"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
His stride is long and surprisingly smooth. The undead parts of him worked effortlessly to move him across the deadened landscape. It almost seemed unnatural given his bodies state. Each exposed joint functioned as any other equines would, the muscles working in a push and pull movement harmoniously. He consciously matched his pace to those nearest him. His interest is peaked in the creatures he has found so far within the confides of his Masters domain.
He had thought briefly of the explanation Oaks had given and he considered that maybe they were much more the same than different. Obviously outwardly he was more impressive but in his time on this plane of existence he has known many with more impressive inward talents. The silence of the ghostly mare leads him to suspect she is hiding such and for good reasons. He was not one to pry closed lips and so he questioned the spotted one again, "I see. And this has happened for as long as you can remember?" He also considered why they, the ghost and him, have not succumb to such powers. He waited briefly before adding, "I was born with a magic that took me years to control. Things would just shrivel and die around me for no reason at all. Eventually I learned how to harness that power and leak it onto the world as I see fit." A curse his mother had called it. A gift he saw it as. What he was born with though is not what the pair had witnessed. No, that had been a gift for his servitude. "Perhaps your experiences are not just random occurrences. Maybe it is much more... explainable." This wouldn't be the first time he has come across others with unknown and uncontrolled gifts. He had a way of finding those lost souls and bending them to his will. His Masters will.
His ember gaze keeps watch over the lands and each step that is placed upon it. You could never be too sure when something, or someone, would pop up. He also keeps within his view the pair that accompanied him. They were still strangers after all, and he truly trusted no one but his God.
02-08-2024, 08:09 PM (This post was last modified: 02-08-2024, 08:14 PM by margot.)
margot
Margot has never been the kind of leader to assume she knows every action taken within her domain. Margot has never been much of a true leader, either; but what makes a traditional leader has never mattered to her, nor has it ever seemed to matter to Pangea. She knows, in the back of her wild mind, that there are those that come and go, those that crept in the silence, those that lusted for what this kingdom stands for.
In these years of peace, of utter stillness, Margot has discovered the belief that Pangea itself wants for nothing. Asks for nothing. That her and the devotion that might be found in others comes from their own hearts. It’s the sweet sickness that lives in her, a bitter flavor others would find were they to ever just take a bite. Margot often finds herself contemplating if she was born with the madness, but seeks to spread it all the same.
Time passes but the silence does not. It does not pass for a very long time; so when all of the quiet dies a sudden death, when it is struck down with the many timbers of stranger’s voices, Margot buries all of her rotting, wasting decay. She puts a saccharine smile on her face. Straightens her porcelain muscles. Remembers the politics of old, her aunts and uncles and mother and father.
“You don’t speak like a stranger, stranger,” Margot calls, having sniffed out the noise like a hound dog. “And yet that is what you are to me . . . a rotting stranger.” Her eyes sweep over Zain, a cold juxtaposition to the warm smile on her face. The others that follow him are less surprising, less assuming. No warmth enters her gaze for them either, but she does offer, “Hello to you, other strangers.”
@ Zain @ Beyza @ Oaks idk who all is replying here so i tagged everyone
Canyons and little valleys surround them, dusty and dry unlike the pleasant glades he’d come to know. This place is different. It feels somehow separate, nearly unnatural compared to the rest of the typical greenery of Beqanna.
If only he knew its true origins and the god who’d created it.
He thinks vaguely of what Zain had mentioned before. ‘Servant of Carnage,’ he’d called himself. Without context, it sounded more like the painted derelict had meant to imply that he is a vassal of chaos and malice, of death. With his appearance, Oaks could understand such a claim. He is yet unaware of the fickle god to which the other stallion had truly been referring.
Such is the virginal state of the spotted recluse’s mind.
Zain continues their conversation as they wander the bleak landscape, asking after Oaks’ unfortunate lot in life. He considers his answer for a moment longer while Zain explains his own experiences which seemed, surprisingly, much like his own.
“Since I was born, yes,” he replies to the question asked. “Did someone help you learn to control it?” A nearly boyish wonder tinges his voice and his ears perk, hopeful for any leads that may help him discover the root of his problems.
Before he can ask more, though, a glimmering movement interrupts him. Oaks halts with a quiet huff, head flinching upward as he focuses first on Margot as she speaks before glancing to Zain as if presuming the other stallion would take the lead on this encounter. Something about the mare seems nearly proprietorial, as if she had sprung from the land itself just to greet them. Indeed, she’s the only one Oaks had seen actually appear from within the territory.
Curiously eyeing the sleek texture of her body, he shifts just slightly nearer to his undead companion before he returns her greeting. “Hello to you as well, also-stranger,” he says plainly with a vague, wry smile. Much as he’d like to offer his name, he resists for now – Beyza (who is still nameless to him) had left enough of an impression with her mystery during their encounter just shortly before now that, childishly, he tries to mimic that reticence now.
02-15-2024, 06:28 PM (This post was last modified: 02-16-2024, 07:17 AM by Zain.)
Another step is placed upon the dusty earth of the kingdom, his ears flicker to the sound of Oaks voice again. It is almost as he had known the question would be asked of him, a grin twists his gnarly lips before it even leaves the others. "It was a lot of experimenting, a lot of trial and error on my part," he does not divulge just what the experimenting was done on and how the results turned out, but who needs the finer details. "There was one that helped me develop a better understanding of the power I held within, and just how glorious it could feel to unleash such power," his eyes burn a bit brighter. Looking to his comrades he hisses the name, "Carnage."
He was about to continue on when he catches the shine of something approaching. Oaks notices too and has already stopped in his tracks. The undead thing curls his path to face the one that paces nearer and speaks out to them. His ears flicker at her words and then to Oaks. The glow of his eyes is reflected in the womans flesh and he comments with a chuckle, "No stranger than you doll face."
He steps to the side and forward just slightly to better view the one before them, casting a shadow on his spotted friend. His eyes appraise the lady before speaking again, "We don't have to remain strangers... My name is Zain, what is yours?" His words are unnaturally smooth for such an undead creature. But he is not dead, and he is not dying. He is very much alive and well.
Maybe Margot was not born to be the leader of any nation, much less one with such a gnarled reputation. Maybe she was born to be as fragile as her body demands, as timid as a girl, as soft-spoken and beautiful as a proper lady. There’s a beautiful destiny for her, somewhere in the ether, brilliant and golden and feather-soft. The wife of a noble, stunning and prodigious children, acres upon acres of gorgeous land. Surely, she is meant to be as porcelain and pristine as a Victorian doll.
Instead, Margot is a prime example of what environment does to a child. It’s no secret that Pangea is not the holiest or safest kingdom to raise a child in; but all of her bloodline, all of the adults that guided her, all the creatures that sought after her curiosity—they made a child into a formidable foe. Margot, though fragile in body, learned that the filthier the fighting, the easier the win.
These boys, even the timid one, appear to love getting dirty.
“Dollface,” Margot answers on the tail end of a sigh, “How original.” She blinks her pale, eerie eyes a few times before offering the pair a bright smile.
“Our potential . . . acquaintanceship depends . . .” The porcelain woman trails off as she confidently steps closer to them, inspecting all their finer details. Her magic stretches lazily around them, whispering against their sweetest emotions.
What Margot finds within Zain is a love so rancid it coats her tongue in a rotten taste. She draws her chin to her chest abruptly and cannot hide the shock and disgust on her face.
“Yes, I think you’ll do as a friend,” Margot says after a few more moments studying the undead thing. “Margot is my name, and this is my home,” she adds with a smile, tilting that fragile head to gesture to the land around you.
Oaks listens like an attentive child as Zain explains how he had mastered his previously unwieldy powers. Ears perked, coppery eyes bright, mouth shut – an able student. Unfortunately, the idea of ‘trial and error’ practice with his own powers is rather daunting. He already knows well enough that whatever magic runs in his blood is uncooperative, beyond his control. Too often has he actually tried to prevent the loss of life, tried to focus and wish it away, scrunched his eyes closed and delved into hearty prayers to no one in particular.
Then Zain mentions that word again – or, more correctly as Oaks now realizes, that name. “Carnage,” he repeats softly, curiously. “Who–” he begins to ask, but cuts himself short when the pale, glassy mare approaches them.
Their initial exchange is blunt, mere pleasantries. It does not appear that she is amused by Zain’s choice of address, and Oaks makes a subconscious note that perhaps this woman was not quite one to play coy with.
If he had known of her magic and how it was used, he might have wondered what she had found in his own heart. Was there any love to be discovered? Other than a mild fascination with a particular pink-and-green unicorn mare, could Margot have found something within him worth seizing upon? There has been very little worth loving in his life, other than perhaps an admiration for the lives that evade his own grim luck and which survive instead of fading away.
As it is, he is blissfully unaware that she has read anything in them. Her reaction, though, suggests that something unseen had just transpired and Oaks tilts his head just slightly in curiosity. He does not speak yet, wondering briefly what trick she had just performed.
Rather than ask, he listens to her introduction as he continues to study her in return. The reason for his gentle scrutiny is twofold: she is an intriguing creature in appearance alone and he wonders – does a body like hers fall victim to illness and death like so many others?
Then again, Beyza had not seemed affected by whatever curse he bears. Perhaps it had been broken?
Such feeble hope is embodied in his voice when he replies, deciding it might be rude not to offer his name since she has now given hers. “My name is Oaks,” he states. He wonders momentarily if he should answer her question and glances at Zain as he adds, “Zain offered to show me around this place. I had hoped maybe it could become my home too.”
He wonders though – what, if anything, had he to offer?
His grotesque lips curl into a devilish smile at her reaction. The looks others gave always intrigued him. Perhaps because he was a creature of carnage, but also his lacking ability to create such a range of expressions. That'll happen when half your face is missing...
After her appraisal of them she offers her name and reason within the lands. His ember eyes grow brighter at the realization she may share the same love for Pangea that he did. Oaks, still beside him, introduces himself and their shared purpose here. He looks to his spotted friend and adds, "Yes. I was simply showing him around our magnificent home." A slick grin tugs at his blackened lips as his focus returns to the mare. "I have just returned from a... short absence, but Pangea has always been my home," he clarifies. The undead thing would look out of place anywhere but the barren lands of his master. His ebony dreads whip at his sides, "Would you care to join us? I'd love to know what I have missed in my time away." He does not ask who rules here fore it did not matter to him who wore the pseudo crown.
“There’s been nothing to miss,” Margot answers simply.
That is the simplest truth, though perhaps the queen is feeling just a bit lazy today. There are bits and pieces she could offer, random comings and goings, all the war that did not belong to Beqanna.
But for longest time, Margot has been ruminating in an uneasy solitude. There was no one for her to visit, no one to visit Pangea. There was only her and the echoing, whispering canyons.
Margot smiles now, stepping forward to fall into place with the odd pair. She eyes Oaks with a bit of suspicion and just a touch of concern before saying to him, “You’e remarkably normal for a Pangean citizen.” Another simple truth, one Margot does not mean as offense even as the words come out bluntly.
“Beqanna has been quiet. Pangea has followed suit,” she adds, turning her gaze toward the front. “She is waking up, though . . .” A murmur as low as an afterthought.
“So, Zain and Oaks, you wish to live here. Is that all you ask of Pangea?”
It is easy to relax here, Oaks thinks as he listens to their exchange. In a quiet land of oddities, he could do no unwanted harm.
The mild anxiety of it still lingers in the back of his mind like always, that wriggling, insufferable worry that anything could go wrong at a moment’s notice. But the longer it doesn’t, the longer the bodies around him stay healthy (a rather subjective term, when considering Zain’s appearance), the less Oaks worries that they might soon fade.
It is a relief to him. What some might consider a banishment, being relegated to live within the canyons and dry hills of Pangea, Oaks sees as a privilege.
Hence his almost-hesitant proposition that this might become his home as well. It’s only natural that he worries what Margot would think if she knew of the deadly curse he bears. He hadn’t even been terribly keen on sharing the secret with Zain and Beyza earlier, but his amazement at their persevering health in his presence had dampened his usual self-preservation.
Luckily, there is no cause to bring up the matter just now.
At least, not until Margot observes that he is ‘remarkably normal for a Pangean citizen.’ Oaks falters just slightly at those words, dropping his head a little as he looks away from the porcelain mare. “Normal is all I’d like to be,” he replies sheepishly with another small shuffle of his wings.
Looking back across the calming landscape around them, dusty and empty as it may be, he takes another breath in an attempt to return that feeling of ease from before. “It is all I would dare to ask,” Oaks answers Margot’s next question, “and all I desire – a home.” He does not say aloud how desperately he wants to live with others, to shed his reclusive lifestyle, for that may raise too many concerns and would be touching on something of a lie.
While he does want to live with others, he also fears it – fears what might become of them, like has happened to so many before.
“If anything is required of me to call Pangea my home as you and Zain already do, I will try my best to meet such conditions.” It’s all else he can think to say to try and prove his interest in belonging here.
He listens half-heartedly as his mind begins to wander. He wasn't one for idol political chit chat and so when the porcelain mare confirms there is little to catch up on he grins happily. "Well then, I guess we will just be on our way. Things to kill, others to torment," he gives a joking chuckle. He wasn't joking but who needed to know.
Looking to Oaks, who is now speaking, he notes the defeated exterior and desperation to belong of his friend. He says in the most reassuring voice he can muster, "Pangea welcomes all who cannot call anywhere else home... We'll get you figured all out buddy, don't you worry. I've got the perfect plan." His gaze shifts to Margot briefly as he extends a parting, "We've got some things to take care of, so we best get to it. It was a pleasure to meet you."
Again, his ember eyes fall on the spotted stallion, "I'll show you around on the way to the Meadow. There is thee most perfect spot we can test some things out on." He begins to turn and head towards the southern borders and calls out to the mare, "See ya around Doll," a mischievous wink and smirk is given before he walks off.
Oaks 
Beyza 
