A rose in the rain [any]

[Nymphetamine]

 
The blood bay had been busy, and as of late, he felt the weight of all the event recent past pressing down on him. He craved a break, he needed some time to himself, to just be. To not have a loaded conversation of recruitment, to not worry of diplomatic consequence or personal consequence. There was a need to just breath. to enjoy the company of others with no worry of an end result.  Spring had arrived and with it, the new life that often made him slightly bitter, though he tried not to be.  Nymphetamine moved through the muddy waterlogged spring land.  He carefully moved through the landscape away from Chamber, away from his duties, and personal troubles.  Eventually, he came to the meadow and stopped to look out upon the space.  There were a few little foals with their mothers- the first this spring had brought. A smile crossed his lips and he moved into the heavily grassed land. The meadow was always a little less muddy in the spring, the roots of the flora holding the soil together, which made it a great place to visit around this time.  He stood and watched those around him, and just enjoyed being free to be. 

Slowly he moved further into the land, he didn't call attention to himself, he didn't  seek attention but he wold welcome if it came. He hoped that this time away spent relaxing would be the rest he needed to continue on with his personal and kingdom related duties. So he continued his stroll with no real direction, and allowed he time to slowly tick by, until something else happened to catch his interest.

Nymphetamine

Cold was my soul, untold was the pain, I faced when you left me: a rose in the rain.

[violence]

violence

There are things she craves, certain dark things that build in her like oncoming storms. She comes from magicians and monsters and it’s only right that darkness sings in her blood.
She is not so powerful as her mother, nor so fearsome as her father, but she makes do.
She makes do because she is the one who can prowl in their minds, and she does, rockets into them with all the glee of a child. And better still are the bones, the ones she beckons from the earth, makes into monsters of her own creation – fantastical beasts, her skeletons, a menagerie of different bones knit together by her deathly magic to make things that walk beside her.
She talks to them, sometimes, and they clatter their teeth in response.

She walks in the meadow like she owns it, accompanied by one of her beasts, a thing with wolf’s teeth planted in a horse’s skull, atop of a creature that may have once been a cougar, or a puma (she plays with the bones but lacks the ability to precisely define them).

There’s no rhyme or reason to why the man draws her young eye – except perhaps some ancient piece of her DNA, the cry of like to like, bones seeking bones.
She smiles. She is still growing, body piecemeal with adult legs and a still-frizzy mane. She lacks the harsh angles of her mother, lacks the otherworldliness. More unfortunately, she lacks the monstrous features of her father (a fact she begged her mother to remedy, to no avail). Instead, she is rather plain: save, of course, for the bone-thing that walks beside her.
“Hello,” she says, polite, eyes fever-bright and gleaming, “you look bored.”

I’d stay the hand of god, but war is on your lips

#necromancersunite

[Nymphetamine]

Everything looked simple from the outside. When you look in on a situation from a distance, before you can perceive the context of the situation, everything is simple. That is what made the necromancer interested in this trip to the meadow. To glance in on others lives and enjoy the momentary simplicity was all he wanted at the time. Externally he was a bit blank, bland even. He slowly worked through the meadow, slowly looked from equine to equine. His blood bay body reflected the sun's rays ever so slightly so that he looked like he had a slight sheen to him. Nymphetamine's darkened ears flicked as he moved close enough to catch snippets of conversation. Internally his mind reveled in the simplicity, the moment was the "breath of fresh air" that he so desperately needed. He would spare you the details, as enough people had been unintentionally brought into his personal affairs, but needless to say, he was content with the blandness of his time here.

That was until everything was no longer bland. Nothing about the dreaded stillness that washed over the land was bland. Nothing about the snorting and fleeing of the other four leggers around him a moment later was bland. Nothing about a horse accompanied by the mr. potato head, the skeleton version, was bland. The mare that moved along with the skeleton was normal enough ,young dark coat normal build... but the mutt that moved beside her was odd as it looked around through hollow eyes. If Nymphetamine hadn't been around so many corpses in his time he would have reacted like the others, threw his tail in the air, snorted, and fled. He was not like the others, and he was not worried about the animated bones. He heard her words, and his head tilted with curiosity. Her voice was polite, however, her eyes danced with the mischievous gleam of an imp. Playful and bright, they were pools he could get lost in if he would allow himself that luxury. Today he did not dwell in the bright impish pools. Instead, he glanced down at the mutt at her side before answering her with deep baritone tones, "Sometimes boredom is a welcome thing. Nymphetamine, I see you are a necromancer; and here I thought I was the only one around here."

The conjurer was curious as to how she was able to just keep the skeleton mutt above ground. His own necromancy didn't allow him such power, as it fed off his own lifeforce, and if he wasn't careful he could die from use of his gift. She didn't seem to have that distinct limitation. If he was sure of anything is that the magic within this place was unique and nothing seemed to ever work exactly the same from equine to equine. his attention flicked from the mare to the bones and back, he made sure to listen to the lass when she spoke, but he could help but hold some jealousy over her abilities. He would never be able to do as she did, and he was a solid few years older than she. He moved his eyes back to her, as a questioned formed in his mind, "So why do you terrorize the field dwellers with your mutt? Why single out the lone bored-looking stallion? Surely there are others that would have been more interesting." The bay half smiled at the black mare, a small jest as she surely had a bigger reason to address him other than his single status and apparent boredom.

Nymphetamine

cold was my soul, untold was the pain I faced when you left me: a rose in the rain

[violence]

violence

She has reveled in her uniqueness, her few brief interactions had been with horses less extravagant than she. Of course, she was raised amongst the strange - her mother a magician draped in shadow and splendor, her father a monster with a feral tongue who often stank of blood.
Neither of them use their abilities to the fullest, a fact she bemoans. She’s begged her mother for more, to make her stronger, make her fiercer, but mother denies her, instead speaking dreamy-eyed of her strange night-faith, the kind of thing Violence wants no part in. She does not look for gods or goddesses as her mother does. Rather, she looks for her own entertainment.

She hopes to have found that in the stallion, boring as he may seem - her instincts had called to him, and she had obeyed. And perhaps she was right in doing so, because with his introduction he speaks of his own power, though she sees no bones scattered about him.
“Then where are your bones?” She asks what she thinks is the obvious, for why not use a power?
(It’s part of the reason why she’s so strong at such a young age - she’s always played with the bones, made them dance for her.)
“I can do other things, too,” she says, smiling. It’s a wicked, playful smile. She is less refined with her possession, finding most too boring to possess (she’d loved being in her father’s mind, a wild snarling thing that had only thought hunt and meat, but mother had put a stop to it soon enough). But refined or not, she is not afraid to use it. So she touches at his mind, lightly, lets him feel her prodding fingers, picking inside his consciousness like a locksmith. She does not possess him fully, and immediately retreats to her own lest her bone-beast collapse without her to hold it aloft.
“See?”
Her eyes are dancing.

“I’m bored as well,” she says, and the creature nods its assessment.
“And you aren’t boring. If you really are a necromancer. You could be fun.”
She realizes she knows his name, now - both from his introduction and from her brief foray into his mind.
“My name is Violence.”
A fitting name, really.

I’d stay the hand of god, but war is on your lips

apologies for any typos, this was written in google docs on the dl in this meeting room
also if you don't want her to possess him just ignore that she was just being a show off

[Nymphetamine]

He wasn't unique, he wasn't specially colored, he didn't have wings, nor a horn. For all intents and purposes, he was very normal. In fact, he probably appeared plain. A bay, that just happened to look a little redder than others, standard build, standard eyes; plain, normal, regular. Nymphetamine wasn't an obvious choice for someone to take an interest in. He was known to some, but he wasn't one that would show up somewhere and would be instantly known. Yet here was this smokey black filly, obviously gifted, obviously special and she had selected him, decided his plainness was worth investigating. It was amusing, to say the least, that the youth was able to do the things that the older necromancer would never be able to do. His gift was limited, connected to his own life, pulled on his own energy to call the dead up to the surface. Well, technically he could do as she did for a time, but he would have to stop from exhaustion or he would die.

She isn't like that, she is able to use her gift freely. She is unrestrained, and it shows. Nymphetaminewatched her curiosity peak. She hadn't thought he would be gifted like she was her words confirmed it as she asked why he didn't keep bones around him all the time. The laugh escaped him, instantly upon her finishing the inquiry. As her eyes danced with the hopeful curiosity of a cat playing with its captive mouse, his shifted beneath their hoods in an array of emotions, amusement, annoyance, dismay, and even a hint of jealousy. It was a short-lived, the laugh, a puff of escaped air, and his eyes snapped from their fleeting dance to the filly with obvious intensity. He wasn't angry but he felt no need to do some song and dance, to beseech the fillies curiosity. "I have no need to flaunt a gift that is best used as a surprise." He watched her reaction to his words, but she seemed unphased, just grazed off some invisible barrier and moved on.

It wasn't obvious what her words meant at first. It was like there was a pressure in his head, and then it evolved, a touch from withing his mind that he wasn't able to get away from. He pinned his ears instantly and snarled at the filly. The necromancer fought the urge to think of anything. He tried to think what would annoy the filly what imagery would bore her or scare her out of him mind. The blood bay's body, however, reacted instinctively, with such little thought it was almost completely subconscious. his tall haunches flew to face the filly and he double fired at her three times in extremely quick succession. The conjurer didn't care if he made contact or not, but he would make it known she would stay out of his mind. He knew empty thoughts where the best deterant, so he would have to keep that in mind, now that he knew the feeling. "Arent you just a bag of goodies." She had left his mind as quickly as she had come, and she was going on about being bored. Well, he should push her then, as he didn't wish to relieve her boredom again.

The bay stallion looked around the meadow, there were many he could use as a target for her, but he didn't want to Chamber to have backlash from his little outing. So he decided against using the nearby innocents as target practice. Eyes flicked back to the filly...oh a name, finally...Violence....how fitting. She would really be a force once she was grown. He had an idea but had no clue how to make it happen. "Well, Violence, how about we do something to fix out boredom problem, shall we? The dark tipped features flipped into a smile, this filly had strength in her powers but did she have finesse? He as unsure. Maybe he could wear her out after all, and he might even play along as well.. if she stayed out of his head. See those shrubs in the distance? The ones way out and to the left? Bet you can't bring up a skeleton from here , right next to it. He figured she could, but a competition should build in difficulty, right?

Nymphetamine

cold was my soul, untold was the pain I faced when you left me: a rose in the rain

ooc: sorry for the wait. life and what not.

[violence]

violence

Save for their common power, she is his opposite – bred of monsters, raised drenched in power. She does not look particularly unique, having inherited none of her father’s monstrous features or her mother’s sharp angles, she looks far too plain, too equine, but she compensates by beckoning forth bones, by making them march beside her. Someday she wants to wear them – a skull over hers, a mask – but she has yet to find anything fitting.
“It’s more fun when they know,” she says, and her voice is low, as if making confession, “more fun when they know, and still can’t stop it.”
She is, of course, untested in battle, or even against many others – she’s met a few, all ones weaker than she, but she is no means the most powerful thing on Beqanna. But she’s lived isolated, daughter of monsters and magicians, and she believes herself invincible in the way only the young and foolish can.

She laughs, though, at his snarl, the pinned ears. She’s still laughing as he whirls to attack her, the hooves flying a hair’s length from her cheek. The bone-creature shrieks, a high and hellish sound, and for a moment it trembles as her concentration wavers. But then she composes herself, and the bone-thing stands tall and quiet again, and the man offers up amusement to distract her from the playground of his mind (not much of a playground, she found his thoughts dull, really).
He offers up a challenge, and she accepts it greedily.
“Of course I can,” she says, but her voice is bright and her dark eyes are already focused on the distant spot, already she calls out for bones.
She can’t quite identify what it is, at this distance, but she feels something - so she calls out to it, thinks rise. For a moment there is nothing, and then a disturbance in the earth, and in the distance a dead thing stutters and rises in the distance.
She looks at him sideways, still grinning, “bring it closer.”

I’d stay the hand of god, but war is on your lips

pffft i am queen of making people wait so <33

[Nymphetamine]

The bay waited for the tell-all signs of a corpse of sinew and bone had been beckoned. Sine he wasn't the one summoning he didn't feel exactly what she did but he had an an idea of what she reached for. For Nymphetamine, it was as if someone was watching him, the slight buzz that there was someone just out of sight, and he always felt their presence around him, the skeletons, or the buzz of a new sack of bones for him to call upon. He never bothered with the smaller creatures, he preferred the remains of horses, and that was what he had summoned every time. But the ground rumbled in the distance by the bushes he had mentioned disrupting his thoughts. Sure enough, the compacted soil gave way to a lump of rather clean bones, that bumped and adjusted into an anatomically correct form more or less. From the distance that the conjurer's frame stood he saw no sign of the dripping liquefied flesh that made most others retch, but that he secretly marveled in.

His gaze drifted back to Violence, her black coat dull in comparison to the gleam that held her eyes in it's sheen. They seemed to dance in a way that would make anyone rejoice in her presumed delight. Nymphetamine didn't hide his intrigue when she looked to him and added to the challenge. He had never played a game of skill with another like him and her delight was just as intriguing as exhilarating as commanding the dead, or so it would seem. He pulled his eyes away from her as his own deep pools took aflame with the challenge and thrill of it all. As it always was when he took hold of a corpse, he stilled, and reached out with his mind, he felt the corpse in the distance, and it felt different than those he pulled from the ground before, maybe it wasn't a horse, or maybe it was the presence of Violence but either way the stallion had a hold on the bones. With a proverbial yank of the tether, he held to the creature he commanded it to come to him and it did.

At first, it was a slow saunter, then at his command, the bones increased its speed, incapable of denying it's necromancer. Then when it was even closer still the bay halted its progression. A smirk and a little "watch this" smirk he made the bones dance in a way only a horse could appreciate. It wasn't to show off skill but more to have a laugh. He halted the bones before them before looking back to the mare, "What now Violence, shall you show me something interesting? Shall we rearrange its anatomy? Or maybe make it do a trick?" He would train an army of necromancers if they were around to do so, it was a useful tool, and it had been far too long since he had allowed himself to play with the idea of just enjoying the gift. Maybe Violence had something to teach him yet.

Nymphetamine

cold was my soul, untold was the pain I faced when you left me: a rose in the rain

...ignore my tense changes they are there, but it's late and i'm falling asleep as I right. I will edit tomorrow. xD

[violence]

violence

There is almost a whimsy in the things she does. She doesn’t call forth many corpses, finding the stringy flesh and stench of rot distracting. She prefers bones, finds them cleaner, easier to assemble and disassemble. Because she doesn’t do this to horrify, no, she does it to entertain – and what entertains her are these menageries of bones, fantastical creatures that are hers, her creations, her puppets.
Of course, she is horrifying in her own way – little more than a child still, but one with powers and no judgment in using them, a girl who is strong and knows it.
A girl who thinks only of herself, and no one else.

Of course, this man has come to offer some entertainment, and she stands as he takes hold of the bones, walks them forth, makes them dance. A clattering sound fills the air, a death-rattle as the once-horse’s coffin bones skitter across the earth.
She reaches for it again, grabs control, though she finds it strange and somewhat distasteful to share bones like this, she is used to them being hers and hers alone.
“Let’s make it more,” she says. She finds simple skeletons boring.
She brings forth other bones, a collection of small delicate bones from birds and squirrels and other small forest creatures, wraps them together until they form nonsensical wings at the thing’s side. She removes the skull, knocks it from the creature’s body and sends it rolling to land at his feet.
Then, expectantly, and demanding, “give it a new head. This one's boring”

I’d stay the hand of god, but war is on your lips

[Nymphetamine]

Her words danced, they dipped, whirled, and flourished in the young necromancer's delight of her manipulation. She was so very different than him and the vastness that kept them apart was intriguing to the Chamber diplomat. At their core they held a unique thread that made them closer than almost any he had met, yet they were so drastically different. It really was interesting to the bay. She pulled other bones from elsewhere, manipulated the skeleton until it was piecemeal. A ragdoll of bones, all cleaned of flesh by the maggots in the ground. She was gifted, he knew...seemingly unlimited by any drain on her own energy as he was when he drew on his necromancy in a large way. as he watched her work the skeleton he wondered if it worked the same for her. "Does calling on the bones draw on your energy too?" He didn't explain further but let his tenor hang in the air as she finished her task and assigned him his own.

He had never called on individual bones. He usually pulled up the corpses, bones with dripping flesh and sinew that was enough to make most retch at the festering stench. Though that was mostly because he usually only called on the corpses as a distraction, or as a was to kill an enemy. He noticed the clean bones all neatly in their new places. It was too tidy, it needed the sloppy drip of the decay to add some character. He reached out, and pulled a somewhat recently deceased bear up from the ground in the distant treeline, but before the whole skeleton broke the surface he focused on the skull. It took just a moment, isolating the bones that he wanted was a different feeling but overall not too challenging. The sinewy skull flew through the air to where the two necromancers stood, along with their creation. Nymphetamine switched his attention to the creature and flicked the original skull off with his mind, and it hit the ground with a clatter of teeth. The new skull, he fixed in place, the bits of flesh left on the cheeks a fitting addition the clean bones of its body. "Not bad, for a hybrid mutt." What now, Little? Where do you plan to use those skills? He was pleased enough with this interaction and a young mare with her skill would be useful..... what can he say, he works for Chamber, even if this had been meant as a break from it all, can't help it when he finds a good recruit....

ooc: work post..... i'll HTML it when I get home... maybe

[violence]

violence

He asks her if it’s draining, this work. She scoffs a little. It’s the opposite, for her – she feels revitalized by the bones.
“No,” she says idly, “but my mother’s a magician. And I’m stronger than you.”
She is clearly arrogant, this half-grown thing whose smile stretches wider as the bones dance. She is all power and no responsibility, and someday she will pay for this, and likely dearly. But for now she is bright and vivid and given strength from the bones.

She watches raptly as he draws for a sinewy head, half-rotted with maggots tumbling out as it moves. It’s a disgusting totem atop the thing they built, but she lets it be. She prefers the clean, almost architectural lines of bone, has no need for the sloppiness of rotting flesh.
Like a child knocking down a sand castle, she draws back her power, drops and tosses the bones about. They fly out like shrapnel and lay scattered in their small clearing, as if some gruesome bomb had gone off.
“Duck,” she says. Gracious of her, to give warning.

“Wherever I want,” she says in answer. She has no plans, does not feel she needs them. She has no desire to work her way up a kingdom, she’d walk in as their queen or she wouldn’t walk in at all.

She leaves without a goodbye, bored of him for now, but she has his face in her mind and his name on her lips and she will be back, in time.

I’d stay the hand of god, but war is on your lips

I had to end this so she can grow BUT if you want her to come back and bug him as charnel (her xenomorph sister she's gonna possess a ton) I'm down for that.