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 Posted: Mon Feb 18, 2008 10:21 pm
 Istaqa was sick of the mind-games, sick and bored to tears of the incessant whining of a naive, defiant soul. What he wanted now was to feed the darkness inside him, have that tainted black soul flourish with the help only a certain type of company could provide. He rarely ever resorted to this form of entertainment, unable to recall the last time he'd intentionally made a real calling, the kind only a select few would respond to.
He hated them more than anything else in any realm in question. But tonight he was going to call for one, two, however many would feel the painful stab of sound pierce into their black souls and draw them towards each other like rolling storm clouds akin in some dark core locked away deep inside. With much regret already, Istaqa froze, stiffened his entire body as the oozing soil below seeped between his clawed toes.
In one motion he threw back his head and howled.
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Posted: Mon Feb 18, 2008 10:30 pm
 Wyrsa wasn't in the best of moods this night. No, she hadn't been in the best of moods for a while, though she couldn't quite figure when it had started. But she knew what it had started with. It was the dreams.
Dreams of coyotes, of their howls and their dog-like bodies. Dreams of their claws and fangs drenched in blood. Dreams of their yellow eyes looking straight into her own.
Dreams from which she always awoke full of hatred that would fade over the course of the day. But it always took longer each day.
The mare paused, her musing brought to an abrupt halt by a strange, unearthly howl that resonated through her entire being. Somehow, the very sound brought the memories of the dreams to the fore of her mind. And yet...the sound was a calling. She knew that. She was also curious enough to respond, though she couldn't help hating whoever it was doing the calling for the images that had come to mind.
It took her some time to follow the sound to a part of the forest she rarely ventured into, mostly because the swampy ground made for uneven footing. Still, she couldn't see the caller, though it was likely one of the big shadows beneath the trees. As she moved, the only indication of her presence, aside from a moving shadow, was the occasional glimmer of moonlight on her scales.
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Posted: Mon Feb 18, 2008 10:47 pm
It was hard to miss the snake-like quadruped that appeared not long after his calling, though he had to admit this wasn't exactly what he was expecting. This thing had no pelt, nor did it appear to act or move like a normal skinwalker - yet. That was the important point. This meeting definitely was not chance, none ever were. This part of the forest -- his forest -- was clearly a territory few would ever muster the courage to venture into. The animals themselves knew the every soil was tainted but he wouldn't put it past some naive, hapless mare to ignore her instincts of the place. It definitely wouldn't be the first time.
This one however, was true. She looked and acted nothing alike his kind but she wafted an aura of a cursed. He could almost smell it on her, the unholy path her soul was bound to spiral into.
He was somewhat disappointed. He hated the cursed. They were false skinwalkers, the vermin of the breed one could say. Though he by no means held himself in high regard being a "purebred" demon straight from the depths of insanity and evil itself... it was physically impossible for him to have that much pride. No, he used this fact purely as just another reason to hate.
He was intrigued by the shimmer of her scales. When did soquili develop such a unique pelt? It was very un-horse-like. The snake was a pleasing symbol of evil and somewhat fitting, it seemed. A part of him wondered if her downfall was intentional. For now the stallion remained alert as he stood amongst the shifting shadows of the trees, orange eyes unbashfully staring at the figure that drew closer. He heard her voice and shuddered nauseously. What a lovely feeling.
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Posted: Mon Feb 18, 2008 10:59 pm
When she finally spotted the caller, Wyrsa had to wonder how she'd missed him before. Brown, black, and red wasn't entirely inconspicuous, even in this haunted place. Then the colors resolved themselves into shapes and the mare could see why the shapes had been bothering her.
The Soquili was wearing a pelt over his head and back. A coyote pelt. The mare stopped in her tracks, knees locking in place in shock. Her dreams took on a whole new meaning with this stallion who simply radiated Evil in front of her.
She hated him of course. She hated him for everything he represented, for everything he was.
For everything that she realized, deep down inside, she would become. And that was too fearsome to think about, so her subconscious buried the realization deeply.
By force of will, Wyrsa overcame her shock and fear, and forced herself to stalk towards the caller. She stopped a yard away, and tilted her head in an insolent question, trying to not show the fear she still felt running down her spine.
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Posted: Mon Feb 18, 2008 11:09 pm
Istaqa watched as the lizard-like mare came into full view, stopping to adopt some sort of stand off position between the two of them. it gave him a lovely chance at sizing her up, as his burning stare shifted mercilessly over every inch before he was satisfied at what he was looking at. It wasn't every day he chanced upon such an opportunity to meet a creature alike himself, as it was already painfully clear that the cardinal rule that like-minds repel was definitely a law to live by in the Skinwalker realm.
He said nothing at first, not even shifting an inch in his stance. A canine ear lopsidedly twitched across his skull and the dark stallion erupted into a symphony of maliciously shaky, hoarse laughter.
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Posted: Mon Feb 18, 2008 11:16 pm
Wyrsa glared at him, refusing to be goaded. Fear wasn't the issue. She absolutely refused to show that she was intimidated by him. Her pride wouldn't allow her to be subdued by yet another stallion - especially one that was nowhere near as appealing as Tloc.
And yet...she no longer wanted to submit to Tloc the way she used to. She wanted to have the power, the dominance in their twisted little relationship!
But here...here there was some vast gulf between them. She couldn't dominate this one. Ever. She could only stand firm and try not to give him an opening. Already the mare was wondering why she'd bothered to come...she knew he was going to insult and enrage her, making her hate him even more than she already did. It didn't matter that she didn't even know his name. The end result of this night was a foregone conclusion, and they both knew it.
Still...she really, really hated that laughter. But all she did was grind her teeth and hope it stopped. Soon. Very soon.
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Posted: Tue Feb 19, 2008 1:41 pm
Thankfully Wyrsa's prayers were answered as Istaqa's gritty laugh eventually died down not long after it had started. He could see her irritation plastered across her features and as usual, it only made him more pressed to continue his pestering. Such a cordial meeting was unheard of in the skinwalker's mind, only capable of developing a long string of twisted, hateful relationships- that is, whenever chance meetings didn't develop into violence. Knowing the stallion however, he couldn't remain quiet for too long.
"No wordsss, mare?" The grinding baritone began teasingly, though his expression remained stoic and unamused. This wasn't some naive little filly he was speaking to this time, this was a creature he must always stay on guard around.
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Posted: Tue Feb 19, 2008 2:38 pm
So, he wanted her to talk? Very well, then she would stay silent. Even though it would be the stupidest thing in the world to provoke this particular stallion, she couldn't help wanting to. Provoking him would give her an excuse to sink her fangs into his flesh, taste his blood -
Wyrsa wrenched her mind back on track and snorted in response. They didn't need words, either of them, to know what was going on. The mare allowed herself one luxury though: she glared at the stallion, all the hate she knew in her gaze. She refused to give in, she refused to die.
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Posted: Mon Feb 25, 2008 3:40 pm
The demon stallion huffed to himself, left with nothing but silence after the mare's outright refusal to play in his game. The action -or lack thereof- only spurred on a malicious shudder as Istaqa became increasingly irritated. Admittedly it didn't take much on Wyrsa's part to try his patience, as the simple act of breathing pestered his nerves. Very well. The cow didn't want to speak, than Istaqa could more than offer his share of the conversion.
"Nnnnnothing to say now, uh? Too good for the wag of a tongue?" The skinwalker stallion sneered and purposely, intentionally took a generous stride towards her. If being standoff-ish was her method of introduction, than he would do his best to ruin the mood. "Or perhapssss you have nnnone to wag, is that it, hmmm? No worriesss. If I were you, I'd tear it out too!" Another stride followed by another until the distance between the two strangers became dangerously slim. With a dramatic tilt of the stallion's head, he glared at her with a single, round, orange eye. "Choke a laugh, mare. I know you're dying to spit your dim-witted cusses at mmmmeeeee...."
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Posted: Tue Feb 26, 2008 9:55 pm
Wyrsa's only response to Istaqa's sudden proximity was to hiss and bare her small fangs at him. Still, she dared not retreat. Not yet. But, oh, how mad he made her! Which was almost certainly his intent, she knew.
But there was only so much the mare could take. Her mouth contorted into a snarl, she lunged for the stallion, intent on drawing blood to salve her wounded pride and ears. She was no pathetic weakling to be cowed by words alone!
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Posted: Thu Mar 06, 2008 9:07 pm
Istaqa could see the tension build in the mare's muscles with every prod he exacted upon her already unstable mood. He attributed the change in posture alike the coiling of a snake, fitting for one so intricately laced with shimmering scales. He absent-mindedly wondered if she tasted like snake, or at least what the texture of her flesh was really like.
The sudden lunge was a formidable response, he'd later decide. It wasn't that she had caught him off guard but he was almost testing her to see how much damage she had the gall to inflict on the confrontational stranger. He made no effort to dodge the bullet or retract with an attack his own, merely leaning himself away from the vicious mare to ensure she didn't catch her teeth on anything vital. The sting of broken flesh was exciting.
Once she'd made her point, the stallion returned with a quick lash of his front claw-riddle paw to ensure Wyrsa wouldn't feel inclined to continue an assault. Refusing to step back as a sign of retreat, the skinwalker merely leaned away as the dark blood streamed down his shoulder. "Spitsss like a snnnake as well. Very good." He seemed pleased for a moment until his expression reverted back to a manic glare. "My turn?"
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Posted: Fri Mar 07, 2008 8:17 am
Bleeding slightly from the skinwalker's claws, Wyrsa continued to glare at him. She still refused to say anything, to give him any more leverage. As he ignored his wound, so she ignored hers. It was fairly minor anyway.
Her only response to his question was a snarl that could be taken any number of way, and she pawed the ground with one hoof. Oh, if her hoof was a claw, and if each movement was flaying away a layer of his hide...
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Posted: Fri Mar 07, 2008 8:46 am
"Such a brute" The skinwalker smirked, swaying his front-half in an impatient weaving motion. "Very unnnlady-like." He continued to pester incaringly, ignoring her pathetic displays of aggression. If he'd wanted an all-out fight, her carcass would have been strung up on the trees by now. It didn't seem a bad idea at that point, and he wondered if the confrontation would escalate to that. It was true though, he decided. Compared to the last mare he had encountered, this one was definitely very un-mare-like.
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Posted: Fri Mar 07, 2008 9:50 am
Wyrsa snorted in response. If she acted more "mare-like," he'd see it as a show of weakness, especially now. "Lady-like" - bah! It was stupid and useless to simpler and flirt and served no good purpose in the end.
But she caught the signs that he looked to be getting bored with her. Bad idea. The mare began to walk, intending to circle the skinwalker at a slow, deliberate pace. A hunter's stalk, though she didn't yet realize it.
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Posted: Wed Mar 19, 2008 1:51 pm
It was the skinwalker's turn to scoff loudly as he watched the mare's display change from weak signs of irritation to a slow stalk. something inside him stirred and the male found himself sneering, jaws clenched so hard his fangs felt like they would collapse under the weight. How dare she act as though he was some prey item, something to be harassed and toyed with like a rabbit caught in a hunter's trap. The stallion would not stand for this display of disrespect, especially from such a newly-fledged and barely formidable opponent. No, this was a mistake. To lure such an irritating, disgusting, festering little gnat to his presence for the sake of amusement. The only result of this confrontation seemed to be an exponentially-increasing need to slaughter this thing. Curse the b*****d who bothered to deal this one the hand of a skinwalker. This was no skinwalker, this was yet another vermin to plague the world with its presence.
"Cow, you th-th-think you're so clever!" The stallion's posture changed dramatically as the last shred of patience was torn. "You are NOTHING! May the earth reclaimmm your wrrrrretched body so that the worrrms may feast upon your PRIDE! You and the rest!" Kicking up mucky dirt from his clawed paws, the pure skinwalker exploded into a fitful rage as he lunged at Wyrsa. An unholy roar escaped his maw as he attempted to chew a hole into her side in a passing attack. In an instant the horse-creature was a smoke-coloured coyote scampering madly into the forest's thick fog with a string of angry noises that faded along with the insane-beast's silhouette into the dark.
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