"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
11-24-2015, 08:40 PM (This post was last modified: 11-30-2015, 11:04 PM by Vanquish.)
Like a splotch of spilled ink on red canvas, the once-wraith moves slowly through the scarlet sky of the dawning Deserts. Wings of a dragon carry the giant over the kingdom and he cannot suppress the smile that breaks hard and wide across his face. The fathomless despair that had starved his hungry heart for so long was forgotten now as he drank in the heat of the welcoming sun. The night-giant was home and the poignant depths of his gratitude for this feat was enough to keep the rage of his death deep and bottled down. There was much to be done, much to atone for and vengeance was a flavor he could wait to taste, especially when the pleasures he had missed for so long were still so heavy and sweet in his mouth.
Vanquish steps easily from the sky, massive wings folding against his sides as he settles onto the highest dune before sending out his call to any that still call the Deserts home. So far only one besides his Golden Rose had he even laid eyes upon, the blue marbled stallion that the shadow’s chased. He knows Yael will come, as constant as the changing of the dunes was her presence – and they had all of been pretty fucking glad for it. The sands were barren, but weren’t they always? His kingdom had always piqued the hearts of those who craved space the most, but even the palms swayed with a certain loneliness that he had not known before.
The Nightwalker waits to speak until others stand before him, “For those who do not know, my name is Vanquish. I called this same throne my own not many years ago and I do so now again.” He says, his voice is heavy and wet with eagerness in the dry air, “if any of you so wish to remain here and help rebuild this kingdom, say so now and your devotion will not be overlooked.”
If there were naught but shadows left in the Deserts, then the same greatness that wrestled him from the grave will be the same that rebuilds what once was.
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vanquish
black king of the deserts
One sentence replies are fine Just need to know who intends on staying/going on the rank boards.
His hazel eyes had caught sight of wings beating against the red desert sun, but these wings do not glisten and shine like those of Ima’s. Instead, they absorb and dampen the sun – an impenetrable force which blocked out all that the desert was. This was the black beast that the wild child had been scenting on the breeze.
He had returned.
Their one and only encounter had not gone over well. He had been barely a yearling, scared and starved and sick. Ima had only just found him and brought to her home. But he had come charging up to them, all threat and outrage, and he had cut his Ima deeply. The wild child would not stand for history to repeat itself.
He was the first to arrive after the beast had demandingly called to those of the sands. His steps were stiff and his body was tense. Munroe was well aware of how little of a threat he really was to the other much bigger and older stallion. Especially as he had never fully grown into his potential due to his years of malnutrition and little food – he still remained on the leaner side even as an adult.
He completely disregarded any words that came out of his mouth. Kingdom inner workings and politics was never something that the wild child would ever take an interest in. He was a simple creature. But he would never forget the hurt that had been on Ima’s face because of him.
His eyes were narrowed and his expression fully expressed his hate. He was completely out of his league and intimidated beyond belief. But this was for Ima. That thought alone would always give Munroe his backbone and the audacity to stand up to all scary things. He stood but a mere foot away from the beast and stared hard at him for a good while.
He only had one thing to say to him.
A simple yet childish accusation.
“You hurt Ima.”
he's a little shit. anywho. no castes for him. just plop his little butt under residents pleaseeeeee <33
As the sand shifts amongst the dunes, rising with the wind, cresting the wave, and then tumbling once again down to the base, so does their population. They wouldn’t be the first Kingdom to fall quiet, nor would it be the first time they’ve rebuilt their numbers. Usually there were a few more to aid in the repopulation, but… Yael is glad for Shahrizai and she loves her adopted children fiercely. It will be enough, hopefully. Might take them a little longer than usual, but this too, is cyclical.
She appears quietly behind the three other residents, more than eager to see how her sun and stars will handle the past being dredged up. She also had no idea that Munroe could hold such a grudge for this long. It is almost amusing - but she wouldn’t dare let her wild child catch her laughing about it. It might even be the perfect opportunity for Van to prove that he isn’t just a blustering, impressive dragon-winged beast of a stallion. Let them see what Yael sees in him.
The high pride of a reckless young king creates many regrets for soul of an older, wiser one. Munroe and his treatment of him (much like his treatment of his own son, Kreios) could be counted among such a regret. The boy had always been too feral for an actual conversation but beyond that, he had been half-starved and near death when Yael had brought him home to warm his flesh beneath their sun.
He would have let him stay and perhaps had even been gracious about it. And even though there would have been no sympathy afforded to the wild boy from Vanquish, he would have at least allowed him sanctuary here. If Yael wanted to care for him, that was her choice and that, too, would have mattered not to the king and he would not have interfered. But then she had come to him and she had dared to think to call him a Prince of the Deserts? That is what had sent a river of fury down the draft’s spine and turned him into was a churning, unreasonable storm of egotism. He had berated Yael as if she was a true fool, as if she were not his equal. He had laughed at them both, pity and disgust heavy in his gaze as he glared at them. And then he had turned his back on them both.
Now when the dun stallion makes his way up to face him with his chest fluffed and gaze filled with challenge – a soft smile touches the lips of the Nightwalker. He was glad that Munroe had stayed in the Deserts, though he had never truly thought that he would have left Yael’s side even in maturity. “Yes,”he says, dropping his lofty head down so that he could meet the gaze of the boy-stallion, “and I have hurt you too, haven't i?”He asks, his voice so quiet that only Munroe could have been privy to his words, “I won’t do it again,” he says, nodding his head, “perhaps you can forgive me?”
The black beast was relaxed and calm – no aggression to be seen. It was a stark contrast to their last encounter. This put the wild child off guard for a moment, but no signs of deceit lingered amongst the other’s body language and Munroe felt it safe to release his tensed muscles. Perhaps his long disappearance had changed him – a journey that made his spirit grow in leaps and bounds.
The other’s soft smile and gentle words are reminiscent of Ima’s taming of his heart. He had been but a desperate, wild thing when she had discovered him all alone on that fateful bitterly cold midwinter day. By now Ima’s winged child and a stranger has approached them both – they are barely registered into the background of his awareness. It wasn’t until he belatedly realized that Ima had also appeared that his unblinking gaze was finally disrupted.
He can’t ever seem to completely hide the absolute joy whenever he catches sight of her from showing up in his expression. His eyes even smile when he acknowledges her presence with a deeply contented expression. But he had a responsibility to carry out and he does not linger with her long before returning questioning eyes back to the black stallion.
He had calmly accepted the wild child’s accusation and had even mentioned hurting Munroe himself. He’d never considered that maybe he could have been considered a victim as well. He hadn’t thought much of the other’s spiteful words at the time. The wild child merely cared that Ima had obviously suffered during his period of absence despite her forced show of happiness.
His words seem to ring true and without haughty pride lacing them. Munroe can see the regret that is driving the other’s last question. “I believe. I forgive. Don’t hurt Ima no more?” And his previous bristling hostility has completely fallen away for he is simple in his ways. A grudge long held easily vanished with the addition of heartfelt repentance.
He steps into the other’s space with a quiet confidence and noses at the puzzling leathery wings. They are similar in function yet don’t resemble Ima’s in any way. Even the winged girl’s are fluffy and soft, albeit a different color. But these wings were sleek and dark and powerful, with none of the warmth and comfort that he associated with Ima when wrapped within her golden embrace.
He felt that they were a perfect contrast to hers.
Vanquish’s ideals had been narrow and arrogant when he was a young and selfish king. Only a veil of indignation had fell across him, so long ago, when Yael had moved to call this child a prince of their Deserts. It was not her benevolence that had disgusted him, it had been her lack of pride in giving away a title to such a simple creature. Vanquish had stormed through the Deserts that day, crumbling mammoth dunes like a children’s sandcastles. He had been dealing with the strain of two conflicting ideals, of his loyalty to his crown and the desire to be beside Lyric and he had been especially unreasonable and insufferable – those were black days in the titan’s life. He could not see to bring himself to acknowledge love for a child that was not of his own blood, let alone one that had been as Monroe had been – weak and pitiful and unwanted.
But death has a way of illustrating out each and every fallacy you’ve ever wished to lock away in your memory. It has its way of worming out every insecurity, every heartache, ever unfulfilled you’re your heart’s ever raced over. Vanquish had thought of Monroe many times as he waded through purgatory – he had thought of Romek and Marge and of Yael’s other lover, Rigdon. There is nothing but time to search and wonder when your soul has nothing to hold on to.
But his soul is home now and a soft smile graces the draft’s face, “King’s honor,” he says to the forever-child when he’s asked, “don’t hurt Ima no more.” He doesn’t step away from Monroe’s touch as he inspects his wings but his gaze moves to catch Yael’s as if to say, “see?” Vanquish’s other wing unfolds quietly from his side to tap the dun’s flank good-naturedly.
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vanquish
black king of the deserts
this is shit but still wanted to get a reply up, cuz cute
Just need to know who intends on staying/going on the rank boards.
