"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
12-08-2016, 11:48 AM (This post was last modified: 12-08-2016, 11:49 AM by Deimos.)
The black war machine does not come out of the trees.
He bowls them over. Rolling over them with a thunderous growl he steps wildly and recklessly, moving about with an abandon that would make even the darkest individual take notice. He waits--the smell of another pushing his nostrils and turning his entire body. Black wings rest, talons grasping his chest and sinking deep into the flesh. Deimos walks in a trail of his own blood and draws himself back into the shadow, looking at her. Curious hate dances across his face and he snarls in her direction. The fairies drew her here. I will make quick use of her.
He waits, resting back on his heels. He knows she can smell him.
He waits.
His time is coming.
He will destroy them all.
*OOC: Very short, I'm sorry. Screaming baby won't take nap
Darkness. The trees give way to little light here. Shadows surround most of the trunks, save for a few patches of light that filter through the treetops like beacons where they spread in golden streams to the forest floor. As gloomy as that might sound. Ecco pays no mind to the absence of light setting the world ablaze. The Covelings were not bred to entertain fear, nor to act upon it. Cautious yes, calculating in the face of what is to be deemed ‘danger’, but not afraid. She allows the shadows to bathe her, to whisper seduction on her silvered ears, to coo between her legs and coil up passed her throat. There it settled, lacing her in a veil but she was nothing near invisible, not such an exquisite creature as she.
Her Dam was not far off, poking around delves kept hidden within the wooden hills. It was not often that they seperated company, having learned at an early age that there was power to be found in numbers, the notion preached to them since they were on the tit.
It doesn’t strike the woman odd that he is alone (though for all intents and purposes she is the appearance of a young maiden), it does perplex her though how he so carelessly thrashes about. Such noise, so reckless and indiscreet. Such nonsense, the words find her mind, assessing the scene in silence. He however does no such thing, huffing at her as he dives deeper into the shade. This solicits a glare from the girl, a heavy blink of her silvery lashes and thinning line of her mouth. Lips press together to form a flat ingot of lavender that dyes her lips and fades up her nose. The smell is worth recognition too, thick musk of male racing into her expanding lungs like a slaughter fish biting at her flesh. She would have gagged were she not plenty sure he would only be amused or pleased by the act.
“Oh but monsters do not make me tremble dark one,” she tosses at him, flicking her silky thistle colored tail against her legs. No, monsters never did make her quake (unless one counted the way they made her pulse quicken as they tasted her flesh and pressed their weight against her). Quite the opposite, she reveled in their presence, knew them by name and a vexing familiarity. Too often such fierceness spawned through their lines, and Grandfather made good on spreading them lavishly across Beqanna.
He hisses, her voice sliding over his skin like acid pouring on an open wound. Stopping short, his tongue rolls behind his teeth as he sees in her a magic that can take away life. Rot that sucks dry and leaves you with an uneasy feeling in your stomach; pumping away at the heart that will stop beating and start corroding. Instead of blood, sludge. Instead of life, a kind of undead existence that stretches forth its hand to take and grab light and life by the neck, until the goodness is eked out like a dirty sponge being wrung out over a sink that has been drenched with blood.
"I am what the monsters fear, dear one." his voice is warm, like honey, and yet the stingers from the bees are still present there. "Your blood reeks of power. What it is you seek?" Deimos waits. He is no idiot. He knows that she can command the decomposition of the world around her. It all falls down; and as it withers away, he can see her dancing on the heads of her corpses. He smiles darkly--she is who he has been seeking. More power. More for him to get drunk on.
To swim inside her soul and come up empty.
"I can return it all to you, if that is what you seek... But you have to give me something in return..." He slithers around her like a ghost. Silent and deadly. The careless stomping of the trees forgotten. Let me show you how the son of Mars can really be. Let me dive into your nightmares.
12-12-2016, 07:11 PM (This post was last modified: 12-12-2016, 07:14 PM by Potion|Ecco.)
There are many things about this chance meeting she will remember, the quiet shadows for one. They do not bid her to be careful, instead they add to his honeyed whispers, sticking their pricking fingers in between the soft syllables. She watches him closely, her soft lavender eyes shifting as he does, sliding over the treetop hidden clearing. He wastes no time, pressing his ominous position in the world into her ears. Darkness stirs for no one, yet he insists that the oogie boogies were not so ominous as he. Very well, if he insisted, she would not argue his cock measuring contest.
“Is that so?” she asked him, seeming not to have noticed but not relaying as much. It should be noted that she took in plenty, both with her eyes and ears, quietly learning as he went on.
It takes a moment but the mood shifts, the air takes on a thick quality as the conversation persists and she is of course intrigued. If there is one sure fire way to get her attention (or any Covelings attention) it is to begin the discussion of power, and offering it, well, she trembled as he pressed the matter. A hunger rose, burned bright within the confines of her soul and a ravenous creature screamed for it to begin- hurry, begin, take it, take it. She had to keep herself from plowing into him, from raising her voice in excitement the thirst took to her so strongly. He coiled around her, snaking a path and she waited- took a breath and then replied.
“Oh you know more than you let on,” she begins, driving her eyes to his, their depths displaying a relentless ferocity. “You already knew I would agree before you asked,” she could not help but drink his words now- whatever they may be. “Return my gifts and you shall have the payment you seek.” Even if she appeared to be a young girl, she had learned the price of men long ago.
He smiled that dark smile of his. The vagabond prince of Mars was fleshing out his body, his soul filling to the brim with the raw power of collecting his just rewards. Phynn—the lemming. Ruan—the heart. And Ecco—the body. He reached out his leather glove to gather her by the throat; in his mind’s eye, she was choking beautifully, dripping pleasure like black satin falling from her shoulders into a pool at her feet. She did not fear him, this much was obvious; what he had not counted on was that she would accept his invitation to dance with the devil with such an expectation, and complete aplomb… as if she’d been born to swim amongst the fires of Hell.
Ecco.
Such an interesting piece of flesh. She was smart, and she feared nothing. She did not even fear Deimos—a rarity for him. His heart rattled around inside its prison of a ribcage—those charred bones lacerating that useless organ until it was spewing thick black sludge through his body. It was what kept him going, what kept him rolling like a tank; tangled muscles that were ever wrapping around him, reknitting skin to bone. He was large, black and imposing. From his nose to his rump, he was monochrome—save the thick white scars that were slashed up and down his body. And those large wings—he held them to his body, but they were their own creation. Yes, his body—his recreation—was almost complete, and this slip of a thing was looking at him as the prisoner who was eying her last meal.
His red eyes take note of the fact that her nostrils are flared. His tail flicks, warping around his body with a snap to his flank, like a demon cracking a whip. If she wanted to taste power, let her stare. He too found that he was enjoying the scent that rolled off of her—because she smelled like darkness. Luscious and perfect, she was grey, almost purple—the colors of royalty and neutrality. Power that could come from any source. Her scent was intoxicating and her velvety voice beckoned to him like a lover.
She knew what he wanted; she was desperate for it. An exchange; a transaction. Nothing more than a one night stand--but one that they would both enjoy.
He approaches. Those wings, they cannot wait anymore. They have been patient… angrily pulsing looking for the right body to sink into. Words like poison sink deep into her brain as he raises those great leather fingers and sinks them directly into her flesh—a searing power that returns all that she holds dear. This will not hurt, my little funeral pyre he croons to her with a sneer. Let her see if she doesn’t fear him just a little after this rather intimate encounter. But you know you have something I want. And I have something you want. So take back your power, and using that, you shall grant me back… a body.
He snarls with glee, the glowing sensation seeping from the painless wounds he has inflicted, transferring blood magic. He would finally be restored… and she could go back to her useless life with her mother.
But the son of Mars is not all-knowing. He does not know that his words can be twisted, and that someday, he might get more than he ever bargained for. Ecco’s song gets into his head, and there it buries itself; withering away at his brain, working her on magic—
