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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


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    [Fairies] when god is gone and the devil takes hold, who will have mercy on my soul;
    #1
    Briella
    your eyes are lined in pain, black tears don't hide in rain

    How she escaped them is not important, how her small body managed to slip beneath clamoring legs and chaos: the confusion and anger of the isle’ but she has, and on spindly, wealing legs, she walks east and south: walks and swims.

    Guided by purpose, by reason, and by memory- Briella finds her way to the rocky cliffs and jagged paths of the mountain. She stares at the hanging vines and flowers blossoming through cracks… she notes the icy caps on dark stone and pads of white snow that hide away drops and other dangers.

    “Not scared.” she reaffirms to herself, coughing and sputtering as blood drips from the nostrils. Still, she is exhausted, and her legs do burn: the muscle sore and stiff, and all her body aching as she tries her damnedest to push through it.

    Filled with memories of the darkness and the shadows, burdened by the past and present- she traverses the walkways and ridges until she hears crackling ice and a strange hum in the land. Pressed against stone and shaking, a tumbling cascade of snow and ice, rocks too, passed by and although it is not a full avalanche: she still panics and squeals

    Curling into a small ball she avoids the majority, waits and lays, shaking and shivering until she find courage in her small spirit: and an anger that boils well beneath the surface. Restored to her feet she walks and steps into the thick patches of wintery snow and continues until the paths become dark and twisting… until her small mind hears the familiar whispers of the void beyond this place.

    Beckoning and strange she thinks she sees a shadow curling itself in a ‘come hither’ gesture, but, as she stares at the inky crevice her eyes close and Briella finds herself growling as she rushes passed it. Bounce, and leap- wobbling until she climbs the reaches and stands at a place where the whole of the ridgeline becomes wide and flat.

    “Hello!” she calls out loudly, hearing the echo and how it fades. “Hello!” she tries again, noting the resounding and cacophonous sounds as they bounce between rock and air: as her voice becomes a fading thing on the whistling wind.

    With strained breathing she huffs, Briella’s eyes looking about the rising twilight and all the sight of the shadows swarming around her… light provided only by the brilliant stars and silver moon that pours itself upon the world.

    “I want to help them,” she states clearly. “They need help-” she isn’t immediately finished but her words are imperfect anyway: unclear and childlike. “A baaaad sickness, and lots of fighting. So many people- I want to help, please?” she asks.

    How she can help, she does know, but she imagines in her mind that in a way she wants to ease their pain: to solve this, perhaps to even make them see- it’s hard to say, a child’s mind is after all a vast and wholly strange thing. So she looks around, waiting to see who or what would come, hoping in some way that she will be able to help: or at least be given a way to start. 



    @[Beqanna Fairies] or you know @[Carnage] if he wants to do something to make this hilarious; but yeah, she wanna petition for a quest or roll or w/e to help.
    Reply
    #2
    @[Briella]

    Rolled a 4, quest granted.

    Her heart aches.
    Some of the others are less protective of their children - they are all the children of Beqanna, no matter where they originated from - but she is soft. So when a child braves the Mountain, pleading with the fairies to let her help others plagued by the sickness, she answers.
    She materializes in front of her, floating, bright blue and shimmering with kind gold eyes.
    “It’s alright, child,” she says, hoping to quiet the young girl.
    “To help others, you must help us first. To the north, there is a safe land, Icicle Isle. On the island, there is a heart shaped pond, and a path to get you there. Don’t take this path. You must pave your own way.”
    With this she leaves, as quickly as she came.

    [ooc note: Post on Icicle Isle detailing your trip. You will see a path in front of you that leads to the heart-shaped pond, but Briella must create her own path to get there. Once you’ve done that, reply to this thread detailing your trip back to the Mountain from the pond.]

    i'm in my own lane, you ain't in my category
    Reply
    #3
    Briella
    your eyes are lined in pain, black tears don't hide in rain

    Her path is her own, something she has forged and something she has claimed: the snow pressing down and pushed away as she walks and wanders- guides herself back through it and repeats the climb over icy rocks scattered across the snowy expanse. She sees the darkening sky and the way the clouds part to reveal starry sky and wondrous night, Briella’s face contorting and twisting as she stares at the pack ice and drifts- at the glitter water lapping the edges and ripples indicating life well beneath the surface.

    Tentative she knows that she doesn’t want to step into the dark sea: the enormous beast from before is close, she can feel… and she frets when its head lifts from the water.

    All teeth and powerful jaws she stares at the seal, her head shaking as she notes the way it glides and swims- how it seems to follow pattern. Not willing to chance it, she steps back and nestles into the arching ice of some curved cliff. Warmer somehow it sops the wind from buffeting her, and she feels the faintest touch of sleep on her eyes: minutes and hours, drifting in and out- watching and waiting. Dawn comes and she sees the black night burned away in champagne and wine- in the brilliance of the sun as it crests the horizon. 

    There is chaos in the water, though.

    Swarms of fish and penguins: things rushing and wild as they break the surface and flee. She sees and hears the madness, looks at it and ponders: her eyes widen as huge shoals of fish twist and turn. Bubbles and sound, the whales and seals all distracted: and with heavy lungs she coughs; but its in this moment she chooses to jump in- to plunge and panic as her head submerges and she sees the massive bodies of black and white whales, the slim but large form of leopard seals, and sharks that weave in and out of the shoal.

    Quick to bring her head up she chokes and sputters, kicks her legs and swims hard and fast while the maritime predators feast and pick at the fish. Her eyes narrow and salt stings them regardless, her body sore and muscles aching, the lungs near spent as she drives and pushed herself so hard toward the distant coastline that she barely notices the feeling of the fish brushing her legs or the kelp that might seize her and tangle about her legs.

    On the shore of Nerine she stands, wobbles and wavers- collapses into a wet mess of sputtering fur and bloodied mucus. Laboured breaths and tired muscles, Briella struggles to recoup: her fragile form pushed to its limits with the illness, and though she does not lose conscious- she can barely move. Laying there she feels weak and sorrowed, the agony she wholly consuming that she cannot mouth it out or sound off the alert anyone- she can only lay there on the icy shore, and weep silently.

    ‘I found it.’ she thinks, the conflagration of hope still burning, and after the cramps and aches settle she stretches and begins to stand.

    Gazing along the coast she follows this instead, the sand and rocks all together as she moves south and Briella finds the grasses to be different. Saltier and tangier she eats them because she forces herself, but hunger does not gnaw at her belly, and as she eats she thinks about her family- how surely they will miss her…

    And in that moment she realizes that more than ever: she needs this- she needs to succeed. Because this isn’t about her, this is about her family- Dovev and Heartfire, Leilan, and yes. Woolf too.

    Skinnier still she continues on, the coat dull and her hair crisp with saltwater and sand. The rocky beaches are a discomfort but she navigates the tidepools cliff side with some familiarity: her eyes looking to crevices and caves as she hisses and spits at the inky darkness and the shadows that seem to reach from them. Gulls cry out and unexpectedly she begins to notice the way the trees above bend and the vast colors they have become: winter and wither, the oranges and browns… on a few coniferous greens.

    It’s a long and boring journey, uneventful except the for lapping waves and cracks in the rocks: Nerine’s vast coastline seems tranquil and she cannot help but allow her mind to trail off as she imagines all the ways she might help: all the things she could do; but none of it is for herself. Not once does she imagine curing herself, no, instead she imagines helping her family- her friends, and all the world around her: and yes in some way this means in her mind she imagines helping Phasus, Rey, Bruise, and the others too.

    A creature of tender heart and forgiveness, she blinks and coughs- chokes as she spits up bloodied mucus and struggles to breathe through the ill lungs. Briella slows, takes time to conserve strength before she follows the water line and brackish river into Hyaline. 

    She does not know the mountainous region, the vast labyrinthian chasm where the river flows, and so she thinks: imagines the river and recalls that it ran through the north: Briella surmises that if she can follow it, she will find her way. Still dawn is limited and day becomes night as she begins racing along the rocky chasm floor. Between mountains and between trees she finds herself, the chorus of nightbirds more menacing and louder: echoing so strangely that more than a few times she shoves herself against the rock wall and looks around. 

    Green and in-bloom the wintery snow coats the plants and she catches sight of their tips breaking through the surface. Stars shine and the moon too, is pouring itself throughout the darkness; but what she sees disturbs her: the clouds growing thick and the wind picking up. Snow drops down slowly at first, but, it picks up and she watches as the powdery white substrate begins to coat everything: begins to build upon the trees and cover the branches. Heavy thumps fill the air as branches shake and wave, wood crackling, and she sees the snow dropping in piles: sees a fox chasing a mouse and an owl silent, and grace… claws grasping that some creature.

    The river  keeps her focused and she walks along its edge, listening the orchestra of cricket, bird, and of the howling wolves stalking the mountains; but they are too distant for her to be concerned right now and so she keeps on until the ground begins to flatten and even out: until she can climb onto the hardened and frozen earth and away from the riverbank and its rocks. Nibbling at clover and grass, at the tops of wild strawberry- she continues and drags herself inward until the flowing river widens and changes.

    No longer brackish, there is clarity: a freshness that lacks salt and the presence of fish and freshwater lifeforms. She drinks because she forces herself, the cold water burning her throat and her chest, causing her to ache as she looks down- finally taking time to study her leg. Swollen and puffy the water is muddied and sandy, blood dried around the edges; but mostly the bleeding has lessened or stopped. Still, it is sore enough to make her limp, and Briella finds that she it is becoming harder and harder to apply pressure to that leg. She tries and cries out, warbles and whimpers before limping to the very river again and submerging her leg.

    She rubs and tries to brush it, succeeding in washing it in a way, but mostly it is at least less sore: the chilling water taking the flaring heat and pain and forcing it down. She wades for a few moments, unaware that her fever burns: that the cold water aids it- the corse temperature slowly dropping just enough to relieve some of the shivering. Yet she drags herself out and walks- notes the way the river becomes a lake and how she can see the bottom- the very depths uncovered.

    Leaves and wood, stones lost to time- the fish swimming and free. She admires it, and Briella feels calm: a tranquility she has lacked; but its in this peace that finds her mind settling and that is when chaos truly reigns. She thinks of Dovev, how he had been so quick to pull her away- to take her in, and then to come fetch her when danger lurked. He had been thorough on impressing the idea that she was his, not Heartfire and his; but his own, and she blinks. Briella’s heart pounding in her chest and her green-hazel eyes peering at the vast trees and wood: she mulls over it, over the words and how for a moment she allows a small squeak to find itself in her throat.

    “Dad.” she quips. “I am helping. Sorry, have to help.” apology, resolution: and acceptance. Quiet she dwells on it- thinks of the mare who has protected her and the closest thing she has to a mother; but not, and she smiles. “Aunt… Mama, I come home soon. I help. Okay? Yeah! Just a little more.” she isn’t sure why there is struggle, why she finds it hard to say it; but Briella hesitates as she considers her words and the lake.

    From the center point she follows the way it breaks to the south, the river’s path and the fresh lake that provides for it. To her surprise there is something more as she goes south… a place beyond the trees where vast plateaus are carved atop granite and limestone: where the wind sounds like the soft sobbing of a woman before becoming a vast and terrifying shriek that flows across the nearly grassless rock and soil. She doesn’t step beyond the trees: doesn’t dare leave them, and she sees why.

    Fear trickles into her spine as she sees shapes of monstrous proportion size: as she beasts writhing with fang and claw, tentacles, and horns. Demons of all shapes and sizes, all in reverence and worship of the cacophony of voices and wind: speaking praise in a tongue so ancient she does not know it, but she is certain they are speaking of the God-Mage. His horrible voice still burning into her mind as he commands for them to kill: to slay, and to harm. She wails on her own, staggers back into the trees of Hyaline and shivers before walking south again; but this time she does not look into Pangea.

    Briella deviates on to rest, to take breaks as the sun and sky cycle: as the nychthemeron continues: and within it she is wholly and entirely left to suffer. Fevered and coughing, aching, and bloodied- the contagion first and now potential infection that ravages her leg. She sees shadows moving in the corners of her eyes, watches as the claws seeks to grab and grasp: as the darkness threatens to overwhelm and overcome her- she screams.

    “I don’t wanna go back there! I don’t wanna go into that place! No, I have to help, please! I can’t go back into the darkness… I have to do this. My family needs help, they all need help!” she still isn’t concerned for herself, for the illness and the infection: if they take her, than she understands; but hope, hope drives her to want to at least help her family first.

    In the noon sun she is almost too sick to move. Too tired, too exhausted: shivering too much and so fevered that Briella for a moment begins to think she’s seeing Expelliarmus. “No Pell.” she murmurs, head on her legs and body curled up in leaves and moss. “I don’t want to go north again: I have to go south.” she’s aware but her she tries to stand she wobbles and collapses back onto the ground.

    Struggle, hope, and struggle: weakness drains her but the illness can only stop her for so long before she pulls herself to her feet and stares at the sunny world around her. South she moves, south along the river and slower now than she had been before; but Briella isn’t giving up, not even as she sees the mountain and stands in its shadow. Snapped and endless she starts on the trail, starts to move and tread the pathways as she had before. Her body shaking and shivering: and Briella fears for a moment that the climb will kill her before she can get there. Death, ironically, is not her fear: failure is… failure means she is letting her loved ones down.

    Tired, sore, and stiff the muscles are tense and ache well beneath her sooty fur and fever-ridden skin… Briella’s fragile body guided by memory as she recalls her path and her way: the jagged rocks and their footholds. Wobbling and swaying she finds herself face to face with a small, but alarming sight: a furred predator. Fang and claw the bobcat stares, leers and watches: it notes the filly’s skinny frame and how her bones stick out beneath the surface of her skin. An easy take down; but then it smells something: Briella’s bloody nose, the rot and rancor and fetish smell of sickness and plague.

    Its hackles raise and the cat steps back, slinking away as Briella herself stares and stands- stomps a hoof in protest of its presence. As it flees she can only hope that it will stay gone, that it will not come back; but even then she hears that rumbling again and the threat of falling snow. 

    Wetter and heavier it collapses down the mountains and she barely has time to shoves herself against the wall before turning her head and realizing it is on the other side. Serving as a reminder she carries on across the walks and cliffs, climbs and walks- stepping over and weaving under logs: trailing through rock and snow, and ice. She heaves and hesitates, the coughing and fever imbalancing her and just when she sees the final turn: she slips.

    Not falls, but slips.

    Her hoof dropping and body quick to catch itself as her injured leg simply becomes a burden, Briella shrieks; but, as she steadies she is quick to make the final turn before stopping to catch what little breath she has. Coughing and sickly she clamours around the bend and in that moment, everything feels different: thinner air making her breath deeper and quicker- and she shivers as her small body collapses to the ground. Splayed legs and tired, the weanling feels an inevitable heaviness in her frame- her vision dark around the edges and muscles limp as she weakly looks around.

    She’s made it, she rejoices silently for that.

    In her mind she recalls her journey, her steps- and her cause: the faces of her family playing back in her memory as she smiles. “Okay.” she mewls. “I made my own path, it was so pretty: I wish you could see it.” shallow breathing and a reverberation of water in her voice- she coughs, and struggles to lift her small head. Fragile and sickly, bony and growing thinner she looks around with what she can. “I just want them to be okay, okay?” it’s almost like a resolution- like a last will and testament; but she doesn’t know what it is truly: she is only talking because she hopes it will help- that even if she cannot go on… at least her promise, her actions will help.

    “Dad can be really angry, and kinda mean; but he’s a good dad. Yeah. Aunty is, a good lady- she’s sick: they both are... “ rambling fades to quiet and she feels a leadened hardness in her chest: in her lungs. Wrecked by coughing, Briella just lowers her head and stretches with what little strength she can- trying to at least pull herself up.

    “Fairy? You’re really pretty.” she remembers the blue, the bangles, and the gold: the voice and all the words- Briella’s eyes watching as she waits, and hopes.



    @[freaking awesome fairy]
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    #4
    @[Briella]

    Congratulations, you’ve completed your quest! Briella has been granted temporary ice healing. She can now heal herself and others through ice, however, it will only last until the plague has been defeated unless she participates in two (or more) of the future fairies’ quests.

    i'm in my own lane, you ain't in my category
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