"But the dream, the echo, slips from him as quickly as he had found it and as consciousness comes to him (a slap and not the gentle waves of oceanic tides), it dissolves entirely. His muscles relax as the cold claims him again, as the numbness sets in, and when his grey eyes open, there’s nothing but the faint after burn of a dream often trod and never remembered." --Brigade, written by Laura
06-08-2015, 03:15 PM (This post was last modified: 06-08-2015, 04:09 PM by Rodrik.)
Thump, thump.
The dark form crawls forward, slipping through the shadows and mist of the forest. It moves with quick steps, muscles and bones working together as nature intended for, as the scent of death trails behind it. The devil peers through hooded eyes, dark and hollow, but there remains a familiar color of nutmeg in the eyes. Its eyes search across the familiar pine forest frantically like a bloodhound so close to the scent.
Thump, thump, thump…
It calls out to the beast, it screams to come closer. The red stallion moves faster, hooves picking up higher. He waves through the ancient pine trees with ease as the mist blinds him from the path in front of him. It did not matter though, the dark form knew exactly where he was going. These lands were not foreign to the once native dweller of the Chamber. He had once been something special to this place here, a king among the forest. However, he was something entirely differently now.
Thump, thump…
The sound is closer now. He can almost taste it, the sweetness of blood between his lips. It makes him salivate, like a mad man; dripping from the corners of his lip. A hunger for blood fills his eyes, it is so strong, an instinct that he cannot resist for much longer. It could never be resisted though, not even when it lurked within the very depths of his soul.
THUMP, THUMP.
As he reaches the center of the land, a repugnant smirk grows across his tattered lips. The land opens before him and he steps forward into the light, revealing a disaster, an old fable to scare the young children. He is strung together barely by bones and muscles. Cartilage, ligaments and tendons are the only things that hold him in one piece. Rotted flesh hangs in strips and patched all over his body. As he moves his bones crack, rattling against one another. His eyes are sunken, hollowed, and lifeless. It is only a hunger that fills his eyes and gives him life.
“There you are,” he coos softly with a deep, raspy voice as he stands beneath the heart of the kingdom. THUMP, THUMP, THUMP. The heart rattles underneath his dying body.
Rodrik
angels banished from heaven have no choice but to become devils
The eyes give him away. Barely his anymore, but still that nutmeg color she knows all too well. It took her a while to figure it out. Instead, she watched from within the trees as the dead creature weaved through the forest like it knew this land. Clearly, it had once upon a time. The heart seems to draw it forward through the trees, and she creeps through the misty forests, losing sight of the monster now and again in the white shroud.
But the forests are hers more than any other. There are new growths here and there from the volcantic eruption, and she still possess more ease in this forests than anyone other than those who have watched the forests regrow. Erebor knows this forest almost as well as she. Perhaps even as well as she does, truthfully. But Erebor is a child of the Chamber, completely, and she expects nothing less from the boy.
Eventually, once it’s out in the clearing, she finally catches the gleam of nutmeg in the eyes. Ah. Rodrik. She’d always known he possessed traits, though she didn’t know what traits exactly. Immortality she knew, and devilish things she knew, but nothing more exact than that. But she’d never seen him as he truly was, and for a moment, she can only watch. Not in horror. The sight doesn’t surprise her, really. But simply in fascination and also with the dawning realization both her parents are gone.
This new Rodrik isn’t the father she knew. He hadn’t been much of a father, but now he wasn’t her father at all.
Eventually, she comes out of the pine forest and makes her way to where he stands. “Well hello, father.” She says, no different from the day he left. She’s still beautiful, her voice still smoky. “Don’t you look wonderful.”
straia
queen of the chamber
Use of mild power playing is allowed; no injuries without permission
06-09-2015, 03:08 PM (This post was last modified: 06-09-2015, 03:08 PM by Kavi.)
Do you believe you're missin' out?
That everything good is happening somewhere else?
The heavy scent of pine has disappeared from the Chamber. Ash, instead, flits through the kingdom. Where once needles littered the earth, black dust lies. Similarly, the gleam of my golden coat is no longer charming; instead, it has taken on a dashing, roguish demeanour. My silver tongue has sharpened from spoon to knife, and the thanks is all to the Chamber. The volcanos may have torn through its skin, but there is no force with the means to tear out its heart.
Stubbornly, the mist clings to the landscape. Long needles no longer exist to embrace it, but the mist still clings to where the trees once stood, casting long shadows on the kingdom. My shapely hooves clip sharply against the stony earth, carrying me through the grey sea, towards the centre of this land. The thump-thump beneath the earth plays queerly in my bones upon this eve; and in others, too, it would seem. As the veil parts, the family reunion commences.
Straia may not be horrified, but I certainly am. This is not the brother I knew, though he hasn't been for decades. Memories flit behind my amber eyes; games of chase and battle, nights spent with just us three, days spent with Mother amongst the chaos of the Jungle. Recent memories resurface as well; Bergamot's light-coffee eyes gleam in my mind, eyes which reflect Rodrik's all too well. Their meeting had gone smoothly, in fact, son and uncle had gotten along better than hoped.
Perhaps only I have ever seen that side of him. Perhaps that side of him is only a glimmer of what once resided beneath his chestnut fur. Now, though few patches remain, I come to accept that this is his new skin. This is Rodrik.
"I always knew you were a devil," I say after a long moment. "Though the visual really gets the message across. Dozens of question race across my tongue, yet so quickly that I never end up asking one. Instead, I study him, attempting to keep the sickly feeling from affecting my expression.
It is the smell that gets him, long before there is any question of hearing or seeing. It smells like death, like rot, but in an unnatural way that has him immediately worried. As he gets closer, he can tell that whatever it is seems to be creeping, picking its way through the landscape with a disconcerting subtlety, a strange knowledge that somehow sets every muscle and bone and sinew in his young body on edge.
It does not surprise him to see his mother, flanking the creature on the other side. Straia's multicolored body weaves in and among the trees exactly like Erebor's black one, but she does not move on the creature, and he takes his cues from her. They are truly mother and son in that moment, two shadows trailing something undead, something horrific, something (entirely unbeknownst to him) that he is related to.
The thing makes its way out of the forest, and again Erebor lets Straia take the lead. He pauses when she pauses, approaching when she approaches, still silent, warily watching both the nightmare-thing and his mother. And so he doesn't miss it when she pauses, doesn't fail to see the way she looks at the creature with fascination and something else that he can't quite identify. But she is not afraid, and so he is not either. Wary, perhaps, but not afraid.
His mother greets the thing, and calls it father, and the boy is slightly taken aback as he puts the pieces together. His weight shifts back onto his haunches and he draws in a sharp breath. Perhaps his mother will be able to tell that he is a touch surprised, but there are so few clues, so few cracks in his martial demeanor that might give it away.
He has heard of Rodrik, heard how he held the throne before Straia. He's heard plenty of things, but none of it has been recent. None of it has prepared him for this moment when he will meet his grandfather. Luckily, he's saved from having to respond immediately by the arrival of Kavi. It's shaping up to be a proper family reunion now, much like the one where his mother had first summoned him from the burnt husks of the pine trees to meet Kavi and Bergamot. But at that little gathering, no one had been a rotting corpse.
Kavi greets Rodrik with a quip, and Erebor is busy looking between the three of them, trying to figure out the exact topography of the relationships. He isn't sure how to react to Rodrik; should he call him grandfather and reveal himself? Should he wait for Straia to introduce him? For the first time in quite some time, the black boy is actually at a loss for words. And so he says nothing, tucking himself into their group with his eyes fixed on Rodrik, uncharacteristically silent.
06-19-2015, 09:05 PM (This post was last modified: 06-20-2015, 11:39 AM by Rodrik.)
THUMP, THUMP…
The heart rattles beneath his hooves again and again. He can smell the scent of life in the ground, the pulsing of the heart calling him home. It is the very thing that has given life to this land; a sign of sacrifice that must be given in order to live here. The Chamber determined everything for those that dwelled within her womb. There was a price for the comfort and her motherly love, but it was price that anyone who understood her would gladly and readily pay without a thought. And he was no different, but so readily at the beck and call of her.
It is the sound of approaching hooves that draw his attention away from the heart that beats so loudly beneath him. His hungry eyes do not search so feverously for her. It is the scent of his daughter that draws his blood voracious eyes to her multicolored body. “Straia,” he says with a rough voice. It is a surprise he even remembers her name, but he could never forget the one that dethroned him. “It’s so good to see you. You look well.” Rodrik draws closer to her, the scent of flesh and blood pulling him closer. He yearns for the taste, but it is the very soul beneath it all that he craves more than ever.
He must eat.
And soon.
“Who is this?” He asks as his teeth grind together. Rodrik directs his attention towards the black boy when he gives a sharp breath. The smell of life draws him to Erebor. He stops before the young black stallion. Rodrik’s nostrils flare softly as he examines the boy, looking pass the layers of skin, muscles and bones. He looks into the very heart, the very soul of the boy. A low growl releases from his throat as he peers at the boy with amusement. “My, my, you have been busy little queen.” He smiles sarcastically at the silent boy but it fades quickly.
His nostrils quiver and his mouth drips with salvia once more as the scent of another fills him. Rodrik’s eyes dart towards the figure of his younger brother like a wolf finally cornering its prey at last. He steps towards him, slowly moving. “What else would you expect, little brother?” Rodrik says with a smile. His eyes soften a little, the blood-lust fading away. He gives off a soft grumble, managing somewhat of a laugh that vibrates through his body and rattles his diaphragm against his ribs.
Rodrik
angels banished from heaven have no choice but to become devils
Maybe she isn’t horrified simply because she has long since realized that she will never have parents or siblings. Not really, anyway. Her mother was murdered when she was a child, and the question of who has played in her mind over and over again all these years. She thinks she knows now, because there’s only one horse she’s aware of that would benefit from killing Frostweaver, but she can’t ask. Not know, not with Kavi and Erebor here. Perhaps not ever, because likely, he’d only lie anyway.
Though maybe not. Maybe there was no reason for that particular secret anymore. She’s not sure, but in the end, does it matter? She already dethroned him, sold him to the Valley for a crown (for the betterment of the Chamber, which he let languish beneath him). Sending him away from the place he called home perhaps was punishment enough. Then again, if she hadn’t, he never would have been able to become the creature he truly is. No longer quite horse, just a creature.
She’s never really had a father either. Rodrik kept her alive and safe, yes, but he never particularly loved her. Not that she sought hugs and kisses, but the same kind of love that she had for Erebor. She’d throw herself in the fires for her son, if it came to that, and he knows it. She doesn’t need to tell him this. But Rodrik? It’s clear in his eyes; he’d devour her whole if he could get away with it.
She’d lost Lu along the way, because the Chamber demanding to be first. And Straia would always serve the Chamber above herself. And Lu, likely, would never forgive her. Oksana couldn’t stay, because of who she was and whom she loved. And so, in the end, it was only Straia. And Kavi. Thank God for Kavi.
Erebor she knew was coming, but she’s not surprised that Kavi is here as well. After all, Rodrik is his brother, and they’ve always been close. But Kavi seems to react to Rodrik’s current appearance about the same way she did, with some mix of shock and acceptance. This is what Rodrik truly is, after all. “Erebor,” she says, ignoring the growl that might be a laugh, or might be Rodrik considering eating her son. She isn’t sure. “Every good monarch needs a better heir.” She adds, flicking her tail.
After all, hadn’t she proven to be at least as good as her father, if not better? When the Chamber burned, he did nothing. She rebuilt it, she stayed. He slipped into the shadows. “What can we do for you, father?” Father holds the same level of venom it always has, the words clipped and polite but not particularly in the mood for his games either. Rodrik had always been lies and games, after all. He claimed for the Chamber. She still thought it had always been more for himself.
straia
queen of the chamber
Use of mild power playing is allowed; no injuries without permission
Do you believe you're missin' out?
That everything good is happening somewhere else?
He’s venomous.
He’s always been, though.
No, not always. Not in the beginning. Not before the Chamber.
I’ve always been the younger brother, until the recent years. I’ve been the little fellow, the golden fluff ball who stuck by Mom for ages. Perhaps in that, I followed in Rayelle’s footsteps. Once I left the Jungle – temporarily – I tracked down Rodrik, however. When Mom no longer walked the Jungle, or this earth, I found myself at an utter and complete loss. The meadow no longer supported my aimless wanderings and desperate attempts at romance, because I knew no other way. I knew nothing of independence.
And when I crawled to Rodrik unglamorously and completely vulnerable, he sheltered me. He cried with me. He always shed his evil when it was only he and I; I got to witness that old gleam in his eyes, the one that was gold, not black. Perhaps this is why I am not shocked at his appearance; I’ve watched it melt and solidify on his skin a thousand times before. I’ve seen the Rodrik which the world knows, and I’ve glimpsed the one I knew.
And yet again, as he looks to me, the blood-lust falters in his gaze. Saliva drips from his fanged lips, and blood is matted against the filth of his undead figure, but he and I played pretend far too often as rambunctious Jungle children for this façade to scare me.
“Well, I would probably expect some small animal dangling from your lips.” A rascally grin paints my expression, although the queasiness in my stomach has not quite dissipated. “At that point however, we’d have to start calling you Shaytan, and that would be an insult to your masculinity I’m sure.” Brotherly banter; acceptable at all times, even ones as tension-filled as this.
Straia asks what his intentions are here, and while I don’t appreciate her cool tone, I do not object. In fact, I find myself rather curious as to his doings in the kingdom… Things have surely changed. Perhaps the coming of the Beqanna Fairy has caused this disruption among the family – or perhaps it is the empathy, picking up on the discomfort and the tightness of throats.
KAVI
Kagerou x Rhaego
IM SO SORRY THIS IS SO LATE and crappy too ugh Kavi is weird to write
![[Image: lRJZ7qE.gif]](https://i.imgur.com/lRJZ7qE.gif)
