04-08-2016, 12:06 PM
Their world slows again, and he sighs his relief.
The Dale had made a promise to aid the other kingdoms in their war against the Chamber. And unlike recent promises, neither the tragic and suspicious death of their monarch nor their own inner-kingdom strife had kept them from fulfilling their word. Ramiel is proud of their contribution, of their warriors. Even if their numbers hadn’t been extraordinary, their bravery in the face of absolute chaos was. Because any who had made it through the cycle of flame and frost had to be either incredibly brave or foolhardy. Any who had dug their heels further into the charred (and then frozen) ground instead of turning tail and running were survivors. Somehow, through the heavy veil of smoke, he’d managed to see Phaedrus and Weir in the thick of it. As he makes his way through the spring-infused kingdom, the grey stallion reminds himself to promote the two soldiers for a job well done. Not that leaping rank is reward enough for putting their lives on the line – they deserve all the accolades heaped on them – but it will have to suffice for now.
Even though the rest of the world has slowed, the Dale is beginning another kind of acceleration.
The threat of war had loomed over them like clouds fat with their hidden devastation. Now that it is clearing with the spring, it is time to rebuild and start fresh. He wishes, more than anything, that Ea was here to help him commence their awakening. But the woman dipped in silver (in both body and mind) had been taken from them right when they needed her most. Ramiel crests a hill and shakes his head. Why would she stay when he couldn’t even protect her from an easy steal? While he’d been off fighting for his life, opportunistic scavengers had temporarily claimed her. It riles him, but he cannot let it cloud his own mind like war had. He has to look forward, even if it is without Ea for a while.
A low call interrupts the storm brewing in his head. The charcoal man veers away from his path parallel to the river and heads towards their northeastern border. There, the forests cluster tight and dense, a natural barrier against a land they hardly need protecting from. They have gotten on famously with the Dazzling Waterfalls for too many generations to count; their’s is a historic relationship with few blips of animosity ever occurring between them. To Ramiel, though, the Falls will always only remind him of his brother.
The ghost-king picks his way through the thickening fields. As the trees rise closer, so too does the grass, growing taller and interspersed with thorny shrubs. He is careful to avoid these, but by the time he enters the forest, his slate coat is dotted with burrs. “Hello,” he says when he spies the spotted stallion lipping at the ground. The other man is large and ornately colored – it would be hard to miss him anywhere – and Ramiel decides rather quickly that he’s never met him. A diplomat, he guesses, no warrior would be so lackadaisical at the border of another kingdom - unless he’s been here before. His golden gaze is watchful but soft; an easy smile curls his lips. The threat might be over, but retaliation is like a bee boring at the base of his skull. One never knows. “Can I help you with anything? I’m Ramiel.”
The Dale had made a promise to aid the other kingdoms in their war against the Chamber. And unlike recent promises, neither the tragic and suspicious death of their monarch nor their own inner-kingdom strife had kept them from fulfilling their word. Ramiel is proud of their contribution, of their warriors. Even if their numbers hadn’t been extraordinary, their bravery in the face of absolute chaos was. Because any who had made it through the cycle of flame and frost had to be either incredibly brave or foolhardy. Any who had dug their heels further into the charred (and then frozen) ground instead of turning tail and running were survivors. Somehow, through the heavy veil of smoke, he’d managed to see Phaedrus and Weir in the thick of it. As he makes his way through the spring-infused kingdom, the grey stallion reminds himself to promote the two soldiers for a job well done. Not that leaping rank is reward enough for putting their lives on the line – they deserve all the accolades heaped on them – but it will have to suffice for now.
Even though the rest of the world has slowed, the Dale is beginning another kind of acceleration.
The threat of war had loomed over them like clouds fat with their hidden devastation. Now that it is clearing with the spring, it is time to rebuild and start fresh. He wishes, more than anything, that Ea was here to help him commence their awakening. But the woman dipped in silver (in both body and mind) had been taken from them right when they needed her most. Ramiel crests a hill and shakes his head. Why would she stay when he couldn’t even protect her from an easy steal? While he’d been off fighting for his life, opportunistic scavengers had temporarily claimed her. It riles him, but he cannot let it cloud his own mind like war had. He has to look forward, even if it is without Ea for a while.
A low call interrupts the storm brewing in his head. The charcoal man veers away from his path parallel to the river and heads towards their northeastern border. There, the forests cluster tight and dense, a natural barrier against a land they hardly need protecting from. They have gotten on famously with the Dazzling Waterfalls for too many generations to count; their’s is a historic relationship with few blips of animosity ever occurring between them. To Ramiel, though, the Falls will always only remind him of his brother.
The ghost-king picks his way through the thickening fields. As the trees rise closer, so too does the grass, growing taller and interspersed with thorny shrubs. He is careful to avoid these, but by the time he enters the forest, his slate coat is dotted with burrs. “Hello,” he says when he spies the spotted stallion lipping at the ground. The other man is large and ornately colored – it would be hard to miss him anywhere – and Ramiel decides rather quickly that he’s never met him. A diplomat, he guesses, no warrior would be so lackadaisical at the border of another kingdom - unless he’s been here before. His golden gaze is watchful but soft; an easy smile curls his lips. The threat might be over, but retaliation is like a bee boring at the base of his skull. One never knows. “Can I help you with anything? I’m Ramiel.”
R A M I E L
this is a man pulling at his iron chains