The SNAKES start to SING

[Nier]

There comes a time in a man's life when he returns to the scene of his crime; or birth, it's the same sort of thing. Amnesia never wanted the stain upon earth that was Nier, she never wanted the demon spawn that lurked and wouldn't leave. But here he was, his silver body materialising and disappearing, over and over. Invisibilty never for old, same old party trick that was willing to scare off the masses that knew nought of Beqanna's Magic. It just so happened that he trod on that vein of magic, or well, his mother had. Nier was smooth, his alabaster pelt shimmering almost against the White meadow, his dark eyes narrowing, watching. He was born in this field, as was most of his siblings. He wondered him his mother still lurked in the background, like some broken ornament on the shelf no one wants but picks up all the time. He snorted. His dark wings ruffling lazily, lifting him up from the ground. His pace was lethargic, almost nonexistent, but he moved, or sauntered on the air, a few feet above the ground. His tail flicked idly by his hocks. He wondered often what returning would feel like. And right now, he felt nothing. Absolutely nothing. As cold and numb as his tendons in the snow, there was no compassion, no flicker of resentment or happiness, not even a slither of pride. But here he was, back to his roots. His leaves had fallen, he was older now, perhaps not as wise as he's hoped, but he was back, and Beqanna has better watch out. Nier was on the move, the demon slinking along, like some angel in disguise. Grey wings stretching out, ruffling on the cold breeze. What fun could the sloth demon have today? • tyrael x amnesia • wings, invisibility • alpha of gemstone ridge •

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[Lokii]

born to be a king, I ask for one thing

It is funny how many self-entitled ‘demons’ run around Beqanna (he considers himself self-entitled, though probably more with the nickname of ‘joker’ or ‘trickster’ or perhaps even ‘god’ if he were to be so bold; but either way he really has no room to talk). They always seem to flock to the meadow with creeping smiles carved into their devilishly handsome faces, always looking to talk the talk and walk the walk but never fight the fight. They amuse him, really, because that is where their differences lie. The trickster is all-too ready to fight the fight, to match his egotistical words with some equally egotistical action.

And egotistical action is exactly what he’s looking for when he slides into the meadow.

Always looking to cause trouble and chaos wherever he walks, the trickster spots a fellow whose frame seems to be flickering in and out of view, his hooves almost floating across the ground. Curious to see if he could replicate the trick, the trickster meddles with his own eyes and the eyes of the one who presented the idea. With little concentration or energy, the lanky form of the trickster is dancing in and out of view, leaving only his shadow (a defect to illusionism; he’s honestly too lazy to color it transparent) for a second or two.

Sliding up close to the original holder of the invisibility, the silvery bay stallion smirks slightly. “Neat trick. I’ve seen cooler tricks than that, though.” His bruised eyes (blue and white in one eye, black and white in the other, both portraying a mixture of mischief and chaotic desire) scan over the other’s face, looking for any sort of reaction. “Who’re you?”

Lokii

the tricky god of chaos

a front seat to watch earth burn

[Nier]

If you’d imagine Hell’s throne room, you could depict the demons with their obligatory vice. You’d have Wrath, seething in the corner, eyes as red as blood. Next to him Envy, green and fine with jealous beads of sweat running over his crocodile body. Lust was easy, he was too busy fawning over things that he could not have. Gluttony would be holding up armfuls of grapes, but having some poor pet feed them to him, one by one, his mouth full, no time and no want to talk. Sloth, he is the epitome of nothingness. Bone-idle and lazy to the very, agnostic core. Thus we are introduced to Nier. Handsome and manipulative, daring and brash, if only he could get up off the couch and do something. Sometimes he felt the world owed him, sometimes he felt he owed the world, some form of compensation for his existence, but alas, he would amble the earth, terrorise it’s victims until the end of his days. If he didn’t die from complete boredom. Ashen hooves kicked up some of the melting snow beneath his feet, they balled beneath his soles and he felt like he was walking on stilettos. He decided long ago that walking the earth’s crust was too much work. Flying was the way to go, even if he never truly soared with the eagles so to speak. The real epitome of a fallen angel, wings as white as the foamy clouds, but a heart as black as the night sky. Heart? I think you’d be pretty sure that the grey steed had not a heart in his body, just an empty space where it would have resided. Nothing excited him. Nothing made any spark in his dark eyes. Very little enthused him to make him move, to stir something in his core. He yawned again, tail flicking idly by his hocks as he proceeded to float, drifting between visibility. Now you see him, now you don’t. Now you see him, now you… Someone was copying him, he caught in his idle gaze. A form blending and melting into the white backdrop, returning into focus and melting once more. Nier gave a laugh, a snort. Ash tipped ears dipping and listening. ”It passes the time. Got to make use of these talents, right?” Nier’s voice dripped apathy. A little cloud of breath plumed before his nose. ”Care to demonstrate something cooler? I’m all eyes.” he blinked, once, twice and thrice. Cocking a hind heel, and tilting his head, he still idled above ground, wings lazily just fluttering to keep him afloat. ”I’ve been called many things. A Monster, A Demon, a Hellion… but I mostly go by Nier. And you, Mister Doppelgänger. Who. Are. You? reminiscent of the lazy caterpillar in Alice’s dreamy Wonderland, if he could, Nier would puff a cloud of suspicious smoke the steed’s way, but he made do with a cloud of frosty breath and a low, guttural chortle. • tyrael x amnesia • wings, invisibility • alpha of gemstone ridge •

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