"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
Cursed with an eternity by the hands of the God who's kingdom has now risen from the depths, I wade in the sea salt waters. Watching. Waiting. They go about their lives, these mortals, unknowing that I am here. And in this lies my true curse, an outsider. Forever.
I am anything but beautiful, though one has thought I was from time to time. Someone as broken on the inside as me. The sea monster had wished to cherish me for all time. Allowing me free reign of all the trinkets he kept hidden from the world. There was a time I thought I was his favorite. But all good things must end. I haven't seen Maugrim in years, and now that our underwater world home has surfaced I am left to roam the wide open oceans. I had tried to stop it, by burning that bayed stallion as he and the hoard rushed to save the sick land. But I had failed.
Death to me was a beacon. Often it called to me and so I am come. I had been present when my mother -God curse her soul- gave birth to a colt on the Loess coast. I had seen her battle to live as her shifted form for months. Waiting patiently for the day that would be her demise. I could feel it, the terrible thing that was consuming her from the inside. Slowly killing her and eating away at her insides. It was quite marvelous to watch actually, the way the child ate through the dams body, when she washed up along the shores.
As quick as it happened, the foal found its footing and fled. Shortly after, a dappled stallion came to inspect the carcass of our mother that was barely recognizable. Such a pity, that golden child surviving. And what has become of him now, my youngest brother? Only time would tell.
So with conflict I rise from my ghostly form in the waters. Stepping onto Pangea soil and breathing its sick air. A mass of tentacles cling to my ashy hide in a squirming curtain of mane. My tail, the same barbed mass, is nearly red against my sabino form. The fiery eyes -of my father- scan the land with displeasure. There is a lifetime worth of stories and they all seemed to stem from this unholy land. And it all started with her parents, a sibling coupling that had a hunger for despair...
11-28-2018, 06:31 PM (This post was last modified: 11-28-2018, 06:36 PM by Yidhra.)
For all of its rot and sickness, for all the bubbling waters glistening with the oily coatings of brine and death: there was comfort in the reaches of this world- familiarity in the bizarre shapes and contrasts: the smoothness and sharpness all the same. She appreciates it, enjoys and minds the way the rocks bend and weather: how they form into impossible creations, painted with drying and dead reef. Vents of gas pour hot air into the whole of Pangea from undersea well and volcanic fissures; but most alarming of all are the bioluminescent plants that glimmer and shine in the pitch of night. Her tentacles are wet and grotesque, quick to curl around whatever is nearest and she drags herself through crevice and cave.
Closer and closer she walks, curling the mass of tentacles behind herself forward and brushing away dirt and leaf from the porous and wet flesh: from the cold skin and all the spatters of color. “Coming to visit,” she pauses, watery breathing and sickened lungs heavy. “Or were you called by a greater purpose and reason my darling?” polite but informal, a creature of the oceans slithers forward. Step and step, the tendrils writhing and her maw parted to expose the chitinous and blackened beak. “Fear not, I am Yee-tho-rah (Yidhra), the Archon of this place… and friend to those seeking shelter and truth of the world around them.” hers is an ugly thing, impossibly shaped and ill-begotten, the twisted form of a Kraken and yet, a horse.
Brushing a paddle-tipped tentacles against her chimerical face she flits an ear and brushes away a tentacle that writhed across her barbell shaped irises and inherently strange eyes.
Dynast is not a stranger to the things that fester in nightmares. She is one of them after all. Turned this way by the one they call Carnage. The Lord of all darkness that has ever stretched it's blood stained fingers across Beqanna.
When she sees this being approaching, she doesn't wonder what she is. She has seen these things in the dark abyss of the seas. Their glassy eyes are all that clues others to its presence amongst the corals or hidden in the shadows. Creatures of opportunity and smart to boot.
She does not hide herself now. Coat as black as obsidian stones, marbled with pearl markings and accented with jellyfish tentacles. Puckered skin along her chest notates to an injury sustained, but all it really was was a reminder of her failure. His failure. That good for nothing clown was supposed to kill her, not maime. Now heartless, the immortal beast that is Dynast continues to survive.
A sly grin curls her black lips at the sound of the females voice. Quieting her body before the tentacled mare, she listens with intent. Pressing the strangers name to memory and purpose to thought. A pause thickens the air between them as she considers her words carefully, and then an equally sickening voice fills the void, "Yidhra. My name is Dynast. It is a pleasure, truly. It isn't often I meet a creature such as yourself. One of the sea amongst the land dwellers. Pitiful things aren't they?" Her question is rhetorical as her blood red eyes shift to the land, "It looked so much better underwater." Remnants of the kingdoms time at sea lay scattered about, death having found anything that survived solely by salt water.
A glass like tendril, worms across the flat of her white face but she doesn't brush it away like Yidhra does. "Tell me, does Carnage still thrust his dick into every pretty little mind he warps?" This question was more direct and requiring of an answer. Though she feels she could guess that the answer is yes.
Her gaze returns to the beaked proclaimed-Archon, awaiting the answer before stating her purpose. "I suppose I have come to find what has become of my family. We have a long history in Pangea, so I thought I'd start here. Seeing as my mother and father have passed, as well as my oldest brother, I wonder if you have come across a colt recently? Golden coat, white patches similar to mine..." She pauses for a chuckle, "Family trait ya know." Referring to the sabino gene that was passed from her mother to her and each of her brothers. Though this one had been the brightest colored of them all...
Dynast
Friends with the Monsters
@[Yidhra] I think they could be besties, tentacle fweinds fo life XD
Her head tilts to the left, a mockery of feigned confused and of question; but the tendrils at the end of her face become pointed and triangularly shape… conal perhaps given their dimension. They do not move when she speaks… not lips, not a nose: just stable and still all the while those on her neck lay still and straight: her tail coils well around her legs and those length arms at her shoulders reach up and out- paddle-shaped tips and their barbs scratching and brushing the the porous flesh and all the biting creatures.
Dynast speaks and she is listening, ears forward and them flickering as Yidhra considers all her words and their meanings: mulls over the Cnidarian’s posture and behavior… her every existence in the region. To herself she feels her own beak pulling back, slowly moving behind the mass and tentacles and sounding out each necessary sound and syllable. In such a voice, she replies in time, ancient and cold: unafraid to address the creature before her with all the resonation and echo of the depths.
Her voice has changed.
Deep and watery, lacking smoke and seduction: there is a brutality and poignant nature to it, reverberating in the air as it would the water. “The creatures on land possess of them a spark that is theirs and only theirs. Such is the same of us beasts beneath the sea: it is truly the miracle when one can manifest in both worlds with surety and the spark of both. I find them interesting, not so much foolish, but curious in a way that I and others can not be well beneath the ocean.” her teal eyes blink: the barbell irises stretching.
Cnidaria, like Dynast, are creatures similar to herself: old and ancient, beyond comprehension in all their forms and shapes. Bioluminescent or lacking… sometimes so massive they might swallow a young porpoise; but other times so small as to be undetectable. For this there is a silent respect, one she bore for Ivar and for the other beasts forced upon land.
Yet? The middling remark about Carnage pushes that backwards, not out of favor for the drowned God; but simply because she dislikes rudeness and discourtesy. “A God does as a God does, careless of the world around it and the things which inhabit it. After all, what do Gods care for the lives of mortals in truth? Nothing. Carnage plays and toys as he wants; but in the end it is only when he wants: otherwise he is keen to merely go about his way.” she shrugs, the Gods are fickle things after all.
She knows, she was a God- and in many ways, she still is.
“You mean the boy who passed out.” she blinks, half recalling Delta and the way he had crumbled so easily. “I had wondered why he had come here. Not many willingly walk into infestation and sickness, albeit it I admire his tenacity in some ways.” she is quick to shrug: merely blink and sighs.
