"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
Her request is met with a surprising amount of agreement. The faeries are not necessarily the most agreeable creatures, but then again, Pangea had never been theirs. No, Pangea was an abomination, a reminder that even the faeries are limited and cannot control everything. There are no true gods, at least not in this world, for there are always powers that can contend with another.
Straia returns from the mountain, a raven flying above her with the pinecone held gently in one taloned foot. She can feel the magic of the pinecone and it is clear what the Ice Fairy wants her to do. Though the fairy’s words were few, there was a deeply rooted understanding that passed between them. Straia does not know if it is the magic of Beqanna that tells her or unspoken directions from the fairy. In the end, it doesn't really matter though, for she knows what needs to be done.
Once she descends from the Mountain, taking the slow way down to ensure that she is being respectful, Straia disappears, appearing again in the middle of Pangea. The raven lands, the pine cone still in its foot. Using a familiar magic, one the Chamber had given her long ago, Straia rips out a piece of her heart, tucking it into the pinecone itself. It is not Atrox’s heart, buried beneath the dirt, but it is something. If ever her heart belonged to anything or anyone, it is the Chamber. It would always be the Chamber.
Straia takes a step back and the raven bursts into flame. The pine cone burns and before long it is not just the pinecone that burns but Pangea, the tiny little pinecone now a raging inferno. The fire will not burn the equines that call this land home, but it will purify the land. So many see destruction in fire, but Straia does not. She has never seen destruction in fire.
Around her she can see the Chamber forming, the pine forest of her youth appearing inside the flames, the small knoll in the center of the kingdom where she’d called meetings so many times. She can feel the magic at work, and she responds, directing just a bit what the fairy had given her. Straia calls to the river that winds through Pangea and roots it in place. She holds fast to the cliff face that bears Ghaul’s memorial, and the mountains of the Chamber take on some of the yellow and red coloring of Pangea’s canyons.
Slowly, the fire dies. Straia stands in the center of the territory, on the knoll that is so familiar to her, the pine forests around her misty with smoke that has not yet cleared. She is home. Home, home home. The word beats like the soft thudding of her heart, burned into the earth along with the pinecone. She has no idea if such a thing will last, but still, it is satisfying and comforting to feel the familiar pulse of life beneath her feet.
The Chamber lives.
She calls to her people then, inviting them to come if they wish. Her plans had never been a secret, but she had never asked their permission either. Though she knows Ana had dreamed of bringing the Chamber back, and her support might be enough. Or perhaps the Pangean’s would not care. In the end, this was only the beginning. She did not know exactly what else they ought to change, only that they could change it. She knew that they could remake Beqanna as they wanted, and she has always dreamed far too large.
”I have spoken of remaking Beqanna,” she says, broadcasting to her voice to all who wish to hear her. ”This is but the beginning. Tell me what changes you would like to see in Beqanna, and together, we shall make this world better for all.”
****
If you want to bug Straia, please feel free, but this isn’t a mandatory meeting (open to horses from other kingdoms….it would be pretty easy to spot a giant kingdom-wide fire). She welcomes help, thoughts, suggestions, etc. etc.
Beyza does not cry as she sees her home engulfed in flames. Though she does grieve, instead of sadness she feels a white-hot rage boil inside of her. At first, she does not know the source and assumes an attack but then the fire dies and she hears the voice of their mysterious leader, Straia. So is this landscape an echo from the Beqanna of old? Of course Beyza doesn’t know what this place is, she’s a child of the new lands, but it enrages her that someone could be so self-centred that they would alter an entire land for their own desires.
If the rest of Pangea was asked about what they thought of this, Beyza missed that meeting. And somehow she doubts they were given anything close to that much consideration.
Sparks sizzle across the white mare’s flanks as she arrives to speak with Straia, electricity arching from her skin as an outward sign of her irritation. She had believed in Ghaul’s vision but this? This feels different. Pangea was home, it was the first place that Beyza had felt as though she belonged, and now on a whim, it has been bastardized. Gone are the cliffs where she had first discovered her magic. She sees glimpses of the places she knows echoed here and there but it is not the same. With a cold certainty, she knows she wants no part in this mad woman’s game or this new land.
And all for what? What could be done in this slightly-more-vegetated land that could not have been done in Pangea?
Her voice having returned a short time ago, she does not hesitate to speak her mind - anger colouring the edges of her usually calm voice. “Do all your plans enjoy destroying homes or is that an honour reserved specifically for us?” Beyza asks in place of a greeting. “What gives you the right to do this to Pangea, to change our home into this... monstrosity?”
hangman hooded, softly swinging; don't close the coffin yet, I'm alive
He is close enough that he sees the flames.
That he smells the smoke.
That he feels the tendrils of what was once his home, what was once his greatest love, reach for him. But it’s not the same, is it? There’s something that twists in him. Something ugly and angry. Something that rejects the poison of this offering, spitting it into the ground with vicious contempt.
Perhaps the sound of his heartbeat is dulled. Perhaps it doesn’t exist at all.
Who is he to know what this faux Chamber brings?
All he knows is that it is a close enough relative to call to him, as it has always called to him. All he knows is that he pads closer to the painted mare with his sharp yellow eyes, his empty chest ringing and echoing with all of the things left unsaid. In this moment he is not the contented panther hunting the Hyaline mountains or the yellow eyed stallion who slept next to the fallen angel at night.
He is once and again King, General, soldier, servant of the Chamber.
He comes flanked by two souls, the reminders of his latest sacrifice to the hold of this very kingdom beneath him, and he pauses outside of the group. For a while, he says nothing. Merely stares at the gathering group and the entity he once knew as a young mare with big ambitions.
When he finally does speak, it’s with a familiar drawl, as if he felt nothing at all.
“How fascinating.”
ATROX | THE PANTHER KING
now be defiant, the lion, give them the fight that will open their eyes
She comes because she should, and perhaps for the promise of a spectacle. Though she is aware of her mother’s plans, Iris has never truly been involved in them. Straia does her own thing, really, occasionally asking her children to check on something or go to the field, but generally letting her two daughters do as they please. And Iris pleases to explore, to hone her traits and gather new pets to play with. She spends little time in the midst of her mother’s schemes for she does not have an interest in such things (not yet, anyway).
Still, it is impossible to ignore the fire that does not burn her. The ghosts scream, some in terror, others in delight. The voices are a constant in her life, never turned off. She can dim them, but she cannot quite seem to master shutting them out all together, though perhaps that is only because she does not want to. They are useful friends to have, after all.
She makes her way through the flames as they die. Straia is not hard to find (she is never hard to find), and there are a few others there already. One is clearly angry and the other betrays no emotion though even Iris can deduce that he is not necessarily pleased. But then again, outside of Straia, would anyone be? Iris, for her part, just honestly doesn’t care. She is too young to have an attachment to any land, and in her short life she has already lived in now three different homes at Straia’s whim.
Though she has heard stories of the Chamber and knows it's important to her mother, she feels no real attachment to it. Nor did she feel any real attachment to Pangea or the Cove. She’d never lived in any one of them long enough to grow connected, as so many seem to. To her, it is a land, a place to come back to, but her home has only ever been her family. ”Does it matter what a place looks like?” she asks the angry white mare, with a childlike innocence that benefits her in this moment. It is partly fake, for Iris has never been innocent, but it is partly real, because she truly doesn’t see that it matters. She doesn’t even ask to defend Straia, because the question implies that what Straia did was unnecessary. No, Iris does not take her mother’s side, but her own, and she just doesn’t quite understand the anger, or even her mother’s unwavering focus to bring this place back. ”I would think that a home is made by those you live with.”
there’s a hole in my chest but it’s mine, baby, it’s all i got.
He watches over his brothers and sisters, as he promised them he would, when the fire erupts across Pangea. Yadigar turns and watches its approach without much further movement. Ghaul had told him that all would face the fire someday, and he supposes their hour has come at last. He hopes it devours him and wipes his existence from the earth. But Sepulcher gives a fearful screech and Virgil presses his shoulder against the eldest brother’s side for reassurance. There will be time to perish later, then.
“Gather the others. It’s time for a family meeting,” he says when he finally turns to Virgil. His golden eyes study the milk-white of Yadigar’s and then he nods, setting off to find the remaining children along with Sepulcher. They each weave between the newly-formed pine trees and collect the siblings they find. The territory warps and bends and changes all around them, but they manage to find their way to the knoll where Straia waits.
Sepulcher is the first to arrive, drooling and gnashing his teeth nervously as he comes to a stop near Beyza. They are not close but she is familiar enough for him to draw comfort from until the others find them. Next is Virgil, his halo gleaming as it turns on its axis. He stands beside his younger brother and croons softly against his shoulder.
Finally, Yadigar emerges from the trees, stoic and silent as he observes. Beyza voices how he imagines many of them must feel. They had all been family, once. They moved as one body and spoke in one resounding voice. That had been their greatest strength against their enemies, he likes to think. He is vaguely aware of the next one to arrive. His words are simple, and dry as a bone.
Iris questions Beyza and Yadigar steps forward to answer.
“The desert forged us in its heat and restored us in its nights. It was the cradle for our ambitions and our hope,” he begins, his tone even and controlled. There is nothing left of him to feel rage or sorrow for his latest loss. “But perhaps we have outgrown our cradle and the time has come for us to fly. My brothers and sisters, you are always with me, just as I am always with you. In the morning, I will migrate to Hyaline. If you choose to remain here, my love for you will not dampen in the slightest.”
He studies each Pangeans’ outline, and he wonders what they will do. Virgil lifts his chin and draws a deep breath.
“I will go,” he says at last, as much as the words pain him. Sepulcher hesitates but gives a curt nod of his head.
“I will.. go..” he rasps, his strange head shifting and clicking around the words.
Yanhua should’ve stayed out of it. He was no magician, no summoner of souls or dabbler in the dark arts, nay. He’d grown up sheltered by the trees-that-touched-the-sky and had never longed for more than that. Small and seemingly harmless, he wasn’t a force to be reckoned with. And yet, he’d defied Straia when she’d come to Nerine all the same. Does that make him brave enough to run with the pack? Or just stupid enough to avoid death by their fangs for his insignificance?
Whatever the reason, it doesn’t prevent him from casting a worried glance at @[Amarine] and their twins before he silently heads out past the borders of his home. They spoke in a language without words; she wanted nothing to do with the Pangeans and he could understand that. His curiosity though… the feeling wouldn’t be satiated with complacency. He had to know what the growing wildfires beyond Hyaline’s mountain meant, and he decided to satiate that curiosity himself rather than wait for it to come around to Taiga again.
Lucky enough he’d been as far south as possible, getting Ama and the twins situated in a place that might suit them for the time being. The light had caught his attention first, forcing the horned stallion out towards the riverbend so that he could watch it grow brighter and cast Hyaline’s majestic peaks into a silhouette. Never in his life would he have guessed that the Pangean’s would do to their own homeland what they’d done to others - he felt overcome by shocked surprise watching it happen. Smoke overtook the sky and blotted out the moon, but he stayed and watched like always. Forever the sentinel of these woods.
Until morning came and he consented to leave. The day was hazy and gray despite the season, and he followed the river as quickly as he could (used to traveling by foot now after so many years of being confined to traveling this way,) south and south some more until the greatest peak of them all - The Mountain of Fey - loomed up before him. Then he took a hard left and crept into Pangea as the fires had begun to die along with the weakened daylight.
The bearded horse was tired, totally spent from his journey and saddled by the uncomfortable feeling of drying, salty skin. He’d been forced to ford the River’s berth in order to make it into the forbidden Kingdom but that had only taken what little reserve of strength he had left. A thousand times over he’d questioned if this was the right thing to do, if he would be wanted here, and a thousand times more he tried not to enjoy the sight of the changed land, but that was almost impossible. How could he not love seeing this place totally overtaken by the pines? How could he not feel a lightness to his step knowing that their homeland, the same one that had kept his own mother captive for over a year, was gone in the fire and flame?
Straia’s call that had once been so disturbing to Yanhua now plants a smile on his long, narrow face. He follows the echo it leaves behind further towards the heart of the kingdom, in time to see a few other horses gathered. One is strikingly familiar but he thinks they probably haven’t crossed paths before, otherwise Yan’s sure he would’ve remembered a creature who radiated anger like that. He closes off his power as best he can in the meantime, feeling a migraine coming on. The others are complete strangers, flanked by magicks Yanhua knows nothing of and avoids by lumbering in a wide circle around them. He keeps to the far edge of the group, silhouetted himself by the weak, false light of his glowing mane and tail. For a moment he waits to hear what Straia will say, (the white mare looks as if she’s expecting an answer to something Yanhua missed entirely) and then when the moment is most opportune, Yanhua from Taiga speaks up.
“You’re consistent at least.” He’ll give Straia that. “And if this is the result of consistency,” Not senseless mayhem and chaos like before, “I’d like to see Taiga effected as well.”
He has thoughts. More than a few. If Straia could make all of this happen in Pangea, then surely Yanhua’s curiosity wasn’t misplaced.
i've got a face of gold, i've got a heart of coal, but baby that's my cross to bear
It isn't often that Draco grieves.
There has been one period of his life where he felt so bereaved he could no longer function, and that feeling has yet to leave. He spends his days plagued by the memory of his mother murdering his brother, often lethargic and too agitated to go much further than the nest his family has made. Dove will fret over him, Sommar will worry, and Demure will make half-jokes about possessing him to get him out of such foul moods; but nothing his immediate family says or does lessens the weight keeping him so low to the ground.
And so, when the fire comes and steals yet another of the few things Draco cares about in this life, ice cold fury rushes through his veins. He is revitalized in his violence, finding new strength where his rage was once white hot.
At first, Draco shied away, ushering Dove toward the border of Pangea in the hopes of at least saving her. His first thought was that Ghaul's day of reckoning had come, that they would all bathe in the fire they deserved; but when they were too slow to outrun the flames and it did not leave them gasping for air, the demon immediately understood some strange magic was at hand. As his home burned to ashes and another sprung up just beneath the gray and black, the ice in his veins solidified. His beating heart stopped.
When Straia calls, Draco doesn't come out of obedience. No, he is far too seething and spoiled to ever be an obedient creature. He rushes to the call because the ice in his body is so, so cold; and for a few breathless moments, he thinks he may be dying. The fear is quickly replaced by rage, so familiar even in its indifference.
There is already a gathering of citizens standing before Straia when Draco arrives. He immediately spots his family: Yadigar flanked by Virgil, Sepulcher, and Asphyxea. To Asphyxea's other side stands Litotes, much to the demon's surprise. He steps closer to his father, coming to a halt closely at his side.
"What is this bull shit?" Draco growls.
"Bull shit," Phyx mutters.
"I came when I saw the flames. What she did to Pangea . . . there's no sense to it," Lie murmurs, burning gemstone eyes setting imaginary fires all over those responsible.
They stand quietly, watching Yadigar as he beckons their family to Hyaline. A stranger appears to insinuate some bargain, but the three of them pay him no mind. Draco has little say other than a few choice curse words muttered under his breath, but Litotes steps forward, feeling protective of the family Straia has stolen from.
"This was a simple, thoughtless action, and doesn't look nearly as impressive as you think it must." There's not anger in his voice, but there is just slightest hint of contempt. He shuffles to stand closer to Beyza, offering what support for her anger that he can.
when all of hell is full, the dead shall walk the earth
The smell of soot and ash reached him long before the light of the fire. The air nearly choked him but still he breathed deeply, relishing in the way the smoke squeezed his lungs and burned his throat. It was a familiar feeling, and one he immediately associated with the Chamber. All of the lands had felt fire at some time or another, but the Chamber was forged in it. The magic of their land had been fire, both in the literal sense and within the heart that beat beneath their feet. They were all children of the flame. Fire was their birthright, and they would use it to right the past wrongs.
He does not wait for the flames to dissipate before making his way to Straia. He steps into them, unafraid, his amber eyes reflecting the flames as they twisted and remade the lands in their own image. They licked against his blue black hide, though he did not feel their heat. This was no regular fire, but one of rebirth. Much like a phoenix rising from the ashes, what sprang forth from this fire was a renewal of the old lands. The wind whipped inside the inferno, while towering pines sprang from the charred ground. Still he walked calmly, though his heart beat a little bit faster in excitement and anticipation. As the world rearranged he heard her call ringing clearly above the din of cracking trees and the grinding of rocks. He responded with a howl, a long and forlorn thing that echoed through the new forest as if it were made for it. Perhaps, they were made for each other.
It did not take him long to find her, but he was not the first. There was a whole contingent gathered, and even above the smoke he can smell their fear and anger. It was a bitter scent, one that caused his lips to peel back from his wicked teeth and a growl to ripple across his tongue. His sire was among the crowd, but Warship felt little surprise. He himself had given many things to the Chamber, but his father had given his entire heart. With a respectful nod he came to rest near him, though his amber-colored eyes swept the others gathered amongst them. As he had known, there are those among them who are angry, and a part of him sympathized. He didn’t know him, and they didn’t know him. They were children of the new lands, and spared little feelings for the relics of the past. But on the other hand, their land was comparatively young, new. This loss surely was not as great as the loss of the old lands. Finally, his eyes found Straia, and he answered her with one simple statement.
11-20-2020, 01:31 PM (This post was last modified: 11-20-2020, 01:56 PM by Aela.)
It had been the blaze glowing over the mountains of Hyaline - far brighter than either she or Skandar could - that stopped their game. The pair had stood as the galaxy-marked colt donned his natural skin and Aela had suddenly turned towards Pangea, swifter than any river in Beqanna could flow and faster than any breeze or gale could gust across the realms. Aela raced and she never looked back to see if her new companion could keep pace with her.
Had Straia and the other Pangeans decided to raze another kingdom? Was there another territory that needed to blaze with Pangea's greatness? No, she thinks and resolved with her self-importance concludes, Straia would have told me.
She runs and runs and until -
The landscape was different. Aela found herself lost in a fog, not unlike Taiga's, and she wandered the eerie landscape. Instead of the canyons and ravines that Pangea was known for, instead of all the places that the wind had loved to howl and Aela learned what actual freedom was, she found herself lost in a forest of pines. She navigated through the faux fog - smoke from the fires - and looked around with disbelieving, blue eyes. What had happened? More importantly, how had this happened?
And Aela - who has never been afraid - is now.
Straia? her thoughts ring out, spanning the bond she shares with the magical mare. She repeats the name, becoming frantic. Had something happened to them? No, she calmed herself with the memories from the Nerinian attack. There was no kingdom as powerful as Pangea. There was no realm that held as many Magicians. And then, then there was Straia. Aela believed the two-toned mare could defeat legions and whole armies without ever exhausting more than a thread of her Magic. The others she knew here - Beyza, Kensley - had to be fine.
They just had to be.
Aela keeps searching until the answer (finally) touches her mind and Aela welcomes it as openly as an embrace. Turning away from the trail of pines that she had been following, Aela ran again with relief in her stride. It doesn't take her long to find the others, massed around a knoll with Straia at the heart of them. She slows to a trot and then finally a brisk walk, eager to reach the horses that have started to group around the Magician. Her gold-tipped ears flick to the side and ahead, backward and then forward again in an attempt to catch the words that pass between them all. Some are angry (she can feel the anger radiating off @[Beyza]) and so that is where Aela draws herself first, wanting to know what has her friend so upset and to help her, if she could.
There are other faces here - many that Aela has never seen before - and she feels a sense of pride that this fire has sparked a reaction in so many. Even if the canyons had been traded for something else - even if Straia had wanted this... misty forest - why did it matter? (But then Aela has never felt love or loyalty for a place; that rare emotion has always been for Kota and Heartfire.) Her slender head moves from speaker to the next, listening, and observing their reactions. Something catches her attention and when Aela sees Skandar coming, the gilded girl smiles in approval.
She gives the boy a quick nod and then moves through the crowd again, trying to get a better vantage point of the Dominus (and where the newly-risen Chamber leader can see her) but abruptly stops when a familiar voice rises over the crowd. A Taigan? Here? Why would a Northerner come to the Eastlands (the logical ones wouldn't and that was one of the many reasons Aela had been thrilled with her new home)? She glances over her shoulder to see if Skandar still follows and she's prepared to ask the boy to take the shape of something ferocious (can he borrow bits and pieces from her memories? Because she is crafting something together made of demons and dragons and aliens, many terrifying - wonderful - things that her young imagination can conjure).
But then the Northerner surprises her. Aela lifts her head and listens as the ram-horned stallion says that he'd like to see these changes brought to Taiga. Surprised, she smiles towards the tall Taigan but waits for @[Straia] to approach before revealing a secret (though the memories of Taiga burning she directs towards @[Yanhua] do not wait for the Dominus). "Truly?" she calls out with a voice that she is still getting acclimated with. But the thought of Taiga on fire - again - is exciting and she lights up with an idea.
This would be a great time for him to try out a different shape, she muses. Pangea just traded its skin for the Chamber and it makes Aela think that Skandar will fit in perfectly.
In the end, the change of scenery bothers the girl little (and that little is for Beyza). Life has always been what Aela has made it, and as always, she intends to make the most of it.
image credit to footybandit
@[Skandar] a gift for you. let me know if i need to change anything
She turns from him and he snarls disappointedly. But it was then that his dark violet eyes draw themselves to the blaze that beckons on the horizon and his indigo ears no longer lay flat against his neck. The near-palomino girl takes off running from him and, for a moment, he watches her retreating form before allowing his gaze to fall to the inferno once again.
In a way that Skandar could not describe, it called to him.
Not even a minute had ticked by before he falls into a full-out run behind her. It is only when the fog begins to entangle them that he realizes she is slowing down - they must be nearing the epicenter. The land is not scorched as he had anticipated; a forest of pine trees surround them, thrumming wildly with magic that Skandar could not place to a source. He then realizes he had slowed down far too much - Aela’s figure is gone within the smoke and mist, somewhere within the shadows. His eyes burn bright red for a few solid moments, scouring the unfamiliar area with a tight-set jaw.
The sound of a crow catches his attention, lifting his burning gaze up into the tall pines. It squawks at him once, twice, and then flies deeper into the forest. The colt snorts sharply before pawing a deep divot into the soot and pine-needle ridden floor as his star-studded skin begins to ripple and peel. The burning red of his eyes diminishes into shining, beady black and when the rest of his body finally settles, his shape is a large crow flying upwards into the canopy.
From the sky, Skandar could easily find the knoll in which the activity thrums. He has half of a mind to perch on a branch and watch from the sidelines as a nameless stranger, but it seems Aela has other ideas. The memories and ideas that trickle into his mind aren’t his own and despite his complete disgust at the intrusion, he smiles inwardly (for can a crow’s obsidian beak smile?) at the chaos that trills excitedly.
The crow’s feathers start to ripple as it soars closer to the group - he spirals over them, inspecting each one that stands below him. He hears their words but does not care for most of them; he is drawn to the vibration of magic and power, hungry and lustful. The black feathers begin to peel back and flap most disturbingly, revealing the indigo and deep orange of his true color within the movement. The bird dives in a sweeping motion out and away, and just when it seems he is about to crash face-first into the ground, Skandar himself comes trotting towards them instead.
He halts a few lengths behind Aela, indifferent but staying close to the one who had led him here in the first place. His galaxy skin still vibrates with adrenaline, rippling excitedly as if in any moment he would become something else. Those around him are enticing - their spiraling horns, the dragons, the dead souls - he nearly fidgets with the thought of taking each of their physical attributes and wearing them. His face - when it falls to the boy with the strange mouth - peels back slightly in the same tri-fold way as if testing the feeling of it, committing it to memory.
Skandar says nothing, but if any of their gazes fall to him, he will not be able to help the burning red that will begin to glow threateningly in his own irises.
![[Image: atrox.png]](https://i.postimg.cc/XBppy9VY/atrox.png)
Iris
