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 Posted: Thu Jan 08, 2009 3:24 pm
My, what big teeth you have!
Soq Name: Eirik (meaning; ever-ruler)
Soq Temper: Unstable
Wolf's Name: Vendela (meaning; wanderer)
Story: "A young lord should always be as stoic as possible."
His father told him that often as a child. In fact, his father told him many things, taught him how to act and what to say when a situation called for it. His father was a good man, though he rarely saw him other than during lessons. And while lessons weren't always his favorite thing to do on a sunny afternoon, he was eager to please his father, and always eager for his attention. So much so that he would act out, though never when in the company of others.
He would tromp through mud.
"You must never, ever be seen dirty!"
He would purposely say things unfitting of his stature.
"Hold your tongue, Eirik, or I'll hold it for you."
He would play cruel jokes on the gardeners and the maids.
"Never undermine your servants! They are there to help you, not to be the butt of your immature stupidity."
All in all, he made for a rather rude and indiscreet young lord. The servants all thought him ill fit for his position, even going so far as to whisper that his elder brother would be better suited. It was a laughable matter to him, of course. He had no elder brother, as far as the family was concerned. Despite all his misgivings, Eirik was far more comparable to the position he had been born into. His elder brother, on the other hand, had been different. He had done something so grossly abhorrent that it had warranted his removal from both the family court and the family tree. His position had been stripped from him, his name banned from use and his ties to any and all members of the court cut. This, however, all occurred before Eirik's birth. In fact, many of the servants believed that his birth was the direct result of his older brother's exile. Eirik, however, was never told what his brother did, or why he did it, or even his brother's name. All he had been told was a horrible crime was committed, and his brother was to pay the price. It was either death or exile, and his father, too softhearted to kill his own son, chose exile.
This was, perhaps, the first mistake.
"A young lord must always be calm and assertive."
He came under cover of darkness, flanked by a dozen or so stallions. It was his father's shrill scream that woke him, warm and snug as he was. It was chaos when he opened his eyes, with mares running hither and tither, calling orders to one another and requesting that someone please wake the children and find them a safe place to seek shelter. But Eirik needed no shelter. This was something new, something fabulous, and while the maids busied themselves with his youngest sister, he snuck off to find his father.
It wasn't hard to avoid detection. Most of the court and council members were lost in the process of herding everyone to safety that they didn't know he was missing. He quickly found his way to the main garden, stopping short when he spied the small group of stallions facing his father and their guards. It made him giddy to think that some sort of fight might happen, right here, in his own backyard. He weaved through the bushes, careful not to make a sound, and got as close as he could without being spotted. He then settled himself in and listened.
"-- never to come back. We gave you life, we gave you freedom. Why do you return, with so many others?"
It was one stallion in the center, looking eerily like his father and himself, who spoke.
"Freedom? I hardly call exile freedom."
His voice was steely and thick. It sent shivers down his spine.
"You killed your mother," his father said, stoic as always. "It was either exile or death. You should remember that we--"
The stallion laughed, long and hard. It was not a pleasant laugh, but instead one filled with malice and hatred. "I would have welcomed death."
His father's face seemed to twitch, and for a moment, Eirik thought he saw a glint of agony in his eyes. "In returning, you have overruled your exile. However, I will not see more blood spilled on my land. You will leave."
The stallion smiled.
"I have as much a right to it as you, father."
A jolt of glee rocketed through him. This was his brother, his elder brother! This was the one who had done the most horrid crime possible! Eirik even knew when he had done; he had killed his mother, possibly more, from the look on his father's face. Of course, this meant that his mother was not that one's mother, and they were simply half-brothers, but Eirik was thrilled with this discovery.
"Do not make me kill you, Alrek."
His hesitation was the second mistake.
Alrek smiled, his teeth glinting dangerously. "No need, father. I don't plan on you being around much longer."
Their father's face suddenly became one of confusion, then understanding, and finally fear.
"Now die."
It was a blur of motion, every stallion rushing at his father's guards. The thrill was suddenly overtaken with fear. "Father!" he screamed, but his voice was lost in the thunderous calamity of shouts and hooves hitting bone. He struggled free of the bushes, running toward the turmoil, seemingly unaware of the obvious danger to himself. And no one seemed to notice him. Not even his father, facing his own son, their hooves and teeth leaving mark after mark after mark on each others skin.
Suddenly, his head erupted in pain.
His vision went out.
He woke several hours later, his head throbbing and his body heavier than he had ever known it. He struggled to open his eyes, and he strained his ears for anything that might inform him of what had happened. There was nothing but the call of the morning dove, urging him to stand and greet a new day. For a while, he simply lay there, unable to register anything, until he finally peeled his eyes open.
And he screamed.
His sitter was staring at him, her eyes glazed over with death, her jaw hanging open and her tongue hanging out. All around him was death. The smell of festering meat registered, and the feeling of fur against fur made him shriek and scramble to stand. He was pinned, pinned down by the carcass of a stallion, heavy-set and strong, and it took all he had to pull away. The garden was covered in blood, the bodies strewn haphazardly along the ground, and as he circled, he saw his father. The very same stallion he had striven so hard to please had, in fact, been what had pinned him down, and ultimately protected him in the end. His fur was bloody and clumped, his throat torn and his mouth left open in a soundless scream.
He fell to his knees and cried. He cried for what seemed like hours, shaking his head and screaming, until he could cry no more. And then he simply lay down and wished them to come back, willed that they might traipse down to admire their handy-work and discover him. Whatever the outcome, he simply didn't want to be there.
"Come now, darling. You shouldn't wail so."
He jumped, quickly climbing to his feet and looking around, his eyes wide.
"Bit of a sorry sight, aren't you? No worries, we'll have you cleaned up in a jiffy. Then we can set about finding him, can't we?"
It was a wolf. She sat not ten feet away from him, watching him with the most tender eyes he had ever seen. The kindness seemed to radiate and envelop him in warmth, something he had never truly felt before.
"Wh... Who?"
She snorted, watching him carefully. "That awful stallion. Killed the lot of them, he did. Killed my family, too. Called us target practice and set his little rag-tag band on us. Smarter than he thought, though."
Eirik tilted his head, confused.
"Hell, you're a stupid one. I mean we've got the same interests in mind, kid. I groom you into a nice stallion, a good killer, and we can exact revenge for our friends and family." She yawned, arching back to lift a foot to her ear and scratch at it.
The young colt wanted to scream at her for even thinking such a thing, but his voice would not work. And while he knew that killing was bad, there was something in him that seemed to justify the idea.
('Blood.')
He jumped again and quickly looked around, expecting a hoard of wolves to fall upon him. But she simply stared at him, waiting. And he nodded.
~~~~~~~~~~
Years went by.
He grew and she trained him.
And he changed.
His eyes became cold, his lips always curled into a vicious smile. And when he killed, he had no reason. The innocence of his youth was gone, and he was far more interested in impressing the wolf (who's name, he learned, was Vendela) than the reason someone should or shouldn't live.
Revenge made little difference.
All that mattered was impressing her.
Never was she displeased.
[ 1,500 ]
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Posted: Thu Jan 08, 2009 3:53 pm
And Darkness and Decay and the Red Death held illimitable dominion over all.
Soq Name: Vettoria
Soq Temper: Neurotic
Rat's Name: Chuma
Story:
In the first month of winter, a darkened moon's night
will reveal the face of a bloodlusting blight
Vettoria hesitated for a moment, a deep shiver whirling out from her spine to raise goosebumps in her skin. The stained strips of rags wrapped around her form softly rustled against one another, and there was a prickly scrape as one of the loose ones dragging on the ground was pulled over a clump of dead grass. She tried to calm herself with a rattling breath. Tried to tell herself that it was just the wind or an insect, and not that those words coming back to tickle the back of her skull. It didn't matter when, where, or how often they decided to disjointedly waltz around in her head - it would still always stop her dead in her tracks. Anxiety began to pool and clench in her chest, uncomfortably warm and buzzing like a swarm of bees, while a thread of thought she couldn't grip and break slowly began to weave together the entire rhyme.
her mother's life is the first she will take
and soon in her own a new hunger will wake
She didn't truly remember her own birth, but she liked to think that she could. Bits of her own imagination melded together with words of rumor about herself she overheard later in life to paint a sky patchy with clouds and with no moon in sight, with a mere handful of stars lazily winking overhead. The darkness even bled into the grass and trees, making everything on the ground a grayish inky indigo. And the forms of living things were present... vibrant white silhouettes that moved and changed expressions in sluggish lightning flashes, radiating worry and concern for the figure in the center.
Her mother. A larger, brighter form, flickering and flashing with pain. Struggling. Going dim, gray, melting, pooling away like spilled ink. Dead.
Herself emerging from the puddle, suddenly sticky like tar. Alive. Miraculously, dreadfully alive.
The mother-stained her being nudged towards a nearby being, who turned away in fear and disgust. There were words that formed out of his head and hoarsely murmured over the horizon. Cursed. Evil.
delivered by Death and raised by Alone
her heart will freeze over and shrink into stone
The landscape shifted, turned from weeping and necrotic to garishly bright. Children were out and about playing half-made-up games, their forms painted in pastel pinks and blues and yellows that had been scribbled outside the lines in some places. Some were dancing around her, jauntily, playfully. It was a merry time for them, but torture for her; purplish ink was leaking off of her form onto the ground.
They were singing something with a syncopated rhyme and rhythm. Their tone was jeering, teasing - it was far from a friendly song, or even a song at all.
On the day of her birth it had only been known to the local seer and a few others, but since then it had been passed on to everyone in the community. In warning, it had been said. Everyone had to know the prophecy that threatened their lives; everyone needed to keep a close eye on this girl and make sure it didn't come into fruition. But some parents had foolishly whispered it into the ears of their children, and it had become a cruel schoolyard taunt instead of a dangerous secret. The distance between herself and the others increased until they were a rainbow of tiny specks under a mouse-sized tree, but the noise of their harassment was still as loud as if they were right next to her.
She could feel a small weight forming in her chest. A languid pulling feeling in her body tempted her to punish them, somehow throw the hurt right back at them-- but it wasn't enough to act on.
Not yet.
with no feelings left she will become blind
to any who is fool enough to be kind
Over the play of her life, the colors became less unreal, the forms more defined. The grass and flowers were farther away from her face now, and everything was blurred, shadowless, wrapped in a cottony dreamlike glow that washed everything out. Even voices were affected, made into wispy puffs of noise that barely even brushed past her ears. She had learned to ignore them a long time ago. They only made her inner weight rattle with anger, reaching out with tingling tendrils and trying to tug her limbs into action. Action she was too afraid to take. Many parts of her felt that she deserved to be so separate from the others; that she was below everyone else. Inferior. Nothing else could explain why nobody ever wanted to take her in, or why none of the adults had ever stepped in and told the children to be nice to her. It was all piercing stares, poison smirks and jeers of "Stone-Heart" and "Monster".
Of course, there would always be the type who thought that such things as prophecies as nothing more than paranoid rubbish, or a way to guiltlessly create a scapegoat. He always wished he had the courage to stop the other kids in his youth, and as a young adult he found himself admiring her, her chilly eyes and tresses that had their own beauty to them despite their drab color, her seeming tolerance for the mistreatment on part of her peers. He idealized her as being strong-willed and above superstition like he was, instead of nervous and seething for revenge inside.
Vettoria remembered being approached by him, mumbling shyly and looking everywhere but her eyes... and the memory curled and burnt at the edges as he continued to speak. She knew him. He was the one who was always watching and staring, burning her with his eyes with as much intensity as everyone else combined. And now that he was this close to her, he couldn't bear to point them in her direction anymore?
He was afraid of her. Everyone was afraid of her.
She understood, now.
The world leaked scarlet.
and she will desire the blood of all others shed
her own cursed form wrapped and spattered in red.
A lone rat scampered over her foot, the scratchy pattering feeling and the small noise of it snapping Vettoria back into the present. She continued her slow, tired stride, away from the ruined structures and mangled bodies that the low sun was bathing in a warm, soothing orange. There had been a festival there... a small party of sorts, but she hadn't been invited. Hadn't even caught wind about it until a few hours after it had started.
They thought they were better than her. Everyone did. By making her feel small and insecure, they thought they could take her power away. Keep it for themselves. But she had the power now. She knew that she made people afraid-- and she had since made sure to hide her face, so they wouldn't see how afraid she always was.
Vettoria was still so far away from everyone else. But that was a price she was willing to pay to make sure nobody grew up the way she did. She would slaughter the other herds nearby. And then there would be no loners.
The weight in her chest felt warm.
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Posted: Thu Jan 08, 2009 4:44 pm
And Darkness and Decay and the Red Death held illimitable dominion over all.
Soq Name: Reda
Soq Temper: Righteous
Rat's Name: Mal
Story: Every week I stood before my Father and tried not to shiver as he kicked, bit, and smote the sin from my body. My skin wept red tears of redemption, a renewing baptism of blood. My Mother stood to the side and watched, proud in my fearless acceptance of my penance. When my Father was done, and pronounced my sins redeemed, Mother would help me back to my hooves, and looked at me with love shining in her warm eyes. My Father would smile, and let me lean against him as we walked to the stream to wash me clean in body as well as soul.
Oh, how I loved my parents! My Father: strong in faith, strong in body, the rock upon which our family rested amidst a sea of sinners. My Mother: fearless and undaunted in the face of evil, a sympathetic ear and guiding wing when I was unsure of myself. They strengthened me, preparing me for my purpose in the world. Yes, they were harsh at times. Father never spared me when it came time to redeem myself. But how could I resent him when he whispered encouragement to me afterwards?
I admired their companions from a distance. They were sacred, not to be touched except by their partner. They were symbols and instruments of cleansing, my parents' precious helpers. My Father's, a cobra, long and sinuous, full of poison to smite the wicked. My Mother's, a raven, black and somber, who bore the souls of sinners down to hell. I wished to have my own, but impatience was a sin. I waited dutifully for the day I would earn my companion.
That day finally came. I was fearful, but eager to see my test through, to join my parents in their toils of faith. My Father guided me out to an unknown place, amidst the lands of sinners, and instructed me to wait. The god would send me my test. If I survived, then I was pure in the god's eye, and ready to serve. To fail was to die and go to hell. My Father left, and I waited. On the third day, he came. My little Mal, his name as of then unknown to me, crept to me in the night, and administered my test. His teeth were small, and hurt only little, but they woke such pain in my body, that I wondered if I was unworthy. For untold days, weeks, years, the sickness rotted my insides as the god tested me.
But I was pure, and my body gradually recovered. Mal had stayed with me the entire time. I learned his name, and earned his loyalty. My test was through, the sickness that had scoured me clean was now my greatest tool. I entered the land of the sinners. I smite them of their wickedness to this day.
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Posted: Thu Jan 08, 2009 4:51 pm
And Darkness and Decay and the Red Death held illimitable dominion over all.
Soq Name: Morta (Roman goddess of death)
Soq Temper: Psychotic
Rat's Name: Morrigan (Shapeshifting Celtic goddess)
Story:
Such joy!
Such delight!
Listen, child, listen to how they sing!
See how they writhe and wriggle, restless in their ecstasy? See how they paint their bodies, so nice and pretty?
How they rejoice!
Another good choice!
How happy you make me, my child!
Do you know of our past? Have I told you our story?
It’s quite the tale, but so hard to remember. Shush now, my little child, don’t you worry. I will tell you our life story.
I did not always have you, my precious little child. It’s hazy, this past of mine, but I had a family once. Yes, I had a family, and a mate too, but I did not have you; not yet, not then. They’re names I cannot recall; it doesn’t matter. I recall your entrance in this story though; quite clearly do I remember.
Do you remember?
Did you know you were once part of me?
You still are. You are my heart, my lovely child.
As you grew, so did I. I became fat, very fat, but I didn’t mind. You were mine, and I would grow as fat as you wished. I was happy, happier then I had ever been before. I loved you even before I had you, child of mine, and I was so happy.
… It didn’t last; such happiness rarely does. But oh, so cruel the way Fate played us! A Skinwalker, a death dealer, came upon us, my little family. She was strong, so strong, and so very cruel! She saw me, she knew, and into a rage she flew. My family she killed first. My mate, my brave, nameless mate, he defended us; she killed him next. Then she set upon me, upon us.
The pain!
Oh, the agony!
I lived, but I was not sure for how long. I had survived, yes, but with such horrible wounds! I trembled, I shook, and I sweat, my body feverish. In dark places my mind wandered, but darker still was reality. In my illness, as I lay stricken weak, I gave birth to you.
My memories, they grow hazy again, but know I mourned. My dear child, you laid there so still that flies dared to perch upon you. I thought you were dead! I cried and I wailed and I gnashed my teeth. Forgive me. Forgive me, for in my grief I ran. I ran as far and fast as my aching legs would carry me. My sorrow and pain overcame me, and I fell into a swoon.
Imagine my surprise when, waking with great hunger, I saw you there! My sweet, precious child, you found me, you came to me! Fate, fickle as it is, must have felt such regret to return my happiness to me! You told me, told me of fickle-Fate’s demands, such petty demands! Such meager things, to have my life, my love given back!
Does this please you, my angel, my tiny, cherished child? Did you like our tale? Do you understand my love now? Shall I show you?
Choose!
Choose another that pleases you!
Choose another and I shall make them dance!
They shall sing for you, and paint with the blood you love!
Choose, and I shall kill them for you, my darling, my beloved Morrigan!
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Posted: Thu Jan 08, 2009 5:06 pm
My, what big teeth you have!
Soq Name: Ardent (meaning the heat of anger or zeal)
Soq Temper: Beastial
Wolf's Name: Beo (meaning intelegent, considering Beowulf means intelegent wolf)
Story:
Everyone has a story, some-quite simply-are more twisted than most.. But Ardent’s story? Well…
A blood read moon hung just above the horizon as the unicorn mare’s sides heaved. The beautiful and frail form lay sprawled out upon the grass of the clearing, her belly heavy with foal. Her mate nuzzled her pale neck, offering all of what little comfort he could as their herd watched from a respectful distance. You could hear the excited whispers, all anticipating the birth of the new babe. The father’s heart threatened to burst as he waited to see his first born. Happiness swelled up in his chest, pride making his head swim for a moment, before it all froze over. The stallion trembled for a long moment, before turning tail, and fleeing the clearing in a mix of terror and shame. The herd drew near, perplexed by his behavior. The first shout came as the newborn tried to stand. “Demon!” The newborn babe looked to the sound, giving a slight whinny as he fell to his side. Even so young, the babe could sense something wrong.. “MONSTER!” He had gained his feet now, and sought refuge under his mother’s belly, but the mare backed, eyes wide with fear. He stumbled toward his mother, happy little sounds coming from him as if the new born were trying to comfort her. “ABOMINATION!”
The stallion stared at you coldly, no part of him giving away the nervousness that went through him as he began his story. Why should you want to know anyway? “…I grew up hated by the rest of the herd.. I was a curst to them, something that should have been destroyed.” He smiled in an odd manner, rows of pointed teeth glinting. It was the sort of smile that made you wonder what he knew that you didn’t.. “I’d never done anything to any of them.. But when I got close enough, I’d feel teeth. If I was out of range for that, a hoof would usually do just as well.. They never gave me a name.. Guess they didn’t think I was worth the time.. But you know.. Every day, I’d sit there, and watch the faces.. Not all of them were hateful, some showed pity.. But those cowards never did anything but look away. Even my own mother. From the moment I was weaned, they left me on my own, pushing me to the skirts of the herd.” The ruff along his neck begins to stand on end, anger flaring at the old memories, but he remembers himself after a moment. “I remember the way the others my age would try and chase me down, so I learned to be quick.. I blended in perfectly with the brush in the forest, so I learned to use that too.. And then, this one time..
They’d snuck up on me while I grazed.. A big colt, not much older than me, but a hell of a lot bigger. I didn’t stay to find out if they’d wanted to play, I bolted. The bastards followed me through the woods, stuck to me like my own shadow. And then, they were gone. The colts turned tail, and it took me a minute to figure out why.. There were these two wolves, standing right there, right in front of me.. And I finally put two and two together. They were like me.” He smiled again, this time something close to genuine as he seemed to remember something sweet. You watch as he brushes it away, and takes up that same cold demeanor. “Beo was the male, and his sister, Ruka… Beo was the smart one. His lips turned up at me, and for a moment I thought he’d kill me. But then Ruka barked something at him. I couldn’t understand them then, so I still don’t know what it was. She walked over to me, wagging her tail. I didn’t even know what that meant then.. But she seemed friendly enough.. She sniffed my nose, I sniffed hers, and that was it.
“We met each other every day after that. I’d slip away in the mornings, and I guess they did too. It took me a few weeks to learn the language, and then I learned their names, and they asked about mine. Ruka didn’t like it when I told her that I didn’t have one.” Something that you can’t quite read swells up in the depths of those yellow eyes. He takes a breath, and looks almost angry before he continues, but even that fades. “…She’s the one who named me. Just.. Told me I needed a name, then told me it was Ardent.. I don’t really know why.. Never could figure her out..
“Those two taught me everything.. And I started growing. They taught me to hunt, to swim. We’d even howl sometimes.. We were our own little pack.. They taught me about that too, pack life I mean. I don’t know why I never asked to join them in it.. The herd was always my home in an odd way…Any ways.. Yeah, I got bigger, lots bigger. One day, the bites and the hooves stopped, and the running started. More than anything, they were terrified when I growled.” The stallion’s expression hardened, his muzzle beginning to wrinkle in a snarl. “…They should have just left me alone…” He stops for a long moment, the anger never leaving his eyes, muscles quivering in a rage that shakes you to the core. Somehow he calms himself, and continues, “…I guess it was too much for them… One night, Beo and Ruka walked me home like always.. They’d just left when I noticed that all the mares and young ones were gone, and only the stallions were there. They stared into me, like they had when I was a foal. One of them--I don’t remember his name--came forward. He told me that I was old enough now. You see, it’s a sin to them to kill a foal, no matter what. They hold onto stupid rules like that so they can call themselves civilized. But, now I was grown, and I’d proven my guilt by leading the wolves to the herd. Part of me, the last of that little foal, wanted to run. But I’d grown up, and I’d grown up to be a wolf. And that part of me, that real part, wanted to meet them head on.” A slight glimer of pride showed in his eyes. “ I held them my own for a good while, but there were eight of them… Beo and Ruka must have heard.. Because they came running.. The rest of it is just a blur.. We didn’t kill them all, a couple ran.. But..” His voice threatens to crack as his whole demeanor waivers, and for a moment you can‘t tell the difference. It seems as if he could break down crying, or completely fragment, and destroy you.. A ragged breath pulls him back together, and he continues his story. “..But I looked on the ground.. And they’d killed Ruka.. One howl, and the pack was there.. But Beo and I.. We went after them..” His expression is cold again, enough to chill the bones, and for a moment you can’t run… “It took us four days,” He continues, “But we chased down the herd, and did to each of them what they’d done to Ruka.” The snarl twists his face to something nightmarish, “They pretend to be civilized.. They hide behind that mask to give them an excuse to kill, and be right for it.. Well, it’s no matter.. They’re just food to me now.. Beo and I have never gone back.. And it seems we’ve both developed a taste for horseflesh..”
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Posted: Thu Jan 08, 2009 5:18 pm
And Darkness and Decay and the Red Death held illimitable dominion over all.
Soq Name: Soleil
Soq Temper: Vengeful
Rat's Name: Nox
Story:
You always hear the stories of the ones who are persecuted and destroyed for being different. Their uniqueness, be it in body, mind, or spirit is somehow threatening; it shakes the foundation of the known world and, to set the minds of the masses at ease, it is eliminated. Sometimes it is as simple as a command, silencing a voice that rises above the others. Others, the result is much darker, a permanent deprivation of life that paves the example for the rest to follow. Do not be this way, it says. Do not stand out, or you will be killed as well.
No one really likes those stories. At the time, it seems like justice is being wrought, and all rest their heads peacefully upon their pillows, content that they’ve spared the world the great evil of deviance. It isn’t until later, when the spirit of change can no longer be subdued, that they all hold their breath and wonder what could have passed through their minds to allow this.
This isn’t one of those stories.
This time, the protagonist wasn’t shunned for being different. She wasn’t damaged or hurt, and she certainly wasn’t killed. Born to an uni father and a simple but beautiful mother, one who possessed no magical charms or distinctions, she led a life of love and cherishment even after her mother perished in childbirth. Though her appearance was different from the small herd that she was raised in, they embraced her as their own, loved her despite her lack of horn, lion’s tail, and magic. She frolicked with the other foals, their numbers small for lack of stallions to sire them, and it was understood that even if she didn’t share common blood with many of them, they were still her family. She was given the name Soleil, its meaning sun – for her smile was bright enough and fast enough to rival the sun’s own light.
She fell in love, as mares often do, and he was tall and strong and handsome. Their herd was nomadic, traveling across the lands and healing where it was warranted, and the lifestyle suited her. At her love’s s ide she saw the world, and they spoke of starting a family – some day, some day.
That day would not come.
The only time the herd saw pause was when a mare birthed a child; they took a rest, gave some time for the mother and the foal to gain their bearings and become hardy enough for travel. It so happens that on a balmy spring day a gorgeous uni gifted the herd with not one but two children, little boys; they were pure uni, and so the herd would continue on. They were never very concerned about expanding their numbers; this herd accepted others when they wished to join, but never sought more simply for the sake of having a bigger herd. When a Soquili joined them, it was for love more often than not, as it had been for Soleil’s mother – and it was love that kept her beside them.
For a week the herd stayed in one place, enjoying the mild weather and the lush grasses. It had been some time since any real danger was posed to them, and so it is fair to say they became a little lax in their guard. They enjoyed one another and their surroundings, relished the time to settle if only for a little while. They trusted others, and to this day, Soleil will insist that was their mistake.
It’s no secret to anyone that uni are special. Their horns, the source of their healing ability, were worn proudly and prominently, and the little herd caught the eye of a band of humans. While they slept, the humans swept in, bringing their weapons and greed. They attacked the Soquili, viciously pummeling their bodies with any weapon they could find, their intent to capture the spiraled horn that each possessed. The stallions fought valiantly, and many humans were killed that night in defense of themselves, their loved ones, their children.
But as with any ambush, the upper hand belonged to the humans. It seemed they came from every side, and with strange appendages that none of the uni could understand. Fire flew from the ends of their metal arms, and one strike could fell a fully grown stallion in a mere moment. The herd tried to scatter, but one by one they were felled, the night swelling with the horrible cries of sorrow and death. Everyone Soleil knew, everyone she loved, died before her eyes.
She watched, and in her horror, she was powerless to move. Her love rushed to her side, told her to take the children and flee – and she watched the light leave his eyes, watched his powerful frame collapse onto bloodstained grass as the fire burst into his side. When her knees buckled under her and the humans approached, she knew it was her time; she had failed, and she could no more protect the young than she could save herself.
The humans didn’t want her, however. Their cold gazes roved over her face, saw no horn. They dismissed her and fell upon the others, sawing the horns from their bodies, leaving the corpses to waste on the ground. Everything inside of her screamed to stand up and fight, but she could not. Collapsing under the burden of a heartbreak so heavy, she couldn’t even bring herself to struggle to her feet. Long after the humans left, she remained in the field, a small mare with nothing special about her, the only living creature in the midst of stirring grasses and blood-soaked earth.
She didn’t even have enough of a soul left to cry.
For days she remained with them, a broken spirit unable to move on. When animals came to scavenge on their bodies, she chased them away, but as time progressed she grew weaker and unable to fight them off. When the rats came, she simply laid on her side, wishing to die alongside the only ones who had shown her love and care. She wished with all of the heart that she had left that she had been killed with them, that her life had not been spared because she was normal, that she could have been born special if only for this reason. None of her wishes reached the spirits.
It seemed she could not die, even when she wished.
Something changed inside of her as she laid there, her eyes dull and breathing shallow, while the rats feasted upon her family. No longer was she the free-spirited and loving mare that she had been raised to be; that mare had died, perished as surely as all she had known. Her heart, still beating, was empty, and it was the most exquisite pain she had ever felt. She needed something, anything, to fill the void.
When we suffer greatly, sometimes we indulge ourselves in what is easy. To love meant to hurt, to allow herself to be open to the kind of consuming and searing pain that she’d felt at the loss of her love. She would not allow that again. It was easier to remember the grisly shapes of the two-leggers, the smoke coming from their arms, the cold avarice in their eyes while they slaughtered innocents for their own gain. The hate filled her, consumed her, gave her a reason to rise to her hooves and begin walking again.
One voice, when raised above the rest, can be heard. It can make a difference, and it can change the course of all of history. Just one voice is all that is needed to start a revolution.
One bitter voice was all that was needed to keep them alive, to make certain that the senseless slaughter of her family didn’t become a forgotten story in the pages of history.
One voice would make the world know what had been done to her, to them.
And they would pay, a thousand times over, for every tear she had been unable to shed.
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Posted: Thu Jan 08, 2009 5:36 pm
My, what big teeth you have!
Soq Name: Wolf (He dropped his birthname as a foal)
Soq Temper: Animus
Wolf's Name: Spiritwalker
Story:
The eyes of the youth see the world in a brilliant perspective. Mother is god in their eyes. Evil does not exist. There's only goodness, dreams and hope. Anything is possible. It's truly a magnificent thing to behold. It's only during that time that life is utterly and perhaps even disturbingly perfect.
But what happens when those eyes are put out or forced to look at the world in a new perspective, to acknowledge the horror that exists? The mind of the youth is not strong enough to understand what is going on, to grasp the cruelty possible. What was once unimaginable becomes imaginable. It becomes reality. What happens to that youth then?
Why, the youth dies.
Oh, no, little one. I did not mean it like that. They most assuredly still breathe and they still respond to what is going on around them but they are never the same. The emptiness of innocence lost is filled with madness, perhaps even hatred and rage. Thoughts that wouldn't dare exist before begin to worm their way into their head and they sound nice. Oh, so very nice. It's easy to get lost in the thoughts, the desires.. the need.
So if you want to know if I was born this way, the answer is no. I was just like you once, little one. That was before they came. We were only doing what was natural to us. I know you understand that. We all have intuition and instinct inside us. That day, my mother was teaching us how to hunt and we did not know their pets were off limits. What a foolish concept, keeping creatures such as ourselves as pets but that's another story. We were just doing what nature intended for us. What we were created to do. We hunted and we fed.
The two leggers did not take kindly to that. They caught my mother and they slew her. I still remember the scent of her blood as it hit the air and I still hear the cry of my little sisters as they were the next to fall. Then they turned on me but I was too fast for them. I made it back home but at what cost? My life was ruined. My family was gone and all for what? Our instinctual nature? What right did these two leggers have to change what was natural to our world?
I am sure they assumed I would have died. What chance did any young thing have to survive on their own? I had more than air beating my heart and fueling my lungs. I had hatred. I had rage. I had the desire to make them pay for what they had done to me, to my family. It was the only thing that kept me going. It had been so hard until I found the wolf pack. In many ways, they are a second family to me but they will never replace the one I had lost.
I understand why your mother tells you to stay away from me. I have done many things that are considered horrible by most standards. But believe me when I say that you do not have anything to worry about. My madness... my desire is centered only on the two leggers. I will kill their mothers. I kill kill their children. I will kill them. They are an atrocity on this land. They will learn the hard way not to change what is within our nature. I will not rest until I can no longer smell the blood of my mother or hear the cries of my sisters.
I will only rest until when it's replaced with their cries and the scent of their blood. I do know that I will not be stopped.
You need to listen to your mother and what she says about me. Don't argue it. You may think you know what you want but there's no one in this world that will put your best interests first besides her. Never take her for granted, do you understand me?
Run along now. You don't want to be around to see what I'm about to do. Let your eyes enjoy the the way the world looks to you now. You will miss the beauty when it's gone. Now, now, don't make that face and stop trying to look up to me. I am not something to be idolized.
If I catch you following me, I will give you and the others in this clearing an example of why I am called the Big, Bad Wolf. Then again, I might just let my wolf brethren have you for a snack. Spiritwalker rather favors the young.
Go.
Now!
<>
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Posted: Thu Jan 08, 2009 6:09 pm
My, what big teeth you have!
Soq Name: Ulfric
Soq Temper: Demeaning
Wolf's Name: Jamil
Story:
The idea of the Skinwalker, all formed one single idea. They were coyote, and they carried the pelts of the beasts that they were cursed to be upon their backs.
The idea of a 'botched' skinwalker, is almost too much too conceive. There’s never really been any kind if proof to suggest they exist... But the proof was not needed. The disease strengthened by the skinwalker blood, only served to cause mutant strains that were even more ruthless than the Skinwalkers themselves.
The glimmering blue eyes of the stallion brimmed with the remembrance of that night. He had been a bad, mischievous boy... Ready to destroy the world for the sake of a little chaos. The dappled stallion stood with pride as he walked through the forest, darkened with the lights of the stars notable to reach the floor of the tree line.
His haughty chuckle at the crush of a bug as he looked to the ground to see the large beetle right before he had crushed the creature, spoke his true demeanor.
But another pair of eyes was bound to make the stallion worse. They stared at him, watching, and their own golden eyes soon to be his. But it dripped saliva at the mouth, ready to eat, attack, hurt... It was all the wolf could think about. Disease rippled off the creature in waves, a disease, that was not just the curse of the skinwalker...
It stepped out, looking on at the dappled grey stallion and smiling with dripping fangs.
Lunging at him, it bit onto his leg, causing Ulfric to cry out in pain, kicking him away.
It hissed dashing off as it did so.
"Vermin!" He yelled at the creature, but looked down to his leg, where it had already turned purple, and small bits of fur were prickling from the wound. It hurt, and it was a most intense burn.
The stallions eyes grew heavy and he dropped to the earth.
THUD!
He was out Cold.
While he slept, his mane retreated back to his neck, becoming coarse and thick. Giving him more of a scruff than an actual mane. The fur rippled, all the way down his back, where his tail became solid, and started to poof with the fuzz like fur of the tail. Bristling fur grew on his cheeks and legs, and his entire look became that of a wolf.
The wound, fading with each stage of the mutation.
That next evening, the stallions eyes blinked open, and he lifted his head but something was wrong. He had slept the entire day away... It was dark now, the moon hanging in the sky like an apple on a tree. He stood, looking down at the wound, which had all but disappeared. But his pelt had changed miraculously. It was mane-like, soft, yet coarse. He widened his eyes, which could now see the things that went bump in the night. They were golden and shining, more than the moon could ever hope to.
He lifted his muzzle, the instinct within him strong, and howled deep into the bowls of the sky... He had completely mutated, his once gentle smile, though calculating and rude, was now an array of sharply edged fangs, ready to tear into the first thing they could sink into.
His mind darkened, and he growled, the snarl rippling though his throat. That. Monster.
He vowed to find the beast. He vowed to kill the creature who had done this to him. He didnt care who he had to destroy to get to him. Look what it had done to his beautiful mane..His beautiful pelt.
That abomination had made him this way. And the fury in Ulfric wasvile and dripping with hatred.
"You seem to have been troubled.." Came a voice, that was dark in itself, hiding in the shadows.
Ulfric whipped around, ready to maim the creature that had been so bold.
"Show yourself, so that I may have the pleasure of seeing you before you die."
He said, his fangs dripping with disease, which had been the cause of the skinwalker mutation.
The wolf stepped out, its eyes gleaming as it stared at Ulfric, its tail flicking back and forth.
"The world..She waits for you."
The wolf said with a dark chuckle.
Ulfric snarled once more, every muscle in the wolf stallions body ready to lunge at wwolf.
"You, I will kill you!"
He spat furiously.It was all he could do to hold back even to speak those words. He wanted to see and feel that little wolf between the new fangs he had aquired.
"They may be new..But I shall show you that they are very easy to use."
He said with the spittle and anger dripping from them like blood from a wound. The wolf shook his head.
"Its not me you want."
He said, voice calm as he reacted sly as a fox.
"But I know where you can find him."
The dark gaze of Ulfric was enough of an answer to the wolf, who chuckled again.
"Watch your hide Wolf.. For I will be watching it too."
The chaos, oh it was only just about to begin.
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Posted: Thu Jan 08, 2009 6:15 pm
And Darkness and Decay and the Red Death held illimitable dominion over all.
Soq Name: Kipu-Tytto
Soq Temper: Remorseful
Rat's Name: Lempo
Story:
I was not born like this, into a masked cowl and blood-stained rags; they were gifts bestowed upon me by one of Fate's crueler twists, and no matter where they originated, they are undeniably mine now. Death did not always follow me like a shadow, and I was once naive enough to believe that curses were just spiteful words and rats could only ever be mere rats. I know better now, and I wish that I did not, but this is my lot in life until I can find another to bear this gruesome mantle.
My herd was a peaceful one, once. We had never known disaster and were merely passing acquaintances with strife. The youngest among us could not define hunger or thirst, and the eldest could not recall a time when kindness could not overcome all. It was no wonder, then, that when a masked stranger abruptly wandered into our midst, we welcomed her with open hearts.
She was old and frail, her voice rheumy with some illness that she suffered in her younger years but, she assured us, was not contagious. She was both pitiful and terrifying to look upon; when questioned about her strange garb, she claimed that she was running from the one who had bestowed it upon her, and that she could not take it off. The elders shook their heads and clucked their tongues, giving her their sympathy and their assurance that she would be safe here.
Despite her fearsome appearance, she was quite congenial, and got on well with the other members of the herd--especially the younger ones. She indulged their curiosity at the circumstances that had placed her eternally in a mask, spinning wild tales of magic and adventure. Many were frightened by her tales, and others scoffed at them, but some listened. I listened, because I liked her stories, scary as they could be. She had been places and done things that I could only ever dream of, and while I relished the comfort of life with my herd, my family, I also often thought of life beyond them.
She had not been with us long when the first members of the herd fell suddenly ill. She had fit in so well, despite her frightening appearance, that nobody thought to accuse her of spreading the disease she thought contained within herself. She mourned with us when the first ones withered and died, perhaps moreso than anyone else. The rat came before the bodies were even cold. It was an ugly, scraggly little thing, a mat of fur with a tail more than anything else, and its presence went largely unnoticed by the herd lost in grief. I noticed it, and the stranger noticed it. I watched curiously as she shied away from it as if afraid before stilling and reluctantly nodding as if accepting some terrible fate. It scurried up her leg to settle in the folds of her cowl, disappearing into it.
Others became sick soon after that. They didn't die as quickly as the ones before them had; they wasted away slowly, flesh disappearing to reveal the sharp outline of bone, sores manifesting and leaking blood and other, thicker things. The herd did what they could to help the sick and wounded, but eventually a consensus was reached that the overall health of the herd was more important than these few souls already beyond help, and they were cast out. Where they went, nobody knew, but they were in such poor health that they likely didn't get far.
The stranger watched in sorrow and pity as plague visited our once-peaceful herd. Her presence went largely unnoticed during these times, as did the rat's. I saw it sometimes, chittering softly in her ear, but I did not dare approach them.
The third wave of illness was even stronger and even more ghastly than the last, and it spared no one. Those once-hearty creatures I called family and friends were driven mad by their sickness, their minds torn apart before the plague could ravage their bodies. I watched as everyone I knew died before me, both dreading and pleading for my own death. The stranger was not exempt from this. She fell ill as well, watching through empty eyes as the herd that had taken her in succumbed to illness. I recall watching her try to get up, as if she meant to help or flee, only to be stopped by the rat that was constantly muttering to her.
I remember those last days vividly: the rags the stranger wore dripped blood all their own as their bearer's health failed her, and she resigned herself to watching, just as helpless as I, as everything around her perished. The rat had taken to wandering among the dying members of the herd, climbing upon them and whispering to them as it did its reluctant companion, and whoever it spoke to died. Soon there was no one left but myself and the stranger, and I cried out as I felt the sharp pinprick of unkempt claws trail up to my head.
"Will you be Chosen?" It asked, and I shook my head, trying to dislodge it. A sound caught my attention and I turned to look at it, only to find the stranger's body spasming wildly. She thrashed on the ground for a few moments before her struggles waned.
"Thank you," she whispered as she died, the mask slipping from her face to reveal empty eye sockets and a gaunt, brittle-looking face.
"Yes," the rat said, "you will be Chosen." I lost consciousness after that.
When I awoke, the peaceful glade where I had made my home was littered with the bodies of my herd. The stranger's body, oddly enough, was nowhere to be found, though blood stained the grass where she had died. Pain and sorrow overwhelmed me, and I cried out as I ran as fast as I could from the only home I had ever known. I didn't know where I was going, or for how long, but eventually I came across a stream. As I paused to take a much-needed drink, I found that I now wore the mask the stranger had worn, and her blood-stained rags were wrapped around my body.
The rat caught up with me eventually. It speaks to me now as it must have to the stranger, whispering to me of the plague I will spread across the land as long as I wear the mask. It encourages me to find someone else to bear this burden, and sometimes I long for death so badly that I listen to it. I entreat upon the kindness of others in the hopes that one among them will survive long enough for the curse to pass to them, but so far I have only been fortunate enough to watch history repeat itself over and over again.
I have left countless bodies behind me in my search for someone to take this curse from me, and a part of me dies with each one of them...but I will not, cannot rest until I attain freedom, regardless of how many more I have to kill for it.
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Posted: Thu Jan 08, 2009 6:24 pm
And Darkness and Decay and the Red Death held illimitable dominion over all.
Soq Name: Typhoid Mary
Soq Temper: Corrupted
Rat's Name: Bach
Story:
It was a large herd. She always thought it was the largest one in all the land. And it fell so quickly and silently. Like it was consumed by fire, only without the heat and destruction. She would've liked it better if they, along with herself, were consumed by fire. It would've been a swift way to end things, instead of a lingering death that should've killed her too. It was his fault. His fault that she was now only a shell of her former self. Not the plague's fault. She didn't blame it. It was his fault...
The filly couldn't see her brother. No one was allowed to. She couldn't see a bunch of other Soquilis either. She didn't quite grasp the reason why, but she understood that they were sick and they needed to be away from others in order to heal. She was willing to do that. She wanted him to get better so they can play together again. And she hated seeing her ill herdmates. They looked so miserable, how they just waited for death to come to them.
That's another thing she couldn't get. Death. What was it exactly? She only knew what her mother told her, and her explanation was very vague. She better ask her again sometime, because she had a feeling she'll be seeing a lot of it soon-
“No! You can't touch my child!”
Speaking of her mother, she was arguing yet again with the herd leader. She was doing that a lot lately. Most likely because of the sickness that was infecting more horses every day. She didn't understand what she had to do with it though.
“She might be essential to curing them though. Don't you see that she's special? Those wings that she got from her father, it signifies that she also inherited his strength and stamina. His immunity to the disease that maybe could be given to everyone else...”
Her wings. The filly hated them. They made her different from the other foals her age. They shunned her just because of it. The only child that would come close to her was her brother, that didn't share her 'speacialness'.
It meant that she hated her father too. He left her when she wasn't even out of her basket yet. He was curse on her life, because he gave her his wings. Those stupid wings.
She perked up at what he said though. They made her stronger? She never though of it that way before.
“That wouldn't make sense! Her brother has the same blood and he's sick!” Her mother was at her wit's end. The filly could tell.
“Not exactly! Again, the wings! She's more like her father and he's more like you! She could've received his immunity and he might have not!”
They were coming this way now. She dove into the nearby bushes, so they wouldn't find out someone was eavesdropping and end the conversation. What they were saying was interesting and she wanted to hear more. She wanted to be the cure. She wanted to save everyone and not be just some foal that was different.
“How do you know for certain? She might not have it and you're sending her to her death.”
The herd leader thought for a moment before his eyes lit up. “Diseases often don't show symptoms until much later. Your son could have been carrying it around for ages before he got 'sick'. And she didn't get infected! She must have some kind of immunity!”
Her mom had a thoughtful look on her face, a thoughtful look that wasn't like anything she had seen before. What he said was important though. It wasn't a mild decision she would be making.
“I'm still not sure...” The mare said after a long time of waiting. But her daughter was thinking while she was, and chose what she was going to do.
“Mom, let him try.” She stepped out of the bushes, not noticing the startled looks on their faces. “It's better than doing nothing to stop the sickness.”
“What, you were listening?” Her mother said in an angry whisper. The filly gave her an apologetic glance, but the herd leader was over-delighted. He stepped in between the two horses, much to the dismay of both of them.
“See! This girl has sense!” He chuckled. “What I'm going to do is transfer some blood from her to a sick herdmate. It will hurt, but only for a moment. A little pain goes a long way to curing everyone! That is, if your mother allows us to do so.” The stallion glanced at her.
She took a while to respond. The foal was getting antsy, waiting for what will happen next. Then there was a nod. A faint nod, but a nod.
“Excellent!” He turned back to the little Soquili with a large grin on his face. “I think we shall start with your brother. Your blood would have the best chance of curing him, since him and yours are so alike...”
It didn't. He was lying. She wished that she had known that. She wish that she didn't offer her blood. But she was a stupid naive foal back then. She was so desperate to be a hero. And in the process, she killed everyone.
Yes. Her blood was the sickness. Transferring it from body to body hastened the process than in the air, like she was doing unconsciously before. Her wings were not blessings in disguise. They were the symbol of the curse passed on from her father. Her diseased blood, flowing through her veins.
She was the only one left in the herd. Her, and the herd leader, who said that she could save them. He ran away when his idea didn't work. The coward. He was the one that sent dozens of Soquili to their death. Including her mother and brother. Her brother, who didn't discriminate, and her mother, who tried to protect. There was no punishment suitable for him except death. And death she could deal very easily.
The mare needed the help of others though. She didn't think that her blood was good enough for him. No. That's how they died, and he was below them. He needed to suffer before he died like the rat he was. He was a rat. Bach. That was his name. She named her rat after him.
Slowly, her trail of bodies grew. Rumors spread of a merciless murderer that had death itself. Even though she wore a cloak and mask to hide her true identity, she never used the same method of dealing death twice. She was always coming up with new ways to kill. Hone her gift that her father had given her. And someday, she'll find the perfect way to torture before the final, painful blow. Just for him.
She could never be a hero. She had that chance, and the results her horrendous. She could only be the opposite. A villain.
Word count: 1210My, what big teeth you have!
Soq Name: Carl
Soq Temper: Ill-tempered (to say the least...)
Wolf's Name: Horace
Story: (Please don't ask about the names. It's a little joke to myself. XD)
“Get up you lazy good-for-nothing scumbag!”
He knew that voice. It was the only voice that greeted him in the morning. No one else would even dare to come close enough to say hello. Was his appearance really that frightening? He examined at himself in a nearby pond everyday and found nothing scary about his sharp teeth and glowing eyes. He had heard rumors of wolf-Soquili that were even more monstrous. They could turn into wolves, instead of being bossed around by one.
“Are you deaf as well as stupid? I said get up!”
Horace, despite the name, was a girl. She was his mother. She nursed him back to health when she found him abandoned in the snow because of his horrendous looks. The she-wolf was the only one that cared for him. This treatment, though vicious in another's eyes, was pleasant to him. She was teaching him the cruelty of life, a necessary lesson that most parents neglect to tell their children. And he was grateful for that.
“CARL!”
“I'M AWAKE!” The stallion kicked himself up with a frustrated whinny. Like all parents, she was annoying at times. Except he'd have some biting and clawing to look forward to instead of a lecture if he didn't respond right away.
A grey shadow darted among the trees as Carl ate his breakfast. One advantage that he did have over her was that he didn't have to hunt for food. He was standing right on it. Of course, that didn't mean that he would refuse the meat his mother brought him. They'd even sometimes hunt together, making an unstoppable duo.
“Here's some rabbit. Unless you stuffed your belly with so much grass you couldn't move.” Horace snarled.
He only gave her an irritated glare in response and proceeded to munch on the bloody carcass. Yup. He loved his mom.
The wolf watched silently as the horse finished his meal. When he was finished, she wasted no time in interrupting his thoughts.
“You eat too slow. That's the problem with your damn species. You think you can run so fast, you can spare time to sup. We'll have to change that. But first, do you know what's today?”
There was something special today? Carl had no idea. Then again, she never tells him anything unless it was important. So it wasn't really much of a surprise.
“It's your birthday. Or foundingday. Two years ago, I found you as a smelly idiot that thinks too much and you're still one now. Today that is going to be changed.”
She kept track, didn't she? Were mothers really that sentimental? He had no mothers to compare Horace to though. He wouldn't know.
“I caught the scent of one of your kind today. Fat. Lazy. Lethargic. Almost like a pig that lived easily too long. And she's expecting. That might explain why she's fat, lazy, and lethargic, but that's no excuse.
“Think of how many Soquili there are in the world. A large portion of them are spoiled rotten like that mare. And they keep on reproducing. Making babies that won't be suitable to live. That's what us wolves are for. We need to cull out the weak ones, so the horse population can be strong.”
Wow. She was rambling a lot. Her words made sense though. She always did. A part of him wondered if killing to-be-mothers was the way to go, but it was harshly subdued with Horace's continuation of her rant.
“We do it all the time. That's why we're so strong, even if a bit underpopulated. Now is your chance to become one of us. Kill that mare. Don't let the land be flooded with the ignorant masses. Do your species a favor.”
There was a ringing silence in the air when she finished. It was only broken by the distant shuffling of hooves, which he could assume was the horse he was suppose to kill.
“Whatever you ask, mother.” Carl bowed his head a bit, only to be met by a slash on the muzzle.
“Don't do that! You can't be pushed around by others! Except by me, but that's because I know what's best for you. You're my son after all.”
Her grin, filled with dagger-like canines, made him shudder a bit. But she was right too. He didn't need to be a suck-up all the time to please her. Just a mercy-killer. Which he intended to do right now.
Horace was still grinning when the stallion was close enough to the mare to make out the fine details. Her curling eyelashes that fluttered in the faint breeze. Her perfectly shaped hooves that glimmered like diamonds. Her bulging belly that indicated the growing foal within.
It was a shame that such beauty was wasted on a dull creature. There will never be a Soquili as pretty as her, but there won't be one as dumb as her too.
Luckily, he was still far away enough to come up with a plan to kill her. Of course he could charge right at her and strike at her neck with a well placed kick. But... yeah. There was no reason why that wasn't a good strategy. One of the many lessons that Horace drilled into his brain was to always be straightforward. You can't gloat over your kill if you didn't kill in the first place.
Carl sprinted forward in a mad dash, making calculations in his mind. He'd have to be this far from the mare in order to deal a death blow. Any father, he'd miss. Any closer, he might deal some non-fatal injury and he'd have to attack her again. That was inefficient. That wasn't how a good killer worked. And he'd be beaten up by Horace if she was watching.
Too much thinking! His kick was off and snapped one of her legs instead. She fell to the ground with a moan not unlike a cow.
“Who... what...”
Ha! That's all she could say in response? He wished he could howl triumphantly like a wolf at times like these. Instead, he could only neigh like an idiot like her.
“You still haven't finished the job!” Horace's voice reminded him in his mind. Right. Lifting a hoof to deal the final blow, he was surprised to find out that the mare can talk rationally.
“Please... I'm going to be a mother... You'll be killing an innocent soul along with me...”
Her words touched his heart. But his mother's nagging drove them away. “Remember what I said? That child will be as stupid as its mother! Killing them both would be a blessing!”
She made more sense than her. Carl had never spoken to a Soquili before though being young and curious still. And he made more than one mistake today, so more wouldn't hurt.
“Give me a better excuse you swine. I'm running out of patience and my foot is getting twitchy...”
The mare closed her eyes and let out an anguished cry of pain. That sent shivers down his spine but his leg remained poised to kill.
“The father... he's...”
Whoops. He forgot that males had a role in producing these good-for-nothing children too. He might have to find the daddy and prevent him from spreading his genes.
“He's you.”
...And that's totally not what he expected. First off, Carl was still a virgin. Secondly, he never met this mare in his entire life. Thirdly, his mom would kill him if he was a daddy, even by accident.
What a lame answer.
“It just confirms what I thought all along.” He said, bringing down his hoof in a sickening thud. Her eyes fluttered one last time before growing blanker than they already were in life. The stallion felt no remorse as he dug his foot into her neck, cracking all the bones to make sure she was dead.
“I would've done it neater and faster, but nice job for a first kill.” The wolf stepped out of the trees. Her smile had broadened the last time the last time he had seen her but it didn't scare him anymore. Nothing did. Knowing that he could change someone's life forever gave him the backbone his mother always wanted him to have.
“What are we going to do now?” He gestured to the body. Sooner or later it was going to rot, and it was going to be ickier since there was also a baby inside.
“This is your birthday lunch and dinner.” She announced, and clenched her teeth at the leg. Carl had a horrified look on his face, but seeing that she didn't drop dead suddenly, he had the creeping feeling that it was alright.
He started at the head, so he wouldn't have to stare at it while he chewed. If this was what growing up felt like, he wouldn't hesitate to kill a thousand dumb Soquili to experience it over and over again...
Words: 1500
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Posted: Thu Jan 08, 2009 6:43 pm
My, what big teeth you have!
Soq Name: Fatality
Soq Temper: Insane
Wolf's Name: Apocalypse
Story:
These days, when he thought about it, it actually had started with that typical love emotion, a feeling he had foregone in long days past. Romance? He scoffed at the word. Just thinking about those days only made the terrifying frown on his face switch to an angry, soft snarl. That witch, it was entirely her fault! He would not have to resort to this, but this had its own kind of sick pleasure. He had, after all, enjoyed ripping her wings apart in a beautiful, bloody bath. She had never looked more stunning than that time. Well…
…Then, he stopped, ears erect.
What was that?
A rustling in the bushes… he slowly turned his gaze, body tense, even itching for a battle. Blood. The metallic tang with a syrupy after taste… it was simply heavenly.
…Like she had been, before he became this… thing… he had become.
“It’s you.”
He snorted. It was only his ally, Apocalypse. For a moment there, he had been imagining for her to have come back to life, ready for him to tear apart once more. It would be a lovely, deadly dance, especially if he was allowed to repeat it over… and over… and over…
He licked his lips, already tasting that fortuitous wine.
…After all, he needed his revenge. His love… she was certainly the most beautiful creature he knew. No other compared: no stallion, no mare, nor even her own parents, her creators. Her parents had created that wicked, bewitching beauty that refused to die. Surely, he could have sworn to have killed her many times over, but perhaps he just saw her in everyone he met—especially those mares. They deserved nothing of the life offered to them—given to them.
“We have a… guest.”
Apocalypse’s soft growl caused him to turn his attention away from the torturing memories. It seemed they had run into a young mare again. He tilted his head; she had not yet noticed her new friends. The poor thing… She already looked to be love struck. He sneered. No stallion deserved idiotic mares, no more than they deserved the annoyance that was the powers of their seduction, their trickery. It was thanks to that witch he had fallen so far, so deep.
He licked his lips. This mare’s blood would not have the same taste as hers, but it would do. He had been starving for a while now, and had yet to run across a real treat like this one. This young creature before him was by no means ugly; in fact, most if not all the mares he ran into were some of the loveliest creatures he had ever met. They were lovely in their terror, their screams…
Yet, in their own way, they still seduced him to nothing. Their power was like no other; not even a one. Still, he craved for it—their power. That love they all seemed to have no end of—he wanted it.
…Craved it.
One could say he was even obsessed. It did not matter to him. She looked like quite the delectable thing. He had yet to approach her, wondering how long it would take before she noticed him, for it was not in him to startle these powerful yet fragile beauties. He observed her, and then frowned. She looked oddly familiar. She…
It was her.
She had returned again. Why? Why did she just refuse to die? To leave him be… leave him at peace! But no, every time he ran across a mare, she was there, talking about how she would protect them from him but no! That in its entirety was completely filled with lies and error. He was there to protect those poor innocent mares from her. Why did she still, now, stand before him in all her glory? Where had those scars from bygone times vanished to? Those bloodied wings, every single time, would only be there for that instance when he destroyed her, to relieve himself of her company—her tainted, bewitching company.
He couldn’t help himself, he growled. She even had the gall to stand in front of that mare he had run across, jeering at him. She was mocking him! To her, he was a worthless creature; not even a stallion in her eyes, just a creature… a monster… A beast that could not understand love—but oh, how well he did understand!—and mocked him because she was there to curse every other mare to never see him for him…
For, as always, she would curse them every time with her powers, torturing him with pleasure, as he watched in horror to see that it was by his own claws he had bathed in the bath of this love struck maiden mare, her eyes wide with terror, her mouth open, gasping for forgiveness, to let her free.
He growled again. She was doing this! There was no other explanation! He turned around, trying to find her—that coward! She was always playing with him, never taking into account that he could easily kill her without a drop of guilt or regret. Every time, every time… She had managed to use her ungodly powers and forced him to mindlessly kill yet another beautiful mare…
Perhaps, in her own way, she was teaching him that these mares were not worthy of the love that both he and she held. Their love was a special one… that’s right, that’s right. What had he been thinking earlier? She still loved him, that’s why she did what she did… Those mares he came across, perhaps he had accidentally shown some pleasure, and because she was such a jealous creature, she would always appear in front of that mare, trying to tell him that he shouldn’t even think of wishing to be with another.
Fangs glistened as he turned around once more. That young mare—she was still here? She lay on the ground, looking as if she wanted to escape a nightmare. Well, even she was trying to escape from some nightmare, he would be her liberator. He would, at least, honor her wishes of love that he at least rescue her from whatever danger she saw, be it in the mind or even something physical.
He bent down near her, this little mare, and smiled in such a kindly way. His voice was but a gentle, soothing lure… as fangs sank into her neck, the rush of a seduction of pure delight entering his throat, he closed his eyes, imagining her as he licked up the blood of this little mare. While this little mare of fair beauty was, indeed, similar to her, she still could not compare.
“Are you done?”
Apocalypse, again. Why this wolf followed him everywhere, he would never know. Apocalypse turned away, making a face at the smell, leading him elsewhere from the disgusting sight that now pillaged the ground. Ah, that smell… the sweet scent of that metallic tang of which belonged to every mare but her, for hers was a taste that was beyond heavenly. He had managed to kill her again…
“You really do live up to your name, Fatality…”
In this back of his mind, he could hear her tinkling laughter drowning out the voice of his canine ally. She truly was a beautiful creature, always powerful, always there for him, watching him watching her, watching as he followed after her very scent, trying his hardest to always do what she wanted of him… he, to this day, still craved for her.
…For her… for her love; her everything.
A tortured laugh escaped from him.
“Fatality?”
“Do not worry, Apocalypse. I am fine.”
The giant wolf tilted his head, this being the first time hearing Fatality speak. A hidden shiver ran down Apocalypse’s spine; whether from fear or something else, he did not know. He just knew, that he had promised someone he would look after Fatality; a very important someone.
He intended to keep that promise.
“What are you doing, Apocalypse?”
The wolf caught up to the stallion, not bothering to answer. I promise you, Fatality will be in good paws. I am forever his soldier, after all. It is, indeed, not so bad to be with him—with Fatality, you know.
Whoever Apocalypse was talking to, caused a stirring upon the wind, making the wolf wonder if she had truly heard his thoughts…[Word Count: 1,403]
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Posted: Thu Jan 08, 2009 7:09 pm
My, what big teeth you have!
Soq Name:Phelan
Soq Temper: Insane
Wolf's Name: Conan
Story: It was a long time ago before anyone knew just what Lycans were or if they even exist for that matter. As one would wonder just where all of the stories about the big bad wolf.. or even the legends that contains them.....
A low howl could be heard in the woods.. across the plains. A brown red wolf like dog appeared running as if it was fearing for its life. He did one last mournful cry as of he was calling upon his owner. "...PHELAN!!! Help!!!" A herd of soquili was chasing after it. "Get it!! It doesn't belong here!!! It will kill our foals!" They cried after the wolf. The wolf only whimpered and tries to run faster and faster when suddenly a huge loud eerie howl is heard all across the land.
A huge brown stallion with a wolf tail and wolf like set of ears appeared right before the herd. "Conan.. go.. Just get the hell out of here!" Conan the wolf nodded before running away to their den. Phelan only merely chuckled. "You say we are different.. you say we would hurt you.. But alas, my friends.. you.. are the monsters. I believe you should hear a story of my friend and I... You see, Conan and I wasnt always like this. We are cursed.. because we lost a love.. " The herd only merely stood there with heated glares. "...You are only a stallion with insanity that cannot be contained or cured." Said one of the mares.
Phelan growled and snarled to get them back and to shut the hell up. "Shut up, I say!" He looked toward the moon which was indeed red. "...Ah.. A red moon.. Very wrong for you to be seen." He said with a grin. "Maybe I shouldn't tell you the story but to eat all of you.." He playfully teased with a huge snap of his jaws. The herd quieted down with some whimpered and whines.
"It all started long ago in a human villiage not far from here.... Conan and I were brothers.. Blood Brothers. They had a pack of rapid wolves.. that seemed.. not natural unlike normal wolves. Some say they were magical. The pack had attacked our village.. Conan and I were one of the ones that got attacked. No one else for some reasons didn't get hurt. But the reasons had made themselves known several weeks later when we began to have extreme pain and for some reason.. a hunger for human flesh." He frowns at the memory before continuing on. "Once I had became a Lycan.. that is what the natives call them.. or Skinwalkers, I only hunted deer and rabbits while my brother.. " He snarled softly, stomping the ground. "He began to hunt humans... Hunting them down like they were nothing more than rodents. Little did I know, he had become one known at the Big bad Wolf in a certain story that humans tell. I had to hurry and find him before he would be killed or eaten like a trophy." He glared at Conan who whimpered softly.
"There was a hunter that had found him. At that time, He had just ate an elderly woman. But I was able to fight off the hunter but to my prevail, there was an witch or a magic caster in the village. She had hit me with her spell. I soon became a soquili as you can see. My brother.. He was cursed to be a wolf for the rest of his life, never to turn back into a human." He bowed his head at the herd. "Now that you heard the story.. GET OUT OF HERE!!! THIS IS OUR LAND!!!!" He said a loud fierce growl. The herd couldn't help but scattered like dogs with the tails between their legs.
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Posted: Thu Jan 08, 2009 8:04 pm
My, what big teeth you have!
Soq Name: Caspian
Soq Temper: Alone
Wolf's Name: Pandora
Story: I didn’t sleep anymore. I was past that now. Each time I chanced to close my eyes, it pounded harshly on my eyelids as if embedding itself there. It bothered me fiercely. That was when I decided to stop sleeping or closing my eyes. Well, after I got over my addiction to it. It was always the same scene playing over and over in my head, no matter how many times I chanced a look. But I may be too far gone to come back.
That night it happened, the wind was blowing lightly across my young face. My parents were sleeping under our makeshift shelter while I shifted restlessly. The island was eerie at night, but not much more than it was during the daytime. Despite it all, I couldn’t shake the noises that sounded like predators searching for me. My mind was always wandering and I wasn’t the best kid in the world. I was a wild colt and didn’t look like anyone else. So what? That’s what you get for growing up on a demon island.
I couldn’t stop moving in the night, even though my parents scolded me in their sleep whenever I moved an inch. I grumbled back to them, a slight whine in my voice. Letting my drooping eyelids take over, I drifted into a light sleep. What came next I can’t fully comprehend. Not even after the many long years that have passed since that night.
The man had crept up so quickly, I had no chance to do anything but run. Run far away from the man who chased me. It was a human. A horrible, vile, horse-taming, rude, hurtful humans. The man chased me all around the island’s outer edge. He was fast. But I was faster. Like I mentioned before, I’m not normal. So it went on. I ran, he chased. I didn’t dare to see what torturous weapons he was lugging along with him.
Finally, I found my secret passage. I’d gained some good distance on him, so I could dart off without him knowing which way I’d gone. I dashed into the forest path, which led to my spring. No one else knew about this, not even my parents. My parents; the fools never bothered to come after the human as he tracked me down. Some family they were. I ditched them and drank some of the clear water.
It slid down my throat in a reliving sensation. How grateful I was that’d I found this place. I froze when I heard several continual steps. Multiple, rough, human footsteps. He wasn’t alone, I figured. Better for me to getaway, I guess. In this nightmare I was alone. My stomach growled and my parents had drained most of the island’s food. I settled quietly on the grass to cool off and listen for anymore danger.
Something rustled in the trees closest to me. I sprung up and stood defensively. The creature came out. It was a wolf. What my luck! I smirked and started to creep towards it. Boy was I hungry... It slinked away from me into the shadows. I followed it and it led me to another clearing. In the center lay two wolves. Their body were bloody and body parts strung out everywhere. I stopped dead and gaped. Shutting my mouth, I gulped. They would be food for me, but someone got here first. The wolf was nudging the other ones hopelessly, whimpering the whole time.
The wolf was female. Once I stood still long enough, I could see that. She kept nudging the others for a while as I watched. I felt like I was intruding on a personal moment. Then she turned to me, despair in her sullen eyes. Now I knew. They were her parents. And they were dead; like my parents most likely were by this point. I stared back at her silently, my eyes inquiring. She gave a small bark with an upset tone. I don’t know why, but I could understand her. Her name was Pandora, her parents were dead, she was hungry, and she was alone. Her and I had much in common. I smiled in a way that twisted my face with something wicked. It dropped from my face, scaring me. Pandora understood nevertheless.
She howled softly to me. She wanted to know my name. I didn’t know what my name was worth now that everything was gone. Might as well start over. “Caspian,” I murmured. It meant evil, which was fitting at this point. Talking with my eyes, I told her I had to go back to the spring. The scene was too much to take right now. Pandora understood and obediently followed me.
We didn’t need to talk to each other with words. Eyes and looks were enough for us. We’d silently hunt and drink, wordlessly communicate, and created our own life together. We abandoned our families, though she could love. I was in a different kind of love with Pandora then regular relationships.
She was my soulmate and nothing less.
I scowled at families and lovers, stomped my hooves at the word “love” whenever it came up. Nothing was good enough for me anymore. Just Pandora and our life. The humans were gone now and I ventured out to find my family. Pandora followed, knowing she’d lost hers already. Her mind was so sad and heartbroken about it. We found my old hut and my tree that I used to play around. My parents’ bodies were on the ground in front of my favorite oak tree. They’d been dead a long time from their condition. I shuddered and Pandora rubbed my leg comfortingly. I shrugged her off and turned away briskly. They were worthless to me and my new life. Pandora said nothing. Not with her eyes, nor her mouth. I wouldn’t have listened anyway.
How many times had I considered scarfing down Pandora when we were low on food? I couldn’t count the times and didn’t want to. Life was hard, but she was good to me. And I was good for her. The night after seeing my dead parents was when it started. The memories of that night repeated over and over. Who wanted a rerun of a filed life? Definitely not me.
The scene twisted and I was gnawing on Pandora. I was eating her. How could I...? I neighed loudly, breaking my trance.
My eyelids flew open and I was awake. Pandora snored lightly against my side and I knew it wasn’t happening. She was alive and we were together. I loved her and that was all that mattered.
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Posted: Thu Jan 08, 2009 8:31 pm
My, what big teeth you have!
Soq Name: Timur ("iron" in Turkish - and of course, the name of a famously bloody conqueror, though not a guy without his good points)
Soq Temper: Mocking
Wolf's Name: Radulfr (from the Norse for "counsel" and "wolf")
Story:
No, don't run. I just want to talk, see? I just really… need... someone... to talk... to.
Oh! I'm so sorry about that; you were just so impatient, and my claws got the better of me. Here, I'll clean it for y- No? Well, you can listen while you tend to it, then.
There was a Before, you know. There was a time when Timur the trickster taught our pack how to play games with the Two-legs who had hunted us, taught us to defend our land through cunning rather than by claw. Hah, it’s strange to imagine him ever being that innocent, isn’t it? I know that’s what you’re thinking.
And my dreams these past few months have all been of fire and blood, and I'm afraid... How can I save Timur from his darkness if I can't even save myself?
None of us were ever sure just what Timur was. We found him when he was a wobbly-legged foal streaked with spring mud, not long after my litter was born, and the poor thing was so starved and bewildered, he was never able to tell us much of where he came from. We figured it was from the village, because he didn't look quite so... like he does now, but there was something about him that made the alpha take him in. He smelled like kin.
He grew, and I grew, and we became good friends. The forest that was our territory was bordered by a little village, and in recent memory our numbers had dwindled as they hunted and killed our prey, cut down the trees to clear land for their teepees and crops. We had been forced into confrontation twice already, and each time had ended in death. The most recent had been when I was still a youngling, and my father and uncle had died at their spearpoints. Then Timur, who was a full-grown stallion by that time, had his idea.
It was a good one, too. This was a remote little village, and all anybody knew of Skinwalkers was old wives' tales. Besides, from a distance his thick ruff of fur could easily pass for a Skinwalker's cursed pelt. We'd howl a bit sometimes in the distance, and he might let himself be seen lurking at the edges of the forest, looking suitably brooding and fanged. Not too much, or they'd wonder why he hadn't killed anything, but enough to keep them from exploring our area of the forest too much.
And he liked it, you know. He'd always been an impish little prankster – of the pair of us, I’d always been the more serious – and now he could put his tricks to good use protecting the pack. Nobody could say he wasn't a wolf then, even with his decidedly equine build. Looking back, though, I sometimes wonder if it was also the power he had over the Two-legs, when the mere glow from his eyes or “murderous” silhouette of his head could send them bundling the pups up for shelter.
It was going great until the real Skinwalker came.
A shadow in the night that rippled and shrank. Hot red eyes and snarling fangs. Two of us were dead before the small, frightened yip of the second, barely older than a pup, alerted us to the danger. My two brothers growled and turned on the strange-smelling not-wolf, and he whirled with impossible quickness to meet them, slashing and snapping. The rest of us were quick on their heels when he shifted again, and suddenly it was a Skinwalker before us. The pelt on his back, part of his back, was hairy and matted with dried blood, and he had proper paws at the ends of those gangly Soquili legs – but what drew me was the eyes. They had the certainty of death about them.
I told you, don’t be frightened. So long as Timur doesn’t come back you’re safe enough with me.
I’m not sure what happened next, really; the next thing I remember is howling and snarling, then the last keening cry of my sister as he ripped her stomach open, before there was suddenly silence. Blood oozed like sweat down my flanks, some of it not my own, and my eyes were squeezed shut to keep from confirming what I already knew to be true. A heavy weight raked across my chest, and they popped open again to see piled heaps of fur around me and the Skinwalker above, looking at a terrified Timur.
"I heard about you. So you think yourself one of us, hmmmm?” The Skinwalker purred. “No? What do you think yourself, then? A wolf with hooves, a Soquili who feasts on flesh and has the pelt of a hunter? A Skinwalker who cannot kill and maim, who takes no joy in power? Face it - you are nothing."
He pressed down on my chest, obviously savoring the feel of ribs about to pop. I yelped in pain, and Timur made a sudden convulsive jerk toward us.
“Love, too. Tsk tsk, if you really do want to rescue your little friend you’ll have to try harder than that.”
With a desperate snarl, the half-wolf stallion plunged at him, kicking and snapping, golden eyes filled with grief and terror. I scrambled out of the way on tottering legs as the Skinwalker dodged easily, raking a hind paw across his flank. Timur’s knees buckled at the first blow. He was breathing in great gasps, and his eyes were glazed with shock.
"Weren’t you paying attention? I said you’d have to try harder."
A daggered paw came down on his head, shoving it into the carcass of one - one of my cousins, I think. Timur's glazed eyes cleared for a moment and he struggled, muzzle coming up smeared with red.
"Drink it," the Skinwalker hissed, his claws digging in. "You called yourself a Skinwalker, or let them call you one; it's all the same in the end. So be one of us. You cannot pick and choose from each world; either you are the villain or the victim, and do you really want to belong to the latter?" He smiled maliciously, as if to say Timur could certainly be obliged if that was so.
And Timur - our Timur, our half-horse packmate - Timur sagged, lowering his head into the pool of blood. The sounds of his ragged, gulping breath, the Skinwalker's knowing smile, the cloying scents on the air…
The ripping sounds as he suddenly tore ravenously into the flesh of...
I will never forget that day as long as I live.
It haunts my dreams, haunts my waking thoughts even now as I hear his cruel laughter and howl alongside him into the faces of our enemies: what made him do it? Was it a mad frenzy of frustration and grief? A pathetic need to please his tormentor so he would stop?
Or had he looked within himself and found the very evil the Skinwalker had spoken of?
The Skinwalker let him feed for a little while longer, then abruptly turned to look at me. I shrank back despite myself, and his lip curled in amusement. Then, to my surprise, he took his paw off Timur, changing as he did so, and leapt in wolf-form over the mangled bodies of our pack. The shadows swallowed him up again, and the sounds of the night regained their strength.
“Got to go, got to…” Timur shuddered, working his jaw. I moved closer, pressed myself against his bloodstained legs to give what comfort I could, but he didn’t seem to notice. Still, it was easier to look at him than let myself think about the carnage that surrounded us, the deaths of my family. “Got to get out. Somewhere, anywhere.”
I couldn't bear to see him like this, but I couldn't leave him on his own. That much was certain. "I'm coming with you."
He turned to face me with the suddenness of a striking serpent, golden eyes wild and staring. "Why?" the stallion hissed. "You heard, you saw. I’m just as bad as him, a killer."
"We're all killers," I said more lightly than I felt, hoping he wouldn't notice how my taut muscles screamed at me to flee. "We're wolves, after all. Got a reputation to live up to, right? Don’t matter to me."
He glared suspiciously at me for a moment as I strained to see something, anything, of his familiar self in that suddenly unfamiliar yellow gaze. Then he grinned, and that grin, on the face of my closest friend, was more terrifying than any of the horrors I had seen that night. It was at once mocking and remorseless, a humorless rictus full of jagged teeth.
"Maybe I wouldn't mind a bit of company on the way to hell," Timur said. "An old packmate to hunt with, a fellow in exile. Hah, maybe I wouldn't. Let's go then, Radulfr."
Maybe he could be rescued from the depths of the Skinwalker's madness. If I didn't try, no one ever would; he would kill, and they would hunt him down like a rabid beast, and the packmate I loved...
The only packmate I had left would be gone.
Nothing, nothing was more important than that. We wolves prize loyalty above all, and if that meant that Timur and I died together with our jaws snapping and the blood of innocents hot on our tongues, so be it.
Because he's all I've- I'm all he's got.
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Posted: Thu Jan 08, 2009 8:59 pm
And Darkness and Decay and the Red Death held illimitable dominion over all.
Soq Name: Detriment
Soq Temper: Grave
Rat's Name: Rat
Story: Word Count: 742
Ring around the rosy
Off in the distance, the sound of laughter rang out, breaking the silence of the once peaceful evening. No doubt Rat had found more young ones for her to share her present with. She dearly loved the young ones.
Giggles and chatter continued as her hooves drug across the grass slowly, the cloth wrapping catching on now and again to the occasional rock she passed over. Through her mask, dark empty eyes surveyed the land as her attentive ears listened for any sign of her rodent scout or her soon to be friends. Catching her breath, it only took a few moments to discern that the small party lay up ahead in the valley. She remembered that valley from her childhood. Oh, the beautiful flowers that always grew in that valley. She was certain that the foals must enjoy them as much as she had.
A pocketful of posies
They hadn't noticed her approach, the two fillies still playfully examining Rat as he occupied their attention with his simple antics. She'd been occupied herself, that fateful day, as her and her sister had been playing while their mother had approached them silently, both siblings unaware of her presence. It had never occurred to either of them that Father had not returned with Mother...
She heard a gasp, and her mind returned to the present. At last, she'd been spotted, and both of the young foals looked upon her in awe. It was clear that neither of them had lived long enough to recognize the evidence of blood, as the dried and stained cloth enveloping the older mare did nothing but fascinate the two young ones. How darling and innocent these two were.
"Oh look! They're like wings! You must be a flutter!"
Detriment turned to glance at the cloth that had caught one of the foal's eye. She said nothing in response, as she knew her voice would startle her new companions. She couldn't have that, not this early. So her head wrappings remained, decorated with splashes of red and black, the smell foul from decay and rot. But she paid it no mind, and it seemed to make no difference to the little ones.
Her sister and her had seen Mother in all red. Mother was always beautiful, but that day she'd been distraught. Her long brown mane had been matted and sticky, and red covered her from head to hoof. She'd called Detri and her sister over, she'd wanted to give them a gift. A very special gift just for them.
And now these little ones, with their innocent smiles and curious ways... they deserved a special gift too. And Detri, being the good girl she was, would follow her Mother's example. It was a shame, though, that Mother had prevented her from growing up to be as beautiful as she was.
Leaning down, her mask slid off, making a soft thump on the ground as the grass softened its fall. The fillies' smiles quickly curved downwards in terror as her face was revealed. One of them let out a small cry as the older mare took another step towards them.
She couldn't help but smile as the night sky filled with horrified shrieks.
ashes, ashes
Red sticky hooves passed over the carcasses, twisted expressions frozen on the two small faces. Rat was enjoying himself, nibbling on wounds here and there, clawing at the remains with his tiny nimble paws.
Sister had been a feast for rodents like Rat, years ago, after Mother had given them their gifts. Sweet, sweet death had been given to the both of them, but unlike her sister, Detri had yet to embrace the gift for herself. She'd managed to survive their mother's onslaught, and now, years later, she had returned. Over time, her mind had decayed and twisted itself, matching the disfigured face and vocal chords her mother had left her with. Her task in life had become much clearer, and she was to take up where her mother left off. She brought the gift of death to those she deemed worthy. To those who, like her sister, deserved that special present.
Leaning her head down again, she slid the mask on, the cool bone material finding its home across her face once more. Raising her head, she took in a deep breath, her lungs expanding with the cool evening air.
She was home at last.
We all fall down!
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