They come, and without much delay.

The first is a dark mare, her face white as the moon over one eye and along her muzzle, eye and cheek writ with red markings; her horn catches the light as she enters into the scene and the young Glazier is momentarily captured in an instinctual fear that has existed in him since his parents buried it there in his secluded youth. He takes note that Resplendence is also not keen on the eerie arrival of the horned woman, but he tries his hardest to not show his temporary anxiety around the stranger.

Her opening words are foreign, but what she says next is his own tongue and he still does not understand it. What is a necromancer? It is a word that sends the swirling, mental concepts of magic to his thoughts, but he does not know of what kind or if it is even a proper assumption; she certainly seems magical enough, the sort of creature that can mold the shadow to her and enlist her power over weaker things. Its almost a childish enough thought of passing panic that he could mock himself for worrying about it – but she has the air of a witch, a practitioner of wicked magic, and her horn does not help alleviate his concern when paired with her cryptic arrival.

The next that arrives blessedly breaks his eyes from the freaky unicorn lady, arriving by the skies; this is also terrifying in its own ways but much less disconcerting than the coming of Seele, the stallion being able to hone his start (actually visible this time in the form of a hard twitch in his shoulder and a subsequent ripple along his skin as the hooves of the painted leader hit the ground) to the aerial arrival of the pegasus. Still, he is kind for a king who keeps company with women such as the “Necromancer,” his smile inviting and his words warm, and Dragomir holds the Czar in his gaze with much more availability in his features – as he is spending much less time trying to appear not scared out of his wits.

Lastly, assuming no others would trail in now that some of the council had arrived (and assuming this was a herd as large as the Edge – he was not astute at gathering numbers by scent, only able to glean that there were more smells than those he could count before him but also more than he could pinpoint and count to amount to any use), the most peculiar of them all arrives.

It is strange, strange man, two horns atop his head and a leather satchel that Dragomir eyes with some reverence once he manages to make it past the point that the beast is thin to the point of being only bones draped in brown suede and knotted ropes that served as his muscles. His eyes, once he gets past the bag, are hazy and rimmed in a distance that suggests he is not all the way here at this moment – and the painted stallion finds that he can only frown at the arrival of this final piece of their consulate.

Most immediately, the weirdo settles his eyes on Resplendence with resentment, drawing the crafter’s muscles taught beneath his skin in an unbidden, defensive gesture towards his friend that was being insulted right before him. The pause and change in his words isn’t missed along with the ice suddenly born in his eyes at the notice of the pale mare, and Dragomir will have none of this meeting if this nonsense is to continue – mostly because he doesn’t want to punch potential friends (not that this guy would be his) during their first meeting.

It seems his friend hadn’t missed the slight either, and she surprisingly stands up for herself – he looks over to her with raised brows and a slight smile quirking his mouth, taking in the sound of her voice with a hint of coldness to it for the first time in all his seasons of knowing her. She’s still Resplendence, even when she’s mad, he can’t help but think, always so polite and kind.

Two of those present from the other herd were neither of these things.

He nods his head as the conversation turns to their business there, inwardly thanking the heavens that the day could continue on and hopefully come to an end as soon as possible.


@[Quilyan]