There was a birch tree in the field; Deimos

[Siberian]

Rumors.  Rumors are what bring the Budyonny to what he knows by smell to be the Forest on this day.  Rumors of the near-incredible, that somehow random horses were gaining the ability to restore the traits that Beqanna itself had taken away from the equines it harbored and nourished.  Perhaps, in some small way, it had changed its mind?  Perhaps not, and perhaps it was all the result of idle gossip bred into something far more malicious, the concept of false hope.  The stallion knew, however, that there was only one way to find out for sure, and so here he stood now, hooves cautiously held in place atop what he had confirmed by tap-touch to be safe and solid ground, in much the same way as a blind human would skitter his white cane across the area before him as he walked.  The Chamber was long gone, and as far as Siberian could tell, so were Misra and Nymph, the two horses he had come to treasure during his time in this land that was not his own by birth, and their apparent loss clenches at his heart like twin vices.

He was alone, both in spirit and body, as he stands motionless in position, still the soldier and once-Captain that he had been shaped to become since the very day Zayn hatched out the plan to create his own private kill-toy.  The pressing question here on his newfound hope-quest to regain his ability to shapeshift, to also once again hear the quiet rumblings of his ursine counterpart within his mind, was how to ferret out one of these "gifter" horses.  Even if they somehow carried giant neon signs around with them, he would never be aware.  And resorting to asking horse after horse if they had such an ability was incredibly ludicrous, a notion he rejects as soon as it drifts through his brain.   And so he simply waits, unmoving, even when another horse accidentally bumps into him.  The soft, cherished, yet barely-remembered voice of his mother echoes silently in his mind, the old chestnut about how good things would come to those who waited, and its as good advice as any.  Accordingly, he listens, and waits, and indeed he hopes-wishes-prays that at least this one lost part of himself may be regained.

Siberian

The sexy grizzly boy of Beqanna

[Deimos]

It calls him forward, so he moves.

The scent of raw power—the power of the bear that brings forth the world from the underbelly of society. He stumbled about, sniffing for a neon sign and a gifter of horses. And Deimos is nothing if not Santa Clause.

Ho fucking ho, bitches.

He takes a step, the reverberations of his massive body going through the ground. He is aware that his quarry is blind, groping for a sense of power and being. He can also see his mind. He knows, more than anything else, the bear wants to feel the fangs in front of his tongue once more. The thick blubber and fur hanging in front of his eyes. He lumbers around like the giant hairy thing he is… easier to get around when he can throw his weight around.

A dark smile plays on the son of Mars’ mouth. He has found the servant. The heart. The body. The body—Ecco. He spat her name out, even as his loins quivered with want. He had not intended what had become. He wanted her power—her blood—and had ended up with himself something else entirely. His black wings shivered with the thought that upon his stoop there would be a package in the coming year—but he would deal with that when it became a thing. In the meantime, he would choose his words much more carefully. Siberian presented to Deimos the rare opportunity to take for himself something that was missing from his body—his strength.

The strength of a Grizzly.

And so, a black smoke that carries with it the feeling of dread—his useless victim has no eyesight and he plays this to his advantage—wraps around the man, a cold voice speaking inside his mind, a thick seductive sound that whispers to him.

Freedom.

Freedom from this hellish life you’ve known. Do this for me, Siberian, and you can become whole once more. Go to where the broad-leaved forests become as needles, and the trunks are as wide as a bear. I will give you back your abilities, if you can attack and kill the members that lay dormant in that forest. It is all yours for the taking.

DEIMOS

cry ‘havoc’ and let slip the dogs of war…

HTML by Call