"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
It is night – there is nothing but quiet littering the air. Silence blanketing the dark world of Beqanna, a heavy and tangible thing. There was war on the horizon – and it was none too surprising to anyone inhabiting the land. Beqanna had been restless – there were slight disturbances, the small attack on the Gates a year ago, the turmoil Eight and Evrae had wrecked upon each kingdom. But now, there was something deeper, something denser lying in wait underneath it all.
Eight cloaked himself in a thick film of invisibility, his magic rifling through his blood and bone and skin to render him unnoticeable – such was the need when war was at hand. His body shifts from the dimension of the Valley, into the land of the Chamber without a sound or sight. And there, he waits. Straia. Killdare too, if you care. His mind leaks out, tendrils reaching into the minds of the two. War was coming, and it was time to prepare.
As he waited, he stretched the blanket of invisibility farther out – preparing to blanket the ground where Straia (and perhaps Killdare) would stand. One can be none too careful when it came to the game of war.
Once they arrive, his mind stretches to them once more - War has been waiting for quite some time now – with no action. The longer we wait, the stronger they may grow. Gallows and Fennick have disappeared momentarily – but I’m wondering when your time to strike will come. It seems we are all just lying in wait.
∞
I assumed, for faster threading sake - that they came when he asked for them
no matter what we breed we still are made of greed
As night settles, the Chamber falls into silence. As dark and thick as is rumored to favor their hearts, their monsters. Killdare paces the borders, as he is known to do time and time again. He has done so since his life began here it seems, likely he will continue to do so until he can longer find strength to walk or fly.
Everything is still this evening. Too still, too quiet. The Chamber Colonel waits on baited breath for whatever has dulled the monsters in their dark home. It seems to him they have all grown dormant, hibernating in whatever realms they flee too. War rouses them not, for still they slumber in the deep recesses of the pine forest. What they wait for? He doesn't begin to know.
What he does know, is the unease at which the ravens seem to bend. Their movements at unrest, before they begin to caw and cackle against the veil. A few dive around his head, in return he jabs at them with his wings. Shooing them, wondering what the hell has upset their tiny little brains. "Bug off the lot of you!" He barks, sounding just as gruff as a cantankerous old man.
His shouts are only greeted with words, a snaking tendril of thought invading his mind. Straia. Killdare too, if you care.
He can't say he knows the voice, never once having heard its dulcet tones. He can't say he enjoys them either, as coaxing as it may be. He shakes his earthy head, locks of black splaying across has face as he snorts. Killdare's never been overly fond of magicians. He isn't sure that time has changed that opinion at all either. Instead of moving his legs, he moves his head, he flares his nostrils. Prying for a scent on the air, one that is foreign, the one that doesn't coincide with the rest.
The night is entirely lacking, of course, he thinks.
Instead of disregarding the invasion he moves forward, scraping along the pines as he goes. He's never been overly quiet this one and in his home he doesn't find the need to try. A tickle finally reaches him, pawing at his hide like the tingling sensation when circulation returns. Painful at first, an irritation but one that leads to the source of the commotion.
Here he finds himself in the presence of the voice, in the presence of the blackish bay magician that sent it. One that speaks of War, of timing and who will push the first domino. He waits though, he waits for Straia as he knows he should. If the bay could do anything right, he could serve- this he knows. In the meantime he seeks answers to questions of his own.
"Don't think I've had the pleasure." Which can only mean, who are you? A flick of his tail as he observes the man through glassy green eyes.
This was, of course, the question. She had gone to the Valley in hopes of formulating a plan and therefore, an attack. Instead she had gotten little at all, besides mock’s from Warship. Useful, yes, but they needed a plan. They needed to move. Gallows might be ready for a fight, but Fennick was slightly more reserved. She understands why, of course, because they’d be facing most of Beqanna as their enemy. The odds were not, as it turns out, in their favor.
Not that it would stop her. But she couldn’t move without the Valley at her side. The Chamber alone stood no chance. And so she waits, impatiently, while their enemies prepare. It’s a fools move, but she doesn’t know if she has a choice.
And then, an old friend finds his way to her home. She grins at the sound of his voice in her head. Well well. They’d always be on the same team, wouldn’t they? At least when it mattered.
She moves through the pine forest with ease until she finds him. Killdare is already there, and she’s please that she’s made the right decision for her Lord. The Chamber would need someone steady one of these day, and Killdare was nothing if not steady. Steady and loyal and still the best recruit she ever found lurking in the field.
“Eight, Killdare” she says, coming to a stop in the small group. He gets right to the point, and she doesn’t mind. No use wasting more time then they already have. “When I know for certain the Valley is coming with us. I didn’t get much out of your rulers when I came. We can’t attack alone.” She may be willing to plunge Beqanna into war, but she is not willing to destroy the Chamber. She will do the best she can for a home that longs to send the world into chaos.
“Besides, we do need a plan. We’ll be facing all of Beqanna, or nearly. The Tundra may or may not come, but they hardly matter anyway. How can we slow the rest of Beqanna down?”
straia
the raven queen of the chamber
Use of mild power playing is allowed; no injuries without permission
