"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
look up here now; i'm in heaven. i've got scars that can't be seen.
The weather is brutal and unforgiving; its frigid grasp rattling him down to his very bones. Though capable of flight, the bristling wind and threatening storm that brews overhead threaten his delicate, dust-encased wings, and so he remains grounded. His limbs (six in total; four forelegs and two hindlegs) move in tireless, graceful motion, as the unusual bone structure beneath his golden flesh rotates uneasily beneath a thin layer of skin. His dark compound eyes piece together the perplexing puzzle of what lay ahead, glimmering beneath the pale sunshine that manages to peek through the mass of clouds above as he takes in the gentle, sloping hills and the snow-capped willow that lay in the dead center of the land he had once called his own.
His talons grip into the soft, powdery snow that lay beneath his weight, chin tilted to the sky - he does not need to seek the border; he knows too well where it ends and where it begins, and he remains at the very edge of it. A grimace crosses his usually stoic features as his antennae reach towards the bleak sunlight, though his cheek is turned to shy his sensitive eyesight away from it. He had loathed the uncomfortable warmth and unending sunlight Heaven's gates often held, even in the dead of winter - though he had embraced it wholly during the time served, it was the shadow-cloaked Valley that would always hold his heart dear.
With a gentle bellow, he announces his presence - seeking the one that he had heard rumors of. His daughter had fled these usually gentle, undisturbed lands, and for his headstrong child to leave such pristine beauty behind left a shadow of doubt within his mind. His mind lingers for a long moment upon those who had previously ruled, albeit pathetically - Tannor had been a shame to his father, and to the entirety of the kingdom - he had failed all of those who had followed, all of those who had sworn to protect him. There was little forgiveness within the dark shadows of his heart for someone so careless - certainly, the newly crowned King of the Gates could be no worse.
elysium
this way or no way, i'll be free.
Scratch Underwood; insert Elysium. Representative of the Valley.
He is a moth-horse hybrid. See his avatar and profile for visuals. :)
The reigning silence of Heaven has thus far made the winter more unbearable than any other. Cerva has wandered, to no avail, trying to find someone – anyone – to provide the company she yearns for. She has spent a long enough time alone, self-exiled, as she hid from the shadows her parents cast. It no longer lulls her or comforts her. Now, it frightens her.
As the storm looms nearer Cerva notices how the clouds swirl into deep shades of gray and black, warning of what is to come. The winds lift and twist, biting at her thick coat and trying to reach the delicate skin underneath. Assuming that snow is only a hairsbreadth away she stands underneath a large oak tree, its branches naked and gnarled. It hovers above her like a nightmare with such a dark, foreboding sky as a backdrop. She shudders. The world seems – feels – darker when she looks around and sees nothing but shadows and stripped trees.
That’s the reason why she is so eager to rush forward when she sees a face. She doesn’t recognize anyone from the Gates; she is far too new to know anyone, if there is anyone even left. One thing that does register, however, is the scent of the Valley when it collides with her nostrils like a battering ram. It incites a pause, but she pushes through it albeit at a slower pace. They meet and a chill runs down her spine, but she isn’t sure if it’s because of the cold or because of the stallion’s eeriness. Her nutmeg eyes rake across his antennae, his six legs, his wings, then finally his inky-black compound eyes. ”Hello,” her voice is honeyed and slightly shaken as though not confident about which side she should be on, ”I’m Cerva. Is there anything I can help you with?” She swallows past the lump in her throat as her memories take a brief trip back to her childhood in the Valley.
It is not that often that he finds himself in his equine form. He would much prefer the breeze of spring playing at his feathers, and the swiftness of his avian flight guiding him through his kingdom. But currently he wasn't anyone's favorite king, could he even call himself a king? He allowed his emotions to overpower every sense of logic that he stood by, causing his kingdom to take a turn for the worst, or so it seemed.
His figure lyes beneath the mother tree in a pondering state, his muscles become tense as he plays over the incident that caused them to flee from Heavens borders. The distinct image of the three silhouettes dancing upon the horizon was so vivid within memory, until the soft coos of mourning doves echoed from above. Back to reality, Zeik rises from the frost swept vegetation. Blood circulating through his tense muscles as they slowly return to a relaxed state, the gentle vocals of the doves continue to sound from above. Stretching out his limbs Zeik allows his cranium to shift its attention towards the horizon, where two sillhouttes mingled at the border. It was a strange sight to see visitors for he wasn't Beqanna's favored king.
Striding over the few visible roots, Zeik began to make his way towards them. His curiosity peaking the slightest, for this was the first stranger he had sighted at her borders. His ebony pointed pistons drive him forwards, into a brisk trot as he approaches the pair. A mare, Cerva, whom he had been briefly acquainted with at the start of his rule. And an insect like stallion with six limbs, wings, antenna, etc. that stank prominently of the Valley.
"Hello there." His vocals are layered with a roughness, his face remains expressionless even with his peeking curiosity. "I'm Zeik, King of Heavens Gates." He pauses allowing his eyes to linger upon the stranger's six limbs, and moth like exterior. "Is there something I can help you with?" He husks, forcing a welcoming smile to from upon his ebony lips.
