"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
Lately his life had been a bit dull. He hadn't tortured or maimed any one in a while, the last he remembered was that darling Jungle girl whom he had managed to make believe he had loved her. And then Else, that darling girl whose blood he could still taste on his lips. That had been some time ago, years perhaps. He could hardly remember, his time passing so quickly. He remembered bits and pieces, the way the Jungle girl, the sweet, innocent young thing had seemed so infatuated with him. The way her mother had glared at him, knowing that he was not all he seemed. Else with the torture and the blood. He had enjoyed breaking her again and again.
He enjoyed his games. They amused him. Perhaps one day he would find and meet his match, but for now he was on his own. For now he was his own all powerful entity. He could break that mare over there, enrage that stallion. He could kill that child, he could sneak in the shadows. He could play any thing he wanted. He could be a gentleman or old and gray. He could shrink himself to a foal, playing on some poor mother. He could do whatever the hell he wanted and he enjoyed it.
But, he was bored. And that was obvious in his gait as he moved through the shadows of the approaching night. His black coat seemed to blur along the edges, melting in the darker shadows as he moved through them. And he just walked, his eyes moving this way and that as he did so, perhaps his next innocent victim would be around here somewhere.
Ephrelle likes the darkness, much more so now than she had as a child. She had never been afraid of it – there were too many shadows in the Jungle – but recently it has a new sort of appeal.
During the daytime, she remains as she has always been. She is a horse, varnished smoky black roan, with her mother’s height and her father’s build. She is normal, unremarkable in everything except how perfectly average she is. Only her eyes are noteworthy, as bright a green as the foliage in the Jungle. Emerald green; her mother’s green.
Her eyes are the same now, peering through the darkness as she makes her way through the Meadow. Everything else though? That is different. Her silky black tail swings behind her, tipped with four long spikes and lined with plate-like scales that continue up her back until they disappear into her mane. Her hooves have been replaced by an odd number of toes, and the gold scale markings on her nose now extend across her entire body, which is heavily muscled enough to put a pure Percheron to shame.
Ephrelle likes this form the most, but she is unwilling to show it in the daylight. For now though, she is content, making her way through the darkening meadow on her way to nowhere in particular. She sees movement out of the corner of her eye, and turns to see a figure even blacker than the evening, strangely blurry at the edges. She squints, wondering if her eyes are failing, but it does no good.
08-13-2015, 09:34 PM (This post was last modified: 08-13-2015, 10:11 PM by Kult.)
He was one of The Children, and that was everything.
Kult swayed as he walked, a rolling unnatural gait. Predetory, prowling, his nape slung low dipping his head towards the earth. He was young, very young, but he wouldn't be coddled, wouldn't be dictated by some worrisome Dam. Most of them wouldn't, his brothers and sisters, they were many. He was colored a dull, lackluster bay, with no shine whatsoever. His only distinguishing mark, his only mark period, was an irregular star strongly resembling the letter 'x'. It sat half covered by his ebon mane, between two flat black eyes.
With that look, one might never know Kult had anything going on upstairs. Might mistake him for some brand of simpleton.
Such a blank stare for such a young man, concerning if your life was rainbows and wishes. Not so much when your momma encouraged your deviance, smiled at each kill. Why you say? To watch them die of course. It was a favor, to be released from the cage of the physical plane, to obtain the divine at the other end. He had right to make that decision, they all did, they were absolute.
It was written in iron, made true by the statue that lingered in the cove. Solidified by the teaching of the Mothers, they could all achieve salvation, if they were faithful, if they did works for him.
He walked pointedly to the other male, his dial not even turning to take in the reptillian form of the female. As he neared, stopping just short of the black figure, he finally spoke. The saints they would recoil at his voice, an assured, un-childlike speech."I want to play a game,"a simple sentence, but it did not bode of chase or frolicking. No, the other would know exactly what sort of frivolity he was into. The boy could recognize a black heart anywhere.
