Set
"Strange things did happen here ..."
The sun is only just beginning its faithful ascent into the welcome arms of day. It starts as a faint glow on the horizon, staining the low-slung clouds a dull gray, several shades lighter than the gray-brown of the glacial waters surrounding the island. The light though, weak as it is, is turned back at the forest behind him, rolling upward and spreading out in its search for a weakness in the wall of shadows Niklas projects. It won’t find one. The demon thrives in the darkness.
Throughout Set’s long life (though it is considerably shorter than some others who have returned to Beqanna), he has encountered many who deign to postulate on the subject of good versus evil. Such terms – distinctions – mean little to Set. He has always done what is in his best interest. Is it evil to take what he wants? To satisfy himself, even if it causes another's suffering? An old friend once told him that it was simply an appropriate response to a harsh and unfair world. Nothing more, nothing less.
Set’s ears, one white, the other black, twist back and then forward again. The wind has died down, the lemmings gone back about their lemming business, and it is the light footsteps of the black mare with bone-tipped wings that his gaze swings to first.
Phasus. There may have been a time that they had crossed paths, in the past. Clearly, though, it had not been a memorable encounter. Yellow eyes trace the swing of hip, the riveting conviction with which she carries herself. He certainly won’t forget her now. Rather than stopping in front of him, as strangers are wont to do, she slips ever closer, seemingly undaunted by the power vibrating beneath his skin. He inhales slowly, supping on her unique perfume – power, intellect, calculated recklessness. Infection’s daughter; but he might forgive her that. A sudden smile, devilish in natures, splits his mouth at the same moment that his eyes roll up to meet hers. Her magic tangles with his like a hungry lover and his body thrums with the high of it, eliciting a short, low groan from his throat. He was going to enjoy her.
Interrupting them – he says nothing, only invades (of course, Set asked him here but those are details he can’t be bothered with) their space, drawing the piebald’s head around. Leilan.
The barest of scowls traces his brow, smoothed by laughter a moment later when Niklas huffs from his place in the shadows and a choking cloud of black, yellow-eyed gnats plagues the air around Leilan’s head. They seek the soft parts with their sharp little teeth, likely a slightly painful annoyance more than anything. Clouds of darkness roll out from underneath the knotted willows an alders, the physical manifestation of Niklas' merriment. Set has yet to form a full opinion on the silver and gold-marked stallion. Obnoxious is a word that comes to mind as he sifts through Niklas’ memories of the encounter by the shore. Fierce, hypocritical, resilient, impulsive; some qualities the mage might admire, were Leilan not so tiresomely insistent upon standing in the way of Set’s claim on the island. The mini-plague of gnats melds back into the shadows from whence they had come as the last of them, Camomila, arrives.
She is young, a stranger to Beqanna, once a Queen, her throne and magic forcefully taken; by someone close to her, he thinks. Information gleaned from his Friends is at times left to his interpretation. The striking filly had made an agreement with Leilan that Set has little intention of upholding. Once she’s settled, he addresses them, the lines of his face cast in a boyish role, a sharp contrast to the steel in his voice.
“Phasus,” he turns back to her with a winsome smile, “you will lead alongside me, this free, plague-less island.” He does not search her mind and thus is unaware of her truth – her plans to make Infection’s name known, once again – but in her he recognizes a kindred spirit, a creature unafraid to seize her wants, fixed on keeping the sickness at bay. His weight shifts from one side to the other, scarred skin brushing against her macabre wings. He suspects she is not one to roll over and take orders, this self-assured mare, and it is a singular louse who breathes in her ear with Set’s voice, undetectable to any but she. Patience …
“Leilan will renounce his claim on my island .” An unyielding stare clashes with the baroque mutt’s, though the smile never leaves his mouth. “In exchange for your cooperation, I will heal any agreeable Nerinean who comes to our shore.”. He yawns before shifting another puzzle piece into place. “Camomila. You want to earn back what was stolen from you.” The fact that he is privy to this information should be enough to demonstrate the power that lies within him. Power that he had fought for - bled for. It is easy enough for him to admire the adamancy that the sweat of her brow, rather than contents of her blood, will restore her to her former self. “I can help you with that. And then some. This island’s boundaries do not end at its shores.” Though cold and treacherous, the ocean surrounding Icicle Isle is teeming with life; the strongest sort of life, thriving in one of nature’s coldest extremes.
His attention turns back to Leilan, his expression gone contemplative. “Nerine does not need a subkingdom.” He had heard one of them say that, somewhere. Some time. A mental shrug. “Icicle Isle will be an independent, free state. I have no interest in posing a threat to the kingdoms across it’s waters,”. His gold-colored eyes go bright then, ears flicking forward in his eagerness as his neck draws up, the scars on his shoulders rippling with the motion. "Ah, yes." He's suddenly remembered something. "I am Set."
SET
alliance champion, once king, mage
ooc - can we please see where this thread goes before making any final decisions? get in some character development ^^