[open] ReBeL jUsT fOr KiCkS

[Zain]

From his cavern in the craggy mountains of Beqanna he had watched the fall and rise of the lands.  Never mourning the losses, never elated by the gains-except of course when Pangea arose from the depths, again-.  He had played his part long ago in the plague.  He had honored his God, the one true God, Carnage.  For his loyalty he had been bestowed unimaginable gifts.  He knew that one day the land of the heathens would rise, and he would be here to see to it She never sank again.

"Finally," blackened lips smeared into a devilish grin as his body stepped onto the deserted lands.  Well, what was left of his body.  Framents of tawny flesh hung from bone exposed to the elements.  A foul odor hung in the air, his nostrils flared as he drunk it in, "home sweet home," he choked.  The dreadlocks of what was left of his mane and tail hung stiff in the stagnant air.  The large stallion had hidden himself for a time, waiting for the opportune moment to make his existence known.

It was much as he remembered; dry and desolate.  Ruby eyes scanned over the broken landscape with much pleasure.  Vultures circled silently overhead searching for a meal to be had.  With each step into the interior his hooves pressed indentations into the cracked clay.  An announcement to any who may be lingering in the lands that he had arrived.  

What was his purpose here?

Only time would tell, but for now he was just to exist in Her glory.  To exist though he had to feed. It had been ages since he had taken from another.  After the fall of Xenos -his cult- he had whisked himself away from the inhabitants.  Sulking one might claim; preparation more like it. He did not hide himself now and wondered just how long it would be before another showed.  

An unsuspecting victim.

A meal.

Zain

ReBeL jUsT fOr KiCkS

Pardon my rust but I haven't written in a few.  Feel free to happen upon my zombie health sucking boy

[Beyza]

This is no longer her home, she has no claim to these lands, but it feels as though there is something for Beyza here still. Even if it is only the opportunity to prove to herself that it holds no strong power over her, for good or bad. The memories made here have softened with time, losing the sharp edges and she does not doubt some of the facts have begun to blur together and twist. What sticks to her most is the fondness she once felt for this place - where she had been born, where she and her sister had taken their first steps and been loved by a strange collection of adults. The real memories are there, waiting to be pulled back into the light, but Beyza moves away from those thoughts and allows herself the simple pleasure of just not worrying about it as she wanders through the once-familiar canyons. The Dale’s crown is kept safely tucked away in another dimension because this is not an official visit, if such things even existed now. She’s had no cause to wear it since obtaining it. Sounds echoing alert her to the presence of another moving ahead, and an anxious flicker of apprehension (or anticipation) passes briefly though her before she squashes it, and before it is revealed to be a stranger. Someone not crowned with death but draped in an echo of it, alive but... rotting. She thinks of Maurtia, her necromantic daughter, and how much this would delight her - and that thought alone is what inspires her to drift closer. There are no magical adornments to her today beyond the soft glow she has always radiated, her white eyes bright and unblinking as she draws close enough to speak. It is not wariness or disgust that causes her to pause before drawing too close. Instead it is something closer to indifference, a lack of commitment to remaining paused in her wandering. And when she speaks, the words are simple and brief - a testing of the waters as she falls completely still. “Are you dying?” beyza

artwork by kharthian

@ Zain

[Oaks]

OAKS

you look well suited

like you came to win

As a rule, Oaks generally does not get out much.

For as long as he can remember, he has avoided it. He might have tried, once or twice, in his earlier days – days when he hadn’t realized the awful reality of his existence. When the way plants curled and turned brown nearby or some scrawny animals would shrivel and perish had simply seemed a natural thing. At first he’d thought it was just bad luck, the way of the world, but it didn’t take him long to realize the truth.

His very presence seemed too often to encourage the death of others.

Now, he is not aware that everything which has died in his presence was already failing and sickly to begin with. Although he is smart, he is woefully oblivious and naive (traits he inherited from his mother). His perception of it all had been bleak; for as long as he could remember, things simply languished around him, fading, crumbling, dissipating. How could he think that anything other than his mere proximity was the cause of so much death?

Needless to say, he'd sequestered himself away for some time until it finally seemed as though the curse had left him. Or at least, he'd found a place where it doesn't seem to be much of a problem.

The beauty of deserts is their generally vast spans of lifelessness which left very few victims for him to happen across.

Yet, there he spies a particularly wretched looking stallion wandering through the withered land. He watches from a distance, ears twitching and turning in interest and trailing thoughts of wonder. For some reason, he feels slightly drawn to the creature. While a large part of his consciousness begs him to stay away, warning him that he shouldn't get any nearer lest he hasten the poor thing’s surely certain demise, his curiosity gets the better of him this time.

Before he reaches near enough to greet Zain, though, another horse emerges from the dunes and approaches him. She is brilliant in comparison, blindingly white, and the young appaloosa hesitates just briefly. Nostrils flared to try and grasp their scents (as if he could determine much of anything beyond the stench of rot and decay), Oaks urges himself to join them, albeit at a slight distance which he deemed safe enough.

Foregoing any simple introductions which would seem misplaced, given the radiant mare’s question, Oaks lowers his head a little offishly. “I wondered the same, except…” he begins in a quiet, youthful voice, “I wondered more, how are you living?”

Although he is perhaps old enough to know that magic in Beqanna knows very few limits, if any, he has been surrounded by death for so long that he marvels at its perseverance in this case.

@ Zain @ Beyza

[Zain]

It had been much too long since he fed last. His appearance was withering away, leaving any that lay eyes upon him to assume that he was weak and frail.  He was far from such. He wouldn't boast he was a stout warrior of any likeness.  No, he was much too clever to fight frivolous battles.  Kings and Queens rose and fell too easily these days; borders ebbed, loyalties clashed, legacies lost.  No, he preferred aligning with the dark God.  Truly Carnage was the only thing that remained constant in these parts...

Glowing crimson eyes saw her approach.  It was not hard to spot such stark contrast against the earthy landscape here.  She looked anything but earthly, and all but out of place within the depths of Pangea.  He halted his advancement and allowed her to approach or pass on by.  He knew the grotesque nature of his body stirred feelings in others; concern, curiosity, sadness - to name a few.  It has never bothered him in the least what others saw.  He had nothing to hide in the land of the damned of all places.  There was a shift in the distance, and he noticed then another figure loomed within the shadows.  Not close enough he is concerned, not far enough he hasn't become aware.

As she stopped a short distance off, his head lifted his view to find her eyes hard to read.  They were expressionless, ghostly, an unending depth.  They intrigued him.  His ears turned forward as she spoke.

Are you dying? 

Blackened lips twisted into a grin of sorts as he mulled over the question in his mind.  He was about to answer when the other spoke ever so lightly.

..how are you living?

His large frame stepped towards the dove of a mare; his eyes focused only on her.  The exposed joint bones in his rear limb turn and twist with each stride.  The lack of flesh on the right side of his face leaves little to imagination of what hid behind one's skin.  He was not pretty, not like the one who first approached.  She was seemingly unscathed and yet beneath the glow of her hide he found remnants of a past.  He did not ask though, was not his place nor his purpose here.  He stopped, not but a breath between them, and answered in a gruff voice, "Let me show you."

His eyes glowed brighter than before -more demonic than the ember of a fire- as he continued to gaze at the ghostly mare.  His powers sought out the speckled man who remained a distance off.  Like a shadowed arm it reached to pluck at his strands of life, fingers wrapped around it and tugged it free.  If the cautious one thought distance would save him, he was wrong.  His eyes then closed as he felt it break free.  The grin grew on his lips as he felt the others energy begin to repair him.  The gaping wounds across his body begun to heal, closing ever so slightly.  More flesh covered bone than before, spreading slowly -but noticeably- if one was paying attention.

He always wondered what they felt when he did that.  Surely it was not the ecstasy that radiated through him.  It was unlikely painful, since no one had ever winced when he teased the health from their body.  A slight cough, bloody nose, feeling faint; that was often what he noticed as a symptom of his feeding.  He had only gone too far once... Thank you Mother.

His eyes snapped open and the angelic view of the one who stood before him returns.  They dimmed back to their ember glow as he spoke in a more bass tone, "There... Much better." 

His gaze scanned the mare's body, the powers within begged to taste the sweetness it was to find there.  He was a gentleman though -sorta- so he pushed the thoughts aside, his neck curled to bring his face to align in the direction of the lurker. He searched briefly for any ailment that may have plagued the man and then offered an introduction, "My name is Zain, servant of Carnage, protector of Pangea.  What brings you lovelies here on this fine day...  Business?  Or pleasure?"  His grin returned in anticipation of the possible answers.

  

Zain

ReBeL jUsT fOr KiCkS

@ Beyza 
@ Oaks  Feel free to play the health transference however little/lot you'd like

I picture his health transference as an invisible shadowed arm that reaches into others, if that isn't clear.  You can't see it, but you can see his undead appearance lessen slightly with the traits use.

[Oaks]

OAKS

you look well suited

like you came to win

Whatever answer Oaks might have anticipated, it certainly isn’t the one he gets.

Odious as he is, something about the other stallion’s ragged appearance is alluring to the young bay. As one who has been surrounded by death nearly since the day of his birth, Oaks has grown much too acquainted with the general gore of it, nearly to the point of fascination. Even from his mildly substantial distance, a fair yard or two away, he can see the bare muscle and bone, the flex of tissue and tendon. His curiosity gets the better of him and he can’t help asking how a creature in such a state of disrepair could continue to exist.

Zain steps nearer to the luminous mare, creating quite a stark contrast in their company. While Beyza, even with her subtle scars, is ethereal and practically angelic, Zain seems somehow even more grotesque and appalling by comparison. And yet, Oaks can only gaze at the other stallion as his eyes brighten, a sanguine glow bleeding across the flesh and bone of his face as he murmurs his rather off-putting reply.

At first, the words make little sense, a hollow assurance of proof. But then he feels it – a pressure in his chest, his throat, as if gravity is pulling heavier from within. He lifts his head a little sharply, exhaling shortly as it becomes a little harder to breathe. “What…?” he rasps, taking a small step back and lifting the ghostly wings upon his back in slight alarm. His very energy wanes, slowly at first and then a bit more rapidly as his life force is drained; the muscles in his neck and shoulders slacken so that his head and wings droop a little more than before. He shudders as starry static burns at the edges of his vision.

Rather like a rag being wrung free of water, he is left depleted and slightly breathless by the time the ordeal is over. His eyes have grown ruddy in color, the light in them having dimmed as he looks up at the other two. Zain’s body seems to have mended somewhat – it is a little less unpleasant to behold and, through Oaks’ clouded gaze, he seems almost worthy now to stand beside the shining mare in their presence. Almost.

And yet, even in this enfeebled state, Oaks finds himself somehow impressed. He takes an unsteady step or two nearer, now a bit less frightened of harming the others with his own power. Listening intently, Oaks brings his head at least to shoulder height so that he may attempt to continue in their conversation. These strangers have sufficiently intrigued him enough to maintain his focus; even the mild pounding of blood rushing in his ears (as if trying to repair the unseen damage that had just been done) would not deter him from at least trying to earn their acquaintance.

Zain offers his name and proclaims himself a protector of this land, asking after their purpose for being there. Oaks wonders the same of himself, uncertain of how to answer and allowing the mare to speak first while he struggles slightly to catch his breath. It seems a bit foolish, truthfully, that he had come here with no intentions in mind other than to escape the ails of winter and dying things. He decides against admitting that, for now.

He listens as Beyza speaks, still trying to regain his composure in spite of his lightheadedness. When it is his turn, he gathers enough air to speak softly, if a little hoarse. “My name is Oaks,” he begins. “I have been alone for some time… I thought it might be nice to have some company.” One wispy wing raises a little from where it still hangs loosely at his side as if to shrug. It might have been better to reveal the truth, but the irony of that would have been a little too rich.

@ Zain @ Beyza

[Beyza]

Beyza does not flinch when the corpse approaches - she does not do anything. She is utterly still - if she had eyebrows she might raise them but, since she does not, she is not prone to displaying any kind of reaction. No movement of her head, no shifting of her scarred legs, no smile or frown or blink. Nothing but the rising and falling of her sides give away that she is a living thing as her white eyes remain steady. This is her natural stance, not a byproduct of the situation. Inside, there’s indignation - and annoyance. In theory she does not have any qualms about being close to someone but she’d prefer being a willing participant. When he closes his eyes to perform his parlour trick, she takes the opportunity to move. Not quite back, but just to the side - forming a more natural triangle with these two strangers. It gives her the chance to watch what occurs, the draining of life from one into the other. The actual act inspires no reaction from her whatsoever but she has to actively suppress a sigh in the aftermath when the appaloosa takes a step forward instead of retreating. That, along with the youthful curiosity with which he had first spoken, made her feel as though she must be decades older than him (despite the reality that she may very well be the youngest of their trio). She cannot, would not, speak into someone else’s mind without their permission but she gently brushes up the appaloosa’s consciousness in a request and, if he allows her in, she offers - “Whatever he took from you, I can return.” The other is speaking, assigning himself a name and a small assortment of titles that have very little standing in the world as it is today. Beyza, having possession of a functioning brain, had a certain amount of respect for Carnage but being his servant seemed like a bit much. And Protector of Pangea? An easy statement to make during such peaceful times. Beyza gazes at him in silence for a few heartbeats before remarking, in an extraordinarily neutral tone that suggests the opposite: “How interesting.” She does not answer the question posed - if she were here for business she would not be discussing it with this present company and if she were here for pleasure she hoped she would have the sense to be doing something that brought her a little more joy. The truth was a bit of a mess as it was, something she would have confessed to only a few. Instead, she listens to Oaks’ answer about how he thought it would be nice to have some company and asks simply as she turns her unblinking gaze to him - “And do you still think that?” beyza

artwork by kharthian

@ Zain @ Oaks

[Oaks]

OAKS

you look well suited

like you came to win

Though his curiosity may have been piqued by Zain’s ghoulish display, Oaks cannot help finding himself equally impressed by their fairest companion. Her lightness is soothing and well-beheld; her steadiness is worth praise. He takes a moment to appreciate these facets of the stranger’s presence.

Truthfully, although he is in fact quite old in a linear sense, his psyche itself is relatively immature. Oaks’ years alone have not left him enlightened; he is not a well of thoughtful advice or guidance as other immortals might be. He is sheltered, hermetic, woefully uninformed. His only companions had been the sickly and dying – it should come as no surprise that his social skills are rather lacking. Coupled with his youthful appearance of a colt no more than three years of age, it would be easy to mistake him for a wayward child.

Beyza shows no reaction as his strength visibly fades (he almost wonders, in the back of his mind, whether she may be blind – such composure!), though Oaks notes her withdrawal from Zain’s side as his vision blurs. Even in his hazy eyes, she stands like a beacon.

It’s as he gasps in a shallow breath of air that he feels another sensation, a much gentler touch. If he were to try and describe it, it would be like a tickle at the very ridge of his poll, enough to make an ear twitch back briefly. In his weakened state, he initially presumes it to be another effect of whatever power Zain had impressed upon him, but is surprised to instead hear the mare’s voice speak gently into his mind. She offers her aid and, outwardly, he smiles faintly, reflexively.

I believe I will recover, he answers her back, trying (and failing) to avoid thinking how somehow this seems fitting, his mistreatment. This must be how his own unwieldy powers affected others. Perhaps he deserves to feel it himself.

He tries to lift his head a little further, but finds his body unwilling to respond. But I would welcome some help… if only to keep up with you. He does not specify whether he means to keep up with them both or just with Beyza, primarily because his mind is too muddled to focus much more.

He notes that the mare does not offer them her name and he abruptly feels a bit foolish for having stated his own. She certainly seems wiser than he, playing her cards so carefully as she does. He envies her stoicism in the face of quiet calamity.

Granted, it is difficult to read much emotion in the lines of her pale face, her milky eyes.

“Neither of you have fallen ill yet… I must admit, you’ve already been better company than any I’ve had so far.” He speaks somewhat vaguely, perhaps trying to adopt some of the mystery he perceives in the others, veiled or otherwise. There isn’t much need to explain himself though, lest he worry them and ward them away.

@ Zain @ Beyza

[Zain]

In his lifetime he has come to know many magics of Beqanna. What one could create, another could destroy with no more than a mere thought.  Then another comes along to recreate in their own image what was lost.  It was the eternal flow of the lands and all who called them home.  So, he is not naive to think neither who stand before him are without some form of talents.

The spotted one seems to be in a dazed state still as he awaits introductions.  He had no reason to hide who he was and his intentions within the land.  Perhaps they did but it mattered little to him.  He was here for land and nothing else.  When the man offers his name and his purpose here the zombie smirks before replying, "Oaks.  Pleasure to have you here in Pangea.  Please stay as long as you'd like.  I would not mind the company in the least."  His statement having two separate contexts but who needs to know. "I have to admit I haven't seen anyone other than you two.  The lands seem a bit barren but perhaps we will find others.  Would either of you care to join me on a patrol?  That is, if you are feeling up to it Oaks.  You look a tad...exhausted."  His gaze drifts from one to the other before taking a slight step, motioning to the inner parts of Pangea with a grin.

The ghostly mare offers no real dialogue, and he shrugs it off with a shake of his head.  If her presence here was business, she'd have to look elsewhere.  He had no interest in kingdom politics.  Pleasure on the other hand. >;}

His piebald body shifts again as he listens to what else the man offers.  His ears twist in interest at Oaks verbal thoughts and he wonders the meaning behind it.  What gift -or curse- was he hiding?  Not being shy he plainly asks, "Should we be ill?"  He pauses his advancement, ember eyes gauging if they would be joining in on the wanderings.  They could chat further and see if they find any inhabitants of the land... 

Zain

ReBeL jUsT fOr KiCkS

@ Beyza He's a guy sorry XD.  
@ Oaks I was hoping he'd realize the irony in their powers! Yay

[Beyza]

At first her offer to heal Oaks is politely turned down, but Beyza is delighted when the answer changes. Not that the elation shows itself on her stone-carved expression. Now it’s becoming something of a game - maintaining her silence and lack of reaction while Zain talks about doing a patrol to see if there’s anyone else living here. The idea that this land is entirely empty entertains Beyza while she focuses her attention on sending a wave of healing over Oaks. She intends for it to feel warm, the way sunlight is so comforting on a warm spring morning, and with luck it should rejuvenate what had been taken from him. It is more apparent to her now what Zain had taken and she feels some deeper frustration (coloured with some embarrassment - knowing there had been a time when she may have done something similar, if the rules of her magic allowed it). As is Beyza’s way, all of these thoughts are neatly packed away as soon as they appear - wrapped up and put somewhere else for her to deal with in the future. They will not pester her as she waits for Oaks to move so she can follow. She does not intend to stay with them long, but would like to make sure her attempts at healing have been at least partially effective. And she is, despite herself, a little curious too about why they should be feeling ill. If there are others here, she does not expect they’ll be able to find them. Beqanna has settled into a quiet season certainly - filled with quiet lives. If someone else is living in Pangea, she thinks it likely they are taking care not to be found. beyza

artwork by kharthian

@ Oaks
@ Zain

[Oaks]

OAKS

you look well suited

like you came to win

Acceptance, even in this slightly twisted manner, feels surprisingly soothing. It is an odd consolation, to say the least, for having his very life force drained by a stranger but Oaks unfortunately knows no better.

Zain welcomes him and despite the darker implications of his reception, Oaks is glad for it. He may have expected to be shunned, outright or subtly, which wouldn’t have surprised or upset him. Life alone will lower one’s expectations of inclusion or even the most basic companionship, and Oaks approaches this encounter with no expectation of approval.

Neither Zain nor Beyza have rebuffed him and have, in their own ways, provided him a comfort. In spite of having drained his strength, Oaks finds himself intrigued and drawn to Zain, who is somehow fascinating even with his otherwise appalling appearance; Beyza both contrasts and equals the undead stallion with her beauty, stoicism, and general warmth even while remaining somewhat mysterious.

Oaks is thankful to have met them both, especially when Beyza holds true to her unspoken word and fortifies him with her magic. Where Zain’s power had chilled him and left him faint, lightheaded and weak, Beyza replaces it with a gentle, slow-spreading warmth. It touches him like a sunrise, steadily restoring life throughout his wearied muscles, and a clear deep breath fills his lungs.

As Zain begins to move out toward the more general plains and canyons of Pangea, Oaks recovers enough to lift his head, slowly resettling his wings onto his back. He pauses to share an appreciative smile and nod with Beyza, speechlessly thankful for her aid since, as he’d told her, he does not wish to fall behind. He hasn’t taken more than two steps to follow along, though, when Zain stops and poses a fresh question in response to Oaks’ former words.

The ghost-winged stallion hesitates, dropping his chin again with reservation. It shouldn’t be anything worthy of embarrassment, but he remains a bit shy of it all the same. “It’s just often been my experience that others seem to wither away when I’m too close,” he admits in a quieter voice, unwilling to meet their eyes despite his curiosity to see their reactions. “As if death follows me everywhere I go.” It’s certainly always been his assumption, anyway. He shuffles one wing as if in a shrug.

“But it doesn’t seem to be the case with you two.” Now his voice becomes somewhat more upbeat, still ignorant to the true workings of his power. “I’m very glad for that.” Another of his naive smiles touches his face. “I’d be happy to take a look around with you.”

@ Zain @ Beyza

The end~