08-26-2016, 09:45 AM
no matter what they say, I am still the king
It seems there is an uneasy acceptance between the two stallions. You, Gunsynd, did not seem the type to befriend nor care for any (save our beautiful Mistress). And Eight was no exception. No, you do not like the stallion, per say – you merely appreciate the power brimming inside him that kept the Valley safe. You conceded to sharing her voluptuous valleys and moist earth with the magician – because there was simply that small string that tied you and he together, that ever vibrating love for the land beneath your feet.
It was no secret that Eight was a magician – it seemed to be what defined him, his scar upon the world. It was true, there were other magicians about, each settled in their own nook or cranny of the world – but for some reason, it seemed Eight was the one who wore the title so heavily. Perhaps it was because his power was so chaotic – days where he healed, gave voice to those who could not speak, grew daisies for the children. And then days where things were not quite so calm – the year he and Evrae rained hell on each of the kingdoms, the maiming and mind games and torture he has played. You could never quite tell which way the viperous power inside him would flow.
But you knew somehow, didn’t you Gunsynd? You knew the guardian would alight from wherever he roamed and find his way to you. You knew that he would acquiesce to giving the glowed eyed girl her voice back. Was the magician that predictable? Or were you simply just a man who thought the same as he?
Surprisingly, Eight does not pry into the girl’s brain. No, there is no need for that – it seemed somewhat of a betrayal to the spider mother (did Eight ever even owe her that much?). He did not intimately know Aranea; they had spoken long after Sage left, perhaps hoping to relive the shared history they had. Perhaps hoping that there was something inside Aranea that was akin to Sage. Aranea had stood on the throne beside Eight’s old friend Vampyric, and they would often brush into one another while Eight was visiting the dark vampire.
History was a fickle thing.
Eight shook the web of history from his mind before giving a short nod to Gunsynd. It was astonishing sometimes to think how easy his life was via his magic. How nonchalant it was to him to be able to make a mute girl speak, to make the mountains move, the daisies grow. He stretched a dome over the three, it shimmered brightly before fading into the air. Here, they could communicate with Aranea in ease – her voice would be a tangible thing, floating melodiously into their ears.
It did not take long for her to realize that she could speak (was it a relief? Was it like a wave washing over her – finally! To communicate aloud! Or was it almost perhaps a chore?)
“I do.” He replied, his eyes finding hers. “Time has been well to you.” He jerked his head in Aranea’s direction, now addressing Gunsynd. “Where’d you find her? It’s been a while since she’s been through these parts.”
It was no secret that Eight was a magician – it seemed to be what defined him, his scar upon the world. It was true, there were other magicians about, each settled in their own nook or cranny of the world – but for some reason, it seemed Eight was the one who wore the title so heavily. Perhaps it was because his power was so chaotic – days where he healed, gave voice to those who could not speak, grew daisies for the children. And then days where things were not quite so calm – the year he and Evrae rained hell on each of the kingdoms, the maiming and mind games and torture he has played. You could never quite tell which way the viperous power inside him would flow.
But you knew somehow, didn’t you Gunsynd? You knew the guardian would alight from wherever he roamed and find his way to you. You knew that he would acquiesce to giving the glowed eyed girl her voice back. Was the magician that predictable? Or were you simply just a man who thought the same as he?
Surprisingly, Eight does not pry into the girl’s brain. No, there is no need for that – it seemed somewhat of a betrayal to the spider mother (did Eight ever even owe her that much?). He did not intimately know Aranea; they had spoken long after Sage left, perhaps hoping to relive the shared history they had. Perhaps hoping that there was something inside Aranea that was akin to Sage. Aranea had stood on the throne beside Eight’s old friend Vampyric, and they would often brush into one another while Eight was visiting the dark vampire.
History was a fickle thing.
Eight shook the web of history from his mind before giving a short nod to Gunsynd. It was astonishing sometimes to think how easy his life was via his magic. How nonchalant it was to him to be able to make a mute girl speak, to make the mountains move, the daisies grow. He stretched a dome over the three, it shimmered brightly before fading into the air. Here, they could communicate with Aranea in ease – her voice would be a tangible thing, floating melodiously into their ears.
It did not take long for her to realize that she could speak (was it a relief? Was it like a wave washing over her – finally! To communicate aloud! Or was it almost perhaps a chore?)
“I do.” He replied, his eyes finding hers. “Time has been well to you.” He jerked his head in Aranea’s direction, now addressing Gunsynd. “Where’d you find her? It’s been a while since she’s been through these parts.”
∞
and now the storm is coming, the storm is coming in
@[Aranea] @[Gunsynd]