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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


    Island Resort: Round 1
    #1
    ROUND 1
    The faeries were able to bring back the uninfected places, safe havens for their people, but they know that it’s only a temporary relief. It is not a solution. After many days (or hours, or months, they aren’t the greatest at keeping track of mortal time) of contemplation, they believe they have found a solution.

    But as their people had helped the Dark God to bring about this despair and destruction, the people are the secret ingredient to undoing it. The people of Beqanna will have to put more effort into the healing of Beqanna than they put into its sickening — at least four times as much, or so it seems to the fae on the Mountain. Four times the effort, and four lands brought back from Beqanna before — the symmetry is pleasing to them.

    She is proud of their people — those who have fought the freezing water, monsters, and natural disasters in order to find the cure. It seems almost too much to ask of them to brave one more quest, but the fairies are insistent.

    “We have reached the fourth ingredient required to cure the Plague,” another fairy says, stepping forward. She is bright blue, soft, with a voice like an ocean breeze. Her energy is gentle, calming; she draws you to her. “We are in need of seashells, three different types that can be found on Island Resort,” she pauses for a moment in contemplation. “You must swim to the Island but may keep your gifts — who knows what lies in the waters below?”

    Rules
    -Everyone may enter one character in this quest.
    -Round 1 entries are to be posted in Island Resort in the Quest thread no later than February 16th at 11 AM CST.
    -Your first post should describe your character traveling from the Mountain and swimming to the shore of Island Resort.
    -Your character must come across some type of animal or sea monster of your choosing in the water and defeat them to get to shore.
    -Your character can use any and all traits that don’t involve flying out of the water to avoid the monster (sorry).
    -This quest will have three rounds; no eliminations in round one, 50/50 chance of being eliminated in round 2, and round 3 will be judged on creativity, readability, and judge’s preference.
    -Each round will give 5 days for responses to be posted.
    -Those eliminated in round 2 will have a minor and non-permanent defect; those who advance to round 3 will have the chance to win a 2 or 3 space genetic trait; failing to respond on time or at all without notifying the officials you are dropping out will result in a permanent defect.
    may the odds
    be ever in your favor

    Reply
    #2

    you are miles away but i still feel you

    Although Tephra is quickly becoming a place of familiarity, Hestoni finds himself frequently summiting the Mountain. There is something about the journey to the very top that he finds therapeutic — the thinness of the air as he climbs to higher altitudes, the stretch and pull of every step, the way Beqanna spreads out below his feet as he moves up into the clouds. Among the birds of the sky and the various hardy mountain-top creatures, the russet stallion’s mind feels somehow cleaner. Each trip to the summit of the Mountain adds another tender suture to the empty gash in his heart.

    Hestoni finds himself upon the crest of Beqanna’s heart when the soft blue fairy appears. His thoughts had been a hazy daydream of Scorch and her dragon-fire eyes shining against a background of Jungle fronds and sultry shadows in the moments before the fairy’s arrival. It’s easier for him to think about his wife among the thin air and summertime clouds as if the strength it took to climb the Mountain had burned away the anger and painful sadness that might’ve sunken him otherwise. Yet his thoughts turn away from both Scorch and the reason for his mountaintop visit when he hears the fairy mention the Plague.

    He knows very little of the Plague and its characteristics. The russet stallion had fallen asleep in the midst of a blue-eyed summer in Nerine, but he woke to find the jaws of winter and the bones of several years. In that time (which had passed as quickly as a midday nap), an infection had somehow cloaked Beqanna in shades of bright-red blood and deep necrosis. The bodies of natives and foreigners alike fell apart beneath the heat of the Plague. Hestoni spent the first few months away from his wife wading among the dead and the dying.

    Perhaps seeking the cure to the Plague will mend the unavoidable emptiness that seems to fill the cavities of his body (a cure to a Plague of his own, if you will). Hestoni’s long feathered legs step forward toward the blue fairy, drawn by her gentle magic and ocean-song voice. “I will search for these seashells.” His voice is the rumble of a low thundercloud in the distance and as serious as the presence of one as well. Without Scorch to lighten his days, the russet has fallen beneath the characteristics of his youthful self — serious and disciplined, yet still with a hint of charm.

    Without regard to any others gathered, Hestoni pivots to make his way down the well-traveled trail toward the foothills of the Mountain. He has seen Island Resort in the near distance from Tephra’s sulfuric shores but he has never crossed the stretch of ocean to reach it. The Jungle had rainwater rivers and clear waterfalls against moss-green rocks, but the wilderness of the sea is another force of nature entirely. The stallion contemplates his journey across the channel as he winds between Hyaline and Loess, and then between Taiga and Sylva.

    He makes quick work of the otherwise lengthy trip, having traveled the path between Tephra and the Mountain several times already since his arrival in the kingdom. Most of his time is spent in quiet determination — let it be known that there is never a task Hestoni will not finish when his mind and heart are set to it. It’s an unnaturally gray morning when the russet finally arrives at the shoreline. The world is draped in the colors that remind Hestoni of the Afterlife — muted grays and whites and blacks — and he stops with one long leg soaked in the warm Western sea as memories of years spent in death flood into his mind. Remembering the colorlessness and lifelessness of the Afterlife is traumatizing (perhaps even more so than it was to actually be there, now that he can smell and taste and touch things) and the stallion gives a brutal shake of his head to clear his mind.

    Hestoni can’t recall a time he has swum this far or for this long. There have been bursts of time spent under the weight of heavy Jungle waterfalls or splashings through shallow creeks, but never has he swam with such depths below his legs or such strength against his sides. Even in the summertime of Nerine, he’d only dared to push up to his chest in the bitter Northern waves, unwilling to release such control to the whims of Mother Nature. Standing at the edge of the water bordering Tephra and Island Resort, Hestoni knows he’s only been as scared as he is now with the deliveries of each of his children.

    Yet the russet stallion has convinced himself that he has nothing to lose (whether that is true or not is up for debate) and so he gives a fierce toss of his head to clear his hefty forelock from his vision before diving straight into the waters. Although it’s a gray morning, which might predict a storm on the horizon, the ocean is surprisingly calm and Hestoni finds himself pleased to swim easily for the first half of his crossing.

    As he approaches the halfway marking, the russet realizes that his muscles are not used to the repetitive motions of swimming. His chest begins to heave beneath the weight of the ocean and yet he is trapped. There is only forward or back — and to go back would mean to abandon his promise to the fairy atop the Mountain. Hestoni presses on, but a few more rhythmic strokes prove that he is growing weak. The sudden appearance of a large rocky outcropping in the midst of the channel quickly becomes his saving grace.

    Thick tendrils of seaweed cling to the dreadlocks of his mane as Hestoni climbs atop the outcropping to catch his breath. The waves lick at his heels with perhaps a touch more vengeance than their happy kisses before, as if attempting to drag him back to their arms and then to the floor of the sea below. The sound of singing dances through the punctuated heaviness of the titan’s respirations, causing the stallion to twist his ears forward amid the dripping tendrils of his mane. Picking his way carefully across the rock, Hestoni spots a unique creature lounging on the suddenly-shared miniature island.

    A long, scaled tail snakes up to a pale torso and two elegant arms. Although the creature appears to be hairless there are long, dark tendrils of something akin to a mane making waves down the creature’s back from atop its head. The scales of the tail are a patchwork of pale shades of green and blue — on any other day they might blend with the colors of the ocean, but for now, they are a stark contrast against its sullen gray. Hestoni knows that the creature is undoubtedly the one singing, for it turns to reveal a slender face with two dazzlingly blue eyes, a petite nose, and a mouth curled into the shape of a song.

    Although she is unique and unlike anything he’s ever seen in Beqanna, she is beautiful.

    “Please come love me, Hestoni.” Her voice is as gentle as a dove’s wing and her enchantment leaves Hestoni wondering if she is more perfect than his own wife. He does not even realize that her body is purring against his — winding across his deep chest and against his broad shoulders, snaking beneath his abdomen and around his neck — but he is caught up in the fact that she is soft and supple beside his skin… Something Scorch never was. Her dragon-burns and battle scars never allowed them the luxury of seamless touching and endless dangerous curves (yet he loves her regardless) as this siren has graced him. “I am better than any other,” the creature whispers in his ear, all while her scaled tail has tightened against the deep red of his throat.

    He nearly agrees. The sway of her enchantment, the gray of the ocean, the bitterness of deep sadness in his chest — it all urges him to agree to her soft-spoken words and fall against the sweetness of her skin. Yet there are two things that cause him to quickly pull away from her: the faintest hint of dagger-sharp fangs poking beneath the curve of her supple lips and the sight of the pale green fronds of Island Resort looming in the near distance. “No, thank you.” His voice is stern and as cold as Nerine’s granite cliffs, but the siren is angry now. A hiss rattles from her throat while the suspected fangs are fully revealed. “I must have you!”

    Instincts suddenly push past the hazy cloud of lust that dazzled Hestoni’s mind. Her siren-body still twists around his body and the russet knows that if he were to toss himself into the sea, she would surely overpower him. Instead, he resolves to drop against the sharpness of the rocks and violently twisting his body against the ground. The siren gives a vicious scream but pulls away from his slick sides. Soon-to-bruise scrapes and thin cuts litter his shoulders and back from the action of rubbing against the wet rocks, but Hestoni barely identifies them as the siren approaches him once more.

    “Get away from me!” She is writhing and terrifying, a complete opposite from the soft-faced beauty she had been moments before. The chestnut titan pivots and delivers a gunshot buck into the siren’s approach. A sound like fish-meat hitting the deck of a sailor’s boat tells Hestoni that she has dropped beneath the weight of his hooves, but the stallion doesn’t care to find out if she is unconscious or actually dead. He tosses himself into the gray waves and pushes quickly toward Island Resort’s shoreline.

    By the time he drags himself upon the sand, his lungs are heaving with anxious air. Each stroke against the water brought upon the image of a fanged-siren sinking her teeth into his legs and, thereby, sinking his own body to the bottom of the Western ocean. The salt of the sea stings the still-bleeding cuts against his skin, but they are minor pains compared to what could have been. Satisfied that he is alive, the russet pauses to catch his breath once he is completely out of touch from the tide’s grasp. When Hestoni turns to spot the outcropping in the midst of the channel, there is nothing but open water.

    hestoni



    hestoni is enchanted and attacked by a siren, but he defeats her by knocking her the heck out
    Reply
    #3

    { and in my dreams i've kissed your lips a thousand times }

    I wonder if they recognize me yet, by face if not by name; they are demigods, after all, and presumably capable of mind reading and all other kinds of superior cognitive processes. I've seen the magnitude of their power first hand, as the scar which disfigures the beauty of my Arabian face stands as proof thereof; and considering that the faeries before me once again are those working to cure Beqanna of the contagion, I can only imagine that the power they wield is greater than anything beyond my wildest imagination.

    I want to step forward, to make a request on my own behalf for having dedicated myself to their cause when I have seen next to no duplicates throughout these quests - but I fear reprimand, and recognize that now is certainly not the appropriate time to do asking of any sort. Silencing myself, I listen instead to what the peace-radiating blue faerie has to say, making a mental note that my dream manipulation shall be useless unless I wish to drown in my attempt to cross the channel.

    Monsters, this time, and not hypothermia; I decide not to decide which of the two is crueler.

    The journey to the Island Resort is one of the longest yet, though it does not feel that way due to the warmth of late summer. Foregoing the inevitable dread which shall consume me upon arriving to the water I must cross, I take my time in looking about, appreciating the sight and smell of lands I have not seen in literal years since the release of the contagion, and since my subsequent quarantine to the safe lands. Considering the fatalistic nature of these quests, I could very well die; so, haste be damned, I shall enjoy my journey west.

    Of course, it comes to an end eventually, and I am still the first to arrive to the shoreline.

    Panthera stalks beside me, looks up; in her telepathic way, she asks if she shall accompany me. I tell her no; she will be no use in the water, and I won't risk her dying on my behalf. The leopard snarls, dissatisfied with this answer; caving, I compromise by softly closing my eyes and taking my leopard to sleep, before teleporting her over to the opposite shore. There, she will await my arrival, given that I make one at all.

    Shaking the sleep from the length of my figure, I huff, not knowing how I will survive this. In I plunge.

    Initially, it would seem as though no evil shall interfere with my passage; indeed, I can see Panthera's figure prowling back and forth across the shore before the waters move threateningly around me. Where calm had existed, panic suddenly takes hold, for I am blind to the threat which approaches me from below the surface of the tropical waves; trying to maintain a steady rhythm with my breath, I await the predator's first strike.

    The breathing part is important, because for the next while, I won't be.

    Crunch.

    The sensation of the shark's rows of teeth attaching themselves to my right hind cannon bone is enough to make my adrenaline sky rocket, and to make the wind burst from my lungs; but I wrestle with the pain in the heartbeat I have to take a final breath in, and force myself to sleep as the silverline beast drags me beneath the waves.

    It's eerily calm in my dreams; a part of me knows that the breathing I perform in my dream may elongate the true capabilities of my real body, but not forever. I force myself to pay attention, to locate the form of the shark as it drags me lower and lower, mouth firm around my leg.

    It's easy to target the thing, for it is not metacognitive, and possesses less than no conscious ability to combat the onslaught of my dream manipulations.

    I begin by dreaming its teeth into ash, ash which melts away into the ocean around us. Next, I dream it small, the size of a guppie; and as the strain of not breathing in real life begins to cause my dream to flutter and glitch, I take one last moment to dream myself back to the top of the water, for if I awaken now, there will be no hope of me resurfacing in time.

    I do not have time to dream the wounds of my leg shut.

    Swimming the final lengths to the shore of Island Resort are agonizing, and I can barely stand once I manage to crawl up the loose sand. Panthera's yowls echo through the jungle just beyond, her anger faint to me as blood stains the white sands which lay here. I try to soothe her, but my words make no sense; and, with my right hind leg dangling uselessly, I deliriously come to regret not making my demands of the faeries at the beginning of this all.

    KAGERUS


    Caretaker of The Sanctuary
    Lover of Solace
    Immortal, antlered Dreamweaver



    ""

    Kag gets bit by a shark and then dreams him into a guppie, but she suffers a real bad wound.
    [Image: kag]
    dreamweaver
    Reply
    #4

    All of the voices inside of my mind will never be silenced

    She’s not entirely certain at first why she heeds the summons. Something deep within the furthest reaches of her soul trills a resonance when that call rings across the land. Something that makes her place one foot in front of the other until she finds herself climbing the rocky, precarious slope of the mountain. She stumbles to a halt before the fairies, staring with wide-eyed reservation as one (almost more lovely than the others, at least to her eyes) steps forward to give them instruction. She can hear the roar of thought around her, but she does her best to shield her mind from it. To block out the intrusion of strangers.

    Still, when they are released to their quest, she turns gratefully from the gathering, moving quickly to put space between herself and the clamoring of so many minds. It isn’t until she has begun her descent once more that her head finally clears enough to allow her own thoughts to unfurl. To press concern and worry into the forefront over what she had just promised herself to. Until the sinking realizing settles that she had just agreed to go to Island resort for them, to collect seashells. To swim across the ocean.

    She is nearly lost in a haze as her feet carry her almost automatically home, her subconscious bringing her to the lapping shores. To the stretch of water that yawns between her and Island Resort. She shudders out a breath as she stills, fear and uncertainty tethering her feet to the sands. She had made them a promise, had told them she would collect shells from across the water. But at what cost?

    She remembers the burn of water in her lungs, the fear of death as she sea had swallowed her whole. She had been drawn, time and time again, to these very waters. Tempted to dip her feet into the cool, enticing liquid even as fear stayed her movements.

    Now it seems she would not have the luxury of fear.

    Before she can consider the consequences further, she plunges into the water, a gasp leaving her lungs as water splashes up her legs and chest, engulfing the lithe weight of her body before crawling up her neck towards her head. For a moment, fear paralyzes her. Memories of water gripping and pulling, dragging her under, sending terror through her body and causing her heart to pound. But the water feels incredible against her skin, somehow silken and lightweight even as it drapes her with a heavy, comforting weight. As though her body knows it belongs even if her mind does not. Her skin disappears so perfectly into the rippling blues and greens, almost becoming one with the waves.

    After a time, the sensation overwhelms the terror in her heart, easing her until she can push forward, her body parting the water as though she had done this a thousand times. And as she goes farther from the shore, she finds her fear is dissipating, as though she had left it behind on that sandy shore and each stroke of her legs distances its grip.

    For one bright, shining moment, she knows pure joy. She knows only the beautiful song of the sea and the delicate, seductive touch of saltwater on her skin. So lost is she in that moment that she doesn’t notice the water bubbling eerily beside her, nor the faint disturbance in the coil of each wave. Not until something grips her foot and yanks hard.

    That easily, the moment is lost. A startled scream rips from her throat, rapidly muffled by the water as it closes around her head, as seawater fills her mouth. The fear snaps back into place, as though it had never left, memories of drowning resurfacing with a vengeance even as she relives her nightmare all over again.

    This time though, the monster is real. This time it is not merely an overzealous riptide catching a too young girl in its relentless grip, but a beast of flesh and bone. She can feel it’s sharp claws digging to her flesh, the weighted pull as it drags her down. She flails wildly in it’s grip, panic sapping thought from her mind and strength from her muscles.

    She holds her breath, but too soon a familiar ache begins to burn in her lungs as tears leak from her eyes, disappearing without a trace into the relentless pull of the ocean. Farther it drags her down, until her body screams for breath and her vision begins to spiderweb with black. Until, unbidden, she gulps in the that first, terrible breath of salt-laden water.

    Last time she had remembered nothing beyond the stinging burn of saltwater in her lungs. This time though, the water does not sting with surprising fire. Instead she feels only cool relief, as though the water were life-giving air rather than certain death. Another breath, and the tightness in her chest eases, the spasms that squeeze her muscles fading. She goes limp in the beast’s grip, beset by shock even as she gulps greedy breaths of water.

    She’s not entirely certain how far down it had dragged her. Far enough that the surface is nigh indistinguishable. Far enough it must assume she had drowned, going limp in it’s grip because death had finally taken her. And when the claws digging in to her skin loosen, it’s as though a tether snaps in her mind, releasing her from shock as understanding dawns. Whatever had happened that fateful day had changed more than just her outward appearance.

    One thing she knows for certain though (one thing made so perfectly clear) is that she would not die today.

    Suddenly, she kicks out violently, freeing herself from the monster’s loosened grip. Her feet connect with flesh, thudding solidly, allowing her to use that weight to push away. To flee, into the depths. She goes down instead of up. She hopes the beast wouldn’t expect that, would expect her to flee for the surface. Instead she swims for a nearby rockshelf, hooves scrabbling against sand and slate until she finds a crevice just large enough for her to squeeze into.

    And there she hides. Watching. Waiting. She can see the indistinct shape of the creature, long and lithe, designed for speed in the water. She could never hope to outrun it, but she could perhaps outsmart it. Her new body blends so perfectly with the sea, her lungs (much to her surprise) filtering the water as easily as they did air. If she were patient enough, the beast might leave. Might seek out an easier meal.

    Sure enough, her patience pays off. She watches warily, eyes fixed on it even as it disappears into the distance. She waits longer then, until she is certain it must be far enough that it would not be back. Only then does she squirm from her hiding place and swim cautiously towards the surface.

    The sea monster had dragged her some distance, but soon enough her hooves find purchase on the sand. She pulls herself from the water, sea-skin glittering in the sunlight, dark mane plastered against her neck. She coughs, spilling water from her lungs until air can take its place. She stumbles forward then, legs trembling beneath the sudden burden of her weight. Still, determination drives her forward, onto the stretching sands of the beach. She had made a promise, and she would see that promise through.

    until I can find a way to let go of what we left behind

    persea
    Reply
    #5

    I'll be sitting here with a song that I wrote, saying
    love could change the world in a moment
    There’s warmth out there that they want us to go, and so I’m sure I’ll love it. Somewhere deep down I may realize that that is not the greatest of motivations, but it totally works for me!

    I mean, sure, it’ll never compare to curling up to Mama, or any of my sisters, or really anything else that is also soft and comfortable. But the humid summer heat is something that calls to me, and when a mythical being called me to go there, what else was I supposed to do but heed it?

    And, well, my sister did it before me. And now she has so many stories! She says they were real. I may be a little bit jealous… maybe. But really what is life for if not for creating the very best stories? I want to tell her something too!

    Scary stories, big stories, small stories, fun stories, warnings... To be really honest the warnings don’t make sense to such an adventurous young mind as mine. Monsters might well be real but if my shy, spotted sister could beat them with the magical help of the fairies, then surely I can, too!

    Never mind that I’m even younger than she was. I’m probably a stubborn little fool, not unlike my father, and I really really really want to go. Now.

    So when my mother isn’t looking, I carefully slip away.

    Actions having consequences, danger, regret, worriedness and forgiveness aren’t things I really know of at this age. I know the word adventure though, and magic, and I know of fairies being real - and my mind was already set from since perhaps before the call came. The sickness isn’t over yet, and so I’ll be able to help, too! I’m energetic now, so I don’t even mind about the distance to the Mountain.

    Once I’ve made it there, a pretty soft-blue creature is talking to us. She’s soooo pretty! I barely allow myself to breathe when she speaks; I’ve never seen anyone blue before but at this very moment it obviously beats white and gold, or white and pink, or white and black (sorry, Mama), or all the weird colours of my Papa. My emerald green orbs(they say I have my Grammama’s eyes, or my dad’s maybe) linger on her, captivated, not noticing any of the others present (although the smell of my Grandpapa is not one I recognize, it might be subconsciously comforting me); for all that the blue fairy is the beautifulest thing I’ve ever seen, her voice is a bit funny, and I’m getting in a bubbly mood. Of course I’ll help! Shells, pretty seashells - Nerine has those, but they are dusted with rocks and salt. We want the pretty ones.

    That won’t be too hard! I have an eye for all things pretty, you know.

    Excited, still captivated by the beauty of the fair lady requesting my help, I run off the mountain. But where to go next? I’ve never gone this far - actually I’ve never gone away from Mama at all.

    Oh! Some other questers, out there in the distance. They’re way ahead of me but they walk in the direction of a glowing mountain (ooooh will you look at how pretty it is!) so that’s a landmark I can follow. I told you I have an eye for pretty things.

    The path winds along the river to the coast, and it is long for my wobbly legs, but I’m too excited to notice. So what if I have to stop along the way a few times for my over-excited heart to calm down: I’ll go on. And near where the volcano is, there is a huge sea separating me from the Island. And it is soooo beautiful and blue, I immediately recognize it as the fairy’s waters.

    The tropical breezes are enchanting and comforting, calling me over, but the waves themselves are somewhat of a mental obstacle. The water back home is always trying to hurt or eat the rocks of the shore, and the mean waves are colder even than my Papa. I mean, cold to the touch. I have some ice too, you know. Ice and fire, that’d be me, sister says. Little fire, they called me, probably because I’m so hot (no really, I am pretty warm and if I concentrate really very hard, I glow and set things on fire, too. It didn’t get appreciated last time, but I still can). But honestly I love my little snowflakes too, stuck in my fur as if I’ve walked through a bit of a skift. I’m a walking contradiction.

    The water before me is a mixture of that, hot, melted snow, a middle way where I am two distinct things. And when I touch it, an uncontrolled giggle leaves my throat; it’s warm! Lovely fairy, your water is warm!

    Now, the trick to swimming a long distance is finding the undeep places - sandbanks and rocks. I know this from my sister, who warns me because she knows how adventurous I am, and knows me too well perhaps - I would have swum to the icy land by now if it wasn’t so cold in those waters (and if my sister didn’t watch me so well). She’s a good sister, and she loves me, I know… she might be worried. Mama would be worried. I hope she thinks I’m with my sister, and the other way around.

    I nearly want to turn back but I’ve already begun swimming. Granted, I am not so great at it, but I’ve seen others do it back home and so I know what to do. Paddle my feet to get to the first sandplate.

    Once there, I rest a while. I see another sand heap, and wonder if I can make it in one go - if I do then I’ll be close enough to the shore that I’ll make that last part in one go, and I will make it in time.

    I’m a little hungry by now, to be honest. Hopefully we can do this quickly. I’ve chewed on grass once but it’s not my favourite. Plus, there’s no grass here on the sand in the sea. I wonder if the grass on this island is salty?

    Perhaps I should be going now.

    I take a ste - no! I can’t! I struggle, but my feathered white feet are stuck. Oh no! There is a sand monster in there! I can feel it move around my leg to grab me, it’s gonna eat me! It’s gonna eat me! ”Aah!” My squeal sounds exactly like what it is, a little boy’s voice. Normally I would hate that, but in the moment I couldn’t care less about it. Tears welling up in my eyes prevent me from seeing all too well, and I struggle and cry until I’m out of breath… and then I give up. I’m down in the sand until my knees now, and the water that I at first thought was nice and warm is slowly rising at this time of day. I’m gonna die. This is the end of me, I know it. I shouldn’t have gone away from Mama. The fairy is a dangerous trickster, like Papa says we can’t always trust the ones with magic just like we can and can’t trust the ones without.

    But it doesn’t matter. I’m dead now regardless of who I trust and who I don’t (actually I don’t really agree with my dad, it sounds like an entirely sad life). I will not have a life…

    I sink a little more and then I just drop on the sand, watch the waves near me slowly, ever slowly, retreating and then coming back, the little tricksters.

    It takes me long, to realize that now that I lean sideways, I can move my legs again. Pull them up, and if I’m slow then I can free them. Gasping, I try not to wrap my mind about this miracle… I shove myself away from the quicksand-island, and get back into the water.

    The next part is rather long, but I make it. This time, I do not rest by standing still, oh no. No way I’m doing that again! When I’ve caught my breath again, I move immediately.

    By the time I reach the Island Resort, I am out of breath, wide-eyed, hungry and shocked and wet and almost-drowned. But the tears have long since washed away and dried.

    I came here for the adventure and I got way more than that.

    I came here for the prettiest of shells, and I will find them.

    I came here for to beat the sickness, and that’s what I’ll do!

    They’re trusting me!
    but what do I know?
    Aodhán
    little fire


    Aodhan lands on a quicksand patch and nearly drowns... or maybe it was a sandmonster after all?
    (PS I made a typo in my very last sentence and it really bugged me so I deleted the whole post and replaced with this one.)
    Reply
    #6
    If I never wash the sand from my feet...
    He was enchanted the moment he caught sight of her. Look at her though, all sea foamy and oceany and gorgeous. Oh, he definitely had to earn a little chat with that one. For sure.

    He'd climbed his way up the mountain. Everyone knew chicks dig a good hero, you know. So he was on his way to save the day when he saw her, and of course she was here doing the same. Gonna be her very own hero, huh? Well, he could definitely help her out if she ever needed. He had such a great skill set.

    Turns out he's a terrible tracker though. He lost her almost as soon as they were released from the mountain to head to some island. It sounded like the one near home, the one he could usually see off in the distance, so he figured he'd catch up to her on the way out there. Should be easy enough. Man, it felt like it was taking forever though and he still hadn't seen her again. He even got all the way to the water before he saw her way out and so far ahead of him.

    And... Was she struggling?

    Well, what the hell! He's the hero, right? He's got this.

    "Don't you worry, baby, I'm comin. We're gonna have a nice chat and you're gonna love me. I got this. So easy." She was definitely nowhere near enough to hear him but it was fine. He'd catch up, save her day, get himself a good kiss in thanks. It was going to be a great day.

    And it really was, until something grasped his legs and tugged him under. What the!? He choked and spluttered, let out a startled breath in a stream of bubbles. Then his eyes adjusted to the dark water and-- Well, goddamn. That was definitely a mermaid. He didn't think those were legit, but sure as hell is here in Beqanna. And wayyyy hotter than the chicks in Peru.

    He beamed at her, even as she was getting a little too grabby and feisty for his taste. "Hey, girl, hey. You're lookin' good. You hungry, huh? What you eat? Fish? You want me to get you some fish, baby?"

    Shit! She was definitely hungry. The sharpest damn teeth he'd ever seen bit into his shoulder and he cried out, accidentally flooding her with defensive desire without thinking. It was as if he could shove her away by twisting her mind, but he hadn't really meant to that time. Her face went softer and she smiled at him a little sweeter, swam in right up close and personal, his magic nice and wrapped around her like the most beautiful little collar or necklace. Her touch was a whole lot softer too as she swept a pretty little finger over his neck.

    He calmed his own panic, keeping hold of the control on her desire, smiling back and checking her out. "Damn, you look good, though, you know? You gonna take me back up for some air now?" He was already nodding at her, because obviously that was the best idea. And thanks to that huge dose of magic, she thought it was a pretty fantastic idea too. She grabbed him and took him right up and he gasped a huge lung and a half full of perfect, beautiful oxygen.

    "Oh my god. You bout killed me there," he laughed, eyes dancing as he looked at her again. "I can get you some food, though. You gonna go out with me? I mean, I'm not all chesty and human anymore, you know, so bear with me, but I got this. I can make you happy. What do you say? You'll help me get over there to that shore, huh, and I'll do this thing as quick as I can and then we'll get outta here? What do you say?"

    He was definitely all for getting a little leg up to get to that shore. He was a great swimmer and all, but he'd take the easy way any day. Why exhaust himself when he could just get a little help? And of course his new baby did just that, swam right alongside him while he made his way to the beach, listening to him chat her up about a number of things. Like how beautiful she was, and how sexy he was, and his time in Peru where he kinda grew up, his stupid cat that he misses. Soon enough he was there and pulling himself up out of the water and onto the sand, turning around to look down at her sad puppy eyes and a little pout in her sweet mouth.

    "Aw, girl, don't do me like that. I'll be back, I promise. I just gotta do a thing then I'm all yours. We'll have us a great time. I'll make it up to you, you'll see." He flashed her another winning smile and turned away, ready to take on the damn day and be a hero.

    Chicks love a good hero. He's got this.

    Lochwood



    lochwood met a grabby mermaid but obv his good looks charmed her completely. they can't help it really.  Cool
    Reply
    #7
    He had failed them twice now, getting eaten in the second attempt and only bringing one flower back for them in the latest. They had still rewarded his attempt, but he knew if their success had rested solely on him, they would all be doomed. But perhaps that was part of the lesson, that no one person could save them. They had to work together. That even when they failed, at least they tried.

    So how could he not try, one last time?

    They had said from the beginning there would be four to gather, and though he didn’t understand how the items requested could be part of a cure for a plague, it wasn’t his job to figure that out. Such magics were way above his level; his was only to do his best to gather them up and bring them to the fairies who could do some good with them.

    He had only just left for Silver Cove by the time the call came once again. He’d meant to leave immediately, but his body had refused to listen, a confused, clashing array of magics still trying to settle into his skin as he recovered from the race back to the Mountain with a single white flower. Seemed like the moment he was able to pull together enough energy for the trip, the new quest presented itself. So he turned back, his body drawn inexorably back up the Mountain.

    Seashells this time, ones found specifically on Island Resort. He’d done this enough times that he just nodded, turned to look toward the island in question and look over the route, picking out the most efficient route based on terrain and obstacles and distance, and then set out. Back down the mountain, over the river, through the forest to avoid the more mountainous terrain to the north of it. Taking the flatter forest route would help conserve a bit of energy, and he’d learned well enough by now how to navigate his way through it.

    Loess was hilly, but not impossible. His little legs had far more strength and stamina than the first time the fairies had sent him traversing the continent in search of an ingredient for the cure. A tiny part of him wondered what his life would look like when it wasn’t devoted solely to serving the fairies in their mission to heal the world of the plague, but he quickly squashed that nervous little flutter. Best not get ahead of himself. There was no guarantee that would ever happen, and goodness knew he could still get eaten for real this time and wind up dead.

    The trek was largely uneventful though, and he skirted the borders of Sylva and Taiga on relative autopilot, keeping the vibrant fall colors of Sylva to his left and the darker, spookier evergreens of Taiga to his right until they both opened up into the lush, volcanic land of Tephra. There was something harsh and beautiful about the lava-laced land, mist shrouding the volcano adding an extra eerie note to the atmosphere. The humid air felt heavy and sticky though, and he let a think sheet of ice coat his skin, cooling him and making it easier to breathe.

    Just one last stretch to navigate before he reached the island, and that was of course the sea. This time the waters were warm and far calmer, an ocean mood he barely recognized given his last encounter. It had been icy and deadly, but perhaps it was just the frigid water around Icicle Isle that fought so hard to drag a body under and drown them. This ocean looked far more welcoming, though he eyed it warily before setting foot in the water.

    The warm water was disconcerting after his ventures across the stretch of sea that isolated Icicle Isle from the mainland. The water was clear and calm, and he let go of his icy coating and let it melt into the water beneath him as he waded out into the gentle waves. The fairy’s warning had been about the waters here, so he was on guard as he kicked off and started swimming toward the distant shoreline of the island.

    He was about halfway across when something slithered against his side, startling him and making him jerk away and stare intently into the water. He sighed with relief when he realized it was only a curious fish checking out the strange beast paddling through its home. One exasperated little snort and he was on his way again, now with a fishy bodyguard in tow. It followed him, nibbling on his tail, shimmying under his belly and making him snort and jump again, and thoroughly distracting him to the point where he missed a telltale ripple in the water and the cresting of a sharp dorsal fin circling around behind them.

    When it circled around to the front though, his eyes widened and he scrambled backward in the water, snorting out a nervous huff and angling his head to watch the fin and try to catch a glimpse of what it might be attached to. When that didn’t work, he ducked his head under the surface of the water and opened his eyes, ignoring the sting and HOLY FUCK WHAT WAS THAT?

    NOPE.

    He learned his lesson last time, thanks, that was a WHOLE LOT OF NOPE. His heart kicked into overdrive and he panicked and shot ice at the sharp-toothed swimming death machine, one hundred percent not interested in getting eaten again especially with those hungry black eyes staring at him like he was dinner. Noooope. ‘Course he still was not very practiced at using his ice power, and his aim was not the very best. His first round of frantic ice projectiles went everywhere, and all he managed to do was stab his poor fish friend through its fishy chest.

    Unfortunately for him, that meant blood in the water right next to him, and the terrifying death chomper abandoned his circle and angled in toward him, mouth opening wide as it lunged at him fuck fuck fuck fuck aaaah!

    Another panicked ice attack sent a sharp, thick icicle aiming at the beast’s eye, though “aim” was really a loose word. Frantically shooting through the water and happening to stab the fucker in the eyeball sounded more accurate. It thrashed and raged and turned right back to try and attack him again, oozing blood out of its mangled eye socket but apparently otherwise undeterred, the crazy fucker. Nocturne dodged to the side the best he could, his ice leaving a vague after-image of himself bobbing where he’d been just in time for the monster to chomp down on it, crunching rows of wickedly sharp teeth into it instead of into his soft, very chompable flesh.

    The death beast thrashed again, breaking off the ice sculpture him’s legs and head and chomping down ‘til it shattered beneath the force of its jaws, giving Nocturne a minute to swim away as fast as he could. But his little legs were no match for the predator’s speed and efficiency in the water, and it wasn’t long before it was powering toward him again. He squeaked and paddled frantically forward, but the shark closed in again, jaws opening wide for another try at biting into him and devouring him.

    This time his panicked, instinctive attack sent a spear of ice right into its gaping maw, piercing through the soft tissue at the back of its throat and through the back of its...head? Nocturne couldn’t really tell where head ended and body began, but he supposed it wasn’t terribly important anyhow. The beast thrashed some more and then went still, and Nocturne didn’t stick around long enough to examine its terrifying anatomy, just in case it was some kind of magical death beast that could jerk back to life and devour him if he was stupid enough to get too close. No thanks, not this time! Instead he kept swimming as fast as he could, racing to get to shore before something else showed up to eat him.

    His heart didn’t stop racing ‘til after he’d scrambled onto the shore, chest heaving and head drooping with exhaustion and relief. A few seashells, he could do that. And then swim back across monster-infested waters, no big deal. Really. Totally got this.
    Reply
    #8

    it's a guarantee that he won't forget me.
    my body little, my soul heavy.

    Nerine pushes her out once again.

    Though, this time one might think it is not the land (or that it never was) that sends her packing. It is habit, if not her internal self-loathing. At least once a week, Naia treks from the cruel wind of her father’s land and into whatever adventure might take her mind away. Funny, she thinks, that every time she wanders she finds something worth living for. A discovered grandmother, a queen in desperate need, a long lost sister . . . so on. Unfortunately, she finds it hard to remember those reasons most days and wanders as per usual.

    Fairies: the the mythical rulers of Beqanna are the ones that deliver an excuse to leave once again. Lucky for the restless appaloosa - she is shivering with depressive energy, the bits of repressed anger that vibrate like little volcanoes too ready to explode. Pine needles crunch beneath her hoof when she takes that first breatheless step over the border, though this time she cannot relish it for the sensation has become so normal.

    A brisk combination of cantering and galloping through Taiga and Hyaline brings her to the base of the mythical Mountain. The girl peers up its steep slope, an earned challenge gleaming like a jewel in her eyes. The scents of those that have travelled just before her fill her nostrils - land after foreign land (each developing a deeper desire to explore in the pit of her chest). A small smile creeps up her lips, sweet and silent and completely for herself. This quest’s distraction will do just fine.

    At the top of the terrain they gather, equines big and small lingering amongst all different walks of life. Glittering eyes catch hers as her gaze traces anxious lines over the crowd. Each takes in the fairy’s message in their own way: Naia, dancing on the tips of her hooves and swallowing back the impatient whickers in the back of her throat.

    As they all set forth, the girl lingers to be the last one once again. The appaloosa has never been one for crowds, even with an impending mission. She opts to let them scatter and flee, following suit once an appropriate distance has been set. Each quester seems to carry a comfortable pace to Island Resort, their lack of cyclical worry a bit soothing to her spinning mind. At least the trails they trampled offer some normalcy, though Naia constantly lives in denial of her need for stability.

    Through Loess, riding the border of Taiga and Sylva, then through the sulfur of Tephra: all to step upon the beach and allow the waves to wash gently against her hooves. Out amongst the waves there is a bobbing head or two, signs of the struggle the well-trained girl is sure to face. It is not the physical strain that she fears (being one that spends most of her time beating the ground and trunks of trees), but the psychological terror that might follow. Her last quest required a . . . burning of flesh she is not entirely fond of. Naia gulps, pale brown eyes watering when salt splashes into her face.

    No dropping out now, idiot.
    At least, that is what she tells herself.
    She cannot bear to disappoint herself anymore.

    The water is a warm hug, the shallows failing to warn of the violence the channel possesses. She paddles with strong legs: back and forth in rapid succession, all in the fight to stay afloat. Settling into the controlled breathing of exertion is so comforting that she does not notice the leviathan only a tiny bit larger than her. It slithers beneath her, winding between her legs in the uncomfortable boneless manner that serpents possess. Its intelligence is daring and terrifying, dodging within an inch of Naia’s skin over and over again.

    Cruelty shines in the creature’s eyes when the determined appaloosa draws close to the shore. It can sense her relief at spotting others shaking the water from their fur just within reach of breaching waves. The golden sand gleams in her eyes when it finally strikes, opting to toy with her instead of using predator’s fangs right away.

    Sharp fins deliver minimal cuts to her side when it bumps into her side. A startled cry rings from her lips before the leviathan’s push knocks her off balance and sends her head beneath water. It is there, saltwater stinging her eyes, that the gleaming red eyes meet her’s. Naia thinks she can see its canines gleaming in a ferocious grin. Glowing algae and fluttering seaweed waver around its shrouded face. The girl rears her head back to the surface just in time to catch a full gasp of air before the creature drags her back underneath. The salt stings bite marks on Naia’s right front pastern and fetlock. She forces her eyes open against the pain of the water, catching sight of the serpent as it wriggles around her. It circles to the front and just below her front legs, mouth open to rip at her stomach when it darts forward. With a barely quick enough thought, the girl launches her uninjured front leg into its face, feeling a satisfying connection. Stunned, the leviathan drifts back to the bottom tauntingly out of reach, dark scales glowing amongst the waving seaweed.

    She thinks she has won - she is wrong.

    Its crimson eyes snap open; instead of reaching for air, Naia forces herself watch the serpent as it tries to get its bearings.

    Think, Naia, think . . .
    She remembers the fairy’s gift.

    With short concentration, the seaweed begins to sprout thicker and thicker. What tendrils were already long grow even longer, and when the snake tries to lurch toward the appaloosa again it gets caught in the shivering seaweed that tangles in its rapid growth. Not waiting to see if it escapes, she resurfaces with a too desperate gasp and paddles her legs much harder than she has ever trained them.

    Naia stumbles onto the sand, favoring the leg with puncture wounds, chest heaving in unresolved panic.

    Naia


    naia fights a small leviathan, beats it by tangling in seaweed she urges to grow, but has puncture wounds in her right front leg
    Reply
    #9

    oh, this my weapon, this my loam. this my blood, this my bone.

    He has heard the call of the fae.

    Of course he has—all of Beqanna has heard them at this point.

    He has ignored them though.

    He has been young and stubborn and too busy with his own life. But Wonder has answered, and he has heard her stories, and although her tale is stained with sorrow, he cannot stop the ache in his heart to have his own version of it—to strike out and find the faeries and do what he can to assist in this.

    (It is a selfish desire though; there is nothing pure-hearted or kind about it.)

    Still, self-centered as he may be, he still answers. He still unfurls dragon wings and lifts himself into the sky, flying from Tephra—across Sylva, Loess, and then cutting through the border of the forest and Hyaline until he is able to land on the Mountain. He is quiet; young but stern, his grey eyes somber as he studies the fae, showing little reaction to what they say and how the others around him respond.

    He simply nods—despite the clenching of his stomach, the pounding of his heart.

    When he turns from them, he sets his gaze back from where he came and there is something like a bite of disappointment in his belly to return to home so quickly after he had left. But he doesn’t refuse. He does what they ask, and the journey across the lands is quick, albeit tiring to his young bones. When he lands on the coast, he can practically sense the wolves in the corner of his consciousness. He feels them, and it drives him forward, the sense of potential parental oversight enough to spur him further into action.

    Brigade dives eagerly into the waves and the tide that waits. He has never spent much time in the water—being much more inclined to the air—and he finds that he does not like it much. He does not like the way that it pulls at him. The way that it laps over his back and the way he drinks the water, inhaling it into his lungs. He feels the salt sticking to his impossibly red coat, his antlered head fighting to stay above water.

    Perhaps that’s why he doesn’t even think about what lurks below.

    He is young and brash and so focused on what lies ahead that the faeries’ warning slips from him entirely.

    Until it is too late.

    He feels the tentacles brush against a leg and he snorts wildly as the water around him begins to churn. Then another tentacle wraps around his ankle and he jumps forward in the water, something like panic beginning to settle like a stone in his chest. When the water grows violent and the beast emerges, his grey eyes are rimmed with white, the thin flesh of his nostrils flaring, the rest of the world falling away.

    He has never seen a Kraken before. Has no name for it.

    But he knows violence and this is it.

    It is not much of a fight—the two year old colt against the ancient beast. It toys with him mostly, although it does not feel like play. He can feel the suction of it as he kicks out, as he bites, as he thrusts his youthful horns into its direction. Brigade scrapes at it and the Kraken lands blow after blow. It slips from his grasp and it wraps around him, pulling him down into churning water to release him—gasping for air.

    Brigade is already exhausted from the flight to and from the mountain, the time already spent swimming. He is young. He is untried. He has everything going against him, but he refuses to give up. Refuses to give in. Instead, he continues fighting, baring his teeth at the beast as bits and pieces of it emerge.

    Refuses to surrender even as it begins to pull him down, as the teeth of it emerge.

    The reality that this could be the end does not escape him, but he refuses to be cowed by the bite and threat of death. Instead, it brings a strange clarity to him—clearing the fog from his mind. He reacts, remembering his strange wings. As he enters into the monster’s mouth, as the lips begin to close around him, they shift by his side. They turn from feather to black stone, the obsidian so common around his volcanic home turning jagged. They unfurl and he flares them out with as much force as he can muster.

    The volcanic glass slices through the soft, fleshy mouth of the Kraken, and he hears its guttural cry as his wings pierce and tear. In the end, its cries meld with his own as it bites down in anguish and opens his mouth to eject him from it. In a blinding moment of pain, Brigade feels the tooth dig into his shoulder and then break off, the incisor lodging itself into his flesh, right near the joint of the very wing that saved him.

    Brigade’s vision goes spotted and then blurry as he finds himself fighting the froth and foam of the surface. Slowly the Kraken begins to recede, the choppy waters beginning to settle again, and Brigade notices that the ocean is stained red and ink with a mixture of his and the Kraken’s blood.

    He coughs and wheezes and fights to keep his head above water.

    There is no small part of him that wants to go home.

    There is a youthful part of him that fears what is to come, that desperately wants to be a child again curled next to his wolfish father and wild mother and their pack. He misses his sister.

    He wants home.

    But he is not a child anymore and he sets his jaw, biting his tongue to stop himself from crying out at the throbbing pain in his shoulder. His wings once again shift, turning beautiful. The rock slips away and in its place is something of the sea. It is gelatinous in material, soft and webbed and iridescent—the sheen of it so similar to Irisa that his heart aches. Determined to not let his family down, to not let her down, he turns once more to the coming shore and begins to beat his wings in the water, shooting forward faster.

    When he reaches the shore, he stumbles up on it, blood draining and dripping onto the sand.

    He says nothing—just closes his eyes and waits for the trembling to subside.

    Reply
    #10

    Vadar

    Seven characteristics are in an uncultivated person, and seven in a learned one

    In the gasp of a breath everything around Vadar shifts into a blur, then falls away. Hadn’t he just been with Eight in Pangea? He remembers the winged stallion urging him Up, in fact he’d been on the verge of saying something as well but … now he was here. His eerie red eyes glance around.

    “-are in need of seashells,” One horse is talking, with others of the like milling around and listening. There wasn’t much to see outside of that; everything seemed obscured in a hazy cloud. Vadar could only make out one lone, hardy tree clinging to the rock surface that supported them all. Eight was nowhere to be found. “You must swim to the island” The talking one is saying and that catches his attention, making him turn around and face forward.

    Others are already leaving. “To Island Re … across Beqa … on foot?” He mumbles aloud to no one. Even the fey have left now. “At least I feel better.” The black comments, winding down the goat-trail from the tip of the mountain. Probably due to whatever “Eight” did to him back in the wastelands. That minor healing even serves to get him as far as the borderline of Taiga and Loess before wearing off completely. Huffing along in pain, he realizes he should be grateful at least.

    By the time he’s slogging across the shoreline of Tephra, however, Vadar is cursing the magician. “Should’ve just …” The stallion wheezes into the breeze, his knees teetering in and out of the ocean surf, “… let me die. Let me -” He pauses. Suspiciously his head twists around. Something on the land moved, or rolled. “Who knows what lies in the water below, very funny.” Erupts from him in a growl, water lapping against his bare, pink legs.

    Vadar didn’t like the feel of this place.

    He felt a prick - no, a sting - of pain and looked down to see the gleaming eye of a predator, it’s jaw locked securely around the meaty, exposed section of his foreleg and that was it. All the time he could’ve spent reacting was gone and Vadar was suddenly underwater, being drug down while he screamed out air bubbles.

    He thought for sure he was going to die, but the light above hadn’t even faded when the tugging stopped, abruptly. Something, (to his increasing horror) something bigger was rising from below, three solid fingers of muck-covered stone grasping out at what Vadar now realized was a feral kelpie, closing in over it and squeezing tight until the creature let go of him.

    Unthinkingly, the bleeding horse began to swim upwards. His light beam emission was useless, (light refracted in water) and the rock monster wasn’t curious of him. Yet.
    It only shook the wild kelpie, lifted a stone paw, and pushed Vadar into a swirl of water that lifted like a wave towards Island Resort. He and his blood tumbled once or twice then washed ashore in a flare of bright red, painting the sand for a moment as he coughed a heaving breath. Seaweed littered his mane.

    Seconds later, a smooth boulder rose from the ocean (something of a bald head interrupting the sea) and with lifelike hollows for eyes it peered at Vadar. Beside it, the dead kelpie bobbed to the surface and stayed; a warning for others. He felt as if he should say thank you, or nod, but as he looked on the rock monster fell to pieces. “A fever dream.” The sick traveler murmured.

    Black swept his vision; Vadar fainted.

    Info/Ref



    The 'rock monster' is Vadar's golem (though he's not totally aware it was his creation) that saved him from being eaten by a feral kelpie.
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