PHOTOS BY BisBiswas, MD-Arts

It seems that the two antagonistic countries of Baltia and Stratos are not the only changes to rise from the ‘natural’ catastrophes as of late.

Where, exactly he is, even he is not sure. Though the benefits of his immortality are such that even inadvertent entombment (during yet another previous reshaping of Beqanna’s lands) couldn’t rob him of life, there is no omniscience to go with his life everlasting. Thus, he lays far beneath the crust with no knowledge of time’s passage, let alone the goings-on of his home. Occasionally, additional rumblings cause subsequent shifts in his location, driving him further from Beqanna each time. He begins to wonder if he will ever escape his earthen prison.

Eventually, something cleaves an opening in his resting place (though looking back, he would never know what, how, or why). Though the earth refuses to fully surrender her grip on him, it’s just enough for him to work with. It begins with the smallest of movements in his limbs, which results in gradual displacements of the soil. This time, instead of sinking him deeper into the quagmire, subsequent earthquakes aid his bid for freedom. Until they don’t.

The most recent rending of Beqanna’s gravelly garments wholly breaks open the fissure and he immediately feels relief. The relief is short-lived though, as water begins to rush into the newfound depths. “Well, fuck,” he thinks. His lament is not wholly founded this time; for yes, while the deepening of his now-aquatic trench poses a formidable obstacle, it ends up being the last major player in this series of unfortunate events.

So, he swims for an achingly long time. Long enough for the inches of dust to turn to mud within his lungs. Long enough for the water he slowly rises through to then replace the mud. Were he not so numbed (both mentally and physically), he might wonder how he could manage to continue breathing under such circumstances. At times, he longs to have inherited the magic of his father, which surely would expedite this torturous ride. Alas, no wishes are to be granted along the way.

Though there is no risk of his dying, fatigue still seeps through his body at ever-shortening intervals and there are times that he stops to rest and drift; thus, the dishearteningly long duration of his water-bound flight. Indeed, though he does not realize it, it takes years to climb from the depths of the abyss. At some point, he is dimly aware that he has finally reached waters touched faintly by sunlight, but this soon fades entirely from his mind, as there is still significant distance to cover. Then, so suddenly that it takes him by surprise, his nostrils encounter pure air once more.

His body desperately needs rest, but he thrashes and flails just enough to keep his muzzle above the water as his lungs violently expel their contents. As he greedily sucks in the appropriate replacement, he realizes that he is also becoming more buoyant with every breath. His body is finally granted respite as it slowly equilibrates to life at the surface and he becomes content to drift along the with the lazy currents.

Again, there is no telling how much time passes as he bobs and whirls in the waves, but land eventually peeks through the horizon. Landmarks become somewhat distinguishable before true awareness returns to his brain. Intrigued by this and what seems to be a horse-shaped figure, he now begins to actively propel himself in the water. As he draws nearer to the shore, he finds himself wondering whether or not he’s made it back home.

The figure turns out to be Adriana, standing at the water’s edge, and she is what raises the question in his mind. There is no denying that she cuts a lovely silhouette into the landscape, but her outward appearance is startling to him, as it is unlike anything he’d previously encountered in Beqanna. At the time of his disappearance, wings and horns were more common than rare, but he had never seen wings of water, nor these unnatural colors. He cocks his head inquisitively as he emerges from the water near (but not too near) where she stands.

“What is this place?” His voice is rough and quiet from disuse and he is genuinely surprised that it works at all. In contrast to Adriana’s beauty, he stands quite unkempt before her. Tufts of hair create unsightly clumps throughout his water-darkened coat and his mane and tail are quite tangled with strands of seaweed and other ocean debris. Though not as sinewy and virile as in his (much) younger years, he still carries himself quite grandly and hints of his natural handsomeness still linger in his appearance. Something flits across his face as he realizes that his manner is brusque and may not be well-received. He dips his head slightly and adds, “Pardon, I am called Assailant. And you are…?”

Beqanna.

So, he has returned to his birthplace. His eyes take on a contemplative glaze as he chews on the numerous changes that his home has undergone. Though he does not quite realize it yet, he will be hard-pressed to find a familiar feature within Beqanna’s boundaries, what with the current sogginess of her lands. And the people.. how they have changed as well!

Perhaps it is ironic that Adriana’s outward appearance should captivate him so.. her kelpie kind might not exist as they are without him, for he is some sort of great grandsire to Ivar. Of course, he would never know that, for he was hardly an attentive father. Then again, Demise was one of his favorite partners, so he might actually recognize Letha’s name, should it ever come up in conversation.

His reverie is broken quickly by her subtle movements. He feels the whispering graze of her breath as she reaches for his mane. He has never been one for sentimentality or overt displays of affection (or displays of any emotions, really), but he admits to himself that he finds this younger creature to be quite intoxicating. It has been such an unbearably long time since he’d spoken to another living soul, let alone felt the touch of a woman, yet he remains externally stoic as she makes her small attempt to tidy his mane.

A small smirk plays at the corners of his lips. “I suppose that some would consider it a miracle, Adriana.” In the past, it had never dawned on him that his lifespan far exceeded that of a normal horse, but he is now quite aware of his own immortality. An eternity beneath the earth’s crust tends to bring that kind of thing to the forefront of the mind. “It seems that I only gained eternal life from my father. The magic would have made things easier, but at least my body can go without its necessities.. like air.”

Indeed, as he speaks, a burning sensation rampages through his lungs much like a greasefire on an open kitchen range. He means to ask a question but finds his next breath smothered by the internal fire in his chest. His neck extends and his head bobs accordingly as he impolitely coughs and hacks for several minutes. Once recovered, he meets Adriana’s eyes again. “I’ll say though, mother nature tried her best.."

A distinct spark glimmers in his dark brown eyes. Much as her pernicious beauty recommends the use of caution in her presence, so too does this look suggest an underlying menace, or perhaps just arrogance. However, it is fleeting and his usual charm returns easily. He continues in closing the gap between them and lightly touches his lips to her shoulder then casts his gaze across the landscape as he speaks again, “Perhaps you can tell me how my home has come to be this way? I must have been gone for a very long time, since I certainly do not remember things being so… wet..”

The words churn so violently in his head that, were it possible, smoke would roll from his ears as his eyes become unfocused once more. He was certain that the earthquake she mentioned was the very same that had released him from his underground imprisonment, but aside from that, there were no threads of familiarity in the words that fell from her lips. Several vague memories would have surfaced, had she mentioned Carnage aloud, as his first stint as king of the Valley was during Assailant’s youth. “It seems that I’ve been away much longer than I realized.” His head tilts again, though in a manner that suggests his attempt to dredge up recollections of what existed hundreds of years ago, rather than inquisitive tilt from before.

“I recognize none of these names.. I only ever knew herdlands, such as Volcanic Village. And of course, the lands of kings and queens.. the Chamber of Evil was my ruling kingdom.” Ruling kingdom, indeed. He had never bothered with the politics of Beqanna, preferring the simpler life of a band stallion and only remained within the ‘evil’ subdivisions because that was where he’d been raised. Truthfully, in yesteryears and into the present, he might be considered more of a neutral soul. His innate, generalized indifference manifested in actions that were neither overly affectionate nor horrifically abusive. Despite his apathetic tendencies, he captured the devotion of several lovely ladies with his guileless charisma and thus regarded himself as a man of accomplishment for that time.

He sighs audibly as he considers that this may no longer be the normal way of life in Beqanna. From what he gathers from Adriana’s explanations, only governed lands remain, and this frustrates him. He’d never cared much for fending off other stallions (and much to his own satisfaction, had only been challenged infrequently), so the thought of entering combat to serve another’s ambitions is quite rankling. And then she brings up the unveiling of two entirely unknown kingdoms, which elicits another sigh.

He mindlessly maneuvers as he speaks, eventually pressing himself closely alongside her as he falls to reminiscing silently. Perhaps it is the heat rising within his being, but he finally notices the coolness of her skin.. no, of her scales. This leads him to draw back to study her wings more intently and then it clicks into place alongside her comment about being an air-breather. “Yes, quite inconvenient and undesirable, especially considering my recent adventure under the sea.” Another subtle, wry smirk forms as his eyes move back to her face. “But I suppose it’s no trouble for someone like you.. so then, have you stolen any sly glimpses of.. Baltia, was it?”