"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 doesn’t know exactly where to find them, but they know they are here – lurking within their own secret parts of Tephra, three stoic leaders watching quietly from unforeseen places. His heart flutters as he moves swiftly, his skin burning not only from the slick, humid air but also from the vital information he held on his tongue. He moves towards the volcano, the monument of Tephra, for he knew at least Offspring would be there, shrouded by the warmth of its shadows and steaming heat. Nymphetamine might be nearby, or possibly roaming the dense tropical foliage in the midday’s sun. Perhaps Ellyse is off the coast, her hazel eyes staring out into the dim grey of the sea, or taking to the skies to scour the expanse below her. He tries not to think about their last meeting, his heart stammering at the thought of her, and instead focuses on the words Amet had given him.
Attack on Hyaline. In the middle of the night. Fire, ash, screaming. Was it only a fluke, a group of pirate-like horses causing chaos? Or was it a foretelling of what is to come; perhaps a force is growing and strengthening beneath their noses, planning the downfall of larger kingdoms next?
At Amet’s offer to visit the injured Tang, the bay stallion nearly had traveled back to Hyaline the instant the words left the metallic of his lips. But he knew his duty and could not leave his kingdom without informing everyone of the possible dangers that might be on the way. He could hardly bring himself to leave the borders, guarding the entrances with heavy steps and a heavier beating heart.
No one would hurt his home.
Warrick’s muscular blue legs slam to a halt before the black rock that is the volcano, the wet stone steaming from the heat that plumes within its depths. Nostrils flare as a large breath sharply leaves him, inhaling quickly the scents that were nearest and freshest to him. Ash, sulfur, brine. With a toss of his head and a flick of his blue-tipped ears backwards, he calls for them – urgently. His long forelock falls across the cerulean blue of his eyes, their shape wide with concern.
He waits for them patiently, pacing a few steps and then turning to walk the same stride again, his black tail slashing at the auburn of his flanks.
I know some things that you don't; I've done things that you won't there's nothing like a trail of blood to find your way back home
The sun is warm, and soothing – the humidity is kept at bay by the gentle stirring of the breeze, caressing the length of her wing and weaving its way through the pristine, finely preened feathers. She had already taken to the sky, as the tepid haze caressed the length of her body, lifting her higher and higher – but now she grounded and encased in a thin layer of perspiration, glimmering beneath the pale light of the sun. Her eyes are settled upon the roaring, tempestuous sea, her mind somewhere far off in the distance – but she is soon jarred from her own thoughts, with her cheek turned towards the shadow of the looming volcano.
Warrick.
She does not waste time tucking the wind beneath her wings; he is too close and her legs carry her quickly – churning powerfully beneath the feminine façade of her slender figure. The air is stifling as the morning sun fades into midday, and she is moving against it – an unwavering force against an unruly tide, but she can see the outline of him lingering in the distance (a vivid auburn against the gleaming gold of the wild grass), and to him she goes.
Her pace eventually tapers off into a saunter, and then she is before him, her lungs heavy and her throat dry, but there is a shadow of concern within her watchful eyes. Her heart is pounding, thrusting against the confinement of her chest, but she ignores the gentle rolling of butterflies as her gaze catches his – urging the unusual sensation down, swallowing it. There was a darkness hidden within the tension of his cheek, where his teeth clench tightly, anxiously – something was amiss.
”Warrick, what is it?” she breathes, reaching to touch his cheek – a gentle, and fleeting touch; her heart warm and grateful for their mended bond.
06-28-2017, 10:30 PM (This post was last modified: 06-28-2017, 11:00 PM by Nymphetamine.)
Nymphetamine was rarely far from the main island, preferring to be close in case one of his emissaries returned with important word. Rarely did the bay travel to the northernmost island and the cool ocean winds that swept up the shoreline. There was too much to do, and be aware of at the current time to relax. His core group of diplomats had been dispatched to the other territories and he was anxious for the news they would bring home. The humidity was tolerable for an early Autumn day, and the bay enjoyed a day without the sticky moisture sitting on his skin at all times. The day was still relatively new, and he was enjoying the shade of some of the more dense trees on the southern side of the main island. His thoughts wandering from the recent conversations with Kimber, Offspring, and Aurora. He didn’t believe that Offspring was fine, though he seemed to want everyone to believe he was. It worried him. He poured over the conversation with kimber, once again unsure where they stood. It shouldn’t have been a surprise to him, but it was. Somewhere deep down he still needed a direct answer from her even though he felt the need for something more comfortable on the surface. Which brought him to Aurora, the sweet mare that he happened upon. Their conversation was natural and they got along easily. He’d be lying if he said that he didn’t care for her in some sense. It was new and the level and degree in which his feeling reached were unknown, but she was on his mind nevertheless.
The ambassador’s thoughts were jarred by the panicked call that tore the air open. Warrick. Nymph had sent him to Hayline, but surely it had been too soon for him to return. This had to be something else. Warrick was gregarious and surely there must have been news from within Tephra. He wasted no time going to the dark bay, as the urgency was so profound that Nymph dare not wait and risk. He waved through the trees and launched himself over lava and water streams alike. A shadowy figure darted in front of him 500 yards away, he could make out wings, and the sharp snap of tree limbs told him of the speed she was moving with. And when Nymph came into view of the figure moments later she had already spoken, and Warrick stood visibly concerned about something. The mare, who he knew by Ellyse from the meeting where Offspring took leadership, had her own deep concern audible as she spoke to Warrick. The blood bay simply looked at Warrick for an answer, his own concern visible in the crease of his brow and piercing gaze.
Nymphetamine
in my heart, that barless prison Discolours all with tunnel vision
you can have my isolation, you can have the hate that it brings.
His mind is heavy, uncertainty still clinging precariously to the frayed edges of his thoughts. The evening had been another restless one, and though the sun had set beyond the horizon, taking its light with it, the darkness of nightfall had done nothing to sooth his rampantly churning mind. The gears were in motion, turning edgily within, as his son’s soft but rumbling confession echoes itself to him. He had always known that Levi held a darkness with him, not unlike himself – he had hoped that it would dissipate with age, that it would fade away in time.
But it had only grown.
The imagery of Hyaline burning was not easy to envision – he had never seen the land with his own eyes; not yet (he had been given little reason to yet – his kingdom was growing, settling upon its unsteady feet after a time of unrest and undisturbed quiet; it was too soon for alliances). Nonetheless, his imagination was enough to fill in the void of what he had not seen, and the image of a crystalline lake roiling and boiling from the sheer heat of his son’s fire is enough to stir ire within his chest.
There were rumors of an alliance between Hyaline and Sylva and Nerine – Sylva he did not worry much over; it was a namesake at best with no standing presence. Nerine, however, had seemed stronger than the rest, and he knew that harboring his son might stir the Queen into action. He cannot suppress the faint simper tugging at the corner of his dark lips, then – let her come.
Alas, he is drawn out of his quiet brooding by a shrill cry, echoing through the dense haze of morning. There is not a moment of hesitation – soon, the bulk of his behemoth form is being carried by the rhythmic pounding of his strong, muscular legs, as the breeze touches the heat that linger on his skin, weaving itself through his tangled, unkempt tresses. He can see Warrick long before he can see him; his heat signature is dwarfed by the towering beacon of molten lava before him, but his sharpened eyesight can see the concern etched into his features, and he feigns stoicism then, concealing any thought or emotion from the surface of his face.
He knew why he was calling.
A brief nod is given to Ellyse, and to Nymphetamine (it is good that they have come; they will need to know what might be coming – they will need to be prepared), but the entirety of his focus is upon Warrick.
”What is it?” he says quietly, his rumbling voice ragged from the heaviness of morning.
you can have my absence of faith, you can have my everything.
He paces back and forth, muscular blue legs fervently pushing into the damp ground that surrounds the volcano’s base, the humidity sweltering and steaming against his skin. His ears are flicked back unresponsively, his deep cerulean eyes staring hard at his hooves with every step, his brow creased with apprehension. He’s not sure what to do, what to offer them as solutions when they arrive; all he knows is he must inform them of the happenings in Hyaline and then rush quickly to the small kingdom to complete the order set out for him by Nymphetamine himself. It would be a two-tasked journey, meant probably for not only finding out diplomatic probability between the two kingdoms, but to also see the destruction with their own eyes. He would not only be journeying there for political reasons, and for a moment he wonders if he will no longer be going alone, given the current situation.
His thoughts churn aggressively like a summer tempest, clouding his mind and keeping him from hearing Ellyse’s hurried approach, her slender legs bringing herself close to him with a quiet breath.
Warrick has not waited long, but it feels like an eternity. The brush of her lips against his cheek, a gesture filled with disquiet and the intent of soothing his distraught way the lines of his face twist, a wisp of pale ivory against hot and burning auburn. At her touch, he exhales deeply in a tremulous sigh, realizing that he had been holding his breath as he awaited their presence. He calms momentarily, enough to realize the rapid pulse of his heart against his ribcage and the coat of sweat that now adorns his body because of it. “Ellyse,” he begins with a breathless voice, thankful for her presence and how her mere voice, despite being laced with worry, brings his ears towards her as the racing of his heart beat diminishes to a quiet thrum.
Deep, wide eyes turn to look at Nymphetamine who has now appeared from beneath the thick foliage that lies beyond the sea and the volcano. He had not yet left for Hyaline, and he knows that Nymphetamine is probably concerned that he still remains in Tephra. But the blood bay is logical and quick to analyze, his expression wrought with a certain disquiet; he knew that there was something wrong, something perturbing Warrick from traveling peacefully to the kingdom without reaching out to them first.
Then, just as quickly, there comes a rumbling that fills the silence around them, though it is not the sound of the volcano behind them that causes it. Warrick’s brilliant blue gaze shifts to the presence that has now joined them, looming like a mountain and just as stoic as one. Large and commanding the presence all around him, Warrick dips his head quickly in respect for his king. The solid, red gaze of Offspring bores into the bay, expectantly waiting for whatever news Warrick has to tell them.
“It’s Hyaline. Two nights ago, they were attacked as they slept. Their home was nearly half burnt by the end of it, some of it still is burning.” A pause. “It was a group. Tephra is far from Hyaline, but there is no knowing if they will try to strike again, or whom.”
A shift in his gaze towards Nymphetamine. “Amet, the leader, brought me the news himself. It has delayed my travel to their kingdom for the time being.” Now a soft glance to Ellyse, then back to Offspring, a snort leaving his navy nostrils. “I am happy to still venture there, see the damages and speak with the leaders, and report back. But I am sure this situation changes our original intent.”
I know some things that you don't; I've done things that you won't there's nothing like a trail of blood to find your way back home
There is a shadow of discontent within his heavy gaze, and when the piercing cerulean of his eyes bore into her own, her heart thumps uncomfortably within her chest – there is a flicker of uncertainty (something is terribly, terribly wrong, and it is etched into the fine lines around his eyes, and in the hollow of his terse cheek where his teeth clench). His breath is warm across her cheek as he finally exhales a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, and again, her pale lips brush across his jawline, tucking aside a wayward lock of his mane, searching the hardened plane of his troubled face.
He murmurs her name, softly – his anxiety quelled by her presence (as her own is quieted by his – though she dare not admit it). She does not speak when Nymphetamine arrives, his browline furrowed with concern, a wordless but attentive presence. The golden flecks of her eyes gleam in the pale sunlight as she traces the hardened muscle beneath the shimmer of his auburn skin (brighter than Warrick – the very same shade of thick, coagulating blood she had seen pooled around the rotting carcasses of her youth – but he is nothing like death, slender yet whole).
The memory of him is faint (she had listened only half-heartedly when Offspring had taken the crown of thorns from the quiet Queen) but it is enough that she is content to avert her gaze, watchful instead of the sudden, powerful presence of the King. A faint nod is given – he is broad, dark, with a fiery glow in the steady intensity of his gaze – but she does not say anything to him.
Hyaline, Warrick utters, and she is quiet – her daughter had gone to Hyaline (was she still there? She could never be certain with her children; each wilder than the next) and instantly, a thick and rolling knot is forming within the pit of her belly, as the nerves along her golden skin tingle anxiously – unnerved.
”Burned?” she asks quietly, with an edge to her voice - burned, and what for? There were distant memories of lands of old being burned; a vicious and unrelenting attack. ”A group,” she echoes, a sharpened bite beginning to seep into her voice, her hazel eyes glancing between Nymphetamine and Offspring. ”Hyaline is still young – it could be another kingdom, testing the strength of its King, or even the Queen of Nerine.”
She pauses, then, ”Only a coward strikes while the innocent sleep. That is telling of the group, of their intentions. You were right not to go, Warrick –“I would worry for you, she doesn’t say, but there is a softness within her darkening eyes as they meet with his own again. ”not until we know more. We need to build a guard, and set up a watch.”
The arrival of Offspring completed their group, his draft height towering over them. His bold stance dwarfing those around him commanding attention not only in presence but in physical space. His voice fell in low deep rumblings, there was no nonsense or light hearted tones, but this was not a joyous gathering. Nymph, who had shifted to easily look from Warrick to Offspring looked from Warrick to Offspring, and back as the reason for his urgent call was given. An attack on Hayline. Nymph was rather unfamiliar with Hayline, it being a new territory, but he knew it was a young territory in age and in residency. Diplomatically speaking, he didn’t think that made for the strongest ally, but also knew that youth were often strongly motivated to be the best, and were often innovative so he knew better than to count them out. He also knew why someone would have chosen them first. Nymph glanced to Offspring to gauge his reaction; their diplomatic standing neutral with all territories may change their action plan, and he wished he knew more of of the other territories so he could advise on more than gut instinct.
His thoughts were interrupted by Ellyse, as she echoed Warrick. Her voice almost wavering, but it steadied quickly, her eyes caught the light and the concern was evident. Her reasoning was her own, and there was no sign if it was personal or otherwise, but her further reply was obviously about business. Protecting Tephra was the utmost importance. He found himself nodding in agreement, she was right, we needed to be prepared. Even if Tephra was safe, the plans could change and they should be prepared a recent power shift, and the quiet beforehand were kinks in their armor and they would have to move quickly. When both Warrick and Ellyse had finished the diplomat chimed in his point of view. ”That would be wise Ellyse- best be over prepared than be caught on our laurels.” His gaze fell away from the golden mare, and to Warrick once more. ”This will alter our plans for visiting… diplomatic talks are more touchy at times like this. Yes, it is best that you didn’t continue to Hayline. Maybe it would be best for you to visit Sylva, I was going to go, but given the attack maybe Offspring and myself should pay the young leaders a visit personally…?” He own steel eyes pivoted up to the red-eyed of Offspring curious of his opinion on how they should continue.
Tephra’s leadership was young in succession but not in experience, but he had faith that if something or someone came to challenge their peace that all residents would join in the efforts to keep Tephra from harm, to protect their home.
Nymphetamine
in my heart, that barless prison discolours all with tunnel vision
you can have my isolation, you can have the hate that it brings.
He is quiet.
Stoic and seemingly indifferent, a façade sufficiently veils the uncertainty and discontent stirring within his own mind – his own progeny had wreaked havoc elsewhere, and it had found its way to the shoreline of Tephra. He is uneasy, and carefully, his sharpened gaze is averted towards the looming, rumbling volcano, contemplating the heavy plumes of smoke and ash blooming from its gaping crest. The sulfur, at one time, had burned his lungs, but now it felt as if it were as much a part of him as the marrow in his own bones, or the scarring of his inky flesh.
The volcanic island had become his own, gifted by an unseen but immensely powerful force – not to be taken granted for (and he would not; he would sacrifice himself into a watery grave if it meant keeping it from falling into the endless abyss of the ravenous sea).
He could not imagine how he, himself, might feel if fire were to come, to ravage it – to singe the wavering grain, to transform the speckling of wiry, dry and brittle foliage into little else but ash. His heart might be filled with fury; his bones aching for vengeance – he did not know, nor could he even begin to know. Alas, it was not Tephra that had been a victim, but Hyaline – its innocent and oblivious residents rendered helpless and harmed by a band of reckless, power-wielding imps with nothing better to do.
He is quiet.
Listening.
He carries the burden of knowledge that none of the three have, but would soon find, and he could only speculate as to their ire. He knew that Warrick held a piece of Hyaline within his heart (why else would he travel there without diplomatic necessity – why else would he be in contact, if not for personal reasons?). He had watched the scaled King of Hyaline wash upon his shore from a careful distance; he had watched their terse, anxious conversation, and he had watched him wade away again. He knew that the secret he carried would not go over smoothly, nor would it with either the Head of War, or Nymphetamine.
There is talk of a guard, of preparations, and his voice rises up, sharp and curt.
”Enough.”
There is a heaviness in the air – a tension he cannot stifle; he cannot suffocate.
”It was not another kingdom; it was my son.”
His gaze is finally drawn away from the volcanic mountain, searching the planes of their faces, one at a time.
”My foolish, reckless son Levi. He is young, as were the others – children,” he muses, though there is an underlying bite to his tone. Children. But old enough to know better.
Reckless. Thoughtless.
Careless.
”Amet should look no further than his own sister, Iset, who had a hand in it as well.” He pauses then, his gaze boring into Warrick’s. ”She is the Queen, so I’ve heard.”
”It was a group of heedless children, wreaking havoc where they do not belong. I am dealing with my son, personally. He will be staying here, under my watch – should he cause any further issue, I will handle it.”
A pause, then, and a deep sigh – a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. ”I agree that we should have a guard; we are too unprepared – if this has shown us nothing else, it has shown us that.” He pauses then, observing Nymphetamine. ”In any other circumstance, I would agree – but I think that it should be Warrick and I that visit. He is most familiar with Hyaline and thus, more welcome than any other, and I should like to speak with Amet and see the devastation myself. If nothing else, he and his kingdom deserve an explanation.”
you can have my absence of faith, you can have my everything.
Once the information left his lips, Warrick could feel the uncomfortable sense of urgency melt away momentarily; together, they would know what to do. It will be quelled and solved between their council and advising, he had done his duty and there was nothing more to be expected of him. Warrick’s gentle (yet still alarmed) gaze flickers to Ellyse, watching curiously at the ferocity that immediately writhes through the golden muscles of her body, her hazel eyes churning with an emotion that, as one who had never experienced battle or war, is unfamiliar to him. Her voice is solid and certain, as it always is, and he finds comfort when her eyes soften upon looking at him. He wishes to reach out to her and brush his lips against her golden cheek, but now was not the time nor the place for such fleeting touches.
With a snort, his gaze pries from her and shifts Nymphetamine as he seconds Ellyse’s plan for a guard, as well as informing Warrick of a new assignment. He nearly takes a step forward to begin his journey, but the rumbling voice of Offspring causes him to become frozen.
‘Enough’.
The looming black beast’s tone confuses Warrick. Blue eyes narrow thoughtfully and his head tilts just so, his heart beginning to race once again as he realizes that all is still not well. He waits with a breath tight in his chest, Offspring’s presence simmering and steaming like the volcano in the distance.
“Your son?” Warrick cannot help but blurt out, his voice not accusing or malicious, merely surprised at such an idea. The bay stallion’s eyes become shrouded by a creased brow, unsure of what stirs within his stomach. His thoughts rush to Amet’s confession of Tang being hurt by the attackers, and the idea that Offspring’s flesh and blood was the cause, makes Warrick’s ears flick back onto his neck.
He says nothing. He continues to let Offspring give them the details of what happened, idly flicking his black tail against his auburn haunch. The king’s blazing red eyes are completely on Warrick, for he’s sure that the behemoth knows of his ties to Hyaline. Warrick’s gaze does not waver, listening and digesting. Iset. Warrick snorts sharply, wondering if his friendship with Amet (if you could even call it friendship, really) is misplaced. An inside job, it obviously was, and Warrick does not like the feeling of apprehension that washes over him at the notion that Amet was not involved at all.
It made him feel sick.
Warrick’s jaw clenches, hoping that he would not have to meet this son of Offspring’s – he knew the king could handle the boy just fine (and rein him in with ways that Warrick would be clueless), but the stallion is not sure how exactly he would react to such a character.
Plans have changed. They are going to Hyaline.
With a gentle lift of his chin and allowing his ears to come forward from the midst of his black mane, Warrick replies: “I am ready to leave at once.”
![[Image: nymphetamine_zpsmlx48otf.gif]](http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v202/dsl_devin/nymphetamine_zpsmlx48otf.gif)