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Nao and Ikaro · (This post was last modified: 11-09-2015, 07:03 PM by Nao and Ikaro.)

they all need something to hold on to, they all mean well
pay your respects to society giving me hell

On the horizon, two figures crest a low hill and pause to stand upon it, looking down on the field and its sea of faces. First is a small slip of a mare with flaxen hair and an exotic tilt to her almond eyes. Though slight, there is a fierceness about her; like flint, it sharpens the softness to an edge, and she holds her head very high indeed. Just beside her is a sooty bay stallion, lean and quiet; a presence much less commanding than his female counterpart.

“Well,” she starts, her liquid-smooth voice rippling with impatience, “We’re here.” She cranes her shapely head back at him, almond eyes flashing. “Is it everything you thought it would be, brother?” And with that Nao turns from him, heading down the grassy slope without a backward glance, gliding into the fray with sweet lips and hooded eyes.

Beneath his breath, Ikaro sighs. There is yet gentleness to him, despite the sins of their father. And mother, Nao would have scoffed, had she been given half the chance. But he remembers their mother. She was the first beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

And then she’d left.
She’d left them with him.
That alone is what Nao remembers about Kagerou.

The dappled bay pauses there on the slope of the hill, silently watching after his sister. They’d been here before, once. A long time ago. Time – they have known for decades that as long as they are together, time passes them by. Yet therein lies the clause of their immortality. Sometimes, he suspects that she hates him for it. He glimpses it in her eyes – the way they flicker so darkly at him when she thinks he isn’t looking. He is her constant reminder, and that is why he can never blame her.

She’d always had it worse because of him.

It isn’t long before he follows in the flaxen chestnut’s path, winding around small gatherings here and there until he finds her. Nao’s eyes are sweeping the faces of those milling about, swift and sharp, though she lets her gaze linger momentarily when a stranger catches her eye. “Nao,” he reproaches, his husky voice low. She ignores him, and so he simply waits at her side. Like moths to flame, there would be those who were drawn to her.

There always were.

nao § ikaro
you could never feel my story, it's all you know
i will not fold, she's in control of everyone and everything

magnus · 11-05-2015, 02:47 AM

you and I both know that the house is haunted
and you and I both know that the ghost is me

Immortality does not flood through Magnus’ veins, although time has not affected him the way it should. Almost a century has passed since he was born and yet his body is that of a stallion in his prime. His coat is scarred, weathered, but his muscles are hard and his body lean. There is a shininess to his coat that speaks of health—a brightness in his eyes that speaks of the vigor of youth. He certainly does not look like a stallion who has seen decades pass him by, and in truth, he hasn’t. Instead, much of that time had been spent sinking beneath the saltwater, lifeless body being tossed to and fro by the raging waves.

It was only recently that he had crawled upon the beach and spit the death from his lungs.

With his rebirth had come the renewed purpose of protecting Joelle’s home—the home he wished that he deserved but settled for serving. He was a Gates man because he made the choice to be, but he was not made in its likeness. There was too much bloodlust boiling in his veins; there was too much eagerness to grip the hilt of a sword and then drive it into the chest of his enemies. He was the product of his father and his mother, and he knew it. There was kindness in him, but it was tempered and chased by shadow.

Still, he did his best by the gentle kingdom, and he vowed that he would until breath left him once more. And it was this purpose that drove him day after day to the Field in hopes of meeting more souls who would be interested in making the Gates their home too. It was this purpose that put him in the position to see the twins enter today, his interest piquing as they made their way together. Something about the flintiness of the mare and the softness of the stallion drove him forward, forgetting any inhibitions.

“Hello,” he said in his husky voice, the sound ash and smoke, as he came to a stop near them—giving them enough breathing room to dismiss him should they so choose. For a beat, he was silent, considering them before he continued, “My name is Magnus.” He knew that many recruiters chose the hard drive, choosing to cut straight to the chase, but that simply wasn’t his style. He much preferred to get to know the souls in the Field first—ensuring that they would be as good a fit for the Gates as it was for them.

“So what brings the two of you to the Field on this fine day?”

MAGNUS

once general. once lord. once king.

Yael · 11-06-2015, 01:54 PM

Ohhhh, Yael has all the time in the world; some days she feels it, and some days she doesn’t. Some days the world seems just as beautiful as the first day she’d gained her magic. Somedays it seems like if the sun never rose for the next day, she would be perfectly fine with that as well. Resentment blooms every now and then, and then dies fairly soon after. Immortality without responsibility, without the power to do anything they want, well… that must be rather dull after awhile. The earth is a fascinating place - but the liveliness of the seas and the sereme songs of the cosmos are something that she could easily lose herself in for several decades or so.

It irritated her to no end the that Desert has once again gone silent; like a couple grains of sand stuck in one’s eye, or the constant tickling before a sneeze, it needles and pokes at her until she snorts in frustration and takes to the skies on her gilded wings. Yael knows exactly where she is going, too. Back to the field. Now, she has no shame in scanning the wanderers for potential. The golden woman does it quickly, silently, with hopefully nothing to give her cursory glances away. Some she dismisses outright, and others she tucks away for further consideration. And then there are twins and - oh. Oh.

Tears almost spring to her eyes at the thought of Kagerou. The little Desert woman had loved the Amazonian Queen and the one that came after her, very dearly. It always hung heavy on her conscious that some of the leopard mare’s doom was due to the War. If only… ah, she had so many ‘if onlys.’ One she is working on, but the others she must lay to rest. The only thing is that that one needs some preparation, something to have give it an extra push of momentum. On fluffy feathers, she takes an easy descent, landing her fine-boned body near the trio. Aside from coloring, she is very much in contrast to Magnus, being delicate and dainty and carrying an inherent grace from all that Queen business so long ago. Her silver mane and tail are windblown, giving the Guardian a sort of devil-may-care beauty.

Warm, cinnamon brown eyes light up when she takes a couple of steps toward them, an easy and genuine expression on her face. With a cordial, but slight nod to Magnus (oh she knows of him, and approves very much of his efforts to rebuild the Gates - in fact, she makes a mental note to visit them soon and see her grandson), she introduces herself. “And I ahm Yael. Xello. Velcome back to B’kanna.” She lets it slip out - it is always something she means to do, it is never by accident.

Nevertheless, it lets them know that she knows - and that she has at least some sort of power. Perhaps they will be drawn to that sort of thing.

Yael, guardian of the desert

Rhonan · 11-07-2015, 04:33 PM

my shadow tilts its head at me,

spirits in the dark are waiting.

The Valley has already fallen into new hands. It seems to be a trend, or so Rhonan gathers. Though he doesn’t really care or think much of it. In truth, he suspects Gallows and Fennick will make good monarchs for the Valley, but in the end, he’s never felt much loyalty to another horse. Or even necessarily his kingdom. It’d be entirely possible for a kingdom to snag him away if the offer made sense. But at the same time, he doubts any other kingdom wants him. Except perhaps the Chamber.

But Rhonan belongs where his father had belonged. Though he’d never met his father, he seems to know this fact. Rhonan has no real social skills, doesn’t bleed for the Valley in the way many of the other residents have, but still, he feels some obligation to work for it. Why? Perhaps because he knows it is what Covet would have done, and would want now. Because he has some pathetic and misguided hope that Covet would be proud of him. Even though his father couldn’t even stay alive long enough to meet his son before dying.

Oh well. No use dwelling on that one.

Unlike the other two recruiters that have already approached, Rhonan doesn’t really have a clue why he’s picking these two. He doesn’t read others all that well, and doesn’t pretend to. He would not admit that he found the mare rather pretty, and liked the way he held her head in the air like she owned the damn place. She seemed like the kind of company one might want to keep. Not that Rhonan was the kind of company anyone wanted to keep. Not because he was outright cruel or anything, but simply because he was awkward as hell. In this, he is Covet’s son.

He pops out of the shadows silently, and literally, not all that far from where they stand, wearing the shadows like a second skin. He has never liked being gold and white, and so he wraps himself in the shadows until his coat is black. It’s not obvious from a quick glance, but closer to him, one can see the way his black coat wavers and swims just slightly. He doesn’t wear it for show, but simply because he likes it better, is far more comfortable wrapped in the darkness.

Magnus asks a question, and Rhonan is close though to hear it at this point, coming to join the group just as Yael begins to speak. He simply nods in greeting slightly, and adds after, “Rhonan, from the Valley.” He doesn’t actual like Magnus’s question. What brings them here seems obvious. The question is what are they looking for. But Rhonan doesn’t ask. One, because he’s happy not to have to say all that much, and two, because he’s not here to be a complete ass. He’s starting to learn where that line is. Starting, though he’ll cross it anyway if the mood strikes him.

rhonan.

Nao and Ikaro · (This post was last modified: 11-09-2015, 07:03 PM by Nao and Ikaro.)

they all need something to hold on to, they all mean well
pay your respects to society giving me hell

Nao’s smile is all haze and silk, her mouth curving at the corners as three strangers approach in turn. The winged stallion is first to greet them, and upon him her almond gaze lingers longest, bold and unabashed. “Hello, Magnus,” she returns smoothly – his name almost a caress. Beside her, Ikaro clears his throat as a golden mare descends from the sky and tucks her wings with an elegant sweep.

Nao’s eyes flash beneath thick lashes at Yael’s words, though her demure smile never falters. “I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure,” she remarks in liquid tones, though by then a dark figure advances from the shadows to draw her focus. “Rhonan of the Valley.” Her brow quirks teasingly at him. “Welcome to the field.” Like she owns the damn place, indeed.

“I’m Nao,” she says, flaxen tail swishing about her hocks. She gestures to her counterpart. “My brother, Ikaro.” The dappled stallion inclines his head to the newcomers, though he remains quiet at her side – his gaze mild, not unkind. “We’ve come to be impressed,” she says (craftfully effortless) as a light laugh slips from her lips. She tilts her shapely head in Magnus’ direction again, her eyes on him. “I hope you’re up to the challenge.”

Ikaro steps forward then, intervening. “I’m sure we’re all here for a reason,” he says, “Perhaps it’s best if we heard yours.” Whereas his sister had purposefully sidestepped Yael’s awareness, Ikaro had immediately taken interest in it – though for Nao’s sake he is careful not show it. Instead, he holds Yael’s gaze for a beat. It is what she knows, and not how she knows it, that matters to him.

Having paused to cast a sidelong glance after her brother and the golden mare, the chestnut’s almond eyes flit from Magnus, with years of experience etched in his scars, to Rhonan; young, his coat smooth and deeper than black. A silky smirk comes to her lips then – almost a dare – a knowing smile that says quite clearly, impress me.

nao § ikaro
you could never feel my story, it's all you know
i will not fold, she's in control of everyone and everything

magnus · 11-09-2015, 11:47 PM

you and I both know that the house is haunted
and you and I both know that the ghost is me

They are different, but not entirely so—they are instead crafted from air and stars and are as solid as the earth beneath his feet and yet a thousand miles away. It is a curious feeling to be in their presence, and he returns Noa’s unabashed curiosity with a lingering gaze of his own, his gold-flecked eyes watching her steadily. What made them so? Magnus knew enough of magic to recognize its presence, but he had a feeling that theirs was not a magic he was used too—instead it was something deeper, something stronger.

Magnus nods politely to the golden Desert mare and shadowed Valley stallion, although his jaw clenches just slightly at the latter. He had never been a fan of the kingdom although he did his very best to not hold it against its newer members. It was not necessarily their fault that they chose to join a kingdom that had historically fronted the very worst of Beqanna. Still, he did not absolve them of the kingdom’s guilt either.

Turning to the celestial twins, he laughed at the mare’s proposition, rolling his shoulders. “In terms of the physical, I do not have many magic tricks to display.” Unfortunately, the wings tucked by his side were the most magical part of him to ever exist—and he didn’t mind that. He had always relied on his own strength to get him by; the only reason he had even accepted the wings was to better serve the kingdom.

“That being said, I do have stories about what Beqanna was like about a century ago.” He meets the mare’s eyes and winks lightly, “And a few stories about what it’s like to live under the ocean for a few of those decades.” He holds it as a personal accomplishment that he can now laugh about his own death. He no longer woke up in a cold sweat and no longer feared the beach. Perhaps he was putting it behind him.

Sobering slightly, he turns to the stallion and just nods. “My reason is simple and I am sure,” he nods to the others around him, “very similar to that of Yael and Rhonan.” His wings ruffle a little at his sides. “I am from Heaven’s Gates. We are growing, but growth is never done. We are looking for the strong, the intelligent, and the cunning to strength our kingdom—and we are looking for those who simply want a haven or a place to rest their head.” He pauses, “Personally, I am here because I once made a promise to someone that I would protect Heaven, and I intend to fulfill that promise in anyway that I can.”

Lightening the mood with a crooked, scarred grin, “If I can accomplish that while surrounded by interesting company and good friends, all the better.” And then, finally, he falls silent.

MAGNUS

once general. once lord. once king.

Rhonan · 11-18-2015, 09:26 AM

my shadow tilts its head at me,

spirits in the dark are waiting.

If Nao’s gaze had lingered on Rhonan instead of Magnus, he never would have noticed. It would have been wasted on the shadow boy, and so it’s probably a good thing she barely even directs it his way. He barely even notices the tease, though it’s directed at him, and even if he does notice it it simply rolls of his shoulders. It’s hard to ruffle his feathers even slightly, harder still to get him to bite and play back. Sometimes he gets it, like with Tytos, but witty banter isn’t his strong suit. Brotherly bro’s he can manage, at any rate.

He’s not even paying attention enough to see Magnus’s reaction to him, though it wouldn’t surprise him. Rhonan, honestly, had no real loyalty to the Valley. He just couldn’t think of any other kingdom that would actually want him, a creature made of darkness. He destroyed everything he touched, not that he ever meant to. He simply did. So where was he to go? The Gates, where he’d blacken every flower? The Deserts, where there were no shadows for a boy nearly made of them? Maybe the Tundra, it would be his only other option. But he wasn’t dying to freeze on a daily basis, as it turned out.

So he lived in the Valley, because it accepted him and his many terrible deeds, and his even longer list of flaws. And that was enough. Enough to send him to the field now and again, to consider fighting for the kingdom. Enough to turn him into something that his father might have been proud of, if his father were alive to see it.

The two speak, an interesting pair, though he doesn’t really notice the nuances of their relationship. He notices instead how the shadows do not really touch them, and he wonders if he’s simply wasting his time. Perhaps, but he’s here now, so whatever. They want to be impressed, and he actually laughs at this, something of a rumble with a hinge of the darkness that controls him (or the darkness that he controls, it’s hard to tell which way it works some days, blessing or curse).

Magnus is the first to reply, about how he’s lived for centuries, how he’s died and come back. Rhonan has never died, not really. Never lived for centuries, not really. Yet he has. He lived in Beqanna before the fire (the fire none of them would have ever known). He lived in his world of monsters, creatures he pieced together until they were made better. This was the world with his crow, but then his crow died, and the world broke apart beneath his feet. He lived in Beqanna after the fire, when the horde of dead, charred horses tore away Rhonan’s ghostly friend. The same world in which his own friends turned on one another and tore each other apart. Survival of the fittest, yes?

But he won’t say any of this. He can’t. How could it ever sound like anything other than the ranting of a crazy boy?

And then Yael, who simply has more tricks than he. Rhonan has plenty, certainly, but Yael can match him step for step. Rhonan hasn’t noticed the way the mares eye each other either, like one might be prettier than the other. He can’t even fathom that thought. They aren’t shadow creatures like he is, and to him, they are nothing like Ana, like Rhynn.

Eventually, it’s his turn. And he really isn’t all that skilled at being clever and cunning. He hasn’t died in this world, in the only world any of these horses would know. He doesn’t have magic. So he does what he does best, and just says it bluntly. “The Valley isn’t looking for recruits that come simply because they are impressed with a story or a skill of the recruiter.” He shrugs, and it is rather obviously he doesn’t mean this meanly. Rather, he doesn’t have much tact in social graces, and really, doesn’t care if he offends anyone or not. “We are looking for recruits that want to be in the Valley. Like any other kingdom, there’s power to be had, ranks to be climbed. Me? I like it for the shadows, for the non-judgmental company.” Because lets be real, Yael and Magnus would judge him to hell and back, just where Rhonan belonged. But no one in the Valley ever expected him to be anything but the shadow boy.

“If that’s not your fancy, then there’s no amount of impressing I can do that’ll change that.” And, having talked far more than he likes, he falls silent.

rhonan.

Nao and Ikaro · (This post was last modified: 12-04-2015, 12:20 AM by Nao and Ikaro.)

they all need something to hold on to, they all mean well
pay your respects to society giving me hell

She does not react to the voice that curls like thick smoke in her mind, though she feels her brother’s eyes on her. She knows that Ikaro expects the comment to strike flint, to ignite. Yet it elicits only a cold distaste – one that Nao makes no attempt to hide. For her sake the sooty stallion remains passive, but if Yael were to venture any further she would read his interest as clearly as she would his sister’s aversion. What do you know about her? he wonders in the quiet of his thoughts. Then Magnus begins to speak, and so he must shift his attention to the actual conversation at hand.

Nao laughs at first, her almond eyes impish. “I’m sure you have more than a trick or two, Magnus – physically, I mean.” She tilts her flaxen head at him as he continues, alluding to the countless years he has lived as well as those he has not. “Quite impressive,” she asserts, adding with a liquid smile, “Especially since you’ve managed to surface from such experiences relatively unwrinkled.” He goes on to speak of the Gates, of a promise he intends to keep, and at once her gaze sparks. “She must be someone very special.” At her side, Ikaro tenses – yet Yael interjects with her demonstration, diverting Nao and Ikaro alike for the time being.

With little hesitation, the slender mare steps forward to inspect the magician’s transformation, keen eyes tracing the metallic scales and hard lines of the dragon’s body. Touching the bony ridge of a long wing, she casts a look over her shoulder at Ikaro. She knew he was intrigued by the Desert guardian. If only it was because of this spectacle, and not her earlier comment. Turning back to Yael with a quirk in her brow, Nao watches as the mare reforms before them. “Teach me that trick and I’m all yours,” she remarks, a small tilt to her mouth that almost challenged, But if not...

It is Ikaro who answers Rhonan, though Nao laughs at his last statement (silver and smoke). She has half a mind to accept his offer. He is carelessly frank, and that in itself amuses her. “You’ve all given us much to consider.” He looks to each in turn before he turns to hold his sister’s gaze, quietly steady. “Perhaps if we were to discuss our choices in private?” The chestnut considers him a moment, the humor waning from the curve of her lips. Then she sighs, giving a toss of her pretty head before glancing over the trio a final time. “Yes, well, we wouldn’t want to keep you any longer, would we?” A last smile, soft and sharp all at once – her eyes upon Magnus longer than the rest. “And if we meet again, suffice it to say that you must have made an impression after all.”

And with that Ikaro turns, though Nao lingers a beat before she, too, moves off with a swish of her tail. Her hips sway subtly as she follows him, though she knows he won’t be far.

He never was.

nao § ikaro
you could never feel my story, it's all you know
i will not fold, she's in control of everyone and everything

so this is because I am actually really undecided about where I want them to go still >_<
feel free to reply, or not, as I know it's taken me forever to get this response up. I promise they will show up with a post at one (or more) of your doors!

PS. y'all are fantastic and I had fun with this. <333

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