wear a necklace of rope, side by side with me; any

[Malis]

The horses in her family had a habit of leaving, of drifting, pulling away from the things in their lives that kept them whole, kept them grounded. Perhaps that was why she hadn’t found the willpower to return to the Chamber, to her mother, to Erebor. Makai had left them, her own father, and it had never hurt Malis the way it had hurt her mother, but she had never fully understood why he left. Why he would want to leave anyone who loved him so much, so wholly, why he would want to deny a place in the universe that seemed to be carved out perfectly for him.

She understood now, though- and maybe it wasn’t for the same reasons, but she had come to the same conclusion.

Love was a terrible thing, there was no beauty in it, no purity. It was a ruinous thing that trapped and destroyed. It was all consuming, like a parasite buried in the marrow of your bones. There was no room for love in a world like this one, a world where, twice, she had been stolen from sleep, torn out of a dream and shoved into a nightmare. The first had made her plastic, broken her body and then her spirit, drawing thin cob-web fissures in the membrane of her soul. That was when the first shadows had slipped through, when the first darkness had dug itself a grave in her chest. The second had been only days ago, stolen away as a pawn in someone’s game. She had murdered twice, and both times she had wanted it. The ache in her throat for blood, the lust, that had not been her own. But the hunger for retribution, that predatorial urge to hurt those who had hurt her first, had been her own, born from the darkness churning in her chest. Even now she could feel it, quiet, patient, a sleeping beast.

The field unrolled before her, buried in the blue and black of a deep star-strewn night. Hardly anyone was out, and why would they be when the moon hung pregnant in the sky and shadow coiled like snakes through the grass and trees. But it felt easier this way, hidden with the few, out-running sleep for fear of what would happen when she let it claim her. Fear of who might come to collect her, fear of the things she would see played out across her eyelids. And with the shadow of night darkening that aching blue of her indigo skin, blending the band of black around those emerald-bright eyes and concealing the four curved horns that rose from forehead to nose, she didn’t feel so strange.

She didn’t feel like a piece of her own nightmare, slithering to life.

MALIS

makai x oksana

[magnus]

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

Their family indeed had a habit of ruining the things that mattered most to them.

It had started with Atrox and Twinge—two warmongers who loved each other almost as much as they loved themselves. Their love had been grand, but it had been poisonous. Together, they had fought more often than they did not, at each other’s throats with fury constantly. It seemed the toxic nature of that love had seeped into the bloodstream of their offspring. Makai, who killed and enjoyed it. Makai, who took something beautiful and destroyed it because he knew he did not deserve it. Makai, who just kept running.

Magnus knew that same poison. He was born from it, after all. He, too, had loved someone beautiful and pure and so utterly out of his reach. He had stretched himself thin for that love, smothering whatever impurity raced through his veins just to mold himself into what she deserved—but it didn’t work. The shadows of his soul lashed out, violently, in reaction. Before he had known what was happening, he had blood on his hands and a kingdom looking at him for guidance. It had been too much. Too much.

So he had done what his family was bred to do: he had ruined it.

Were he to learn that same destructive behavior had made its way to the third generation would break his heart, but it would not surprise him. Atrox was good at throwing carbon copies of himself, and he was good at injecting his bloodline with a particular brand of poison. They were all cursed with it.

Perhaps they were also cursed with insomnia as Magnus often failed to sleep. Usually, he spent his nights roaming the Gates—checking on the residents and ensuring everyone was safely asleep—but tonight, he was drawn from it. Tonight, he took to the air, struggling against the newness of his wings. It was frustrating to go from a creature so in tune and in control of his body to one who stumbled like a babe. By the time he landed, somewhat clumsily, at the border of the field, he was covered in sweat and agitated.

He was just about ready to make his way home when he saw her, deep blue, horned, and utterly familiar. There was something about the glint in her eye and the way she held herself that spoke to him—reminded him of himself. Magnus did not deny his curiosity and instead made his way over toward her, the color of his coat deepened to a dusky gold from the sweat, his eyes bright, muscles tense. “Hello,” his greeting was, as always, simple—his voice throaty and quiet. “My name is Magnus.” Why do I know you?

MAGNUS

once general. once lord. once king.

[Gallows]

Family reunions are my favorite thing to mentally eavesdrop on. Rarely is a family in Beqanna anything near approaching normal or well-adjusted (present company included) and this pair is no disappointment. A screwed up uncle who has been king of a place that I consider only slightly better than a swamp and his equally screwed up niece who has been whisked away for not one, but two games by twisted minds. Not that I'm judging. I have a family history that includes unrequited love, rape, incest and plain old power hungry ambition. And there's my relationship with my children, particularly my son. That would not be considered normal by even a first year psych student. But do I care? No. Normal is for the boring and the lifeless. I guess you could say I'm a sucker for a soap opera. But that doesn't change my main objective; finding guests for the sure to be fun filled party in the Valley. My lips quirk into an amused grin as I approach the indigo mare and her golden companion. She is almost hidden under the light of the stars, but a row of four horns climb the bridge of her nose, and I wonder if she considers what she went through worth it for that particular gift. My own gifts were a present upon my ascension. First ascension. I ruffle my red and black hawk wings before tucking them tightly across my sides. They are the only thing physically impressive about me. In every other way I am an average dark bay mare with golden-brown eyes. My voice is lazy, betraying no eagerness. Although damn would I love to see this girl hanging about the Valley. A twisted history like hers practically screams for acceptance in the original home of the darkly hedonistic. “Magnus of the Gates.” I grin darkly at him. Valley hater. I contemplate answering his unspoken question but I don't want to ruin the fun in the first act. Better to see how this plays out. “Our companion here is Malis and I'm Gallows from the Valley. Might as well get the introductions out of the way and move on to what we all want to know.” They can try to block my mind reading of course, but it takes quite a talent to do so. Besides, I'll only torment them just a little. I turn my expectant look onto the indigo mare. “What is it you want, dear?” G A L L O W S We must all hang together or, assuredly, we shall all hang separately.

[Nayl]

She spun the stars on her fingernails Somehow Nayl is the outlier. She is not family to any of them nor does she come from a twisted fable of lies, deceit, and rape. Their lives have already been woven together if not now then at least once before in the past. She takes note of the stallion's searching expression and the mare's languid response to seeing him once more. The girl, however, much younger than the other two, simply stands illuminated by the porcelain moonlight. A tilt of Nayl's head is the initial recognition of her company as she settles herself among them as though she belongs. Each of their names hang idly from Gallow's lips followed by a single question. "Nayl," she can feel their eyes weighing on her, judging her, trying to read her, but they can't. Her mind is an abyssal hole to any whom try, or maybe just an impassable wall. At times she wonders the strength of her own mental barricade and how many have tried to beat it down. Gallows, so readily flaunting her mind reading, offers the simplest and yet most challenging question. A thin smile wavers and slips away quickly. "I like your bluntness, " Nayl murmurs placidly as her body shifts comfortably to relax. There is no need to say anything more. All their roving eyes are flickering among each other before finding Malis. Her answer is what they want. Nayl covet and myrina's creation

bleh. bad post :/

[Smother]

Smother

Love is indeed, a terrible thing.

Out of love came children, children you didn’t necessarily ask for. Out of it came blindness, because everyone knows a fool is blinded by love. Out of it came a false sense of security, the type that makes you comfortable and calm before pulling the rug from beneath your feet. And out of it came possessiveness; the idea that whatever they do, you will do too.

Love is a very terrible thing.

I vow never to love, here, now. Because once I love, I will never be whole again. I will hurt them, I will hurt them like I hurt my parents. You see, I have a talent for destroying things. I destroyed my parents love, I destroyed my father’s love for myself, and I ruined the chance of ever being loved by my mother. You see, I have a real talent for breaking cupid’s arrow. I am the opposite of love.

I am like the devil, except the devil-pid. I am the one who daddy calls when his daughter falls in love with the biker.

That’s why I vow never to love.

I promise, here, now, to always—always—wreck it.

We—Turkish and I—meander to the field because at this time we truly have nothing more to do. I could pester the apes, taunt the spiders, but I just have no patience for anything to do with Amazonian’s right now. I want nothing to do with them. Nothing. I don’t want their heat, their estrogen, their high pitched voices.

Nothing.

Now don’t get me wrong, I do like the place. It is safe, secure, and wonderfully large. I can wander for days without seeing someone. I can also nest in the heart of the kingdom and be surrounded by sisters for days. Either or. What I don’t like, what I am struggling to like, is the consistent support.

I am used to being alone—I am good at alone. I am not good at being sociable.

Turkish, he is a hit. He has all the babes on speed dial. He flaunts with the Anaconda’s in the jungle, he boasts about himself to the apes, he pesters the sisters for attention. That boy is at home.

It is why I picked that kingdom—for him.

If I had my choice, I would be best served as a misfit on some mountain. Alone, disregarded.

I liked that idea.

But instead, I am trying to be a chameleon, for the sake of my partner. I am trying to blend myself into the social atmosphere. I am not doing so hot. How I fix myself is by focusing on something—anything. Castes, peace and war. I focus myself on bettering myself for the kingdom.

After all, I have big plans for my home. I need it strong first.

I don’t have to socialize to better my kingdom, I just have to be good at acting when the role is casted.

Right now, I am auditioning for the part of a mare recruiting an indigo flower from the field.

You let me know if I make the cut.

“Hello,” I say as I arrive at the already well established group. I feel Turkish tighten around my neck as I inhale a familiar scent. Magnus—handsome fellow he is with that uncanny resemblance of someone I feel I should know—is across from me. I wouldn’t forget that golden face anywhere. I nod to him briefly.

Did you just nod?

Turkish, enough.

I am disappointed.

Get off me.

I am not disappointed enough to remove myself from my own personal taxi, and heater thank you very much.

I feel his muscles contract around me as he lifts his head from the pillow also known as my withers, “a party around the blue light. How exciting.”

The thing with Turkish is he always sounds nice, sounds generous and manly. He always sounds polite and genuine, he just has that about him. I on the other hand always have a very cold distant tone. Feminine, surely, but disengaged.

There are two females I have yet to meet. One, who reeks of the Valley and has a very prominent voice. Another, softer and less abrasive with perhaps a little more obvious discomfort about socializing.

Silly girl, never reveal your weakness.

I smile briefly, not because I know them but because it seems like the diplomatic thing to do. Acknowledge the fellow recruiters and don’t burn bridges in the process.

Lagertha truly wasn’t thinking when she invited me to her door. She really doesn’t know me, if she did she wouldn’t trust me with keeping doors open.

I am also very good at slamming doors shut.

And throwing away the key.

“We are from the Jungle,” Turkish states, though doesn’t shift from my neck. I feel his wariness of the ground whenever more than two horses are around. He doesn’t trust his speed when on dirt. Certainly, he is fast in the water and can climb higher than most would assume, but when travelling on land his ten foot body is a heavier burden. He knows he isn’t fast enough to dodge the flying, stomping hooves of fifteen hundred pound mammals, and he isn’t about to risk it for a recruit.

I have a feeling I won’t be casted for this role, coach.

[Ramiel]

There is a change in the air that as tangible as the soil beneath his feet.

Something is off.  Something has happened, though he’s not sure, exactly, what has occurred.  In time, he’ll learn of his brother’s passing.  All too soon, Ramiel will be met with the tidal wave that is his father’s grief and his mother’s sudden disappearance.  He’ll have to deal with the raw emotion ripping apart Tiphon and the furtive, darting eyes of Talulah.  His life and the life of his family will be forever changed.

But for now, he walks in the moonlight with only minimal worry morphing the lines of his face.  Spring is a bright and cacophonous mirror of the greater changes working their way throughout Beqanna.  He’s only recently called his own kingdom together to inform them of some of these changes.  And while apprehension moves like a snake within his gut, Ramiel thinks that they are as prepared as they can be.  The Dale is less noisy than the lands surrounding it, after all.  What they need more than anything is bodies to fill it.  But having spent a few years as the monarch, he’s not interested in quantity as much as he is looking for quality.  So many have come and gone already in the past four years; loyalty and a sense of responsibility are more important than the amount of horses claiming to possess either.

As Ramiel moves deeper into the Field, a few potential horses catch his eye, even at this late hour.  They stand alone, these potentials, looking about themselves either bleakly or with a brash courage pitted against the night.  There is no in-between to the expressions they wear.  It makes the charcoal stallion wonder which face he’d wear if he ever found himself here.  Would pity or a thin fear draw in the best recruiters?  He’s not sure, but he’s also no good at small talk, so he moves on.  It’s not until he thinks he’s seen it all - that everyone else has retired for the night and maybe he should too - that he spots the group.  Four of them surround a rather striking mare.  He doesn’t doubt that they’ve already given their respective spiels, already filled her head with visions of power and intrigue.  Perhaps she’s already made her decision.  

He joins them anyway.

It’s much easier for him to slip into the conversation than to start it.  His golden eyes search for a familiar face, (how much easier it would be if he’d known one of them) but they are all strangers.  Strange strangers, at that.  A rust-winged mare seems to know everyone here, and one of the paint mares sports an unusual accouterment.   Ramiel blinks several times at the serpent squeezing itself around her neck.  The sight makes him more uncomfortable than he already is, but years of diplomacy shield his emotions from his face.  He simply stands as far as he can from the Jungle woman and her snake.  

“Good evening all,”  he says, his voice smooth and polished.  The greying stallion finishes his assessment of the others before resting his metallic gaze on the woman of the hour.  She’s even more striking this close, with her vibrant eyes and curving horns.  He thinks he can see some amount of heaviness pulling at her.  He wonders if it’s the horns and their newness; he is sure it is something else.  “I’m Ramiel, of the Dale.”  The others have already mostly given their names.  The Valley woman, Gallows, has already asked what Malis wants.  The answer could be simple or far more complex than the winged mare had anticipated.  He thinks Malis will be lying if she chooses to give the first.  Surely secrets lie in eyes with such depth.  Whether she chooses to divulge them will be telling.  He hopes there are dark and meaty truths waiting on her tongue, but he doesn’t want to hear them, not yet.  Save them for the Dale if she chooses to follow him back; they certainly need more shadows in their ranks.      

 

Ramiel

ghost king of the dale

[Malis]

The night isn’t as dark and dreary and closed away as she wishes it would be, because the few remaining souls left in the field, flushed bright beneath the moon, cluster together like dew in the belly of a leaf and she is at its heart. Anxiety closes like a fist around her chest and she can feel bones breaking and muscles tearing beneath its grip. I’m not want you want, she thinks at them desperately, I’ll rot you from the inside out. But the desperate plea is buried beneath impossible layers, beneath a mask of aching indigo and black and a row of horns glittering like molten obsidian in starlight that suddenly feels so cold against her quivering skin.

The first is a stallion drenched in gold and the sweaty echo of his frustration. There is something startlingly familiar about him, about his face and his shape and the ghosts staring back at her from the bottoms of his bright gold eyes. For a long second she holds his gaze in hers and it feels like flying too close to the sun so she blinks and turns from him, her face stoic despite the ache in her chest. When she does look back a half second later, she is struck with a feeling of unease, a worry that he knows more than he should, and she turns to stone before him. “Hello.” She says, and her voice is like the crackle of a leaf crumpled underfoot.

When the next mare comes, Malis is relieved to have an excuse to look away from Magnus, from a face that sets her mind awhirl with the kinds of questions that could ruin her. But the relief is short lived once it becomes glaringly clear that this mare does know more than she should. Her jaw tightens and her eyes are shards of emerald flickering like green flames over Gallows face. “Privacy.” Malis responds sharply when Gallows asks what it is she wants.

Her eyes are torn from the bay mare when one, two, three more horses arrive and the air feels so hot, so full of static, and it’s a wonder they can’t hear the thundering of her heart.

The first is a gray and white mare, and the gray is so dark it must be black but it is so unlike the shade of the sky or the horns springing from Malis’ face. This mare admires Gallows forwardness and Malis can feel her brow furrow beneath those windswept tangles of black and blue forelock. She wondered how much she would like it if Gallows chose to use her forwardness with the secrets tucked away inside Nayls mind.

The second is remarkable in the way a large python is draped around her neck and Malis cannot help but wonder how she can bare the closeness of this creature when her instincts should be demanding the opposite. But they are clearly a pair and there is no tension between them, though she does not miss it when the third, a stallion with a quiet face, chooses to stand apart from the two. Her eyes flicker to his face, bright and green and faintly curious, and she wonders if his instincts were as dismayed as hers. It was impossible to tell.

It’s even worse when the snake speaks, and she can feel her eyes widen for just a heartbeat before she rushes to bury the surprise.

“Malis.” She breathes in response as her eyes shift from the bay tobiano mare to Ramiel.

The group is quiet for a moment as all eyes seem to settle on her, and she wills all emotion from her face, all tension from the aching indigo of her skin. But her eyes flash faintly accusingly to Gallows when she remembers that her secrets were at the mercy of a complete stranger. She had never felt so naked.

Her chest tightens and she takes a small breath, her eyes flashing uncertainly to Magnus, to Gallows, to Nayl and Smother and Ramiel. “I don’t know what I want.” Her words are short and clipped and she hates the way this honesty feels forced when it is information she would have shared anyway. “I’m hoping I’ll recognize it when it finds me.”

MALIS

makai x oksana

ahhhh i'm so bad at group threads, but ily all <333

[magnus]

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

Magnus is not surprised when more join the pair; he is never surprised. He, however, is not pleased to see that it is a Valley horse who is the first there. His history with the Valley was a long and tangled one. He had watched them wage war on the weak and hurt the innocent and he had railed against them for years. He had stood next to Katana and their fury at the Valley had produced a child: Brunhild, who had slipped back into the shadows before he had returned to life. The Valley of his knowledge was cruel and vicious.

He was unapologetic of his hatred of it.

That being said, he did his best to not hold all Valley residents responsible for their kingdom’s bloody past. He himself was hardly a pristine soul, and he was not in a place to stand in judgment on anyone. So he doesn’t openly snarl at Gallows when she approaches, although open or not, she’d feel his historic dislike bubbling in his veins. “Nice party trick,” is all he responds, one corner of his scarred mouth rising. When Malis retort comes—significantly sharper than his—he does not suppress his amusement.

He always liked his women with a little bite.

But Gallows is not the only to join them, and his attention is diverted to each in turn. Some he recognized, his gold-flecked eyes lingered on Smother and her python familiar, and some he had never seen before, but that didn’t stop him from giving them a nod in greeting before turning back to Malis. Her discomfort with the largeness of the crowd was palpable, and his chest tightened in sympathy for her. Taking a small step back, he opened up the area for her, lowering his head slightly. “It’s nice to meet you, Malis.”

There is something about her, something sharp and jagged and entirely of his family, but he cannot put his finger on it. He does not know all of his brother’s family; he does not even know the tangling roots of his own descendants. All he knows is that the ghosts haunting her own gaze are the same as his own, and he wishes desperately to wipe them away. “I think I speak for all of us when I say we can offer you a home.” His voice is low, honeyed-whiskey, and he maintains eye contact with her. “As Gallows said, I am from the Gates.” Heaven, he thinks, although he doesn’t say it aloud. “If you’d like to learn more about it, I can tell you, or I can show you in person. Sometimes it helps to see things in person.”

MAGNUS

once general. once lord. once king.

[jenger]

hi guys D: for reasons, malis will be most likely ending up in the gates now and i don't want to make all you lovely people respond because time and muse can be hard to come by. <3