12-02-2020, 12:38 AM
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I closed my eyes in Sylva, but when they re-open, it's not the autumnal forest that greets me but a brisk sea wind and a single red, gleaming, eye. That might bother some people, but I'm not afraid of eyes that stare and glow: my eyes glow, too. Crimson and cold, two dying suns shine in answer to the creature's single blood moon eye. Light like fire bursts to life around me, but instead of warmth it brings chills and I grin my Cheshire grin into the snarl of its face, a grin that falters when I feel the fear magic slide off the beast. Never mind; I smile wider.
He's pulling himself out of a grey-green sea on a grey beach, a horse, I think, but even among the oddities of Beqanna, I've never seen anything quite like him: skinless, yellow-veined, saltwater pouring from the spaces between his muscle and tendon and bone, and in his middle, an ape. What seems to ride astride him is a piece of him instead, with arms so long its clawed and grasping hands scrape the gravelly sand and leave black blood smoking on the rocks. A second head lolls bonelessly atop it all, and my straining ears catch the whispered word that cries hollow on the wind - <I>Nuckelavee.</I> Profane and depraved, the almost-equine head screams and charges, a strange oily smoke belching from his mouth that feeds death upon the heather and crowberry.
Rocks fly from under my hooves - I know my ability and I'm not afraid to race the Beast. Gods, but he's fast, though - though his hooves are long and pointed as winklepickers, and he should not be able to run at all. Voles squeak underfoot, red grouse fly up out of my path as we scramble up the slope getting lost in the hair grass sea, and the creature swats the animals from the air, or his noxious breath touches them and they fall as if they never lived at all. My speed is greater, but barely, Beast and mare, we race across the moors, his taloned hands snagging at the streamers of my tail, killing my moths - they simply turn to dust at his touch.
Exhaustion is catching up to me, but I think he will never tire, and in a last-ditch attempt to escape I crash into a peat-dark bog just as he falls upon me, just as he reaches for me, and the fresh water strikes his ghastly, hungry, hand. Deafening is his scream, the skinless flesh smoking like fire, and I am turned sorrel by the tea-stained water. <I>Sweetwater wards the Beast away.</I>
"Oh, Tittlynope you don't, ya Blighter!" Fatigue burns my throat raw, or perhaps it's the fumes that leak from his nostrils, but I cannot help but shout jibes as he lumbers back to the sea, though they drawl out so slow even Molech would understand them, "Just about time you got off your high horse, my man!"
<center><p class="wiggity_quote"><a href=https://www.deviantart.com/footybandit/art/Jumper-861865183>Image By Footybandit</a></p></div></div></center>
I closed my eyes in Sylva, but when they re-open, it's not the autumnal forest that greets me but a brisk sea wind and a single red, gleaming, eye. That might bother some people, but I'm not afraid of eyes that stare and glow: my eyes glow, too. Crimson and cold, two dying suns shine in answer to the creature's single blood moon eye. Light like fire bursts to life around me, but instead of warmth it brings chills and I grin my Cheshire grin into the snarl of its face, a grin that falters when I feel the fear magic slide off the beast. Never mind; I smile wider.
He's pulling himself out of a grey-green sea on a grey beach, a horse, I think, but even among the oddities of Beqanna, I've never seen anything quite like him: skinless, yellow-veined, saltwater pouring from the spaces between his muscle and tendon and bone, and in his middle, an ape. What seems to ride astride him is a piece of him instead, with arms so long its clawed and grasping hands scrape the gravelly sand and leave black blood smoking on the rocks. A second head lolls bonelessly atop it all, and my straining ears catch the whispered word that cries hollow on the wind - <I>Nuckelavee.</I> Profane and depraved, the almost-equine head screams and charges, a strange oily smoke belching from his mouth that feeds death upon the heather and crowberry.
Rocks fly from under my hooves - I know my ability and I'm not afraid to race the Beast. Gods, but he's fast, though - though his hooves are long and pointed as winklepickers, and he should not be able to run at all. Voles squeak underfoot, red grouse fly up out of my path as we scramble up the slope getting lost in the hair grass sea, and the creature swats the animals from the air, or his noxious breath touches them and they fall as if they never lived at all. My speed is greater, but barely, Beast and mare, we race across the moors, his taloned hands snagging at the streamers of my tail, killing my moths - they simply turn to dust at his touch.
Exhaustion is catching up to me, but I think he will never tire, and in a last-ditch attempt to escape I crash into a peat-dark bog just as he falls upon me, just as he reaches for me, and the fresh water strikes his ghastly, hungry, hand. Deafening is his scream, the skinless flesh smoking like fire, and I am turned sorrel by the tea-stained water. <I>Sweetwater wards the Beast away.</I>
"Oh, Tittlynope you don't, ya Blighter!" Fatigue burns my throat raw, or perhaps it's the fumes that leak from his nostrils, but I cannot help but shout jibes as he lumbers back to the sea, though they drawl out so slow even Molech would understand them, "Just about time you got off your high horse, my man!"
<center><p class="wiggity_quote"><a href=https://www.deviantart.com/footybandit/art/Jumper-861865183>Image By Footybandit</a></p></div></div></center>