Within the south west shadows were brewing. Evil was being born, and who knew what it would unleash upon the land. Could it possibly bring back the endless night that had fallen upon Helovia all those months ago? Déodat was taking no chances and wasting no time. The soldier charged on toward the home of the Basin. Exhaustion was beginning to set in, and the stallion could feel his muscles simply pleading for him to cease his exertion. Later he would most definitely pay for how recklessly he had pushed his body. A good rest very well could fix it, or so he hoped.

For a brief while he permitted himself a rest once he reached the frozen arch. His breaths came in ragged and tired. There was a small pool which he took advantage of. After quenching his thirst, he pushed onward, but he allowed himself to walk for a good distance until his breaths came in at a normal rate. Then the soldier knew it was time to run again. As he began to canter, his muscles screamed once more, begging for relief. Pain wouldn’t stop him of course. On the battlefield he had endured so much worse. Sore muscles were nothing and wouldn’t cause any permanent damage. At least, he thought wouldn’t.

Déjà vu washed over him as he neared the Basin. Not too long ago he came wandering in from his long absence, and here he was running back to its icy grip. This time he was a messenger. He was perhaps a harbinger for something dark that awaited their demise. Hopefully he didn’t have to search for someone to convey the news to. Whether or not he passed it to the leader’s ears he cared not, though someone would face the fire of his temper should they try to stake claim to his discovery. Maybe telling such news to the ears of the leaders himself would be for the best.

The Basin was getting closer and closer, and as he might’ve wanted to take a leisurely pace, he only pushed himself harder. The only sound he could hear was the noise of his hooves moving through the snow, and his heavy breathing. Such an arrival may have made the others think something far more imminent loomed over them, but he knew little as to what was happening within that darkness that was consuming that god forsaken marsh.

As he stepped into the Basin, he skidded to a halt and took in desperate breaths. Déodat could feel his muscles twitching slightly and they would soon cramp up. When he finally caught his breath he looked around, seeking some sign of others, preferably the lord or lady. Silence wouldn’t do anyone any good.

“Lady Illynx or Lord Deimos,” The Blood Prince felt like a fool for calling out into the cold. He was still breathing heavily so his voice didn’t project as well as it could’ve. After the words came from his mouth, he allowed his head to hang a bit and he finally managed to catch his breath. Now all he could do was wait for one of his superiors to arrive.

"talk talk talk"

[Anyone is welcome to join! Déo is just reporting of the plague in the marsh]