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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


    maybe redemption has stories to tell; any
    #1

    Warden is restless. He fidgets beneath the deep dark of a bruised Tephran sky; an afternoon storm brews along the coast, menacing and growling with its slow movement inland. Rain has yet to begin to fall from the thick clouds that stretch forever into the sky, thunder rumbling within its depths only moments after the electric blue of lightning flickers downwards towards the ocean’s open face. He watches as the waters darken and become rough with the turbulent wind, bending at will beneath the ferocity of the storm. The wind is warm on his feathers, moist and damp as it melts into the auburn and white of his skin, as if trying to soothe him despite the thunderous storm that slowly marches towards him. It had been days since he had felt like this (unsettled, anxious) and it shows on the deep frown of his face, the inky black of his forelock and mane twisting wildly around him in the wind. His proud horns - a deep blue much like the sea - stand firm as they sprout from his forehead, a precious opal growing from his very marrow.

    He knows what is next, for his mind and heart are as tumultuous as the sea and the sky.

    Between his eyes, the familiar burning sensation begins and the stallion responds by angrily pulling at the black sand beneath his blue opaled hooves. Arching his neck as the burning becomes more intense, he braces himself for whatever vision his third eye will force him to see.

    A child, wide-eyed and beautiful, stares up at him with the same blue eyes as his father. But there is sadness in those lovely eyes and great confusion. He attempts to reach out, to soothe and comfort the unrest that brews in the child’s gaze, but he becomes frozen as those crystalline blue irises begin to crack and shatter, tracing the foal’s entire body until lines criss and cross all over. Warden watches helplessly as pieces fall away, splintering before him until the rest of his vision begins to shatter too, and he is left with nothing but black.

    When the vision fades, rain falls in fat drops against him, hard and angry. Without hesitation, he spreads his great white wings from his side and beats them once, twice - disappearing into the epicenter of the summer tempest. The wild wind and water are unkind to him as he navigates the storm, so when the clouds begin to disperse and only a light drizzle pelts his coat, does he realize that he is flying high above the forest.

    With a gentle tip and twist of the large outer feathers of his wings, he begins his descent, dripping wet and soaking as he lands solidly with an ungraceful thud, mud splattering onto the darkness of his legs. He breathes heavily, gasping as he attempts to slow his racing heart, while he timidly fluffs the white wings into his sides, droplets of rainwater falling away from him and clinging to bark and leaves like dew.

    WARDEN

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    #2

    There is a storm in the distance, and she feels the thunder when it rumbles. She watches from beneath a tree on the outskirts of the forest, her bright eyes trained on the bruised sky. The storm lingers mostly above Tephra, and she will always find that fitting. She remembers being born there, close to the Taigan border. She remembers when the sky had been dark with ash and manifested shadows, and she had thought this is what the world was. She was born in the middle of a war and she grew up thinking things were meant to be burnt, that all things will catch fire eventually.

    Whatever innocence and naivety had been salvaged had been destroyed by the time she reached adulthood. Adventures no longer had the childish thrill to them; not when the adventures led to a blood-stained battle dome. Not where she learned things about herself she had rather left hidden.

    She turns her back on the storm when the rain begins to pelt the ground, angry and relentless. The shelter of the trees is not enough to ward off the rain here, and the water falls in near torrents through the limbs and the leaves, saturating her bi-colored skin and plastering her black mane against her neck. She continued into the dark of the forest, until the the rain was reduced to a mere sprinkle and drip-drops, water running in rivulets off the long tendrils of her mane and down her shoulder.

    It’s when she hears the sound of something — someone — landing not far from her that she nearly starts, swinging her antlered head in the direction of the noise.

    Curiosity gets the best of her, as it always does. She has decided that few things in this world are worse than having to kill a version of herself on the plains, and so she picks her way through the bramble and brush, not exactly making an effort to be silent. Whatever it was would either be another thing to fight, or it would be startled by the sound of twigs snapping and flee.

    She is only mildly surprised to come face to face with a winged stallion, the rain still dripping from him similar to the way it did from her. She looks at him with vibrantly pink eyes, and with a tip of her head and an almost crooked smile she says, “Do you always fly during storms, or were you just feeling especially reckless today?”

    Aislyn

    she set fire to all the things that held her back
    and from the ashes she stepped into who she always was



    @[Warden]
    Reply
    #3

    The unrest settles against him like a cloak, heavily falling across his shoulders as he flutters his wings one last time in an attempt to rid them of the water that clings to the feathers. His face is stoic and harsh, all sharp lines amidst his constant frown and distant, overthinking eyes. His premonition is still fresh in his mind despite his travels, the sound of shattering glass persisting in his ears. He’s come here for solace, to busy his mind with other things and not about what his vision could mean. He’s also come to avoid a certain rubied girl, for he is not sure how much longer he can outright lie to her. Warden stretches a single onyx foreleg forward, lowering his head to rub the metallic ocean blue of his horns against the inside absentmindedly, his spine shivering as the tickling sensation of dripping leftover water runs down his white and auburn barrel. 

    He is not alone for long, however, and with an audible grumbling sigh that he does nothing to hide, the overo stallion turns towards the sound of an approaching stranger, lifting his pale head to stare languidly into the damp darkness of the forest. He is met with white antlers (at least, that is what he notices first) and the bold splash of her chest, his oceanic gaze coming to settle on the vibrant purple-red of her eyes. Warden tosses his head to try and loosen the wet tendrils of his inky forelock from his ivory skin, but they stay in place despite the shake. 

    Her comment brings a chuckle from his chest, a staccato sound that while sincere, does not quite reach the deep navy of his eyes. “You almost sound concerned,” he murmurs with the smallest hint of a smile, his voice floating through the dripping sound of a drying forest. The stallion rolls his shoulders lightly as he feels the warmth of the sun begin to burn away the clouds and filter through the canopy, his ivory wings fidgeting beside him. “But yes,” he admits, “reckless would be a good word for it.”

    The horned stallion exhales heavily, his brows rising as he shifts his weight from one leg to the other. 

    “I’m Warden.”
     

    WARDEN




    @[Aislyn]
    Reply
    #4

    If she notices his flicker of displeasure at the sight of her, she either ignores it or simply doesn’t care. There wasn’t much that offended her. When she was younger, she had simply been too outgoing and friendly to be put off by the iciness of others. Despite being born into flames and chaos she had still harbored a youthful naivety, though reality had since ripped the remainder of that away. Now, slightly older and a little more jaded, she hears his irritated sigh and steps closer anyway. There is almost a dare glinting in her brightly colored eyes – wondering if he will just bluntly tell her to leave, and wondering if she would even listen. She’s never been a very good listener.

    Instead he laughs, and inwardly her guard relaxes even if her face remains impassive. “Don’t worry, I’m not,” she jests in that dry way of hers, though there is almost a warmth to the smile that graces her lips now. “I don’t know you well enough to be concerned.” The upward tilt of her mouth implies she is still teasing, though there is an inkling of truth to it. She is not sure when she became so detached and separated from everyone else, but learning – or at least pretending – to not care seemed safer.  She isn’t sure if she will ever be able to undo it.

    “Aislyn,” she tells him in response to his own introduction. She angles her antlered head — she no longer notices the foreign weight of them, and she hardly remembers what it felt like to be without them — to observe him a little more closely, noticing his own horns, though she does not comment on them. “Where were going that was so important?” Or what were you running from? she thinks, but does not ask. She knows what it means to run. She has been running for a long time now, and doubts she will ever stop.

    Aislyn

    she set fire to all the things that held her back
    and from the ashes she stepped into who she always was



    @[Warden]
    Reply
    #5

    Warden cannot help his dark demeanor. He, of course, would love to always be the gentle and kind stallion that he finds himself to be when the time is right, but with his knowledge of the future, it is hard to remain a beacon of light within the shadow and darkness of his own mind. He revels in the gentle moments when they come, breaking through his hardened facade to enjoy himself with a little bit of humor or a night flight; but it is fleeting. Even now, beneath the dampness of a passing storm and the promise of company, he wonders how long the feeling of ease will last. How long will it take before he has a vision of her - this Aislyn - and he would have to pretend he knows nothing of what could be her terrible future, or worse, her demise?

    The stallion rolls his shoulders, attempting to shake the foreboding sensation that trickles across his spine once again; an icy fingertip against the humid air around them. He wrinkles his nose, snorting softly at the tickle of rainwater that still idly drips down his face, his dark blue eyes coming to rest on hers. Where were you going that was so important? The laughter that once softened the edges of his expression only moments ago fades, that same hardness and stoicism appearing like a shadow across the bone-white of his face. “Does the wanderings of a stranger really make you so curious?” His question is light-hearted, an attempt to jest like they had been doing, but it does not reach his eyes and the sound of his voice fails to hide the deep-seated feeling of apprehension that curls like ice in the pit of his stomach.

    He swallows, pursing his lips, as he ruffles his ivory wings once again in an attempt to dry the downy feathers. Finding it hard not to share the truth with her, though hesitant in unloading all of the frightening parts of him to a stranger, he settles for a half-truth that might satisfy her and perhaps bring some peace to the tempestuous storm in his mind. “I wanted to be alone, if you must know.” His eyes narrow thoughtfully, the stark white of his skin wrinkling against the deep ocean of his blue irises. “It’s always been better that way.” It never stopped the present in meeting his foreseen future, but he felt as if the less he associated with others, the chances of seeing their death would drastically fall.

    He merely stares at her, his gaze unwavering in his confession. “But I’ve learned to be flexible.” There is a flicker of humor in the dark of his eyes with a twitch of his pale lips into a semblance of a smirk.

    WARDEN




    @[Aislyn]
    Reply
    #6

    "Not really," she answers his question, the words nearly a drawl in their feigned nonchalance. "But you're here, and I work with the material I am given." She would not admit that there is still a part of her that craves company. That trapped beneath the stone that was piling on top of itself, there was still the same vivacious, friendly girl that didn't know a stranger. That while she may pretend to not care one way or another if he was here or not, that young girl inside was praying that he wouldn't leave.

    When was the last time she had even spoken to anyone, she wonders? She had avoided Voracious, preferring to ignore the uncomfortable feelings he created.  It was impossible to look at him and not remember how she had earned her antlers by shedding his blood (an imitation of him, at least, but the viciousness with which she had committed the acts was not fabricated at all). She has not seen either of her parents lately, either, letting them play out their bizarre romance in privacy. She knows she has more siblings, countless halves from her father's side, a few from her mother, and one full brother that she almost regrets disappearing on.

    It was easy to separate herself from anyone that she might hurt, or that would have the ability to hurt her in return. It was easier to keep that idea of family as something intangible, to leave it in Hyaline and never re-visit it.

    It's why she understands that he wanted to be alone; when he says that it's better that way.

    "I could leave," she offers him, her bright pink eyes holding steady with his. She tilts her antlered head, produces another almost impish smile, and extends to him, "or I could tell you why I feel like I should be alone as well, and you can decide if I'm more terrible than you are."

    Aislyn

    she set fire to all the things that held her back
    and from the ashes she stepped into who she always was



    @[Warden]
    Reply
    #7

    resurrect the saint within the wretch

    Thunder rumbles in the distance as the storm continues to make its way past them; it does not bother itself with wondering what it has left behind in its wake, moving on and tumbling into its next location without a thought. The sound somehow reverberates within the damp earth, the storm’s breath still warm on the land. It is something that Warden feels in his bones - something ancient and unforgiving, much like the curse cast upon him. 

    His pale mouth twists into a smirk at her retort, tossing his head as if her bluntness had struck a nerve. “Are you sure you wouldn’t prefer better material?” Warden’s quip is warm with humor as his voice finds the damp, humid air of the forest, finding that though his intent had been to wander its dark and twisting paths alone, that at least he found company that was interesting. It seems that she, a lot like himself, was more often alone rather than not - and maybe that is the reason they both still remain in each other’s presence: misery loves company and despite his better judgement, he makes no attempts to take to the skies once again.

    Warden’s brows rise slightly at her offer, wondering if it is something that she truly wished. If she were to ask him, he’s not even sure he would allow her to leave. The stallion shifts his weight slightly, leaning back on his haunches as a curious look finds him, his ears tipping back slightly with inquisitivity. “Not everything has to be  a challenge, Aislyn.” He snorts here as a dark grin curls on his mouth, wrinkling his nose slightly. 

    There is a pause, thoughtful and pregnant, as his face darkens within the shadow of the forest.

    “You’re not worried you’ll lose?”
     

    Warden



    @[Aislyn]
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    #8

    She hated to admit that she has grown selfish in the last few years. It was not always apparent, considering she spent most of her time alone – it was easy to not think of anyone besides yourself when that was all you allowed yourself to have. But she could see it now, as it’s laid so plainly before her when she looks at this man that keeps hinting at wanting to be left alone, and she refuses to grant him such a thing.

    She is selfish, and she is lonely, and it is a toxic combination.

    “Well, beggars can’t be choosers,” she says with a laugh, and there is a moment where the hardness in her eyes softens. It made her miss being herself, if she could ever remember who that was, exactly. It makes her lower her head from the instinctively guarded stance she was often in, a smile still lingering on her dark lips when she adds, “Actually so far you’re pretty adequate company.”

    Some of the sharpness returns when he says not everything has to be a challenge. She wants to ask him what that must be like, to grow up without continually feeling like you needed to prove yourself, and she wonders why she grew up like that. It wasn’t as if her parents cared. Her mother loved Aislyn (and all of her children) regardless of anything. Her father at least acknowledged her existence, which was more than most of her half-siblings could claim. It was an internal pressure she had decided to put on herself, and she couldn’t seem to shed it. “Well, where’s the fun in that?” Is what she says instead, that same faint smile still curved on her lips.

    “I rarely lose anything,” she continues, a single ear flicking back at the thunder’s sound rumbling in the distance. “I can go first if you want me to.”

    Aislyn

    she set fire to all the things that held her back
    and from the ashes she stepped into who she always was



    @[Warden]
    Reply
    #9

    resurrect the saint within the wretch

    There is something in this playful banter; something that relaxes the overo stallion, as if the skin-deep conversation would never grow from there and that, despite becoming familiar with a stranger, that after this they would be on their separate ways and never speak again. That is his hope, of course. That is always his hope: that the ones he sees in his visions never coincide with the ones he comes in contact with, and vice versa. It is easier to keep it light and surface level, just in case he is swept off in the middle of their conversation to witness their destruction.

    It is also part of the reason why he stays. A life of solitude for the safety of others leaves him desperate for conversation, craving intimacy and freedom. It is all pretend, he knows, this conversation with Aislyn - it will not last, it never does, so he does not mind entertaining the dampened evening with frivolous things such as small talk.

    However, it seems that their ‘small talk’ has now slowly turned a corner, heading down a dark path that he wonders will be something Aislyn will want to tread upon once there. He had carefully been tiptoeing around the initial topic - why they, in fact, tend to be alone - and had been hoping she would either lose interest or even find him boring with all of his half-truths. It seems to have the opposite effect and there is a certain tension that shadows his face as she offers to go first, darkening the sparkling in his eyes with one blink.

    Warden’s ivory wings fidget uncomfortably as if attempting to settle the tautness that has come to rest across his posture. For a moment, he considers opening them in one fell swoop and taking to the skies and he wonders if she notices this - his indecision, his hesitation. Would it make her all the more curious about his life, or would she see it as an insult to her own? With a sharp snort, his pale mouth falls into a thinly pressed line, stomping a single hoof gently into the pine needle-clad undergrowth.

    “I’m nothing but a gentleman,” he begins with an attempt to grasp at the light-hearted banter that had been between them only but a moment ago, “so ladies first.”

    For the first time he idly thinks about what she has to share and if, perhaps, her reason would be more devastating than his. Black-tipped ears flick towards her gently, a look of genuine curiosity in the deep ocean blue of his eyes.

    Warden


    @[Aislyn]
    Reply
    #10

    She can see the way that he tenses and fidgets, and instead of backing off it makes her want to press further. She has gotten so good, it seems, at sabotaging friendships – potential, or already existing. She knows that she should soften herself, knows that if she stepped away from friction rather than pushing against it that maybe she would be more likable.

    Instead, she tilts her head at the way he adjusts his wings and presses his lips together, and for a moment she is quiet in what appears to be thought after he invites her to speak.

    “Well,” she says as she steps forward, continuing to ignore his unease and carrying on the conversation lightly. “I have always had a seemingly insatiable thirst for adventure. And for a long time it seemed like it always found me, even if I wasn’t looking for it.” She assumes that he knows the way of Beqanna, how sometimes the mountain and the magic reached out – sometimes inviting, sometimes demanding. “I didn’t really think anything of it when it called me again. It sent us to the plains – are you familiar with that place? – and we had to fight.”

    Beneath her splashed skin her muscles twitch and grow taut. Not even she herself can discern if it is from excitement at the memory – a longing for another batter– or anxiety bred with regret.

    “I fought my friend – my only friend – and even though I knew it wasn’t really him, even though I knew it was just some twisted illusion, I was surprised at how quickly I was willing to hurt him.” She remembers how attacking him had been instinctual, how she had gone for him before her mind even registered that it was not really Voracious. The feel of their antlers locking – her antlers, a gift from the plains – still echoes in her mind. “And then after him, I was paired against a version of myself.” A pause, as she thinks back on that strange, mirror-image of herself. The same oddly patterned coat, and vibrantly pink eyes. “And I killed her.”

    Her face is marred into a thoughtful frown, before her eyes level with his once more. “It’s a terrible thing to learn about yourself, that you will hurt just about anyone if the right situation arises.”

    A careless, empty smile lifts at the corner of her dark mouth, angling her antlered head upwards at him. “Your turn.”

    Aislyn

    she set fire to all the things that held her back
    and from the ashes she stepped into who she always was



    @[Warden]
    Reply




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