"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
06-13-2024, 12:43 PM (This post was last modified: 06-13-2024, 12:43 PM by Zain.)
It was easy to find, this place described as heavenly. If not for the muted tones of pink and purple, then surely the fact it was the only kingdom in the south.
The undead thing looked out of place here. From his gaping wounds, exposed tendon and bone, to the unkempt dreads that hung from his neck and hindquarters. All indicators he was the least heavenly thing to exist.
It was late in the night, or perhaps very early in the morning, that he had crossed the borders from just beyond the ruins. The red glow of his eyes pierced the soft darkness of the land. An indicator that something not of this kingdom was present.
His pace does not slow as he enters the land, moving him into the heart of it quite quickly. No announcement is given, no warning to those that slept amongst the lavender fields, nor to those that may be awake at this hour. He was not here for them.
If tradition rang true, which it often did, he knew he had to look for something out of the ordinary. A deity with mythical properties or a totem out of place. His gaze shifts, his ears swivel, his pace slows. “Ah huh!” He murmurs into the night air.
His approach halts an appropriate distance from the stone figure so he may view it in its entirety, his eyes trailing from its solid base to a warriors etched face. He wouldn't deem it impressive, not like the burning tree, but there is something about it that warms his cold heart. Something in the stone expression, frozen in time and the faint brown tint that stained it. His nares flare, drinking in the distant scent of blood. Could it be that this totem had a dark past?
Considering where it has come to rest he wonders if the land wasn't as heavenly as it seemed. This revelation perks his ears, sending his head to turn left, then right. Nothing outwardly screamed out to him as sinister, so he looked to see if there was anyone nearby to ask.
Myrna suffocate the fire i started-------------------- right when it kindles
The entity never moves, but sometimes Myrna thinks it might.
It had lived once, the stories said, had been a murderous and wrathful creature, a queen of evil. The protection it offered was what they had needed in an infant world, and Myrna does not regret the choice she had made to claim it for the Gates.
And yet…
The world is peaceful now. What need does the Gates have for such bloodthirsty magic?
As if summoned by her morbid thoughts, the warm dawn breeze brings the scent of flesh to her pale flaring nostrils. Myrna frowns, but does not shy away. Flesh and smoke and rot. Those were not the scents of peace, and nor are they a disturbance that can be left uninvestigated.
So she makes her way to the stranger who stands in front of the statue, her steps light but purposeful. This morning she wears only her natural shape. A pale palomino mare, with a flowing flaxen tail and a mane that grows from between her spiraling white horns to where it joins with her tail along her spine. She is not ethereally beautiful, not anymore, but she is fair enough on the eyes. Even when she is frowning in concentration, as she is doing now as she approaches the rotting creature.
“Hello.” She says, stopping a comfortable distance away. The glow of her horns does not reach the entity or the stranger, but they are near enough to talk without raising her voice, and given the stench of him that is plenty near enough. “Can I…” she hesitates, unsure if she even has anything to offer.
But she had taken on the responsibility of this land, Myrna reminds herself, and she cannot shy away regardless of how unpleasant those responsibilities might be. “Can I help you with something? If you came for the healing entity, you will have to look elsewhere; the magic here is not the benevolent type.”
If he had reservations of the kingdom being of the good kind, those are all erased when his eyes come to rest on the ethereal being that approached.
Their faint glow, their bright complexion, even the tone of their voice held no remnant of ill intent. Even to a creature such as himself; uninvited and unattractive.
She reminded him of the peafowl mare he had consumed on the Beach. So willing to offer a stranger assistance, particularly one that looked as he did. It must be their nature, one to nurture and offer help to the sickly looking being. Oh but he was not sick, not in a physical sense.
He smiles though, a kind smirk of sorts. Even in the dim lighting of early dawn one could see the patchwork of his mangled body. And he assumes this is what prompts her response, one of healing. But this time he does not reach into her, does not rip away the health that was vibrant inside her for his own selfish gain. No he is not here for that.
His head turns back to the statue, flicking his ear closest to her to listen as she speaks of its properties, or lack thereof. It causes a tug at his grotesque lips as he appraises it again.
“Do I look like I need healing?” His words have a playful ring to them as he looks at her with a devious grin and raised brow. There is no hint of offense in his tone or expression so he adds quickly, “My name is Zain. What might yours be, Miss?” He may look like a brute but he had manners and introductions always came before business.
Myrna suffocate the fire i started-------------------- right when it kindles
There were few lessons on power in Myrna’s young life, but observation has taught her loyalty was best earned and held through kindness. To offer aid to a stranger is something that a Queen would do, and so Myrna does it. She does it even though her first instinct had been to put as much distance between herself and this source of ‘not peace’ as she could.
The ghastly stallion smiles as he looks at the statue, the expression revealing bone. Myrna swallows, her throat uncomfortably dry, but gives no outward indication of discomfort - only mild curiosity. Surely there are magicians who might cure him of whatever it is that afflicts him? There are few illnesses that cannot be healed, and as her blue-grey eyes meet the glowing red holes where his should be, it occurs to the queen that perhaps he has chosen to be this way.
The thought is as unsettling as the putrid stench of rot Zain emits.
But this is her home. She is the Queen, and she cannot afford to be unsettled.
Perhaps she is mistaken, she reminds herself, and his appearance is something he cannot alter.
Years of practice make the physical manipulation of her body quick and simple; she shifts a few things about in her nasal cavity, and she no longer has the ability to smell. Outwardly there is no change at all, save a moment of stillness as she focused on the alternation.
“To be quite honest?” She asks, waiting for some sign of affirmation before continuing, wordlessly marveling at the sudden blandness to the world. It had never occurred to her how much she relied on her sense of smell.
“You look less like you need healing, and more like you need to be put out of your misery.” She lifts her brow, as if daring him to disagree, and there is a flicker of amusement in her pale eyes as she adds: “You can call me Myrna. Or Majesty, Queen of the Gates. Myrna is less of a mouthful though.”
There is a pause, just long enough to guage his reaction, and then she takes the step from introductions to business. “What brings you to our wonderful meadows, Zain?” The words seem highlighted by the blossoms that have been summoned by her arrival. They spread a nearly interrupted carpet around her, thinning as they spread and fading as she passes by. They’re inching toward Zain as well, but are limited by proximity to the twining crown of branches that rests atop and nearly disguises her spiraled horns.
Her statement, or perhaps it was a question, does not go without reaction. A deep throaty chuckle creeps up through his larynx at mention of his state of being. "Ah yes well, many have tried... But I just keep coming back. Each time more undead than the last," his expression is both of faux concern laced with a cunning grin. His attention upon her does not faulter as he offers his name and asks of hers.
There is a prick to his blackened ears twisted within the confines of his tangled locks when she states her title here. He is not surprised; seemed all the lands have fallen into feminine hands. A change from how it used to be. To him it mattered little, but he found it a bit more interesting visiting with the matriarchs of the kingdoms.
His head nods in acknowledgment, "Your Majesty it is then," he says with a smirk. "I come from Pangea, on a diplomatic visit of sorts," It wasn't a full-blown lie, just a half truth. With a turn of his head his eerie gaze settles on the stone figure, "I am very curious as to what this is and its purpose here?"
Upon final examination of the figure, he can't help but notice a shift in the flora around them, but more specifically the way it ebbed and flowed like the oceanic tides around the Queen. It causes his focus to shift from the statue, trailing from the earth in which they stood, to the flowers that dotted the gilded mares crown of branches. His brow rises in interest, a memory of his mother comes to the forefront of his mind. The way all manners of vegetation flourished in her presence. His own magic stirs within him, a sickly dark thing befitting of the undead being. An insatiable instinct to wither away all the pretty things gnaws at him, but he holds it deep within his exposed ribcage.
I know that my countenance remains steady, but that is paltry reassurance against the growing feeling of discomfort as the stallion replies. Many have tried…Does he mean it? Have others tried to kill him? Whatever reasons they had do not seem to be concerning to the now-grinning Zain, who despite having been murdered, remains polite enough.
He chooses to use the title, and so I continue to act the queen.
On a diplomatic mission, Zain says, and at that my steady countenance does finally move beyond polite interest. There is intrigue in my blue-grey eyes, at this possibility of action in the world, of change. Of sorts, he had said, and I raise my brows in a nonverbal request to elaborate.
When he turns back to the statue, my gaze follows his, settling on the stone figure.
“The Bloody-Shouldered Queen.” I reply, tracing the old red stains with my eyes, my face carefully neutral. The stone there is chipped and diamond sharp - even the lightest brush against it drawing blood. Most of it is old, but not all.
“She rewards those who act in protection of this land.” I tell Zain about how spilling one’s own blood on the statue results in horns (I tilt my ivory crown) and wings (a brief shimmer of golden light in the shape of butterfly wings at my sides). There is no hint of distaste on my face as I speak, no indication that I find the thing off-putting
I had not shed my own blood for those, and yet as I once again meet the glowing absent eyes of the skeletal Zain, I choose not to reveal my inexperience in true battle. I am not judging him solely on his appearance, I remind myself. Many someones had found him worthy of death.
“Who rules in Pangea these days?” I ask, feeling more comfortable returning to the diplomacy from earlier. My neutral expression has once more become one of polite interest, and I shift my weight as a daffodil comes to blossom against my pale gold cannon.
06-19-2024, 04:52 PM (This post was last modified: 06-19-2024, 06:36 PM by Zain.)
The undead thing notes the peak of curiosity in the pale Queens face when he speaks of diplomacy. He looked nothing of the part, more so a grim reaper on its rounds of conjuring souls. She would know his true intent here soon enough and so he continues the facade a bit longer.
When she speaks of the statue and its namesake there is a glint in his red sockets. Blood was all it took to interest him. He had no affinity for horns or wings, that she now motions to, but he looks nonetheless as she displays her assets. The ever-present smirk still apparent on his tattered lips.
"I see," he comments plainly as his head turns again to the statue, noting now the rigid surface stained with what he knew was blood. Even though dried, the aroma still beckoned to the hellish creature.
Musings enter his mind, causing him to look about the land. "You do not strike me as the combative type," his gaze once again settles on the Queen, a quiet ponder entering his thoughts on if the mare is more than the golden ray of light she portrays.
A proposal sits on the end of his cursed tongue, but it is stifled by her inquiry of the dark Kingdoms overlord. He answers matter-of-factly, "Carnage, as always, Your Majesty."
With a cunning smile he awaits her reaction, if there is any, before taking a step towards the stone idol. His grotesque form moves with an uncanny ease, circling around the totem before coming to stand facing the Queen. "I do wonder if an entity of healing would suit your Kingdom more... I for one have no need for such magics," he says with an impassive shrug of his shoulder, "and Pangea, well, we aren't keen on healing per se." There is a moments pause to allow for consideration, "How about a barter?" He takes another step closer to the Queen, so they are only a whisper apart, "A healing waterfall for a bloody statue...?"
Myrna suffocate the fire i started-------------------- right when it kindles
Myrna’s eyes, as blue-grey as the Baltian sea, do not stray from the decomposing diplomat. She sees the excitement, the way his glowing eyes brighten at the mention of bloodshed, how he smirks as he looks her over. There is something oily about his gaze, something that lingers uncomfortably on her golden hide even after his attention returns to the statue.
She had not thought to question her own safety until Zain’s comment.
Not the combative type?
Myrna’s certainly not a warrior. She is soft and round from life in flower-filled meadows, sheltered by a peaceful world. Her strength is not the physical sort, yet as she watches the visitor decaying in front of her, she realizes that that is the type of strength his kind respect.
The knowledge the dark magician can be found in one place is more reassuring than Zain might intend it to be, though it does solidify her lack of desire to set hoof in the bleak eastern land. It is met with a lift of her brow - recognition of the name and intrigue. Wary respect but not fear. As he draws closer, speaks of the one thing that might have drawn her to Pangea, she takes it as confirmation that the entity is there. The story of that magic also includes warrior queens and true neutrality, and she marks the symbolism of the proposal: of two Evils combining, of the Neutrals coming to the Light.
Silly old superstition, she tells herself. The world cannot be divided up so easily any more.
And yet…
The possibility of politics still intrigues her, even if Zain’s nearness sends a shiver of distaste down her spine. Myrna makes no effort to hide it, but nor does she step away. She is a queen, she reminds herself, and she will not show fear. She is noncombative, Myrna knows, but it is not as if the Gates is without defenses or defenders.
Myrna thinks of the other magics, of where those entities might dwell. She has heard only rumors, never confirmed anything. She’d never needed to, not as content as she was, not as safe as the world was. When he moves to circle the statue, Myrna continues to observe him. Marking the open wound on his ribcage, the way his left hind leg is barely anything but bone. Everything about him seems designed to terrify. And it is effective, she is reminded, seeing a crimson rose blossom in the crown around her head and being unable to smell it as a result of his stomach-turning presence.
“Pangea has kept away from the Gates in these past years. I think it would be best for it to remain that way.” She still does not move away, holding his gaze as she speaks, her tone level. “Such a trade would not be advantageous to my kingdom if the magic that once defended us was turned against us.”
She pauses, one golden ear turning to the east. Something is moving in the long grass, coming closer. The ear returns to Zain by the next heartbeat.
“If it comes with a treaty, you have a trade.” Myrna finishes. The rustling grass parts to reveal a scruffy dog that comes to stand at her shoulder. The dog, her Companion, eyes the exposed bones of Zain’s body with far more interest than Myrna had. She feels heartened by Feather’s presence, and tries not to let herself think of that as a weakness.
The ember light of his gaze flares slightly as she begins her reply to his offer. Her leveled tone is poised, and her words well considered. The gilded mare was more cunning than he had given her credit for on looks alone. No acknowledgment of the approaching noise is given, but he does not dismiss it.
His response comes without much pause at all, "Yes of course your Majesty. No blood shall be shed for any member of the Gates, I can assure you." He was nothing if not a man of his word, but he does consider the circumstances of the situation. Another proposal drifts from his hellish tongue, "If assurance is what you require though I can send my son. He is a good kid, much too good to believe he came from my seed." He snickers just the slightest at the thought of his many seeds sown about the lands. Eviction had such potential, if only he was capable of a darker path. "He even possesses the ability to heal... Shocking I know," the wicked creature grins while adding, " It is a family trait."
As his thoughts cluttered his mind the creature within the reeds steps out. Not shockingly it is an equally pale being of smaller, fluffier stature. He chokes back a laugh, releasing only a tendril of smoke that rises from his torn lips. The way the creature settles at her side convinces him it is her pet and nothing for him to be concerned with in the slightest.
His attention returns to the deed at hand, offering a concluding thought, "Does my word hold merit, or shall I send the boy?"
Zain
ReBeL jUsT fOr KiCkS
@ Viszla Apparently he is bartering off his children too xD Thought it might be fun development for Eviction but feel free to decline if you wish : )
*Be Warned*
Possesses health transference
and may steal your health.
His ready acceptance is unexpected, but her mask does not falter. That it might be so easy had never occurred to her, and she fights hard to keep the relief from bubbling up and into her expression.
It doesn’t show in the lines of her body, nor in the smile that she gives him. No, that is only royally reassured, as though she had expected nothing less.
The offer of his son is met with curiosity, cool enough that it is clear such an offering is common. Each word that falls from the stallion’s lips solidifies the rightness of her additional demand. She intends to ask for the boy, even before Zain mentions he can heal, and the mention of it has Myrna once more glancing toward the other’s decomposing body.
He does choose to look this way, she realizes. With Carnage, with healing, with the magic of the waterfall - there is no other explanation. The certainty of that sends a cold shiver down her spine, a sense of wrongness. She wants him gone, she realizes, wants him out and never to come back, nor anything like him.
But she is a queen, and this is diplomacy, and Feather at her shoulder reassures her.
“Your son will be enough to ensure that Pangea will not cause harm to the Gates.” She answers. “Perhaps he has some new methods to teach us.” Us, she says, an indicator that she too possesses such gifts. And she does, and will soon have a waterfall. The potential is difficult to miss, and with the Pangean treaty there seems only more peace spreading into the future of her home.
She takes a breath, her poise unshaken, and swallows past the dryness in her throat.
Taking a step to the side, she moves around Zain and toward the statue. She presses her muzzle to the bloody shoulder, and using her power of self manipulation causes her spiral horns to disappear. Her only crown is that of the Gates, now with an additional salmon pink hibiscus between her ears.
Other magic happens - Beqanna Magic - a shift in two lands. She is left with a headache, unsure of exactly what had happened. The statute is gone - only empty air in front of her. The cut on her muzzle has healed, but the blood it had drawn remains on her skin until she rubs it on the grass at her feet.
The air carries with it the scent of water where none had been before, the scent of water that is more. “It’s been a pleasure meeting you.” She lies to the stallion, who has smoke emitting from his nostrils. “What is your son’s name, so we know to expect him?”
Zain
Viszla Wanna make a deal with the devil?? XD