F R E A K S H O W [Come one, come all]

[Modicum Mortem]

Modicum Mortem has been lurking in the forest of Sylva. When the child let his barrier down, he retreated into the shadows, waiting for another opportunity to strike. Another way to advance. 

It seemed now he had found his way. 

Karat and the homeless Ischian family had declined the offer, deciding instead to move to a climate they were more used to. 

Now was his time. If no one else wanted the forest, he would surely have it. finally, a sanctuary for all of Beqanna’s freaks, all of the ones forgotten when Gryffen’s abandoned his throne. 

There’s hardly anyone in Sylva anyways, so he slithers his way into the throne, grinning ear to ear. 

He was the king now. 

OOC: Since Karat did not take the throne, Modicum Mortem is claiming Sylva. Before I forget, please put what caste you want to be in (war, diplomacy, spy)!

[Ouija]

Again he lurks along the sidelines...  Watching... Waiting.  It's announced and he easily crosses into his once home.... Now home again.  The jackal slides to the clowns side.  Serpentine tongue tracing his incisors as he waits for the damned to file back in.  He says nothing to the stallion beside him.  Nothing needed to be said.

HES BACK!

[Jackel]

Strange, strange noises here. The silence was SO noisy.  Almost deafeningly so.  Almost like we can’t hear each other’s words that we are thinking and the like.

My head snaps quickly to the side as a familiar thing appears out of the yellow haze.  My curiosity is picqued and my movements are swift to catch up with the shadow.  OH WAIT.  There’s two shadows.

I giggle with childish delight when my optics adjust to recognize my tree creature.  

”Helloooo beastie!”  I say with the utmost adoration, lipping at his tangled mane.

My eyes find the other shadow, narrowing in amusement as my head casts sideways.  Life may have shorted my deck by a few cards, but I’m not dumb enough to not recognize the situation for what it is.  
A wide grin splits my face as I step closer to the new stranger, my voice tinged with eager anticipation.

”Helloooo King Beast.”




OOC:  Jackel's at your service! I don't think she's suited for war.  Maybe spy because no one would probably take her very seriously?  Either diplomat or spy doesn't matter.  You can pick

[Maugrim]

god make me pay
like the devil i am

He comes from deep inside the gut of the silent forest, moving with the shadows fluidly and silently. His stoic gaze - dark and unmoving - is locked on the small grouping ahead of him, and though something in his mind whispers prey, he ignores the necessity for blood. He remains in the shadow, lurking and listening, silently processing the scene before him. The mist of the woods shroud him and cling to him, drawn to the power that resides so deep in his blood and in his soul. He is dripping wet - barnacles shining dully in the dim and red light beneath the thickness of his damp mane, while algae - dark and green and wet - seems to grow from the steel-grey of his mane. The still lake - surrounded by boulders and pine needles and dark, twisting trees - is where he had emerged from, and his legs and lungs ache for him to return to the darkness of the water, to the bottom of the silted lake. 

Maugrim sets his eyes on the obsidian man with the bright red muzzle, his pale lips twitching into a snarl. They come to him from seemingly nowhere, slithering beneath the shadow and nightmares to come towards the beast. There are still no words spoken - something that Maugrim can appreciate - as a tall and silent predator comes to stand beside the first, thin tongue licking at sharp and pointed teeth. A buckskin mare rushes past him, too focused on joining the fray to realize there is someone in the shadows, and the two-toned stallion side-steps with a roll of his dark eyes, his mouth opening as his ears pin instinctively against his neck. But she is already gone, joyfully calling out to the dark men before her with a voice that is nearly maniacal, if it wasn’t so cheery. He watches as the scene grows, and another stallion - dappled and marbled in the red light of Sylva. 

The darkness within him calls to the brooding group of disaster that is forming before him, but he is too calculating and logical to show himself just yet. His solitary life begs him to remain just so - the bringer of a watery grave - to return to his oceans and rivers and lakes to collect his prizes and watch them wither away into skeletons picked clean by the fish. But there is an urge that causes him to step forward, to reveal himself, to the group just ahead.

He snorts sharply to announce his presence before he moves forward, each step squelching as water runs down the musculature of his evergreen and opalescent legs. He serves no king but the blackness that is in control of his soul, but there is darkness here, and there is madness, and his soul begs for more. Maugrim does not place himself close to the others, but enough to where it is clear of his intentions.

If they will not have him, he will drag him into his placid lake one by one. 

m a u g r i m.

either warrior or spy! whichever you think would be best for him. also send people you don't like to the lake, please.

[Amarantha]

The huntress stands on the precipice of the forest, her beryl hues trained indignantly upon the circle of freaks before her. At the center of them all the clown takes his place, despite her height she found herself craning her neck to get a look at the red nosed stag that had replaced the autumnal queen. If she hadnt known better Amarantha may have laughed, but for now she is hidden, waiting. 

The woman knew better than to think she was completely incognito for, she wanted him to know she had been there watching him, unseen despite her stature. She listens to the ghouls creep forward and try to capture the stallion's interests. 

Fools. All of them.

Could they not see they would only be chess pieces? Little parts of his intricately designed puzzle? Her head cocks to the side as some begin to speak, dark tresses flopping over hauntingly pale eyes. The pupils are small and trained sharply on the Clown King. Sooner or later they would speak, but for now she is silent. When they have all finished speaking and the forest is silent once more she turns. 

The shadows that robed the night bird drag dutifully across the darkening forest floor as she takes her leave. How interesting this place may proove to be. 

~

OOC: To clarify, Rant is still a resident of Nerine. She just likes to be nosey.

[Celest]

Kings and Queens wash over this land in waves, and Celest had watched all from the comfortable distance of not giving a fuck. Her life had been short, yet the fifth self-proclaimed ruler of her home calls out for his subjects. 

Although she appears before the royal summons, this time, it is curiosity which shakes her from the shadows - not duty.  She does not fear the grinning king, as is evident in the hardened glimmer of her black-amethyst eyes. Her sister is a Queen and her father a God, and although neither knows her name she has a power of her own. 

What she sees does not particularly impress her, yet still, she lingers on the outskirts of the meeting. Crevan had formed the standard which she now held all others to, and she had yet to find anyone who could compare. But the warg had abandoned these shores, returning only long enough to pollute the woods with his wolf-stench. She had been ready to call him King, but he had faded from this world before she had been able to tell him so.

For years the thought of him had caused the bile to simmer in her gut - but now it paints a secretive smile across her face. 

But then there is a man, dripping wet and hungry, who sends a trickle of dread down her spine. He does not call himself king, yet she knows he could have whatever he wanted - she had seen him in her fever-dreams and she knows that only a fool would not fear him. 

She moves to leave, but first, she seeks the gaze of the blue-eyes clown. This king would have to prove himself before The Oracle chose to give him more than a haughty glance. 

I'm not a girl,
I'm a storm with skin

[Modicum Mortem]

They gather around him, the forgotten creeps of Beqanna all meshed together. He knows he cannot control them (alas, that’s not what he wants anyways, he wants them to run wild, he wants them to cause fear), but he will demand whatever respect they are willing to give until he proves himself worthy. Sylva did not belong to the peaceful, it belonged to the dark of heart, the dead inside. He looks to each, a sense of pride swelling his chest - what evil they could all do together.

He grins at them. “I’ve claimed Sylva for us,” He announces. “Whether you accept that fact or not, doesn’t matter. You’re each here for the same reason as I. Beqanna has grown stagnant. But I plan on shaking things up a bit.” He begins to back away, into the most shadowy parts of his forest. “I will meet with all of you. But for now, indulge in your inner most desires. The work will come soon enough...” He finally retreats, into the woods and away from the party. Soon, evil would reign supreme in Beqanna.

He’d make sure of it.

OOC: wrapping this up for now. Another announcement will come once the boards are updated. Thanks guys, let’s make Beqanna evil again xD