"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
Every passing minute made him wonder why he came back in the first place. No Valley, no raids, no plotting or schemes. Just the dull quiet of a dead and dying land every which way he turned his head.
That simply would not do. He was nothing if not a master of chaos.
Night time in the Meadow would be the perfect place to stir things up. It had been some time since he had flexed his magical muscles, and though he did enjoy a good show of power he had no intentions of burning their sleepy little world to ash. Not all of it, anyways. His gaze fell on a particularly bare spot and with nothing more than a toss of his head the dirt caught fire. He urged the flames higher and higher, until nearly the entire Meadow was bathed in a warm, orange glow. With a smirk he waited, sure that his flames would draw someone out to him.
Ooc: Want to do some short, no pressure posts? Need to knock the dust off? Flamevein has started a bonfire in the meadow! Feel free to join the party! BYOB lmao
"Some say the world will end in fire, some say in ice. What I've tasted of desire I'll hold with those who favor fire." - R. Frost
It is not often that she ventures from the pines of the Chamber, but boredom has driven her toward the heart of Beqanna. After growing so accustomed to the dappled shadows of the forested kingdom, the meadow feels open, exposed. The night sky stretches above her in a seemingly endless expanse, and only the tall grass—yellowed by the end of summer—provides cover. Not that she really needed it; any on-looker would take one glance at the panther with the rose gold markings and know she was a horse in shifted form.
The other horses were not her prey, and besides, she’d already caught her kill for the night at the first fall of twilight.
The sound of fire crackling, the faint tinge of smoke, and the distant glow of flames causes her to pause, rabbit still hanging in her jaws. What is up with everyone starting fires? she thinks to herself, remembering the fire the stallion had started in the Chamber.
Always the curious one, she lopes towards the source of the flame, not at all surprised to find a different man as being allegedly the starter of this one. She stands at the edge, firelight glinting off her rosettes, and she drops the rabbit to the ground at her paws. “I’m afraid I only brought enough for me,” she apologizes, blood-stained lips peeled into a feline grin.
09-01-2026, 07:20 AM (This post was last modified: 09-01-2026, 05:02 PM by Weir.)
WEIR
The eccentric man of the Dale felt like he had been sleeping for centuries. In truth, that was because he had been. A curious sort of creature tucked away in an enduring form of magic meant for stillness, cryostasis finding his body until he had preserved his very being within the chaotic rhythm of an ever changing Beqanna. Funny that, how the world he’d known kept reminding him that he wasn’t the only thing that had found a way to persist.
Even if that usually meant that his sentences never did seem to seek punctuation.
Not the way that he had been told they should.
The smell of smoke keeps him tethered, the reality of the present inflated by a warning scent of potential danger. Yet, even when it could mean (should mean) trouble, that only spelled adventure to a man that never did follow a particular pattern of what was, and wasn’t expected of him. Neither was the jubilant way he trotted up to the small gathering, wait, no that part was actually fully expected.
“I’m not sure you have a permit for that my dear boy,” he mused thoughtfully, taking in his current company with illicit interest. Flicking an ear watchfully as the big cat moved, but not because he was necessarily worried or afraid. Weir was simply prepping for action, should the need arise, but I think, yes, that the only action needed was a curve of his neck and a well placed graze of his teeth to his ginger pelt. Gods that was a nasty itch.
Life has been more than interesting for Starbry. She's endured more in the past couple of years than she had her entire life before that. Curses, ghouls, friends and enemies. And children. Somewhere in Beqanna her twins were likely bickering back and forth, V tormenting W until she burst away in a flash of starlight. Kids. Despite it all, she had remained her quiet self. Perhaps a little more confident, a little more mentally and emotionally stronger, but still the soft-hearted girl she had always been.
She was bathing her bones in the moonlight, a cosmic glow surrounding her with wings made of glowing energy settled along her skeleton. It took quite some time, but she had finally come to terms with her nightly form. Every evening when the sun disappeared and her bay and blue hide and hair went with it, she embraced the change, surrounding herself in the comforting cosmic aura. Starbry was debating trying to find her mischievous children when the scent of smoke struck her. Initially she didn't pay any mind to it, beqanna is a funny place, and then it struck her that W could probably use starlight to start a fire, and was possibly that fed up with her sister's antics.
A growing glow ahead guided her beneath the star riddled sky, enhanced significantly by the infrared vision. Typically, she would glance upwards to count the stars as she made her way across the meadow, but the thought of the twins burning down half of Beqanna had her much too worried. As she neared, she realized that it was not the twins, or anyone she recognized. She stopped for a moment as the cat and the other stranger settled near the fire. The cat dropped a rabbit, the newest stranger mentioned something about a permit, and Starbry was suddenly moving forwards again, bones clacking beneath her aura as she neared the trio and the ever-growing flames.
She stopped and raised her skull skywards, "Please tell me this isn't some ritualistic sacrifice." She muttered, suddenly second guessing her decision to proceed towards the group.
i have loved the stars too fondly to be fearful of the night
Fire is good for many things. Warmth, light, destruction and rebirth.
It was also good for getting attention.
Like moths they travel to his flames. First, a spectacular panther with a bloody rabbit held snug between her razor sharp teeth. He grins at her, appreciative of the way she displays her kill so unapologetically. "No worries, Panther Girl. Your dinner is a little rare for my tastes." he says with a shrug. He doesn't have long to wait before another arrives, this time a stallion. Flamevein almost feels like he recognizes him, but the notion leaves as soon as it arrives, leaving him little time to ponder. Then the stallion speaks, and for once, Flamevein is struck dumb.
"Permit? As in...permission?" he asks, an incredulous lilt to his voice. The mere thought of asking permission to use the powers that the Gods had gifted him so freely was laughable, and laugh he does. A chuckle at first, but before long his sides are aching from the power of his laughter. When it finally subsides, he turns his nebula-marked face to the odd little man. "If one things for sure and two things are for certain, I don't ask permission. I don't beg for forgiveness either. I do as I damn well please." he says, eyes sparkling and the lace markings across his back flaring brightly.
His attentions are turned to the newest arrival, and he can't help but look over her skeletal form with appreciation. He's always had a fondness for monsters and she is certainly the stuff of nightmares. "Would you rather me lie and say that this isn't a ritual?" he asks. "Maybe I've gathered you all here to harvest your souls. Maybe I'm going to sacrifice you to the Dark God. Or, less probable of all the scenarios...I'm bored, Beqanna is bored, and I figured a giant fire would be somewhat entertaining." He shrugs, a movement that causes fire to lick at his shoulders harmlessly. "Flamevein." he offers his name with a wicked grin.
Boredom never did suit him.
"Some say the world will end in fire, some say in ice. What I've tasted of desire I'll hold with those who favor fire." - R. Frost
“Well, you do have a fire if you’d like for it to be a bit more well done,” she says pointedly, though really she had no interest in sharing. Settling down onto the grass with her kill clasped in her paws, she is just about to dig her teeth in when another joins them. She almost laughs when he asks the fire-starter if he has a permit, but it comes as only a sharp exhale through her nose. “Beqanna seems to be full of pyromaniacs right now,” she muses, thinking of the fire in the Chamber. Both fires had been well-contained, of course, but it seemed a risky game in a land that was already known for collapsing and rebuilding at the faerie’s whims. Though earthquakes and storms seemed to be Beqanna’s modus operandi, a fire wasn’t too far fetched. Best not to give them any ideas.
When the next stranger approaches, she can’t help but to let her gaze linger over her for a bit longer than the others. It is not just because she is a skeleton, with that strange aura emanating from her. Iliana is, almost certain, that she has a brother with the same affliction. But then, Iliana had a lot of siblings, and she couldn’t be bothered to know them all. She knew only the children Atrox and Ryatah had together, and, less so, some of her younger half-siblings. After staring unabashedly she deduces that she did not actually know this girl, but that she is quite funny.
“We can perform a sacrifice if you all want, but not with my rabbit. You’ll have to find something else,” she says, gripping the bloodied fur tighter as if they may actually take it, her tail flicking lazily behind her.
As they stand there around the fire, this odd mix of strangers, she debates shifting into her equine form, but she would hate to waste her kill, and she knew it would become unappealing the moment she shifted back. Instead she rips into it, listening to the pyro speak. He introduces himself, and she swallows, her pink tongue flicking at the blood on her mouth before she interjects, “As strikingly original a nickname Panther Girl is, my name is actually Iliana.”
After his itch had been properly scratched, and his skin allowed to ripple in pleasure afterwards, those that gathered once again took his full attention. Well, they took his full attention as best as anything could manage to do. Soft amber eyes returned once more to their intense and inquisitive stare, such a look that holds, perhaps, the faintest glimmer of intelligence that has no place within a creature so otherwise simple.
Especially now that the conglomerate had added a burst of bone and stars to the mixture.
“Oh, well that's terribly convenient,” Weir decided, addressing the self-professed keeper of the flame as though this were an entirely reasonable system of governance. “Cuts down tremendously on paperwork.”
Then, as he is wont to do, Weir finds his focus tugged immediately back to something more unusual and fascinating.
“Well I do say miss,” the roan finds himself speaking again before he has taken a moment to properly categorize what, or rather, who he is looking at. You see, it is not every day that you come across such a creature made of cosmos and - well, of bone and not much more to speak of tangibly. He wants to ask her how she is speaking, and yet he doesn’t; Beqanna has always been a peculiar place.
”Fascinating,” he finally breathes, a flick of his ear and inquisitive narrowing of his joyful amber eyes. ”Such a brilliant display of nebula, what a likeness, how did you ever manage to recreate it?”
A cataclysm of potential spirals to a halt with the unmistakable sound of flesh pulled from bone, how ironic given current company. Eyes sliding towards the unappealing feast and sleek musculature of panther prowess. “Iliana, yes, much better,” he nods, warmly blinking his acceptance. “I’ll make note of your sacrificial expertise, though I quite agree, one ought not sacrifice another’s supper. Terribly poor manners.”
With that thought he muses, carefully considering the remnants of flame as frost begins to feather and creep towards the flickering brilliance, and the notable presence of mist unfurls along his breath.
She stood quietly as the other three spoke, focusing on the warmth of the fire and the swirling aura that hugged her bones under the moon. The arsonist was right . It had been fairly quiet and boring around here lately. That didn't bother Starbry too much, she felt as though she had dealt with enough excitement for the rest of her life. The sound of ripping flesh would have caused her to flinch, had there been any flesh on her body to react in such a way. Instead she just turned her skull towards the panther. "I think it has to be alive to be a sacrifice, but maybe I'm wrong. I've never had the...pleasure." Her attention then turned towards the more eloquently spoken stallion who seemed to be more struck by her odd appearance than the other two. She adjusted the glowing, swirling wings on her back awkwardly.
Starbry had an odd feeling he wanted to ask her something, but she didn't try to tap into his mind to find out. She didn't like to read minds, it felt rude and intrusive. To be fair, she wouldn't have been able to answer anyways. Her ability to speak and feel while a skeleton was a conundrum to her as well. She at least had infrared vision to continue being capable of seeing decently well. "Just lucky, I guess." She replied. It had been an odd night, when her friend rotted before her eyes and the sky crashed around her, leaving her with a touch of the cosmos. Beqanna was a peculiar place, alright.
"Flamevein, Iliana, Weir. I'm Starbry." Her attention then turned to areas that appeared cooler to her vision, the air around the roan also seemed cooler, lighting up more purples and blues than the oranges and reds of the other two. Her curiosity piqued and after a moment of trying to decide whether or not to say something, she stated, "You seem to be a bit chilly for being so near a fire."
i have loved the stars too fondly to be fearful of the night
