Night had fallen across Novus, but all was not still. Where parts of the world had settled down for rest and slumber, there was a flurry of activity deep within the heart of Delumine. In the wake of the destructive force of the wildfires nature valiantly attempted to regain what was lost, grasses, shrubs, and even trees ever so slowly beginning to regrow and recover from the insurmountable loss. It was a slow process, but every day progress was made. Even despite the biting kiss of autumn’s arrival, life was blooming. Everything was returning to how it once was.
But not for everyone.
A beast lurked in the spreading shadows, wretched and misshapen, watching the changed world through empty sockets. Its pale skull of a maw salivated as it watched its quarry; two meandering equines enjoying an evening stroll along the shoreline of the Rapax River, one of deep bay and the other of ivory. They spoke between themselves in hushed whispers and casual chortles, completely unaware of the creature that watched them from afar.
’Hunger.’ Eat.
If it could speak, the word would be a mantra, a prayer. A hymn of salvation to the damned, it knew what it must do. ’Tasty. Food. Want.’ Baser instincts kicked in, the churning pain of an empty stomach prompting the creature to amble forward on bipedal legs far too long and crooked, its sheer weight leaving behind large, cloven prints in the soil. Through the shadows it moved, its lumbering form far too large to be stealthy, but lucky for it the two equines seemed far too distracted to notice that they were being followed.
’Want. Eat.’ Repeating, over and over and over again within its bleached white skull, the amalgamation lurched forward from shadows to shadows between the trees and the cover of night, maw opening wide, growing closer, closer… Oh, but they were so close it could almost touch them… The ivory meal spotted it first, a chance glance over her shoulder. Her eyes widened, lips parting to scream, but by then it was already too late. It lunged.
’Food. Eat. Tasty.’
As Dawn broke, it did so upon a bloodstained, tarnished land. The sky was heavy with dark clouds as though the world itself knew what had transpired the night before, a cold autumn wind passing through the trees. Two bodies lay within a trodden clearing in the Viride Forest near the riverside; half eaten, remains strewn about, the scent of blood carried easily upon the cold breeze. One was a crimson-stained ivory female, the other a mottled, dark bay male. Members of Dawn Court proper would recognize them as workers within the Citadel, dutiful pages known for their warm smiles and eagerness to assist in whatever way they could.
Seemingly gone in the blink of an eye, little could immediately be said on how they died, other than the grisly obvious; murder. But why? By who? In a peaceful land such as Delumine, what could truly be going on here?
On a cold, cloudy morning, two citizens of Delumine are found murdered and half eaten within the Viride Forest near the Rapax River. What could have done this? Why? It is up to those brave enough to investigate the scene of the crime and piece together the provided clues.
This is a Dawn Court event. This thread is open for everyone, but members of the Dawn Court are highly encouraged to participate and will receive top priority!
To tag this account: @*'Random Events' without the asterisk.
Please be advised, tagging the Random Event account does not guarantee a response!
02-04-2019, 12:38 AM - This post was last modified: 02-04-2019, 06:48 PM by Sparrow
The boy was first to find them, cold and stark against the dawn. It had been a morning like many others, and he’d woken with the sun to start a brand new day. In Pan’s traditional ways, he was cheerful, humming as he went about his morning routine of carefully packing his treasures from deep within his treasure cave, brushing off the last remnants of sleep as he yawned. There is a chorus of birdsong just beyond the mouth of his cave – cheerful – as if unknowing of the very horrors which took place only hours before. Ignorant too of this event, Pan made his way toward the river, playing in the water as he went.
His scaled legs splashed in the cool water, and the boy knew to avoid pockets where the river grew rough and the current would steal him into the undertow. Still, he had much to discover about where the water cut through Delmuine, for it branched into many smaller streams, and he’d only begin to explore them all. Today, he’d made up his mind to follow one fork toward the west, and he made his way toward the place where he’d marked on his crude map, eager to discover what lay beyond his realm of understanding.
His adventure would be cut short though, for as the boy neared the fork, the water began to run red. The rusty taint of blood stung his nose as Pan’s eyes grew wide with confusion. Picking up the pace, the boy pushed toward the source, ignoring the instinct which warned him to run away and hide from what horrors lay beyond. He had to know… had to understand what happened. And, maybe someone needed his help. Hello? The boy cried to the wilderness, not expecting a response, but hearing instead a crackling caw-caw of a vulture. With a gulp, Pan stepped forward again, hope beginning to wane as he spotted the carrion birds mere paces away. Death. He knew that vultures meant death.
As he peered around the treeline that covered him, he gasped again, seafoam green eyes falling upon the body of a stranger. Her belly is bloated against the sun, the stench of death rising from her corpse. Around them is a bloody scene – mutilated body parts strewn about like a child’s plaything. Something sinister had happened here, indeed.
Pan tried to find the words to call for help, but when his mouth parted, no sound escaped. He tries to run, but his feet seem caught in quicksand, too in shock to respond. For what seems like far too long, the boy simply stares at the scene, trying to gather the courage to respond. Help… his words are a whisper against the wind, and clearing his throat, he tries again to summon the others. Help! Somebody… we need help over here! Now, the child’s voice carries to any who would listen, even as he turns a pale shade of green, unable to quench the nausea that grasps him.
And the boy waits to see if any would heed his call.
Metaphor was new to this land. He didn’t know much about it, or what his place would be… but he knew it was home now. Here, he had found Katniss again, which signified that the red stallion was done running. He was quite ready to be finished with the searching, the wanting. Now, Metaphor wanted little more than to relax and find comfort in the arms of his lover. The world around them kept spinning though, and with it, he knew that the magic would inevitably draw them into chaos. Still, the land is too new for the healer to know the gravity of what it could bring. So, to find the murdered bodies of two innocents in the forest was far from his idea of a welcome to Novus.
Drawn to the forest, the red stallion had allowed himself moments of peace beneath the trees. In his life, he’d never really understood the power of nature until Maaemo had granted him earth magic. With this gift, Metaphor had learned to grow life from the ashes. He’d mastered his element, bonding with the earth goddess and pledging his allegiance to her cause. Sydan was long gone now though, and as he moved from realm to realm, his powers seemed to wane and return at whim. Here, he’d tried to test it… but nothing had come. Here, Metaphor was as plainly ordinary as he’d been the day his mother had birthed him in Enipeus. And that was fine… for the healer was a simple beast, and one who didn’t need magic to brighten his world. He had everything he needed.
The forest was buzzing with activity, and Metaphor could sense even without the magic, that there was a certain stillness and nervousness in the creatures who roamed it. Concern painted its way across his face as he delved deeper into the wood, caution flagged as he kept his wits about him. Behind the stallion traveled Maaemo’s orb, glowing steadily and calming his nerves as he walked. It didn’t take long though for the morning’s flurry of activities to catch him, ears pricking toward the child’s voice, picking up on the fear. Without hesitation, Metaphor ran toward the sound, crashing through the underbrush with his heart in his chest as he neared the scene of the crime.
Stepping into the clearing, his breath is labored, and as he draws in more air, he picks up on the unmistakable scent of blood. Something terrible had happened here.
His warm chocolate hued eyes pick up on the child, taking in his pallor as he wasted no time in making his way to the boy’s side. For a moment, there is a flicker of recognition… this boy had been at Ravos and Rift. But today was not the day to strike up a conversation about the past. Are you hurt? He ignores the proverbial elephant in the room, immediately noting the bodies but more concerned with the living as he looks the child up and down, drawing him into his chest for comfort. Against him, Pan shakes like a leaf – afraid, but otherwise seemingly unharmed. It was clear the boy was in shock, so Metaphor reaches out to stroke his mane, whispering a murmured “it’s okay” as his eyes took in the scene.
Something brutal had done this – something merciless. There was little he could do for the dead now but avert his eyes in respect. They would need to clear the bodies before others were drawn into a similar state of shock… but for now, Metaphor only offers comfort to Pan, focusing on the living and what comfort he could offer, while he waits for what he is sure are others to stumble upon the bloody clearing.
m e t a p h o r
MEDIC of the NIGHT COURT
m e t a p h o r
02-04-2019, 04:41 AM - This post was last modified: 02-04-2019, 04:42 AM by Metaphor
As dawn finally breaks, Sloane stretches from her spot beneath a tree. This little island has been her home for the last few months. It was here that she self-reflected and self-loathed. It was here that the barterer of secrets was able to reflect on her time here and how she wanted to proceed. She had regained her magic, only for it to be but a fraction of what she was used to. It was painful to want her magic so badly, only to have it so restricted!
She felt inadequate as a spy, as a trader of secrets. And so, the black and red mare left her small little island and set out for a journey of self-reflection. She started off her trek in the forest, the same one that had been burned to ash by those fucking squirrels and their fire spines. The forest, although much of it had been burned to a crisp, was starting to regrow. The plants were beginning to grow anew. New life almost made Sloane gag. But what she was not prepared for, however, was what she stumbled on next.
It was the cloven hoof prints in the ground that first captured her attention. She studied them, noting that whatever large beast this was, walked on two legs - something she had never seen before. What sort of beast walked on two legs? With cloven hooves to boot? Something she had only heard about in stories her mother used to tell her and her triplet siblings.
And as she followed the prints, the smell of blood began to fill the air. That was never a good sign, but she followed it anyway. And as she came upon the two bodies, there were two others already there. “Are you responsible for the bodies in my home?” Her words were harsh, angered, and gruff. While she knew the two didn’t commit this crime, she took some sick pleasure in watching others squirm. She saw the terrified looks on their faces, the horror over coming over a scene as brutal as this. No, they did not do this. Whatever made those tracks in the forest did.
girls of satin, girls of stone girls in dresses made of bone
♕
A raven’s piercing cry echoed through the starless night, and Messalina shivered despite the strange balminess of the air. It was deep into autumn, yet the day had been stiflingly warm. Messa’s brow creased when she remembered how the roses on her mantle had drooped, despite being picked that very morning. Is it childish to believe in omens?
Omen or no, she should not have ventured into the woods so late in the night. “A fool’s errand,” she murmured, stepping carefully around a blackened stump. A fool as the Champion of wisdom. She smiled at the thought, a little bitterly.
They had extinguished the fire weeks ago. Yet, the stench of burning still clung to the bark of the trees, dulling the scent of all other things. The wildfire had devastated more than just the land. More than once had the girl stumbled upon the remains of animals who had perished in the fury of the flames, the reek of rot concealed beneath a layer of ash. A charred wing, a crumbling skull.
Once, she had discovered the body of a fawn folded beneath the hollow of a twisted oak, its waxy eyes great black holes. She had buried it in a grassy clearing and placed a white rose over the freshly turned earth. Then, cheeks hot with disgust and shame, she’d fled all the way back to the castle gardens and emptied the contents of her stomach into an abandoned flowerpot.
A breath of cold wind gusted through the leaves, rattling them like teeth. Messalina inhaled once — then again, sharper. It was only a trace, but there was no mistake. Her eyes flashed like chips of ice when she turned towards the gust. This is the smell of…
The deeper she crept through the forest, the stronger the stench became. Branches grabbed at her braids like claws. The night grew eerily silent, and every fiber of her being screamed for her to turn back. But Messalina gathered her courage, heart thudding quick as a bird’s, and pushed onwards.
Past the tree line, past the blackberry bushes. Fear stopped her. Fear drove her. Thorns tore at Messa's skin, gashes opening like mouths, but she felt no pain. Blood dribbled down her leg, leaving a trail of crimson.
She emerged on the banks of the river. There — across the shore.
The stench of decay wrapped ice-cold fingers around Messalina’s throat and squeezed. Blood. It is all —
The breath died deep within her lungs. She could not move, could not cry out. She could do nothing but stare, numb with horror, at the two swelling, desecrated bodies splayed along the riverbank like broken dolls.
A cackle resounded through the clearing. Messalina’s eyes, ocean dark, blackened with revulsion as a vulture, naked head slick with blood, smiled grotesquely at her once before returning vigorously to its meal.
She wanted to look away, gods, she wanted to look away, but the girl’s gaze remained locked on the smear of entrails and blood and — worst of all — their horrible, horrible stares. Glassy with fresh death. Wide with belated fear.
“Moore. Casper.” Her voice shook when she said their names. Even from across the shore, even with their bodies in pieces… the moonlight illuminated them enough. She knew them. Pages in King Somnus’ court. Kind and wise and loyal. Moore and Casper. And now they were dead.
The crashing of hooves through the underbrush plucked Messalina out of her shock. Fear chased her heart as her breath broke in pants and heavy gasps, and she scrambled back from the shore, folded herself into the shadow of a tree. Whatever killed them, it must still be here.
Nearer it came, nearer. Until a colt stepped into the bloodstained clearing, only to be trailed moments after by a red stallion. Both strangers, not of her court. Who are they? Why are they here? She did not think to ask the same of herself.
The newcomers did not look capable of murder — whatever had done it, it could be nothing short of a beast — yet, she could not bring herself to move. Silently, Messa willed for her limbs to stop trembling, willed for them not to spot her. The river was little more than a trickle — nothing but silence and leaves and darkness separated her from them.
Like the fawn she had found in the hollow, Messalina folded herself smaller and smaller into the dark. The world spun. Suddenly she was a filly again, shivering and left for dead in the vicious winter storm. Her dam, frozen besides her, not stirring no matter how hard she shook her. Eyes as black as holes.
Stop. She bit down on her lips and counted her breaths until they were even again. You are not a child anymore. She raised her head to dare a glance at the colt and stallion; she would not reveal herself until she was certain they were no more suspicious than she.
It was not the girl’s first encounter with death. She had just not known it to be so cruel.
Eulalie stepped outside the walls housing the Dawn Court with a delightful stretch. The morning was still early, an autumn nip in the air as the sun hid beneath a blanket of cloud cover. She glanced at the sky and wondered if they were expecting rain or if the clouds would pass eventually and the sun would come out. At her side stood Tabbris, proud and alert as ever. The gryphon scarcely left her side unless she asked it of him, especially on outings. His presence was both a gift and a comfort, and she was glad for it.
Eventually she began to walk, her steps carrying her north along the Rapax toward where it splits south to become Amare. Above her, Tabbris’ shadow fell over the ground as he flew. The ivory maiden’s eyes lingered on the expansive and empty Illuster Meadow, considering heading there for a peaceful morning graze, but suddenly a feeling of alarm rushed through her. It was both a foreign and familiar sensation, and she knew it was not her own feeling but Tabbris’. The gryphon landed on the ground with a dull thud, the crest of ivory feathers on his head fanning out. ”Danger,” was the first thing that he said and Eulalie glanced about, ”I can smell blood, it comes from the forest.”
At first Eulalie didn’t think much of it. If anything, Tabbris could be a little overprotective, but the tension did not leave him and she knew that, if anything, she would need to appease him in order for her to enjoy her morning. "Lead me to it,” and already Tabbris was launching himself back into the sky. He flew lower that before, a few feet in front of her so that it was easy for her to follow. Their path brought them closer and closer to the forest, where the river passed into the trees.
At first the only indication Eulalie had that anything was wrong was the strange hiss he released, a sound she had never heard from him. Her own apprehension rose, as she entered the scene on the heels of her bonded. Her heart stopped at the gruesome image of death laid out before her, bodies mangled, hardly recognizable. Somewhere behind her Tabbris landed with a thud, and she needn’t look at him to know he was in full guardian mode, feathers puffed up, dark eyes sharp and piercing. She did not see Messalina, curled up in the shadows as she was, as they stood among the desolation.
Others were there, two of which were strangers to her. Unsettling, considering the circumstances. The other was Sloane, who was tearing into those same strangers with frightening words. “Sloane.” Eulalie breathed in deeply, stepping closer, the word spoken short and with a command that Eulalie rarely wore. In some ways, Sloane was as much a stranger to her as the two she did not know the names of, and of all the displays she’d seen from the mare, protecting her court was not one of them. It didn’t sit well with her. “Look at them: no blood, their hooves do not match the marks in the ground. Think.” Her accusations would get them nowhere.
Eulalie may not be a queen, she may not be more than a soldier—a tactician—sworn to protect her people in whatever way she could, but she would also not allow these strangers to be alienated. Her dark eyes traced the scene, her chest tight, her stomach roiling. Oh, growing up in Solterra had made her witness and victim to many horrible things, but even such carnage had not been one of them. Still, she would not dishonor these dead by refusing to search for clues. They hadn’t been saved from whatever fate had befallen them, but the least they could do was find the creature that did it and get justice for them.
She glanced at the strangers. One was scarcely more than a boy, and it made her heart ache to think that he was now privy to the darkness of the world. She thought of Regis, and couldn’t bear the idea of her own son coming across something like this. Her son was a year old now, and she could hardly believe it. He grew ever more adventurous each day. She did not want him to see this. ”Tabbris, go find Somnus. He needs to come quickly. Please be sure that Reggie stays, I know how much he loves to tag along.” The gryphon said nothing but with a shove of his wings was gone, headed back to the court.
“Now… would you like to explain who you are and how you came to be in Delumine under such unfortunate circumstances?” Her earthen eyes leveled on both, and although her voice was not harsh it was still firm. Though the smell of blood was overwhelming, it too was not fresh. Whatever had done this had done it under the cover of night. She only hoped that they were not all in danger now, here in the day time. Perhaps they would have to enforce a curfew for the court, if they could not find out what had done this. Oh, she thought, Tabbris please hurry.
@Sloane @Pan @Metaphor for the interaction @Somnus because there's a big bird boy coming to fetch you
She can smell the stranger as soon as she nears the pile of bodies. While she doesn’t see the one named Messalina, she can certainly smell her. She knows the mare is somewhere, hunkered down and hiding, no doubt. It was ironic that Sloane was usually the one to do the very same thing. And yet, Sloane was here, eyes feasting on the pile of bodies and the two innocents that just so happened to stumble onto them. She was not welcoming, never had been. So naturally, it was ironic that these two strangers had not met the wrath of Sloane’s welcomings. Instead, they settled with a sick sort of joke that only Sloane would find funny.
It’s the scent of Eulalie that catches her attention, if only briefly. She can smell the mare all over Somnus and his son, but she is not someone she has formally met. Then again, Sloane hasn’t exactly made an attempt to meet anyone. She had never been a social butterfly and she had no intention of starting now.
But when she says her name, her tone thick and commanding, Sloane turns her head to look at the mare. She can feel the way her lips curl into a snarl, though no sound escapes her lips. This mare was not her queen. She would not be commanded to do anything.
Eulalie is quick to defend the two strangers, ruining her little game of fun before it ever truly started. Sloane cannot help the way her eyes roll at her suggestion that Sloane stop to think about her words. “I am not an idiot.” She had seen the tracks and she knew well enough that these two were innocent, but that didn’t stop her from trying to make them shudder. “I saw the tracks in the woods, a beast far large then they committed these crimes.” She paused a moment as she stepped closer to the bodies. Her distance from them was perhaps too close, a distance that might be mistaken as disrespectful to the dead. “…but that did not stop me from wanting to play a little game. Who knew? Perhaps they had information on the whereabouts of the best. Fear elicits responses.” She wanted information and these two were going to give it to her. She could do things the nice way…or the hard way. Their choice.
The boy was still too shaken to move, too numb to think through the horrors that stood starkly before him. The bodies were long cold, and yet the scene seems fresh and untouched. It was no wonder that the others thought he’d done it… but Pan couldn’t even hurt a fly. Truly, it was laughable that any could think him responsible for such a heinous act. Still, he does not worry what they think. The boy only fights through the haze of his own shock and horror, leaning into the red stallion for comfort as his pulsing nares drink in the masculine scent of him. There is something calming in the smell of wood that clings to Metaphor’s skin, and the boy closes his eyes and tries to slow his racing heartbeat, gulping air as if he could never breathe again.
Sloane comes first, and her words are accusatory as she stumbles on the scene. For the briefest of moments, Pan opens his eyes and wonders if there is something familiar about her. He tries to make sense of her words, but they seem far away and muted, as if she yelled through water. His mind was still reeling, his panic and anxiety at stumbling on such a horror too fresh to find a way to string two words together. So he simply stands quietly, his face a paler shade of white.
It is not until he sees the girl with gold in her hair and curiosity edging her voice, that Pan can pull himself out of drowning. He draws a deep breath to steady himself, only now moving one step away from Metaphor, then two. I… I live here. It was a confusing thing, really – for Pan had always been a part of Day Court. Now, his allegiance had become broader, but this land was still the place he laid his head at night. Somnus himself had reminded Pan of that… Delumine was home. By the river… and I was walking, and then there were the birds, then the blood… His words made no sense, each thought jumbled into the next. But Pan nodded anyway, convinced that he’d explained himself well enough, waiting to see if the murderer was among them.
Metaphor is a level headed creature. He’d been around the world long enough to have seen a bit of everything, but this gruesome scene affected even the stoic red stallion. It sickened him to see the brutality of the crime, so it’s no wonder that the scaled boy was so faint and confused. Against him, Pan shakes like a leaf, and Metaphor provides little more than comfort to the dazed boy. There is nothing the healer can do in this moment, for Pan has no physical need for healing. He offers strength in the only way he can, by simply protecting the child as he regains his senses… and by shielding him from the growing crowd and accusatory stares.
He listens as the black mare balks at them, and again as the brush rustles with another approaching beast, hiding in the shadows. Turning toward Messalina’s hidden form, his chocolate eyes search through the foliage in an attempt to find the source of movement, but he is distracted again when Eulalie responds to Sloane. Silently grateful for the interference, he lets the two swap barbs for a few moments, before finally clearing his throat in defense of the boy and his own wandering into a strange land.
Forgive me for the intrusion… he begins, bowing his head in a sign of respect to the gold and cream mare. Cliché as it may sound, I’ve only arrived to Novus mere days ago. I was on my way southward, toward the Night Court, when I heard the boy’s call. It was never my intention to stumble upon such a thing… I only wanted to help.
His voice is calm and collected, soothing like rolling waves against a pebbled beach. For Metaphor is a simple creature, and a kind one. He held no allegiances in this foreign land, nor animosities. Instead, the red stallion was merely an empathetic beast – a healer in every sense of the word.
What happened here is something unforgivable… whatever beast committed such a crime, I fear that none of us are safe. He nods toward Eulalie, offering a weak smile which is meant as a reassurance in an otherwise grim scenario. But if there is anything I can do, I will offer it to your land. I will help you seek justice for your fallen.
The command was given and his beloved’s mighty bonded took to the skies in a twirl of fur and feathers, leading Somnus towards his destination. He had not expected to be waylaid by Tabbris that morning. His goal had been to venture to the library for studying, but almost as soon as he left the citadel behind was he met with Eulalie’s near frantic gryphon. Perhaps they could not communicate, but Somnus understood that Tabbris wanted him to follow, and he could only speculate the worst.
Was Eulalie alright? Had something happened? Tabbris would not have left her side and sought him out in such alarm for no reason.
Trusting Alba to watch over Regis and alert him if anything happened, the Dawn King took to the morning skies, his great mottled wings unfurling to lift the stallion’s gilded body into the air. Anxiety and fear twisted his gut, grasping his heart with a frigid talon and not letting go. What could it be? How he wished that he could ask Tabbris, but the gryphon charged on ahead, trusting Somnus to follow, and follow he did. Together both gryphon and stallion charged through the air, picking the quickest path. They flew over the Dawn Court proper, traveling above the Viride Forest to where the forest itself met the Rapax River, and only then did they begin to descend.
Wings spreading out to catch the air and slow his descent, Somnus made to land with Tabbris at his side, legs outstretched and hooves digging in to the earth as they landed, the speed of the land causing the dunalino to stumble a few steps in a clumsy sort of lope-trot combination. The landing was not near as poised and collected as he typically would have taken caution to achieve, for it wasn’t important. Right now, finding Eulalie was everything. Even after landing, Tabbris continued on into the trees around them at a brisk trot, turning to look at Somnus over his shoulder and jerk his head for him to follow. The Dawn King obeyed, knowing well to listen, and followed, surely looking a mess with windswept alabaster hair and wide, verdant eyes.
It was the scent that hit him first, a scent that Somnus knew well. Metallic almost, thick and cloying as they grew closer. Copper seemed to coat the back of his tongue as the scent of blood filled his nose, and as Tabbris slowed, pushing through a particularly dense set of foliage, Somnus made to follow. What he saw on the other end took his breath away and that sense of dread only grew.
First, he spotted the bodies; two of them. One pale, the other bay, but both stained in crimson from their wretched place upon the strewn earth. Second, he saw Eulalie, standing over the bodies in intense examination. There were others with her; Messalina, Sloane, Pan, and a chestnut fellow he did not recognize the sight or scent of, but right now his eyes were only on his life-mate. She seemed unharmed.
Wings folding back, Somnus pulled himself the remainder of the way through the brush and the trees, ducking a little to avoid snagging his horn on a branch. With cautious, careful steps, the dunalino approached the crumpled, tragic equines upon the earth. Growing closer, he noticed immediately what was wrong; the corpses were torn apart. Where they still resembled the equines they very clearly were, chunks had crudely been torn away. It was almost like a predator had latched ahold of them and had eaten chunks of them, flesh torn away from bones and innards and muscle exposed to the world. It was even more horrifying to realize that he knew them.
Oh, no. No, no. Oriens, please. Loyal, steadfast, wise and keen, these two were pages that had served Delumine faithfully even before his ascension to sovereign. Moore and Casper had served under Kasil, true and kind, and this was their fate. They deserved far, far more. They deserved better.
Slowly, verdant eyes slid shut to offer each of them a moment of respectful silence, as well as offer Oriens a prayer. ’Wise, blessed Oriens… Please, watch over them where we cannot. Guide them and love them, and reward them for everything that they have done.’ It was not a worthy prayer. It did not truly convey what he wanted, but despite as silver a tongue as he could have, Somnus was at a loss for words. Emerald eyes slid open to then look up at the others who had gathered, watching each of them carefully before his gaze settled on Eulalie.
“Eulalie,” he murmured, emotion cloying his throat before he cleared it and tried once more, “… What do we know?” They could not mourn, not yet. Moore and Casper would not want them to; they would want them to dig in, get dirty, and find out what had happened. They would have wanted them to remember them as they were; brilliant minds with contagious smiles, and Somnus would honor them by doing just that.
Turning his head, ears forward and at attention, the Dawn King surveyed the others. He looked to Pan, nodding his head to the youthful boy with a great deal of respect, and then nodded to Sloane. Overhearing the way that Sloane spoke to pan and the chestnut stranger, the dunalino lifted his jaw and regarded the woman with a level stare. Strange, that she now seemed so interested in Delumine when she previously had not cared much at all… Just like when they had met in the library. Caution was a familiar feeling, and he would be a fool to ignore it.
“This is no time for games, Sloane,” he rebuked softly, meeting her gaze and holding it sternly. Her arrogant attitude would do them no favors here and he did not have the patience for it. Turning his head to look at Pan, Somnus went on. “Pan has lived within Delumine longer than even myself; this is his home. What he speaks is the truth.” Then, neck twisting, the Dawn King regarded the chestnut stallion. If it were a different situation he would have smiled and welcomed him warmly, but now was not the time for that. “Thank you for your assistance, friend. Anything you can offer will be greatly appreciated. Moore and Casper served Delumine well, we must rally to find the cretin responsible for this.”
Focusing once more on the bodies, Somnus' verdant eyes roamed the area around them. They had been eviscerated, that much was obvious. Tracks and upturned earth and grass gave sign of a struggle, but not a very large one. Three sets of prints, two of which could match Moore and Casper, but the third… It was strange. Cloven, yes, but seemingly bipedal and far larger than any equine he had ever encountered within Novus. A golden ear tipped back as he thought, wondering.
“Do we have any thoughts on what it might be? I’ve never seen tracks quite like these… Definitely not to a predator.”
