|
Post by Deleted on Apr 6, 2016 18:25:22 GMT -7
This thread is an account of several dreams & memories Lord Mortif has / will have that will influence a few decisions he will be making IC soon, as well as future plots & plans. Please note that while vague details of certain accounts may be known by other characters (his father being a helkaer, his kidnapping, the attack by wolves), others (such as the molestation, or dervish's death) he has never told anyone about, and would not be known unless he specifically talks about it ic with your character.
|
|
|
Post by Deleted on Apr 6, 2016 18:30:23 GMT -7
He's a young child -- still innocent, cloaked in untouched gold and all gangly limbs as he trails after his older siblings, hopping over the corpses that litter Slawter whenever they present an obstacle. They're laughing -- he doesn't remember the joke, but Dervish turns and nudges his shoulder before taking off again, racing across the land they call home. There is no fear here -- after all, who would dare harm the Helkaer's prized sons, these golden boys with no knowledge of the world outside their macabre little herd?
It's with this ignorance of danger that they stumble across the two stallions -- one as golden as himself, the other a deep bay carrying the same scent of sulfur as his own sire. The two colts stop short -- one peering around the other's shoulder, giggling and nudging against each other as they greet the strangers and ask if they want to see their papa. They don't know what the glances that the two exchanged mean -- and they don't expect the two stallions to suddenly lunge at them, herding them away from their family with kicks and bites whenever they try to turn back.
They're placed into a cell together for only a few hours -- and then the golden one comes back, the one that had introduced himself as their grandfather as they'd been shoved into the cell. He's separated from his brother, dragged into what he later learns is his grandfather's private quarters -- an area that he doesn't leave until two weeks later, when his parents nearly break down the door to get to him, still covered in the blood of the guards they had slaughtered to retrieve him, and followed by an untouched Dervish.
What had once been a cheerful, energetic colt barely moved as the door slammed open -- brown eyes didn't open, only flinching away from the concerned touches that came as his parents assessed his injuries -- and he curled himself into a small ball when he heard his father's snarl, his mother's curses when they discovered exactly why Fire had chosen to quarantine the colt in his quarters.
"Don't you worry, child," His father murmurs when they finally coax him to look up at them, brown eyes glazed in tears that soft muzzles gently wipe away before coaxing him to slowly stand, mindful of his injuries. "He'll pay for this -- we'll make sure of it."
It's the last time he sees his father as a child -- the moment the sunlight touches his skin, he breaks into a run, convinced that he's now tainted; that he no longer deserves his parents love, that he barely deserves even to live.
|
|
|
Post by Deleted on Apr 6, 2016 20:03:19 GMT -7
It takes a year for his brother to finally track him down.
The physical wounds have healed, leaving only a few small scars from the rough handling, but the mental wounds are still fresh. He's drowning in self-hatred -- convinced that he's unfit to be seen by anyone, that he's filthy and tarnished and ruined -- he skulks in the shadows, barely sleeping, barely eating; wasting away in his self-loathing in the aftermath of the kidnapping. It seems like his stomach is permanently tied into knots, like his shoulders are weighed down by the world; he feels like Atlas and Sisyphus, tasked with the monumental effort of simply surviving without giving in to his demons.
Dervish finds him first -- finds a skeletal yearling, brown eyes sunken into his face, the shadow of the joyous colt he had once known in contrast to his own health, to the muscles he had put on in his search for the runaway colt.
"Mort..." His voice is soft as the colt notices him and freezes, eyes wide and panicked.
"Mort, please... no, please, don't ru--"
But the boy is already gone, charging up the cliffs on a path he knows from traveling it so often -- and Dervish charges after him without regard for the dangerous trail, unwilling to let his brother slip away once more. His recklessness is his undoing -- the loose rocks slide beneath his hooves and send him sliding, his momentum carrying him over the edge of the cliff onto the rocks beneath.
There's nothing the skeletal colt can do -- he can't turn fast enough, can't grab onto his brother in time to save him. He watches as Dervish falls -- as the older colt hits the rocks below them, the sound of bones cracking drifts up to where he stands -- and the sound of a scream reaches his ears, his father's form charging out of the nearby trees. He can hear his father pleading with Dervish to hold on as he watches the Helkaer carefully nuzzle his eldest son, can see the blood starting to pool beneath his brother's form, and it feels like his lungs have seized up in his chest.
This is his fault. He's the reason Dervish is dying.
He turns to run, to bury himself in shame -- when he hears Dervish speak, wavering words that bely how close to death he already is.
"Papa -- he's here. I saw him, I was... I was tr-trying to catch him... to bring him home."
The black stallion lifts his head, eyes searching for his other son -- until Dervish coughs roughly, blood shining on his lips.
"Papa... bring him home, please. I need -- I need to tell him I'm sorry."
"Derv, shh. It's not your fau--"
"I sho..should have protected him. I failed him, papa."
"You found him, Dervish. Hush now -- save your strength."
"Stay.... stay with me?"
"Of course."
The black stallion folds his legs beneath him so that his son can rest on his legs, muzzle gently stroking over the flaxen hair that falls into his elder sons eyes. He doesn't move as he stands vigil -- as he listens to his son's labored breathing slowly falter, as Dervish's emerald eyes close for the last time and all movement stills. The helkaer doesn't cry -- but there is a moment of heavy silence as he strokes Dervish's hair one last time, carefully settling his son's head on the ground before he stands.
"I love you, little hawk," The words are quiet, just barely reaching the colt who is standing his own vigil in his hiding place on the hill. "May we meet again one day."
He watches his father slowly retreat from his brother's body -- watches Lord Loss until he's out of sight, notices how old his father suddenly looks with the sorrow of two lost sons weighing him down, with only tragic news the prize he brings home to his mate.
The sun is gone by the time he makes his way down to Dervish's body -- his head hangs and a sob tears itself from his chest, guilt threatening to choke him with every breath he takes. This is his fault, his fault, his fault -- Dervish came after him, to try and bring him home, and he would still be alive if only Mortif had no longer existed.
The thought circles in his head -- the world would be better off if he were gone, if he no longer existed. Dervish would have still been alive -- his father would stop searching for him, they could finally put to rest the son that had effectively died that day a year ago. His legs are numb as he makes the climb for the final time, his chest aching with every breath he takes -- he stares over the cliffs, at the brother he'll soon join, and feels nothing.
He goes to take the step backwards he needs to leap, goes to jump -- but then there is a warm pressure on his shoulder, a nearly solid presence forcing him backwards until he stands on solid ground again, hooves placed within a circle of rapidly dying grass.
"Oh, Mort," The words are a sigh and he lifts chocolate eyes to meet concerned emerald, Dervish's muzzle gently wiping away the tear tracks beneath his eyes. He takes a moment to look down - at the body that still lays sprawled where it landed, in a pool of dried blood - before looking back at his seemingly uninjured brother, brain struggling to comprehend what he was seeing.
"Shh, don't think about it -- just listen to me. It's not your fault -- no, don't argue. It's not your fault. None of this is. We were -- we were targets from the beginning, okay? Both of us. I should have... you were my little brother. I should have protected you, kept him from touching you -- i'm sorry. I failed you."
"N-no -- I should ha-"
"Stop that right now. It was not your fault, what he did to you, no matter what he said. You listen to me, Mort -- go home."
"I do- I don't belong there. Momma and papa, they'd be better off without me..."
His brother's ears pin, emerald eyes stormy -- but his touch is still gentle as he nudges the colt's head up, encouraging him to hold it high even as the form wavers in front of him.
"Oh, Mort -- you belong there, just as much as the rest of us. Listen to me, Mort -- the best thing you can do right now is go home. Let them help you, okay? You're not alone. Let them love you. I promise you -- there's so much in store for you, you can't end it now. You are more than what our grandfather did to you."
"B-but, you..."
"I found you, Mort. That's all I wanted. Please, go home -- don't make momma and papa lose another son. I don't have much more time here -- it's time for me to move on. You need to stay -- you're gonna change the world, kid, I can see it now."
There's a sniffle from the colt before he shakily nods, that warm presence feeling like it envelopes him as Dervish's form dissipates.
"I'll walk you home, Mort."
"....okay."
|
|