The plague had wracked his body with sickness. Lothbrok had faced it like he was bred to be, savage and unwavering, as it changed him from his father's desired son to something darker. Teeth of various lengths grew where shallow flat pearls had been. They tore through his gums and push out his adult incisors as blood filled his mouth, muffled and fractured by his screams.
Had the sickness been really a nasty plague that swept through bruised Beqanna skies? It had certainly been the rupture (or perhaps rapture) of something far greater than a nasty sickness. Fever spells had taken the painted grey to such states of delirium that he both feared and fantasized the dark hunger of his lusts.
The pink tongue glides over the thin points of his teeth. They gave the young kelpie stallion a sense of power when he grinned at the pretty girls with flashing silver eyes. Oh how the girls had loved to vie for his affections until the edges of his teeth sunk into their throats, dragging them below...pitiful things..he can recall when he used to feel guilt but it is drifting and lukewarm. Lothbrok had never had much interest in the taste of flesh till after the sickness had taken his mind and given him his sinister grin.
Lothy had decided to find his beloved father to show him his new gift. Ivar would simply beam in recognition of his first born son's true transformation into kelpie. The gray and white painted beast spreads the warm waters with a surgeon's precision, his lungs move easily as it deciphers the waters. He knew his mother and father and little Svana often resided away from Ischia and off on their own so he knew it was best to locate them there.
There is static in the air as he pulls himself from the salted waters. Words like knives slice through the gentle muffling of being underwater. His father is in a fury and it causes the grullo and white stallion to hesitate...he had never witnessed this extent of an outrage. Glittering silver eyes watch beneath the drips of salt water that cling to his lashes as he observes a gathering of two females at Ivar's hooves...no doubt his concubines or spawn. The painted kelpie moves to join the small gather, cautious and careful of Ivar's rage.
The questions are thrown to a true kelpie creation...the pride sweeps Ivar's devilish looks upward. Lothy snorts abruptly as he approaches the gathering. "Father-" Lothbrok always knew to greet those of revere (even his own father) first before his brilliant pewter eyes cast over the youthfully dangerous face of a teal and gold dripped mare and the grey-blue features of another young mare. Their adoration and worship splays across their upturned faces as Ivar throws his demanding questions upon them like a heavy net. Ears flicker to and fro in the tangled nest of his dark hair causing fat droplets of sea water to trace down the edges of his handsome jaws...clearly a son of Ivar.
The stallion does not crowd for he does not need too. He stands just off, watching and listening, as the two females chose to speak more. His floating silver eyes burn with a cold fire for the sweet scent of his mother is barely detected...Svana's innocent warmth is not even hinted on the drift of salt air... Lothbrok's brow furrows thickly beneath his dark brow as he looks to Ivar for a sign of his mother's disappearance. Had father grown angry with mother? With little Svana? The edge of his lip curls into a growing sneer at the though of his little kelpie sister being tossed away...but she was kelpie...Ivar would never cast away the purest examples of his loins. "Where is mother and Svana?" Lothbrok interrupts the older male's inquires as he steps up, the beast of his nature foams at the edges of his mouth, feral and snapping. Never had he felt much more than love for his family that bound him...but now a feral desire to protect what is kelpie drives his waking through (other than the taste of a fresh kill or the warmth of a woman's body).
Had the sickness been really a nasty plague that swept through bruised Beqanna skies? It had certainly been the rupture (or perhaps rapture) of something far greater than a nasty sickness. Fever spells had taken the painted grey to such states of delirium that he both feared and fantasized the dark hunger of his lusts.
The pink tongue glides over the thin points of his teeth. They gave the young kelpie stallion a sense of power when he grinned at the pretty girls with flashing silver eyes. Oh how the girls had loved to vie for his affections until the edges of his teeth sunk into their throats, dragging them below...pitiful things..he can recall when he used to feel guilt but it is drifting and lukewarm. Lothbrok had never had much interest in the taste of flesh till after the sickness had taken his mind and given him his sinister grin.
Lothy had decided to find his beloved father to show him his new gift. Ivar would simply beam in recognition of his first born son's true transformation into kelpie. The gray and white painted beast spreads the warm waters with a surgeon's precision, his lungs move easily as it deciphers the waters. He knew his mother and father and little Svana often resided away from Ischia and off on their own so he knew it was best to locate them there.
There is static in the air as he pulls himself from the salted waters. Words like knives slice through the gentle muffling of being underwater. His father is in a fury and it causes the grullo and white stallion to hesitate...he had never witnessed this extent of an outrage. Glittering silver eyes watch beneath the drips of salt water that cling to his lashes as he observes a gathering of two females at Ivar's hooves...no doubt his concubines or spawn. The painted kelpie moves to join the small gather, cautious and careful of Ivar's rage.
The questions are thrown to a true kelpie creation...the pride sweeps Ivar's devilish looks upward. Lothy snorts abruptly as he approaches the gathering. "Father-" Lothbrok always knew to greet those of revere (even his own father) first before his brilliant pewter eyes cast over the youthfully dangerous face of a teal and gold dripped mare and the grey-blue features of another young mare. Their adoration and worship splays across their upturned faces as Ivar throws his demanding questions upon them like a heavy net. Ears flicker to and fro in the tangled nest of his dark hair causing fat droplets of sea water to trace down the edges of his handsome jaws...clearly a son of Ivar.
The stallion does not crowd for he does not need too. He stands just off, watching and listening, as the two females chose to speak more. His floating silver eyes burn with a cold fire for the sweet scent of his mother is barely detected...Svana's innocent warmth is not even hinted on the drift of salt air... Lothbrok's brow furrows thickly beneath his dark brow as he looks to Ivar for a sign of his mother's disappearance. Had father grown angry with mother? With little Svana? The edge of his lip curls into a growing sneer at the though of his little kelpie sister being tossed away...but she was kelpie...Ivar would never cast away the purest examples of his loins. "Where is mother and Svana?" Lothbrok interrupts the older male's inquires as he steps up, the beast of his nature foams at the edges of his mouth, feral and snapping. Never had he felt much more than love for his family that bound him...but now a feral desire to protect what is kelpie drives his waking through (other than the taste of a fresh kill or the warmth of a woman's body).