[private] give me something to keep my mind off this so-called life

[assailant]

No evil dooms us hopelessly, except the evil we love and desire to continue in, and make no effort to escape from.--George Eliot

image by rob-joseph

He is whisked away to the present once more and despite the soft, warm light of his portal, there is no comforting reassurance in its embrace. Instead, he feels an unsettling sensation creeping along his spine, where it circles his shoulders for a prolonged period before racing up his neck and settling its prickly touch between his eyes. The discomfort lasts far longer than he would like and it sets him to wondering why this journey is not as instantaneous as the one that took him from Beqanna. Then, the portal abruptly spits him out near a bubbling creek in the meadow, where he lurches forward in an ungainly manner that is a far cry from his normal movements.

Though he is older than the hills, his muscles are still strong, well-defined, and efficient. Yet, in this moment, those of his neck seem feeble, unable to support his head in its usual regal carriage. Confusion washes over him as he mounts an enormous effort to lift and maintain his head in a higher position, but that is not the only thing that just doesn’t quite feel right to him. His shoulders ache and he cannot think of a reason why they should. His eyes close and he whips his head to the side with teeth exposed, ready to snap at the air in irritation. So, it startles him when his teeth close over, rather than the nothingness he expected, but over feathers?!

There is a rustle and a pinching sensation and he is left with a mouthful of feathers, which he promptly drops with a splutter. Suspicion rises in his eyes as they open and he stares as the feathers float to the ground, still not understanding where they’ve come from. Then, he catches subtle movement at the periphery of his stare.

The dark red-brown, almost black, tips of a magnificent pair of wings lightly brush his nose as the wings curl forward to where he can better see them. They match his coat perfectly.. the same dark shade of his body blends seamlessly into the arms of his new appendages and copper highlights add a nice contrast. The undersides of his wings are similar, but with white patches serving up a dramatic flair that he could never dare to dream up.

Before he can fully absorb the shock of this discovery, a new theory pops to the forefront of his mind. He hears the water nearby and awkwardly trudges toward its source. He finds the creek and follows its length until he finds an area where it collects into a gently rippling pool, complete with a mirror-like surface, which he cautiously peers into.

A horn now juts emphatically from his forehead. It is no delicate, sparkling horn of a young girl’s fantasy, but instead a stout protrusion that lends a new menacing air to his previously plain presence. The base covers a greater portion of his head than one might expect and its wide spirals create jagged spines that wind upward, rather than gentle swells of a typical unicorn-style horn. Its impressive length, also nearly black in color with a copper sheen, tapers into a whetted point. Honestly, it is a horn well-suited for a warrior, which he most certainly is not.

He acknowledges that these must be manifestations of gratitude from the sprites for joining their quest. He snorts in laughter, not because he is ungrateful for his new additions, but because he thinks his effort was inadequate, that it accomplished nothing. But in the same moment, he realizes that the powers that be are grateful for his attempt, however he may feel about it.

He lifts his head again and finds that the motion comes with greater ease each time he does so. Chagrin steals over his features as he remembers that final scene of the quest. If nothing else, he has learned that he is an empty shell of a man with no true understanding of how the world works. Perhaps if he knew what it means to have compassion, he might have had greater effect on the mourners. Instead, he lectured them without emotion, not even taking time to show his own surprise at his own inadvertent use of magic on their bodies. He considers himself lucky to have not tightened the snarl in the combined history of Baltia and Stratos.

So, what now?

He does not know, but he certainly has some soul searching to do if he is ever to be more than a background character in Beqanna’s history.

@Famkee

[Famkee]

Indifference.

A callousness she's kept a close friend, always by her side to remind her that nothing is worth feeling, nothing is worth the pain of her present or even more tedious, her past. She wants to believe she's special, strong even, for no one could possibly know what she's done or what she's had to face, had to accept. The realization that many are slaves to their own former wounds, pouring salt into an open festering gash that opens just a little bit more once revisited. This recognition should be liberating, in fact she wants to dive into the idea of forgiveness, and drown out the resentment and hatred but why must it always be so... impossible? 

Her attempts at not only saving a new land, but saving herself might not have been as futile as the unicorn might've expected. She feels, different, hints of teasing bliss rummage through her consciousness as she passes through the portal meant to send her back to a land born anew from the ashes of senseless contempt karmically plaguing Beqanna for far too long. Flashes of freshly sprouted territories that aren't new, but rather old paint her vision, from forests to endless fields, deserts and mountains that kiss the sky. Perhaps her sprite shows her this to instill the healing that slowly transpires, a gift that even Famkee can see the horizon of. 

She literally falls from grace as her portal splits to open from her own private rapture and ejecting her not as gracefully as she'd hoped onto a blanket of tall grass. She nearly falls flat on her side, but thankfully her weary legs have just enough strength to support the journey she's been bestowed. Physically Famkee feels the same, despite the uneasy wobble her body struggles to balance, but a shadow of a doubt peers its unexpected face inside her mind. Something so foreign, so abstract that maybe she isn't supposed to harness this unknown sensitivity making it's own space and settling to permanently stay there. It's a bit frightening, not knowing what she's come back from the mountain with that she had not possessed before, but it's like her sprite tells her to wait, that time will tell her what gift she's been given. It's strange, this little voice in her head not telling her to avoid her thoughts and shut them out, but to embrace them, utilize them in dare she say, a positive way? 

The meadow she's been dumped into is rather beautiful as spring spreads it's colors onto the field. She gradually comes back to her senses, the tall blades of grass that tickle the skin of her flank, the sounds of running water splitting the acreage ahead, or the gentle breeze that fills her lungs in a deep breath that she wasn't aware that she was harboring. Had things really been set right with this world? Had her simple influence made a difference, had any of the others who had joined made their marks on history? It's a thought made for future probing, as Famkee begins to realize she isn't as alone as she thought. 

This is when she sees him, the stallion seemingly thrown from the sky just like her, only she thinks he looks familiar but is he really? Owlishly she blinks her golden eyes to try and wipe him away from her vision, but he remains there. She does know him, briefly acknowledging his presence inside Bequanna's brutal past events, but he looks, well, different. She doesn't recall the dark stud having wings, nor a horn adorned on his forehead, though perhaps magic works in mysterious ways for each individual placing themselves inside the portal. She still feels dizzy, and she wonders if he's even there at all, a mirage to taunt her so. She hears his footfalls, smells his scent, woody and tangible like the pines that scarcely decorate the meadow. She nearly blends with the dried and fresh foliage, her golden coat camouflaging, her lethal horn jutting out and could potentially give her away. So what if he sees her, though she wants to remain a ghost, she isn't sure she could avoid this interaction that buds with each precious second that ticks by. She doesn't deny the questions she has for him, the curiosity that fuels the steps she takes towards him. "You look different." Her voice is soft, but the sarcasm bleeds through the small grin curling her velvet lips. She wonders if he even remembers her face so brief in their meeting, but she takes the chance that maybe he hasn't forgotten.       

if my heart is in your hands will i die

Famkee

 
@assailant

[assailant]

Reminiscent of the night he responded to the sprites’ call, he stands in restrained reverence while looking to the mountain in the distance, though today the mild spring sun gently warms his body as he takes in the scene. Like a bolt of lightning jumping from a tempestuous sky to the ground, realization races through his train of thought, bringing his eyes from glazed contemplation to riveted concentration. He is not the only one physically changed by the quest. Something dark lies to the west of the craggy peak, giving a slightly ominous flavor that reaches the tip of his tongue. He wonders what role this ambiguous fog will play in the future.

There are differences beyond the mountain as well, though the northeast catches his attention the most. There is a faint rippling quality to the image it presents, suggesting the presence of a drier and hotter climate than the neighboring lands. He knows that, prior to his setting foot on her land again, a series of events had erased much of Beqanna’s landscape like an unwanted stroke of graphite from an artist’s pencil. Had their little adventure restored some of the missing kingdoms, or are these entirely new venues begging to be explored?

The idea intrigues him.

In his old life, he’d never known much outside of his private territory’s boundaries. Naturally, there had been the occasional mindless venture into the common lands as he sought bring home another pretty doll for his treasured collection. They were simple days and the deepest part of his soul still yearns for them, as they required very little probing into the heart of one’s character. He is not sure that he is ready to investigate his own impetus, to learn what kind of person he truly is, but he recognizes that this may be the reason he’d received the supernatural summons.

Though lost in memories of an era long interred by modern lifestyles and ideologies, his senses are still quite keen from all his time spent maintaining the security of the women and children that lived under his guardianship. He shifts his weight, shakes out the wings that he is still adjusting to, and tosses his head as lightly as he can under its new weight. He paints a picture of confident nonchalance, though he can tell that someone is near and that he is fixed in their scope. Nothing particularly spells imminent danger is presented by this person’s proximity, but he does find it somewhat uncomfortable to be the watched, rather than the watcher. He waits as patiently as possible for their unveiling, a soft edge of tension in his muscles, should immediate action be called for.

The footfalls are muffled by the cushions of vegetation, but he still hears them and he pivots to face the approaching person. The horn is the first thing to draw his attention, for it glints and sparks beneath the sun’s rays as she draws closer. Her words indicates a familiarity that he is not quite able to place, so he takes a moment to study her before even beginning to think of how he will respond. He takes in the glossy raven-black locks that fall fetchingly against the golden tone of her body, the smudgy quality of the dapples creeping along the hardened curves of her athletic form, the fearsome horn on her face, the vividly colored eyes that move in their own appraisal of him.

She is a stunning package wrapped in a somewhat sinister shroud, but it is her voice that stirs his memory. He nods, more to himself than anything else, as he remembers hearing her speak on the mountainside before they were pulled into the past together. He counters her grin with a subtle smirk of his own and the traces of a laugh color his own voice as he finally breaks the awkward silence that had been growing between them. ”Really? I hadn’t noticed..” A twinkle in his eyes lends itself to indicating the satire behind his words.

But then, he seamlessly transitions into solemnity in his next breath. ”The physical changes are nothing, though, compared to the mental ones. I’m not sure I care for them..” Of course, he knows nothing of the changes wrought by the magic that returned her here, but he is sure that something must have happened to her as well. He tilts his head inquisitively at her. ”We were all separated in the end, so we must have had different experiences. Was any of it worth it?” Just as he is uncertain of his path moving forward, he is not really sure what he means by this, but the words fall before he can stop them. So he stands before her, tongue-tied, as he wrestles with the whirlwind of emotions that has suddenly begun to whip through his mind yet again.

know thyself

ASSAILANT,

--plato

image by LeonovichDmitriy
@Famkee

[Famkee]

The realization sets in slowly, trickling down like fortified rain that this very meadow, virtually untouched by the law of change was her first encounter with Beqanna, and now that seemingly a reset button has been pressed, here she finds herself spat out right back where she started. It's ironic really, a sense of rebirth kindling and plucking at heart strings she wants to shudder at. So very lost she was when she'd arrived, so misplaced from reality that now that she's returned, the efforts she's made, can only hope that somehow she's on her own journey to healing. 

She'd like to think of herself as the land, constantly changing under pressure, growing, evolving with the mistakes that have been engraved. But are they really mistakes? Or just some sick way of experiencing this life, trudging through the mud to truly appreciate the solid ground waiting on the other side. No matter how she chooses to look at her circumstances, she can't help but feel solemn, small, in the grand scheme of things. A phantom in the night, an infernal reminder tucked away, it's always there to keep her from moving forwards. 

Winning every battle, achieving above and beyond of what her twin trained her to be only for it all to be erased, lost in time and consumed. Though what goes up, must come down, and Famkee came down from the tallest peak. The dark parts of her exhaust these memories, blaming herself for what happened and what she could have done differently. Before her travel to Beqanna, her past was immovable, cemented. Magic is a fickle thing, proving her wrong in most aspects, that the past can be transformed. If she can't change her own demons she's plagued with day by day, what she is responsible for is her future. It's an ugly thought, one so unfamiliar. 

One thing Famkee can say she's lost touch with, rightfully so with the stallion standing so eloquently in front of her, is the sense of loneliness. His company provides a spur in the side of her ego nonetheless, meeting many along the way has elicited some sort of craving for solitary practices, to fall into her old ways. But she wasn't weak, and if sharing about each other experiences near the enchanted mountain helped revive the glint of loyalty she held for herself, the liver colored stud just might be her savior.

She is a bit brazen with her eyes, everything new he had to offer she drinks and swallows. The new sprouts of feathers compliment his coloring well dipping into the chocolate of his flesh and framing his body. She often wonders what it was like to soar the skies and feel the wind, the weightlessness to drift away from all hardships. With how new they are, had he had the chance to use them? Like a fledgling thrown from it's nest, pushed out by it's parents. Like her, he now has the pleasure of a horn, though she doubts he knows how to use it, too. He seems to question wether or not the warrior was one he had seen before, and the relief she feels that the magic of the mountain hadn't taken away his memory of her soothes her embarrassment. She doesn't expect the sarcasm to be returned, judging by the seriousness of previous events, regardless, she nods with a dainty grin still softened around the edges. "The physical changes are nothing, though, compared to the mental ones. I'm not sure I care for them." he reveals and for a moment she takes the time to think, to agree. 

It would be an understatement to try and convey the mental changes that have underwent throughout the fractures that have been cracked open, to leak not gradually but burst with too much information at once. "was any of it worth it?" He continues to make her think, which Famkee isn't sure she appreciates. The mare tries not to let the long tendrils of her tail to slap against her flank, onyx tipped ears flattening to hide bitterly inside her mane. Staying inside her head for too long was a dangerous place, but how else was she supposed to harness this gift she's not even sure what or where to begin understanding. She realizes a bit too late that she needs to respond to him, seemingly adrift and set to sail the silence. Famkee was not a woman of many words, she allows her actions to do the talking. She continues anyway, though unsure is her voice, long lashes hiding the golden jewels of her eyes as she looks to the grass below. "I want to say no, selfishly." She was selfish. Trying to find out way out of her own head and her own past by maybe saving another. "A part of me wants to feel like I've done a good thing," She pauses, a deep breath lifting the muscles of her chest to expand. "But the other part wants to know why I can't fix my own past, what I've done, or what i didn't do." Lowering her head slightly she still can't look at him.

It is shame? 

She isn't here to spill all of her problems onto a stranger nor does she intend to. She doesn't even know his name. "I feel something is off, different about me but i can't place it yet." She peers her neck to look her barrel, and the other side to signify that she feels nothing physically different or visually to another strangers gaze. She's always thought of herself as a simple, plain woman incomparable to many she's seen taming assorted magic or outward attributes. She was only a soldier, nothing more. She continues, but bares the courage to look at him directly now, a glint of newfound reassurance tugging at the soft glow of her eyes. "And you? What troubles do you carry?" She doesn't know if she really cares, more of a germinating curiosity. She sees the internal struggle he battles, its evident in his body language, the furrow in his brow. Her thick build shifts to cock her hip, subconsciously telling him to relax and let his thoughts run free.

if my heart is in your hands will i die

Famkee

@assailant This is a bit rambled and sloppy im sorry

[assailant]

The feathers of his wings ruffle gently as another pregnant pause swells before them, but he is not frustrated or impatient, for he suspects that her experience may not have been any easier than his. At the beginning of their interaction, he had easily perceived the restraint that dominates her every action, and when she finally speaks, the carefulness that coats her words is just as apparent. It mirrors his own natural temperance, so he does not mind it, let alone take offense as some might. He also shares in her discomfort at the introspection his query had forced her into. These are the mental changes to which he refers because, much like Famkee, Assailant has no desire to face his own demons.

He does not notice that she seems unable to meet his eye, for his own head had already turned away so that he does not have to meet hers. She speaks of selfishness, a relatable motive he had found in himself when he’d thought about why he’d entered the portal in the first place, though he wonders if she regards her reason as shallow as he finds his own. She continues on and that is when he knows the answer to his internal question. No, there was something deeper that sat in the driver’s seat of her motivation. He wishes he could identify with her in contributing to a positive outcome, ponders what she could mean by changing her own history.

The serene splashing of the nearby stream comes into focus, serving as a soothing salve to the squalling in his mind. This brings a calm that allows his gaze to return to her. He is again struck by the strange beauty she presents, but he is mildly surprised to realize that his parched soul holds no thirst for possession of her autonomy. Another piece in the puzzle of his self-discovery, another thread of his person unraveling as he watches helplessly. Well, perhaps it is not the worst thing to happen in a world that has abandoned the only lifestyle he’s ever known. Even more peculiarly, he finds himself interested in learning who this mare is inside, though it seems she may not be as sure of herself as she may have been before.

While she may feel no compulsion to lay everything bare to be picked at like a rotted carcass by unfeeling vultures, he brings the idea into consideration when she asks of his turmoil. Though he has occupied the same space as quite a few people, he has never willingly disclosed much of anything to anyone. The concept of discussion is unfamiliar and daunting, but perhaps it is exactly what he needs, for an outside perspective often gives clarity that may otherwise be left to languish in the murk.

The nuanced revision of her posture produces the desired effect and what tension he had been clinging to scatters like a measure of water sprinkled into a ripping hot pan. ”It is difficult to know where to begin, there are so many berries on the bush.” He pauses. What is the root of this metaphorical bush? ” Somehow, I only added to the panic. I did nothing to comfort those parents because I am little more than a disconnected, pitiless lout.”  His expression becomes more knotted, but he presses on. ”I am not who I thought I was, if ever I really knew..”

It is possible that he could continue on for too long, but his own curiosity wins out and he casually tosses the ball back into her court. ”Perhaps, together, we can determine what alterations have been made for you as well. What of your past would need fixing?” He offers no apology for such a bold encroachment of her privacy because he intends for it to stand as an invitation to delve just as deeply into his own.

know thyself

ASSAILANT,

--plato

image by LeonovichDmitriy
@Famkee no worries! I'm feeling a little disjointed today, so I get it!

[Famkee]

To be so detached, Famkee finds herself popped from a portal like womb with many different aspects of herself thought to be buried, never to see the light of day again. This lunacy keeps her reserved, quiet, more than she'd prefer. Sure, she's never been much of a socialite but this is topic, wouldn't show it's moonlit face for many cycles to come. Her opportunistic ways haven't changed, and the more time she spends in the stallions presence, the more she wants to squeeze the ripened fruit of it's nectar. He shares her hesitancy, his composure is respected by her but she keeps the distance to preserve the silence she so desires deep down. 

One thing she can't control is the distractions her mind fabricates. Her feeble attempts at blinking the images away are in vain, they don't dissipate, they bloom in her determination to block the visuals. Perhaps her gift from the mountain evolves before she can catch up, she feels an uncomfortable derangement, one that floats her far away from the reality she desperately clings to. She wonders if he notices, she feels nuts in his company and this altered consciousness shelters the silence, cradling it for her to return unscathed. She knows he knows something is awry with the way he watches her, like he wants to pry but doesn't feel it's his place. 

She wants to apologize, she feels as though she's not even present any longer to offer her aid. But just as if she thinks she's lost to these unknown faces, unfamiliar events plaguing her thoughts, everything is engulfed, sucked back to wherever it chose to manifest and suddenly she's thrown back into her body, the delightful tangible awareness of her senses returns. "I'm sorry, I..." She takes another deep breath to ease her anxious shuffling, now that she's untethered she tries her best to relax under his gaze. "I don't know what to make of what I came back from the past with." Many faces she sees she doesn't know, places unrecognized. For some reason she feels like they haven't even happened, though with the magic that enraptures Beqanna she can't say she should be shocked. 

He grounds her whether she likes it or not, gives her sense of material she can audibly render, a sight to behold. In a way she's thankful he crossed her path, she might have gone crazy without him. Though she opened a door she wasn't sure she was quite ready for as he reveals his experience from past ailments of the equines of the sea and sky. All an accident, something she still finds hard to believe. She wants to feel bad for him, after all each of them had their own encounter centuries ago, set to right the wrongs, the misunderstandings of the ancient. "I wouldn't take it personal," She starts slowly, unsure of how to break it to him that none of this was truly in their hands, it was ultimately in the faith of past rulers decisions to make peace of the future. "I don't think they truly listened to any of us, fully. They were filled with grief, an emotion that fuels many others." She knows this feeling all too well, its monstrous hands have had a hold on her throat for many torturous years. "All we can hope is that the present times can heal, and from what I've heard, many lands have returned." Ones she has no attachments with, nor it's society. 

Maybe he does though, she wants to ask, velveteen lips creating a pathway for depth. "How long have you lived in Beqanna?" She wants to ignore his penetrative questions about her prior wounds, still filleted open and raw. Her demeanor changes quickly, it stings, though she doesn't mean to come off as rude or dismissive, her grief bleeds turning her pretty face sour around the edges. She couldn't think of one creature on this planet worth sharing her pain or her mistakes, and unfortunately the nameless stallion is no exception. "My past is none of your concern." Bitterly she gripes, ears flattening with a harsh grit of clenched incisors. She doesn't apologize, nor show remorse. He could never know the pain, though she's annoyed by his boldness, he couldn't have known the misery that constantly keeps her sore. In a way, she can appreciate the unapologetic nature, it's real, genuine. She has no right to pry into his past, when she keeps her under a lock and key. He doesn't have to answer her questions, it's only fair. 

For a moment she wonders his capabilities, his new gifts shouldn't be wasted, especially the weapon newly bestowed on his head, one she's protected many with, taken many lives with. The last time she'd seen another horned equine was the evacuation of her homeland, though he wasn't born with his horn, the memories of her family flood her concentration.  Her irritation isn't hidden, she decides to change the subject to benefit them both. "Have you flown yet?" Golden eyes admire his wings, imagining that he must be clumsy, untrained in the art of soaring the clouds. He resembles her build, they stand nearly the same height and weight, but Famkee couldn't fathom lifting herself from the earth with simple beating of avian appendages. She takes a few confident steps towards him, pointing her muzzle to his horn crowned atop his skull. "More importantly," A small smirk returns to her maw, golden summer is her coat, slithering snakes of aurelian wrap themselves around the serrated points of her bone like horn. "It's an honor to wear this weapon, do you know how to use it?"   

if my heart is in your hands will i die

Famkee

 

@assailant

[assailant]

Though they are rusted and reluctant, the wheels of his mind begin to turn at her mention of revived lands. The commotion of their unoiled movements drowns out her unease over whatever magic the sprites had shared with her and a fog creeps over his eyes once more as he is returned to a different past.

Control.

Though he does not yet know its name, that is one of the incorporeal elements he feels slipping through the fingers of his very being, and it is also the true root of his distress. The old days had given him the chance to stand at the helm of his own ship, the confidence and charisma to lure beautiful creatures to his side, the nerve to take what he wanted from those that resisted his charms. All ingredients in the cup of false control that he’d eagerly sipped from, but none a winning combination to create a well-balanced cocktail on life’s menu. The resulting mix was intoxicating enough to maintain his delusion, but the truth is that it did little to nourish anything of substance.

He could have regained some semblance of that illusion, despite the seeming eradication of his former lifestyle, for surely there women out there that were still content to subjugate their freedoms to a man. So while the conclusion of his portion of their shared quest had left him feeling powerless, that alone was something he would have eventually moved past. What continues to needle at him is not just the realization that he has always been sociopathic in his tendencies.. it the knowledge that he actually wants to change but does not have the tools to manifest his desire.

Bearing witness to the traumatic deaths of the foals, seeing the Baltians and Stratosians wailing in grief and preparing to fight for the lost lives of their children had tugged at strings he had not known he possessed. Perhaps, at his core, he had uncovered envy for connections so tightly twined that they produced such dramatic responses. He had engendered the loyalty and affection of the mares in his herd, but he had never seen most of them as more than a means to satisfy his cravings. As for the children, the bonds were so frail that he could barely remember their names while they lived with him.

Her voice pulls him back to the present again. She wants to know how long he has lived here. Does he even know the answer to this seemingly simple question? No, not really. ”I was born not long after Beqanna herself.. so, centuries. I wouldn’t say that I’ve really lived though.” The sheerest veil of regret wraps itself gently around his statement, but he is swift in discarding it before it can fully settle into his voice.

When he asks of her past, it is as though she spills ink across the pages of the annals of her life to protect them from his prying eyes and it is entirely predictable. He does not begrudge her the acidity of her words, nor does he let it erode at him, for defenses are rarely dropped so easily when they’ve stood for as long as hers have. However, the raw emotions seep between the cracks and rolls them over his tongue, taking in their flavors, still wondering the nature of their creation. This is when he realizes that though he cannot be sure that he’ll be able to provide the same for her, there are lessons to be learned from the guarded woman, for she knows of the kinship that has been lacking in his life.

But, if she is unwilling to share the details, then perhaps he will have to take his tuition elsewhere. The idea does not seem as daunting now that he better understands what he is searching for, but he is also not ready to abandon this opportunity. So he listens patiently as confidence replaces bitterness and she asks of his wings and horn. ”No, I’d barely begun to accept that they actually exist before you showed up.” She referred to the horn as a weapon and this fits with the appearance she creates. He tips his horn toward her as non-threateningly as possible. ”As for this.. I’ve never been a soldier, so I wouldn’t even know where to begin. It sounds as though you do. Perhaps you can teach me someday.”

He’d never sworn allegiance to a king or queen, thus had never been called into service. In fact, he could not even recall a time when another man had called him out, seeking to separate him from his prized ladies. He does not know anything of the returning lands yet, but perhaps this inaction would no longer stand beneath the potential to learn the art of war, or even the nuances of diplomacy. But those are still part of a distant future that he is not quite ready for, so he circles back to the moment of vulnerability that she had shown him.

”I’m sorry that your ‘reward’ is not as straightforward as what I’ve been given..” Sarcasm drips heavily from his tongue at the word ‘reward’, for he is not sure that is an appropriate term for anything that they’d received from the sprites. ”You can tell me about it, if you like.” He pauses, remembering her hesitancy to divulge the deeper parts of herself. He wonders if an offer of familiarity might be the key that she needs to open the lock she keeps everything under. ”And if it makes a difference, my name is Assailant.”

know thyself

ASSAILANT,

--plato

image by LeonovichDmitriy
@Famkee 

[Famkee]

Famkee often wonders how different her life might've been if she had not chose to follow in her twin's footsteps. Even when she was just a filly, the mundane tasks of a broodmare were never appealing in the slightest, watching her elders become swollen with children every year, the repetitive gossip, a dull existence she embraced very early on that she wanted no part in experiencing. Though her choices weren't gone unnoticed, she was always looked down upon by her parents for not fulfilling her duties as a female inside her society. "It's a gift to bring the next generations life." "You're wasting your womb and bringing shame to your family." She can still hear the words like they were only last nights moonlit sky. Was her existence resorted only to cater humiliation to her name? As she matured, she slowly lost the will to care, finally feeling a sense of acceptance, fulfillment in the company of what held more weight on metaphorical shoulders. Despite discovering the enjoyment so desperately missing in her life, she found herself chasing the high time and time again. It molded her into an addict, winning the validation of warriors sustained her triumphs in her training, and eventually won her wars plaguing her homeland. Still, it was never enough for her mother or her father so she searched for her love in blood, one that never filled her cup, no matter how powerful she felt, her soul was stagnant in it's throes of rejection. 

"He's just a boy." She whispered to her twin, observing the bodies taking the chances to sacrifice their lives for a fraction of meaning to be brought inside tortured minds. Many had come to join the recruits for the infantry, but she couldn't recall them being this fresh from it's mother, so innocent and filled with naivety. "I don't recall you being any older key." Her brother was quick to remind her, though Famkee was a different breed, she knew this. Hurriedly, the colt is plastered to the soil with hooves in his side and scars to be healed. She was just a filly dumped into duties of men, though she was more than capable if not better than her fellow soldiers, it was a chore to endure another so harmless be subject to such violence. Though he's beaten to a pulp, day after day he stays until eventually, an accident spurs like fates hand had been reached out to gift him the reality creeping it's monstrous unforgiving face in the background. A horn straight through the heart, though not intended, only an incident from training, Famkee wouldn't forget the colt's dying breath.

These memories remind her of why she'd been so numb to the sight of the Baltain and Stratosian children, her involvement in countless innocents pushed by political ideals, lost to the cruel truth of bloodlust. It doesn't make it any easier that again, she was powerless to stop the virtuous foals with so much life left to live only to grow hate in the hearts of opposing creatures breeding a war to trudge on for centuries. She could say the same for the stallion who stands before her, they all had their chances at making a brighter future, or perhaps an attempt at healing whatever damage wracked his mind, but it didn't change the fact that their children's lives couldn't be reborn or prevented. 

When she discovers that he is an immortal, a twinge of guilt washes over her athletic frame. She could only imagine what he's seen or done among countless catastrophes, in fact she feels a venerability join her guilt at the fact that he most likely sees right through her pain, dissecting her torment like it's a flavor on the tongue. "The things you must have seen." She quietly commends, taking another moment to appreciate his form in it's entirety. The golden brown of her eyes spark when they meet his, bold is her next statement in that she takes the chance that he will be offended. "Do you see it as a blessing or a curse?" She tilts her head upwards slightly in challenge but it's only a measly bluff. The curiosity is too overbearing to ignore how he views his life. Her interest could backfire, but it's nothing she couldn't handle. What business he chose to share was his to disclose, she couldn't hold him accountable. He shows her the same respect after all, not poking the sleeping lion of her past. 

"Your efforts were not in vain," Famkee looks to the avian pinions atop his back, it's not that she'd never seen a pegasus before, but seeing one so close, she nearly wants to feel the softness of the feathers on the skin of her muzzle and marvel. Of course she refrains, but not without the fantasy pricking the corners of her mind. He is a handsome thing, though she would never say, she appreciates the wise aura he provides, it's comforting, soothing to her in ways she can't figure out. "It's a beautiful gift, congratulations." Her voice is pliant, gentle, and she means it. The suns rays are quite generous today, casting it's warmth to draw her attention to the creek bed ahead, and for a fleeting moment it distracts her until his next statement, which freezes her as though she's stepped into the lapping water. "Perhaps you could teach me someday." 

An immortal, wants her to teach him? The soldier wants to feel flattered, fall into a hungry ego but if anything she's surprised. Her snort is audible, as a small chuckle erupts. "Ah, the art of killing is not for the weak, though I wouldn't call it a talent." The disdain that saturates her words feels heavy. She knows what she appears to be, it's obvious to the naked eye. So many moons it's been since she'd offered her skills in battle to another and just maybe this opportunity would be worth taking in full. "If you're up for it, gladly." She falls face first into the idea of bringing some substance back into her soul, and the stallion reeks of freedom for her to do so. On a more reclusive note, he takes his chances at prying at her gifts instead of her past, something that she could reciprocate, more doable if she knew here to begin. She replies hesitant, wrapping what little of her brain that hasn't been frenzied with whatever cognizance moved in. "I see visions. Something tells me that what I see, who I see, hasn't even happened yet. I'm trying to deal with it all, frankly it makes me feel like I'm losing it." She shakes out her ebony mane in an attempt to release what tension she held of the subject, but it does little to ease her nerves. 

Assailant. Fitting, she thinks. Famkee isn't one to offer her name to just anyone, but seeing as though they've literally been through hell and back together, she nods her head to return her title. "Assailant," She tastes the stallion's inscription, bowing her head her long forelock splits itself over her horn pointed directly at him in the (polite) dip of her head. "I'm Famkee."          

if my heart is in your hands will i die

Famkee

@assailant this is embarrassingly quick, but i can't deny the inspiration or time when i have it xD

[assailant]

Immortality.

An elusive chanteuse to some, but to Assailant, life everlasting is something he has never given much consideration to. In fact, the realization that death holds no sway over his existence is a relatively recent discovery, born of the interminable entrapment within the earth that he had escaped only a short time before embarking on the sprites’ quest. He ponders her comment and question about his immortality. ”…things you must have seen…a blessing or a curse?”

”Well, I can’t say I’ve seen that much, and, in truth, I don’t feel strongly about it either way.”

”I must have offended Mother Nature somehow, for she saw fit to trap me beneath the ground for a very long time. It must have been close to a hundred years, maybe longer. Many things have changed since my last time on the surface, and not just the landscape..”

”I lived in the days when the lines were much clearer between dark and light, between good and evil. I remember some of the battles, but I couldn’t really tell you what they were about. Truthfully, I’ve never cared much for politics and war, so I avoided the rulers and their lands as much as I could. Amusing, considering one of my children was a queen for several years..”

This memory’s appearance surprises him, apparently his subconscious had paid more attention to everything that he had realized. He would be even more surprised to know that his blood had spread to nearly every (if not all) of the kingdoms of Beqanna’s past and present. Oh, the irony.

”I suppose it could be considered a blessing to be part of such a long history, but I’ve missed a lot of it, so how much of a blessing is that? I could say it’s a curse because most of the people I knew are most likely dead, but I was never really close to anyone. Well, except for Demise. She was a spitfire..” The fondness brims in his eyes when he speaks her name. A maniacal woman, utterly devoted to him and the closest approximation to love that he had ever known.

He lapses into silence, which gives Famkee time to appraise his appearance. Unconsciously, his wings lift and spread ever-so-slightly as he thinks of Demise, easily the most favored of his mares. A twinge of longing picks at his heart. He wonders whether she would still care for him if she was still around to see the man he is becoming.. increasingly philosophic and, quite frankly, insecure.

Distractable as well. His attention returns to the buckskin mare at her soft words. This brings a small but genuine smile to his face. ”Thank you. A tribute to my past, perhaps? I was always told that my grandmother, with her delicate wings and horn, was one of the first mythical beings to set foot in Beqanna.” There is no boastfulness in his voice when he mentions his ties to Banat er Rih and her genetic contributions to the now-myriad magical traits of Beqanna’s people. It is merely fact, something that he does not realize may be awe-inspiring to the younger generations, therefore something he does not see worthy of ego.

Talk shifts seamlessly to his horn, his suggestion of becoming her pupil. He can feel the needles of her tone prodding at his senses when addresses this. He had readily assumed that she was some type of skilled veteran, so the fact that she does not immediately puff with pride when she speaks of her implied skills catches him off guard. Still, she does not parry his proposal. ”I will keep that in mind. I’m not sure that I’m ready to sign up for classes just yet. But I don’t deny that it would be useful to know how to pick up the artist’s brush. Someday”

The confident edge of her voice seems to melt away, not unexpectedly, as she describes her newfound soothsaying. He knows there is a word for it, but it clings stubbornly to the tip of his tongue as she tells of the confusion it brings her. As she finally discloses her name to him, another name springs forth to fall from his lips.

”Clairvoyance.”

”I’ve heard of it. I can see how it would be overwhelming in the beginning.. but you seem like the type that can handle it. Is there anything that I can do to assist in keeping you grounded, Famkee?”

know thyself

ASSAILANT,

--plato

image by LeonovichDmitriy
@Famkee
no need to apologize! strike while the iron is hot! I've been itching to reply, but work was a killer this last week :/

[Famkee]

Was she asking him of blessings, the bane that scourged an immortal pestilence or was she asking herself? She tries to imagine herself inside his perspective, though it seems impossible, she easily slips through the cracks of the possibility. To be inside the same body, same mind for centuries and only an eternity awaiting on the horizon might seem daunting, or perhaps miserable to some. Famkee could see that, but to have every ample opportunity to mend bruises, forget a frightful past, a certain enlightenment that molds and bends with the present completely different from the previous generational problems. 

On the contrary, he unexpectedly has an unfavorable opinion, life has a funny way of balancing the scales, unfair or not Famkee thinks everything just, is. It's a rather uncharacteristic optimism that fumbles her thought process, but perhaps it's what he needs to hear right now. He speaks of an ethereal punishment, locked away for many years. What had he done to deserve such suffering? This might worry some, but she doesn't ponder on the thought for long. They share many displaced emotions and thus Famkee allows her shell to crumble just a bit more in the wake of their interaction. 

"How did you survive? Were you conscious beneath the earth?" Genuine curiosity lifts her brow, an almost innocent bewilderment raising the tonality of her voice. She knew he was an immortal, he didn't need the traditional means of surviving, but to be aware of an endless prison for centuries, Famkee couldn't think of anything more insanity inducing. The mountain must have been especially touching for him, he was on the cusp, even in the throes of this war towards it's birth. Famkee likes to think she'd be able to endure an everlasting life, though she can barely withstand her own history, maybe a permanent existence would dull the pain, the beauty that her end would never be in her line of sight. 

Famkee isn't afraid of death, in fact she's become so intimate with the shadow hovering over her shoulder it's made her numb to just about any occurrence in her waking self. With a mere tilt of her head, she invites him to join her for the short walk to the river ahead. The meadows grasses are taller than usual inside the warmth of the summer sun, the blades tickle the skin of her flank as she splits a pathway. The inevitable darkness that loomed it's anticipative energy over his back, a constant reminder that he'd lose those he'd held close, loved, cherished. She knows this even in her short life, but it's difficult to harness from his point of view, the gravity it holds. When he speaks fondly of a past lover, seemingly lost to times grasp a stab of sorrow threatened to pinch her gut, the feeling reaches her face though and she looks hurt. Famkee had never known a love outside of her twin or blood, she never had the care or the time. She often wonders if the desire will ever be there, there's no room for it inside her soul, plenty crowded enough as it is. When she reaches the stream, she peers down at her reflection.

"I may not be able to ever understand, but I see it as a gift. Think of the knowledge you hold over everyones head," She pauses to look at him from her reflection, a far easier sight. "a teacher perhaps." She wants to grin, the words probably not holding the value she hopes to instill. Her sympathy can only go so far, after all she doesn't know him, the ins and outs of his past sprinkle his vulnerabilities on her but Famkee couldn't allow this stranger to make her think too much. "How did it feel to be in love?" Just like that she loses the battle with delving too deep. She can't help it, her golden eyes searching for an answer she has yet to discover. She often wonders what the weight of loving another completely (other than the surface love she held for her brother) would feel like. Her idea of love was frightening to her, giving parts of oneself entrusting them to another. 

His past is a thankful distraction for her to switch her attention, his ancestors being the source of magic that tainted the lands of Beqanna, and perhaps it does make sense that his gift from the sprites suits him so well. "but i don't deny that it would be useful to know how to pick up the artist's brush. someday." How eloquently put, she thinks. He causes a gentle curve to her lips as she takes the liberty to dip her hooves into the flowing water, delightfully refreshing to the senses, symbolically drowning out the theatrics. "Perhaps we could teach eachother our knowledge. The art of battle is fruitful in many ways but," she pauses briefly to suck in a breath the cool water brings now reaching the skin of her upper legs. "I feel the skills of combat have been diluted with magic. So many rely on their gifts and not the primal nature of what the body is capable of." She had no choice but to think this way, she wasn't bestowed with any special conjury nor the advantage. Though now she bares the benefits of what she came back from the mountain with, it doesn't swell her physical body in any way. He seems to piece it together for her, a word for the alien visions she's come to align. "Clairvoyance." She had heard of it, an equine from her homeland had mastered it gracing her judgement of the future to her pupils. It's hard to believe that she had joined the mare she thought so highly of in these strengths, though she thinks she's not even close to understanding how it works. 

She hadn't expected the shallow appearance of the creek to be this deep as she continues to delve deeper into the water, now lapping her dapples adorning the lower colors of her back. The water darkens her coat even more, saturating her skin and soothing the tension thought to be lost in tightened muscles. Her long mane and tail float near the surface, enrapturing her body. When he speaks of grounding, offering his aid she nearly wants to blush under his gaze. Simultaneously, she feels guilty even asking of anything of him at all, after all he said himself, she could handle it. She fights the bitterness to avoid his gaze, but she heeds to the kindness eventually. "Your presence is enough, Assailant. It's difficult for me to ask anything of a stranger." Though she does give another familiar lilt of her skull, silently asking him to join her in the comfort of the stream. Were his newfound feathers waterproof?  

if my heart is in your hands will i die

Famkee

@assailant