[open] i am someone to hate

[elodie]

elodie

She had been raised gently, Elodie. Her mother had been a soft thing and, as a result, the daughter became a soft thing.

(But she had been hardened, too, Elodie. She had known brutal heartache, loneliness, these things that put grief in the marrow of the bones. She had become hardened as a means of survival. Because she had been so dreadfully alone and soft things are easy prey.) 

A younger Elodie would have balked at the idea of ruin, of destruction, of dismantling the systems of government in place. The hierarchies, the kingdoms and their citizens. She has never thought about them in a way that mattered, always sticking to the common lands because she’d felt in her heart that she’d find her mother there.

At her core, she is still a soft thing. But even soft things can imagine sinking their teeth into the meat of the world. Even soft things can dream about laying ruin to the oppressors. So, unlike the raven, she does not turn to leave. She stays because in the darkness she had become a thing for burning and, in this, perhaps she had become a destructive thing, too.

She is prepared to burn. 

and if i go, i’m goin’ shameless
I’ll let my hunger take me there

[Amenadiel]

The resounding war cry of the fierce stallion echoes through the air, its reverberations pulsing through his mind. With majestic wings spread wide, a sinister grin creeps across his face as he emerges from the darkness. His shimmering, iridescent scales catch the sunlight as he strides to join his comrades, his tail swaying hypnotically from side to side.

As he listens intently, he catches the words, “We become a plague to their houses, we scatter their ashes on the wind and from them rebuild a world in our own image.” His only ambition is to reign, to command the respect of his followers, and this is how he plans to achieve it. Though it may require shedding blood, it is all for the greater good. A surge of exhilaration and adrenaline courses through him, a sensation he hasn't felt in ages.

He himself is undergoing a metamorphosis, and he believes it is only fitting that others should undergo it alongside him.

[Doctor]

i know my soul's freezing , hell's hot for good reason

They are a colorful bunch both in appearance and in presence.

They are quiet, too, though a certain sense of purpose hums unspoken among them.

Whether they are driven by the painted stallion’s minor speech – incited, excited, delighted – or simply drawn to his alluring facade of fire and smoke remains to be truly seen. It is hard to know one’s thoughts when they remain unspoken, after all.

Doctor remains steady where he stands, offering each arrival a minor glance of his coppery eyes set soundly in the dark mask of his face. All of them bear fire in some sense, either in their coloring or their outright magics, and it brings a minor smile to the dun’s lips. What a pleasant little company they make.

None have truly prompted the originator of their group to speak further, save for himself, so Doctor only awaits the answer.

And, although he is not disappointed, he finds himself mildly skeptical.

“A challenge, to be sure,” he responds with a soft exhale of smoke. “Those who live in kingdoms are often fiercely loyal to them.” Again he considers the others, though, and nods as if having made a decision. “Short of gods and true magicians, I’d imagine the right bunch could achieve such a goal of destruction.” His smile turns to a grin and his eyes flicker with the firelight of Çevik’s banners.

Overhead, a raven takes wing.

“Where should we begin?”

doctor

@Çevik @kalika @elodie @Amenadiel @hysperia