[AW] [MEETING] Regarding Viride, ALL WELCOME

[Emersyn]

The dead cannot cry out for justice.
It is a duty of the living to do it for them.

What will you do with a poacher when you catch it?  Kill it?  


It isn’t the healthiest thing for Emersyn to think about as she scribes the last obituary in.  Thirteen of them, and they have taken most of the day with all the notes she has concluded each death with.  It is more work than what is necessary - to the point it may very well be construed as a grim hobby, but someone must honor the dead.  Emersyn feels as though she owes it to each and every one of them to bring closure to these unjust crimes. Her meticulous, looping cursive should be reserved for letters of happiness, direction, or the exchange of information, not for obituaries.  And,

 - although her work here is not a collection of poetry or prose about the mystical creatures she spent her weekend burying, it is something rhapsoidic, because it is so sad.  Emersyn does not allow herself to feel for her comrades quite the same way she does for Nature, especially when it is preyed upon by her own kind.  And for what --WHAT! greed?  power? or for sport?  Emersyn will have none of it -- not in her home, not in her forests.  She is sure others feel as she does, it is why she prepares a meeting room and waits for them.   Stonelike, contemplative, and observant.

The room fills when it is time, Emersyn remains perched at the edge of a desk like a gargoyle and studies each face, greets them with a neutral but friendly nod and smile.  Could any of them be partly to blame?  No, she thinks quickly.  Look at them, and she looks.  There is nothing to look at as far as suspicion is concerned.  When there is enough eyes and ears in the room, Emersyn decides it is time.  Emersyn's eyes are cold, her voice hoarse and strange,

"I am Emersyn,"  her name doesn't strike much familiarity in most faces - but she doesn't take it personally  - "I will keep this brief, we have reasonable suspicion to believe that we have Poachers in Viride, killing our animals.”  The gray enjoys the upset that her abruptness draws out of some, because she believes those are the ones who she is speaking to the most.  The Emissary holds her tongue for a moment, allows them to react how they need to, then continues,


"It appears that each animal has been harvested with specific parts missing.  I have made my reports on each kill here.”  Her white face gestures to the stack on the desk.  “We don't know who, and, we don't know why because there is no pattern.  But, we do know where they have been.  How they make their camps."  It is clear that she doesn’t seem to know the meaning of sleep.  That she’ll drive through the forest with every force she can gather and comb the invaders out like they were nits.  Her determination is draconian, her efforts arduous.

And then what will you do?  Emersyn?  What will you do with them?  She doesn't like her answer and she knows the King wouldn't like it much either.  Emersyn sets her jaw and looks back towards the map unfurling against the wall behind her.  It is hard to be delicate with the unrolling, it goes from being a scroll to a flat sheet with one aggressive stroke of her energy.

A diagram of Viride is presented for them all to see, the water which divides the two lower of the spansive forest reveals that the poachers have worked both sides of the river.  All the red dots she has painted the map with look more like murder than markers.  A big slashed 'X' bleeds from excessive red ink giving the mass grave she found an exceptionally eerie vibe.  This time, red ink and red blood represent the same thing.   It is Emersyn's seriousness that makes this so.  

"These were rare, mystical animals that were as old as Viride and just as irreplaceable.  Half of them possibly possessed magic.”  Emersyn skips one beat before delivering the final news. “A unicorn was also found."  There it sits, the elephant in the room.  She doesn’t need to explain how bad this feels, because it is as bad as it looks.

A unicorn, the parchment is lifted off the stack and laid out for everyone to see.  “This could possibly be a civilian?  The parts that were removed by the killer made the body unidentifiable.” She goes from Poacher to Killer now, though it is all the same in this context and that is what infuriates her the most. “Our Warden will explain our next step.”  

Emersyn's rage is horrible and it is ugly and it is a violent monster, but it is also a silent phantom in the room. No one knows how much this angers her, but by the militant tone in her voice - it is clear that she takes it all quite seriously.  Stranger or not to these people, they will learn about their Emissary in due time. 


 
Ooc:

MAP OF VIRIDE  < - Using the Novus map,  the red X marks where she has found a pit where most of the kills were found.  The dots are where she suspects the poachers might have made the kill/camped/set traps, please feel free to elaborate on any of these places if your character has stumbled upon them if you like.

 

@Andras  @Seir  @Ipomoea  as well as Delumine community are all welcome to join in (you aren't obligated to do so!)  This is kind of an unofficially official 'let's get some patrols going!' meeting.  Please feel free to include ANY extra tidbits if you so desire it.  Creativity is key!


~~~

[Andras]

Andras Demyan

"All you want to do is dance out of your skin into another song not quite about heroes, but still a song where you can lift your spear and say 'yes' as it flashes."

Andras is in the library, as he always is, both when the call goes out and when the king and his emissary sweep through the foyer in a flurry of crackling parchment and clattering hooves. There are dark things in Delumine, things making prey of their predators. Old Viride out the window is humming with some nameless rage that matches his own and Andras knows now possibly more than he has ever known that it is alive, and it is vengeful.

He would smile if it weren't so very, very grim.

Andras follows Emersyn soundlessly, tucking himself into a corner of her meeting room where he can glower over her shoulder at the stack of parchment she carries, nothing but the sway of the lamplight reflected in his glasses to remind the gathering crowd that he is there at all. On the other side of the desk citizens are filing through the narrow doorway and taking their places. The hum of their voices is loud and grating and Andras has to watch with his tongue pressed against the back of his teeth to keep his singing blood at bay.

Emersyn says, there are poachers in Viride. Emersyn says things like "reasonable suspicion" and "no pattern" and Andras can't help but wonder, why? Old Viride is snarling outside and Andras is snarling inside and though his blood is saying yes, yes, yes! as it does, he is thinking no.

Even as she is speaking Andras leans forward, plucking one series of notes from the stack beside her, folding his wings across his chest in thoughtful silence.

(It reads:

UNKNOWN SPECIES, POSSIBLY DEER - SMALLER THAN ANY DEER I'VE SEEN
COAT IS A DEEP RED WITH BLACK STRIPES ON HINDQUARTERS
ANTLERS LEFT AT SCENE. HEAD REMOVED. 
ORGANS WERE EITHER TAKEN OR EATEN BE SCAVENGERS)

His stomach turns. He grits his teeth.
Andras' blood sings with the voice of hatred and vengeance. It sings some black, black song about justice. It sings about men on the hunt and louder than ever it says yes, yes, YES. Andras is so lost in his singing blood and his humming heart, first shuffling through parchment on his own and then watching as Emersyn sets them out before the huddled Court that he almost doesn't hear her say Warden until a hush has fallen over the room and the searching faces of the crowd have shifted toward Ipomoea, expectant.

He moves forward as if it is automatic, as if his whole life he has been waiting for someone to step out of his way. He does not acknowledge the crowd. Andras clears his throat, unfolds his wings and, without looking up, starts to speak.

"A murder and a poacher... well, patrols are the first step. Emersyn seems to have been diligent in recording information, but this is an upsetting amount of ground to cover. She'll need help."

Andras leans further forward, studying the map carefully, taking a moment to stare at each mark in turn, frown deepening by the second. "Unless they can fly, there are only so many places a person can cross the Rapax, so we should keep an eye there. Unfortunately, it must be easy to get in and out of Viride unseen, without heavy security. The snow might help track them, but there won't be much of it."

He turns to the king. "Maybe we should enlist some help. Trustworthy help--whatever that means to you. Also I'd like to see this... crime scene."

@Emersyn @ipomoea @Seir and community!

[Maerys]

there are nights when the wolves are silent
and only the horses howl

Mearys couldn't wrap her head around it.

A murder? In Delumine?

The girl could only envision a body laying like a ghoulish mannequin, the esophagus and arteries and organs impaling out like so much corrugated and frayed tubing. And who could look at a victim, helpless and afraid, and rip the life - joy, dreams, ambitions, will - from their trembling body?

It was like she was in a trance with the delicate shuffling of hooves over the ground and with shocked murmurs that were muffled in her ears at best. There was the look of sheer confusion on her porcelain features and she didn't know what to think about it all. It was strange being in a rank such as soldier, where their power and bulk was so necessary only at very specific times. It was like being important one moment and irrelevant the next, with sharp transitions between the two that made her head spin. It made sense to the girl that some things were confidential to all but the sovereign and his ranks just under and how other things could be free knowledge, but there was a horrible pain in that very fact.

How long had they known about the murders before bringing it to the attention of the herd? It could've been hours, days even.

It was a swift change, confusion to anger.

The feeling hissed through her body like deathly poison, screeching a demanded release. It was like a volcano sizzling; fury sweeping off of the girl in waves. The wrath consumed easily, engulfing her sense of hierarchy and destroying the boundaries of ranks all in the same breath. "Pardon?" The word was harsh and loud, demanding attention, demanding respect (she did not care that she was a lower rank than those who initially addressed her). "All we art arranging is furthered patrols to... hinder this from happening anew?" She doesn't quite believe it. "As trustworthy aid, I doth hope thee means inviting other courts for their eyes and ears for Delumine has't grown reclusive as a court and I feareth we nay longether has't the bravery to ask fer help when we urgently require it." It was not directed at just one, but all of them.  

Maerys knew they all wanted to stay safe, but who was she if she didn't question the very horses in power? What if it was Emersyn who committed the crime and enlisted the warden for his aid in covering it all up? She would be insane to think it couldn't be one of the many that stood among them who committed these atrocities and feigned worry and innocence and anger to keep from being seen for who they truly were.

And all those did around her was speak and speak and every word stung, the sharp twist that fueled the fire she'd created within herself within the room.

They all stood and debated whilst mortal sins were being conducted mere miles away?

Every phrase from then on was like gasoline to it all, her jaw rooted.

yo sorry maerys is kinda a bitch and this post is everywhere lol

---

x

force and magic always permitted

[Thana]

Thana
Thana came to the forest with the golden sapling wondering what all this wanting in her was for.

And oh, oh she left knowing the wanting as well as her own name and the curve of her bladed tail. It roils in her even now, between the walls and horses (because she is not a horse, she is not like them, she is not like anything in this world). Each step is heavy with it: all this weight of rage and fury and hunger. Thana is hungry. Hungry enough to open her mouth and swallow this kingdom whole-- bones, and guts, and flesh all at once.

Maybe if it was not a unicorn, maybe she wouldn't have been so hungry. Maybe she would have hunted the creatures for the answers in their blood too.

The world trembles behind her as she moves. Winter foliage turns to rot and drips fat, black drops of death ink on the thin snow cover. Banners turn faded and brittle as she walks below him. Thana sees none of it, cares for none of it, worries about none of it. She does not turn to watch the horror in the eyes of children or listen to the thud, thud, thud of doors slamming shut around her. There is only the beast roaring in her, the rot-magic, the rift-magic, the wild-magic, endless as the sea.

There is only the smell of spring in the air leading her on.

She must find him.

And then, oh then, it will be time to ravage all the beasts hiding away like voles.

Each time she bares her teeth the blood on her lips pulls at her skin and starts to flake. The streets pass below her  hooves like a river. The merchants are nothing more to her than ghosts running from a unicorn made of death. She hardly sees anything at all until the smell of spring dissolves by the library. When she runs through the doorway the books closest to her seem to moan and moan and moan until there is the smell of molding leather in the hair.

Her magic, her monster, her terrible, terrible form only sighs at the smell of it. It calls this home. It calls this right.

She can hear them talking. There are words she can hear like poacher and killer and patrol. But all she can hear is you must hunt, hunt, hunt running through her over and over again. It's louder than her heartbeat, louder than the way it tumbles over itself at the sight of Ipomoea there, held together by flesh instead of root and torn muscles. She does not pause to worry at the aching of it before she presses her lips, still covered in dried blood, to his hip.

But her eyes, those vicious purple eyes of hers, does not leave the map. All she can see is red, red, red. So much red.

Thana blinks because she's wishing she was the unicorn in the forest. Because she's wishing she had a belly full of blood instead of a nose coated with some that has been long cooled. She's wishing she was the creature in the wood with magic in her blood, magic enough to tempt a killer.  

She thinks a terrible thought. Her tail whines against the floor when she drags it over the stone. Over and over again it whines.  If anyone shivers at the sound she does not turn to see. She knows why she is always wanting now. Oh she knows.

“Give me a direction.” She whispers the words.

And every curtain in the room starts to fray.



"Death hath no dominion"

@Ipomoea @Emersyn @Andras @Maerys (here, have a predator)

[Kindred]

kindred

Drift gently...

She had been in those woods. That’s all that she could think as she moved towards the meeting. That was where Wren and I stumbled in… Dangerous. Dangerous. Dangerous. She can feel each of her nerves prickle with each inch she dares to move until, finally, her ears pick up the faint start of the meeting. Late… late because she can’t tell if she is actually prepared to finally sit in on the meetings. Has she even been a citizen long enough to be welcomed at these? After leaving and returning?

All the same, she wanted to help however she could. So, she was here, standing somewhere in the back. Too claustrophobic to dare stand closer to the front. The name Emersyn lingers upon her ears, somehow softening the blow of the idea that another creature was out there killing off other animals within our forest. Yet, the part that hit her like a knife was the dead body of a unicorn. Unidentifiable. Kindred can feel her heart stop, sharp pains everywhere. Was it Wren?! Her maw presses instantly against the necklace. For that mere moment it is as if she were deaf and in an isolation chamber. Nothing can touch her and she is safe. Yet, she doesn’t dare linger in that state for longer – tuning back in to hear the familiar voice of Maerys reach her ears. She blinks, head turning towards the mare she had met not that long ago on an island of snow. 

They were reclusive? Kindred blinked, but stayed quiet, hoping that it would all slowly begin to make sense. Carefully, she pieced everything together – one thing clicking after the other. She shifted her weight, swallowing back the uncertainty before her quiet voice broke the air. ”Perhaps a doctor would be better equipped to see what the importance of the missing parts are?” It was an awkward suggestion, but one that might allow them to move forward and find another way to attack the problem rather than just surveying the area.

... Into Oblivion

[PaulineMoss's Stock Image] and @heartfullofjess 's coding

[Ipomoea]

you be the wind
i'll be the wildflower

He should be paying attention. He should be listening, and participating, and thanking everyone for showing up, for their diligence and their bravery. He should be the face of fearlessness, standing tall beside his emissary and addressing the tragedies. But he isn’t.

It is not lost on him that it’s the second time in a year that Viride has seen blood. That the first string of violence still went unsolved. A part of him wonders if that is why they found the kill pit, if their lack of resolution had opened the door to another attack, another murder, another parasite come to leach off of their home -

There had been ivy creeping up the side of the trees surrounding the kill pit, like a veil shielding the horrors from their view. How many people had walked past and been none the wiser? How long had that curtain of green done its job, kept its secrets? 

Long enough for the killer to have gotten sloppy. There had been a spot of blood on one of the leaves, large and bright and mocking. It had been so red against all the falling snow, icing over like even the weather wanted to immortalize it. And he had wondered which body it had come from, whether it was the bramblebear or the strange dear or the unicorn or one of the other many, many victims.

From a distance he can hear Emersyn and Andras speaking, their words flowing over him like water in a river in which he’s drowning. He isn’t looking at them - his eyes are downturned to the notes left scattered across the table. He turns them over, one by one, pretending to be reading them but the words mean nothing to him. Only when Maerys lifts her voice over the others does he look up, watching the confusion shift to anger across her face. But all he can think as he looks at her is how he wishes his eyes weren’t quite so red, and he wonders if they think of blood when they see eyes like his.

It might be Thana’s kiss or the sound of her blade scraping across the floor like a scythe that finally brings him back, or the promise of a hunt that is about to start. He looks around the room, passing his gaze over each gathered equine that stands there, waiting.

“We can’t reverse what has happened,” he hopes his voice doesn’t sound as soft as it feels. “How else can we catch who has done this if we don’t go looking for them? How else can we prevent it from happening again save by finding the-” he wants to say monster, and changes his word choice clumsily, “-individual, responsible for this? They will be punished, but first we must identify them, and protect Viride from future attacks.” He directs his words at Maerys, at her disbelief and her anger.

“I will send an owl to the other courts, but we cannot rely on their help. Delumine is our home, and while I hope our allies will come to our call, we must do all that we can to stop this.” Ipomoea moves his gaze at last to the medic when she steps forward.

“If you are volunteering, healer, we could use your help. And if there is anyone familiar with the exotic species of Viride, who can help identify what the missing parts are…” his voice trails off again.

And all he can see as he looks around the room is a drop of blood shining against the snow.



@Emersyn @Andras @Maerys @thana @Kindred
notes

⚘

[Seir]

Seir

may the ancients guide you.

Seir’s anger was a tangible, sharp taste in his mouth, his lips curved in a frown. The godling was not one to ever raise his voice or allow himself to feel the rage that was now boiling just beneath the surface of his skin. The lantern upon his tine swung violently and creaked loudly with each movement as he raced towards the meeting room. However, he halted before entering, allowing himself to breathe as he was swallowed by the shadows. Here, he could allow himself to hear every word before he made a judgement.
However, after hearing all the discussion, he wished he hadn’t waited.
Swallowing his anger for a moment, the godling enters the meeting, his antlered head held high, verdant eyes blazing.

“Excuse me a moment,” the regent interrupts, his voice was deadly serious, commanding silence from the crowd. His eyes find his king, the young royal he’d given his loyalty to and his eyes scream a silent apology for the words that he was about to say.

“You all know nothing,” the ancient says simply.
“Do you actually know anything about the Viride or what resides there?” he asks, his voice demanding.
“Because I lived there for over a century and none of you knew we were there, do not pretend that you understand what is happening or how to handle it,” the antlered immortal explains, his voice filled with a controlled anger before turning his eyes to Maerys.

“You,” he pauses for a moment, the silence screaming.
“How dare you question Delumine and our ability to handle this ourselves, child, do you know anything about what you speak of? Have you ruled a kingdom? Have you ever held a dying king in your hands or witnessed children murdered for the same ignorance you are spouting? Perhaps you should go face the creature alone and then scream to help from another court,” Seir demands, his green eyes alight with rage.
“I am not one to grow angry, but how dare you question us, we cannot show any sort of weakness to the other courts, they already see us as a barely a threat,” the godling explains.

“It is time for you all to know what I am and why I have the audacity to speak of these things,” Seir says, his voice quiet, yet holding the same authority.
“I am one of the Eira, I am the very myth that haunts the Viride and whispers the secrets of the ancients,” Seir explains, the rage in his eyes softening.
“All I ask is that you all stop acting as if you know what this could be and perhaps wait a moment before we act rashly.”

“Unless Ipomoea says otherwise, I do not think it wise to ask for help from any other court in this matter, this is how wars begin,” Seir says, his eyes turning once again to his king, the enormity of his warning ringing throughout the room.

"Talk."

image credits

OOC: I am so sorry, I did warn you all that he is grumpy. I don't even know why he is so pissed.
Tags: All of you who have answered.

[Maerys]

there are nights when the wolves are silent
and only the horses howl

It was Ipomoea, who's eyes peered upwards at the sound of the silver girl's voice. The sovereign, a man who she'd met in Denocte that hadn't found his home yet, who had been so eager to hear more of Delumine's ongoings.

And she realized then that it wasn't that he hadn't found his home, it was that he wasn't at his home. Delumine, the glorious land of dawn and Oriens, had been his home all along.

He will send owls.

She nodded curtly.

And though she was already furious - more than boiling, it was Seir who pushed her past something reasonable into much more unpredictable territory.

How dare she recommend something that could be beneficial to the herd? How dare she try to solve the murders in a way that would allow no one in Delumine to remain unchecked? Was he defensive because he had done it himself? The murderer could be in this very room, why wouldn't they get an uncorrupted, unbiased, outside perspective?

He was not a god among mortals and though he spoke and moved like he knew what he was saying he had no idea.

She was not spouting ignorance, she was spouting ideas and options and a way to do more for the court. If Seir didn't like them, that was certainly alright, for everyone was entitled to disagree with each other and have their own opinions. Yet Maerys was channeling her anger into trying to aid the situation when all Seir was doing was tearing down a woman who had experienced more anguish than he knew, many of their hardships in common.

Have you ruled a kingdom?

She'd been prepped to rule one and knew the ins and outs of it. She'd seen her parents rule with an impressive ease that descended into madness. She knew what a grievous error looked like in a ruler. Maerys, though young, did not need thousands of years of life and experience like Seir did. He was of an older generation, one that bristled at the mention of change. Maerys was a part of the newer faces, a crowd of lovely minds and souls that wanted to help Delumine bloom into something wonderful

Have you ever held a dying king in your hands or witnessed children murdered for the same ignorance you are spouting?

It was too much to answer. She'd seen children whipped and skinned while still alive. She'd seen it all and so much worse. Seir was not the only mind that had witnessed trauma that could change an entire outlook or perspective. She'd seen a king slain but it had been more than that - the man had been a living, breathing soul, the man had been a king, the man... he was Maerys' father. At his side, bloody and broken on the floor had been the Queen, her mother.

And then Maerys was supposed to follow soon after.

She had seen what it looked like to not ask for help and face the consequences. There was a time many seasons ago when if Maerys had not asked for help, she would've met a similar fate as her parents.

Asking for guidance and aid wasn't a sign of weakness, but one of courage. It took courage to know the limits of your reach and effectivity, putting the ego aside, and reaching out to better a situation. Asking for aid was admitting when one did not know something and learning many new things from the help that was volunteered by those around.

And then, I am one of the Eira.

But Maerys did not care about that. Let it be known well and widely that Maerys was not a racist slob. She didn't care where he came from or what he was. The girl could acknowledge the struggle that had been many years of his life and attempt to keep history from repeating itself while simultaneously disagreeing with his opinion on the matter at hand. It was not her vs. him, it was them vs. the murderer, and she would never forget that.

"'Tis fair to disagree with me, but 'tis unacceptable to tear a comrade down" her voice was dense and thick, each word steel as it left her pretty little lips "- as if I am inferior to thee -" because, no matter how he intended for her to feel or react to his words, he had been so devastatingly demeaning to a mare that he knew nothing about "on a matter of disagreement," she concluded.

There was a pause, his condescending tone still ringing in her thoughts.

"Thee doth not know who thee speaketh with, unyionh eno." It was the tongue of the Ragnarysians, a place he certainly had never heard of. "I shall support whatever decision Ipomoea makes with full trust," she glanced at the sovereign briefly "and if 't be true whatever that gent chooses results in a war, the other courts shall lament the day they did see us as aught less than the greatest threat." Her eyes move from Seir to those standing in front, those with the power to decide. "I doth, however, wish we decide to maketh allies at which hour we clearly need them rather than boil here, ascending anger from this" she gestured to the space between Seir and herself. "To something we cannot come back from."

She was not a child.

Her words were not ignorant.

And, Seir be damned, her opinion would be heard now and it would be heard again in the future.

---

unyionh eno = ancient one in ragnarysian, one of the native languages of varak

@Seir mostly and a lil @Ipomoea

---

x

force and magic always permitted

[Andras]

and i was a hand grenade
that never stopped exploding

Pardon? is the word that drops like a guillotine through the bristling silence. The room holds its breath.

Andras and Po raise their heads in unison, though one of them meets her with some vague but palpable strain and the folds his ears against his head and gives her a long, withering stare.

She has a lot to say about Andras' decisions, a lot to say about corpses in the woods--more corpses in the woods--and he listens like a hackled dog. There is no appreciation in the lines of his face, no admiring her bravery, no gratitude, no forgiveness. When he draws a breath to compose himself it is with a businesslike coldness, as if it is all he can do to keep from turning to ash where he stands.

He exhales, loudly. "That is... what the patrols are for, yes. To stop it from happening again." he says, and if his voice shakes it is not with fear but with seething anger, the rumbling of a boiler in a dark, dark room with only his own coals to see by. He considers adding if you'd like to hunt the killer blind, be my guest, but in a rare moment of temperance, decides against it. Ipomoea knows, of course--knows the beast in him that howls day and night with the voice of both sirens and ghouls--and Ipomoea might ask a lot of Andras, like patience that he doesn't have, or objectivity when he is so very opinionated--but Ipomoea knows that he is a snarling thing, a roaring thing, and Ipomoea does not move to stop Andras, himself.

It is telling, perhaps, that Andras' eyes don't shift from Maerys until Ipomoea addresses Kindred, and even then it is only to watch the king out of the corner of his eye, collecting the documents that had been sifted through in a haze, busying himself with stacking them up again, scanning through as he does.

"Medic," he says, tapping the table with the stack of parchment, not looking up from the clean line it creates. The satisfaction eases his nerves, just a little. "You're welcome to come with me, when I go." 

What follows is a rush of energy: the regent blustering into the room with his creaking lantern and his ancient eyes and Andras stepping out of his way, eyes still trained on the documents until Seir begins to speak and the pure vitriol with which he does so takes the warden by surprise. Every word is dripping with venom and if Andras were not so angry himself he might find it in him to be impressed, raising a brow and pursing his lips while laying his neat little stack back on the table--but Andras is not the type, and instead he listens in silence, to Po, to Seir, to Maerys, again.

He states: "Ipomoea is in the room. We don't have to stand here and say 'whatever he chooses,' like it's a mystery." Andras raises his head, sweeping his gaze across the room, over nervous faces, angry faces, some ineffable expressions that he has neither the time nor the patience to decode in full, and, finally--their king. He sees now that he looks... haunted. Andras gets a sinking feeling in his gut, and looks away as quickly as he can without drawing attention.

"Now, unless someone is going to go ask the forest if it knows what the fuck is going on, we're going to find out information the old-fashioned way. Call it a hunt, if you want to. I don't care."

Andras, having said his part, goes back to reading through reports. "Who will go with our Champion of Battle?"

(Unless there are specific questions for him Andras has nothing else to say so feel free to skip me going forward <3)

[Thana]

Thana
Every curtain in the room is still fraying as the fury around her grows, and grows, and grows. It grows roots and bones, and skin enough to breathe. And Thana waits beneath it, in it, as it, while they all spit furious words at each other like bile. There is still the whining of her tail as she keeps dragging it across the stones. Over and over again screech, screech, like a blade against a cage. She almost wonders how they can bare it, words instead of war, form instead of fury, pain instead of death.

And she knows, the moment the regent opens his mouth to spit, that she is nothing like the rest of them. She knows she will never be.

All the threads her magic had been plucking loose turn to dust, like they've been left out for a season by the sea. She doesn't care if they notice or not, she doesn't care if they see it in her eyes, the look that says she knows how to pluck them all loose hair by hair. When she moves between them once the silence falls, it's not as another horse, or a unicorn. It's as one of the creatures in the pit, as a thing full of blood and magic and death. She does not care that the stone is aging and loosening beneath her hooves.

Thana does not stop until she's beside the regent with his horns and that old, ancient tree carving it's way up his shoulder like a bit of bone bared to the world. And when she lifts her blade it's with purpose and a deadly, hungry sort of speed. It stops far below the curl of his throat-- waiting, waiting, waiting. Her eyes are blazing in a purple dark enough to be black. “Tell me I know nothing.” The sound of her voice isn't a yell, nor is it fury. Her voice is a tolling bell somewhere, it's a promise, it's an echo of all the poisonous magic rushing through her veins where blood should be. And her silence does not scream when she drops her bladed tail back to the floor.

It purrs.

“You say you have lived for a century, you say you know the forest better than anything else in this room. You can say a hundred things about what you are and I still--” Her magic rolls like a tide below her skin, her rot. It begs her to pull his antlers apart tine by tine, it begs her blade to rise up again and see what color his blood runs. It begs a hundred things of her and Thana swallows it all down because she was about to say I   still could learn how to end you. The words feel like a hundred blades running down her throat. Each of them makes her bleed, and bleed, and bleed. “You say you have lived in the forest longer than we have been here and still the creatures that lived with you are dead.” Her horn aches upon her brow. For war, and fury, and wrath it aches.  

There is the same vengeance in her horn as there is in her steps when she moves away from the regent, and looks at the rest of the room like a lion looking at lambs. She knows she should not have come, should not have pretended to be anything but a beast roaming the endless forest waiting, and hunting, wanting. When her gaze stops on the mare brave enough to spit back at the other lambs, there is a song there, one hoping she might understand.  If there are notes to it, to the embers of Thana's look, it's saying do not go back.

Before she leaves the room she turns to look right at the Warden sitting there with his papers, and his plans,  and there is only war in the way her eyes meet his. “No one is going with me.” Still her voice is nothing more than the tolling of that bell and her blade is still that shovel on a gravestone. The curtain closest to her tumbles to the ground, more dust now than cloth. “I am not going to patrol or hunt.” She says, but it's the words that she doesn't say that fall into the aching, hollow space between the two of them.

Thana is going to kill.

When she leaves she does not pause to look at Ipomoea, or his regent, or any of the others that are more horse than monster.  And in her wake, in each hollow hoof-print, there is only decay, rot and death.




"Death hath no dominion"