some are lost in the fire some are built from it He knows the secret places of the kingdom, the little places tucked among the trees that none but he and Straia and those who are born from this place will know. He walks them now more than ever, as though his powers (which are both a part of him and strange and new) compel him. And perhaps they do – he feels the burden so keenly, the need to make sure he's able to protect them, because he knows that he's uniquely qualified to do it.
He hasn't been the same since he'd come back from the quest. At first he hadn't realized it, because he'd been so immersed in using his newfound power. He's got it mastered now, able to control heat with devastating efficiency. He can use it to fly, he can defuse most any fire that would threaten the kingdom….and of course, he can use it against anyone who might threaten the kingdom.
He'd tried it once, when he'd been practicing, although it had broken his heart to do it. He wouldn't think to turn it on anything within the Chamber, so he'd sought out the wilds of Beqanna, the lands so far away that no one would notice and no one would miss them. He had searched for a long time until he'd found his target. He'd selected it out of a desire to ruffle absolutely no feathers rather than a desire to be merciful; he knew that what he was about to do will bring it pain, and he didn't care because he knew that it is necessary. No, he only cared that no one would miss it.
And this raccoon, well, no one would miss it. It was a decrepit, dying thing, rabid and starving and skin and bones. What he was about to do would be a mercy killing, and even if someone did miss this poor beast, they couldn't fault him (or more importantly, the Chamber) for it.
The creature lay pitifully on the ground, and Erebor reached out with the heat. But not simply aiming to kill the creature – he had no doubt that he could do that, he had long since mastered the art of burning things into ashes, and what is the raccoon but another kind of thing? He'd do it eventually, sure, but he had to know something else, something darker, first.
He played with it grimly for some time, testing out the way his powers could manipulate sensation, driving pain and forcing it to recede as he fluctuates the heat within and without its poor broken body. He had observed for some time with the dispassionate, scientific countenance of any good researcher, and he'd been pleased with the results. Yes, he could defend his kingdom – and not just by killing either. He had no doubt that any horse would tell him anything when he – quite literally – applied a little bit of heat.
He did not linger over the ashes.
That had been a week or more ago, and he doesn't think about it now. He doesn't think about much of anything. He simply exists as a conduit for the will of the Chamber, which he interprets in a way that drives him to solitude.
It is a few more weeks before he realizes how long it's been since he's seen anyone else. It might be his duty to guard the trees, but it's not his only duty. He is a lord, it is on his shoulders to lead the people should Straia ever need it. The borders are crucial, yes, but the horses who live here are even more crucial.
And so he returns himself from the borders, entering the heart of the kingdom without fanfare. He appears much as he's always appeared, at least since the quest: black, his mane streaked a subtle dark blue and green, with a single wine-red tattoo winding around his upper left foreleg. If one were to look closely at the tattoo, they would see the figures embedded within the tribal stylization: a teddy bear, a Pegasus, a rabbit, and a strange humanoid doll, all friends from the same adventure that had left him with his current powers. His bearing is the same as ever, casually military, regal and chiseled. To look at him, he's the same handsome creature he's always been, as devoted to his kingdom as he's always been.
Inside he's still just as devoted too – there's just something more to it, something he can't put his finger on. But he refuses to examine it, refuses to think about it. Not now, not when there's much to be done for the kingdom. And oh, how beautiful it is that there will always be something to be done for the kingdom. Because he can stand watch in the kingdom's center, waiting to catch up with friends old and new, and have a great reason to never come to terms with anything that happened in the quest.
And so he stands. And so he waits. He would speak with them, any of them. He will withdraw no more.
erebor heat manipulating lord of the chamber warship x straia 
09-07-2015, 12:00 AM
(This post was last modified: 09-07-2015, 02:09 PM by Wayra.)
not all who wander are lost
Wayra had a thing or two to say about withdrawing, though she wouldn’t utter them out loud. In a way, she had done just that. At the apex of childhood, right when most would dive into adulthood feet first, the little blue girl had taken the uncertainty, the life looming before her, and tucked it into a box. She put that little box far at the back of her mind and left it there.
Every once in a while she would lift the lid and peak inside, but only when she was alone, and only when it nagged at her. Like a little rat scratching at her mind.
Wayra hadn’t opened that box in a while. It wasn’t that she was childish, at least not in the most common usage of the word. She held herself with poise, and spoke with grace, but she saw the vastness of the adult choices before her and panicked. She wasn’t proud of it, but it was the truth nonetheless. There was no point in denying the undeniable.
She had ended up at the Chamber, not because it called to her, and not even because it had spoken to her once she arrived. No, she had family here, and that made it as good a place as any. However, Wayra couldn’t help but feel like she didn’t belong. The strange beat of the kingdom’s heart seemed to say, “outsider, outsider, outsider” with each thump. The trees seemed to whisper about her in their papery, hushed voices. Wayra swallowed hard to think about it.
Was she a total fool? It was hard to tell.
But still, she felt like a moth trapped in a spider’s web. What was it about this place? She had never known a piece of land to be so alive. It had a heart, it had a voice, and often when she had been thinking far too much and her imagination had run truly wild, she would even say it had a soul.
Today was one of those days.
She had been wandering the woods, happy to be by herself and to avoid anyone who might force her to confront her situation. Hello, I’m so and so, who are you? That alone might send Wayra into a fit of pensive reflection. Who was she really? It was more than she knew at the moment. Eventually, the acres of pine thinned and the damp moss gave way to grass. Before, she could change course a young man was before her. Wayra looked at him for a moment, and sighed.
He seemed right at home, he was probably born here. Natives of the Chamber had a look about them, and he had it. She smiled a little, wistfully, and with some longing. How nice would it be to be home?
“Is this a private party or can anyone join?” She studied him for just a moment. If there was something on his mind Wayra couldn’t tease it out, and chose instead to take him at face value. How pleasant it would be, if things were always as simple as that.
He is like a freight train, all blasting breaths and shaking earth. Sweat slicks his sides, dirt and skin cells gathering together only to streak across the patches of white and black. Nostrils flare wide, exposing skin tinged blood red as capillaries burst with the force of pulling oxygen. A silver filament, a golden orb weaver’s spider silk wrapped many times over, criss-crosses back and forth in a deceivingly chaotic weave, the ends embedded on either side of his nasal passages to keep them from collapsing under the strain of his second lap around the Chamber’s borders. Fully restored to prime health, he’d taken to experimenting with his magic and errant shapeshifting, haunting the caves of his father’s youth high in the kingdom’s mountains. Some of said experiments had proven more successful than others but it had served to pass the time and hone his magicks. Presumably one of the youngest magicians currently in Beqanna and possessing perhaps the most well-ingrained drive to be the best and most powerful, he has hardly ceased training since his return from the dead. Not to mention, the heady promise of a raid lingers on the horizon. His soul thrills with the thought, spurring him up a ragged boulder pile, hooves striking sparks from the shale.
When he reaches the small summit, he takes a moment to consider the kingdom below him, hidden from the sight of any who might be watching him. The air is sharp for spring, carrying with it the promise of a damp afternoon. Shrewdly, he picks out the Queen’s spies lounging shamelessly amongst the trees; though he would not be surprised to find them all alert and well aware of the happenings around them. One has ventured too close, perhaps considering tailing the magician and Set gives it a wide grin before pursing his lips and pinching his nostrils. Suddenly the raven is given life. A beat later, it’s tail feathers burst into black and red flames – not consuming the feathers entirely but surely burning the bird’s hindquarters. A non-too gentle shove sends his little joke shrieking in Straia’s direction but he pays it not much mind once it’s gone out of sight.
The son of the Queen and her General is about to break upon the scene, distracting him from his mischief.
Set himself was the son of the Queen and her General, Starlace and Chain. That alone had not drawn the magician’s attention to Erebor, though. The boy had a way of carrying himself, a thoughtful head on a good soldier’s shoulders. He been the one to suggest a show of strength by the Chamber – a sound diplomatic move in light of some of the other suggestions made. He’s pensive now, though outwardly shows no signs of distress. Set wonders at it a moment before a mismatched ear turns sharply. There's someone else coming.
It’s several minutes more before the blue roan arrives on the scene, the sun overhead catching the sinking of her flank as she sighs. He cannot relate to not feeling at home amongst the pines and old burn but he can understand the need for being near relatives, despite your surroundings. Ignoring the ache the thought of his absent family brings, he shifts suddenly. His form is not that of another creature, though, only a rather plain-looking black stallion. Moving so that it will look as if he has just topped the hill, he is no longer invisible and joins them, disguise firmly in place. Sweat now dried and crusted to his skin, he nods cheerily at them both before shaking out his mane and tail with a low groan. “It’s funny, how secrets attract one another,” he observes cryptically, his voice that of a foreigner, before bending down to scratch his muzzle on an extended knee. When he raises his head, dark blue eyes glinting devilishly between the two of them, he winks at Wayra before shoving at her with a blast of air, aiming to send her into the half frozen lake hidden from where they stand by a tangle of underbrush and bramble. Simultaneously, the ground rumbles and splits beneath Erebor, falling rapidly away from him, his footing surely uncertain.
some are lost in the fire some are built from it Erebor is a beautiful dichotomy. He is simultaneously so simple on the surface, and yet so complex beneath. He is still waters running deep. He is a secret kept for so long that the keeper almost forgets. He is things that no one talks about, distress and turmoil buried so deeply beneath the sacred covenant of duty that it can never be found.
He is more than native to the land, and the land is so much more than his home. The heart that beats beneath their feet is the heart of his grandfather. The woman who rules them all is his mother. His life is entangled with the Chamber's, and he would have it no other way. It must take precedence over anything, over all things, and not just because he'd been born to feel that way. From the first moment he can remember, from the first time he'd felt that heartbeat in his first moment of consciousness, it had been so.
He feels the girl before she approaches – it's a beautiful thing, the way he can feel the heat that shifts, the way that body temperature speaks to him as surely as infrared vision. But he does not reveal any of that to her, simply reacting as she approaches him with a handsome smile. Everything Erebor does is handsome in an almost accidental way; he's a clean-cut, ruggedly handsome sort of fellow, and he's truly grown into himself nicely. "I'm never one to turn down company."
He is about to continue when he feels something else. It's a change in the heat, like he feels when there's another horse in the middle distance, but that's not right, because there is no horse. There's nothing but the two of them as far as he can see. As he ponders, he sees a black stallion crest the hill. He assumes without hesitation that he must simply have noted that particular stallion, and thinks nothing more of it.
As the man approaches, Erebor offers him a diplomatic nod and is pleased to see the stallion nod as well. He smells strange and is not of the Chamber, which gives Erebor a bit of pause – it's not every day that strangers will willingly and easily wander across the border – but besides that, the boy is not especially on edge.
That is, until the stallion speaks, and Erebor isn't at all sure what he means by those words. The boy is no meathead, incapable of intellect; on the contrary, he's quite smart, a trait that has served him well in his various diplomatic pursuits. "Everyone has secrets," he states as the stallion bends down to scratch his itch. "It's only natural for them to mingle."
He sees the stallion look between the two of them with mischief in his eyes. He sees the man wink at the mare. He's not sure what to make of any of it.
He is about to continue on, about to ask this stranger (very politely) where he's from, but then everything goes to hell in a handbasket.
He's lucky that he's had a lifetime of drilling and soldier's instincts, because before he knows it, the ground is falling away beneath him. He's equally lucky that he's spent so many months secluded practicing with his new gift, because it's completely second nature to him to create the updraft. Almost as soon as he's falling he's able to catch himself, using his heat-powered elemental flight to balance himself in midair.
Hoping he's not too late to help his fellow Chamber-member, he turns the underbrush and brambles in the vicinity to ash in a matter of seconds, not even bothering to let them burn before they simply disintegrate. He can see the lake now, half frozen, and he reaches out once more with his power to sublimate the ice, vaporizing it right from its solid form. He doesn't think to warm the water - if she falls in, she won't get stuck beneath the ice, and won't struggle to get out. A little cold bath is good for the constitution.
Satisfied that he has done all he can for the mare at the moment, he turns his attention back to the stallion. He is still floating in midair, carefully manipulating the heat and thereby the air currents to do what should, for all intents and purposes, be impossible. He is not afraid of this stallion, but more in the "I will stand my ground and defend my homeland" sense of not afraid rather than the "I am irrationally and stupidly brave" sense. He is, however, acutely interested in who he is, and whether he presents any kind of danger to the Chamber.
"Secrets indeed." he says, fully focused on the strange stallion. "The Chamber doesn't take well to secrets that cause harm to it or to its members." he says, his voice hard and steely. It might be a very veiled threat, but it's not whispered in some low, threatening growl. He is stating it outright, just like a soldier who calls to an invading army over the wall, telling the approaching horde that they are, in fact, a sovereign nation. Except where a single army man would quail in the face of an entire horde, Erebor is unafraid, and might even be up to the challenge. "Who are you, and what are you doing here?" His voice is ice, is stone, is quiet command. Unlike many a Chamber horse past and present, Erebor doesn't spit venom and vitriol, despite having (to all outward appearances) very possibly been attacked. He has never been one for obvious flaming anger – ironic really, that the boy who could always control the heat of his passions can now control the heat of his environment. And with his words he is no longer Erebor the uncertain returning wanderer; in all of two seconds, this strange stallion has very effectively brought out Erebor the Lord.
erebor heat manipulating lord of the chamber warship x straia
OMG I love this thread so much <3
09-08-2015, 11:57 PM
(This post was last modified: 09-09-2015, 12:02 AM by Wayra.)
not all who wander are lost
Wayra doesn’t know a lot about the Chamber, but she has seen enough to understand that it is not like other places. It is not like the Field, it is not like the Meadow where she had grown up. It is another place entirely. It is a sovereign nation yes, but there is something more as well.
It has a heart that beats, and when Straia speaks, it is as if it had a voice as well. Wayra listened to Erebor, and for a single, fleeting instant her smile faltered. It was the same when he spoke. It was as if something as old as time stirred a little with every word from his lips. An involuntary shiver raced down her spine. She couldn’t be sure if it was his smile or his sense of otherness that caused it.
Wayra didn’t know a lot about most things, but she did know she had a rather fanciful imagination.
Her smile returned, stronger than before, for she was a little embarrassed to have gotten so carried away. He wasn’t the Chamber, he wasn’t Straia, he was just a boy, surely, about the same age as herself.
“Well, in that case, I’m Wayra.” She was going to continue, to ask his name, or make some benign comment on the weather when she heard hoof steps, and the sense of someone else approaching.
Where had he come from? Wayra was confused, and her expression immediately shifted from open and honest to guarded and thoughtful. She had been distracted by her company. Undoubtably, the young man had captured her attention, but surely she was not so distracted? These days she found she let her guard down very little. Her father’s happy little girl had grown watchful, perhaps a little wiser, for her travels.
But again, she was being foolish. It was just a man, a rather plain looking man. He nodded cheerily and Wayra’s expression shifted with him, back to a happy smile, made all the more determinedly happy because she had doubted him. She had thought him odd, for appearing so suddenly, when in reality she was just jumpy. A child in the woods. Wayra laughed in hardly at herself. However, his words caused her eyes to crease a little at the corners.
“Secrets? I’m sorry, I can’t imagine what you mean —” She never got to finish that sentence. A gust of wild, a gale really, stronger than she had ever felt before, knocked her backward. Wayra’s frantic brain had just enough time to register that it was him, the stallion, that caused it before she was falling. It felt like forever, though it all happened in the blink of an eye. Backwards she tumbled, and she prepared herself for the splintering of ice, and the fridge plunge beneath the water.
Yet it never came. The splash yes, and a chill that sunk deep to her bones, but there was no ice. She thrashed around in the lake, inhaling a big lungful of water in the process. Yet, it didn’t take long for her to find her feet, her panic spurring her on. Were they under attack? What had happened to the young man? Wayra splashed out of lake, bursting through the bushes like an avenging angel even as she shouted and coughed up water.
“What is wrong with you?! Attacking perfectly ordinary people you come across —” Again, she did not get an opportunity to finish her thought. The scene she emerged to was more and less dramatic than the one she had been forcibly exited from. The young man, the one she had been so worried for, seemed to be perfectly all right, and what’s more, seemed perfectly clam. More still, he was hovering above a large crack in the earth into which he should have come to considerable peril. He was questioning the stranger with a glittering, poised ferocity.
Feeling rather like a fool. Wayra rolled her eyes and gave a dramatic toss of the head, quite the display for the normally serene blue girl.
“Oh for heaven’s sake…” She muttered to herself, being sure to keep one eye on each stallion. She said nothing more, save for the drip, drip, drip of water and river grim that slouched off her soaked body. Certainly, there would be no end to the surprises that waited for her in the Chamber.
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