Essetia & Romul

And although I wasn't losing my mind, It was a chorus so sublime

It is tragedy that makes a mortal and courage to overcome it that makes them a God.

In such a life, everyone around Essetia strove toward divinity, toward recognition, and toward power in some way. Yet, the mare herself was merely lost, adrift. Her purpose had not been defined thusly and at times she felt as though it had perished when Midas fell from the skies amid bolts of lightning and in time with the punishing cadence of the rain. Those had been vastly different times in which Essetia was a rising star, determined to outshine the father she never knew… But death (she’d never witnessed it before) had changed her. It had made her cautious and afraid, though she often attempted to hide her losses behind wit and sarcasm. All that remained now was an empty shell bearing her face, her name, and nothing else. Her tasks were mindless and her faith was nonexistent. How she recovered from her grievances was a secret that would forever remain untold, even if she lost the greater part of herself in the process.

The Threshold stretched before her like an old, familiar friend and the returned spy was more than at ease wandering its beaten walks. She’d gone left, right, and through the sparse underbrush that sheltered creatures still unknown to her, but each time she treated it as if it were the first. When the mare had arrived at the vast tree line once again, she deliberated her course while quietly sighing against the Frostfall cold. The right would take her across a stream with narrow banks, the left would lead her into thick and unforgiving brushwood, and moving straight into the wooded glen would brand her witness to a thick, towering pine that surpassed all the rest. However, as the light of the moon began to drift across the evening sky, Essetia decided that she would pay the old pine a visit and hope that his branches would lead the way toward more promising opportunities.

A gentle, wintry gale whispered through the trees and both Essetia and Romul shivered against its bone chilling embrace. Nightfall was imminent and it wouldn’t be the first time that the pair had found their way into the claiming grounds at such an hour seeking distraction from the various obligations she’d been presented in the Throat. She longed to return to her tasks and to her passion, but it felt too large for her now, somehow too out of reach than it had before. That agony had plagued her for a time, but she had quickly masked it behind indifference and diversion…  She was not who she was before.

When the accustomed lilt of voices lifted above the growing breeze and the vastness of the Threshold, Essetia trailed the notes toward a small gathering of curious looking creatures. There was a boy brushed with gold, a man stricken in deep browns and blacks, and a beautifully painted Pegasus with rich, emerald eyes. However, Essetia was drawn most to a star touched woman with a voice as soft as morning dew (at least in her own opinion). The spy was no stranger to these such congregations though and quickly approached to join the masses. There was one among them that she’d seen before under equal circumstances and Essetia nodded diligently to the horned grey in hopes of reconciling any prior bad behaviors. Of course, the spy was not one for sincerity when it came to those hailing from the Basin, so her actions were but a mere façade at best.

However, as greetings were exchanged and well-wishes transpired and the hum-drum monotony of it all became too much to bear, Essetia nearly laughed. “Well isn’t this lovely?” she questioned of everyone with a growing smile. Romul was anxious at her side, taking a head count in case his companion’s tongue earned them both a good lashing. “Ess,” he pressed inwardly, intending to encouraged civility amongst strangers. But, Essetia was already moving on, her pale stare turning to each face in turn. It didn’t take her long to detect their object of interest (though she was quickly becoming a weed amongst flowers) and she tilted her head curiously.  He was a man hardened by circumstances Essetia didn’t care to know and also a man who’d surely encountered his fair share of demons judging by the severe look in his eye. What remained of Essetia and her once girlish ways desired his story -wanted to know his past- but stories didn’t make a man and they certainly didn’t discriminate when it came to recruiting for the Dragon’s Throat. “You have quite the entourage here. I don’t suppose you’d mind one more?” she challenged, her gaze permanently fixed upon the man and his indigo eyes. “I’m Essetia and this is Romul.”

Whether it was a new beginning for him or merely another tongue wagging false promises would be entirely up to him. Either way, Essetia and her wolf would maintain their tedium, forever visiting the Threshold just to pass the time.