Selfish, a bully, an adulterer–a deceiver even. Vanquish had been many things and there were many crimes bound to his name, but perhaps the worst of these was that of being a harsh and resentful father. Genuine love had been doled out exclusively to his children that had been born of promise. Although he had never shunned any of his brood (no, his lineage too precious), few ever truly felt the dragon-king’s sincere affections. Caius; his firstborn, a true mistake (a harsh, but real reality) of a young stallion’s lustful and pliable will. Chantale had been a deliciously wicked being, a lover of both he and the young Queen Yael. The child was nothing more to his mother than an instrument to wrench at Yael’s heartstrings, something that was expendable and that was thrown away once her efforts bore no fruit. Vanquish had done his best with the boy but perhaps, he had always thought, Caius had suckled at his mother’s sour breast for too long. The boy had always been peculiar and cold and the Nightwalker had never been quite sure if his son actually loved him back or if Chantale’s strangeblood filled his veins just too thickly.
But Dorne had come next and she was everything the king had asked of the gods, huge like her father with her mother’s stock obvious in both the princess’ size and dizzy array of spots. With a mouthful of fire and telekinesis like her warrior-queen mother, she had always given her giant younger brothers hell. He had asked Lyric for a son and the royal pair’s prayers had been answered twice over when the twins had come. Vanquish had been ecstatic at the sight of Kratos and Kreios; their little spotted giants. He had indeed plowed through sky and earth alike just to make it to their worldly arrival – chest threatening to burst with the thunderous joy of his consecrations came true. Kratos and his brother were his heirs and aspirations born anew, a quivering promise of his bloodline exulted were just taking their first breath’s at the king’s feet, how sweet a joy? But the poignancy of his pleasure was brought crashing back down to a more humbling height when Kreios’ condition became apparent. The bigger of the twins was born slow, speech and verbalizations altogether were a struggle for the scarlet spotted colt and Vanquish felt shamed because of it and resented the foal. Even after Morphine had cured his son’s ailment the draft’s visits with the chestnut twin were abrupt and curt, nothing like the warmth and regard that was thrust upon his full-blooded siblings – even the bastard Caius received more of a prideful glint in the king’s eye than he had.
Before the numbness had taken its grey, this was one of the regrets that haunted him the most. It was one of the hungriest of questions that hunted him in his death, how selfish a soul was that of a parent too shamed to love his own child? But that was just one of many sins born out of his avarice and lust and greed. The Nightwalker and the dragon-queen Nocturnal had plotted for an heir, one born of Jungle and Desert blood that would secure the two kingdoms as allies for generations to come. Tarnished was, at first breath, a scorching coal in the king’s heart - the colt was special to the him in an indefinable way. Perhaps it was the knowledge of his son’s newborn and burning mind (had he not been filled with his mother’s death and memories at his birth?) or perhaps it was the acknowledgment that he not fosters the colt the way queen Quark would in the Jungle could – he had let him go with Quark to the Jungle. There was no doubt that he had flourished better there amongst the rainforest and his horde of step-siblings than he would have with him in his Deserts and squabbling queens– but Vanquish had forever regretted his decision of letting him go. But still, that is not the greatest of the haunts that had come for him.
But how undeserving is a soul of that of a disloyal lover? One that greedily builds two families and wields the fates of two hearts without any true care but to fulfill his own desires? Vanquish, with his gluttony and with his selfish absence, had been the cause of Lyric and his unborn daughter with Yael’s life to be taken. Lyric had passed while birthing his fire-spitting daughter Isadore, alone, in the Dale while he lay with Yael. Vanquish had warmed the throne of the Deserts for many years before he warmed Yael’s figurative bed – but that was years after Lyric had forsaken her Valley to take the Daleian throne to birth his children. Years after he had pledged his fidelity to her, years after he had built was supposed to be theirs. Vanquish had burned away years of devotion and ripped away the tether of their family in a single decision and he hadn’t even fucking bothered to check on her. He deserved a forever sepulcher of regret heavy and black as tar for that alone, he didn’t deserve to be standing in the Deserts – living and breathing and sorrowing over a pain that was now within his grasp to touch, to mold, to fix.
But he is sorrowing and that is why the dragon-winged black stands beneath the huge boughs of his unearthly Desert oak, waiting for his children and grandchildren (if any) to come. He has asked Yael(forever his crutch, right Osiris?) to send a message to his lineage, to come see their father – their grandfather, twice the king of the Deserts, still as proud and ornery as the day the Valley’s pits were writhing with bodies and his crown was new and fit poorly on his head. He would make it up to them – those he had hurt; Caius, Tarnished, Dorne, Kreios and he would sew back the time torn apart in the absence of his death of those he had been taken too early from; Kitra, Etro, Gaza, Akbar.
The Percheron idles beneath his tree, dragon-wings curled lazily about his sides as he picks at the few patches of weed that have oddly sprouted. His heart beat with a hurried eagerness that matched the tumult of disquiet that rolled in his belly but despite these things, a slight smile turned the corners of his black lips. The old-heart that beat in the young king’s body hoped that there were at least one or two grandfoals that for him to lay eyes upon.
.
But Dorne had come next and she was everything the king had asked of the gods, huge like her father with her mother’s stock obvious in both the princess’ size and dizzy array of spots. With a mouthful of fire and telekinesis like her warrior-queen mother, she had always given her giant younger brothers hell. He had asked Lyric for a son and the royal pair’s prayers had been answered twice over when the twins had come. Vanquish had been ecstatic at the sight of Kratos and Kreios; their little spotted giants. He had indeed plowed through sky and earth alike just to make it to their worldly arrival – chest threatening to burst with the thunderous joy of his consecrations came true. Kratos and his brother were his heirs and aspirations born anew, a quivering promise of his bloodline exulted were just taking their first breath’s at the king’s feet, how sweet a joy? But the poignancy of his pleasure was brought crashing back down to a more humbling height when Kreios’ condition became apparent. The bigger of the twins was born slow, speech and verbalizations altogether were a struggle for the scarlet spotted colt and Vanquish felt shamed because of it and resented the foal. Even after Morphine had cured his son’s ailment the draft’s visits with the chestnut twin were abrupt and curt, nothing like the warmth and regard that was thrust upon his full-blooded siblings – even the bastard Caius received more of a prideful glint in the king’s eye than he had.
Before the numbness had taken its grey, this was one of the regrets that haunted him the most. It was one of the hungriest of questions that hunted him in his death, how selfish a soul was that of a parent too shamed to love his own child? But that was just one of many sins born out of his avarice and lust and greed. The Nightwalker and the dragon-queen Nocturnal had plotted for an heir, one born of Jungle and Desert blood that would secure the two kingdoms as allies for generations to come. Tarnished was, at first breath, a scorching coal in the king’s heart - the colt was special to the him in an indefinable way. Perhaps it was the knowledge of his son’s newborn and burning mind (had he not been filled with his mother’s death and memories at his birth?) or perhaps it was the acknowledgment that he not fosters the colt the way queen Quark would in the Jungle could – he had let him go with Quark to the Jungle. There was no doubt that he had flourished better there amongst the rainforest and his horde of step-siblings than he would have with him in his Deserts and squabbling queens– but Vanquish had forever regretted his decision of letting him go. But still, that is not the greatest of the haunts that had come for him.
But how undeserving is a soul of that of a disloyal lover? One that greedily builds two families and wields the fates of two hearts without any true care but to fulfill his own desires? Vanquish, with his gluttony and with his selfish absence, had been the cause of Lyric and his unborn daughter with Yael’s life to be taken. Lyric had passed while birthing his fire-spitting daughter Isadore, alone, in the Dale while he lay with Yael. Vanquish had warmed the throne of the Deserts for many years before he warmed Yael’s figurative bed – but that was years after Lyric had forsaken her Valley to take the Daleian throne to birth his children. Years after he had pledged his fidelity to her, years after he had built was supposed to be theirs. Vanquish had burned away years of devotion and ripped away the tether of their family in a single decision and he hadn’t even fucking bothered to check on her. He deserved a forever sepulcher of regret heavy and black as tar for that alone, he didn’t deserve to be standing in the Deserts – living and breathing and sorrowing over a pain that was now within his grasp to touch, to mold, to fix.
But he is sorrowing and that is why the dragon-winged black stands beneath the huge boughs of his unearthly Desert oak, waiting for his children and grandchildren (if any) to come. He has asked Yael(forever his crutch, right Osiris?) to send a message to his lineage, to come see their father – their grandfather, twice the king of the Deserts, still as proud and ornery as the day the Valley’s pits were writhing with bodies and his crown was new and fit poorly on his head. He would make it up to them – those he had hurt; Caius, Tarnished, Dorne, Kreios and he would sew back the time torn apart in the absence of his death of those he had been taken too early from; Kitra, Etro, Gaza, Akbar.
The Percheron idles beneath his tree, dragon-wings curled lazily about his sides as he picks at the few patches of weed that have oddly sprouted. His heart beat with a hurried eagerness that matched the tumult of disquiet that rolled in his belly but despite these things, a slight smile turned the corners of his black lips. The old-heart that beat in the young king’s body hoped that there were at least one or two grandfoals that for him to lay eyes upon.
.
vanquish
black king of the deserts
OOC - Pretty sure I got the timeline wrong with alot of that so, whoops. But basically (if you allow it, of course) if you are a descendant of Vanquish i.e. child or grandchild, you just got a telepathic message to come to the Deserts to see him cuz...he's back from the dead so why not and he wants to play with babiesssss....