Post by Velnias on Aug 5, 2010 12:24:11 GMT -5
Morbyd
There are two types of Silence...
The Good Silence lets us listen, helps us think, allows us to grow.
The Bad Silence is uncomfortable, it enrages you, it frightens you.
I am that Silence, the Silence that invades your mind.
You can't break the Silence.
Such a dark, dismal place. No light, for the sprawling, ugly trees blocked out the harsh sunlight, and, it seemed, all warmth had gone. Vanished, just like that. Just the way the black stallion liked it. For now with all the light gone, there were merely shadows. Shadows were the stallion's companions. He needed them, and they needed him. He could dance among the shadows, graceful and light footed, but more like a trained warrior stalking prey than an elegant horse looking to play.
He was a killer, a cold blooded, stone hearted killer. It was all he thought of. All he could think of. He was stealthy, so much so that he could be virtually undetected, for he moved with the shadows, he messed with the mind. The stallion loved to twist horses so badly they couldn't think straight. He would taunt, then disappear, then reappear and attack viciously. That was his strategy in battle. He could work his way into a fight which he knew he could win, then it was mostly a mind game after that.
The stallion was different, different from the rest, and he had odd powers he seemed to control, strange things that changed his fate and the fate of others. Things he couldn't give a reason for, but he liked the feeling of power in his body. It made him stronger. More vicious. His powers made him stealthier, stronger, faster, smarter, than any horse he had met before. They called him a Tyrant, a Cursed stallion destined for a future of blackness.
He had had his powers for as long as he could ever remember, since he was born, it seemed. He realized one young day that he could feel others thoughts, their emotions, their fears. He began to taunt horses he met along his long traveled, lonely road. He would taunt them into a fight, then violently massacre them. Nothing made him feel better than the thought that he could kill. He had an awesome power which allowed him great opportunities. This was the point at which he began to think of war as the main thing which kept him alive. Try as he might, he couldn't escape the growing blackness within his heart, so he let it overcome him. For a time, he waited and watched for others to fight, yet caught none. One day he discovered also that he could seemingly teleport. He would stay in the shadows and melt into the looming blackness. He could disappear, for but a brief moment. The shadows became his home, his fate, his trap. They taught him silence, a powerful weapon indeed. So the stallion brought his silence with him. He found the silence enveloped him, and soon the silence became cold and death. Everywhere he went, hebrought death with him. Only little things, like the grass which met his hooves, or the tree which brushed his sleek coat, would wither. They would become cold and hard, and die. He was alone and silent, wandering through the lands, waiting.
He hadn't had contact with other horses for a while now. He had yet to meet some magical, fantastical mare who would steal his heart and sweep him off his mighty black hooves, someone who would change his heart and replace the cold stone with warm love. He had yet to find one like that. If he somehow found one like this, he wasn't sure what he would do. He searched for warriors, those who would fight for him, with him, for he was bloodthirsty. He thought that perhaps he also searched for a true love, a queen who would fight alongside him and rule with power and grace. He had yet to be successful.
The stallion was lost in very deep thought, but his senses were still as alert as ever. His black ears above him twitched and flicked observantly, his black, liquid eyes catching all movement, and missing nothing. He moved with a long stride, his black, powerful haunches swaying with the immense power felt with each and every stride. His slow footsteps ate up the rotting ground and he arched his long, sleek neck,holding his long face high in the still air. The silence followed him still, like a black presence which crept behind you, prepared to pounce. The stallion was alone, he was sure. At least for now.
The scenery became more quiet, if that was possible, and more still and treacherous. Everywhere crawled little insects out of the rotting trees and limbs splayed haphazardly over the ground. The black had nothing to fear from them, nothing at all. He stepped over the dead leaves and the crawling things, and they withered, they became cold. The stallion jeered at the little things which could be called poisonous, yet had no power over him. His poisonous fear, that which he played off of all the time, was too powerful.
He stepped casually, yet his posture remained ready to spring and dodge any flying attacker or being. The stallion detected none. He walked on and soon came to a clearing. It was a small space, no more than twelve or thirteen horses could fit here, and the ground was even, yet even in this clearing, the air was still dark and treacherous. Morbyd smiled, a thin lipped smile which was not of contentment, but of what he could do by controlling such a place. It was a good idea, it seemed, to capture this land and call it his home. He would rule the land with dominance and power, it would be his homebase for his destruction and battling. Such thoughts sent cold shivers up his spine. He laughed a short, low growl which was soon caught by the silence enveloping him once more. His smile faded only a little as he withdrew into the shadows, undetected, where he would wait for a victim, a recruit, one who would be trapped in his land and serve him. Forever.
OOC: 1008 words. Muse is bursting.
There are two types of Silence...
The Good Silence lets us listen, helps us think, allows us to grow.
The Bad Silence is uncomfortable, it enrages you, it frightens you.
I am that Silence, the Silence that invades your mind.
You can't break the Silence.
Such a dark, dismal place. No light, for the sprawling, ugly trees blocked out the harsh sunlight, and, it seemed, all warmth had gone. Vanished, just like that. Just the way the black stallion liked it. For now with all the light gone, there were merely shadows. Shadows were the stallion's companions. He needed them, and they needed him. He could dance among the shadows, graceful and light footed, but more like a trained warrior stalking prey than an elegant horse looking to play.
He was a killer, a cold blooded, stone hearted killer. It was all he thought of. All he could think of. He was stealthy, so much so that he could be virtually undetected, for he moved with the shadows, he messed with the mind. The stallion loved to twist horses so badly they couldn't think straight. He would taunt, then disappear, then reappear and attack viciously. That was his strategy in battle. He could work his way into a fight which he knew he could win, then it was mostly a mind game after that.
The stallion was different, different from the rest, and he had odd powers he seemed to control, strange things that changed his fate and the fate of others. Things he couldn't give a reason for, but he liked the feeling of power in his body. It made him stronger. More vicious. His powers made him stealthier, stronger, faster, smarter, than any horse he had met before. They called him a Tyrant, a Cursed stallion destined for a future of blackness.
He had had his powers for as long as he could ever remember, since he was born, it seemed. He realized one young day that he could feel others thoughts, their emotions, their fears. He began to taunt horses he met along his long traveled, lonely road. He would taunt them into a fight, then violently massacre them. Nothing made him feel better than the thought that he could kill. He had an awesome power which allowed him great opportunities. This was the point at which he began to think of war as the main thing which kept him alive. Try as he might, he couldn't escape the growing blackness within his heart, so he let it overcome him. For a time, he waited and watched for others to fight, yet caught none. One day he discovered also that he could seemingly teleport. He would stay in the shadows and melt into the looming blackness. He could disappear, for but a brief moment. The shadows became his home, his fate, his trap. They taught him silence, a powerful weapon indeed. So the stallion brought his silence with him. He found the silence enveloped him, and soon the silence became cold and death. Everywhere he went, hebrought death with him. Only little things, like the grass which met his hooves, or the tree which brushed his sleek coat, would wither. They would become cold and hard, and die. He was alone and silent, wandering through the lands, waiting.
He hadn't had contact with other horses for a while now. He had yet to meet some magical, fantastical mare who would steal his heart and sweep him off his mighty black hooves, someone who would change his heart and replace the cold stone with warm love. He had yet to find one like that. If he somehow found one like this, he wasn't sure what he would do. He searched for warriors, those who would fight for him, with him, for he was bloodthirsty. He thought that perhaps he also searched for a true love, a queen who would fight alongside him and rule with power and grace. He had yet to be successful.
The stallion was lost in very deep thought, but his senses were still as alert as ever. His black ears above him twitched and flicked observantly, his black, liquid eyes catching all movement, and missing nothing. He moved with a long stride, his black, powerful haunches swaying with the immense power felt with each and every stride. His slow footsteps ate up the rotting ground and he arched his long, sleek neck,holding his long face high in the still air. The silence followed him still, like a black presence which crept behind you, prepared to pounce. The stallion was alone, he was sure. At least for now.
The scenery became more quiet, if that was possible, and more still and treacherous. Everywhere crawled little insects out of the rotting trees and limbs splayed haphazardly over the ground. The black had nothing to fear from them, nothing at all. He stepped over the dead leaves and the crawling things, and they withered, they became cold. The stallion jeered at the little things which could be called poisonous, yet had no power over him. His poisonous fear, that which he played off of all the time, was too powerful.
He stepped casually, yet his posture remained ready to spring and dodge any flying attacker or being. The stallion detected none. He walked on and soon came to a clearing. It was a small space, no more than twelve or thirteen horses could fit here, and the ground was even, yet even in this clearing, the air was still dark and treacherous. Morbyd smiled, a thin lipped smile which was not of contentment, but of what he could do by controlling such a place. It was a good idea, it seemed, to capture this land and call it his home. He would rule the land with dominance and power, it would be his homebase for his destruction and battling. Such thoughts sent cold shivers up his spine. He laughed a short, low growl which was soon caught by the silence enveloping him once more. His smile faded only a little as he withdrew into the shadows, undetected, where he would wait for a victim, a recruit, one who would be trapped in his land and serve him. Forever.
OOC: 1008 words. Muse is bursting.
