± when you feel my heat, look into my eyes ±
It would be a lie to say that the Chamber King did not hold his own hot temper in check. It was ironic somehow that of all gifts he had chosen that which was the hottest, heaven help him if he could not keep it in check.
It’s the newcomer’s eyes that are the first to suggest cause for scrutiny. Red, like blood, like fire, like Gryffen. Oh yes, the once Chamber Lord had had the unfortunate opportunity to know the Chamber’s ghost, the red eyed wolf called Gryffen. A creature filled with hate and malice and a taste for the weak, not unlike Killdare’s nephew. Those two would have been fast friends if ever given the chance, those two would have needed careful eyes on them and he was glad that the situation never arose.
He is tense, coiled and unsure, apparent in his distrust for the magma wielding royal. Killdare snorts at his words, as though he condemns him to the past already and leaves him no room for the change he seeks. Black smoke rises from his lungs, pushing forward into the icy air with littered bits of glowing ashes, his molten eyes burn brightly until with a shake he quells them. He tucks them away, pulling the molten earth from his skin, the substance somehow bleeding back within him to be held Gods know where. Now he stands before them beast to beast, man to man. An earthy figure with proud lineage, though his lines meant nothing here. A bulging mass that is almost stiff now that the heat has been so unceremoniously sucked away. He is raked with scars of his own, a mess of thick, coarse, tangled, waves along his neck and backside blowing haphazardly around him.
“I’ve come for change, not to delve into the past.” He remarks, keeping his tone as even as possible, though he cannot help but feel like he is being baited. “It is no news that the Tundra has for some time suffered with lack of life, alongside the Gates which so foolishly sought retribution. I seek to see the Gates stand on their own four feet, to give them ground to stand on when it comes to War and Peace in our world. No good, no evil, I tire of such oppression to be something one way or nothing at all.”
It was true, too long there had been a never ending circle, even when the fae had shattered the limitations of each Kingdom, had done what they could to free them from stereotypes, they remained unchanging. The good to the light Kingdoms and what had that done for the Gates? Nothing. Without a solid leader they had crumbled beneath the weight of the Valley and Chamber alike. They had fallen even further into their illusion of all things good, and whole and pure. There was no room to be only one facet to a many sided diamond, not these days, not anymore. They had failed to act, even against the venom they spat and threw around about their ‘revenge’.
And what had the Chamber earned from all this? The Sisters crying Uncle first? The abdication of their Queen? What did that all mean now? Little and less.
“Change is what I seek, with not so easy allies. If we can work together, we can build up those who would otherwise disappear. Make them formidable foes, powerful allies. We can paint each Kingdom in a new light, in their own light instead of forcing them into what is considered the usual path. We can make our own paths. One to show the Gates a reign of strength and confidence. Another softer soul to teach the Valley compassion and humility.”
While he speaks to the Tundra King his own stare would bore into the Diplomat at his side, the one with judgment in his words. “Already I lead the Chamber away from the damnation they so openly sought. I don’t seek your blood to build my Kingdom on.” Killdare must hold back the spit that wets his palette, and the audacity to release it in a puddle of molten earth at the blue-eyed man’s feet.
It’s the newcomer’s eyes that are the first to suggest cause for scrutiny. Red, like blood, like fire, like Gryffen. Oh yes, the once Chamber Lord had had the unfortunate opportunity to know the Chamber’s ghost, the red eyed wolf called Gryffen. A creature filled with hate and malice and a taste for the weak, not unlike Killdare’s nephew. Those two would have been fast friends if ever given the chance, those two would have needed careful eyes on them and he was glad that the situation never arose.
He is tense, coiled and unsure, apparent in his distrust for the magma wielding royal. Killdare snorts at his words, as though he condemns him to the past already and leaves him no room for the change he seeks. Black smoke rises from his lungs, pushing forward into the icy air with littered bits of glowing ashes, his molten eyes burn brightly until with a shake he quells them. He tucks them away, pulling the molten earth from his skin, the substance somehow bleeding back within him to be held Gods know where. Now he stands before them beast to beast, man to man. An earthy figure with proud lineage, though his lines meant nothing here. A bulging mass that is almost stiff now that the heat has been so unceremoniously sucked away. He is raked with scars of his own, a mess of thick, coarse, tangled, waves along his neck and backside blowing haphazardly around him.
“I’ve come for change, not to delve into the past.” He remarks, keeping his tone as even as possible, though he cannot help but feel like he is being baited. “It is no news that the Tundra has for some time suffered with lack of life, alongside the Gates which so foolishly sought retribution. I seek to see the Gates stand on their own four feet, to give them ground to stand on when it comes to War and Peace in our world. No good, no evil, I tire of such oppression to be something one way or nothing at all.”
It was true, too long there had been a never ending circle, even when the fae had shattered the limitations of each Kingdom, had done what they could to free them from stereotypes, they remained unchanging. The good to the light Kingdoms and what had that done for the Gates? Nothing. Without a solid leader they had crumbled beneath the weight of the Valley and Chamber alike. They had fallen even further into their illusion of all things good, and whole and pure. There was no room to be only one facet to a many sided diamond, not these days, not anymore. They had failed to act, even against the venom they spat and threw around about their ‘revenge’.
And what had the Chamber earned from all this? The Sisters crying Uncle first? The abdication of their Queen? What did that all mean now? Little and less.
“Change is what I seek, with not so easy allies. If we can work together, we can build up those who would otherwise disappear. Make them formidable foes, powerful allies. We can paint each Kingdom in a new light, in their own light instead of forcing them into what is considered the usual path. We can make our own paths. One to show the Gates a reign of strength and confidence. Another softer soul to teach the Valley compassion and humility.”
While he speaks to the Tundra King his own stare would bore into the Diplomat at his side, the one with judgment in his words. “Already I lead the Chamber away from the damnation they so openly sought. I don’t seek your blood to build my Kingdom on.” Killdare must hold back the spit that wets his palette, and the audacity to release it in a puddle of molten earth at the blue-eyed man’s feet.
KILLDARE
magma King of the Chamber
