"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
The mare doesn’t waste any time getting to the point, something Straia always like. For all the beauty the young girl holds, she also seems to have a sensible head on her shoulders. See? This is why Straia doesn’t let assumptions get the best of her. Assumptions creep in, of course, because that’s natural. It’s just a matter of ignoring them. At the first comment Straia smiles just slightly, “I suppose I should say thank you, then.” She won’t argue the perception. She’s never thought much of it herself, but thinking on it now, it doesn’t necessarily seem wrong. She was raised as a princess, served as Lady and now Queen. It seems vaguely inevitable that learning some level of authority and grace would come with those titles. The charming part. Well, some found her amusing. Others found her to be impossible. Depended on the audience.
She lets the mare finish the rest before speaking again, though first she nods in the direction of the Chamber and begins walking. There was no time like the present indeed, so they might as well walk and talk. The journey to the Chamber wasn’t particularly long, just past the Falls. But still, nothing in Beqanna was particularly close either, and it would take part of a day to get there.
“The Chamber can certainly give you a job to do. Diplomat or Warrior, or both. Whatever you want to do. Recruit, friendly steals and challenges for now. The kingdom is rebuilding both from a volcanic eruption some number of years back, and from a lack of numbers.” That lack of numbers was a combination of many things, but Straia would be damned if she didn’t at least try to fix it. It grew harder and harder by the day as more horses were born with traits and unwilling to give them up. Though the air in Beqanna felt full of change, and she couldn’t help but wonder if the Gods had grown tired of the current status quo. She rather hoped so, though she knew nothing for certain of course.
“And I’m going to take a wild guess you aren’t that impressionable. I think you know your own mind.” She says, though falls silent then, adding in a few comments here and there about where they are, pointing out the Falls as they pass and telling her of their healing waterfalls. Eventually, the pine trees that ring the kingdom begin to appear in the distance, growing taller as they approach. She leads the mare though the pine forests, going slowly, knowing that the trees are a maze to those that are unfamiliar. Eventually, they come into the clearing and she lets out a call for her son.
Usually, Straia will stay and answer questions, but today, she has other business to attend to. But her son is more than capable of introducing a new recruit to the Chamber, and is certainly not too hard to look at for any young mare. She doesn’t think Engelsfors will mind too terribly much.
When he arrives, she nods at her son. “This is my son, Erebor. Erebor, this is Engelsfors. Will you show her around and answer any questions?”
straia
queen of the chamber
alright, since I'm leaving for vacation this week I'm pawning this off on Erebor so you guys can post and not have to wait for me to consider maybe replying while I'm at the beach. hope that's okay!
Gossamer cream threads flick along my willowy neck, with ever stride they roll like liquid against every knot of sinew. The autumn air is still warm, the crust of leaves beneath my feet give way to satisfying crunches as I walk side by side with the painted Queen. She talks and I am all ears, swivelling like radar they capture each syllable like cobwebs to flies. Words were knowledge, knowledge was power. After all, the pen was far mightier than the sword. I listened intently, my sapphire gaze kept trained upon Straia as we walked from the field, through the rolling fields of dying green, the cascading waterfall that smelt delightfully menthol, and then towards the enclosure of pine. My nostrils inhale, deeply, fervently. The pine smell is rich, potent. And as I turn back my structured crown, I smell the soft pine on the painted lady. Rich, like an expensive perfume. It filled my nostrils, touched my skin. I gave a low nicker. 'the pine trees are delightful.' they are vast, regal in appearance, the spindles at my feet crunching with satisfying creaks and cracks. I turn my gaze around the Chamber as we enter. Keeping a golden ear to Straia. My sapphire gaze takes in the glory. I am still young, perhaps at times I forget just how cast the world is, just how many different individuals inhabit the earth and again, just how different the landscapes were. I noted the scars on the loam, burns that held memories for some. 'The scars are quite becoming. I'm sure there are many stories they tell. Secrets they hold.' I am quivers of whimsy and slithers of desire. A sponge, absorbing every little nook and detail of the chamber. I lick my lips, tasting the sweet pine, the rough earth and still the acrid ashy feel in the atmosphere. I turn my lofty head back to the Queen.
'I am a lady of words myself, Lady Straia. My preference would be one of diplomacy.' silver spun tapestry, etched with metallic good. They are words of a true lady in the making. A mould that is flawless in every way. I dip my head, my velvet muzzle twitching into a smooth, sophisticated smile. 'You have my gratitude, for this opportunity.' my mother's image appears in my line of sight. Golden eyes, golden words. I am almost a carbon copy, every little thing the same. Except the beating organ in my chest, hers struck against her rib age with passionate blows, mine, mine beat a shallow, almost there cadence. Pretty on the outside but the heart within me beat black as night. I turned an eye to Straia as she called for another. Her son. I idle for a few moments until he appears and a debonair smile etches my lips, a steady glow settles in my eye. A facade as beautiful as the Chamber. Hauntingly so. 'Pleasure, Erebor.' calm, collected, a mystery shrouded with elegant lace and rich satin, I noted he was a little younger than I, perhaps not by much. But he was a delightful star to look at. I'm reminded once more of my mothers words. Beauty, it gets you everything yet destroys you all the same. I turn back to the painted Queen, a respectful incline of my muzzle, 'I won't keep you, my lady. I bid thee adieu.' floral, like thorny roses, my tongue is rich, my words smooth. I turn my attention back to the ebony steed, my sapphire gaze hauntingly precise an unmoving. 'Do you know the tales of the Chamber, Sir Erebor?' honeyed words, sickly sweet with a beautiful smile to match. My cream tail glided gently over my loins, swatting away rogue flies, the crisp leaves that marred my palomino coat.
He hears them before they ever cross the border. He might be young still, but he's learned how to be vigilant. He's learned how to be a fighter, how to hold his own, how to defend his kingdom. And so it is that he is walking the borders as he hears them, and he stops, cocking his ears in their direction. He hears their voices, his mother and a stranger he does not recognize. The thought of a new member in the Chamber is incredibly exciting to him, but not in the way that things are often exciting to the young. He is too serious for his age, and always has been. He is excited in the way that a soldier is excited, a muted kind of excitement. He decides to approach long before he hears his mother's call.
He comes through the trees and into the clearing just moments after she calls for him. He moves through the pines (and the skeleton-pines) as easily as she does. Both of them were born here, and both of them were born to serve here; he perhaps even more so than she. He was born to be the revival, to be the new life, to be the youngster that would grow up and race through the growing pines. More than just the trees were reborn after the fire.
He pauses when he reaches them. He is a handsome thing, more or less fully grown at almost three years old. He is entirely black, no markings whatsoever, but his coat covers strong, defined muscles. His bearing is that of a soldier, never truly relaxed, always holding himself at the ready for whatever may come.
He nods to his mother. "Of course." he answers Straia's question, although she already knows what the answer will be, and then turns his gaze to their new friend. His mother's words leave him no doubt: this is in fact a new Chamber member, and he's very glad to have her. Engelsfors greets him first, and he returns the gesture, dipping his head. "The pleasure is all mine, Engelsfors." his voice is rich and deep, and he does not stumble over the name, no matter how foreign it might sound. His mother leaves them then, and his farewell to her is another nod. They've always been close, in their own way, but theirs is not a touchy-feely relationship.
Neither of them have ever been particularly good at touchy-feely.
Engelsfors speaks again, and Erebor listens. "Yes, I know much of our history and many of our stories. I've lived here my whole life, and am happy to tell you everything I know." he pauses for a moment. "But there's no need to call me sir. I may be a prince here, but you can talk to me – and to my mother – as you would any other horse." They don't stand on ceremony here; Straia would not be so formal, and none of the others would demand it. It just wouldn’t be right.
"Anyway, there's much to tell about the Chamber. But first, listen." He doesn't doubt she'll feel it – the rumble of Atrox's heart, beating beneath the ground of the Chamber. "That is the heart of a stallion named Atrox, one of the great stallions in the Chamber's history. He's been many things for us – General, King, virtually everything that a stallion can be." the boy pauses then, letting that sink in. "Many years ago, the Chamber took Atrox's heart. He continued to live, but his heart quite literally stays here now, always beating."
He does not mention that Atrox is his grandfather, that his heart beats in time with the heart beneath their feet, and always has.
Erebor
Native Prince of the Chamber
warship x straia
I'm literally the worst for taking so long with this. Sorry guys!!
I feel is, then, just as he mentions it, the steady pulse beneath my feet, quivering, quaking. The gentle heartbeat at first sounds fleeting, shallow and barely there, but I extend my neck, lowering my muzzle and pressing my soft salmon nose against the dirt, the earth quivers, quakes, and just as Erebor had mentioned, it sounded just like a heartbeat. I knew what that sounded like, I also knew the sound of racing, breaking hearts and the sound they made just before the last breath slipped from their lips. It was an exasperated pound, as if the organ knew what was to come and made some vain attempt of restarting. A quickening, a pounding that reverberated the ribcage until finally it just stopped. Those memories were fleeting, like shards of glass slipping from my fingers as I was transported back to the present, and back in the company of the coloured queen and the ebony prince.
'I feel it. right there.' I lift my head, ears twiddling, twirling like golden monuments swaying in the wind. I watch him curiously, steadily. Azure eyes drinking him in, every inch of him. Ebony swathe, dark and deep, like the swirling shadows further through the pines. He's dressed in darkness, in shadow. But his tongue drips of silver and gold. I listen, absorbing every inch of his word, eyes absorbing every inch of him. Mother was right when it came to first impressions, they are after all delivered with the eye, then followed by the lips. One could be as beautiful as the sun, but spoke with the filth of the gutter and the dregs of the cavernous depths. My mother said once, that I spoke like the moon, a beautiful mystery forever trying to be conquered by those of the night. I roll my shoulders, flicking my tail, swishing away the vague memories that taint my mind.
'So he is bound to this place, by an unseen thread, by some... ominous magic.' I'm unsure, words slipping from my velvet lips. I'm new to this place, this world even and still young, perhaps a little unjust when it came to such brilliant tales. I listen nonetheless and when he is done I offer him an incline of my head, a debonair smile of gold and pink. 'The Chamber gave him purpose then... he must have done something for the Chamber to then take such a vital, important thing from him.' all whimsy, all question. but all forever learning. I pause, golden plume gliding over my loins, a gentle tilt of my lofty head to the side, to offer Erebor a delicate stare, trembling lips exposing bittersweet words. 'I mean no presumptions. This world, it is full of a strange magic, a strange, almost sinister web. I can't help but be drawn in.'
He watches her with interest as she feels the heartbeat. He's never seen someone else become aware of it before; it's always been something that he's taken for granted, like air or water or grass or pine trees. But much like those who live near a beach forget that it is a novelty to others, it's never occurred to him that the beating of his grandfather's heart might be a strange, or even wondrous thing.
And so he watches her discover it, watches her taste the vibrations in the ground with tentative lips. He can almost see how the sound blooms inside her head, how it reveals itself to her gently, undressing like a stripping lover. And that's what it is, really; the Chamber is a lover, one that can be capricious, one that is almost endlessly demanding, one that will tease you and deny you and that you in turn can never deny. Erebor was born to it. It has always been a part of him. It fascinates him to see it weave its way into the heart of another.
She feels it, she says, and he smiles. She seems almost drunk with the sense of it, drunk with the history and the belonging of the Chamber, a thousand years and a million memories compressing into this single moment, a thousand paths leading here and a thousand paths leading away – and all converging on them, on this conversation, on three horses who stand above a beating heart buried so deep beneath the ground that all the earthquakes in the world could never cough it back up.
She speaks, musing, and Erebor listens. When she finishes, he offers her a smile – easy, but still a soldier's smile, a teasing grin backed with that same formal posture. "Beqanna is full of strange magic, you're not presuming anything to state that." It is true enough – in this world, those with magic often wreak wholesale chaos. He knows the tales from a time before he was born, the stories of how natural disasters had almost consumed the lands – and how the whole thing had been so very unnatural. He knows his mother's suspicions on the matter, and after having met two magicians, he knows he is right to share those suspicions.
"We’re all bound to the Chamber, and it gives all of us purpose." he says, his voice deep, husky, and pensive. For him, he was born into that purpose, and it couldn't be more clear. He is the Chamber's hands, its instrument completely. He is born to serve it, and nothing else, crafted from two of its best living servants. Born here, raised here, and if he has his way, will die here, or in defense of here. "If it hasn't yet for you, it most certainly will." his smile is a thin line. "Not all bonds are magic." he explains. "And just as importantly, magical bonds are not necessarily stronger than those built without magic."
hope that's okay!
Engelsfors
