WATCH THE FLAMES CLIMB HIGH INTO THE NIGHT

How alike they were, the two wanderers. She'd chuckle at the resemblance if she could, but alas, today marked the beginning of their acquaintance - perhaps later they would reminisce together over their similarities. She had fought, she had loved, she had ruled, she had lost, and she had died. And when she'd returned some years ago, to where had she ran first? The meadow. For like him, it would always be a home despite her heartfelt allegiances; the place where she'd met her soulmate; the only place that Beqanna left alone in the Reckoning.

What she did not consider, however, as her gaze lingered on the dappled man, was that he might be even more of a legend than herself. In truth, much of Beqanna was made up of new blood these days; faces from far, far before were nearly extinct. Scorch and Brennen were among the oldest residents; so you couldn't blame the ugly mare for figuring that this plain-looking stallion was probably among the new-bloods. How wrong she was.

The three-quarter moon shed little light on the meadow, but with an extra lid flicked over her roiling red-yellow eyes, Scorch watched the stallion in nightvision. He seemed calm, if a little boring, eyeing the few other meadow-dwellers without expression; a small burr of interest left Scorch's charred lips. Despite his relative plainness, something about him left her curious. The bare skin of her back twitched away the summer flies, having no tail to aid her; when they became too pesky, tiny and precise zaps of light flared where they buzzed and, falling, they were no more.

Figuring that this little show had outed her, Scorch heaved forward from where she stood leaning against a side-lined tree to approach the stallion who'd so easily captured her attentions. Her brow furrowed as she attempted to place him - but she'd lived two lives now, and faces faded faster than she cared to admit. When a comfortable distance remained between them, she halted; and then took another step forward. They needn't be overheard by the meadow-dwellers.

"Hello," came her brusque voice, low and choppy due to her vocal chords having been charred a lifetime ago. For some time, that simple word hung in the air between them with the same energy as the little zaps she'd killed the flies with; tantalizing, to creatures of their size. Her eyes held his own, guarded, and yet, curious.

At long last, she spoke again. "You've been here before." A statement; not a question.

Scorch

Once Khaleesi of the Amazon Jungle

WATCH THE FLAMES CLIMB HIGH INTO THE NIGHT

She'd been like him, once, though only for a very short period of her life (her first four years, if she remembered correctly); normal, uninteresting - a bay roan mare with little else to her than spitfire attitude and dazzling green eyes. In truth, had it not been for the dragon dream and the fire that'd followed her from that dream back to reality, she would still be that regular-looking mare: all of her magicks are psychic. Though I suppose if you count her eyes - gifts of that dragon dream - she does have one fancy thing.

But for a mare as hideous as her, she deserved her sparkling eyes.

His eyes went to her sparks of light with the alertness only intelligent creatures bore, and she smiled to see it. She felt as though there were two types of men these days: the brothers of Ischia, and the absolute jack asses who thought they could rule Beqanna with one wimpy spiel to take a crown. Amateurs; if she had less allegiance to Nerine, she would show them how it's done - but alas, no matter how much she gnashed her teeth for need of power, she would remain obedient to the Amazons first. Always.

The stallion opposite her allowed an equally reserved greeting, and for a time, their eyes did the talking for them. As the night air billowed around them, Scorch wondered at her dappled companion; at the years she saw in the depths of his eyes, and in the way he seemed to just fit perfectly here. Something about him, and yet... What was it? A determination solidified in her gut. I will find out.

His vague answer to her statement gives rise to a smirk on her charred lips; not one of contempt, but of interest and friendliness. She liked this man; liked his elusive, blase character. Perhaps because she was neither of those things; but opposites attract, dontcha know? Her head tilted a little teasingly at the question, as though in thought; but when she straightened her head to answer, it came honestly and with intrigue.

"Those who are not from here don't stand the way you do, my friend." She looked at him pointedly, wondering at just how ancient he must be; for the more she stood in his presence, the more she realized how great a history there had been in Beqanna before even herself. She stood at the hooves of a legend... Or at least, she felt that way. "You are a part of Beqanna's life energy. I can see you pulsing with Her heartbeat."

As the little bit of poetry came from her unworthy mouth, a stallion came to interrupt. Scorch snorted irately at his untimely arrival, and stepped away from him and closer to the legend as her private space was intruded upon. He introduced himself, and she flicked an ear in disinterest. She hadn't the time for stallions who placed themselves in the second category she'd established for Beqannian men - and if first impressions were anything, this new stallion was among that group.

Shoulders rolling as she was forced to settle into this new position, Scorch half-listened to this Arthas, and then to the other's response. At it's brusqueness, a grin came unbidden to the mare's lips; what surprises this meadow-dweller held! In her lifetime, she'd yet to meet another with the same ability to deliver scathing remarks; perhaps this Everclear would give her a run for her money.

(She did not recognize his name as one of legend, but still, she hoped; no, she believe.)

"I came because I see you." The weight of her gaze implied that she did not mean literally, but rather, that she could see his years; his wisdom; his compatibility to everything she upheld and believed. A glance was spared to Arthas, but she continued to address the dappled stallion in the end - perhaps if she knew this man had overtaken a kingdom just earlier this week, that would be different. "My name is Scorch, though a name means little."

Scorch

Once Khaleesi of the Amazon Jungle

WATCH THE FLAMES CLIMB HIGH INTO THE NIGHT

If there'd ever been one thing Scorch - or, frankly, any Amazon - didn't care about, it was how her disposition made unimportant stallions feel while they met each other in passing. No, even more than that - she didn't care what anyone thought of her, nor how her actions "reflected" upon Nerine. The Amazons were fiery, biting, and male-hating back in the day - the fact that the dappled stallion couldn't seem to swallow her very mild attitude today all but made her chuckle. Oh, he'd have been eaten alive back in the day - eaten alive.

But the mare ignores Arthas and lets him give his spiel about filling kingdoms, blatantly asking Everclear if he'd want to join Loess. Scorch flicked an ear; last she heard, Loess had been a dead kingdom, inhabited only by Castile and Lepis. Who was this man now? She planned to find out. But for now, her attention slunk back to Everclear, to this stallion who's heartbeat truly did thrum with that of the land's. An immortal - and not a new one by any means. She watched for his reaction to Arthas, wondering if he would feel the rift between them the same way Scorch did; age and experience showed, even if it did not show physically. For Everclear looked as youthful as Arthas himself, and dappled, too - but this similarity of appearance was perhaps the only thing shared between them.

He laughed with smoky tones that brought a knowing smile to Scorch's lips, and she dipped her head when he allowed that his name never truly fit him. While she couldn't say the same herself, she could understand the dissociation between name and true identity. Soul, if you will. "Well, it becomes you today," She responded easily - for his presence here was everclear, at least to her; like she'd said. She saw him for what he was - and not as another body to fill out the ranks.

They both had stories - they could spend the rest of their lives contentedly swapping them.

But he was asking of her own kingdom allegiance now, and she sighed as if to say well, you forced this to become a recruiting scenario, friend; not me. Still, the tail end of the breath came with a smile, her molten eyes glimmering proudly as she began to speak of her homeland. "Where I come from carries with it the name and ideologies of a land that even you ought to remember, Everclear." Her voice turned up mischievously, musing herself at the preservation of Beqanna; undying, as it were.

"The legend of the Amazons lives on in Nerine, the coastal kingdom due north." In the darkness of the night, Scorch called to herself threads of light. The dancing figures illuminated her broad, baroque chest, and on its right side, a hand-sized red rose and vine shimmered. She'd won the marking from the Games; no other Sister carried the tattoo anymore - and indeed, this tiny marking was barely a shadow of how painted they used to be. Especially her - when she'd ruled, she'd been covered in living flame, mutilations proudly hidden.

After they'd had their look at the tattoo, Scorch dispelled the threads of light and darkness returned to the midnight trio. "But we are not the Amazons of Old - just their continuation. We take men among our ranks now - anyone willing to pledge themselves to the Sisterhood, to the good of Nerine." She eyed the stallion evenly, wondering exactly what he would think of this new chapter in the Amazon's long, long history. Her smile widened, and she couldn't help but ask a final question.

"Had you any ties to the Amazon Jungle, Everclear?"

Scorch

Once Khaleesi of the Amazon Jungle