{{Something Wicked This Way Comes}}

[faitaccompli]

{{WHEREIN THE NEW PLOT IS STARTED.}}

"By the pricking of my thumbs, something wicked this way comes." ~MacBeth

épine-vallée. It was the very place of death, decay, and demise. Picturesque in nature, it's beauty was only marked by the shadows that sunk to cloud it's seamless surface like a tarnishing smog on a silver platter. Small streams ran counter to the lush grass. But everywhere, everywhere were the roses. The roses, at a glance, looked ethereal in countenance, but when stared upon they lost their blood-live redness and became a pale shadow with much the same beauty, but on the opposite end of the scale, sucked of the living, a pallor of not white but grey, not grey but the color of death itself.

The only souls to live here were those of the departed. Not the ones sent to heaven. Nor to hell, if there were such places. Only the ones whose presence still had need of those living in realms adjacent and below. The only to reach the realm were the ancient ones, who held the secret to entering; the dead; the those with who the dead must do dealing.

The place had been uninhabited for so long; it had forgotten the look of a hoof print, the smiled caress of wind in mane. It had also forgotten the pieces of shambled lives, the criers of eternal suffering, that had so long before been the frequenters of the rose encased dome. Until now.

The entire roof, a clear membrane, that seemed to be the only thing keeping the sky from colliding with the Utopian hell, started to suddenly vibrate. It began to shake all around, an earthquake in the sky. It the very zenith of the arc, a suddenly form begin to emerge. It was a clear crystal, something so dissolved, yet so complex that it's normal translucency had for the moment been opacified by the mere touch of the magic membrane. Ripples scattered from the object, shivered outward, looking as if they were fleeing what was to come, interrupting their solitude, their peace.

This was the form of a soul, not a living soul, but one that had not long been dead. It sunk in a flurry of half-visible crystal snow, until it had all reached the ground, whereupon it condensed, becoming transparent once again. It slithered hauntingly about, propelled from one thorny grove to another. There was no feeling, no thought, just pure pain, causing rapid movement in the departed being. It ripped and tore, but nothing else in the terra moved. Had someone been standing there ten minutes prior, they would have noticed no change if they came back now. But time was not measured so much in this place. Like a dessert it was taken only as much as needed, as much as desired.

In any case, the soul, slithering blindly about, somewhere in its unthinking depths, knew it was trapped here. It burned in anger. It knew as it sat here the moments would be years, and as the years passed, its enemies would slowly die off. Was this relief? Was there solace and peace in knowing its enemies would have an end? No. Not unless its own power had struck them down. But in a few minutes it would all be over...unless. Unless. Unless it could change, recapture the frame of time it needed to be in equilibrium with the world it had known before. It needed to claim that form now.

Efforts were made. And were made too late. Too inexplicable to turn out seamless. Too much unknown, variable, to be successful in purport.

Burning pain! Searing pain! Aziza would first remember, and forever more recall, the screams. They echoed through the domain, not cleansing the terra with sound, but simply adding to it-drops of blood for the roses and their thorns. Aziza could feel it in her mind, closing every corner. Then it occurred to her. She was the one screaming. Realizing that, she wondered, simply, why?

Then she could not think. She wished she could not feel. It burned her, seared her vision, her hearing, her smell. Her touched was sharpened, and she was aware first of the feeling of a large needle. It seemed to be pulling something, sewing her into it. She would be trapped. But this was what she needed. She knew. So she kept screaming but did not make any attempt to resist. It pulled through her, over and over, bringing pieces of something to be drawn over like the leather frame of a saddle on its delicate wooden tree in the middle. She could only hope that she wouldn't snap in the process.

The irony of it, though, is she already knew what happened when she snapped. And she hadn't gotten very far yet, only seconds had ticked by, so she'd be able to deal with going back. Seconds. She chewed over that phrase. Then she realized, with despair, she was too late. It was much, much too late. She'd be many years later, maybe in a different place. Still, she could only let the process be finished. And she could only hoped they'd be alive when this was done. So she could get them. If she couldn't have the ones she wanted, she'd have them all.

Her radiant coat shown with the same brilliance of the roses, and like them, if focused on, it would only show the hue of death. Death was not bright. It was greyer than black. Blacker than any night. She made a grotesque picture, permanent stitches of metal threading her body, holding it together like a strange, sad voodoo doll.

Aziza was set down into her deathly surroundings, a devil's creature completed. A horse every inch in mind, she was a demon outside. Now was time to start what hadn't finished well for her. She knew she could not finish it here. But challenges could be made. She let a laugh escape her maw. It sounded like metal scraping metal, not at all a pleasing to hear, almost as if it would shatter your hearing itself if it went on long enough. It was cold enough to freeze. With this sound she was summoning the leader who would be the opposition in her cold new war.

She had selected one in a second. One that was strong and protective, but still so full of innocence and good that it was enough to make him almost angelic. She knew he couldn't be so innocent. That was because of the main reason she had chosen him, and that jutted from his forehead. Yes, she would have her sweet, sweet vengeance.

Aziza was ready to write her Tale of Vendetta, in blood.

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[elemental]

Torment, confusion blood lust. This anxiety of an unknown Revelation was seeping into my reality. I had seemed restless; wandering from place to place, from my obnoxious non stop traveling seemed to have taken me into grips of death. The oxygen knocked from my lungs. The air I breathed was now strangling me, burning my throat. But something intrigued me; I had a sudden erg to continue moving. Was it I being called? I was no noble steed, only a lustful pervert. Wandering these lands with a small lifeless hope to see a silver lithe minx that was mine, but this wasn't her... never. My memories were scorched with my past. It brought on the insanity I have seem to elope with in the past year. I was still deep in its clasp, and unable to move away. My life was slowly being sucked away from me as I refuse to move on. My optics could only imagine myself years ago as my playful stud I had been. But now... I hate myself. And gore, revenge, on the innocents was suddenly a quite friendly offer.

I had seen the clear day turn and fog envelops this realm. I heard, no, felt the damned here. My blood froze over and my pillars couldn't move. It was the same wind that had brought me here. The sudden yearning for a creature I didn't even recognize. But I felt; right to have come within this death trap. And so I continued my jaunty stride. I tripped over roses that held man holes I couldn't see. And if I could recognize beauty, I doubt I would be able to move without being in aw. But none of it mattered. I hated this beauty and would wish it dead at my stare. But power of such was beyond my grasp and never did it reach my mind again. A shiver ran through my spine, from tail to the top of my dial. It ran opposite of which way I normally felt the uncomfortable wave of electricity in my carcass. The hair on my back rose with adrenaline rushing through my veins. I could imagine the veins popping from underneath my hide. I was on such a high from natural produced toxins; I felt I could sprint miles without having the wind knocked out from me. But I was hardly walking and the fog clasped around my throat causing searing pain I refused to notice. Seeing no further then a few feet in front of me, I felt going straight would be my best opposition. And as the wind stopped I was stranded without the coming flow of a scent. I halted my walk. Waiting for some trace of me to recognize the place I was meant to move for. I felt giddy, and excited for what I didn't know. Kicking up my cracking flints I mixed my speed into a sudden adrenaline rush. I couldn't see, and tripped time and time again. I could feel my legs swell with anticipation of the next time they'd fall. Roses thrashed against them, blood flowing so freely. But none of it mattered. The only thing that mattered was the… light up ahead.

I halted myself just before the vision of fog would clear, frozen with a sudden fear. My dial shot up and the cracking of the dieing roses. My optics rolled up as the whites shone brightest. My nares caught an unearthly scent, something that had just been born. But it was not the normal membrane of a newborn. It was ashes of reincarnation. Devils work, or was it the heavens. I could care less of which realm created her for I believe in neither. They were both stories made up so none would fear death but embrace it. I did neither. I simply lived a dull life that went no where. Loved nothing and thought of no one but the minx that had captured my heart. And turned me into the demon I am now. I felt my imagination run off with my labored breathing. I could see myself walking through the mist and just as my hopes would love to see. The lithe silver hue that my search as been caressed for. But as my imagination became more intimate, there was pain grasping for me. And as my fantasy love faded I could suddenly see the death of her. She screamed and then a smile smirked upon her maw. The blood ran from her optics and the top of her neck was slashed by the artery. I felt as if my mind was being invaded. The death took me beyond what dignity I had...Was it true... Was she dead? Or was it some weird doing of these damned souls trying to make my insanity grow.

I grunted through my burning wind pips. 'what have I to loose'' I moved with grudging temptation of curiosity. Who cares if it were to kill me? It’s not like I have anything to live for anymore. I was nothing but a senseless being in this world, another ant frying under a magnified glass. I felt by flints cling to a harder surface then the field I had just come through. And each step carried a light trickling of blood from my pillars imbedded with thorns. And as I could feel no pain from these opened wounds, I sensed the fog dispatching from its original coarse. And by then the equines lithe figured was highlighted from a light layer of fog. I felt wary wandering up to this unearthly creature, trying to catch every word that could be formed by her vocals. But all I heard was her light breath. And it was here I felt confidence in myself knowing she was alive, and had blood running her veins.

This reality felt nothing more then a dream. I was called upon, I had shown, but I do not understand. I pinned my harks in sudden frustration. I wanted nothing more then to spill her blood. For she brought on my sudden rage, even though I hadn't a clear view of her. I emerged through another layer of fog. Always so much fog... My optics traced her long winding scars. Markings of a voodoo doll. Could I stick a needle in her and cause pain to the ones I hated? If so how I'd love to destroy them. Moving forward with no more caution to be seen, but intrigued in her power. How I had such lust for being powerful. Watching her with tentative optics I allowed myself to recognize her. But my chapped maws could carry no more sound then a shallow grunt. And my hide shivered with sensation of a cool breath of the dead watching us…

Status: complete
word count: 1124
notes: well sorry I had to rush through this one, been kinda busy this week but its done now ^-^, Sorry if its a bit confusing and has bad sentence structure, I am really sick, stupid softball coaches can't call of a game when its only 20 degrees out (Fahrenheit) So now I have missed 2 days of school ick.

[faitaccompli]

The return of Aziza. It rang through her head, as nicely as the victory ring of army horns. As pure as foam on the waves. Yet it held death. It was the return of something once so pure, but now it held only crippling destruction and a wont for violent tendency. The return. She filled her deathly crania with the thought. It seemed to cover the pain, cover the fear, and cover the sense of despair Aziza did not want to feel. The phrase left room only for destruction, and more importantly, triumph. The return. Kill. She though it long enough for the echo to be retained in her head as less a thought than sound. So much in fact, she began to whisper it over and over again. The return. To kill. The return. To kill. It was so soft, it could have been mistaken for a sound of wind, had there been any gusts about. She became aware of sound before anything else. How long she had resided in the place she now could hear, she could not guess. It felt like an eternity and yet no time at all. She was aware that she was bound to the place, just as much as the sound she added to its purely death-filled depths.

The second sense she was aware of was her feel. True, as her form changed, she had felt pain, but she could now feel what else lay about her. She sensed the ominous, gloomy calm of the dome. Her new skin felt for the first time the tremors of life that lit it expressly with movement, and with the very thing it should seek to take: life. She shook, shivering in a way that was almost exultant in pride of life. Then she ceased, fearing that if something indeed took an impression of her right now, they would mistake the shaking as fear or weakness. She would never want to make such a first impression on her enemies or those she might side with. She listened and felt in silence now, with no movement. She didn't have to try to add to the environment's already living environment to hear her own life thrumming within her once again. She felt her long, silken strands fall together softly around her frame, and wondered if they were still the coal black she had once possessed. Something told her not to be overly hopeful. She didn't care too much, either way. One did not have to be blackened outside to possess the nature inside. Don't judge a book by it's cover. Maybe that's why she had gained these other sense before sight. She would have to take that more into account.

But now was not the time for thinking. It was for coming back to life. Coming back to pursue the purpose. Now her smell and taste came, and she embraced it. She could scent her surroundings, and taste the terra on which she temporarily resided. She smelled the serenity of the temporary quarters and immediately resented it. Then, she realized it wasn't so bad. It wasn't the peace of a summer valley. No. It was like the calm before the storm, and it sang with hints of other souls long lost in battle and torment. She actually believed she could probably come to like it. But she hoped she wouldn't stay here long enough to find out.

Next to come was her vision. She longed to know more of what lay about her, strewn in calm and collective ruin of eons of broken souls. She felt a suddenly painful need to know what would now confront her. She had been calling them here, calling to them all. Aziza knew what she needed to leave from this place. She needed not just those to take her unto their own side, but also those who would be enemies with the great, ghastly forsaken empire she felt sure she could become. She strained, trying to determine if her occuli lay open or closed. These trifling details could be hard to adjudicate to the possessor of a wretch of one world living in a body put together for another form. She strained for that which she considered her sight, but only achieved the reward of darkness. It was satiating to know that she did, at least, have sight, if she could make out blackness from a former lack of all pigment. As the moments went by, her senses began to coordinate, to become one with the formerly empty broken pelt and broken soul. Piecing something together was not an easy task, and it lead to wondering whether it would ever be able to create a satisfactory result. Aziza knew it would only end in despair if she had been left blinded by her terror in regeneration. She cursed herself for being so weak. She felt her orbs were, indeed, closed and pulled at them, trying a motion as to force her lids to open and let the dismal world stream it's hopeless light into her head.

After futile efforts proved even more so in that nature, Aziza was forced to draw a conclusion. This she did. Her orbs had been, by some cruel twist of fate, sewn shut. She struggled to grasp that knowledge that came with this fact. Her mind suddenly filled with innate knowledge, expressly pertaining to the foul place in which she was residing. Only one part of this proved to benefit her new despairing, exemplifying the manner in which she could regain her sight. Should she be taken out of this realm, her vision would be returned to her. She snorted in indignance. This must be the way the strange force that unified her was teaching her either some type of humility, or a lesson on the importance of seeking the inside hue of the one that she would need as host. She much preferred the latter.

Rummaging through facts in her mind, new and old, she suddenly froze both her thoughts and body. She felt something else, coming closer to where she stood. She could feel it responding to the calling her new bodice seemed to radiate. She lifted her unseeing masterpiece to face the veiled stranger. She spoke no words, but the intensity of her unseeing, blinded gaze seemed to communicate enough. She examined the contents of this soul's character.

She supposed she'd lose this sense when she had come out of this death-dipped valley, but for now she thought little of the sense that was able to spell out for her the parts of another's make-up. Yes, this being, this hard-worn death-haggling stag seemed to be what fate had sent as her revivalist. His cold fury, biting antipathy, and unrequited contempt struck her at her first probing. Underlying, there was something else there too, something that made it seem to Aziza worth risking. His cold soul held a white-hot malevolence that seemed to be transformed in something she could only place as lust. Yes. Aziza knew that the enmity she held and planned to exact in form of revenge could be set off by willing the prime subject at her fore to claim her, and he could become just the host she had been planning to seek after she had met with the one she would need to despise her. Now, if only, she could bait him to her just as efficiently.....

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[bee]

Confusion. It was the only word Capello could possibly use to describe how he felt, his thoughts mixed and jumbled and confused. Everything was confusing. He had suddenly felt the pull of D'Antan to him, but he couldn't quite grasp an understanding of why or how Epiné-Vallée was calling him. He couldn't even begin to comprehend how it was pulling him towards it, as if he were a lowly piece of dust under a vacuum. It didn't hurt, but it was confusing, and he felt a tinge of depression and anxiety in his soul. And so, he set off, without warning to his herd. The Rua was quiet these days, so he had left on a whim, as soon as he felt the urgent tug on him. D'Antan was calling him in a voice and tone he definately could not refuse.

But why had it called him here? To death and beauty, forged into a dome, a bubble almost, of sad happiness, content terror, ugly beauty. The thick fog surrounded his eyes and nostrils, making it harder for him to take shallow breaths of the much needed oxygen. The valley had a certain air to it. It was thick and intoxicating, smuggling and smoldering its living visitors. Epiné-Vallée was dark and dangerous, dead roses with viscious thorns wilting at the base of each tree and rock. But what was strange was that it was almost beautiful in a very strange way. It wasn't easy to describe. The air almost seemed earthly, but after several breaths of the strange atmosphere it was understood that it was very on the contrary. It seemed to have a dab of death and despair, but it also seemed beautiful and wonderous. Again, Capello's head felt overwhelmed with the smog of the valley.

Yet the pull didn't cease. The ivory stag felt the tug on his soul, heart and body. As he got closer, it tugged more. Now, he was in the heart of d'Antan. He was in the realm totally opposite to earth, totally opposite to the Rua in New York. This was where death was thick in the air, and the dome surrounding the Epiné-Vallée was like a cage. A shudder rippled under the fine, short hairs of Capello's sleek grey coat. His long, straight twisted horn lead the way, as usual. He felt pain, suddenly, at his hocks and up his legs. He gazed down to take a look at himself, to spot the source of said sharp stabs of pain, and saw crimson streaks on his flesh and coat. Thorns had ripped his skin, causing wounds to form. Blood rose to the cuts, where the sharp points of the thorns had torn at him. Yet, he kept walking. He shortened his stride to avoid stretching the cuts, to avoid casuing more pain. A small tuft of sleek silver hairs lay on a bunch of thorns, showing which had caused the wound.

His soft, muddy brown orbs spotted two figures through the fog. They looked much like the equine creatures found on earth. One had ugly scars winding around her body, the other seemed completely normal. Capello felt a sudden sympathy for the poor creature marked in such a sad way, especially when he saw the state of her eyes. They were stitched shut. What horrible thing had happened to the poor creature? He quickly made his way over to her. He hoped the poor equine was alright - she had a very troubling appearance, and Capello was sure she couldn't be comfortable. Capello noticed the pulling and tugging at him suddenly stop. He no longer felt that urge to move in a certain direction. He felt slightly started, for it was like a weight was lifted off him.

As Capello approached, his heart dropped. A cold, icy, unfriendly wind surrounded him. Another violent shiver and shudder rocked his body. His warm hearted beated feverishly, trying harder to keep his body warm and pumping blood through his veins. The scarred equine's presence was hatred, almost evil. Why was she like this? Confusion swooped over him once more, overwhelming his system. He struggled to stay positive, stay content, and stay polite and welcoming as he normally was. This terrible presence was almost sucking the happiness out of him. His thoughts rushed to Libby, to the Rua, to new beginnings, and he found himself once more. But the sympathy from moments before had vanished in a matter of mere seconds. His nostrils picked up her scent, which was almost deathly. She was a female, and she was bad. But he was unable to break away from her, unable to run and save himself. His mind screamed to get away from her, but he couldn't make his lean legs cooperate. His hooves seemed rooted to the ground. What was happening?

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[faitaccompli]

The amiss nature of time slowly ticking by made Aziza grow more uncomfortable. Time seemed to trickle between the two worlds like sand in an hour glass, passing from one side to the other, seemingly slow, but in actuality, moving quite fast. She was relived, however, that it must be passing at a normal rate now, because the other two mortals would keep the valley's clock in parallel with the real world. If she let them escape, however, the chaos of time and space would resume. She would not let them escape without her bidding done upon them.

To one, she would need to attach. She would have to make him welcome her to use him to get out of the ghastly realm that was, at the moment, her sole dwelling. This would indeed be the tougher of the two tasks, considering that the other would have to consent, and not merely listen to what she had to say. She wasn't overly concerned, though, because the consent wouldn't be hard to achieve after she revealed her intentions to him if he were truly the right soul for her host. She was more concerned whether she had picked the right horse or not. She knew that it was too late to question her decision now, though, because this was the one that would have to be it. Once she escaped this realm, she knew her vision would return and hopefully some of her muscular power. This realm claimed the strength and vision of its residents while they resided within. It was a small price to pay, considering it was only temporary. However, it certainly did not work to her advantage at the moment.

The other soul was here singly for the purport of Aziza's vengeance. Of course, she could not bring that in full here. It would have to come later, when she had become strong outside of the realm. For now, all she could do was announce the fact that they were to become the greatest of enemies. She would make it known this would be a great conflict, and make it known that it would not go without loss before defeat. She would not convey any of her glory or pride to him, not even her satisfied confidence that she would win. No, that was only for her. She would instead express that what he had in store was pain, misery, and terrible agony.

She felt him approaching. She could not see him, so she based her impression based on what she could feel of him. He seemed very confused as he came. He did not resist. He almost seemed to welcome something different. Then, he must have realized that he was not entering something that would benefit him, for he began to oppose the ideas that seemed to morph into the physical appearance of the realm to pull him there. Aziza now realized the curse of being bound to the valley for the moment could work to her advantage. She called these beings here, and now she could use the same valley that borrowed her power to hold power over the mortals.

He came forward now, and she rejected him suddenly. He exemplified a body of sympathy. She did not accept anyone's sympathy, but this was particularly detrimental to her current picturage. Having her enemy feel sorry for her contradicted all that she set store in. She did not wish for his pity, and she wished even more for him to hate her. It would make her victory so much more sweet.

She used her power to call to life the thorns. She felt him slipping away at her rejection of his sentiments. She willed to grab him, and they did as they were bid. That was enough to secure his presence once more. She let them release him, but then lashed out with them at him once again, sinking their spiny teeth into his exposed flesh. She wished these wounds would last once they came out of the realm, but like her vision, they were attached to the valley, most likely. They would probably go away upon his return, but his energy would be drained from that happening, since they valley would be claiming the energy in return for healing. Or, maybe, she'd have a nice surprise and see him shattered and scarred upon their next confrontation. If not, she'd like to re-do those scars with her own hooves. In fact, that more pleasing.

Yes. Aziza knew he was now on the right track in his feelings. He was closer to revulsion, with an underlying coat of horror at her soul-scarred being. She had him right where she needed him. She turned her grotesquely mask'd face toward him. She could not speak words here, so no sound came from her lips. Instead, she inserted her words as thoughts into Capello's crania alone.

You. I will have my vengeance. I will destroy you and all of your kind. And we will fight; yes, we will fight. I warn you now; prepare yourself. She let those last words ring ominously, as only they could in unspoken thought, reverberating in electrical signals of the brain. She let the message she could not say to him even in thought be conveyed through the feelings she sent through him.

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