"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
She'd been to the fairy within the forest, accepted the task to return powers to others. One other had showed, but she preferred not to think about that one. He'd been very large and not quite there in the head. Something was definitely off with him. So she took her young, navy hide and made her way to the meadow.
She stood out in the open, soaking the sun into the galactic abyss of her coat. Bright orange hair was a beacon to all around. She didn't feel any different, so perhaps she didn't have magic after all. It didn't matter, she still had a purpose to fulfill.
Her eyes met any stares boldly, scanning the area for ones with potential. She wanted knowledge. It was a fair trade for the return of their magic. Amber eyes would linger on any that looked toned with muscle, potential warriors with the skills to train her. Being on her own as a yearling wasn't easy, sure, but she had bigger plans for her future.
Are there any among you who can fight, she bellowed, glaring a challenge to those around. A hollow silence fell after her shout. Not a soul stepped up to a child declaring herself foolish enough to seek bloodshed. Fine, greedy bastards. What's in it for you, then, is that it?
I can restore your magic, but only to a select few. Give me knowledge and it is yours. And she waited.
The angelic features of a gangling blue and orange girl and the bold bellow do not match up. She is like a cut up doll, the last few puzzle pieces that did not seem to meet in just the right crooks and crevices. I watch this young girl, this warrior child from beneath the pale glittering edge of my forelock. She is shiny new and squeaking clean where as I am burnt and used and broken.
I am about to shove off from my place, the roots of my hooves giving away in the loose soil before her words reach me over the bleak frozen wasteland. I feel them tug at me, from behind my eyes and the roots of my teeth. The unseen beckon me to this watery sea child with the wild burning hair.
My black form is taller and the liquid mercury of my eyes seems to flow ceaselessly behind the rims of my lids as I meet her eyes with unflinching gaze. "What magic is it that you can restore, girl? Can you make me whole again?" I am too eager when I ask, too vulnerable but since the Reckoning when I was left naked, I have become feral and desperate. "What is your price?" Chapped lips whisper the last few words as I gaze upon her, the restless maniacal beast begging to claw out of my skin but I bite back at myself for the sake of my sanity as I await the youth's reply.
11-18-2016, 12:07 AM (This post was last modified: 11-18-2016, 12:16 AM by Raeg'n.)
-Raeg'n-
Weak. They were all weak and lazy, idling by as others were tortured and ignored. Turning the other cheek to those in need, too consumed with their own desires and agendas. This was what she was born for. This was why she was here. It was the reason she had no family. A Champion could not have attachments.
Her hard eyes, the color of burnished gold-plated armor, steadied on the dark mare, the only one bold enough to speak up. The only one to choose to hear an orphan with a voice. It was for her own gain that she stayed, perking up at the mention of magic. Even still, she had made the decision to stay and hear Raeg'n out. That was more than could be said of the others around.
I can restore any and all magics, she replied simply. I can make you whole again.
She let a moment stretch between them as she considered the woman. She was no warrior, would not be passing on knowledge of battle tactics or training. Instead, her desperation, her weakness, was what tugged at Raeg'n the most. Yes, she did indeed wish to be a great fighter. Not for her own welfare, but for those broken and lost, incomplete. Those that needed a voice, a protector.
A savior.
Her eyes softened just a little, the color of warm honey. There is no price for you. I only ask that you hold a favor to me in the future should I ever have need of your assistance. She stood back, closed her eyes and breathed deeply. The only magic she could feel within her was the borrowed power of the fairy, the ability to make this creature whole once more. It was cool and faint, a sly tendril of magic that danced out of her reach.
She grasped it carefully in her mind, coaxing it gently. The wily thing slipped away and she frowned. She tried again, this time gripping it with the strength of her focus. Her eyes opened and illuminated with the power, glowing brightly as she weaved and wrapped the tendril around the woman. In her mind, she could see it leash to itself and hold, then absorbed itself within her skin.
She blinked the magic from her eyes, a wide, victorious smile spreading her lips and excitement in her voice. Now. Show me what you can do! She felt laughter bubbling up and she let it out. Joy lit through her with an electric shock. She had done it! She restored her just as the greatest champion surely would. It was the beginning of her future as a defender of the weak. The powerful liberator of the oppressed.
the wolves will chase you by the pale moonlight {drunk and driven by the devil's hunger}
He heard her words before he saw her, and his heavy head lifted quickly.
Restore your magic.
His face remained impassive, but his dark green eyes burned as they swept through the surrounding areas, looking for the source of the sound. When he saw her, he almost smiled. She was young, brightly colored and defiant. He could see it in her eyes, in the way she tipped her chin. There was something in her that sought bloodshed, something that ached for a good fight. He wondered at the life a child that age must have lived to already yearn to break bones, to dream of bloodshed, to be thirsty for the sound of war.
Intrigued, by more than just the dangling carrot of power restored, he made his way over. He himself did not think of battle often, but he certainly was built for it. He took after his father, a powerful mixture of Warlander and Percheron; his body was thickly muscled and he stood at an impressive 17 hands. Woolf, however, did not care for grappling physically much. He supposed that he could, and he would likely do well, but his methods had always been…cleaner, slightly removed. It was easy to accomplish that when you still had magic coursing through your veins. Without it, things became a little messier. Shame.
Which brought him to this current predicament.
“You speak of magic and prices and knowledge,” he said when he finally approached, his gaze neutral, his voice deep. “Those are weighty words for one so young.” Although not overly self-centered, Woolf was single-track minded and it took a great deal of effort for him to swing his head toward the other mare who was part of the group. “Hello,” he greeted, before turning back to the small mare, his gaze trained on her.
It was so soon that another came. His large and muscled figure looked promising and her eyes lit with a quiet, hopeful interest. Secretly, there was a childish fear tingling beneath her skin. It was not so long ago a man had used his size and strength as a weapon against her, and this one was even larger. Her body tensed and her breath quickened, but she forced herself to remain still. She would learn to overcome this, and she would learn to fight back.
"You speak of magic and prices and knowledge. Those are weighty words for one so young." His voice was heavy, as though each word were important. He paused long enough to greet the other mare, before turning back to her. "My name is Woolf."
He was nothing like a wolf, massive and solid. If there was one caged inside him, it resided within those calmly hungry eyes. She wondered if she would be so simply intimidating one day, if she could ever spark a natural fear in someone. Raeg'n, she returned evenly, compelling herself to hold his powerful gaze. Overcome and conquer. Always come out the victor.
Magic, I have. Prices we can speak of should you have knowledge to trade. Do we have a bargain, then? How much is your magic worth to you to be restored so easily?
And so the years had passed just as quickly beneath the blanket of dirt and rubble as it had above it the silver lioness had discovered. It had seemed like only a few days ago that she dissipated into the fog after the battle in the Chamber, since she had spent her energy as a dragon, a lion, a warrior (though she had always been such) but in reality perhaps even a decade had passed. Lagertha had told her to rest, however long it took, although she was the Queen when she left Prague didn't truly serve anyone spare the Jungle itself - she just had those whom she felt akin with. Her plan was to travel slowly back among the living, perhaps stop and watch those of which she knew and catch up on the stories of the land before appearing but Beqanna had something else in mind.
She is propelled forward to the meadow, stumbles and falls - her knees ache and tuffs of dark gray hair float on the gust of wind throughout the meadow. She watched it glide up and away from her and to two others, an itch told her to head that way but for some reason she couldn't pluck thoughts from their heads. She couldn't feel others around her before seeing them, although the silver lioness rarely used her magic (and when she did, it was mostly used for the greater good) she felt a slight paranoia. How many people wanted her dead? At the very least maimed? A few she could think of and knowing that made her hair stand up a little, she had made some equally powerful enemies in the last war and who's to say her magic was absorbed by them? Surely not...she was one of the oldest magicians walking Beqanna. It is with that thought that she travels forward and hears the two speaking of magic and favors, she can't process the entire conversation because she is too far away...but not for long. As she steps closer the male seems to disappear, she looks upon the navy mare and her mind first thinks of her outcast child; Kimber but alas there is no ombre and no fury lashed at the sight of Prague.
Sigh of relief
The alabaster mare comes closer to the navy mare, her dark forelock brushing out of her face as she quickly scans the mare as she circles to face her. "In my experience, magic is never easily restored - the price for it far outweighs the benefit...but I was born with mine and never had to barter," she cooly rumbles off, a certain prowess about her, "I'm Prague, what exactly is it you're wanting and what's new in Beqanna? Ancient ones like me tend to sleep for years after becoming dragons." Although the lioness wasn't sure how much the mare knew of her or about her, if anything, she wouldn't elude to be missing her own magic; not yet. You must play the game wise or you will inevitably get burned.
the wolves will chase you by the pale moonlight {drunk and driven by the devil's hunger}
Woolf would be a fool to not realize how physically intimidating he could be; he would be a fool to not realize that he could strike fear into the hearts of those around him simply by swinging his massive head and focusing on them with his striking emerald gaze. He knew, but it was an auxiliary fact—one that he did not pay much heed to. There was more power simmering beneath the surface than coiled in his muscled shoulders, or at least there used to be. Now, he was not much more dangerous than the damage he could inflict with a strike of his hoof or impact of his weight. Which was why he had approached at all.
He is quiet as she speaks, weighing the situation carefully, calculating it meticulously. His expression remained unchanged at her offering; in fact, he did not move until the older gray mare approached the group. She was drained dry, just like him, but he could practically smell the metallic tang of where magic had once been. She was powerful, once. She had controlled the world around her as easily as some had breathed. It was difficult to rid oneself of the the echo of ancient magic like that, and he was intrigued.
As to her question though, he mostly ignored it as it was not directed at him. Instead he glanced back to the mare in question, his emerald eyes peering out at her from beneath the tangled mass of his mulberry forelock. “I am not accustomed to striking a bargain when I am being led into it blindfolded,” his voice rumbled from his chest and he held her gaze. “But I have no interest in pretending. My magic is worth a great deal to me.” Of course it was. It was the only tool he had to protect Bright, his family, himself.
He tilted his head for a moment, weighing his options.
“I have knowledge of the cosmos. I am willing to share.”
There had been something strange and rejuvenating about being a simple being again. It held a nature that seemed uncomplex of the world and all that It held. Rodrik could not recall the last time he had felt free from such things—a clearer mind and head on his shoulders. It perhaps had been the time before he was sucked in with this other soul, this other inhabitant that shares his body. When this had happened though, there had been a mutual understanding of each other. It seemed as if both had been one in the same but generations and generations apart from different worlds. They were two minds, but one heart in this body.
Rodrik feels the pull of something here in the Meadow. He is not sure what it is, but it is something of a second nature that has always pulled him towards something he is in desperate need of. This time he was desperate to keep the darkness at bay, to continue the newfound freedom he has. The power of being the devil had been thrilling but there was always a price to pay for such power. It was his life that would be the price—again and again for thousands of years. The red stallion was not willing to pay such a price again. The dark magic was not worth the weight of being a servant for entirety.
Then again, he had always answered the call.
The greed and power consumed him every time.
Would it not be the same again?
He begs to differ, but in time he does not know. All he can do is try for now to protect this new life he has. To protect himself in this reckoning.
The once blood king joins the group that surrounds the navy mare. They all speak of magic and prices for such in returning something. He already knows this is why he has come here. Rodrik has never been unwilling to pay a price for something he needed or desired. He has killed and made deals for such things. At one point he had given up his first born son’s life to kill someone he had once called a friend. Rodrik wonders what has become of his son for just this moment, but he is drawn away quickly as the conversation carries. “A new age that is what has come to pass.” He says firmly. Some of come to find life in the new world but others to hang tightly onto the old world, hoping for their old lives to come back. Rodrik is unsure of what he has come to like better. It does not seem he has a choice either way as this was to be his new life.
“I am willing to pay whatever price it is to restore what I have lost.” The price does not matter just as long as he can get back what he needs to survive. “And I truly mean anything.” Any deal or service to this supposed magic restorer was something he’d do.
Rodrik
angels banished from heaven have no choice but to become devils
12-02-2016, 01:23 PM (This post was last modified: 12-02-2016, 01:23 PM by Raeg'n.)
-Raeg'n-
She tried not to shift as the Woolf expanded an eerie quiet between them. Bold, fearless. That is how she wanted to be, even if she knew intimately what a large male could do. How they could hurt and bring pain. Doubt slithered into her as she stood frozen, watching him. Waiting. Could she trust him to hold a bargain? Or would he just turn on her once he had what he came for?
Like painted steel, a pale mare with an edge to her made an approach. Young, amber eyes studied much older ones, wiser ones. The woman almost looked delicate, and yet there was a huntress in those eyes, a deadly grace in her movements. Raeg'n took note to learn this as well in the future, to be so smoothly threatening in a simple walk. Or was it only she that sensed the mare's hidden blades?
The woman spoke, her voice as silky-sharp as her balance. Prague. "Ancient ones like me tend to sleep for years after becoming dragons," she finished. Raeg'n's brow tightened faintly, too young and unschooled to understand ideas of legend. Her gaze moved slowly back to the Woolf, measuring his reaction to these words. No effect. Only staring back at her. She schooled her face to match his just as another joined the gathering. A quick glance over him for now, then the Woolf spoke.
"I am not accustomed to striking a bargain when I am being led into it blindfolded. But I have no interest in pretending. My magic is worth a great deal to me."
There was a brief pause. Then he spoke again, of knowledge of the cosmos. She held back a growl of frustration, gritting her teeth. They both spoke in riddles, of things she would surely know had she not been forced to raise herself. Eternal sleeps and dragons, cosmos. All tricks and riddles, games to play on an ignorant child.
The red male made it simple for her. Anything at all was hers. Relief. She looked to each of them with a hard stare, trying not to display her ignorance. With toneless, blunt words she split the air between the first two, Woolf and Prague.
I don't understand what these things are, she admitted honestly. She included the blood-red as she continued. Above all, I wish to learn to fight, to protect. And to win. Survive. I will take this from each of you in exchange for your magic.
Are you up to this task, or is there something else you have for me?
12-08-2016, 06:37 PM (This post was last modified: 12-08-2016, 06:38 PM by prague.)
I am a lioness, I will not cringe.
Here she stood, among men and a youthful girl bartering for her magic back - although, was it truly gone? Have we all but forgotten that it is just as easy to charm with words than any sorcery. She listens as the behemoth male speaks about how his magic means a great deal to him and before she can quip a retort, another has-been of sorts; a ex-King has joined their circle. Rodrik. The gray had met him once before though she is sure that he wouldn't remember, Prague has been known to travel under an alias more than once or twice. She listens as he more than hints at the fact he was willing to maim, squash, kill whatever stepped in his way. "Hello Woolf - Rodrik, don't you think it's at least worth introducing yourself before asking for toys, yes?" she offers a crooked smile in his direction, unafraid - especially now with all abilities off the table, plus often times those who bark the loudest also tuck tail the quickest. "Survival is something you already have but perhaps you need help tapping into that - anyone can teach you how to fight, I will teach you how to do that if you wish but fighting alone will not keep you safe; you need knowledge more than anything. I have two hundred years or more of that."
The silver lioness was more than right, she hadn't survived by being a great fighter all these years (though her metal was tested and strong) but having the right alliances, knowing the right family quarrels and facing her own enemies. Never though, would she say that she absolutely needed magic because ultimately it would not kill her to go without. We all grow accustomed to the way we live, though and so it's a preference she elects to have. "I'm quite bored with this group talk, your choice, girl - meet me on the battlefield or meet me in the afterlife with my magic." As she turns to leave, the amber colored eyes glance to Rodrik a farewell that says "see you soon" and with that the old gray leaves the crowd, clinging just to the meadows edge; hidden away as she awaits to see which turn the girl will take.
p r a g u e ancient woman of the amazons
basically, does she want to learn to fight first or history.
![[Image: lRJZ7qE.gif]](https://i.imgur.com/lRJZ7qE.gif)
