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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


    [open]  the bones of a miracle; diplomatic visit
    #1

    for every tyrant, a tear for the vulnerable
    in every lost soul, the bones of a miracle

    She is a leader now, some kind Queen, and Yidhra, though she may style herself in another manner is too a ruler. Titles seem trivial, considering how much there is to do, but she is curious and wishes to address the creature who holds the lands to the East with respect. The two of them have never interacted one on one but Kensa is undaunted by this. Certainly many were frightened or even angered by the tentacled mare’s appearance in Silver Cove on the day of Hyaline’s exodus but Kensa had only watched her curiously, her focus had been on her friends and her home. She had been angry and afraid but Yidhra had only been another surprise in a terrible day. Kensa’s fear and anger about the circumstances feel like that of a child suddenly ripped away from the comfort of a teat in hindsight. Now she lives in the plague, lives through the plague, (does not forget it) but does not consider it an ending. 

    For Kensa it has been nothing if not a beginning. 

    After meeting Yidhra in the place where the mountains of Hyaline give way to the salton grey earth of the risen kingdom of Pangea the two of them make their way to Sylva along the path of Yidhra’s choosing. Kensa is not inclined to small talk, she is friendly but does not chatter inanely. 
    “Yidhra, your name, what does it mean in your tongue?” She says the Pangean’s name carefully, doing her best not to butcher the foreign moniker, mindful of the way it feels in her mouth. Perhaps it doesn’t mean anything, but she cannot help opening up conversation with Yidhra, drawn to the differences between them. Kensa is aware of how ordinary she is beside the kraken, but is unabashed by this. She looks upon Yidhra with bold topaz eyes, but does not focus on the coil of tentacle or the strange texture of skin, but on a slight furrow in the brow here or a twinge in sinuous muscle there, subtler features that tell her more about the Archon than her distractingly monstrous features (though these too speak even when Yidhra does not). 

    Sylva is remarkable, even in autumn when the rest of Beqanna is attempting to match it’s color. Oversaturated reds and golds serve as a banner for the monarchy that stands herein, Kensa knows they are here when they reach the border, like Hyaline the boundary has been maintained. Someone holds Sylva for certain and now they must determine just who that someone is. 

    kensa
    for every dreamer, a dream. we're unstoppable with something to believe in.


    @[Yidhra]
    Reply
    #2

    out in the deep, I've seen something real
    the mouth of the void that the waves conceal

    Each movement that Yidhra makes is strange, mechanical and uneasy: strained on a way that suggest acclimation to the lack of pressure; but more so it is non-linear and lack natural geometry. She breathes and her lungs rasp and heave with watery, drowning breaths; but this is only for a few moments and slowly she shakes from the odd behavior.

    With her gaze focuses on Kensa the barbell shaped irises narrow and those orange-flecked teal seems to brighten as she watches the other woman and slithers alongside her. Atop hard earth and through the shadows of great trees she can see the piling autumnal leaves and pine needles… smell the rotting leafy detritus and all it’s moisture.

    She can hear the other speaking and turns her head, the tentacles on her face moving and curling as she exposes the black chitinous beak and all the danger it holds: tapping it and clicking it before allowing water-logged sounds to become words. Ancient and beyond time the accent is smoky and her voice sumptuous in an alien and foreign manner. “Yee tho rah (Yidhra),” she speaks, chuckling darkly.

    “Means more than a simple word, darling-heart, it is a story in and on it’s own. Manifested before death, before birth- ever hungry and waiting… devouring all things and learning change from such delicacies: from observation. I consumed the Kraken and put forth a tentacle, and when I tasted of the bear I learned fur to cloth myself from the cold… so on and so forth.” she purrs, glancing at Kensa with a tentacle reach forward and seeking to brush the mare’s neck if allowed. “And here, I have sought to taste you; but what I learn? I will know in time.”

    The tease is there; but more so her focus as the kraken-esque mare shudders and shifts: as she peers at all the leaves and shadows, at the brush and wild.

    Her voice calls through the reaches of Sylva, through its echoing expanse and endless forest. “Hello, I am Yee tho rah (Yidhra) the Archon of Pangea, and with me I have Kensa the ruler of Hyaline. We seek those who live and lay claim now to these lands.” hissing and succumbed to purr, she postures and stands: tall and watching. 

    Calm and poised, Yidhra shrugs back her sloping shoulders, looks to Kensa and has she the ability, she’d have smiled; but instead there is mellifluous and strange chatter of her beak: a symbol of amusement.

    Yidhra
    Reply
    #3
    there is but one rule
    hunt or be hunted
    With the chaos of the plague settling, he expects to find others coming to the border of his autumn kingdom soon.

    The dark hound was not absent of the thought that others would also gather their own and those that sought a safety of some sort to reform. The leaders of kingdoms would look for lands to harbor their own loved ones and extend their hand to those that needed a helping-hand. He offers the same as well, but he rules more with an iron fist.

    (And an agenda of his own.
    But he does not share this detail so freely.)

    The scent of others draws him from the shadows of the eternal autumn colored forest. He has yet to see them at the border, but the scent of strangers does alarm the hound’s curiosity. The plague still haunted these woods and beyond them. But it is only custom to be weary and curious of those that come to your border.

    Not everyone was a friend, but possibly a foe.

    He prowls forward, shifting through the shadows. Sinner takes on the form of a hellhound. Some would say he is not a horse at all as he rarely ever is found within his natural from. Then again, the hellhound was his natural from to him and those that had created him in the depths of hell.

    Passing through the trees and around some of the large boulders scattered throughout the land, he hears the call a call. His dark ears flicker forward, catching every word that hisses and succumbs from the kraken-horse he has yet to meet. His interest grows even more at the mention of Pangea—his birthplace.

    Moving past the final boulder towards the border, he lays eyes on the two oddest of pair. A creature he has never seen before—the kraken mare—and another mare that is the color of chestnut (just as his father was). His features do not hold an expression, except for a stoic appearance. Each of his facial features are chiseled hard, sculpting his dark expression. His red-yellow eyes look hollowed, but they glint with obvious mischief as he moves closer to greet the two mares at his borders.

    “Welcome to Sylva, Yidra and Kensa.” His voice is warm as any wolf could greet another. But there is no threat found within his tone. “You can call me Sinner. I lay claim now to these lands, alongside with Mary, my co-leader.” Although he insists he is the overall ruler of the autumn kingdom. No one would ever be considered truly his equal.

    He glances from the kraken mare to the chestnut. The hound king studies each of them, curiously trying to pull any information he can from what he sees. He doesn’t allow the silence to go one for long though. “What brings you to our quiet, humble little forest?” His gaze lands back onto Yidhra, more curious to see how someone has laid claim to Pangea itself. It was where the entire disaster had started after all—a helping hand to the plague he had been too.
    Sinner
    the king of sylva
    character info: here | character reference: here

    @[Kensa] @[Yidhra]
    Profile | Detailed Bio | Character Reference
    Most likely always in his hellhound form
    Reply
    #4

    for every tyrant, a tear for the vulnerable
    in every lost soul, the bones of a miracle

    Until this point Kensa’s face-to-face interactions with creatures altered by magic have been limited to shape changers and those whose abnormalities are are less visible. Much of makes Yidhra different is stark, obvious, and should naturally frighten Kensa, repulse her. It does...But Yidhra is so unknown, her every movement is otherworldly and unpredictable, her voice dips and rises over familiar words in an unfamiliar way, and a million other mysteries override any troublesome instincts that might get in the way.


    The archon gives an origin rather than a definition--not just for name, but for self--and there is a vastness in the telling, a reaching mystery that inspires the kind of longing in the Primarch (no unlike what one feels when thinking on the vastness of space). Kensa is a child of blood and flesh, beautiful, idiosyncratic, but ordinary. When a coiling appendage, glistening, reaches for her she does not shy away, and when it retracts her muzzle follows it part of the way home. Her nostrils flare, here is the tang of salt, the earthiness of the shore carried on skin the mistress of the risen kingdom. Her topaz eyes are intent, steady and she does not break her gaze away for beat. She does not have any answer for Yidhra, but there is a smile that whispers across her lips, amusement and hunger (for what, darling Kensa?) before they resume their duties.

    A hellhound greets them shortly after Yidhra calls out for the leaders of this place. Kensa watches with a respectful wariness, noting the way his attention  pulls back to her tentacled companion with a magnetic interest after he provides his introduction. “Good day, Sinner. We’ve come to your handsome forest so that we might get to know one another, and perhaps discuss the possibility of friendship between our lands.” If she might be allowed to get directly to the point. She watches the canid-lord, knowing this had once been a mercenary kingdom and wondering just what it is now. She looks to her companion then, calm and pleasant, anything to add?




    kensa
    for every dreamer, a dream. we're unstoppable with something to believe in.


    @[Yidhra]
    Reply




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