"But the dream, the echo, slips from him as quickly as he had found it and as consciousness comes to him (a slap and not the gentle waves of oceanic tides), it dissolves entirely. His muscles relax as the cold claims him again, as the numbness sets in, and when his grey eyes open, there’s nothing but the faint after burn of a dream often trod and never remembered." --Brigade, written by Laura
AND ABANDON, THAT GREETS YOU IN THE NIGHT WITH SNAKE EYES, THE MOST PRECIOUS KIND.
Should he be worried about the way her eyes glint when he accepts her offer? No, not this time around. Guarded, perhaps, but not worried. Besides, what’s the phrase his father repeated when Wyrm got an itch to toy with the locals? ”Wolves do not concern themselves with the opinions of sheep…” He’d told him, or something along those lines. Wyrm usually finds that paying his father extended attention is a drain on his mental capacity, hence why he’s here in the Deserts now with a mysterious girl headed to an unknown destination.
They leave readily, with her fronting the expedition so that he can observe from behind. Any farther into the dry wasteland and Wyrm is sure that they’ll be swallowed up by the sea of golden sand. But she seems confident in her direction, correcting herself slightly now and again so that it begins to feel as if they’re walking somewhere. She’s rather curious herself, isn’t she though? All this time spent playing a subjective poker match of sorts and he’s yet to lose interest. It’s a first. He’s not sure if he particularly likes that fact.
Either way, he remembers what he’s agreed to as soon as he feels a nameless pressure near the base of his skull. Not painful, certainly not unwelcome, but still there. He can’t begin to explain the otherness that is her gift, it’s too odd and almost imperceptible in nature. He’s even begun to think it was a phantom sensation until her skin flashes and she’s suddenly wearing his trademark color. Wyrm grins.
“I could sense you, at first.” He relays, wanting her to know how any of her subjects might respond to her gift. “It went away as quickly as it came, but it was there. I doubt I would’ve recognized it if you hadn’t told me what you were going to do.” He finishes, camel hooves sinking deftly into the shifting earth. There’s a thousand possibilities in the back of his mind now, but he chooses his questions carefully. “Can you see my memories? Or can you only manipulate what you know?” He wonders, oddly at peace with the notion that he’s got someone else inside of his twisted little head.
Her father is a vastly different man than the once-green colt’s is. He is a kind man, a man with an innate goodness that Heartfire cannot help but admire (even if she would never say so). The advice he has given her is no doubt far different from any advice Wyrm may have received from his father. But the two of youth are quite similar in one thing: their penchant for ignoring their parent's advice.
Certainly were the small roan sabino girl a more obedient daughter, she would not be here playing with Wyrm’s sight.
In short order, they are moving briskly across the hard packed red sand of the Deserts outer lands. Heartfire moves at a steady clip, forcing her companion to either keep up or fall behind if he couldn't.
She doesn't for a minute believe he would fall behind.
She has never before had anyone she could objectively practice her talents on. At least, none that could speak back (her brother didn't count - she's been showing him everything she has seen since the moment they were born). Wyrm's perspective on the use and feel of her intrusion is endlessly fascinating, so when he recounts his experience, she tips her head as she gazes at him with boldly curious blue eyes.
His question gives her pause. Glancing into the distant horizon, she shakes her head briefly. ”I can see what others are seeing, or have seen,” she says, her voice frank, matter of fact. ”Obviously I can control what they see too.” She doesn't mention it is only sight she controls. She cannot hear, or read minds or memories. No use in giving away all her secrets. Not without a little something in return.
Before long, the have reached their destination. At first glance, it simply looks like another bare, flat expanse. But several hundred yards ahead of them is a shallow ravine. Heartfire shows no hesitation as she steps forward, leaping easily, comfortably, as though she's done it a hundred times before (because she has), into the wide trench. As she turns around, there, in the ravine wall, is a massive, bleached fossil left exposed to the elements.
Wth a grin on her dark lips, she turns to glance at Wyrm. That grin turns rather mischievous as she once again delves into his vision, erasing herself entirely from his sight.
Heartfire
i filled up my senses with thoughts from the ghosts
AND ABANDON, THAT GREETS YOU IN THE NIGHT WITH SNAKE EYES, THE MOST PRECIOUS KIND.
To see things one should not is a powerful gift indeed. Not only to possess that hidden knowledge, but to be able to manipulate it as well? Wyrm is quite aware how singularly rare and talented this spotted girl is quickly becoming. And who knew? Hidden away in the sands all this time … it makes his brain itch with the possibilities of what someone like her could accomplish paired with someone like him. To induce fear, manipulate the very mind itself was a wickedly dangerous gift. Couple that with a creature who can command his shape down to a molecular level, and you have the perfect recipe for limitless power. Nothing short of magic could hold them back.
Makes him wonder.
The two make headway of a low, baked patch of earth and Wyrm hardens his camel toes to hooves once more, halting to watch the girl make her way to the lip of the ravine. He’s sure they’ve reached their destination by the way she casually hops into the hollowed pocket of sand and clay, disappearing from view as she does so. Above him, the sun continues its relentless heat, forcing the colt to follow shortly after. He’s not an agile thing on four hooves, but his body melts and widens, taking the shape of a lean, short-maned lion. With a few well-placed bounds he’s arcing over the edge of the ravine, landing solidly on the ground near to where she should be waiting, stirring up a fine cloud of dust in the process. As the tawny animal rises, he narrows his eyes with mistrust.
“Bravo.” He says aloud, raspy voice echoing off the hard-packed walls. “Hide and go seek has always been a favorite of mine.” With a slow grin his nose changes, forming the triangular tip so common to a bears. He inhales the dry, thin air, catching notes of her nearby. The eyes could be fooled, but the senses could not. Dacia had been a wonderful teacher for that lesson. With a low rumble he lets his yellowed eyes stray to where she should be standing, though he cannot see her, before stalking forward to turn his attention to the remains. He sits, nose twitching as it returns to its feline form, tail stirring up the sand as he pans over the bones in wonder. There were so many, without any sort of direction or sense.
Where did such a creature begin or end? “Your talents are wasted out here.” He states matter-of-factly, rounded ears turning back to listen for any movement. “You could overthrow a kingdom in the blink of an eye and no one would even know it was happening.” He muses, voice falling into a low hum as the thought ripens in his head. Who would dare to go against a queen that could have you walking off a cliff face? A rather notorious grin spreads across his mouth, claws extending to scratch the surface of the earth with mild pleasure. His body curves, head turning so he can look over one broad shoulder to see if she’s made herself visible once more. “But here we are, musing over the graveside of long-dead monsters.”
In all honesty, she has never actually considered the true extent of her abilities. She has always been strong willed and a little bit wild, but never power hungry. At least, not in the normal sense. Her abilities give her a certain freedom few others will ever experience. They also give her an immense amount of knowledge, and quite inadvertantly, of power.
Little does she realize just how easily she could tear down empires. Did she realize, it would be a tempting prospect, less because she desires such power and influence and more because it would be a fun and immutable test of her abilities.
In truth, the thought has never even crossed her mind, much less the idea of teaming up with the green colt (now lion) with considerable power of his own.
The mischievous grin teases her lips as she watches Wyrm, waiting for the moment he realizes her disappearance. He does not disappoint.
Of course, in his current form, he has little trouble locating her. No doubt her scent, the sound of her breathing, had given her away. His next comment however, gives her pause. For a moment, she says nothing at all, eyeing him critically with vivid blue (and currently invisible) eyes. For a moment, she wonders what thoughts are going through his head, what schemes he is already planning (for if there is anything that she has learned about him in their short acquaintance, it is that he does nothing that will not also benefit him. They are so very similar in that regard). ”Indeed,” she says finally, noncommittally, in a disembodied voice.
Turning back to the massive bone, she tips her head as she gazes at the thing curiously. She can see what others have seen, but she has never tried to draw visions from bones. She doesn't even know if she can.
But she will never know if she does not try.
Touching her small muzzle to the bleached surface, she closes her eyes as she focuses, attempting to draw ancient memories from an equally ancient fossil. And it is there, faint and reticent, but there. Suddenly she is transported, in the beasts eyes, using a sight like she has never used before.
The Desert is gone, replaced by a lush, jungle-like atmosphere with ancient, unrecognisable plants. She is surrounded by other creatures (a herd, she thinks), massive by her standards, but looking positively average through this beasts sight. She can hear only the sound of Wyrm's soft breathing and the quiet lull of the Desert, but suddenly she is running, as are the other beasts around her.
Without second thought, she reaches out to Wyrm, pulling him in sharing what she is seeing just as she has done a hundred times with Illum. Out of seemingly nowhere, another monster appears, one with terrifying teeth and a whip like tail. In a blur of colors and confusion, the creature whose vision she has stolen tumbles, falling beneath a flurry of teeth and claws. The gaping jaws and spray of blood and flesh are the last things she (they) see before she withdraws with a sharp gasp.
Abruptly the Desert is once again filling her sight. It is always disorienting, to be transported so, but she is used to it. Wyrm is not.
In seconds she has regained her equilibrium (she has seen worse, so much worse), and with a wicked grin, she takes the opportunity she has been given. In a mere heartbeat, standing there where she was just a moment ago invisible, is that same beast with the wicked jaws full of teeth, mottled brown skin on a strange, upright body, and that long tail whipping back and forth in agitation. Or at least, so it would appear to her erstwhile companion.
Heartfire
i filled up my senses with thoughts from the ghosts
Something started happening to Qatar awhile ago; everyone he came in contact with left him with a distinct feeling that seemed to come out of nowhere. There he was, minding his own business, either content or sulking, or experiencing some other emotion that is tantamount to a spoiled, disabled young Prince - and then he’s experiencing glimpses of events that have never happened to him. He’s never tried to do the reverse (imprint his own memories on others, or more), but he’s gotten better at shutting out the experiences he doesn’t want to see.
Alek is concerned, even if he never lets on. The caracal freaked the fuck out the first time Qatar was overwhelmed by someone’s emotional well-being. Apparently the black and silver stallion let the images bleed over - or rather, as the cat described it - projected what he was seeing. Alek thought it might be real, at first, but then it flickered, much like a static television image. In and out in a matter of half a minute or so, but the images were startling.
Yael tried to explain what was happening to her son, but because he couldn’t fully describe the extent of his newfound ‘powers,’ she couldn’t give him a full answer. Empathic echoes, she called it, and even she didn’t know how much he could do, as she’d never played with that sort of thing before.
So out into the Desert the young stallion goes, followed closely by Alek (because let’s face it, the two are rather inseparable, and this image thing affects him too), who for once, offers nothing but support. He’d found the gigantic bones, touched them, and reached for that moment of death - just to see if he could. What he’d seen, the creature that had once born that form, was more than he could ever imagine. His words were inadequate when he’d tried to describe it to Alek, but his awe had been enough for the cat.
They lingered around the bones, letting Qatar test the extent of his abilities on something that wouldn’t change, and wouldn’t eventually overwhelm him with fresh emotions. There was a small oasis nearby (yes, even this far out), where they could sleep and Alek could hunt. His bonded was the first to alert the prince to visitors, and they watched from afar as the duo approached, shifted, and then touched the bones. They are en route to intercept them after the colt shifts, but cat-horse pair are still out of earshot and several dunes away when the filly dives into the deep end. He cannot hear the colt’s words about overthrowing kingdoms, or whatever else they’ve talked about. Perhaps that’s for the best.
Qatar draws close, his own sort of echo of Vanquish and Yael, melding the King and his consort into one, almost literally. His coat has his mother’s sheen, while he is almost his father’s size. Heartfire might recognize him, but the other one wouldn’t. He can feel her fright? Awe? Surprise? And sees a flicker of the beast’s death again. Ah, so she is similar, in a way? Perhaps. Perhaps not. But she knows. Alek moves forward, preceding his bonded as the stallion’s voice. They both see the reptilian creature the filly creates, and Q speaks silently to his friend.
That’s it. That’s what I saw. Tell her, please.
Alek takes a seat, and addresses the filly, first. “You can see it, too.” It’s a statement, not a question. “Interesting. Qatar here,” he jerks his head towards the stallion, “can do something like that as well. I don’t fully understand his power, but he seems to.” He tilts his head up to look at his friend, and he bobs his head. He turns a dark brown eye towards the colt, and the wind seems to whisper, wolves do not concern themselves with the opinions of sheep.
The only question now is who are the wolves, and who are the sheep?
AND ABANDON, THAT GREETS YOU IN THE NIGHT WITH SNAKE EYES, THE MOST PRECIOUS KIND.
The bait does not attract the fish, but the seed is sown. He’s lost track of her in the tense moment, unwilling to go through the trouble of small-scale shifting just to find her again. It’s her hovering voice that has head pivoting, focus returning once more to the artifacts cemented in the ravine wall as the echo of her word bounces through the barren gully. Wyrm chooses against a reply, countering with the knowledge that too much salt spoils the soup. Besides, talk of overthrowing kingdoms was best planted carefully. The wind carries away his thoughts, beating against his tanned fur without providing relief from the heat while the silence stretches out between them.
He’s moments from calling out to her when he’s dragged between realms. Shifting his mind from the reality around him to the memory she’s currently in is like being mid-loop on a rollercoaster. The sensation of traveling too fast coupled with the force of gravity against the body causes his stomach to drop, and Wyrm tastes metal on his tongue. When the scene has settled (too fast for him to catch his bearings) a creature like nothing he’s ever seen before stalks before him, so high that he has to crane his neck for his head to tilt upward. It is the last thing he sees - stained rows of teeth, slitted nostrils and small, predator eyes - that sticks with him as the monstrosity of an animal descends to feed on them.
Her gasp has the other world disappearing and Wyrm can feel a physical tug as he’s drug back to the Deserts. The dry air fills his nose once more and he rises onto all four feet, head jerking towards the earth as his stomach heaves. He refuses to retch but his lips peel back over large incisors, tongue curling with the effort of the motion until the nauseating sensation has passed. “Never do that again without warning me first.” He growls, breathing deeply before plopping lazily onto the bronze sand. It’s only when Qatar enters that he raises his head, eyeing the smaller cat and the dark horse curiously as the caracal speaks. Wyrm assumes that by “it” the creature means the incredibly horrifying animal they’d both witnessed. So the two shared similar traits then? Interesting.
His original companion chooses to play her little disappearing act, causing Wyrm to wrinkle his nose in boredom - until a shadow looms over his resting form and the beast from long ago is now somehow standing mere feet from him, lizard tail disturbing the Desert floor. He can’t help himself because even now, when he feels the sharp knife of surprise in his breast at the suddenness of it, he still gazes upward with admiration. This was what he’d come here for, to see it, to know the old ones, to attempt to emulate them. The young lion rises, a deep-seated rumble cracking in his throat as he spreads his legs and begins the new shift. The first time was always the trickiest - getting the texture of the skin, the size and structure just right. His brown fur rips like fabric being hand-torn, thick, scaled skin taking its place as he multiplies in size and snaps his bones to regrow them in another direction.
A minute ticks by painfully, and then another follows and Wyrm is blinking through small eyes as he shifts his massive weight. Once gone, now reborn, he faces the forged reproduction Heartfire has created in his mind and releases a bloodcurdling roar.
It is truly unfortunate that her visions affect only eyes and not the other senses. It is a limitation that she had not actually considered before now, but one that frustrates her all the same. Especially as her beast, crafted by only air and dust, stares down one made of true flesh and blood.
In a fashion so very her she had not considered the consequences of her actions prior to playing her small prank.
Her furious musings are disrupted however, when a voice sounds nearby. She had been so focused upon her creation (and consequently upon Wyrm) that she had not noticed the odd duo approaching. She recognizes the young stallion and the cat, not from actual acquaintance but from sight. Certainly she has seen them around the Desert enough through various pairs of eyes, including her own.
What intrigues her is not the presence of cat and horse, but of the caracal’s observation. The stallion at least, it seems, is familiar with the beast she had crafted from long dead memories. Before she can get a response out either way however, Wyrm lets loose a bellow that could well shake the clouds from the sky had there been any.
Flinching backwards, Heartfire presses her ears to her skull in exasperated agitation as her eyes turn to glare at the massive beast facing off with her own. In a fit of pique, she directs her own (sadly insubstantial, even if it does not appear so) beast to shake its self roughly, head stretching forward as it lowers itself in a crouch as though prepared to launch itself at its opponent.
She wonders then what Wyrm will do. Will he accept the challenge?
Either way, she does not want to be in the middle of that scuffle. Leaping from the crevice, she trots over to the black and silver stallion and settles comfortably next to him, as though they have known each other for ages.
”Qatar, is it?” she says, looking at him with curiosity in her gaze. ”I’m Heartfire. And that monstrosity is Wyrm.” Leaning closer, her gaze turns rather wicked as she whispers in a more confidential tone (though no doubt still clearly audible to the once green colt) ”Think I can get them to fight?”
Heartfire
i filled up my senses with thoughts from the ghosts
not a word was spoken, the church bells all were broken
The pair watch silently (well, Q is always silent, but that can’t be helped. Alek has a big enough mouth for the both of them), two pairs of eyes narrowing when Wyrm copies the image of the ferocious beast. Q’s are in slight concern, wondering if having an non-Desert dweller who can do that is prudent. Alek’s are more in awe than anything else, but he is easily impressed by magic and the various powers that seem to lay heavy in the very air they breathe. Yael, Kratos, Volaire… they all fascinate the feline in a way that Qatar (though he does have a power) never will. And now this other fellow, Wyrm, catches his attention too.
The prince won’t summon his watchdog of a mother for two reasons: the first because the situation hasn’t turned dangerous, even though it has the potential to, and second, because this is his adventure, and he’s a grown ass man now. Right? Right. He (ahem - himself and Heartfire, assuming she’s on his side) could handle whatever this Chamberling could throw at them if it came to that. As he watches, the black-and-silver stallion wonders if his emotional manipulation could stand a chance with their physical types of manipulation. He could do nothing to change the tides of the sea or the color of one’s coat; but perhaps he could persuade someone to walk happily into the ocean, or cause them to blush with embarassment or grow green with envy.
Q indicates his support of Heartfire’s endeavor with a bob of his head, and then asks Alek to continue to speak for him. Tell her I might be able to help, make Wyrm angry enough to attack the beast. Alek’s mouth turns upward in a sly grin and leans conspiratorially over to the girl. “Do what you can, and Q will try to anger him.”
He’s never tried it before, but he had the idea that if he can receive others emotions (the admiration rippling off Wyrm in the face of the giant lizard, and Heartfire’s curiosity) he might be able to project them. Q thinks of a time when he was irate, when something had gone wrong in the Princeling’s privileged life and then he thinks of what could be worse than that - the death of Eli or Ima or Abba. It’s a small smoldering, but eventually he works himself up into a such a state that he becomes agitated and cannot hold still. All that emotion is then directed at Wyrm - and all without a single word.
He doesn’t know if it will work, but that’s what they’re all here to find out, right? What they can and cannot do.
Wyrm remembers first blood. Like his father before him he’d taken initiation in the form of a wolf. Navy blue, like the night sky just before dawn broke, with white specks intermittently flecked from the tip of his nose to the tip of his tail, trailing over his spine like a strange constellation. It had been like some sick joke - Lupei leading the way as a black beast on four legs with his son behind him, trodding over the dark lands until eventually they’d reached the beach. One way or another, Lupei had told him, horses came here to die. His father’s first had been on the shadowy shores and so would Wyrm’s. But even then, just like now, the green shifter knew he would become something so beyond what Lupei had ever expected. With the elder wolf watching, the younger had dutifully chosen his path and he had never, ever looked back.
What he remembers most is the feeling that Qatar sends over him in waves now. Anger, laced with hate, slowly churning into a blind rage that consumes him until he sees red at the edge of his distorted vision. All of his life he’d been intent on focus, control, having the upper hand. All of that, forgotten in a moment’s worth of concentration on Qatar’s part. He doesn’t think when his massive body shoots forward, doesn’t think when his teeth snap over empty air instead of crunching into leathery skin and feeling the satisfying rip of flesh. All he can think of is how (for once) he’s feeling something so bitterly sharp that it drives him nearly mad - and since he cannot satisfy that feeling with instant death, in a blind rage he twists his massive body and shrinks until he’s a smaller, more adept version of his previous self.
Longer legs, a narrower skull, and large, wickedly curved spurs on the inside of each three-toed foot. His wide mouth splits open to reveal rows of serrated teeth and a high-pitched chirp cackles from his throat. He’s turned from Heartfire’s illusion to the living, breathing replicator herself, intelligent eyes zeroing in on the young black stallion and his spotted counterpart mare. But Qatar is no idiot, and Heartfire doesn’t seem in favor of dying today, so the feeling is gone almost as quickly as it had begun and Wyrm blinks, reeling from the whiplash of emotion.
In an instant, the ancient beast is gone and only a weedling, emerald green colt remains. It’s amazing what the truth is when all the false forms are stripped away. Wyrm’s eyes rise to meet the other two, a sideways grin breaking out over his jaw. “I suppose I’m satisfied.” He tells them, finding the statement to be oddly true. His curious gaze passes between the silent boy and the blue-eyed girl, thinking again of what the trio could accomplish. “If you ever need more practice, or perhaps even a favor, come looking for me in the North. I have my eye on settling in the Gates.” He finishes, slowing his breathing. His lower legs coil beneath him and he hops suddenly into the air, morphing into an odd-looking falcon before shooting over their heads and out across the expanse of the now half-catalogued Desert.
