It was easy to find, this place described as heavenly.  If not for the muted tones of pink and purple, then surely the fact it was the only kingdom in the south.

The undead thing looked out of place here.  From his gaping wounds, exposed tendon and bone, to the unkempt dreads that hung from his neck and hindquarters.  All indicators he was the least heavenly thing to exist.

It was late in the night, or perhaps very early in the morning, that he had crossed the borders from just beyond the ruins.  The red glow of his eyes pierced the soft darkness of the land.  An indicator that something not of this kingdom was present. 

His pace does not slow as he enters the land, moving him into the heart of it quite quickly.  No announcement is given, no warning to those that slept amongst the lavender fields, nor to those that may be awake at this hour.  He was not here for them.

If tradition rang true, which it often did, he knew he had to look for something out of the ordinary.  A deity with mythical properties or a totem out of place.  His gaze shifts, his ears swivel, his pace slows. “Ah huh!” He murmurs into the night air.

His approach halts an appropriate distance from the stone figure so he may view it in its entirety, his eyes trailing from its solid base to a warriors etched face.  He wouldn't deem it impressive, not like the burning tree, but there is something about it that warms his cold heart.  Something in the stone expression, frozen in time and the faint brown tint that stained it.  His nares flare, drinking in the distant scent of blood.  Could it be that this totem had a dark past?

Considering where it has come to rest he wonders if the land wasn't as heavenly as it seemed.  This revelation perks his ears, sending his head to turn left, then right.  Nothing outwardly screamed out to him as sinister, so he looked to see if there was anyone nearby to ask.

If he had reservations of the kingdom being of the good kind, those are all erased when his eyes come to rest on the ethereal being that approached. 

Their faint glow, their bright complexion, even the tone of their voice held no remnant of ill intent.  Even to a creature such as himself; uninvited and unattractive.

She reminded him of the peafowl mare he had consumed on the Beach.  So willing to offer a stranger assistance, particularly one that looked as he did.  It must be their nature, one to nurture and offer help to the sickly looking being.  Oh but he was not sick, not in a physical sense.

He smiles though, a kind smirk of sorts.  Even in the dim lighting of early dawn one could see the patchwork of his mangled body.  And he assumes this is what prompts her response, one of healing.  But this time he does not reach into her, does not rip away the health that was vibrant inside her for his own selfish gain.  No he is not here for that.

His head turns back to the statue, flicking his ear closest to her to listen as she speaks of its properties, or lack thereof.  It causes a tug at his grotesque lips as he appraises it again. 

“Do I look like I need healing?” His words have a playful ring to them as he looks at her with a devious grin and raised brow.  There is no hint of offense in his tone or expression so he adds quickly, “My name is Zain.  What might yours be, Miss?”  He may look like a brute but he had manners and introductions always came before business.

Her statement, or perhaps it was a question, does not go without reaction.  A deep throaty chuckle creeps up through his larynx at mention of his state of being.  "Ah yes well, many have tried... But I just keep coming back.  Each time more undead than the last," his expression is both of faux concern laced with a cunning grin.  His attention upon her does not faulter as he offers his name and asks of hers.  

There is a prick to his blackened ears twisted within the confines of his tangled locks when she states her title here.  He is not surprised; seemed all the lands have fallen into feminine hands.  A change from how it used to be.  To him it mattered little, but he found it a bit more interesting visiting with the matriarchs of the kingdoms. 

His head nods in acknowledgment, "Your Majesty it is then," he says with a smirk.  "I come from Pangea, on a diplomatic visit of sorts," It wasn't a full-blown lie, just a half truth.  With a turn of his head his eerie gaze settles on the stone figure, "I am very curious as to what this is and its purpose here?" 

Upon final examination of the figure, he can't help but notice a shift in the flora around them, but more specifically the way it ebbed and flowed like the oceanic tides around the Queen.  It causes his focus to shift from the statue, trailing from the earth in which they stood, to the flowers that dotted the gilded mares crown of branches.  His brow rises in interest, a memory of his mother comes to the forefront of his mind.  The way all manners of vegetation flourished in her presence.  His own magic stirs within him, a sickly dark thing befitting of the undead being.  An insatiable instinct to wither away all the pretty things gnaws at him, but he holds it deep within his exposed ribcage.

For now.

The undead thing notes the peak of curiosity in the pale Queens face when he speaks of diplomacy.  He looked nothing of the part, more so a grim reaper on its rounds of conjuring souls.  She would know his true intent here soon enough and so he continues the facade a bit longer.

When she speaks of the statue and its namesake there is a glint in his red sockets.  Blood was all it took to interest him.  He had no affinity for horns or wings, that she now motions to, but he looks nonetheless as she displays her assets.  The ever-present smirk still apparent on his tattered lips.

"I see," he comments plainly as his head turns again to the statue, noting now the rigid surface stained with what he knew was blood.  Even though dried, the aroma still beckoned to the hellish creature.

Musings enter his mind, causing him to look about the land.  "You do not strike me as the combative type," his gaze once again settles on the Queen, a quiet ponder entering his thoughts on if the mare is more than the golden ray of light she portrays.  

A proposal sits on the end of his cursed tongue, but it is stifled by her inquiry of the dark Kingdoms overlord.  He answers matter-of-factly, "Carnage, as always, Your Majesty."  

With a cunning smile he awaits her reaction, if there is any, before taking a step towards the stone idol.  His grotesque form moves with an uncanny ease, circling around the totem before coming to stand facing the Queen.  "I do wonder if an entity of healing would suit your Kingdom more... I for one have no need for such magics," he says with an impassive shrug of his shoulder, "and Pangea, well, we aren't keen on healing per se."  There is a moments pause to allow for consideration, "How about a barter?"  He takes another step closer to the Queen, so they are only a whisper apart, "A healing waterfall for a bloody statue...?"

The ember light of his gaze flares slightly as she begins her reply to his offer.  Her leveled tone is poised, and her words well considered.  The gilded mare was more cunning than he had given her credit for on looks alone.  No acknowledgment of the approaching noise is given, but he does not dismiss it.

His response comes without much pause at all, "Yes of course your Majesty.  No blood shall be shed for any member of the Gates, I can assure you."  He was nothing if not a man of his word, but he does consider the circumstances of the situation.  Another proposal drifts from his hellish tongue, "If assurance is what you require though I can send my son.  He is a good kid, much too good to believe he came from my seed." He snickers just the slightest at the thought of his many seeds sown about the lands.  Eviction had such potential, if only he was capable of a darker path.  "He even possesses the ability to heal... Shocking I know," the wicked creature grins while adding, " It is a family trait."

As his thoughts cluttered his mind the creature within the reeds steps out.  Not shockingly it is an equally pale being of smaller, fluffier stature.  He chokes back a laugh, releasing only a tendril of smoke that rises from his torn lips.  The way the creature settles at her side convinces him it is her pet and nothing for him to be concerned with in the slightest.

His attention returns to the deed at hand, offering a concluding thought, "Does my word hold merit, or shall I send the boy?"