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"The Foothills are just past the mountains, and that is where I call home."
Shuler appraises the Pegasus with amber-gold eyes, contrived curiosity giving him the appearance of a cordial, pleasant stranger enjoying a passing conversation. He is listening though, more so than the young Pegasus might have first thought. Shuler's calculative, crafty mind is already assessing the possibilities, considering the options. The dark, devious shadow of opportunity suddenly looms, ominous and slavering like a hungry wolf in the abyss of Shuler’s malicious thoughts. He is hidden beneath the pleasantness of his expression, the seemingly soft and welcoming look bore with benevolence constructed of lies and falsified with seemingly good intentions. What could this malleable, seemingly insecure young individual of the Foothills Herd do for him? What advantages could Shuler take, what whispers of darkness could he leak into this Jericho’s thoughts, what stains could he cast to taint the obvious luminescence of his innocence?
"Forgive my manners." Shuler holds the young boys gaze, his eyes unwavering and commanding in their intensity, their insistence, "I am Shuler. I come from the lands north of here, but don’t mind me, I’m simply another insignificant individual amongst many others."
While he speaks, something in the air changes and the golden stallion can feel the tendrils of his magic as he calls them up from the fiery pit of his soul, sends them stretching, reaching, crawling out to the ebony and ivory painted creature before him. Shuler smiles, a leisurely, reassuring grin of the content, and he takes another step closer toward the younger stallion, his affability a pleasant radiance that surrounds him. He dips his head and watches Jericho carefully, honey hued eyes ever observent, captivating in their concentration, veiled by thin strands of a dark forelock that falls haphazardly across his façade. Shuler focuses on the connection he now feels between himself and the Pegasus, his concentration molding, melding and meshing it into something stronger, nurturing it into vivacity, until he can feel the edges of the young stallions mind as if it were his own.
"I would like to think of you as my friend, Jericho.” The golden phantom muses, his voice a baritone trill of lyrical intonation, "I would hope that you would think of me as a friend too, yes?”
He lays the foundation for fabrications and falsehoods to configure the temple of corruption where his intentions lie, and Shuler wants his earnest offerings of camaraderie and company to shroud Jericho’s thoughts, erase any idea of doubt or unease from his cognizance, replacing them with the fictitious fantasy of amiability that he has played the part of thus far. Talk of keeping your friends close, but enemies closer, had never been so accurate. Shuler has felt the tremors of violence amongst the people of Helovia, and he has herd talse and rumors of the disquiet and discontent that now spreads amongst the herds like wildfire. Leaders are being usurped, unhappiness prowling like the destructive predator it is, and everyone is out to accomplish their own means to an end, some trying to prevent the possibility of bloodshed, others trying to start it. The value of having individuals who trusted you unquestioningly would be priceless by the time things were set into motion, and Shuler intended to be the one who others could turn to, confide in resolutely, if not for the gain of Psyche and the Plague, than for himself.
He was a wolf in sheep’s clothing, patiently waiting to strike.
"I fear the disturbance that seems to be spreading across Helovia, brother, if you have noticed it.” The utmost despair and concern is visible in Shuler’s softened expression, the warmth of his voice on the still air, sincerity and earnestness apparent in the fierce glow of his eyes as he continues to watch Jericho. Beneath the mask he smirks and sneers, internally laughing like a child laughs as they burn ants into the ground with their magnifying glass, already knowing that they too shall pass into oblivion. "Do the Foothills fare well? I can only hope that the rumors of discord and discontent are talk and nothing else.”
Let Jericho think he has found a friend in Shuler, someone tolerant even. Someone to tell of all his worries and all his fears. Never mind that just beneath the surface a hatred seethes, rages and boils. He is a snake, coiled and black and dangerous, hidden in the crevices of his own malevolence, the poison of abhorrence coursing through his veins. |
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