"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
“Then Lead.” It would be a lie to say he’s a little disappointed with her lack of a fight. Something stirs deep within her, he can sense it. However she gives him a sarcastic grin while obeying him none the less. So he says nothing, simply leads. With her he does not need to nip at her heels or make sure she won’t stray away. There’s nowhere else for her to go, not yet. The Mountains are calling, he can see the ridged peaks before he feels the winds icy fingers grazing against his pale skin. This is much better, his gait loosens as he crosses the border and leaves the warmth behind.
He always wonders what the new girls think when they first see all the ravens. For the black birds are everywhere, quiet and watchful from their perches on pine branches. A cool mist envelops the range of his home but it bothers him little. This is the way he prefers it. He continues to lead her deeper into the land until they come into a low small clearing at the heart of the mountains. This is where Minette and his daughter linger, awaiting his beck and call. He turns now to the silver mare behind him. He wastes no time in pressing up against her, letting his scent linger with hers as his muzzle presses seductively into the base of her neck. ”Welcome to the Mountains.“ The Chamber ghost whispers, crimson eyes taking her in like a prize. ”I’m Gryffen. Follow my rules and things will go well for you.” His teeth graze almost lovingly against her skin but there’s no warmth in his action. ”I assume you have a name.” Not that she would get to keep it, he liked to give his own names for his girls. Minette was his little minnow who was not allowed to swim to other ponds. What would this one become?
As always, her thoughts ran a muck within her. Questions of their destination, who this stranger was, what he wanted. Just as she predicted, her lack of opposition left a frown upon the stallion, and when he turned away, she followed. Her head hung low, white hairs swinging to and fro across her profile. This was not, however, in defeat. Rather, she curiously watched as her captor lead her away from the crossroads and down a path littered with black feathers and icy air. For that is how she sees him now. He is her captor. They will never be friends, never have love for each other. He chose her for an obvious purpose. What, though?
As the atmosphere grew gradually colder, a sense of comfort came over her. Mountains. A security blanket made from protruding rocks. She always felt safer in the craggy stones. There are many more places to sneak around and hide. Evergreen eyes peered upwards, spotting the numerous black birds. Ravens....the dark fowl seemed to illustrate the darkness that she seemed to be pulled into. With the dark birds above and the white stallion at her heels, she seemed to be forced into this situation...this herd....without having even realized it. She slowed her step, letting the stranger lead.
He silently lead her into a clearing. There in the distance stood two more strangers. A pale female and her smokey foal. She eyed them, warily looking them up and down. She isn't a fan of younglings. They are always frolicking and prancing about, like they don't realize how dreary life really is. Her ears flicked back, realizing that once again, the stallion had weaseled his way against her. His touch sent chills down her spine, though she could not decide whether they were in ecstasy or fear.
The other mare....Bellfae wasn't sure if they had yet noticed her arrival. Did she care? Dark, playful thoughts swung through her mind. How awfully fun it would be to thread doubt and discomfort through this stallions herd. With her green eyes shining, her head swung around. She met his chest with her soft muzzle, nipping it ever so slightly, almost as if she was claiming him as well. But not for love. Not for lust. But because she can. That is the game she plays.
With quick movements, she pulled back and stepped away. Her soft voice came out, almost lyrical. "Bellfae. That is what i was called. If you must know."
TAG: Gryffen | WORDS: no clue | NOTES: herp a derp
”Bellfae.” He repeats quietly, receiving her soft nip against his chest with no retaliation in sight. It is not often that another would dare to touch him and his skin flinches where the softness of her muzzle had brushed against him. It’s not an unpleasant feeling, just surprising. She has little to no fear of him, her emerald eyes gazing keenly at him. Teasing in her words. A wry smirk turns at the corner of pale lips, crimson iris’s cold as he regards her. She is new here. Like the minnow, she hadn't known who he was. But she will.
This one thinks she’s different. That she has something the other like. That she can hold her own. We shall see, put you through your paces. Most stallions would ask their mares where they were from, why they were here. He’s not most stallions, he honestly couldn’t give two shits where she came from. All that mattered was that she was here now, here to serve his purposes. Moving his muzzle down her neck in a mockery of an affectionate caress, his teeth clasp angrily into the skin on the top of her withers. For no reason at all except for that simple reason that he can. Nobody could stop him. She could try of course but she would fail. Miserably. Minette would attest to that.
”Sweet little peach. Ripe and waiting to be plucked.” He breathes into the wetness of her fur, finally releasing her. His scent mingling with her own, his sweat clinging to her side. One raven releases itself from it’s cage in the tree, coming to settle comfortably on the snowy stallions shoulder. It reopens old scars with it’s sharp talons but he doesn’t even flinch. ”You have a lot to prove…” His expression stony as he steps away from her. ”But we’ll see if it’s all talk.”
He was dark. She could feel the shadows that engulf the air around him. Bellfae has never been exposed to such hatred...such evil...but she didn't necessarily dislike it. Does that make herself, essentially, evil? All her life she sought after the more questionable company. This stallion....Gryffen...tops them all. Another soul mightv'e regretted touching him. She could see others shrinking in his wake. But she stood tall. Deep down, Bellfae knew he would retaliate in some sort. Her spine stiffened as he swooned closer, but she was ready for his harsh bite. Without flinching, she gave into it. This wouldn't be the first time her actions made her bleed, and it certainly wouldn't be the last. So she savored it.
Instead of tearing up, like any old girl would do, her mouth formed a sickening smile. She is not afraid of him, and somehow, she knows that he knows it. Why should she be? If he really does have a purpose for her, then he won't end her life. He won't bring her to her knees, because he doesn't have to. She is curious, so she will play along. Something tells her that if she sticks with him, power will come her way. So who care's what he does, or what he wants her to do.
She is a willing victim.
With a sarcastic curtsy, she bowed her thin frame to him. Looking up through her rose mane, she smiled. "What do I have to do? And what might I call you? Surely someone with your power needs a title."
It's almost like she is asking for it. Some sort of punishment. Does she revel in it? Enjoy it when her blood pools on her skin?
What if the answer is yes?
Is that so bad?
TAG: Gryffen | WORDS: no clue | NOTES: herp a derp
Oh she’s trying to play the game. It would take more than a bit of flattery to win him over. However he’s rather amused that she’s attempting so he will play along as well. ”Gryffen. Master of Whisperers. Chamber Ghost. I am a man of many names.” He replies as he steps close to her, the autumn season making him more volatile and violent than usual and that was saying something. ”What can you do for me?” He retorts as his muzzle continues it’s leisurely stroll along her skin, coming to rest on the curve of her back. ”Children for one thing.” He pauses to gauge her reaction. He kept his mares to sate his growing appetite which ranged from abuse to relieving sexual tension. Besides the more of his blood spread throughout Beqanna, the better. ”But perhaps you can do something more for me….” He pauses, considering her. ”Find me another mare. Bring her here to me. And perhaps I will reward you.” Young or old, strong or weak, ugly or beautiful. He doesn’t care. He wants to break them all equally.
