"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
Disgust riddles my face as the wires and cogs turn my features, hidden knocks and raps silently working my features. I do not want this place surrounding me. I want to be elsewhere, engulfed in the deeply embraced retributions of passed sins. I want to watch the destruction of society. I crave the erotic seduction of causing and receiving a deliciously hot lick of teeth raked along my skin.
The field bores me and my features relax to reflect so. Since discovering that I can no longer move mountains and part seas, Beqanna has nearly bored me to death. How does this land function without a balance of all life forms? It is very mildly comforting to know that my heart still remains frozen deep in my chest. I do wish to find a place more suiting for myself as I have yet to converse with many horses. None seem to embrace me, love me, fuck me. They want to be my friend...to change the creature I was born but I refuse. The great gods of Beqanna made me in their image and I dare to pursue their malicious desires.
Determination is what sets the once beast forward on his path towards the Field again so soon. The task of bringing others to his newfound home—Pangea—is an effort of machinelike mechanics. Rodrik has always been grand in his efforts when he set to achieving what he wanted. However, he is not certain of what he is getting out of this task so far. He has yet to meet the leader of Pangea, but a past ruler knows one thing about another ruler. Eventually his efforts would be noticed.
If there is anything that Rodrik missed from his dormant abilities, it was the way it felt with poison rushing through his core. Its deadly poise made him thirsty for usage, he had lingered on to its tainted nature far too long. The red stallion does not miss the way of the darkness—the necromancer powers—that clung to him like a leech and consumed him. It was a power most would want so badly, but this old soul that host Rodrik’s body wants nothing to do with it. It finds the power so overbearing, a servant to the calling of the darkness for so long. He will fight against it this time for it was time he had his own freedom.
And that is what perhaps drives him forward now.
His nutmeg eyes catch the sight of the black and multicolored featured mare. If there is anything obvious about her it is that she is bored. Rodrik has always had a keen sense of reading others and trying to figure out their true intentions. It was only very few who had ever puzzled him of such things.
Rodrik joins the mare where she stands within the field. “This place does not suite someone like you,” he says with a crooked smile. Rodrik tilts his head to the side for a moment, looking her over one last time before returning his gaze back to her own eyes. “I am Rodrik.” The name had once been feared by some, and he wonders if anyone would ever recognize such that. He does not think so in this new world. There has been a lack of old faces, but then again the old must’ve died off. Rodrik is an everlasting soul and he does not wither away so easily.
Rodrik
angels banished from heaven have no choice but to become devils
The monotony of this everlasting punishment in the field finally wanes to a close when I catch sight of a red skinned chestnut picking his way through the bees and flowers till he is close enough for me to reach out and touch him. My pale blue eyes seem to float against the black of my skull as I study him just as he does the same to me. I can feel my lids slitting for a moment as I my curiosity slithers upward from somewhere that lay dormant in my brain. It is rather uncommon for me to show interest in another under any circumstances.
"Rodrik, you say?" Had I ever known that name? Had I ever let him slip between the honey stick sweetness of my thighs? No..no. The name is familiar from the dying that lay scattered on the beach for where I once lived years ago. Oh how I sometimes missed my home of bone and skin.
The black sands.
The solitude.
I force myself back to the present in rapid succession. "And no, I do not Rodrik. I hope you have come to offer me a home away from this torturous purgatory." My response is flat and low as I keep his eyes and swallow them. I have no time for games or the slap and tickle that dominated the typical field dance (perhaps at a later time I could play catch the mouse with him) but for now, I have a desire for something and so I shall seek it till I am satisfied.
"I am Karsi." I respond dryly once again as I take a step closer to him, stretching my gaze over his finely chiseled body. He is taller than myself but not by much. His features reflect age but in more dignified way than I had seen on most. I now wait for his reply with ears directed keen to his voice.
12-04-2016, 04:35 PM (This post was last modified: 12-04-2016, 04:35 PM by Rodrik.)
Rodrik has drawn the most peculiar and common to him. For some of them had been weak and strong, some of them had been worthy while others had been worthless in their service to him. Rodrik has always manipulated others—simple stepping stones—to where he got in his life, or to get what he desired most. It had never mattered to him how he had got there, only that he achieved the very goal itself in the end. He was the conniving little red devil, after all.
He should have laid in the black sands, buried beneath the skin and bones of the dying. The waves of the ocean should have taken him; the salt should have dissolved him. But then, always, he would be here in this never ending cycle of birth and death. Not even the natural course of nature itself could keep him from such unworldly bounds. If anything, he was part of the very cycle itself—just as the season came and gone, just as life comes and go. He is the giver and the eliminator, the balancer between life and death.
The devil chuckles at her comments of the field. “I can only offer you something matching of this torture and purgatory.” He licks his lips casually, tasting the bitter sweetness of this conversation already. “But perhaps you would find a haven in Pangea.” He mulls over the idea a little with bringing the mare there. The cons and pros are unknown, but he has always sought out the strong among the weak. Some from the field had always been promising while others had simply proven little. There was a risk in all of this, but little cost for him.
“What do you think, Karsi?” A home from this hell hole was what she wanted. Rodrik did not need to specify that it was a wasteland, offering little food and warmth. However, it offered promising outcome for the very future. Pangea just need a little push and work to get the gears oiled and rolling.
Rodrik
angels banished from heaven have no choice but to become devils
His rock salt voice stings the wounds of my needs. It makes me quiver in anticipation. My slick black body is vibrating next to his, his heat causing my skin to tingle as I close the space between us so I may keep this conversation for my ears along.
First off, I do not fuck around. My eyes cinch to his, pale blue and floating. "I want to see this Pangea of yours, Rodrik." My head is dipped low to his as the syllables drip from my tongue. I do not know what waits for me but I am eager to leave the field. I am eager to shed the suffocation I feel in this waiting room. I rotate my hips so I may swing my form around to take the red beast's side. I press against him, gauging his reaction to my contact. I do not care if my skin is invited or rejected.
I am ready to go.
your hips on my jawline
Shall I post in Pangea first or would you like to?
![[Image: lRJZ7qE.gif]](https://i.imgur.com/lRJZ7qE.gif)
