"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
09-15-2020, 12:33 PM (This post was last modified: 09-15-2020, 06:29 PM by Straia.)
is this the end of everything?
STRAIA
or is it just a new way to bleed?
She gives them time to gather themselves before she calls to them. Straia stays in Nerine long enough to help those that need it, healing them or simply whisking them back to Pangea if they request. When the Pangeans have cleared out of Nerine, Straia disappears, appearing again in Pangea.
It has been flooded and iced over, though Straia really wonders what the small force of Northerners thought they were accomplishing by destroying a wasteland. The children had been fine, playing in the water where it was safe.
Standing atop one of the canyons, Straia looks down at the raging river. It takes more magic than she likes to use at any time, but slowly, she drains much of the water into the earth, melting at least some of the ice with it. She leaves some of the damage. It could be cleared, but why bother? The desert landscape of Pangea could use a bit more water and so long as it was habitable and safe enough, she did not care what it looked like.
It is only then, after the worst of things has been cleaned up, that she calls to them. Not aloud, as she had in Nerine, but a brush of magic against those that call Pangea home, a request from their new leader.
She waits until they have gathered, curious to see who will stay here even without Ghaul. Hopefully she has at least begun to earn their respect during the battle with Nerine, but she knows they do not have a reason to be loyal to her. Nothing but the words of the boy offering her a throne. What a different world this Beqanna has become.
”You fought bravely,” she begins, ”Pangea stands strong with you to support her. You should be proud of all you have done. Now that Beqanna has been set on alert, now that the fire has done it’s work, we can begin to rebuild. We can, together, shape the world into something far better. Most of you are too young to know the Beqanna of old, but I can show you.”
Around her, she paints Beqanna as it once was. She shows them all of it, let’s them feel the flow of magic that once lived in each land. It is but a taste, though she hopes it will help them understand what she seeks to create. ”That Beqanna is gone, but we can rebuild something akin to it, something even better than what it once was. Your ideas are welcome.”
Then, sobering slightly, she turns her attention, looking for @[Anaxarete], assuming the shadow mare will be here somewhere. ”There will be time enough for the future though. For now, recover, enjoy well deserved rest. I also believe Ana has some things to add.” She will let the shadow mare address the matter of Ghaul. After all, she had been the one to find him, and in life, she had been the one to stand by his side far longer than Straia.
Activity check/kingdom meeting, so if you are sticking around Pangea please reply! Short replies are fine Please let Ana post first though so she can talk about Ghaul.
Use of mild power playing is allowed; no injuries without permission
She appears from a swirl of shadow – as is her way. She is quiet while Straia speaks, but in all fairness feels more alive than she has in years. Because plans set in motion so, so long ago are finally coming to fruition. A chain of events that sparked when she stepped into Pangea all those years ago has lead them to today, and finally the spark has ignited into a roaring flame. The very prospect of something akin to the Chamber existing in this new Beqanna breathes life into her in a way that nothing in this place had yet been able to. It was an exhilarating, dangerous prospect.
She has Ghaul to thank for that.
“Ghaul told me once – as a child – that he would devour empires,” she says, as Straia finishes. Many of Ghaul’s followers were as young and passionate as he was – or his blood ran in their veins. But even though they were young – they were bold and unafraid. Something that was becoming rare in this new Beqanna. It seemed that comfort bred complacency, but she saw none of that here.
“He lived up to that promise. He was not afraid of growth. He was not afraid of change. He has given us the opportunity to build something greater – something that combines the Beqanna of today with the Beqanna of the past – one ripe with power and potential.” She echoes Straia’s sentiment – aware that some will not understand until they see. But many will – the ones who trusted in their vision – in Ghaul’s vision.
“For that, I am grateful to him – as we all should be. The Pangea of old and the new Chamber we build will remember him.” She turns then, for the time for words is over.
She calls forth the shrouded body from the shadows – still wrapped delicately in darkness. She steps away from the group, closer to the edge of the canyon.
The shrouded body seeps beneath the smooth stone at the canyon’s edge as if it had become one with the shadows. But the shadows pool on the surface, concentrated in the area where he body was laid to rest for a moment before spreading out around the edge of the cliff, some seeping over the edge. They etched a pattern in the stone – one of a dragon– the scales clearly visible in the stone. And if you looked close, you’d see that where there should have been eyes, there were only horns. The edge of the canyon was reformed from rough stone to smooth stone scales. Where the dragon’s jaws opened a flame roared to life – a flame that would never go out.
Slowly the shadows receded into her body – leaving her tribute carved forever into the stone where Ghaul’s body would not be disturbed.
Ana’s brought Ghaul’s body back to Pangea and buried him at the canyon’s edge. As a tribute she used her magic to carve the canyon’s edge into the shape of a dragon (with horns for eyes, of course). In the dragon’s mouth there is an eternal flame.
She comes, of course - drifting like a ghost herself towards the call. Although Beyza does not know Straia, does not understand the crusade to replace this Beqanna with one from the past, it appears to be something that Anaxarete is interested in and that is enough for the white girl. She listens, but has nothing to add - no ideas at this time.
Her attention is mostly on the absence of Ghaul, the commanding presence he bore as King. She watches Anaxarete move his shadow-shrouded body into the canyon wall and form a tribute - her heart constricting slightly though her features show no sign of her grief. It is not an emotion she wears well and it is all too easy to package away. But she’s thankful to Ghaul for his lessons, for his inspiration, and for finally, in an act of fire, making Pangea feel like her home.
Beyza cannot offer much, but she adds something small to the etching - veins of gemstones and gold in the carving grow and glitter where Ghaul’s celestial marking had shone bright against his scales, as if bleeding from where his eyes should have been, and glittering in the light of the flame.
There is a quick glance to Anaxarete - Beyza will never be too old to seek her approval - before she stands quietly - her unblinking gaze drifting over the crowd and wondering who else will remain.
stars, hide your fire; let not light see my black and deep desires
Her mother had called to her and Rosebay, telling them they were moving. There was no fanfare (there never was with her mother), and there was no explanation. Iris found she hardly needed one though. What she knew was enough. Her mother had been given Pangea, and they were to go live there and help her rebuild Beqanna. Iris is far too young to understand, but she trusts her mother, and this is enough. Besides, it basically makes her a princess and she can’t say she’s sorry about that.
Iris makes her way to the meeting that her mother has called. The voices of the dead chitter at her. Some are familiar, following her around from place to place. Others are new, perhaps tied to this land or unwilling to leave it. They are louder than her familiar friends, glad it seemed to have someone to talk to. Iris listens to them, though she doesn’t say anything for now, quieting them as much as she can as she slips into the group of Pangea and her mother begins to speak.
The mention of Ghaul stirs her though. It is clear he died in the battle, and then...and then she hears a voice. She knows it is him, because it cuts across the din of other chatter as if it belongs, very much, in this moment. She did not know Ghaul, but still, she can be his voice.
Iris wiggles out of the group and comes to stand near her mother. She is still a tiny thing, but she holds herself as regally as her mother does and it is clear they are related. ”I can hear him,” she begins, voice a bit timid though she quickly grows in confidence with a quiet nod from her mother. ”He says he is very proud of you. That you all did very well.” She pauses for a moment, letting those words hang there. His words, even if she has to be his voice. ”If anyone wants to talk to him, I can help you.” This she adds of her own violation, thinking he would not mind a chance to speak with his family again, should they wish.
BY THE PRICKING OF MY THUMBS
SOMETHING WICKED THIS WAY COMES
Her shock had dissolved around the barbed edges of her guilt.
She had defended him from the wrong thing.
She had been too focused on the figure in the shadows that she had not seen whoever it was who’d come along after.
She has cut her tongue ragged on a fanged tooth on her way back to Pangea. Some weak attempt at numbing herself against the emotions swelling dangerously in her chest. An attempt at sedating herself against the memory of it all.
She had watched in some stunned silence as Anaxarete had come to collect the body. And she had felt like a coward as she had followed the magician (on foot, not through a magic she did not possess) back to Pangea. For she had gone home to grieve rather than sought out those who had harmed him.
But she is no hero, Gospel. And she has no choice but to return to Pangea. To regroup. To mourn her first - and perhaps greatest - friend. She had tried to awaken Stave, to tell him, but had not waited long enough to see if her efforts had been successful.
It had not taken long enough to reach Pangea. She had not braced herself enough to watch the shadow magician lay the body to rest. She does not weep, no. It is not in her nature. She merely watches as the rock faces crumble around his likeness. She drags in a ragged breath and grits her teeth until they ache.
She has nothing to contribute. But she swings her focus onto the child, who relays Ghaul’s message from the Afterlife. She feels some sharp sting of something nameless but still does not speak. Just stands there, as if to pledge her allegiance.
gospel
gospel is not technically a member of pangea but the leader of the cove, but she couldn't not be here to see ghaul's body laid to rest and she supports whatever the magicians want to do next
They come because the shadow master is there and that is all.
They breathe in the scents of the strangers, of the odd white one that they have seen turn into one of their own kind.
They stand apart, not with the meeting, but close enough to be seen.
Watching as always. No sounds, no snarls, escape them - they fed before they came so they would not be tempted by any here (even if Anaxarete would allow them).
They merely exist, as they have been, to serve their master and whatever plans she might have.
RIPLEY AND NOSTROMO
twenty-eight eaten to date
just wanted to reply to this with them to say they're still here!
Virgil is unaccustomed to being alone. He prefers the comfort of remaining beside either Ghaul or Asphyxea’s side, but today he forces himself to answer Straia’s call without either of them to watch over him. He feels naked and strange as he weaves through the Pangean canyons to find the forming group. The boy stands near enough to be seen and he offers a warm grin whenever his bright golden eyes meet Straia’s.
She speaks of the region as a group, as his father often does, and it pleases him that she maintains that tradition. But why does she already command them when she is the heir? Has his father already retired to the Cove? It would explain his absence, he supposes.
His gaze drifts to the drifting shadows that deliver Anaxarete to them. Virgil knows little of her, but he has at least learned enough to respect her and offer up silence when she speaks. She speaks of Ghaul and a little bloom of pride finds itself bursting open in his chest. He had heard the story himself many times over, and now that fairy tale was reality. But she continues on and he notes her use of past tense when speaking of him.
Slowly, his heart begins to sink.
Slowly, he feels himself coming apart at the seams.
Virgil watches as the monument is established in the wall of the canyon. His chest rises and falls with sharp, soundless sobs as tears begin to pour down his dark face. He stifles a whimper while Beyza’s gemstones mark where stars glimmered across his father’s face - a face he would never stare into again.
He turns his head when Iris speaks and he latches onto the hope he offers. Of course, he was always so quick to shower Virgil with praise, and he continues to do the same for them all even after his passing. It doesn’t entirely soothe the growing ache in his heart but it does take the razor edge off the hurt.
Finally, he approaches Gospel with his head hung low as he settles next to her side. She is a source of comfort, a constant figure since he first emerged from the shell he hatched from. He leans his cheek on her shoulder and tries not to weep too loudly.
Virgil is staying in the cove but Yadigar is moving to pangea. He's stil asleep during the meeting tho.
He had not fought. He had not even tried.
Pangea is his home, but he had never pledged allegiance to anyone.
He had known Ghaul as king, but he had felt no particular pull to follow him to war. And now their king is dead, replaced instead by someone else. Someone he does not recognize. And he feels nothing, Jamie. He feels no glimmer of guilt for not wedging himself between their king and whatever brought his untimely end. He had traveled to the Afterlife and it had taken from him whatever conscience he’d been born with. There is no remorse as he moves silent through the shadows, settles into the darkness at the edge of the gathering.
He is indifferent, Jamie. He is here because his mother is here. Because Beyza is here. Were he to pledge allegiance to anyone, surely it would be them. Even if he had feared his mother’s darkness once. Even if Beyza had looked at him and assured him that they were not friends.
He draws in a long, rattling breath and watches, waits. He is indifferent, too, to the things the magician shows them. A glimpse at a different land. This is the only land he has ever known and he sees no issue with it.
Like a child, he looks to his shadow-mother for guidance.
you need a villain, give me a name
Jamie
jamie's still here and will do whatever anaxarete says
She had been unaware of the fight, unaware of the carnage that had taken place and the changes it had brought. Yet, still, she arrived. The air held a strange feeling, and it was clear to her that this was not a meeting for a light chat. Cautiously, she stepped closer, ears pricked forward to listen closely to two that spoke. Her small heart sank as her eyes fell upon the shrouded body, and as she watched the rocks fall away to reveal the ever warmed dragon, she felt a small sting. Astra had only known him briefly as the strange horned being who asked her the cause of her height, but yet she was still saddened. A small part of her wished she had spoken to him more, to know the stories the dragon could tell before his fall.
As the small filly spoke up, her attention snapped towards her, listening curiously as she spoke as the voice of the fallen, a tiny spark of hope filling her as she mentioned her willingness to help. For now though, this all felt too confusing. The small, pale pegasus felt overwhelmed by all of this news, and the burial that had just taken place. How had she been so unaware of all of it? Shaking herself of the thoughts, she returned her attention to the meeting once more, waiting patiently.
They are mostly silent, though they come. Their numbers are few enough compared to what she might have hoped, but certainly more than her father had given her when she’d taken the Chamber. And given how many lands Beqanna had, she did not truly expect more than those that stood before her. Still, they were powerful, determined, and strong creatures that lived here. They would do well.
She gives them time to mourn as Ana creates the memorial for Ghaul. It would fade, in time, as all magic that was not of the faeries faded now (what a shame, really...a problem of the new Beqanna). Still, she does not mention as much because now is certainly not the time.
“If any of you would like to talk to me, please, do not hesitate to come find me.” Or really, just think it, and likely she would know. There is much she wants done, but for now, it seems best to let them mourn in peace. ”You are free to go, but I will stay for a while if there is anything you wish to discuss.”
Just a quick wrap up, as I think we’ve gotten everyone who’s going to post. If you want to talk to Straia, feel free to throw up a post for her or just approach her here - she’s hanging around to talk if anyone wants to still. Also if anyone wants to help with the “lets rebuild Beqanna” thing, please let me know!
Use of mild power playing is allowed; no injuries without permission
Please let Ana post first though so she can talk about Ghaul.
Iris
