Synopsis: Forbidden Blossom comes to Walker in Darkness with an offer.

Location: Walker's Camp

Recorded: June 16, 2009

Cast: Forbidden Blossom, Walker in Darkness (via Mela)

The camp is in something of a state of dissarray. The Black Psychopomp is very agitated. Failure means somebody must be blamed. Many officers have been destroyed, replaced or demoted. Fresh green people are now in charge. They are terrified. A sense of inertia is growing. They've recently had to chart a new direction through wilderness, significantly augmenting travel time to the Empty City, and the Master is upset that people may be in his city breaking his toys without his permission."

The Emissaries are not truly alive - no more so than a man of clockwork would be, only instead of a brass frame and wire systems, it is made of bones and dry dust. It reacts with none of the respect or fear you might expect. Placidly, and with a languid air that suggests such things are everyday, it leads you to the tent of the master.

And when you see him, this thirteen foot tall baron with blue skin and glowing orange eyes, he is something of a horror. With interest, he leans forward and examines the visitor closely.

<<< Another, hmm? Falling out of the sky. >>>

Forbidden Blossom follows along. She has walked in Malfeas but recently, so simple horrors like this hardly get the raise of a eyebrow from her. Moving after with patient steps, she slips into the tent. But as she comes upon the Deathlord, her eyes widen in a more surprised expression.

But then, quickly, she curtsies deeply , hardly forgetting her manners. "Walker in Darkness, of Walker's Realm, master of Pyrron's ashes, general of this army. I thank you for your valuable time in meeting with me, and I hope my offer will be of some interest after your certain victory." She rises, smiling politely. "I am Forbidden Blossom, child of the Ebon Dragon."

The creature does not speak. It thinks. It examines the curtsy with harsh skepticism, as though it believes the gesture somehow insincere. <<< The Liar Dragon. Wonderful. >>> The mental voice can convey sarcasm easily. He has the tight face of a father speaking to the man who murdered his daughter. Total. Complete. Hate. Barely concealed, under a pretention of civility. <<< So. >>>

Walker flexes his hand constantly, glove leather stretching. He trembled slightly. He looks very, very angry.

Spreading her hands in a defeated gesture, Blossom says with a sigh, "Ah, but I know better than to lie to you, for I imagine you could see through any mistruth I might fashion." She looks to Walker, just barely not meeting his eyes. It's a bit hard for even her to manage. "So I have come to offer my services-" Go through with the pitch, there's not much to lose at this point. "- if you would have them.' She relaxes her body posture. "Should I elaborate?", she asks. "Apologies if I have somehow offended; I had thought informing you of my nature up front would be for the best. It wouldn't do to begin any sort of agreement on a hollow pretense."

<<< What need could I possible have for the tools of your pathetic master. >>>

Yet, after a moment or two, the ghost seems to reconsider.

<<< Yes. Elaborate. I am... not... offended. My heart is filled with love and forgiveness for the Creation that I once walked. I am... hard... to offend. >>>

He sneers as he thinks this. He looks vaguely disgusted.

Forbidden Blossom laughs gently, as if not so offended. "You can be whatever you like. I need not niceties." She steps forward. "Perhaps our masters are now too far divorced. They may be kin, but they will never be brothers again, after... well." She takes a deep breath. There is fear in her, but she hides it well, wrapping it in a bit of madness as she focuses on the thing before her.

"I would like to serve as an emissary. We have, if not common ground, common opposition. Exchanges could be made, information on our foes, weapons, soldiers... not a formal alliance, of course, that would suit neither of our sides, but a means of dialogue." A beat, and then, "On a more personal level, I can offer my voice. After the victory at Densandor, I would not think your opposition ceased. But, perhaps, it can be vexed."

<<< I know him. Your master. I have spoken with him. >>> The creature leans forward, here, to stare with some intensity. <<< I have seen inside of his soul. The others? They are beyond my forgiveness. They don't seek redemption. But the Liar Dragon... >>>

<<< Opposition? >>> He seems not to understand.

"Truly? How interesting!", Blossom says with unrestrained curiosity. But she doesn't press it, of course, just letting it hang a moment before clarifying. "Chronopolis, Vir Sidus, other toys of the Solars. Though I'm sure you will grind any who oppose into their graves... I'm certain it must be inconvenient.""

<<< Children. >>> The Walker in Darkness intones, tapping his fingers together. <<< Mere children. I knew him, the Time Lord. When he was... greater. He was young when I was old. Since then, I have Descended. My power is unmatchable. His newest shade is... an amusement, at best. The token gestures they make to spurn me are such insult that I may deny my grace from Creation and allow it to wallow in darkness if he persists. Disgusting, the selfishness. Such... barbarism. >>> Sincere loathing.

Walker clutches an empty goblet next to him and throws it. It clatters to the ground. It was filled, apparantly, with a liquid that the supernaturally acute might recognise as tears.

Silence, for a short period of time. Then, Blossom's tone is more serious. "Even children can be loathsome brats, irritants to their core. If you are to give your blessing to Creation, it will need more than soldiers. It will need words, lest every mortal in the East throw themselves into the waiting maw of your armies." She looks to the cup. "As as much as your cause might convience, you are not one of them anymore, nor are your servants, and until they all join you on the other side, you will have many more insults before this is through." Returning her gaze to Walker, she adds, "I hope I do not speak with too much presumption, Deathlord. But those greater than us, whom were serve, were indeed unmatchable. And yet, somehow, they fell."

For a moment, the dead king... his mind not entirely, or even mostly, his own... looks immensely sad. Then, a rage overtakes him, a rage that rolls like a thunder and causes him to explode upward from his thrown. His faux anima banner, a Night Caste, manifests. He roars, in his own voice... not telepathy, mind you, but his own horrible voice... "THEY? No, not yours. No. /They/ did NOT fall!" A massive finger points accusingly, fangs present, hair animate and thrashing upon his skull. Eyes, horrible. His speech is layered over with the subtle and infectuous tones of the dead and sleeping ones, crying out in nightmare, roused by this tiny mote of near-awareness. The undead in this chamber cringe despite being fearless. "THEY -fled-. Into the coward prison. They -survived-, yes? They /live/ still. Breathing. After the true warriors /died/ for them. They left us there. Cold. They... -left- us."

Snapping her look away, Blossom cowers a bit. She genuinely cringes, quickly realizing something... older... older than anything speaks through him. It's all she can do not to try for forgiveness. But somewhere within her, the tiny spark that got her taken by the Yozi starts to flare, as she says simply, "No." Her anima mark peels open, the dark disk emerging.

"You are right. Though Malfeas' heart was torn from his body, he lives, Through Oramus was crushed and pinned into the prison, he does live. Cecelyne may have been vivisected and torn away from all she loved, but she does live." She looks up, clenching a fist into her hand tightly to keep it from shaking. "The ultimate betrayers were the tools, the jealous things in the sky, the earth and the maker." She gestures quickly to the side. "Do what you will to me, spit on my masters, spurn my words, but do not forget. All of the creators were betrayed. And I wish I could tell you the gods would laugh to see your anger, but I cannot. They have never deigned to notice." And as her hand falls open, the nail marks are evident, the blood starting to seep from the cuts.

The words strike him. He is reminded of a common hatred - the single thing that can still bind him to another, and even then, only tenuously. As much as he hates the Yozi, he hates certain other things more. So? He recovers decorum. His rage can overwhelm him. His black heart is his greatest strength and greatest liability -- in some way, he is aware of this, intellectually grasping that he must restrain himself whenever such fury comes. Yet, it feels so -justified-... everything always -does-... they are so -deplorable-, those who tempt his wrath...

His eyes dim. His hair lays flat and perfect again. His mental 'inside voice' returns. <<< Forgive me. >>> He says simply, more of a demand than a request. And then, he returns to the throne. A chuckle escapes him. He's thinking of something horrible. That's the only time a thing such as him will laugh. <<< I need not bring justice to your keepers. They will find it, in time. Everbody will be equal, everything will be... quiet. In time. >>> A sage and wry quirk of his head, as though he intends to remind of a fact often forgotten. <<< Your masters, too. All debts will be settled. It is written in the stars of the Underworld. So you wish to be a propoganda minister. Is that what I am hearing? >>>

There a slow pause as she lowers her her hand. A voice in her head reminds her of the motions she needs to make, to loosen... it's reassuring, the devil in her head. A subtle sigh of relief, and she works to meet the Walker's eyes. "Of course. Not purely as a volunteer, of course. And propaganda is certainly not a word a good person in that position would use. But you have the right of it, yes." She smiles politely again. "Of course, it will be a bit easier once things... settle a bit."

<<< Of course it will, child. Look. Do you hear them chattering? Complaining? >>>

He gestures to the horrid, half-rotted men that guard him. He laughs, his white teeth showing, almost handsome in that moment. He finds that 'joke' very amusing.

<<< Your job will be easy. Begone from this place and report to proganda minister Abala. Tell him you are there to replace him, and kill him if you like. He is in the large blue tent. >>>

Forbidden Blossom curtesies again, and adds, "Ah, I would trust you to know their opinions, or lack thereof, far better than I. Still, I should begin acquainting myself with your people soon enough." She rises. "Thank you for this... honor. I will see to that right away." She tilts her head slightly, smiles, and then turns to step away. "Thank you for meeting with me, and taking my offer. I am at your call now, as you like, lord."

<<< Enough bullshit. Go work. I tire of your games. >>> A dismissive gesture. He exhales. Back to flexing the glove.

Forbidden Blossom laughs, and it's a genuine laugh, as if freed from her restraints of etiquette for a moment. "Ah, thank you. And a good night." She walks away, never fully turning her back on him before sliding back out of the tent.