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It had been the most infuriating moments in Circe’s entire life, hearing the bugle for battle and being summoned by the client—and then being forced to stay at home, watching the war train trundle out of the herdland while she was left behind to mind the empty borders. To say she was “bitter” was an understatement; twice now the shadowmere had been left behind while an invasion buzzed forth—the first time such an occurance happened, she had justified her feeling of waste with the notion that she was a brand new recruit. It wouldn’t be wise to send an untrained warrior to the front lines, with questionable prowess and allegiance to the herd. But now? They sent not one—but two fresh faced recruits with not a lick of training or practical display. The blood of the sorceress indeed burned.

The shadowmere had wanted to rant and rave in her indignation—she wanted to flay Archibald alive for going off to wreck things without his Executioner by his side—she wanted to find Ktulu and shout all sorts of obscenities to the heavens, to curse her, to question her judgment and let it be known Circe was pissed….but no. That is not what happened. When the shadowmere had found her Dark Lady, what came out of her lips was not a heated admonishment—but the suggestion for a plot. If I’m to miss the fight and protect my borders, so be it, Circe had thought with dogged determination, but it will be on my terms.

And so she crossed the Edge’s border, and claimed her prize.

It was especially hard for the shadowmere to ignore the evidence of combat, the metallic tinge of blood floating upon the air and the shrieks of those falling prey to the atrocities of battle—but the hardest thing for Circe to do was stalk away from her Dauntless, having witnessed him locked in furious combat with a smaller, lesser grullo stallion. Her body ached to join him, to see him fully unleashed and possessed in bloodlust, as she knew he would be; she wanted to see the fullness of madness, the greatness of his brutality. No. She had to leave him and find the pitch black mare that was her mission to find.

She hadn’t expected three refugees to accompany her.

Now, as the moon sat pale and solemn in the early evening of that day, the shadowmere escorted the Pegasus she had met so long ago, in another age where pain was a daily routine for the grieving sorceress. “We must hurry,” Circe whispered, navigating her way between thickets and over craggy hills, looking behind her every now and again to make sure her charges hadn’t fallen too far behind. Every time Circe looked upon the small miracles that were Chemical’s children, something beautiful and bittersweet rose up inside the shadowmere’s throat, and her voice would be dead for a span of moments. As the air became colder and much more brittle, Circe decided they were nearing the frozen archways that marked the rendezvous point, and she stopped their forced march and turned to the black Pegasus mare and her two young foals.

“Listen closely, for I do not have much time, and I must go back to my herd lands. I urge you to remember the advice I gave you all those moons ago, when we first met. Soon, you shall meet your partner as well, if things go according to plan. Know this: I have been charged to defend my homeland against intruders in this volatile hour. I advocated your rescue because I do not see you as an enemy.” Circe looked closely into Chemical’s face, searching her eyes with a sincere, if urgent, light in her own orbs. “I do not wish to fight against you….or your kin. I win your freedom for the right to call you an ally, or at least a friend. Betray my trust, and you will be crushed by me and mine, but I….don’t think you would do such a thing.” Her voice had been strong during her dialogue, but now it began to break some, laden with sudden emotion that startled the shadowmere into stumbling speech. “I….believe in you, Chemical. I see myself in you. I do not want to see you get crushed. Please don’t let me see that.” Her eyes lingered on the small children.

@[Chemical]

[This is being played as though Circe had crossed Edge borders during the chaos of the invasion and convinced Chemical to join her; the current setting is after some hours of running, to somewhere south of the Arch. Chemical, if this is WAY too much powerplay I will gladly edit.]


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The young ones chattered, their tiny voices floating upon the icy winds of the unforgiving north, and they effected the shadowmere more than they realized; with every word that passed between young mouths, Circe’s chest clenched, crushing upon itself, destroyed by the sweetest, most heartbreaking pain. Auntie, they were calling her. Circe wasn’t sure why such an innocent moniker would coax tears from the hardened warrior, but even now she had to strife and keep them in check. There was no reason for weeping in this reassured hour.

“I….” The words were tangled within Circe’s throat, a jumbled mess as she studied the two inquisitive, naïve young souls. “I….” Clearing her throat, the shadowmere tried a third time, finding a way to comb through the knot of emotion and handle the words she wanted to say. “Your father will join you soon,” she said, her voice as warm and soothing as she could make it in the frigid air, “Hold tight. He’s a little late, but you’ll see him before the sun rises, I promise you.”

The sorceress turned her attention back to Chemical, the warmth lingering her steely-blue gaze. “I am glad to hear your resolve…and proud to call you an ally. Spread the word to your countrymen; they are not to attack us, and we shall keep the peace between us. Be safe.” Circe turned, making her way towards the darkness of the tree-line, before stopping with a slight hesitation in her step. “Con….congradulations,” she said to Chemical, her voice catching; the emotion very nearly spilled through, but then the shadowmere was swallowed by the darkness, and en route home.

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