"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
08-04-2016, 12:30 PM (This post was last modified: 08-04-2016, 12:32 PM by vaughan.)
I shall wear no crowns and win no glory
Five years have passed since he watched the sunrise over the Chamber but it still held a certain place within him. Vaughan had become a master of repressing his feelings (and his asshole behaviors too, thankfully) about the place, his mother, his sister; the war, the bloodshed. He had chose to stand and rise against it despite the urges to flee from anything remotely aggressive. The spitfire colt he once was is still alive within him but he is not so easily put out nor quick to engulf himself in flames. Vaughan does not know the truth of his Father(s) but he is thankful for Nymphetamine for dropping him beneath Offspring's watch - the floppy ear stallion looked up to him, he had given him purpose without knowing such then.
The Tundra had given him many things, including the chance to return home now.
He had left before dawn from the Tundra, passing through the field in attempts to recruit and remembering that the Chamber is quite foggy both at night and early morning - once the fog begins to dissipate and a caw from a lone raven emerges (a simple, hello - i'm watching, i know you) he knows that he is safe now to enter. Though he is not as irritable as Brynmor was at others disrespecting borders, he knew that his Mother would surely be along or perhaps Nymph and his 'punishment' would be a tongue lashing. He thinks momentarily about the raid and the mentioning of his Mother's part, he wonders then if she is alright - surely she would be, she's stubborn as an ox. He, unlike his mother, doesn't care about clinging to the shadows or having prowess tactics; he openly and admittedly, haphazardly makes his way deeper into the Tundra. He moves towards what he remembers to a burning tree, though it is no longer; a puzzling look crosses Vaughan's face - our caves, their tree, it's all begun. He decides to wait there, birthing season was upon them and the further he traveled the more likely he'd run into a new mother; he was not a fan of the hormonal surges. "Kimber? Killdare? Siberian? Nymph?" he calls out the names he remembers from youth, hoping that surely one will approach though others are welcome certainly. Vaughan would be to the point, there was little time to catch up and even less time to prepare for what is to come if Beqanna changes yet again.
V A U G H A N
I just had him call out several names because that's who he knows but I thought this could be a time for Warship to be like "oh. weird. that's my kid." or someone else to reply. I just don't want to respond to myself, with my other character.
p.s. Canary/Garreth, you're welcome to write like you followed if you decide to come.
Oh, now this was surely something interesting. The moment the stallion had crossed the borders, Iona had felt it, and had started running for the edge of the territory. She couldn't explain what sense she was feeling, she just got a weird twinge in her gut whenever some horse arrived within the Chamber's lands, especially if it was a horse that either didn't belong here or hadn't been here in a long time.
As she galloped along, Iona winced a little, still feeling a pain in her leg. She'd fought for her kingdom during the raid, and had sliced her leg in the process. The wound had already started to heal, but it left a nasty scar, and still ached when she put pressure on it on occasion.
The stallion was easy to spot by the large tree that had once been burning an everlasting fire. The sight that it had finally ceased burning still surprised Iona to this day. She couldn't believed what had happened to their kingdom. In fact, she didn't want to think about it. Knowing that there had been multiple kingdoms to suffer - not just the Chamber - it just placed a new ache in her heart.
Iona listened as the stallion called out a couple of names, several of which she recognized. Deciding to provide some entertainment for herself, Iona cantered over to the stallion, skidding to a halt a couple of feet away from him.
Her flaxen mane fell over her chocolate brown neck, forelock falling to the side of her left eye and onto her forehead as she smirked at the stallion. Stamping her front hooves a little, Iona spoke up, "Looking for old friends of yours?" she asked, a bright look in her eyes.
Garreth had followed the stocky, dark-colored stallion, silent as they approached their destination, yet his curiosity burning. He wanted to ask a million questions, but didn't know what to start with. Finally, after moments of quiet indecisiveness, the muscular, raven-haired brute decided to wait until after their work was done here to ask questions. Instead, he watched Vaughan.
Despite Vaughan's slightly impolite intrusion on his conversation with Jord, Garreth couldn't help but be drawn to this unusually mannered equine. He had this sort of quiet elegance about him, yet if he realized that, he didn't show it. But maybe Garreth was just reading into things too much; this stallion was extremely hard to read. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't figure out this black stallion with one floppy ear.
Garreth had been watching Vaughan so closely that he did not notice that not only had they arrived at their destination, but a chocolate colored mare with a pale mane and tail was approaching them as well. The tall Fresian stallion mentally kicked himself for not being more aware of his surroundings; something that would surely be fatal in the heat of a battle.
The chocolate colored mare spoke. "Looking for old friends of yours? Garreth said nothing, simply waiting for Vaughan's reaction.
Protect what matters with everything you have or you'll have nothing
They had all managed to survive, to live, and for the Chamber King that was the best of results. Though they may not have won the raid, they had won the right to their lives and that was something to be grateful for. The earthy bay would have been sore at the loss of any of them and ashamed as well of that dire outcome. They lived and the world lived on as well, their world. It was not quite the way that it was before, more fragile in a sense, more uncertain. It was still theirs though, if they would have it, if they had what it took to keep it safe and Killdare was hell bent to do just that.
That’s why when he smells something unfamiliar that he raises his head from the lichen of the forest floor so quickly. He moves forward, tracing the scent of cold and wet and things that he knew but did not know. Someone smelled of the Tundra and he wondered why they had come today, was it good news, bad? Either way he would be a poor King did he not go to see what it was either way, so without hesitation he snaked his way through the pines. Changes littered their world, his body, his herds, his Kingdom’s. Everything had been taken save for the bare walls from which the Chamber had been built. They were left to start anew, perhaps he had gone astray from his original path. Perhaps this was some sort of punishment, or means of atonement for his misguided ways.
One thing is for sure, he would never be at the beck and call of the boy called Tannor again. Killdare knew who his allies were, the real ones, and for them and them alone would he offer any assistance from here on out. Could he tolerate the other Kingdoms? Surely he could, and he would as long as everyone stayed in their own corners, as long as everyone else looked after their own.
Passed the tree that did not burn is where he found the dark boy, skin like the ever lasting night. One ear bent crooked and flopped over, and otherwise Killdare could see nothing more to remark on. The woman though, she was one of his own, someone who joined the army directly after the raid had occurred. Would that she had been among the ranks before hand, he may have sought her to participate but it was probably lucky for her that she hadn’t. The clash of traited titans was no place for the otherwise unendowed and even he would have been in a much sorer spot had he not wielded what little of his own gift that he could. The other Tundraling is new, something that doesn’t smell of memory at all and he looks at them both with interest. “Good news, bad news? Perhaps you’re here for your Mother?” Could be anything that the boys had come for but the presence of the second eluded to something much bigger than family ties.
Iona felt giddy with excitement when she caught the familiar scent of Killdare coming over to join their group. The chocolate flaxen mare pranced a little, her tail swishing back and forth eagerly as the ruler arrived. She turned and faced the stallion, dipping her head a bit before turning around once again to face the horses she hadn't met before.
Rearing up a little on her hind hooves a little before stomping a couple times, the mare spoke in a clear voice, though with the tone she used, it was debatable on how much of her sanity she was holding onto exactly, "Now, you guys had better be nice to Killdare here. He's the king of this place, and he deserves to be respected. So if you don't show him such proper respect, then he'll be forced to show you the way out. And you won't like Killdare when he's mean; he's not a very nice horse," Iona crooned sweetly, her eyes flashing between innocence and an inner emotion that was more twisted than a dracena plant.
Any horse looking at her would wonder what exactly had happened to Iona to turn her into such a twisted mind. Truthfully, Iona herself didn't even remember; she only had a sense she might not have been in her right mind, but she didn't care if that was the truth or not. As long as she had a good place to live, grass to eat, and space to fight, she would be fine...
