"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
He knew what he wanted, exactly what he wanted. Knowledge. Skills. Training. The man he'd seen in the meadow had that. Devastation was practically rolling off him in waves. Power sang through his blood. So, naturally he'd sought him out. Gone out in search for him, craving the things he could teach. But would he?
Hello again, he greeted easily. He'd finally found him again. Now he would be able to train. He needed it. Whatever the man wished, it was his. He would do anything to protect his Cerva. To one day be able to do it himself, with his own body, his own skills, was thrilling. It filled him with such purpose he had no mind for anything else until it was done.
I've seen how you carry yourself. You are not afraid of a challenge, or of battle. Your eyes already say that you have won. His big, black eyes held the man evenly. He wasn't praising him, he didn't need it. Nor was he of a mind to flatter for favors. Everything he said was simply fact.
I ask that you pass on your knowledge to me. I wish to be your pupil. Will you do this? Perhaps he was too direct. It was too late to change it now. The dark colt was nearly all black, abnormally large and muscular for one not quite two years. He enjoyed being bigger than the other colts, much bigger. Even standing taller than a few full-grown stallions every so often. He could do this. He was built for it. But would the man be up to the task?
@[Ashley]
ooc: i wasn't sure where to put this so here it is xD (finally) sort of short and sweet because starters are death.
There was such an audacity about this that even the magician was not able to see it coming. That Dovev would approach him so baldly and ask for—no, beg for training was unimaginable to him. He had never wanted something so badly. He had never had to scratch from the bottom to find his way to the top. He had been born of the right place at the right time, and deposited quite handily into Covet’s hand; he had had his mentor and the Jack o lantern King Had his heir-of-sorts. The Dale had flourished in both war and peace, and it was all thanks to a colt being born with a silver spoon in his mouth.
And now that silver spoon had turned to ash, and the dry taste that life had left him was nothing more than an empty stomach and vague dissatisfaction with the sense of entitlement of today’s generation. Born with an interesting trait? You must be destined for greatness. Ashley snorted, tucking his wings in around him in a cloak, and stopped mid-chew. His cud was in his mouth; his jaw working it manically. He heard the boy, his voice quavering with every word he spoke.. the breeze wafting away his words into the wind. Ashley’s hair blew over his amber eyes and he slid his gaze over the small black child, looking for what was in the boy’s heart and mind. He inhaled; and then exhaled again; raised his head and looked level with Dovev.
The breeze picked up to a healthy wind, and Ashley said nothing as he swallowed his mouthful, the wind pulling back his mane to reveal the power and age of his face. He was not a happy man; he was not unhappy either. He then took three steps away from the boy, heading in the direction of the sea, before a bolt of light came from nowhere, burning the flesh on his rump—the shape of an odd looking tree.
11-18-2016, 10:03 PM (This post was last modified: 11-19-2016, 02:23 PM by Dovev.)
A stillness followed his request. A plea, really. A deep desire he refused to let go of until fully realized. The formidable man continued chewing nonchalantly, his hair overshadowing his eyes like a hood of mystery, of power. Dovev couldn't see his eyes, but he could feel them on him, burning into his skin and observing him in silence.
The colt sensed he was taking his measure in some way, weighing him on some unseen scale in his mind. That invisible gaze prickled at his coat. He couldn't help but try to stand a little taller, look a little larger, but he was already at his full height and all the effort really accomplished was stiffen his neck. He held still, waiting. Hoping.
A gentle sweep of air grew to a gust, throwing the man's hood back from his face and revealing the magician beneath. The boy froze in place and held his breath. Something seemed to pass through them as they stared at each other. And then the man began walking away. His heart plummeted, but he forced himself to watch his future leave him.
With a flash, a bolt struck Dovev's rump. He yelped in surprise and danced sideways a little, twisting around to inspect the damage. He could smell seared flesh as it left a mark of what looked to be a tree, glaring out from his dark coat in an angry scar. Such physical pain was new to him, but not entirely unwelcome. He knew he would need to learn to suffer much more of it before their time was done. His skin singed and burned as he worked to teach himself to ignore it.
Then the command came to him. His ears tipped forward, intrigued yet cautious, and he began to follow...stopped. Had he given his name? He dismissed it.
He was branded. He belonged to the magician now. For now. Black eyes grew distant as he gazed off to the side, wondering how long he would have to be away from her. And if she'd still be there when he returned. Would she understand he'd done it for her? Or would she hate him for leaving her like the rest of them. It was a risk he had to take. He'd make it up to her one day if he could.
He resumed his obedient shadowing, pacing forward to the other's hip then matching his gait. Consumed by thoughts, he said nothing. The future, the past. Cerva.
Such a split personality was the magician. Ashley bowed and gave thanks to the All-Mother for his abilities, and yet spurned her with the same breath. That he would take on a protégé was not something he had ever done—nor intended to do, and yet, as his body made its mark against the world, he found himself going in the direction of the plains. If Dovev truly wished to learn this world and the horrors that lay in store for him, he truly had a lot of hard knocks coming his way.
“To the plains with you, boy. If you have a wish for death, I have no qualms of giving you your wishes. A boy wishes to spar with a King. Bootlicker, Dovev. Is that what you are?” He exhaled his irritation with him. There would be much to do in the coming days. He would train him in the mocking grounds, and then take him home to Ischia. The boy’s love would not be permitted to come—but as the question had not yet been asked, it was not worth the time to utter them.
He would spill the boy’s blood, gladly. But he just hoped Dovev knew what he had signed himself up for when he sold himself to the red-headed man.
OOC: Next post will be in the mocking grounds. Go ahead and post there next.
