[m] there is a two-fold silence

POSTED: Mon Jun 06, 2011 2:32 am

WARNING This thread contains: sexual content, graphic violence, or extremely offensive material starting with the -- post. Reader discretion is advised.


table © sie :: the sunset execution.

Again the lonely days deepened, stretching on to the horizon with an endlessness that pleaded for redemption. But no quarter was given to the mountain man - He who made himself the beast he dreaded, a creature formed of stone and snow and the cold blue eyes of a freshly shattered dawn. She had known, when she left him for the last time, that perhaps there was a weakening of resolve within her lover - He alone seemed unaware of how the time had changed him, how the echoing sound of his own voice had pierced the sanity always drawn near.

It had been endless days since Talitha de le Poer had left him - the sun and moon sneered at his existence, such a mild blight on the terrible, wonderful world. Come next winter the snows would fall again, burying any trace of Caillen Winters and the den he had lost his soul in. Only the trees would remember him - All around for many, many paces, they were carved with strange images by the tip of a sharpened antler. The images told of his life - Of man and woman, of the demons that hunted them. They told of the murder he had thought for his mother, and they told of the embrace of the de le Poer woman. Little primitive stick figures, tangled in fornication and sin - detailing every aspect of his crumbling mind, like the etchings of a madman in his jail cell.

These trees would form a tomb, and perhaps the red-haired siren would return here and wander amongst them; Perhaps she would add to the withered bark the story of how Caillen died.

He came down from the mountain as the sun began to set, bleeding profusely across the deepening sky. Already the moon had risen, but it was a bone-white echo in the violent purple, lost to the graphic splendor of the sun's murder. He came in silence, but with a finality that filled his massive frame. The Antler weapon was strapped to his leg, but as was the nature of the man buried deep within the husk of muscle and warm flesh, he came in quiet peace. All he wanted was within the skull border, and the man sensed that he needed her now, as he would never need her again.

Hypothermia blue eyes did not linger on the gaping maws of previous trespassers as they gazed out blindly in their own never-ending death. The madness within him blinded the Winters man to his own mortal peril. Within this borders, at last, he called for her - A ringing cry, demanding and possessive, for she was his. He loved her. He loved her with all of his poor, gentle heart. Any who sought to keep her from him would feel the wrath of his loneliness, the dark beast within that had eroded the kind soul till he rotted, trapped in the body that his whore-mother had birthed.

POSTED: Mon Jun 06, 2011 3:12 am

+5

Many men had spoken on the depths of hell; some spoke of fire, others ice. Dante described hell by its rings, each more terrible than the last. Ezekiel had read these stories but not learned the truth of hell until he had taken the crown from his father.

Hell was repetition.

Day in and day out he patrolled and scoured the borders endlessly. His sister had become a stranger since the death of the boy. Halo and Sage offered him no comfort. He was trapped by his father’s bond and unwilling to shame him further. Not when he recognized the fate that would befall the clan—his clan—should he fail. A stubbornness to prove those doubts and those whispering voices of mutiny fueled him further. Even now he hesitated to speak to his father about these matters, unwilling to show weakness to his sire. Talitha could not be shown the slightest fault or she would crumble and destroy him with her. His family would turn on him if he hesitated even once.

As night fell, he dismissed the horse. Ezekiel was both capable and preferred to travel on foot at night. He had spent many a night alone in the darkness, and he welcomed it. The forest was savage and deep and it was predictable. In the wild there was no politics, no matters of heart and head. There was only tooth and claw. In his heart, Ezekiel would always be a savage—even though Cwmfen had tried to prevent this, the boy had succumbed to the nature of his soul.

The call rose from nearby, and its voice startled the Aquila. Ezekiel’s ears rose to a great red crown atop a field of gold, his nostrils flared like a horses’ and sucked in the cold night air, but oh his eyes were made of no mortal thing. Fire, as beautiful and deadly as the dawn, filled those eagle eyes with a fury from the depths of the earth. A wolf, not only calling on his sister, but demanding her. Each step he took, well placed and silent, was a step away from reason.

Fury blinded him to the truth even as he spotted the massive animal on his borders. The sunset fell at his back, hiding him in a veil of gold and deep shadows. The wind carried the behemoth’s scent towards the hot-blooded savage. He recognized it, but only partially—he recognized that this was the scent of the man with whom Talitha had fled to. A second and more terrible rage overcame him; his sister, his fanatical, hate-mongering sister, who preached so highly, had gone and run with a wolf.

His face twisted, but no sound escaped him. Muscle memory drew the arrow, notched it. He pulled back with a stillness made possible only by training; had he been but weaker, he might have attacked the man head on. That cold, calculating part of his soldier’s mind warned him against such a thing. With no warning, with no honorable salute nor cry, the barbarian posing as a king let the red-shafted arrow fly.

POSTED: Mon Jun 06, 2011 3:29 am

table © sie

His call ebbed out into the silence, stretching away from his location like ripples on placid waters. But the depths of this land was unknown, and the shadows that lurked within it did so with a fury bound by barbarian intent, a hunger for the blood of the man who had lain with his kin and poisoned her treacherous mind with words of hypocrisy and love.

There was to be no warning, no mercy or honor. Only the whistling that came with the arrow, a hunter of the cold wind that sought blood and destruction. Stone broke through thick muscle, embedding itself deep in the behemoth's thigh. For the single swift moment it took pain to register, the Winters male glanced down at the fluttering red feathers, and the ruby rivers that ran in trickles down his leg.

Had Ezekiel de le Poer been a luckier man, perhaps his eagle-aim could have fractured bone, or perhaps pierced most sensitive organ, and brought death on the swift wings of a dark-backed raven. But red fueled the madness within, and pain and fury manifested itself in a roar. The gentle giant was no longer - In its place a monstrous bull, enraged by the copper plumage of the fool who sought to taunt him. Slitter pupils caught the reflection of another's eyes, and with the blood-curdling cry still dying in his throat, Caillen reached down and snapped the arrow from his flesh like it was a mere twig.

Then, with insanity and a terrible pain burning sharply in his ever-blue eyes, the beast charged.

POSTED: Mon Jun 06, 2011 3:58 am

The sunset flared at his back like a dying star, and Ezekiel watched as his arrow fell short. His eyes narrowed. Some pagan luck saved the brute from what had been a well-aimed shot. His knuckles tightened to bone-white under fine fur and the savage spat a curse to whatever deity had saved the brute.

Time turned against him. A bear in the guise of a wolf-dog came rushing into the forest from the mountains. The earth moved under Ezekiel’s feet and his body listened as his ears could not. Now a wounded but infuriated typhoon rushed upon him. Almost instantly the disconnect of the soldier occurred; Ezekiel’s eyes hollowed despite the rage still burning within them. His body fell into a fighter’s stance, dropping his weight as to best meet this charge.

He flung the bow and quiver aside, knowing they would serve him no more. There was enough time for him to read the approaching mass before he rushed forward to meet it. In a singular motion he swept low, extending raptor’s talons and slashing out at the behemoth’s side. This fight could not be won by strength alone. Wear him down, the voice that was and was not his own ordered. Burn his heart. Finally, Ezekiel snarled—it was a feral thing, one that did not suit their more evolved kin.

For Ezekiel was, at heart, a savage.

POSTED: Mon Jun 06, 2011 4:21 am

table © sie

All he knew was pain and anger - It was as if Caillen's crystal world had been thrown into the pits of hell. Everything was flames, and burning, and there could be no redemption this time. The years of his life - Years of mistreatment, lies and heartache - burned as bright as any anger could, for this was the last time he would be challenged.

Eyes focused on the arrow-man, and the pupils within them burned, burned with the look of one so far past anger that there could only be a deep confusion, a deep blackness. He sought death, and within it, a finality to these lifetimes of simple and empty loneliness. There had to be more. Ezekiel's life was a small price to pay for the end to this torture in which he existed.

The smaller man moved forward to meet him, and he was faster than the enraged beast. Sharp claws sliced through thick fur and heated flesh, leaving trenches across the giant's ribs. But there was no sensation of pain, only that peaking sense of confusion-rage, and the desire to eliminate this weaker creature from existence. Even as the rusty scent of blood permeated the sweet summery air, and sticky wetness spread over his side, the stag was tossing his head in fury. A massive clawed hand sought the other's throat, although the gargantuan swing was a little too slow, and instead sought the flesh of the man's upper arm.

POSTED: Mon Jun 06, 2011 4:32 am

Until he had fought the demon crow-wolf, Ezekiel had not been like this. It was as if some of the taint from that shadow creature had found its way into his soul, through the eye he had scarred. Aggression became a permanent fixture of the de le Poer. He fought strangers, clansmen, anyone—he desired that true communication, desired the sensation of body against body, desired to say what words could not—and he fought simply because he felt like it.

In many ways, this was no different. He was fighting because he had provoked the fight. They might have talked. Maybe he would have made peace with the brute who came for his sister, as he had made peace with Haven. Somehow, though, he doubted this. Peace could not be made with the enemy. Talitha would have expected no less, not when she had stood on her pedestal and waved a dead boy in his face. Wolves were the enemy. Wolves had no place in their world. This stranger had no place in their world, no place in his sister’s world. Only Ezekiel could exist there.

He drew blood and spun in time to catch the clawed paw across his bicep. It was a grazing wound, but with the size of his opponent’s hand, those claws cut deep. The coyote snarled once more, saw red, and threw a fist into the burly wolf-dog’s face. As he recoiled, his other hand shot out, claws extended.

POSTED: Mon Jun 06, 2011 4:51 am

table © sie

For all his immense size and fury, Caillen had little skill in the fight. He relied purely on instincts honed deeply into his boiling blood, the feral traits of his sinner-father and his whore-mother. The wolf-blood in him demanded freedom, and it pulsed freely to each fresh wound, ran deeply through all iron veins.

Perhaps they looked magnificent, circling and lunging - Violent poetry in motion. The setting sun dyed light fur and it became impossible to tell blood from light from shadow and darkness. His wickedly curved claws found purchase in the flesh of the man's arm, and were christened with his blood as it burst from the body's confines. However, the fight did not hesitate, and a fist met with the man's jaw - his head snapped back in retaliation, but was immediately followed by the other hand. Ezekiel's claws sought his vision, talons scraping over the flesh of his eye-socket and cheekbone.

Another enraged sound pulled from the mammoth male's throat as pain exploded across his face, and his left eye became blinded by a red waterfall. The good eye focused on his attacker, and it was filled with hatred, hatred and sorrow and confusion. Like a wounded bear he retaliated, meeting the swinging fist with a parry, and heaving his immense body-weight behind clenched knuckles so that they might revenge his own mauled face with the handsome visage of the stranger.

POSTED: Mon Jun 06, 2011 5:04 am

That dying star collapsed into the sea as it would one day do millions of light-years away, and with its bloody light they were washed in crimson and scarlet and deeper shades of blue and violet. Even their eyes took on these tones; both capturing the sunlight and burning red as if they were truly hellions and not beasts of the earth. Yet this was no apocalyptic battle—this was only a brother fighting his sister’s lover because he could not strike her. He did not stop to think what other lives he would ruin; he did not think much at all.

His eagle’s talons found purchase in the soft flesh around the eye, as he had learned from experience, and Ezekiel bared his teeth in a snarl-smile. This was short lived. A fist made of stone collided with Ezekiel’s muzzle, sending shooting pain up from his nose and all the way through his skull. He smelt blood, but it was not enough to concern him. Snorting blood from his wounded nose, the coyote weaved and came in again, feigning the first blow and going for the other eye with a hand curled into a hook.

POSTED: Mon Jun 06, 2011 5:23 am

table © sie :: powerplay approved by Mel

A satisfying ache shot through his knuckles as they made contact with a snarling muzzle. There was no sharp crack to signify that anything had been broken, but Caillen's immense size lent him great strength, and such an attack had surely not been wasted.

The smaller man was much quicker than he, though, and Ezekiel retaliated almost instantly, even as blood sprayed from his nose with a sharp exhale. The man's lithe body weaved out of sight of his good eye, and the blind one searched wildly, soaked in red and twitching with maddened intent. Again, the coyote King came at him, but this time the wolfdog's massive bulk lent him good stead, and a violent thrash pushed the man's seeking claws away from his face as though his attack was nothing more than an annoyance.

There would be no mercy this time. The bear was infuriated beyond restraint - He had forgotten all sense of clarity or reasoning, knew nothing of human thought of emotion beyond the pain that now lashed every inch of his body, and the potent combination of his intense anger, betrayal, confusion and utter sorrow. His limbs knew of the strength of this kind of immortality - even that in which the arrowhead was still embedded. Without pausing to allow the other to form a defense, Caillen struck again, and his fist met the other's face with a fierce bloom of triumph. However, there was no joy in the beast.

Quickly, far too quickly to be expected from such size, Caillen's other hand found the man's soft, creamy throat. Putting all his mammoth weight behind the move, he threw his force forward, aiming to shove Zeke into the ground and crush the life from him.

POSTED: Mon Jun 06, 2011 5:50 am

Ezekiel was not an untrained warrior. He was capable of handling himself against most foes, but even he could recognize the fault in challenging a man as large as the wolf-dog. His speed failed him in the face of the infuriated man and cost him dearly. Another blow struck his face and struck hard, striking him under the jaw and forcing his teeth to clamp down like a vice. They pierced his tongue and filled his mouth with blood. Sharp pain sobered his fury, but it was too late. The behemoth was upon him.

Spitting blood, the Aquila felt hands grip his throat. His mouth opened wide, blood pouring out as he choked and swallowed the coppery life-force. Both hands clawed wildly at the hybrid’s massive arms, but it was useless. Panic sunk in. His eyes rolled in his head, searching for something, anything. Then, suddenly, he saw his chance.

His right hand grasped the hilt of the antler-bone weapon, and with a wrench, freed it. Ezekiel forced his hands to cover his chest, pointing the sharp end of the weapon upwards. Then, trusting God and trusting his own instincts, Ezekiel hit the ground hard. Even as he choked and swallowed his own blood he smiled-snarled, teeth bared and crimson, eyes burning in the darkness.

POSTED: Mon Jun 06, 2011 6:04 am

table © sie

His hand were tight, constricting, and the man's pulse fluttered against rough palms like gentle butterfly wings.

There was no joy in him for the rush of success. The attacker was done, spent - There would be no hope for him now. Caillen saw it in the panic of his eyes, that primal desperation for life even as the inevitable presence of death slid in beneath flesh, sidling up to stroke cold fingers over brittle bone.

His good eye caught the de le Poer brute's smile, but it was too late by then. His massive body was plunging downward, the talons in his thumbs digging into the man's throat, ready to rip and tear it free from his body - There was no time to stop, no time to react, as the antler pierced his pectoral muscle and slid into his heart.

For all eternity, his blue eyes watched the eyes of the other, first with that devastating hatred of the mindless beast, and then with shock - Such horrible, dreadful shock. There was a strange retching, choking sound in his throat; A trickle of blood oozed from the man's maw, just inches from Ezekiel's own face as they lay sprawled on the cold earth. A horrible sorrow ebbed into his gaze, as the monster ebbed away, and all that could be seen was that desperate loneliness, that ravaged plea for love and companionship that had eroded his heart.

Then the strength flew from his body, and as death came for him, Caillen's massive body fell sideways and lay still, the antler-weapon buried deep in his chest.

POSTED: Mon Jun 06, 2011 6:20 am

Grieving Talitha to the rescue, albeit in a poor post.

Color the dark siren surprised to hear the demanding call of her vagabond wolfdog; it'd only been days since their last encounter, and she had been so sure that Inferni would ward away the advances of the blue-furred Winters man she'd captured the heart of. Her features twisted into those of irritation, paint staining her hands as she continued her work upon the half-broken skull in her lap; he would simply have to wait. If it was truly important, she knew the man would be there when she finished her work. With the limited sunlight left, every moment was imperative to the creation.

As she worked, foreboding tugged at the back of her mind, and it wasn't long before she gave up on completion of the item in order to make her way toward the borders. Caillen deserved his audience with the Princess, and she did not want him caught by sentries of the clan. Long strides carried her quickly across greening earth, the distinctive sashay of the abrasive Optio making it clear who was answering the call. It was the scent of something frightfully familiar that made her pause; rusted metallic hit her nose, faint on the breeze, and her apathy transformed into a facade of worry. The pace was increased, from languid walk to fervent jog, all in the hopes that her suspicions were wrong.

The scene she entered was confusing at first. Crimson eyes surveyed the ground, falling both upon the handsome wolfdog and the golden brother-King who kept her close to the kingdom, and she found no words to voice the question that was pounding in her brain. What had happened? She approached cautiously; men, in their feverish frenzies, were something to be feared and oh, how she feared the savages that warriors became. The damage was clear enough — Caillen had suffered the worst of whatever battle had occurred between them, but Ezekiel also wore bloodied fur. It was her mad, mad Romeo who was to be worried over first.

"Caillen." A single word spoken into the air as the princess crumbled, allowing her body to sink into the ground as one delicate hand sought the paw of her lover. Something entirely unfamiliar dragged down the de le Poer's heart into the pit of her stomach. What had Ezekiel done? It took longer to notice the antler-knife that protruded unpleasantly from the plush fur of his chest; that was focused on first by the woman as she worked to remove it with some attempt at care. The blood that flowered forth did not ease the fragile emotions of the Aquila's sister — unwilling to show the weakness of grieving to the golden man, Talitha brought her lover's hand to rest upon one cream-furred cheek.

POSTED: Mon Jun 06, 2011 6:38 am

+3

Even as his own vision dimmed, Ezekiel felt mad triumph. The antler-knife sunk pommel deep into the chest of the wolf-dog, sunk into his heart and diminished the pagan fire that had kept him alive in those mountains. He felt blood drip into his face, over his scarred eye, and he swallowed it along with his own. With one forcible grunt the Aquila shoved the corpse as it fell and pushed himself to his feet.

Though he swayed, choking and spitting blood, he was steady enough to stiffen at the noisy approach from the west. His head turned to find his sister somehow at the side of the dead man. She spoke his name. She barely looked at her brother. Fury boiled in his blood, righteous and unrighteous alike, and he no longer attempted to hide the outright hatred that he felt.

“Don’t you ever fucking speak to me about outsiders again,” he hissed, voice low and thick. He coughed heavily, his own blood still filling his mouth. Ezekiel spat onto the earth. “I put up with your shit and let you run your fucking mouth the way you do and for what? For you to go fuck,” the word fell like a physical blow, harsh and uncaring. “, this piece of trash? You’re worse than the lot of these sorry fucks, you know that? They’re stupid and they’re worthless but they at least know where their loyalties lay!” A harsh bark. His throat was raw, raspy. It hurt to raise his voice, so he kept it low.

“You’re so goddamned high and mighty, and this is what you do? You fucking stab me in the back. I shouldn’t have to put up with this shit, Talitha, not from you, not from anyone. I’m your leader. I’m your fucking brother, for God’s sake!” A staggering step was taken away from her but it only succeded in bringing him to his knees. Ezekiel hit the ground with his palms and spat saliva and blood onto ground still thirsty for more.

POSTED: Mon Jun 06, 2011 7:04 am

The lament for the man she clung to was short-lived as his chest halted all movement and the words of her brother reached her ears. They swiveled to listen, the meaning not truly sinking in for the briefest moment; for all her wit and verbal sting, the de le Poer woman was at a loss. The Aquila's tongue was harsh, speaking of her faults as if he saw her in the same light that the abhorred Lykoi cousin or misogynist uncle did. Ezekiel, her prized tie to the world around her, had descended into disgust at her actions. Had she truly thought he would have simply accepted the fling she'd kept a secret for so many turns of the moon? No, she'd known what to expect. That had been the reason for her secrecy. And even as she began the altered lifestyle to prepare for the chance of motherhood, she found herself unable to resist catering to the golden King who so harmed her delicate feelings. She twisted on the ground and rose to her feet once more, prepared to face him with all of her useless self-confidence as he spat upon the ground.

"Please don't strain yourself; I don't want to lose you." Something wavered in her tone, unable to hide what was slowly bubbling over. He simply didn't realize what he said to her, he was angry; she was certain that he couldn't truly feel as he seemed to. As if afraid of what he would do, she kept her distance. Never before had she so feared her brother's wrath. One deep breath was inhaled before she gathered up trace remnants of courage. "I'm a grown woman, Ezekiel, I'll sleep with who I please; maybe if you weren't off cavorting with that whore woman, I wouldn't have to find my social comforts in Caillen Winters. You condemn me for him, but I never, never let him come into these lands. Not like you and father, with her. I knew when she came here, I'm not stupid! I'm your sister, Ezekiel! I'm supposed to be important! I'm supposed to matter to you, but you keep pushing me away for them!"

The yelping sob that emanated from her jaws signaled another turn, this time to place her back to the male. She crouched above the ground, fingers rummaging about the dead dog's neck in search for the clasp to the pendant she knew he wore there; the handsome silver stag's head couldn't be tossed away with his body. Her hands began to shake, though whether in anger or sadness she wasn't certain. "I want you to stay away from her. And her children. I don't want you to have anything to do with her; stay away and I'll never leave Inferni, I'll stay here and you can watch me and I won't have anything to do with the people outside again." Her fingers fumbled with the pendant, but it came loose and she palmed it easily, gazing at the lifeless face of the wolfdog before her. Slowly, she closed his eyes. "If you don't, I'll tell her that you killed her son; how do you think she'll feel about that, brother?" She spoke softly, her siren voice openly extorting a desired response from the handsome King of Inferni.

POSTED: Tue Jun 07, 2011 1:59 am

+3

His heart thudded in his chest from exertion, pumping hot blue-blood through the Barbarian-King’s veins. This battle had cost him; his arm stung from where a deep slash had punctured flesh, and his face throbbed from taking several blows there. He was lucky the swelling had not begun yet; he had time yet to soak in cold water and prevent such a thing. One hand pushed him back onto his feet despite his sister’s odd words, and he ran his tongue along his teeth. It had not been severed, but punctured by his own razor sharp teeth. His hand lowered and ripped the red-tipped arrow from the thigh of the great behemoth.

Winters.

His heart skipped a beat. Ezekiel’s eyes widened in the darkness, pupils swallowing the night until all that remained of color was a faint ring of gold. He did not turn to look at his sister, nor the body of the man who she called her lover, who shared blood with his mentor. The Aquila stared into the darkness in silence.

Then as she struck, like the snake she was, he began to laugh. It was a harsh, raw sound; more akin to a raven’s cry than any other beast. He turned to face her then, eyes glowing in the starlight. “I see why father saw fit to make you our voice. You’re a heartless bitch.” Humor lingered in his tone, but his face was mad fury. She was playing with fire. “I’ll leave at dawn. You get that body off my land and clean his scent off you. There are plenty of other worthless men you can fuck here, aren’t there dear sister?” Another blow, intended to shame her. He knew of her past. He knew she would run to them now that the wolf-dog was gone.

Brushing the arrow-head off on his own fur, Ezekiel walk-staggered towards where he had dropped his own items. He would have enough time to clean himself and sleep before leaving. For now all he could do was step away from the truth of the matter, and behave in the mechanical way he had learned to live for so long.

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