some things never change; open

[Set]

I like the way the chains lie draped across the proud stallion’s hide, separating dead tissue from the living and leaving raw pink trails in their wake. I study him as I approach, yellow eyes gone deadpan, the corner of my mouth twisted into a permanent smirk …

I waken with a start, mismatched lids snapping open to reveal milky, dead eyes. The air is cool and damp. My ears twitch with the sound of dripping water; slowly my scope widens and the rushing sound of a river is apparent. Rain falls in a cool mist, beading on the flowers growing through my rotted hide, the sand cool beneath phantom muscles. Neurons fire and I attempt to rise but my bones, long relieved of their flesh, lie in a scattered pile down the shore. It is only a moment before irritation cauterizes my confusion and as the shadows converge on my death-stricken form, hooves and long bones leave furrows in the sand …

I’m standing once again, something I have not done in years, skin and hair knitting themselves together, eyes once again an unearthly gold-color as I squint out across the ocean. Silver Cove had once been my territory. Never a home, simply a place to call my own … The Chamber had always been home. Instinctively I turn in her direction, nostrils flared wide. Did Rodrik still rule or had some other risen to power? How long has it been since I walked these lands. I take a deep breath, dusty lungs filled with sea-salt air, and step into the kingdom I once ruled, the kingdom that will forever be home …

The atmosphere ripples; a hoof and then a torn and scarred body follows, the portal closing behind me with a soft sigh. She’s not changed much and yet, everything is different. The pines and spruce still stand sentinel, dark and foreboding against a boulder-strewn forest. Evidence of her trials and tribulations – the scorched earth, the collapsed slave pens, the cracked and blood-soaked ground – is obvious if you know where to look. Gone are the scents of my childhood, Mother and my privileged life; yet here is the site of my first battle; the scene makes my scars itch as I pass reverently through the shadows. Lost in my wandering, unconcerned in my well-deserved arrogance …

[Engelsfors]

	There is nothing more homely, safe, like the scent of pine and earth. The Chamber has become to me, like a second skin, like the need to breathe air, the want for the earthy dirt beneath my feet, the crunch of pine needles. I need the chamber, like the sun needs the sky, the moon needs the night. And it has become part of me, like the twigs and the burrs that braid my gossamer mane. The idle afternoon is blissful, the sunlight comes like spires through the thickened summer foliage, pierces through the darkness of the boundary, and kisses my golden coat with a gentle touch. Warmth, it knits between my sinew and bone and fills me with the sense of satisfaction that not only have I a home, but a purpose, a meaning to life. Something my mother had never truly had (of which she claimed much, but knew was not true.) My crown lifts, hearing the swirling of the deadened leaves, the scent of another soon flutters against my nostrils. I inhale, deeply, and mixed with the familiar scent of pine is something new, yet something old, worn. My hindlegs spur me on, my powerful haunches pushing me out of the copse of trees at a steady canter, rhythmic and smooth. Sapphire eyes look about the clearing, finding not a single shadow cast, then my eyes find him, war torn and scarred, a multi-toned shadow amongst the earthy bark. A proverbial brow is lifted and a glimmer of curiosity and intrigue sparkles in my gemstone eyes. I sidle up towards him, flinty hooves breaking a crescendo against the needled earth. I whicker, a voice as darkly seductive as the smooth shadows, swirled with a brewing pot of magic. Sultry and smooth. 'You're different...' I remark, eyes gliding over his form. Torn and ragged in places, he showed a great deal of strife. I breathe the steed in, nostrils piquing at the salty scent that sticks to him, the worn crimson that smells stagnant. Flesh, once stripped from bone. He was a walking contradiction, and this, this intrigued me. 'You have reasons for being here, haven't you?' My gilt ears swivel atop my crown, gossamer threads languid against my neck as I weave a few steps around him perhaps considered predatory, but more so just a curious examination. He knew something, this stranger, for he strolled and broke the boundary as if it did not exist, and the chamber, oh, the chamber knows him like she had known Anaxarete's entrance.. A smooth, debonair smile, all diplomacy, all black magic, weaves itself at my lips. 'I'm Engelsfors.'

[Warship]

i'm on the wrong side of heaven, and the righteous side of hell

He is drawn to the feeling of magic first. It tingles against his skin, the long fingers skimming over his sensitive flanks. The air seems to crackle with the static of it, and he shudders involuntarily. Though he possess no magic of his own, the old warrior is akin to it, drawn to it, pulled to it with a magnetic force. It is his heart that feels the pull he knows, the heart that beats because magic had touched it. Without the force of magic he would have been dead years ago, a bleach white skeleton now. But the Chamber had seen fit to let him live, to use him for the rest of eternity. And so here he was, in the flesh, heart beating steady beneath the glowing symbol of his promise.

The infinity symbol is once more glowing brightly, like it did when Anaxarete swirled into the Chamber on the wings of smoke and fire. He raises his head, pushing his nose into the wind. He catches the scent of the stranger, and his ears play atop his head as he tries to decipher it. Its no one he knows, but he smells inherently of the Chamber; pine forests and cool earth, the scent of mildew that clings to the rock facings and caves. He moves easily in the direction of the stallion, his demeanor cool but guarded at the same time. The palomino mare Englesfors beats him to the punch, and he just catches the tail end of her greeting. For now the black stallion stays quiet, regarding the stranger with a detached sense of curiosity. Yes, he is of the Chamber. It is written on his skin somehow, and Warship can see a certain shine in his odd-colored eyes. “Welcome home.” he says simply, tilting his head ever so slightly. For now he doesn’t offer a name, but is content to see just what the new (old) comer has to say.

warship

[Gryffen]

He melts from the cool shadows, the weird thudding beneath his hooves had become even odder tonight. As if the heart in the Chamber was racing with excitement. It was obvious something had happened and he only ventured out after hearing the strange rush of the portal closing behind it’s time traveler. Glowing red eyes make out three shapes. Two he’s not very acquainted with but are familiar only in the sense that he’s seen them amongst the Chamber since his return. The other however isn’t a stranger at all. ”My my…. Couldn’t stay away either could you?” He can’t help but grin. The old bastard had beaten him in the Alliance but he had never held much of a grudge about it. Besides he had rather admired the way the magician handled most of his business. He looks about the Chamber, figuring that Set could see the same ghostly remembrances that he did when they had both called this home so long ago. The ruins of the slave pens, the debris of the Chamber they had known underneath this new beating earth that infected the Kingdom now. He glances at the other two who seem to be waiting for the newcomer to do something exciting and he simply snorts softly, tossing his head. ”What do you think Set? Perhaps it can be like old times…” G R Y F F E N *********the big bad wolf

[Set]

I am drawn to a particular meadow, hooves placed by memory, the paths worn and familiar. When I pause at the edge of the forest, sap and errant needles sticking to my sides, my eyes go immediately to the old tree, there by the edge of one of the Chamber’s many lakes. It still stands sentinel, just as I remember, though it’s now devoid of leaves, its bark withered and branches long dead. Dark ear drawn forward, the lighter one drawn back, I study it for a moment, nostrils wrinkled against the onslaught of memories. I can hear them coming, the current Chamber denizens, but I have some time before they find me. My skin continues to knit together, flesh and hide slowly cloaking exposed bone, but I am well-formed enough to step into an easy lope, muscles rejoicing at being whole once again. The lakeshore, and the boulder where Mother, myself, and my children once held court, is my destination and it is only a matter of strides before I am there. I run my nose along it’s surface, warmed by the afternoon sun, and breath deep of my past. The Chamber, she rumbles her pleasure at my return, for it has been since I won the Alliance and my powers that I have crossed her borders with the intent to remain …

I ignore Englesfors as she approaches, skunk-tail swishing briefly at my hocks. I can feel her sense of belonging as I flippantly shuffle through her surface, her thoughts now mine to know, should I so choose. Here, though, standing on what I consider sacred ground, I wield my magic only just enough to know the basics. For now. An unrivaled beauty, to be sure, incomparable to my Nera but noted for future … exploration. You’re different … she purrs, and one corner of my mouth tilts in amusement, yellow-gold eyes sparking with something indecipherable. I say nothing, only still as she stalks about, studying my still-healing form and finally introducing herself. “I know,” I reply simply, softening the razor edge of my tone with a knowing wink before turning to face both she and the stoic Warship, but it is not he that I immediately see. I smile faintly, staring with an odd sense of ease as a ghost emerges from the shadows. Chain? My sire, once-General of the Chamber, an unknown who fought his way from the bottom, led his soldiers through many a battle and won the attention of his Queen … I blink quickly when the glowing infinity symbol suddenly appears in my vision, the ragged, scar-marked body of my father replaced by that of Warship’s. Strange …

I only have a moment to incline my head at Warship’s greeting – his ties to the Chamber run deep as well, his father’s heart thudding quietly beneath my feet – before Gryffen’s wry laughter rings out between us. A smile – perhaps I am getting soft in my old age – splits my already divided features as I turn to face him, a low chuckle spilling from scarred lips. “Indeed.” At the red-eyed stallion’s invitation, I take another moment to survey the Chamber from where we stand, ragged barrel shaking with genuine laughter. “It will never again be like the old days, my friend, but I am sure between four of us and the rest of the Chamberlings, we can find a way to entertain ourselves. How long ago did you return?” I turn my head toward the pretty blonde, beckoning her back into the conversation . “Tell me, Engelsfors, why did Straia make you her advisor?” There is no subterfuge in my question, no mockery. I find that asking others about themselves is far more interesting than pulling answers from the folds of white and gray matter within their heads. I do not wait for her answer before addressing the General, assuming they will reply in turn. “And you, Warship, what have you accomplished that has deemed you worthy to lead this kingdom’s soldiers?”

[Killdare]

XD  

I WILL ALWAYS FIND YOU

The Chamber of late, had been a circus of smells. The disquieted melody pulled at Killdare’s nostrils with an astounding demand to be ‘heard’. In a sense, if smells could be heard, and perhaps for Killdare each scent could be. The stillness of their borders was interrupted by steady streams of those past acquainted, those that had returned to Her call, because they could not resist. The bay ripped at the earth as he passed, tender needles weaving into his feathers. He crept his mass along the tree line, ever so careful to not break the sentient pines of their home. A chugging pace of a freight train, clambering along the rail line to his destination.

He filtered in to the clearing, familiar faces lining the circumference, and just one new one. The one that had the same tingling scent of magic base like Straia, with each unique one. Ones he would learn if the other would stay once more, to add to the growing, fragrant aroma of the Chamber. He gave them a short nod in acknowledgement before he swiveled past the other males, sliding his barrel alongside the gilded female. His lips found her rump in affection, before curling around her backside and taking his place next to her. Once the bay settled in, he finally offered a gruff baritone in greeting. “Welcome home, we hope you can stay?” It was more of a question than a statement, his sea-glass green eyes fixed on the magician with curiosity. He was quiet as the conversation continued, as the returning resident inquired of them more personally.

KILLDARE

Tracker Colonel of the Chamber

[Gryffen]

Upon closer inspection of Set, he can see that the other stallion looks a little.. Off. It doesn’t throw him for a loop, he’s seen horse come back from the dead and other magical weirdness on horses before. He’s unfazed by all of it now. His grin spreads at Set’s laughter, an actual genuine smile. It was rather good to have a familiar face about. One that remembered what he remembered. ”Oh I’m sure that’s true. The Queen now is more than capable of some new fun.” It’s true, he quite approves of Straia and the way she runs this kingdom. The fact that she had basically let him loose to do as he pleased definitely put her on his good side. ”Not that long ago actually. You know how it is.” A slight rolling of his shoulder as he shrugs, his red gaze on the horizon. Once a Chamberling, always a Chamberling. See, now this is why he liked this guy. Always straight to the point and blunt. He is quiet while they respond, not knowing the others that well either and it benefits him as much as it does Set. The other two are so goal driven to be at the position they are at now. He’s quite the opposite, merely doing what he pleased and if it gained him some fancy title, well that’s cool. If not, it didn’t matter. The Chamber chose it’s path for the ghost, it decided how best he could serve. Besides, he was already quite notorious and it had nothing to do with titles. He remains silent as he stands by Set, wondering what exactly his reappearance meant for the Chamber. Only great things he assumed. G R Y F F E N *********the big bad wolf

(Btw I'm so glad Set's back!!! Freaking love him)

[Engelsfors]

even  a n g e l s  fall

Creamy mounds of mane fall in rivulets over my sapphire gem eyes, they do not hide, nor conceal the curiosity etched within them. Clear like marble, transparent like glass. This man, he can read me, I can feel it within his stare. For moments, I am taken aback, cool, as calm and collected as one can be when you can feel the recesses of your mind cut open like some ripe fruit and explored with groping fingers. There is nothing in my mind that is secret; I am part of the Chamber, like the ash and the earth, the needles and the pinecones. Yet I am nothing like this man, he smells of what once had been, and what will be. He smells of the past and of the future, and this ideal, it arouses me with a sense of knowing, a sense of want. I was one to collect knowledge, like Killdare collected scents, like Straia collected pet crows and ravens. My mind was wide, broad and bursting with knowledge, and yet, yet there is always room for more.

Others filter in; Warship. His burning inside, brighter now. Meaner in a way. I acknowledge the General with an inclination of my mottled muzzle, turning then to listen, catching his words like they are cobwebs. Gryffen. The tormentor, the ghost who lurked with eyes as red as blood. I knew not his intentions here, with the Chamber or nought, but I knew he was a strong individual to aid, or to hinder the Chamber's prospects, and for which I was uncertain on the direction, but for now, he gets my respect. I am silent as they discuss, old habits, old worn words. There is history, like the scars on the Chamber floor. 

I catch his scent, before I see him, feel him sidle up beside me. His gentle offering does not go unnoticed, the smirk upon my lips brightens somewhat, unbiased and uncaring that there were others, I drew my muzzle across the bay steed's shoulder and greeted him with a tender lipping of his black threads, before being pulled back into the now, into Set's direction, where I step an languid few paces closer, golden head lifting, ears fluttering against the mounds of cream mane. 'Because nothing is too much trouble, and nothing is enough. I strive for the Chamber, and it seems my efforts have been rewarded.' a pause, a roll of my sloping shoulders, sapphire eyes drawing up to meet Set's. 'Because Straia has seen there is no pine untouched, no eye closed and nothing unchecked. With me, I aim for the Chamber to be it's utmost. And I will not rest until she is.' there is a promise there, bound by blood and sweat, by tears and the fine slivers of soul. The Chamber has seen me for few years now, and will see me for many, many more. 

'Welcome home, it would seem.' because he seems far more at home here, than even the weathered pines. As though one who has shared many a glory and many a tribulation, has bled and fought. He had my watchful eye, a curious admiration.

engelsfors

advisor of the chamber

[Warship]

He had been born for this kingdom. He was not a product of love, at least not in the traditional sense. His sire and dam had loved their kingdom only, and what a better show of that love than providing Her a strong son, one to be groomed and preened to perfection? Groomed and preened indeed. From the very beginning his life had been the Chamber. Her survival was always his ultimate goal. Through bloodshed and scars, he had climbed the ranks…not once, but twice. And he would do it three, four, even a hundred times if his kingdom asked it of him. He was not interested in personal gain and the evidence of that blazed blue on his chest. The place where his soul had left his body, all for the Chamber.

His eyes never leave the other stallion, feeling the tendrils of magic sweep over his body subtly. Perhaps given his own encounter with magic he was prone to being more sensitive to it, or maybe Set was just that powerful. Whatever the reason it made the air around them tingle, and Warship was surprised he couldn’t hear sparks. He seems to know Gryffen, and they speak of the old days. The slave pens were both before and after his time here. Not that he’d ever really left, he’d simply slipped into the shadows and lived like a recluse. The magic stallion speaks to them all in turn before finally turning to the old warrior. His ears flicker at the questions, his shoulders tensing. Its not often he’s asked to explain himself and he finds it a loaded question, one he’s uncomfortable to answer. “I was born here, raised within these borders. I’ve known nothing else. Because of that, Her welfare has always been of my utmost concern. I’ve bled for this kingdom, fought for Her. I was on the brink of death and sold my soul to be able to serve her for as long as she should need me.” he said, his voice rough but proud. True, there may not be fancy titles and a long list of murders next to his name, but he was loyal to his kingdom. Loyal maybe to a fault, but loyal nonetheless.

W A R S H I P

I come from a long bloodline that ain't gonna change
So take your pistol pointing finger right off the trigger
I know where to aim...hell, I'm to blame