"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
It hungers now.
The new born hunger is an obstinate version of the way a newborn carves for food. While once the creature’s biology had made it capable to derive its energy and nutrients from a diet consisting of a variety of food sources, such as plants and berries. These are no longer enough.
It desires something more, something that beats with life that is beyond the physical nature of meaty flesh of another. It is the very soul of another it carves – the essence of life itself. It cannot push this desire away, not when it has long been engrained into the biology of the monster to feed on others. Not even the devil could drive its instructive nature away. It was born to prey on the others, after all it is a predator.
It follows.
It must survive; it must live.
It will hunt.
The meadow of Beqanna is a favorable hunting ground for it, knowing that new life comes and goes through here. It does not hide within the darkness, behind the shadows of the world. The monster reveals himself to the world, unafraid. What is there to fear when you are the devil himself? He is strung together by bones and muscles. Cartilage, ligaments and tendons are the only thing that hold the monster together. Rotted flesh hangs in strips and patches all over his body. There are few patches of his once bright chestnut coat scattered, but they are ragged and scuffed into one huge mess. As he moves forward, his bones crack, rattling against one another. It sounds as if he will break, but he will not.
It eyes are hollowed and lifeless. It is only a hunger that fills his eyes with life. It is the scent of others, the very essence of their souls that keep him moving forward through the meadow. He is an abomination; every nightmare wrapped into one; a demon from hell.
He is hungry.
Rodrik
angels banished from heaven have no choice but to become devils
If we don't make it alive, well it's a hell of a good day to die
She feels the wolf stirring in the back of her mind. Since her mock with Lyris it had grown cocky and restless. It wanted out.
It was growing more difficult to control the beast inside her head. Each time it was released it seemed to grow stronger and the times between bursts seemed shorter. Tyrna knew it was only a matter of time before she started losing herself to the monster. Already her eyes had taken on a feral and predatory look. Her mane constantly tangled with twigs and leaves from her running wild through the woods and waking up in unknown locations, and her canine teeth were starting to feel like fangs. Now she was avoiding those she held dear until she could gain more control.
Perhaps that was why she was drawn to the meadow. It was a large space and she had seen far worse cross through it's borders.
The silver mare was cautious as she crossed the borders into the expanse of grass and trees. The wild look in her eye was enough to deter most company as she made a beeline towards the trees. The woods are lovely, dark, and deep as they say. A horse could get lost in the woods, and a wolf loves them.
It's as she is making her way towards the cool comfort of the forest that she passes him. Well she thinks it's a him anyway. Scraps of flesh cling desperately to what she could only imagine was a once graceful frame. The way his bones and joints creak and rattle brings the wolf surging forward. Fleshmeatbones, tasty, tasty,tasty Wefeedwefeedwefeed, must eatriptear The voice is a constant buzz, accompanied with yips a growls. It makes her mouth water as she is bombarded by images of feasting on the decrepit creature before her. Instead she shakes her head and attempts to walk past the beast but can't. She is drawn to the shambling mass before her, a feeling of pity and an attempt to master her own demons warring with the wolf. With a shake of her head she adresses the creature. "Who the fuck 're you?"
A name the creature of the darkness has been called for centuries. It is in the nature of others to associate him with such a name. A creature that knows nothing else but to cause malice and destruction. Yet, is not everyone else harboring their own monster? Are they not also trying to keep their own demons within the darkness of their mind? Do they not also fear they will lose themselves within the sinfulness of their own demons and monster? He once was. He was once fearful of the demons that crawled into the light, the monsters he fought within himself to keep at bay. They were too strong. He was too weak. So, he gave in and since then he has never regretted his decision.
There was something powerful and satisfying that came with accepting the desires of his own demons. It was finally the missing void he has searched for his entire life – a feeling of family, friendship, or love could never grant him and those things used to mean so much to the devil. There is nothing special about them anymore, but sometimes he does wish to hold onto them. His demons remind him – the simple hunger for life is his curse from them – and he must obey or he will become nothing.
His eyes prey on those around him, dark and hollowed, hungry for life. It is the very weakest of souls he must prey on first because he is weak himself though he would never admit it. Rodrik was strong-headed and truly never one to give up, but he knows he must start somewhere. He knows that starting from the bottom is nothing because he once had been to the very top – a king. But he is something much more now (and not even Straia taking away his own crown could do that).
He sees her before she is even close enough. It is her own demons that call out, a friend of his own kind, and scream for help. The life within her beats so faintly and it is hard for him to even depict what worth her own soul has. But it is the monster within her, her own demons, which intrigue him. And perhaps even the taste of life so close by as she draws to him like a feast on a platter that is only just for him.
A grin grows across his lips, maggots poking out between his teeth as he reveals them to her. “I have been known to be many things, girl.” A father, a manipulator, a murderer, a king, and a monster. “But I am simply Rodrik.” A name that perhaps still holds meaning or nothing to anyone now in Beqanna except for few perhaps. "And who the fuck are you?" He asks with a twisted smile, mimicking her own question and voice as best as he could.
Rodrik
angels banished from heaven have no choice but to become devils
If we don't make it alive, well it's a hell of a good day to die
"A pleasure to meet you I guess, Rodrik." The name sounds strange on her tongue. Something rather, well, boring. She would have expected something more fearsome from the decrepit creature. Though she isn't a fan of the mockery, and a soft growl slips through her lips in response, there is something wonderfully enticing about him. This being does not belong here.
The daylight casts a harshness to his features. It illuminates the strands of flesh that are best left hidden in the shadows and seems to amplify the creak of his joints. His scraps of hide could turn the strongest of stomachs, and the glint in his eye could scare the bravest of men. But Tyrna wasn't afraid. In the back of her mind she knew she should be. She recognized that hollow hunger that lurked in the corners of his features. Something you saw out of the corner of your eye when it was already too late and the predator had caught you in it's teeth. The wolf in her head howled with pleasure at the sight, finally a kindred spirit. Though it still wanted to feast on the tasty flesh hanging so readily available.
She stands her ground, ever the fearless warrior. A smirk creeps it's way across her lips as she stares down the ragged lich, matching the hunger in his eyes with one of her own and in that regard at least she knows they are on equal footing. think of the death.thinkof the destructionthat could be had. the feastohthefeast we could have if we ranranran with him The wolf whispers in her ear sending visions of beautiful chaos. Oh the fun it could have if only given the opportunity. Tyrna shakes her head in a futile attempt to shake the incessant badgering the beast gave her before smiling at Rodrik once more.
"So, Rodrik, what brings a creature like you skulking from the shadows?"
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