"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
His birth is uneventful, a cold night below trees where the spring sun has not gotten the time to warm up the earth on the day before. There's no moon shining, or if there is it's a small one hidden by the clouds. No precious stars to twinkle their kind light downwards - it's just a very black night, and his mother names him lord of it.
Not that he is any of that yet. Right now he's just a baby; son of a god he may be, he does not express the gift bestowed upon his genetics. Perhaps one day he may earn such greatness; right now he seems nothing special. His mother loves him, though - but in the days following birth he discovers that her love for him is not enough to keep him going. There must be more to this life and, although he's young, he carries whatever genetic makeup it is of his father that leaves him lurking, stalking through the dark of night whenever mother's too tired to follow.
Tonight is no exception, and the son of the king's former lover leaves no stone unturned to find out which scent leaves where, or which bloodstain smells of horse and which of something else.
Rajanish
son of a dark god
Love is hurting if it screams - oh, if it's screaming out loud
05-24-2018, 07:30 PM (This post was last modified: 05-24-2018, 07:32 PM by Kreep.)
Kreep
Things have “settled down” for Sylva, papa had said. I could go and wander to my heart’s content, but if I dare leave the comfort of the forest, I would be punished.
But Papa doesn’t have much to worry about it. The trees are my friends, and the creeper is my best one (but don’t tell the other plants that!). I am following him tonight, blood trickling from the eyeball my nursemaid has managed to strike me in after feeding time. It throbs and aches, and I wonder if my tree friends feel similar pain when the rambler comes to take out their cores.
It is dark, so I change my coat to a bright golden like my Mama’s. The laughing lady is not here, but I hope she may spot me and we can talk about how the blood-painted walnut trees look especially dazzling tonight. The creeper must’ve painted them with his very own viney fingers (the old trickster!).
Through the low glow I manage to create upon my hide, I can see a splash of speckles, not unlike my own normal coat. The child is my size, it must be my age. Oh goodie! Another friend to play with, Mama and I love friends. I trot over confidently, head bobbing from side to side.
“Have you come out to play?” I ask as I approach, flaring my nostrils. A boy friend...my boyfriend!
God called in sick today
@[Rajanish] for clarification, Dynast is his nursemaid and abuses him. He calls Jackel his Mama because he likes her and Morty kind of sentenced his real one to death...lmfao.
05-27-2018, 05:42 AM (This post was last modified: 05-27-2018, 05:43 AM by Rajanish.)
The bay appaloosa colt pays no mind to lesser creatures, except dead ones should he come across them. And he comes across them more often than not, in this forest. The smell of other horses is thick here, and most of times mingled with blood, and deep down he knows it must be them that kills the critters, and further, deeper down, he wants to be part of the excitement.
And finally the smell of fresh blood reaches his nostrils, of horse blood. He turns right before or after the other colt speaks (so similarly shortly after recognizing the scent, he is not sure who was first). Almost glowing in the darkness with his shining yellow coat, immediately Raj feels like he does not belong in the night, but in the day. Gold is not a colour of the night, after all. So he snorts. ”You don’t fit in.” he accuses, but then lets the words register that were spoken, and he nods to the question posed. ”I will play with you.” he agrees. Teeth blink white in the night when he smiles. ”What’s your favourite game?” he wants to know. He’s young and, honestly his own mother would never harm him, and he is fascinated by the other colt’s bleeding eye.
Rajanish
son of a dark god
Love is hurting if it screams - oh, if it's screaming out loud
Golden head tilts slightly to the side as the boyfriend addresses me. you don’t fit in… sour, accusing words growl at me.
A quick shift, and I’m as black as the shadows around us. I’d of snapped my fingers had I had any (the creeper would do it for me with his own viney claws), and I stare back at him through black eyes. “Do I fit in now?” I ask, with a sort of mischievous chortle.
I turn back to my natural color (bay, with varying green spots across my hide), and jump from side to side. “We could hunt. Mama and I like to chase the deer!” I exclaim. Hunting was a game, right? “I’m not quite big enough to take down the doe, but we can hunt the smaller creatures if you’d prefer.”
He can almost smell the blood (like iron), taste it (metallic like pennies sliding down his throat), feel it (heavy, sticky, warm). Play the game with me, boyfriend!
Her second son by Carnage is perfect. Beneath his skin (deep deep down) there is power and malice blacker than ink. It is robed in a thin veil of beauty and whit so sharp it slices thick skin like knives. Her little phantom arrives in the night (as his big brother and sister had) silent and quick as a jaguar. He grows fast and learns faster. She loves him in her own twisted way (teaching him things, showing him things). He is all she has ever wanted.
She lurks through the forest , bodice no longer weighted with a child, quietly and quickly. Dark tendrils drag the earth and hang coiled in front of marble eyes so brilliantly blue they glow in the dark. The huntress seeks her boy, and she finds him accompanied by another. He stinks of the king's favorite plaything , and the woman's lips drawl back in a snarl as she starts to emerges from the tree line.
'I will play with you....'
Rajanish's words catch her off guard, and she stops before she may be spotted. (Her boy had not yet mastered the art of self awareness) Play? She onced over the green spotted boy and watches him morph and speak. She knew very well that their "play" would be interesting. A learning experience. She decides she could teach them things and slithers from the dark with a gentle nudge to her child's rear.
Raja’s ears perk forward as soon as the boy before him changes colour. Now he looks the part, a creature of the night much like him. Better even, but he does not care to admit that. He nods with a graveness rarely found in one so small (or perhaps only in those, come to think of it). ”Much better.” he decides. Like he’s the only judge to call him out on his colouring.
Satisfied once, he looks his creeperfriend over when he switches again, although this time he doesn’t seem to notice. Perhaps that is his real colour. Not unlike Raj himself really, although if the other boy is a bush still alive with some green spots in it, Raja is the one already dead - only dark brown spots mingled in the white. ”What’s your name, creeperfriend?”
A hunt, he says. He finds himself listening. He knows they cannot eat the meat or the blood or, at least not too much of the latter. But the thrill of the promised chase has his blood running, as well as the idea that something larger than himself, like a deer, could be taken down and once down, he wants to see where they keep the grass, how it transfers into the mush they leave behind, how come their antlers grow while horses cannot - in short, take it apart like a cuckoo’s clock to see how it works. Unable to put it back together, but that is merely inconvenient.
As the ghostly-born colt opens his mouth to speak, he shuts it when his Mama emerges and touches his hind. She wants to play? He tilts his head at her in mild adoration. ”Can you catch the deer for us, Mama?”
Rajanish
son of a dark god
Love is hurting if it screams - oh, if it's screaming out loud
“I am Kreep,” I tell him, a devilish grin spreading across my lips. I realize rather quickly that this is similar to the one Papa does, and it grows even wider. I want to be just like him when I grow up. “And who are you, ghost boy?” I ask my boyfriend.
I don’t get far, because soon I hear a feminine voice not unlike my Mama’s. Green-tipped ears point upwards as the beautiful mare slithers her way into the open air with them. “Yes, can you catch a doe? Teach us!” Kreep begs, half rearing as hungry hazel eyes stare crazily at her.
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