[A z z y]

Fury did not come close to the emotions that coursed through the devil. There was no word that truly encompassed being so full of rage, full of ire, that he felt nothing. Where there should have been the spitting embers of wrath, there was a void, a chasm where rational thought had fallen into. Ragnar had died, murdered no less by Valfrid. He had been informed of the details, he had been told that Ragnar had done what the Underworld Lord had asked of all his followers - retrieve cambions not allied to the Underworld, destroy them if they defied them. Ragnar had been hellbent on seeking out Dahlia, he had wanted a relationship with the child he had forced upon Allocen and for a long time, he had left the snake pit well alone. But with the order from his father ringing out to those who followed him, Ragnar wanted Dahlia from the Versai more than ever. Xerxes had clued the helkaer in for support, should it have been needed and both Nemesis and Harlan had obliged. So when Harlan reported back to him that Ragnar had been slain in his endeavour by Valfrid, Xerxes had not taken the news well. He had asked the helkaer mare if his death was unavoidable, could he not have been apprehended and held against his will, tortured, taught a lesson… Harlan reported that Valfrid had Ragnar by the throat and did not let go, he did not let go even as Ragnar’s death rattle echoed out before the group, he did not let go as blood gushed from the wound on his neck. And so, the deal was off.

Xerxes moved across the terrain of the versai lands silently, boldly crossing territories where guards saw him and fled to their masters. Those of a more foolish disposition attempted to intercept him, to stop him from reaching his destination. But to no avail, those that tried failed - either by excruciating pain buckling them, or by unseen forces tossing them out of the way of the behemoth and into rock faces or oak trunks. His composure did not falter, his features did not shift. There was no evidence of the maelstrom that brewed within him - yet the mortal realm could not contain his visceral rage. The heavens darkened, clouds gathered and rumbled ominously overhead, the skies illuminated by static shocks that briefly doused the storm in flashes of gold and red. The earth shook beneath his feet, each step placed meticulously upon the earth yet the force of his anger shook it to the core. There would be no mercy for the Versai now, there would be no kindness, no pleasantries. Bygones were now very much unearthed and laid bare for all to see. The rot was still there, the decay set in to the foundations of the sisterhood even with a reshuffle. One could cover the evidence with as much whitewash as they liked - bad blood still came to the surface.

Xerxes stood at the area where the three lands of the witches met, his mug lowering to a pool of water that fed into the lands and seeped into neighbouring territories. Instead of gulping at the water, he infected it, the curse of the Underworld seeping into the life force of the lands. It would bleed into the earth and it would poison the food, it would poison any who ate or drank here. Would there be innocent lives lost because of this attack? Absolutely, in fact, he hoped so. Raising his mug from the now putrid water, he turned, the water rolling off his chin and onto the earth as he continued on his venture, each drop from his chin maiming the earth more so. With his large wings clasped tightly to his barrel, he continued on, his nape held in a tight arch, his swarthy lips pulled tight against his incisors in a silent snarl. After a while longer of moving across the lands, he halted at the most worn track into Lyracor, his hellish optics glowering in the gloom as the skies above continued to darken. Despite it being in the middle of the day, the birds stopped singing, the wind stopped dancing through the canopy. The world fell silent in both silence and anticipation.

VALFRID! he roared, his voice a thunderous boom that echoed around the lands. The silence that followed was heavy, eerie - the holding of breath before the jump. Xerxes would wait, he had all the time in the world to wait for the arrival of the bastard son. Would his whore mother join him? Would she beg and plead for Dahlia's safe return? Would she be stoic and void of emotion? Xerxes rose his atlas defiantly high, his daggers placed squarely upon the turf as his bone hued tendrils sliced at his quarters viciously. His lobes darted atop his atlas, his tightly bound mane highlighting the apex of his crest as he held himself, ready to strike, ready to peel the skin from he hide of this cretin. Let the whole lot of them come, should they wish to, he would ensure they met Rasa sooner than they hoped…

OOC// fleabittengray Sunfrost not AVA!
The thread for the plot where Xerxes poisons the lands. Tagging all the Versai for transparency, set in Lyracor but as mentioned all the lands, figured here works?
illɘgal a tag for you re the Harlan & Xerxes discussion.
If anything needs changing, let me know!



Words

[fleabittengray]

Something's going on, just look around
Fear is on the rise and there's blood all over the ground

Ever since that day, Xovad had felt so numb. He was just going through the motions of life at the moment, still shaken up by what had happened. He had not wanted to kill Ragnar. Murder had not been on his mind. He had only been thinking about getting Ragnar as far away from his dying brother as possible, to make sure Ragnar could not get back to him. He'd hoped to be able to fight Ragnar off, not end his life. He was sick to his stomach over it. Hymn was recovering, but Dahlia was still missing. The weeks had gone by so slowly and Xovad had not heard of anything. He hoped that meant she had not been killed. She was just a child! Just a little girl, who had her whole life ahead of her. He hated to think that she was held up somewhere in the Outlands, scared and alone, not knowing if Hymn had lived or died. He found himself with a burning hatred toward the two Helkaer mares that had been there, who he had found to be named Nemesis and Harlan. He had encountered both mares before the incident. Oh, how he wished he'd won that battle with Nemesis. Perhaps he could have stopped this whole incident from happening. And his meeting with Harlan in the Free Lands... had he known what the future was going to hold, would he have acted differently? Tears welled up in his eyes as he walked the path that would bring him to the area where Hymn's blood still laid. Ragnar's body had been given a proper burial. His rotting flesh and bones would now remain on the outskirts of Lyrarcor forever, beneath the soil. But Xovad had insisted on at least giving him that honor, of being buried and not just rotting out in the open. Would Ragnar have done the same for Hymn, the Versai wondered, if the roles had been reversed? He doubted it. Ragnar had wanted to kill his brother. Xovad had just wanted to get Ragnar away from him. He'd not wanted to kill him.

He arrived at the bloodstained grasses just as the once sunny afternoon sky began to darken. Xovad swallowed dryly, staring at the stained grass, and then looking up at the sky. "He's come for you, you know that." His mother's voice made him jump. He had not been paying attention, had not heard her approaching, but there she was beside him. She looked tired. Exhausted, really. Her eyes puffy from crying. But still, she tried to offer him a smile, reaching out to touch Xovad's shoulder. The Versai felt his own tears spilling over, gritting his teeth as he tried to fight back the tears. "I know." It was a simple answer. He knew that Xerxes was here, even before that frightening, feral summons reached his ears. VALFRID! He took a deep breath, looking toward his mother, hoping she would have some words of guidance for him. But she had tears in her eyes again, her lips quivering. "I can't help you with this, Val. I wish I could. But I can't." Sniffling, Xovad nodded, accepting his fate, and touched his muzzle to his mother's cheek for a moment, eyes closed and praying that this would not mean goodbye.

Xovad loped through the terrain, his home, until he found Xerxes in the section where all the Versai homelands met. His tears had dried. His eyes held only the dimmest of flames. He had not wanted this to happen, but there was nothing he could do to change things now. Slowing to a walk, Xovad approached the King of Hell. Upon halting a few strides away from him, Xovad lowered his head - apologetic and submissive, though his eyes and ears were on the Lord. Sorry as he was, Xovad still did not trust him. "I am here." He did not try to defend himself, not yet. Perhaps he had just a little bit of hope that Xerxes would see he was truly sorry, and that he would not try to destroy the Versai yet again.

[Tagged: A z z y w/ Xerxes]
[Words: 687]
[Character: Xovad / Valfrid]
[Notes: Oh boy....]
[Timeline: 6 years 6 months, a winter afternoon after The Dahlia Plot, approximately 2 months after that thread, shortly before Hymn is stolen by Thomasin]
"Speech"

[A z z y]

The sound of a haunting breath rolled through the woodland that flanked the behemoth on both sides. The absence of the wind, of the birdsong, of anything that indicated life made this place seem not too dissimilar from the vast emptiness of Asphodel. The place of rot, of stagnation. Xerxes ground the flat tops of his molars upon one another, the muscles in his jaw wired shut, determined to conceal his ire for as long as he could physically contain it. How long would they keep him waiting? Would they even be brave enough to show face? Xerxes ran the expanse of his moist vernacular against the ridged fronts of his enamels, his hellish gaze honed in on the only path in and out of Lyracor, set only on the exact location where the path wound of his sight. He would wait for as long as he could, then he would hint Valfrid down himself, he would make an example of the Versai in such a way that he had never considered before. The audible sound of a twig snapping was like a switch being flicked within the devil, his gaze suddenly became two burning pits of rage, his mass animated yet motionless. He moved like a serpent, his mass unfurling behind him as he felt the earth almost quiver beneath his feet.

Licking his swarthy lips ravenously, he watched with a horrific glee as the target of his summons came into view. His gait extended over the earth, drawing himself towards Xerxes with a level of haste. Yet as his stride slowed, did his demeanour change. He looked submissive, regretful, accepting of the fate about to be handed to him. Xerxes bore his gaze into the mortal, his rage an almost palpable force as the versai came to a halt before him. I am here. A muscle jumped in the jaw of the dread lord, his will beginning to falter in the presence of the one who had murdered his first born son. Twice Ragnar had had his life taken from him, both times from the Versai. Xerxes did not allow his scrutiny to leave the child, his lips taught across his enamels in a silent snarl, his lobes flat against the apex of his dome. He wanted to strike him down, to rip the windpipe from his throat and have him know how it truly felt to see your own blood leave you in ebbs and flows.

Wherein lies the problem, he bit out, his tones dangerously low. Yet the behemoth made no further move, he did not advance on Valfrid, he did not tear his skin from his hide as he so desperately wanted to. Twice, he began, his tones like acid between them. Twice now has the Versai taken everything from my son. First you took his father and his birthright, and this time you took his life. Xerxes cared not for the reasons, he cared not that it was done in defence, as with his own demise, it could have been done differently. He raised his jaw a fraction, his gaze defiant, a relentless inferno that could not be tempered nor softened. There will be no dawn for the Versai, the peace I had bestowed upon you is now but a distant memory. You will all come to know and recognise a loss like never seen before. This was his vow, his curse. The Versai would fall, lives would be lost. Remember this much Valfrid, had you learned the lessons your mother had learned, this would never have come to pass, he paused, his scrutiny heavy upon Valfrid again. But this time around, unlike before, I won't be saving any of you. Death will be but a sweet release.

OOC// fleabittengray
Sunfrost not AVA! for ref


Words

[fleabittengray]

Something's going on, just look around
Fear is on the rise and there's blood all over the ground

TW: language

This shouldn't have happened. Ragnar should still be alive. Perhaps severely wounded, yes, but alive. It was an accident, not cold blooded murder. Xovad had just reacted. Seeing his younger brother pinned to the ground, Ragnar tear at his neck and through and shoulder... it had been awful. He could picture it so clearly still. Would probably always be able to draw up that visual. And afterward, his panic, the numbness, barely able to stand on his own four feet. He would even be willing to let Xerxes read his memories, to try and prevent the Lord from doing anything drastic. He could not change his own memories. Surely, that would be a way to appease the Lord of the Underworld without it ending in more blood and death? Why did everything had to be so goddamn violent? Why couldn't things be talked through with civil conversations anymore? Was the world really in such a bad way, that words held no weight to them?

The silence was eerie. There was no wind, none of the typical winter birdsong that would typically fill the afternoon atmosphere. The clouds overhead were dark and dangerous. Xovad's gut was wrenching as he stared at the Dread Lord, waiting for his response. He could see the pure hatred in Xerxes's eyes as he looked down upon the gold and ivory Versai Brother. It was then, looking into Xerxes's eyes, that Xovad realized - there would be no easy way out of this. There would be no talking. There would be only chaos and pain and suffering. An endless cycle, and he was at the center of it.

Wherein lies the problem, The Lord of the Underworld finally spoke, his tone dangerously low and promising violence and death and all things unholy. Xovad let his head rise, daring to keep his eyes locked onto the alabaster behemoth. Twice, Twice now has the Versai taken everything from my son. First you took his father and his birthright, and this time you took his life. Xovad's own blood began to boil with his own rage. Because what of what had been taken from them? His sister? His mother's eye? Hymn nearly dying? His jaw clenched and he bit his tongue, because now was not the time to bring any of that up. Xerxes was grieving. Everyone grieved differently; but he was willing to be Xerxes way of grieving was going to be destructive. There will be no dawn for the Versai, the peace I had bestowed upon you is now but a distant memory. You will all come to know and recognise a loss like never seen before. Peace?! He'd never given them peace! His fucking mother was always looking over her shoulder, waiting for Xerxes to appear, traumatized and regretful for all that had happened. Yet still, she had allowed Xerxes to be there at Dahlia's birth. She had allowed Dahlia to meet the Lord! She had been trying to show that she wasn't forcing Dahlia to believe one thing over another. Dahlia was free to make her own decisions, about life, about alliances, about anything! She's just a little girl! he wanted to scream, but he resisted, clamping down on his tongue until he tasted blood.

Remember this much Valfrid, had you learned the lessons your mother had learned, this would never have come to pass. Xerxes glared at him and the Versai's ears pinned, wishing he could lunge forward and rip out one of Xerxes's eyes. Tear flash from his face. Anything! But he couldn't. He wouldn't. But this time around, unlike before, I won't be saving any of you. Death will be but a sweet release. Xovad took a deep breath, the sound of it loud within the silence around them. "I came here willing to talk to you, but I see that's pointless." His tone was a venomous snarl, potent and deadly. "If you want your boy's body back, it's buried on the outskirts of Lyrarcor. Think what you want, but I thought he deserved better than to rot out in the open." Xovad had dug the grave himself. Had dragged the body there. Covered it in soil. Rage flared through him and his tail lashed against his flank. "Get the fuck out of the Highlands, Xerxes."

[Tagged: A z z y w/ Xerxes]
[Words: 713]
[Character: Xovad / Valfrid]
[Notes: meep]
[Timeline: 6 years 6 months, a winter afternoon after The Dahlia Plot, approximately 2 months after that thread, shortly before Hymn is stolen by Thomasin]
"Speech"