A wild equine rpg with a twist. Four kings lead their respective cadres to victory in monthly battles. Each cadre tries to out do the opposing. Currently in need of members. C a b a l l o is a site that has recently re-opened its doors. It now has a new name, skin and theme. Help us out by joining today.
Many cadres and terrains avaliable for claiming, also staff positions avaliable. Still in search of moderators.
Staff Members
Staff positions open
Admin: Illinois
Global mod: Radium
Mod: Scene
The chills of the icy squall and the roar of the pelting rain have since passed. Now the heat from the radiant sun once more beams down upon. The anemic skies have changed to a more subtle, alost pastel colour and the scent of melting snow is noticeable. Green foliage is bursting from decayed boughs and new life can be seen around the globe.
Horses may breed, claim, fight and birth.
Life? what does this mean. « Thread Started on Apr 11, 2009, 10:03pm »
When I was young, it seemed that life was so wonderful, a miracle, oh yes it was beautiful. And all the birds in the trees, were singing so happily, oh joyfully, playfully, watching me.
The earth was damp. Chilly, from the lack of heat. The snow. Previously melted. Left over moisture, trailing through the carved quigmere. Foliage, lush and coloured. Tastless to the tongue. Vibrant and attractive. Shadows from the trees, left dead imprints upon. uts. Deep gashes. Made by the attack of the sythes. Pistons.
Nape, darkened by nervous sweat. Trembles. Repeating under the hide. Auburn turned russet. Tendrils clung limply. Hanging liflessley from the skin at the crest. Dial. Fine. Optics alert and watching. Dull grey of the pools. Seemed to unsee. Nares open. Searching the atmosphere for scents. Pinicles. Pearched high. Resting lightly upon the roof of the box. Swivling with readiness. Enamels. Tucked tight. Hidden within the drk caverns of the mug. Blunt. Ivory painted.
Soon this clearing would be full. No more bodice would fit. Barrels would brush against as one walked. Banners would slash anothers hocks as the flies were brutally murdered. No secret would be safe. The herd would gather. Plan their vegance upon the predators. Work away to triumphant. Victory would be theirs. More fae would join. More babes born. Filly would wander in, claimed mercifully. Forced. Taunted colts would scream as mockery continues. Patience runs thin with those who do not belong. Here is the only place a equine can feel truly safe. For the world is a big place. Who knows where the next danger will occur?
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