"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 fire had returned. It had slipped through the forest unnoticed, quiet and calculating. It had arrived without grandeur or fanfare this time. There had been no obvious signs of its arrival, no obvious signs it had ever left in the first place.
Fire is often like that- here and gone in the blink of an instant.
But he was back, Flamevein, the fire of the Valley. The son of the feared Carnage. A product of magic generations old, through first his sire and then his grandfather Cancer. Magic coursed through his veins and somewhere along the way met gasoline, creating fire. No, he could not bring the heavens crashing to earth, or turn the tides of the ocean. But he could burn the whole damn world to the ground if the spirit ever struck him to do so. He had long since figured bones and flesh would be the easiest of it all to burn.
He slid through the trees like a ghost. This land was by now familiar to him, or perhaps it had always been so and he was just now realizing it. After all, this kingdom was surely his birth right in some fashion. While he may not be fit for a throne (yet) he was essentially spat from the loins of this kingdom. The trees swayed to a gentle breeze and he pushed his head upwards and into it. Despite his earlier intentions to slip in unnoticed, it simply wasn’t his style. Always the ringmaster, never the bystander. A wicked smile laced otherwise handsome lips, and the path around him came to life. Or death, depending on how one were to view his actions. The briars and the thorns blazed and he swore he heard them begging for their life. Rabbits darted from their now deadly cover, surely cursing his name and the very day he was born. Less fucks he could not give. So with the night alive with the sights and sounds of fire, he was content. Content to wait for someone to come hurrying to see the commotion, or not, he couldn’t care less. But it would be horribly irresponsible of him to leave such a mess unattended.
Spring in the Valley...it was the ex prince's favorite time of year. Everyone was beginning to wake up from their frozen winter states, new life emerging. He knew this time of year brought more young blood to the kingdom, making the kingdom grow stronger. The buckskin boy was on his way to the field on this warm quiet afternoon. He felt at ease, the sound of the Valley pines swaying softly in the warm breezes that flowed through the Valley. Though his mind was still troubled. It was not that long ago it seemed that his father, Oxytocin, was on the throne. He was so sure that when his father left the throne that it would have been his....he sinks into the dark pool of his thoughts..imagining what would have been. But not now, not yet. His time would surely come. He was a born a Valley prince, there is still some chance for him yet being as young as he is. He shakes himself to reality, remnants of dust from his morning roll poofed off of him like small clouds. He continues along the treeline, nothing peculiar or new could be traced. Soon enough the breeze carries a new scent from the trees, Davorin stops, his head and ears erect. His nostrils flared, taking in the scent. I don't know this smell...it is not of the Valley... he thinks to himself as he takes a few bouncing steps forward, letting out a few roars.
Out of his periferal vision he can see a black form moving quietly through the trees, his naive bravery gets the best of him and he struts forward, puffing himself up like an old war horse. His eyes gleaming with curiosity as he approaches the black horse in the shadow of the pines. His voice is calm, yet somewhat diplomatic, "You there, yes, you. What is your name? What brings you to the Valley?" his lips curl into a satisfied smile. He does not give his name or previous title yet though. This is his first time greeting someone at the border, his first task as an adult in this kingdom. It had been so long since he was able to branch off and start pulling his own weight in the kingdom, especially now that his family is no longer in rule. He waits patiently, looking curiously at the black stallion before him. He had never seen him before, though there was something "Valley-esque" about him. But Davorin could not tell what made him seem that way. Maybe it was his quiet slinking through the trees. Aside from that, Dav knew no more. He wondered where he was coming from, what his business was here. Maybe he was an old Valley horse from the days before his birth. He could be anyone. Davorin may not seem like it, but he was the prince of this kingdom not too long ago, though he does have that little hint of authority in his voice and mannerisms. His mother made sure he was raised to not only be a prince, but also act like a proper one as well. Though now it was practically all a lost cause for his mother. He was glad she was not around to see his title be stripped.
some say the world will end in fire, some say in ice
from what I’ve tasted of desire, I’ll hold with those who favor fire - R. Frost
He was no prince, at least not in the literal sense. He’d not been born with the proverbial silver spoon hanging from his mouth nor a dainty golden crown perched upon his head. There had been no perks or treats or lavish life. No dotting mother or adoring father. No, he was a son of the dark God. A dark God pulled from the stars in a moment of ill-thought prayers. True, he may not have been born a prince, but he was born so much more.
He was born with an insatiable hunger for power in all things. From the moment he learned he could control fire he had set his sights higher than a crown. A crown is only useful in the kingdom that provides it; he wanted the entire world. He wanted to see fear in others eyes when he told them his name, to see them shiver and quake and beg for his mercy. So very un-prince like. Mostly, he wanted things to burn.
The buckskins approach does not go unnoticed, though Flamevein barely glances up from the fire he’s created along the border paths. It crackles and jumps, reflecting in his eyes. The flickering markings across his back match time with the live flames, and he is no longer a mundane black. The queer nebula blaze on his face marks him a son of the dark God, first and foremost. Blue eyes stand against a black canvass, staring easily through tangled masses of black forelock. But the markings on his back, they tell the true tale. Even without him obviously throwing his talent about, they give a warning- “Don’t fuck with me.” Whether anyone heeded that warning, well, that would be their own downfall. The young stallion speaks, an air of entitlement clinging to his words. The pyro does not answer immediately, nor does he feel he has to. This kingdom is as much his as it is anyones. But he considers, and regards the buckskin with a tilt of his head. “Flamevein.” he said simply, turning away from the stallion and back to his creation. It seemed to be running out of fuel, so with a toss of his head he brought the fire back to life, allowing it to raise higher until the very bottom leaves of the trees fluttered dramatically in the spirals of heat. “Nothing brings me here. I’ve been here, I live here. I’ve just been…sight seeing, as it were. And doing a little redecorating.” he said, smiling a smile that failed to go past his lips. So he waited on the other, the fire at his back crackling merrily as he, its master, pushed it ever higher.
Purple haze all in my brain, lately things don't seem the same,
The bumbling bi-colored mare made her way into the Valley, not really sure of where she was or how she'd gotten there. Perhaps she'd been pulled here by someone or something other than herself, or maybe she'd fallen down a rabbit hole. Even she didn't know for sure, though one look into her hazed over purple eyes lead one to believe she didn't know much of anything. Though she was a big mare, it looked as if nobody were home in her head at all.
Large feathered hooves plod placidly along, head and rump swaying in time to their rhythm. She would have blended perfectly with the shadows were it not for the irregular splashes of a spectacular violet along her black hide, the markings usually reserved to white colorations had turned out purple on this girl. Her mane and tail were streaked with haphazard dashes of the same color, her appearance something odd and vaguely beautiful. The smell of fire tickled her nose and she stops before bumping into two young men talking, turning her head this way and that to peer at the duo with eyes at half mast, a slow smile spreading across her lips. Her words came out in a hazy drawl, her vocabulary a throwback to some far off time.
Hey dudes. Rad fire you have there, I'm Heliotrope. Who're you?
She waits patiently for their answers, her body moving side to side in time to a beat only she could hear, purple eyes brightening as they watch the beautiful flames of the fire crawl higher and higher.
actin' funny but I don't know why, 'scuse me while I kiss the sky.
