"But the dream, the echo, slips from him as quickly as he had found it and as consciousness comes to him (a slap and not the gentle waves of oceanic tides), it dissolves entirely. His muscles relax as the cold claims him again, as the numbness sets in, and when his grey eyes open, there’s nothing but the faint after burn of a dream often trod and never remembered." --Brigade, written by Laura
12-12-2018, 11:36 PM (This post was last modified: 12-12-2018, 11:37 PM by Sinner.)
there is but one rule hunt or be hunted
The dark hellhound leaves behind the borders of the autumn kingdom towards the northern territory of Tephra. He can feel the weather quickly change when he leaves behind the border the separates their kingdoms. The humidity makes him sweat, but the increase temperature of summer only makes it worse. He is not adapted to such an environment, but he pushes forward knowing it is only temporary.
He has faced worst things after all.
With the opportunity of power, came the toll of doing daunting tasks he did not care about. Sylva had been silent for too long. Similarly, with the turn of events that plague had brought, also left many others left in a similar situation of uncertainty. Sinner was determined to take matters into his own hands by leading Sylva and its residents out of the shadows, and strong than before when the plague finally was rid of within Beqanna.
With a short time, the journey was completed. The hound reached the border of the volcanic kingdom. Just within the horizon he can see the volcano. It stands proudly against the rest of the land, almost something Sinner wishes to take for his own. But he does not push the thought any more than that. Instead, he turns his attention to the rest of the landscape, noting the tropical greenery and the crisscrossing streams of lava that lay within the distance.
Finally, he lets out a howl to the residents of Tephra, announcing his arrival at their border. It was only customarily that he waits there, though the innate predatoriness of him begs to differ. Tephra was a perfect hunting ground for something a bit more than he might have ever tasted before. But, he does not allow such instinct to take over quite yet. He had more important matter to attend to them those of a predator’s mind.
12-14-2018, 12:26 PM (This post was last modified: 12-14-2018, 02:43 PM by Ryatah.)
“What have I become, my sweetest friend? Everyone I know goes away in the end."
Despite being on the outskirts for so long, the rituals of the kingdom life were far too ingrained into her to be simply forgotten. A vast majority of her life had been spent doing the tasks that many found to be tedious and uninteresting — kingdom visits, recruiting, greeting newcomers that breached the borders. She isn’t sure if she was necessarily actually good at those things, or if perhaps she had always lived in lands surrounded by others that simply lacked the innate ability to be diplomatic, and therefore had that role thrust onto her.
She was skilled at keeping wars at bay, but she could win them if she had to.
Tephra is different, and even though she knows Magnus is a good leader on all accounts — in diplomacy as well as war — it is her nature to respond to the howl that rang forth. It was an eerie call; not entirely canine, but still beckoning. With Evenstar being safely entertained by another foal, the pale white mare follows the lingering echo of the sound. Her steps are surprisingly deft despite the hollowed sockets on either side of her face, though unsurprising since she had lived in the dark for more than hundred years. The lengthy strands of her mane and forelock do a fairly good job of shielding the sight from those she speaks with, and if it weren’t for the plague that has wreaked havoc on her body — lips blush-pink from the blood that stained, her svelte curves caving to bone in some places, and the distinct rattle of her lungs when she breathed — she was almost still the same ethereally beautiful creature she had been so long ago.
She feels the stranger as she comes closer, nostrils fluttering as they detect his unique scent. She doesn’t know him, but then, she knows so few of them. She is but a ghost from the past, someone that death refused to keep, and she has lived so many lifetimes that she is now lost in a strange generation that is entirely foreign to her. ”Hello,” The greeting is civil, adopting her usual pleasant tone she had especially for politics. ”I’m Ryatah. I’m sure Magnus will be along shortly,” Her lips lift in a knowing smile, a curious tilt of her delicate head as she inquires, ”What brings you to Tephra?”
Magnus has no way of knowing that the hound at his border is actually his grandson. He has no way of knowing that his Amazonian Queen of a daughter has found love with a Chamber man—the irony would make him laugh until his sides ached—and that they had produced a hellhound and an undead daughter. So he doesn’t greet the hellhound as family, although he has never been one to lock up borders tight.
Instead, he watches as the hound tips his head back and lets loose the low call.
He watches as the white mare moves forward to greet him, making her way through the trickier parts of Tephra with a grace that speaks to a long time spent traveling without all of her senses.
He is far enough away that it takes him a minute to make the trip toward them, to find his own path through the overgrown vegetation and soil. But, still, he manages, the summer heat of Tephra a comforting weight as it settles across his broad shoulders. When he arrives, he walks up Ryatah’s side, his inky nose settling briefly on her shoulder in greeting before he swings his gold-flecked gaze to the hound.
“Hello,” his whiskey-voice is low and steady and not altogether unkind. “My name is Magnus.” He never assumes that anyone would know who he is and why he is here, or what he has done in the past, although he has been accused of being arrogant once or twice. Still, he offers the visitor a dip of the head and a curve of lacerated lip, waiting patiently for the answer to his fellow Tephran’s question.
12-23-2018, 01:12 PM (This post was last modified: 12-23-2018, 01:13 PM by Sinner.)
there is but one rule hunt or be hunted
He had been molded and fashioned for something far greater than living the life of a kingdom-dweller his creators from hell would say. But he would disagree. The dark hellhound had found there was something more than living the life of a commoner as a resident or a nomad. When you wear the crown, there is more that comes with the title.
Power.
But there is more than just power. Power was a fickle thing, and it swayed back and forth between everything. It could never be fully controlled, and often it was just like the fruit of knowledge of good and evil that Eve had taken a bite from—everyone wanted it, so it seemed.
There was more than just power to him.
Opportunity.
He took the chance when he could have been considered nothing. A lowlife some could call him, but he is neither that. The hound is a hunter, and he hunts for opportunity. He gladly takes the risk. And the risk for taking his place as the Champion under Arthas and Lepis ruling had just done the trick.
The crown has finally fallen into his hands.
Well, a piece of it. Sinner does not consider that part. He doesn’t need to despite the fact he has given Mary the other half of the crown, but she is kin to his every own motive and desire. Perhaps his other half. Sinner has never felt a threat from her, and he never plans on feeling that way.
In short time, a white mare appears from the horizon. His glowing eyes follow the mare has she makes her way around the land with ease. Sinner doesn’t know she is over a hundred years old. Nothing in the ways he looks or moves gives the hint of her age. She is eternally youthful. However, he notices the signs of the plague on her.
The plague has taken yet another victim while he remains eternally untouched. A gift the dark god had called it for his act into bringing the plague. But he is not the only one that had had a hand within it all too. Sinner did not find the plague to be a downfall as many would. It was an event that he was glad that came into Beqanna and created chaos. It was where he had found his opportunity, and where he would find more in the end.
Her greeting is pleasant, which he assumes the mare plays the role of a diplomat. Always quick with their words, and tricky with what they said. But was this so-called white mare, Ryatah, a master of words? Sinner has yet to find out.
“Well, hello there,” his lips curve into a friendly smile. However, it’s hard for someone such as a hellhound to manage even such a pleasant expression. He is about to speak further, but his attention drifts to the buckskin stallion that approaches. The buckskin stallion greets the mare with a friendly manner, he notices. He is always taking notes of what he sees and hears. It was a way for him to get an idea of what everything was like within the world outside of Sylva.
Magnus bows his head in greeting, but the hellhound does not offer the same manner back. He is obviously arrogant and does not care to show his true colors. Pride was not something to be ashamed of after all. “A pleasure to meet you both, Magnus and Ryatah.” He licks his lips lightly before continuing. He at least tries to have some decency. “I am Sinner, co-ruler of Sylva. I have come to see how others and their lands are faring with the plague.” He glances from Magnus to Ryatah and then to the Tephra territory that stretches behind the two others. “All seems well,” he comments, drawing his own conclusion, before turning his yellow-red gaze back to the Tephrans.
“What have I become, my sweetest friend? Everyone I know goes away in the end."
If she has her suspicions of the Sylvan king, she never lets it show. She is still learning the new Beqanna dynamics, still figuring out where each land stood and what they were known for, but she knew that, in the past at least, Sylva was not considered one of the more charitable lands. Of course, a simple glance into her own past would show that she had made her home in a kingdom not too dissimilar from Sylva for several years. The Valley, although rarely seeking out trouble, had not been entirely innocent, and she was guilty by association.
It had been full of characters that reminded her of Sinner; his kind is not unknown to her. A lamb amongst the wolves, she had gradually learned their ways, and their individual ticks – but it came at a price, and sometimes she paid for her mistakes dearly, as her scarred face showed. She cannot see the hellhound, of course, but she can feel him. He is watching them – the golden stallion now at her side, having acknowledged his arrival with a feather-light touch of her own – and he is storing and cataloging everything they say and do. ”Sinner,” She repeats his name, the shape of the word slipping easily from her tongue. A name that would suit most of them, even her, and the notion is not lost on her, since her more recent faults are never far from her mind.
”I’d say Tephra as a whole is fairing well, save for the fools that wander into unsafe areas,” There is laughter that laces her words, since it was evident by her blood-stained lips that she was referring to herself. Not many of the residents were infected, and at the very least, they didn't run the risk of spreading it. But she falls back to something that he had said earlier, a curious tip of her head as she inquires, ”Who is your co-ruler?” Perhaps Magnus already knew the answer, and it was unlikely it would be a name she recognized anyway, but it was hard to break her habit of asking all questions.
Magnus has felt this way before—something beneath the surface that crackles, a tension that simmers and crooks a finger at him, dragging out memories of old interactions. He remembers greeting those with ill-intentions on the border of the Gates, of Tephra, and he has long since schooled his features into one of a calm neutrality. So he doesn’t let anything show as he addresses his grandson. Does nothing but watch him carefully, tilting his heavy-jawed head to the side and listening, his shoulder resting against Ryatah.
Whether Sinner turned out to be someone with ill-intentions or not remains to be seen.
As Ryatah answers his question, he feels a swell of pride—a surge of joy that she’s here and able to navigate such complex interactions gracefully. She answers as he would, asserting their strength without boasting, and he nods his agreement before turning his gold-flecked eyes back to the man of Sylva. He had not been around during the kingdom’s worst moments. It had simply been the autumn kingdom when it had first emerged in the new Beqanna but he distinctly remembers the purple mare’s reaction to the name. It left something wiggling in the back of his mind, an itch that he cannot scratch or shake.
“As Ryatah said, Tephra is doing well,” he says evenly, his whisky-voice husky in his ashen throat. “We remain safe, thanks to Warrick’s sacrifice.” He pauses for a moment, gathering his thoughts, before continuing. “I would like to hear more of Sylva’s current direction, if you don’t mind. I know that she has a somewhat unsavory past. I would be curious as to your current aspirations with the kingdom.” It is blunt, much like Magnus, but he doesn’t imagine the stallion before him does well with diplomatic niceties or dancing around the subject. So Magnus doesn’t bother. Instead, he approaches the subject head-on, keeping his gaze steady and waiting to see what kind of answer he gets from the hellhound.
Truthfully, there is no such thing as being righteous. Many would beg to argue against the statement, but it is simply the truth. There is always a little darkness within everyone, even the most virtuous of individuals have a demon whispering into their ear. some days you can control the demon, other days it controls you. It’s always hungry, feeding upon the lust and longing.
While the so-called righteous ones slumber peacefully, the demon never sleeps. It tempts everyone into crossing every line they have ever drawn. Testing you and haunting you. It will eventually turn loved ones into enemies all the while the demon consumes you whole.
And he is that demon.
The white face-scarred mare is the first to speak. His yellow-gold eyes flicker to her, ears twitching in her direction as she addresses an answer to his previous statement. A small smile lifts at her humorous words at the end of her speech. “All the wiser to be more aware,” he says in reply, allowing his smile to widen even more. Sinner made certain that he would not fall into such a category. The plague was not something he feared. It had made him stronger and given him an opportunity, just as he would further those more with the Sylva crown in his possession.
Ryatah then asks about his co-ruler. Ah yes, I almost forgot, he thinks but doesn’t put too much thought into it. “Her name is Mary.” The hellhound does not give more than that. There was no reason for them to know information that would give them leverage. She may be the previous king’s daughter, but blood did not matter in this time of Beqanna. Perhaps to some it did, but he does not care for a blood-reigning legacy.
Magnus then speaks up next. His attention draws swiftly to the buckskin stallion, meeting his gold-flecked gaze head on. The hound’s expression, a wide smile, remains on his canine lips as Magnus becomes more forward. The leader of Tephra truly does not hide his intentions, something Sinner admires in the stallion in front of him. But the information the Tephran was seeking would not easily be given. Sinner is not one to give away such information as it is within his own nature to keep within the dark of his true intentions and strategies.
“I am glad to hear Tephra is doing well. It’s time like these that we all need to find our strength and band together” he begins, already his thoughts set in coarse of what he is going to say. “What sort of sacrifice did Warrick give?” The name rings of familiarity, but the politics of previous kingdoms and their dealings do not. It seemed important to learn of what sacrifice this Warrick has given that Magnus names he decides.
He waits for a moment before speaking further to answer Magnus’ question. “Unsavory is perhaps what you might call it, but to someone it is entirely something else.” Sinner has found his place within the unsavory kingdom, even now he relishes in where the autumn kingdom stands now. Without its history he likely would not be where he is today. “My aspirations for Sylva are to see that we make it out of this plague. I only wish for those that call Sylva home to have a safe place to rest their head, to give them an opportunity, for them to feel that they have a purpose and belong to a place they can call home.”
Well, it wasn’t entirely his aspirations. There was much more than that. The hellhound, however, just wasn’t very willing to slip the information out so willingly. That information was meant between those he calls friends (and even that was consider with a different meaning to him as well).
although this world is made of fearsome beasts that bark and bite we were born to put these creatures through one hell of a fight
The whole situation feels nostalgic, feels like a war drum in his heart, and he rises to it, wants to wrap around it, wants to let it sink into his flesh. He meets the yellow-gold of his grandson’s eyes, searching them out, studying him. Magnus wants to tell him of the demons he has seen in his past. Of the demons he has crossed swords with. Sinner does not scare him, does not do anything but raise his guard.
He would not be afraid.
Instead, when the hellhound asks about Warrick’s sacrifice, Magnus’ lips just spread wide into a bland smile. He rolls his shoulders. “A longer story for another time, perhaps.” It wasn’t exactly a secret about how Warrick had worked with Carnage and that Tephra remained beneath the dark god’s protection, but Magnus wasn’t about to feed such information into a hound clearing sniffing out details.
He knew how such things worked.
He knew just how a small slip of details could be turned into a knife to your throat.
So he just continues to engage in the dance, eyes sharp but features friendly, his war-scarred body relaxed even though his nerves jump beneath, ready for whatever is to come. “Isn’t that always the way it goes?” he says with a quirk of lip, wondering if Sinner ever truly found something unsavory. “I’m glad to hear that you have such noble purpose for your home.” He doesn’t believe it—not truly. Everything within him balks at the idea, feeling more and more like the Sylva of today was the Valley of his past.
“And I am glad you made the journey to see us today, Sinner.” Glad that he could keep his finger on the pulse of the illusive hellhound. Glad to have these suspicions, glad to not be caught completely unaware.
“Is there anything else that you would like to know? Anything else that we can help you with?”
01-13-2019, 11:00 AM (This post was last modified: 01-13-2019, 11:00 AM by Sinner.)
there is but one rule hunt or be hunted
It was those that did not fear him that gave him the most satisfying challenge of all. These individuals that could take their demons by the horn and toss them into the oblivion, thinking they have vanquished them. But they have not. Their demons would always be there within the darkness, waiting and watching.
He was patient just as those demons were. The hound would play his cards just like anyone else would, but he believed himself to be more tactful and thoughtful of what moves he made. Perhaps it was in his innate nature to be this way, created to destroy worlds and souls.
The hellhound does not show a reaction to the smile that spreads wide across Magnus’ face. He expected that there would be no answer to his question. But it was not hard for the hound to find others that were more willing to talk. Gossip was something others loved to do while it became a source of weapon for him if needed. But the name Warrick was something he should have remembered, but he does not find such sacrifices to be worthy of remembering truly (even if they both have played a part in bringing in the plague).
Magnus is something else. Perhaps someone Sinner would have liked if they did not stand on opposite sides. There is a strength and a sense of wisdom that he seen within the immortal buckskin stallion. Sinner likely would never have connected the dots that this is his grandfather. Not that he would care. Family was entirely useless to him, and he had not come into the world purely out of the love of two souls. He had come as a warning—a weapon of destruction.
“It seems so,” he says with a smile at Magnus words. He truly doesn’t believe that Magnus is glad about his intentions of Sylva. The friendly face may saw other ways, but Sinner is not easily trustworthy of what others show freely on the outside. There were always darker thoughts and sometimes intentions. He has taken the liberty of never trusting what the outside shows.
The smile on his lips remain as Magnus continues speaking. It seems already the buckskin is ready to send him along his way. Sinner was happy with the idea too. There was no reason for him to remain at the border of Tephra when he has already found what he was looking for. “I am glad I was able to finally see Tephra. Thank you for your hospitality, Magnus and Ryatah.” It feels sickening almost to be this polite, but it came with the duties of leading a land.
“I think I have all I need.” A smirk grows across his mandibles, keeping his red-yellow gaze on Magnus. “Have a good day,” he says before turning around on all four paws disappearing into the distance. All the while thinking that Tephra could potentially be a concern within the future of his opportunities. Sinner was not afraid though. He would enjoy the challenges that came.
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