Welcome to Tempered Calamity! For as long as horses can remember, this place has been their santucary far removed from the presence of any humans. Well protected and abundant in food and space, equines of all kinds have called these lands home. Over time, the original horses who settled here spread out to explore and established the territory boundaries known today.
On the surface things appear peaceful between the different bands as well as the free roaming horses, but all is not as it seems. The inhabitants here are under constant threat. Not only do they have to survive the elements and natural disasters and outwit predators, they must also face rival herds or individuals looking to steal land or other horses.
Tempered Calamity is a semi-realistic wild horse rpg inspired by old school play by post forums. Low word count and minimal activity requirements, come check us out or say hey on our discord!
a semi-realistic wild horse rpg
year 01
spring
updates
04.10
We're officially open to members! Check out some of the quick links above to get started on all the need-to-know information. If you find any issues, feel free to PM Oxy on here or discord!
DATE HERE
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The flap of wings announced his arrival, a flock of birds taking off from somewhere in the grasses, fleeing at his movement. He ignored the frightened creatures, pushing through the vegetation with head held high, eyes searching. He was looking for something, someone, anything to ease the boredom. Since he had made his home in the Valley, he'd spent restless nights patrolling the area, committing his domain to memory, allowing himself to take it in. He'd had time to think a little, ride the high, found a place to sleep and slept well, knowing that this was his place. In finishing his review of his home, he decided he had better things to do than just walk around. After all, his kingdom needed subjects, the King was in need of a Queen. He was in no rush to find his muse, however, as he strode through the tall, golden grasses, the picture of relaxation, though alert. Time would bring her to him, and he'd spent moons with only himself for company. Having somewhere to rule over made no difference.
Onward he stepped, taking his time, picking his way through the plain, once in a while lifting his nose to scent the air or pause to take it in a little more.
It was in a moment of pause as such did he sight a swatch of red against the gold and green; framed against the gilded field and gray-blue sky was a chestnut horse. The stranger was not too far away, and seemed unaware of his presence. He gave a low snort in interest, tossing his head, and made his decision. He had little intention of letting the opportunity go, whether it be the opportunity to assert himself and his rule, or to find a willing subject. Or perhaps something else. At the end of the day, it was the same, and she was coming home.
Quickening his pace, he set off at an easy lope in her direction. If she was paying any sort of attention to her surroundings, she would see him coming. If not, well, all the more reason to approach.
You know, I don't like being rejected. So let's keep your death between you and me.
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Had it been days since she had last seen another horse? Weeks? Months? Typhoid didn't know. It was all meaningless to her. Stallions were liars and traitors. Always looking for victims they could boss around and bend to their will. Whether they were wrong or right it didn't matter but in her experience they hated being questioned or proven wrong. She enjoyed doing both and did so with a smirk on his lips and a gleam in her eye. Mares were worse. Pretending to love, pretending to care but quick to abandon and damn those they claimed to care about the moment things didn't go their way. At least stallions were predictable.
Shrugging, Typhoid made her way through the growing golden plains of The Great Expanse. It wasn't her favourite place to be, to wander, but it was the most convenient. The Scourge to the south was barren and she only ventured there in search of certain toxic rocks or other ingredients for her potions. Well occasionally she went looking for a fight if she was bored or simply wanted to test her skills. Either way it wasn't a suitable place to find sustenance.
The Rift to the north was her favourite. While vegetation did grow, it was still violent and suited her she thought. The horses she encountered there were tough and unpredictable. More often than not she could talk her way through a chance encounter, or if she didn't wish to interact there was plenty of cover she could hide in and await the stranger's passing. The harsh northern winds that constantly buffeted the landscape there also suited her just fine.
Today though she found herself in the open grasslands. She couldn't say what exactly had brought her here on this particular day but she had been wandering south for a few days. The spring gathering was ahead and horses of all kinds and allegiances found their way here for whatever silly purposes they had. Typhoid cared little for the different rituals or celebrations of regular horses. In the grand scheme of things, they all seemed to trivial.
A flock of birds suddenly bursting from the grass caught her attention and she turned in their direction to see a cream and white patterned stranger approaching her. A wicked smile appeared across her lips and she watched as they came closer and closer. Casually she flicked her tail against her flank when they reached her and stopped. She could see he was a stallion and she titled her head in a silent greeting. Better a stallion than a mare she thought.
[attr="class","tcpost2-note"] sequoia notes;; whoops lolol but these two are gonna be fun!! art by: Cursed Lines 10
The lady did not speak as he drew nearer, merely tilted her head, something glimmering in those eyes. Well, that eye. One was clouded, a slash over it, that, as he could now see, rendered it useless. Whatever had glimmered there was long gone. A pity, but it piqued his interest. Had she lost her sight in battle? Was it there as punishment? Done it herself, perhaps? Accident or had it served a purpose? She stood but a stride away, flicked her tail, a sort of smile on her marred face. A sort of smile, because, well, it was closer to a smirk. The stallion huffed, shook out his mane, and gave her his own coy grin. Held her gaze.
A twinge of something in his cold heart, spreading its warmth into his limbs, into his head. He knew it well, this feeling, but hadn't felt it in some time. He hadn't come across anyone to make him feel it. Her eye revealed little of who she was, this copper creature in front of him. But what it did show him, he devoured. Wickedness, akin to his own, fiery and burning bright; the cunning kind of confidence that lead him to believe she had met her fair share of challenges and persevered. Made him wonder what kind of lover she was. Or did she love at all, at that. Showed him that there was a chance she didn't know how to, or had been robbed of what little she had. Enticed him to take a chance and see, mold him to his own brand of poison, feed her his toxin.
She had a mark on her forehead, a star in a sea of blood. Which she may as well be, considering the look in her eye. He wanted it. Not the marking of course, a trivial thing. Wanted the fire, wanted it for his own. He'd take it feed his flame. Or use it to burn everything down and rule over the ruins.
However, he'd have to keep in mind that too much backbone was never a good thing. He had no plans to bring a challenger to his home, no matter how pretty she was or how little a threat she could be. Never assume, it made horses cocky, helpless when someone pulled the rug. A beauty is there, but a beast is in the heart. Somewhere he knew that if he began this game, this dance, she would mirror his moves. But he also knew that like called to like. So be it.
You know, I don't like being rejected. So let's keep your death between you and me.
[attr="class","tcpost2-body"]
Unperturbed by the stallion's unwavering gaze, she matched his with a stare of her own. Her useless eye didn't blink as she took in his form now that he was standing in front of her. Black lips turned into a matching smirk and that told her everything she thought she needed to know about him. Arrogant or confident it didn't matter to her. He was a stallion and was probably like all the others who thought the world belonged to them. She was well practised in dealing with those who harbored that particular opinion.
His eyes were sharp and calculating and she wondered what thoughts were dancing through his mind as he took her in. Likely similar to her own she surmised. Two strangers who recognised the cunning in the other and were sizing each other up. If she was the type to care she might have thought he was somewhat handsome. His coat was well maintained and his form built instead of scrawny. The opposite of the last stallion she had crossed paths with at The Scourge. That sad creature had hardly been worth the breath she wasted speaking to him. No matter now. Typhoid had been quick to correct him. When words had fallen on deaf ears she had used force and the stranger had been quick to concede. She would never belong to anyone again and any who attempted she wouldn't hesitate to put them in their place. She could not be won. And if she did allow it? It was to meet her own ends, nothing more.
This stranger though was different. Clearly a new opponent she would have to tread carefully. She could hold her own in a fight but wasn't a fool. He could easily overpower her if he really wanted to she was sure. At his greeting her eyes narrowed if only slightly. Crimson ears flicked backward, showing her displeasure at the moniker. "I'm not your love," she bit out. Then forcing herself to return to neutral, ears turning back toward him and her tone softening, she replied.
"You may call me Typhoid for that is my name. And yours?"
The brute watched her reaction with an overexaggerated wince, flinching back mockingly, tail tucked in fear. So completely terrified. Ears pinned, eyes barely narrowed, flinty gaze upon his own, the mare snapped and he made a hasty retreat. "I'm not your love." Still miming fear, he stood motionless as she reigned in her temper, a nasty thing, but to be truly honest, his was probably nastier as he was about to demonstrate...
As soon as the mare finished, the stallion advanced, holding her glare-
At this point the two were chest to chest. An entirely uninvited invasion of personal space, at least for this crimson being who called herself Typhoid while Emrys merely stood, unmoving. She wasn't much shorter than him; he would've appreciated it immensely if she was, it would make everything a little bit more uncomfortable for her, as this was his ultimate goal. For but a second he'd seen whatever beast Typhoid kept locked down, apparently, and he wanted to see it again for some odd reason. Bullies want to see submission, yet they hunger for a fight, and this was his way.
"What you are, darling, is whatever I want you to be." Despite his disdain for anything that contested his attitude with their own, he wanted to see her riled. Because he was bored out of his mind and had nothing else on his agenda. Well, nothing else on his agenda that this slightly irritating mare could fill in, or so he thought. He was, simply put, a king with no subjects to rule over, and most could determine why. He was most likely to succeed in driving Typhoid away than earning any sort of interesting reaction from her.
Still he noted her earlier scan, her analytical glower. Usually others sized him up for...different reasons. It was plain to see that the mare was wondering if she could fight him off should he come too close, or pick a fight himself, both of which he was currently proving to do, should she be so courteous and kick him or something. He hadn't bothered to give her a look in return, he'd looked his fill from a safe distance.
"You may call me Emrys, for that is my name. Or anything else that inspires reverence, if you do so desire." An offering in return of her own title, and a boasting of his own neverending cockiness.
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Oxymelon Notes: hi! sorry to make you wait so long, ill try to be a little more consistent 400 words.
You know, I don't like being rejected. So let's keep your death between you and me.
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The buckskin stallion cowed before her at the retort, flinching back from the venom in her words. She almost rolled her eyes at the act, finding it suspicious. The way he had spoken to her, as though she already belonged to him, was not the tone of one who would cower so easily. A suspicious proven correct as just as soon as the thought had left her mind he had dropped the act and approached her in a charge.
Butting his chest agianst hers and pinning her gaze with a glare. Oh yes, this stallion was certainly exactly everything she had surmised he would be. Arrogant and a brute. Further cementing himself as such with his next words. Whatever he wanted her to be? How absurd. Perhaps if she was a lesser mare or creature. Easily subdued or intimidated. But if he wanted her to be the coward, the submissive lesser being, she could play her part.
With how vicious this stallion's tongue was she was sure that the interaction would end in violence if she chose any other response. How she loathed him in that moment. A hundred retorts bubbled to the surface of her thoughts and she had to quietly bite her tongue to hold them back. Who did he think he was to claim her? She did not belong to him, or to anyone other than herself. He would come to regret his choice, she told herself.
Struggling to maintain a neutral tone and not the biting anger that threatened to burst from her throat, she carefully stepped back from him. "Emrys," she tried the name on her tongue. It was short, a single syllable but the word tasted dirty in her mouth. Feigning a smile, or her best attempt at one, she moved in a circle around him as though she were admiring the shine of his coat. "Reverence? Why are you one who deserves my reverence?" she asked, tone one of innocent inquiry.
[attr="class","tcpost2-note"] sequoia notes;; no worries!! and same <3 these two together are SO much fun lolol art by: Cursed Lines 10
