midas When you walk away, you don't hear me This new power was hard to control; seemingly impossible in fact. I was overwhelmed each time this mind accessed its young abilities… the soul could hear the soft songs of various elements crying out below – there were so many different elements. How could I possibly learn to control them all? Most whose name was foreign to me. They were heavy and very dense to pull from earth; not as pliable as gold. I choose a single song to work on – an element called Iron. The ore littered our landscape in the face of mountains and deep within the crust. It cried the loudest and offered less resistance on attempts to pry forward. Small flakes of iron came from the rocks, emerging in a pure form that was silvery and lovely to look upon. I strained to fashion those flakes into something of worth; particular I strained for bars to finish the completed holding cell my mason’s had recently slaved over. The iron was forgiving in my attempts, though a process that might have only taken an hour or so with the aid of gold --- took nearly half a day. The end result was a sturdy set of bars, a perfect mate to the honeyed element I’d crafted only a season ago. Sweat had beaded around my forehead and on the points of fragile flesh; the sun was high by the time I’d placed those bars into their slotted position. I tested the swing of it, and with a satisfied but tired smile stood back to admire my first attempt. It was crude to say the least; less refined than the golden talent which so easily came to me through years of practice.

image credit

She saw the creation being finished. Midas had constructed a cell. It seemed as if it would do the job, but that didn't satisfy Dröm. She wanted to know more. She headed towards the sweaty Czar, a smile wide in her face. She assumed it was a cell or some sort of cage and as her curiosity piqued, she wondered who would be stuck in there first. Would it be someone she knew? Perhaps Lace? He had trapped the innocent chestnut in the Rotunda with his plants, so he must realize he will be trapped himself, one day. "G'day, Midas." She exclaimed as she slide into a halt next to him. She was happy to be around another shorty like herself. Almost everyone she had run into had been massive and built with muscle. Though Midas was muscular, he was not a large tank, but a mini-one that probably packed a hard punch.

She looked over every part of the cell. She saw no weak spots, but could it be different inside? "Will prisoners have food and water?" She asked softly, intrigued by the entire thing. It seemed primal to have a cell, but then again... If the world allowed Midas to shape it's stone, obviously it was meant to be. She stepped towards the entrance, her velvet muzzle inches from the cold bars, a foot away from going inside. "May I?" Surely Midas would not mind the gold mare seeing his work. If she could find the flaw, so could the prisoners. She cranes her head backwards to glance at the gold accented stallion with caramel eyes, her features soft and fragile. She was the ceramic doll, easily broken. It would not be hard at all to shove her in the cell and keep her as a prisoner. After all, Dröm was not very strong and would probably not be able to fight back easily.

ooc: Hope you don't mind I popped in here!

midas When you walk away, you don't hear me Sweat of labor is still slick upon painted spine when dainty company arrives, a filly of a woman flitting in through the undergrowth, her soft eyes falling to me in obvious recognition then landing upon the cells with an almost childlike fascination. I resign to say nothing at first, remembering her as Drom and waiting to see if this woman child was actually going to stick around long enough for conversation. She chooses to approach seconds later, a polite greeting upon lips. Ebony crown turns at an angle to regard her with a tired little smile, “To ye as well.” The heavy iron door was still closed, yet Drom appeared to be inspecting the work that our masons had done to the outside walls and was admiring my fresh handwork on those bars. She asked a question about the treatment of prisoners, I smiled a little wider, “Yar, the Tiro on guard will ensure that those held here are taken care of.” This cell wasn’t meant to be a permanent solution, nor a place of torment. She then pressed for permission to enter, I shrugged indifferently – turning gaze to concentrate on the iron bars so that they might unlatch and swing open. There was only room for one individual to stand within the cavern, so I wait outside the door, granting her ample space to explore as much or as little as she chose. Her curiosity is something of an unusual occurrence; typically people didn’t care to investigate the crude projects of war, certainly not young mares, “Does ye have a desire to craft?”

image credit

The cell is beautiful. It's as if Midas had practiced the skill of crafting for a while. Was he born with crafting magic? After entering the cell with Midas' permission, she looks around, and though there isn't much space, there is enough. She wonders who the first one will be to live here. Well, not live, but be imprisoned here. Then flax girl very much knows a good candidate for this cell. "Oh, that makes sense!" She answers his statement and spins around in the cell to face him. Her subtle smile is warm as her chocolate eyes glance at his gold ones. The feeling of being in a cell is a strange one to the mare. In her old home, she would never have been in a cell, not even inspecting, but now she was very much in the cell.

"Crafting is lovely, and it's a skill I'd love to learn, but my heart lays with the gods." The Genetrix tossed her head slightly, nodding her approval to what she has spoken. The minerals of the Earth do not call her like knowledge does. She seeks to know, to learn. Though she has minimal knowledge of the gods, she is still very interested in them. She wants to learn more. What have the gods done? Did they create the floating island? "Were you a crafter before becoming lead?" She asked him as she began exiting the cell. He had to have been a crafter, just look at his work! The girl is curious about the golden Midas.

ooc: sorry bout this being uber short! My new computer sucks to type ith x-x it'll get better once i get used to it

midas When you walk away, you don't hear me The golden woman stated that her heart was dedicated to the gods; not just our patron lord, but ‘gods’. I smiled a little wider, understanding such sentiment. Perhaps her future was paved to be an eventual communicator or storyteller – if not for this family then perhaps another. Either way, neither desire could be overlooked, “Ye could seek training in both; I’ve never been a spokesperson for our patron god…though.” Gaze drifted to the bars, “Tis certainly within reach to master two or more things in a lifetime.” A fact that had only been strengthened by recent events. Ever since earth had opened my mind to crafting multiple forms of metal, I’d quickly learned that even the simplest elements were beautifully complex. Though they lacked a soul, a true voice – each fragment of earth sang its own unique song. She asked a question and my gaze drifted back, regarding her with a paternal kindness, “Yar, I knew some craft; not like now.” “But battle skill was my duty and soul, I served as a humble soldier for Dragon’s Throat during youth, and eventually rose to a position of leadership.” From humble beginnings, to the great gallant creature these people looked upon. It almost seemed like a foal tale, driven from some mare who cuddled her babes in the darkness of night. Soothing their worried dreams with ones of triumph and peace. If only they could see that such was a lie. My life was full of distractions, yar, plenty of those.

image credit

He offers her the idea of training in both crafting and being a wise-one. She immidiately dismisses the idea. If she were to ever become the Storyteller, she'd focus on that. Would their be time to learn the art of craft? If we were to be attacked, would she not defend? Would she build small buildings and trap the opponents? Then again, it would not help in battle to be a Storyteller. Though a noble position, not one that can be of use in battle.

She slips out of the cell to face Midas head on, her voice dancing into the air as she speaks. "I do not deny that, but I figured I should be the best Genetrix possible before thinking about crafting." She pauses for a moment, thinking about the golden stallion's words. In reach? It surely is, but it's not an easy feat. She has no idea how Midas can rule and craft and fight. Doesn't it ever get tiring? Does it now wear him down? She imagines it would wear many down. The position of lead is a challenging one. With thirty horses complaining, causing issues, wanting to expand the land, wanting Midas to teach them to fight, and most likely many other things, it is surprising Midas even wants to continue. Has anyone ever asked him if he wants to continue?

"You've led other herds? Midas you always seem to amaze me." Though their conversation has not lasted long, Dröm has learnt much of the noble king. Every ounce of new knowledge is shocking-- in a good way. Accomplished, handsome, Kind, Czar, Sultan, Crafter, and Warrior. He has done more than she could ever dream about doing. He has accomplished her dreams. He has done what she has always wanted to do. She has wanted to lead, but she is afraid of what comes along with power. There will be betrayals, challenges, surprises, and much more. The dainty Arab would not last long. She wishes she could fight, be a tough and powerful mare. She wishes she could kick out knowing she'll hit her target and not hope she'll kind of get it. She doesn't her attacks to be dodged so easily, but this is hard for the mare to do. She was simply not bred for war, this is evident. And oh, how she wishes she was beautiful and kind, loved by many and hated by few. What a life?

"I would be scared to take on the position of lead. Aren't you ever nervous about it?" She suddenly. Finds herself uncomfortable. That question had been too personal! Should she say sorry? Pretend as if she had never asked it? "You don't have to answer, that was a personal question, my apologies." She politely smiles at him, still curious but she would understand if he refused to answer. Perhaps little Dröm should think before she speaks?

midas When you walk away, you don't hear me I honored her desire to master one skill. Perhaps if I had chosen a single task to focus energy upon – my soul would feel less strained from being pulled in so many different directions. Like a river with too many paths to take, to many choices. Maybe one day those streams would lead me to a quiet pool, one at which this body could find some small amount of peace. Yar, we all looked forward to the end of yon path, the trail that would lead us into the clearing. She is amazed by me, the idea of such brought a widened grin to my face. I nodded simply, accepting the praise for what measure it was worth. Yar, if only this poor girl could understand what sacrifice had been made to get this far. Power, skill, all of it came at a cost – one I’d been paying for years and would continue to pay for the rest of my life. There was nothing outstanding about my soul, I was simply a mortal man, with sins and faults yet still trying to do right in this world. “Aye,” I said simply in regard to her first question, “I led Dragon’s Throat before the sickness came to Helovia. Then was summoned here to lead under the watchful eye of Earth.” Her next question brought a good natured chuckle from chest, “Yar, say true. All the time.” I smiled, amused by the shift in our conversation, “It helps to have good friends on which to lean upon.”

image credit