"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
He is so young, so new at this, and yet he takes to it beautifully. No doubt that's because he was born to it, born of the salt of the Chamber's earth, the Prince of Ash, the Chamber's own native son. It shapes him to its own ends, and that's only natural, really. And could it have created a more perfect, more eloquently duty-bound subject? No, it could not have. He is the world's strangest boy scout, a dark Captain America who cares only for the land that he loves, and knows nothing of principles beyond service to that land.
And with that in mind, he's volunteered to broaden his horizons, to visit every kingdom and learn everything he can. It's not just to gain knowledge for his kingdom, but also to gain his own experience so that he may be a more perfect servant in every regard that the Chamber might require. He needs to know as much as possible, to understand everything, or else he may one day fail the home that he loves.
He sets off for the Deserts, a kingdom he knows little about. He knows roughly where it is; who is truly ignorant of the geography of Beqanna nowadays? He's interacted with horses of the Deserts from time to time, running across them in the field and such, speaking with them casually. But he's never had occasion to visit their home, let alone to speak to one of them one-on-one as diplomatic equals.
He reaches the edges of the Deserts, identified easily by the shifting sands. He is startled by how hot it is, and by how much it is like the Chamber. The way that the sand bites against his skin reminds him of the way the ash swirls around his home. There are no skeletons of trees here, not like there are in the Chamber, but the feeling is the same.
He has been told that waiting on the borders is the polite thing, and so he does not go any further inside. Instead, he calls gently into the wind, and waits, hoping that a diplomat will hear him and come to chat.
I frolic through the sands, my large feathered hooves leaving momentary pock marks in the squishiness that makes me giggle madly every time I take a step. So much fun to be here! And Cam doesn't chastise me for acting the way I do, which made it even better. Pensieve was wonderful too, her sweetness bringing a welcoming homey feel to this wonderful place. Swinging George as one would a baseball bat as they walked, I traveled very near the borders of the Deserts, near to but not crossing. I'd seen some strange things in my time in the Field, and I wasn't quite ready to repeat them yet. True I hadn't shied away from Kingslay, but he wasn't so bad, just some pyro with a bad hair day right?
My forward motion stops abruptly, and I almost fall ass over teakettle onto my head in the sand. I'd heard something and it had startled me, making me almost drop George. There was someone else out there! Blue eyes go wide as my white head turns in the direction I'd heard the sound, and I almost fall over again. Boy did Beqanna know how to grow 'em! Standing at the border was the most magnificently (oh hey I used a big word!) handsome (and look! another!) stallion I had ever seen, he wasn't fully grown yet it didn't appear but he would be one to swoon over when he was. Damn, I hope he didn't see my clumsy stop. Turning towards him, I plaster a goofy grin on my pale lips. I should go and greet him I guess? Oh yay here she comes, Ms Prissy Pants.
Oh yes that's right. Go make an idiot of ourselves in front of the good looking stallion. Could you let ME do the talking this time perhaps?
I was about to give in and let her take over when Gumby appeared out of the sands and picked up George, whom I had apparently dropped when my mouth fell open when I saw the gorgeous guy. An enraged squeak comes from me as Gumby takes off toward the black man, running full tilt towards him. I shout at him as I take off in hot pursuit, mane and tail streaming behind me like white banners as my feathers turn pink with sand.
GUMBY! BRING GEORGE BACK TO ME THIS INSTANT! YOU KNOW HE'S NOT A TOY!
It was like Kingslay all over again, maybe this time I wouldn't be almost burned by my rash actions? Or maybe I would plow right into him and fall on my ass in the sand. Either way at least I'd get a chance to talk to him, right?
Mare Gypsy Vanner 6 15 hands Maximally expressed Cremello Sabino (ee/aa/CrCr/nZ/SbSb) Invaderless/The Deserts/No Clones Sael Voice in her head is in italics
She knows the moment that a stranger comes to their borders. Of course she knows – that's one of the first things she'd set up upon arriving here, a little safety net that helps her know exactly what's going on at all times. Not so much for spying on her own people as for keeping a weather eye on the horizon, always knowing what's going on outside, and who's coming in.
The boy who stands on the borders is nothing remarkable, not to her. He is black like her, black like his father – she sees them, their line stretching out back into the Chamber, Warship and Straia, both unfamiliar, but both known to her like all memories are known to her. She flicks her tail across her haunches, enjoying the delicate heat of the sun, basking momentarily in the silence, knowing that it's the season of diplomacy, and that it's her responsibility to be stepping up.
But before she gets around to it, Girr is already on the scene. She very much likes the mare, seeing in her an innocence and purity that few horses maintain. She's pretended to have it once, back when she was pretending to be Cammie, back when she'd contrived her own knot and gotten herself into the beautiful, magnificent mess that is currently unraveling itself by pieces in the Amazons. She'll emerge unscathed, and so will the Deserts. She knows it because it is the way of things, the natural order: she is a thing that all the water and sand in the world can never harm, the immovable object. The world simply shapes itself around her, and by extension, around the Deserts. It's a beautiful thing.
She is considering jumping into the conversation, but she just can't tear herself away from the current happenings with Girr. She can feel the woman's infatuation with the young stallion, and it's so pure, innocent, and downright adorable that the black woman can't help but giggle. Just a little bit. And it's okay, cause out where she is it's so private no one is going to hear. Because no one – no one - gets to hear Cam giggle. Except maybe Eight. Maybe.
Gumby takes off with George, making a beeline for the stallion. To his credit, the boy is bold enough not to flinch, although he's clearly a little puzzled by the sight of Gumby. But really, who wouldn't be? Sphinxes are not meant to exist, not really, and even their component parts are not something that most horses have seen. But the boy is brave, and he does not shy away, not even when Gumby drops George at his feet and settles down into his barking, let's play mode.
Yes, this is the time for her to jump in, she decides with a wry grin.
She appears a few moments after Girr arrives next to Erebor, the image of calm composure, a sharp contrast to Girr's pink tint from her frolics through the sand. She takes a quick look at Girr, at Gumby, and at George before returning her gaze to the black boy. "Welcome to the Deserts." She smiles at him, her voice entirely nonchalant. "I see you've already met Gumby, our resident protector," she nods at the sphinx, "Girr, one of our members," she nods at the cremello, "And her friend George." she inclines her head delicately to reference the stick at Erebor's feet. "I'm Camrynn, one of the queens here. I'm assuming you're on diplomatic business from the Chamber?"
CAMRYNN
co-queen of the deserts, magical, mother of badassery
His training as a warrior means that the boy notices most everything. It's especially easy in a place like this, where there's so little cover and so very much sun and silence. And so he sees when the cremello mare appears out of the pink sands, and he doesn't miss it when she falls – to quote, ass over teakettle – down into the pink. He watches impassively, politely, because that's simply how he is. He wouldn't think to laugh at anyone, let alone someone who may potentially be diplomat or dignitary.
He does not understand what it means when she seems to stop and look in his general direction for a longer than expected period of time. He hasn't entirely learned that he is handsome, in a solidly built, all-American kind of way. He doesn't understand the impact that such handsomeness can have on mares, how his smiles and his rigid diplomacy can tend to get him his way. Granted, he's learning, and he'll be quick to leverage it once he's learned, but for the time being he's still rather innocent.
His eyes widen ever so slightly when a strange creature arrives, picking up a stick and apparently enraging the cremello. He has never seen anything like the creature, and his bearing becomes instantly more military as it approaches. He is a tightly coiled spring, not in fear, but in readiness to react to whatever it (or the mare) might do. He fears nothing, but respects the power of things that come charging at him, however harmless they seem to be (and from the way this thing runs, it reminds him of a foal in a way, terribly harmless).
She is yelling as they go. He interprets that the thing he doesn't recognize must be named Gumby, although he can't quite figure out who George would be. The creature doesn't appear to be holding a horse, or anything that could otherwise have a name. He frowns slightly.
The creature arrives, sliding to a halt in front of the prince and depositing a stick at his feet. The boy looks between the stick and the creature, entirely nonplussed. What a strange place, he thinks, but doesn't betray anything but calm composure on his handsome face.
And if that weren't enough, there is suddenly another mare in the picture, appearing out of nowhere. He stiffens but does not startle; he knows that there are powers well beyond him in this world, and he doesn't question them. Much like with Gumby, he respects, but he does not fear.
The mare explains the situation, and the boy listens with quiet respect. He feels rather like Alice in Wonderland (minus the frilly dress), or like Dorothy in Oz, but he's far too polished at diplomacy now to truly let it faze him. Each kingdom has its own personality, he's learning, and why shouldn't they?
"Thank you, Camrynn." He nods to the black mare, before turning his attention to the others. "Girr." he speaks directly to the woman, his voice diplomatic. "I'll keep George safe for you. It appears that…Gumby" he hesitates slightly on the strange name "Really wants to take him for a ride again." he smiles at her then, a wry half-grin. Gumby barks, as though in agreement.
"I am indeed on diplomatic business from the Chamber." he says, turning back to the black mare. "My mother, Straia, is queen in the Chamber. She sends her regards and her congratulations to you and Pevensie." The competition for the Deserts throne was no secret, even though it had occurred long before he'd been born. His mother had told him about it, and told him to be sure to congratulate the winners. "How does the Deserts fare?" he asks then, looking between the black mare and the cremello, his voice deep and resonant, far more than his age should allow it to be.
i'm on the wrong side of heaven, and the righteous side of hell
Kingdom visits. Not exactly his forte, but a necessity he supposed. After all, he held a high ranking position in his kingdom. Though their numbers were sparse, they were working steadily towards changing that. Just recently he’d been greeted by an unknown mare as he crept along the borders, and he couldn’t help but hope that she would stay. Certainly another female would please Straia; she often complained about the overwhelming amounts of testosterone in her kingdom.
His son had left ahead of him, and though he could have caught up easily, he decided to hang back. Of course he kept a watchful eye on the boy, but he made his mind up not to interfere unless it was needed. Erebor was the promise that the Chamber would return to their former glory, and he shouldered that knowledge like the warrior he was. Generations of his blood were fighters, from the panther shifting Atrox, to the ruthless Amazonian blood. He was, truly, a prince.
It takes him no time to find the Deserts. The heat becomes more unbearable, the vegetation more sparse. His lip curls slightly- he wasn’t a fan of the heat. He preferred the mist of his forest home, and the cold mountain streams. But he had told Straia he would come, so here at last he was. His sons scent is still on the breeze and he tracks it like a bloodhound, though his hoof prints in the sand have blown away. The old warrior finds his son, unsurprised to find a pair of mares have beat him to it. A strange creature frolics through the sands, and Warship can feel the tingle of magic in the air. As he is a product of magic himself (his life, anyways) it is not hard for him to feel it. It comes from the black mare with the strange eyes he thinks, though he isn’t entirely sure. They are all speaking as he steps to his sons side, a mirror albeit older image of the young colt. The only thing setting them apart is the infinity symbol glowing against his broad, scarred chest. “I seem to be late to the party.” he says simply, a handsome smile curving his lips. He dips his intricate head to the mares, letting his smile be thrown to them in turn. “I’m Warship, General of the Chamber.” He does not know the state of their army, but he would like to. He’d been swirling some ideas around in his brain, and if the Deserts agreed to hold their treaty with the Chamber, then he was eager to have them join in.
