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 Posted: Fri May 25, 2007 7:18 pm
Pestilence
Foal Since emerging from the basket you have known nothing but darkness; a mother who despises you and a father who views you as little more than an object to be manipulated to his whims, used as a tool against your mother. Upon first introduction to Diabetia by your father she snarls and attacks. In order to put her back in her place Plague steps in to keep her at bay. How do you react to this? What are your thoughts?
There was really nothing you could do when you were born from hate and raised amidst abhorrence, especially when you were but a colt and still malleable to your sire’s whims; Pestilence was nothing more than a ‘yes-man’ to his father’s demands, playing to his hand without question.
He’d questioned him once before, actually, but it had been an event he’d sooner forget.
“You are going to meet your mother.” And Plague had divulged nothing more, and so Pest traveled in the stretch of his father’s shadow, and under the weight of his own ignorance.
Pestilence sweeping behind Plague. Two physical manifestations of putrefactions walking a line of damnation – it was a sight to chill any Soquili, especially now that it would be known that the black stallion had sired an abomination to walk in his hoof steps; the colt took long, wobbling steps to do just that.
And ran headlong into his father’s hindquarters when he halted.
“Ah, Sweetness,” he heard Plague all but singsong. “I come bearing the fruit of your labor.” And without warning to the spawn behind him, he stepped aside; the look of delight went completely unnoticed to Pest.
The colt’s breath caught when he finally saw Diabetia, and despite all the rubbish his father had fed to him of her wild and uncaring nature, he was intrigued. Plague stank of a cankerous rot, of decay and filth, but she…this mare, his mother, was pristine like snow and pink like sweet candies. And what child, kalona or not, did not enjoy a sugary sweet or two?
But Diabetia was not looking at him. No, her eyes were locked upon Plague, her lips curled back in fury, “You b*****d.”
And then her eyes swept upon him.
There was no love there. Pestilence froze and Diabetia attacked.
The colt swung his eyes away and bolted backwards in fear, however…nothing hit. There was a dull thud, and screaming whinnies rend through the air like twisting metal. Pest raised his eyes and saw his father rearing up against his mother, hooves striking hard into her chest; the mare twisted away wildly and bucked, her forelegs catching Plague, tearing another wound in his carcass of a body. He was yelling, roaring, and she was screaming, screaming curses.
His heart pitter-pattered against his chest, his breath heaving labouredly; a battle of the titans. A war between sire and dam, and in his heart, which became rigid with childish fear, he knew they fought not for his safety. No, they fought selfishly amidst themselves for he had been all but forgotten.
That was the only way it could be when stallion hated mare, and mare hated stallion. It was the only way when you were the result of scorn and abhorrence. Born from a rotted womb upon a filthy earth, you’d no path but that of the damned, which was no more than broken glass beneath tender feet.
Pestilence would know nothing else.
The following just pooted out of my brain. D: I was going to have a grand ol’ entrance, but…I hope this is suitable. Adult Freedom at last! Or is it? Your childhood is something that will continue to haunt you for the rest of your life. It has formed you into the creature that you are today for better or worst. Upon meeting your mother again now that you're older how do you react to her? What, if anything, do you say? Do you blame her for the way that you've turned out or, in her absence, is it all the fault of your father?
He was her disease, her cancer, her Pestilence.
Oh, how he had dreamed of their encounter, how he had gone over and over its grand opening, how it would play over the stage, his voice bearing a massive soliloquy whilst his mother stooped in fear; how he had memorized the words that would speak of his hatred and anger, words that would flee willingly from his mouth as biting as a cut, as stinging as an open wound. His voice, not his hooves, would deal the potentially fatal blow in a wondrous finale, curtains sweeping over the fallen figure of this mare, his mother.
How he had memorized it, tasted its glory in his cluttered and uncultivated mind, but how no quips left him, and Diabetia stood just as she had when she had spotted him, lips quivering with the want to say something. To get something in first.
He could not bring himself to speak, however. No matter how Pestilence went about it, he could do nothing but stare steadfastly after her; the more he thought about it, however, the more it made sense. No matter what scathing words he wished to speak, nothing could give pursuit to the job better than the awkward hatred in his eyes: a mix of fury, disbelief, scorn, everything his father had imbued within his being from the very beginning. But amidst it all, there was a hint, a sense of betrayal…because no matter how he tried to kill the idea, the mare was still his mother, still his flesh and blood. And he hated her for it.
He hated her for abandoning him to the whims of his father. He hated her for hating him. He hated her for not protecting him as he had once heard a mother should, though they were of kalona blood and violent by nature. He despised her for allowing for Plague to take her, to impregnate her with the cancer that was he and his siblings; for bringing them into the world, forever unprepared. Forever damned.
He hated her. He hated her for being, and could do nothing about it. For even if he fought her, stole her life in retaliation, her memory would forever be imprinted upon his mind. And for one who remembered every odious thing that had happened to him, forever was a long, long time.
And it was he who finally tore his gaze away, though in the grand scheme of things it had been Diabetia to look away first. So instead Pestilence supped from the river of which separated them from one another, drank until his belly hurt with the cold, and lifted his eyes to look at her one last time before he turned to leave. One last time because he never wanted to see her again. One last time so that when she remembered him, she would remember nothing.
Because there was nothing worth leaving behind to her, anyway.
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Posted: Fri May 25, 2007 7:32 pm
Quote: Adult Wrote: Freedom at last! Or is it? Your childhood is something that will continue to haunt you for the rest of your life. It has formed you into the creature that you are today for better or worst. Upon meeting your mother again now that you're older how do you react to her? What, if anything, do you say? Do you blame her for the way that you've turned out or, in her absence, is it all the fault of your father?
She was a beautiful creature, and for the first time in the young adult’s life did he feel something more than lust. She was an older mare, but her fur shone like silk. Her eyes were as bright as the sun, and she flew with an unmatched grace. She was the perfect woman, his Helen. He would sacrifice it all to be with her, or for one moment in her presence. But she seemed to refuse to indulge him. Everyday he would position himself and wait for he, ignorance took away his common sense. Love clashed with the darkness in his heart. He was so torn between his old ways, and these new feelings. They made him feel sick, they make him feel dirty. Worst of all, they made him feel truly happy. Creatures like him never felt true happiness! That was something reserved for the weak.
Finally after weeks of torture, Tatianus finally got the courage to talk to her. “Hey lovely. The name’s Tatianus, care to share yours?” He asked the goddess, with all of his charms turned on high. Instead of the usual bashful response, he only received a cold stare. No! This was all wrong! She was supposed to fall for him now! All women loved him, there were NO exceptions. He was left speechless by her cold shoulder, stuttering for the right thing to say. After what seemed like an eternity of silence she turned around and uttered the last thing he ever expected to hear. “Don’t you remember your own mother?"
No. That was impossible! His mother was dead…. Or atleast that’s what his father had told him. He had managed to block all memories about her from his mind; she was nothing more than a dark shadow on his ‘perfect’ childhood. The one skeleton in his closet that he had managed to hide. He had hidden it so well that he had actually forgotten what his own mother looked like. Tatianus knew it was a possibility, but he refused to believe that the only woman he ever felt real emotions for was his own mother. “You lie,” He hissed moving closer to his ‘mother'
“My mother was a heartless b***h that died ages ago.”
“Did your father tell you that?” She said, eyes narrowing.
“Yes. Yes he did. Without my father, I would be nothing.” Tatianus said, ignorant of just about everything.”
“Plague, the bane of my existence. You and your siblings were mistakes, the damning thread that connected me forever to him. Now you dare to enter my life once again! Claiming that you love me. Have you no shame?” Her voice started out as a harsh whisper, but slowly built up until she was yelling. Once she had finished her rant, she stormed off leaving Tatianus speechless. She really was his mother. He had fallen in love with his own mother. The forbidden love, it was something he just couldn’t ignore. This wouldn’t stop him, she would be his. No matter what the cost. She was his. Diabetia, light of his life, fire of his loins. His sin, his soul.
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Posted: Fri May 25, 2007 8:12 pm
Foal Since emerging from the basket you have known nothing but darkness; a mother who despises you and a father who views you as little more than an object to be manipulated to his whims, used as a tool against your mother. Upon first introduction to Diabetia by your father she snarls and attacks. In order to put her back in her place Plague steps in to keep her at bay. How do you react to this? What are your thoughts?
So this is Mother.
Oriax's heart was pulled in two. The small part of him that was still innocent felt an innate longing for her, and though he had never felt love from his father, he wanted to at least be wanted in her eyes. But when she lunged at him, and his father stepped in, he knew this was not the case. The colt's gaze became cold and he lifted his chin defiantly. Plague may not have cared about him, but at least he had stuck around and raised him. Ori would've died if Plague hadn't, and he knew that. He was no fool.
He lifted a lip, showing the sharp baby fangs that would one day aid him as a great weapon. "What a sorry excuse for a mother you are," Ori said, echoing the words his father had always spoken (though he still did not realize the irony in his father's statement). "This is a waste of time. I may be your son but that doesn't mean I have to care about you. I obviously don't matter to you."
The colt did not wait for her reaction. Why did Father even try to introduce them? Plague felt nothing but hatred towards her, at least from what Ori had gathered from his words, so did he expect his son to feel differently? Oriax turned and walked away, anger seething within him. What a stupid thing to think. If Diabetia had no interest in him, then she might as well have been dead in his eyes.
He did not stop until he reached the cave they called home. Ori knew his father would not worry about him disappearing. Despite the odds against him, he was reliable, and Plague knew that he would not run away. After all, Oriax still had much to learn from him.
Diabetia. His mother yet not his mother. The youth curled up and rested his chin on the ground, letting out a soft sigh.
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Posted: Fri May 25, 2007 9:06 pm
Adult Freedom at last! Or is it? Your childhood is something that will continue to haunt you for the rest of your life. It has formed you into the creature that you are today for better or worst. Upon meeting your mother again now that you're older how do you react to her? What, if anything, do you say? Do you blame her for the way that you've turned out or, in her absence, is it all the fault of your father?
Origin: the Norse god of battle
This prompt response also makes allusions to the foal prompt, though not in enough detail to be considered an answer to both.))
Worlds, like creatures, sleep fitfully. Every peaceful moment in every night that flashes by is but the calm before the next storm breaks.
This night was no exception.
The denizens of the dark were enjoying one such spell of tranquility while it lasted, going about their business along the riverbank with only a mild sense of foreboding, when the rushing water itself suddenly began to writhe and boil. As one creature, they scattered. They did not care why the river was coming alive - they cared only that it was, and that it might consider them dinner.
Common sense served them well, for the creature that ruptured the surface a few moments later would gladly have swallowed a few of them for a midnight snack.
The stallion's head burst from the river, showering the surrounding area with liberal amounts of water. He took a gasping breath, and crashed back into the river. Only his nose remained above the surface at first, but he soon forced his head up again and gulped greedily at the air. It was clean. The smell was gone. As far as one whose hooves are barely touching the bottom of a steadily flowing body of water can relax, he did so. Yes, it was better here. Oh, and he seemed to have shaken the fruit juice. Wretched stuff. The little parcel of it had been half-fermented by the time it had decided to drop on to his back, and he was very glad indeed that no one had been around to see him fleeing from a rotten apple. Ugh, how it stank...and stained, too. It was difficult to choose the lesser of those two evils. Of course, meat would have been far worse. For that, at least, he could thank whatever lucky stars would care to shine upon a kalona.
Wading closer to the bank where the river was shallower, Tyr lowered his head and let the water flow through his open mouth. It was not bitter or sweet or sour, nor did it cloy like the stench of rotting flesh. It was cool and fresh, clear and untainted, lacking in all pretence. Too much could be treacherous, it was true, and lure an unwary drinker to his doom in the grasping mud of the riverbed, but he was wise to its tricks. The water could not lie to him. It was too much like him to slip past him now.
He emerged from the river, tendrils of steam rising from his flanks and catching the moonlight like so many ghosts. The night air was cold about him, but he forced himself to ignore it. Better cold and clean. Always better to be clean. To think he had once idolised a creature like Plague, for whom personal hygiene was something that happened to other people - it was almost unfathomable even to him, and he knew why. He'd been desperate for love back then, and for all his colt's bravado it had made him weak. His mother had despised him from the very beginning. Of course he had turned to his father, and wolfed down every scrap of praise and putrid morsel of affection that had been tossed his way. What more could he have done, young and foolish as he was? To think he had - he shuddered - to think he had been proud of being Plague's tool!
Memories rose unbidden from the depths of his subconscious. He found himself staring once again into his mother's furious eyes, fearing her and hating her as she lashed out at him, feeling at once grateful to his father for stepping in and angry that he could not deal with the pale mare himself. Greater strength - violence - that was the answer, he had thought to himself in his naivety.
Back then, violence had been the only answer.
Shaking his head rapidly, he cleared the thoughts from his mind and some of the water from his mane. It was this place bringing it all back. Had to be. Too many scenes had been played out upon this stage for him to walk easily here. Even the air, that which had seemed so pure when first he had tasted it, was becoming warm and sickly with every passing breath.
...But those were hoofbeats, weren't they, slowly creeping into his ears, and hadn't he come here for a reason? Whoever this was could make or break tonight, not to mention his plans for the future. Forcing the concerns of the impure world away, ignoring the gnat's whine of discontent at the back of his mind, Tyr scanned the shadows for the approaching equine - and there, the pale shape of a mare was caught in the moonlight. A mare. A pale mare. Her. It had to be. What a stroke of luck!
She had heard him climbing the bank, he decided as he reached level ground. The steady thudding of hooves had ceased, and the ghostly figure was still. Well, let her get a look at him and see if she remembered him. There was a gleam of purpose in his eye as he approached her, but when he finally spoke his voice was as soft as could be.
"Hello, Diabetia."
He stopped mere inches from the pale mare's nose, realising with childish satisfaction that he was taller than her. She had not moved a muscle since he had first appeared to her: still her eyes were fixed upon his, and now they were slowly filling with recognition -
Was it his imagination, or was that a flicker - just a flicker - of fear?
"...you..."
...oh, and this was fear. This was terror. He could feel it pouring off her in waves. Her very spirit was recoiling from him - not from Father's decaying body and roiling clouds of plague-stench, from him, from his strength, his power, his terrible purity - this would have been a sweet victory once...
"Get away from me!"
But she was a kalona at heart, despite her looks, and fear could not stop her in her tracks for long. Her hoof was like iron as it thudded into his shoulder. He staggered back with a grunt of pain, shooting her a reproachful look. She came at him again, but he danced back - no, she wasn't hitting him twice. Of all the wretched times to discover that he could be intimidating... "Steady," he warned. "I'm not here to fight. Steady."
Diabetia snarled at him. "I didn't give you that choice! Get back!"
Teeth flashed just short of his flank. He pulled himself out of the way of the vicious bite before it landed. "Diabetia, will you just listen to me?" he demanded. "For - for fifteen seconds?"
She seemed a little perturbed by the fact that he wasn't fighting back. Traces of fear still lingered, rancid, in the air between them. At length, still breathing heavily, scowling, she said, "Fine - what do you want? You've got fifteen words before I start biting!"
Fifteen words. ...Well, he had expected her to be hard on him. At least he had thought about this beforehand.
Meeting her hate-filled gaze with his own level stare, he spoke the first four.
"Run away with me."
She was good. Hardly a shred of her surprise was visible through the anger. Only by the pause, by the slight softening of her expression, by the moment she took to swallow before speaking again, could Tyr discern that something within her had changed. "...That's four," she said. "Eleven more. Better make them good, boy."
They were. He had taken those few seconds to fix them in his head.
"By the time he catches up," he said, slowly and deliberately, "we will have an army."
Her reaction could have been better. Then again, it could have been worse. She didn't attack him again, but she did scowl. "You're Plague's puppet. I won't fall for your tricks."
Tyr shook his head. "No tricks. Why do you think I left? I hate him as much as you do, if not more. I wouldn't have come back here for you if I didn't think it'd help me get him in the end."
"Your head's swelled up while you've been away, Tear," the pink-tinted mare spat. "You think you've got a plan? Well, I've got three questions for you: one, why you; two, why me; and three...what in the name of darkness makes you think it'll work?"
Oh dear. This was going to be tougher than he'd thought. Tyr squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, collecting thoughts. "...All right, from the beginning. Why me? Because I don't want to be Plague's pawn any more. He's...he is like an oak tree. No matter how many acorns fall from him, so long as they do not escape the shadow of his boughs none shall grow to match his girth and height. I refuse to be no more than an echo of him."
She snorted. "Wow. You did grow an ego, didn't you?"
"You want answers? Don't interrupt me. ...Right, where was I? You - because you don't want to be his pawn either, and I doubt I need to say any more on that score."
"You can't tell me that's the only reason for - "
"Later, Diabetia. Three is more important. Three, why do I think it's going to work - I've seen it working. I've been seeing scraps of this plan all around me ever since I went to the gentle lands." He began to pace up and down in front of her. "I know what the soquili are like," he went on. "The vast majority of them want to believe in goodness whether it exists or not. They will want to believe in us. We don't look like other kalona, you and I. Instead of bemoaning it I say we use it - let them think we are striving for redemption in striking Plague down and they will follow us willingly, to their deaths if need be. - Oh, don't give me that look." Because she was grimacing. "I don't ask you to do any of the acting; you can leave that to me. I don't mind the taste of please and thank you if they get me devoted servants."
At that, she snarled again. "I won't be your servant!" she snapped. "I might as well be back with him!"
Tyr scowled. Knee-jerk reactions were so irritating. "I don't want you to serve me," he said, biting back the urge to give her a good solid kick. "I want you to serve us. Everyone needs allies. Father would make you his slave to have your power on his side. I, on the other hand, offer you your freedom."
"And what's the catch?" she shot back, though she was losing a little of her momentum. "There's always a catch, and it's never worth the price."
"It certainly won't be if you insist upon shouting," Tyr answered in a low growl, glancing about in a sudden fit of paranoia. "Fine, here it is: when the time comes, we kill him together. Not you, not me, both of us."
She appeared to understand his need for caution, but she was clearly not pleased by his ultimatum. "Why?" she hissed.
"Quite frankly, we stand a better chance that way," he pointed out. "That and I know you'd never let me kill him alone."
"And what makes you think I'll agree to your little compromise?" There was nothing pleasant in her smile. "For all you know I might buy my freedom by handing you over to him."
...He hadn't thought about it. It seemed totally out of character for her, but in the end he didn't know her very well at all. Tyr sighed. "...I wasn't certain you'd agree," he said, "but even if you don't I still want to thank you."
Diabetia blinked, startled. "Thank me? For what? ...If this is some kind of sick joke I'm going to break your face - "
"For being true to me."
And there was nothing she could say to that. Tyr had been banking on it. He was mostly making this part up as he went along, knowing where he wanted to go but not quite sure of how he was going to get there.
"You always despised me, didn't you?" he began. "You hated me with a passion from the very moment you first set eyes upon me, and I congratulate you. As Plague's little follower I was more than worthy of your contempt. ...At first I thought you were weak to be beaten by him every time, but as I grew I began to see that you had true strength. More than that, you had consistency. Father would seem to adore me and then tell me I was nothing to him, but you...you were honest, you were genuine, and you were unrelenting. Ironic though it is, in your hatred you were more loyal to me than he ever was in his twisted love."
She gave him a look that said something along the lines of You Think Too Much, and it amused him mostly because it was true. This wasn't an instinctive reaction. He had spent too long working it out, mulling it over, perfecting it for it to be instinct. Paying her expression no further heed, he plunged on. "In the end I changed. I think it was the stench of him that finally turned me. Whenever he came too close I would feel sick with something I now call disgust - yes, you know it, don't you? - and it was the thought that I might become just like him that set me free. During my wanderings I learned much, and thus I was reborn: not a product of his raising, but of my own, of my freedom to think and judge for myself. You need not think of me as his son, for I carry none of his foulness. I have purged myself of it utterly. I am pure and untainted to my very core." He carefully skimmed over his obsession with cleanliness, and over the compulsions that had led him to this state of purity - no sense in dwelling upon the ugly road he had taken to get here. "Not a whisper of Plague's reeking miasma lies about me now, and nor shall it ever do so again."
Diabetia didn't seem convinced. "If you're so intent on escaping every trace of him," she demanded, "why haven't you changed your name or something?"
"Oh, but I have," the stallion said with a twisted smile. "He named me Tear, for the fruitless weeping i would bring. But I have learned that out in the wide world there is a god of battle called Tyr, and that is a very different kind of name."
Perhaps it was the name that struck a chord within her. No matter what the cause, there was less mistrust in her eyes now than there was interest. Tyr pressed his advantage. "I could have lived out my days among the soquili," said he, "soft and malleable as they are, but I came back for you because you are like me. Not like I was then, but as I am now. I remember you would always fight him, even though he was far stronger than you - you would choose your moment, lash out, wound him, wound us, never giving up on regaining your freedom. Soquili bows his great head and obeys, but Kalona he runs, Kalona he fights, Kalona he strives all his life to be master of himself, and that I see in you as clearly as I see it in myself."
That was it. Either he had her now, or he would never have her at all. He could see his fierce gaze reflected in hers, and all he could do was hope that it had been enough.
"For all that you and I are sweet and white, devilish Diabetia," he said, his voice a low rumble, "the spirit of our mighty kin lives in our hearts. Not even Plague can subjugate that forever."
The silence that hung between them was horrible. Tyr could feel his pulse racing. He couldn't afford to lose her. She was too vital, too precious a thing to be left to his father. She represented his first step towards victory, and he could not stumble now.
And then she spoke.
"...I'll think about it."
The stallion did his best to make the sigh sound weary, but in truth it was one of relief. "That's all I ask," he answered, turning and slowly walking away. "I'll give you a month - that should be more than enough time to decide."
"Tyr?"
Tyr paused in his tracks. It was odd, but he imagined he could feel the difference in the name. "Diabetia?"
"Where can I find you?"
Blast. He knew he'd forgotten something. His mind raced. "...If you decide to follow me, leave a lock of your hair caught in the bark of the old oak tree just north of here. I'll meet you there three nights after, and we'll go."
"And how will you know when the hair was left?"
Turning to look over his shoulder, Tyr smiled grimly. "I'll know."
Her answering grin was half way to a snarl. He had expected nothing less of her. "You surprise me," she admitted. "I thought nothing that sprang from him would ever do me any good."
"But I didn't spring from him," Tyr answered easily. "I sprang from you."
He felt her eyes take him in - his pale, almost innocent colouring belying the sharp features of a Kalona - and knew that Diabetia must be seeing in him the most favourable echo of herself to date.
"Yes," she said, her wicked grin widening a fraction. "So you did."
With that, she was away. Pink and white wings forced the air to obey, carrying the mare away into the night. Tyr watched her go, finally allowing the satisfaction to seep into his consciousness. One more piece moved from Plague's side to his. Yes, this was how it would go. He would pull every possible standing place from beneath his father's hooves and force him to stumble and fall. Diabetia was but the first of many. Plague would fail, and he would fail because he never gave his allies even the illusion of importance to him. When they discovered their worth on their own, they would turn upon him. Tyr knew better. Enslave a Soquili, and you have a pawn who hates and fears you. Induce that same Soquili to love you instead, and they'll be all that a slave could be and more.
As the pinkish-white speck faded into nothing, he smiled. Most disturbingly of all, it was genuine.
"Farewell," he murmured under his breath, "dear mother..."
And then he turned away, and the night swallowed him.
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Posted: Fri May 25, 2007 10:00 pm
Contest is CLOSED. Any entries submitted after this post will not be accepted.
Judging will begin soon. The latest the winner will be announced is Sunday although we are hoping to get everything settled sooner than that. Thank you, everyone, for entering!!
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Posted: Fri May 25, 2007 10:03 pm
*sneaks in and officially closes it and darts out of the thread* >___>
.... *noogies Skye while I'm in here*
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Posted: Sat May 26, 2007 5:32 am
Good luck to everyone who entered! <3
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Posted: Sat May 26, 2007 7:25 am
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Posted: Sat May 26, 2007 7:25 am
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Posted: Sat May 26, 2007 5:40 pm
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Posted: Sat May 26, 2007 5:50 pm
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Posted: Sat May 26, 2007 10:15 pm
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Posted: Sun May 27, 2007 7:19 am
Good Luck everyone!!!!! heart
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Posted: Sun May 27, 2007 8:44 am
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Posted: Sun May 27, 2007 10:59 am
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