War
He hears of its commencement in his head, not by way of the deep rumbling drums he’d expected, but as a clear and steady voice. It startles him because he can’t place the voice. He can’t discern anything about the telepathic caller: gender, age, side – and it disturbs him deeply. Is it a frightened child lingering on the fringes of the battlefield? Is it a mare downed by the first strike of one side or the other? Is it an enemy, drawing them to their doom?
War, and it’s first victim, Ramiel thinks bitterly to himself, even as he prepares to head into it. Because no matter who is responsible for the call (be it a Chamber stallion or a Gates mare), they will not be unaffected by what they’ve done, by the violence and chaos they are calling to their sides. Any and all who respond will be casualties, their lives forever changed by the madness of this fight. War is a behemoth, a titan that pulls apart the land and maims its people. Everyone will be a victim by its end.
The ghost-king’s meeting with the khaleesi is still fresh in his mind as he seeks out the others. The Dale is on their side – for better or for worse – and he knows exactly what and who compromises their side. By the numbers, it should be a decisive victory (which had been a large part in determining the Dale’s involvement in the war at all). But of course, plans and expectations are like the wind, always changing and unreliable. The fact that they are a force of four kingdoms against two means less than it should in this age of unimaginable powers and wily magicians. They should win. They might not win.
And though he prepares to head for the Chamber almost immediately, there are a few issues he needs to address before he goes. But almost as soon as he thinks it, ice begins to rise along their borders in a glistening wall. It extends as far as Ramiel can see into the treeline, and even if he can see no further, he is sure Weir hasn’t left one square foot unprotected. All of the non-essentials (the few children and residents that remain in the quiet kingdom) have been tucked away into the center of the Dale, leaving the rest to head out as soon as the call was made. Now that it has been, the fighters are meant to meet just outside of the Chamber.
There is nothing left to do but rendezvous with the others.
With a final, desperate look back into his beloved home (wondering if he’ll see it again, wondering if he’ll survive to see his mother or father or Ea or anyone he cares about) he disappears beyond the ice wall. Snow blows fiercely just outside of the protected kingdom. The wind shakes the pines and deciduous trees violently. Some have already fallen, their broken silhouettes visible for one second before the snow swallows them up again. It doesn’t affect Ramiel, however. The snow passes through his invisible, intangible form as he makes his way through the blizzard.
The distance between the Dale and Chamber is not long, and the closer he gets to the dark kingdom, the warmer it gets. Snow is quickly replaced by smoke, and the acrid smell fills his nostrils. He stifles the snorts that threaten to give away his hidden location. If he can remain invisible, perhaps he can aid the others without them even realizing it (without the enemies even realizing it). Flames billow up into the heavens as he reaches the edge of the Chamber. There is a narrow gap in the trees not engulfed by fire – the only way into the kingdom – and it is here that he imagines the others will be. But no other Dalean waits at the rendezvous spot. None that he can see, anyway. Intuition rather than knowledge (the man had quite the presence, after all) and an odd coldness in the midst of the heat alerts him to the fact that there is, in fact, a comrade nearby.
“Weir?” His usually smooth voice is scratched by the smoke, but it is exceedingly quiet. There isn’t much to say - the time for planning and training is long behind them – but he can’t let the other charge into battle without some sort of exchange. Some sort of parting words, just in case. “Be safe, my friend.” And then he enters the fray.
It’s like stepping into the world’s largest boiler. If he’d thought the heat was uncomfortable before, it is now nearly unbearable. Some of the fires have been put out already, the stallion notices, but some still eat away at the pine forest. Branches crackle and snap all around him. Ravens take to the air in mass, blotting out what little light remains from above. Ramiel realizes with a start that birds aren’t the only blockage against the sun. A writhing, snaking shape flies above. A dragon? The fear of the prey clenches in his gut for a moment before he sees the shooting flames are meant for the trees – the dragon is on their side.
Trading in his relief for readiness, the invisible man walks further into the chaos. Here, the battle rages on the ground, with the bodies of horses clashing throughout the clearing. Ramiel side-steps a small shoot of a cactus before eyeing the fighting, looking for a place to enter into it himself. A burst of blindingly bright light arcs through the Chamber. He recognizes it immediately. Joscelin.
And then he can see her against a backdrop of dripping flames and smoke. Her skin is alive with the lit, pulsating cracks; his broken-bodied sister stands in the middle of the carnage and she looks like she belongs there. It brings a grim sort-of smile to the ghost-king’s face. But it just as soon slides from his face as he sees what is happening. Joscelin’s blast of light hits a stallion who moves in front of her intended target. His haunch bubbles grotesquely and Ramiel remembers the trees and rocks of the Dale suffering from the same light. The fiery-stallion stares at her after the attack, and he can sense the retaliation to come. He won’t reach his sister in time; he has to try anyway.
Ramiel moves towards Demian at a fast canter, even as the other’s wings burst into flame. He ignores his instincts telling him to flee, to avoid the harsh scent of charred flesh that will soon be his own smell. He moves between Demian and Joscelin, cutting off the attacker from his target. And when he is close enough (when he knows Demian will not be able to see him quickly enough to react in time) he sheds his invisibility and barrels into the stallion’s side. He will not fight a man who can’t see him.
“Don’t even think about it,” he practically growls, his breath leaving with exertion just after. Pain blossoms on his shoulder as the fiery wings connect with his skin, but he pays it no mind. All that matters is that he’s distracted the other long enough to keep him away from Josc.
He hears of its commencement in his head, not by way of the deep rumbling drums he’d expected, but as a clear and steady voice. It startles him because he can’t place the voice. He can’t discern anything about the telepathic caller: gender, age, side – and it disturbs him deeply. Is it a frightened child lingering on the fringes of the battlefield? Is it a mare downed by the first strike of one side or the other? Is it an enemy, drawing them to their doom?
War, and it’s first victim, Ramiel thinks bitterly to himself, even as he prepares to head into it. Because no matter who is responsible for the call (be it a Chamber stallion or a Gates mare), they will not be unaffected by what they’ve done, by the violence and chaos they are calling to their sides. Any and all who respond will be casualties, their lives forever changed by the madness of this fight. War is a behemoth, a titan that pulls apart the land and maims its people. Everyone will be a victim by its end.
The ghost-king’s meeting with the khaleesi is still fresh in his mind as he seeks out the others. The Dale is on their side – for better or for worse – and he knows exactly what and who compromises their side. By the numbers, it should be a decisive victory (which had been a large part in determining the Dale’s involvement in the war at all). But of course, plans and expectations are like the wind, always changing and unreliable. The fact that they are a force of four kingdoms against two means less than it should in this age of unimaginable powers and wily magicians. They should win. They might not win.
And though he prepares to head for the Chamber almost immediately, there are a few issues he needs to address before he goes. But almost as soon as he thinks it, ice begins to rise along their borders in a glistening wall. It extends as far as Ramiel can see into the treeline, and even if he can see no further, he is sure Weir hasn’t left one square foot unprotected. All of the non-essentials (the few children and residents that remain in the quiet kingdom) have been tucked away into the center of the Dale, leaving the rest to head out as soon as the call was made. Now that it has been, the fighters are meant to meet just outside of the Chamber.
There is nothing left to do but rendezvous with the others.
With a final, desperate look back into his beloved home (wondering if he’ll see it again, wondering if he’ll survive to see his mother or father or Ea or anyone he cares about) he disappears beyond the ice wall. Snow blows fiercely just outside of the protected kingdom. The wind shakes the pines and deciduous trees violently. Some have already fallen, their broken silhouettes visible for one second before the snow swallows them up again. It doesn’t affect Ramiel, however. The snow passes through his invisible, intangible form as he makes his way through the blizzard.
The distance between the Dale and Chamber is not long, and the closer he gets to the dark kingdom, the warmer it gets. Snow is quickly replaced by smoke, and the acrid smell fills his nostrils. He stifles the snorts that threaten to give away his hidden location. If he can remain invisible, perhaps he can aid the others without them even realizing it (without the enemies even realizing it). Flames billow up into the heavens as he reaches the edge of the Chamber. There is a narrow gap in the trees not engulfed by fire – the only way into the kingdom – and it is here that he imagines the others will be. But no other Dalean waits at the rendezvous spot. None that he can see, anyway. Intuition rather than knowledge (the man had quite the presence, after all) and an odd coldness in the midst of the heat alerts him to the fact that there is, in fact, a comrade nearby.
“Weir?” His usually smooth voice is scratched by the smoke, but it is exceedingly quiet. There isn’t much to say - the time for planning and training is long behind them – but he can’t let the other charge into battle without some sort of exchange. Some sort of parting words, just in case. “Be safe, my friend.” And then he enters the fray.
It’s like stepping into the world’s largest boiler. If he’d thought the heat was uncomfortable before, it is now nearly unbearable. Some of the fires have been put out already, the stallion notices, but some still eat away at the pine forest. Branches crackle and snap all around him. Ravens take to the air in mass, blotting out what little light remains from above. Ramiel realizes with a start that birds aren’t the only blockage against the sun. A writhing, snaking shape flies above. A dragon? The fear of the prey clenches in his gut for a moment before he sees the shooting flames are meant for the trees – the dragon is on their side.
Trading in his relief for readiness, the invisible man walks further into the chaos. Here, the battle rages on the ground, with the bodies of horses clashing throughout the clearing. Ramiel side-steps a small shoot of a cactus before eyeing the fighting, looking for a place to enter into it himself. A burst of blindingly bright light arcs through the Chamber. He recognizes it immediately. Joscelin.
And then he can see her against a backdrop of dripping flames and smoke. Her skin is alive with the lit, pulsating cracks; his broken-bodied sister stands in the middle of the carnage and she looks like she belongs there. It brings a grim sort-of smile to the ghost-king’s face. But it just as soon slides from his face as he sees what is happening. Joscelin’s blast of light hits a stallion who moves in front of her intended target. His haunch bubbles grotesquely and Ramiel remembers the trees and rocks of the Dale suffering from the same light. The fiery-stallion stares at her after the attack, and he can sense the retaliation to come. He won’t reach his sister in time; he has to try anyway.
Ramiel moves towards Demian at a fast canter, even as the other’s wings burst into flame. He ignores his instincts telling him to flee, to avoid the harsh scent of charred flesh that will soon be his own smell. He moves between Demian and Joscelin, cutting off the attacker from his target. And when he is close enough (when he knows Demian will not be able to see him quickly enough to react in time) he sheds his invisibility and barrels into the stallion’s side. He will not fight a man who can’t see him.
“Don’t even think about it,” he practically growls, his breath leaving with exertion just after. Pain blossoms on his shoulder as the fiery wings connect with his skin, but he pays it no mind. All that matters is that he’s distracted the other long enough to keep him away from Josc.
R A M I E L
this is a man pulling on his iron chains
Notes: Ram meets Weir outside of the Chamber. He walks into the Chamber, sees Joscelin attack Cress/Demian and moves between Demian/Joscelin. He then rams into Demian, revealing himself from being invisible. Feel free to fight/maim him, just no death. <3