Desolation comes upon the sky; Sabra/diplomats.

[Scorch]

WATCH THE FLAMES CLIMB HIGH INTO THE NIGHT

In the land before, she had been accustomed to the southernmost kingdom in Beqanna, opposite the Tundra, where shit got cold instead of hot. So when the mare came to realize that somehow, some fucking how, her new home was the northernmost kingdom in the new Beqanna, hoo-boy did she throw a fit. Not that it really mattered anyway; after the reckoning, Beqanna seemed to have mellowed out with its various climates. No more deserts, jungle, arctic tundra. Instead, it's just a weird and awful kerfuffle of all the in-between stuff, just less-defined valleys and dales. Seriously. She hated this shit.

But her shit it was, and therefore would have to be dealt with. Leaving her children with a kiss on the forehead and a threat to behave or else, Scorch departed early that morning from her stupid, stupid northernmost kingdom. As the sun began to rise and her legs kicked up underneath her, the mare almost smiled. It felt good to stretch her legs over such a stretch of distance.

Eventually, however, her hairless back began to smart under the rays of the relentless autumn sun - a last fuck you from the weather before hell froze over. Pulling at some shadows, the mare cloaked her shoulders, protecting her skin; because the light and dark were not mixing today, her powers were not extraordinary. The magic did not look appealing or impressive, but it did the job: her skin would be saved for one more day.

Through Hyaline's mountain range and then across the Loessian fields; kingdoms Scorch had yet to meet, but which were not on today's to do list. No, it was at the Sylvan border that her muscled legs halted. The red-and-yellow leaves were fitting for the season, though she knew not that they maintained their colour year round. Still, the shadow-cloaked mare admired the beauty of it for a minute, bracing herself for the whole not-being-a-prick thing she was about to pull out of her ass.

Sighing heavily, the mare brushed the shadows away from her face, but kept an almost invisible layer over top her spine. Then, raising her hammer head, the mutilated rat called for an audience - Sabra, diplomat, wolf. Whoever may come.

Scorch

Once Khaleesi of the Amazon Jungle

she's really good at being a diplomat i swear