"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
She stands on the precipice of the field, the wind whipping emerald tendrils into her eyes. A storm brews just south of her current position, it boils over the sea and turns the sapphire skies a murky grey. The ocean beneath to those around it was white-capped and tumultuous. The field, however, was quiet and almost untouched by the difference.
Rant's journey to the field had been a long one, dragged out over many days and nights. Despite the length of her trek, she is not tired when she reaches her destination. Rather, she is determined. With a whuffling sigh, the olive toned mare steps into the darkening field. The forest hued tendrils of her tail drag through the summer grasses as she walks. Her head is high and her beryl colored eyes are trained on the path before her.
Almost instantly she takes note on the few equines that lay claim to places within the field. Some slept, others chatted, even more, left with others tainted with the scents of their kingdoms. Her brow creased in thought, how could one decide where to live by mere conversation? She supposed she would find out sooner or later.
The mare drags to a stop just near the stream that cracked the emerald landscape of the field. She turns her eyes to the scenery around her and takes notice of the few tree copses that linger. They would make mighty fine places to crowd under if the storm choose to approach them.
She lowers her pale muzzle to the crystalline water beneath and drinks greedily. The sound of the stream had called on a thirst that lay dormant for days. When her thirst is quenched and her throat is no longer dry she relaxes and observes the others.
No two looked the same. Some were bay, black, or white... Others where purple, blue, or (like her) green. With a twisted smile, she draws a thought.
Out with the golden we sew, and the lower past that crawls.
Now, to the doorway you run, to the girl that's not lost.
She is new here, but immediately at ease - that much is easy to tell of the witching woman. Black and green, has that not always been a witch's colour? It would seem so by the way the well built Murgese takes in her foreign surroundings with the grace of a veteran Beqannian. Although I have only just arrived to the field from my home, Hyaline, there is no one else even worth considering: my eyes are glued to her. Stuck.
I approach rapidly, feeding off of the other mare's dark and confident energy. I do not want anyone else getting to her before I do - and they don't.
I pull up from my canter with a small spray of dirt, my tail arced behind me, nostrils flaring, blood pumping madly. With my head held high and my nutmeg eyes flashing, I am the picture of an Arabian mare - spirited, but more than that. Conniving. Intrusive. The olive mare begs the emotions of me, and I am more than willing to oblige her unspoken wishes.
"Not everyone who comes to the field for the first time radiates such confidence," I state, meeting her eyes squarely, refusing to leave them be. "You will do well here."
The mare approaches swiftly. So fast, in fact, that (If her senses had allowed) Amarantha would have been shocked. However, this is not the case and she turns to the stranger with ease. The painted mare talks fast, and her eyes stayed glued to the pale green of Rant's own. Dark tendrils flick swiftly at the edges of her legs as the mare speaks, her words soaked in by the dark woman.
The bay introduces herself as Kagerus, a strong name. Perhaps this woman would be one Rant would listen to. To respect.
"Amarantha."
It is the first word the mare chooses to speak in this new land. Funny that is happened to be her name. In her last home, her name had been strong as well, though in Beqanna names meant nothing. She could tell from the stance of the strange before her that respect was to be earned. To be fought for.
"Where do you come from Kagerus? "
Her ears flick as others around them speak and move, their voices fading in and out of her mind. Though she listens to all the happenings around them, her eyes stay glued to Kagerus's amber hues.
She takes in the entirety of the mare then, noting the strange markings below her eyes. Though the beryl hues of Rant's do not linger long on the woman's lithe frame for long before they return to her face. She is captivated by the bay's presence once more.
"You smell of the mountains."
She had yet to see any mountains, though she supposed she hadn't looked far enough.
Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there... dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before... Loving with a love that was more than love - Edgar Allen Poe
She stands by the edge of the great open land, under trees that are not her trees. When had she last been to this place?
~ How’s the grass this morning? Edible?~
She looks to the ground setting her jaw as the vines tighten choking out any emotion that may have crossed her mind.
~ Well I'm not dead now am I ~
She should have been stronger.
~ I bet you wouldn’t talk such a big game if you ate some pine needles. They’re everywhere back home, and let me tell you, they do not go down easy ~
Who did he think he was talking to her like that? At the time, a nobody, just some random recruiter. What a joke Beqanna had played on her that day.
~ I’m Fennick ~
~ Hestia ~
She could have escaped him then, could have escaped the rest of the story that would unfold and change her.
~ we could use someone like you. ~
Bonded by word, signed by blood, sealed in flame. The first day of the rest of her life.
~ not like I have anywhere else to be ~
Not once had she returned to this accursed place, not once had she ever a reason to. For the first time since returning to her dear Valley, she enters the recruiting scene. Yet it’s not for the Valley she stands here this day looking over the groups for strong female figures. It’s not even her precious Jungle that she begins the process of choosing whom to approach. Its for Nerine, a new child in a new world just learning its first steps.
It’s hard not to notice the filly race across the land towards her prey. Well to Hestia, most are fillies. Amused by this show she waits a little longer, watching from the distance at their soundless conversation. A smile crosses the mare’s lips, it’s a smile the old hag recognizes all too well. One that she, herself has used on many occasions before the world became a bore for her. Green eyes zero in on the newcomer, she’s perfect, for once her and the voice can agree. There’s a spark in this one. For ill or good, it matters little, all that matters is that passion. It’s a fire she knows intimately and knows exactly how to coax it into a blaze should she be given a chance to do so.
The zest for life, strong vibes role from the female pulsing outwards tantalizing Hestia to come and gamble her chances at recruiting her. Hestia doesn’t speed up, just walking leisurely through the grasses towards the two women. When she gets to them, she hears the mention of mountains, but pays no mind to it. Choosing instead to focus her attention on the black and green mare. Her tail switches lazily when she halts in front of the two. Quietly she stands there, not interrupting them for a moment. Just observing, listening, taking everything in. She’s what you are looking for, yes, this one is perfect for them, and the hag is pretty sure that they would be perfect for her as well. Hestia nods to them both. Giving them the opportunity to let her slip into the conversation naturally.
02-16-2018, 01:59 PM (This post was last modified: 02-16-2018, 05:45 PM by Kagerus.)
Out with the golden we sew, and the lower past that crawls.
Now, to the doorway you run, to the girl that's not lost.
Amarantha. Long, demanding attention to detail, the kind of name that I feel would not be wise to forget. I commit it to memory, attaching it to the way the witch's green eyes faintly glimmer in the afternoon sun. Though her figure is far stronger than mine, muscular and broad and intimidating, I do not lessen my stance.
It is not pride that steels my spine, but an understanding that respect, between us, is to be earned. Both ways.
"I come from the sanctuary kingdom, Hyaline." Both our ears flick attentively to our surroundings (and does that sound like hoofsteps approaching?) but I am gratified by Amarantha's consistency, by her intensive stare. My ribs twitch. We are very alike.
I smile at her next comment - a dark expression, pleased, knowing. The mare is ept. Insightful. "Yes, mine is a mountainous kingdom." I pause, mulling over my words, choosing which to speak and which to stifle.
"In this land, Beqanna, there are many kingdoms. My own, as I said, is a sanctuary, especially for the young." My eyes part from hers momentarily, perusing the curves and hardlines of her impressive figure. "But don't let that dissuade you. We are not a kingdom full of light creatures, nor do we want to be. We have castes of peace and war, but our warriors are lacking." Another smile. Knowing. "You could fix that."
As my speech concludes, a black mare who smells of Nerine approaches. I shoot my nutmeg eyes over to where she places herself, and I nod in recognition. "Greetings," I murmur. But she is not who I am here to focus on; and so, my eyes return to Rant.
02-16-2018, 07:10 PM (This post was last modified: 02-16-2018, 07:13 PM by Amarantha.)
There is only power
She hadnt wanted to be around children since the death of her own, and the mention of a sanctuary for the beasts makes her nostrils flare. A cold puff of air blows from her lips as she listens to the bloody piebald speak, but her mind is not with the noise. However Kagerus moves on to speak of their war caste and Amarantha is interested.
Another approaches, but Amarantha is absorbed in listening to Kagerus. She notes however that their guest is an ebony female who sidles easily into their duo. When her first companion is done speaking she turns her attention to the newcomer. Her eyes are hard (as they had been since her appearance in the field) and they do not change as they land upon the other's equally as green gaze. She stares at her for a moment, taking in the ink of her before turning her gaze back to Kagerus.
"While I do love the look of a nice war battalion..."
Her eyes turn to the ebony woman then. It is the way in which she carries herself that makes Rant want to direct her next sentence to the raven in particular. "I don't... often find myself working for the ..monarchy of so-called kingdoms."
Her gaze then jets between the two of them. "I much rather them working for me."
In a past life, she had worked beside quite the magnificent kings and queens. Though now she was new. This land was new. She turned her eyes to the field, drinking it in for a moment. "But I suppose Beqanna is a place to start new. I suppose I shall settle for working with them."
She is surprised by how much she has said at this point. She was asking for a lot she knew, but Amarantha was a woman on a mission. Had she not come here for great things? The green enchantress would rather watch the world burn before she let another give her orders!
"If you're so sure I would do your kingdom good, convince me Kagerus." As she speaks she is staring at the girl, demanding her attention (as she so often did). In the silence that follows she quietly prompts the other to offer a name. Perhaps their responses would match hers. Possibly they would have her begging by the end of this, or they would turn tail and run.
Either way, Rant wouldn't go down without wreaking havoc. "If all Hyaline has done with your flame is send it here... I pity your troops. However, I have never met your leader girl."
She smiles at this, was it the girl before her who ruled this Hyaline? No. No she knew it couldn't be! What kind of ruler would be little themselves to recruiting? She laughs softly at the thought. "And you, if you have come to bear offerings please lay them before me. Is your kingdom in need of soldiers as well?"
Pale eyes fall once more to the shadowy figure amongst them. "Or have you something more?"
Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there... dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before... Loving with a love that was more than love - Edgar Allen Poe
Her quiet approach brings reactions from both mares. Just as she had desired, they express more than they would have if she had gone through the formal rituals that most do in the field; with flowery apologies and stumbling over themselves as they rudely interrupt. The brightly colored filly continues in her drawl at first not noticing the newcomer. Hestia almost smiles at this, out here recruiting isn’t a friendly sport, the battle being of witty words and quick perception. She wonders if the other one has noticed the lack of perception on this young lady’s part? When the one finally does take a break, she notices Hestia and offers a greeting. Hestia responds with a nod of acknowledgement. Never does she have ill will towards those here performing their jobs, for that is exactly what they are doing just their regular job. However, she will be vicious in her effort, and leave no stone unturned in her wake as she lures the recruits to the one place that matters to her in this world.
As they chatter back and forth while Hestia takes note of the looks and pointed remarks. Think she’s hinting to something? The sour voice mules over what she could possibly be implying… IF, she is implying anything at all. Of course, Hestia knows she is, and if anything was going to amuse her this day. This woman would be it. She could practically see the puppet strings being plucked, attempting to make them dance for her. The green and black creature speaks of monarchs as something to be scorned. This perks her curiosity, why be in search of a kingdom if that is your perception of them? The voice vomits her thoughts loudly in her head. She sees the gesture that requests a name. A name she will not give just yet. Her ears flicking to attention instead with humor in her eyes. Letting them know that she knows what they want out of her. Normally it’s the first thing out of her maw, but lately she’s been dreading the spouting of her name, it makes others act differently now. She misses being able to toy with others ignorance.
A laugh, please share what is so amusing? as quiet as her words are, her voice carries. It doesn’t matter if she whispers, or if she yells, it always carries. After some banter a question is posed to her. The question that they all ask at some point in these rituals. Nerine is many different things, to many different creatures. You would need to see her for yourself to comprehend her. It’s not the response the other looks for and Hestia knows this. All in good time. After more banter she askes the most pressing question on her mind. What is your definition of a true kingdom? She mocked the kingdoms earlier, without knowing how this world works. She comes here searching for a home yet does not want the structure of one? a walking contradiction in her book; and she likes it. No smile ghosts her lips, no approval nor disapproval. Simple observations and banter as the woman pulls the puppet strings of the filly, and the brightly colored lady dances for the black and green recruit. Hestia won’t, she never has, and never will.
Out with the golden we sew, and the lower past that crawls.
Now, to the doorway you run, to the girl that's not lost.
I take note of the way Amarantha's nostrils flare at the mention of children, and smile. If only she knew the type of children we harbor. My mind's eye travels to my baby brother, to Khaedrik - one of the most masterful manipulators of darkness and evil that has ever walked this earth. My heart dances at the thought of him, and for a moment, I feel certain that Rant could empathize with such a feeling.
In the next moment, I remember that I know nothing about her - nothing except that cold, demanding stare, and the words she throws about so flippantly. Figures.
"I suppose you will have to do that," I allow easily, as if all these airs she puts on about being high and mighty are unimpressive. And they are, really. No Beqannian monarch in their right mind would take in a stranger and just, shove them on the throne. A part of me wants to look at Hestia and roll my eyes - oh yes, of course I recognized her. What kind of diplomat would I be if I couldn't? Queen of Nerine standing right next to me, and by the tone of her voice, finding this about as fun as I am.
Fuck me.
"On second thought, Amarantha, I'm not sure that you will do my kingdom any good. The question is whether or not you're willing to change my mind on the subject." Although I understand that I am literally going against everything right now, I am too young, too inexperienced to handle this woman's attitude with any delicacy. All of a sudden, her bewitching features are less ethereal, and more bitchy than witchy.
"Well, you haven't met my leader, but you have met Nerine's." I toss my head to the ebony mare at my side. "And if you think any less of Hestia for having done her duties, for leading her team instead of driving it, then I'll have to ask you not to come to Hyaline."
"We are interested in building a team, powerful and trustworthy. Not some fucked up in the head hierarchical bullshit."
Fuck. Me.
Kagerus
sweet nothing
YEAH SO TODAY GUYS, TODAY WE LEARNED THAT I SHOULD NEVER WRITE KAGERUS AFTER SCORCH. NEVER.
Wether they realized it or not, the green bitch was getting exactly what she wanted. A reaction. She craved the caged violence that flew from their lips in hushed undertones, she begged for the merciless belittlment they instilled. The woman leans into her hip as the quiet one begins to speak, the bloody mare beside her becoming a storm of flying words. They throw bricks at her, try to tear her into a million pieces for their dogs to ravage upon. But no, not today.
She allows their voices to play gently on the wind and lets the knowledge sink deep into the hate-laced marrow in her ivory bones. Her gaze turns to the shadowy woman and she chuckles, of course, she was a queen. No wonder Rant had been so intrigued. Perhaps the other a diplomat then? But of course, she was if she was here speaking with her. No wonder Rant was still here at all. She senses (though barely) resistance in the two. It was clear they didn't need her, but if they hadn't, why were they still standing there? "Tell me girl, is it you who has supplied the backbone of your home?"
She refuses to answer the questions at hand. Yet another checkmate for her in the game the three seemed to play. "Or is it your queen?" She means no disrespect, but she is confused almost. If Nerine could spare their queen for a few hours to find exactly what they needed, how could Hyaline not? While the toxic mare knew the mountain queen had recruited at some point in her life her absence spurs Rant's drone.
The girl wanted a team. A word Rant was unfamiliar with. Teams didn't exist. All teams fizzled and turned on each other in the end, no matter how perfect they appeared to be. The land would tell you this much if you listened to it. Beqanna would tell you that much if you listened to it.
"With my hard bargain out of the way I turn to you once more queen of Nerine." Her ears flip lazily, for now, she is done trying to climb the ladder. For now, she would settle with the bottom rung if it simply gave her knowledge. After all, it had taken her years to get to where she was before. Something told her she might be willing to wait again. Besides, she could drag her game out longer if she waited. Hadnt that been how the wolves caught their meals?
"Define for me your kingdom and I will define mine." She does not wait for an answer, instead, she spurs onward. "I see power and fire molded into the sweat of a good army. I see rulers unafraid of their regents though feared by those flippant enough to cross them." She waits for a moment, imagining then what she had built with Tamlin. She can not dwell however and her eyes travel to the storm painted sky. "I see a kingdom bonded with blood and war. Beqanna tells me these kingoms once existed." She had felt the age of the land, but the rebirth of it was not so long ago it felt. Rant would be a liar if she had said she hadn't heard the ghost stories of the reckoning. Something she hadn't been around to see, but one she had known about her whole life. "Do they exist now? Does the hard work of your people stitch your lands together or rip them apart." The answer may redefine her vision but it would not change her mind. She had come from famine and death into a land of quiet whispering and silent killers. Do these mares understand that she would kill for a monarch she believed in? Do they realize she would die to push a kingdom she loved onto the tail of power and the back of the earth's respect? She smiles faintly. No. No they probably do not. "Kagerus I'd like to meet your queen, though, a visit to Nerine would be nice. Perhaps Beqanna has earned another soldier." If she had played her cards right they may be confused, though something tells Rant the mares are not only smart but Brilliant. They had clearly seen what she was trying to do. Let's see if they could stay caught up.
A M A R A N T H A
((I feel like every time I write Rant I needah say that I LOVE y'alls ladies and im V sorry for whatever her muse possesses me to say. EDIT AFTER I FINISHED WRITING: I hope that didnt ramble I tamed the beast halfway through.))
02-22-2018, 12:12 AM (This post was last modified: 02-22-2018, 12:17 AM by Hestia.)
Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there... dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before... Loving with a love that was more than love - Edgar Allen Poe
As usual the fall season can be seen as female tempers rise, and the heat of aggression can be almost palpable between the two before her. It’s quite adorable when the child realizes what is going on around her. Once again, her perception of the game seems to show its lack of development. Ah to be young and innocent, such happy bliss. Hestia’s flames flicker around her hooves, at the flippant way the girl mentions Nerine and tosses her head indicating Hestia in her tirade. It also crosses Hestia’s mind as to how the child would know her? it’s not like she has been outside her kingdom for news to spread of what the old hag looks like. And even if it had, she’s as boring in color as the next black mare… Her lips thin considering this for a moment. How had the child known? A little ruffled from being exposed her features take on a harder, colder edge. Though her sharp words are kept to herself as the child smooths over Hestia’s pride by announcing that a queen recruiting shouldn’t be thought any less of. Hestia finds it rather adorable, and almost wants to nudge the girl to let her know that everything is okay.
They banter, and Hestia listens silently. To her a kingdom isn’t a team, it’s a child that will always be latched to its mother’s breast. You choose to love it, care for and nurture it, because it will never be capable of doing anything without you. However, that doesn’t mean that it will love you. No, it may need you, but the moment it is dissatisfied it may turn to some other breast for nourishment, killing you in the process. It becomes a leach draining your spark, and desire until there is nothing left, but it continues to take. Never will the taking end, it will take and take and take some more until you crumble into dust. Should you try to remove the little munster it will kill you before it lets you go, once you become its source of nourishment there is no escape. Truly you do not become queen for what is given, but for what you can give. To survive you must love that child more than you love your own life. Your own passions, the sacrifice must BE that spark the kingdom takes from you.
The woman is sharp in her words and demands an answer; she does not wait for Hestia to say anything, wisely on her part, as she probably already knows Hestia can’t be manipulated into answering. Hestia says nothing once more; the black mare is almost amused by what the woman says she pictures. A ghost of a smile warms her eyes as she is entertained by the woman’s description. Understanding what it is she means but disagreeing with the execution she things best to get the desired results. This continues until she mentions Beqanna. Hestia is patient, but each sentence, each question she throws after this, spirals into the burning flame in her chest. The creature had told her it would take a year for her to gain control of the phoenix inside her. She knows she doesn’t have long before it will consume them all in her wrath. She exercises the little control she has, inhaling exhaling, listening to the passionate and haughty words lashing out from the black and green mare.
Hestia’s green eyes turn hard, her voice is flat, and head is lowered the few inches necessary to look the black and green woman level in the eyes. She cares not for much, they may be flippant in her presence about most anything, but this. This topic is one that should never be brought up in her presence. And this she brazenly let’s be known through her gaze. There are no more words spouting from the others mouth any longer, and she knows there is no way the woman could have known what it was that she was saying. But she had chosen to continue in her flippancy, as if she knows what it means to rule a kingdom in this land.
She has no control over the flame that burns inside her any longer, it grows hot with the emotion that spills from her soul. Mere seconds and she is blazing into an inferno of flame so hot that they must step away from her for their own health. Staying within her vicinity is likely to do more harm than any of them could want. Wings fiery in their massive length spread out from her shoulders. Venom seeps into her words leaking the poison of her soul. You may have heard stories, may know others who were there, but Beqanna does not, and will not ever speak again, ohhh Rant what is it you have done? The passion is exposed, it burns on her body even if her voice is laced with perfect control, quiet in its cadence. The art of diplomacy she has been schooled in for over a century. She can control her physical body with little effort, but she has no control over the newly obtained abilities. Beqanna speaks no more, this land is not mother Beqanna. Beqanna, to Hestia, is as good as dead. The day she abandoned her children, ripped her connection from Hestia, folded in on herself swallowing her loved ones. That was the day that Hestia found what it truly meant to be alone. Before, the land had moved with her in the smallest of ways, as a child of the jungle blessed with intimate connection to Beqanna Hestia had experienced true knowledge of the life force that flowed through the land, and the spark that beat in Beqanna’s chest. Trees would incline towards her, blades of grass would whisp to the sides, animals would chitter at her presence. A child of a queen, a sister to a queen, a lover to a king, a queen herself. She knows, her knowledge would have these children trembling, buckling under the weight of pain and heart break that she had seen, experienced. This female would not survive the pressures she judges her and monarchs like herself for bearing as gracefully as possible.
Her face as stone, she does not realize the flames that blaze around her. She strides closer to the mare her posture low and threatening, daring her to defy and disrespect her and those that have filled the shoes before her. Flippant mattered little, but flippant on this topic… the child knows nothing, and Hestia lets her know this, with the barking of unused laughter. It is not as terrible or cringe worthy as it was when she had first used it back in the spring, but it is still not a pleasant sound. She may not have used it since, but the memory is still fresh in her mind. When the woman is not backing from her, when the smell of signed fur can be smelled she breaths out, the heat of her nostrils cool against the fiery exoskeleton that surrounds her. It is not the burning, blood or wars that make a kingdom, it’s the survivors that do. She would know. When the Chamber burned the Gates to the ground, they tried to rebuild, and Beqanna blessed them with a seed to protect them. When the Valley ripped the Fall’s to their roots, the kingdom was crippled never fully healed, but Beqanna restored their healing waters. Then when the Amazon’s burned, we returned but we didn’t rebuild. We had our vengeance, and Beqanna wept. Her blessed children cared not for the home that had been decimated but for the destruction of those that would dare to do such a thing. Beqanna abandoned us then. Hestia stops, she silences herself, the flames dissipating, leaving the signed hairs alone. She doesn’t back away however, she continues to stand there a breath away from the woman that had been entertaining enough for Hestia to think of recruiting her. she waits a moment before finishing her point, I know not from where you come, I do not care. I know this land in ways you never will. So do not stand here and talk to me of the old kingdoms. Of war and chaos, of what they looked like. What they look like.
Would she really die for all that? Does she know what she truly offers when she says those words? Hestia does, in fact she had already done so. The Valley so desperate so weak needed her ruler, and Hestia left her 6-month-old child to find him. She died on that trip, her lover and king had died, her children grew without parents. If anyone knows what blood and war brings its Hestia. And its because she knows Rant is ignorant. It is because of thes she has been kind in her chastisement. As kind as she can be at least. Hestia is silent and doesn’t back off even when the mare begins speaking again.
![[Image: amaranthpixel_by_voltum-dc324q8.png]](https://orig00.deviantart.net/0166/f/2018/044/d/b/amaranthpixel_by_voltum-dc324q8.png){kind=tracking}
![[Image: kag]](https://78.media.tumblr.com/2e8039018ce4dff6112c167ec23e886a/tumblr_p72zjit7wC1s5a0qvo1_100.png)
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