"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
Somehow or other he and his brother had earned quite the audience. Well, that or everyone just happened to stumble down the mountainside or waltz into the forest at about the same time. Yeah, probably the later because while Mortal had a set of ridiculous feather wings he was nothing fancy to look at otherwise, nor was he that interesting. Their world was filled with the exotic, at least before it was, and some rando pegasus was nothing to gawk at. For most.
The little boy’s eyes creep over his black hide, then his inky feathers and Mortal feels rather exposed. Luckily his Mother arrives, even if it is with caution and lingering uncertainty lining her features and apparent in the tensing of her body language. Hellbane looks over his shoulder and Mortal almost follows suit. The woman, come to find out her name is Maus, begins with apologies and of course they are unnecessary. Boys wander, if anyone knew that the brothers certainly would, especially himself. Exploring was how he learned, how he came by information, how Mortal kept with his practice of being certain of things. Which is exactly what he liked.
“He’s right, don’t worry about it.” his vivid green eyes found the small boy, excitedly telling his Dam how he wanted to be different like them. “Ahh, be careful with wishes little Pitch. Sometimes being different is enough to land you in trouble,” they were just that too, especially if overheard by the wrong set of ears.
His own black set take note of another approaching footstep, followed by his eyes finding a speckled spectator. The weight of the stallion’s eyes are by far heavier than the child’s when they find his feathers. Mortal obliges him with a set jaw and heavy lidded stare. “Why wouldn’t it be?” he wonders after the strangers asking, as if he and his sibling would give anyone reason to think that their presence wasn’t perfectly amicable to the lady. Their previous guest went on about Magic being out of control and Mortal takes the statement in quietly and without comment, he hadn’t much room to talk and wasn’t often humored with opinions given his own particular peculiarities.
Luckily Hellbane asks for quiet and Mortal doesn’t need to put it to practice as his lips are already currently sealed in a flat line. When he preaches his own injustices Mortal’s ears fall flat against his head but he doesn’t protest, he already knew deep down his twin’s feelings on the matter- even if he had never before spoke of them. He waits for their answers at the end of Hellbane’s speech, curious for information as always. They may not be fond of him or his gift but like it or not, eyes in the sky were eventually useful.
Yes.
The thought never truly occurred to him, to claim their own stake. To consider a land that is free from the magic that choked him, drowned him. His catatonia fades, much like the fog did, and he can hear the words of the other. Ungifted. Would he use that word? He thinks not - he'd use other such euphamisms.
Untouched.
Normal.
The original.
With a cult like fervor he leans to the group, listening intently on Hellbane's words. They make no promises, they give no direction...but still he hears promises within them. He hears directions and ideas. He hears what he wants to hear, not what is truly said.
He will lead them to a better land.
"Freedom," says Surgery. "And that, above all else, freedom from magic." He spits the word, feeling it hot and heavy on his tongue.
She stood like a statue in the group, the only sign giving away the fact that she was indeed a living creature was the gentle expansion and compression of her barrel as she breathes. The grulla minx seemed calm on the outside but just under the surface a war was being fought. Part of Maus wanted to turn tail and herd her son away from the group. Ever since her encounter with the colts father, magic or anything even remotely hinting towards it caused panic to invade her body. Like a foreign being she could feel it as it began as a tiny, swirling speck in the back of her mind. The more she focused on the thing the greater it became. Tendrils would spiral outward, latching on to nearby nerves before hitching a ride through her nervous system, racing at a break neck pace through her body. It felt like dumping ice water on your head. The instant chill that sucks your breath away until your body has enough time to process what happened. Currently Maus was stuck in that beginning phase, doing everything in her power to stay calm. She was doing brilliantly.
A gentle nudge against her shoulder shoves the grulla minx wildly out of her thoughts. Her heart thumps roughly against her chest as she quickly turns to see Pitch nudge her again. "Mother?" his voice soothes her but she quickly realizes that yet another stallion had joined the group. His coat spotted in black and white. "He asked you if everything was ok." the colt says in a concerned manner. Turning his attention from his dam to the newest addition to their group. Maus quickly allows her deep amber eyes to follow her sons. Yes. Of course. she says. Her thick Russian accent beautifully hiding the slight panic that arose in her throat. Thankfully, for the grulla minx, the attention is diverted away from her as the child-like stallion speaks, soon followed by the bay and green brute.
As Hellbanes words reach her, Maus finds her ears pricking forward. She hadn't realized they had fallen into a half-pin. His speech confused her slightly. She had him pinned for someone with abilities, due to his outrageous colors. She found her eyes dipping downward slightly, feeling guilty for judging him. The man-child speaks then and Maus finds her eyes rising upwards until they meet his. Could that even be possible? In a world dominated by magic and abilities, could such a place even still exist? For the first time in a long time, the grulla minx feels a flutter of something other than panic in her heart. It was hope. Hope that maybe they really could live in place where she wouldn't have to worry about magic. She wouldn't have to fear letting Pitch explore by himself. At the thought she turns her head to observe her son, but that feeling of hope is fleeting as the familiar rise of panic settles itself back within her heart. Where was Pitch!
Looking around the group quickly she spots his silver grulla body just as he reaches up to nuzzle the black feathers of the obsidian stallion. "Is it fun? He asks Mortal with the innocents only a child could have. "Is it fun to fly...like them?" he asks again, tilting his head upward to indicate to a flock of birds returning to Beqanna after the long winter.
The black winged stallion is the first to acknowledge his presence and Szeth gives the creature’s comment no more than a pointed stare before turning to the grulla mare. A gentle nudge from the colt at her side draws her attention, but while she says that everything is fine, he is not certain that she is being truthful. Her voice is calm (and wonderfully accented, he notes), but there is something about her that seems … uncomfortable. Perhaps he is simply reading too much into something that isn’t there, but he is reluctant to leave her alone with these stallions just yet.
The golden colt speaks up next and Szeth’s eyes narrow at the child when he states, flat out, that the disruption was needed. While Szeth obviously agrees, it’s not an opinion that he would expect to be so openly shared, especially with a gifted one nearby.
His surprise deepens further when the bay and green stallion adds his support to the colt’s statement, revealing his own desire to avoid the foul magicians. “I am of the same mind. But I think an untouched part of this place will be hard to come by.” Funny, that, of all the horses he could have run into in this strange new world, he’s run into these kindred spirits. Perhaps there is something deeper at work here, perhaps the fairies are not quite so clueless as to the danger of the ‘gifted’ after all. “I’m Szeth.”
He does not fail to notice the familiar way the bay stallion’s eyes linger on the winged stallion’s face, and he is shocked when the winged beast does not speak up in opposition to Hellbane’s words. Though, when he really takes a moment to think about it, he knows he shouldn't be that surprised. His mother, a ‘gifted’ creature in her own right, has done her best to forsake her own ability. Not all of the mythicals are entirely corrupted by their traits. There is perhaps hope for some of them yet.
The quiet mare’s son speaks up again, asking the black winged beast after his wings. Szeth snorts quietly. “It matters not whether it is ‘fun.’ These powers and abilities corrupt far too often.” He cannot blame the boy for his curiosity, but he it is better for him to know the truth sooner than later.
But his curiosity not the most important thing of the moment. The stallion Hellbane has truly caught his interest now. His brown eyes return to the stallion, narrowed, cautious. “What do you have in mind, Hellbane?”
Surgery finds his eyes lingering on Szeth and Hellbane much longer than the others. Here - this is a strange sensation! His mother used him as a puppet to bring children to her flock so she could steal them and do god knows what. It's still a fuzzy memory, with great chunks missing - but they come back. The longer he's away from the palomino terror the easier the memories are. The more vivid, and they unsettle him.
Did he really do all those bad things?
But here - he is not ignored. He's not a puppet. He is his own bring, with blinking eyes that look at the two elder stallions with a sense of reverence. There's nothing he wants more than their unending attention, the way they look at him when he talks. He feels drunk off it.
09-30-2016, 12:45 PM (This post was last modified: 09-30-2016, 03:03 PM by Hellbane.)
HELLBANE
I've all but just forgotten-
Hellbane hasn’t thought about his father in a very long time. Usually that’s the way it goes with young stallions around here though - it was just the way the world worked. But standing here, with all of the hopeful glances and sparks of interest in their eyes gives Hellbane a strange sense of vertigo. He imagines them multiplied, sees them massed before him in solitude and warmth somewhere beyond the destructive finger of magic. Strike the magic and that’s very much what Killdare must’ve seen every day of his ruling life. How ironic. The great bay-and-green only has his brother now to lean on, because Killdare had been all but missing since their estrangement on the mountainside. Not to mention that Hellbane had never been fond of lurking around the Chambers after the … incident.
The golden one pipes up again to break his cold concentration, and Hellbane leans into the group to close them into a circle. “We can’t stay here, too risky.” He states, beginning with the obvious, “But I had time to consider the fact that our old world was home to islands, so why shouldn’t this one have them? If we base ourselves in a location that’s not so easily accessible, that will at least give some of the lesser-traited horses a challenge when trying to reach us.” He pauses, wondering if his train of thought was well-placed. For now, surrounding water seemed like a natural force of protection. In time? Perhaps it could be more. “Does anyone know of an area that might be similar to what I’m talking about?” He questions, looking at them individually.
He hasn’t had much time to explore this new world, only the confines of the public areas, where a homeless stallion like himself was safe from some scrutiny. His neck curves, head turning about so that he could focus on his black twin. “Your specialty could come in handy.” Hellbane tells him, emphasizing specialty. “Would you be willing to go where we can’t, in order to help us, brother?” He asks, letting the last word drop like a rock. All his life Mortal had been with him - womb, childhood, and now adulthood. That fact was certainly not going to change if Hellbane could help it. Besides, he’d been aware of the glances his winged partner had been receiving from the group; questions reflected in their eyes that they didn’t voice. Well - now they knew, and they could accept or reject as they liked.
He baits them like an expert fisherman and Mortal simply watches them catch the hook. It wasn't beginnings or ends that caused discord for Mortal, it was times like these, the in betweens that left him unstill. There were too many possibilities, too many unknowns in the middle parts of things. Thankfully his brother draws the attention to himself, leaving little room for others to focus too heavily on Mortal’s differences. It was just fine with him, welcome even because it was really the last thing he wanted in this particular group and most groups, those awkward stares. Somehow he managed to be silent, observing the gathered crowd as the speech commenced. Their reactions or questions played on their faces and he took quiet note of each one, weighing the character in his mind’s eye as he did so.
The boy breaks the invisibility he is going for, pressing his tiny nose to the jet black feathers that cloak his back. He does not wince or jerk away, or offer any indication that he is perturbed by the gesture, simply looking at the small child. He will however offer the boy and answer but it is perhaps not the one he wants, “I suppose it can be, in the right place or time. Wings aren’t toys though little Pitch, they are a tool.”
The black stallion is entirely matter of fact with this reply, taking a serious look in his vibrant green eyes. The time for play was gone, ending right around the time his childhood ceased. Mortal was a man now and while flying was considerably enjoyable it was not something he did often for the simple pleasure of it. Flying was becoming something more oft than not used for scouting, taking to the air and getting a lay of the land, for building knowledge on his surroundings. It does not surprise him when Hellbane asks after his particular expertise, and he misses not the pointed play of ‘specialty’. Oh, he could smile at that, always looking out for him and his best interests.
“Of course, I would be glad to help. For you and certainly for the group,” he took to eyeing them all, waiting for some form of objection.
