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  • Beqanna

    version 22: awakening


    LILLIANA -- Year 206


    "There is still something of himself - something of the Wolfbane who would always love her - that rallies against the slime. It says, 'lie in the bed you’ve made'. So he gathers the covers and tucks himself in." -- Wolfbane, written by Calcifer

    [open quest]  then why'd it feel so good?
    There is something so inherently satisfying about the crunching of bones between his teeth.  

    The little fox sits on a fallen log after his meal is finished, daintily rubbing his muzzle with his paws, scrubbing away some of the blood that has coated it.  There isn’t much – he’d made short work of the doomed mouse that had strayed too far from its nest.  With a belly full of rodent, the fox settles in for a quick nap.  His puffy rust and white tail curls around his body and the tip of it lays softly over his nose for warmth.  Hunting takes skill and prowess, but it also takes a lot of energy.  The fox has learned to bolster his energy reserves whenever he can, as often as he can.  It is a lesson he’s carried with him all his time as a fox.

    It is a lesson he will remember when he is no longer a fox.


    The winter moon is absent in the inky, cloudless sky.  It is cold, bitterly so, despite the earliness of the season, but the fox hardly notices.  His thick coat has kept him snug and warm on his wooden perch.  He stretches and yawns and blinks against the dark.  There is a familiar scratching noise somewhere off in the forest, a sound his little canine body cannot ignore.  He tilts his head to pinpoint its location. 
    Another mouse!

    And he’s off.

    Darting through the undergrowth, the flash of red and white covers ground quickly.  He knows instinctually where to put his paws, where to duck, where to weave.  The mouse will be no match for him.  He’s fresh and rested and ready.  He is the ultimate predator for the humble mouse.  He anticipates the satisfying crunch already, there’s just one obstacle left. 

    The thin log stretches over a semi-frozen creek.  Just on the other side, the fox hears the rodent’s endless scratching.  He bounds onto the thick branch, the epitome of confidence.  The animal has crossed many streams under far trickier conditions to be too concerned for the easy crossing here and now.  His tail even arcs over his back boldly. 

    But then there is a crack.

    The fox falls, but even as he is anticipating the cold of the water rushing up to meet him, he feels a sharp cut across his back instead. 
     The splash into the frigid stream never happens, in fact.  In the blink of an eye, the once-fox now-horse appears on a desolate plain.
    Cor surveys the place he has fallen with a keen and eager eye.  Even though it is night, there is a creeping feeling about this place that it should rattle his bones, send his heart to beating faster.  It is almost like an inherent darkness that pulses underneath him, that has sewn the very soil with its flesh.  The young stallion has no reference to Death.  Perhaps if he did, the word would fall from his tongue as he named this place.

    As it is, he is left to shiver with excitement.  His parents have told him how horses would be whisked away on occasion, how they would be brought along on grand adventures that were never for the faint of heart.  Cor thinks he’s either dreaming or he’s about to be thrust into something thrilling.  But he also feels a deep ache just under his skin.  His own skin menagerie is glaringly absent, all the animals (along with the vitality that keeps him from aging) are gone from him.  He can no longer call upon the sparrow, the dolphin, the fox.  He is alone, truly, for the first time in his life.

    Ahead of the red and orange stallion rise two large stones.  He goes to them because there is nothing else on this hallowed ground.  One is jet black and carved with horns, some of which he’s worn while borrowing the shape of another animal.  The other is green and similarly adorned with wings of seemingly every type.  He is drawn to both of them (how could he not be, when he’s shared the skin of so many creatures?) but it is clear there is a choice to be made. 

    Without a second thought, Cor reaches his muzzle towards the black monolith.  He has always primarily been a creature of the earth, even if he takes to the sky with bird’s wings on occasion (and enjoys each and every reckless flight).  The earth is grounding, steadying, in a way the air will never be.  When his nose connects, he feels a tingling start at the base of his skull and the sensation grows outwards.  Blackbuck horns erupt from his head at a rate he is used to but not by his own volition.  The weight is familiar in this strange place as he looks about him again, wondering what story he has fallen into.

    ooc: Cor is not yet tied to any land or kingdom.
    peregrine jude
    i glow pink in the night in my room

    Does it make sense that one so stubborn has come so easily when called?

    Jude awakens from her magic-induced nightmare with a start, knowing exactly what is being asked of her—how she HAS to do it. When she blinks away the sleep she finds herself beneath the cool moon of a plain; and instead of rearing her fighter’s head against the magic, she simply stretches her long legs beneath her and spins to study what is around her.

    So, does it make sense? That she twirls and finds the monoliths and shrugs her shoulders. That this nonconsensual transportation goes unquestioned. This line of thinking gives the pegasus pause, her lavender eyes blinking skeptically up at the stones she has slowly approached.

    Jude’s thirst for life keeps her calm even as the monolith’s speak to her. Choose. Choose between the horns and the wings. The pegasus shuffles uncomfortably and tries to tighten her wings to her back, only to find there is nothing on her back.

    She feels light. Light like the feathers she is missing.

    That dark stubborn nature returns.

    “What the fuck?” Jude sputters, now feeling adrenaline surge through her veins.

    The very things that had taken her from the home she was drowning in, the pieces of her that kept her lithe and quick, are gone.

    Of course, Jude feels as if she needs to pick the wings. She is missing what she carried her entire life, afterall. The weightlessness of her back feels raw and wrong. But—that need to taste the wildest flavors of life drives her away from the intricate green of the wings and before she knows it! She presses her forehead against the cold black stone and traces her lips over the antler carvings.

    The flesh and bone between Jude’s ears begins to twitch and writhe. Her knees buckle beneath the pain; and when her legs land painfully on the hard ground, she tucks her head between them and screams.

    Two bloodied, ivory, and young antlers spring from her skull. Flesh dangles from the points as they twist and grow and turn into an impressive stag’s set. Jude gasps and drags herself to a standing position, both front legs splayed awkwardly out in front of her. Her chest heaves as blood drips down her forehead and cheeks.

    Blinking a fog from her eyes, Jude swallows the pain and, once again, spins to scan her surroundings. The two impressive antlers feel heavy but not so terribly heavy that she cannot force herself to keep balance.

    Nothing—she is left with nothing but herself and her already bloodied antlers.

    i've been blossoming alone over you

    jude loses her wings and gains whitetail deer antlers. the antlers look like this. she is moving to nerine, i just havent made it IC yet.[url=https://www.pinterest.com/pin/659144095435671610/?lp=true][/url]
    She is alone.

    A her breath is clotted into frosty manifestations in front of her. In and out. In and out. Steady. The air here is different and it buzzes with static. She moves slowly, navigating, picking her way over broken rocks. She knows this place...it is covered in the silvery-white sheen from a pregnant moon. She is a vagabond, a drifter. Beqanna enjoys toying with it's residents so for her to wake here is not a shock to her tremulous life...in fact she welcomed change into her harmless existence. She could be more than a meek and mild face...

    Ahead are two softly vibrating monoliths. A black stand aside a green and they attract her like a moth to the flame...small steps tenderly pulling the mare closer...her bright green eyes unable to pull away. The air is growing into winds that usher and whisper her to come closer. She can taste the copper tang of blood in it's depths and it is frightening but she is powerless.

    The structures are etched in recognizable markings. Various onyx is adorned with many, many types of horns whilst the other is covered in wings...she gravitates towards the black with wide eyes so trusting as she soon presses her lips to the stone...

    A sweet pain rings her head wildly, setting her teeth to a grit as the bay mare moans in pain. A jut of bone tears through her skull...elk antlers spouting where there had never been any before! She stumbles drunkenly to the side, weakness seizing her joints. What was happening? The weight of her new crown drives her head downward as she fights to remain stable. Blood is in the air and it is maddening. With this new set of antlers...in the Plains...was there to be a test? Elk shivers in the wake of this new thought.

    Straight to the point.  >.< Elk got (shocker here) elk antlers! She has no tie to any lands.
    She finds herself tucked within a dark stone indent at the base of the rocky slopes that bordee the edge of the meadow. Swallowed in a cloud of her own loneliness. Hurting so many, manipulating her children for her own gain, even murdering children, this was her fate. To be alone. She reaches her scarred black muzzle to her stomach, of which is to soon be bulging with her second child from Atrox. That bitch child of hers, Naga's sibling to be. Hopefully to be a better daughter than that damned treacherous child was. She feels her anger boil within her, black eyes gleam once more before she allows sleep to close them.

    Her slumber is rough. She twists and turns, her body aches and burns. The familiar tang of blood floods her tongue and she feels as if something cut her deep. She awakens with a fury, she heaves her slender body up from the ground, but when her eyes finally focus, she is not where she had laid her head. But she knows this place. The plains, the vast battleground shrouded in dark clouds, red tinged dead grasses are still. She could almost hear the pained risidual echoes from the battles held here long ago. She herself had never been a part of the wars here, as she was never tied to any of the lands. Preferring to stay unbound by law or under rule. She was her own leader.

    Her thoughts are then thrown back to what was maybe reality? Before the sleek crone, stands two mammoth pillars of stone. One black as night, the other a deep shade of jade. Both engraved with differing marks. The jade with visions of wings, the black with horns. She looks between the two, and her eyes finally settle on the black stone, particularly to a carving of a particular pair of horns. Her mind shifts to her childhood and two of her most primal instincts. Fight or flight. She remembers the day...her mother with her great spiraling crown of horns atop her head, attempting to protect a young Shadowmere from the snapping, snarling jaws of a pack of hungry hellbeasts. But as much as her mother fought, she was outnumbered, only skewering a few upon her sharp horns. A final scream, and her mother collapsed onto her small, frail body. Causing one of her horns to catch Shadowere's face and knocking her head into a sharp rock, cutting deep into her lip. As her mother gasped her last dying breath, she heard these words.

    "..everything will be ok baby, for you are powerful..."

    Shadowmere's body quakes, a mixture of her old fear and new anger and thirst for power. The power her mother told her she had within her. Shadowmere was plain, no special traits made her stand out, no fancy mind control, or ability to fly, or the power to change the weather. Nothing. She bore traited children to use as a way to exploit them, use them to gain power for herself. But it never worked as she planned, for her children all left her. Now she had a choice.

    The black crone, with her sleek maneless neck and chest held high, and her long tail trailing behind her like a thick white mass of spiders silk, moved forward with pride and a thirst for power toward the black pillar. She presses her lips to the cold obsidian monolith, and feels something spark within her. Her mind focused on her once great mother. She screams in pain, yet a distorted smile spreads across her scarred lips as shining onyx spikes split through her skin and spiral out from the atop her brow. Soon, her head is heavy with massive black Kudu horns. She can see them reflected back in the stone before her and a sinister cackle leaves her velveteen lips. With great power comes great responsibility, and she wonders what the cost for this gift she has been bestowed will be. Whatever it is, she is willing to meet it head on, without mercy.


    Ooc: Short and sweet! Shadowmere chooses a large spiraling pair of black Kudu horns. She has no tie to a land.
    Here it comes with no warning; capsize, i'm first in the water
    Her dreams are filled with a great deal of many things. Lucrezia dreams of memories that have long been forgotten, a world that has become part of fairytales now, and fantasies she once enticed as a young filly. Rarely does she ever dream of the darkness and shadows that haunted her for what felt like a lifetime. The memory of her death—the cracking of bones, tearing of muscles, the taste of blood, and the screaming—and the agony it had brought her repeatedly.

    Tonight, her dreams drift to happier memories. To a long-forgotten world of golden grains and gilded dunes that go on continuously into the horizon meeting the bright and eternal blue sky. The sun is warm and kind to her (unlike the sun that burned and scarred her when she had helped Anatomy and Craft).

    She stands on top of one of the many glided sand hills. It feels like she is on the tallest one in the golden kingdom. From up here Lucrezia can see everything. She can see the beautiful oasis and the sparkling sapphire pool that many of her family and friends gather around. There is an evident of deep sense of serenity she can feel from them. It instantly feels her heart with warmth, a feeling of deep emotional warmth she has not felt in many years. Her heart feels full for the first time, and surprisingly she does not doubt the reality of it like she has so many times before.

    Everything was right.

    This is where she belongs.

    Her warm and soft nutmeg eyes move away from the oasis towards where the golden dunes and blue sky meet, fading into an eternal gradient of splendor. She closes her eyes for a moment, feeling the warm sun on her back and letting everything settle in. There was nothing more she could ask for than this. It was perfect…

    The sound of creaking bones gently whispers in her ear. Her ears flicker at the mild soft sound, but suddenly the tang of blood fills her mouth. Her gaze opens wide, horror filling her once warm and soft nutmeg eyes. Then she feels the ache of a bruise and then it is gone.

    All of it is gone within seconds.

    Then it comes again. It’s sharper and she shakes her head to try and rid herself of it all. But Lucrezia cannot dismiss the pain of a cut that opens across her tender champagne colored skin.

    She blinks frantically. Her heart is instantly in her heart. It pounds feverishly against her esophagus, and she finds herself heaving for air.

    In a state of high panic, Lucrezia glances around, watching as her dream of serenity breaks instantly. The golden dunes fade quickly as a plague of red clay engulfs everything in sight. The blue eternal sky shatters into a dark and dreary cascade of clouds. Her eyes turn back towards the oasis, where her family and friends are, but they are not there, not where they are supposed to be.

    She is alone again.

    Lucrezia takes a step forward again, feeling the wind pick up and howling with madness. Instinctively, she pulls her wings closer to comfort her and give her warmth, but they are not there. She gasps with surprise, feeling naked and useless without them once more.
    Her wings had been everything to her. The first set had been a gift for her loyalty and hard work in the Deserts. They have given her a sense of purpose, a sense of belonging that neither her family had ever provided to her after she was sent away. The new world had taken them away, and now every bit of her was being stripped away.

    It’s just a bad dream, she tells herself, Just another nightmare.

    It would all be over again. Lucrezia would wake up any moment and forget it all. It was only a bad dream after all.

    Closing her eyes, she gives her head a hard shake, tossing away the thoughts and any possible way to wake herself up. But still she hears the howling wind around her. Lucrezia sighs heavily, and opens her eyes to see the red dirt, but within a short distance are two monolith pillars of stone, black and jade coloring.

    Without hesitant, she finds herself drawn to them, moving across the uneven and rocky red ground carefully. Lucrezia is instantly captivated by the deep jade green pillar. The markings of wings, with every imaginable type of wing possible engraved, calls to her.

    Stopping close to the jade green pillar, Lucrezia examines it for a moment from top to bottom. She imagines wearing every type of the wings that she sees, but when she finds the pair that is adorns most her eyes light up with joy. Drawing close, intuitively, she pushes her soft-creamed closed muzzle onto the pillar with winged markings.

    A tingling sensation is felt on the back of her, but she does not question it, doesn’t consider it at all when she feels the familiarity of wings on her back. She turns to the right, pulling her right wing forward to examine it. The familiar feathering of peafowl autumn colored feathers was tightly knitted together. She smiled without thought, a content soft smile on her cream-colored lips.

    She did not lose them after all!
    ...too close to the bottom.

    Lucrezia is loyal to Ischia and chooses her normal peafowl wings.
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