Ｈａｄｅｓ

“You don’t need to introduce yourself. I’ve heard all about you,” he assured, though he was admittedly intrigued by the way she spoke of herself. One might think that others were being dramatic or disrespectful when they spoke of Morrigan, but after speaking to the Devil’s Mistress herself, they would quickly find out that nearly everything everyone says is true. In fact, it seemed remarkably as though she took direct quotes from the gossipers for her monologue. When the topic changed to his own sainthood, he frowned. His defenses didn’t appear as they should have, however. Immortality was a burden. The pressure he felt to use a gift he despised as righteously as he could by standing in front of others in harm’s way, the obligation to be appreciative of having something that so many Mundanes lusted after - it was all a burden. “Forever is a long time.” 

“Anything stronger,” he clarified. “I don’t like wine, much…” His words became softer when she placed her hand on his arm, and he watched the connection as though he were waiting for something extraordinary to happen. It didn’t. Her offer was so spectacular that he regarded it almost as a joke. What was the worst that could happen, if he said yes? The quiet voice of reason in his mind urged him to say no, to turn around and get away from the woman as quickly as he could. Instead, he merely smirked. “I think I should wait for one party to end before moving on to the next, don’t you?” He mused. Then, softer, he added, “Besides, you and I are running on two different clocks. Your forever will end before mine, darlin’.” Just like everyone else. 

I’ve heard all about you -- Morrigan tensed her jaw. He probably referred to her ‘accident’ at church or the banishment afterward, either way the queen of hell wasn’t honored and would’ve rather been a stranger to him from the start. Judging by his words, however, she must’ve been a great deal more important to him than formerly anticipated -- something that lifted her mood again. “Oh--” Morrigan simply murmured, waving with her left hand as if to signalize she was ready to move on. “You will lose everything you hold dear, from what I can tell you’re fairly familiar with death. I won’t go into further detail, you will be familiar with what happened all on your own, I don’t have to know,” she tried to smile and looked at him half worried and apologetic. He made her soft, an unfamiliar feeling for someone like her. “What matters is how well you use this time. This... endless amount of time.” Morrigan scoffed.

“Arsenic?” she joked, well, half-joked. For someone like Ruben, what was the worst he could possibly drink? Nothing could kill him and she genuinely wondered if poisons had a delicious quality to them which were unknown to Mundanes, for obvious reasons. Morrigan looked towards his arm, yet nothing happened -- perfect, no scratch, no decay -- Ruben Dalgaard wasn’t just anyone, he was her polar opposite in ways she wouldn’t admit just yet. “Most are either drunk or high on Sinners, there aren’t many who would respond to your liking, anyway.” She raised an eyebrow at his next words “my ‘clock’ doesn’t really end after death. It’s my empire, I will have my own forever, at least that’s what I assume to happen.” Morrigan thought about her own ‘life’ after death, a question she’d never dared to ask herself but could only answer with herself returning to purgatory still very much as the queen. Their eyes met again and it was Morrigan who dragged him along now -- “So, no purgatory then? I’m sure you could meet someone from your past in there. Anyway, we should have a few drinks.”

There were few women in JP’s world - few people in general - that had ever been met with his full hearted respect and true affection on top of it. Outside his family, that had only ever included Sofia and, surprising to many, Morrigan. It’d been a long time since the days they spent under public scrutiny and curiousity. The two walking together, smiling, laughing at private jokes and all else that came with being in a relationship. JP had hardly ever dedicated energy to such things but he’d done it for her years ago. And, as of now, he never regretted it. Morrigan had turned out to be one of the most powerful and valuable allies he could ever have and he was grateful they they ended the graceful way they did.

Naturally it was her that he met with first upon returned to his kingdom in chaos. He needed advice. Sofia was wise and loyal but she was also young and arguably still inexperienced in royal affairs. She did not have access to the things that Morrigan did - those were old and ruled kingdoms before. So he came into the room eager, but without the energy or will to muster up a smile in the state that his kingdom was currently in. JP simply came over and watched as the soft skin on her hands brushed against his. “You know the situation I find myself in now,” JP finally said, now looking up to her and making his way to the chair to sit. 

“There is no one else that I can turn to right now who will help me understand what I should do. I have ideas and plans… but never in my life has my father dealt with the things I’m seeing now. I need to know more. Failure isn’t an option.” He watched her walk onto the chair across from him - looking almost like a silky vision of dark smoke in her flowing black dress. “Enemies are descending from all directions, Morrigan. You - you know whispers and secrets no one else does.”

Seeing Jean-Pierre ever since his coronation really put a smile on Morrigan’s face, though she immediately to suppress it by pressing her lips against one another. He’d grown into a formidable king ever since their relationship, that much she had to admit to herself. The professional relationship between them would also be beneficial for her as well. To have the king seek guidance from one of his enemies, albeit unknown -- seemed almost too convenient to be real and yet, here they were.

By the touch of her Jean-Pierre seemed to react with pointing out his marriage. Rolling her eyes slightly the horsewoman of death simply turned around and sat down again, hoping he’d follow. “I know exactly in what situation you are in now. If your parents do speak the truth your wife was there that night, killing your own parents. Did you know that?” She took a sip from her wine before lifting the bottle to pour him his own glass of wine. Upon hearing his great visions Morrigan raised an eyebrow, almost as if to signalize she did know more than she lead on. “There are a few rumors on the other side. Your grandfather told me he’d convinced Omerta is planning yet one of their grande attacks. They are just trying to confuse you with the four horsemen and create a hostility against Saints and their powers. Maybe--” she started “Athos will fight itself and they’re just waiting for everything to fall apart on its own.”

She leaned in closer, her head balanced on two fingers. Again, a smile signalized her amusement. “You are like Bellamy in so many way. Little devil, huh. No one knows, I silenced your parents to make sure your secret’s safe with me. Well, I can only suggest you steer clear of people you do not trust at all, Jean. You trust me, don’t you? Like in old times? You can always count on me.”

PB Task 002 – Sainthood

Morrigan has been a Saint for almost ten years, starting on December 26th 2009. She can control the dead and speak to them. As the reigning queen in hell and Horsewoman of Death she has yet to learn the ability of full necromancy, including resurrecting the dead. Sources say this is due to her not having opened all seven seals with her fellow Horsemen and once these seals are broken they are granted their full powers. Currently she can also enter purgatory, deeper walks into purgatory result in her dying for the duration of her time in purgatory. She can also cause decay in a person as well as mild aging. Power: Necromancy Triggered by: reluctance of becoming a nun/eternal devotion to goodness  Time of Sainthood: almost ten years

His life had always been burdened with glorious purpose; it had merely taken him this long to understand what that purpose truly was. Raised to be a weapon, he had been sharpened and pointed in all the wrong directions, honed into a soldier, a number for file and rank, where all along he had been meant to fall into the pattern of solitudinem, and revelation. Alone, but never apart; he was his own weapon, a being of great destruction and purpose, but a part of a set of four. It was family, it was independence, it was purpose. And though he was fully sufficient, fully capable of tearing the world down by the sinew on his own, the twin to his own blade, the antidote to his poison, stood before him now. 

He oft thought he might lose himself; Mason was more monster than man, more weapon than soldier. But she was an anchor in this life and the next, and perhaps the one before. Family. The loss of his sister – so dead, and yet so very painfully, glaringly, alive; a mockery of the concept of family – would surely have tipped him over the knife’s edge, mutilating all humanity within him beyond recognition. His own form of self-destruction, at his own hands and at the behest of his power, at away at his self like disease; soon enough he would be all power, all rage, and no man. 

Or he would be, were Morrigan not here. This was what love was meant to feel like; it echoed what he had read of in books, and sat in a less hollow place than the love he felt – feels, would always feel – for his sister. She was family, she was humanity; he would stay human, keep a beating heart on call, for Morrigan. Who else would she herald the new world with?

Unabashedly, he let his head sag against her hand, a cat purring against its master’s touch. “Her end –” he echoed; Mason made a concerted point to ignore the discomfort the sentiment elicited, “– our beginning.“ He stood at her command, for in truth, she was the only living soul who could command him. “You deserve the silence,” he echoed, glancing over her shoulder as if a mere gaze might scare away the specters, who he could not see, who plagued her so, “And they deserve to be silenced.” He thought for another moment of the new king, the new queen; Mason’s eyes met Morrigan’s once more as he sought to chase the thoughts away, to anchor himself here, now. 

Cut the dead limb away and allow the new blood to flourish. 

He stepped forth, close enough now that no light could come between them. He could feel her breath upon his face, could see the hesitance etched upon her features. “Cor meum,” so close to her now, it was easy to find strength. Mason took her face between his palms, clinging to her as if she would hold him up with the world on his shoulders. He kissed her without thinking, without asking, without hesitation, pressing his lips roughly to her, hungrily, breathing in death and life in one heartbeat. And then he spoke, lips still brushing hungrily against hers, for he would be weak to pull away. “Death –” and life, “– breaker of chains; I know that this is no time for weakness. To be with you, forever; never has there been a more pressing call for strength. What would you ask of me?”

Morrigan had always seen strength in Mason, right from the moment they first met to this day. His military background and skill helped him in becoming a formidable Saint -- with flaws, perhaps, but to her, perfect. A beautiful disaster, Mason Buchanan was his very own king in a world of the living while she portrayed the queen of hell, queen of death -- he, the most beautiful angel of chaos she could’ve asked for. God must’ve made sure to sent her only the best, the most promising -- or was it the devil? His blue eyes promised her a world of chaos and disease, earth spiraling out of its axis and into a new beginning of fear. For him she’d leave hell forever, return to the living, knowing his days were numbered -- and if they’d part she’d wait for him in hell and never return. 

“Our beginning,” she resonated as her fingertips softly brushed over his jaw. She could feel his familiar warmth radiating all the way through her skin, felt him by her side, and she was sure paradise existed, more than she’d ever been in her entire life. This kind of worship was only fitting for a goddess, which she wasn’t, yet Mason had its way of charming her without saying anything, with mere actions. “Your sister’s the queen, they will not bother her or us in any way, I promise. I will silence them forever.” 

Then he kissed her and Morrigan could feel herself melting underneath his touch, her knees slightly giving in to his force. The horsewoman of death pressed herself against him, lips parted slightly to reply his kiss with more tenderness to his wild approach. Still close to him as he parted from her, Morrigan sounded audibly out of breath, as if his presence robbed her of air, but in all the good ways. “Promise me to never lose your fire, Mason. They will try and hunt us down. I need you to never let your sorrow win over who you are. I love you with all my heart, never forget that. If you ever struggle -- I’m here for you. I will always be a part of you, Famine.”

It wasn’t Ruben’s intention to stare, albeit when the woman walked passed, his eyes followed with a glossy look. He was drawn to her with a feeling he couldn’t explain for a reason he could only figure was fate, or something like it. They were opposites in the since that one was haunted by death and the other by life, yet they were both haunted all the same. In all the saints he had met in his lifetime, he had never met one who he thought could understand him better than Morrigan, despite their limited interactions. She was a mistress of Death, and Death was all he wanted to be.

“That’s not true,” he assured her. Whether it was her beauty or her aura of mystery, his brown eyes certainly hadn’t been the only ones that watched her on the beach that day. “I’m just the only one who’s brave enough not to look away. What can I say? I’m a sucker for death.” He smirked, finding humor in his own dumb remarks. It wasn’t usual that he joked about his immortality with such ease and an attitude that wasn’t pure bitterness. He didn’t question why he was suddenly able to do so now, in front of her. “...And day drinking. Wine’s not my poison of choice, but thanks anyways.” Like her, Ruben was unsure about how to interact. There were so few times that the stars aligned for them to be in the same place at the same time that small talk seemed like such a waste. “I didn’t know you appreciated the living so much to dedicate a day to it,” he commented. “You must be thrilled that you ran into me, then.”

Ruben Dalgaard, the immortal Saint. Morrigan had heard of him before, never really cared for him nor liked him. He seemed to love death, more than she ever could. Maybe that’s what truly annoyed her about him, not his character, his intentions -- how much he worshiped death. She could potentially connect to him through death and her powers, find common ground in this mess that was their relationship. “I’m sure you are aware I’m called the devil’s whore by some of Athos’ most influential priests. I’m sure the pope already condemned me for being turned into a Saint,” Morrigan smiled at Ruben even though her words revealed the darkness within, the circumstances of her creation. “Right, we all crave things we cannot have. You are immortal,” she whispered to herself. “You will never enter my kingdom and rather see chaos on earth. Are you satisfied? The possibility to live forever sounds more like a burden.”

Morrigan moved closer to him, smiling all the way as she did. “What’s your poison, then? Something much stronger?” Looking around the partying crowd, many were already either drunk or filled with sinners -- and affected by some weird aura around them that caused them to behave like absolute idiots. Touching his arm, Morrigan called for the power of death and while his arm was supposed to rot, nothing happened. He remained the same, a beautiful disaster. “I wonder what would happen if I would bind you to me, take you with me to purgatory. Would you be trapped with me forever? Experience death for just a short while? What do you think, Ruben?”

Spying on her friends and King within the castle? Could she do that? Such an easy task to be able to talk to her parents one last time- would it all be worth it to Mina? Looking away from her companion, she mulled it over, debating. If Royce truly wasn’t the target, then she would have very little qualms about it. But, she did have people she cared about within, and what of she put them in danger with the information she shared?

“I- What’s the goal with the information I might give you?” she asked, the woman’s use of her parents winning her over. It was a useful manipulation that only Morrigan could be successful using. “By that, I mean, are you planning on hurting anyone?”

Convincing the youngest Anchor to spy for her turned out to be much more difficult than expected. She couldn’t blame her at all -- Royce had this power over others, he knew how to fully captivate and win them for their cause, Mina wasn’t an exception. As his Anchor she must’ve been incredibly loyal to him for the past years, but taking Royce out of the equation seemed like the best option to get something in return.

“There’s someone within the castle I used to be fairly close to,” Morrigan confessed “you may read my mind and see their face, but if you speak to them about me, speak to anyone about me, I’ll have to banish you in purgatory. Am I understood?” Morrigan remained calm, extremely calm -- “and I intend to find out more about other Saints. As much as you did, I assume, I awoke at one of my personal heights -- I’d like to find others who struggle as much as I did.”

A soft wince was visible on Lucian’s expression when the knife made a clean slice against his thumb. Blood blossomed to the surface before it was covered by Morrigan’s finger. It was when their skin touched that Lucian noticed his vision begin to swerve, allowing sights of ghostly spirits to form right in front of his eyes. It was a mix of shock and horror on his face when he realized that he was allowed a glimpse into Morrigan’s very own Saintly abilities.

In the reddish tint of the atmosphere, Lucian watched as his own parents materialized, and he could feel his heart drop at the implications of seeing them through Morrigan’s abilities. 

“Mom…?” Lucian called out to her, attempting to step forward to touch the spirits before them, his brain unable to process the fact that they were no longer alive.

“Guys, what…what happened?” The question was fruitless, receiving nothing but pained expressions on their faces. Then, Lucian turned to Morrigan in a fit of dazed shock, desperate for answers that his parents could no longer give.

“Morrigan what happened?”

Darkness consumed both of them -- a familiarity consumed her, but she made sure to only focus on Lucian. She had to make sure the prince felt comfortable enough to be with her in purgatory or else the bond would be broken. With her hand against his back, fingers outstretched to support him as much as possible, Morrigan watched the world change and turn into a world of rocky paths, souls, fire and blood. 

“Hold on, Lucian,” Morrigan started as she tried to interrupt the prince from attempting a connection to the dead again. With his hand placed in hers, Morrigan reached out to Ophelia, took her hand more forcefully. “You can touch her now.” The horsewoman nodded towards Ophelia as an open invitation for Lucian to say his goodbyes. “They approached me about twenty minutes ago, both of them, wanting to pass to the other side. It’s not up to me if they will  be sent to paradise or purgatory, sadly.” Shaking her head, Morrigan looked at Lucian, worried and hoping he’d remain calm enough to keep the bond alive -- an almost impossible task. “Something must’ve happened within the castle. An ambush, an attack. You have to remain as calm as you can, Lucian, promise me. Your mother’s begging me to keep you here until the danger’s over.”

With the second seal opened the four horsemen got one step closer to their inevitable success. They’d be victorious, no question. Many condemned souls whispered to her in the dark, about who they had to approach next, who to kill next -- but this one, the third seal, would be a lot more personal than the second one. Famine, to be precise, only ever caused those harm who needed help the most. 

Sitting on her fireplace in the middle of water, Morrigan had leaned back slightly, listened to the voices and their newest gossip. Rumor has it the king was on its way towards her. The doors opened and her assistant arrived with someone rather majestic looking, something only Jean-Pierre could ever be to her -- a king. “Welcome,” Morrigan smiled, her head slightly tilted before she stood up, her black dress flowing in the slight summer breeze. Before she addressed him further, however, Morrigan clenched her hand and black smoke formed, trapping all condemned souls into hell again so they were alone for now.  “Sit, Jean.” She walked closer towards him, one hand already stretched out to him, her fingers softly touching his. “I knew you’d return to me eventually for answers. As if you can barely wait seeing hell again -- hear the whispers of death, the chaos whispering in your ear.”

Morrigan wasn’t someone who was unheard of, whispers of who she was and what she could do, had made it to Mina. But it was unfamiliar, something that Mina had trouble wrapping her head around. To talk to the dead? Interact with them? How was that possible. Nevertheless, could she possibly refuse it? That last little bit of closer that she had desperately wanted. Her feet moved her towards the other of their own accord. “They’re here?” she asked, her voice wavering slightly.

The word anything was on the tip of her tongue, ready to give whatever it would take to have that connection with her parents, but the mention of Royce stopped her in her tracks. “I can’t provide you with anything to do with that. If- If that’s what the price is, I can’t pay it.” The hope had burned brightly, just for the rug to be yanked out from underneath her abruptly. The reality she lived in, as someone close to the royal family, people would try and use that. “I think I should go.”

While she didn’t know Mina well, Morrigan did knew about her position as Royce’s Anchor, his protector and adviser. Really, the horsewoman of death should thank the young Saint for her continuous support and help, though passively, to the Four Horsemen.Alas, another reason had compelled Morrigan to speak to her. “I’m not after the prince, don’t worry.” Morrigan chuckled. The mere idea of having someone spy on Royce was ridiculous. No, her Anchor friends and partners were much more desirable, much more interesting than the man she’d been working with behind closed doors. 

“You have access to the palace. If you were to spy on your Anchor friends for me, and the king, what would you say? You could talk to your parents one more time. From the looks of it, they miss you a lot.” Morrigan shrugged “but, that’s your choice.”

The city was in flames. Lucian didn’t understand what was going on, his inner emotions mimicking the same turmoil that he saw manifest all around him. All of a sudden, a woman grabbed his arm. Morrigan. They had never spoke, but Lucian had certainly heard of her and her affinity for death. Normally, he would have been fearful enough to stay away, but the chaos around them overwhelmed any fear he may have felt towards the other woman.

“I…what?” Lucian asked, clearly confused as he saw her bleeding thumb. God - maybe he was right to be fearful of the person inviting him for a satanic ritual. Stunned, and too afraid to ask questions, Lucian extended a hand, worry written in the draw of his eyebrows.

“I really don’t understand. What’s going on? Is anyone hurt??” The questions came out desperate. He wanted answers that he wasn’t sure Morrigan could give.

The prince must’ve been in utter shock about what just happened, about his kingdom in flames, the possibility of his family being murdered -- and yet Morrigan only saw confusion in his eyes. Remarkable, she thought, he doesn’t fear me as much as anyone else does, it seems. With a smile Morrigan grabbed his arm and held in in place, held on to it more firmly after she used her knife to cut open his thumb as well. “You will see. Just be patient, little prince.” 

Upon pressing her thumb against his their blood formed a bond and her powers extended to him, her vision as well. The scenery changed and a grey-red veil draped itself over them. More and more souls appeared, speaking to them quickly, trying to touch him, her, but Morrigan didn’t allow the souls to fully reach out to the living, not now. Both his parents stood in front of them, unable to speak, though they tried. “They are here to pass to the other side,” Morrigan glanced towards Lucian, her lips pressed together into a thin line. “I’m sorry, little prince -- something terrible has happened.” she stopped for just a moment to give him a moment to realize the ugly truth “Please, say your goodbyes.” 

                The White Horse — prince of victory & deceit                                    1st seal — Royce Delacroix

I watched as the Lamb opened the first of the seven seals. Then I heard one of the four living creatures say in a voice like thunder, “Come and see!” I looked, and there before me was a white horse! Its rider held a bow, and he was given a crown, and he rode out as a conqueror bent on conquest. ( Revelation 6:1-2)

           The Red Horse — princess of bloodshed & warfare                                    2nd seal — Ivy Charleston

When the Lamb opened the second seal, I heard the second living creature say, “Come and see!” Then another horse came out, a fiery red one. Its rider was given power to take peace from the earth and to make men slay each other. To him was given a large sword. ( Revelation 6:3-4)

              The Black Horse — prince of  chaos & disasters                                   3rd seal — Mason Buchanan

When the Lamb opened the third seal, I heard the third living creature say, “Come and see!” I looked, and there before me was a black horse! Its rider was holding a pair of scales in his hand. Then I heard what sounded like a voice among the four living creatures, saying, “A quart of wheat for a day’s wages, and three quarts of barley for a day’s wages, and do not damage the oil and the wine!” (Revelation 6:5-6)

                   The Pale Horse — princess of death & hell                                   4th seal — Morrigan Ledoux