Welcome to Gaia! ::

Thera sat at the edge of the lake, dried reeds in large colorful piles surrounding her. Reds, blues, yellows, greens, purples, oranges, white, black, all colors seemed present, thin strips of grass dried and ready for a variety of uses. She even had a basket of colored threads, bones needles ready for use. It was coming close to THAT season. The harvest season, when the pumpkins were ripe and large and perfect for the future plans of the horsemen.

Perfect, for the cultivation of the next generation of FEAR.

The word was not limited to the horsemen, students, citizens, all were invited to take part. After all, protection charms sometimes broke. Life and unlife took unexpected turns. Many knew that pumpkins could happen. Why, there were even rumors of ninja pumpkins a few years ago... But Thera was a horsewoman. A weapon's master. A mentor. She would try to educate not just her people, but all on the importance of being ready. Of having your pumpkin basket woven pre-harvest.

Wings folded behind her, she murmured to a passing famine soldier, asking if they could please make room for her guest and partner for this lesson. There would be an overstock of their supplies, and in the art of underwater basket weaving, (or even normal basket weaving), skimping simply would not suffice. Each basket must be just right to protect the little bundle of FEAR that would pop in time.

Students, horsemen, and citizens were invited to sit on small blankets supplies laid out, yet if touched Thera reminding them to wait.

The last thing that Soren wanted, or needed, were baskets. He didn't intend to knock up any mares, and really didn't have a use for such nonsense.

On the other hand, as a gag gift? Baskets would be perfect, and his mind was already deviously thinking of various people to gift these too. Pretty much anyone in Conquest would work with their noses in the air. Yes, this was a class he might just enjoy.

He sat down easily in the midst of the supplies, giving the horsewoman leading the class a nod. He didn't know her, but anyone willing to teach a class like this was obviously comfortable with er, sharing Fear, so perhaps he should get to know her a bit better.

Mmur had always enjoyed the antics of children. Oddly enough, he could no longer recall what it meant to be one, which was probably why he still resembled the flightiest of them in everything but appearance. In all fairness, he had been taking on more responsibility lately without being prompted to, but more had quickly turned into too much, and the soldier found himself dozing off at the oddest times, only to wake up in the middle of a basket weaving class. Or above one, as it turned out.

He yawned as he blinked down at the group forming near the lake, smiling when he saw who was leading them. It was Thera, Mistress of Field Trips to the Insanity Zone and Champion Butt-Toucher. Mmur swung out of the tree he'd been napping in and took a seat on the shore, reaching for the yellow and orange strips until he was told to stop. He folded his hands instead, watching the strips with unwavering intent. No one was going to prevent him from weaving a sunset basket. No one.

Zar wasn't sure why he was there. He'd come along mostly out of curiosity, but the moment he sat down - away from Barth and Calder, off on his own because he didn't want to intrude - he felt desperate and awkward. Knowledge was knowledge though and that was how he justified it to himself. Knowledge. He knew nothing about the process or scarlings themselves short of that his time as one had been lonely and fraught with expectations he couldn't live up to.

He curled his wings and tail around himself like a blanket of his own and - resting his chin on the linked wing-claws - he just watched.

Shaheen showed up, landing from up in the sky with a flourish of wings that she didn't bother to fold behind her quickly, using them to knock the backs of the heads of a few of the other horsemen and students alike in the nearest vicinity, before after a few steps they began to fold in behind her, neatly and as out of the way as they could get. They weren't nearly as wispy today as they had been on other days, a testament to the oftentimes tenuous control she had learned through the used of distortion, though it helped that Medea had done something to lessen the whispers as well.

Her golden gaze swept through those present, and landed on only one recognizable form. She parked herself next to this burly and gruff appearing death horsemen and flopped to the ground near him.

And then she simply stared at him, with her chin propped up in one hand, what could only be described as an amused smile playing gently along her lips.

She seriously had nothing to say. She just wanted to be an off putting nuisance.

"Hello, Zar." Calder said, looking ahead before looking to both boils on either side of him. "I hope you two are good at basket making. If she allows it, I plan to make a few." He glanced at Barth knowing full well he knew of his future family plans. Zar, however, was a surprise.

Turning, he smiled at him. "So, didn't expect to see you here. How many scarlings do you want?" That had to be why he was here.

Calder looked at Zar and then his shoulders hitched as he covered his mouth, hiding the large smile and stifling a laugh that was trying to escape. Pressing his lips tight to trap the sound, he then said in a tiny, high-pitched voice of restrained. "You're a incubi and your parents didn't tell you about the pumpkin patch?" He managed, covering his mouth again.

When he felt he had a small window to talk again, he removed his hand only to say. "That's adorable."

Barth cleared his throat. "Incubi prey on specialized emotions. Making scarelings is a different process. Although, err, a certain amount of synchronization is err, helpful. I've heard."