"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
After making it quite clear that she would not be chaperoning anyone anywhere except Nerine, Scorch had left the field that day in quite a huff. Gods be damned that, in the last month of Nerine's contract with Loess, she'd managed to recruit not one but TWO members for them! And inadvertently! To say that she'd in any way advertised its charms would be an understatement, but somehow, what she'd said had seemed to appeal to both her listeners.
Electra she had no hope in from the start - besides a brief moment when the mare had seemed to come around only to turn away again - but the mulberry stallion with whom she had shared blood presented an infinite realm of possibility and excitement. His magic was of a kind she'd never witnessed, and to say that she didn't want to see more - and in Nerine's name - would be a falsehood.
Spring came now, and the birth of her daughter presented a kind of head ache that also made her heart ache, and her stomach, and her bones - the list went on. But little Blue was away for a visit to Ischia this week, and so she attempted to unshoulder the burden that that precious girl represented in her life. She still hadn't told her husband - truth be told, she hadn't seen him for over a year. She feared the worst, but hoped for the best... But not quite, because that would mean revealing her unfaithfulness.
Listen, you made a bad fucking decision and crying about it now isn't going to make this any better. Grow the fuck up and deal with it and move on. Don't be a disgrace. That, from her faux-mother, Echion - ever supportive. I'm not that impressed either, and this from Ea - distant, but factual and honest. Ouch. It's going to be okay mommy. I love you, and you've been through so much - this too shall pass. And this from little Rain, the darling girl.
Heaving a great sigh, Scorch looked to the outlands and the nearby mountain tops of Hyaline; when the speckle of an approacher became a blob and then a rosy purple figure, she let loose a hoarse whinny of welcome. Woolf came to visit; perhaps his tricks would distract her of her misfortunes.
Scorch
Once Khaleesi of the Amazon Jungle
@[Woolf] @[Breckin] @[Heartfire]
Come convince this tricky man that Nerine is The Place To Be
bitterness is thick like blood and cold as a wind sea breeze if you must drink of me, take of me what you please
He comes—eventually.
He is in no hurry to make the visit, despite the fact that the bald mare had intrigued him. Despite the fact that he could feel the thin familial connection between them. Despite the fact that he had implied if not promised that he would. Woolf had always lived on his own timeline, had always abided by his own sensibilities, and he didn’t bother to hurry his pace or prioritize the journey or other.
Still, he does come.
He chooses the more traditional form of travel, muscles aching with use as he leaves Loess, skirting alongside Hyaline and making his way to the northern kingdom. The air turns cooler and before he knows it, he can smell the salt on the air. He enjoys the crispness of the ocean breeze, the fog that threatens on the horizon, the ocean as it rages around the kingdom. He could see why they call it home.
He almost smiles at Scorch’s enthusiastic greeting, almost rolls his eyes, but accepts it all the same.
Pulling briefly on their connection, he opens up a portal and steps out next to her, the muscle of his magic aching with the same sensation as those that rope up and down his shoulders. “I said that I would come,” he says, voice gruff, emerald eyes looking past her to see the kingdom as it swells. “Now, tell me what makes this place so special that you call it home.” Tell me more about why you think I should say, he remains silent but pushes the words into her mind, carving them on her psyche and letting them settle.
While there, he pauses, dark eyes glittering with intrigue before he leans down, voice a hushed whisper.
She has made these shores her own, and what occurs within its borders rarely goes unnoticed by the white-laced roan mare, no matter how otherwise distracted her thoughts might be. Besides, these days, she needs the distraction of her usual pursuits to clear her mind and forget all her transgressions.
And certainly, this would no doubt prove an ideal distraction.
She had also made a point of knowing her relations, even those she has never had the pleasure of meeting. So the sight of the mulberry roan stallion entering the borders of her home immediately inspires interest. Of course, it hadn’t been her sight, but that hardly matters. She rarely discovers these things through her own sight anyway.
Rounding the curve of the beach that stretches beneath Nerine’s high cliff face, she makes her way to a narrow, rocky path that will bring her to its peak. She has grown familiar with the rough terrain, and soon enough, she reaches the flats of the cliff top. Then, just there in the distance, she can see a pair of horses standing at a comfortable, conversational distance. Her trek had taken her long enough that Scorch had found the uniquely colored stallion before Heartfire had arrived. And by the looks of it, the two shared a familiarity.
All the better.
As she draws close, her gaze (vibrant and blue and piercing) settles upon the stallion with comfortable ease. She slips in alongside her grandmother as she studies the man in person for the first time in her life. “Hello brother,” she greets smoothly, with far more familiarly than their lack of acquaintance might suggest.
In retrospect, there was nothing binding her to Beqanna--no direct family, no traceable bloodlines, no significant memories to analyze; simply nothing. Just one of the few insubstantial, unbound wisps destined to manifest an identity for herself by other means. Maybe part of it is what had driven her to calling Nerine home, attempting to fill some of the deep ruts on her life's path with some semblance of a familial substitution. In some ways it had worked, having found comforts in an adoptive family she would not have been able to find elsewhere, and other times, it simply added to her rising frustrations.
Heaven knows she's tried sifting back into her own past like she could so easily do with others now, prodding and testing the boundaries of her empathic abilities on herself. But time and time again her efforts proved fruitless as her searching grasp was met with little more than a null resistance--there was simply nothing there to be found and it made her wonder if there had been anything there to lose in the first place. Such philosophical thinking might have soothed her before, but she found her patience drawn increasingly thinner each passing day. It was frustrating and exhausting and was making her feel inexplicable restless.
Restless.
Maybe not entirely inexplicable. She suspected part of that was due to the persistent stormcloud of worry that hovered above her and the sharp anxiety that cocky bastard had sown deep within. Somewhere, he was out there somewhere. And she couldn't ignore that odd sensation brought on so definitely by intuition that Nerine had yet to see the last of him.
Today the daily routine of her wanderings made her happen across Scorch, Heartfire, and an unknown stallion. It momentarily gives her pause, considering if adding another body to the conversation would be worth it. But the fact alone that the visitor had somehow commanded the attention of both the bald mare and blue laced mare both spiked her inquisitiveness. With a slow resigned blink and several carefully placed steps, that ever curious soul of hers pulls her up short between her Dosh and roaned stallion, catching the few words already exchanged between the trio.
"Ghosts?" she asks, dark eyes sparking a bit brighter in sincere curiosity, "Now that does sound fascinating." She smiles, gaze drifting tiredly in unspoken greeting from Scorch to Heartfire before finally settling on the stranger. " I'm Breckin."
In the calm before the storm, Scorch thought she saw a flash of a smile on the magician's lips; but he stepped through a portal to join her within the kingdom bounds before she had a chance to gauge his expression, and by the time she turned to face him, the smile was gone. The emerald of his eyes caught her attention just as quickly however, reminding her in an almost uncomfortable way of the colour her natural eyes had been before the dragon dream. As Woolf spoke however, she kept these feelings carefully under wraps, though mentally she had no means by which to shield herself from his magics.
An unfortunate thing; for he pressed himself into her conscious almost immediately after voicing his first demand, sending an uncomfortable wrenching of nerves through the powerful woman. Her nostrils flared in a quiet exhalation of breath as he stood there, mind pressing against hers; she held his gaze as a grandmother should hold a naughty grandson's, knowing she had no control over him but that she still held an honorary authority over him.
Yet more unfortunate was the fact that, as he voiced his next question, their group number doubled. As the word ghosts flitted through the intensely salty air, first Heartfire rounded a corner and joined them, and then Khaleesi Breckin. It had been some time since Scorch saw either of these familiar faces, admittedly because she'd been hiding her pregnancy and her newborn child; it felt incredibly wrong to be thankful that Blue wasn't with her in this moment, but she was. And it showed in the way she settled her weight into one hip, cocking a brow at the subliminal antics of her present company.
"I happen to be able to talk to ghosts. And they all say hi, I'll have you know." She rolled her eyes humorously at this, sending a pointed glare to both Woolf and Breckin. "If you'd please, I'd like to talk about those who are alive if I may be so bold. Outlandish, I know." She chuckled a little at her own sarcasm before returning her mind to the question at hand, both the one that had been issued out loud, and the one which still rang in her mind.
"There are many reasons why Nerine would befit you, but these reasons take the form of the individuals who call this place home. Which is why the arrival of our Khaleesi and your sister is rather convenient. I would say that the draw of Nerine comes from her people; and I think that there's a part of you that can't deny that, cousin."
She cast her gaze to the other women present, a feeling of pride flowing across her as she recognized just how brilliantly powerful they all were, in their own rights. They didn't need to offer contracts to be worthy of respect and awe; their mere presences demanded such things. And they both stood here now because of Scorch, one way or another.
"But the beauty in my statement is that we may each have our own opinions as to why Nerine befits you." She left the sentence hanging, allowing either of her Sisters to give their own justifications as they saw fit.
bitterness is thick like blood and cold as a wind sea breeze if you must drink of me, take of me what you please
It is pleasant to be surrounded by family. It creates a small buzz in his veins, and he feels a small purr of satisfaction in the back of his throat. He tilts his head as the blue roan comes up. It’s the closest he's been to a sibling since Bright—and the fact that it is a half-sister and not a full sister barely dims the connection as it races through him, the golden light of it like a lightning bolt that he need only reach out to grab a hold of. It was certainly more than even the faint pull he had felt next to her grandson.
“Sister,” he greets in kind, dipping his heavy head. “It’s been so long.”
Never—it’s been never—but they both know that and what’s the fun in pointing it out?
His attention though is caught by the arrival of the spotted mare and the look of exhaustion that creeps across her face and into her voice. He was not a particularly kind stallion, but it was easier to converse with a mare who was operating at her peak level. Pulling on the connection between himself and Heartfire, he stole some of his own health, his own energy to feed it into the mare. His shoulder begins to bleed more freely, blooded matted and stained there, but he doesn’t notice and he doesn’t acknowledge the small transfer. Instead, he just nods. “The pleasure is all mine, Breckin,” the words kind enough but the voice slightly hollow, as if he could not muster enough to actually mean all of the pleasantries.
He does laugh at Scorch’s rebuke though, the sound genuine in his throat.
It wasn’t often that someone caught him off guard.
“Alright, have it your way,” he muses, shrugging his powerful shoulders. “The land of the living it is.” He listens to her speech, nodding to himself in thought. He doesn’t confirm nor deny what she says, instead he just lifts his gaze to the other two mares. “And what of you two? What are your opinions of this?”
It is hardly surprising that Woolf’s arrival had drawn a small crowd. Isn’t it always the way, when a fascinating stranger invades a kingdom? Of course, perhaps in the situation, stranger is hardly the correct term.
Heartfire glances only briefly at the queen as she joins their small group. There is an exhaustion surrounding her, though that does not surprise Heartfire. Of course, given her habit, it is also unsurprising she had kept an eye on the spotted mare. A fact Breckin may not appreciate, but Heartfire is hardly one to divulge her own secrets and foibles.
Her attention shifts abruptly back to Woolf when she feels a faint… something. A brush of gentle fingers across her life force. She makes no comment, merely noting the way he wields his magic. Besides, she had made quite sure she would be around for a long time to come yet. Whatever spells he could conjure next to her would hardly change that.
Scorch’s wry comment draws her attention then, causing her lips to twist faintly in response. If I may be so bold. She nearly laughs at that. “Don’t be coy, Scorch,” she murmurs, her tone dry. When had her grandmother been anything but bold?
She falls silent then, listening to the conversation as it flows naturally from Scorch to Woolf. For the moment, she is simply an observer. A useful bystander, given the way Scorch so shamelessly uses her connection to Woolf to entice him to stay. Nevertheless, it is true. The draw of Nerine had never been it’s land. Not for Heartfire, at least. No, it had always been it’s people. It’s ideals. And quite frankly, it’s power.
She has never attempted to claim any great nobility of character.
Sharp gaze shifting to Woolf, she considers him for a long moment as he humors Scorch. He asks her opinion then, and the roan mare’s lips twitch, though her expression does not otherwise alter. After a heavy silence, she muses, “I think you will do exactly what you wish to do, and my opinions won’t sway you.” A faint humor crosses her features briefly then, before she continues. “However, while my grandson has done a great deal with Loess, I think the mercenary life would be a waste of your talents.”
After all, mercenaries are bound by their own contracts. And she does not think Woolf is suited to a life of service. Though she doesn’t say as much, she suspects he already knows. Otherwise he would not be here, asking for their opinions.
A sudden warmth saturates her core, forcing her fallen gaze of stoicism to rise with a look of faded astonishment. The trails over Woolf’s shoulder appear to run more freely now, no longer inhibited by the dam of old blood that had once stifled it. Breckin notices, but her thoughts do not linger in consideration, entirely too willing to embrace the air of strange new energy that had suddenly filled her; selfishly she would take it for what it was, and use it to the best of her advantage.
With a head now risen to its full stature and a sharpness lighting behind her dark stare, her ears flicker ravenously, eager to dissect and consume the remainder of the conversation as it unraveled. She spares a quick glance at the blue mare when she alludes to Wolfbane being her grandson. Interesting. But she’s quick to recollect her thoughts again, readying herself for the best way she can present her personal opinion.
“It’s the people drawn to Nerine that makes it home. But I think it’s the foundational ideals that our kingdom is set upon that draws the people in and keeps them. There’s an uncontested power here, and a promise that calls to those who seek to find whatever piece of themselves that feels as though it has been lost or undiscovered.” Her thoughts flit briefly over Leilan and Castile, and then back to Scorch and Heartfire. “And maybe that’s what keeps those born into the Amazons around also, or beckons them back after time away—the sense of feeling as close to whole as you could imagine.” Or as complete as some of them might like to pretend to be, and she was no exception. In all her travels to the kingdoms and common lands before she had made her final decision, Nerine’s influence had pierced the competition, letting her believe that she could make something of herself branded by the Leviathan’s name. And she had to a certain degree.
“We pride ourselves in keeping close bonds with our allies while striving for maintaining self sufficiency and independence should the need arise. And truthfully, there’s much that Nerine has to offer—purpose, peace, both, or nothing at all. Just depends on what your motivations might be.”
10-22-2018, 10:11 PM (This post was last modified: 10-22-2018, 10:11 PM by Scorch.)
WATCH THE FLAMES CLIMB HIGH INTO THE NIGHT
Woolf considered her briefly, perhaps wisely asking for the other mares' opinions before casting his own based on her words alone. Scorch eyed him secretly at this, watching the ways his muscles twitched and pulled with each tiny change in gaze, the way his ears twisted to find the words of the others; in spite of all that went on in her personal life, the mare found herself undeniably fascinated by the mulberry stallion. It wasn't just the magic, either, though she guessed that it would be more powerful here than perhaps anywhere else - but it was his disposition. His countenance.
Heartfire's response added more wind to the fire than fuel, allowing Woolf the choice to either take advantage of it or not; Scorch smiled at this quite largely, the expression somewhat smug but more in a proud way than a self-indulgent one. And at the mention of mercenaries, Scorch can't help but to chime in. "And boring, once you realize that it's all grunt work."
In the end however, it was their queen who had the longest and final say - and well earned too, considering that she led them all with grace and a ferocity perhaps unmatched since the likes of ancient Khaleesis past. Scorch found herself nodding along solemnly with each point Breckin made, genuinely in agreeance with each phrase she ascribed to their cliffside kingdom.
As her speech came to a close, Scorch found herself gazing interestedly towards her cousin once more.
bitterness is thick like blood and cold as a wind sea breeze if you must drink of me, take of me what you please
They are each unique, in their own way, and although he’s not a particularly sentimental man, he finds that he is interested by what they all have to say. Throughout it all, he remains quiet, his brain quietly clicking along as he contemplates their words, turning them over in his mind, rethinking the truths that he had once thought so easy. He had, initially, come here as a courtesy more than anything, although he has never been accused of being polite. It was mostly because he found Scorch intriguing and he has never done a good job of keeping away from the things that he wants to unpack more.
But now—
Now, he’s not so sure.
He frowns slightly, saying nothing, even after all of their words fade. He tips his head back, looking at the sky, wondering where Bright was, annoyed at the way that she kept siphoning off his own magic as if he couldn’t feel her sticky fingers. Finally, he brings his heavy head back down to consider them all, a grin growing wolfish around the corners of his mouth, the mulberry stained dark there.
“I’m not a huge fan of grunt work.”
His lips press together, thinking about his interaction with Wolfbane and Lepis and the offer for him laid out on the table. With a shrug, he lets it ripple away from him. “You’ve caught my interest. I think I would like to stay.” He doesn’t promise them forever because souls such as him don’t stay tethered to one place for forever, but he does give them his now. He can give them his talents and his presence and they, in return, can give him something to sink his teeth into, something worth his time and energy.
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