09-22-2015, 08:35 PM
some are lost in the fire
some are built from it
They've already brought the fire, but he isn’t fire.
He is more than fire, more than just burning. He is the speaker of the elements, and the air practically dances around him. He shimmers with heat, his coat too hot for burning. He joins them silently, watching without words (at first) as they start the destruction. He can feel the things that the stranger called Weed (who he's seen in his mother's orbit) is doing to the tree, although he knows nothing of the inner workings, only that the tree seems to have the heat of motion in some ways, that things inside it are being manipulated.
He sees the fire that Kushiel breathes. No, more than sees it – it is heat, and he is heat, and so it rings in his bones like a million tiny bells. Soothing, beautiful. He sees the plants going up in flames, turning slowly to ashes. But it is fire, and fire is in its essence an impure form of heat. It wastes things, it boils water, and most importantly it can be snuffed out.
And so it doesn't matter when the rest of the Chamberlings come pouring out , and it doesn't matter that the rest of the Gates horses come either. It only matters that somewhere, somehow, the rain comes pouring down and threatens to undo all of their good work.
But heat is not fire, and unlike fire, heat can fight water.
Without words, without expression, he knows that his moment has come.
He reaches up, up, up with his power, almost impossibly high, above the tips of the tree. And he creates the same kind of heat shield that he carried around himself. It is simple enough to superheat several layers of atoms, creating something of an oven above their heads. It is so simple to ensure that the heat is hot enough to vaporize the rain, to turn the sheet of monsoon to a sheet of steam, borne upward on the currents of the heat itself.
Well, simple in theory. A monsoon is harsh stuff, and he pushes his power somewhat to accommodate what is required. He is perfectly aware of his surroundings and will not be caught unawares (a lifetime of military training will do that), but he will not be fighting on any other fronts so long as he must fight the monsoon.
When they take the queen and leave, he holds the heat barrier, but registers their departure with distinct satisfaction. It's a victory, it's a thing that had been necessary, and it's half of what they had come here to do. And now it falls to them, to those with gifts, to him and Kushiel and Weed, to finish up the rest.
"Let's finish this." his rich voice is a low growl, a command that he knows none of them need to hear. He knows that they are all itching to complete it, to show the Gates the power of the Chamber, or perhaps simply to sew chaos, depending on the horse. But for Erebor, it is as it has always been – it is nothing but the Chamber, always the Chamber, first and forever.
And he will stand here and fight back the storm for as long as it takes for the Gates to burn in the Chamber's name.
He is more than fire, more than just burning. He is the speaker of the elements, and the air practically dances around him. He shimmers with heat, his coat too hot for burning. He joins them silently, watching without words (at first) as they start the destruction. He can feel the things that the stranger called Weed (who he's seen in his mother's orbit) is doing to the tree, although he knows nothing of the inner workings, only that the tree seems to have the heat of motion in some ways, that things inside it are being manipulated.
He sees the fire that Kushiel breathes. No, more than sees it – it is heat, and he is heat, and so it rings in his bones like a million tiny bells. Soothing, beautiful. He sees the plants going up in flames, turning slowly to ashes. But it is fire, and fire is in its essence an impure form of heat. It wastes things, it boils water, and most importantly it can be snuffed out.
And so it doesn't matter when the rest of the Chamberlings come pouring out , and it doesn't matter that the rest of the Gates horses come either. It only matters that somewhere, somehow, the rain comes pouring down and threatens to undo all of their good work.
But heat is not fire, and unlike fire, heat can fight water.
Without words, without expression, he knows that his moment has come.
He reaches up, up, up with his power, almost impossibly high, above the tips of the tree. And he creates the same kind of heat shield that he carried around himself. It is simple enough to superheat several layers of atoms, creating something of an oven above their heads. It is so simple to ensure that the heat is hot enough to vaporize the rain, to turn the sheet of monsoon to a sheet of steam, borne upward on the currents of the heat itself.
Well, simple in theory. A monsoon is harsh stuff, and he pushes his power somewhat to accommodate what is required. He is perfectly aware of his surroundings and will not be caught unawares (a lifetime of military training will do that), but he will not be fighting on any other fronts so long as he must fight the monsoon.
When they take the queen and leave, he holds the heat barrier, but registers their departure with distinct satisfaction. It's a victory, it's a thing that had been necessary, and it's half of what they had come here to do. And now it falls to them, to those with gifts, to him and Kushiel and Weed, to finish up the rest.
"Let's finish this." his rich voice is a low growl, a command that he knows none of them need to hear. He knows that they are all itching to complete it, to show the Gates the power of the Chamber, or perhaps simply to sew chaos, depending on the horse. But for Erebor, it is as it has always been – it is nothing but the Chamber, always the Chamber, first and forever.
And he will stand here and fight back the storm for as long as it takes for the Gates to burn in the Chamber's name.
erebor
heat manipulating lord of the chamber
warship x straia
NO MORE STARTING FUN THINGS WHILE I AM AWAY GUYS.
<3