welcome to my dark side. [open]

[Salomea]

There is something about the cool quiet of the night that speaks to me. My heart thrums with the closeness of it, like the seductive promise of a forbidden lover's embrace. I can feel Niklas somewhere off to my right; Set trails me to the left, both of them reluctant to return to a Beqanna they no longer know. I have only been here once before. Perhaps twice, long ago, before the memories of my life begin ... a sharp sting in my right flank snaps me out of my wistful reverie. I pin my ears, kicking out instinctively, eliciting a low hiss at the sharp pain of over-extension. A low chuckle hums in my left ear, tainted by the barest hint of malice, drifting off as he too, floats away, closely followed by the low panting of his hellhound companion. He cannot help himself. He is a demon, after all. My strained leg throbs with every step as we make our way to the myriad of scents that mark the Field, but I refuse to show my weakness. Though neither would truly hurt me, it had otherwise been kill or be killed my whole life. There is no choice but to live up to their expectations.   When I move into the clearing, Set and Niklas are nowhere to be seen. I tilt my head, the open area dimly lit by a cloud-ensconced moon, nostrils flared against the sharp air. There mixed in the scent of rotting leaves and the ordinary is their distinctive musk. They are still here.   I edge toward the soft roar of the waterfall. I ignore the few strangers that I do pass, the promise of icy water to soothe the thirst and ache of travel a sweet siren’s song. Pausing briefly at the water’s edge, I do not notice the dark shadow that slips back into the center of the lake as the clouds part, illuminating the Field. I wait another beat to allow my eyes to adjust and then wade in up to my neck with a soft sigh. Something – two, three, four somethings – wrap themselves tightly around my legs, dragging me out toward the deep center. "NIKLAS!" I shriek angrily, struggling to hold my nose above the water’s surface. I know from experience it is hopeless to fight his shadow creatures, but I strike out nonetheless, my earlier strain forgotten. It gives a sharp tug and the water folds over my head. It burns my eyes and fills my nose as I bob to the surface again. My lungs ache and my body burns with fury when I catch sight of Set’s laughing eyes, his two-toned lips drawn back in a wide grin.   “Mother - !” I have time to yell before I am pulled under again. I close my eyes and open them again on solid ground, my legs trembling beneath me, dark sides heaving. I meet Set’s yellow gaze, mirth still evident on his handsome face. Not mine. Seething, I shake the water from my coat, no longer comforted by the cool of the night. You think you would know better by now,” he ribs, reaching out to touch my shoulder in an affectionate gesture that instantly dries me off. “You think he would have grown up by now.” I scoff at the idea even as I say it. My uncle – who, really, given his eternal youth, was more akin to an obnoxious older brother – was like a petulant child when he had no direction. A powerful, wicked child.

[magnus]

I wanna give you wild love, the kind that never slows down
I wanna take you high up let our hearts be the only sound

Such scenes are not common in the field.

It is a land of many things—heartache, loneliness, hope—but it is not a land often privy to the magic of legends, to spats between families. Perhaps it is why her scream, strangled and cut short by the water that floods over her face, stirs such a frenzy in his heart. Perhaps it is why he lifts his head so quickly, gold-flecked eyes instantly alert, scanning the field, cast dark in the low light of night. When he sees them, forms and figures both tangible and not, he immediately begins to move, gathering his legs underneath him and then pushing forward off the soil, war-scarred body moving quickly through the night.

By the time he reaches them, she is dry and his neck is not, sweat beginning to gather beneath the ink of his tangled mane. He scans the group of them before his gaze settles on the girl who had been the one to emit the scream, her coat as velvet and dark as the pitch of midnight around them. His gaze is sharp as he studies her, looking for sign of injury or distress, before he brings it back up to her own eyes, ignoring the others around them for the moment. “Are you okay?” He has no way of knowing that these are family, that this is expected and, even if he knew the relations, he has no way of knowing that he was outgunned.

Even if he wanted to take them on, what good could a mere stallion do against a magician and a demon?

Still, his muscles remain tense under his coat, finally tearing his eyes from her to survey those that he can see, lacerated mouth pressed into a thin line. “My name is Magnus,” he finally offers, his whiskey voice low and unnaturally terse. He was usually extremely calm in the field, at peace amongst those searching for a home, but there is something different about this interaction—something that puts him on edge—and he struggles to find his usual stability. Instead he remains perched, gold-flecked eyes burning as he brings it back to the mare in question, waiting to ensure her scream was nothing more than annoyance. 

I wanna go where the lights burn low and you're only mine

[Set]

" There's a black bird perched outside my window, I hear him calling. I hear him sing. He burns me with his eyes of gold to embers. He sees all my sins. He reads my soul. "

It’s good to be back. Damn good.

He moves with the triumph of a returning conqueror, ever confident, forever undaunted. His piebald hide ripples with vibrant health, his breath strong in his lungs – a far cry from his last return, some dozens of years ago, an aimless pieced together carcass. A dark ear swivels, catching the sounds of Salomea and Niklas moving up ahead and to the side of him. The fall night air is sharp in his nostrils, his yellow eyes bright with intent, blinking against the cloud-cloaked darkness. The world was shifting again, drawing he and his motley crew back to their homeland. Moths to the flame or vultures to the rotted flesh?  He draws along long-forgotten paths, the undergrowth untangling before him, Niklas’ hellhound panting at his heels. Their time as a trio was quickly drawing to a close. Niklas knew it; Salomea had yet to accept it, despite her uncle’s constant, borderline malicious, pranks. It had been just the three of them for some time now … He shifts his weight, weaving between several rotting alders, careful not to touch their tarry surfaces. Niklas had slipped ahead of him at some point. The darkness sometimes slipped loose from his son’s hold, eeking out into his surroundings, poisoning it with hell’s sickness. His ears twist at the soft sounds of a brief scuffle. He pauses to listen. A whoosh of air and the unmistakable sound of Niklas’ mirth is loud in the night. The hellhound bounds ahead, black tongue lolling from an equally black mouth, and Set follows suit. Salomea’s pace is slower now and Set reaches the field before she does.

He lingers on the edges, searching through a dark made clear as day in his direct line of sight. There are no familiar faces or scents present. He could not say how long it has been since he was last here. Never to the Field, not that he can recall, at least, but with the Chamber gone and Beqanna in a state he no longer recognizes … Niklas brushes past him, a clammy shadow against his shoulder, stalking his niece. Boredom did not suit the demon. Set almost felt sorry for the rest Beqanna. Nearly. Heaving a sarcastic, world-weary sigh and shaking his mane out, the magician trails after he and Ana’s creation.

Salomea should know better than to struggle. She cannot see Niklas, fetlock-deep on the other side of the lake, stony face giving nothing away (though his amusement is palpable). Only Set, golden eyes dancing with tired laughter as she’s pulled under again. Taking pity on her, he shoves at his son’s magic, breaking the shadow creature’s hold and drawing her soaked frame back onto solid ground. He reaches out to touch her trembling shoulder, drying her ink-stained coat. Anger radiates off her in waves. “You think you would have learned by now,” he grins, chucking his chin in Niklas’ direction.  She mutters something about the demon changing – impossible – but Set is no longer listening.

He senses the stallion’s concern before the unmistakable sound of hoofbeats reaches them across the distance. It is not that sound, though, that draws his gaze sharply. It’s the muted sound of a heartbeat, once buried beneath the soil … Neck soaked in sweat, the buckskin draws to a halt, wholly ignoring Set and Niklas (who sinks back into the shadows with a low snicker), instead taking in Salomea’s righteously angry appearance, lips pulled into a tight line. Amused, Set meets his disapproving gaze. “She will chew you up and spit you out, son,” he says, before she has a chance to reply. Though, in fact, Magnus was even older than he, hailing from the days when Set’s father, Chain, was still fresh-faced and eager to make place for himself in this new land. With a raucous grin and an exaggerated wink, the magician moves away, a silent “see you soon” echoing in Salomea’s head.  

SET

alliance champion, once king, mage

[Ilma]

Ilma

And there's a lesson waiting to be learned
the firestarters always get the burns
and the good guys never get the girl

Her home is full of life, these days - young life, life which by now needs a set of guardians and teachers, that the kingdom frankly only has a few of. But no-one in the field catches her attentio -

There’s a fuss near the waterfall, and since she’s not too far away but far enough not to see exactly what is happening, she nears it in a slow trot. She gets overtaken by a buckskin stallion, and for a moment, she hesitates if she won’t be too much to the scene. But she’s already on her way, so, she can’t possibly stop now and pretend she trotted along and stopped midway just for the fun of it.

She arrives after another stallion appears near the mare, but seems to take his leave already. She watches him go, and looks from the mare to the man, blinking. The question, are you okay, had been asked already, and she catches his name as well. ”Hello,” she starts with for lack of a better greeting - good day doesn’t sound right, at the moment - and looks to the mare. ”And I’m Ilma.... Do you know that man?” she nods to the fleeting shadow of a stallion, who was with her not too long ago. She wasn’t sure what had happened, if she had been attacked or if it was a game, and she felt the need to ask.

and shooting stars cannot fix the world

[Salomea]

Anger still hums in my throat and it is with wild, glittering eyes that I round on the sooty-gold stallion. He inspects me with obvious concern, no doubt drawn by the chaos of the snickering Niklas’ dirty prank. I take a moment to appreciate his battle-scarred form, the weight of years of experience that I have yet to possess heavy in the lines of his body. Ignoring the thrill of pleasure that flashes hot through my veins underneath his disapproving stare and the husk of his voice, I instead focus on the tension in his tone and his intrusion on family matters. Never mind that he does not know, could not know. Accustomed to companions who already know what I am thinking, whether by instinct or directly invading the privacy of my mind, I draw back to lash out at him with my lack of social skills. Before I can make more than a strangled sound, though, Set speaks up. “She will chew you up and spit you out, son.”. His grin widens impossibly and he winks at me before turning away, his goodbye-for-now resonating in my head as I watch him go, eyes flaring wide in open disbelief.   The wind has been effectively removed from my sails and it is a few heartbeats before I remember him. Magnus. I had known my family and I would go our separate ways once we reached Beqanna. Looked forward to it most days, even. But now that the time had come – I turn quickly, suddenly remembering my uncle, seeking Niklas dark form in the shadows. But he’s gone now, too. Unsettled by the deep sense of loss, I turn to Magnus. “Salomea,” I bite off by way of introduction, unable to keep the distress from my voice. I flinch at the sound of another approaching, still on edge from Niklas’ latest prank and he and Set’s subsequent desertion, but the mare approaches us directly, without threat. There is a strange lilt to her voice – concern? – and I glance back toward the buckskin a moment, feeling a little overwhelmed and seeking an anchor now that both of mine have gone. As broken as they (we) were, they were all I’ve had … “I think so,” I finally answer him, my voice more subdued than I feel. I turn to the mare warily. “My grandfather, Set, and my uncle, Niklas.” Our journey and the night’s events weigh heavily on me, exhaustion sunk into my every bone, dulling my anger and acute sense of abandonment.

[magnus]

I wanna give you wild love, the kind that never slows down
I wanna take you high up let our hearts be the only sound

His gaze is interrupted by the dual-colored stallion. He has no way of knowing that he is standing before someone who was, arguably, just as tied to his father’s kingdom as his father. He has no idea of knowing the accomplishments tied to the man, the magic, the legends. All he knows is the amused glint in his eye, the warning that he seems to enjoy giving a little too much. She will chew you up and spit you out, son. Magnus ink-dipped eyes flick forward and he cannot stop the roguish grin that grows.

“I look forward to it.”

He’s never been intimidated by a challenge or put-off by a sharp-tongued woman and he gives the other a distracted dip of a head in farewell before he turns his gold-flecked gaze onto the woman in question. When Ilma arrives, he gives her a curve of lip in greeting before training his attention on the predatory mare who stands before him, snappish and distressed. She reminds him of a feral animal, far more feral than the practically domesticated souls here, and he cannot ignore the intrigue that grows in his chest.

At her name, he takes it and tucks it away for a moment, sitting quietly as she works through whatever range of emotions she is feeling, content to simply be there in the moment and not force her any further in the conversation than she wanted to go. When she answers Ilma, he ponders the names for a moment, wondering at the familiarity of her grandfather’s name but setting it aside for another day. Had he been alive when Set made his considerable mark on Beqanna history, he may have reacted differently, but there are instead large gaps in his knowledge, entire decades of nothing but darkness.

It does you no good to be as old as he is when so much of it was spent underwater.

“Not many make their way to the field in the dead of night,” he muses softly, whiskey voice humming in his throat as he considers her. In truth, he had been here by accident alone—just another night when sleep eluded him. The sweat on his neck was from more than just the run toward her, the golden stallion having been trying to outrun his demons all night. “Is there something I,” he pauses here, glancing toward the white mare who had joined them and correcting himself, “something that we can help you with?”

He has no idea if she just needs directions, if she wants a home, or something else entirely.

But he intends to stay and find out.

I wanna go where the lights burn low and you're only mine

[Ilma]

Ilma

And there's a lesson waiting to be learned
the firestarters always get the burns
and the good guys never get the girl

This evening, this night - it is the strangest one in the field for some time, now - not that she’s complaining, but something to notice, something that couldn’t escape her. She hums a bit when she recieves an answer - the black mare knows these stallions, her uncle and grandfather, she says. Their names are nothing to her, having come here from the outside world, only dealing with the politics of the here and now. Some kind of rough play, then, between this mare and her family, though why they’d leave her here on the grass as soon as anyone approached to see if she was alright was beyond the white mare.

The buckskin stallion, magnus, he tries to work in some normalcy into the situation. While she appreciates the idea and gesture, she is not quite sure if it fits the mare. Salomea, she had said. Ilma dipped her head in greeting, and flicked her tail, annoyed by the whole ordeal more than she would on other days would have let on. She hears Magnus saying that not many horses are in the field at night - herself, she had simply been too late to return by lack of wings, yesterday, today, she wasn’t sure what to call it - but now she studies him, wondering if he had run further this evening, and whereto then. ”Not many,” she agrees, ”but quite enough.” That being an understatement - she had the feeling they were one, two, too many. ”You both look like you lack in sleep.” she observes softly, looking from the black mare to the buckskin stallion, and back.

He is right to ask if Salomea wants help - but somehow Ilma doesn’t think she needs to ask. She needs help, a change of life, get a life for herself instead of clinging to a family that seems to mistreat her, exhaust her. But there’s the big question.

”But do you want any help at all?”

and shooting stars cannot fix the world

[Salomea]

I have never been on my own before. Set and Niklas have always been there. I do not remember my mother; only dark secrets, whispers, blood and rot. Only Set and the infuriating black devil. I struggle with the frayed ends of my sense of self. When I finally shift my attention back to Magnus, I steady myself in his gold-flecked gaze, nostrils flaring wide and then lesser so, my heart no longer thrumming with ire and despair. The clouds overhead part further, starlight adding it’s dull glow to the moon-illuminated clearing. My eyes, a pale grey made even paler by the moonlight, flick to the drying sweat on his neck and I am momentarily distracted, mulling over its implications. I cannot even remember the last time that I talked to someone other than Set and Niklas. Most strangers gave us a wide berth. The others quickly learned their mistake. Beqanna was different.   I jerk imperceptibly when he starts in again, the smooth rasp of his voice drawing me back in. His observation, and subsequent question, draws a bark of genuine laughter from my throat. Our nighttime arrival was, just like everything else, not a decision I had been privy to before it was made. "Not many are willing to come to the damsel’s rescue when she’s being held captive by a magician and his demon," I reply, forgetting my initial air of hostility toward him with the capriciousness of a child. My brow furrows. “But something tells me you know a bit about demons,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper, “ … and damsels," I finish with a wide grin, almost goofy on the otherwise elegant lines of my face.   I do not answer his question right away, instead turning my focus to the white mare, nearly glowing in the pallid night. Accustomed to blunt honesty, my nose twitches at her observation. Lack in sleep, indeed. Niklas made it nearly impossible to sleep. If he was not pranking me with his shadow creatures, his hellhound was haunting my every dream. I like to think that after helping to raise me that my uncle holds me in some semblance of esteem – after all, I am still alive– but he feeds off pain and fear and, for a long time, it has been just us. A sheep amongst wolves. Except, I refused to be a sheep.   My amusement crumbles to ashes in my mouth, caustic and dry. Did I want to be helped? I eye this quiet stranger warily, nostrils wrinkled, lips drawn tight. Flashback to the moment the water had closed in over my head, filling lungs desperate for air. Well not anymore! I want to snap, but I hold my tongue, unwilling to make an enemy so early on, with little knowledge of how this world works. Clearing my throat and not-so-nice thoughts, I glance furtively from one to the other. “Do either of you know how all of this works?” I ask, throwing my chin out to indicate the whole of Beqanna. “I mean,” I start again quickly, “I understand there are kingdoms and other horses like me … but how does one go about finding a place to call … home?” A thrill runs through me at the thought.

[magnus]

I wanna give you wild love, the kind that never slows down
I wanna take you high up let our hearts be the only sound

He remains quiet throughout the exchange, more quiet than normal. He has a feeling that she has rarely been afforded her own space to think and he tries to give it to her now, gold-flecked eyes smoldering with interest but his face carefully neutral as he watches her. He can’t shake the feeling that she has bombs underneath her skin that are just a hair’s breadth away from detonating, and he doesn’t want to provide any more pressure than she’s already been under. So, instead, he remains calm and quiet and steady.

At her quick joke, humor curls the edges of his inky lips into a crooked grin, warmth seeping through his features. “You could say that,” he tilts his head, eyes narrowing as he considers her. “Although I do not see any damsels who require saving.” She didn’t strike him as someone who required another and while he would be here for whatever she needed, he certainly doesn’t believe that she needed him in any way.

He considers commenting on his demons, speaking to that which drives him forth from his volcanic isle so late at night, but he decides for another day, another time. There is enough gravity to this situation already without him needing to add his own. She’s experienced enough, he thinks, without him needing to unpack his own demons here and now—the sharp edges of them more than he can handle right now.

As Ilma speaks, his ears perk toward her, listening with interest. At her observation, he just shrugs a little, rolling his war-scarred shoulders. “I sleep enough,” is all he comments. Sleep eluded him often, but he made sure to get enough to stay sharp. It did no one in his home any good if he was constantly exhausted. Still, his gaze is captured quickly by the mare in question once more and he trains it on her. It’s been a long time since he’s met someone so unfamiliar with the ways in Beqanna and he’s fascinated by it.

“I do,” he answers, whiskey voice steady. “You’re in the field, where most souls come to speak to representatives of different lands. It’s a chance to talk to residents and learn more about their individual homes. Each land is wholly unique and offers something a little different. Coming here is as much a chance for recruiters to find good additions for their home as it is for you to find a good fit for yourself.”

Coming here was not a responsibility that Magnus took lightly. It was not uncommon for Magnus to point someone in a different direction other than Tephra if it was clear they’d be better suited somewhere else. While he was hungry to help grow his home, he wasn’t interested in tricking people into following him; he truly was interested in helping them find a place where they could belong. “I’m from a place called Tephra. I’m sure that both Ilma and I would be more than happy to tell you more about our homes, as well as the different homes around here. You’re more than welcome to visit each of them if you’d like.”

He pauses, considering her once more.

“I’d also be happy to show you to them, if that’s what you’d prefer.”

He was in too deep now to simply leave without making sure she was settled somewhere and safe.

I wanna go where the lights burn low and you're only mine

[Ilma]

Ilma

And there's a lesson waiting to be learned
the firestarters always get the burns
and the good guys never get the girl

She observes quietly, indeed. Magnus tells her he does get enough sleep, and she smiles a bit but doesn’t continue to argue. Whatever he thinks is enough, she supposes. He seems alert enough now, though perhaps near the point that he should go and rest, but the black mare is much different. She looks tired, and Ilma wonders if it’s not just this night that she’s up; she seems more tired in the mental way, like perhaps this prank of her family like she said it was, is not the first one.

She receives a blatant stare at her question if this... damsel... even wants their help. She was right in her estimation then; someone to rather fix her problems on her own. But Salomea also shows restraint after that, and that she can appreciate.

Ilma has nothing much to add to Magnus’ explanation, so she gives him a nod as a thanks for his answering the quesion. ”If either of our homes aren’t a fit, we could introduce you to our allied lands as well.” she offers, or at least, that’s what she usually does. ”Either way, it is your choice, and for most lands, it’s just a matter of telling a recruiter or leader that you’re interested.” she tells the mare. ”Most kingdoms have rules about joining or climbing ranks, but you usually aren’t required to have one to live somewhere.”

and shooting stars cannot fix the world