our demons are all around us; rodrik

[brunhild]

our demons are all around us and they don't come from hell
every single one of them reminds us of ourselves

Time had become meaningless.

The last thing she remembered, truly remembered, was handing off the crown to Scorch. It had been her final act as Queen, and even then, it had been trying to get through that meeting with any semblance of control. Her injuries had been deep, catastrophic, and standing before her sisters, she had struggled to remain upright. She had not been fit to rule, not in that state, not when she had been so uncertain of her own survival. Her self-healing powers had sent probes throughout her own body, calculating the damage, and what she had been found had been devastating. Survival had not seemed possible.

As soon as the deed had been done, when the newly crowned Queen stepped forward to lead the people, Brunhild had stepped back and dissolved into shadow. At first, she raced into the belly of the jungle, and then, when her control of the shadows faltered, she limped. She had expected that her kingdom-given gifts would be stripped immediately, but it was more of a leak. She worked on healing herself, but it did not come easily or without effort. It was slow. In time, she barely felt supernatural ability to heal at all. And so that gift went first.

Her control over the shadows slipped away slower. It hurt less to become the darkness and so she resided like that for several months, her atoms and cells spreading out slowly on the forest floor as she tried to knit herself back together. Months passed and she became less and less able to shift into the shadows. At first, she could still sink into the darkness, but only for a short while. Soon, she could not do it at all. And so, that gift left her, as well.

Brunhild was then left to her own devices to heal, and, well, it took time. The shame of her weakness burned deep, and she did not emerge from the depths of the jungle. She remained cocooned, cut off from the kingdom’s politics and tides. She did not hear of the wars or the battles or the shifting of the crowns. She did not hear anything except the beat of her heart as it regained its strength, her pulse going from lethargic to active, her eyesight clearing, her breaths coming in deep gulps instead of shallow gasps.

Her health returned just in time for the world to dissolve once more. Perhaps that is why it takes her so long to make her way down the Mountain. Perhaps that is why she holes up at its base. She has no magic for it to return to her, no benefit to bestow upon her, but she finds comfort in its alienness. She finds that there is stability in it. She had no memory of the place, but neither did anyone around her.

Of course, even that cannot last forever. Eventually, the valkyrie warrior peels away from it, her heavy head swinging toward the sound of voices, her dark eyes heavy-lidded and neutral. She had never been a great beauty, but there was a calm to her, a power and depth. She would not let trials take that away.

When she comes to the forest, she breathes deep, and she sees him. His red seared into her memory in a way she could not name, could not ever understand. The memory of him had been something that she had held close during those months, those years, apart; at some moments, she felt it was all that she had.

So she does not wait to make her way toward him. She simply navigates whatever horses linger in the silver light of the moon and walks straight toward him, her expression washed clean except the occasional spark in her dark eyes. “Rodrik,” she breathes in her husky voice and then falls silent, feeling an ocean of emotion storming inside of her and being completely unequipped with how to handle it.

IMAGE © CANDID-CROCODILES

>:] @[Rodrik]

[Rodrik]

The hour of the wolf is no stranger to the red stallion. He has become accustomed to spending sleepless nights in the wasteland. It was only with the boredom of walking around Pangea that he wanders across the distant land of Beqanna. The distance, he hopes, well make him collapse, to find sleep at last. Exhaustion does not come easily for him tonight. He can feel the faint touch of unease, slowly creeping forward. Anxiety clings to him like a leech, sucking the very essence out of his soul. This paranoia will surely drive him to insanity soon enough. Rodrik peers through the darkness of the forest. The silver light of the moon lingers just enough for him to make out the sleeping silhouettes of the other horses as he moves forward. He routes himself away from their path, steering clear from anyone on this dark night. Eventually, Rodrik comes to settle in a quiet place of the darkness. It is not far from those he passed, but enough to find solitude for himself. However, his isolation does not last long. The scent of another is picked up quickly. It is a long and forgotten scent, making his nares flare several times as he takes it in. Rodrik’s ears flicker to the right and then behind him. His heart pumps fiercely—as if he can hear the calling of the Chamber’s own heart again. “Rodrik,” he hears in the familiar husky voice. His heart drops suddenly. The stillness of his heart makes it feel as if the world has come to stop as well. But, somehow, he turns to face the one who calls him. In this moment he feels timeless, as if he is everything, living and breathing with the forest and all that it inhabits. It is a strange sensation—a forbidding feeling he should never be allowed to feel—as if he is whole, a forgotten piece placed back into his soul. Rodrik’s expression is neutral as he looks into her dark eyes. He takes a step forward towards her, uncertain but certain at the same time. “Brunhild,” he says softly, but more sure than ever at this moment. “I thought you were gone,” he admits so openly to her. Rodrik can feel the ease of the conversation, the masquerade he did not need to put on around her. Their games had always been as such, but eventually there had become something between them. It was something he had hold onto all these years but never quite understood what it was truly. And here she finds him, alone in the darkness, not blood-stained like their last meeting. Rodrik does not appear to be the monster he was after she disappeared; he appears as he was before, but much has changed since then.

character info: here | character reference: here | image © rostyslav zagornov

[brunhild]

our demons are all around us and they don't come from hell
every single one of them reminds us of ourselves

His voice strikes unknown chords within her barren chest, and she shifts, almost imperceptibly, when he says her name. It is like coming out from beneath the water and drawing your first breath. In some ways, it hurt, the ice of the air stinging your lungs in alien ways, but in other ways—oh, in other ways—it was life being poured into you. Hearing his voice, so soft and certain, was life thrilling through her once more.

At his admission, she laughed, shaking her head. “I thought I was gone too.” And she had, for so long. She had felt herself melt outward and inward, her body lost to the shadows and spiraling over the trunks of the jungle trees and mulch, unable to rein it back with her powers so weak, dripping from her slowly.

Without thinking, she took another step forward, the distance between them closing, their bodies close enough that she could feel the warmth of air expelling from him, seeping into the spaces between them. It filled her with a quiet ache as she studied him, remembering all of his familiar planes and angles.

“How have you been?” she questioned, although it was not what she wanted to ask. She wanted to ask if he had thought of her, remembered her; she wanted to ask if he had found love in all of those years, although such emotional topics were not natural to her and it was certainly not her place to ask. She was clumsy with these emotions, uncertain, and the discomfort settled into her bones, fought with the natural desire to just reach out slightly and touch him, finally, to know what his flesh felt like next to her own.

Instead, she fell silent, drawing inward, her expression remaining cool and collected. Her eyes were the only things that gave her away, electric with all of things that remained unsaid between them.

IMAGE © CANDID-CROCODILES

[Rodrik]

Her laugh is sweet to his ears—a forbidden fruit he has never dared to take a bite from. Brunhild was a force that should not be reckon with, a force he should truly not intertwine himself in. There was something powerful in the way she holds herself. It is something he does not realize at this moment that could bring destruction and the very end of who he is. Then again, she had already started the tumbling down of his walls and the demons that chased him. Rodrik knows very well that Brunhild and him shared a connection that could never truly be explained. They were identical in almost every way there could possibly be between two individuals. Each of their pieces was compatible for another, fitting perfectly with no other piece. They were twisted and broken, but together they could possible feel whole together—a strange euphoria. He felt whole with her, a feeling he could not explain at all. And this feeling haunted him all these years. She takes a step towards him, leaving a small amount of distance between them. Her presence is closer than ever. It stirs long ago memories of what they shared—a piece of him gone for all those years. The red stallion takes her scent in, afraid that any moment she will simply fade away into the shadows like she did those years ago. No, not again, he wants to say. He couldn’t bear to have her fade away into the shadows. He says nothing though. When he asks how he is, he is not sure what to say. Rodrik could find a million reasons to spill out what he is feeling and thinking. However, he does not. He cannot find the right words to tell her how he has been. It was timeless and filled with such darkness. He felt like a chained animal all those years the power of the darkness harbored his soul. But she, always was there, and often he did think of her. He thought much on what happened to her, would could have developed between them. And even so, he wonders what sort of person he would have been if she was there at his side all of those years. “I have been okay,” he simply says. Rodrik does not tell her, a simple game of hidden secrets is what he is familiar with. It felt natural at first before when they first met, but right now, it feels so wrong to play such charades with her. “How have you been?” He asks, wondering if even she might give him something along the same answer he gave her. But, truly, he does wonder how she is doing and what became of her. Rodrik watches her carefully, the familiar neutral look is expressed. He knows this look more than ever from her. There is something different though, something she does not hide. Rodrik breaths heavily. He looks into her eyes more intently—no longer did she wear the mask of hooded eyes. It was all there, everything. He could feel it just at the edge and ready to tip over. Rodrik moves closer to her, closing the last distance between them both. Yet, he is too stubborn to let unsaid worlds slip away again. It was foolish of him to let her go. And he would not this time. Rodrik wanted her then and he still wanted her now—and forever if he could. No, he would have her no matter what the cost would be. He touches his muzzle gently with hers at first. The heart from her body expels; it feels warm and safe to him. She is a forbidden fruit—something he should never have. “Brunhild,” he says in a husky voice. Rodrik does not care to be selfish with her. He pushes himself closer to her, running his muzzle along her cheek and then into her mane. He inhales the scent of her, noticing how much fresher and sweeter it smells now. He lingers there for a moment, in a quiet silence shared with her only (and always her only). “You should not have gone,” he confesses to her, honesty spilled out from him in every word he says.

character info: here | character reference: here | image © rostyslav zagornov

[brunhild]

our demons are all around us and they don't come from hell
every single one of them reminds us of ourselves

Brunhild was never made for intimate moments. She was not born in the heat of passion or in the quiet of love; she was not made from two hearts coming together. No, she had been born from rage, from anger, from bloodlust. She had been made in a moment of King and Queen, both half-mad with fury, the clashing of swords. She had been conceived in the darkness and then raised by warriors. She had never been shown that a touch could be anything but the bruising hold of a bloodied fist upon the hilt.

So she does not know what to do at first when he closes the distance, when their flesh meets in the way she had thought upon all of those years in the moments of quiet. She shudders involuntarily, heat rising in her chest. There is a strangled noise in her throat that rises and then smooths, turning into something that rumbles in her chest as she closes her eyes. This—this was everything she had never thought she’d have.

She leans into his touch, the velvet of her muzzle lifting to touch him, to explore. She had never been locked in an embrace of any kind, let alone one like this, one with such deep roots, a plant that had been untouched for so long and allowed to reach maturity. It was the first time they had touched and yet there was nothing new about what grew between them; she had recognized it from the start.

“I know,” she says softly, her husky voice kept close just for the two of them. She should never have left; she should have sought him out, trusted him to help her find strength and healing. She should have relied upon him, should have known that he would be there when no one else was. “I should have stayed,” she says, her mouth at his throat, the salt of him on her tongue, intoxicating and all-enveloping.

He is the only thing she can see, can sense, and she is drunk with the closeness. Her movements become bolder, her touch more possessive as she explores him, claims him. Brunhild was a maiden but not a meek one; she may not wear the crown, but she was still every inch a warrior Queen of the Amazons, just as he was still the devilish King of the Chamber. “Rodrik,” she finally murmurs, breaking away just enough to look him in the eye, breath catching in her throat. “I have never been in love,” her eyes blaze, her words as blunt as always, the dark bay mare knowing nothing but how to be truthful, “but I think that this is it.”

IMAGE © CANDID-CROCODILES

[Rodrik]

His initial existence came because of two others that shared something powerful and everlasting. Rodrik was created and shaped by the very being of love itself. It was not out of political alliances or selfish reasons, but the purest form of all that existed on this world. His parents loved flows through every fiber of his being. It imprinted into the very core of his heart, despite all the darkness that surrounded it. He was capable of showing loving emotions but so very protective of what he offered to those he loved. When he loves, he gives all of himself away. It was unlike of him to do so willingly and not even an act that would be shown so easily. Loving another was a the only selfless act he was capable of, raised to and believed in entirely. He knew one day such a love wound find him—just as it hand found his parents. But, never did he know, it would turn out to be like this. Rodrik has never shown such affection like this to anyone so openly. There had been such behavior with his parents and siblings, but nothing like this with another. This was the first time he insisted on it. The very heart of his craved for her touch and love for so long. He can feel her resistance at first. It was something he expected to likely happen with his bold actions. The devil knew the warrior woman was never so open about such things before. Brunhild was closed off and kept her playing cards hidden well. It was simply a game at first when he met her, but now he wishes more than ever for her to let it all go. There was nothing to be afraid of, he wanted to say. Rodrik wanted to promise her everything—his protection and her safety she would always have with him. He would do anything for her. Eventually, she does let it all come down. Every fiber in his body is lighted on fire as she explores his body. Her touch is more intoxicating than he imagined it ever would be. This forbidden fruit he has finally taken a taste of is sweeter than ever. He wants more—more of this very moment, more of her. She confesses she should have stayed. He growls softly at her, agreeing more than ever at her statement. “You will stay now,” he demands as he traces his muzzle along her neckline and to her cheek. He can feel the heat between them growing hotter. The intensified heat does not bother him though. Every moment in her touch was worth it. Rodrik feels her body pull away. A feeling of overwhelming worry catches his breath short. His heart drops into the pit of his stomach. His nutmeg eyes meet her own dark blazed gaze. “I never been in love but I think that this is it,” she confesses. His heart drops again, almost ready to explode from his chest. A smile grows across his lips quickly. It is a smile that often does not touch his lips, one that expresses the very feelings he is feeling now—love and happiness. “I thought I’d never hear that from you,” he says, “because I love you too.” He loved everything that made her who she was—every part that was good or bad.

character info: here | character reference: here | image © rostyslav zagornov

[brunhild]

our demons are all around us and they don't come from hell
every single one of them reminds us of ourselves

She cannot decide whether this is the beginning or an end of sorts, if this is to be a clinching closure on what had blossomed on them. After all, Brunhild has never known sweetness to last. She had been born and raised to believe in the everlasting strength of the shadows and for a long while, perhaps too long, had counted herself amongst them. She knew in their enduring power, in their ability to return again and again; she knew that even if they basked in the warmth now, it would never stay this sweet for long.

Still, she did not dwell on it, could not stand to think on it for long. Instead, she turned herself over to the raging tides of emotion swelling in her breast, her clumsy hands unable to hold onto it for long. She leaned into him, her mouth roving over the hard muscle she had seen for so long but never touched, the angles of him foreign and yet intimately familiar to her. She knew him, had always known him.

This was alien but not strange.

“I will stay,” she promises, although she is unsure of its staying power even as it spills from her mouth. Without the jungle, she had no roots; she was lost. She was a tumbleweed in this new Beqanna. For so long, her entire being, her entire purpose, had been swallowed up by her presence in the Amazons. Without that to guide her, she had no idea of what she would do or where she would go. What point was there in serving a kingdom or helping shape a land if the sisterhood would never be what it once was?

Again, she turned from her own thoughts, deftly shutting them away and instead sinking into his next words, closing her plain brown eyes as if she could remember this moment forever. She was not a particularly sentimental mare, but this was writ on her heart and would be forevermore.

Brunhild could not help but laugh though, the sound soft and muffled. “This would have all been so much easier had I admitted it earlier.” She reached up to lip at his mane, to pull at the red silky strands. “But I cannot find it in myself to regret how it happened, only to be grateful it happened at all.” She leans into him, breathes him in. “Where is home now?” Because wherever he lived now, she would follow.

IMAGE © CANDID-CROCODILES