"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
12-29-2015, 12:37 AM (This post was last modified: 12-29-2015, 12:37 AM by Djinni.)
djinni
This time she wears a simpler guise, one created from her imagination rather than childhood stories. There are some similarities, of course – she is still small and still grey. But her coat is littered with dapples now, and there are no tobiano patches or bloody shoulders. She looks like those ponies she had visited while in Wales, incapable of complete originality, it seems. Her eyes are still dark, set in long-lashed eyes that look out at the Chamber with open curiosity.
This time she stands at the border, so still that even her bracelets do not jangle. She won’t risk being caught trespassing again – her single encounter has left her with a somewhat more healthy respect of borders. The respect is temporary, of course, nothing so sensible will stay with the waif-like mare for long.
Walter’s ties to the Chamber are as much an incentive to come here as her own. There are probably ten thousand horses in Beqanna who could claim a grandmother that ruled the Chamber at some point or another. Djinni is not unique in that regard (she’s have better luck joining the exclusive league whose parents co-ruled a kingdom simultaneously. It is not her birth-land that she hails from today though. She has not been to the desert in months. Decades? A half-century? Time is so difficult to grasp. Djinni smells of the meadow, and of lands outside Beqanna, and perhaps a bit like the sun. She remembers heat at least, and brightness so extreme she say nothing else for days.
She is not yet sure what she wants here. A home perhaps, but she is not yet certain. Like Walter said, the Chamber has a way of calling. She has never stepped hoof in the heart of the Chamber, but she hears the slow creak of wind-tossed pines in something that is not entirely her ears.
The Chamber does have a way of calling. It calls some back time and time again, like Atrox, who slips from the mountain when the kingdom seems to need him most. It simply feels like home to some the moment they walk in, and for others, it tugs their loyalty until they finally find they can serve no other home. And for others, like her, there simply is no other alternative. Never has been, never will be.
One day, when the Chamber no longer needs her, she will retire to the mountains and live out of her life (which can be as long as she wants, really) watching her kingdom. She can’t bring herself to leave it, not completely. Though she will guard it as a raven one day rather than with an army of them.
The day seems to be looming. The kingdom has grown and flourished, perhaps because of her, and perhaps because she’s just been terribly lucky (or maybe because they are all afraid of her). But whatever the reason, it doesn’t matter. Soon, the Chamber will need a different sort of leader.
But that day has not come yet. And the ravens still watch the border, letting her know of the gray mare. She weaves through the trees, brushing against the bark as she goes. The pine forests have always been home, will always be home, and she can move through them with ease. She brushes against the trees simply because she enjoys it (and if she’s entirely honest, which she rarely is, her swollen barrel is slightly cumbersome in the forest).
“Hello. I’m Straia. How can I help you?” She asks, coming to a halt in front of the other mare. Despite her large belly, she’s still beautiful in that wild, careless way of hers. She looks like she doesn’t try or care, and in truth, she doesn’t. Though she wears her crown of raven feathers as she always does, the one piece of her appearance she thinks about.
After the black and white stallion with his ability to move the earth at her feet, Djinni is somewhat more wary of the residents of the Chamber. She knows of the shift in the magics of this world – she had felt them light years away – but that knowledge only leaves her with uncertainty: there is no telling what the Chamber might hide these days.
The bay mare that appears between the trees does not seem imposing – especially given her condition – but Djinni hangs back. It is not often that she does, especially when she likes the look of the feather crown. She wants to tidy the tousle of Straia’s black and white mane (more of an excuse to touch than for any love of cleanliness), but this is the border of a kingdom where she does not belong, and while Djinni has never been turned down she suspects that now is not the time to test her luck (or her charm).
“I want to see the Chamber,” Djinni replies. Though she is normally far less forthright and verbose, she decides to add “My mother grew up here and spoke of it fondly.” on the off chance that it might aid her cause. Not, of course, that she has a cause – or would even want one. She only wants to see the Chamber, and to know what about it was so appealing. Perhaps it’s fallen into inactivity in the past few decades and there will be nothing here for her. Perhaps it is simply a land of trees and rocks, and once she has seen it with her own eyes the lust will be lost. But then – perhaps not. Perhaps she will find something else entirely.
It is a simple enough request from the gray mare. That doesn’t mean it doesn’t make Straia wary. Any stranger wandering through her home could be a spy. Granted, she’s not necessarily worried about spies either. It’s not like Straia would be taking the mare anywhere near important conversations, and if the mare was some sort of mind reader, then what difference would a tour make?
Other that that, the Chamber had few secrets. Learning your way through the pine forests took time. One trip in and out is hardly enough to learn the paths through and into the heart of the kingdom. The magical entities of each kingdom are not secrets, and neither is the heart that beats beneath the earth.
So while she may be slightly wary, for the most part, Straia doesn’t mind. She, after all, has some interest in the Jungle given her heritage there, and once upon a time was welcomed with open arms. Not anymore, but when you’ve basically pledged to be fighting against one another, arms tend to close.
“May I ask who your mother was? And your name? I’d at least like to know who I’m escorting into my kingdom.” she says, nodding her head toward the forest and stepping aside, a clear enough invitation. Instead, she turns and waits for the mare to join her, before leading her way through the pine forests with ease, going slow enough for the other to catch up, but not necessarily lingering here either.
She’ll be a good hostess and take the other to the heart of the kingdom. She’s not sure why she’s being so gracious other than a perhaps that the Chamber has called his mare home. They could use more bodies (who couldn’t, really?). But more to the point, the Chamber often had a way of calling to the right individuals. It may not be that impressive really, if you think about it – just trees and sparse grass and mist – but give it a few minutes and it always proves to be more.
The trees thin, and the thumping of the heart becomes more pronounced beneath their feet. In the distance, the burning evergreen can be seen, just a mass of raging fires that do not spread. It is not grand, but it still somehow amazing. At least, Straia always thinks so. “You can lead the way and explore.” Gracious indeed. It’s unlike her. But then again, there’s an army of ravens peering out of the trees keeping an eye on things, so Straia doesn’t tend to worry too terribly much.
straia
the raven queen of the chamber
Use of mild power playing is allowed; no injuries without permission
Djinni had once known the royalty of Beqanna; she was no less educated than any young princess. She knows her family history – the history of the Deserts and the Chamber – and knows that the older brother her mother spoke of so fondly was the son who inherited the Chamber after her grandmother and grandfather…left. It should have been Aseret; she was the eldest daughter of both the king and the queen, but Aseret had forsaken her family and her crown. She’d picked up another crown on the way of course, but the abandonment of the Chamber had always been something that Djinni and her siblings could never get Aseret to speak of.
If she said her mother’s name would Straia even recognize it? Would saying it be a betrayal of her mother, even on accident?
No, Djinni decides, it would not. It is time that Aseret’s part of the family return (even if only for a while). “My mother was Aseret, and her mother was Queen Starlace.” Starlace had so many children, nearly a dozen. Most of them disappeared (though two still wander Beqanna – Set and Tiphon - Aseret’s favorite brother and her most loathed). Aseret had been absorbed into the Desert while Set remained, siring children of his own including a son who ruled the kingdom who had a daughter, who herself had a daughter that stands in front of Aseret and offers to show her the kingdom
They are what – cousins twice removed, she and Straia? It’s a blood tie, but in the pool of family that is Beqanna, their relationship is barely anything at all.
“My name is Djinni. I grew up in the Desert, but I always wanted trees.” More trivial facts, but she has no reason to hide the past anymore. Though she is unaware of the current political climate of Beqanna, she knows the scent of the sandy kingdom had faded away years ago – she is no spy.
Straia takes her into the kingdom and Djinni looks about as she walks, keeping pace with the tobiano mare who wears the same white markings as Djinni. Hers are from her father, of course – Mother had not inherited her dam’s tobiano coloring (or her sire’s black). The thumping beneath her feet is, for a brief moment, worrisome. Is the black and white stallion returning to shake the earth? No, she decides, Straia doesn’t seem worried, so it must be something normal.
The place is beautiful.
The mist and the trees and the stark granite cliffs are the very opposite of the sand and sun and red limestone she grew up with. She does not know why Aseret had left the Chamber, and cannot imagine why she did not return. Love has always seemed such a flimsy reason.
“What do you do in the kingdom?” She asks as they walk, taking a moment to glance over at the bay mare rather than the scenery.
She doesn’t know Aseret, truthfully. The name is irrelevant to the Chamber, and so it has never been part of the lessons she’s been given. But she knows the name Starlace. Nothing all that detailed, but enough to know that Starlace is a distant relative of hers, and therefore, this mare that’s come to visit.
Not that the blood relation matters much. If Straia really pieced it all together, she’d be related to a whole swath of Beqanna. Still, she smiles a bit, always happy to have family (even distant family) find their way back to the Chamber. Even if this mare hadn’t grown up here, a little bit of her belonged here. Always would.
“I’m familiar with Starlace, though I admit, not your mother,” she says, pleasantly enough, still weaving through the trees. The branches scratch at her back, and she enjoys the feel of them. Overheard, a raven caws, a pleasant hello if you happen to speak raven.
At the next comment, Straia really does smile. “We have plenty of trees. I have spent an inordinate amount of my life in these pines forests. I may be biased, but there is no place better.” She is definitely biased, but that doesn’t make her wrong. Most of the Chamber loves the pine forests as she does – though some, like Kavi and Shaytan – prefer the burning magical entity.
“What do you think?” she asks when they come out of the pine forests and the mare has had a moment to take it in. She always likes asking. Certainly the Chamber doesn’t have some wow factor like the Falls, or a storybook garden like the Gates (not so terribly storybook at the moment, though). But it is beautiful, in it’s own subtle way. The Chamber doesn’t need something massive or impossible to be beautiful. It simply is.
And then Djinni asks what Straia does. “Me? Well, when I am not ambling about the pine forests, I’m busy ruling the kingdom.” Her lips curve into that signature grin, just the corners of her mouth twitching into an amused little grin. Certain things about her have never changed – she’s worn that smile since she was a child, and will wear it as long as she lives. Just as she has always loved the Chamber, and always will.
straia
the raven queen of the chamber
Use of mild power playing is allowed; no injuries without permission
Well, not exactly. Not directly, anyway. Walter knew she was heading for the Chamber, and after leaving their conversation (wanting more, more, more, as he always did with her), he couldn’t let her go alone. She had been right, of course (he’d felt the brief-shock of disappointment before she’d been able to expertly hide it). He was being a follower because he did not know how else to be. He didn’t know how to be a leader; he couldn’t take charge and demand her attention and presence. The palomino had spent so long on his own that it was all too easy to live only for himself. Even when he had been surrounded by the mares of his band outside of Beqanna, he had never felt more alone (the wild horses were an instinctual, stupid bunch by and large).
But now, he thinks maybe he doesn’t want to be alone any longer.
Now, he wonders if a herd is what he really wants. He wonders a lot more, too, but he pushes those thoughts from the forefront of his mind for now.
One must be on high alert when walking within the general vicinity of the pine kingdom.
Walter spots the pair moving beyond the borders, deeper into the Chamber. It only takes a few steps before they are completely engulfed in the dense evergreens. Fortunately, he is no stranger to the place. He knows all of the paths to the heart (literally) of the kingdom, remembers the twisty, winding passageways through the dark forest as readily as the look on his mother’s face when she abandoned him. So with a grimace and a tightening of his wings to his sides (because he hasn’t forgotten the lost feathers from reaching branches and sticky sap – feathers likely numerous enough to make another pegasus), he follows the pair of mares through the gloom.
He is more than a fair distance behind Straia and Djinni, so when they emerge into the center of the Chamber, he is still working his way through the forest. By the time he reaches them, Walter is sure they’ve heard his approach. He’s certainly lost his subtlety and ease of movement in tight spaces; decades spent in wide open plains and shadow-less meadows have made him less nimble than he would like to admit. But finally, finally, he comes through to the other side, more or less intact.
“Remember when you poofed us into the Falls all those years ago?” He shoots the little grey mare a conspiratorial smile as he comes to stand nearby. Her bangles give her away, of course. But he’d know Djinni anywhere and under any disguise, he thinks. Physical cues be damned. “This walking is for the birds,” he shrugs his shoulders, drawing attention to the wings he hardly uses. As if the Chamber lady will care how he got here instead of why he is here. He looks at her now, his brown eyes scrutinizing (but in the most casual way possible). “Which you seem to have a lot of, by the way.” The cawing had been enough to drive anyone mad, but perhaps explains why they hadn’t heard him coming. Other than the raven’s population explosion, the piney place looks unchanged. Breathing in the crisp, evergreen air is enough to bring him back to his childhood, to his unruly days running his legs and mouth off in the kingdom. He’s missed it, he admits to no one. “Walter. A pleasure.” It’s not exactly polite or sincere (it’s not rude or mocking either, at least), but it’s all he has.
Walter
come down from the mountain
you have been gone too long
Djinni is not surprised that Straia knows of her grandmother but not her mother. While it is always nice to find someone that remembers Aseret, the buckskin mare was not someone of importance in the Chamber, and therefore unlikely to be remembered.
The caw of a raven distracts her, and Djinni glances up to see the black bird peering at them through the trees. She smiles up at it, decides she likes the wings that it shares with Straia, and in a blink grows a pair of her own, Ruffling them contentedly, she continues to walk along at the bay mare’s side and listen. When Straia replies to her question with the fact that she is the queen, Djinni pauses briefly. She inclines her head in a brief nod of respect – the proper greeting of a princess to a queen – but since the other mare doesn’t seem especially heavy on formality, she leaves it at that.
She has opened her mouth to reply when she hears footsteps behind them, and turns to see a familiar yellow face. “Walter!” she says happily, “Yes, I do remember that. ” That had been years ago, and yet she feels that it might have been just weeks. She refrains from reaching out to him, remembering their recent goodbye a little too well, and turns back to Straia. “Walter grew up here,” she adds, “like my mother.”
She knows he’s behind them. What does he think all that cawing is about? The birds alert her to everything. Though of course, Walter can’t understand them. Only she can, because they are her ravens. Not that she doesn’t share, but even the ones she’s given as gifts answer to her, in the end.
But the stallion, as far as her ravens can tell, poses no threat. He merely follows them, and so she leaves him be about it, curious as to what exactly he plans to do. She’s not entirely sure why she’s feeling so generous and lax about her borders today, but she is, and so there it is. Sometimes caring about trespassers is more work than it’s worth, honestly. She’d leave that to Lagertha, who had a reputation growing for being less than hospitable to anyone who stepped a hoof too far into her kingdom.
Clearly, Djinni and Walter know each other. His first words make that clear enough, and Straia’s curiosity turns to gray mare. So letting him wander in did come in handy. There’s more to Djinni than meets the eye. “My birds don’t bother with walking, though.” she says simply. It is true, she had quite a few of them. An army, in fact. Made of all manner of substances and quite able to defend the Chamber nearly on their own. “They’ve been watching you and laughing about it,” She says with a grin. The last part is largely a joke, though they have been watching.
“Welcome home, I suppose. Though fair warning, next time I might not be so forgiving if you come waltzing in uninvited.” She rolls her shoulders slightly in something of a shrug. It would honestly depend on if she decided she liked the stallion or not. She was more forgiving to those that proved some level of usefulness. “And Djinni, may I ask, what exactly are you?” The mare doesn’t have to answer, or she could lie. But Straia wasn’t polite enough not to pry about it.
straia
the raven queen of the chamber
Use of mild power playing is allowed; no injuries without permission
