I love to watch the castles burn These golden ashes turn to dirt
Darkness embraced him like an old friend, squeezing the air from his lungs, weight hanging over his shoulders. It led him down paths he did not know, winding through the jagged rocks of the caves. Water drip drip dripped from the top, splashing before the stallion's hooves as he marched on, his steps echoing around him in an eerie tone. He was not scared, though, as his glowing gaze swept across his surroundings, from each little divot in the rocky crevasses. He was a friend of darkness and darkness was a friend of his; mutual respect went a long way, he had learned.
Oh, but he was not prepared for the bones that littered the walkways. Some were licked clean, dry, scattered about by scavengers. Some still stunk with rotten meat, flesh clinging to them as if it was their last hope. Rats scurried quickly as he passed, bats scattered from above. But he did not flinch. A man that fought dragons was hardly worried about rodents the size of one of his hooves.
His limited vision, however, was getting a little obnoxious.
Pausing in his steps, he closed his eyes, calling the warmth from inside him and focusing his energy on the space that tingled with his telekinesis. Warmth spread across his face, flicking at his muzzle, as a small flame appeared before him. It danced in his breath and shimmered in his soft maple eyes as he opened them, welcoming the light that spread several paces before him. The flame chased off the darkness of the cave, exposing new tunnels and passageways. Exposing himself, as well, so he would have to be quick. The flame would not last forever, and he did not want to become a target for whoever lurked in the depths of these caves.
His ear flicked at the sound of rock sliding behind him. It started quiet before picking up the pace, little pebbles suddenly clicking at his heels. Before he knew it, the sand beneath his hooves was shifting and he, along with the stone he stood on, started to slide.
For a moment, his heart skipped a beat. The small flame before him whisked away in a small plume of smoke, hooves scrambling as he did his best to keep his balance. The sand pulled and guided him toward the closest tunnel, as if someone had lifted the cave and given it a good shake. He did not slide for long, and found himself stumbling against a wall as his hooves met solid ground.
"Wonderful." He mumbled to himself, pulling himself upright and flicking sand from his tail. He glanced back the direction he had come before flicking his little fire back to life. Well, if this was the way the cave wanted him to go, so be it.
she's been through hell.
so believe me when I say,
fear her when she looks into the fire and smiles
The scent of rotting flesh is one the assassin had grown used to in all her years- after all she’d carried heads as proof of kill, tasted raw meat on her tongue and been tortured in cells that reeked of blood and infected injuries. But never mistake familiarity with acceptance. The scent still made her stomach churn as it carried her back to less favourable times, the memories dancing before her eyes like spectres of temptation, persuading her to give into that ever looming call of wildness.
Darkness blanketed the cavern, a thick wall of shadow- unbroken but for the soft shaft of light, the echo of the entrance yards behind. Silence reigns, interrupted variably by the sharp drip drip dripping of water further into the blackness. Castalla’s eyes gleam, like a lion when you come across them in the night, piercing the dark. Were her powers at full strength she might have shifted into a bat, or some other creature accustomed to such gloom. But as it was, the Wolf still possessed preternatural vision within the darkness, something that served her well here.
The princess was no fool however. Wandering unprepared into winding caves and confusing tunnels would surely get anyone lost- no matter how good their vision or sense of direction was. Instead, a piece of string was tied around her leg and knotted to a rock at the entrance. Should she lose track of the twists and turns, she need only follow her make-shift guide back to the light.
Among the silence and the shadows the minutes seemed to slow- a world absent from the flow of time without the sun to read it. Castalla had no idea how long she’d spent among the sharp rocks and craggy ledges, wandering further and further, deeper and deeper. At times she could have sworn the sound of hooves upon rock pierced the eerie calm, but she could neither scent or nor another living equine. Her own hooves were as quiet as she could make them upon the rock and earthen floor- the trademark of an assassin. She side-stepped bones from all manner of creatures (equine included), her senses on high alert. Exhilaration filtered through her, that wild sense of joy and excitement she felt when danger was just around the corner. It turned to surprise though when she felt the whole world jolt, as though the earth had shaken all of a sudden. Her heart leapt to her mouth when the string around her leg tightened and snapped. “Fuck.” She growled under her breath, lips pulled back in a snarl as she glanced around. And suddenly she was pitching forward, guided by some unknown forces as the ground beneath her hooves steadily moved.
When at last the ground stopped moving the air had grown colder, damper- the walls different to the ones she’d left behind. Clearly this cave system was alive in some way. A flash of light erupted from a gap in the craggy wall, flickering to life. Castalla hissed, her eyes adjusting violently to the sudden illumination. Her night vision may be magical but her eyes adjusted to light just like anyone else’s. Never one to back down from danger, and presented with few other options, Castalla rounded the corner.
“Why hello,” she purred, though her voice was edged with irritation as the reality of her situation set in. “Nice of you to slide on by.” Though her words were dry and her smile was strained, her blue eyes gleamed with mirth. A stallion was illuminated by a flame that hovered by his side, the shadows dancing across his coat. Clearly someone, or something, was toying with them.
