08-13-2015, 04:22 PM
some are lost in the fire
some are built from it
He has been absent. Away from them, but not because he wished it – because it was necessary. Because he was in the process of becoming, in the process of evolving into something more (better?) He had been the Prince of Ash and Ruin, but he had become the Lord of Heat. And it had been necessary to remove himself, to tuck himself away for the duration, lest he accidentally BBQ an unsuspecting Chamber member while growing into his powers.
But no more. He hears his mother's call, echoing out across the Chamber. He is far from her, far from their gathering place. But thankfully, that's not a problem for him. Not anymore. With a thought he bends the heat around his body, manipulating the energy gently, creating the exact right kind of updraft—
Allowing him to quite literally float into the meeting, buoyed by his little pocket of hot air.
He offers them all a crisp nod. He has chosen to fly in as an expedient, a mere logical thing to do, not because he believes himself superior or wishes to impress. If he will impress, he will do it through his dedication to the Chamber, his hard work and his fighting skill. Augmented now, no doubt, but at its core, much the same.
His mother speaks then, and he listens with the focused intent of a soldier being given orders by his commander. He thinks back to the moment of the tree's planting, how he had arrived (fresh from a quest) at just the right moment, how she'd been changed too. It had been quite a day.
She moves on to promotions then, and he agrees completely with each. Killdare and Engelsfors have proven themselves to be more than able and loyal servants to the Chamber, and he doesn't doubt they've been more worthwhile to the kingdom than he since his return from the quest. He is half surprised that Straia does not strip him from his rank as Lord. God knows he hadn't deserved it recently – it doesn't matter that his mastery of his powers had required his absence, and that the mastery had always been for the betterment of the Chamber. He hadn't been recruiting, he hadn't been interacting much with the others, and therefore, in his mind, he had been less than worthy.
His interest is further piqued when she opens the Falls, and announces what he thinks they've all been thinking: that it's time to kick some hornets' nests. The Chamber is a kingdom of strength now, and it's time to make that strength felt. He agrees entirely, but he wants to let the others voice their opinions first.
They jump to a strange subject – stealing of mares and foals – and Erebor finds himself confused. It's not that he has a moral objection to it; on the contrary, he couldn't care less about that. It's more that he worries about the practicality of it. Where do loyal Chamberlings come from? How had they grown so far? It had not been on the backs of the stolen, and it certainly had not been on the backs of the broken.
"Those who are broken rarely heal back to their full strength." his voice is rich and dark. He should know about broken things – he's the rare one who had healed, who had been literally broken (his plastic body fractured by a stranger in a quest-land that may or may not have existed) and come back stronger from it. But he is rare, and he knows it. "And those who are forced rarely come to love those who do the forcing."
He pauses then to look out at all of them, faces new and old alike. "The Chamber deserves to be feared for the power we wield. We should strike at a strong kingdom and prove our worth in battle. Show them that we are more than just ascendant, we are dominant." he pauses, a small smile flickering on his lips as the heat flickers across his body. His eyes seek out each of them in turn, his handsome voice stirring and earnest. He speaks from his heart, speaking his conviction. There is nothing of ego in it. He is purely a creature of the Chamber, working for nothing but its betterment. "Let our ranks grow because we are so feared that other horses will not approach prospects in the field if a Chamber horse is already present. Let them keep their mares and their foals, or let other kingdoms and herds send them to us for protection because our superiority is so certain." Heat flicks across his black coat like tarmac on a hot summer's day, but it is contained – none near him will feel it.
And just as suddenly, the heat is gone. "I propose we show our strength in a fair fight. We want to be feared, not hated;" he pauses, looking at them. "Hated, they will do anything they can to depose us and ruin us. Feared, they will give us everything we desire, and never think seriously of defeating us, because they will know it is impossible." his smile is tight, mirthless. "We are more than an equal of any kingdom in Beqanna. It's past time they know it." This time, the fire is in his eyes, rather than the heat being across his body.
"As for who we should target, well, I don't think it much matters. Probably not the Valley or the Falls, they aren't strong enough to put up any kind of fight. But beyond that…so long as we consider how we're to start the battle, and how the kingdom we attack is allied – or not – with all the others so we know the political fallout, any of them could be a good target."
He flicks his tail (such a strange mix of deep blue and forest green) against his black haunches. "Killdare, Engelsfors," he meets their eyes nods to each in turn, "Congratulations, your new ranks are well deserved." And it's heartfelt – Erebor knows that they have more than earned it. He turns to the others, some of whom have introduced themselves and some of whom have not. "For those of you I haven't met, welcome to the Chamber. I'm Erebor, and it is my honor to serve in both castes, and as Lord of the kingdom." There is no arrogance in his voice, no ego and no pride – just a calm statement of what is, and who he is. Let them make of it what they will.
But no more. He hears his mother's call, echoing out across the Chamber. He is far from her, far from their gathering place. But thankfully, that's not a problem for him. Not anymore. With a thought he bends the heat around his body, manipulating the energy gently, creating the exact right kind of updraft—
Allowing him to quite literally float into the meeting, buoyed by his little pocket of hot air.
He offers them all a crisp nod. He has chosen to fly in as an expedient, a mere logical thing to do, not because he believes himself superior or wishes to impress. If he will impress, he will do it through his dedication to the Chamber, his hard work and his fighting skill. Augmented now, no doubt, but at its core, much the same.
His mother speaks then, and he listens with the focused intent of a soldier being given orders by his commander. He thinks back to the moment of the tree's planting, how he had arrived (fresh from a quest) at just the right moment, how she'd been changed too. It had been quite a day.
She moves on to promotions then, and he agrees completely with each. Killdare and Engelsfors have proven themselves to be more than able and loyal servants to the Chamber, and he doesn't doubt they've been more worthwhile to the kingdom than he since his return from the quest. He is half surprised that Straia does not strip him from his rank as Lord. God knows he hadn't deserved it recently – it doesn't matter that his mastery of his powers had required his absence, and that the mastery had always been for the betterment of the Chamber. He hadn't been recruiting, he hadn't been interacting much with the others, and therefore, in his mind, he had been less than worthy.
His interest is further piqued when she opens the Falls, and announces what he thinks they've all been thinking: that it's time to kick some hornets' nests. The Chamber is a kingdom of strength now, and it's time to make that strength felt. He agrees entirely, but he wants to let the others voice their opinions first.
They jump to a strange subject – stealing of mares and foals – and Erebor finds himself confused. It's not that he has a moral objection to it; on the contrary, he couldn't care less about that. It's more that he worries about the practicality of it. Where do loyal Chamberlings come from? How had they grown so far? It had not been on the backs of the stolen, and it certainly had not been on the backs of the broken.
"Those who are broken rarely heal back to their full strength." his voice is rich and dark. He should know about broken things – he's the rare one who had healed, who had been literally broken (his plastic body fractured by a stranger in a quest-land that may or may not have existed) and come back stronger from it. But he is rare, and he knows it. "And those who are forced rarely come to love those who do the forcing."
He pauses then to look out at all of them, faces new and old alike. "The Chamber deserves to be feared for the power we wield. We should strike at a strong kingdom and prove our worth in battle. Show them that we are more than just ascendant, we are dominant." he pauses, a small smile flickering on his lips as the heat flickers across his body. His eyes seek out each of them in turn, his handsome voice stirring and earnest. He speaks from his heart, speaking his conviction. There is nothing of ego in it. He is purely a creature of the Chamber, working for nothing but its betterment. "Let our ranks grow because we are so feared that other horses will not approach prospects in the field if a Chamber horse is already present. Let them keep their mares and their foals, or let other kingdoms and herds send them to us for protection because our superiority is so certain." Heat flicks across his black coat like tarmac on a hot summer's day, but it is contained – none near him will feel it.
And just as suddenly, the heat is gone. "I propose we show our strength in a fair fight. We want to be feared, not hated;" he pauses, looking at them. "Hated, they will do anything they can to depose us and ruin us. Feared, they will give us everything we desire, and never think seriously of defeating us, because they will know it is impossible." his smile is tight, mirthless. "We are more than an equal of any kingdom in Beqanna. It's past time they know it." This time, the fire is in his eyes, rather than the heat being across his body.
"As for who we should target, well, I don't think it much matters. Probably not the Valley or the Falls, they aren't strong enough to put up any kind of fight. But beyond that…so long as we consider how we're to start the battle, and how the kingdom we attack is allied – or not – with all the others so we know the political fallout, any of them could be a good target."
He flicks his tail (such a strange mix of deep blue and forest green) against his black haunches. "Killdare, Engelsfors," he meets their eyes nods to each in turn, "Congratulations, your new ranks are well deserved." And it's heartfelt – Erebor knows that they have more than earned it. He turns to the others, some of whom have introduced themselves and some of whom have not. "For those of you I haven't met, welcome to the Chamber. I'm Erebor, and it is my honor to serve in both castes, and as Lord of the kingdom." There is no arrogance in his voice, no ego and no pride – just a calm statement of what is, and who he is. Let them make of it what they will.
erebor
heat manipulating lord of the chamber
warship x straia
