"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
Is a yearling considered too young to be so ambitious and driven?
It shouldn’t be; not when the individual is destined for greatness.
Without hesitation Nayl weaved through the Jungle’s underbrush to escape the humid borders. With miles still left to travel the girl found herself contemplating the task at hand as well as her future. This is what she is fated to be – an Amazon – and when she looks down at the vine spiraling up her leg she is reminded of the vow that binds her. Generations have marked her; Nayl descends from loyal Queens and servants to the Jungle. It’s in her blood and soul. She has been born into greatness, she tells herself, but she already knows better than to outwardly express her arrogance.
The mark of frost on her shoulder seemingly dances in the sunlight as she crests one of the last hills before reaching her destination. The tribal markings are fierce as they swirl and slash across her face, neck, and right shoulder. Then there is the lonely tree frog quietly perched on her hip staring out with wide emerald eyes. One would think she was a princess. She should be. She needs to be. The Jungle should be hers.
When she arrives at the border of the Chamber, Nayl drinks in the unfamiliar sight of the kingdom for the very first time. It looks much different from the Jungle. There isn’t a sea of green to meet her vision or a gurgling river nearby. Instead there are towering pine trees and new spring grass. It doesn’t seem quite so wild and fierce as the Jungle, but it has its own appeal. With her eyes lifted Nayl let’s a single note slip from her velvet lips then expectantly waits to be greeted.
When compared to a lineage like Nayl’s, Ephrelle’s ancestral devotion to the Jungle is sorely lacking. There are those that had sworn themselves to the sisterhood, but a half-dozen generations have passed since then, all of them loyal to other kingdoms. Ephrelle is a fresh start, the first since Prague in her particular branch, but that makes her no less of an Amazon than the girls that she trails after.
It hasn’t occurred to her to not follow Nayl; following Nayl is simply what Ephrelle does.
She has her own mind, of course, and is not slavishly devoted to the other girl. Still, there is something magnetic about Nayl, and Ephrelle enjoys being pulled along in the wake of whatever it is that Nayl is up to. Today it seems to be travel, and to a yearling that has never left the confines of the Jungle, the long journey that Nayl leads them on is positively thrilling. She can feel the loud beating of her own heart (accompanied by the soft hum of the honeybee that rests on her own red blossom), and eagerly keeps pace with the other filly.
Though they are both smoky black and white, each is distinctively patterned in their own way. Rather than Nayl’s tobiano, Ephrelle is freckled with white, a varnish roan. More obviously though, Ephrelle is practically vibrating with energy despite her position standing slightly behind Nayl, and the curiosity with which she inspects the unfamiliar kingdom is entirely unfettered. She wonders what business Nayl has with this kingdom – it must be the Chamber, judging from the direction they’ve been walking and Ephrelle’s knowledge of geography. She doesn’t intend to interfere in whatever she has planned, only to watch and serve as her Sister’s companion.
She had been ambitious and driven as a child. Her son even more so. Her son, in fact, skipped being a child entirely. Straia on the other hand had played at being a child, though she was more than capable of growing up at any given moment. That said, she never believed herself destined for greatness. At least, not in the way the word destined applied. She planned to be great. Planned to work for the crown on her head and the titles she wore before. She had always expected to be something, but because she had fought for it. No one was going to hand her a crown and let her keep it, unless she proved herself the most worth competitor. At least not here, not in the Chamber. The members of this kingdom were not known for being particularly kind to useless rulers. She was a very good demonstration of that trait, in fact.
The smell of the Amazons finds her as she weaves her way through the pine trees. They are nearly fully recovered after so many years of their lives cloaked in ash. She can wind her way through them without streaking herself in ash, though every once in a while she still encounters a patch. Truthfully though, she doesn’t mind. The ash has becomes a much a part of her as the Chamber, that it’s almost strange now that it’s entirely gone.
Though she is still the Queen of Ash and Ruin. She interested and broken kingdom on so many levels. They were growing, and rebuilding but still slowly. Far more slowly than Straia would like. But it always seems that she is the only one working toward a better kingdom. And Erebor. Thank god for the boy. Kavi, when he is around, but he’s also rather smitten with his Amazonian woman and she takes up more time than Straia appreciates. But she’ll tolerate it, if only because he’s her Uncle, and useful when he’s around.
Straia makes her way to the source of the smell, eventually spotting two fillies. This, she imagines, must be Rhy’s doing. Because no one else would send two fillies, even Amazonian fillies, to the Chamber unattended. The one is covered in markings that Straia finds excessive, but she’s never seen the point of the tattoo. She loves her kingdom. She will die for her kingdom. She doesn’t need a worthless marking to prove that, only her actions. But perhaps this is why she had stayed in the Chamber. The Jungle was her home too, in a way. Half of her heritage, anyway.
She stops in front of the two girls. Straia is not overly large, though she’s still looking down at the two girls. Both black and white in entirely different ways, and she briefly wonders if they are related at all. Straia herself is rather plain colored, bay tobiano. She enjoys her coloring though. She doesn’t need to be purple to be remembered. “Well hello. I'm Straia. And to what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?”
As far as Erebor is concerned, it is never too early to be ambitious and driven. He's been that way since he first hit the ground. Although for him, it's never been about the glory – it's always been about working for his home, about being what the Chamber needs, and doing what the Chamber requires of him. It's been a beautiful thing, really, to be such a perfect tool for his homeland. He is every bit as much a product of the Chamber as Nayl is a product of the jungle; his mother and both his grandfathers have ruled there. His father is the general. It is in his blood and is bones, as much as his grandfather's heart is in the ground.
He smells them on the wind before they even reach the border. He's taken to wandering the borders a bit more extensively since he's returned from the kingdom visits. He understands now that visits are a normal part of the rhythm of things, and although it seems to him a bit redundant – hadn’t they just been to the jungle? – he understands that they must be here, now, for the same kind of reason.
He moves toward them smoothly. He is barely older than they are – maybe a year – but he is a bit taller. He's a tall boy naturally, handsome and well built. There is something clean-cut about him, perhaps in his military bearing, perhaps in his strong build, perhaps in his black coat. He is every inch his father's son, a warrior at heart, but he's also every inch the charming, dapper gentleman. Not a dandy, never insincere, an oddly disarming and honest kind of charm. But there is no denying his good looks: solid black, well muscled, the kind of almost-stallion that could make a mare pause.
His mother gets there first, and he mentally chastises himself for it. He should've been faster, should've spotted them sooner. What if they were assassins? But none of that shows on his face. He is merely calm, collected, joining the group with a gentle nod to both of them. He does not register that they are children; perhaps that's because he himself managed to skip the child stage, heading directly for adulthood with no deviation.
"And I'm Erebor. Welcome to the Chamber." he pauses for a moment before greeting the one of the pair he recognizes from their visit to the Amazons not long ago. "Good to see you again Nayl."
Erebor
Native Prince of the Chamber
warship x straia
I hope we're okay with pretending that they met in that thread in the Jungle that died after Nayl posted? Iffff we're not cool with that let me know and I'll edit <3
Nayl can't say she's entirely surprised to see Ephrelle. Her shadow is trailing her closely with eyes as wondrous as a newborn. They are in an entirely different world where mares aren't the matriarchs and substance of the rank system. There is no lush, green jungle or wild cats to announce them. Together, side by side, they are in a kingdom of receding ash and burned hopes. For decades the Chamber has held tightly onto its reputations. Supposedly, it has been years since the kingdom last meddled in chaos.
Curious as to who steers the more quiet kingdom, Nayl couldn't help but follow the foreign traces of nomads until it brought her here. Knowing only the general direction of the Chamber, the girl had to heavily rely on her own instincts to reach their destination. Now that they have arrived, Nayl is able to more easily glance over her shoulder at Ellie. "It's lovely to have you here," she lies convincingly. It would have been better if she were alone, but after a moment of reconsideration, perhaps it's best that she has her sidekick.
Straia soon arrives and is long after followed by Erebor. Acknowledging the queen first, Nayl respectfully tips her head. "Hello, Your Grace," a small bit of flattery never hurt anyone, did it? "I just wanted to see the Chamber for myself, really. This is a solitary excursion that I decided to take." When the prince joins them, Nayl's eyes flash curiously. "Erebor, I hope you've been well. This is my friend, Ephrelle." She doesn't trust anyone enough yet to truly regard as a friend, but she lies so well and so sweetly that no one would know otherwise. "I'm also curious of relationships," she pauses in hesitation as her eyes gradually lift to Straia's, "What are your opinions on the Khaleesi?"
Does their queen have more enemies than allies?
Will her reign crumble before her very eyes?
Ephrelle has no ambitions beyond having both a thrilling and pleasant life. She’s content to serve the Amazons in return for the home and companionship that the Sisterhood provides, but she has no loft dreams of power. Power is for those that crave it, and Ephrelle has other desires. Nayl tells her that it’s nice to have her along and Ellie smiles back. Even if Nayl had told her she wished Ephrelle hadn’t come, the roan filly would have shrugged and tagged along regardless. She likes following Nayl and does so because she enjoys it, but she’s far from servile.
The bay mare that appears from between the soot-streaked trees is unfamiliar, but she shares the bold splashes of white that the black filly has come to expect in other mares. Everyone she knows has them – Nayl, her mother, Malka, Rhy – and she nods pleasantly at the greeting. “Hi,” she says, her green eyes sparkling with curiosity. She does not know what has brought them to the Chamber, but she is not simple-minded enough to turn immediately to Nayl as though she, too, is waiting for an answer. Instead, she glances over at the tobiano filly in a manner that is vaguely deferential – though not to Nayl herself, more in a way that implies a higher authority had given Nayl command of this venture rather than the girl having come herself.
Ephrelle is bright and bubbly and sweet – but she is not stupid.
She’s still waiting for Nayl to speak when the black horse arrives, and Ephrelle’s emerald gaze leaves Nayl immediately to settle on the young stallion. She straightens her neck unconsciously, just this side of obvious, but her flicking green eyes waste no time. She wants to turn to Nayl, to ask the other girl if she too, finds this young black horse handsome, but now is not the time. She’s not entirely sure that Nayl likes boys – or girls, or anything really – but she is still Ephrelle’s best female friend and the idea of chattering over this with anyone else seems ridiculous. Perhaps she can tell Wyrnn?
For now, she simply smiles back, just as politely as she had at Straia, but she offers her name this time. “I’m Ephrelle.” Ephrelle, not Ellie. Ellie suddenly seems like a rather childish name and she does not want it. Nayl, it seems, knows the boy already. She asks them - asks Straia and Erebor – about their opinions on the Khaleesi. Ephrelle has never interacted with their fiery queen and has no opinions herself, but is clearly curious about what the Chamber horses think, as she is currently glancing between them
Her son joins her quickly. He’s always at her side, though not because he needs to be around his mother but rather because they are both always serving the Chamber. It tends to bring them to the same place on a constant basis, and she certainly doesn’t mind. He’s growing up to be quite the boy. Obviously Warship’s child, and much less obviously her child. They are polar opposite, in the obvious ways. He is like her in his love for the Chamber, in his ability to be exactly what he needs, in his calm demour and the mask he can wear on his face. All Prince Charming, when the situation calls.
But these things are not outwardly obvious. She is brown and white, like her month. Her mane in wild, long and tangled on each side of her neck. She’s more delicate than her son, her Arabian heritage more obvious in her than in him. Though she’s not small either, given her mother’s larger figure. But her good looks are not clean cut and pristine like his. Her good looks are in that fierce, wild aspect of her. Perhaps she would have done well in the Jungle, had she been born there rather than here. But she couldn’t imagine life anywhere else.
It had been years since the Chamber had done anything of note though. It had burned to the ground too many times in the last few decades, been plagued from the chaos they had started, and really, too much internal warfare as well. Her father ended that, but he did nothing to truly disrupt Beqanna. Overthrew the Falls rulers, though they were largely absent at the time. Overthrew the Gates ruler, and allied with the only kingdom quieter than the Chamber. His moves hadn’t help the reputation of the Chamber at all.
Straia would love to change that. But she wasn’t stupid. They were quiet. They needed numbers first. She solved their completely worthless ally situation. Their ally was no longer particularly trustworthy, but they were much stronger than the Gates. Still, they had a long way to go before they could be a threat to Beqanna again. But she is a patient mare. She waited for the right time for the crown. She’ll wait for the right time for chaos.
Nayl is the first to speak. She’s not surprised. The girl is older than her age and bold, not unlike her son. She can’t help but think they might be something of a match for each other. Always challenging the other. Straia doesn’t care much for love, not really. She cares to find others that can make her strive to be even better. Though she can’t help but notice that both girls turn to eye her son a moment too long. The boy was useful without even trying. Which, she imagines, he knows. Her son is far from stupid.
“Your Grace?” she scoffs, because flattery does little for Straia. It’s fake, and she’s never much been into fake. She’d rather hear the truth, whatever that might be, and respects it far more. The girl continues, and her purpose becomes clearer. Perhaps Rhy had sent the girl, but she highly doubts Rhy told her to pry. It’s not as if Straia doesn’t keep her cousin at least reasonably well informed, when she knows something of use. Granted, Rhy has the ability to gather information far more sneakily than Straia ever could, so there’s little for Straia to offer her.
“I’ve only met your Khaleesi a handful of times in the field, and once in the Jungle. But I’ve known her since before she ruled. She’s dedicated and fiery. It’s hard to ask for more in a monarch these days. So many simply aren’t around.” It’s a mostly truthful answer, though perhaps not all that detailed as Nayl might have hoped.
She doesn’t have much of an opinion on Scorch personally other than the mare might do better in the Chamber than the Jungle. Too late for that, sadly. Straia knows some, though she doubts all, of the discord in the Jungle. Bits here and there, though nothing but rumors through the mill at this point. But from what she does know, it sounds rather like Scorch’s plans aren’t welcome in the Jungle. But Straia rather likes plans. She wouldn’t mind a few more schemers around. But that thought is neither here nor there really.
“What is it you really want to know, child? Can’t promise I’ll answer, but you stand a better chance if you ask.” She’s curious what the girl is really like. Curious if she’s all lies and deception and pretty words, or capable of more.
straia
queen of the chamber
Use of mild power playing is allowed; no injuries without permission
"I am well, Nayl. I hope you are the same." When Ephrelle speaks up, he turns to her with a smile. He is no idiot when it comes to the effect he can have on mares, and his warrior's instincts make it all too easy to spot the small changes in the young filly. "Ephrelle, a pleasure to meet you." his voice is smooth and rich, like chocolate.
He turns back to Nayl as the girl speaks again, and he isn't surprised at her boldness. He understands speaking your mind – he's prone to it, as well – but he also understands that if you ask something like that outright, you're never going to get the answer you expect. Or the answer you want. There is a delicate balance between asking too frankly, and asking too obliquely, between being artless and being insincere. He likes to think he's learned to walk those lines. It is clear to him that this girl has not.
But none of those thoughts show on his face. To the outside observer – to Nayl and Ephrelle and his mother – he continues to listen to their conversation with gentle interest, entirely unmoved by anything that they might say one way or the other. As is his custom in diplomatic endeavors, he lets his mother speak first, seeing how she chooses to answer Nayl's question before hazarding anything himself. It's not that he doubts his capacities; it's merely that, in matters of diplomacy, he is the second to the queen (as they all are) and he will always allow her to set the tone, especially in more delicate moments like this one.
"I can't say that I've met Scorch beyond our encounter in the jungle, but I would agree that in these times where leaders so often go quiet, a present, engaged leader like Scorch can only be a good thing." He doesn't doubt that that is not the answer the girl was looking for. And Straia senses the same thing – his mother asks what Nayl had really wanted to know, and Erebor is curious as well. Nayl had said that she was here on a curious visit, but the boy can't help but wonder if the Amazons were after something with it. Rhy, the leader of the Amazonian diplomats, is Straia's cousin, he recalls. He wonders if she knows what is going on with this.
But he does not ask. He lets Straia's statement stand, curious to hear what Nayl's answer will be – but he spares a small moment to catch Ephrelle's eye and offer her a small smile. If he's going to play eye candy, he's going to do it up round.
