[private] to hold you down, to hold you down; balto

[Faulkor]

 

Life. Balto had given him life. Gone were the needle teeth that pierced his joints at every movement. Gone were the whispers of the Reaper each time he closed his eyes. Balto had given him escape, and Faulkor ran blindly into the light.  The light… He had betrayed his beloved darkness for a chance at magic - tasted blood and sweat and defeat.  He crawls back to that hole again, wounded more in pride than in body. Amidst the tangled branches that crown their cave, Faulkor waits - beady eyes gleaming in the feeble moonlight. The raven has overtaken him entirely now, trapping him within the body of an ugly, black bird. But Faulkor has always been ugly.  Still, he caws forlornly into the night.  F A U L K O R

@[Balto]

[Balto]

He had retreated into the darkness. Without any semblance of light to be seen, or anyone to remind him of what once was (of what was possible), the cave dweller finds himself more at home with the darkness than ever before. The darkness did not lie, the darkness did not abandon, the darkness accepts him. At one point, he had wanted the darkness to consume him entirely, but there is part of of him - however small the sliver - that clings to life. Perhaps it is mere selfishness that keeps him breathing, though. The demons still come like animals to his body to feast each night, awakening the blue stallion in a sea of sweat and hallucinations. When he awakes, fear no longer finds the blue of his eyes but anger - languid and pulsing beneath his quick and rapid breaths. He wonders, at times, if he is not fighting the demons but slowly becoming one of them as he prowls beneath silver moonlight, exploring the world just outside the familiar cave mouth. He has given up on her returning to him, but again there is that tiny part of him - just a tiny piece, that clings to the hope that she might find him again, that he could perhaps be saved. A trill of sound crackles through the dead and dying forest, capturing Balto’s attention. It is a sound that has grown familiar, and calls him back to the twisting shadows of their cave. His dark muzzle pushes the many brittle vines that have died in the winter’s cold, entering the cavern with a huff of vapor leaving his nostrils. “Faulkor,” he says evenly in greeting, his eyes darting quickly to the raven that sits guarding the cave, meeting its black and gleaming eyes with the blue of his own. -- once the king of beasts but now they feast on thoughts beneath his vacant crown

@[Faulkor]

[Faulkor]

 

A familiar figure appears almost silently beneath the bough upon which the raven sits. Silence takes hold upon the tangled depths of the Forest once more. The bird studies the blue stallion, beady eyes gleaming in what feeble moonlight has escaped the snares of shadowy branch and vine. “Faulkor.” the figure breathes. If ravens could smile, this one did - all mischievous and cunning, but trapped all the same. With a trill the bird leaps from his perch, diving rapidly downward towards the blue stallion below. With a series of sharp caws the raven’s wings unfurl and flap wildly about Balto’s head. “Caw, caw, caw!” He cries in distress. F A U L K O R

@[Balto] Feel free to power play as needed. Hopefully this is enough to go off of? Faulkor is distressed because he can't figure out how to shift from his raven form.