Cloven hooves made a perilous descent into darkness seem a graceful dance in all their cautious effort. Pebbles sprung loose from their ledges when disturbed, rattling downwards to settle on the stony floor whilst the echo of their escape bounded between vast cavern walls. The reverberating noise was massive, enough to make chiseled ears pin against an inked poll in a display of painful loathing. Once standing amidst the rubble of fallen rock and previous quakes the stag stepped aside to let the others down, he himself hesitating with skull-masked head held high and tense, reluctant to step too far into the vast chasms ahead.

The darkness was not a problem. Black followed him wherever he went like a soothing blanket freeing senses from the pain of light and color. Night or day didn't matter, for his blinded eyes would never be able to tell the difference anyway. Nay, it was rather the weight of bedrock above the head, pressing down on the spirit like a giants hand, obstructing the wind from blowing and the warmth of sunlight to caress the skin. It was the sensation of being swallowed by some gargantuan creature, as though the path downward had been the throat of a beast and now there would be no way to go but further down... Morir let out a long, hard breath through the nostrils and shook the snow from neck and shoulders, feeling the icy blanket begin to melt and run in rivulets and drops down the sides. A skeptical flick of the elongated tail expressed reluctance, yet if this was indeed the sanctuary Confutatis had spoken of he had no choice but to get used to it. From the journey south across the vast lands of Helovia he had learned to respect and fear the stench of rot and decay, diseased flesh and the sound of rasping breaths, and no amount of dislike for being underground would tempt him out again in a hurry. Apparently some of the illness that had affected the lands was retreating - healed, perhaps, by some miracle of these gods that ruled the land - but for now, it appeared safer to make these caves a stronghold.

Multiple sharp tines, personal and borrowed from the dead and forlorn, stabbed the air as the blind stag felt his way forth into the first of many cavern rooms. The warmth was considerable in contrast to the blizzard that raged on the surface, winters hold on the land both strong and fierce; his steps were painted in dark and damp upon the much tread floor, a soft glow from silver net slung across the spine announcing his presence that otherwise might have gone unnoticed in the gloom. Wary of bumping into any living creature the march of the hellion was slow, as always a high kneed march, a dance of tactile senses, sound and scent that brought him ever forth... but to where? Even he didn't know where he should be heading, and so with a frustrated sigh the young stallion came to a halt, forced to wait for the descent of Confutatis and her son, or for some earlier resident of this submerged palace to come and inquire about his presence.

Sometimes he did curse his blindness - life would have been infinitely easier to live if he'd but had eyes.


@[Tyradon], @[Confutatis], @[Veil]