"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
It's not that she is weary. It's more that she is impossibly energetic, that she dances from point to point like lightning. Perhaps it has never been in her nature to be pinned down. Perhaps it has always been in her nature to move on. Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps.
She stands alone in the silence when she feels it. The tickle of life, the slip and pop of magic, of something happening that, by rights, should not. Curious, she takes herself there, to that moment of reawakening.
And in that moment, she knows what she must do.
It is rare for Camrynn to be reflective. It is even more rare for Camrynn to be deferential. And it is virtually unheard of for her to set aside her pride. And yet now, something greater than all of that compels the black mare. Something greater even than herself – an oath she swore so many years ago, in a land beyond lands, underneath the shifting sands of the Desert. It was an oath to serve it at all costs, sworn to one of the few powers in Beqanna undisputedly more powerful than she herself could ever dream of being. And it is this oath, this unbreakable promise, that binds her now.
She doesn't speak, because she knows that the power she needs know knows everything, spoken or unspoken. She debates reaching out to them, the ones scattered through Beqanna whom she has touched. She feels in her bones, somehow, that what she is about to do could be an undoing of sorts. Not a permanent one – because nothing is truly a permanent undoing, not to her – but a miniature undoing. She feels in her bones that something dramatic will shift now, and she is not sure it will be for the better.
At least, not for her.
She closes her eyes for a moment, and when she opens them again she finds herself in that familiar-unfamiliar underground complex. The gods of the Desert are arrayed before her, judging her silently from their dias. There is brightly colored Isis, mother of all, her counterpart Osiris, their herald Thoth – they're all here, called silently by the magic mare. But she does not propose to command them. Instead she sinks to her knees without a word. The ground is cold on her legs, but she does not warm herself. She wouldn't dare to use her magic here.
"I've come to beg a boon." she says, and there is no artifice to her, not here. There is velvet in her voice, but no more than any mortal mare could claim. Her eyes are fixed on the ground. She does not dare to look up, does not dare to look them in the eyes. Not now.
But she takes their silence as encouragement to continue.
"I made an oath, to serve the Deserts first and forever." she mumbles into the ground. "And I think that I can now best keep it…" she pauses "By breaking it." She dares to look at them now, out of the corner of her eyes. They are like stone, like statues, and she wonders for a moment if that is their natural form. She blinks.
"There is another…." she says, still not quite able to make herself form the words "more worthy than I", although in her heart she knows it is true. "Vanquish. He's come back from the dead. Yael has brought him." She says it, although she knows that they already know it to be true. She swallows hard, acutely aware of how the silence drags, acutely aware of these eternal beings, uncharacteristically uncomfortable with the power of their gaze on her uncharacteristically vulnerable self.
"I would ask you….release me from my oath, release Pevensie and myself from the throne, and let him rule the Deserts instead."
It will be better, she knows it in her bones and in her heart. And yet the taste of failure is bitter and acrid in her mouth. This isn't her – she isn't one to give up, she isn't one to admit defeat, and she's rarely one to step aside in favor of someone else. But this is another dimension, another side of the world, and in this place she is not all powerful. In this place, she stands in the presence of the gods.
It could be minutes or hours, but finally the goddess Isis stands from her adorned throne. When she speaks, the words could be in Camrynn's mind, or could be spoken aloud. In this place, it doesn't matter. "We release you from the throne." the tone is cold, but not angry. "But we do judge that you have not fulfilled your oath." At this, Camrynn cannot help it – she looks up at the assembled gods. "You will fulfill the terms, and you will serve the Deserts, until such time as we release you." Chastised by radiant Isis, even Camrynn is humbled.
"We will welcome Vanquish to our Deserts." the queen of the gods is almost smiling. She returns to her throne. "You will summon him. And then we will have you, until you've served your term." and with that, the woman sits.
A cold like death begins to creep toward Camrynn, but the black magician knows better than to resist. She knew what she was getting herself into when she'd made the oath, she'd known how serious it could be – at least it isn't taking her magic, of that she is certain – and for that she is grateful.
"Vanquish. Yael." she calls out to them with her mind, gently, so gently, the voice entirely unlike yours. "Vanquish, the Deserts is yours." she chuckles a bit, like one drifting off into sleep. "I think perhaps, it always has been." She sighs, and wonders whether they can hear it too. "Rule it well. I know you will."
It is done. The blackness creeps up, like a cold blanket, but not without its comfort. The gods are leaving, processing out of the hall. She wonders where she is, but doesn't dare probe with her magic. "Yael…" she sighs. "I wish…" she's tired, so tired.
And with a flutter like butterfly wings, so delicate, she flies from Yael's mind and finds the mind of the only other that she had truly cared about. "Eight…" what must she sound like, her voice husky with sleep, velvety, delicate? "I…."
And then the cold is unbearable and soothing, and the slumber is complete.
Camrynn endures, somewhere beneath the Deserts, enveloped into the essence of its being. All those who enjoyed any capacities granted by her will see them disappear as though scattering into the wind.
The black mare fades into somethingness, and somewhere far above her, a new day dawns for the Desert – a day with a new king, a new hope, and a willing-unwilling talisman buried deep beneath the sands.
@[Amandalynn] @[Sarah]
Vanq and Yael get first crack
I am literally the worst. But holy guacamole was this overdue. Cam's not dead, and will undoubtedly be back Someday™. But since she's no longer in control of her own magic, unfortunately anyone to whom she gave a "gift" is gonna lose it
11-18-2015, 09:08 PM (This post was last modified: 11-18-2015, 09:34 PM by Vanquish.
Edit Reason: Yael used with permission and all that jazz :)
)
Who is luckier than he in this world? He, who’s soul had been allowed to come back? He who had been spat back upon ground that he was no longer meant to walk upon? He who was here now looking upon faces he was meant to miss forevermore? And although there was no way for him to know how long he had been gone, there was no haze of time lost. His memories were vivid and eagerness clamored where confusion would have been in a lesser beast. Although the years had a bleached his first-bones clean and white, he was back like he had never known time’s touch. Now a vital, impressive stallion stood where a shapeless, starving shell of a soul had just resided. His eyes were lucid and wide with triumph as he opens them to the voices of his family, Yael as ageless as sin and Etro – as beautiful as she should be but no longer the boisterous child-princess he remembered. “My girls,” he says, and although his voice is as heavy and commanding as it had always been, there is a stumble of emotion in it. He reaches out to embrace them but another voice comes, echoing through his thoughts and beating in his wide chest. The voice is achingly soft yet gilded with power – she calls his name, their names, and then the world is black again.
The smell of jasmine and musky incense explode in his nose as he wakes beside the still sleeping, olive-skinned girl. His human heart shifts with recognition and a smile slips across his hard-jawed face, even in this form she is hauntingly, exotically beautiful. Her hair is clipped back with an emerald scarab and her petite curves adorned in milk-white silk, she is delicate and fine where he is rough and feral. His skin is darker than hers, with hair as pitch as night plaited down his bare, tattooed back. His heart is beating so hard he thought it might burst as he reaches out to gather her in heavy, needy arms, “Yael,” he breathes into her fragranced black hair, his voice gruff and thick with accent. The fingers that cradle her petal-smooth face are calloused and tattooed, but they touch her softly, carefully and her breath quicken as he does. Her eyes open slowly and she is gazing back up at him with her placid, ever-calm eyes. Such a calmness, he had always mused and teased, only comes with the recognition of your own power. She was his thorned-rose.
She answers him with a brush of her lips across his and he is pulling her closer into him, a fistful of her raven hair clenched between his fingers. “That’s enough!” Osiris bellows, stepping from the shadows with Isis close at her heels, squealing delightfully, “Oh stop it!” She says, slapping the back of her brother’s back playfully, “let them, I’ll watch.” The goddess says with a laugh, dropping down at the foot of the ivory chaise that the two forever-lovers lay upon.
“We are here on business, wife!” Osiris says, more impatiently this time and his voice shakes the marble hall. His blood-gold throne that appears beneath him as he sits, stroking his beard as Isis gathered herself to his side, muttering something impishly beneath her breath.
“You,” Osiris points at Vanquish, who is suddenly standing before the two gods as Yael watches from her own seat of ivory and furs, “have been brought back to rule this kingdom again, but you must do it alone.” The god’s gaze travel’s back to where Yael sits, “she has given you back your gift of life,” he says, “but in that same breadth of love, you rely far too much upon her and her strength.”
“So this,” Osiris says, and they are back in the Deserts once more, his bare feet burning on the hot sand, “is on your shoulders and yours alone.” Isis comes next, handing him a pomegranate that smells of smoke and metal, “take a bite, you’ll like it.” His hand brings the fruit to his lips without hesitation, sparkling white teeth delving into it’s flesh as a trickle of juice dribbled down his chin. The goddess leans in, lustfully close as if she meant to lick the nectar away – but then she catches Yael’s eye and only disappears into nothingness, leaving only a laugh and the scent of jasmine.
Osiris smirks with a shake of his adorned head and winks to Yael, “see you around,” he says, as if they were old friends, “and Morphine sends her regards.” Then he too is gone, leaving only memory and the scent of musky incense behind.
With the gods gone they are returned to their natural forms – he, a dragonwinged giant and she, a lithe shimmer of gold wrapping around raw power. He would sit upon the Deserts throne again and he would wear its crown with all its vices and glories.
So once again the Nightwalker stood upon the sands of his Deserts, Camrynn’s word’s throbbing through his ears as he looked out upon the palms and dunes – “Vanquish, the Deserts are yours,” she had said, “I think, perhaps, it has always been,” perhaps.
Exhausted, Yael falls into him, letting her much slighter form lean into the brawny, broad chest that might break any other mare her size. She would never let on that pushing against Etro’s growing power was not as easy as it looked (though she could feel her trying to reign it in, and her heart broke a little to feel her daughter despise her nature); their abilities grew in tandem. Etro would never be able to quell her mother’s magic entirely, but if Yael were to be tired or ill, it would certainly prove difficult to be near each other. Next time they see each other, the golden mare will experiment with pushing the magic down, down, down, and bottling it up for awhile. Perhaps that would help. Perhaps there could be more visits that way.
She murmurs something unintelligible into his chest, and then lets herself be pulled into the Gods’ world.
She’s dreamed of his caress for years, sleeping alone in this big, empty bed - on the off chance that she even could drift off into dreamland. But this time it is real; this time, this time there isn’t going to be an aching in her heart and an emptiness between her thighs. She can hardly believe it, but she spent half the night watching his sleeping form (how could he sleep when he’d been dead for so long?), making sure he wasn’t going to disappear from her side. This time it’s real. This time, when he draws her into his muscular arms and presses the hard length of his body against her back, she is awakened with an electric zing. A soft sigh rumbles in the back of her throat in response. Yes. Yes please.
She turns to him, opening her eyes to gaze upon the face that had captivated her with his first step into her throne room. A gentle kiss urges him to continue, gasping softly when he grabs her hair and pulls her head back. But it is not to be. A sudden surge of power thrums across the room and her eyes fly open, knowing full well who has graced them with their presences. She would know that power signature anywhere.
She pushes him away from her, and turns her attention to the Gods, meeting their gazes with her silent, albeit curious one. They break the news to her sun and stars, taking away the heaviness that she has shielded him from. Yael has no desire to take up the throne again. Though her body may seem the same - able to effortlessly bear the weight of the world, she brought him back for a far more selfish reason that may not ever be evident. Their home needed a leader, and she did not want the responsibility. Yael is so very tired.
For some reason, the Gods take pity on her and do her dirty work, leaving the olive-skinned woman to hug her knees to her chest on the chaise and watch it all without a peep. By the end, she has a little crooked smile on her face and chuckles good naturedly at Isis (if she wanted to mount her sun and stars, could Yael really deny a Goddess - or fault her for her desire?) She even winks back at Osiris and mouths a ‘thank you.’ before he disappears, returning to wherever it is that Gods spend their time.
And then they return to their own.
“Vell… t’at vas eenteresting…” Warm, cinnamon brown eyes look up at the latest King of the Desert and she cannot hide the amused expression in her eyes, or the teasing tone in her voice. “Come, my Keeng. T’here ees much to catch you up on… The first and foremost being anozer var… You alvays xaf ze best timing, don’t you?”
As for Camrynn… Yael can feel what happens to her, and she is curious… but she will obey the Gods and let the black Queen remain within the sands. She will not pretend to know what they are thinking, and she will not interrupt her happiness to find out.
All things are possible, even the worst of things.
He should have been back here ages ago. Should have come the moment he had been dropped unceremoniously back into the meadow. But he had been afraid. Terrified that what he had seen in that house had been real, that he is no longer welcome. He stands at the border for several hours, his heart in his throat, before he finally takes that first step.
When nothing happens, he is relieved. But then, what had he really expected would happen? The sands do not buck beneath his hooves, Gumby does not come to chase him off (little does he realize), and no booming voice comes to inform him of his trespassing. And so he takes another step. And then another. And before he realizes it, he is nearing the oasis.
The shadows react to his emotions, just as they have done since he was deposited into the meadow all those weeks ago. He still doesn’t know why or how. He still isn’t sure he wants to. But he is beginning to grow accustomed to them. He doesn’t hate them anymore, at least. He doesn’t actively try to suppress them, not after he had discovered how futile such an act was. Mostly now, he ignores them. Or he tries to. It becomes harder when they begin to crawl up his neck, forming a dark, protective layer in response to the kernel of fear still lingering in his mind. But he ignores them to the best of his ability.
He almost doesn’t see them at first. They seem to appear simply out of nowhere. But then, Yael is a magician, and they can be rather curious lot. When he does catch sight of them, standing a distance away, he freezes, still unsure of his welcome. This time he actually doesn’t notice when the shadows stop dancing upon his skin, when they rush to encase him in a dark layer that blots out all hint of pewter in his coat.
Mastering his fear, he steps forward. Closer. Closer. Until he stands only yards from, standing tall, head high, knees locked so they would not tremble. And he knows, without even asking, that something has changed. That the Deserts has begun a new era.
shahrizai
hestoni x scorch
Ok, so a little back story. In the most recent quest, one of the things he saw was Camrynn telling him he is no longer welcome in the Deserts, hence his reaction. He still isn't sure whether it was real or not.
Her eyes meet his and a stream of memories pass between them like a current of power, he was back – they were back. Atonement and retribution were weighty on his shoulders but he could not muster care enough for those today. Not when what stood next to him and lay before him were what impossibilities were made of, not when he could finally reach down and feel the warm heartbeat of his Golden Rose after such a long time of numbness. “When has it ever been boring between us?”He asks, stallion’s teeth raking softly across her golden skin, yanking a few of her silvery strands teasingly. But when her next words come, large black ears twist and then lay back against his lofty skull. Another war.
Vanquish’s first admission to the Deserts had been a quick and unceremonious one, hurried by the ongoing slaughter of the non-traited in the pits of the Valley under Queen Elite. It was there at the War of the Valley that he had received his scar (one that Yael had remembered to recreate, by the way) from a clash with the demon-god Carnage. But that had not even truly been the Deserts fight, as he is almost sure the war she speaks of now is not theirs either. For his first reign, almost ten years long, there had been no direct threat of war towards the Deserts – it had always been the sands rising to the need of others. A laugh passes his lips and scaled dragon-wings shift against his sides, not even the oppression that thickens the air at the talk of war could burden him today.“They must of heard I was coming,” he jests, bumping a ink-velvet nose against hers, “so, tell me,” he says, a tufted ear swiveling down to catch her words, “to who’s aid do we come to this time?” And then a smile breaks across his handsome face, “what better a time to break in new bones?”
The winds shift direction and a new scent causes the draft to turn his head to face the seemingly black stallion, a heavy head cocking in interest as the shadows move across his skin, revealing the marbled blue color beneath. “Whats your name?” He asks, thick neck arching over his lover’s as he regards the young stallion with a soft but calculating eye.
