09-11-2015, 04:48 PM
some are lost in the fire
some are built from it
He comes to the field more often now, his journey here a symbolic mirror for his journey out from the fringes of the Chamber. But when he comes here, he usually finds himself seeking out horses who don't look much like him – those whose skill is on the inside, in their minds and their hearts, rather than outside, in the musculature of their bodies. Mind you, that's not to say that Erebor devalues those with sharp wits, quite the contrary. He believes virtually everyone and everything has value to the Chamber, and so he seeks them out with impunity. But when he comes to the field, and when he sees the stallion, he finds himself pausing for a moment.
He doesn't immediately know that the stallion under the tree is his uncle. Magnus doesn't quite look like Atrox or like Warship, or like Erebor, for that matter. The only frame of reference the boy has is Kavi, his buckskin uncle. But he's not one to favor blood relations anyway, and it's purely on the stallion's merits that Erebor decides to seek him out.
He's not the first to arrive, but this doesn't bother him. He recognizes the first stallion, from the Valley. He does not recognize the second, but he knows the scent of the Deserts. He offers all three of them a nod, facing the unknown stallion last.
Standing in the field with his usual straight, almost military bearing, Erebor is every inch his father's son. His coat is a smooth, unbroken black, sliding gracefully across a warrior's defined muscles. Erebor is that stallion in his prime, that warrior that Magnus had once been (and, perhaps, still was). His mane and tail, a strange dark blue and dark green, tumble across his neck and his haunches. Across his left foreleg, at the top almost tucked into his shoulder, a twining band of dark wine-red encircles the upper area of the limb. In between the twisting symbols, several figures are clear: a rabbit, a teddy bear, a woman standing upright, and a Pegasus missing a wing.
But apart from these small oddities, to the unknowing eye he's quite ordinary. It's underneath, in his body, that the true power lies. The same quest that had left him with the strange markings had given him total power over heat, the ability to call it forward, to stoke it, to concentrate it, to remove it. He dances with the elements in the most incredibly strange way, a prince of kinetics as much as he is a prince of the Chamber.
"Fennick, Gaza," he greets the two of them, and then his eyes slide back over to the newcomer. "I'm Erebor, from the Chamber." he does not give his title because it isn't relevant here – he doesn't think that anyone here would be impressed by titles, and he's somehow certain that this stallion wouldn't care at all whether he was recruited by the Lord or the Queen or the lowliest of the unranked. And this certainty only makes Erebor the more certain that he's exactly what the Chamber wants. His eyes land on the stallion beneath the tree, the reason they're all here. "What's your name, sir?" he does not use the term to be deferential, but rather because he's been taught to have respect, to be diplomatic, and because "sir" is what you call strange stallions whose names you just don’t know.
He doesn't immediately know that the stallion under the tree is his uncle. Magnus doesn't quite look like Atrox or like Warship, or like Erebor, for that matter. The only frame of reference the boy has is Kavi, his buckskin uncle. But he's not one to favor blood relations anyway, and it's purely on the stallion's merits that Erebor decides to seek him out.
He's not the first to arrive, but this doesn't bother him. He recognizes the first stallion, from the Valley. He does not recognize the second, but he knows the scent of the Deserts. He offers all three of them a nod, facing the unknown stallion last.
Standing in the field with his usual straight, almost military bearing, Erebor is every inch his father's son. His coat is a smooth, unbroken black, sliding gracefully across a warrior's defined muscles. Erebor is that stallion in his prime, that warrior that Magnus had once been (and, perhaps, still was). His mane and tail, a strange dark blue and dark green, tumble across his neck and his haunches. Across his left foreleg, at the top almost tucked into his shoulder, a twining band of dark wine-red encircles the upper area of the limb. In between the twisting symbols, several figures are clear: a rabbit, a teddy bear, a woman standing upright, and a Pegasus missing a wing.
But apart from these small oddities, to the unknowing eye he's quite ordinary. It's underneath, in his body, that the true power lies. The same quest that had left him with the strange markings had given him total power over heat, the ability to call it forward, to stoke it, to concentrate it, to remove it. He dances with the elements in the most incredibly strange way, a prince of kinetics as much as he is a prince of the Chamber.
"Fennick, Gaza," he greets the two of them, and then his eyes slide back over to the newcomer. "I'm Erebor, from the Chamber." he does not give his title because it isn't relevant here – he doesn't think that anyone here would be impressed by titles, and he's somehow certain that this stallion wouldn't care at all whether he was recruited by the Lord or the Queen or the lowliest of the unranked. And this certainty only makes Erebor the more certain that he's exactly what the Chamber wants. His eyes land on the stallion beneath the tree, the reason they're all here. "What's your name, sir?" he does not use the term to be deferential, but rather because he's been taught to have respect, to be diplomatic, and because "sir" is what you call strange stallions whose names you just don’t know.
erebor
heat manipulating lord of the chamber
warship x straia
Yep, I need both my active characters to be talking to Magnus.