Thoughts of Power (Open)

[Icey]

Silva gazed at the vast expanse of trees that was Tyto Forest. She had joined the Remnants when she was only an owlet, and now she was mate to the High Tyto. A figure of authority and power. The only one who could rule over her and also the only one she would allow to rule over her was the High Tyto Azazel himself. She thought of her sister Shellaina. She had heard from a turnfeather that Shellaina was a guardian. Silva was angry at her sister. Tytos were better than all other owl species, and there she was actually stooping to their level. If she had been a good little owlet and had stayed in the hollow when the soldiers came, Silva might have made her a soldier.
Well, she must not think on this very much. The Remnants would eventually conquer the owl kingdoms, Azazel as its king and her as its queen. Power was everything, she would have it no matter what it would take.

[Nessa]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=width,500,true][atrb=background,http://i52.tinypic.com/2po3x43.jpg] They were staring. Whispers, creeping little whispers ringing in his head! They wouldn't leave him alone! Every where he looked, every time he turned his back they laughed at him, laughed. He had tried to ignore them, back straight and wings poised as he met with his captains and his guard. The ownership, the titles calming him for those brief moments. But then...The trip through the ranks had not helped. Not even the fearing eyes of the newest soldiers could calm the voices. He'd hunted, crushed a mouse in his battle claws, imagined that it was owl bone and still. They did not stop. It was as though they were eating through his mind, picking at the bones that remained when the flesh had been torn and the feathers plucked, leaving him bare. So when he feels the urge to rage, rage, he does. Azazel tuttered, claws clicking in time with his beak as he watched. The Tyto in front of him didn't even try to defend himself. This, everything that this was, this lesson, was pointless if he would not admit to his mistakes and explain why he did it. "Why?" Azazel cooed, claws clicking again - a nervous twitch, the picking up and the clenching of the foot. "Why did you miss them? Almost an entire patrol. Yet...None of your party saw them. Hmm?" Guardians. On the outskirts of his forest. They were to be chased, badgered, bombarded, torn wing from wing, had he not made this clear? They were just so close. So very, very close now to what they had set out to do. "It is owls like you," he continued, each word accompanied by a set forwards, "That are loosing us this fight. Don't disappoint me again." There had been no patrol. No party. Oh, Azazel was sure he saw one, positiv. But there had been nothing there. Not a crow, not song bird, not even a feather. Every other owl had shaken as he'd torn off after them, practically falling over themselves in eager anticipation of some glory at their leader's side only to find none. The patrol leader had taken the blame - a guard, or some solider, hardly a rank worth putting a name to - and as such he took the punishment. Perhaps he would fly the day after the next as well. It had only angered him so much more. They were so very lacking in those who knew how to heal with some degree of proficiency, and they had better things to do then tend to the wounds of a blind fool.Soldiers. Soldiers who had fought and, and won needed to be attended to. Not guards. Maybe that was unfair. His own guard was not incompetent, Nero would be given any treatment that he required, loyal owls were treated with great respect. Loyal owls...Azazel blinked, head rising, wings dropping as if someone had just pulled upp the tension from him in that one motion. Loyal owls. Silva. Silva would stay with him, she would understand what it was that plauged him night and day. Yes, to Silva he would go and to her he'd speak to. He was getting in a habit of repeating his decisions in his head, to...Solidify them. Make them real. So very little seemed real anymore, so very little. The Tyto was picking himself from the floor when he left, ignoring the guards that trailed after him. They'd become such a part of him he forgot they were there sometimes. Sometimes they weren't there. Not to him, those shadowy figures at the edge of his vision were not guards but metal laden Guardians. Enemies. They knew when to make them selves scarce by now and if the purred murmers and whispered moans bothered them they didn't show it. A short fly through the forest to relax his wings didn't require an armed guard, though, did it? Oblivious, he didn't see them leave. He would have waved them away later, given the chance, and they knew it. It was routiene. Every time Azazel acted strange they would be sent away, even Nero was sent away, and he would slink off into the forest and they would return when he came back into the view of the first patrols. Never missed. Flight was good for him. As he landed softly on the branch she rested on he was almost feeling like himself again - a feeling so fleet he clung it, like a drowning man to a rope in the spray, so desperate for it that he wanted to dig his claws into the wood until it snapped as it left him - or enough of himself that he could speak without his voice dipping into a whine. "Silva," he greeted, voice soft. Or as soft as Azazel could ever be described to be. There was still the arrogance that hung on every syllable, still the need to feel he was incontrol of the owl he spoke to. An automatic assumption that he would indeed be obeyed no matter what he asked. As far as Azazel knew she would obey him. She was his mate. The closest thing to a love that he had - would ever have. He believed he'd loved his sister, kept her close and safe with him because he'd loved her, but that didn't mean the same thing as the soft feeling he felt every time he was alone with this owl. "How have you been?" words| 918 tag| icey notes| *purrr*

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[Icey]

Silva looked to the owl who had perched beside her. "Azazel," She said softly to her mate. She did not really know if she should tell him of her sister. Then again, why should she even think of Shellaina? She was a weak owl, a creature not even worth mentioning. Silva concluded that she would tell Azazel, it gave her an idea. She would ask him to help Silva destroy her. "I am fine, though I have a dilema." I am sorry sister, she thought to herself. But weak owls like you have no place in this world. The Remnants were pure owls, and Shellaina had chosen to be with lesser species.
Silva glanced back at her mate and noticed something that made her decide otherwise. She saw anger in his eyes, something had gone wrong. "Enough about me. Is something wrong Azazel?"

[Nessa]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=width,500,true][atrb=background,http://i52.tinypic.com/2po3x43.jpg] Azazel almost felt himself straighten with pride. She did not grovel. There were times when grovelling was the only thing that he wanted. Times when the shaking of owls beneath his claws was all that he wanted from those who served him. It was all that he had looked for earlier - but it hadn't stopped the voices, it hadn't stopped the whispers - that feeling of utter power that could make an owl shake and bow at his feet. It was...Addictive, though the word barely managed to cover it. There was something so very lacking in a language that couldn't make clear what he felt. Until the Guardians were dead and buried beneath his armies he supposed it was the most comforting feeling he would be able to feel. Until. So long, so long to wait! They weren't ready yet. The soldiers had to be trained, the guards had to be ready. They needed forgers, armour; they needed information! So much information...Patience, patience, they would fall. Hundreds of them. And victory would be sweet, sweet. Azazel shuddered, claws clicking again in that rapid movement of lifting and clenching. "Explain." The need, her need, for his help caught his attention. There was no weakness in asking for help from someone who held more power than you. "Anything you want, it is yours." It was true, she was given everything. Guards fell and rose through the ranks at her command, soldiers were sent to their deaths, captains were given more freedom at her mere sugestion. She held the power of the High Tyto in her claws and Azazel barely even realised it. This...Gift giving, these rewards, he thought they were a fair exchange for her loyalty and trust. She told him what news she knew of the camp and in exchange she was given everything. Even his own captains didn't have that sort of power over him. Maybe, just maybe, he was mistaken. Maybe putting that much trust into one owl wasn't the most intelligant thing to do. The voices mocked her. She would leave him, she would die in the talons of the Guardians, she would leave him, traitor, traitor, traitor. Panic was not a feeling Azazel felt. Hysteria was. That choking sensation, when your throat just closed up and your body siezed and you couldn't do anything but scream and scream and scream in your head until something else took the place of that one word. One word...Yes, Azazel felt hysteria. More poignantly than fear and...his brand of love. It was easier to deal with when there were only guards around and he could lash out at the nearest owl, one that wouldn't go crawling off to spread the rumour that he was going slowly insane. That way of dealing with things was the easiest way. Just rage, rage until things cleared and he could think properly. It was easier than talking through things and accepting the way things were. It was easier than admitting to yourself that things were not alright. Things were not alright. He was tired, so tired of having to wait, no matter how many times he told himself the Turnfeathers would return with information that made it worthwhile. He had to wait. It tore him apart. "Ah, but I never hear of you often enough," he found himself saying, words both purred and mocking at the same time. It was how he was. He heard of her. The Guards told him of what she did each day, who she spoke with, how she treated them. Oh, he heard of her. The problem was that he never heard from her. Not now, not with so much going on and depending on his presence to go smoothly. Not now, not now. They had so very little time. Azazel tilted his head, beak clicking as he contemplated how to continue. Tell her? Tell her that the voices and shadows mocker her? Tell her that they thought her a traitor and a thief? "The scouts missed a patrol of Guardians," he hissed, "We were not fast enough." They were never fast enough. Never. Always just out of their grasp, always nothing more than a flickr, a shadow. Too little, too late. It only fueled them. words| 704 tag| icey notes| apologies!

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[Icey]

Silva stared at Azazel. She knew that this was not good in any way. The Guardians had slipped past their patrols. Such incompetence was not welcome. Although, lately the Remnant soldiers were being very slow. This would have to be fixed. They would have to work on their speed. They will never be fast enough to keep up, she thought to herself. We need more soldiers. This would increase their chances of catching the Guardians. "Azazel," She replied. "What if we had more soldiers?"
She thought back to her pathetic sister. Instead of destroying her, why didn't Silva use her? "There is also this one guardian, a barn owl, that might be useful. Her name is Shellaina, do you think we could use her somehow if one of the turn-feathers be-friended her?"