And he went out conquering and to conquer... ROUND II

[The Bellringer]

Ribcage has been eliminated for responding after the deadline.

They gather, one by one, accepting their fate. Some accept with alacrity, some with hesitation, some with irreverence. But it does not matter, for in the end, it is all the same.

---------------------------------

There is a heartbeat of time where nothing happens, where the world seems to simply stand still. Out of this stillness comes the lamb. Its seven eyes blink as its whiskers twitch. It seems to stare into you, reading your intentions, your heart, your very soul. And then, as it steps forward, its purpose is revealed.
 
For the first time, you notice the flat stones in the ground. Four of them, scattered about the clearing. Each is circular, each weathered and worn. Archaic symbols adorn their tops, lines and swirls etched into the ancient stone millennia ago. The meaning of those symbols has long since been lost to the winds of time, whisked away in a memory long forgotten.
 
But you know, somehow, that they are important.
 
And the lamb steps forward unerringly. In a blink, the creature of sevens is before one of the seals (for in that moment, you realize the obvious. They are seals. But what are they sealing in?). One small, cloven hoof presses against that ancient stone. Suddenly, the seal shatters, bits of stone flying through the air with concussive force. In the midst of the explosion, the lamb has disappeared, vanished without a trace.
 
Silence falls once again, broken only by the shuffling of feet and the breathing of your fellow equines.
 
One heartbeat, two, and then the still air is echoing with laughter. It is a mere gurgle of sound, delight and victory echoing within its depths. A flash of light catches your gaze. Another flash. From the trees, a stallion emerges. His yellow eyes are bright and gleeful, a haze of triumph covering his features.
 
'Conquest.'
 
The word whispers through the air on a rising breeze, echoing, repeating until you think you might go mad. Branches rattle eerily as the dull grass stirs against your hocks. You know, without even asking, that the only thing this creature wishes is for you to be upon your knees. He does not care how you get there, whether it is because your legs have been broken, whether it is because your breath rattles with death inside your lungs, or whether it is simply because you have been sapped of strength. He cares only that you kneel.
 
Then, behind him, creatures begin to appear. They are beasts you recognize, yet somehow wholly different. There is a wolf, snarling and salivating, with only a single eye and spines upon his back. There is a bear with armor instead of skin, with claws so long and sharp you wonder how it does not trip. And then a badger, a snake, a panther, a coyote... An army of ravening creatures, all recognizable and yet so terribly misshapen.
 
”The Seal!”
 
The voice booms, loud and insistent. Conquest hisses, his poison breath fogging upon his lips. His skin, festering and flaking, quivers in outrage.
 
It is then that you realize… he wants out. You are the vanguard, sent to prevent his escape. For should he be freed, devastation will follow. The apocalypse will come.
 
You have a choice to make.
 
You have a seal to find.

Please respond by Sunday, January 17th at 8:00pm CST.
 
Things to Know

In the course of this post, you must make a decision. Will you stand against Conquest or will you help him escape so that he might begin the apocalypse?

You are allowed to change your mind in future rounds. However, you must make your stance clear in your post. (Your character doesn’t need to say it out loud, but make it clear to the reader.)

You must each collect a piece of the seal. End your post when you find and touch your piece.

Your character must encounter Conquest and/or his minions. You must either try to help or fight him. You are allowed to power play Conquest and his minions. As this is interactive, you should understand where he is/what he is doing in previous posts. As before, you are welcome to collaborate ooc. (You can assume he is supernaturally fast and prescient.)

Conquest brings sickness with only a touch. At some point, you must discover this (prior to this discovery, you will not know about the ability). If you touch him, you will contract some sort of illness (for example, boils, a cough, etc).

You will still be able to use any traits you have, but they will be essentially 'diluted' due to the nature of purgatory.

Your post will be judged upon creativity, your ability to continue/maintain the story arc, and grammar/spelling.

 
If you have any questions or need clarification, please PM me or post them in Connect.

[Lagertha]

I am iron and I forge myself

There are thirteen of them in all, and if Lagertha were the superstitious type, she might have seen the ill omen from the start. But Lagertha doesn’t think that way; she thinks in terms of what she can and cannot do, of mental will power and the best of her physical abilities. She thinks in terms of offense and defense and wonders when her dam’s insanity will come creeping after its rightful possession. Is it now? At the ‘end of the world’ that is somehow different from another end of the world? Was that post this potential apocalypse, after Conquest has made all living things bend the knee, when War has turned the waters red, Famine sends them into cannibalism, and Disease has run rampant and killed or mutated everything that’s left? Is that when the Langoliers come, raring to chew up everything that has not already been destroyed in fire and brimstone?

The lamb reappears, and in casting a scrutinizingly gray gaze after it, as it walks with an unusual stateliness (for a lamb). Her eyes travel down its stubby little legs to what it is standing on, where they grow wide in concern as it parades towards one of the circular stones. There are four in all, scattered around the clearing. Lagertha cannot read the markings on the stones, but the swirls and lines seem rather ominous. She swallows, almost nervously, forcing herself to keep a calm exterior. This is but a.... seven-eyed and seven-horned lamb! She could sprout spikes and run it through in a heartbeat. She’s about to open her mouth and demand answers of the odd little creature when it stops and presses a hoof into the first of the stones, triggering an explosion that makes her reflexively don her usual thin layer of metal. It comes, but more slowly than she’d like, which causes her to brace herself. Even as she is protected, she twists her neck and head away, protecting the vulnerable eyes and even more important - cranial area. After she’s sure that debris isn’t raining down on them, the gray Queen sheathes her metal.

More than a little irritated, the Warrior Queen snorts loudly, and turns back to survey the mess: all smoke and dust and the sounds of the other twelve Beqannians. She shifts restlessly, very much disliking this piecemeal revelation of what their ‘fate’ is. On edge and very much alert, Lagertha’s ears fall to her skull when the air fills next with laughter and flashes draw their attention, heralding the what can only be the headliner for the evening. The lamb was just the opening act. This guy, with his bright yellow eyes and putrid, festering skin (he reminds her of Infection, of the odd, predatory Tundra man) that hangs in ribbons off his neck. Ugh. Oh god. If horses could vomit, she would probably have retched right then and there. War and blood is one thing - pus and rotting flesh is another. She is a General, not a Surgeon.

Conquest, the world seems to whisper to them, and all of a sudden her revulsion wanes. Oh, well… that just might change everything. Especially with a pack of misshapen beasts at his command. All sort of wretched creatures materialize behind the stallion, and she finds herself drawn to the bear with armor in place of skin, envious of both the weapons he has and the protection he enjoys. Except for the whole, being enslaved to a (rotting?) horse thing. That must suck. Hungry eyes wander over the army, and she begins to wonder what she could do with such monsters at her disposal.

Could she bring Beqanna to its knees, and place an actual crown of thorns upon her brow? Could she have Straia by the throat, and then shove one of those goddamn birds down it too? She’s practically salivating at the thought.

The Seal! rings crystal clear, drawing Lagertha back from her morbid daydreams. She watches at the stallions seems to froth (even more so than herself) at the mouth, and the meaning is evident: The Seal holds him in check. With a sidelong glance to the other twelve, the Khaleesi doubles down on her original assessment of them. She can’t imagine that many of them will want to see Conquest released upon the world - even if it does seem like everything is already dead. What are the odds if the actual sun is gone and the wind no longer blows, and these… oddly joined twelve are all that stands between the Apocalypse and the world? Two of them are children. Two - maybe three, including herself - seem like they could hold their own in a fight. What kind of motley team is that? Granted, she’s learned that you shouldn’t underestimate the nice ones. They got to Gail, and first had to pass through aliens in space and hellish demons from the dark-god-only-knows-where. Clearly brute strength isn’t everything all of the time.

Nevertheless...winning trumps being morally correct any day. The other twelve don’t seem like they’re going to last too long, and she isn’t one to lend a hand to a lost cause. This also means that Lagertha isn’t likely to have any allies. So be it, she’s always been the flying solo type.

Granted, the actual mechanics of how the seal works and what exactly they have to do to keep him not-so-quietly contained are unknown. However, as The Seal! was shattered at the touch of a lamb (again, she doesn’t know why, except that for some reason, they once again play things of the supernatural), and Conquest appeared, perhaps they need to put it back together again to make his disappear. Which would mean they need all the pieces. And if she were to… accidentally crush one or two of the pieces… well then oopsey daisy.

Something seems like it’s supposed to happen… but no one is moving. They stand locked in a stare down. So Lagertha takes a deep breath and lunges forward, turning to the left in a tight circle, intending to find one of the pieces that probably flew over their heads. No way in hell is she going to try to fight through that mass of monsters. Even if she is able to communicate that they’re on the same side, chances of getting that out before they do some sort of damage to her is small. Let the others do what they will.

She frantically scans the earth before her for a piece-of-stone-that-is-not-a-stone. The soldier in her, however, will not let her pour all her attention into that sole task. With one gray ear twisting behind her, to try to keep an eye on the mayhem that is sure to ensue, she heads to the edge of the clearing. The blast was pretty powerful. Maybe one of the pieces flew this far. Unfortunately for Lagertha, she barely makes it more than a few paces before she hears something coming up behind her. She spares a quick look and sees that it is Conquest itself, thundering towards her, with flayed skin streaming along behind him. His eyes glint with a merciless sort of hatred, as if Lagertha herself has been responsible for holding him captive all these years. He closes the distance between them easily, and before Lagertha can look back a second time, the tip of his nose grazes her, and she feels a stinging sensation as her rump explodes into a itchy, and then painful rash that sends her yelping in intense discomfort and swinging her hindquarters quickly out of the way of his apparently pain-inducing touch. She throws the metal barrier back up again. It was utterly stupid to have let it go in the first place.

“Fuuuuuuuck!” Aaaaagh, oh god oh god ohgodd that HURTS. She clenches her jaw, submerging the tips of her indignation, and quietly spits back at the stallion, “I’m on your side, asshole!” If looks could kill, Conquest would be dead as a doornail, and there would be no need for this mad scramble. He seems to pause, unsure of what she’s just said, and Lagertha glances back at the blistery swathe that now covers the top of her flanks. “What the hell did you do to me? It hurts,” she snarls, wincing as her skin moves with every cautionary step she takes. His minions appear to be harrying the other twelve, but she can’t risk being seen just talking with the enemy, so she moves towards the edge of the clearing again.

But he’s gone. The stallion is off to torture some other unfortunate soul, and the Amazonian Khaleesi is left with nothing but questions and only a fraction of an idea of how to continue. That is, until a giant (and by giant, I’m talking massive) millipede as long as her own body, with giant, pinching jaws and nasty looking spines on its back comes skittering up to her from the direction in which Conquest disappeared. Lagertha rears upon her hind legs, preparing to attempt to crush it beneath her hooves, but it refuses to attack, simply staying out of reach of her legs. She backpedals, but it stays in place. Lagertha adds small, metal thorns to her leg armor, just in case, and then continues her search with one eye towards the ground, and another eyes on the millipede. But even when she continues to try to find her piece of the seal, it hangs back… almost as if it is surreptitiously guarding her.

If so… it’s a damn good choice. Nothing too fancy, or tall enough to really stand out to the others. Just enough for her to maybe pretend to see it, if anyone notices (though by the sound of things, she’s sure they’re all equally occupied), and then attack. Or for it to defend her. A quick scan of the area reveals nothing, so she pushes past a couple of bushes and spots a grayish-tannish glint amongst the shadows. There, just beyond where the sunless sky has shed its light, is a shard of The Seal. Grunting as she lurches towards it (the rash’s discomfort is intensifying, every step feels like a hundred little sharp points are pushing into her muscles), she momentarily leaves the commotion behind and without hesitation, moves to stand over the bit of stone. She raises a well-muscled leg and prepares to bring it down with all her might upon the seal.

But it cannot be done. The stone will not break. Lagertha frowns and takes a look around. Luckily no one is paying attention to her, and no one has moved beyond the light to search behind the bushes. So instead, she presses around a bit and finds a soft area of earth. She paws at the ground, creating a shallow hole into which she will push the shard, cover it up, and then run back out to provide 'aid' to the others and attempt to cover up her deception. With the faintest glimmer of a smirk on her lips, Lagertha noses the piece of the seal into its secret grave.

Lagertha

warrior queen of the amazons

tl;dr - Lagertha decides to help Conquest. She heads to the edge of the clearing to look for a piece of the Seal, and Conquest comes after her. He touches her and she gets Shingles. After hissing that she's on his side, he leaves her alone and provides her with a giant millipede as protection. She finds a shard behind the bushes at the edge of meadow, and when she realizes she can't destroy it, buries it instead. As far as she knows, no one is around to see it. She is on her way out to pretend like nothing has happened.

Feel free to powerplay Lagertha helping your character with something. She has natural armor formation and dart frog poison secretion. You don't have to ok anything by me, as long as she doesn't speak much, and doesn't get very hurt. She's already wearing metal armor, with metal thorns on her legs.

[Esileif]

WARNING. EXPLICT WRITING.

I'm your Queen, you're my Ruler.

”I do.”

Although her thoughts are filled with questions, arguments and decisions the silence around her is eerie. She had been one of the last to accept their quest and her words still linger in the air. There is this strange realisation, this feeling that makes it clear that there is no going back anymore. Esileif snorts – and flinches slightly as she disturbs the silence – to express her nervous state. She forces herself to stand still, but her legs are itching to move, so she can get away from this madness fast. When the lamb appears again she doesn’t have to worry about her dancing legs anymore, as its gaze freezes her movements almost completely. It isn’t the first time that Esileif feels like she’s being read like an open book and she instantly knows it can see right through her. She wants to look away, to cast her gaze down in shame, but she cannot.

Her blue and brown eyes follow its every movement. It steps forward and Esileif’s gaze follows its seven eyed gaze down to whatever it was right in front of its cloven hooves. Four circular flat stones. She questions herself, wondering if they hadn’t been there before or if she just hadn’t seen them. Finally she is able to move herself, but instead of fleeing the two toned girl moves a few steps forward in curiosity. Esileif is eager to get a better look at the stones, her heart swelling with some unfamiliar and unknown feeling. She is too engrossed with the stones and their mysterious swirling pattern that she doesn’t notice the lamb stepping forward, not until it is too late. ”No!” Her voice breaks the silence rather aggressively, echoing across the lands before the sounds dies somewhere in the distance. Too late, she had been too late. The seal was broken, shattered, gone. Just as the seven eyed and seven horned lamb.

She can only look around her in shock and the silence grows eerie once again. It had been obvious – or maybe not so if you would think about it in any other circumstance – that the stones were seals, locking something away from the world. But what was it, what was dangerous enough to be caged by such force? The answer comes soon enough as the air is filled with laughter. The Spanish hybrid moves, closer to the fellow equines that have gathered, the child within her calling silently out for their support. Except for the victorious and almost humouring laughing it’s still silent. The first flash actually manages to get her off the ground, jumping away from the sudden streak of light. Esileif’s muscles are tense, her head raised high in the air, ears pointing forward into the direction of the light and nostrils flaring. What was going on?

Never, never before Esileif had seen such a thing. Sure she knew that there were magical horses around, from which some could even manipulate elements – like her father Belgarath, but this was entirely different. It had been a long time ago since she had last felt her mask crack, that she had felt this vulnerable, fearful and insecure. What was this creature? She doesn’t have to voice out her thoughts to get an answer, he drops his name in such way that nobody would be able to question it. And he doesn’t give them the chance to forget about his name, the echo repeating it over and over again, until there is no more than a ringing sound. ”Conquest” she repeats the name, after having swallowed the dry lump in her throat.

Her head tilts a little to the side, her eyes wandering across his figure, before she finally looks up to meet his gaze again. Those yellow eyes are terrifying and only the thought of how eerie and ghostly they will look at night send shivers to run down her spine. Esileif wants to look away, but finds herself unable to. He holds her captive, his gaze locking with hers in such way that her knees begin to tremble. She can see the content twitch of his lips and instantly she knows that he wants her to give in, to simply give up and bow her head for him. The bay and faint orangey white mare has to admit that the pressure is hostile and undesired, yet Esileif cannot ignore the spark of interest and attraction that triggers her at the same time. But you know what they say; ‘curiosity killed the cat’.

When she finally is able to tear her eyes away from his gaze they land upon the army that has formed behind him. Creatures she knows well and recognizes – but which she had luckily enough not encountered before – yet at the same time so different and terribly mutated and malformed. A one eyed wolf, a bear clad in iron armor and many more. They are simply too many and come too fast to pay attention to every single one at the time they appear. All she can do is stare, lost in thoughts and the things she sees and not paying attention to anything else. Esileif is only remembered about the lamb, the explosion and the seal when its voice booms. Her flinch isn’t really unsurprising, as she has been on the edge ever since she had been summoned to this place. Yet she doesn’t miss the way Conquest reacts to the voice and then it struck her.

It was hím who the seal had been meant to cage, it was hím who was about to break free – or did he already succeed at that? She doesn’t know and right now she doesn’t want to wait for answers. Esileif takes off, jumping before galloping. She leaves the others behind her, the only thought in her mind was how to get away. No, that isn’t true. And she knows it. Another struggle has surfaced and the masked queen clashes with the insecure girl. She is panting by the time she comes to a stop, turning halfway around to look back in the direction she had just left. ”This is my chance! The chance I’ve been waiting for. Maybe I don’t need to prove myself, maybe hé is the path to take!” she mumbles out loud to herself and a slight shock of excitement travels down her spine. As the thought forms more and more in her head, the smile upon her lips grows. Why would she even try and take the righteous path, as the dark one may be so much easier? Esileif doesn’t care how she is able to reach her goals, it is the result that matters. Only then Belgarath would give her his approval and recognition.

When the two toned girl looks up again she can see him standing there. He has been watching her, almost like he knew what she has been thinking. That he could’ve thought of her as an easy prey when she had ran didn’t really cross her mind. ”Conquest” she greets him, her voice steady and pleasant to the ear. The smile still adorns her lips and after the first step with some hesitation she starts to walk in his direction. ”Well, well, what do we have here?” Esileif doesn’t like it how he is humouring her, how he looks down on her with those eerie yellow eyes of him. Gritting her teeth together she tries to hold her compose, desperate to keep her repaired mask intact this time. ”Instead of who I am, the thing I have to offer is more interesting” she replies him, eyes never leaving his to read the reaction off his features.

He laughs and Esileif still cannot say that the sound is enjoyable to listen too. The sound dies just as quick as it has come and with a smirk that twitches the corners of his lips he steps forward, circling around her as he is taking in all of her rather thoroughly. Her blue and brown eyes follow him, turning her neck a little to never let him get out of sight completely. ”You are willing to side with me?” he asks, although it isn’t really a question. ”You want to be my pawn, my toy, at my command. You honestly cannot think that siding with me will be a pleasant experience for you?” This time he is expecting an answer and for a short second Esileif can’t hide the distaste in her expression. When he comes to a halt in front of her she just looks at him for a few seconds, refusing to cast her gaze down. ”Because of the thing I might gain of you” she then honestly answers. He would come to know her motivation one way or another and once he know how driven she is to achieve her goals, he would know how much of a loyal companion she could be. Well, that was as long as she was given the thing she desires, but for now it would do.

”You want power so much that you’d be willing to turn your back on all those others?” His voice voices how much he likes the current turn of events, laced with victory and triumph like he had already won. Without hesitation Esileif nods. She doesn’t care about any of them, only one opinion matters and all the others could perish if it was up to her. ”I will do whatever you ask of me, but you’ll have to promise to give me something in return. Power, might, a way to show them my worth.” He stays silent for a moment, the smirk falling of his lips and it is like his yellow eyes glow more intensely. For the first time since their conversation had started Esileif is forced to cast her gaze down, even flinching a little. This seems to satisfy him. ”Carry out your task, and I will consider your .. request” he replies. He hasn’t promised anything yet, but blinded by the opportunity the Spanish girl is blind for the truth.

To seal their contract he reaches out to her, his muzzle trailing down her neck in such way that it sends shivers down her spine. Both out of the unpleasant feeling – Conquest still gives off a dark vibe – and also out of forbidden excitement. Never before had a male intrigued her like this, except for her father of course, and she would’ve given herself to him willingly if not for the sudden nip at her withers. Esileif’s knees buckle, and she’s close to falling on her knees before she’s able to compose herself. A pained groan has escaped from her lips in the same time. Her stomach contracted for a moment, muscles tense and a sharp pain in her stomach, but it was gone just as soon as it had come.

The pain is soon forgotten as his muzzles travels down her spine and instantly she can feel the heat taking over her body. She groans contently, pressing closer against him, desperate for more skin to skin contact. Esileif turns her head to the side, her blue eye meeting his yellow ones, lips parted in a silent grunt. Their bodies dance, as they both want and enjoy it, never pulling away from each other for too long. Once the dance is over they are both satisfied. He for relieving some of his tension, she for getting something that binds him to keep his promise. Panting lightly she presses closer against him, seeking affection for a short moment before she’s able to collect herself again.

”Now, go. Bring me a piece of that seal” he instructs her, his muzzle giving her an almost gentle bump on her hindquarter. With that she’s off, rather smug of herself and what she has accomplished. Esileif doesn’t feel like rushing, instead her tail flicks around rather comfortable. She maybe feels just as euphoric as he does and although the things happening might be strange and even frightful, she is content with the way things have gone. Finally her goal was getting within reach.

She finds herself walking through the meadow, blue and brown eyes scanning the ground for glimpses of the seal. When the thing had shattered the pieces had been shot into the air with strength, spreading them out across the lands of Beqanna – or not really Beqanna but something that looked like it. She hasn’t even crossed the meadow half way when the pains strike her again. Groaning rather loudly she kicks her own stomach. The cramp in her stomach forces her to stop, the pain fierce and prominent. Almost like she had eaten something bad. Esileif would’ve believed that, if not for the short flash of pain in her stomach that she had felt when Conquest had nipped her skin. She knows it had been him who had done this and the anger fuels her. ”The bastard!” she hisses, teeth gritting together as she glances around to the nature around her angrily.

The colic symptoms seem to get less the further she walks. Her pace is slow, calculating, yet she isn’t about to give up now. If she brings him a piece of the seal, then maybe he would take the pains away from her. It was worth trying. And if not, then the walk would be her only way of getting rid of the cramps. So she walks and walks and walks. She searches and searches and searches. ”God.. How hard can it be to find one stupid piece?” she snarls out loud, slowly getting more and more frustrated as the pain and cramps have yet to fade away. But then, there it is. Only a glitter in the distance, but with the light reflecting on it it’s hard to miss. It takes Esileif longer to reach the piece than she would’ve liked, but a grateful grunt slips past her lips as she reaches down to pick up the piece.

Esileif

Belgarath x Alasia

Photograph by Filmwerx Studio

[elve]

it's strange what desire will make foolish people do.

The darkness always wins. She has spent too much time with darkness - almost her whole, short life - and she knows that no matter how defiant she may be, how stubborn and foolish and naive, she will always break before the darkness does.
She is a far cry from that adventurous filly that was so determined to rule the world. She is a shell of a thing now, filled with fear and little else.
And so her choice is easy.

The stones seem to appear from nothing, as if the gathering of these horses has made them visible. But perhaps - more likely - she was not paying enough attention. They are so intricate, so delicately inscribed upon in some ancient language, that she almost steps forward herself, desperate to touch them. An inch, another inch, she shuffles forwards, but she is beaten to it by something else. A lamb - though she’s never seen a lamb, never heard of one, she just knows, inexplicably - with more eyes and horns than it should have. And when it steps on one, she gasps, eyes wide, shocked, pulling her whole body in tightly to avoid being hit by flying stones (once she thought invisibility meant she couldn’t be touched, but no, he proved her wrong). And then he is there, laughing, hissing at them. Conquest. The Seal.
She knows what she must do, because it is easier to side with darkness than fight it - and that is a dilemma as old as time, but she is only as old as a few days and she is so scared and so alone and she wants to get out of this grey place. So she does what is easy.

She slinks off quickly, letting the other horses fuss and fret; she must move now, or she will never move at all. Two other horses seem to have the same idea - two that she sees, at least - and so she heads in a different direction from them, afraid that if they know her plan, they will try to stop her (and if she knew their plan, she would beg them for help, and neither option will put her in good stead with the rotting creature that is tormenting them so).
Her eyes scour the earth for a piece of carved stone, her body flickering between green-and-red and nothingness; this place may have slowed her power but it has not helped her with controlling it (as if it ever would, she must learn alone how to wield her invisibility, he has told her that a million times). She is so intent, so focused, on finding a part of the Seal that she doesn’t notice the creature in front of her until she walks into it. She screams, a short, huffy noise that she quickly silences, in fear of what will happen to her. Trembling (and oh, how good she has become at trembling, it is hard not to feel sorry for such a pathetic creature), she lifts her head, only to see a bird that is larger than any horse she has ever seen. It has feathers as long as her tail, and three eyes, in a line vertically down its face. It is grey, of course, everything here is grey, and when it opens its beak to squawk at her, it has lines of tiny teeth.
She wants to run away again.

But from behind this creature comes the stallion who has brought them all here. He looks at her and she stops trembling, stops breathing, stops moving. Time has stopped and this is it, this is the end for her, surely (and so cruel, to let her live so few days, and all so steeped in horror). He comes towards her - she doesn’t see him move, but he does, and suddenly he is there - and when he reaches his muzzle to hers, everything unsticks. She backs away, one step, two, but he is quicker and he whispers in her ears; “I know.” Then he touches her, delicately, on her forehead - a kiss - and he is gone, turning away from her and swiftly cantering away. The bird remains, and something else develops; a lump in her throat.
She cannot breathe.

She panics now, fully; fears takes over her every nerve cell, she shakes and she cries and she wants out. She will take any punishment that will come her way, but she wants out.
Then she sees what the bird is sitting on.
And slowly, painfully, she learns to breathe again, past the lump, past the runny eyes and the runny nose and the legs that want to run. None of that matters now, she has found part of the Seal, she has done what he wants and so he cannot hurt her, surely (she knows already that he can do what he likes with her, but she wishes to believe that she is one chosen for prizes).

She glances around as the bird shuffles backwards - he may be unnoticed, grey as he is, but she is green-and-red, a beacon in this drab land. She can find and stay with her section of Seal, her little piece of hope (hope for a way out), but the other horses will spot her from miles away; especially if she keeps winking in and out of sight as she currently is. She must try: it is time.

She steps forwards, placing her hoof on the fractured stone, and with all her might, she wishes to be unseen - and to stay unseen. She closes her eyes, willing her power to once, and just once bend to her will.
She is too afraid to open her eyes again, but if she had she would see that this time, her practice paid off. She is gone.

ELVE

Cliff Notes:
Elve is on the side of Conquest, she runs into a bird, gets strangles, finds a bit of the Seal and then turns invisible.
If you want to include her in your post for whatever bizarre reason, do what you want with her. Just don't hurt her too badly ^.^

[Weaver]

Ask no questions, and you'll be told no lies

They keep coming - the chosen ones - and she cannot help but wonder what makes each of them special. Nothing, perhaps.  Weaver likes to think herself special, but she’s not a fool either. She is dimly aware that she’s just a little girl with no special talents at all. But despite that, she’s here. Maybe she'd just been in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Some of the others look scared, though acceptance seems to replace fear.  Some look determined. Some intrigued. Weaver is not the only young horse in the crowd either. She notices one girl who says she welcomes her fate, and another boy who tries to make a joke of it all. Maybe they’ve all gone completely mad, but Weaver doesn’t think this is any joke. She finds herself drawn to him anyway, though she couldn’t say why. Maybe just because he’s young and offers his name.

She gives him a scathing look at his joke, but softens, adding, “Weaver”. Though she doesn’t move his way. Instead she slips through the crowd, closing the distance between herself and Warship. She hadn’t missed him in the crowd. They hadn’t met, but she’d be a terrible Princess and he a terrible General if they didn’t know who the other was.

The familiar smell of mist and pine draws her to his side. Giving him a nod, she settles in to wait as others accept their fate as well. One does so with a snide comment about the world coming to an end before. Weaver wonders how many times the world has crumbled and been rebuilt. Magic, after all, runs rampant in Beqanna. The world could burn a thousand times over, right beneath their feet, and they may never know.

Then everything stands still. There is nothing. The world is silent, without the hint of a breeze or the crunch of a hoof against the earth. It is only a heartbeat of a moment, the span between one Thump thump of her heart and the next. But it feels longer. Not one of those moments that drags on for eternity or some nonsense. Just long enough to notice it.

Then the lamb comes, its seven eyes blinking, seven horns crowning its head. Weaver steps forward without thinking, trying to get a better look. Curiosity might kill her one day, but that doesn’t stop her now. Perhaps it will never stop her. But of course she is still young enough to believe herself invincible. Foolish enough to not yet fear death.

She notices those seven eyes. They look only at her. Or at least, that’s what it feels like. The rational part of her brain thinks that this can’t be true. There are plenty of other horses to look at. But it doesn’t matter. She swears it looks only at her, swear it knows her every thought. Knows that she does not fear death, not yet anyway. There’s a quick flash of a thought in her head, and she doesn’t know if it’s her own or from the lamb. You will fear death soon.

This realization screams in her head. And then it disappears, leaving her with a hint of lingering uncertainty, a bad taste in her mouth. She blinks, trying to shake the feeling away.  When she opens her eyes, the lamb has moved, foot on a flat stone in the earth. There are four, she notices now, perhaps a second too late. Symbols swirl over the rocks, another language that has no meaning to her. But they must mean something. They must be important.

Otherwise, all these horses wouldn't be here. Otherwise, the lamb would have no reason to press his hoof into one. The rock shatters. Weaver closes her eyes, tucking her head to her chest, trying to avoid any debris. She’s quick to open her eyes though and pop her head back up, not wanting to miss a second.

It’s a seal.

The thought flashes in her mind, just like before. Her thoughts? Or did someone plant that knowledge there? But it doesn’t matter how she knows. All that matters is the broken seal, the lamb (gone again), and the silence that surrounds them.

The silence is not complete this time. She can hear her companions shuffling about, can hear the puff of air from their mouths and nostrils. Can hear the pounding of her heart.

Thump thump.

Thump thump.

Laughter fills the air. Not happy laughter. Not ‘oh, what a great joke’ laughter. It is cool and pleased and wicked. It reminds her of Mother, with her mischievous half smile and amused laughter. But this laugh is far darker and deeper than Mother’s. It is far more unnerving.

A flash of light. Another. And then a stallion (or a monster resembling one, anyway). His eyes are the color of fear, but he is not afraid. No, he is gleeful, joyus. Victorious.

Conquest.

Again, the word is in her head. But this time, it doesn’t stop. This time, the trees whisper his name. This time, her heart pumps the word. Conquest, conquest. Conquest, conquest. She wants to shout, wants to drown out the sound. Wants to rip the voice out of her head. Go away go away go away. She thinks, her thoughts a yell, trying to shut out the sound of his name.

Her knees are weak, but she refuses to crumble. Her head aches, but she refuses to shut her eyes. Refuses to look away. Refuses to give in completely. Though her mind is reeling, screaming, tearing itself apart inside her skull. But she will not give in.

She stares at him instead. Stares at the festering, rotting flesh that peels off his frame. Stares at those sickly yellow eyes and that blithe grin. Stares as the creatures begin to appear one by one behind him. A wolf with one eye. A bear with metal skin (she’s never seen armor before, after all). A badger with red eyes and spikes down its back and tail. An army of grotesque experiments. Someone’s idea of a terrible, terrible joke.

She can’t stop looking though, no matter how deformed the army gets. The panther with fangs bared, points glinting with silver. And she realizes she’s looking for a raven. Part of her expects one to be there, deformed and monstrous. They are monstrous, aren’t they, her mother’s little pets? Most of her is looking for her raven though. Maybe he’s here somehow. Because Raven is the only weapon she’s got.
What is a tiny little girl like her supposed to do against the army from hell?

Nothing. She can do nothing. And finally, fear clenches her heart. Finally, she realizes that she's going to die.

The Seal! The voice booms, their purpose becoming clear. The lamb has started the process, but has not set Conquest free. There are three more seals, still intact. Conquest is the end of the world, but they can stop it.

Can they? A handful of children and a couple of warriors?  They should have picked her Mother with her army of ravens. They should have picked Eight, with his magic. Not Weaver. Not a little girl with no remarkable skills at all. Warship and the gray mare may know what to do, but does anyone else?
Think, Weaver. This time the voice in her head is her Mother’s. She’s heard it so many times, and the familiarity calms her. So she takes a deep breath, and thinks. She stares at the rotting horse and it’s army of misshapen minions. She can feel her knees quake.

She could help free it (it, because she cannot think of the rotting corpse as a horse). But would that save her own skin? No. She doesn’t think the beast cares. In the end, he wanted nothing but the word that kept swimming in her head. Conquest. He would destroy it all. He’d put those that helped and those that didn’t on their knees. Broken and bloodied and beaten. If she thought helping might save her, then she would have set the thing free. But it won’t save her.

She has to fight. She has to stop this. One way or another, she's already dead. She can't see a way to survive this. Can't imagine a scenario in which she gets back to the Chamber. At least, resigned to this fate, she has nothing left to lose.

She tosses a glance to Warship, hoping that his loyalty to the Chamber might encourage him to help her. But she can’t wait either. She casts her eyes on the ground, trying to find a piece of the seal. The pieces went everywhere, launched farther than a rock should naturally shatter. After a few moments, she spots one.

Oh, she breathes, realizing that Conquest and his army stand just next to the shard. She hunt for more, looking for something behind her, away from the army of the dead. But now it’s too late. Conquest’s minions are moving. She hears the clinking of metal against rocks, low growls of predators. She whirls around again to see a snake and a coyote launching themselves toward the group of horses.
She scrambles backward, nearly tripping over her gangly legs and a rock. Her feet stay under her though, and she looks back up at the mayhem that’s broken out. The piece of seal goes skittering across the ground, the badger knocking into it as he moves. She wonders how long before the pieces scatter so far they’ll never find any of them.

No more thinking. She races toward the army from hell, hoping her small size will be an advantage. Maybe the bear won’t notice her, or the wolf. Maybe they’ll attack the warriors, the adults. Or maybe they’ll just take out the easy targets first. Like her.

To her relief, Conquest is heading away from her. She tosses a glance back, noticing how it stalks the gray warrior mare. Is that Lagertha? Mother told her of all the rulers; what they look like, what they act like. This mare fits the bill, and Weaver makes it a point to be wary of the Amazonian (if it is, in fact, her). She's a skilled warrior, and a threat if she didn’t decide to stop all this. But for now, Weaver is just grateful that the gray mare is distracting Conquest.

Weaver turns forward, eyes falling on the snarling badger. He flicks his tail back and forth, the metal spikes already dotted red. She wants to turn tail and run, but to where? What good is running going to do her? You are stronger than that, Weaver, she reminds herself, she launching toward the badger.

She kicks her front legs out, aiming for its head and those beady red eyes, trying to stay well away from the spikes. The badger whirls around, tail lashing out and rolling to it’s side so her legs connect with the spikes. She screams, more from shock and aggravation than pain. The wounds aren’t deep, but enough to draw blood which now trickles down her legs. A shock of red in this otherwise muted world. She tumbles to the ground as she lands, lashing out with her legs like an upturned turtle.

From her odd vantage point on the ground, she can see Conquest and one of the other mares now. His muzzle trails down her back, and then... What? No. Oh, that’s so wrong. she thinks. Living and rotting flesh dance together. She’s struck for a moment by the scene, fascination and horror keeping her eyes glued. The spikes slash at her belly now though, and she yelps, tearing her gaze away from Conquest and the mare.

She lashes out with her legs again, and then scrambles to her feet. She hears a rather satisfying crack and she stomps on a leg of the badger. His leg snaps, flesh tearing away from the bone. The badger doesn’t seem to feel it, but of course, the army from hell wouldn't feel pain. But the badger can’t move as well now, and she’s able to dash away from it.

But the next shadow that looms over her is far larger than the badger. She turns around in time to see the bear with his metal skin. Oh. This time she screams as loud as she can, doing the one thing she can think to do. “WARSHIP!” Because she may be able to fight off a badger, but a bear? There is nothing she can do but roll over an die. Or run.

She’d rather play coward and run, so she does. She takes off, hoping the shard is still where she saw it before. The shadows looms over her still. She can’t outrun a bear. She can feel it behind her, getting closer. Imagines that paw raised with claws ready to kill. But just as she thinks this will be her last breath, the shadow of the bear disappears from behind her. She tries to look, and thinks that perhaps she sees a flash of black. Warship. Did he save her?

But she doesn’t have time to turn and look. She can’t stop running, can’t risk getting attacked by the anything else. Something breezes by behind her, and she sees rotting flesh trailing behind it. Conquest doesn’t stop, doesn’t seem interested in her. But he didn’t need to stop. He'd brushed against her side as he went, and that was enough.
 
Her head starts pounding almost immediately, her the edges of her vision blurring. She slows to a stop, clenching her eyes shut. Heat seems to be flooding through her, far more than it should despite all the fighting. Something is wrong. Her knees are weak, and no longer just from Conquest’s desire to destroy them all. She wants to flop to the ground, just curl up and stay there.

But she opens her eyes instead, squinting, looking for that damn shard. And it’s there. Just a few steps in front of her. There’s a second shard only a few feet past the first. “Warship!” she yells, the effort causing her head to pound in her skull. She shuts her eyes again, willing her legs to just move forward. One step, then another.

She has no idea if Warship heard her, or knew that she was trying to point him toward the second shard. Maybe he’s already found one anyway. She couldn’t bring herself to look around though, to try and find him. She can only hope he heard. She peeks her eyes open, the pounding in her head relaxing for a moment. There! The shard. Despite the fever and the pain and the cuts all over her skin, she smiles just a bit as she puts a hoof down on the shard.

weaver

weed and straia's chamber princess

[hickory]

The lamb returns, birthed in the queer stillness that envelops them. It stares at each of them in turn, and when its gaze falls on her she stares back. She recalls a quote, somewhere: if you gaze too long into an abyss, the abyss will also gaze into you.
She thinks that’s what this is like – a lamb (an abyss) staring into her with a gaze she couldn’t in a million years fathom.
She waits for it to speak but it does no such thing. It moves – glides, really – and for the first time Hickory realizes what lies upon the ground.
Four stones on the ground. On them are old runes, a language that seems both familiar and impossible at once. Her eyes trace the curves and lines, try to realize the language she knows is far too archaic for her, feels like somehow, if she could decipher them, she could make it right.
(Whatever this is. Whatever right is.)
But she cannot speak the ancient tongue writ across the stones. She cannot decipher the lamb. So she does the only thing she can – she watches.

The bells don’t toll, but she thinks she hears them all the same.

The lamb moves far too quick for a mortal creature. It looks at her again. She shudders.
The abyss will also gaze into you.
And what will the abyss see there? A mare carved out and filled with history, a destiny she doesn’t fulfill. A woman emptied, a creature of anhedonia and little else.
A vessel, waiting to be filled.
The excitement comes again, fills her throat like liquor. The air is both dead and alive at once.
The lamb touches one of the rocks – one of the seals.
(It’s so obvious, now. But what are they sealing in?)
The seal shatters as if the lamb’s hoof had been a grenade. Shrapnel flies everywhere, rips and shreds through the unerringly still air. Someone gasps. Maybe it’s her. The noise sounds too loud, here.

Before she can move, perhaps creep closer to investigate the shattered seal, laughter fills the air the way the bells had. But the laughter is filled with a macabre delight.
A flash, and Hickory blinks.
Another.
From the trees comes a stallion, yellow eyes like lanterns. His head is high, a triumph in his stride, and he is terrible and beautiful both.
He whispers a word - conquest - and Hickory doesn’t know if it’s his name or a demand.
The word repeats itself, seems to gather strength, like a stone rolling downhill.
She senses the strength of him, the power, and the same queer excitement still in her veins. A part of her wants to kneel before this strange and horrendous thing, this monster churned out from the trees and ashes.
Conquest.
More creatures come, as if beckoned. They are astoundingly normal and monsters both, like somewhere a nuclear bomb had gone off and they had spent decades drinking radiation.
A wolf snarls, a bear growls. A coyote yips, a high screechy sound that is somehow the worst of them all. She feels her own growl grow in her throat.

The Seal.

The voice comes from nowhere and everywhere. The stallion hisses and coils back as if struck.
The epiphany is brilliant.
He wants out.
The choice lingers, unspoken in the air. He can be helped, or he can be stopped.
The darkness is like a song, beckoning. He exudes power and pain and it’s is hard to be immune from it.
Kneel.
And what would she have, if she kneeled? She sees a warrior woman, dressed in armor and thorns, escorted by a giant millipede. Another one speaking to him, and then a consummation that makes her turn away, bile in her throat.
Kneel.
Her knees tremble. She hasn’t moved. Some of them cry out each other’s names, but she knows no one’s names, no one’s faces.
She is the last of her line, and she is alone.

The warrior woman stalks forward, the millipede writing between her legs in a macabre symbiosis.
“Are you coming?” she asks, but Hickory doesn’t respond. Can’t, maybe.
Kneel.
Kneel, and there will be power, will be prestige.
(The darkness is like a song.)
Her shaking knees would love to kneel, would love to join them - it seems most have gone to him.
The stallion - the monster - comes to the warrior’s side. He regards Hickory with a gaze that feels like spotlights. She smells death on him, a putrescence that makes her recoil.
“I’ll ask once more,” he says, his voice like knives, like poison.
Her knees shake.
Kneel.

(Somewhere in her is steel. Somewhere in her is a thing that won’t kneel, not like this, not before such a filthy and despicable god.)

“No,” she says.
(It’s the hardest thing she’s ever done.)

He doesn’t respond, instead lunges at her. She expects his teeth to rip her skin, but instead it’s merely a touch, a pressure that’s almost light and sweet.
Immediately her skin feels like it’s been set aflame, it begins to slough off where he had touched.
She senses the poison will spread.
(Pain is an odd thing, to her. It almost doesn’t matter. It’s been so long since anything mattered.)
The stallion turns and walks away, but the warrior does not. She fixes her with an unwavering gaze before bursting forward like a snake.
Her wounds do not leave her skin sloughed, but leave toothmarks raked across Hickory’s bay back.

She doesn’t fight, instead she runs, and the warrior and her minion turn their attentions to someone else.

Another piece of skin falls, hits the earth without a sound.

He wants out.
The Seal had kept him in, and maybe - maybe if it’s pieced back together, he will go back to whence he came.
Maybe.
It’s worth a try.
(The darkness is like a song.)

She searches, desperate, muzzle to the ground as she hunts for the pieces of shrapnel. Someone's cries out not far from her. She flinches, waits for an attack, but nothing comes.
Blood from her back wounds trail down her ribs like fingers running across her skin.
Finally, her hoof hits something hard with a clunk. She nudges aside the grass and there it is, a piece of the seal.
She places her lips over it, brings it into her mouth. She will take it back. She will make the seal whole again.
(She will try.)
And if they catch her first, she will swallow it.
Let them tear it out of her.
She will not kneel, not today.


Tl;dr - Hickory was touched by conquest and given an undefined disease that makes your skin fall off, was also attacked by Lagertha (per Sarah's ooc note that we may use her), is fighting against conquest, and has a piece of the seal in her mouth.
This was also all written on my phone so apologies for the disaster.

[Becca]

You Should Keep In Mind, There Is Nothing Better I Do Than Revenge

She is tentative to answer but, soon decides if her children called Beqanna home it was best allow them to continue to live in the distinctly beautiful place they called home. Thoughts flare through her mind, few voices remain blurring the dark girls focus. A white blurred creature comes into view, striding forwards a few paces until her vision clears.

Becca found the creature small, and quite awkward looking. It's curled porcelain oily coat, stood out in the bland familiar surrounding of Beqanna. The place felt so familiar yet, so off to the golden maned mare causing her to become side tracked for brief moments. Great, just perfect another crazed side-effect to be added onto the list.

The petite creature, wrinkled it's nose as it's crimson red eyes seemed to seek her soul. Staring into the depths of her, mind the creature seemed to wander about her mind. The lamb strides forward, almost stiffly causing the mare to become ever so tense with the slightest bit of movement. Her light blue iris's focus upon flattened objects upon the rocky hard terrain. Their color is bland dark grey quite like the rest of her surroundings yet, small symbols seemed to be engraved upon each. Inscriptions of some sort of language, so very familiar to the dark chocolate women yet so foreign to the eye.

She finds these symbols to be perplexing, the seem to hail the word important. Something strange about the symbols brings her to suspect, they're sealing something. Or perhaps someone? Her lobes swivel as the lamb, seems to press it's hoof gently down and, like that it's shattered to pieces. Like a broken glass, it seemed merely impossible to piece the thing together. All pieces scattered about hidden to the eye, seemed to be lost forever. At a moment of instinct Becca immediately knows that she must have a piece of they seal, that she must find all the pieces of that seal but, she knew all too well she would be looking for forever. It was best to just grab ahold of one.

All at once, it is utterly silence. For once, the mare finds herself not alone. Multiple equine line around her, their nostrils flaring and ears swiveling in confusion towards the lamb of sevens. The girl could hear her heartbeat within her ears. It was quiet. Utterly too quiet.

Suddenly, a flash of light emerged. Another slashed a clean white line of light across the base of a large tree behind the petite creature. The gurgle and echo of a faint maniacal laughter is followed. Becca searches for the acute lamb, but finds the creature had once again disappeared.

A stallion emerges from the streak of light, like an entrance it allows multiple creatures to follow in his wrath. His glowing yellow eyes meet with hers, as she eyes him up and down. His skin seems to be peeling off his body in flaps, that sway with the wind, small little frays of skin hang off his hocks filtering up and down his hind. Spikes align his flank in a rather fierce manner, as some of the frays begin to peel off his decaying body.

The faint call of a name, conquest lingers within the air. Some of the equine behind her, begin to pick sides. Your either on Conquest's side, to bring the end or not. He charges out at few equine that were late to choose, and she finds that everyone he has touched or made contact with him is either in searing or burning pain.

Her body becomes tense, as her hocks are gently brushed by the swaying vegetation. Causing the girl to scoot forwards a few paces. The dark chocolate women allows a deep exhale to be released, as the foul aroma of death lingers with every inhale she intakes. Her muscles quiver, hesitant to take a step, to even stand out the slightest bit. She was nothing compared to Conquest, a petite mare with no abilities but a big heart. And that was all she could offer to the fight.

Multiple mutated creatures hoarded behind the ghastly being. Some were quite familiar but, deeply misshaped a lupine with spines sprouting from it's back. A bear with deformed armor like skin wrapped around tightly, long claws branched out from each paw so long it would seem the bear-like creature could hardly walk about. But strangely no matter how defected these creatures were, there were swift as a bullet and not hesitant to leap upon an equine and force the poor victim to it's knees. It seemed these creatures lived on the pleasure to fuel their blood-thirst.

"The Seall." The two words, are loud and echoing about. Conquest hisses the words once more, as if a demand. Surely she will not follow. Becca stands still, her golden mane fluttering about as she stared at Conquest quietly. His yellow florescent glowed eyes, met with hers and he charged forwards full force, his dead almost rotting flesh of muscle propelled him forwards with great speed. Gaining, and gaining more speed until he was barely three horse lengths away from her. Frays of skin, peeled further off Conquest, making the girl feel queasy and uneasy about the situation.

His toxic odor, overwhelmed her nostrils causing her to mentally gag, in effect to the odor of decay and death that followed with his close presence. Her ears pinned as he spoke, his words dipped in almost a reveled poison,"Hmmm... Now, what to do with you..." His words trail off into a hiss of steam flowing out of his lips. He circled her quietly, surveying her build, and gently tapping her upon the withers.

Her body felt pain, mainly directed in her abdomen causing her to clench her jaw, grinding her teeth together as it came in waves. Her hind legs kicks at her barrel in discomfort and pain, and all at once she had only one instinct to lye down and roll, to stop the searing pain within her barrel. "F-fuck..." She closed her eyes grabbing ahold of her pain and directing it in anger, "You asshole." She speaks through struggled breathes of pain. Her body clenches as she flings her hind end into his chest, his body seems to ripple slightly causing Conquest to stagger backwards.

The ghastly stallion lets out a sickening cackle, as the girl tries to stride away pain engulfing her mind as she staggers forwards. Her hind continuously  kicking at her belly as she walked awkwardly. Conquest had seemed to lose his focus and run off to attack another with an illness.

If he wanted all the pieces of the seal, it would be hard to have it all if he were to be missing one piece. Her muzzle brushing the ground she searched for a small shattered piece of the seal. Her velvet muzzle brushes against a sharp piece of rock, a slim engraved line cracked along it's frail rigged edges. Gently plucking it up in her mouth, she continued to stride forwards, pain surging through in waves out to ever limb of her body.

becca

image © nathan walker

OCC: So pretty much Becca sided against Conquest but, is sort on the fence with her decision. She was touched by conquest and got Colic, and grabbed ahold of a piece of the seal.
You may use her if you wish, but no excessive injuries please!

[devin]

NOTE: Posting for Sid for continuity because she finished while the board was down but mine requires hers posted first. <3

she paints her eyes as black as night now

Her companions accept their fate. The children, the warriors. Each one falls in line behind the navy woman, embraces their purgatory without any true consideration for exactly what this might mean for them. For their lives. Who is she to speak, though, having accepted so eagerly?

Exhaling the stale grey air, there comes a heartbeat of time where time seems to cease. The Pegasus muses that perhaps time will stay stuck, that this will be the end of her world, a scene stuck on replay: appear, accept, pause, and repeat. Morsels of her heart hope that this is the fate she accepted blindly; the majority of it slams against its skeletal cage, screaming for release from the nothingness.

The release comes. The lamb materializes before them, reads them like books without even turning the cover. Its whisker twitch like fingers across their collective consciousness, leaving shivers to rain down Cinzia’s spine. When the creature of sevens directs their attention to the stones, a hidden vice loosens around the mare’s throat, and the stale air passes through once more.

Frowning at the ancient seal (the word enters her mind the way the wind enters a land: unnoticed), Cinzia watches in complete stillness as the lamb desolates the flat-stone and succinctly disapparates.

“What’s going on…”

No one answers; a laugh does. From the trees, the demonic stallion emerges. His yellow cat eyes glower at the chosen ones, lips fondling his teeth in a gruesome grin. Cinzia gags, revolted by the sight of him, the smell of him, the feel of him: kneel, girl; on your knees.

She does not kneel. When the wind enters purgatory, it goes far from unnoticed. Upon its unseen wings a name rides, Conquest, Conquest, Conquest. The skin above Cinzia’s eyes gathers anxiously, ears pinning as though this will stop the voice from piercing her mind. A terrible squeal disintegrates the quiet of the group as the Pegasus rears, wings unfurling. Conquest, Conquest, Conquest.

Cobalt eyes crazed by the calls of kneel and Conquest, Cinzia launches herself into the air. Why had she accepted this fate? In what mental state had she been to think this a good idea? A sob wracks her lungs, eyes seeing beyond the grey, remembering the whiskey tones of Magnus, the way he brought her to life.

She could be alive here, too.
She could be alive even while surrounded by death.
At the very least, she could fight death.

Inhaling sharply, Cinzia realizes that at about twenty feet, her bird-feather wings flicker, becoming almost translucent. The effort to remain and exceed those twenty feet with her diluted wings is unimaginable: even as an excellent flier, Cinzia is forced to drop closer to the earth, heart slamming as though she has been travelling by wing for hours.

Mind scrambled, the cobalt woman stays the sob growing in her throat, and surveys the area. A single thought of encouragement enters her mind: from this vantage point, she has the best chance of finding a shard of the seal.

And indeed this revelation proves itself to be true: just as Conquest follows Lagertha, one of the quickest to move, Cinzia spots the unmistakable gleam of the seal, well off from the advancing line of mutants. Moving before her fear can paralyze her, Cinzia wheels around in the sky and dives for the piece.

It seems too easy.

With an eye glued to the demons, the mare lands, scoops up the shard between her lips, and takes off once more, careful not to exceed the twenty-foot limit of this hell. Heart no calmer than before, the agile woman surveys the scene on the ground, wholly unsure of how she came out of the disarray completely unscathed.

Conquest has moved from Lagertha (who mysteriously nudges something into a hole easily seen from this vantage point)  on to Eisleif, taking her in a way which summons dry heaves from the Pegasus. She averts her gaze. Had the sight of a black and white filly being mauled not distracted her right then, Cinzia would have seen Conquest kiss Elve on the forehead, and noticed Eisleif’s evident distress.

Instead, Cinzia watches in horror as the tobiano girl’s stomach is raked by the badger’s spines. Just as the woman begins to shut her eyes in an attempt to focus on the strokes of her wings and forget the horrors of purgatory, the cry of something hell-born sounds behind her.

An albatross with glowing red eyes and cyborg-wings charges her from the air. The clink of its appendages tears at Cinzia’s ears, as if the bird’s oncoming is not hellish enough. Acting upon impulse for the second time in a day, the cobalt woman launches herself towards the last place she’d been looking: Weaver.

Far smaller than the albatross, Cinzia dives away and escapes fatal harm. In its wake, however, comes injury: squalling furiously as its prey escapes, the mighty bird veers right, and, with the scythe-like tip of its right wing, opens Cinzia’s gaskin with a disgusting shluck.

Nearly choking on her shard of the seal as she gasps and screams through her clenched teeth almost simultaneously, the bleeding Pegasus swoops in front of a bear chasing the Chamber princess. Miraculously well timed, Cinzia places a bone-breaking kick to the metallic beast’s right eye with her uninjured hind leg, smashing it to pieces just as its clawed paw is nearly upon Weaver. Groaning, the bear lays down its weapon, and places it instead over his demolished eye.

Remembering the imminent danger of the albatross and that she can't fly with a bleeding leg, Cinzia can only think to follow the filly she has just saved. Her wings raise far above her head in an attempt to land softly enough to begin running immediately. With only thirteen hands between her and the grey grass, Conquest comes alongside the filly; squealing in terror, Cinzia pushes her wings down powerfully: too powerfully. As she raises herself, the tip of her right wing brushes against the King of Sickness.

All too soon, her ability to fly disappears.

A cramp in the wrist of her wing brings her ungracefully to the earth, and when she lands with a great cry, already her right wing is mangled, unable to relax or even move. Eyes filling with tears, Cinzia chokes again on her piece of the shard, fighting the urge to drop it and let her lungs loose.

Stumbling closer to the filly, the Pegasus pins the functional parts of her wings to her side; better to have them close than asking for more trouble, even if the tensing of her muscles causes searing pain in her appendages. Cobalt eyes finding the shard which Weaver screams “WARSHIP” at, and Cinzia pieces together that perhaps the filly already has an ally here.

What better way to gain an ally than protect one of hers.

Hobbling on three legs, the fourth raised uselessly above the earth, Cinzia leans to the earth and scoops up the second shard between her lips; it cuts the top of her mouth. Wincing, and hoping the filly won’t think she is stealing, Cinzia tumbles horizontally towards the girl, moaning once they are finally side by side.

Coaxing her neck to release to the earth just one last time, the mare deliberately places her two shards just in front of each of her hooves. Raising her head and looking frantically to make sure the black and white girl understands, the winged woman cries out an explanation, words pierced by the pain in her appendage and gaskin.

“For Warship!” Tears streak her cheeks. “I’m Cinzia, I’m, I’m on your side!” Sobbing freely now, the woman places one hoof over each shard, and, too injured to truly fear for her safety any more, Cinzia squeezes her eyes shut.

cinzia

pulls those shades down tight now

tl;dr:

Cinzia finds a shard, is attacked by a cyborg albatross, saves Weaver from the bear, touches Conquest and gets "Angel Wing" which can be read about here: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Angel_wing, and then she grabs a shard of the seal for Warship and closes her eyes. You may powerplay her, but only if you are trying to steal the shard: Cinzia will defend it. If Warship posts and does not take the shard Cinzia is protecting, feel free to steal it from her.

[Rhonen]

I haven't come to say I'm sorry

but I swear I'm on your side

In their own ways, each of them have assented to the voice. The boy is somewhat wary of those who accept easily, passively, but he is appreciative of the warrior mare’s snarky attitude. He, too, is one of the irreverent ones, to his mother’s lasting bewilderment. He knows that she wonders if he cares about anything – but the truth is, he cares too much. They are all strangers to him (to each other?), silent strangers, though he flashes a quick smile to the other girl who offers her name (’Weaver’) before she sidles across to the horned stallion, familiarity in her movements. Rhonen is glad to note that he is not the youngest of them, though he is certainly to be included in the handful of less-than-quite-adult participants.

They are all very still, too quiet for his taste, but before he can add anything else scathing into the silence, the lamb is back, its many eyes staring (unblinking in an uncomfortable way). The boy shifts, restless, thinking that few have ever seen him as truly as this creature. Even in his short life, Rhonen is painfully aware that few ever bother to look past the outer shell. Most will always see what they want to see. He does not look away until the lamb takes a step forward, and then another, drawing their attention to the four stones with their indecipherable markings. He doesn’t waste much time trying to read the stones – he is more worried about the lamb who has seen into his soul.

Still, the explosion when the seal (he knows it is a seal, and he tenses in the moment before the touch, instinctively knowing he’d prefer the seal closed) and the lamb collide makes him flinch, closing his eyes against shards of rock and dirt that has been displaced. When he blinks them open, the creature is gone and the gathered horses are left silently shuffling again, only the navy mare’s terse question to break the stunned quiet. The laughter is a relief for Rhonen, who hates the tense silence more than anything he can remember in his short life. He laughs in response, but it isn’t a sound with any humor in it at all. More of a choking cough, really. All of their heads turn, drawn to the light and the noise, and the rotting stallion who emerges, his name whispered on the breeze, is repulsive. Two syllables, repeated until they mean everything and nothing, and the chestnut shivers with them, though he welcomes oncoming madness with the completeness of someone who truly hates silence. Conquest. Conquest. Conquest.

But despite the relief he finds in the voice on the wind, the boy is uncomfortable with what it demands. Conquest demands that he kneel, that he submit, and he will not. Perhaps it is because in a different life, he could have been royalty. He is the grandson of a Queen, the son of a one-time prince and a one-time Queen, youngest in a long line of royalty on his mother’s side. But perhaps not, because certainly he is not the only one of royal blood in this gathering. Perhaps it is because he is simply contrary, antagonistic, and something of a brat. Stubborn, at times, for the sake of being stubborn. Still, it takes everything in him to push the thoughts of submission back, to snarl out a response. “No,” he spits the word, dark eyes flashing his fury at the thought of being a slave to one such as this.

Rhonen, despite his independent streak, knows what it is to award his loyalty. But to have it forced from him violates everything he is, everything he wants to be. The force of the yellow-eyed stallion is pressing on him, despite his defiance, demanding his submission, until a furious voice interrupts the whisper of his domination in the air, a sound from the blue woman rising into the air. Once the trance is broken, his mind belonging only to him once more, the first thing he notices is that Conquest is not alone. The creatures are like nothing he has seen in the natural world – broken, mutated, huge.

The voice that summoned them all to this place comes only then, louder than the noise the rotting, repulsive stallion makes. ‘The Seal!’ it calls, insistent, and it is then that Rhonen knows that the seal is everything. It will free Conquest to do as he pleases, or it will entrap him. And the choice falls to the motley collection of mortals that the voice has dragged into this place that is not Beqanna. Conquest can end Beqanna, and they can stop him…or they can let it happen. He stands, uncharacteristically still and silent, and watches the others scatter before him. He trembles in anticipation, half fear and half excitement. The navy mare is already in the air, clearly searching for pieces of the broken seal; very well, he thinks, she has chosen to fight back. The woman with the skin like armor is the second to break from the group, darting across the open land towards the trees, and the monstrous Conquest darts after her. He does not follow Lagertha (or the others who move after her), though a part of him wonders if they should gang up on the enemy immediately. No. Better, he thinks, to look for a piece of his own while the yellow-eyed monster is distracted. It is the seal that is important.

The boy turns away from the monsters, scanning the ground for any sign of a piece large enough to claim. Slender limbs help him nimbly over unfamiliar ground, but the sound voices ahead of him makes him lift his head. Conquest must have finished with the armored mare, or else changed course, because it and the bay-and-orange girl stand in front of Rhonen now, too far to touch but close enough to hear. And it is this conversation that decides him – it was instinct, to go after a piece, but he had not decided what to do with it. Conquest speaks, though, a fragment of words reaching deep into Rhonen’s heart: ‘You’d be willing to turn your back on all these others?’ the oily voice says and the only thing in Rhonen’s head is the smiling faces of the people who wait back in the real world. His mother, perhaps she does not understand but she has always loved him. Father, perhaps not always quite with them but he had been there when it mattered. Nairne, the kind of big sister every kid always dreamed about having. Yael, half loving grandmother and half mysterious magician-queen. And Aubri –the first face that Rhonen had ever seen and the one that meant the most to him.

Appeasing Conquest meant losing them. This girl’s easy acceptance put all of them one step closer to losing the ones they’d left behind. The copper-bright boy can’t swallow his snarl of fury and he launches himself at them, thinking to strike directly at the creature, and his shoulder has just grazed the hind end of the rotting, peeling stallion when he is bowled over by one of the minions. The force of impact knocks him to the ground, rolling and skidding across the dirt, and he gets the impression of huge paws, and short dense fur. For a moment he struggles to breath, to catch his wind, but as soon as his vision clears and his ears stop ringing he scrambles to his feet, locking eyes with the big cat steadily stalking his way. Or at least he thinks it’s still a feline – it’s hard to tell, with the spines protruding at weird angles and the fact that it’s got at least three too many eyes, (probably because it has two heads).

Rhonen doesn’t wait around to count the eyes – he runs, sick to his stomach at the thought of what Esileif and Conquest are doing behind him. It’s only then that he notices the stinging, burning itch in his shoulder where he brushed against Conquest. It’s bearable (barely) and so he winces but carries on, desperate to get some space between himself and the two-headed giant cat. And between himself and Conquest – if a brush can bring this result, he doesn’t want to know what might be caused by full contact. Ahead of him, the armored mare lunges at another, and his stomach twists again in disgust, but Hickory has broken away from the armored mare herself. He brushes past the bay mare, vaguely aware that her bright blood now stains his coat, red on orange, and not caring. Blood seems to be the least of their worries. And he and Hickory are like ships passing in the night, both too busy looking for a piece of the shard to care much about each other.

Conquest has not pursued Rhonen, though he approaches others. Perhaps, the young stallion thinks, he has just not gotten around to conquering the youngest adventurers yet. Or perhaps Rhonen’s suicidal lunge made it clear that he was not on the side of impending apocalyptic disaster. Whatever the reason, the boy is glad. Dodging the lumbering, gruesome minions is hard enough, and every step is agony between his bruised and battered self (the equine form wasn’t meant to roll like he had) and the increasing itchy pain in his shoulder. His nose isn’t pressed, seeking, to the ground – it’s too hard to see the minions that way – and so he almost misses the large piece of the seal. He would have missed it, except he trips over it and falls to his knees with an undignified yelp, his nose pressed against the cool surface, smooth except where it is marred by part of a symbol he still can’t fathom.

For just a moment in the pure pleasure of relief, a memory flashes behind his closed eyes. The green meadow of the Falls, grass cool and green around him, sun shining brightly overhead. Nairne is ahead of him, gold framed in black, looking back at them with a patient smile. Aubri is beside him, two spots of bright chestnut in the field, and they are tumbling after her, laughing, the waterfall a pleasant humming backdrop to their adventure. Somewhere not so far away, he knows, their parents are together, taking a break from the twins because they are safe with Nairne. It is before Rhonen realizes that they will not always be together, the five of them, before he realizes that his dreams are sometimes hard to distinguish from what really is: it is a moment that even now he isn’t sure ever happened.

And it’s not real. The memory breaks apart when he opens his eyes, blink over, and the world is still falling apart around him. And they are not 13 that stand together, but 13 who are broken. Too many pieces, Rhonen thinks, too many groups and no one will prevail. They must join together. So much is uncertain, but he knows that he does not trust the armored mare who was first to leave the group, and who drew the blood that now stains his own coat. He knows that he can’t trust Esileif, who accepted the touch of Conquest so intimately. But the navy mare and Weaver (she had acknowledged him in the beginning, offered a name before this ordeal started, she had tied herself to the sarcastic chestnut boy, however reluctantly) are standing together within his line of sight when he lifts his head, and they are calling another name, their voices carrying.

It is not a big group, but it is a start. A chance.

Yanking his shard from the dirt, the boy kicks out at a scaled thing creeping up behind him that has an unfortunate slimy sheen to it, (and the vague look of a lizard). He can feel the satisfying crunch of a blow well connected, and then he forces himself to cross the distance, to join them, to drop his piece of the seal onto the ground before them and then place a hoof on it, mimicking the blue woman, before turning his dark gaze back to the tumult behind them. "We're screwed." he says bluntly to the mares, because he can't think of a single positive thing to describe this disaster.

RHONEN

cliffnotes:

Rhonen starts to look for a shard, runs into Esileif and Conquest. Decides to oppose Conquest. Tries to attack Conquest but after briefly brushing up against him and getting some sort of skin illness is knocked away by a creepy big cat mutant. So then he runs the other way, witnesses Lagertha attack Hickory, bumps into Hickory, and literally trips over a piece of seal. Takes his piece of seal to join Cinzia and Weaver.

[Warship]

I’m on the wrong side of heaven
W A R S H I P

i'm on the wrong side of heaven, and the righteous side of hell

He had been right not to underestimate the lamb.

In the spot where the lamb had disappeared came that silence once more, that deafening stillness that made each part of his body ache. It was like being at the bottom of the ocean, only the waves had ceased and the water was made of lead. But as quickly as it started it was over, and once more through the mire came the creature of sevens. He was dimly aware of the other horses around him (all ages, all rankings, from each corner of their lands) but he was acutely aware of the lambs eyes on him. He felt them (all seven of them) on his soul, on his magically beating heart that now thudded almost painfully against his ribs. Before he could open his mouth though, the lamb stepped forward, and it was only then that he noticed its feet. Ancient stones lay scattered on the ground, their markings as foreign to him as the lamb itself. But something, instinct perhaps, tells him that they are important.

He had almost decided to speak up, to ask the lamb what in the hell it wanted, when the air around him exploded. Instinctively he lowers his head, hopefully to allow the broad base of his horns to absorb the impact while shielding his delicate head. His eyes are pinched shut, his ear laid flat, while his lips curled over his teeth in a fierce grimace of pain and confusion. Despite his efforts he feels the shrapnel pierce his skin but there is no time to think of petty flesh wounds. They would bleed and heal and surely he had felt worse at the hooves and teeth of his fellow equine. He would at least cling to that notion, for it was familiar to him, and he needed familiarity here more than ever before.

When he dared to open his eyes, he saw nothing unusual. Through the settling dust he watched his fellow equines, clearly as shaken as he was though some perhaps more visibly so. It had taken him years to craft a warriors iron façade, and he found himself hiding behind it now. The only thing that betrayed him was the glimmering sheen on sweat on his neck and shoulders and the quick rise and fall of his barrel. The lamb is gone, but in its place came a vile laughter. It burned his ears and his mind, and once again he snarled, shaking his head as if to clear flies. But unlike flies the laughter does not leave but instead grows louder. He lashes at the ground in frustration as the anxious sweat flowed down his ribcage.

“Conquestttt”

He heard it like the hiss of a snake; something sinister, something to be feared and avoided. He heard the hiss in the grass too, and he shifted uncomfortably. The voice seemed to be only in his mind and it was asking something of him. “Kneel soldier” it hissed, invading ever crevice of his mind. Perhaps he should- but would it save them? “No” growled a deeper voice, one he was accustomed to. “Be their hero boy…kneel, and I’ll leave them. Refuse, and they die. I’ll be sure to do the pretty spotted Chamber princess first.” sneered the voice. Without moving his eyes darted around, and he knew a twinge of panic when he laid eyes on the spotted filly. Something inside of him steeled, and instead of kneeling (though his knees had begun to buckle) he stared into those putrid yellow eyes and growled “Fuck you.”

He cannot, will not bring himself to help the rotten thing. Every instinct he had screamed at him that nothing good could come from obeying the wishes of it.

There is no time to think much though, because Conquest had brought friends. Legions of foul beasts crawled forward, drooling sliding from their mouths, their eyes shining at the promise of a feast. Warship readied himself, straining to remember the years and years of training he had under his proverbial belt. before he can think though, they all sprang into action. Some went left, some went right, and to his surprise some went towards Conquest, the Amazonian queen included. If there had been anyone here that he would have allied himself it would have been the Iron Mare but alas, she was doing something he would not. He would not help that festering bastard get free. One mare seems to have taken it upon herself to help Conquest with something other than strength. Had he been able to vomit he would have done so as he watched that festering bastard slide over the hips of a living mare. Thankfully (perhaps an odd word) he is distracted by a scream of fear.

“WARSHIP!” the voice screamed and he whirled in a panic to find it. There! There on the ground laid the princess, cowering as a slobbering bear bored down on her and a new mare, one the color of the night sky. The mare aimed a fierce kick at the bear, shattering its orbital socket. Both mares scampered off, but he knew better. A wounded beast was a dangerous beast, and it didn’t take long for the bear to come to. It spotted him, roaring loud enough to make him pin his ears. A scream of rage left his own throat and he plunged forward, slamming into the bear with the force of a runaway train. Sleek black hair met matted brown fur for a brief moment before he clamped his blunt teeth down on the scruff of the bear. While his teeth weren’t sharp like a carnivores, they could deliver a fatal bite if they were placed correctly. The bear roared in pain and fury and jerked, but he had already let go. There was no time to see if he had killed the beast; there was only the seals and the princess.

She yelled again and he surged forward, dodging around the various horses and their intentions. Before he could reach her though, a snake stood up from the grass, hissing and spitting. It struck and he dodged, though he felt the fangs graze his flanks. Immediately the area festered and swelled but he paid it little heed. No time, no time, is all that kept him moving. She was just ahead, and surely he could get there. She had a shard it seemed, so that left him to get one of his own. There! In front of the princess lay another shard, while the other piece was under her foot. He leapt forward, grunting slightly as his chest brushed the hindquarters of another horse. But it hadn’t been just any horse; it was Conquest. Immediately his head felt strange, his vision blurred and his breaths more panicked than ever before. But the shard lay ahead and he had to get to it. Panting heavily he fought the urge to succumb to the pain, for his chest had erupted in great boils the size of pears. They felt something like fire and poison all wrapped into one and were not just superficial. They reached into the layer of muscle beneath, rotting it as well. At the edge of his blurred vision a mare stepped forward, that same night sky winged mare he’d seen before. She seemed to be guarding the shard for him, and as he stepped forward he gave her a half-hearted smile. “Thank you.” he choked, before his great body hit the ground, momentarily giving in to the pain. As he crashed several of the boils erupted, and he was hard pressed to choke down a scream of pain. Growling, he struggled to his feet, pus oozing down the front of his legs and the blood from the snake bite flowed down his flank. As he was doing to another joined them, a young stallion. Warship gave him a brief nod, shivering slightly from the pain surging through his body. “Fuck this, and fuck Conquest.” he spat, stepping forward and onto the shard that the girls had saved for him.

warship

* Warship tried killing the bear by biting down onto the back of its neck after Cinzia had kicked it. On his way to Weaver he was bitten by a giant snake, and something in the poison of the snake keeps the bites bleeding. He brushed into Conquest and now as a staph infection on his chest. He is currently standing on the shard the girls saved for him.