the Rift

[PRIVATE] i'm gone from there; [PLAGUE ONLY]

Illynx the GildedBlade Posts: 413
Hidden Account atk: 7.5 | def: 11.5 | dam: 3
Mare :: Unicorn :: 16hh :: 13 HP: 67.5 | Buff: ENDURE
Kyst :: Common Griffon :: Zapping Jab Bunnie
Her crown is proud and regal as she waits in the caverns of ice for the others to arrive, golden eyes watching the tunnel that led down into the hidden and secret place she had chosen to hold the first meeting of the Plague since Mauja had vanished and Psyche had left her snowy cloak far behind her. Her love was not here, off venturing and doing whatever it was her midnight mistress did when not in the company of the Gilded Blade, and Illynx did not mind if she did not come to the meeting in the icy holes of Helovia; it was likely that the Empress had slipped away purposefully to avoid facing those who had stripped her of her crown, and even such a selfish and cold hearted wench as our Lady of the Basin cannot help but sympathize with such a notion.

At her side and silent and still as she had instructed him, her son stands with a ponderous expression held on his innocent face, wondering precisely why it is that his mother has brought him here to stand as if stone among a world of ice. He wants to go exploring as she used to when she was small, that much she can tell by his restless eyes and the way he occasionally stamps his small, cloven hoof against the slick surface of the cavern, and she can only imagine that he dreams of dragons and magical artifacts sealed in the frozen water as she often did when alone here.

There was no room for dreams in her mind, not now, at least. Commentary caught here and there in passing among her kin and during meetings had not gone unnoticed, the growls and salivation of the wolves in the snow heard and scented; her time of passive action had come to a close, and it was time once more to call the hounds out to hunt.

She had gone to each that she knew and trusted from the old number, telling them of her plans and where to be, at which hour of the high moon to come. Surely they would not fail her, not when she had promised a return of the old ways through a much needed conversation among peers. Clandestine as the statement was, her brothers and sisters knew what they meant if they were of any use to her at all; the very nature of their coven demanded secrecy, that much was all the more painfully obvious after the disaster of the failed wars stirred to life by the foolish actions of the less than hidden.

No more knives flashing freely in the light; she’d kill them before the newly made enemies of theirs could.

[ OOC: Only members who existed in the Plague before our brief hiatus at this meeting please; as mentioned in the writing above, Illynx personally contacted all members present at the meeting and thus they would have to have been known Plague members to her before now. :3 There will be plenty more opportunities for new members to get together with everyone in the future - until then, please read along with us! ]

@[Deimos], @[Zar'roc], @[Zikar-Sin]
intending to burn - pretending to fight it
everyone learns faster on fire

image credits
Table By Neo
Magic/assault allowed to be used on Illynx at any time, in so far as it does not kill or seriously maim her without my permission. 

d'Artagnan the Nightshade Posts: 364
Aurora Basin General atk: 6 | def: 9 | dam: 6.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 17hh :: 12 HP: 68.5 | Buff: ENDURE
Aramis :: Common Hellhound :: Hellfire & Superspeed imi

Ahh the Plague! Plotting deaths of hornless was one of d'Artagnan's favourite things to do alongside actually killing them of course. It was perhaps the best thing Mauja had ever done, that and introducing him to Kou. In his position as Doctor the Nightshade had caused many unhorned a fair few problems, ridding the earth of them here and there. Though his murder life had been quite quiet of recent, gone was his former notoriety for now, the days when he was hated round every corner. He wondered if those horses still remembered his name or maybe the world needed reminding. d'Artagnan smacked his lips together in careful thought as he gleefully plotted the deaths of many, he was ready to draw blood and watch the intricasies of poison work its course. Yes! The Nightshade had a few new ideas up his tomato fur to try out on some subjects. Of course before any of this could happen, d'Artagnan had to get over one little barrier.


He had listened with strained tolerance when she had come to him and informed him of a meeting. The Nightshade couldn't put his hoof on just why he always got irritated around her, perhaps it was age? He seemed to get irritated much easier these days. Yet, there was just something about her face that made him want to poke fun at her and he was spurred on by knowing there was a chance that she might just bite back. A one sided game was never that fun after all. The Doctor followed his demon bonded into the archway, the last time he had been in here it had been a rather pleasant day with Kou.

Falling to a halt, Aramis neatly sitting by his side, the shade mockingly bowed to the Blade and her son, his mouth curling into snide amusement. "Where are we broadening the living quarters this time, Crux?" There was no real malice to his voice, just twisted cold fun, the typical d'Artagnan who over stepped boundaries for his own entertainment. He moved his head away from gazing at the golden trim mare and sighed wistfully. "As long as its decorated in hornless blood." In the end that was maybe the only trait they shared, a common need to kill those without a horn, d'Artagnan could grit his teeth and work with that for now.

Everyday a castaway
A vagabond battle born

my heart’s an endless winter
              filled with rage

Use force at your own peril ;) please tag me!

Illynx the GildedBlade Posts: 413
Hidden Account atk: 7.5 | def: 11.5 | dam: 3
Mare :: Unicorn :: 16hh :: 13 HP: 67.5 | Buff: ENDURE
Kyst :: Common Griffon :: Zapping Jab Bunnie
[ OOC: Because post order is a lie and I’m too excited to keep waiting. xD Just jump into the thread as ya’ll have time! Makes it feel more organic this way anywho. ;D ]

A single set of hoof beats turn her ears to their ringing, the golden laced one peering down the aisle of ice that the noise seemed to rise from, nostrils twitching hesitantly at the frigid air and catching a familiar, half loathed and half admired scent. Her lips are smiling and humored as he appears with his hound in tow, his usual grumpy grimace blooming into a snide smirk that mocks her even while he bows in respect. She can understand his bitterness, to be sure, for she has been him before, quietly serving beneath others and desiring the rise to fame that she had earned over him.

It was what he got for kissing up to Mauja rather than the Lady behind all his power.

Her boy, already schooled before arriving here on how to treat each arrival, bows in return, his mother nodding graciously with her own form of twisted smile lingering on her lips, hearing the asinine purr of d’Artagnan’s frustration and devouring each syllable as she always does; a grain of salt, a ripple in the sea, and she laughs freely in amusement at his prodding once more at her plans of grandeur and protection. She almost immediately moves to defend her precious bronze guardians and their maker again, but refrains, instead turning one golden eye beneath a high brow to the Doctor. A giggle spills from her blackened lips, playing his game for now while they wait for the others to come.

”Similar,” she retorts, ”I figured it was time to plan arrangements for your funeral. I do believe I see grey in that mane of yours, old man.” That she’s only a year younger than him hasn’t slid by her, but she figures he’s only trying to gather a rise out of her and there is little point in trying to outwit one of her peers; the Doctor, however many faults lined him, was of good use to her dark brethren, and she would appease his sour temper and idiotic tongue with her own playful retorts if only to show him that, while the days had been droll, she had not forgotten what it was that had brought their strength together in the first place.

They were a bitter, hateful lot. At least the Nightshade remembered how to push the shadow back with a bit of ridicule and black humor, unlike some of their group.

Where was that midnight sociopath and his painted comrade, anyway?

”Geriatric but swift, I see,” she comments with a girlish laugh, eyes slipping down the passages that lead to the outside world, ”blessed by the Lord of Time as we are, it seems our brothers are not talented in his arts.” Her eyes slip back towards the bloody bay marked by the Moon, her lips still curved in her supple grin. ”Ah, we should be pleased. That leaves each of us with half of Helovia a piece...”

intending to burn - pretending to fight it
everyone learns faster on fire

image credits
Table By Neo
Magic/assault allowed to be used on Illynx at any time, in so far as it does not kill or seriously maim her without my permission. 

Zikar-Sin Posts: 78
Hidden Account
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16hh :: 8

It had been season…no. It had been much longer than what mere moons could measure. It felt to the Disciple that it had been years since the title “Plague” had graced his ear with it razor sharp splendor. He had thought it had died with Tolio’s love and Myrddin’s guidance; that it had dissipated with the frost of Mauja’s heart, had been hacked to pieces like Psyche’s dear horn. Yet there it came spilling from the gilded lips of his delightful Queen, truly a blossom of the verdant springtime, that glorious time of the year where things come reborn and rejuvenated, flourishing after the stifling frost of winter! And what a long winter it seemed to have been, for amidst the failed Warcraft and mindless politics, he had very nearly forgotten the true, pure purpose of his place within those ice-clad halls of the northern Basin.


When Zikar-Sin came upon the golden Queen and the blood-soaked beast of poison, it was with a painful, contrite gleam in the magnified iris of his monocled eye. It was with a fretful gait that he approached them; then, as he came before his lady and his old witch-doctor, he gave a low bow, the lines of his tired face tightening as he beheld his mistress. “I do apologize for my tardiness, my Lady; d’Artagnan,” he said in his airiest, most grievously devastated voice—for the reason for his lateness was as guileless as it was embarrassing. Quite simply, the poor Disciple had been under the influence of a deep, rather satisfying nap that almost caused him to miss out on the meeting of old friends entirely.


The Disciple stifled great yawn to preserve his cordiality as his ever-striking icy gaze washed over Illynx and d’Artagnan, suffused with the warmth of his affection for his friends (and, of course, the quickly receding fog of recent sleep). It was at that moment that Zikar noticed the slender shadow of a colt hugging his Lady’s hip. Something within Zikar’s heart-void seemed to burst; he gave a small gasp, his eyes becoming intense, manic even, as he beheld the little princeling. It was spring time, was it not? The time for new things to spring alive, renewed, refreshed—and also, he remembered, a rather suggestive time for his comrades of the female sex. “Why, hello to you , little prince!” He very nearly whispered, voice soaked in wonder as he gazed upon the son of Illynx—and just like that, he was quite in love, for the weakness for smaller, fragile beings always seemed to linger in the black chasm of the deranged scholar.

A long moment of wonder-filled, slightly unsettling staring ensued before Sin finally came back to himself—he shook his head, berating himself mentally for his lapse of focus; perhaps he still hadn’t entirely shaken his nap? “Oh dear,” he laughed lightly, blinking for the first time and bringing his gaze back to Illynx, “I am out of sorts. Still, I congradulations, my dear! What a handsome fellow, yes?” He gave a great dazzling smile, oh so excited, his spirit soaring far from his breast as the glow of a child’s presence suffused him. “Here I am, my Lady, as you requested.” He gave a dip of his head once more, and for a moment the ugly head of his embarrassment reared in his breast as he grimaced. “I…do beg your pardon. It shall not happen again.”


IMG Credit:

Ulrik the Engineer Posts: 235
Deceased atk: 5.5 | def: 9.0 | dam: 6.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 17.1 hh :: 11 HP: 69.5 | Buff: ENDURE
Kirchoff :: Common Hellhound :: Superspeed Tamme

The hour of day did not matter to Ulrik. He walked across the snowy expanse to the crackling caves of ice. Illynx had called a very special meeting. How long had it been since the Plague had come together? Too long. Once upon a time, he had tried to get everyone together under a different name, lead by himself when Psyche had been to weak and ineffectual to do anything but bat her eyes at Mauja.

He wondered who would come to this meeting. Would Psyche show up? Mauja even? Or was their two-faced white knight gone forever?

The Engineer approached the meeting, scowling to find d'Artagnan already there. His ears fell against the back of his neck, his long, dark face turning demonic with bronze eyes glaring like a wolf from under his unkempt forelock. There, he stood, seeing Zikar take interest in the kid he had not known was there. Was that a good idea, Illynx? Bring the child to this meeting when his tongue was still spilling everything to his friends?

He did not apologize. He was not late. He had been working, unlike some... Ulrik's eyes fell upon d'Artagnan again, long, leonine tail snaking around his hind legs, trying to hold himself to the ground. Then, Zikar actually addressed his kid, and he looked at the stallion dangerously, snorting a thick puff of white frost from his nostrils. If that mad-ass creep tried anything with the little maggot...

Fatherhood was not his forte.

Instead of formalities, Ulrik, ever ignorant of social niceties, jumped straight into the business which mattered to him at the moment. "The first sentinel has been built," he said, his harsh voice guttural and crude. He stared at d'Art, daring him to say something about his mechanization. "But I find it pitiful that we are not meeting within our own borders," he grunted.

Kirchoff sat at Ulrik's front hooves with boredom written across his features, wiggling the toes on his front paws. "Also, we have an issue with my being able to cure the hornless and winged ones since a healer should be present." Ulrik stared at Illynx, no love in his eyes for her or the boy. Still, if she knew him well at all, she knew that he worked for them, even when he could not feel for them. "Unless you want 'flowers-for-brains' to watch me drill holes in their skulls and force evolution upon their crude carcasses..."

Credits: Image by LyrebirdBlue @ DA

(Please tag me in every post)

Déodat Posts: 174
Absent Abyss atk: 3.5 | def: 10 | dam: 7
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 17 hands :: 12 HP: 67.5 | Buff: NOVICE
Odette :: White German Shepherd :: None Minx

The Plague was rising again. Déodat hadn’t been entirely sure how to react upon Illynx alerting him of the meeting. The Blood Prince had been preoccupied with patrolling and ensuring none saw him leave the Basin for the meeting. It would surely seem more than slightly suspicious if there was a mass group slipping away all at once. He also might’ve been a tad bit preoccupied with his hormones being aroused by a certain bay mare. Shortly after their time together he departed for the meeting, leaving behind a certain white pup for the sake of subtlety. Her yapping would only draw attention to the group.

Déodat seemed to be later than he had determined. Several familiar faces stood around him and he glanced about the group slowly. His eyes stopped on a certain colt and then it flickered back to Illynx. So, it appeared he wasn’t the only one that had been busy in the Basin. No words passed of congratulations from his lips though, there was a time and place for that. His mind was taken by Ulrik’s comments. One ear swiveled back against his skull and he turned his head toward the Engineer a wicked scowl passing over his face.

“I wouldn’t complain of Lena, considering if you ever find yourself near death she would be the first to help you ,oh kind Engineer,” Déodat snapped, he wouldn’t tolerate insults toward the gentle time mender. “And are you telling me we’re sticking metal trinkets in the head of hornless and skyrats now?" He snorted and then turned his head back to lady Illynx. He would disregard the Engineer for the time being, he most definitely had his uses, but he needed to learn when to hold his tongue.

“I do apologize for my lateness lady Illynx I was a bit um… Busy,” Déodat didn’t feel it necessary to let others in on his sex life, not that he had much of one, but spring simply seemed to awaken the hormones.

"Speech speech speech"

Is that an angel which flew down from the twilight sky?
Is that a fiend which crawled out from a crevice?.

image credits
[Image: QV8O7HU.gif]
Cut from the cloth, of a flag that
Bears the name of "Battle Born"
con by aihnna@dA

Aviya Posts: 59
Deceased atk: 5.5 | def: 9 | dam: 5
Mare :: Unicorn :: 15.3 :: 4 HP: 64.5 | Buff: NOVICE

Her cloven hooves brought her far, her body bruised, tattered and bloody. Scars mingled with fresh wounds and littered her pelt, though the beauty behind her icy gaze and strong muscles was not lost. She trotted on strong legs, hardened by travel and quickened by experience. She followed the darkness, running north and slicing down any infected wraith that stood in her way, hornless or not. She did not give preference to anyone--they all attempted to take her life the same, and so she took their's. She felt no remorse, only strength.

On her return, however, it seemed she had exactly what she was looking for with little effort.

Splayed before her were members of her precious Plague, a group of underground racists she had been born a princess into. In their name she fought, in their name she conquered, and in their name she would rule. She recognized each face that stood before her. Illynx, a woman as powerful as Psyche was the first one she looked upon. Her golden frame was still slightly swollen from child bearing, as Aviya remembered from the times after her mother had birthed her three younger siblings. The dark princess did not give her a smile. She looked down on the youngling at her shoulder and wondered who his father was. Was he standing with them? Was he a warrior, strong and as vile as they all were? As she closed the distance between her and the group, she flicked her blue eyes to another member. It was the mad scientist, she gave him no more than a once-over, then it was the Engineer. He was strong, and he was ready for the defeat of the bastard hornless. Her eyes narrowed slightly as she looked upon his markings, and she quickly placed that Illynx and Ulrik had shared a cave to make the colt that stood with his mother now. Next, Aviya looked upon Deodat. He was related to her, that much she knew, but other than that she had no opinion of him. She had seen him throughout the Basin in her foalhood, but no more.

Finally, Aviya settled her eyes on her father. Her body relaxed some when she saw him, her pace quickening a step, until she finally settled next to the large glass-horned stallion. She pressed her blood-covered shoulder into his own, tail swishing to flick of his body. If Aviya had missed anyone on her mission, it was her father. After all, he had trained her to kill without a second though and to do it well. She was the greatest of all of his children, his pride and joy, if he had any. Visibly, she melted at his side before looking out again at the others, finally settling on Illynx once more. "Funny, seeing you all here."

The ice princess had not been called to this meeting like the others had been, she merely had followed their scents. It was odd to her that they were all clustered together so far from the herdland, and so she descended towards them. It only filled that each horse that surrounded them was a member of their Plague, and Aviya, as sharp as her horn was, decided that this was a meeting, and all but her had been called here.

Falln-Brushes | funnybunny-stock | Breathless-dk | DruidWuStock | carmi-stock | Burtn

Varath Posts: 45
Hidden Account atk: 5 | def: 9 | dam: 6
Stallion :: Hybrid :: 17.0 hh :: 3 Years HP: 63.5 | Buff: ENDURE
We are each our own devil, and we make this world our hell.

The grandson of the Crimson King had received summons to gather with the rest of the members of the Plague, a group he'd been introduced to prior to his departure from Helovia. He had considered this invitation to join other like-minded individuals carefully before choosing to attend.

Things had changed since he'd left.

He had changed.

And while he was certainly of the belief that unicorns were superior, he wasn't convinced of the necessity or efficacy of a group functioning for the goal of species purification. Historically, such groups were never the majority and inevitably always met a gruesome demise.

Varath felt to best serve himself, he would have to keep his ties loose. Which meant he showed up late, not concerned with missing any information. What might they have to say? There were hornless out there to maim and murder? Too violent and an expenditure of energy that was useless. Enslavement, perhaps, if they touted that - that would be smart.

His thoughts slowly died down from a buzzing flurry to a low, throbbing hum in his head, ears pinned back to his dome. This place, those gathered here, they were all pure, all seeking to purge imperfection, impurity, blemish and aberrance from the bloodlines.

If only they knew what sick, filthy blood pulsed through his infected veins.

Varath remained quiet, standing in the back, eyes roaming, looking, searching. He was not surprised to see Illynx or Ulrik present; D'Artagnan, Deodat, Zikar-Sin he did not much remember. Of note to him was yet again, a glaringly obvious lack of the Reaper's presence. No Deimos.

Was he a leader or a recluse? Had his infantile worship of the terrifying spectre been so horribly misplaced? Death and destruction were but parts of life, the ends of moments. To fully appreciate everything Varath was realizing he needed to live in these moments, not entertain endless machinations on how to terminate and remove that which he found displeasure in.

Pain and discomfort were good teachers. The discomfort he felt here would further refine his ability to appear cool under pressure - even if the pressure was self-inflicted.

And then his eyes found blood. Blood on the pelt of one very fine woman. In his absence, Varath had not forgotten the allure Aivya held to him, and his maturation had only see this effect blossom into a deeper sort of lust, the lust of a man for a woman in the most basic way.

She called to his darker nature and it responded with glee.

Stepping closer to her, he whickered softly, the sound low, masculine, intended for her only - though the proximity of others would meant they heard. That was fine. Let them think it was merely a quiet announcement of his joining.

In the end it probably didn't matter.


Please tag me in all posts! Thank you!

Deimos the Reaper Posts: 527
Deceased atk: 7.0 | def: 12 | dam: 6.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16.1 :: 7 HP: 72.5 | Buff: NUMB
Gladiators and gore, malice and fury, vengeance pulsing in its maddening blend of wrath and vehemence, bleeding and breathing the zealous, feverish pulse of murder, mayhem, and strife. Summoned by the haunting outcries of the Plague from the icy caves, from his murderous pursuits, he remembered the slate of convictions, the aspiring junctures and ruminations of creeds outlasting, then fading off into oblivion with its leader. Still, they persisted, they slunk, they crawled, from the heathen tombs and molten catacombs, from the shadowy fixtures of licentious diligence, sliding amongst the divine, the virtuous, corrupting and devouring the stead. While their blight had been silenced, it hadn’t completely collapsed; living on in the blackened, contorted hearts of the nefarious brethren, sheltered in the turbulent exultations of a abhorrent race. Disjointed but collaborating in the unsung menace of devilish contortions, without a head, without a conquest but the sullen whims of annihilation upon some idiotic band, or mere existence, squandering the darkness for another place, another chasm, to bury, to be swept away, in the arms of its iniquity. He followed with no expectations, long gone were the days of Psyche’s viper wiles and Mauja’s charisma, placed back into the GildedBlade’s hands – and the masks of those gathered. His slow, deliberate approach, his penchant for the murky doldrums, Lord amongst the ice but not here, no abhorrent throne in the poisonous throng of their vigilant heresy, harbored keen observations, warranted the sight, the sounds, of their vicious brethren, haunting, waiting, foaming and frothing for the right to obliterate once more. D’art, forever the doctor of abominations, Zikar-Sin, eccentric and bizarre, but a necessary aid, Illynx and her offspring, Ulrik, engineering monstrosities, Deodat, posturing Corporal vigilance, a D’art daughter, and then, a recognizable form in Varath (grown, scarred, but seemingly unchanged – ready for the pursuits of their callous calamity). He offered naught but a nod towards each, recognition through his silent brutality and barbarity, then ruminated over the only thing he had to proffer: quietus, the fortified munitions of his deadly, licentious skills. Cold, indifferent, a drumming, haunting requiem of his persecuting silence, waiting for the inevitable.

Illynx the GildedBlade Posts: 413
Hidden Account atk: 7.5 | def: 11.5 | dam: 3
Mare :: Unicorn :: 16hh :: 13 HP: 67.5 | Buff: ENDURE
Kyst :: Common Griffon :: Zapping Jab Bunnie
They come, her family, and with each face that arrives through the pale blue corridor her heart rises, her soul grasps at elation, for she knows them all by their most private of names and how dearly she admires them each for their devotion to the righteous path. While her sister is not among them, something she takes notice of watching them filter inwards, she is patient; it is possible that the Empress waits just outside the confines of the meeting, guarding from outsiders and listening for dissent among those who had sought to rid her of their rule.

The Lady smiles.

Moon eyed and deranged, Zikar arrives with his usual weird effervescence, the familiar and admired frame of her Engineer the next to slip into the glacial cavern. She smiles at her lover, the not so secret father of her child that she allowed others to assume to be so from the obvious appearance of her son; he is, as she is concerned, the most flawless combination of the two unicorns that the Gods might have blessed her with, etched with gold in the ancient markings of his father, and she assumes none here are too stupid to figure such things out without a hand written notice.

The arrival of Zikar comes with an apology and a swift and somewhat sinister notice of the child, who looks to the stranger alongside his mother with a weak and slightly terrified smile as the deranged Disciple focuses all his attentions on him. Illynx wants to laugh as she glances down at her boy who quite meekly responds with a bleeting, ”H-h-h-ello…” and looks as if he’d like to magically reappear back inside her belly and disappear, though he does manage a slight bow of his head in greeting as the Lady lowers her lips to address her son more privately. ”He is known as Zikar-Sin, and is very intelligent. Eccentric,” she whispers into her son’s ear, hopefully quiet enough so that Zikar cannot hear her, ”but that is all; he is a good friend to have.”

At this, the boy swallows and grows a bit more brave, the echoes of his father’s snort of defense further bolstering his ability to not be terrified by the odd little man, who is now addressing his mother (much to his appreciation, to be sure). The Lady laughs and smiles, ever the flashy sort of woman she is, the sort of personality that gleams and purrs beneath the manners and nature of one such as Zikar-Sin. ”Thank you, darling,” she says sweetly with a faint giggle to her words, ”he is a great source of pride. We have called him Rikyn.”

Funny seeing all you here, says a white masked girl, to whom Illynx looks with wonder and excitement that hadn’t been met by the others, for the simple fact that Aviya had been lost since the darkness and, assumed, of course, dead or gone for the time. The vision of her face slipping into their dark fold once more sent another thrill of hope through the golden one, a passing wonder that the Lord of Storms had woven his thread of time to lead her here to them without even an invitation.

She is bloody, and scarred, surely a victim of much chaos during her adventures outside the safety of the Basin, but the Lady delivers her a curved and simpering grin that knows she has learned well to have earned these marks.

Her son looks at her as some dark harbinger of doom, more heinous even than the toned and dark frame of the Reaper as he arrives to the gathering, his golden eyes wide as he gazes upon the gore lacing her; like most small children, he clings to his mother’s side, staring out at the image of d’Artagnan’s bloody daughter and wondering why in Gods name his mother consorts with demons.

Still, she can’t be all that bad, he thinks to himself, for the dappled stallion with the red hair approaches her as if she’s covered in sweet smelling clover rather than entrails and violence, and Rikyn watches the procession with much curious wonder while his mother sees only two love struck and savage unicorns drawn, like magnets, to each others strength. There is little heed paid to their actions as far as she is concerned, but the boy… well, he’s purely fascinated with them, and the others, and the fact that Father is here.

He turns his golden eyes towards him as the bronze and black stallion is the first to speak, the Crux and her son both turning their attentions to the Engineer; their son hears what he says about the Sentinels and beams giddily alongside his dam while she hears the sharpness of what follows his proclamation of grandeur, and she frowns.

”There are reasons we are here,” she snaps, dark tail striking behind her in agitation as she glowers at the grumpy and sometimes too moody creationist, ”of which you’ll become privy soon enough.” As if that might call her from the outside in, Illynx glances up at the arch of the entry to their hidden meeting for the dark frame of her darling Psyche for a moment, returning her eyes to the Engineer as he continues to speak.

She nods and begins to laugh at his next commentary, cut short but the arrival of one of her Corporals who shuts down the slightly rude mentioning of the Time Mender and propositions a question into the air before apologizing that he has arrived late as a December apple. ”It’s what is implied yes,” she says, glancing at the Corporal from sharp golden eyes that say I don’t give a shit where you were, ”and he means no offense to the lovely Mender, for she is surely benevolent and kind and everything a true healer should be...but we are not needing her for the sake of wellness and she would be loathe to cooperate with such a task. I would not ask her; Ulrik is right.” She pauses, glancing over towards the Doctor and feeling thoughts cross her mind; perhaps, she thinks, but there are more options outside the icy confines of this room that she has at her disposal, each requiring a hard look before she decides. ”Give Deimos and I a few weeks to look over our options, and I will come to you once we have found you a suitable assistant.”

It seems no one else has much to interject besides her chosen stallion (and how ironic it is that she has chosen the most vocal of the men aside from grouchy d’Artagnan does not slide past her unnoticed), and so she looks around her once before continuing into the rest of the words that need to be said here. Some of them she remembers are still missing, perhaps lost forever or simply late or wandering and forgetful, but either way it is she cannot wait forever here and her kin cannot assume that they will remain unnoticed and among only peers for too very long. ”As Ulrik has made mention of, there are new tools at our disposal; the Basin is kept safer than ever before by the bronze sentinel and his brother will stand alongside him soon, and the Gods have blessed our Engineer with the ability to correct the blights of nature in so far as physical appearances are concerned,” she smiles, a wicked little thing, golden eyes flashing as she looks around her, ”in the prison at the Basin we have our first subject waiting, on outcast woman. In combination with electricity, I believe the new implementation will make her rather… subservient.” Her horn coats itself at the probing of her will in the blue light of her magic, the glow igniting features for a few seconds before the force is extinguished. ”On a similar note, of course, is the matter of selection, the recipients of our wrath; the days of killing at will are done, my friends,” the words are said with all seriousness as she looks to each in turn, explaining as she does so, ”target only outcasts, and only those of their number who have no friends to come asking questions as to their whereabouts; travel in utmost secrecy with your captives and kill only within the safety of the north and where no one might see or hear you aside from your brethren here. in this room. The Basin wears a mask, and I would deem it wise that each of you put it on here and now, as well.”

”An alliance of sorts has formed between the mountain and the Edge, for several reasons, but the most important to each of you is that it provides us a way to hide our past indiscretions and mistakes behind a guise of change. By no means are any of our new… friends to meet any unfortunate happenstances by your hooves or horn; those who decide to be idiots anyway will suffer whatever consequences that I see fit. No longer will our entire family suffer for the mistakes of one. No longer will any of us put our ultimate goal at risk for temporary and selfish satisfaction.” Another pause, another glance around her for the surely disgruntled faces she will be met with. ”Watch our enemies, keep note of their every movement, and smash the insects you find crawling out alone in the darkness, but our main work will be within the confines of the Basin itself and among ourselves.”

”Turn your attention to our kin. Look into their hearts and seek the embers of our purpose, fan them until they burn as brightly as our own desires to see Helovia ruled by perfect beings. Teach them to see as we do, guide them onto the correct path,” she looks down to her son, who is hanging on to her words with an expression that states he doesn’t really understand everything but that he desperately does not want to miss a moment of it all, and then looks back to the others, ”birth strong children and teach them who they are, what they are worthy of, if you do not feel you can be of use elsewhere. And, as always, train, ceaselessly honing the edge of your blades.”

”As is standard among us… this meeting never happened. Any who breathe a word of any they have seen or what they have heard while here will regret the day they were born; when you leave here, when you meet our brethren out in the world and wish to guide them home, be tactful and wise. If any one of you fail to keep our secrets I personally rip the tongue from your mouth and sew it to the ass of whoever you ran your mouth off to.” A long glance is cast down at her son, who looks up at her with ears splayed to either side of his head and eyes wide, the horror of the threat sinking in as he realized that she was not kidding in the slightest. If he wasn’t afraid of upsetting her he’d have quickly mumbled, my lips are sealed forever, but instead he only nods.

”But do not fret, my darlings, for there are still games at foot,” she smiles, her gleaming grin looking out over them all, ”a certain group known as the Regime has insulted our strength and brought harm to Arah and her daughters, took captive the General Torleik; the bitch that heads it all has been a deeper nuisance than even these blights. I want the one who leads them, Confutatis, and I would be deeply grateful if you, my brethren, would join me in the hunt.”

”She is a dark mare with a white face, the marking shaped like that of the top half of a skull; her bite is acidic,” her ear baring the proof waggles atop her head for an added highlight to her words, ”and she may be calling herself the Daughter of Warlords. I do not wish her dead.”

She grins, so devious, so sharp.

”I’d like to hear her screaming from the tallest height of the Steppe, all the way from wherever you find her.”

intending to burn - pretending to fight it
everyone learns faster on fire

image credits
Table By Neo
Magic/assault allowed to be used on Illynx at any time, in so far as it does not kill or seriously maim her without my permission. 

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