Set
Two words. Cluster. Fuck.
The piebald remains where he’s landed, in the center of his clearing, listening intently to the roar of hatred unleashed, the cries of the dying intermingled with the cries of those left behind. He can feel the magic rippling through the air, both sides healing and creating, warring it out with might of cunning. He smiles, one ear curling back as he ushers Tatter and Niklas on, lending them the speed and strength necessary for the journey between the netherworld and the Chamber. Despite the distant din of mortal death, his small glade is eerily quiet. The fire now extinguished, the creatures of the Chamber – those without a dog in the fight – having fled for their lives. It is none but he … for now. Cocking a hind leg, his yellow eyes shift to the surrounding gloom, gathered amongst the thick copses of trees Evrae had lain down after putting out Prague’s wildfire. A thought comes to mind and he shifts, gaze narrowing in concentration as he begins to coax the intangible shadows from the forest, the pied piper of darkness. Shaping them, molding them.
He starts, a jolt of adrenaline in his gut, head drawn up out of his concentration in surprise. All at once he goes hot, then cold, his hair standing on end. Lip lifted to bare stained incisors, his head snakes around, seeking the source of the interruption. He is not looking for her – after dozens of forays into the afterlife, with Niklas always returning empty-handed, he had given up. His mind’s eye turns onto the battle and subconsciously he searches for her but her small frame is lost in the chaos of battle. Grunting, he returns to his present task. His sons will arrive any moment.
Tatter appears first, the perfect specimen, his father’s son. Arching his neck, Set greets the boy with a wide grin. “It’s been too long.” Though Tatter would return to the Afterlife at the conclusion of this so-called war, he could not resist raising him from the dead to participate. Bloodshed, the family ties that bind. Niklas stands off to the side, head turned in the direction of war as father and son reunite. Set snorts, grabbing the demon’s attention. “To the Valley,” he states simply, knowing the white-eyed creature was forever inexplicably drawn to the other kingdom. He would never fully understand it, this affinity for a kingdom that is not the Chamber, not his blood’s home, but a quick glance shows him that there is an ongoing battle there as well. He watches the other stallion turn and disappear, his hellhound bounding ahead of him with an excited yip, no doubt eager to drag more souls to the underworld.
“Let’s tear some throats out.” He smiles widely. The air around them shifts, grows rapidly colder and tense, as if someone were sucking all the oxygen out of the atmosphere … They’re suddenly surrounded by shadow creatures, intangible, living beings, drawing life from the energy around them – in the trees, the earth, even the sun. This allows Set to operate as their general only, not sapping the strength from his own core. There are a few dozen of them – several bears, wolverines, eagles, wolves, a few griffen, small wyrms, and phoenix – imbued with average intelligence and heightened strength. With a jerk of his head, he sends them running silently in the direction of the battle. They will attack the enemy, leaving be Chamberlings and their allies alike. He knows Tatter is like Mother in his aversion to magic but he ignores any protests his son may make. Set was not born with magic. He fought tooth and hoof for the powers that he now wields, separating him from those magicians whose claim to magic are hereditary. He would be damned if he did not use it, at least a little.
He winks. “Shall we?”
They both appear in the middle of a g—damn blizzard. The air is abnormally cold, even for the Chamber, snow and ice slippery and dangerous underfoot. Eyes narrowed, Set swings about, stretching his magic out to find the source of the synthetic storm. At first, he cannot find him – everyone around them is engaged in some sort of fight. Huffing with frustration, he searches their entire surroundings with a sonic blast of magic. They may feel a tingling as he passes through them but it is over in a split second. Weir’s been detected. Rather than strip away his enemy’s invisibility, he films his vision, unveiling any and all who have hidden themselves from sight. With a low bugle, Set turns on him, haunches tucked under as he springs forward unearthly fast. Teeth bared, he barrels down on the magic manipulator, rumbling like an avalanche as he comes, skimming over the uncertain footing. It takes only a moment for Set to close the distance between the two and his intention is to distract Weir with a physical attack. Displaying no signs of slowing down, he bugles his challenge, the ground trembling beneath him at Weir’s will. Not missing a beat, he springs at the roan. As he jumps, his traitorous body shifts instantly, now a piebald grizzly. Simultaneously, the flying shadow-creatures, drop stones from the skies, heavy rocks large enough to render anyone unconscious, though they’re aimed specifically at Weir’s head, somehow - ok, we all know how - missing Set.
A hairsbreadth from contact, he spins away from the storm-wielder, landing heavily on his right side, rolling, and springing back up in horse form. His hope is to have distracted Weir long enough for one of his shadow creatures to knock him out. If not, he sinks a bit of magic into the Chamber, anchoring it within her womb and stitching the crevasses back together again. The kingdom shudders with the force of warring commands and swiftly, Set readjusts, tying the thread of magic to Ianto's lifeforce, simply because he has the misfortune of being in Set's direct line of sight. The winter storm Set soothes, lessening its force some; all he has time to do for now. With a gallant grin, he winks at Weir, anchoring the magic countering the storm to the lifeforce of the nearest Amazon, the firebreathing Draconis. If either are fussed with without Set's consent, it will weaken the warrior mare. With that, he disappears into the forest, leaving his magical boobytraps in his wake, neatly dodging a groaning ent, determined to see for himself if the sudden burst of life - here, in the midst of chaos - belongs to who he thinks it does.
The piebald remains where he’s landed, in the center of his clearing, listening intently to the roar of hatred unleashed, the cries of the dying intermingled with the cries of those left behind. He can feel the magic rippling through the air, both sides healing and creating, warring it out with might of cunning. He smiles, one ear curling back as he ushers Tatter and Niklas on, lending them the speed and strength necessary for the journey between the netherworld and the Chamber. Despite the distant din of mortal death, his small glade is eerily quiet. The fire now extinguished, the creatures of the Chamber – those without a dog in the fight – having fled for their lives. It is none but he … for now. Cocking a hind leg, his yellow eyes shift to the surrounding gloom, gathered amongst the thick copses of trees Evrae had lain down after putting out Prague’s wildfire. A thought comes to mind and he shifts, gaze narrowing in concentration as he begins to coax the intangible shadows from the forest, the pied piper of darkness. Shaping them, molding them.
He starts, a jolt of adrenaline in his gut, head drawn up out of his concentration in surprise. All at once he goes hot, then cold, his hair standing on end. Lip lifted to bare stained incisors, his head snakes around, seeking the source of the interruption. He is not looking for her – after dozens of forays into the afterlife, with Niklas always returning empty-handed, he had given up. His mind’s eye turns onto the battle and subconsciously he searches for her but her small frame is lost in the chaos of battle. Grunting, he returns to his present task. His sons will arrive any moment.
Tatter appears first, the perfect specimen, his father’s son. Arching his neck, Set greets the boy with a wide grin. “It’s been too long.” Though Tatter would return to the Afterlife at the conclusion of this so-called war, he could not resist raising him from the dead to participate. Bloodshed, the family ties that bind. Niklas stands off to the side, head turned in the direction of war as father and son reunite. Set snorts, grabbing the demon’s attention. “To the Valley,” he states simply, knowing the white-eyed creature was forever inexplicably drawn to the other kingdom. He would never fully understand it, this affinity for a kingdom that is not the Chamber, not his blood’s home, but a quick glance shows him that there is an ongoing battle there as well. He watches the other stallion turn and disappear, his hellhound bounding ahead of him with an excited yip, no doubt eager to drag more souls to the underworld.
“Let’s tear some throats out.” He smiles widely. The air around them shifts, grows rapidly colder and tense, as if someone were sucking all the oxygen out of the atmosphere … They’re suddenly surrounded by shadow creatures, intangible, living beings, drawing life from the energy around them – in the trees, the earth, even the sun. This allows Set to operate as their general only, not sapping the strength from his own core. There are a few dozen of them – several bears, wolverines, eagles, wolves, a few griffen, small wyrms, and phoenix – imbued with average intelligence and heightened strength. With a jerk of his head, he sends them running silently in the direction of the battle. They will attack the enemy, leaving be Chamberlings and their allies alike. He knows Tatter is like Mother in his aversion to magic but he ignores any protests his son may make. Set was not born with magic. He fought tooth and hoof for the powers that he now wields, separating him from those magicians whose claim to magic are hereditary. He would be damned if he did not use it, at least a little.
He winks. “Shall we?”
They both appear in the middle of a g—damn blizzard. The air is abnormally cold, even for the Chamber, snow and ice slippery and dangerous underfoot. Eyes narrowed, Set swings about, stretching his magic out to find the source of the synthetic storm. At first, he cannot find him – everyone around them is engaged in some sort of fight. Huffing with frustration, he searches their entire surroundings with a sonic blast of magic. They may feel a tingling as he passes through them but it is over in a split second. Weir’s been detected. Rather than strip away his enemy’s invisibility, he films his vision, unveiling any and all who have hidden themselves from sight. With a low bugle, Set turns on him, haunches tucked under as he springs forward unearthly fast. Teeth bared, he barrels down on the magic manipulator, rumbling like an avalanche as he comes, skimming over the uncertain footing. It takes only a moment for Set to close the distance between the two and his intention is to distract Weir with a physical attack. Displaying no signs of slowing down, he bugles his challenge, the ground trembling beneath him at Weir’s will. Not missing a beat, he springs at the roan. As he jumps, his traitorous body shifts instantly, now a piebald grizzly. Simultaneously, the flying shadow-creatures, drop stones from the skies, heavy rocks large enough to render anyone unconscious, though they’re aimed specifically at Weir’s head, somehow - ok, we all know how - missing Set.
A hairsbreadth from contact, he spins away from the storm-wielder, landing heavily on his right side, rolling, and springing back up in horse form. His hope is to have distracted Weir long enough for one of his shadow creatures to knock him out. If not, he sinks a bit of magic into the Chamber, anchoring it within her womb and stitching the crevasses back together again. The kingdom shudders with the force of warring commands and swiftly, Set readjusts, tying the thread of magic to Ianto's lifeforce, simply because he has the misfortune of being in Set's direct line of sight. The winter storm Set soothes, lessening its force some; all he has time to do for now. With a gallant grin, he winks at Weir, anchoring the magic countering the storm to the lifeforce of the nearest Amazon, the firebreathing Draconis. If either are fussed with without Set's consent, it will weaken the warrior mare. With that, he disappears into the forest, leaving his magical boobytraps in his wake, neatly dodging a groaning ent, determined to see for himself if the sudden burst of life - here, in the midst of chaos - belongs to who he thinks it does.
-- Set created a few dozen shadow-creatures, they draw life and energy from the earth/vegetation around them, and if you come in physical contact with them they’ll zap some of your energy too. They’re only attacking the Chamber’s enemies, under Set’s protection, and are literally made of shadow so they’re a lot harder to kill, but are only here to add more to the chaos and injure. Average intelligence but extra strong, feel free to use them!
-- He's halfheartedly attempted to knock Weir out, tied the ground together so it cannot be split, and weakened the storm. Both spells, like the shadow creatures, are tied to something else. In this case, the ground spell is tied to Ianto's life, the storm spell tied to Draconis. If either are tampered with, they'll drain strength from their respective hosts.
-- Also, he has peaced out for the moment but shall return
