06-17-2015, 11:02 AM
It doesn’t surprise her that Erebor joins him. The boy is always around, working for the Chamber. She understands why he’s usually within the kingdom borders and not out in the field. It is off-putting to have children out in the field. Everyone begins to think that this child clearly isn’t well taken care of, or the mother doesn’t care, and what kind of home can that possibly be? A few get it, of course. A few understand that sheltering a child is no way to teach them how the world is. She never let him wander by himself before she thought he was able to take care of himself. In this world, without traits, he will always be a something of a disadvantage. But Warship has taught him well, and she doesn’t doubt that her son is able to hold his own, should something ever happen.
He picks up her story and mentions the other kingdoms, and she nods in his direction both in greeting and agreement of what he says. There are no natural disasters that happened as the disasters of Beqanna did. Nothing in Beqanna seemed truly natural though. Even in the Chamber, where there is supposedly no magic, a living heart continues to beat in the ground for centuries and centuries without stopping. Once upon a time, mythics could live here as well. There was magic in this kingdom as much as their was in others, but for whatever reason, their god decided to take away access to the magic in only some of those kingdoms. Not that the Chamber needed it. In the end, their lack of magic only made them stronger.
Though sometimes, she cannot help but imagine what they could do if granted such power. Wouldn’t they be unstoppable then?
Killdare listens intently. She doesn’t find his direct gaze irritating, but rather appreciates the obvious attention. She likes those that are interested in the Chamber, and doesn’t mind telling those that want to call it home of it’s history. At least, of the pieces of it’s history that she knows. She watches as the stallion reaches his nose out to the one of the pine trees and inhales the ash, making is as much a part of himself as it is the rest of them. Erebor, who has grown up with the ash. Straia, who has ruled this kingdom perhaps only because of the destruction. Kavi and Warship, the only two who had stayed with her after the volcano destroyed their home.
She smiles slightly as he pulls his nose from the tree, the flakes of burned bark fluttering to the ground. Killdare turns his attention to the boy, and Straia lets them chat, though she can’t help but laugh at the question Killdare asks. Not because it’s a funny question, because it is the most appropriate question anyone could have asked. It still amazes her that others don’t ask. Of course, they must think it. But Straia likes the ones that actually have the balls to ask the questions on their minds. She grins, and it’s obvious she approves of the questions. “I venture to guess he’s lived at least ten lives.”
He picks up her story and mentions the other kingdoms, and she nods in his direction both in greeting and agreement of what he says. There are no natural disasters that happened as the disasters of Beqanna did. Nothing in Beqanna seemed truly natural though. Even in the Chamber, where there is supposedly no magic, a living heart continues to beat in the ground for centuries and centuries without stopping. Once upon a time, mythics could live here as well. There was magic in this kingdom as much as their was in others, but for whatever reason, their god decided to take away access to the magic in only some of those kingdoms. Not that the Chamber needed it. In the end, their lack of magic only made them stronger.
Though sometimes, she cannot help but imagine what they could do if granted such power. Wouldn’t they be unstoppable then?
Killdare listens intently. She doesn’t find his direct gaze irritating, but rather appreciates the obvious attention. She likes those that are interested in the Chamber, and doesn’t mind telling those that want to call it home of it’s history. At least, of the pieces of it’s history that she knows. She watches as the stallion reaches his nose out to the one of the pine trees and inhales the ash, making is as much a part of himself as it is the rest of them. Erebor, who has grown up with the ash. Straia, who has ruled this kingdom perhaps only because of the destruction. Kavi and Warship, the only two who had stayed with her after the volcano destroyed their home.
She smiles slightly as he pulls his nose from the tree, the flakes of burned bark fluttering to the ground. Killdare turns his attention to the boy, and Straia lets them chat, though she can’t help but laugh at the question Killdare asks. Not because it’s a funny question, because it is the most appropriate question anyone could have asked. It still amazes her that others don’t ask. Of course, they must think it. But Straia likes the ones that actually have the balls to ask the questions on their minds. She grins, and it’s obvious she approves of the questions. “I venture to guess he’s lived at least ten lives.”
straia
queen of the chamber