"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
03-23-2016, 04:34 PM (This post was last modified: 03-23-2016, 04:34 PM by Killdare.)
± when you feel my heat, look into my eyes ±
Dawn breaks the pine canopy of the Chamber and the King rouses, yawning away his sleep and blinking into the growing light. Wisps of soft amber and yellow light break through the prickly pine needles, resting just so against his lids so that he simply could not hope to slumber still. It is somewhat strange to wake without the sound of cawing birds, even if once he did find them rather annoying, it was still something notably missing.
Autumn is slowly fading and with it the season, Killdare wonders how many new lives will grace them even against the aftermath of War. All he knows with certainty, is that there will be no new life this spring due to himself and it is no longer a task he takes on lightly. With luck it would be something he would be expected to do soon, and for more reason than just furthering his lines.
When at last he blinks away the sleep, waking himself further by treading through a creek, he finds Nymphetamine. It has been an awkward friendship, made even more so by the facts of his spy mission coming to light. In the end though, the man had chose Chamber, that would have to be enough- actions in this instance must need speak louder than words alone. Isn’t that better in the end?
Upon leaving he also leaves his skin behind- in a sense. Shedding the growing hair for something warmer, letting the thick magma overtake him him whole where it settles to his skin in a blackened armor. Within cracks violent red and orange threaten to break free, hissing bursts of heat spouting from containment in the form of steam. Killdare had never once been to the Kingdom of the Brotherhood but one thing is for sure without visit- it was damn cold.
He offers enough conversation to Nymph to keep the silence at bay but it is not something he is best at. They may have a better time knocking each other around the Chamber clearing for fun but it is work they must do now. Killdare has set a task before them, one that will either flourish beautifully or one that will come to fail in a dismal downward spiral. Either way he stops just before the borders, the icy winds unable to breach the heat of the Earth’s core that flows through him. A loud bugle bursts from his maw in a cloud of black smack and burning ash, claiming the stillness from the drifts and hopefully alerting the nearest sentry.
Of all the evil forms of torture his new king could have chosen, Killdare had to go and choose an early morning wake up. The late autumn air was crisp as I inhaled sharply and the crisp air struck my lungs. I look over at the muscled King that had gone through a drastic makeover when he became king, but the magma suited him. Killdare was no longer just the winged beast that he had haughtily poked at during his slightly younger years. He was different, no longer did he feel like the mindless muscle of the Queen. Not that he ever was actually mindless, but Nymph was working with some preconceptions when he met the then Lord. The necromancer's voice fell groggy and raspy after a night of rest, "Feel the need for some early morning snark, my lord? You know I'm always willing to oblige. His mouth curled up in half smile. Their friendship was tense at times and was on average prickly. But under the surface, the blood bay had learned to trust, and even like the once lord and now king.
Killdare hadn't outright discussed with him the events that brought him to Chamber, the secret that came to the surface before he killed Rapscallion. In the end, Nymph had chosen Chamber and that must have been enough for his king. Killdare didn't wait long before moving out, and Nymph pulled himself up and followed. His cold muscles stiff from a long night but soon he was up and going, The silence between them was only minorly awkward, and Nymph didn't mind the silence, but as they left Chamber and their journey kept getting colder, the stallion wondered what Killdare needed him for. "So what's this about Killdare? Trying to make me a wooly mammoth? He jested (as usual) but he was seriously curious what the king had in mind. Maybe he had forgotten his place in Chamber's peace caste had been a facade, and he had never actually done anything diplomatic.
Either way, the conjurer had been chosen for the task and he would do as his king commanded. As the temperature dipped even further south they slowed to a halt, at the border of Tundra. Nymphetamine would follow his King's direction and lead, he just hoped he upheld his purpose.
Nymphetamine
in my heart, that barless prison discolours all with tunnel vision
when you fall I'll be the only one who looks away; when you call I'll be the first to tell you I can't stay.
The ice and wind were brutal this morning, stirring a frenzy of icy flurries and whipping, whistling gusts that tangled themselves amidst drying, brittle branches - tearing away at weak, fragile foliage with its force. He finds himself caught in the midst of it as he remains still - a massive, stark beacon of black against the otherwise dark, dreary flatland. His muscles shift and roll beneath his scarred pelt as he stirs from his rest as the pale light of morning bathes the land in bleak rays of sunshine. It is a short lived sight as the brilliant sun is swiftly hidden away by volatile, weaving waves of clouds that rapidly cross the sky. A thread from Mother Nature herself; it would not be long until the wintry weather fully immersed itself into the kingdom of ice, blanketing in soft, powdery snow.
It is not long before he grows restless of standing still. He has grown uneasy about staying in one single, solitary spot, though he could not properly assess why aside from the obvious. He has many more burdens to carry on his shoulders, as well as the many lives that now rely on his decisions and everyday motions. It weights heavily on him, and yet he is strong of body and of mind. He can handle the pressure of it, but he causes his nerves to fray, even slightly. He remains constantly vigilant and aware, no longer able to draw himself away into the recesses of his mind with so many soft whispers and urgent matters tugging at his every fiber.
He approaches the massive wall of ice, his expression stoic and unmoved, though he admires the way the light of dawn casts a breathtaking shadow on its opaque surface, reflecting a sheen of sunrise that casts brilliant color across the expanse of it. He savors morning most of all, for it signifies the light of a new morning. He cannot deny the allure of a new day, of a new beginning - and this is true for so many facets of his life in that moment. He casts a glance towards the quiet, sleepy flatland, which is still empty and void of movement as so many enjoy the warmth of oncoming day.
Change was coming.
Pausing then, he can hear the soft, hushed mumble of voices from behind the blockade, and he stills instantly. His muscles tense beneath his skin again as he draws himself closer to hear the hushed sounds - but he finds himself thoroughly warmed to the core, and he draws away as if burned, his brow furrowed in a slight scowl as he observes the ice standing between them. A trickling of melting water dribbles down the length of the wall, but it is of no threat - its magic is strong enough to endure heat, but his mind runs rampantly now.
Who carries such warmth with them?
At last, he emerges, his hefty form stepping through the single aisle passage that leads the outside to the inside, and his deep crimson eyes settle on two peculiar features. One made entirely of magma - a shifting, moving entity of heat and fire - and one dyed a deep blood bay, not unlike his own searing eyes. He catches the humor within the voice of the other, and though still wary, he eases slightly. Diplomats, no less.
The King of Ice stared deeply into the fiery eyes of the Magma King, fully intrigued and interest piqued as the corner of his lips rose in a faint smirk. "Good morning, boys - my name is Offspring; the King of these lands." It was still foreign on his tongue; but he would adjust. "And to what do I owe the pleasure of your presence?"
Oh Nymphetamine
Killdare snorts gruffly at the jests that come too early for such a bitter morning. A puff of black smoke relieves itself from his nostrils, bubbling up from his lungs the way invisible breathe once did. At one time in his life he would have been thoroughly alarmed at such a spectacle, but here, in these lands, all was not as it seemed. The bay King had come to accept that which he could not change and must endure regardless of the unease it caused him from some. Magic was a questionable commodity, one he never took lightly and still here he was continuing with the idea of new ties between the Kingdoms.
It was a good plan really, one that would a bring change and difference to the world. Something new and fresh and exciting perhaps, and the Chamber was not all bad, was it?
Well, he certainly thought it didn’t have to be. How had they ever allowed themselves to be so stuck in stereotypes in the first place? If you live here, you’re good, over here you’re bad, and then you have there which is neither good or bad. Ridiculous. Killdare had never considered himself an evil type anyways, no, he had some ideals and morals. His word for instance, creatures of dark rarely upheld their word, twisting it into something else entirely to suit them. Sure, he might steal a few children, but he would never bring them unnecessary harm. He was more of an “in-between” type if you asked him but nobody ever did.
They assumed.
Well, not anymore. Not here as he stands at the gate of the largest sheet of ice he has ever laid eyes upon.
“Tempting,” he grumbles at one of his few friends, “but not today. We’re here to forge an alliance Nymphetamine.” All jest has left his voice, replaced with a stoic seriousness. “What sort of King am I if I do not seek change? If I do not move us forward into a new age, instead allowing us to crawl ten steps back into a darkness some of us do not serve?” It’s mostly a rhetorical question because the magma King’s mind is set, he will help forge ties with the Gates and the Tundra alike, and somehow, someway, they would work together.
They would or they would all be at each other’s throats, either way it was a start.
When a single blackened male steps from the barrier Killdare watches him with a careful expression, burning pupils judging what they could from appearance alone. “Killdare, King of the Chamber.” He follows the turn of names, repeating this one’s in his mind for good measure, dipping his head only just in a sign of respect. Nymphetamine could speak his own name,or make one up, entirely up to him.
“Thank you for seeing us King Offspring. I’ve come with every intention of making an agreeance with you today, an alliance. Not alone of course,” He gives a thin smile, but a smile nonetheless, “I would not be surprised if you have more visitors come tomorrow but I can not speak for others, so I won’t.” Pausing only to judge the way in which his words are being absorbed before continuing. “It’s time for change in Beqanna, too long the lands have feuded in a stale circle, the same ties, the same alliances. The world should move forward instead of backward should it not?”
At the very least he thought moving forward from idle would be immensely refreshing.
The graying stallion had a habit of lingering around the wall. It was one of his old habits, from when he had just arrived at the icy kingdom and when he had found comfort in recognizing his location. The Tundra might seem as a perfect place for a blind horse, but to Brynmor the flat lands had been one big plain without any recognizable points. Even though his eyes didn’t just stare off into the darkness anymore he sometimes still wound his way back into his old habits. And today is one of these days he doesn’t mind doing so.
It had been their scent that had lured him in, filling him with this feeling of anger and distrust. Their particular scents are unknown to him, but they carry the smell of their home with them too. And that smell don’t bring up any pleasant memories, quite the opposite to be exact. The formerly blind stallion knows that he shouldn’t let those feelings guide him, yet it’s too early for him to forget about the past. Let alone forgive.
He doesn’t arrive long after his king, just in time to catch the magma king’s introduction. Brynmor eyes the pair as he takes his place next to his king, only after that he turns his attention to Offspring to lightly drop his head in a silent greeting. He doesn’t like to admit it, but the gray male can’t ignore the fact that their visitors had respected the border. Even though the border was one big ice wall, you would be surprised to learn how much horses just walked through the grate without respecting it. Brynmor is glad these two didn’t, but that is the only positive thing that comes to mind.
There is no need to introduce himself, standing quietly alongside Offspring, but he was interested to learn what the Chamber could have to offer – other than chaos and destruction. Brynmor had lived in the Chamber for nearly three years and he cannot say that his stay had been pleasant, but he hadn’t had another place to go, until Hurricane offered him a place among the brotherhood. He had succeeded, growing from a blind boy to a fully accepted brother of the brotherhood. The newly gained wolfpaw scar on the right side of his chest was the proof of that.
”There has been a time in which the Tundra and the Chamber had close ties, a blood ty if I recall correctly. How is that a change?” he asks without interrupting Killdare. His blue eyes don’t move away from the magma king. He tries to hide his dislike and hatred – because that shouldn’t be emotions a counsellor would be influenced by – but he cannot do better than a reserved pose. ”But nonetheless I’m curious, how did you picture this change King Killdare, if I may ask?”
"Nothing is coming to rise."
OOC: I didn't read everything really thoroughly, it was quite late already and I really wanted to get something up. Let me know if I understood things wrongly ^^
Nymphetamine walked in tandem with the bay king, he listened in earnest, as he hadn't heard Killdare talk of his long-term vision yet. Nymph nodded as he spoke, not sure how to add anything else more...meaningful. Killdare seemed more suited as Chamber's king. Not that Straia wasn't a brilliant ruler in her own right, but this leadership seemed to suit the magma infused horse. There was a lot happening and it hadn't taken long to start the motion of change, no real adjustment period before Killdare had changed the way Chamber was a whole. It was premeditated the bay ruler had a plan long before be was chosen as ruler; it was obvious, at least to Nymphetamine.
Nymph slowed with his king as they neared the towering wall of ice. As mesmerizing as Chamber's ever-burning tree was, Tundra's ice wall was equally imposing. They hadn't been there but a moment when the necromancer saw the regal stallion approach through the gate. He introduced himself and Nymph made sure to remember it, no need to insult a leader by calling them the wrong name... on his first outing as a diplomat for Chamber too. Killdare introduced himself, and Nymph was about to do the same when another approached. He waited for the newcomer to arrive, trying to be mannerly. "I'm Nymphetamine, on of Killdare's diplomats." From here the reddish stallion took a back seat for a while, he wanted to listen and only speak if he could add something meaningful or if spoken to directly. He felt that was the smartest route. He didn't know much of Chamber's history and he was still grasping all the facets of the new plan. The bay nodded to the others as they spoke, and listened with the greatest interest. There would be much to discuss once this conversation really got going.
Nymphetamine
in my heart, that barless prison discolours all with tunnel vision
when you fall I'll be the only one who looks away; when you call I'll be the first to tell you I can't stay.
Killdare. He was a sight to behold, to be certain, with thick plates of magma coating what would be his skin, shifting and bubbling magma oozing between each one. He paused to marvel at the sight of him, though his expression retained stoicism as he admired his unusual armored plating. He found it mildly ironic to have a creature that contains such searing heat at his core in a place of bitter ice and frostbite, and he supposed his companion may be slightly envious of his warmth. As he studies him, he feels his searing eyes boring into him as well, and he knows that he too is an usual sight.
With thick muscle, stocky build and immense height, he is an intimidating force. Riddled with many war-torn scars, tainted a faded pink across his coal-dyed pelt, he holds the appearance of a warrior, though there is so much more to him than appearances. His deep crimson gaze holds his for a long moment, even as he begins to speak. An alliance. It was the first of many negotiations he would make as the newly crowned King, and he anticipated negative push-back. He had been thinking deeply for some time about this very ideal, and what it could mean for the future of the ice kingdom.
"Moving forward is always the objective, Killdare - and you can call me Offspring. No need for formalities." His dark eyes draw away from him for a moment as he finds warmth radiating at his own side now; his dappled gray friend has sidled up to him and now lingers beside him. He can sense the tension taut in his muscles, which is wholly abnormal - Brynmor often patrols of border and usually intercepts strangers long before he himself does, or anyone else for that matter, and very rarely is he so tense in doing so. He studies him for a long moment, his brow furrowed slightly as he begins to speak.
His words are scathing, unprovoked and containing laces of poison in between each spoken syllable. He allows him to speak, but finds himself slightly unnerved by the aggressive undertone of his words. He is uncomfortable, this much is obvious, but perhaps it is the faint scent of smoke and soot that rises from their skin that stir these emotions within him. Offspring knows of his past - of what Brynmor will tell him, at least, and of his great disdain for the Chamber. Though he understands it, a new dawn is settling in, and old blood alliances (which had occurred in his own time - he could recall the alliance between Kotaro, Rodrik, and many others, though he cared little at the time - war is always inevitable with or without blood tainting the contract) were of little concern to him.
"Brynmor, I think it best we allow them the opportunity to speak. I doubt they seek a blood alliance, as in past generations. Stand down and let us hear them out." He murmurs softly and earnestly, urging the man to push his prejudices aside or dismiss himself altogether. He glances again to Nymphetamine, who is simply an accessory to Killdare's presence - he is solemn, yet a steady listener. He hoped quietly Brynmor would take a page from his book. "Tell me, Killdare, how do you see us moving forward? Who are you now allied with, after the war?"
03-26-2016, 12:19 PM (This post was last modified: 04-02-2016, 07:53 AM by Killdare.)
± 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.
Apparently he hadn’t been able to collect himself as well as he had thought. He knew damn well that a real diplomat shouldn’t let business interfere with own preferences and feelings. That he had had a bad experience with the Chamber didn’t mean that the dark kingdom would be bad for the Tundra. Yet at the same time it wasn’t that strange that he would feel a little hesitant? After all, he hadn’t had the chance yet to confront Gryffen. If he hadn’t pledged he loyalty to Hurricane and the Tundra he probably would’ve barged into the Chamber during the war, to fight alongside any of the Chamber’s opponents. Something like enemy of your enemy being your friend. But no, it would’ve been stupid to do, but if he wouldn’t have been bound to the Tundra he probably wouldn’t have cared.
He hadn’t meant to let his own hatred and dislike show through in his words, but Offspring’s soft words – privately spoken to him – clearly told him otherwise. And if his king’s warning hadn’t been enough the other king clearly showed his dislike. Brynmor’s blue eyes meet his king’s red ones and, although it is with slight reluctance, he drops his head before nodding. As he looks forward again, to meet the other king’s green eyes, he steps back a little, settling in the place of an observer instead of joining the conversation. He had already said too much. And Offspring would be perfectly able to hold the conversation himself.
Brynmor himself had been exposed to magic, but something like the magma king he hadn’t seen before. He tries to not let his eyes wander across the stallion’s form, to ignore the oozing magma and other strange happenings. Not that the venomous look in the green eyes is much better, but at least it isn’t something unnatural. But if he really had sounded so hostile, he guessed he deserved it. Not that he would be willing to admit that out loud – not yet at least – and what was done that was done. It was an objective for another time, not he simply had to put his own feelings aside and listen to the proposal with an open mind.
He could always discuss things more heatedly with Offspring once they were on their own again. He had already informed the black king of his past before, but if Killdare’s word were true, the Chamber was already changing and it sounded like it was for the better. Well, in Brynmor’s opinion that was.
03-31-2016, 08:41 AM (This post was last modified: 04-04-2016, 06:52 PM by Nymphetamine.
Edit Reason: HTML fix
)
He felt the reaction as dappled grey's words hit Killdare, obviously his new king did not like the way it came across. the magma felt hotter as if it radiated a greater heat from the unique power Killdare now held. While he usually versed himself in sarcastic remarks about his friend and king, he knew now was a moment a diplomat was needed .Was it not his job to step in and ease tension, to promote the want of his kingdom? The lanky bay took a step forward, as his king visually swallowed him anger within. Internally he found that interesting- he hadn't seen the magma king recoil his new skin in such a way before. He was upset by the fact his king was angered, but he let that wash away. He turned his attention to the other diplomat, as he stopped level with Killdare. He was about to speak when Killdare himself spoke first.
His king was frustrated, rightly so, as his leadership was vastly different than the recent past. But he didn't stop the king, or interject, the tension hadn't risen. So he waited, he allowed the king to respond, Offspring to do the same, and finally Brynmor. Each time turning his head to the speaker, taking in their words and deciding how best to reply to help move the negotiation forward. It was obvious that the tension was eased, but still flickered in the background. There was surely a way to help put that aside more completely. He looked at Brynmor, he had heard whispered of what had happened to him but hadn't met him in person until today. If the murmurs were true, he understood the grey's apprehension. But Beqanna was changing, and they all had to let go of the past, had to help move things forward. "I can speak personally on how different Killdare is from even the most recent of rulers. His way of leading is completely different than those in the past. I do not wish to share all my secrets, nor is this the time, but I feel it is safe to say that I wouldn't be here if Killdare wasn't the forward thinker and ruler he is. He truly does want to move forward." The necromancer let his gaze move from Brynmor to Offspring, hoping his words were the right ones, that hey helped ease the tension that sat lingering in the darker corners of their minds. He waited for questions, he was sure they would come.
SIX FEET DEEP IS THE INCISION, SUNSETTER
Nymphetamine
ooc: I don't know what this is.... its kinda crappy. sorry
![[Image: nymphetamine_zpsmlx48otf.gif]](http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v202/dsl_devin/nymphetamine_zpsmlx48otf.gif)
