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IN SEARCH FOR THE GUIDELINES TO THE GATEWAYS OF SIN
Sophistication as cruelty and perfection as virulent truth
Varath was not a king yet, not even a prince. He was a student of the darkness and an acolyte of the wicked, and he stood with a confidence that his training had permitted. Body, mind and soul, he had been remade from a brat into a soldier, but now his actions would prove whether he deserved to be more. He had gone through trials this mare had, perhaps, only dreamed of in nightmares. The smell of ash as it fell from the sky like snow still filled his lungs, and some of the scars that now lay on his body were still fresh, pink colored and not fully healed.
Like a phoenix, he had been thrown into a fire and was reforged into something greater, and with hammers of war, he had been tempered. What was left of the child had been killed, so as he stood before the mare, it was not with arrogance or pride but honesty. The darkness had claimed his as one of its own, and he was confident now in his path and purpose as well as his ability to fight.
With Deimos standing close to the demanding mare, Varath inhaled deeply, feeling a calm rest inside of his soul that could only be attributed to the fact that now, he thought that he had seen everything. He felt that he and Deimos were closer now, whether or not that was true, but feelings were often not rational. Varath knew that he should quit them, like the addiction they were, but in one place, he disagreed with his father. Passions made him strong.
"I was never a part of this land for my back to have been turned," he replied simply, the depth of his voice new to his own ears. It seemed to hold an age now, a maturity that suited his own tastes. "When I arrived I was plagued by an ancient disease known as 'petulant' child, and I sought answers about my past that only one could answer. In the process, I have grown; I did not leave my prior land until I knew that I was ready - that I had become worthy." Varath spoke with a natural confidence and grace that he would loathe to think was very much like his father.
How did she not know Deimos? The very general of her own herd. Just as the death dealer seemed to brush off her demands, Varath followed suit, listening carefully to the words of his self-proclaimed mentor. He asked a question, wanted to know more about who he had become and what he had learned. Pride swelled in his chest, and he externally tried to keep cool, just as cool as the stallion across from him.
"Perhaps the most important lesson I learned was maturity - when to speak and when to act and when not to. I have earned scars from battles fought with my grandsire and his legionnaires, and what they taught me about combat, I think, cannot truly be matched - as that is their purpose in living. The powers I possess from the Moon God's grace have also undergone tight scrutiny, so I can now control with greater focus and detail the pain I bring," he replied, memories flashing behind his eyes. "But I also learned that war is not won by simply destroying the land, like my grandsire would claim...." he rumbled thoughtfully.
"War is won when the light of hope fades in my enemy's eye - when their will is broken that rebuilding is not a dream, but a nightmare."
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