"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
At this point in his captivity, Jesper had lost interest in seeking out the evil of Sylva. He felt that he had his fair share of interaction and, torture so, why go looking for trouble? Besides, it might already be suspicious that he volunteered himself as captive among the deranged. Morty made sure everyone knew he was here for their enjoyment. They would find him if they so desired.
So, these days, these long, drawn-out days, Jesper finds himself trying to conserve his energy. He expended much of his reserves while patrolling and encountering every facet of the forest. He could not sleep though, he did not see any need to spend his waking hours constantly in motion. Chassis remains tense with anticipation of the possible lurking dangers. Bronze-tipped lobes scan with radar intelligence and, aquamarine orbs warily monitor his periphery. Sensitive olfactory sense continuously filters through the scents of must and pine in search of an alerting aroma. Before long, Jesper detects the perfume of a female, who bears the familiar scent of home though, a putrid odor attempts to smother it. Poll lifts in interest though, jet-black steed remains where he is. Surely, Brennen would not permit a Brother or, Sister, to knowingly put themselves at risk. And, he could not think of anyone who would be eager enough to visit Sylva, just to check in on him. No, this would have to be a rogue Ischian. He waits for her to come into view, all while Jesper stands beside a giant walnut tree.
She’s alone, slithering through the woods as she often did when night began to fall upon the land. Silently she moved through the trees, stepping over the twigs and stones that littered the pathway. Around her creatures of every size fled from the effects of her red fingers of fear as they teased and prodded anything containing a heartbeat. Sending her feelers ahead her glowing tendrils froze as they stumbled upon the one called Jesper. Her nephew. Smiling wickedly, she followed the pull of his discomfort, lingering behind the shadows as her glowing green eyes planted themselves upon his bruised black frame.
He was Morty’s most favorite plaything and she felt the enjoyment the king felt exacting his wrath upon the island dweller. Undoubtedly, he would recognize her scent. They were kin, but she knew that her most recent and drastic changes would startle him. Feeling particularly inspired she sent her aura forward and wrapped it around him, squeezing ever so slightly to intensify the fear he already felt. It was almost no fun tormenting a soul that someone had already gotten to first, but that fact alone was not enough to convince her release her hold upon him.
Peeling away from the shadows she stepped towards him, her movements slow and purposeful. Nearly black she couldn’t help but notice the similarities between them. They were, without a doubt, related – a fact she didn’t care to hide. She wanted others to know that not all of Brennen’s offspring drooled over him. Jesper, unfortunately, was one of those that hung on every word that fell from her sperm donor father’s mouth. She squeezed tighter.
“Hello Jesper,” she greeted, her voice nearly a hiss. “My, my, aren’t we far from home?”
The ebony equine could feel her before he could see her. A chill tightens around his chest and, creeps up the underside of his nape. His heart quickens in pace and, forces blood through veins. His throat thickens and, Jesper attempts to swallow his heartbeat back down into his thorax. Lobes remain on high alert and, icy gaze flits through the dimly lit forest. Finally, movement draws his attention to the approaching figure of the dark chocolate mare. Her emerald gaze locks upon him eerily and, a shudder courses through chassis. As she nears, Jesper feels her aura growing stronger. Lobes pin against poll while cranium juts up and, eyes widen. Whites of scleras become visible and, stallion contemplates turning on his heels right now.
Alas, her words taunt him and, he remains where he is, anxious and, wary of what else her magic could do. Steed keeps his poll up high and, every fiber of muscle tenses in preparation for a quick call to action. At last, he decides to respond to her challenging words with a scolding tone. "So are you, Astarael. Then again, it looks like my home is no longer yours. Why is that?"
Her smile is permanently upon her lips as she devours her nephew’s fear as it falls off of him. The red tendrils of her aura envelope him, tickling and taunting – pulling the instinctive desire to flee up from the pits of him. The whites of his eyes are on display for her now, and satisfaction fills her body. His accusatory words entertain her as she circles him, the growing wings held proudly upright. The horns upon her head, numbered eight, are heavy upon the crest of her head, although they too are not yet fully developed. She no lingered resembled one of Brennen’s spawn and she found herself grateful for that fact more and more with each passing day.
Jesper sports the same self – righteous demeanor all her father’s children acquired at one point or another. He sought to reprimand her – but to what end she isn’t quite sure. Ischia could burn, and she still wouldn’t shed a tear for Beqanna’s loss.
“Sweet nephew,” she crooned in a sickeningly sweet tone. “Ischia was never my home. Not truly.”
He was desperate, she knew, and soon his time with them would be drawing to a close and he would go running back into Brennen’s arms like a love-sick colt. The thought disgusted her. She would never understand the fascination others had with her immortal father. He’d bred more mares than what was natural and had more children than any stallion should – it was pitiful. Still, out of all in his brood, she was the first to defect. The thought pleased her enough to consider a quick jot home. Perhaps it was time to show her father all that she’d accomplished without his hand upon her life. She was, after all, Mortem’s queen.
Aquamarine gaze traces his aunt's newfound confidence. The smirk that plays across her lips reveals the glee she finds in tormenting her subjects. Her still developing wings reach towards the sky, eager to feel the push and pull of air across their leathery canvas. Multiple horns poke through as if to foreshadow what is to come, even though they are now just stubs. This demonic look becomes her and, convinces the black that Ischia no longer suits her.
He snorts softly as she circles him, as if he is prey. Though her aura maintains its hold around his chest, Jesper does his best to resist being choked by his own fear. He consciously focuses upon his breathing and, urges himself not to cave to her fear-inducing vibes. He swears her tone is too sweet to have come from her mouth though, it is just the two of them. Bronze-tipped lobes flick back in response to her Jekyll and Hyde personality. He coughs distastefully before realizing that Astarael seemed to be lost in her own thoughts.
He shakes his poll before maw parts to permit sharp words to pass through. "I suppose the island life is not for everyone. Regardless, Sylva becomes you. I cannot say the same. I can honestly say that I have had enough of Morty's hospitality. And, you can rest assured, I will share your new outlook with Brennen when I return. Is there anything else you wish for me to tell him?" This last sentence came out as a taunt. He could care less what message she asked him to deliver. He would be sure to relay every tidbit he can about the new Sylva - as raw and, unnerving as he experienced it.
It was amusing to her, the self–righteous gleam in her nephew’s gaze. It was exceedingly clear to her that he sought to chastise her, to see her run home with her tail tucked between her legs. Sadly, he would be sorely disappointed. Snickering darkly, she squeezed her aura tighter around him. This, being their first meeting, she was not surprised to find him to be another of her father’s ass-kissers. She’d never been one to enjoy family reunions much. To her, it had become all too clear to her that family was a convenience. Only valued when the other had something of value. Loneliness had plagued her as a child – years wasted as she watched her father dote upon her siblings who had been born blessed. And what was she? A gift-less filly dumped on the shores of an island. Even her own mother hadn’t wanted to waste her time upon the likes of her. Brennen, the revered, hadn’t proved to be much better than her. What a joke.
“Do you truly believe that I care what Brennen thinks?” She hissed. Stopping before him she allowed the hilarity of his comment to bubble up from the depths of her. She laughed, a cruel sounding expression of glee. “Go ahead, take your message back with you to Ischia. Do us all a favor and shove it up his ass. Tell him all the ways that he has failed me.”
She spat in his face. “You disgust me, nephew.” Her red strings of light danced around the frame of the black stallion, pulsing in time to the sound of her vocals. As she continued her circling she inched closer, allowing the tips of her wings to dig into the soft of his flesh. “You Ischians insist on remaining loyal to a king who, quite obviously, could care less about you. Haven’t you figured it out by now? Jesper, you are disposable – a bargaining tool. Why else would you find yourself here? Your beloved Brennen was not ignorant of our intentions and, yet, he chose to ignore the risk and makes no attempt to liberate you from our grasp. It’s shameful, really.”
The ice of her words paired with the tickling influence of her fear aura was a powerful tool. Although she knew her influence would fade the moment she parted from him, she reveled in the moment. Hungrily she awaited the doubt that she knew would start to form in the depths of his eyes.
Jesper watches as Astarael's steps become more dramatic. Her pace hastens and, her footfalls slam the earth. Labrums curve into a smirk as he witnesses how much he is getting under her skin. Gleeful smile fades as she spits in his face; however, he still finds satisfaction in seeing her boil. He sighs as her aura wraps tighter around him. Bronze-tipped lobes pin to poll and, ebony equine feels his heart flutter irregularly. His veins thrum violently as blood pressure increases and, anxiety builds. His taut hide flinches as her jagged appendages scrape across his ribs. Pinned in the center of her tight circle, at her mercy, Jesper hangs on her every word. As she finishes, he realizes that she was the one, afraid. She was afraid of being rejected. She was afraid of not living up to Brennen's standards. In turn, she brought this state upon herself.
Jesper collects his thoughts and, himself before voice escapes maw in a hiss directed right back at her. "I came here of my own accord. It was all my idea. I volunteered to come here, as a spy, to learn of Sylva's secrets. I asked Brennen not to come looking for me. Not until the agreed upon terms are met. Don't you see now? You are playing into my hand. If you hurt me, Ischia will know. If I do not return home, Ischia will come looking for me. Then, you will have a much bigger problem on your hooves. Care to keep playing this game?" Jesper's smirk returns and, grows wider as aquamarine orbs lock with her emerald gaze. Within his ice blue hue is a fiery glare that is not a reflection from the autumn canopy above. He had played his part well. And, he was darn certain that he would have the last laugh.
He is grasping at nothing, but air and she realizes, with a bark of laughter, that he believes himself to have the upper hand. Her circling falters and she stands directly before him a look of feigned belief painted upon the curves of her face. He had mistaken her heated words for fear, but little did he know that she was incapable of feeling such things as terror. The harsh glow of her aura upon his bruised flesh disproved his feeble attempt at attacking her.
In his own words he had volunteered himself, proving her assumptions of him to be correct. However, he was an even bigger fool than she’d originally thought him to be! With words laced with desperation he took pride in the garbage he spewed forth and, yet somehow, he still believed her to be his equal. She yawned as he droned on her eyes drifting listlessly about to mark the depths of her boredom. Its only as his voice fades into oblivion and a smirk plants itself upon his lips that she returned her attention back towards him.
“What game would we be playing, Jesper?” she asked her voice even and emotionless. With a slight cock of her eyebrow she made an overly exaggerated study of his injuries thus far. “It seems clear to me that you are nothing more than a pawn encouraged to sacrifice yourself. Despite what you say, I see my father’s hand in your presence here.” She leaned in close to him and squinted her eyes ever so slightly, lowering her voice ever so slightly. “I know him a lot better than you do, Nephew.”
Backing herself away from him she clicked her tongue thoughtfully. He was a fool to believe in the falsity of his loyalty and still he continued to cling to it as though it was the very source of his life. Brennen was no more deserving of his loyalty than a slug was. He who had so carelessly took the throne from another under the guise of good intention. Was it so easy to ignore that his power grab had ultimately led to Krone’s demise?
“You disappoint me,” she admitted with a heavy exhale. “Nothing but predictability and empty words.”
Boring, is what he was. Highly esteemed to none but himself, the the poor sacrificial lamb of Ischia. Whatever game it was that he thought they were playing was one that he could not win. The evidence was marked upon him. Bruised and battered, a victim to the will of Sylva and yet his precious king remained tucked safely upon his island.
Darling, you have no idea what's possible...
@[Jesper] Just to clarify, she literally cannot feel fear...the aura is literally the physical representation of the fear that she would normally feel. Now she's just a pit of hatred. lol
Jesper holds his smirk and, his hot stare as Astarael halts in front of him. Aquamarine gaze does not falter from hers for a second. Of course, she did not fear him. But, he did not fear her either. Lobes unflatten and, instead prick forwards in interest. She may have heard what he said but, she sure as hell did not listen. He would very much like to wipe that grin off of her face; knock some sense into her deranged mind. He toys with the idea of lunging at her, teeth bared and, maw agape. He would aim for the bridge of her nose and, clamp her nostrils down hard. He wanted to cut off the air supply to her crazed mind. Alas, he would not sink to her level. Truth be told, she is just another minion of the clown's. His true battle is with Morty though, he had observed that the king never fought his own battles. He just sent one soldier after another to do his bidding. Some may think he is smart but, Jesper just considers him to be weak.
As for the dark chocolate demoness before him, he had said more than enough. Sigh passes through flared nostrils before poll shakes, as if, literally, ridding his thinker-box of the negative thoughts. She thought she knew his motives. She thought she knew Brennen. She could presume all she would like. He would indulge her no longer. He had warned her. He would look forward to the day when Ischia, and her allies, took a stand against evil. With a defiant snort, right in her face, Jesper shifts his weight onto his heels. He pivots one hundred and eighty degrees and, with a violent snap of his tail against his haunch and, without a single word, the ebony stallion takes up a light canter. He does not gallop away in haste. He does not move as if to flee. He does not retreat. She could think whatever she would like but, quite simply, he did not have to waste his time.
jesper
carnage x bethanie
devin's∇designs
@[Astarael]
I am not sure where the confusion came in. Jesper was not implying she was currently acting out of fear/she felt the effects of her own aura. He was observing that her reason for seeking this lifestyle (cursed and, in Sylva) was to mask the rejection she received from Brennen.
In case it isn't clear in this post, he is taking the high road and, leaving her to her thoughts.
Jesper's smirk never faltered as he listened to her words. It was clear to her that he believed his own poison. By his admission he had sent himself into their clutches. A spy he called himself, come in search of the chink in their armor. Yet all he'd found was torment, torture and bruises. All he had left was the clinging hope that Brennen would be there when he was released from their grasp. However much it pained her to admit it, the king was no fool. Ischia was still in the midst of its regrowth, and though it grew stronger with each passing day, he would not risk his numbers to settle a slight. The intelligence Jesper gained from them would be worth nothing more than the weight of his words.
Unsurprisingly, the black kept his silence and began his departure from her. A gurgling laugh erupted from her lips. Oh how he was weak! She had to give him credit, however, the stallion knew when he was beat. For a moment she trailed after him, keeping a modest difference - just enough to continue her impression of fear upon him. As she lazily followed in the shadow of his steps she begun to hum.
Sylva was indeed a dar force. Whispered secrets swirled upon the wind, happy to divulge themselves into the ears of those ready and willing to listen. Astarael fed off the things others wished to keep hidden, Jesper was no exception to her keen skills of observation.
Words formed for themselves on the tip of her tongue and as he drifted farther from her she sang after his departing form.
"Jesper had a little Lamb, little Lamb, little Lamb," she sang, her voice full of lyrical cruelty. "Jesper had a little Lamb, whose blood will surely flow!"
Jesper
