Death does not frighten him like it does others.
Once, as a young boy, he’d worried about the passing years. He wondered what it would be like to grow strong and muscled, to become a stallion in the prime of his life. He thought about the glory it would bring, being capable and physical – at the pinnacle of his natural life. The boy had wondered, too, what would happen as the years went on. He saw the way that the others greyed. He noticed how dull they became, their eyes, their coats, their minds. It had scared him more than anything else: more than the mother bears that came down with fresh cubs, more than the slithering rattle he heard when he stepped over a fallen log. Aging and subsequent, unavoidable death had frightened him. Until Carnage had changed everything for him.
Now, he’s not sure death will come for him in the same way it slowly drains everyone else. He can die anytime he likes (and has, a couple of times already). He knows what awaits him on the Other Side, knows that souls exist when before, he wasn’t sure of anything besides the greying. Ramiel has walked with the dead and found solace on the sands beyond. He has brought back a girl once marked for the grave (she still is, really, the flesh knitting so slowly back together). He is death’s friend – its’ confidante. One day, perhaps he’ll even master it and bend it to his will. It doesn’t scare him, though, not any longer.
Peace does not reassure him like it does others, either. He knows that it will not last, in any case, and that they should prepare for when it finally breaks. To that end, the grey stallion makes sure he knows everything that happens within the Dale. Little passes through the borders or through the mouths of its inhabitants that he doesn’t make himself aware of. Far too often, Beqanna’s history has been inundated with reports of the Dale’s take-over. From the Valley, (and Carnage) to the Chamber, and even a mercenary group, the mountain land has had more than its fair share of hostile ownership. Ramiel is not about to let history repeat itself.
He can sense the disruptions, though. He can feel the plucking like a rogue spider on another’s web, hoping for an easy take. But unlike the others, he does not fear the chaos that is sure to come. Already, he spins his own insurances. They have the backing of two kingdoms so far, and with any luck, they will soon add another. He’s thinking on it when he hears the resounding cry from somewhere near the border. Summer is at its high point, with the sun a baking, burning entity in the sky above. He spends most of his time as a ghost, letting the air pass through him to avoid the worst of the heat. But by the time he reaches the source of the call, he makes sure he is a fully fleshed horse. There are some secrets that he means to keep from the other kingdoms and their ever-prying eyes.
The note of urgency hadn’t gone undetected by the grey stallion, but when he sees the other grey, he can’t see why it was there in his voice. He can’t really smell another kingdom on the large male either, though he catches a faint whiff of the pungent Jungle on the wind. Ramiel doesn’t think anything of this, however. Their delegation had only left recently – perhaps it is simply a leftover from their visit. “Hello,” he says, caution leveling his voice. Although the man had sounded worried, he hadn’t been enough to cross into the borders. And while the ghost-king is thankful for that courtesy, he is more interested in why the stallion is here in the first place. What has riled him? He almost doesn’t give his name, but after a pause, he relents. “I’m Ramiel. Can I help you with something?”
Ramiel
ghost king of the dale