"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
There is something that he has been waiting on, something that’s long overdue. Oh he hasn’t forgotten his little minnow that he had kept in the sallow pond of his old mountain range. There was a rumor that Magnus, that busybody buttplug, had taken her long ago. Now while he may have been indisposed, Minette had still belonged to him. To add further insult to injury, he had taken his children as well. Now that won’t do. They belonged to him, all of them. Dead or alive, he will reclaim them.
The last whisper of the thief was in a land called Tephra. It’s not a far trip to take from the forest with the aid of feathery wings and so he takes to the air and within hours he is gliding down towards another range of forest. Hooves lightly touch down on black soot and his nostrils wrinkle as ash and heat rush up to meet him. Even though it’s winter, this land is warm. Not his cup of tea and he ruffles his feathers with discomfort. Already longing for the cool shadows from whence he came. There’s still business to attend to and he won’t leave without something, so he waits by the border. No, he won’t go prancing in. He understands how these things work, having been a kingdom man for so long. From disgraced Chamber prince to mastering the Chamber’s shadows…Old habits are hard to forget. Besides if one is going to play the game they have to do it right.
Red eyes glitter in the dusk of sunset, the sun barely visible as it slowly sinks in the distance. Arching his neck, he cranes his head towards his side, preening at the soft down of snowy feathers that he rakes against yellowed teeth. Settling into his stance, calm and quiet. He is patient, he can wait.
you can have my isolation, you can have the hate that it brings.
The warmth is stifling, and the air is thick with fallen ash – a haze is lingering heavily between the swaying vegetation and the bright, vivid sky, encapsulating all beneath it in its tepid clutch. He has grown used to it – perhaps, because of the stirring, flickering flame that is burning so brightly within him; the heat and fire are as much a part of him as his wild and powerful heart, churning within the thick of his chest. A thin sheen of perspiration causes the otherwise dreary and dull blackness of his skin to shine, while unshaken beads of sweat line the gentle slope of his spine. He is still – quiet, watchful, waiting.
The sun lay just beyond the horizon, but it is far from fallen, bathing the rich soil in its light, and reflecting over the ravenous but unbroken sea. He is nearest to the shoreline, cheek turned towards the shadow of the looming volcano in the distance (and he can almost feel it rumbling, almost) – with thick, luscious plumes of smoke rising from the top, darkening the atmosphere. He is content, with the updraft of the ocean breeze raking over the scalding heat of his skin – he is content, if only for a moment.
He is not alone, however, and with a careful sweep of his thick neck, he is peering out into the water – and emerging from the haze, a set of bright, burning red eyes, not unlike his own, meet his. The tension coils within his muscles, but appear as no more than a flinch of shifting bones. The fire is stoked, crackling and burning within him, and a low flame courses the length of his spine, wary – and though he cannot pry into his mind, he cannot probe his innermost thoughts, there is a roiling discontent stirring within the pit of his stomach.
He could be trouble.
Gryffen is still, watchful, but he does not see him lingering along the eastern border, and so he emerges from the shadow of the sea, observing him as the sun finally dips down beyond the horizon. Quietly, his rumbling voice rises above the crashing, churning waves of the sea, as his dark eyes settle upon him.
”You’ve found Tephra, and I am its overseer, Offspring,” he pauses, considering him, as his dark and heavy eyes bore into his own. ”what can I do for you?”
you can have my absence of faith, you can have my everything.
This place sucks. Badly. It’s way too hot, almost stifling. The former Chamber wraith shifts slightly as he begins to perspire, droplets of sweat beading along the arch of his cream neck. Crimson iris’s gaze rather longingly at the sea. If nobody comes forward soon, he might take a quick dip in the waves. The thought of the cool caress of salty water on his skin makes him lick his lips involuntarily. How does anyone stand this damn heat?
Through the haze of smoke, he thinks for a minute that perhaps he is seeing some sort of odd reflection. Red eyes glare out into his own but soon a large black mass begins to shape around them. From the sea, like Poseidon himself, he rises. Interesting character this.
”How do you stand this place?” Is how he responds to the greeting, the sweat now trickling down across his chest. Sighing softly as he shifts with his discomfort, regaining his decorum. ”Gryffen.” He purrs softly against the rolling crash of waves. His own crimson gaze glancing out behind Offspring in the obvious attempt of locating someone.
I’m trying to find someone. I’ve been following rumors that the man who kidnapped the love of my life and our daughter a few years ago brought them here.” He exhales softly, nostrils flaring at the irritation of it all. Fucking Magnus, that little shit. ”I was hoping to be reunited with them again, make up for those lost years.” Oh if Minette was still alive he would definitely make up for lost time, he would carve her flesh from her very bones piece by piece. The price to pay for her disobedience and disloyalty.
”I miss them very much… I’ve been so worried…” He remembers to add, casting his gaze down and his voice softening with sadness. His shoulders slump in defeat, ever the figure of a grieving widower. Insincere of course but one must play the part.
”Please tell me you’ve seen them, Minette and Amorette.” Now the lines of his face are wistful as he casts his pleading gaze up to the dark stallion. Searching for a sign of recognition for that’s all he really needs to know.
You're looking at an absolute zero; I'm not the devil but I won't be your hero.
He can see the discomfort roiling beneath the surface – he is flinching and shifting in his discontent, a sneer of thinly veiled disdain settled upon the terse tension of his face. He is hardly bothered by it; the stifling humidity had nearly been enough to suffocate even him, long ago, but he had not only become accustomed to it, he had thrived within it.
The restrictive heat and inhibiting dampness of the rumbling, churning volcano is cut only by the gentle caress of the soothing, salty sea breeze, but the festering, brightly burning flame licking the surface of his dark, marred flesh is a much more commanding presence, and he does not notice much else.
Though the fire had once scalded him from within, it had since become a deeply intricate part of his very fiber, with fire blistering within every nerve ending, every twitch of thick and coiled muscle – even the tender marrow of his broad frame. A faint edge of unease has already begun to descend, settling over him in a thick drapery of uncertainty, while the dark ember of his crimson gaze is settled intently upon the stranger, who is not able to disguise the slithering serpent beneath the poorly constructed façade of sincerity.
Beneath the surface of his contrived virtue, there is a glimmer of mischief and danger (he has lived too many lifetimes not to recognize trouble, even when cloaked), and the blistering flame from within has surfaced, setting the darkness of his skin ablaze in a thick, flickering haze of fire.
His gaze is laden with suspicion and doubt, skepticism agitating his rapid thoughts.
In between each sweetened, longing word, there is a gleam of falsehood, and though he is altogether disbelieving of the rapidly spun tale he has begun to unravel before him, he cannot merely spurn him based on his instinct alone. Softly, his voice rises above the churning sea, his iron eyes never leaving his.
”Your name is familiar, Gryffen,” though he cannot say from where, nor from whom he had heard it from. Unlike Gryffen, his own words are not insincere – there are many wandering the volcanic isle – he knew of Amorette, but not of her name – she had drifted to and fro, as wild and as unwieldy as the open sea, and thus he has nothing to offer the wraith. ”alas, those you seek are not. You will not find what you are looking for here.”
OFFSPRING
another zealot with the weight of the fucking world.
Some were more perceptive than others, Offspring would not be so easy to fool. He should have expected that, rulers were always extremely sensitive and suspicious. It came with the territory. Once it becomes clear that Tephra’s Overseer doesn’t plan on making things easy for him, he drops the act. Crimson meets crimson as he flatly states. ”You’re lying.” Eyeing the flicker of flames that ravage along the darkness of the other’s body. Interesting, a flicker of the scientist emerging as he already begins to wonder why the flames suddenly showed themselves now. Was it an involuntary response or were they set off by emotion?
Forcing his gaze back to the familiar eyes so like his own, he offers Offspring a thin smile. ”Let’s not bullshit each other then. I know my daughter is here and I want her back. She was stolen from me and I know the thief brought her here.” A flick of his tail as he continues, looking towards the sputtering plumes of volcanic ash that spit from the mountain. ”I would rather us be friends, you and I. I think you’ll be hearing my name more often and I expect we may see much more of each other. Perhaps you will send her by as a token of good faith… When you see her of course. She can find me in the forests…”
He doesn’t wait for an agreement or a refusal. Instead he quickly turns and slips away into the coming shade of darkness. Better to let it stew.
Gryffen
I figured we could end this thread to catch up with the new timeline since Dahmer is in Taiga <3
