"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
Her efforts were for not. The visit to Nerine a waste. She knew it was inevitable but she would have done what was necessary to secure their home again. The will of their once leader was no longer there and she accepted it. If only Djinni would have consulted in her maybe things would have taken another path. It was what it was. She was not a queen, the crown would never suit her as it did others. So as she crossed the borders of her home the darkness that engulfed it was expected...
The journey had been short but not effortless. The golden mare chose to spread her skinned wings on her return trip. The added weight she barred made her first flight more challenging but not unsuccessful. She had watched her own son take flight many times before. Her first son, a lavender Pegasus, identical to his father Kirin. This was by far her first rodeo and birth had been something she was well rehearsed in. So as she landed it was in front of the cave she had called home many times. Looking into the opening she let out an exhausted puff of air. Shifting her wings away so it was just her again. Her necks cranes to look into the deciduous forest of reds and oranges. Even in spring when everything was green these forests remained their usual unusual hues.
The sun had yet to rise so the lands were dank. A wispy haze curled through the trees. She did not seeked them out but she could feel them. Just as she had felt Taiga change on the eastern border. Their presence hung heavy already in the land but this was her home and she wasn't being chased from it. Probably the only one who wouldn't be, if there was even anyone left.
With a shake of her head and neck her ebony tresses tossed then fell to rest again. The swoosh of tassels at her hocks as she walked into the darkness of her cave. The clip of hooves on the solid terrain echoed around her. Easily within the darkness she finds her bed of dried grasses tucked behind a large boulder. Lowering her crown, ebony lips brush across the bedding. A snort escaping her nares as the scent of Stillwater lingered. The stallion had vacated the lands sometime ago but the memories remained. Waking up from near death at his hands, her son curled next to her. Him fearing she was dead. The memories remained...
Klaudius had left sometime ago as well. She wasn't going to stop him either. Though she wonders now where he is. As well as her daughter, Kolera. Perhaps they would come home one day. Her slender legs collapse under her as her weight is lowered to the floor. Alone in the damp sanctuary... For now.
...
It wasn't long. Never is. It got easier each time. Long brushing strokes dried his fluffy coat. She stood now over him. His heat signature radiated in her eyes. Glowing brighter with each pass of her tongue. He shifts about in the straw, gaining strength and will to stand. She whicker's to him encouragingly knowing it won't be long. He'd have to stand soon. It wouldn't be long before the creatures that lurked in the forest would sniff her out... Let them come, she challenges in her mind.
The raid on Sylva had not went as he had planned. A chance to prove himself gone, and the rage inside him brimmed at his surface. The wraith king was his ticket to all he wanted in his life, and in a matter of minutes the opportunity was ripped from his grasp. If only he had been a little quicker...
He enjoyed Sylva - it was dark, brooding. Unlike the other forests of Beqanna, it gave off an eerie yellow glow, and there were plenty of spaces for the ebony stag to stalk in. He did not stay all the time; he often wandered to different lands, different places, but today he felt content to stay within the borders.
The scent of new life hit his nostrils - a birthing, not even a mile away from where he stood. Whether the mare was worthy of his presence he would soon find out. His small frame weaved through the heavy Sylvan undergrowth effortlessly, until the scent led him to a dainty cave. A demanding nicker echoed off the caves walls, and Mortem hoped something interesting would come of this interaction.
He did not bother to stalk, he simply went inside. The child was already born, and the mother licked his coat clean as if she had done it a million times. A beautiful dapple buckskin, her coat still glimmered with that pregnancy glow. He grinned through crooked teeth, staying a few feet back in case the mare was feeling feisty today - if she was, oh well. As if he couldn't take her?
"Well hello there."
Modicum Mortem
They all float…
@[Karaugh]
Sorry it sucks, I'm so tired and I just wanted to get a reply up for you xD
This forest is still new to him, he does not know it as intimately as the vampire woman did. In time, he will. He plans on staying for awhile. It was funny how things had worked out. She had seduced him, as if it was hard, and not long after Taiga had fallen. His stint in the common woods was short before he came to take this land, seizing it with a cold iron grasp. Now Sylva was his and his child was the first to be reborn into the lands. New life for them all.
It is by chance that he is in the right place at the right time. The smell of the Sylvan diplomat lingers, fresher then the rest of the ones that had left or been chased out. The memory of the brief tryst comes back to him, he follows the scent. As he gets closer to the cave, her scent hits him with a mix of metallic tang and other fluids. His muzzle wrinkles with distaste, he knows what that means. Another lingers within the cave, another scent he knows. Ears pin back to his skull as he enters the cavern.
There had only been a small handful of children that hadn’t disappointed him. If they were magical, they were treasured. If they weren’t then they had better make up in spades what they lacked. If they couldn’t do that, if they were that disappointing, then they would have been better off stillborn. The scene that greets him is an interesting one. Karaugh, worn out from the exertion of giving birth, with a colt by her side. Mortem stood leering not far. His dazzling red eyes take in the scene briefly before his cold voice echoes about the dark walls of rock. ”I believe that is mine…” A warning in his voice meant specifically for the other stallion. To watch himself and his bloodlust. At least until he had inspected the child first, if it would satisfy.
09-21-2017, 07:09 AM (This post was last modified: 09-21-2017, 09:45 AM by Karaugh.)
Cleaning the blood and birth away with haste she knew it would attract attention. The crimson liquid was sweet on her tongue but it did not sate the hunger that burned inside her. This was different, having spilled from herself and not taken from the lifeline of another. No, it would not do. Maybe the luring scent would be of use after all...
The silver colt remained still atop the straw. Tossing his small head as her tongue ran down his neck. Her vision still viewing his heat signature, now a glow. Satisfied that he'd stand with a bit of encouragement she stepped aside. Her hooves clip along the rock was followed by more, she was still. Ebony horns pressed flat against her skull as her neck craned her crown around the boulder. An array of colors was fast approaching her. Boldly she stepped out from behind the rock completely, eyes still fixated on the creature that dared to enter her domain. A motion forward to meet their pace, Well hello there. Her eyes narrow on the stallions pulsating vein along his neck, fangs descending as she hisses, "Just in time."
Readying to lunge forward she is stopped only by another array of bold lights entering. A familiar scent lingering in the damp stagnant air. The disappointment of a delayed meal dissipates quickly on her features. Soon replaced with a devilish grin over white fangs. She doesn't question why he's here. She knows all too well why...
In all the commotion the colt had found his footing. Anxious to join his mother he wobbles to her, settling at her side. His muzzle reaches for her belly, it is warm there so he huddles close. Unaware of the happenings around him...
I believe that is mine... His statement holds truth. Her glance flickers from the alabaster stallion to the ebony one, then back. Debating her move...
Stepping to the side, away from the child, her rump swings around as her crown is brought to his level. Tucking her muzzle between his hocks, she pushes him center of the two stallions. "It is a boy. Name him if he satisfies you. Destroy him if he doesn't," her words are hollow. Ebony horns thrust forwards as she waits a decision...
Karaugh
illicit daughter of nymphetamine and killgore
HTML by Call
@[Gryffen] @[Modicum Mortem]
*Note: vampire bats can detect heat so she is seeing them as heat signatures at first
The fangs that descend from her teeth are hungry to the taste of blood...his blood. Her body tenses, ready to lunge at the vein pulsating rapidly down the clown's throat. Adrenaline courses through him - he is not scared...he is excited. Ears pinned and ready for the fight to ensue - he would kill her then go for the child. But then, another, a familiar scent, and the two are forced to stop.
The deep authoritative voice that emerges from behind the clown does not frighten him. Mortem is all too aware of who looms behind, and his cranium moves slowly to gaze behind him. The wraith king, always watching, always there. The child before the group must be one of Gryffen's many, and a twisted grin tugs at the edges of the ebony stallion's lips. If the child wasn't worthy, he knew what would happen.
A step away from the alabaster stag as he approaches, and the unknown mare allows Gryffen to take a closer look. The child could satisfy...it could not. Mortem intended to find out, and destroy him if need-be. It was only a matter of time...
He hadn’t remembered the mare had fangs before. Apparently she was good at keeping secrets. So was he. While he doesn't doubt the silver tongued Karaugh could handle her own, he was loathe to put something that belonged to him in harm’s way in case he wanted to keep it. Both the clown and the vampire are eager for blood, eager for death. He can never understand it, that gnawing hunger that consumes them. It is interesting to watch and observe. His pleasure comes from a scientific standpoint. All the most interesting mysteries stem from darkness. Death was the greatest mystery of all which was where he was drawn to it. However he didn’t lust for it (like those before him, like the Nightmother). He could enjoy it when it satisfied a cruel need to hurt or weaken someone (like the death of the mare in Taiga). But he didn’t need it, it wasn’t the only way to curb his appetite.
Despite giving life to the child, it’s mother has little regard for it. She pushes the colt forward and doesn’t protest for it’s life. Curiouser and curiouser. He can practically feel the clown trembling with anticipation but he takes his time, observing the child. ”No physical traits.” He murmurs to himself, disappointment apparent. That scent of magic doesn’t linger around it. His lips curl in disdain. He had hoped for better. However the child was a boy. A chance to spread his line, create more that may not be as disappointing. He was also an unusual silver color and sometimes looks can be just as pleasing as magic. ”It will live… For now.”
A pause as his crimson gaze looks to each of them, thinking. Morty’s fascination with child death was abnormal but useful. To have a child killer in his lands would surely outrage the rest of the world. Good, let it. ”You name it.” He says quietly to the mare with a slight shrug. His creativity didn’t reach to naming offspring. He would rather plot the sacking of kingdoms then spend time on such trivial activities. With a final calculated cold look at his son, he turns and leaves the cave. As cold, quiet, and deadly as a snowstorm
It wasn't unlike her to abandon a child. If she felt it was weak or unworthy of the life she had given it. Call it mother's intuition but she had a feeling this one could be useful. She herself had been born without magic and yet here she is now. Those who work hard are rewarded...
Dark auburn eyes remain trained on the white stag. Fangs dripping in anticipation of his judgement call. Even if he had released his clown upon her son she was faster... More deadly. And so very hungry. She sated her hunger for sake of not being a bad hostess. If his beasts should find themselves in her home again she would be less than accommodating. Trespassing was not something she took kindly to.
The dark stallion eyes the child hungrily but disappointment will be on his menu tonight. It will live for now, he states. A devilish grin flashes to her guests as she nudges the silver colt forwards, between the two stallions. You name it, he shrugs. She steps forward and brushes against the ghost as she begins to pass, "I think Kasanova will suit him." Her eyes shift to his partner who's features are twisted into distaste. She hisses between readied fangs, "Maybe next time." She taunts. Her comment isn't directed to the colt living still but to the fact that he is.
It was time to venture out so she heads to the gapping mouth of her abode. The child following at her heels. He is strong and solid. Unlike her last. As the pair break out of the darkness of the cave and into the sheltered canopy of the forest her fangs recede. No hint of her magic was apparent now. Let them see her for how she was born...
