looking for heaven found the devil in me; any

[Rodrik]

There was something beautiful and disastrous here when the god himself, named Carnage, had mended the land. It should have been beautiful and grand. However, it had become something far from that. This land—named Pangea—is nothing but a wasteland. It harbors little amount of water and food, and if anything it is drier than anything he has known. Yet, this was the place he has come to call home. It has been years now since he has lived here. Rodrik had taken to silence when he first came here. It felt that once the mountain had come and lands had been gifted back from the fairy on the mountain there was a deep silence. A silence that made him almost feel that this was all a dream. Rodrik, never turning away from reality, did not sleep. He spent his days in isolation for a purpose. His choices always had a purpose. There had never been a time the once red king had dwelled without a plan of action. It was in the very instinct of him to always be one step ahead of the other, or whoever played his enemy that time. Rodrik was machine-like in all his ways, especially for the coming of the darkness—the thing he feared most lately. But he, for now, does not linger in the silence. He blossoms like a spring flower from the corpses of the wasteland. The stallion is a new face to perhaps many here. Maybe there would be some that knew him from the very start, but it seemed now these days, ever since the mountain came, that he does not come across those he knows. Perhaps that was a blessing for right now. Rodrik though does not focus on that; instead he turns his attention to the area of the waste that he knows many harbor. It is where the slow riverbed is most abundant in the waste, and where the eerie tune plays the loudest.

character info: here | character reference: here | image © rostyslav zagornov

[Harmonia]

It's hard to be from the old lands and the old time and accept this new change.

Harmonia spent her entire life a magician, and a devious one at that. She knew how to coax secrets and betray entire kingdoms. She knew nothing of love and only of power - not for herself, no. She never intended to rule or lead. Those things disgusted her. She only wanted to watch things crumble in her tiny hand.

But the new way stole all this from her. She could no longer act like a fool, she had to be smart. She had no protection and fell easily to the wills of others. Pangea was her home out of spite to the fairies and without Carnage it promised to blossom.

The stain lifted.

Harmonia did not mind these changes anymore. She minded her lack of magic deeply, so deeply she often stood and did nothing. Depression I guess, that sickening sensation in the pit of your stomach that everything is wrong. You're wrong, your choices are wrong, nothing matters. A heavy curtain she peered out from other. She'd never admit it, she'd just let her tiny scaled daughter drift from her side and approach the devil horse just over the ridge.

Ajatar was a slip of a girl, still in her youth, experiencing her first summer. She'd met no other foals and no other horse save her grandfather - who was gross. She accidentally gave him pox, and mother too. This she did not regret, mother was foul and loathsome and lazy.

"Hello," she chirps to the devil horse.

HARMONIA

the pied piper

[Rodrik]

A desperate need for magic before did not keep him standing and do nothing. He knew what he needed most and would. In this new life, he was more vulnerable than ever. Rodrik, however, had thought more on the matter. It was perhaps with fate that he was given this new life for a reason. Some would say it was a second chance to make up for their sins, but he has never felt he was a fool to begin with. Instead, this new era is something he must take advantage of. Rodrik has learned a thing or two before the Reckoning had come. It seemed now it was time to be even more forceful. After all, there was nothing to hold him back now. It is not hard to miss the approaching scaled-foal that comes trotting his way. Rodrik had already spotted the golden mare in the distance. The devil has always ensured to know his surroundings. He had taken time to understand this place just as he did when he was new to the Chamber. When the girl greets him, he smiles warmly. “Well, hello there,” he says and lower his head to see eye to eye with her. Rodrik had a soft spot for children. He was never exactly sure why, but perhaps it had increased more over the years now that his siblings have gone and likely are dead now. It was a blessing to some to be immortal, but to others it was a tragedy. He has never been certain for what it is yet, not even this other being in him has much to say on the matter. This other soul within him is old, but it is alive more than ever after they have been dismantled from the chains of the darkness. “I am Rodrik.” He flicks his ear forward, letting his tail sway lazily behind him. “Do you have a name as well?” The red devil then turns to peer at the golden mare below the ridge. “Your mother must not fear for you like most mothers do.” A side comment mostly mumbled but likely audible for the scaled girl to hear. Rodrik had always loved being at his mother side when she was queen of the jungle. And even his own little girl, Lucrezia, had too. Lucrezia, however, did not truly feel that way after he traded her for an alliance with the Deserts many years ago. Children sometimes were pawns in a game, perhaps even something he should’ve paid more attention to with his first daughter, Straia.

character info: here | character reference: here | image © rostyslav zagornov

[Harmonia]

It didn't occur to Ajatar to be anything but a curious young child, despite her upbringing. Her lazy, absent mother that stuck around just to use her and show her off to the others. Her grandfather was a terrible beast and said such horrible things about her. She was isolated in this Pangea land, which looked like home but felt like a shirt two sizes too small, and hadn't met a single other foal. She knew things the way most children do, with prying eyes and eavesdropping. She looks then to her mother, sleeping lazily in the sun, as though she didn't have a child to watch. It made Ajatar angry for a bit.

"I think my mother is afraid of me," she says, honestly. Despite her strange scales she is rather sweet and normal. It didn't occur to her to be anything but.

"My name is Ajatar," she says, nodding readily. "Nice to meet you, Rodrik. Have you lived here long?" Like all of the sweet new children she had no idea about the history of Beqanna, much less what happened to make it become what it did. She knew only thing - a magicless mother, a barren desert, and a world outside she knew nothing of.

"My grandfather is afraid of me," she said with a conspiratorial nod. "He called me The Reckoning." She doesn't understand this word or phrase, but feels it is important. After all, her grandfather was a scary creature.

HARMONIA

the pied piper

[Rodrik]

There was always something fascinating about children. Perhaps it was the innocence each child was born with at birth, unknowing of the temptations and sins of this world. Children were merely a blank canvas, a history to be written, a chance to manipulate. Yes, it was the manipulation that Rodrik was drawn to—the naïvetés he is able to take ahold of and conjure fashion into something of his own liking or need. Even so, Rodrik is sometimes surprised by the young. Their eagerness for knowledge and own choices ponder him when he does not need to coax a plan of his own. Yet, for now, he does not dwell quickly into influence of this child. Rodrik is simply curious, and likely cautious when the girl mentions her mother. The red devil is not truly aware about many of the residents in this land. Some are old and new—he dares not make such a foul move. It was not in his character to be quick to act as well. Rodrik is always a careful planner and acts precisely when needed. “Why would your mother be afraid of you?” He asks with a tilt of his head, nutmeg gaze flickering back to the scaled girl. It was a strange statement to say and so Rodrik, seeking information always, insist on searching more for the reason. The little girl gives her name and he tastes it for a moment, “Ajatar.” It rings of something familiar, maybe a story he heard in one of the thousands of years he has lived or a soul he had once harbored before the Reckoning had come. Rodrik smiles to her politeness. There was something he liked about the girl already, eager for knowledge but so easy to spill information about herself. He liked a talkative person that made it easy to gain information from. If anything he could hardly get valuable information for a child, but Rodrik could be proven wrong perhaps. “It’s nice to meet you too. I have lived here since Carnage gave us this land,” he pauses for a moment, glancing across the wasteland, “yet, it was supposed to be much prettier than this.” And there it is again—fear. Rodrik peers at her again curiously, but he keeps it more masked this time than before. “The Reckoning? How strange for your grandfather to call you that.” He flicks an ear forward. “Some say this era is the Reckoning for Beqanna.” Rodrik falls silent for a moment, studying the girl carefully once again. “You must have something very special to be given such a name,” he does not prod any further than that.

character info: here | character reference: here | image © rostyslav zagornov

[Ajatar]

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He doesn't have to prod much for the young child to spill the beans, so to speak. Her mother did not bother to teach her anything. Harmonia always held her cards close to her chest, always played the long game, and everything with her came with a price. Love, attention - everything. Ajatar was too new and too fresh to know this of her mother or learn it herself. Sure, she suspected her mother wasn't the most loving of creatures, but it wasn't as though she was exposed to great relationships far and wide. Pangea was a cesspool for the malformed, she realized - though it never occurred to her that there was much else in this world. Everyone in her world was dark and feral, with great strange horns and wings and maniac grins and devious plans. Her mother was the most innocent looking of all - petite, small - but she packed the hardest punch.

Rodrik, with his large stature and large eyes, seemed no more dangerous than a colorful cobra.

"Are other lands prettier? What do they look like?" She turns a gaze to the horizon where, if she focused enough, she could see a tall mountain...and a taller one just beyond that. The walk, though, seemed treacherous - and mother was not about walking.

She considers these questions about her grandfather and mother and furrows her brow and screws up her face. How did she word this? She remembered what her mother said when she introduced her to Pollock - I have something of interest. She recalls the conversation vividly, the way her mother cornered her. Quick coils of hot rage flair up under her skin and, without realizing it, she calls upon the pestilence. It manifests many ways, and without a way to control it...well, it was weak and nonspecific, but dangerous. Fledgling in its infancy. It could be boils, it could be the cough you hadn't quite shaken, it could be any aspect of illness crawling slowly into your lungs or up your legs.

And Ajatar - she is not unmarked. She bears a small token of what she hath wrought. It's painted on the healed, scabbed over sores from the boils she brought up on her grandfather and mother. She does this now without realizing at the sheer memory of her mother pushing her, hard, trying to get her to show off her talents.

She snaps back when she feels the start of it crawling up her own spine.

Her eyes are wide, apologetic, flustered. "Oh no!" she says, taking a step back. Her rage was so all consuming she was left breathless, weakened a bit. "I just...sometimes I get angry and..." She is at a loss for words, gaping and confused.

[Rodrik]

He has been described many things in his life—king, murderer, selfish, sinner, and devil. All of these names meant very little to him, but truly each one of them ties to something he had once been and even continues to be. Yet, he had never been called a colorful cobra. In a sense he was a snake in the grass—patiently waiting to strike and feast upon the prey. “I know little about the other lands,” he admits truthfully. It was not valuable information knowing he knew little about the other lands that now sat upon the old world. “I am sure they are much prettier than what we live in.” Rodrik can only imagine what beauty must have replaced the Jungle and the Chamber. “Perhaps one day I will see these new lands.” But, for now, today would not be that day. “Though surely it should be soon enough—peace is never a lasting thing in Beqanna.” No, it never was, he thinks to himself as images of war and thirst for power color his mind. Rodrik falls silent, though he keeps his attention on her. She furrows her brow in consideration and he allows her to think through her answers to his questions. Then suddenly, he feels his skin becoming warm. It spreads through his skin like wildfire and becomes very painful quickly. Rodrik pulls back from her and quickly shouts, “What is this?!” He narrows his eyes at her, fear feeling his stomach but he does not show it. The girl’s eyes widen and she too takes a step back. Her voice is breathless and notices she is obviously confused. Rodrik no longer feels the painful bumps and the sudden warmth leaves him cold now. He shakes his head, though keeping his gaze on the scaled girl. “You bring sickness and death,” he says bluntly. A power that he one would have liked to hold but he knows what a price of such power must pay. He had given his life; no his life had been taken from him for such abilities. “You can’t—” he pauses for a moment, trying to find words, “You can’t get angry like that.” And then he falls silent. “I see why your family is afraid of you,” Rodrik looks at her carefully this time and meets her gaze, “You could destroy the whole world if you wanted.” He knows what such a sickness could do—a plague was no stranger to Rodrik and the soul that harbored his body. He knew of such sickness that had killed thousands and thousands of others before. “But you shouldn’t be afraid.” He says, truthfully he did not want the girl to fear herself just as he had once feared himself too. “All you need is a little practice.” But, he wonders, how does anyone practice harboring the very power of sickness and death? It nearly was not the same for the poison he controlled—but perhaps similar to the powers and hunger had once had for the dead and darkness.

character info: here | character reference: here | image © rostyslav zagornov

[Ajatar]

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She is nothing but flustering, childish innocence at what she brought. She knows, on some deep level, that what she does is unnatural. After all her grandfather was a terrifying thing, with his odd angles and his giant wings, and even HE was afraid of her. She itches the new formed boils of her leg with her teeth, trying to avoid eye contact as she mumbles her continued apologies. Like a child who's been spanked she frowns, crouches, tries to hide herself and appear smaller.

Any other child of Harmonia might get the wrong idea about her powers.

But when he speaks it's different than what had been said to her before. He is in awe, yes - and even a bit scared (or perhaps envious? She doesn't know this emotion yet so she cannot say) but he does not regard her like the leper she often feels like. He speaks about her ability in a way she'd never heard before.

Death. Sickness.

She can understand that - and now her pox makes sense. Now the woozy feeling in her stomach makes sense, the sudden onset of warmth and uncomfortableness. Was he feeling it - but worse? She shivered at the thought that she could bring something so horrible with just her anger.

"Control it?" her curiosity is piqued, and she goes from a simpering child to incredibly interested. "You mean...such a thing is possible?" With Harmonia as a mother and Cancer as a father it's impossible not to become angry.

[Rodrik]

Rodrik cannot help but pity the young scaled girl as she crouches and frowns. There was nothing a child could do when born with such a gift. The world has fashioned and birthed a blessing and monster into one. Ajatar was the very spawn the devil himself would have been once proud to be a father to, however, this time he does not. A part of him yearns to help her—help her find her own way in this world that is not controlled by the decisions of another. Maybe it was the love of his parents that drove him to feel this way. Maybe it is the same feeling that fueled his love for Oksana, bloody and born into the world a mess. This child was simply the same, but this time he would not choose to do what he did to Oksana. His choice is not really justified for any reason, or something he cannot quite answer yet. But, for now, it will have to do even if it is not something he normally does. “Control it?” she pips up like any normal child-like mind would when intrigued by something new that fascinated them. “Of course it is possible,” he says with firmness. There is no denying such a thing, especially when the ability is anew and hardly been discovered. “You are young, and if you are truly determined you can master it.” Rodrik pauses though, making sure she understands this part exactly. “You must master it before it masters you,” the red stallion knows all too well the truth in it. He had been a fool when the “darkness” had consumed him. It had mastered him, chaining and creating him into an obedient monster. The call of the “darkness” was tempting and the greatest tasting forbidden fruit he had ever tasted. But this time it would not take him.

character info: here | character reference: here | image © rostyslav zagornov
@[Kortnee]

[Ajatar]

"You must master it before it masters you."
What a loaded thing to tell a child, one who was juggling this very thought in her mind. She remembers the way anger rises up in her throat and threatens to spill over and destroy everything around her. She doesn't do it consciously but it happens. Before she knows it she can feel the sickness in the pit of her stomach and push it out of her lungs, out of her nostrils, into the air to take flight and infect those around her. It's as though she's aerosolized her anger and used it to destroy all around her.

Part of her wishes for nothing more than to keep this from happening. She cannot wish boils on every horse that crosses her, she'd be forever left to the darkness. But something else pulls at her mind, a reminder of something else.

If she can control it, maybe she can keep it from hurting herself? She looks at the scales that slide off her legs in the purulent discharge of the boils. She thinks of the scabs that form and burst and heal again, waiting to rot her leg off. Maybe, just maybe, she can escape unharmed. Maybe...

She pushes these thoughts from her head and turns those wide eyes to Rodrik. "I want to. I have to. I...I need to. Learn, that is. Control." The last word is a whisper, a promise of something in the future.
The girl smiles.