"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
The magician’s monsoon hit Kushiel with a punishing force. He swore, cursing meddlesome fools who thought they were gods. Kushiel knew a little of men and gods. He was a man, his father fancied himself a god. But no, this benevolent magic wouldn’t be Carnage.
It just wasn’t his style.
Still, the gray stallion had enough time to think as he tumbled head over heels. Straia’s fire raven shrieked toward the sky. He was glad that it, at least, wouldn’t be doused. When he struggled to his feet, dripping and exhausted. He looked at his handy work and groaned.
It was really hard to burn wet wood. He started to curse anew, and the fire bird landed on his back, offering him flame. Kushiel ignored it. He didn’t need fire. He needed heat.
Queue Erebor. The Chamber Lord appeared and Kushiel laughed gleefully.
“Good man!” Kushiel crowed. Around him Erebor worked his magic. The heat rose, his hair dried, and without being asked, the fire raven spread its wing and lit his mane on fire.
They were back in business, baby.
Kushiel moved back towards the tree, determined to finish what they had started. Of course, that was not meant to be. In an instant, Kushiel felt the world shift around him. Before he could open his mouth to complain, the universe shifted around him and he was falling.
I've heard there was a secret chord that David played and it pleased the Lord but you don't really care for music do you?
The sky is on fire this evening he thought. The reds and oranges, swirling in the yellows. He was atop a ridge, in the form of the whitetail deer. He’d become accustomed to this form now, comfortable even. In this form his sense are heightened beyond that of even his equine form. He sighs a contented sigh, settling in for the night as the sky goes wild with color.
And then the scent of smoke reaches his nostrils, just as the screams reach his ears.
He is startled from his reverie, and for a moment he fights the deer instincts to run far, far away. He swallows hard, choking down that fear, even as the other woodland creatures around him begin to flee. Closing his eyes he shifts back into his usual self, though the antlers atop his head remain. Perhaps it is a consequence of his lack of attention or something else more deeply seeded. With a scream of rage he plunges forward, pushing his legs beyond the speed they were meant to sustain. His lungs burn from smoke and excursion but still he runs. Sweat streaks his body as he crashed through the forest, not pausing as briars pull at his skin or branches tangle in his mane and tail. He runs harder than he’s ever done before, for nothing has ever mattered as much as this moment.
Finally he breaks from the forest, and his heart stops at what he sees. The Mother Tree alight, and Chamber horses in their midst and others sneaking back through the trees. From no where a monsoon breaks from the sky, and the rain is that of a cleansing nature, bringing him to his senses. Something deep within him tells him the rain is not sinister, not the making of the bastards currently pillaging his home. But the Mother Tree is still smoking, burnt to a crisp and pitiful looking. He rears, his eyes flashing with a rage he’d never felt. How dare they? How dare they stomp into his kingdom, steal his queen? It was absurd, and clearly there were personal issues embroiled within their kingdom ones. He comes to a halt in the fray, staring wide eyed and the mess they’d left in their wake. Two of the chamberlings disappear into thin air, and Mast wonders for a moment if Jason is amongst them. There was magic coming from somewhere, and thankfully it seemed to be on their side. “Thank you…” he thinks quickly, his eyes sweeping over the area. It would appear the children had fled, thank God, leaving just him and a few chamber bastards, as well as Kronk and Rapscallion. He recognizes one amongst the chamberlings, a face from the past. He’d known then that the bastard was no good, had felt the evil that oozed from his pores. “What in the ever loving fuck?” he growled, lowering his impressive antlered head slightly. “You’ve taken what you came for, have you not? Fiasko is gone. Weed, was it? I remember you from years ago. I pegged you for someone who had more ambition than to pick on a fledgling kingdom with a small army. Don’t you think your talents would be better served elsewhere? You‘ve got nothing more to prove here.” he says, tilting his head. He isn’t a hostage negotiator by any means, and he knows that he’ll have to do damage control after the flames (literal and figurative) have died down. But for now, he simply wants them to leave. He wants them gone, and to never return. Then, and only then, could they start to put together the remains of their home.
M A S T
ooc- if everyone wants to end it here, that's fine. if not, that's fine too...i just wanted to get something up from mast
Rage fills her as she flies at the stallion, making her blind to her surroundings. So when the black stallion pulls the flaming plants from the earth, she doesn’t see them, and runs straight into them.
The sudden burn in her legs makes her shriek and she stumbles, falling at high speed first to her knees, then to her side, amongst the burning plants. It’s a miracle nothing breaks. The pain intensifies and she forces herself to her feet and struggles against the vines now tangled up in her legs. “Fuck you!” She screams at the stallion through her haze of pain and rage. She’s assuming it’s him doing this - who else would it be?
It’s then that she notices her mother.
For a moment, she forgets the searing pain in her legs. The sabino mare is in front of the red-eyed stallion, and from the expression on Fiasko’s face, Sidra can tell that something is going on. She’s about to call out, when the red-eyed stallion turns to leave, and her mother turns to follow him. Sidra’s stomach drops. “No! Mom! Where are you going?! Nooo!” But her mother is gone.
She turns back to the black stallion, ready to try and force her way through the vines to get at him. But a dark mare suddenly appears and kicks out, landing a blow on her right shoulder. It hurts and Sidra stumbles (this time keeping her feet), but it’s nothing compared to the pain still searing through her legs. She glares at the mare and spits. “Fuck off.”
An extra rush of adrenalin gives her the strength to push past the plants and free herself, but when she’s out and away from the embers, she collapses. She’s burnt out, figuratively and literally.
As she lies there, she can see some of the Chamber soldiers pop out of existence, whisked away by some unseen force. The black stallion and dark remain however, looming ominously in her mind. She doesn’t have the strength to fight any more though - the burns have taken it from her. Tears threatening at the corners of her eyes, she leans back into the Earth. “Mom …”
I was looking for a breath of life another taste of divine rush
YES! YES! With the single-mindedness that only someone who is slightly insane can manage, Shaytan shuts out all the other chaos going on around her. It is her and Gryffen and the Gates man that is leaping towards him, and she towards the Gates man. It probably isn’t against all odds that she makes contact, but the chance is significantly less than %50. So when she does, Shaytan is thoroughly surprised and almost stops moving entirely. Almost. The chestnut tobiano retaliates, and Shay feels a painful thud against her fleshy hindquarters. She squeals, not because of the sharpness of the pain, but mostly because she isn’t expecting it. It does hurt, and she stumbles, her back end faltering.
Ow. Ow. Ow.
This would make the walk back home so obnoxious. But maybe… maybe Straia would kiss her boo boo. Maybe she could tell her that she is solely responsible for keeping Gryffen alive.
Oh yes. Save the Queen’s pet. Get back in her favor. Oh, this is suddenly the BEST INJURY EVER!
Shaytan is about to turn back around and head for the border when a morbidly obese buckskin ball comes rolling towards her, and she can hear it squeaking on the way down…. something unintelligible. She stares for a moment, her jaw almost dropping. It had to be a horse of a sort… but what kind of witchery is this?! As it rolls and bumps closer and closer, Shaytan shakes off her amazement and moves backwards, out of the way, and is it as if this has broken the spell. She stands alone in the middle of the chaos, watching the rest of her team wreak havoc and flee, or disappear. She can do nothing but… try for a rear attack on a stallion with antlers, who seems to be menacing Weed. Shaytan wheels around and moves into a rough trot, her bruised hindquarters (he literally kicked her ass) protesting with every movement. She thuds up clumsily behind Mast, rearing on her hind legs to deliver her own kick-ass blow to his butt.
She will save them all. Or get herself captured. Because Shaytan never thinks things through.
09-25-2015, 11:20 AM (This post was last modified: 09-25-2015, 11:44 AM by Kyra.)
Fiasko agrees, and Straia is nothing if not a woman of her word. There are few left in the Gates at this point anyway. Kushiel has been sent to the Deserts, Erebor to the Amazons. The ravens are keeping close tabs on them, because she’s not about to leave them unattented. But they are big boys, and plenty capable of helping themselves, so she has not interefered.
But she made a promise to Fiasko, and so a raven made of shadows and with a rather overly sharp, fang-like beak, settles on Shaytans back as she rears to attack the king. Not that Straia really wants to stop this attack, and perhaps the raven is too slow. She doesn’t care. All she said was she’d leave the Gates in some state slightly less than ruin.
The raven caws, and then moves up Shaytan’s neck until it can whisper in the mare’s ear, with a voice eerily like Straia’s, though no one else can hear. ”Home, Shaytan. You’ve done well.” Then the raven moves back to the spotted mare’s back, wings growing larger and larger until they are horse sized. The raven disappears, but the wings remain, attached to Shaytan just long enough to carry her home.
A second raven lands on Cellar. It is nothing but a ghost, there but not quite there. It can touch her without dying, because it is already dead. "Home, Cellar," it whispers in the girl's ear. Cellar needs no help escaping, but the raven turns to wings as with Shaytan, giving her the option to fly home.
The last raven, this one weaved together out of vines, lands on Weed. He is not Straia’s to command, and she does not. Instead, the raven whispers in his ear, “Think of it as a gift, and a beginning.” He doesn’t need her help either, she knows this. The ravens stays though, his to command or turn into wings as well until he leaves the Gates. Just enough to keep them safe with the other half of the force gone or poofed away.
Straia never comes. But she doesn’t need to. Her eyes and ears are everywhere.
![[Image: sidraandsahm_zps0fabjlj2.gif]](http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v202/dsl_devin/sidraandsahm_zps0fabjlj2.gif)
