sinner playing as a preacher

It'd been seconds, mere moments of stand-still when he was joined by a dastardly looking figure. He is blanketed with the darkness of shadows, his body moving gliding like an oiled machine in front of him. Each sharp movement laced with something cynical, something evil, but something worth saving. He lacks forehooves, gifted dragon-like fingers and talons instead. His tail is short, falling only to his hock before ending abruptly. His mane is also short, sitting upright on his neck in a mohawk. The leathery bat-like appendages on his flanks are overtly noticeable, impressive as-well, even in their folded position. All of this was forgotten when Yezdao's pupilless eyes fall on the ivory, skull-like marking adorning his face like a cryptic mask. His velvet lips twist upwards into a slick grin, exposing teeth shaped more like a canine's than a horse's. Yezdao recognizes the cryptic message the stranger conveys for he has exuded such an overwhelmingly dark signal to others himself. He assumes he should be feeling terror, the intense feeling of fleeing, something, but he doesn't. The preacher is calm, a passive expression on his face as his gaze meets the stranger's own. After a moment of simply watching, analyzing the creature in all of its glorious satanic darkness, four words slip past his lips: "She will save you." The chance to explain who she is, what the Bourqutsarq are, what his religion entails, is ripped away as a fog surrounds them. The fog moves as if it needs to be somewhere, do something. Watching it grow nearer and nearer, his eyes widen momentarily, confused as to what was happening. His white body is enveloped by the darkness, the strange sensation of loss creeping through his hollow bones as it begins to pull away. The sensation after it is gone is immediate- Yezdao had lost two of his gifts and the third had been warped in ways that were unknown to him at this point. Glancing at the pegasus before him, he notices the fog linger and lick him as if hungry for more. The momentary thought of it is this stranger who summoned the fog vanishes as he sees it interact with him in the same way as it had with Yezdao. Eventually, he comes to the conclusion that the fog was drawn here because of the darkness in the demonic pegasus. If the solidly ivory stallion had been here alone, he was sure that he would've wandered deeper into the territory unscathed by the fog. The thoughts in his head swirl around for a moment as he reminds himself that there cannot be good without evil, there cannot be someone who gives magic unless there is someone that takes it away. The balancing forces his people and he believed in so deeply had a plan, Yezdao was sure of it. They were the ones to strip his magic away and they had a plan for him, too large to see now, but he had faith in them and in their plans. The air hangs heavily as the two watch the fog dissipate as if it was never there in the first place. Though still shocked (and definitely slightly confused) about what exactly just happened, he is still able to catch the scent of another- a mare. His mind focuses on the scent, his manhood responding in a vulgar way that surely his god, Oukd Oura, and his family, Duvura Rahmukd, would find extremely sinful for a preacher. The pallid wings that rest sweetly on his flanks inconspicuously drop a foot, hanging lower than they had previously, assumably to cover the primitive response to the mere scent of mare. The passionate sins of flesh and flesh would sate the lustful beast within him, but he knew in order to be taken seriously as a preacher he could not partake in such activities (yet). The restrictions he placed on his sins while doing missionary work had made him, for lack of a better word, horny. The intoxicating smell of female devoured his thoughts, forcing his gaze to shift in the direction of its origin. Though he may appear blind due to his milky eyes and faraway gaze, he was certainly not which made the addition of a mare that much more pleasurable.   She is visual honey, succulently beautiful. The curves of her supple body cause him to salivate. The delightful sway of her body as she approaches catches his attention. Raising his head, he easily reclaims the height that had diminished with poor posture. She is black and white, the color of sin and virtue, evil and goodness with the bright, vibrant addition of gold. The way the three colors twirl and bend on her body lead him to believe that no one would ever wear the scheme the same way. Her pale eyes watch the strangers as her voice dances into the air, singing to him. Yezdao does not hear the words she says as much as the way she says them, the idea of meeting and mingling and fucking a mare clouding his focus. Gathering his mind together, the white stallion's own voice wafts into the air from his whiskered snout. "“Bekk hmar, kouvakd.” (a common greating in his language with the moniker Lovely attatched to the end.) The words are deep and strong, his voice the kind roar of a waterfall. A brilliant smile adorns his lips, contrasting greatly with the black pegasus's smile composed of only pointed, sharp teeth. The words are foreign, a language none but the Duvura Rahmukd (his herd) understood. "I am Yezdao, a preacher of Tsrader." The announcement of his name and origins is not simply just for the mare, but also the demonic pegasus. ***