"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
At least she would not know that she had sentenced her child to death. Obviously, he could not allow the boy to live. His transcendent blood would not be mixed with those disgusting creatures with their flimsy vinyl wings he wanted to rip off as he drowned them, their smelly noses stuck high in the air and chests puffed with their self-entitlement and arrogance.
Dragons were so despicable his mouth twisted sourly at the thought of biting into the child and having to taste the rotten-egg of sulfur in his blood. How could anyone be attracted to them? How could Nayl have been attracted to one? He'd thought she had better taste. Or sense of smell. It made him shiver in disgust, his mouth bitter like he might taste bile soon. He much preferred the ready saliva of a proper delicacy.
Dragons.
So he'd shifted tactics. A slow death would be more enjoyable anyway, knowing the newborn had no hope of surviving in this frigid tundra. Not even the babe's dragon's fire could keep him warm enough to keep breathing for long if the child even had the fire. He was nearly as disgusting as a full dragon, this small half-bred mutant with his own tiny membrane wings on his back. Grandsire or no, he still wanted to rip those things off even if he was leaving the boy here to freeze to death in a mocking of the fire he should've had as a purebred. But he despised scarring his victims physically. Emotionally they wouldn't have to bear long anyway as they died soon after regardless.
He would not deface his daughter's child.
He had come as near to loving her as a beast like him could.
Her death had been a punishment and a mercy, and her disgrace would die with her.
He thrust the gray and gold boy out of the dark, chilling waters, leaving him completely drenched in the tall snow that swallowed him up as Stillwater would have had the half-born not been so absolutely unappealing. The child would die anyway. Taking his blood was not required to kill him. In the same splash of movement, he sank beneath the surface again as barely a dark shadow within the spray of water, returning the heart-shaped pond to his namesake; a built-in warning they so often ignored.
Stillwater.
@[Castile] or @[Sabrael] or @Any
come down to the black sea swimming with me go down with me, fall with me, lets make it worth it
11-28-2018, 08:02 AM (This post was last modified: 11-28-2018, 01:14 PM by Leilan.)
Leilan
Glaciers melting in the dead of night and the superstars sucked into the supermassive
The icy island is a second home – or a first, with Nerine as a second, he’s not entirely sure. Either way, the ice-attuned male finds himself on the northern half of the island more often than not, simply because it is much quieter here. The lake is always worth the trip, a place he frequents more often than not, especially since he last travelled here without his traits – he knows how cold it is for the others, now, and that it is a place of a bit of magic. Those who visit out here, usually don’t last very long – he does, because his icy attributes give him a relatively easy way to repent the cold. Ice all over – but with a draconic twist and a lock of gold for views.
The kind of gold that is on the child, it seems. The colt’s is not his, he thinks: at least, if it is he would not remember being with a mare with that grulla colouring, but to an outsider it might have looked his child – a dragon mimicker, this kid has the matching wings and a draconic head where he only has the teeth and eyes though. And spots. Leilan definitely doesn’t have tobiano spots. Though it would have been possible for the baby to have gotten those from his mother’s side. Gods and fairies, this obviously part-Friesian baby looks like he mated with Nalia. Baaaad. Really bad! At least it had been well-known that the winged girl was with Ard, and hadn't been pregnant this season. He knows one other dragon, but honestly, well, there might be more right? Right.
He’s also puzzled by the baby’s (newborn’s) sudden appearance. Out there, in the snow… almost looks like a lure. Bait. A trap; he switches vision to check his surroundings, long before reaching the lake shore. Out here in the cold, even the heat signal of someone in the lake wouldn’t go unnoticed.
He thinks. Then, he isn't so sure, and freezes part of the water surface. After all, the child can be looked after just a minute later. He's been here long enough that a minute or two won't kill it immediately.
Satisfied that nothing responds below, and most of all that nothing could immediately jump him if he turns his back to the still water, the scaled roan looks at the shivering baby. "Now where, did you come from." he muses. He might forget to move - good thing for the colt is that Leilan wasn't alone today, though he hadn't noticed that yet.
you set my soul alight
HTML by Vanilla Custard
@[Castile]@[Gilt]@[Breckin] I edited as much as I could without breaking other people's posts, hope this works!
Two things I know I can make: pretty kids, and people mad.
Spring had done little to lessen the bitter cold, especially towards the northern side of the isle. Every long step she took was accompanied by the crunch of snow beneath, and the rapid beats of smaller hooves breaking through the snow's glazed crust. She watched them with a bemused smile, as their slender legs worked diligently to fight against the dredge of eternal winter. It didn't stop them from running and romping however, and every now and again she would firmly remind them to mind where they stepped and to stay close. The day had finally come, as she knew it would, when she would recognize her own curiosity mirrored in their small faces and so with an exasperated sigh, she'd readied them for a trek to the opposite side of the island. There was word of a lake there, and the notion of seeing water not held in the breadth of the sea was exciting business. Truthfully, she would rather they not go at all just yet, but they needed to gain strength if they were ever going to make it to Nerine one day.
The spotted mare hadn't seen the drop off, nor did she see the small body tucked by a drifted bank along the water. Leilan’s familiar form was the only thing she saw against the watery backdrop, preoccupied with freezing the surface over for one reason or another. Oisin, their little chocolate framed and golden haired eldest, bolted to his side immediately. Smiling, she looked to her father, obviously proud of having survived the long journey there. And she’s nearly about to say just that until she finds the winged boy nearby, followed shortly thereafter by boldly sticking her dark nose into the boy's soaked side with an abrasive shove. "Mama, I found something! she yelled, making her mother inadvertently jump with a start at the sudden shout. Making sure Eurwen was still nearby and safe, Breckin moved towards where the other filly stood guard near her father. The boy appeared young, perhaps near the same age as the girls, and drenched to the bone. Raising her head, to glance around she wondered if his mother would be back or where she had gone. Dark eyes glanced questioningly to Leilan before she dropped her gaze and sighed, moving to lay and curl herself around the small, cold body to shield him against the worst of the unforgiving temperature. Ultimately her unspoken questions didn’t matter right now; It wouldn't do to leave him there shivering and defenseless.
"Oisin, Eurwen, stay close." She said quietly to the gilded twins before turning her face down towards the painted colt. "My name is Breckin, I'll help to keep you warm if that is okay with you? What is your name?"
Oisin stood vigil nearby, her small face contorting into bewildered confusion, blinking rapidly between her sister, father, mother, and the unknown colt. "Are lakes where babies come from?"
11-28-2018, 12:04 PM (This post was last modified: 11-28-2018, 12:09 PM by Castile.)
and underneath the layers, I find myself asking what's left a hollowed out form, the skeleton of a ghost, the pitiful echo of what once was
There has been Sabra standing as the pinnacle of his priorities, followed by Sochi and Starlin and all his children. They’ve scattered themselves across Beqanna, forcing Castile to frequently travel despite the infection dragging him down. Weight is slipping from him, his hips developing more notable points where muscle had softened the edges prior. Isobell in Ischia, Sochi in the river lands, Sabra in Nerine, and Solace in Hyaline. From one landmark to another, he relentlessly tries to ensure the safety of his brood even as the effort eats away his health.
They are his life, his priority.
Starlin has escaped him since their coupling. While her scent lingered somewhat in Nerine, she still eluded him. He isn’t an idiot. He knew what would result in that day together when his emotions were crippled by Sabra’s death. Like a child, Castile sought reassurance in any way and form. It led him to Starlin and to Sochi; covering both women applied a soothing balm to his pain. They distracted him just as he needed.
The results are being handled with tender care. If there’s one thing instilled in him as a boy, it was his capability of loving his children. They are his legacy much like he was to Lior and Nayl. They must be nurtured.
For that reason, Castile has searched for Starlin. The delivery, he assumes, looms ever near but his attempts are futile. The traveling is taxing, pushing him back to the island so that he may recover before his next attempt. With a clumsy landing, Castile returns to this temporary home. Soaring spends the last ounces of his energy and so he ventures closer to the heart-shaped pond than he typically would in hopes of seclusion. Much to his surprise, however, there is bustling activity instead.
There is Leilan and Breckin. His eyes trace their bodies carefully, their heat signatures registering first before shifting to the children alongside them. One, in particular, gives off less heat although it remains standing like a trembling statue. Curious, Castile approaches but not without occasional coughs that rattle him to his bones. It hurts, but he doesn’t admit this – doesn’t even try to display it. What pulls him from the shadows of his discomfort is the uncertain gaze of the drenched boy. ”He—“ a beginning of a sentence bitten off by his uncertainty when he looks among Leilan, Breckin, the colt, and the rippling pond. All the pieces are slowly coming together.
Starlin. Her brothe, Ivar, is a kelpie. Stillwater. Kelpie.
The boy, with a dragon’s head, and with matching wings and tobiano pattern… It makes sense… It must. He is a perfect combination of him and Starlin.
Smoke curls from Castile’s nostrils as he weighs the situation, contemplating what has happened. The child is here, shivering from the cold, without his mother. Abandoned, discarded like trash. A low growl erupts from him when he stares again, intensely, at the pond just as it stills. Whomever left his son to die has vanished in the dark depths. No other sign of life stirs underwater. The Nerinians are once again alone.
With a slow turn of his head, Castile regards the shivering boy and observes all the similarities they share before stepping toward him and glancing to Breckin. ”He’s my son,” the words finally breach from the silence that choked him. Pride envelopes his voice and softens the sharp edges of his face. Reaching forward, he brushes the boy’s forelock. Placing himself alongside Gilt, he hopes the abnormal warmth of his inner fire can at least provide comfort for the time being. ”Breckin, is there any way you can feed him until I figure something out?” Starlin is obviously gone, either by choice or murder, leaving the boy without a mother. There is Sochi, Sabra, and Solace, but only one would make sense in this time of need. ”Sabra just had a child. Perhaps I can ask her whether she would be up for adopting him.”
They’ve seen Castile angry. He is volatile, unpredictable, dangerous.
Yet now, in this moment, they witness a most tender side of him as he tends to the colt adjacent to him.
Another hot breath escapes him and fans across the child’s skin. ”Did your mother name you?” Before she died, or before she left. The question hangs in the air among them as Castile’s eyes dart among the faces, all while his thoughts reel with possibilities and solutions. This is his son, his legacy, his responsibility.
you should see me in a crown; your silence is my favorite sound
Oof!
Something nudged him. Hard.
His gold glimmered as he toppled over unceremoniously, painted across stormy gray in gilded shine that even splashed across the wrist of one dragon wings and spotted the other with a stray mark of gold. He used that wrist to try and catch himself, pushing himself back up with tremors and shivers shaking him, sea blue-green eyes lifting to inspect the creature that had assaulted him.
She was loud and he grimaced.
He admired her hair though, all golden like the patch that flowed through his mane and the streaks that shot like comets from his tail. She was dark-skinned though, where he was gray and metallic. His teeny snout reached toward her a few inches away from touching her, sniffing at her strange scent and logging it to memory.
Then another was there, larger and speckled and mostly pristine white. The spots were distracting as he watched them crawl and shift with her movements, approaching him then glancing away to others. He hadn't noticed them either, but he followed with his own gaze to see another small one with a flare of golden hair but different skin. Then an even larger one that seemed... yes. A little gold too, in streaks like his own tail had.
Perhaps they were his.
The speckled woman continued forward, bringing herself down to curl around him as he watched solemnly with a flicker of curiosity. He sniffed at her too, again not quite touching with his dragon nose. Oh. His eyes went cross-eyed as he looked down at it. Then looked at theirs. They didn't look like him? Why did they not look like him but for the shining gold in their hair and the strands buried in the male's dark and pale hair?
She spoke to him, her voice soft and sounding like something he might want for himself to keep near him. Breckin, she says, and it has more weight to it than her other words. This one was the important one. Breckin. He could remember that. She repeated one of the words, name, and he wasn't sure how to respond. His nostrils flared and he stretched his neck a little, pressing a rattling purr from his throat then watching for her reaction with hawk-eyes so alert on her. Expectant.
"Are lakes where babies come from?" the smaller dark one asked and his gaze slid to her to listen. To learn these words, this language.
Then there was another big one, all dark and white and gold and bronze - so many colors he had no names for. There was a sense of power though, a gravity that was born into him, innately knowing that this man was his so certainly, just as a penguin finds its mate and child by voice in a din of sqawking.
He flipped his wings clumsily, squirming against his new warm woman to see this one better, watch as those eyes studied him just as somberly as he had studied these others too. Didn't he recognize him? Couldn't he see? Even with his mother's eyes, her body shape and a good bit of her color, surely the man must know him for his? He had no notion of mother and father, but he knew in his very bones that the man belongs to him.
Look, look! Wasn't he proud of the little dragon? He had collected a whole hoard of treasure beasts already! Look at his spotted woman, and the big gold-streaked man, and the little gilded ones! Wasn't he so proud?
Gilt lifted his chin and cooed at him, his eyes gleeful and snout nosing at Breckin's neck because she was his and he would keep her. They were all his lovely treasures.
But, he did! He must have recognized him because the man stepped forward and said a thing that sounded right. "He's my son." There was such solid weight to it, such truth, and Gilt cooed at him again, pleased with his deduction. His father lowered to his other side, a stronger sense of heat radiating from him than the others had and the child leaned into him, nipping at his shoulder with feisty baby-dragon sass in quiet scolding for waiting so long to come keep him warm.
He felt the absolute most glad and proud when his father tended to him, warm smoky breath fanning over his gilded-gray skin. His whole dragon-face was nearly completely gold with a bold blaze that would've nearly covered his whole face in a mask of white had he been painted colorless and porcelain over a horse head. Gold instead, with shades of grey around his eyes and over his strong little cheekbones, in the forelock that his father fussed through so tenderly.
"Did your mother name you?" his father rumbled at him, and he enjoyed that sound so much, wanted to rumble so low right back but it only came out a trill little purring of pleasure. He recognized that word again though, name again, and the weight the woman had put to hers. He truly didn't remember much, only a brief image of another woman that had said a word to him. Perhaps that is the one that would please his father, that word. His head bobbed excitedly, tap-tapping on his father's dark patch as he growled out his answer as best he could.
"Gghhhh- ilt!" It ended in a sharp huff, the formation of the letters difficult, but he'd been determined to perfom correctly and nodded sharply. Yes. That one. He would get better, but that was the word.
Glaciers melting in the dead of night and the superstars sucked into the supermassive
Leilan knows a thing or two about being lost, without that one love. Sad but true. Or less sad perhaps because even though Chryseis had repeatedly threatened to get drowned, she hadn’t been dragged under by anyone else - just her own endless curiosity. No-one had actively tried to rid the world of his offspring, at least that he knows. The ones he does know about are alive at least, or were when he last saw them. He thinks that despite the illness, Castile at least has it easy; to fly and visit more quickly than he ever can. To not feel so bound to this place - in fact that had been the reason he had in an earlier conversation, urged him to go, to find out if they were safe indeed. Because it was something Leilan personally, couldn’t do.
But at the very least, Breckin was here now. And with a motherly instict too, despite what it looked like maybe - when Oisin had “found” the gold-flecked colt, she was there fast, to warm him. Something he should have done perhaps, but he’d been simply flabbergasted by the appeaeance.
He comes back alive when Oisin asks if the baby came from the lake. With a quick shake of his head (he wouldn’t lie to her but also would rather not answer) he dismisses her question. Instead, he looks from her to Breckin, then to Castile who arrives and claims the child - thank goodness, that’s out of the world then.
The little colt has maybe a little trouble vocalizing his name, but between half-drowning and freezing to death, for a newborn that is quite impressive. ”Gilt,” he repeats and looks to Castile and the kid. ”Perhaps you should try for the trek south, first.” he nods to the half-frozen lake and their snowy surroundings. He’s obviously not fond of the idea of Breckin having three little milk-mouth to feed when it got mentioned, but ultimately the decision is hers. A day wouldn’t be a problem for the girls, he thinks, but more... well, two was already challenging nature, he thinks.
But then again - anything for the children - and for that one love that keeps a dragon from creating too many of those, too, he supposes. He shrugs and looks from Cas to Breckin, and back. Ultimately, he has nothing to say about anything. Not about this, he thinks.
you set my soul alight
HTML by Vanilla Custard
OOC: I’ll try to do Eurwen next... unless it’s not here within an hour of this one, bc then I’ll be asleepxD
Two things I know I can make: pretty kids, and people mad.
12-05-2018, 03:33 PM (This post was last modified: 12-05-2018, 03:34 PM by Eurwen.)
Eurwen
in the winter, far beneath the bitter snows
There is a place up north that has her and Mama’s colours; white, bright, brilliant, it lures. Or perhaps it’s just the fact that their Papa likes to walk there. Whatever he’s doing, it must be super interesting! Maybe there’s treasures to find, or just someone exciting to meet. Or a challenge for them, to prove how big and strong they are.
Mama knows, though. Mama knows everything. So this day, she takes them there! It’s sooo pretty - sparkly white, maybe it’s her favourite colour so far! But then... brrr. It’s also so, so super cold! Oisin doesn’t seem to mind but... oh no, Eurwen would rather stay with Mama.
She shakily clings to her mother’s side all the way, but doesn’t want to spoil her sister’s fun either. Besides, hadn’t she just before wanted to go? No, she’s going to see this through. Just... with Mama.
Oisin is the first to find something then - but when her mother leaves her side to investigate, the spotted filly quickly hides behind her father instead; pretty much the same way she had hidden behind her mother all the way. He doesn’t seem to move much. Says a few things but that’s about it. But she’s glad she sticked with him today - another stallion she hasn’t met before, appears. Winged like the colt in the snow (maybe? It’s pretty far away) - he is rather scary. But Papa is scary too. He’ll scare him away. Or... maybe not. They seem to get along.
Curiously, her brown eyes peek around her father’s front leg. The colt has a strange head, though not much stranger than Papa’s. She supposes he’s alright.
Gilt, they say. She blinks at him, looks to Mama and Sheen for guidance. Now what? Introduce? Fight? Run away?
lies the seed that with the sun's love in the spring becomes the rose
A strange little fellow, but beautiful all the same. With a rattling purr he acknowledges her, peering through brilliant eyes; his own expectant curiosity mirrored in her own plain, brown ones as her head tilts slowly to better look at him. For now she only smiles in response, breathing a puff of warmed air playfully over the cool skin of his extended snout. There's a massive presence close by, it's nearly tangible, but she ignores it, faithful that if it had been something endangering their lives that Leilan would have already intervened.
He's my son.
Castile's familiar rumbling baritone draws her vision to cascade over the dragon of Nerine's painted form. His claiming of the metallic colt was unsurprising, the similarities they shared were undeniably obvious, though it still did not answer the question of where the child's mother had gone or who she was. But this was Beqanna, and despite the beauties the land shared with its residents, there were also tragedies, and so her mind begrudgingly assumes the worst in this instance.
"I will," she says in response to his asking her to feed the boy, only after recovering from the initial shock of Castile's news of Sabra. "Gladly." There are so many more questions that rise to the surface within, so many answers she craves, so many conversations left unheld. But she chokes down the words, stifles them for another day. The news of Sabra being alive was miraculous, something that she would follow up on soon. She gemstone woman must in quite a state--having died and been resurrected to give birth to a child would be undoubtedly taxing. It would be a distant attempt, but perhaps she could help lessen her burden by caring for Castile's son as long as she could. It would be tiring for herself, but it was possible. Others had birthed triplets before her, she'd heard. If they could do it, she could as well. For the sake of her daughters and this latest little arrival. "For however long necessary."
"Gilt," she repeats softly. There is nothing remotely similar to a dragon about her, perhaps other than her stubborn streak, and it that aspect that she uses to try to defy her nonexistent reptilian aspects. It's a small thing, but she tries all the same, making a tiny rattling sound at the back of her throat while pressing her chilled nose into the curve of the painted colt's neck as he had done similarly to her. "It's nice to meet you," she says with a warming grin. Still smiling, she looks to Castile again before looking back for reassurance that Leilan and the girls remained nearby.
-------------------------------
Oisin
Everyone is ignoring her. They seem to be much more concerned about the strange boy in the snow. Huffing in obvious annoyance, she looks between Mama and Papa again, impatiently waiting for an answer. She'd asked an important question, hadn't she? Why did nobody seem to want to answer her?
But Papa catches her eyes again, merely shaking his head at her. What was that? What did that mean? Was that a 'No, babies don't come from lakes, Oisin' or was that a 'No, Oisin, this is not the time to ask those kinds of amazingly, brilliant, and smart questions?' She's about to ask just that--a girl needs some clarity after all, how else is she supposed to learn about the world--until a weak shadow envelopes her tiny dark form.
Noticing the shift of light, her ears move listlessly backward, swallowing hard before turning her small head in time to see a big, powerful looking man looking rather displeased right now. Was it her fault? Had she done something? Stiffening, she eyes him the briefest moment before issueing a pathetic "EEP" while simultaneously scrambling to find sure footing in the slippery snow. Tufts of snow skitter about as the filly clamors to hide in safety behind her father, joining Eurwen where she stood in their Papa's shadow. She didn't want to wait and see if the new person was mad at her or not. She was too little and too pretty to die.
"Scooch, Wenny!" she commanded her younger sister, pushing into the spotted filly unceremoniously, "Make room for me!"
Catching her breath in gulps of air, she watches the adults and the winged colt. Okay, so maybe it wasn't her they were mad at after all. Boy, was she glad she hadn't overexaggerated. Much braver now, Oisin shuffles under her father's belly to poke her small head out between his fore limbs. Looking up beneath his chest, she tries to read his expression, making sure things were indeed okay before extricating herself all the way out from beneath him, even venturing so far as to puff out her chest and look at her mother and the new people with what she hoped was unbaffled indifference.
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