as my lungs gave way i felt something burst -- faulkor

[Balto]

The darkness on his skin feels unfamiliar and at the same time, unwelcoming. It is as if it doesn’t recognize him as the cave mouth yawns before him, a deep and dark neverending abyss. The darkness used to call to him, used to dance around his legs and usher him within its cavern’s deep belly, where cold stone and dripping staglicites greeted him. But as he stands on the cusp of the cave, where thick vines veil anything beyond the entrance, he is frozen in place - not in fear, but almost in reverence. Blinking back at him are red, devilish eyes. They glow like dying embers within the darkness, and he could hear the dripping of their salivating jaws and the clacking of their sharpened teeth, waiting for his entrance so that they may freely tear apart his flesh again, one muscle fragment at a time. The cerulean of his eyes flash closed as his lids tighten around them, his black lips curling into a wince as memories plunge into his mind - the blood, the screams, the burning, the beasts - it is all neverending, a loud and boisterous replay within his mind’s eye, plaguing his thoughts and dreams. Their voices become louder and louder, their labored breathing and hungry pants nearly bursting his eardrums, before suddenly - - silence. Balto gasps, opening his eyes quickly and searching the depths of the familiar cave in search for their bloodthirsty howls, but there is nothing. No glowing eyes, no hissing voices, nothing. The blue roan pants heavily, his sides heaving as his body threatens to spill the contents of his stomach, but he somehow controls it and swallows hard, gazing into the emptiness with a wildly beating heart. Sweat drenches his neck and shoulders, his black mane sticking tightly to his flesh as his nostrils flare, hoping for something to happen so that he would feel comfortable with entering. There is something different about himself - Balto could sense it the second the cave’s mouth closed on him on the mountain. He felt lighter, stronger, younger - but the feeling did not erase the terrors of what happened in that cave, nor did it keep the flashbacks or nightmares from completely overwhelming him. It is not something he cares to keep, nor does he care to understand - it is a gift given to him as if it would erase everything he had done in the darkness, or everything that had been done to him. The scarred flesh behind his shoulder, where his leg meets his barrel, thrums lightly with the blood that pumps through his veins, reminding him of the deep hole that had been carved out of him by their teeth and hooves - put back together by the faeries (or gods, or whoever plays the part) as if he is some puppet to kill and revive. The stallion snorts sharply, lifting his head to inhale deeply - it is his cave, their cave. But even so, he cannot help but to hesitate near the entrance, even with the threat of dawn at some point approaching. -- once the king of beasts but now they feast on thoughts beneath his vacant crown.

@[Faulkor] <3

[Faulkor]

 

In another life, in another place, where the sea salt kissed everything within its reach, and the salt grasses swayed outside in the moonlight, Faulkor had often relished his time alone (the herd sleeping, all threats put to rest). Yet, even then, he was never truly without company. He had stuffed his Cavern with stolen mares - some prisoners, some there of their own free will. In the belly of his cave they slumbered through the night.  Faulkor had not expected Balto to leave him so soon. In fact, he had not expected Balto to leave him ever. But Faulkor awoke to an emptiness he had not felt since he was newly weaned from his mother’s teat. Alone. Not even the shadows, as thick as they were, could console him with their touch.  So, he had gone searching, following the scent of his companion until it had become too muddied with the musk of others to detect further. Fear and then envy cursed the star-strewn stallion’s mind those first few lonely days spent hidden in the forest cave. He had never been a very reasonable character - fueled by passion, hate, and despair more than anything else. Yet, he could not hate Balto. No other had been so loyal to the midnight stallion than his blue companion.  Thus, an inkling of hope keeps Faulkor looming at the mouth of their forest cave, obscured by the hanging moss and heavy darkness. He listens to the night sounds for what seems to be eternity shoved into the space of several hours. Light threatens the shadows in the distance, and though it will not reach the depths of the forest for several hours still, Faulkor can feel his skin crawl in revolt. Another night wasted.  In his disappointment Faulkor nearly misses the steady rise and fall of breath from beyond the cave’s gaping jaws. Someone hesitates before the shadowy hole. The night is so still here that the scent of the figure eludes him, but the shape is one he knows all too well. But why does he not enter?   Faulkor observes his companion for a time, watching as shuddering breaths wrack his sides and his eyes close tight. Something has happened in the time Balto has been gone.  Faulkor peels away from the blackness of the cave, the wet, hanging moss running tears down his spine. Balto snorts sharply, seeming to break away from whatever torments haunted him, if only for a moment. Faulkor draws around him, searching his hide for something. He finds it just behind his shoulder - an ugly break in the once virgin skin. He looks to Balto, black eyes searching for answers, though his lips do not ask.  F A U L K O R

@[Balto]

[Balto]

Faulkor comes to meet him - his presence just outside their cave must have been enough to rouse the black stallion, and Balto is not surprised. His absence would be something that Faulkor would not only notice, but the dark beast would have searched endlessly for him, and a weak smile finds Balto’s dark lips as he realizes that his friend has been waiting for his return. The older man reveals himself from the shroud of darkness, his black eyes solemn as his hooves click from damp stone to smooth forest floor, and Balto has never been more happy to be greeted by such a familiar face - the cave in the mountain had only been a vivid nightmare, a twisted tale of a family that really didn’t exist - no, his family is the darkness and it is Faulkor - he chides himself for not remembering that fact beneath the demons’ claws as they shredded his flesh to ribbons.  Balto could feel his heart beating differently than it did before his torture, and he wonders if Faulkor can feel it too. Can he feel the magic that somehow runs rampant through his blood, and now is a part of him like the magic that runs in the very lands of Beqanna? Balto inhales deeply, trying to steady himself and focus on the reality that is before him, ignoring the feeling of hot breath against his neck, prickling at his skin. He expects no words from Faulkor, but the questioning look in his dark, abysmal eyes are enough for Balto to understand - the two never needed much verbally to understand each other. “I’ve returned with something we were looking for,” he manages gruffly, realizing for the first time in a long while he is using his voice. He snorts sharply, tossing his head and moving forward into the cave, pushing back the moss and vines with his muzzle, his eyes adjusting to the damp darkness as he enters. His hooves clack on to the familiar stone, the cave’s mouth opening up and engulfing him willingly. He still cannot shake the tingling of his flesh, and though he awaits for the darkness to wrap him tightly into a comforting embrace, it does not come. When he feels the presence of Faulkor at his side, a shadow of comfort within the turmoil of the brokenness of his mind, he slowly turns to him. “Can you feel it?” He whispers, eyes narrowing slightly as he studies the sharp and darkened features of his longest friend and mentor, silence engulfing the cavern. A soft thrumming soon follows, coming from Balto’s chest - it is not his heartbeat, there is no pulse to it, but a gentle hum that seems to overtake his heart and shroud it, the magic within him manifesting.  He does not begin to explain how he has come to behold this magic - the words would be too much and Balto cannot fathom describing what he has lost to receive it.  -- once the king of beasts but now they feast on thoughts beneath his vacant crown.

@[Faulkor] not sure how he's going to actually give him the immortality, i figure you can try to come up with something if you want! if not, i'll make something up in my next reply <3

[Faulkor]

 

He is slow to realize there are more than new scars that have changed his companion. No, he is too concerned with the visible torments to recognize the internal, or even the magic that now pulses through the blue stallion’s veins. At least, not until Balto himself draws attention to it.  “I’ve returned with something we were looking for.” says Balto, and Faulkor cocks his head inquisitively.  Magic. Since their reentry into the land of the living, into the light (however feeble), Faulkor had noticed more acutely the weakness of his old age. His lungs rattled, his joints ached, his strength had left him. His companion’s physical vigor has only served to remind Faulkor that soon his time would come to an end, and without a single accomplishment to immortalize him.  He had been crippled, trapped within the sands of an hourglass. He could not hope to find the magic himself. He could not hope to conquer or claim anything ever again - not in this state.  He pins his ears in a flash of disappointment, looking ashamedly at the decaying leaves at his feet as his companion is swallowed by the darkness of the cave. Balto has return ever stronger to the king of nothing.  Faulkor takes one last glance at the outside world, ensuring no danger has followed Balto to their hidden home. For the new marks on his companion, Faulkor is wary. He snorts derisively into the feeble light of dawn before making his way into the dampness of the cave.  “Can you feel it?” and Balto’s chest lay open before him, bare and exposed. An essense hums, quietly at first, and then with mounting intensity. It shimmers like heat waves, glowing faintly between them. Faulkor searches for Balto’s eyes. He is uncertain. He is afraid. This could be the end of him… Indeed, he can feel it.  F A U L K O R

@[Balto] I didn't really help much. >.< Faulkor thinks he's about to die. Silly old bat.

[Balto]

Balto alludes to his gift - this magic - and it is enough for Faulkor to understand what he has to show him. The thrum within him has set his soul alight - he had felt stronger, impervious, the moment he left the mountain’s cave. But it also had been heavy; a constant reminder of the flesh torn from his own breast, and the bones he had broken and the blood he had spilled to receive it. He had killed them, his family (or what he had dreamed was his family), and the burden of it still haunts him to his very core, and the magic gifted to him from the angel seems unwarranted. He did not deserve such a gift, he deserved to die in that place, and he knows that one day soon death will come to find him again, and he will not come back from it.  However, as his blue eyes trace the lines of the familiar face of Faulkor, aged and brittle beneath the cave’s dusty shadows, he can think of no other way to thank the black stallion for caring for him all these years within the darkness.  Faulkor turns away, his eyes falling downcast as something much like agitation flutters through his very being. He wonders if Faulkor can smell the death on him, the tinge of spilled demon blood that courses through his veins. He wonders if his companion knows that he is not right, that something is amiss beneath the muscle of his shoulders and chest.  It did not matter - the gift given to him by the angel now thrums and pulses visibly, creating an aura of light that is both magnificent and terrifying. It paints the darkest depths of the cave with a white glow, reminiscent of the white-world Balto had entered in his purgatory. It causes him to fester at the remembrance of it, his breath ragged and quick as flashes of his brutal killings flash before his eyes.  He wants nothing to do with it. Faulkor is searching Balto’s eyes, confused beneath a furrowed brow, and though he can see the reservation beneath his friend’s stare, the blue roan reaches forward with a curve of his neck to touch his muzzle to the black of Faulkor’s shoulder. The light of immortality intensifies, nearly burning within Balto’s chest, fighting to remain where it was told to go, but after a few moments it begins to waver, unhitching itself and latching onto its new master - Faulkor. The light makes a slight hissing sound as it seeps into Faulkor’s chest, wavering like a flame as it absorbs into his essence. Balto feels the difference - he feels the weakness now, the terrible mortality that grips his heart tight, and his legs quiver as he tries to remain upright.  “It is yours, Faulkor. Can you feel it now?” -- once the king of beasts but now they feast on thoughts beneath his vacant crown.

@[Faulkor]

[Faulkor]

 

His friend has returned to kill him. Faulkor is surprised at how gentle his blue companion is - even as that terrible thrumming grows until their forest cave threatens to collapse. There is magic between them, raw and pure, too much for any mortal to control. And yet his friend wields it carefully, pulling it from his chest. It is as bright as moonlight, chasing the darkness into contained areas of writhing shadow that animate the ferocity of dripping stalactites and stalagmites. These are the teeth that will shred his body to ribbons, but Balto and his magic will be the priest to bring the darkness such an offering. The light is too much for eyes accustomed to years spent in darkness, but Faulkor watches Balto through narrowed eyelids. He knows he is deserving of this fate. He has killed. He has lied. And now, he is too old to be of any use to either of them. From any other hands, Faulkor would have fought the fate they brought, but from Balto, he drinks willingly. From his friend, this is mercy. The magic essence is reluctant to detach fully from the blue stallion, but as Balto touches his soft muzzle to the angular point of Faulkor’s shoulder, the essence flares brightly, and Faulkor’s knees buckle beneath him. “It is yours, Faulkor. Can you feel it now?” says Balto. A ragged gasp escapes the star-strewn stallion, perhaps a dying breath. The light is now within him, and it glows ever brighter, peering through his eyelids and nostrils. His lips empart one last word to his dearest and only friend. “Balto…” and the old, black beast crumples to the wet floor of the forest cave. But death is much brighter than he had expected - much to his chagrin. Deep sleep envelopes him - strewn like a dead man upon the wet stone.   F A U L K O R

@[Balto] Let's just traumatize poor bluey some more. I'm throwing Faulkor into the quest.