09-06-2015, 10:53 PM
some are lost in the fire
some are built from it
He knows the secret places of the kingdom, the little places tucked among the trees that none but he and Straia and those who are born from this place will know. He walks them now more than ever, as though his powers (which are both a part of him and strange and new) compel him. And perhaps they do – he feels the burden so keenly, the need to make sure he's able to protect them, because he knows that he's uniquely qualified to do it.
He hasn't been the same since he'd come back from the quest. At first he hadn't realized it, because he'd been so immersed in using his newfound power. He's got it mastered now, able to control heat with devastating efficiency. He can use it to fly, he can defuse most any fire that would threaten the kingdom….and of course, he can use it against anyone who might threaten the kingdom.
He'd tried it once, when he'd been practicing, although it had broken his heart to do it. He wouldn't think to turn it on anything within the Chamber, so he'd sought out the wilds of Beqanna, the lands so far away that no one would notice and no one would miss them. He had searched for a long time until he'd found his target. He'd selected it out of a desire to ruffle absolutely no feathers rather than a desire to be merciful; he knew that what he was about to do will bring it pain, and he didn't care because he knew that it is necessary. No, he only cared that no one would miss it.
And this raccoon, well, no one would miss it. It was a decrepit, dying thing, rabid and starving and skin and bones. What he was about to do would be a mercy killing, and even if someone did miss this poor beast, they couldn't fault him (or more importantly, the Chamber) for it.
The creature lay pitifully on the ground, and Erebor reached out with the heat. But not simply aiming to kill the creature – he had no doubt that he could do that, he had long since mastered the art of burning things into ashes, and what is the raccoon but another kind of thing? He'd do it eventually, sure, but he had to know something else, something darker, first.
He played with it grimly for some time, testing out the way his powers could manipulate sensation, driving pain and forcing it to recede as he fluctuates the heat within and without its poor broken body. He had observed for some time with the dispassionate, scientific countenance of any good researcher, and he'd been pleased with the results. Yes, he could defend his kingdom – and not just by killing either. He had no doubt that any horse would tell him anything when he – quite literally – applied a little bit of heat.
He did not linger over the ashes.
That had been a week or more ago, and he doesn't think about it now. He doesn't think about much of anything. He simply exists as a conduit for the will of the Chamber, which he interprets in a way that drives him to solitude.
It is a few more weeks before he realizes how long it's been since he's seen anyone else. It might be his duty to guard the trees, but it's not his only duty. He is a lord, it is on his shoulders to lead the people should Straia ever need it. The borders are crucial, yes, but the horses who live here are even more crucial.
And so he returns himself from the borders, entering the heart of the kingdom without fanfare. He appears much as he's always appeared, at least since the quest: black, his mane streaked a subtle dark blue and green, with a single wine-red tattoo winding around his upper left foreleg. If one were to look closely at the tattoo, they would see the figures embedded within the tribal stylization: a teddy bear, a Pegasus, a rabbit, and a strange humanoid doll, all friends from the same adventure that had left him with his current powers. His bearing is the same as ever, casually military, regal and chiseled. To look at him, he's the same handsome creature he's always been, as devoted to his kingdom as he's always been.
Inside he's still just as devoted too – there's just something more to it, something he can't put his finger on. But he refuses to examine it, refuses to think about it. Not now, not when there's much to be done for the kingdom. And oh, how beautiful it is that there will always be something to be done for the kingdom. Because he can stand watch in the kingdom's center, waiting to catch up with friends old and new, and have a great reason to never come to terms with anything that happened in the quest.
And so he stands. And so he waits. He would speak with them, any of them. He will withdraw no more.
He hasn't been the same since he'd come back from the quest. At first he hadn't realized it, because he'd been so immersed in using his newfound power. He's got it mastered now, able to control heat with devastating efficiency. He can use it to fly, he can defuse most any fire that would threaten the kingdom….and of course, he can use it against anyone who might threaten the kingdom.
He'd tried it once, when he'd been practicing, although it had broken his heart to do it. He wouldn't think to turn it on anything within the Chamber, so he'd sought out the wilds of Beqanna, the lands so far away that no one would notice and no one would miss them. He had searched for a long time until he'd found his target. He'd selected it out of a desire to ruffle absolutely no feathers rather than a desire to be merciful; he knew that what he was about to do will bring it pain, and he didn't care because he knew that it is necessary. No, he only cared that no one would miss it.
And this raccoon, well, no one would miss it. It was a decrepit, dying thing, rabid and starving and skin and bones. What he was about to do would be a mercy killing, and even if someone did miss this poor beast, they couldn't fault him (or more importantly, the Chamber) for it.
The creature lay pitifully on the ground, and Erebor reached out with the heat. But not simply aiming to kill the creature – he had no doubt that he could do that, he had long since mastered the art of burning things into ashes, and what is the raccoon but another kind of thing? He'd do it eventually, sure, but he had to know something else, something darker, first.
He played with it grimly for some time, testing out the way his powers could manipulate sensation, driving pain and forcing it to recede as he fluctuates the heat within and without its poor broken body. He had observed for some time with the dispassionate, scientific countenance of any good researcher, and he'd been pleased with the results. Yes, he could defend his kingdom – and not just by killing either. He had no doubt that any horse would tell him anything when he – quite literally – applied a little bit of heat.
He did not linger over the ashes.
That had been a week or more ago, and he doesn't think about it now. He doesn't think about much of anything. He simply exists as a conduit for the will of the Chamber, which he interprets in a way that drives him to solitude.
It is a few more weeks before he realizes how long it's been since he's seen anyone else. It might be his duty to guard the trees, but it's not his only duty. He is a lord, it is on his shoulders to lead the people should Straia ever need it. The borders are crucial, yes, but the horses who live here are even more crucial.
And so he returns himself from the borders, entering the heart of the kingdom without fanfare. He appears much as he's always appeared, at least since the quest: black, his mane streaked a subtle dark blue and green, with a single wine-red tattoo winding around his upper left foreleg. If one were to look closely at the tattoo, they would see the figures embedded within the tribal stylization: a teddy bear, a Pegasus, a rabbit, and a strange humanoid doll, all friends from the same adventure that had left him with his current powers. His bearing is the same as ever, casually military, regal and chiseled. To look at him, he's the same handsome creature he's always been, as devoted to his kingdom as he's always been.
Inside he's still just as devoted too – there's just something more to it, something he can't put his finger on. But he refuses to examine it, refuses to think about it. Not now, not when there's much to be done for the kingdom. And oh, how beautiful it is that there will always be something to be done for the kingdom. Because he can stand watch in the kingdom's center, waiting to catch up with friends old and new, and have a great reason to never come to terms with anything that happened in the quest.
And so he stands. And so he waits. He would speak with them, any of them. He will withdraw no more.
erebor
heat manipulating lord of the chamber
warship x straia
