A Horse for Pestilence (Lord DreamCrusher/Iridel)

[Iridel]

Morgan Sommers had always been fascinated by the microbial and the infectious. There wasn't any clear point when that fascination started, but it certainly was helped along by the gift of a microscope at the age of five. That fascination led to a love of biology, and later a college degree in microbiology, and Bachelor's of Science in Pharmaceutical Sciences. A love for her studies, and later her work, made for a sparse love life and no long term partners. But it was worth it. Her dedication and her knowledge landed her a position with the government working to counteract and create new forms of biological warfare.

When offered the position she could see the gravity of the choice she was making. Her creations could be used to harm. To kill. And yet, at the same time it just might save her country. Protect the home of the people she loved. How she could say no that?

Some days were certainly easier than others. Finding a cure, or a way to avoid infection or disease was always a high point. But she never reveled in the successes of their weapons or took pleasure in when they were used. Morgan turned a blind eye to it. Ignored the innocents that fell from diseases crafted by her and the others, and continued working.

It felt fitting then that disease is what did her in. Cancer provided a slow end to her life, consuming her and pulling her away from her work in those final days. Nothing that was done could help, and she accepted it as punishment for the things she'd done.

Morgan was 32 when the time of death came.

She woke up to a brilliant light. Her body was the way it had been in her prime, no longer ravaged by disease and chemotherapy. But her soul was not clean. Dark marks on her legs looked like pox marks, staining her and damning her for the work she did. The people she helped to kill. And as if to confirm that's what it was, a voice spoke up.

"Your work and your life has led to much good and saved many lives. But the harm and the evil you have done cannot be ignored. Your soul is blackened by the plagues you created and cannot enter into heaven."

Morgan opened her mouth to protest, but instead found herself falling only to land on hard earth. The air around her was stiflingly hot, and the other souls nearby bore the black stains of their sin just as she did. Her chest ached from guilt, and she couldn't help reliving all the news she'd heard about her work. About how many people had fallen to things she'd helped create. Perhaps she did deserve to be here. To stay in Purgatory and suffer.

Her thoughts were interrupted by an imp calling out the arrival of Pestilence, Spreader of Disease and rider of the white horse. Only, what the figure was leading was no horse. It was a soul whose sins had coalesced into a black mark on their flank like a brand. With the things they wore they looked like a mockery of a horse, and they showed clear obedience to the being. Morgan and those around her watched as the "horse" was set free and relieved of its duty before being led away by imps who promised it a special home with all the others who had served. That show seemed to draw attention, and souls who had clearly been here longer judging by their scars and injuries began adding to the crowd.

Voices called out from all sides to be chosen. Each and every one of them trying to gain the attention of the rider. Some used the commotion to quietly slip away and avoid being chosen at all. Morgan tried to follow and leave, but the eager souls pressed in around her, pushed her closer and prevented her escape. Jostled and shoved she got turned around and escaped the crowd only to stumble and land at the being's feet.

Looking up she felt fear freeze her in place. She didn't want to be chosen to play mount for this thing. She just wanted to find a way to correct the mistake that had been made. Or to at least atone for the evil she created. But she couldn't do that if she continued to help spread it.

 

[Lord DreamCrusher]

Pestilence rode in to Purgatory at a steady pace while clad in long white robes that sought to hide her appearance beneath, just like she had done an infinite number of times before. She rolled her weight effortlessly in time with her mount's motions as he brought her to the main area filled with lost souls. To the eyes of everyone else her horse was shining white and glorious aside from the rolling spots of plague and decay, bloated pustules of greenish-yellow liquid that threatened to burst and spread their foul effects. The steed's lips had begun to rot away and reveal yellowed teeth, the brittle bone already chipping away from the ravages of time. It wasn't until she dismounted and began to peel away the bit and bridle, the saddle and stirrups, that the illusion melted away and revealed the truth hidden beneath. Her 'horse' was a man, naked as the day he was born and the blackened marks of his sins etched upon his right cheek.

Pestilence was a caring woman and her movements showed compassion as she released her companion to the care of the imps that had gather around. He had served her for many years and it was time to let him free, even if his servitude was merely the minimum she required of him. She and her sisters all had their own ways of choosing their steeds but perhaps for the male she had crossed to close to the ideals of War. He had been stubborn and aggressive until finally she broke him, but even still he never fully committed to his role and harbored thoughts of misbehavior from time to time. It truly was difficult to find a worthy soul. It was only by this point that the forgotten prisoners of this plane were allowed to come closer, finally revealing the extent of her appearance.

As Pestilence turns towards the encroaching crowd and steps forth more details can be made out. She is clad in flowing white and sickly yellow, color faded as from age and weakness that seems to seep decay in every essence. Despite this her figure is decidedly feminine as the fabric shifts and clings to her generous curves as she walks with a slow, swinging, gait. A crown adorns her head, golden yellow and tarnished, while a thick white veil hangs over her face only hinting at the outline of what lies beneath. Where her eyes should be are instead filled with two brazen orbs of yellow light, tinged around the edges with shades of green and brown like dying plants or fungus. As the lost souls push nearer they can all feel a fetid inner warmth as if coiling vines of sickness twist and writhe within their flesh, perhaps the only sensations they have felt in a long time within this place.

Her glowing eyes sweep over the begging crowd, lingering on individuals for mere moments as their lives are laid bare within her mind. She could know everything they did and exactly why they had been dumped here instead of burning in Hell or ascending to Heaven. The problem was that most of these souls were too eager, their desperation driving them forward without concern or care for the intricacies that the rider of disease truly worked with. On the other hand she needed someone who would not prove too difficult or stubborn like her last horse has proven. The individual needed to balance in-between in order to be the most effective, though in truth she was far from concerned with time. Contagion was a slow and insidious killer, patience was something she had in spades.

Perhaps fate was the true guiding force behind the series of events that led the woman to stumble forth and fall to Pestilence's feet, the otherworldy being slowly turned her gaze downward to take in the measure of the blonde woman before her. After precious few moments her glowing eyes illuminated even brighter, shining with interest as she watched the meticulous nature that she had worked with bacteria and other microbial substances in life. This one had potential far beyond what she had settled for in the past and the rider could not pass her by. She was not willing to be certain, but that was of no concern to her. From behind the white veil her feminine voice rolled, her words carried wet squishing sounds and faint traces of gurgling but she was still perfectly understandable as her tone carried the unmistakable weight of absolute authority. "Morgan Sommers. You have helped and harmed in equal measure now haven't you? Your fascination gave you purpose, yet in the end you died of a sickness beyond your means of curing. How delightfully ironic."

All around them the eager souls began to whisper as they knew their mistress had already made her decision. There was resignation at the fact that they would remain there, yet many continued to watch with interest as their madness had grown to the point of revering the rider as god in her own right. Pestilence bent her knees and brought a hand to the woman's chin, forcing her to look into the rider's yellow-green orbs. It would be difficult to tell for certain, but through the fabric of her veil the rider was smiling with warmth and care for truly the ones who did her work were to be cherished in her own twisted way. "You are now the White horse. You will answer to 'White' when I call you and you will obey your mistress. Once you have served your time then you will receive judgment and be free from this cursed nothingess. The better you perform the more weight my words will carry to aid you when that time comes."

As she spoke tendrils of rotten orange and brown began to sprout from her hand and travel towards Morgan, the instant they touched her flesh the pair became connected as she would find herself unable to pull away while the coursing disease made its way into her. Feverish heat would flow through her veins as the gnarled and twisted effects would begin to take hold, this was Pestilence's blessing of power and the sealing of their contract to be as rider and horse. The rider's left hand conjured long gloves from thin air, floating closer to Morgan's hands before sliding on without any hope of resistance. The long white gloves were coated in white hair just like a horse's and they covered her flesh up to her elbows. Instead of fingertips they ended in hooves that appeared far too realistic in their design. A matching set of boots was summoned as well, repeating the process for her legs except these went over her knees and covered them with a form of padding to protect them. Once both pair were fitted they began to meld and attach to the flesh until there was no seam and no sign that they were not a true part of her body to begin with.

Pestilence gave an almost orgasmic sigh as the process finished and the woman's insides were filled with her rot and decay, for now there would be no pain and little change from the norm but the power and the threat was there at her whims. The tendrils that had burrowed into her flesh would recede and crumble away and the rider's hand would move away from her chin once more. "Every good horse needs their tack." At this point Pestilence moved to the kneeling woman's side and conjured a white saddle, lowering down upon her back to a perfect fit as it was made just for her. The woman's gloved hands caressed at Morgan's skin as she fastened the straps and buckles to hold it in place. Once she was satisfied that it was secure then she wasted no time in swinging a leg up and over to settle in to her rightful seat.

From there she produced bit and bridle, leaning forward to slide it over her horse's head and force the bit into her mouth before giving a testing tug on the reins. As Morgan was but human her teeth lacked the typical gap that allowed the bit to settle in properly. While Pestilence would not be remiss in simply forcing the woman to hold it tightly between her teeth, she instead preferred to make the edges of the bit almost melt down and connect with the woman's back teeth. In this fashion she could still close her lips nearly all the way and with enough practice she would be able to speak in albeit garbled tones. Of course the rider could always change this in the future when needed, a means of punishment for disobedient ponies that needed to learn their place.

"Ah we are going to have fun together aren't we White? But wait, I almost forgot the most important part. Every horse needs a tail of course." Pestilence conjured the final aspect of the transformation as she leaned back in the seat, a white buttplug with a matching horsehair tail dangling from the end. She brought the toy up to her mouth under her veil as she licked and sucked on the toy to get it nice and lubed up, not hiding the slurping noises as she clearly got into the action. "Mmm this is my favorite part White. The moment where you cease to be a soul and become a horse instead. Once I slide this in then nobody will be able to see you as human, instead their gaze will reveal a lustrous white horse just like you watched me ride in upon. Of course I'll still know the truth sweetie, don't you worry about that." With unnatural deftness she spun around in the saddle to face backwards, leaning forward to take a good look at the woman's exposed ass as she lined up the plug to her tight hole. Then with slow and steady pressure she pushed it inside, her unnaturally warm saliva doing its job to ease the stress upon her body as the plug filled her tight pucker.

All around the pair the other watching souls could see the changes wash over Morgan as she became a horse in their eyes. No longer was there a woman bound in gear but a white and beautiful horse, hide as of yet unmarred. Of course that would change in time, but for now she could stay pure and beautiful while her insides slowly corrupted away. Pestilence then spun around again to sit forward in the saddle as she gripped the reins. "Congratulations White, I'm sure in time you'll make a fine steed. Why don't we start with some walking." She made a loud clicking sound with the corner of her mouth while prodding the back of her leather boot into Morgan's stomach, teaching her the signs that the horse was expected to learn that meant for her to move forward.

 

[Iridel]

The gaze of those yellow eyes held her captive. Morgan couldn't look or pull away from the woman as she spoke, and all she could manage in protest was a weak, "Please don't." Only when the tendrils made their appearance did she show the first signs of struggle, trying to back away and get up. Her efforts were in vain as the tendrils held her in place, filling her with disease and reshaping the marks of her sins into the same brand the other soul had. Tears of fear slipped down her cheeks as the gloves were produced, and she did everything she could to prevent her hands from being placed in them. None of her efforts mattered though. Her fingers curled at the ends of them and were rendered useless, and the boots forced her feet to arch in the same way heels did without the added support. When they melded to her flesh, replacing what had been there she panicked and tried to remove them, giving Pestilence the opportunity she needed to place the saddle.

Frightened as she was Morgan, or rather White now, didn't notice right away that when the woman seated herself upon her back there wasn't as much weight as there should have been. Even though she could feel the rider on her back there was no strain to keep on her hands and knees, and not collapse. She tried to force the bit from between her teeth before it melded to them, and even then she searched for some way to dislodge it. The final piece was the tail, and the sudden invasion of the plug made her still a moment. Although no virgin that was one hole she'd let be, and to have it filled with so little warning was startling.

With the final piece in place she looked to those watching like a spooked horse. Her eyes were wide, and she was chomping at the bit. Beneath the illusion she was doing the same, and the kick to her stomach was met with a moment of hesitation before she began moving forwards slowly.

She didn't want this. She was a person not a horse. It crossed her mind to stop right then and try to throw the rider, but beyond her panic and displeasure with the situation she understood it wouldn't do any good. With her hands and feet the way they were it wasn't likely she'd get far, not to mention the reins that could be used to hold her in place. If she wanted to get free she'd have to wait for a better opportunity and obey for the time being.

 

[Lord DreamCrusher]

Pestilence could hardly read the mind of her new steed, but she held experience beyond what was easily comprehensible when it came to breaking and training her horses just as each of her sister riders did. She was pleased at the current obedience as Morgan took her first steps forward, but the rider knew there would be struggle and turmoil at the transition. Becoming something new was rarely easy and always a question of time, but the first steps were being made nonetheless and progress was always rewarding in some manner or another.

"Good girl, that's a good girl." Pestilence reached forward with her left hand to give a loving caress at the woman's neck and shoulder. In time this would mean the world to her if the woman's potential proved true. The rider was content to let her walk cautiously forward for the moment as the crowd around parted to allow passage. The souls wouldn't dare cross one of the four riders, not that they could hold any power against her anyways. Many of the individuals began to disperse in sorrow, thought a chosen few continued to watch longingly in jealously. The be chosen as her steed in their eyes at least was a great honor and one that they would likely never know, how they wished to trade places if only there was a way they could do so.

After a few passing moments Pestilence began to show her horse a few more tricks, tugging on the reins gently to pull her head to one side or another as a means to directing her to turn. Should Morgan not take the hint then the voice would speak up, a bit lower and rumbling slightly with a weak gurgle as she sought to correct the undue behavior. "When I pull the reins to one side you will turn. When I pull back on both then you will stop. If I snap the reins like this..." She gave a flick with both hands that sent the energy down the length of the leather to flick at the woman's teeth that were currently fused to the bit. "Then that means to go faster."

Although it was an explanation she truly did expect her horse to increase the pace as her other boot came up to her stomach with a matching kick, meant for goading her on and not for inflicting pain although it was expected to hurt to some extent. After all Morgan was new to this sort of thing and she would need training to handle the rougher and harsher actions of her mistress.

 

[Iridel]

It wasn't difficult to pick up on what the tugging meant, but Morgan used it as an opportunity to test how far she could push by not responding immediately to the directions. The bit pulled against her teeth when the reins were tugged or snapped, and it made the small rebellion uncomfortable to maintain as actions were repeated. When it resulted in the explanation and the kick to her belly to urge her to move faster she let up on that minor resistance. She had a feeling that after being told what it meant any more disobedience wouldn't be accepted so kindly.

Crawling faster she responded more readily to the instructions. She voiced no complaints other than the occasional grunted when the but happened to tug particularly hard against her teeth. Her muscles soon began complaints of their own, not used to being made crawl so quickly or for extended periods of time. Even with the padding her knees began to ache from being bent, and the same a he spread into her legs, arms, and shoulders. Beginning to breathe more heavily she slowed down just a touch to test the response of her rider, seeing just how much she could get away with to rest her aching limbs.

 

[Lord DreamCrusher]

Her new horse was doing well enough to start, though it was testing the limits of her command as Pestilence was ultimately forced to resort to veiled threats to force compliance. Of course this was nothing new to the rider, it was simply part of the process. Morgan did not complain but simply grunted and winced when Pestilence was too rough for her tastes, this was good for now but signified that the soul would only seek to rebel harder later. The rider smiled beneath her veil and shook her head gently to either side, this was the most fun part of having a horse in her mind. The slow and often painful corruption as the mind was re-trained and the body re-shaped to suit, how wonderful it was to see from start to finish and she was so excited to begin the process anew once more.

After but a short time her horse began to slow beneath her, obvious signs of fatigue setting in as her breathing turned to panting. Pestilence was going to give her a break, but she had to make a point of instilling the proper respect if she ever hoped to make the beast obey. Spare the rod, spoil the child, was an incredibly apt saying in this case. Her voice did not grow loud, she did not yell or shout, and yet her tone was razor sharp as if to sever the strands that bound Morgan's very soul together in this hell. "I did not tell you to slow down White. Back to pace!" She flicked the reins once more but instead of a kick to the stomach like Morgan might have expected now, Pestilence pulled off her right glove and slapped the woman hard across her shoulders, one strike upon each shoulderblade with a forehand and a backhand.

The rider was impossibly strong despite her appearance and her skin far warmer than what should be considered normal. Diesease went hand and hand with fever of course and while she could not claim the fiery hot burning sensations that War could call upon, she still maintained a sensation not unlike a humid and fetid swamp. The smack of flesh upon flesh rang out loudly and a few of the imps looked upon the sight with unmasked glee as it appeared Pestilence had been slowly guiding her towards a pair this whole time. Unbeknownst to Morgan if she returned to the faster pace for just long enough to reach them, then she would have her respite for the time being. If she continued to struggle and resist however? Well Pestilence already had filled her with rot and had plenty of designs to see her twisted and shaped to her whim.

 

[Iridel]

She yelped at the strikes to her back, the suddenness of them nearly starling her into letting her front collapse. The warmth of Pestilence's touch made the heat of the sting all the worse, and paired with the ache in her muscles and joints it was enough to bring tears to her eyes. Gritting her teeth against the bit she pushed herself to maintain the set speed, arms and legs trembling. Despite her best efforts she faltered for a brief moment before pushing past and returning to the faster speed before a correction was made. Her struggle this time was not to rebel, but to obey despite the wishes of her body. And when she was made to stop before the imps her arms gave out and she knelt with her chest and cheek against the ground.

Panting she steeled herself for another reprimand, the muscles in her back tensing with anticipation. Morgan expected it to come, and would push herself up when and if it did, but until then she took the moment to rest. Relaxing her jaw she tried to ease the ache in her teeth and gave another fuitless effort to push the bit out with her tongue. The first tears slipped silently down her cheeks, and she did nothing to hide them.

How could so many souls clamor to do this so eagerly? Could it be that this was a better alternative than the other punishments that took place here? She didn't know. Morgan wasn't even sure she wanted to. But she did know she didn't want to stay here, or playing horse for a bearer of the apocalypse. She had to get rejudged. Had to prove this wasn't where she belonged. And kneeling there she told herself she would. All she had to do was be patient.

 

[Lord DreamCrusher]

As her horse responded and pushed to make it the last of the distance Pestilence was pleased. While she did enjoy the breaking down of a soul she also cared about them like a loving mother. There was a balance to be found between harsh punishment and gentle love, one that she would soon display again to her new steed. As Morgan slumped forward onto the ground Pestilence, without missing a beat, simply rolled off the saddle like nothing was amiss and moved forth to speak with the imps for a few moments. "Morgan Sommers. Chemical warfare, though she also made cures. Tell Lucifer that I'll take good care of her as it is time for me to leave, I'll see you in another few decades perhaps." The little creatures commonly rotated jobs in the layers of hell and so it was impossible to note where they would be, though the riders didn't really care. They were simply servants of the lowest form and not truly worthy of consideration, even they themselves knew this but could do nothing but accept it.

As the black-skinned creatures scampered off to deliver the news Pestilence spun on her heels and gazed upon her exhausted little pony. Such fragile things they were, but she would make her strong in time. A few slow steps saw the rider approach Morgan before she squatted down and placed her ungloved hand upon her horses cheek in a calming and caring manner. The rider's flesh was a smooth gray in color and again held a warmth that quickly spread to Morgan's face from the contact. "You are doing great White. Keep working hard and it will get easier." Her hand continued to rub against her face for a few passing moments before she reached out to grasp the edges of the bit, immediately upon her touch the bit peeled away from Morgan's teeth as the rider pulled it free from her mouth entirely.

Pestilence wasn't going to leave her to her own guidance though as she reached up and grabbed hold of the reins but without the bit in place they simply were attached to the bridle and there was no true discomfort there as she tugged to indicate White should follow behind. Pestilence turned away and began to walk slowly away as she slipped on her white glove once more. Within moments a small yellow tear appeared before her, growing outward in a twisting pattern until it was a full glowing and humming portal. Only Pestilence would know that it led to Earth, or at least one of the infinite number of Earth's that stretched throughout the dimensions. Morgan's reality was safe for now, but the similarities would certainly prove difficult for her to adjust to.

It might be asking a lot of her new steed to follow her through the portal, but should she cooperate it would lead them to Europe. Specifically the rolling green hills of Italy and the vast vineyards of the country. A nice and peaceful place to begin her work, and not too difficult for her horse to adapt to in terms of weather. The uneven terrain was another thing entirely of course but she would have to build stamina somehow.

 

[Iridel]

Morgan was too tired to pretend that gentle touch wasn't appreciated. After the day she'd had and the things she'd been through, even that little bit of kindness soothed her. Unthinkingly she pressed into the warm touch, feeling the heat spread through her face. It wasn't unlike having a fever, but Pestilence stopped just as it became uncomfortable.

Having the bridle removed was a relief. Her tongue swept over her now free teeth, and she stretched her jw a little to work out the ache in it. There was a brief moment of hesitation as she tugged towards the portal, but she simply didn't have the energy to resist.

Besides, how much worse could it get?

She found her obedience rewarded by a cool breeze and rolling green hills. Morgan recognized it as Earth, but it was somewhere she hadn't been. Looking out at the scenery she took a moment to admire it before she followed the rider's lead. But not before making one small request.

"Could I walk instead of crawl? Please?"

The please was added as an afterthought. Morgan didn't want to seem like she was making demands, and being polite could only help her chances of getting to stand and walk like a person.

 

[Lord DreamCrusher]

Pestilence considered the request for a moment, debating the idea before finally agreeing with some manner of reluctance. In truth she would need to learn how to walk in both ways and even standing would prove difficult with the way that her hooved boots forced her feet, might as well get that awkwardness out of the way now. "Hmmm, good horses use all fours to walk and only stand on two for trotting or galloping. You've been good though White, so you may stand for now." She reveled in the gentle breeze and the warmth of the sunlight upon her. Everything was pristine and pure, just waiting for her corrupting touch to turn it rancid and decaying. She truly had the best job of all the riders since she got to witness it all from the very start, truly Death was to be pitied in that she only got to see the very end but the woman had never complained.

Of course it was a strange thing that each rider fed upon and was sustained by their domains. Pestilence needed to spread disease and filth for the more who were afflicted the more she was satisfied. Since now the lands were far from devastated Pestilence and her horse would be subjected to the base needs of food, drink, and waste. White had been twisted up inside, changed to be able to subsist on grass and plants just like a true horse, though that wouldn't quite fix the taste. Pestilence herself believed she was deserving of the finest things she could find, first a little wine from Italy to get things started before she introduced a plague to the fruit in the area.

The rider led Morgan towards the home standing atop the crest of the nearest hill, her hips swaying from side to side in a sensual fashion as she kept to a pace that her horse could match. Eventually they would make their way to the building in question as the view from the hill would stretch on for miles in all directions. There wasn't a sign of true civilization to be found on the horizon except for the small houses that loosely sprinkled the rolling hills and it truly was a wondrous sight. "Take a good look White, these lands are destined to die. They'll never look the same as they do now girl, mmm the anticipation is palpable."

The rider reached a hand out towards the door of the home, the familiar tendrils once again forming from her hand and weaving their way into the lock before it clicked open as she turned the knob. It didn't appear that anyone was currently home and no car sat parked nearby either, likely away on a day trip though it didn't matter to Pestilence even if they were home. The rooms were fairly open and flowing, quaint furniture giving the true feeling of a country home that was unconcerned with fine luxuries. White would only see the interior from the doorway though as Pestilence tied off the reins to a long since unused hitching post just outside. Her voice was teasing as the rider walked inside before quickly disappearing into the basement. "Stay here White, I'll be right back."

Pestilence half expected Morgan to try and flee, though without the use of her hands untying the reins would prove difficult to do. If she did somehow manage to get free than it would only speak to her intelligence or resolve, though the rider knew that there was no hope of her getting away once her rot had taken hold within her flesh. This was all part of the fun though, horses needed to be educated through experiences as they tended not to listen to words alone.