"But the dream, the echo, slips from him as quickly as he had found it and as consciousness comes to him (a slap and not the gentle waves of oceanic tides), it dissolves entirely. His muscles relax as the cold claims him again, as the numbness sets in, and when his grey eyes open, there’s nothing but the faint after burn of a dream often trod and never remembered." --Brigade, written by Laura
02-24-2018, 12:35 PM (This post was last modified: 02-24-2018, 12:38 PM by Modicum Mortem.)
I'm every nightmare you've ever had,
I'm your worst dream come true.
He had left in a flurry of anger and resentment, in a sea of angst and rage. How could Gryffen leave the subjects who were loyal to him, who had killed for him? In a similar act, the clown had relieved himself of his Sylvan post, of the raven and his cyclops (why even bother to learn their names?), and retreated into the shadows where he knew he belonged.
But the shadows were only home for so long, and he was growing restless and bored. Dare he say, he missed the darkness of the autumnal forest, and he missed the climbing the ranks of such. After hearing of the two generals abandonment, he decided he would meet the new leader put in place, and maybe (hopefully), get on her good graces.
It is a dark autumn day when he finally traverses the land, fallen leaves crunching beneath his hooves. He was like a ghost, slipping easily and nearly unbeknownst through Sylva's forest, looking for the one they had called "Sabra." King or queen, it didn't matter. People underestimated him for his size, why underestimate this woman for her gender? It seemed rather pointless.
He lets out a sharp nicker when he reaches the center of her kingdom. "Queen of Sylva?" He asks for her, wondering where she may be or what she may look like.
Modicum Mortem
@[Sabra] Morty is back! Surprise. He's looking to be loyal (/winks) to Sylva and Sabra.
A strange wind had blown through Sylva on the wings of autumn. Lurking wolves threatened her people's steps, strangers wandered across her borders. And now, a strange fellow sought her out. His voice echoed through the trees, insinuating itself from the middle of her land. Whoever it was, she needed to know sooner rather than later. With urgent beats she lifted into the air, skimming gilded treetops with her nimble hooves. She cast out in a spiral, drawing circles in the air as she drew nearer to the dense heart of the Sylvan woods. A shadow denser than the rest caught her eye as it paced beneath the canopy. Moments later she was plummeting through the catching branches, intercepting the black creature who had called her to him. He was small, almost as small as herself. It was a nice change, to not be craning her neck to look him in the eye.
Her shimmering plumage folded itself smartly against her sides, emphasizing the neatness of her. Her face was a carefully flat mask, not expressing the mixture of curiosity and wariness she felt. It emitted only a general warmth, the dissembling placidness she had mastered as a child. Let this stranger decide how that could change. "You called?" She said at last, an graceful eyebrow raised at the audacity that had been displayed so far.
Modicum Mortem is pleasantly surprise when his track is intercepted in a rather quick manner. His hooves slide gently to a halt as he looks up to the mare. She was beautiful, that much he could admit. Her coat had a soft blue hint to the otherwise white fur, wings a pearly white, and all of this was neatly adorned with a sunset colored mane. She was a slight bit taller than he, with a thin agile frame and a delicate dipped face.
He gives her a smile, as he so often does in these situations, and then bows to her respectfully. ”Your grace,” He murmurs to her. His voice is low, smooth, and every bit charming. ”The word has been that you are the forests new queen. Well, I used to reside in these very woods, and I would like to offer my...services.”
@[Sabra] this is short and kind of sucks but I have Morty muse and wanted to get this up xD
He is unsettling, more so once she recognizes the swelling redness of his muzzle. Some divine joke, perhaps. Laughing at what, she cannot guess. A voice whispers in her mind, that this is one to hold at a distance, that trust may be a mistake. But an ally is an ally, and that seems to be what he suggests.
The dark male has been assessing her just as intently as she has been observing him. The fey queen breaks her placid mask, and returns the strange fellow's smile with a wolfish one of her own. Words dripping with charm infiltrate the pale pink curves of her ears, deeper meaning being drawn from their sweet tones.
She responds with her own sweet voice, silvery and pleasant to hear. "Well first things first. Those who dwell here are known to me, and so I must have your name."The better to hunt down the unfaithful, she added silently.
"What services do you propose to offer me and mine?" She asked, truly curious. She already had those skilled in war and those skilled in diplomacy within her realm. A unique skill would not be turned away, but he would have to be something special to counteract the creeping sensation that was currently working it's way up her spine.
I’m every nightmare you’ve ever had, I’m your worst dream come true.
A sociopath is defined as someone with a personality disorder that manifests itself into antisocial attitudes and behaviors, and lack of a conscious. He is every bit of a sociopath - everything he does it clear, calculated, and deliberate. Each smile, each flick of the tail is all used to gain her faith. He knows how to get what he wants, he knows what he wants.
And what he wants, is to be within the top ranks of her kingdom.
"Modicum Mortem," The clown, the jester, the joker. Better to save those names for later."But Mortem, or even Morty, if it easier, Queen." An autumn breeze blows through his mane, the thick black tresses tickling at his skin. He peers at her through icy eyes and a mass of ebony forelock. Her eyes stay furrowed, ever so slightly, though she tries to hide it. He would be an idiot not to see; she does not trust him, and he would have to earn it.
Challenge accepted.
"While I possess no special trait, I do feel as though I could be of assistance to you and yours," He holds his head up a little higher. "I'm skilled in fighting, and if it does not alarm you, I am also skilled in the art of killing. I'm a gifted hunter and I have done my fair share of...stalking, for my last commander." He grins, thinking of his times in Ischia, watching the fiery mare and lurking in the shadows. "Being on your good graces is something I would greatly appreciate. I will admit, I have missed the comfort of these forests."
