"But the dream, the echo, slips from him as quickly as he had found it and as consciousness comes to him (a slap and not the gentle waves of oceanic tides), it dissolves entirely. His muscles relax as the cold claims him again, as the numbness sets in, and when his grey eyes open, there’s nothing but the faint after burn of a dream often trod and never remembered." --Brigade, written by Laura
Becca has been eliminated. War has attacked you, leaving bloody furrows that will result in permanent scarring. You may decide where and how extensive this scarring is.
He is a rampaging beast as he barrels through the small group of chosen, leaving blood and gore in his wake. No one is spared his wrath, his anger only growing as each of them take up their pieces of the seal. Too many are against him. Too many stand in his way, weakening him even as the seal strengthens them. He bellows in rage, lashing out at the nearest horse, a dappled mare with pale tresses, sharp teeth raking furrows into skin that rends too easily beneath his touch.
But still the world continues to flicker. Another disappears, lost to the outside world. Amidst everything, the lamb returns. There are those that would guard the seal, would protect it from the sly touch of the lamb. But the lamb is a creature from another world, swift and wily as it slips amongst stamping legs and flashing teeth. In a mere heartbeat, the lamb has reached the third seal, the barest of touches once again shattering ancient stone before it disappears.
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The forceful breaking of the seals has become almost commonplace now, only another distraction to add to the chaos surrounding you. You have come to expect it, knowing what the lamb has come to mean, what the exploding stone portends.
This time though, it is different. This time Conquest and War halt in their tracks, heads whipping around as ears prick forward in attention. This time, rather than another one coming for you, they run away. They turn and disappear, Conquest with an eerie laugh and War with a ferocious below. You can see them vanishing into the woods, leaving their beasts behind to defend their retreat.
And then you see it there in the trees, just barely. A flash of green. Another flash. This is not the vibrant green of trees from the outside world, but a sickly green with a phosphorescent glow that cannot be natural. His name whispers through the branches, the faintest of sounds you must strain to catch.
’Famine,’ it says.
You realize then that he is far more clever than you might have given him credit for. He does not run to confront you. Instead he waits, biding his time while he searches. As the world flickers around you again, you know with an unsettling certainty that he is searching for a way through. He does not wish to fight you. No, he is much more devious than that. He is patient, far more so than his brethren. He is willing to wait until the world opens to him, until that lushly green plane becomes available for him to ravish. He does not want to confront you directly because it is far easier for him to wait until you are tired and starving, until you have no reserves left.
And you know, without a doubt, that if he finds a way through, he will bring Beqanna to its knees in a way that Conquest or War never could.
Please respond by Sunday, January 24th at 11:00pm CST.
Things to Know
In this round, the goal is to find and prevent Famine from leaving purgatory.
When you near Famine, you will become noticeably weaker and you will feel an insatiable hunger.
The ‘flickering’ is becoming more frequent, the real world more noticeable now beyond purgatory.
Conquest and War have gone to protect Famine. As before, your absorption of the seals have left them weaker, but they are still able to sicken and/or injure you. The beasts are still there too, trying to stop you.
Once again, you must find a piece of the seal.
War’s seal will help heal you to an extent (i.e. it will stop any bleeding but may not fully close up a wound, especially larger wounds).
it's strange what desire will make foolish people do.
The seal disappears when she steps on it.
The bleeding slows, some wounds begin to heal up and scar over. Most wounds stay open, gaping, the blood starting to congeal but the injuries too great to knit themselves together so quickly.
She shakes, from exhaustion, from blood loss, from fear.
Mostly from fear.
She does not see the third explosion but hears it; the ground rumbles and her bones tremble. She sways, violently, keeping to her feet an effort she can barely afford to make. She has to find another piece of the seal, she has to do something with it, but she no longer knows what side she is on. She expected the others to all shun her, to leave this unknown little filly who was too scared to do what was right, and instead decided to do what was easy. But she was helped - two horses, maybe more (all a blur now, her eyes struggling to focus) - and she thought, for a second, that she could fight with them, against this darkness that is straining against the edges of the world.
She moves, with tremendous effort, towards another piece of seal that landed mere yards from her.
That’s when a flash of green catches her eye. Not green like trees, or grass, or even green like herself. This green makes her tremble (but then, what doesn’t?), but he isn’t running towards her. No, he seems to saunter; more terrifying than a beast who is galloping, ready to attack, is a creature that doesn’t feel the need to move quickly.
The green-and-red filly takes a step, towards the seal, knowing that this thing, Famine, is coming for her.
Something grips her stomach in its cold, hard fist, and the filly stumbles.
Hunger.
She is too young, too well-fed to know what hunger, true hunger, feels like. She wants - she needs - to sate this hunger; but it is not just food she craves. No, she is hungry for revenge, for a chance to make someone else the weak, pathetic little foal. She wants to be feared just as she fears so much.
She wants power.
And this desire fills her with a fleeting strength.
She doesn’t know where it comes from, but a burst of energy seeps through her, from the tips of her green ears to the bottom of her red hooves. She still cannot say which side she is on, she merely wants to be on the side where - for once - she wins. And so she pushes herself forwards, though every movement is still agony, though some part of her (some not-small part) still wants the filly to lie down and curl up and just surrender, though all she truly wants is some grass and some milk and the touch of her mother (Famine reveals desires that she didn’t even know she had).
The closer she is to the fragment of the seal, the tighter the grip on her stomach, the more she is torn between collapsing and carrying on. But she does (lucky, that the fragment landed so close to her), and she finally, after what seems like agonising hours, places one hoof on the stone.
She falls, her pulse racing, some wounds beginning to bleed again, curling up in the dirt that is now brown, not grey. But she falls onto the stone, protecting it with the fragile, frail outline of her own body, still flitting between green-and-red and nothingness.
She wants so much to close her eyes, but she fears (always afraid, even in her times of boldness) that she will never open them again.
With every seal that dissolves she – and the others probably too – feels his anger rising. And with every dissolved seal she can also feel him getting weaker. When he leaves her alone, his attention focussing on another who tries to stop him, she is left behind panting. There isn’t a single part of her that thinks of moving, as breathing does already hurt terribly. Esileif is groaning softly, gasping for breath every now and then too. The cracked ribs make her trying to breath shallow, but it are the wounds on her withers and rump that cause the slightly burning feeling.
The burning intensifies and it’s like the time stops for the bay and orangey white mare as the wounds burn up even more. She’s holding her breath as the pain consumes her. And then she’s suddenly able to breathe again, gasping for air, without her ribs start to protest. The pain slowly oozes away and with every breath she takes Esileif feels herself getting stronger. Her wounds have stopped bleeding, but it still leaves her coated in blood. The curst is thin and the wound still tingles a little, and Esi is sure that it wouldn’t take much to reopen the wounds again. Her ribs are approximately the same, stable again for now, but snap with the littlest pressure.
By the time she looks up again she finds Conquest standing a few meters away and War is lashing out to a dappled mare. She vaguely remembers having seen her before, but honestly Esileif doesn’t really care much. ”You'd better be prepared.” She shares a look with Conquest, but doesn’t say anything, as the flickering world and the small gathering of horses near the seal catch her attention. She blinks, trying to see through the flickering, trying to ignore the lushes of green as they appear. As the seven eyed and seven horned lamb touches the third seal, it shatters once again.
The white demon had left her to join the black one and although they are both weakened, they are gone rather quickly. She can still hear Conquest laugh, but this time he doesn’t stay around to watch. Their beasts gather, blocking their path to stop them from going after the demon pair. Other than moving her weight upon another leg Esileif doesn’t move. The pretended queen just watches, ears pricking forward and slightly holding her breath, waiting for who would come next.
”Hunger” she mumbles underneath her breath, eyes slightly widened as she looks at the dark creature. He flashes green, but not the green she now desires. Even when she is only looking at him from afar her stomach is growling, signalling her to eat. But that’s all for now. He’s waiting, just like she does. He intrigues her, just like Conquest had, and her blue and brown eyes don’t leave his form while her head tilts a little to the side. Her white demon had been right, he is different and perhaps even more dangerous than Conquest and War were. Yet he doesn’t charge towards them and even the beast seem a little hesitant.
Then it strikes her that he is looking for something, something he and both other demons desire. ”The way out.” Esileif doesn’t know how she knew this, but she was pretty sure that that was the case. Why else would they all have been called here, if not to stop them. By touching the seals they had become the seal, the thing that kept their world safe from them. The Spanish girl is humoured by how the events had turned out, how she had first decided to help them, before she accidentally became the seal. Then she had changed her mind, but that wasn’t something Conquest needed to know. Him thinking Esileif was still their ally would be far more profitable.
Before she realises it the tobiano mare finds herself approaching him. Her eyes have never left him and it is only when she is half way towards him that her stomach starts gnawing more heavily. ”God, what’s wrong with me..?” Her tone is soft as she speaks to herself, not too amused by the fact that this hunger was able to disgrace her like this. That, combined with her still sore and bruised side and torn skin upon her back. But it didn’t stop her.
The pain becomes more prominent though and the urge to kick her stomach and lie down on the ground to roll grows too. Esileif is not so secretly cursing Conquest again, muttering his name underneath her breath together with some more curses and snarling words. She had been relieved when the colic had disappeared again, but somehow that white demon had managed to get her infected again. Or, that was what she thought, mistaking the hunger for colic. ”Well, well, that isn’t how you greeted me before.” Her head jerks up as she hears Conquest’s voice, eyes widening in surprise.
He stands in front of her, War is there too, blocking her path towards Famine. She’s surprised, taken aback by their sudden appearance, and for a moment her mask cracks. Esileif stumbles backwards, almost tripping as she steps in a shallow hole, looking bewildered. And then she takes a deep breath to calm herself and the mask reappears. ”Should’ve thought about that before you got me this disease” she answers in a calm voice, trying her hardest to net let discomfort and fear. ”And I don’t mean the baby. He only laughs – that now annoying victorious laugh – as his gaze travels across he frame, before he turns to look at War. Then he’s gone, leaving them to find another victim himself as Esileif had done against him.
That leaves her and War again. Things had changed since their last encounter. With all the pieces of the seal dissolved he’s less powerful now, less agile, less strong and his stamina would also be less, or she hoped that at least. Esileif herself had become stronger, now carrying two of the seals with her, but she had paid her price too. She was still incredibly sore and although she tried not to show it, moving was painful. On top of that she was confronted with this colic – no hunger – too. It is only now that she realises what has been bothering her, not the colic, no. Something else instead. ”Famine..”
His fellow demon’s name was for War the clue do dash forward again. Her scream is shrill and as she dances out of his way her eyes are flat against her skull once again. Just like before they dance together. Teeth snapping, hooves slamming and a bay, black, orangey white and red mess. She lures him towards the trees, towards the forest Famine has disappeared in to, trying to avoid taking any more damage. She uses them in her benefit, as she is more agile than he is. Her injuries limit her movements and her speed, but War isn’t unharmed either. He’s weakened and had fought all of them. So when she zigzags through the trees he is quick to give up.
Esileif only slows down when she’s sure that War has lost her trail, finally taking time to breath and take in the newest addition of wounds. It’s not much, their first encounter had been far more destructive, but enough to leave her more sore. Her ribs hurt and some of the wounds around her withers burst open again. In addition her left hock hurt also, due to it meeting War’s hoof in a rather unpleasant way.
In an attempt to satisfy the hunger, which became worse quite fast now, the Spanish girl had pulled out some grass. In this grayish world it didn’t seem just as tasty, but it would have to do for now. It didn’t stop her from going after Famine though, she wouldn’t let the demon like creature escape into her own world to have him steal all nutrition for her precious baby. It had to become strong, and therefore food was needed. Letting Famine roam into their would be a disaster.
As she tries to catch up with the demon – who doesn’t rush, but is also in good health and strength – her eyes never stop looking around. She needs a seal, or a piece of it. Esileif knows she needs it’s strength, it’s power to heal herself, even if it would only be a little. The gnawing of her stomach gets worse, painful even, and acid burns down her throat. She’s hungry, starving even and the weak feeling that comes with the hunger almost makes her give up. Almost. Nobody was going to take her prize away from her. Conquest and War couldn’t, and Famine surely wouldn’t either.
As she keeps pushing herself forward she finds herself nearing the end of the forest again. She can see him in the distance, out in the field, watching the chaos silently. Conquest and War aren’t in sight, but she can see some of the mutated beasts engaged in a fight with other horses. They don’t seem to notice her since she’s still hidden from sight by the forest and Esileif uses that to her advantage. Groaning and moaning softly she let herself be pulled in a certain direction, following the strange feeling that seems to call out to her.
Upon touching a part of the magical stone it dissolves, just like the first two, and absorbs into her. She can feel its power right away, just as the extra weight that is put on her shoulders. Now she formed a seal that prevented three of those demon like creatures from escaping and although she still feels hungry and her body still feels sore, Esileif steps forward with renewed energy. With a light trot she nears the end, but doesn’t step out of her shelter just yet. Her brown and blue eye roam around, taking in the battlefield before she would strike.
The world flickers again and the world stays green for a longer time now. The bay and orangey white mare mutters some more curses underneath her breath, fearing it might be too late already. ”You’re not going anywhere” she suddenly snaps, loud and clear, as she barrels forward. However, the pain in her stomach – burning acid and feeling of stones – forces her to slow down, gasping for breath when some nasty jolts of pain rush through her. It doesn’t stop her from moving closer to Famine, but the tears that signals the pain she finds herself in are appearing in her eyes. Taking a deep breath she stops in front of him, dozens of meters away, Esileif lifts her head to look at him firmly. ”I’m not letting you get past me.”
Her voice might have been firm and clear, her posture surely isn’t. Esileif tries, she really does, but the gnawing feeling make her legs tremble and sometimes the heavy pains have her gasping for breath. The hunger is slowly eating her away, yet she refuses to admit that and give up.
Esileif
Belgarath x Alasia
Photograph by Filmwerx Studio
Soo. Esi encounters both Conquest and War again and ends up in a second fight with War. She loses him in the forest where she finds another piece of the seal. In the end she confronts Famine, refusing to let him get out of her sight to slip away and escape to their world.
The other black and white mare joins her at the seal. Weaver doesn’t even know if this is the next seal or not. Doesn’t know if Rhonen or Warship will go to the remaining seal, though she suspects someone will. Conquest lurks at the edge of the battle field, watching her. Weaver’s about to back peddle away when the spotted chestnut positions himself between her and Conquest. She doesn’t know his name, but she knows she owes her life to him.
To him, to Warship, to the mare beside her. To their entire little ragtag band. All but the girl that flickers in and out of existence, and the mare that sold herself for too high a price.
She sees War barreling toward the dappled mare, teeth ripping through her skin like air. Weaver wants to pity the mare, but her every breath a reminder of the pain War has already caused her. No one has made it past War unscathed.
Some of her cuts have begun to heal at least, the blood no longer trickling down her coat. But the piece of War’s seal didn’t help enough. Didn’t heal the broken rib, didn't close the wounds completely.
War bellows, and she can hope it's the sound of defeat. Can only hope they’ve all collected their seal, hope they've slowed him down just a bit. But it won’t be enough. It won’t matter. There are still two more seals. In the few moments she has to stand there, a couple seconds of rest, she begins to lose hope. The pain of her cracked rib settles in. The phantom of a headache still throbs in her skull. Sweat from fighting soaks her skin all over again.
How could they survive two more seals?
The world flickers, and the dapple mare disappears. Weaver envies her. Even if she’s dead, gone from Beqanna and purgatory, Weaver envies her. She wants to be gone too. She wants to give up.
She can’t give up. None of them can. As soon as they give up, Conquest and War win. But in the end, it doesn’t matter what they do.
Weaver isn’t at the third seal. She sees the lamb, but it’s already too late. It’s always too late. He touches the seal, and it shatters with a resounding boom. Weaver closes her eyes, growing so used to the sound, learning to expect it.
She doesn’t keep her eyes closed long, no longer that worried about debris. She's already too injured to worry about a few more wounds. Instead, she opens her eyes as the pieces are still falling to the ground, trying to find where some of the shards go. The faster they find the seals, the sooner this is over. But the world is flickering faster now, flashes of Beqanna becoming vidid. She keeps losing track of the pieces as the worlds collide.
But she manages to track a few. There's a couple of pieces to the right, some in front, and some as far as the woods. There are others, she's sure, but she has no idea where.
She’s ready to take off; run-limping her way toward the piece of seal she saw falling off to the right. But then she notices Conquest and War halt in their tracks, notices their heads turn to find the next demon.
Then they turn tail and run. Her legs freeze, her heart racing, her breath catching in her throat. She doesn’t know what is coming for them. What Conquest’s haunting laugh and War’s battle cry could portend.
They disappear into the woods, taking the fight somewhere new. So far, they’ve been in the clearing. So far, they can see one another; can see what’s coming for them. But in the woods? She keeps watching, trying to see what’s lurking in the trees for them, what plague comes next.
There’s a sickly green flicker coming from the trees. Too bright, too vibrant, to belong to the muted world of purgatory. Too ghostly to be flashes of Beqanna coming though. His name doesn’t ring out like the others. It’s a whisper of the trees, and she almost doesn't hear it over the sound of her own breath.
Famine.
He doesn’t come for them, but she realizes that this makes sense. Famine never barrels toward you. He sits and waits for you find him. Waits for the black and white girl who has never known hunger. Never known pain. Never known fatigue. Never known anything but the Chamber and her raven. How she would kill to have her raven now, to send him after the pieces of the seal while she hid in a bush.
But her raven is not here. She killed the only raven in this world. Though there are still plenty of minions left, blocking their path to War and Conquest and Famine. The first line of defense. She can't fight her way through them again. She's too broken, too tired. She'll have to find a way around. And around means into the woods sooner.
But she’s not going to the woods yet. She looks to the mare beside her, looks to the stallion in front of her, trying to catch their attention. “Get the pieces of the seal first. Then surround him. We can't let him escape.”
She says, as loud as she can, trying to make sure her allies her. The effort of yelling sends a fresh way of pain through her side.
If they get the seals first, they weaken Famine. Then they can surround him, they can keep him from sneaking into Beqanna. Every time the world flashes though, she wonders if he’ll slip from one realm to the next. Wonders if they are doomed to fail.
She also wonders if she can slip back, leave them all here to fight without her. What can she offer them anyway? She has no traits, no fighting skills. She’s been nothing but lucky, with others getting hurt in her place.
But she knows she won’t abandon them, even if she could. So she doesn’t waste any more time, but heads off to the right. The seal, thank goodness, had fallen away from Famine, and she goes to look for it. She can’t run anymore, so she moves as a strange half pace. Not quite a walk, not quite a canter. It doesn’t take long for the minions to spring into action, and to catch her.
They're injured too, at least. They're growing tired as well, though not as fast as she tires. It is a slight help, but it's not much. She hears a low growl behind her, spins around in time to see a raccoon. Its natural black mask surrounds unnatural black eyes. Its claws are long and sharp, and she imagines one of those claws piercing her heart with ease. She imagines loosing an eye to those claws.
She turns back to her course, and doesn’t stop. She just keeps going, listening to the sound of it behind her, trying to judge where it is by the sound. But with the sounds of battle raging around her once again, she can’t quite judge how far behind her pursuer is. She’s a moment too late. Claws rake against the back of her right leg. She screams as lashing out, hoof connecting with some part of the animal.
She’d been hoping to kick at the last minute, but she was too untrained to get the timing right. The raccoon has been faster. At least the damage doesn’t seem to have been terrible. Her leg hurts as it hits the ground again, the blood warm as it drizzles down her leg. But it supports her weight, and she keeps going.
The seal isn’t far now. She can see it, and she covers the rest of the space without incident. Immediately, she reaches out her hoof and steps on the seal. The familiar weight of the world settles in her chest as the seal absorbs into her skin. She pauses for a moment, wondering if she can go on. There are only nine of them now. Nine horses to defend Beqanna against Conquest and Famine and War.
Their enemy might be weaker, but so far are they. And they still don’t know what the last seal will bring.
She shakes the thoughts from her head. That’s a road she can’t travel down. First Famine. First, they have to stop him. And she knows that means going into the woods now. Leaving the bloodbath behind her, loosing sight of her allies. She’s close to the woods at least though farther away from where Famine and the others are hiding. It’ll be harder to find them if she enters the woods now, but it might keep the minions away.
If she can lose the minions, she’ll be better off. There’s still the three demons to deal with, but she imagines they can find her without trying. She’ll take losing the minions at least. A few less claws and teeth to worry about will be beneficial.
She slips into the woods, glad for the excuse to move slower. The trees are dense, and whatever gray light she had in the clearing is gone in the trees. But she’s used to this. She’s grown up in the Chamber, spent her (albeit short) life inside the pine forests there. Here, she almost feels at home. Here, she feels a flicker of hope in heart again. She can survive this.
She moves through the woods at a steady pace, trying not to flinch at every sound that comes her way. She's still scared one of the minions will find her here. But the sounds don’t seem to leave the clearing, and she keeps moving forward as best she can. The world flickers now and again, throwing her off. She gets turned around a few times, stopping each time to look for that eerie green glow.
Every time she stops to look for Famine, her heart skips a beat, afraid he’s slipped into Beqanna. But every time she finds him. Every time he’s still trapped. After a few flickers, she knows she’s getting closer. She can feel hunger pangs, can feel herself growing weaker. Growing desperate for grass or milk or anything of substance. But there is nothing to eat here. And this is exactly what Famine wants.
It takes her some time, but finally, she can see him. A black coat like smoke billowing off him, green eyes and ghastly green glow. By now, the rumbling in her belly is audible. By now, her legs are shaking beneath her. It’s harder than keeping herself up against Conquest. Conquest wanted her to kneel. Famine will kill her from the inside out to get her on her knees.
She hears a snap behind her, whirling around just in time to see those yellow eyes. No. No no no. She scrambles backward, putting herself closer to Famine, trying to get away from Conquest. But it doesn’t matter. She’s too weak, too slow. He brushes by her, and her headache returns in an instant.
It’s not debilitating like the last time. Conquest is weaker, and she can feel the difference. But still, the headache is more than she can take. Between the hunger and the exhaustion and the broken rib and the cuts and now, this. She can only hope the fever doesn’t return this time. It doesn’t seem to be, and she thinks have one by now.
Conquest disappears back into the trees, his work done. War, at least, does not come find her. She doesn’t see him, and she hopes that her promise was enough to keep him away. Maybe he’s just busy with someone else. She should care more, worry more about her allies, but she doesn't. As long as he’s not coming for her, she'll take it. She turns again, facing Famine. She could play his game. She already had his seal, had that one tiny defense against him. Though still, she grows weaker by the minute.
She is not the first one here. The filly is off in the distance, sprawled on the ground, coming in and out of existence. That other mare is there, the one that Weaver finds vile and disgusting. They both fight against Famine now, they are both on the same side as Weaver. But that's only because they no longer have a choice (or so Weaver thinks, anyway).
These are not the horses she wants to see. Her allies aren't here yet, and she doesn't know if they will come. The minions could stop them. They could give up. Or they could have ignored her idea. But it's too late for her now. She's here. And she's choosing to believe that her friends will come too. They aren't just allies after all, not after all this. They are friends.
She just has to wait Famine out long enough for the others to gather the rest of the shards. Just long enough for them to get here, to surround him. It wouldn’t take them long. She hopes, at least. Because she doesn’t know how long she can keep fighting, how long she can stare Famine in the face and win.
The malicious grin on his face makes Weaver thinks he knows this too. He is patient, he is determined. But then, so is she.
While she stands with the other girl, panting, she simmers.
Hopelessness does not fill her (it should, she knows that another seal will be broken, despite their best efforts to prevent it). Instead, a coiling snake of rage tightens around her heart. It squeezes her constrictor-tight and leaves her gasping for air. All the while, though, she burns.
She has always burned.
The heat comes easily, readily to her limbs and tongue. Her nerves are like fuses, too short and quickly lit. It fuels her, this ever-glowing anger that makes a home in all her vessels and chambers. She’s never been short of her father’s fire, but sense says it’s not what she needs to call upon. Not now.
What she needs is her mother’s cool, steady iron.
Because Conquest comes at them again, his yellow eyes tracking and predatory. Because she sees that they have nowhere else to go, and even if they could somehow outrun the behemoth, they wouldn’t - the seal has to be protected at all costs. Because while Conquest charges them and the lamb lingers out of sight (but still here, they all know it), she needs to be thinking clearly instead of rushing headfirst into a battle she can’t win alone.
Fortunately, Kreios appears. She watches as he turns his back on them, invites the violence upon himself in order to protect her and Weaver. It negates her heat more than any other act so far. For the first time since the bells began chiming in her head, she thinks maybe everything will be okay. Even as she watches the drops of blood fall from the spotted stallion’s shoulder (splattering onto the colorless ground in saccharine, syrupy drops), she thinks maybe this plan will work. How can the lamb find a seal that’s already been absorbed into them?
But even as Titanya moves closer to do just that, appreciating but leaving Kreios to his selfless fate, she hesitates. If only a fragment of the seal causes such a rush of magic and power (and weight and responsibility) within her, what will an entire seal do? Should she let the other painted girl, already ahead of her and closer to the ancient rune-stone, absorb the whole of it just in case? Are they even physically capable of it?
The third blast rattles her before they can act further.
The world flickers in the instant just after the seal explodes (or at the same time, she can’t tell and doesn’t think it really matters, anyhow). The green of home beckons beyond this plane. She can almost smell the evergreens of the Dale, can almost feel the bristle of the needles tickling her skin. Unlike before, though, the green persists even as purgatory comes back into focus. The young mare narrows her eyes, sure she is imaging things now on top of everything else, and then understands why.
This time, their enemy is different. He moves into the woods almost immediately, but his radioactive-green glow persists. His name, too, lingers in the deadened air long after he moves off. Famine. Titanya has no point of reference for the word. Conquest and War, sure; plenty of kingdoms used one to get the other. But Famine? She’s only grown up on the sweet grasses of the in-between places. She’s known the deepest slumber of a belly fat with food. She’s gorged on the ice-clear waters of a mountain spring until she thought she might burst or drown or both. The idea of starvation is not as easy to swallow as the sting of the sword.
Trying on her mother’s steel, she does acknowledge these thoughts, but only barely. She’s far more interested in the way Conquest and War respond to the emergence of their comrade. His flight from whatever hellish pit he’d been hiding in into the forest stirs them in a way they hadn’t been until now. Now, they band together, a singular purpose guiding their strides. The mutated beasts close behind them, some limping and some completely whole and able. She’s glad to see that some no longer move at all.
It’s obvious what they must do, if only because they have done it twice already. She’s still glad when Weaver articulates the plan out loud. Even in her youth, Titanya understands the importance of comradery among soldiers. And in their little group of relative strangers, they can use all the trust-building they can get. Get the seal. Surround Famine. Don’t let him escape and reign eternal hellfire down upon Beqanna. Check and done. Easy enough? She nods her head imperceptibly and sets her jaw, providing one small addendum: “and do as much damage to the monsters as you can along the way.”
The sabino leaves Weaver and Kreios to plot out their own, different courses to the same endpoint. There is no sense in them following each other, because the fragments are likely scattered around the clearing as they’d been before. As much as it pains her to split up from her comrades, she must in order to help reunite all of the pieces of the seal. She’s much slower, this go-round. Her chest is mostly restored to its usual size, but so tender that she is conscious of each breath. Her left hindleg still throbs madly, the muscle spasming where War kicked it. Worst of all is where his teeth gnashed into the top of her hindquarters. She can feel the open, ugly wound of torn flesh. And while the blood has stopped running in rivets down her sides, it is far from healed. She wonders if she will ever be completely healed after this, even if her body is. She wonders if she would want to be.
She still wonders if she will live long enough to care either way.
A beast creeps up next to her while she is busy searching the ground. Its approach is nearly silent but an odd sound draws her attention to it just before it can attack. And when the black and white horse turns, she’s not sure what she’s seeing. The monster looks like a small bird at first, low to the ground and unremarkable. But in the next instant, it snaps its tail feathers into an arcing, raised display far larger than she could have imagined. Not that she could ever imagine an animal like this, real or mutated. She doesn’t know that the peacock part of it is real. All she knows is that the glinting line of razor-sharp feathers are very close, too close, in fact.
She’s distracted by it, but the bird-beast doesn’t attack with its tail. It opens its beak and a miniature harpoon-like tongue shoots out and impales her just below her left shoulder. Titanya inhales sharply at the pain and spins to her left to try and dislodge the creature. It’s stuck fast though, and she is disturbed further when she sees that it is drawing ever-closer, pulling itself in with its disgustingly long tongue. It hurts like almighty hell, but she raises herself into a rear, ignoring the flash of pain from her wound courtesy of War’s mighty jaws. The tension of the peacock’s tongue finally breaks but the hole it leaves when it rends away is deep and bleeds freely. Untethered from the creature once more, Titanya considers her options. And even if she should immediately leave and find her piece of the seal, this last, painful indignity cannot go unpunished. The young mare rears up again and strikes out at the rattled bird, aiming for its (relatively) soft-looking head. If she feels it burst like an overripe apple beneath her feet, she considers it worth the quick delay in her search.
The world flashes again.
Green meets grey in a dizzying, nauseating melt. She can feel the remnants of Conquest’s fever in the corners of her mind and she stokes the fire, giving herself to the heat once more. Just have to hold on a while longer, she tells herself, just have to stop the world from ending. The brief addition of color into their sad, still realm directs her to the only remaining grey object – the fragment. It shines in the warm light of Beqanna, a beacon and a warning of their potential failure all at once.
Titanya steps on it with her left foreleg, feeling the sweet relief of its healing working on her newest wound. Three seals of four. Three promises to play her part, to stop the apocalypse here and now rather than there and soon. There where her family waits unknowingly, where the rest of the sunrise lands wait in ignorance. And soon. Too soon to find her lost brother before Famine takes him, before War takes him to battle in the uniform of the doomed. Three seals of four. Just one to go? It is too much to hope for, too naive to believe they’ve been so successful already. She presses on.
The forest is like another dark monster.
It’s okay though, because she thinks she has enough fire left to light her way. The going is painfully slow, even still. She curses each limb that inhibits her ease of movement, hates the way the shadows make her anticipate a minion appearing at any moment. They don’t, however. Whatever loyalty kept them tied to War and Conquest in the clearing seems to have waned or disappeared altogether now. Even if it’s only a temporary break, she’ll take it. Instead of the monsters, she battles a new enemy as she follows the nuclear-green glow of Famine. An exhaustion that sinks down past the tips of her toes and into the spongy forest floor overcomes her. She knows she’s been through a lot (the understatement of the year; she feels like she could sleep for centuries and want a longer slumber upon waking), but this is no easy tired. This is not the kind of tired that can be tackled with a quick wink of sleep or a bite of lush, spring grass.
Speaking of food, when did she become so achingly hungry? Since when did her stomach feel like it was carved out by the rough work of a sadistic woodcutter? Titanya takes a moment to glance at her sides, making sure they haven’t caved in without her noticing. Surely she’d notice, wouldn’t she? When she sees that her sides aren’t dented with her newfound, voracious hunger, she continues on, creeping dangerously close to the third behemoth. While she slow-walks, she can’t help but eye the forest around her with a new mutation of her own: her stomach-eyes. Everything becomes a potential meal; she barely stops herself in time from eating a moss-covered rock perched atop a larger boulder. So this is what Terran feels all the time, she thinks, passing a rotting log and sampling one crumbling edge of bark.
When she emerges into the small forest clearing, angry but also too tired and too hungry, she sees that she is not alone. Two females (one that had given herself completely over to Conquest and one that she hadn’t seen at all – by the girl’s design - since before the lamb appeared to them) wait alongside Weaver. Titanya nods weakly at the black and white filly but does not go to stand next to her. Famine is exactly where they want him (for now, although she wonders how easily he could brush by them if he wanted in their current states). His apocalyptic, emerald gaze lands on her and she sways in place. She thinks she will fall and break open into a pile of wasted, hungry flesh and dusty bones. But another flash tears his eyes away from her. She follows his eyes to another green, the green of Beqanna bleeding through.
“No,” is all she manages to say in protest. “No,” she says again, and the corners of his lips seem to raise in a knowing smile. But the grey comes back once more. For now, he can’t escape. For now, they have to wait for the others to find them. Even as broken and tired and starving and bleeding as they are, this isn’t over. There is still work to be done.
01-24-2016, 11:54 AM (This post was last modified: 01-25-2016, 11:16 AM by Kyra.
Edit Reason: closed tag
)
i'm on the wrong side of heaven, and the righteous side of hell
He should have accepted his fate. He should have laid down his arms ages before, when the lamb had asked them if they accepted. But something within him, be it an unyielding stubbornness or an iron-clad will had prevented him from doing so. Never one to shy away from the call to action he had answered, and now here he stood. Trapped in the in between, fighting for survival even as the deck was horribly stacked against him. Against them all, really. He could accept his fate, but he wouldn’t like it, and he wouldn’t go down until the last breath was robbed from his bruised and battered body.
As before the seal was soothing as the ancient magic absorbed into his skin. He could feel the blood flow stem though his withers were still almost as painful as they had been. The bleeding had stopped, but Wars fangs had touched bone, and that was a wound that would be slow to heal, seal or not. He glanced around, making mental notes of all of their injuries, years of a soldiers life coming into play. They were a ragtag group at best and they were struggling. Had it not been for the magic of the stones, they would have all been dead long before now. His eyes fell on Weaver and she appeared intact for the most part though bleeding in various places. The same stood true for the rest of them. Remarkably though they were alive, and for that he was eternally thankful. As he took note of their injuries he watched the sky flicker again, all greens and yellows against an otherwise dark sky. It appeared as though the worlds were colliding; the world of the living and purgatory, each one fighting for control. He found hope in that. The world hadn’t quit fighting yet, so neither then should they. Through the flickering another horse disappeared, a mare he hadn’t known personally or even amidst the fighting, but still he wondered her fate. Surely she had gone back to their real world of living breathing flesh, though perhaps she had gone to the other side of purgatory, if their was such a place. He didn’t have long to contemplate her fate though, for through the haze stepped the lamb once more.
He didn’t even wince as the third seal shattered. He stood strong amidst the explosion, his only bit of weakness being the closing of his eyes. It was common place now, the shattering stone, and it was not much more upsetting to him than thunder before a spring rain storm. By now he knew without asking what needed to be done; it was always the same, after all. Though the beasts were always different the end game was the same. As a man whose life had been rigorously structured he found comfort in that, albeit in miniscule doses. When he could no longer feel the sting of shrapnel on his face he opened his eyes. Conquest and War appeared startled somewhat, their earlier rampages forgotten. Like whipped dogs they slunk into the forest, eyes trained on something the rest of them had yet to see. Their beasts trailed along behind, and Warship was pleased to see that they were all limping and defeated-looking, a few of them even lying cold and dead. However, he was no fool. Something in those woods was more fearsome than Conquest and War. Something in those woods sought to lay waste to them all in a way Conquest nor War had ever thought of.
“Famine…”
He heard the whisper through the trees and he was hard pressed not to shiver. He could feel the voice in the very marrow of his bones. His stomach clenched involuntarily and he swallowed hard, almost visibly. The new name brought forth a new fear in him and he was unsurprised when a nervous sweat broke out along his neck. He stared into the trees where Conquest and War had disappeared, starting slightly at the new flashes of light. They were not like before, where the real world was reminding them that it did still exist. This was an almost sickly glow and his nervous sweat flowed freer. He glanced around at his comrades, again taking note of their well-being, and fear had almost exclusively warped their features.
Despite the nervous energy that had flooded his brain, he did not let it warp his judgment. His years of training had forced him to hide him emotions behind a steel mask, so that is what he reverted back to. Swallowing hard he put up his mask, allowing his face to remain carefully blank. Weaver spoke up and he nodded in agreement. There was no time to debate it, no time to try and come up with a better plan. “I agree. I’ll go this way.” he said, nodding to Weaver, Titanya, and the rest before stepping off in the opposite direction. He was sore and limping, but he shrugged that off as best he could. When Weaver stepped off to the right, he went left. For the moment he flanked the outside edges of the forest, his eyes peeled for a piece of the desired seal. Famine was in the woods, and he needed a moment of solitude to regroup himself mentally. He sensed that Famine could not be defeated physically. He felt that it would come down to a battle of wills, and thankfully he had that in spades. They had come this far and he would not, could not let them down.
Hardening his jaw and his eyes he stepped into the forest, breathing deep of the damp smell of most and rotten foliage. It was almost like home, and he should have felt comfortable here, but the flashing of lights and the sickly glow of Famine made it damn near impossible. It was a reminder that despite how familiar the forest was to him he was still trapped in purgatory, fighting a battle that he had somehow been chosen for. For now though the forest was quite, but he would not be lulled into a false sense of security. Not only was Famine prowling the underbrush, but Conquest, War, and their hordes of beasts were here too. He walked quietly, carefully, his hoof falls uneven due to his pronounced limp. He made little effort to be quiet; if anything wanted to find him it would. Efficiency trumped stealth at this point. There was a rustle of brush to his left and he turned his head sharply, his eyes straining through the darkness. “We meet again, boy…” War hissed, stepping through the clump of briars and coming through entirely unscathed. He should have known that he would meet War; they were one in the same, both born from the clash of sword and spillage of blood. But whereas Warship used war to serve a purpose, War used it to pillage and plunder recklessly. “Fuck you.” Warship growled, his eyes flashing with a fierceness he wasn’t sure he still had. War laughed and Warship felt sick but he refused to let it show. As War laughed he stepped forward, and as he did so stepped off of a fragment of seal. Warship spotted it but did not react; he was afraid that War would also notice the seal and run, and he knew he was in no condition to give chance. Instead he snarled, practically begging War to come to him. That would save his energy while giving him a chance to get to the seal. His threat worked; War did not appreciate being taunted. With a bellow like a wounded bull War charged, his mouth open and fangs flashing in the light. With an effort that cost him Lord know how much Warship wheeled around and flung his hind legs out. His withers screamed in protest and his knees threatened to fold but he held back nothing, giving War only his very best effort. It worked and his hooves hit home, landing on the boney protrusions of Wars chest. Unfortunately, Warship himself could not escape unscathed, nor could he have hoped to. This was War, after all, and not some washed-up stallion on the battlefield. Warship screamed as War’s fangs tore the flesh along his rump, leaving the skin to dangle grotesquely. Fortunately though, War seemed to be done, at least for the time being. He glared and gnashed his teeth but he slunk away like a snake through the grass. Warship, meanwhile, hobbled to the seal and stepped onto it, allowing that ancient magic to flood his veins and patch him back together.
The seal collected he continued on, slower than before but still miraculously alive. He had now gone toe to toe with War twice and lived to tell the tale; he would always have that. As he journeyed farther into the forest he noticed a subtle hunger gripping at his belly. That was no surprise, given how hard he had been working. But the hunger grew stronger and stronger, gripping and pulling at his stomach with an iron-cold fist. Sweat broke over his neck once more, but it wasn’t the sweat of a nervous animal. It was the sweat of a body working far beyond its means. His pulse whooshed in his ears and his eyes felt clouded but still he traveled onwards. He had to find Weaver, had to find the other girl who had told them to kill the beasts. Through his cloudy vision he caught a glimmer of smoke through the trees, and flash of that sickly green glow and he knew, knew that Famine was ahead. Famine was patient and cunning whereas Conquest and War had been very forthcoming with their desires. Warship spotted Weaver and the other girl spread out through the trees, and he noticed they too trembled where they stood. Famine was dragging from them reserves they couldn’t spare to lose, but there was nothing they could do to fight. Instead he stood as tall as his weak knees would allow him, turning his unfocused gaze to Famine. “You won’t win.” he said in a bitter whisper. It was only a matter of hardening their resolves more than Famine could do his.
kreios don't you tame your demons, but always keep them on a leash
With my attention on Conquest, I hardly notice the change in my wounds. Only when he turns to run to the woods do I realize that that the blood no longer slides easily down my skin, but has begun to clot and scab along the still-fresh wounds. I am left with aches but the stabbing pain of recent injuries has quickly begun to fade. Magic, I know, but I am wary of whatever incentives the source of the magic might have. Is it helping us? Or is it simply toying with us, making us stronger only to tear us down again?
I have little time to think on it, for just as the sickly green light begins to flicker I hear a rustling in the grass behind me. I turn, knowing that nothing here means me well, and am confronted with an an ox.
It is no normal ox, just like none of the other creatures have been normal, and the six legs that support its massive body are tipped with claws that put the knives on the feet of the armored bear to shame. Blood drips from slavering, yellow-toothed jaws, and when it bellows in fury I see sharp teeth that could easily wrap around my neck and crush the life from me in a single snap.
Tamping down the terror that rises like bile in my throat, I readjust my position, bracing my feet in the grey and blood-red grass. The ill tension in my neck has all but faded, and the burn in my paw is nearly gone.
When the ox charges towards me on the right, I dart left, kicking out with my hind legs at its oily black rump. It bellows again, turning around in a large circle to come back for another charge, but I am quicker with only four legs, and spin before rearing up to slam my weight down on the claw marks i so recently made. The ox goes down with a groan, and I jump over it, lashing out one last time where I know its head was.
The ox dispatched, I look back towards the trees where the yellow-eyed Conquest disappeared, hearing the yell of the little black and white filly as she races past me. I do as she says, finding and stomping on a bit of the seal nearest me, and feeling it absorb into me the same way the first two had. This one seems to settle lower, further from my center than had the seals of War and Conquest, and I shake off the eerie feeling and follow after Weaver.
There are others beside us - my allies, I suppose - but I am focused on the red and yellow fires that flash through the woods: the first two demons. The green light is more obvious now as I watch it, and as I race through the trees (darting around slavering beasts as necessary), I feel the strangest sensation in my belly. At first it seems hampered by the seal I had absorbed, but as I run further into the woods the scant protection it offers fades away.
I am no stranger to hunger - even to famine on the sunbeaten lands between Beqanna and the Otherlands - but this is not the same. My stomach is empty and my throat is dry, and I feel as though my ribs and hipbones must be visible through my skin. I need food, I need water, I need everything. I need land, a herd to protect, a mare beneath me. I could curl up and scream, but the sensations are so strong that they override instinct: this is not natural. This is not real.
I can see the other horses through the trees, and the green light is flickering between them. A demon faces them all but does not attack, and I know that this is the source of my hunger - this is Famine.
The black mare and filly I guarded earlier stand beside the black stallion. The bay and orange mare who had given herself so easily to Conquest is there too, but my attention is drawn to the red and green filly (sometimes there, sometimes gone) who lies curled on the ground. It is to her I go toward, stepping over her small body until she is entirely beneath me, shielded on all sides. I cannot let her die. Famine has seen me - his eerie green eyes miss nothing - but he does not approach, walled in by horses as he is. The hunger he causes continues to tear at me, but with a low snort I turn my head away. I trust my physical presence to block him, and keep my eyes on the woods behind the gathered lot of horses, watching for an attack from the rear.
Weaver takes Rhonen’s half-formed idea and turns it into words as she walks towards them, and Rhonen gives a jerky nod of the head. He follows them across the clearing to the seals, where two stand yet untouched. Weaver and the other girl take up guard on one, and the chestnut boy limps his way to the other, only half aware of Kreios behind him, distracting Conquest to give them time. But he is not fast enough – though he can feel the strange sensation of healing occurring in his battered body from the last piece of seal collected, he is not yet agile enough to catch the lamb as it deftly avoids Weaver and Titanya and darts instead for the farthest seal, closing the distance even as the copper-colored boy launches forward, a strangled cry of “No!” dragged from his throat.
The force of the seal exploding throws him backwards towards the others and he struggles to his feet beside the girls, dizzy and slightly nauseous. The ringing is loud enough that he can barely hear them yelling, even though he is standing right amongst the group now, and the words come as if from a long distance, or underwater. Still, the plan is clear enough. Find their pieces of seal, and then stop this newest thing from going anywhere. And that voice is clear as day, echoing in his bones and in his head, despite his hearing issues. ‘Famine,’ it’s a whisper, a lure, not the commanding yells of Conquest and War.
Conquest and War have fled into the trees, and Rhonen thinks they must be crazy to follow. But what choice do they have? They must fight, or their world will crumble into destruction. He follows the others into the woods, picking a middle ground between the direction taken by Weaver and the direction taken by warship. The world flickers around him, not helping the nausea at all, but he can feel where some of the wounds left by War have partially healed, leaving him to battle only the disorientation of hearing very little. Oh he is by no means whole – he is limping, battered and bruised, but none of his previous injuries seem serious enough now to kill him.
Pushing through the headache, the boy scouts the ground with his eyes, wishing that the worlds would stabilize, trying to see a piece of the seal. The sickly greenish-yellow flashes of light from ahead of them in the trees isn’t helping either, and it makes him uncomfortable, a clenching in his stomach that he identifies as nerves.
Gradually, the ringing fades and he starts to hear the eerie quiet of the forest, devoid of any normal forest-animal sounds. Instead the quiet is broken only the sounds of the remaining nine equines desperately trying to find the quarry, and the sounds of when they encounter enemy troops. But with his hearing comes another awareness – the faint sounds that indicate he’s being followed. Rhonen steps up his pace, but his pursuer matches the increase exactly. The boy steps on a piece of seal purely by accident, his hoof clinking against the cold, solid mass of it as he turns his head to try and spot whatever is behind him. But there is no mistaking the heavy feeling of responsibility that settles in his chest, and he turns back around to look down at his foot as the seal vanishes, absorbed into him to settle with the others.
The minions take advantage of him looking down and spring from the shadows; they have long, sinewy bodies that Rhonen thinks are rather like weasels, but of course they are too big, and have spikes coming out of their spines that certainly don’t belong, and teeth flashing in even this dim light that are much too sharp. Each of the pair of mongeese is about as long, nose to tail tip, as his leg. The first springs towards his haunches, the second launches at his face when he swings his hindquarters out of the way. The boy pins his ears, arching his neck and swinging his head, knocking the second creature from the air mid-leap. But this is followed by a squeal of pain and rage as the needle-sharp teeth of the first mongoose sink into the meatiest part of his haunch in the back. He kicks out – both back feet – and hits the creature where it hangs from his haunch, dragging its teeth out of his flesh and flinging it into a tree, where it collides with a sickening crunch and lays still. The second mongoose is hissing it’s rage (or, a part of his brain supplies, it’s grief) and it does not follow when Rhonen turns around and runs, not caring that blood flows freely from his haunches and his other injuries very much protest this rough treatment.
As he gets further and further into the trees, the nausea and sick-to-the-stomach feeling he had attributed to nerves begins to grow stronger, and as it forces him to slow from a gallop to a canter, a canter to a slow trot, he identifies it. True hunger, the kind which it seems none of the assembled horses have ever known. It gnaws at him, making him alternatively so tired he wants nothing more than to lay down and give up and so hungry that he would consider tearing into one of his friends or allies just to get some relief. A snatched bite of grass tastes like dirt in his mouth and he lets it fall away, pushing through the waves of hunger with little regard to the outside world.
If the mongoose found him now, it would find easy prey.
He stumbles into Conquest entirely on accident, knocking himself off balance and falling to his knees in the dirt. Rhonen thinks for a moment that he must have run into a tree in his confusion, until the point of contact is suddenly a searing pain, the boils springing up on his shoulder and jerking his gaze up to Conquest’s glowing yellow eyes, but Conquest believes that the boy is kneeling because he is conquered, cowed, not because he tripped. There is a cruel laugh, a caress of his muzzle down Rhonen’s spine (leaving the boils that feel like fire in its wake) and then Conquest has moved on to more exciting games.
The copper-colored boy takes several shaky breaths, lacking the will to continue on, so hungry he thinks his stomach must be eating itself, until their voices carry to him again on the air that flickers and trembles. They are snarling voices, fury, and he knows they must have found Famine and are trying to contain him. With a last deep breath he surges to his feet and trots forward, past the last of the trees and into the clearing. His eyes land first on Kreios, stationed over the nearly motionless green mare, and Rhonen finds himself wishing she, too, would be taken. She cannot even stand with them, surely it would be mercy not to force her to go on. The girl who had given herself to Conquest is there, and it seems she has finally come to her senses, standing against this abomination with them. Finally, he sees the black stallion, and the black-and-white girl, and Weaver. Relief at seeing them does not ease the desperate hunger, growing ever stronger with each step he takes, but it gives him the strength to press through it, to station himself once more amongst his friends.
“Not our home,” he says, stubbornness in every line of his battered face and body.
RHONEN
cliffnotes; yeah so he is almost on top of the seal when it explodes and it sends him flying back towards the girls. Then he is attacked by some crazy mutated mongeese, accidentally bumps into Conquest again, and then finds the rest of y'all. ; )
Blind and whistling just around the corner
And there's a wind that is whispering something
Strong as hell but not hickory rooted
She sees War rakes furrows across a dappled mare’s back (a feeling she knows well, her own back raked with his teeth), but when he is done with her the mare is gone.
The mare is gone, but the lamb returns.
It moves like silk, otherworldly, and it is the same hypnotic gaze, strange sinuous movements, and she is, as always, entranced.
(The abyss stares back into you.)
Another seal. It feels like a rhythm, now, the pieces shattering, the world gone still in the one subsequent moment, the heartbeat that echoes after.
He own skin sings out, cries out as the newest seal shatters. She can already taste the metal on her tongue. She craves the pieces, and whether it’s for protection, for some righteous purpose or because it tastes like power on her tongue, she can’t quite say.
This time it’s the same, but not the same. This time the two stallions are struck into stillness. And they run. This turns her stomach more than anything else - how terrible a creature must exist to cause fear in the others?
She wishes for one moment they’d come back. Better the devil you know, after all,
They leave in their wake a shred of laughter, the echo of a crackling bellow. They leave in their wake their sickened monsters, their hideous creatures that gibber and growl and drip frothy saliva at her heels.
A flash, green this time, and she thinks of aliens, of otherworldly things.
(What else can it - can they - be, really?)
Another name, breathed sickly on the wind, seemingly woven into the very air of the place. Famine, it says, and it takes her a moment to place the word, it's meaning.
It means death as much as any of the other beasts, but it means it in a slower, way, crueler. A slow taking of things, a belly hollowed, bones jutting through skin sharp enough to cut.
She waits for him to come, but he does not. He waits, insidious and easy, like he has all the time in the world.
(The darkness is like a song.)
Though her ribs ache - most of her aches - she makes her way towards him. She has no real plan, only the knowledge that this is what she must do.
She wears her own seals, in a way - skin lost to Conquest, bones broken to War.
So maybe she’s the sacrificial lamb and maybe she’s a hero, maybe she's nothing and maybe she’s everything -- she goes forward all the same.
(The world flickers and for a moment she wonders if she’s dying.)
She grows closer and inside her grows a new ache, a new persistent hunger. She’s known hunger before, has forgotten to eat for days until her stomach’s gone sour with acid, but this is something else.
Closer, and it feels like her body is trying to consume itself, like it’s a creature apart trying to eat its way out.
(The world flickers and when it comes back into view she realizes she is no longer bleeding, and it hurts a bit less to breathe.)
Through the reverie, through her stupid, single-minded notion (go to him), a screeching fills the air. An eagle - or something that was once an eagle - soars through the air, begins a descent toward her. Why, it’s too heavy to fly! she finds herself thinking, because the eagle’s wings are metal, something corroded and rusty, making a terrible sound as the bird-thing pumps them.
But it lives in an impossible world amongst impossible monsters, so the illogic of it does not matter to the creature.
It screeches again, and she realizes it is coming for her. She is struck dumb for a moment, still focused on her aching stomach, and it gets close -- too close - before she reacts, lunges backward. Its rusted talons scrape across her cheekbone, opening a new gash there.
The eagle does not adjust in time, instead crashes to the ground. It breaks apart, mechanical, the nuts and bolts of its odd wings scattering across the scorched earth. One rolls to her hoof and she stares at it in a kind of dumb wonder.
She walks on. She walks on because it’s all she can do. All she knows to do.
The blood on her cheek feels almost like tears.
She’s vaguely aware of the others. The girl she had tried to save is still alive. There are others. Some good, some terrible, some so fundamentally broken that they’d give themselves to these beasts for a whit of power.
(Fool. The power is in the seals.)
The world flickers.
She has an odd, disquieting sensation to being pushed. She knows, vaguely, that it must be him - Famine - trying to nudge his way into the world.
And oh, what horrors would be bring?
Her stomach roils, emptier than it’s ever been. She looks for grass, but there is nothing, the few blades she pulls up turning to dust in her mouth.
“If you help me,” says a voice, and oh, he sounds like something wretched, a growling stomach, a well run dry, “I could let you take your meal.”
(The darkness is like a song.)
She looks out and he comes into view, flanked by Conquest and War. They fear him, she realizes dully, as the world flickers again.
She considers it, for a moment. God help her, she considers it. Hunger is a persistent thing, a most basic instinct that cries out to be met.
She opens her mouth to speak
(to say yes)
but before any words come out she lunges her opened jaws to her own flesh, tears a piece from her shoulder, swallows. It tastes bitter, but it does not turn to dust.
The hunger is still a scream in her belly, but with her own blood on her lips, she feels a moment of relief, and a moment is all she needs.
Because she can think in the moment, and with her new clarity she can glance around with wide eyes, see what hunger had not allowed her to see before.
A piece of the seal, glinting near Famine’s hooves.
She lunges for it, tries to be quick even though her body is weakened - by the fighting, by the hunger, by this queer new life wrought upon her.
To them, it’s as if she’s moving through molasses.
But her mouth finds the seal, and it turns to liquid inside her, a new strength, a new power.
Famine screams in fury, and War and Conquest scream with him, a hellish chorus of monsters.
“You can’t,” she tells Famine, even though her voice is weak, even though she has tasted her own flesh for a moment of relief.
“You can’t,” she says again, and the defiance is its own chorus - she joins the others, the ones who resist them, who say no and you won’t win and not our home.
The world keeps flickering, faster now, and it’s all she can do to hold on
hickory
I apologize for all typos/errors, even with a Bluetooth keyboard my phone is not the ideal vessel.
The pain is unlike anything she has experienced before. Everything burns, her lungs, her limbs, skin, and bone. Each breath sends razor sharp spikes of hurt radiating from her broken bones and the base of her neck bleeds slowly from open puncture wounds. Her legs shake with the effort to remain standing, but she is alive.
The seal absorbed slowly into her body, slowing her death and numbing the pain. It didn't heal all of her hurts, but hopefully it will be enough. Enough for her to return to the others at the very least. She couldn't do this on her own anymore.
The walk back is slow and agonizing. She is able to avoid the roving packs of mutated beasts on the hunt for fresh blood, but it is a game that won't be played for much longer. The lamb has returned.
Chrysaeta can see the others, black and white and red, gathered around the seal trying to defend it from the demonic little lamb. It gives her hope. They stand together, broken and bleeding, but united. Perhaps they have a chance as long as they draw on each other's strength.
As soon as the thought enters her mind it is dashed, for the lamb is far quicker and more sinister than originally thought. In a blur of white it passes the guardians, and without hesitation, opens the third seal. A shockwave passes through the crowd knocking her to the ground and sending the red stallion flying through the air since he was the closest to the seal.
Squeals and bellows of triumph echo from Conquest and War as the shards go flying. Their brother is coming to join the battle and he is more cunning than they. "Famine" crosses their lips and the name winds like serpents through the filly's ears. Flashes of green appear between the trunks of trees. A cloud of hunger in it's wake.
For the first time, the little girl feels true hunger. Sharp pains ripple through her belly adding to the symphony of her broken body. She feels her throat go dry and her mind thirst for knowledge, hunger for home. Loneliness and homesickness leave her wanting just as much as a sip of water does. This is the true power of Famine, crippling the spirit.
The flashes of green grow more defined as the third equine beast draws closer. He is in no rush, he doesn't need to. Famine is much more difficult to battle than War or Conquest. He is a patient killer. He will let their own bodies do the work for him, and as the flickers back to the real world start happening more quickly, he knows the battle is nearly won. A sickly smile spreads across Famine's cracked lips and he bides his time.
Chrysaeta pulls herself from the forest floor and continues limping as quickly as she can towards the remaining horses. Then she hears the howl. Glancing quickly behind her, she sees the emaciated form of the one-eyed wolf, and he is hungry. It seems Famine has effected them all. The wolf's jowls trip saliva as he snarls lunges towards her. There is a desperation to both predator and prey as the hunt begins.
Her shoulder screams, Famine laughs, and the wolf snarls. A poetic chorus to accompany the desperate chase. It is clear that the wolf will win out this round. Her shoulder is too much of a problem. The pain and awkward movement slowing her too much to outpace the hungry beast. Still she tries. Using a last push ,with what little strength her body has left , Chrysaeta tries to run. She maintains the distance between them for several paces as she feels the wolf prepare to lunge. A loud snarl echoes behind her, wind rushes around her hind legs, and the wolf leaps. Just as the wolf's claws begin to take her backside, Chrysaeta's legs give way as she trips over a rock buried in the ground. The wolf sails over her head, hitting a tree , and is momentarily dazed.
Chrysaeta looks down at the object that tripped her in time to catch a glimpse of the seal as it is absorbed into her sprained ankle. She cannot believe her luck as the piece of stone gives her the strength to limp back to the others. She reaches the edge of the treeline when another presence joins her. This one radiates calm and patience. And hunger. Chrysaeta freezes as Famine joins her by the trees.
"Why do you all fight so hard? You know what's coming don't you?" his voice is soft and kindly, laced with confidence. "Your world will crumble as they all do in the end. My brothers and I will destroy your world as we have many others. The end is nigh, little girl, and you will all watch it burn."
With a soft chuckle he taps his nose against her flank in a shooing motion. "Run along now, back to the others. Take comfort in each other. It won't last long." And without a backwoods glance he disappears from her view. The patch of skin along her side flakes and turns to dust, like everything Famine touches, adding one more scar to the many that will riddle her body.
The pain of the fresh wound pushes her forwards until she collapses against the green and red filly. Finally in the safety of the others.
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