[m] [p] time for cake and sodomy - Printable Version +- 'Souls IPB Archive (November 2007–October 2012) (https://soulsrpg.com/ipb) +-- Forum: Dead IC (https://soulsrpg.com/ipb/forumdisplay.php?fid=110) +--- Forum: Dead Topics (https://soulsrpg.com/ipb/forumdisplay.php?fid=21) +--- Thread: [m] [p] time for cake and sodomy (/showthread.php?tid=29650) |
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- Machidael Lykoi - 07-20-2012 [html]
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The rust-colored hybrid grunted as he leaned over his kill. The blade of his dagger flashed, slicing the deer in appropriate places. It wasn't a knife made for this work, but it would serve. He had a mind to try trading the raw pelt for more of the dagga, as Amaury called it, but Machidael knew no one. And -- even if he had, he doubted very much a raw, uncured pelt would be worth so much.
He'd tied his horse some distance from the kill, knowing the scent and sight of blood might madden her. Seraht was a feeble sort of mount, just the type of horse to make him miss Zahi harder -- but for the moment, she was his horse. The rusty-hued hybrid grunted and yanked at the deer. He scowled and the dark tip of his tail flickered as he worked. This carcass was larger and tougher than the antelopes he was used to dealing with. In his mind, this was an antelope -- a weirder one than he'd ever seen, sure, but an antelope all the same. He did not know the word for "deer."
More annoying than the virtual worthlessness of the kill was the damage it might have done to his spear. The animal had fallen on the side Machi speared him, and it had been a harrowing few moments before the chestnut-furred jackal could ascertain his weapon's wholeness. Thankfully, it was well-made and had suffered no damage. He glanced at it, leaned against a nearby tree, and returned to his work.
A crow cawed, and the rust-colored hybrid glanced up. Quite a few had gathered to watch his grisly work. Some perched in the nearby trees; still others circled up overhead. An especially bold bird, dark as night and with intelligent black eyes, hopped up toward Machidael. The jackal paused, frozen, to consider the creature and allow it further advance. The crow hopped forward, regarding him with his shrewd eyes. It made a noise, and snatched a piece of the deer.
Machidael let it launch itself into the air before he snapped forward and smacked it out of the sky. The jackal barked a laugh at the squawk the bird made and watched it tumble on the ground. It lay, dazed, before slowly getting up and wobbling away. Machi watched it go, still snorting under his breath. He called to it in Arabic. Try again and die, friend. Your kind picks at my leavings. Such creatures ought to know their place. @import url('http://sleepyglow.net/rp/post.css'); </style>[/html] - Cassandra Asylum - 08-17-2012 [html] [/html] - Machidael Lykoi - 08-17-2012 [html] (--) SKJakjfkwljgklwaejg I DID NOT SEE THIS OR IT WOULD HAVE BEEN MY FIRST REPLY 8| 8| 8| 8| x 100
Cruelty was a way of life in Machidael. Although the raider clan had tried to instill some sense of morality and righteousness in him, he balked them. His mother had taught him he was the embodiment of a god, so why did he need to respect the laws of Luperci? He ran with them and kept to their ways for a time, out of necessity perhaps -- or because the pickings were good. But he did not absorb their lessons, and when he realized the repercussions for breaking their laws were few, the rust-hued hybrid had taken advantage of it. He had done so with more vigor when he realized the usefulness in inciting his fellow canines to their own rebellions, and soon he'd been far from the only one. It became more difficult to punish the more of his unhappy fellows he roped into dissent.
Now, there was nothing to temper his inhibitions, with he followed with the rigidity found in some of the most stoutly religious. Just now his inclination was to tempt more crows, so he tore pieces from his kill and flung them forward. Closer and closer to the corpse they were, sure to draw the hungry birds close. Perhaps this time, rather than punching, he'd use his dagger. A plethora of black feathers to decorate his dyed-dark hair might serve him well. Machidael had never been one for feather decorations -- perhaps because birds were difficult to capture in his homeland without certain ranged weapons. His spear was not suited for such tasks, ranged weapon as it was -- he'd learned that upon destroying a hawk or two. Only the largest birds could withstand the long spear, and those were rarely encountered anyway.
He was watching for the crows when another noise drew his head around. It was a pale canine, and at first Machidael thought it was a wolf. He reared up a little bit, setting a hand protectively on his kill. He scrutinized her, and as his crimson eyes came to her face, he realized she bore the same features he now recognized to be coyote. They were more similar to the jackal than the wolf, though the differences there, too, were stark. Her color still threw him, for he'd only encountered coyotes of brownish and tawny coloration, as with the idiot in Halifax and Sebante. Machi had never seen an albino before, and therefore did not recognize his first.
What want? he asked, reverting to English. He knew this to be the tongue of this land, though he loathed to speak it. It was so much more difficult to express himself in English. At least in his mother tongue, he stood some chance of being understood -- though he was coming to suspect many canines of this land simply had little to say. If they were all addle-brained as the brownish coyote in the city, he could hope to live a long, lovely life interacting with morons. He might not even bother to try and learn their tongue more completely. Sebante's rudimentary education was already half-forgotten, the more obscure and rarely-used words -- along with tenses and all sense of grammar -- had flown out of his head. As the most extensive conversation he'd engaged thus far had been with Amaury, the heavy-accented African dog, he had little hope of picking up the words by observation and listening. @import url('http://sleepyglow.net/rp/post.css'); </style>[/html] - Cassandra Asylum - 08-17-2012 [html] [/html] - Machidael Lykoi - 08-17-2012 [html] (--)
The wolves and even the coyotes, with whom he was supposed to share blood, were strange creatures to him. He did not understand how the coyote could run the gamut of color from tawny to white (and, he presumed, black as well) and be more relative to the jackal than the wolf. Perhaps Sebante had lied? Machidael had trusted the creature to a great extent, and perhaps all of it had been a mistake. Machidael was not used to being made a fool, though he knew the foul taste of betrayal well enough.
He sized her up and down, looking over the cloak. It was draped in such a way that Machidael could discern no weapons, though perhaps they were only expertly hidden? Or perhaps she was a master of combat without weapons. Either way, she was a woman, and he did not fear her sex. He had seen warrior women and ridden with some of them, too, but when they raided a village or town it was always the screaming and clutching women who went down first. Their weaknesses were known to the rust-hued jackal.
What give? He thought back to Amaury and the word he'd used for the smoke. Dagga? The jackal had no way of knowing this word was not a typical reference to the plant, of course. Fuck? he added, rudely gesturing at the object used to perform such an act. And why not? Sebante had been his last, and Machidael was used to far more frequent pleasurings than he received now. It would take a particularly lowly sort of canine to prostrate themselves for meat, so easily obtainable, but Machidael and his ilk preyed on desperation. @import url('http://sleepyglow.net/rp/post.css'); </style>[/html] - Cassandra Asylum - 08-17-2012 [html] [/html] - Machidael Lykoi - 08-17-2012 [html] (--) /snortchokedie
The smile was unexpected, and Machidael regarded her with the slitted snake's eyes of deep suspicion. In his experience, many found sex to be a special thing shared between those who cared about each other, and many more grew ornery at the suggestion of unacquainted relations, even if unattached. And still, a memory resonated within Machidael of his second stint within al-Iskandariyya. He remembered the canines from the first time he'd lived there, too, but at such a young age, he had not known their purpose. There were both women and men, according to taste, and though Machidael had never been prosperous enough to have indulged himself, he'd longed from afar.
He would not, however, have expected to encounter the same thing on this continent. From all Sebante had said, it was less civilized by far, and such esteemed trades -- for what else was something allowed to pleasure him, but an esteemed trade? -- were not found here. His suspicion prickled again, and the rust-streaked jackal wondered if he had said anything Machidael might rely upon. Her removing the cloak bolstered his hope, and the jackal was preparing to stand when she tucked it before herself and spoke of the crows. His head snapped toward them and he hissed frustration at the closeness of them. Crows were of no concern to him with more tantalizing games to play. They scattered at his scrutiny, however, and Machi was quick to return his attention to the pale supposed-coyote.
You run, he said, and extending a finger to point at the spear and then the horse. I chase, I take, he promised. There would be killing, later, but first there would be taking -- or perhaps both, simultaneously? Machidael would have time to decide. Though his steed was a tottering old thing, he did not need to ride her down -- he could throw the spear from horseback just as well as he could with both feet planted on the ground. The rust-hued jackal took a step away from the midsection of the corpse and shrugged, gesturing at it. His knife was sunken into the exposed flesh around the ribs. He didn't particularly care if she ruined the pelt, for by occupying himself with her, he'd surely waste the brief time in which it was easiest to skin the thing. It was therefore likely he would give up his pelt-prize anyway. @import url('http://sleepyglow.net/rp/post.css'); </style>[/html] - Cassandra Asylum - 08-17-2012 [html] [/html] - Machidael Lykoi - 08-17-2012 [html]
Machidael suspected nothing from the woman. Her kind, when warriors, always made a boasting show of it. All the female raiders he'd known had been such -- they wore trophies of their kills and flaunted their status as raiders more often than they even raided. The leader of the raiders' clan had been a woman, and even she, strongest of the she-beasts, had fallen bloody and lifeless, speared by some idiot peasant. At least she had the good sense to die in battle and with the taste of glory, rather than suffer a phthisis of her power and strength. The old once-warrior men and sometimes (albeit rarely) women in the clan had been worse than even the boastful types.
Having already picked at the carcass, he had no intention of joining her, and instead stood awkwardly at beside the corpse on its opposite side, gazing down at her with cherry red eyes. Her ghost-paleness still disconcerted him, and Machidael studied her with sharpness in his gaze, his gaze more bloodied and deeply red in coloration. They also lacked the otherworldly transparency of her colorless eyes. The pinkness of her flesh was pleasing, however, and he could imagine there were pale tinges of pink elsewhere on her body, too -- in far more pleasing spots than the tip of her nose and the pads of her hand. Machi imagined them and a grin, almost happy and glittering with the gold of his tooth, appeared on his small muzzle.
Her thanks was received with a monotone grunt, and he seemed not to allow its distraction from sizing her up. He did not prefer women -- his tastes tended more toward masculine, and Machidael enjoyed males he could dominate (and therefore avoided wolves, who typically outsized him by a great deal, as a general rule). It was no wonder coyotes appealed to him, then. The jackal was never one to refuse opportunity, however, and as she was pretty enough to raise his desire, he could certainly indulge himself. He grew restless and dissatisfied with his own play after only so long, and that time had since past. It pleased him to have found one willing to engage him, and one of quality, at that.
Perhaps he was too busily engaged with appraising her body and imagining its rose-tinged features, which were soon to be his for a time, to see her intent -- or perhaps she simply made none of her intent known. Machidael never knew. He was opening his mouth to suggest they both might accomplish their ends at the same time, if she would only shift her position a bit, when there was a sudden movement. Drawn out of his desirous imagination and formation of his inquiry too slowly to truly react, Machidael jerked out of purely masculine reflex. If he lacked in this instinctual flinch, he would have lost the thing which made him unequivocally male -- and an eye, too (but that seemed less important in the grand scheme). As it was, the small blade tore through his thigh. The other flashed mere inches from his crimson-hued eye.
The salty scent of blood, which had been growing steadily more rotten since the deer's death, was suddenly renewed, and Machidael knew it his own blood-scent. The slickness was palpable along his thigh, and the searing fire of the cut more so. He realized his own lips were snarling, and he added a cacophony of growling and half-yowling to the expression of fury. The hybrid crouched half-way and swiped at the blood with a hand. Bitch, he hissed. Fucking coyote bitch, he added, more colorfully, and followed it with a string of slurs and promises to fuck her bloody in Arabic, despite knowing they were probably incomprehensible to her. He flicked the excess liquid off his hand and onto her pretty pale coat.
The skinny jackal took a step, funneling the pain this caused in his injured leg into the ferocity of his snarl, and took another edging around and away from her. He needed his knife, or, better yet -- his spear. His crimson-colored eyes flicked to both in turn, though they visited the pale coyote between both, wary of her motion. He took a step forward on his uninjured leg and held the other hand against the injury, trying to to stave off the bleeding. Some of the fire was starting to leave the wound, but he needed a weapon all the same. Machidael was a brute fighter and capable of downing an unarmed enemy of similar size even when he himself was unarmed. Still, the rust-furred jackal had thrown the spear, watched it pierce the chest or belly or leg of some distant foe, and sliced too many throats with knives of his own not to be wary of even her little blades. @import url('http://sleepyglow.net/rp/post.css'); </style>[/html] - Cassandra Asylum - 08-17-2012 [html] [/html] - Machidael Lykoi - 08-17-2012 [html]
The rust-colored jackal did not comprehend the severity of his situation, nor his own woeful unpreparedness. Why would he, when he had conquered every foe put before him? He had run from fights, of course, retreated with the rest of his raiders and flew before Khayri, but those were different sorts of fights. Picking on the weak of the world was all he'd done thus far, and to have a foe competent enough to fight back surprised him. And truly, he didn't understand why he should be attacked -- they'd come to an agreement, and there was nothing strange or offensive within that agreement. Bodies and lives both were traded each day.
He wanted the knife stuck in the corpse, for he did not dare even swing a fist at her with the blades in play. But she was standing closer to the corpse of the deer than he was, and with his injured leg, he could not hope to move in and take the knife before she cut him once or twice -- or more times, if she opted to slash quickly rather than stab and he was truly unlucky. Hissing his frustration, the hybrid watched with frustrated crimson-colored eyes as she moved for her clothing. The russet hybrid took a shifting step, and jerked in surprise as the garment flashed between them, hiding her from his view. He hunkered down and raised a fist, thinking she sought to cover and tackle him while he was engaged in removing the thing. He'd let most of it pass over him and fling whatever covered him away with the hand.
She came charging through instead of leaping onto him, and Machi was surprised to the point of delaying his shoving with a shoulder for her oncoming body. He snatched for a wrist or arm with his opposite hand. It occurred to Machi he might even seek to bite, but the jackal sought to disarm before he stuck his face anywhere near her. @import url('http://sleepyglow.net/rp/post.css'); </style>[/html] - Cassandra Asylum - 08-17-2012 [html] [/html] - Machidael Lykoi - 08-17-2012 [html]
The momentum of her motion was too much, especially as she followed through and dove for him. The jackal was tossed backwards, trying to fling his legs beneath her even with the movement. One leg was injured, though, and slowed -- there was only his good one on which to rely. There was a flash of teeth before him and a searing bolt of pain on his chest, and the hybrid howled. He flailed his free hand in attempt to beat and slash at her head while he yanked at her arm with the other, claws scrabbling for a hold in her flesh.
He twisted his skinny body away from the pale canine's jaws. The pain came to a fiery head as he was distinctly aware of a tearing sensation. Gasping with that and already panting with effort, he heaved with his good leg and bad leg both, though one screamed with this effort. His midsection was splattered with a few drops of his own blood at this renewed effort, but he aimed to put the strong runner's muscles of his hindquarters beneath her weight and get out from under her. @import url('http://sleepyglow.net/rp/post.css'); </style>[/html] - Cassandra Asylum - 08-17-2012 [html] [/html] - Machidael Lykoi - 08-17-2012 [html] (--)
The pale coyote scrambled out of his grasp and away from him, losing her balance with the kick, though it delivered no damage. The rust-colored canine sat up with a growl of pain, his hand clutching at his chest. He was quick to scrabble to his feet, though, expecting her to rush in again. It surprised him when she did not, and instead retreated. Machidael hesitated a moment, glowering at her and almost thinking to let her go -- until he realized his horse and other things were back in the direction she was headed.
With a loud curse the chestnut-furred jackal started off, intending to chase after her. When his injured leg hit the ground, however, Machidael knew he would do no chasing. His eyes scanned over the ground and fell on the corpse of the deer, long forgotten. He hobbled toward it as quickly as possible, throwing the injured leg out to increase his stride despite the sharp bite of pain it gave him. The skirt he wore was torn near where the knife had nicked against it, and the slick of blood ran almost to his knee now.
His crimson eyes searched the corpse for his knife and found it, knocked aside and close to the animal's rear hoof. Machi grabbed it by the back of the blade and cocked his arm back. It was his knife and he knew its weight -- and also that it was not meant to be thrown. He launched the already-bloodied thing at her with his good arm, not particularly caring if he hit the stot instead. It was worth his while to at least try, and if the horse died in the process -- well. Maybe it would be better if she left, but he considered that too late -- the knife was already in the air. @import url('http://sleepyglow.net/rp/post.css'); </style>[/html] - Cassandra Asylum - 08-17-2012 [html] [/html] - Machidael Lykoi - 08-18-2012 [html] (--)
When the blade sailed over her and stuck thoroughly in the tree, Machidael knew he could not reach her quickly enough. Perhaps if he had a real throwing knife, or if the blade hadn't been already blood-slicked and therefore harder to grip, he might have at least nicked her and bought a few more minutes. When she was atop the horse, though, he knew it was lost. Still, he tried to advance, his injured leg stiff with the pain of his motion. With the movement and flash of his knife, Seraht was suddenly free and barreling away from him with the pale stranger on her back. The rust-streaked jackal's scowl was deepened, furrowed across his face and accentuating the darker hints of his jaw.
He kept his mouth shut, at least, as he watched the horse's fleeting hindquarters. Though he seethed with anger, he actually did not know any curses to articulate that anger. Perhaps he owed that for his silence. Soon, even the pounding of hooves faded away, and Machidael was left in the relative silence. He glowered in the direction of the last spot where he'd seen the pale flaxen hindquarters of what had been his horse. A cawing brought him out of his angry stupor, and his head snapped to attention, back toward the deer corpse. The ravens had settled down on it and were feasting away.
Machidael half-staggered to them, leaping half-heartedly when he was nearly upon them. Some were already rising, but a few of the most ardent feasters were too concerned with their meal to take heed of his advance. Snapping and slashing his claws, he tore into two, their lives hardly soothing to Machi's anger. The rest exploded away from the corpse, screaming and crying their own anger and fear. @import url('http://sleepyglow.net/rp/post.css'); </style>[/html] |