"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
10-09-2016, 09:24 PM (This post was last modified: 10-09-2016, 09:36 PM by Hestia.)
sweet as sugar, hard as ice. if you hurt me once, i'll kill you twice.
She watches as the female’s bicker among themselves, unhappy with everything, complaining about anything, and worst of all learning nothing from what had happened over the last few weeks. Hell they had even been turned away the first time, still they choose to focus on their emotions rather than looking past faults and banding together to bring themselves into this new world as a strong group. With a deep sigh her green eyes travel from the foamy ocean to the leafy trees. Finally, she looks to Naga with a nod of gratitude, followed by another nod of agreement with Lagertha’s idea of some rest.
Silently she steps away from the group expecting that none would notice her, and if they do she doubted that anything but mistrust would be in their eyes. She doesn’t bother to check, seeing their reactions to her presence would do nothing for or against her. She wanders towards the cliff, the dense salty air cloying her lungs, almost as familiar as the jungles wet heat. Its not the same, but there is a sense of belonging here. Peace settles over her shoulders, and silence thickens around her as she comes to a stop. Looking up the craggy trail a smirk covers her face, the irony of her distaste in heights, and the fact that should need to climb it to get to the open grassland she imagines is probably one of the few reminders to her from the fairies that they did not forget her transgressions. She doesn’t mind though; she is to grateful for the simple acknowledgement of her existence by them.
Hestia eventually steps back into motion, taking her time to pick through the freshly made stones, and the loose dirt that has yet to be worn down into a well-established trail. Arriving at the lush greenery she turns towards the cliffs looking out over the sea, listening to the waves thrash against the sands. They need to learn to trust each other. She doesn’t care if they trust her, but she knows that to be successful in leading them, they would need to trust her. How to earn that though is another matter entirely. They are not a happy bunch, overly sensitive, and jumpy, much more so than she remembers. Then again she remembers when sisters had called each other wenches and laughed about it. Now they get offended at being called cowards. She shakes he mane out, sometimes she fails to understand them, and other times she feels completely in sync with them. She has patience, she can wait and see. Her eyes close, and the darkness takes her, time becomes a blur, and things no longer exist. There is nothing in this dark world of sleep.
It is a relief to escape the world, the scents, the emotions, the sights, and touch. From being a ghost for so long, she finds herself sometimes zoning out of the world overwhelmed by everything that she can now feel. When she does eventually wake, she is standing near the cliff exactly as she remembers doing before the world had slipped away. Its time, it’s time to take action and help coax the small band into action. Trumpeting her call, asking for any and all that want to join the peace caste, or the spiritual caste, to come. She steps back from the edge turning to face the new comers when they arrive.
She nods to each one, waiting until she does not see any lagging behind. Welcome sisters, Naga has already told you what it is that I will be doing so I see no reason to waste words. If you would like to join the peace caste, please step forward. She pauses a moment, allowing the sisters to assemble themselves before continuing. There will be a spiritual caste, and any that are interested in this may make themselves known at this time. Naga, Lagertha, and I will work together to make the soundest decision possible in who it is that will be joining this caste. There are limited positions available, and the work will not be easy. You must be willing to offer up your womb as well. So be warned there will be quite a lot expected of you if you choose to offer yourself up for this position. Again she pauses.
When the discussion dies down she speaks once more. The first task for each of you who choose to be a part of the peace caste will be to recruitment three horses. When you have accomplished this come back to me and I will give you another task. If there are any questions, please ask them now. If not, then let’s get busy, there is a lot to do, and a lot to rebuild.
Hestia
OOC: So we will be choosing three mares from those that want to be a part of the spiritual caste. Those three will be trained by hestia lagertha and naga to be the keepers of the history, and innitiation helpers. The mare that is the most active will be chosen as the 'head' of the spiritual caste. this one will be expected to have a foal (the foal will be required to be played by another player, preferably one that is active, and hasn't been the head of the spiritual caste before.) The foal will be raised to be the next head of the caste. the other two must train, or have a foal to take their place when they die/quit.
She wonders if the others have found the common thread in their petty squabbles yet, or if it is only her position as an outsider that allows her perspective.
Vakarian seems to understand, but Nayl is as enmeshed in their culture as any of the others. Djinni has yet to talk for long with any of the others to be certain, but given the side-eyes and sharp tongues, it is all to easy to guess.
They are unhappy with the leadership. Perhaps not with the leader, or with the methods, but something has put then ill at ease. None of them have done anything though, and it is not Djinni's position to meddle in the affairs of women too self-absorbed to do anything about their issues. The disagreements between the others give her something to ponder; something to do.
She is grazing along the cliff, nearly full with a meal of salty dune grass, when she hears the call. The grullo mare is not particularly intrigued by the idea of responsibilities, but she knows they will be expected of her, and so she answer. Djinni is the first to arrive, and she stands in front of the black mare with a curious expression on her dark face as they wait for the others to arrive.
The tobiano listens, her petite ears flicking curiously. She takes a single step forward when it is asked of her; she will join the peace caste.
"Perhaps if you tell us what this spiritual caste requires, we might be better informed to make such a decision." She suggests lightly, a brow quirked in a concerned expression with an accompanying soft smile. "Why would we need to carry a child?"
Her gentle inquiries are enough to prove her worth, she thinks to herself. Why in seven hells would any of them volunteer their bodies for something that they know nothing about? Is the Sisterhood traditionally filled with morons and imbeciles? Do they think Djinni - and any new mares - will fall in line with such a ludicrous practice?
But she only smiles, only looks curious, and asks: "And what will happen if we don't recruit?" Because she'll be damned if she brings back anyone else to whatever travesty this realm might become.
She lived in Beqanna long, long ago - and left it for the endless bullying she received as a child. Fearing the grass was greener on the other side she left...and returned in a fit of terror. The grass is never greener, she's learned. Instead, she learned to water her own grass, sow her own seeds, and make her own damn garden. Really, that's all Sunday is - a walking, breathing garden.
And to her it makes perfect sense that the new leadership would reformat their ways. Prior to the great shifting the Amazons made a name for themselves in a way that Beqanna did not see fit. So she got rid of them. But, like most women, they flourished amidst adversity. Sunday only hoped that their stubbornness would not be their downfall.
And she falls into line for the peace caste behind another mare, who voices many of the concerns Sunday had. "Yes, I would love some more information about the spiritual caste and what sets it aside from peace. I am Sunday, by the way, I don't believe we've met." She introduces herself to both mares, her easy smile breaking in the way it always does. Sunday is sincere in everything she says - it's almost annoying.
"I would love to help in any way I can, and war has never been the place for me. Let me know where I can fit in and help out."
SUNDAY
never put your faith in a prince. when you require a miracle, trust in a witch
She is still not over it. Basking in the dust of change yet, a part of her still is trapped within the Jungle. Her ruthlessness and warrior like instincts have lost their blood lust, and some how yearned for a sense of diplomacy. To have a purpose in this new world she would have to adapt to.
She lingers in the cliff side caves, watching the salty waters pull back as low tide creases the sandy shores. Watching as the waves clammer in protest as they inch backwards slamming themselves one after the other against the beach. She remains silent her verdant eyes following the placid waters, as her porcelain lobes catch the vocals of another, summoning them.
Obediently the speckled girl guides herself past the coastline, limbs kicking up sand as she protruded up sandy hill. Blades of salted sea grass graze her pistons like tendrils of amazonian vines entangling her legs but flimsy and easily breakable. Something she was at least thankful about her new homeland. Slowing her pace to a trot, the girl meets up with a small group. She had forgotten how few sisters there were after all hell broke lose.
Her gaze meets with Hestia then Djinni, and then to an unfamiliar equine. She allows a brief smile to pull at the corners of her lips. "This spiritual caste sounds quite interesting." Her emerald eyes meet Sunday, "Hi there, I'm Celeana." She adds with a friendly motion of her cranium swaying gleefully. She hadn't acted this happy since, well.... It's been a while. Lets just leave it at that.
"What's this about offering up our wombs?" She states. She wasn't planning on ever allowing herself to grow close to a man, nor form a stable relationship. Although she had fought her demons long ago, she couldn't handle being in a male's presence. Perhaps it was her past, a darkness that remained deep within her heart, or perhaps it was her adoptive mother Joscelin that had tought her to kick their ass's if necessary. But she still couldn't stand the idea. She would rather adopt then give herself up to a man.
OOC: She'd love to be in the spiritual caste.... But having a biological child is not her forte
hybris had returned when there had been a certain busyness - now things had quieted. it was the way of beqanna, a way she was familiar with, but still she did not feel as though she had truly returned. perhaps it was because a piece of her was still missing, a piece that she had once wished gone and now ached to have return. hybris had learned to live with the influx of thoughts, had adapted and fine-tuned her mind to become a sort of storage facility. infortmation was constant and unstoppable and she had taught herself to tune it out, to store it away, and to only draw on it when necessary.
now she yearned for information - it made sense that she would come to this meeting with that in mind.
hybris had served the jungle for many years as a diplomat and peace-keeper. she had fought for it, too, but her way was with words. it was a gift from her mother, the way that she could spin a web with her words, and she cherished it and used it.
this... this was different. a spiritual caste? offering up your womb? hybris snorted at the notion as she found it did not sit entirely well with her. to raise a child to follow in one's hoofprints was one thing - to be expected was another thing entirely. call her old fashioned, but it seemed a little... much.
"I am hybris," she offered, but did not press questions. those that she wished to have answered had already been asked, and she felt no need to be repetitive. for now she listened - opinions and input could come later.
Times were changed, magic was being withheld from those who did not deserve it, and lands were new. Never did Naga think that this would happen, she just always expected their world, their ways, to stay the same. But, after the change, the shift, it became obvious to her the reason why the lands changed and not just their powers were taken. The way the residents of Beqanna functioned, was not pleasing to the spirits and faeries of this world. So, horses of all the lands were forced to overcome their differencs.....but with the Amazon's pride...they still stuck together, choosing not to change.
Naga stepped forward for a reason, she loved the sisterhood, and her beloved Jungle, but this was their chance to change for the better, get rid of some of their customs, and better some as well. Naga slowly began to add men to Nerine...showing that they will no longer be so elitist about gender. There was a reason they were mixed up, why the brotherhood of the Tundra was no more...they are now co-existing. She still wanted it to be mostly mares, stallions are now welcome if they wish to pledge themselves to the sisterhood and learn to respect women and live peacefully.
The beginning was now, and Hestia had already summoned many women around her to speak about the peace and spiritual castes. Naga was changed after taking both treks up to the mountains...she could feel the energy, that raw power and sheer force of Beqanna's spirit. She learned of the importance of the spirits of this world, and thus she talked to her two advisers about a third caste. She listened as Djinni, Sunday, Celeana, and Hybris spoke up about their curiosity of this new caste, and why they would need to offer their bodies for the position, it was then our panther queen stepped forward.
"Good evening ladies. I hope you are all well, Hestia, thank you for calling this meeting. My sisters, the Spiritual caste will be like no other caste we have known in the Jungle. This caste is going to be limited to three women, these women will act as messengers between us and the spirits of Beqanna and be the link to our past. These women will have several different rolls within the kingdom. These roll are, but not limited to, aiding me in the Initiation rituals, learning about and teaching about the history of the sisterhood, and getting yourselves ready to pass your knowledge down to the next generation of Spiritual Caste members."
She paused a moment, looking the women over with a warm smile, her green eyes gleaming.
"This is where your body would come into play. This caste will be handed down by blood, though this is something that could be subject to change if not everyone agrees with this idea. But, the idea would be this, you will create a bloodline of Spiritual Caste leaders. You will raise your child to learn of our history and customs and when it comes time for you to step down, your children will have a lifetime's worth of knowledge and become the next Spiritual Caste leaders. Though new Spiritual Caste leaders could be chosen if the current does not want to bare children, or cannot bare children. But, to choose the first Spiritual Caste leaders, Hestia, Lagertha, and I will need to have volunteers, applicants, to step forward who will be willing to take the responsibilities of this Caste demands. Does this make sense? Does anyone have any more questions about these three very important and unique positions?
She looks to Hestia with a smile, without her, she would be lost. She did not regret at all having chosen her for her adviser, but, the sisters had to get over that first day in the forest....their pride was just too overpowering sometimes. But, hopefully, she would make a difference, for she was the queen that would be changing the Sisterhood for the first time in many generations before her time. She was under a lot of pressure, she had to live up to her fellow sisters expectations and become someone they could be proud of.
She soon would find her footing on this rocky journey of queenhood, she was determined to.
She looked to her fellow sisters, hoping this time she would be heard and not disregarded, at least she was the bearer of important information this time. As for her lengthy talking, she couldn't help it, she was not a mare of few words. She, like her mother, liked to be precise and informative about their cause. She hoped for no eye rolls or sighs this time. That would be one step closer to being somewhat liked. Have to start somewhere. But, she hoped the ladies understood now what this caste is about and what it is for, and it's importance to this kingdom.
The Reckoning took everything from me. My lover, my child. I exist as a ghost but not a ghost. I can no longer take shelter in the cold embrace of mist and shadows. But the relentless spirits seemed to have slid behind the silver of my eyes. I can no longer see half eaten faces covered with dirt and rot, my ears no longer hear their hollow whispers crying for help with pleading eye sockets.
I am free from their torture. This what it must like to be normal.
As I step forward to meet the call of the women, I am unafraid and daring in the sleek black of my skin. I meet their gazes as each speak in turn and I listen carefully because I am very good at being quiet. They all speak. A pretty spotted woman, a fetching paint, a bay mare who smells familiar but not familiar...some how darker but finally all question and chatter cease when Naga emerges.
I know this name because we share so much without words. The tapered points of my ears are forward and keen. I was unable to muster the strength of my words before but now I can feel them hot and searing in my throat. "Spiritual caste." I speak under my breath. If there were a place in the world for me it is that. It is hard to admit I can no longer speak to the dead for the Reckoning took that from me but I can regain it. I can once more be useful. My empty womb that once held my daughter aches with it's yearn for purpose. My heart follows suit to belong. Hesitantly, I step forward as tribute.
"I, Graveside, volunteer." This is the first time in my life I have felt like I existed. I am no a ghost. I am not dead. I am a horse just like the ones to my left and right. Until today, I was nothing more than a name but now I am a member of this tribe. They do not know me but I know all about the Amazons and their queen, Naga. I have spent much time drifting in their darkest reaches in my ghost form, prying open the little secrets and learning their ways...initiations...traditions. I have spoken with some of their dead and listen to the tales of forgotten women. I am not a spy nor a peeping trespasser with ogling eyes. They intrigue me.
It has felt like ages since I was intrigued.
graveside
((sorry she's a new face and getting to know everyone but this is a great idea! I love the idea of a spiritual caste!))
As much as she thinks the history, traditions, and uniqueness of the Sisterhood should be preserved, there is one element of this proposal Lagertha will never agree with. She is one of the older Sisters, one who served with three Queens before becoming one herself - a century after her dam ruled, and in a similar fashion. Recent history is on the tip of her tongue, the fluctuations of Beqanna's power and plays for crowns within easy reach.
Lagertha is not one to sit around and let words be put in her mouth; there was a discussion about a new Storykeeper, someone to keep an oral history of their Kingdom. This is not contested. This is, in her solemn gray eyes, necessary. But one part of it scratches the very fiber of her being, and her lips twist into hard line. Nope. From the back of the group, the scarred General speaks- calmly and matter of factly. "I did not agree to requiring a child of whomever we choose. For as long as I can remember, The Sisterhood has had a meritocracy. I don't think that is a tradition we should discontinue - nor should we put that expectation on some poor girl's shoulders, or discount others because they are not of someone's blood. My children are not more fit for a job than Hybris's or Djinni's."
She wets her lips. "I move we strike that from the requirements and keep it an application position, so as to keep it fair and balanced" Honestly, it's like they'd run away with ideas and never considered how they might sound when spoken aloud. Or how their Sisters might take the idea of losing out on opportunities.
As the first to arrive, she watches those that come after with curiosity bright in her sea-green eyes. There is a bay mare - Sunday - and her easy smile toward Djinni is rewarded with a matching grin in greeting. Even if she is a stranger, Djinni has always been inclined to prefer smiling strangers over scowling ones. Next is Celeana, a tall young thing that seems hesitant about offering her body for use by the Sisterhood, followed by the white stranger Hybris.
It is then that Naga comes forward, taking the meeting from the mare assigned to lead it, and the grullo Djinni listens as she elaborates.
"That's not a caste then," she says, "those are three separate positions." Perhaps they don't value semantics in the same way Djinni does, but is that not a skill often possessed by those concerning themselves with diplomatic affairs? "They'll be historians." She adds, because the idea that Beqanna's spirits might commune with a trio of horses chosen by mortals simple because they were chosen is ridiculous, and giving credence to the idea that they'll be anything more than the keepers of history is ludicrous. There is value is storytellers, of course, but creating an entire ("entire" - 3) caste for them seems a terrible waste of time.
She doesn't have time to say anything more, as a wet black mare arrives and volunteers for one the the most idiotic positions that Djinni has ever heard of, It's not her fault, of course, but it does nothing to soften the hardened look that has begun to settle in Djinni's gaze. She is ready to speak up again, to contest the absurdity of blood lineage, when Lagertha speaks up from the back of the assembly.
Djinni finds herself nodding in agreement with the General's words. "What if the children were boys? Or girls who did not want the role? What if childbirth killed her? How many children would a mare have to birth before you would grant her permission stop trying? Would they choose the fathers, or would they be chosen for her?" Her first few questions are possibilities, the last few designed to poke holes in a poorly thought-out and executed plan.
Djinni loves history, but having to fuck and breed her way into a position gives her half a mind to set the sea to boiling before she tosses the whole Sisterhood in.
It appears that Sunday is not the only mare with reservations.
The others come and speak their piece, and at long last Naga steps in the fill in the gaps of information. What she says does not shock Sunday, but it does upset her. A frown appears where a frown rarely sits on her face, mulling through her thoughts on the entire matter as the other mares bring forward their own concerns.
Each mirror each other.
Sunday is equally unsure about the position, but she does not wish to hurt any feelings. She's always been diplomatic that way.
"I think there are a lot of wonderful points," she says during the lull, nodding to the mares who spoke up. "I think we can all agree that this third caste has potential, but only if we all support it. Every part of it. I think Djinni's questions about the gender of the foals, the selection of the father...what if the chosen doesn't want the position...these are all very valid." She turns then to Lagertha. "I second your concerns with blood lineage and qualifications." Then, with the smallest turn, to Naga and Hestia. "It sounds like a wonderful position for someone who wishes to teach, does it not? A teacher who can pass our rich history on to children. And the one who shows the most aptitude, the one who loves history as much as the teacher, can take their position?" She smiles then, a quick flash of mischief across a normally benevolent face. "After all, we can't be sisters - literally and figuratively."
SUNDAY
never put your faith in a prince. when you require a miracle, trust in a witch
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