they all go into the dark; ALL

[Raelynx]

Tldr; Raelynx attacks @[leliana] and @[Cress]

I love the way that your heart breaks
with every injustice and deadly fate.

He is marked as a disciple of the Dark God, a brand upon his forehead for all the world to see. He had been shaped and remade into an image more fitting, and he had thanked Him for it. Of course he answers the call. He is a true believer.

It is not often Raelynx is so readily stirred to action. He cares so little for anything. Only the promise of pain and suffering can draw him from his slumberous wanderings. The tale of Pangea risen is intriguing, stirring a faint thought to return. But it is not until the voice of his God rings through his head that he takes action.

He does not rush like the others. Haste is not something he understands well. He has always been a master of the slow and purposeful, the patience of a teacher (even if what he teaches is derived from god-forsaken nightmares). And so when he arrives in the dank and murky land so recently risen from the sea, his stride is steady, purposeful. His dull gaze surveys the land, his ravaged ears flicking about his skull until the sound of battle becomes a sweet music in the air. He follows it, attention now fixed. Focused on his purpose.

But Raelynx has never been of the brightest minds, and thus easily distracted. The battle to kill one man rages, but something else draws his attention. Two women, lonely and lovely and so terribly broken. He loves the broken things. It is the strongest ones who shatter the most prettily. And he knows, they could be beautiful. His dark god calls, but their suffering calls louder.

So when he turns towards them, it is not duty that inspires him. Though, in the end, perhaps it is for a reason he had spotted them. Perhaps his God had needed his attention here, to distract them from their pitiful attempts at life-saving.

A macabre grin stretches his pitted and broken lips as he flows from walk to lope. He allows the fire loose, his flames hungrily devouring his blackened, scarred skin until he is a creature of heat and avarice. And so, he charges them. He would crash into them, searing and burning their skin as he did so. Perhaps they would move, but they are distracted. So beautifully distracted trying to save such a pitiful life. He does not slow as he barrels into them, instead using dull teeth to snap and tear, heavy hooves striking with the force of his massive frame and hurtling weight. He would bring them down if he could. Would tear and rend and burn. Would teach them the meaning of suffering. Would show his God the beauty of his latest broken creations.

Raelynx

html c insane | picture c naelii.deviantart.com

[Nihlus]

there's no religion that could save me

no matter how long my knees are on the floor

i'll pick up these broken pieces 'til i'm bleeding

if that'll make it right

Find Rhonen.
Rhonen... Why was that name familiar?
Kill him.
A chance meeting in the meadow, a handsome chestnut stallion; the scent of erect male sex, the feel of each others tension like electricity between them.
Save us.
Us? Nihlus ground his teeth together in hatred. Us? Though he might have considered there being an essence of us with Carnage when he was only a boy, working for no reason to bring the world of the dead back to reality. He may have had an us with those who survived the ordeal, including his aunt Wrynn; but decades had passed, and when Carnage's call had come again in the form of a shard last year, he had declined it.

Now, the call came again.

FIND HIM. KILL HIM.
KILL HIM.
KILL HIM.
NOW.

His eyes went to Nuage, who clearly had had the same message given to him. "Stay here with the girls, Nu." His lover seemed to protest, but the larger stallion would not hear it. He'd always been a bit of an asshole that way. "I'll be back later."

--

The truth? He had no interest in killing a man he once trysted with.
In the same way, he had no interest in saving him - knowing the fray that would be answering Carnage's call, he knew he had no chance.

But he girl, the child, the daughter - she could be saved. Although the dark god hadn't intended to let a sliver of the girl's figure into his broadcasted image, he had; and the image became suddenly irresistible. Nihlus was a father of two these days; two perfect daughters. He had their faces and their personalities and their everythings memorized. He loved them in a way he'd never imagined possible; and though he never knew Rhonen, he knew that he loved his daughter that way, too.

It would be impossible to save his once-lover. But he may yet spare his child.

Standing outside of the fray, Nih was subject to some collateral damage from the frenzied fighters; but he ignored it as best he could with a grit of his teeth, eyes searching madly through the bodies for one much smaller. She seemed to have been pushed away from the others by a seemingly well meaning mare, who, of course, attacks Rhonen after the moment of mercy. Well, so be it. He knew when he came that he could do nothing for Rhonen.

Exhaling once, and inhaling a last, the stallion surged forward into the fray with eyes only for the girl. When his mouth found the base of her tiny shoulders, he spoke: "Close your eyes and give me your trust, girl. I will keep you safe."

Not waiting until she replied, Nihlus closed his eyes, too.

--

They awoke on the Other Side, steam rising from their mouths in the frigidity of the Astral Plain.
"Follow me."
Hurrying - for his connection with the places of the dead weakened when he returned his grandmother to the living - he brought her forward, navigating this parallel land with confidence and worry. He did not want to miscalculate and send them to their deaths in the ocean when his connected wore thin.

Luckily, he calculated well; and as an utter fatigue overwhelmed him, he and the girl Noah found their refuge in the oases of Ischia.

Nihlus

...

powerplaying approved by Devin.

[Dovev]

dovev

There he was, brushing his lips through his new baby's hair and introducing her to Heartfire. He'd barely spoken her name, his black eyes actually a bit soft with a small smile hiding in the corner of his lips. She was pretty damn cute, though. Found her near the river and somehow ended up bringing her back with him. He was fuckin' stupid but whatever. Look at her. She could be his redemption.

But then.

As if sent by the damn gods, the image of his enemy appeared in his mind. One of them, anyway.

Finally!
Rhonen.

A hard glint slid over his eyes, and his face darkened, mouth twisting in a sick grin. Fucking finally. Purpose and determination took over, fed a steady heat into his blood that made every movement fluid and languid and easy. So effortless, the way his gaze lifted to Heartfire, excitement and need sparkling in his pitch black eyes, then his body wrenched away. Without a word, he launched like a missile to hunt down his target.

She knew him, though.
She'd recognize it and know.

There were no goodbyes, and if he died while he was away, so be it. She knew that of him too. Could never promise he'd be back soon.

One day he wouldn't be.

So he left little Briella in Nerine with Heartfire and flew across the lands like a wild man set free of a lifelong imprisonment, heart pumping relentlessly, outrunning the stars at his heels. He'd damn well get to Rhonen and take his payback. Rhonen had had it coming to him for far too long, and finally, finally, he was no longer in hiding.

Finally, Dovev would take him out for touching his daughter.
The one person that mattered the most to him, no matter how she shunned him, rejected his touch, ran from his voice. How she felt had never mattered, had it? She was his everything whether she liked it or not. The only good he'd ever done. Perfection born from an angel. His Atrani. His everything.

He swallowed hard, gritting his teeth and biting back the tears threatening to sting his eyes. She meant fucking everything to him and he would never be anything more to her than a nightmare so eagerly forgotten.

He was a monster. Even his own daughter knew it. Even his own daughter couldn't love him.

And Rhonen could disease him again for all he cared, Dov would still get his payback first. Only one of them would die slowly. He'd even given the idiot a warning not to touch her and he did it anyway. Dov didn't give warnings.

That was his last mercy to the man.

His eyes were sharp and glittering, immediately sifting through the chaos laid out before him, digging fingers into the throng with expert hands perfected by rigorous training and plucking away the only one that mattered. With a steady pulse and speed beneath his legs, he took a breath. His mind cleared. Everything else fell away.

Even Leliana, pressed against the tree, fatigued. He clenched his teeth. What the fuck is she doing here!
But as always, he was one-track minded. And that never faltered, not even for her. This is what the magician had trained him for; hold his target, block out all else until it was done.

If anything, seeing her only pushed him harder. He'd finish this and go to her, keep that fool woman safe. His.

But Rhonen.

Another joined him at his side and he grinned, wicked and cunning. He didn't even have to look, he'd know that stride anywhere. His heart swelled, pride and strength flashing from his shoulders to his hips like he could sprout wings and soar. He couldn't. So instead it came out as a laugh, a boyish twinkling falling in the air behind them as they raced. And then he roared, threw his body to the side in rough play and slammed him shoulder to shoulder, snapping out to clip that golden skin so sharply.

Even still, he stayed his course, true and true. Didn't let even this new addition sway him as he powered on, rushing to claim his due.

A flickering light caught his eye though, and he stole another glance at Leliana in time to see a man made of fire barreling toward her. His expression darkened, folded and pinched under his mask and, fuck, he hesitated. Goddamn it! He shoved Zoryn again, this time to get his attention as he changed their path.

She was worth more than revenge. Even for the daughter that couldn't love him.
For once, he broke his focus. For once, the thing shattering in his tight fist was not a pure heart he loved dearly, but a disciplined mindset.

And all he could see as that beast of flame charged toward her was Dizzy's mutilated and melted body. All he could see was Leliana's body contorting to match, forming like a living nightmare in his mind as he threw every ounce of his Arabian blood to work for him, boost him quicker to her and the other woman at her side. He hadn't been there for Dizzy. He'd failed her.

He wouldn't fail this time.
Nothing was going to fucking touch her.

"NOOO!" but the sound was less of a word when it was filled with so much raw emotion, so much fear and ferocity and violent promise. He let those images continue in his mind, fester and boil into an impossible fury that drove him on. It didn't have to be the same man that had gotten to Dizzy; he was getting fucked up regardless as if he had been. And maybe he was. Dov didn't have room to consider it or care. He didn't need any more excuse but those eager flames.

He snarled, his teeth bared, and chased the heat until it burned. His screams of pain were lost in the roar of his rage, the sizzle of furious steam hissing in his ears as he launched himself recklessly into the man of fire, aiming to shove him forward in the path he was already taking. He would rush him, push him on and away from Leliana so the flames wouldn't touch her more, careless of the damage he took upon himself as the smell of baking flesh assaulted their nostrils. Then he would circle back as quickly as he could, stay close to protect her from the fire and any others that dared come near her.

"Go home, Leliana!" he barked at her in another roar, eyes on everything but her as he scoured the crowd for potential threats, darting back to the burning man to keep track of his next attack.

we're slaves to any semblance of touch

Lord, we should quit but we love it too much

shove to zoryn's shoulder as they run
change route from rhonen to leliana/cress/raelynx
follows in raelynx's wake to push him forward and drive him further away from ladies.
circles back to guard leliana/cress; has taken fire damage

[leliana]

I waited for something, and something died
so I waited for nothing, and nothing arrived

It is chaos around her.

There are screams and cries and she can feel the wounds opening up from the battering, but she can only think of Rhonen in the center of it all, assaulted from all sides. She cries out, unable to keep herself from it, tears of frustration and fear beginning to slip down her cheeks. She feels the other winged healer arrive and although she doesn’t break her concentration from Rhonen, trailing through the wounds on his body with her gift, trying to keep up with the attacks as they overwhelm him, as they begin to overwhelm her.

“Thank you,” she breathes to Cress, accepting her words for the sage advice that it is and tucking it away. But it doesn’t matter. None of her good intentions matter. Because although there are those who show up to protect him, to fight for what is right, there are too many who come with opposite intentions.

She can feel their attacks reverberating through her, and she grits her teeth, refusing to acknowledge the exhaustion she feels on the edges of her mind. In many ways, this is a welcome relief—this physical pain, this distraction. It eases the agony that eats at the end of her mind. It diverts the pain that so constantly chases her these days. She doesn’t have to think about Dovev or Vulgaris or her many failings.

She doesn’t have to think about the endless stretch of days, alone.

Instead, she pours herself into the task of hand, ultimately not heeding Cress’ advice to save her strength.

When the stallion, burning alive, turns on her, she has to wonder if she should have. He barrels toward them, but she remains rooted to the spot, her hazel eyes focusing on what parts of Rhonen she can see. Her golden light waivers when he collides and then fails completely, snapping and recoiling into her chest. And then it is just the fire; just the flame. She feels the edges of it but it is numbed by the adrenaline that races in her. She feels his teeth snap, the way his hooves beat into her body, but that too is dulled.

The skin on her shoulder singes, the fur burning. There is a gash in her chest where the skin splits apart beneath his attacks, the blood beginning to flow down to stain her legs. There is more wounds on her face, her neck—both laceration and burn alike. It would be worse, could have been so much worse, had it not been for the one she absolutely could not bear to see. Not now. Not in this nightmare.

“Dovev!” she cries out as he collides with the other stallion, watching as he takes the brunt of the attack. It’s enough, enough of a moment for her to gather her gift. Weakened but strengthened by the sudden onslaught of adrenaline, she lets it well inside her once more and pushes all of it to the black and bone stallion. She forgets about Rhonen. Forgets about everything except the sight of Dovev with the flames surrounding him. She does everything she can to apply an immediate balm to his wounds, chasing away the pain, minimizing the damage to the best of her abilities. It nearly wipes her out and she sways but she straightens when he circles back around, chin lifting stubbornly when he barks an order at her.

“No,” she replies through clenched teeth, wanting to reach for him, wanting to make sure he was fine, but her attention is caught by the battle once more and she turns back toward it, hoping that Cress is okay, hoping that she is here and still able to help. Taking a shaking breath, Leliana begins to move forward, ignoring her own wounds that still weep openly, the singed flesh. “Get out of my way, Dovev,” she says evenly, moving past him to take her position against the tree once more, leaning a little more heavily.

She can’t stop to think about how she feared for his life.

She can’t stop to think about anything.

Closing her eyes, she digs past the exhaustion, ignoring the signs that she is overexerting herself once more. With a soft cry, she pulls at her gift, apologizing to it, and then sends it shooting toward the chestnut stallion once more, fearful of the damage that had been caused while she had been distracted.

It is a losing battle, but she has to try.

it's our dearest ally, it's our closest friend
it's our darkest blackout, it's our final end

idk if we're supposed to reply more than once but here i am. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

[Sid]

He is just a baby, but Carnage makes no exception in his broadcast; the image of the man and the message to kill him permeates the very being of the dim-witted creature, and, as any obedient well-meaning son ought to, he moves to obey.

Canrage - a name everyone seems to call him for some reason he can't understand, since his name is Egarnac, but they laugh when they say it so he does not mind - is slow in finding his way to Pangea from his mother's side somewhere else in Beqanna. He gets distracted along the way by the light coming off of his own forehead, following it around while cheerfully singing a song. Although he doesn't realize it, it goes something like this:

Kill the man, kill him good, kill for dad!
Canrage, Canrage, Canrage, coo!
Kill the man, he's gotta die, dad said so, don't ask why!
Kill kill kill, kill kill kill, killllll killllllllllll killllllllllllllll!

Eventually, he remembers his mission and finishes the journey to Pangea, the little tufts of teal mane and tail sticking to his sweaty body like algae as he goes.

When he gets there, everything is happening. Way more than he expected. But that doesn't stop him - when he sees a horse that looks like Rhonen (god knows the chances of it actually being him are slim to none), he squares his might(ily thin) shoulders and puts his magic to good use.

Breathing in the sky with the might of his Godly father, Canrage watches as the clouds and the dust and the trees make their way in a vortex to his lungs, swirling and twirling and mixing into something so powerful that none present would live to tell about it once it finishes brewing in his lungs. The sky darkens and he figures it must be him; there are sounds of screaming and he assumes it is in terror of his forthcoming doom.

When the last pebble at last finds its ways to the very bottom of his lungs, he grins; with the maniacally spinning eyes of any magician - or dim-witted child - he lowers his head to behold the chaos, and thus, expels all the rage in his chest.

Because he Canrage. And he Willrage.

(And so, upon the outskirts of a history-deciding battle, a tiny boy stands: breathing a little heavily in the direction of basically no one, kicking dust with his hooves and calling it a sandstorm).

Above the chaos, a shrill voice sings.

Kill the man, kill him good, kill for dad!
Canrage, Canrage, Canrage, coo!
Kill the man, he's gotta die, dad said so, don't ask why!
Kill kill kill, kill kill kill, killllll killllllllllll killllllllllllllll!

[shroud]

Shroud was sleeping beneath the tree when the dream changed to a god-made vision - -

FIND HIM. KILL HIM.

KILL HIM.

KILL HIM.

NOW.

The urgency is not lost upon even her child’s brain that fires the answering impulse to seek and destroy. She climbs to her tiny feet and is steered (a little ship of sable and snowy patches and fluffy budding wings) towards a land she’s never heard of or seen. 

Not true!

She’d seen the red stallion with the mark of pestilence on his chest amidst a land made of ruin and pulled up from the sea. This was a bleak land of puny almost nonexistent rivers and crippling dust. Any bones found here belonged to leviathans of the sea and horses no strangers to misfortune and death.

By the time she nears Pangea in her slow march of determination and madness; the din of battle rings out loud in screams of pain, pledge, and perseverance. Some strive to slay as others strive to thwart the killing need that has blossomed darkly in most of their hearts. She looks on the fracas from on high on a ridge of backbone and dirt.

Shroud never questions if there are sides to be taken - good or bad - she simply reacts to the message that invaded her unremarkable jumble of dreams that fateful night. 

Down she goes; mindful of the blows given and taken by those around her. Blood and spittle fly and spatter her fur but she is neither grossed out nor slavering herself from it all. Sometimes she has to deliver a nip here and a kick there - all from baby feet and milk-teeth that glance off more than finding purchase, that pinch and tickle more than hurt.

Until she is in the thick of the angry mobbing swarm and then - oh then! She stretches the blossoming fluff of her pegasus wings out wide, the feathers soft as goose-down and as pure white as the driven snow. But they shift with her intense concentration to a wicked combination of natural substance: acacia branches rife with thorns and twining stems of stinging nettle. She buffets and thumps whoever gets too close with those wicked wings until she spies an opening in the fray - -

Shroud leaps for the red stallion’s flank and with a last push of energy to maintain the wicked nature of her wings, she lashes out with a pinion-point that was once a feather and now a sharp scratching thorn. The blow might land and it might not. If successful, the thorny point of her wing will have opened a gash on his flank as she falls back and is pushed out of the huddle of hot angry flesh.

She returns to the ridge of backbone and dirt; sides heaving and lathered in the sweat of her efforts. A grin of madness holds high court on her little lips as a thin rivulet of blood of sluices out of her right nostril. It is the last sign of exhaustion from the extensive use of manipulating her wings into something other than feathers. 

Now she watches and she waits.

tldr: she shapeshifted her wings into a combo of acacia branches lined with thorns and the stems of the stinging nettle plant. The thorns can scratch whoever and the stinging nettle can break off and cause an allergic rash/burning sensation if anyone wants. She attempted to score Rhonen’s flank with the thorny sharp edge of her wing. Might have been successful - might not have. And let me know if this was too much! It seemed in the realm of possibility due to the trait description in the database. :]

[Nightlock]

— I'll break you a hundred different ways —

He is not often stirred from his solitude. He cared little of their affairs, and often could be found in the darkest depths of the forests, sheltered from their eyes and far enough not even their voices could reach him. Today is different. The voice interrupts his mind, followed by an intruding image of a stallion he did not know. Kill him, the voice says. He does not recognize the voice, has never met the Dark God that ripped his dam’s eyes from her skull, and, sired him. But Nightlock is no fool. There is only one in all of Beqanna that possessed such a power, and in an uncharacteristic show of obedience, he follows.

He has no interest in saving them, but he will watch them destroy each other.

His silver wings outstretch, thrusting off with his hind legs, and with a surge he bursts from the treetops. He can feel the rain as it slides across the feathers, clinging to his dark mane and dampening his dappled coat. He glides over Beqanna, more or less camouflaged with the equally gray skies. When he arrives over Pangea, several horses have already converged. Many are attacking the red stallion, while a few are trying to defend him. It is a bloodbath in every sense of the word, and as he drops to land in the midst of the fray, a familiar metallic scent fills his nostrils.

It ignites something in him, a slow poison that seeps into his veins, crawling into his brain. The chaotic cries and hoofbeats echo in his ears, his eyes zeroing in on the stallion with the seal on his chest. There is a crowd around him, but it doesn’t stop him from launching forward, ignoring the way his body collides with the others as he forces his way through. It’s a gruesome sight, like hyenas all tearing apart a single gazelle, and he seeks to grab whatever flesh he can. He strikes with his front hooves, reveling in the thud they make against skin and bone, his teeth snapping whenever they may find purchase. He can feel accidental blows against his own body as those around him scramble to complete their kill, but the adrenaline is numbing, and it does not stop him.

— and I'll make you remember my face —

Nightlock

He does nothing special. Just joins the group attacking Rhonen.

[auric]

sometimes I think about the ones that we’ve replaced
all the millions underneath the burnt and waste

The voice in his mind wakes him from a nap, and for a moment he thinks he must still be dreaming, tucked safely against the curve of mothers warm belly. He can feel her sleepy breaths where they warm and fog against his skin, feel the rhythmic rise and fall where her round stomach nudges against his side. But ..that means he is awake, does it not? These are normal waking-up things, and he lifts his head quietly to sniff at her cheek while she dozes beside him. So that means -

Find Rhonen. Kill him. Save us.

He freezes, pins his tiny little ears against an even tinier, scruffier mane as if that will somehow block the gravel of the voice from his thoughts. But it remains, permeates everything until his ears have softened and tipped forward, curious, listening. It is a very convincing voice, you know. It sounds so certain, it must be true! But to kill someone? To be fair, he certainly does not understand death, does not understand the magnitude or the permanence of it. Only understands that when mama had used the word to describe the crumpled, feathered body of the bird beneath the tree, it had been hollow and unmoving, empty.

But he is a good boy, so sweet, so he climbs up on tiny little limbs that carry him so quietly away from his napping mother (to save her, save them, save the little brother or sister growing in her belly). It isn’t too hard to figure out where to go once he’s up and gone from his family - there are others headed that way too, like a tide, though no one pays him any attention. He is just a boy, after all, just a creature plucked from a strange dream with dark eyes and a beak, spiraling horns already tangled with his indigo hair. Oh! And wings! He could fly, he thinks, it would be so much faster! Except that flying is such hard work for little creatures like himself, and he barely flies high enough to keep his little toes from tapping the ears of those he flies past.

It’s such a very long way down, after-all.

He does not realize that mama has since woken, stirred only moments later by that same gravel lodged in her ears, that same voice she knows better than to believe. That she took flight in an instant, searching from the skies while daddy took to the forests and the meadow - that they are both headed in the same direction he is.

It is not until he is already there and landed, walking closer to the chaos with such wide, innocent eyes, not understanding the violence laid so bare before him that he feels a familiar nose push against his neck. It nearly topples him sideways and he turns to gape up at mama’s worried face with even more confusion because she looks mad and worried and did he do something wrong?

Auric. Oh and he wilts a little, those oil-spill wings tucking bashfully against his sides. He can hear so much emotion in her voice, in the way she says his name like he says hers when he wakes terrified from a bad dream. Then daddy is there too and he’s as wild as Auric’s ever seen him, horns lowered and teeth bared at anyone who comes too close to his little family. He presses closer to mama, the message all but forgotten now in the confusion roiling in his chest, the gravel of the words finally shook free. “I’m sorry, mama.” He clicks up at her, the syllables whistling sharply through the edges of his beak as he tries to nuzzle under her chest to hide. “I wanted to keep you safe. Save us.” He repeats, the words still slippery without lips to hold them in place. But he feels less certain now, less sure. More like he doesn’t like any of this, like he wants to go home.

But mama doesn’t seem to have heard him when she says, oh gods, leliana, and then pushes him into daddy’s side, mandan, i have to, she’s my sister. Then mama is gone like a shooting star, arcing across the chaos shedding the faint light Auric has come to recognize as the mated pair to her healing powers. He tries to scurry past daddy to help, but finds his strong, dark body permanently between him and the madness just ahead. In the end he just ducks his horned head low to peer beneath daddy’s belly, bleating softly for mama to come back, too young, too innocent to understand the depth of the violence burning across his aunts skin. He only knows that he loves them, that he wants to be there with them.

But he is resigned to watching from afar, little glimpses around daddy when he’s pulled away to chase someone back. He can see mama pin her ears at someone who is nearly as odd as Auric himself is, bone and dark and seething. Can see the moment he allows her to pass by and she crashes against aunt leli in a frantic, aching way. Mama presses herself against her sisters side, drapes her head over Leliana’s back until they are both tangled in that soft healing light he’s grown to love so much. She is giving everything, emptying herself, though Auric can’t possibly know it from so far away. Can’t know anything except this new feeling blooming inside him, guilt, like this is all somehow his fault for coming here.

He leans into daddy, hiding under his chest so he can see mama more easily, see the whole gruesome scene. He is not the only little one here, he realizes, looking out into the crowd - so carefully avoiding the man who must be Rhonen, because though he cannot fathom this violence, he knows he has no stomach for it. There are two children not far from where he stands, indigo like him, which would have made him so happy any other time. But he feels only quiet in his chest now, only sick. It is easier to focus on them.

The girl flickers and steps forward, suddenly so clear he can see the world beyond her, too - no! Through her. It’s so bewildering he nearly takes a step forward to them. But then the boy is following too and she’s pausing, turning to push him back while he so clearly ignores her with body language nearly shouting-loud. So she stops again, closes her eyes and lays her cheek against his neck, fully corporeal again.

and I get sad because, of course, we’ll be the same

Auric

all of history collapsing in its wake --

i am so sorry if this is a mess D: forgive me, i mean well. mandan was referred to with permission. the two kids he's watching at the end are atria and decimate, decimate was also referred to with permission. his mama is exist, who ran off to focus her healing on leliana. none of mine are actually attacking anything. :|

[Ramiel]

this is the man pulling on his iron chains

The sickness deeply soaks his bones.

He is saturated with it, filled with it, like a fatted thing stuffed with ruin. And though it’s been weeks since he unwittingly assisted in raising a place that stood for everything he was against, Ramiel suffers more now than ever. At night, he is hot, so hot that he thinks he will combust even in the chill of Fall. During the day, as the sun casts its’ bright on his faded coat, he shivers and shakes terribly. A cough rattles through his lungs frequently, phlegm forming like a ball he can’t swallow at the back of his throat. Tear stains run down his eyes, and whether or not it’s from fragments of memories poisoning his brain, even he’s not sure. Because images come to him often; he sees mountains, their facades gilded, a back-drop to frame faces that are always so blurry. But he doesn’t remember it.

He doesn’t remember any of it.

The dark places hold him within their shadows while he exists in his perpetual state of suffering. Shadows that reach out into the filamentous light pull him deeply into their embrace. They seem to find the pores of his skin and burrow, marking him, darkening him.
He is a thing of Carnage, after all.

Their God had resurrected him when he was long gone from this world. He plucked him from the cold embrace of Death, breathed life into his unmoving lungs, and gave him a purpose. Pangea has risen, he thinks, in awe of what they’d done. I have Risen, he thinks, too, in awe of what Carnage had done.

Ramiel can almost hear him now.

There is a boy in Pangea. A chill races through his stormcloud body then - a familiar sensation these days – but then he’s listening and seeing and believing. FIND HIM. KILL HIM. So he goes. Stumbling, dizzy, and disoriented the whole way, he goes to the raised kingdom. He trespasses on land that is Not Right, that is marked by all of its many sins. There is a crowd already swarming like a hive of angry wasps. At the center is the disease they must cut out. Eradicate. Erase.

So he jumps in. There is little strength in him, the sick ghost-who-should-be-dead. But he joins the fray and pulls himself towards the middle, nearer to the jostling bodies full of violence and frenzy. He seeks out the chestnut with eyes lit by his newfound salvation. KILL HIM, he thinks and tries to do just that. All for Carnage.

Ramiel

[Zoryn]

He's really about sick with voices tearing him from his life. Demanding whatever it is they want. Grabbing and pulling. The last time he'd only wished to pulvarize the Halloween spirit. Clutsy and disorganized as it was. At least he got to rend and tear a few of its minions before it returned him to the world. Chicken shit. But not without a curse. One he kind of likes, actually. His appearance is different now, albeit temporarily (he thinks).

He still retains his handsome gold and white face, edged in black, framed by his frosted ebon mane. But the fire that rages constant in his heart now has risen, spread wildly through his veins, razing just below the surface of his skin. Up and up from his chest. Through all the muscles in his neck, up through his throat, along his jaw, and within sinus cavities. Until it shows itself finally. Finally. It can be seen, if only just a glimpse.

His eyes, still brown and flecked with amethyst. His nostrils, same shape and color. His lips, when parted, same as well. But all are changed. The fire inside him now illuminates the orifices of his face, eerily lighting his face with its light. By magic or by fate, he is not pained by the flickering behind his eyes or in his mouth. Perhaps he is immune to it because it has already lived in him for the whole of his life. Either way, he is neither grateful nor hateful for its presence.

The only worry, is that his girls will not appreciate this change. His hope, however, is they will understand and recognize their father and that he would never harm them. Not ever. Would surely die first.

Or, as it were, be summoned by the stallion who thinks himself a god, to kill a red-haired soul named Rhonen. That somehow, his life would endanger them all. His death- their salvation. Zoryn may have ignored it at one time in his life. But not now. Not when he has his precious children to protect. Nothing threatens them.

So, he is running. Rushing into this battle with every bit of anticipation thrumming through his veins. The glow of his face even seems brighter as he thunders from the River onward. Everything fades from his mind but the predatory hunger and rage. The urge to strike takes him. The beast ever-present growls within its cage. Nothing mattered but finding the image placed into his mind.

Until he sees the black and bone and stars. Of course he would come too. Then, for once, they run together. Legs and muscles surging their bodies forward as they race. Dovev shoves over and into him, Zoryn responds with a buck aimed in his direction. He probably misses, but he doesn't care. Only soaking in the delicious sting of the other's armor hitting his barrel. Fueling him, making him yearn for more.

They run together and make it to Pangea to meet the chaos. Rhonen at the center of the diseased lands, surrounded by those who had answered the call. But then, a flash of hideous light to their left, running in the wrong direction, breaks Zoryn's tunnel-vision and claims his attention. Dovev sees it too. Of all the fucking chances. Leliana, Dov's pet. Another female he doesn't recognize. And then the Fire Dick. It has to be the same one. He doesn't stop to think about it. He shares a look with his comrade, and together they charge.

With all the vigor and rage, Zoryn takes the other flank of the barbequed bastard. Aiming to deflect him as well. Careless of the consequences, he rushes in in short bursts to avoid the worst of the burns. Biting, kicking, shoving. Anything to cause pain and keep him from his path. Never mind the reasons.

---

((Had to post before I didn't make the deadline. Hehe. Sorry. Just in case it isn't clear:
Zoryn charges in to join the thrall to kill Rhonen. Joins Dovev. Sees Raelynx and is diverted from Rhonen. Attacks Raelynx along with Dovev. Better detail on the next one since this is TERRIBLY rushed x_x))