When his mother had said that his older brother, @Moath, was here as well, Malcanthet was instantly reluctant about joining the Melonii. While he assumed the pack trusted the behemoth to not go on a rampage, Malcanthet was not so certain. Moath had never done anything to him, but Mal knew the stories and had seen what his elder brother could do, and like their mother, he was apprehensive. Terrified even.
But he was no coward — no one could ever call him that. He knew better than to avoid the man, especially now that they were working together, far from the deeply established traditions of the Melonii. This was new ground for them, even though generations had passed since Meldresi's arrival. They had to work together. Malcanthet had to appease his brother — he was on his side.
But he was no coward — no one could ever call him that. He knew better than to avoid the man, especially now that they were working together, far from the deeply established traditions of the Melonii. This was new ground for them, even though generations had passed since Meldresi's arrival. They had to work together. Malcanthet had to appease his brother — he was on his side.
bad language bby
May 31, 2019, 08:34 AM
There was nowhere left to go, nowhere left to run. Panic crept up my throat as I ran into yet another dead end, and realized he had led me here. Turning around, I found him...
Moath could smell him on the very first moment he had entered into Home.
Him- his memory brought back to life, a shell with a heart within...
Malcanthet. His other Face he could remember from the barest of weanling days to the crest of Leave time. His replica, but on a much more smaller, and different scale. Smaller not so much by size, but by comparison of who he was to Moath. Yet Malcanthet was massive, as well. He was only so in desire, in existence and mindframe- boasting a brain that could accurately think for itself, a personality that was expressive and expensive, something that could tax the body without so much as a whim of pressure.
Moath was far from such existence. He was devoid of personality, a wanding black hole that only pulled himself closer to Foods before killing them and dragging them back to Home. Eating them or dropping them off to Nyx and Damien's denstep, or even gifting his Foods to Mother, should he feel that mindless urge to do it. But in all, all of it was mindless, a cog upon cog that fit into his machinery of being. He was a walking testimony to the reality of monsters, a boogeyman who would find you, haunt you, and snatch you up when your back was turned.
Who knew what was left?
But he could see his brother- his urge only came to rear crown when someone was clearly not of their bloodline. His brother, being a near exact replica of him besides size and poise, was free from danger. But as any mastered serial iller, Moath found him quite easily, and thus stood adjacent from the refined dark mirror. A nightmare to an incubus.
Him- his memory brought back to life, a shell with a heart within...
Malcanthet. His other Face he could remember from the barest of weanling days to the crest of Leave time. His replica, but on a much more smaller, and different scale. Smaller not so much by size, but by comparison of who he was to Moath. Yet Malcanthet was massive, as well. He was only so in desire, in existence and mindframe- boasting a brain that could accurately think for itself, a personality that was expressive and expensive, something that could tax the body without so much as a whim of pressure.
Moath was far from such existence. He was devoid of personality, a wanding black hole that only pulled himself closer to Foods before killing them and dragging them back to Home. Eating them or dropping them off to Nyx and Damien's denstep, or even gifting his Foods to Mother, should he feel that mindless urge to do it. But in all, all of it was mindless, a cog upon cog that fit into his machinery of being. He was a walking testimony to the reality of monsters, a boogeyman who would find you, haunt you, and snatch you up when your back was turned.
Who knew what was left?
But he could see his brother- his urge only came to rear crown when someone was clearly not of their bloodline. His brother, being a near exact replica of him besides size and poise, was free from danger. But as any mastered serial iller, Moath found him quite easily, and thus stood adjacent from the refined dark mirror. A nightmare to an incubus.
And in silence, he waited.
June 01, 2019, 03:13 PM
They were a year apart in age, but it was more than that that created a stark difference between Megara's two sons. They were on two different ends of the spectrum of manhood — Moath was solid, a venerable rock of muscle, all brute force, and anger. Malcanthet was nimble, slender, effeminate in both body and behavior (thanks to being raised around two sisters, no doubt). But that was again one of the milder differences between them. Moath lacked everything that made a man a man; well really, what made a person a person. As far as Malcanthet could tell Moath lacked a soul. He was unthinking, uncaring, singularly focused on killing those who were not of his blood — a vessel of Sithis more than any other Melonii.
And even though Malcanthet was of his blood, the courtesan could not help but feel terror as he sensed his brother's presence and finally laid eyes on him for the first time in years.
And even though Malcanthet was of his blood, the courtesan could not help but feel terror as he sensed his brother's presence and finally laid eyes on him for the first time in years.
Hello brother,Malcanthet smiled, rerouting the nervousness and fear in his body into that singular expression. He wasn't sure if it was best for him to feign such. He had the feeling that Moath would know either way.
bad language bby
There was nowhere left to go, nowhere left to run. Panic crept up my throat as I ran into yet another dead end, and realized he had led me here. Turning around, I found him...
Near invisible orbs only glistened as he took in his sibling’s sight with no urgency. In direct sight, the beast was a slumbering walk of muscle and heave of fur. And today, within the graceful amethysts of his brother, he was no different.
Terror. Anxiety. Horror. It was the blasphemic salt that heightened the meal of freshly seared steak, the wafts coming to Moath in such meaty aroma that it near aroused him. Yet the only notion he could show was a pick up of his usually low skull, a much more evident express of Malcanthet gathering his attention with full pull of reins. He was the Void’s center of stage. Should Mlacanthet remember that Moath was not truly one to speak, he would know there would be no response coming. Moath had even more damage done to his face, on accord of prey fighting back over the years, resisting his usher to silence as much as they could. His maw lips were shredded tatters, grey and yellow teeth smeared with rotting flesh tidbits from older meals. His breath would almost force you to look away and vomit, but who wanted the luxury of conversation with him?
“Bro..ther.” The word came in part, carrion spiraling a fall from the last roll of ‘r’ directly at his paws. Though he chose silence for everyone else, Malcanthet deserved what they had not. He was blood. And that was that.
Terror. Anxiety. Horror. It was the blasphemic salt that heightened the meal of freshly seared steak, the wafts coming to Moath in such meaty aroma that it near aroused him. Yet the only notion he could show was a pick up of his usually low skull, a much more evident express of Malcanthet gathering his attention with full pull of reins. He was the Void’s center of stage. Should Mlacanthet remember that Moath was not truly one to speak, he would know there would be no response coming. Moath had even more damage done to his face, on accord of prey fighting back over the years, resisting his usher to silence as much as they could. His maw lips were shredded tatters, grey and yellow teeth smeared with rotting flesh tidbits from older meals. His breath would almost force you to look away and vomit, but who wanted the luxury of conversation with him?
“Bro..ther.” The word came in part, carrion spiraling a fall from the last roll of ‘r’ directly at his paws. Though he chose silence for everyone else, Malcanthet deserved what they had not. He was blood. And that was that.
And in silence, he waited.
June 07, 2019, 05:56 AM
Malcanthet did not know what to expect from his brother. He certainly did not expect speech.
His ears pressed back and his eyes widened in palpable shock. He was unsure what this meant. Malcanthet, and perhaps many others, had assumed that the man was incapable of speech — perhaps his vocal cords were warped. Or his mind was simply, completely, unable to process words. Had Mother even heard him speak before?
His ears pressed back and his eyes widened in palpable shock. He was unsure what this meant. Malcanthet, and perhaps many others, had assumed that the man was incapable of speech — perhaps his vocal cords were warped. Or his mind was simply, completely, unable to process words. Had Mother even heard him speak before?
Yes,Malcanthet said slowly, still completely unsure.
I've come here. To help my family. Like you are.I assume, he thought. I hope.
bad language bby
There was nowhere left to go, nowhere left to run. Panic crept up my throat as I ran into yet another dead end, and realized he had led me here. Turning around, I found him...
The words made sense to the monstrosity, though ‘help’ had faded into ash. Their Family was broad, yet small, no disease of whelping and airing made easy by their picky ways of reproduction. Moath almost couldn’t remember his own crafting of Midar with Malene, but the Spawn was of his own loin. However, besides the usual coat color, the same shade they all shared, no similarities could have been made. It was almost disgusting how they all were, a clan of just cesspoolic catastrophe - yet it was that selective disaster which made them who they were.
Melonii.
And Meldresi would have been proud, would she not?
These things passed through his mind with tiny clinks of nails, pointed and tipped, against the shards of fallen glass. They did not echo, yet they remained in the nightmarish hulk’s distant thought with the aftermath of complexity he could not grasp just yet. Not yet.
A slight cant began, eclipsing his dome in a leaned crescent as the words tinked and clinked against the glass with the nails. It made sense, he told himself.
There was no help in his head, no comprehension of assisting this blooden banner they waved in the terrible wind-
but Family came back to Family.
And Malcanthet was here.
Family.
Moath righted his skull, and dragged an unachored limb forward, the rest sluggishly pursuing. Monumental steps, ones you would expect thunder to bellow behind, yet the murderer moved with no sound. And before long, he stood before his brother.
Staring down upon the lean and long legged beauty of his near angelic designed twin, Moath said no more. His coat in particular was struck and tangled, matted and condensed with old blood and darkly rotting skin of uncleared flesh. The lushness of his disgusting pelt confirmed it was not his wound nor spill. It reeked of past, and of pain. But he made no move to deliver upon his Brother silence. He would not be ushered into the rolling hole of quiet. No, as he was blood, as he was of Melonii. And Moath recognized such, as he inhaled the perfumes of delicacy that he did not know.
Melonii.
And Meldresi would have been proud, would she not?
These things passed through his mind with tiny clinks of nails, pointed and tipped, against the shards of fallen glass. They did not echo, yet they remained in the nightmarish hulk’s distant thought with the aftermath of complexity he could not grasp just yet. Not yet.
A slight cant began, eclipsing his dome in a leaned crescent as the words tinked and clinked against the glass with the nails. It made sense, he told himself.
There was no help in his head, no comprehension of assisting this blooden banner they waved in the terrible wind-
but Family came back to Family.
And Malcanthet was here.
Family.
Moath righted his skull, and dragged an unachored limb forward, the rest sluggishly pursuing. Monumental steps, ones you would expect thunder to bellow behind, yet the murderer moved with no sound. And before long, he stood before his brother.
Staring down upon the lean and long legged beauty of his near angelic designed twin, Moath said no more. His coat in particular was struck and tangled, matted and condensed with old blood and darkly rotting skin of uncleared flesh. The lushness of his disgusting pelt confirmed it was not his wound nor spill. It reeked of past, and of pain. But he made no move to deliver upon his Brother silence. He would not be ushered into the rolling hole of quiet. No, as he was blood, as he was of Melonii. And Moath recognized such, as he inhaled the perfumes of delicacy that he did not know.
And in silence, he waited.
June 18, 2019, 09:54 PM
Moath took a step forward. Then another. A scream rose within Malcanthet's body, cast into the Void rather than uttered. He was frightened as he hadn't been before.
But his brother made no move that would end his life, no wound was made on Mal's form, just the feeling of Moath's breath across his fur, into his skin.
While he recognized the intimacy, the silent declaration of kin, Mal felt bile rise in his throat as he smelled his brother's coat in turn. He smelled of decay, of decomposing things. Initially, Malcanthet thought his brother had rolled in something, but then he saw the flecks of blackened blood and hunks of putrefying flesh and realized that these morsels had been here for days, weeks even. Moath did not bother to clean himself as Malcanthet did; he did not wash in the stream or roll in flowers. The remains of his prey stayed on him, marking him as a killer long before you saw him.
Malcanthet did not move for fear of his brother. He knew that Moath would not harm him, but there was doubt. And some fears could not be quelled — unsupported anxieties were the bane of existence after all.
But his brother made no move that would end his life, no wound was made on Mal's form, just the feeling of Moath's breath across his fur, into his skin.
While he recognized the intimacy, the silent declaration of kin, Mal felt bile rise in his throat as he smelled his brother's coat in turn. He smelled of decay, of decomposing things. Initially, Malcanthet thought his brother had rolled in something, but then he saw the flecks of blackened blood and hunks of putrefying flesh and realized that these morsels had been here for days, weeks even. Moath did not bother to clean himself as Malcanthet did; he did not wash in the stream or roll in flowers. The remains of his prey stayed on him, marking him as a killer long before you saw him.
Malcanthet did not move for fear of his brother. He knew that Moath would not harm him, but there was doubt. And some fears could not be quelled — unsupported anxieties were the bane of existence after all.
bad language bby
There was nowhere left to go, nowhere left to run. Panic crept up my throat as I ran into yet another dead end, and realized he had led me here. Turning around, I found him...
The beastly incarnate of murder eyed his brother with nothing compassionate in the abysmal eyes of violently violet rimmed coals. Yet his body shifted forward uppermostly, gigantuan skull reached for his Brother’s, maws parting and-
a decrepit breath of carrion plunged against the winds...
Teeth pulled back from ragged flapped and torn lips-
and a grey tongue lolled out and slapped against Malcanthet’s cheek, destroying the lovely plush hide of obsidian with a slime-slicked trail of rancid slob. Moath jerked his head up rather than just his snout, ruffling the downy wet fur in the completely opposite direction. Once the meatiest hunk of his tongue trailed free and even the tip had been lifted from the hide, jaws snapped shut, and he pulled himself back a step to gauge his Brother once more.
Moath had tried imitating Mother and her grooming- and while he had no reason logically for it, urges came and went as they pleased. He only obeyed them as they made him to. Almost innocently Moath stared back at Malcanthet, not knowing what the sibling’s next morsel of words would be, should they come to feed his ears, again.
a decrepit breath of carrion plunged against the winds...
Teeth pulled back from ragged flapped and torn lips-
and a grey tongue lolled out and slapped against Malcanthet’s cheek, destroying the lovely plush hide of obsidian with a slime-slicked trail of rancid slob. Moath jerked his head up rather than just his snout, ruffling the downy wet fur in the completely opposite direction. Once the meatiest hunk of his tongue trailed free and even the tip had been lifted from the hide, jaws snapped shut, and he pulled himself back a step to gauge his Brother once more.
Moath had tried imitating Mother and her grooming- and while he had no reason logically for it, urges came and went as they pleased. He only obeyed them as they made him to. Almost innocently Moath stared back at Malcanthet, not knowing what the sibling’s next morsel of words would be, should they come to feed his ears, again.
And in silence, he waited.
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