i'm on the wrong side of heaven, and the righteous side of hell
He had known disappointment. He had tasted it on his lips, just as surely as he had tasted sweet grass. It was bitter taste, the kind of taste that curdled the stomach upon on contact and contracted the lungs in the chest. But he had risen above it, of course, spat out the disappointment to drink at the fountain of success. But the fountain did not readily give up her drink, no. There was always a test of some sort, something to test the mettle of the drinker. And oh, how those waters were addicting. He craved that sweet taste passing over his tongue and down his throat, warm into his belly and hot into his chest. He did not crave it for himself, though; he craved it for his kingdom. For he was her servant and eternal slave.
Her approach does not go unnoticed to the old warrior, but he makes no movement at first, aside from the minimal turn of his head. His dark eyes sweep over her unabashedly, though it is not sexual in nature. Once, perhaps, he had given into the stirring of his loins, but his most recent child was created purely for this kingdom. No smooth words had been spoken, no soft embrace afterwards. She is larger than him but he isn’t worried. She is of baroque heritage whereas he bares evidence of Welsh and Mustang, with the wickedly carved skull of ancient Arabian breeding. There coats are alike - black - but he bore the scars of a warriors life and the glowing mark of a reckless decision. She speaks, and before he can answer her question his queen slips from the shadows and is at his side. He smiles at her though he knows full well she’s probably several shades of pissed off at him. It doesn’t bother him; she can get glad in the same pants she got mad. “Yes, the Chamber.” he says, tilting his head thoughtfully. “It isn’t often we have visitors traipse over our borders. Usually the wolves and the mountain lions take care of them first.” he says, though there is a lilt to his voice. The mare before him was more than capable of stomping a canine or feline skull into dust. “As Queen Straia said, I’m Warship. Since you’re here, is there something we can do for you?” He could, it seemed, be polite if it suited him.
warship
