"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
04-27-2016, 09:25 PM (This post was last modified: 04-27-2016, 09:26 PM by Malka.)
She'd been gone for much longer than she had ever planned to be. She couldn't even remember half of the places she'd traveled while she was away and, honestly, it didn't really matter. Her brightly colored wings flap slowly as she glides across the kingdoms. She is so small and insignificant that she doubts anyone would pay her any mind at all. As she moves she can see that many of the kingdoms have recently been through some major destruction, though the sight that strikes her the hardest is the new growth in the Amazons after a very apparent fire incident. She couldn't imagine what could be strong enough to burn the Jungle to the very ground, but she has a feeling some sort of Magic was involved - it has had always been the culprit in the past.
She does not stop at her old Jungle home and instead continues past. There were few there who would even know who she was and those that had last lived there had already voiced their concerns about her lack of attendance. Her wings bring her further and further away from the kingdoms and the adjoined herdlands that fell outside their range and instead carried her to somewhere that required much less commitment - something she lacked greatly these last many visits to Beqanna.
She spots a forest below and glides down slowly. She can see the Meadow in the far distance, but she does not wish to be out in the open today. She's not sure what she expects from this land right now and only knew that, for some reason, she had felt its draw for the last few weeks and she'd finally caved to its will. She lands neatly among the branches of a tree before hopping her way down the the forest floor. It is only once she'd reached the soft ground below did she transform. Gone was the colorful feathers and bright red chest of the quetzal and in its place stood a bay and white overo mare. Her ears flicked lightly on top of her head as she took in the sounds around her. They weren't quite exotic as the jungle creatures she had once been accustomed to, but they would do - for now.
04-29-2016, 08:17 PM (This post was last modified: 05-08-2016, 01:37 AM by Volcan.)
Volcan
Burn slow, burning up the back wall Long roads, where the city meets the sky
The wisps of the young woman’s ashen forelock clinged to the moisture around her slivered dark green eyes - eyes reminiscent of her mother’s birth-given eyes, though it was impossible for her to know this. In many ways, Volcan knew very little; for she knew only the sands, and the family they brought to her in her time of need.
She stood on the precipice of the very same sands now, eyes scouring the outwardly land - the beyond. Her growing hooves itched to delve into the solid earth just yonder, but mentally, she struggled. It was as though her way was barred by an unearthly force, albeit one she felt almost comfortable dwelling near. Her lips pulled back in a snarl, teeth barred much as Scorch’s were all throughout her life.
As a bead of sweat dripped down the flat of her hammer-like head, Volcan drove herself to concentrate on the magical barrier that stood before her; the telekinetic reached out with a fierce determination she was only just discovering, and with an audible growl low in her throat, she ripped apart the force field particle by particle which bound her to the Deserts. When the unnamable resistance she felt dispersed, the girl wasted no time in slipping through, and out.
Somewhere, a magician smiled.
Breathing wildly and persperating despite her Desert-accustomed physique, Volcan glared from one end of the horizon to another. She was free, for a day. Free to wander.
She quickly found that she did not much like that fact. Like her mother before her, Volcan felt intimately bound to her supposed birth-place, felt as though that was home, and no other truth could possibly exist, and that if it did, searching for it would be a grand waste of time.
Her head turned, and she gazed once more into the kingdom from which she had just managed to escape. Recalling the immense mental prowess it took to manage such a feat, Volcan straightened and began cantering mechanically into the Exterior. She had not expensed such a vast amount of energy for nothing.
With her head tucked into her ever widening neck, the baroque filly thundered through the land, the grass left to whisper of a ghost in her wake. She grinned with each powerful stride, memorized the way her muscles rippled beneath her smokey coat. As she explored the Exterior, more and more of her mother’s characteristic awoke - but to the girl, these awakenings were only self-revelations.
A forest blossoms into existence before the telekinetic, and she cuts into a walk, jade eyes refocusing in the newfound gloom. The heady scent of pine bombarded her nostrils, and the flapping of wings drew her ears in every direction. Her tail snapped around her haunches for her want of knowledge - never had she smelled these smells, seen these sights, or heard these sounds. Her teeth gritted within her mouth - she did not like being at a disadvantage.
Whirling around at the inexplicably sudden scent of another equine, Volcan stared into the abyss of shadows, ears twisting to kiss the top of her skull.
“Show yourself, apparitionist.”
This is not the end, this is just the world Such a foolish thing, such an honest girl
So what happened here was that Scorch wanted to see Malka again so badly that she possessed her daughter, making Volcan Scorch 2.0 for the first time ever :|
05-03-2016, 08:40 AM (This post was last modified: 05-03-2016, 08:43 AM by Malka.)
She moved slowly among the jungle, her dual-colored tail flicking at her rump and back as she fought off the first of the early mosquitoes. They'd always come forward early when she'd lived in the Jungle and this Forest was very similar. She comes to a sudden stop, ears snapping forward as a loud noise catching her attention. Her body quivers and she leans back on her haunches, ready to jump at a moments notice.
A mare comes crashing into view in front of her, though the stranger does not yet face her. Malka nostrils flare and there is the unmistakable scent of the deserts coming from the mare. It was impossible to cover that dry, arid scent that all of the sand dwelling horses shared. As the stranger whirls around, Malka takes a half step back and ears pin quickly. She does not like surprises, especially from strangers in a stranger territory. The stranger mare speaks and Malka steps forward again, her body still having an anxious quiver here and there - which she attempts to cover up as the mosquitoes land on her back.
"You did not look very hard - for I was not hiding," she says calmly as she approaches the mare a little closer. As Malka looks at the mare, a small sense of recognition comes to her thoughts, but she cannot place the mare. Something about her looks familiar, but Malka cannot figure it out. Her ears flick back as she ponders this, but she does not offer anymore.
"By the way, name's Malka," she tosses as an introduction. She no longer had a home or belonged anywhere and so, her beloved title of many years were not given. They would mean little to those that lived now and, at this point, Malka didn't even know if those titles still existed.
She stands, silently watching the half-crazed mare before her. What would her next actions be?
05-08-2016, 01:35 AM (This post was last modified: 05-08-2016, 01:36 AM by Volcan.)
Volcan
Burn slow, burning up the back wall Long roads, where the city meets the sky
The apparitionist turns out to be nothing of the kind, and Volcan spots her the moment she turns to face her; the young girl, barely two years if she was a day, felt foolish for having over reacted so. Especially in the presence of a clearly anxious woman who, for all intents and purposes, knew infinitely more about this world than Volcan did, or maybe ever would. But it’s too late for reintroductions, and as the quivering mare steps forward and out of the shadows, it seems to be too late for retreat, too. “I am not accustomed to this environment. I apologize.” The deep thrum of her words is a juxtaposition to the gangliness of her tarnished silver body, and the content of those same words, even more so; but Volcan, having been held in the fourth dimension and then born from the sands, has always been like this. Somber. Cautious. Eccentric. She is Scorch come again - and like Scorch, she hasn’t a clue of this fact.
“A pleasure to meet you, Malka.” Without any warning, a little breeze of magic drifts their way, and the smoke girl’s introduction takes a turn for the less-truthful. Somewhere, a beautiful black mare laughs. “I am Vol. Daughter of Vanquish.” Unlike Malka, the girl-woman is comfortable adding a little title to her name; but again, unlike Malka, Volcan has somewhere that she legitimately belongs. Malka does not.
“Are you from the Jungle?” Her eyes wander to the bold red flower which decorates the overo’s twitching breast. “Father told me of the tattoos the Sisterhood bare.” Her ear twitches, and on the very tip of it, a flash of tattooed flame appears. Heritage works funnily in that way; visible to the whole world except her. “I’ve yet to meet one, which is why I ask.”
This is not the end, this is just the world Such a foolish thing, such an honest girl
As she steps forward to greet the young mare, it apologizes. "Don't worry, I'm not much accustomed to this place myself," she offers with a nervous chuckle. This was not exactly the being she'd hoped to find on her first visit back to Beqanna, but nonetheless she was going to have to deal with the situation before her. The roan stranger greets the paint mare, but before she can offer a name of her own a strange breeze blows over them. Malka skin quivers as her tail is lifted away, but just as quickly as it came it is gone again.
A name comes forward and Malka smiles at a name that she can actually recognize. "That would make you from the Deserts than, if I'm not mistaken," she says easily. Vanquish had been in the Deserts when Malka had previously lived in the Jungle, and while she had often times casually kept up on those kinds of details - she definitely wasn't up on current monarchies. If Vol had said either of her parents' real names though, Malka would've immediately known her for what she was and probably would've been doing a happy dance around the child (much to both of their dismays!). Since she is forced to hide behind the foreign name though, Malka continues with their casual conversation.
Vol looks at Malka for a moment before speaking again. Malka's nose drops as she admires her own tattoo and a wry grin slips to her face. "At one point I was, but not currently," she says. It was just as much a mystery to Malka as to why she had not earned the slash of a traitor - maybe because she'd yet to join another kingdom? Malka watches the roan mare as her own ears flicker. She had settled down quite a bit and had even cocked her hind leg to take some weight off of it. As Malka watches, a shimmer of something appears on the roan's ear, but it is gone before Malka can verify it. There was definitely something strange about this child, but Malka did not want to pursue it - she'd seen time and time again the damage that could come from Beqanna magic!
