"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
09-07-2017, 02:15 PM (This post was last modified: 09-07-2017, 02:17 PM by Modicum Mortem.)
Don't push me, I've got nothing to lose.
War.
It’s a funny thing really, the way it comes about. Leaders grow angry over trivial things; battles are fought, they are meaningless…big bulky men killing one another. It’s truly laughable. A side comes out victorious while the others are left to rot. Simple, to most: argue, fight, win.
But not to him.
Battles are won by using a series of schemes…ideas to which the smarter ones usually end up succeeding. The real work is done by the intelligent people…days of planning, years of perfecting. They send the worthless to die, testing their plans and then fixing them to near perfection. “Brains over brawn” – a quote that so many make fun of…how could someone’s mind overcome the power in another’s body?
But war is simply a strategy game. If you are smarter, you will wear down the lesser opponent, no matter how large, no matter how powerful. If you are nimble, quick, and hungry for the win, it won’t matter what front they put up, or how much they underestimate you – their minds will always lose against yours. He has proven it many times.
His ancestors, near extinction, rose from the ashes like the phoenix, and now here he stands – a tribute to prior breeding excellence, with the blood of countless Italian ponies rushing through him. What he lacks in height, he makes up for with a robust, muscular body, an attitude that isn’t swayed, and a brain that can outwit many opponents.
His body is littered with scars from past fights – ones he has lost, ones he has won. They only heighten his hunger for excellence; to succeed, you must fail. To rise, you must fall. To prove the mockers wrong, you must allow them to be proven right. All is the game of strategy.
Which is why, as he stands before the infamous Wraith, he feels an immense respect for him. It isn't often he meets someone who he feels respect for - honestly, most equines he couldn't care less about. Gryffen's words are like the icicles hanging from the trees above them - cold, brutal, ready to pierce through you at a moment's notice.
"Sometimes the best way to punish your enemies is to take away what they love most." Modicum Mortem's is now highly interested in the stag in front of him - oh the things he could do for the clown and his flame. A mischievous smile tugs at the edges of his lips, as he follows the pair deeper into the trees. He is uninterested in the filly behind the Wraith, but becomes particularly intrigued when a deep blue roan responds to his whistle. Her mismatched eyes and cruel grin give off the impression of pure evil. The shadow was going to have a piece of this interaction.
Waylan was unknown to him, he is unaware of this exceptional grandchild. A stallion he would have loved to mold and style himself, such potential. Zayn, however, he would recall. How could he not? The son he had forced upon the Gates Queen when he had led the Chamberlings to the light kingdom, destroying their beloved tree and taking her hostage. To this day he can still remember the taste of her fear, so sweet mingled with the salt of her sweat as she writhed and cried out beneath him. Rape had never been about pleasure. It was a means to break her, to lower her even further into submission. To get something he wanted. Besides, a fragmented spirit made them all the more easy to bend to his will.
As the child speaks of this distant relation, nothing of familiarity sparks in the depths of red. However the name is not forgotten, perhaps it would become useful one day. What does interest him is the mention that her mother could shift into a sea beast. A critical gaze is casted over the filly, a probing and searching look. He had always been a collector of not only broken things, but magical things. Perhaps she would be more useful then he originally thought.
A soft snap behind him breaks his unwavering gaze on the girl. Ah, his beautiful torturous bluebird had arrived. Glittering ruby iris’s sparkle at her with pleasure, sensing the readiness of her stance to come and play. Her gray and black eyes are already looking over the child, a hunger on her lips. ”A different kind of fun this time.” A soft correction to steer her in the appropriate direction. This one wasn’t to be killed. Harmed if needed to fall in line or learn, but not executed.
However, there was one thing that needed to be addressed. ”But first… Let’s greet our guest shall we?” He growls softly, turning his creamy body towards the shadows where the watcher waits. Ears prick forward, crimson depths calm and patient, his facial expression a mask of whatever he was truly thinking. Whoever was following him was either a threat or a possibility. There was no need to rush into rash action, not when the stranger was outnumbered. ”Come out, come out, wherever you are…” His voice rising and taunting as it is casted into the trees.
I am observing as much as I am listening. The slight interest that breaks across his face is soon masked by our follower. A tingle was all I felt and I knew they had started to slide down the length of ebony tresses. Translucent, they appeared nearly as dark but with a slight shimmer. A prickling sensation ran along my hocks where they hung. I was used to the feeling so it did not bother me in the least. Just enough to know they were there...
He is calling out to the shadows. My scarlett eyes following the direction of his. He speaks to the shadows and I do not immediately see who he is speaking to. By the sound of it he knows who has been following us. I tense as I think that maybe I have been set up into a trap. My ears flick back but I do not run. I watch for the other to show themselves. My thoughts are cut short though. He looks in another direction, let's greet our guest shall we. There is another? Confusion clear on my face I simply watch. Spindles of tentacles resting against my nape and rump...
Dynast
Friends with the Monsters
Her jellyfish tentacles have sprouted in her mane and tail.
The naked trees are thick around him as he waits in the shadows, listening to the trio speak to one another. As the Wraith tells the mares that they should greet their guest, the clown's mouth stretches into a smile. Something inside the filly sparks - whether it fear or excitement, Mortem did not care - and lengthy tentacles begin to sprout from the nape of her neck and her tail.
Now this was interesting.
The alabaster stag taunts the shadow in the trees, a sing-song "come out, come out, wherever you are" slipping from his lips to Modicum's ears. The clown begins to cackle, shifting his body through the brush around the trio in front of him.
"They all float..." He howls with laughter, flicking his tail from side to side. He enjoys this game, and he does not find it particularly scary that he is outnumbered, either. He was of no threat to them...yet. Finally, he emerges from the greenery surrounding them, keeping some distance between himself and the others. He cocks his head to the side slightly, and grins through crooked teeth.
"I've heard much about you, wraith king," His icy orbs look from one equine to the next, studying each carefully - their movements, their mannerisms, the way they talk and the way they plan. He moves himself closer to the infamous stallion, staring up at him through crazed eyes. "And I think I could be of some...assistance."
Modicum Mortem
@[Gryffen] @[Thana] @[Dynast]
(Sorry it kind of is short and sucky guys. It's 2am and I'm exhausted xD)
