It was granted to him to take peace from the earth... ROUND III

[The Bellringer]

Lagertha, Cinzia, and Lucrezia have been eliminated.
 
You will each have the disease Conquest gave you for the next two RL weeks.

Even in this strange, dead place, the quiet cannot last.
 
He comes and he conquers, a single touch of his flesh spreading disease and illness through the masses. In this way, he will be triumphant. He will claim his victory.
 
There are three who take the path of least resistance, who decide they prefer a world conquered. If they kneel before him, he might leave them untouched, save the sickness he has already spread upon them. The others, they fight against him, each in their own way, and those he will not spare. But in their fight, they prevail, at least in some small measure. Their collective will stands against him, refusing him entry into their world.
 
He screams in rage, in absolute, demonic fury.
 
This simply will not do.
 
----------------------------------------------
 
The moment you touch the fragmented piece of the seal, the cool stone dissolves, absorbing into your skin. You can feel the weight of that ancient stone upon your breast, your decision resting heavily, eternally, inside of you. Conquest’s shriek of terrible anger sounds in your eardrums. He is weakened by such opposition, your collective will holding him at bay. The stone has become a part of you, and you realize that you are now the seal. You are what stands between Conquest and his victory, or what will set him free.
 
You can feel the ravaging effects of his illness weakening. You might still burn and itch, your skin might still twitch in pain, but it manageable now.
 
And he is furious.
 
The world flickers around you, dull grays flashing to bright greens and back again. The two worlds are colliding, and escape is imminent. Another flicker. Suddenly you realize three horses have disappeared, left behind as the world shimmers around you. But still the fight continues.
 
Amidst the clash of beast and horse, the lamb slips in. You almost don’t notice him at first, caught up as you are in the melee. Before you can say anything, before you can even open your mouth, he has touched the second seal. The resulting explosion brings every creature in the meadow to a halt, all eyes drawing to that now shattered stone.
 
This time, there is no question what must be done.
 
You can hear him coming, the second harbinger of doom. The muffled pounding of his hooves sounds in the distance. Conquest’s glee has returned. The beasts are regrouping, those that still live, pulling themselves back together in a ragtag formation as they await his arrival.
 
You scramble to collect the pieces of another broken seal, knowing that this is a beast who will not hesitate to kill. It matters not whether you are opposed or allied, he wants only death and destruction. You can hear the chuffing of his breath now, the raw power in that sound as tantalizing as it is overwhelming.
 
And then he is there, eyes glowing an unearthly red, teeth wickedly sharp as they are bared in a voracious grin.
 
’War.’
 
His name is there, in your mind. This is all he wants, all he needs.
 
He does not wait, there is no hesitation in his charge. He barrels forward, the beasts following in his wake as Conquest laughs in triumphant mirth.
 
And you know, without question, that he desires only your death.

Please respond by Thursday, January 21st at 4:00pm CST.

Things to Know

You may collect your piece of the seal at any point in this post. It will also absorb into you the moment you touch it.

Your goal this time is simply to survive. You must encounter War at least once in the course of your post, and you will not be able to escape him unscathed.

It does not matter which side you are allied with in this round, he will try to kill you regardless. However, if you plead your case well enough, he may leave you alone in the future.

Conquest has been weakened and will largely stay out of this fight. He is still around though, so if you want to include him, you may.

As before, you may feel free to power play War.

Any traits you have are still weakened, but they are growing stronger as purgatory begins to open up into the real world.

 
As always, PM me with questions or post them in Connect.

[Warship]

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

Purgatory was just another name for hell.

Here, nothing mattered to him but staying alive. He had never given his own mortality much thought (he had never had a reason to, given his heart was linked to his kingdom). But here? Here he could almost taste death on the air. Here he could see it woven in the smoke and fog. Here, death was common place. Death would be written on their skins like the scrawling on the seals if they did not persevere. He refused to let that happen.

He knew that stepping onto the stone was the right thing to do. It felt cool on the bottom of his hoof, almost like standing on the soft moss of the deepest forest in the Chamber. The coolness spread up through his leg before spreading all through out his battered and torn body. The lesions on his chest closed (though they still ached), the wounds on his flanks finally ran dry. He was tired and sore but the seal had been like aloe to a burn, and he spared himself a small moment to close his eyes and be thankful. Such moments were a rarity here, so he would certainly take any reprieve that he could get. The others stood near him, panting and equally worn-looking- but they were alive, all of them. When he opened his eyes he looked down and was startled to see the seal had disappeared. Surely not… he mused to himself, thinking about the soothing feel of it beneath his foot. He knew without a shadow of a doubt that the seal had been there and was now gone. There was only one explanation; the seal had entered him through the sole of his foot.

Before he had much time to reveal in the strangeness of it all, the world split apart again. The sky clashed and he felt something rumbling across the earth. It was like thunder but more powerful, more vicious. Greens and grays flashed across the sky like lightening, albeit unlike any lightening he had ever seen before. Through the clashing of the worlds he heard Conquest’s scream of fury, and it was enough that he screwed his face up in displeasure. But it was soon lost to the wind, and where there should have been silence was the same chaos there had been before. Three horses disappeared into it like dust on the wind, the Amazonian queen included. Warship found himself with little sympathy to spare; after all, she had tried to help the rotten bastard. One thing he did notice through amidst the chaos was the lamb; had he not been looking though, he would have missed it. Silently it stepped into the melee, and before he could shout a warning to his comrades, its cloven hoof had touched yet another seal.

This time he was more prepared for the explosion, but it still nearly brought him to his knees. Conquests vile laughter was drowned by the blast, and more a moment his ears rang painfully. As the ringing began to settle there was a new laughter, deeper in some ways than Conquests but equally as vicious-sounding. Through the ashes and raining shrapnel he saw it; saw them. New beasts and old beasts alike charged forward, led by something that mimicked the shape of a horse but was clearly spat from hell.

“WAR!”

He heard it like a scream in his head. He knew that voice all too well. It was a throaty growl that came from the deepest part of the chest, a promise of the battle that was to come. It was not unlike his own voice, and the thought made him uncomfortable. But there was no time to dwell on the notion; he had to gather the seal and hopefully keep himself and the others alive. He snarled towards War, his eyes flashing like they had never done before. If the bastard wanted war, he would take it to him. “RUN! THE SEALS!” he shouted, his voice aimed mostly at Weaver. With a roar of fury he leapt forward, his eyes only for the fire-eyed War. But his minions were not to be denied. A grotesque-looking hellhound sprang from the ranks, its slobbering jaws agape and aimed for Warships throat. He dodged and reared, a roar of fury to rival Wars leaving his throat. His hooves were aimed for the spine of the beast but he wasn’t picky; any blow from a stallion his size was likely to cripple. He was pleased to feel the snap that meant his blow had landed home; but the hellhound wasn’t done. It snapped its jaws closed around his leg, causing a snarl of pain to bubble from his mouth. Quickly he lashed out with his free leg, and he thought he felt the beasts skull crack. He hoped, at least. In any case the hellhound and let go and he hobbled away, alive but bleeding. War was just ahead and around his feet were fragments of the seal. That was what Warship needed, so that is where he went.

His movements were hampered by the hellhounds bite but thankfully he was no stranger to pain. It didn’t hurt any worse than the snake bite had, though it did hinder his movements more. Weaver had been lost in the chaos and he knew a pang for her well-being. She was a smart kid, surely she would be alright. In any case he couldn’t watch for her just now, but hopefully he could gather her a piece of the seal. All around him creatures snarled and fought but his eyes were only for War, who stared back at him with those depthless red eyes. “You’ve known war, boy…” said a voice in his head. It was clear that War could read his heart, read the stories of scars traced on his skin. “Join me…” growled the voice as the red eyes flashed and a wicked grin split the tattered lips. Warship did not answer immediately, but felt a fury building him unlike anything he had ever felt before. “NO!” he screamed before charging forward.

His chest met Wars with the force of a speeding truck; enough to wind him, enough to make him gasp. War staggered back, his grin changing to an ugly grimace in the blink of an eye. When he staggered he stepped off of the fragments of stone, and Warship dove for them; but he wasn’t quick enough. Quick as a flash War had grabbed him by the withers, his sharp teeth sinking through the flesh to meet the bone beneath. Warship screamed and writhed, though he knew he would ultimately do more damage to himself by doing so. He had to get free, had to get the teeth dislodged from his flesh. In desperation he struck out with a front leg, his hoof meeting Wars rear cannon bone with crushing force. War screamed around his mouthful of flesh but let go, giving Warship time to scramble forward. Hopefully War would be occupied by something else, and for the moment that seemed to be the case. Turning as quickly as he dared, scanning the chaos for the spotted princess. “WEAVERR!” he shouted, desperate to see her black and white form. There was no time to wait though, for at his feet lay two shards of the broken seal. Panting, bleeding, scared and exhausted he stepped onto one piece, leaving the other piece half covered with dirt and debris in the hopes no one would see it and Weaver could claim it and the safety it offered.

warship

* Warship was bitten on the leg (fetlock area) by a hellhound on his way to War and the shards. He encountered War, charged him, and War sank his teeth into Warships withers. Warship is currently standing on a shard, with another beside him covered in dirt. He is saving it for Weaver but you can feel free to try and steal it. Use Warship however you'd like, so long as he isn't mortally wounded!

[elve]

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

She stays away from everyone else; when they gather, she is at the back, to the side, head down and trying to keep herself invisible. She embraced him - the others rejected him; the poor filly is unlikely to be highly regarded now.
When she touched the shard, watched over by the giant bird (as if she would be brave enough to change her mind now), her breathing eased, her head cleared. Her lungs still catch, her eyes still water, but she is alive.
She almost wishes she weren’t.

A scream rings out, Conquest - she can see him, and he is so angry, and she cowers. The land flickers as she does - grey to green and back again. One flicker takes away three of the other horses that had been dragged here; she wonders when she will be taken away too. She does not consider what has happened to those horses - she just wants to be free of this place. She is small and scared and so helpless.
He would be so disappointed (he is already disappointed in her).
The first version of her, that brave and stubborn hours-old filly, she would be disappointed too, to see that this is how she turns out.

She isn’t paying attention when the second explosion wrenches the air apart; she is too concerned with the fighting. But she knows, instinctively, that she must do as she did before - find a part of the seal, that delicately-etched stone, and protect it.
There is no doubt which side she is on. She is unknown to the others, and she has already proven a coward. They will all be against her.
She acts quickly.

Fear poisons her blood, and her breathing is still not as easy as it was before Conquest touched her, but she is driven (nothing motivates like terror). She sees - thinks she sees - a piece lying only a little way beyond; but it is guarded. Green-and-red-and-invisible, she pauses, desperate for another option. But there is none. She moves, fast, knowing that she will have to plead her case, and knowing that she is not ready to do so. Taking one deep breath, and then another, and putting off a third as she is only delaying the inevitable, she moves towards the snake that encircles a tree, its body thicker than her own, its head lying next to her goal, its mouth open and teeth dripping.
But it is not the snake that freezes her body, that tucks her into herself. No, War stands next to the gaping head, awaiting her.
She is invisible again, but certain that he can see her every movement.

She approaches, but before she has the chance to speak, to beg (no longer above begging, another disappointment to add), he lunges for her. She is weak, unused to combat, and his teeth sink into her neck. She cries out, and then the snake joins the attack. Together, they draw so much blood that she is red-and-red; she sobs, collapsing to the ground. “Please,” she chokes, barely a whisper. “Please,” she coughs through a throat full of warm, sticky blood. “Please,” she begs.
“I want to help you,” her voice little more than a hoarse mumble. “Please don’t do this.”
He looks at her, and she sees disgust in his eyes - or are they Pollock’s eyes? She shakes, her whole body filled with pain, and War steps over her, the snake slithers away, and she is alone with the shard and a blurry sense of failure.

It takes her a few moments to realise the piece of Seal is now hers. She struggles to her feet (she falls, several times) and places one hoof on the stone, blood slipping down her legs and into the earth beneath her. She shakes, every breath an effort, every movement sending jagged spikes of pain through her tiny body.
But she has done her duty.

ELVE

Elve is basically half dead now, but she's standing on her part of the Seal. Do whatever you want with her, if you so choose; she is covered in bites and blood and still can't control her invisibility properly so will be flicking in and out of view.

[hickory]

Blind and whistling just around the corner And there's a wind that is whispering something Strong as hell but not hickory rooted Skin falls, bells toll, (do they?) and the stallion reigns. There are shouts – ones of victory, ones of pain – and some horses notice her. Some do not. Another piece of her skin sloughs off, and she thinks: I am being remade. She almost laughs, but her lips no longer remember what to do. The seal begins to melt in her mouth like a piece of sugar-spun candy. It feels cool and metallic on her tongue, and she feels the seal sinking through her skin, through her veins. It feels hot, like fire. It feels cold, like ice. It feels like everything and nothing and she realizes what the exact flavor of it is: power. The power of the seal, whatever ancient magic had created it now resides in her as much as any organ. She is the seal – or, at least, part of it. Someone screams, and she realizes it is the stallion, furious at being denied. Some have risen up against him, including Hickory. (And have their own seal pieces melted into them, merged? She thinks they have.) Blink, and the world changes. Blank, and the warrior who had raked her teeth across Hickory’s back is gone, vanished from existence. Blink, and there is the lamb. (The abyss stares back into you.) As before, she is transfixed and terrified both when she looks upon the horned being. It touches another seal, almost delicately. The resulting sound is like a bomb, the pieces of the stone flying through the air. But she is ready; now, ready to hunt down the next piece. She can already taste it on her tongue. But before she can move the sound of hoofbeats echoes in the now-still air, a new harbinger approaches under the deadening sky. The strange mutated creatures begin to draw close to Conquest, whose eyes are alight again with anticipation. She knows a creature that he anticipates cannot be a good creature at all. She tries to move before the next harbinger comes, begins her search anew. She focuses on the stone’s power inside of her, as if it could call out for its brethren, but feels only silence in her veins. Another name comes apropos of nothing: War. (The darkness is like a song.) She tries to block him - it - out. Tries to listen for the stone. I am the seal, she tells herself, and whether this comforts or frightens, she doesn’t know. War comes closer, his breath too-loud in the stillness. She scrambles forward. The blood on her back has begun to dry under the dull light of the sickle sun, and her skin does not seem to be dropping off in such large pieces. The seal is healing me, she thinks, but whether this is a thing real or imagined, we cannot say. Maybe it’s the seal in her blood or maybe it’s luck, but she finds another piece, quicker this time. She does not hesitate, takes it between her lips again, and this once melts, too, a taste like pennies in her mouth. She feels stronger, imbued with ancient magic she should never have touched. She sees a hellhound emerge; try to take its meal in the form of a stallion. There is screaming, now, and a gibbous howling that makes her skin prickle in gooseflesh. She runs away from it, tries to taste the power in her throat. She sees a girl – a child, really. Blink, and the girl is gone. For a moment she thinks it’s one of them, one of the minions, but when the girl flickers back into existence she sees just how much blood there is, sees the skin in tatters, and realizes that the girl is like the rest of them – pawns in a larger game. It shouldn’t matter, that War would do this to a child. It especially shouldn’t matter to her; Hickory has long lived a life of nothingness, of anhedonia. She has no children, no siblings; she is the only one who persists in a dismal lineage. It shouldn’t matter, yet her feet are drawing her forward, and she swears when she lays eyes on War the seals inside her light up and she gasps. “You can’t,” she tells him as he recoils like a snake for another bite of the bloody, flickering girl, and maybe her voice shakes and maybe it doesn’t, maybe the abyss stares back or maybe she blinks. “You can’t,” she says again, this time stronger. He’s stopped, and watches her now, his gaze like a lead weight. She wonders how long before she’d crumble, under such a gaze. “Say it again,” he says, and his voice is like slaughter, something gravelly and pitted, rasping. “You can’t.” You should know this – Hickory is not a fighter. But the woman who stands now has an old magic in her blood and swears she can feel it. The woman who stands now sheds anhedonia as she once had skin. The woman who stands now stares into the abyss, and if it stares back, so be it. They meet like a waves crashing on the shore, his body barreling into hers. Something snaps inside her, dry and brittle, and for a moment she wonders at the sound until the pain of her broken ribs sings – screams – out. But it doesn’t matter – pain has never mattered – because she has a piece of his flesh in her mouth. It doesn’t melt as the seals did, instead it tastes of rot and decay, but she chews and swallows nonetheless. It will make it sick, likely, but she finds she doesn’t care. “You can’t,” she says again, a taunt, and War comes forth once more to lay ruin upon her. His hooves find her shoulders, her withers. His teeth rake railways across her softened skin and it curls in his teeth like ribbons. She is laughing. Or screaming. Some noise pours from her lips, something high and wicked, so far gone that the precise nature of the sound no longer matters. Another comes. Or maybe War grows bored with her. She doesn’t know, only knows that he does leave, eventually. (Time’s grown strange. Was it an hour? A minute?) She is left half-broken. It hurts to inhale. She is left bloody, scrapes along much of her body. But she is also left with the taste of putrid flesh in her mouth and an incomprehensible smile. She looks at the girl. She’d tried to protect her, but she isn’t sure the girl will make it anyway. “I’m Hickory,” she says, and a tooth spills from between her lips when she says it, knocked loose by War. She looks at it on the ground, white and gleaming, and wonders if she will leave all her bones here on this desolate purgatorial wasteland. The woman who stands now knows sickness, knows war, and knows a part of her loves it. hickory

hickory finds another seal piece, sees war attack elve, sort of tries to protect her by taunting War, gets beat up by war. feel free to use her, just don't like murder her or anything :///

[Esileif]

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

She had meant to take the seal in between her lips – after inspecting it with her nose of course – yet she hadn’t decided yet if she would indeed bring the piece back to Conquest. Yes, that’s correct, the sickness, the colic, that he had given her had made her wonder if it really had been the best choice. Esileif didn’t like the fact that he had done this to her, especially because she had come to him voluntarily. She had even given herself to the demon, and this would be his way of repaying her? The sickness had made her doubt, wondering if she should bring the piece back to Conquest or not. But when the seal dissolves upon her touch it makes the decision for her.

The utter silence is filled with her thoughts, or more the acknowledging of the thing that had just happened. With every breath she takes she can feel it, the weight of it now lies upon her shoulders, figuratively spoken of course, and those of the others. Then the silent gets broken by Conquest’s angry screams. Esileif cannot help to flinch, the sound just hits her right at the core and it scares her. Especially because his anger isn’t only directed to those who stood against Conquest, but to all those who now stand between him and his freedom. And that included her, ánd the baby.

By the time she gets back to the clearing – still coping with some of the last bits of the colic, but the cramps are slowly dying down – Esileif has decided that Conquest isn’t the best option anymore. She can feel that his anger wouldn’t stop him from hurting her – and the others who have helped him and merged with the seal – and there was absolutely no way that the Spanish girl would risk the life of her child. Fynnegan might not like it that she has made a deal with another man, but the child is hér trophy and nobody would take it away from her. Momentarily she observes the fight, the bodies of the horses and beast that dance together in a deadly rhythm.

On the side, way from the fight, there is a flickering filly, but in the short moments that the world around the flickers the filly isn’t the one to disappear. As the world returns to its normal color and shading and then return to the grayish inbetween she notices the absence of some. Esileif can’t really pinpoint who were gone, all she knows is that they are with less now. Their chances are more slim now.

The bay and faintly orange white mare only catches a glimpse of the lamb as a second explosion occurs. Another seal has burst in different pieces to be thrown into different ways. Within moments after the explosion Conquest’s mood changes and the beast pull back. It is then that Esileif moves forward, yet she doesn’t join either side. For now it was better for Conquest to believe in the little pact they made, maybe it would become handy later on. The little girl inside of her trembles, trembles with each step of pounding hooves in the distance. She wants nothing else than to run and flee, to leave it all behind her, but she know she can’t. On top of that her mask, the taken personality, doesn’t allow her too. Esileif has to keep the façade up.

She knows it, she knows him, before he even arrives. Esi doesn’t know why, but she can feel it. And she is pretty sure the others do too. The little flickering filly from before is already gone and all the others seem to be ready to move out too. And that before he has actually arrived. ”War” she whispers, once again repeating the creature’s name. Esileif needs all her will to stop herself from trembling, forcing herself to stand still and observe the situation. ”Conquest.” She calls for the white demon’s attention, hoping to see him side with her. Her eyes flash to him, he seems delighted with the appearance of War, before she looks away to lay her eyes upon the second demon creature.

Red eyes. Her own widen in shock. Sure they had all met Conquest’s ghostly eerie yellow ones, but the bloody red of War’s eyes even get to her more. They scream bloodlust, just like the whole stallion himself. ”Fuck.. This is no good” she curses and mumbles underneath her breath. Negotiating wouldn’t be an option this time, unlike Conquest War wasn’t out to conquer them, no, he was here to kill them. And there was no way she would let that happen to herself.

While the black beast seems to busy himself with one or two of the others, accompanied by a feral snake like creature, Esileif finds herself approaching Conquest again. Her step is calm, although her heart and mind are at war, and she tries to look at him in an unaffected and slightly angered way. ”You bastard, first you poison me with some disease and now you’ll just leave me to be at hís mercy?” she hisses, with a frown upon her features. ”This child is not only mine, it’s yours too. And you promised me something!”

Without speaking a word he steps aside, revealing a part of the seal that lies beside him. Hesitant and a little held back she glances from the white demon stallion to the piece of the seal and back again. Esileif then spurts forward, brushing past him – making sure to not touch him again – and without hesitating she reaches down for the part of the seal. Just like the first time it dissolves and becomes one with her. Now there is another weight upon her shoulders, she feels it deep within the core, but for now it’s still the white demon which she had to deal with.

The way he looks at her makes her feel like a small child that throws a tantrum and she knows that she doesn’t like that at all. The snarl upon her lips grows as her ears turn back to press against her skull. ”But you did get your price, right?” he answers with a triumphant smile upon his lips, obviously meaning the child that would grow within her whomb. Esileif doesn’t back away when he steps closer, but when he reaches out to brush his muzzle against her neck she snaps at him. He’s weaker now. ”Quit playing. I helped you, I’m on your side, and this is how you repay me? Tell him to leave us alone!” But even before she’s able to finish her sentence she can feel his presence.

Cursing herself the tobiano mare spins around, backing down a few steps as her eyes land on War. For a moment her eyes glance past him and she sees how the flickering filly – Elve – puts her hoof over another part of the second seal. It is impossible to not notice how the child is covered in blood, limping and obviously in pain. Yet Esileif doesn’t get much longer to observe the child, as War stomps forward with a loud roar. She’s too preoccupied to notice that War left another victim behind, simply not noticing Hickory’s brave attempt to save the child.

Conquest walks away, keeping himself out of the fight, and goes to watch over the battlefield silently. Not that Esileif has eyes for him any longer. She’s only just in time to spurt out of the way and in his uncouth way of moving he just barrels forward. Although her own build – strongly Spanish influenced – is quite sturdy she instantly realises that she should use her agility in advantage. If she would be able to dodge him he might get bored of the chasing game. And so she does. Soon she’s panting, breathing heavily to fuel herself with enough oxygen to keep herself up and moving. ”Is that all you’ve got?” she hisses, head low and ears pressed again her skull. Baring her teeth she shows him her own anger and furiousness. It wasn’t her life that was at stake, but her child’s too. And there was no way that anybody would take this price, this way to achieve her goals, away from het just like that.

Thing is that Esileif still had a lot to learn when it came to battling. Her attention gets pulled away from War once she hears a feline growl, one too close for her liking, but she finds the creature only looking at her. By the time that the black demon is moving forward again she knows it’s too late to move out of his way. ”Fuck.” She cannot avoid his knees from roughly slamming into her, but she was able to decide where to take the blow. His aim had been her unprotected belly, knowing all too well what had happened between her and Conquest. She can feel her ribs crack under the force and instantly the raspy groan gets pulled from her lips. Second there are the sharp teeth that sink into her flesh, tearing skin and muscle with each bite; tainting her neck, withers and shoulders red. Esileif screams, shrill and obviously in pain. She doesn’t hear it herself though, as silence is all what’s around her, engulfing her.

In an attempt to get him off her back she swirls around, her bared teeth aiming for his throat. At the same time she kicks her left hind leg out to him, hoping that he would be too distracted by her teeth to notice the blow directed to his right hind leg’s knee. Like she anticipated War dodges her teeth, but to her own dismay her hoof only brushes past the skin of his knee. Not enough to break, but she does hope that it will at least bruise his muscles for him to be hurt. Maybe even start limping from now on. Esileif doesn’t hesitate another moment and puts her weight on both her hind legs as she rears. Her hooves lash out towards him, aiming to hit his shoulder, but the unpredicted sharp pain at her side causes her to only bump into him with her chest against his shoulder. It’s still with enough power to force him away from her, but the Spanish girl finds herself gasping for breath as a result of her action too. The pain makes her willing to curl up, to make herself a small as possible, but War’s snapping teeth and dangerously close hooves prove that that won’t be an option.

By the time he leaves her – probably looking for another victim – she’s a panting and bloody mess. Her body is trembling, but other than that Esileif is able to keep herself standing. Next to the wounds on her shoulders, neck and withers a few more are adorning her skin now. A cut across her head, painting the white of her face red from a not to well-aimed hoof, scratches on her legs and front knees from the times she collided with the ground and some more cut skin on her sides, back and hindquarters. Esileif got tainted by him, her bay and orange-white tobiano coat now also spotted with dark red spots. She only vaguely notices War walking away, leaving her behind without sparing her a last glance. Not that she minds that, but the silence and emptiness overtakes her right that instant and she just stares ahead blankly while trying to take in everything that has happened.

Esileif

Belgarath x Alasia

Photograph by Filmwerx Studio


So. Esi moves off to talk to Conquest in an attempt to have him help her. He gives her a piece of the seal. Then, after Hickory fights War he comes to her - I edited that one in, because I was 'replying' to what happened with Elve too, but Hickory was quicker to post. She's left behind wounded a little struck, trying to process what is happening. Involve her, just don't kill her, or hurt her too badly.

[Rhonen]

I haven't come to say I'm sorry

but I swear I'm on your side

One moment he is touching the hard piece of the seal, guarding it, and the next it is gone. The boy tenses, on the outer edges of panic, but stills again when he can feel the seal, like a weight inside of him. A thing that binds him to the others, to this half-world, and to a feeling of eternity. Conquest’s answering shriek of fury makes the boy shiver, but he is glad when it offers them a moment of respite, the minions retreating  (though he feels uncomfortably that it’s more of a regroup than a retreat). With the lull comes relief from the stinging, itching pain – it is a dull feeling now, an afterthought. He has a moment to take a much-needed deep breath, another moment to glance at his companions, a third heartbeat to feel uneasy at the way the world flickers around them, almost becoming real again sometimes before fading.

Tempting them with the thought of home, but of course they cannot have it. Three vanish from their midst and a part of Rhonen is bitterly jealous – they are able to return to their families. Or so he supposes – he cannot think that they are dead, because he cannot contemplate that fate for himself.

He is so focused on the loss of three of the thirteen that he does not see the lamb – not until the very last minute, as the creature steps down onto the second of the seals. In the split second before the explosion, Rhonen curses himself and all of them – how could they not have remembered that there were four seals? It is only logical that the lamb would try to open all four – they could have prevented what he feels in his bones is to come. But they did not prevent it, and the resulting explosion shakes him from his uneasy rest and he shifts restlessly, jittery, looking for the source of the noisy approach. Their group does not spring into action immediately, still shaken from the second explosion, not until they have caught sight of the red-eyed second stallion.

Warship growls a command into that silence (’Run! The Seals!’) and the boy who has fought even the slightest authority all of his young life with snarky responses and half-assed rebellion is stirred for perhaps the first time to instant obedience, rocking back on his haunches and launching himself forward to find a piece of the seal. Somewhere deep inside he knows that his weapon of choice will get him nowhere with War; Conquest might have been talked around, if he was so inclined, but this new doom simply wants them to die. Faced with such an enemy, he chooses to heed the commands of one whom he assumes has more experience (Warship certainly looks the part of seasoned warrior, and when Rhonen had glimpsed him fighting Conquest, he had been suitably impressed).

He is still in the lanky-not-quite-an-adult phase, but no longer in the awkward-can’t-find-his-own-legs phase of growth, and desperation and new experience serve him well, ducking out of the path of several of the minions. A piece of seal has already caught his eye, a large piece, and untouched because it lies directly behind a sickly green crocodile, its attention focused ahead and the piece laying innocently just inches from its spiky tail. Rhonen slows his approach, to quiet his footsteps, and manages to reach the shard without incident.

The world shifts for a moment when his outstretches muzzle makes contact with the shard of seal, tilting sideways before it rights itself, a heavy weight settling deep in his chest beside the first. But his audible sigh gives him away to the giant reptile and the heavy tail is swinging towards him, deadly fast. Doing the first thing that comes to mind Rhonen launches upwards, tucking his forelegs tightly to his chest and snapping his hind legs up to match the arc of his body as he soars over the scaly appendage. He is graceful and new-penny bright as he soars through the air, but the youngster has underestimated the flexibility and speed of his opponent. Sharp, uneven rows of teeth drag bloody furrows across the boy’s haunches and loins, and it is by sheer luck and not skill that the jaws do not close on an errant limb. Upon landing, he is off like a shot, and the crocodile seems uninclined to follow. Perhaps it is lulled into restfulness because the air is so cool around them, or perhaps it seeks easier prey.

His group has scattered, but Warship is easy to see, struggling with the monstrous War not too far from where Rhonen is running, pushing through the pain and the thought of his own blood turning his coat red alongside the brownish stain that has become Hickory’s blood. War has his jaws closed around Warship, a fearsome sight, and something of that loyalty that the young stallion struggles to comprehend blossoms in his chest and he drives forward, snarling an incomprehensible threat against the creature that threatens the man that Rhonen has claimed – however temporarily – as his commander.

Long strides bring him to the duo just as Warship is dropped and scrambles away, and the boy plows right into War’s side, legs kicking and teeth snapping as he tries to land a blow on War. He does not want this doom unleashed in his world either – War would gladly kill anything in its path, even Rhonen’s peaceful family. His dream would never be a reality. But the creature merely laughs at him, barely more than a colt, ineffective and untrained. “You are no warrior,” it drawls, landing a fierce kick to Rhonen’s shoulder that sends him skittering away, shocked at the pain radiating from the blow. “You will fall beneath the feet of my horde,” it continues, leaving bloody tracks to match the crocodile’s on Rhonen’s neck where the boy fails to dance out of the way fast enough to avoid the distinctly un-equine teeth. “Everyone you love will die.” War adds with a sly smile, reading the youth’s worst fear through his fury.

That is too much, or perhaps the boy has no sense of self-preservation. He lunges again, ears pinned, to strike at the creature’s chest with his hooves, to snap at his face with teeth never meant for war. It is probably useless – he has no training for this, merely the impotent fury of a child to drive him. An emotional response if there ever was one, and not the actions of a warrior with any sense. War shoves him to the ground with another forceful swing of his mighty head, leaving Rhonen struggling for breath in the dirt, and leans in. “I will enjoy watching you fail to protect them,” the stallion says in explanation, and then leaves the young stallion to scramble to his feet, still winded, and limp towards Warship with an expression that borders quite closely on despair. “The unbroken seals,” he says, half to himself, dark eyes searching for them. It’s a half-finished thought – can they keep whatever lies beneath the other seals imprisoned? Should they?

RHONEN

cliffnotes: Rhonen breaks away to search for his seal when Warship yells. He takes it from behind a crocodile creature and is injured. Then he moves forward to try and help Warship, and has a brief tussle with War before War leaves him to go after someone else. He goes to Warship and attempts to suggest preventing the lamb from opening another seal. Feel free to use him, he likes to think he can help/protect especially his little "group" but he's moving pretty slow now and has lots of ouches.

[Weaver]

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

Her head hammers inside her skull, forcing her eyes shut more than she’d like. She keeps peaking them open, looking for the monsters, unsure what to do now with the seal beneath her hoof. But she will not move, will not give up the seal. And she does not have to. The seal absorbs into her hoof, disappearing from the ground below. A scream echoes in her ears. It sounds like Conquest, but she doesn’t have the strength to open her eyes and look. Does he know? Does he feel how the seal has become part of her?

Is she that much more of a target now?

Power does not infuse her, as perhaps it should (though there is a tiny hint of satisfaction). She is a living piece holding back the apocalypse. She is more powerful than she ever could have dreamed. But despite these things, she does not feel powerful. The weight of her decisions sit heavy in her chest, one more thing trying to drag her to the ground. She is just a tiny little girl. She is nothing. And somehow a piece of the fate of Beqanna lives within her.

She doesn’t have time to dwell though. It is only a moment before the blue tinted mare, tears streaming down her face, comes. The woman scoops up Warship’s seal. Weaver’s about to pummel the already injured mare until then she hears, For Warship!. The mare is trying to help. She’s trying to join their little ragtag team.

The more the merrier. They stand a better chance. Weaver nods at the mare, sending another wave of pounding through her skull. Her coat is completely soaked in sweat, and she knows she’s burning up. Stay up, stay up, stay up, she keeps chatting to herself, willing her legs not to buckle. She can’t afford to lay down.

And then there’s another. The sarcastic boy that she’d introduced herself to, before all hell broke loose. We’re screwed, he says, and Weaver opens her eyes just enough to glare at him. “Yea, we are, if you think like that,” she hisses through gritted teeth. Fear still clenches her heart, pain still rules her head, fatigue still tugs her body to the ground. But they cannot give up. Cannot give in. The only way to win is to think that they’re going to win.
 
The pain in her head is lessening now though, her fever finally breaking. She hasn't noticed though, distracted as Warship stumbles into the group now. He agrees with Rhonen, cursing Conquest as blood oozes from his boils and blood trails down his legs. Weaver opens her eyes, the pounding in her head more of a memory now than an actual feeling. Panic rises at the sight of Warship on the ground. She can’t heal him though, can’t stop the pain. So she fights the panic down. It won’t do any of them any good to panic.

Think, Weaver. Think. Her mother’s voice chimes in her head. The girl takes a deep breath, sending a new wave of pain through her head. But her mother’s voice and the pain in her head serve to dull the panic, if nothing else. And then another mare joins them, black and white like Weaver. They are a ragtag group, but they are a group, and Weaver feels some semblance of safety in this number. She doesn’t know if she should trust them, but she does. Why? Because she has no other choice.

The world starts flickering now, and Weaver almost wants to cry. It’s not a flash of yellow light this time, but bright green. What monster does the green light herald? Another flicker, and then Cinza is gone. It’s easy to notice her absence, since Weaver had been standing right beside her. She looks around again, Lagertha and one of the other mares nowhere in sight.

Where did they go? Weaver doesn’t even know the mare’s name, but it doesn’t matter. The mare had tried to help, had wanted to stop it all. And now she was gone. Maybe she’s safe now, Weaver hopes, having no idea if that’s true or not. But she clings to the ridiculous hope that the mare is back in Beqanna, safe and sound.

Even if that’s true, none of them are safe and sound. What if they fail here? What if Conquest escapes?

She shakes her head to clear away the thoughts. A low growl pulls her out of her daze. She turns to the see the wolf, one eye gleaming, spines protruding from its back. He’s found the group, and he knows that one of them will be easy prey. They’ve become a herd, after all.

She’s just about to yell when she catches sight of the lamb again. Curiosity no longer takes over at the sight of it though. Hatred, raw and poignant, courses through her instead. It is his fault. His fault they are here. His fault Conquest is loose. And now, it is too late for them to stop another.

The seal shatters, the resulting explosion so loud that even the wolf stops in his tracks. Weaver ducks her head, though hoping the pieces will fly at her, land on her skin and just absorb like the others. She’ll take whatever flesh wounds come with that. But the shards don’t come near her. She can’t even hear where they hit the ground, and her heart sinks even lower as she pops her head back up.

The sound of hooves is the first sign, like the drumbeat of war. Her eyes dart to Conquest as his minions return to him, taking up formation around their master. Conquest looks pleased again, the fury of only moments before fading away.
 
She doesn’t want to know what’s coming next.

His breath is the next thing that precedes him, like a well oiled machine. It is the sound of her own breath, except hers comes sharp and fast in puffs and his...it is like he will never tire. Just keep chugging on, until the world has not only just come to its knees, but until they are all steeped in blood.

She doesn’t need to see the red eyes or the sharp teeth or the fire on his skin to know. She doesn’t need the name in her head. War, it says. Enough! Enough of the voices. She’s beginning to think she’s just completely mad. That none of this is happening, and that her head is just playing out some insane, impossible story.

But the blood drying on her legs feels real enough. The sweat making her skin sticky is real enough. Warship’s pain. Cinza’s disappearance. All these things are real enough.

War doesn’t hesitate, and neither does she. They are all sitting ducks in this group - the wolf already figured it out. It was too easy to pick them off one by one if they stayed together. Warship seems to be thinking the same thing, yelling “Run!” at the lot of them, but she’s already taken off. She doesn’t know where the pieces of the seals are, doesn’t care at the moment. All she cares about is getting away from War, from the demon animals, from Conquest.

This time, it’s not a growl that alerts her to one of the beasts. It’s the pumping of air above her. A tiny little thing, but so noticeable in this still world. There’s no breeze here. There’s only the sounds of pain and war and disease. And the shifting of air above her. She cranes her head to the sky, and there it is. The one thing she’d been looking for all along.

But it’s not her raven, not any of her mother’s raven’s. No, this one is far too demonic even for Mother. Its eyes dance with fire, its feathers tipped in sharpened obsidian and dripping blood. A drop splashes on her neck, trailing down her skin like the fingers of a lover. Soft, tickling almost. Who’s blood is it?

The question doesn’t matter though, because next it will be her blood. The bird dives, the tips of its wings raking out against her neck. She spins around, snapping at the black bird with blunt teeth. If she can just get a foot or its damn head.

It flaps, lifting up just above her reach, wing raking across her face this time. Instinctively she closes her eyes and turns her head away. But she realizes her instinct is stupid, and she opens her eyes in time to see the bird coming for her face now, dead on. She rears, lashing out with her front legs as hard as she can. A satisfying snap echoes in the air around her as she connects with the birds delicate body. It caws, and she can only hope its last dying sound doesn’t draw other beasts to her.

She doesn’t wait to see it hit the ground, doesn’t make sure the raven even dead. She takes off, away from the bird and the sound, hoping the other monsters won’t notice her. A stupid hope, but she clings to it anyway.

Finally, she starts scanning the ground for a seal. Find a seal. Weaken War. She’s sure it will work the same way. Her eyes find Conquest, lingering on the edge of the battlefield. She turns course, staying well away. Maybe there are shards by him, but she wasn’t taking any risk going near the disease ridden creature.

WEAVER!

The sound is almost indistinguishable above the din, but still, she catches the sound of her name. She stops, eyes wild as she tries to find the source, wondering what anyone could need from her. She can’t help, can’t fight, can’t do anything but run.

Then she spots Warship, the horns on his head an easy beacon in the melee. Rhonen is there as well, and she is glad to see her allies. She slips through the crowd, racing past what looks like a coyote that’s limping and unable catch up to her. Though from the corner of her eye she sees it lurch forward, trying. She finds Warship, looking up at him first before the seal, half buried in the dirt, catches her eye. “Thank you,” she says, reaching her hoof out to touch the seal.

Like before, the seal absorbs into her skin. Like before, there’s a tiny surge of pleasure, of power. Like before, she feels the weight of the world resting on her. Unlike before, War does not scream. But he turns away from the bay and orange mare, the one that "danced" with Conquest. War comes for her instead.

War seems to know that part of the seal lives in her now. It’s her turn. He’ll kill her where she stands. She looks to Warship and Rhonen, both battered and bleeding, and she cannot ask either of them to do this for her. So she runs, at least turning War’s course away from her allies. She cannot outrun the red-eyed stallion, but she can direct his course. A few strides, and he closes the distance, throwing her to the ground as he slams into her.

She hears a crack, her breath rushing out of her in a whoof. Maybe a rib. Maybe some other bone. She doesn’t know, doesn’t care. Her side howls with the pain of that crack. That is all she knows, all she cares about. And War is still looming above her, those red eyes ready for the kill. He hasn’t killed anyone yet (not that she’s seen, anyway), and she’s an easy first kill.

“Why?” she breathes, still trying to catch her breath, still trying to figure out what to do. The word comes out like a little child, scared and uncertain and looking for Mommy. And right now, that’s exactly what she is.

Think, Weaver.

Her mother wouldn’t be proud. Her mother would expect more. And Straia never asked for more than Weaver could give. The black and white girl could do better.
 
“You aren’t trapped. You are waiting,” she says. Maybe War hasn’t come around in her life, but her life has been short so far. There were so many stories of War though. So much blood that had soaked the plains and kingdoms of Beqanna. And it would happen again. “You will have your chance. I can make sure of it.”

Weaver can make sure her Mother marches on the Gates. Weaver can make sure that War has his chance. That War would devastate all Beqanna. But it wouldn’t be the end of the world. She didn’t know if one puny war would be enough, didn’t know if he’d spare her from death over that promise. Maybe he didn’t want just any war, maybe he wanted only the apocalypse. But it was the only bargaining chip she had.

War raises his left leg, but for a brief moment hesitates, seems to be thinking. She scrambles to her feet in that moment, pain lancing through her side. With his leg still in the air, she rears, kicking out at his right front leg, still planted on the ground. Even untrained Weaver knows it's hard to dodge with one leg in the air. She connects, and his leg buckles. His free leg kicks out, flailing for balance but still, aiming for her. He connects as well, sending a fresh shock of pain down her neck and above her shoulder.

Despite his kick, he's off balance, giving her time to get away. She tries to run, every other step more limp than run. He doesn’t follow. Either because her promise worked, or because he’d moved on to someone else. She doesn’t stop to find out, doesn’t turn to look if he'd found new prey. Instead, she heads back to Rhonen and Warship, remembering Rhonen's comment.

Maybe there’s nothing they can do. The lamb pops in and out of existence in a blink. They couldn’t stop it, but maybe they could slow it down. It wasn't much of a plan, but it was a plan. “We can try to protect the seals.” she says when she’s close enough to be heard over the din. She doesn't stop with the group. She keeps going, finding one of the seals that’s still intact. Standing here makes her a sitting duck, but she’s dead anyway. At least she’ll have died trying.

weaver

weed and straia's chamber princess

[Titanya]

The fever threatens to burn away her thin hold on the present.

It makes her slow and sluggish; she stumbles towards the small group with the stone barely held in her mouth.  Only the cool, polished feel of it against her tongue reminds her where she is, reminds her of what she must do in order to stop the world from ending.  The stone, she thinks, swaying, I must reunite my piece.  But even as she worries it will slide from her grasp (and once it falls, she knows she will not have the strength to find it in the greyed grass again), she can feel it melting into her.  Her tongue tingles as it absorbs into her, a taste of magic she won’t soon forget.  At the same time, though (and perhaps by the same magic), she can feel her body healing.  Her chest deflates to an only slightly embellished size.  Her feet respond to the directions she gives them.  Best of all, her thoughts feel cleaned of the mud they had seemingly been dragged through before.

When she emerges from the haze of her own body, Titanya wonders if the others have been affected much the same.  The world flashes before she can find out.  The monochromatic purgatory becomes a kaleidoscope of familiar colors.  She sees the green of the hills, the pale blue of a cloudless day – but the landscape is all too quickly reverted back to the shades of its first palette.  All of the fragments are gone, she finally realizes, absorbed into the bodies of those who had carried them.  She notices, too, that some of the horses have disappeared entirely.  Cinzia vanishes into the lifeless air from her place only yards away from the sabino.  It is alarming to see and not be able to react.  And while she didn’t know the winged mare (knew only that she opposed Conquest, which was enough affirmation of the woman’s character), she hopes she has been absolved of this madness rather than thrust into more.

Because the madness does not stop all around them, even if the broken seal has found a home within the remaining horses.   

The fighting rages on in the clearing, despite their small victory.  The mutated, hellish creatures lunge at the equines who battle back as best they can.  The smell of blood fills the air until she thinks she can taste it, tangy and coppery – like the magic passing through her tongue, but altogether more grounded and earthy.  Only Conquest seems fazed.  It is his sudden stillness that draws her attention away from the group she stands near (Warship, Rhonen, and Weaver).  It is his gaze that she follows until she sees what he has seen. 

The lamb.

The seal he prepares to stand on.

BOOM. 

The blast doesn’t startle her as much as the first had.  Its effect, however, is another matter entirely.  Shards of the seal fly into the air like so much shrapnel.  This time, she anticipates that there will be more violence.  This time, when the thunderous beating of the hooves of yet another overlarge equine nears the clearing, she is ready.  Conquest, too, seems ready to reengage in the coming battle.  His minions shake off their first injuries and prepare for more. 

Titanya gives a final, dubious look towards her three close compatriots and enters the chaos once more.  She had seen the now-familiar sheen of a seal fragment arcing through the air after the explosion.  It had crashed into the grey earth further away from the others than she’d like to go, but she’s thankful to have seen a piece at all.  It is more of a head start than she’d had before, at any rate.  So the black and white paint moves off at a canter, shaky at first, but becoming steadier the further she goes as Conquest’s curse wanes.  She realizes she cannot completely skirt around the more tightly-packed group of monsters.  Her fragment has landed to the left of the amorphous mass, and to reach it, she will have to be either quick or forceful.

Already, the too-many and too-few sets of eyes watch her travel across their view field.  When one breaks away, she sees it in her peripheral vision, heading straight for her.  War, it seems to say, though she’s not sure if it is the creature or another.  War.  She shudders, because the ground is shaking more than ever and whatever is out there is very close.  When she turns to meet it, she thinks it will be the great warhorse coming to take her on.  Instead, she sees the one-eyed wolf she’d battled before.  “Not dead then, I guess?”  His one eye does not blink as it locks on her moving form.  His lips curve wickedly, as if he is grinning at her words.  She doesn’t want to risk a fight she might lose, not when the piece of the seal is more important.  If she can get to it before the wolf reaches her…

She dodges heavily to her left, her chest heaving with the effort, when the canine leaps into the air.  He misses her by inches, and without hesitation, Titanya canters on.  She can hear him hit the dirt hard, but he recovers quickly and pursues her hasty advance.  Damnit, the young mare curses at her inability to throw him off.  But the fragment is so close now that she can see the way the grass bends around and cradles it.  She can almost feel it disappearing as she touches it, can feel her own relief at its inaccessibility once she has it safe.  But all of a sudden, she can feel something else as well. 

The hot, humid breath of the warhorse sends shivers down her neck.  He moves in front of her and stops, forcing her to do so as well.  “War,” he says by way of greeting.  “It is magnificent, is it not?”  Sounds of pain from her fellows and pleasure from the monsters fills the air around them.  She cannot look away from War, but it is impossible not to be aware of everything happening in the clearing regardless.  She doesn’t tell him what she thinks of it; she is sure he already knows.  “It is inevitable.”  The fragment is just behind him, but the squeezing fear in her stomach tells her that she will forever be a foot too short of it.  This is where War and chaos will take her, his eyes promise her.  This is to be her grave – not that there will be any bones or flesh to bury.  But that fear meets with her eternally-burning anger somewhere in her trachea. 

It combines and she combusts. 

“NO!”  His red, fiery stare gives away nothing (as any soldier worth his salt shouldn’t).  She sees him move, but it is too late.  War leaps forward and presses alongside her, his larger body nearly overtaking her own.  She screams when his teeth find purchase in the soft flesh of her croup.  She doesn’t expect the sharpness of a predator’s bite.  And when he begins to grind his jaws, tearing away her skin and revealing the shiny pink of muscle underneath, she is certain she will die.  Titanya’s own vision burns red, then.  She did not ask to come here, a pawn on a board far beyond her comprehension.  And while she had acquiesced to restoring the balance undone by that damned, persistent lamb, she refuses to let Death claim her in order to do so.  She will live or she will take down any in her way with her. 

The girl musters all her remaining energy and bucks against his bite.  It’s satisfying to hear War’s teeth clattering inside his skull from the force of her rebellion, but the added few inches of his teeth into her back is less welcome.  Pain explodes from the point like the seal, radiating throughout her body and down into each of the limbs.  She wonders if he’s hit a nerve (wonders if she’ll have freed herself only to be paralyzed forever – might as well give myself to Death in that case).  But somehow, it has worked.  War disengages and takes a step away from her.  Without hesitation, Titanya bursts forward.  Blood streams down her hindquarters freely; a crimson, glossy skirt she wears to receive her prize.  She bends her neck to the fragment, hungry for the taste of it on her tongue.  War cannot let her go so easily, though.  He sends a well-placed kick that lands on her left haunch at the same time that the seal absorbs into her.  The force of it sends her sprawling forward.  Her knees buckle and she collapses to the ground.  She’s not sure she will be able to get up again, at least not before the creature of sevens returns to produce more pandemonium in this peculiar place.
 
The rhythmic cadence of approaching hoofbeats has her stirring from her place on the ground.  She grimaces, trying to heave her wounded body up in some semblance of readiness for attack.  “Go away.  Find someone else to hassle you shit-eating piece of –  “  But instead of War or Conquest returning for another round, Titanya finds the other black and white girl running towards her.  She wonders what hell the small group has seen.  More importantly, she wonders if they’ve had their own successes finding fragments of the wasted, second seal.  “Oh,” she says as an apology.  But she follows Weaver’s gaze to an untouched seal nearby.  Right away, she understands.  “Keep the bug-eyed lamb away.  Got it.  Good thinking.”  And she stumbles forward, bleeding and sore, to help.  

Titanya

[Becca]

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

The piece of seal, felt warm in her jaw and it let out almost a sweet honey aroma released as it disappeared absorbing into her flesh within her mouth leaving a pasty taste upon her salmon pink tongue. A weight is followed with the absorption of the seal, all too heavy weighing with it's importance. Her hate for conquest and his disfigured creatures is followed with this new weight awkwardly placed upon her chest. At first she felt off balance, shifting forwards causing her pain within her abdomen increase, the pain flows and rolls to a standstop towards her flank.

The pain is bearable, an effect of the seal possibly? Becca turns her attention back to Conquest, her pain now enlightened she feels a bit more energetic to begin with. What happens next surprises her. The disease spreading stallion, slowed his pace as if his legs had grown tired or weak from spreading his illnesses. Rage follows, his head thrashes in fury as anger sparks in his yellow glowing eyes. He knows, that all of the equine around her have weakened him by grabbing ahold of the seal, the only thing that can hold him back.

She couldn't tell if it was her vision regaining itself, or the world was flickering on and off like a light switch, color sparked upon the grass a lush green the mare missed so, the sky appearing a vibrant blue for a second then it was gone. This could mean one thing. The purgatory like dimension she was within was colliding with her homeland, Beqanna. She could hear the soft beckoning of songbirds within the field, that was soon silenced into an unnatural hum, then it went all quiet. Her periwinkle eyes search through the equine, three are missing. They had to of returned back to Beqanna, the place she wished she could be far other than this bland dull wasteland.

The silence is broken by the calls of the creatures returning to battle, their wretched vocals ring in her ears echoing continuously. Among all of the beasts sits the little innocent lamb, it's hoof gently pressed upon another seal, and like that it shatters. Like ancient pottery all the pieces spread about between clashing hooves and paws, beneath fallen bodies, all the pieces are hidden and not visible to the sight.

With that, another comes. His frame brings a glint of red, as his heavy hooves clatter loudly upon the dull greyed terrain. Conquest, seems excited with the idea of having another comrade upon his team of demented creatures. The build of the new warrior entering the battlefield, is followed with red flames fluttering from under his skin, like molten lava. Spikes sprouted out of his flank, and chest like protective bumpers on a car. Skulls were visible within his coat almost formed out of his ebony skin, all of their eyes sockets were visible with molten lava coloring within each socket.

"War." The word echoes, throughout the battlefield. Creatures stare for a moment analyzing the large being, smoke sputtering out of his nostrils. The beasts of Conquests army gather behind the being their bodies a huge horde of deformed creatures led by two captains, Conquest and War.

All of them cease in a charge, screeches of creatures and bellows from the stallions are emitted from the army. Death is an immediate tone within the dead air, as the equine around her begin to charge forwards targeting war specifically. Few completely avoided the new stallion. One of those few was Becca.

She had already met the forces of Conquest, and wished to have a break a little time out would be nice for the girl but, no she was just a pawn within a chess game. Her dark chocolate body shifts as she sprints for a piece, quite a ways away from the battlegrounds. Surely if she hadn't of seen the location of this piece no one would of found it. It was engraved with a curve, different from the other pieces, it was rounded and smooth. It's feel is smooth, upon her muzzle. In that instant it is absorbed into her body.

A weight is followed upon her chest and the scratchy crazed voice is followed,"Well Hello there little birdie...."A crooked grin is returned as she gazes, behind her flank. Pivoting around the girl, snorts. She had bumped into whom she was specifically avoiding. "Hello..." Her voice is shaky as it trails off, the scent of blood protrudes from the battlefield. "Oh look! This little birdie can sing!" His sharpened canines turn into a snarl. "The funs over little birdie." He snaps at her chest.

"Wait!" Her high vocals sound out, " I'm sure...There is someone else far more worth your time. Further against you than I am. I can help you point out whoever is not on your side." She lied willingly, as her dark chocolate brows furrowed. "Like over there," She pointed out a random equine fighting the mutated bear with dangerously long claws. "That equine is not on your team. Surely it is obvious he or she is deeply against your cause." She was against his cause, but stood resilient in her survival. It was the only way she could survive her first encounter with the stallion.

The man halted in his doing turing his attention towards the equine battering the bear-like creature. "Hmmm..." His high strung vocals sounded as he galloped of his fiery tail fluttering off sparks, as his bulk build confronted another.

She didn't want to fight, she was weak and pain burned within her barrel yet was surprisingly bearable for the moment then surged through her body once more. Hopefully he would be the last being she would have to confront, she had begun to get tired of the dull space. And she couldn't handle confronting any beasts nor Conquest who seemed to continue to wander about weaving past the strong and picking on the weak.

And for those three missing horses they should be thankful they don't have to fight in a living hell-hole.

becca

image © nathan walker

[Kreios]

kreios don't you tame your demons, but always keep them on a leash I was stumbling as I reached for the shard, and just as I feel the cool stone between my catlike teeth I finally fall. For a moment I think that I have dropped the shard (I can no longer feel it between my teeth), but as I push myself upright, the strangest sensation begins to spread through my body. It is like nothing else I have ever felt before, and for a moment I do not feel my injuries. The burning sensation in my paw subsides, and it is easier to move my head (I am especially grateful for this as I regain my balance). The enraged sheik of Conquest reaches my ears at the same time that Lucrezia reaches my side. I lean into her, the weight of the seal preternaturally heavy, and I am grateful for her familiar warmth at my side. One moment she is beside me, injured but alive, and the next moment she is gone. "Lucrezia!" I shout, looking around frantically for the amber mare, "Lucrezia!" The world around me flickers, first grey, then green, and I shut my eyes as though that will stop it. When I open them it is to the sound of the second seal shattering. There will be another monster coming, I know. Conquest has a companion, and given his wretchedness I do not have any hope that it will be a creature any less terrible. The sound of approaching hooves is terrible, a thundering the likes of which I have never heard, and I know that I must find a piece of his seal or risk his escape to Beqanna. War – the name echoes in my head, and I know that this beast is even worse than the one before. The monsters are regrouping, offering we gathered few a temporary respite as they reassemble. With the field of battle less cluttered, I can see the small group of horses that have gathered together. They are allies, I decide; I will stand beside them. A large piece of the second seal has landed conveniently beside me when it shattered, and it is almost too easy to place my hoof upon it and feel it seep inside me. It is cool, like the fresh spring that waters the canyons of the Orange Country, and I realize that if I do not escape this purgatory that I will never see the place again. With a shake of my head (the tension of muscles remains, but is far weaker now), I charge forward. My right shoulder is bloody from my run-in with the armored bear, and my gallop is staggered, but I am still faster than the limping hellhound. I extend the claws on all four feet (is it easier to do than a moment ago, or is it my imagination?) and simply run over the hellhound, feeling its black body crumple beneath my weight. I feel pulled in a multitude of directions, but the strongest draw is towards the children, the closest of which is the chestnut colt. War - because that monstrous creature must be War - kicks at him and the sight of blood on the boy's body is somehow worse than it is on my own. He is not quite a child anymore, but he is still possessed of boyish awkwardness, and the blood on his copper sides is al the more revolting for it. He should be home, watching over younger siblings and learning from his father, and instead he is hear fighting at the end of the world. Rhonen turns to run and War pursues him, but Rhonen won't know that. I run between them, digging in my feet to stop as quickly as I can, and for the first time in my life feel dwarfed by another creature. War is tall, taller even than my imposing height, and for a moment I feel as though I am a child again. I expect the demon to attack, so when he draws up short and smiles, I freeze. "Hello Kreios," he says, and somehow I am not surprised that he knows my name. Some part of me expects a conversation like the one he had with the others, so the lightning fast bite to my head sends me reeling. His teeth are razor sharp, and I barely manage to pull away and avoid the loss of my eye. The rest of my face is not so lucky, and I am horrified to see that hanging from War's teeth between the blood and red hair is a bit pale flesh that used to be my left ear. I feel the blood welling on the side of my head and the gooey warmth as it drips down my neck. The rumble of my heartbeat is suddenly doubly loud and concentrated in my head, and through the red haze over my eyes I see War rearing up to strike. This time I manage to duck away more quickly, but his hooves land on my shredded right shoulder and I scream in pain. "What do you want?!" I yell, not expecting an answer as I turn away and try to run. I cannot defeat a creature designed for War (or who designed war?), but perhaps I can lead him away from the others. “Coward,” he says as I turn, “You are an embarrassment, a terrible warrior, a weakling. I am ashamed.” I hear my father in his words but do not turn to contradict him – I can only run. A bite at my hindquarters as I go convinces me that I have succeeded, but when I turn to confront him War has disappeared and a pair of two-headed coyotes are at my heels. Four pairs of strong jaws grab for my hind legs, and while a running buck dispatches the body of two heads the second is quicker, and darts away before circling back around. Dripping blood obscures the vision in my left eye, but I turn to face the monster with my good eye. I snarl, a sound that has always been enough to scare away the real coyotes that haunted the edges of my headlands, but this one remains unperturbed. It lunges and I rear up and bat at it with clawed feet. I land a few good strikes - nothing deadly - but they are enough to send the creature whimpering away to regroup. My attention is caught by the nearest movement, and it is the black and white filly, running towards where another seal lays complete on the ground. Does she mean to break it? Has she sided with Conquest and with War? Or is she trying to protect it? I've not heard her calls over the cacophony of battle, and I move to intercept her regardless. I am distracted by the sight on Conquest stalking the edges of the battle and coming towards us. Instinct overrides reason, a side effect of my years away from Beqanna, and I turn my back on where Weaver and the other black and white mare are standing beside the seal. Keep them safe, instinct says, protect them. I mirror the yellow-eyed stallion's stalking circle, keeping myself between him and the seal where Weaver and Titanya stand. For the first time I am moving slowly and I take a moment to assess my injuries. My right shoulder is mess of blood and tattered skin, and there is a biting ache when I place weight on my foreleg. I have not felt this before, but know a large muscle has been torn, and that without magical assistance it will rot and I will die. My hearing is minimal - literally half of what it was - and the steady drip of blood obscures the vision in one eye if I do not keep shaking my head, which only worsens the bleeding. The coyotes can landed bites on my haunches and hind legs, but they are small punctures compared to my shoulder. There are two more monsters coming, I realize, and they will come when the seals are broken. Where is the lamb? Where is the seal breaker?