"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
My world had been turned on its head twice over now. Chem leaving me in a manner that confused and hurt my heart, then my dear brother never showed up at Tundra. That was enough disruption for quite a while in the my eyes, but the quakes… oh how that changed everything. I had hid away in the far corner of beqanna, tried to avoid stay safe, but the fae pulled me to the mountain like everyone else. But after the announcement was made I left and returned to my corner of solitude. My reddish brown coat ashy from the high dust in the air. I stayed there for a long time, waiting for the courage, for healing. I wasn’t ready to join the world. I hadn’t mourned the life I had lost before going to Tundra let alone the loss of everything I had ever known.
But the time had made me realize that the solitude was no way of living, and if Vaughan knew I had hidden myself away for all this time he would have drug me out by my ear tufts. I knew it was time to go… but I hadn’t a clue where. Chamber, Falls, and Chem’s herd lands were the only places I ever knew. I didn’t know where to go now, but a new life, a new family was something I would just have to build from the bottom up. Something that would take time, and it would start in the field, where her father had been recruited to both Gates and Chamber. Now the new lands were looking for members, and I would start over with one of them. It was just a matter of time until someone came to me, and until someone gave me the opportunity. I just keep telling myself- baby steps.
I never imagined life would be like this. There was so much to learn still, and I feel behind in life. I know there is more to it than what I’ve known. When will I feel like I’m really living? When will I know when I have found the right place? I don’t think I can keep jumping from place to place. I don’t think I know how to be “unattached.” My whole life had been attached; to Vaughan, to Chem, to mother. This just can’t be it.
The field was as it always was, or how I believed it always was. I haven’t been here enough to know one way or another. Other horses were scattered about and conversations were being held randomly throughout. Some came, some went, others lingered and watched. I was the latter, I watched from the tree line, the spring breeze pulling me in, but my body didn’t move. Baby steps. I watched as the clear sky slowly changed, as clouds grouped and rearranged to the wind’s will. Conversations started and ended and still a watched, it was what I knew, I had watched my life over the past few years, I hadn’t partaken.
I closed my eyes tight and took in the crisp air, I had to stop being a passenger in my own life. I knew it had to change, and when I opened my eyes my legs had moved, I had left the outskirts, and entered the field. Ok, yeah I knew I had moved, but it’s my story to tell. I walked around and picked up on bits of conversation, obviously nothing she felt she could join in on, but it was interesting to hear what others discussed, especially after years of self- imposed confinement. Vaughan came to mind, he always did, he would have loved this kind of thing, he would have made a game out of it so that I wouldn’t stress so much. I sighed and let the thought go. I had to do this for myself, and I was. I just had to wait for the right opportunity to come along. Trust your gut. Yes, that is what Vaughan would say, maybe Kimber too. I stopped in the throngs of the field, a part of the action and obviously ready… or more so wanting. My russet frame looked bright against the blue sky and the wind licked at my mane and tail…. And I? I was ready….I hope.
Vessel
Kimber x Nymphetamine
OOC: I tried to get her started back in September but life wasn't ready to let me, let's try this again. I revamped an old post, so sorry if it's familiar to you. But I promise after the second paragraph it is all new.
I'm just a poor boy. I need no sympathy. ( because I'm easy come, easy go, little high, little low )
He had never had much luck here, he was kind and polite, or at least he tried to be but, it's quite hard to do that with being an emotionless killer. He tried he really did, but he couldn't help it that's him. He couldn't control the blood lust with most of them, that sweet pitter patter of blood upon the earth always caused a chill to run down his spine and their sweet cries of agony. So sweet and harmonic, like a song composed out of their own misery, his very own private symphony playing just for him. Their flesh, so warm, so rich with blood, and spindles of weak bones, his very own feast. Just the idea caused his heart rate to rise in his own excitement. But today as he enters the field his wishes are a bit less malicious. Since he's had a son, and now two he knows the feeling, of love, and he as finally cherished something in life his very own son, something he could be proud of. So as he walks in the field today he looks through new eyes, his gaze filled with more emotions, but he still lacks the ability to sympathize, to love, he doesn't feel those, only anger, and jealousy, and joy have awakened him.
Striding through the the pitiful wastes of flesh and bones, he finds his way to a mare. Her coat burning a bright red bay, something that made her stand out. Something that lit some form of happiness into his heart, red, blood red. The color of eyes he wished his son had, the color that runs through every living thing's veins, the color that drives him mad, that satisfies him. The sweet color of chaos, and most of all the color that pitter patter upon the earth. And so he examines her, a crooked grin forming upon his velvet lips, as his crimson gaze falls upon her inspecting every inch of her before he releases his temptation rich vocals into the atmosphere, "Hello there, love." he speaks, his tender, as if he truly cared.
"I'm Waylan, and I hail from a little place called Pangea." He pauses, craning his muscular dark chocolate neck. "Care to share a name?" He adds, his mess of silver hair playing in the wind, as his alabaster tail stirred at his hocks.
waylan
any way the wind blows doesn't really matter to me
It doesn’t take them long to arrive, it never does. They have been vigilant, standing sentinel in the field’s embrace where the world whirrs around them. Castile, shocked by the magnitude of noise and bodies, stays relatively close to mother’s side. It isn’t fear that drills itself into him, but uncertainty. The first days ensuing his birth had been in solitude as mother focused her attention on him, on only him. Nerine would survive without her, she had whispered to him, but she needed to regain her strength; she needed to grasp being a mother. They tucked themselves into the caves during that time span, but they often wandered just outside so that he may romp in the waves and beat his fragile wings against the sea breeze. This is what he became accustomed to. There were always voices nearby, always others in their home, but the field opens his eyes to something entirely different and much more congested.
The boy grunts and swivels his ears which is shortly followed by a gentle bump on his poll from mother. He peers up at her and there is a silent communication between them that spurs them from their resting place. It’s mother that finds the pair this time, not Castile, and his curiosity steadily rises with each cluster of horses they pass.
The voice, a drawl that crawls from the man’s throat, a lure to the lion’s den. Castile hears it and his eyes narrow skeptically when they do finally arrive to join the couple. Mother’s attention winks from the male to the female. ”I’m Nayl,” she has never taken kindly to males, but there is obviously one that has enraptured her considering the boy shadowing her. ”And this is Castile,” she indicates him with a casual tilt of her head, her unruly forelock tumbling aside to frame her pretty face. They’ve both heard the stallion’s name as well as Pangea from where he comes. In that instant, she remembers Pollock and how lifeless his home had been – tumbleweeds would have been fitting – with minimal grass and greenery. There was a darkness overshadowing the land that deterred her. She wasn’t afraid, not at all, but she was hyper observant. ”Since he has already asked for your name, I won’t repeat the question,” a lopsided grin curves the corner of Nayl’s mouth, ”but I will add that I’m from Nerine, a neighbor of Pangea but with far better scenery.” And then a chuckle, surprisingly, rises from her chest because the sound is simply so rare to hear.
so often times it happens that we live our lives in chains,
”Ah, Pangea and Nerine,” the smooth lacing of whiskey and bourbon interrupts, cutting through the brief and momentary silence that settles within the warm, rather serene setting before him. ”prowling the wayward grain for your next quarry?” A slight, carefree grin pulls at the corners of his pale, whiskered mouth, as his hazel eyes observe the four – his gaze lingering on the youth nestled tightly against his mother, quietly musing at the similarities shared between the two. He then glances to the male (Waylan, was it? He barely caught it,) with his searing eyes of crimson and his dark, mottled pelt, and a crooked smile that does not seem at all natural. Precarious, that one – one to keep a close eye on.
At last, his hazel eyes (clouded in an endless sea of thought, so much like his own father, Magnus) rove over the soft, delicate features of the russet mare resting in the center of such hungry, thinly veiled conversation, and still his smile remains. The sunlight, unyielding and bright, seemingly weaves its way through her tangled tresses of coal, and she is in stark contrast to the barren, vivid horizon that lay beyond her. There is a shadow of doubt hiding along the gentle hollow of her cheek, and the crease of her eyes – one he had never known himself, but that does not keep him from empathizing with the perplexity of it. Life was too short to doubt oneself; though he had no idea of the eternity ahead of him beneath the cover of immortality.
”I am Canaan,” he utters as a brief nod of his head is given, and his dark, streaked forelock rests in front of his gold-flecked eyes, which have since settled onto her. ”I come from the river. It has no name – not yet, at least, but it is as it describes.” He says as a rumbling chuckle reverberates within his chest. ”If you are seeking refuge, it is quiet. Calm. Peaceful, even, and lacking any political stance.” Only then does he spare a glance to Nayl and to Waylan, hoping to convey meaning to them as well. ”A dwelling for those who want some semblance of comfort and familiarity, but not the commitment of government.”
A pause, and then a faint sheepishness can be found creeping its way into his smile. ”Forgive me. I, too, would like to know your name.”
04-07-2017, 03:29 PM (This post was last modified: 04-07-2017, 03:32 PM by Vessel.)
» Innocence is always unsuspicious «
I can’t say I waited long in the field before someone approached. I’m rather glad for it for I think I might have fled if someone didn’t join me quickly. I looked over at the sound of his approach, light but sure footed. The first thing I noticed were his bright red eyes, I mean how could I not notice something like that. I had not seen eyes like that since I last saw Chem all those years ago. His bright teal eyes still visited me in my dreams sometimes. It was rare these days time tried its best to erase him from my memory, the fine features blurred until only the general characteristics were left. His towering height over my smaller frame, his usually shaggy forelock and black and white coat were about all that was left of my mental image. But those piercing teal eyes I could never forget, nor the feelings I had held for him and the hollowness since they shattered around me. I hadn’t seen a unique set of eyes since Chem’s last words to her after their son was born. Sure I had seen shades of brown, blue and grey… but red was new, red was different.
His black, no deep brown, coat was speckled with silver dapples and he was classically handsome in some ways, but in many others, he was far from classical. I watched him silently at first, sizing him up and feeling out how this interaction would go. I did this while nodding my acknowledgment of him with a smile tugging at the corners of my mouth. I knew I was dainty, I am not built of muscle and brawn. I am lean, slender, made from the blood of those that roamed the desert. His voice coos to me, silky and warm, with what I take as an undertone of edge. If I were really honest with myself I can’t help but want to melt into it. Maybe I would always have a thing for bad boys, but that didn’t mean I could just make a decision based on how swoon-worthy some stallion was. I couldn’t do that again-- Chem had hurt me too badly… but I had to admit, there was something about a possible bad boy. I lock back to his eyes from their little dance over his body as he purred his little nickname. Chem. I shook the thought from my mind, he didn’t get to haunt my new beginning, I didn’t get to intrude my thoughts any longer and I needed to focus, a nickname is just that… it wasn’t something to freak out about. I listened to him share his name and where he was from. I can’t say I knew a lot about any of the new lands, but I knew Pangaea was rather….devoid. I was about to answer his question when the sound of others approaching stopped me. I turned to see the small frame of a colt and his mother. I smiled as the colt tried to melt into his mother’s side. It reminded me of my Godric when he was young. I smiled at the smokey black mare and dipped my head as she introduced herself and her son, as well as where she hailed from. I smile at her colloquial jab at the fellow interested party. I knew enough of recruiting to know it wasn’t uncommon to jest with those you competed against. I smile at her quick witted remark and glance back at the stallion to see his reaction. ”I am Vessel. It’s nice to meet you all. What are your lands like? Beyond scenery, and better scenery.” I nodded to each horse respectively, but yet another approached and distracted me from continuing the conversation.
His cream coat was accented with wings that were folded by his sides, and he easily added himself into the conversation describing his lands and structure. His description was interesting, and she could see the appeal of such a structure. ”Vessel. I said with a nod. ”New lands? How established are the Hills? I’ve had to start over many times, I don’t know if could stand it if I had to do this all over for a 3rd time.” My eyes searched for any sign of deception. This was too important, too much of a pinnacle moment to rest on my laurels.
I'm just a poor boy. I need no sympathy. ( because I'm easy come, easy go, little high, little low )
It's quite funny really, being in the field with just a second of security, a promise of fresh blood within his kingdom. All to be soiled by useless wastes of flesh that join them, and to think he would have her all to himself. Nice try.
A chuckle release from his lips, as the three join them. Of course they would join, why not? The field was always a feeding ground for the greedy, and powerless, snatching up small meaty morsels of flesh like vultures feasting upon a withering carcass. His crimson gaze doesn't fall upon the others, except for the boy. He's young and strong, just what he needed from his own boys. Perhaps? A crooked grin forms upon his lips as he stares intently upon the child, oh he had plans for his own boys, but adding one more wouldn't hurt, right? If only he could snatch the boy away, he thought but the endangerment of his own self was far too risky, while he may be ruthless he was no idiot, and he knew better than to get in-between a Nerinian women and her child.
So our red eyed killer, fixes his ruby gems upon Vessel some form of familiarity about her lingered in the back of his mind. She had to be previously apart of a herd before the reckoning, but which one? There were many slowly evolving, ever changing during his lifetime he had befriended one herd master, the white speckled bastard, Chemdog. It was all very vague, he lacked the patience to linger any longer in his buried memories. So instead of waiting, for the mare or stallion to speak up about their lands, he expels his rough vocals. "Pangea is a land of freedom, we lack rules, and laws. But there is some form of order, a hierarchy. Where there is not one but many kings––architects." He pauses, craning his wickedly handsome cranium towards the mare. "They build our kingdom." He ends.
And that pretty much summed it up, a kingdom that was a beautiful symphony of chaos that some how found itself it's own order sparked by it's very own anarchy.
waylan
any way the wind blows doesn't really matter to me
