the wicked shall receive their reward; Magnus/any

[Kronk]

From above, the wicked shall receive their just reward

Kronk shifted his weight from one foot to the other. His eyes were somber, despite the joy around him. Spring had once been his favorite time of year. He’d loved to watch the leaves on the trees sprout, and then to watch the fruit bud and ripen. Kronk sighed, remembering a time when his heart was light, and wondering if it could be that way again. One day perhaps, already their tree was growing. It had survived despite the fire that had ravaged it. That, at least, was something to celebrate.

Perhaps, soon, there would be more reasons to celebrate. Kronk cast his eyes about, scanning for the face that could quench his curiosity. There was one thing Kronk yearned for more than peace, more than joy, and that was for purpose. Only the truly deaf could have missed the quiet, yet growing, rumblings of war. There was an anticipation in there air, they were on the precipice of a cliff or in the eye of a storm. Soon, it had to be soon.

Kronk found Magnus and inclined his head in a greeting. It felt like a long time since he had spoken to the general. They were, perhaps, overdue for a chat. Or, more likely, Kronk just couldn’t handle radio silence. Waiting, it would seem, was not his strong suit. It situations like this, it was often said that no news was good news. Kronk did not prescribe to that kind of thinking. There was always news, you just had to know where to find it.

“Magnus.” Kronk said with his nod, his voice as serious as his eyes. Perhaps, when this was all over, when he had fulfilled his purpose and found his peace, he would also become less of a stick in the mud.

“How do you find our kingdom?” This, at least, was said with a little smile, a little twinkling of humor. He was asking a rather broad question, but the net he cast was intentionally large.

Kronk

[magnus]

you and I both know that the house is haunted
and you and I both know that the ghost is me

It had been some time since Magnus had seen the painted stallion, but the golden General did not mind. He of all knew how the tides of Beqanna could be vast and turbulent—pulling souls to and fro and, in his case, underneath for years at a time. So when he finally sees the other stallion moving his way, what he feels is not irritation, but relief. The Gates needed strong soldiers, and he trusted Kronk—had from the first time that he had met the other. It was good to know that the other stallion still called Heaven home.

Moving forward, he came to a stop as the other stallion did, his expression sobering to match. Magnus knew that the rumblings of war were getting stronger and stronger in the wind—he knew that they were moving from rumors to fully-fledged truths. He also knew that all of his activity to fortify the Gates was just as likely to fan the flames. No enemy of theirs would be content to see how the kingdom was beginning to bustle with activity. No enemy of theirs would be happy to see more inhabitants rolling in.

“Kronk,” he greeted in his husky voice, pulling his eagle wings in toward his sides. “It’s good to see you.” At the question, one corner of his mouth flicked into a crooked, roguish smile, taking a moment to survey the kingdom around them. “We’re growing. More and more souls are finding a haven here—which includes more soldiers.” The smile melts from his expression and he meets the other’s gaze. “But that activity doesn’t come without a cost. I fear that we are drawing attention to ourselves, and the rumors of war will only stay that way for so long.” He takes a deep breath. “There is a darkness on our horizon, and I am not yet sure how we can meet it. I am going to need your help, Kronk. We all will.”

MAGNUS

once general. once lord. once king.