"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
It doesn't know what is going on, it stays hidden because its skin is shedding, its flesh is rotting, molting and it is embarrassed. It wonders where it's mama and papa went, even though those really aren't mama and papa - no Yael and Vanquish were far from mama and papa. It is almost two but it is still vulnerable, unknowing of the impending war - unsure of what to do but it hears the commotion and it stirs from its hiding place.
"Yael? Vanquish? Anyone?" it says with a thick, hoarse tone from which soon after the flesh of his lips slip off; rotten fatty tissue left to slow bleed. Its eyes grow weary with fear, the large stallion does not appear - the golden light is no where to be found. It panics but it has no idea what to do. It hisses, seething mad with an unfelt anger before. Had it been abandoned? Surely not. It stomps, piece by piece of rotten flesh falling away as it digs its talons into the smooth, shifting sand - his ears prick forward as he hears a faint step perhaps a mare or child. It listens, slipping quietly into the shadow to wait whomever may come. It wants to know where Vanquish and Yael are, it wants to know badly - it must know, it must find them. It will find them, it will find them safe or it will not rest. Mama. Papa. Siloam. Deserts. It keeps this foreign smell coming back that overpowers its own necrotic flesh - a stench far worse, of the Chamber.
It sees a raven, its eye leans forward in and caws meticulously at it - he can't be bothered but this bird could blow its cover. It wonders if it should follow, perhaps if it gets company. After all, it doesn't know where its going - it doesn't know how dangerous it could be.
s i l o a m
undead, rotting, taloned and fanged little boy
infection and oliphander
02-26-2016, 12:57 PM (This post was last modified: 02-26-2016, 06:20 PM by Yael.)
oh, where do we begin? the rubble or our sins?
A golden dragon appears low in the sky, clutching a small, black and white figure in its foreclaws. It lands beside the oasis, close to Vanquish’s towering oak. There is shade and water, and surely one of the Desert folk will be along shortly, whether it was one of the various orphans they’d taken in, or her own children. Part of her wants to strike a vicious blow to Straia right now - to take away her daughter without ever killing her. Yael isn’t a murderer. Well, not in the vicious sort of way. But if Weaver were to forget all about the Chamber…
The dragon releases the girl from its grip and shifts back into her horse form. She growls in frustration in the back of her throat and lashes out, shooting a potent mental war hammer at the girl. Yael aims for her previous memories of mother and home. It should knock the girl out, or at least make her think that this is her home, and that Yael and Vanquish are her parents. She’s still a princess… just a very different princess now.
What Yael doesn’t realize is that she’s overshot her target, and that someone else is the recipient of a very nasty bit of magic. Oops. Haste makes waste and messes. With a feel around the Desert, she finds Siloam and calls him to the Oasis, bidding him to watch over the girl until she wakes. Siloam? Dear? I need you to do some'ting. Come to ze Oasis and vatch over my girl, yes? Unfortunately, she doesn’t take the time to see if he's agreeable to the task, nor does she check out the results of her magic, and simply takes to the sky again, headed back towards the wild rumpus.
The only thing that saved her from attacking the thing as it moved through the Deserts sand was the names that came from it's lips. Yael. Vanquish. Anyone? The black mare pauses from atop the sand dune she had crested after it. Her plan had been to jump down after it, attacking it from a higher elevation that would have given her an advantage. However, it had spoken just when she was getting ready to send her weight flying down the sand.
She stills, it's steps taking it farther and farther from her until she sees the tree in the distance it seems to be heading towards. She slides down the sand, no longer making herself silent as she realizes this thing is possibly a friend and she goes to call for it, when it slides into a shadow and waits. The raven not far from it makes her eyes narrow.
But then a golden dragon is landing beneath the shade the tree throws off and with a nicker to the Thing she moves closer to the dragon until it shifts into Yael and a foal is there. She is too far away to see what happens, to see what is going on until she gets there and the dragon mare is already flying off back to the commotion in the Chamber. She noses the still girl on the ground, turning to look back towards where the Thing was making it's way over to them. The command that Yael had given him unknown to Feyre.
"Hey!" She calls. "I'm Feyre. Do you think we can get her to the protective place that Vanquish made?" She doesn't explain to him what is going on, thinking that perhaps he would already know. "I don't like her being out here in the open like this." And then she settles in to wait, even though she fairly vibrated with the urge to go after her King and Queen to fight for their home.
“If at first you don't succeed, try, try again. Then quit. No use being a damn fool about it.”
Oh come on. Kidnapping? Really? She would have rather plummeted to her death. Even without the raven wings that don’t go away when Yael whisks her from the Chamber and Weaver can only assume, back to the Deserts. She’s really about ready to taunt the magician with, knew you didn’t have it in you,” or some other bratty response. But she suspects that won’t get her dropped. It’ll get lips show shut.
Instead, she makes herself into as much dead weight as possible, wings unfurling as best they can to create as much drag as possible. Yael’s talons rip deeper into her skin as she moves, but she bites back a yelp at the pain and persists in her little game. It was hardly enough to slow down a dragon, but it would hopefully be enough to make her displeasure known.
She was not going to sit quietly in the Deserts.
But Yael doesn’t even give her a choice. She’s hit with a blast of magic as soon as they touch down in the miserably hot and sunny kingdom. She’s managed to start in on a snarky remark, ”Why would anyone live--”, but she’s cut off in mid-sentence, and the blast knocks her out cold.
When she comes to, there’s a mare above her and some rotting creature nearby. “I’m fine,” she hisses at the mare who’s only trying to help. Weaver may think she’s a Deserts princess now, may think this has always been her home, but none of that had managed to make her any kinder. She’s still a princess, after all. “And I’m not planning to cower in Dad’s little hidey hole, but thanks.”
Well that’s new. Van, her dad? Not even in the slightest, but she has no idea it’s not true. The raven wings are still tucked to her side, but she has no idea where they came from really. She thinks she was simply born with black feathered wings.
03-08-2016, 11:21 AM (This post was last modified: 03-08-2016, 07:41 PM by Kitra.)
kitra
vanquish x yael
When the dragon’s shadow, her mother’s shadow, slides across the sands an echo of relief shakes through her bones. Kitra was not fit to fret over a kingdom as she had in the last days – the war seemed to rage on forever and with each night her heart grew heavier and her hooves heavier. Although she was no longer a foal, Kitra has always lived a life of decadence – never one of responsibility and burden.
Kratos had left her to watch over the kingdom as he ran off to war with some mare she’d never even laid eyes upon. He had left her with her shoulder singed and veins throbbing from his lightning hide and she was pretty fucking pissed about it. He hadn’t even checked on her. Just left her, scorched and begrudgingly frightened at the screams and cries that the wind carried from the north, she could almost smell the blood.
The gold faced girl scrambles to her feet from beneath her father’s Great Oak and chases her mother’s shadow, frowning at what lay in her clutches. By the time she reaches the trio, her mother is back in the sky and her frown had now spread further across her face and was accompanied by a scathing glare. But then her mother's voice comes, "make sure she believes you are her sister and your father and i, her parents." And then she was gone, again. Um, hello, yes mother I am fine, thanks for asking. Glare.
The glare has not left her eyes as she turns her gaze to the rotting boy, ordinarily she would have had some snide remark but today she has only fatigue and annoyance. She nods to the black girl, Feyre, one she had seen at her father's side already before turning to Weaver, a girl who's name she does not know. Well if she was supposed to be her sister, she'd get the full sibling treatment. “Oh shut up, little sister, must you always be such a bitch? She's only trying to help your spoiled ass.” Pissy Kitra is pissy..
