Set
04-13-2023, 09:42 AM
It draws him like nothing else could.
No, that’s not entirely true, he thinks. The last time he was here - at least, the last time he can recall from a mind clogged with the infinite memories that comes with immortality - it was his mother that drew him. The bloody-shouldered Queen had risen from the dead, restored to this plane … but she had been different, not just imbued with magic as he had been following his Alliance victory; magic had been stitched into every fiber of her being - she was magic. It was unnerving, given she had scorned it for as long as he could remember, and their reunion had been short lived, ash on a tongue wanting for water.
The last he remembers talking to was a young mare with a dry sense of humor and affinity for the dead. Though, talking to is not entirely true. She had remarked on something about the morning being lovely - though it had indeed not been - and rather than reply, he had fixed her with a hollow-eyed stare for a few moments and then simply … vanished. Likely it was that had no desire to wallow in his miseries in front of a stranger, and the capriciousness of his spirit does not accommodate for the traditional rules of “civilized” society, so he had just disappeared rather than engage.
He is not sure where he has been since then. In the past, his sense of adventure had led him beyond Beqanna to experience other worlds. He’d even followed Niklas to the underworld once or five times. A chuckle rattles in his lungs at the memory of their last visit, more mischievous brothers than father and son. He inhales and the scent of the pines and home floods his lungs.
His eyes snap open as he starts to run, shaking his head from side to side before crowing with youthful exuberance. He thunders past the scorched tree, hoofbeats thrumming along with the distant drum of a stallion’s sacrificed heart as they find familiar paths again. He is drenched with sweat and foam when he finally reaches one of his childhood haunts. Chest heaving, he thrills in this feeling of being alive, after so many decades spent feeling untethered. He has his back to the mouth of the familiar cave up the side of the southern mountain, (nearly) the entirety of the Chamber stretched out below him. It is just the same as it was before he was forced from her borders; and yet, there at the end of a pine-scented lungful is a warped ripple of unsettling nescience. True to his nature, he tamps the unwanted feeling down. And waits.
No, that’s not entirely true, he thinks. The last time he was here - at least, the last time he can recall from a mind clogged with the infinite memories that comes with immortality - it was his mother that drew him. The bloody-shouldered Queen had risen from the dead, restored to this plane … but she had been different, not just imbued with magic as he had been following his Alliance victory; magic had been stitched into every fiber of her being - she was magic. It was unnerving, given she had scorned it for as long as he could remember, and their reunion had been short lived, ash on a tongue wanting for water.
The last he remembers talking to was a young mare with a dry sense of humor and affinity for the dead. Though, talking to is not entirely true. She had remarked on something about the morning being lovely - though it had indeed not been - and rather than reply, he had fixed her with a hollow-eyed stare for a few moments and then simply … vanished. Likely it was that had no desire to wallow in his miseries in front of a stranger, and the capriciousness of his spirit does not accommodate for the traditional rules of “civilized” society, so he had just disappeared rather than engage.
He is not sure where he has been since then. In the past, his sense of adventure had led him beyond Beqanna to experience other worlds. He’d even followed Niklas to the underworld once or five times. A chuckle rattles in his lungs at the memory of their last visit, more mischievous brothers than father and son. He inhales and the scent of the pines and home floods his lungs.
His eyes snap open as he starts to run, shaking his head from side to side before crowing with youthful exuberance. He thunders past the scorched tree, hoofbeats thrumming along with the distant drum of a stallion’s sacrificed heart as they find familiar paths again. He is drenched with sweat and foam when he finally reaches one of his childhood haunts. Chest heaving, he thrills in this feeling of being alive, after so many decades spent feeling untethered. He has his back to the mouth of the familiar cave up the side of the southern mountain, (nearly) the entirety of the Chamber stretched out below him. It is just the same as it was before he was forced from her borders; and yet, there at the end of a pine-scented lungful is a warped ripple of unsettling nescience. True to his nature, he tamps the unwanted feeling down. And waits.
*squeaky-squeak-rust-rust*