"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
Anyone looking for members of the Chamber over the last few years would not have found him, because he did not wish for it. He had taken his time, rebuilding his strength, feeding off of the energies in this evergreen forest. He has not bothered to keep up with crowns changing hands, or the names of anyone that may pass by his hiding spots, but as winter begins to threaten to change to spring, Abrus finds himself in the midst of an awakening.
His curiosity about Beqanna has waxed as well, inspiring him to move out from the depths of the soil and untangle himself from the pine roots that had cocooned him so peacefully along with the remnants of other, less fortunate animals from recent and years long since passed. But instead of the roots burrowing into his bones for the nourishing marrow, he had tapped into them and fed himself from their energies and allowed the life of Beqanna’s forests to seep into his blood.
Did that make him an official resident?
It is late in the afternoon when he emerges. A white-eyed raven watches patiently as the roots roll the earth aside, wooden tendrils pushing at soil and flesh to propel him upwards out of the false-grave he had made for himself. Roots snap as he takes a few tentative steps, some of them falling back into the earth that he carefully weaves back together, while others curl around his body still - wrapping around his legs and chest.
He instantly misses the weight of his antlers and so crafts himself a pair made of bare branches. The raven abandons its perch for this more favoured one - and the pair of them feel the sense of right that washes over them once black talons are gripped tight on antlers once more.
Both of their eyes begin to glow white as Abrus shares his companion’s sight, and the pair turn their heads - wondering what creatures they may be able to wander across today.
05-15-2024, 01:16 PM (This post was last modified: 05-15-2024, 01:16 PM by Frostreaver.)
Coming back to life after so many years moldering in the icy regions of my own personal purgatory is not so easy as some make it out to be. The magicians in particular, my father among them, make life after death look so simple.
When Niklas had first appeared on the horizon, I'd thought myself succumbing to the hallucinations again. That somehow I'd regressed in my mastery of the afterlife and would once again be hunted and harried by the intangible things of my worst fears. Stark black against an endless landscape of cold and white, plodding steadily toward me, at first I had fled. But he had just kept coming and when I realized no other nightmares pressed on my consciousness as they had before, attacking me in ravenous packs, I'd finally turned to face whatever was coming. And waited. And waited. Throughout our journey home I'd quickly come to know that within my brother is a bottomless well of patience and rarely is he in any hurry. It's the reason why I am alone now.
Home smells different, this kingdom I once ruled alongside my heart. But, it is still home. Familiar paths are long since grown over, or gone altogether as magic shaped and changed Beqanna, but soon I am racing along the unfamiliar ones, a stark white blur against the dark of the forest. When Niklas had first brought me back topside, the world had seemed too bright, too loud. For what seemed like eons I had plodded through my hell, a flat, unending, blank ... nothing. No one, no other. I'd learned to suppress my breathing because in there, even that was too loud. No longer. I now thrill in the small things in life with the exuberance that only someone who has experienced the loss of them can. A fallen tree lies across the path up ahead and I gather myself to jump it, snowflakes swirling in my wake as I momentarily leave the earth. A few errant branches grasp at my wings, catching harmlessly on their leathery surface before sliding off and I am over and past, skidding around a corner and straight into a forest mage, his eyes unnaturally white.
I back-beat my wings hard, hooves scrambling over the half-frozen ground to put distance in between us. I don't apologize, mainly because my lungs still heave with the efforts of my run and partially because I'm habitually defiant for no real reason except I can be, and instead take in the duo with a few calculating glances. Perhaps it is the measured way that he carries himself or perhaps it is my familiarity with magicians, most of them equal parts powerful and capricious, but I do not feel as if I'm in immediate danger and relax somewhat. I shake out my mane, the snowflakes gathered there falling to collect with the remnants of winter on the ground. It had been cold there - I hated the cold, you see - and the snowflakes are just one of of the things I'd brought back with me. "Apologies," I finally say, still breathing hard but only just, tilting my head in the crow's direction. I can't be sure, especially knowing Niklas can change his eyes at will and often carries around the same eerie, white orbs, but I think it's best to address them both. Shuffling my wings to a more comfortable position, I glance around as if he might be waiting just there in the shadows. "Any chance you've seen Set?"
Niklas had tried to explain to me how much time had passed but in there I'd had no concept of it and out here he had come and gone from Beqanna, never staying long. So, I know it's unlikely anyone knows of my reclusive father anymore but my legs are tired and my mind needs the pause to catch up.
Abrus had seen her coming, had seen the collision coming, but in the manner of someone who is so sure of himself he made no effort to move to get out of the way. A magical tether keeps the raven safe and secure during the meeting and he anchors himself a little so he does not stumble with the weight of her either. More for his pride than anything, and he does not consider this a fault. He watches through his companion’s eyes as she moves backwards, her large bat-like wings beating against the air and stirring both mane and feathers.
They seem to regard each other, for a time, and he wonders what she may have been running from - or to - when she eventually apologies and asks after someone. Abrus could have immediately replied to let this snowflake-clustered mare that he did not know anyone by the name of Set. He could have sent her on her way with her search, encouraging her to move on and find whoever it was that Set was - or someone who at least recognized the name.
He could have also sought to find Set, through a little magical intervention, but he does none of these things.
The stallion and the raven both tilt their heads in unison, regarding her with their matching white-glow eyes, but it is the stallion alone who asks “How important is Set to you?” And he speaks it as if there was information of them hiding within their shared minds, as if all it would take was the right payment to unearth it. He knows so little of the inhabitants of his mind, playing a simple game would be a good way to learn how their minds worked. The fish-mare he had first met when he arrived did not seem to be in possession of a mind at all - he would be delighted to learn if others did not have the same deficiency.
I wait for an answer with an air of expectation I had not lost even in death, glancing from the white-glow of the raven's eyes to the stallion's and back again. They tilt their heads in unison in a decidedly eerie manner and I raise my wings slightly, taking a few more steps back to put some distance between us. I had recognized him as a magician almost immediately, the aura of power hard to miss - especially here in what is clearly his element - and every magician I know is as unpredictable as they are powerful.
How important is he to me? I snort, caught off-guard by the question. I hate it when my questions are answered with more questions. My ears find themselves buried in the icy knots of my mane and I don't bother to hide my scowl. Once, Set had everything. A doting father, my sun rose and fell on him and I competed fiercely for his attentions with my many siblings. Now ... my frown deepens. I'm not even sure why I am looking for him. I'd not questioned Niklas when we'd started back this way and when my impatience with his slow, methodical pace had grown to great to ignore and I'd pushed ahead, well, I had not thought to question my destination. Sure, I owe my father something for sending my brother after me, for showing me not only how to come back but that I could come back but ...
I grind my teeth together, annoyed by the train of thought he's nudged me down, and shift my weight. "Why is it you sort are always answering questions with more questions?" Tail lashing my hocks, I move a few steps again, restless.
By now my breathing has evened out and I spare the raven another look, suspicious. It would not be the first time that he took the form of some creature in order to cause someone some grief. I curl my lips, teeth clacking against one another in a quick action before I look back to the stallion. "He's important enough." My equally-cryptic reply is accompanied by a shrug of my wings. He speaks as if he indeed knows where Set is, but I'm wary to entangle myself.
The raven releases a noise that might be a chuckle at her snort and scowl and the uneasy restlessness with which she moves and Abrus’ features twitch into a quick flash of a grin as well. Just as he had suspected, discovering someone with a brain in this land did present him with a flush of delight. It was enjoyable to affect others, even in annoyance, and he further enjoys those who display their reactions openly so that he can read them easily even with his borrowed sight, or without sight altogether. Her shuffling hooves and wings give her away, even if the visual signs of her simmering weren’t there.
“I wasn’t aware I was part of a group prone to doing so.” Did she mean other magicians? Or just stallions in general? He finds he is uncomfortably disappointed by being reduced to either of such mundane groupings, though he cannot fault her for that. The secrets to him are not so openly on display - much the same as this frost-adorned mare on the hunt for someone.
Still, she speaks again and her cryptic answer entertains the white eyed pair, though this time they do not let that show. Instead, Abrus just shakes his head in false disappointment. It is a small movement, careful and mindful of the large bird perched in those branching, wooden antlers. “What a tragedy, though I do not know this Set - if you were most certain of his importance I could help. A particular quirk of my gifts, needing strong bonds as a catalyst.”
The lie slithers from his mouth in a smooth, teasing manner. The antlered stallion and his companion remain still, watching for a reaction - curious about what it will be. He has his suspicions but keeps them close to his chest, content to allow her to peel apart her own layers instead of attempting to preemptively do so for her.
