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  • Beqanna

    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


    Maugrim;
    #1
    Teal
    It was the scent that brought her here, that had her nose twitching and bumping into things more often than her usual, that dusty damp smell of a wet cave. It should've frightened her, the endless darkness, the tricky shadows.

    But her world was already dark.

    This smell was as familiar as she'd ever find, though. As close to home as she'd ever known. And she tracked it like the greatest hound, her velvet muzzle only catching a few scratches when she got too impatient and scraped across one of those damn trees. Oh, she hated trees. Showing up out of nowhere and hitting her like that. Other beasts were cruel too, but trees, ohhhh, they were just downright vicious.

    She made herself as comfortable as she could when she finally found home. A cave, just like the one her Caveman had so long ago. She'd never see him again, she was sure. This would do nicely though. She couldn't hear the soft whisper of water dripping down the walls. And she didn't have a clue who's scent that was lingering in the halls. But it wasn't recent enough to concern her. Not particularly stale, either, but at least not fresh. She could at least catch a rest before he returns. And she'd be long gone by then.

    Her golden breast gradually began to slow, the shallow breaths of stress and general fright finally easing. Clumps of light hair were sticky and stuck to her neck in places, wet and impossibly matted from living on her own. But such as life. She took a deep breath and drew it out, and after a few more minutes, her racing pulse followed suit. She was able to fall asleep after a while longer, though it would never be restful. Nightmares and the typical paranoia with being constantly startled kept her alert, jolting her back awake every so often.

    No, she certainly didn't know what true rest was.
    Or peace.

    But at least she found home, for however long she'd survive here.



    @[Maugrim] - for when he's back from questing <3
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    #2
    maugrim

    He had been brought back to life in the shallows of the beach, saltwater idly licking at the massive wound in his shoulder (once healed as a child, now festering with writhing tissue and muscle), and pressing its soothing coolness into the hardened plane of his cheek. He had come to stand, realizing that his eyesight had not been restored the way that his spine had been; Maugrim could feel coagulated blood - dark and rich and sticky - drip generously from what would be seen as empty sockets, void of eyes all together. His blindness caused him to wander for days, coughing up blood and limping on his weakened shoulder, sickly and disease-ridden.

    But he knew the path home - the way to his water - and eventually, he found it.

    Summer had hit Sylva and besides the feeling of sunlight trickling down through the thick canopy, Maugrim would not have known. Relying only on his sense of smell (and his intuitive desire to slink back into the blackness he was born in), he found himself finally at the edge of his familiar lake, the sweet goddesses of the deep crooning his name in sick voices only he could hear. The drowned god does not hesitate to enter the still, untroubled waters - it swallows him up and he disappears beneath the surface as if he had never existed.

    He stays there a long time; until daylight has waned away and the grumble of hunger brings him to the surface. Dripping, the murky water sloughs off his skin into muddy pools beneath his hooves, his hollowed out eyes still actively bleeding while the flash of pale white on his shoulder reveals the unhealed slice from his time with Carnage. His lips ripple unpleasantly at the still sensation of being unable to see, tumbling and tripping towards the familiar smell of his cavern that awaits him with open arms. 

    At its mouth, a wet cough riddles his lungs and esophagus, spouting brilliant red rubies from his pale, calloused lips. The sound is disgusting and devastating as the disease-infested stallion then continues his way through the familiar clink of bones scraping against the damp stone floor. 

    Suddenly, however, he freezes. His head lifts, unseeing eyes attempting to peer around the cave, his bloodied nostrils twitching as the scent of another - a scent of a woman - fastens his attention. Blocking the mouth of the cave with his presence, there is an idle smile that crackles across the blood-stain of his lips, wondering just who it is that has unknowingly made their bed for the night with a monster.

    What a terribly unlucky choice.

    “Where are you, dearie?” comes his terrible, rancid voice - thick with mucus and the lining of his lungs bubbling in his throat. He inhales deeply, swinging his head slowly from left to right - much like the viper he is - the silver of the moon catching the deep hollows of his eye sockets as he attempts to find her with scent alone. 

    god, make me pay like the devil i am


    @[Teal]
    Reply
    #3
    Teal
    She could smell him, a beast of blood and water. She held so still, melded herself into her surroundings as best she could. She had no way of seeing how her rich gold stood out against the dark cavern walls, or how her breath was not as quiet as she would have wished it.

    She would never know stealth.

    He smelled terrible. Not like the sweet stone and water and darkness she craved, because of her Caveman, wherever he may be. This one smelled of rot and sickness and festering violence. This one was a monster and he had her neatly caged in with him. She couldn't possibly know that silence was not universal, that she made such noise as she dragged her feet under her and pressed against a side wall.

    Her nostrils flared, nose bobbing in the air to test the scents, keep watch of him in the only way she knew how. Without touching him, anyway. That was her preferred way, more solid, surer. But she wouldn't be touching this one if she could help it. She probably wouldn't live.

    She was grunting softly in her anxiety, relying on the subtle vibrations in her throat to soothe her nerves, and she leaned back and wedged herself further in a back corner. Her cheek pushed against the cave wall, feeling her breath heat the air around her nose as it held to the stone, but it dulled her sense of smell and she lifted off it again.

    She tested the air again, got his direction, then swayed on her front feet, uncertain which way she would go. She shouldn't stay, she should run. But not run. Running was dangerous and painful. So many things that fly out and hit her so suddenly, trip her and break her. She would stay against the wall and move towards the entrance, but he was there, and so she swayed along the back wall instead. 

    Her heart was racing, and those murmured little grunts were not soothing her quite as easily as they may have before. She might die here today, after all that she had survived in her life. The world was so cruel. All she knew was survival. So she pressed on, sinking deeper into the cave, deeper into danger.
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