"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
10-13-2017, 11:48 PM (This post was last modified: 10-14-2017, 01:59 AM by Set.)
" There's a black bird perched outside my window, I hear him calling. I hear him sing. He burns me with his eyes of gold to embers. He sees all my sins. He reads my soul. "
He drifts back onto Beqannan soil with a quiet sigh. Materializing from a world long forgotten, his hide – oilslick splashed with innocence – pieced together as if he’d been the same all along. As if he had never left. The body of his youth, suspended in time.
The stench of rotting berries and blood lies thick in his nostrils as he eases from the dark womb of the surrounding forest. The sun lies low on the horizon, its warmth diluted by the yellowing leaves, not yet ready to succumb to the northern winds of winter. He pauses there, at the edge, gold-colored eyes shifting, adjusting to what the Field is now. His gaze lingers briefly on the strangers that populate this no-man’s land, weighing them, always finding himself looking for her, them, familiar faces of days past.. The grass mutes his steps, thirst strong in a throat that has not seen water for … The blind end in his memory gives him pause, a stutter in his otherwise sure stride. How long had it been? Really, lost time was the least of his worries – the immortal life of a magician assures that – but it bothers him some that he cannot remember the last time he was topside. Niklas would know. Set’s son of fire and brimstone, the hollow-eyed creature would not be far behind him. Set had felt Niklas’ return, alongside the demon’s beloved Salomea’s, as he shifted from the Underworld to the here and now.
The water is cold, the dull roar of the waterfall heavy in his ears. One corner of his mouth draws up, shoulders rolling as he steps away from the water’s edge. He aches - in joints long accustomed to disuse, in dusty, cobwebbed lungs; in his olde world mind suddenly thrust into this unknown.
10-15-2017, 03:42 AM (This post was last modified: 10-15-2017, 12:25 PM by Set.)
" There's a black bird perched outside my window, I hear him calling. I hear him sing. He burns me with his eyes of gold to embers. He sees all my sins. He reads my soul. "
“Someone once told me that crows are all liars.”
He grins ‘round the mouthful of grass, tasteless and brown, his yellow eyes shifting along the dimming horizon before settling on her dark form. There is a trace of familiarity about her that stirs something in the back of his mind but it is fleeting, gone before it can fully come together. The magic deep in his belly is repulsed by her; it burns to take from her what it can, lashes like a recalcitrant child when it cannot. An ear flicks forward, followed briefly by the other, teeth grinding against one another as he swallows. The magic immune were once few and far between. He wonders how much else as changed.
It has been a long time since he has interacted with the living. His gaze meets hers for longer than might be socially acceptable, nostrils flared wide once and again, locking in her scent. The island … when he’d left Beqanna there had been no island. No islands of consequence, at least. His gaze narrows. The Chamber is gone, too, he supposes, the pines and mountains of his youth lost to the shadowlands. He sucks in a stuttered breath, exhaling slowly. “Niceties.” He turns the word over on his tongue, savoring it with a low, self-deprecating chuckle. “Overrated, don’t you think?”
An errant itch distracts him when the crows begin to flock silently around them, gathering high in the trees as the sun enters its circadian death throes. Lining the edge of the forest they linger, bits of scale and death hanging from their beaks, the discarded Hydra heads picked clean of flesh, skulls left to bleach in the rot of autumn. They watch Set and Caw with their black marble gazes, eerily unmoving. He raises his head, looking behind her. “Why leave the island now?”, he asks, eyes leaving the murderous assembly on the question, seeking hers out again. She’s a bit odd, the black minx, vaguely reminiscent of a little roan he once knew. He shifts his weight to face her, unsteady, like gelatin, easing the dull twinge in a neck still knitting muscle together.
He doesn’t travel to the common lands much these days. Recruiting was delegated to the commoners for a reason, having better things to do with his time. However the pickings had been slim and his own curiosity brings him to the open field to see what it had to offer. To see if his subjects were just lazy or if there really was nothing left but trash and scraps. The white wraith usually had the knack of being in the right place at the right time. Today was no different.
His crimson gaze scans the grounds, resting on a vague familiar skunk like face. It belongs to a dark stallion who stands beside an even darker child. Slowly he drifts towards the pair and as he edges closer, recognition dawns. Well well. Another old friend, back from the dead.
”Set?” He questions with a hard eye and a raised brow as he joins the duo. He smells of graveyards and dirt, pine and shadows. But it is him and what a history they share. Alliances, the Chamber, the cruel debauchery of the slave pens. He wonders if he remembers, if his tastes still remain the same. Perhaps being beneath the earth could change a man. ”What called you back this time?”
He pauses, glittering gaze shifting towards the filly and eyeing her with little thought. What he wants is the man before him. His time is precious these days and so he wastes little time in extending his invitation. ”I rule the forest of Sylva these days. You have impeccable timing, we are about to throw a party. One that you might find of interest.” He dangles the bait before him, a tantalizing hint of the memories they had once shared. ”You’re more then welcome to attend.” Forgetting the foal for a moment but looking to her as an afterthought. ”You as well.”
Set