Blood-meal for the plant that's plowed - ANY/ALL

[Pollock]

Enter again the sweet forest
     Enter the hot dream
       Come with us

He kept it secret, tucked away in a deserted corner of his wasteland.
He guarded this place like a lion, fear finding soft retreat in anyone that wandered too close to the perimeter he had set around it. He could feel that it was a hallowed site, still ringing with the chorus of their mixed psalms, screams and grunts—

This had not been the first time he had killed to feed the earth. He was a woodsman, years ago – a protector, a marker, a sower. This place? It had felt obstinate, for so long. Terminally sterile.
And, of course, it had been. With Carnage’s boot on her throat, the land was full of cancer that could not be excised and would never let the body thrive. He kept her obedient and he kept her parched 

When he had left, hardy, spiky succulents and tough, lip-splitting tussocks began to barge through the grey ground. They were symbols of unstoppable life and restoration – reclamation. They were Beqanna’s, seeds kept safely incubated in diseased wombs. 

He had detested them.
But at least they kept them scantily fed.

She decayed under his watchful eye, as was expected; 
Vultures came down to tear the brown-pink strings from her ribs. They were… marvelously thorough, leaving her bare-boned, but for the thinner skin that stretched across her bowed skull – he kept that untouched, for as long as he could, chasing them off with teeth unsheathed. But, eventually, even that began to peel away and the blackflies had their meager feast – eyes, lips, ears and all. 

They left so very little for the land. But life always finds a way; 
that soil, part corrupt and part divine, had been famished – in the end, hunger drives everyone to madness. 
She had taken those bones, Pangea, and she had picked her teeth clean with them. 
The gift-giver watched, dark eyes glinting with the hard wetness of thrill, as Ohio’s skeleton was subsumed by the earth below her, like a great maw opening and caving in, to take her whole; from that ancient throat gurgled cold, clear fossil water, slaking the holy pool made by their selfless sacrifice. 

Slowly it filled, and he waded into it, as if for rites – the clean smell of freshwater (and, perhaps, the faintest whiff of blood) proving the usefulness of this offering – and there he stood, until the water spilled past his belly and up his sides, eyes upturned and closed to the unfurling dawn.

Hallelujah.

* * * * *

His sanctum is quiet, but for the soft sloshing of water against his tough shoulders and haunches. He stands there until the sun comes to touch his forehead like a shepherd’s touch. His eyes, black and damp, flutter open against the starkness of new light, 

And to the beautiful revelation of his miracle:

Ringing the pool, crystalline and viridan, are tall, green and yellow grasses – some tender, others as hardy as the land they sprouted from – among them, blooms of soft pink, blood red and sun-gold; on either side of the spring, two barbed, contorted joshua trees, grow before his eyes (he swears he can hear the creaking as their flesh stretches and twists; he can hear the ragged panting of her labor) until stilling at their full height.
It smells of water and earth and flowers (and, perhaps, the faintest whiff of blood), so unlike the land that surrounds this oasis, stagnant and dirty.

He had seen it all in his fever dreams – bright like a jewel laid on a dead, grey collarbone – had prayed to saltwater until his brain clicked together like the cogs in a perfect, orderly watch.
He knew what he had to do, because it was what he was made to do.

Carnage had salted this earth, but in doing so, he had made it their's.
He had fed it, had consumed her life and in blood ritual, Pollock had fertilized it – built his cathedral of life from bones and viscera.

(There is more to be done.)

He waits for them, leaving the grand doors thrown open to the flock, for those who would rise to the surface as Pangean saints.

the gift-giver

OOC: So. Pangea has an oasis, created on a junction between Carnage's dead magic and Beqanna's "life" magic -- by blood ritual. 

Basically, Ohio, being the first horse felled in Pangea by violence (I THINK) became the foundation for the Sanctum/Feeding Ground/Ritual Ground (should it have a name?) -- she became the spring, the ring of vegetation and the two joshua tree guards.

But the earth is not sated, yet. Feed it more.

Horses killed in/near the oasis will very quickly decay and vegetation will sprout from them. Fast enough that your pony might be able to literally watch grass grow.

The water has NO magical properties, it is normal water, the grass is normal grass and the trees are normal. One day the earth might become full and need no more, but as of now, it will respond voraciously to corpses. The blood ritual may be preformed on a willing or unwilling participant, blood is blood; death is death. (If anyone is terribly interested, for not-quite-so-murdery ponies, perhaps bloodletting without death can be allowed, but only from an unwilling pony, and the result will be less generous?)

Please reply IC, as Polly will explain all things to the kingdom -- warnings and whats up.

I might also make a little murder mini-event for extra rank points if people are interested? Let me know in OOC note or PM me or whatever. I'm thinking like 1 points per IC kill of another player's horse, plus a point per post as usual; .5 points for an IC kill of a NPC or your own horse. Something like that. PLOT TIME. DEATH. IF YOUR PONY IS OFFENDED GO CRY TO LUCREZIA OR WHOEVER, LOSER.

This is a picture of Crystal Spring, Ash Meadows in Death Valley, this is what the oasis looks like more or less! I thought it would be nice to have something to describe other than "dust".