[Closed] Who waits for their own slaughter... sheep.

[Aysel]

Grass bends as hooves beat down upon it, trails worn and flattened into the ground over time and through expansive- vast networks of the field, multiple bodies sway and gather. Skies, oh those skies, of unending blue are painted by silver lined clouds and shaped by the distant mountains on the horizon. Birds fly ahead and the sound of insects is prevalent in the lush, tall grasses: fluttering chitinous wings and carapaces… the biting jaws of flies and other vermin, all things haunting the wild spring. 

Dewy and murky, a scent of petrichor and ozone settles: grey at the tops of the mountains, and in their shadow- in the reaches of the field: another body slithers into play. Spattered grey and rusted, the compact and smooth body standing out, and only made more evident by whitened limbs and face: this creature, this mare and all the spectacle of her smooth gait. Poised and regal the vermillion locks of man and tial floated freely and her wild eyes cast gaze upon each lily and wildflower.

With an arched back the hips swayed and her shoulders rolled as motion did not cease, as she wove through the trails and paths: finally settling to circle a tree. Ragged and creviced bark scratched her flesh and she bathed in the sun between the leaves, her body unmoving then and stretching idly. Aysel, the mare knew her own name, purred and chuckled: her eyes linger and stare scrutinizing every leaf and flower: every imperfection. Still she waits a moment before straightening up and wrapping a leg across the other: the wiles of her form ever illuminated and those curves readily seen.

Though not allowed, she thinks, her stare smoldering and burning: locked on a branch where thorn and vine have curled and bit into the wood. ‘Such a perfect mark of nature,’ she muses in her own head. ‘It will cut into the bark and scar it, remind anyone that even the most immense of things is not without defeast or marking.’ she cannot imagine her own purr or the seductive tone she would have taken; but Aysel knows one thing and as such she hums, a lullaby- an old Amazonian tune.

A Y S E L

have you seen blood in the moonlight? it appears quite black.

[magnus]

magnus

howling ghosts, they reappear
in mountains that are stacked with fear

The sun is high today, warming Magnus as he makes his way through the field. He loves the summer when it’s like this, when the day turns golden and the air practically sizzles. He enjoys the heat, loves the way it warms the blood in his very veins, and although he knows that he should probably seek out the shade or watch how much time he exerted himself beneath the golden light, he didn't bother. He was born into the heat of the jungle, raised amongst the vines. He was capable of handling himself here.

For the most part though, the day was languid, and he grazed idly on the borders of the field.

It was not the most active of places within Beqanna. He had watched its activity ebb and flow over the years, and he knew that not everyone sought it out as the first step toward a home, but he couldn't break himself away from it. It was part of his daily ritual. Part of his way of serving his home. He had always enjoyed losing himself within the work and he genuinely enjoyed helping others during their journey.

He lifts his head when he sees the mare walking in, chewing thoughtfully as he watches her gaze—as nearly as warm as the day itself. He wasn’t sure if what he had to offer would be what she sought, but he had never been against offering a home different than his own if that’s what he thought suited the other soul best. It did him no good to trick someone into coming to Tephra if that’s not what they truly wanted.

Swallowing, Magnus picked himself up, straightening his shoulders, and made his way toward her.

His gaze was languid, the gait that of a seasoned warrior who was utterly comfortable in his body. His tail flicked idly, chasing the summer pests away, and he came to a stop several feet from her. Dropping his head, he gave her a roguish grin, made all the more charming for the crooked way it settled on his face.

“Hello, there!” his whiskey voice rumbled from his throat. “My name is Magnus.”

but you're a king and I'm a lionheart

[Aysel]

Rapturous and ancient, she recalls each note and sound: the sharp whistle of air between teeth and lips- and all the harmonies of the lullaby. It carries and while not directly drawn to it a songbird responds to the harsh pitch and flutters away. It's nothing that draws Aysel’s direct attention; but rather, something she sees in the corner of hers eyes, and something that causes an ear to flicker atop her own head. Hoofbeats are a familiar sound and more so the heaviness of them, and it provokes her to turn and to watch: to stare in such a way that she seems to be sizing up the approaching figure. Slow to respond she lowers her head and neck, not out of respect, but as a means to make it more impacting as she raises them back up and comes to full height with her body stretched and posture drawn defensively.

Subtly she moves a leg back, scratches the surface of the ground and presses that hoof down with her weight shifting. That voice she possesses is deep, smoky, and accented strangely: to our ears it was a bizarre mixture of German and heavily eastern French; but to hers she knew it as the sound of the voices from her birthplace. “Salut,” she pauses to inhale, to relax slowly and allow her posture to ease itself back down. “Hello, Magnus.” mangled only slightly she blinks, considering the differentiation in their manner of speech. “I am Aysel.” short and to the point she turns the whole of her body, stretches it and moves towards him with little more than an aloof and sobered expression.

Closer to him she stops, studying the scarring and the muscle well beneath the buckskin coat: her own tail snapping to and fro and the length of red hair allowed freely to drape to the very ground. Her mane was much the same, long and endlessly red, and covering the throat with ease; but it parts enough to expose the eyes: dark and strange, flecked with golden spots. “Wolf,” she remarks, gesturing to his body. “Warrior, protector: you seek battle or it seeks you but for what do you fight? Is it for your home, your women, children… or do you enjoy war.” without mind to reason of why she asks, Aysel turns slowly and shifts her weight enough to expose parts of her chest and sides: her legs. Scarred and strained, she smiles; but only in feign- in some strange allure.

“You do not have to sate my curiosity if you do not wish: I know it is impromptu.” she chuckles, wolfish in her smile. 

A Y S E L

have you seen blood in the moonlight? it appears quite black.

@[magnus]  <3  oh boy

[magnus]

I wanna give you wild love, the kind that never slows down
I wanna take you high up let our hearts be the only sound

She is foreign and blunt and he finds that he appreciates both things. There is something in the spice of her accent, hanging thickly between them, that reminds him of home and he revels in it, tasting the exotic roll of it and thinking of his mother and the vines and wondering if her heart beat for it the way his still did—would always. But he doesn’t let his mind wander terribly far down such paths, although they remain tempting. Instead he keeps his focus trained on her, gold-flecked eyes burning with interest.

At her question, a surprised laugh escapes him, whiskey burning the edges of his mouth.

He considers, for a moment, giving her the softened version of his answer. Giving her the polite answer to give in such a situation—the one that rests even now in the back of his mouth, drilled into him as the correct thing to say. But something in the sharpness in her eye, the predator tilt of her lip, makes him reconsider it and something simmers in his belly. “You certainly cut quickly to the heart of the matter, Aysel.” His voice drops, taking on a rougher edge, the sound of sword against sheath.

“I have fought for many things throughout my lifetime—many worthwhile endeavors. Land, family, love—all of them.” He could probably pinpoint each of the scars on him and tell her each story. Here. This is where I raided with my kingdom. Here. This is where I fought to rescue my family from their kidnapper. Here. This is where I was struck to my knees before my skull cracked and my life spilled out.

“But the truth is that I have always fought because I enjoyed it.”

He doesn’t try to soften it for her. She asked and he would be honest.

“Some would say I enjoy it too much,” a hunger sharpened the edges of his lacerated mouth, pulled taut in the corners as he considers her. “But they aren’t the ones on the front lines, are they?”

I wanna go where the lights burn low and you're only mine

@[Aysel] well this took a turn haha (i love her she's gorgeous)

[Aysel]

Of vines, she recalls the shadows of them in the mists… in the fog, and the serpentine appearance as each stretched across the trees and spread wild through the nearly impenetrable canopy. Of the Amazons and the forests she recalls winding paths and ruins overrun, monolithic trees and plants whose sheer mass and leaves threatened to swallow any whole who dared walk near them and their greatness. A jaguar or several, those who stalked and watched: waited, and most of all she remembers names… remembers the voices and the whispers of Prague and of her predecessor, Asylum. Yet these memories are not a shared thing, instead they are something she mulls and muses on- something that forces her consider as she speaks in response.

“When I was a younger girl,” she pauses to consider her age, strangely twisted and unable to gauge truly due to time in the dimension of the beyond. “Much younger, even though I do not look capable of a feat, there were my sisters and I and we fought often and hard. We tasted blood and listened only to the wisdom we knew best: strength. Wolves in the age of sheep, predators.” rolling her shoulders back Aysel takes a moment to center herself and to shift her weight with the same aloof sort of posture.

For a moment she considers her own scars in comparison, but, does not bother stating so: instead she merely looks Magnus over with a knowing smile. “Days and nights I considered this, these memories, and I wondered what would become of us when the land fell and Beqanna knew no more of us. In our blood our legacy survives, our name and stories; but we die, we move on and some who still became something else. No more Queens and warriors, no more jaguars. I felt alive fighting, I felt like the world was mine: I felt like my sisters were still there,” and as she pauses she chuckles softly, shaking her head slowly.

“The violence is addictive, it burns in me still; but I see it in you. I am not so shallow as not to know when scars dictate survival and battle, or to lack the ability to see the fire in your eyes, and hear the hidden growling you possess in your throat. I am blunt, because you deserve it, because wolves do not lie to one another.” and in that she remains still, thinking and watching: listening.

A Y S E L

so you can throw me to the wolves
tomorrow i will come back, leader of the whole pack

@[magnus]  this is where i say i love him and lord forgive me for my bad writing

[magnus]

I wanna give you wild love, the kind that never slows down
I wanna take you high up let our hearts be the only sound

She talks, and it is like he is back home.

He could close his eyes and feel the humid heat lay across his broad back like a blanket. He could smell the pungent scent of Amazonian vine and flowers blossoming beneath the silver of their strange night. He could hear the feline yelping of the predatory cat, the sound of paw on lush ground. He could feel the rush of adrenaline as the warriors race by him, the sound of feminine voice both husky and girlish as they meld together into one cacophony of joy. Home. He hears it in the lilt of her voice, in the passion of her voice.

It brings an edge to his smile, a steely glint to his eyes, his heart hammering in his chest.

“You’re an Amazon,” he says quietly when she’s done, his ink-dipped ears flicking forward. “More of a jaguar than a wolf,” although his smile is equally wolfish as hers, the golden stallion unable to keep the warmth from his features. “I was raised there by my mother Twinge.” She had been fierce during her reign, beloved by her sisters, constantly trailed by her feline friend, although not many of this day and age know of her name anymore. It, like her body, had been washed away by time and rain.

For a second he considers her, rolling the idea around in his mouth before giving it to her.

“I would like to tell you of my home, Tephra, but I think you would be more interested to hear of another.” He swings his head upward and to the side, gold-flecked eyes narrowing on the horizon. “It’s called Nerine, and it’s where the new sisterhood has flourished—this time amongst sea and cliff and not the depths of the jungle.” He missed the jungle, would never love their new land in the same way, but he would always carry a soft spot in his heart for them. “I could take you there, if you would like.”

I wanna go where the lights burn low and you're only mine

@[Aysel] he is not great at this recruiting thing

[Aysel]

“Was,” she, her dark eyes looking sidelong a moment and wistful sigh carried; but only to fade, and for her attention to fixate back onto Magnus with interest. “I was, one of Prague and Asylum’s own sisters… an amazon of old who has been away long and far. I believe it may’ve been some hundred years or more, but, time is hard to tell when you traverse the place where seconds are centuries and minutes… well, you can guess.” softness or simply complication, she swallows and chuckles uneasily. Its unusual but intentional, and in that moment Aysel stretches akin to the very jaguar she remembers: shoulders rolling back and her weight shifting.

Softer, but only by a minimal amount, she listens and thinks: contemplates his words and every move and motion. “Our sons, our daughters- our children: you and others, are the legacy we left to the world. You bear your Mother’s honor on yourself, remember that; but you carry yourself well, and I imagine she is proud or would be proud of you.” though its complement paid, Aysel only finds herself drawn to height and looking about the vast field, mulling over these names: Tephra, and Nerine.

“I know nothing of Nerine or Tephra, only of the Jungle and of the vast expanse of the forests where time is only a rumor. You, Magnus, are the first I have spoken too- and you are kin to me in a distant and estranged way. Speak to me f both places, I wish to know about the changing Beqanna… please, stay: talk.” she slurs for a moment, the accent heavy and rolling her voice into a purr. “Mon Chéri, s’il vous plaît.” 

A Y S E L

so you can throw me to the wolves
tomorrow i will come back, leader of the whole pack

@[magnus] He is the best at what he does, which is be amazing. I am sorry its short please forgive me.

[magnus]

I wanna give you wild love, the kind that never slows down
I wanna take you high up let our hearts be the only sound

Everything she says strikes a chord within him and he nearly closes his eyes on a dark purr, thanking whatever brought an Amazon of old into his life. “My childhood was more than a hundred years ago. The passing of decades and centuries is no stranger to me.” Of course, much of that time had been spent underneath the ocean, saltwater on his tongue and behind his eyelids, but death and life did not feel so different nowadays as it used to. Even now, he found himself more often than not staring out into the ocean by the coast of Tephra, watching the waves lap up the beaches, feeling that dark pull in his belly.

He diverts his attention from such things, bringing it back to the present.

His lopsided smile warms at her mention of his mother.

“I’d like to think so, although it’s been a long time since I’ve seen her. She was lost to a great flood that swept through the jungle a lifetime ago.” It hurts less to talk about it now, to relive the memories of being a young stallion frantically looking for his parents in the receding waters. Atrox had eventually been revived, drawn back to the Chamber he always served. Twinge had not been so lucky.

Magnus aches when he thinks of her.

So he moves on, turning his attention to her question, and the kingdoms. “The lands here are different than they used to be. Not so clear cut and constantly changing. They morph and evolve, reflecting their leader to a greater degree than they used to.” It was easier when you knew what the Gates would do, or what the Chamber would do. They remained more consistent with the changing of power.

Now, everything was always up in the air. Kingdom loyalties switching so easily.

“Nerine is on the Northern coast and it’s the new home of the sisterhood. They are strong, proud—everything that you remember the Amazons are. Just this time surrounded by cliff and ocean.” He pauses, head turning to the opposite side where Tephra lay, just beyond the borders of the field. “Tephra is nearby. It is a volcanic isle, surrounded on three sides by water. It is lush and beautiful and humid. In many ways, it feels like the jungle.” He smiles at this, dark eyes sparking. “Right now, it is led by a young stallion named Kromium who has chosen to forgo traditional kingdom dynamic for a less structured approach.”

He is disarmingly honest here. “The truth is though, we are quiet. Too quiet. We need more than his family to sustain the land. We need leaders and those willing to shape the kingdom into something strong. Something that can remain a haven to those who need it but that isn’t vulnerable to the other lands should they choose to attack.” He doesn’t mention the fact that he helped found Tephra many years ago. That he was still bitter and unsure about Kromium’s approach to taking of the crown from Warrick. That he currently served as General. He merely lays the truth down, frowning briefly, before pivoting.

“And there are other lands too. Ischia, an island out in the water, reachable during low tide across a sand dune. Sylva, a forest with the most brilliantly colored leaves—all fire and sunsets. Loess, a rocky hillside land. I’ve heard that they run on contracts now, a kingdom for hire of sorts. And, finally, Hyaline. It’s run by two Queens and is nestled in the mountains, surrounding a brilliant lake.”

A pause, the stallion wishing he could tell her more, show her what the new Beqanna is actually like.

“I’d be happy to tell you more or take you to any of the lands should you wish to see them in person.”

I wanna go where the lights burn low and you're only mine

@[Aysel] hi take this novel

[Aysel]

 In another life, another place- she’d have drawn a cigarette to her lips: tasted the nicotine and smoke… smelled the faint whiskey in glasses and likely been privy to the dim lights of some bar in the city; but here? Here she is standing, and Aysel watches, notes and waits before creeping forward slowly and in boldness, pressing her shoulder gently against his own. Like the same feline nature possessed of others her side slides against his own body, those sculpted muscles flexing and the warmth of the skin left to linger. She rounds and stops only her body is positioned next to him, close enough to tenderly reach out and try to use the velveteen nose to brush away loose bits of his mane… or at least attempt to.

“Flood, ah-” she pauses, her expression softened but steady, and there is a moment where she expresses grief in a way, her own, to his words. “It would be nature come to reclaim what we made our own. That is the way of this life, you carve out your piece: your home, your family, and you decorate it- add to it and it is yours. Yet? It is not, time and nature have a way of entwining to remind us that what we have is only a thing of borrowed existence.” though the deep Parisian accent rumbles in her voice, there is a tenderness that translates in the slur and lilt.

Aysel’s eyes looking his face over and her body stretching as she lingered so close. “Still, it is not impossible to see the dead: not here. You may in time see her again, but regardless her spirits rests for now: and you live. So, sorrow not son of the Jungles: leopard, jaguar, panther- Magnus. It is impressive to hear these recollections of the lands and while yes the sisterhood of Nerine is familiar- safe, and something my heart will certainly long for eventually…” silence takes her suddenly, those dark eyes staring and her ears pressing backwards.

She hesitates; but not for any reason visible, instead it is a nervous chuckle that interrupts and she continues only after shaking her head and thinking on the vast wealth of information. “But now, right now, you have presented so many opportunities and so much knowledge of this changing place. Your Tephra sounds like it needs soldiers, leaders, and those willing to turn it into the image of its full potential. I recall a few times when the Sisters would assist in stabilizing kingdoms first, to secure not only alliances but to know the roots of that land and the inhabitants of it. Prague asked me to do that once, to go to a young leader and help their stability.”

Though she shrugs, her mind roves and wanders: thoughts of the Chamber, of the Gates, of the Amazons, and of the many lands that visited; but these dreamy things do not soften her, and she aches. Pain, like a dagger, the blade twisting in her heart and her throat too dry to scream. Slowly Aysel closes her eyes, breathing and looking to Magnus after moments with a kind of smile that was genuine and lacking predatory nature. “In time, take me to these places: Loess, Hyaline, Nerine, Sylva, and Ischia- and you and I can stand and talk, visit and learn… see the world together with a different perspective; but for now I think you would more obliged to take me back to Tephra, where I can help defend that which exists. I do ache for war; but also, for the humidity and warmth of a climate familiar to my old bones.”

Laughter, childlike and loud, her head tossed back and Aysel’s sudden lack of decorum came and went: before fading back into a simple postured stance close to him. Without hesitation she tilted her head, contemplated and surveyed him with all the intrigue and curiosity she possessed. 

A Y S E L

so you can throw me to the wolves
tomorrow i will come back, leader of the whole pack

@[magnus] oh man mag boy hope he likes chainsmoking angry french women