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  • Beqanna

    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


    live until we die - any
    #1
    let’s swallow the moon and the stars - let’s wallow just right where we are

    The shadows weave tantalizingly beneath the gleaming moonlight and the thick evergreen branches. Mismatched eyes of yellow and chocolate brown gleefully greet them while a thick crunching of snow beneath accompanies the blue roan as he walks amongst one of the many narrow paths that snake through the forest. An owl hoots nearby and he can hear the successful pouncing of a lynx several yards away. Despite the seemingly stillness of the wintry night, he knows that life still continues to thrive even after the sun has long set for the evening.

    He’s a shining example of one such creature.

    Michaelis has never been much of a kingdom-dweller. He was meadow born and raised, an adventurer of the outlying lands of Beqanna and beyond, and, most recently, a familiar haunt of the forest. From time to time, he will find himself with a restless spirit and journey on walkabouts. But Beqanna is his heart and soul - Beqanna is where he will continue to come rest his weary bones.

    He breathes deeply of the chilly night air and continues his languid steps down the forest path, re-familiarizing himself with his beloved home. The shadow tendrils writhe and twist excitedly across his neck and face, recognizing their place of birth as well. They delicately brush against the rough tree bark and the powdery fine snow beneath them, briefly adding more darkness before receding and twirling about his torso once again. They were sentient in a sense, but not in a way that others would understand.

    The shadow child has finally returned home.

    Michaelis
    The Shadow Child

    hiii it's basically been a year since I've written anything :|
    I miss you guys
    please forgive all the horrible words
    <3333
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    #2


    The shadows drifted across his skin, writing illegible threats upon his golden hide, made timeless by the darkness. They stung him into movement; cruel and unforgiving as they scorned him, taunted him, bade him give in! Khaedrik was unfeeling in the choking blackness that tightened – noose-like – around the arch of his neck, blunting his senses with mace-like might. He has draped himself in shadows and apathy; and his ears hear only the resounding silence that shattered like bone against trees.

    The darkness was his cocoon – his quarantine – his pocket of fruitful sanity. It kept him safe, and it kept him numb. And he was grateful for it. He had no desire to feel, for this was like a fast, and just as someone fasting spurns hunger, Khaedrik spurned emotion. He wants to disappear into the night; sever the strings to reality he has so carefully woven. Why evoke burden when this was a time of unburden. Why strangle apathy and resuscitate doubt.

    Oh, he has tried normalcy; and he has bit hard into the gravel of failure. He has lost; and he is soulless – a shadow-ghost now. He wallows in his misery; clad in shadow and gloom – until suddenly that shroud of darkness begin to stir. It has sensed something on the wind; or rather, someone. Go they whisper into waiting ears and he obeys, trading apathy for interest. There was someone in these woods tonight. Someone like him.

    Khaedrik – who needs no legs to travel, appears before the boy in a cloud of darkness. His eyes gleam fever-bright and delirious, and his own shadows pool around the others feet as if greeting an old friend.

    ”What are you?” he demands; as if the boy is taunting him with his darkness.
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    #3

    Trekori

    i'm freezing, it's not winter yet
    but my fingers and toes
    are shivering beneath these sheets
    and i feel so alone
    i don't want to die, i want to sleep

    I am not like these other two, and yet I still feel drawn to them. Khaedrik, perhaps, because we have met before and found a familiar in one another: the other because he is masterful with the shadows. Next to them, I am useless, a manipulator of nothing, a simpleton by means of exactly how complicated Beqannians are. Though my eyes see what theirs do not, and my wings send me high above them, and my horn could easily skewer them - I am still but a peasant among kings.

    So, I come to grovel.

    They are swathed in shadows as if they are alive, and I join them, feeling the audacity that is the light which glows softly from the tip of my gnarled, root like horn. Khaedrik is larger than last we met, but so am I. I note again how similar the tone of our palomino fur is, but I say nothing: not to him, nor to the other.

    But I do gaze upon them. It is a heavy stare, poignant, as if I am trying to see through their skin and into their bones, deeper than eyes ought to see; and yet I can, and the purple gleam of my eyes communicates that.

    Still, I do not speak; there has been a question uttered, and I will but subject to its answer whether or not they like it.

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    #4
    She is a forgotten tale—a name that was lost from the memories of friends and the hearts of family. Her existence disappeared into the pages of history, lost in the darkness just like so many others that came before her. The ancient stories of them have either been forgotten or become legends and myths.

    But it is within the darkness she has found her strength.
    Never will she be lost.

    It is in the hour of the wolf that she returns to a familiar, yet forgotten home. A home that has been transformed since she has been away. However, she finds herself in the familiar pathways of a forest she had once called home when she left behind the life of a kingdom-dweller—a part of her past she does not consider to be her story at all.

    The black mare follows the familiar pathway of the forest. Carefully she moves across the wintry-scape. Each step taken gives the slight crunch sound of freshly fallen snow. It has hardly hardened, meaning that winter has just arrived. It is a new season; a new season for her as well.

    She has returned.

    To what she has returned to, she does not yet know.

    An unfamiliar path lies ahead of her, but she takes the journey without question. Nothing has ever stopped her before. Even if the end of the path leads her towards death she would still take it.

    So she does.

    The shadow-dweller continues down the path she found herself choosing on her journey tonight. Her steps are considerate, determined to discover these new lands. She doesn’t know why she has returned to a place she thought she would ever come back to. Then again, does anyone ever know where they are going?

    Suddenly, there is a glowing light far ahead of her—the horn of a boy, yet she does not know this yet. Nightbreak stops for a moment, hiding within what shadows remain around her. She is concealed almost perfectly by the color of her black stained skin and the light of the night (the forest canopy aids in her shadows).

    The mare considers the situation ahead of her, black with golden streaks, calculating her next move. By the glow of the horn, she can see little, nevertheless it was enough for her to anticipate what was ahead of her. There beyond the path was three—two shadows and a beacon of light.

    A sense of curiosity fills her though. The way they move the shadows around them, conceal and entangle themselves with the darkness. She cannot help her curiosity now. Unconsciously, she steps towards them, drawing further into the light of the moon that slipped through the canopy of trees.

    She is a beacon of light in the darkness now.
    Yet, she has always been a light within the darkness.

    The mare moves closer towards them, unaware of spoken words already. She conceals herself as she moves closer, emotions hidden beneath a shadowy gaze and locked away. Nightbreak comes to a halt with the three others—though she is curious, she keeps herself on edge just in case.

    “The night brings many out,” she says softly, a hint of humor touched her words.
    character info: here | picture © tragedy doll | character reference: here
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    #5
    let’s swallow the moon and the stars - let’s wallow just right where we are

    It seems that the shadows would always draw others to Michaelis. It was usually intrigue that brought strays into his path, but yet he enjoyed the interactions. Ever since he had to accommodate for his dayblindness and retreat into the nighttime hours, he didn’t come across nearly the amount of people as he did when he was younger. His youngest daughters have long since left his side and reached adulthood – he briefly wonders where his little shadows have settled themselves. As a vagabond who leaves for long journeys, he doesn’t have strong bonds of friendship holding him here. He is a self-induced loner, but yet, he vastly enjoys the differing conversations he engages in from time to time with people from all walks of life.

    A young boy suddenly emerges before him accompanied by a shroud of darkness and a challenging look to his eyes. At first, the shadow tendrils seem to retreat closer to his torso, intent on camouflaging him, but then they recognize a kindred spirit and hesitantly branch out to meet the boy’s own shadow pool. Michaelis recalls meeting a shadow creature once before, but the boy lacks the yellow eyes and sharp fangs and seems to have not yet fully immersed himself within their tender shadowy grasp. He questions Michaelis, outright demands to know his identity, as if he might hold the key to his own identity. The shadow child knows this boy already wields so much more power over the shadows than himself, but yet he still smells of uncertainty and inner turmoil.

    Another boy approaches, this one golden and glowing, but he remains silent. He still stares intensely, a determined curiosity that remains focused upon himself. Michaelis has suddenly become the center of attention after remaining alone for so long and he is happy to see that Beqanna continues to live on through generation after young generation. He smiles gently as the tendrils become overly curious, deciding to swathe the boy’s glow with their own dampening blackness. They are delicate wisps of shadow, purely meant for shielding. They would never grow to be suffocating, yawning clouds of darkness. The golden boy would never have to fear the shadows beneath Michaelis’ hold.

    I am Michaelis.

    He knows the boy must be searching for another answer, but the shadow child is simply that, his own self. He was born just like any other, happy in his childhood and early adulthood. Some would say he was gifted and some might say he was cursed. Either way, a run-in with some malicious fairies and he was forever changed. He continued on with his life, accepting the change, and becoming one with his shadowy companions.

    Yet another figure emerges from the dark tree line and out into the silvery moonlight. It seems that this gathering is destined to grow into a clandestine meeting of light and dark, with a tension thick enough to cut between complete strangers, and yet Michaelis remains unbothered by all of this. The blue roan does not fear what the night has to offer, but rather, he embraces her steadfast protection, unpredictability, and sometimes unnerving quietness.

    The tendrils, whom approached the golden boy unwaveringly, seemed extremely hesitant with the approach of the black mare. Unbeknownst to the shadow child, she wielded the power that would overshadow and banish the darkness. She was a curiosity herself, a light whom melded into the shadow – an anomaly.

    Indeed.

    Polite small talk was something Michaelis could easily accomplish in his sleep. He would rather learn about what drew these strangers here. And so, he waits patiently for their little gathering to unfold and reveal each of their intentions.

    Michaelis
    The Shadow Child
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    #6


    The hazy mass of coiling darkness around him writhed and seethed under the touch of the stranger. The stranger who seemed as at home in the darkness as if it was a second skin. Khaedrik´s eyes; pomegranate-red with fervor, do not stray from his form. There is envy in those eyes; grating and sharp. What wouldn´t he do for an ounce of truce with his own mind? Khaedrik is shadow and turmoil; hate and fear and longing. Impossibly flawed, mad with apathy and fever-hope. This man; tainted only with the indecision of wanderers on his brow does not seem to hold any of those flaws. So at ease is he in his own skin that Khaedrik begins to wonder if Michaelis is yet another shadow-creature to bind to his side in servitude.
    ”Michaelis” he echoes; as if the name was some prophecy he has yet to decipher.

    Trekori is what saves the boy from his own madness; made stark against shadows and darkness – he comes bearing his own beacon of light and hope and Khaedrik lets out a wheezing breath – picking up what scraps and pieces remained of his own sanity. Part of him wants to lean against the golden lightbringer, revel in the familiarity that he brings; part of him despises such shallow needs of comfort and longing. His shadows snarl and hiss – they will have none of this weak-heartedness, and his wolf, bright-eyed and vicious snaps its bright-black teeth at the boy. Khaedrik scolds the thing in that shuddersome tongue that is his and his alone.

    ”I´m sorry…” he mutters, ashamed, but he wears the wolf´s crestfallen disappointment in his eye. How long will he stand this onslaught of hunger until he finally snaps? Woe to he who stands in Khaedrik´s way when his grip on sanity slips.

    But this night seems to hold more than one (unpleasant) surprise in its bosom, and a third creature emerges from the ink-black darkness. Her light clash with his darkness; a battle of wills that Khaedrik is all too content to lose. He turns almost gleeful as the wolf-thing that is his own unholy creation whimpers in disapproval. Khaedrik ignores the sting in his own eyes.
    Yet, he leans into winged Trekori, melding gold with gold and darkness, suddenly craving that familiarity of warm skin and recognition.

    ”We haven´t seen you here before”
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    #7

    Trekori

    i'm freezing, it's not winter yet
    but my fingers and toes
    are shivering beneath these sheets
    and i feel so alone
    i don't want to die, i want to sleep

    I couldn't hear her following me, but as she comes to perch on the outskirts of our group like a crow on a thin branch, my attention goes to her. She is dark as night, and beautiful in a way that my youthful mind cannot yet grasp completely. Her light swirls around us, and I breathe it in, shaking my head to clear it of the shadows that one of the two manipulators have placed there. I will not be silenced.

    The night brings out many. "Perhaps it has more to do with us, than the night." I hold her gaze for a moment, allowing the weight of my statement to seep beneath her ebony skin before turning my attention back to include the others.

    I am Michaelis. Khaedrik echoes the name, and then seems to notice me for the first time. His eyes are darker than last I saw him, and I frown, wondering why, wondering what has happened to him - but then his creature is snarling at me and I tuck my chin to my chest, half-unfolding my wings and lowering my horn to its eyes. I will not be shadow-meat. But Khaedrik calls it off, and I relax my stance begrudgingly, continuing to frown at Khaedrik. Not in anger, but in perplexion. Last I'd seen him, he could control the things... Something is wrong now.

    "It's fine," I say tersely. There are greater threats than a boy's wanton pets.

    When the yearling moves closer to me, I allow him to, and even move to close the distance myself. My wing brushes his side, and I appreciate the quiet solidarity we share in that moment. He addresses the mare, and then falls silent... Swinging my eyes from creature to creature, I decide to speak.

    "I am Trekori. This is Khaedrik." I look to the mare, the one most like myself, and yet with as a kindred a spirit to these other two as to my own. "That leaves only you nameless."

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    #8
    She has always been alone—perhaps the choices of her past have led her to end up this way. Often she did not seek out the company of others, but from time to time she did yearn for the touch and companionship. Perhaps it was the way of families and kingdom-like groups she came across that struck a chord within her. It was a chord she felt hollowed within (an empty place that perhaps would always remain within her).

    The night has always brought her out. She has always preferred the hours of the wolf. The darkness was a companion to her on those lonely nights. It was always a rarity you would ever see her brighten up a dreary day or the dead of night. Shadows were an on friend to her—and she hid herself well in them when she could (as much as anyone could with the ability to control light).

    And tonight she dwells with those that melded within the dark arts.

    The group dynamic is considerably strange, but she does not care for formalities and what not. Instead, she considers what these strangers bring with them in the late hours of the night. Something brings them here, or even by accidently coincidence. She is simply returning to a home she never thought she would come to be at. Then again, she had thought this place to be long dead.

    She is silent as she watches the others after her introduction. Never is she too quick to give her name. It is always wise, she finds, to learn for those she meets first. Not everyone was willing to be your friend, and times like this (especially on her return to Beqanna) she has a right to be hesitant. The young boys obviously know each other already, there is familiarity in the way they look at one another. A kinship already bonded by something—family or friends, it did not matter if they were blood-bound or not.

    It was a story unlike her own. Her family riddled in the power of blood. Carefully was her parents picked out of the groups for the positions they held in a long ago time of Beqanna. And even star-crossed lovers were kept a secret within the dark. She knows little of the real family she was bound to (there is a whole another side of her family she has never met before on her father’s side).

    She smiles. It is a smirk that lights up her face now, unfolding the mask she wore when first greeting those in the group. “I doubt you would ever see the likes of me here,” she says teasingly. Her head then turns to the boy with the glowing horn, wrapped closely with the dark-welder boy, “I’m Nightbreak.” A name that has no meaning anymore—just an old forgotten tale, a blood line of kings and queens that once had meaning. “What brings you all out here tonight?” She asks bluntly. Might as well get to the point?
    character info: here | picture © tragedy doll | character reference: here

    @[michaelis]
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