Something stirred in the vicinity. It was a sensation rather than a sound, a flavor upon the wind and a slight churn in the gut; the touch of a sixth sense developed after the loss of a more vital one. He didn't stop and the lilting hum neither faded nor increased, yet still the posture of the ghoul changed as he danced through the woods. The muscles of that massive neck swelled as he tucked the cheek closer to his inky chest, lowering the trident of spears, the crown of rough black diamond so that it preceded his swarthy corpse by several feet. The step of the solid hooves grew even softer, if such a thing was possible, each stride measured and collected as he inhaled slowly....

H-h-hello sir?

The voice was trembling and soft, young and innocent; it was with massive effort the towering stallion managed to reign in the urge to lash out with those charcoal daggers, slice the intruder and spill metallic life-force onto the ground. He didn't do it. Instead a large hoof slammed down into the ground with force as he stopped, enough to shatter the thin crust and send clumps, shards and powder of ice into the air. The motion as he turned his head towards the fawn was much too slow, much too stiff - and despite the lids closing eternally over sunken hollows that offered an expression of peace to his features, the flightless crow gave off an imposing feeling of dislike as he addressed the girl.

"What?" he asked brusquely, tone harsh but with a soft so deep, so low, like rich chocolate or silk whispering over razor-sharp steel that it might send shudders across ones skin. There was no mistaking his irritation, yet the simple fact that he had stumbled upon a creature of intelligence after weeks alone in the wilderness was enough to let him linger in place, audits pricked and attention focused on the feeble flame.

Perhaps that was a mistake. He was not unaccustomed to making them. Rarely does a physically impaired person walk through life unscathed, and many were the blows, bodily and otherwise, that the scapegoat and mocked bird had been forced to endure. Only time would tell whether not avoiding the snake that crawled up to him on silent hooves would have been for the better, whether her poison could - and should - have been avoided. Alas, by the time she parted those toxic lips and let out the lazy drawl it was already too late.

It is not safe for the dead because of the undead. I can offer an eye-less necromancer shelter, but a little girl will have to prove her worth.

Much like a giant pendulum the head of the blinded demon of the North swung, turning from girl to woman, from foal to mare without changing expression. If anything, the appearance of yet another stranger without the courtesy of announcing their presence before standing in his face only fed fuel to his fire, resulting in a dangerous rise of a rear leg - a warning, though not spoken aloud, to keep a proper distance.

"Says who?" he retorted shortly, annoyed yet against his will intrigued by her half-spoken warning. A sharp snort signed the resignation of a short and intense inner struggle, over whether to leave or to stay and listen to that velvet voice - the long, slender tail snapped testily against well-honed flanks as he settled into place, impatient yet too wise from damage to run headlong into something just because a stranger said he shouldn't.

He might be young, but that didn't mean he had to be foolish.

They were all so eager to speak, shedding pieces of their mind like rabbits their thick fur in spring. Both of their voices felt loud to his sensitive ears, hearing enhanced over the years, a skill yielded by constantly straining to hear more... Now he wished only to make them quiet, despite the seeming importance of what they had to say.

I'm sorry Sir. I did not mean to sneak up on you. Just wanted to see if you were okay.

First to loosen the tongue's bond was the fledgling child, her voice feeble yet the words strong for one so young. It would appear that a good head was developing under her ears, in time she might even be known as wise... For now she seemed only eager for punishment in his mind, and while the facade remained impassive as he faced her there was a spark of amusement lighting within the depths of his soul.

I do not need to prove my worth to the likes of you, a stranger. Besides I know my way to safety.

Without being able to see her stature, to many it would be hard to make a guess at her age, but the shade had found other ways of estimating such things. The way she stood on the ground, lithe and thin, almost weightless by his side and as easily swept aside as a dry leaf in the wind told him about her lacking age while a dusty scent of feathers and milk whispered of her lineage and loneliness. Her courage was impressive, the tone undaunted as she spoke back to the older mare. Was it wisdom or folly? It all depended on whether it would get her killed, he supposed.

She is right. I was told there are bad creatures. There are caves that bring safety. I can lead you there if you would like?

Humor, indeed. Her words almost lured a smile to the lips of the shaman, the brazen cockiness of this juvenile almost as amusing as the poisoned riddles of the other. From him, however, this filly would receive a flick of the tail - and nothing more.

In comparison to her young voice the crone sounded so much older and so impure that the dread-named stallion made the faintest inclination backwards, a reckless revelation of his sudden desire to recoil. And this he had allowed so close, without staying on his guard? No wonder things had been going downward for him lately.

When a queen rules, the traitors to the monarchy will be dead.

He was accustomed to death and decay, yet never had he come across something so foul as the voice of this viper, this deadly adder with her sweet and toxic promises. They were alluring, tempting like a mirage of water in the desert - he would not deny that. For one who had never had anything, the promise of plenty is hard to resist; and she offered so much. Power, strength, righteousness. What youngling would he be if he didn't feel tempted, if he didn't try to imagine what it would be like to stand at the top for once, tall before the bowing masses that never were to lay a hand on him again...

It was the sound of the girls voice that made him hesitate, holding his tongue where otherwise he might have sung a delightful yes to this query and bound himself body and soul to a, as she so eloquently put it, crusade he felt nothing for. Would it be as easy to leave as it seemed to join in on this cause? Somehow he doubted it, and thus the strider was able to keep his head cool despite the seductive words wrapped around him. Upon her revelation of her name and plans he made a gesture with the elegant head, a figure blacker than night itself stirring in poorly masked disdain; the long spears sliced through air like a knife as the neck jerked upwards, and even in blindness he managed to convey the expression of one rolling their eyes.

"And this you tell to every stranger that cross your path?" he mocked sardonically, flicking an ear at this Confutatis. "Demons and tyrants and living dead - how is this supposed to persuade me? You will have to do a better job than that if you want a kingdom and a crown - not that I know of such things." The deep voice was biting as he let words drop from the lips, not sweet like the honey the daughter of death tried to serve but rather crisp and bitter like water squeezed from soaked lichen.

The towering brute stirred, inclining forward as he pushed himself into motion and resumed his meandering down whatever invisible path he had drawn in his mind. There was a look of dismissal to his back as he slipped past the two dames, not, perhaps of their warnings, but rather the tiring buzz of their voices and the blunt and poorly thought through offer extended.

"Girl!" he called after a few steps, not bothering to turn the head around - what use would it be, when it wouldn't let him see her any more. "You said you could lead the way. So lead, and get us all to safety."

"As for you" he inclined with a brief gesture to the wicked harridan, "I will give you another chance to tempt me. Come, walk here and tell me more about yourself."

It never occurred to him that they might not obey. There was no room for questioning in his voice, nor did he give them a chance to object. Before either could answer the towering youngster had begun to move, his high-kneed march bringing him steadily further west, drawn like a magnet towards the snow-capped mountain peaks veiled in darkness and distance.

His confident departure is saluted by the defiant cry of a stubborn little girl. A wry grin, lopsided and grim in all its dry amusement stretch the corner of the ashen maw, a silent salute to the bravery - she would go far, this daughter of wind and rain, if she only lived to grow into her full strength. He lets her go without protest - what use is there in a guide who can't do their job properly? - and focuses instead of the crone as she steps up to walk by his side. The swell of temper is apparent in the foul voice as she retorts, something that only fuel the amusement of the blackbird even more. It is with some effort that he swallows the smile, adopting a face somber and grim, stern and unyielding - a black mask of emotion concealing true emotion, for that, he has learned, is the best way to learn the true nature of others.

The strider listen in silence as she promote her cause, speaking names and divulging plans for a future that must be grand indeed, considering the religiousness with which she speaks of it. He roam slowly meanwhile, taking the opportunity to sense the surroundings; beyond the babble of her tedious tune is plenty to hear, if one only allowed themselves time to listen. Needles falling from great heights to land beneath tree-giants, snow creaking beneath their hooves solid and cloven as each step bring them further along, (in the wrong direction, but no matter) and somewhere to his left a creek was still alive, its icy crisp waters flowing rapidly beneath layers of moss and wilted fern, under solid ice and layers of snow. Yet, the further they walked into this unknown land, this unexplored territory beneath a sky he had never sliced with the wicked edge of his unbreakable crown, the more those sounds depicting life and health began to fade. Soon the sound and scent of beasts and avians died out, replaced by slithering sounds and unsettling murmurs of creatures unknown like the stench of death, decay and disease replaced the fresh, spicy tinge of forest and greens, dead moss and snow. The wind itself as it swept through the forest lamented with shrill voice, muttering and screaming in twitching lobes and tugging at charred tresses; carved nostrils quivered and expanded as air rushed through those sensitive nares, exploring and researching this change in the landscape.

Maybe they were right. Signs picked up by his own enhanced senses spoke in favor of their theory of madness and sorcery, of efficacious corpses and carrion performing wicked parades in the night. The nightly wanderer sighed and brought his massive bulk to a halt once more, a shadow darker than death itself ceasing movement - becoming nigh invisible, had it not been for the fine netting of luminescent silver veins that coursed through the obsidian hide.

"You will lead, and I will follow, is what you are saying" he said quietly. "You offer power and domination, superiority and protection... Yet you will have me bow before you and follow your tail toward whatever end." Blinded sockets turn to impart their unseeing stare upon the tempting succubus, unsettling in their intensity. Silken forelock does little to veil the sickening lack of fluid-filled orbs where it fall softly over the regal arch of the nasal ridge, disclosing instead the un-opening lids in all their fused repulsiveness.

"Why?" he asks, question so soft, so gentle and tender that it becomes all the more deadly, all the more haunting and serious for it's lack of roughness. "Why should I bow to you, when I can live free and easy on my own? What can you give me, that I cannot acquire on my own?"

Answer, uncrowned queen of the lost and damned, and see if your words will finally persuade this prince of nothingness. Maybe he will allow you to lead then, to pave the his way through his eternal night and become the sole mortal in this life who may command his actions. For the beast is loyal once tamed, yet not a dog to summon and dismiss. Always his own ruler, his own salvation and his own guiding light in a world that constantly rejected him, this lonely stag is perfectly capable of looking after his own skin - contrary, no doubt, to the belief of the imp that tried to snare his soul.

The only spider I sense here is you he thought sceptically as she answered him, words wrapped in riddles and half spoken threats - did she always hide the truth of her heart like this, or was it simply because of their lack of familiarity that caused it? The more time the ghoul spent in the presence of this wicked witch the less he found himself enjoying it. Yet what she offered... was it not why he had left his birthplace so willingly? To find something that could be his, to conquer and rule and reign with more justice and compassion than the kings of the northern plains? When Confutatis spoke of family he found himself wistfully thinking back towards the good days, to the very beginning of his short life when his family still had been whole and happy. Despite the illness that wrecked his frail body at the time, despite their sorrow over his lack of sight, his parents had been loving and gentle, proud over the son that all the others shunned and scorned for his inherited weakness. To have that again, to experience something of the kind once more...

The faintest of sighs relaxed muscles throughout his frame. It had not been noticeable before how tense he was, how prepared to fight or flee depending on the odds of victory the brute had been. Yet now that he let some of his guard down the contrast made his preparedness apparent - and his answer, silent and unspoken as it was, all the more obvious.

A grin returned to the charred brims but instead of being amused or chastising, this time it was darker, greedier, an eager smile lusting to possess.
"Well done sister, you have persuaded me" he purred, a tune most daunting and sinister in its foretelling of wicked debauchery to come. "I don't like you very much and I can't say I trust you, but until the time comes that you let me down I will let you guide me. May you lead well."

Silken curtain swelled and rippled as the towering gargoyle inclined the neck in a semblance of a bow, sharp pointers briefly touching upon the crisp surface of the snowy ground before returning to their rightful position. It was more of a reverence than the twin flames had ever received, more than had ever been extended to anyone. Enjoy while you can, lady Spider, for it is unlikely to happen again - lest you earn it.

"I am Morir" he eventually continued and raised a forefoot to proceed the meandering, this time falling in beside his self-appointed queen and guide, one step short so that she might lead the way more truly than before.

"Tell me of this land we are going to conquer; what creatures live here, how strong are they, what gods or spirits do they pray to? Tell me everything you can, as detailed as you can." He was prepared to listen as they continued the journey south, machinery of thought already spinning through cogwheels and dark impulse - weaving webs of conquest, of cunning and deceit, so that one day he would taste the sweet nectar of victory as he ruled on high.

Eclipsed half moons rise and fall, rise and fall in a steady rhythm over the frozen ocean of white and gray, soft feathers whispering over crystal like foam across solid waves. They move with ease through the night, inked pistons in perfect condition worked continuously by a flawed yet highly functional machinery. They do not falter, nor do the cloven feet catch on rock or root, frozen bank or hidden log. How he do it is a mystery, a riddle yet to answer; perhaps he matches his step with hers as they flow through the woodland realm like demons and ghosts, perhaps it is simply the assumption that something needs to be stepped over at every instance that cause those high, deliberate, flawless steps. There is a lack of speed that is undeniable, yet the sinister grace with which the monster moves make up for it in leaps and bounds. He slither forth like a snake. Silent, unassuming, deadly in his seeming vulnerability; and always do the elegantly carved lobes pend back and forth, catching the words of the dark mistress, the wicked weaver of dreams and nightmares, as well as that beyond her stories, lurking and festering in hidden cracks and crevices.

If what he hears surprise him, the emotions fail to reach the surface of the blackened pool that his his face. If it were not for the ear that constantly returned to her it might have seemed like he wasn't listening at all. The reluctance to revel in his admission of defeat gather no reaction, neither do the assurance that he won't be disappointed tease a reaction from the elegant curve of the neck. He swallow whatever words that might have been brought to mind, simply accept her decision and rest within the silence until she finishes her tale.

Upon acknowledging the question received Morir cock the head ever so slightly to the side, unseeing eyes once more regarding the mare with thoughtful expression as he mull over the information gathered. It is a lot to take in for sure; several concepts he find unfamiliar, relations to ponder and perceived truths to question... The beast eventually shake the head, sending midnight mane dancing around the head to mingle amidst sinister spears and tangle across the face - he lets it rest there, unconcerned with allowing hair before the eyes.

"It's enough for now" he responds, voice as always low and smooth, deep and dark; like the night or perhaps a ravenous feline stalking a prey, if one were inclined to such comparisons. "I shall make my own judgments from here on. The rest can wait till I meet this Tyradon you mentioned... I look forward to hear what you both have in store for the future."

With that he smiled, and like a shadow he followed the demonic daughter as she guided them both towards this feeble, fragile and precarious existence known as safety.