Set
10-26-2018, 12:53 AM
" There's a black bird perched outside my window, I hear him calling. I hear him sing. He burns me with his eyes of gold to embers. He sees all my sins. He reads my soul. "
It’s good to be back. Damn good.
He moves with the triumph of a returning conqueror, ever confident, forever undaunted. His piebald hide ripples with vibrant health, his breath strong in his lungs – a far cry from his last return, some dozens of years ago, an aimless pieced together carcass. A dark ear swivels, catching the sounds of Salomea and Niklas moving up ahead and to the side of him. The fall night air is sharp in his nostrils, his yellow eyes bright with intent, blinking against the cloud-cloaked darkness. The world was shifting again, drawing he and his motley crew back to their homeland. Moths to the flame or vultures to the rotted flesh? He draws along long-forgotten paths, the undergrowth untangling before him, Niklas’ hellhound panting at his heels. Their time as a trio was quickly drawing to a close. Niklas knew it; Salomea had yet to accept it, despite her uncle’s constant, borderline malicious, pranks. It had been just the three of them for some time now … He shifts his weight, weaving between several rotting alders, careful not to touch their tarry surfaces. Niklas had slipped ahead of him at some point. The darkness sometimes slipped loose from his son’s hold, eeking out into his surroundings, poisoning it with hell’s sickness. His ears twist at the soft sounds of a brief scuffle. He pauses to listen. A whoosh of air and the unmistakable sound of Niklas’ mirth is loud in the night. The hellhound bounds ahead, black tongue lolling from an equally black mouth, and Set follows suit. Salomea’s pace is slower now and Set reaches the field before she does.
He lingers on the edges, searching through a dark made clear as day in his direct line of sight. There are no familiar faces or scents present. He could not say how long it has been since he was last here. Never to the Field, not that he can recall, at least, but with the Chamber gone and Beqanna in a state he no longer recognizes … Niklas brushes past him, a clammy shadow against his shoulder, stalking his niece. Boredom did not suit the demon. Set almost felt sorry for the rest Beqanna. Nearly. Heaving a sarcastic, world-weary sigh and shaking his mane out, the magician trails after he and Ana’s creation.
Salomea should know better than to struggle. She cannot see Niklas, fetlock-deep on the other side of the lake, stony face giving nothing away (though his amusement is palpable). Only Set, golden eyes dancing with tired laughter as she’s pulled under again. Taking pity on her, he shoves at his son’s magic, breaking the shadow creature’s hold and drawing her soaked frame back onto solid ground. He reaches out to touch her trembling shoulder, drying her ink-stained coat. Anger radiates off her in waves. “You think you would have learned by now,” he grins, chucking his chin in Niklas’ direction. She mutters something about the demon changing – impossible – but Set is no longer listening.
He senses the stallion’s concern before the unmistakable sound of hoofbeats reaches them across the distance. It is not that sound, though, that draws his gaze sharply. It’s the muted sound of a heartbeat, once buried beneath the soil … Neck soaked in sweat, the buckskin draws to a halt, wholly ignoring Set and Niklas (who sinks back into the shadows with a low snicker), instead taking in Salomea’s righteously angry appearance, lips pulled into a tight line. Amused, Set meets his disapproving gaze. “She will chew you up and spit you out, son,” he says, before she has a chance to reply. Though, in fact, Magnus was even older than he, hailing from the days when Set’s father, Chain, was still fresh-faced and eager to make place for himself in this new land. With a raucous grin and an exaggerated wink, the magician moves away, a silent “see you soon” echoing in Salomea’s head.
SET
alliance champion, once king, mage