"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
11-28-2015, 09:58 AM (This post was last modified: 11-29-2015, 08:09 AM by Killdare.)
I WILL ALWAYS FIND YOU
They had rolled, and danced the dance of teeth and hoof. When it was all said and done, the fairy had healed them. She always would for those who made practice.
Killdare accepted the mending of his face, the jagged line sealing shut with a touch. He allowed the ache in his muscles to be spirited away, but as the gentle fairy made to heal the bite on his haunch- he gave a great stomp and shook his head. He would keep the small token, let it scab and heal to leave what it would behind. When the fae finished, he dipped his head in thanks, and turned to give the same acknowledgement to Nymphetamine. Later they would likely find each other to discuss their spar, but for now it was back home- back to the daily grind.
Killdare left the mock grounds with a flourish of scale and membrane. Seizing the chilled skies with his wings, and digging his talons against the cold and frost. The bite of winter air was refreshing after the fight, a welcome cool to his boiling blood, and the excitement of war. Let it be known that War, though an ugly thing, was beautiful and intoxicating. There was never enough for men of battle, the thirst ever present went unsatisfied.
Though cloying to a man's heart, there was a fine line of temptation not to cross. Too little War and men frenzied, sick with routine and stillness. Too much War and they were lost, drifting out to sea on wrath, and madness. Too far gone and one became unpredictable. Striking at those they had sworn too, lashing out at Kin. Toe that line always, rest on it, but do not fall pray to crossing it.
The blood was young, but he was eager, and earnest in his learning. At least Killdare could vouch for that much, though the boys convictions still sat on the fence with him. He thought on the fight during his return flight home, landing with a crunch against the frozen ground at the edge of the Chamber's wood. He gave himself a good shake before tucking his wings to his sides, and then he entered the pines to resume his duties.
It gives him pleasure to think he is yet undiscovered. While tall and muscular, physically appealing in the a way just a step removed from conventional, his mind is rat-like: cunning and disgusting, a place of plague. That he weaves through the trees bordering the Chamber's depths as yet without meeting resistance makes him feel explicit, a snake in the grass.
Of course he knows it cannot continue this way.
The Chamber stands because for all these years it has defended itself.
If asked, it would be difficult for the dark bay stallion to explain his presence here. Perhaps it is simply inertia - if he stood for too long he grew bored in mind and body, and his disease demanded action. So what to do? The thought of herd life nearly made him ache with boredom just to think of, the daily grind of a dozen prying eyes waiting for his attention. He was not meant for something so droll and domestic. The few children he had were off, as good as dead for all he knew of them. They were unfortunate byproducts, hardly worth including in his machinations.
He could have tried any other kingdom. But the Chamber called.
It is a few minutes more of traveling, his sides brushing against bark as he cuts through the pines, before he hears the 'thump' of something touching down, the displacement of air that denotes the folding of large wings.
"Hello," he calls through the trees, a voice like an oil slick, deep and dark. Slithering out from between the trees, it is hard to miss the winged stallion. Arka tilts his head, reptilian and questioning, seemingly unaware it may give the winged one every reason to raise his hackles. "Tell me, am I within the borders of the Chamber?"
the wolves will chase you by the pale moonlight {drunk and driven by the devil's hunger}
He was growing, faster and faster, but the natural process of aging was often too slow for the mulberry colt. His mind was billowing outward—soaking in the world, digging into its roots and learning everything it could—but his mind did not follow at the same pace. Woolf could feel himself becoming sharper, tapping into his natural instincts, but his body was still childish and lanky. He was nearing a year of age, but his body just did not fit him right. The muscles were undeveloped. The strength was lacking. It was frustrating.
As had become his habit, he was wandering the kingdom when he heard the horned stallion call upon the Colonel. Woolf had seen Killdare around the Chamber, had rooted through his mind when he was sleeping even, but he had not talked to him. In truth, he had not talked to much of anyone. He was not a loner, per se, but he found conversations often boring and bland. Words being spit out without purpose. But today he was bored and angry at nothing in particular and they seemed like a good enough diversion as any.
So he makes his way toward them in his great-grandfather’s panther form. It had been the first form that he had taken as a colt and he still liked it. Most people in the kingdom knew what Atrox looked like and Woolf liked his privacy. If he was going to break his solitude, he may as well do it as the panther and not as himself. “Hello,” the noise that came out was Atrox’s—lazy and drawling. “Why do you care to know?” he tilted his feline head toward the newcomer. “If you knew the Chamber, you would know her landscape, and if you didn’t, you should have stayed at the border and waited to be escorted in.”
12-02-2015, 11:29 PM (This post was last modified: 12-02-2015, 11:48 PM by Killdare.)
I WILL ALWAYS FIND YOU
At first he had wondered why, then he had wondered how, eventually he learned not to think much of it. The Chamber had an odd knack for drawing in dark things. Creeps, ghosts, ghouls, what have you. It was sort of cliche in a sense, the fog-laden pine forest an unsurprising backdrop to those sorts of things. It made sense though, somehow, he was sure it did.
He'd hardly crossed the borders when a voice hisses through the dark. Crawling around the trees, sliding across the dense air to his ears. Killdare pauses, turns his frame towards the sound and inhales deeply. The voice calls to him, an unsavory tone but it begs listening. Hello It says to him dripping from some slippery mouth. It asks about the borders then, another bay coming into view. It's head coils, twists strangely, the end finds itself home to a horn. The Chamber Lord paces towards the unknown, a feline slinking into their midst on his advance.
Atrox. He's met the panther-shifter before, found himself prey to the cat's taunts. The black cat calls to the trespasser, the usual mockery.
"He's right you know, the time of open borders has ceased." He tells pressing forth into their company. He turns his glass-green eyes to the cat, wondering what about this one had sent the shifter crawling out from his mountain hide-away. "Atrox, you're looking...thin." He pokes, smirking to himself. He recalls the first time they met, how the mountain cat jested of making him a meal.
"I'd ask what the cat's dragged in, but he doesn't seem to know either." His attention (though it has hardly left) turns to the first stallion again, scenting the air with each pause of words. "Indeed you've found yourself just inside the borders. What business do you bring to the Chamber?"
12-03-2015, 02:04 PM (This post was last modified: 12-03-2015, 02:05 PM by Arka.)
Well, that was something you didn’t see every day.
The ground seemed to pulsate beneath the panther’s hooves as if recognizing an old friend, pines turning toward the sound of a drawl that made it warm with remembrance. The Chamber seemed to know him as it did not know Arka, at once bristling with its’ benefactor’s suspicion. Arka, for his part, looked bored – something like a stuffed version of himself, glass eyes hollow and blank, checking out from something he considered a momentary unpleasantry. After a second however he managed a smile that didn’t seem forced so much as foreign to him – something like watching an alien try to imitate common facial expressions.
“No harm meant. I simply gleaned a description of this place from an acquaintance – ‘surrounded by pines’ didn’t give me much to go on in terms of proper protocol.”
In truth, he was something of a viper. He was capable of playing nice but it was best to never turn your back to him.
Turning to the winged stallion that had originally called his attention, he nodded in deference to the knowledge that the borders were closed. As the winged one and the panther conversed, he kept to his own and considered how he would answer as to his intentions for crossing the border. He had – as in most things – not started on the right foot with his transgression, but it was a habit he saw little point in breaking. He had a tendency to ruin things. But he’d heard rumblings across Beqanna that war might be coloring the horizon with its dark-purple bruise – perhaps part of the reason that he’d gravitated to the Chamber above all else.
“My name is Arka. I’m looking to join your army,” he answered simply, unaware he was speaking to one of its highest ranking members.
the wolves will chase you by the pale moonlight {drunk and driven by the devil's hunger}
Humor is lost on Woolf, and he certainly cannot understand the pointed barbs so quickly dropped by his grandfather. Still, with a quick glance through Killdare’s memory—so easily accessible when they sat on the surface—he garnered the nature of their last interaction. He fashioned his smile into the usual one he had witnessed on his grandfather’s face, the result being both lazy and mocking, feline teeth glinting. “I can always fix that,” he growled, heavy tail flicking behind him lazily. Turning his head toward to the newcomer, Woolf’s smile widened, “I love nothing more than intruders for dinner.”
His laugh was low and throaty at Arka’s response, and he took a step forward, considering him. “Perfect,” his voice snapped through the crisp air of the Chamber. “Just what the Chamber needs. Idiots who can’t figure out proper protocol without it being spoon-fed to them.” After this though, he falls silent, listening to the stallion’s request to join the army. Of course, he did. So many came crawling into the pine forest and fog-ridden kingdom hoping that they would find some sort of purpose or glory in the bloodshed.
Lifting his head, Woolf frowned. Well, this was certainly bad timing. His grandfather, the actual panther, stepped forward, feline head tilted as he made his way forward.
“My, my, we have been busy, haven’t we, Woolf?” Atrox clucked his tongue against his teeth. Looking at his grandson so closely mirroring his own panther form. “If you don’t mind,” he motioned toward the panther impersonator, his voice hanging heavily in the silence. “I’d like to have my identify back.” As the mulberry roan shifted back into his own yearling body, the purple of his color deepening and his legs becoming long and lanky, Atrox turned back to the duo with a lazy smile. “Pleasure, I am sure.”
Woolf shifted and gave an unapologetic glance toward the two stallions, “The name is Woolf.” He did not bother to give them an explanation.
12-12-2015, 07:38 PM (This post was last modified: 12-12-2015, 07:39 PM by Killdare.)
now im going to reap what i sow
He takes turns looking at the two, glassy green eyes darting back and forth. One, his seeming Kingdom mate, though the panther makes himself scarce more often than not. He shrugs at the panther-cat's jokes, if Atrox felt like eating trespassers, who was he to say no? The other, a new comer, vying for a spot in the army- or so he gathers. A bit of a creep Killdare thinks, but they don't really house many that aren't.
"Killdare." He gives a short introduction, not bothering with any fancy titles. "So the army holds your interests?" Killdare begins, wondering what exactly it was about their army that made him want in. Not to say that their army wasn't the one to join, it most certainly was. But due to recent activity, and questionable new comers, he was more apt to dig a little deeper. He starts to wonder out loud when another panther strolls into the clearing. Killdare does a double take, hard lines pulling at his eyes. The hell was going on? He'd always been leary of magic and this only furthered his distrust of it.
"What a charming little trick," he said unseriously to the colt. The wine colored child coming into shape where there had just been a twin black cat. "I'd appreciate you keep your skin walking to a minimum when it comes to impersonating Chamber members." He looked at the boy, then at the panther. "Is this one yours?" Killdare asks in a gruff voice, pointing his question at Atrox. Then he looks to Arka, as if to say... you sure about this?
