[mature] I will show you fear in a handful of dust: ROUND III

[Carnage]

and lord, I fashion dark gods too;

He carves himself on them, in so many different ways - over hearts and eyes and flanks, reminders of their time here, of their sins. It’s a delightfully intimate act, and none escape it. Whatever happens, they are his.
He visits the hellhound last, yet, after the hound’s scarring, the dark god releases him somewhere else. Lets him run with the pack. There are better uses for such a  delightful creature - or perhaps he grows soft, in his old age.
Regardless, he looses the hound, sets it baying with the others, and then he turns, to watch the show, watch them limp and weep their way across the wasteland.

(I’ll show you fear in a handful of dust.)

The monsters they manifest are a delight - some are his own creations, but most shift, when they find their prisoner. He especially delights in those who face old lovers, or parents, those idle, everyday fears that haunt in the very marrow. Some of them take injury in their plight, and arrive to the oasis dripping blood.Others arrived damaged in other ways, haunted eyes betraying a different kind of energy.
When they are all there, he manifests himself, rising from the oasis like a mirage. He smiles, as if he is kind, and he address them.

“Well done,” he says, “you have all survived, if nothing else.”
He observes them. Nine in all, with the hellhound gone. Eight sounds better. He picks one, the girl with a vinegar tongue, the snake in the grass. He utters something, and she disintegrates before their eyes, no longer in this realm. She is dust, for a moment - a handful of it - and then a breeze picks up, and she’s gone.
“Well,” he says, and laughs at the spot where she was, “most of you have.”
Best to keep them on their toes.

“Now,” he says, “you have a choice to make. The oasis is a portal. The world it takes you to is a wonderful one, full of all your wildest dreams, power beyond your imagination. Too good to be true? Perhaps, but I think some of you would sell your very souls for even the chance of it.”
He grins. His words are snake-oil, but it’s a tonic he suspects many are willing to drink. And if not? No big loss.
“You may enter the oasis,” he says, “but there’s a price to pay for doing so. You must offer up a part of yourself - a token, really. An eye, an ear, mane or tail, your voice, there’s plenty of options. I’m happy to choose for you if you can’t decide.  With that toll paid, you can walk out of this hellscape and into paradise.
I won’t make you, though. It’s a choice. If you want to leave, I won’t stop you, as you’re no longer worth my time. You’re on your own to find a way home, though.”
He steps aside, giving them a full view of the oasis - the water is crystalline, stark against the wasteland. There seems to be no bottom to it, yet there are colors, when you look, flickering on the bottom under the shifting waters. A promise.

NOTES:
Sinner has withdrawn, and, though branded, remains otherwise unharmed. He’s welcome to play with Carnage’s hellhound pack for awhile. Asp quit, so Carnage turned her to dust in this realm (though you may say that’s what happened to her in “real” BQ as well. Everyone else is going on to the next round.

For this round, you have a choice.
A.) You go into the oasis. To do so requires a toll, some sort of defect where you lose something, whether it’s a body part or a sense. If you want to be more abstract, that’s fine, but maybe run it by me first. Carnage is happy to collect the toll himself (e.g. rip off an ear), or it can be more vague, like something from them disappearing as they go into the oasis. This defect is permanent.
Once in the oasis, you sink to the bottom, and end up in paradise. Whatever your character’s idea of a utopia is, this is it. Your character has unfettered magic for this round, and may alter their appearance and surroundings however they like. Build up your dream paradise, create a population for it, have wonderful adventures, whatever you like. Time spent here can be a few days to a few years, however much you want.
But, eventually, it crumbles. Carnage wants you back. Write about the disintegration of the utopia (it can be slow, or all at once). If you want to accrue more damage here, be my guest. End with your horse back in their cell.

Or

B.) You walk away. Whether it’s not trusting the oasis or not wanting to sacrifice something, whatever motivation, I don’t mind. This is your out, if you don’t want a serious defect. Horses who choose this route may wander the wasteland for awhile, but will eventually get back to Beqanna. They will be severely dehydrated and starving, but otherwise undamaged (except for the brand or any injuries you wanted them to have). If you choose to withdraw, you can write out the wasteland escape or just post OOC and have it take place in your mind.

Responses are due by 11:59 AM CST on Saturday, September 30th. Giving you some extra time since I was late in posting this.

As always, PM me with any questions!

c a r n a g e

[Ledger]

Bound for trouble from the start
I've been walking through this old world in the dark

One by one, the other’s arrive at the oasis. He has been bracing himself for this, figuring Carnage would take every opportunity to rub salt into his gaping bleeding heart. The x over the left side of his breast burns with a tight stinging sensation but it’s nothing compared to the aching turmoil of his wounded pride. It’s easy to block them out as they settle towards the right, where the empty socket resides. For once blessing the lack of eyesight so he doesn’t have to be faced with them. The lovers. The betrayers. Oh Dahmer, that slithering snake, he had always figured he would make a move. Had pretty much admitted as much. If he makes it out of here, he will make good on that promise. Let the bear wring his fucking neck.

What kills him is her. He expected it from Dahmer, not from her.

There is bile in the back of his hardened throat, constricted with the straining of veins bursting against his skin. Grinding his teeth in frustration. Looking only at the pool of water with a vengeance, at his wounded reflection. The anger within him rages to new heights, the largest storm he’s ever faced. Twisting and coiling around his insides, his body practically trembling with the need to explode. Still he looks to the water, only at himself.

That’s all he could ever count on anyways.

Carnage’s words split through the air, his ears swivel in his direction but he does not look. Knowing this was only the beginning. His body shakes, the rage growing and expanding with the utter bullshit of the whole situation. A sudden burst of sand finally makes him look up. He can see the equine form of one of the contenders only for a moment before the wind carries away each particle of dust away. One down, the rest of them to go.

He tries to look back down quickly but it’s too late. He’s seen her and it makes his tattered heart combust into a million pieces. The unreadable expression of her face, the heaviness in her stance. But most of all, the dripping claw mark across her eye. The guilt swallows him completely, dismay written all over his facial features. Had he done that? The memory of the bear destroying her comes back and he groans softly, closing his good eye painfully. Blocking them all out.

No matter if she deserved his anger, if she deserved to feel the stabbing betrayal like a knife in the back, she didn’t deserve that. He opens his eye just in time to catch the way she tugs at Dahmer’s wing. How she doesn’t bother to look at him at all, not once. In that moment he hardens himself from her. From them all. His fury bringing hot tears and it takes everything in him to rip his hateful gaze away. She cared nothing for him, she obviously never had. Even when his chest is broken and bleeding openly for her, marked by her betrayal, she still reaches for Dahmer.

What had he become? They will all pay. I am not a monster. I fucking hope they burn.”

With a shuddering convulsion he morphs into bear, giving himself completely to the beast. Locking himself within it’s snowy fur, blocking himself from the miserable world he has been trapped into. He barely listens to Carnage’s words, no longer caring. As the Dark God speaks, images begin to form on the now rippling surface of the pool. The shapes he can’t make out, not realizing that they all appear different to whoever looks at it. But it’s clear to him what he sees. The twins. Twisting and fighting against the pull of the water. Drowning.

There is no hesitation. The polar bear takes the plunge and dives into the endless black waters. Carnage, in his dark humor, takes from him something that would hurt him most in the long run. A single testicle, why not lower that chance of family even more?

The water bubbles and swirls around him as his gold flecked eye searches for the children, swimming frantically as his paws part the darkness in front of him. They are gone, nowhere to be found. He bursts through the surface with an agonizing cry, fearing he has lost them forever. But he is no longer in the desert oasis. He is on the shore of the beach, it’s black sands gritty beneath his clawed toes. He blinks, warily looking around him. Coming to a stop on a familiar scene before him. No… This can’t be possible?

There before him is Raaquel, his mother. She is whole though exhausted, her gray barrel heaving with exertion. A small newborn colt, flaxen chestnut, is curled by her side. And through the bones and ashes, a madman is waltzing. Coming towards them. A whisper floats by his ear… ”Make it right.” It coaxes, his good eye mesmerized on the scene before him. He could fix this. He could make it better.

There is no hesitation as the bear roars angrily and charges at Chernobyl, barreling down on him like a freight train. The stallion doesn’t even know what hit him as his teeth find the supple skin of his throat and throw’s him facedown into the ground. The murderous man shrieks but the bear is on top of him, turning him over and ripping at the tender flesh of his belly. He is splattered with blood, crimson clinging to the snowy fur. And soon the bear has faded and it’s only the one eyed stallion remaining, his hooves trampling the stallion’s skull just as he had once done to his mother. Panting, relieved, exalted.

He was a bloody mess but still he turns and goes to the mother and child who had watched, scared and with wide eyes. ”Don’t be afraid.” He says softly, pleadingly. Raaquel, with a strange look in her eye, pivots her ears in his direction as she pulls the foal closer to her. ”That man was going to hurt you. But he will never hurt you again. I promise.” His voice cracks with emotion, his gold flecked eye linger on little Ledger that peeks out from his mother’s embrace. Raaquel only nods slowly but eventually the little boy chirps, ”Thank you mister!” Nervously before hiding into his mother’s shoulder. He can smell the salt and driftwood of the sea as he closes his eye. He can smell the delicious scent of woods and moss against his mother’s skin.

Startled, he opens his eyes. Eyes, both. He can see again. He looks up, for he is curled next to his dam’s side and she nuzzles him lovingly despite the trembling that racks through her body. ”My darling boy, my love, my Ledger.” She coos at him. He is the colt again. He has gotten his second chance. The mare eventually urges him to his feet and the life he had lived quickly fades away. Ellyse, the twins, all of it. Forgotten.

The years pass. He returns to the Falls and is the apple of his father’s eye. Joelle is forgotten and Raaquel takes the place in Magnus’s heart that she had always deserved. They retire from kingdom life, into a private herd filled with family. Soliel is no longer his only sibling, there are many and they grow up happily together. His mother and father watch over them lovingly. Magnus consults for kingdoms now and again but mostly he is home, with his love, with his children. Their bond is absolute. Nothing could severe it.

As he grows, he explores and has wonderful adventures. He spends time in the Gates and masters the arts of a warrior, rising until he becomes a General. His parents are exceedingly proud. With time, Raaquel dies but it is peaceful. She is surrounded by them all and she gives her last breath while Magnus curls up beside her, embracing her, spilling his grief over her stormy coat. She becomes one with the tree she died beneath. Remembered by all.

In time he meets a girl. She is beautiful and made of glass. His mother had taught him well, to see the beauty within. She is fragile, he is careful. Adaline. He loves her, for everything she is and unconditionally. He brings her back to his homeland, retires from kingdom life, and remains with his family. They have beautiful children, some of glass like her and some without. It is a precarious but wonderful life. He is joyful, he can’t remember ever being unhappy.

They lay beneath his mother’s tree. She is curled beside him and he is gently brushing the clear crystal of her neck, lipping softly at the silver strands of her mane. Adaline is dozing softly as their little ones, newborn twins Joplin and Joaquin, play in the distance. Magnus, older now, is watching them and his laughter fills the dusky air. Ledger is thoughtful even as he warmly smiles at the scene, even though he feels complete. A nightmare has slowly crept into his dreams. Of a dark stallion with stars in his eyes. He laughs but it’s cold and sends shivers down his spine. He shows him awful things. Of his mother dying on the beach. Of the Gate’s tree burning. Of being locked in a cage in a dank cavern. The nightmares were becoming more vibrant and vivid. They seemed almost real. Of course he keeps them to himself, not wanting to spoil the happy utopia they all lived in. Still, they linger. A dark shadow that seems to follow him wherever he goes. ”What’s wrong?” Addie’s soft voice breaks the silence, having opened her eyes and seeing the dark worried look on his face. ”Nothing my love, go back to sleep.” He kisses her softly on the top of her head, the blackness easily fading when he's brought back to her.

A week later, she is kidnapped by a white wraith named Gryffen. His gleaming cruel red eyes are filled with delight when he pushes her off a mountain in the Chamber (just to see what could happen for science) and she shatters to a million pieces. Ledger’s name on her dying lips. The chestnut stallion falls apart. He had tried to save her but had been too late. Magnus consoles his son the best he can but he is weak in his old age. A few days later, he too passes.

Their remaining children, his brothers and sisters, nieces and nephews, all do the best they can to cheer him up. To retrieve the old Ledger. But he recoils into himself and into his guilt. He should have saved her. The nightmares are endless, he loses his appetite. The lines of his face hollow and the fat around his body melts away. A startling skeletal image of what he once was.

One night, a figure appears to him. His family has started leaving him alone, afraid of his madness. He recognizes the man instantly, the dark stallion with stars in his eyes. His face is unreadable as he looks down at the hollow man that lays curled before him. Trembling, frothing at the mouth. Trapped in his own memories. Is that pity or disdain that curls at the stranger’s lips? Sadness even? The shadows cover his face, it’s hard to see. ”I think it’s time to come home Ledger.” It finally says, soft and quiet. ”But… I am home.” He finally says through chattering teeth.

The dark god gives a shake of his head and Ledger blinks.

When they open, he is sprawled back in the cell.

He is disoriented with the suddenness of losing his vision in one eye again. With realizing the extensiveness of the cruelty he had undergone. It hadn’t been real. None of it had ever happened. The raw truth of his life (death, misery, pain, sorrow) that was his reality. The grief of losing not just Ellyse, but the perfect life he had always dreamed of.

The rage can’t be contained any longer. He shifts between bear and stallion, throwing himself against the bars of his cage. His screams are raw and filled with terrifying anger. Claws rake against steel, hooves clang against iron. He is a tornado of destruction, fueled on by the burning sensation of the cauterized wound where one testicle use to be. Whatever food and water is left in his cell are thrown about in his spiraling fit, bowls flying and hitting the ceiling. No matter where they are placed in their cells, they can hear his tantrum. They can hear his loss. They can hear a man break.

Ledger

Defect: He lost one testicle
Other damage: He also may be a bit mad at this point

[Ellyse]

Ellyse

I have the tendency of getting very physical,
so watch your step 'cause if I do you'll need a miracle.

At last, she has found the strength to stand once more, with a weary glance given to the barren wasteland around her. She had faced no greatest monstrosity than that of her torn and unwieldy heart, and it is that which distresses her most. She had thought her heart taken, given to one and to only one, but there is a thread tethering her to the heart of another through the wide, curious eyes of a blessing that had been created of their union – she is a sentimental one, though she tries desperately to seem otherwise. Slowly, with age, she is becoming unraveled. Exposed for the tender marrow that lay behind an endless ream of bony protrusions, meant to keep her fragile heart away from the clutching grasp of another, but she is powerless to her own emotion, and thus lie her truest weakness and her greatest downfall.

It had torn apart a family. Her ego and sharp tongue had caught her eldest son in a tangled web of manipulation and captivity that had kept him away from his freshly birthed sons, pushed forth from the womb with afterbirth still clinging to their spindly, unsteady legs, left with the burden of feeling unwanted – unloved, and it had been her own doing. It would tear apart another.

She can still hear the trilling caw of the ravens that had so ravenously pecked at her gaping wound over her eye, which remain bleary and sheathed in the red of her blood. It reminded her of Dahmer.

(it was meant to remind her of him).

Crying out wordlessly to her, desperate to free not only himself but her as well – willing to make a sacrifice, but as enveloped in the nightmarish hell she too was forced to endure – away from their son, from Smoak, who held such a heavy part of her heart she can hardly bear the thought of letting him down.

The deep claw marks left by the voracious polar bear still stung and she could feel the dried blood becoming stiff across her gilded skin under the scathing sunlight. It reminded her of Ledger.

(it was meant to remind her of him).

The sight of him turning away from her, selfishly leaving her to waste away within the confinement crafted by a monstrous God was enough to make her simmering blood boil but – but. The thought of their son and daughter, still so young, curled up alongside one another does remind her of a different time, of a different place – she had been a fool to think she could have it all. Enveloped by the deep and unwavering love of a father and mother never meant to be but brought together by a mutual heartbreak and love lost that only he and she could understand, but alone all the same, somewhere along the volcanic shore.

She loves them both, she realizes now.
But she had failed them all.

Her teeth gingerly pluck and pull at her ivory feathers, stained with muck and blood entangled to the root of the hollowed bones, attempting to pull together what little of her dignity remained – and suddenly, she is all too aware she is no longer alone. There are one, two – three and more surrounding her, but she does not care for any of them but that of the two who held her heart – the one that had nearly died trying to save her, and the one that had left her to the wolves.

She cannot look at Ledger; her heart yearns to be near to him but the sting of betrayal and shame alike is too much (not unlike his own – in his eyes, she had been unfaithful – in her own, he had left her for dead) and she cannot bring her one eye to peer into his own. The heavy claw mark gouged into her eye socket has left her unsteady, but eventually she does find her way to Dahmer – as weary and as broken as she, but she does not offer any more than a gentle tug of his wing with her teeth, not willing to consider his gaze, either. The wound carved into her face is too much and her heart can think of nothing else but what a misguided mother had so foolishly left behind – her sons, her daughters – she could not be certain as to whether time had stopped, or whether the Earth had swallowed the volcanic island whole.

She cannot be certain of anything but the unshakable drive to claw her way out from the deepest, darkest pit of hell, to find her way to them once more – come what may.

When He comes, she is neither shaken nor surprised, though the same boiling rage simmers and festers inside of her blood, stirring the sediment of her hatred that had drifted to the pit of her knotted belly. She is tired, and spent, and she cannot do anything but bite her own tongue. She had no power against the vile, detestable God that stood before her, but had she been given sharp teeth at birth instead of the bone-bending that she had been blessed with, she would have torn out his throat then and there.

Well done, he says with humor and mirth, and she is left wondering the color and viscosity of a God’s blood might be, of how it might look spread across the dreary gray of his skin, soiled and in ruin. A knot of dread slowly coils within her chest, swallowing her hammering heart whole as what had once been a living and breathing creature became little more than dust in the stillness of the air, brushing softly across her skin as it slowly drifts toward the ground.

He so lavishes in hearing himself speak. He drones on for what must be ages, speaking of a world built of her wildest dreams and deepest, darkest fantasies, and she is so certain that what he speaks of has been her reality before she had been torn from the sea-lipped cove of her domain, from the children that looked to her for sustenance and guidance, from the love that had once overflowed.

(now empty)

And then, there is a wry murmur of going her own way – but she is no fool. She is tired, bleeding, and the idea of starving to death while her own children do the same without the sustenance only her breast can offer is enough to rouse her from her complacency, glowering fiercely at the arrogant God and his manipulative entertainment. Her cheek gently brushes across the ridge of Dahmer’s neck where he lay, but she does not say a word – there is nothing to be said; death lay just beyond the horizon, either in the barren wasteland that had already spent her energy and lay waste to her prowess, or at the bottom of the oasis so promised to them.

For what might be the first time in her wretched life, she is speechless, wordless, and with only a wary glance cast toward Ledger (can he see her eye, as it oozes and bleeds? Can he see the gouged mark where Carnage had carved the mark of a vengeful bear into her socket, leaving her as scarred and as deformed as he?) – and then he is gone, gone, gone, into the bottom of a fantasy world so promised to him.

Carnage has either grown tired of her sullen glances or he is amused by the way her wounded eye is straining to see Ledger beyond the swelling of pus and blood, but he reaches forth with an unseen force through the silence – a single beat between his carefully spun sentences – and gouges her eye out, eliciting a scream of anguish and white-hot pain - before its bloody, golden-flecked remnants are left rolling through the dusty bay of the wasteland, while her breathing comes in heaving gasps of rage and affliction.

She is thrust forth by her own momentum, not even stopping to consider that the crystalline water soon stained with her blood and bubbling with the cries of her anger as she falls, falls, falls, drowning to its very depths until suddenly she can breathe again and she is somewhere altogether different, altogether wonderful - but she is not so trusting. The suffering of her injury is almost too much for her to bear, but she desperately tries to steady herself –

The sun is gone –
– or so it would seem.

The sky is dismal and dark, with low-lying, rumbling clouds looming precariously overhead, roused with thunder echoing throughout the sky and through the very marrow of her weary bones. She is drawn deeper into the fantasy by the rolling hills of lush vegetation, of the wild and unwieldy sea churning forcefully, lapping hungrily across the shoreline of an island that was all her own. It is not the volcanic isle she had come to know so intimately, that she had sworn to protect. It is altogether unlike anything she had ever seen before, carved from the darkest recesses of her mind – a quiet dream that had never surfaces to the paleness of her lips, but a euphoric, invigorating sight all the same.

She is plunged deeper into the tropics, savoring the caress of the palm fronds brushing over her bruised and battered wings – (the pain has become bearable now; she can hardly feel anything but the pulsating of her sore eye socket, gouged and flayed open for all to see) – but she is not alone, and none stare at her with the repulsion she might have otherwise anticipated.

(none see what she sees; they only see what she yearns them to see – power, prowess – unstoppable, raw femininity, loathe to bend at the will of any man)

To her – broken, beaten, bleeding and bruised –
To them – glory carved in gilded muscle, with flawless wings of ivory and eyes of gleaming hazel – lined with small, bony spikes along her muzzle, spine and neck, confident, whole.

(she will never be whole again)

There are so many – black, white, copper and indigo – so many bodies, with wide, awestricken eyes boring into her, staring with wonderment but quick to kneel before her, crumbling to the soft and fertile soil to bow their head in admiration (in FEAR) and she is filled with a delight she had never thought possible.

(foolish girl, she cannot no longer see the fantasy for what it is)

She is drawn into a cave by another, one that must be her right-hand – she is beautiful, dappled with jaguar markings that she can only imagine is reminiscent of the beast that lay within, and Ellyse is shown the dark and stifling cavern filled with a humidity that reminded her of her past, of what she had left behind – (she cannot bring herself to care; her memories are sheathed beneath the glamour of the fantasy so carefully buried deep within her psyche).

There, tied with rope of twine and tethered to hefty, unmoving boulders lay a plethora of testosterone-fueled stallions, animalistic and stirring with a restlessness that could only be brought forth by a captivity away from the splendor of the sun, by a life of sex and nothing but – (they are not worth anything more to her, they are heartbreak and wasted time; procreation is all that is needed of them). A land of estrogen and power and dominance and she is almost writhing from the sheer enchantment of all that has become her own, of the harem kept under her sharp wit, her sharper tongue, and her brutal rule --

”My Queen,” the wildcat-marked mare croons to her, ”what should we do with these two?”

And there, in the darkest corner of the deepest obscurity of the rock-laden cavern stand two silhouettes, one winged and one without an eye, gaze boring into her own, unbroken - angry, fearful, roused as she moves nearer to her, as thick muscle stirs across her breastplate and hips with each steady, deliberate motion forward. Through the curtain of her tangled, but pristine tresses of ivory, her hazel eyes bore into theirs, a wicked smile tugging at the corner of her mouth, her heart stirring in her chest with a rush of adrenaline she had not felt in many, many years –

(how long had it been? – it doesn’t matter, it is all hers, all hers)

As her mouth brushes tenderly across the cheek of Ledger, and then over the dark mouth of Dahmer, she whispers,
"They are mine."

And in the blink of an eye, it is gone.

Gone.

Gone like the eye, lost to a brutal wilderness and leaving a gaping eye socket in its wake – oh, the anguish, it is overwhelming and she is crying out again, writhing with anger and fury and pain –

And with the stinging agony of salty tears prickling at her single bleary eye remaining, she is left to the cold, shuddering realization that none of it had been real, that none of it had been what she thought it was, and what cruel and twisted fate to give her a wretched taste of what she cannot have and what cannot be -

She screams.

In anger, in fury, in vain.

You want to stay but you know very well I want you gone;
you're not fit to fucking tread the ground that I am walking on.

Defect: Carnage took the eye he damaged when he branded her with the bear claw scar.

[Zephyr]

Zephyr

She cannot see the oasis, but she knows it is there, lingering is a perfect world...her perfect world. She can taste it in the air, salt and sulfur, her home waiting just beyond Carnage's terrible grasp. Krigare is there, lingering, awaiting her return. Blood drips from her various wounds, the perfect ring and curling arrow around her eye stinging with crimson plasma. She approaches the voice, his voice and offers her toll; she is willing to lose something in order to hear her lover once more. 

"Take it...take the eye you've branded..." What good would it do her anyways? It wasn't like it was useful in the first place. She moves past him, the invisible barrier lifting for her to arrive. She walks straight into the oasis, waiting for the eye to be ripped from its socket.

Not good enough. A trick. Instead, the dark God takes something else, something more valuable to her than anything else...something she has longed for her entire life.  

A ripping pain through her abdomen, as he tears the piece of herself she wants most. Zephyr screams in agony, trying to stop, hooves dragging the ground. She tries to back out of the oasis, she no longer wants it, she would rather leave dehydrated and broken than lose this. But it is too late. He has taken the only thing that would give her life any meaning - he takes her ability to have children, her ability to have a family with the one she loved. What was a mare if she couldn't bore foals? What would she be to Krigare, if he could not continue his line?

Into the oasis she plummets, eyes closed, tears a constant stream down her face. Body sprawled out on the ground, she hears him. His voice, smooth and velvety, so familiar, whispering in her ear. 

"Look, Zephyr, open your eyes." She scoffs at the request, but listens anyways. Orbs open, and she can see. Blinking heavily, eyes adjusting to the midday sunlight, she looks down to see him - a beautiful bay colt laying at her feet.  She chokes up, standing, forgetting the cruel jest he is playing on her, forgetting this would never happen. 

"My god, he's so beautiful!" The colt nurses, lapping up warm milk from her teats, and she feels a surge of happiness flow through her. This was her creation, her addition to the world. She looks up, still-milky eyes alight with love. 

And there he is, her shining ray of light. So handsome, even more than she could ever have imagined. In their thicket, warm Tephran air surrounding them, they tend to their newborn. Her and Krigare, as she's always wanted it. She laps and picks at the fluid covering her boy's newborn coat as he suckles. She cannot contain the overjoyed feeling she has - she was complete. 

Days turn into months, months into years. She has three more children with him before her body protests otherwise. Two other colts, and a filly, all she held so close to her heart, all who looked nearly identical to their father. As they grow, one by one, they leave, to have their own adventures and family, to continue Krigare's legacy. There is no doubt in her mind - each of them will do amazing things. 

The pair eventually grows old together, his once bold coat graying, their bodies changing. In their last moments, they are together in their grove, resting like they had the first night they met. She closes her eyes, relishing in their life together. Oh, how wonderful it has been...

Empty...is the sky before the sun wakes up. 

She awakens, eyes opening to darkness once more. The smell of rotting flesh, the screams of pain is all she hears in her dark cell. A wicked game, is all it had been. None of this had happened, all was a figment of her imagination. All was just a dream.

Empty...is the eyes of animals in cages.

Her ears flicker to her left, to the cage next to her, where the scents shifted from stallion to another creature. He beat against the bars of his cage, agonizing growls escaping his lips. He is broken, a shell, just like her. Just like all of them. She wants to say something, but what good would it do? The damage has already been done. 

Empty...the faces of women in mourning, when everything has been taken from them.

The burning of her stomach where her ability has been taken from her. An internal wound in more ways then one. The one token she had of ever "seeing" her life have meaning. It was taken from her, and Krigare would leave. Because what use would she be now? 

Me?

The alabaster mare curls into a ball, head between her legs, as she begins to weep. The others let out terrible squeals, the anguish in their voices are distinct and maddening. She lets out her own cry, a curse to the gods, a curse to the world around her. She was nothing.

He had made her nothing. 

Don't ask me about empty.   

So chin up and we’ll drown a little slower

Defect: Carnage takes away her uterus, she can no longer have children.

[Tangerine]

Tangerine

In the middle of the night, I go walking in my sleep

Power.

Power! She could nearly laugh.
This is what they would sell their bodies, their sanity, for?

dominance, influence, privilege.

Superiority. 

She had never called lovers or land her own - she had never believed that anything other than her own skin belonged to her.
And he had taken that, her only jurisdiction, away from her.

She would laugh if it didn't make her sick. 

She would laugh it wasn't so pitiful- if the faces and bodies around her hadn't had souls inside of them and loved ones waiting for them. 
Don't fall for his tricks. She wanted to scream at them. But maybe he knew her intention because she could not find her voice. 

Tangerine shakes her head and droplets of blood scatter. She didn't want to be worthy of his time anymore and the 'power' of the Oasis did not tempt her. She saw no reason to stay. 

Not daring to drink she turns away from the god who had been so beautiful in the fall, the man she prays she would never see again. 

But who do you pray to when the only god you know is depraved and vicious? 

Thank you for this quest!! I thought it made the most sense for Tang to leave.  She is taking her chances in the wasteland and heading out because she doesn't trust him

[feast]

feast.

death inspires me,

like a dog inspires a rabbit.

Feast is sore and tired, as so many of them are after their trials and tribulations in the wasteland.

He keeps back from the oasis and from them all, aloof and distant as one by one they come out from underneath trees and from inside the leafy green arms of bushes. The brand on his neck starts to smoke and burn; the dark god is near. First he is watery, as if imagined and not all there, but he gains substance, seeming to pull it from the very shadows around them and even their own shadows that stand away from their feet. The dark god becomes more flesh and breath for the time it takes him to whisk away the hellhound and turn the other mare into dust, scattered hitherto to the winds of the wasteland as if she had never been.

Feast is in awe of that single thing the dark god does then – making a mare into dust and nothingness.

Carnage blathers on about making a choice, a portal, and things too good to be true. His grin is the kind that can slice butter, deceptive and smooth and Feast cannot tear his eyes from him. He charms them all with this talk of offering up a piece of themselves to touch paradise shimmering just beneath the surface of the oasis. Feast is perhaps the only one to hesitate; the others dive right in and lose parts of them after their fantasies begin to play out but him? He looks to the dark god and says, “Take my wing. It’s no good to me anyhow.” Part of him knew this part would not be painless – sacrifice never is, and he braces himself for the severance of the useless appendage. It hurts, of course it hurts!

When Feast opens his eyes after gasping for breath, he is left with nothing but a nub of bone that is covered in a layer of soft eiderdown. This is the only reminder he is left with to show that he ever had a wing there. Now he looks like Igor with a hump on his back, if he knew what Igor looked like that is. He waits for no signal from the dark god and begins to submerge himself in the oasis, first up to his ankles then further until only his face remains above the water. The water pulls him in and down, embraces him and he thinks that he know soon enough what it is like to drown. Except he doesn’t drown - -

He spirals through the colors and the water until he ends up in a wasteland much like the one he’s just left. How in the hell is this paradise? But then he realizes it is – a grim facsimile of the Pangea that he knew. It is a ravaged spit of land wrested up from darkness and earth too stubborn to want to give it up. It was a land taken, snatched in an iron fist and only the dusty crumbling could give way to something new but just as ruined. Feast begins to smile, this is more like it! Then he realizes he is not alone, not entirely. No land is without its population and he finds in his horses that bow their heads to him – him!

Pollock is there, and there is something like pride in his eyes for the first time in Feast’s pathetic life. One of the things he’s ever wanted was that recognition a father has for his son, that feeling of proud that swells the chest and he finds it there in the older stallion’s hard gaze. Maybe, he even finds a kernel of fear and that titillates his heart! How could Pollock ever fear him? Unless… he has become more powerful than his father! No wonder they all bow their heads to him, chant his name under their breath and scrape their hooves against the dirt and rock of this land.

Feast ascends a naked knoll that affords him some manner of lordship over them all.
 
From his perch, he looks down upon each and every one of them including the bent head of his father and the smile that spreads across his lips is cruel. One or two come forward, telling him of their conquests – this mare they got with foal, that scared horse they took down and fed upon, the field of carrion fattening up the crows, and the bones that line their caverns. Some are rewarded with a just nod and others receive nothing more than a harsh look, because not all are successful – even in paradise, there are failures and these he punishes, unleashing their worst fears against them until their heads burst in a spray of blood and bone.

Others receive no such end; theirs’ is drawn out as they stand there shivering and muttering to themselves in madness. These he has driven off towards a grassy plateau where the sun beats down hard on their skins, and he gives the signal to the rest to begin the hunt as they see fit. Many come to lay bits of fur and bone at his feet, a pegasus’ wing or a unicorn’s horn and his throne is built up further on the destruction of those too weak to be allowed to live. Even his father comes to him once, cautions him to show just a tad bit more mercy and the only mercy he shows is in allowing his father to leave or face death. Feast would kill him if given the chance but he lets the old stallion go because the fear has grown more and more in Pollock’s eyes – he knows his son will be the death of him one day.

So this is his paradise;
He grows old and fat on the pain and suffering of others; wallows on his throne of carnage that was one just a hill devoid of grass or flower and sometimes, rivers of blood run down it and his followers bend their knees to lap it up like hungry kittens with a bowl of milk. No one challenges him – no one would dare! They’ve seen what he’s down to the upstarts who think themselves more cunning than he is; their skulls line the path to his throne, gleaming beneath the hot sun. He has even ensured that his bloodline continues though some of them await the moment he’ll name a successor, a thing he won’t do until only one of them is left standing for only the strong survive here.

Nor is Feast tired of ruling this paradise of his own making.

Mares come to him of their own volition, and others do not. Followers find him, fawning over him until he tires of their adorations and strikes them down – leaves them to the hunt, always the hunt, his favorite thing. He chases them with their own fears; even eats their hearts, sometimes. That is, when he deigns to join them because they have become commoners to him – a plague upon the land that he allows to fester there because that is how it must be, a king must have his subjects after all. And best of all, he can pit them against one another as he does his own children. He lies, tells them that the victor will have a go against one of his own blood for a chance to take the crown from him.

But he finds a child of worth amongst them all who comes out victorious; a child who makes the long walk down the row of grinning skulls to kneel at the bottom of his throne. He sees his death in that child as surely as Pollock saw his own death in Feast’s empty black eyes. His death hunts him, circles on feet quicker than his – he’s old now, can feel it in his bones despite the power he’s fed on all these years. Feast has become something of a glutton and it slows him down, makes him fall to his knees beneath the hooves of the son rearing above him - -

Feast should be dead, but he wakes up back in the same cell he’d occupied some time ago. Days or years, he’s not sure which nor does he care. It is like he never escaped from it; the same stale grass waits for him and the same dirty water is all that can quench a thirst that seems like it will never end. But in his eyes, he’s seen his utopia and it was grander than this and more real than this pathetic cell feels. Except the brand on his neck burns and there’s an ache in head as if it had taken a hit or two from a pair of hooves. Then more pain comes rushing back and he whips his head around to nip at the feathery nub of bone that is all that remains of his wing.

Some part of him knows it had been real.
Some part of him knows it had not been real at all, but imagined.
All of him wants it back – the fear and the respect, and as the rest scream and batter themselves against their cells, Feast is quiet in his plotting.

He is quiet because he gloats - - his father had feared him for once and it was grand!

So he gave up his broken wing and just has a feathery stump left to show where it had once been.

[Dahmer]

CURIOSITY KILLED THE CAT
& SATISFACTION BROUGHT HIM BACK

They gather, called like canines to the tropical oasis by an abusive master with a whistle. Dahmer is too weary to allow his turquoise eyes to linger on all those who have collected, though not too fatigued to not assess them briefly. He notices their swayed backs, dried and wet blood, the defeat in their eyes. He must look the same, he knows, with Carnage's brand stinging across his dark forehead and the deep gouges and hooked flesh from where the immense raven-monster had grasped his shoulders and lifted him into the air. He aches all over, but still he looks for Ellyse... and, in a way, for Ledger.

The Dark God had distracted him when Ledger had taken his leave of the cave, effectively abandoning Ellyse over a misconception that the dark deity had placed, fickle and festering, inside of his head. The black thoroughbred hopes that the one-eyed stallion will be able to redeem himself, perhaps come now to Ellyse and protect her in the way that she needed - from heartache, not from monsters (which she could deal with herself). The champagne mare comes upon him suddenly, sidling up to him and tugging gently on his dark plumage. Dahmer is overjoyed to see her, though his suspicions of this place and of Carnage keep him from doting on her and the injuries she has sustained.

Her brand is gruesome, more so than his, but it's the absence of anything in her hazel eyes that truly causes him concern. The voice of the Dark God reverberates suddenly to this motley congregation and one of them is turned to dust; he would shy away, run across the wasteland, if he had not already accepted the fact that this celestial-man would be the bringer of his death. Dahmer's ears flick instinctively towards the pain-bringer as he speaks, but it's the flaxen chestnut with the X over his heart that sits opposite himself and Ellyse that finally catches the blue-eyed beast's attention. There's pain in Ledger's eyes, the anger that has consumed him blatant even from across the oasis. Dahmer's blue eyes plead to him but it matters not - the polar bear has appeared suddenly, raging and roaring as he takes Carnage up on his offer and plunges into the crystalline waters.

Ellyse's horrendous scream draws him back to their side of the oasis, his own blue eyes wide in fear as one of her optics is ripped so easily from its socket. The Dark God grins with mirth at the pain he has caused her and then the winged champagne mare is bounding for the blue water, thirsty for the promised paradise after the wounds her face and heart have been forced to endure. Dahmer makes to run after her, to follow her into her paradise and forsake his own, but Carnage is suddenly before him with that twisted smirk and wicked glint in his starry eyes.

"You have a different choice, Dahmer, one that doesn't involve you escaping happily across my wasteland." The black thoroughbred tenses, watching the Dark God with loathing as the other beast mulls over the choice he desires to present. "Give me your immortality, or give me your son." Dahmer's breath catches as he looks upon the other beast, incredulous, words unable to find their way from his mouth. "Come now, Dahmer, before I take both. Forsake yourself to death in ten years and feel the weight of your age when you had previously thought you would live into Eternity... or give me your son and live forever, though you'll have to explain the death of your son to Ellyse, if she makes it out alive." Carnage's lips twist open and let drop a villainous chuckle as Dahmer shakes his head at the immensity of the decision proffered.

"Take my immortality," the black beast spits sharply at the Dark God, "You will not have my son."

He moves beyond Carnage, his decision now made as he plunges into the crystal clear water. His dark body changes as he moves deeper, no longer the physique of a muscled four-year-old, but instead a vessel that shows his true age. He is not old, perhaps middle-aged, but the change is rapid and Dahmer's joints begin to ache and his spine sways more than it had before. His eyesight isn't as pristine and his sense of smell has dulled. He doesn't care, he can't care, about his own changes (refusing to think about his own sands of time that have been cut exponentially, guaranteeing his death when it had previously been a moot worry) - he can only be joyous that he will have his son on the other side.

The paradise that awaits him in the oasis leaves Dahmer breathless. He's no longer chased by Carnage's hellhounds snapping at his heels, the sky is bright and blue, and the sun shines down comfortably warm upon the main drag of the Subway, where dilapidated buildings lay just as they always had. It smells the same as he had remembered, the air of Azza surprisingly crisp for an island covered in the ruins of human life, mingling with those scents of those who call the Subway home. Dahmer looks back at his frame, suddenly aware of the weight that he has lost - his wings are gone (had Carnage taken those, too?), his black and white overo coat has returned. He is Dahmer, King of the Subway once more.

The painted stallion whinnies loudly, exuberant and forceful as he canters down the grassy street, calling his assemblage to him. His nostrils flare with unfettered curiosity at those who will heed his alarm. They come swiftly, following him down the debris-riddled street to the entrance of the subway station. He doesn't enter, instead turns so that his back is to the glass-domed atrium and his friends, his family, gather before him.

Sid Malone. Autumn Spirit. Shilah. Prada. Pictures. Kitala. Pennywise.
Alecto. Corbane. Sasha. Star Child. Azelma. Ambriodhe. Lacrima.

His heart swells with pride and love as they come to him, expectant and loyal as if he had always been here. As if Azza and the Subway had never fallen into the sea. They are ready for instructions, his misfit bunch, and Dahmer is eager to provide. "Today, we take Kusheth!" he announces without preamble and the congregation before him announces its approval with a smattering of whinnies, half-rears, and pawing hooves. He is joined by two others who reveal themselves from the atrium behind him.... first Desole, and then Executioner.

Dahmer's breath catches at the sight of his mother, who he'd been forced to murder in the wasteland, and his father, who had disappeared into a blizzard in Dahmer's youth and had never returned. He can't find his words, instead overwhelmed by the appearance of his parents as they each come to a halt beside him. Desole presses her muzzle to his shoulder briefly before turning her hard eyes to the group before them. She addresses the residents of the Subway, formulating plans and handing out orders as Dahmer turns his blue-eyed gaze to Executioner, whose one-eyed, one-eared face looks just the same as it had when he'd disappeared.

Executioner gives Dahmer a lopsided grin, excited for the battle before them. The overo stallion had forgotten how it felt to prepare before a war, how his heart would beat rapidly and excitement would overtake his restless limbs, and while there is always anxiety, his parents have taught him how to calm his overactive senses just before the tide of war befalls their enemies. "Ready, son?" Executioner questions him with an excited grin and Dahmer nods to him, ever the loyal soldier for the pair that had created him. When he turns back to face his congregation to see how Desole has split them into platoons, they are not the same group that had come to his call.

They are all Carnage - every single one of them. All fourteen of them have been replaced with the star-spangled Dark God and his loathsome grin. "No!" Dahmer roars and his parents jerk their heads towards him, "What is it, Dahmer?" Executioner questions, and as the blue-eyed stallion turns to face Desole and Executioner, he comes face-to-face with two more grinning Carnages. He roars again at the sudden collapse of his paradise, the nonexistence of his parents punching him in the chest, and everything begins to spin.

When he awakes, the air is musty, dank, stale. It's dark again but Dahmer knows where he is the moment his blue eyes open. His coat has returned to black, the appearance of his Beqannan self, but his wings have not returned to him and his joints are stiff, sore, swollen. Dahmer groans and closes his blue eyes once more, admitting defeat and refusing to raise himself from the hard, dirty floor. Carnage has taken his immortality, his wings, the Subway, his parents.

There is nothing to do except wallow.

Dahmer

image © celestiene

[Dynast]

There faces are branded into my mind. My memories.  Each vile act upon my mother. The horror in my brothers ice blue eyes.  

Then the falling. 

The running.  

Their demise.

Everything inside me wishes I could have helped them.  Alas I accept I can't and as I stand on the edge of two very different worlds I don't look back.

He comes to me - almost mirage like - offering an option.  To enter a paradise created just for me or leave.  Return to Beqanna.  Return to...nothing.  She had no family anymore.  They were dead, I accepted that.  I could not change the past but perhaps I could alter my future.

I step forward.  The answer on the tip if my tongue.  He wants something though.  A sacrifice.  I mull the thought in my mind of what I would give for a better future... My lineage.

"Take my fertility.  If that's the horror my children have to endure, then take them from me," I nod my crown in the direction of the bloated corpses of my family.  Let it end here.

My ivory legs motion forwards to step from the grey sands of the wasteland and onto the fertile soil of the Oasis.  My oasis.  There is a mountain in the center with a curtain of falling water into the crystalline lake.  Trees of all shapes and sizes line the borders, leaving open meadow stretching across the rest of the landscape. 

 There is no death, no anger.  

I reach the lake and to my pleasure I dip my hoof in.  It is warm and not of regular waters you'd find inland.  It is saltwater.  I smile as I step in deeper, now to my knees.  The tentacles in my tail dance happily on the surface.  I feel more descending onto my nape.  A slight stinging on my flesh.  It feels like a massage to me.  My scarlett eyes shutter to take in the moment of pleasure.  I smile as I lower myself into the tranquil waters.  Ears swivel to capture sounds of sea birds screeching in the distance.  It was paradise as he promised and it was all mine.

Wading in the shallows I decide to find out how deep the lake really is.  Quietly I submerge myself as my legs pull me in further.  My body is weightless so I float rather easily.  My eyes scanning the depths.  It looks as any sea would.  Corals formed a reef where multiple schools of marine life gathered.  I watch them curiously.  Some are feeding, some napping.  I look to my left as a shadow catches my eye.  Above me a dolphin passes quickly, circling around as it sees me.  It observes me up close.  Beady black eyes upon me.  It flicks it's nose emitting a series of chirps.  My memories surface of my birth.  The day my mother ran into the waves and transformed into a blue-grey animal.  I examine it closer... Could this be my mother?  

The question hangs heavy on my mind when suddenly it speaks, "Dynast... Not everything is what it seems." I am confused and my brow furrows.  What did that mean? Almost immediately the waters come alive.  Bubbles boil from the bottom as the still waters become turbulent.  I frantically look around.  Not again, I think. Without notice a vortex forms, pulling all the creatures into it.  I swim away, or try.  The pull is to great on my light frame.  It's rips me into it's wake as it sends me spiraling down into the depths.  I am helpless as I continued to fight against it.  The waters are emptying from my lake and I can only guess I am headed that direction.  The pressure is building and I can feel my head aching.  My vision blurrs before blackness consumes me...

I don't know how long it's been but when I come to my scarlett eyes lazily open.  Surrounding me is muddy sandstone rocks.  It looks familiar.  All to eerily familiar.  With whatever strength I can find I lift my head.  I am back... Or had I never really left?

Dynast

Friends with the Monsters

Defect: She gives Carnage her fertility.  Highly sterile except when bred with Carnage.

[Diorae]

-Diorae-

The sight of the oasis makes her almost forget about him, like she’s momentarily unaware of his presence behind her. The clear blue water sparkles in the bright sunlight and the vegetation around the water just gently sways in the soft breeze. Just like that an eerie and kind of prairie like wind, turns into a nice summerlike breeze. It’s simply beautiful and enough to make her forget about the gray one.

Until he materialises from the surface of the very same oasis that has her so smitten. Like a god he rises from the water and the droplets that roll of his coat twinkle in the sunlight. He’s beautiful and terrifying at once. After all, Marigold was sure that he had been following behind her. Blinking her hazel eyes she stares at him for a moment, then drops her head guilt ridden. She had failed to go back to his den like she was supposed to.

Or wasn’t she? For the first time since their encounter, he addresses her. Tells her she has done well, that she had survived. Not only her, but all those around her too. Speaking of which, how had they gotten here? As Marigold wonders about that, one of them turns into dust and that what is left of her, gets carried away by the same gentle breeze Marigold had enjoyed just moments ago. Okay, that proves it, he ís terrifying. But also dominant, she remembers herself as her eyes search his gray form again: she’s all ears to what he has to tell.

An offer that simply sounds too good to be true. Her eyes dip lower, to watch the water of the oasis, the very ‘ground’ hé was standing on. Slowly her gaze travels up again, to watch him speak about paradise. Thus far life hadn’t been too kind to her, and the promise of paradise, well, even if she would only get a glimpse it would be worth it. He was right. She would do anything for the chance. And she would follow him like a puppy on an invisible leash.

Even if she had a price to pay. Not that she was able to voice out that what she was ‘willing’ to sacrifice. Marigold is silent as ever and although watching the oasis with more interest, she does not yet step forward. It wasn’t her place to take the initiative, both in going first and deciding what her toll was going to be. She didn’t have the right to make requests, wasn’t it the role of the dominant to pick the way for the submissive?

It shouldn’t be her choice if she should give up a sense, hearing for example. Though the thought terrified her. Marigold was already unable to speak, and other than lonely she had never really had a real disadvantage. Losing her hearing, sight, sense of smell or even touch, it would immobilize her greatly. But at the other side, hadn’t she already given the puppeteer her strings? And she sure as hell didn’t want pain, her bleeding leg and the scorched shoulder already brought her close to the edge of what she could bear. However, she would, for him. If he thought that was the right price to pay for her.

He could take an ear, an eye, her tail. She wouldn’t object against giving a leg too, but that would make life incredibly hard. A horse without four legs isn’t a horse. And thus, when a couple of others have paid their toll and went into the oasis before her, she steps up – still limping – to him. With a lowered head she offers herself to him, tense and fearful of what might happen. One had turned into ash, another lost her eye, and even a testicle and uterus had been taken.

And Marigold? The toll she has to pay is..? Something she waits for in silence. Her eyes fall closed, afraid that if she would open them that she would back away from him. That wouldn’t be right. Avoiding the whole facing thing by closing her eyes wasn’t either, but it was at least easier. And she did want that peek of paradise.

Because of her closed eyes, she doesn’t see his mouth deforming, shaping into the muzzle of a wolf. Horse teeth wouldn’t snap through bones, and that was exactly where he was going for. Not an eye, not an ear, but instead her tail. If she could, she would’ve screamed her lungs out, crying out in agony and pain. The tears roll down her cheeks, but other than sharp intakes of breath, she’s silent.

It’s too much. The pain, the fear, Marigold is no longer able to keep herself in place. Desperately she tries to get away, kicking the ground, trying to turn around, anything to have his teeth let go of her. But instead she causes herself more harm, and with the horrible sound of bones breaking and skin tearing, she find herself free.

Blood streams down her golden and white legs, pooling in a puddle on the ground. Now turned around, she’s staring at him in shock, muscles tense and trembling. For a moment her ears lie flat against her skull, but then she drops her head. Swallowing the thick lump in her throat she realises that he had had every right to do so. However, that didn’t make it any easier to forget the pain, and humility, nor the bloody bundle of flesh, skin, bones and tail that lies on the ground between them.

He probably thought so too. For a while, he’s silent. As if he’s waiting for her to fully relax and submit, even after he had just cooped her tail. She does. Her ears flop sideways and slowly she relaxes, but not till the point she gives up her alertness. It must have been enough. ”You may go.” He doesn’t say more, and Marigold doesn’t need more.

The closer she gets to the water, the more she can see the beautiful and alluring colors. It looks bottomless, but the others hadn’t seemed to be drowning. Thus Marigold continues, eager to get away, eager to get it over. The next thing she’s aware of is the biting water on her wounds, making them burn and if she could, she probably would have voiced out her agony. Though not salty, the water stings. Her legs, shoulder, nose and most of all, the stomp that was her tail. The deeper she sinks, the more it hurts, and Marigold wants to go back to the surface, but instead the only thing that goes up are some bubbles of air.

When she can breathe again, she eagerly sucks in the fresh air. For a moment she’s oblivious to her surroundings, as she takes time to catch her breath and try to mentally process what has happened. Longclaw, Hells’ gate, her cell, then her escape and face of whit the wolves and the oasis. Hé had been there too and decided on the toll she had to pay. Oh right. Her tail.

Swallowing dryly – afraid of what she might find – Marigold slowly turns her head, bending her neck so she’s able to watch behind her. The signal to move her tail is sent by her brain, through her nerves, but there is no tail able to answer. A short, blonde bob sways a little, but no longer the thick blonde tail she used to have. And worst of all, it left her utterly exposed. The pain, however, is gone. Leaving humiliation and shame behind.

Tears instantly flood her eyes, and she doesn’t even want to think of what others would think of her now. No, not others. Longclaw. He had said she was supposed to come back, but what, what if he wouldn’t want her anymore? She shudders, trying to stay positive and push the thought away. Marigold latches on to the first distraction that’s offered to her.

The happy chirping of birds is carried towards her by a warm breeze. It’s actually rather pleasant, both the chirping and the breeze. Slowly Marigold lifts her head, blinking her hazel eyes a few times as the sight is too good to be true. A small smile starts to tug at the corners of her lips as she finds herself laying down the shade of a couple of trees and in front of her green flowy hills reach as far as her eyes can see. It’s beautiful.

To her left, there is a forest. Not a dark one, with big eerie trees, but deciduous trees with huge green leaves. The kind that carries birds and other small animals on their branches. It offers a perfect contrast to the meadow in front of her, complimenting and adding to each other. Curious to see what else was out there, Marigold pushes herself off the ground. Standing up she shakes, sending some dust and leaves down to the ground again. It still fell rather odd without her tail, wanting to sway it and only remembering she couldn’t the moment she didn’t feel the movement. No tail flicking against her hindlegs or flank, no breeze caused by it. And flies would have free reign. Marigold deems that as something to worry about later.

A low hill is her destination, the sun warming her back. It keeps the smile on her face, but also makes her realise how dry her throat was. From the tip of the hill she should be able to spot water nearby. Such a paradise would have to have a perfect spring, a small lake or a nice flowy river. She’s sad to discover it missing. What was a paradise without water?

As if Mother Nature heard her, the land shakes and trembles. She can feel the vibration, startling her and tensing her up. To the right of the hill the ground crumbles, disappears into a hole, only to have water flow up. Like paradise’s own fresh water spring. Marigold keeps watching the phenomenon, awestruck and excited. Slowly the lake keeps filling and filling, until a small stream starts to flow southwards. It makes its way all the way to the forest, and continue beyond what Marigold can see.

Now overlooking the land again she’s amazed by how perfect it all was. Just like he had promised and Marigold can no longer worry about the toll she had paid. It wasn’t like there was someone around to see how he had humiliated her. Loneliness hits her with full power, like a slap in the face. For a moment it had looked like it was perfect. Fresh green lands, an inviting forest on the left, a fresh water spring and a soft breeze to cool them all down. Also, there are no shadows and without shadows nothing can be lurking. For the very first time since Diorae – she had been Diorae then – had come back to Beqanna, Marigold doesn’t feel the eyes burning in her back. It’s peaceful, but lonely. So very lonely.

Longclaw. He had promised to always look after her, to keep her from harm, but he wasn’t here. Here she wouldn’t be harmed by others or by creatures, but the loneliness is so much more than that. It eats her from inside out, making her feel uneasy and not cared for. Tears well up in her hazel eyes again and she closes them in an attempt to stop them from rolling down her cheeks. She wishes he was here.

And on that clue, she suddenly can feel his hot breath on her shoulder. Eyes widen and she snorts surprised, spinning around to face him. What, how did this happen, how was this possible? Her very own paradise. Shyly Marigold dips her head, submitting herself to him. Not because there was no-one else, not because she was afraid of being alone. She wanted to. She peeks up to him, flustered and dancing a little on her legs as she moves her weight from side to side. What would he think of her cooped tail? And the new brand that now covers his? Paradise would crumble if he would walk away.

For a moment she doesn’t dare to look at him, simply because she’s afraid of what she would find. ”Marigold.” She doesn’t look up, ears nervously flicking back and forth. ”Oh Marigold!” he calls again, but this time Longclaw is closer. She shudders as she feels his breath on her neck, just behind her ear as he whispers softly in her ear. The jolts travel all down her spine and instinctively she want so sway her tail, only ending up ruffling the bob. Marigold holds her breath and her eyes squeeze shut at the same time. It would break her to see him walk away.

He doesn’t. Instead his hot breath now ghosts down her neck, to her shoulder, where he lingers for a moment. She releases the breath with a soft sigh, her golden and white head now lowering further as she gives in. This was paradise. And she wouldn’t have to live there on her own.

Days pass and turn into weeks. Weeks turn into months. Miraculously the season doesn’t change. Spring stays and keeps the field lush and green, the water fresh and a bit cold. Bird never stop their songs. The spring also holds Marigold in its grasp, keeping her close to Longclaws’s side as her raging hormones long for him and his touch. But all good things come to an end.

Hé comes for her. Marigold can feel his presence before she sees him. When she does, he’s standing a meter of ten away. He doesn’t come closer, nor does he speak. He doesn’t have to. She knows what he wants. Her head dips and her smile, which has been on her lips all these months, fades away.

Slowly her gaze travels to where Longclaw is standing, now a bit further away. Too far for her liking, but perhaps that’s the best. How much she wants to go to him, how much she wants to be at his side. But somewhere deep down she knows this isn’t Longclaw. And the dark god was very much real.

With a lump in her throat she watches the tear in her paradise, growing darker and more intense the longer she looks at it. Then back to hím, pausing a moment before she can will her legs to move. He, once again, held her strings, and when he steps through the crack, Marigold follows. She does glance back though, and wishes she hadn’t. Her paradise crumbles, but the first thing to go is the image of Longclaw. Before she’s entirely through the portal, it’s gone already.

She doesn’t fight him. Back in Hell, his very own paradise, she follows him back to her cell. Marigold doesn’t look up, ignoring the eyes of those watching, even if they send shivers down her spine. This time the cell gets locked behind her, and Marigold finds herself pressed up against the back, her glutes pushed up in the corner as she silently cries.

A beautiful face is a mute recommendation.

OOC:
As 'toll' Carnage coupes her tail. Leaving her with a short bob like this.


EDIT:
Permission from Cassi to fix grammar mistakes past deadline.