Desolation comes upon the sky // Any

[Scorch]

WATCH THE FLAMES CLIMB HIGH INTO THE NIGHT

She goes, in the middle of the night, careful not to wake her slumbering husband (though a part of her knows that he'd feel her leave even if they were worlds apart). They'd been trying for a child once more, but the enthusiasm and the flame is lackluster this autumn. Their sex life couldn't be better - or kinkier - almost all of the time, but during breeding season, the act of intercourse made her a little sick. Not because of anything Toni was doing, god no - but the fear of infertility loomed over Scorch's head like a guillotine. Despite Toni's best efforts to be realistic and comforting at the same time, for once, her couldn't remove the rain cloud from over her head. But as always, he stood by her side with an umbrella, faithful and serving to the last.

How she loved him.

Tonight, however, she needed time beneath the storm clouds to find out how she truly felt. The air of this foreign land hit her hard, leaving her with a strange, voided sensation across every pore of her mutilated skin. The stars above shone gently into the barren not-kingdom, guiding her steps though she too could if she wanted to. But for now, she left aside her magiks, preferring total and true solitude. If she didn't find herself soon, the journey back to herself would be long, and perhaps impossible; she still owed her allegiance to Nerine, her life and her servitude. Without some kind of catharsis, she would lose herself to the storm; for as always, she is not the strong warrior she presents as, but instead the lost little girl who's life is never as she thought it to be. She was never brave, never strong, never mighty: she was only herself, a lump of flesh trapped inside skin so burnt that who she was before is now utterly unrecognizable.

Scorch

Once Khaleesi of the Amazon Jungle

Scorch muse has been low lately, and I think it's cause I've not let her express herself. So here - someone come be sad with my poor lil rat.

[Daemron]

Filled to the brim with desire, like sipping on living fire, until whatever little ground she gave turned as bitter and frigid as blue of her eyes, pulling her backwards and away.  Suddenly cold and unyielding, a devastating contrast to her longing touch.  Had he only imagined it?

Despite his resistance, she’d managed to drag away his bleeding heart with her abrupt retreat that day, along with the first true friend he’d ever known.  It was partially his fault; hell he’d practically begged her, dared her, to do it again.  It wasn’t the first time.  It wouldn’t be the last.

But it had been.  A blow to the heart and soul he hadn’t quite recovered from.  Would he ever?
Time was fluid, ever changing, ever passing by, even if we’re not ready for it.  He’d gone after them of course, when he realized that perhaps he was wrong after all and becoming moreso unsettled by his canine companion that hadn’t yet returned.  It was unlike Red, and it shook him to the core.  

But like ghosts of the dead lost to the senses of the living they were gone.  There had been no path left to follow, no scent cast off to track.  Apparently becoming intangible to him, they had left no trace.  He could only hope that wherever they had roamed, they remained together.

When the resolution hit him that he would probably never knew what came of either of them, his course had shifted again,  bringing him round to where he knew where the realm of Beqanna undoubtedly laid.   He’d been gone for seasons, years, longer than he should have been, he knew.  But the time to return to the only home he’d ever known was upon him.

It was unsurprising that no one stood in the throws of the shadows anxiously awaiting his arrival, while he slipped between the towering conifers standing guard throughout Taiga.  The fronds of his mane tousle with his forward progression, and a shift of movement in his periphery is enough cause to turn his silvered gaze in its direction.  Stepping around the nearest trunk that barricaded his view, he watches as a bald woman stands beneath the glow of the waxing moon.

“You look out of place,” Daemron offers tiredly, easing himself a fraction beyond edge of reservation. And somewhere nearby, the brush rustles in the absence of the wind.


@[Scorch] I found a sad pony for you. Thought it was time to get him out.  Bare with me though, I'll figure him out eventually!  Also I left it a little vague because I couldn't remember if they've met before or not @_@

[Scorch]

WATCH THE FLAMES CLIMB HIGH INTO THE NIGHT

She would wonder, later, about him: in relation to his mother. Her first-born (or was it second? The twins always got messy), Noori, was made entirely of a magic that far surpassed Scorch's understanding. A spring goddess, her once red roan-freckled daughter had become almost a ghastly vision of bark and sprig, a beauty to some and a mother to many, but a stranger to her now. She couldn't remember the last time she say her eldest; it was before her death, nearly thirty years prior.

For now, however, her wondering is kept more simple: who goes there?

The stallion materializes with the air of one well-known to the wonts of tiredness. The fronds of his mane and his resemblance to a certain bay stallion to whom she owes her life strike her and revive her from her somber, listless reveries; but she cannot place him by name nor can she be sure of his linkeage to her family. He smells wild and, strangely, like Beqanna before the Reckoning: a smell she has not smelt since her rebirth, a smell that leaves her stomach in knots and her brows not much better.

Yet despite his smell, the red stallion is incomplete; as if somehow, a piece of him has run off in the night with no intention of returning.

"It's been that way for nearly forever," She offers without further explanation. If he did not recognize her now, then he certainly could not be of her blood; a haggard rat such as herself is not one that often escapes one's memories. Her molten red-yellow eyes gleam with the faint stragglings of a forgotten curiosity, their keenness begging to come out of hiding in order to discover the depths of this man's secrets. Stepping forward, the once-Khaleesi sent out small threads of light to illuminate their meeting, the gossamer particles winding in a circle around them.

"Do I know you?"

Scorch

Once Khaleesi of the Amazon Jungle

@[Daemron] holy poop I love how you write him. Also sorry because I switched tenses a lot in this post and didn't have time to correct it THANK YOU FOR RESPARKING MY SCORCH MUSE!!!

[Daemron]

He'd traversed the path of tiredness many a time, but in the present moment he had gone beyond even such a common word.  Simply put, he was exahusted, fatigued of mind and body.  Daemron was unable to pinpoint what had made him present himself to the lonesome mare in the middle of the forest, seemlingly caught up in some type of reverie.  There had been a recognition on some level when he had first seen her, though the particular chord of familiarity that had been struck evaded him.  But there is no doubt that that stoic expression she wore so well was one that had frequented his vision, a troubled gaze reflected back upon him.

And then she responds to his nearly forgotten statement; her answer cause enough for a shadow of a smile to play at the corner of the far side of his mouth.  It never fully matures however, and fades as quickly as it had threatened to flourish.  He wonders then, if the lady's answer held a deeper meaning than her obvivous uncommon appearance.  Quite possibly, it was both.

It's obvious that she had been studying him, and he remains unflinchingly in place as the intensity of her moderately disturbing gaze bores into him.  Something must have caught her interest, he realizes, for her to approach even a milder oddity such as himself.  The knotted vines of his tail brush lightly against his rear limbs while he shifts his weight to be beared more comfortably, all the while watching as the meager light bent around them.  It was captivating, watching the tendrils of light knit and wind, encircling them with a dull halo.

As the illumination worked outward, it fell upon the lurking form of a single wolf, highlighting her shaggy coat with a muted glow.  She stood relaxed and unthreatening, unbothered by the sudden shift in light, head slightly lowered and ears alert, regarding the mare with intelligent eyes.  The chestnut stallion had felt the wolf's presence, knowing she had lingered upon the fringes of the conversation, so he doesn't bother to shift his platinum gaze away from the bald woman nearby.

"I'm Daemron," he says quietly.  A moment passes before his ears are met with an indignant huff from the wolf nearby, undoubtedly chastising him for his audacious lack in manners, "And that is Tai."

@[Scorch] Sorry for the delay love

[Scorch]

WATCH THE FLAMES CLIMB HIGH INTO THE NIGHT

She'd not intended it, but as they flitted past the familiar stallion, her threads of light landed on a creature far different from either of them. The red wolf sat undisturbed by this intrusion, ears perked and eyes glowing, suggestive of an intelligence that ought not belong to such simple creatures. But truthfully, in Beqanna, creatures could never be trusted to be as simple as they ought to be; her mind traced back years, remembering the time when the Forsaken Valley had had a pack of guard wolves constantly patrolling their borders. And of course, this made her think of the Jungle with its raucous group of ever-watchful birds; but such times had long passed, and so, her mind returned to the present.

I'm Daemron. Ah, she thought to herself, eyes meandering over the willow fronds that her listless companion sports. Of course. And this is Tai. For a moment, the ancient woman considers the pair in silence. It's not every day that you meet your eldest grandson, after all. In those moments, her threads of light slowly dissolve, eventually leaving them in a contemplative darkness.

"Daemron..." His name feels alien on her lips. She studies him further again, drawing similarities between him and the one of his triplets that she'd had quite an in depth relationship with, what with him bringing her back from the dead and all... Mom, stop being so damn reflective and get on with it! It's Ea from the afterlife, or maybe Rain, or quite possibly both; but she frowns a little at their intrusion, feeling a little embarrassed after having her bullshit called out by her two deceased daughters.

"I'm sorry, please excuse my silence... It's just that I happen to be quite involved with your family." Involved? She started the whole damn thing from the ground up. Taking a step forward, her eyes shift from their typical red-yellow, to an emerald green that ought to remind him eerily of his mother, Noori. "It's been some time since you've been around, Daemron... Tell me, what kept you away?"

Our family is scattered, says a familiar voice; Echion, her own mother, or faux-mother at least. Thank you for bringing them back together, piece by piece.

Scorch

Once Khaleesi of the Amazon Jungle