't stupid. She knows she's nondescript, that stallions tend to prefer flashier girls who incite envy every time someone glimpses them from a border. But what she lacks in eye-catching...ness, she makes up for in personality! (No.) (She really doesn't.) So she is perhaps a little surprised when she is approached as quickly as she is, though you'd never now it by the withering up-and-down she gives her very first suitor as he strolls on up to her. He's not like anything she's seen before, certainly. More stunning than herself, which maybe to anyone else would be cause for celebration, but for Wendla is more of a stab directly to the pride (important body part). The stallion has a curious air about him -- doesn't seem outright awful she supposes -- so she gives him the benefit of the doubt for a while. Wendla doesn't exactly smile, per say, but her eyes stay bright and that's about all the effort she can manage. He introduces himself simply, a name and a location that mean absolutely nothing to her, but kudos for no fanfare because god knows how grating that can be. She is on the tip of responding when her eye catches on another approaching figure. "Sweet heaven help me," she says under breath, hopefully too quiet for Rhône to catch. This one is also disgustingly interesting to look at: a bay like herself, but darker, with ... those are stripes. Okay. Her surprise definitely shows on her face this time, widening of the eyes quickly disguised but noticeable nonetheless. But in all honesty she doesn't care if she offends him (and thinks he's probably used to it, so). That was quite the dance, he jokes, smirking. Wendla's eyes roll before his lips quiet close around the last word. She sighs gently as he introduces himself as well. Do they really expect that she knows what these territory name means? Usually it's only the influential lines that know much of anything about the lay of the land, and they probably know she has not a drop of important ("important") blood in her. Whatever. She won't comment so she doesn't hinder their pride (again, important body part). "I wouldn't call it a dance," she counters sharply, tea-colored eyes hard as she looks Aeson in the face. Again, she's right set up to finally tell them her name too and maybe a pithy comment about where she's from ("Four hours from here and then seven from wherever you are after those four") when another stallion shows up. Another roan, too, just as aesthetically pleasing as the two. "I swear to this planet," she growls, not even bothering to pitch her voice too low to hear this time. This one is quiet a moment, observing, before he introduces himself a touch more politely than the last two. Martyr also asks after her name, giving her a hazy sort of smile that she counters with a pinched brow. "You might, but it doesn't mean I'll give it to you." Her words are punctuated coldly, with a sideways quirk of her head. Wendla glances around the now-square of them, already tired of this sad little game -- who even came up with concept and can she have a quick word (read: fight) with them? She lets out a whistling, controlled breath to let her company know once again that's not particularly pleased right now, then raises her eyes and looks each of them squarely in the face. "My name is Wendla, and I'm sure the pleasure is all yours, boys." please don't go, i'll eat you whole (i love you so, i love you so) Edited by alittlelamb, Jul 7 2013, 09:36 PM.
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★ between the click of the lock, and the start of the dream. | previously rhythm/riddikulus | | |||||
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| TheIceViking | Jul 14 2013, 11:01 PM Post #6 | ||||
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(Sorry for the wait, but I will have to pull Rhone out of that topic. Lets just say he had to be somewhere but had forgotten about it or something.) | ||||
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Active characters Pearl • Durin • Izabella | |||||
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