"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
With great power comes great responsibility - or in Belgarath’s case, a distinct lack thereof and apparent apathy for anyone without anything resembling his newfound level of power.
Demonic Ice Manipulation.
Tremble before him, all ye mere mortals. Fear the ice he spreads in his wake, that breaches the crust of the earth, lest ye be devoured and consumed and frozen alive.
If anything, he’s gotten more arrogant; that damn smirk super glued on his face and a saucy jaunt in his step. If Belgarath ever had an ounce of humility, it’s been ripped out of his skin with the very I.V. that injected his new trait. Which is both good and bad, depending on who you ask. Great for him, great for some ladies… also bad for some other ladies. Potentially good for where ever he decides to retake up residence. But that’s neither here nor there. Bel has decided to live in the present, to be even more selfish than he originally was; to take what he wants, when he wants it. Whenever he decides exactly what it is he wants.
Get the picture?
He never gives a thought to the kids that just disappeared from his side, or to the mares he may or may not have roughly impregnated. Winter is coming and the air is brisk. The leaves that have already fallen are destroyed beneath his heavy hooves as he stalks through the Meadow, surveying all that is his.
And oh, has it ever been so glorious?
Perhaps winter will come early this year.
BELGARATH No mercy to what we are doing, no thought to what we have done No need to feel the sorrow, no remorse for the helpless one
All that I need is for you to be bleeding, From my homicidal kiss
Boredom was the bane of the nightmare's existence, and nothing much was happening in the Valley at this moment so she decided it was time to go out and explore more than the two areas of this new land she had become familiar with. Dinner plate sized hooves left pockmarks upon the earth as she moved silently as a large predatory cat through the shadows, feathering dancing around them in time to her movement. Dark eyes were partially hidden by a mass of tangled forelock, though she missed nothing in her surroundings as she approached what looked to be a serene meadow. Oh joy, serenity, just what she needed...not. Give her blood and violence, death and mayhem and she was a happy mare. Coop her up with tranquility and she went out of her mind, it just wasn't her way.
Dead leaves littered the ground, making her take more care where she set her feet so that she wasn't making as much noise as a charging bull elephant with her movements, settling herself into the shadows of a nearly bare tree. A shiver of cold crept out to touch her coal black hide, and her ears flattened at the feeling. It wasn't time for winter yet, where in the hell did that cold come from? Tilting her nose into the air, she inhaled deeply, picking up the scents of mares not far off, and then the distinctly musky odor of a male, and the scent of cold and ice was coming from his direction.
A half smile quirks her dark lips as she stares at the charcoaled brute, he was large but not quite as large as she was. She let him get closer before speaking, still hiding within the shadows that clung to her with the embrace of a lover.
Well hello. What have we here? An equine who brings the winter winds with him?
She then falls silent, staring out at him from the umbrage, her dark eyes locked onto his form as her matted and tangled tail flicks against her scarred hide.
Alptraum Mare 10 years Black (Ee/aa) Percheron x Friesian 18 hands No Consort, The Valley, No Hellspawn Sael
You see, I'm not like those other girls, baby I'm your bloody creature poster girl
Ugh. She’s only a hand taller, and really, who wants a freakishly sized woman like that? Not that it wouldn’t be fun to break her, to see her cower beneath his gaze while overwhelmed with fears of drowning and freezing and falling through the ice. Not yet, my precious, not yet. Not until we can see what she has to offer you, Master of Winter and Harbinger of Ice.
Her black skin reminds him a bit of the Raven-something girl he used to have in his herd. Except she had this fancy trick of actually turning into a raven - or was it sprouting raven’s wings? - she was insignificant and he can’t be bothered to remember. Belgarath’s pale gray lips curl slightly, though whether it’s out of malice or lust or pure personality is hard to say. For all that his coat is light and beautifully dappled and taught over a good deal of muscle, his eyes are flinty and hard. He pauses to look her over, this woman who hides in the shadows. They stare at each other for a long moment, sizing each other up, criticizing, analyzing, figuring out which cards to play.
“Winter and Ice and nothing that’s nice…” His voice travels off into a rather devious and/or sinister chuckle. It’s obvious his enjoys his newfound powers. Relishes, even.
“Come out, come out whoever you are.” There’s no threat (yet) in his voice, though the idea is in the back of his mind. If she doesn’t come towards him, he’ll force her out - slipping and sliding all the way. And the taller the horse, the heavier the fall...
BELGARATH No mercy to what we are doing, no thought to what we have done No need to feel the sorrow, no remorse for the helpless one
All that I need is for you to be bleeding, From my homicidal kiss
A wry smile twisted itself onto her dark lips, watching the smoke colored man as he entreats her to come out. That decision might be regrettable later on, but for now she would comply with his wish. Slipping out of the shadows, she moves to stand before him in the inherent darkness of her midnight hide. What had once been sleekly muscled skin was now scar covered muscle, one ear in tatters as if a rabid dog had tried to savage her head. Dark eyes peered out at him from beneath her matted forelock, a soft chuckle escaping her lips as she studies him, skin twitching as she felt he cold emanating from his skin.
What you expected to see? Or were you dreaming of one of those pretty little fluff headed Arabian things?
Nonchalantly she rested one massive hoof on it's point, staring at the grey stallion with what would have been quirked eyebrows if she had such things. She had never been afraid of any man, and she wasn't going to start now. Snorting softly, she shook her head, tangled mane flopping against her muscular neck.
Alptraum Mare 10 years Black (Ee/aa) Percheron x Friesian 18 hands No Consort, The Jungle, No Hellspawn Sael
You see, I'm not like those other girls, baby I'm your bloody creature poster girl
Whatever happened to a pretty big thing like her that she could get so many scars? Scars were fitting for a man, for the one that was supposed to protect and enforce. Not so for women, whose skin was supposed to be smooth and supple to the touch, skin that should be begging to be caressed at all times. Skin that should bear only the marks of their man’s teeth in discipline. So either this woman was some sort of bull-headed bitch, or a dyke, or worse - some warrior maid who doesn’t know her place. They had such... uppity ideas. Such illogical notions.
He’d be happy to show her where she should be.
On her knees before him.
“Dreaming?” he says with derisive snort. “No, darling. I don’t need to dream. I can get them when I want to.” He always calls them darling and pet in that way; that little curl of the tongue, the nuance that says they’re more of a toy to be played with than any sort of little darling. He’s never had a darling. There was Alasia, once. But in the end, she disappeared like all the others. None of them have been worthy, and their children were all evidence of their unworthiness.
He still doesn’t have an heir. And that just irks the big ‘ol mountain to no end.
“I’m Belgarath. What’s your name?” Despite how much it pains him to admit it, she is just a tad bit intriguing.
BELGARATH No mercy to what we are doing, no thought to what we have done No need to feel the sorrow, no remorse for the helpless one
