• Logout
  • 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

    and underneath the layers, I find myself asking what's left
    a hollowed out form, the skeleton of a ghost, the pitiful echo of what once was
    Rage burns within him, poisoning his every thought, his every move. Rocks tumble in his wake as he ascends the mountain peak, his talons merciless in their grip. Clutched to his sides are his immense wings, fluttering when a cool gale whistles past. Secluding himself provides the outlet and empty space as he revels in this powerful fury, a torrent of flames bursting from the depths of his throat to melt the summit’s snow. The roar that follows reverberates through him, penetrating into the rocks and unseating some from their roost. Another slam of his paw against the mountainside, an irritated flick of his tail, a furious snarl.

    Sochi is gone. Oceane knows. Alciner kidnapped.

    It isn’t such extreme circumstances, but his mind is clouded by primal instincts and by the anger to have been stolen from and disrespected. His possessions slip through his fingers, and there’s no controlling the fire that races through his veins.


    Amid the hurricane in his thoughts, her name arises from the depths, calling for him. His broad skull snakes out, his serpent-like neck arching away from the quartz and granite. Inhaling deeply, he notes the subtle tendril of her scent. It lovingly caresses him even with the air so thin. With it, however, is the unnerving sense of anxiety that spills Castile from the ledge.  

    A thunderous clap echoes as his wings unfurl and buffet the open space beneath him. Altering his route, he finds her in the open hills, his scoping eyes locating her quickly. There’s little to no hesitation in his descent, no meticulous or gentle landing. Alive with frustration and fueled by his primal instincts, Castile’s immense body forcefully alights. His talons gouge the rocky earth and pebbles skitter away frantically. It was a smooth landing, but not at all delicate as he has always practiced.

    Slowly, Castile loses grip of himself.

    Another trumpeting roar batters the air, vibrating nearby eardrums and unsettling nearby coyotes and fennec foxes. They flee from him. Never glancing back as they find shelter elsewhere. But Castile does not offer them his attention, his focus instead sharply trained on Oceane to observe her reaction.

    His scales gleam, pitch obsidian, and his spines that race down his back mirror deep crimson (so much like the blood he has spilt).

    His eyes, though. They are what give him away, still mismatched, and the singular defining feature until his body ripples into his typical piebald. The spines, now bronze, rock with his musculature as he lowers his head to her level, the gold banding over his face handsomely catching the sunlight. ”They’ll pay for taking him,” his voice is hardly more than a growl, a sound of rolling thunder in the distance, ”Our son…” Black smoke coils from his nostrils as his skull lifts to search the far horizon. ”That freak that Clarissa is with…” he bristles, remembering the eyeless boy, but Castile says nothing more, his muscles quivering by the force of his emotions.



    O C E A N E
    Hath in her veins,
    to beat and run,
    the glad indomitable sea,
    the strong white sun.

    Dark and foreboding, the summer sky above Loess promises a deluge of rain ─ and with it, almost certainly, teeth-chattering thunder and lightning. Oceane stands in the middle of it all, her golden eyes closed against the weight of the impending storm, and though she remains grounded she unfurls her wings to feel the errant gale play coyly through her feathers. Inside her, there is nothing ─

    Numb. Cold. Hollow. Forsaken.

    The Loessian Lady is a shell of who she had been the first time she stepped into the foothills; reminiscent of the woman she was on the day she had dragged herself from the confines of Nau-Aib, she is gaunt with skin stretched over the bones of her jaw and sunken eyes, the gleam of her opaline coat dismal at best. Weeks have come and gone without a sign of Alcinder. The canyon she had spent his first few weeks in no longer smells of the boy, and now she can't stand to be there.

    Not until he returns, or until she has found him.

    Lepis had offered her shoulder and her help, and the Cleric's recent absence from Loess tells Oceane that she has followed through with her offer, but even Oceane herself had searched the common lands for her son without result; she cannot forget the red-eyed stallion, though, who had been awash with the same scent that had been left behind after Alcinder's disappearance. He had been bold (too bold) to try to steal away Castile's right-hand, but then again, they had stolen away the King's son already, hadn't they?

    From here, she cannot hear the sound of rocks tumbling from the mountain peak beneath the weight of Castile's talons ─ the terrifying roar and the force of his wings snapping open, however, prompt her amber eyes to do the same and her cold gaze collides with the airborne wyvern. His massive obsidian body is stark against the solid grey of the heavy sky and Oceane's muscles tighten involuntarily as he amends his course to fly in her direction.

    She grows breathless as he nears, struck suddenly by the impossibility of his size and the forcefulness of his commanding aura. She almost gasps, her mouth drawn open in awe to display the first inkling of emotion she has felt since her precious boy had been stolen away, and spooks a few yards back as the dragon's claws crash ruthlessly against the earth. The ground quivers, scared, beneath her.

    He roars again, a mighty, trumpeting, soul-shaking sound and despite the way her body begs to react, with tight muscles and wide eyes, it's the first sound Oceane has heard that truly describes how she feels about Alcinder's absence. And so she revels in it and in the way it vibrates in her core, her turquoise head held high and her iridescent wings thrown open as she faces the extraordinary dragon.

    When finally his resounding roar fades to an echo and he has lowered his magnificent reptilian head to her, Oceane takes in Castile's familiar mismatched eyes and the way his scales ripple from obsidian to piebald. Even in the low light of the impending storm, his reptilian armor gleams as the gilded band appears across his large nose.

    His growling voice makes her hair stand on end.

    Our son. A shiver.

    Oceane watches the black smoke that curls from his flared nostrils, unsure what to say that he hasn't. Unsure how to express what she feels when only his dragon's roar can do that. At the mention of Clarissa, the pegasi's gaze flicks back to the mismatched eyes of the wyvern who looks beyond her and to the horizon. "You know who took him ─ who tried to take Lepis?" she asks, her eyes hardening.

    "Castile," she says forcefully, and waits until she has his mismatched reptilian gaze and full attention. When she does, when their eyes have connected, her own amber pair beg one thing ("I am no soldier," she had told him in the past) of the dragon before her:

    "You will kill them. Kill them and bring our son back."


    neamrel / thedayofshadow
    i must go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,
    and all i ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by

    ∙ minor powerplaying & injuries permitted ∙
    ∙ please tag in all responses ∙

    Users browsing this thread: 1 Guest(s)