"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
07-03-2016, 05:41 AM (This post was last modified: 07-06-2016, 07:51 PM by Killdare.)
± 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.
I knew I loved you when I met you, some say this don't exist. Emotions captured, had to have you, ain't care who you was with. At your apartment off of Siegen, we had a brief disagreement. You move back to Houston, we went like three years without speakin', I got back on drugs bad while I was stillin' chasin' cheddar. My heart was broke, soft and stressin' battlin' with my depression. On top of that my team was shittin' on me harder than ever. Not a worry in the world whenever we was together
Oh children, children. You have been quite naughty haven't you? Always creeping in the shadows, turning on the ones who could do you more good than harm and causing even bigger problems for yourselves. It's funny isn't it? How we always seem to chase after our dreams by running down the wrong paths. How we follow the dark heat of hate and revenge like starving wolves chasing down a terrified rabbit.
It's a circle of greed and hate and I've sat here watching from the sidelines, shaking my head at your petty mistakes as I wondered when you'd get it right. Things always seem to stay the same around here. The patterns never change and when the opportunity for change arises there always seems to be that one face that allows their hatred or petty dislike to ruin those chances... It's sad really, especially for those of us who have seen this time and time again and are tired of the same ole merry-go-round.
Though I must admit ladies and gentleman, that things seem to be picking up quite a bit, and you've caught my attention... So here I come, ready to start a bit of stir within these games of yours.
--------------------------
It's late in the evening when the mare begins to make her way down the mountainside. A thick fog is rolling through the trees, sticking heavily to the ground as the crows send out caws of gentle message to whomever they belonged to. Despite the dreary weather, the moon hung low and large in the evening sky lighting the path just well enough to be picked out in-between the trees.
The sounds of bones creaking and joints popping fill the quiet night air as the well aged mare makes her way through the forests surrounding the chambers borders. Her birthplace has been calling out to the mare for quite some time. As the moonlight passes through the trees it bounces off her white coat, the occasionally striping of dark gray zebra stripes being the only clue to who she might be. Soft breaths escape her nostrils as her eyes trace lazily across the damp bark of the surrounding trees and with a soft chuckle she steps foot over the chambers border and strolls in confidently with stiff steps.
It wouldn't be long now. Somehow the gray striped mare knew that soon she would be able to join the fun that was coming along and oh, how she was looking forward to it. It didn't take long for the scent of sulfur and fire to reach her nostrils and with a newfound eagerness she finds herself following the scent, allowing her footsteps to quicken despite the creaking ache in her joints.
It's then she sees him. The way his skin cracks and the lava flows in-between those cracks, twisting and twirling as the smoke curls from his nostrils draws her to him like a moth to a flame. It doesn't take long to find herself standing before the molten king and for a moment she watches him carefully before nodding quietly in respect. "Hello, my name is Clytemnestra," tilting her head slightly her ears twist, catching the surrounding sounds before continuing. "I'm truly sorry to crash this little party of yours, but I figured I may come help you with these problems of boredom you seem to be having."
Smirking slightly she allows herself to catch the stallions eyes with her own before rolling her shoulders in a slight shrug. It was about time they got this party started, wasn't it? And who better to join the ranks then a veteran in these sort of games.
let me tell you something baby,
you love me for everything you hate me for
Just as the chilling howls of winter had dissipated it was replaced by the bellowing of the King and although low, it created ripples beneath her skin all the same. She was useless as a commander while pregnant, her wings carried her slower and slower by the day as her weight increased - her mood swings were intolerable, this she knew, so she stayed away. Gendry had manipulated her in some way, it wasn't rape but perhaps a certain charm. She would deny it was actual loneliness that had swept her into his proverbial arms and on her back. Either way, she always felt guilted when pregnant - before because she was unsure of the father, now because she had duties beyond parenting and physically could not do them. Most others had likely been asleep but Kimber hadn't slept it what felt like years. Her solitude was brought on by pride of not letting anyone see her writhing in pain, the pregnancy had been very rough on her - spare the large low-swaying belly the rest of her body was rather gaunt. She breathes heavily as the sweat rolls down her brow and across her nostrils, heaving her body off the Chamber floor and trying to prune a few feathers down so she didn't look so disheveled.
When her King calls, she must answer even if it means dropping a child and a placenta at his feet.
She moves slowly towards the tree, watching the moon as it reflects down on the magma King and a small shroud of worry enters her mind followed by a list of growing possibilities of problems. Anxiety gets the best of her at times, more specifically anxiety about things that were likely impossible. She was certain she would beat anyone to Killdare after all she was only slightly down the mountainside but once the fog cleared from her vision and she saw an unrecognizable form, she found the adrenaline to pick up her pace. If there were sleeping creatures, they were awake now from now running dip-dyed mare down the mountainside - she nickers lowly to Killdare with a concerned tone. In all reality, especially in her situation now, she couldn't protect Killdare even if he was somehow rendered unable to do so but she has never left room for doubt. She is quick to slide on her back feet, gusting her own bluejay wings forward to aide there stop as the earth kicks forward to them both. Shaking her forelock from her eyes, she looks over at the gray winged mare with a calculating glare. "I'm Kimber, I'm unfamiliar with said problems but I'll be sure you keep tabs on you while you adjust to the Chamber life," she says untrusting but that's nothing new, she trusts relatively no one, "Killdare, I'll have you know ahead of time that my stay in this particular meeting may be short lived unless you'd all like a different kind of bloody show."
Cranky? Yes, but surely understandable but even so she still showed up and would stay if anything turned south or Nymph showed up, she missed his face even if nothing was spoken between them.
07-03-2016, 02:50 PM (This post was last modified: 07-03-2016, 02:51 PM by Nymphetamine.)
Nymphetamine
The blood bay stallion no longer hid within the shadows, his invisibility left him when his ability to read emotions came. He never thought that he would want the ability, but it had been a useful tool. But every power had its drawbacks. It had proved rather overwhelming, especially at the beginning. It had been difficult to control the flood of emotions that would hit him whenever he was around others. He had taken to the shadows then, isolated as he learned to control the power. It had taken time, and he was less than pleased with the time it took, but he had control now. He was able to focus the ability to just those he wanted or needed to use it on and was able to wall it off completely when he didn't want it. The Governor had only recently made his return to normal.
He had met with Killdare just before Dacia and Lupei had been banned, the whole thing seemed to weigh heavily on his king. Killdare was strong but he was not stone hearted. Nymphetamine had tried to get him to share his burden, to allow him to do his job. The ranking diplomat was in charge of handling internal and external issues, but Killdare had yet to lean on him. Somewhere buried deep below layers of pride, loyalty, respect, and duty Nymphetamine was annoyed with his King. He would never show it or act on it, but it was there. Killdare had promoted him for his abilities to do the job yet Killdare had never confided in him. The reason was unknown to the necromancer, but it was troublesome.
The bay had put much of his time into managing the kingdom's alliances on his own, he recruited, tried to find those that would grow the peace cast, but most who came to Chamber were not talkers or peacekeepers. It by default was his job to do alone, recently there was Arthas, but he was still new, his training not advanced enough to trust him to manage an alliance on his own yet. Nymphetamine believed his underling would be ready soon... but until that time it was on the Conjurer. Through all this Nymphetamine was still on the outside. Maybe he was destined to always be on the outside, he had been a traitor, a spy, a turncoat. Either way, he felt the frustrations with his king were justified. He would have to deal with them eventually, but not at that time.
Killdare had called them to gather, at the tree, his tree. For whatever reason, it had become his station over the past few years. He was not obsessed with it like his predecessor, but he held respect for the tree that protected his home, his kingdom. So he had already been there, in the trees when Killdare came and made his call to the kingdom. He watched as the first to arrive spoke, he did not reccognize her. There were new recruits all the time so he made no effort to wonder her reason for coming to the gathering. But, for practice and safety's sake, he allowed his mind to sense her emotions. It wasn't an invasion of the mare's mind, he didn't have to pry through mental barriers. No, instead it was more of a feeling like the wind on his face, they were felt without him actively digging. Or maybe an aura was a better way to describe it, he hadn't the words yet. The gray striped mare was excited, maybe anticipating of something, but there was no worry, no fear so he moved on. Be was about to come forward from the trees, but Kimber entered just then.
Kimber. She looked haunted, troubled, and obviously pregnant. Jealousy raged through him, he had no right, but he was. His nostrils flared and his pupils dilated. It took several huffs of hot breath to calm himself, remind himself that she had a chance and didn't want him, that he had to move on... that he had Nikita. Some things were deeper ingrained than he had thought. But her rough state did worry him. He was sure the pregnancy was taxing but she looked worse off than most mares he had seen in her condition. He didn't dare read her emotions, he knew that would get him nowhere. But he made a mental note to keep tabs on her, at least until he knew she was safe after the birth.
The necromancer shook off the annoyance, the jealousy, the surprise, and worry and entered the clearing. His body muscled and lean from the miles he covered between alliances. He moved to the group, nodding to the new mare, and to Kimber before giving his attention to Killdare. He knew better than to start any drama with Kimber during a group meeting, so he kept it official, impersonal. " So Killdare, what is at our precipice this time? War? Deception? New kingdom changes?"
Oooooh, was something finally going to happen? Something to draw her out of her heavy sense of boredom? Iona wasn't one to become bored often, but it did happen quite easily. During the time she'd spent here in the Chamber, she'd been an anonymous resident, something she really didn't mind in the beginning. She took trips out of the kingdom, went to the fields, the ocean, to get a lay of this land, and to just spend some time on her own. That was all she had really. None of the kingdom's members really acknowledged her.
Whatever, what did she care? She was just an anonymous kingdom members. She'd be fine doing that for a bit longer before she finally snapped.
When Killdare let out his summoning call, the chocolate flaxen mare started making her way there. She didn't really know the king, nor did she show a lot of respect to any of the residents. Why should she? They didn't seem to care about her. That was just fine though; she didn't show them respect anyways. Perhaps they ignored her because of that? Wait, why was Iona still thinking about that? She really had to get her mind off of that crap. Something interesting might actually be happening, and she wanted to find out what it was.
Deciding to hurry, the mare picked up her speed until she was flat-out galloping. Though on the shorter side, Iona was very fast. Her muscled legs closed distance rapidly as she headed for the king's tree, which she reached a while after she'd left her grazing spot near the far reaches of the kingdom.
Upon arriving, Iona remained hidden in the trees for a moment to catch her breath. There was a light sheen of sweat on her neck, but she paid it no attention. The mare revealed herself from the trees, making her way over to the group.
She saw Killdare, a horse she didn't know, along with Kimber, who appeared pregnant, and Nymphetamine, the stallion who had brought Iona here and recruited her for the kingdom. She thought there was tension between Kimber and Nymphetamine, but from what she could see, that was an understatement. She could tell Nymphetamine was jealous for whatever reason, but he was trying to hide it. Was he perhaps thinking of some other mare he'd had a fling with some seasons ago? Iona felt the urge to jump in and offer her own opinion, but decided to focus on the king instead.
"Please tell me something interesting will finally happen," Iona said with a groan, looking at the king, "I've grown tired with just standing around here and participating in battles that don't really mean anything."
Since arriving here, Iona's shyer personality had started to disappear. Her sarcastic and weird personality were all that were left, leaving her a horse that seemed to be plagued by a very mentally disturbed personality. The fact that she enjoyed fighting and violence probably a little more than most horses vouched for her weird behavior.
She looked at the king eagerly, wanting to hear what he had to say.
He had lost track of how many times he had stared at death and spit in his fucking face. By all intents and purposes, he should be a corpse; not even a corpse, but fucking dust scattered to the wind. But he and death, they were one in the same. He was a grim reaper made into living flesh. Death had touched him and he had lived, bearing only some scars to show for his trouble. The consummate survivor. Strong as the mountains that surrounded the Chamber, they were forged from the same stone. Despite the weathering on their face, at their core they remained just as strong. He was born from those stones once, and he would be born from them again.
It was like waking up suddenly, but without that moment of confusion. The Chamber, which owned his heart, had called to him. She was a brutal mistress and she did not take kindly to being ignored. He had tried to at first, grumbling and wrinkling his face in obvious distaste. She would not take no for an answer. When the black warrior refused to answer her summons, his heart lurched painfully in his chest, as if it were in the grasp of an iron-fisted giant. He shouldn’t have expected anything different; the kingdom had always taken from him everything that he had to give. Grumbling, stone-faced, and ears pinned he lumbered to his feet. New silver scars criss-crossed his blue black pelt, stories of a life lived at the end of sword. The horns that marked him a General were gone, as was the raven that kept him company. Those had retired with Straia; good riddance. All of that weight…it was heavy for old shoulders.
His steps were slow and measured, his face hard with resolve. The trail felt steeper now, to his old and tired bones. His years in the mountains had done him no favors strength wise, but he was alive. He had tried to die but the Chamber, being the stubborn bitch that she was, had refused to let it happen. So he had languished there on the rocky outcrops, waiting for the call he knew would eventually come. Beneath the not so docile tones of the Chamber came another voice, a voice again from his past. Killdare, current king and his once protégé. He had called before of course, but there was something about this call that made it more urgent somehow. So the old black stallion headed towards it, slipping off of the mountain and into the forest. Around him the trees seemed to purr, eager to welcome him back into their arms. He ignored them though, his eyes focused straight ahead towards where the baritone call had resonated from. Finally, he emerged, a ghost from the kingdoms past. No eyes turned to him and that suited him fine. He caught a glimmer of blue in the crowd and his chest clenched but he ignored it, and her, quite pointedly. There would be words for her later, but now was not the time. The flame from the tree caught the shine in his eyes as he stepped into their little gathering. “Well well…I thought I heard a summons.” he said simply as he inclined his head to Killdare. The throne suited him, and he radiated a power he had not had before. Another bay caught his eye and he forced away a sneer; they had several burnt bridges between them that he had no time to mend. Another mare spoke, and Warship didn’t spare her feelings when he rolled his eyes. These young ones, always so hot under the collar. They would charge into battle tomorrow and be chewed apart by the wolves. “The Chamber is waking up. I would know better than most. Listen close…hear that heart beat? She is rising from her slumber.” he said cryptically, straining his ears to hear the thump thump of his fathers heart. Yes, the kingdom was rising from her slumber, and Warship was here to see why.
She has contemplated this moment for days - for weeks, for months. Her heart longed for something more than the grievous wound left behind by a callous lover that had craved nothing more than a fervent touch. She knew, deep within, that she could not stay - that she could not ever be satisfied by his vague affection and soured temperament. Though he had never behaved ill towards her, she felt it was only a matter of time until he relinquished his rage onto her the way he had so many others.
The thick foliage of the kingdom still beckons to her, drawing her close through the ashes of fallen souls and burnt flora and fauna both. From beneath the burnt remains sprung new life; gentle and fragile - bathing in the little sunlight that shone through the thickly-lined pines. She weaved around the frail blossoms and sprouts. It was a sign of new beginnings. A deeper call to the depths of her very soul. She knew what she craved, she knew what she longed for and no longer could she put it aside in the hopes of being anything but the broken, undesirable child she has always been.
Though shattered, she will carry and mend the pieces with her precious son at her side. Painted a deep plum, he presses close to her, tucked often beneath her silvery wing when able, but desperate to keep a steady pace with his mother. She is quiet, as she often is, doe eyes focused ahead. She inhales the acrid scent of sulfur and knows that she must be near. She has heard much of the Chamber King and his unusual prowess, and she knows that she will know him when she sees him.
At last, she draws her swift pace down to a careful stride, which alerts her hazel-eyed son to peer around with more curious abandon. He remains near to her, uncertain of the unfamiliar scents and menacing shadows looming around him, but he wonders to himself why she has suddenly become so still - until he sees it. Molten magma oozes from the very core of a single male; his presence is demanding and his eyes have an intensity that rival his own father's. Beside him, a rooted tree, engulfed in unwavering flames. He is altogether in awe, and terrified.
Misra gently tucks the young boy beneath her wing and presses forward, observing the various equine that have come forward. She had lingered along the border for far too long, and his call had finally urged her forward. She has ached long enough to find new refuge, to find new meaning within her crestfallen mind - if this is a sign, she is going to seize it. Her doe eyes drift across the crowd for a long moment, taking in the sight of a familiar face (Nymphetamine) but not yet the face she longed to see most. Perhaps, in time, the ursine shapeshifter would show.
She observes silently, remaining a drifter for several long moments as she takes in the magnetism and power behind the blue-tinted female and war-torn obsidian male. She admires the cheekiness of one charcoal-striped alabaster mare and cannot resist the simper that tugs at her whiskered lips upon hearing the impatient indifference of another. Finally, she pushes her own voice forward, deep brown eyes boring into that of the magma King.
"My name is Misra - and this is my son, Arestor." Her voice crackles and trembles as first, but she attempts to keep it at bay. "I seek to devote my loyalty in any way that I can, in return for refuge."
He calls and they come and he is still wholly baffled by it. After all these years they are still loyal if not to him, then to the Chamber and that’s what really counts in his eyes. Dusk falls but they remain illuminated by the radiating heat and light from the flaming tree. Each flicker casts their shadows long into the forest and some seem to dance against the rough bark of the trees. More come than he expects, the resonating sound of his summons bringing bodies down from the mountains, faces untucking themselves from their slumber.
The crone is unfamiliar to him but she reeks of the rocky hills, smells deeply of the Chamber herself and so he nods his head in acknowledgement of her presence. Clytemnestra, the name weighs heavy on his tongue. Next to arrive is all too familiar, even as she sways, heavy with child into their meeting. Her sass is enough to curl the edges of his chalky lips but he does understand her predicament, “By all means Kimber, rain on my parade if you must.” Nymphetamine, hardly sparing a breath for a jape is soon to follow and he watches the conjurer closely. The man’s nostrils widened and his breathing came in deep drags, Killdare was not interested in their bickering and was glad when he pulled himself away from the water-color mare.
A chocolate female he does not recognize enters the gathering, mouthing openly and at this he simmers. Some would know best to hold their tongues but he remained otherwise placid at her harpings. And then something great happens, the dark figure bleeding from the mountains shadow and lit hauntingly by the flames.
Killdare’s eyes widened and his breath tugged heavy in his chest for a few beats before he settled. The General was not dead, not quite and if more appropriate the King might have eagerly went to the old man and proverbially smacked him on the back in comradery. The joy is a short lived one, he must harness his boyish gaiety and continue with the matter at hand. He straightens, leaving the broad grin the finds his chalky lips and motions for the war hardened ex-General to come forward, to take a place at his right. Anything could be soured though, the salty scent of brine finding his flexing nostrils. He’d smash the little purple bastard, right before the tree and all. It isn’t Kirin though, an unknown dark female carefully picking her way among them, a deep plum child tucked close to her side.
He knows it’s one of his nephews brood, a wayward mare that has perhaps sought refuge from the tyrannical lifestyle of a winged purple peacock. She speaks and solidifies his assumptions and he doesn’t bat an eye at her request. Any that stayed in that shit show was deserving of the half-life they experienced. This girl, she was smart as far as he was concerned. He could feel eyes from others still around them, those that did not creep forward from the shadows but felt more at home within their viel. A flash of green eyes in particular finds him and he looses a tendril of magma from his feet, twisting a thin ribbon river and sprouting rose blooms of molten earth.
She was there, even if she did not make herself known and he smirks to himself at the thought. My Malis.
“Warship is right, she wakes. She does not take kindly to threats or harassment of puppy dogs, can’t say I do either. Something else is stirring too, and I ask you all take precaution to be wary of the unknown. Of what might come.” He pauses, taking in each of them once more, his molten eyes tracking their movements before moving briefly on to the next. “First, Lupei and his lines have been henceforth banished from the Chamber. Dacia as well but I do not and can not request the same suffering of her children.” Her children, their children, he would not caste out his own sons in such a way- regardless of their Dam.
“Speaking of this old man. Warship, I’d be honored to have you at my side as Lord of the Chamber. I honor and encourage your counsel, you know her far better than I do.” In a manner of speaking Killdare was wet behind the ears compared to the immortal black best, the hardened once General, the man who had beat death time and time again.
The King doesn’t miss a beat with the rest of it, ticking of a list in his head that has spent some time simmering there. “Kimber, you’ll be the General of our army now. Well done. As such you have the choice to keep your wings or sport a pair of horns. If you do choose your wings I’m sure the Chamber would not be burdened by a request to alter them as you see fit.” She’s put up with him for so long now, or he her and he gave her a real smile this time. His ashen head then finds the blood bay of another who has unwaveringly served. “Nymphetamine, you have earned Governor of the Diplomatic caste. Empathy is yours should you wish it. Let it be known that you are no traitor of the Chamber, you never really were I suspect.”
Next on the agenda was the matter of ranks within the castes. “I’m afraid the recruit Arthas has abandoned post, and we will not begrudge him the apple of his affections. Each man chooses his path and Arthas has chosen his, let it rest at that.” He’d not banish Arthas for loving Dacia but he would not allow the man to simply come and go, nor hold rank within the Kingdom while he was so undesirably connected. “Wherever the bear hides, he will be promoted to Captain regardless of current points. Siberian is loyal and has served well, he will receive what is due to him with or without those numbers. Furthermore I open steals and Challenges to all Kingdoms, our allies are still Valley and Tundra- keep those friendly.” That should have gone without saying but just in case.
They might think he is done then, the long pause as he lets the news settle. They might wish his yard long talking would cease but he sucks in breath once more. “Oh, that’s right, best for last. If you’d so kindly join us Malis!” he calls, his voice rising as he beckoned her forward.
“Well, what can I say then,” he smiles, wide and full, “Long live my Queen.”
Siberian had been spending his time in between patrols of the Chamber border and tending to his daily needs, on reflecting upon Nymph's words. How he had a choice now, after Zayn's death, whether to become his own master or simply find himself another one. The Budyonny had been on the verge of rejecting this second option, not wanting to pledge himself to some new dominant personality. Yet, he doesn't favor reclaiming complete freedom either. The ebony stallion, possessed of quite a fearsome ability, was a weapon, a soldier. Zayn had taught him that, an early lesson that had lodged itself firmly within his head and heart. What was a weapon without a hand to wield it, what was a soldier with no commander? The decision, then, came easily. He was already a member of the Chamber's army. The Chamber itself, therefore, was his master, in the form of whoever sat atop its throne. So pleased is he with having come to this surprisingly easy decision, that he nearly misses hearing Killdare's summons. Siberian heads towards the fiery tree, in his equine form, at a brisk walk. When he arrives, he is struck with a feeling of guilt at apparently being the last to arrive and catching only bits of what his kingdom mates were saying.
"My apologies for the late arrival. I must have been hibernating again. " He makes a weak attempt at a joke as he looks about at those gathered, faces both familiar and strange. He nickers fondly at the necromancer, his closest friend, bows head and neck low to the magma king in respect and gratitude for the words of promotion, offers a friendly smile to the others assembled, though his expression becomes a bit worried when he notes how much physical discomfort the newly appointed blue General seems to be in with her pregnancy. And then his gaze drifts onto a sight he hadn't expected to see here. His jaw nearly drops open in shock upon seeing Misra here in the Chamber again, especially to hear her claiming sanctuary here. And to see a young colt at her side. What had happened to her, was the coupling that had resulted in her child the reason she was here? The grizzly bear rumbles with displeasure in his head, and he silently agrees with it. If the boy's father had hurt her, he would never do so again. He would protect the pegasus mare and her son, keep them both safe here. He finds himself unable to take his eyes off of her, though he still can't quite figure out why. He keeps his dark ears swiveling though, listening to anything else that is said.
