It is funny how many self-entitled ‘demons’ run around Beqanna (he considers himself self-entitled, though probably more with the nickname of ‘joker’ or ‘trickster’ or perhaps even ‘god’ if he were to be so bold; but either way he really has no room to talk). They always seem to flock to the meadow with creeping smiles carved into their devilishly handsome faces, always looking to talk the talk and walk the walk but never fight the fight. They amuse him, really, because that is where their differences lie. The trickster is all-too ready to fight the fight, to match his egotistical words with some equally egotistical action.
And egotistical action is exactly what he’s looking for when he slides into the meadow.
Always looking to cause trouble and chaos wherever he walks, the trickster spots a fellow whose frame seems to be flickering in and out of view, his hooves almost floating across the ground. Curious to see if he could replicate the trick, the trickster meddles with his own eyes and the eyes of the one who presented the idea. With little concentration or energy, the lanky form of the trickster is dancing in and out of view, leaving only his shadow (a defect to illusionism; he’s honestly too lazy to color it transparent) for a second or two.
Sliding up close to the original holder of the invisibility, the silvery bay stallion smirks slightly. “Neat trick. I’ve seen cooler tricks than that, though.” His bruised eyes (blue and white in one eye, black and white in the other, both portraying a mixture of mischief and chaotic desire) scan over the other’s face, looking for any sort of reaction. “Who’re you?”
Lokii
the tricky god of chaos