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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


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    [open quest]  come along to the river; round 2
    #1
    I've seen crazy things - out in the forest,
    I've seen monsters chasing dreams
    Death is not a static place - that much she's already become aware of, even before she crosses back to try and find answers. Everyone experiences death differently - it's not always the perfect dream that they all hope for, when they think about dying and reuniting with their loved ones. Sometimes it is, Nikkai had experienced that, before. She'd spent days in the quiet meadows under a warm sun, and nights under infinite stars with her brothers and sisters, her foster-father, her children. She'd met her grandchildren and great-grandchildren and welcomed them home. Other times she had been lost, in the darkest places, and nightmares as bad as any she'd seen in life. She may have found peace in death, but even she is hesitant to step back into it now. You never know what it will be.

    This time she is walking along the beach, the part of death that is mirrored in Beqanna, looking for pieces of the puzzle, answers to the current mystery. And between one step and the next, she is nowhere, yet somehow seeing out of a hundred eyes, dying a hundred deaths. Murdered, eaten, slipping under the surface of the waves and drowning. The grulla mare can feel their fear, and pain, and confusion; she can hear them in the past as they discuss this very problem she is trying to solve and she can see the possible futures where each of them might be part of the solution. More poignantly, in the dark and quiet as she recovers from all of their deaths, she can see what this power she's been gifted can do, what she can give back to the world her descendants still must live in. But no gift, not even this one, is free. One of them must take the gift back, and right now, they're all dead, and not in the blown-wide-open part of death, but another place.

    The sound of rushing water gradually becomes clearer, and quite overwhelmingly loud, and she opens resigned brown eyes to see where she's landed in this episode of the recent disaster. She's standing in the middle of a river, knee deep and somehow (this new magic thing can be quite helpful) not moving even though she can feel that the current is stronger than any mortal creature should be able to withstand. A glance left, and then right; the water is wider than any river she ever saw in person, and she can see that many of those whose deaths she just experienced are also coming to groggy awareness. Without trying, she knows (and presumably, they will know) that the river has separated them - not by the "good souls" and "bad souls" mythology that many believe in but by the manner of their death. On one side are those who died in relative peaceful and normal circumstances - the ones who lived to a ripe old age and fell asleep, the ones who chose a quiet death after a long life, the ones who were ill. On the other, are those who died in violence and combat - the ones who went down fighting. A branch bobs past on the current, going faster and faster; she tracks its movement and watches it tumble off the edge of the earth.

    No, that's not right; not the edge of the earth, just a waterfall bigger even than the beloved one she holds dear to her heart. Apparently, this little experience is crafted as much out of her experiences as theirs.

    She forgets about the current at this moment and is momentarily swept off her feet, sucked under the surface of the river; Nikkai comes up spluttering, and somehow having split herself into two Nikkai's. Weird, and totally unintentional, but she supposes since there's no way they could hear her over the river, it was a good subconscious magic use. Both Nikkai's look around at the milling groups of horses, and then across the river, where she can see that everyone has someone waiting for them on other side - even though some of them are not exactly what you would call...affable...everyone has someone they love; or at least want. It's part of mortal nature. Some of these faces are even familiar - nobody she was especially close to, but she isn't sure if that is grief or relief she feels. Turning both of her selves away from the river, she shares what she knows somehow is the escape route to this little situation. "If you can get across the river to your person," she says to all assembled, "You can both go home. To life."
    & I wanna be by your side
    when we light up the sky for the world to see
    Nikkai
    html by devin | lyrics by The National Parks


    The Prompt
    ->Characters who died in battle/fighting are on one side, everyone else ('normal' deaths) on the other. If it's a gray area, make a decision for yourself based on how your character feels about their death/life and run with it.
    ->Your character is trying to get across to 'their person' on the other side, to send them both back to life.
    ->The river can't be waded, jumped, flown, or swam across. Nobody has any traits/powers, because hey, everyone's dead.
    ->But, hey, you're going to try and get across anyway. It's also death, so maybe the world doesn't follow conventional rules. Remember it's a creativity/writing quest. So it's just you and your creativity!! Be creative! Feel free to write 'their person' as helping out, to collaborate with other characters, to work with each other, whatever.
    ->Your post should include actually starting to try and get across, but should end before your characters succeed or fail.
    ->The deadline is November 12th, 2019, at 10:00PM EST.
    Reply
    #2





























    The sounds of water reaches her through the fog of memories. It is soft and it draws her away from the pain of her still beating heart. What kind of magic has insisted she return to existence (if this is truly living)? To her left and right, October sees many other faces. They seems to float like a waking reverie when Beqanna still held a prestige in kingdoms and herd horses yet she does not know their names.

    She is certain none of them would even really notice the sienna mustang with honey eyes.

    The sounds of water begin to thrum, loud and commanding, as the earth splits apart and suddenly where there was none, a river now gushes violently. It garners a panicky fear for in this world there are no limitations. Time stands still and yet turns on it's head. Moments ago she had been but a small gathering of bones and wildflowers.

    A grey mare materializes through the misty fog of the river's breath. Her movements are stiff and methodical as if in a trance and October's reaction is to go to here but the mare stands knee deep on the belly of the water. How is it possible when the water boils so angrily? It must be from the magic, of course-

    Amber eyes suddenly recognize the pattern of rich chestnut and white. "Sariel..." His name stings her raw throat but it was sweet on her tongue. He stands across from her staring, the same twist of a smile that she had yearned for since her found her in the field. "Sariel!" She cries out with a manic desperation...no shadow of the beaten mare is even recognizable as her body electrifies in every second, every beat of her living heart. He stands there with his grin widening and a reflection of love in his eyes..her mustang blood is throttling her and she nervously begins to dance from one hoof to the other as she fights to find a solution.

    A tree branch bobbles by and it distracts her momentarily to watch the grey mare fall into the river's depths just as the branch goes over the edge...had the waterfall always been there? October can not recall the roar moments ago but her attention returns to Sariel and her heart is fluttering rapid in desperation to go to him, fold into his embrace and smother his face and neck with her kisses.

    One black booted leg reaches for the water and slips beneath the edge. The honey brown are are directed upon Sariel and no other on her side or his...she must get to him. The little voice that drove her whispers worlds of love, Sariel's warmth echoes against her temple but October is scared but she must get to him! Perhaps is no other branches floated by...she could do as the grey woman did and fight to walk knee deep through furious waters instead of falling into them from a distraction.

    Slowly with trained eyes, October begins her journey...the water deepens slightly but it holds her where she would have expected to drown. Her eyes are trained and her heart is fighting to touch Sariel's sweet mouth once again, to whispers her promises of eternal love and devotion as she had when she entered the Gates.. Oh how she had missed Heaven's Gates! She missed her beloved tree that she had first seen when she had made her way behind the bay overo king. Beneath that tree she birthed their child Tyrus, shaded and cooled from the summer heat...if only...

    From the midst of the river, and much like the sudden appearance of the waterfall, the very same willow from the Gates begins to rise from the depths. Arms of green leaves drift along the water like a simple jellyfish before the sleepy headed willow pushes through the water's surface...growing tall, the bark blackened and slick. October worries she will begin to sink it she allows her focus to slip, if Sariel will suddenly disappear but...but something firm and hard is suddenly pushing her above the angry waters. Thick, gnarled roots are rising upward...the ancient blood lines of the willow are providing a stability for the small mustang mare.

    Her heart is beating, beating, beating with relief! The willow grows tall and wide with it's ancient wisdom and Sariel stands just on the other side. "Sariel, my love!" Her echoes of passion are nearly lost over the rush of the river but he calls out cheerfully for her, eyes wide and watching, side steeping along the water's edge as he beckons her to him. The willow stretches far, the long green branches guide her lovingly with wet willow leaves. Ancient mother tree lifts her root work so the plain buckskin mare could reach the other side but even if the tree should falter and fade, October believes if she keeps her focus and drive, she would still wade the waters as the grey mare did moments ago (provided her focus is true and firm) and she could reach the other side to her beloved Sariel either by the sweet mother tree or her own damned determination.

    October
    Reply
    #3
    ( i'm just here to fight the fire
    oh, a man ain't a man unless he has desire )

    It is the roar of some great river that finally rouses him.
    His oak tree is gone, as is the figure whose approach had set his nerves to riot in the first place.
    He is joined instead by a rather large congregation of horses, none of whom look familiar. Somehow, he can sense the peace in them. Briefly studying their faces, he knows without having to be told that the whole lot of them are comfortable in their deaths. And there, across the river, the ferocious and the noble and the heroic, whose eyes still blaze with a fire he never cared much to hold himself.

    He could wonder why they are separated this way – or why they’re separated at all—but he’s not totally convinced he cares. He’s more focused on working out exactly why he’d been summoned here in the first place. This is surely some kind of punishment. Did someone rat on him for being a less than welcoming welcoming committee? He doesn’t want to believe that any of his progeny are snitches, but he’s been dead so long he has absolutely no concept of how diluted the bloodline has become. It could be absolutely full of snitches by now.

    He does not notice the grulla mare standing in the river until she splits into two identical versions of herself. He blinks his muted surprise – that’s certainly the first time he’s ever seen that. He glances at the horses standing to either side of him, trying to gauge their reactions but everyone seems to be staring past the grulla mare to the far side of the river. He has fancied himself something of a lone ranger in death but his bitter want to be left alone does not immunize him against herd mentality and he instinctively squints across the water’s churning surface, too. He doesn’t see anything worth jaw-dropped wonder. Certainly nothing more arresting than the fact that the woman in the water has just cloned herself. Until, finally, he lands eyes on a familiar figure. He hasn’t seen her in two centuries, but he’d still know her anywhere. Cuerva Lista.

    His brow furrows in confusion. “You’re dead?!” he shouts, but she does not seem to hear him. Convenient. How long has she been dead and he hasn’t known it? How long has she been dead without seeking him out? His indignation swells at the base of his throat. She’d known he was dead, of course, she’d been standing right there when he’d laid down and died. And it’s not as if it’s hard to find the dead, there aren’t that many places they can go.

    He is so focused on his mounting irritation that he doesn’t hear the grulla mare. If they reach the other side, they’ll return to the living. Had he heard her, surely he would have turned tail and tried to make his way back to wherever he’d come from. He has no interest in returning to the living. He’d lived his unremarkable life and he’d been happy enough to call it a day. He does have a keen interest in making it across the river to confront the woman standing across from him, though. He can feel it itching in the marrow of his bones. Had she gone and shacked up with somebody else when he died? Is she shacking up with him in the afterlife, too?

    He mutters darkly to himself, catches his tongue between his teeth in concentration. The grulla mare had waded into the river and the current had been strong enough that it literally cloned her. The last thing he wants is a clone, so he thinks better of trying to swim. He closes his eyes and tries to envision the river smaller, shallower, less violently powerful. But when he opens his eyes again, the river is the same as it was. Apparently he has been spirited to the only corner of the afterlife that he can not manipulate to suit his fancy. Great, that’s just great.

    Well, isn’t this just a son of a bitch of an unsatisfactory situation?
    It is admittedly the most action he’s seen in all the time he’s been dead.
    But that doesn’t mean he has to like it.

    He could just let it go, he thinks. Toss up an, ‘I think I’ll pass’ and call it a day. But he knows he’ll spend the next thousand years stewing over it if he doesn’t get an answer as to why she had not even made one single, solitary attempt to find him. So, he grits his teeth and thinks. Really thinks. Which almost immediately gives him a headache because his brain has been mostly dormant for the last two hundred years.

    He glances in the direction of the waterfall, aware that the water gains both speed and ferocity as it approaches it. So, as his anger rises to a faint boil, he stalks along the edge of the river in the opposite direction. The river slows but does not settle entirely, but this is as good as it’s going to get.

    Somebody should really build a bridge,” he mutters bitterly. He still has absolutely no idea how he’s going to get across, but at least the water is a little bit calmer here and that in itself makes him feel like he’s accomplished something.

    He inches closer to the river’s edge, squints into the water. His mouth turns down at its corners as he registers the life within it. Fish, primarily, swimming hard against the current, their bodies all muscle. Further down the river, the whole lot of them are trying to make their way across the river but he pays them no mind, focusing instead on his own personal dilemma.

    He is lost in thought when some great thing surfaces several feet away. The muscles tense and he sucks in a sharp breath, startled by the creature’s sudden – and, quite frankly, intimidating – appearance. The thing is huge, at least four times bigger than he is. The skin is smooth and brown – or gray, he can’t tell because it reflects the light and he can’t see past it all that well – and the head is enormous. It opens its mouth, reveals its blunt teeth. He does not allow himself to wonder if this is the correct environment for a hippopotamus. It doesn’t matter. They’re all dead and he reasons that they can all go wherever they want and it doesn’t have to make sense

    Hey!” he calls out and the creature turns its great head in his direction. “Hey, hey, hey, I need your help!” He tries to sound friendlier than he feels. Charming. He tries to sound like someone who deserves helping. He doesn’t know if the creature understands him, but he’d had a rather lengthy conversation with a leopard once and had come to believe that the dead – no matter the species – all spoke the same language.

    With what?’ the hippo asks and Antidote’s dormant heart soars. They do speak the same language!

    I have to get across the river but I’m a lot smaller and weaker than you, so I can’t do it on my own.

    The hippo considers it, takes his sweet time in doing it, too. ‘What will you give me in return?’ it asks and Antidote does not hesitate in offering up his answer.

    You can eat her,” he says, gestures vaguely in Cuerva Lista’s direction, “just as soon as I get some answers from her.

    It does not occur to either of them that the hippo is dead and no longer needs to eat. It’s none of Antidote’s business if the hippo still likes to hunt for sport. The hippo seems to shrug before it glides smoothly to the edge of the river.

    Should I… do I just…?” Antidote murmurs, trying to work out how to best climb onto the hippo’s gleaming back. His hooves haven’t grown much in the time he’s been dead, but he still can’t imagine it’d be comfortable for him to dig them into the space between the hippo’s shoulders. He’s a bit of a prick, but he’s not totally unreasonable and the hippo is doing him a favor. The least he can do is try to make it as comfortable as he can for the both of them. In the end, he perches himself on the hippo’s back on his knees, the back legs straight and the feet planted on the firm flesh above the hips.

    I really appreciate this,” he says, suddenly self-conscious, as the hippo starts across the river.

    Antidote cannot help but notice that, as the hippo moves forward it also moves sideways, the current dragging the pair of them back toward the waterfall.

    Antidote swears under his breath, trying to gauge how far from the opposite shore they are in regards to how far they are from the waterfall.
    Which one will they reach first? 

    a n t i d o t e
    Reply
    #4
    Larva is gone just as quickly as her eyes blink.

    Something changes around her – the atmosphere, their surroundings – and she is pulled into an alter-reality that tests her balance at first. Beneath her body, Dillan’s legs tremble with uncertainty. Decades have past since she last paid attention to anything except the emerald eyes and dappled skin of her lover. Without him clutched at her side, she is immediately lost and confused although she maintains an expression of steadfast determination. In masking her uncertainty, she attempts to exemplify courage and strength while she catalogues their surroundings once the curtain has been lifted from her eyes.

    The river ahead gurgles. It draws her nearer as she searches for a reflection only to see the tree branches above, as though she does not even exist. A breath catches in her throat and she reels back abruptly until her rear leg stumbles over a rock. ”It’s okay,” she whispers reassuringly to herself as her body becomes rigid. A breeze kisses her skin. A voice speaks to her – to them. The overwhelming familiarity are thousands of knives puncturing her when she turns her head to see the face addressing them. ”Nikkai?” Memories wash across her as relentlessly as the river current and the roaring waterfall (oh, how the waterfall triggers another onslaught of images). Questions rise to the tip of her tongue, but they never fall into the suspended space among them. Her body yearns to reach for the former Queen, to embrace her, but fear burrows far deeper and forces her to take pause.

    A curt nod is all she can give to Nikkai, both in acknowledgment and understanding.

    They were both soldiers once. They know how to address challenges and how to funnel their efforts.

    But this is so strange and so new.

    When her head whips to the side, it’s as though everything is in slow motion. A frantic search rakes across those surrounding her in search of Larva. He is my person,” and her heart aches for him and wants to see him across the way so that she may leap into his arms.

    Dillan hesitates. A breath expands her chest and she moves toward the river bank again with eyes that see and understand more and with a heart that opens itself to all.

     

    Another voice calls out, but her name does not stand alone amid the fray. ”Mother,” she hears, and her gut wrenches. Immediately, her head lifts and she sees Shiya far ahead, separated by the broad, tumultuous river. ”My little girl,” Dillan yells to deaf ears, her voice washed away by the unraveling chaos. ”Shiya,” without looking over her shoulder to find Larva, she adds, ”It’s our daughter. We need to reach her, to save her.” As though she, herself, does not require saving. Emotion climbs into her throat, choking her. ”We need to reach our little girl, Larva,” the child that suffered time and time again, the daughter they seemingly failed.

    Impatience quickens her reeling thoughts and destroys the hesitation pausing her footsteps. She edges closer to the water, and she tries again to see her reflection only to see nothing but the sky now.

    But it doesn’t deter her this time.

    It makes her look harder.

    Logs, branches, and leaves all drift past her, carried along the current toward a deadly drop. A curious glance finds the crease in the water’s edge, and her heart instinctively hammers in her chest at remembering the Dazzling Waterfall that she once adored so much.

     A log in front of her shifts, unlodging itself from the muddy bank until Dillan gingerly places a hoof onto it. A rigidity stiffens its decaying bark and it solidifies and strengthens itself enough to support her weight as she fearfully continues to step forward until she is entirely on its eerily still surface. Shuffling footsteps gradually ease her toward the far edge of the log where at the end is only rushing water. A breath sighs from her lungs as she glances up toward Shiya then back to the water’s surface. A leaf begins drifting by, but the second Dillan touches it with the tip of her hoof, it, too, freezes.

     Is she weightless? In death, can she not sink?

    Questions drift as easily as flower petals through her mind as her hooves make contact with all the leaves dancing close enough to her reach. Each one of them becomes rigid, supporting her weight – weightlessness? – until she can move ahead another few steps and begin the process again. Shiya attempts to help, mirroring Dillan by edging onto a petrified, fallen log.

     Mother and daughter work in tandem, but Shiya can only go so far until an invisible barrier stops her in her tracks. ”Come on, mom!” More leaves, branches, flowers, feathers, logs. They all somehow freeze and anchor underfoot until she forges an unnatural bridge. ”I’m almost there, darling,” she cries in exertion as she waits for more debris to find her, to complete this odd, afterlife bridge. Exhaustion plucks at her muscles, but she gives every last effort in hopes it will not come crashing down on her. In her brief wait, she looks over her shoulder to find Larva before looking ahead to Shiya, toward her end goal in this maddening world of life and death. ”Come on,” she whispers during her lengthy wait, desperate to finish paving her way home.
    Reply
    #5

    Brigade remembers his death now, but he cannot say how he feels about it.

    Part of him is relieved to have finally met it. Relieved to have been able to relinquish his hold on life and the endless pain that it has caused him—the pain that he himself has caused. He has nothing good to show from his living. Nothing accomplished that he was particularly proud of, although he has yet to come to grips with the fierce little girl who is supposedly his own. He knows that he is a coward. He did not step into the war between his current home and his childhood one. He did not protect anyone.

    He did not return to see the damage—to see what had become of his family.

    And that cowardice is something he has done his best to run from ever since.

    So now, in his death, it is no different. He feels the walls come up, protecting himself from the truth of his death—from the sharp agony that accompanies the memory of his father’s spirit animal tearing apart his throat. He feels it dull and then blinds himself to it and then—suddenly, there is nothing again.

    Brigade sinks into it, deeper and deeper into the darkness and when he awakes, it is to the sound of the crashing water. He blinks slowly, feeling the spray of it against his face, and he is only partially surprised to find that the wet of blood on his throat remains. It stings and when he lifts himself to his feet again, he nearly sways with the pain. His vision doubles and spots on the edges but he doesn’t fall.

    He just blinks as the rest of his surroundings come into focus. He realizes he’s near a massive waterfall, and he watches as the strange woman splits into two—coming up onto both shores as one half of herself. It doesn’t mean anything to him, and what happens next (her instructions) matter less. There is no one who would be waiting for him; no one who would lure him forward. He wasn’t even sure he wanted it.

    He stands amongst the war-battered and victimized of Beqanna on this side of the river as a coward with his throat ripped out and feels nothing but shame. Still, his foolish heart prods him anyway and he lifts his head. His stormy grey eyes study the other side of the bank and feel a sharp pang when one of the figures comes into focus. He himself no longer has his antlers (his wings either) but they remain proud on her head. She holds it high like he always remembered in childhood, her blue eyes piercing as she watches.

    Mother.

    His throat goes dry and he takes a step forward out of instinct. A childish want to return home and let his mother make it better. Soothe his aches and tell him that it’s going to be okay. That he will be okay.

    But more than his desire to greet her is his fear and his failure.

    They are stones in his chest, a vice around his throat, and his feet stop as suddenly as they had started. He shakes his wild head, sending dreadlocks of mane around his jaw, and his eyes are no longer dry. “I can’t,” he wants to say—wants to explain—but she can’t hear him. “I’m so sorry,” he wants to promise, but his apologies don’t matter. They won’t give her a brave son, or a good one, or one worthy of her.

    So instead he remains trapped in this strange limbo with his choices hung heavily on his shoulders.

    Until he hears the sound of the wolves behind him—snapping their jaws.

    Terror seizes him but it doesn’t stir him into action. Not yet.

    Would death be worse the second time around? Would it sting more? His blood drips heavily onto the bank of the river and he looks across the river again to his mother who has stepped forward until the water nearly laps against her legs. “You’re braver than this, Brigade,” she says, and he hears it clearly—against the natural laws that say it should be drowned out by the roar of the waterfall.

    He shakes his head again and hears the panting of the wolves closer now.

    One lunges and sinks teeth into his leg.

    I’m not. I’m not.

    But greater than his fear is his sense of self-preservation and he takes a lunging step forward, leg dragging behind him as the wolf releases him. The second that his foot touches the water though, it churns violently against him and he yanks it back. He knows that there is no way that he will be able to withstand it.

    Brigade swallows, his hair on edge, and he begins to pace. The wolves close in again but do not attack yet. He feels the hot air of their breath, the promise of it lingering, and looks up again, eyes rimmed with white, his lips pulled taut. His mother remains as poised as he had always known her to be—so painfully good at hiding her emotions and he wonders why he has become so guarded in his old age.

    “The river will never accept you if you can’t accept your death,” she sighs. “Your life.”

    Brigade snarls with confusion—with anger, with fear.

    “What does that mean? How is that helpful?”

    She raises a brow that would have left him cowering as a child. “Tell me one truth about your life.”

    A wolf snaps at his back leg and he jerks it up, threateningly before it thuds down, leaving him to nearly dance in place with nerves. “I did the best I could,” he spits out, his face hardened, eyes overbright.

    Pyxis’ lips quirk and she shrugs.

    “Try then.”

    But he doesn’t because he knows it wasn’t honest and when a wolf lunges toward him, he feels himself cry out. “I was afraid,” his voice breaks. “I was afraid that I wasn’t enough—that I couldn’t protect you and father and my siblings—so I didn’t even try.” He leaps forward into the water out of his terror as much as his instinct and he finds that it holds, that the water stills and hardens beneath his hooves.

    The wolves do not follow yet, although he knows they have crept to the edge of the river.

    Glancing up, he catches the sight of his mother.

    “Keep going,” she urges, and he looks down to see the thrashing water and across to see how far he has to go. Would his truth be enough to hold him? Would his heart be strong enough to hold his truth?

    BRIGADE

    when I was a man I thought it ended when I knew love's perfect ache
    but my peace has always depended on all the ashes in my wake

    Reply
    #6
    Warlight

     

    When the ringing in her ears fades, Warlight assumes she in on the shore of Hyaline's lake. Moisture still darkens her coffee-and-cream coat, and the sound of moving water is a gentle wake-up call.  But the current here is too swift, too wild, to be the quiet lake-shore of her childhood. She doesn't have to look around to know this is somewhere else.

    But she does open them, and she stands. Her eyes, the blackest of blues, cut swiftly across the group of fighters she shares the riverbank with before being drawn to the grey mare and her strange magic. She follows the woman's gaze, tracking the bobbing branch as it rides the current towards a deadly drop. It reaches the lip of the falls with unsettling speed, then vanishes as Warlight absorbs the information they are all given. No living creature could survive such a fall.

    But she was already dead.

    For the first time, she strains to see the other side of the great river and her partner for this life-changing challenge. When she sees him, a chill passes through her body that could only be rivaled by the one she felt as her soul crossed into the afterlife.

    Her mouth is dry as their eyes lock, and their expressions couldn't be more different.  Shock is easy to read on her gaunt face, a face that looks much older than four years of life should have made it, whereas he is daring her forward with a mischevious grin.

    "You shouldn't be here," she finally calls across the river, hoping this is some magician's trick. But she won't take any chances with her brother's life. There was no way to know, and right now, Rhea, real or imagined, is stepping forward into the violent current of the mighty river.

    Brave and foolish, just like her.

    "No," she commands, not sparing time to soften her words with kindness. "You stay there. I'll come to you."

    The bone-crowned girl had always preferred action to words anyway. Nikkai's instructions had been loud and clear, and this was how Will would save her baby brother.

    Her muscles bunch and then expand as she launches her thin frame into the river. She had fought too many battles in the afterlife to feel fear now, died too many times in these battles to risk hesitation.

    She was crossing the river, so she may as well do it now.
    She had nothing left to lose.

    Her body strikes the water, and she is immediately dragged under, spinning like a leaf on the wind and traveling with terrifying speed towards the waterfall. The river fills her mouth, her ears, her mind, roaring and driving away all thoughts. But suddenly her momentum is checked, and pain is all she can think of as the current slams her into a submerged boulder. Her consciousness flickers as she notices, with detachment, the way the water feels as it weaves between her teeth, below her tongue, and down her throat.

    If this were life, she would be dead. But she knows the rules here, and there are few.

    The current pins her against a cavity in the boulder and she opens her eyes, unsure of which way to go but unwilling to risk facing the current head on to peak above the surface.  For a moment, she waits. She uses the seconds to regain her bearings, when she notices the thin blue light radiating from her chest. No, she realizes, it wasn't coming from her. It was reaching for her. It was her lifeline and her way home.

    'Smartass,' she thinks, as her lips crack to form a smile, and she feels a flush of renewed determination as she realized what her brother had done. 

    Warlight works her way down the boulder, using its jagged surface until she finds the bottom of the river. She digs her hooves into the silt, using the stones and bones to gain purchase and following the thread of blue light.

    He is close now, and the light is stronger, but Warlight's entire body is shaking from the physical and mental effort. Through the churning black-water, she can see his familiar shape silhouetted against the white-hot sun. But the river-bed is no longer jagged, changing into a long smooth slab of algae-covered stone. With nothing left to lose, she takes the thread of light between her teeth and pushes off the bottom of the river. Real or imagined, every muscle in her body strains against the current as she reaches for him, willing to give it all for this fading chance to bring them back to life.

    — soul as sweet as blood red jam —



    Permission given from Sid to play Rhae
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    #7
    Here it comes with no warning; capsize, i'm first in the water
    There was darkness once more. She cannot see anything else but the blackness around her. The same darkness she remembers. I am back, she thinks with a heavy heart and a sigh of deep anguish.

    It would always be this way.

    Always the same.

    “Lucrezia!” A deep voice calls out in the darkness around her. “Lucrezia! Wake up!” The voice calls out to her again. It was too familiar to her. The deepness of the voice and the demanding tone that rang with each word. “Get up at once, Lucrezia!” It commands her.

    “Dad?” She calls out into the darkness. “Is that you?” It couldn’t be. It shouldn’t be.

    She had died. The monster had killed her on the beach. She had deserved to die. He had done her a favor in the very end. Something she could never do herself. She had always been a failure. A coward at everything she had ever done within her life.

    “I told you to get up!” It yells out. His voice is loud but somehow, she can hear it above the roaring of the waterfall in the distance. Waterfall? She thinks. There cannot be one. I am dead. I am so very dead! She was dead. There was no way she was alive now. She did not deserve to be alive. I am a failure. I am a coward. I could never save them. I could never do anything. In the end, she had always been blinded by her own faults.

    “You have never been none of those.” He says, but she does not believe him. She could never believe anything her father told her. He had always been a monster. He was never the father she needed the most. “You are lying to me as you always have done. I cannot believe you!” She cries out to him. Her voice is loud and booms above the roar of the waterfall in the distance. “I am not lying to you. You have always been a fighter. You have always been brave. You can do everything. Get up now. Come home.”

    Home? She cannot go home. It was not possible.

    Then all sudden she hears a voice telling her she can go home. Lucrezia opens her eyes as the spray of water hits her face. She feels frozen suddenly. I shouldn’t be feeling this. It was a trick. She knew it was. Lucrezia blinks, her nutmeg eyes focusing on the world around her. She is laying on the edge of the river's bank. It was not the place she had died at. It was different. I am dead. She knows she is. Then how can she go home?

    Lucrezia slowly stands. She stumbles a couple of times to find her balance, but something deep within her tells her to try. A small will pushes her forward. She instantly finds her balance. Lucrezia blinks as she takes in the rest of her surroundings. A massive waterfall roars down a little from where she stands at the river’s edge. Lucrezia stands among those that have died in a battle or fighting, but she had never thought of herself as a fighter. She had always been a coward.

    Her gaze flickers across to the other side of the river. Instantly her heart drops at the sight of seeing a chestnut stallion. Rodrik—her father. “You are real?” She whispers. It couldn’t be true. “I’ve come to take you home. We need you to come home, Lucrezia. Come across the river.” Lucrezia shakes her head. It was not true. Her nutmeg eyes search across the river. It was simply all a dream. She would drown again. She would wake up in the darkness once more. “I cannot come home. I have no home. I have forsaken all of them.” Her voice is soft, uncertain once again. “You will always have a home, Lucrezia. No matter what you will always have one.” She takes a step forward instinctively. Home, she thinks. It sounded so nice to hear his words. Did she really always have a home? Would her family and friends always love her no matter the things she has done?

    She can feel her heart beating. It feels heavy against her chest. Her heart longs to return home. She misses everything she had once—everything she had forsaken for the love of a monster.

    Lucrezia takes another step forward and moves deeper into the river. She continues slowly with every step forward. The river’s current is strong. It is much stronger than the ocean’s current she remembers. It is stronger than the blows that ended her life. “I’m coming home,” she tells her father. “That’s my little Lulu.” Her heart flutters at the sound of a familiar name he used to call her. “Home. I’m coming, dad!” Lucrezia takes another step forward, suddenly her right front hoof gives out. She slips on the wet stone underneath her. The river’s current pulls her under quickly without hesitation.

    I cannot go home. She knew it was too good to be true. There would never be a way for her to go home. She was too stained and damaged to ever be given a second chance again.

    The current pulls her deeper under. Her lungs are quickly being filled by the river’s water. She coughs and chokes. Her body thrashes against the current. Lucrezia throws her hooves against the floor, trying to anchor herself to the bottom of the river. There was no hope—she was not strong enough. But she does not give up. She keeps trying to grasp onto anything that can pull her out.

    With some stroke of luck, she finds a way to push herself up to the surface of the rushing river. Lucrezia gasps for air. She pushes with every strength and hope she can hold onto. It is a small thread, slowly loosening. But it is all she has left, and she just needs to hang onto it a little longer.

    She throws herself onto the river’s bank. Her lungs gasp for air again. The water that filled her lungs pour out with every cough. Lucrezia gasps for air suddenly more. Something within her throat blocks her airway. She fights for air with every strength to dislodge whatever blocks her from breathing. With one last cough, a gold coin flies out of her mouth and falls in front of her.

    Lucrezia stares at the golden coin with confusion. “That is your obol for your death—the price you must pay.” She looks across the rushing river at her father’s chestnut figure. A god tossing me a coin for life and death once more. Lucrezia turns to regard the gold coin again. “You have shown you are a fighter, Lucrezia. You have proven you are not a coward.” He tells her. It almost feels like lies. The same lies he used to tell her as a child before sending her away from the Chamber to live in the Deserts. It was just another bargain chip. Is this how she was to return home?

    “I am not your game piece anymore, father!” She whips around to face him head on from the other side of the river. “I will never do your bidding anymore. You are nothing but a monster. You and Straia have never loved me!” Tears swell up in her nutmeg eyes, blurring the red figure of her father in the distance. Lucrezia shakes her head.

    “We have always loved you, Lucrezia. You will always be loved by us.” His voice comes softer and almost kinder. There is an instant sadness filling his eyes and facial features. It is a side she has never seen before. “Come home and let me prove to you. Let me love you properly like I should have from the beginning…” His voice then trails off into the roaring sounds of the waterfall.

    She looks to the golden coin once more. Her mind tells hers to forget about it all. It tells her to return to the river and go back to the darkness once more. But her heart is telling her differently. Lucrezia shakes her head knowing she has always followed her heart. It was her heart that had always led her to happiness in the end. It was her heart she needed to follow now.

    Lucrezia grabs the gold coin and throws it into the river. As the gold coin touches the river’s surface, it slowly splits apart, making a pathway to the other side of the river to where Rodrik stands. Her heart beats heavy against her chest at seeing the clear path ahead of her to the other side. She takes a step forward, passing over the gold coin that lays at the bottom of the clear path she takes now.

    She can only hope this was the right path.

    I am going home.

    Nothing tells her she is wrong.

    Not even her heart.
    ...too close to the bottom.
    Profile | Detailed Bio | Character Reference
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    #8

    Mother is the name for God

    in the lips and hearts of little children

    As the final clot of blackened blood is sputtered clear from revived lungs, clouded eyes begin to clear and fully take in her surroundings. A woman who’s heart now beats stronger than ever, driven by determination and a mother’s rage. Blue eyes flash to the others surrounding her, none of their faces are familiar. She knows not why she was chosen to come here, but what she does understand is that something must have happened in order for her spirit to be set free of it’s prison of unending torment. In that realm, she could see her past play over and over, and she searched the shell of the world she knew for what seemed like an eternity. She could not comprehend why this was happening now. Yet, pondering would not do her any good, and those thoughts are soon broken by the sound of rushing waters. She turns on her haunches to face a wide river.

    At first she cannot see the other side, instead it seems a swirling mist like that of the last plane she had been inhabiting for the past...well...she doesn’t know how many years. She can see movement, and from the mist a grulla mare strides through the water with grace, she stops a moment as a bobbing branch seems to distract her. Whisteria gasps as the grulla woman is swept off her feet momentarily, plunging deeper than she had been while standing in the rapids. As she surfaces, she is not alone. Was that...no...but, it was. There were two of the same woman standing in the rushing rapids that seemed to cascade over the edge of a waterfall? Was that there before? This realm was not the mortal realm like she originally thought, that was for sure. When the woman speaks, Whisteria’s eyes are ripped from her and immediately spot a familiar shape on the other side of the river as she addresses the gathering of lost souls. If you can get across the river to your person, you can both go home. To life., she says over the roar of the rapids that raged beneath her. The ivory woman’s eyes widen, trained on the shape wandering out of the unknown.

    Claw?! My sweet sweet baby! Momma is here! I will help you!

    The mist beyond the river begins to drift away, revealing sand dunes, and her adopted first child, Clawfinger. The sound of a rushing river slowly begins to ebb away and begins to turn into the sound of crashing waves. Soft breezes catch perked ears, the lazy palms swaying in rhythm. The sweet song of her home being sung to her, as her son on the other side weeps. It was her home, Clawfinger was there, crying for her to come back to him. She had failed him, and she could not bear it any longer. She called out to him, her words filled with sadness.

    ”Momma is here my beautiful prince! Please don’t cry, I am here. I am here for you!” 

    Tears well up in her eyes as he continues to weep, he seems unable to hear her over the roar of the river’s ocean-like waves. Suddenly, her focus is broken by the sound of a snapping branch. As she spins, her eyes meet that of her executioner. The bloody queen and her shadowy army trail behind her as they slowly emerge from the penumbra of the forest. Whisteria’s sadness and anger begin to stir inside her, igniting something fierce from within her chest. They would not keep her from him again, she was not going to let them take him.

    Not again.

    A cry explodes forth from within the pits of her very soul, a threatening blast of emotion. The mighty war cry of a mother, it’s sheer power shakes the ground nether hoof. Volcanic rage and determination take over her, she can feel the power of her own warrior mother from within her. She turns away from her hunters, eyes on the prize now. She remembers the song her mother had sung to her as a child, an old warrior’s tale. As she seemingly glides forward, each footfall seeming to crack the very earth with tenacity. The most beautiful, ethereal voice booms forth from between pink lips, a song just for her baby. Every word is meshed with the sounds of her homeland, the waves turn to drums of war, palms whisper in harmony.

    Min Warb Naseu
    Wilr Made Thaim
    I Bormotha Hauni

    Hu War
    Hu War Opkam Har a Hit Lot

    Got Nafiskr Orf
    Auim Suimade
    Foki Afa Galande

    Hu War
    Hu War Opkam Har a Hit Lot”


    The world around her seems to flow with her war song. The river’s waves rock harder and harder, and as her tears flow forth, they feed the waves even more. The river starts to open up. With every verse, the waves part, and Whisteria’s hooves hit the wet sand beneath as the last of the water is sucked into the tall parted walls of the river. The water rages still, arching above her like an angel spreading it’s wings. The spray from the angry waves above shower over her, and the light from the oasis before her cast rainbows over her head like a halo. A vision worthy of legend. She knows she has to reach him. She must. She knows not how long her song would keep the very waves she commands from swallowing her. For it to send her back to her eternal snare. Not only that, but there is the pertinacious shadow legion of the bloody queen. Slipping into the tunnel of water after her, ready to snatch her by her ankles and rip her away with them to eternal damnation. They, and the waters surrounding her, could end her one and only chance to return to the mortal realm to be with her family. To seize her without mercy at any moment before she can reach the warm embrace of her beloved son. All she could do was continue to sing her tale, not lose hope, and not let her concentration waver. She accepts the risk, for a mother would go to the ends of any world, for her child.

    This was her judgment day.

    whisteria



    Song - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QRg_8NNPTD8
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    #9
    The hum of crashing waves brings him back to consciousness, a faint voice telling him to cross the river, to return to someone and return to life. The thought awakens him, his eyes wide open, quickly adjusting to the sharp light that greets him from the other side.
    Satan looks around himself, sensing a calm atmosphere on the side he is situated, walking forward toward the river as he looks across.

    Death had been a very peculiar experience so far, not only had he managed to get himself killed as soon as he had stepped on Beqanna, he was now involved in what seemed like a mass re-animation, though he couldn't complain, having the chance to cross back into the living wasn't something he was going to pass up very easily.

    He looks across the water, watching all the other horses as they try to cross, and as he looks he manages to spot his mother among the fray, she must have arrived to help him, or the opposite.

    "Mother," he says, though he does not try to elevate his tone above the sound of the water, he guesses that she can hear him anyway, it was the afterlife after all.

    "Are you here to help me?" he asks bluntly, though she does not reply, she only nods an steps forward slightly.
    "Very helpful" he exhales, stepping back to face the woodland behind them as he tries to figure out how to cross, capitulating on the thought of the afterlife and that maybe not all things worked the same way they did in the land of the living, though trying something 'out worldly' could be costly.

    The horse decides to gather long vines that stretch from the trees, thinking that he could use them as either a tightrope or something to hold his small body from floating away as he tries to cross.
    The process is not easy for a small horse though and so it takes him a few minutes to collect all the ropes of vine that he needs.

    Once he finds a vine long enough to cross the river, he returns to the shoreline and calls to his mother who has been standing there patiently the whole time "I'm going to throw you the other end, hold onto it" he instructs her as he walks a few meters upstream, hoping that the water will carry the vine farther than he can throw it.
    Satan throws the rope as best he can, managing to throw it far enough for the stream to carry it the rest of the way, allowing his mother to pick the other end up a few meters downstream.
    Next, he ties his end to a nearby tree, making sure to wrap it around the trunk a few times before returning to the shoreline "I'm going to cross now, hold it" he says, a tone of uncertainty in his voice as he steps onto the vine, it feels strong and he cannot feel it loosen, meaning that he could cross.

    As he begins to walk on the vine, he realises that perhaps his balance is subpar, leaving him toppling over into the water. Satan holds his breath as he falls, though when he rises from the water he realises that perhaps he has not failed yet, he leans his left side against the vine and starts to swim, hoping that the vine will be able to hold his small body from floating away.
    Satan
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    Character image by the amazing Ciel on https://www.deviantart.com/millionashes
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    #10
    Separation.

    Some horses around her are placed somewhere else; she is with some of them, with warriors and she, the accidental-savior, no, she corrects herself, always the savior by dying in his place; she is on one side, and old and ill horses are on the other side.

    A river separates her from… from what exactly, she isn’t sure. Another part of Afterlife? Is it heaven or hell? Certainly it is not this dull grey part, which is neither. Or perhaps… perhaps it is indeed similar, or the same. She isn’t sure any more what is what; what once was normal is abnormal here, and vice versa.

    It’s a rather odd situation. Odd must be dead, too. Why she thinks this? There’s this mare out here, claiming she can go out and bring another with her. But he is not here, so he must have died more peacefully than she.

    So basically, it’s up to Ozzie to pull him out and restart their cycle? It had never been that way before, but sure, why not. There were stranger things in life, and in death probably even more so.

    Speaking of strange things… how to get across to meet Odd at all? Provided he even is there… but somehow she thinks that the mare (the kind and good version), speaks the truth, even if she speaks in riddles. He is there. Their cycle had been broken, perhaps, no - probably - because Odd had died despite her trying to save him. Died of something silly too, by the looms of it. But she can make it right. Restart her endless dying.

    Restart her purpose, her endless saving of something that had always been good.

    The river before her looks dangerous; wild currents seemingly pull things under and apart. But look! A boat, and in it the strangest ferryman; a dead-but-not-dead horse in a boat.

    She knows the story. Give the man a coin, and he’ll ferry you to where you need to go in the Afterlife. It sounds like a good plan, but she has nothing to pay him with; she tries calling to him, perhaps she can owe him a favor, perhaps if they make it back to life, then they (Odd and she) can do something for him he never could himself - but the ferry passes her, the stud giving her nothing but an empty look. Eyeless, emotionless.

    Request denied.

    Frantically she searches this side of the shore for a coin, for something, and when that doesn’t give her the craved solution nor a coin, she watches with tear-filled eyes how the ferry moves everyone but her around - and then moves away to other parts of the river, parts where she cannot follow.

    And then her something good appears, the chestnut stallion she knows as Odd, for now. On the other side of the far too broad river, he appears. He calls to her. ”Ozzie! Look closer!” Like - no, she is sure that this is the case - he is not allowed to help her more.

    There is something off about it, indeed. Something strange about the ferry. At first she didn’t notice; no-one sees beyond their own expectations at first glance, and hardly anyone does at a second look. In her despair though… Ozzie looks. She sees. She understands.

    The ferry doesn’t float on the water surface, but above. That’s why the current and waves don’t grasp it.

    She sets a hoof on the surface to confirm her suspicion and finds a solid surface. This water won’t drown her. How could it? She’s already dead! Laughing, near-hysterically, the seal bay mare crosses the river rapidly.

    Water becomes land and land becomes water, because everything in the Afterlife is meshed together, and because she is a ghost. Ghosts walk through surfaces, why wouldn’t they walk on water?

    ”Odd!” she calls to him, happy to have solved the puzzle as far as she can tell. ”Run with me, you clever boy.” Odd is not his name, but he has many names all in one, and one isn’t better than the other. His face is pleased: a grin plastered on his mouth when she reaches him. ”You’re impossible, girl.” he shakes his head as he sets hoof on the not-river, and now, she thinks, now...

    Now is the moment of truth, to see if it works for her long enough, and to see it it works at all for him, too.
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