I'm just a poor boy. I need no sympathy.
( because I'm easy come, easy go, little high, little low )
He had been hard at work, he had children to train, blood to spill, people to recruit, and most of all he had power to gain. It wasn't easy keeping everything together, both of his boys often strayed from their training, especially his own son, Imperial. What the hell was he gonna do with him anyways. If the boy couldn't inflict a minute blow upon his own comrade, his brother, that what was he of any use to Waylan? He needed defenses, he needed strength and with his boys he lacked much of it. They didn't share his ideas nor plans, and most of all they lacked guts. Although his boys were not the least of his worries, he still owed the prince of Pangea an extensive debt, Bruise had returned his gift, his invisibility ever so long ago, and with the return of his power he promised he would return to his dirty work. Something of which he had avoided lately, having two young squeamish boys was quite a problem when your trying to share you art. So he had held himself away from stripping flesh of carcass's like a vulture, and spilling blood ruthlessly upon Pangea's rotting earth. And last of all, he had to uphold his duty as a kingdom member, improving his rank and loyalty by recruiting fresh meat into death's doors, it was a simple pleasure just eyeballing the sweet flesh upon their wasting away corpses, most of whom he enthralled about Pangea would be eaten alive, but none the less while not open up all the options? He had quite a good selling point after all, "A land of NO rules, and utter freedom." It wasn't hard to entice, a sweet juicy morsel, into the mouse trap. Just as they take the cheese, he slays them with a relentless and harsh end, and they suffocate beneath the metal that bounds them to his tempting trap.
But today, he lingers within her bounds, instead taunting mice with cheese. He wanders, and he ponder awhile as he stalks through the cavernous canyons of his homeland. His two boy's lack of ill needed training filling his head. If his boys, were too weak, and too squeamish what could he do to make them excited, and enthralled by the sweet glory and enjoyment of ending a pathetic waste of flesh's life. Could he make it game? No, for it was already a game, just as the cat toils with it's prey, they were the dominant striking at the submissive's flesh again and again, and they were the rulers of this game, kings of their own masterful kingdom of torture. Yet why did it not interest them? Perhaps it was their mother, on the other hand she was quite weak herself, she lacked the guts to pull the trigger, to watch the light be released from their pupils. She lacked the courage, her boys needed, now perhaps that was problem? Or perhaps was he too soft on them. They were children after all, perhaps he needed to be harsher, to throw them straight into the actions to force them to do his handy work, just as his own father did. He considers the thought briefly, his crimson gaze flickering about, as he wanes on the idea of forcing them into it. But he risks the possibility of breaking them, shattering them like bones beneath his weight. If it was too much, his boys would be lost, instilled in mourning, and regret. And he couldn't have that now.
As the murderous man considers the idea, his gaze falling upon the horizon. Where vegetation seemed to plume out in a rather projectile manner, very unpangea like formations of foliage. And as he got closer, his ruby gems fix upon a water hole, littered with a matted mess of golden grass imbedded with blooms of vibrant colors, and unruly trees. "Strange." He whispers under his breath. For it was very strange indeed, for life to be flourishing in such a place cursed by the fairies, enthralled with an endless cycle of death. But it seems he's not the only one there, standing within the echoing silence is the cloven hooved king, Pollock.
Waylan, is quick to show his respect, and loyalty, as his wickedly handsome cranium inclines dipping forwards in some form of a bow. His blood red eyes meeting his king, partially bewildered by the strange sprout of paradise within her grounds. He remains silent for a moment or two, allowing himself to near the azure pool, his nostrils flaring at the waters edge as he bowed his head down curiously to quickly inspect the waters. And within in moments he realizes, his gaze falling upon each piece of flourishing vegetation that formed, and something lingering in the back of his mind hailed carnivore, carnivorous. With those two words, he speaks up, "I need to feed it."
waylan
any way the wind blows doesn't really matter to me
OOC: Alright, just clarifying a little bit. We can sacrifice our own ponies for points? So if I decide it's time for Waylan's mother, Becca to you know, die in the Oasis. Killing her would count as points?