it’s not the destination so much as the journey " />
The Lost Islands
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Your King
Asmodeus
Your Queen
Nyimara
The Second
None
The Herd
Name, Name, Name
The Sub-Herd
Name, Name, Name
Allies
Name (Land)
Enemies
Solomon (Cove)
The Rules
  • There will be no fraternizing with enemies. If you put yourself knowingly in danger, don't expect a rescue.
  • We are only as strong as our weakest link. See to it that you are getting stronger in some skill that is useful, whether it is battling, recruiting, charming, etc.
  • The King and Queen have final say in all matters.
it’s not the destination so much as the journey
Posted on February 16, 2012 at 04:12:27 PM by DEBONAIRE



The only rules that really matter are these:
what a man can do and what a man can’t do.


Lobes flatten as well as the mare Sahara approaches, a gesture that is mere reflexive and carries no suggestion of a threat. Repressing the urge to expel a weary, frustrated sigh, Debonaire merely stands and lets the waves of her fury roll over him until she has run out of breath and stands glaring wordlessly at him. Oh, it was easy to understand her reaction, but she was neglecting the small details in her tirade – such as how Debonaire had sought to ascertain no harm would befall any of them and how, indeed, he had decided that they should meet here instead of Atlantis in the end. That fact alone should have told the mare that something was up – for possessive stallions didn’t usually show this much care for the object of their pursuit, much less the family that they’d once had.

It was the kind of care that he wished had been shown to he and his family. Unfortunately, his sire’s hooves had been tied, with him having to make the impossible decision between death for himself, and death for his son. The choice of exile was the hope of continued life, the barest glimmer of a chance. And Debonaire was….grateful for it, despite all things.

“You jump to conclusions, Sahara, about my intentions…and about the intentions of your previous captor. You think you may have won your freedom from Midas? Think again. And his kindness in allowing Razvan to visit you and your son? If he were truly kind, he would have never made Razvan leave his lands, knowing the state he was in. No, his hand was well played, lady – he knew your beloved would stop at nothing to return, likely spelling his own death in the end. And then who would be there to pick up the pieces and win you over?”

He halts there, inhaling deeply and seeking to regain composure. It was difficult not to be angry, even being a mere outsider to the situation. Oh, that Midas was endlessly cunning – but this time, he had been outsmarted.

“As for your son, I knew he would be fine. He is made of the same gritty stuff as his father.”

He smiles wanly at the colt and then spares the same smile for his sire, discreetly allowing his gaze to sweep the weakened brute’s form briefly. The poor guy seemed thoroughly beaten, but Debonaire knew there was a greater inner strength. Finally, he completes the circle by returning his dark eyes to Sahara’s form, searching her posture for any relaxation of the hostility she had adopted against him. Taking a deep breath once more, he plunges recklessly on.

“I am not the sort like Midas – I would not keep anyone under lock and key. When I ‘stole’ you, I was merely stealing you your freedom. You are free to remain here with your Razvan…but…”

A brief pause as he annoyedly flicks his inky bangs out of an eye, then fixing his gaze on Razvan as he addresses the stallion directly.

“What kind of home is a desert for one not in the prime of their health? I know Encantador has your best interests in mind, but it is an unforgiving enough home without being physically ill. How long do you think you can survive out here, as shortness of water and food both take their toll on your already failing health? Months? Years? Understand that I speak only out of concern, but Razvan – you should not be staying here.”

He flicks his stare briefly to the mother, to the son, and continues hesitantly on. His voice is soft, barely audible over the keening wind that throws more grit into his face, making his next words raspy.

“You should be living at the Shore, with me.”


Debonaire
gentleman || 6 years || buckskin || arabian mix || 15.2 hands
|| voiced by Reba ||



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