to live and burn is
the most exquisite form of self destruction

Rade was no stranger to the trials that life often tipped into one’s path.

His body was a testament to this truth. Having spent at least half his life amongst the bachelors of the Lagoon, and the other as a wandering nomad… well, it sufficed to say that he carried his share of scars. The white dusting that covered his coat - like a sifting of freshly-fallen snow - made these most apparent, as the hairs tending to grow back in the rich burnished-gold hue that was otherwise limited to his chest, head, and lower legs. One ear was tattered and had lost its tip courtesy of equine teeth - which were not, incidentally, as blunt as they appeared. After a time, the conflicts he’d both provoked and answered had begun to bleed together in the sieve of his memory. Thane, Asp, Reginleif. Did it truly matter anymore who the marks belonged to? All of them were gone, some turned to ash by the hands of either time or fate.

There was only one scar whose story he could remember with clarity. Naturally, it was the single memory that he would sooner remain buried.

In any case, the simple truth of Rade’s current predicament was that there were few better-equipped to oppose Cullen than he… and yet, the roan stallion could not. His age was a factor, albeit one that might have been overcome in the eyes of his new and once-brothers. But nothing could erase the fact that the monster who had led the Lagoon into a dark age of war and murder was his own son. A creature whose existence - no matter how much it endangered the islands - Rade could not even contemplate ending. Not after what had happened on Atlantis in the years of his turbulent youth. Not while the sound of crashing waves, a scream of fear, and a crack like thunder still resounded in his ears.

Perhaps Conquistador had forgiven him for what he’d done - but Rade had never forgiven himself. And in the end, that was why he had allowed the tawny palomino to cajole him into leaving the islands behind. In his penance, he’d spent years pretending to be something that he was not. Now, the once-Boss of the Lagoon had returned - but the power he’d previously held did not call to him in the same way. Was it tempting to shed the years he’d wasted? To return to his primarily selfish existence, and throw himself into the welcome distraction of bloodshed? Without a doubt, it was.

And that was why Rade was determined to deny that darker half of himself with every fibre of will that he possessed.

He had learned much in his years, both here and abroad. Enough to know that there was balance in everything. Everything that he’d taken had been met in turn by something he loved being taken from him. Debonaire, Fatale, Conquistador. Every hurt he’d inflicted had been answered with a cut as deep. And for every crime he’d committed - which were few, to be certain, against a list as lengthy as Cullen’s - punishment had inevitably found him in some form or another. It was a lesson his son had failed to grasp, and a failing that would prove to be the overo’s undoing.

Banishing the remnants of these dark thoughts with a toss of his head, the old stallion met the dark youngster’s gaze - a measure of the old fire he’d possessed turning the gold of his own eyes molten. “It is not I that needs your help-” he said evenly - all sultry voice and silver-tongued as he had been in his youth. “-but the islands themselves. Though it is possible we may both be of use to one another in this endeavor.” For a moment he paused, offering neither explanation or introduction. Rather, he was taking the measure of this boy, and felt a stab of dismay at what it was that he saw.

Of course Cullen had sent one of his most expendable men into the lion’s den. He would do his enemies no favors by weakening himself.

“I am called Rade, and you - you are from the Lagoon, are you not? One of Cullen’s own pawns, sent here to the Peak - but for what purpose, I wonder?” The thin line of his lips curled slightly as the syllables of Cullen’s name parted them; nor did he trouble himself to hide the disgust that lurked beneath the word. From the roan’s perspective, there were only two ways that this encounter could end - and if it was to end in violence, let that come sooner. Let less of his breath be wasted on trying to convince the spotted bachelor to trust him, so that he would have more to survive the coming storm.

And so, with an excess of verbal force - perhaps more than was necessary, but Rade was never known to be a creature of restraint - he tore the bandage off the festering wound. “A blight on the land, your leader, is he not? A cancerous tumor that would consume everything, if given the power to do so. And those who would serve him willingly in that cause - why, they are pustules on the arse of the islands.” His gaze had wandered southward as he spoke, but slid sideways again as he finished this degradation. Measuring the boy’s response, and preparing himself to meet any physical retaliation in kind. “But forgive me for the lack of respect. I’m sure you have no lack of love for the Lagoon’s own murderous traitor of a King. What sort of man would not be inspired by a ruler who leaves his subjects to suffer the consequences of his own crimes?”

He chuckled once, softly…. Humorlessly. And waited.

stallion . twenty-one . palomino roan . mustang mix . 15.1hh
debonaire x neassa