04
Post by elope on Jul 12, 2013 19:54:41 GMT -6
Shadow, shadow, darkness bright; gleaming green on charcoal flanks, glistening with unsavory delight. Indescribable, un-understandable, twisted little knight, stalking through the land of night. Poetic child he is not, yet his body sings with predatory grace, as the hunter awaits his princess, awaiting her command, the dog at the master's feet. The scream is lost without her cutthroat orders, his ever-constant hunger for her unsated by the blood he drinks and the meat he eats, as he strips it from bone and pulls the guts from slashed stomachs. His horns, sharp and jagged, gleam wickedly in the gray light of the storm.
The black-hearted monster makes his way down from his realm to the earth, hunting for blood to trickle down his chest, seeking his many-eyed queen. With a lust for pretty young things, he devoured and raped and pillaged, murdered and slaughtered and tortured. He was a maddened beast already insane.
Feral and wild, he moved silently to the world where the wind ruffled his thin mane and rubbed his sweat-slick haunches. The scream did not speak, nor move, instead lifting his head, muscles of his neck taut and tight, nostrils flaring to test the bitter, salted air. Scream shifts his head back and forth, restless in his pursuit of prey and blood fresh and warm from the neck of his victims. Opening his mouth, he moans, exposing the yellowed, stained surface of his serrated teeth, keening for the food that escapes him. Her blood, so sweet. Her strength, her power; and his head snaps around, eyes slitting, as a beast begins a stumbling walk, making it's painfully slow way to him.
It limps, skin peeling from it's withers, haunches, and head, exposing bones and muscle. The scream's jaws open wider, slavering like a dog, and forward he stalks to the lumbering beast, shorter than him, bits of bone poking out from beneath it's skin.
Yet some primal force, a very basic instinct of survival for the king of predators, warns him this is no normal foe.
Scream wails, planting his hooves in deep, the small forelegs on his chest rubbing together uncertainly, even as he half-rears, burning with impatience and confusion. He's so hungry- so why does this feeling tell him to turn away?
The black-hearted monster makes his way down from his realm to the earth, hunting for blood to trickle down his chest, seeking his many-eyed queen. With a lust for pretty young things, he devoured and raped and pillaged, murdered and slaughtered and tortured. He was a maddened beast already insane.
Feral and wild, he moved silently to the world where the wind ruffled his thin mane and rubbed his sweat-slick haunches. The scream did not speak, nor move, instead lifting his head, muscles of his neck taut and tight, nostrils flaring to test the bitter, salted air. Scream shifts his head back and forth, restless in his pursuit of prey and blood fresh and warm from the neck of his victims. Opening his mouth, he moans, exposing the yellowed, stained surface of his serrated teeth, keening for the food that escapes him. Her blood, so sweet. Her strength, her power; and his head snaps around, eyes slitting, as a beast begins a stumbling walk, making it's painfully slow way to him.
It limps, skin peeling from it's withers, haunches, and head, exposing bones and muscle. The scream's jaws open wider, slavering like a dog, and forward he stalks to the lumbering beast, shorter than him, bits of bone poking out from beneath it's skin.
Yet some primal force, a very basic instinct of survival for the king of predators, warns him this is no normal foe.
Scream wails, planting his hooves in deep, the small forelegs on his chest rubbing together uncertainly, even as he half-rears, burning with impatience and confusion. He's so hungry- so why does this feeling tell him to turn away?