"But the dream, the echo, slips from him as quickly as he had found it and as consciousness comes to him (a slap and not the gentle waves of oceanic tides), it dissolves entirely. His muscles relax as the cold claims him again, as the numbness sets in, and when his grey eyes open, there’s nothing but the faint after burn of a dream often trod and never remembered." --Brigade, written by Laura
”Damn,” another uncomfortable jerk of his leg and the one reptilian toe shifts back into a hoof.
”Dragonborn,” he grumbles with mismatched eyes staring intently at the grass. A few scales climb up to his elbows, flicker, then fades. ”Like dad,” his voice strains now and he blinks hard in concentration; alas, only one reptilian toe before it, too, reverts back into his hoof again.
It has only been in the recent months that he has learned of being dragonborn, but not what it entails. He has never seen father shift into a great beast or soar across the skies like he belongs there. Lior occupies the caves of Nerine, secluding himself unless mother is alone and without business to be done. He lives a more somber lifestyle without ever reveling in what being dragonborn is.
Castile only remembers his smile at the realization, but then their conversation ended not long after. Often the boy wondered, but never asked.
What is dragonborn?
How does he fulfill that?
Why do only parts of his body shift?
He has noticed how his bones and skin rippled only when embarrassment and anger sunk into his soul. It was as though he lost control of himself. He became something greater, something stronger, but he couldn’t harness it or recall it on his own accord. The gladiator battle reinforced that and flustered him.
”Dragonborn,” he murmurs again, this time under his breath, but only a single wing loses its feathers to the leathery feel of a dragon.
Castile is awkward and trying to figure out how to shift lmao
10.26.17: Sorry, this is recycled, but he needs to chat with people lol
10-26-2017, 08:17 PM (This post was last modified: 10-30-2017, 08:54 AM by Karaugh.)
It was a rare sight for her golden hide to shimmer in the sunlight. She avoided the rays as much as possible but occasionally she got a wild hair. It hadn't been long after she had left Ivar to his own devices in Sylva that she decided to set out to find her children. Even as another developed in her womb.
Stretching her skin-stretched wings she took to the air. Flight was getting as effortless as breathing for her. It came natural. Almost too natural for a born untraited equine. This is what she was meant to be. Her true self.
Her navigating took her over the Meadow. Dark auburn eyes scanned the land dwellers for any form of familiarity. Few equines peaked her interests. Most were simple creatures doing simple everyday things, but some, some caught her eye. She circled overhead curiously as a dark figure was lingering below. Flickers of shifting drifting in and out as if uncontrolled. Slowing to hover above him a grin curls her lips as a wing goes from feather to leather aside him. She decides to investigate further. And by investigate she means being blunt with maybe a tinge of flare.
With a quick flicker she disappears from view. Taking her shifting form she flies down and behind the stranger. Hiding in a nearby pine for a moment before morphing again out of sight. She takes her original equine form. No wings. No fangs. Just Karaugh. On ebony dipped limbs she carries her body up behind him calmly, "Problem?" She questions with a sly grin on her lips as she circles around to his front quarters. Auburn eyes intruiged at the forms that had been shifting in and out. Settling her gaze on his face, awaiting any info he would give...
He often wonders the reason as to why he hasn’t mastered this skill. There are other shifters, like father, that easily manipulate their bodies on a whim. They learn to control it, to master it, so quickly and yet Castile, who was born like this, still struggles years later.
There is still one feathered and one reptilian wing sprouting from his shoulder blades, unable to be uniform. Jagged teeth, then blunt. Talons, then hooves. Bit by bit, he tries to shift, but it never lasts. It always reverts back, unable to be controlled to its entirety.
When she arrives, it’s with hushed footsteps and a sly grin. He doesn’t trust the manner to which she addresses him, but he doesn’t betray the onset of mistrust either. Instead, he blinks his mismatched eyes and rolls his shoulders in a mild shrug. ”Perhaps,” his tone hints at curiosity as he hungrily devours the sight of her. She is familiar… Maybe. When he drinks her scent, he desperately gropes for reasons he knows it. It’s just barely out of his reach, hovering delectably in front of his hands as he racks his mind for a few heartbeats before resigning without an answer for the time being.
He doesn’t yet realize that her scent once mingled with Ivar’s.
With a sharp intake of air, Castile suppresses his hesitance and admits (albeit uncomfortable) his faults. ”Can’t quite master the whole shifting thing, I guess.” Is it because of what he is that makes it difficult? That it isn’t a feeble rabbit or snake? He is something greater, stronger. Dragonborn, he muses while straightening his posture. His leathery, reptilian wing transitions smoothly to feathers, his slit eyes normalizing. ”I’m Castile,” he finally offers as he takes another observant sweep of her body before leveling on her intense stare.
As she walks up the length of his sizeable frame her eyes consume him. His mismatched wings, strange claws extending from reptilian toes. "Interesting..." She hums in curious satisfaction. Rounding in front of him to stop and listen for his explanation. "I see that," she states simply at his inability to control his beast.
Again she moves on ebony legs to view his other side with the leather appendage. Drawing her golden frame down this side now to examine the wing closer. Black lips extending to feel the unfamiliar coarseness it bares. Dragging her muzzle along the bone that stretched taut the skin. His flesh here was rougher than the softness of her own wings. The wings that she still hides. Her minds reels at what he was...
Ebony ear flicks to him as he speaks his name. She smirks before swinging her hindquarters away from him. Holding his gaze she questions him, "That is your name... But what are you really Castile?" She steps around to his front again. Her eyes fixated on his, "What is it you are trying to hide? Are you afraid of who you truly are Castile? Cause I believe that is your real problem..." She dips her head as she slips under his chin. Letting his lips drag across her spine if he so wished...
Exiting the other side she loops back to face him. Leaving enough space between them for the effortless shifting of her pair of ebony wings. They were more delicate than his. Softer, thinner boned. Each wing sports a singular clawed finger atop the bend of the bone. Resting them neatly at her sides she steps towards him again. Lifting her lips to his ear with a seductive whisper, "Show me what you really are Castile."
Her touch is a lover’s whisper trailing across his skin, chilling him to the bone. With an intent stare, Castile watches as she lingers close, her lips hovering above his wings for a moment before succumbing to her looming curiosity, feeling him, knowing him. Her comments are muttered quietly, nearly lost on the wind has he not been paying close attention. While she observes, he merely stands like a chiseled statue. Instincts tell him to touch her, to pull her close into an embrace she has never experienced, but his mind is more considerate than his primal hunger. He diverts. A sigh hisses from between his teeth as he looks away from her and toward the distant horizon where trees sharpen the edges of the hills like razor blades. It distracts him enough for the moment that when he looks at her, nothing more stirs or boils in his blood.
Not until her question, prying, digging, into his soul with a tenacity and allure that keeps him reasonably close to her, never straying. The seconds feel like minutes, minutes like hours, as he formulates an answer, but he struggles as though there is no feasible answer. She – and here he groans because he does not yet know her name – doesn’t want the most simple and obvious answer. She doesn’t want to hear that he is a horse, that he is a forgotten prince, that he is the only friend without a title. No, that isn’t what she is yearning to hear; that isn’t what she is trying to seduce.
Greedily, Castile draws in a lungful of air as Karaugh passes beneath his chin. He doesn’t bother to practice restraint, letting his lips drag along her spine as she slips underneath then loops around again to face him. ”A monster,” he says before pursing his lips into a thin line, ”I become a monster.” He doesn’t elaborate as to what – no, that would be too easy – but he considers the experiences he had when his body entirely shifted. It wasn’t in his control; it happened when his blood was heated with adrenaline and fire. It took him over; for a few lingering moments, he didn’t feel like Castile. He was something else.
Lifting his molten gaze to hers, he takes into consideration her demand and how easily wings sprout from her own shoulders. Would she be able to handle him fully shifted? Would he be able to handle himself? A shudder runs through him, hesitant. ”I can’t,” or is it that he won’t? He questions it himself but concludes that he simply cannot give life to the dragon so easily.
11-08-2017, 09:31 PM (This post was last modified: 11-18-2017, 05:08 PM by Karaugh.)
The uncertainty across the stallion features causes her to smirk just a bit more. He wasn't restless nor agitated, just uncertain. It intruiges her to meddle deeper. Grasping a hold of his uncertainty and twisting it ever so slightly. So she questions him, "A monster is in the eye of the beholder. To a mouse, a cat is a monster. This is who you are Castile... If you can't embrace who you truly are, how will you ever learn to control it?"
Her ebony lips that had rested near his ear lower as she turns her head to watch his reaction. She lingers waiting for her words to settle into his mind. A monster... Did he know he was surrounded by such? Perhaps not. Perhaps she should show him...
With an unknown shift fangs descend from her gums. A devilish grin curls her lips and exposes the tips of pearly white. "I am a monster Castile," she hisses. Her muzzle had strategically been angled for easy access to his throat. A quick lunge forward and her jaws widen to grasp his most vulnerable flesh. It was soft yet and her fangs pressed firmly against his skin. Ivar had the constant protection of dragon scales but would Castile have to shift into his? Holding steady on her position she craved to bite down harder. To puncture his flesh and allow the crimson fluid to fill her stomach, but she waited. Waited for him to take control. If he failed she'd have a meal. It was a win win...
Karaugh
illicit daughter of nymphetamine and killgore
HTML by Call
@[Castile] Of course he can probably break her grasp but do whatever you want
When Castile searches her eyes, his stomach lurches. He doesn’t know whether to succumb or to run.
No, he isn’t a coward. He can’t run.
Her thoughts are poisonous tendrils sinking further into his mind, clouding his better judgment. Karaugh wants him to be the monster that he is, for him to exploit his strengths and potential. Why though, is he so afraid to do so? The creature within is rattling the bars of its cage, screaming to be released, but the only indication of it is the occasional tremble wracking through Castile’s muscles as he desperately holds it down. Somehow, he knows that once surfaced, he will hardly be able to control himself. This is too much, too new, for him to fathom and harness. Standing before her is a stallion that enjoys the tranquility of seclusion, but deep inside him there is a monster that yearns for flesh, destruction.
Mayhem.
It cannot be tamed once released, he tells himself as he listens to internal roaring of his beast. Suppress it. He must.
But Karaugh.
She is in front of him, enticing him. Castile is unable to rip his eyes from her, drawn by the way she languidly slides with a smirk plastered across her lips. It’s spellbinding, luring him to swim in the deep auburn of her eyes and not taking quick notice to the fangs that rip through her gums and forebodingly press against his skin. It’s all seeming in one fluid motion and he freezes while her fangs threaten to puncture the flesh and draw the dragon blood from him. His breath his steady, his eyes watchful. He wants so bad to shift, to show her that he is something and that he is strong, but his attempt is feeble. Scales ripple down the length of his body, visible then gone within a heartbeat. They were a flash of obsidian and porcelain, mirroring the piebald pattern of his coat.
The scales don’t return, not yet, but a low growl crawls from the pit of his throat. ”You don’t want to be here when it happens,” because he cannot promise her safety, or even his own.
12-02-2017, 10:10 AM (This post was last modified: 12-02-2017, 10:10 AM by Karaugh.)
Pressed blades threaten to puncture his flesh and still he cannot bring himself to change. Attempts that are made vanish as if they never were. Through her jaws wrapped around his jugular she grins at his weak stride. The pulsing fluid within her reach tempts her too strongly. If he was too weak to save himself than he was easy prey. Pausing only for the words that rumble within his throat. She almost feels them more than she hears them. Unconvinced that he actually could become the monster he thought he was, she presses down sharply...
The rush of blood to the wounds fill her lips with the sweet liquid. Pink flesh of tongue presses against his flesh forcing more to fill the void. Her hold remains strong on him but if he should actually change the scales would consume the wounds that fed her. Sealing away the poison that caused them to flow freely. Either way he was hers now...
Karaugh
illicit daughter of nymphetamine and killgore
HTML by Call
@[Castile] I'll follow whatever direction you wish to go
The needle points of her fangs loom above the skin of his neck, threatening to come down on him, to draw blood. Castile’s pulse quickens, pounding in his ears, roaring. It’s nearly the only thing he can hear as his mismatched eyes dart back and forth uncertainly. This is a baptism by fire. The help he anticipated has slipped through his fingers. It receded the moment she inched toward his neck with her mouth agape. He could’ve avoided this; there was time to run, but he rooted himself here as though his options were limited.
Karaugh had shifted so easily, so thoughtlessly. That’s what he wants for himself. It would make father proud, surely, but the ability has escaped him for years. It had seemed almost a lost cause until now.
Until her.
Her fangs are pressing against him, edging closer to his jugular. Her eyes are starved, her own heart beating with a sick thrill. Admittedly, Castile is afraid but he conceals it behind the growling rumbles that vibrate through his body. He doesn’t know what is to happen, or if this is the conclusion of his life’s adventure. An image of spilled blood flashes across his vision and startles him just as Karaugh bites down.
Everything turns white.
It’s like poison in his blood, his veins scalding as her saliva pours itself into him. It branches to his legs, his wings, his heart, lungs, and mind.
Fuck, his mind.
The poison almost seems to bite deeper into the crevices of his thoughts, drawing them out like a rabbit from its hole. A deep groan breaks the painful silence between them as she tastes him, and he wonders if she enjoys it as much as he hates it.
More blood dribbles into her mouth while more pain flashes through him, blinding him.
And then there’s fire.
It doesn’t pour out of him, but it douses his soul, soaking him in an inferno. It surfaces as hardened scales and spines, as talons and jagged teeth. Bones crack, muscles tear, and skin splits. Blood seeps from between scales as his body lengthens, his wings reaching to their full expanse. Castile quickly jerks from Karaugh’s bite, but his elongated muzzle slithers toward her, his teeth slapping shut next to her face. His talons churn the soil underneath his armored body as he inches away from her, his muscles rippling with every movement. When their eyes meet, it’s as though his reality is falling farther and farther back into the dark recesses of his mind. A blood-curdling roar slices through the air and echoes across the open meadow for miles, branching in every direction. With a final shift in movement, Castile first looks across the grassland, then to Karaugh, no longer seeing a mare, but instead prey.
[so, I went ahead with him shifting into a dragon for the very first time and feeling his mind sort of open up because of their new telepathic bond ]
As her needle-like fangs pierce his soft flesh, she can't help but feel a bit disappointed. There was such potential here. What a pity, she thinks. That is until his muscles begin to seize. Ripping himself away from her grasp. It is much stronger this time and as he moves off, parts shifting to reptilian, a grin paints across her maw.
Thrusting her wings to lift her off the ground, she moves off a distance to watch his transformation. Hooves remain clawed-toes. Hide becomes rough and ridged. His neck elongates and jaw narrows. Filling with razor-edged teeth. Auburn eyes take it all in. Now this is more like it. A deep roar echoes from deep within the beast he has become. It's the kind of sound that would give lesser equines nightmares at night. Not her. She feels the vibration within her core. Eyes half shut in pleasure as it radiates through her.
Then, she can hear his thoughts. They are primal and in much need of direction. His glassy eyes land upon her, she hears prey. No, is her only thought. Not knowing if he can hear her, as she can him. The pair of wings at her sides remain unfurled in case she needs to make an escape. Even in the face of possible demise she can't help but grin in satisfaction. He remains looking at her. Watching. Waiting..
Brow cocks inquisitively while looking him over. The large expanse of wings at his sides convinces her that he could indeed fly. But for the sake of experimenting she questions it, can you fly Castile?
Karaugh
illicit daughter of nymphetamine and killgore
HTML by Call
@[Castile] lol ok this is kind of crap cuz I don't know how to get her to know of the telepathic bond. It'll be like playing Simon says for a bit and I don't want to power play too much.
