"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
Celest had closed her eyes for a moment to catch a quick nap and the world had been rearranged like books on a shelf. She feels a little sick to her stomach as the magic lingering in the air washes over her, making her skin itch. But she takes a step towards what appears to be sunshine, her amethyst eyes squinting against the unfamiliar brightness.
Feeling a little insecure about her prophetic abilities, the brightly colored mare decides to take a chance. Where there had only been endless, damp forest before her nap, now stood a waving sea of pea-green grasses. The contrast is too great to resist. It would be nice to feel the sun on her back again, she reasons, to reach down and so easily graze without having to kick through leaf-littler and decomposing-who-knows-what.
If there was ever a day to leave, this was it.
The oracle knew there were only a few important things which would happen in her life, milestones if you will, and the first was to leave the woods. This first step would begin a chain of events which she had been avoiding for five years by tucking herself away in the heart of Beqanna's most unsavory kingdom. The list was not that long, not that unpleasant, but the last tick on that list had kept her a prisoner long after her jailer had left the woods. The list was unavoidable, and it had crippled her.
Watching yourself die will do that to a girl.
But she had already made one error today, and she was tired of being miserable. Not a single soul had ever made an effort to show her kindness, or anything less than insults.
Not that she was a sweetheart - but bad girls deserve love too.
I wanna give you wild love, the kind that never slows down I wanna take you high up let our hearts be the only sound
Over the last year, Tephra had begun to shake the dusk from her coat. She had begun to rise from her slumber, accepting the new souls that begin to trickle in and give her life, stretching out and knotting together into something beautiful and entirely new. When the disease struck. When the plague began to spread, such activity only served to increase. Each day it seemed like a new individual or a new family came to their borders seeking sanctuary from the illness that was beginning to spread throughout the rest of the land. Each of them were welcome, and Magnus did his best to greet them all.
It was no different when he saw the woman of teal and amethyst cross into Tephra.
Intrigued, he lifted his head, watching her for a moment before angling toward her.
When he is near enough that she could hear him, but far enough away to still afford her personal space, he comes to a stop, considering her with kind gold-flecked eyes. “Hello there.” He is reminded starkly of the time following the reckoning, when greeting another could mean so many different things. There were those who were deeply wounded by what happened and desperate for stability. There were those who were angry at what they had lost, at what had been taken from them, who just wanted revenge. And there were those who had been stirred away by the event and simply wanted to breathe life into themselves.
It was impossible to know exactly which one you’d find whenever you met someone new.
So he doesn’t presume one way or another, he just watches her quietly for a moment before dipping his head in greeting. “My name is Magnus. Is there something I can help you with?”
I wanna go where the lights burn low and you're only mine
It doesn't take long for another to find her. A few mouthfuls of deliciously flavorful grass is all she manages before the sound of hoofbeats causes her head to lift with a sigh. She steels herself for the unavoidable banter that happened to accompany interactions with her species - or at least the ones in Sylvia - the push and pull of figuring out where one stood, of putting on appearances to keep your head on your shoulders.
But the dusty gold stallion approaches her with a noticeable lack of hostility; he does not posture and simper and his greeting was not carefully crafted to make her squirm.
A brow lifts.
"Celest," she replies, as her amethyst eyes, hard as gemstones, search his rugged face. "It's a pleasure."
With his question she relaxes slightly, although she didn't mean to. It's possible this is just a trick to get her to do just that, but between the faeries yelling in her head, the new surroundings, and the calm energy he tangibly exudes she decides to give... not coming out swinging a try.
"I'm just here for the grass," she says, a half smile quirking the edge of her teal lips. "and I'm guessing it's all yours?"
She could always stir things up later if this turned out to be a mistake.
I wanna give you wild love, the kind that never slows down I wanna take you high up let our hearts be the only sound
He watches her thoughtfully, wondering at what simmers beneath the surface. She strikes him as the kind of soul that contains infinities, and his mouth almost quirks at the idea, at the endless galaxies that may lay trapped beneath her skin. Still, his face remains carefully neutral, gold-flecked eyes observant but not overly invasive, not trying to pick her apart so that he can untangle the threads of her her immediately.
“Celest,” he repeats her name, letting it roll around on the edges of his whiskey tongue. “The pleasure is all mine.” The words are learned behavior, the pleasantries of diplomacy hammered into him from a young age, but they are genuine all the same. Magnus cannot help the enjoyment that he finds in meeting new faces, in greeting newcomers to his home, and he doesn’t bother trying to hide it from his face now.
When she smiles, teasing about the grass, he laughs, the sound husky and low as it flows into the space between them. “Ah,” he stretches, tossing his head a little and looking at the area around them. “As much as I would like to think myself important enough to own all of this, it’s not the case.” Not entirely true as Magnus never thought himself grand enough to own anything, but humor lights his face all the same.
He gestures around them, face warming as he takes in the wild land surrounding them.
“Tephra is all her own,” he looks back to find her gaze, “and there’s plenty of grass to share.”
I wanna go where the lights burn low and you're only mine
His gaze is curious yet gentle as he seemingly tries to unwrap her, but she doesn't mind. This was his home after all, and she was an intruder. His mouth quirks as some thought cross his mind and her head tilts ever so slightly, just enough to cause her violet forelock to fall aside. But his featured remain carefully curated, much like hers, each glance and movement evenly measured. "What makes you smile, Magnus?" she asks with a pause, but the beat isn't long, and the seafoam mare presses on with their conversation if he doesn't feel like supplying her with an answer.
"I thought maybe you were one of the important ones," she states, her estimation of him almost confirmed. "What is it you do here in Tephra?" As she speaks her tone is calm, bordering on lazy, but her eyes remain quick and hard, although not unkind.
His ancient eyes soften as he looks around himself in a way that only those who have a sincere love of their home do - it was a feeling she had never felt but could easily recognize. "This lovely piece of land wasn't so cozy with Sylva yesterday. May not be great news for you, in the long run, but I'm glad I found it." Another pause as her jewel-toned gaze returns to the dusty stallion.
She picks up on the slightest shift of his facial expression and if he is surprised, it doesn’t show. He merely takes her as remarkably observant and tilts his head in thought. “Right now, you are,” he deadpans, a sentence that could be trite in the mouth of another but has a remarkably and perhaps surprisingly genuine edge in his own. He rolls his shoulders, unembarrassed by it. “There is something about you that picks at the edges of my mind—like staring into still waters or watching the oceans crash on the shore,” he pauses, laughing low and husky. “Foolish ramblings. Ignore me.”
She presses the conversation forward and he allows it, keeping up with the pace of her thoughts easily. His gold-flecked eyes spark at her question, her assumption that he was important, and he looks out across the land before he looks back at her. “I’m Tephra’s current leader,” he says matter of factly, not attempting to hide anything from her but also not elaborating on it or attempting to put on airs.
When she mentions Sylva, his lacerated mouth drops into a frown, brows furrowing together in thought. “I was gone for a while,” whiskey voice thoughtful, skimming over his absence and the deep-rooted reasons behind it, “and it appears I missed a lot.” He searches her face again. “I don’t know what the future may hold with Sylva, but I am not afraid of it.” On contrary, he feels an almost eager hunger begin to stir in him, a desire for war he has long fought against. It burns there in his belly, reminding him of the warrior he has always been, the battles writ across his scarred hide. “You are more than welcome to stay as long as you like.” Something sparks in his eyes before it quiets. “Although should things go sour in the long run perhaps you will not like to stay as long as I would have you.”
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