• Logout
  • 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


    [private]  This monster is no longer sleeping // Balto
    #3

    i’ve been both a saint & a viper

    Darkness burns deep in his bones; hatred plumes from his very nostrils, fueled by rage deep within his chest.

    He comes to the forest in the middle of the night, brandishing the wounds of the Alliance along his blue mottled body - he had failed (part of him knew he would, of course, just like he had failed in the caves what seems like eons ago; when the demons crawled across his flesh and he murdered them one by one, he had failed. The way he tore Faulkor into pieces: he had failed). He almost wishes he had died there in the arena, with Jamie’s sad yellow eyes looking down at him helplessly, offering him as somber tsk as he gave into the nothingness.

    But nothing of the sort happened. He had been sent on his way, revived somehow and without injury that would cause death at all. Balto could hear them trapezing through the wood beside him, high off his battles and filled with fury for not spilling enough blood. They swarm him viciously, tearing at his skin with sharp teeth (but so gently, because they care about him so), reminding him of their presence and the fact that he would never die.

    Never die, they whisper hauntingly in his ears, like a lover in the night.

    The stallion whinnies hoarsely and loudly; they disperse into the shadows, writhing somewhere beyond the trunks of the redwoods and watching him with beady, lustful eyes. He calls for her, the Queen, with that obvious red mark that grabs at his throat like bloodied hands, branded by the faeries themselves.

    “Sabra,” he chokes into the night, his voice grisly and tough. He is not himself at the moment - something lingers that is far heavier than his own demons, something that stretches and grows within him, something like hunger. He is not himself and when he is far from who he remembers to be (who is he, even?), it is her he seeks.

    He does not notice the eclipse; not at first. It is hard to look to the sky when the darkness and the shadow already hug him so closely, intimately. His head is throbbing, pounding in a way that is worse than after his recent battles and there is an audible groan of pain that leaves the onyx of his lips.

    Somehow, within the darkness, her eyes fall on him easily.

    The stallion steps forth, though in the slight opening of trees there is no real light to reveal his presence. The darkness of his legs melt into the shadow, his face appearing more black and less mottled blue than perhaps the last time she had seen him. He hardly notices the child. Balto’s black lips ripple unpleasantly, uncertain if the tone in which she addresses him is her way of telling him that she had missed him, or if she truly thought he had failed her.

    For a moment, he has nothing to say.

    Then, finally, almost desperately, he speaks in a tone that is garbled and dry: “What do you wish from me, my Queen?”

    Balto




    @[Sabra]
    a bit of recycled from the starter before <3
    Reply


    Messages In This Thread
    RE: This monster is no longer sleeping // Balto - by Balto - 01-03-2021, 09:30 PM



    Users browsing this thread: 1 Guest(s)