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He’d been late again, too overwhelmed, too burdened by his inability to reach for the stars when the murk and mire had claimed his eyes; gazing ahead as Rikyn and Tiamat met with someone he vaguely recognized (from days of bare amusement; cleaning for a God who’d eventually conspire against them, throw bones in their faces, sharpen his knives on their spines). The General, situating himself into the surroundings on simple curiosity and exploits – because the certainty of wanting to know had never left him, not now, not ever, and he walked into the remnants of the conversation as the gilded femme informed their monarchs about the altar of Kaos and its cryptic writing.
On their recent journey to the Marsh, all he’d been able to conclude was that the spectral gatherings were odd - the dashes of spring life bubbling from the surface, the bizarre anomalies enshrouding the world of noxious, nefarious fumes – as if everything had been turned upside down, nonsensical. A world anointed and consecrated by blood and acrimony should’ve been an empire of absolute bedlam and catastrophe, not veiled, not blooming, and his ears twisted, listening to the way in which the Pegasus had read the encryptions, the codes, the chiseled bits of writing left on ash and cartilage. He missed the way Enyo (half-serval herself), chirped and cooed at the fellow companion, too enamored and tempted by the sway of conversation, by the information presiding over their walls.
He bowed his head towards his chest, always regal in his rogue, warrior entity, a prince before a General, extending his salutations before diving into the circumstances. “My apologies for interrupting. General Erebos at your service,” and the smile he wore was large, broad, akin to Cheshire beasts and their charismatic ways, tilting his head, enamored with the possibilities of the tale – the combinations of peace and power, how far they’d extend, how Kaos intended repose when he’d thrown monsters against their marrow. “That’s quite a gift you have,” he pulsed, grin still there, truthfully impressed with her ability and cunning – to read over what had been etched and sketched into rubble and ruin. His head swiveled to Rikyn and Tiamat, briefly absorbed in thought, pondering if he should reveal what he’d seen amidst the Frostbreath Steppe – then shifting back to the golden mare, driven by the sharing of information. “Very interesting. My patrol recently came across a bear that attacked another of our herd. After we’d slain and skinned it, it returned to life – which we thought reminiscent of our time when Kaos exposed his true nature.” How was sanctuary and tranquility to be brought back by raising the dead? Or was it all just one more farce, just one more ruse, to catch and ensnare and rip them apart?
[Bunnie said I could come. :D]
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[O] Don't shoot the messenger
