"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
The faeries were able to bring back the uninfected places, safe havens for their people, but they know that it’s only a temporary relief. It is not a solution. After many days (or hours, or months, they aren’t the greatest at keeping track of mortal time) of contemplation, they believe they have found a solution.
But as their people had helped the Dark God to bring about this despair and destruction, the people are the secret ingredient to undoing it. The people of Beqanna will have to put more effort into the healing of Beqanna than they put into its sickening - at least four times as much, or so it seems to the fae on the Mountain. Four times the effort, and four lands brought back from Beqanna before - the symmetry is pleasing to them.
They call them to the Mountain to send them (whoever will come) to the first of the four lands. A group of them, the world’s somewhat mysterious demi-gods, stand in a loose half-circle as the people of Beqanna gather on the incline of the mountain below them. While the equines gather, the fairies are silent, watching them through unhappy gazes - expressions ranging from stoic to sad to disappointed to angry. After the last few stragglers settle into place, one of them separates from the others.
It’s clear that he favors the land of which he speaks - his equine form is colored in the same shades as ice and snow, and his voice when he speaks blows like a cold wind from the north. There is little compassion there, and even less warmth. They will have to work hard to earn the forgiveness of this fae, for what they have done to Beqanna. “Those brave enough will go to Icicle Isle. You will find the heart-shaped pond and bring back several frozen stems of water; the first ingredient in a cure for this pestilence that has been released on Beqanna.” His cold gaze sweeps over them, and he gives a brief shake of his head after an indistinguishable murmur from those arrayed behind him. “But it will not be easy. You will have to do so without any of the gifts we have previously allowed you.”
He stomps one crystal-hard hoof against the stone beneath his feet, raising a shower of sparks, and the fairies are all gone.
Rules -Everyone may enter one character in this quest -Round 1 entries are to be posted in Icicle Isle in the Quest thread no later than NOVEMBER 13TH at 11:00 PM CST -Your first post should describe your character making the journey to the edge of the mainland and swimming the frigid waters to Icicle Isle, and end with their arrival on the shore of the island -Your character has lost any and all traits for this quest -This quest will have three rounds; no eliminations in round one, 50/50 chance of being eliminated in round 2, and round 3 will be judged on creativity, readability, and judge’s preference -Each round will give 5 days for responses to be posted -Those eliminated in round 2 will have a minor and non-permanent defect; those who advance to round 3 will have the chance to win a 2 or 3 space genetic trait; failing to respond on time or at all without notifying the officials you are dropping out will result in a permanent defect
Nalia had been to Isicle Isle only a few times before, and one thing was clear: she was not a fan when it was the winter. Of course, the new island had only recently appeared after the Plague had struck Beqanna with the force of thunder, but she wasn't a fan of winter anyway. She wasn't a large draft breed like some of the other horses here in Beqanna, so her winter coat wasn't as thick as theirs. Having wings to protect her belly and body helped, yes, but she would feel better if her coat was a bit thicker.
Ardashir, not long ago, had asked her to return to the Isle to remain and, not only offer friendship to those who had migrated seeking sanctuary from the Plague, but also to stay safe herself. Yes, Nalia knew the dangers of returning to the mainland and trying to help others find their way to the Isle, or any other of the three new lands, but she was not one to simply stand on the sidelines. She was driven, she wanted to help however she could, even if it meant putting herself at risk.
So when, one day, the call was sent out to summon those who wished to help with the Plague, Nalia was all for it. The call was requesting whoever wished to help to journey to the Mountain, a place that Nalia had heard of, and seen during her time in the Field before she was given a home, but had never actually gone there. The tall structure that sat within Beqanna's heart was quite imposing, giving Nalia a sense of dread of sort whenever she got close to its border. It stretched high into the sky as if it was trying to touch the clouds, casting a long shadow over the land when the sun moved throughout the day. However, the sight was also quite beautiful, and Nalia could tell it was a site of great power and magnificence.
That could have something to do with the magic that still existed there, but since she hadn't ever gone, she had yet to feel the true wonders of the Mountain.
Upon arriving at the bottom of the large structure, Nalia considered opening her wings to fly, but seeing other horses with gifts making the journey the hard way, she decided to do the same. Plus, there was a difficult wind around the Mountain, and she could tell it would provide some difficulty for flying the higher she got.
Steeling herself for the journey, Nalia started making her way up the Mountain, placing each hoof carefully to avoid slipping and falling back down the trail. It seemed like forever, but she finally reached the top, where a number of horses were gathered to hear what the mighty force that had drawn them here had to say.
Nalia was closer to the back, not wanting to be in the middle of such a crowd, so she couldn't really see who the one that had called them here looked like, but she could hear the raw power radiating from its voice. The explanation behind what they had to do was quick and simple, but the last part troubled her some. What did it mean, without their gifts?
Then, it hit; the powerful creature stomped it's hoof, and the presence on the Mountain seemed to change. Nalia suddenly felt a lack of warmth around her belly, and she turned to look, her eyes going wide at seeing that the wings she had been blessed with since birth were just... gone.
It took every ounce of willpower she had to not outright scream, not wanting to draw attention to herself. Instead, she stepped away to have a moment alone, her body trembling at the lack of her tools of flight. How had that happened? How had that creature suddenly taken away something she had before she came here?
Magic, obviously, but it did little to ease Nalia's panic. A few moments of silence passed before a wave of calm washed over the filly, and suddenly, everything just seemed so clear. Nalia didn't say anything more as she started trailing after the horses who had also accepted the quest to go to the Isicle Isle, knowing the way back to Nerine by heart since she called it her home.
Without her wings, the journey took much longer than normal, but Nalia found a few places along the way where she could pick up the pace to a trot or a canter. It did little to ease the chill in her bones from the frigid winter air, her belly and abdomen now feeling the full effect of the cold, but going at a faster speed seemed to warm her as she felt the strain in her muscles and the sweat accumulate as she tried to outrun winter.
When she got tired, Nalia had to slow down, the sheen of sweat on her body now contributing to the cold again since she had nothing to wash it off and clean the dampness from her neck and legs. A chill ran through her body, causing her to feel 'off' was the best description, but still, she pressed on, knowing she could not be outdone by the others simply because she had pushed herself too hard.
As she journeyed to Nerine's edge, seeing all the horses she passed on the way, her heart felt pain for those who had become a victim of the Plague. Seeing the symptoms they experienced, knowing that they were sick and how lucky she was for the time being, the filly never felt more grateful in her short life.
The familiar terrain of Nerine finally reached her hooves, and the filly let out a happy buck at being home once again. She picked up the pace to begin galloping again, loving the wind rushing through her mane as she traversed across the meadow. The light layer of snow was kicked up by her hooves with each large stride, creating a snowfall effect around her and speckling her back and legs with white powder, making her look more like an Appaloosa than the paint she was.
Her happy mood changed with all the speed of lightning, however, when she got to Nerine's cliffs and down to the beach, having forgotten one crucial fact; she would have to swim. She had no wings, she had no choice other than to swim to get to the Isle, and she absolutely hated this realization. Could she do it? Could she brave the frigid ocean waters to get to the Isle, despite not having gone into them during the first winter she spent in Nerine? If she wasn't brave enough to do it then, why was she brave enough to do it now?
But she had to do it. Her friends, those she considered family, the other residents of the surrounding kingdoms... the longer this Plague existed, the more horses got sick, and even if her part to play in this was for nothing, or small, she had to somehow do what she could to help those who were unable to do so themselves. Plus, she was healthy, for now, so she had to at least try.
The filly stepped closer to the ocean, hesitating for a minute more before inhaling and walking up to her pasterns into the water. Already her body was experiencing a heavy chill from this new temperature, her breaths coming quickly and creating a small cloud of frost around her nose. Every so often she inched further into the ocean, letting her body get accustomed to the temperature, resisting her gut's urge to turn back, get to the mainland, and wait for some other horse to solve the problem.
She would not be on the sidelines... she would not wait for someone else to help when she could... she would not stand idly by while others suffered...
Before the filly knew it, she was up to her chest in the water, her tail and the tips of her main already soaked. This was her last chance to turn back... Lifting her front legs off the sandy bottom of the ocean floor, the filly pushed with her hind legs and began the long, dangerous swim, her muscles straining with every paddle forward.
Nalia could've gone either further north and the swim could've taken less time, but she knew that having to arrive on the north shore of the Isle, where it was absolutely freezing, would be a bad combination considering she was having to swim and getting soaking wet. The south half also had snow, yes, but a whole lot less, something even her minimal winter coat could deal with. The filly felt weighed down by her soaked coat since it was longer than usual, but so far she was lasting, something that surprised her.
She was absolutely freezing, her mane was plastered to her neck, she was tired, hungry, thirsty, and her muscles were now burning from the strain to get her to the Isle. Quite a few times Nalia had slipped further into the water to where only her head was breaching the surface, allowing her to breathe, the only thing pushing her forward the knowledge that she didn't want to die in the middle of the ocean and that she wanted to see her friends again.
The tides at one point turned, kicking up some waves that completely engulfed the filly, resulting in a drenched forelock and face. Her ears, exposed to the cold of the air, felt like ice cubes stuck to her head, and her hair was now in her eyes and making it difficult to see. She did her best to shake it away without having to dunk her head, already quite terrified that she was swimming without being able to see what dangers lurked below. She didn't want to see what could be coming; better to have it happen quick.
It seemed like she had spent an eternity out here, in the middle of the frigid waters, but finally, she spotted land, the edges of Isicle Isle. Adrenaline flowed through her veins and spurred her to swim faster, knowing she would not last much longer out here. As she got near shore, a few times, her legs brushed up against some of the creatures swimming below, terrifying her into thinking it was a predator of sorts, but she hadn't yet lost any limbs and didn't feel any blood dripping out. All she felt was the chill, and she couldn't wait for it to go away.
Feeling the sandbar of the Isle's beach touch her hooves, the filly straightened her legs and lifted her chest out of the water, heaving herself to the shoreline. Exhausted from her journey, the filly folded her legs and collapsed on the beach, her sides heaving to try and let her get a good breath in. Her muscles burned, she was sore, and everything in between, but she'd made it. Somehow, she was on the shore of the Isle, and she'd gotten there under her own power.
Nalia felt quite proud, knowing that she'd gotten here without help. She would have course preferred flying to avoid the water, but this journey was absolutely not meant to be easy. Why would helping cure a Plague be easy? Nalia stretched out her front legs and tried to get up, failing the first few times due to fatigue. She finally managed the simple task, shaking off her body to get rid of the water and sand. Her mane and tail were still soaked and plastered to her body, her belly and legs covered in sand and snow, but she was here. And she was ready for the next task.
11-09-2018, 03:32 AM (This post was last modified: 11-10-2018, 07:32 PM by Briella.
Edit Reason: grammar and spelling fixes.
)
Briella
your eyes are lined in pain, black tears don't hide in rain
Child she may be, Briella lays there: knees bent and legs tucked beneath her small body, beneath the weakened and plague-ridden frame. Her eyes are wide with wonder and she listens to the shrill wind as it echoes through crevice and caverns- through the narrow passages and all the sharp angles of the imperious mountain. Her ears perk and flicker and she listens to call of the wind as it wraps around her body and blows through the soft fur and hair: cradling her chin like a finger… and she rises, wobbly and sore: still resting from her big journey prior. Again, however, she walks to the top of the mountain, to the platform where she sees them in their impossible perfect and brilliance- and she cries out with joy, with hope.
“Fairies!” she is innocent, naive, and tender. Her voice delicate, and yet she herself is lost in the awe she takes in as she watches the faces of them and all the range of emotion they display. There is a sudden sadness, a fear: perhaps a sense of shame as she looks at them and mumbles a very low whisper. “I’m sorry, did I do something? I just want to help.” she’s more eloquent now, but speaking only briefly and she watches as the group begins to settle and soon other horses come forward.
Of the Fairies gathered, the speaker is new and perhaps more frightening to her than she wants to admit: with a voice that speaks as coldly as the wind she’d endured in the Isle and a fortitude about himself so much like the glaciers she’d passed. For a moment she finds concern, shrinking in his presence and slowly bending down until as before, she lay watching- listening and head low… trying to hide herself perhaps from his apparent frustration while still minding each word and instruction. Briella murmurs, whispers rather than speaks out loud. “I can be brave,” she tries to assure herself and the Fairies.
“Oh, I know that place.” and as she grows into silence, Briella recalls the path- the trail and the way: the tiny footsteps left in the earth and snow… and all the journey she’d made before. Her gaze deviates to look for the blue and gold fairy, for the bangles that rattled and the jewels that shone: and if she can find her, than Briella smiles timidly- nodding appreciatively and with a weak, but, present confidence. “Okay, I’ll go back. Going to help, promise!” if she has drawn ire, she does not know; but she rises slowly and steps backward- surveying the mountain path and idly looking between the rocks and grasses- the ice that darkens the stone.
They are gone in a rain of bright and brilliant sparks, vanished and without any trace… and yet, she has no issue with this: it is simply something she accepts. Perhaps in her own mind, having grown in the Den and raised by the Fairies- she is more forgiving and willing, more trustful overall; but no matter she begins to descend the mountain and turns at the head of the path. “Please come with, I know the lake! I promise!” if they listen, she cannot say.
Who would, after all, listen to a lone weanling?
Yet she does not wait either and she walks along the hardened soil and it’s frozen rocks- along the path where drifts of snow form and blanket the dangerous edges. Slow and cautious of the cracks, she minds the sound of rocks above her head and the shrill winds as they batter her body. The cold is something she has not truly grown used too, but, winter has at least brought on a thicker coat and the sooty child with her flaxen mane and tail is fluffier now: the frost touching the edges of her fur but not penetrating to the skin.
Briella coughs, her nose twitching as trickles of blood drip down, and she whimpers a moment as the familiar weight and heaviness in her lungs returns; but she cannot fail, she cannot stop- and her hooves leave small impressions with each continuous step. Winding and spiraling she finds herself stepping over logs fallen and frozen, sliding between rocks where-in the path shrinks and narrows. Once or twice she has to stop, all to survey the distance down the mountain that remains, and as if guided by familiar knowledge she goes on until she reaches the base: stands and peers out- studying the vast cross-section where the edges of Hyaline and the Forest lay beyond the River.
“Okay, I’m gonna go through Hyaline to the Taiga and then Nerine: Loess is pretty, but, it’s a really long path and Hyaline has more water and greens still growing. Yeah, it’s a better choice.” she nods as if it is accepted truth, and looks back to whomever has followed: to any who entertained the weanling.
If there are none, she only looks down in quiet sorrow- her mind recalling the first time she made the journey and how dangerous it had been.
“I want to help.” she chokes back a sob.
For her, she continues: moving along the rocky edges of the icy bank and to the place where the quick moving river cuts through Beqanna. Her gaze lingers on the flow and she starts upward, moving north and not crossing just yet. Rather she walks with her own confidence, and there is something almost devoted about it, continuing along the bank where mud is gray and brown- a slurry of frigid algae and rock, and ice patches the areas between the stones. Shining and at times glittering with the sunlight that bears down through the cloudless sky.
Though it is winter the upper edges of the banks are covered in greenery and weeds, uneven due to rock and the mountainous setting, and she finally leaves the lower portion of the bank when there is a moment where the river is not so swift.
Wood and mud have been bound together, and strange furred creatures pat away and swim freely, the flow of water present but weakened and Briella is quick to lunge forward and cross. Frigid, she feels the shock of it: the chill that runs through her legs and brushes her chest and belly- it’s like knives driven into her skin, something so alarming she gasps… not screams, but gasps: and coughs soon after, her legs steady as she pulls herself onto the opposing bank and begins to shake and shiver.
To the furry builders, she looks: watches and observes. The teeth are yellow and strange, their limbs backing hooves and possessing only claw and toes: webbing between and some tail that looks more like wood attached to their body. She is awe of them, astounded and curious; but she cannot linger and so Briella instead goes on- begins to retrace step and path- to walk with a bounce here and there, even as she shakes and coughs: her tiny body wracked with fever and pain.
Through crag and rock she saunters on with her gaze peering at the leafless and barren cherry trees, the hardy red maple even absent these things; but there is an irony that the purple wisteria and pale baby’s breath remains: the coniferous trees are richly green and their sweet cones… still on the branches. Waxy and sharp, the pine-scent is strong and more so as they pass beneath the trees and along the river where in Hyaline seems to be in bloom.
Hunger has not truly touched her since the disease was contracted, and yet, Briella forces them to stop: nibbles on clover and grass, and urges them as well to do the same. Water, no matter how cold, is welcome and the filly notes the slow moving fish and their dark scales- the crawdads in their mud holes and all the frogs bedding into the murk and mud.
In her distraction, she is in total and undeniable veneration of the world, and she manages a tender whisper as her own reflection takes form before her… a thing which had always been there, but, was only recently noticed. “I don’t know if you can hear me, or if you’re listening; but it’ll be okay Fairies. I’m really good at remembering the way! I can help, I’m gonna help! Just make sure my Dad and Aunt are okay please. I really love them, and I miss them; but they’re very sick. Gotta make them better.”
In her mind she considers Dovev and Heartfire, she thinks of the worry and panic- the fear she holds in losing them: and she whimpers at the idea of it.
Still, she presses on, and thinks about her reflection quietly, and to herself, the image of her own face was thinner than it had been and more sunken in- her eyes duller and there was a distinct sort of stain on her maw where blood had been trickling from the nostrils with every sneeze and cough. She tries to suppress them, to stop herself as she walks beneath tree and through bushes: as she tastes the coppery… metallic blood on her lips. Determined and focus, Briella notes the way the river widens: how the water becomes infinitely clear and she notices sometimes different.
A clear sheen of ice reflects on the surface of the wide lake. Temptation comes and goes, her body weaving through tall grass and close to shore as she notices the fading daylight and and the sky darkening. Night time approaches, and she stares up at the wine-dark sky and the graying clouds on its edges: all the starlight that glistens and shimmers, mily stretches of something she does not know the word for- all above and around her and the party she may or may not have gathered.
Alive in the lake, there are frog calls and ripples, splashing fish and ice cracking where turtles and other life slithers beneath the depths to escape the wintry breath that begins to bellow and breathe through the vast expanse of Hyaline. The dark is not a thing that frightens her so much anymore, but, they are creatures of mortal binds and she knows exhaustion as it slithers through her petite and childish body. So she goes to a tree where wind cannot batter her and rests: lays and stretches amidst the grasses.
“Rest,” she speaks to them, and leaves it to others to listen: or to do as they wish; but Briella sleeps.
A dream, however, is absent from her mind and instead she hears the sound of coughing and struggling breath: she hears the death-rattle and reverberation of a familiar voice as the picture forms. Dovev, bony and skeletal, lays in blood and Pangean soil- insides spilled upon the ground and lesions so deep on the flesh that flies had lain maggot and begun to feast: he rots, dying painfully and slowly. Heartfire too, is in this awful nightmare, and she sees the roan mare impaled upon a grotesque and bloody rock: sharp and impossibly tall. Her blood and organs have dripped, viscera and gore as abundant as the rusty colors of the land around her.
In her mind she can see Carnage, awful and yet remarkable: the gray and astral markings strange to her, and more so the fact that he seems somehow larger and stronger- he seems tall. She hears the bellow cries of his name in the mesa and plateaus; but alarmingly she sees other bodies scattered about… Woolf, Leilan, Thorgal, Rey, Phasus, Bruise, Niklas- everyone. She feels the sudden knot in her belly and the fear increasing as the wicked God turns his eyes onto her and she hears his terrible voice in her subconscious- panic, and fury in her mind.
“You could have saved them, but you failed. You didn’t help, you caused this: all of it.” and in what may’ve been in attempt to stand up and defend herself: she instead feels her heart shattering in her chest, feels the soul unweaving as Dovev… in his final words, speaks.
“You failed kid, we’re all dead. I should’ve left you in the river.” harsh and enough to provoke her: a wailing cry filling the air.
When she wakes, her eyes shoot open and her body trembles from fever and fear: she cries, panics and breathes so rapidly that the coughing is sudden and strong. Wracked with pain and a deep feeling of remorse and misery she cries, tears in her eyes and pressure building as Briella chokes and whimpers… as she tries to speak and stutters: stammers. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry- I wanted to help. I didn’t know it was me, I’m sorry. Please don’t leave me. Dovev, Heartfire- please.”
Its agonizing, her legs brought over her face and tears left to fall as she sobs and wails- as Briella is consumed by the nightmare and by her fear.
Strength comes later, when she rises in a state of emotional numbness and exhaustion- when she thinks of how Heartfire had sought to protect her and how Dovev had always called her ‘his’... how each cared and each worried; but most of all she recalls their silent promises and moments.
She has to succeed.
North from Hyaline is the Taiga and Briella knows it well, well enough that she steps into the mist and fog: into the redwoods without fear or ceremony. She cares little for the moving of shadows near bushes and at the base of the great trees: instead keeps her eyes on the soil until at long last she sees it… scratch marks.
Lines drawn in the soil remain and she sees another series ahead, scratching them herself and matching sizes with her own hoof. “I came this way.” she states plainly before following the scratches, walking along the wood and rock: the trees and all their great might. The dawn in the Taiga is strange and the light barely breaks the great canopy of dismal mist lingering on the ground. Yet, she knows it is a boring journey, one without many obstacles sans the predators that dwell within. So she listens, waits for an opportune moment and then speaks: just loud enough to be heard.
“The first time I came through here, it was like this too. Fog, not much light, and I think there less of a chill in the air. I kept seeing things moving in the corner of my eye, and I think the forest spirits were just really curious about why people were suddenly coming back in really big numbers. Maybe they liked it quiet? I don’t know, but, I thought I saw one and it was really pretty. It had big antlers and really pretty white fur, and it looked a little bit like a deer but its face was too long and the antlers were really different… oh, and it was taller, and really fat.” she nods to herself, thinking of the moose-entity she’d seen.
“Maybe if we’re lucky, we’ll see it? I hope so.” simply put she keeps on- circling a tree every now and again with a laughter and joy indicated by the little play she has: and the light is brighter now and the fog is broken easier to show the path of scratches the filly has stuck into the earth. Time passes as they go, and when night fades, they have stepped beyond the Taiga and into the southernmost edge of Nerine.
She’s joyous- laughing and excited: “I lived here for a little bit!” chirping and quick she races through tall grass and brush: pushes on through the rock hills and spare trees. The smell of sea is on the wind; but there is an earthiness to it as well, and Briella leaps and jumps: springs forward over the logs as she stops to look back and see if any followed and how many. But her ears flicker at the dull ebb and flow of the tide, at the waves crashing on distance cliffs and she chews on grasses sweetened and salty in flavor.
The stars are so strong that all of Nerine is visible in its glory, the cloudless and dark sky brilliant and painted with a myriad of lights. Purple and blue, deep green- all colors stretch across the sky, and there is an eagerness she has to find a certain tree: a long redwood that has grown beyond the fact that it shouldn’t have, and truthfully if should’ve been left in the Taiga. It bent and broken, rotting and mouldy in smell: mushrooms grow rampant and brush too, forms around it.
Amidst the wreck she nestles into moss and leaves: into the v-shaped section of the broken tree.
Sleep, she sleeps: and Briella dreams, but, she cannot remember when her eyes open- when she looks to the warm sun and cloudy sky: the white puffs so large and marshmallow like that she wonders: she stares, and she chirps happily- naming shapes.
“Rabbit, tree, wolf, me? Oh, that’s a duck.” innocent, soft, and naive; but adamant in her path and journey as she continues pushing through the vast wilds of Nerine.
It is easy to guide them across uneven soil, over rock and branches: through clovers and around briers where rabbits have long made the earth into a warren; but the uneasy part is when they reach the cliffs and Briella stares down at the rocks. Icy and frost have formed, and the sea form has made them seemingly worse now; but the water is risen and where as she once saw low tide: now she saw the height of it.
Nearly to the edge of the water she blinks and studies it, considers the frost on the ground and paces a moment before noting the ice not so far out: the glacial blue and green… and chunks that have begin to form patches as thick and wide as the fields they’d crossed.
Hesitation is a quality she lacks and with impulsive thought she leaps forward and dives into the water: swimming suddenly and pushing towards the ice. Frigid and painful the crushing pressure feels like hell on her heavy lungs and Briella chokes, coughs, and feels herself struggling to breathe; but she must. Pins and needles, cold-electricity, her skin is full of sensory provocation and her mind threatens to be overloaded as every synapse goes off at once.
Dark and deep, impossibly green and blue: she floats and swims, not showing fear of the ocean and its ancient and timeless form. Briella sees silvery fins and shadows, she knows the fish and the dolphins: the breaching creatures that leap upward and splash down violently. They swim close, but, not close enough to touch and she can hear chattering and chirping as she kicks and continues: drives herself into something… alarms her.
Not far off she sees the dark eyes and familiar wolfish-almost feline face, the nostrils that sneeze water and the teeth that are revealed by the pink mouth and wide jaws. Massive and elongated it swims close but stops before going under and Briella feels it bump her side: her body pushed and moved off path as she struggles to get back to it.
The Leopard Seal surfaces again, studying her with interest; but it fades at the white and black movement beneath the water: a penguin zipping by.
Briella pulls herself onto the ice, watches as the Seal returns and swims close: her eyes locked as the enormous predator holds the struggling bird, and she does not understand why it drops it at her feet: why it stares at her when the penguin slips back into the water… and the Seal darts down to retrieve it again.
She watches the cycle in repetition: the bird growing tired and inevitably brought to her bloody and ruined: flesh bitten and the bones crushed… she sniffs it, and the Seal seems more pleased as she lowers her mouth and pretends to bite at the corpse. Though she does not bite, nor eat, she noticed the creature disappear into the water: chasing penguin and biting viciously as it drags another in a similar state to her.
Briella wonders, for a moment, if this creature knows that she is not its own species or offspring; but Briella can only wait until it goes back into the sea... aware of the corpses piling up.
Without continuing to linger more than she can, she turns and walks, the ice mostly silent aside from shrill wind and the bizarre crackling that echoes and fades. There, on the shore: she sees the frozen pathways and and plains: the trail she once made, frozen and filling with new snow.
And in the darkened underpass I thought, "Oh Satan, my chance has come at last!"
It’s an odd inkling that stirs her from rest. It’s almost like a siren’s song, luring her into something she knows little about. Swiveling her ears, Valdis blinks away her exhaustion and rises to her feet. Around her, the forest still towers high with its naked branches and blight. There is no cover to hide or rest in, and so she trusted to remain unharmed when sleep drifted her eyelids shut. To still be alive, and uninfected, gives a spur to her step as she looks around until the odd feeling crosses her mind again. It steers her in the direction of the mountain. Fortunately, she isn’t quite so far away, but the trek still takes, what seems like, an eternity as she weaves like thread through the forest. Only when the trees have thinned does she finally take flight, tempted by the ease of flight instead of tiresome walking.
The crooning in her ears and goal set in her mind guides her where others have already gathered.
In front of them is a half-circle of formidable faces that stare down at them like they were scum, while few others had an expression of pity. Confused, Valdis is silent so that the directions may spill forward. Answers to her silent questions arise and she feels an uneasiness in the pit of her stomach. Following instructions has typically been a laughable thing to the girl, but the stoicism painted on the winter’s face is enough to persuade her. Valdis almost speaks, agreeing to the task at hand, but then there are sparks in front of her.
Then nothing.
Frozen in thought, Valdis considers what they had said and she almost grins were it not for her thoughts drifting to the perilous obstacles that lie ahead. Father is on the island. Could he help? Arrogant in that she can fly, Valdis tries to lurch forward only to stumble instead. Confusedly, she glances back to see her wings stripped from her body. Naked and vulnerable, Valdis shivers with a wintery gust. Not even her flames can be conjured.
She is alone.
The trek is one in which she alternates between running and walking to preserve her strength. She weaves through Hyaline, keeping to the western border and inside from the gurgling river. The landmark is her compass as it leads her north until it hugs the beginnings of Taiga. After hours of its familiarity, it’s eerily silent when she does finally peel away and lose herself in the trees. She rarely lets her eyes divert from looking north, desperately trying to remain on track. It would be simpler if she had her wings, so that she may soar high above and dodge the elaborate intricacies of the lands. While Hyaline is familiar, Taiga is just a confusing maze.
A greater deal of walking is spent in the foreign kingdom. Its tightly-packed trees and scraggly underbrush provide a greater difficulty that she doesn’t want to risk tripping across. Left here, a right there. It almost seems endless until there is finally a light at the end of the tunnel where the trees thin. The sentinels fade into a background as she clambers into Nerine, noting how the footing changes. Minute, seeing as everything is dead, but still somewhat noticeable to those observant enough.
”Damn,” Valdis sighs as she pauses to stare across the land toward the horizon. The mainland extends beyond her vision, but she knows there is no other option. With a grunt, she begins to canter across the rocky dirt, altering her path occasionally to avoid boulders and ditches. There is less to see here which makes it uninteresting, but also easier to steer without the worry of getting turned around. Pursuing her end goal, she continues at this gait until the shore greets her.
With labored breaths, Valdis observes the water crashing against the sandy beach. ”Why did they have to take my wings?” She mutters into the breeze before taking her initial steps into the sea. ”Bloody cold,” she hisses upon feeling the slight chill. Although bearable, she much prefers the warmth and her fire to this.
The girl paddles against the current, battling the waves for the first few minutes until within calmer waters. It exhausts her as it tries to push her back into Nerine where perhaps it’s safer. Although her travels across the mainland took a long time, at least it brought her to the point closest to the island. Unfortunately, it’s the most frigid, but, admittedly, Valdis hopes that the faeries sending them on this endeavor will at least protect her from freezing or drowning. Stubborn and determined, Valdis takes a moment to drift and bob until the cold knives of the water truly start sinking in. Her legs quiver beneath the surface and the sensation of pin needles lodged in her flesh arises. It provides more urgency in her paddling strokes until there is ground finally underneath her. Clumsily, weakly, Valdis clambers up the shore. She wants to ne nestled against her family, absorbing their warmth, but instead she is here. Her blue eyes look around as she forces herself to remain in motion to keep her muscles from tightening and to keep the chill at bay.
VALDIS
But then a strange fear gripped me and I just couldn't ask.
Black and white. Dark and light. The choices we make every day that set out paths toward good or evil. It's the balance that the universe requires to keep on spinning. Like the solstice holding day and night in tandem, nature has a knack for resetting that balance when it grows too far astray. Such is the way that two brothers found themselves on opposite paths, walking away from each other even as they sought each other out.
In the depths of winter, Santana heard the clarion call. Less violent but no less compelling than the summons his twin had received, the shining brother felt himself inexorably drawn to the Mountain where all things began. There was no pain. There was no choking suffocation. Only the knowledge that the lonely peak was waiting for him, and that he had no choice but to obey.
It wasn't a long trip, not borne on the glimmering banners of his finely scaled wings. The gifts of his father, carried with the pride of his mother. They soon brought him to circle into a landing spiral over an icy plateau where others already gathered. Horses of every color, shape and size stood solemn in the bitter cold. In the midst of all was one apart. Tana took it in as he fell in line, listening to the ice-wrought stallion as he outlined a quest. A mission to save Beqanna. Others of his kind lingered quietly in his wake, shimmering like the otherworldly beings they were. He spoke of their mission, and the conditions of its success.
The loss of his gifts... it was a fearful proposition, but then wasn't that the way with such things? In the childhood tales mother had told, the hero must always lose something precious if he's to win the day in the end. If this was the price, so be it.
One member of the congregation caught his eye in particular. His heart stuttered in his chest at first glance, seeing only buckskin and fire. His brother. A second glance was enough to break the illusion, as clearly there were some key differences. She was a she, for one. A paint, like himself, and winged as well. Still... he made a commitment to speak with her when opportunity allowed. That time was not now. In the next moment, the frigid stallion spoke words of dismissal, one crystalline hoof cracking against the floor beneath them. The air grew thick with magic, then thin once more as the fairy and his cohort melted into the snowy air.
As they vanished, so did the various traits and powers that made them so unique. Wings disappeared, and deep inside, Santana felt a loss almost as heavy as that of his brother. Someway, somehow, they had taken the flame that defined him. A shiver worked its way across his skin as the true depth of cold sank into his bones. That was that, then. There was no going back.
Another shiver quaked through him, as the others seemed to take their own initiatives. It was quiet as they made their way down the mountain on foot. An aura of severity closed in around them, the loss of magic making everything more difficult. That was the point, of course. Shaking frost from his mane, the young stallion followed suit, stepping lightly over patches of ice. The buckskin girl is quick to depart, taking off across the frozen land with single-minded purpose. Oh well. It wasn't like he didn't know where she was going. For now, it was the fragile-looking chestnut child who he decides to follow. Finding the way is not so much his concern, more that the bold little thing doesn't stumble off a cliff or something.
She chatters. A lot. Was this what it was like being near him as a foal? Irritation melted away into concern when her small form began to take on symptoms of plague. No wonder she was willing to make the trek, her personal stakes could be no higher. He nods in acquiescence to her planned journey, letting her lead.
It's a long journey, and along the way he finds himself feeling increasingly protective of the delicate girl. Plucky and sweet and naive, and giving a running commentary of the features they pass. His back lighter and colder without the cloak of his wings, every step felt foreign and dreamlike. Her nightmares woke the dark hours. "We're going to change things. Make them better. Sleep, we'll fix this." He kept up a litany of faith, pretending confidence he wasn't sure he felt. All his life, Raul had been the one to protect him. Now it seemed it was his turn to be the protector. It was a more immediate sense of purpose than the one they both strode towards.
Every border they crossed made him miss his wings more, but some of the worry fell away as they found themselves in Nerine. It was home, as much as anywhere was. He briefly considered stopping. His family was near, he could try to visit. It was a brief notion, but enough to draw a heartsick pang in his chest. He couldn't see them, not yet. Not until this mission was over, and he'd done his part to reverse the damage done.
At last the journey was nearly done. The sea stretched out as far as the eye could see, interrupted only by the craggy outline of their distant destination. For the days it had taken to reach this point, it seemed just as grueling to make the swim that would bring them to the far shore. Mutely he glanced at the thin filly. She was already sick. There was not an ounce of fat on her. By rights, this should be her death sentence. "Good luck, little one. I'll see you on the other side." The promise left his lips as they considered the icy waters.
The first step into the brine was hell. The next one was fire. By the time his feet left the sand bottom, it felt like every vestige of warmth had been leached from him. Every stroke of his limbs took concentrated effort, until his mind could focus only on the task at hand. He was glad he'd wished the girl luck beforehand; there was no spare breath in his lungs to call out with. He longed to stoke the fire in his breast, to thaw out the blood that was coagulation in his veins. It wasn't there to call on. The world had narrowed to him, the burning cold waters surrounding him, and the not-any-nearer slice of rock that rose and fell from his sight on the waves.
Bitter saltwater flowed into his nostrils, making him cough, only to swallow more water. It felt like he'd been swimming forever before the solemn shoreline began to look just a bit closer. It occurred to him that he just might not make it. The way the numbness was threading up his limbs, it seemed very probable that the sea may simply claim him for her own. The clouds of air puffing from his lips grew thinner as his core temperature dropped steadily. It was mindless now. The mechanical push of legs against tide, fighting for every inch he gained. Vision blurry, his body didn't register solid ground until it forced his knees to his chest. Semi-frozen sand crunched underneath him as he hauled his saturated body from the surf. Cruel breezes dragged fingers down his body. Hypothermia set in, body violently trembling in response to the punishing element.
Teeth clattering in his jaw, the sopping stallion tried to focus on his breath. Looking at the hard won land, his mismatched eyes began to focus with mild disappointment. It was a barren, cold land, and he didn't see anyone else yet. Had they landed further up shore? A deep cough wracked his chest, trying to expel some of the water burning his lungs. Fuck, this sucked. They never talked about this level of suck in the old tales. His blood felt like it was the same texture as pine sap, only moving through his body with grudging necessity. What he could feel hurt. What he couldn't feel, he knew was going to hurt very badly in the near future. If he survived that long.
Another head bobbed up from the white surf. It wasn't the small chestnut face he'd grown familiar with over the last few days. It was the patterned one of the girl he'd noticed back on the Mountain. It took ungodly effort, but he forced his legs to work. At an agonizingly slow pace, he made it to her as she emerged, still dripping and looking just as cold as he was. "H-hey. We've n-n-never met, b-but I'm fuck-king cold. C-can we s-stand tog-gether a while? I-I'm S-santana." His jaw hurt from the strain of forcing the words out, but it seemed bearable put against the possibility of a little shared warmth.
Many times she has found herself called to this place. Looking into the heights of the sky and thinking of the journey she was about to make. It was for her own selfish gains before, but now, it is to serve them. To right the wrongs done by others -to subdue the evil they have spread across their lands. She had brought one of these evils to life, a contributor to the pain and suffering others now endure. She endures. A sickly cough rattles in her lungs, a feeble attempt to expel the poison that seats deep in her lungs. It weakens her, this plague. But the knowledge she has gained through out her life strengthens her. Gives her hope, that in time, they can place the demons released upon their world back into their cages. If they are to work together.
She stands before the fairies, listening to their demands -the requirement needed to rid their world of the pestilence that has gripped their lands. There was always a cost -a price to be paid for the gifts. A task to earn good faith with the faerie and prove your dedication. She has proved it before and she shall again, and again, if that was the price to be paid.
The instructions given seem simple enough and she knows there will be no aide. This journey must be taken without gifts previously granted. Those gathered are returned to a level of normalcy that often isn't seen in Beqanna. They are nothing but equine -traitless, giftless. It is a truth she has never truly known and she feels slightly abnormal without her powers. Nevertheless she will make the journey if that is what is required...
With the fairies stomp of an icey hoof they all turn to begin the trek north. Since their world has changed, she has yet to know just how the map has shifted. Lands that shared borders, now were unfamiliar and she wonders what she will find beyond the Mountains border.
She finds a river to lead her from the sacred place -its currents flowing the opposite direction that she wishes to go. Winter has burdened the lands for sometime now. Her coat had thickened but the sickness in her has caused patches to thin, leaving her skin exposed to the frigid temps. A winters wind bites at this tender flesh, while constricting her breathing even more than the fluid that thickens the lining of her lungs. The journey ahead of her will be long and she is quite aware she may not survive.
Coming to the borders of the first land, she finds the landscape recognizable. The steep hills of cragged rock had been tough to overcome the first time she had been here. But she had been younger than. Naive, selfish, destructive. The fire that had been started, the plants destroyed, earth toppled and sickness spread was in partial her doing. These memories plague her every day and night. More so now than ever before. Hyaline and its people did not deserve what they had received from a group of troublemakers. But it had been done and her part was played.
Her ivory dipped limbs move her carefully through the passages of rock and deep into the lands heart. A frozen lake sits within its center, a barren wisteria at its edge. The land was still and nearly lifeless. Surely this is a plagued land. A lump hardens in her throat and she is unsure if it is the memories that cause it or the drowning pressure inside her. Another cough erupts as she attempts to clear it but it is no use. Her lungs quake and ribs bruise from the constant pounding of organ on cartilage. Her movement only stops when she arrives to the redwood that towers above the rest of the land. She had planted it as only a seed and her magic had advanced its growth. The magic given to her by the faerie upon completion of their task.
In their troubled word, this tree is a small reminder of hope. It causes a weak smile to find her pale lips stained with the blood of her father. It gives her the will to carry on, to find what inner strength is harbored within her.
She ascends the northern border of mountainous rocks. Each step is draining but she finds it within herself to move forward. Cresting the peak of the region, a golden glow of a rising sun illuminates across the tops of a land that had been her home for so many years. Her dedication to renew what had been destroyed by the selfish deeds of others. A land torn apart by the fury the fairies had felt for their selfish ways. She had spent years returning the lands of the majestic redwoods to its former glory. A sentiment of her servitude. She had met her father here and the memory warms her even as she knows he is no longer lives.
Her descent into the woodlands is swift. For a second she feels as if her sickness is eased. That is before she chokes on an inhale of breath. The white of her eyes show her fear that this is the end. That she will not make it to the island and her quest to save their world was for not. Panic sets in and she thrusts herself into the rough bark of a nearby tree trunk. Pine needles shower her from above, like tiny needles they pierce her thin hide. The pain radiates through her but the force of the blow causes blood the cough from her lungs. Another breath in and she quiets, trying to retain her composure before moving on.
Once the oxygen returns her face to a fleshy color, she walks onward. Weaving through solid pillars of pine she breathes in the scent of the forest. It refreshes her thoughts and steadies her mind. The task at hand still present as she nears a coastline. The expanse of ocean before her in vast and in the far distance she can see an island of ice and snow. It was much too far for her to reach, not when she was so weak.
Her head turns up the shoreline and finds it extends quite far north still. She wonders if journeying further would bring her closer to her destination. Decided in not giving up, she paves a path alongside the ocean.
This land was foreign to her. It surfaced no memories and she thinks it to be new. The cliffs of its coast were high above the waters and brushless, free of the protection from the seas wrath winds. The oceans fury batters her sides and chills her core -stripping her of any warmth her insides could create. It was the only way to reach the far northern tip and so she walks, step by step.
Joints aching and muscles tensed, she reaches the end of land. Here the shores of the icey island were much closer and she is certain she can make it across the bridge of water. The winds whip a spray of water across her body and she shivers. Now that she was wet she might as well continue...
She held her head above the whitecapping waves the best she could. The waters tossed her around, seemingly pushing her farther into the open water. Her limbs fought against them, determined to not fall victim to the seas. She had come so far to die without purpose. Each kick brought her nearer to the island shores where others had already arrived. And when she reaches land of ice, she exits the cold waters to find the air here is everything it was expected to be. Quickly the water freezes to icicles upon her flesh, the frigid winds stinging her flesh. But she was here.
{ and in my dreams I've kissed your lips a thousand times }
The summons is quieter than Carnage's, and yet it's pull is undeniably stronger. Perhaps not of its own merit, but because of how I interpret it, and because of who I am; not one to go and kill senselessly, but one bound hand and heart to her kingdom. My eyes and ears strain south, to the looming of the Mountain just beyond Pangea's borders. I long desperately to flee now, to gallop across the plagued terra until I reach the place of the summons.
But Solace and I have agreed that I am not to go to plagued lands if at all possible, and never to go to Pangea. So, settling my nerves and squeezing my eyes shut, I wait.
And wait.
Sleep takes me at its own pace, but the moment I am within my own dreams, I take control. Less than minutes pass until I am waking up in the shadow of the Mountain, the ice coating its sides sending a wave of sickness through me, and a jolt of pain through the long scar which mars the beauty of my face. The last time I was here, it was to gain Solace's immortality; I shake off the thought, wondering where my wife is, and how she is faring with our son Aegean.
These thoughts are replaced by more urgent ones as I make my way towards the gathering group, and spot a pair of wings atop a small, familiar back.
Valdis - daughter.
Sidling up next to her, I meet her gaze pointedly before raising my eyes to consider the faeries gathered in a semi-circle around us. Santana, a child of Sabra's, stands not far off as well, and I acknowledge the creature with a dip of my head. The others I do not recognize as of yet, but more will come, I am sure.
I want to say something to Valdis, but find my mouth dry and mind blank.
The arrival of Solace next to me is not much help in the speaking-department, but my eyes well with silent, understanding tears as I meet her gaze. I love you, I press into the curve of her jaw as I give into the need for physical comfort. The rest must go unsaid: the fact that we are both here for our children and our kingdoms, the fact that we love each other as wife and wife more profoundly than any could understand, and the fact that I trust her to have left Aegean in good hands. It is too late to tell her to turn back now, and indeed, I would never dream of it. We are equals: and we perform better together.
A faerie steps forward; speaks into the frigid air.
Those brave enough will go to Icicle Isle. You will find the heart-shaped pond and bring back several frozen stems of water; the first ingredient in a cure for this pestilence that has been released on Beqanna. But it will not be easy. You will have to do so without any of the gifts we have previously allowed you.
I inhale to speak, feeling anxious in the vagueness of the male faerie's instructions, when he stomps his hoof and disappears. Those gathered behind him go as well, and with them, our magicks. As they dissolve from their crowning place atop my head, the weight of my antlers disappears, too. My head feels strange without them, but after a quick shake, I grow accustomed to the change. Panthera had not come with me today, but I feel the lack of her telepathetic presence strongly. Otherwise I am unchanged; when I look to Solace, she appears incredibly bare. I reach out, feel her lips and the bare skin of my poll as my own find the pale skin of her shoulder.
"Let us go."
The journey from the Mountain to the Isle is not as long as from the Cove to Tephra, but it is long enough. I trail after Valdis as she heads off first, making sure to keep her in sight as well as Solace. I call to her softly when she seems to be lost, all three of us having easily navigated through the foothills of Hyaline, but somewhat jumbled in the forests of Taiga. I look to Solace frequently, as if to speak; but every time I find silence to be our only companion, a grim line taking the place of a smile as I absorb the comfort of her company while I still can.
Nerine comes next, a mostly barren kingdom with sparse copses of trees that are sorry excuses for forests; but seeing as the Leviathans are surrounded on three sides by the cruelty of the ocean, it makes sense that their fauna is not extensive. The going is comfortable at first, but as we come to the edge of the northern kingdom, things get rocky.
Sorry, is now not a good time for puns?
Wondering whether her balance will be affected by the lack of wings, I make my way slowly down a rocky slope towards the beach which connects to the sea just meeting Icicle Isle. I never stray far from Solace, allowing her to use my body to catch her if she need be.
Shuddering, my hair stands on end as we watch the waves before us. Valdis has already surged into its grasps, and we are next.
Again, I find her eyes; again, I press my lips to her cheek.
"I love you. I'll see you on the other side." The words are a promise as well as a command, for I will not let her think that drowning is any kind of option today. Inhaling powerfully, I step into the waters, then again and again until the bottom gives out and the nearly frozen water embraces me entirely.
"Fuck." The curse is the only word to escape me as I push through the black waters, mist rising from my nose as I breathe and expel water that accumulates there. The whites of my eyes show as the strength of the waters occasionally pushes my head beneath its topline, but every time I resurface, kicking harder and harder as my stress levels rise. I want to look back at Solace but can't spare the extra energy; instead, my ears go back, straining to catch the rhythmical beat of her own spluttering breathing.
Although it feels as if we shall never make it, we at last are dragging ourselves up the shore. Water falls from me in sheets, and I find that I am glad to be rid of the extra weight of my antlers: I would not have been able to make it with them atop my skull, weighing me down. I would give anything to dream myself dry and warm, however; and as I look to Solace, who also shivers, I wish it even harder for her sake.
Permission from Lav to powerplay/mention Solace, who will also be entering this quest.
Such travel had been easier once when there had been a resident magician to request a simple teleportation. Fetching her back again had been a different matter entirely. She'd been in a different state physically and emotionally and hadn't the ability to call for help. She'd been little more than a pile of blood and skin and broken spirit.
Fortunately, the magician and Reilly and Sabrael had found her. They'd taken her home where she belonged, a young girl determined to show she was old enough to be on her own when she hadn't been.
What a joke.
She'd been broken ever since, by the same man and for entirely different reasons. Somehow this one was worse, the heartache and longing for the impossible. The rest she could get over. And probably had.
When it came to it though, her family didn't belong in this new land. It was safe, but it wasn't home. It wasn't Ischia. And to return home would mean Ischia would need to be safe and free of the plague so her babies would be healthy. So here she was, obeying a nameless, faceless voice so she could be selfishly helpful and get her family home where they all belonged. She hoped, anyway.
It wasn't like they'd notice she was gone.
The swim was just awful. She was not built for swimming. She was not built for anything, really. She'd never had a magic and she wasn't very attractive with her brown-on-dull-brown appearance. She was pretty useless and she was fine with that. It was no surprise he'd never really wanted her.
Her hair was a dripping, tangled mess when she heaved herself to shore, chest expanding and contracting with heavy breaths. Goddamn, that'd been longer than she thought. The island hadn't looked quite so far from the Mountain. She was whole though. And she had a lot to get done. So she pulled herself up, weary and soaked to the bone, and made her way to where they were gathered.
“Those brave enough will go to Icicle Isle. You will find the heart-shaped pond and bring back several frozen stems of water; the first ingredient in a cure for this pestilence that has been released on Beqanna.”
Oh, good. Only the first ingredient. That was less helpful. Ugh, well hell. She was already here. A cure would've been better, a protection for Ischia or something. But, fine. She'd just continue on then and hope for the best. She wasn't going back empty-handed if she could help it. No doubt Kharon had already been alerted of her sudden silence.
“But it will not be easy. You will have to do so without any of the gifts we have previously allowed you.”
She rolled her eyes. What gifts? Whatever. He stomped his hoof and they all vanished and she didn't sit around and wait for everyone else gathered to get their dumb wits about them. Off she went back to the edge of the water, ignoring them. She didn't know them and she didn't care. She was going to get her babies home, damn it.
She sighed, eyeing the water. She really hated swimming. Was not the best at it. Truly wasn't built for it, did she mention? She wasn't really one to complain, though, and so she forced herself right back in and sank to her chin with legs kicking frantically.
The nearer she got, the colder she got. And it was seriously damn cold. She was used to tropical island heat and balmy sun, beach and cool nights. Not cold. She hoped it only felt chillier that it was water, and that she'd feel better when she was dry. She had a clever intelligence though and knew staying in the water would be warmer than stepping out of it.
There was no choice though.
She continued on with the freezing cold pushing in on her, trying to reach her veins and her organs and turn her into a damn ice cube. She hesitated when she finally reached the shoreline, bracing herself for the fatal cold that would cling desperately to the water she was drenched in. But her babies needed their home. Their family island was waiting for them.
She grit her teeth and surged to her feet, feeling like she weighed three times more as she struggled to hold herself up.
They were going home if it was the last damn thing she did.
It wasn't like they'd notice she was gone, anyway.
Nocturne knew nothing of plagues or fairies, dark gods or horseman’s seals or any of the like. He heard no call to kill a man and set darkness winging across the land infecting all it touched, splitting families apart, forcing Beqanna’s residents to flee to shelter or risk catching the sickness that was spreading through the population. When he opened his eyes to the light of the full moon touching his pale face for the first time, all he knew was the blood and viscera that surrounded him and the scent of death in the air.
He frowned, raising his tiny head and looking around at what remained of his father, the one who had whispered to him as he grew, whose heartbeat and murmurs had been the soundtrack of his gestation, comfort and warmth and safety wrapped around him and holding him close. He had crooned delicious, wicked things in Nocturne’s sleeping ears, given him a name both to honor and to spite his grandmother, made him promises of how they’d win daddy over now, keep him forever. Nocturne’s existence would fix what had broken between them when they had split in the womb, and everything would be right again.
Everything would be as it should.
But his father was dead, blood still running from the gut wound that had birthed Nocturne and set him sprawling out onto the grass with blood staining his soft moonlight-pale baby coat. His eyes widened, heart racing as panic flooded him for the first time, and he jerked upright, limbs flailing as he fought to control them, fought to make them obey. He threw himself against his father’s corpse, trying to wake him, trying to bring him back. He was supposed to be there, tucked inside his father’s belly, which was absolutely not supposed to be gaping open like that.
When that didn’t revive his father, Nocturne keened softly and crawled back inside amidst the organs and fluids that had always cushioned him so far, cradled him and kept him safe. He bit one edge of his father’s torn-open belly wound and tugged it back down over himself, trying to drag it back together, to put the pieces of his father back together but it didn’t help. A soft whimper escaped his throat and he curled in on himself, rocking and shaking and making a soft, high-pitched whine as he closed his eyes against this sick nightmare the world had become. The tight fetal position did nothing to comfort him, but he tried anyhow, curled up inside his father’s body as it cooled until his teeth began to chatter and the flesh around him began to stiffen, rigor mortis claiming his corpse and making it less comfortable.
He might have stayed longer, defiant and with nowhere else to go, but the fairy’s call reached into his chest and tugged him forward, sent him tumbling out of his nest of blood and guts and bone and sprawling once again on the filthy bloodstained grass. Flies buzzed around them - him - and settled on his skin, making a meal of the fluids that were congealing all over him and staining him red that slowly faded into old blood brown. He twitched his skin, flicked his ears, shook his head, but they persisted. So he tuned them out, like he tuned out the sight of his father’s body, stiffening limbs splaying and a rictus grin on his face, eyes glazed with death. The fairies called and he had nothing else to do, certainly couldn’t stay and watch his father slowly decompose, or watch scavengers come devour him bit by fleshy bit. So he followed.
The tugging led him across the beach and onto a wide expanse of plains, and he plodded and tripped along, already weary long before he made it to the Mountain. Blood and fluids dried to a crust that coated his skin and hair, flies buzzed around him and followed him the whole way, and still he stumbled forward, putting one tired foot in front of another.
Eventually the Mountain loomed before him, and his eyes filled with dread and exhausted tears at the thought of the climb ahead of him. But they beckoned. And if he stopped, he would have to think, have to wrap his young mind around the horrors that had already befallen him and what worse ones would come. So he kept trudging on, climbing the Mountain one step at a time until he made it to the gathering of fairies and horses. Finally, he let himself stop and catch a breath.
Only to be frowned at and glared at and sent on a journey for only the brave of heart. Help find a cure for some pestilence, whatever that was, and do it without any of the gifts the fairies had so graciously allowed him so far. Gifts like what? he wondered, staring at the one who spoke. Did he wish to strip away the taste of Nocturne’s father’s blood from his mouth? or the thick crust of dried blood and visceral fluids that had matted his coat? Perhaps he wished to take back the smell of death from Nocturne’s nostrils, or the bits of flesh and abdominal fat that clung to his scruff of a mane? The colt didn’t have the energy to snark out loud, and probably that was for the best anyhow.
He had a pond to find, apparently.
Fuck it. With an apathetic shrug, Nocturne stumbled back down the Mountain, one weary, plodding step at a time. He made his descent in the other direction, managing through sheer dumb luck not to trip his way down and break his neck. Was this what life was? One endless journey after another, in search of what certainly seemed like meaningless souvenirs for the powers that be? How futile. Still, a better idea hadn’t occurred to him, and they seemed to think it was terribly important that someone retrieve...frozen stems of water.
He certainly hoped that made sense by the time he got there, or there would be bigger problems than keeping his footing walking down a rocky mountainside. Not to mention the question of how he was supposed to transport frozen stems of water back to them across the sea and along whatever pathway led there and then back up the Mountain. But what of it? What was there but to try?
Forest looked easier than walking up and down the endless mountains of Hyaline, so he picked his weary way through the trees. His thick coating of filth kept other horses at bay, though how he managed not to draw an endless parade of predators was anyone’s guess. Maybe the fairies offered them some kind of protection during their quest, or maybe it was just that the bears were all still deep in hibernation - probably that, given the icy fairy’s admonitions and warning that this journey would be made unaided.
Perhaps there was an upside to the weather that chilled his bones, even if a very small one. Or very imagined.
At any rate, he managed to come out the other side of the forest uneaten, whether by luck or just by being deeply unappetizing, he couldn’t say. He traversed the rocky foothills of Loess, hooves dragging and head drooping with exhaustion but still he powered on. Maybe life was short, just pushing yourself as far as you could before your body gave out and you collapsed to the earth, never to rise again. At least he had a goal, and if he failed? Who would care?
There was no one to miss him anyhow.
The foothills eventually gave way to another forest, this one made of towering trees wider than he was from nose to tail, and spaced nice and far apart so it was easier to walk through. The thick carpet of pine needles felt good on his feet now that the weird rubbery tentacle-like coating had long-since worn off from all this walking. Only trouble was, his tiny newly-spawned feet tended to sink deep into the needles, making his muscles work harder when he was already so damn tired.
Not much farther. It was a damn lie, but he kept telling himself that anyhow, every few steps or so. Not much farther now, only a little longer. Just keep walking, almost there. So close, just a little more. He kept telling himself pretty little lies all through the forest and out onto the stretch of grassy land that was Nerine, and even managed not to break down into more exhausted tears when flat ground stretched out before him for eternity and showed him how very far he had yet to go.
He saw a glimmer of ice and snow in the distance, and made his painstaking way north by northwest toward Nerine’s icy northern shore, keeping half an eye out for a path down to the water. One step at a time, just one more step, keep going for just one more step. Slowly the distance fell behind him, devoured by step after implacable step of his tiny hooves. After a stupid long time, he made it to the tip of Nerine where the two land masses stretched out closest to one another, not even close to touching still but it was the best he was gonna find. He clambered down a path he managed to find that led to a frigid beach where the wind roared in his ears and the waves crashed and washed most of the way up to the cliff face.
Tide was low enough that he could walk along the beach for a few strides before hitting the edge of the water’s reach, and he stared out at the sea, already shaking with cold and exhaustion, wondering if he was going to make it across or if the sea would devour him. But there was nothing for it but to try. So he took a breath to steady his nerves and stepped into the water, wading in with a gasp as the cold sucked the breath from his lungs and set him to shivering straight away. Maybe it would get better though. Maybe he’d get used to the cold and it would be fine.
Or it’d leech all the warmth from his blood and his bones until his heart gave out. Probably one of the two.
He walked deeper into the water until the waves started to lift him from the bottom, until he lost touch with the sand beneath his hooves and started kicking against the water to propel himself forward instead. So. Cold. He was so cold he could barely breathe, could barely keep his head above water. Couldn’t, in some cases. A stray wave crashed over his head now and again, leaving him scrambling for the surface and sucking air desperately into lungs that felt frozen solid.
At least it washed his father’s crusted, dried blood from his coat, leaving him a softly-shining pathetic drowned moonrat instead of a massacre painted red and brown. He struggle forward, fighting the waves, wondering with every desperate breath if the sea would claim him before he could touch ground again. It seemed though that the sea didn’t want him any more than the rest of the world did, and it spat him back out on an icy shore, leaving him shaking and shivering and barely able to support his own weight as he dragged himself out of the sea and onto the farthest eastern edge of the frozen wasteland of an island.
He sure hoped the fairies knew what the fuck they were doing, 'cause he didn't have a clue.
11-11-2018, 04:39 PM (This post was last modified: 11-11-2018, 04:40 PM by Jinju.)
“Hope rises like a phoenix from the ashes of shattered dreams.”
They call them to the Mountain, however, it is not a friendly call. The inky black young woman is among those who answer the call, among those willing to do what it takes to please the fairies. But it is not their approval and content that motivates her, everything but that, instead Jinju is here, on the incline of the Mountain, to cure whatever decease is terrorizing Beqanna.
She does not stand first in line, her hard ruby eyes ahead on the half circle of demi-gods that stare down at them just as unhappy. No, coming to the Mountain has never been something Jinju thought of as good, as the place had only ever done things that were wrong in the reborn woman’s eyes. And today is just another reminder that the Mountain stands for something negative, and the fairies with them. Never had Jinju thought well of them, but with each little hiccup they get closer to her bad side. Today is no different.
However, she’ll still do what they ask of her, because that is a sacrifice she is willing to make to save her beloved home from the plague. Even if she does not like them, nor the way they look at them, or address them.
But, believe it or not, this task they give them sounds easy enough. Cold has never bothered Jinju, her own fire had kept her warm even in the coldest winter. The inky lady’s coat is still paper thin, simply because she hadn’t needed it to protect her from the cold. A freezing pond would not harm her either, or would it? Discontent is written all over her young face as she looks up at them, snorting annoyed and stomping her hoof. Of course they had to throw in one of their nasty tricks, but before she can verbally retort, they are gone.
Ruby eyes widen and instantly Jinju gasps for air. Well damn, this was not what she had been expecting. Just like that, the fairies have taken her magic away again. Taken the only thing that had always kept her safe from the cold, which now wraps around her as an unforgiving blanket. Her lanky form is shaking, and her breath forms little clouds before disappearing into the air. Fuck them, she silently curses them all, stomping the ground in an almost childish manner as she makes her way down the slope of the Mountain.
Of course, instead of trying to help, the fairies only try to discourage them again. And they still wonder why death and destruction got brought back to Beqanna over and over again? Perhaps they should learn how to love, instead of only to punish and turn backs.
Was this what her father always felt like? Probably not, because her own flames have never made her feel hot either, but sweet lord, this is impossible. Even walking is not enough to keep her body warm, her dark form still trembling with cold as she has finished her decline. Jinju does not hesitate, and pushes herself forward, ignoring the biting cold, hoping that a quick trot would warm her body. She stomps over the mainland, across the river, along Hyalines border, and then through her beloved Taiga. It is here she rests, at home, under her father’s watchful eye. For once, Jinju lies cuddled up with her siblings, desperate for the warmth of their bodies, where Ruan’s would only offer her more of the freezing cold that consumes her.
The next morning, before dawn, she says goodbye. The velvet of her nose pressed against his cold one, making her shiver, but nonetheless trying to hide it the best she can. “I have to go to Icicle Isle, it is there where the first ingredient to cure Beqanna can be found..” Her smile is soft, but sad, then a flicker of anger travels over her features, but none is directed at the wolf in front of her. She does not need to voice out the words that lie on her tongue. I love you, dad. Instead she says; “I will be back.”
She continues her way shivering, through Taiga, only to reach Nerine. For a moment she hesitates, always having had respect for the border of one’s home, but this was for all of them. And thus she enters the land where both the Sister- and Brotherhood now reside. Down the cliffs, onto the beach.
In the distance, Jinju can see one of the four new safe havens. Her ruby eyes narrow, as her teeth are chattering. It’s too damn cold. And although Jinju cannot say she dislikes it, she is not liking it at this very moment. She is not used to it, not even Ruan’s chill is enough to prepare her for this. For the fire girl it is hard to imagine the cold can get worse.
Which it does, once she sets hoof in the water. “Shit,” she murmurs in a low curse under her breath, staggering backwards as her head is held high. Her breath escapes towards the sky in little clouds as her nares flare, and ears press back against her skull. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”Stupid fairies. Stupid quest. But all for the sake of saving their home. Jinju grumbles some more under her breath, trying to encourage herself, before throwing herself forward into the water without a second thought. Hesitating would get her nowhere.
The cold steals her breath away. Panic shows as she tries to gasp for air, her body momentarily frozen due to the shock of the cold water. Her head dips underneath the surface, which is enough to shake her awake. The frigid air hurts her lungs, and tears cloud her ruby eyes, but her legs start to kick her forward. It is slow, and her movements are quite uncontrollable, which does not get any better. Instead of warming up due to the exercise, Jinju is now sure these waters must have been cursed. She’s freezing, the cold holding her in its grasp, slowing her down tremendously.
By the time she reaches Icicle Isle, Jinju is nothing more than a frozen lollipop. That’s the most accurate description she can offer.
![[Image: kag]](https://78.media.tumblr.com/2e8039018ce4dff6112c167ec23e886a/tumblr_p72zjit7wC1s5a0qvo1_100.png)
