In this womb or tomb - ALL

[Pollock]

I called you to announce sadness falling like burned skin
I called you to wish you well, to glory in self like a new monster
And now I call you to pray

They are a den of rats.

From above, he watches them scurry into and out of their holes.
He watches them drink from the muddy cup of their only freshwater source – that thin, lazy, gurgling ribbon that runs, jagged, down the middle of this scar.
He watches them eat what meager offerings the cursed earth gives them.

Still, like rats they persevere.

But, from atop his high throne of diseased stone, the gift-giver grows weary.

He grows bored.
He grows tired of watching (studying) his sons mature – perhaps, he grows soft for having ever done so in the first place. (That which must be killed; must be buried.)
He grows tired of waiting for rats to amuse him.

It is his fault. He has grown fat, or so he had been told, himself. Fat and lazy and…

Hungry.
He grows hungry, too.

Most of all, he grows distant and neglectful.
(They must all be fed.)

He moves from his high cliff, where so often he stands like a brooding, ugly bruise on the sky – sometimes with the company of a son or two, though lately he has been keen to keep them away – passing down the gnarled stairway of limestone, down to the floor of dust and sad looking tussock. He notes the new joshua saplings and spiney, hard succulents that have forced themselves from the brutalized land. 
Indeed, the moment Carnage had lifted his presence, the verve of the earth and its mistress yawned awake again.

(Like rats.)

He follows the stream until he reaches what could best be called the center, where his voice will carry and where, he expects, they will come to him when it does. “Come, let us talk.” He waits for them, watches for their bodies like tiny black flies on the cruel horizon. “I have been absent. At least mindfully so. But I think it's time to come together again and have a chat. touch bases.

First of all, I’d like to bring some structure… if only to make the chaos easier. Ranks, so that you may all fight tooth and nail to impress me, officially,” sarcasm, though nobody would would miss the truth in the gift-giver’s eyes. “Rodrik, Harmonia, both of you have given what I believe to be appropriate promotions through the ranks, as Apprentices,” he looks for both, but looks also for the girl – Ajatar – perhaps her mother’s greatest offering to this land, from Pollock’s perspective, at least.

“Congratulations are also in order for Bruise. You have been given a most privileged position in this kingdom, Bruise, alongside a promotion to Adept. An Architect of Pangea. You have strengthened Pangea with what you have done,” (‘for me’, but no, he does not say it – cannot) “and I think you most exemplify what a good waste-dweller ought to be,” he nods to the boy, grins his wide crocodilian smile. His Prince. Right-hand, perhaps – his equal.

“Which brings me to my final points, I think I should clarify what we should all be doing – how we should be doing it, and what we are. 

As far as I am concerned, that we are outsiders never changed. We’ve always been a bit different. We all know, while everyone was out there bending knees, Pangea was born out of brute force. And still, I think, we are perhaps a curiosity. I intend to finally make my way to the other lands – ease their worried minds. If anyone would like to come, I will go to Tephra first. Bruise, Harmonia, Rodrik, if it so interests you, you may visit some of the others, alone or with others of your choosing. Tell me… what you find. I am most interested, indeed.

Until we see what lays beyond, I need not mention that we should be recruiting. Sharpening your own skills, whatever they may be.

Pangea is quiet, my friends. Far be it from me to stop anyone from rattling a few cages, gently,” he glances across the sharp, peaks and ridges of lime and sandstone, the air whistles like the ghosts of cries through the carvings of their kingdom.

He misses real screams. 

POLLOCK
the gift giver

OOC business -
I am soo rusty it's disturbing. This was garbage, and Pollock still isn't Pollock when he is Kinging. CAN WE JUST BECOME A GROUP OF MURDERERS AND PHILANDERERS SO HE CAN BE HIMSELF ALREADY, FAM?!

Anyway.
- re: ranks/promotions: I just bumped everyone up to Novice, at least, because I love you. Then I tried to do the math myself and anyway, I think everyone is mathematically where they should be, given the point system I concocted. I am still very open to suggestions with ranks. In truth, I just found it really hard to do and so kind of settled with this in the end. Bruise is also first Architect, yay!
- some ponies I shoved in Residents because I didn't ask in the Roll Call thread, please let me know if I missed you, or if you want to be in Ranks, or vice-versa, from Ranks to Residents, I just assumed in some cases; this goes with babies, too.
- Pollock doesn't want to say it, but he (I) really just wants Pangea to be a group of degenerate scum who steal peoples duaghters and sons willy-nilly. For now, stealing and challenging is open season, just know that if things so belly-up for some reason and a kingdom comes to have a fight that we can't take, Pollock may just give you up if he can. Because he's a snake.
- I am momentarily posting some info on points for promotions and rank information/some extra stuff. I'd love input, like I said.
- PM me if you have any questions/suggestions/plot ideas/fun!

Also, this isn't a mandatory IC reply, but definitely reply if you'd like points/have ideas, or reply OOC if you want your pony or baby added.

<3