As the last of the equines filtered in through the trees, their murmurings vague and unheard by the dove, the monstrous creature before them began to speak once more. A breeze punctuated his words, wrapping her in the scent of rot and ruin. She shivered despite herself, a small, primitive part of her brain screaming in protest, screaming for her to flee. The pale mare gritted her teeth and steeled herself against that voice, tensing the muscles in her haunches as if she couldn't trust her own instinct not to take over.

This is what she wanted. She must remain steadfast, this is what she wanted.

As the vines uncoiled and snaked their way across the packed earth, bleached remains held aloft like offerings to some long-forgotten god, Orithia stepped forward, further lessening the distance between her and the Ravenous Dead. The vines undulated, hanging the ivory remains of a spine before her, etched with runes and glowing with moondust. So enthralled was she by the hypnotic swaying of the vertebrae before her, the mare almost missed the creature's words.

What can you tell me of my friends?


With a swallow and a staunch nod, the mare directed her gaze again to the undulating spine before her. Leaning forward, she sniffed at the interconnected bones, the faint rattle of their movement sounding like the swaying of grasses and the scent of savannah was near overwhelming. Taking half a step closer to the vines, part of her terrified of her proximity to the monster while the rest trilled with excitement - she stood here before death, would she be the one to walk away?

Her movement had brought her as close as she could be to the spine without touching it, pale eyes roving the glowing surface for any hint of it's previous owner. With deep breath and a shuddering exhale, the mare closed her eyes and reached her nose out to touch the bones. As the soft pink of her flesh pressed against the cracked and glowing surface, a scream pierced the silence - but it wasn't hers, was it?

She was already so far away...

The wind was biting this day and the Kholenii, High Priestess to the Golden Sea and her children, looked out from atop a swell in the earth at the terror that was being wrought below.


The screams, she was sure, were horrid. The stench, she knew, would be of blood and gore and death. The beautiful Golden Sea with it's horizons of Aurelian grasses and fertile soil, would be burned away. All this the Kholenii knew to be true, and yet the wind whisked away the screams and the scents and the smoke; saving it for the day she would meet the Gods before the Fourteen Gates of the Hells and receive the judgment she deserved.


And she would deserve a cruel judgment, this she knew as well.

For she had traded the lives of her clan, scores of beautiful, innocent souls to save but two; her own and that of the child within her womb.

The Plainswalker warriors had come to her in weeks past in the night - always the night for them. She imagined it was because the sun could not bear to look upon the cruelty of their crimes. They had promised the immunity of her and her unborn child if she gave them the information they sought, if she betrayed the very kingdom she had helped create. Her eyes slid closed, silent tears painting tracks down ivory cheeks as she imagined the dying screams of those she had served, those she had loved. She imagined the light fleeing their eyes, last words uttered upon bloodied lips.

The Kholenii knew it would not be the names of their loved ones whispered to that immortal night, she knew it would be hers, the name she would wear until the end of time, one borne upon a tide of lies and death. She whispered it once into that vicious wind, prayed it to be whisked away and into the arms of the Dark Mother;

Her final confession.
Her condemnation.
Betrayer.

~*~*~

The pain was blinding and the heat was near suffocating as the Kholenii of a dead tribe heaved and pushed, forcing the child from her loins in a spray of agony and the tearing of flesh. A guttural moan slipped from her lips as her sweat-soaked sides heaved with effort and pain. She snapped at a passing nursemare, eyes wild as the elderly mare scurried past the lone figure in the doorway in search of water and rags.

He stood proud and cruel, the stallion, his eyes alight with a sickening victory and his lips painted with the blood of her womb. She had thought he loved her once, but now, as the truth lay bare before her eyes and before the screaming release that was birth, she knew it was all for sport and a twisted sense of pride. She bared her teeth at him, the enamel cracked and chipped from grinding at the garnets he had forced her to eat.

"This child," the memory of his voice slithered into her mind, as slippery and serpentine as ever, "My child, she will be the thing of legends. Formed from jewels and blood, hundreds of souls sacrificed for her existence, she will reign eternal before me. You shall birth for me the child of betrayal and rage, the perfect creature to rear and break beneath my rule. You shall birth for me the Endsinger."

A violent spasm seized her then, ripping her from memory as a final shove forced the child from her womb and into the cruel, cruel world. Twisting, the Kholenii stared at the feeble babe upon the marbled floor, her wings tiny and useless, ivory coat stained pink with blood. Nursemares rushed to the child, still lying unmoving upon that polished floor, and for a moment, the mare felt a thrill of victory thrumming through her veins. She turned her gaze to the stallion, to the creature woven of demons and spite, greed and hellfire, she grinned her supremacy as if to say "See? You do not get everything you want. You do not win here. You do not win me."

But the victory was a false one as she felt a stirring near her quarters and the faint mewling of a child, newly born and yet innocent in this land where monsters played god and gods turned a blind eye.

A hoarse cry sprang from the Kholenii's lips, building to a wretched scream, her throat ripping upon the razors in her voice, tearing beneath the weight of her failure. Nonononono. Not her, not her too. Please no. Her screams and prayers fell upon the thrones of deaf gods and taunting devils alike - everything she had been promised, everything she had sacrificed had been for naught. She had failed. She had failed she had failed she had failedfailedfailed.

The disgraced woman, Kholenii of the Golden Sea now turned to rot and ruin, the mother of a child now given to hell, given to Uumalah, laid her head upon the cursed marble floor, despair her one true companion as the laughter of her torturer rang out victory. Sharp hoof falls upon the floor announced his approach, a pressure upon her heaving chest, the feel of a deadly promise behind the weight of his hooves. His voice was but a whisper in her ear, but for all the world, she could swear he was screaming into her very bones, "Your last words must be her name, little Kholenii of the Rotted Sea. Choose wisely for she is to be my greatest asset in the years to come. Our little Queen of her own little Hell."

She could feel his lips against her cheek, pulling into a slow grin - the selfsame grin that used to stir butterflies in her stomach, the grin that reddened her cheeks and haunted her dreams. Tears slipped down her cheeks, tracing tracks in the dirt and blood, the defeat in her heart as heavy as the day she orchestrated the slaughter of her people.

All of it, for what? A broken promise and a daughter sentenced to a life of agony.

Swallowing the taste of bitter sorrow upon her tongue, the mare whispered four syllables into the stifling heat of the room before a blinding flash of pain struck behind her eyelids and sucked her into the endless halls of death.

"Orithia..."


Orithia was shoved back into her body with a choking gasp and a terrified sob fighting for release from her lips. Her legs shook, her very core shook beneath the truth she had witnessed; the truth of her origin. Suddenly, everything seemed to be too much, the dim light filtering through the canopy, the presence of the other equines, the very air too close for her to breathe. Her chest heaved as she fought for breath, whites of her eyes showing as she struggled with the reality of her existence; the truth behind her legacy.

Ragged breaths were sucked in as she looked up to find the pulsating gaze of the Restless Dead staring back at her. At first she could not find her voice, lips moving without sound as if in prayer. At last, after a seemingly endless stretch of time, the mare's words could be heard.

"My... Mother. This is the spine of my mother." Outrage flashed within those pastel eyes before dimming into a shocked sort of acceptance, "I was.... She was a High Priestess of a clan. She - she thought she had fallen in love and when she had gotten pregnant, she betrayed the entire clan. She..." Orithia's jaw clenched with the agony of confession, but she allowed truth to pry her mouth apart, "They were slaughtered. All of them. She gave them for me, for the future she thought she would have with my father and I. But he betrayed her, forced her to eat garnets to make me more valuable... Beat her to make me stronger. He -- He was a madman, a jester in the courts of the gods, a monster." Tears made tracks down her cheeks.

So like her mother's.

"You give me her spine? Is this to say she never had one? That she never had the strength of heart to keep her family, her child away from the grasp of a demon?" She fought to keep the anger from her voice, knowing it would hold no purpose here, "You give me her spine and her truths? This is the token you barter with? The Truth?"

Her tongue tasted of blood. Of garnets.

"I've beheld your Truth, Creature. What would you have me tell?"