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    COTY

    Assailant -- Year 226

    QOTY

    "But the dream, the echo, slips from him as quickly as he had found it and as consciousness comes to him (a slap and not the gentle waves of oceanic tides), it dissolves entirely. His muscles relax as the cold claims him again, as the numbness sets in, and when his grey eyes open, there’s nothing but the faint after burn of a dream often trod and never remembered." --Brigade, written by Laura


    Bound by the life you left behind [open] **caution/warning**
    #1
    ((reply if ya want))



    Pain

    Eyes rolling as she struggled to gain her feet. She couldn't be seen like this. She had been resting in the hills, near porous rocks that broke through the grasses. Random formations scattered freely, pushing through where they would with no rhyme or reason. Killgore had endured pain, torment, training. Training, her father liked to call it. Attempting to break you, to weed you out from the weak. She had never been bent. This, this was a new form of torture, her insides felt like they were ripping apart. Trying to crawl their way out her orafaces, and any would do. She gained her feet after many attempts, her dark gaze wildly flung about. Had anyone seen? I'll kill them if they say so, I'll make them hurt if they ever let wind of this pass their lips.

    She made a silent vow to herself, as she did her best to slide down the hillside. She wanted to get back to her cave, she wanted some privacy. She wanted him. Where was he? Her vision blurred more frequently now, she could do all but move. Shuddering as each contraction clawed at her belly, liquid emerged from her hind quarters. The beast is coming, she thought to herself, clenching her teeth so hard she thought they may break. It would surely kill her on the way out, she decided, laboring across the sand. The wet pebbles causing more hindrance than they usually seemed to, tripping her as she drug her legs. She was close to the water, the tide out for the time being, and finally she collapsed again. There on the beach.

    She fell to her side, heaving, trying so very hard to breathe. To breathe, and not to scream. It helped that she had locked her jaw so tightly, biting even into her own flesh. The lesions in her mouth causing no pain compared to this. She flung her dial up and down, her forelegs digging at the sodden earth. Each time they came sooner, they lasted longer. Death, death would feel like this, she thought. It seemed like forever, her body doing its work without seeming to need her assistance. And when she had thought she could take no more, it was done.

    She heaved her head up, still laying on her side. Eager to get a good look at her new babe. The one she had such high hopes for, hopefully a son. Turning to see though, the moonlight illuminated a blue glow off a wet black form. It was covered in some substance, it lay in the sand unmoving. She thought to quickly lick at its face, the spot where the nose was, chewing away the bag that encased it. She did until it was gone, all of it. Still the foal lay unmoving at her end. She didn't know how, but she found her legs. Standing, bending, to lick and nudge the babes face. Fiercely this time, prodding, licking, even a nip at one point. Her breathing had become labored, her heart racing in her breast, she couldn't move. Cemented to the earth for some time, there at the waters edge. She paced him, and circled him, nudging his tiny body. His. Her son. They had had a son. He didn't move, he didn't even breathe. Still as death.

    There she stayed, through the night, she had watched him. Staring at him through unseeing eyes as though she had never been mobile at all. She chased away the birds, the scavengers that had mind to feast from his flesh. A bestial roar emitting from her chest each time, a force to be reckoned with for sure.

    She did though, succumb to sleep. Drifting off into a weary, slumber. There on the beach, a frail unmoving body beside her.

    After a time she awoke, the water lapping at her nose. Sprays of salt threatening to seep into her nostrils. She was awake and he was gone. Carried away by the tide. She stayed, stayed for hours that way, crouched in the sand, slowly surrounded by the water.




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    #2

    {we all are living in a dream}
    {and life aint what it seems}
    Her round stomach made the mare fatter than she had ever been in her life. Even so, Ghoest felt like she wasn't quite as large as she should have been, and she knew she herself had been severely underweight for a majority of the first couple months of pregnancy. Perhaps it had taken its toll on the baby? Did it matter? As far as the roan was concerned, the baby was Khaos', not hers. Khaos was a cruel stallion, the scar on her side was proof enough of that, and she was certain that his spawn would be no different.

    Ghoest didn't hate Khaos, even though she knew she should. He had his kinder moments, or at least moments that were less cruel, and despite the hardships he had forced her to endure, Ghoest always felt herself looking towards him for approval. She knew he wasn't always a beast, he and Killgore almost seemed to like each other, so it must have been her fault. Something she is doing or has done provoked him; that was why he always reminded her of the rules (usually with a new bruise or fresh scar).

    The little roan mare wandered through the territory that she had become so familiar with, she hadn't left this place since her arrival. It was dark now, and the entirety of the land was lit up by the moonlight that bounced silver light off the stones and the water, even the blades of grass that were poking their way through the earth. Ghoest loved the beauty of this place, it awed her as much now as it had that first dreadful night that she had arrived. The food was plentiful and the water refreshing and cool, and Ghoest had become accustomed to the sounds of waves against the pebbled beaches to lull her into slumber. Just now though, those gentle waves were interrupted by thunderous screams.

    She moved forward, following the sounds to that wonderful pebbled beach, to find Killgore. She stayed far back, not wanting to find herself at the receiving end of the mare's fury. But what, or who, were the violent roars aimed at? Her eyes strained, searching for reasoning behind the madness in the dark. It was a few moments before her orbs finally settled on a dark form in the sand as Killgore reached down to give it a nuzzle, more of a shove really. Ghoest's heart sank as the reality sunk in. She might not be happy about having a child, but Killgore had been looking forward to raising her own. Still Ghoest didn't have the courage to go forth and comfort the grieving mother, so she waited, and curled up in the sand the roan fell asleep.

    When she finally awoke it was bright outside, and she quickly hopped to her feet (as quickly as she could with her bulging stomach), eager to see what had become of Killgore and the foal. Her eyes adjusted to the sunlight as her gaze locked on the dark mare, unmoved, lying in the water that was slowly creeping higher. She took in a deep breath and slowly, hesitantly, walked over.

    The salty water stung her pelt as she waded towards Killgore, and finally she plopped down next to the mare. "You can't stay here much longer Killgore..."
    tags Killgore // Any, 553 words. notes, _______.
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    #3



    I Come Alive
    Beg forgiveness,
    With some words that mean nothing,
    Illusions like smoke in my breath.
    She follows the scent of blood first. The scent of birth, until she sees the other mares lying in the sand near the water. Branka had been in the cove for some time now, but had avoided all contact with the other mares. She had even been ignoring her son, the wretched weakling he was. It was the smells of life and death that had finally lured her from her hiding place among the dunes.

    The scent of stale sweat and fear isn't hard to find and the trail is easy enough to follow. She watches from the hilltop as the little roan goes to the side of the little bay. Pathetic is what they were. Small and trembling creatures next to her strong, golden stature. Branka has yet to actually meet the others, but displays like this make the idea rather unpalatable. The buckskin mare waits several minutes longer before finally descending the hill towards the beach. Heavy hooves sink slightly in the damp sand as she avoids the worst of the waves and soon enough she is standing before the woman with her nose in the water. Branka tips her large, elegant head to the roan lying beside the bay, her belly bulging with new life. Hopefully hers wouldn't be the disappointment Fraktyr had become.

    The large, golden mare stands in front of the bay, Killgore she believes the name, and nudges her firmly with her muzzle. Staring Killgore in the eye, Branka speaks in her deep gravelly voice. "You must stand little one. The tide is coming in and you will not do your child justice by drowning in the waves." She is assuming something went wrong at this point, for though she smells the blood and afterbirth she sees no foal anywhere near the pair of mares. Turning to the roan she adds, "You cannot stay here either in your condition" before making Killgore her focus once more.

    Branka feels the water rising around her ankles, but does not move nor does she stop looking the mare in the eye. She is offering Killgore the chance to get up on her own now, but if it comes to using force she will. What would Khaos think if she stood by while one of his mares drowned in her sorrows?
    I come alive when I'm falling down

    Branka | Warlander | Dapple Buckskin | Mare
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    #4
    ((tried to make this as open ended as possible for reaction freedoms, while trying to stay true to Killgore's character. Please for the love of all that is holy, if you do not find this agreeable just tell me and i will do my best to accommodate you))



    She lay still, looking into oblivion. The day continued to come, the sun rising over the waves.  Just the sea,  for miles, reflecting in her dark eyes.  She barely takes note of Ghoest when she approaches, though she does manage a maddened, ill laugh. The roan had been bold to even approach her, the audacity of it all. She had hardly ever heard the girl speak to be honest, at least not in such a level manner. Usually she was choking out screams, excitement and fear flooding her words as Khaos tortured her. Played with her really, Killgore thought. She too would just watch, or laugh depending on how sorry the girls pleas became. She was a fly in the world. A nuisance, and nothing more.  The cackle bubbling up through her raw throat was, insane. She managed to speak, however crazed she was in the moment. ”You’ve come to tell me what to do Ghoest? Is that the way of it?” She hadn’t even yet bothered to raise her head. How amusing, she crooned to herself. That silky little voice that was hers, still remained smokey and lovely in her mind. Despite the way it was currently emitting from her darkened maw.

    The scene became even more amusing, as another of Khaos’ harem decided to approach her on the sand. It was like a switch had been flipped, the minute the other touched her salted skin. Placing her muzzle on Killgore’s parts where they most certainly did not belong.  Words, gravelly words emitting from her, bulky, unattractive mass. (at least to Killgore) Was she mistaken? Had Khaos brought a man to play with? Little one. Perhaps she may look like a dainty little willow, next to the behemoth that was supposed to be a woman, before her. She gained her feet,  cutting the tide in splashes against her taught pillars. She flattened her ears, laced against her cranium, smoothing her head into one continuous line.  Her neck snaked as she rounded, full of spit and venom.  Her hind leg cocking, carrying it up towards her deflated abdomen, she was irate to be sure.  Hind quarters swinging, a kick would soon ensue. ”Do not presume to touch me.” It was a wonder she managed to speak at all, her teeth gnashed so tightly together.

    Her orbs looked between the two, their swollen stomachs igniting her hostility. She rounded on Ghoest first, spiting insults, reaching with teeth trying to find flesh. She hoped to litter her with fresh scars, taste her salty blood. Quench the hatred that erupted like a volcano from the monster within her.”If mine didn’t make it, there is little hope for yours.” she insisted. She taunted.  Baiting the roan, she wanted her to hurt.  Stomping forward, pushing her way out of the water on to the beach once again. Malicious hate filled her as she really looked on the one that she had not before seen. The one that reminded her of a man,  and not a lady at all. She laughed, oh she laughed. A cackle, a witch call, she found everything so ridiculously amusing.



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    #5

    {we all are living in a dream}
    {and life aint what it seems}
    Of course, Ghoest hadn't expected a warm welcome. Killgore wasn't exactly a kind creature, and frequently mocked the little roan, or, even worse, helped Khaos with the punishments. Ghoest also knew it wasn't her place to be here, and that she would probably be better off if Killgore drowned in the ocean. Nonetheless, here she was, trying to do what she thought was right. The other mare didn't see it that way.

    The bay seemed to be in almost a state of delirium (understandable after just losing a child), and the maniacal laugh that had escaped her throat sent chills down Ghoest's spine. Was she wrong to have come over? Probably. Killgore didn't raise her head when she spoke, but Ghoest thought it was a good sign that she could at least talk; much more pleasant than that laugh or a beating. After a few moments more, a towering buckskin mare wandered in front of the pair, acknowledging Ghoest before speaking to Killgore. She had seen the buckskin before, speaking with Khaos, but had yet to meet her formally. Her words were formal and decisive, any kindness in them had been drowned out by the dark tone in her voice. It didn't matter to Ghoest though, she hopped up clumsily, spraying water in every direction as she did, eager to keep the tall mare happy. Killgore, on the other hand, stood up with purpose; angry, crazy purpose.

    She scarcely had time to react as the bay turned on her, reaching out with teeth that searched for soft flesh. Those eyes reminded Ghoest of her fathers in his last moments, it wasn't just anger. It was as if the last threads of sanity had broken, and she was spiraling into her own mental demise. It was at this point that Ghoest realized there wasn't anything she could do, she was kind, not a miracle worker. A familiar sting grazed her neck as Killgore's teeth scraped across her pelt, drawing a small stream of blood. Nothing new, she was used to it, and she didn't squeal or flinch, Ghoest didn't want to give her the satisfaction. The words hurt though... Ghoest may not have wanted the child but it was still a living creature, and it certainly didn't seem above the crazed mare to kill an innocent child if given the opportunity soon. Perhaps the child would carry some of Khaos' traits and would remain protected under the iron steed's wing.

    There was the laugh, that crazy, insane cackle that cut through the air like a knife. Instinctively she shifted behind the buckskin, the one who had yet to bring her harm. It seemed safer to keep the large mare between the crazed ex-mother and herself, Ghoest wasn't much of a fighter.
    tags Killgore // Branka, 460 words. notes, _______.

    ew crap... sorry guys
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    #6



    I Come Alive
    Beg forgiveness,
    With some words that mean nothing,
    Illusions like smoke in my breath.
    "Haha", she laughs condescendingly as Killgore pushes herself from the frothing waves and launches into a tantrum. "You are nothing more than a petulant child, lashing out at the weak because you are weak yourself." Branka takes two steps and places the bulk of her body between the crazed mother and the pregnant one. "How would Khaos take it if you hurt his child?" She does not take her eyes from Killgore as she shifts her body to block Ghoest and the child carried in her swollen belly. Branka trusts that the roan has enough sense to recognize when she is being protected to move out of her way.

    Branka does little more than smile at the bay. Let her come, let her fight. Branka didn't receive the scars she carried for no reason. She loved the taste of battle, and even now she could feel her blood start to sing with adrenaline. "If you are looking to pick a fight so badly, why don't you fight me instead? Make it a challenge? Prove your worth? Whatever will get you over this childish fit of yours. You are an embarrassment to the herd."  Her pulse was a drumbeat to carry her into battle as she shifted her stance slightly in case the bay decided to take her up on the offer. Her expression stays neutral aside from the sardonic smile that twitches at the corners of her mouth. 

    Never let it be said that she lacked any compassion, well, at least when it suited her.
    I come alive when I'm falling down

    Branka | Warlander | Dapple Buckskin | Mare
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