[SRP] Changing Winds (Ahmri Enzi)

[Summer Raaven]

This is a solo-RP, log, what have you, of Ahmri's journey from who he was, to who he is going to become (a skinwalker). Please do not post.

Warning: This log is heavy in topics that may cause a trigger -- nothing is ever detailed extremely, but there are mentions/allusions multiple times.

The smell that filled his nostrils, as the first drop of blood hit the air, was intoxicating. He had known from a very young age that life was destined to weave it's way to this moment, but the reality of it had surprised, and pleased him. Had she expected this....so soon? She had stolen him, and his brother, and raised them under the assumption that this...this was the only option...but now, now it was over. Was it worth it, all that planning and waiting around until the perfect moment? He thought so - did she? He looked over at her, pondering what the vacant expression on her face meant, as the pair of them watched their victim die. His brother, the ultimate villain, had been the one to spill the first blood, and he couldn't take it anymore, he wanted in on the action. Plunging head first into the scuffle, he joined his brother in the killing - cackling and screaming as he committed that violent act. Then...something pulled him back. A scream, softer, much more desperate than his own - a female? His mother. He had forgotten she was there, in the moment - they were instructed not to kill her - and he had pushed her from his mind. But now, he was very much aware of her presence, screaming a desperate attempt to get her sons to stop this murder.

Those screams tugged at him, and tearing his gaze from his victim - his father - he stepped back. Letting his brother take the fall - take the kill. His father wasn't fighting back, he noticed, as neither he nor his brother had spilled blood of their own. What a fool, what an utter fool. He yelled, another desperate attempt to stop his sons, just like his mate, but it was useless, he was....too far gone. Both he and his brother had wanted this, and so did she - she wanted this more than anything - it was what she had spent the majority of her life planning out. It was why she was so...cruel. So vicious. He grinned, rejoining his brother once more as the blood continued to spill, unable to fight the temptation any longer.

~~~~

The aftermath felt better than he had expected. The deed was over, his brother had taken off, his mother was distraught, and she had disappeared with his father's last breath. He stood there, staring, admiring the scene before him, watching as his mother had stopped screaming - the inaudible gasps that had taken over filling his soul with...something. He couldn't quite place it, but a ping of emotion had touched his heart, before he laughed it away. His father didn't deserve a proper good-bye, so with a second glance at his mother, he too took off, finally alone and able to do what he wanted, without her guidance.

~~~~

Weeks later; he still had not found his brother, or her, for that matter. He had blamed her for everything - she was the reason this had happened; she was the reason his father was dead and his mother was a shell of who she once was. It was all her fault - that mare. He refused to call her his sister, regardless of it's truth, because she was so...corrupt. She deserved to die, in the same fashion of the one who she chose to kill, without good reason. And he vowed to be the one to do it. He hated her - hated her - and he wanted to see her scream, the same way she forced him to cause their mother to scream. He wanted to hear her beg for life, beg for an opportunity to make it up to him. And he wouldn't give it to her.

It occurred to him, a time or two, that if it hadn't been for her, he might not be this way, and it bothered him. What if he had been raised by the parents who had given him life, and instead of being taught to hate, he was taught to love? Ugh! Disgusting! He shouldn't be thinking that way - he was branded a killer, and a killer he shall always be. It felt good, knowing that what he had done had caused someone pain, and he couldn't quite explain why he enjoyed it so much. Well, actually he could; it was because of her, the lessons that she taught him. Without her, blood wouldn't have tasted so delicious, and the screams wouldn't have sounded so...beautiful. Damn her - she had no right! She had no right to destroy him, she had no right to break about this demon within his soul, and nurture it until it became him.

He'd take his revenge, he was sure of it.

~~~~

The journey to find her was never ending, and the memory of the killing had festered so deep, that he took great joy from it instead of the usual guilt. He had done it - he had successfully done something so violent, that it gave him great joy. Who was his mother now, after witnessing such a traumatic event? Who was his brother? Where were they - did they feel the same sort of corrupt joy that he felt, every time they thought about it? The thoughts of them just as corrupt and evil as she and him both, had caused him an odd discomfort....did he want his mother to become a villain? She was so sweet - so young and so innocent, and now? Was she able to move on? Did he find someone else? Or did the guilt of watching her sons kill their father ultimately kill her as well? He wanted to know, if only for very selfish reasons. He knew he wouldn't kill her, that much was made clear from the very beginning of his training, but he did know he'd taunt her - toy with her, until she begged him to come back to her. A family. That was what he always lacked, because she had stolen his childhood from him. Would his mother want him back, if the opportunity presented itself? Probably not. Would he take it? Probably not, but it was still something that had crossed his mind.

And his brothers - what would they do if they ever saw each other again? One, like him, was a murderer, the other, an innocent. Would they hate him, as much as he did them? Especially the lucky one - the one she had left behind on the night she had taken them. The one who was raised by their parents. He couldn't remember if he was there that night, but surely his brother would hate him for what he did. He'd hate both of them, both of his murderous brothers, wouldn't he? He'd vow revenge as well, wouldn't he? Oh! The family drama. He ate it up, it was truly quite delicious.

Wherever they were, he was sure he'd attack them if given the chance. Right?

~~~~

Time had passed again, and still there was no sign of her, or any of them. He had all but given up, and instead lived a life of pure solitude, violently lashing out at those who got too close to him. He had killed just once since that fateful day, and the blood of that victim didn't taste as delicious as that of his father's. Could it be because this mare was not related to him? He knew he craved the taste of each of them, as time had gone by, so he was destined not to kill until he saw them again? She tasted disgusting, the young mare who he killed, and he left her there without hesitation. The thought of it - the thought that killing maybe wasn't what he was meant to do, had frightened him and he needed to get out of there. He needed to pause, to think about his true self, before venturing back out there again. Finding a cave, he settled down, and pondered.

Her blood left a strange taste in his mouth, but as the day turned to night, he realized it wasn't...bad. Just different. It wasn't someone he was emotionally or physically connected to - she was random. The taste didn't taste the way he had expected, but that didn't mean he didn't crave it. He stood there, the blood now dried on his large frame, and he grinned. Yes. His suspicions of himself were foolish, he could do this - he could definitely, definitely do this. Become a full blown mass murderer, like those stories that were whispered in the night. Yes. That was going be him.

His family be damned, this was who he was. They'd come later.

~~~~

That was years ago, and his death toll had risen far beyond what it was. He did it now out of boredom - a killer he had become, but...it didn't bring him the same joy it used to. This had deeply disturbed him, so he found himself a cave, and lived deep, deep within it, waiting out his days until something better came along. He killed because it amused him, then he craved it, now...what? How many were left, until he'd find them, and take his revenge?

What else could be done?  

[Summer Raaven]

A large, heavy hoof was lifted into the air, seeping, stained red as it was elevated. The stench of his most recent victim had filled the air, captivating his senses with every passing second. The longer he stood there, basking in the glory of the deed, the more the power and the lust consumed him. It had been foolish, It had wandered into his den, unawares, and spoke to him like an equal. An equal? How dare It. He was no one's equal; he was him and him alone. There was a moment's pause before he attacked, as he pondered whether or not to toy with It. It had seemed...rather pleasantly surprised to have run into him so randomly, what...was It friendly, or just stupid? Or perhaps, both. He hated It - It reminded him of everything he wasn't. It seemed happy, content with who It was; he never got the opportunity to be who he was destined to be.

Yet again, was this his destiny? As It screamed, he reveled in the sound, realizing that yes, this was who he was supposed to be - his destiny was decided for him long before he was even able to speak a word. She had chosen that destiny for him. He had mulled over this fact time and time again, his body aching with the desire to take his revenge. After every kill, it was customary for him to rethink his motives - but every time he landed on the same decision. This was who he was, and he was not able - or willing - to change it. Or was it, he just simply couldn't? There was a sliver, however small, that connected his soul to the natural world; a pull, if you will, to the basics of what it meant to have humanity in you. Good, you could call, but he refused to acknowledge it's existence. He was after all, a monster, no one could deny that. Any shred of humanity left in him was slowly melting away.

It was his mother, he assumed, the memory of her, that caused those...thoughts. Damn her. Damn Her. Damn everything.

Damn It. He looked down, the smell still ever present in the air. It had been so sweet, so welcoming; It had wanted to make a new friend, or so he assumed. It was disgusting, and he showed It just what he did to disgusting things. He, for one, was a lot less disgusting than It - he, at least, knew his business. He, at least, knew his place in the world. Then again, those doubts crept back, pushing him from one end of the crazy spectrum, to the next, dividing him between the parts of him that were purely evil, with the parts of him that could be turned good. Did he know his place in the world? Did he honestly? He had lived for so very long now, repeating the same motions day in and day out, and it gave him immense satisfaction, but was there more out there? Could there be a better life, a better way to do this?

He huffed, stepping away from It, with a shudder running through his spine. That kill had sufficed the need, for now, so it was time to lay low for a while; hide out among the unsuspecting as a ready and waiting villain. He needed the peace, the solitude, that came with each kill - he stank of devastation and murder, and well, that wasn't normal in most parts of these damned, forsaken lands. If he had stepped out into society, he'd surely go noticed.

No. He needed the quiet. It had caused him a great deal of stress and although he reveled in the kill, it wasn't on the agenda. Ugh. He hated It for making him do that...  

[Summer Raaven]

It had been a while since he feasted, and the desire had softened, fueling his ability to think straight. He took a step back, marveling in his willpower, his control, as he roamed the lands not as a killer, or a threat, but a silent observer. He witnessed pain, not as the predator - but rather, the bystander, and it filled him with an emotion, with which he knew not what to do. Heartbreak spread like wildfire across the lands, either from lost love or empty nests, and it was a different kind of pain than what he was used to. Did he like it, the tears he sought, as the screams of lovelorn folks echoed in his soul? That was....up to interpretation, he mused, gliding from one end of the earth to the next, completely unnoticed. When not soaked in blood, or spewing words of danger, no one seemed to pay him much attention and he used that to his advantage.

When unnoticed, he could observe, and learn, and not be questioned. It softened his desire for constant blood, and he grew.

His most precious memory of his 'adventures', as he liked to call them, was of a young couple - newly, and deeply, in love. They spoke words of longing, I'll be with you, again, my dear, I promise. I'll wait for you forever. And clung to each other as if the last moment on earth was in that very second, echoing the beating of their hearts with the beating of their own. He liked this memory, not for that, but for what came afterward. The young stallion left - on a journey of discovery or something - he bothered not with specifics, and the mare was alone. Normally, he'd have pounced, leading her to him with the promise of return - and destroying both of them in the process, yet....what occurred was far, far more pleasant.

She destroyed herself.

He hung back, on the sidelines, as he followed her journey over the next coming weeks. Daily, it seemed, she fell back further into herself, letting the isolation and separation from her heart get the better of her. Every day she'd cry, and every night she'd sing out in longing for the boy who left her behind. The destruction, he noted, came from within - not from an outside source (well, not directly), such as himself - he did nothing to the mare, and that filled him with a different kind of desire. A desire to see...true sadness. True pain. It wasn't enough to kill, and then be done with the body as it was over, it was another to watch the suffering fester for weeks - getting worse at each passing day. The poor mare became a shell of whom she once was, and it delighted him. Lucky for him, the stallion never returned, so on a rainy, cold, and otherwise boring day, he approached the mare, smiling.

And offered to help her find her lost love.  

[Summer Raaven]

The thrill of possibilities consumed him; the mare had been desperate for help and he had used that; empty promises of guidance and protection...and yet, she knew not what her fate would become. And, to be fair, neither did he. It was too much fun watching her suffer, watching her torture herself over this lost love.

"He's gone," he whispered to her one night, hiding out within a cave. They had chosen a place of rest for the moment, together, she for comfort and he for, pleasantries. She relied on him; she did not see the monster behind his white eyes. Instead, she saw everything he was not...everything he was pretending to be, and everything he dreamed he could have been. The things she took from him, all those years ago.

And the mare was foolish for it. She knew not what was to come. "He's gone, I fear, he's never coming back." His words were like daggers into her soul, he could tell, and he had to hide the pleasure it gave him for fear of losing her. She clung to him, crying, desperate for the attention she so very much longed for from the other guy. Attention he gladly gave it to her. He sang the sad words of condolences day in and day out, giving her a shoulder to cry on each time she fell apart, planning his moves before the next began. She was too easy -- too simple, it was child's play, at this point. He a tiger, she the mouse. "You're better off without him," he whispered one night, coming back from a night of 'searching'. He had told her that was how he spent his days while he was away, and she so easily believed him. It was pathetic, almost, he felt as if he was winning a game that she wasn't even playing.

Well, she wasn't. So there's that.

Finally. She had questioned him after some time, why he was being so polite, hadn't he had other things to do? Her questions reeked of desperation, begging him not to say what she probably knew in her heart to be true, and it gave him so much power. So much pleasure. She was a shell of someone once so full of life, and it fed him more than any amount of blood had ever before. He reveled in it, and spoke sweet words to her of reassurance. He didn't mean any of it, of course, but it kept her alive for just a little longer.

Except this time, it didn't. She turned on him, lashed out at him. Yelled -- told him it was his fault that her beloved was gone. Went so far as to accuse him of killing her beloved. Eyes flickered - how dare she - and he growled. She didn't know the path she had been lead down, and there was no turning back, he threatened her, confessed to toying with her. Flashes of fear spread across her face, the realization washing over it as it was too late. He was angry, angry that his toy had become his prey. It was her doing, she had caused this, she couldn't just keep her mouth shut.

Goodbye, darling, he had seemed to tell her, before it all went black.

~~~~~~~~~~

If memory served him right, he came back to reality a few days later, the rage within him had overcome and spun him into oblivion.

He wanted to keep her alive, but the rage was too intense -- too powerful, to be ignored, and he hated himself for it. Gone was the pleasure he felt in watching her cry.

Heavily panting, he took to the cave, once more.

~~~~~~~~~~

Days passed still, and boredom took over, fixating on the same daily routine. He was violent, he was twisted, he was cruel and he was....agitated. What else was out there, what else could he do? There was only so much he could take. If there was another out there, same as she (and there was), how long would this game last? They were all the same - his victims, not capable of just letting him have his fun. It was more of the same. He grew tired, and longed for something different. Something not...

Of the same old same.

He wasn't taking action, in all the glory of these killings and these games, he lost his true intention....where had his family gone? He hadn't caught wind of them in years, could they have escaped his clutches for good? He had vowed to catch them and kill them, and yet, hadn't bothered to find them. Or, hadn't looked as hard as he should have. Where was she? Had she gone off and had children of her own yet, and twisted them into her vicious little games just as she did with him? Oh, he'd kill her, he promised himself that.

And yet his coat stunk not of her, but of innocence who had no right being there. He was getting lazy. Complacent. And it was disgusting.

There were rumors he heard growing up, of a power far beyond all imagination. A power that was unforgiving, destructive, and all-together unpredictable. Of course this 'power' was rumored to be the most corrupt of them all, so he never quite believed it could be true. But now, looking over the edge of the mountain he took in temporary residence, he knew he was worthy of this power. He had done far more than his share of destruction across these lands, but his heart was never fully in it anymore, he needed to let go of emotions. Let go of humanity.

Let go of himself.

And that power could provide him with that, couldn't it? He knew, deep down, without realizing it, that it was too much for him to handle but....he didn't care. If losing who he was meant becoming stronger and more focused, he'd do it -- he'd let it all go for revenge. Exactly what this power would entail was lost on him, but...it didn't matter. None of it mattered if he wasn't able to focus on his true goal. So he left the cave, for the final time, kicking in the dirt as he left his mark (albeit the bones that lined the inside of his hideout). Whatever he was searching for to help his quest was out there, in the shadows, tormenting victims that didn't deserve it -- why hadn't it found it's way to him?

He'd find his way to it, if that's what it took.  

[Summer Raaven]

He had found it.

For months he took to the darkened shadows of the land, listening only to the whispers that spread at night. The corrupt, the evil parts of these lands had stories to tell, and he was their faithful, silent, hidden audience. His voice barely louder than the whispers he held so dear, it was as if he had forgotten how to speak. They could not know he was there, they could not know his plans for destruction were going stronger with every breath they gave...it was too risky. The truly evil, the ones those stories were about, were never seen except for in his dreams. One day, one day he'd be like them. One day he'd have the power.

And he's destroy Her.

~~~~~

He held the urge for bloodshed at bay for as long as he could, keeping his distance from anything that would be tempting. It was too dangerous to let himself be known, and not out of fear for retaliation, but survival; he was not yet strong enough - not yet vicious enough, to accomplish his dreams. He could kill, of that he was certain, but it wouldn't be enough to suffice; it wouldn't be enough to quell his aching, starving bones in what he really wanted. Revenge. Satisfaction that he was - is - the reason she will scream. Knowing that her death was on the other side of his journey was all that mattered.

It was one night a young stallion was whispering about where the beasts lived that had attracted his attention. Not many of them had traveled with another - it was in fact, according to the stories, one of the only things that made them 'weak' (a herd of brave, stupid, thrill-seeking Soquili against 1 beast, even he'd admit the odds were in their favor). Having been alone all his life, he knew he'd never take a partner, so those stories had fueled and aided his battle plans; he'd know how to strike against a herd, he'd know how to kill an army of ten Soquili, hell, fifteen! He'd listen to the strategies they'd prepare, and counter-act them in his mind. He was ready to spend an eternity alone, always one step ahead of the enemy. Of Her. But the night in question, when the stallion had spoken of where a small collection of them had been spotted, had switched his footing and slinked deeper into the darkness, in the direction of said group. He'd find them, he'd infiltrate, he'd learn the truth behind the whispers. Of a demon so powerful, so corrupt, it almost made him jealous. He'd worship the ground those whispers spoke of, if he needed to. He was certain once he stepped foot anywhere near those demonic lands he'd be doomed, and was all the more pleased for it He'd be like them. It was the perfect plan. He was the perfect target - the perfect victim. What is better than a victim who is willing to succumb to the madness?

Perhaps a victim that didn't realize the depths of his decision.

A victim who would be driven to madness beyond his comprehension.

He didn't care. He'd find a way to turn, find a way to finally be the beast she had made him become.

~~~~~

The memory of events beyond that night are gone - the thirst for true power had been too strong, and his mind had slipped into a state even the old him wouldn't recognize. He was no longer the boy who wanted revenge, no longer the child who had destroyed his mother's life. He was a beast, he just needed the body to prove it. When he finally did come to, when a memory first began to form, pure white eyes stared back at him from a reflection in the river.

His shape had changed. His eyes came to focus. Staring back at him was a grey-blue bear. He blinked. How had he gotten here? What was he? A growl, emanating from the depths of his soul, had escaped, and it confused him. A bear - he was in the body of a bear. Looking at his....paws, he saw that they were bloodstained red, who knows how long he had been in this state. Had it been hours? Days? Weeks? He shook his large frame - no, his body felt normal, he had grown accustomed to this form. He had lived like this for quite some time.

But who was he? He thought for a moment, trying to recall anything that might make sense. Fragments of a life he used to know had displayed themselves in his mind, but broken and disorganized, they did not tell a story. He wasn't born this way, he had become this. Why? How? Of that knowledge he had none, just a....a name.

And a face. Her face.

Whoever she was, the beast within him was angry the second she flickered into his memory. Kill, it seemed to say. He grinned. Yes, he was hungry. He'd kill - her, or anyone.

As for the name, he huffed. He knew not where this came from, or even if it was accurate, but he knew this - it wasn't her name, it was his. A name he knew would be feared by all.

Enzi.