"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
07-03-2017, 06:34 PM (This post was last modified: 07-03-2017, 08:06 PM by Longclaw.)
Don't be afraid when the night wolves cry, feast on their bones, suck the marrow dry.
He leaves because he can. Deimos is his teacher, not the whip master - that much was obvious by the lack of a metal collar around his own neck. To dance with the tongue and learn with the mind is one thing, (and a thing that the silver wolf is becoming adept at) but to wallow like a baseborn creature beneath the thumb of a magician is never his intention. Longclaw leaves because he wants to give Deimos no reason at all for turning that devil’s eye upon him.
As a wolf, the shifter can cover more ground. Theoretically he could simply combust - turn himself into a comet of flame and use the intense heat to rocket himself across the sky like some hellish blue star, trailing destruction in his wake as he flew. Thank goodness for theoretics that Longclaw is neither showy nor in the mood for total chaos. Not yet at least. He can use his fire as he sees fit, it bows to his command without ever protesting, but he wants so much more than that. He wants this darkness to consume him, to rebirth him into something more terrible than he ever could have imagined.
Naturally, he goes where the fire burns hottest in Beqanna.
At the edge of the field where his claws dig sharply into fine, sugar-brown sand, he peers out over the expanse of the channel and listens to the lull of the incoming tide. His inky nose tips skyward, silver-white head shaking once with force enough to have the motion travel through his body. The undulating shift of skin slackens, stretches, thins out and then molds anew while he rises upwards to horse again. With a flick of his navy tail the transformation becomes complete and Longclaw the shimmering stallion is now standing patiently where his wolf counterpart once waited. Every day that he slipped skins the action came smoother, less troubled, but he would never attain the ease of body changing like his father. That skill was unsettling to watch.
A gray hoof of his stretches forward, followed by another, and then another as he edges into the water. The freezing current tugs against him, soothes his muscles and draws him further with tender caresses until he’s chest-deep into the tide. His blue mouth lowers, lips opening to breath a tender flame above the water where it sparks, dances, and flits away. The creature's seafoam gaze follows the tiny thing until it disappears from view and for a moment, it would seem that nothing of importance had ever happened.
On the opposite shore, though, the tiny flame touches the sand of Tephra and bursts upwards - expanding in all directions until it unfolds in the shape of a phoenix. There the firebird will wait, hovering with blistering wingbeats right above the sealine until someone or something is tempted to investigate. Longclaw uses the animal as a calling card, if you will, in order to keep from ingressing on territory. A clever device with purpose that will wind down once more into the little tendril of fire it came from to lead an envoy across the waters where he waits.
07-07-2017, 08:07 AM (This post was last modified: 07-07-2017, 08:07 AM by Warrick.)
The air is thick and heavy, the stagnant heat still simmering pungently despite the hazy dusk that has begun to settle over the shoreline. The volcano rumbles in the distance, its black plume pouring more ash, sulfur, and heat into the atmosphere, groaning as fresh rivulets of lava teem down its sides, the orange glow pulsing and writhing in its movement. As the day wanes and the sun begins to set on the western sea, its golden rays of light illuminating the waves as they froth and churn, pounding into the shoreline incessantly in a rhythmical dance. Tephra’s waves are rougher and more violent than the calm shores of Ischia, crudely throwing themselves against sharp corals and protruding craggy ledges. The waves slice themselves on the large rocks that linger out past the calmer waters of the shallows, spraying salt and brine high into the air with every roll against them.
The soft navy color of his muscular legs holds him upright at the sea’s thrashing shallows, the water dark and foreboding as night begins to creep in. His mane and tail are crisp with the briny texture of the air, twisting around his auburn face and scraping gently against the skin of his neck and haunches. His bright blue eyes watch as the sun disappears, the indigo of the night sky beginning to spread across the broad expanse of Tephra’s atmosphere. The wind ruffles the great cobalt wings that are protectively tucked at his sides, their shade brilliant against the rust color of his shoulders and flank. Stars begin to alight in the winter’s sky, the constellations forming ever so slowly before him. Though winter is rampant through all of Beqanna, covering the world with snow and ice, his home remains unchanging and warm. The blue-bay stallion watches quietly as the stars show themselves, their placement and position in the sky letting him know that it is technically winter in Tephra.
Something very much the color of a comet steals his gaze away from his star-gazing. With a sharp snort of surprise, he turns his head slowly to watch curiously as it speeds across the surface of the ocean, the bones in his wings flexing involuntarily to stretch outwards as the surprise shows through his entire body. He has seen many comets in his lifetime, though rare as they may be, but it is curious that one is so close and had been drawn in by gravity. Warrick tilts his head, knowing that there must be some type of magic to cause the comet to land here, on the darkening shoreline.
He begins to take a few steps towards it as soon as it lands, but stops and throws his head up with a startled neigh as the blue orb flashes and twists, pulling itself upwards and glowing brighter and bigger, growing feathers and shaping itself into something completely different. With a decisive flick of his tail, he continues down the beach, his head low with curiosity and also wariness. His eyes rove the darkness around the flaming phoenix, which he realizes now is definitely not a comet, wondering who was conjuring the glowing beast and where they could be.
Don't be afraid when the night wolves cry, feast on their bones, suck the marrow dry.
No, not far at all. Warrick’s discovery is all that the fire wielder had needed and as he waits while the tide rises to slip over his back, the phoenix hovering on the other shore shrinks once more to the tiny tendril of flame it came from and flits back across the water to where Longclaw sways. “To swim, or …” He thinks, pondering over his abilities to determine the quickest method of travel from point A to point B. Time is pressing, someone is waiting, so he summons a great inferno beneath him and rises, boiling, to the surface of the water on an oblong, flattened slide of blue-white fire. Longclaw laughs at the sheer intensity of the heat, it’s incredible virility and willingness to bow to his thoughts, and surfs quickly enough above the frothing whitecaps of the sea until the other shore rises as a silhouette against the speckled night sky.
Buffeted dry by the wind and short of breath from his ride the shifter banks against the sand and stumbles awkwardly for a few steps before stopping completely under the bay’s wide eyes. His dancing blaze, devoid of purpose now, shrinks once more to the telltale wisp of flickering light and darts in an arc to levitate above them. In the eerie blue light it casts, the two stallions become wraith-like.
“I wasn’t sure if it would work!” The younger one exhales, a rare chuckle slipping past his ghostly lips. Their shadows sway together and the briny wind whips mane and tail alike, though Claw’s flame remains constant as ever. “My name is Longclaw, son of Wyrm and Heartfire in Nerine, twin to Rapture, and -” He breathes, chest swelling while his face drains of short-spent joy and hardens into youthful resolve, “- I intend to join Tephra, if you’ll have me.”
Warrick watches the phoenix-shaped flame carefully, it’s brilliant blue color reflecting intensely in the irises of his equally blue eyes. The bird does not suddenly diminish, as if weakening, but turns and allows itself to be carved away by some unknown force, gracefully twisting back into the tiny wisp of flame it once was, almost enchanting as it sways in its transformation. The blue-bay stallion curiously reaches his muzzle towards the delicate blue blaze, his wings ruffling uncertainly at his withers as he curiously reaches forward. It is then gone in a single breath, disappearing from his eyesight and leaving him shrouded in the darkness that had befallen the shoreline, the sun completely gone and replaced with a thick and black expanse of twinkling stars and a lazily hanging crescent moon.
He is not alone for long.
Quickly and nearly without any time wasted, a stallion appears on the shore, his hooves reaching the sand with a bit of a stumble. The phoenix now hovers boldly above them, like a second moon, basking them in a luminous yet haunting blue glow. The younger stallion’s voice is that of excitement and surprise, breathless from his endeavor across the sea with a wide grin set on the pearlescent blue of his lips. Warrick snorts softly, his brows rising with more curiosity. His eyes shift past the stranger to look out over the waves that churn behind them, before turning his gaze back towards the bright blue stallion. He has already offered Warrick his name as well as a short lineage, though Warrick knows little of names throughout Beqanna, he nods in understanding. He recognizes the kingdom of Nerine, and soon Longclaw has finished his winded introduction and surely is staring hopefully at the winged bay that stands a bit dumbfounded before him.
It does not take long for Warrick’s initial thoughtful and wary disposition to give way to a gentle smile, quickly collecting himself so that he may return the favor.
“I’m Warrick,” he offers, his voice low and deep on the crisp and salty air of nightfall. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Longclaw.” Warrick’s eyes flicker upwards to the pulsing glow of the bird that hangs over them, remaining in its place easily despite the strong winds of the sea. “You’re brave to have crossed the sea with something you weren’t sure would work,” he muses to Longclaw with a slight chuckle, before returning his gaze to the younger stallion.
After a few moments, he speaks again. “Why leave Nerine? What do you hope to achieve from venturing here, and joining the ranks of Tephra?”
Don't be afraid when the night wolves cry, feast on their bones, suck the marrow dry.
“Brave,” He agrees quietly as Warrick poses his question, “or reckless, depending on interpretation.” The steadfast youth shrugs. Longclaw needn’t turn his eyes above them to see what Warrick envisions, he can feel the fire within. Like a puppeteer, or a budding artist, what forms from the flame is a direct result of his intentions. He could sculpt whenever inspiration struck and never fear losing the grip over his tools; it was the nature of the cursed gift after all. The only limitations he has are the ones he’s set for himself. That, and the ones nature imposes. “Though I wouldn’t have known success, if I never tried in the first place.”
The quip rouses a shadowy grin on Longclaw’s mouth, ethereal beneath the warm glow. His gaze is wandering of its own accord now, bypassing the spectrish outline of his companion’s dark wings and rolling over silhouetted vegetation to rest finally on the great volcano Tephra housed. Against the blue-black sky she was still alive, gurgling molten rock and spitting angry bursts of red-orange sparks. It made the very soil beneath him feel alive. “I guess the same could be said about my prospective achievments here.” He breathes, finally attaching the semblance of an answer to Warrick’s still-waiting question.
The shifter’s attention flicks casually back to his peer, that suggestive grin widening into a full-fledged smirk. “We both won’t know until I give it a try.”
Warrick is curious (because he always is) and at the same time rather trusting of those he only had just met, almost to a fault. Though with the recent events that has sprouted through Hyaline and which now stood abreast in the stoic, silent kingdom of Tephra, the blue-pointed bay has begun to hold a slight ambiguity when it came to strangers, more apt to question their intentions instead of just allowing them into the volcanic land, even with him as a guide.
The bay stallion ruffles the downy feathers at his sides beneath the sultry glow of Longclaw’s creation, the eerie blue wavering like ripples of water across his auburn skin as he shifts his weight beneath it. The pearlescent blue stallion’s response causes Warrick to raise a brow in amusement, a sort of huff leaving his cobalt lips in a quiet chuckle, barely heard over the constant roll of frothing waves against the darkened shoreline. “Whether it be bravery or recklessness, it brought you here.”
The brilliant blue gaze of the bay does not follow Longclaw’s as he peers behind him, the pulsing glow of the volcano reflecting orange in the younger stallion’s eyes. The smell of sulfur and brimstone is heavier here on this side of the beach, where the volcano stands closer and ever-present, like a god casting a shadow over his creation. It seems to rumble and pound with its own heartbeat and breath, spilling out magma and acrid smoke with every exhale. It is a sight that inspires awe in newcomers, though Warrick has yet to forget that the volcano exists, so eloquently, at Tephra’s epicenter.
Longclaw is young and confident, characteristics equally shown by his way of getting to Tephra. Not necessarily bad characteristics; they were actually endearing and made Warrick decide (despite him trying to be more decisive and wary of strangers) that he rather likes the blue stallion that stands before him. Longclaw’s gaze slithers back to Warrick, the charismatic grin on his face infectious as the bay stallion cannot help but to do the same.
“I’ve never been one to take risks, such as yourself,” he responds with a slight rise in his brow, lifting his chin ever so slightly. “Nor am I the one to decide your staying here – but based on his conversation, I have no doubt that the King will take an interest in you.”
Don't be afraid when the night wolves cry, feast on their bones, suck the marrow dry.
“When he does,” The young stallion tells Warrick, confident in the manner that youth always tend to be,“It’ll be for good reason.”
There’s no need for worry, even though the seeds of mistrust are still sewn. Strangers (especially with powers like his own) weren’t always going to be a welcome commodity, Longclaw was aware. His grandsire had used this curse of a gift to burn the entire Jungle down, bringing her and her matriarch to its knees until a magician could come to save them, and though that time may have been forgotten here in the new Beqanna, the memory still lingered with some. Wyrm had indulged as much as possible about the fiery trait his son now housed, but even he was unaware of its true limitations.
Claw had begun to reason that the gift shaped itself to the user, and then consumed from there. The original bearer had been an unknown - someone Lupei had killed on the beach long ago (what he had used it for, the shifter would never guess.) His wolf ancestor had used it for destruction and the gift had drank it up, turned it to madness, and infected every cell in the old scags body with it. For Longclaw, the effect was different. Its outcome, too, he presumed would be different. The only indicator would be time - and he was wasting that time by standing here, telling Warrick pretty words without much action to back them up.
“However,” The boy pipes up, aligning his thoughts to a new purpose while his hovering phoenix extinguishes itself, leaving the two of them now truly bathed in starlight, “Until that time I’m going to assume, of course by your friendly manner, that I can travel inside of these borders without speculation?” His lithe smile twitches, lids blinking slowly as his eyes adjust to the new darkness around them. “I have to be on my way again, Warrick.” He chuckles lowly, “Lots of people to impress these days.”
The navy of Warrick’s feathered wings ruffle quietly together as the strong sea breeze blows against him, his salty forelock and mane scratching against the auburn of his muscular neck. He extends his wings ever so slightly, stretching the lithe bone outwards and then folding them back into his sides. Big words with big promise, Warrick muses to himself as his eyes watch Longclaw curiously. He doubts the younger stallion is trying to impress the blue-pointed bay with his words, but the pride in his words were not unnoticed. Warrick flicks his tail against his haunch idly, listening intently.
The eerie blue glow vanishes, the familiar starlight draping around Warrick’s features and dipping into the hollows and slopes of his muscled shoulders and legs.
“I’d accompany you, but I have a feeling this is something you’d rather do on your own,” he says quite simply, tilting his head a few degrees as he continues to survey him. “Find Offspring. Chances are he’s already found you.”
Without any hesitation, Warrick extends his wings fully, their large span stretching outwards from his sides with a gentle rush of wind. He glances one last time at the blue stallion before him, a tiny smile twitching at the edges of his lips, before a single gust of his powerful wings lifts him up from the ground and into the sky. With only a few broad strokes, he has seemingly disappeared into the never-ending darkness of the ocean’s night sky.
Of course, he will never be as far away as he appears to be.
![[Image: sScEgld.png]](http://i.imgur.com/sScEgld.png)
