"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
Time had passed. Winter had faded into spring and then spring had bounced right into summer. The sun was hot on his body, but he didn't seem to care. His body was still skeletal, with ribs and shoulders, hip bones, and his vertebrae all seeming to try to escape from his fur. His winter coat, what had tried to grow in, was still there, random ragged patches of fur that added even more to his unkempt appearance. His eyes were still dull, still empty and his head hung low.
All of what he had been before was gone.
His mind was empty, with the exception of his master, whom he thought about constantly. Always wondering what he was plotting, what monsters might crash through that brush to his left. Or even worse who he might have once known that would come walking towards him, brushing his lips....no. They were gone. All of them. He was gone. He would never see them again except for here when his master wanted to torture him. He had long ago learned to stop thinking, to just take everything as it came. He had learned to forget, learned to shut his mind off, except for the pleasure of his master.
That he learned, that he never forgot. Arzhur wondered now how long his master would keep him here, how long this torture would go on. He had been stuck for a month or two before, at least it had seemed like a month. Nothing more than a few minutes had passed really. Zurry had used to fight, used to try to remember everything he could, so he would never forget. But the pain, god it had hurt. His mind had fractured. His soul was ripped. His heart was so broken he was afraid he would never remember what it felt like to actually feel.
Or at least once he had worried. Once he had cared. Now he was pleasantly numb. His lips touched the grasses here and there as he moved, never staying still too long. His eyes looked, his ears twitched, and he was wary of what might happen, of what his master might send his way. He finally stilled for a moment, beneath the shade of a tree. It wasn't safe, but his body was tired. He leaned against it, the bark biting into his skin and his breath coming from his body in a quiet whoosh, while his eyes closed momentarily. He would catch just a few minutes of sleep before he moved on again.
You care so much you feel as though you will bleed to death with the pain of it.
You want to talk about monsters that come crashing out of the brush? Ok, we can roll with that. What could possibly be more terrifying than an Ice Demon coming out of the brush in this summer’s heat? It defies all logic; what mortal could hold such power? Who could it be, if not an ally of his master? Some... thing dragged from the icy ring of hell against its will and forced to torment them both.
I mean, it could be. Or it could just be Belgarath, playing with his powers again. What a jerkface.
He remembers the boy he trampled, the sick little twinges of pleasure he got from kicking the prone frame with his big ‘ol hooves. While he’ll always be partial to ripping the feathers off of lady wings and bending their bodies to his will, there’s nothing wrong with trying to share the love. Women - the weak ones, anyway - were usually afraid of him because of his size and build. Men, not so much. Their descent is farrrr more entertaining to watch. They would learn soon enough that it isn’t safe. Nowhere is safe. The ice… it can go anywhere.
He watches the stallion lay his weary head against the rough surface of the tree, thinking that he must be a very tired boy, if he could find that comfortable. But there is no rest for the weary and no rest for the wicked, so Belgarath lets his imagination wander. Hmm… he looks to the tree, and freezes a couple of leaves and small twigs, moving out to a greenless stick. Nothing that would really hurt the bedraggled looking fellow, but would probably startle him when the fall. And fall then did, with a crack, and he expanded the water in the tree and broke the frozen pieces off. They fall towards the white and brownish-grayish stallion, and he waits to see what happens next.
In my mind, I'm running round a cold and empty space
What could possibly be more terrifying? Zurry could have answered that easily. His master. An ally? Not likely. His master had worked alone, always. He made monsters far more terrifying than Belgarath, things that had literally made Zurry mess himself more than once and freeze in absolute terror. Things that had kept him awake for days, because every time he closed his eyes, he had seen it.
Dull, his senses were dull even when they should have been hyper alert. He knew but the lack of sleep, of food, of anything resembling normalcy had dulled him. So while he didn't hear the sudden crisp and crackling of leaves and twigs, of frost and ice inching it's way along the branch, he did hear the crackling that sent him skittering backwards and away from the sound. His eyes rolled, but he feels the cold in the air now, his face turned up towards the branches. They fall harmlessly in front of him, as his scare had taken him out of the range of the rest and he creeps backwards slowly as he watches it. And then his eyes are on the forest, narrowed as he peers through the brush.
The stallion is not hard to spot when he finally does, the light color of his coat is a like a beacon and his massive size enough to make Arzhur keep his eyes on him. "I will survive." He murmurs to himself, his hooves finally pausing when he has twice the distance between them than when he had been against the tree. "Go away." He says, his voice brittle, knowing it will do no good, knowing that he will come anyways and that there will be more pain. At least this was physical, at least this he knew he could handle as long as it didn't kill him. He knew that the pain would fade in time as his wounds healed, but he would have liked to try to avoid it in the first place if he could.
When he had been strong before and healthy, the stallion would have appreciated the challenge the other male presented to him. Now he was just broken and so weak that he would rather run away than live through another day or week or month of pain.
Just put your arms around me, tell me everything's OK.
08-25-2015, 07:52 PM (This post was last modified: 08-25-2015, 07:56 PM by Belgarath.)
Ok, ok. We get it. Master is big, bad and scary, and Belgarath can never begin to fill his big ‘ol monster shoes. To be fair, Bel has some nice sized hooves (no talons or extra toes, or whatever devilish things Master may have). Nice for stomping on things with. Or kicking things.
Belgarath watches him quietly (as quietly as he could), standing as still as an ice sculpture. He frowns when the frozen bits of tree don’t strike the stallion on his body, but the ice had some effect. It got the stallion’s attention, didn’t it? He holds back a chuckle as the other peers into his little hidey-hole, but his breath comes in white puffs as the air around them grows unnaturally cool. It was a dead giveaway, but I think that Belgarath wanted to be found, eventually. He didn’t want the stallion to run off (chases were boring), and besides, the poor wretch didn’t look like he would get very far without collapsing.
I will survive.
Well yes, he probably would. Bel isn’t in the habit of killing quite yet. Still on the torture level, needs a few more points before he can adequately level up.
Go away.
Belgarath pushes his way into the open, closing some of the distance between them. He wants the stallion to have a good look at him. Spread the word when he’s done, you know? “This is my tree. You stopped beneath my tree,” he rumbles menacingly. Which was a problem, of course. He couldn’t possibly share his tree with someone else. He takes another step forward, his ears flicking back a little, while lowering his head a bit. “What is your name?” he demands, pawing at the ground.
It’s all for show, of course. Bel doesn’t need a reason to attack. He just wants to see what will happen.
In my mind, I'm running round a cold and empty space
One of Abaddon's favorite forms (and there had been many) was a horse, large like Belgarath was with hooves that were indeed good for all of those things. Abaddon had thought it amusing to shrink Zurry tiny, pretend as if he were going to stomp him to dead. Abaddon had been unlimited in his magical ability to cause terror. So many times it had been dreaming or something like this where he had found his family dead, or leaving him, bleeding and then he was dying, fighting against monsters he could not win against until his own blood was mixed with theirs. And failure swamped him, he had not been enough, never been enough, never been able to keep them safe.
He had failed. Over and over. Of course Master had never given him a sporting chance. And then when those dreams had stopped getting a response, when Zurry had started to shut down and blank out, dying without screaming or looking even towards the ground where Drowling and Dara was, Master had given him other things.
Dreams and visions of normalcy until Master had woken him up with a steely smile. 'Sleep well?' He had asked, until Zurry had wept and wept, the sobs curling him into a ball. Then he had been human.
So many different ways to torture Zurry's soul until he was broken, splintered into pieces he didn't even know how to put back to together again.
Intimidation didn't work at first on Arzhur, his legs might had wobbled but it was from the poor shape of his body, not from the fact that Belgarath would probably almost kill him. That he did not know this was real and Belgarath was really there, something alive that Master wouldn't heal him and start all over again. However, Belgarath was fooling himself if he thought that Arzhur would speak about this to anyone. No one would know what he had went through, what he continued to go through, even if the shadows in his eyes were the darkest that they had ever been.
Arzhur's eyes kept a wary glance on the stallion. "You already know my name." He says with a cold laugh, his hooves sliding backwards again even as the stallion continues to come closer. Arzhur knows he is at a disadvantage, knows that he won't be able to fight or run or anything that would provide him with something. In fact, Belgarath would be sorely disappointed in his ability to fight back. "Take your tree. I'll find another." He says, his limbs pausing, but he doesn't turn away from the larger stallion, knowing that to turn his back on him would certainly be his death.
He wonders how it will happen this time. Will he freeze to death? Will this ice demon freeze the blood in his veins, choke the air in his lungs as they freeze? Will he simply beat him, stomp him until there is nothing but body matter? Either way, Zurry knows that this will take another piece of his soul, take another piece of him that he won't be able to put back together. He didn't know how.
Just put your arms around me, tell me everything's OK.
