`` an unshiftable burden. [dante]

There are two main points of interest for anyone with enough time on her hands to analyze how The Shade handled this encounter.

The first is that he hadn't used his voice in so long, hadn't seen another horse in so long, that he was caught off-guard for a moment by the sound of words spoken aloud, and in the space of half a breath wondered if he had the same capability to speak. It was as if he'd forgotten his voice even existed, or at least, as if he'd forgotten entirely how to use it.

The second is that he was so enraptured by the stars twinkling away up there, just the few he could see between the limbs of these towering trees, that his immediate reaction to the sort of stymied, murky realization that another stood with him beneath the dark sky was not what it should have been. That is to say, he ought to have worried. He was no soft-foot turned vagrant; he was an Agriculturalist, and he ought to have worried. He would have worried, flashed the reprimand across his mind, had he still been an Agriculturalist in the mountains and foothills and coves of Aquore. 

And so with the next inhalation, The Shade's blue-in-black eyes widened and his head snapped forward on his neck, relieving the tension in his spine and creating a tension in his psyche. Fool, he thought. They'll have you for this.

With pinned ears and a tail tucked tight against his haunches, The Shade addressed the other by turning his head slightly and speaking over his shoulder. 

"How many should I expect?"


words: 272
tags: Superior-Caesar
notes: sorry for the rambles; it's all i could come up with! ^^;

Incorrigible. Cocksure. Callow.

His skin bore the scars of a well-weathered soul, but his tongue was clean. What sort of youth does that to a person? What sort of person adapts that way? To be battered and beaten and broken time and again, and to reflect none of it (or all of it?) in his speech to an utter stranger?

The Shade's eyes had been narrowed already in suspicion, and now they remained so in silent scrutiny of the juxtaposition living in this young stallion.

Not my children, thought The Shade, feeling his chest contract with a rush of protective impulse. It was a reaction to the images his brain conjured in response to the questions lingering in the air.

"Attacked by what?" he asked, his tail relaxing slightly so as to fall further away from his haunches.

There were two motives for his question.

First, as much as he'd read about the other nations in books and been told about their mysteries by travellers far wearier than he, The Shade had never crossed Aquore's borders until this journey, and so almost everything he'd seen since descending into Sirith had been new to his ocean-bright eyes. If the attack had been one of predation, chances were the predator was one The Shade had never yet encountered, let alone battled or escaped. (It was here that he experienced his first fond nostalgia for jaguars.)

Second, everyone knew the tales of the Cultists, the wandering Vagabond Asylum in which those violent fools played both warden and ward, both victim and villain. If the attack had been by another equid, and not by predators' claws, that was another worry entirely.


words: 277
tags: Superior-Caesar
notes: sorry for the late reply! i should have told you i was going out of town this past weekend, apologies for that. ^^;

Was this some kind of tactic by the Cultists to -- to what, to put him off-guard through a repertoire of absurd juxtapositions?

The Shade scanned the trees around him with his eyes and his ears at the same time, but quicker with one set than the other. While his eyes flickered back to the spotted, scarred young stallion named Dante, his one remaining ear swiveled atop his head as it attempted to collect suspicious sounds from the forest. The stubby remains of what had once been a similarly fine ear on the left side of his head did the same, but because it was missing all but a few scraps of cartilage, the effect was rather invisible.

Was the point of this encounter to distract him with his own curiosity? They'd chosen a good piece of bait if it was. Dante looked like hell, but spoke like any other youth, and that was by far one of the most curious things The Shade had seen since leaving his tropical home.

And it was as Dante said the word nothing that The Shade realized he, too, had nothing.

He had nothing to lose by losing his life; he'd thrown all that away and put it to rest at the northern foot of the Barrier Mountains. He realized now that while he'd been ready and willing to die by Nature's own hand, dying by the will of another equine had disturbed him until this point. Why else would he worry over Cultists, for gods' sakes? The Vagabond Asylum is nothing to fear for the soul which has already run its course.

Like a rush of water over a swelling stone, The Shade turned his hindquarters away from Dante for the first time, and faced him.

"I'm going to Valore," he said, and while it hadn't been necessarily true at the beginning of the encounter, he found that the words reached his lips with no hint of a lie. "The crazies get you anywhere?"

Because like hell would one of his children get an infection from someone else's grime.


words: 346
tags: Superior-Caesar
notes: he's decided to like dante ❤

And why not, right?

If he didn't start having adventures now, would they ever come?

I mean, I guess you could call his whole life a series of small adventures -- not in the sappy sort of way that overly-optimistic people characterize mundane tasks as "adventure" in the aggregate, but in the way that every day was literally an adventure in the life of a Talorian Agriculturalist who specialized in cultivating the Wilds.

But it's not the same as -- as --

As what, as being a risk-oriented "yes man"?

He'd left his home and the comfort of his family because he was dissatisfied there, dissatisfied with his soul and utterly over the idea of himself in that world.

Was it more him in this world to agree to this excursion?

He couldn't be sure, but he wanted to say "yes" anyways, if only to keep an eye on this youth.

(But there wasn't only one reason, was there? So he'd have agreed regardless.)

It took a great deal of self-control to keep his expression blank (or at least, as close to blank as his normal level of expressed choler could allow) as the young stallion offered reasons to accompany his help. Fortunately, The Shade had spent the greater part of his life mastering his self-control, and so the task was no trouble to him.

With a gruff monotone to his voice, the black horse replied coolly, never taking his bright, royal-blue eyes off the other.

"Name your price."


words: 246
tags: Superior-Caesar
notes: ❤

It really was a wonder this one hadn't been killed yet.

The way he spoke, the way he acted -- everything about him, if The Shade had been blindfolded during their entire encounter, would have led the old stallion to believe that this was a horse who could've belonged to any old normal family in his little hometown in Aquore. He could've been one of Sindri's friends, or one of those hotheaded young boys who like to play at being Rogue, or one of the ones who have years yet to discover that the life of a Guardsman requires more discipline than they imagined possessing, or one who has but hours to discover that Agriculturalism requires the most rigorous character of all. 

And the way he looked -- if he'd never spoken, if he'd never said a word, The Shade would have thought that Dante was a lunatic run mad by the Asylum, or that he was some poor soul escaped from the pits of Valore, and that he had too many years on his mind for his body to handle.

The black stallion could not -- could not -- get over the juxtaposition. 

But he could make a deal.

"I'll give you a name," said The Shade, "and a tale for a tale."

It was his counter-offer, and it did not include currency.


words: 220
tags: Superior-Caesar
notes: grumpy old man inc :'D

So eager to give away what was his own, this young horse. Or maybe it was some sort of nervous tick? It was twice now he’d said the exact same words as introduction. I’m Dante, by the way. The Shade was more than willing to count this phenomenon as further evidence of the boy’s wrongness, filing the introductions away neatly into the “proof he’s addled” category. If Dante was addled, the juxtaposition of his demeanor and his appearance could be largely explained, and The Shade loved perhaps nothing so dearly as a good, solid explanation. It was the Talorian upbringing, probably.

Or maybe Dante just wanted to hear his name on a creature’s lips before he slaughtered it.

Because The Shade still couldn’t be sure that he wasn’t dealing with one of the crazies, as it were, and while he’d decided that his own life was of next to no consequence during this little late-life crusade of his, the matte black horse would have appreciated a heads-up if he was destined for a shallow roadside grave.

But no matter; no matter. We’d decided to trust him, hadn’t we? Give him what he wants.

“Yes,” said The Shade. “So you said.” He fell into step not quite abreast of his new traveling companion, some feet away and about a half-length behind, letting the younger stallion take a slight lead as they forged ahead together on the remote trail. “I am The Shade.”

The formality of his own words was not lost upon him. It was the first time he’d said his Name aloud to anyone. It was the first time anyone had asked, and kept asking, and insisted on having it.

The flesh-scribe who’d infused black ink into his skin and coat so as to make him black almost by nature hadn’t asked for it. Hadn’t spoken nearly a word, just took the currency offered, looked at the job to be done, grit teeth, and set to work.

The various creatures he’d encountered thus far while travelling across the wide expanse of Sirith’s topside hadn’t asked for it. Or rather, most of them hadn’t gotten the chance – he was wary of other people now in a way he hadn’t been before. Those who’d surprised him or who he needed to contract with along his journey had asked perhaps once, and when met with his stony silence and marked avoidance of the subject, had never asked again.

And so he’d never said it out loud, and to say it now felt very final. Very empowering, sure, but very final, too.

Now, for the first time, the world knew him as he was.

He was The Shade.


words: 448
tags: Superior-Caesar
notes: I'm posting this from my phone; I hope it works! :'D

The Shade fixed a cool, blue gaze on his young companion as they walked, studying him unabashedly.

His one remaining ear scanned the forest around them as they moved, keeping the older stallion tethered to the world by the abstract thread of sound. He would not float away this time.

But the dawn was fast approaching now, and he could almost see the silhouette of the trees against the sky. The threat of light made him uneasy.

It wasn't that he was some kind of nocturnal kook -- just that in this new life, in this old body, he preferred to travel under cover of darkness, shielded from the eyes of the world. But here were eyes in the dark, the young man's eyes, so what did it matter if they traveled in daylight as well as by night? He was already seen, already known to be here.

But Dante's eyes were just one pair, just one pair, and The Shade didn't know how many pairs he wanted to enlighten to his existence in this part of the world.

Best out himself now. Best raise the issue and let the young man fight it if he wanted to fight it.

In his deep, gravelly voice, rasping with disuse, The Shade said, "I shall cease my travel come daylight."


words: 217
tags: Superior-Caesar
notes: sorry for the wait! i've been a bit fatigued from real life lately :'D