"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
Fog seeps from the mountains and with it came the stalking form of the Chamber’s panther-guardian. Perhaps it was boredom that drove him down from his home amongst the trees, perhaps it was just an odd desire to talk to the new faces he had seen littering the kingdom. It did not matter much. Atrox had reached an age, one he had long forgotten, where he simply no longer cared about explaining his actions or his intent. He simply did as he pleased; usually, that was what he thought was best for the kingdom—although she was apt to give him rest from time to time. Not that he ever expected that quiet to last.
So it is with laziness born from arrogance that he walks amongst the shadows, skirting along the side of the center of the kingdom where several of its members mulled about. He did not have much of an opinion of them, although he was not against hair-trigger judgments, but he certainly had one about the raven-Queen who now sat on the throne. He had watched her come into her own over the last few years, but there was always a part of him that would view her as the smart-ass kid with the sharp tongue.
He was glad to have seen her step forward to claim the crown.
He knew she loved the Chamber. That is all he cared about.
Yawning, the panther steps forward into where moonlight spills like wine over the Chamber’s ground and cocks his feline head to the side, listening to his own pulse beating steadily there. Years ago, it had been disconcerting to be so separated from it, but now it felt as natural as if his heart still lay buried in his chest. The Chamber had demanded, and he gave; he had always given. In wars and raids and silence, he had given everything to the kingdom. Perhaps it was foolish, but he had always blindly loved her.
But tonight was not the time for him to reminisce of wars fought and blood shed (although he could feel himself growing excited at the memory of the metallic tang on his tongue); tonight was not for that at all. Taking a deep breath, he feels the air that smelled faintly of pine seep into his lungs and he smiles, the sharp edge of his feline-teeth glinting in the midnight air.
08-16-2015, 09:04 AM (This post was last modified: 08-17-2015, 11:37 AM by Killdare.)
I WILL ALWAYS FIND YOU
The Chamber of late, had been a circus of smells. The disquieted melody pulled at Killdare’s nostrils with an astounding demand to be ‘heard’. In a sense, if smells could be heard, and perhaps for Killdare each scent could be. The stillness of their borders was interrupted by steady streams of those past acquainted, those that had returned to Her call, because they could not resist.
Vapors rolled down from the mountains today, coiling around the healed, pine totems of the Chamber. The bay Colonel stalked the haze, as he stalked the borders every day, an earthy, watchful mass. He pressed into the lichen, bister-toned limbs striking prints into the forest floor, feathers gathering the stray needles as he passed. Another new smell met him, one that would under normal circumstances, put a horse on edge. It was the clawing stench of cat, big cat, jungle cat. There was something though that soothed what would be the stags taught muscles, the on guard tightening of his chassis. It wasn’t exactly a cat, it was a cat that, though smelled of all things feline, couldn’t hide the base note of equine. Through the moonlight he wove from the trees, the blue light casting a glowing sheen to the panther’s coat. Killdare watched the animal with curious sea-glass green eyes, his ears turning between his coarse ebon forelock to catch the gentle padding footfalls.
”Do cats always look so nostalgic?” He inquired plainly, listening to the gentle thrum of a heart in the backdrop.
In some ways, she still is smart-ass kid with the smart tongue. She doesn’t play diplomat to those who come calling unless it suits her needs. Those that waste her time are perfectly aware of her thoughts, and she doesn’t particularly mind them going home with a sour taste in their mouth. She had been more cautious, more diplomatic, when the Chamber had been empty and weak. But now, she didn’t worry about offending the Falls or the Gates. She played a bit nicer with the Amazons and the Deserts, at least.
But in many ways, she is nothing of the child she once was. Her childhood shaped her, certainly. Her father’s lack of attention taught her that she didn’t need it. His lack of love taught her the world didn’t revolve around love either. She learned from him how to serve the Chamber without help from others. And she learned from him as well how to separate personal and “for the Chamber”, something he never did manage to do. She learned from others what effect her words were likely to have, and even when her speech seems careless, she is thoughtful about it. Carelessness is an art, after all.
But she has grown into a Queen. She is no longer the petulant child he once knew. But for old times sake, she simply can’t help herself. She is, after all, still a bit mischievous. She slinks out of the shadows as the ravens caw overhead. Cat! Cat! Black cat! One of them is learning more descriptions, apparently. Black cat is quite impressive for them. The ravens really aren’t fond of cats, as it turns out. Even panthers.
But Straia is. He’s sitting in the moonlight, illuminated by the full moons glow. Killdare is already there, asking if cats are always so nostalgic. She laughs, giving herself away. Though she’s sure both of them already know she’s not far behind. “Panther man,” she says, flicking her tail slightly as she comes to join the group, nodding to Killdare. “He’s rather old, you see, and has much to be nostalgic about. Such as his heart. It’s been a long time since it’s been in his chest. It’s also been a rather long time since he’s been seen lurking around here.” Except of course by the ravens. But she’s here to give him at least a slightly hard time.
The Colonel does not have a name, but that does not mean Atrox has not watched him around the kingdom from his vantage point on the mountain. He walks up and Atrox cannot stop the low, rumbling laugh that pours from his throat—turning his large head toward him. “Not nostalgic,” he growls as his lips pull back from the glinting sharpness of his teeth. “Just hungry.” A half-truth. He was indeed hungry, but he had never quite found the stomach for horse flesh. Bloodshed, however, was another thing entirely.
Of course, his fun does not last, it never does, as the Raven-Queen approaches the groups. He sighs dramatically as she positions herself near the duo, “Just can’t leave me alone, can you?” With a discontented grunt, he rolls his shoulders and shifts seamlessly back into his black equine form, shaking out the thick mass of his mane. “I was about ready to have dinner,” he whined at her, his yellow eyes glinting mischievously behind his tangled forelock. His sharp gaze cuts toward the stallion, “No offense, of course. I am sure that you are intelligent, strong, valuable, etc. etc. but when you’re hungry, you’re hungry.”
He rolls his eyes. “I am not that old,” which was of course a lie. His body was littered with scars from lives lived and deaths reversed. One of his favorites was a subtle one above his breast; he liked to imagine it was from the Chamber dipping her greedy hands into his chest. Not that he could be sure. More than likely it was one of many he had earned in the heat of battle.
“Have you been counting the days since you last saw me lurking, love? How touching.” He did not feel much like defending himself—his absence or otherwise—and did not attempt to. Instead, he lifts his shoulders in a casual shrug, his arrogance rolling off of him in waves. Finally, he turns back to the original stallion to approach him and he eyes him for a second before giving his name like a bullet. “Atrox.” One corner of his scarred lips lift into a haughty smile. “My name is Atrox.”
He is not surprised when Straia casually emerges into the little meadow, their Queen always seemed to be everywhere all at once. A faint tingling scent began to claw at his nostrils, following the splish-splashed canvas of Her Majesty, a thickness of bird and pine to emerge on top. It was a decent way to mellow out the scent of cat-piss, and he didn’t object to the otherwise obtrusive way it filled his airways. Everything came with a price, almost to include this little meet and greet, almost.
His ears flick forward as the blackened beast lets rip a growling laugh in his direction, funny was he? He’ll take it. Watching idly as the furry lips lift up and apart, exposing an impressive set of gleaming teeth. Killdare doesn’t express the perhaps desired reaction, but he can appreciate and note the felines destructive, physical qualities. Viridian eyes pull towards the Queen again as she too laughs and speaks. He was so very watchful of those who had something to say, attentive maybe. Irritating, likely.
To the panther’s first quip, he nods his dial,”Tu che.” The bay shifts his weight, relaxing a foreleg as their conversation continues on to the ruler. It was interesting to see Straia poke fun at others, to have her pinch of amusement. Her wit tugs at the panther-stallions age, and he expresses his own enjoyment with a half smirk. It’s not simply said and done until there is a little fanfare now is it? And Colonel so- and-so isn’t disappointed when the stranger (not too unfamiliar though, mind you) obliges, growing, changing, expanding into a scar riddled black stallion. The sight accentuated by the name that leaves his Queens fuzzy maw, Atrox.
The next jab receives equal fondness.“The grand circle of life, I could only hope not to sit well and be less nourishing on the way out.” He plays, not one to shrink from the game. In truth he held a solid sense of respect for the man, though he had never met him. He had for the last few years taken solace in the steady thump, thump, thump of his heart that quickened beneath his feet. Atrox, I am Atrox a sharp blast to the eardrum.
Not that he hadn’t believed Straia but it just wasn’t the same uttered by another, the solidity of the name balling like a fist in his mind. ”Oh it is a pleasure I’d say, meal or not” ebon forelock twisting as he tosses his head. My how he had come to love this place,”Killdare.” Simply, surely, because he was no one else.
She hardly ruined any fun, but she grins at him anyway with that gleam in her eye like that is exactly what she had done. She knows the Atrox is highly unlikely to eat any of the horses loyal to the Chamber (she doesn’t know if he has eaten horses in the past or not, on that she can’t comment). But she knows that the stallion is loyal to the Chamber, even if he lurks out of sight more often than not. He seemed to come back when the bulk of the work had already been done, but truthfully, she doesn’t care. If the Chamber decides to make a move, she’ll take whatever help those loyal to the kingdom wants to offer.
“You know I can’t,” she says in response to his quip, though sarcasm laces her words and the glimmer in her eye. In truth, she has always liked Atrox in some strange way. He was a pain in the ass, but then again, so was she. They had their own sort of rapport at this point, mostly full of pissing the other one off. But still.
Killdare is calm, and Atrox’s comment roll off the stallion without a flinch. Not that she’s surprised by this. Killdare has always been rather level headed and composed, which she liked. There were plenty of hot headed, blood-thirsty horses running about the Chamber, and while she liked them too, she needed a few slightly more well balanced ones to keep the peace around here. Otherwise the Chamber might be covered in blood.
“I have been counting. I keep wondering how many more days you can live old man,” she adds. He may claim not to be that old, but he’s older than Warship, and Warship was pretty damn old. She’d consider the panther to be basically ancient. Not that relics didn’t have their use. “To what do we owe the pleasure of your company Atrox?”
He had respect for anyone who loved the Chamber; it was about as far as his respect was willing to go. He had seen a lot in the decades (okay, centuries) that he had lived, and he knew that true loyalty was not something to treat lightly. There was plenty of those who would pledge empty promises and be gone when it actually came time to press their nose to the grind. He had seen those frail, pathetic Chamberlings before, and he knew that they were a dime a dozen.
But true loyalty? That was something to be prized.
So he looks at the two with an appraising eye before he just grunts. “Pleasure to meet you, Killdare,” he says with just enough sarcasm in his voice. “Perhaps it is for the best that I did not make you tonight’s meal.” He would decide later just how much he actually believed that, but for now, he turns his yellow gaze to Straia. “You would be surprised at my resilience, little girl. Plenty have tried to end my life.” Tried and failed—or succeeded to have him surmount death later.
If he had known her thoughts, he may have laughed at her thinking he was always gone during the bulk of the work, although he wouldn’t have been angry—he simply would have seen it as an error of youth. He had given his life to the Chamber’s work; he had recruited and battled and stolen and guarded borders and made visits to surrounding kingdoms and herds alike. What she saw as laziness, he saw as well-earned rest. Not that he wouldn't gladly put his back into years more of work. He was always up for it.
“Now, now, Straia, can’t a guy just want to spend some time with you?” he grins through sharpened teeth, rolling his scarred shoulders. “The hermit life was beginning to bore me,” he finally confesses, flicking his tail harshly against his haunches, irritated at the restlessness in his veins. “So I thought it was time for me to grace you with my presence again.”
![[Image: atrox.png]](https://i.postimg.cc/XBppy9VY/atrox.png)
