06-06-2015, 10:31 PM
so you wanna play with magic?
Camrynn has never been nobody.
In fact, Camrynn is one of few horses who can claim the distinction of having been many somebodies – she was Camrynn the illusionist once, many years ago, before the land split itself open and ripped itself apart. She became Camrynn the magician then, and disappeared with her grandmother. She returned Cammie the filly, only to suddenly (and abruptly) turn herself into Camrynn, Queen of the Deserts.
And now, she's crafting a new identity too, one that promises to be (potentially) more interesting than the rest of them together: The Queen Illuminate, a living light-shadow wielding great power and an elite task force.
She has lofty goals, to be sure, but she's in no rush to see it all fall into place. She knows it will, sooner or later, and she's got all the time in the world to simply let it happen. Lord knows, she'd rather wait a thousand years than make a misstep.
And so she is gathering them slowly, drawing her chosen to herself with promises of power, whispers of chaos, weaving for each of them a happy tapestry of hopes and dreams with her (inevitably) at the center. She snares each of them differently, binding them each with a different tie. That's part of the fun: finding what makes them tick, unlocking their soul, laying them bare before her, piece by piece, until she discovers what they need to passionately that they're willing to give themselves away to her to get it.
Looking at the mouse-grey girl who wanders the meadow under the spring sky, the black magician is considering. She has no doubt that she could snare the girl; her desire for a place she could belong is so strong Camrynn can almost taste it, and if there is one thing her merry little band offers beyond all else, it is the opportunity to belong, to have purpose. But would she be able to handle the things that would be required of her? Is it in Sloene to break, to sew chaos, to rip and reap?
Well, only one way to find out.
She appears well away from the girl, wearing a face and body she rarely chooses from the repertoire of her imagination. Today she is a crone, a grizzled, faded bay. Her body is decrepit, swaybacked, her knees and hocks bony, her coat entirely lacking luster. Even her eyes are disguised here, their magnificent color-changing dimmed in favor of an unremarkable, mousy brown (quite worthy of her grandmother).
Hating the way she walks but knowing that this is the best way to do it, she hobbles through the meadow until she catches sight of the mouse-grey girl who watches the sky. She looks up too, then, before looking back at the girl.
"Pretty day, isn't it?" her voice is a crone's voice too, cracked and broken with age. "Like as not it'll rain, I think. Be good for the grass." She sighs heavily, settling her weight onto her left side and cocking her right hoof, keeping her brown eyes on the girl who stands before her. "Now dearie, what's a girl like you doing standing here looking up at the sky?"
In fact, Camrynn is one of few horses who can claim the distinction of having been many somebodies – she was Camrynn the illusionist once, many years ago, before the land split itself open and ripped itself apart. She became Camrynn the magician then, and disappeared with her grandmother. She returned Cammie the filly, only to suddenly (and abruptly) turn herself into Camrynn, Queen of the Deserts.
And now, she's crafting a new identity too, one that promises to be (potentially) more interesting than the rest of them together: The Queen Illuminate, a living light-shadow wielding great power and an elite task force.
She has lofty goals, to be sure, but she's in no rush to see it all fall into place. She knows it will, sooner or later, and she's got all the time in the world to simply let it happen. Lord knows, she'd rather wait a thousand years than make a misstep.
And so she is gathering them slowly, drawing her chosen to herself with promises of power, whispers of chaos, weaving for each of them a happy tapestry of hopes and dreams with her (inevitably) at the center. She snares each of them differently, binding them each with a different tie. That's part of the fun: finding what makes them tick, unlocking their soul, laying them bare before her, piece by piece, until she discovers what they need to passionately that they're willing to give themselves away to her to get it.
Looking at the mouse-grey girl who wanders the meadow under the spring sky, the black magician is considering. She has no doubt that she could snare the girl; her desire for a place she could belong is so strong Camrynn can almost taste it, and if there is one thing her merry little band offers beyond all else, it is the opportunity to belong, to have purpose. But would she be able to handle the things that would be required of her? Is it in Sloene to break, to sew chaos, to rip and reap?
Well, only one way to find out.
She appears well away from the girl, wearing a face and body she rarely chooses from the repertoire of her imagination. Today she is a crone, a grizzled, faded bay. Her body is decrepit, swaybacked, her knees and hocks bony, her coat entirely lacking luster. Even her eyes are disguised here, their magnificent color-changing dimmed in favor of an unremarkable, mousy brown (quite worthy of her grandmother).
Hating the way she walks but knowing that this is the best way to do it, she hobbles through the meadow until she catches sight of the mouse-grey girl who watches the sky. She looks up too, then, before looking back at the girl.
"Pretty day, isn't it?" her voice is a crone's voice too, cracked and broken with age. "Like as not it'll rain, I think. Be good for the grass." She sighs heavily, settling her weight onto her left side and cocking her right hoof, keeping her brown eyes on the girl who stands before her. "Now dearie, what's a girl like you doing standing here looking up at the sky?"
CAMRYNN
co-queen of the deserts, magical, mother of badassery