Accept the fires from which I came ;;

Eyes of fire, Your spine is ablaze The images flickered before his eyes where his mind remained half submerged in a fitful slumber. His citrine was warm against his skin, casting ripples of heat that sank through his flesh and into the scolding depths of his veins. Elyria’s gift worked its way through his subconscious, the dreams flitting like scraps of old film haphazardly running through a projector. He attempted to keep stride with the scenes, arouse his conscious from where it remained thoroughly submerged in sleep. Each vision became starker, harder and stronger, searing its way through his mind, until, when his eyes opened with the fierce abruptness of a drowning man breaking the water’s surface, the images were so clear and tangible that it was as if he stood surrounded the Scythian terrain. There was little time lent to lingering, for his limbs, aroused by adrenaline, worked feverishly to carry him on the Scythia. In habits born within the once great Rajput kingdom, his emerald warmed, Brighton’s power pushing rocks and debris aside. Pebbles and stones skipped and rolled away from him through the long grasses until his path was clear. Even the grasses leant away, bending like a fiery sea in a biblical-like display that carved a path for the black stallion to return like the prodigal son. The lands of Hoof Prince blazed like an inferno. Flames sculpting the world in a scene of apocalyptic beauty. Through its quivering, violent blaze, the black stallion moved like a morbid shadow, untouched by the fires that produced no smoke. Yet in the sky, clouds rolled by like the very smoke that should have risen from the flickering flames below. Every blade of grass, swayed by the winds, rippled in its own seductive dance, keen to lure his black gaze. Yet they would forever be disappointed, for it had been a great many years since the fiery nature of his sight caused Voraer any surprise or fear. The lands of Scythia, rich with vegetation, swathed in flames that reflected the meadows of long, luscious grasses was a far cry from its predecessor. The Rajput volcano, its very heart beat was submerged beneath the waters. Courant’s water’s smothering it and with no assistance from Paduan, it would remain there… unless the mortals could ally the few gods willing to raise a kingdom from its murky resting place. The echo of voices reached his ears, their words rousing the images his citrine had conjured in his slumber. Slowly the ebonite stallion closed in upon the small band of stallions and his arrival was soon enough to catch Taboo’s last words. Voraer’s lips curled in a cynical smile that was a far cry from the patient nature of the stallion who had once been a Rajput king. His chuckle with its low, gravelly and mocking tone preceded the question that rumbled from his lips, ”Yet you did nothing to bring them back? You have a kingdom, with no god as its founder and therefore no rules by which to bind it. You could have rallied stallions within its borders, created a brethren despite lacking the traditional terrain.” His black eyes held Taboo’s for long moments, the flames adorning the paint’s body proud and fierce; everything Voraer would expect from a king. Yet beneath the rippling exterior was a king that had let his kingdom dwindle and fall victim to disuse and dust. Beside the Scythian king stood another former Rajput, one whom had graced Voraer’s presence only a scant few times. Primarily before he had become king of the Rajputs. Schuldig’s humorous words resonated around them, a light interlude following the weight of what Voraer had said. ”Spartan is right.” He murmured, drawing upon the third stallion’s earlier introduction, ”We do not need the gods behind us for this. Not unless you wish to lift the volcanic lands from where Courant’s fury left them. The more pressing concern, Spartan, is whether these stallions you speak of are truly committed and interested in returning the Rajput’s to their former glory. The Valkyries are an aside for now, The Rajputs cannot exist without commitment from its own. I watched the kingdom die as men lost interest in its value. I will not let that happen again. I would rather the land rot beneath the sea that have it lifted and its men not honour it or see its value.” V O R A E R Former King of the Rajput Sees in flames