i'm on the wrong side of heaven, and the righteous side of hell
He is drawn to the feeling of magic first. It tingles against his skin, the long fingers skimming over his sensitive flanks. The air seems to crackle with the static of it, and he shudders involuntarily. Though he possess no magic of his own, the old warrior is akin to it, drawn to it, pulled to it with a magnetic force. It is his heart that feels the pull he knows, the heart that beats because magic had touched it. Without the force of magic he would have been dead years ago, a bleach white skeleton now. But the Chamber had seen fit to let him live, to use him for the rest of eternity. And so here he was, in the flesh, heart beating steady beneath the glowing symbol of his promise.
The infinity symbol is once more glowing brightly, like it did when Anaxarete swirled into the Chamber on the wings of smoke and fire. He raises his head, pushing his nose into the wind. He catches the scent of the stranger, and his ears play atop his head as he tries to decipher it. Its no one he knows, but he smells inherently of the Chamber; pine forests and cool earth, the scent of mildew that clings to the rock facings and caves. He moves easily in the direction of the stallion, his demeanor cool but guarded at the same time. The palomino mare Englesfors beats him to the punch, and he just catches the tail end of her greeting. For now the black stallion stays quiet, regarding the stranger with a detached sense of curiosity. Yes, he is of the Chamber. It is written on his skin somehow, and Warship can see a certain shine in his odd-colored eyes. “Welcome home.” he says simply, tilting his head ever so slightly. For now he doesn’t offer a name, but is content to see just what the new (old) comer has to say.
warship
