"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
02-25-2016, 02:07 PM (This post was last modified: 02-25-2016, 02:08 PM by Yael.)
yael
There’s a reason why Yael never made it to the meeting. There were other things she was keeping an eye on; the first being the welfare of the Desert and the working of a protective barrier all around it. She remembers the havoc and destruction that fell from the sky last time all the rulers left their kingdoms. She would have a safeguard in place that was not linked to her personal energy, but to the Kingdom's. She's just finished anchoring the magic deep in the dunes and is admiring her handiwork. The air shimmers when she turns on her magic eyes, and as she looks for holes in the safety-blanket, Yael thinks she feels a disturbance. Something is not right. And then it comes again, but this time she feels the gentle heart of the Gates’ mare burst, and her candle snuffed out.
All of her attention flies to the scene of the crime, and with a growl in her throat, she disappears from the Desert - heading stright for the Chamber.
They think she won’t fight dirty, that her heart bleeds recklessly for anyone and everyone. They think her moral compass is too pure to be compromised. They don’t know much about her these days except that which she lets them see; the kind ex-queen who takes in orphaned children, the lover, the forgiver. What they don’t know is that deep down inside Yael, she knows the truth to ending things early. She knows the truth as well as Straia does. Death. Strike fear into their hearts. Make the good guys keep their morals while the bad guys run all over them.
Here’s one grandmother who doesn’t have time for morals anymore.
She appears as a great golden dragon above the chamber, five times the size of a horse, with long, deadly talons, and a jaw full of razor sharp teeth. Dragonfire sears the air in front of her as Yael trumpets her displeasure with the Raven Queen and the Chamber. She should have done this ages ago. Eyes tinged with the red of war and heat of anger search for the perfect place to lay her next spurt of flames - where it would flush the most Chamberlings out into the open. She finds a few of them, including the little princess. Ah… yes. Yael carefully aims her fire and lets it loose in an arc around a group of horses, flushing them out into the open. When they scatter, she swoops down and grabs the fleeing princess in her claws, holding her tightly and lifting her up, up, up above the burning trees.
Straia! she screams back at the taunting Raven Queen. Release Rhy or I drop your dauxter.
@[Weaver] and everyone, i guess? Kyra, if that's not ok, let me know.
Also the Chamber is now on fire. And the Desert is protected. Happy war!
She is small still, not yet a woman grown. But it’s wrong to underestimate the girl. She’s faced death once before. No, not just faced. She died once before. Perhaps that will be her fate, to die over and over again. To traverse the space between life and death as easily as she traverses the paths of the pine forest. That is her gift for facing death without hesitation. She did it once, and she can do it again.
The flames are first, licking at the pine trees. The girl scampers away, not in the mood to die unnecessarily, but it’s only seconds before there are talons gripping her, pulling her farther and father into the air. The feel of her skin parting, of blood trickling down her sides is becoming both common and annoying at this point. She’s so scarred from her fight against the four horsemen of the apocalypse that there are places where she hardly feels anything at all. Though there are places where the talons and sharp and fierce, and she grimaces slightly as she yells out.
”Boys! You have ammo!” She has no idea if Kushiel or Lupei will hear her, but they should know full well to use the fire to their advantage. Likely, Evrae would be along to put it out, but perhaps not. The fire could do more good for the Chamber than harm. Besides burning the poor trees. Casualties. They were inevitable, including Weaver.
“You know this is only what she wants, right?” Weaver asks, a little grin on her face, far too much her mother’s daughter for anyone’s good. “She’ll release Rhy when she gets want she wants, and not before. So go ahead and drop me if you really have to. It won't help your cause though.” She sighs slightly. She doesn’t really want to die, and Evrae may or may not be around to stop her before she smashes into the ground.
But she knows this was the plan all along. Turn Beqanna into chaos. Make sure the 'good' know just what they are made of. And she will play her part, if she really must, though she's still hoping something will break her fall.
weaver
weed and straia's chamber princess
permission granted to handle that however you want Sarah, including dropping her.
He had heard rumors of war, felt the change in the air quality. It was static almost, palpable in its chaotic intentions. High time they got themselves out of the doldrums. Beqanna had been craving a war whether they all wanted to admit it or not. Call it natural selection, or a cleansing of the land; whatever the case may be, the lands were begging for the blood of its people. War was the perfect answer to that question. The weak would undoubtedly fall, their life blood soaking the ground in the most glorious fashion. The strong would carry on to the next generations, fortifying the bloodlines overall. Yes, a most glorious plan indeed.
He was not surprised when he heard Eight’s call, and in fact, a half grin forms on his handsome face. This was his time, his time to let loose the flames that burned him from the inside out. Too long it had been since they had been given a release and his skin was practically sizzling because of it. He does not hesitate to answer, but unfolds the dragon wings that clung tightly to his sides. Shaking his nebula-faced head recklessly he dives forward, gathering speed before taking to the sky. From his vantage point the smoke is visible, and it serves as a beacon. The closer he gets the stronger the smell of ash, a scent that triggered his own flames to rise along his mane and down his back. Before he closes in completely though he leaves the sky and takes to the forest, impervious to the flames that lick at him. While he was reckless and overly self-assured, he was no fool and he would not take on a dragon. A dragon who currently held the Chamber’s princess in her massive claws like some scaly bird of prey holding a rodent. It was not in his nature to be concerned, but he frowned nonetheless. For now there was nothing he could do for her, but he would set to work on the fire. Instead he sets to work on the dragon fire, pushing it and pulling it and swallowing it whole. It burns his throat but he continues, relishing the pain even as his own fire begged to join the current flames. “Not yet…” he thinks as he chokes down their demands. Instead he pulls the fire from the trees and the underbrush, leaving them smoldering but no longer ablaze. He continues on, clearing a path for the others who were not impervious to the burn of fire. Finally, there is somewhat on an entrance, some small bit of tamping of the flames. It is not much but it is hopefully enough. He can not control the spread of magical flames completely, but he can manipulate the fires that spark as a result.
flamevein
i set fire to the rain
"Some say the world will end in fire, some say in ice. What I've tasted of desire I'll hold with those who favor fire." - R. Frost
no matter what we breed we still are made of greed
Chaos. That's what this is, utter chaos.
There's hardly time to blink his eyes when he rushes from the earth, Eight's words ringing in his ears. The Chamber was on fire, Weaver was taken hostage. He doesn't need time to process that he himself has hostages back home, or he had when he left. There was no telling now if the whole place had gone up in smoke, he cringed at the thought. Killdare wasn't evil exactly, he wasn't the nicest or 'goodest' of creatures either, but he wasn't a monster.
When he had taken the girls from the Gates he had no intentions to harm them, or let them be hurt. He just wanted that to be assumed, they would both be allowed to return home unharmed. Now, he could only hope that was the case.
Flamevein is already there, clearing a path into the forest, flames rise into the pines like a matchbox. The bay Lord spirals in, torpedoing himself into the clearing, wings tucked tight around his sides to stave off the fire. His ears a singed a bit on entry but otherwise he is whole when he lands in a furry, kicking up enough wind to snuff out the nearest bush.
"Topsail, Sidra!" He yells because the fires roar like the dragon that brought them, the smoke fills his chest until he can smell nothing else. He turns a mahogany wing, shading his eyes before his voice again rises, "Girls! The scaled arms make a decent fan as he blasts the nearest fires with wind, sending the smallest of them to their graves.
02-25-2016, 09:34 PM (This post was last modified: 02-25-2016, 10:21 PM by Eight.)
I’m embarrassed, and I’m ashamed I’ve played a part in this devilish game making your common sense perish. But I ain’t taking the full blame cause most of you chumps running around here ain’t never had strict parents.
War is a tiresome thing, especially for a magician. As beautiful as having the power of the gods was, it also meant immesnse responsibility. A magician was limitless - and there seemed to be quite a handful in this war. Magic parried with magic - the possibilities were endless.
Eight kept a section of his mind on the war at hand. He had seen Straia’s attack against the Gates - the fire burning with fury and glee only war could fuel. He had seen the death of Witchita, her heart ending with one last gasp. And he had seen the rightful retaliation of Yael - her golden body stretching into the might of the dragon. Amongst this, he had followed Prague’s furious deeds of fixing the ever growing disasters- it seemed the magicians of the lighter side were stretching themselves quite thin. I do suppose that’s the downside of covering so many territories.
None to Eight’s surprise, Evrae was laxadaisial in her duties. The thing about the more chaotic evil of the magicians, was that they never were quite dutiful in their actions. Those like Eight and Evrae- well, they did as they pleased, to whatever their benefit. They did not have the golden hearts of righteousness, fervor, and loyalty like Prague and Yael.
While Eight went about his personal goals - raising the protective barrier of the Valley and fortifying the wolves, then on to raising Zuclo, and finally begining his attemps to lure the dearest little Rome away - well, the war still raged on beyond him. Hours had passed since the immaculation of the wild rumpus - and each hour he checked in upon the Chamber, he saw that Weaver was still a small clutch of a rag within the grasp of Yael. Ah, Evrae - forever on your own schedule (and Eight couldn’t fault you for that - with forever to live, why follow a clock?)
With a deep sigh, Eight launches off the soft sand of the Beach, leaving Zuclo to his own - midair, his wings begin to shrink, his body grows ever smaller, feathers branching from his wings onto his body, his dark tail thickening into a solid fan of feathers, his hooves arcing into sharp - his body transforming lithely from equine to that of an osprey. On swift wings, carried from the hot winds of the burning lands, he quickly reaches the Chamber.
There is no mistaking the carnage below. The begginings of battle are birthing below - with a quick glance to the ground he sees a cluster - one seemingly strongly outnumbered (theirs? ours?). But there is no time to help, regardless of who it may be. Weaver has been hanging in the deathly clutches of the golden dragon for far too long - already Eight sees the ragged skin of the princess, where the thick and callous skin and claw of the dragon held tight.
Evrae would come soon - he knew. While she was questionable on punctuality- she would show up. The best he could do now was to conserve his strength and magic and do what best he could for Weaver- the battle was just beginning.
Being in such a smaller state, his power was conserved - and he had the ability of agility and speed, versus that of a large dragon. His osprey sight was clear and deadly, and his target large and not quite so quick. Yael in her dragon form was admittedly set in red hot anger towards Straia- her rage and focus on the raven queen. And it was Eight’s time to strike. He plunged from high, with rapid speed - his taloned feet outstretched .His unique osprey feet - with two toes in front and two behind - allowed for an excellent and unrelenting grasp, and a barbed padding on the soles of his feet created for the best hold- even on slippery things such as eyeballs. And that was exactly what he was aiming for - the tender and soft eyeball of the great, golden dragon.
Eight was not aiming to kill - or even maim, really (although, he wouldn’t quite object) - he was looking to startle. With such a size and speed advantage, and with the golden lady being quiet distracted in her rage - there was hardly a chance to miss his target of those soft orbs of the dragon. His target was to gouge, grab, and tear at whatever he could - his main target, the eyes, but he would do for any of the tender areas of the face he may reach. As we all know, the face is one of the most sacred parts of the body - smell, sight, and hearing are all readily available for attack there - and the face in general is quite a soft spot of the body. Any gouging that Eight made to her face would most likely result in the startled reaction of releasing prey - the most common reaction of pain to tender places, a blanching, a release, a startled movement.
As birds of prey are known for - he attacks quickly and uses his advantage of size and dexterity to dart away from immediate grasp. All Eight was aiming for was for Weaver to be released- and a quick and deadly gouge to soft facial features should hopefully do just fine. Either way - the golden magician would likely be damaged in dragon form, and in equine form upon her transition. And when Weaver dropped - well, he would manage that from there.
02-25-2016, 11:41 PM (This post was last modified: 02-25-2016, 11:50 PM by Set.)
What better an entrance than the middle of a war? Fire hot, chaos and dragons sort of war. Just … Wonderful. Set of course can take no credit for the discord that unfolds before him - he is sure that he has been absent without leave for quite some time now. Small matter. It does not keep him from leaping into the middle of it with a wild grin.
As tradition demands, Set always returns home. The Chamber is as much a part of him as bone and blood, the breath in his lungs. He had sent shadows ahead of him – little shadows, so inconspicuous, unnoticed by even the wariest of watchers for there are shadows everywhere. They’d whispered to him the rumblings of impending war, of the strife about to settle on the whole of Beqanna, a thick cloak of despair. They made his heart pound; his veins thrum with purpose. Though eager to enmesh himself immediately, he’d lingered, taking his time on the approach, regaling himself with the mundane details of Beqannan life, half-hoping he and Ana’s son would make an appearance, living for weeks in the far north of the Chamber in the caves of his father …
His gut tightens, skunk-tail wrung in anticipation of the flood of magic that comes before Yael’s attack. A wild, triumphant crow accompanies the surge of adrenaline that makes him go both hot and cold all over. It’s been far too long since he’s felt this, the thrill of battle. Shale shatters beneath his hooves as he drops off of the cliff’s edge. Shoulder blades shift to accommodate leathery wings, scales the color of midnight run down his spine before spreading out along his sides, flanks, limbs … With a grunt and a downward thrust of his wings, he rises, a sleek dragon five times smaller than the one that hovers above the now-burning Chamber, something small and bleeding clutched in her talons. He is an indiscreet black, his already-yellow eyes blending in amongst the scaly features of the dragon. His mind heavily fortified against a mental attack – you can certainly try – he banks lazily to the right underneath a cloak of atmosphere – effectively rendering him invisible; still, he circles the eye of the bedlam below, careful to stay just out of the dragon’s realm of attention. A tall mountain pine, as of yet safe from the flames, though they’re of little concern to him, is where he finally perches, eyes fixated on the scene ahead and below.
He feels Eight coming. It’s a tingling in his spine, the moment before he takes his next breath. Unreasonably irritated that the Valley magician passes close enough to feel him there, Set takes flight, circling in the opposite direction of Eight-turned-osprey. It would seem that the other is too distracted by the wildfire below to notice the faint tickle of Set’s magic as he arcs past him, intent evident in fierce eyes. He does not know Eight’s plan of attack but he will be damned if the little birdie received his share of the fighting. Snorting, Set twists away, winging quickly nearer the raging Yael. It takes him only a few moments to mold his illusion. Eight is climbing into the sky now and Set can only assume he is going to attack; the small form is difficult to pick out at the speed it is moving. Just as he knows that she can sense his presence should she desire to, he drops his cloak, revealing three other dragons flying flank behind him. Each a different color – deep, wine red, rich gold, sapphire blue – the four approach in attack formation. truggling to contain his joy, Set lets loose with violent roar, a jet of blue flame erupting from his throat. It may distract Yael. Maybe not. Whichever broken rag she holds close is of little concern to him – there is only the thrum of war.
She lands on the border of the Chamber at the path Flamevein had built into the flames, shifting back into horse form. Ravens dive in front and to each side of her, all made of water, dousing the flames. She leaves a wider trail as she moves, smoke billowing behind her, ash streaking her coat. Straia feels at home now, with the ash drifting around her like snow, with the roaring flames and the flock of water ravens. It is a beautiful sight, in a way.
Yael is obvious enough, in giant golden dragon form. There are smaller dragons and a bird flying around her now as well, appearing to attack Yael as well. Chaos rages farther inside the Chamber. She can hear it all, and she grins slightly, knowing that the Chamber ground is thirsty for blood. Her kingdom will get its wish tonight.
She comes to a stop somewhere beneath Yael, that mischievous and pleased grin on her face. “So much like me, Yael. I’m very proud.” Straia doesn’t yell. She doesn’t need to. The magician can hear her no matter how loudly or quietly Straia speaks, though the golden magician might be somewhat distracted by the things diving at her face. “Please, go ahead. Drop my daughter.”
The taunt is meaningless though as a pair of black raven wings appear on Weaver’s side. The water ravens stop plunging into the trees. The fire rages on in the pines, though Straia doesn’t mind. The flames would feed all the fire wielding Chamberlings, and eventually, Evrae would douse the flames when the time was right. But Straia wanted them all to know that the Chamber did not hide behind walls of magic, did not need a magician to save them all.
They were so much more than that. They’d come from the ashes before, reborn stronger and better for it. None of the other kingdoms knew what that was like in the way the Chamber did. And none of the other kingdoms were as strong and resilient as the Chamberlings were.
The ravens shift, taking on a variety of forms – fire and lighting and ice and shadow – all heading for Yael now. Her daughter wouldn’t die, but she didn’t heal any faster than a normal horse (at least, not till Evrae solved that problem), and Straia didn’t think the girl needed any more cuts. She would like her daughter out of Yael’s clutch at some point.
straia
the raven queen of the chamber
Use of mild power playing is allowed; no injuries without permission
02-26-2016, 12:50 PM (This post was last modified: 02-26-2016, 06:22 PM by Yael.)
oh, where do we begin? the rubble or our sins?
Yael is perfectly aware of the chaos she’s causeing; she knows full well what happens when Desert dragons take to the sky. The last time, the Valley burned. This time, the Chamber will burn. This time, Yael will have no regrets.
Her mind-words echo across the land, crawling into the heads of everyone without protection; let them know that Straia started this, and that Yael was simply reacting. She is angry, yes, and raging, but not completely out of control. She’s spent too much time letting her attention purposefully expand and wander to let herself be taken by surprise. Magic can feel magic - Eight and Set will be giant freaking beacons unless they purposefully muffle themselves. The battle rages below her, and without a clear aim, she isn’t going to let loose more fire, or dip down to grab another hostage. She can, however, call for backup while hovering above the battle.
Jason? Ve could use a leettle xelp xere. Anyt’ing you’ve got vould be appreciated. Ever polite, of course, because she’s never met the Gates’ quiet magician. She can assume he’s nothing like the silver lioness that hisses and spits far below. And then she reaches out to the Dale, though she had only distantly heard that they were on their side. Ramiel? Var ees upon us. Ve need ze Dale!
Yael pumps her wings, sending herself higher, to coast on the hot air that is quickly rising from the Chamber. Ah, the heat. It feels like home to her. Perhaps she was made for a dragon’s body after all. Some time passes, but not much in the grand scheme of things, when the attack that she’s been waiting for comes. Her thoughts are shielded, much like Set’s are, so they can’t know that her plan is simple. Yael is no fool; she cannot hope to best two older magicians in a game of pure strength. Her magic may have once smoldered in the veins of one of B’kanna’s oldest, but in her own body, it is not as potent. Her options are few.
The attacks seem to converge on her all at once, which makes her plan all the better. Eight dives, and Set and his three dragons flame - and at the last possible second Yael and her cargo disappear. Why fight when you can take to flight? The osprey’s duck feet (t’ank you, Veir!) paddle at empty air, perhaps even throwing him into the path of one of the four, smaller dragons in Set’s gang. Wouldn’t that be a shame?
Catch me if you can, she seems to say, without ever uttering a retort.
Where, oh where, did she go? Back to the thrice protected Desert, where she can refuel, imprison, and reinforce. t is the safest place she knows, with the magical shield tied not to her own physical strength, but to the magic that flows beneath the sands. It is tied to the Gods. She doesn’t know many who could overpower them. Soon she will return to the melee at hand. Someone had to keep those magicians busy and off the general populace. Duck and weave, she thinks. Duck and weave.
02-26-2016, 01:40 PM (This post was last modified: 02-26-2016, 04:55 PM by Evrae.)
E
V
R
A
E
some say the world will end in fire
some say in ice
Of course she takes her time. Other than Carnage, she is older than all the magicians of Beqanna. She is ancient, but unlike Carnage, she is often forgotten. Here’s the thing about that: it’s terribly useful to be overlooked sometimes.
Yael is already gone by the time she arrives, with Weaver in tow. In fact taking the Princess of the enemy to safety. Which is actually pretty hilarious, if you think about it. She finds Straia first, and the Raven Queen simply shakes her head. Weaver would be fine, they both know this. You cannot harm a girl with the power of Death in her chest. Not really, anyway. It would be better to keep the girl safe, and go fetch her when all this was over. Yael couldn’t actually stop Evrae. She could make it annoying, but in the end, she’d always win.
The fire rages around her, and she shifts. Not quite a dragon, though something similar to it. A Wyrm, with an affinity for almost all the elements (not just fire), and very handy poison breath. It’s her namesake, after all. Though no one knows that either, and she’ll keep it that way. She pulls the fires raging in the Chamber toward her, absorbing them into her midnight blue scales. By the way, the scaly dragon thing had been hers long before all these posers. It still annoys her a bit she’d had to pick a new form. Damn dragons. Such overkill in Beqanna now.
Then she regrows the trees, making them impervious to fire as she goes. She adds to the forest, growing it inward, until nearly the entire kingdom is covered in the misty pine forests of the Chamber. There’s only a tiny bit of open space. Either they take to the trees, or they fight on top of one another. There’s only shadows and space between the trees. That ought to keep them busy for a while.
Eventually, she’d have to go after Weaver. But for now, she takes to the sky above the Chamber, watching and waiting. She hunts for Eight as well, reaching out to his mind and his mind alone, shielding their mental conversation from everyone else. The Chamber will likely fall, and our job, if you are up for it, is to make sure the rest of Beqanna falls too. We may not be able to get into the kingdoms, but you are clever. Do whatever you can.
He reappears after his little hello to Rhy and Kratos, where Evrae had stood to make the trees grow and grow until there was hardly a space to stand. Evrae was happy that she had been forgotten, that now she could return with a purpose! Pazuzu would have rolled his eyes at her dramatics. As he stood where he felt the residual of her magic he smile. He sends a blast of magic into the clearing. It wouldn't hurt the horses battling there but it would eat away at the roots of the trees she had made imperious to fire. It would make them weak and die and his magic would hurry it all along until there were branches dropping from the trees in no time.
Watch out below!
Pazuzu had no side. He would help and hinder as he saw fit.
Then the black stallion took the largest six trees on the outskirts of the battle and turned them into lumbering ents, still resistant to the fire that Evrae had put into all the trees of the Chamber when she had regrown them.
He adds his own charms to them, making them smart and quick despite their size. He doesn't over power them but he wants them to have a chance, wants them to cause Chaos their way.
"Go. Hurt who you will." He says with a small smile. His black body already beginning to disappear back into the woods as 6 wild ents go about hitting and smashing whatever they would.
When he reappears this time it is in the mist and magic, the very smoke (what was left of it) curling into his horse shape. He smiles at the magicians in the and dipped his head in a mocking bow. "Good day for Chaos isn't it?" He says to them all and no one in particular.
pazuzu
You can use the ents as you with and power play them away! Zuzu just wanted to add a little spice.
Set
