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  • Beqanna

    version 22: awakening

    COTY

    GHAUL -- Year 209

    QOTY

    "(souls are not meant to live more than once — death was not meant to be temporary, and she is so sure that every time her heart starts to beat again that irreversible damage is further inflicted)" -- Anonya, written by Colby


    And the tracks I tread are cold, so cold; Peregrine Jude
    #1
    to capture a predator, you can't remain the prey

     In the darkness of Beqanna’s nights there are only slivers of moonlight, silver streaks that briefly illuminate the edges of leaves and of the perilous drops of rock and limestone. The fireflies pulse and dance, glow and float amidst the cricket songs and screams of the nightjars and owls; but more so alarming is the chill in the air and the frost that begins to form on the underside of clovers and petals. Deer lay in their bedding and birds fly elsewhere, southerly things that despise the winter, and the animals that prowl ruffle the flora with their slinking steps and predatory forms.

    Though some hooves can be heard amidst the compact and hardening soil, there is something else that dominates the air: that echoes through the black shadows. Bark is sheared from trees and a heavy thud fills the air with the clattering cacophony of wood splintering and breaking. In a singular beam of moonlight, a shape comes to life and with it: the darting body of something strange.

    In the blackness she moves, the raptor-like talons digging into bark and toes bending to pinch the wood so hard that the small, otherwise equine figure leaps from surface to surface with a flexibility and strangely unnatural series of movements. Pale red and slightly gray she is solid outside of bizarre primitive marks near where the leather talons have formed, and her mane and tail are still fluffy.

    Stained by blood, but, drier and without the gore- she traverses the woods and treeline: leaps and plays in the night, and for a moment when her body seems as if it might impact a branch: she becomes nothing and intangible, phasing through it as if the thing were not there.

    Myrkari is still then, puffing her chest as she catches her breath and remaining so that she cling to the branches of a willow. Rumbling and hungry she looks about, studying and considering; but finding little entertaining or enticing in any fashion.

    This continues until she sees the clearing ahead, sees the wide grounds and the tall grass. With curiosity she clatters and leaps, climbs up and balances on the branches- looking down with some purpose. Starlight and the cloudless sky make her more visible now than ever, and she remains perched: waiting for something. 

    you have to become equal in every way

    Myrkari


    peregrine jude  she born  :3c
    PVP: On
    Minor Injury, and Some Mutilation Permitted.
    Reply
    #2
    peregrine jude
    i glow pink in the night in my room

    The night is not a welcome time to Jude: she is round and full in the way only new mothers can be.

    Around her the cold Beqanna darkness ebbs and flows, seemingly inhaling and exhaling. The shadows have their own life - each leaf glistening in the moonlight hiding something unseen. Whether it be a creature or just soil, the ignorance makes it nearly unbearable. Jude shakes out her pastel mane, watching her cool breathe as it blasts from her maw in hot, gray puffs. She thought acting normal, adjusting her body as if there is no possibility of another around, would make the darkness feel more sane (it does not).

    As if the news of the plague is not enough of a stressor, Jude has found herself lost on an unforgiving night. She has heard whispers of areas of Beqanna she has not explored, and it would appear that she is now discovering them. Foolish: that is what she feels she is, having succumbed to the antsiness of holing up in Tephra and venturing out despite the ever-impending threat of disease. Who knows what will happen if she falls ill before giving birth - or what will happen if she falls ill and passes it on to her child. Still not moving, Jude closes her eyes and breathes.

    God damn this cursed pregnancy; god damn this cursed land and its cursed charmers.

    A few paces ahead lies a clearing. The pegasus moves forward with caution, poking just her head between the trees to scope out what may be hiding within. Seeing nothing - and feeling wildly uncomfortable without cover - she begins to hurry across the open space. Jude is nearly all the way across when she senses it (or hears it - she is unsure of what ancient instinct pricks her mind). Slowly, so painfully slowly, she lifts her gaze to the wavering foliage above.

    How stupid of her to not notice something so large hanging in such delicate branches.

    In the darkness, she cannot quite tell what it is - for the moonlight glints off of its talons, but also reveals its mostly equine features. Jude takes a moment, but soon realizes that above her rests a foal: eyes wide and curious, not predatory but not exactly inviting. The mare takes a few steps back. An instinct (motherly, if she would admit that to herself) takes hold.

    Jude peers back at the child.

    i've been blossoming alone over you


    Myrkari
    Reply
    #3
    to capture a predator, you can't remain the prey

     Befitting the confusion of the winged-mare, so too is there confusion amidst the red filly with the talons. It is a bizarre thing she sees before her, a round creature that looks to be like herself: like her deceased mother; but it possesses not clawed feet, just hooves and upon its shoulders there is no smooth back… rather there are large wings branching from the shoulders. 

    From above she can see the slivers of light dancing on the pale perlino-pink skin, and how it highlights to swollen curves and weighted body. For a moment she deviates to stare behind herself, to look at her back and shoulders- nosing where the the wings might’ve been had she possessed them and she finds only the residual taste of iron and salt on her tongue.

    The thud is sudden, and in the darkness her body simply drops to the ground: not stepping away or leaping from the branches; but rather, passing through them as they were real.

    Uneasy and quiet, she lowers her head and slides the newborn ears back: walking in a way that ungraceful and without poise, more akin to a drunken moose than some beautiful predatory creature. The splayed toes curls and her talons leaves marks upon the earth as she stops a foot or so from Jude and allows the tiny nostrils to sniff and huff with the scent of the air between them- studying and watching.

    Curiosity is set in her mind and with tentative pace she reaches out her frail neck: stretching and bringing the soft nose to Jude as if to invite her into a greeting. Whatever it is, the gesture is primal and she only imitates it as it is born from memories that besiege her, ones so old and tired that they are not her own; but the whole of her species, and as such she waits until the mare returns the gesture before drawing back and lifting a leg.

    Spindly and covered in fur there is a moment where patches of leathery skin break through: bones and joints seemingly more avian than equine. Wordless and unable to know, she clatters the razor-sharp and daggerline talons and grasps at nothing… simply looked between her own and Jude’s legs. With a desire to understand she steps forward again, sniffing leg and peering at the mare’s hooves with a singular claw reaching out to tap the keratin surface.

    She blinks, and steps back.

    “Murrr.” the sound is muffled, strained and little more than babble; but it is the beginning and as such she continues with broken syllable and speech. “Murrr kaaaar yeeeee.” it’s something, and in that moment it is completed.

    Peering at the much larger mare she widens the pale blue eyes and their silver rings, watching and striving to understand. 

    you have to become equal in every way

    Myrkari


    peregrine jude
    PVP: On
    Minor Injury, and Some Mutilation Permitted.
    Reply
    #4
    peregrine jude
    i glow pink in the night in my room

    Panic does not come easily to the pegasus - no, she is too labyrinthine to allow such erratic emotions to control her actions. Instead, she smoothes her initial discomfort into cautious curiosity. A creature such as this is sure to peak one’s interest, and it certainly is not the strangest thing to come from Beqanna.

    So, she stands, stoic and patient - the shadows and silence stretching languidly between them.

    Jude watches the movements of the little avian-hybrid, unable to tell what it is doing but still not quite frightened. She lifts her muzzle a few inches to breathe in its scent: a filly, covered in the stench of dried blood and afterbirth. Motherly concern floods the mare’s senses, but before she can form her emotion into thought, the child drops to the ground. Jude nearly lurches forward, fearing for the filly’s safety, but quickly realizes there is no harm done. It takes a moment but she thinks: Did that kid just . . . pass through branches?

    Despite the sudden and strange fall, Jude does not move. The filly approaches, lanky and gauche, causing any semblance of unease to melt. In a bumbling, alien way, the child is almost sweet - feminine instincts swell with sudden force and then pop! they release what feels like poison (to Jude) into her veins.

    When the avian girl reaches forward, Jude matches, bumping muzzles: soft baby flesh brushing clumsily against her own, a moment of understanding (mother to daughter).

    Jude stays hushed, allowing the babe her infant curiosity: talons stretching and grasping followed by a gentle tap on her hoof. Strange, the incessant ripples of affection she feels - Jude has always been drawn to the exciting, and what is more thrilling than a midnight encounter with a lonesome baby?

    Murrr. Moonlight gleams off the child’s eyes at it mutters gibberish: Mur-kaar-yee. Jude’s ears flutter back and forth, dropping her head to peer back at the child. She attempts to piece the noise together.

    Murkaryee: what can that possibly mean? It sounds like no language she knows, and that’s when she realizes - the child’s name.

    “Myrkari?” accent stumbling over the r’s, trying her best to follow the stuttering syllables of the child. “Is that your name, little one?”

    i've been blossoming alone over you


    Myrkari
    Reply
    #5
    to capture a predator, you can't remain the prey

    Primal and ancient, a memory born in her blood and inner-soul: she recognizes the softness of the woman’s nose and the warmth of her breath: the smell, too, is something she finds locked away; but it is not specifically hers- rather it is the instinctual confirmation of some imprinting: mother, that’s who it belongs to. 

    She considers, in her own small mind, the dead creature on the beach and the way she lacked the imprint: the drive or connection, instead she finds it all strange that her baby-fur is stiff with dried blood and viscera- with touches of frost from the winter. She ponders this: why, what does it mean; but Myrkari is not great newborn philosopher and instead she focuses on the present.

    Jude’s eyes and her smell, the softness of her nose- and the desire to pick and play: to chase and be chased… even if she cannot understand why the others lack talons and toes.

    “Name.” she chirps, mimicking the word with a soft lilt to her speech. The hardness of the keratin hoof is strange but, she steps back then and lifts her foreleg: bends it and allows the talons to scratch her own belly and chest before placing them back down. 

    Quiet after the fact, she steps forward and walks: but rather than around, she moves through- walks through Jude as if she is ghost, as if the filly simply lacked tangibility. Yet as she steps out and away, saunters and studies the hooves more: stares off at swaying night-blossoms… she becomes solid again, brushing flower and grass- leaving tracks and even brushing the earth: scratching it to leave marks as she bounces and wanders back.

    “Mine. Yes. Myrkari. No… claw.” genuine words, her questions posed as she points at Jude’s hooves and looks to her own talons, frowning. “Strange, weird- me weird.”

    And those words, she ends on- stares and watches. 

    you have to become equal in every way

    Myrkari


    peregrine jude
    PVP: On
    Minor Injury, and Some Mutilation Permitted.
    Reply
    #6
    peregrine jude
    i glow pink in the night in my room

    As the little avian scratches her belly, Jude tilts her head in fascination. She thinks how bizarre this child is, how lucky she is to be the one to have stumbled upon her. And yet, she also thinks Myrkari may not be the strangest equine in Beqanna, and that is why she is hardly startled when the babe walks through her as if she is not there.

    The phasing comes as shock, but Jude does little more than jump. She feels absolutely nothing, blinking and shuffling her hooves at the discomfort. The pegasus turns her head to watch the filly, wondering if she is ever solid (thankfully, she brushes against the foliage soon after).

    Myrkari wanders back in the sweet way only foals can: bouncy and naive. Jude cocks her head yet again, swivelling her ears back and forth as the child spits out some more disconnected words. As a claw stretches toward her hoof yet again, Jude smiles and stifles a laugh at the perplexed child. Strange - strange, indeed - but the mare does not mind the odd little one (prefers her, in fact).

    “Yeah, you are a little weirdo,” Jude chirps back, bending her head to peer into Myrkari’s eyes. “But I guess you’re now my little weirdo. Don’t worry, you’ll find most of us are weirdos,” the last phrase is an afterthought, words that she figures the child mostly can’t understand, and a musing she hopes to be true.

    “Do you want to come with me? I can be your . . . mom.”

    i've been blossoming alone over you


    Myrkari we can end the thread here or keep going, i'm fine either way!
    Reply




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