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  • Beqanna


    Beyza -- Year 211


    "She kills him because no matter how far she has come from the bitter, angry young girl she had been, she is still Starsin, and if he wants to make her world burn, she will be certain that he burns with it." --Starsin, written by Colby

    looking like an angel but your savage love; skandar

    Aela had been ready to set the world on fire, again.

    It had looked so much fun the last time and she was still disappointed that she had missed out on the merriment of watching the North - her moors and her trees - turn to tinder. But there were would be other opportunities, she was sure. Straia, the Dominus of Pangea, had plans for her canyon country, and Aela, in turn, had been creating plans of her own (not that they go against the ones of her mentor; Aela's ideas simply involve the various ways that the other kingdoms and horses of Beqanna will learn of the great things still to come).

    She doesn't care much for the cold but Aela enjoys her freedom. The golden girl shadows Straia every chance she gets - gleans everything she can with glowing fervor - but the girl is still a child. She is still young and Aela thinks that if their world is to concede to what Fate intends, she needs a better understanding of the world outside of Taiga and Nerine, and even Pangea. So she ventures away from what she knows with casual indifference.

    What had transpired in Nerine - what had caught Aela's young mind - was the opportunity that could be found in the chaos. She isn't looking to cause chaos on this winter morning (at least not yet) and the nearly-palomino filly walks with that same self-assured stride that she always carries with her. Even if she doesn't know this place and she has drifted more towards the west than intended, Aela still strolls as though she has always known this tropical realm. That it knows her, expects her, and even welcomes her because Aela wills it. The striped filly rounds a corner and when the sound of a twig breaking reaches her fair ears, she abruptly stops. Aela knows she has nothing to fear but the interloper nearby does not.

    Summoning a rather spectacular memory, Aela sends one of the aliens that protect and patrol the Pangean borders. (She had been thrilled with them but the wild and wonderful things they are could be terrifying to those not accustomed to them). Aela intends to use that to her advantage; and just for a little fun, a second memory follows like a breaking wave of the clicking sounds they make like lovers in the dark as they search for their next meal.

    image credit to footybandit

    Skandar so I think this takes place somewhere near Tephra?
    [Image: 3f5E0A.png]
    you've got your roots
    and i've got the wind in my soul

    Where he had traveled through the forest so far, deep charred markings dig deep into the wet bark of the pines, the smell of smoke and sometimes, if the forest was silent enough, the zapping sound that accompanied the heat would vibrate through the air. It comes to him thoughtlessly (fueled by a rage that in his youthfulness he had not yet defined), the soft glow of red beginning in the deep violet of his eyes before it seems to break through his irises, racing forward at the speed of light and burning through anything he decided to glance at.

    At one point, he had been extremely close to annihilating a squirrel on accident, but the rodent had been too quick for him. The galaxy-strewn colt pauses in the snow thoughtfully, watching it escape up the tree in fright, before furrowing his brow and attempting again, only this time on purpose. The beam of red doesn’t quite make it, for a wave of something crashes over him, and it causes his focus to stutter and so the bright red in his eyes flickers and then dies, leaving the tree with a smoking black zig zag all the way up its trunk.

    In his mind (and in a memory that was not his own) a strangely armored horse appears to him - black and shining, feral beings that chitter and clack their sharp teeth, clicking and whistling to each other in such a way that Skandar could feel the shiver of fear trickle up his spine. Skandar grimaces, disliking the intrusion and immediately swinging his head left to right to find the culprit.

    Not before, however, he fashions himself like one of these beings - perhaps it was partly out of protection he glamors himself in such a way, but he strictly reminds himself it is to strike fear into whoever thought they could play a trick on him.

    Fashioning himself into such a creature is far more difficult when he doesn’t have it right before him to mimic - his skin ripples and peels back, fluttering like feathers across his body until he’s completely black, with the appearance of bone-like protrusions at his joints. The teeth were hard to get just right, as he hadn’t had a clear look at them, but once he felt as though his outfit was more than sufficient, he is quick to trot through the wintry forest - for his shape would not last long only based on a very real memory.

    He finds her easily (though he wonders if she had been baiting him purposely in the first place) as he casually strolls out of the copse of some bare trees. Skandar (the alien version, of course) blinks at her unexpectedly, tilting his now black head in a way that he feels is convincing - predator-like and calculating. He champs his teeth, feeling the sharpness of them snap together with satisfaction, and decided he rather liked this creature he had created. For that is what he is - a creator. A god. 

    Do their eyes burn as red as his, though?

    Perhaps that would be the one factor that would make her realize that he is a fraud; his deep violet eyes begin to glow and burn, a fire pulsing in his irises. His facade begins to wear away, shuffling and cracking across his body, before the soft sound of his skin fluttering against each other in broken pieces overcomes the soft hum of the threatening glow in his eyes. His skin finally settles and pieces back together in the radiant orange and violet swirls that adorn the dark indigo of his coat. He snorts sharply, his dark eyes hidden beneath the two-toned ombre of his mane.

    “Stay out of my head,” he warns, the red glow of his eyes intensifying and pulsing. “Unless you’d like to see what else I can do.” Skandar’s voice is a growl, but the tiniest twitch of his lip gives away his true intentions - as if begging her let him show her.



    Aela has gotten used to overwhelming others with her memories. When they don't outright terrify an unsuspecting horse, it usually leaves them confused and those moments give the gilded filly enough time to slip into the shadows or position herself downwind. Her (intended) targets never even see the girl who overpowered their minds.

    As Aela has gotten older, this gift has become more powerful and more direct.

    This target, though, is not like her others; he had been unexpected and maybe she had been careless in her projection. It wasn't as if she saw who she was sending the memory to. Aela had conjured the images of the aliens - creeping and prowling in the dark Pangean canyons - and thought it would be enough to send whatever was lurking in the other direction. It (because what else can she call what comes trotting towards her?) approaches and Aela stops, every muscle drawn taut with fascination. She has never been afraid of the wild creatures that call Pangea home and so she isn't of this pretender; he appears before like a gift.

    She had imagined the odd-looking, armored horses, and there one was!

    If Skandar considers himself a God because he is a Creator, Aela thinks she has divine approval. What else could his appearance signify? This had to be a sign from the Gods of their approval (and maybe a present from her Almighty father, Carnage?).

    Her blue eyes widen and Aela side-steps a pace from the creature. She is enchanted with the sight before her but it doesn't mean she is oblivious to the damage that it could do. It could-

    It could change?

    She cranes her head and then it jerks up as she watches the transformation. The glowing, red eyes dim. The body cracks and fractures (how odd!); the body before her rages before it decides on a shape. Not one of Pangea's aliens or her other wonders. A galaxy-marked... boy. She's disappointed and the frown emerges as the golden filly finally stills. Her flaxen tail twitches between her legs until the colt gives her an invitation. Aela's pale lips quirk in a reciprocated smile, like she and the other adolescent are both privy to the same secret. She turns his 'threat' into a game.

    The almost-palomino filly glows first around her ankles and her stripes, a brief warning to her new companion. But then it fades and a memory dawns: a colt in Nerine, buckskin with dark wings and golden iridescent dapples that radiate spectacularly in the sunlight. Aela even sends a separate projection of the young pegasus's scowl, just to see how well this one could replicate it.

    image credit to footybandit

    Skandar i want you to know i cackled so much writing this
    [Image: 3f5E0A.png]
    you've got your roots
    and i've got the wind in my soul

    Her disappointment is not lost on him. That same scowl that nearly always finds his indigo lips placates it now - wrinkled and bitter, unpretty on his handsome face. Rage burns something fierce within his soul, perhaps outwardly shown by the brilliant red that seems to always glow in the violet of his eyes. Though he tells himself that it is beneath him to want the approval of a mere stranger (a silly girl, at that!), Skandar cannot deny the fact that there is a incessant need to prove himself that drives many of his decisions. The beam of light that leaves his irises is nearly uncontrollable; it travels through the air with an unearthly sound, burning into the tree directly behind her as he purposely misses. His gaze fixates there for awhile, ensuring that the tree itself has splintered and blackened, before a swift inhale brings his eyes back to their natural, violet color.

    There is regret for the smallest amount of time on his face - not that he had displayed such a threatening display of his ability, but that he hadn’t the gall to pierce her in a single sweep of his gaze. All it would take is a mere look - a glance - and her head would separate from her neck as easily as a hot knife through butter. Skandar isn’t necessarily looking forward to the mess that would come after. It would be only so that the disappointed frown would disappear from her face forever.

    She, however, then matches his intensity with her own mischievous grin. It does nothing to soothe the furrow of his brow or the fact that his ears have long since disappeared into his neck, but the thought of sending his lasers through her is not as poignant; calmed, in a way. She glows briefly and it is in such a way that Skandar wonders if the light she wields is anything like his own - but that is as far as his mind can get, for soon after, she sends a vision of something to him again.

    Skandar snorts sharply, his mouth rippling into a snarl. 

    Though he does not adorn the dapples nor the buckskin color, the skin just behind his withers flicker and flutter, sprouting those dark wings she had envisioned. They fall out of his sides almost like water, splaying outward and to the ground once before Skandar pulls them up in one graceful sweep.  The galaxy-studded colt uses the wings (for he won’t maintain them long, for he is only using a memory of a memory to conjure them) to bring himself face to face with her in one fierce swipe, landing solidly before her in a huff of hot breath and dust.

    The moment his violet hooves make contact with the ground again, he ripples and his skin peels away to mimic whoever had been in her memory. “I am not a dog for you to command, girl,” he spits at her, snaking his head forward to snap at the bridge of her blazed nose. He calls her a girl because she is one, but in a way that makes him seem less of a boy. He brings his chin to his now-dappled chest with a scoff. “Do you lack imagination?”

    Slowly, his skin begins to ripple once again, his dark legs the first part of him to slowly become the shadow that hides in the shade of the trees that surround them.


    idk what this is but it was fun to write

    His eyes brighten - to a glorious, furious red - while her blue ones darken with interest. She had thought him merely a boy; something to scare away with her memories, something to dismiss with a shrug of her slender shoulders. Aela makes a point to slide away from the pointed stare he gives her, and then the tree, not dismissing the way that his eyes blaze with rage.

    It's thrilling and she can't help herself.

    Aela has always leaned towards the unpredictable and it props up now in a smile she gives Skander as he incinerates the tree behind her. She glances behind her - admiring his handiwork - before arching a brow as she turns her blazed head towards him. The colt snarls at her and she looks down to his mouth, briefly disappointed that he doesn't grow sharp teeth (or even better, rows upon rows of them).

    All she has to do is recall all the 'monsters' (and that boy in Nerine is certainly a monstrosity) she has ever seen and the galaxy-marked boy transforms himself. The air around them is electric; shocked with the shapes that the shifter can take, charged with the memories that Aela could provide. Alone, they are separate entities. Both destined for great things, she knows (and decides then for Skandar). But together?

    Together has more potential than anything either of them could devise on their own.

    The colt attains those dark wings that she had been imagining and as he swings himself around, the golden-striped girl forcefully leaves an echo of herself behind, just in case that swipe had been intentioned for more than just turning himself around (though Aela thinks there might a little more brain than brawn in this one, at least compared to others; she thinks he might even understand what she sees).

    He snaps at her, reaching for the bridge of her nose and Aela gracefully draws back her head. The constellation child claims that is he is not hers to command and the striped filly eyes him carefully. He gets no special treatment in her reaction towards him. Those who cross wills with Aela will come to learn this lesson and submit to it: they are all hers to command.

    She'll let him choose which he wants to learn first. She remembers the iron taste of rage and the feathers that she had torn from Wherewolf when they brawled over the moorlands. She recalls the icy chill of fear creeping along her spine as she unthawed Kensley's frozen heart. She projects the might of Pangea as Magicians tear apart the rocky earth in Nerine and Straia had rechristened the North with her rain.

    Skandar ripples with shadows - and Aela wonders if he is trying to imagine through the murk of her mind - so she flashes more images at him: the proud cliffs of Nerine, the impossibly tall trees of Taiga, the howling caverns of Panga. The flutter of butterfly wings and the frantic beats of deer fleeing the open. She gives him so many memories - creatures mythical and magical, places he has never been, faces he won't know, moments that aren't his. Aela forces them out quickly, never relenting until even her mind (and slim sides) starts to ache with all the infinities that she has pushed out between them.

    The blonde girl is smiling smugly when she is done.

    It would be a lesson she hoped to repeat only once; Aela lacked nothing.

    image credit to footybandit

    let me know if i should change anything but i am having so much fun with them
    [Image: 3f5E0A.png]
    you've got your roots
    and i've got the wind in my soul

    This nameless girl rises to his challenge without hesitation; she adorns that playful, mischievous smile and he is met with more than he had anticipated. Call it pride in the way he had assumed that his body could handle the weight of her memories (imagination?) as they turn in his mind, frantic and constant, without end. As parts of him had begun to trickle out into nothingness, slipping into the darkness that draws ever bolder with the setting of the bold-faced sun, the spasms begin to filter through him uncontrollably.

    Flashes of her memories come to life on his skin - rippling and peeling, unearthly and terrible. Pieces of him become rock and crumble to the forest floor, cracking devastatingly before they fall. Parts of his galaxy-studded face shatter into the burning color of Taiga’s leaves, blowing forcefully by the parts of his mane that have become the mournful howl of Pangea’s cavernous winds. Even the pattern of a butterfly’s wing fissures onto his skin and just when it seems as though his body could take no more, the whirlwind comes to a stop.

    Skandar’s skin begins to settle now that his mind could focus on one thing instead of multitudes.

    He had thought himself without weakness, seeing that his ability granted him any shape he could lay his eyes on. However, as his violet and orange sides heave and his burning gaze finally locks to hers, he realizes that he may be more mortal than he had previously thought. He snorts sharply, his head lowered between his knees as he gruesomely stares up at her from beneath his indigo forelock, his skin still ripping and peeling as it tries to set itself right.

    “My mistake,” he spits, still breathless, though now there is something more like admiration in the burning of his irises instead of the rage that had once been.

    The possibilities - the ones that she had already been thinking of - now placate his mind delicately and beautifully. Skandar slowly raises his head, his beautiful skin now finally his again. Even she is out of breath in her attack on him, but she brandishes that never-ending smile that he finally allows to twitch one side of his lips into a smirk. “I’m much stronger when the memories are my own.” He mentions to her slyly, tilting his head thoughtfully.

    “Where shall we go first?”



    Skandar accepts her challenge and changes splendidly before her blue eyes. Aela watches each transformation with something that looks like admiration (though she doesn't dare let it linger too long; she doesn't need another ego to contend with). He makes sweeping changes - something made of stardust to something as simple as Taiga leaves and butterfly wings. There is so much potential here that Aela is almost humming with it and for once, she wishes that speaking did come naturally for her.

    Oh, the things she could be imagining him to replicate!

    They look eyes and she smiles at him proudly. Good, she thinks. The lesson has been learned.

    She eyes him when he lifts his head, her golden ears pricking forward. Part of her wonders if he will take another shape. She wonders if Skandar will boast something else. There are no memories projected at him and Aela is careful to keep her emotions associated with him locked away; while she considers herself competent with her gift, she doesn't want to waste her reserve.

    (Just in case.)

    He smiles in response to her own and Aela takes a deft step towards the East. Her slim body angles away from his but she stops when he says that the shapes he assumes are stronger when they are his. For a moment, something bristles under his skin. Does he think his ability to create is greater than hers? If she weren't so drained from their previous interaction, she'd remind him. But her mind is full of trickling streams and the gentle sway of branches overhead.

    There is nothing to terrify Skandar; nothing to remind him of his place.

    It's a minor irritation, something her flaxen tail flicks away like the flies that dare to bite at her golden skin. She has already shown him dragons and Magicians and a battle. Aela will take him back to Pangea but she decides to test this new find of hers. Turning her head to look back at the star-speckled colt, her brow raises with a silent query (first, she pauses. First, she stills to remind him that she is the one leading him): what are your memories?

    image credit to footybandit
    [Image: 3f5E0A.png]
    you've got your roots
    and i've got the wind in my soul

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