Unicorns beware..

[WarGod]

It flies, or so it seems. Exploding from the tops of the trees, arcing up over the forest and coming down once more. Reinforced beams cut the air with a penetrating whine, and then the impact with the earth could be heard into the inn. Upright the structure lands, a simple wooden affair, but enough to support the weight. Hung from it the body of a mutilated whiteling unicorn, its legs stretched between the scaffolding by a wire thin chain of some sort. The entire structure cants to one side, leaning just enough to give it a tilt. And there it rests. The lifeless head of the whiteling flops, and falls back again as its entrails fall from the place where the flesh of its stomach used to be to splatter wetling upon the ground. The horn? Where is that? Jammed into the heart of the poor beast.

[Kaz]

<Xair> Xair snorts a bit, watching the two for a moment before heading for the disrupted table where she and Sabedra had been sitting. The table is righted with a grunt of effort, straightened then she's settling in her chair and turning to glare out the window...only to scream in fright and disgust, head jerking to avoid looking at the scene outside. Hand flying up to cover her mouth as she fights back a wave of nausea.

<Sehran> His head jerks towards Xair as she screams. Despite everything, he still hurries over, and peers outside. Equine lips write back from fangs in a grimace that mingles horror with rage. Ears pin, and he resolutely heads for the door. He will not suffer that to remain. - "Do not look outside."

<Sabedra> Chartreuse eyes lift from their downward cant, having lowered to stare at the battle-bred's hooves, to peer over at Xair, startled by the scream. Already, she's starting to head in the direction; indeed, she would have gazed outside, trying to discover what had caused such a reaction from the girl, but Sehran's simply too fast in both movement and order. Don't look, he says. Where is he going...? Sabedra remains by the bar, only a step taken from where she was before.

<Sehran> Outside the battle-bred goes, and his own bile churns in his stomach. Worse even, then happening on one of Travesty's kills, this. And the only reason he does not ascribe it to the rogue mare is that the horn is still present. Muscles quiver, shaking with the anger in the stallion's being as he looks on this terrible deed. Travesty isn't enough? The rogue isn't enough for him and his kind and their charges to be pitted with? Gaia knows they have enough other predators, that is what the battle-bred were created -for-. He goes about dismantling the rig, using his dagger when he must, but otherwise asking the wood to loosen its hold on wire, on flesh, on other struts of wood. Falling apart, the corpse falling to earth, he begins the bloody business of reassembling the body as much as he can, entrails stuffed back into the body cavity. Horn pulled from the chest. A green spark flares at the tip of the scimitar horn, and it grows from spark to ember as the stallion bends his thick neck, touching horn to bloodspattered white neck. Mending. The corpse remains a corpse, but cavities fill with former flesh, hide stitches itself together. Since the horn is present, once the body is whole, the battle-bred kneels and holds it against the point where it was broken. Another green spark from his horn, touched to that divide, seals the two parts to each other. Battle-bred are lesser than whitelings in many ways, particularly magically. But this they share with whitelings, for whiteling reasons. Just as a whiteling can banish death, so too can they. For animals, for some people - there are rules to such things after all - and for each other. Provided the horn is intact, and present. Shattered horns is an oath for a reason. Brighter yet, nearly crackling about the scimitar, beige-hued horn, is the white gloaming that is discharged from battle-bred, into whiteling corpse. It jolts with sudden vitality, eyes flying open, lungs filling with breath. The battle-bred, sapped as a whiteling would not be, falls with less than usual grace into his kneeling posture, exchanging words with the other unicorn in subservient tones.

<Xair> Meanwhile, the girl has a small nervous breakdown. She's never seen such a thing. For all her defiance and trying to act older, she's just as sheltered as Caterina. Having been raised in a peaceful society where cruelity to unicorns never happens because all humans in that area are of the same mind. Unicorns are put on a pedastel...pedestal...er...yea. Respected, revered. Protected at all costs. Her stomach again tries to heave and she forces it down again, choking a bit as the silent flow of tears suddenly becomes hard sobs. Breakdown. Where's Caterina when she actually -needs- her?

<Sabedra> The long hem of silver gown whispers against the floorboards as the young woman paces by the bar. Xair's watched with concern, a murmuring for the girl to come here. Sehran had told her not to look outside, and the temptation to do so would be entirely too great if she came any closer to a window than she is currently. Her gardenia pale countenance turns away as she starts motion again, a path in a perfect line alongside the bar is kept to, and will be, until the battle-bred returns.

<Xair> The girl doesn't move, though she gradually gets herself under control. Sobs fade, tears dwindle. But her body still trembles. Finally she opens her eyes a bit, glazed with something of shock. A tugging sense of another whiteling that she can't register in her foggy mind. She'd rise, though, shakily and head towards Sabedra slowly..if only to get away from the window. She'd flop into a seat at the bar, tucking her feet up and knees hugged to her chest as dark eyes stare without seeing at the floorboards. Tears wiped away but continue to come, sliding down near-white cheeks.

<Sehran> There would be questions, of course. About who had done this, what. Why. Whether or not there were answers is something else entirely. It might be that the victim had none, or was too frightened to give them, wanting only to go now, leave the area and head for safer ones. A nicker then, towards the tavern. Call. Come see. He knows that Xair, at least, could use the reassurance after having seen something so terrible.