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From the Gates of Hell...to Me!
Soquili's Name: Mortuus vir Pedes
Meaning of Name?: "Dead man walking" in Latin - something called out as a convict is brought to the gallows to face corporal punishment.
Owner: Dragain
Personality:
Mortuus is not the smartest Skinwalker out there. Then again, he's not the smartest Soquili out there. For him, its a case of brawn over brains, and he's got plenty of brawn to spare! Standing taller than most Skinwalkers and possessing a lot more bulk, he often uses his size to bully others into obeying him if he could not eat them, even in his Underworld "home". However, he does have a strong survival instinct that might, at times, overwrite his pride and muscles. For example, if he knew that he was fighting a losing battle, he would flee instead of endangering his life... Although he would start grumbling angrily about it once the instinct-adrenaline wears off, seeing 'fleeing' as a cowardly move, and thus goes on a killing spree to release some steam.

Like all other Skinwalkers, he is evil and does derive pleasure from the suffering of others, finding it all rather entertaining. Being not very smart nor creative, however, Mortuus abuses the cliche 'wipe out a whole family in front of one member and challenge that member to look you up when he/she is ready before killing that surviver too' plan. Unsurprisingly, most of his survivors don't end up looking for him for revenge, making for one rather bored Skinwalker... Again, causing him to go on a killing spree until he's slightly less bored. He firmly believes that Skinwalkers who had boasted of killing entire Angeni families must be lying - it takes a lot of effort on his part to wipe out a family of 5... He can't imagine attacking an Angeni family of more than 2 members!

He does not like to play with his food in the traditional sense - when hunting, he does not bother to sneak up on his prey, preferring to just spring out and chase after his target. When it is caught, he'll immediately feed on it live by pinning them to the ground with his paws first. He does not eat anything that was already dead when he found them, and anything short of "fresh" would be rejected by the picky eater. Small prey will be eaten whole, but larger prey might have the unfortunate experience of being eaten alive... The symphony of bloodcurdling screams and cries of mercy, mixed with the fragrance of salty tears is enough to work up a good appetite! In fact, he is more addicted to the smell of tears than to blood - he would do anything to break a Soquili in order to make them cry.

When not terrorizing herds and villages, Mortuus' hobby is napping and sleeping - taking a nap after a meal, after a killing spree, after traumatizing a Soquili by finishing off their family... Its probably the only non-violent thing that makes him satisfied. However, disturb his rest, and he would lash out immediately - he's very much at the peak of his sadism just after waking up.

Finally, the phrase he yells out when he's chasing a target is "Dead man walking!": It refers to the eventual death of his target under his claws. What did I say? He's not very creative!

Response:
[Here, you'll learn why Mortuus keeps using the 'wipe out a whole family in front of one member and challenge that member to look you up when he/she is ready before killing that surviver too' plan whenever he's bored.]

It felt different to be "freed" from the Underworld, to be in this land called "Kawani" for a change of pace. Unlike where he came from, he could practically feel the positive emotions of the land... It made his fur bristle and him to be sick to the stomach with disgust - the world should be filled with hopelessness, fright and despair! In fact, the mere idea that Kawani was filled with hope compelled him to want to kill something immediately just to crush that little bit of hope in someone... He then inclined his head up and grinned, his sensitive ears picking up the sound of hoofsteps in the distance...

"Dead man walking!"

The smell of blood lingered in the air as he ripped through the small herd, tongue hanging out from the side of his maw, very much like the deranged animal he is when he's on a killing spree. After he was done with its Alpha (who was an elderly mare without much strength), the rest of the herd was easy enough to finish off - there were few males, but plenty of mares and foals... His favorite type of kill!

"Stop, beast! How dare you... How dare you kill my mother!"

Ah, the Protector of the herd... He could tell from the way the surviving members flocked around him. Licking his lips, Mortuus could only chuckle in reply, his tail flicking behind him like how a toreros taunts an angry bull towards him. However, like a skilled toreros, the Skinwalker easily dodged the charging stallion and gave him a swift kick to the stomach, sending him to the ground. In the next instant, he lunged towards the two mares that had been hiding behind their beloved herd Protector - he grinned as he went for their throats; having seen their Protector fall, they seemed to have resigned to their fates.

As the sound of crickets once again filled the night air, only the muffled sobs of a heartbroken stallion could be heard - as he slowly opened his eyes, he thought that it was all just a nightmare for a moment... Then he realized that the pain where the Skinwalker had kicked him was very real indeed, and the unmoving silhouette outlined in the distance belonged to the mare who had taken care of him his entire life...

"B-Beast... Y-You... Y-You-"

"You're still alive? Heh... Thank you, I try my best," Was the cocky reply as the Skinwalker bent over, his unblinking eyes staring right into the stallion's. He could smell the stallion's fear, his shattered pride and hopelessness... Seeing his friends and family die in front of him must had broken his spirit. After all, it is such a fragile thing. Mortuus smirked, sharp teeth gleaming as he narrowed his eyes, "Ah yes, as I ripped the windpipe from the throat of your dear mother, her last words were 'Run, Bernard'. Could Bernard possibly be your name, boy? If so, I thought you should know her last wish!"

The look in his eyes made the Skinwalker giggle with pure satisfaction; it might be his first killing spree in "the world above", but he was throughly pleased with the results... Besides, the smell of the salty tears pouring from the stallion's eyes was like a drug to the Skinwalker... One sniff and he was hooked... His lips curled up into a frightening grin, eyes bright as he flicked his tail. Nobody ever teared up this much in the Underworld! What a delightful smell it was!

"Come seek me then, whenever you are ready," He straightened himself up, putting his paws on the stallion's face before applying some force, humiliating him further, "The lone survivor of the attack on your herd... How pitiful a Protector you are! However, don't expect anything the next time we meet... I'll make you cry harder than this. Oh yes... Much harder... Bernard."

With a wicked, taunting laugh, Mortuus yelled "Dead man walking!" before turning away, shifting into the form of a coyote as he dived into the blood-splattered bushes nearby. Silently, he vanished into the night, dark pelt blending into the shadows well; perhaps an extended stay here would be worth it... All that hope; let him to be the one to utterly crush it!

For now, it was time for his nap.

How many Skinwalkers do you have?: Zero |D

From the Gates of Hell...to Me!
Soquili's Name: Moloch
Meaning of Name?: Demon worshipped by the Israelites through child sacrifice
Owner: Fallen Archangel Az
Personality: You really want to know?
Like a lone coyote, he's constantly on the move after prey skulking in the shadows. He is and can be quite territorial, but often his prey will never know they've entered his domain until it is too late. Though he may not settle in the same area for a very long time, he has a knack for gruesome decor of the cave/den he chooses to live in. As much as he does move around, if one were unlucky enough to come across a den he currently was not inhabiting...they would already be marked as he has a very keen sense of smell. It would't be long before their bloody decapitated head would adorn the entrance of his den.

Very bloodthirsty as any demon of their kind, he does not so much as even attempt to show restraint when he is hungry. Nor does he or would he ever show mercy to prey, perhaps he'd torture them a little...that would only occur to hear the beautiful screams and dying gasps and gurgles of his prey.

He also has hardly no reason to speak, how many would dare to conversate with a creature whose sheer sound of tone could strike terror deep into their soul? If there was ever a tiny sliver of a chance that he was to be heard speaking, the words would be intelligible beyond the baying and roars of a gruesome demonic tone worse than that of nightmares.

Beyond the physical attributes, he is also pretty psychotic. He has all the company he needs within his head, all the voices belonging to those of demon's howling to be free. His actions are a mix of suggestions and his own sick twisted mind, further giving reason why his speech is so incomprehensible. So many voices trying to speak out of one single mouth.

Would this help you keep out of his way?
During the day he keeps to his den often feasting upon his kill of the night before. How he does it is nothing short of grosteque, his favorite method to start at the jaw and begin slowly ripping apart the bone and flesh down to the belly and most time...to the genetalia. He does not skin his prey, rather just eats it from the bottom in until only a hollow skeleton with a wrinkled pelt is left. After his feast he takes the time to adorn his den with the hollow bodies of his past prey, reserving that right to only the strong of the herd. Strewing them upon the walls or in the ground, for the young and for females he uses their smaller severed heads to surround the perimeter of his den, all with their heads pointed up to the sky and eyes normally gauged out.

Other than relaxing in his den after a hard kill, he does occasionally wander out during the day, but only in coyote form. There are so many more places accessible to that small size. Albeit the sight of him might cause some alarm, the guise is good enough to allow him to wander near a herd without scaring them completely away as opposed to waltzing up to them in his other form. With his small appearance some of the younger more impressionable foals are easily tricked to follow him, another hobby of his. He has a knack for luring because of his intriguing eyes and markings...of course foals would know no better. You can only guess what happens after that..

I am sure he does not care if you approve...
Other than luring foals foolishly to their end, or challenging the head of a herd and adorning his den with grosteque imagery and flesh...he seeks out to truly be feared and widely known. Not only widely known and feared, but revered and to the point of being...'worshipped' to keep his bad omen away from the herd's he so chooses to stalk. Only through sacrafice, forcing his tormented herd's to do the dirty work of killing a chosen foal,mare, even stallion every so often under their own hooves...then present it to him as their pitiful offering. He purely strives on violence, and all those demons that followed him from the depths of hell find amusment through his eyes by his actions as well as himself. If there could be any purpose to his life, it would simply be to satisfy his twisted desire to see death.


Response: At the pinnacle of the night with no moon in the sky, with fierce golden eyes ablaze in the darkness it was time to scan out this foreign land. He had only been given the breath of life not so long ago...oh how unfortunate for those already living. Already he knew his purpose, he knew what he needed, what he deeply craved and desired. That was flesh, that was blood, that was the screams of terror and pain, the last gurgle and breath of his prey choking beneath him. Those whispers that were constantly in his mind form the time he had been created to terrorize these lands began to get a little more coherent. Albeit barely.

'Lettt ussssxcxss...mmakkke thheemmm ssssxcxssquealll...lllikkkee a hhhummannn dddoeessscxcss whhheennn..yyyooou ooopeenn thhheirrrrr nneeeckkkssscxxcss....sssscxcssshooow thhheirrrr trrrruee nnaturrrreee...innn thheee fasssscccceee ooof deeeaattth..!'

Those voices, they ran rampantly through his mind feeding his chaotic tendencies as those words only began to make his mouth water. A hungry growl erupted in his throat as he licked those deadly fangs in his mouth, shifting from his equine form smoothly into his black as night coyote form. He could move much more swiftly like this...he would need to and quietly if he were to surprise the herd he had been preying upon since daylight of this day.The herd was purely in their own paradise none the wiser, foals having played joyously all day as he only watched in disgust while quietly plotting out his method of attack. He had figured out what he would do, foals always seemed so fascinated with the smallest most droll things and creatures. He knew as a smaller coyote that they would not feel too intimidated to follow after a seemingly docile creature if he only appeared like he wished to play.

So he came to them at night, adults asleep with their children nestled close to them. With a quiet beckoning yip as he passed one after another, a quick swish of his tail and a glance over his small furry shoulder gave to his hungry sight the slight startle of a few of the foals who had not quite yet fallen completely asleep. Looking back to them with golden eyes still beckoning as if he were just a creature in their dreams finally grabbed the curiousity of the few foals that had awakened. A few a little wobbly with sleep clumsly made their way closer to the coyote as he'd only inch a little farther away, swaying his tail and beckoing them further into a dense forest this herd had settled next to. His den was not much further, and easily slipping out of the eyes of the tired and curious foals he hid in the dense brush.

'Yesss...they will never know what issss ccccoming...'

Confused and now lost, those poor unfortunate foals began to become a bit more alert as their hearts began to beat a little faster. With strange and utter frightening growls coming from the brush the foals truly began to panic. As soon as the first began to cry for their herd, he was silence by a swift and heavy clawed paw across the face. There had been enough momentum to snap the fragile neck like a twig, the sight silencing the other's that had foolishly come along. They stared in horror at the lifeless body, the odd way their friend..their brother's neck had bent as the body fell staring back at them with blank eyes and a bloody cheek. Immediately they began to scatter one by one, screaming as they were hunted down one by one. None that night made it back out as the purewalker made a clean kill for the moment of every foal, returning them one by one to encircle the small herd.

'What a nice tribute...to wake up next to something dead..'

So many strange voices, some barely coherent the other's clear as day. He did well in placing pieces of the ravaged and mauled bodies to circle the entire herd. Putting the head of one of the foals to stare lifelessly back towards the one he believed was the head of the herd. For now his work was temporarily done, he had killed enough to make a small snack before needing to eat something for breakfast in the morning. Keeping a foal behind for his own pleasure as he stripped the flesh and muscle clear from the bone..and even the bone itself crunched sickeningly in his maw. Daybreak was soon as the demon smoothly shifted back to his coyote form for now.

Not even 5 minutes after he had switched to a more 'stealthy' mode did he hear the terrified screams and surprised cries of the circle of their dead young around them. The head of the herd seemed especially upset and angered by what had just occured right under his nose. That was his queue as the black coyote made himself known through a series of horrifying bays and howls that silenced the panicked grieving mares. Walking out to the scene with his eyes geared directly to the elder, he paid no mind to the mares who were clearly outraged as they prepared to stomp on him should he get any closer. At least until he smoothly slid into his equine form once more, causing them to go wide-eyed and hold their bated breath in fear. It seemed he really got under the elder's skin as he stomped and pawed firmly on theground for the walker to stop before coming any closer..or else.

'Aaa cccchhhallleennggee....wwiilll yoouu...mmake..annn exxxxaammpllle...ooofff hhiimmm..?'

"What have you done to our young?! What had we done to you to deserve this, what did they do to you to die?!"

There was no smile, not even a smirk that came from the purewalker's face, a simple flick of his ear acknowledging the stallion's words as he stopped only a moment. A strange noise, a growl of the sorts, began to start up in his throat as he started back for the stallion with eyes narrowed. He was about to speak...hope to the gods that the elder would be able to understand as the pelt upon the walker's back almost seemed to bristle slightly.

"Tttttt...hhhee....rrryyyy...llll...iirrr....vvvvveeerrrrr....ddddd

He answered in his odd broken and nearly incoherent speech, in his undertone that snarl remained. The elder looked taken aback at the horrid speech, unable to understand what had just been spoken to him. Shaking it off it seemed that there was no use for questions as the stallion prepared to charge. No use in that either, he had been stopped before he could start his charge as a sharp pain ensued around his neck. The beast had attacked in a flash and no other dared to oppose him at that instant. He had made quick work and an example of that stallion, ripping a large piece of flesh straight off the bone. The stallion stunned began to stumble as his blood poured from the gaping wound, eventually falling before the pawed feet of the skinwalker as their eyes met for the last time before the last breath escaped the elder's mouth.

The loss of their elder left the herd lost for the moment, none with enough courage to plea with the beast to leave them alone. All until one trembling mare, the lifemate he presumed, finally took a stand to the beast over her lover's dead body.

"W-what...w-w-what d-d-do you w-want?"

Her voice quivred as she fought hard against tears welling his her beautiful eyes. As she grabbed the attention of the demon creature she took a step back, though held her head high to show she had no fear of him. Moving slowly closer to the mare, using his keen sense of smell to distinguish her scent from the rest he bared his vicious fangs. Perhaps she would understand what he desired before he'd drag away the corpse of her lover to his den.

"Yyyooooo.....uuuuurrr...rrrlllllii...rrrrrvvv...eeeessss....yyyyoooo....uuuu...rr...fffff....eeee...aaaarrrgggg..yyyyyyooooo....uuuurrrr...
.gggggwwww...oooggggrrrrr...sssshhhhiiiii....p.."

The silence struck thereafter seemed to be a good sign that perhaps the elder mare understood his words. As nothing more seemed to be issued to them by his incoherent words, the purewalker proceeded to take his kill back to feast on. Not before leaving the mare without a gift, charging her as her frightened herd practically scattered out of sight. Whether other's came to her aid or not she prepared to fight for her life, simply to survive rather than win. She did not have to worry...he only wished to leave her marked and riddled with massive gashes across her flanks and quivers. For the moment....but for now as a traveling rogue skinwalker he wanted to mark his future victims as he never stayed long enough in one area. Let them grow their numbers a little....then he'll come back to shave those numbers down.

With a violent growl in her ear as her last reminder of just what had been in her presence, the walker turned and proceeded to drag his prey away by it's neck. He didn't care for the circle of young...they were already a few hours old, the herd could do what they want with that. Right now he had a feast to tend to...and a new decoration to adorn his den with.
How many Skinwalkers do you have?: 0

From the Gates of Hell...to Me!
Soquili's Name: Barraccus
Meaning of Name?:----
Owner: Faithofthefallen
Personality:

Barraccus is sublime madness, magnificent rage, and divine indifference; viscous, predatory, and cunning, he is the embodiment of darkness and an extremely dangerous purewalker to cross paths with. Raised by his mother far from Kawani in a desolate wasteland, occupied mostly by other purewalkers, he places great value in the purity of his blood and although this sentiment was not addressed in the prompt, he has developed an extreme and violent hatred towards cursed skinwalkers whom he views as impure frauds. Should he cross paths with one, it would very shortly result in extreme injury or death for the other party.


His mother was always critical of his accomplishments; awarding him only with jeering insults and contempt for anything he tried to do to please her. He was kept isolated, and often mercilessly beaten. As a young foal he fled inward. When he reached his teen years he killed his mother in a fit of rage, although he is still convinced that even death is an inadequate barrier for someone as evil and malignant as she, he is sure she stalks his every move through the eyes of those around him, thus he often keeps to himself and prefers to prey on mares and fillies as a way of lashing out at his mother, even in her death. His father was never a part of his life although he seems to know a few things about him. It is still unclear whether he ever knew him or if they are just tidbits gleaned from his mother during his upbringing.


Response:

Barraccus stretched his long limbs luxuriously, kneading his claws in the shredded remains of his latest 'pet.' The heady coppery scent of blood flooded his flared nostrils and he inhaled deeply, savoring the rich aroma. Sticky blood seeped across the floor, pooling in the cracks between stones and bathing his paws. He appraised it with raised brows and a slow smile spread across his face. "A rather pleasing color for my humble abode" he mused to himself, chuckling; the deep lucid tones reverberated eerily in the stone chamber.

His cruel and timeless golden gaze swept across the limp form of the mare sprawled in the center chamber of his home, a series of shallow caves. She had been a most delightful creature, her screams...most satisfying. He enjoyed partaking in that beauty, she had been so innocent, so deliciously unsuspecting as he led her far away from any hope of assistance, from any chance that anyone could hear her cries for help. Barraccus gazed intently into her glazed eyes, "Time for you to be going dearest," He breathed intimately, "I'm afraid I don't have any more time to spend with you this evening, but I must admit, I found your screams unusually enchanting." She didn't answer of course, they never did. How cruel of them to snub him after all the work he had done to give them everything they deserved, what they had aspired to their entire lives...It was probably his mothers work, viscous harpy, he growled at the body, sure his spiteful mother was laughing at him through those frozen eyes.

Barraccus gripped the mare by her neck, the flesh yielding easily to his sharp canines, and dragged her towards the exit. The sun was down, leaving a red slash across the darkening sky. He knew he must dispose of the remains quickly, while there remained enough light to pick his way through the jagged rocks, scattered animal bones, and sparse vegetation to the opposite side of the broad rocky terrace. As he turned to do just that, he found himself instead gazing intently at the sky, fascinated by this transient twilight, so fragile, and all too brief. He liked to think that he brought his pets into the twilight of their lives, assisted in their transition between life and death... He enjoyed sharing those moments of intense pain and desperation with them, for Barraccus, that was true intimacy.

At that moment, he would have been satisfied to sit and gaze at the glorious and unbounded sky, but duty called; and, as always. Barraccus selflessly heeded its call. He laboriously dragged the mare through the scree towards the edge, stopping only momentarily to free one of the legs from entanglement around a jagged boulder. He felt a nagging suspicion that the mare was cross with him for pausing, Barraccus stooped, peering deeply into her hollow eyes, there was no flicker of recognition, no hint of thankfulness geared towards him, Barraccus who had delivered her from the heavy bonds and thankless trials of life. Death was so....easy, so uncomplicated. Living was the burden, life an endless hardship. He knew the truth of it all too well.

He sighed despondently, they always toyed with him like this... Cruel, viscous, thankless creatures, the lot of them. He glanced past the body towards the other side of the cave opening, that side was dominated by a conveniently wide natural path cut into the stone. It allowed him to easily escort home visitors without the advantage of paws for easy climbing. This side had been sheared off by a rock slide, the steep drop off was dizzying; Barraccus stole a quick peak over the side, perfect for his purposes. It wouldn't do to allow this one to remain in his home to welcome the next pet he came across. He wouldn't feel right about it, Barraccus was intensely devoted to each of the mares he brought home, he enjoyed the alone time with each of them and loathed to share their company with anyone else, not even their predecessors. He was always firmly reminding himself, whenever the temptation arose, that he would never lower himself to juggling multiple females like his father. Barraccus treasured his time with each of his beautiful pets....He liked to consider himself monogamous....

Not until death did they part...

At the edge of the cliff, he again paused to gaze down at the mare, into the empty eyes gazing at him, almost.... Accusingly. They all did that too, he found their sentiments mildly amusing; they were not as he was; they could not know him, could not understand one such as he, understand what he felt, what he needed, what he hungered for. The air echoed with his cruel, mocking laughter.

Barraccus took a deep breath, inhaling the gathering night, calming himself. He had already extracted the price of his company from this one, what she felt about their short time together mattered little in the grand scheme of things; he had reveled in the experience, in each exquisite detail. Scream my dear, scream all you want, he had encouraged her as the fun began. It will help you no more than it ever helped me. Her wailing had done her no good. His hadn’t either. Barraccus was the merciless product of his mother’s twisted nurturing. She had no idea how immeasurably worse his agony had been, unlike her, he had been condemned to live. He had granted her the glory and the award that was death. Barraccus envied her courage to take that next step into the unknown. He was pleased to have been able to assist her on that final journey.

His muscles rippled under his silky brown coat as he heaved the mangled carcass off the cliff, yet another lost soul, ungrateful of the sweet embrace of death he generously shared with them. He could barely make out the bleached outlines of bones from his previous encounters in the fading light, scattered among the rubble miles below. They deserved each others company....

Barraccus staggered back from the edge, his vision blurring, he opened his mouth wide, threw back his head and howled, a savage echoing cry of unmitigated wrath and then exquisite pain as his body twisted in response to the power he called forth, the power that was always in him, waiting to be called, a power that responded to his will alone. His pointed ears broadened and elongated, his canines lengthened and coarse black fur spread across his shrinking form. The coyote gazed back towards the path down through the mountains; he was growing bored of the same game, the same prey. He wanted a challenge, a new home, and new Soquili to play with. This mare had given him a destination, in the single word uttered longingly with her dying breath, Kawani. Decision made, he lurched foreword, his lithe black body melting in with the shadows as he raced down the mountainside.

--------
Barraccus enjoyed the invigorating rush of chill air against his face as he ran; he raced tirelessly over wasted hills, and through twisted dying forests. He felt an unfamiliar emptiness as he barreled across the barren land where he had been raised. The cloak of darkness felt cool, encasing him in obscure black night.
.
Barraccus traveled for many days and many nights to reach the new lands he had searched for. Stopping only briefly to rest and feed, and occasionally to extract directions to this strange place from an unsuspecting victim. Rolling hills, lush green forests and clear streams greeted him. The sights were almost sickening in their wholesome beauty; perhaps he had made a mistake, should have remained in the dark wasteland where he had been raised. He found he missed the familiar thick reek of smoke, blood, and terror that blanketed his den. But Barraccus was not one to reject new experiences.

This place was charming, and clearly unaffected by the taint spread by his race. It would make it that much more fun to corrupt it, twisting it beyond all recognition. He sauntered foreword, eager to begin his conquest, his defilement. He caught the scent of a mare, sharp, cloying, tantalizing. His mouth watered in response, he hadn't fed in quite sometime and when he had, he was unable to fully enjoy his pet's company without the luxuries of shelter or time. He trotted foreword and scanned the open country through eyes that easily pierced the blanket of darkness.

.....There.

Through the darkness he advanced, to his darkness were they fated.

...Hunting, always hunting, he would find them. Their worst fears had yet to be realized.

--------

Barraccus traveled through the night, and rested the next day. Preferring to approach the small herd while wrapped in night's dark embrace.

The wooded hills were easy enough traveling. They were open, with broad green meadows sprinkled with wildflowers and a patchwork of grassland. The sun was again slipping down behind the distant towering mountains.

Barraccus rose from his concealment and trotted foreword through the sea of grass, rolling in the stiff breeze. It was only a little further, just over the next line of hills. Barraccus altered his course, veering a little to the left, heading for the cover of the woods. He reached the trees just as the orange disc of the sun slipped behind the snow capped mountains.

The time had come.
Not long to wait, not long at all....

----------

Barraccus watched the mare struggle against her bonds. He was almost rooting for her escape, this capture had proven much to easy. The foolish soquili had blindly wandered in almost immediately after he had finished constructing the trap. He peered down at her intently, fascinated, not wanting to miss a single, delectable detail. She writhed and kicked with seemingly tireless devotion, but the thick vines Barraccus had wrapped around her hooves while she was unconscious were more than sufficient at performing their purpose.

Nevertheless, the tension was delicious.

Barraccus savored her distress, he had not begun to make her suffer. He would soon have a very long time to explore her capacity for suffering.

So absorbed in the task at hand, so focused was he on this game, Barraccus didn't notice the stealthy noises approaching from all sides.
A moment later, Barraccus heard a scream, it was not a scream of fear as he was so accustomed to, but a scream of unbridled rage, the sound ran a sharp shiver down his spine as he spun to meet the unexpected attack from the rest of the herd, and felt the horrifying shock of a staggering blow against his side.

Barraccus was fast, and lethal with his razor-like claws, a worthy opponent for any wishing to challenge him; but he was no fool, facing the prospect of a fight already injured, and outnumbered nearly ten to one, he made the only rational decision available to him; As much as Barraccus hated life in all its forms, he realized now that he wanted to hold on to it. With a venomous growl and a heartfelt oath for retribution, Barraccus ran.





How many Skinwalkers do you have?: 0

[Note: I corrected a few spelling and grammar errors

From the Gates of Hell...to Me!
Soquili's Name: Utsetsiti-waya
Meaning of Name?: Laughing coyote
Owner: Revolutionary Roniel
Personality: For someone called "laughing coyote," Utsetsiti doesn't exactly have the best sense of humor. In fact, he rarely smiles at all. The only time he does is in the moment when his plans have reached utmost fruition. His plans are his life and his obsession.

Utsetsiti's mind never rests. He is always thinking and analyzing. He thinks about the past, going over each of his moves and calculating where exactly he went wrong. By far though, his enjoyment comes from planning for the future. Each day he comes up with a jumble of interconnected plots, some of which are more coherent than others. He plots and plots and plots... and when he finally feels the time is right, he sets them into motion.

He has a very intense air about him because of the constant motion in his mind. Adding to this is his difficulty in sleeping. At night he is plagued by nightmares too convoluted and terrible to remember. He is both grateful and angered by the nightmare's constant intrusions into his life. They disturb his sleep... and yet he feels that somehow the motion of the nightmares is what allows for the motion of his mind.

Response: It would be one day before Utsetsiti found the herd that he was following. He'd been tracking them for days now and could tell by the signs that he was getting close. He could see their hoof prints in the mud and smell their scent in the grass.

It would be three days before he chose a suitable target, the only one he was going to kill. He wasn't going to recklessly slaughter anyone, no. He only needed one sacrifice to set the plan in motion. He just had to choose that sacrifice well. Someone weak enough for him to hold them under his control briefly... someone weak enough to capitulate a little to his requests. Such creatures abounded. He didn't doubt that he would be able to find a suitable one.

It would be seven days before things started to get really interesting in the herd of his choice. He was almost certain of that calculation. He had seen herds break apart before, and it was pathetic how predictable frightened cowards could be.

It would be ten days before his plan was complete.

Day one: In coyote form, Utsetsiti prowled in the shadows. He could see their every move but they didn't even suspect that he was there. That was good. That was as planned. What bare flickers of light there were that night reflected green in the depths of his eyes. He watched the unknowing herd as they gathered for rest. This herd was not overly large but obviously had been together a long time. He could see the elderly matriarchs, manes thinning but eyes still full of intelligence and life. He could see families, some with foals, some without. Two familiars bounded through the long grass. One was a ferret and one was a fox. Utsetsiti wondered who they were bonded to. By the time his two nights of observation were finished, he was certain he would know the answer to that question.

And he did.

Day three: He now knew that the fox familiar was named Cheya. She was not bonded to the soquili whose colors she wore but to that soquili's mate, Undeyi. She was fast but not intelligent, intensely loyal to Undeyi, and she screamed like an injured rabbit when in pain. She was in pain now.

"Do you understand?" hissed Utsetsiti as he dug his claws a little deeper. Blood ran out of his mouth and down his chin, but in his intense reverie he didn't seem to notice. "Do you understand what you are to tell this Undeyi when he comes? If you do not tell him I will kill him. Do you remember what you are to tell him?"

"Yes," cried the injured fox in between ragged and gasping sobs. "I'll tell him. Please don't hurt him!" The fox continued in this manner for several more minutes. The words began to blur together in the background of Utsetsiti's awareness. He was thinking again. He had caught the unlucky fox a few hours ago. He was waiting on the path that he had often seen Undeyi walk this time of day. Undeyi would be coming by very soon... and there he was.

"Tell him," whispered Utsetsiti to the fox, his last words before the stallion came into ear shot.

It went exactly as planned, of course.

"Undeyi!" cried the battered fox, pain lancing through each of her words. "Someone in the herd told the skinwalker where to find us. Someone in the herd m-made a deal so they would live! Run! Run, Undeyi! RUN!"

Utsetsiti could tell that Undeyi wasn't the sort to let his familiar remain under the claws of a monster like himself. Undeyi was probably even thinking about doing something heroic to save the creature... but Utsetsiti didn't give him that chance. The fox had outlived its usefulness. Utsetsiti ended its life with one bite and a rush of blood. He didn't have to tell Undeyi to run himself. The stallion gave him one more wide-eyed stare and was gone.

Day seven: It was all on schedule. Utsetsiti could hear the shouts of the herd members from where he crouched hidden in the bushes. They shouted angrily at each other. They all had one question: Who? Who was it that had brought the skinwalker to their herd? Who was it that had offered the skinwalker the entire herd to save their life? Utsetsiti didn't quite smile, but one corner of his mouth twitched upwards. Soon.

Day nine: Sooner than he thought. It had only taken the herd two days, not three to get to the point he had been waiting for. That was unexpected and irritating. Utsetsiti didn't like his plans to go awry. He might have even been angry... had it not been for the delicious young mare whose leg he was chewing on.

He hadn't killed the mare, no. Her herdmates had done that for her. She was the one, they'd decided. She was the one who had set the skinwalker loose upon them all. The poor mare hadn't had a chance. The hooves that rained down upon her and the teeth that gnashed at her flesh and skin had not killed her quickly. Not as quickly as Utsetsiti could have done himself, that was. She had died broken and bloody with the herd she had trusted leaving a trail of dust behind them to coat her corpse. As Utsetsiti chewed he thought of the pain the herd must be going through. The mare's family would be grieved. Grief would eventually turn into rage. Maybe that rage would burn into more violence. Maybe not. It wouldn't happen immediately... and it would still be calmer than the turmoil they had gone through in the previous week since Utsetsiti had first found them.

But Utsetsiti would not give them that time. It would be one day before he caught back up with the herd, his belly still bulging from the herd member that they had murdered together. It would be three days before he found another weak-willed victim. How long until the herd killed yet another of their own? Utsetsiti didn't know. They had surprised him once with their viciousness and they might surprise him again.

He threw his head back and laughed. The sound was more raucous than the crows that had already gathered at the site of the bloody feast and more foul than the dismembered corpse. No. He didn't know how long it would take for the herd to murder another lifelong family member and friend... but he couldn't wait to find out.

How many Skinwalkers do you have?: I fully own one cursed walker and co-own a purewalker... but I don't have RP rights to this soq.

From the Gates of Hell...to Me!
Soquili's Name: Zephyr
Meaning of Name?: Short form of Greek Zephyros, meaning "west wind." In mythology, this is the name of a god of the west wind.
Owner: Belalusiia
Personality: Zephyr is strong and power-hungry. He despises the weak, and in turn likes to terrorize them. He cares for nothing other than himself and his possessions. This being said, he's very possessive of anything he considers to be "his." This includes anything from prey to territory. He's very jealous and covetous. If he sees something he wants he will go after it. He often gets in the mood to cause harm to others right after he eats, probably due to the fact that he has a taste for blood.

Response:
Zephyr pawed at the freshly blood-strewn ground. The damp earth felt good beneath his paws. It was soft and pliable; weak. He dug his claws deep into it, disrupting the dirt and leaving his mark upon it. The taste of blood was still strong upon his tongue. The remains of the meal he had just devoured lay limp on the ground next to his large, dirty paws. Just a rabbit, nothing very special. It had served it's purpose and provided him with food. And now, though his hunger was satisfied for the time being, his thirst for blood still hung about him.

The forest was dark and silent however. The only sounds that could be heard were from the stream nearby, and the occasional small bird in the trees overhead; neither of which interested him very much. If he wanted blood, he'd have to search for it.

Or so he thought. His nose tingled with the fresh scent he had just picked up. It wasn't an animal. It was...human? Silently he crept toward the scent, his ears alert for sounds. As he got closer he heard unsteady footsteps, frantic breathing, and a small whimper.

He came to a small break in the trees, and before him was a path, obviously made by the many times it had been traveled on. The scent and the noises, so much stronger now, had come from a girl. She had stopped on the path and was clutching a tree for support. Her eyes darted up and down the path as she stood there, trying to catch her breath. She hadn't been running, but her breath was coming in heaves because she was afraid. Zephyr could sense the fear and it made his adrenalin pound.

It seemed strange that anyone should be out at this time of night, and a girl no less; alone. She should have known better. Perhaps she was lost, or perhaps she thought she would just have a little nighttime stroll. It was stupidity on her part, and Zephyr thought she should be taught a lesson for her stupidity.

He stepped towards the edge of the path now, watching her for any signs of movement. Still hidden in shadow, he moved one of his large paws and pressed it tightly on the ground over a fallen branch. It broke underneath the pressure, making an audible snap that resounded through the silent night air. The girl gasped and her eyes widened with fright. They darted up and down the path, and through the edges of the trees, looking for the creature that had caused the noise. Her eyes came to rest on his eyes, and he heard her let out another frightened whimper. He knew that his eyes must be reflecting the moonlight, causing them to glow. Grinning, he stepped out onto the path, walking slowly toward the girl.

If she didn't run, he had no need to kill her, only harm her. If she ran however, there would be no stopping him. He would chase her, and who knows what would happen. Either way, she would never again venture into these woods on her own, and especially under the cover of moonlight. Stupid girl, she should know. This was his territory now. This would be a lesson for her.

With the first sight of him, she had appeared hopeful, almost glad. But then her eyes caught sight of his pelt, and then his paws. Perhaps she could see the evil glint in his glowing eyes, or perhaps the dried blood that remained on his muzzle from his last meal. She dropped to her knees and began to sob. Her breathing was even heavier now, and more sporadic. She was gasping for air as if she were drowning. It was all so interesting to Zephyr that he stood there and watched her for a few seconds.

Then in a few swift movements he changed forms and lunged.

How many Skinwalkers do you have?: 0

From the Gates of Hell...to Me!
Soquili's Name: Gerhardt
Meaning of Name?: "spear-hard; spear-brave; spear brave".
Owner: Nyx Queen of Darkness
Personality: He's strategic and conniving. His pleasure comes from the hunt, and more directly fear. The best way to describe Gerhardt is that he LOVES playing with his food.
Response:

Gerhardt’s feet touched the ground at the entrance to his new world. For so long, he had hoped to come here…to hunt these new beasts. His mouth had been watering with the thought of them for hours, and now…now he was here and he was free to have his way with them.

He looked out through the cold chill night to assess his surroundings. It wasn’t as dark here as where he had come from, but he knew that the little walking snacks wouldn’t be able to see as well as he did. His face lit up in a wiley smile of pleasure.

The fantasies of the hunt had already began in his mind. He could see the little legs stretching, he could almost hear the hearts racing--accelerated by the oh-so-sweet aroma of fear. It was his preferred seasoning. It was tangy and salty when fresh. How often had he felt the bones of cornered prey crush between his teeth and felt the warm, welcome sensation of fear on his taste buds?

Often, but not enough to satisfy him. He could feel his nostrils tingling with some smell. Turning his head, he caught the scent of….deer. It wasn’t that far off, completely unaware of his presence. He could hear it’s hooves touching the ground gingerly as if it was grazing. This was not acceptable, there was no sport in this.

Gerhardt walked slowly on his padded paws, making no sound. He circled around the creature, watching it stride smoothly, completely unafraid. But instead of pouncing he walked on until he was upwind of the unfortunate buck.

The deer’s head lifted suddenly, and Gerhardt could feel the fear in the air, it was so tangible. His mouth was salivating, great gobs leaking from the side. Oh, how fresh…how succelent the blood of his prey would be. He watched as it fled him, giving it a bit of head start.

First it would run, and it’s fear would become greater with every moment. Then it would be more afraid at having not been followed quickly and he would let it’s terror build until he couldn’t stand the pleasurable aroma of it any longer. But he wouldn’t kill it quickly, he wouldn’t…He’d let it suffer, let it feel terror to the point that it wished the end had been swift. Then he would finish it off---if he was hungry. If he wasn’t, he’d disregard the carcass, and hunt again later.

That was enough, he had given it enough head start. Now the chase would begin!

He stretched out his well honed muscles, the fur so seamlessly attached to his back was blowing wildly with the speed he was running. And each moment, he was catching up to it and the terror was building to the aroma of perfection. This creature would be delicious, maybe even the most delicious thing he had ever tasted!

Drool flew behind him, he couldn’t take it much longer. He wouldn’t wait, he was on it’s heels…he was at it’s throat. But the terror, the fright of the animal made his hunger unstoppable. Gerhardt found his fangs quickly piercing the hide of the deer as if it was a leaf. The snack struggled briefly, but Gerhardt paid no attention to anything but the sweetest most delicious taste of fear that he had ever tasted.

He threw down the remains after a short time, catching scent of another beast not far off and already frenzied by his prescence. Could it be? His nostrils flared at the smell, this one was sweeter than the last…This place, it was more wonderful than he could have imagined.


How many Skinwalkers do you have?: None ^_^

From the Gates of Hell...to Me!
Soquili's Name: Ravage
Meaning of Name?: 1. transitive and intransitive verb completely wreck or damage something: to cause overwhelming damage or destruction to something ( often passive )
2. transitive verb wreck and plunder place: to plunder or sack a place or area
Owner: Rhea Hyuga
Personality: Ravage's favorite thing to do is to play with foals. His sick pleasure is to get them to trust him, and, feigning his emotion, when they grow to use them, then get rid of them. Childhood 'friend' of many, he loathes seeing any form of happiness on the parents' faces. Thus he steals them away whenever he can, reveling in their worry. Apart from that, he simply loves to play with stallions in front of their mares. The horrified looks he gets as he showers them with affection make him feel...tingly. Same thing with mares in front of their Stallions. Anguish, sadness, pain, fear...they all give him satisfaction.
Response: Smiling gently as he followed the herd, he occasionally made a sound to spook them, only to make one of his own. One that made them calm down.
Occasionally he would change forms, chase around the herd and spook them again. He relished that.
Every once in a while a foal would fall behind, only to catch back up with bitemarks on their rumps. They were scared.
They were getting more scared with every moment that passed.

Finally, the lead stallion had enough.
Stopping the herd, he let out a cry of challenge that echoed throughout the land, furious.
Ravage heard the cry and smiled. It sent a chill down his spine. Not of fear, but anticipation.
He had followed this herd for a while now, and knew how the stallion had come to power; Through trickery and lies. The mares of the herd had no choice but to breed with him, and he cast out any offspring that was not his. He had no strength, and his challenge cry was only used when he was scared.
Walking out of the shadows, revealing himself, the entire herd parted until both the stallion and Ravage could see eachother plainly. Ravage continued to shiver, fueled by the fear that radiated from the herd. The older members knew what his kind could do, but for some reason had not seen fit to inform their new leader of what they could do. Had they forgotten?
...Or had they kept him in the dark?

It lasted a moment, the naive stallion charging at his challenger with all the bull-headedness that he had shown his whole life. Ravage could barely feel the impact as he was rammed, the adrenaline pumping through his veins making him immune to even the bite that was placed on his shoulder.
He allowed the stallion to bite and kick him a few times. He just loved the pain. It gave him utter joy to feel his own body being battered. Of course, something else gave him even more pleasure.
He lunged, and with one motion, clamped his jaws on the foolish stallion's neck, flipping him easily to that Ravage was under him. Normally, this would be a bad position to be in. But as the stallion squealed, kicking at him, Ravage dug his claws in deep in his underbelly, slicing him open and spilling his internal organs all over himself.
As he shuddered, excited by all the blood on his body, he flung the near-dead stallion away. Getting himself up, he looked at the rest of the herd, their faces a mixture of terror and relief. Turning, he watched with amusement as the stallion struggled to hold onto life. With an insane grin, he made his way over to the torn body and looked down. Before the stallion could say anything, Ravage reared up, then came crashing down in the stallion's skull, crushing it.
It was silent for a moment before the herd decided to walk away. They figure he'd done them a kindness, and would now feast on the body.

They were wrong. Ravage followed them once again, picking on the foals as before.
It wasn't long until a mother let out a wail upon finding the body of her foal one morning, ripped apart and half consumed. Ravage, having cleaned himself, approached her...and gave his 'heartfelt sympathy'. That whoever could do this to a foal was a monster.
As she buried her tearstained face into his pelt, he grinned. He would have to wash her scent off afterwards, but feeling her anguish this close...
Delicious...
How many Skinwalkers do you have?: None c:

From the Gates of Hell...to Me!
Soquili's Name: Istaqa
Meaning of Name?: Coyote
Owner: JetAlmeara
Personality: Istaqa main goal in life seems to be disrupting lives, causing confusion and discord and chaos wherever he goes. He's a contemptuous beast with a deep well of hatred in him regarding his fellow Soquili and quite frankly he wants to make them as miserable in life as he himself is.

He's a pessimistic fellow whose generally quite sure that the world is going to turn around and bite him whenever he turns his back and that nothing - even his own plan - will ever turn out exactly he way he want it too. That doesn't keep him from trying to do as much damage as he can before the s**t hits the fan though. Perhaps because he's so paranoid about nothing turning out the way he wants he's a very deliberate creature and not prone to rash or impulsive actions, if anything he's likely to over think a problem...and cause even more problems for himself in the long run.

Surprisingly however he' a fairly flexible creature willing to change his plans if something crops up to make them futile, perhaps because his pessimistic nature makes him expect such things to begin with.

Response:



Everything was going to turn out horrible..he just knew it, it always did. He'd spent the last week stalking these two lovebirds, laying out his plans, agonizing over every last detail he could think of...but something was going to leap up last minute and wreak it all. Life just hated him like that.

Which was fine...cause he spent his life re-spreading that hate around. If life was going to wreak his plans well, he'd wreak everyone else's plans in a similar fashion. Starting with these two...life sucked did't it?

In the time he'd spent following them around, listening to their conversations, learning their habits he'd picked up on one very important detail about the two - they were incredibly vain, drawn to each other as much by their looks then anything else. It was the perfect. perfect because in one fell swoop, one rake of claw and fang...he could ruin that for them, perhaps even drive them apart, or at the very least make them hate themselves for this ugliness..and he would make sure the scars he left behind were good and prominent. The type that would make others cringe when they saw them.

That was the plan anyways...weather or not it went off the way he wanted was still up in the air. He'd have to wait for the perfect time of course, that singular moment when success seemed almost guaranteed. he was willing to wait..it wouldn't do him any good to rush things along now, not when he'd been so very careful up to this point. And after he'd finished with this couple? Well he was pretty sure there were others in the vicinity who could use a bit of misery in their lives.

How many Skinwalkers do you have?: 0