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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


    [open]  Free Falling | Any
    #1
    Jah-Lilah
    if you don’t love me now, then you’ll never love me again
    Rock on, ancient queen, follow those who pale in your shadow.


    The woman had woke with a start, alert and aloof although it hadn’t even reached midnight yet. Another fever dream, another memory of the vagabond pegasus to haunt her in the blackness of Beqanna. The mare had moved on from him in every way she could think of, until finally it hit her like a ton of bricks. The epiphany had come easily, and it was this intense need to at last be free of his chains that caused her to shake the sleep from her pregnant frame and go on a journey.  

    It was nearly identical to the path that brought her here, the road that she traveled, with a few shortcuts and detours scattered along the way. The wytch needed the ocean, required the bare moonlight, unhindered on it’s way to the earth by forests or mountains. The river’s end where it spilled out into the vast, restless sea would be the ideal location for her ceremony. Plus one never disposes of the remains of any negative or breaking spell in one’s own yard. The pilgrimage would take her two or three days in her current state, but that was fine. After all, she was pregnant, not crippled or made of glass. She knew her consort would notice her absence, but doubt he would worry. He knew her intimately enough to know this was just a side effect of her roving spirit, but she belonged to him. Plus she had no interest in disguising her scent, if he wanted to follow he was and always would be more than welcome.

    The Earth-Mother only knows what I’d be without you.

    The mare had paused at his wisteria plant prior to her departure, rubbing her copper body all the way around the great landmark. The bark and her pelt now reeked of one another, a fair exchange. She had nodded in satisfaction, this was her equivalent of leaving him a note, and she rested a bit easier knowing there was no way he’d be unable to locate her now, if he so desired to seek her out.

    Along her way south, she had collected remnants of her old life with the Wind, momentos she no longer wanted to keep close. Cat-tail reeds from a pond they would frequent to bathe, tall stalks of golden oats that grew wild in the Meadow, it had always been his favorite afternoon snack, a feather from a gull she found trailing her down the brook. The feather had given her a bit of trouble to catch, it floated on the water’s surface, narrowly avoiding her capture. When she grew tired and frustrated with the game of her own creation, she cornered it and added it to her collection.

    One with the earth, with the sky, one with everything in life.

    At last she reaches the shore, and standing on the edge of the world, she loses herself for a moment watching the river flow into the sea. Taking in the forward moving energy it emits, she closes her eyes and inhales deeply. What she knows she must do will not be easy nor painless, but it is necessary, and she is aware she’ll feel lighter upon it’s completion. Her electric ability awakens now, sending a refreshing jolt through her body. Her ability seems ready to perform as well, and she smiles. The mare just needed this conviction of the heart to push her here, and she has it now. The bizarre and subliminal urge to hold onto the past has left her, and she knew it would be only a matter of time until this day came. How delightful to at last have the will to fight for her own freedom from this man’s chains.

    Narrowing her eyes, she recalls all the negativity, all the loneliness she experienced while with him. Gathering kindling, she thumbs through her mental database, seeking the incantation she needs on this night. The full moon will come to her tomorrow, and she will be ready for it. Ready to rid herself of him. Unaware if anyone has followed her, she wouldn’t care if they did. The more soul pressure, the better. When she is satisfied with her take for the night, she beds down, eagerly awaiting the following day and night, so she may commence with her ritual.


    Pale shadow of a woman, black widow shadow, she’s a dragon, the gold-dust woman.
    you can still hear me saying you will never break the chain
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    #2
    Pond
    Change seems to be the only constant thing in Pond’s life (which is somewhat ironic given the conflict between the two words). New experiences were delivered to her in abundance, whether she sought them or they sought her. In her early youth, her adventurous nature had led her to many strange places and odd encounters; now, it seems that the world will move on whether she follows it or falls behind.

    Perhaps she should have known this already after waking into strange surroundings long after the events of The Reckoning. She had been so lost and frightened, but Belgaer had taken pity on her only to deliver the heart-wrenching news that everything she had known of her homeland from before had been obliterated. It had been a difficult adjustment, but his invitation to live in Ischia among the Brotherhood that harkened back to a time she knew had intrigued her.

    Her short time there had been agreeable, even though she never felt quite at home among the tropical jungle islands. Once more, her wandering spirit had taken hold and wandered alone for some time. She now regrets this, since another shift had occurred during her general isolation. The kingdoms had changed their format once again and her former home is now a subsidiary of a small conglomerate and Brennen and Belgaer no longer lived there. At least, that was what she could only presume since she hasn’t overheard his name in conversations concerning Ischia - only someone named Isobell and her champion Ivar. (Little does she know, Ivar is her very own great-nephew.)

    She hadn’t been present when Brennen had stepped down and invited the Brotherhood to move to Nerine with him and so once more, she finds herself homeless.

    It is not quite as painful as before, losing her home, but there is a chalky, dusty sort of hollow feeling in the shallows of her heart that she cannot shake nonetheless. It seems difficult for her to hold on to anything anymore, each memory a mere flickering cloud in a vast sky with no connections at all.

    She is wandering along the coast in the southwest, one ear trained on the foggy sound of the ocean waves nearby and the other swiveling forward and sideways in a lazy pattern, intent to take stock of her surroundings as much as possible. Her silvery-gray eyes catch the moonlight and focus much more clearly than her hearing can, so for the most part she is confident enough to walk alone when the night falls. Typically, in the quieter parts of Beqanna, she tended to avoid traveling once the sun had set; at least in the daylight she can see shadows and need not fear relying on her damaged hearing. Tonight she makes an exception to the rule.

    And perhaps this change in her routine will become a fortuitous one. Up ahead is the unmistakable figure of a horse bedded down on the shoreline, silhouetted amidst the milky glow of the waxing gibbous moon that rises gradually overhead. At first, Pond considers whether or not to give the stranger a berth and leave them to their rest, but as the filly draws closer she is taken by the vivid red coat the mare wears. It reminds her of her mother, and even of her elder brother, for they had both had similarly vibrant red bodies.

    With that, she gives in to the impulse to approach the resting mare, though she walks with light and careful steps, head held low so as not to seem intimidating (as if anyone could see the small, slight girl as any sort of threat). The shadowy wings upon her back seem to glimmer slightly in the moonlight when she shifts them to hug closer to her sides; they are nearly transparent in the darkness, dim and wispy more like smoke than any sort of shade.

    “Pardon me,” she speaks in a voice that is soft like flowers, if a little timid. “Would you mind if I join you?” It seems such an abrupt proposition that she feels a by embarrassed asking it so, as justification, she adds: “It’s such a lovely evening,” she lifts her nose toward the glimmering sea to indicate her meaning, “it seems a bit of a shame to spend it alone.”




    @[Jah-Lilah] @[Drea] ...such rambling e.e
    Reply
    #3
    Jah-Lilah
    listen to the wind blow, watch the sun rise
    It’s over, give me my heart back, you can keep the headaches, just give me all of me back.


    For years she had tried to forget him. The crimson wytch had been disguising and denying her emotions minute after minute, hour after hour. Hours turned into days, then weeks, then months. Then years. She hadn’t had the strength or mental fortitude until now to truly liberate herself of him, and perhaps that was because she hadn’t wanted to, not until now. Perhaps there had been some sliver of hope deep inside of her that she was clinging to, hoping he’d return, hoping they could have the family she’d been promised. That part of her was dead now.

    Countless nights when sleep had evaded her, her only comfort her tears and her daughter, she had waited for him. He never came. Then she started to see that she wept not for him, but for the beautiful life she had envisioned for them and their progeny. She was better off without him, for in all actuality he didn’t deserve her, nor her water-bending lover Circinae. He would go where the wind blew him, making eyes at several other creatures when he thought she didn’t notice. So many red flags ignored while wearing the rose-tinted glasses love provided.

    It was a blessing and a curse, being an empath and experiencing every emotion so passionately. The narcissists always knew how to find her, but she’d always been able to spot them and beat them at their own game. He was the king of kings though, and she had to give credit where credit was due. Now the wool is pulled back though, and all has been made clear. No longer will she be crushed by the weight of his ever-famished ego, his time here is done.

    The pain in her still broken heart seeps steadily from her eyes in the form of tears, and although her Dragon-King had begun to mend what had been destroyed, still she grieved. Not one, but two parts of her triangle gone now, she was all that was left. The fiery woman would not give up so easily, and she couldn’t believe it had taken her so long to realize that the soul-tie between them had never been severed. The wytch was here tonight on this beach to split the knot that binds them together, so she may truly give herself wholly to her new partner. If she hadn’t been so deep in her furious but necessary brooding, she probably would have taken note of the light hoofbeats approaching in the darkness. When the filly appears on her radar, she snaps Jah-Lilah from her reminiscing.

    Blinking several times, she tilts her head and flares her nostrils, inhaling intensely. When the girl’s odor reaches her olfactory glands, her brain receives a plethora of information, and as she sorts through it, it is a welcome distraction from her previous musings. Visually, the timid filly is stunning. Her pale coat is a unique color, not quite roan but far from solid, accented with a lovely sable mane and tail. The creature is dainty, but whatever blend of genes she has has blessed her with a thick, lush mane and tail. The mare is young, but only on the outside. The aura surrounding her beams with the healthy glow of immortality though she’s been tainted with whatever blight had invaded Beqanna in Jah-Lilah’s absence. It is a pity, but doesn’t appear to dim the girl’s life force. What good fortune.

    But it is not her pelt nor her immortality that captivates the soothsayer as the other mare stands vulnerable in the sands before her. No, it is the shadowy but tangible wings that sprout perfectly from the filly’s shoulders. The singer has never seen such appendages on an equine before! Trance finally broken when she speaks, her voice is shy but wavers not. She sounds like the wind when it breezes through the leaves, although it is not strong, still it moves the branches. My flower-child takes delight in her immediately.

    Breaking into a toothy grin, she bobs her dome and whickers softly. The call she emits is not unlike the one she has used countless times when beckoning for her own progeny. It is the signal a mother uses when her babe is lost, or when they are straying too far. It is an invitation to come home, to the warmth and security only found in the embrace and the bosom of love. And love is one thing Jah-Lilah has in spades. When the little mare asks if she may join the conjurer at the fireside, the woman gladly obliges.

    ”Yes, come. You reek of old magic but have the fresh soul of youth. There is power in numbers, and any who wish to break ties will find this fire to their liking.” Always speaking in riddles, Jah-Lilah grunts and rises to her feet, anxious to know this being better. She knows not why the Earth-Mother sent this little thing to her this evening, just in time for such an intense ceremony, but the company is more than welcome.

    ”What brings you to my fire this evening child?” She asks as she shakes sand from her hide and steps closer, reaching to caress the pale crest of the girl. Invading her space, she allows her dark lips to mouth at the base of the sable mane, forgetting not all are as touchy-feely as she.


    You don’t have to lie no more, we’re not seeing eye to eye no more.
    break the silence, damn the dark, damn the light



    @[Pond] Hope it's ok!
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