"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
05-15-2021, 12:41 PM (This post was last modified: 05-15-2021, 12:42 PM by Tarian.)
Tarian had been surprised to find that Ashhal was still in Loess.
The two didn't band together - the Loessian who thought he no longer belonged anywhere - but the gray pegasus did spend enough time with the other to be aware of his comings and goings. Loess had enjoyed a spurt of activity - something that he credits to Lady Oceane - and somehow @[Ashhal] had managed to avoid most of them.
Solitude could be a marvelous skill for those who could master it.
With winter finally easing into spring, Tarian had started to gravitate towards the coastline again. There had been an inlet there that he preferred to the rolly hills and caves (not that there was anything wrong with them - but something about the beaches of Loess had put the Champion in mind of the cove where his uncle had practiced so many rituals and spoke of so many mythical things: of futures and pasts, of secrets that could only be divined from starlight) and the winged stallion was eager for the sprawling space of sea and sky when the warmer finally did arrive.
For now, though, Tarian could only bide his time until it came.
After finishing his rounds for the day, the gray had ventured towards where he might find Ashhal. The brute might be there, he might not. Today could be a day where his solitary streak remained intact (though Tarian has always been good at ruining things that brought others joy). And as if that thought rung true, the Champion caught a flash of steely gray between the somewhat shady saguaros. Probably taking a nap, he thinks. "No need to hide your pretty face," calls out the pegasus to Ashhal, "It's just me."
I tried to sell my soul last night Funny, he wouldn't even take a bite
As surprised as Tarian may be to find Ashhal still in Loess, Ashhal is far more so. It has been a very long time since Ashhal had bothered to stay anywhere that wasn’t meadow, forest, or river. But after coming to the conclusion that he could be a piss-poor excuse for an equine just as well here as anywhere, he had found it rather easy to make himself comfortable. At least, so long as they didn’t expect him to be any fucking use to them beyond kicking a few asses here and there.
In so many ways it’s easier because it is nothing like the Valley. There is nothing here to remind him of a time when he’d been something more than a useless lump. And nothing to remind him of a certain white mare who’d cracked open his soul and left the rot of it exposed for all the world to see. At least, so long as he avoided the shoreline and the caves.
Which he had been able to do, quite spectacularly. But then, he’s had a great deal of practice at avoiding shit he didn’t want to deal with. And horses he didn’t want to deal with.
Now however, it seemed the jig was up.
Tarian is entirely correct in his assumption of Ashhal’s current activities. With the sun returned, one of the very few activities he enjoyed had returned along with it: napping in the sun. In fact, Tarian had found him sprawled flat out in a small, secluded space boxed in by rocky structures, saguaros, and joshua trees. He had meticulously cleared the area of rib-biting stones, prickly pear, and brittlebush ages ago, leaving only sand and a few inoffensive succulents for him to sprawl on.
He isn’t asleep when Tarian calls out to him, but for a long moment, he considers pretending to be. Still, of all the equines that exist here, Tarian is not among his least favorite. A dubiously auspicious list consisting of approximately three horses (spoiler alert: the least favorite list contains everyone else).
Though he doesn’t open his eyes, he does slowly stretch his wings, groaning as he does so. Only after he’s stretched for an almost uncomfortable amount of time does he grunt a familiar reply to the other stallion, though the tone is far friendlier than it had been last time he used it. “Fuck off.”
05-22-2021, 05:35 PM (This post was last modified: 05-22-2021, 05:37 PM by Tarian.)
They are alike in that way.
There isn't much of Loess to remind Tarian of Paraiso and he finds that he doesn't mind. There is nothing (apart from the coast) to remind him of the starlit cove that his Uncle tried to teach him how to divine pasts and presents and futures from the stars. Nothing of the empty fields where had spent countless hours drilling and training for fights that weren't his own (but the payouts were enough to buy his loyalty for whatever cause). Loess reminded him of no other place that he had lived before and despite the upheavals he has encountered her, it has made him more inclined to like this land that is carved with canyons and raises its praise for the heavens with its Redrock spires.
If he has to stay anywhere, why not Loess?
Over the years, it has come to suit him just fine.
So as he gazes down at the other gray stallion, he wonders if @[Ashhal] has come to the same conclusion. He looks comfortable enough, Tarian thinks, sprawled out on the sandstone like some sun-bathing nereid. It almost makes him regret waking the other pegasus up from his nap. His blue eyes trace over the widening span of his wings and the other horse doesn't mind staying silent. The sun is rather spectacular in this spot, and the napping brute has done a rather fine job of clearing this space out. Flicking his white tail rather idly, Tarian lifts his head to peer down at Ashhal.
"My apologies for disturbing you," the silver pegasus states dryly. Those court manners peaking out again. "I wasn't aware that you kept such a busy schedule." There is a pointed silence before Tarian asks, "Your shoulder?" Probably healed by now, but then, he always had made sure those in his company were taken care of. It's no different with Ashhal, he thinks. But as he looks down at the stallion again, there is a twitch of a smile that normally isn't there.
I tried to sell my soul last night Funny, he wouldn't even take a bite
If pressed, Ashhal would have to grudgingly admit that Tarian had made it to his Not Least Favorite list because he wasn’t an idiot, didn’t chatter like an idiot, and largely left him to his own devices. Of course, he would have to be extremely pressed before he admitted to any such thing. And right now, with the sun beating down on them and the other pegasus standing quietly to the side, he’s not feeling pressed at all.
At least until he does start chattering (though maybe chattering is a strong word for it).
Scowl twisting across his features, Ashhal pops his eye open to glare, only to have to squint against the sun. A fact that serves to deepen the scowl. So instead he snorts his derision at Tarian’s apology. He knows damned well the other stallion is not sorry.
With a grunt, Ashhal shifts until he is able to push himself into a sternal position. This is done for the sole purpose of allowing Ashhal to fix his dark eyes on the interloper and glare much more effectively. He might not be an expert at friendly banter, but he recognizes sarcasm when he hears it.
When the silence that follows is broken by Tarian’s brusque question, Ashhal grunts again. Twitching the skin along his back, he settles his wings more comfortably before clipping out an equally gruff “Fine.” Whether it’s fine or not is irrelevant of course. It could be putrid with infection and he’d still say it’s fine. Which would be the truth as far as he was concerned. Even if it killed him, he wouldn’t fucking stay dead. Gods, wouldn’t that be the day.
Rather abruptly, Ashhal shifts, wings flaring as he heaves himself to his feet. If he ‘accidentally’ clipped the other pegasus, well, he shouldn’t have been standing that damned close, should he? A brief, rough shake releases a cloud of dust before he finally settles his wings against his side once more. Facing the other stallion with a hard stare, he finally asks, “What the hell do you actually want?”
No use beating around the bush. He doesn’t have the patience for it anyway.
05-30-2021, 03:11 PM (This post was last modified: 05-30-2021, 03:13 PM by Tarian.)
Tarian would never admit to having favorites because he simply doesn't have them.
The silver pegasus likes to his world as orderly as his pristine gray coat (something that he can almost keep immaculate thanks to the Loessian hot springs). There is his loyalty and service to Loess and Lady Oceane that are his first and foremost concern. Those who reside within Loess are his second and for all the rest, well, Tarian likes to tell himself that he simply can't be bothered.
Ashhal falls into that second category, along with the fact that he had helped fight off one of those damn monsters during the Eclipse and took the brunt of an injury meant for him. If Tarian were to ever claim that he had to tolerate the company of someone more than others, it would most likely be Ashhal. Even as he glares and scowls at him, Tarian finds that he doesn't mind overmuch. The other gray grunts and finally starts to rise while the paler stallion manages to keep a quirking grin hidden.
There is a brief gust of air as @[Ashhal] flares out his wings and while Tarian doesn't move back, his silver head jerks up. The other brute shakes his feathers out and as the dust finally settles around the pair, Tarian can see the answer to his first question. His blue eyes move to the shoulder, searching for a sign of infection or something in Ashhal's stance that might indicate pain but finds nothing. Apart from a nasty scar, the other stallion appears fine.
"That," Tarian motions with a nod of his head towards the healing flesh. "And the Queen has requested I visit Sylva." The Champion states and doesn't think he needs to add more. The history of the autumnal forest was full of mad rulers and murders. There had been very little coming from the Southern territory recently but it didn't mean that the forest couldn't be hiding something as equally nasty (or worse) than the monsters they had encountered during the Endless Night. "So long that your shoulder has healed, I've requested the Queen to have you accompany me."
I tried to sell my soul last night Funny, he wouldn't even take a bite
To say Ashhal had any favorites would be an overly optimistic assumption. Like the other pegasus, he had those he tolerated. The rest he simply didn’t. Unlike Tarian, Ashhal has no pressing concerns for anyone other than himself. His daily routine consisted of doing whatever he damned well pleased in that particular moment. Nothing more and nothing less.
As similar as the two of them look, it’s actually rather amazing they tolerate one another as well as they do. Tarian stands with a faintly regal bearing, pale coat immaculately kept even in the cloying red dust of Loess. Ashhal on the other hand stands with all the relaxed demeanor of a tiger waiting to strike. His similarly pale coat is flecked by dust and sweat and marked by scars, locks twisted and tangled into knots that would never be salvaged. He also highly doubts the decidedly prim Tarian would ever have once been found covered in mud and algae as Ashhal had, delirious from toxins. He should have died that day, just as he should have when the beast clawed its way from his body.
He has no desire to think on why he hadn’t however.
When Tarian finally replies, nodding briefly at his shoulder, Ashhal replies only with a grunt. He doesn’t particularly care to hear what kingdom business the other stallion has planned for himself and would have flatly said so had Tarian not added the last bit.
Ashhal stiffens, brows knitting into a fiercely unpleasant expression, lips wreathed in his own displeasure. “Why the fuck would you do that?” he growls bluntly, genuinely confused. A confusion that makes an incredibly uncomfortable bedfellow. Suddenly restless, Ashhal shifts, head jerking around to peer at the worn path leading around the large rock formation to the spring just on the other side. Turning his dark eyes sharply back to Tarian, he adds brusquely. “You know damned well I’m not a fucking diplomat.”
He turns then, stalking down the path to the spring. Just before he rounds the corner, he tosses over his shoulder, “Do you hate Sylva so much then?”
If Tarian wanted to press the issue, he could do it on Ashhal’s terms. Which, at this particular moment, meant a bath for himself.
06-09-2021, 01:53 PM (This post was last modified: 06-09-2021, 01:59 PM by Tarian.)
There is a long history with Tarian and doing things he dislikes.
As a youth, there was never a choice of simply turning away from them. He had been raised with the principles that a Guardian does what he must and sometimes those responsibilities could be unfortunate or uncomfortable. But as a future leader, it had been instilled in Tarian that those duties were never unbearable.
The burden could be carried however a Guardian liked - alone as Ichiro had carried his, surrounded by family as Valerio did - but there was never a choice of not carrying it. They are lessons from his youth - set long enough that they are cast in stone - and Tarian has no desire to change now. He has no wish to visit Sylva any more than he had wished to visit the Pampas but both trips have come at the behest of their Queen and so to Tarian, must be done regardless of his personal wishes.
Ashhal abruptly rises and the other stallion watches him carefully, noting that the silver pegasus seemed to have plenty to say about Tarian's request. For all his blunt words to the Loessian Champion, there is one missing that he had been listening for: no.
"I don't need a diplomat," Tarian calls out as he finally moves after the ambling Ashhal. He's never been much of one and Lady Oceane must realize that by now; Tarian hadn't bothered to smooth anything out with the Pampas Prince and yet the Queen of the South hadn't rebuffed him for it. She did what she did often - surprised him - and had asked the gray stallion to make another trip. This time to Sylva.
"Sylva has a reputation," he starts grimly and then leaves it there. @[Ashhal] has lived in Beqanna his entire life; Tarian won't waste a history lesson that the other brute had most likely lived through. The Champion keeps pace behind the darker-colored pegasus though there is a troubled shadow across his features as Ashhal rounds the corner for the nearest hot spring. He didn't need somebody to spout pretty words to the Sylvan leader or whatever else they might encounter in the fire-hued wood. (It's the whatever else that occupies his mind and Tarian snorts at the thought.) "We go, extend a few pleasantries from the Queen and then leave."
None of this sounds particularly appealing and he imagines that sounds even less so to Ashhal.
Ashhal, who holds no position or owes any fealty to Loess.
"If things don't go... pleasantly," Tarian offers (if Ashhal was feeling restless since the Eclipse, well, here was something else for him to rip apart if things in Sylva literally went south), "I don't want a diplomat with me."
I tried to sell my soul last night Funny, he wouldn't even take a bite
Ashhal wades into the spring without looking back at Tarian, though he is perfectly aware the other stallion had indeed followed him. His fellow pegasus may still feel the weighty burden of having to do things one doesn’t want to, but Ashhal had shed that lifetimes ago. Once upon a time, he might too have felt that burden. But as the decades passed and he died again and again, such things had grown to matter less and less. Until they had ceased to matter at all.
Tarian had better hope he wasn’t similar to Ashhal in that respect. Though he tries not to, he remembers the cold precision of his youth. The way he had faced the world with emotionless calculation, determined to let nothing sway his judgement. What an absolute fucking imbecile he’d been.
Still, even then, he’d been nothing of a diplomat.
Tarian had said he didn’t need a diplomat, but Ashhal is not entirely sure he believes him. He could barely even keep his foul temper in check with the residents of this kingdom. Forget someone who wasn’t.
Declining to respond for the moment, Ashhal instead drops into the water, dunking his head briefly. When he resurfaces, the grime and sweat of the day sluices away with the water. It leaves him marginally cleaner, though no less disheveled. Shifting, he fixes his dark gaze on Tarian, features unreadable as he considers his request.
“You can extend your pleasantries to the Queen,” he replies abruptly, clearly disgruntled now. “I have no fucking pleasantries to extend.” In truth though, if he were simply being invited to act as additional muscle, he would not be entirely opposed to that. Especially if he didn’t have to speak and there was a high possibility of a fight breaking out. Shaking his head, tangled locks whipping to fling water in a wide arch, Ashhal grunts before settling back into the water and closing his eyes. “If I don’t have to say a damned thing and don’t have to look friendly, I’ll go.”
06-11-2021, 07:54 PM (This post was last modified: 06-11-2021, 07:56 PM by Tarian.)
Tarian has never died.
He has certainly tried.
But it was not his fate to be a casualty in the line of battle. It was not his destiny to fall at Windskeep as so many as his kin had. It was the part that made his life as a soldier of fortune easy; he didn't care if he lived or died. The battle that had mattered - the one that changed the course of his life - had happened without him. Too young, they had said. Too inexperienced.
And he has fought every day since then, preparing himself for a redemption that will never come.
The silver stallion walks behind the other pegasus, letting Ashhal take his time to wade into the spring and submerge in it. He has the patience of someone who knows that he needs an answer and won't leave until he has one. Sylva is not a field full of wildflowers and an arrogant ass of a leader. If the rumors that he's heard of Sylva are true, he has no desire to go alone. His gray ears flick forward, listening to Ashhal speak about how he has no desire to extend pleasantries. Tarian doesn't either but for the sake of Loess, he can manage a few civil words.
The Champion has no qualms if the other brute has even less to offer.
The Southern Kingdom is filling up; there is aspiring diplomat Cheri as well the shapeshifter that Lady Oceane had mentioned. Tarian is aware that Tiercel is here with his family and there are few others in the kingdom that call this place home. But he does not need someone to speak honeyed words to Sabra and smile amiably to the Sylvan residents. He needs someone that can lash out, in case the residents of the autumn wood decide to show a few too many teeth. He needs someone to go with him to show that while the relationship between Loess and her territory hoped to remain peaceful, the Loessians weren't without a bite of their own.
"Stand still," Tarian mutters, "Look pretty for all I care."
Now that they've reached a kind of agreement, the pegasus decides to leave the other to the peace and quiet of his bath. He turns to go but calls out over his shoulder: "Just be ready when I need you."
I tried to sell my soul last night Funny, he wouldn't even take a bite
Fate has a bad habit of tempting one with redemption that will never come. Ashhal once believed he might be worthy of it, but that had died a long time ago. A pity, really. If it hadn’t he might have found his redemption already in the only creature who had ever bothered to try with him. Not that she’d tried all that hard, but still, it was more than anyone else ever had. But he had been too far beyond it, and in the end she had proven she hadn’t truly cared all that much.
What a fucking life lesson at his age.
Ashhal eyes Tarian quietly, still trying to figure out why the other stallion felt he needed him in particular for this visit. Even if it did devolve into a brawl, were two of them enough against an entire territory? Not that he’s overly concerned about it himself. After all, he would come back if he died. He’s less certain Tarian would though.
He snorts derisively at the other stallion’s sarcasm. No one had accused him of being pretty for a very long time (though he supposes mares must find him handsome enough, given the amount of that sort of sport he still gets). When Tarian turns to go, Ashhal just watches him with a flat gaze. At least, until he tosses the admonishment over his shoulder as he leaves.
