"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
She should stay out of it. She should – they are not allies, she has no personal relationship with their Queen and King, and Yael herself has no authority to insert the Desert (because it might come back to them) into whatever feud bubbles between the Gates and the Chamber. But the Queen of the past screams at her, and the Savta in her screams at her, and then the children scream, and she can ignore it no longer. Who is she, if not the magician that the Dale came to - twice - for help? With a frustrated growl in the back of her throat, the golden woman disappears from the eternal summer sands and sends herself towards the Gates.
She reappears, invisible, in the Gates, and takes a moment to survey the chaos at hand. Fire – Plant Manipulation – Poison – the Chamber seems to have sent its whole arsenal. With quick decisiveness, Yael decides to forego saving the Queen and focus solely on the Mother Tree. A Kingdom can live without a ruler, but she does not know what would happen if the Tree burnt to a crisp and was then viciously ripped from the ground. The thought of someone poisoning the Oasis, or trying to do something as equally dreadful to the spirit that is very much a part of herself only fuels the fire.
Still invisible (and in this way, perhaps, the Desert can avoid some potential danger – they are too small and quiet right now to fight with the Chamber, despite having two magicians) she translocates a monsoon from another part of the world to a pocket above the Mother Tree, allowing a literal sheet of water to fall in a concentrated area. It should douse the flames and keep others from appearing. But there is more to be done – and though there is sweat all over her body from summoning the weather (always difficult when there isn’t a single rain cloud already in sight), she grits her teeth and digs deeper into the tree. Something else is wrong. It was still dying, she could see the life draining out of it.
She starts at the bits that have not yet been touched by the Black Death and creates a sort of barrier. A temporary one, to hold the poison at bay until the worst is over. This is triage in the midst of battle, not the operating room in the hospital. First things first. If she saved something - a twig, a leaf, a branch - maybe they could regrow the tree from that.
They never stray too far from the Mother Tree, Emmerly and her adopted son.
She’d told him about it when she’d first brought him to live near the others. How it’s sweeping, graceful arms were stronger than they’d looked. How it was a gift and a defender and magical all at once. She hadn’t trusted the Chamber when they’d given it to them all those years ago. At the time, Em was certain some hellish fate would come to pass because they had accepted a boon from the once-dark kingdom. But over time, when nothing sprang from the bark or split the tree open to reveal its sinister innards, even she grew to love it.
When the acrid smoke fills her nostrils, she thinks she already knows what is burning.
But the tree is no longer one of her first concerns.
“Eldrian, stay very closer.” They’d been relaxing in the willow forest just beyond the great tree, a favorite spot of theirs’ and in close proximity to everything else. Now, she looks to the mostly brown boy who is already showing hints of gray in his coat. He’s growing, too, no longer the leggy colt that had been born somewhere near the border when she’d chanced upon mother and newborn son. His eyes are luminous and wide; he does as she says, though, and melts against her side. Already, the pair can hear the shouts of some skirmish brewing just beyond their copse. The sounds of both foreign and familiar voices join the smoke on the wind, reaching their ears and noses.
She leads him out of the protection of the forest, not knowing how much longer it will really protect them if war has broken out. Besides, she is a warrior. If something is amiss (apart from the loss of the Mother Tree) she will need to defend her home. Em takes the most direct path she can to the open meadowlands, her pace quickening as the shouts grow louder and closer. Who would be attacking them, and why? As far as she knew, none of the kingdoms have a problem with the peaceful, quiet Gates. Was this just an opportunity to raid they couldn’t pass up?
When the last tree disappears behind them and the scene opens in front of them, she can see the why of the whole thing. Chaos, pure and simple. There is no line of army horses, no blockade intent on breaking them down. There are only individuals set to their own tasks. One works on the tree, though she cannot see what he is doing. He is soon joined by another who belches fire over the wilting tree, condemning it to a scorched end. That action alone makes her furious, but she worries more for the people. Where is Fiasko? Mast? A few Gates horses approach the raiding party (from where, she doesn’t know just yet) but still, they are vastly outnumbered. A sudden shout from a young girl draws her attention away from the action for a moment. She cries to the others loudly, calling the youngest horses to retreat from the violence. “Go with them,” Emmerly says to Eldrian, the urgency in her voice enough to spur him on and away.
Only once she sees his tail retreating over the nearest hill does she turn back to the raid. The buckskin tobiano races down towards the lot of them, moving in to help a chestnut paint she had seen around the kingdom lately. He barely avoids an attack by a bigger, spotted woman. Emmerly catches what he says to the apathetic buckskin who seems fine with letting their home suffer. But there’s no time to reprimand him further. She nods at Kronk even as she moves in to finish his attempted attack on Gryffen. The pegasus is smaller than she is, though with his wings as a barrier, he’s more of a challenge than she might have thought. Em runs along his left side, plants her front feet in the ground and aims her buck-kick at the man’s left wing. That’s one way to deal with those tricky appendages, she thinks. With any luck, it’ll snap off.
He’s talking of them losing hope and whatever else his motivations for attacking them are. As a woman of action, she doesn’t really care. But when he mentions the garden, her head snaps up and she looks towards it. Losing the Mother Tree was one thing, but their garden was still so new. The mare circles back, intending to battle whoever was now further destroying the growing plot around the Tree. But as she gallops towards it, a great wall of water descends upon it. The surge comes out of nowhere, and the force of it would likely stun or kills anyone directly under it. Perhaps it will be enough to save the garden, if not the tree. Em wheels back towards the fighters, ready to help out in any way she can. In the back of her mind, she hopes the king and queen are far away from the violence here.
Wow, lot of excitement today. This, this was much better than the day before. Anker watched as some men clambered into the Gates, who were they? Are they new? They all looked a bit mad, couldn't concern him though, he didn't really know anyone to make mad. Usually it was the other way around.
He sat idly for a young boy, munching as he took in the show. There was a man with wings, another was made of fire. That, that was pretty cool, he might ask him to stay. There was still another, a fellow with things trailing after him, some kind of plant. Odd. A girl was there too, oh, but she soon wandered off out of sight. Last thing he saw was a..a woman he guessed, all spots and dots. She didn't seem like she knew what she was supposed to be doing, at least not like the others did. He thinks nothing of the man who is trying to dig up a tree, not even the one who sets it aflame. Anker didn't know a single thing about the mother tree or its importance, but he did know that he saw that nice man from before-hurtling towards the others.
He had been so still before, simply content to observe, but now things were begining to concern him. Perhaps he should do something, he considers it, almost races to the paints side. Almost. Another man soon comes, and he is telling these men they can have what they want. Come right on in and get it. So he resumes his leisurely stance, stuck somewhere in between action and observation. There is so much going on now, he had wanted some action he thought, but now that he had it- he wasn't so sure. The yearling then decides he will trot off, find his Dam that he so eagerly abandoned, but something else stops him. Don't forget the garden
The what? The garden? The one with all the delicious looking fruit? No, absolutely not, he hadn't even tasted any of it yet. Anker then decides that he must, if the garden was to go then he had to have a bite. Even just one. Lucky for him he is young, he is quick and spry. While everyone else is busy he nabs the nearest morsel, one yet to be spoiled. He doesn't waste time either, he devours the fruit, so ripe and juicy. Juicy. Oh it just filled his mouth right up, gushing out his lips. Delicious. Ah, but the rest, he just couldn't allow them to have the rest. The others, couldn't they see all this perfectly good food? He thinks he is about to get another, just one more succulent morsel, when he begins to expand.
He didn't know what was happening, he thought he might explode. He was much bigger than he usually was. At least as round and heavy as a walrus. Though to make matters worse, he started to roll, bouncing along a bit with his blubbery self. He couldn't stop either, he didn't know where the brakes were in this thing. This thing that was his body. What a shame, because he was headed straight for the big spotted thing, little limbs flailing. "Sorry, sorry!"
09-22-2015, 04:39 PM (This post was last modified: 09-22-2015, 04:42 PM by Sidra.)
The smoke is the first thing that alerts her.
The smell is not natural to the Gates and it peaks her interest immediately. With both curiosity and concern in her heart she rushes to the Mother Tree. And she’s stunned by what she sees.
The tree is on fire, burning to the ground, and all around a battle is beginning. She pauses for one split second, horrified. The world that she knows is crumbling.
Then she springs into action. She was always an impulsive one.
A black stallion stands at the base of the mother tree, a smug look on his foul face. She doesn’t know exactly what it is that makes her choose him - there are several other smug looking strangers standing about - but choose him she does.
With a scream in her throat she charges the stallion, all 14.2 hands barrelling down upon this invader of her beloved home. She’s never been in a battle before, never even been in a mock, but she doesn’t care. There is no fear in her, not yet. Only rage. This is the Gates, the place where she was born, the place where she’s grown up and lived with her family and friends. She will defend it as best as she can.
Sidra
the wild child of jason x fiasko
I'm ok with injuries, I'd just prefer nothing too crippling quite yet.
She’s been thinking a lot about Jason and Sahm this morning.
It’s been almost two years since she last saw her lover and her son, and she misses them every single day.
Why had they left? Where had they gone? She’d thought they’d had a good life here - a happy little family, and a small, close-knit group of friends. Had it not been enough? Had it been lacking in some way? Had she been lacking in some way?
The thought eats at her as she peeks out of her hiding place in the hills (the spot had been a favourite of hers in during her childhood). Is there anything she could have done to make them stay?
Loud shouting breaks through her reflection and her ears swing forward, suddenly cautious. The voice is loud and angry - two characteristics that are not common in the Gates. It’s soon followed by panicked voices, and her concern elevates. Something is going on.
She heads right for the Mother Tree, adrenaline lending speed to her feet. And when she reaches it, she is horrified.
The Mother Tree, their beautiful, strong Mother Tree is burning, along with the magical garden that Beqanna had gifted to them. All around the tree, stand horses she’s never seen before and the smell of the Chamber is one the wind. They are under attack.
She’s frozen for a moment, in shock. Why? Why would they do this? Why is this happening? What had they ever done to them?
Her heart breaks as the Mother Tree, a symbol of the Gates for so long, crumbles to the ground. It feels like everything she’s worked for here is crumbling with it. She knows that they don’t have a chance here. There’s no way for them to win. They’ve always been a peaceful kingdom, a home for broken horses and lost children. If only she’d worked harder on those alliances, if only …
Her eye catches on a pale stallion with red eyes, who seems to be directing the Chamber soldiers. Her feet move unbidden, carrying her towards him. She does not stop until she is staring right into his cold, red eyes. “Why are you doing this? What do you want?” What else can she do?
He can’t stop laughing. He really can’t. Everywhere he looks, chaos erupts. They run from them. They confront them as they scream about loyalty and protection. Do they even know what they are so willing to die for? Claim to die for as there hasn’t really been that much action, mostly just talk. Something is fighting against the fire, water making the flames go out with a hiss. For a moment he considers letting it go but instead he beats his wings to fan the remaining flames into action once more. Beating the coals into sparks that will help burn the fruit that surrounds the base of the burnt trunk. He can’t help but cruelly laugh as one gorges on the fruit, eager to steal it before it can no longer be tasted. He doesn’t focus on the smoking foliage for too long, he will let Weed and Kushiel handle that little situation. He’s minds on more important things now.
A mare decides to pick up where the other had gotten distracted. She seems to think he can’t see her coming. It would have to be quite a kick to reach so high to break an already unfurled wing. Besides he’s already on the defense, ready for her to come. Her kick finds his barrel and makes impact and he snarls from pain as they connect. It’s not enough though, it’s never enough and he has faced worse opponents then a girl playing at being a soldier. All it takes is a few beats from those angelic wings and he is above her. Facing her, he lets his forelimbs fly heavily at her face before he glides over her and lands easily away from the fray. For something has caught his eye, the reason why they have come.
The raven is circling back and now the painted mare he has come for bursts from her cover behind it. As she comes, he calls out for Cellar. For the poisonous girl to come back to him. The others are distracted with the Tree and their precious magical garden. Why are you doing this? She asks, fear and panic in her eyes. ”Because we can.” He responds quietly, sidling up to her with his wings outstretched. ”I’ve come for you. You are what I want.” He growls, his lips finding her neck and tugging roughly at the stray tendrils of her mane he finds there. ”Surely you don’t want the whole kingdom to burn? For all these innocent subjects to die such gruesome deaths?” Of course once the Chamberlings are let loose, not many of them can be controlled. Weed is only here out of his own interest and Gryffen doubts he could command him to do much more. Besides, he has no intentions of calling them back in. Of ending what he had started. Guilt can be so very useful when it comes to getting what you wanted, it's a tool that he can manipulate masterfully and he does so now. ”Come with me and you can save them.”
He can see her defeat as her body deflates and her eyes dim. It’s always so easy, to wind that guilt around their vulnerable hearts. A small foal with an unusual dorsal stripe slips quietly close to the mare, pressing into her side. For a moment he considers tossing the girl to the floor but finally gives a shrug. The more captives the merrier. ”Come along dear, nothing else to see here.” He whispers into Fiasko’s ear. Before they leave, he finds Cellar. ”If they try to come after us… Stop them.” His order is clear, pointedly looking at her barbed scales. She knew exactly what he wanted her to do. And then the winged man, the painted Queen, and the star child all slip through the smoke and disappear. The other Chamberlings may have stayed behind to cause whatever destruction they wanted to continue but he had gotten what he had come for.
Gryffen
- - - - -
The Big Bad Wolf
(Gryffen, Fiasko, and Caitlyn are gone but you guys can keep fighting as much as your little heart's desire ;p )
They've already brought the fire, but he isn’t fire.
He is more than fire, more than just burning. He is the speaker of the elements, and the air practically dances around him. He shimmers with heat, his coat too hot for burning. He joins them silently, watching without words (at first) as they start the destruction. He can feel the things that the stranger called Weed (who he's seen in his mother's orbit) is doing to the tree, although he knows nothing of the inner workings, only that the tree seems to have the heat of motion in some ways, that things inside it are being manipulated.
He sees the fire that Kushiel breathes. No, more than sees it – it is heat, and he is heat, and so it rings in his bones like a million tiny bells. Soothing, beautiful. He sees the plants going up in flames, turning slowly to ashes. But it is fire, and fire is in its essence an impure form of heat. It wastes things, it boils water, and most importantly it can be snuffed out.
And so it doesn't matter when the rest of the Chamberlings come pouring out , and it doesn't matter that the rest of the Gates horses come either. It only matters that somewhere, somehow, the rain comes pouring down and threatens to undo all of their good work.
But heat is not fire, and unlike fire, heat can fight water.
Without words, without expression, he knows that his moment has come.
He reaches up, up, up with his power, almost impossibly high, above the tips of the tree. And he creates the same kind of heat shield that he carried around himself. It is simple enough to superheat several layers of atoms, creating something of an oven above their heads. It is so simple to ensure that the heat is hot enough to vaporize the rain, to turn the sheet of monsoon to a sheet of steam, borne upward on the currents of the heat itself.
Well, simple in theory. A monsoon is harsh stuff, and he pushes his power somewhat to accommodate what is required. He is perfectly aware of his surroundings and will not be caught unawares (a lifetime of military training will do that), but he will not be fighting on any other fronts so long as he must fight the monsoon.
When they take the queen and leave, he holds the heat barrier, but registers their departure with distinct satisfaction. It's a victory, it's a thing that had been necessary, and it's half of what they had come here to do. And now it falls to them, to those with gifts, to him and Kushiel and Weed, to finish up the rest.
"Let's finish this." his rich voice is a low growl, a command that he knows none of them need to hear. He knows that they are all itching to complete it, to show the Gates the power of the Chamber, or perhaps simply to sew chaos, depending on the horse. But for Erebor, it is as it has always been – it is nothing but the Chamber, always the Chamber, first and forever.
And he will stand here and fight back the storm for as long as it takes for the Gates to burn in the Chamber's name.
There are screams in the air and, oh lord, it is delicious. The whole of the earth shakes with their fear and their fury and their disbelief; he is humming with the pleasure of it, feeding off of their confused energy, soaking in every cry and every sharp noise of battle. His focus, however, stays on the tree—even as she burns. Kushiel breathes forth the flames and here Weed begins to feel a dull ache in his belly. He was so intertwined with the plants that it was difficult to pull back; Kushiel’s fire may not burn him directly, but it did strike him and it did take his energy. Weed would need to recover from this.
But even that pain was not enough to deter the black stallion. He continued to wind himself metaphorically down the roots, sapping away whatever life he could find in the withering ends. So engrossed in his task, he almost did not notice the monsoon until it was on top of them. Laughing maniacally, wind whipping his mane around his neck, he threw his head back. “Is that the best you have?” he screamed, ripping one of the crumbling branches from the tree and throwing it into the water so that the rain caused it to dissolve. “You’ll have to hit us harder than that, magician.”
Because who else but a magician could summon a storm from thin air?
Of course, it is not long before Erebor counters the attack with one of his own and soon the air is shimmering with the heat, steam coming from the shield. It was a clash of power, those who wielded control over the elements battling against the unseen force. Frustrated, Weed dug deeper into the earth, grunting with the effort as he struck against the magical barriers Yael had put up. “How desperate,” he snarled, flinging his power faster and wider through the dirt. Griffen had demanded that they don’t forget the garden, and he didn’t intend to. Turning his attention away from the tree still shriveling from both internal poison and external heat, he began to crudely cut away at the once newborn garden.
Plants shrivel, leaves fall, what was once lush soaks up the toxins from the earth.
It is only when the Princess charges him that his attention breaks and his voice is exasperated, his body slick with the sweat of exertion. “Run away, pretty.” Grunting, he pulls some of the smoldering plants from the earth and send them her way, hoping that they catch along her legs or at least trip her up in her wild scramble to get to him. How pretty it would be to see the princess trapped in the flaming plants of his bidding; how enticing indeed. Weed was not much for physical assaults, but he did relish violence carried out by the sharp edge of the plants he commanded. He was not against flaying her open if she didn’t leave.
I wanted to leave something besides a blood trail,
besides prayers growing stale on my tongue.
She turns her head when she hears Gryffen's call and her eyes fall on the queen at last. Cellar was hardly needed, but she didn't seem to mind tagging along with the others as she moved in a wide arc to rejoin them. The serpent girl slows to a stop beside the other Chamberlings without much to say as the tree burns, smolders, and chokes despite the Gates' efforts. Her eyes drift to the princess as she hurls herself at Weed, and she knows that that should not be tolerated. He is needed to rend the garden from its roots.
Cellar picks up her speed once more until she is between the two of them. She cannot allow the girl to touch her just yet, not without a chance to survive, and so she turns away from the girl to balance her weight on her front hooves. Now facing Weed as he slings his plants at her, Cellar's rear legs lift into the air to potentially kick out at the princess. For whatever reason she fights, the serpent does not believe she has earned death just yet.
Whether she stumbles forward from impact or misses entirely, Cellar looks over her shoulder at her target as her hooves return to solid ground. "Do not fight. Cooperate. Submit, and live," she says without emotion or any hint of pleading in her voice. "Your queen will return if you only comply."
It's probably a lie but she assumes that that is their plan. Still, it's hard to tell if she's lying, but their queen is gone and their tree is being reduced to ashes behind her. It's a rather hopeless situation regardless of her honesty.
I could give you my body, my flesh,
offer it up like a sacrifice, like a banquet.
Is that the best you have? You’ll have to hit us harder than that, magician.
Oh really? Well if that’s the game they want to play, don’t say that Yael didn’t try to give them a chance. Don’t say that she didn’t try to warn them away from whatever destruction they sought to wreak upon the Gates. The concentrated monsoon was a warning sign that they didn’t take, and now Yael is done playing nice. Alas, that is Yael’s constant problem; she forgets that some don’t have good in them, or that some don’t want to rethink their actions. When she should have struck to kill (or at the very least, incapacitate) instead of managing the destruction. Very well. They have brought this on themselves.
Let the real fun begin.
Luckily, she can have an idea of what they’re going to do before they do it. The flames are quickly doused by the water, but it isn’t long before the temperature begins to rise exponentially, rendering the water ineffective. Ah. Touche. Well then she doesn’t need that anymore, and so releases it, freeing herself up for a much more effective attack. A feminine growl rips through the back of her throat, unheard over the din of everything else. With three quick blast of power (something akin to a lighting strike or being hit hit on the head with a sledgehammer), she targets the three stallion’s heads with the goal of catching them unawares and making them black out. It’s the old ‘I know what’s coming next, and you don’t’ thing. Not that any of them had a mental barrier. But still, with their focus on other things, they should be more susceptible to that sort of attack.
Taking Erebor out would stop the heat. Kushiel’s flames were already gone. Weed’s poison, however, is insidious and difficult to stop once it’s in a plant’s system. That would have to be the last thing she takes care of.
She sees Erebor and Kushiel drop to the ground, but Yael cannot take time to gloat. In case Weed evades her first attack, she sends a second energy blast his way before realizing the futility. It was just wasting time. Whether or not she hit him is irrelevant; she needs to counteract the Black Death. But first - arrrrghhh - there is only one of her and too many fronts to fight on. As quickly as she can, she dispatches of the incapacitated Chamberling’s bodies, putting them both in a far-far-away, and hopefully rather punishing time out.
Erebor, she sends to the Jungle. She’s sure the ladies there will love discovering a stallion from the Chamber in the middle of their kingdom.
Kushiel, she sends to the Desert. Go on. Try to burn the Desert down.
Weed isn’t worth her time any more. Now, she focuses on what she does best - healing and fixing. So she dives into the ground herself, a flash of white light amongst the bubbling, acidic poison, and tries to see what she can do on a widespread, but smaller level. Halt the progress. Clean the dirt. Cut off the bad ends. Repeat. It was going to be a long day.
Yael, guardian of the desert
[i hope I left that open ended enough, Laura! Let me know if you want me to change something. Same to Evie and Anna ]
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