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Heir to Famine.

Protector of the Four Clans.

Cymbeline had never cared much for titles. The little dandelion that had grown up in the harsh, desert climate once would have agreed with Charon's arguments. The gentle little thing, she would have once longed to save her lost people. The gullible little thing, she would have chosen her side. Her heart, it had once been large, filled with love of her plants and love of her people. But even without the touch of Insanity, she had learned a great deal in her many years.

Those words like 'strength' and 'gods' and 'anarchy', they were merely words, the simple twisting of the tongue, expelling air fervently in order to disguise even the simplest concepts. Creatures were merely creatures, existing of flesh and FEAR and whatever spark of life kept them held together. Her fight had begun ages ago, but she had never fought for a side. She had just… fought. Existence was not a given, after all, neither was the existence of those she had called clansmen, or minions, or even siblings. Existence… it was not a passive act.


"Are the clan of the mink cruel to prey upon the clan of the mouse?" Cymbeline strode over with a cackle, her heels clicking on the ground with every step. "Are we… merely slithering stoats, relentlessly eating, preying on the weak, snatching the life from little mice and snatching the meal from the mouths of our own kind~?"

Her voice was a singsong and she stared off into the distance, her eyes tracking some imaginary nothing across the landscape. The voices in her mind whispered restlessly, softly rustling like dry leaves. "What of pride and anarchy~ What of choices. To say the only option before us splits and scurries onward, never meeting, never crossing, never touching the aims and goals of each other… It is madness to follow those separate paths to completion."

Here she grinned. It was a cold, bloodthirsty grin, tempered by an age of Insanity. Her voice was low and dangerous. "Even ants know. They know. To take life and give life, destroy and nurture, there is no creature which will heed mere words as pride and anarchy." With more cackling, she stared at each of those who dared to meet her eyes in turn.

She still never cared for titles. They would never change the core of her being.

It seemed more of them agreed with the priestess than a soul so happy to sit and rot away his life. Something that left her rather pleased as she gave each that spoke a firm nod. Agreement, and respect their understanding that this, this life they had, was not what they were meant to be.

"The unknown is far greater than a hollow shell of how we are to be if we follow him." She stated simply her eyes trailing to Charon as the last word fellow veneomously. Though wasn't risking their lives for their very being something normal for them? They sought destruction. It ran hand in hand with them every day of their lives when they were to be what was meant for them.

She wasn't going to mince words though, if they chose not to come they would find the folly in their choice with time. As Shaheen moved to take Shikoba's hand and move off, obviously toward the priestess' side, she took strayed int he direction. If the elder clanswoman had a task for them she would complete it. It was as simple as their life had always been, and meant to be. Fulfilling the demands and needs of their kind. "I will merely tell those that follow a path that leads to nowhere. Is that how you had always been? Were you always so meek, so terrified of the world? Were you not one of the so feared horseman who brought about the end?" Had her kind always harbored such weak souls among them?

"If so, perhaps it is best you vanish. To stop using our name as you humble yourself as a mere underling to a kind who sees you as a sad pathetic thing. It obviously suites you." She wasn't going to argue with them further. If they wanted to waste away. Well... they could waste their lives. Their long, long empty lives.

Slender fingers curled over Qi's shoulder, the only announcement of Yuri's arrival, as he fell into place standing behind her. He was seething, loathsome that anyone would suggest they not strike when they had the chance but for the moment he said nothing, his anger contained within the thin set line of his mouth. They had only recently returned to the islands, had missed the desecration of their homeland and were privy to not having endured such hardship. There was a mild sympathy for those who'd been broken, for their clans, but they were essentially useless, as far as he was concerned, if they couldn't fight, then they could stay behind. For those that had survived, that had remained and that were strong enough to fight, there was none, they all had a duty, and if they could fulfill it, it was essential to their race that they do so.

The months idle had been hard on the soldier, and he longed to get back onto the battlefield, and he carefully surveyed the groups of horsemen around them, his grip on Qi's shoulder a little tighter than might have been necessary.

Oh, she didn't seem to get it and Waits stood there a moment just staring at the small clansman a moment before he corrected her in hit monotone. "Not what. Who. Me. Something That Waits." He gestured at himself with his long torn sleeves to make his point as his wings fluttered slightly. "That is what I am called. What are you called small Conquest?"

And for a brief moment, his glowing yellow eyes flicked from the filly towards an important presence. Cymbeline. Famine. Heir. He watched her as she moved, grinned and spoke. Heard her words and yet stayed silent before he turned back to Ying.

Footsteps would have sounded his arrival, but, being a part of a larger group.. they more than likely would have gone unnoticed. Instead he approached the pair where they could see him, not like it was hard. Being tall sometimes had its advantages, even if it meant hiding was a lot more difficult.

Elric had listened to Medea and the other talk, not much thought weighing in his final decision. He, like the rest of his garrison, had been away when the events of the fall took place. They were recently back, their wounds while not of flesh were still raw inside. He craved battle, something to sink his blade into to try and ease the grief that was ripping him apart. If they had been here, would that have made a difference? Even if not, he would at least be comforted by the fact he tried. Even if that meant being in a grave.

Reaching the duo, he gave them both a nod and settled into his usual spot as well. Funnily enough, being around the same people so often meant they too formed habits when with each other without realizing. Even if there was a smile behind his face mask, it wouldn't have been visible. They would have known. It went unspoken how he felt about the matter at hand, the look he gave, before flicking his eyes towards Medea then back, should have been indication enough.

Salbei had stood quietly, his lidded eyes drifting from Candidate to Candidate; the young and bloodthirsty, verses the old and patient. To him, the answer was clear; it had been the same thing he had been telling others since they arrived in Halloween, and his stance had not once changed. They were still weak, and too divided to act as they once were. Now was not the time to be acting harshly; it was foolish to throw your life away for nothing.

But the Sage was wordless, merely looking on as the young and the old took sides and argued, rekindling old hurts and confusion. He sighed and bowed his head, the various trinkets woven into his hair clinking with the slight movement, and raised a thin, boney hand to pinch at the bridge of his tattooed nose.

When he lowered his hand again, and stood up straight, he drifted towards those few that sided with Charon.

"Patience is a virtue that most of you seem to have forgotten." The old Horseman sighed, his usually cheerful voice edged with regret. "There will always be another time to fight and reclaim, but we will not have another opportunity like this to rebuild first." He then paused, leaning down to greet the small Conquest he was rather fond of.

"And greetings, my dearest little one~" The old Sage said softly, his boney hand sliding to rest delicately on Ying's shoulder. "And Something that Waits ~ it is a pleasure to see you again. I had the delight of meeting Lurks Beneath near Amityville not too long ago; I am relieved to see the sands bring you two back to us." He bowed his head, smiling as his trinkets chimed happily with his movements.

A satisfied smirk slid along dark lips as talk of blood and battle swayed the tall soldier. She suspected it would, and he did not disappoint. As to what they were waiting for? "A sign," she mused, arms crossing under her bust as her weight shifted to rest on one hip. "For now we are gathering, choosing sides." The last was said with a curl of lips, disdainful, as mismatched eyes flickered to take in those that had made their choice of Charon obvious.

Admiration for her fellow horsemen did not erase the disappointment she felt for their reluctance to act.

Because she was already familiar with the both of them the priestess did not bother introducing herself, despite the elevation of her status among the clans. She'd joined the other's as an Elder, her and Soren. The first among Death.

She did offer Wrath a smile, because they were similar, in a way.

A soft, albeit familiar, voice drew her attention, and she turned to find Nivra looking uneasy and indecisive. "Sister, Come stand with me."

It had been awhile since Jing was summoned to the Clan going ons, choosing to let Ying be the little firecracker she was and represent the Zheng family name while he stayed behind with their creations. It was the right to the head of the family to be present and the second fiddle to be dutiful to the head. This time however he found himself dragged in as well, or was it really happening?

Jing wasn't sure, pulling the crisp fabric of linen and Cotton that felt too sheer for the chill in the air. "Should have used the Cotton vest." he murmured, absently in the dark, shrinking down into the fabric and pulling it close to keep the heat close and stared at the marbles, one that lay in slivers. the world opened like a origami flower, petal by petal into something not of wonder but grotesque horror, sand sculptures of spires and shambling structures.

The Artisan shuffled in his place, side by side as he tried to make sense of the meeting. The things outside their craft that Ying prattled on after every meeting were of no concern to him.

It was regrettable, seeing as how now he had no clue what it was that was occurring every time that he came across the priestess, it left a sour taste in his mouth, acrid, bitter and poisonous. Like a plump berry left too long in lemon juice, it was deceiving till the juice hit the tongue and by then it was too late, the flavor was everywhere and it made the boil want to wretch.

He didn't enjoy these meetings, there was nothing good to come of this. argument and a battle of wills and nothing ever gets done. nothing progressive anyways.

"Ying?..... YING?" he called, like a beacon into the crowd. he felt uncomfortable, raw and exposed as he struggled past a few horsemen and bundled himself tighter, dancing past the clan members on lithe, agile legs. "Sister, where are you?"