god make me pay
like the devil i am
like the devil i am
There is no shadow here, and the stallion’s uncomfortableness with the open field is apparent in the way he holds himself - taut muscles beneath his skin, dark eyes roving madly. His lake calls to him, the darkness of the damp cave wails for his return. But the urge forces him out of the shadow of Sylva’s terrible trees, and into the open. He needed to feel the control, he needed to finish what he has started, to be the bringer of death. He needed a victim - and there are no victims in Sylva, not yet anyway - so he came to where he could find one. Perhaps a pretty little thing with clouds in her head, or maybe a stallion with a bit of fight in him to give him a real challenge.
The hunger drives him, the murder brings him truly alive.
His dark eyes sweep the meadow’s tall grasses, turned gold in the autumn’s chill. His breath leaves his mouth in a vapor as he pants, scouring the field for what could placate him. Maugrim’s eyes rest solidly on the dark figure before him, unable to look away once his pupils found it. There is another there - a stallion - but that is not what draws the Riverlord's interest. He snorts sharply, a certain feeling brewing in his chest that he cannot place, nor was expecting.
The dark creature before him was no victim, no plaything.
It is a predator - whatever it is - and so is he.
He can hear his dark and twisted soul call out, brother.
Maugrim’s ears flick backwards into his two-toned mane, quickly stepping towards the hound with no hesitation. There is something that draws him forwards, something that is innate and instinctual and that he would not ignore. He comes to halt squarely before it, his chin to his chest as his dark eyes roll in their sockets, dry lips met with the dampness of his pale tongue as he wets them hungrily. His nostrils quiver in anticipation, a shuddering breath leaving his lips.
The other man - a large, dappled stallion - speaks to it, commands it. Maugrim's eyes do not waver from the hound, but a single ear tips in the other's direction. He is curious too, about its true form, but he is sure that the creature before them is its true form. He says nothing yet, pawing at the ground beneath him with a single forehoof. He is content to stare into the depths of the eyes of the hound, to feel the blackness and darkness that thrives there, to feed off its terrifying energy. It awakens him (and heightens his need for blood all the more).
“The darkness in you calls to the darkness in me. I am Maugrim,” the finisher growls a the hound after what seems like ages of silent staring, his dark eyes shadowed by a furrowed brow. “You know where you belong,” Maugrim adds with a sinister stare, lips rippling into a twitch of a snarl.
The hunger drives him, the murder brings him truly alive.
His dark eyes sweep the meadow’s tall grasses, turned gold in the autumn’s chill. His breath leaves his mouth in a vapor as he pants, scouring the field for what could placate him. Maugrim’s eyes rest solidly on the dark figure before him, unable to look away once his pupils found it. There is another there - a stallion - but that is not what draws the Riverlord's interest. He snorts sharply, a certain feeling brewing in his chest that he cannot place, nor was expecting.
The dark creature before him was no victim, no plaything.
It is a predator - whatever it is - and so is he.
He can hear his dark and twisted soul call out, brother.
Maugrim’s ears flick backwards into his two-toned mane, quickly stepping towards the hound with no hesitation. There is something that draws him forwards, something that is innate and instinctual and that he would not ignore. He comes to halt squarely before it, his chin to his chest as his dark eyes roll in their sockets, dry lips met with the dampness of his pale tongue as he wets them hungrily. His nostrils quiver in anticipation, a shuddering breath leaving his lips.
The other man - a large, dappled stallion - speaks to it, commands it. Maugrim's eyes do not waver from the hound, but a single ear tips in the other's direction. He is curious too, about its true form, but he is sure that the creature before them is its true form. He says nothing yet, pawing at the ground beneath him with a single forehoof. He is content to stare into the depths of the eyes of the hound, to feel the blackness and darkness that thrives there, to feed off its terrifying energy. It awakens him (and heightens his need for blood all the more).
“The darkness in you calls to the darkness in me. I am Maugrim,” the finisher growls a the hound after what seems like ages of silent staring, his dark eyes shadowed by a furrowed brow. “You know where you belong,” Maugrim adds with a sinister stare, lips rippling into a twitch of a snarl.
m a u g r i m.
@[Sinner]