05-05-2018, 09:46 AM
god make me pay
like the devil i am
like the devil i am
They are stupid.
They all are, here in the darkness of the forest.
Any that come to his territory, in his domain, are completely and utterly incompetent. He is not here to rule, and he is not here for power or any title. He is here to feed, to wait like the predator he is until an unsuspecting (have we mentioned stupid?) victim comes to take a drink from his lake. All living things must eventually come to water to drink, so that is why Maugrim lies in wait here, before his sinister and still lake. He watches from the blackness of his cave, shrouded by darkness and cold shadow, and the dampness that drips within. He is hungry. (Always). Hungry for the taste of blood, the screaming, the begging, the twitching of synapses firing for the last time.
A man approaches the finisher’s lake, and Maugrim’s heart rate increases immediately. He is always softer with women (a gentler voice, calm and collected in his torture), but men...he ravages them, mauls them, creates them a place so dark that there is nothing left to try to crawl away from. He allows the rage within his chest that flickers idly to begin to grow, feeding the flame with ideas of brutality and blood. The black stallion is unsuspecting, despite his attempts to be as cautious as ever. Maugrim does not present himself with a deep and sinister laugh, nor does he step from the shadows and merely appear. He does not wish to strike fear in such a showy and blatant way - he is cunning and calculated, and every step is rehearsed and practiced since he had been just a colt.
The stranger lowers his head to drink again, and Maugrim is ready for him. The puppeteer draws the murky water around the stallion’s muzzle, slowly growing across his face like a vine would grow along a tree. The water is slow as it moves up his face, and just as the lakewater is to cover his eyes, Maugrim allows himself to step from the shadows of his cavern, his hooves clicking solidly against the stone floor. He says nothing to the stallion as he suddenly quickens the process, allowing his water to creep past his ears and to his neck, nearly to the stallion’s chest.
Then, with a quick press of his chin against his two-toned chest, the water - like an arm - pulls the man into the once calm water.
They all are, here in the darkness of the forest.
Any that come to his territory, in his domain, are completely and utterly incompetent. He is not here to rule, and he is not here for power or any title. He is here to feed, to wait like the predator he is until an unsuspecting (have we mentioned stupid?) victim comes to take a drink from his lake. All living things must eventually come to water to drink, so that is why Maugrim lies in wait here, before his sinister and still lake. He watches from the blackness of his cave, shrouded by darkness and cold shadow, and the dampness that drips within. He is hungry. (Always). Hungry for the taste of blood, the screaming, the begging, the twitching of synapses firing for the last time.
A man approaches the finisher’s lake, and Maugrim’s heart rate increases immediately. He is always softer with women (a gentler voice, calm and collected in his torture), but men...he ravages them, mauls them, creates them a place so dark that there is nothing left to try to crawl away from. He allows the rage within his chest that flickers idly to begin to grow, feeding the flame with ideas of brutality and blood. The black stallion is unsuspecting, despite his attempts to be as cautious as ever. Maugrim does not present himself with a deep and sinister laugh, nor does he step from the shadows and merely appear. He does not wish to strike fear in such a showy and blatant way - he is cunning and calculated, and every step is rehearsed and practiced since he had been just a colt.
The stranger lowers his head to drink again, and Maugrim is ready for him. The puppeteer draws the murky water around the stallion’s muzzle, slowly growing across his face like a vine would grow along a tree. The water is slow as it moves up his face, and just as the lakewater is to cover his eyes, Maugrim allows himself to step from the shadows of his cavern, his hooves clicking solidly against the stone floor. He says nothing to the stallion as he suddenly quickens the process, allowing his water to creep past his ears and to his neck, nearly to the stallion’s chest.
Then, with a quick press of his chin against his two-toned chest, the water - like an arm - pulls the man into the once calm water.
m a u g r i m.
@[Jesper] As we do this, please let me know if there's anything you want me to change!