it was a blood-soaked feast
that never ceased
that never ceased
Quiet, maybe, but not gone.
Perhaps that idea alone (the forest is quiet, so it is free for the taking) will be their undoing.
The sight of the hound does not perturb Maugrim. He had brought the creature here from the field and he is not surprised that the beast lingers in the shadow and darkness just as he has; possibly more alike than the two are different. A hunter, a predator - Maugrim watches as the hound circles the dappled stallion, trailing them almost lazily as the drowned god picks his way through the damp undergrowth of the forest, drawing whatever moisture in the air to himself, cradling it against the smoothness of his evergreen and milky skin.
Maugrim’s black eyes tear away from both Sinner and the stallion (who has only labeled himself as ‘me’), with which the announcement’s reply is only a amused snort. There is no sign of cunning or calculation in these stranger’s steps, especially when the delightful scent of a woman trickles across the thin, autumnal air. One ear is trained on Sinner and his companion, while his eyes come to focus on the pale green woman that comes to step beside the other stallion - to support him.
She quakes (barely, gently...almost as if the cold has gotten to her supple flesh), but Maugrim recognizes the shiver for what it is. A grin - slow in its formation - ripples across cracked, pale lips as he steps forward from the shadow, coming up from behind both the woman and the strange man. Maugrim halts beside the woman’s haunch, his shoulder nearly against the smoothness of her flank - the warmth of her skin permeating through the air and gently caressing the dark green of his coat.
“You know what haunts this forest,” he muses, sparkling black eyes flickering across her back and then up to the hellhound, a simple hum in his throat. He ignores all talk of politics for the time being - rulers come and go, while those with the true power always remain constant. They could claim Sylva if that is what they truly wish… “So you must be aware that you are claiming more than just a forest with this endeavor. Is it worth it?” His voice is slow and calculating as his neck stretches forward as if to brush the dryness of his lips against her skin, but he refrains. Between himself and Sinner and these strangers, he knows which duo would come out unscathed in a fight of strength and sheer cunning.
There are monsters here and they do not submit to command and order. Only power.
“Tread lightly,” he muses, “or you will find your kingdom with more power than can be controlled.” Maugrim smiles lazily - a threat, perhaps, but also a warning.
Perhaps that idea alone (the forest is quiet, so it is free for the taking) will be their undoing.
The sight of the hound does not perturb Maugrim. He had brought the creature here from the field and he is not surprised that the beast lingers in the shadow and darkness just as he has; possibly more alike than the two are different. A hunter, a predator - Maugrim watches as the hound circles the dappled stallion, trailing them almost lazily as the drowned god picks his way through the damp undergrowth of the forest, drawing whatever moisture in the air to himself, cradling it against the smoothness of his evergreen and milky skin.
Maugrim’s black eyes tear away from both Sinner and the stallion (who has only labeled himself as ‘me’), with which the announcement’s reply is only a amused snort. There is no sign of cunning or calculation in these stranger’s steps, especially when the delightful scent of a woman trickles across the thin, autumnal air. One ear is trained on Sinner and his companion, while his eyes come to focus on the pale green woman that comes to step beside the other stallion - to support him.
She quakes (barely, gently...almost as if the cold has gotten to her supple flesh), but Maugrim recognizes the shiver for what it is. A grin - slow in its formation - ripples across cracked, pale lips as he steps forward from the shadow, coming up from behind both the woman and the strange man. Maugrim halts beside the woman’s haunch, his shoulder nearly against the smoothness of her flank - the warmth of her skin permeating through the air and gently caressing the dark green of his coat.
“You know what haunts this forest,” he muses, sparkling black eyes flickering across her back and then up to the hellhound, a simple hum in his throat. He ignores all talk of politics for the time being - rulers come and go, while those with the true power always remain constant. They could claim Sylva if that is what they truly wish… “So you must be aware that you are claiming more than just a forest with this endeavor. Is it worth it?” His voice is slow and calculating as his neck stretches forward as if to brush the dryness of his lips against her skin, but he refrains. Between himself and Sinner and these strangers, he knows which duo would come out unscathed in a fight of strength and sheer cunning.
There are monsters here and they do not submit to command and order. Only power.
“Tread lightly,” he muses, “or you will find your kingdom with more power than can be controlled.” Maugrim smiles lazily - a threat, perhaps, but also a warning.
m a u g r i m.
@[Arthas] @[Sinner] @[Rey]
Maugrim finds Rey simply delightful
