#riders of fallen dawn

[dark-rider-pr]

Zombie Apocalypse: Sabine Redesign

[bellassoblr]

the girlies horses!! One tags along while the other fights back.

[askefrueee3]

Joining the Riders of the Fallen Dawn OC event, I present to you my first OC redesigned for it.

Riders of the Fallen Dawn event by @dark-rider-pr

Gerda

Before the outbreak, she used to be the champion of Pine Hill Stables, with her career steadily progressing after winning the Decker's Horse Show. After Sands decided to form the Dino Valley community, Gerda rushes to organize a proper move of the horses and resources from the PH stables on his order. Quite quickly she becomes one of the main technicians of the Valley, and definitely one of the most universally skilled. She is close with Sands, so often she is one of the first to know newest orders or even inform him of the issues at the base. Some of her choices may seem frivolous at first, but ultimately turn out quite insightful, for example she makes sure all possible horse blankets are stocked in numbers as high as possible, which later proves useful in the harsh climate of the valley, especially since they can also be repurposed to keep not only horses, but also people, warm. As for now, she is concerned, or simply anxious, about the possibility of water becoming infected, either by Silversong River floating into the DV water unclear, or by the burials of executed infected at the base. Due to more complicated lore reasons (which I will highlight in future post soon!), she wields some fragmentarised Vala magic/ energy, thus to ensure safety, she had to give up all her magic since the outbreak. As with other magic users, this stirs up illness in her body- which leads to constant, at first, cold, then, pneumonia- like symptoms and lacking blood flow to hands and feet. (which turn her skin slightly blueish there - mirroring Vala's looks) She tries to completely hide her illness from anyone, at this point, and continues her duties. She hides her weakness especially well from Sands. Gerda can be found most often by accompanied by at least one of her two horses- Ares and Sunrise Glory. Feel free to ask for her if you need any help with your horses, especially if you return to the Dino Valley from the outside world :DDD

[sso-montana]

Aideen's Curse

here a visual representation of the zombie virus for the AU event by @dark-rider-pr (the written guide is going to be posted by them)

again thank you so so much for allowing me to do this, it was a lot of fun drawing that and I hope everyone likes it ヾ(・ω・*)

[revengehorse]

no idea if i did this right, but:

Chrys Doe

a redesign for RoFD: a SSO zombie apocalypse AU

- - - - -

Not player character/MC Chrys (she doesn’t/didn’t have powers in this)

Chrys lived in Cape West before the outbreak, but quickly fled to the mountain close by. She isn’t a part of a community, but she occasionally interacts with/helps other communities. Her Shire horse Solis helps her to quickly escape from approaching hordes.

@dark-rider-pr

[paigeswiftsea]

hi guys i decided to stop being a pussy and upload my writing for riders of fallen dawn (:

content warning: graphic depictions of violence and death, cursing, angsty??

wc: 2.9k

"Fuck," Blaire cursed under her breath, smacking the side of her head as her hearing aid sputtered again. The static crackled briefly before fading into silence, signaling its inevitable end. She had known for days that it was going to give out soon—she’d pushed it far beyond its limits. But out here, every piece of equipment was a lifeline, and she couldn’t afford to let it go. Not yet.

Sitting up from her resting spot beneath the twisted remains of an old oak tree, she wiped the dirt off her jacket, though she knew it was a pointless gesture. Filth was a constant companion now. It clung to her clothes, her skin, and her soul. There was no time for showers—there hadn’t been for months. The luxury of a bath was a risk she couldn’t take. The lakes and rivers weren’t safe, and the ocean wasn’t an option either. People had become scavengers. Even a moment of distraction, like bathing, could mean losing her supplies or worse—losing her life.

Blaire winced as she stretched her stiff limbs, groaning softly as her muscles protested. She’d been holed up in the same spot for five days now, far longer than she usually stayed anywhere. It was time to move again. The urge to keep moving, to stay ahead of the dangers that lurked in every shadow, gnawed at her. She couldn’t risk getting too comfortable. Comfort was a thing of the past.

Glancing at the horizon, she noted how the light was fading into the dull gray of dusk. The days in Jorvik seemed shorter now, time bleeding together in a haze of survival. She grabbed her backpack, its weight reassuring as she slung it over her shoulder. The familiar clink of supplies inside was a small comfort in an otherwise chaotic world.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Blaire had always envisioned her life at the stables, her days filled with the familiar rhythm of caring for the horses, of teaching new riders, of sunsets over the peaceful Moorland hills. But when the infection hit, everything had crumbled faster than she could have imagined.

She hadn’t planned to be alone, but that’s how it had turned out. Cities and towns had fallen within days, the infected spreading like wildfire, tearing through everything and everyone. When the chaos reached Jorvik, Blaire had fled Moorland Stables. Populated places became death traps, and her instincts had told her to run—to survive.

While most had flocked to Fort Pinta, now fortified into an actual stronghold, Blaire made a different choice. She hadn’t wanted to depend on anyone else, and in a world where survival meant looking out for yourself first, she couldn’t afford the weight of someone else’s life. So, she’d taken Storm, her loyal horse, and left behind the only semblance of home she’d ever known.

Storm had saved her life more times than she could count. His agility, his speed—they were her only real advantages out here. Together, they moved across the ever-dangerous landscape of Jorvik, always on the lookout for supplies and avoiding the growing hordes of infected that wandered through the hills and forests. And, of course, they avoided other survivors. Blaire had learned quickly that people were often more dangerous than the undead.

The world was a wasteland now, and every day was a fight to stay alive. Her hearing aid’s battery was nearly dead, and without it, the world would fall into a muffled, distorted quiet—dangerous in a place where sound could mean the difference between life and death. She needed to find another one, but that wasn’t exactly easy. She let out a long sigh, brushing her hand over her short-cropped hair, now darker after months without maintenance. Its natural curls were starting to come back, unruly and wild, but manageable enough to keep tied up out of her face.

Her wrist throbbed slightly as she adjusted the wrap she wore for support. She’d injured it months ago in a bad fall, and the endless travel, harsh weather, and constant physical strain had never allowed it to heal properly. The bandage was as much a mental reassurance as it was physical, reminding her to take things slow when her body screamed at her to stop altogether.

Glancing down, Blaire checked the dagger she kept tucked into her boot, one of the few weapons she had left. It wasn’t much, but it had been with her through countless close encounters—human and infected alike. Her cargo pants were full, as always, packed with whatever she could scavenge: food, tools, medical supplies. Whatever she couldn’t fit in her bag went in the pockets, her hands often brushing against the comforting bulk of the knife as she moved.

The forest around her was silent now, the distant moans of the infected barely audible on the wind. It wasn’t safe here anymore. It never really had been, but the stillness around her told her it was time to go. She clicked her tongue, a soft signal, and soon Storm appeared through the trees, his dark coat blending with the shadows of the encroaching night.

"Another night on the move, boy," she murmured, patting his neck as she grabbed the reins. His breath huffed in response, a cloud of warmth in the cool evening air.

Blaire knew this life couldn’t go on forever. Supplies were running low, and each day brought new dangers. But for now, it was just her and Storm against the world. She gave one last glance at the desolate landscape behind her before nudging him forward, their footsteps lost in the thick silence of the forest.

Survival was all she had left, and she'd keep moving until there was nothing left to fight for.

As Blaire made her way through the dense woods of Firgrove Mountains, her steps were cautious, her eyes darting around the rugged terrain for signs of life—or death. The forest was eerily quiet, save for the occasional rustle of leaves or the creak of ancient branches. Her hearing aid sputtered in and out, frustrating her more than usual. She slapped it once, hoping the jolt would keep it alive for a few more days.

"Damn it," she cursed under her breath. She knew the hearing aid wouldn’t last much longer, and with everything else she had to worry about, this was one more thing that weighed on her.

The ache in her limbs reminded her that she had been on the move for days now. Her legs felt like lead, and every muscle screamed for rest. When she spotted the entrance to a cave nestled between the jagged cliffs of Firgrove, a sense of relief washed over her. A cave would at least offer shelter from the biting cold and a place to regroup. As she approached, she unsheathed the dagger from her boot—one of the few weapons she had left that could truly help her.

Inside, the cave was dark, but that didn’t bother her much. Blaire’s night vision had become almost second nature after months of surviving in the wild. She moved cautiously, pressing her back against the wall and straining to hear beyond the static of her dying hearing aid.

Suddenly, a sound—low and guttural—echoed through the cave. Blaire froze, her heart racing. The infected. She knew that noise well. Before she could react, something lunged at her from the shadows. A decaying hand grabbed at her vest, tearing fabric as she stumbled backward.

The infected man—no, creature—was in stage 3, fully turned. Its once-human eyes were now glassy, and its skin clung tightly to its bones. Blaire slashed at it with her dagger, but the zombie barely flinched. It was fast for something that was supposed to be dead.

Thinking quickly, she ducked to avoid its grasp, slicing at the creature’s head as she rolled across the floor of the cave. It snarled, but the attack wasn’t enough to stop it. Blaire scrambled to her feet and kicked hard, sending the infected stumbling backward into the cave wall. She took the opportunity to plunge her dagger into its skull. The sickening sound of cracking bone echoed through the cavern as the zombie collapsed, finally still.

Panting heavily, Blaire wiped the blood from her blade on her cargos. Her hands trembled as she caught her breath, the rush of adrenaline slowly fading.

She knew this cave wouldn’t be safe anymore. The noise would have attracted others. Gathering her supplies, Blaire packed quickly, her mind racing. She had heard about the virus—the cursed plague born from the ancient magic of Jorvik. It consumed magic first, but in its absence, it would devour anything that moved. If she lingered, more would come, and they wouldn’t all be slow.

She mounted Storm, the horse stamping the ground, sensing her unease. With a soft pat on Storm's neck, she whispered, "Let’s get out of here."

The world had turned into a hellish landscape, and the cursed infected roamed the land like predators, waiting for the next meal. Blaire had seen the stages of infection, watched as friends were consumed by the virus.

With Storm beneath her and her supplies secure, Blaire urged the horse onward. She knew she had to keep moving, away from the cave, away from the infected. Surviving wasn’t about winning; it was about staying one step ahead of death.

As they moved through the mountains, she couldn’t help but glance behind her, knowing that the apocalypse had brought more than just ruin—it had brought something much worse. Something she might never escape.

Blaire and Storm pressed forward through the dense forest of the Firgrove Mountains, the air thick with tension. The path ahead was uneven and scattered with debris, but Storm’s hooves were steady, navigating the rocky terrain with a grace that only a Soul Steed could possess. Blaire’s mind raced, her thoughts flickering between survival strategies and the terrifying reality of what was chasing her.

The infected had evolved—becoming faster, more aggressive. She couldn’t stay in one place for long without risking an encounter like the one she’d just escaped. Every second counted. She had to find a safe route out of the mountains, or at least somewhere defensible where she could figure out her next move.

As they reached a small clearing, Blaire pulled Storm to a stop. She needed to think, to reassess her options. The horizon was painted with the fading colors of sunset, casting an ominous glow over the landscape. The mountains, once majestic, now felt like a prison of rock and shadow. She couldn’t help but wonder how long she could keep this up—how long before she, too, succumbed to the curse that had ravaged the land.

Suddenly, a distant scream echoed through the valley.

Blaire tensed, her hand instinctively going to the hilt of her dagger. She scanned the area, listening intently, but all she could hear was the faint static from her malfunctioning hearing aid. She adjusted it, hoping to catch any signs of movement, but the device sputtered and failed once again. Frustrated, she yanked it out, tossing it aside. She could no longer afford to rely on broken technology.

The scream had come from somewhere further ahead—maybe even down the mountain path. Was it another survivor? Or worse, someone who was already in the early stages of infection? Either way, Blaire felt a pull to investigate. If someone was still alive, they could have information or supplies, and in a world as broken as this, any help was worth the risk.

She guided Storm slowly toward the direction of the scream, every muscle in her body on high alert. As they descended, the terrain became steeper, the trees closing in like a wall of twisted limbs. Blaire’s instincts screamed at her to turn back, but something pushed her onward.

After several tense minutes, they emerged from the thick woods to find a narrow gorge. At the bottom of the gorge, the remnants of what had once been a small caravan lay scattered—wagons overturned, supplies strewn across the ground, and no sign of life. Blaire dismounted, her breath catching in her throat as she approached the wreckage. Her hand tightened around her dagger.

As she knelt beside one of the wagons, examining the broken supplies, she noticed fresh blood smeared across the ground. The realization hit her hard: the scream she’d heard was likely the final moments of someone’s life.

Suddenly, a noise—a faint shuffle of movement from behind one of the overturned carts. Blaire sprang to her feet, dagger in hand, as a figure staggered into view. It was a young woman, covered in dirt and blood, her eyes wild with fear. Blaire immediately recognized the telltale signs: purple veins creeping up the woman’s neck, the shallow breaths, the glossy sheen of sweat. Stage 1.

“No… stay back!” the woman cried, stumbling over her own feet as she tried to flee, her voice weak and broken.

Blaire approached cautiously, lowering her dagger slightly but keeping her distance. “You’re infected,” she said softly. It wasn’t a question. She could see it—how the curse had already begun its work. The woman’s bite wound was on her arm, the flesh already blackened around the edges. She was past saving.

“I— I don’t want to die like this,” the woman whispered, tears streaming down her face. “Please… you have to end it before it’s too late.”

Blaire’s chest tightened. She had seen this before, too many times. The fear in the woman’s eyes, the desperation to escape the inevitable. She wanted to refuse, to say no, but she knew what would happen if she left the woman to turn.

Without a word, Blaire nodded, her jaw clenched as she steeled herself. She stepped forward, lifting her dagger. The woman closed her eyes, trembling as she waited for the end. Blaire’s heart pounded in her ears, her pulse quickening as she took one last breath and brought the blade down.

The silence that followed was deafening.

Blaire wiped her blade on her sleeve, her hands shaking as she stepped away from the body. There was no time to dwell on it—no time to let the weight of her actions sink in. She had to keep moving. The infected would smell the blood soon, and they would come.

Mounting Storm once again, Blaire turned away from the gorge, the darkness closing in around her. She pushed onward, riding faster now, her mind reeling from what she’d just done. It never got easier—taking a life, even to save someone from a fate worse than death.

Mounting Storm once again, Blaire turned away from the gorge, the darkness closing in around her. She pushed onward, urging Storm to pick up speed, her mind spinning with the weight of what she’d just done. Taking a life, even in mercy, never got easier. Yet it was part of the harsh reality she now faced daily.

After riding for what felt like hours, Blaire and Storm came upon a small clearing, sparsely dotted with twisted, darkened trees. The area seemed deserted, its silence an eerie comfort. After scouting the perimeter and deciding it was safe enough, Blaire dismounted, carefully removing the gear from Storm’s back. She gave him a gentle pat, whispering soothing words as he began to graze on the sparse patches of grass. At least he could find some semblance of peace, even if it was temporary.

Blaire debated starting a fire, but there wasn’t much food left in her pack—just a few stale pieces of bread and a canteen that was barely a quarter full. The risk of attracting the infected outweighed the small comfort of warmth. Instead, she settled on a different plan. She needed sleep, even if only a few hours, but couldn’t afford to be defenseless on the ground.

With practiced efficiency, she climbed up one of the thicker trees, using the low branches to haul herself up to a sturdy limb. The branch was wide enough to sit on, and she pulled a length of rope from her bag, tying herself securely against the trunk. She let out a weary sigh as she adjusted her position, leaning back against the rough bark. Her muscles ached, and exhaustion pressed heavily on her.

From her perch, Blaire had a decent view of the clearing and a bit of the surrounding forest, allowing her to watch for any movement below. She scanned the shadows, her eyes sharp for any hint of the undead. But tonight, it seemed, she was alone. A rare blessing.

She wrapped her arms around herself, pulling her jacket tighter as the chill of the night set in. Her thoughts drifted as she let her eyes close briefly, her mind flickering back to what life was like before the curse took over. Memories of bustling days at Moorland Stables, the laughter of friends, and the gentle warmth of sunrise were ghosts now, haunting her with what she’d lost.

Sleep claimed her in short, restless intervals, broken by every rustle of the wind or snap of a branch. The peace she craved was elusive, chased away by the lingering fear of an attack. She knew better than to expect real rest, but up there in the tree, with Storm grazing below and the stars faintly visible through the gaps in the leaves, she allowed herself a sliver of hope—a hope that, somewhere out there, a cure might exist or that someday, this nightmare might end.

Until then, she would continue her lonely journey through the apocalypse, fighting each day to survive. And with her loyal horse by her side, maybe she’d find a reason to believe that life, despite the horrors around her, was still worth clinging to.

[carolina-nightjar]

Carolina came to Jorvik to study Pandoric activity. When the apocalypse started, her home was ransacked, so she's been camping in the Firgrove Mountains.

She's considering going to the Valley Community for help, as she's not sure how much longer she can last by herself. She also wants to make sure that Grace stays safe. Hopefully they'll let at least one of them in...

[alinasteelcrest]

Alina's been wandering on her own for a few months now.

Well, "on her own" isn't exactly accurate- She has her horse and his dog for companions, and they've been good ones. She's not sure she'd have made it this far without them.

She dearly misses the rest of their family that they had to leave behind. It was for the best, but that doesn't make it any easier. All she can hope is that, one day, this will all be over, and she and Shoji will get to see his foals again.

And if there's no sign of this apocalypse ending, or even getting easier... maybe she'll go home, anyway.

Last time anyone saw her, she was headed for the Wildwoods. Maybe she made it, or maybe she turned around and headed somewhere else. Who's to say?

[corneliafogwell]

Most importantly: @stable-gremlin made the sheet for me (I've only written the lore tidbits) and I genuinely could not be happier🥹 Cornelia looks just how I imagined and what I had in mind when I wrote with her. Thank you SO SO much and much love to you 🫶🫶🫶

Cornelia Fogwell

Ever since she reawakened as a vampire, she's been part of the Valley Community. As a Valedale druid surviving ("surviving" haha), Cornelia became a technician, and often helps with patrols around the Dino Valley and taking care of injured riding parties. That is where she, still being a vampire after all, also feeds, mostly on one deadly injured person, while healing other deadly injured and helping them survive, so that in total, more people survive than they would without her presence.

Cornelia often feels guilty about her doings. She keeps two books, one specific to her vampire information, and the second a collection of notes to every day where she knew if something and what happened.

She was originally a passionate birder working for the wildlife preservation centre in Hollow Woods. As a druid Cornelia possesses healing magic which is the only thing that can soothe her guilt when she uses it.

@dark-rider-pr

[iskell]

I decided to join the fun :>

[dark-rider-pr]

Zombie Apocalypse AU: Katja Redesign

[bellassoblr]

Bella, the once successful druid honed in to the sun circles magic, was at first stranded in Golden Hills. Well, stranded isn't really the right word, her home was there. She helped anywhere she could, becoming one of the more reliable people in the community, despite her worsening mood and overall declining health. And so, one day, she simply vanished from the village. Now she travels alone, save for her steed, Seto. She's since ceased suppressing her magical nature, and refuses to hide it again. While her physical health recovered, her mental state seems to be far gone, seeing herself as an "executioner," attacking quite literally everything she comes across, zombie or not. It's almost like she believes she can single-handedly bring this apocalypse to an end. Some believe she stopped being Bella a long time ago, some argue she was turned all those weeks ago and only has a sliver of her ghost guiding the shell of who she was, some believe she's a grim reaper. Truth is, she's just lost her mind. It's a miracle she's still standing.

Rowan is a little less extreme. She was on a business trip to Jorvik Stables during the initial outbreak, and is therefore stationed in Jarlaheim. As she used to work with Farah in crafting, and had started to learn the basics of the moon circle, they became responsible for gathering materials and crafting resources. Normally, Rowan is a nervous wreck, but their sense of duty and desperate need to be helpful is keeping their mind in check. Somewhat, at least. They'll push herself to leave the safety of the walls to help the community. She'll also happily skip the next patrol by mending clothes and reinforcing defenses. At first she just wanted to survive. Then she wanted to help. Now, they just want this madness to end. Lately, as Jarlaheims resources are dwindling, they've been thinking of leaving the community and travelling to the Dark Riders in the Valley, to help them figure out a way to find a cure, or anything, to make everything go back to normal. She just wants things to go back to normal.

am i late out? maybe. did i want to do this anyway? yeah.

[coyote-catcher]

riders of the fallen dawn stuff looks so kewl... i wanna get in on it....

[sso-montana]

Undead

Word Count: 4k Rating: Mature Warnings: explicit descriptions of violence, lots of violence, like seriously, blood, injury, attempted cannibalism ?, the horrors of turning into a vampire, gremlin I am sorry for doing this to Sabine

@dark-rider-pr

Montana knew this had been her idea. She was the one who had come up to Sabine with the proposal, the idea of being the one to give her the potion after she turned. Was she still mad at the Dark Rider for attacking her back then? Yeah. Was she still furious about the claw marks that now covered the lower half of her face? Fucking hell she was. If it hadn’t been for doctor Eiren and druid medicine who knew how long she would’ve had to deal with the wound reopening (not to mention the risk of it getting infected out in the wild).

But the memories of her first feed, the terror and realization of what she had done, of seeing Judy’s torn up body and lifeless eyes and the taste of blood in her mouth, were even more vivid. It was burned into her brain, a shiver running down her back every time she thought back to it. 

No one should have to go through that, not even someone like Sabine. Being lucid while feeding on a person was one thing, it was a whole different ordeal if you couldn’t control yourself. To be trapped in your own brain, aware of what you were doing and how you were acting, to feel your teeth and claws rip at flesh and arteries. Screaming and begging with your body to stop and still being unable to compose yourself even the tiniest bit because of the gnawing hunger and primal instincts that didn’t feel like yourself- 

Shaking her head the former blacksmith turned her focus back on to the potion brewing in the small pot in front of her. Cornelia had been kind enough to let her make a copy of the recipe that witch- Sive- had given the other vampires. The news that there was a potion, a supplement for the blood, had been the best news Montana had heard in weeks (even if her first reaction had been to be mad over the fact that all these months she could’ve just been drinking a damn potion instead of having to feed on humans). During the first four days in their little safe-space (which would not be safe at all once Sabine woke up again, it was more so to keep the outside safe from them) she had taken to stashing bottle after bottle of supplement around the circle. Always in pairs of two and a certain distance away from each other. It was the closest thing she had to a strategy; dump two bottles down Sabine’s throat and go for the next pair. Jay had explained how for Lisa, who had been in hibernation when they found her, a total of four bottles had been needed. 

“Let’s go with six. Although you better have some more ready, just to be sure.” 

They were right, of course. There was no chance in hell that Montana would be able to get six whole bottles down Sabine’s throat before she would start fighting back. The Dark Rider was already a ruthless fighter without the addition of "vampire’s first feed" feral. Bloodshed was a certainty and not because of the fact that she’d have to somehow keep the other girl somewhat still. 

Sabine had gotten infected while they were feeding Anne, Cornelia had lost two fingers to Lisa and neither of them had been alone while going up against the feral vampires. Montana had no one but her axe and anger once the Dark Rider woke up. Which was just fine for her. Not that there were many other viable options other than her; Katja and Jay were still suppressing their magic (plus Sabine was their sister), Cornelia had already been injured before. Lisa wasn’t the type of person to do something like this, there was no chance in hell Sabine would allow Florence to and Anne was Aideen-Knows-Where. This way no one else but her would have to risk getting hurt or even killed while going up against a Dark Rider.

A feral, hungry Dark-Rider-Vampire that was a foot taller than her and would be out for blood. She could almost hear Justin’s voice in her head yelling at her that ‘that’s not a plan, that’s a suicide mission!’ 

Yeah, not telling him about this had been for the best.

As the liquid inside the pot bubbled she let out a groan before turning around and looking over to where Sabine had curled up. The Rider looked exactly like a stage four zombie; eyes and cheeks were sunken in, her body nothing more than a skeleton covered by a thin layer of unnatural, purple skin. A few wefts of hair were still clinging to her skull while the rest had fallen out over the course of the past two weeks. 

It wouldn’t be long until she woke up again, until they could finally leave this damn circle. The fight that was slowly creeping closer as the minutes ticked by wasn’t what was making her restless. It wasn’t the cold or being separated from Onyx or even being stuck together with Sabine (though, granted, it wasn’t like the two of them had been able to hold much of a conversation).

But being confined to a tiny circle in the middle of nowhere with nothing to do but sit around and cook what was essentially soup? That part was, perhaps, making her a little restless. (And yes, the space Jay had made for them wasn’t small per se, but after spending months out in the open having to be stuck in a single area was driving her up the invisible walls).

ॱ⋅.˳˳.⋅˙ॱᐧ.˳˳.⋅ઇଓ

Montana had been staring at Sabine’s unmoving form for at least an hour when the first sign of life came. The growl had been low, quiet. Something that could easily be chucked up to one's imagination if it came out of nowhere. Not if that someone had spent the last few months in a constant state of survival mode with the added bonus of enhanced hearing. 

Eyes fixed on the corpse- vampire? undead person?-  lying on the other side of the circle the former blacksmith stuck her axe into the ground, the wooden handle facing towards the direction of the Dark Rider. With two bottles of potion held in one hand she started walking towards Sabine, fluffy snow crunching beneath her boots as the blizzard around her seemed to grow stronger. Despite what every fiber in her body told her she kept a slow and steady pace. Alerting the Dark Rider right at the start of their fight and risking sending her into an early rampage would only complicate things. The former blacksmith apprentice had to use the window of time she had between Sabine regaining consciousness and going feral to get as many potions as possible down the others throat. After that nothing was certain. 

Still, she had made a promise. 

Once only a few feet separated them Montana started to uncap the first of the bottles, magenta eyes never leaving the quivering, gurgling form of Sabine. The second, still closed potion was dropped in the snow before the former blacksmith apprentice rolled the Dark Rider onto her back. Her chest, all skin and bones, was heaving in slow motion. Eyes, soulless and emitting a faint glow the same color as her own irises, staring right at her. The knowledge that at some point she herself had looked like this sent a shiver down her spine.

Not wanting to waste another second Montana kneeled beside Sabine’s head, pinching her nose and pressing the bottle of supplement against her lips. Its contents quickly flowed down the other’s throat as her swallow reflex set in. The bony chest was starting to rise more frequently, more rhythmically.

‘Better hurry this up’ 

Discarding the empty bottle somewhere in the snow the former blacksmith reached for the next one. The movements were almost mechanical. Open the lid, press it against her lips. Watch out for any form of movement. With each gulp of liquid going down Sabine’s throat her heart started beating faster in anticipation of something. 

Half the potion was gone before the Dark Rider’s eyes widened. Arms and legs, albeit slow and clunky, started to move. Montana cursed under her breath. With a quick motion she shifted her position, moving one of her legs over and across Sabine’s shoulder and collarbone while the other one stayed on the snow-covered ground. Bony hands started clawing at her legs and torso as the Dark Rider started to regain more control over her limbs. Sharp collar bones dug into her shin, sending wave after wave of pain through Montana’s body.

As soon as the second potion had been downed and the bottle removed a bat-like scream tore through the air. Had she not removed her hand quickly enough it most likely would’ve met the same fate as Cornelia’s had. The struggle beneath her leg grew as the potion did what was its job, help Sabine recover. Unfortunately for Montana the other’s mind, unlike her physical strength, would only return once the feed had been completed. 

Time was running out and quicker than she had expected. 

The next batch of potions wasn’t too far away. Using Sabine’s chest as a stepping stool and causing a screech to leave the vampire's lips, which she definitely did not smirk at, no no, Montana scrambled to her feet. 

Her heart was pounding like crazy, the blood pulsing in her veins warming her up enough to no longer feel the biting cold of the blizzard around them. Only a couple more steps. Behind her Sabine was screaming.

Just as she was about to reach the bottles something sharp dug into her leg, piercing through fabric and skin. She cried out in pain before being violently pulled to the ground. Her face smashed into the cold snow, a muffled groan leaving her lips as her forehead and nose collided with the frozen soil. Quickly reaching out with one of her hands her fingertips almost brushed against one of the bottles before the distance between them grew again.

‘Shit!’  

Dirt and stones were scraping across her face as the claw on her leg dragged her backwards. Behind her the gurgling and uncanny sounds that sounded a lot like incoherent zombie blubbering grew louder. Her foot hit something solid, bone-like and Montana took it as her cue to turn the fuck around. Twisting her upper body she got a perfectly good look at one of Sabine’s hands digging into her left calf as the other was reaching for her other leg. 

“Fuck off!” With as much force as she could muster she kicked the heel of her right boot up against a bony jaw. Another kick followed, this time straight into the middle of Sabine’s face. It took two more of those before she could finally pull her leg free from the claw. 

Ignoring the stinging pain in her calf Montana decided against going for the closer potions, instead sprinting towards the direction of her axe. She couldn’t get another potion down, not without a proper weapon by her side for defense. And while the knives on her were pretty useful in certain situations they wouldn’t be of much help in this one.

Hearing the screaming behind her Montana managed to turn around just in time to evade an attack aimed directly at her face. A stretched out claw nearly grazed her cheek as Sabine’s malnourished form stumbled past her, barely managing to stay on her feet as she did so. With the Dark Rider trying to regain her balance it gave the former blacksmith apprentice enough time to raise her balled fists in anticipation, fuchsia colored flames engulfing her hands. 

As the Dark Rider turned around to face her again their face was met with a fist of fire. Two, three, four times. Each time Montana’s knuckles connected with her opponent's skull she could feel the pain sending shockwaves through her entire body. On the fifth punch Sabine finally fell backwards.

Extinguishing the flames, the former blacksmith apprentice continued her run towards her camp. Her knuckles felt like they were on fire, scratched open and bleeding from repeatedly hitting against what was essentially pure bones. There was a roar this time, guttural and angry and heading in her direction.

She really had pissed her off now.

Grabbing one of the nearest bottles and stashing it away in the pocket strapped to her thigh, Montana pulled her axe out of the ground, its metal blade glistening in the afternoon sun.

Sabine was half running, half crawling towards her like some weird cryptid-type-shit monster while screaming like a banshee. 

The smaller vampire shifted her grip on the weapon, wrapping both hands around the wooden handle as she got into position. She dropped her shoulders, eyes narrowing at the rapidly approaching form of Sabine, raising her harms and- 

There was a loud clang ringing through the air as the flat side of the metal blade collided with Sabine’s bony cheek. The Dark Rider’s body was thrown to the side, landing face first in the snow, unmoving.

In a matter of seconds Montana had jumped on the others back, slamming the axe into the ground beside them before pressing her full weight down on her shoulder blades. She pulled at the remaining hair on the other’s head, ignoring the ear-ringing screaming and lifting the skull just enough to wrap her legs around a thin neck. Her legs were propping up Sabine’s head while her free hand pinched and pulled at her nose. Pulling out the bottle and opening it with one hand she waited for another scream to leave the Rider’s lips before pressing the bottle against them.

Staying somewhat stable atop of Sabine’s restless form turned out to be more of a challenge than she had anticipated. Her legs tightened around the others neck as the other vampire shifted beneath her, clawing at the ground and moving her legs- 

The realization of what her opponent was trying to do came too late. Sabine was already standing up, albeit hunched over, before the last drop of the potion left the bottle. Claws tore open more of Montana’s pants and the skin on her legs. She was holding onto wefts of hair and bony shoulders for dear life as Sabine trashed from side to side, screaming and roaring like a wild animal. 

In the end her attempts to cling onto her were futile. Even in this form the Dark Rider was still a foot taller than her with the added difficulty of not offering much to hang on to. 

Montana was thrown off, her body flying through the air before hitting the ground once, twice. She gasped, ears ringing and limbs aching as she tried to get back on her feet. ‘Keep going, keep going. You can’t waste time.’ 

Axe. She needed her axe. It wasn’t too far away.

Neither was Sabine. 

With another scream the vampire lunged at her. There wasn’t enough time to move out the way. Both vampires rolled through the snow. The Dark Rider was going for her head, claws pressing her shoulders into the hard ground as fangs tried to get a bite out of her face. 

Dodging the attacks (which was just moving her head from side to side) the girl reached for the knife strapped to her thigh. Once she got a hold of the blade she pulled it out of its pocket before ramming it into the other’s side. With as much pressure as she could she dug it as deep as her strength and position allowed for, twisting it around before removing it and repeating the action below the first stab wound. Sabine cried out in pain, one of her claws leaving Montana’s shoulder and trying to get a hold of the hand that was attacking her. With one of her shoulders freed the former blacksmith apprentice used her chance and flipped them both over. The knife was rammed into the middle of Sabine’s ribcage who in turn fully let go of the smaller girl. 

Even with her unsteady legs Montana managed to get to her axe before the Dark Rider recovered enough to get on their feet. 

Three potions. She had already managed to get three down. Just three more. 

No biggy. Not at all.

She eyed the pair of bottles closest to her before turning back to look at Sabine, scrambling back onto her feet and screaming and screeching at her. Montana changed the grip on her weapon as the feral vampire started running towards her once again, the knife still embedded in the middle of her chest. 

She couldn’t kill her. That would defeat the whole purpose of this, not to mention what Dark Core would do if they found out she had killed one of her Dark Riders.

Dropping to her knees just before the Rider had a chance to get a grip on her she rammed the shorter side of the axe into their shin and immediately pulled it out again. 

It wasn’t deep enough to sever the leg, just a flesh wound to slow the other down (she might be suicidal but not crazy enough that she’d want to experience Florences’ wrath for cutting off her partners limbs). 

Sabine toppled over her, crashing face-first into the snow while screaming in agony. In a matter of seconds Montana dove over to the potions stashed in the snow. Behind her the Dark Rider was already crawling towards her, snow and dirty flying through the air as she did. The last few meters were a half-walk-half-crawl attempt from Sabines side before she once again lunged directly at her face.

One of her hands which had been holding a bottle of supplement came up as a reflex and this time it was Montana's turn to cry out in pain. Fangs pierced through cloth and flesh, digging into muscles and threatening to crush the bones of her forearm.

Reaching for the knife still stuck in the other's chest, which had disappeared almost completely between skin and bones due to her fall, the smaller girl pulled it out before ramming it back into purple skin, aiming for the patch of skin between shoulder and collar bone. She gritted her teeth, twisting the knife around the wound and, finally, her arm was freed. Putting all her energy behind it Montana kicked her leg up and against Sabine’s side, sending her to the ground, right next to the second potion.

Her foot slammed down on the vampire's chest, pushing her flat against the snow before dropping down to her knees. One hand quickly pinched the Riders nose as the other uncapped the bottle, pressing it against her lips. Nails scratched against her legs and torso causing her to let out a pained hiss. 

The empty bottle was thrown away, lost somewhere among the mix of white and red snow, Montana’s hand immediately reaching for the next potion. She just so managed to avoid having her arm chomped on a second time before thrusting the next bottle against Sabine’s lips. ‘One more. Just one more’ The thought kept pinging around her head as the second bottle was emptied. She had to hurry, had to get to another stack of potions, fast. Just as soon as she had stood up Sabine had scrambled to go after her. Something pierced her leg again, a scream ,not unlike the ones from Sabine, leaving her lips as teeth and fangs bore into her calf. Without thinking too much about it Montana turned around, grabbing her axe and swinging it at Sabine’s side. The metal pierced through skin and flesh, a scream that almost made her blood freeze ringing through the air. 

This was fine. It would be fine. They had Lisa and Cornelia and Florence. They could patch up Sabine.

Leaving the weapon stuck in the bigger vampire’s side the former blacksmith apprentice made a run for the nearest potion stack, picking up both bottles just in case. One was put into her pocket, the other she kept in her hand.

As she sprinted back to where Sabine was kneeling on the ground her free hand reached for her axe and pulled it out the Ridere’s side. The unopened potion was put between her teeth in order to wrap both hands around the wooden handle. She raised her leg, the sole of her boot colliding with the Rider’s chest as she kicked her opponent flat onto their back.  

Heart racing she swung the weapon down. 

The scream that followed as metal pierce through skin and bones would’ve sent birds flying if there were any. Sabine was struggling against the blade, screeching as the more she moved the deeper the metal cut into her shoulder. It had cut through flesh and bone, going straight through her shoulder and into the snow-covered ground.

Sabine was effectively pinned down. 

Montana’s hands shook slightly as she uncapped the bottle, squatting down beside the raving vampire and pinching her nose. One of her knees dropped to the ground as her other leg pressed against the pierced shoulder. An almost perfect mirror of the position she had used to get the second potion down her throat. As soon as another scream tore through the air the girl pressed the bottle against Sabine’s lips. 

Once the last drop of liquid was gone Montana removed the bottle, standing up on shaky legs and simply letting the glass fall from her hands. Her whole body was trembling. Heart racing. ‘This was enough, right?’

The next scream that tore through the air pulled her back to reality. She hurried to pull the axe out of the Rider’s shoulder, the cry cutting through the forest as soon as the metal was removed being more reminiscent of a wounded animal than a human being. 

Which they weren’t. They weren’t human beings, why should they sound like them? 

Panting from exhaustion she started to back away from Sabine, dropping her axe only a couple meters away while her shaking legs carried her a bit further. She watched as Sabine cried and screamed, curling up on her side as the red area around her shoulder grew bigger.

The Dark Rider wasn’t going after her anymore, that meant the supplement must’ve been enough.

Right? 

Only after the axe marked a sort of halfway point between the two vampires did she allow herself to collapse in the snow. The purple seemed to slowly fade from Sabine’s skin.

The freezing winds cutting across the bite wounds on her leg and arm weren’t even half as bad as what she had done to Sabine but god, did they still hurt like a bitch. She was faintly aware of the claw marks scattered across her body, though they were only a dull ache compared to where Sabine’s fangs had nearly crushed her bones.

God, how bad must the Riders shoulder and leg hurt, then?

Somewhere in the back of her brain she could register that the barrier had fallen, at least if the shocked gasps to her left were anything to go by. The area must’ve looked like a battlefield. Both of them were drenched in blood, their own as well as from the other, while at least half of the once fluffy snow that covered the area had turned into pink slush. 

In a matter of seconds Florence and Khaan were by Sabine’s side, trying to calm her down and assessing the damage. The screaming and crying did send a pang of guilt through Montana’s stomach. She had beaten her up pretty bad. 

Then again Sabine had messed up her face. They were basically even now.

Florence was shaking her head as her hands did their best to sooth Sabines crying from. 

“Fuck me, Montana. We’re you trying to fucking kill her?”

“This was kinder. Trust me.” After trying, and failing, to get back onto her feet the former blacksmith let out a pained groan. The leg that had been bitten by Sabine was aching horribly. She felt like passing out. “And for the record, no, I wasn’t trying to kill her. I was trying to stay fucking alive while she went for my head. Multiple times.”

[revengehorse]

rofd november prompt month, day 1: music

not very apocalypse themed but i just wanted to draw my babies

@dark-rider-pr

[paigeswiftsea]

hi hi here's my writing for the first prompt for RoFD which is music!! Im also debating uploading it to ao3... just so ya'll can have all the prompt writings in one easy place.

@dark-rider-pr

Im sorry for the sadness I was listening to ethel cain while writing this so whoopsie.

Although if you want to hurt yourself like me I'd recomend listening to her "Televangelism" or " Sun Bleached Flies" while reading. just a bit more heartbreak lmfao.

small content warnings: small mention of blood, angsty

wc: 845

Blaire shivered as she walked alongside Storm, the steady drumming of rain only intensifying the chill in her bones. The sky was a dull gray, casting a cold, unforgiving light over the landscape. The leaves around her were turning—the one small beauty she could still find in this broken world. They drifted down in shades of yellow, orange, and red, carpeting the ground like a final, fleeting promise of life. But even here, among the autumn colors, she could spot dark stains on the forest floor, patches where blood, fresh or faded, told silent stories of struggles lost to time.

She wrapped her worn jacket tighter around herself, though it offered little warmth anymore. Humming quietly to herself, she kept her head down, focusing on each step along the muddy path. Walking had become her refuge; it was the only way to shake off the lingering stiffness from her last "tree nap"—an uncomfortable rest bound to a thick branch high above the ground. Sleeping in a tree wasn’t ideal, but in a world where survival meant staying a step ahead of the infected, comfort was a distant memory.

As she walked through the quiet, damp woods, her eyes caught sight of a small cabin tucked between the trees. She paused, heart quickening. The cabin looked abandoned—its windows broken, door slightly ajar, belongings scattered as if in a hasty retreat. Shelters like these were rare, and Blaire’s instincts urged her to investigate. She gestured to Storm to stay alert and moved forward, her hand tight around the knife in her grip. Better to be paranoid than dead.

Inside, she found only silence. The cabin was truly empty, not a soul in sight. She quickly shoved a chair against the door, blocking it to keep herself safe. She scanned the room, noting the scattered furniture and overturned drawers, remnants of someone else's panic. Her gaze landed on a small fireplace, and she felt a surge of triumph. A fire would be a blessing in this cold, damp weather, a small comfort that she hadn’t experienced in too long. But then her eyes drifted to something else—a piano, an old upright nestled against the wall, its polished wood dulled by dust and neglect.

Blaire hesitated, drawn to it like a moth to a flame. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen a piano, much less touched one. Almost reverently, she walked over and sat down on the worn bench, her fingers hovering above the keys. She lifted the lid, brushing away dust, and let her fingertips graze the ivory. Even after all this time, her hands instinctively found their position, her muscles remembering the patterns of long-forgotten songs. Tentatively, she pressed down, and a low, wavering chord echoed through the cabin, each note slightly off but still familiar.

She winced at the sound—the piano was in desperate need of tuning. But something in the rough, broken notes felt right, like the instrument understood the fractured world outside its walls. Slowly, she began to play a melody she knew well, a tune from her childhood, simple and comforting. The notes filled the cabin, pushing back the silence, the melancholy lilt carrying her back to a time when music was a source of warmth, not a fleeting memory.

As she played, her eyes slipped shut, and the rain outside seemed to fade away. For a few precious moments, she could almost pretend she was somewhere else—safe, warm, whole. But reality crept back in, a chill sweeping over her as the song’s last note faded. She opened her eyes, her fingers lingering on the keys, reluctant to let go.

A sudden creak from outside jolted her back into survival mode. Her body tensed, knife back in hand, ears straining for any sound beyond the quiet patter of rain. She glanced at Storm, who stood alert, his ears pricked, eyes scanning the shadows beyond the cabin’s walls. There was nothing, only the relentless rain and the weight of the world outside.

The piano suddenly felt like a relic, a piece of a life she could no longer afford. Shaking off the spell it had cast, she rose from the bench and set her knife within easy reach. She moved to the fireplace, gathering what little firewood she could find, managing to coax a small flame to life. As the warmth began to seep into her, she let her gaze fall on the piano one last time. In another world, she might have stayed longer, filling the cabin with music. Here, music was a luxury, a whisper of a past she couldn’t reclaim.

Sitting close to the fire, she began to hum softly, a faint echo of the tune she’d just played. It wasn’t much, but it was something—a small piece of herself she could still hold on to, hidden and safe in a world turned cold and unforgiving. As the rain continued to fall outside, she closed her eyes and let the warmth of the fire and the lingering memory of music wrap around her, if only for a little while.