"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
06-21-2016, 03:03 PM (This post was last modified: 07-03-2016, 05:34 AM by Killdare.)
± when you feel my heat, look into my eyes ±
Everything had gone to hell in a handbasket and while it irritated the Magma King, he also could not find the once hurt emotions he had experienced months ago. They had all made their choices, whatever they may be and by those choices they would carry on. The Chamber would carry on and in the end that is what really mattered, that the Chamber continue, as she ever would. Even now as Beqanna grew silent the Chamber burned with warmth from within.
Where Dacia had dug her trench with the use of her brother (because he would not doubt her hand in it all), those holes only opened and begged to be filled. Malis filled them without asking, she poured herself into the King with a graciousness he was afraid he could never display. She bandaged him as thick as a lover’s blood ever could though she spilled not a drop for him in doing so.
Certainly he was to check in on the ties made so long ago, the newness that he had sought and the change he had intended between realms. First was something familiar, something that would come easier than standing statuesque as a young dog growled his younger sisters entitlement. Killdare made for the Valley, another younger, stronger young lady stood herald to the dark shadows and he had not seen her since hearing of the shadow she had become herself. She was a young thing then, mousey and plain for all purposes but he had saved her still. Just because he came from a Kingdom labeled dark did not mean that darkness ruled his soul. could not help but to agree to the potential that stirred within. Really Eight had convinced him of the girl’s potential and he supposed something about magic had led him to know the young girl’s heart without knowing her shell first.
The Valley was strong and word was Topsail was strong too, far stronger than perhaps her sire before her and Killdare was only pleased at the rumor. He made quick of the journey to the shadow kingdom called Valley, liquefying himself for the first time and traveling by ways which most would never dream. It was cool and dark beneath the earth’s surface, quiet too, save for the chorus of his own thoughts. Beneath the ground he could feel the age of the dirt as he passed through it, end over end of swirling, molten passageways. Sometimes that age felt suffocating, heavy with the burdens and destruction wreaked by havok mongers. He found it though, somehow. Something sensed he was there and with a great push he spilled forth from the earth, gushing at the very borders of the Valley into a pooling mass.
His entrance caused a stir, growling figures moving around to stand above and before him, a smokey semblance of the true animal he was all too familiar with. As his body formed together he hissed and spat as he bubbled into place, though he knew he could not harm mere shadows, it was mostly for fun. The dogs growled yet inched back with caution in their alert eyes, and finally Killdare solidified into hard blackened brimstone to loom over the pack. Each spat at his form, smokey black hackles raising ridges along their backside. In return he blew smoke in thick clouds from his lungs, the shape twisting to a serpentine form and snapping it’s great jaws at its shadowy brethren. The dragon unfurled it’s long neck, wrapping around the nearest wolf without so much as asking its consent.
Nothing slipped by the Valley wolves, not even the smoldering king of the Chamber. They were the shadows and the shadows were them. To speak of one was to speak of the other in a singular breath. Immediately their howls set the mountainsides alive, their forlorn cries ringing from one end of the Valley to the other. It was a warning cry to the king as much as it was to the Valley inhabitants, who would no doubt rise from their slumber to lay eyes on the intruder, for lack of a better word. But this wasn’t a visitor that needed their attendance, and quickly Topsail sent out her own call, filling their dreams with her singsong voice. She would meet him alone, unattended by even Eight. Underwood was still sleeping peacefully; at least, his face was passive and his breaths were steady. She couldn’t tell much about the child. He was as abnormal as was possible to be, but he held promise. He held the promise of his powerful bloodlines, which were drenched in powerful old magic and uncommon strengths. But for now, he seemed to be in whatever dream land that strange children visited, so with nothing more than a backwards glance and hint of a smile, Topsail headed towards the scent of scorch.
It had been a long time since she had met with Killdare. Since the war, however many years ago that had been. Holding the title of Queen gave her the gift of immortality, so she held the youthful visage of a girl just turned woman. But beneath that, beneath the slender lines and swaying hips, was something harder; something…darker. It was something forged of iron and steel and all things strong, but with a sharp edge like that on a filet knife. It gave her eyes a certain gleam, left some kind of doubt in how genuine her smile was. By all intents and purposes, he had made her this way. He had robbed her from her home in the midst of a war, and she wasn’t fool enough to think he didn’t have some hand in thrusting her onto the throne. What would he think of the fresh faced filly she had been in comparison to the tough as nails mare she is now? Slipping further into the shadows she shifted, shedding the mousey dun coat and replacing it with tawny brown scales. The raptor inside of her did not appreciate the newcomer, but by now she was easily able to control it. Shrieking into the night she crashed forward, her eyes and teeth eager. In the raptor form, it did not take her long to reach the king made of magma and sulfur. Tilting her head she barked at him in that strange noise only a raptor could make. Her eyes flashed between the smoke-formed dragon and her struggling wolf, and she in turn flashed her teeth at Killdare. “Killdare, you smell terrible. I’ll also ask you kindly to unhand that wolf. You can’t blame him for being weary.” Any other ruler she would have held her tongue, but given their past, Topsail felt she had more license than most to poke at him.
BROTHER, LET ME BE YOUR FORTRESS, WHEN THE NIGHT WINDS ARE DRIVING ON.
I CAN BE THE ONE TO LIGHT YOUR WAY; I WILL BRING YOU HOME.
He is at ease within the icy walls and caverns of his Kingdom of frost, and yet something spurs him to step past the thick shield of ice that borders their terrain so menacingly, his massive, scarred form moving with deliberate ease. His deep crimson eyes study the ground below as his heavy prints leave lasting impression, the frigid frost of a waning winter fading from sight as he enters into the mild, temperature climate below the mountain crown.
The sun bathes his thick obsidian coat, the old pink puckered scars of battles won and lost glinting beneath its light as his muscles ripple beneath - he savors the sensation, if only for a moment. It is not often that he can feel its warmth so saturated against his skin.
A gentle breeze drifts through as he travels on, the day growing long as he paces heavily towards a darkened land he has not seen in some time. He has no ill will in mind; simply an alliance to force. He is alone with his mind, a scattering of thoughts loosely rattling within his brain. The tall grasses of the thick plain stroke beneath the underside of his belly and caress his flank, and for a moment, he breathes deeply, inhaling the sweetness of another season changing.
With the gentle blossoming of foliage and fauna and melting of ice and frost, something else lingers within his senses - the stark, burning incense of magma and fire. It reeks heavily, saturating his senses with its nauseating scent, and he knows immediately what creature - and who - such an acrid, nauseatingly heavy scent could come from. Long overdue is the meeting between three monarchs - two Kings and a Queen, two having met one, but alas, not all three at once. It is time to push aside the formalities of diplomacy, to press past the tired cloak of ceremonial conformity and come together.
His darkened, marred coat of puckered scars covers itself in a sheen of ice, as the warm magma that followed beneath the Earth radiates its own heat still from beneath the moist soil. He follows closely, nostrils flaring as he picks up a heavy, galloping pace, weaving his massive form through the winding foliage as he nears the dark valley border. The ground trembles beneath his behemoth weight as he finally simmers down to a saunter at best, thick tresses falling in the way of his dark crimson gaze as he finally comes across two figures - both familiar.
The stench of sulfur lingers still in the air, but it simmers beneath the surface. He observes as the grulla Queen (beautiful, to be certain - powerful in her gaze and stance) quietly for a moment as he begins to shield himself in a thick layer of frost, which crawls along his powerful legs and tangles itself into his matted tresses. Though he has not seen her circus trick before, he has heard enough about it to have prepared for it - or so he thought. There is something unnervingly menacing about the way her reptilian eyes flash, and her scales are remarkably flexible.
He can only imagine what her sharpened claws are capable of.
His eyes peer between the two as he comes along Killdare's side; the ice is merely to keep his own flesh cool near the radiating heat of the other. He has never handled heat well, with his formidable size and dark obsidian pelt, but even less so after years of dwelling within the land of ice. His heavy crown nods as he studies Topsail, ignoring the hackles of wolves surrounding them.
"It seems Killdare and I have had the same idea this evening," He muses softly, though his voice is rough and gravelly from disuse. "and at last, we meet, at once. I would say that this is long overdue, wouldn't you?"
He plays with the animal, if you could call it that, twisting a smoke serpent around it’s middle. It couldn’t really harm the creature, it were just a smokescreen, a breath of sooty air let loose to do the King’s bidding. There were no eyes to blind here, no lungs to rob of clean air and so it was mostly for show that he did this- well, and for amusement. So little fun was to be had these days, everyone had lost their sense of humor and little opportunities for enjoyment presented themselves infrequently at best.Come to think of it he really hadn’t had it out for anyone for a while, not until recently.
Their cries call her but the resounding footsteps that thunder through the shadow world are not what he had expected to hear. Rumors were that the girl had changed, become a monster in her own right but this intensity was altogether surprising nonetheless. Beneath him the ground trembles as she approaches, announcing her coming like the herald of a brass trumpet. Around him the wolves become static in their presence, an electricity almost pulses through them at the Queen’s approach and he remains alert as he waits.
When she does come, she is no girl. In the place of a mare is a scaled creature, feral and ancient in its making and he does not have the word for what it is called. He does know that it is something that could eat him, something tells him so deep down in the marrow of his bones. And the noise, the rattle of a call that reverberates in its throat is both eerie and beautiful. The flash of teeth is unsettling at best, but the voice to invade him is the same- that it seems, the Valley could not change. Her words bring the ghost of a smile to his sooty lips, and his hooves sizzle beneath him as the lava meets the dry earth. “Oh? This wolf?” he says playfully, as playfully as he can against the gravel of his deep baritone.
He does release it though, the smoke unfurling it’s snake-like neck and slowly seeping back to Killdare where it absorbs. “Can’t hurt the silly things anyways, not like that,” he claims huffing soot past his nostrils. “Besides, I smell miles better than he does,” his charcoal head flicks in the direction of the approaching warrior. Killdare can smell and almost feel the ice prickling up the brute’s obsidian skin, it opposes his heat for one and that is perhaps why. When he does turn his burning eyes to the other he can see the shield of frost he’s made, a layer of second skin in a sense and this amuses him as well.
“Well, far beyond overdue. I’m afraid he’s right,” his head nods in greeting to Offspring as he turns once again to the looming beast before them. “Not quite sure I agree with myself on this one,” he manages, looking over the slick scales, obviously referring to his own hand in putting the Gates girl here in the first place.
Beqanna was brewing. Like a storm that gathered on the horizon, so too did the clouds gather over their isolated little world. It was a subtle thing, easily missed by those wrapped up in the more mundane ways of life. But for those living in and amongst the kingdoms, it was felt. It was something in the way the winds blew; something in the way the seasons changed slowly. Whether it was something to be concerned about or something to blow off, well that remained to be seen. The only option left to them was to prepare and hope that such preparations were unnecessary. But the clouds were building, rolling and moving towards them ever so slowly. It would not do to be caught unawares.
A low rumble of thunder broke the quiet reverie of the Valley. It held within it the promise of a great storm, but only if all of the conditions were just so. With a small frown towards the sky, Topsail shifted forms. As she shed the leathery skin and fierce teeth, they were replaced with mousey fur and softened features. When the transformation was complete she stood before them a mare, just barely so. Her face was youthful, the lines of her body sleek; but her eyes were hardened with resolve. The time for action was surely nearing, and Topsail fully intended to have all of her ducks lined up in a proverbial row.
They made a strange trio; the magma king of the Chamber, who was tampered by the ice king of the Tundra and her own unusual, terrifying appearance. They were like some strange, unearthly force, and only God knows why they stood together so calmly. But they did, even as the clouds tingled with electricity. The wolves winding at her ankles raised their hackles along their spines, lips peeled back over yellowed teeth. She hushed them though, and with simpering whines they backed into the foliage, including the one who had been held by Killdare’s smoke serpent. “Offspring, it is a pleasure. Shame I can’t say the same about Killdare’s presence.” she teased, her words easy. Killdare‘s next words made her smirk, but she ignored him. He couldn‘t take all of the credit for what she had become; the Valley had its own powerful hand in that bit. “I agree. This is far overdue.” Her voice became more brisk, and her eyes flashed in a reptilian way. “There are rumors…none substantiated though. Beqanna is stirring again. Something is lurking out there, just over the horizon and out of view.” She had heard snippets of the Gates being overtaken, but knew nothing beyond that point. There was also a rumor of the Tundra becoming more like a conventional kingdom. If that were true, Topsail was certain she wanted them on her kingdoms side should all hell break loose.
