"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
10-06-2018, 06:25 PM (This post was last modified: 10-10-2018, 07:04 PM by Klaudius.)
The lush greens of spring had returned him to health by the time the summer sun is lingering at its longest hour. His lavender coat nearly sparkles an his wings have mottled to present a healthy array of feathers. As the days grow longer he has less shadow to remain hidden, but alas he no longer cares. The piper will be paid.
It is near dusk when he leaps from the rivers shores and angles across the deep waters. A thin blanket of clouds conceal the moonlight and starlight alike -shielding him from searching eyes. Each beat of his expansive wingspan draws him nearer to the concave shores of Nerine. The kingdoms desolate cliffsides assume the wrath of the oceans waves, sending sea spray to wetten the rocky coast.
His aim is high, nearly whisking the cloud cover overhead as his silver-hazel eyes seek the lady of ebony and ivory. Memories of her begin to flood his mind, along with all the things he had planned for her. Blinded by seething fury, he does not think of much else, that is until something pastel and glittery catches his attention along the cliffs. His left wing bends slightly to circle him closer, eyes examining while mind recognizes...
Sabra
It had been years since he had seen the proudful mare. Honestly, he couldn't place their last meeting in his mind. Had it been when he had found her defeated in the river? For a brief moment his gaze softens at the sight of her, seemingly looking out across the vast sea -lost in dreams of what had been or what could be. A snort erupts sharply from his nostrils and his silver eyes narrow. He would not be bewitched again.
The next thought that comes to mind is of where she stands, at Nerine shores. Was she now a pledged member of the kingdom and thus a conspirer to his captivity? He would find out shortly. With bended wings he descends swiftly to allow himself to land beside her without rebuke. "My dear Sabra girl, where have you been all these years?" His voice is slick with a hint of faux concern. Stepping towards her with a softened profile, he searches her eyes deeply, "I have missed you." Reaching his muzzle towards her, he would brush the forelock from her view if allowed...
Klaudius
I was lightning, before the thunder
@[Sabra] anyone else you can enter thread when tagged
Nerine, it would be a new home to her. She had been welcomed, and made a friend with a sovereign of neighboring Hyaline, and felt an overall sense of peace that had been missing far longer than she'd realized. Soon she would summon her sons, and their new lives would truly begin. Some time, not much, had passed since her original entrance to this kingdom, and now she grazed independent from others in the stone scattered landscape.
The sun was beginning his daily deathfall into the cold waters of the ocean, painting the landscape tints of fire. It was like standing inside a world of citrine and garnet, everything dripping with dying light. Out of the russet sky fell a phantom of her past. The strange light turned him a deeper shade of violet as his hooves clatter back to earth. "Klaudius." She greeted simply, taken aback by the familiar face. How long had it been since their paths had crossed last? Years. Much time had passed, so much had changed. She was different from the vapid girl who'd followed him into foolishness.
Still though, they shared history, and a son besides. A son she had not seen in as many years as his sire, but it made no difference. "Here and there. I've kept a rather nomadic lifestyle these last few years. And you? Where have you called home since Ischia fell from Krone's grasp?" She asked more out of etiquette than intense curiosity.
The pink corners of her lips lifted slightly at his approach, she allows the touch, but breaks it with a laugh. She had long since moved on from the turmoil he had caused her as a younger thing. "You missed me? I'm sure I'm flattered, Klaudius, but our day has long since passed." The delicate curve of her face looked away from his gaze. Another face rose in her mind's eye, haloed in hope. "I've moved on, you should consider doing the same." A harder note belied her soft tone, emphasizing that she had no intention of falling for his charms again. That road had never brought her happiness then, she had no reason to think it would now.
She is how he had always known her. Vibrant, intellective. At first she seems to fall easily into his charms, then its as if he never meant anything at all to her. This brims the thoughts of his imprisonment. The hellish nightmares that bedeviled his every moment.
He was nothing, to no one.
He pulls away from her as she laughs into his face. He isn't shocked at her retort, his soft demeanor now changing to something much harsher as the anger boils once again. All of her questions go unanswered, for there isn't a free breath to answer them upon. In a split second the lavender stallion turns on the pearlescent mare, teeth grasping for the tender bone of her wings. All the strength in his front quarters bore down onto her. Hooves striking to rip flesh and to break bone. He had come here for another but no one was safe from his fury.
Once he is satisfied she cannot escape, he presses into her. "Do you miss me now?" His voice is broadish and hateful. Their first fornication had been gentle and out of pure passion. This time it would be anything but pleasurable, for her. Jaws part to allow his incisors to cut into the tender flesh at her withers. Using it as leverage to pull himself on top of her. His forelimbs clamping around her hips and pulling her into him -not caring if it hurt, as he forced himself inside of her. "Scream for me Sabra," he demands of her, "Scream for your Queen to come save you." The wickedness in his tone is thick. Hate was consuming him, even as he brought pleasure to himself.
When he is finished with her, he releases her to stumble and fall. To call for the one he truly seeked, "Where is your Queen now Sabra?!"
Klaudius
I was lightning, before the thunder
@[Sabra] Respond how you wish and tag whomever you want to respond
It is as sudden as lightning shattering the sky. Her words fall like raindrops heralding a storm, only to be met with a look of utter loathing. It was not an expression she had expected, not with that intensity. Klaudius had always been a beast of passions, but this was different. It was the only warning he gave her.
He spoke not a word, just moved like something possessed. Where his previous action had been tender, now he snapped forward with violent precision, latching onto the curve of her wing with his teeth. Berserker strength moved him faster than she could react. The large purple stallion tore and twisted at the limb like a wolf on a deer, hungry for destruction. She shrieked when a loud popping sound signaled the humerus being pulled out of joint with her shoulder, followed by another, worse, sound. She'd heard it before, when stepping on a good sized branch, and the dry wood cracked beneath her hoof. It was different, however, in that this noise was accompanied by blinding agony. Her ulna and radius had been twisted beyond limits, splintering in the crushing grip of her assailants maw. The scream that tore through her felt loud enough to shred vocal chords. This, at least, seemed to give him some satisfaction.
Sabra could only watch with horror as he released the limb to hang broken by her side. It had taken him mere seconds to destroy that which she held so dear. Bloodstained blue and pink feathers spun to the ground, while jagged edged white bone shoved through the thin skin of her wing. Pain and shock vied for dominance as she fought for air, hearing but not understanding the words that he said.
With a jolt of awareness she keened wordlessly. He wasn't finished with her yet. The weight of him, the feel of his teeth and hooves digging into flesh, and every motion jostling her shattered wing. Every sensation brought a new horror. He was inside her. Using her in a way she had thought beyond him. Forcing himself until blood mixed in with the sweat and semen he produced, underscoring the hate that fueled him.
In subconscious defiance, or perhaps sheer fear, she found that her throat felt too constricted to scream any longer. Who would hear her, anyway? Pathetic, tiny cries were all she could muster. Hazy darkness clung to the edges of her sight. In what was likely a combination of pain and blood loss (it was dripping from half a dozen wounds by now), her legs grew weak and a high pitched buzz filled her ears. Like hearing a voice underwater, his words came to her as she felt his weight leave her back. "I am my queen, bastard..." She muttered over a heavy tongue, slipping on the growing pool of blood at her feet. Knees jarred as she hit the ground, a parody of a respectful bow.
He is unsure why the pain he causes sends a wave of adrenaline over him. Her broken body and helpless form, a puppet to his will. Has he really lost himself this much? The toll of his life has added up to this very wicked moment, and when she defies him once more -by not calling her the Nerine queen- he growls in anger. Gritting his teeth, he calls to the earth to bring forth his armored helmet -fitted with an iron spear in the center. This would be the last time she denies him...
With a swift lunge, he plunges the dagger into her chest. Piercing the beating mass that was her heart. It was his now and would forever be, his.
Summer is slowly passing, and with each day that the lavender man doesn’t show, the ice-drake stallion is convinced he won’t come this summer, but in fall. And he fears he’ll never have Breckin as ready as she should be, by then. No battle reflexes. No battle instincts; and so, like he promised her he would (even if she hates it), he’s watching. Always, or, at least whenever they’re not both asleep, but he’s lucky she lets him nearer then.
His focus is on the white, dotted woman, from the distance which he estimates at which she cannot clearly make him out, but she is still within his own view. Her neck is scarred and the tissue is always sensitive, he knows. He knows from testing, from going near there ever so softly and feeling her tense, so the best he can do is leave it alone.
She’s talking to his mother, who can probably see him as well as he them. That’s the only downside of this, she’ll know it and probably make a remark on it or come talk to him later. Family traits can be so inconvenient sometimes.
But his position away from the two mares atop the figurative food chain, places him in a place where he’s also aware of Sabra. Not right away, though. His focus is elsewhere. For her, that’s severe bad luck; for him, something he’ll hardly forgive himself. With time, perhaps. So when he tosses his head and overlooks the kingdom, spotting the irregular movements, he’s too late to intervene with the wing-breaking.
Or with what follows.
But he suddenly bolts from his spot anyway. There’s only one, minimal, upside to a man attacking, maiming, and raping: he’s preoccupied. Gives him time to close in. Take a longer route, sneak up on the scene.
Too late for Sabra; even if she spotted him coming up behind the lavender pegasus, he can’t help the stake aiming for her heart. But it’s an ideal position - for Leilan, that is. Exposed, neck forward, stance wide, there is a whole lot of Klaudius to sink his teeth in, ripe for the taking.
He goes for the wing first. There’s unruly feathers to his taste, but also lightweighted bones, and they snap so easily in his dragontoothed mouth. Almost as if they’re made for this. He pulls and twists, tearing off the limb. Almost too easy.
At this point surely he’ll have been noticed. But he’s enraged and totally doesn’t care if he recieves a return-blow. A wing, for Sabra’s. A second bite is aimed for the crest, and again, surely, whatever Klaudius can do against it, it’s too late. Enraged, eyes black as the night, he has nothing else to think of but kill this man and take what he took and make him suffer. Sabra was his friend, damn it. But Breckin has lived in fear so long, too - nothing he can do is enough. But anything he can tear off is minor satisfaction, every squeak or roar of pain or scream, it’s helping. Vent the anger. Kill the threat. Avenge the rape and murder.
There are no words, there are hardly thoughts. He’s fuming, and perhaps there’s a more primal, roaring sound; with the lavender crest still in a firm grip, his adrenalin-fueled, muscles body aims to throw the more skinny man on the ground, feeling the flesh rip with an odd sense or justice even more so than satisfaction.
Klaudius is given no time to think but even if he came to his senses and made armor now, he’d be too late.
He aims for the face. The cold of his dragon-iced breath is near-unnatural, like liquid nitrogen; sufficient to fully freeze the mask, or helmet, that had been created; the cold is probably already eating it’s way into the man’s supposedly-handsome face. If there’s one thing he knows about Klaudius it’s that he loves his pretty face. So let’s maim it. Freeze-burn it. Let it blister in the cold. A solid kick shatters the helmet; breathing heavily, the scaled roan assesses the damage. Still breathing, though probably not long any more.
It’s still not enough.
This sad excuse for a man deserves to die. For even if he’s not supposedly a sworn brother any more, he’ll never forget his oaths. Rape and murder will never be tolerated.
@[Castile] your turn! Put him wingless and on the ground for you, I think that’s sufficient! If anything needs changing let me know. @[Neo]
Two things I know I can make: pretty kids, and people mad.
He doesn’t recognize Sabra’s scream, not immediately. She has never uttered such a rattling noise or exhibited a sense of weakness.
So, no, he doesn’t connect everything right away, but his curiosity is piqued.
The skirmish and unsettled dirt funnels Castile’s attention, ripping his eyes away from all else. In the distance, he first sees Sabra with her opalescent skin catching the summer light, but there is more – so much more. Seeing the blur of violet pressing to her is enough to elicit a deep rage that escalates faster and more powerfully than ever before. Everything is happening so fast and yet so slow at the same time; he feels powerless even as his body rips, tears, and grows. The grass and rocks fall away in quick succession as his body seamlessly whirs from shifting into flight. There are gaping wounds left behind as he launches himself in the air, the groan of Mother Nature falling on deaf ears.
Then the smell of blood reaches him.
Whose is it?
The immense roar that thunders from his throat blares across Nerine, an announcement for the wakening of a great and terrible monster.
Instincts propel him into a frenzy, the coppery smell of blood pouring across his tongue; he can practically taste it. The hunger that blossoms is insatiable and primal. It accelerates the beat of his wings as he streamlines across the sky until the skirmish is seen just below. With a swift tip, Castile descends with another vehement roar, flames exploding past his muzzle that he soars through to land near them all.
Then, he sees her again.
Sabra is there, but her body lies in a pool of blood, listless with hollow eyes.
In that moment, Castile’s heart both weeps and screams. An unimaginable ferocity poisons him, suppressing his righteousness and better thinking. Everything is painted in scarlet red except for the violet stallion and Leilan. They stand out in stark contrast with targets on them. For a fleeting moment, Castile notices Sabra’s blood painfully dripping from Klaudius’ speared helmet, but then it freezes beneath Leilan’s breath. The peculiar iron armor masking the murderer’s face shatters easily enough with a mortal’s kick. Honing in, Castile lunges forward, jostling Leilan aside and snapping onto Klaudius’ leg to drag him closer. His jagged teeth sink in, tasting the victim’s blood and not caring whether the bones shatter underneath the pressure of his jaws. A low growl trembles through him and into his prey, Castile’s grip on himself loosening with each passing second. They could all see it; his eyes are predatory and starving, lacking the warmth that usually frequents his expression.
His lip curls in a snarl while his slit pupils jump back and forth to digest the sight of his lover’s killer (and rapist). He pauses. It lasts long enough that would make his intentions seem questionable, but then another growl escapes him. Another quick lunge, biting at Klaudius’ neck, but only to draw blood and not kill.
He must die
(Let him suffer)
Castile had almost forgotten the voice in the back of his mind, the monster that he had always feared. It has been years since it has chilled his bones and blocked out his thoughts. He thought he destroyed it, but here it again rising as Castile’s own judgment slips and falls deeper into the abysmal darkness.
(He must suffer)
Craning his head upward, Castile regards Klaudius bitterly. A titanic claw lifts then slowly, agonizingly, drags a nail down his torso to split his skin. Blood pools then seeps sideways. Castile presses deeper with a maniacal stare, his talon diving deeper to puncture organs before withdrawing to watch the stallion writhe and groan.
And then there is fire.
The chasm of his mouth brightens to a swirling storm of red, yellow, and orange. As tempting as it is to douse his prey in flames, it would be far too quick.
(That would take away the fun)
When the inferno does slip past his lips, it’s deliberately a slow and steady stream. He wants to hear Klaudius scream and beg for mercy. He wants to smell the flesh and hair burning. He wants there to be excruciating pain.
(Where is your Queen now?)
Those had been the final words Castile heard over the frenzy before he arrived, shouted at his precious Sabra as she crumpled into the puddle of her own life and memories, broken by this fool. Castile almost repeats them in mockery, but he can’t bring himself to stop burning the stallion, charring his corpse and draining the very life from him.
(Die… die… DIE)
The seconds leak into dragging minutes until Castile lumbers backward with his wings outstretched. Lying at his feet is Klaudius, blackened but still visibly cut open and maimed, destroyed by those he hurt and sickened. Dead, finally dead.
A deafening cry blares from him one last time in victory, but then he looks over to Sabra’s corpse. For the first time since his body shifted, Castile’s true thought surfaces and reaches the forefront of his mind. With heavy footsteps that tremble the earth, he inches toward his opalescent love and delicately curls her into his claws. A final growl punctuates his departure as he carries Sabra away. Whether it is to mourn or feed or seek help, no one knows as he leaves them in a thick cloud of dust and destruction.
Love.
Hate.
Pain.
Death.
His life is but a tribute to the emotions of his time here. Even when bone shatters and flesh tears, he is far too gone to feel anything. Perhaps too broken to care anymore. Let him be condemned to death for the sins he has committed. His memory would be forever etched in the deepest parts of their minds...
~*~
Here lies Klaudius.
Unloved and uncherished by all those he cared for.
His only hope is that his children will remember him for the loving Father he tried to be.
~*~
Mother- I was born a failure to you and to everyone my life touched. Thanks for the amazing legacy
Kolera- I am sorry I left you all alone in this cruel world
@[Krone]- I am sorry for all the pain I caused you
Kromium and Karat- I am sorry I failed you
@[Sabra]- I am sorry I was never enough. Now you know how I felt. Hope you like the gift I left you ; )
@[Kwartz]- I am sorry I could not raise you to be better than me
@[Mosrael]- I am sorry I could not see what I meant to you
Ketzia and Kove- My sweet girls, you were a light in my dim existence
@[Kylin]- I truly love you with all my heart
@[Kyveli]- I am sorry I could not call you my own. It was not fair to put that burden on you
@[Ivar]- Take care of them
@[Warrick]- I hope you understood I was only trying to protect my family. No hard feelings.
@[Breckin]- You brought this on yourself
@[Leilan]- Your a dick. Freezing my beautiful face! Dick move
@[Scorch]- You are the only female who never made my dick hard.
The screaming, the yelling, the roar that rattled the very earth underneath her, it all happened so incomprehensibly quickly. The commotion had disrupted her, and her body had found its own way to crest the high point of one of Nerine’s cliffs. From her vantage point she had seen a large sum of the woeful encounter, her mind rapidly fitting the gaps together as her slender limbs carried her swiftly towards the foursome.
She’s not fast enough to keep anything from happening, to interject, to do something. Anything. Anything other than sliding to a stumbled halt on top of the freshly disfigured ground caused by Castile’s inferno.
Breckin doesn’t spare Klaudius’s charred remains the time of day, looking fleetingly over towards the scaled stallion for a reassurance that he was still in once piece. Satisfied, she works her way to the spot where Sabra’s body had just laid. The leopard mare’s head drops low, feeling the telltale weight of regret and sorrow pressing down as her eyes close. The silence that closes over her is deafening, but it allows her a brief moment of clarity when her crown finally rises again.
Her dark eyes ascend to watch as the dragon’s form disappears into the gray washed skies. “We’re going to Tephra. Soon.”
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