"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
I've heard there was a secret chord that David played and it pleased the Lord but you don't really care for music do you?
The night was always the darkest right before the dawn.
The sun was beginning to shine through the darkness that had settled on his kingdom since the Chamber had tried to destroy them. They had been viewed as weak and cowardly, and perhaps they had been in the past. But no more- instead of just lighting fire to the Gates’ tree, the Chamber had ignited a fire in the hearts of all of Heavens members. True, his ultimate goal was peace, but he would not turn a blind eye where justice was concerned. He would instead fight for it, if even it meant fighting until his very last breath- he would gladly give it for his kingdom.
Their enthusiasm was contagious, and Mast found himself eager to ride that wave and keep the momentum going. It would not due to fall back into their passive state of complacency, not in this late hour. Now was the time to throw the wheels of the machine in motion and to see justice served while the iron was still hot. The Chamber had been given ample time to return Fiasko and they had not done so, despite the Gates keeping their distance. He preferred that they remained underestimated. While the thought of war was distasteful to the gray king, the thought of justice did not. To the contrary, that made his heart sing and his blood run hot through his veins. It was high time for the Chamber to begin reaping what they had sown. They couldn’t expect to rattle the bars of the cage and not expect the animal within to show its teeth.
He wasted no time in calling them. His voice rang clear through the cold air, shattering the muffled silence of winter. It rang through the trees and against the mountains, urging them all to come forward. The gray king reared and pawed at the sky- in that moment he was wild and reckless, feeding off of their shared emotions and need to see the wrongs righted. Even the forest creatures heard his call, though they stayed at the wood line. Behind him was the Mother Tree and their garden; small and green despite the bite of winter. It seemed, in response to their sudden upswing, it was growing at a more rapid rate. They could only hope to continue her growth. He called once more though with slightly less urgency. He wasn’t the demanding type, but this was of the utmost importance that they show up. There was much to discuss, and he wanted to hear all opinions and thoughts. Despite the proverbial crown on his head, this was not his kingdom alone. It belonged to each and every one of them that called her home, and as such they all had a say in what direction she went. He valued them all greatly and equally, and knew that without them he would be absolutely nothing.
M A S T
* This is a MANDATORY kingdom meeting. If you want your character to remain on the board, please respond, even if its just a small 2 sentence post. If you're away, please let us know so we can mark you as such. Failure to respond may result in a * next to your name, and we don't want that! Love you all!
you and I both know that the house is haunted and you and I both know that the ghost is me
It did not take Magnus long to respond to the King’s call—it never did. His heart thrummed with the sounds of war, his blood singing with it, but he did not indulge it. Instead, he let it slow burn in his veins, feeding off of itself, and he remained passive, the only indication to what he was feeling being the intense burning of his gold-flecked eyes. He moved slowly toward the gathering, the muscles underneath his scarred coat tense and his mouth a grim slash across his face. This was not a pleasant meeting.
He is silent, standing before Mast, watching as the rest of the kingdom approached. He is silent although his blood is screaming for justice, for vengeance, and (if he was being honest with himself) for war. He knew in his heart that he thirsted for it in the same way that other men thirsted for water. It was not one of his more attractive qualities, but he knew the truth of himself. Atrox’s warmongering heart did not manage to pass many of his offspring. It was one of the stronger qualities of the panther-stallion.
“What would have us do?” he finally questions, his voice husky and strong. It was difficult, to back down and accept orders when you had once gave them, but he was a soldier at heart. If taking orders and carrying out the wishes of the monarchy is what was needed of him, he would do it. Of course he would.
FAMILIAR BREATH OF MY OLD LIES CHANGED THE COLOR IN MY EYES
The years have passed by in a blur for Wichita. The little pony-like female had spent most of them populating the Gates. She always seemed to find herself pregnant. She didn't mind all that much, but it came with the most uncomfortable wobbling.
She hears Mast call, breaking the stillness of winter, ringing like crystal against the cold and frost. She takes some time to gather up her brood, counting them as she passed, nudging them forward. There was Tioga, a strong-willed girl, but girl she was no longer. No, not really. Her eldest child was a woman now, solidified by the paling of her coat. She took extra care to gain the young ladies attention, the first of her two deaf children.
Next is Bly. Well, she should be next but the girl had left them. One evening she had disappeared, returning with a cold, lost stare. Her coat rippled in waves of changing colors, but she claimed to not see them.
After that, came the twins. Her most beautiful, fallen stars. Romilly and Guthrie she called them, and they too raised their head at the King's call. They were growing beautifully, far exceeding her own fair appearance.
Last she nudges young Rucker. Her second boy, her second deaf child. He was also comely to look on, with a pitch black coat, a flash of white down his face and up his legs. He was handsome, like his father, and if she could ever be happy about that- it would be for Rucker.
The next child still resides within her, causing her slow amble towards the Kingdom meeting. She arrives winded but good natured, bearing a warm smile for her herd mates. Her chocolate brown eyes rest fondly on Mast, the grey stallion had always been good to them. A sadness rolls over her at the absence of Fiasko. Their Queen should be there, right next to the pale male. "Good news, or bad?" She whispers, almost too low to hear.
I raise my head when my dam runs a whiskered nose across my flank. She smiles kindly at me, though I know I deserve less. I had been harsh with her, with the children that day. The raid had struck a fear in me that I did not know I possessed. I was afraid for my family, for their safety.
She seems to have forgotten. I can not thank her enough for her patience, for her unwavering love. She gestures towards the meeting, and I see others making their way there. I give her a simple nod, but still I wait for her to gather my siblings.
We cross the frosted meadows in a group, a small herd in appearance of my Mother's own making. Sometimes it is a burden to have such a large family, then again sometimes it is nice too. My eyes wander freely, taking in what I can of the day on appearance alone. At first I was upset with the loss of my hearing, as much as I knew that it would eventually leave me. It isn't so bad now though, my youngest brother shares this attribute with me. At least he had nothing to miss, that was a gift I wish I too shared.
I find a spot among the others, Guthrie slides past me, an eagerness to listen even though he talks little. Romilly had once told me it is because he has nothing to share, nothing we Down dwellers would understand. I am bothered less by this since loosing my sense of sound, it mattered little how much anyone spoke.
It is luck that I am tall, I do not have to find a place in front to watch the King's lips. I can see them just fine from where I stand, along with the backs of many of the horses here.
Tioga
Khaos x Wichita
Tioga here as well, though I don't know how often I will get around to posting her. If no one minds can you stick her in the war caste please?
From above, the wicked shall receive their just reward
Kronk knew it was bad to give into the writhing and twisting of his heart. He knew that he should rise above it, that he should be the bigger person.
He also knew that was a bunch of bullshit.
The “bigger person” was usually just the kid with a black eye and sand down his pants. Kronk didn’t want to be the kid the school yard bullies picked on, he didn’t want his kingdom to be either. So it was with a sense of purpose, that Kronk answered Mast’s call. Kronk wished he had better news to bring for his king, unfortunately, all he had were a bunch of “what ifs” and “come back later.”
He did, however, have a thirst for action. That was better than nothing. The orange and white stallion slipped in beside Wichita and sent a small smile her way. She had been responsible for bringing him here, for offering him a place. He wasn’t soon to forget that. But still, there was no time for conversation, no time to ask her about her newest child. Kronk turned his attention to Mast and watched as the other’s gathered.
After a moment Kronk cleared his throat. His goal was not to speak out of turn, but the news from the Falls was burning a whole in his tongue. He wanted to discuss how the should proceed.
“I have news from the Falls, when you are ready to hear it.” Undoubtably, there was a lot they needed to discuss as a kingdom. The Falls were only one small piece of it.
Rucker is happily overwhelmed by his growing family. His big sisters and the twins, they are visual noise and excitement and his blue eyes are always drinking in their movements, interpreting their intent. In this way he is often aware of what they will do before they do it. Because of this, he is ready when his mother nudges him. As she moves down the line of children he waits eagerly, excited for her gentle touch. Rucker loves the sensation of touch. It is a connection he craves, one he will never get enough of.
Some days he is frustrated that no one speaks his language. It is all nickers and half whinnies and body language. Instead their mouths move and Rucker knows none of what is said. His one sister (Tioga, the kind lady had called her) didn't speak and he wondered if she didn't know the language either.
He nickers to his mother, a clumsy sound, and follows along beside her. The glint of gold in his mane shines in the pale winter sun. He does not know where they are going but it doesn't much matter to him. Rucker loves the Gates. It is heaven incarnate for the little boy.
The growing family comes upon a group of stallions. Two of them Rucker has met before and he goes from Mast, to Magnus, to Kronk (although he does not know their names) with a solemn nudge for each. He could tell the adults were serious but he didn't know why. And truthfully, he wasn't concerned. His world had always been happy and he felt it would always remain so.
The black colt returned to his family, greeting his biggest sister with a playful nicker, a sound neither could hear.
the ghost of a girl that i want to be mostthe shell of a girl i used to know well
The threat of the Chamber – and the pressure of war – hangs over their heads like a thundercloud. Camelia can feel it in the nature around her; she’s always had an acute, intense connection to the nature around her. Perhaps the Mother Tree and her parents instilled that deep within her from her youngest memories. But nonetheless, the knowledge that the Chamber holds her adopted sister captive lingers over their heads like a storm about to break. Camelia knows it is only a matter of time before the thunder, lightning, and hail rains down between the Gates and the Chamber.
Camelia has found herself sticking close to Mast. If anyone knew his heart and his intentions, it would be her. And although (with the determined look in his eyes) she knows she won’t be able to stop him, she hopes that if he tried doing something unreasonable she would at least be able to persuade him to do something more rational. Especially lately she’s found herself sticking close to her lover, feeling the fluttering and swelling of pregnancy in her womb.
She already knows their child, better than she knew Finner before he was born. Their growing child communicates in short bursts, still sleepy with the exhaustion of growing. But when she stirs (yes, a girl), she speaks and Camelia listens. She’s yet to tell Mast about their daughter – mostly because he has been drowning in the Chamber and its possible war and what to do about everything that has happened.
Nonetheless, the girl sleeps as Mast calls the meeting. Camelia curls herself into his side, both for the warmth and the comfort. Her belly is already swelling and she notices Wichita’s own pregnant stomach as well. However, perhaps more noticeable is the grimness of everyone’s faces. Something big is about to happen and everyone within the Gates borders knows it. Camelia remains quiet as everyone gathers, her senses finely attuned to Mast, waiting for his word.
She wakes in the meadow with the taste of blood still in her mouth.
A nightmare. Just a nightmare, she reassures herself. But is that really all it had been?
It had all been so … real. So vibrant.
She can still feel her claws sink through flesh and her teeth ripping through that soft, delicate throat …
She shudders. Thank god it had been a dream. It must have been a dream. She still feels unsettled though, and the images flash through her mind over and over again. She collects herself and stands, ready to head back to the Gates. She can’t stay here with the nightmare so fresh in her head.
She arrives back in the Gates just in time for Mast’s voice to ring out across the kingdom. A meeting. It’s about time.
She slips in at the back of the group, taking note of the faces that have beaten her there. She recognizes Mast, Wichita and Tioga of course, along with the painted stallion she’d seen at the battle with the Chamber, but the others are new. The young colt and starry twins must of course be Wichita’s (being that they’re hanging out in a little clump, and that the silvered mare appears to be perpetually pregnant) and her gaze slides over them, alighting on the buckskin stallion and dunskin mare. Pain flickers as she thinks what a pity it is that her mother is not here to see how their numbers have grown.
Of course, that’s probably the reason that Mast has called a meeting, her mother that is. They need to decide what to do - fight, or move on. And given the Gate’s current strength, even with the new members, the answer will likely be moving on. Though it pains her to admit it, it’s likely the right choice.
She stays silent however and waits. Though she knows it’s the right choice, she doesn’t want to be the one to make it.
Sidra
the wild child of jason x fiasko
Diplomat now I guess, later an army member when I actually have time.
I've heard there was a secret chord that David played and it pleased the Lord but you don't really care for music do you?
They came quietly and quickly, as he knew they would. Within each and every heart amongst them was a need for justice, a need to see the wrongs righted. It was not that they wanted war, but at this point it seemed unavoidable. It would be a dangerous precedent indeed if they chose to do nothing- forever they would be viewed as the kingdom who had rolled over in the face of the Chamber. But then again- did they stand a chance? Or would it be a blood bath, with their blood staining the soil? He couldn’t, wouldn’t, send them to their deaths. It wasn’t who he was, nor did he want that to be his legacy as king. The king who killed the Gates. They were truly stuck between a rock and a hard place, and it seemed the only way out was to climb to the top. One way or another…
Magnus is the first, and Mast dipped his head solemnly at the buckskin. He could see the recklessness oozing from his skin, and for once Mast appreciated such a thing. Slowly they trickled in, and Mast nodded to each in turn. Their grim faces were clear- they knew this was no ordinary kingdom meeting. The air had taken on a static quality, and the tension was palpable. It flowed through their beautiful trees like a noxious gas, staining even the pure white snows around them with its bitterness. Mast eyed the foal at Wichita’s side, and noted her growing barrel, and his stomach hardened. Soon Camelia was at his side, her own swollen barrel pressing into his. The gray king found himself clenching his jaw as he looked into their faces; the hopeful, the would-be avengers, the apprehensive. Finally though he cleared his throat, stepping forward slightly to better be viewed. “First off, I want to thank you all for coming. To those I’ve not met, I’m Mast, your King.” he said, his voice clear and strong. “As you all know, the Chamber has chosen us as their whipping boy. Their reasons are unclear, but their Queen seems to be on something of a power trip. It is only a matter of time before she brings another kingdom to her doorstep, crying for her head on a platter.” He narrowed his eyes, his voice getting stronger as he let the anger seep into his voice. “I know some of you have been on kingdom visits. I want to know everything. Kronk, what of the Falls? And Magnus, what of the Amazons? If need be, I will go to visit them myself, if that is what they want. We need allies. I know we all want the same thing; justice. But we must cover our bases. We are growing stronger, but the Chamber wields power unlike anything we can compete with. Please don’t mistake me- our hearts our ten times what theirs could even dream of being. But there are fire wielders, and shifters, and the shadow ravens besides. No one has seen the extent of their queens powers, either.” he paused, swallowing hard, “I can remedy that somewhat. Kronk, Magnus? For all of your hard work, the kingdom would be happy to gift you both a set of wings, if you would have them.” he said, offering a small smile to both stallions. Indeed, they were both capable soldiers and above all their hearts were pure. “I want your opinions, your thoughts, and your suggestions. I want each and every bit of information you think it pertinent. Again, I am hungry for the same things you all are. I want to see Fiasko returned, and I want the Chamber to pay for their transgressions- but I will not lead you to war if that is not the direction you would want us to go. King though I may be, I am not a ruthless leader.” With that he fell silent, waiting slightly impatiently to see what all they had to say.
There are endless conversations going on, and Gaza finds himself the unconscious eavesdropper. It’s beneficial, to an extent. He can stand at the edge of the meadow and hear every verbal conversation that’s going on - the trick is learning how to focus on them. He can tell which mares are pregnant by their smell, and it’s all too easy when he hears a second heartbeat. How would Lyris like him now, when he can tell a storm (a natural one, not lady-made) coming a mile away. That drop in pressure. the smell, the change of the wind… discovering everything else the world has to offer made him lax after his initial offer, and he is a tad bit ashamed about that.
Especially when he sees his son. Don’t ask what it is about this boy - perhaps because it’s the first of his children that he’s actually seen (though he does not fault Lyris or Eld), or the gold strands in his mane that glisten like his Ima. But his heart is gone - stolen by the playful colt, even though the boy has no idea who he is.
Gaza knows he is late, and he murmurs a soft apology for his tardiness to the group, coming to stand near Wichita’s growing clan. He offers her a genuine smile, but stops there, unsure of how these post-coital meetings should go, especially with another child (not his!) on the way. How one mare could pop out so many children in succession is a little overwhelming to think about.. He can smell the fearful sweat drying on another mare’s skin, and how the deer smell mingles with horse around the King. Interesting. The black stallion listens while Mast speaks of war, and he wonders what Vanquish would do. He knows the story of how his Abba and Ima met - how they were thrown together on the eve of the Valley War, the then-bay mare accepting him as a soldier and sending him into the lion’s den, praying that the handsome stallion would return. Would anyone ever pray for him like that?
He’d pledged his aid, and he believes in their righteousness, but what in the world has he gotten himself in to?
vanquish x yael
[just a resident for now! I'm not sure what he'll be yet ]
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![[Image: Tioga.png]](http://s16.postimg.org/ceb0gz0n9/Tioga.png)
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