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  • Beqanna

    COTY

    Assailant -- Year 226

    QOTY

    "But the dream, the echo, slips from him as quickly as he had found it and as consciousness comes to him (a slap and not the gentle waves of oceanic tides), it dissolves entirely. His muscles relax as the cold claims him again, as the numbness sets in, and when his grey eyes open, there’s nothing but the faint after burn of a dream often trod and never remembered." --Brigade, written by Laura


    i'm hovering throughout time - any
    #1

    LIKE WATER FLOWING INTO LUNGS.

    She had no direction in this reforged version of Beqanna.
    There was nothing to tether her here.

    She had pledged her soul to the Chamber, and it had disappeared with its destruction.  She liked to think, sometimes, that perhaps it was still alive with the bits of the Chamber that remained - buried underneath this new land.  Perhaps just waiting to be pulled back to the surface - quietly lying dormant for the time being.  But in this new land, he had no loyalty left.  She was loyal to her own wants and whims and nothing more than that.  Such a thing was dangerous, all things considered.

    So she wandered, unbound and unrestrained, through the common areas of Beqanna.  She bends the grasses and flowers out of the way as she walks.  Shadows swirl through the stalks like snakes before turning and curling around her hooves. The meadow is all that remains familiar, but the faces here are not.

    The sun is warm across her scarred shoulders, but her skin remains as cold as ice. She’s not here seeking companionship or conversation like most. She has no expectations - she knows better. But the shadowmare has decided that the time to linger in the darkness had come and gone.

    A N A X A R E T E
    been there, done that
    image credit  



    open to anyone
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    #2

    It had become to quiet amongst Tephra, the land was on the mend from the war and her residence were at peace for the time being. Leadership had turned hands and Jakub though loyal to his Queen, that is what she will forever be, had a feeling that Vulgaris did not want or need him quite as much these days.

    And though the land was still, Jakub's mind was anything but. With the change in leadership on his land the change of leadership on Ischia was also in dispute but noone had seen or heard from Adria in quite some time. Broke by her King's thoughtless decree that leadership would be given to another Jakub assumed and he did not blame her one bit. He knew she had had so many plans for her island, plans she refused to tell him about but plans none the less. Plans he would of backed if he had gotten the chance.

    Adria was not the only thing that consumed his mind with tiresome thoughts though, Wolfbane had also visited recently stirring up the anger and sadness he had tried so hard to squash over the last couple of years. His presence on their border could never mean anything good.

    And so he had taken to the common lands, a giant bull horse grazing amongst the meadow. His black thick hide beaded in sweat. His muscles rippled beneath taught skin from the days journey thoufh he had tested his limits in open land and his speed was something to admire. His stamina heightened by his newish traits. His midnight eyes scanned the meadow as he worked on his current morsel of greens and flowers. It was a beautiful day and the meadow was peaceful.

    Across the meadow, not far off, a mare caught his curiosity. The grey dappled woman a stark contrast to the hues of blues and purples. She looked battle worn, with harsh lines and Jakub could not help to think how beautiful she looked placed amongst such soft, delicate items. He himself was a sight amongst such graceful land, his scars ragged and bright across his back while his massive but slender body towered from the ground. His ink black head housing two large ivory horns.

    He called out to her softly, alerting her of his presence as if she could miss such a large beast. Who would of thought such beauty could be tucked away in Beqanna. he said slowly, eyes darting around the meadow. His voice was deep and smooth, still carrying his youthfulness.

    JAKUB

    and out he came, holding his brothers heel


    @[Anaxarete]
    Tephra inhabitant (Alpha)
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    #3

    LIKE WATER FLOWING INTO LUNGS.

    The shadowmare narrowed her eyes as a young stallion moved towards her. The cold woman is not one impressed by size or brute strength - she knows that both could be as much of a hindrance on the battlefield as an asset.  She knows all the ways to turn all his perceived strengths into weaknesses - she’s seen it all before, and exploited them to her own advantage.

    He sported two large horns but it seemed like there wasn’t much in the way of brains between them. Anaxarete paused for a moment at the sheer audacity of the young stallion’s greeting. Did he truly think that a battle scarred woman would swoon at an unwanted compliment?  If only he knew. It was nearly enough to make her laugh. Nearly. But her stony expression never faltered; never changed.

    “That’s close enough, boy,”  she quipped, her voice cold - emotionless. There was no welcome in her greeting. The shadows around her feet recoiled and spiraled around her legs in warning. She did not back down as he approached - but turned her gaze directly upon the creature. Her icy blue eyes bored into him, giving the impression that she could see right through him.

    And she could. 

    “You should think before you speak, if you’re capable of such a thing,” her voice is still flat and cold, “I could turn you inside out if I had the thought to do so.” The tone is matter of fact, because it would be effortless for her to ruin him.  It would only take a thought to let her shadows consume him, to strip his flesh from his bones.  But the shadowmare was a master of control, so her facade never cracked - never betrayed the thoughts pounding through her skull.

    “I am more than my looks, and you’d do well to remember that in the future. Beqanna holds many secrets in her shadows.”  She has yet to pull her cold gaze away from him. She would know about the things that hide in the shadows. She knows those creatures - has lived among them - has created them. 

    Though small and unassuming, Anaxarete could easily become a living nightmare.
    Especially now, with absolutely nothing in this world to contain her. 

    A N A X A R E T E
    been there, done that
    image credit  


    @[Jakub]
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    #4
    Dreamscar knows a predator.

    And he, though he is a predator himself, knows he is still small enough to also be prey.

    It is why, as the dappled mare stalks through the late-season meadow, and as the grasses wilt before her, he stays well clear of her obvious path. It is why he pulls back a bit on the heavy hand he keeps on his dam as she peers through the flowers looking for suitable forage. The dark mare rubs her eyes against an outstretched knee and lifts her head up with a shake, as though clearing away cobwebs, as though waking from a long slumber. She has awakened... slightly. A tendril of power still loops around her heart, a single life-line to tether her to him.

    The rest, well, he wears the Inducement around him so thick he can almost see it, a heady, haze. Love him, it says, pulsing around him like a heartbeat. A butterfly settles on the boy's haunch, blue and black iridescent wings opening and closing in a methodical repeat. Its antennae flicker wildly. This happens sometimes, insects seem especially sensitive to his call, and under normal circumstances, the colt might eat any that landed on him, but today, his attention is drawn by something more important, something that passes through the meadow silent as Death.

    His beak parts, breath coming in a pant, the mottled black-going-white feathers across his chest standing erect, then flattening tight and close again to his skin, slick and aerodynamic. It isn't the feathers' fault the rest of him didn't get the memo, they don't know that he wears feathers no-where else on his body, that he has no wings. They have no way of knowing, and so they react as feathers always do, vascillating between trying to make him look larger, and smoothing for fast flight. And he does consider simply leaving. Nothing holds him here but a reluctance to turn his back on the mare, and as the building pressure becomes too much, that is when the massive stallion makes an appearance.

    Dreamscar hisses.

    His ears flatten into the tendrils of a mane grown just long enough to be called jaunty. Another one of Them, and one so absolutely gigantic that he dwarfs the grey, never mind his own crouched, lurching, growing body. Jakub may still be young, but he is worlds away from the slinking colt's awkward eight-month-old frame. Amber eyes flash as the great, horned, stallion approaches her, makes to stop her.

    Who stops Death from walking?



    @[Anaxarete] @[Jakub]

    ooc: Hope you don't mind anxiety-boy joining in!
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    #5
    It drifts in a state of semi-consciousness, somewhere between reality and Hell, there in the hollowest of shadows that only the most arcane dare to venture. The tediousness of mortal existence had driven it there, giving it cause to retreat, regroup. Another decade turned and still yet, the living realm tempts it not. Here now, though, the shadows stir and tremble. They pulse with an excitement known only by devoted creations when master draws near. The gloating energy ripples through its bone and flesh, drawn close against its unmarked black hide. The shadows gasp and arch, drawn taut against Hell-made-flesh, twisting and clamoring over one another until the intangible becomes such no longer …

    It moves without sound - for what is darkness but silence? Lanky limbs, nearly skeletal. Jutting angles and harsh lines, sinuous and without the inherent softness that comes with the possession of a soul. Angular and thin without being unattractive (with ancestry such as its, it cannot help its predatory appeal), it shifts through the forest on the other side of the river, near the Meadow’s northwest border. Its pace is sedate, unhurried, for she knows it is coming and she will wait. For it. Though it existed before her, and will exist after her, she had given it its freedom. While aboveground had thus far proven rather uneventful, it is she who had borne him, she who had broken the chains that kept it tethered below, where its options were rather limited. It is she and he that its loyalty belongs to, and perhaps that is the most mortal thing about it.

    Yellowed teeth clack together. Thin ears pinned to its head. Its cloudy, pupil-less eyes darken and the delicate skin about its muzzle wrinkles in distaste. Tongue pressed tight to the roof of its mouth, its hiss lands on the other side of the bird-boy’s. A warning? Maybe. Possessive? Aye.

    Its own vocalizations end with blood drawn, a scrape of tongue on canine. Ichor, blacker even than its taut hide, trickles from mouth to earth. For a breath, or two, it watches the crouching figure (and the grazing one) with the same studious gaze as the crows that flock in its wake. The bull-colt’s horns draws a momentary interest then - admiration is not beneath it - but the gray, she is its prize, and it is she who exists at the end of its path. It casts no shadow, none follow it; all of them caught up and eager to be presented to her, their shadowmare. It grimaces - a smile? - and presses close to her, equal parts pleased and devoted. It would yet toil and ache beneath their feet were it not for her. “Mother,” it rasps, lips tucking under her chin in a fleeting gesture that is what it has perceived as affectionate. It circles her, a press of thin muzzle to flesh here and there, before settling contentedly amongst her shadows.

    Niklas
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    #6

    Jakub stopped a respectful distance from the mare. She did not seem all to pleased to be in his company. Words escaping her lips in bitter power, a warning. His muscles rippled beneath his thick, heavy hide as midnight eyes cocked sideways momentarily at the tattered woman.

    And maybe you should listen more closely when one speaks for I was not talking about you but about the meadow. She is a beautiful place, though everything is beautiful in it's own way. Jakub looks to his feet gentle nudging a deep blue flower with his cloven hoof, appreciating the way it stands alongside it's fellow flowers wrapped in purples, pinks, and oranges. I have no doubt you are much more than your looks, and I am not here to test you. My name is Jakub, and I am only here for a small moment. his voice becoming steeled against the razor sharp woman, he did not come here today to impress or to make friends.

    Was there much point holding conversation with someone who so obviously did not wish to be bothered? Jakub's ears swiveled upon his head a hiss whispered on the tops of the meadow and shadows coming alive, his ears pin slightly.

    JAKUB

    and out he came, holding his brothers heel


    @[Anaxarete] @[Dreamscar] @[Niklas]
    Tephra inhabitant (Alpha)
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    #7

    LIKE WATER FLOWING INTO LUNGS.

    Anaxarete cares little for those she has offended. Even less for those who take no responsibility  for their own actions.  In her younger days, she would have rolled her eyes and stormed off in a huff. But over a century of life had blessed her with control.  Near-perfect control.  “Perhaps you should be more careful with your words, then,” she quiped, not at all believing this explanation. “Appearances can be deceiving. Remember that.” A warning, for she knows that there are many in Beqanna who look weak or beautiful and are anything but.

    Her attention quickly shifts to the strange hybrid that had been drawn to the scene. She had never seen a creature quite like the part-hippogriff.  That was saying something from a woman who spent the majority of her time with strange, alien creatures.  She watches with a genuine sense of interest.  And it wasn’t just the the boy’s physical appearance that was strange. It was the aura that he pulled around himself. 

    It was a curious combination to be sure -  this creature with talons and a sharp beak with a near-desperate need to be loved.  And the creature seems positively offended by the bull-stallion. And before the shadow mare can react further, a familiar sensation floods her veins.

    Familiarity was not expected in this strange new iteration of Beqanna.
    But this was familiar in a more intimate sense - this was her blood, her darkness.

    A small smile appeared on her dark lips, and she turned to find the shadows she had borne into this world. Niklas carried not just her blood - but all of her darkness and some.  She was pleased to find him here - and her thoughts turned to his father for a fleeting moment - but her attention almost immediately returned to her son. There are so few she would allow to touch her that the sensation is foreign, but more than welcome. Her shadows reach to embrace him - their kin.  “Niklas,” she breathes, “It has been too long.”

    It feels intimate - this reunion in the meadow.  However, she hopes that the meeting is not fleeting, that he intends to stay.

    “You should come with me to Pangea, son,” she said, the affection clear in her voice.  However she had not forgotten about the hybrid boy, either.  “You could come too,” she says to Dreamscar.  She does not extend an invitation to the horned colt, for she already knows that would be a wasted invitation.

    A N A X A R E T E
    been there, done that
    image credit  


    @[Jakub]
    @[Dreamscar}
    @[Niklas]

    Bleh. Sorry y'all. <3
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    #8
    A soft whine escapes his beak when the grey mare turns from the bull-colt and drops her gaze on him instead from across the meadow. He had only meant to scold the impetuous horned beast for stopping her as she crossed the meadow, creating a small well of shadows and magic that stained the grass underfoot and threatened the relative peace of the place. The colt had certainly had no intention of drawing her attention to himself, but that is precisely what has happened.

    He hisses and she looks at him. She looks at him and he freezes. Breath catches in his throat, the tremor of the feathers across his chest growing stronger. He hears his hiss echoed by another voice but he dares not look away, meets icy eyes with his own flat amber and believes all his secrets laid bare. For once, he does not let his own magic flood away from him but keeps it leashed and tight to his sides but for that single tendril that tethers Hippogryph to his side.

    The dark mare - eyes brighter than before, though bloodshot and bleary - lifts her head as though confused, scenting the air with flared nostrils. Does she know these smells? They are the scents that haunt her youth, but she cannot remember. She cannot remember many things. She remembers only the harsh voice of the bright, mocking star on her forehead that laughs and taunts her, and the odd shape of the Son, the sound of His cry and the pain of His beak when He tries to nurse. He does still try, though her milk dried up long ago, lost to the infection caused by the piercing tip of His beak on soft flesh.

    The star has been quieter since the Son came. It had told her to kill Him and... she remembers trying. What has happened since? The child forgave her, and she worships Him.

    His moan catches her ears and the stocky black mare charges to his side in a rage, yellow teeth bared, eyes wide and rolling in their sockets. Her long hair is a mess of matts and burrs and tangled grasses and she draws her heavy body between the colt and the shadow mare with a squeal and a stomp of cracked hooves.

    He is ours, the flash of star through her forelock says. Never mind the thin white line of scars down her haunches from his bites. Never mind the dried blood on her shoulder from his claws.

    Shielded from the dapple grey, Dreamscar chances a peek at the angular creature that draws into the creche of shadow. As all such unknown things do, it causes that familiar spike of fear, and if he had the soft face of The Others, he might grimace. And if he understood empathy, he might recognize the intimacy of its greeting as the same with which he greets the black blockade of his own mother. He stands taller, reaching up to tuck into the hook of his dam's neck, curling against her so tightly that one clawed foot grasps her hoof.

    So protected, he grows bolder, answering her offer with a rude, guttural, buzz he has learned from the crows.

    Dreamscar
    Carnage x Hippogryph


    @ [Jakub]
    @ [Niklas]
    @ [Anaxarete]

    Ooc edited so I'm killing the tags so y'all don't get swamped lol
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