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 Posted: Fri Jan 04, 2013 3:12 pm
 In life, he had been the Pharaoh, the God on Earth. A living representation of eternity, of the life-giving powers of the sun. He had ruled over a golden empire, rich and lush, blessed by divinity to have greatness. All the land was his, and he was the land itself, its master, its scion, its sun. All would bow before him, the magnificent, the benevolent. None would dare contradict him, for he was all-powerful, in the direct lineage and descendance of countless gods before him. In life he was Horus, he was Ra. In death, he would be Osiris, and rule the underworld and his people there.
Now he was a desiccated corpse, denied the rulership of Duat. Return to life, and face your punishment there. It simply wasn't fair! Life couldn't do that to him! Didn't Death know who he was?!
Didn't this bat-winged peasant know who he was?! Insolent serpent! He was Atsuseth! He was the Pharaoh! He was the God on Earth, and he would not be told what to do by some upstart soldier who didn't know his place! "Move. Aside," he said through gritted teeth. The grinding of his molars echoed through his ancient skull and up into his shriveled brain. Absolutely no right! This canyon was his, and if he wanted to cross the only bridge to the other side, then by Sobek's teeth, he would do it! The armored bat could fly, couldn't he?! Why should he insist on the royal bridge?!
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Posted: Fri Jan 04, 2013 5:34 pm
 In peace, he had been without purpose. A student, a novice, he was a clueless cadet in a society that seemed to be made for him. The slavery his people had suffered from symbolized by the stormy glass above his heart was a distant memory, too old to be remembered by a youngling like himself, and with mastery of the skies, it seemed that he could have whatever his heart desired. It seemed that his entire world was a paradise made specially for him and his brother. But in the real world, there's no such thing as a paradise, and his brother, having discovered it, had revealed it to him. And now there was no turning back. Even when he had been delivered to the Allspark to be one with whatever god would be mad enough to give them birth, he could never return to what he once was--and nor would he ever wish it. He was new, reborn again, old, weighted with empty years, empty promises, empty lives taken. In peace he was a scion of a broken world. In war he was a pallbearer of a dead one.
Now he was a wanderer, bereft of command, bereft of his center--the center of his gravity, his mind, his heart, his universe, denied the release of death by the duty he still bore and the drive to find out what cruelty was responsible for his brother's death--and to avenge it. He would travel the whole world, the whole star system, the whole universe to find the one who did it. Assuming he could cross this bridge, of course.
He was tired. He hadn't had much rest. The night before had been cold and wet, and this early in the morning he hadn't yet warmed up or regained any energy. He had slept poorly the night before; trying to fly in this condition would be murder, especially if this slagging wind never stopped blowing! The only thing that kept this ancient bridge from collapsing into the chasm below was, he suspected, either stubborn habit or the weight of a very large seeker in full armor. But given the choice between unsafe flying conditions (fatigue, aches in his wings--he'd been fighting a war too long--inclement weather) and a rickety bridge over a deep chasm, he'd take the rickety bridge. Which was guarded by a star that smelled something like sand, something like old person, something like tar, something like spices (probably supposed to cover up the other smells), and a whole lot like dead. "Make. Me," he growled in return. His headache (add that to the list of "unfavorable conditions for flying") made it impossible to speak with his usual class and solemnity. He didn't want to be classy or solemn, he wanted to be on the other side of the bridge. He had started on it before the bandaged Algiedi had, it was only fair that he back off until Dreadwing had gotten all the way off! Talk about pushy!
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Posted: Wed Jan 09, 2013 3:43 pm
Atsuseth was not a very large algiedi. He was maybe a bit taller than average, imposing (assuming that the people around him were impressionable), but certainly not big and strong. He'd spent his life planning great works (and sly murders, of course), but this bulky lout had obviously traded his brains in for extra muscles. Why else would he attempt to hog the royal bridge? People without clear minds and the ability to reason were clearly below intelligent people, let alone intelligent gods, and thus it was the lumbering bat-ox who should be getting out of Atsu's way, not the other way around. With that in mind, he slammed one golden hoof down on the bridge. The slat he had pounded creaked in protest of such harsh treatment. "I am making you," Atsu snarled. "What do you think I am doing, you simpleton?! Giving you an invitation? That was a royal order, and you will heed my orders as you would a God himself! Now get off of my bridge, serf, or--" he began before being rudely interrupted.
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Posted: Mon Feb 11, 2013 1:08 pm
"God?" Dreadwing laughed, and nearly instantly regretted it. Owwww. Headache. "You're no god," he snapped. "You're an old star long past your prime, and you are being obstinate. Wait for me to cross the bridge, then you may cross." He didn't even give the ancient one a chance to reply. Instead, he simply strode forward until his chest was jammed against his opponent, pushing him back the way he came. Constant physical training and the unusually resilient armor of his people gave him strength and a hard surface to push with. He was confident that his greater size would easily give him leverage, and he would keep pushing the stranger until they both came to the end of the bridge. After that, he was sure he would get an earful--in fact, he would get an earful very shortly, he estimated. But it would be worth it. More than worth it. He was sure that his path lay in this direction. If he could cross this bridge, he'd be...well, not close. Not close by a longshot. But he'd be closer to his goals than before. So much closer. For the first time in a long time, he felt like he was making progress in finding his brother's final resting place...
But now there was this ancient algiedi in the way, who refused to move no matter what. Well, Dreadwing was rapidly running out of patience and the ability to interact diplomatically. He was a soldier, not a negotiator. And it was time he started throwing his not-inconsiderable weight around.
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Posted: Sun Apr 07, 2013 10:17 am
Atsuseth did, in fact, begin screaming in inarticulate rage at the harsh treatment by his inferior. Once the initial shriek was over, he began speaking in loud, clear terms about the inherent degeneracy of this lousy lout. The former pharaoh was not only thorough, but also systematic; he began by insulting the other stallion, then the stallion's family, starting with closest relatives and then moving up the line of descendancy towards his ancestors. By the time he got to protozoan prostitution, he proceeded onto a debasement of the entire culture that must have produced this specimen of stupidity and, having exhausted that, moved on to the task of speculation as to the stranger's sex life, dreams, and goals. The words were archaic, full of meaning, and relentless, pounding out of his dried-out mouth with every step backwards he was forced to take. The volume increased the closer to his starting side of the bridge, ending in high-pitched howls of scorn that echoed back and forth against the canyon walls. He couldn't help but be impressed by his own prowess. Hopefully, the other stallion would be as well.
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Posted: Sun Apr 07, 2013 10:22 am
The words that the dried-out husk were squealing didn't bother the seeker in the least. He knew who he was (a soldier, a commander, a demolitions expert, an expert flier), he knew where he came from (the Allspark), and he knew who his people were (warriors and scientists, conquerers and builders), and to hear some stranger heap generic abuse on him and his own didn't faze him. The volume, though? It was like having a very old, very senile Starscream screeching in his ear. His headache was steadily growing worse, and with it, the fuse of his temper was getting shorter and shorter. Any second now, he would snap.
As indeed he did at the last round of abuse. By that point, they had already made it to the end of the bridge, and all it would take now was a swing from his tail or his wings, and the algiedi would be out of his way and he would be closer to his own goal. He snarled and slammed his tail against the other stallion with a crack.
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Posted: Sun Sep 15, 2013 12:29 pm
And then the insolent commoner cracked his tail against him like an overseer with a disobedient slave. While it was true that the former pharaoh was wearing bandages over his dried-out body, he wasn’t wearing quite as many as he’d been thousands of years ago when he’d been laid to rest. Besides, the bandages held close to his body numerous charms and amulets, and many of them were unpadded by the bandages. When the intruder’s tail landed on him, Atsuseth gave a shriek as his desiccated skin took the punishment of the blow, softened only somewhat by bandages, magnified by the buried charms. He stumbled backwards, sure he’d felt his flesh dent from the blow. He bared his yellowed teeth and backed away, fury in his eyes. It wasn’t just the humiliation of injury by a mere soldier, and a barbarian at that, but also the slowly creepy horror that he could feel pain. How was it he could feel pain? It didn’t make any sense, at least not to his frenzied mind now set alight by indignation and fear.
Now would be the wisest time to slink off, one eye peeled over the shoulder, to make his way across the bridge, but Atsuseth had never been known for particularly wise behavior. It was inconceivable that he lose an argument or a fight; he’d fought before his death. He wasn’t some lazy lover-boy sitting on the banks of the sacred river dreaming of prosperity without perseverance. His body could no longer support such an active lifestyle, he was sure, but as he’d just demonstrated, he had a tongue, and a temper too. He could lash just as well with his words as the bat could with its tail.
“Good luck on your travels, merry wanderer. This is a harsh land; but maybe you can conquer it by pushing it around. You never know. It’s worth a try.” With that, Atsuseth gathered up what little dignity he had left and stumbled towards the bridge over the chasm, leaving the impertinent imbecile behind to his twisting fate.
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Posted: Sun Sep 15, 2013 12:30 pm
Dreadwing did not reply but to mutter “Good riddance” under his breath. With that, he turned away from the cowering waste of space and back to the path in front of him. Just as the area before the bridge, this area was arid scrub. Shriveled, brown plants grew here, all spikes and thorns. The path was narrow—well, not so narrow that a normal star might be hindered, but Dreadwing was a wide fellow as well as tall. As he walked the path, branches leaning out over it scraped across his armor. Some of them managed to reach those places where he was unarmored. He hissed in discomfort whenever a thorn or twig dug into his unprotected flesh—especially those times when the hard bit of plant matter wormed its way in between skin and armor. He found himself muttering indecent words of his own whenever that happened, but he persevered, making his way along an increasingly rocky path on hard, tightly-packed ground. His only comfort was that slowly, steadily, the path was sloping downwards, and though the dry expanse had not yet reached its full temperature, the morning was still cool. Part of that was just the hour, but part of that was also the wind; on this side of the bridge, it had picked up quite a bit. In fact, with every step he took, the wind was getting stronger. The sky was growing cloudy Thorny branches waved back and forth, back and forth. With his wings still aching and the wind blowing, taking off would be difficult. Thankfully, he could still walk, as much as it chafed his pride to move like a groundling.
Of course, flying never looked better when he reached the edge of a bluff.
Down below him was a twisted maze of narrow rocks, stretching out far into the distance. The impression was of a…of a massive wall of ridges, rock formations, and stubby trees, towering over the landscape. The average rock was as high as this bluff he now stood at, though the path here lead down a series of switchbacks to the valley below. And then, into the towering cliffs of the maze.
The wind was blowing steadily. Dreadwing’s wings ached, but he had to try, at least once, to fly. He stretched out his wings, took several steps back, and charged to the edge of the bluff, launching himself off of the edge. The wind buffeted him about like a kite, and try as he might to keep his position, flapping his wings furiously, he found himself being shoved towards the rocks. He struggled to gain altitude, to not be dashed against the imposing walls of the labrynth, but with the storm blowing in, that would be impossible. He was forced to land. He peered into the narrow canyons beyond. They were dark, deep, narrow. Not so narrow that he couldn’t make his way through, but they would be difficult to turn around in. There was something deeply unsettling about that…especially considering that he would have difficulty turning around if he took a wrong way through. And he would need to get through it quickly.
He needed a guide. Someone who could help him through. His mind immediately went to the old stallion by the bridge, but—no. Several hours alone with a stallion who no doubt wanted him dead was not Dreadwing’s idea of a good time. But he would need a place to shelter from the storm, and this maze would not be a good place. It was the perfect place for a flash-flood. Besides, he needed someplace where he could keep dry, and, preferably, warm, to make his wings feel less tired.
The other stallion probably knew of a place to shelter for the night. Dreadwing would ask him. Reluctantly, head bowed against the raging wind, Dreadwing turned around to stomp back towards the bridge.
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Posted: Sun Sep 15, 2013 12:32 pm
Atsu had gotten halfway across the bridge, still smarting from the stranger’s serpent-tail blow, when the wind began to pick up. Weather like this was hell, especially over a canyon like this. As he carefully turned around and made his way back to his starting point—again—he idly wondered how the trespasser was doing. If he’d made it to the maze yet, if he’d entered it. Or if he was perhaps trying to fly in this storm. Well, if he was, all bad luck to him. He would be a fool to attempt something like that in this weather. Atsu had been living here since he’d awoken in his tomb, and he was now well-used to its weather patterns. He had a little home in a cave under the bridge, now. The narrow path next to the bridge led to a dry, safe cave, and so far as he could tell, the path that led to it was stable. He now made his way inside, the clopping of his hooves echoing in the chamber. Its smooth floor indicated that at some point in the long-past, it had been occupied. Now, however, there were no signs of anyone ever having lived here, besides a few paintings on the walls here and there, depicting, for the most part, traders on a river. People had lived here. River people. Stars who had sailed down the river below and lived in the caves here. There were other caves in the rock face, of course, but most of them were inaccessible—the trails that lead to them were eroded or broken down. Besides, most of the trails lead from the caves to the river, not from to the clifftop. Centuries since the stars had dwelled here had lead the river being abandoned as a major thoroughfare, replaced by the road that the bridge was part of, but still no one had found this little cave. Atsuseth felt safe there.
He felt slightly less safe when he heard hoofsteps on the road outside. The rain was starting to fall, making the road slippery; the hoofsteps faltered a few times, but to the mummy’s disappointment, not once did the intruder fall off the cliff. His wings would probably have saved him; but in the end, he didn’t need them to make his way to the entrance to Atsuseth’s cave. He stood just outside the doorway, looking soggy and sullen. Rain dripped off his armor to puddle on the rock and dirt, and the wings were folded tight against his body and trembling in the sudden cold of the stormy morning.
Atsuseth smirked. “How was the journey, weary traveler?” His reply was an annoyed blink and an angry twitch of a laid-back ear. “You must have wandered far.” Twitch. “I suppose you’ll be needing shelter until the storm has passed?” This earned him a reluctant nod, and still no words. The pharaoh pursed his dried lips. “I suppose I could give you shelter. In exchange for a favor.” His smirk grew wider.
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Posted: Sun Sep 15, 2013 12:33 pm
This was going to be humiliating. No two ways about it. But all of the other caves on this cliff-face were inaccessible, and he needed a shelter. “Name your price,” he said simply, and stepped inside.
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