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  • Beqanna

    COTY

    Assailant -- Year 226

    QOTY

    "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


    even a n g e l s fall;; {Darks?}
    #1
    Engelsfors

    I am a walking deception, a lie on four legs. Every inch of my fibre is a misfortune of the truth. Young-minded and innocent I had started my life out with a generously harsh truth. the world did not take kindly to you, you were not wanted and by know means did you get handed silver spoons and golden forks. The moment I entered this world, golden thread and ivory tapestry, I was a walking contradiction. I could cast one look and have many stop in their tracks, like some enticing geisha, I could take down an army with but a single well-placed smile. My problem? Of course it was the beauty, the long willowy legs, the well sinewy stature beneath my almost glowing gloss of gold. I am all of this, but I am more, I have brought down those very men, a saccharine smile may have drawn them near but it was my poisonous bite, my alluring song that entrap them in the bittersweet kiss of death. Like some black widow, entice them in, upon a lure, so elegant, graceful and beauty personified, then you just take it all away with one single lullaby.

    I was feared back home, or was it really home? Home was anywhere where you rested your head, home was inside of you, after all. That was what my golden mother had said, years of torture beneath my father made her soft, like melting chocolate. I would not be soft. I will never be soft. I was still young, a tender rose still blossoming, perhaps my beauty would flourish a little more as I aged, as most poisonous flowers often do. Perhaps, perhaps I would only get worse with age, after all time was elusive and often misunderstood.

    The evening sun is still tepid, humid against my golden skin. Patches of sweat on my neck matt against my gossamer mane. I shake my head, an elegant toss, a shimmy and a slither and they lay back into place, my forelock curtaining my eye, that enticing stare, hypnotic, intense, it noted every little flaw in the world. There was a few hooked boughs in the trees, out of shape, not in perfect sync with the others. There was also a strange pattern on the grass, summer's reign was not kind to the green grass beneath my feet, patchy in places. I also noticed the groups parading around, they have desires in their eyes and demands on their tongue. A curve takes my lip, twists and pulls into a debonair smile, I am graceful, each leg like a ballerina's, arching, walking with a tenderness and a strangely hypnotic walk, deeper into the meadow, closer to the crystalline waters in my gaze.

    And I wait. After all, this was a new beginning and I had one brilliant tale to pen upon those empty pages.

    e v e n   a n g e l s   f a l l

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    #2
    Beauty had never gotten her anywhere in Beqanna, and nor would it ever. Not that she wasn’t beautiful. Straia was, though in a way far different from the mare in the field. Straia had a wild beauty about her, the kind that comes from those that don’t know (or simply don’t care, in Straia’s case), that they are beautiful. She is curved and delicate in the right places from her Arabian heritage, yet still just large enough to be somewhat intimidating from her mothers more hybrid side. Her black and white mane hung long and haphazardly on both sides of her neck. Her eyes were simple and brown, not quite her father’s nutmeg, but there’s a mischievous and clever gleam to them.

    But the only thing in Beqanna that gets you anywhere is either a) good blood or b) hard work. Straia had both good blood and worked her ass off. The combination of which lead to where she was now, Queen of the Chamber, still out recruiting as much as possible. Being Queen didn’t mean she stopped doing things like recruiting. It meant she kept going, just as much if not more than everyone else in her kingdom. She expected them to live up to the standards she set (and one day, find the horse that surpassed her to take her place). If her own standards were low, what could she expect of anyone else?

    So that’s why she’s here. Again. Looking around the field until she spots the glossy, pristine version of beauty. She contemplates not going over, truthfully, because a mare like that may not enjoy the occasional streak of ash on her pelt from the burnt trees. There’s was less ash than previous years, closer to the disaster that destroyed the Chamber. But still, despite all the regrowth, they were not entirely healed yet. Straia herself usually has at least a bit of ash somewhere, but she’s always in the pine forests when she can be. Whatever ash is left clings to the trees, as she does. The center of the kingdom is relatively clear.

    But she decides that she doesn’t know this mare at all, and perhaps she groomed herself for the occasion of home-hunting. Maybe she wouldn’t mind a bit of ash. So Straia makes her way over with a nicker to warn of her approach and a slight nod of her head. Not overly friendly or bubbly, but polite enough. This is the field, and she is trying to win horses over to the Chamber, after all. “Straia, from the Chamber,” she offers, her voice smoky. “May I ask your name?”

    straia

    queen of the chamber

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    #3
    Engelsfors

    on tarnished golden wings

    The problem with presumptions, they were often accused with a very wordy tongue, a very strong mind, but were, very often wrong. I know, taking my fill of the cool waters, it soothing, refreshing down my gullet, I just know that I am a walking contradiction. Beauty, flawless gold adorned with gems, but it is fool's gold with fake, plastic gems. It was a masquerade of gold, a vacant mask of silver, I was everything on the outside what I was not on the inside. I am young, it is evident in the way perhaps I was a little on the leaner side, my limbs still growing into my warmblood frame, But on the inside I have lived a thousand lifetimes, gained knowledge like i've been picking flowers from a garden. My eyes may be a soft sky glow, but they are sharp, like splinters of ice, ever watchful and always observant.

    It isn't my eyes that capture the new arrival, it is a gilded ear, that twitched in the direction of the coming hoofbeats. I lift my head then, crane it up and allow the trickling of water to dampen my chest as I shake away the residue. The journey was far longer than I had guessed, and tiring on these pins of mine. The drink was a well needed gift. I watch her, of course she's a her, and she is also of rank. I study every inch of her, a scruntity that does not go undeserved. She hols herself well, prime, prim and proper. A beautiful shade of auburn and white, well-patched and well-coloured. A woman of little words, like herself, but one who's words cast mighty stones when needs be.

    'Straia. Pleasure.' My words are quaint, sharp and spoken with an air of grace, a polite rosy glow to them, polished like the best silver. I was taught well, I was taught manners were due to all those met, it was only when you saw the black hearts within, the demon eyes that glared behind your back, could your sharpen your own blade and deal with swift blow. I dip my nose, my whiskers prickling, lips twisting into a debonair smile. 'Engelsfors.' simple, word word, one name; a name that meant many things but only held one stare, the stare of dying eyes and whispered last words. I spoke with a bittersweet lace and tacky honey. I am not fake to the extent I falsify my manners, my manners are as genuine as the gold sheen on my coat. It was inside of me, the thoughts, the soul with scars and insides pitch as night. But for my exterior, I was as bright as the sun, with a mind coal black, to match my heart, my soul.

    'The Chamber.' the words taste pleasantly ripe on my tongue. I flick my ears, the flies circling my hinds get a quick snap of my tail and a harsh stamp of my hind hooves, as I take a step forward, extending what would be the equivalent of a sturdy handshake to the coloured mare, my muzzle velvet soft, but piqued in the slickest of smirks. 'What is the Chamber like, Lady Straia?' they like questions, most like to pander on for hours, answering said questions. As long as I wasn't talking much about myself, I was learning about the world, and who it ticked. And this world, it was a ticking time bomb.

    even the angels start to fall

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    #4
    Straia is no walking contradiction. Certainly, she’s capable of pretty words and polite bows. But she doesn’t tend to bother with these things, either. She tends to be who she is, tends to speak her mind as she feels inclined. The only time she doesn’t is when it might hurt the Chamber to do so. That is the governing factor of her life, and the one reason that even the things that seems out of line with her personality aren’t. Not really. Everything she does is for the Chamber. She does what the kingdom requires of her, whatever that might be. Whether it is something she would ordinarily do on her own or not.

    The mare responds politely but crisply, the way Straia speaks. Waste no words, and the bay and white mare instantly likes her a bit more. Maybe this one won’t mind the ash too terribly. But maybe. She still has no real way of knowing. But she always prefers those who don’t waste her time, and in return, she won’t waste theirs. Usually, this has been a solid indicator of those that will do well in the Chamber and those that won’t. She can’t tell much from looking at a horse, but she can certainly tell a bit more from hearing how they speak.

    She grins slightly, that characteristic twitch of her lips and swish of her tail that always accompanied petulant moments as a child and now that she has grown, her more playful and entertained moments. “Lady? Ah, I’m no lady. Though I held that title once.” The only decent thing her father ever did, promoting her to Lady. In his many absences, she ruled in his stead as the highest ranking kingdom member. And then, eventually, she got tired of his absences and took his throne instead.

    The Chamber deserved better than he gave it.

    “Solemn, but oddly tranquil was the way our latest recruit described it. I rather think that’s a pretty apt description.” She pauses for a moment, letting that little bit sink in before continuing. “We are somewhat known in Beqanna as an evil kingdom, though I wouldn’t call us evil, rather determined. We do what is best for our kingdom. And while you will not find a loving family waiting for you with arms wide for a hug, you will find that someone always has your back when you need it.” She pauses again. They may be a small group, but they were loyal to the death. And she loved them all in that, in the only way Straia knows how to love.

    “Well, except Kavi. He might greet you with a hug.” She chuckles again, because Kavi is Kavi. Though the Chamber, and life as well, had hardened her Uncle some over the years. “If it sounds like something you might like, you can come and look, and then decide what you think. No one will force you to stay.”

    straia

    queen of the chamber

    Use of mild power playing is allowed; no injuries without permission

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    #5
    Engelsfors

    on tarnished golden wings

    Polished golden penny ears turn upon sixpences, listening, absorbing every little word that the coloured lady spins. She is like a seamstress, her voice tranquil like the lapping waves of a lake against reeds. Straia has an air about her that reminds me of my own mother; rest her soul in her stubborn little place. It was gracefulness with a sense of authority, and she wore it well, like a regal crown, yet slightly tipped upon a working head. I listen, I keep a keen eye contact with my sapphire eyes. they watch all, they notice things. She gathers her thoughts, a little memory here, a little recollection there. A crooked little smile, velvet and silk upon my pale lips. 'You have a grace about you, Straia. I've seen it before... It is charming authority. You hold it well.' my tone is crisp, like early morning hazy breath in winter, the first cold dew on the grass in autumn. I am charming and a lithe model of everything that would be considered perfect, but inside, inside I may as well be rotten to the core. I keep my masks on permanently, ever-changing to match the mood for the day. But whereas my facades alter, my utmost respect, my manners are ones that stay like a beauty mark, always there, never leaving. 'The Chamber... it sounds like it could be torment for some but paradise for others.'

    My words they are spiderwebs, catching the air of a sensitive joke. I smile again, broader, charming. I flick my ghostly tail across my hocks, gliding against my flanks to ward off pesky flies. The summer heat was still clay against my skin, still wearing at my muscles, my young bones. I listen, I catch every little word, every little movement in her jaw, as though transfixed. If I was after a family, I would have never left home. Families, they are a be all or an end all. Most often they are an end all. They say blood is thicker than water, yet water is fluid, and blood can clot. I've seen that myself. 'I would say there is a touch of evil in everyone. As much as many wouldn't care to admit.' smooth like satin, a little course like black velvet. I dip my head, a little chuckle, 'What I wish for, Straia, is not a family, not loving arms, but a job to do. I left home because I became... stale. There is more to life than sitting and looking pretty.' I tilt my head a little to the right, casting my forelock across my face like a golden veil, concealing my right eye. hiding secrets long kept hidden, hiding the masquerades beneath a charming smile and glittering words. 'The Chamber sounds quite fitting. For now.' my shoulders are weary as they shift a touch to the left, my hooves splintering from the journey, they lift and are placed down in a procession of awkward beats. I was not being picky, I needed a place to rest, and I needed something a little more than a field full of prying eyes and interloping ears. I also needed a job to do. For a mind like mine, always ticking, always turning, if it were to just stop... I dread to think what might happen. My words are true, genuine to the very end. I am hard working, much to the deciding eye. My lips smile in a debonair fashion, my gossamer mane falling in spun gold rivulets down my neck as i extend it out, a little inclination to the coloured lady. 'There is no time like the present, I am young, impressionably so. The Chamber sounds like it is exactly what I am looking for.'

    even the angels start to fall

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    #6
    Posted in the Chamber for you!

    Use of mild power playing is allowed; no injuries without permission

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