best have your wits about you

[Modicum Mortem]

Modicum Mortem is over listening to these diplomats speak. He moves, out into the dim light that shines through the trees, the bulb on his nose glimmering. He doesn’t care (he’d never cared), he finds that the orb suits him, who he is inside.

“I am Mortem, the King of Sylva,” he states simply to the strangers. He glances to Jesper, the slightest hint of a smile gracing his dark lips. “I’m sorry to interrupt-“ (He wasn’t) “-But I need to take Lepis now.” (He didn’t) “I’m sure this conversation could wait for another time?” (He wouldn’t have this conversation again) Eyes glance to Lepis as he leads her away, abandoning the two Ischians where they stood.

Wrapping this up for plot purposes

[Mosrael]

Once again, Jesper scrambles to recover from Mosrael's blunt nature and impatient nature. He does not seem bothered by the hissing shadows that watched with unwelcoming eyes. His lack of experience was on display and she could hear the cogs of his mind turning as he desperately sought for a way to resolve the inexplicable tension between them.

Despite the calming nature of his inquiry, the perlino filly grew suddenly uneasy. Suddenly frozen in place, she turns towards them, her eyes full of apprehension and - fear. She was afraid. Mosrael's brow furrowed as she searched the youngling's features. Cloaked in mystery, the older mare found it odd that the filly hadn't offered anything in means of identification. A tickling of familiarity tugged at the mature mare's lobe, though she couldn't find a place for it.

Quivering, the filly begs them to present her with their questions and Mosrael's skin prickled and she couldn't help but wonder if the child was in danger. Almost as if on cue, a black stallion emerges from his watching place. Instantly on edge, Mosrael stepped forward in a protective position over Jesper. Announcing himself as the new king, the red nosed stallion present Jesper with a prolonged glace. Heavy with meaning, Mosrael's stance widened, prepared to do whatever was necessary to protect her companion. Instead of a display of violence, however, Mortem simply whisks the filly he'd named as Lepis - the once child queen of Loess - away. Before disappearing himself, the king halfheartedly promised a continuation of their conversation before slipping back into the shadows from which he'd emerged.

Not yet relaxed, Mosrael shifted her eyes towards Jesper. "Let's go," she bade without awaiting so much as an explanation from her companion. "I think it is safe to assume that Sylva does not wish to align themselves with Ischia at this time."

OOC: A few things. Firstly, I apologize for not reading your notes about @[Lepis]. Just disregard anything I mentioned about her and we can assume that Mosrael did not know her identity. @[Modicum Mortem] and @[Jesper] sorry that this sucks so bad. I wanted to wrap this up for ya.

[Jesper]

Ceil blue gaze studies the buttermilk filly as she moves to locate the clown. She pauses and, looks back to the Ischian duo before making another offer. Ebony equine flares nostrils to draw in more crisp oxygen until rib cage expands then, male exhales a defeated sigh. Yeah, we already tried that. Poll tosses casually to flip bronze-streaked tresses out of line of sight. At this moment, aquamarine gaze catches a shimmer of red followed by the slinking darkness as Morty approaches. Tufted lobes note how odd his monotone words sound with a sneer on his lips before they flatten to his elevated poll. Although his body language suggests his disgust for the Sylvan King, Jesper’s timing syncs with Mosrael’s steps forward. Gaze hardens as the onyx stallion continues to watch the pony and the filly though, his thoughts are entirely directed at the violet spotted warrior. What makes you think I need you to defend me? 

 

Irritated thoughts are pushed aside as her amber orbs meet his and, her words usher them back towards home. Poll dips in a brief nod before weight shifts onto haunches and, forehand pivots around hindlimbs. Once facing opposite of where they were standing, muscular hindquarters engage to push male into motion. Limbs churn the stiffening ground in a bouncy jog before chassis launches into a rocking canter. Lithe Anglo-Arabian form navigates the short distance to the Sylvan border with ease before unshod hooves drum upon the craggy foothills of Loess. The duo soon reach the banks of the River and, cross the shallowest portion to position themselves towards the sandbars of the island. Jesper travels in silence and, instead, focuses on reaching the sandy shores of Brennen’s domain. He would then, make haste to find his grandfather and, relay the details of their journey.