connect the space b e t w e e n [OPEN]

[Aranea]

Give me reason to fill this hole, connect the space between Let it be enough to reach the truth that lies, across this new divide It was exceedingly difficult to make friends without words. Aranea could not blame them - what fun was it to stand in company when you could not share stories, or thoughts, or feelings? There was always the argument for body language and expressive noises, but in her experience they could only carry you so far. At some point it was necessary to speak - even if only to give a name - and when that point came and went she would find herself alone. Again. She WANTED to go out and recruit. She WANTED to visit other kingdoms, and learn about them. She WANTED to make friends - instead she was trapped in her own silent existence. How true it was that one could never appreciate what one had until it was gone. Even before Beqanna had grown tired and shook everything up there had at least been magic. Magic had given her a voice, a way to communicate - so far she had not found that again. So what was she to do? There was no real point in moping around or hiding away, now was there? SO she moved herself out of her hole in the ground (not literally, obviously) and headed back towards the center of this lovely kingdom. It was time to do something before she went completely crazy...

[Eight]

no matter what they say, I am still the king

Eight was never one to make friends – with or without words. He was a mostly solitary creature – although he would speak when needed and make acquaintances when necessary. How strange that a man who had been king too many times, who had started wars, who had done so much – simply preferred silence and solitude. Was it a waste? Perhaps to you, Aranea – to a woman who so vehemently wanted a voice, who is trapped in a prison with bars that cannot be broken. And here is Eight, a man with the world at his fingertips, but no desire to use them.
He had always been known to disappear – he would make waves, and then submerge himself under the surface. He would rise again, years down the road – foam frothing on his body and waves reaching high above him; but everyone knew it was only temporary. It was only to create a storm and slink back away again. The real world could never hold his interest for long.
He stands quietly at the fringes of the heart of Tephra – a land he helped create, a land he had no desire to rule. His dark body blends in with the swiftly setting winter sun, a land cloaked in silence and fortitude. You appear from the tree line, almost sullen in your movements (but then again, who could blame you). A flicker of a smirk alights on Eight’s face as he catches your movements, and he slowly appears by your side.
“A lonely life to live, trapped in silence.” It is not a question – as he had been in your head, he had given you a voice before. “I had hoped the other magicians of the land may have been able to help you.” It was an apology, almost, for leaving when you may have needed him most.

∞

and now the storm is coming, the storm is coming in

[Aranea]

Give me reason to fill this hole, connect the space between Let it be enough to reach the truth that lies, across this new divide But was it truly friends she wanted, or merely allies? Was it only that she wanted to be HEARD again? To stand before them and command respect, not only with her stature but her voice? Was it friendship she ached for, or simply a life? Silence was tedious - she grew irritated by it. When he crawled out from the woodwork she was not surprised. Though he burst back in to her life on a froth-tipped wave she did not falter when it broke upon the shore; she turned to face him with quietude and acceptance and, perhaps, a hint of expectation. He had disappeared but she had always known he would show his face again; ones like him never truly stayed gone. Her mother had been like that, once. Bursts of life and vivacity in a life longer than most ever dreamed of. She ruled and then fell quiet only to thunder forth when her values (or family) were threatened. Aranea had adopted at least that much from the spider, only when she had returned she had not been met with glory and respect. Aranea had never truly earned it. Youth and naivety were replaced with age and experience, though physically she had not changed a bit (barring the scars that criss-crossed her flesh, and those of orange that burned her shoulder), and now she was eager to regain her fire. The sparks burned bright in her eyes as she faced him. Ah and he knew; of course he knew. But where had the magicians gone? Aranea tipped her head from side to side, a gesture of this question, a silent inquiry that flamed to life. Did HE know? Had HE seen any? Wordless though she may be he would have to be blind to not understand the question. It mattered, but it didn't, and the ashen mare blew a soft breath to the creature of eight. Whatever his answer may be she was thankful for his company as indicated by the idle bob of her head and the shuffle of her hooves to close the gap between them. With him she hardly needed words and that was a welcome relief.

[Eight]

no matter what they say, I am still the king

How does that saying go? The grass is always greener? You covet when your neighbor owns – you want what you cannot have – unrequited love is the one that burns most. Perhaps that is how this all goes. You ache to speak, because you cannot. Because you have too many words in your mouth and no way for them to tumble out. Eight? Eight has had enough syllables for a lifetime (and indeed, he has lived many lifetimes). He is so tired of the blasé conversations of life, and you are so tired of a muted prison cell.
Somehow, you knew the black magician and the way he worked. It could be from your spider queen’s history – the ever present habit of weaving in and out of the shore line, never quite anchoring her boat. Some would say it was tough to stay tied to the lands of Beqanna when you are as old as Eight. What captivation is there in a home you have already conquered? What desire is there to stay united with mortals, when they will all die off anyway?
There is no surprise in your face when you see him leech from the trees (and he didn’t quite expect any, truly) – there is simply acceptance, and perhaps a glint of relief. There never seemed the necessity for words between you two – although Eight’s magic had helped tremendously in giving you a voice, it was never always with a voice that you two had spoken.
Your tipping head was word enough – you didn’t seem to know where the others had gone (it always seemed to be the magicians that disappeared so freely). “As you know – I haven’t been around. So god only knows where they’ve slunk off to.” He rolled his eyes and cursed slightly under his breath – they had been fools to rely on Sahm for what it was worth.
He jerked his head to the quiet land around them - “And what about around here? It seems quiet.” He knew that there was no possibility you could truly divulge an answer, but I suppose if anything – he was putting off the inevitable – the fact that he would have to be the one to restore your voice. Which meant shedding the easy life of a mortal and becoming a magician once more.

∞

and now the storm is coming, the storm is coming in

[Aranea]

Give me reason to fill this hole, connect the space between Let it be enough to reach the truth that lies, across this new divide Aranea could only imagine what it was like to live a life as long as he or her mother had. Next to many she herself was ancient, kept youthful only by the magic of immortality (it had been gone for a while, now, and she had begun to feel the ache of aging in her bones. a visit to the gods would be necessary, soon), but next to him she was a babe. A suckling child that had yet to grow weary of life - of the thrill of power and achievement. It was only silence of which she grew tired - the lack of words an invisible cage to which she had been confined for FAR too long. But yes she is grateful for his presence; he knew of her cage and he accepted her despite it. Or, perhaps, because of it. Would he appreciate her as much once she had regained her flame? Once she was able to fan the coals with her voice (because she WOULD find it, somehow) would he still seek her company? Aranea didn't mull this thought over for too long but instead allowed herself to be swept up by his question. A snort - amused, perhaps - at the mention of quiet. It could have been a pun even though she recognized he did not mean it as one. For her it was always quiet; he must speak for the both of them. But was Tephra quiet? The shadowy mare tossed her head. Even though the kingdom did not explode with action she did not think of it as quiet. Slumbering, perhaps, or merely enjoying peace while its individuals scrambled to put back together their lives. Beqanna had dumped them all on their heads and not all had found their footing, yet. Fiery eyes riveted on her companion and in them burned a question - would he stay? Would he add his own voice to the quiet hum of kingdom life yet again?

[Eight]

no matter what they say, I am still the king

Was immortality a blessing or a curse? Was it a beautiful thing to live forever – to have the possibility of anything and everything at your fingertips? Or was it a curse that had been given from the gods – to live a live one thousand times over, to never an end? Eight wasn’t sure. There were days that came where he felt tired despite his magic and might; days where he looked at the world and realized there was no true reason to be here. It was like wanting for nothing – how long could your soul survive?
While you had your cage of silence, it was possible that each person had a different kind of cage. Was Eight’s his magic? While it seemed like a gift that would allow him the world – perhaps it was barring something from him as well.
He smirked slightly as you snorted, recognizing the irony in his comment. Of course it was quiet here, with you – it always would be (for as long as there was no magic, anyway). There was some solace in that – the ebb and flow of silence, the lack of meaningless chatter and strained conversation. Perhaps it was why he enjoyed his time around you, there was no need for anything unnecessary, there was simply existence and the communication of bodies.
Your head shook, and he took it as an answer- Tephra was like what the Valley had been, a dormant land that riddled with activity under the surface. A place that looked to be sleeping, but was filled with nightmares and dreams crawling to the surface. No, there were not many souls in sight – but that did not mean they were lurking.
Eight scanned the horizon, the trees slinking into darkness with the setting sun, and the chill of the night that threatened snow later on. As he rounded his vision back to you, he saw your eyes scorching bright, a question brimming to their surface. He closed his eyes, enjoying the silence, enjoying the moment of truly deciphering what you could mean, rather than digging into your mind with magic.
“Am I staying?” He inhaled deeply – it was a question that could not be answered so easily. “For now. But I’m not quite sure this is even a home to me anymore.” He flicked his gaze to meet yours once more. “And you? This is your home now? Here you’ll stay?”

∞

and now the storm is coming, the storm is coming in

[Aranea]

Give me reason to fill this hole, connect the space between Let it be enough to reach the truth that lies, across this new divide Aranea imagined that everything could be seen as a gift, if only looked at through the right eyes. The ancient creature who had lived a hundred years and a hundred years more might not view their immortality the same as a newly crowned king or queen with a thousand ambitions. A magician who had lived a lifetime answering favors or loaning power might not feel the same about their gift as a parent of a sick child might, or a child itself who found wonder and joy in even the most simple of magic. It was all how you chose to look at it. These were the kinds of thoughts that were encouraged in comfortable company. As she stood with a hind leg cocked and balanced precariously on the tip of one hoof the mare allowed her thoughts free reign until he spoke again. This... this was why she was so comfortable. For while a word had not been spoken he somehow knew her well enough that he could interpret what she wanted. He was her voice and with him she was able to find some semblance of normalcy. But was this home? For a moment the ashen mare mulled over the inquiry before her head bobbed and then tipped to the side. Yes, for now. At this point of time she was comfortable in Tephra and for now she would stay. Aranea had ambitions and without the words to guide her she could not set out to determine if another kingdom would be more suited in leading her to achieve them. So, for now, she was as content as she could be. A small movement allowed her to reach for and aim to lip at his mane, a gesture that she hoped would indicate her desire for him to stay, too. Perhaps it was a bit much to ask but that did not stop her. Her weight shifted and she stomped a single delicate hoof and nudged at his shoulder with her nose, a request for him to make this home again, at least for now.

[Eight]

Hindsight is 20/20 - no? You could look back on your whole life and realize that you had squandered so much. So many gifts that you had in the palm of your hand that you never worked to unwrap. Perhaps Eight’s untimed life and the magic imbued inside him was a gift. And to you, even the voice that rumbled and vibrated through his body was a gift. Did the once magician king waste it away? Most likely, certainly - he had always been selfish and lackadaisical in his whims and might. Did you resent him for that? How easily he ebbed and flowed through life - neither here nor there. How he was so indifferent to the magic the gods had gave him, while to you it was your only choice of a voice.
The silence between you two thrummed with quiet thoughts - and again Eight was reminded how simple life could be without magic - how uncompliated and at ease it could be to not know another’s thoughts. Perhaps this was what ‘company’ was when you were mortal. A game of pick and pull, working towards knowledge of another.
Did Eight know you? Perhaps. And Perhaps not.
Your bobbed head pulled him from his reveries - and he saw the slight indecisiveness in your actions. Choosing a home was always a fickle thing - even more so now with the old lands of Beqanna torn from their threads. Eight had worked to create Tephra - but it felt no more like home than the rest of the rolling lands of the world.
Your lithe body bumps to his - his mane teased lightly and his shoulder tweaks as you nudge. The first touches he had felt since creating the triplets. A strange feeling, foreign to him, as he was never one for physical connection. His shoulder tenses slightly, the hard muscle rippling beneath, almost a sign of wary and warning. But his face pulls into a light smirk at your almost-playfulness, a question lurking beneath your movements. An invitation to stay perhaps? A request to move elsewhere? Reading language without words, luckily, was something Eight had learned to do with his stoic years and lack of conversation.
“I think you know me by now, I’m never wont to stay in one place for long.” His eyes slide over the lands surrounding you, and make their way back to you. “For now, this will suffice, until we find your voice.”
Your voice - the thing you wanted (needed) so badly, but would force Eight to give up the simplicity of his mortality. He would need to become a magician again.

[Aranea]

Give me reason to fill this hole, connect the space between Let it be enough to reach the truth that lies, across this new divide If Aranea knew what he was considering she would have protested. As much as she yearned to be free to speak again she would not want him to sacrifice anything for her. Aranea would argue that she was not worth it, that he did not owe her such a grand gesture, and that he was a fool for considering it. Deep down, of course, she would be touched - to her very bones - but still she would argue. Not that she would have much of a voice to argue with. Time would return magic to these lands; in that she had faith. Her plan was not to wait for magic, though. Her plan was to seek the faeries when they next had a quest and to attempt to earn their favor. To find some way to communicate again. The faeries could be remorseless but they could also be merciful - Aranea only hoped she would find the latter and not, again, the former. No, she knew he would not stay for long. For now, though, she was content with the moments they did have. While she would have argued, too, that it was not his job to find her voice, she did not attempt to convey that. Instead a satisfied snort when he said he would stay and a contented flicker of her years. She did not touch him again (she was smart enough to know not to push her luck) but neither did she move away. Aranea wondered if he had ever stood so close with her mother. He of eight and the spider seemed as though they should have been attached at the hip - Aranea knew that was not ever the case. But she wondered how close they had been, how friendly they had been. She wondered at their stories and wished she could ask him for one - as it were she merely bobbed her head and gestured towards the whole of tephra as if to ask him how he could not love such a sight. The lands were beautiful and her fiery eyes were, for now, quite pleased to be able to drink them in.