whose afraid... // Weed, Kushiel, Erebor, Cellar

[Gryffen]

The wings settle easily into his body and he stretches them as if they always been there. In a way, they always have. Beautiful downy feathers of pure white.  A fallen angel straight from hell with his angel wings and glowing red eyes. He takes a few days since his meeting with Straia to get the hang of then. Then he seeks out the others. One by one he finds them and gathers them together. ”Weed. Kushiel. Eerebor. Cellar. He greets each one flatly, letting his beautiful wings unfurl. ”We have a task from the Queen herself.” A little smirk as he looks at them. ”We are to head to the Gates.” He pauses as he looks at Cellar, remembering how uncomfortable she had been last time they had been there. This time would be different. ”Steal the Queen. Burn their tree.” His lips split wider into a grin, crimson eyes blazing. Now the two fire starters would know why Straia had sent him to find them. Cellar would know because she was to bow to his every whim. And Weed… Well Straia knew this was something he wanted now didn’t she? ”I wish to head there as soon as possible. Warship will stay behind to guard the Kingdom. Are you ready?” Gryffen - - - - - The Big Bad Wolf

(Basically just making sure they are all going before I post there ;p )

@[weed] @[Kushiel] @[Erebor] @[cellar]

[Kushiel]

Kushiel knew that one of these days he would have to earn his keep. He didn’t, however, expect the slow, lazy smile that wiggled to his face.

My, this could be fun.

It wasn’t that Kushiel liked destruction for destruction's sake, but he did like the fire. And, he did like watching people squirm. The Gates had grown quiet, lazy. It was high time someone lit a fire beneath them. The gray stallion answered Gryffen’s summons in high spirits, none of his usual lethargy and amusing, whinny quips.

“Aye lieutenant. I assuming that I shall raze and you shall pillage?” Well, perhaps there was one or two amusing quips. You had to have fun with it. One thing was for certain, Kushiel would need fire, lots of fire.

[weed]

she is the lamb; he is the slaughter

A task? How unexpected. He scowls as he approaches the meeting of men, his step as graceful as his body. He was not built for war like the other stallions. He was slender and refined, his head dished and his limbs long. It wasn’t that he wasn’t strong, he was as all wild stallions must be, but he himself did not hunger for the clashing of body against body. If he was to set the world on fire, it would be from a distance or with the helpful twist of a vine. He did not particularly like to get his hands dirty in the battle.

Even more so, he did not like to feel himself ordered around or given tasks like a minion. His handsome face broke into the frown and something cruel curled in the back of his mind, his temper flaring momentarily as he thought of the words he might share with ‘his’ Queen. To be grouped with the rest of her lackeys and sent out to accomplish some job for her as if he was nothing more than a soldier.

Still, his curiosity won over his distaste and he listened to the red-eyed stallion, one ear flicking forward lazily in interest. “Luckily, I would like nothing more than to see the Gates fall,” he said in his elegant voice, rolling one of his shoulders. “Although perhaps we do not need to burn everything.” His gaze wandered over to Kushiel as his vines wrapped protectively around him. “Sometimes, it is better to simply pull it from the root,” he looks toward the ground where one plant began to wither, the leaves and branches falling off of it faster and faster before splintering into pieces. “It’s harder to rebuild than from ashes.”

Not that it wouldn’t be interesting to combine the fire and the vines.

WEED

© oscar keys

[cellar]

I wanted to leave something besides a blood trail,
besides prayers growing stale on my tongue.

She lifts her head as his call reaches her ears, gilded in excitement and bloodlust. The serpent girl moves from her perch beneath the pines along the border and seeks out their little group as it begins to form. Cellar tries to recall whether or not he head wings when she last saw him but he's speaking before she can put too much effort into it. Her gray head tilts as she speaks her name and informs each of them that they now have a task, passed down straight from Straia.

The order is simple and she gives a curt nod of her head in understanding. If they were as complacent as before, this would not truly require her, but she doubts they would surrender a queen as easily as they might a child. The thought churns her gut in anger that she chews back as quick as possible, but the imagined after taste of bile remains on her tongue all the same.

"I will follow you," she says simply. Her gaze turns to Weed as he suggests a different tactic, however. "Are we certain they cannot replant it afterward? I'd like to scorch their earth to be sure."

Her voice is soft despite her words and her eyes are as empty as always. If there is any sincere emotion within her, it remains tied fast to some dungeon within her.

I could give you my body, my flesh,
offer it up like a sacrifice, like a banquet.

C




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[Shaytan]

The scowly faced Ice Man is not enough. She doesn’t know what her Queen wants, but she knows that her eyes and subsequent pleasure did not seem to linger on Shaytan long enough.

No, she wants more. She always wants more. The idea crawls in and out of her brain, creeping and sucking and attaching itself to every dream she might have. Gone are all thoughts of her daughter (which is probably a good thing, considering her pink curse), and even her captive blends into the background. Shay doesn’t really know what to do with him anyway – he’s an old man, slow and plodding and who does he have to run to, anyways? The Tundra was so quiet – that’s how she got him in the first place.

Restless with some unknown need that set’s her teeth on edge and her legs a-twitching, Shaytan wanders. The Bunnies are beginning to come back to the forest, though they are few and far between. She’s seen them. Thoughts of their salty-metal blood alternate with thoughts of Straia, and it works our leopard spotted id creature into a sort of quiet, internal mania. She isn’t foaming at the mouth or anything, but there is a certain unsettling glint in her eye. It isn’t full blown white eye rolling yet, but there is the potential to be. Gryffen may have seen it before, when she proudly paraded her captive through the kingdom. Of the others assembled, only Erebor will know her, so without someone to vouch for her what reason have they to let her tag along?

There is one reason, and it is a simple one. Let her be the distraction, the potential sacrificial lamb if all hell breaks loose. She is the only one without some sort of useful power, and the only one who does no more than exist in the Chamber. Let her give herself in service to her Queen, and when she returns, bloody and broken, maybe then Straia will love her forever. It is the only way.

“I want to come too,” she says to the small group, standing outside their ring. “I can help,” she insists. Shaytan shifts her weight back and forth, and the crimson, fanged bunny on her chest seems to nod its head ever so slightly, as if to say simply, do it.

[Gryffen]

One by one they accept the challenge. Some are pleased with the opportunity. Another is not so pleased to be ordered to do the task however the task is tantalizing enough that he takes it. His perfect little assassin Cellar agrees as she is expected to do although she seems torn between two worlds on the matter. She’s still something he needs to figure out and finesse her finer details. In time, this would be a good experience to watch how she would conduct herself. To find where the weak links are. And then to his surprise, Shaytan appears. She wants to come. By this point he knows all about her little bunny eating habits, the raven on his back becoming more useful as the days go by, and so his crimson eyes focus on her with faint amusement. ”I’m sure there are plenty bunnies in the Gates for you to feast on.” It’s not exactly a flat out yes but she will surely understand his acceptance into his plans. The more chaos the better. Erebor has yet to appear but he is tired of waiting. There’s no doubt in his mind that if the Lord wishes to come, he will be there. ”Time is ticking dear friends. Best be on our way.” Gryffen - - - - - The Big Bad Wolf