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    COTY

    Assailant -- Year 226

    QOTY

    "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


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    Gilt;
    #1
    and underneath the layers, I find myself asking what's left
    a hollowed out form, the skeleton of a ghost, the pitiful echo of what once was
    Castile hasn’t forgotten about the boy, not even in the slightest. Gilt has frequented his mind since arriving as a sodden heap in Icicle Isle. Starlin is obviously gone, a truth that Castile struggles to accept. The manner of her demise (or abandonment) escapes him, but doesn’t halt him in his efforts to nurture and raise the colt. Initially, he asked Breckin to assist by providing milk, but upon more careful observation, a realization surfaced.

    The boy’s anatomy wouldn’t allow for nursing. He is much like his father – a predator, a monster.
    With further consideration, Castile faced the obstacle in the only way he can think of.

    His body is shifted, displaying his reptilian assets as he soars quietly with a deer corpse clutched loosely in his claws. Bloody rivulets winding from its mouth and wounds have since dried and caked onto its coarse hair. The scent no longer piques his interest; the incessant need to devour it has subsided as his mind trains itself on the task at hand.

    Finding the boy takes little time with his vision sharply roving across the landscape underneath. A spiral of black smoke erupts from Castile’s nostrils as he descends with a single, fluid motion. His grasp on the corpse tightens with the shift of his weight as the frosted ground rises to meet him with a heavy thud. ”Gilt, my boy,” his voice rumbles low in the chasm of his throat, nearly vibrating the ground underfoot. As an afterthought upon seeing his son, Castile carelessly drops the maimed deer, his mismatched gaze settling adoringly on the colt. His head snakes forward, his reptilian muzzle brushing gingerly against his son before his body shifts into that of a horse, reverting to what he truly is. A display of affection takes precedence before stepping back to more openly reveal the carcass. Castile’s eyes dance back and forth briefly before finally settling on Gilt. ”I imagine sharp teeth would match the head you have,” his child is notable, unforgettable, ”so I don’t think Breckin would appreciate nursing you.” A shudder races along his back at the thought. ”So, I brought you some food.” He’s proud to have hunted for his kin, to utilize his own power for some amount of good. A jagged smile softens the sharp edges of Castile’s face until he inches closer, lowering his head to be level with Gilt.

    ”You have teeth, right?” His lips curl to convey his meaning, exposing his canines still faintly stained by blood and previous kills. ”Or do I have to.. uhh… chew it up for you?” Despite how his stomach churns at the idea, Castile remains steadily composed, knowing well he will do all that is necessary to nurture his son.

    castile
    Reply
    #2

    you should see me in a crown; your silence is my favorite sound


    They were near enough to watch in the distance, this clan of horses that he had been assigned to. He found his spotted woman to be desirable; she was warm and affectionate and that pleased him. The others were attractive too in the same way that he adored bones picked clean after a kill, the blood and bits of flesh all gnawed off and pristine white. Not that he had had any yet, but he could imagine he'd like them.

    They were pretty. Nice to look at. They did not dote on him the way his woman did, nor nourish his hungry body. He did not sense he was an acceptable addition to them, though he could be wrong. Still. He kept his distance.

    As soon as his father descended near him, his oceanic blue-green eyes snapped to him, his alert attention locked on the black, white, bronze, and gold figure. His nostrils flared at a scent though, and his hungry gaze slid down to the prize in his father's clutches. He wasn't surprised to see Castile in this shape, looking as familiar to him as the horse version of his sire despite this being the first time he'd seen it.

    His focus was elsewhere though, and he barely heard Dad's words of greeting and affection as he jumped to his feet, absently cataloging the gentle touch over his skin as he bolted with an eager snarl for the gift of food. He stumbled, collapsing in a snowy pile of cold stuff before righting himself again and continuing stubbornly, his small body pouncing to try and navigate the massive mound of snow.

    His father's eyes met his and he halted, staring back patiently as he listened. Dad's lips curled up in a display of his words, baring his teeth, and Gilt's eyes flew to his again. Teeth? Those were teeth. Yes. Okay. His mouth twitched as he tried to mimic, then with an irritated huff at his failure he tried harder, his lips peeling back too and showing teeny gleaming teeth not even a half-inch long yet.

    He would likely need assistance in tearing limbs or breaking skin, but he was proud of himself for doing as his father had wanted of him, grinning up at him in what would one day be a terrifying grimace to prey. He growled ferociously in satisfaction at his success, a light-voiced little purring in his child-like throat.

    He enjoyed the blood on Dad's teeth and wanted his to match, so his eager stare turned on the carcass again, though this time he waited for permission to feast on his gift. Accidentally learning predator courtesy was probably a good thing for creatures so powerful and violent and territorial. His little body trembled in anticipation though, barely containing himself, barely holding still and not immediately bounding to his food with saliva pooling on his tongue.

    He swallowed a couple times when he felt the moisture of drool in the corner of his mouth, licking the inside of his mouth and wiggling on his haunches in preparation to leap as if the thing wasn't already dead.

    Gilt




             the gilded stormdragon
    Reply
    #3
    and underneath the layers, I find myself asking what's left
    a hollowed out form, the skeleton of a ghost, the pitiful echo of what once was
    Gilt.

    The name reverberates through Castile, clanging a bell of pride deep in his gut. His mismatched eyes peer down at the boy and reflect the happiness blossoming through him. Although Starlin will not play a role in their son’s upbringing, Castile can at least make up the gap as best he can. Fortunately, and to his relief, he sees the small, sharp teeth poking through the colt’s gums. ”Very tough,” he croons softly with a smile pulling the corners of his mouth. ”Dragonborne, that is for sure,” the term was bestowed upon him as a newborn. Has it already been a decade since he inhaled his first lungful of air and heard his name first spoken on mother’s lips? Has it been so long since father proudly looked at his boy and mirrored the joy at having an heir and legacy with Nayl?

    This scene, however without a maternal figure, elicits a déjà vu that pulls against Castile’s heart as he quietly observes his son. A few heartbeats have passed – all while entranced by the sight of the boy – that he nearly forgets the task at hand. With an abrupt shake of his head, Castile says, ”Go ahead and eat, Gilt,” but he is lowering his head to the carcass as his voice rumbles the air between them. Gingerly, he grabs a leg and rips it from the body before doing it to another limb, providing options for his son. With another moment of consideration, Castile reaches a talon forward, pressing it to the underbelly of the deer then dragging it down to unveil the innards as they spill out from their confines.

    Content, he smiles.

    He had failed with his other children during their monumental months of childhood, and so he quietly vows not to let Gilt down, too. ”You will be big and strong, my son, and I will keep you safe.” He will raise him alone, a daunting task, but his heart thuds with eagerness. With less grace, Castile shifts his body into that of a horse while maintaining his jagged smile, watching over Gilt as he eats his first deer.

    castile
    Reply
    #4

    you should see me in a crown; your silence is my favorite sound


    "Very tough," his father observed with pride and Gilt's eyes glittered, flicking back to Dad's face with a toothy grin. "Dragonborne, that is for sure." He loved that word, the way it slid from his father's lips like a powerful gift, almost like a second name. Dragonborne. Gilt. These words belonged to him.

    "Go ahead and eat, Gilt," Dad said with a short shake of his head, lowering to the body of food. Gilt's eyes sharpened eagerly, salivating in his mouth again as he watched those powerful jaws grab a leg so gingerly, so purposefully as Dad tore the limb from the body with a satisfying crack and rip of muscle and flesh.

    He whine-groaned in his little throat, wiggling on his haunches as he waited impatiently. The very moment it left Dad's mouth he pounced on it, tearing into it with noisy snarls. He clamped his little dragon mouth down on a muscle and jerked, then jerked again, pressing his knees awkwardly against it to hold it in place.

    His sea-shine eyes glanced over to Dad as he worked, watching as a clever talon ripped open the insides of the belly. He gasped with delight, trilling so happily and immediately forgetting the delicious raw meat before him, diving into the mess of blood and instestines and organs with joyous glomps. Oh, and it was all still so warm! He rolled the smooth liquid over his tongue, slurped in a small organ and sucked until it burst in his mouth in a flood of the most delicious flavors.

    His eyes went dark and hazy with pleasure, so exquisite, moaning softly over his perfect feast provided by his wise predator daddy. Blood smeared over different parts of him, circling his mouth and dribbling over his chin, painting his forelegs where he'd had to hold down the deer limb to try and rip some bites off. He licked some off just to taste it more, not even to clean himself, then returned to more of the soft muscle and buttery fatty bits.

    "You will be big and strong, my son, and I will keep you safe," his daddy promised as he devoured as much of the deer as he could fit in his little belly. When he was finally stuffed full, he gave a gravelly little belch, turning to grin lazily up at his daddy. That was so good, such a perfect meal. Way better than any milk he'd so so very carefully tugged from the spotted woman's teet. His teeth were not made to be so gentle and soft. He was a hunter like his father and always would be.

    His jaws spread wide with a big yawn and he smacked his lips. He could see the blood still on him, but he felt no desire to clean it off. Maybe later. All he wanted now was to nose through the last bits of the body, and after finding nothing too noteworthy in need of immediate consumption he shifted closer to his dad and settled in against his warm body. He nuzzled him in thanks and affection, the only person in his life that made his heart beat so happy with the closest thing to love he may ever understand.

    This connection was the absolute strongest and he wanted to keep it forever.

    Gilt




             the gilded stormdragon
    Reply
    #5
    and underneath the layers, I find myself asking what's left
    a hollowed out form, the skeleton of a ghost, the pitiful echo of what once was
    Gilt is posed as the essence of innocence that Castile has long since forgotten existed. His metallic eyes dance brightly across the boy’s face, then down along his body to note how much of Starlin lives on. It’s difficult to see once the colt buries his face into the meat and relies on his knees to hold the carcass in place as it’s shredded. A smile, beaming and proud in nature, stretches widely across Castile’s face. The sincerity has been a rare visual in his life as of late. Joy has escaped him for months as he succumbed to life’s stressors and the aches of his blackening heart.

    Castile has thought himself incapable of love, and yet when he looks down at his son, there it is – thrumming in his chest.

    The breath he draws in is slow, thoughtful. When he blinks, he sees Starlin flash across the back of his eyelids. Struggling to fathom her demise, Castile forces her memory to the far crevices of his mind. She will be a part of him, always, and in their young boy who will thrive. ”Your mother loved you very much,” he doesn’t know the validity of the statement as it falls unbidden from his lips. Starlin had been passionate, however, and kind, making even Castile believe it.

    Underneath the midday sun, Castile considers the boy as he nestles to his side, full from the deer carcass. No words need to be spoken; it’s obvious how filling and enjoyable it had been. Switching his focus and unreeling his thoughts, he proposes an idea. ”Gilt, how would you like an adventure?” His own heart patters excitedly in his chest even as his son settles down. ”I want to take you to another island so we can meet others. You will have playmates.” That is something he cherished in his childhood, having friends to romp with alongside the waves. It’s the least he can offer Gilt, his first of many memories.

    Stepping back, Castile contorts his body and shifts fluidly back into that of an immense dragon, prepared to lift himself and Gilt and soar across the sea to new adventures.


    castile



    @[Gilt] and now they can merrily make their way to the Island Resort to PARTAYYY
    Reply




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