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

Death is much too idle, and he has never been one for idleness. Idle hands are the devils playground, a fact he knows all too well. How could he die, while his very reason for breathing still lives? Not his children. They were all gone now, either dead or disappeared into that void they all seem to fall victim to. Not his lovers. The ones he had truly loved had left and broke his heart long ago. He barely remembers their faces, though memories of sweat-slicked skin and illicit whispers in the shadows still caused a shiver down his spine. Not his parents, either, though he assumed his father still lurked in the shadows somewhere. His father gave a heart, whereas Warship intends to give a soul.

No, his reason for breathing was his kingdom. The Chamber. She has always held his heart in a vice-like grip, taking and taking and rarely giving him anything in return. Perhaps he was a glutton for punishment, but he always gave, even when pouring from an empty cup. There was always a drop left to give, even if it meant his demise. He was happy to either die in her service, or live forever serving her. Perhaps such a thing is a foolish wish, but he knows no other way. He is nothing if not loyal, a servant to the bitter end.

Someone once told him to come home with his shield, or come home on it. He always assumed he would come home on it, though that never happened.

But, the thought of a simple death does piss him off. He is not made for drifting off to sleep and waking up on the other side. That is much too peaceful of a death for a warrior who has lived by his sword and his shield. Nor does he imagine himself dropping to his knees suddenly, his heart simply giving up. His heart may be made of muscle and blood, but its been forged in iron and tempered too. In fact, he doesn't imagine himself dying at all, so long as there is a kingdom that needs him. He has been faithful since the moment his eyes opened, why not make it for eternity? True, The Chamber has known many faithful servants throughout the years, but he likes to think of himself as one of the greatest. Not because of deeds or titles, but by being ever-ready to serve.

With those thoughts in mind, and a glance upwards, he begins ascending. The storms builds, and thunder is the music to which he marches. He doesn't stop, despite the screaming in his muscles and the burning in his lungs. Slow, but steady. More than once he goes to his knees on the rocks, but even that doesn't slow him. Blood spilt for the Chamber, its not the first time and hopefully not the last. Salty sweat runs into his busted knees, into his eyes clouding his vision, but onward and upward he goes. Pain is only metaphorical, anyways.

Finally, he reaches the summit. The thin air up here makes breathing harder, and the lining of his nostrils shine violently pink as the blood courses through his body. Along his heaving sides his ribs are pushed out with every fought-for breath, but his face shows nothing but resolution. Rain begins in earnest as the storm grows closer, and steam rises from his lathered hide. There isn't another living soul around, but the thin air is alive with magic. It courses across his skin, caresses and winds around his legs like a cat with its master. "My whole life, it has been dedicated to servitude. Never asking for myself, only giving. I've done so happily. The time has come for me to ask...ask that I can serve forever, into infinity. Never dying. Never faltering. Always." he says to no one and everyone all at once. He knows without a shadow of a doubt that its the right thing to do, though he can't explain why. There are no ears around, at least not ears that he can see. Suddenly, the air changes. The magic whirls around him, and in that moment he can feel every LIFE that has ever been given to The Chamber. There are hundreds of them, and in those hundreds of lives there are thousands of years. Some died young, others died of old age, but all died as servants of The Chamber. The sky crackles and splits as lightning breaks free, and before he has a chance to move, the biggest strike hits him in the chest. He is dead before he hits the rocky ground.

He is only dead for a moment, though dead maybe isn't the word. Reborn. All of those lives, concentrated into a bolt of deadly electricity, right to the chest. It hits him like a freight train, but the pain is brief. His golden eyes fly open and he scrambles to his feet as a renewed sense of self and belonging flare along his very bones. He knows beyond a shadow of a doubt that he is immortal now, with the thousands of combined years of Chamberlings etched onto his heart. Now he can serve forever, or until the world splits at the seams and tosses them all into the cosmos. Forever is a long time, but he would give forever and a day if his kingdom asked it of him.

The storm reaches its pinnacle before he begins his descent. Though he can feel the immortality under his skin, he has no desire to test its limits by falling off a cliff. It would be a cool story he supposes, but Warship is not the story telling type. While the last of the thunder grumbles, he picks his way down the mountain. The cuts to his knees have healed, and the silvery scars he once wore so proudly are replaced by unmarked hair. He doesn't mind though. He doesn't need scars to prove his mettle. He has proven it time and time again through deed and duty. As his hooves meet the grass once more, he turns his head back towards the Chamber. Death has been his greatest enemy and now, he has defeated her. There is nothing to stand between him and life well served anymore.

warship