ORIGIN

Khloros was ambling silently through the shadows that hung over the wall on this side of Orion. The ceiling high above seemed to sparkle and reflect, its faint light gleaming down over the ground below; but here, along the wall, he was barely even visible.

He wasn't hiding, exactly. He just wasn't ready to be seen.

The black horse--now large, fully-grown, though lanky and rail-thin--seemed to drift along the shadowed pathway, stalking more like a wolf than an equine. Only his eyes, glowing pale green-white in the darkness, gave him away.

He was looking for the self-styled Lord of the region, a stag, from the description, named Hasira. He was curious; the skinny creature watching over her unborn child had seemed frightened of him, distressed by his existence. The faint malice in Khloros had been stirred, a strange mix of justice and sadism.

He wasn't sure what he wanted to do, just yet, even if he did find this Lord. But he had had little better to do, and he wished, at least, to seek him out. To see him for himself. Then he could decide.

The black horse emerged at last from the shadowed wall, only to slip into the darkness between Orion's dwellings. He was briefly visible: a miasma of death and illness, his skin sloughed off in places, his hide matted with pus and illness, his coat dull. His ribs and hips jutted from a fleshless skeleton of a body, his neck too thin almost to even be held up, at least so it looked.

There was a strange coliseum-like area: an open structure consisting of seating arranged around a central area.

Khloros stepped quietly inside, looking around, stalking through the darkness of its columns and into the starlit center. There he stopped, peering around in curious silence.

Perhaps Hasira would notice him there; or perhaps Khloros would have to move on, and seek him elsewhere.

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BRING OUT YOUR DEAD

The stag was currently unaware of anything else as he lay before the throne, staring at his golden child with his dark core of shadow. Little else mattered besides the little god, his goddess, and his army. The carnivores outside of his realm didn't bother him. They would get theirs in due time but for now he had to focus on guarding this growing thing so the Goddess of Darkness would be pleased and so the herbivores would have a real ruler... A king.

His steely eyes bored into the core, watching the swirling darkness of the growing creature. It beckoned to him, calling to his soul with disclosure. Everything made so much sense, all of the things falling into place. He had killed Wynry's murderer and now he just had to wait for the perfect child to be born. The savior of the herbivorous race.

The revolution would come and it would be glorious.

It was a whispering, some sort of beckoning that called to him suddenly. Like an echo or a voice of a long gone spirits. Wynry? Was it his lost brother speaking to him beyond the grave? At times he did that so it would be no strange thing now.

The stag's tattered ears lifted and he turned his great antlered head to the forum. There was a strange site. A horse as dark as night itself with glowing eyes stood there, silently. Had it not been Wynry calling to him but the whispering voice of this wraith? The stag shuddered with a mixture of trepidation and anticipation. This wraith was calling to him and he had to answer. He knew the gods toyed with him, Belladonna showed that but he didn't think he'd get a visit from another besides her and his child.

He whispered a temporary farewell to the unborn child before turning and making his way to the platform.

He did not ascend once he arrived and instead stood before the plague-creature. Now up close he could see the rot of his belt and even more he could see the otherwordly glow in his eyes. Yes. This was no mortal but some sort of god come to visit him. For a moment the stag did nothing but only dipped his head. "Have you come to me by the call of the Dark Goddess? What would you wish to tell me, God of Plagues?" For that was what he looked like. Like the raven that his Lady had found. Perhaps because they didn't take the form of deer they were lesser gods but still very powerful and to be revered and honored.

Khloros was letting his pale gaze drift over the amphitheatre-like building in silence, when the quiet click, click, click of hooves drew his attention.

His long head swung toward the source of the sound: a reddish stag, his antlers long and branching, their tines sharp. He seemed battle-scarred, ears tattered, and he greeted Khloros, to the horse's surprise, as a god.

Then again, so had the white raven, in a sense, though with far less reverence.

He was surprised, even if he did not show it. Was this was Rafael had meant...? Is this how he was different? A god among the others? Who was this Dark Goddess? Khloros briefly considered all of this. He did not have enough information, for now, and so his godhood remained a "maybe." But the fact remained that this stag considered him a god; and that he was here, in fact, to find a stag.

Regardless of whether he was a god, he would use this knowledge. If Hasira believed him a god, then Khloros saw no reason to correct his assumption.

Especially when he might be right.

"I have come looking for Hasira," Khloros rasped, his voice hollow. He did not swish his tail, or snort, or any of the idle movements a healthy horse would make. Instead he simply stood, staring unblinking at the stag.

"I have come to ask why the others are afraid of him. I have come to ask what he has done."

Khloros made it sound like a crime, and in a sense, so it was. The starving capybara had been miserable, afraid, afraid even to flee. He wanted to know why.

He stepped forward, trying to close the distance between them--not in a threatening way, or even impressive, just coming closer, as one would draw close to another for polite conversation. His hooves tapped on the stone, a very real sound, not at all ethereal or shadowy. He was flesh and bone, whether Hasira considered that flesh and bone that of a god, or not.

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BRING OUT YOUR DEAD

After his head dip and polite words his eyes once more found the Plague God. The strange horse did not move an inch. He simply stared with those unsettling eyes, those eyes not meant for a normal creature. Despite all of his bravado and his pride he was unable to hold that gaze. Besides, if this was truly a Plague God then he might take offense to being stared at. So, the stag simply averted his eyes to the ground in a respectful manner while he listened to those hollow words. A shudder wracked his spine as he answered, "I am Lord Hasira. I am the one you seek."

At the next series of questions he lifted his eyes briefly before lowering them again. He could hear the clicks of the creature as they came closer. Was he being appraised? Examined to determine if Belladonna was correct in using him for her dastardly plans? He hoped that he passed this Minor God's inspections. He needed all of the help he could get to bring the carnivorous scum to their knees. He wondered what his son would think of this Plague God? Would he be afraid as Hasira was for he certainly could feel the mortal fear gnawing at his gut... Probably not. His son would be made of sterner stuff. Perfection in a mortal cloak.

The words, spoken as the creature came closer sounded accusatory. Was the Plague God offended that he was doing his job? Certainly not. Yet he couldn't help but feel wrong about what he had done. "The Lord of Herbivores has done nothing but what the Gods have willed of him. He has brought power to the herbivores and fear into the hearts of the carnivores." He paused. Would leaving anything out be beneficial? Probably not. Belladonna could read him like a book and he was sure that this one would be able to too. So, he went on, "As is necessary, sacrifices must be made. By nature your creatures, the herbivores, are weak-willed and innocent and kindhearted. They do not want to fight or do what is necessary to ensure that the carnivores are kept in line. It is not a bad thing that herbivores are gentle by nature but some must be... cast aside for the greater good of the others." Here he was thinking of Carrie, a casualty but one that couldn't be helped. She was weak and weakness could not be tolerated any longer in this revolution. "As far as I know there is only one other herbivore that is afraid of me while many carnivores hold fear in their hearts, as is right. I ensure the safety and protection of many at very minimal cost." Did he feel good about what he was doing? Yes. He saw himself completely in the right and while the Plague God stood close to him he felt his heart to be pure and clean. Surely the god would see the same.

"Have I met your will, my Lord?"

Khloros listened to everything Hasira said, and he did so in utter silence. His mind took each word in, each statement, laying it out side-by-side and considering it.

He was a protector. Carnivores...? Khloros cast his mind back. The carnivores he had known were few, but he remembered Louie, and the issues the fox had wrought. Despite his pity for him, he had been a threat. Baratheon...? He wasn't sure. He still didn't really consider the white dragon to have been a particularly good point in Booker's life, whatever his little friend said.

So for a time, motionless, silent, Khloros simply thought. He left the stag standing as he mulled it all over, calculating, his thoughts drawing to their conclusion.

"It is not good that they fear," he said at last, also thinking of Carrie, though of course he did not know this stag "lord's" thoughts. Why was he a lord, then...?

Eyes drifted over the stag's form, and he considered, again, for a time.

"Why do you speak as 'Lord.'" It was a statement, rather than a question, though Khloros wished an answer; and it was quickly followed up. "If you wish to create a kingdom, it must not be filled with pain and fear. It must be perfect. You must never turn your world into a hell, to 'save' it. Or then you have not saved it at all. And then it must be purged."

This was what he firmly believed, one way or another. Those in pain, they ought to be given relief. Those afraid, should be released from that fear. In Carrie's case, Hasira was the cause of the fear, and so he had come here. In Hasira's case, however... Was the stag in pain?

"A second question. 'Lord.' Hasira."

The horse's hollow, empty voice rasped through the open ruin like a dry wind, and he drew even closer, lowering his head to meet Hasira's gaze with his own, to catch it and to hold it. That voice then dropped, soft, a whisper of a sickly breeze.

"Are you in pain?"

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BRING OUT YOUR DEAD

The deathly silence that followed left his fur and and skin prickling beneath, setting the hair along his back straight. It seemed like forever before the Plague God finally spoke. It wasn't good that they feared? Why? Fear was something that brought obedience! Fear was a thing that kept the carnivores in line. His ears shivered at the base as he tried to keep them from pinning in his brief flicker of anger. He didn't need the God to see that he had lost his cool. To hide the flicking ears he shook his head and wrangled the sensation back under control, stilling the wayward shivers.

The diseased horse went on to explain his reasoning. He mulled it over for a moment before he offered his own words back, his voice was low and level as he tried not to anger the Plague God. "I speak as a Lord because the herbivores need a leader and I am the one who has rose to the challenge where the others have faltered. The kingdom... I do not necessarily wish all of my herbivores to fear me. They simply must learn to obey for obedience is loyalty and loyalty is what I need to rule. It is also what my Goddess preaches. She speaks the failures and the fears of my subjects so that they may be better. The strong can accept her words and become better for it but the weak... they fail. I accepted her words and look, I am better. Still, I am not perfect and neither is my kingdom. I rule with guidance from the Goddess of Darkness until my son comes to take my burden over. Like you he will be a God and he will be Perfection. The Perfection that this kingdom needs." As a God, Hasira thought that the horse would understand. Or were the Gods at odds with each other? Was Belladonna's will so perfect that even the lesser gods couldn't understand it?

He was disturbed from his thoughts at the horse's next words and he pricked his tattered ears to better hear the sublime words. He could feel the Plague God coming closer, the scent of rot became prominent in his nostrils. He wanted to flee but he had not yet been dismissed and it would be the height of folly to anger such a powerful creature. The head dropped and he could see those glowing eyes. He wanted to look away from the powerful gaze but he couldn't, he was too close and the pull too strong. Fascinated and terrified he found his steel-gray eyes held.

The stag felt compelled to answer truthfully, to spill his inner soul to the creature. Perhaps that was one of his powers, not only to look within but force the truth from his victims with those sickly, bright pools. "I-I-I... I was in pain, for a very long time. I was in pain and in denial before I met my Goddess but she cured me and showed me a new way and a new purpose." His eyes took on a faraway look that seemed positively insane with the content smile that curved about his muzzle. "That sweet Goddess... What she whispered to me that fateful day. She told me my true soul and gave me release. Do you know what she whispered in my ear with her sweet voice?" The Lord blinked, his eyes focusing on those diseased lights. "'Love is for the weak.' I realize now that only the strong can toss it aside and be free from its torment to become perfect. So, yes, Plague God, I was in pain but now I am no longer." He didn't move now. Only waited to see what other things this god in mortal flesh would say.

The stag's words came in a torrent, though they seemed to be carefully-considered. Khloros listened, again silent, again giving each word the consideration it deserved.

Love is for the weak.

This struck him as wrong, yet he considered it nonetheless. He had pushed his own emotions away, had he not? But he had not obliterated them, no. He had simply learned to control himself over them. Or had he...? Did he love? For a time he was lost in himself, thinking this over, prodding his heart for any hint of warmth. There was some for Booker, yes--and for Nemesis, the rhinoceros--no, trinoceros--in Monoceros. At the thought of each of them, something warm flared up, something defiant and protective.

Khloros raised his gaze again to meet the stag's, thinking over the other words, all of them in turn. He spoke again of his goddess. Of a son. Of the weak, the strong, of obedience, of loyalty, of perfection.

Again Khloros was silent for a time, going over each thought again and again. For several long minutes, in fact, he simply stood, motionless. It was almost as if he had drifted off, fallen asleep standing up, but for his glowing eyes that remained locked on Hasira.

Eventually, abruptly, his voice rasped forth again. It was still a mild, calm tone, still gentle, without malice. He found that, as the stag faltered in his speech, he had discovered some measure of pity for it.

"Rejecting warmth is for the weak, but wise, who cannot sustain it." Khloros came to this decision aloud, at last. It sounded like old wisdom, but it was merely his logic, and he was only coming to this conclusion now. "The strong are driven by it. Not broken by it."

For a moment longer he paused, flicking one ear as if to listen to something that was not there. Then he took another step closer, finally drawing very close to Vazi. Yet he still stopped a pace or two away.

"If it is strength that you value, and weakness you would push away... if it is a kingdom you will build, then you must be tested. Step forth, Hasira, and be tested. You will be lord, or nothing."

Khloros then stood silent, leaving it to Vazi whether he would close the distance between them, and submit to the black horse's 'test'--or stand where he was.

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BRING OUT YOUR DEAD

"Rejecting warmth is for the weak, but wise, who cannot sustain it." He thought this over. The words tumbling around in his head like a rock caught in a tornado. In a way the stallion was calling him weak but he was certainly correct in that assumption. He still felt love in his heart no matter how much he denied it. He loved his son, he loved Clover, he still loved Wynry despite knowing it was a weakness. He was wise to try to sustain it but still weak... He would not contest what was said. Simply listen to the God's words. The stag said nothing in reply and only nodded, silently showing that he accepted what was said.

It was with the next words that he found confusion. Driven but not broken by it? Did not all those who were driven by love broken in the end? His "children" loved him but it just showed how easily they were controlled. Almost as if he was speaking to himself the stag whispered with but a single breath, "But aren't we all broken by it, in the end?" Then he was silent once more as he let the rhetoric lose on the stilled air.

His eyes were still drawn into that haunted stare as the distance was closed yet again. The Plague God released a challenge onto the wind, told him to step forward and test his status. The stag's great antlers lifted as he tilted his head and considered. The test of a Plague God seemed like a temptation of fate. Did he really want to leave his fate up to the God after he'd been played with for so long? Well, he didn't have much of a choice. If he left now or backed down he would show that he was afraid, that the love in his heart had won out. Hasira didn't want that. No. He would step up and fate would be tempted today under the twinkling of the false stars.

The stag's hooves could heard clicking on the earth as he stepped forward until he was but a breath away from the dark stallion of death. His head lowered as he submitted himself to the Plague God's will. "Test me, O God, I am yours." Then he was still. Breath misting the air as he waited for the judgement.

Khloros listened. He watched. He could see the stag's thoughts whirl, almost as if they danced above his head. And, unblinking, he could see too Hasira's acceptance of his request, even before he spoke.

Test me, O God, he said. I am yours.

Khloros stood for a moment, watching, his mind dispassionately standing apart from any muted emotions he held. He could feel that he felt pity for the stag, vague and distant as it was. He could feel that he wished redemption for him.

Sometimes, such things only came through hard trials. Some trials only took place in the mind. He had learned this from Louie.

The black horse slid forward, calling on his magic slowly. It was as if he savored it, but no, he was only giving it time to draw up, to fester. He drew close to Hasira, as close as he dared, then paused.

Time stretched.

He reached his long head out, blowing warm air along the stag's neck. He brushed a velveteen muzzle over scarred fur, and slipped up alongside him, brushing flank to flank, almost sensual, should the Lord allow it. As he went he flared his nostrils, inhaling, taking in Vazi's scent. He circled, coming around the other side, trailing mouth and nose along his hide.

The scarred deer did not smell of rot, or death. And despite his scars, he did not smell diseased, infected, or wounded. He smelled healthy.

"You will be tested," Khloros murmured, his rasping voice a near-whisper. "Fate judges you. Should you survive, and be found strong... then seek warmth once more. The living are not meant to live alone, and cold. There is meant to be light and warmth for you. If there is not, then this... will send you into darkness, and you will not return. You will die. As do all."

The words made sense, to him... Hasira would die, or he would survive. If fate dragged him to his death, then Carrie and the others would find themselves free of fear. If he survived, then perhaps he would seek some warmth once more, and freedom from his pain and loneliness.

Perhaps not.

Khloros could not know this--he was no true God, after all. Or so he imagined. But he could try his best to manipulate Hasira, to use the stag's beliefs to drive him the way Khloros intended him to go.

The plague would take root, or it would not. Khloros called his magic up, felt it gently swirling, reacting to him, gathering for him at his call. All was as it should be. He reached the stag's head again, and leaned up against him, alongside him, bone to flesh, pus to hide. He turned his head just slightly, in a gesture that would be almost affectionate from any other beast, laying his head alongside the stag's.

Sharing his breath with him.

His touch.

His plague.

His gift.

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BRING OUT YOUR DEAD

He waited... And waited... And waited. The stag could hear when the Plague God came closer but then for a while nothing else happened. The red deer stood still and silent as he waited on the test of the God. He did not dare glance upwards for fear of something even more terrible happening. Perhaps the horse was preparing for some sort of blast or spell and if he made eye contact it might make everything worse for the stag. His eyes then closed as he tried to focus on something else, anything else besides what was to come.

Then, after what felt like an eternity it finally happened.

Warm air ruffled the thick fur at his neck along with a brush along that side, disturbing the fur and making him flinch slightly. It began. Hasira stood stock still, scarcely breathing for fear of disrupting whatever it was the stallion was doing. The red hart's fur prickled strangely as he felt the gentle touches along his flanks and his body. Even as he tried to keep still he couldn't help the shivers that wracked his body at the touch of the malnourished body and the scent of death that clung to the dark beast's body.

The words came as a shock but still his eyes remained tightly shut. If survived he should seek love once more and if the opposite happened then his current path was correct? It seemed directly contrary to the Goddess in his life but who knew what would happen? Perhaps the two gods had conspired with one another and the doe would finish him off. His heart felt cold and heavy in his chest like a great weight had been applied to it. His own fate was out of his hands and with these cruel gods who knew what was to happen. The stag nodded though, to show that he understood and accepted whatever would happen to him.

Finally the stallion came to rest at his side. The emaciated body felt absolutely disgusting pressed against his own and that putrid breath was never worse than it was now. The stag's eyes remained closed and his breathing, though he was trying to keep it even, was starting to speed up with his fear. What exactly had the Plague God given him? What would happen in these coming days? It was driving him mad not knowing and yet he still did nothing. The God would tell him when he was free to go and what he should do next, until then he would keep his head lowered respectfully and eyes away from his divine form.