[open] The Alchemist speaks in a language without words [Any]

[Eight]

@[Vadar] -- also I just made up your entry into Pangea for story sake, but if you wanna play it off as something else, you can just ignore that!

no matter what they say, I am still the king

There’s something to be said when the world cracks open and bleeds a fury of disease (cracked like your skin, like your open maw, like the membranes inside your skull). What had Beqanna done to anger the gods so? What have you done to deserve this sickness settling over you, you ravaged creature? You bore your diseased body back to ground zero, back to where this whole sickened mess started. You are home now, Vadar, to die or dwindle as you please.
You may not remember, but He does. Your drunken walk through the edge of this desecrated, desolate place. You leave a trail of breadcrumbs, skin that peels like a ripe blood orange, He does not have to look far to find you. You waver, a mirage of life and death, a bramble mix of incoherent thoughts. Muttering a mixture of a pale pink mare (oh, you devil!), stirring curses at a ruinous trek on the mountain, spittle falling as you scream of the star-dogged mare. You wove like a honey-drunk bee, falling to your knees (rivulets of blood and rotted skin falling alongside you).
“A welcome back, perhaps?” He finds your listless body none too far from the river – were you trying to drown your drought of sickness? Wash away that tenured reek of rot? You elicit no true words, a ruffled noise from the pit of your dying body - “Or perhaps not.” His head cocks (a shrug of indifference, so to speak), before he urges a pool of water from the earth to settle by your open mouth. A welcome home gift, to quench the death that riddles you.

(now, the storm is coming in)