when death sleeps, it dreams of you; any - Printable Version +- Beqanna (https://beqanna.com/forum) +-- Forum: Explore (https://beqanna.com/forum/forumdisplay.php?fid=1) +--- Forum: The Common Lands (https://beqanna.com/forum/forumdisplay.php?fid=72) +---- Forum: River (https://beqanna.com/forum/forumdisplay.php?fid=82) +---- Thread: when death sleeps, it dreams of you; any (/showthread.php?tid=25417) |
when death sleeps, it dreams of you; any - craft - 11-04-2019 Craft RE: when death sleeps, it dreams of you; any - Epithet - 11-04-2019 If the magic of her birth still pulsed in the depths of her veins, Epithet would have felt the gentle plea of the disoriented queen. Beqanna changes from day to day and the fall of each bloated sun takes countless souls beneath the crush of it's golden embrace. Epithet has been fortunate to defy the nature of typical equines by using her abilities to just simply exist. Often, the small mare was a mist on the meadow, burning away as the sun rose. It was a much easier, much simpler, way to exist without having to be present. There was no desire to carry on lengthy conversations. Epithet, when younger, had though the more words she crammed into the space between her and another meant they truly cared...took interest in the small enclosure that had consisted in her world but the world was far crueler than that. But that was long ago when she was naive in the wilderness of the world, a pretty virginal sacrifice to the wolves. Dark feet sink into the softness of wet pebbles and sand as she walks the river. It was peaceful this time of year as others too refuge in their harems, the beds of others, keeping warm in the winter nights. Epithet enjoys the feel of icy wind nibbling at the tender warm places of her body. She did not chose any other skin or form other than her God given body (a nicely assembled porcelain gray that defies all logic of aging) to walk the edge of the joyfully gurgling waters. Up ahead, struggling, a pale gold smudge seems to dangle against the bland grey of winter sky. It steps with uncertainty and it draws Epi like a shark who smells blood in the water. Carefully...collectively, the smaller mare approaches with wide, dark eyes. The other is a woman...and- d e a t h Epithet shivers and recoils slightly but attempts to quell the reaction. Something is not right, Beqanna has taken and given before but this...this is unnatural. Epithet is centuries old but still does not know this mare. Perhaps a reincarnation? No. Her eyes are far too wide and and watching...old and gathering. Epithet smells the earth in her throat, a sweet scent of rot from something unearthed and unholy but without her magic there is no way for her to know much more than the five senses available to her. 'Hello there..." Easy enough, a greeting that is cautious but still offered. The grey mare is careful to avoid any trickery as she remains distant but inclined to know this other. Magic existed in Beqanna since the beginning of time but even this was something Epithet never thought existed (nor would she ever thought she would meet!) Tales of Craft and her reign were bedtime stories for the young and foolish and little did Epi know that she stood in the presence of such lush royalty embedded deep in Beqanna's torn history. E P I T H E T @[craft] ((this is a dream come true for meee <3<3)) RE: when death sleeps, it dreams of you; any - craft - 11-05-2019 Craft RE: when death sleeps, it dreams of you; any - Epithet - 11-05-2019 The other offers a sweet calm air about her as her eyes are wide and watching, beautiful as she glitters in her gold skin and pale hair, so much that Epithet's mind drifts to even gently running her lips against the silk...but that is dangerous and should be regarded as an omen (perhaps).
Winter drifts around their capsule of conversation. Epithet relaxes before the taller woman as she does not scent a threat beyond the bright eyes. It is eerie and enchanting to have stumbled upon the lovely creature in the midst of a usually dreary day and it draws Epithet closer. A single grey leg extends to bring her a breath near, smile blossoming upon her lips, Epithet nearly feels the blush of her curiosity warming her cheeks...but it all slips away when the mare offers her name...it's the ice of Beqanna's winter. "Craft..." Epi repeats. A state of awe, surprise, damn near fear ripples over her skin before being punctuated with, "-of the deserts.", from the shining mare. The rest of Craft's words dissipate upon a drunken winter breeze. Epithet feels it wash over her...how in the name of all Beqanna's gods is it possible? Suddenly she feels nervous, a chill crawling through the vertebrae of her spine. This was unnatural magic. "The deserts..." She can only begin as the words fight their descent. It had been so long since anyone had spoken of the deserts. "I-", stuttering and foolish, "I'm afraid the deserts have been gone for quite a while." Epithet tries to salvage what she can, watching the mare carefully, heightened to a display of potential outrage. "The gates, deserts and falls...gone with the reckoning." Her tongue suddenly feels thick and sluggish as she attempts to build an explanation. "How is it possible?" The question is asked with a shrillness she had not intended. "You've been gone...dead for so long...but here you stand..." The words fumble and knot but Epithet knows this mare and knows her name well and still she can not bear to rip her eyes away from the pristine features. "I am so sorry...I'm Epithet." Surely the shock of it all will drown out her name but she would still try. The smaller pale mare would not attempt to reach out or console the honey mare for repercussions could come from such boldness but how she longed to do so. Dark eyes wet with her eagerness to understand, Epithet falls silent and allows the chilled silence to consume them. E P I T H E T RE: when death sleeps, it dreams of you; any - craft - 11-23-2019 Craft @[Epithet] sorry to make you wait 100 years only to have her be mean -_- RE: when death sleeps, it dreams of you; any - Tarnished - 11-23-2019 Nish knows this place is Beqanna in name, but it is certainly not home. He combs the forests looking for familiar ground, searching for something--anything--that might lead him back to The Amazons or The Deserts but there's nothing to be found. His eagerness to return home becomes panic when realization starts to set in. Dread pricks at the edges of his heart and he shifts, again and again, from the mundane to the magical. Whatever might get him home faster, whatever form might help him find a clue that would point him in the right direction at the very least. He's an exhausted, wide-eyed little black cat when a voice whispers in... his ear? That doesn't seem right. It's too quiet. Distorted. Like someone speaking through a dense wall. But the feline manages to make out the word 'Deserts' quite plainly and it tugs him sharply in the direction of whoever sent the message as if there were an invisible hook in his chest. From cat to sparrow, from sparrow to crow. Nish settles in a branch above them, ruffling his feathers and tilting his head this way and that. And then he hears Epithet speak those terrible words, confirming his suspicions. The old queen starts in, accusing the poor mare of lying and this is when Tarnished chooses to hop down from his branch. The transformation is quick, if they blink they will miss it, and the large dark stallion stares them down coolly. "She isn't lying," he murmurs, lowering his head. His ears swivel back. He withholds the fact that his mother ruled the Deserts long after Craft's death and then his father after her, fearing he might overwhelm the poor ancient soul. "The Deserts was my home as well." RE: when death sleeps, it dreams of you; any - craft - 11-24-2019 Craft RE: when death sleeps, it dreams of you; any - Epithet - 12-22-2019 Epithet listens with a tilted ear, it acknowledges but does not flicker and flinch as the old queen accuses her of fabricating cruel lies. Her dark eyes are somber and despite the sharp edges words licking over her porcelain skin. She understands for she is old like the golden mare...there have been times her own deep slumber had left her jilted and confused. A shadow of a crow passes over it shifts rapidly into that of a dark stallion (Epithet smiles to find another shifter but it is her secret for now). His voice is low but it concentrates on Craft...vibrating against her metallic skin. It felt good to be defended and not have to persuade the old queen that the way of the world has changed. Epithet can offer a small curled smile with wide, wet eyes. Normally the small mare took on a much more less tolerable attitude but she feels for Craft. Beqanna has changed so much while the mare had slept. The dark eyed mare offers a nod of a appreciation to the unknown stallion but she already can feel a thrum of strength and magic with his bones. Clearly he is more like her than he realizes but in the mean time she silent between the two. "The residents became too greedy..they were punished...we ALL we're punished..." Her eyes drift away for a moment as she reflects on when she had discovered her own abilities had been gone...her own magic lost (not that her shifting was any less amazing) but she had felt so naked and raw without it. "The world fell apart and the faeries took it all back...we had to work, to earn the world before you. I'm sorry none pf this makes sense..." There is an actual sincerity in her voice instead of a flat sarcasm that usually dominated her tone. Epithet has not felt such clear ache in so long that it plucked her heartstrings in the small cavern of her chest. She felt for Craft...sympathizes not pitied, wanting to help ease the confusion that no doubt crept in the corners of her mind. E P I T H E T @[craft] @[Tarnished] |