All Kingdom

[Tarnished]

I watch you fast asleep,
All I fear means nothing.

A familiar, sickly-sweet smell hits his nose and overpowers the permafrost; it brings back memories of a time when he’d been a little boy, too curious to not try absolutely everything at least once. He had taken a bite out of a rancid hare he’d found, just to see what it tasted like—and after maggots in his mouth, tears stinging his eyes, he had known better ever since. He casts the undead creature a sidelong glance, listens to what it has to say, but that’s it; it doesn’t rile him, though he wonders where it gets the idea that what he has done is a ‘rookie’ mistake. There are few enough brothers here that he could actually tear through them all and no one would be the wiser until summer came to melt the snow; instead, he suggests they go recruit, they bring witnesses—keep him in check and stop the slaughter from ever happening.

The next asks him of his plans, advises him against turning his reign into a dictatorship and Tarnished smiles, albeit darkly; a dictator would have shown up in full-force. A dictator wouldn’t have shared his ideas with a fellow Brother, his would-be cohort, but Tarnished says none of this—he lets them talk, lets them have their say. Most of them are siding with him regardless and so there’s no need for arguing anyways. It isn’t until Yronwood approaches that the roan stallion even twists an ear; the boy mentions that he is a son of Dorne and Tarnished nods his head. “Dorne, daughter of Vanquish and Lyric?” He asks, half-musing; he wonders how she is, what she’s been up to, he hasn’t seen any of his half-siblings on his father’s side in years—but it’s nice to know that their children are out there and thriving. “Dorne is my half-sister,” because, if anything, his mother had been big on family and made certain he knew their names.

The ones she was aware of, anyways.

He’s been trying to find the others on his own.

Hurricane pipes in to address the question about their deal with the Amazons.

“With that being said, Dominion,” he looks at her, pointedly, ”will go to the Amazons and offer our girls for their boys. The Amazons will no doubt want to know who is training their future recruits, especially if word gets around that it isn’t one of us.” He isn’t sure if she’s offended or not, but she’s off without a word and he loses sight of her in the blizzard before he can say anything more on the matter. Maybe she’s just eager to get away from the Tundra and its ‘oppressiveness.’

He smirks, then turns his attention towards Infection. The creature gives off a vibe he doesn’t like; it reminds him of bad dreams, monsters and other unpleasant things that sent children screaming for their parents in the middle of the night. “Perhaps you have a better plan?” He asks ‘innocently,’ as if there isn’t a hint of sarcasm behind the question. “Although, and I feel this must be pointed out, just in case anyone is unaware; a corpse doesn’t come wandering in to a meeting every day. There must be a reason, and if appearances are anything to go on, I highly doubt it’s a very good—“

The shape-shifter freezes; the world around him is collapsing into darkness, their faces are peeling away—there is nothing but earth, the land is bare. There are nothing but bones, their flesh is gone. And he is falling. And there is laughter. Awful laughter, familiar laughter that sounds much like his own. The hellhounds are coming. He is to be judged by Him and Him alone.

All is lost.

He is lost, for now.

tarnished

[Tarnished has been 'poofed' out of the meeting into the netherworld as part of a plot. x] No one should know who is responsible for this. Carry on!]