"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
The ghosts whisper to her, telling her that Pangea has a leader. Sort of, anyway. The thing about having ghosts for spies is that they are mildly unreliable. Their stories vary. Some say there is a leader, some say there is only an aspirant. Some just stay silent, unwilling to be involved in the debate that rages around her in the spirit world. “Regardless,” she finally says cooly, unruffled by their passion for their version of the truth. “The Chamber should not be left to flounder. Thank you. As always, you have been helpful.” The ghosts nearly preen under her simple compliment - they are vain creatures, she has learned, and she needs to do little more than thank them and remind them they still have value even in death. They have long since come to trust her, though she will still occasionally enact their vengeance for them to keep their loyalty.
The day is early and cold. Frost clings to the pine trees, glimmering in the gray sun of winter. It is not a pleasant season to weather in the Chamber, though Iris finds she doesn't mind the chill in the air. Not here, anyway. Her mother’s love for the Chamber was bred into her blood, it would seem, and she finds it easy to forgive any flaws the land might have (if they can be considered flaws at all). Funny, really. She was once a girl who watched her mother destroy Pangea to bring this place back. Iris did not understand then, but she understands now.
Iris makes her way to the burning tree, the area around it clear and flat and perfect for meeting. For meeting, perhaps for fighting, depending on who showed. Her call rings loud and clear, commanding despite her lack of any real authority. Still, she feels like she has some claim to this place given her parentage, though she certainly knows others have more right to it than she. All she can do is hope that they come, and perhaps ask a few ghosts to encourage them in this direction.
When they arrive (or as many as she thinks will come), she begins. “The Chamber is not a land meant to sit idly, though she languished now without a leader. Who would step up to the mantle? Who would prove themselves worthy enough to lead our land to greatness once again?” She had considered simply attempting to take the position for herself, but she is not her mother, and that is not her style. No, she simply wants to see the Chamber grow, and she does not care who wears the crown so long as they are worthy of it.
This is sort of, kind of, a takeover but also not really (but the prefix seemed useful for anyone interested). Iris thinks the Chamber needs a leader and they should figure out who that's going to be.
The moon had been full last night, floating round and bright in the sky. She had been full of messages too, sending them to her Seer in the orb of her reflection. Ruhr watched, entranced, as the reflection of the moon shifted and changed, showing scenes and visions.
One had been of a black mare, deep in conversation with many someones that he supposed were just out of sight beyond the edges of the reflection (though in truth were ghosts, which even in with his Divination he was unable to see). He couldn’t hear her voice, but he had Seen enough silent conversations to recognize it.
So when Ruhr sees her, standing beside the flaming tree, he recognizes her. He had come at the call, having not been grazing far, and is the first to arrive. To be summoned at all had been a surprise, and so intriguing that he’d answered without thinking of the consequences.
Lest she think him someone she can command, he raises his head just a little higher, showing the impressive (for a Stratosian) fifteen hands of his height. Perhaps he is not the tallest in the crowd, but he has the confidence of the Moon behind him. He is glad he had when she begins to speak.
What she has to say surprises him; he’d thought the others he’d seen to be more primitive. But it seems this place has a history. He’d thought it something new, risen from the sea with the magical changes, but perhaps he had been mistaken.
She wants someone worthy to lead this place, she says. Well, he certainly is worthy.
But he’d seen a great crowd bowing down to him, not just the two of them, so rather than say anything himself, he waits to see what others might have to say before speaking up himself.
I CAN’T EXACTLY DESCRIBE HOW I FEEL
BUT IT’S NOT QUITE RIGHT
The Chamber had sunk long before he had come clawing into existence. It had been the caves of Pangea that had seen him struggle to prosper, the caves of Pangea that had protected him from the sun and the leering gazes of its inhabitants. It had been Pangea that he’d fought on behalf of all those years ago. It had been Pangea simply because it had been some approximation of the Chamber. Not because he had known the Chamber, but because his mother had.
This is why he steps into the shadows’ gaping mouth and steps out into that dense forest. It is immediately evident that Pangea had only resembled the Chamber by its moral code, as the two could not be any more opposite.
He drags in a rasping breath as he considers the darkness here, the mist, the terrible misery of it and he grins, pleased.
He knows of his mother’s allegiance to the Chamber the same way Iris knows that Pangea has gained a new leader: the ghosts pass down their stories. His mother had loved the Chamber, just as Iris’s mother had. And he understands that the Chamber demands this of its inhabitants: everything.
Is it a coincidence, then, that he answers the call? That he wanders to that place beside the burning tree and finds her there? His amusement deepens and he glances between her and the only other soul who has come. He recognizes the stallion as a sky-thing, though offers him absolutely no greeting.
It had not occurred to Jamie that he might ascend to the throne, but the idea flits through his head now. Because his mother had ruled her, because his mother had fought and bled for her. Still, the slanted smirk lingers in the furthest corner of his mouth.
“What will be the deciding factor, then?” he asks, tilting that freakish head as he glances between the two of them. “How will you decide who’s worthy?”
Having little reason to move on, Abrus had lingered in the Chamber. This misty, cold forest suited him and he was well recovered from the state he had been in when he had first arrived in Beqanna. Days could be spent simply opening himself up to listen to it all - from the creaking of the pines, to the cycle of the lives of animals thriving and devouring one another.
Another sound calls him out of his study one morning, and it is simple curiosity that draws him forward. He arrives adorned with a large set of antlers today, branching wooden things that - to any keen observer - grow a little more once he is out from the trees. Roots from these antlers coil around his ears and tangle in the top section of his mane - but most significantly, his companion sits among them. Both of their eyes are glowing bright white as he borrows her vision to observe the small group illuminated by the burning tree.
A rather interesting picture.
The mare speaks, explaining the reason for the call - she is seeking a sacrificial volunteer to become a leader.
Abrus has no desire to take the mantle upon himself, but he finds he is interested in being there, in that moment, when the decision is made. Another speaks, and this one has a curious aura around him. Magic had not been common in the world Abrus had originated, but he is learning that it has many forms here in Beqanna. How curious that someone could find their blood sing around bones and death the same way the antlered stallion did with trees and decay.
What a fascinating creature, that freakish thing standing there - and Abrus could not wait to see what other things would crawl out of this delightful forest.
It puts him in a good enough mood to speak up, adding to the long list of questions everyone else has added because it is more entertaining than providing any answers. “Is it to be a contest? Or does someone just need to say the word and the crown is theirs?”
A few come, and while she would be disappointed at the small turnout, she is not surprised. The Chamber is still quiet - it is why they need a leader, why they need someone to bring this land out of its slumber. The first to come is not of their world - a Stratosian, a place she knows almost nothing about. His silence is enough to leave her unimpressed and she pays him little mind except to offer a nod. Then Jamie, and her attention turns to him. She finds herself strangely pleased to see he has decided to lurk in the shadows of her home. She does not have time to reply before another comes, asking a similar question. The ghosts whisper to her of magic, and she notices the way the antlers grow a little taller as he comes to join them.
Iris had not contemplated taking the throne, but as she stands there now before this small turnout, the idea flits through her head, a tantalizing prospect. Is she not already leading them now? Is she not the one driving change, seeking the good of her kingdom? Still, she knows that in terms of strength alone she cannot compare in power to Jamie or this new stallion, but her mother had not had magic when she’d taken the throne either.
“If it were as simple as a word, I think I might have already claimed it for myself,” she says to the new stallion. “And the Chamber can decide for herself, Jamie,” she says, amber eyes turning to him, finally answering his question.
“The Chamber demands two things of her rulers,” she begins, not adding that all of this comes from the tales told to her by both her mother and the ghosts, but all their stories align and so she does not doubt them. The ghosts stand around her now (it is rare they are not around her), slightly behind, trying to stay away from the magician of death who has no respect for them but unwilling to leave her alone. She is grateful for their loyalty. “Strength and a love for this land that runs deep enough to sacrifice anything.” She thinks of Atrox and his heart, of her mother and her life, and of so many that had come before.
“I may not be the strongest in this group,” her eyes flit to Jamie and the new stallion, for she knows what they are, ”but this kingdom runs in my blood and I will bleed for her.” She pauses, letting all that sink in before she finally adds. ”Would anyone else?”
Since we need a ruler by the end of the month we probably don't have time for a real contest or anything, so we'll see how this goes, haha...
Iris
