and now the storm is coming in --

[Eight]

@[Warlight] I wanted to get some kinda response up for you!
This is half continued from the Yidhra post below, and half 'now'. I just wanted a new thread so any Pangean's know to read it.

no matter what they say, I am still the king

There is shame in letting something die. Not in killing (no, killing can be a sacred thing) - but in the regret of death. In the sinking, in the knowledge that you had failed in cultivating life. How easy it is (easier than you realize) to not notice diminishing breath, a lack of light in the eyes, that ever fading pulse of blood. Things die, this we all know - but when it is at your hands, at your care (not mercy) - it is a much different thing. Yes, we have all been there.

Time passes - a fading bruise, a long set sun, the etch of days as they trickle into history. And you do not answer - there is no clickclack of a call to your people, there is no response. The antler-born babe emerges, her voice cracking across the land. But she does not live here, she is a visitor. No, Warlight, this is not your home. You bade history here, with the touching of blood and the contract you signed with that sickness bubbling inside you. But still you came to the call of the cephalopod- as curiosity is wont to do, you came to see (and no doubt - to relay).
Yidhra spoke nothing - no murmur, no answer -- nothing. A gap where revolt should be.
“This,” a pause, answering you, as the briny creature could not, “ is the new Archon of Pangea.”
And so it would be - the slumbering silence of Pangea would be roused.

---
Still, the silence stretched. Weeks passed, the Archon laying dormant under the sea. No word, no call, no caterwauling -- just quiet. The land creaks like the sun-barren bones of the dead on the shore. There is nothing -- there is no one -- there is only death (of the land, of the inhabitants, of the world around you).
There is no fanfare - there is no marring fight. It simply, is.
“To any who may still be lurking in Pangea -I am Eight. I am the Archon now.”

(now, the storm is coming in)

[cosmos]

Cosmos

Pangea is barren.

Cosmos mourns the disappearance of Yidhra. Everyday she walks the borders of her diseased land, murmuring prayers into the dirt for her Archon to return. She never does make an appearance, not quite filling the filly with regret but sending an ache down her spine. Her nose droops to the ground daily, searching the earth for even a faint hint of her leader; and each day passes with Yidhra’s scent growing fainter.

Oh, how she mourns; but the need to honor her Squidra by keeping Pangea safe grows stronger.

So, when Eight makes yet another move upon her land, Cosmos responds. The pink girl is no fool - she can sense the other’s power. She thinks there may not be a grand opposition, but she will make her stand. He has wriggled within the borders of Pangea for too long. A thought strikes her: how has he not sensed her presence? The way he speaks and presents himself, one would assume he would know when he is being watched. Perhaps he does know, finding Cosmos of no consequence. This makes the pegasus smile and shuffle her wings against her sides in delight.

Think naught of me, magic man.

The air is still when she steps before Eight. One lavender and one gold eye - both twinkling with a stern fascination.

“Eight,” she begins, voice feminine and far too soft for the claims she will be making. “You have no claim here. The East will not recognize you as Archon. You are a blight compared to Yidhra.” Cosmos’ tone claims no offense, ever soft and wise: firm in statement and sweet in delivery.

devil in the details

@[Eight]

[Eight]

no matter what they say, I am still the king

Things come and go -- life is fickle that way. What was here one day, is gone the next (such was the case, perhaps, of the tentacled one who tended to you). There is grief with loss (in some cases) and yours bleeds and mixes with your primal urge to protect. Your vigor to safe harbor the dying land is honorable, loyal, fierce;  a desired quality in this dessicated land -- but with no Yidhra to see it (will she ever?).
You are a creature of the night, crawling across the land with your low groan of loss - of abandonment - of uncertainty what will happen next. You are a ghost, silent even when Yidhra calls to all (where had you gone, little pink star? Why didn’t you answer to your master?). You exist on the planes of silence, a quiet cosmos in the dark brawl of Pangea - biding your time (for what? For what?).
Alas, finally, your time has come. Once your precious Yidhra has sank deep below the waves, once her call across the land to all has faded in echos - now you arise, now you awaken, now you find the magician.
You are the only one to come (though, He is not surprised, He had seen  in the past year how little grew and flourished in this land). He waits, biding time for the land to vomit forth any else who may have been crawling in its shadows - but none come. It is just you, little pink star, you are the only one left it seems. But still, you speak with clout.
“Cosmos,” He plucks your name with ease from the universe, “how nice of you to join us finally.” A jest, of course, ’us’ because there is no one else- just you. “I do not deign to be recognized. I simply am Archon now.” He watches your passive tone, your gentle delivery - a statement, as though you speak for the land, regardless of how little you had been present here. “Unless you would like to try otherwise.” His statement reflects little upward inflect; just barely a question.

(now, the storm is coming in)

@[cosmos]

[cosmos]

Cosmos

She has no claim on the land - does not quite desire one yet; but, she is intrigued, even if Eight is no match to her Yidhra. Cosmos cares for her Pangea, but knows not of leading it. Through studying it, though, she has her worth. Perhaps Eight will find that useful; for now, she will settle for a watchful eye and the same wondrous curiosity she offers all beings.

He speaks to her in age old tongue, wrapping her name around his mouth as if it was offered to him from the very beginning. Lavender and topaz eyes twinkle when she blinks, a delighted reaction to his little trick. Of course she will take a liking to that magic - an immediate need to understand it, to feel it all of its little intricacies, overwhelms her. A cough spits from her mouth as her gaze remains watchful and intrigued: the shiver of her throat as the itch rises, the slow blink of her eyes as the feeling is dispelled, the sparkle that remains when an idea twines tight knots around her mind.

“I do not often bother with kingdom trivialities, Eight,” she replies, holding that same gentle way of delivering words that might otherwise cut. “Perhaps the East will accept you; perhaps the sensation you give me is off. I will leave it to the Queens to meet and discuss, but - fair warning.”

Cosmos pauses, pressing her tongue to the roof of her mouth and casting mismatched eyes to the indifferent sky. “I do wonder about you, though. I do not think you will take a liking to Sanctuary rules, if the ominous air about you is . . . accurate. Perhaps you will not listen.” A smile - sweet, engaged, a tad impressed - draws her lips upward while her gaze drifts back to the magician’s. “You may not be Yidhra, but I always respect the chaos - She is always creeping much closer than most realize.”

Again her eyes leave Eight’s to fall onto the dooming setting that spreads behind him. “Ah, I’ve taken to rambling - I apologize. Would you humor me? You seem to have taken my name straight from the universe. What other power do you possess?”

devil in the details

@[Eight]