Otem had a rather large chip on her shoulder, though it was not necessarily any weightier or more sizable than those chips carried around by others. Especially when one takes into account that just about every single beating heart in a 10 mile radius had been unceremoniously thrust from everything they had known and held dear, into a dark and twisted wonderland of magic and mutations.
Otem's mother had died. So had many others.
Otem was angry. So were many others.
Otem felt lost, impetuous, misunderstood, without guidance, vengeful, rebellious, small, immaterial, immortal. But so did many others.
and yet Otem felt herself to be so unique in her hurt and grief that she had fled every kind stranger and found relative, and come to this place of dusk and bio-luminescence. Here she could be properly broody and upset for this was the perfect backdrop for her pain. She was the granddaughter of the Earth God after all, and though she blamed him and the rest of the Helovian Gods for the demise of Helovia, at the same time she carried his blood and his ram-horns with pride (though this was another splinter in the chip Otem carried, for how could she be proud to be the grand-offspring of a God who no longer lived?).
"Maybe we could just ... live here." Otem mused outloud as she and Pandora came to the base of the vast dragonfly willow. The oak-marked child looked up into its boughs, watching with adoring eyes as glowing fronds fell gently from above.
Tamlin was wandering aimlessly. His little patch of Helovian flora had failed to make him feel at home, no matter how many familiar flowers and small bushes he grew the climate here in this damned dimension would be a constant reminder that he was not home in the Edge. And somehow he was unable to grow trees, something that had not been a problem before. He was used to making all sorts of plants - with different levels of effort of course, but now it seemed impossible.
However, those glum thoughts were far from his mind now as he was almost skipping through the forest. He had happened upon that luminescent rodent, looking like a mix between a rabbit and a squirrel, which was his favorite pray - for it was slow and easy to see. So he had speared it on his horn and then he grew two large lotuses out of its blood. He ate the flowers and now he was soaring high in euphoria.
While stoned, Tamlin was a different stallion altogether. He was calm and talkative and somehow he even cared more about other beings. He was miles apart from the gruff, mean stallion he was while sober or during his withdrawal.
Between the trees the deadbeat stallion suddenly saw a familiar form and an unexpected wave of guilt washed over him. That big, autumn colored girl had been the first horse he’d hurt to feed his addiction. She had explained to him about the fall of the gods and he had thanked her by hurting her. Young fillies and colts should not be alone. He should have helped her find her family, not push his horn through her skin.
Slowly he walked towards Otem and the dragonfly willow she was standing beside. Her owl would probably warn the girl of his presence before he had the time to speak, but as soon as he was close enough he opened his mouth.
“Otem.” he said, softy. Just a simple word, her name, but still with a vast range of emotions behind it.
The autumn-touched child hadn't really expected to be interrupted. She was the midst of a mental fairy-tale, allowing her mind to wander and weave the narrative that her life should have followed. That being said, if she was going to be interrupted, better that it be some sort of prince who does the interrupting. But at the sound of hooves and as Otem turned, she found that it was not in fact a prince, but a villain. A villain who had tried to kill her before. Otem should run. She should scream for her Father or even her twin, and if neither were within earshot, she should just fly, for Tamlin had no wings of his own. But because Otem was still trapped by the allure of being in some sort of story, she felt immobilized by the appearance of the horned man, and instead of fleeing as she damn-well should have, she instead turned her gold and burgundy gaze towards him, blinking more or less stupidly.
"Tamlin." Otem replied, her tone haughty, as suited a princess in a story. But unlike Otem, Pandora was not under a fairytale spell, and hooted angrily from her perch, wings spread dramatically from her avian body to make herself appear larger.
Otem's gaze narrowed as she inspected Tamlin. "Why did you stab me? What did you even do with my blood?" She demanded, as if the fact that her blood had been spilled gave her rights or authority to know what the dark man had done with it.
Tamlin knew nothing of Otem’s thoughts, but maybe it would have surprised her to know that he once was a prince? Splendid and young and beautiful (although short). No old witch had put a spell on him though; no evil force had turned him into the villain he was in the autumn girl’s story. His haggard appearance and broken mind was mostly his own fault - for how much can we blame our history for the conscious choices we make? And how bad had Tamlin’s childhood really been? Surely there were those who had had it worse. But sometimes we feel powerless against the demons of our past and Tamlin had completely resigned to his.
Last time he and Otem met he had been dirty all over, but the constant wetness and rain had kept Tamlin’s gaunt body clean. His mane and tail were still matted though and his eyes had the usual hollow look too them, but maybe he did not look as bad as he had the last time.
Otem demanded answerers from him like were she a princess and the former prince lowered his head, looking at her from behind his tangled forelock. Even if he felt guilty about their last meeting, there was also a feeling of playfulness in him induced by his ritual.
“I humbly beg your forgiveness, princess Otem. I regret to say I was not myself.” He refrained to tell this child of his addiction, although she seemed to know her way around the world it was still an obvious air of youth about her. “What can I do to make it up to you?”
Tamlin even chose his words with a sense of play, as if he was the dark knight returned to his mistress on his knees after she’d discovered his betrayal towards the kingdom. It was as if the chemicals in his brain latched on to the tone in Otem’s voice and compelled him to take on a role himself. He even went down on one knee as an act of fealty. It could look like he was mocking her, but it was not his intention.
It seemed the owl was the only creature completely sane in this situation, and Tamlin did not blame Otem’s companion for the display of distrust. The last time the bird saw the black stallion he had hurt her bonded so her anger was warranted. Though this time the barn owl or the winged filly had nothing to fear, Tamlin had no wish to hurt Otem again.
As with the last time, Tamlin's words caught her completely off guard. The girl recalled how strange she thought it was that he had introduced himself before stabbing her (surely he had always planned on stabbing her? Could such a thing be a spur of the moment idea? Otem didn't really think so. Stabbing almost always was pre-meditated, right?), and had even mentioned the fact to her Father. Volterra had chalked it up to the stallion being dumb, but although his appearance and mannerisms were odd (though now the former was at least somewhat better), Otem wasn't sure Volterra's read of the man was quite correct.
But then he calls her princess, and Otem's bones seem to sing in recognition. Does he know who she is then? Had he always known and just feigned ignorance that day in the jungle? Otem was a princess of sorts, wasn't she? Her grandfather was the God of the Earth after all, and Volterra was the Sultan of the Throat .. on both sides she came from impressive stock. Was that enough to actually earn her the honorific Tamlin now ascribed to her?
"What you can do is answer my question. I asked you why you did it and what you needed the blood for." Although Otem was smaller than Tamlin, she looked up at him with a sort of haughty authority only the very ignorant or youthful can manage.
Pandora gave a warning hoot, golden eyes glowering at the stallion. Otem might not be prepared to defend herself against this man, but the owl certainly was. And though his horn would do quite a bit of damage to her, Pandora was certain she could do quite a bit back with her talons before he dealt her a killing blow.
Tamlin tilted his head and looked at the autumn girl. Maybe it was the blue lotus’ affect on him, but he could not see how ridiculous the notion of her forgiving him was. It was as if he thought that apologizing would fix the fact that he stabbed her. He flashed her a smile and rose from his kneeling position. Shuffling his feet he thought of what to do. Here he was, a junkie deep in his shit, trying to find a way to shield a child from the ugliness of the world. The most logical way to shield her would of course be to stay the fuck away from her, but his brain did not really touch on that conclusion.
It seemed he would not get out of answering her question. He could turn tail and run of course; make it a sort of standard procedure of his and Otem’s meetings? But he did not want to do that, he wanted to do something nice for the girl who probably had seen her fair share of death and carnage if her story about the fall of the gods was accurate.
The demanding air about the large filly had Tamlin wondering if she really was a princess. Thinking of it, she had an uncanny resemblance to a certain god Tamlin knew of and a descendent of gods would be a princess, no? But all this was beside the point. He needed to give her an answer.
“Uhh… do… do you remember the flower I grew from the blood?” Tamlin began, his voice just a tad slurred. “It is a medicinal flower, I need it to be myself. Yes, yes medicinal.”
He felt very pleased with that explanation, it was not really a lie and it excused him being “not himself” the first time they met. But was he himself now? Unlikely. Tamlin was so deep in his usage of the drug that he no longer knew who he was for real. Was he that arrogant little prince? Or was the grumpy old man more close to the personality that was really his? Could it be a combination of all of this? Maybe the truth was that he was a deadbeat, a good-for-nothing wreck of a unicorn. Heh. At least I am alive. he thought and turned to Otem again with a new idea brewing in his head.
“Tell you what, Princess Otem, do you miss Helovia? I know you have no reason to trust me, but if you would come with me I have a little creation of mine I would like to show you.”
He lowered his head again, playing the disfavored knight, and turned halfway to the side exposing all of his neck in the most nonthreatening pose he could resume. Last time he did this, he was attacked, but he did not quite remember that now, even though he had a scar on his neck as a reminder.
Otem definitely didn't think that Tamlin was going to actually answer her question. He had all the advantages after all, and he had physically bested her during their last encounter. What possible reason could he have to bend to her will?
And yet he had.
The girl didn't have the time to relish the feeling of superiority that sparked through her, because the words that came out of the man's mouth seemed to shake her magical core with interest and curiousity. She did remember the bloom that had sprouted from her blood. At the time she had wondered if it was merely an effect of being the daughter of Isopia - did the Earth God's blood run so thick in her veins that her very blood could create life? Had Tamlin not run off after stabbing her she would have asked him this, but he had, and so the girl had assumed the flower was because of her, not him.
Apparently she was mistaken.
"So you need blood to make things grow?" Otem asked sounding unimpressed. Really, she thought that growing flowers out of blood was rather romantic, but her pride was still a bit wounded and so she was not yet ready to offer Tamlin compliments quite yet. "I don't." She continued. Looking dow, Otem tried to recall the bloom that Tamlin had previously created. She hadn't really been paying a ton of attention (most of it was directed towards investigating the new wound on her shoulder), but she knew it was roughly rose-shaped. A purple rose began to push its way through the soil, bending and dancing upwards until it was fully formed. The petals spread and opened wide as Otem released a breath and smiled. "I can make potions from them too." The girl added, no small amount of hubris in her voice.
Again he called her princess, but this time he followed it up with a query about Helovia and an invitation to follow him. In her mind Otem could feel Pandora trying to dissuade her from going anywhere with this man, but youth and overwhelming curiousity were currently swamping the more rational parts of her mind.
And she didn't want to look like a coward.
"I do not trust you-" She began testily, gold and burgundy eyes large and confident. "-but that doesn't mean I can't come and see what you've made." The oak-leaf branded girl moved towards Tamlin, her wings drooping slightly from her sides, ready to pull her into the air should the horned man try to maim her once again.
O how different this situation would have been had Tamlin been of less honorable intentions. For what was he, the shaggy and rugged rover, if not the incarnation of “stranger danger”? But as despicable as he was for leading a life of substance abuse he had no ulterior motives this time. And for the record he had not planned on stabbing Otem the last time they met either, it had been a spur of the moment thing. Not that that excused him from hurting a young filly.
Otem was not impressed by the magic he had been born with. It hurt him a bit; it was such a big part of him – without it he wouldn’t even be able to feed his addiction. Had he been sober he might have taken the insult more with a blank expression and a snort, but in this state he was much more susceptible to feelings. He never touched on the deep, important stuff of course, but shallow emotions he allowed himself to feel to a certain extent. The insult was instantly forgotten however when she produced a flower out of nothing. It just grew out of the soil, a beautiful purple rose.
“Wow…” he said, drawing out the word.
He turned to her when she spoke again. Potions too? His magic seemed more and more measly compared to hers, but still he wanted to show her his little place of Helovian plants. It seemed she was willing to come with him even if he noted how she was prepared for flight. Her companion however did not seem thrilled by Tamlin’s proposition, and again, who could blame the wise bird?
“Come this way.” Tamlin smiled and started walking in the direction he had come from.
The gaunt stallion’s walk was somewhat jerky from lack of muscles and his hind legs made clicking sounds every time he lifted them. But he walked with a certain spring in his step anyways, feeling good and calm with the ghosts of his past chased away by his ritual. Now and again he saw Allie, the blue, floating flower, fluttering between the ferns of the vibrant forest. But he ignored her, took her for what she was - a hallucination.
“Will you tell me about your home in Helovia, Your Grace?” he asked the girl. His mind, it seemed, had stuck on the notion that she was a princess and he could not seem to divert from addressing her like one.
His wow seemed to be all the reassurance Otem needed. Her magic was impressive - though rarely did anyone act as if it was, especially when compared to her twin who bled lava, and of course her parents. In Helovia, they both had royal dragons, had as much magic as one soul could bare, and were both powerful in their own right. Making plants grow hardly seemed interesting next to all that they were capable of.
Otem followed along, but as she began talking, her strides became less uptight and concerned with being stabbed, and instead were more fluid and graceful. Although she had more growing to do, her legs were already quite long and she found it easy to keep stride with Tamlin.
"I was born in the Dragon's Throat. Originally my twin and I were to be born and raised in the World's Edge, but my Father, Sultan of the Throat, could not simply abandon his post and his people, and so my mother - the demigoddess Isopia - came to dwell within his herd. The Throat can be a deadly place to grow up, if one is stupid or slow," Otem continued, the cadence of her voice both melodic with the weight of the words, rising and falling for emphasis. "During Tallsun the sands can burn you alive if you are not careful, and if you forget the way to the secret Oasis, you'll die of thirst. A long time ago Gaucho the Wildfire turned the Throat into an island, so if you do not have wings-" Otem looked pointedly at Tamlin's naked back, "Then you must find someone with a key to access the bridge. The bridge gives you wings of fire to fly across the sea."
Although Otem thought she was doing a good job of making the Throat seem like a deadly and wonderful place, she felt a hollow void forming in the base of her throat. Her words - and the words and memories of others - were all that was left of the Throat now.
"Before...the last time we met, you seemed like you didn't even know any of the Kaos stuff was happening> but you must have come from Helovia ... how is that possible? How could you not know?"
It felt nice walking with her. Even though they were separated by age, appearance, species and history Tamlin felt a slight connection to the autumn girl. They had both been born in Helovia and as she spoke about her home the gaunt stallion could not for the life of him understand why he had ever left his homeland. This even had his mind briefly touch on one of those deep issues of his; family and friendship. But he quickly pushed the realities from his thoughts. Maybe the chemical effect was starting to wear off or maybe the thought of Helovia was just so strong it pierced through his drug induced armor of euphoria. Anyways, he managed to not drift into melancholy as he listened to Otem’s story.
When she mentioned the World’s Edge Tamlin stopped moving for a second, once again showered with thoughts and emotions. But he hurried to collect himself and resumed walking.
He worried that she would not appreciate his little patch of Helovian flora since she grew up in the Dragon’s Throat where he had never been, but maybe she would recognize some of his flowers and shrubberies. He did not even know any of the plants by name, he had never been taught, only grew them from memory of how they looked. The Blue Lotus was almost the only one he could name, that and Aconite (a name he liked a lot, although he knew to not eat that flower).
Tamlin tried to remember Isopia, but could only recall one of the demigods; Mesec the son of the Moon Doctor d’Artagnan. But if Otem was the granddaughter of one of the gods, then she was a princess. Well, at the very least she deserved his respect. How lucky I am to be walking with a descendent of a god?! he thought gleefully.
”How could you not know?” The inquiry was directed back at him. She wanted to know about his history, things that would tear him apart to think about. The only answer he could possibly give her without touching on those deep issues was a short explanation - right to the point: “I had been away for a long time and when I returned I somehow ended up here. I must have gone through that portal you spoke of, but I don’t remember it.”
They arrived at his spot then. It was a clearing right beside the beautiful lake that separated the forest from the summit on the other side. At the fringes of the clearing dozens of little corpses lay scattered and the smell was most foul. In small doses his magic might seem plucked from a dark romance tale, but at this extent and given a few days to rot, his creation was not a pretty sight. Reddish brown soil could be seen between the stalks of the Helovian grass - which was dull in comparison to the grass found here in the Rift and flies were buzzing everywhere. But Tamlin was high and happy and almost bounced out on the blood soaked ground. “Can you name these flowers? Or these bushes?” Tamlin asked gleefully hopping between the plants. “I never did learn the names, I grow mostly from memory, you see.”
Poor Tamlin. He knew not how demented he looked; so excited among the blood and gore and the rotting bodies of small critters. At that moment he was only proud to show her what he had made...
Solanis
he reaps in blood
