Many times there had been a spark, but they’d yet to see a fire. Unless it was his own fire, of course, but that was always his own doings and for his own benefit. The Valley changed as dramatically as the seasons; warm for months before waking up one morning to snow. His father would be disgusted (surely he knew the state of the Valley, he was the Dark God after all). Flamevein had wandered across the borders however many years ago, a young boy searching for a drink and the cup of power. He had never even been given a damn taste. Promises upon promises make only bullshit upon piles of bullshit.
And now yet another steps to the helm, waving his banner as if it’s the only banner around. In truth, perhaps, it may very well be. Eight seemed to have done a runner, and a ship without a captain is bound to run aground.
Flamevein hears the call from his spot in the forest. He’d been lighting fires out of boredom, raising them higher and higher before drawing them back to himself, leaving nothing in their wake but scorched earth and the stench of smoke. When the last ember had died he made his way to the call, albeit in a most lackadaisical way. He’d seen this show twice before, it would take a spectacular showman to sale him on any idea. Finally he reaches the caller, a stallion he had seen but not spoken to. A newcomer really, though he seemed to have many irons in the proverbial fire. Flamevein listened, a smirk toying at his black lips while the flames instinctively climbed his legs like stockings. “Clap clap clap…I feel like I should congratulate you, though truthfully I’ve heard this so many times before. Same damn dance to the same fucking song. Flamevein, by the way.” he said, tilting his head, his blue eyes searching the other stallions. The strange nebula face blazed bright, while the lacing on his back flickered demurely. First it had been with the boy king, then when Eight had rose to the throne in a cloud of ash, smoke, and magic. Neither had succeeded in the way they had promised. In the midst another stallion approaches, though Flamevein pays him little attention. A flick of an ear, perhaps, but nothing more. For now his attention was trained fully on Demian, the man of the hour or so it would appear. “Charming words lose their appeal when whispered through prison bars>“ said Flamevein with a smirk, tossing his head and replacing his traditional tangled mane of black hair with one forged of flames bright and hot. “But…if you do as you say you will, then you have my vote. Twice now I’ve watched the Valley burn brightly for but a moment before dying like an ember in a rainstorm. Its as discouraging as it is disgusting. This kingdom used to be feared; now it’s a laughing stock. I’ll continue to stay here under your reign, provided I’m offered something…more, shall we say? Something more than titles and the usual political bullshit. I’m always for hire provided the terms are agreeable.” With that he falls silent, though his blue eyes never leave Demian. Sure he loved his kingdom to an extent, but mostly he loved himself. There was no reason the two of them couldn’t work together and come to an agreement that would benefit them both.
flamevein
i set fire to the rain