#stygian;

"Hideous living things... traipsing about with their... free will." The valley below is alive with life even in the darkness of night, the constant chattering of construction crews harvesting and working bone into useable pieces for the slowly growing marketplace and housing in the body of the fallen 'God' below. "Now we are working at a deficit, and they are celebrating as if they've been given a feast- what a pitiful performance he gave. Almost not worth the effort retrieving him."

"Puppeteer, talking to yourself again?" The Skydancer woman adjusts her cane in her hand, head inclining toward the sound of another arrival's voice- the cloying, perfumed scent of roses making it clear who the arrival is, even if she can't see the imperial sidling up behind her, exposed golden bones entangled with flora catching in the gentle breeze passing through the Emperor's Wake. "I thought we were past that little... idiosyncrasy."

"Silence yourself, Heathen. I am not talking to myself. Magda is here."

"Ah yes, of course, we can't do this without Miss mud and detritus can we? Where have you gone then, Maggie?" His voice carries, and as he turns his head to look around, leaning into his spear for balance, Mithos scowls. "Mm, I see. You've misplaced your gravedigger, Puppeteer- perhaps we should keep a better eye-"

"....." He's cut off by the sudden, violent thud of a large, thick stone, humming with magic and depicting an ignited brazier in the center. ".... Marker."

"Weaver's blessings you lumbering oaf you could have caught my foot with that-"

"Stop your complaining Mithos!" Puppeteer snaps, feathered frills flicking up in a display of displeasure. "I spend enough time listening to you moan about that filthy child of yours to tolerate you complaining about doing your job. Help her place the stone."

"Who died and made you-"

"Encore. Now lift the stone." Mithos rolls his eyes, bending to pick up one side of the stone- pushing it into place as Magda watches on silently, filthy gloved claws gripping her shovel handle as she nervously sways back and forth. "It's quite alright, Magda, we will inter him after we've had a little talk, is all... He must answer for this utterly miserable display. It is one thing to die, it is surely another to do so in a way that gives so many of these.... unworthy access to our strength. Not negligible of which being your filthy harlequin and my disobedient doll... Tch."

"So really, you're throwing a tantrum because the Sow's made a purse out of the pig's ear you saddled her with?" Another voice chimes, then proceeds to laugh at his own terrible joke. "Crux and I got held up, apparently, the crippling guilt of a clan leader who failed her people cannot wait the twenty minutes it would have taken to get this done."

"My pack is starved for the hunt, Stygian, not that you would understand that... layabout as you are." The tundra's armor clanks against itself as he extends a wing, a pack of braying wraith hounds trapped within the snowfields displayed on the underside. "...We are sated. Until we know what Encore has to say for himself." Cold air spills from skeletal maw, the thick haze starting to occlude the overlook the five of them stand upon from the ground below, as Magda continues to dig.

"How much longer is this going to take?" Mithos questions, Stygian raising a brow.

"You got a hot date or something, Mithos? Some party to get to in amongst our centuries of free time?" The imperial scoffs, but the skydancer continues, smirking as he removes his tankard from his belt and taking a lengthy swig. "Because I can always give Selv or Lacrymosa a ring, if you're too busy for us, oh no, wait, no I can't, they're a little busy in dragonhome, cleaning up after-"

"I get it. Shall we make a jab about my dead beholder, too?" The argument is ended before it starts, though, when Magda lofts something fleshy and scrunched from the hole in the ground, tossing it to the ground beside Puppeteer's feet.

"Encore... Here."

"Ha, I knew the luscious golden locks were a wig."

"Shut. Up. Stygian." Puppeteer snaps now, holding one clawed hand aloft. "Thank you Magda."

"...Leave?"

"No. You are part of this trial, so you stay." The guardian woman sighs, reaching her own hand to absently stroke at the snout of the skull hung over her wing. "This will not take long." Puppeteer jabs at the fleshy amalgam- revealed now in the haze to be a heart- with the sharp end of her cane, filthy black magic contorting through the meat beneath- until the heart itself shifts, shape changing, the sound of creaking bone and squelching flesh filling the air just the same as Crux's ghostly frost for a short time, until in the place of it lies... Encore.

Stripped of magic, of Godhood, and made of seemingly only a small amount of the flesh that once made him whole, it is still what once was Encore lying filthy and bare in the grass below a scowling Puppeteer with the previous grandiose presence that still lives within those who stand around him now completely vacant. It is also the fallen spirit who's bones now thrive with activity below who, upon regaining enough awareness to speak- begins begging for his life.

"Puppeteer- I- I did not-"

"Did not intend to die or did not intend to do so in such a miserable way that now we are at risk of more hunters at our door? Because you surely did both. Someone get him some clothes. I am not having this discussion with him in the nude."

A ragged, bloodstained bolt of cloth, and then another, finds itself thrown at Encore- who takes a moment to gather himself- bones and flesh mangled and showing- exposed heart muscle making up more parts than it certainly should, vascular and tangling his hands and feet. He is not whole and the pieces they could find are struggling to resemble what he should be- he dresses- he tries to pretend his wings aren't flaps of slick organ, instead of thick leather. Whatever has become his stomach turns.

"What did you do to me...?"

"Well, I mean, you were thousands of feet tall and the size of a frigate, we had to make some exceptions so you could answer for yourself. I just wish those exceptions were less wet... Magda! Get back here." Mithos snarks, turning to catch the retreating figure of Mag slowly trying to slink away in the wintery haze. It's spreading, now, blanketing the bones below and causing less winterized, less hardy workers to hesitate in the sharp, biting chill.

"Not right...." She insists softly. "Cannot see but know it is not right." Her voice rasps, and Puppeteer rolls her eyes.

"We are not here to be bleeding hearts- well, none of us but Encore, hm?" She snickers, Stygian and Mithos laughing under their breath as well as Crux soothes the pack contained within his wings- they've gone from silent to a fever pitch, howling and wailing not unlike the wicked, biting wind. "It seems the huntsman has made his judgement already... You failed us, Encore."

"There is something beneath Lightning that knows of us, it is what killed me- it spoke with the voice of a woman- it told me- it insisted-"

"Ah, so we're listening to voices from beneath the sand now? I tire of this fool, Puppeteer, I say we set the hounds, and be done with him." Mithos grunts, examining glittering golden claws for a long moment. "He was sent on a simple outing, he failed and beyond that, now he's provided these mortals with the ability to better seek the throne. He's endangered all of us."

"Fine. I grow weary of the living anyway. We take our vote now. Those in favor of Encore's return to the earth? Mithos?"

"Nay."

"Stygian?"

"Nay."

"Crux?"

"Nay...."

".... Magda?"

"....." The guardian remains silent- swallowing tightly- Encore turning to her suddenly- she cannot see him but she can hear it in his voice, the way he's been twisted into something disgusting- something unholy, through Puppeteer's touch. She lifts her tail, worrying nervously at it with both hands.

"Maggie- Maggie please- don't- you don't have to go along with this-"

"Majority.... Rule... But I vote... Yay."

"Ah, Tragic it means nothing, here, isn't it, Maggie?" Mithos snorts. "Well, Encore, those are the breaks, huh? Too bad. Maybe in another thousand years we'll see you at the Pantheon Yule parties, but for now? Crux, I hope those dogs of yours are hungry- got some prime meat on offer."

"We hunt relentlessly. Until your guilt leaves your heart, Encore- The Pack will pursue." He hesitates, if only for a moment- the bleach white of his skull almost... sad. "...As my friend, as a former colleague... I will offer you a headstart- you have until the fog passes to get as far as you can. Once it lifts- there will be no freedom from our pursuit- until we are fed."

The Huntsman's wings unfurl again, his loyal pack spilling from within, soon surrounded by several wraithhounds, their bodies gaunt with hunger, their eyes trained ahead on their meal.

So Encore runs. With the haze of safety rapidly dwindling, and new, wrong flesh catching on rocks and trees, he runs- as he knows that death would have been the kindest thing his peers could offer him- and should Crux's hounds catch up, it will never come- eternity under their teeth and claws would make his Collapse look like child's play.