Topic: The Beast (Mature Content: 18+)

Serin Ghor

Date: 2011-10-09 14:51 EST
Beneath RhyDin's two moons, Arabrab and Trebor, he sat on a large gray boulder at the river edge. Raggedly cowl was pulled up and his cloak, full of patches, tears and holes, flapped against his sides when the wind decided to bother him with it.

The Beast who looked Human or Elvish at a distance was scarred over almost one hundred percent of his six-foot form. Strange gray and green eyes looked up to the heavens that night to lose himself in thought with the dual items of his focus, the larger and small moons of RhyDin.

A chill was on the air enough to drive guttural, low carried rumbling from deep within him to his throat. Left, scarred and talloned hand reached over to his right shoulder and pulled the old material of the cloak back into place.

He was not seen often in the city in all of his years there, but he turned his head to look towards the lights of the city proper. Some of the light came from lamps, torches, windows, and more. There was life and movement that he could see even from that distance.

Nostrils flared lightly and he turned his downed head back towards the river, causing long hair to hang about his ruined visage. He would see what the was within the walls of the buildings of the city, only guessing what he might find after so long.

Serin Ghor

Date: 2015-07-08 23:26 EST
Arabrab and Trebor were his sisters and all the family that The Beast could remember. They had been hidden too much and too long by the clouds bringing rainfall after rainfall into the area.

After that woman-child had approached him in the inn, twice, and insisted on giving him food and water he had left as soon as he could. Was he to sit about for polite conversation when he thirsted for blood? Didn't matter to him that she was kind enough to try to draw him out or that she was lovely. Most in RhyDin had beauty. He was one of the few that was completely at the other end of the spectrum of such a thing. And what of the girl's friends or family' He'd seen this before. They had hunted him and tried to kill him, merely for speaking with a young and fair woman.

He would not do that easily again. The woman called Shy had company enough of others that one of the scents was stronger than the others. He didn't worry about all this with her. And she didn't reach for a knife when he was around.

The rains had kept him in the caves most of the week and he had ventured into the inn twice. At least he remembered it as twice. The Beast's head leaned back so he could see the moons through the thick canopy above.

It took him no time at all after the rains stopped to hunt down his prey. He might have looked like the nightmares that grown ups told to children to threaten them to be good, but he was flesh and bone. He had to eat.

The stag was beautiful when he saw it. Its hooves had left easy marks in the earth after the rains and the scent of the animal was strong to Serin. He wrapped a clawed, ruined hand about a thick branch and waited. Ragged cloak had been left behind at the edge of the forest to get later. He couldn't chance it snagging on anything along the way.

Then the animal's antlered head jerked up and Serin grinned. He let out a growl and sprung forward into a blur of motion. Feet and claws dug into the earth. Beast chased after nature's beauty with a great need to fill his belly and not from some cook's pot.

Branches swatted at his face but he didn't care or notice. His speed was soon matching the animal's without too much hardship on his part. Hunting was one of the few things he thoroughly enjoyed. He let the stag run for a while more before he leaped with a good shove that drove him into the side and shoulder of him.

Claws were ripping and teeth gnashed to bring him down full. One hand reached for a great set of antlers and held onto him tight. Serin growled and shoved all the harder until bone was wrenched against bone to snap that neck.

His meal had been hunted and taken down, there at the edge of a opening in the trees. Birds had gone quiet and some movement in the trees could be heard. By the sounds, other animals were putting some distance between themselves and the commotion of death.

The antler was released and allowed the large, heavy head of the stag to hit the rain soaked ground. Blood was on his hands and on the clothing he always wore. It was very normal. He did not eat from pots and plates or at a table.

THIS was his table and he had seen to his own dinner. Grinning like a fool he started in on the animal like the beast he was.

Serin Ghor

Date: 2015-07-10 16:53 EST
The carcass was carried, not dragged.

The Beast wasn't entirely uncivilized but he wasn't thinking about it. What he had on his mind was storing it in a place other animals couldn't get to it before he could eat the rest.

Caves to the north had afforded him a shielded place to sleep for decades. A river had coursed under and through parts of the area until the water had almost run dry. It had carved out areas for him to sleep in and store what he wanted to there.

It was a dark, damp place but none knew about it or cared for it enough to try to take it from him. There was some old rope piled up and rotting in a corner. He wound it about the stag's hind leg took the end with him and left the body on the uneven, stone floor. Clawed hand loosely gripped the end of that rope then clawed his way up a crude handful of tiers pitted in the far wall of the main cave. When he reached the top the rope was pushed through a hole in one of the large, ancient stalactites. Hand over fist the animal was hauled up until it hung upside down. He secured the rope to a sturdy stalagmite, then wandered off to one of the underground pools.

The blood still covered him from killing the large deer. He smelled strongly of it and dirt, too. His old cloak was pulled off and tossed to a boulder that had a level top to it. Time hadn't been any kinder to the shirt and trousers he shed. They were all tossed up on the big rock.

He fully looked like the beast he was when he was finally without the trappings of man on him except for the chain and medallion. There wasn't an inch of him that wasn't ruined by the curse. It looked as if he had been tossed into a vat of acid by the look of his flesh. Even his face. It was a visage that kept most away with an appearance of cruelty at his brow and fierceness of his teeth.

He stepped into the underground pool that was constantly flowing and fresh. This one was particularly warm. Its surface steamed and the heat of it soothed aches he didn't realize were there until that moment. A low guttural growl rumbled for some time while he eased into it, where water came to his chest.

Water was cupped by his hands to splash and scrub at his face. Blood was there, in his hair and up to his elbows from the hunt. He wasn't in a hurry but he didn't lounge or languish either. The blood was removed, his body and hair washed clean of it and any mud so he could climb back out of the pool.

Ragtag clothing of his was pulled off of the boulder, hanging from his grip while he looked back to the water where the ray of sun met it. Daylight came through a hole high in the stone ceiling above the great pool of water. Moss, ferns and a few others plants grew at the pool's edge with the ample water source and the light.

The water ran down him and was left on the stone floor of the cave. He walked from the pool of hot water in that open area to a smaller room that nature had carved out eons ago. He went about to tallow candles and lit them with flint. They looked like cattle or buffalo horns, large and wide with wax and wicks on iron wrought stands.

His sleeping chamber was spartan, at best. Its ceiling and walls were stone covered in moss. The floor of it had a half portion of dirt and the rest of it stone. Two tables were square chests to hold what he wanted them to. Against the far wall he had built shelves from fallen trees. Weapons, books, trinkets, and other stuff had been collected over the years.

Clawed hand tossed the dirt and blood mucked clothing onto the floor. He'd see to them later. He needed rest. He eyed the bed, a reminder of things too long ago to see clearly, and moved towards it. Serin dropped down on the sturdily constructed bit of furniture and pulled the covers over himself. Wet or not he was tired and the room was cold at that depth.

Gray/green eyes closed and it was sleep he had in abundance.

Serin Ghor

Date: 2015-07-13 04:54 EST
"You sleep too long " "

The hand that touched his shoulder was so light he thought he imagined it. He could feel it pass against the cloth of his sleeve and to the flesh and muscle beneath it. For moment, he remembered wondering how a feather's touch could set the skin on fire with awareness.

"Beloved, you will miss the day. Already the light does shine so bright that it must already be midday."

He could feel her slender form lean its entire weight against his back and side. That weight was still a mere thing. She seemed to know it and had to put in a little extra effort, pushing and pulling against his arm with slender, fragile hands. The perfume she wore was an intoxicating light breeze of jasminewater and nothing more. She needed nothing more.

Without any need to look that way, he lay on his side facing away from her with his eyes still closed. He reached for her arm and caught it by the bicep. He could feel the material of well made brocade, flesh and bone of her delicate arm. Laughter rumbled from him to pull her with enough force to take her off of her feet and into the bed with him.

For a second he heard her scream but it was only from being momentarily startled because the next second it was her warm, rich laughter that was there between them. He opened his eyes and peered at her with a narrowed and untrusting look that glinted mirth. "You mean to say to me, woman, that you woke me before nightfall?" His hand was at her arm and caressed the royal blue material that swirled in a scroll-work pattern of gold thread. Her hair had been neatly arranged by a handmaiden's touch with curls, pins, and a snood that was beautiful. Just beautiful enough that he wanted to take it apart until it fell completely loose and free, but he pushed the urge away. He had already done a bit of 'damage' to her elegant appearance by tugging the lady into his bed.

"My Lord and love, you must remember what day this is. The magistrate comes for a visit. As does my cousin and his wife." She smiled up at him with sapphire blue eyes. That gaze was unflinchingly endearing, even mirthful with how he had so easily pulled her off of her feet to pull her in close to him.

"You have taught me how to forget, my love. The song of your voice draws me to the dream. Your perfume has me drunk. And your face. What of this and all you are, my heart's love" Hmm' You tempt me with all that you are to forget all of these duties."

"Mmm-hmm." Within her slender, pallid throat she laughed quietly and dubiously. "I beg your forgiveness. I never intended to lead you so far astray from your path and duties and demands of being The Lord Protecto—" He claimed her mouth when she started to laugh again so that for a few moments more they both could learn to forget these things. But eventually he felt her soft touch at his face. His eyes opened to smile down on her. But his smile soured and stupefied. He could not understand how her lovely face was suddenly ashen and blood was at her lips. Grotesquely, some of the blood was on her teeth while she strained to speak with him. The sudden shift of image did not make sense.

"My Beloved " " Her voice was hoarse and wet, all at once as if she had screamed too long and blood was there to wet her throat from within.

"Khas" Khasendra?" He was already sitting up, already looking down on her where she lay dying in the bed beside him. But they were no longer alone. She was suddenly in the bed with two young boys. Both with hair as honey blond as hers. How he was standing across the room he could not fathom but he gave no thought to it.

They lay too still in the bed. Too still to be alive. Blood was smeared on all of their faces and knife wounds had left dark, black and red holes in their sides and chests.

The daylight had left the room for further reasons he could not understand. He could not reach them and could not get to them, held back by something he could not feel. Madness took him while from the darkness dimly started to appear a form. It was not tall or short and hinted to nothing if it was a male or female. He knew who it was. He knew why they were there and why they had killed his wife and sons.

Reasons started to hit hard like drowning, cold waves. They hit him and took away his breath at first. He could hear the screams and pleas from his wife and sons but his wild, wide eyes saw their motionless corpses before him.

When he could finally breathe again, he was screaming roars of such utter pain and despair that he forgot himself. He was no longer in the grip of that nightmare of a memory. At some point, Serin had left his bed there within the caves below the north mountains and was tearing things from the shelves he had built. Even the shelves were not strong enough. Claws dug into the wood and ripped at them. Splinters gouged his flesh and flying bits of wood tore at his face to leave marks.

Madness took a hold of him until everything in sight had been destroyed. He fell heavy to the stone floor of his subterranean bed chamber with a pain so great in his chest that he moaned from it. Serin fell to the floor completely to a pile that was once shelving and everything he had kept on them throughout the years. Gnarled, clawed fists beat against the stone ground until they were bloody, until the darkness closed around him entirely, blessing him with the loss of time.

Serin

Date: 2016-07-16 19:29 EST
Madness had followed him, had haunted him for so long he had not noticed the change of seasons.

Had it been a year since he had stepped into the city of RhyDin, inside of its un-gated walls" It might have been longer. These things were hard to tell right away.

He did remember waking in one of the glens to the far north of the city. It was an unfamiliar patch of ground and that told him easily that he had traveled almost to the farthest reaches north anyone could travel if going by land.

And on foot. Not that most animals would have carried him. Horses hated the smell of him. Or so he surmised. They screamed with fear when he came too near. He remembered how that had been a blow to him when the curse had first changed him. He had loved horses, as had Khasendra, his late wife. But it no longer bothered him. He was more beast than those animals were.

"...you look so very, very worn, Beloved..."

He could hear her voice on the wind as he stood at the mouth of the cave that had been his home more years than a proper dwelling ever had.

"I will rest soon." Serin murmured the replay to the wind.

"See that you do. You know how your head aches when thoughts are too heavy, my Love."

"yes...yes. I will rest soon." He repeated himself, talking again with the the wind.

It was madness and he knew it. But he had to speak with her sometimes. Just sometimes, or else he might not find his footing again. For a mere moment, he thought of Thane and Turan. They had been such handsome son and good with just starting to wield their wooden swords and practice with those little bows. A guttural growl started in the depths of his chest and slowly rose until it reached his throat.

He did not know how long he stood there, but the light of the day was fading when he found himself still at the mouth of the cave and staring at his right hand. The fingers were gnarled and garish. Each were tipped in a talon that could pierce flesh so easily that he had to be careful not to tear a limb from the carcass of the animal he had hunted and felled.

When he roused again, he realized he was still standing there where he had some hour before. Serin was staring at his right hand and realizing the reason for it, finally. It was covered in mud. As was the whole of his arm from shoulder to the ends of his fingers. More things to bring him madness. How was it that just his arm was covered in mud"

Serin shook his head and caused the mane of his thick hair to toss about like a horse trying to shake off a fly. He headed into his home and down into its cool depths. There was mud to wash off and getting something into his stomach. Perhaps he would finally see to repairing the damage he had done to his room months ago. Perhaps he would even venture to the city again.

"My Love.."

"Yes, my dearest. I know. I have tarried long enough.."

The weight of his sadness was carried with him. He knew she was not there. But somehow it eased him to ignore that fact here and there. Just a little while longer.

Serin

Date: 2016-07-16 20:26 EST
There was at times need to give things a nudge forward in the name of progression. As long as that nudge did not turn into a shove, there might be hope for the Beast.

Serin had washed in the underground spring that lay in the serious of caverns that was his home. He had shed the old tunic and trousers, but the medallion was still on its thick, heavy chain about his neck. It was never removed.

Dripping wet, he climbed out of the spring that was being fed by the rushing flow of the small but ever-lasting waterfall. The moss and ferns growing about the pool's edge glistened with the mist from the falls and the humidity of the area. For some, it might have been cool to the skin during the summer and in the winter, it would prove to be cold. But he endured it either way.

When he was clear of the pool's edge and his footing was solid, he shook himself. It was done the same as a dog or wolf would have to rid the extra water from flesh and hair; most of it. Clawed fingers grabbed up his clothing and he stalked towards his bed chamber.

Wood from busted shelves, table, chair, and bed still lay in ruins. But after all that time and the slight humidity in the air for where that home was, a soft, thin layer of moss had started to grow on the pieces of wood strewn about the place.

Serin growled and grumbled. He would clean it all out later. Then there would be the task of fixing what could be fixed and replacing what could not. A natural formation near the wall allowed him to have a stony seat after dropping his tunic on it. He would dry off completely before thinking any further about all of that.

"Do you feel better now, Beloved.."

"Hush, now. No more for a while." He told her in a graveled whisper. His mind could not handle the words on the wind. She was dead and he would not listen.

Inch by inch, he strove to reassemble the pieces. Not of the mess in his bed chamber but of his life. One scrap here and another there. It was all he could do.

None knew the depths of his madness or the darker reasons for it. None knew how he had come to be what he was or the cause of why he looked as he did. None but he. He knew it well.

Moments more passed before he rose. One of the trunks was hauled open. Rifling through it took another minute. A loosely fitting shirt and some trousers. Boots were necessary. Frankly, they did not fit.

The idea of visiting the inn was again in his head. Like the words on the wind, he was wondering if he should ignore them.

But he could not risk digression again. It took too much out of him to fight to get back to what and who he was. Far too hard. He shoved those thoughts away and began to dress. The inside of the inn would be seen again.

Serin

Date: 2016-08-05 22:41 EST
After he had left the gifts in a cubby at the Red Dragon Inn he had moved on to the lesser regions of the lands. It wasn't for long though. Two weeks by his count, if his memory was reliable enough.

He dreamed of the woman he had called wife and the two boys that had been his sons. Ages had passed since he knew them alive and well. Khasendra, Thane, and Turan. Gods both small and great knew his pain. He was sure that his screams of rage to the night skies could be heard when he was at his foulest and darkest times.

The Summer's heat oppressed and he was more content to be underground than above it unless it was after dark. Marred flesh had once resembled something like a human's but for more years than he could remember, it was scarred from what onlookers could only guess was being burned. But it didn't explain the sharp rows of teeth, his animalistic long black mane and beard, or the claws at both sets of hands and feet.

That night he had left the caves and underground dwelling to move through the enormous, shadowed city of RhyDin. He had scaled the walls easily but it kept nothing out. Then he moved along the rooftops of thatch, terracotta, wood, and stone until he came to perch on top of one building that stood a few stories tall and faced the inn.

Strange vehicles arrived and left. Horses and other animals of transportation, too. But he didn't care for any of that. Serin Ghor was watching the patrons arrive and leave.

Wind pulled at his battered old cloak but he ignored it except to shove the frayed cowl back from his tortured face. Clawed hand dropped to wrap over the roof's edge and peer down beyond the eaves then back at the inn.

His other hand habitually gathered the large, thick medallion and merely held it pressed against his palm as if he didn't realize he was clutching it at all. The scent of rain pulled his head up and nostrils flared. Maybe it would pour and wash some of the heat away from stone, wood, man, and beast alike.

"It seems to me that you always look so stern when much is on your mind..."

Serin scowled at nothing and no one. The words were hers and she was dead. Plagued by a low degree of madness. He was certain of it. But if he pushed her away too much and too strongly, then what would he have left of her? He knew better than to send her away completely. Even a madman needed a focal and hers was a beauty and grace like none other he could remember. "I am just thinking of when we first met, Beloved. It gets harder and harder to see your face. And I only remember your dress...and you spilling the wine..." Why was that' He could not remember anything else of that day.

"Ohh yes. Much an embarrassment to me as it was to my father. What a mess...red wine on white skirts..."

He heard her laughing again. His head lowered as he let go of the medallion so he could rest his forehead heavily against the meat of his scarred palm. Clawed fingers wrapped over the top of his head. "Hush now, Beloved..." Begged with a graveled utterance. It was giving him a headache.

Silence followed immediately after until the wind rushed through trees and chimney stacks, over rooftops to pull at his cloak again. There it was. Peace moved over him as the breeze did. He breathed it in and the scent of coming rains. Off in the distance thunder rolled and lightening flashed high up in the levels of clouds.

As the storm slowly made its way into the area he heard nothing more from her. And his head stopped its aching for a while. Garish face turned so he could go back to watching the inn before and below where he was perched on the room across from it.

Serin

Date: 2016-08-06 00:06 EST
The rains hit in sparse but large drops, smacking against the wood shingles about where he was crouched. His hand wrapped over the edge of the roof relaxed. As he pulled it back his claws scraped lazily against the surfaces.

It was not long before the rain came as the wind had promised him. Heavy, torrential waves poured down upon him until the dark mane of hair and beard were dripping with it and his clung and held its weight.

He shook it off at one point only to have more of the night's rain shower down steadily on him. Serin easily watched through it. The rains were nothing that detoured the beast from seeing the street and people hurrying to get inside before they got wet.

Another breath was dragged into his lungs. Though it was raining, people were still on the streets and coming and going from the inn and other shops near it.

Something in the sky was heard, not wind or rain. For a time, he lifted his face to the heavens where the storm hid the land's moons even from his gaze. Whatever it was with wings beating on the rain-drenched wind, it eluded him. Eyes could not see it, scent could not fixate on it and figure it, and ears did not recognize it.

Serin gave a violent shake of his mane and looked back to the inn. There was reason to be where he was and not inside the magic-protected building that had stood for generation after generation.