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    COTY

    Assailant -- Year 226

    QOTY

    "But the dream, the echo, slips from him as quickly as he had found it and as consciousness comes to him (a slap and not the gentle waves of oceanic tides), it dissolves entirely. His muscles relax as the cold claims him again, as the numbness sets in, and when his grey eyes open, there’s nothing but the faint after burn of a dream often trod and never remembered." --Brigade, written by Laura


    anyone;
    #1
    Nayl and Lior raised a coward.
     
    As a boy, he looked up to father and wanted to mirror the sheer image of power, the herculean aura, that embodied the onyx stallion. It was a dream that edged toward fruition until he lost control of himself. Dragonborn, he remembers Lior muttering with a pleased smile smeared across his face. The word burned itself into Castile, a daily reminder of what he could be – what he is.
     
    The others mastered their flight and their shifting so effortlessly. They embraced their abilities and soared to great heights, leaving the boy struggling on the ground near the river. It wasn’t until Castile was at the cusp of adulthood that the monster roiling in his gut surfaced. It went unnoticed at first when he fled to Sylva during the fires of Hyaline. Adrenaline blinded him to the changes of his body and he was never able to truly mimic it again. Parts of his body, sure, but never in whole.
     
    Not until Karaugh.
    She breathed life into the monster.
    And Krigare, his opponent on the plains.
    No, no, don’t think of them.
     
    Their memories cause a deep stir in his gut, the sense of dread that consumed him before his body ripped and cracked to berth something far greater and unimaginable. As a distraction, he forces his mind to grope for Isobell and Solace – the only two that brought serenity in his dark times – until his entire body settles once more. He dares not to even think of the blood that dribbled on his tongue before his vision bled crimson and his memory skipped. Castile knows not of the complete damage of what he has done – if any – but he knows of the creature that shares his mind and soul. It frightened him into seclusion, but he is here again, suppressing the internal flame. The blood has since been rinsed and flaked away, leaving his body cleansed of his past sins.


    Reply
    #2

    Nyxa

    Change is terrifying.

    It happens all at once, usually when the object in question least expects it. Maybe some time in the night it had come for Nyxa, maybe it had happened when she nearly drowned and (with the way she usually glossed over things foreign and uncomfortable) she’d simply ignored it. Or maybe it hadn’t happened at all, maybe she was always this way and she’d never been aware enough to understand the depths of her abilities.

    Maybe, possibly … but unlikely.

    Her search for Hod has lead her from the Field to the Meadow; a secure destination for her, considering the circumstances. In the Field, her lone-wolf stature had translated to: ‘Open Season’ and in a rush to escape the confusion, she’d wound up further south. Her thoughts tangle and twist together as she walks, churned by the tempest sea that was her mind. How long had she been away from the mainland? How long had it been since she’d taken a look at herself?

    The first answer came as a blow: nearly two years had passed since she’d settled on the parrot-infested Island. That was some extensive time away, playing recluse (or captive, in Maugrim’s case.) Her second answer is less shocking but still, it unnerves her: it’s been about a season since she’s been able to take a good, hard look at the body housing her soul. Not her fault, entirely - despite the year-round warmth Ischia offered, Nyxa had grown a stifling winter coat that’d covered her tip to tail and left the rest up to imagination.

    But that hour was reaching its final seconds. Even as she meanders, the last few tufts of caramel-colored fur drift away, patch by patch, to reveal a bone-white coat beneath. Her shape is that of a woman grown, despite her still being a year away from that milestone. Every step imbues nature’s grace; she seems willowy and ethereal the further she wanders, and her troubled eyes are a purple storm of emotion and vestal secrecy.

    Even her thick, dark green mane no longer seems out of place. It compliments her pale color and accentuates the feminine curve to her neck, her back, her croup and hips. The glossy curtain of her forelock drifts across her distant gaze to block her vision for a moment and, when she looks up again, she sees that her path will intercept anothers. Two creatures running from something and smacking into each other along the way. Maybe fate. Maybe not.

    “I’m lost.” Nyxa finds herself calling out to him, despite never intending to. The words themselves shock her a bit - she knows where she’s at, just not where she’s going. “Sorry,” She amends in afterthought, “that’s not really your problem, is it?”

    -I'm sailing right behind, like a bridge over troubled water-



    @[Castile] I couldn't help myself.
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    #3
    Her voice is a bright beacon in the dark solemnity of his thoughts.

    It comes as a surprise to him, to hear something so delicate amid the roar of his mind. It draws him out of the void to look at her. His mismatched eyes find her easily enough, his ears swiveling to immediately. ”Lost?” A fleeting moment had him believe that he was, too. It’s the reason he hesitates while pivoting to look at her more closely. She isn’t what he imagined; her elegance amounts to something so much greater. Truthfully, it catches him off guard.

    His intrigue traces along her slender torso like lover’s fingers, paying close attention to her porcelain skin and her viridian locks. The scales match the color of one of his eyes, an alluring silver that draws him a step forward. What stops him, however, is the dazzling shade of purple that stares back at him when they level on one another. ”I, uh,” her piercing stare silences him for a heartbeat while he struggles to grab for words. ”Where are you trying to go?” It really isn’t his problem, just as she said, but his gut doesn’t allow him to walk away and leave her in the meadow to disappear from memory.

    When she doesn’t inch closer, Castile doesn’t either. Rooted to the ground he can’t help to contemplate that would bring her closer and why their paths are crossing now. Little does he know that their struggles are so very similar. It could very well be fate, but he doesn’t let his thoughts stray that far. She is a stranger in the meadow, and hopefully a safer one than Karaugh. Drawing in a breath, he finally grasps his composure. ”I’m Castile.”

    Reply
    #4

    Nyxa

    In the moment his eyes stray (that’s all it takes, right? Just a look … just a single look and they really see) Nyxa wishes desperately to become invisible.

    Or even just returning to the state she was in prior to this, back when she was but a blur on someone’s peripheral vision in their eye’s quest to find something more appealing, more attractive. It hadn’t been hard to be Nyxa, back then. Now it’s something she clings to with bloody nails; scratching, clawing at the identity that’s not hers to claim anymore. There’s nothing about her body that she understands - the girl is unaware that she’s actually in a shift presently - Castile is privy to a spirit trapped in a foreign temple.

    The ‘before’ Nyxa rears her head from inside, a knee-jerk reaction to his casual step forward, and the ‘after’ Nyxa physically takes a step backwards. “Castile,” She tries the word, her voice hovering for a note over the ‘a’ before gliding like silk through the sharp ‘st’ and dropping off his last vowel. It comes out sounding like Cast Steel, but with one brisk glance to his coat Nyxa finds it appropriate.

    “Fancy.” She follows up. Despite the hesitance, an arresting smile ghosts her lips. “I’m Nyxa,” The pale mare admits, sighing gently before making a conscious effort to try and relax. The stallion had been startled, that’s all. “and I thought I was heading somewhere with a purpose.” She riddles, confusion muddying her expression again.

    “But now I feel like I’m running away - and that’s not what I want.” Or is it?

    She’s not sure. For the second time, her jewel-like gaze searches for his but she finds herself lingering on the hard planes of his cheeks, where it looks as if his jaw has been clenched since birth. From there her eyes travel along the supple bend of his neck, hidden power straining against the mottled skin, and they come to take in the overall picture of ‘Castile’ - something shyness had prevented during their initial run-in.

    He’s very … commanding, presence-wise. The shape of him seems to loom in all four corners of her vision, like a black tower overshadowing a frail lily. (Ugh, her mind rejects that word, “Lily”. It’s what Maugrim had named chained her with.) “Where are you heading?” The seamare tries, comfortable enough to regain the distance she’d kept between them and shortening it by another full step. “Maybe that’s where I should try next.”

    -I'm sailing right behind, like a bridge over troubled water-

    Reply
    #5
    Castile, she repeats with a tongue lined in silk and honey. He wants her to say it again, like she is a foreigner, like his name is an orgasm that she gasps and struggles to express. It holds his attention, her voice, and he cannot rip his eyes away from the softened edges of her face. A low hum rattles through him, a lopsided and boyish grin tipping the corner of his mouth. ”So fancy,” he humorously replies, blinking languidly as to not pierce her with his mismatched, predatory gaze. It isn’t an adjective he would use for his name; his mind considers it as plain as Nerine’s sandy shore. If there is a meaning behind it, he doesn’t know. Perhaps, mother had her subliminal reasons for the naming of her children.

    What distance painfully lies between them stretches but retracts again like magnets failing to escape each other. He notices how her lavender eyes glide along his body and face, taking him in and memorizing every grizzly detail. Unlike mother, Castile is not finer boned; he is robust with chiseled sinew woven around his bones – an image that nearly mirrors his father. The quiet scrutiny doesn’t faze him. Content, he returns the gesture with periodic glances to her sleek torso, intrigued by the scales and contrasting colors. Beautiful is the word that comes to mind, but never escapes past his lips. It echoes in his mind, bouncing from wall-to-wall, but his mouth never betrays him. Her questioning uncertainty saves him from his embarrassment, forcing his mind to spiral in another direction and away from the physical allure she possesses. The predicament nearly rattles him in how familiar it sounds. He nods, a single brow lifting underneath his forelock. ”Sometimes, it’s good to run away from reality for a bit,” it’s what he did when he feared his poor control of shifting, when he tasted blood for the first time and couldn’t handle the unfamiliar entity that growled inside him.

    But Nyxa doesn’t remind him of a monster; she is fairer, enticing, beautiful.” What, he wonders, could she possibly be running from?

    He is almost too eager to accept how she inches closer, suppressing her initial hesitation. An urge to close the distance clouds his every thought and almost takes over control of his legs. Only a couple more steps, says a whispering voice in his thoughts, but he holds steadfast with eyes that burn with curiosity and fascination. ”I wish I knew,” he admits, almost in embarrassment, ”but aimless wandering is certainly more enjoyable with company.”

    Join me, he doesn’t say.
    Let me hold you, his eyes plead.

    Reply
    #6

    Nyxa

    Castile is very good at disguising his emotions. His smile seems to her like an affectionate, brotherly thing, with no eager laugh to back it up. His stare; less aggressive the second time around. “Sometimes, it’s good to run away from reality for a bit.” This less-affronting version tells her, and much as she always has, Nyxa nods without contemplating her own feelings on the matter. It was easier to agree than to explain.

    Besides, no one cared for her opinions or thoughts. All her life she’s been a second-string player, Hod somewhere close on the sidelines. It would only shock her to find another man who actually listened to their female counterparts.

    But she’s being bitter, now, and nobody likes a harpy. “It doesn’t have to be aimless,” She offers, inspiration painting her features in a bright glow and turning her ears directly forward, “Escort me to the mountain, Sir Castile?” She hums playfully, the tune of her high soprano falsely mocking a debonair accent. “I would be -” Nyxa says with her eyes closed, quick to sweep her neck into a fine bow, “- greatly indebted to you, m’lord.”

    And then she pops upright again, as comfortable as she would be if she were home and surrounded by her family. Castile is eerily easy to get along with.

    “Seriously, though, I could use a strong arm.” The seamare sighs, her dark green mane trembling softly with the action. It takes everything within her not to turn and flee when, at last, her gaze alights on his - seeking an answer before he speaks - and she sees the hollow loneliness there, carving him out from the inside. Instinct wars with kindness, but her better nature wins out. The Ischian native is too gentle for her own good.

    “Am I asking for too much?” She whispers.

    -I'm sailing right behind, like a bridge over troubled water-

    Reply
    #7
    He can’t breathe without drinking her in, can’t stray his thoughts when he looks at her now. There’s an easiness to her, an allure, which he is ensnared in. Their conversation runs like water. She sees him for what he is now, not the monster that stirs within.

    It doesn’t have to be aimless, she says, and he supposes that can be true. Once, he wandered to a dark place – to solitude – where he refused himself physical contact. Castile knew where he wanted – needed – to be, but he had to wander to find his prison.

    And to find her.

    The sunlight dapples along his coat as clouds pass overhead. Even as a cool breeze threads through the space between them, Castile remains warmed by an inner flame. He doesn’t shudder or squirm, his body statuesque in Nyxa’s presence. The feathers of his wings lift with the gale, but in whole they remain folded neatly along his sides, further insulation as the seasons play their yearly tricks.

    Nyxa proposes an adventure to the Mountain, and it’s an offer that Castile cannot bring himself to refuse. His head turns in the direction of the ominous peak as it pierces low-lying clouds. A lopsided grin gives him a look of boyish excitement when he levels his attention on the seagirl, fascinated with her inclination for traveling and humor. ”Oh, my lady, it would truly be a pleasure,” and a lighthearted chuckle escapes him, brightening the shadows of his face. His right wing expands then, reaching briefly toward the sky before drifting slowly down to hover just above Nyxa’s back, still too – admittedly – to touch her. ”Nay, it would be an honor to escort you.” Her company creates something new in his identity – a tenderness to his soul – that he desperately latches onto while he can.

    ”One can never go wrong with a good adventure.”



    @[Nyxa]
    I'm SO sorry for the wait. I KNEW I forgot someone. I suck.
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