"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
Two winged giants strode side-by-side to the edge of the Deserts; one an inky black beast and the other an exact replica of the same – except made entirely of desert bedrock, down to the wings and feathers about his hooves. His kingdom was huge and housed only a few members at its present time, there was not even a verifiable army yet. He could not, in good conscious leave it, nor Yael (as if she needed such a thing) undefended. But perhaps the presence of his creation would quell the slight swell of anxiety that bulged his nerves as he stepped from his kingdom and into the unclaimed sky. And when the king’s shadow finally drifts from the sands to the sea between the kingdoms, he looks back to make sure the red stone leviathan has began his patrol of the Deserts borders.
The Jungle and Vanquish were no strangers to each other. His own son was once a true prince of both the Deserts and the Jungle, born out of political maneuvering by Nocturnal and the winged king. Tarnished had been meant to be an heir, a bloodtie between the two kingdoms. But the fruition of such an intent had not been meant to blossom. Nocturnal had left them and he had allowed Queen Quark to take their boy - their special, dark and twisty little boy. He had grown up within its depths, even carried its heavy loamy scent on his skin. Another of his favored sons even loved a mare that dwelled within its depths still today. The Jungle and the Deserts had been allies for many years beneath many queens – but this one, Lagertha, he did not know and a war had been brewing in the northwinds for many days now.
The Nightwalker had, truth be truly known, made his decision well before the true details of this war emerged. He was no novice to the deviance that dwelled within the breast of the Valley, but he was quite more surprised to learn of the Chambers initiation of the hostilities. He had once also held an alliance with the Chamber queen’s father, many years ago when the Deserts were vibrant and teeming and unopposed.
Vanquish drops from the sky beyond the Amazons borders, massive wings flailing irritably against his raven sides as his hooves sink into the suckling mud. The draft flings his heavy head as he makes his way towards the border, idling at its edge when he reaches the perimeter of the Jungle’s true beginnings. Large, black sides heave as he calls out for someone to come welcome him in and bring him to their queen, propriety was a lost fucking art, you know?
Ever since the first time she had ventured off on her own she had come more familiar with her home. She had also soon learned that her mother would always find her, like the magician always knew where her daughter was. Even though her mother didn’t always seemed too fond of Haru trotting off, the little girl’s curiosity was hard to contain. The Jungle had so many interesting things to offer and it would be a shame to not go out and discover them. Her mother always seemed so busy with growing plants and such things anyways.
The bay girl had once again left her mother’s side. Now she was no longer afraid of being alone and with the knowledge that Sunday would always find her, she moved herself along on of the Jungle’s many paths. Butterflies and other jungle creatures invited her to keep moving, driving her to explore new parts of her ever changing home. It was then that his scent struck her. She comes to a halt, standing still as she lifts her dished head a little in the air, sniffing it softly. Haru was sure that this was the scent of another horse, but he smelled different than all those she knew. Muskier, or something like that, as she couldn’t yet point out what it exactly was that defined the difference between the scent of a male and a female.
Nonetheless her curiosity was sparked and it seemed like the Jungle wanted her to go in that direction. A new path was created, guiding her in another direction than she had first gone into. The scent vaguely reminded her of Vidar’s one, but it wasn’t exactly the same, just as it didn’t smell like any of her mother’s sisters, whom she had met.
It was the first time that Haru reached the end of their forest and she was hesitant to move out of the Jungle’s shelter. The Arabian influenced girl kept herself hidden in the bushes, yet her eyes curiously followed the form of the big, dark and winged male. As she does so her head tilts a little to the side and before she realises it she nickers to him softly, greeting him, but still hesitant to leave her cover.
It’s almost like she can feel him. Like the partially dead and the once dead call out to each other. In all likelihood, it’s his smell mixed with the smell of sand that pokes at her memory. But for whatever the reason, she’s quick to weave through the Jungle toward her savior. They’d met only briefly, really, in life and in death. But that doesn’t seem to matter much to her. He’d saved her life, and she owed him for that.
Besides, he’d been dead. Maybe he has some clue how she feels, always torn between two realms. Maybe not, because he’s fully alive (unlike her). And in the end, she’ll probably never ask, and never know. But the answer seems irrelevant. The thing that matters most if that he is like her in some ways, in the important ways, in the ways almost no one else is.
Rhy is visible and in her normal gold and white horse form when she gets to the border of the Jungle. She hears a nicker and turns her head, spotting a young filly she doesn’t know yet. The girl is clearly of the Jungle though, and Rhy smiles at her encouragingly, before she steps out of the Jungle to find him. “Vanquish,” she says with a smile. It is unexpectedly good to see him, though she wonders still where his son as gone. She missed that boy, and would simultaneously have to kill him should he ever show his face again.
“Welcome back,” she says, and it’s unclear if she means the Jungle or simply back to life, or both. Probably it’s both, but she’s not going to be any more specific in front of a child. The girl will learn soon enough. They all do. “Come in. I assume you are here to see Lagertha?” She nods her head into the Jungle as she talks, dipping back into the trees and waiting for him to follow.
01-01-2016, 10:39 PM (This post was last modified: 01-02-2016, 09:36 AM by Vanquish.)
With wounds still fresh from the War of the Valley he had been crowned king of the Deserts. Vanquish had been young, wild and drunk off the draught of battle and power when he first ascended the throne. The dragon-king made many mistakes in his youth, some of which he wore like testimony on his silk-black skin and others that were much deeper, more resonant than simple forever-scars on skin. He had cared naught but for threading long tendrils of power and wetting his own dry, hot desires. Too full of immaturity and selfishness to care what consequences could ripple out from his mere touch – he had shattered more than a few dreams and slighted many souls.
The last time the black king had been at the Jungle’s door had been to see to one of those very atonements. Quark had been a trusted friend of the Nightwalker’s well before the birth of he and Nocturnal’s son, the pair had been close confidants and allies to each other even outside of the parameters of their respective thrones. But the conception of Tarnished and the subsequent death of the queen’s lover Nocturnal had caused a great rift between the two, one that had never truly been mended before his first death and Quark’s abdication and disappearance. And even though the two kingdoms remained staunch allies, through the reign of both Brunhild and Scorch – Vanquish had always found reason to stay away from the Jungle. But now he has been reborn and the dragon-king will no longer balk at the shadows of mistakes that were both made and buried long ago. A small shiver of regret shakes through his bones as the memory catches him in its anguished embrace – but it’s hold is broken away by the girl who calls to him from behind the palm fronds.
“Hello there, child,” the great winged titan says and his voice lulling and warm despite its deepness. She peers at him from behind the lush green of the foliage around her - the girl is dainty, even so for a filly of similar age. She is young and alone but he does not worry for her well-being, the Jungle protected those born of its earth in ways other kingdoms didn’t – couldn’t. With a rascal’s smile he conjures a miniature version of himself, the size of small hawk, made entirely of sand that takes to the air to fly and play about the girl’s head.
But then the wind shifts and carries Rhy’s name to him and the little winged king of sand crumbles away to mix with the Jungle’s dark dirt. She carried with her the reminder that his son had yet to come to him and had yet to fulfill any of the expectations left for him before his father’s first death. Kratos had always been the Nightwalker’s most favored son as a child; he had been bold and unabashed, confidence lived on his breath and a desire for dominance brewed in his belly even as a young colt. Kratos had been born blessed by the gods with the raw traits his king-father had prayed for and it had seemed he had squandered them away in his absence.
Rhy comes with no child at her heels and for a moment the king wonders if he had been wrong about what he had told her when he brought her from the Otherworld, that she and his son would be great. But this thought only lasts just that, a moment. When she speaks his name he knows that he had not been wrong, even if time intended to make the prophecy wait. “Thank you Rhy,” he says and her name is spoken of fondly from his tongue, his heavy head dipping ever slightly to her. He frowns for only a second when the scent hits him – she smells of death. The scent is not unpleasant nor is appealing, it is both indescribable and indiscernible to those who have not moved amongst the souls of the dead and smelled their rotting dreams. His eyes shut briefly as he recalls his agony when he was once counted amongst the dead - he is sure she can smell the same on him. When his eyes rise to meet hers once again the frown is gone and he is closing the distance with a few long-legged strides – he would speak of such things (and his son, oh how he wondered of his son) with her at another time, when they could be afforded privacy.
“Time has been kind to you,” he says with a dragon’s smile, shouldering his way past a few fronds to join the colored mare, “and yes, I have come to speak with Lagertha.”Truly, there wasn’t much to speak of – the king comes to inquire of their alliance and the Jungle’s intentions on the war that rumbled in the north. Vanquish had already chosen the Deserts path – he merely needed to know if the Jungle had chosen the same course.
Her eyes widen in surprise – she had felt safe, secured and hidden in the bushes – when his gaze fell upon her. From her bold and brave action to seek for adventure, only a little though as she didn’t dare to actually leave the jungle yet, to a hesitant and suddenly shy little girl. Haru had honestly thought that the big black winged stranger wouldn’t be able to see her, even though she called out to him herself. So even though she had called out to him before she had realised what she had done, she was honestly surprised by the fact that he had noticed her.
She steps forward when he calls out to her, greeting her with a deep yet pleasant voice. Her gaze doesn’t leave him, well, except for the occasional times she casts her gaze down to look at the ground shyly. Haru is hesitant to move any further away from the Jungle’s border. It’s the first time that she sees the plains, the Jungle’s foliage is the only thing she knows and it scares the bay Arabian girl to be out in the open like this. But the hesitation and anxiousness is soon gone as the magical little horse appears. She doesn’t know how he does it, but she is amazed by it nonetheless. She is giggling lightly while her eyes follow the creature, slowly moving away further and further from the forest line.
When the little sand creature crumbles to a small pile of sand she was just about to jump up in the air, having an energetic outburst like only foals had. But instead the Arabian hybrid girl finds herself staring at the pile of sand, which is lighter coloured than the Jungle’s ground, a pout growing on her lips. ”It’s gone..” she mumbles, stating the fact bluntly. Haru steps closer to the small pile, her dished head dropping as she reaches out for it. ”Why are you gone..?”
The adult’s conversation is the thing that pulls her away from the small pile and although she doesn’t forget about it completely – the little magical creature is somewhere far away in her mind – she turns to look at them. A smile grows upon her lips as she spots one of her mother’s sisters. Haru hasn’t seen this gold and white mare before, but her scent is like a sweet lullaby, comforting and known. It’s enough for the young girl to move further away from the jungle’s safeness and instead sticking close to the forest it is as she is glued to Rhy’s side, yet her curious gaze doesn’t leave the big black winged man’s figure.
Once upon a time, she stood at Brunhild’s side and met the Desert King and defended his heavily pregnant Queen. And then time stood still and hell broke loose and she never gave the sandy kingdom another thought until Scorch tried to send Cammie to take the throne. We all know how that ended.
No one’s told her that Vanquish has risen from the dead - she’s only seen Yael occasionally - and never had a real conversation with her. The Desert is too quiet (to her knowledge) to deserve a real ambassador visit. Or was it that Aoi went, and no one came to meet her? Either way, the Desert was relegated to unimportant in her mind. She had bigger fish to fry and there’s that little thing about an almost certain war brewing. You can see why a resurrection has escaped her notice.
The smell of a stallion in the Jungle, however, does not. Confident in her Sisters’ abilities to handle it (and that she is not the only one to notice that pungent, musky scent that tickles the edge of her memory), she doesn’t go charging down the paths like a rampaging rhino. The Jungle has a healthy population these days. Someone is bound to come across him - and they have plenty of protection if the man comes with malicious intent. Why is that smell so familiar? She runs through the various stallions she’s met recently and none of them fit the profile. Even going back - what, a decade or so? - she never thinks it would be the massive black stallion.
She is appropriately shocked when she finds Rhy leading a very corporeal Vanquish through the Jungle, with a little bay filly tagging along. Last she’d heard, the dragon-winged former King had helped Rhy out of the afterlife. But there was no mention of this world anywhere in that story. Lagertha’s look of surprise fades away to confusion, and then one of scrutiny. She stalks forward and, because this is her Jungle, pokes him in the chest with her nose. Yep. Solid flesh and bone. She looks up. “Huh. Isn’t that interesting...” After stepping back, she turns her gaze to the filly and questions her almost gently. “I know who this guy is, but who’s daughter are you?” The one thing she doesn’t do is keep track of who’s pregnant and who isn’t. She smells like Sunday, but Lagertha always likes to ask.
Her attention turns back to Rhy, flitting between her and Vanquish. With a little half smirk, she quips, “I’m sure you’ve been getting this a lot lately, but aren’t you supposed to be dead?”
Time has been kind to you, he says, and she cannot help but think that’s entirely untrue. Well, not entirely. Certain things have changed for the better. Her sister has finally gotten over her fear of the electric in Rhy’s veins, and for once, they have become close. Well, closer than she ever dared to hope, but there were many years of pain in there. They’d never close the distance entirely.
But other than that, what had time really given her? It had taken her parents, Scorch, part of her life, and Kratos. She had nothing but the Jungle and Lagertha. And those two things should be enough. Mostly they are enough. But thoughts always creep in that they are not enough. That perhaps Rhy has already outstayed her welcome on this earth. Which is foolish. She’s still young and at least partially immortal.
But still, maybe age has nothing to do with it. Maybe she was never supposed to stay very long.
Vanquish’s greeting is kind, though she notices the shadow of a frown that crosses his face. They head into the kingdom, with the girl now pasted to Rhy’s side. She doesn’t mind. The girl wants to learn, and she’s staying well enough out of the way, so Rhy offers her another encouraging smile as they head back into the Jungle. Rhy’s about to speak again, but Lagertha is quick to find them now. She’s not surprised. Lagertha is quick to find anyone in the Jungle that doesn’t belong.
She’s already poking, literally, at Vanquish, and Rhy can’t help but laugh slightly. Perhaps it is startling, to anyone who hasn’t died and come back. But it happens somewhat regularly. Particularly to Rhy. It doesn’t seem very far fetched that last she saw him they were in the afterlife, and now he was well and whole again.
“It’s really kind of you to come say hello Lagertha,” Rhy teases, knowing her friend and Queen has never been much for pleasantries. “Since when do the dead in Beqanna actually stay dead, anyway?”
01-26-2016, 10:05 PM (This post was last modified: 01-26-2016, 10:12 PM by Vanquish.)
If you asked half of his children, the great black king was the epitome of what a father should be to his children. But if you asked the other half, you’d more than likely get two ears full of fury and fire. He had coddled some of his brood as royalty while leaving others to cringe at his scent. A few by choice, some by thoughtlessness but most by selfishness. But since his rebirth, he had regarded his children and began to tread down the paths of maybe amends with those he had sinned against in his before-life.
Maybe Yael had done a bit of subtle tweaking when she had wrought back his bones and sinew, or something rooted more deeply in his own consciousness but the Nightwalker had developed a grandfatherly-like affinity for children, his and others alike. “It’s gone…” the girl says quietly, sadly and Vanquish turns back to offer her a bitter-soft word, “all things go in time, sweet child.” It is not meant to be macabre or poetic, it is merely the truth – one she will learn sooner rather than later. But because he does send her words that some could argue are too old or too grim for just a girl, he sends a few wisps of the Deserts’ sand to circle about her – and it smells of magic and spices.
The titan steps into the Jungle beside the painted mare and even though he tucks his massive wings as closely to himself as he could, he still manages to snag a few vines here and there that trail along. An inward sigh of regret sat upon his lips but never left their blackness as he watched Rhy stride beside him. He did not sorrow for himself, no, but for his son. He could remember the night he had brought Rhy back from the Otherworld as easily as he could remember his favorite lover’s scent. He remembers how profound the tether between his son and this mare had been to bring Vanquish to her amid the nothingness of Out There. He hopes his son has not fallen into the same sin of spreading sick hearts that he himself had once possessed.
Lagertha arrives, iron-grey and familiar in his raven eyes – albeit a little more adorned this time. He was not surprised to find that she now ruled the valkyries kingdom, she had been commanding and intimidating (to any lesser beast, of course) even then. It seems so many years ago that the brewing of war had overspilled it’s pot and the kingdoms had come to minor blows – nothing Valley War worthy. The draft laughs as she pokes her nose into chest and Rhy offer’s her quip about Beqanna’s dead, “death didn't want the hassle of having me,” he says, side-stepping a questionably deep puddle, “so she spat me back half as old and twice as nice.” He jests, bellowing out a genuine laugh and the sound is throaty and rumbling, like a dragon’s murmur.
When the pleasantries are done, his ears prick towards the queen and he seeks Lagertha’s gaze somberly, “war is coming. As I’m sure you know the current events better than I,” another dragon’s chuckle, “but the Deserts choose to stand with the Gates when the drums start beating. I hope our sides are the same on this matter.” The Deserts were scarce, this was no secret amongst the kingdoms – shit, half of them didn't even count them as a factor in the war at all - or so he betted. Albeit they were small, they were mighty – even if it be just the Nightwalker and his Golden Rose. The Deserts and the Chamber had been allies under his reign, a point that has obviously changed since then. The Valley, well, history tells its own tale when it comes to the song of the Valley and the Deserts – there is nothing sweet and nothing harmonious about it. “The Jungle and the Deserts have been tied both in blood and oath for many years,” he says, the perspiration of the climate (a heat so much unlike his own) clinging to his skin like water droplets on black silk, “but given the circumstances, I’d like an affirmation or renunciation of our alliance.” Vanquish was a knight’s king and some things had to be spoken (or shed) aloud, the word of a king or queen to another should be paramount to a written contract – if horses knew of such a thing. “We cannot offer much now, but that of course will change.” He says factually, ears still pricked but posture relaxed. The Deserts were a slumbering giant and he was just beginning to awaken.
The answer she gets isn’t one she’s expecting. When she looks up to the big black male she’s almost pouting, not at all content with the fact that her little sand creature had disappeared. ”Why..?” she questions, too young to understand that all things will come to an end. Her dished head tilts a little to the side and her Arabian-like expression full eyes show her disappointment and sadness as she meets his gaze. Haru’s attention is soon captured by the sand that now circles around her, causing her to giggle softly.
Once they enter the Jungle again she makes sure to stay at Rhy’s side, feeling far more comfortable with her mother’s sister near than when she would be at the winged male’s side. It was the first time she had run into a full grown stallion and although she was curious, she would be lying if she said he didn’t intimidate her. The fact that Rhy allows her to trail along and even encourages her make her heart skip a beat in excitement, eager to accompany them with whatever they might be doing.
Haru is just busy watching the two adults, observing them, as the queen joins them. It’s her first time seeing Lagertha, but she instantly recognizes her based on the things her mother told her. She nibbles her lower lip as she keeps herself a little to the side, shyly looking at the interaction – or physical contact that the queen seeks by touching the winged man – but not daring to mingle. But when Lagertha turns to her she cannot help but to feel a little self-conscious. ”Sunday’s my umma” she answers directly, a small smile upon her lips. ”And my father’s parents – my sa.. sav-tah and grandfather – live in…” she pauses, frowning a little as she tries to remember what Yael exactly had said. ”in.. in the Deserts?” She finishes her sentence a little hesitant, carefully looking up to the adults to check if she had been correct or not, a little afraid that she would’ve spoken rubbish.
“Just doing my job,” she shoots back at Rhy with a teasing smile, knowing perfectly well that Rhy was fully capable to defending the very long border all by her self. But appearances have to be maintained, and while not all visiting dignitaries require the Khaleesi’s presence, a fellow monarch most definitely does. Especially one that is a ghost from the past.
Ultimately, the how and why of Vanquish’s resurrection are not her concern, only that he is here now, and has the Desert under his command. She nods when he asks about their chosen side. “The Sisterhood voted to ally with the Gates, and I have spoken to Mast briefly about that. It would be good to have a meeting with the three of us, though, to hammer out specifics.” Sooner, rather than later, she wants to say - but with this new information, her mind starts to whirr into overdrive, wondering just who the Desert has in their arsenal besides the golden magician. Perhaps this war will reveal whether or not they would be preferable allies under other circumstances.
Lagertha has nothing against Vanquish, but she would rather not waste an alliance on a sleepy kingdom, even if that kingdom always seems to have the best of intentions.
“For as long as it works for both of us, we will be allies,” she says with conviction, knowing that there is a loophole in her words. The Iron Lady is sure that both Rhy and the Desert King will catch her slight evasiveness on the matter, and has split thoughts about the matter. First, that she hopes Rhy appreciates her attempt at diplomacy, and second, that the black dragon will not hold it against her. Politics are rarely personal for Lagertha - but there’s no way he would know that - and she hopes he sees is simply as pragmatism.
As for the little bay filly, she mentions the Desert and Lagertha’s ears flick between the small figure and the giant one. This part has nothing to do with her, but its outcome could be pleasantly surprising...
Lagertha
warrior queen of the amazons
[idk what this is, but i'm so sorry for the delay D: ]
