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+--- Thread: They say it's what you make, I say it's up to fate [KINGDOM] (/showthread.php?tid=7571)
They say it's what you make, I say it's up to fate [KINGDOM] - Killdare - 03-22-2016
± when you feel my heat, look into my eyes ±
As the sun rose he had been woken in a most annoying way, the familiar voice of Eight leaking into his mind from the Valley Magician, the man himself nowhere in sight. After a lengthy discussion about the current reign of both the Valley and the Gates, a concept Killdare found most intriguing fell into his brain. They could take a dying, weak Kingdom and give it strength. They could mold a weak willed Gates girl into a Queen of reckoning.
Killdare had always been for the capture of the young, their minds moldable, empty, plenty of room to teach and learn. Now this, would be something to show the world, this would be an accomplishment. It would take both strength and compromise, communication and trust placed in those that were not easy allies. It could work, but it would take work. So before the sun fully rose, he sent the girl away, leading her to the Valley, leaving her with perhaps not the most trusted Magician in all of Beqanna. Sometimes you just had to have faith and trust a man on his word, sometimes you had to make a leap to make change, so he did.
He’s already waited far too long to go to them but what he really wanted for them was to rest for a spell. Replenish their weary bodies- heal their wounds, if not their souls. The whole War had been a show of force, a show of power but it had not gotten anyone anywhere. It did not move them forward, it did not show progression. Instead it left their homes dismantled and scarred, blood stained with those too inexperienced and too young to fight. It proved little, it gained even less but that is where Killdare came in- he could try something new. Maybe they did not need to fight at all and if they did, who was to say the same old, same old was working?
Was it working? Can you tell him it is? That you know without doubt that this is victory?
He snorts, earthy head lifting from a pile of leftover ash, coarse black hair falling from his face, and he progresses.
What he will keep the same, is the meeting place, his bulging mass stomping towards the all too familiar tree. Flickering flames greeting him and a hushed laughter that receives his narrowed eyes. “Yes, very funny,” he huffs, thick smoke rolling from his sooty nose- what a nice little joke from the fairies to initiate their new King.
He calls them now, bugling to them across the expanse of pines, allowing a crown to drip its way atop his curls. Lava molding itself into the shape one would know but neither burning him, nor streaming down his face. When they come he counts them again, ticking them off in his head, as if the number will have changed but he hopes it has not. Some, still bear wounds of War, while others had luckily found a Magician or healer in time. Even he displayed his own scattered scars, the skin pink and crusting where it had been breached.
“I can not say how pleased or proud I am with the lot of you. When the bells of War came you each answered and for that I am thankful, as I know the Chamber herself is. To show you my appreciation and that hard work does not go unnoticed, I’ve decided some promotions are in order.” His glassy eyes, find those that would be rewarded before he speaks their names in turn.
“Lupei and Zayn, you both will receive the title of Captain. Siberian, if you accept you will enter the ranks of our army as a Cadet, I hope you all will continue to impress me and work to better yourselves as Soldiers.” He flicks his tail as he moves on, sparks of burning embers and ash floating into the air as it moves. “Nymphetamine, you will now hold the rank of professor, I hope your words will be as sharp as your wit.” He laughs, deep baritone as he finds Ribcage among the small crowd. “Ribcage, if you seek it, the rank of student for our Diplomats will be awarded to you- use the power of your words carefully.”
Killdare could, at the very least, say he liked his boys. A small, but worthy group of men to have at his side and help him move the Chamber into a new light, a new purpose. “There will be change for the Chamber, I do not ask you to like it, but i do ask you to heed my decisions. There is no power in brute force and bloodshed, I favor the meaning and importance of your Word more than I do your abilities to corrupt and destroy. I ask you for loyalty. We will continue our alliance with the Valley, and with them the Gates. We will add to that the aid of my Nephew’s herd, Silver Cove. Do not tread there lightly.” He warns, because while family was important to Kirin, his love lust and grasp for power was ever reaching.
“For now, recruit. I encourage friendly steals from all Kingdoms for the time being, as well as Mocks amongst yourselves and our allies if they are up for them. While I relish the sound and excitement of battle, I will not incite a purposeless feud such as the one we have all just seen. Nymphetamine, prepare to leave with me for the Tundra.” With that he dismisses them but he does not make them leave, he himself stands before the burning tree, deep in thought- or at least appearing to be.
Killdare had always been for the capture of the young, their minds moldable, empty, plenty of room to teach and learn. Now this, would be something to show the world, this would be an accomplishment. It would take both strength and compromise, communication and trust placed in those that were not easy allies. It could work, but it would take work. So before the sun fully rose, he sent the girl away, leading her to the Valley, leaving her with perhaps not the most trusted Magician in all of Beqanna. Sometimes you just had to have faith and trust a man on his word, sometimes you had to make a leap to make change, so he did.
He’s already waited far too long to go to them but what he really wanted for them was to rest for a spell. Replenish their weary bodies- heal their wounds, if not their souls. The whole War had been a show of force, a show of power but it had not gotten anyone anywhere. It did not move them forward, it did not show progression. Instead it left their homes dismantled and scarred, blood stained with those too inexperienced and too young to fight. It proved little, it gained even less but that is where Killdare came in- he could try something new. Maybe they did not need to fight at all and if they did, who was to say the same old, same old was working?
Was it working? Can you tell him it is? That you know without doubt that this is victory?
He snorts, earthy head lifting from a pile of leftover ash, coarse black hair falling from his face, and he progresses.
What he will keep the same, is the meeting place, his bulging mass stomping towards the all too familiar tree. Flickering flames greeting him and a hushed laughter that receives his narrowed eyes. “Yes, very funny,” he huffs, thick smoke rolling from his sooty nose- what a nice little joke from the fairies to initiate their new King.
He calls them now, bugling to them across the expanse of pines, allowing a crown to drip its way atop his curls. Lava molding itself into the shape one would know but neither burning him, nor streaming down his face. When they come he counts them again, ticking them off in his head, as if the number will have changed but he hopes it has not. Some, still bear wounds of War, while others had luckily found a Magician or healer in time. Even he displayed his own scattered scars, the skin pink and crusting where it had been breached.
“I can not say how pleased or proud I am with the lot of you. When the bells of War came you each answered and for that I am thankful, as I know the Chamber herself is. To show you my appreciation and that hard work does not go unnoticed, I’ve decided some promotions are in order.” His glassy eyes, find those that would be rewarded before he speaks their names in turn.
“Lupei and Zayn, you both will receive the title of Captain. Siberian, if you accept you will enter the ranks of our army as a Cadet, I hope you all will continue to impress me and work to better yourselves as Soldiers.” He flicks his tail as he moves on, sparks of burning embers and ash floating into the air as it moves. “Nymphetamine, you will now hold the rank of professor, I hope your words will be as sharp as your wit.” He laughs, deep baritone as he finds Ribcage among the small crowd. “Ribcage, if you seek it, the rank of student for our Diplomats will be awarded to you- use the power of your words carefully.”
Killdare could, at the very least, say he liked his boys. A small, but worthy group of men to have at his side and help him move the Chamber into a new light, a new purpose. “There will be change for the Chamber, I do not ask you to like it, but i do ask you to heed my decisions. There is no power in brute force and bloodshed, I favor the meaning and importance of your Word more than I do your abilities to corrupt and destroy. I ask you for loyalty. We will continue our alliance with the Valley, and with them the Gates. We will add to that the aid of my Nephew’s herd, Silver Cove. Do not tread there lightly.” He warns, because while family was important to Kirin, his love lust and grasp for power was ever reaching.
“For now, recruit. I encourage friendly steals from all Kingdoms for the time being, as well as Mocks amongst yourselves and our allies if they are up for them. While I relish the sound and excitement of battle, I will not incite a purposeless feud such as the one we have all just seen. Nymphetamine, prepare to leave with me for the Tundra.” With that he dismisses them but he does not make them leave, he himself stands before the burning tree, deep in thought- or at least appearing to be.
KILLDARE
magma King of the Chamber
RE: They say it's what you make, I say it's up to fate [KINGDOM] - Ribcage - 03-26-2016
He spat and yowled.
His ears flattened against his head and he spun in place, whirling and hissing, on the shift of warm sand and thick mud. Sand filled his nose and congealed the blood on his face and lips; it yielded under his paws, thick and giving, offering nothing to hook his claws under. Behind, to his left and right, grit walls rose from nothing but ash and blood and char.
Sand.
Sand tumbled down walls of itself like a hourglass.
Sand stung his eyes and choked him.
Sand blinded him.
An animal cornered panics.
An animal cornered finds a way.
****
He healed.
Not completely, yet. But the aches are ironing out in their own time and for days after the war receded, he slept under the worried eye of sister (and maybe mother – he hopes so; he had dreamed of her there by his side, gently caressing his forehead – he has not seen her for some time). He slept deeply and unhappily. He tossed and turned and his body made steam with cold rock.
Sister watched him.
For days – or weeks – he stayed in their stone home.
Funny, when the moment had come, their enemy had been his, too. Just like that. Mother would say he owed them nothing for the nothing they had given him. She would have called him a foolish boy. But he had come all the same.
(The heady scent of gore wafting from the battlefield had played more than just a small part in that, to be sure.)
And when he hears the call – well, he comes then, too.
“Can we go?” sister asks sweetly,
“Just stay here, for now.”
“I’d like to meet a king,” brother Rake squeaks, eagerly.
“Stay.”
He pads through the pinewoods, over scars harrowed into the earth and past blackened and felled trees. He couldn’t say he felt too sad about the state of the Chamber. For such a very long time, he hadn’t known what it looked like at all. It had been the sweet smell of needles and dirt and the caw of ravens and his mother’s ribs. It had been the scraggly fringes of the misty kingdom, tucked away and cooed over, where mother paced and talked roughly to the other woman.
He had spilled blood here but whether it had been for the Chamber… he couldn't figure it out. (It should have been someone else, either way. It should not have been her.)
He remembers his smell, and his voice. He does not shift right away. When duty calls, it might be that it is best to operate without his feline yes, but here he finds no reason to allay their prey minds should anyone startle. He should be a familiar stalk by now, anyway, in both his peculiar forms. The tiger stays just long enough to note the crown and new king, and then he meets darkness again. It is not unwelcome, just different.
“Thank you. I cannot say I found fighting particularly palatable,” he tilts his head, turns it this way and that, seeking sight where he will not have it – a habit. “I am a much better use to you this way, with the no eyes.” With the eyes, he was made to kill – from head to tail tip – but the cat does not get rid of the boy when he comes out. He is always a passenger and his softness had almost gotten him killed. It will be easier to talk with the tiger inside than fight with the boy. “If you ever have anything specific for me... I'll have to navigate with my eyes but I will enter lands, at least on first go, as I am now, so as not to come off as hostile.” He nods and knows the thoughtful quiet is a release.
Ribcage shifts again, blinking at the king and the tree (mother had once told him it could show the future – at the time, he could not imagine seeing anything at all, let alone peeking through a rift in time). For a second, he considers approaching Killdare, asking him the truth of it all. But he is so very sick of magic. He chuffs softly and turns, padding silently into the devastated forest.
His ears flattened against his head and he spun in place, whirling and hissing, on the shift of warm sand and thick mud. Sand filled his nose and congealed the blood on his face and lips; it yielded under his paws, thick and giving, offering nothing to hook his claws under. Behind, to his left and right, grit walls rose from nothing but ash and blood and char.
Sand.
Sand tumbled down walls of itself like a hourglass.
Sand stung his eyes and choked him.
Sand blinded him.
An animal cornered panics.
An animal cornered finds a way.
****
He healed.
Not completely, yet. But the aches are ironing out in their own time and for days after the war receded, he slept under the worried eye of sister (and maybe mother – he hopes so; he had dreamed of her there by his side, gently caressing his forehead – he has not seen her for some time). He slept deeply and unhappily. He tossed and turned and his body made steam with cold rock.
Sister watched him.
For days – or weeks – he stayed in their stone home.
Funny, when the moment had come, their enemy had been his, too. Just like that. Mother would say he owed them nothing for the nothing they had given him. She would have called him a foolish boy. But he had come all the same.
(The heady scent of gore wafting from the battlefield had played more than just a small part in that, to be sure.)
And when he hears the call – well, he comes then, too.
“Can we go?” sister asks sweetly,
“Just stay here, for now.”
“I’d like to meet a king,” brother Rake squeaks, eagerly.
“Stay.”
He pads through the pinewoods, over scars harrowed into the earth and past blackened and felled trees. He couldn’t say he felt too sad about the state of the Chamber. For such a very long time, he hadn’t known what it looked like at all. It had been the sweet smell of needles and dirt and the caw of ravens and his mother’s ribs. It had been the scraggly fringes of the misty kingdom, tucked away and cooed over, where mother paced and talked roughly to the other woman.
He had spilled blood here but whether it had been for the Chamber… he couldn't figure it out. (It should have been someone else, either way. It should not have been her.)
He remembers his smell, and his voice. He does not shift right away. When duty calls, it might be that it is best to operate without his feline yes, but here he finds no reason to allay their prey minds should anyone startle. He should be a familiar stalk by now, anyway, in both his peculiar forms. The tiger stays just long enough to note the crown and new king, and then he meets darkness again. It is not unwelcome, just different.
“Thank you. I cannot say I found fighting particularly palatable,” he tilts his head, turns it this way and that, seeking sight where he will not have it – a habit. “I am a much better use to you this way, with the no eyes.” With the eyes, he was made to kill – from head to tail tip – but the cat does not get rid of the boy when he comes out. He is always a passenger and his softness had almost gotten him killed. It will be easier to talk with the tiger inside than fight with the boy. “If you ever have anything specific for me... I'll have to navigate with my eyes but I will enter lands, at least on first go, as I am now, so as not to come off as hostile.” He nods and knows the thoughtful quiet is a release.
Ribcage shifts again, blinking at the king and the tree (mother had once told him it could show the future – at the time, he could not imagine seeing anything at all, let alone peeking through a rift in time). For a second, he considers approaching Killdare, asking him the truth of it all. But he is so very sick of magic. He chuffs softly and turns, padding silently into the devastated forest.
RE: They say it's what you make, I say it's up to fate [KINGDOM] - Nymphetamine - 03-26-2016
nymphetamine- purple
Nymphetamine
in my heart, that barless prison
discolours all with tunnel vision
--sorry for tense changes...it's 3AM. and I'm to tired to edit this.
RE: They say it's what you make, I say it's up to fate [KINGDOM] - Siberian - 03-26-2016
Siberian
The sexy grizzly boy of Beqanna
RE: They say it's what you make, I say it's up to fate [KINGDOM] - Kimber - 03-30-2016
because he's all I ever knew of love...
She's spent her entire life in the Chamber and all she does is go unnoticed. Perhaps it's because she hides her children away in the thicket until she's not as paranoid, perhaps it's because she's too often found being nosey and following spies - spies who get promoted. What a coincidence, what a sham. Perhaps she feels this way because the only inkling of feelings she has is tied up in the now ex-general, who's death was still up in the air, and the spy she loved to hate. She has no one, her children have fled to other lands (though she doesn't blame them) and here she stands, stagnant, in a kingdom where she is only viewed as a survivor.
She knew Killdare was Straia's son, that's the only reason she felt some sense of loyalty, she's irritated but speaks up, "Kimber. Army, have been but I'll leave it at that," she glares at Nymph, "I guess the Gates was choosier than I would have imagined." The blue mare turns her back to them, "I'll be around when you need me for another war," and then sets out towards the outskirts, the dark parts; where she belonged.
Kimber
RE: They say it's what you make, I say it's up to fate [KINGDOM] - Lupei - 04-02-2016
lupei
What the truth is, I can't say anymore
