sometimes we want what we want --
-- even if we know it’s going to kill us.
Did her newfound power attract them, call to them somehow as the faeries and Beqanna herself could call to others. It would make sense, because she knows she is tied to the land in some new way now, though she doesn’t entirely understand it. Magic doesn’t come with a handbook. The faeries rarely, if ever, helpfully come down to explain “hey, you have been made into a magical entity, and as it turns out that’s kind of like being a genie without the lamp.” No one has given her the rules or directions (not that it would matter, she would find a way to ignore them where they did not suit her taste). All she knows is she is more than she was, and that is saying something from a magician who lived in a time of almost none.
The first to approach doesn’t meet her eyes, and she almost laughs at him. How skittish and scared. He speaks, some ramble of unhelpful information and questions and she just stares at him for a beat, her raven keeping tabs on the falcon that looms nearby. She is vaguely tempted to turn that falcon into something else, something lesser, though she refrains for now at least. “I know more than you,” she says simply, voice cool and collected, never betraying the fact that so far she just finds him annoying. “But I must correct you, I am an old face, not new. You are new.”
She doesn’t answer his question, not yet sure he deserves an answer. Well, to be fair, if he’s halfway clever she’s given him a particularly useful clue, which is almost kind of her. The next one to speak - a chestnut mare - is far more useful and less annoying. Straia’s gaze falls to her with a slight smile as she replies. “A few years before the lands changed, before magic was wiped clean from Beqanna and everything started anew. The Chamber was my home, a name you may not even know now.” It still hurt (would always hurt), the loss of the Chamber. She felt Beqanna’s heart now, the steady pulse of it, and this at least was a comfort, but still it was not the same as the Chamber’s heart (Atrox’s heart, buried in the dirt for reasons she never much cared about).
The last one to join, a filly, leaves Straia with a wider grin on her face. The child is an electric, feral thing that reminds Straia somewhat of herself at that age. She is the sort of child Straia would love to mold, would love to turn into a weapon not for her to wield but to simply be. She is the sort of child that could become so much, but Straia has never used children. Few things give her pause, but children should be left to make their own choices. Of course, if they came to her…that was different.
The girl doesn’t greet Straia at all but the bird on her back, which suits Straia just fine. The raven preens, ruffling his feathers as if he understands her words. Perhaps he does, fueled by magic as he is. ”Kerah?” It is a question and a pleased sound all at once, his head tilting slightly to study the girl, happy to be the center of attention for a moment. Happy enough that he doesn’t even mind that she has not brought him any shiny things. “I think he likes you. What is your name, child?” The way she says child is kind though, soft around the edges, like a caress and not an insult. In fact, for her to care at all what someone’s name is is a compliment, not that any of them would know about her. She cared only about the things that were useful to her, after all.
Eventually, the first mare is given a chance to speak. She does her best to answer, and Straia does not believe the mare is withholding anything, at least not on purpose. She nods slightly, considering. A few words catch her attention. Herds had been present in Beqanna when she’d ruled, but they were disconnected from the kingdoms. In fact she had tried to encourage that her headlands actually serve her, but that simply didn’t happen. Here though, it seems the opposite has become true, and she finds that rather interesting. Interesting too that there are “changes coming”, because certainly he couldn’t have know about them, about her. She didn’t even know until it happened. “What is the name of your herdland? I fear even those are different now.”
She pauses, considering for a moment, and then asks “Can you not defend yourselves?” The wording is perhaps cruel, but the tone is not. It is curiosity that drives the question, some part of her that wonders if they want to defend themselves but cannot, or that they truly would rather rely on the protection of someone else. There may or may not be an opportunity in it that she would find worthwhile.
-- straia
the raven queen
@[Popinjay] @[Aten] @[Aquaria] @[lilliana]