The arching bows of the trees overhead form a golden canopy, and the late evening sunlight dapples the forest floor in every shade of fire. It is has grown darker as I finished my journey from Loess to the heart of Sylva, but my pace has remained constant. There is a determined set to my navy mouth, and the slow flick of my curious ears do not bely the rapid beating of my heart.
This is the first time I have ever left my homeland.
I've never needed to, not when every whim was readily catered to. Yet as I'd grown older, the urge to see what lay beyond my borders had grown stronger. I linger now on the precipice of adulthood, almost a mare and no longer quite a child.
Having seen my reflection, I know that I have inherited my mother's beauty as well as her coloring. My mane cascades down my smooth golden neck, an ombre of navy to pale white that matches my swishing tail. I'll never be tall, but I've finally begun to lose the gawkiness of my youth and show the promise of feminine curves.
My Arthas has told me to meet the King of Sylva at the center of the kingdom. I have every intention of doing so, though his warning that "that devil Morty" will want me for himself stills rings alarmingly in my ears. I'm old enough to know what that means, especially as the autumn days grow shorter, but I am determined to wait for Arthas.
He is waiting for me as well, I am sure, though I had not thought to get any sort of promise from him. It's never occurred to me - and still does not - that there might be others. I am preoccupied by the way the shadows shifting around me, and I raise my head to call out. Better to be with a devil than alone in the darkness of unfamiliar woods.
He is hidden within the trees. Waiting. Watching, stalking. Call it what you will. He had gone to Loess earlier in the week, and the chat with Arthas had been successful. So much so, that the King of Loess had offered a gift. A “peace offering” he had called it. Mortem scoffed - he did not know peace. It was utterly foreign to him.
He’d only heard of the child queen. He’d never seen her, surprisingly. With the way he slid through the shadows of Beqanna, it wouldn’t be uncommon for him to happen upon her.
She is unsurprisingly attractive. Her skin a light creamy beige pointed with navy. So different from his own plain shade of ebony (other than the blood that regularly crusts to it). She’s young, just as Arthas had said. She’s still losing the quirkiness of her childhood, but she’s beautiful nonetheless. The dark king does not lose his head (a pretty face means nothing if she’s not loyal), instead he emerges from his hiding spot to approach the former queen. “You must be Lepis...” He grins, circling around her. “I’m Mortem...” His face falls flat as he waits for her reply.
@[Lepis] I’m sorry this is poop and typed on my phone xD
Everything has happened so quickly: my gift to Arthas, his request of me, this journey to Sylva. A myriad of thoughts spin through my head as I wait in the deepening dusk, the echoes of my beckoning call bouncing from tree to tree until it fades entirely.
A shiver runs down my navy spine, and I spin about at the sudden crackle of leaves underfoot.
There, in the shadows. A face. I might have missed him entirely were it not for the bright red orb atop his muzzle. The surprise in my expression shifts to one of curiosity - has he been stung? I'd gone looking for honey once, and the bees had been rather unhappy about it. My stings had been much smaller though, little dots around my face and neck. I do not have a chance to ask though; the stranger has introduced himself as Mortem.
He goes from grinning to straight faced in an instant, and the rapid alteration of emotion is somewhat unsettling. Still, he has introduced himself, and I was raised as royalty and I know the proper response. I dip my head - not too low, he is a king but I am was a a queen - and nod.
"Yes," I reply. "I'm Lepis. Arthas said you'd be expecting me."
He’d watched her as she spins around, fear clouding the beauty of her face. He reveals his crooked teeth as he smiles, a low, throaty cackle emerging from the depths of his belly. She’d have to learn that fear was frowned upon here in Sylva - he prided his residents on being brave, not weak.
“Arthas told me much about you, Lepis...” He stretches the S, continue to slink around her for a better view. “Tell me, child. Do you plan on devoting yourself to this kingdom?” He stops in front of her and turns his head, icy eyes boring into hers. “Or will you crawl back to the hole you came from?”
I do not like the way he laughs or the way he circles me as though I am something he has half-a-mind to devour.
The look of surprise on my face shifts slowly into a frown that wrinkles the webbing of navy blue lines across my forehead. There has been no trouble in my life until this point, nothing that had happened to me that I did not willingly assent to. My experience with voicing my desires has not been limited, but facing those who might not so easily acquiesce to my wishes is something entirely foreign.
Surely he can tell I am displeased, but he seems to have no intention of altering his behavior to make me more comfortable. The fear slips away even further as he continues to speak, telling me that he knows much of me, asking if i intend to devote myself to Sylva, if I intend to go back to Loess (though in less courteous words).
At that I draw myself up to my full height, and while I am far from tall there is an innate dignity in my bearing. I picture Mother, with her commandeering attitude, and my Seamonster who is never afraid.
"Devote myself?" I ask, peering down the length of my blazed nose with a tone that is nothing less than imperious. "What has Arthas told you about me that would make you think I would devote myself to a kingdom and a king that has done nothing but insult my homeland?"
Modicum Mortem is no fool, so when he sees how her face scrunches up in displeasure, he is aware his words have struck some sort of nerve. His brow raises, and he lets out a haughty snort. She did not know what he was capable of - she knew nothing of the world but having it handed to her on a golden platter. She was young, naive, and helplessly misinformed about the evils around her. He certainly couldn’t have that in his kingdom, could he?
“Tsk tsk tsk,” He states, eyes leering into her. “Wrong answer.” There is a moment where he pauses, nostrils flaring as he lets his anger build...
@[Lepis] okay so I’m leaving this open ended so I can ask if he can punish her or just say mean things. Up to you, either way it’ll keep the plot super dramatic. 
The light is fading around us, deepening from golden yellow to dusky blue, and an evening breeze has begun to wind its way through the thick trees. The fog will come soon, I suspect, creeping in from the Taigan sea, but for now the air around us is clear.
Clear enough to see the black king, clear enough to tell that he is not pleased with the answer I have given him.
Well, I think, I m not pleased with the welcome he has given me either. It seems we are both rather disappointed in the other. His expression suggests building anger, while mine is simpler frustration and perhaps a building sense of regret at having so easily agreed to come here at Arthas' request.
Had he known this would happen? That Modicum Mortem would be so inhospitable and insulting? Surely not, sure he would not have knowingly subjected me to this if he had.
"You didn't answer my question either," I reply, straightening my neck to glare down the length of my nose at the clown-nosed stallion.
ooc: feel free to have Morty do whatever he'd do in any other circumstances; Lepis will reply as she would
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