i'm on the wrong side of heaven, and the righteous side of hell
He can’t say for sure what brought him to the Field; perhaps a chance to warm his old bones, for winter came early in the Chamber. Already the leaves had started falling from the trees, and more than once he’d felt the sharp sting of impending cold against his skin. When he had awoken this morning from his nest in the pines, he could see his breath rising in smoky puffs from his nostrils. He had shaken the cold from his hide, grimacing as his bones waved a fist in protest. But he had pressed on, over ridges and down through valleys, the further stretches of the lands his ultimate destination. Recruiting had never been his forte, but he was always game to try his hand at it. Now, perhaps, more so than any other time. The old warrior had found himself on the bad side of his lovely queen, and though it didn’t bother him overmuch, it certainly wouldn’t hurt to try and earn a couple of brownie points.
The sun glares off of his black hide as he walks into the clearing known as the Field, and for a moment he would like to just stand here and nap. Getting old was a bitch sometimes. With a resolute sigh though he ventures in, his eyes sharp as they swept over the horses here. Not every horse had what it took to be a Chamberling. They were a different breed, forged from a blend of iron and steel. As different as all of the current members were, they shared one important thing; love for their home. The stallion is musing over the new names and faces when a mare catches his eye. She is rearing, pawing at a foe only she can see. A smile curves over his lips; this was something he could work with. So with a shake of his head he makes his way over, but not before another mare approaches. “Impressive moves.” he says coolly, nodding at the Falls mare in greeting. “You seem to be a natural. My Army would love to have you.” and he quickly remembers that he has some semblance of manners, “Forgive me. I’m Warship, of the Chamber. Lots of rocks, lots of trees. A quiet place, if you don’t mind ravens.” he says, smiling and allowing some of that reckless charm of his to shine through the iron-clad brocade.
warship
