Desreal: I know all about being a ROGUE

When death stalks the earth;

Death lingered on the brink of Legend. It came in the form of a golden chestnut stallion.

He plagued the lands as he wandered, killing whatever stood in his path with small bursts of flame. If it stood in his way, it would suffer or die beneath him. The blood it spilled was his only penance. He felt no mercy, no pain; only the lust of war and the taste of fresh blood upon his lips. He was born of hatred and insanity, and it coursed through his veins even now.

A loud wicked cry pieced the air separating time and space from one another as all seemingly stood still. The wind died off, the tree’s seemed to droop beneath his macabre gaze and you could see the skeletal figure now as he came, haunting the lands that were not his own, and yet so much a part of him.

No one would understand what it was that brought him here, it was a feeling of blood.

His cry still echoed within the now falling night, the perfect time for him to be unveiled, he was the epitome of satanic endeavours. Desreal called to him, the desert would have to wait. His seething eyes were a sight of disgust, he could smell the stench of rotten flesh within his nose and this was something that greatly pleased him. Although he did not know the source, for to him it mattered little.

They did not know him, many did not know. He had been known by many names, but the one cursed to him by birth was Ziyadah.

He lingers, moving with a sickening slowness. He smelled of death and blood.

Murder.

It had been too long since the demonic stallion had come out to play. Too long indeed.

His eyes were the colour of dried blood, a burnished copper. They seemed to see everything, and yet nothing. His gaze penetrated. He looked through things, not at them. So when those haunting eyes fixed on a black figure; time seemed to stand still.

He moved towards the stranger, the ground charring beneath him. He stops a few feet away from the desert mare Rogue. She was the same as any other mare in Ziyadah’s eyes. Useless, and unworthy. But alas, he has other intentions for her. They seemed to see him for what he truly was. A monster. Ziyadah liked this look, and so with a heavy accent and a voice seemingly made from fire and ice that was cold and dead upon his lips.

“Ah I see my welcoming committee has yet to arrive. Pity. I’m sure it would have been lovely.”

A cold laugh escaped his lips. There he stood, more dead than alive and yet he had captured this rugged deadly beauty that none could ever possess again. And even though that beauty could be seen, the darkness that radiated from him was so much more.

Z I Y A D A H

FIRE I