05-21-2024, 03:56 PM
EVERCLEAR
It is difficult for him to adjust to the reality that the kingdom no longer incorporates the heavenly aspect of its original name. He should not be surprised – Beqanna is ever-evolving, a constant shift and morph within its core like the molting of some giant reptile. And just like a reptile, it moved on, leaving its past behind for elders like himself to bear in remembrance, something fragile and unwanted and irrelevant.
They had been angels back then, even himself – both an outcast and a reclaimer, an aspirant and a convert. The shadows of his past may have lingered in the eyes of some, but he had considered himself one of them, a seraphim among them, their leader with his resplendent queen. He had tried above all else to give them hope, to rebuild the wreckage of their home… but it all seems pointless now, no matter how much he wishes it were not so.
The kingdom of Heaven had fallen, overcome by the wiles of the faeries, and is now reborn. Quiet, barren, peaceful, wanting…
Therefore he corrects himself when introducing the kingdom to the mysterious visitor, this nameless creature who wanders the beach at night. He studies her now, still a bit off-put by her minimal answers so that he must rely on a nonverbal sort of communication. The twitch of muscle, the depth of breath, the shift of weight. Everclear can only try to match her, pulse slightly elevated in his apprehension.
She has not returned to look at him, her bright blue eyes rimmed with the ethereal light of his halo fixated on the dark lands beyond as she dodges the question of her name. It’s then that he can see the pointed teeth in her smile, the predatory rows of a shark’s mouth, and his cautious swims back to the surface. Planting his weight evenly on his feet, he continues to watch her, unblinking for a moment.
Her words are a bit odd in these times of quietude and even stranger for such a pliant setting, the calm beach in the empty kingdom. At first he believes he could affirm her question (‘have you ever tried so hard to be someone you were never meant to be?’ Yes, oh, yes.), but he does not have a chance as she continues. He tucks his chin, eyes and ears locked on to her until her voice lapses and he draws breath for an answer, gathering the words that will not have a chance to reach his lips.
They do not make it to the tip of his tongue for, just when he finally blinks, she strikes. She twists and he brays, a hoarse shout smothering his impending response with the raw vocalization of surprise. She has moved too quickly, lashing toward his throat with those dagger-teeth and serpentine speed, silent and fierce. Everclear jerks his head upward, trying to rise into a rear to avoid the blow, but she has already come down upon him and her fangs snag against his dappled hide.
The bloom of pain is lost beneath the heat of his blood rushing through the fresh wound, rapid as it flows to meet her hungry mouth. But his motion still pulls him free of her reach as he turns too, angling his forelegs to his right and toward the ocean. Reflexively, his body wants to spin and defend itself with a lash from his hind legs in an angered buck, but he refrains. Prancing slightly away from her into the fingertip-reaches of the lapping waves, he keeps himself facing her and tosses his head with a hardy snort.
Adrenaline burns from the sudden release into his veins; his legs feel heavy but loose, his heart pounds madly in its cage. Beneath him, golden light dances erratically on the ripples of the water and froth that ring around his ankles.
“Why–?” he asks hoarsely before he coughs, shakes his mane and lifts his head again. “Why have you come here with violence?” Clearer, this time. The indignance burns in his words, sharp and tangible as he scowls at her dark form in the moonlight. His throat is darkened now by the blood trailing gently down his neck and to his breast; warmed by his body but cooled by the open air, it is a discomforting stain to bear.
But her words still linger in his ears, the talk of insanity and demons, and he exhales sharply. “If you are struggling, you surely need help.” He is still pacing slowly through the surf, circling her now so that she might not regain the upper hand. “But you should not resort to such monstrous tactics to redeem it.” His frown has softened now – it lingers still, but not as harsh as before. “This is not the place for such brutality and I am not a willing opponent.”
He has always been, at his core, a peacekeeper.
“Speak with me and I will gladly offer any aid you might require,” he finally stops before her again, a length or two out of her reach, and nods his head. The crimson at his throat gleams in the light of his heavenly crown. “But if you will not listen, I will not host company with such savagery.” A gentle threat, for he does not wish to use any sort of force against her, but his promise to the queen had been true: he would do what he must to protect his home.
“Start with your name, and tell me what troubles you.”
They had been angels back then, even himself – both an outcast and a reclaimer, an aspirant and a convert. The shadows of his past may have lingered in the eyes of some, but he had considered himself one of them, a seraphim among them, their leader with his resplendent queen. He had tried above all else to give them hope, to rebuild the wreckage of their home… but it all seems pointless now, no matter how much he wishes it were not so.
The kingdom of Heaven had fallen, overcome by the wiles of the faeries, and is now reborn. Quiet, barren, peaceful, wanting…
Therefore he corrects himself when introducing the kingdom to the mysterious visitor, this nameless creature who wanders the beach at night. He studies her now, still a bit off-put by her minimal answers so that he must rely on a nonverbal sort of communication. The twitch of muscle, the depth of breath, the shift of weight. Everclear can only try to match her, pulse slightly elevated in his apprehension.
She has not returned to look at him, her bright blue eyes rimmed with the ethereal light of his halo fixated on the dark lands beyond as she dodges the question of her name. It’s then that he can see the pointed teeth in her smile, the predatory rows of a shark’s mouth, and his cautious swims back to the surface. Planting his weight evenly on his feet, he continues to watch her, unblinking for a moment.
Her words are a bit odd in these times of quietude and even stranger for such a pliant setting, the calm beach in the empty kingdom. At first he believes he could affirm her question (‘have you ever tried so hard to be someone you were never meant to be?’ Yes, oh, yes.), but he does not have a chance as she continues. He tucks his chin, eyes and ears locked on to her until her voice lapses and he draws breath for an answer, gathering the words that will not have a chance to reach his lips.
They do not make it to the tip of his tongue for, just when he finally blinks, she strikes. She twists and he brays, a hoarse shout smothering his impending response with the raw vocalization of surprise. She has moved too quickly, lashing toward his throat with those dagger-teeth and serpentine speed, silent and fierce. Everclear jerks his head upward, trying to rise into a rear to avoid the blow, but she has already come down upon him and her fangs snag against his dappled hide.
The bloom of pain is lost beneath the heat of his blood rushing through the fresh wound, rapid as it flows to meet her hungry mouth. But his motion still pulls him free of her reach as he turns too, angling his forelegs to his right and toward the ocean. Reflexively, his body wants to spin and defend itself with a lash from his hind legs in an angered buck, but he refrains. Prancing slightly away from her into the fingertip-reaches of the lapping waves, he keeps himself facing her and tosses his head with a hardy snort.
Adrenaline burns from the sudden release into his veins; his legs feel heavy but loose, his heart pounds madly in its cage. Beneath him, golden light dances erratically on the ripples of the water and froth that ring around his ankles.
“Why–?” he asks hoarsely before he coughs, shakes his mane and lifts his head again. “Why have you come here with violence?” Clearer, this time. The indignance burns in his words, sharp and tangible as he scowls at her dark form in the moonlight. His throat is darkened now by the blood trailing gently down his neck and to his breast; warmed by his body but cooled by the open air, it is a discomforting stain to bear.
But her words still linger in his ears, the talk of insanity and demons, and he exhales sharply. “If you are struggling, you surely need help.” He is still pacing slowly through the surf, circling her now so that she might not regain the upper hand. “But you should not resort to such monstrous tactics to redeem it.” His frown has softened now – it lingers still, but not as harsh as before. “This is not the place for such brutality and I am not a willing opponent.”
He has always been, at his core, a peacekeeper.
“Speak with me and I will gladly offer any aid you might require,” he finally stops before her again, a length or two out of her reach, and nods his head. The crimson at his throat gleams in the light of his heavenly crown. “But if you will not listen, I will not host company with such savagery.” A gentle threat, for he does not wish to use any sort of force against her, but his promise to the queen had been true: he would do what he must to protect his home.
“Start with your name, and tell me what troubles you.”
@
Deiti