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+---- Thread: [open] pass the potion (/showthread.php?tid=26970)
pass the potion - Brujeria - 05-18-2020
b r u j e r i a
pass the potion
RE: pass the potion - Ivar - 05-19-2020
 i'll use you as a makeshift gauge of how much to give and how much to take The sea calls him to him, and yet Ivar stands on the bank of a shallow creek, sipping the cold water as though it is of only mild appeal. Were the creek deeper, the desire to submerge himself would be stronger, but he has made his way up from the River (and before that the Sea) with a single-minded purpose. Stealing the Ischia Dane’s children has given him courage. Or perhaps it had simply started the always inevitable countdown until he was finally caught and punished for his crimes. Ivar does not look guilty, standing in the new spring grass. In fact, he looks quite normal, at least by Beqanna standards. His coloring is eye-catching, sapphire blue and mother-of-pearl instead of tobiano, lines of gold like the Ischian sand dividing the color. He has no wings or horns or scales, and the sharp teeth that line his entire jaw are hidden by an ineffective equine mouth. With his head lowered to drink, the stallion’s still-wet mane hangs across his face. He has been drinking slowly, lazily even, but the moment that someone steps into the water upstream, he grows quite still. The kelpie lifts his head, peering with one half-covered golden eye at the distant mare. He can see little of her from this distance, but he doesn’t need to. He wades into the water without thinking, and the horsehair of his hide ripples and transforms, and by the time he reaches the palomino he is scaled, and the limiting lips of a horse have pulled back to reveal instead a wide and crocodilian-toothed mouth. And yet despite that (or perhaps because of it?) Ivar is still impossibly handsome. His kind have been luring innocents for years, and it is all too clear how they do so. His golden eyes trace the tines of her pink antlers curiously. Isobell would love those, he decides. She’d fawned over the amethyst horn he’d brought her from that feisty chestnut for days; surely a matched set of pink antlers will make up for whatever wrongs he might commit this week. Having followed the antlers from tip to base, Ivar now meets the stranger’s eyes with a slow smile that reveals even more of his many teeth. He’s taken just a little too long to greet her, perhaps just long enough to make her uncomfortable, but that is his forte. “Do you like the spiders?” He asks, his voice a low rumble that matches the humor in his bright eyes, “Or are you just not able to shoo them away?” @[Brujeria] that if you talk enough sense then you'll lose your mind |
RE: pass the potion - Beryl - 05-19-2020
@[Ivar] @[Brujeria]
RE: pass the potion - Eurwen - 05-19-2020
Eurwen
the secret of walking on water
is knowing where the rocks lie
is knowing where the rocks lie
Her homeland seems empty nowadays, what with Brazen as the only adult she could really talk to. Although she is in no hurry to get Lilliana back - she started it, so she’d better just sit this one out - she still misses the chestnut mare for their daily conversations; even if it was mostly complaining about their twins’ behaviour.
Her visit to Taiga recently, had also been long overdue. Truthfully, she wonders what makes a good diplomat, what makes a good queen - what makes a good anything, really. Is someone a good guardian for smiling pleasantly at the border, or if they scare people off? What good is a queen who tries to be friends with everyone - but is standing steadfast and not letting people in, just as bad?
Is it good enough of her to just try? She can only hope.
Her trip to the Field, she spends in somewhat of a worry. But as her dark brown, near-black eyes land on the trio - one pink-antlered mare being approached by two others - she figures why the heck not just try and make the best of it. She smiles a little at the sight of their coloring - the new mare with her pink assets, the tobiano being sapphire and gold-rimmed, the palomino with the galaxy markings. She fits right in, what with her rose-golden mane glimmering metallically in the sun, her leopard body spotted with soft pink instead of the red they used to be.
She is soft-spoken, though those that pay her any second mind might notice that she probably won’t budge when pushed too far. ”Welcome to Beqanna,” she offers the mare with a somewhat-knowing smile.
By now, she knows what the new ones look like, after all - taking their first steps into the unknown, they just have that look about them. There’s always some who surprise her, but most of the newcomers to this world, to the main island and it’s kingdoms, they look different from the ones who were born here and simply need a new home.
Her visit to Taiga recently, had also been long overdue. Truthfully, she wonders what makes a good diplomat, what makes a good queen - what makes a good anything, really. Is someone a good guardian for smiling pleasantly at the border, or if they scare people off? What good is a queen who tries to be friends with everyone - but is standing steadfast and not letting people in, just as bad?
Is it good enough of her to just try? She can only hope.
Her trip to the Field, she spends in somewhat of a worry. But as her dark brown, near-black eyes land on the trio - one pink-antlered mare being approached by two others - she figures why the heck not just try and make the best of it. She smiles a little at the sight of their coloring - the new mare with her pink assets, the tobiano being sapphire and gold-rimmed, the palomino with the galaxy markings. She fits right in, what with her rose-golden mane glimmering metallically in the sun, her leopard body spotted with soft pink instead of the red they used to be.
She is soft-spoken, though those that pay her any second mind might notice that she probably won’t budge when pushed too far. ”Welcome to Beqanna,” she offers the mare with a somewhat-knowing smile.
By now, she knows what the new ones look like, after all - taking their first steps into the unknown, they just have that look about them. There’s always some who surprise her, but most of the newcomers to this world, to the main island and it’s kingdoms, they look different from the ones who were born here and simply need a new home.
@[Brujeria]@[Beryl]@[Ivar]
RE: pass the potion - Brujeria - 05-20-2020
b r u j e r i a
pass the potion
RE: pass the potion - Ivar - 05-21-2020
i'll use you as a makeshift gauge of how much to give and how much to take When she tells him she does not mind the spiders, Ivar responds by rolling his shoulders in the semblance of a shrug. He does not mind them either, his body language says; he was simply making conversation. “Ischia,” he responds to the mare’s query about where he is from, encouraged by the curiosity she shows. “My name is Ivar.” Then something moves at the corner of his vision, another golden mare who has arrived from downwind of them, the sound of her footfalls hidden by the chatter of the stream. Ivar turns to look up at her, his curious eyes lingering on the brightly colored marking. It’s a pity the skins waste away so quickly. They are often more colorful than the bits that he is able to preserve. The palomino comes closer, drinking from the water without fear, and addresses them both with a smile and a hello. A third mare joins them not long afterward, and her spots and the briney scent of the Nerinian sea on her skin are nearly as alluring as the water. Nearly, but not quite, and so the kelpie remains where he is, the water rippling around his scaled legs. The spotted one welcomes the antlered one to Beqanna, though still the pink-haired mare moves a little farther away before answering with a single word that he assumes must be her name. Crowded by the three of them, he wonders, or just wary by nature? There is silence then, which Ivar breaks just before it grows uncomfortable. “I am from Ischia,” he repeats, though this time it is said for all of their company and not simply the palomino in the water. “Here to find someone in need of a home. If white sand beaches, endless summers, and a few other mares to keep you company sound at all appealing, perhaps that someone might be you?” The kelpie speaks casually, the offer seeming simple. And it is, because while he doesn’t mention what else might wait for her in Ischia, it’s quite possible nothing does. It will not be a struggle to keep her alive long enough to see if she can bear him kelpie children, not with how disappointing this years crop of foals has been. His better children will eat well, and Bru will be in little danger, tucked away safe in paradise. His mind wanders as he waits for an answer, and he decides that he will visit Nerine soon. Is it a coincidence that woman is both spotted and from Nerine, or has fate favored him yet again? Might this be another of Breckin’s daughters, he wonders? He had gotten rid of the woman after the two girls she bore him lacked any kelpie attributes, and while the satisfaction of drowning her is one of his favorite memories, he thinks that he would not mind making more with the golden-maned appaloosa. @[Beryl] @[Eurwen] @[Brujeria] that if you talk enough sense then you'll lose your mind |
RE: pass the potion - Beryl - 05-23-2020
RE: pass the potion - Eurwen - 05-24-2020
Eurwen
the secret of walking on water
is knowing where the rocks lie
is knowing where the rocks lie
The mare in the middle seems to be a little overwhelmed - something that Eurwen can relate to, these days. However much she may be strong enough to carry her worries alone, at least for a while, she feels very much like she doesn’t want to - at least, not for too long, and not by just herself. What is the point of carrying weights and worries, the point of leading and ruling, if she can’t share it with anyone? For that alone, she knows she will never want or crave power, in fact she resents it.
She doesn’t need power to bring changes, to steer the world bit by bit into the direction she might want it to go. The rose-gold maned mare knows how to change - herself and others - and it starts with this; with befriending the right people.
Bru, the palomino-and-pink calles herself, and to this, Wen gives a little nod. It’s not her turn to speak however, the male and female who’d arrived before her - one older, one younger, she notices - doing so first. The male in the water seems very attractive - almost overly so. There is a sense of caution coming to her that she cannot quite place (perhaps the way he looks her over), but then, she isn’t too near him right now, and she decides to pretend she doesn’t notice his mesmerizing looks, in favour of the woman who might indeed be searching for a home.
Eurwen is a patient girl, has always been, and though she blinks once at the mare beside her who claims to be of Nerine - she’s never seen her - she doesn’t otherwise deny her. She smells of the wild, of forests - not Taiga, not Nerine, not the cold and ashen Isle; but perhaps she’d only recently arrived, or kept to the shadows, or - has the same damned wandering-trait her father does. If it wasn’t for the ice that always clings to him, he might smell more of the forest than his home, too, she reckons.
For a while, she wonders why her mind brings up her father, until finally her conscious latches on to what her subconscious tells her - the galaxy-marked palomino - Beryl - has a few mannerisms that she recognizes. Seems that she’ll want to talk to the self-proclaimed Nerinian then; but perhaps not here, and not right now. They’re kind of in the middle of something.
”Ischia is a lovely place, if that’s the thing you’re looking for,” the spotted mare agrees. She’s never been, but her conversation with Loire, who hailed from there, had given her enough insight. It would never be her own home, though. ”I’m Eurwen - from Nerine, as well.” she offers a small smile to both other mares, a knowing look to Beryl, a warmer one for the mare calling herself Bru. ”Much colder than what Ivar has to offer, and perhaps colder than this water right now, as well. But it’s also a more independent nation. Wild winds, sturdy rocks, green moors, and a few beautiful sea-caves near the black sands down below equally-colored cliffs.” Bru didn’t seem to be the type to… how had he put it? A few other mares to keep you company - a herd, then. She didn’t seem a regular herd mare to the spotted Knabstrup hybrid, though looks could sometimes be deceiving. She smiles a little, wondering if she had the right of it or if the male had. ”Some say the women of Nerine are much like the land itself, but I find the likeness more in being free, sometimes rock-stubborn, than to say that we are a cold folk.”
She doesn’t need power to bring changes, to steer the world bit by bit into the direction she might want it to go. The rose-gold maned mare knows how to change - herself and others - and it starts with this; with befriending the right people.
Bru, the palomino-and-pink calles herself, and to this, Wen gives a little nod. It’s not her turn to speak however, the male and female who’d arrived before her - one older, one younger, she notices - doing so first. The male in the water seems very attractive - almost overly so. There is a sense of caution coming to her that she cannot quite place (perhaps the way he looks her over), but then, she isn’t too near him right now, and she decides to pretend she doesn’t notice his mesmerizing looks, in favour of the woman who might indeed be searching for a home.
Eurwen is a patient girl, has always been, and though she blinks once at the mare beside her who claims to be of Nerine - she’s never seen her - she doesn’t otherwise deny her. She smells of the wild, of forests - not Taiga, not Nerine, not the cold and ashen Isle; but perhaps she’d only recently arrived, or kept to the shadows, or - has the same damned wandering-trait her father does. If it wasn’t for the ice that always clings to him, he might smell more of the forest than his home, too, she reckons.
For a while, she wonders why her mind brings up her father, until finally her conscious latches on to what her subconscious tells her - the galaxy-marked palomino - Beryl - has a few mannerisms that she recognizes. Seems that she’ll want to talk to the self-proclaimed Nerinian then; but perhaps not here, and not right now. They’re kind of in the middle of something.
”Ischia is a lovely place, if that’s the thing you’re looking for,” the spotted mare agrees. She’s never been, but her conversation with Loire, who hailed from there, had given her enough insight. It would never be her own home, though. ”I’m Eurwen - from Nerine, as well.” she offers a small smile to both other mares, a knowing look to Beryl, a warmer one for the mare calling herself Bru. ”Much colder than what Ivar has to offer, and perhaps colder than this water right now, as well. But it’s also a more independent nation. Wild winds, sturdy rocks, green moors, and a few beautiful sea-caves near the black sands down below equally-colored cliffs.” Bru didn’t seem to be the type to… how had he put it? A few other mares to keep you company - a herd, then. She didn’t seem a regular herd mare to the spotted Knabstrup hybrid, though looks could sometimes be deceiving. She smiles a little, wondering if she had the right of it or if the male had. ”Some say the women of Nerine are much like the land itself, but I find the likeness more in being free, sometimes rock-stubborn, than to say that we are a cold folk.”
@[Brujeria] @[Ivar] @[Beryl]