Set
Family. There had been a time that family meant everything to Set. Born into the Chamber of old, where blood and oaths of fealty were one and the same, it had not occurred to him to think any other way. In fact, it is family that brings him to Tephra now, but he does not anticipate it being any sort of joyous reunion. In the years that had passed from the time that the fae destroyed and rebuilt Beqanna, Salomea had been Niklas’ plaything. Toted along from the mortal realm to the underworld and back again several times over. Holding no real affection for the mare, Set had done little to stop his son’s torturous antics. Though she was the daughter of one of his favorites, she was also the daughter of the creature that had been Set’s mother’s downfall. It had continued on even as she sought shelter from her uncle in the sulfuric wilds of Magnus’ kingdom and it is only when she had conceived the dark god’s foal (as so many hundreds of dozens of others have) that he finally put a stop to it. Nothing done without recompense, he has finally come to collect.
Spring has only just slipped into summer in most of Beqanna, but you could hardly tell one season from another here, in the humid foothills of the volcano that sits off in the distance. At the border he abruptly swings north, head slung low and swinging, his bright gaze intense and footsteps silent. The vegetation is exotic and thick, coaxed to their fullest potential by just the presence of the plant magician. It is neither fear nor respect that keeps him from crossing over from no-man’s land into Tephra’s boundaries, but his reasons are his, locked behind an (mostly) impenetrable barrier.
He can feel her energy before he sees her. Excitement mingles with trepidation but underneath it all hums a sense of … aimlessness. It is a tangy, almost-coppery smell, one he recognizes well because his own patchworked skin vibrates with the crave for purpose. Perhaps the Beqanna of old is not gone forever.
It is a dreadlock-maned, scarred piebald that rounds a small copse of haphazard trees to greet her, his gait more predatory than equine, though it is no indication that she is his prey. He takes a moment to admire the leopard spots and antlers, and to wonder if she retains any of these creature’s characteristics, or if she only just wears their attributes. Absently, he reaches out to rip a large bit of leaf from a nearby branch, chewing thoughtfully as gold seeks blue, brushing gently against the edges of her mind. Suddenly, he grins around it, wide and genuine, jerking his head toward Tephra’s center. “Mind if I wait with you?” A beat passes before he speaks again, a careful eye accompanying his introduction – “Set,” – before he tugs the rest of the leaf from its anchor.
Spring has only just slipped into summer in most of Beqanna, but you could hardly tell one season from another here, in the humid foothills of the volcano that sits off in the distance. At the border he abruptly swings north, head slung low and swinging, his bright gaze intense and footsteps silent. The vegetation is exotic and thick, coaxed to their fullest potential by just the presence of the plant magician. It is neither fear nor respect that keeps him from crossing over from no-man’s land into Tephra’s boundaries, but his reasons are his, locked behind an (mostly) impenetrable barrier.
He can feel her energy before he sees her. Excitement mingles with trepidation but underneath it all hums a sense of … aimlessness. It is a tangy, almost-coppery smell, one he recognizes well because his own patchworked skin vibrates with the crave for purpose. Perhaps the Beqanna of old is not gone forever.
It is a dreadlock-maned, scarred piebald that rounds a small copse of haphazard trees to greet her, his gait more predatory than equine, though it is no indication that she is his prey. He takes a moment to admire the leopard spots and antlers, and to wonder if she retains any of these creature’s characteristics, or if she only just wears their attributes. Absently, he reaches out to rip a large bit of leaf from a nearby branch, chewing thoughtfully as gold seeks blue, brushing gently against the edges of her mind. Suddenly, he grins around it, wide and genuine, jerking his head toward Tephra’s center. “Mind if I wait with you?” A beat passes before he speaks again, a careful eye accompanying his introduction – “Set,” – before he tugs the rest of the leaf from its anchor.
@[Oriash]