[private] This heart, this barless prison (violence)

[Nymphetamine]

Like a Thorn to the Holy Ones

Time had a way of just moving on, it made no regard for anyone. It didn’t take into account anyone or their affairs. Time just slowly ticked by while leaving some behind. Nymphetamine was one that was left behind. The blood bay tried to move forward, as he worked within Tephra to regain status and standing within the new world order. But with everyone and everything he had grown to love and care for --gone, he just didn’t have it in himself to put the work in to start over. Offspring had tried, giving him position to help lead the diplomats as he rebuilt Tephra from its quiet slumber.  For a time the bay thought it would work, but he fell away, back to the borderlands. The darkness seemed to hold him fast and he a powerless captive to its hold.  


So it wasn’t surprising that the immortal necromancer was shifting through the depths of the forest, escaping the summer heat under the canopy. He had no real purpose, and he simply moved through the trees aimlessly. His body in shadow, as small patches of rust stained coat, flashed in the scant light that fought through the leaves, he allowed the facade to fall. He had held his face so calm and sure, for so long and he was glad to relax… both mentally and physically. His body found a large cherry tree and allowed himself to lean against it.  He had sensed no one around and that seemed as good a place as any to relax. Several slow long breaths came and left his lungs, his barrel expanding and contracting to accommodate the intake of air. If only Nymph felt as calm and at home in the world as he did in the depths of the shadows. Oh how things had changed.    

NYMPHETAMINE

@[Violence] short post... muse is stubborn.

[violence]

violence

She would not have remembered him, except –
Except he was the first with a power that mirrored her own. She remembers the game they’d played, when she was younger, drawing forth corpses and bones. What had come easy to her had been a burden to him, she recalls. It had been an interesting enough meeting, a moment to show off.
She would have kept walking past him, except –
Except he seems changed from the stranger she once met. More downtrodden. If asked, she couldn’t explain it – it was more like a scent. The smell of dejection. Of weakness. She has a knack for sensing these things, finding these broken things who see her as some kind of salvation rather than the monster she is.
(It’s how that boy had been, empty and broken, and he had let in because she made a promise that the hurt would go away. It was not a promise she kept.)

So she slows, stops. She is older now, filled out, a woman in her prime glinting black and terrible in the dappled sunlight that leaks between the branches. She searches her mind for his name, comes up with a fragment of it.
“Nymph,” she says, “you look sad.”
In truth, nothing much about his air speaks particularly of sadness, but something runs deep inside him, a vein of something she wants to tap, wants to explore and exploit. She arranges her face into one of concern, and steps just a bit closer.
Let me in, she thinks, but does not say. Oh, the things I could do to you.

I’d stay the hand of god, but war is on your lips

[Nymphetamine]

Like a Thorn to the Holy Ones

He stood there, as she smirked at him, his steel eyes unyielding. He was tired. Tired of the effort, of seeing everyone he cared for, gone, of trying to make new friendships, tired of having to care. Beqanna seemed so unrecognizable, he didn’t know the lands or those who dwelled. He had done what he must for those who needed him, but that time was gone, he was no longer needed. Tephra was thriving, and Offspring had stepped down. The promise he made Magnus had been kept. There was nothing left for him to do.

The once Chambering missed the ash in the air and drumming of the heart of the time before. He missed Kimber, Magnus, Siberian, and hell--even Warship. And while the sulfuric air or Tephra was ash-laden it wasn’t Chamber… he was never able to make it truly be home. So yes he was sad. A smirk rose and fell from his lips at her frank analysis. ”How astute of you, Violence.” I wasn’t harsh, but there was sarcasm laced in the phrasing as the words fell from his lips. He would always remember her--- there weren’t many with Necromancy around-- and her’s was stronger than his own. She was brilliantly skilled… unbound in comparison to himself. They had held a competition of sorts in the meadow once when she was young. She had pulled bones from all sorts of being and made her own creatures. If he recalled correctly, she had a creation that she kept with her, like a pet on a leash. Anyway, she was memorable-- and he wouldn’t have forgotten her face.

Her face shows concern but he doesn’t know if he trusts it, but she stepped in and he felt her mind on his. He disliked this, he always had-- when he first met Topsail he had been most uncomfortable with her form of communication. But while his ears pinned in displeasure, he didn’t block her out. No, he allowed her to apply the pressure, slowly allowing her the small nook in his mind. How so, Violence? You can’t bring back the past. it was simply a thought, a reply to her digging, her settling into his mind. He didn’t seem to notice her tendrils reaching into his mind. He didn’t think she would take advantage as they were not foes. The trust he openly gave her was definitely uncharacteristic and had a friend been nearby they surely would have intervened.

Anyway, the blood bay stood, slowly being engulfed in a silent conversation, the implications of which would surely change the course of everything. If only he knew… if only he cared.

NYMPHETAMINE

A rose in the rain

@[violence] @[Cassi] after a long interlude... i did a slight timeline adjustment... let me know if I need to change anything

[violence]

violence

They are in the same in their powers, that they are both beset with the ability to make the dead walk. But the similarities end there, for he has lived a life devoted to kings and kingdoms, and she has been devoted only to herself and her whims.
And here – only she is smiling.
She is smiling because the carelessness radiates from him, the weakness, and because she is a hungry, savage thing who feasts upon such weakness.

She is cautious, though, when she creeps at the corners of his mind. This power is nowhere near as honed as her necromancy, an unwilling subject would easily toss her out, punish her for such a violation. It is why she is careful to talk her way in, or otherwise find horses who are so desperate to forget or to change that they let her in, the way a vampire is invited across a threshold.
She feels a sense of something giving, and then she is more fully in his mind, enough to hear his voice, echoing faintly, as if shouted down a long corridor.
You can’t bring back the past, he says.
No, she replies, but I can make you forget. Or…
She hesitates, before speaking again, an even bolder lie.
You know I’m powerful, she says, I could change things for you. Take you back to those days, to the chamber’s beating heart.
She has no such powers, of course, couldn’t even trick his mind into such things if she wanted to. But she is a good liar, an easy one. She has no real concrete plan as she rifles through what scraps of memory he lets her to.

Here, she says, as she lands upon a name, this Offspring. Let me take control, just for now. We’ll go visit him. See if he wants to come with us. It could be glorious again, Nymph. You could be glorious again. Let me show you.

I’d stay the hand of god, but war is on your lips

[Nymphetamine]

Like a Thorn to the Holy Ones

A simple exchange, momentary and fleeting yet it changed everything. Mere minutes ticked slowly by the second, as the conversation switched from vocal to internal in such a fluid natural manor Nymph hardly noticed that the conversation was completely in his own mind. The summer sun beat down on the treetops and flickered in his eyes that seemed so distant, lost in some other space. Her words echoed in the depths of his mind, blending his thoughts with hers, blending past and present, and reality with wishes impossible to deliver. Chamber, Kildare, and a life once lived were dreams unattainable, but Violence had worked her trickery. The once and always Chamberling believed the whispered promises, and the last of the flickering ‘voice of self’ that told him of her fallacy was snuffed out in a wisp of smoke.

She dug into his mind, his memories and took hold of the last bit of kinship the russet stallion had and took full advantage. “Offspring,” she cooed, “Let’s go visit him, it could be glorious again.” The words bounced around filling the stallion with comfort and hope, but it wasn’t really his decision; the suggestion was more like a command. His slender head dipped in approval of the plan. His actions were no longer his own, and no one was the wiser-- save his puppeteer. Would the consequences be his own too? He turned away from the black mare, his lean frame oriented towards Tephra, and the volcano that hid his dear friend. He moved naturally, he didn’t resemble one that was not in control of himself. His mind was a cloud of echoed promises but his eyes showed hope and a brightness that hadn’t been there in recent years. Perhaps it was the hope in his heart that Offspring would want to join him on this journey. They could have their hearts back, those that were lost with the Reckoning.

NYMPHETAMINE

A rose in the rain

just a quick wrap up. Once we get the next thread going, feel free to have violence be around watching her chaos thanks for playing this out with me Cassi!