"But the dream, the echo, slips from him as quickly as he had found it and as consciousness comes to him (a slap and not the gentle waves of oceanic tides), it dissolves entirely. His muscles relax as the cold claims him again, as the numbness sets in, and when his grey eyes open, there’s nothing but the faint after burn of a dream often trod and never remembered." --Brigade, written by Laura
09-18-2017, 12:15 PM (This post was last modified: 09-18-2017, 12:25 PM by Crevan.)
forget all the names we used to know
He’d been patient, hadn’t he? Found his mother after the run-in with Gryffen, shouldered all that he could bear about his sire’s return, and then found himself at Circinae’s right hand for the rape of Sylva. It was uncharacteristic of his dam to be throwing her lot in with horses like the ones gathered near the entrance - Gryffen was a wild card, the other shifter a curiosity but still a lone wolf - it didn’t fit the persona his mother liked others to pin her with. Circi had always seemed to him a level-headed (if not overbearing) mare and this … takeover was simply adding fire to flame.
Crevan supposes that everyone has the urge to taste destruction at some point or another, even if it is only wafting the fumes. Just being here is like receiving a contact high, it makes the fur along the ridge of his spine crackle upright into stiff, tan spikes. Beside him, Circinae the mahogany wolf is only sitting patiently, intently, while the cacophony of mingled voices hums in the distance. They wait as best as they know how, with Crevan pacing and Circinae simply watching, until the clatter of movement approaching has both of their heads whipping simultaneously to the point of origin.
A gold-tinged mare breaks free from the dense wood to make a mad dash towards the border and with eyes following her trail, he and and his mother watch her continue until nothing remains but a scent. “Fleeing already?” The young wolf considers with a low whine, turning a massive head to his mother for direction. There’s hesitation written in the frown on Circinae’s brown muzzle and confusion littering her sparkling eyes but they have only two options remaining to them. In the distance, Jah-Lilah’s recognizable tone drifts to them.
“I was hoping it wouldn’t come to this,” His wolf-mother snarls, snapping her teeth in agitation, “go ahead.”
Crevan is already running by the time she yells, “Be smart!” A pale streak of muscle and death, the young shifter rips through the golden woodland while the tremor of speech he had listened to earlier turns steadily to a crashing crescendo. He and his dam had gone unseen this whole time, that had been the plan - to wait and see who left and then close the net to finish the deal once things turned sour. It’s almost a pity that whoever lingers will have the nasty surprise of seeing him explode onto the scene.
A roaring howl breaks free from his chest, the sound short and sweet with the purpose of telling Gryffen’s crew: “I’m coming” Hesitation is gone, cast free now that his mother isn’t here to watch. He hears them clearly now, understands when a strange voice lifts above the others to say, “...Sylva will not suffer the same fate, not to your blackened heart.” before bounding into the gilded meadow. “Wrong answer, girly!” Crevan shouts as he bunches his legs beneath him.
He’d given himself away by voice and speech, but even then he doubts the roan-splashed, Sylvan leftover will stand a chance. If she’s lucky, she might even survive. These are passing thoughts as he flies through the air, leaping with a pink jaw opened wide to lay into whatever flesh he might be able to grip on the foolish girl. Blind to the rest of them Crevan only sees her, only sees red and not the colt she shelters -
And then the wolf is upon her, poor Raxaa, and the blood begins to fly.
Djinni isn't far when she announces her leaving. This time for good. It doesn't shock him and he himself had been nearly on his way back to Nerine with his son, Rhysand when hells gates break open. Releasing the masses of devil's and demons into the land. His ears lay flat atop his massive crown. They come faster than he expected. Sky blue eyes watching as each arrive. He is about to turn to the splashed colt to motion their leave when the colt lunges forward to the red eyed ghost. Snapping threatening words the boy is in the path of something he cannot stop. The wraith calls to his followers to act. Despite his size the dappled stallion is quick and cuts between his son and the others. A roaned mare of Sylva joining.
Blue eyes meet red as he looks down upon the stallion, clearly the leader of the hell hounds, speaking directly to him, "Ye will not touch him. We shall leave." His hardened gaze turns to Rhysand, "There is a time to fight and a time to walk away. This is one of those times. This is not our fight, My Son. Let's go."
His muzzle points to the north before pushing the pied colt on. Looking to the roaned mare. If she wished to fight this battle he would not stand in her way. His son though would not be given that option...
The words pierced Raxa's delicate ears, and before the mare could react there was something big, strong, and furry landing on her back. At first, that was all she felt, but the pain exploded like a firecracker in her shoulder and withers. Whatever this creature was that attacked her, it was no prey animal. Raxa immediately knew she was in danger, if that fact wasn't incredibly obvious yet.
Letting out a rage-filled call, the mare threw her hind end up in the air multiple times in a row in an attempt to buck the animal off of her. Several times as she turned around, going as fast as her wounded body would allow, she caught a glimpse of the animal's furry body and ivory white claws. This must be one of the wolves that she heard calling out from the forest after Djinni stepped down and the residents of once-Sylva began to leave. Just the fact that one of these wolves now, one who was helping to take her home away, was attacking her became enough for Raxa's vision to go slit-eyed. She was full of nothing but rage now; hatred had not yet consumed her, but it was coming awfully close, worming its way into her heart like a snake.
The wolf was hanging on tight, and Raxa could feel the muscles in her shoulders tiring from being cut by the wolf's claws. She had one more strategy to get him off her back, one that hadn't really used since she came here. There were no big predators to attack her here, at least not ones she could run away from in a hurry. So, in that instant, she made a decision.
With the wolf still on her back, Raxa galloped a couple bucking strides forward. Then, with a quick shift of her weight, Raxa tucked her head in, letting her front legs fold and her weight falling to the side so that she'd end up rolling onto her back. It was a maneuver that took a lot of energy out of her, given that it happened so fast and required her to get back to her hooves quickly. But hopefully it'd be enough to get this mad beast off of her, not only so she could relieve her back of his weight but also to finish giving the cremello stallion a piece of her mind.
The echo of his cry reverberates throughout the dense and dimly lit forest, stirring her thrumming heart into a powerful, hammering frenzy. Adrenaline surges through her veins as the taut muscle sheathing her bone structure is raw with tension, roiling with each sweeping movement of her lithe and agile limbs. She does not remain still – the anticipation, the enthrallment has all but consumed her, leaving her giddy and laden with glee at the sheer power and force of what the breaking dawn had wrought. Deep within, there was a yearning for bloodshed that was never quite sated, never entirely quenched – she would hunger for it long after the carnage; she would always thirst for it.
It had nothing to do with the wolf that had emerged from within her (the wolf, instead, yearned for something far different than she had ever known - comraderie, a pack; but she had always been far better off alone and on her own than she had tethered to another). She had always been an outsider, with an unwavering bloodlust and a vision of destruction, and oh, how the wraith had captured her wry and shriveled heart with a vision of his very own. She would follow him to whatever end, and she would never tire of his dark and blackened soul touching her own, drawing her nearer, keeping her closer.
Quietly, her lissome body weaves through the woodland, hiding within the dim shadow where the sunlight could not hope to find it ways through – the ground is moist and pliable beneath her claws with each raking step; it is just as she had always preferred it. Dark, and serene – but there is an echo, a declaration booming with authority, and her wraith King had come to take what his blackened heart had always longed to have for his own. A wry and wicked smile tugs at the corner of her mouth, baring the sharp teeth behind soft and supple canine lips – and as another howl rises into the hollow of her throat, her attention is drawn away and causing her heartbeat to stammer.
Her long and languid limbs churn forth powerfully, running with a deft swiftness that could only come from the sheer energy and force of the predator that lurked within the darkness of her sinful heart. Her gaze, an abysmal black iris beside a dreary gray, stares ahead while her pulsating heart pushes her forward with voracious and incensed need. She can hear the faint echo of Raxa, and her foul tongue, lashing out at the only one that had ever held any semblance of meaning to her – she would not stand for it, she would tear her apart, to dare stand in Gryffen’s way.
As the distant howl of one Crevan intertwines with the wayward wind, a shiver seeps into the very marrow of her bones and traverses along the slope of her spine, as the wild and unwieldy wolf inside of her spills forth with a gaping snarl, her maw parted, her teeth bared – to assist in a hunt she had never known she craved; to protect another of her kind with claw and teeth both.
”YOU FOOL!” she cries at the sight of Crevan being crushed beneath Raxa, leaping forth from the overgrowth with her forelimbs splayed. Her claws are outstretched, elongated with rage, seeking to tear into the delicate underbelly of the mare so imprudently and recklessly exposing her most tantalizing and supple weakness.
Her teeth gnash and lash out, striving to tear her apart, to dig into her soft and pliable flesh – to spill the blood pounding so quickly through the delicate caudal epigastric artery. Should Raxa be able to draw her massive weight onto her spindly and awkward legs sooner than the predator can make its mark, despite the immense effort it would take, her teeth snap and lash again at the flattened end of her hindleg closest to her hoof, aiming to tear the tendons that lay under the roaned skin. Though it is in all possibility that she could give her less than a scratch, she is seeking to leave her with a lasting reminder of what a foolish stand could cost her.
There's a finality to the command, a sort of gravity in the way it slips from his mouth (effortlessly) that keeps Aditi from asking right now? Her drab brown eyes regard his crimson eyes briefly to contemplate whether or not she should suggest the potential to utilize the half-witted boy who would dare stand in his way. Ultimately, Gryffen turns his head to announce Sylva's changing-of-the-guard and she turns calmly to complete what she had been instructed to do, as if he had asked her to simply go for a walk or greet an intruder. Her ears nestle themselves into the poll of her thick neck and her muscles tighten beneath a dappled coat in anticipation as her dark gaze rests upon the young paint.
Aditi's expression remains neutral and calculating, her pinned ears and fluttering nostrils the only indications of the adrenaline surging through her. A jet black pony invades the scene, disrupting Aditi's concentration and the clear path she'd had to the gangly-legged colt. He places himself directly in front of the white Wraith, spewing about an alliance before turning to stake claim on her kill, her right of passage. She reaches quickly and powerfully for the jet black stallion with her dulled teeth, striking like a snake near his frame to warn him away from the colt as he slobbers, grotesque and unappealing, upon his own lips. "Get your own," she spits, hardened eyes observing the way he rounds the quivering boy.
Finally the stallion steps back, but they are suddenly joined by more and more, and Aditi is jostled further from the painted boy whose quavering voice still echoes like music in her head. The lucky little suckling is joined by his father who tries to usher him away, but Aditi retreats swiftly so that she can circumnavigate the entirety of the circle as a shaky-voiced brindle throws her hat into the ring. Her dark eyes flick to the red roan briefly, to the wolf that erupts from the forest, to Gryffen's right-hand wolf as she cries war (you fool!) and lunges forward at the prone mare.
The collision is loud, vicious... distracting. She allows them a wide berth and slinks in front of the painted boy and his silver sire before squaring her stance and allowing a slow, slow smirk to find its way across her mouth. "Sorry, daddy," she says to the stallion coldly, "but I'll be taking the little one today." And she lunges without prelude, her heavily pregnant frame closing the gap between herself and the lamb in an attempt to trample him with powerful strides and a whole bunch of pregnant momentum.
The words are spoken with a dumbfounded humor. The wraith had not feared the boy. For the wraith feared nothing. His words were quick and sharp, knives into the crumbling facade he had built. Petal-shaped ears flatten to the curve of his elegant neck, but not in defiance this time. It is fear that causes his muscles to tighten and his eyes to water. All he wanted was to live as he had been taught.
Speak your mind, fight for what is right.
Sylva succumbing to murderers was not what he felt was meant to happen.
His eyes dry, brows tilting in the way of pure fury as he stared dead ahead at his executioner. For if he was to go down, this would be the way. He stands tall, for he would die proudly.
"Do it."
And then there is screaming, harrowing yells as the roan mare jumps before him, her bodice protecting the painted boy from ravaging claws and murderous rage. Though this is not enough, he is caught in a tangled manner of teeth, hoof, and claw. He can feel his bones snapping beneath the crushing weight of it all, and deep in the conundrum is his father. urging him to move, to leave.
But the painted child cannot move, for he is motionless. Dead but not quite. Once blindingly alabaster puzzle pieces are stained crimson with blood, who's blood it is lost to his muted mind. He is moving now, though it is not him that is doing so. There are teeth, sharp as daggers dragging him away from it all and into the woods.
"Father?"
He whispers, his voice strained as he raises his head. It is dark. He is unable to see his savior in the woods.
"No child, I am not your father."
And then there is pain as his bone is crushed, lean legs turning to paste beneath the powerful crack of hooves.
His leg is broken, and he is motionless.
Was he dying?
The voice returns, calloused and deadly. it is venom seeping into his dying veins. His eyes see the equine now, dark gray with hollow, dead eyes.
"Am I going to die?"
He asked, strangely calmed by the sight of the other. They laugh, an empty sound long since void of emotion.
"No no boy... but that leg will never be the same. Use it as a sign when you deliver my message.."
Golden eyes meet his own emerald hues, the face he stares into is angles and planes, death reformed.
"Tell them all, the true king of Beqanna has come. We will take it all. Every tree, every rock, every leaf. Let them see you and know we care not what we do to get it."
And then they are gone, a phantom of the forest.
~
((OOC: this is a shitty post to a bomb thread. SORRY EVERYONE. Injuries sustained: Broken rib and leg (leg will never heal properly and he will walk with a limp) Scars are to now litter his frame and permanent mental trauma is sustained.))
Oh this was just getting better and better wasn't it? Raxa didn't yet have an idea if her plan to crush the wolf on her back had fully worked; while she was laying on the ground, the force with which she'd thrown herself had dazed her slightly, making it difficult for her to tell if the lump she felt on her back was the wolf who'd attacked her or a rise in the ground beneath her hooves. The mare gave her head a shake, and prepared to get up, only to find that another wolf was lunging in her direction.
Cursing under her breath, Raxa threw her weight to the side to avoid letting the wolf tear into the underside of her barrel. She wasn't completely safe though; there wasn't full-on contact, but Raxa felt the razor sharp claws of the new wolf cut through the skin, enough to leave a good, non-fatal, mark. The mare knew the wolf would be on the attack again, and began the task of getting back to her hooves, only to be interrupted by the wolf coming back and snapping at her hind legs to try and tear through the delicate tendons and muscle layers that lay beneath her round skin.
Raxa let out an angry snort, knowing that this wolf, if she kept Raxa on the ground, would win. However, the roan mare would not give up easily; from her position on the ground, she allowed her weight to fall sideways again, giving her better range for her hind legs. As the wolf came forward, her teeth managed to cut through the skin of Raxa's hind leg, but like the wound on her stomach, it was non-fatal. Raxa gritted her teeth, doing her best to ignore the pain. Quick as lightning, she lashed out with her free hind leg, aiming for the wolf's chest cavity to get it off of her.
Whether the wolf had taken the full blow of Raxa's hoof or managed to jump out of the way, she didn't care; all she knew was that she could get back to her hooves, and did so before the wolf could grab her hind leg again. The round mare turned and reared up again, lashing out with her front hooves at the female wolf that attacked her.
OOC: Raxa's efforts to fight have been slowed down so far by the wound to her hind leg and her belly. However, since they are non-fatal, and since both her strength and speed have high stats in battle, it's why she can still fight with vigor. Her speed is a bit low, and hindered moreso due to her injuries, so you may make the final call on if she manages to injure your characters, the ones she is fighting.
The stupid remain, fighting a losing battle. They always do, it never fails to happen. So cliche, so boring. He sighs as the bloodthirsty clown lusts for child blood. He is a man of gore and greed. There was potential in the dark stallion, he simply lacked finesse. He sighs when the red roan jumps into the mix with her tired words that end in screams when the wolves attack. How she flails on her back to remove one, only to have his vicious blue bird (sensing weakness) strike.
The newcomer, too slow, let’s the boy escape in the conundrum. Disappointing. However she had at least attempted. He wouldn’t punish her… much. Where the boy went, he doesn’t care. He had never meant anything to the small sinister stallion. Simply an obstacle in the way of what he wants, what he came here for.
Despite all the squealing and fighting, his low voice carries a tone that should, would, make them all freeze. ”Enough.” His stark white coat is free from blood, he does not dabble in the blood of commoners. Not anymore. Oh he will hold out for better prey, practically itching for a good experiment for it had been so long since he had dissected and explored the guts and sinew of Beqanna’s most magical.
He strides towards the red roan, the only remaining Sylvan fighting against them. ”You are outnumbered girl.” He snarls. Looking to the one he can always count on, who has yet to let him down. ”Take her captive. I’ll deal with her later.” Already his mind is on the future, on bigger game to hunt. With that he turns and heads towards the heart of the forest. He has a kingdom to run.
How at ease the heavily weighted and quixotically agile equine is as it maneuvers itself into a more favorable position – the rage is evident within her crystalline glare, but she cares not! Her anger is only a weakness; a vulnerability that would inevitably lead to her downfall if she were not careful. Her teeth, bared with a wry, insidious grin, are stained with her blood – only a small taste to whet the appetite, stirring a deep and voracious hunger for her demise and imminent destruction.
Her teeth barely scrape the underside of her belly – how she had been able to transition from prone to upright with such deft refinement is beyond her, but her teeth manage to cut through her skin – ah, but barely! Such dexterity and aptitude Raxa must have, to so easily be spared a more grievous wound from the snarling, gnashing predator on her heel.
A mark - two, to be precise – but that is all she has left upon her adversary; she is practically unscathed! A deep and rousing snarl rises from the depth of her chest, reverberating within her throat as blood-tinted saliva drops from her parted mouth. Her teeth lash out yet again, longing to seize her soft and supple flesh between their sharpened ridges, to tear away at the tender flesh of her haunch.
She, too, is swift, lunging away from her hind leg quickly – it does manage to make contact with her own hind leg as she eludes the full brunt of her assault, but it does little more than leave an ache (and in time, swelling and soreness) – she is not foolish enough to stand too close to her corpulent hind end, and thus, with distance placed in between them, is not fazed by her feeble attempt at lashing out at her with her forelegs.
Enough, he utters – and she is still, her chest heaving from the exertion, while her two-toned gaze (heavily laden with ferocity, with fury and adrenaline) is settled upon him. There is a trickle of blood sliding down her skin and weaving its way through the blackness of her fur, but it goes unseen, hidden away within the thickness of it – she had been cut, and her skin had been broken, but the metallic taste of her blood had done little to satisfy her. She is quiet, listening to Gryffen and his instruction, but her teeth long to sink into the delectable, soft tissue of her throat, to tear it out and leave her gasping for the air she did not deserve to breath.
Take her captive, he urges her, and she is lashing out, teeth gnashing yet again at her legs and underbelly, seeking to deepen the mark she had already left.
”Go!” she snarls, snapping at Raxa, the lone Sylvan that stood to protect nothing, and no one – not even herself. ”Sylva is no longer yours to keep! You are our property now; get in line! Move along!”
Thana's speed and accuracy are both higher than Raxa's, thus, she lashed out again with her teeth and dodged to avoid a great deal of her damage. However, Raxa split skin, and her hit to Thana's hindleg caused pain and will cause a bruise in time.
Something uncommon for him, and he feels a weird sense of displeasure biting at his psyche. He has held back in the face of bloodshed before him, when in any other case he would've gladly joined in. However, in an effort not to disrespect the wraith, he simply gazed at the new mare spew something about "get your own." She doesn't taunt, she simply begins her fight. Her attempts to kill the boy are not good enough, and he is left with only some cracked limbs and a bruised ego. Modicum scoffs, what good could she be?
The red mare tries stupidly to fight off the raid, to which she is outnumbered. The wolf and Thana lunge at her, trying desperately to contain. Would the clown ever get a chance to prove himself to Gryffen, or would he have to sit and watch?
"Enough." Sylva's new king says sternly, and the bloodbath is over. Modicum Mortem is disappointed in the lack of death, but stays quiet, holding his head high. The raid is over, and the fiends have won. Gryffen claims the red roan as captive, and allows the blue mare to take her away before he slides into the depths of the forest.
Modicum Mortem looks over to the colt, who looks deliciously scared, and smiles. "Guess you should bite your tongue next time." He looks up to the father, then turns on his heels, brushing past the mare who couldn't even murder a child, and begins roaming through Sylva.
Proving himself to Gryffen would have to come another day.
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