Death to All [Zephy xP]

[Stormifier]

    Nothing short of a fortuitous turn of events could land Alcina in the predicament she appeared in on this fine windy morning. The morning sun had just peeked over the hill, it's colorful rays of red and gold spreading light onto the land. A small breeze had picked up over the landscape, it's chill blowing off the small beads of condensation that had collected around the sparse grass. As the wind swept over the Weaklands it carried the stench of rotting flesh and all the disgusting odors that came with diseased corpses. Beyond the barren countryside lay a singular willow tree, it's darkened leaves reaching out and sprawling out on the ground around the base of the trunk. The willow's wispy branches waved in the soft breeze, flicking out like a whip at some invisible foe. Between the waving branches, one could make out a dark figure laying against the brown trunk of the tree. The figure didn't seem to be lounging on it's own ability, but instead leaning against the rough bark like it was a old man's cane. Behind the curtain of leaves lay Alcina, her previously stunning brindled pelt faded and a strew with cuts and slashes that were no longer healing. The mare lay on her side, rested up on the trunk of the tree and sprawled out on it's roots. Her dark, almost black, coat stood out against the pale brown dust of the Weaklands and the brown and green of the willow tree.

    Dried blood clung to the ebony skin around her nostrils and muzzle, her nostrils flaring as she struggled to breath. Eyes that once sparkled with life and violence were now hazy and at half-mast. The clutches of plague gripped onto the very life-source of the battle maiden, her whole body weakened with disease. Spasms shook her entire body, Alcina's well-toned mass quivering as her muscles twitched uncontrollably. Every so often, a hoarse cough came from her throat as blood came spurting from her lungs and out onto the ground.

    As time passed, Alcina's condition worsened and she began to phase in and out of consciousness. The small breeze began to pick up into a strong gust as the black bay's eyelids began to flutter over her pupils. The mare's vision slowly began to fade to black and she didn't have the energy to fight the sleep that came with it. Within an instant, the scenery changed; in the distance stood a Southern herd. They grazed comfortably in the lush green grass and with no reason to worry, they munched and slept in the warm sun for hours on end. Laying in the middle of the herd was a small foal, it's form almost hidden by the tall grass. The filly flicked it's tail against it's flank but the flies refused to retreat, their hunger unquenchable in the summer heat. A moment later, a palomino colt from the herd trotted over to her and began to prance around the filly. Leggy and rambunctious, the palomino colt nickered to the dark colored filly, daring her to a race. Powered by rocket fuel, the filly sprung to life and found her feet in the long green grass. Tossing her head like some cocky bachelor stallion with something to prove, the filly began to dance around the colt in turn. Without the veil of the grass, the filly was now fully visible to the naked eye and her coloring flashed in the sunlight like a diamond. Cream and auburn stripes stained the filly's coat and faded down into her hocks and knees where her fur became a solid black color. Dark brown eyes flashed with excitement and challenge and without further conversation the two foals took off at full speed across the plain. Dashing around their herd-mates and continuing past them, the two stopped for nothing and seemed oblivious to everything but each other and the race at hand.

Lost in her dream world, the full-grown Alcina lay decaying under the willow tree. Barely clinging to life and loosing touch on reality, her dreams were the only haven she had left.

None other than the Fates would have such twisted humor as to punish such a battle-hardened warrior to slow death by sickness

[Pinki the Pessimist]

Desolate. That was the only thing to describe the lands of Imbros now. The equines that had once flourished were now few and far between. In all regards it should have been a beautiful day. The sun was shining, giving everything in the land a gentle warm glow and spreading its warmth across all the inhabitants; a gentle wind swaying the land and caressing it like a lover. The land however did not offer anything ‘warm’ or ‘gentle’ in return. Rotting corpses and skeletons littered the ground no matter where you looked: North, South, or Weaklands. The plague had not distinguished between alliances. It had not even distinguished by weak and strong. Anyone could have contracted it and died. Some of the strongest stallions of the north had perished in it’s harsh grip while some of the pitiful spawn that roamed the weaklands and south had walked away unscathed. The only thing that had saved any of them was intelligence. Those who were smart enough to distance themselves at the first hint of trouble had been the ones to survive the most. Now as the last remnants of the disease faded from the land, leaving some inhabitants still in its deadly grasp, bodies contaminated everything. One had to constantly be cautious of what they ate or drank. And the land had grown wild in its disuse. Trees and weeds over running once well grazed land, branches over growing to form almost impenetrable walls of tangled foliage. And growing over the bodies of those who had perished, reclaiming the land as it’s own. The plague however had not affected everyone, and those who had been strong enough to resist its pull now found themselves in a wasteland, or perhaps a killing ground. For some the weakened and dying equines offered a grim way to release anger or hone their skills.

A sickening crunch echoed across the land startling a crow as it picked flesh from a rotting corpse, however it did not phase the buckskin Stallion that had caused it. He hardly even paused to look down at the bones his oversized hooves had just pulverized. It had become a fairly common sound to him in what he had come to consider his personal hunting ground. His amber gaze scraped the horizon for signs of life. For someone who he could turn into his victim, but now days the lands were looking even more barren. Those who had avoided getting sick had secluded themselves off beyond his reach, and although beating on the meat bags that remained had staved off his ever present rage, they were becoming even harder to find. The wind blew past him lifting his wavy black tresses from his neck and ruffling the curly tan hair that covered his body. He snorted gently to clear the decayed smell from his nose and made his way to a small stream he knew was nearby and had thus far remained untainted by the rotting carcasses that were strewn about. As he lowered his head to take a sip he watched with satisfaction as the water around his muzzle and feathers turned a faint pink from the dried blood that stained him. He tried to recall who his last victim had been. Was it that chestnut stallion that had begged for a quick death? Or had it been the bay that had tried to fight despite being vastly out matched? One thing was for sure, as much as Zeph enjoyed this plague for the fact that it provided him with lots of victims, he longed for the days when his victims had actually put up a fight. Distantly he wondered what his old mentor would have thought of how much he had advanced in his fighting despite having no one. Had the plague reached other lands? Was his old mentor in fact now laying on his deathbed? ‘Serves him right.’ He thought coldly. Especially after the bastard had just up and abandoned him like yesterdays trash and left him with that spineless weak bastard, Marauder. Especially since he had taken Tempest with him. Tempie. Now there was a warm thought. She had been the only thing that had tempered his rage even mildly. But she was gone, and he couldn’t think about them anymore. 'Fuck them both.' They hadn’t given two shits about him when she had ditched him, so why should he. He stomped a hoof, scaring the land and causing water to splash out. He didn’t need anybody in this world, and he was perfectly fine with that. But thinking about his old acquaintances was like opening up a flesh wound, but instead of blood oozing out, it was his rage that ignited. He pushed away from the bank heading back towards the trees, but it wasn’t enough. He forced his pillars to move faster breaking into a trot, then a canter. Faster still, until the wind ripped his mane back, and burned in his chest as the scenery blurred past. He ran until his chest ached and his muscles trembled him to slow stop. He let loose a battle cry of anger and struck out with his daggers ripping the bark off a nearby tree and cutting the wood so deeply that sap began to ooze from the wound. And still his rage bubbled inside him. The anger darkened his gaze and demanded he find a fitting sacrifice. Someone he could torture and break until they begged that he kill them. But where was there anyone left alive.

Still breathing heavy from his exertion, he raised his muzzle into the breeze and scented the wind looking for something that wasn’t dead. Death. Decay. Blood. The usual smells assaulted his senses but he blocked them out searching harder. There. Just faintly, he could smell an equine on the breeze. A slow menacing grin spread over his face as his eyes burned with the need to release this energy. He pushed himself into motion feeling a renewed sense of energy filling his limbs as the ground disappeared under him. He emerged from the trees into a desolate countryside, the only sign of life from a single willow tree that billowed menacingly in the distance. It’s outer branches whipping in the wind as if protecting the darkened copse that the denser branches created surrounding the base and draping all the way to the ground. He made his way towards it pausing for a moment to watch a couple coyotes fighting over a half decayed corpse. It’s bones jutting up in a stark white contrast from the rest of the landscape. They eyed him wearily but went back to bickering over the scraps of meat when he passed them by. Part of him enjoyed the gruesome scene in a sick twisted way. “Don’t worry boys, there’s plenty more where that came from…” He mumbled under his breath as he drew closer to the tree. His sharpened eyesight could just make out a dark shape near the base of the trunk, and the closer he got, he could smell fresh blood, and the sickly sweet smell that he had come to associate with the plague. 'Well damn.' That meant he wouldn’t receive much of a fight. But at least the feeling of flesh beneath his hooves would quell some of his rage even if only temporarily.

Zephyrus thrust through the branches and circled around trunk. A mare lay there half dead by the looks of it. Her pelt was indistinguishable other than being able to tell that it was dark and his ribs stood out in sharp relief against her skin. He could see her chest laboring to rise and fall and her eyes flickered underneath her shuttered lids. He chuckled darkly letting the menacing sound trickle out of his mouth. It was a sound that he had come to discover unnerved most equines, and he got off on seeing the fear in their eyes whenever he uttered it. He nudged the limp figure with one burly hoof. “Well well well, what have we here? You don’t look so good…” He circled around towards her head. “But don’t worry sweetie, I’m here to put you out of your misery.” He lifted his right leg and placed it on the mares shoulder and leaned on it slightly wanting to cause her pain but not yet ready to end it. He lowered his head down towards her head to hiss in her ear, but something caused him to pause. Underneath the smell of blood, dirt, sweat and go knew what else was the scent of the sickness, but under that just faintly was another smell. He couldn’t place it but it was one he had smelled before. He pulled back and lifted his hoof off her trying to figure out where he knew it from. And after a few moments of searching his mind, a faint memory surfaced. A bay brindled mare that had fought with the intensity and audacity of a northerner but had been of southern build. They had exchanged many blows, and only his sheer size had kept the fight fair because she had so obviously possessed the superior fighting skills. “Could it be…?” His words were faint and disbelieving as he raked his gaze over the despicable creature in front of him wondering if it was even possible that she was the same one he had held a grudging respect for. There, under the dust on her side he could just barely make out the lighter brown markings from the stripes of her darker ones. The sickness had really done a number on her. No longer was she the abrasive bold mare who had stood toe to toe with him. He found himself feeling sorry for her which was a unknown emotion to him, but seeing someone who had held such a fiery personality and had been a formidable warrior (who would have undoubtedly gone far if she had been born a colt in the north) in such a deplorable and broken state was well… depressing. It was also kind of ironic that while she had been dwindling away in the wake of the plague, he had been thriving. It had only affected him slightly in the very beginning where he had had a slight cough, but even that had faded. And then he had begun to use the weakened meat bags of the weaklands to hone his skills until his muscles bulged from his skin and each hit he aimed met it’s mark every time. He struggled to dredge a name from his memories. “A-Alcina.” That was it. Once strong and bold, now weak and dying at his feet.


Oh how the mighty had fallen.

Ooc: Well Thank you for being patient with my very slowly returning muse. And I'm sorry for the craptastic post. I feel like it's very rambling but it's just been so long. I promise it will get better.

[Stormifier]

The world had been so bright and full of life. Birds chirped in the morning air, their wake-up call echoing through the landscape. Green grass flourished under the summer sun in the South and the white-capped mountains in the North held their winter chill. Spring brought new life into the world of Imbros, a mare heavy with labor calling out as her newborn foal opened his eyes for the first time, his nostrils filling with the smell of life. With summer and fall came heat and thirst but nothing that the shade of a tree by the river couldn’t fix. The last season, winter, brought hunger and cold and then it started all over again. Then suddenly, without warning, sickness spread over the land; its greedy hungering arms reaching out as far as the eye could see. It distinguished not between the young or the old, the kind or the selfish, the strong or the weak, it wanted all and it took all. Horses fell with the plague faster than expected until fields were littered with droves of corpses. The sweet smell of summer grass and fresh water were snuffed out with the stench of decaying flesh. Even those who kept their distance from others were eventually exposed, in some way or form. Some got it worse than others – every immune system responded differently to the disease, with cough or fever or even death. For poor ole Alcina, it seemed to be all of the above.

The striped mare had been out on her own, as per usual, scouring the Weaklands for food and shelter when the plague spread its tendrils over the already rugged land. The previously barren landscape became home to dozens of corpses, all in varying stages of decomposition. At first, the mare felt no ill effects and she continued on her business like any other day. Alcina had found a sparse patch of dried weeds, it wasn’t a 3-course meal but it was better than nothing. The dried vegetation wasn’t the best source of protein and it showed along the mare’s stomach. Her ribs had begun to peek out from under her dark pelt but she didn’t pay much attention to it. Her stocky bodice was still in perfect shape; use had made her muscles bulge with strength and mass. She never had a problem finding someone to fight in this place… and that was her downfall. For while she had been peacefully minding her own business, a Northern brute happened to come along and well, his intentions weren’t so pure. Mares in the Weaklands were nothing but breeding bags to their Norther oppressors and Alcina wasn’t so keen on that idea. Luckily, once the guy had gotten it through his thick skull that she wasn’t some chew toy, he high tailed it into the distance. But that short amount of contact had been enough, and the coughing began the next day.

Despite her physical strength, the lack of decent vegetation had weakened her immune system and her body fell quickly to the plague. Alcina had struggled and dragged herself to the only safe place she could think of – the Weeping Willow. Without having the strength to move, the mare had been laying under the tree for what felt like weeks but was only a few days. Whenever she tried to get up to get something to eat, her legs would give out under her. But, oh my, how hungry she really was. The absence of any nutrition what-so-ever began to take effect on her body, her muscles shrunk and her ribs were now clearly visible. She was lost in another one of her day dreams when she heard it – approaching hooves, the sound of a voice and… laughter. Before she could make any move to respond, the unknown equine was standing above her, his voice deep and amused. Her mind was too foggy to make out any distinct words, her eyes still flickering at half-mast before she felt the pain. Like a jolt of electricity, the pain rushed through her body and awakened every sleeping reflex. Her hollowed eyes shot open, irises straining against the light to make out the form of her attacker.

All of a sudden, everything seemed clear once again and she could finally make out what the man was saying. “Could it be…?” the stallion whispered. Still weak, Alcina strained her head to look up at the equine but she still couldn’t focus her vision perfectly. Faintly, she recognized the stallion but her memory was still too foggy to remember who he was exactly. The buckskin draft’s face twisted with pity as his eyes ran over her body, weak and barely recognizable. Then, “A-Alcina,” the buckskin uttered. A lightbulb went off in the mare’s mind, ‘that’s me’, she thought. With the pain still coursing through her body, she had just enough energy to raise herself onto her legs and off her side. Blood came spurting out of her mouth and nostrils as she coughed, the movement had undoubtedly caused it. With a better look at the stallion, she could finally figure out who he was. “Zephyrus,” she muttered as loud as she could, which wasn’t very loud. “Here to finish me off at last?” she made out before another round of coughing overtook her body. Her body flinched with the spasms of her coughing fit. To an ordinary healthy equine, coughing wasn’t such a big deal, but to the barely living Alcina, it shook her whole body and left her gasping for breath. She couldn’t believe that the buckskin stallion standing before her was the one person who had called a draw with her. Experience and skill against sheer size and strength had left them both exhausted and unable to win. They had reluctantly called it a tie and went their separate ways with a small amount of respect for each other. She wouldn’t blame him now for wanting to finish her off at last, after all, it was unfinished business.