Tiger, Tiger...

[Fasdeus]

With far less exotic finesse or regal charm, slipping through the barrier of worlds along dark pathways created by the Ever Shadows, a dark and sinister being found itself in the mortal realm. Like a tale reserved for bedtime horror, the veil that separated the worlds was ripped and torn with a violence only the frightened minds of children could conjure. The shadows, as if liquid, swirled and bubbled into a shape beginning to look humanoid. From with that darkness, golden pinpoints of eyes shot open, surveying the world.

"It is such a dull world," he said as the shadows around him gave him form, "devoid of colours, left abandoned to the mortal inevitability of death." His pointed nose sniffed the pungent air and wrinkled in disgust. "Whatever exists here that enticing so many of our kind, I will never know."

The shadows trembled, solidified their form and became Fasdeus, Prince of the Nightflyers, Legionnaire Commander of the Endless Army. From where he perched on Ellis island, the Aos sí could see the borders of both the illuminated Host Sanctuary and the burning Empire of the Horde. With the sun rising in the distance, it's morning glory chasing the darkness between them, Fasdeus nearly laughed at the absurdity of this mage war.

"This land is all to shallow / It is painted on the sky / And trembles like the wind-shook rain / When the Raven King goes by," such a fitting poem for the state of the once beautiful garden.

The time of the humans had come and gone. Now they were dying, as they deserved to. Fasdeus considered how much he did not care about the war. All that mattered to him was back in the Unseelie court, the throne that would be his once his elder brothers were removed. Then, with the Unseelie Fae as his subject he would have Ophelia. The pain of how she had spurned his affections in the forest of Centrals Park still chaffed his pride. But that was why he was here, after all.

"Not long, not long, my father said / Not long shall you be ours / The Raven King knows all too well / Which are the fairest flowers" This morning's meeting would help him secure not only his throne, but his piece of the Empire as well. That was, of course, if he could convince the Horseman to join his plot. Discretion was key. But this allegiance must be cemented. Fasdeus' spy network had managed to make contact through unaffiliated sources, yet he held no false belief that the Horseman did not know who he was meeting this morning. Either way, he would find out soon enough.

[Abraham Solis]

It was true that Abraham had little knowledge of who it was he was meeting with today. But then, perhaps if he had known he would not have gone, giving into his own small form of cowardice. As it would be he made his way to the once beautiful and regal park, now descended into wilds that Abraham frankly much preffered. As he approached the appointed meeting place however, he slowed. The hair on the back of his neck prickled and gooseflesh raced across his skin, and he abruptly knew with a twist of feeling in his gut that who he was meeting today was Fae. The answer came to him with the surity of familiarity, and he actually paused.

The Beast laughed at him, howled at his weakness, and Abraham snarled, drawing his stolen power around him and setting the black ram with eyes of fire to drive the demon back into his subconcious. Thus fortified, with the faint shadow of horns crowning his head, he stalked through the shadows of the wooded glen to meet with this prince of darkness, and see what web he was spinning. The sun rose, changed the quality of the wild around him. And yet it remained silent, a testimony to the predators that walked this land. Two of whom were meeting.

He heard the Fae's voice before he saw him, stepping from the greenery. Abraham's legendary composure held, his face calm and his body relaxed. He spoke not, simply waited where the shadows of the trees still clung, not yet banished by the light of day. The shadows seemed almost to curl around him, forming the phantom shapes of the hooves and horns he sometimes wore, and outer symbol of the demon essence that he'd become so saturated with.

[Fasdeus]

With feet as light as air, Fasdeus stepped/jumped/floated, down from his perch on the high ruins. His eyes never glanced down but his feet found solid purchase with every movement, bringing the Fae gracefully to land on the lush green that shimmered with the previous night's frost. The gathering light of the morning sun danced a rainbow of colours in the dew. It was balance, it was nature and it was barely touched by the passing prince.

Fasdeus came to a sudden halt, as if he had struck an invisible wall. He spun about, golden eyes scanning the still dark shadows of the trees. There was a presence within those trees, something, dark, malevolent, but suppressed. He wanted to banish the shadows with his Hand of Power to expose .... whatever it was, but centuries of instinct told him that to do so would be a mistake. "What immortal hand or eye Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?" the Fae whispered to himself and then, straightening his posture, Fasdeus called out to the thing that hid in the shadows. For that was the only word to describe what his senses could feel but not yet see. "Come out, cry pardon! Come out and be seen in the morning light!"

[Abraham Solis]

Abraham watched the prince through slitted eyes, arms crossed comfortably over his chest. The aries tattoo on his chest itched slightly, hidden by the shirt he wore, but he resisted the urge to touch it, or even to move at all. However, when the prince called him out he moved into action. Eyes still barely slitted, as though bored of the whole endeavor, the moved foreward with the slow, strangely graceful pace that was so signature of him, ever limb placed just so. The shadows trailed him like lovers' hands, defying the sun to stretch beyond their nature until finally he was completely free of them. Scarlet haired and pale skinned, he could as easily have been one of daylight instead of darkness, though he carried the color of night in his clothing, kilted and booted as was his penchant.

"But fair, who am I to be seen by light when it strikes true upon only thy radience. I am but a shadow." His mellow voice struck it's strange tone, higher than most expected from the man but not quite feminine. A voice that was uniquely androgynous. He kept a cautious distance between himself and the fae, feeling the Beast quiet in the back of his mind, patient and waiting. The demon's patience may have only been matched by his own, and for once Abraham was relieved that he had left off their constant competition. This conversation was not one where he wished his attention divided, and if the demon was watching, he might provide a little insight. Two minds working to the same goal, as they had done before.

[Fasdeus]

The way that the shadows clung to the man, if he could be called such a creature, was oddly off-putting to Fasdeus. It was too similar to his aspect of the Hand of Shadow that the Fae prince was relieved he had not used his powers as he had first wanted to. Was this the Horseman? Who else could it be?

Fasdeus eyed the man suspiciously, his head titled slightly off center as if he could almost see something that wasn't there. Perhaps it was the way he moved, so purposefully, as if he may trip and fall over his long limbs. Whatever it was, it struck a note in the back of the Aos sí's mind of something.... dangerous. He was like a memory of a dream, just out of reach but teasingly familiar. "Do I know you, Sir, your court, your name. But tell me them truly, and tell me what they call you, and I shall do the same."

There was much to be accomplished from this point on and Fasdeus intended to proceed with very deliberate action from here on in if his plan were to succeed.

[Abraham Solis]

A haunting familiarity like nails in his back lurked in the back of Abraham's mind, banished and closed behind tight locked doors that only cracked open to bring him incoherent nightmares. His arms fell from their crossed position, hands loose and relaxed. One lifted, touching his chest just below where the ram sigil was tattooed, inclining his head to the fae in an act of polite courtesy, though not of deference.

"If you knew me, it is not as I am now." The words were quiet, measured. His head tilted in a mimicry of the Fae's own motion. Sunlight caught beryl green eyes, too bright to be properly human. Something moved in them, a shadow of the other within.

"I am called Abraham, Horseman of the Horde." The title was added with no fear, and indeed quite casually. It was nothing but a name, and one that held no power except as given to it by his master. Abraham may have called Gog lord, but the service was one of requirement. He had attained power and some authority, and with that came a curious sort of stability and security, which he relished. He would bow his head to that which would call itself his master, as long as left to his own devices. So far, he found himself quite pleased with the position. He waited then, for the Fae's response.