v r e i s
jealousy, turning saints into the sea
swimming through sick lullabies, chocking on your alibis
but it's just the price i pay, destiny is calling me
open up my eager eyes, 'cause i'm mr. brightside
The beast moved silently through the jolly atmosphere, his expression carefully neutral. Well-built limbs carry a body built with sleek muscle defined by years of physical ability and prowess, rather than good genetics. The scars that are visible beneath the stripes and dots of his form are mostly hidden beneath the cloak that wafts around him with each step, and the noticeable scarred brand upon his cheek is carefully obscured by the leather guard over his face. His gaze however is less neutral, sweeping over the multi-colored tents with a small bit of melancholy. When had been the last time he'd seen such peace? It felt like ages since the times of when the kingdom he came from could exist in such peace.
A tyrant king that would beckon brother to fight brother. To have fathers turn on daughters, and husbands forced to send their wives to slaughter. A man angered so violently to magic, he had outlawed the use of it . . . And then came the day he, a once proud and devoted knight to the king had been branded a traitor due to his own concubine being discovered to hold magic. She had pleaded so desperately for him to let her run, that she would leave and never be seen again . . . they both knew the outcome waiting for her before the king, and he had put his loyalty to his king before his loyalty to his woman. And he'd delivered her for judgement, only to be judged himself. Sent away. A traitor. A villain. His beloved king had turned on him, and it had cost him everything.
Away from that world, Vreis's mind was all over the place. Here in Novus, magic was treasured, it hummed in the very air, and others used it freely with out caution, without fear. His own little doves, missing from his company - the reason he had come to novus, had been powerful in their own magic. He had used and abused it in the name of the Rebellion, he had not condemned them for the use of it . . . Even Shaye had whispered about the potential to garner magic in this land to take back with them . . . but if Vreis was honest, there was something about the peace here that was . . . awakening.
He hated that, but, in the time he had come to be in Novus, even as he kept to himself, he could find that hate in his heart soothed. That desire for power was dwelling, the need to prove himself was forgotten - after all who did he have to hate here, who did he have to prove himself to here? And then Shaye would report, and the reminder of what they had to go back to was brought to the front of his mind. There was no point in losing himself in the peace of this place, no point in conforming. He had a job to do, two wayward soldiers to locate, to bring back to the front lines. He had a tyrant king to kill, and . . . he hated the way he wanted to succumb to the peace here.
The stallion hardened himself, muzzle set into a frown, and he turned, his cloak flaring out, cords of locks bouncing against his neck, sharpened antlers broadcasting a hard life of battle just as well as the ease he wore the rapier strapped to his side. The rebel leader snorted, and stormed back towards the exit, his gaze distasteful upon the environment at the way it tempted to peace and celebration. He was supposed to be here for a job . . . this land was making him weak. He had no place here, he didn't belong here. Why had he even come in the first place.
His ears pin back briefly, before he shakes his head, and is suddenly cut off by a young child racing in front of him, a sweet being shoved in his muzzle. A child so oblivious to the pains of the earth that it suddenly felt like lead settling in his belly. How many children had he made orphans in his war efforts. Were his actions truly justified, why did Novus have him second guessing everything he had done. He was a noble knight, so why had he stopped looking at his reflection weeks ago? Vreis glances about briefly, making his way towards the outer shop of tents, with a shake of his head, voice gruff and low, "Anywhere but here . . . I'd rather be anywhere but here." His doves may be among those tents now . . . .
But Vreis had no desire to search them out, he had far too much on his mind; anyway. And the peaceful joy of this event only made it worse.
"Speech"
Thoughts
@Antiope
Notes: <3
