"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
Rhonan leads him in relative silence. Talking isn’t his skill. Possibly other’s find him rude for his lack of conversation, he has no idea, and doesn’t really care. He answers questions, certainly, point’s maybe a handful of semi-useful knowledge out on the way. He doesn’t really know what others would actually find useful, other than like “these are such and such and kingdom’s borders, and they hate the Valley”. Because 99% of the time, they hate the Valley.
There’s a reason they are only allied with the Chamber. He’s often oblivious, but not entirely stupid.
Eventually, they come to the firewall. He snarls at the thing slightly, turning to Blayd. “It’s going away.” He says, pulling a shadow portal into existence in front of them. ”Only way through without the mark. Which I refused. That’s going away too.”
He steps through the portal, not waiting for Blayd. He figures the stallion will follow if he wants to join the Valley. If he doesn’t, well then he probably wasn’t worth very much anyway. But he doubts that’s the case. Even if he’s a terrible judge of character, he’s sticking to his assumption this stallion will prove himself useful.
The portal drops him far enough away from the firewall to feel comfortable, and he turns and waits for the other.
The journey is silent, but enjoyable. His body swayed as they came to a wall of fire, his Galatic dorsal stripe seemed to mirror it. Allowing red and orange galaxies to flutter about. His dorsal stripe had never changed before, it always mirrored constellations like the Big Dipper and Scorpio, but never this. His muscles tensed as he were to speak, and interrupt the never ending silence between them. But Rhonan solved the problem, simply by constructing a portal out of shadows. Go figure.
He did wonder, if equine ungifted with powers such as his were to go to and fro how would they get past this wall? As the question repeated he began speaking only to find Rhonan not in sight. The inky black portal churned for a moment seeming to move with a slight movement quite like fire. Was this thing alive? Cautiously, he shoved his muzzle along with his body through the black void, only to find himself scooting out the back end behind Rhonan. He was clumsy, catching himself quickly as he seemed to fall downwards.
The question popped in his mind as he regained his balance, "Mark? What do you mean by mark?" He glanced back at inferno wall, wearily taking a step away from it. Navy pools glancing at his dorsal stripe, it still mirrored the inferno yet less, as landscapes of deep space circled around the residues of red and orange galaxies slowly fading from his marking. Perhaps it was only an illusion, and he was simply imagining it but, he swore it changed.
"Why is it going away?" He was filled with questions that consumed him. Why was it still on fire if it was winter? Good god, he could keep going on and on but, he soon halted himself. He didn't want to irritate Rhonan more than he had probably already had. "Sorry, if I'm asking too many questions." He added. His smokey Grey body shifted allowing himself at ease.
you say I'm crazy, but I think I'm freaking amazing.
"That's a good question," the jaguar man's voice was deep and low as it slithered through the quiet and still winter air. Like puffs of smoke his breath danced from his lips as his glowing orange jaguar spots illuminated the space around him. With a tilt of his head his intensely scarred and empty eye sockets found Rhonan and in a hazy fog he could just barely make out the boys form. It looked as though he was just whisps of shadow and smoke, not features able to be made out. Had the once king not heard his voice he wouldn't of known exactly who he was.
"Why is it going away, Rhonan?" The once jaugar king's lips pursed slightly. His sacrifice to build the wall in order to protect the valley in the coming storm had required a great sacrifice and it had done it's job. Though he had known not everyone had liked the idea, it had been at the time in the best interest of the valley. Especially because of it's numbers being so small. Stepping forward silently, he closed in on the pair before stopping and turning his head towards the new recruit, eye sockets resting in line with the others eyes and seeing his form the same way he saw Rhonans. "Hello, I'm Demian, welcome to our home."
He felt no need to divulge the fact he had been one of the two to build the wall, not yet anyway. But once he heard the question of the mark, his head turned slightly to the right, in order to show the slowly dying flame that danced within a V shape underneath his left eye. "This is the mark. The mark of the Valley." He gave the boy just a long enough time to look it over before turning back to face him. "When the wall was built, we took the mark in order to show our loyalty to the Valley. The kingdoms you could say, have a heart of their own. The god's needed proof we were loyal in order for the wall to come into place. That was part of the deal. It was also a way to ensure safe travels through the wall for those who couldn't fly over it, or use fire, or like rhonan, use the darkness to prevent themselves harm. The members were given the option to take the mark or to not. Many, like me, did."
He turned his head towards Rhonan, just for a moment before moving back to focus on the other and rolling his shoulders slightly. "Don't worry about asking too many questions. They show a healthy mind, willing to learn. Rhonan is just not that much of a conversationalist. He prefers the quiet." With a slight smirk he leaned back on his haunches, relaxing slightly. He meant Rhonan no harm. He had always liked the quiet boy who wasn't sure of where he fit in. You could easily say that like Demian, he fit in nowhere. That was, until he himself decided exactly where he would fit best within the world. "Anyway, are you here to stay?"
He knows the once-King, though Rhonan merely turns his head slightly at the sound of the voice. He doesn’t greet him with some extra enthusiasm, but the gods of Beqanna would descend and Rhonan’s attitude still wouldn’t change. It wasn’t anything personal. Rhonan just didn’t know how to be any other way.
The jaguar stallion joins the group, fitting himself in like he hadn’t been gone for the past few years, but thankfully for him, Rhonan doesn’t really care about that either. He just goes with it. “Because no one left really likes it.” He says, and as always, he’s not attempting to be rude, though it quite possibly comes off that way. He simply says the truth, the shadows of the trees around them lifting from the ground slightly. It’s a quiet demonstration. The Valley is made of shadows now, not fire, and the two don’t get along.
He listens as Demian, full of more words than Rhonan ever will be, continues to explain the mark. Explain the old ways. The Valley had changed under Gallows and Fennick though. Not terribly so, but just enough. Rhonan liked it better this way, but of course, he wasn’t one for fire or marks or anything so showy. He shrugs his shoulders slightly. “Never really saw how a mark proved loyalty. Only loyalty and hard work can prove itself, really.”
You can ignore a mark, turn your attention elsewhere. What does a mark really do, in the long run? There are plenty of magicians around to remove or hide things, to reserve or lessen effects. In the end, what had the Amazon tattoo ever done to stop Amazonian’s from leaving? He didn’t get it. Though unlike most horses, he was prone to ignoring consequences and just doing whatever he wanted anyway. Luckily for him, the shadows took his damage for him.
“I do,” he says, when Demian mentions that he prefers the quiet. “ “But I can still talk for myself, thanks,” The shadows of the trees lift from the ground behind him, like sentries. They don’t move, and he actually turns to look, not even realizing it was him right away. But of course, he doesn’t always control the shadows. Sometimes they simply do their own thing, and he is their conduit. He turns his attention back, mostly to Blayd now. “Don’t worry about the questions.”
