Oh
(1,500 words)
I can see through you, see your true colors
Cause inside you're ugly, you're ugly like me
Cause inside you're ugly, you're ugly like me
There had been a strange song in his mind when he had fallen asleep on the cliffs of the Pampas. One that sang old words that he did not recognize but seemed to stir the serpent within, as if it recognized the song. The lullaby was soothing enough to lure him into a fitful slumber despite the writhing in his gut and when he awakes the Pampas are gone.
He awakens fully standing, unusual noises and even stranger scents filling his nostrils but nothing compares to the weirdesto sight that falls across his crimson gaze. Dozens of horses, all wearing strange contraptions across their face and back stand in rows behind him. There’s another horse close by and before he can ask where the fuck they are, a man (he knows this somehow, remembers a bizarre dream when he had looked similar and held a goblet in his human hand among other insane things like a screaming siren on wheels) has the actual audacity to come pat him on the neck. He tries to turn his head to bite the man who touches him with such familiarity but finds his head restrained. A golden bridle adorns his glittered head and if the reins of the thing weren’t firmly grasped in this man’s hand, he might have found the look a complimentary adornment. He glances down, seeing his chest bedecked in chainmail, much like the horse beside him.
Pollux, he learns, is the name of the man petting him and calling him… his steed. Castor is the name of the other, a brother he learns, that mounts the stallion beside him. He listens to this conversation of being a gift from the gods and in response he tries to rear, fighting against the nasty metal bit in his mouth that presses against his tongue. What the hell was this? He hears Castor laugh with delight as Obscene stamps his hooves and fights against his captivity. “He sure has a lot of fight in him brother. Can you handle such a steed?” Pollux only laughs with amusement. “I would settle for nothing less. Only a stallion with eyes of the devil would be fit enough for me.” He says, pleased, and then places a foot in the stirrup and swings up into the saddle.
Obscene pauses, having never in his life felt the weight of a man on his back. His response is exactly what one would expect as he begins to buck wildly to remove the offending weight, much to the amusement and delight of Castor and the thousands of soldiers around them. There is no amount of rearing or bucking that can remove Pollux off his backside, the man only seems to dig his calves around him harder as he grasps the reins and pulls back the dark stallions head. He tries to find that writhing inside of him, if ever there was a time to shift it would be now, but of course it doesn’t work. It never does when he wants it to. He doesn’t register that he doesn’t feel anything of the snake inside of him, his insides surprisingly still in the heat of his anger. “What did I tell you! The devil himself.” Pollux exclaims with a grin as Obscene finally begins to settle beneath his weight, rolling red eyes with rage as he finds that there is no escape. Not yet, anyways. Castor only chuckles softly and mutters something about the devil taking souls but his brother pays him no heed. There is no time to try and catch the other horses eye when he is urged forward and bitterly he complies, leading the hordes of troops into a battle he had never signed up for.
He has no idea what they are fighting or even why and doubts that it even matters. For a second he thinks of Aela and wonders if she would be enjoying this, this promise of bloodshed and mayhem. And then he thinks of Cheri, of what she would make of him in this state, and he once again tries to resist the constraining straps of the bridle to no avail. Pollux urges him forward with his legs, patting him roughly on the neck again in an attempt to settle him. ”Now now Devil, save that for the battlefield.”
It is not long before they are in the crush of battle, barely given time to admire the reflection of the sun against the waves of the sea beside them. Horses press against him on all sides as his rider swings his sword, cutting into enemies and their mounts alike. The sweat of men and equines mingles with the overwhelming scent of death and blood and soon he has forgotten Pollux with his hands on the reins, caught up in the frenzy of surviving. His dark coat is soon lathered in sweat, the whites of his eyes rimming red as he does his best to get himself through this mess he has found himself in. Quickly he discovers that his healing powers are gone too when an arrow pierces the exposed flesh of his shoulder that the chainmail hadn’t reached. He rears with pain, unable to find that power within, and is once more faced with an overwhelming sense of mortality as the shaft of the arrow breaks in his collision with another horse. Pollux moves him further in and the offender is soon dead, his head left spinning in the blood stained dirt. There are creatures they face that are humanoid but different, dark of skin with faces like pigs. Orcs, the humans call them. Other creatures that look vaguely like Steve carry many of these “bad” beings but his rider avoids these massive beasts, guiding Obscene through the chaos on a personal hunt of his own. There is smoke in the air by the time they start to close ground to where Castor is cutting down foes. He loses track of time, loses track of everything that’s happening except for the screams of dying men, horses, and orcs and simply trying to not lose his footing in the slickness of blood and gore as he collides again and again into enemies, trampling them beneath his hooves as they fall beneath the deadly flourishes of Pollux’s mighty sword.
Suddenly a reverberating horn calls across the lands and the orcs immediately retreat, taking their strange mounts with them. They pull back and cheers erupt among the humans left standing. His own rider cries out with his men, looking over to where his brother remains mounted with his own surviving troops a little distance away.
Castor, with sword in hand, raises it in a gesture of victory and all the men begin to cheer. Cheer until those cries fade away into ones of horror as a dark cloud falls over the victorious man and his jubilant soldiers as they are suddenly engulfed in the largest blast of fire he has ever seen. Pollux screams out in panic as the heat from the blast sweeps over them as Obscene dances back to escape it. It is almost as if time stops as he raises his bridled skull to the sky, finding the massive leathery wings that seem to blot out the sun. Black scales tinged with gold make his stomach curdle with familiarity as red equine eyes meet the red eyes of the dragon.
He swears the reptile almost smiles at him. As if it knows him.
He barely has time to avoid the next blast of fire, needing no direction from Pollux’s hand as he springs forward to avoid being incinerated. Fire licks at the long strands of his mane and tail, singeing the ends and leaving the scent of burnt hair amongst the sickening smell of roasted meat as he snarls against the metal bit in his mouth. Pushing against it as he thunders towards where Castor, his mount, and his men had once stood.
There is nothing left of the brother or his horse except for a smoldering helmet, the emblem of what they fought for melted and unrecognizable. He barely registers when the weight significantly lessons from his back as Pollux slips from the saddle and kneels in the sooty embers of destruction, holding his brother’s helmet in his gauntlets as he leaves his steed bleeding and breathing heavily behind him. His mount doesn’t watch the man in mourning, his gaze still on the sky. At the retreating dark figure flying low against the hazy orange horizon across the sea.
As the dragon returns to wherever or whoever it belongs to, Obscene has a thought. And it is simply this, he was growing mighty tired of being a puppet whose strings are constantly pulled by others. He flares his nostrils at the figure that grows smaller and smaller in the distance as he decides to finally do something about it. As he begins to cut himself free.
He awakens fully standing, unusual noises and even stranger scents filling his nostrils but nothing compares to the weirdesto sight that falls across his crimson gaze. Dozens of horses, all wearing strange contraptions across their face and back stand in rows behind him. There’s another horse close by and before he can ask where the fuck they are, a man (he knows this somehow, remembers a bizarre dream when he had looked similar and held a goblet in his human hand among other insane things like a screaming siren on wheels) has the actual audacity to come pat him on the neck. He tries to turn his head to bite the man who touches him with such familiarity but finds his head restrained. A golden bridle adorns his glittered head and if the reins of the thing weren’t firmly grasped in this man’s hand, he might have found the look a complimentary adornment. He glances down, seeing his chest bedecked in chainmail, much like the horse beside him.
Pollux, he learns, is the name of the man petting him and calling him… his steed. Castor is the name of the other, a brother he learns, that mounts the stallion beside him. He listens to this conversation of being a gift from the gods and in response he tries to rear, fighting against the nasty metal bit in his mouth that presses against his tongue. What the hell was this? He hears Castor laugh with delight as Obscene stamps his hooves and fights against his captivity. “He sure has a lot of fight in him brother. Can you handle such a steed?” Pollux only laughs with amusement. “I would settle for nothing less. Only a stallion with eyes of the devil would be fit enough for me.” He says, pleased, and then places a foot in the stirrup and swings up into the saddle.
Obscene pauses, having never in his life felt the weight of a man on his back. His response is exactly what one would expect as he begins to buck wildly to remove the offending weight, much to the amusement and delight of Castor and the thousands of soldiers around them. There is no amount of rearing or bucking that can remove Pollux off his backside, the man only seems to dig his calves around him harder as he grasps the reins and pulls back the dark stallions head. He tries to find that writhing inside of him, if ever there was a time to shift it would be now, but of course it doesn’t work. It never does when he wants it to. He doesn’t register that he doesn’t feel anything of the snake inside of him, his insides surprisingly still in the heat of his anger. “What did I tell you! The devil himself.” Pollux exclaims with a grin as Obscene finally begins to settle beneath his weight, rolling red eyes with rage as he finds that there is no escape. Not yet, anyways. Castor only chuckles softly and mutters something about the devil taking souls but his brother pays him no heed. There is no time to try and catch the other horses eye when he is urged forward and bitterly he complies, leading the hordes of troops into a battle he had never signed up for.
He has no idea what they are fighting or even why and doubts that it even matters. For a second he thinks of Aela and wonders if she would be enjoying this, this promise of bloodshed and mayhem. And then he thinks of Cheri, of what she would make of him in this state, and he once again tries to resist the constraining straps of the bridle to no avail. Pollux urges him forward with his legs, patting him roughly on the neck again in an attempt to settle him. ”Now now Devil, save that for the battlefield.”
It is not long before they are in the crush of battle, barely given time to admire the reflection of the sun against the waves of the sea beside them. Horses press against him on all sides as his rider swings his sword, cutting into enemies and their mounts alike. The sweat of men and equines mingles with the overwhelming scent of death and blood and soon he has forgotten Pollux with his hands on the reins, caught up in the frenzy of surviving. His dark coat is soon lathered in sweat, the whites of his eyes rimming red as he does his best to get himself through this mess he has found himself in. Quickly he discovers that his healing powers are gone too when an arrow pierces the exposed flesh of his shoulder that the chainmail hadn’t reached. He rears with pain, unable to find that power within, and is once more faced with an overwhelming sense of mortality as the shaft of the arrow breaks in his collision with another horse. Pollux moves him further in and the offender is soon dead, his head left spinning in the blood stained dirt. There are creatures they face that are humanoid but different, dark of skin with faces like pigs. Orcs, the humans call them. Other creatures that look vaguely like Steve carry many of these “bad” beings but his rider avoids these massive beasts, guiding Obscene through the chaos on a personal hunt of his own. There is smoke in the air by the time they start to close ground to where Castor is cutting down foes. He loses track of time, loses track of everything that’s happening except for the screams of dying men, horses, and orcs and simply trying to not lose his footing in the slickness of blood and gore as he collides again and again into enemies, trampling them beneath his hooves as they fall beneath the deadly flourishes of Pollux’s mighty sword.
Suddenly a reverberating horn calls across the lands and the orcs immediately retreat, taking their strange mounts with them. They pull back and cheers erupt among the humans left standing. His own rider cries out with his men, looking over to where his brother remains mounted with his own surviving troops a little distance away.
Castor, with sword in hand, raises it in a gesture of victory and all the men begin to cheer. Cheer until those cries fade away into ones of horror as a dark cloud falls over the victorious man and his jubilant soldiers as they are suddenly engulfed in the largest blast of fire he has ever seen. Pollux screams out in panic as the heat from the blast sweeps over them as Obscene dances back to escape it. It is almost as if time stops as he raises his bridled skull to the sky, finding the massive leathery wings that seem to blot out the sun. Black scales tinged with gold make his stomach curdle with familiarity as red equine eyes meet the red eyes of the dragon.
He swears the reptile almost smiles at him. As if it knows him.
He barely has time to avoid the next blast of fire, needing no direction from Pollux’s hand as he springs forward to avoid being incinerated. Fire licks at the long strands of his mane and tail, singeing the ends and leaving the scent of burnt hair amongst the sickening smell of roasted meat as he snarls against the metal bit in his mouth. Pushing against it as he thunders towards where Castor, his mount, and his men had once stood.
There is nothing left of the brother or his horse except for a smoldering helmet, the emblem of what they fought for melted and unrecognizable. He barely registers when the weight significantly lessons from his back as Pollux slips from the saddle and kneels in the sooty embers of destruction, holding his brother’s helmet in his gauntlets as he leaves his steed bleeding and breathing heavily behind him. His mount doesn’t watch the man in mourning, his gaze still on the sky. At the retreating dark figure flying low against the hazy orange horizon across the sea.
As the dragon returns to wherever or whoever it belongs to, Obscene has a thought. And it is simply this, he was growing mighty tired of being a puppet whose strings are constantly pulled by others. He flares his nostrils at the figure that grows smaller and smaller in the distance as he decides to finally do something about it. As he begins to cut himself free.
obscene
(1,500 words)
![[Image: Obscene-Pixel.png]](https://i.postimg.cc/fTkjKh9Q/Obscene-Pixel.png){kind=tracking}