[private] ReBeL jUsT fOr KiCkS [Oaks]

[Zain]

The days begin to shorten as the months pass by.  Winter has come much faster than expected, but as usual Pangea changes little with the seasons.  Not much grows here, just a cactus here and there.  It was really the only form of flora he did not blight with his powers.  Something in the way it screamed "fuck off" sent a sensation of pleasure down his loins.

Today the undead thing traverses a long stretch of canyon to the east bordering the sealine.  He doesn't care for water and so he often avoids the shores of the kingdom, but today there is a draw to be here.

The long black dreads of his mane swing along his sienna-colored hide.  The gaping wounds of his body began morphing again and he thinks to how long it has been since he fed.  Much too long he decides.  Alas there is little to eat in the way of his preferences.  He snorts, head hung level as he walks lazily across the muted barren soil.

Tall rocky ledges reach high above him along both sides.  Their mixed layers of yellow, red and gray show the brutal past of the kingdom.  Each line a different era with a history as profound as any land in Beqanna. 

In the distant horizon he can spot a break in the walls guard.  Opening up to the gray sanded shoreline and the warm sea air that kept the snow of winter from enveloping the kingdom in its icy grasp.  The undead being didn't care for snow either.

The gulls call overhead as he walks amongst the brushy sea grasses.  White specks congregate down the shores, taking off before the waves get too close, landing just as they recede.  Plucking crustaceans from the sands and scavenging remains that have washed ashore, unbothered by his presence here.

Another few paces down the beach he finds a spot where some thorny bushes have crept their way onto the lands.  He stops to examine them, deciding their faint with a few random thoughts.  Thoughts that are suddenly distracted as he realizes he is not alone here.

Zain

ReBeL jUsT fOr KiCkS

Word count 353

@ Oaks

[Oaks]

my crown is in my heart

It had been some time since their experiments on the flora out on the fringes of the kingdom and, admittedly, Oaks had welcomed the mild lapse in his ‘lessons.’

He had continued to practice, though. Determination still coiled itself within his heart like a fist grasping a lifeline, a meager thread of hope. Zain’s words still burned in his mind, to focus and to visualize your power as a limb…feel it reach out from you. The spotted stallion had continued to try, still taking the instruction literally and imagining a phantasmal tree branch extending out from somewhere near his chest. Its fingers would spread wide, seeking to light upon his intended target with specific intent. However, these feeble grasps could never quite find purchase – at least, not consistently.

As winter pressed upon the world, some of the thinner-skinned animals and more delicate plants began to succumb more readily to his attempts. Oaks had not intended to see them to their ends, though; spurred with some optimism from that brief blessing of actual suppression, he had hoped to ease some of their pain – the ailing old fox stricken with a terrible cough, the beautiful primrose shriveling in the cold clay around it – but it seemed that once again the powers of Beqanna had seen fit to shift within him.

Death had returned to him, no longer held at bay by a more amicable force.

He had withdrawn again as a result, back into the depths of the desert where his magic could cause less damage. Wandering within his new home, he finds himself near the eastern edge where the air carries more moisture thanks to the briny ocean water just over the horizon. The winds are more prevalent, gusting through the canyons with the notable saltiness of the sea, and avian life kites along the less tangible waves overhead. Although the sun is bright, its angle prevents much of its heat from reaching the northern coast, leaving a minor chill on the breeze.

This coolness is amplified when he reaches the beach itself where the wind is no longer contained to the corridors of the canyon and left free to tousle his bi-colored mane. For a moment, he revels in the comfort of being alone. A quick survey of the area, however, reveals that he is not the only one here; not too far to the north of him stands the recognizable form of Zain, tall and visibly decrepit even from this distance.

Oaks pauses for a moment, vaguely debating whether he truly wants to approach his unlikely mentor or whether his loneliness suited him more. In the end, he decides it might be worthwhile to share the news of his magic’s reversion to its usual unpredictable and unhappy means. Turning, he approaches the other stallion with a quiet chuff, head held slightly lower in a subconsciously submissive display.

“Zain,” he greets the other man softly, though his attention has turned to the sickly bush of prickles next to them. A sad smirk lights upon his face. “Another casualty of science?” he asks, nodding to the wearied plant to indicate his meaning. He does not bother trying to focus his own magics, having abandoned the pursuit for the time being, but he looks toward Zain as if awaiting instructions even though they had not planned this meeting.

Surprisingly, the plant does not seem to be affected by Oaks’ own power – yet.

my crown is called torment

OAKS

@ Zain

[Zain]

Hunger twisted his gut as he stared at the gnarly bush before shifting his gaze to the others presence. Had it been any other, the undead thing may not have hesitated to feast upon it.  Oaks though held a power of disease in some form, and he would much rather not remove that from existence. 

His face illuminates a bit more than before as the spotted stag came towards him.  Tendrils of smoke begin to swirl about the undead things face as his lips part in a devilish grin.  It had been months since the two parted ways after Oaks failed attempts to control the magic harbored within him.  He could understand how such destruction could plague one's existence; especially someone as kindhearted as the spotted man.  Sometimes the chosen needed a push to understand their grander purpose.

"Hello friend," his tone rather lively for a walking corpse.  The glow of his eyes do not leave the mans spotted face, "Unfortunately it was expired upon my arrival... Disease perhaps, or age."  His shoulder shrugs as he gives credit elsewhere for the demise of the brush.

 He examines his comrade and finds something a tad off about him.  With a singular peak brow he inquires, "So what is new with you? Still leaving a trail of death in your wake?" I hope, he thinks.

The waves begin to creep closer to where he stands, bringing a decaying form to rest upon the sands not far off.  The smell is putrid and causes his focus to shit.  "Hmmm what do we have here..." He walks towards the lump of death, coming to stand above it and finding its haunting, blank eyes staring up at him.

The marine creature's body is covered with blistering lesions, a clear indication of its plight.  "Isn't it lovely," he says in almost a whimsical way to Oaks, "the way this disease has infiltrated the body's natural defenses, stripping its life away from the inside out and exposing its most vulnerable parts to the threats that surround it."

His mangled face lowers to examine the body more closely.  How he wished he could paint their world with such beautiful strokes.

Zain

ReBeL jUsT fOr KiCkS

Word Count: 362

@ Oaks

[Oaks]

my crown is in my heart

At first he is glad to learn that the plant had already succumbed to its fate before their arrival. While the reality is not a pleasant one, it at least means that they will not have another lesson on how to control his unwieldy magic. Despite his desire for a better grasp of it, he had long ago conceded defeat in the pursuit.

Could one really hold sway over the power of death?

It would certainly take more strength and fortitude than the soft-hearted appaloosa has. In spite of his almost reaper-like appearance, with his tattery wings that wisp and flutter like a phantom and the blood-red of his body, Oaks has always been a tender thing. Born in unfortunate times to an unfortunate sire, his gifts would have been better spent on a man like Zain, whose fascination with death was, while off-putting, much more suitable.

That’s just not the way the world works, though.

He stands upon the beach with his companion, back turned to the still-chilly winds of the ocean as he considers the dead vines before them with a small pang in his heart. When Zain asks after Oaks’ status there is a nearly visible twinge in the smaller stallion’s expression, a slight flinch in his wings at the mention of his plight. A soft sigh leaves him.

“Unfortunately.” It’s all he can think to say, for nothing really seemed to have changed other than those few fleeting weeks where it had seemed that his ill-willed magic had shifted to something kinder.

He knew he shouldn’t have expected things to improve so suddenly.

But there comes some distraction as an odd, malformed creature joins them nearby, floundered by the surf. The stench of it is gut-wrenchingly awful, a scent Oaks is well-acquainted with by now (though perhaps less-so in aquatic form). Hesitant to approach it, he watches as Zain investigates the strange creature, unidentifiable for the terrible boils and contusions upon its unsightly body.

Finally stepping nearer once the other stallion addresses him, Oaks studies it silently for a moment before a decisive huff of breath leaves him. “It rather reminds me of you,” he observes with a tentative smirk, glancing toward Zain with wariness. It is the closest he’s ever come to a jest, a ribbing delivered as gently as the rest of him.

But there is some truth in his words, with the lesions having left some of the animal’s innards exposed, its white meat left ragged by the waves and whatever lesser creatures had scavenged from it. Zain’s words twirl dangerously in his head, brushing up against the ever-present dread of death that loomed there. “I wonder how it came to be so ill-fated,” he muses, knowing well that he cannot be to blame for this loss since he has not even been near this part of the kingdom before.

Daring to bend a little closer, he holds his breath as he examines the strange internal lacerations on its skin, dilated with the gaseous bloating which often accompanied expiration. The image burns into his mind, the vaguely greenish pallor of the skin, the hideously exposed flesh, the brittle bones laid bare. It lingers in his eyes even when he blinks, and he can feel an unwelcomed twist in his chest, a strange surge that he does not identify as the upwelling of his magic as it writhes, overeager to be released from a cage.

Unseen and unknown, it reaches out toward the only other ‘living’ thing nearby – toward Zain – and digs at him with unfelt and unfeeling claws, probing into his destructed ribs around his lungs and heart. Whether its effects will truly take hold is something of a tentative mystery, though the magic behind it is hungry and craven, wrought with its own perception of the symptoms Oaks beholds in the unknown creature the ocean has presented them. It seeks to spread similar wounds throughout the undead thing’s vital organs, to litter them with gruesome blisters and festers that might impede whatever health is to be found in the painted stallion.

Outwardly, Oaks shifts a little at the mild sensation in his veins as his own heart pounds just a little harder and his breath hitches just slightly. Had it been the stench of rot emanating from the dead animal at his feet that caused that sudden lurch in his stomach, that twinge in his chest? That’s what he’ll attribute it to, though that doesn’t quite explain the sudden drain of energy he feels as well. It reminds him of when he’d first met Zain and the other man had sapped his life force away, but he does not allow it to show this time. Holding his wings against his shoulders becomes more of a noticeable effort, though, and luckily his head is still low as an ache develops in the back of his neck and static tickles against his skull.

He is determined this time not to show that he has somehow been affected – by what, he does not know. As always before, he does not realize whatever effect he may be diffusing to those around him.

my crown is called torment

OAKS

@ Zain

[Zain]

Surprise does not find his face when the spotted stallion speaks of his fated powers still at work.  He couldn't say that a warmth in his chest didn't plume at Oaks reply.  Perhaps it had been by his own hand the stallion's disease accelerating powers still exist just as much before.  His expression does not show his true satisfaction though.

Looking upon the corpse of what could be a fish of sorts, Oak's comment causes him to laugh.  The observation of their likeness doesn't cause the undead thing to grimace in horror.  No, he rather liked the comparison.  Even if one was past this world and he was as lively as ever.

The dark tangles of his mane whip about as the sea breeze picks up.  The sudden gust of air causes him to choke on the salt forced down his throat, or so he thinks.  It is enough of a disruption that he feels nothing of the disease Oaks has unknowingly concocted inside of him.  

With a snort, recomposing himself from the upheaval caused by the wind, his glowing eyes find the stallion again.  "Just keep practicing your control friend.  It'll come only with time and effort," his advice is only offered for his own benefit, fore if the stallion could master such a power he could be of great use to the kingdom of Carnage.

His head turns to look down the beach.  Their world had been idle for far too long and there was an itch deep within him that needed scratching.  Ideas swirl within his mind and only one tugs at his blackened heart.  It was time to rise an altar for the dark God.  

A devious grin finds his tattered lips and without another word the zombie drags himself back in the direction in which he'd come.

Zain

ReBeL jUsT fOr KiCkS

Word Count: 302

@ Oaks So I guess he is going to go find a good sacrificial altar spot for Carnage and die on it from the disease Oaks created lol "I'm a sacrifice!" xDDD

[Zain]

As he moves back between the rising flats of Pangea's canyons his pit less eyes are vigilant.  He needs the perfect place to raise such a shrine for his God.

His gaze follows the layered rock that surrounds him.  Finding a beauty in the way the earth had been crushed to create the various colored veins.  He wonders which layers were stained with his own blood.  Which ones he poured his legacy into.

When he reaches a fork he stops, considering just which path to now follow.  There is a slight unnerving twist in his gut, and he thinks it to be an otherworldly pull to the left.  The left was always the wayward choice, right?

There is no thought in his consciousness that indicates him to a sickness brewing within him.  That the feelings he was having were not that of his purpose, but of a cellular manifestation of disease coursing through his sickly appearing form..

Rounding a bend in the rocky outcrop the land begins to ascend as the walls around him become shallower.  His steps, slow with intent, draw him out of the suffocating confines of the stone hedges and out onto the barren plains.

He stops, looking right and then panning to the left.  The flat desolate earth is dusty and dead.  It creeps a smile onto his lips just as a shadow begins to circle around him.  He looks skyward, finding a large black buzzard inspecting him hungrily.  A scuff erupts from his lips in a sort of snicker.  He was neither dead nor dying, so he thinks.

It is in that upward view that he sees a capacious tabletop plateau in the distance. “Perfect,” he sneers as again he finds a steady pace within his long stride; each hoof cuts an imprint into the crusted surface.

The spring Pangea sun was a bit more brutal today, he thinks as he moves across the open terrain.  Not even thorny brush offered shade as he traversed the lands.  Sweat began to froth across his gaping wounds, dripping a thick yellow substance that dried to a crust along what remained of his bay coat.  Flies begin to congregate, but he hardly takes note as his focus is elsewhere.

Soon he finds himself at the base of the raised platform.  He stops, appraising it for a moment.  Tasting its worthiness on his tongue.  It wasn't too tall, an acceptable height to drag an unwilling victim up.  Conveniently a conjoining elevation of land stretches from its top, curling around its pedestal and leveling off to the cracked desert soil.

His eye catches the vulture now perching itself on the edge as a silent omen.  He nods as if Carnage himself had manifested into the scavenger and was confirming the location. 

Maneuvering around the structure and coming to the bottom of the stone path he looks up with a devious grin.  The breeze picks up as he approaches the incline, casting away the stench of his festering wounds. 

As he climbs to the top his breath becomes shallow and labored.  Not unexpected for such an incline but definitely not normal for the undead thing.  He shrugs it off though fore nothing would stop him from completing his higher purpose.

Reaching the top he pauses to steady the rattling in his chest.  His red glowing eyes were a bit dimmer than customary for the bay stag.  An indication that all is not well.  He feels the piercing eyes of the vulture upon him, like a cougar waiting for the right moment to bounce upon its prey.

Suddenly he feels it, the heat, the infection, the breathlessness.  He had been so distracted by his ambitions that he hadn't felt the disease sweeping through him.  But atop the plateau, the air now stagnant and suffocating, he can smell the vile stench of the worsening wounds.  He can hear the crackle in his lungs, feel the weight in his chest.  He coughs, trying to relieve the building pressure.  Blood spatters from his mouth, landing upon the stone of His altar. 

He thinks of the layers of blood tinted rock of the canyons, and the layers that held his own.  This would be a new legacy to add to that of Pangea, the dark Gods kingdom.  And then his thoughts go to his servitude to his God.  Was this another test?  Surely it was all some part of a grander plan.  He would not be forsaken, not when he was such a loyal subject.

A faintness begins to consume his mind but not before he sees the dark shadow of something lurching nearer.  That's when his knees buckle and his body crumbles to the dusty slab of rock.  Blood and pus seeping into the layers of Pangea as he lay there upon the sacrificial altar.  He would be the first of many he is sure of it…

---

Death had come for him that day and he had been all too eager to give his blood to Carnage and Pangea.  Little did he know that the creature that had watched him, that had descended upon him, was not about to let him go so easily.  The shadowed figure reaches for his soul before it slips into the black nothingness of hell.  Dragging it back and sewing it securely into his festering body.

You're not finished yet Zain.  Return to the land of the living and bring forth the sacrifices in which you promised.  You will be given an eternity as long as you spend it in servitude to the underworld.

There is a surge of energy that courses through his body, awakening him to the world just as it had been before he collapsed.  Lifting his head, he looks across the stone flat to where the buzzard had been sitting in wait.  It is not there.

His legs gather beneath him, lifting him from the ashes.  The wounds across his body no longer festered with infection of disease, the only hint that he had returned by a magical force.

Zain

ReBeL jUsT fOr KiCkS

Word Count: 1003
Combined thread posts word count: 2,020

The disease Oaks created kills him on the altar he has claimed for the dark God Carnage.  Is resurrected by a mythical vulture.