kult
I am a storm that will swallow the children
and I will deliver them to the kingdom of pain
It's not certain why Kult is wandering the Beqanna Fields. Perhaps he is there to find entertainment, something to do, someone to pester. It could be that he is there looking for another toy for his big brother, or maybe he simply has nothing better to do at the moment.
That last bit, yeah that, that's likely why he was here.
He's nothing fancy, he's not even what one might consider attractive. He's Kult, a simple, drab, fading, bay. A once deep earthen color, had begun to 'rose' out one might say. Leaving him with what appeared to be a red tinted gray instead, mottled with patches that had not quite lost their pigment just yet. He was relatively ordinary, plain. All save for an irregular star plastered across his forehead, one in the unmistakable shape of a letter 'x'. That and his eyes. A flat black. Deep, dark pools that reflected little, and displayed even less.
It's true, Kult had very few things to call his own. Little to set him apart, though it is not that he minded much. In fact, it's hard to say that he minded at all.
Anyways, there he is, snaking his way across the field. Staring at each horse he passes with those relentless, vapid, eyes. He's hunched in a way, carrying his neck slung low, his head carried as if it was just far too heavy. It isn't though, not really, never has been either. Kult just preferred to hold himself in such a manner, rocking, swaying as he walked. Prowling if you will, much like a cat stalking it's prey. An ear's missing as well, leaving him with an uneven appearance, and stealing his once pristine hearing.
He doesn't need to hear to see though, so it is with ease that he spots her. A tall, dark woman, one like Mother in a way. Though this was surely not Mother, and Kult was glad for that. Her build however, was similar, even close to his own- though he lacked prominent feathers. That and she was darker, like the night.
Lacking time or care for pleasantries, he offers none. Simply approaching the woman, wandering up to her like she might like his company. As if she was expecting him, though he is sure she is not. "Come." He says, tilting his head slightly as though it is a question. It isn't though, as uncertain as his body language is. Like she was just dying to join him, as if his offer was the grandest. Who's to say it isn't? Who's to say she wasn't?
