"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
Sylva had become her home, more so than any other she had known. The multicolored leaves overhead provided shade and safety for those who swore fealty to it’s king. To those who cursed them, however, it had become a prison. Blood and torment were in no short supply within the border of their land. While other kingdoms filled themselves with the sound of friendly conversation, Sylva seethed with the remnants of the suffering it inflicted upon their prisoners and the laughter of those who inflicted it.
She was a part of them now. Her surrender to the darkness had been like the release of a breath held for far too long. Now, she’d become unrecognizable, no longer the pitifully dull creature she’d once been. The weight of her growing wings upon her back and the points to her crown of horns upon her head were proof of the changes she’d succumbed to. She was fear itself, the red glow of her aura following wherever she led. It was her loyal servant, always ready to do her biding. The fairies’ curse had become their greatest gift. In turn, it had served to crown her queen of the darkness and she was pleased to keep it that way.
Slinking through the forest, as she often did throughout the quiet moments of the day, she trained her ears to the farthest corner of their territory. Achingly deprived of new comers she had been forced to content herself to those who had already fallen prey to their hunger for blood. Even that novelty, however, was beginning to grow stale. Desperately she longed for something of substance to occupy her time.
the only decent advice his mother had given him was always ever-present in his mind (good things come to those who work their asses off, clown). And he surely was, and little by little, his work had paid off.
It started with him pledging his loyalty to Gryffen...with this, he’d learned how to be a fierce king of darkness. Then, he began weasling his way into the ranks of Sylva when Sabra was queen. He’d gained her trust (even if it was only slightly), enough for him to steal away her throne without as much as a second glance. Then, he worked more, building the ranks of his home, forming a strong bond with Loess. The evil of Beqanna began to come out of the woodwork, from their peaceful homes and to his forest.
One such was his Witch, his demon queen. She came from Ischia, wanting more than what Brennen and the Brotherhood could offer. He gladly took her (I mean, who wouldn’t?), and it is who he seeks out today. “Demon queeeeeen…” He purrs as he approaches the middle of the forest. “Come out and play…”
The forest was hungry and it pulsates for fresh blood. Standing still she breathed deeply, filling her lungs with the taste of blood. All around her whispers rode the ever changing tide of the wind, heavy with secrets. If she listened hard enough she imagined that it spoke directly to her and she trained her ears to the sound of it. As she leaned into its lover's caress, a new voice found her. Mortem beckoned to her from his place in the shadows, calling for his queen to meet him.
Slinking through the trees, her feet found a path that would carry her to him. Keeping to the shadows she circled around him, making a study of him. Her recent encounter with Mortem's favorite plaything had left a pit in the depths of her. Dark intentions had begun to plague her and she was curious to see what his opinion would be of her plans. Irregardless of what he though, he would not change her mind.
"Hello clown king," she greeted as she remained just outside of his line of sight. "Miss me?"
Her appearance had changed quite a bit since they'd last met. Though her wings were still not yet strong enough to carry her wemight, her horns were almost completely formed. Eight horns in total had broke through the flesh of her skull, curving backwards in an ominous fashion. Likewise, her wings were equally impressive. Rough edges and sharp points decorated the leather of them, the black sheen darkly evil against the bay of her coat. She was indeed everything that he'd hoped she'd become. A demon queen through and through.
His demon queen is even more beautiful now then the first time he saw her. Her skull and neck is adorned in a haunting black crown of horns. Leathery appendages stretch out from her sides, and while they’re still forming, he can already see the potential they will have.
His mouth agape, he carries himself towards his queen, the witchy demon who captivated every part of him. His feeling towards her are foreign, but he doesn’t bother hiding them. Silken tendrils of hair tickle at his sides as he rubs against her upon approaching. when he finally turns to face her, the impish smile upon his face drops.
She is tense, usually fluid body rigid, nostrils flared, eyes angry. “What’s on your mind, demon queen?” He asks with the raise of his brow. Whatever it was, he’d handle it.
He was her slave, the truth of that realization was clear to her in the hungry way that he approached her. Rubbing himself against her like a cat she obliged his advances. It was a small price to pay for the crown that she wore.
Sensing the boiling within her, he questions her unrest and a wicked smile presents itself upon her lips. He wanted to defend her honor, or whatever was left of it. Unbeknownst to him, however, she was perfectly capable of settling her own needs.
"Perhaps Lavendel should pay us a visit, my love," she purred, her words last with the poison of her hunger.
Jesper's pet would surely make a lovely ornament amongst the trees she'd once regarded as her home. Even more tasty, was the rumored relationship that had only begun to form before Jesper's untimely inhabitation there. It brought her great delight to think upon the prevention of their reunion.
"I have found us a new pet," she explained casting a quick glance towards the treeline that surrounded them. "A...volunteer to do our bidding for us."
"Bravery is being the only one who knows you are afraid."
He fears her.
One look is enough to make him cower, and want to curl up in a tight little ball to brace himself for whatever she might throw at him. Not a single part of him even considers fighting an option, just the thought alone is enough to cause a panic attack. She knows. She always knows. The knowing look in her glowing green eyes stops him from attempting whatever way out he might think of. Her aura is just horrible like that.
But even though the little fox fears her, he is even more afraid of facing her wrath. And thus he tries desperately to stay on her ‘good’ side, if she has such a thing. One time getting cast out of heaven is enough.
He lurks nearby in the shadows, never within sight, but close enough to appear on command. He does not disgrace her presence, and he would not shame her if she demanded him around. But for now, he cowers, making himself as small as he possible can to avoid the wrath of the taller demon queen. Unable to shift, he is stuck in his equine form, still too weak and broken to be of any use. In this weak state of being, she has him wrapped around her pretty little finger.
06-02-2018, 04:05 PM (This post was last modified: 06-02-2018, 04:06 PM by Modicum Mortem.)
There is a moment of silence as he stares into her glowing emerald pools, watching with a wicked grin as she speaks of Lavendel. He remembers the little “lamb”; so timid, so quiet, and his heart swells with excitement. What a fun little pet to have running around…what a wonderful way to torture Jesper further.
He listens to Astarael’s silken words, and raises his brow. A volunteer? He glances to the trees behind her for a moment, then looks back to her. “Oh? And who might that be, demon queen?”
The forest around them was thick, heavy with anticipation. Jesper had fled, freed from their grasp and back into the greedy hands of Brennen. The hole he had left had created a sudden unrest as the creatures of the shadows gnashed their teeth in anticipation of their king's next move. Astarael was no exception. By now their one time captive would have happily divulged all he had discovered whilst in their grasp. Beqanna would begin to stir once more, outraged by Sylva's growing strength.
Absently she traced the outline of the trees. She sensed Mortem's approval of her plans to continue their torture upon Jesper. However, his interest shifts at the mention of their newest plaything. Lingering just beyond their line of sight her aura kept itself wrapped around the fox eared stallion. He feared her, deliciously so. She grinned expectantly as a wicked smile touched the velvet of her lips.
"Hiroto, come forward my pet," she beckoned, her voice ice and fire all at once. Her eyes met Mortem's expectantly. "Meet your king."
"Bravery is being the only one who knows you are afraid."
Her summon forces him to come out of hiding. No longer does she allow him to avoid her, calling him forth from her shadow. He barely feels the humiliation of her pet name for him, as his body and mind are still trying to heal from both his physical and mental wounds.
He misses his Goddess, no longer able to feel the fox-spirit leader’s presence. He feels cold and empty without her, and Hiroto longs for her touch, even if it would be just one last time.
But he has gotten himself stuck in another realm, unable to travel back to his own. She would make sure of that, and if she hadn’t the demon that had found him would. His fear of her rivals his love for his Goddess. And thus the pale cremello male stumbles through the forest, his body barely healed enough to keep himself up. The damn roots don’t help him either, but at the same time he’s grateful that the forever stuck at autumn forest allows him to retreat.
Hiroto stumbles into view, his honey eyes locking on Astarael for a short second before cowering and glancing away. His large and red outlined ears are flicked back, insecure and anxious, and even though each and every cell in his body tells him to flee, he approaches the two dark equines. After all, his fear of what she would do to him is bigger than his fear of her here and now.
He does not speak as he stops a little distance away, respecting their personal space as his head drops towards the ground. His tailbone is tightly pressed against his buttocks and all the muscles of his wounded and healing body are tense, waiting for what is to come next.
