Post by Oscar Wilde on Mar 17, 2013 14:51:26 GMT -5
Oscar cracked open an eye, listening to the soft rumble of wheels around him. He was laying in a bed of soft furs, his large coat pulled up around him and the small body next to him. He lifted his head and kissed the shoulder of the boy in bed with him. "Moonlight has given way to day, my dear. Your beautiful skin shall not shine again until nightfall. I will miss the soft sighs from that throat, my ivory statue. But morning is no place for statues, it is far too harsh. And their mothers miss them, and will strike their carvers down." he whispered, hearing a soft giggle. Oscar smiled and watched his one time lover dress hurriedly and jump down from his caravan. He rose soon and dressed himself, having to bend over a bit in the low cieling of the wagon. He had been travelling with a group of gypsies for a week now, his wagon hitched to the back of the one in front as he had proven far too inept at driving. Carriage driving was for one with the hands and wrists of a taskmaster, and Oscar was definitely not that.
He was a lover more than a fighter, an old soul that enjoyed laying about and eating cheeses more than anything else. He had a leather satchel settled next to the pile of furs, containing his most recent works of literature. He would write more when he had the chance; writing with a quill and ink was so delightfully rustic it had awoken his need to create again. He heard the caravan grind to a halt so the women could make breakfast, and Oscar was in his element. "My dryads of the bread, my lillies of the campfire, how you twist and dance to my eyes. Good morning!" he greeted them happily, and they gave him shakes of the head and wry grins. They had grown used to his flamboyant way of speaking, for Oscar was very much like a sphynx in that he either said everything or none at all.
The male Ungrith'tar paused outside the gypsy camp, looking around slightly. Gypsies, such wonderful beings, always accepted anybody nobody what they looked like or how they appeared. They where a wondeful people to hide amongst, to seek refuge and shelter. He was tired, having been hunting the mongolian death worm but had unfortunately found nothing on this attempt. He would have to return one day and attempt some other time. Until then, he needed a place to relax and live for a little while until he was sufficently recuperated from the horrible trek through the desert. A hard task upon a beast covered in black fur.
The eight foot eleven inch tall minotaur finally stepped from the trees and in to the visual range of all the other beings. With his two massive hand axes upon his hips, war axe upon his back and leather armor studded with metal the enormous minotaur was a sight to behold. Covered with silky smooth black fur, with four horns instead of the common place two horns that stretched three and a half feet long with the second set starting below and behind the second making them seem shorter despite the fact they where not. The last four inches of each horn was black, as if stained from blood that had dried and never been washed though it was a natural occurance. The remained of the horns glistened a stark white against the black fur of his body. A helm covered the behemoth's head, created with a fifth horn crafted of metal that rose five inches from his forehead.
He walked in to the midst of the group of people, looking around and hoping this group was as welcoming as every other he had come across. If not, well he may have to resort to a hasty retreat using his powers to keeping them at bay and pray that there where no pyromancers, or fire elementals amidst their entourage or he may have to hurt somebody to escape if the need arouse.
Post by Oscar Wilde on Mar 17, 2013 18:21:37 GMT -5
At the sight of the giant bull striding into the camp, panick erupted. Gypsies were curried from rather religious and superstitious stock; they didn't take well to supernaturals popping out of the woods. They scrambled to their feet and breakfast, to Oscar's disappointment, was completely forgotten as weapons were sought out. The gypsies were not very well equipped, these were fortune tellers, swindlers and tinkers, not soldiers. They faced him armed with a small barrage of blacksmiths' hammers, cooking implements, and here and there a real pike.
Oscar looked up from his food, a rather charming amount of scrambled eggs in a dish with a piece of blackbread toast. He disappointedly nibbled a final time at the eggs, using his bread as an implement, and rose to his feet. "My dears, calm yourselves! These days minotaurs are less fond of the taste of man, though from the crown of thorns I would have thought him less of a monster and more of Christ than anything." he said.
"The bugger's huge! I'm not taking any chances." one of the men snarled.
"You keep the bloody hell back, poet, you're not going to do any good here." Oscar patted his shoulder. "Was it not a poet who sang Jason's dragon to slumber? I daresay you've not got any labyrinths handy, and I at least reach his breastbone." he chuckled. He pushed past the nervous gypsies and stood in front of the minotaur, craning his chin to look up at him. "Though I quite doubt I'll put you to sleep." he told him. "Ah, don't we look just a farm you and I? I the boar and you the cow." he offered his hand to the beast. "Oscar Fingal O'Flahertie Wills Wilde, at your service. If you wouldn't mind, I would take off your helm. Gentle eyes befitting your race are so much more charming to my princesses of the camp." he told him.
Ba'alzamon watched as the gypsies suddenly freaked out, gathering weapons hastily and arraying against himself. This was a set back, as he had been hoping for a much more easy going answer. He blinked beneath his helm, eyes narrowing towards the gypsies. Using his ability to create and control flames he gets the air up around himself causing it to shimmer. Flames erupted from his nostrils as he snorted loudly at the group before the poetic male stepped forth from the lot. A clear thinker, a master if words the bovinesque male dropped his shimmering aura of heat so as not to make the male already clad in furs anymore uncomfortable.
He snorted at the man's mention of himself reaching at least to Ba'alzamon breastbone and he shook his huge head causing the horns to sway from side to side. Then his lips parted and he spoke in his deep, rumbling chest throbbing bass voice. "You have a gift of words, poet. However I should caution you.... Despite my thanks for your intervention, you should rethink the use of that most derogatory of remark of 'cow' around myself and any other Ungrith'tar you should come across. Not all are as capable or ameniable as I, nor as forgiving." He reached up removing his helm and leveling a meaningful gaze upon the wereboar, for by his own admission of a boar and cow he had labeled himself one of those strong willed nature defenders.
Post by Oscar Wilde on Mar 18, 2013 19:00:33 GMT -5
"Ah but my dear you are a grand sight! Fire swirling around your nostrils like the great dragon of the north mountains!" Oscar said with a smile. "You should be in Spain, having bronzed boys flash bright colours at you, with that crown of thorns you shall be the king of bulls. The emperor of the ring, girls shall throw down roses before your hooves and dust will billow at the sight of you. Come, the only way for gladiators to sup is by the light of a fire." he beckoned toward the breakfast fire and sat down, the gypsies confusedly beginning to settle down back at their places. They still kept their weapons firmly at hand, but trusted Oscar enough to begin eating again. Half of them had no idea what had spouted out of Oscar's mouth, but some of them were convinced it was a convoluted form of apology.
Oscar fetched a plate and dished up eggs and a large half loaf of bread. He busied about and cut up a small wheel of cheese for them both, adding shredded bits of spinach to the minotaur's plate. He sat down, offering Ba'alzamon a seat. "Come, tell me where you have come from my king of the ring. We are on a quest ourselves, I the keeper of a grand botanical garden from which I pluck the rarest blooms. Perchance, these flowers were sneaking aboard this caravan, and blushed in greeting to me." A few of the younger boys in the caravan cleared throats and looked down at their plates.
Ba'alzamon glared at the male, eyes narrowing in anger at the comments about the gladiator ring. The Ungrith'tar had been a gladiatorial slave for almost five years of his life, forced to fight and kill for the amusement of the crowd. Finally he had become strong enough of body and spirit to rebel and slay his 'master' and free himself as destroy the underground fighting/killing games. He took a deep breath, holding it then releasing it to calm himself. The male surly didnt know about these things, so his comments where not meant as rude but simply conversation starting.
The Ungrith'tar followed the male to sit beside the ride, accepting the plate of food offered to him and listening to his words. He noted the coughs as boy looking away and amusement filled him. He wasn't one to judge about others sexual endeavors nor did it bother him as some found it. To each their own, he had long ago decided. For himself he preferred females, and human females had been a commodity with in the gladiator ring and often provided to him for his own...pleasures. Though Ungrith'tar women where by far the most fierce lovers...
He ate his food watching the gypsies slowly settling down though several remained wary of him which concerned him little. He could have demolished the entire camp in minutes if he had wished, but he was peaceful for the most part. He kept his aggression for hunting mythical monsters and beasts.
Post by Oscar Wilde on Mar 20, 2013 23:46:23 GMT -5
Oscar looked at the minotaur, smiling gently to him as he ate. Slowly the gypsies relaxed further and a few put away their weapons entirely, trusting the wereboar to keep them somewhat safe. Oscar nibbled at his plate delicately, enjoying every mouthful. "My gypsy friends are on quite the quest. They seek a place far to the north, where a mythical beast roams the land on ice-crusted paws, a son of Fenrir who took to the sea long ago and forgot his grand tail. To see it is a sacred sight, a whale walking on land. A ferocious spirit." he told the minotaur.
"Akhlut." one of the gypsies spoke up.
"Do not give the spirit a name, my dear, to name him is only to drive him from the realms of legends and into the harsh light of the world. Myths are to be kept in the mists, where one may see a flick of a tail or a flash of teeth." Oscar told him, wolfing down a bit of black bread.
"You offered to help us kill it." another accused, frowning at Oscar. "Are you saying we've let you take one of our wagons, which you refuse to drive, and eat our food with nothing in return?"
Oscar looked wounded. "My dear gentlemen do not drive wagons, it is far too charming and enchanting. It spoils the illusions we try so hard to bedeck ourselves with. Only such as yourselves can resist it's wanderlusting ways." he said, settling his plate down. "And your food is but a grand payment, I would no sooner take gold than a brace of your black bread. As beautiful to the mouth as it is unappealing to the eyes."
"So you will help us kill it." the gypsy said, confused.
"Would one kill a saint? A child of the sea so lost as to wander upon land? I pity this poor orphan of the ice, for he sees the sun rise far sooner than the poets and lacks the words to speak of it." Oscar replied, and the gypsy soon gave up understanding him. Oscar took a bit of getting used to; his flowery speech was developed over centuries of poetry.
Post by Victoria Belmis on Mar 26, 2013 7:37:55 GMT -5
The distant sound of squeaking wheels on the nearby road slowly woke Victoria from her slumber. The night had passed, too fast, in the daemoness opinion. “ Damn, my neck...” She cursed, as she slowly got up, rubbing the aching member. It had been while since the last time she had been forced to sleep against a tree, and she couldn't really say she missed it. One day. That's all the time it had pass since the female left the nearest town, and was already starting to regret the moment she decided to accept that goddamned job. Less then forty eight hours before, Victoria received a call from a men, a bounty hunter whom Victoria had changed impressions with, on a hot night in Venice. They hadn't exchanged words in years, so the means he used to reach her were completely unknown to the young female. He proceed to ask her if she could perform a job for him, instantaneously her lips formed a negative answer, but ceased at the mention of a payment. A satisfactory payment. Now there she was. Hunting for a beast, she hardly believed it existed, named by myths : Akhlut. She knew little more than the beast's name, only that the bounty hunter indicated that she should head north, to the cold regions. The payment seemed less satisfactory as she came to the realization of the many aches that she had squired during sleep.
The smell of food invaded her nostrils and her stomach growled in response. As always, Victoria had been very cautious about her food previsions and ate them all within the first day, and as expected she was now craving for more. The daemoness moved slowly towards the tempting smell, which lead her to some sort of human camping. After a thorough analysis of this gathering, Victoria came to the conclusion that these were gypsies, and oddly among them ,seemed to be a minotaur. “Humans nowadays will take anything as their pets...” The female commented to herself, before turning her attention to the wagons closest to her. Moving discretely as the wind, Victoria dislocated to one of the last wagons, avoiding any kind of sound that could alert to her presence. Victoria felt fortunate to find some chickens kept in a small metal cage and barrel full of bright red apples, promptly she started loading some of fruit into her bag. Unluckily, as she turned her arms to open the small metal cage, she couldn't help to startle the poor birds who immediately burst into a hysterical clucking. “Shit...!”Victoria cursed between her teeth . In a flashing move, she abruptly grabbed one the animals before cracking its neck with a dry move and hurried to jump out of the wagon.
The male Ungrith'tar looked between the gypsies and the poetic male. A deep bass throbbing began to emanate from the enormous black beast, his four horns bobbing up and down dangerously. The laughter continued to rumble forth from Ba'alzamon's huge barrel chest, almost hurting the ears of the people around him as he leaned forward towards the everybody. His thick rubbery lips parted as his bass voice rumbled across the group in molasses like waves that seemed to stick around the group around the fire.
"You seek the akhlut? The wolf of the sea? The demon of the ice? The Ungrith'tar looked between them all, grinning despite the quite brutal and disgusting sight the vision of a huge minotaur smiling might present to the people around the fire. "You all do not know what you get yourselves in to then. The akhlut are vicious, and they never hunt alone. To find one, means you will find a pack usually of four to twelve akhult of varying types. You will not survive such an encounter, any of you." The Ungrith'tar leaned back and resumed his chuckling, watching the group closely.
Suddenly a burst of clucking and noise attracted the Ungrith'tar's attention and he looked towards the source of the noise. Someobody seemed to be moving around where a bunch of chickens where being kept, and judging by the attire upon the form Ba'alzamon could assume that she wasn't a gypsy and thus had no purpose around the chickens. Standing up the towering black being stopped his right foot as four thick chains, crafted from the very earth from whence they sprung forth, exploded around the female seeking to bind and ensnare her form, preventing her escape as the Ungrith'tar made his way towards her slowly.
