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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


    When with a net of nothing -- anyone
    #1



    He whispers the shadows near as he winds through the path that leads to the Forest. The world was silent. Almost peaceful, if it were not the type of silence that forebodes something much less pleasant. The eye of the storm, perhaps, or the pause in a verbal fight that escalates it to physical. There was tension in the way the golden stallion moved, an impatience masked by the simplicity of his actions, frosted over by the sweetness of the afternoon sun that turned monsters and shadows into milk and honey. 

    It is a memory that has him out of his hiding today. The image of a mahogany girl with sea-salt on her skin is what takes him further and further into the darkness of the woodland; she dances (he follows), a maiden in a dream, with whispers of suitors and love-songs in her eyes – and her memory lays a smile upon golden lips. He is still Khaedrik, of shadows and regret, but deep in the shadows of the otherworldly forest he is more than horse and more than boy…. He is freedom and insanity, darkness and a beautiful, changing light. So he goes onward, with no thoughts in his head and no pain in his heart, deeper along a path which his shadows have carved, deeper into the Beqanna-woods, deeper into the shadows which happily calls his name to urge him onward.

    And at his heels, limned in shadow and ill-intent goes the wolf. It is a vile thing, bright-eyed and sharp-fanged, but just as much a part of the golden stallion as the longing in his heart. It does not move the way a wolf should, but flickers in and out of sight like a chimera. It whispers, whispers, whispers into his ears, a poem of darkness and havoc and Khaedriks glitter-dark eyes grow wide and wider still. There is shadowsong in his blood, and a terrible loneliness in his eye.

    If only there was a way to lead a normal life, whispers the boy.

    If only, answers the wolf.
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    #2
    The deep dark dwellings of the forest are only separated from those in Taiga by a river; a break in the land, a fracture that makes up an eerie landmark, used to separate the one forest from the other. The free one from the eerie one; and further south-west, a more invisible barrier made of scent marks that separates the eerie from the musky one.

    To him, they're more of the same.

    The translucent bay appaloosa spies the golden boy with ease; in winter, this is not a colour similar to his surroundings. In winter, it is autumn-leaf-gold, dried-grass-gold, spring-flower-gold that passes through a black and white landscape, with greyish brown bark in between. No, that one stands out like a bright pink horse would in the field. But there's just one thing holding him back from approaching immediately, from testing the brightness of that skin against the bright red of an open wound, or asking him if he has permission to stain him with dark reddish brown so he won't stand out as much - a shadow follows, flickering back and forth. They whisper to one another, and suddenly Raj feels like this boy is not to be harmed.

    He's to be his friend. He's to be Carnage's tool.

    His see-through body moves quietly to catch up with the fleck of gold, his ghostly appearance weaving between the trees at a distance far enough to see the moving boy - maybe he's more of Zain's age? - the one that belongs to Carnage as much as he; but close enough to be noticed if the other pays attention. A test - do you see the see-through colt? Do you hear the creaking snow? Do you know he's watching? He's always watching, after all.

    @[Khaedrik]
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    #3


    Khaedrik wear his fear like a second skin. It consumes him, makes him volatile and skittish like a deer caught in the headlight. But his fear is not for the sombre corners of the Forest, hiding bone-sharp teeth and wary eyes. Nay, Khaedrik is a monster – clad in gold and angelic appearance and what he fears is something else entirely. Monster, monster, monster it sings along his nerves, makes his eyes close in regret and dread. He should be shunned, avoided – hiding in his shadows like some forest-beast – hungry and feral. And yet, the boy is lonely. His heart longs for company and the mundane life of a normal horse. But what company is to be had for one who almost killed the woman he loved?

    No, Khaedrik is not to be trusted with the presence of others.

    He hears a soughing through the underbrush, and is at once supple grace and evasive movement. A scent, forest-foul and pungent reaches his nose.

    ”Who goes there?” he calls out, before his wary eyes can catch the filmy creature.  His voice is shadow-smoke and unyielding and the wolf stirs in its wake. Turning bright-yellow eyes towards the source of the sound, growling softly behind crooked teeth. The creature is all darkness and sharp teeth – unforgiving and teeming with voracious hunger. Oh how the beast longs to break free of its masters shackles – to maim and kill and hunt the thing that peers out at them from behind tree-bark and limpid skin. But Khaedrik – lost among wolf-snarls and forced control commands the monster aside. His glitter-dark eyes locks with the boy – and his expression softens. Something about the younger boy makes him curious (ah, but if he knew of his intentions, of god-fearing and fealty Khaedrik would probably laugh – he´s not a creature made to worship after all.)

    But he does not – and so he merely smiles – a hollow thing, broken and empty, but an invitation nonetheless.


    @[Rajanish]
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    #4
    Lost boys, they call themselves sometimes - lost to the world or just lonely souls trying to find a purpose in the world but not exactly finding one. But then, he knows his father is a god of the darkness, and ever-curious as he is, he wonders what separates the dark from the light. What lines should be crossed to be considered a truly dark one, or how does one earn the right to be called light?

    Sometimes the lines may be crossed so easily, as if it’s no trouble at all, but then the world is still turning. He remembers Lokii bringing in hearts, hearts of girls that were about his age now, and he’d never considered that they’d died without purpose, because the purpose had been for him to learn how the hearts work, no? Or perhaps not. But without darkness there was no light, without murder and death, nobody would realize what their life was worth. At least so he always thought. And so he’d be an instrument of darkness, sometimes when he estimated the world was getting dull and just too goody.

    The golden colt and his wolf then - they are some kind of balance. That’s what interests him so. Together, they are light and dark in one, altogether cancelling one another out, so, what is their purpose? Should he not have a bigger purpose and jusst give in to the darkness?

    But his scent and sound is caught soon enough, though the sight of a see-through colt is harder to latch on to. But when he does, he smiles, and so the bay appaloosa smiles back though the spsrk of it is lost, there is hardly ever a smile that reaches his eyes except when he takes something apart to investigate it. ”Just me. Why’d you care?”

    @[Khaedrik] sorry for the wait, my Raj muse goes in ups and downs
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