"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
09-03-2016, 11:36 AM (This post was last modified: 09-05-2016, 01:39 AM by Rodrik.)
It hungers.
Its eyes are hollows and lifeless. It is only the hunger that fills the beast’s eyes with life. the scent of others, the very essence of their souls taunt it. The beast moves through the meadow; desperateness fills the creature’s nutmeg-colored eyes as it searches among the bodies. It is very feast spread it for its choosing, as if Christmas could not have come any sooner. Yet, one glance sent his way by another will send them running for the hills. The devil is an abomination; every nightmare wrapped into one; a demon from hell.
It is so very hungry.
The land shakes slowly at first. It then trembles like a touch of a lover during the most intimate time shared with another. The touch is gentle at first, passionate, but then there is fury—so very strong. It shakes harder, sending the devil tumbling forward, losing its balance as it tries to find its footing in all the mass. The earth cries out in fury more, the land shatters beneath the heathen.
And it is falling.
Falling into the darkness.
---
Hunger is the first thing it craves when it opens its eyes. It is always the first thing—a need to fill the void, to survive on this earth. However, hollowed and lifeless eyes search through this land, it knows it is not where it once was. The Meadow was gone, or it was taken from the Meadow. It ponders the events, the change.
There had been an earthquake. It had fallen into the darkness. Was the devil placed into another life so suddenly? It remembers all those years before—simply ripped from everything it had once known. Oh, the creature’s soul is so very hold. Yet, it couldn’t be that. It smells the familiar scents, the scent of Beqanna that are from her kingdoms and hers.
It smells them, their sweet aroma.
And it feels the hunger, reminding it.
Survive—it must eat.
The creature of the night moves forward, breathing in the air. The air is thin here; it can feel the earthly necessity for oxygen begin to kick in. The lungs of the heathen beg for more oxygen. Hunger—it pushes the demon forward—forgetting all necessity to have more air to live. It craves the essence of life itself beyond the earthly needs. Yet, it reminders it is no longer in the meadow. The devil must find out where it has been taken.
It must know.
It must eat.
It has to survive.
Rodrik
angels banished from heaven have no choice but to become devils
Sleep had been very peaceful until he had been woken up, but that’s always the case. The very earth rumbles, grumbles, deep beneath the sleeping layer of snow and the deepest roots, and he is awake almost instantly. He watches his dear wife sleep beside him, peacefully, looks over her round stomach, looks towards their three sleeping children. He does not wake them, not wanting to worry them, although the earth is churning now, and then he no longer exists.
Or, at least, it feels that way. He can move, but he feels and sees no movement. He can think but the silence and lack of stimulus to his brain is deafening. When he can think, he worries of his family, his home, his peers.
And, as quickly as that, he exists once more. He blinks, looks around. It’s an unfamiliar land, definitely not the Tundra, and definitely not with his family. For a moment, he just lays and lets his senses come back to him slowly, one by one, until the scent of a thousand different horses mingles together, and then he is overwhelmed, takes a deep breath, and concentrates. He smells Beqanna. He is in Beqanna, still, then, but not the Tundra. He notes the masses of equally confused looking horses mope around, and guesses that this has happened to them, too, being put here. Perhaps.
He feels very, very tired. Tired, cold, and old. He feels like he is gasping, or wheezing. He feels different. His magical abilities are gone, he is sure of it, and either there is a trait negator about or a magician or – the fairies were angry again. But why here? Why now? Were they planning an all out battle royale? Is that what they liked to do? ”I need my immortality back,” he wheezes into the air, and he feels himself begin to reinvigorate. Air stops becoming hard to breathe. And with that immediate worry over, he goes back to looking for his loved ones.
He could not see his family anywhere. He walked this way and that, searching for them, but he couldn’t see them anywhere. Panic rose in his chest. Were they still in the Tundra, while he had been dragged here? He hoped so. Although there didn’t seem to be any sign of danger, he worries that they be worrying for him. Worries that they will come across someone not so kind. He needs to be there to protect them. They need him, but more importantly, he needs them.
He approaches the nearest horse to him, who looks like he is struggling somewhat, but aren’t they all? Isn’t that the name of the game? ”You arrived here suddenly too?” he asks, glancing over the face which looked ever so slightly familiar, although he couldn’t quite place it.
09-03-2016, 11:02 PM (This post was last modified: 09-05-2016, 01:40 AM by Rodrik.)
There air is becoming thinner. Survive—it is what the beast must do now. The hunger it has craved for so long, the animal rattling in its cage, slowly begins to disappear. It is the natural necessity, the earthly demand of the body to have oxygen if the creature is going to stay up here any longer in this place.
What is this place?
It searched across the rocky outcrop for answers. The creature zig-zagged around others that it marked as useless – their confusion of why and where they were here was helpless information. The only thing the red devil knew that it was on some sort of high up cliff—the Mountain is what it heard the others call it. Why here though? Why were they brought here?
The beast stands at the edge of the mountain. A tingling sensation slowly starts. It can feel the uncoiling, the darkness wrapped around its soul releasing its grip—it can breath. However, a strange euphoria grips onto it. It inhales deeply, suffocating. The beast pulls back instinctively, trembling slightly. The euphoria is quickly gone, as it had come.
Breathe—the beast inhales—the air feels like there is nothing left here. It turns its head quickly; hooves against hard surface draw its attention to another (a familiar face, yet distant memory that is clouded in the devil’s mind). The red creature flares it’s nostrils and takes in short, slow breaths.
“Arrived?” It questions at the irony in that. “No, we were taken... brought here by something.” The answer has not been found out yet. The devil has to find out why it is here—why they all have been brought here. “Are we even still in Beqanna? It feels the same.” It is not the same though. Something here, at the very edge of the mountain, pulls at all of them—the magic within seems to be drawn to it.
Rodrik
angels banished from heaven have no choice but to become devils
”Taken, then.” amended Romek easily, looking about him warily. He had thought that he had been all over Beqanna, but he did not recognise this place. It could not have been an unfamiliar kingdom, either, for it didn’t smell like anything in particular… Just dry, thin mountain air that rubbed on his throat. His gaze lands again on the red stallion in front of him, and he narrows his yellow eyes.
”Rodrik, you’re Rodrik. We met briefly. I’m Romek.” in truth, he could not even remember the circumstance of their meeting, other than it might have involved water, and it was in the Meadow. It seemed so long ago, like a distant dream separated by at least two dawns. It was a lifetime ago, in a different age, a different era, when the Deserts still existed.
”This is Beqanna.” he says resolutely. ”I am sure of it. But I don’t know whereabouts we are. It is not familiar to me.” he pauses. ”We got here by magic, didn’t we. There’s no other way that it could’ve happened.”
09-05-2016, 10:25 AM (This post was last modified: 09-05-2016, 10:26 AM by Rodrik.)
The monster’s hollowed eyes travelled away from Romek just for a couple moments. Its sunken, hollowed eyes search across the lands that outstretch from the mountaintop. The view is magnificent from up here. It doesn't see that though. Opportunities—the beast sees. There is opportunity for something greater here, something that had not been offered to before this mountain had come.
It’s the sound of his name--”Rodrik, you’re Rodrik.”--that draws his lifeless eyes back to the other stallion. A curl draws on the red demon’s lips, “Yes, that is what they call me.” But it has been called many things in this life and the lives before. It is demon, devil, monster, murderer, lover, enemy, warrior, and king—it is all things in the end. In this life it is also Rodrik.
“Yes, I know you.” It remembers all—it knows all of them. Their souls are too open most of the time, open to their strengths and weaknesses. It’s foolish most of the time (fools they all were in the end). However, the beast does not dwell on the fact where it has come to know Romek. It only knows this was an opportunity for the taking, and it never strayed away from such things. An opportunity was always a blessing and the devil was more than willing to gamble a couple pieces.
The devil ponders the statements from Romek. Everything the stallion said was possible; it was likely true. Nothing seemed to change, except their homes (kingdoms and herds) were entirely gone. This earthquake had only destroyed their homes while common lands had been mended (or untouched, it does not know). “Yes, this Beqanna. Magic is the answer.” Magic was always the answer. It understands that now, but it cannot but wonder. “The only question is what will happen when we leave the mountain.” There is something more to this than destroyed lands—something it cannot see but feels. The two of them cannot stay up here for much longer; the air is too thin.
Rodrik
angels banished from heaven have no choice but to become devils
Rodrik looks tired, ill and sunken – not the way the spotted stallion remembers him at all. He wonders whether it had been the traits that had been ripped away from him which had caused him to be this way, or perhaps it was just age – Romek was no spring chicken either, but immortality kept him going. And going and going.
”I suppose there’s only one way to find out. We can’t stay up here much longer anyway.” The air was thin and it was a struggle to breathe.
”And I need to find my people.” he says, thinking of Maribel, and their children, and the Tundrans. ”Perhaps we will see each other again, down there.” And with that the spotted stallion sets off down the mountain at a good pace, determined. His family need him, after all, his family and his friends. He wonders how his good friend Andras is. For now, the curiosity of what lay beneath them is a far greater draw than conversing with an acquaintance, for now at least.
He would seek Rodrik out later, he decides.
Romek
OOC: you dont need to reply to this buuuuttt if you want we could start a new thread in the meadow or forest more up to date, up to you
![[Image: lRJZ7qE.gif]](https://i.imgur.com/lRJZ7qE.gif)
