09-08-2015, 11:07 PM
some are lost in the fire
some are built from it
Erebor is a beautiful dichotomy. He is simultaneously so simple on the surface, and yet so complex beneath. He is still waters running deep. He is a secret kept for so long that the keeper almost forgets. He is things that no one talks about, distress and turmoil buried so deeply beneath the sacred covenant of duty that it can never be found.
He is more than native to the land, and the land is so much more than his home. The heart that beats beneath their feet is the heart of his grandfather. The woman who rules them all is his mother. His life is entangled with the Chamber's, and he would have it no other way. It must take precedence over anything, over all things, and not just because he'd been born to feel that way. From the first moment he can remember, from the first time he'd felt that heartbeat in his first moment of consciousness, it had been so.
He feels the girl before she approaches – it's a beautiful thing, the way he can feel the heat that shifts, the way that body temperature speaks to him as surely as infrared vision. But he does not reveal any of that to her, simply reacting as she approaches him with a handsome smile. Everything Erebor does is handsome in an almost accidental way; he's a clean-cut, ruggedly handsome sort of fellow, and he's truly grown into himself nicely. "I'm never one to turn down company."
He is about to continue when he feels something else. It's a change in the heat, like he feels when there's another horse in the middle distance, but that's not right, because there is no horse. There's nothing but the two of them as far as he can see. As he ponders, he sees a black stallion crest the hill. He assumes without hesitation that he must simply have noted that particular stallion, and thinks nothing more of it.
As the man approaches, Erebor offers him a diplomatic nod and is pleased to see the stallion nod as well. He smells strange and is not of the Chamber, which gives Erebor a bit of pause – it's not every day that strangers will willingly and easily wander across the border – but besides that, the boy is not especially on edge.
That is, until the stallion speaks, and Erebor isn't at all sure what he means by those words. The boy is no meathead, incapable of intellect; on the contrary, he's quite smart, a trait that has served him well in his various diplomatic pursuits. "Everyone has secrets," he states as the stallion bends down to scratch his itch. "It's only natural for them to mingle."
He sees the stallion look between the two of them with mischief in his eyes. He sees the man wink at the mare. He's not sure what to make of any of it.
He is about to continue on, about to ask this stranger (very politely) where he's from, but then everything goes to hell in a handbasket.
He's lucky that he's had a lifetime of drilling and soldier's instincts, because before he knows it, the ground is falling away beneath him. He's equally lucky that he's spent so many months secluded practicing with his new gift, because it's completely second nature to him to create the updraft. Almost as soon as he's falling he's able to catch himself, using his heat-powered elemental flight to balance himself in midair.
Hoping he's not too late to help his fellow Chamber-member, he turns the underbrush and brambles in the vicinity to ash in a matter of seconds, not even bothering to let them burn before they simply disintegrate. He can see the lake now, half frozen, and he reaches out once more with his power to sublimate the ice, vaporizing it right from its solid form. He doesn't think to warm the water - if she falls in, she won't get stuck beneath the ice, and won't struggle to get out. A little cold bath is good for the constitution.
Satisfied that he has done all he can for the mare at the moment, he turns his attention back to the stallion. He is still floating in midair, carefully manipulating the heat and thereby the air currents to do what should, for all intents and purposes, be impossible. He is not afraid of this stallion, but more in the "I will stand my ground and defend my homeland" sense of not afraid rather than the "I am irrationally and stupidly brave" sense. He is, however, acutely interested in who he is, and whether he presents any kind of danger to the Chamber.
"Secrets indeed." he says, fully focused on the strange stallion. "The Chamber doesn't take well to secrets that cause harm to it or to its members." he says, his voice hard and steely. It might be a very veiled threat, but it's not whispered in some low, threatening growl. He is stating it outright, just like a soldier who calls to an invading army over the wall, telling the approaching horde that they are, in fact, a sovereign nation. Except where a single army man would quail in the face of an entire horde, Erebor is unafraid, and might even be up to the challenge. "Who are you, and what are you doing here?" His voice is ice, is stone, is quiet command. Unlike many a Chamber horse past and present, Erebor doesn't spit venom and vitriol, despite having (to all outward appearances) very possibly been attacked. He has never been one for obvious flaming anger – ironic really, that the boy who could always control the heat of his passions can now control the heat of his environment. And with his words he is no longer Erebor the uncertain returning wanderer; in all of two seconds, this strange stallion has very effectively brought out Erebor the Lord.
He is more than native to the land, and the land is so much more than his home. The heart that beats beneath their feet is the heart of his grandfather. The woman who rules them all is his mother. His life is entangled with the Chamber's, and he would have it no other way. It must take precedence over anything, over all things, and not just because he'd been born to feel that way. From the first moment he can remember, from the first time he'd felt that heartbeat in his first moment of consciousness, it had been so.
He feels the girl before she approaches – it's a beautiful thing, the way he can feel the heat that shifts, the way that body temperature speaks to him as surely as infrared vision. But he does not reveal any of that to her, simply reacting as she approaches him with a handsome smile. Everything Erebor does is handsome in an almost accidental way; he's a clean-cut, ruggedly handsome sort of fellow, and he's truly grown into himself nicely. "I'm never one to turn down company."
He is about to continue when he feels something else. It's a change in the heat, like he feels when there's another horse in the middle distance, but that's not right, because there is no horse. There's nothing but the two of them as far as he can see. As he ponders, he sees a black stallion crest the hill. He assumes without hesitation that he must simply have noted that particular stallion, and thinks nothing more of it.
As the man approaches, Erebor offers him a diplomatic nod and is pleased to see the stallion nod as well. He smells strange and is not of the Chamber, which gives Erebor a bit of pause – it's not every day that strangers will willingly and easily wander across the border – but besides that, the boy is not especially on edge.
That is, until the stallion speaks, and Erebor isn't at all sure what he means by those words. The boy is no meathead, incapable of intellect; on the contrary, he's quite smart, a trait that has served him well in his various diplomatic pursuits. "Everyone has secrets," he states as the stallion bends down to scratch his itch. "It's only natural for them to mingle."
He sees the stallion look between the two of them with mischief in his eyes. He sees the man wink at the mare. He's not sure what to make of any of it.
He is about to continue on, about to ask this stranger (very politely) where he's from, but then everything goes to hell in a handbasket.
He's lucky that he's had a lifetime of drilling and soldier's instincts, because before he knows it, the ground is falling away beneath him. He's equally lucky that he's spent so many months secluded practicing with his new gift, because it's completely second nature to him to create the updraft. Almost as soon as he's falling he's able to catch himself, using his heat-powered elemental flight to balance himself in midair.
Hoping he's not too late to help his fellow Chamber-member, he turns the underbrush and brambles in the vicinity to ash in a matter of seconds, not even bothering to let them burn before they simply disintegrate. He can see the lake now, half frozen, and he reaches out once more with his power to sublimate the ice, vaporizing it right from its solid form. He doesn't think to warm the water - if she falls in, she won't get stuck beneath the ice, and won't struggle to get out. A little cold bath is good for the constitution.
Satisfied that he has done all he can for the mare at the moment, he turns his attention back to the stallion. He is still floating in midair, carefully manipulating the heat and thereby the air currents to do what should, for all intents and purposes, be impossible. He is not afraid of this stallion, but more in the "I will stand my ground and defend my homeland" sense of not afraid rather than the "I am irrationally and stupidly brave" sense. He is, however, acutely interested in who he is, and whether he presents any kind of danger to the Chamber.
"Secrets indeed." he says, fully focused on the strange stallion. "The Chamber doesn't take well to secrets that cause harm to it or to its members." he says, his voice hard and steely. It might be a very veiled threat, but it's not whispered in some low, threatening growl. He is stating it outright, just like a soldier who calls to an invading army over the wall, telling the approaching horde that they are, in fact, a sovereign nation. Except where a single army man would quail in the face of an entire horde, Erebor is unafraid, and might even be up to the challenge. "Who are you, and what are you doing here?" His voice is ice, is stone, is quiet command. Unlike many a Chamber horse past and present, Erebor doesn't spit venom and vitriol, despite having (to all outward appearances) very possibly been attacked. He has never been one for obvious flaming anger – ironic really, that the boy who could always control the heat of his passions can now control the heat of his environment. And with his words he is no longer Erebor the uncertain returning wanderer; in all of two seconds, this strange stallion has very effectively brought out Erebor the Lord.
erebor
heat manipulating lord of the chamber
warship x straia
OMG I love this thread so much <3