KULT
dead i am the one,exterminating son
Wait… Kirin said to go and to wait, so he does.
The Valley has made them welcome, opening themselves to those that are faithful. Kult knows a thing or two about faithfulness, it’s something his known all his life. His long and short again life. Potion has worked her magic, kept him young and agile and strong. It’s a unique gift, a token of appreciation not from her, it is from Kirin.
The shadows are nice here, almost playful, curling around him as he waits like he’s told. The wolves here are fun, he should have played with them before but they will play now – oh yes, they would have their game.
Wait
It’s not uncomfortable for him to be so still, nor does it bother him to stand in silence. Kult is for the most part, a silent creature, his words come few when they do come at all. It's there that he waits when the parade of flesh barges through the Valley's entrance trailing the heels of a bone-winged palomino. The wolves dart from the bushes, melt into being from the blackness and the hunt is on.
There’s at least one rose-gray stallion in their midst, one ear missing, a white ‘X’ emblazoned plainly where his forelock would rest. His head is slung low, more level to the dogs than any other horse’s might find itself, his legs pump furiously as he smiles crooked pleasure for the chase.
He doesn’t know who thirsts more for bloodshed, himself, or the shadow-wolves he tails when they take down the first unlucky Gates horse. As they fell the unworthy, he is there-wielding his hooves into its skull. Kult doesn’t speak wolf but their snarls and growls provoke his own madness and to the next victim he follows…
The Valley has made them welcome, opening themselves to those that are faithful. Kult knows a thing or two about faithfulness, it’s something his known all his life. His long and short again life. Potion has worked her magic, kept him young and agile and strong. It’s a unique gift, a token of appreciation not from her, it is from Kirin.
The shadows are nice here, almost playful, curling around him as he waits like he’s told. The wolves here are fun, he should have played with them before but they will play now – oh yes, they would have their game.
Wait
It’s not uncomfortable for him to be so still, nor does it bother him to stand in silence. Kult is for the most part, a silent creature, his words come few when they do come at all. It's there that he waits when the parade of flesh barges through the Valley's entrance trailing the heels of a bone-winged palomino. The wolves dart from the bushes, melt into being from the blackness and the hunt is on.
There’s at least one rose-gray stallion in their midst, one ear missing, a white ‘X’ emblazoned plainly where his forelock would rest. His head is slung low, more level to the dogs than any other horse’s might find itself, his legs pump furiously as he smiles crooked pleasure for the chase.
He doesn’t know who thirsts more for bloodshed, himself, or the shadow-wolves he tails when they take down the first unlucky Gates horse. As they fell the unworthy, he is there-wielding his hooves into its skull. Kult doesn’t speak wolf but their snarls and growls provoke his own madness and to the next victim he follows…
-Khaos and Killgore's wicked whelp-
tl;dr- kult waits for zuclo with the shadow wolves - kills a rando gates member with said wolves and then follows them to the next victim >:D