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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


    anyone; claim?
    #1
    BUT HOW COULD YOU KNOW THE SWEETEST SUFFERING
    OF MOVING ON
    He doesn’t quite understand what is happening, or even how. This isn’t what he remembered, but alas, he can recollect very little. This is Beqanna, that much he knows, but everything else is beyond his grasp. There had been a voice to awaken him, stirring him from a slumber he never knew he slipped into.

    But then there had been another voice. It was Beqanna, the faeries.
    Last he heard from them, the world had been reshaped and everyone stripped of what they were. This time it is different.

    A plague is destroying Beqanna, but there are some lands that have since sprouted to provide refuge. Curious, Tiphon took to the skies until he noticed the spit of land off shore. It whispers to him wistfully, and so he obeys with a smooth tilt of his body. It is likely occupied, he muses, but then perhaps they could enlighten him on the events. Wasn’t Beqanna once green and lush? He wants to think so, but again, the memories are clouds that he cannot seems to hold onto. This world of death and disease is the only thing he is confident about. This is home, this is life.

    His voice is smooth, rolling past his lips like the sweet strum of a harp. There isn’t a sense of urgency, worry, or even aggression. It’s a noise announcing himself while also determining whether this island is plagued as well. When silence ensues, Tiphon isn’t quite sure whether he is concerned or relieved. There is no stench of decay when he breathes in a lungful of air – there is nothing, actually. There is a taste of abandonment that makes his descent more hesitant. He wants to heal, to face this blemish that has claimed Beqanna.

    This is where he can begin, he muses, staring across the water’s edge curiously.



    TIPHON
    STARLACE AND INFECTION



    Not even sure if this is claimable, but I guess trying so Tiphon can try healing peeps if they so choose.. plus, he is just oblivious about almost everything lol
    Reply
    #2

    I waited for something, and something died
    so I waited for nothing, and nothing arrived

    She doesn’t know much, but she knows this: she needs to do whatever she can to heal.

    It doesn’t matter that she herself is not healed yet. It doesn’t matter that her chest is still gashed open, the skin no longer knit tightly together. It doesn’t matter that the skin along her neck and shoulder is still burned, the scars turning ugly underneath the tangled locks of her mane. It doesn’t matter that her own gift is weak in her still. None of it matters because the world around her has wounds that are far worse than the ones that she carries—and that’s where her focus goes to first and where it lingers.

    Something in her brings her to this island.

    Something in her draws her to the heart of it.

    She moves slowly, red dragon wings curved over her spine, but she keeps moving, and she thinks that is what truly matters. One hoof in front of the other, sometimes so low that it drags, but her momentum doesn’t stop. She is feverish and blood is crusted slightly in the corner of her lip, but next to the crimson of her coloring, it’s almost indiscernible. The blood that smears the gash on her chest is less difficult to miss. The burn that curves wickedly up her shoulder and neck is even less difficult.

    But such things don’t matter now.

    The only thing that matters is the stallion who stands near the water, practically glowing. The ivory of his body is offset with the gold and she finds herself drawn to him, adjusting her path so slightly so that she can make her way toward him. When she is near enough, she makes sure to stand several feet away, worried that her sickness would spread even in this supposedly safe space.

    “What are you?” Her voice is huskier than usual, but she cannot stop the curiosity that swells within it.

    it's our dearest ally, it's our closest friend
    it's our darkest blackout, it's our final end



    @[Tiphon]
    [Image: avatar-1975.gif]
    the heaviness in my heart belongs to gravity
    Reply
    #3
    An overwhelming desire to help drives the mare to one of the sanctuary lands, even though she is currently unable to even help herself. After days of rest she has poured hour after hour into trying to heal herself, but she has only been able to heal the worst of her symptoms. The fiery fever that was wracking her body is gone, as is the sheen of sweat she thought she’d never be able to wash free, but she can’t heal from the lack of appetite or the cough for some reason. She had always thought that being a healer meant she could keep herself from becoming ill... but this plague is something else entirely.

    She has been scouting the lands that have reappeared by magic, trying to find one that would be suitable to bring the other sick horses to. So far only the Island Resort seems safe enough—it is secluded and far away from the center of the chaos: Pangea. Cress had winged her way across the territory and so far, it seems unclaimed. Being an island makes it seem even safer in her eyes. So this, this will be home.

    When she alights on the beach, the first thing she sees is a horse that shines like a beacon in the distance. As she draws nearer, she notices the mare that she helped before; she is feverish and ill as well, and it is all Cress can do to not offer her a shoulder to lean on. This woman has seen much suffering and hopefully she can stand on her own for now.

    She realizes that she had never even learned the other’s name.

    “You’re the healer, from Pangea,” she chokes out between fits of coughing. She notices that the wounds inflicted during the battle still shadow her flesh, and Cress grimaces in sympathy. “If you are not strong enough yet, I can help heal your flesh wounds. I’ve been at it a long time.”

    Since they are both sick, Cress draws nearer to her, folding her own golden dragon wings tight to her sides. She looks towards the angelic stallion before them, tilting her head slightly as she breathes in his light. There is something about him... maybe he can help. “I’m Cress,” she offers.

    “I want to help Beqanna heal. Can you help me?”

    infected.
    Reply
    #4
    BUT HOW COULD YOU KNOW THE SWEETEST SUFFERING
    OF MOVING ON
    He is unaware of the travesty happening across the inlet. Beqanna is screaming for help, but Tiphon hasn’t yet seen why. The blood dripping across the withered lands has escaped his notice; he has only witnessed those in good health scrambling away. There is a plague, they shout, but he hasn’t yet seen the evidence.

    And yet he was driven to come here on sheer instinct. No family, no followers – it’s solely him with his personal agenda. Heal. Help. They will need him, he thinks with a distant stare finding the horizon.

    But in the meantime, there is solitude.

    The island is abandoned, a figment of ancient memories. The cobwebs haven’t been brushed away for decades and there’s a forgotten eeriness that chills Tiphon to the bone. His eyes search, hungry for conversation, but the beach is untouched save for his own footprints. The tide washed away evidence of the past while storms cleansed the remainder. What scents there may have once been have long since faded, discarded and left for dead by newer generations. Yet, he still walks and steps among the ghosts of the past.

    At first, Tiphon assumes that she is one of them – a phantom of his own imagination wandering the beach and palm trees – but she seems far more tangible, far more beautiful than anything his mind could muster. Even sickly, with crusted blood and scars puckering her flesh, she is still beautiful. Tiphon glances away but is incapable of diverting for very long. Drawn to each other, moths to a flame, they meet at a crossroad. They gape at each other, but for entirely different reasons. His eyes trace along her and note every curve, cut, and hair out of place. There is no concealing the frown that stretches his lips down or how his brows furrow in concern. Surprisingly, however, she doesn’t talk about herself – it’s a conversation immediately focused on him, a topic that he nearly shies from but reconsiders in a brief silence.

    ”What am I? he echoes contemplatively, his weight shifting from one side to another. The sand underfoot hisses and churns. ”I am a son and a brother,” he recites what the voice had told him. He doesn’t remember his children or how many he sired. His memories are scattered, most far from his reach. ”And I’m a healer.” Is that the answer she wanted? He fails to announce that he’s an angel because his mind is trained to believe he is like them all - a misfit yet all the same. Everyone in Beqanna is different – beautiful and unique in their own way – but also similar in that they are here to survive.

    ”What happened to you?” He inches closer, but takes pause, unable to fathom what could’ve so easily destroyed her. Combing through her visual wounds, so trained and focused, he almost doesn’t notice the other woman stepping forward until the sound of her voice shatters the quiet pause. He regards her curiously, but she confirms her good intent. Are there really so few that wand to mend Beqanna’s wounds? Are there so many that are now infected? The questions pool and overflow the crevices of his mind as he weighs the situation. ”Yes,” he agrees with a slow nod, ”I want to heal Beqanna.” But then he breathes and calculates the magnitude of the situation. Their entire world is crumbling, but immediately in front of him, he sees two victims already. With a ruffle of his wings, he adds, ”But first, you two need to heal.”


    TIPHON
    STARLACE AND INFECTION
    Reply
    #5

    I waited for something, and something died
    so I waited for nothing, and nothing arrived

    She feels the other mare approach, and she drags her eyes away from the stallion before her to the mare. Something like delight twists in her, the familiarity of the golden face shining through. “Oh, you’re safe!” she exclaims, relief washing over her features. She steps toward her, embracing her, ignoring the pain that laces though her at the contact and instead focusing on the relief to be standing near the friendly face again. At her offer she smiles sadly. “I’ve nearly depleted my healing powers over the last few months,” she explains. “Too much, too often. Pangea was simply the last straw. I have little to use for myself.”

    Enough to keep her alive, enough to aid in the birth of her child, but not herself.

    Not as much as she needs to.

    She coughs, mirroring the sickness in the mare before her, before turning her attention to Tiphon. She can’t help the wonder that thrums inside of her—the feeling that she was standing in front of someone completely otherworldly. He was unlike anyone she had met before and she watches him carefully as he begins to talk. She sighs with relief although there are seeds of doubt in her, seeds of belief that he was something so much more than he was letting on, something more than he was telling her now.

    Still, she accepts his answer, lips curving tiredly on her face. “My name is Leliana. I’m a healer too.” She glances to the mare at her side. “We both are.” She frowns a little at his question and she tilts her head to the side to consider. “We were in Pangea,” her words get stuck in her throat at the memory, a tear falling down her cheek. “We were there when Carnage brought forth the masses to kill an innocent.”

    She glances away, composing herself, taking a steadying breath before looking back. “We were caught in the crossfire,” is all she says to explain the wounds that fall across her now, ripping open her chest and burning down her neck. “I just need help restoring my own healing power. I can heal naturally with time. I just need to be strong enough to help you both.” She wouldn’t be any good exhausted like this.

    it's our dearest ally, it's our closest friend
    it's our darkest blackout, it's our final end

    [Image: avatar-1975.gif]
    the heaviness in my heart belongs to gravity
    Reply
    #6
    Cress didn’t know what she was expecting when she found the mare from Pangea again, but when the other mare turns to her with a mixture of joy and relief spreading across her features, she cannot help the smile that crosses her lips. They embrace, though Cress makes sure to pull back after a moment so that she doesn’t pain the other woman too much. Her eyes scan the other, taking in the gash in her chest and the burns that map their way along her shoulder and neck, and she grimaces sympathetically. “Allow me,” she murmurs, reaching for her own gift so that she can knit the woman’s breast back together. If she refuses that is fine, but Cress wants to help in any way that she can.

    Her eyes drift to the snow-white stallion as he begins to speak. He is well-spoken, of that there is no doubt, but like Leliana there is something about him that she can’t quite place a finger on. He explains that he, too, is also a healer and she smiles cautiously, knowing that simple healing won’t expel the plague from their bodies. She has already tried that and failed miserably; what could he possibly do that she can’t? Perhaps he has been gifted much longer than she.

    The bay-and-red mare—Leliana, Cress finally learns—explains that they were in Pangea when everything occurred, and Cress’s chocolate eyes fall to the sand beneath their hooves. “Carnage... he sent out an impulse,” she murmurs, still aghast that they were unable to help poor Rhonen. “Kill this stallion, or destruction will reign upon Beqanna. Kill him, or be destroyed. We couldn’t let that happen.”

    Tears fill her eyes and she blinks hard, unable to meet either of their gazes. “We couldn’t save him.”

    She falls silent, wanting a shoulder to lean upon but there is no one here to hold her up—Leliana is so weak herself and they have only just met this new stallion. Dawn... hopefully is safe. She had entrusted the care of her to the queens of Hyaline, so hopefully they have brought her and the other children to safety. She cannot risk searching for her child now; she cannot risk infecting her.

    Swallowing past the lump in her throat, she meets the mysterious stallion’s gaze. “I have been unable to heal myself from this illness. How are we supposed to heal naturally, when not even innate abilities can do it?”

    infected.
    Reply
    #7
    BUT HOW COULD YOU KNOW THE SWEETEST SUFFERING
    OF MOVING ON
    They’re suffering, both of them. Glancing between them, Tiphon takes careful note of their wounds, their coughs, and their bloody noses. He wants to pull them into an embrace, to rejuvenate them and retract all their pain. A slow step is taken forward, beginning to act on impulse, but then they are admitting to him what began all of this. The disease – this awful plague – began with Carnage (why does that name sound like another lost memory?). Somehow he poisoned everyone’s mind to harm an innocent, and many – too many – acted on it. Everyone was punished, even those wanting to save the victim.

    Like them.

    ”I’m happy you were able to make it here,” he whispers to them with a voice tender enough to be their lover. His heart swells, pressing against his ribcage. They are so strong, and yet riddled with a relentless infection.

    Infection. Like his father.

    A heavy breath inexplicably escapes him as he observes the sand underfoot before lifting his attention to Cress. ”Time,” he offers with a rolling shrug, ”Time and determination.” He hasn’t yet tried to mend the wounded and suffering; would he fail just as easily? ”We have to at least try and begin somewhere. Maybe with increased numbers, we could do this… Maybe.” Seizing the opportunity, Tiphon loops around then steps between them, lightly brushing his skin across theirs. His wings extend, embracing them delicately as threads of his own power reach and swim through their veins. It wears on him, sending his tendrils toward both simultaneously, but he is desperate until there is no other option than to step away and cut the tie. In front of them, he refuses to appear drained; Tiphon continues standing proudly and blinks away the haze of his vision. ”Even if it is only a little bit, at least we can take the edge off the pain.” He can’t bear to see more struggling to live.

    ”We have to try. We have to bring more here.”

    TIPHON
    STARLACE AND INFECTION



    @[Cress] @[leliana]
    Reply
    #8

    I waited for something, and something died
    so I waited for nothing, and nothing arrived

    She doesn’t expect the sudden outflow of kindness that she finds from the others. Cress lets her own healing flow through her, and although she makes a sound of protest, it’s too late and she doesn’t fight the warmth that so quickly spreads through her. She can feel the gash on her chest beginning to knit closed, the infection being chased away, and she sighs with relief, pressing her forehead into the mare’s neck.

    “Thank you,” she breathes, overwhelmed by the show of selflessness.

    Her attention is once again caught by the glowing stallion, and she listens intently as Cress tells their story in more detail. She swallows back the tears that threaten to rise up her throat, the reminder of all that they have tried (and failed) to accomplish. She doubts that a day will go by when she does not see the vision of Rhonen falling beneath his assailant’s hooves. She doubts she will ever be the same again.

    Still, she steps to the side, allowing him to walk in between them.

    His wings flare over them both, and she feels his own flood through her. It, paired with the gift she had already given from Cress, is enough to make her head swim with relief. She has lived so long now with this exhaustion, with this dark sickness, that she almost doesn’t remember what it feels like to feel normal. She knows that the plague still remains nestled win her veins, and she still coughs, but it is not as bad as it had been when she had arrived and she feels nearly delirious with the weight of it lifted.

    She leans over, pressing crimson lips into his neck as a soundless thank you.

    Without thought she moves closer to press her shoulder into his, offering support. “We have to try,” her voice is quiet, offered to them both. “Even if we can only offer momentary release, even if we can only keep the worst of the symptoms at bay.” He steps away and she finds his gaze, holding it.

    “Where would you have us start?”

    it's our dearest ally, it's our closest friend
    it's our darkest blackout, it's our final end



    @[Cress] @[Tiphon]
    [Image: avatar-1975.gif]
    the heaviness in my heart belongs to gravity
    Reply




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