± when you feel my heat, look into my eyes ±
It’s been a long time since he has gathered them, too long perhaps some might suggest. Summer and Winters had passed him in a hazy blur and life went with it just as quickly- though he did not change from it. She had kept him young, the Chamber, kept him whole and well as she ever had. He had faith that she would do so but the price she would insist on in the end was never certain, nothing ever was. The War had been over for some many years now and in those years Beqanna had fallen into a quiet lull, one which he (if no one else) appreciated. In that time he had hoped for so many things, had wished to take the Chamber in a new direction, yet all around him the puzzle pieces were falling were they always had. The same wheel, the same monotonous cycle over and over again.
Did they not bore of this? he would always wonder but would likely be met with the same fervent answers. Change was hard, change was embracing the unknown and not all were well suited for change. Most met newness with impatience, with a bull-headed stubbornness that he would have thought he was capable of once. Not anymore, for once Killdare had sought change though he had met very little of it in the years to pass. One thing is for certain, he had elicited the change of alliance with the Tundra for once in many years it would seem, they found common and amicable terms of agreement. Perhaps that was more than he should have ever hoped for, yet he could still not shake his utter disappointment in Tannor and his leaving of the Gates- the loss of his once well-suited alliance. That was just a dream now, a forgotten dream and there would not be enough sleep to ever coax it back.
Spring is here again, bringing life to the world, bringing change, and today he too would bring change to what he still had power over. The tree burns, bright and haunting as it ever had and he spends some moments before it, watching the flames flicker and fade and repeat. When he does call it is a voice deep and baritone, starting out low before it grows in intensity to sound against the rough bark of the pines. It echos through the stillness of the evening, rushing birds from their nests, and breaks the silence that all too often clings in the wood. In response the tree glows fierce with flame, submitting its own call to those that inhabit the Chamber, coaxing them from their slumber if they should be resting.
In the evening hours the light grew soft in the chamber, supple in a way. It cast long shadows against the horizon only to break them off at the edge of the mountains, the darkness there swallowing them whole until they were nothing. Killdare’s own shadow rested against the earth, cast by the triumphant flame of the tree, while the rest of him, the rest of him burned.
Did they not bore of this? he would always wonder but would likely be met with the same fervent answers. Change was hard, change was embracing the unknown and not all were well suited for change. Most met newness with impatience, with a bull-headed stubbornness that he would have thought he was capable of once. Not anymore, for once Killdare had sought change though he had met very little of it in the years to pass. One thing is for certain, he had elicited the change of alliance with the Tundra for once in many years it would seem, they found common and amicable terms of agreement. Perhaps that was more than he should have ever hoped for, yet he could still not shake his utter disappointment in Tannor and his leaving of the Gates- the loss of his once well-suited alliance. That was just a dream now, a forgotten dream and there would not be enough sleep to ever coax it back.
Spring is here again, bringing life to the world, bringing change, and today he too would bring change to what he still had power over. The tree burns, bright and haunting as it ever had and he spends some moments before it, watching the flames flicker and fade and repeat. When he does call it is a voice deep and baritone, starting out low before it grows in intensity to sound against the rough bark of the pines. It echos through the stillness of the evening, rushing birds from their nests, and breaks the silence that all too often clings in the wood. In response the tree glows fierce with flame, submitting its own call to those that inhabit the Chamber, coaxing them from their slumber if they should be resting.
In the evening hours the light grew soft in the chamber, supple in a way. It cast long shadows against the horizon only to break them off at the edge of the mountains, the darkness there swallowing them whole until they were nothing. Killdare’s own shadow rested against the earth, cast by the triumphant flame of the tree, while the rest of him, the rest of him burned.
KILLDARE
magma King of the Chamber
