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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


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    so it goes; any
    #1

    HAVE PITY ON THEM ALL, FOR IT IS WE WHO ARE THE REAL MONSTERS
    The low grumble of thunder looms in distant skies, trailing miles behind the creature as she plods along the worn paths in this unfamiliar scenery. Hooves and feathering scuffled against the ground beneath her, she was barely lifting them in her lazy strides. She held no sense of eagerness, no yearning to reach a particular destination. She’s been traveling for a length of time that has since been lost to her. It all felt a blur, and yet this was the most intriguing part of her journey thus far.


    The air here wrought with a lingering anguish. It felt almost abrasive as it cut through the stone formations before reaching her. The gusts were pushed in unexpected directions, wafting into her from the side and sending ringlets of her long, silvered mane and tail swirling wildly. As soon as it had swept through, the winds had died down for a brief period. Cryptid took the opportunity to restore her mane to its typical disheveled glory by giving a solid, full body shake.


    She lifted her head slightly, taking in the sight before her from beneath her thick forelock. Craggy, forlorn collection of stones littered the landscape. Cryptid pondered what they could have been. She imagined great structures that were once bustling with activity. The haunting feeling of a grim event crept through on the winds once more, leading the looming thunder closer. The light patter of rain against her mousy coat encouraged her to seek shelter.


    Once again, with no rush, she continues onward slowly.




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    #2
    Alone, Tiberios thrived.

    There wasn't much land left to thrive on, but he persisted regardless. He assumed there were others eking out their quiet lives somewhere in the vast sky or sea. He wasn't one of them. Hadn't seen another living soul in what felt like eons.

    Dead or alive, gold or silver. All of his memories are slowly washing away.

    Some remain, like Talulah. His recognized children and the father he emulated to the point of losing himself - they remain. But the purpose and longing for them has all but vanished. Like the tides and the moon, his desires and pains transformed long ago.

    Now, Tiberios is the shadow and the silence he loves so much. He is a persistent presence wherever the jungle or forest might thicken, wherever there is jungle or forest to be found. He sheds his horse-skin for that of a Liger, though he does not know the technicalities of his magical shapeshifting abilities, and hunts when he feels so inclined.

    All things considered; he still likes to wander on four hooves.

    Beqanna - the one he inhabits now - is like him. A faded memory of what was. But now and again Tiberios will find himself wandering like he is today, following the walkways where thousands of other hooves trod before him. He especially liked to wander among The Ruins, though he couldn't explain why.

    Perhaps he felt closer to the spirits, less alone.

    Today there weren't any spirits. Only rain. The autumn downpour was uncomfortable, but he couldn't be put off by a little bit of precipitation. Only when he spotted a hazy-looking figure through the downpour did Tiberios pause, half suspicious and partially amazed.

    "Hello?" He spoke for the first time in months, hesitant.


    @Cryptid surprise

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