"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
12-12-2017, 06:58 PM (This post was last modified: 12-30-2017, 11:11 AM by Maugrim.)
god make me pay like the devil i am
His hunger engulfs him, leaving him a bitter splash of frigid, angry waters on Nerine’s darkened shore. His appetite has grown, proven by the amount of rotting corpses that he had drug to the bottom of the sea, floating hauntingly within the darkness. He stares at them with equally empty eyes, forcing the current to bring him over them and through them, brushing past them with graceful movements, remembering their shrieks, remembering their last breath…
With a scream of frustration that is not heard amidst the deep pressure of the ocean’s floor, bubbles cascading from his open lips and floating upwards, he thrashes himself away from his collection of bones and freshly bloated bodies - he is still hungry, and killing is not quelling the gnawing ache within him.
The monster grows restless, and it is due time for a walk on land - though not in Nerine. He had no patience today for walking among the silly horses that wade in the shallows or upon the craggy shore. They simply wouldn’t do. He craves something else entirely and with another frustrated growl, the water demon liquifies himself into nothingness, a rampant riptide propelling himself through the ocean.
The rough and tempestuous waters of Nerine quickly give way to the clear and calm ocean of Ischia, a beautiful tropical paradise that the stallion remembers from when he was just a foal. He remembers Kylin and her twin (foul beast), and how with such rudeness he had been treated. From beneath the still, pristine waters he rises, materializing as he prowls towards the white sand, saltwater dripping from each hollowed and rippling muscle, seaweed spilling from his iridescent and evergreen mane. He’s scowling, a maddening and angry thing festering though the shallows, the usual calm waters ravaging around him with his frustration.
He is not here to kill, though he is never one to promise such a thing.
If he finds what he is looking for, no harm shall be done to the Ischians.
The irony was so blatant that she was currently where she was, that she could hardly believe it. She was living on Ischia - at least for the time being - where the leader was a child of her pompous windbag of a grandfather. The justice of such was bitter sweet. On the one hoof, she saw the justice returned to her family in that raid all those years ago. On the other - well. She wasn't sure that there was another. All she knew was that Grandmere, if she had not left these shores, would have been exceedingly proud. And who would have thought of what it would have taken to get her to come back here.
She had come seeking Jah-Lilah.
She had stayed even when she had been made aware that the priestess in all her glory had departed the island. The idea of such wild growth and tropical plants called to her and made her giddy - so many things to kill. To rot down, create stink. She'd have the ability to create and take away life at a whim. The sensation was heady, and she found that at least for a short while, she would linger here.
There was something about the self-imposed demon that she had met that one time that she did not trust. Something that made her want to rot his face off. He had come out of nothing, proclaimed himself faithful, attempting to take a prominent place next to the brand new Keeper. Deathwish was itching for some drama - some chaos - this was true, but something did not sit right in her belly with that one, and so she quietly - perfectly - has decided to stay around for the sake of Krone.
Covelings have to stick together, after all, and Grandmere had taught her from infancy to always protect the family. Even if she hated them all, it was ingrained in her.
She hated it.
So, on a quiet day, the grey pearlescent mare has gone to the furthest most reaches of Ischia, to start her brand new collection of dead things. A flower, a coconut, all manner of new and unsual bird species - dead and rotted by the power of her blood. She smiles darkly - a rare display of pure happiness, and she looks around to see if anyone is watching.
When she appears to be alone - though the water is rippling, and ears - and girly parts - are twitching, she stares her pewter eyes at one of the dead birds. Bringing about a reverse of her magic, she returns the bird to life. Bright red plumage with purple feathers, a small beak and black eyes. but it does not stray far from Deathwish, instead choosing a perch near her shoulder when it starts to sing.
All her focus is on the bird, and yet, a familiar tugging of her body - in that oh so familiar way - was like a sixth sense to her now. It did not take magic to know who lurked in the water behind her.
"I wondered when I would see you again, Maugrim."
Her voice is detached - dis-genuine. And yet, the thrumming in her heart is one that is methodic and pure. She only wondered what would happen to her this time on this particular little rendezvous.
“Do not act as if you are unhappy to find me here, wading in the shallows.”
Black eyes flash to her, taking in the soft curve of her hip as he stands dripping into the shallows behind her, hunger evident on the harsh planes of his two-toned face. He notices the bird on her shoulder, that hops with black little talons on her lavender flesh, bright wings fluttering as it surveys him with beady eyes - he wants to kill it, to take its neck into his teeth and snap the fragile bones in a single clamp of his jaw, just to feel the life fade away. The idea satiates him for a moment, then the change in breeze brings a familiar scent to him, and he salivates for an entirely different reason.
Still soaking from his swim from Nerine, he wades through the still, clear waters of Ischia towards her, stepping onto the white sand that now clings to the evergreen of his legs. He draws the water with him, creating a tiny tide pool beneath his hooves as he brings himself to her, eyes burning. With quivering nostrils, his pearlescent lips press into the skin of her haunch, cold and salt-strewn as he familiarly searches her, tracing the delicate flesh that covers her spine with firm bites, desperately wishing she still smelled of him.
He stops at her barrel, his nose low and near the gentle curve where it meets her hip, inhaling deeply and exhaling in a low, shuddering nicker. “Are you not bored here?” he asks, his breath hot as he speaks into her skin, a sharp nip and then a swift, apologetic kiss. “The company here is terrible, I would know.”
His black eyes glance upwards beneath a hooded brow, his tongue leaving his mouth to lick at his salted lips, the sight of the mark on her withers reminding him of their last time, beneath the rain and thunder. He feels a hardening beneath him while his hunger grows, but suddenly he is staring into the despicable eyes of the bird that now hops in his line of sight, a tiny tilt of its head.
With a ripple of his lips into a snarl he hisses, and a swift tendril of water from beneath him spirals upwards, grabs the creature from her shoulder and brings it into the shallows, quivering helplessly beneath his grasp.
Deathwish does not turn as he speaks - the hard angle of his body as he presses himself into her, biting her and pressing those dangerous kisses he knows she loves so well. Quite, she shivers under his touch, her eyes rolling back into her head as she raises her head, looking up into the trees. Her ears go back and her tail instinctively goes up, pulled up and to the side. "You're bad, Maugrim." She whispers hotly, breathy moans as she feels the familiar sensations that only he's been able to give her.
The cold of the salt water and the way it singes her skin, she is singing for him as she hisses his name over and over again. Are you not bored? He says. Not anymore, she thinks. Not with the bruises she'd sustain from this round of touching and pulling. The company is terrible, I should know. And then, she squeals, pulling back and turning to face him.
Deathwish was not quick enough, however. That little bird, alive by her hand, dangling helplessly and being taken away from her. Maugrim's eyes are flashing, and he's still dripping wet with the bird in his mouth. The grey pearlescent woman sidles up to her green tormentor, her eyes flashing, "Jealous, are we lover?" Of a little bird?" She immediately reverses the rot process, releasing the moisture from his little red body with a mere zip of her abilities.
"It doesn't look good on you. Give me back my dead thing."
She stands, looking annoyed at him, torn between wanting to kill him immediately, and wanting to take him again. Her eyes dart to to the mark she left on his chest. Her mark. "The island has its benefits," she drawls out. "Lots of things to kill. Lots of places to hide. Lots of family members to torture. And lots of water to satiate a certain green man I know and hate."
She stares, still looking at the bird clenched between his teeth.
"Give me back my dead thing, or maybe I might have to loathe you more than I already do. Besides, didn't you come here for something specific? You never come here simply for daily pleasantries" Deathwish keeps her face even. She wants to hate him. She wants to kill him.
Of course he is. He is a monster beneath the water, a predator just under the surface. Not only is he bad, but he is terrifying - he kills not for the sake of killing, not even for the sake of power (though that is a feeling he most enjoys as their breath stutters into nothingness beneath his grasp), but kills because he needs to, because he craves it. There is no rhyme or reason, no explanation as to why, which makes him all the more beastly. He does not seek for his name to be whispered among Beqanna in fear or adoration, he does not seek to rule the nations or to have others bow to him - he only cares for the darkest depths of the oceans, and strangely enough, he cares for the woman who shivers beneath his salty, warm touch.
Maugrim almost laughs when she demands his return of her dead thing, and though most often times he would rebuke her and deny her, he gives in. He gives her back the molded and rotting corpse, and it is almost cute the way she is attached to the little thing - doesn’t she know there is so much more that she can kill, turn into dust with just a look? “You need bigger prey,” he murmurs, stepping forward to run his mouth against the delicate curve of her stomach, breathing hotly onto her flesh (she no longer smells of him, and it angers him that it is so - all must know she belongs to him), ears pinning into his seaweed-strewn mane. “I will bring you some,” he whispers with finality, a fervent kiss placed where the softness of her shoulder meets her barrel, then nipping tenderly at the delicate flesh.
“Deathwish,” he says her name in longing, moving against her so that now they are shoulder to shoulder, running his pearlescent lips across her sleek neck, tracing her matching skin with fervor and intensity. “I’ve come for you.” His words create a burning in his loin, a hunger creeping throughout his veins and blood surging wildly through his body, already imagining how he will split her open this time.
And indeed, she did shiver. His well-placed kisses on her body turn her inside out, and he speaks of bigger prey, and her muscles tighten at the idea of having new things to play with. New things to torture. New things to Kill. Her dead thing is forgotten for the moment - the little red bird placed back in her treasure trove of things. For now, her attention is turned very much to the living - wondering what it would be like to play in his arena. Wondering how far he would drag her down before she would be able to collapse his lungs and make him beg to return them to the surface. To take control of his other mistress - to make him love and serve only her, the way she worships him with her body.
The lazy way the waves lap at the beach in this part of the island remind her of the way Maugrim turns his tongue to her body, but indeed, he is more than that. He is the violent storm that turns the tides and brings up death from the cavernous bottom of the seas. She knows she is his - She bears his mark.
He bears hers.
They are an odd, angry pair, riddled with death and dismemberment, need for darkness. Need for each other. So when Deathwish turns to him, she angrily bears her teeth, reaching out to bite him. But she is unsuccessful as he dodges behind her, his plan in place.
He does not hesitate - she grants him permission (which he doesn’t need, but enjoys hearing her want him) and the shallows below them begin to gurgle with the manifestation of his ability, swirling around her ankles and pulling gently at her with longing and passion, caressing her legs all at once in a way his own mouth cannot. The warm water bends around his own legs too, the sensation he creates for himself and for her causing an intense burn beneath his growing appendage, his breath hot against her skin as he groans gruffly with a parted mouth. The water begins to rise around them, so slowly and deliberately as he rakes his mouth across her flesh, smelling her with flaring nostrils and curled lips, the scent between her legs drawing him to the supple curve of her rump.
When his mouth reaches her hip, the shallow tide is now at their knees, swirling and pulling tenderly against them like a lover’s kiss, the smell of saltwater and the wetness between her thighs driving him mad. His eyes roll as a deep nicker reverberates in his throat, hungry and wanting as the water rises to their shoulders, lipping at her body in warm waves, moving into her crevices in a way that only Maugrim’s mind would allow. His lips kiss passionately at her thigh, tasting the bitterness of the salt mixed with the sweet taste of her wetness with his greedy tongue. A few moments pass and he cannot wait any longer - she is ready for him, and as he lifts himself up to position himself upon her back, the ocean rises to spill over her back, the water already rhythmically pulling at her entire body that lies below the surface, save for her neck and head that he leaves for himself.
The sensation of the water around her and himself sends shivers of delight down his spine, a shudder befalling him as he clasps his strong forelegs around her shoulders and forcefully pulls herself into him, a moan leaving his parted mouth as she splits open for him. He didn’t care what she thought about the water that pulls lustfully at her legs and body as he begins to thrust, eyes rolling closed with ecstacy.
Mine, mine, mine, he thinks to himself with every stroke, gasping and moaning in her ear as the water begins to surge with his increasing rhythm, now pulling on her legs and most intimate parts with a stronger grip.
She rocked her hips back and forth and arched her back, melting into him as the water dragged around her body, the wetness slipping into places his tongue could not get to. Being loved and laved in places that he cannot fathom, even in all his wildest dreams. But he does not need to worry - his magic has done the job for him, and done it well, it has. She comes hard, in a feast of blood and sweat, and then clenches her hips and twists, A flair in her eyes as she smiles darkly, and begins to grab a new grip on Maugrim, grabbing him instead by that most precious part that lead him here to her. She bucks upward, throwing her hips downward, and mid twist, Deathwish reaches up to bite Maugrim, rotting him from the hips down, holding him in place as she frantically pushes back, using his body, milking him, draining him dry. She wants all he can take and more, and she wants to watch him beg while she does it.
She wants none of him. And yet she wants to devour him.
It is almost as if she can feel him claiming her in every thrust, but still it is not enough. She squeals, and bites him one last time, before releasing his rotted nethers, and yet continues to hold him in place inside her.
Joined.
"This is where you belong," she snarls, wiggling her hips and lowering her croup to nestle fully into his loin. "As long as you never forget that, bring me prey. And then we shall play." She begins to rock back against him, closing her eyes and coming again, her backside drenched in his seed, in his wetness. She smelled like salt and saline.
The smell of sex and sweat permeates the air, and Maugrim grunts with satisfaction knowing that his scent covers her once again, soaking into her pores and leaving a reminder to her (and others) of the terror that resides in Ischia’s clear waters.
Deathwish is as enamored with their engagement as he, rocking and moving beneath him expertly and wildly, assisting his efforts as they writhe together in the waters. She latches onto him in a trill of desire (though for death or sex, it is impossible to tell), and he gasps as her teeth sink into his neck, ears falling flat into his mane. She pulls him close, somehow creating a situation where she is now the one in control, wildly pulling and pushing beneath him while the rest of him rots away to nothingness, putrid skin and decay poisoning the clear waters around them. The pain is tremendous, so much so that he almost wishes she would just kill him instead. It does not take him long to be where she wants him - emptying into her with rugged groans, eyes rolling into his head.
When she is sure there is nothing left of him, she squeals and releases him from her teeth. She uses him again, for her own pleasure, and his pearlescent muzzle nips at her shoulders as she rocks beneath him again.
He drapes his neck over her, panting as a sleepiness begins to come over him that leaves him atop her for the moment, resting his weight on her as he attempts to regain his strength and mind. She brings him back, restoring the damage she had laced on his body with a tenderness that is almost endearing, his haunches solidifying once again and skin forming over flesh and bone. He is renewed each time he meets with her, a new and stronger version of what he was before.
The water begins to recede, leaving them stinking of their own bodily fluids and salt, tinged with the smell of the Ischian sunlight. Almost reluctantly, the stallion slides from atop her, his nostrils flaring as he rests his muzzle at the base of her tail, picking at her with his teeth gently. A deep nicker resounds within him (foreboding to others, but Deathwish would know better) as he traces the quivering of her pale thigh, salty kisses pressing fervently into her skin.
“You will know where to find me.”
And with that, Maugrim melts into the shallows below them, pushing himself out to sea where the darkness will enshroud him and he will rest and hunt - until next time.
