Post by >>|Comanche|<< on Jan 14, 2006 17:10:57 GMT -5
Steel grey piers floated him over the territory, quick and ghostly, cold and burning. Blackened tassels whipped in the wind, auds pricking at the familiar sound of concrete under his hooves, and the worn crackle of faded brick pathway. The dated graveyard was silent, all but the whisper of the freezing gales in the willows that towered over him like imposing tree trunk pillars. Narettes opened and closed readily, large opticans finding nothing but the great expanses of tombstone. Then, as the moon rose behind him, a large and solitary shadow engulfed his dappled hide, and he turned and grinned with a deathly void at the broken building. The doors banged noisily as the storm reached it's peak, the moon casting an eerie silver glow on him, making him look like a horse of dulled chrome. Out from his feet the earth below him froze as he walked, and a cold, un-ending darkness settled around the powerful stag.
In he walked, through the open doors, and down the damp isle, rotting benches looming on either side of him. The luxurious carpet was now worn down in some places to the stone, cold floor. His long strides brought him to the alter, a wrecked piece of wood, and his orbs traveled restlessly up to the blood-spattered stained glass. The candles that lit the place every time he wasn't there went out in a whiff of smoke as he turned and his cold gaze swept over the room. All of a sudden a thin coat of ice sweeped over the old church, leaving everything a vicious white, and he stepped down and walked calmly into the now only partly walled room to the right. The ceiling was caving in in places, and there were holes in the walls big enough for a small horse to get through. It was here that he turned and let his eyes flutter down, and he slept until the morning sun punctured his shelter.
As soon as the sun hit his body, it retreated back behind the clouds, leaving his land in an overcast light, that was quite enough for him. Now he agily jumped out into the morning air, looking around the quiet cemetery. Sneering, he muttered to himself.
"Now I need some others to torture."
Just the thought of it made the big Arabian shudder in delight. Soon his body could be seen making it's way like a frightening rain cloud through the gravestones, optics raising to every worn to dust name as he passed. Heroes who he had never heard of, and carvings of odd creatures with no fur and stood on two legs. That was what made his home, hundreds of years ago, those weird creatures that were called humans. The tombs were marked in obsidian stone, so he could see the names more clearly. Past people, who had done things he would never know of. Yet, their spirits would always perform for him each night, forever bound to the land that they had been buried on. Frequently the night here would be filled with cries of painful deaths, and shouts of past victories. All the ghosts here were slaves, working for the god whom they might have ridden in their days. Yes, Defcon was very old, but not as old as some of the stones here, just old enough to remember a time when man ruled the earth and the horse was his slave. Such a notion would make the younger inhabitants of Sweetwater laugh, but it was true, very true. A land where the elements were tamed and his kind could not talk.
In he walked, through the open doors, and down the damp isle, rotting benches looming on either side of him. The luxurious carpet was now worn down in some places to the stone, cold floor. His long strides brought him to the alter, a wrecked piece of wood, and his orbs traveled restlessly up to the blood-spattered stained glass. The candles that lit the place every time he wasn't there went out in a whiff of smoke as he turned and his cold gaze swept over the room. All of a sudden a thin coat of ice sweeped over the old church, leaving everything a vicious white, and he stepped down and walked calmly into the now only partly walled room to the right. The ceiling was caving in in places, and there were holes in the walls big enough for a small horse to get through. It was here that he turned and let his eyes flutter down, and he slept until the morning sun punctured his shelter.
As soon as the sun hit his body, it retreated back behind the clouds, leaving his land in an overcast light, that was quite enough for him. Now he agily jumped out into the morning air, looking around the quiet cemetery. Sneering, he muttered to himself.
"Now I need some others to torture."
Just the thought of it made the big Arabian shudder in delight. Soon his body could be seen making it's way like a frightening rain cloud through the gravestones, optics raising to every worn to dust name as he passed. Heroes who he had never heard of, and carvings of odd creatures with no fur and stood on two legs. That was what made his home, hundreds of years ago, those weird creatures that were called humans. The tombs were marked in obsidian stone, so he could see the names more clearly. Past people, who had done things he would never know of. Yet, their spirits would always perform for him each night, forever bound to the land that they had been buried on. Frequently the night here would be filled with cries of painful deaths, and shouts of past victories. All the ghosts here were slaves, working for the god whom they might have ridden in their days. Yes, Defcon was very old, but not as old as some of the stones here, just old enough to remember a time when man ruled the earth and the horse was his slave. Such a notion would make the younger inhabitants of Sweetwater laugh, but it was true, very true. A land where the elements were tamed and his kind could not talk.