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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


    I'm a word that no one ever wants to say - any Deserts foal
    #1

    no matter what they say, I am still the king

    Winter had come- and with it, war. What a perfect timing. The skies were darkening quicker, the air growing thin and cold, and the wildlife in crippling scarcity. While Beqanna’s land was dying – snow coating the ground, frost kissing the leaves – the residents of Beqanna were preparing to fight or die. The irony of some things in life are just unthinkable.
    While war was not quite declared just yet – the people knew. For the last six years, tensions had risen and rolled in waves. Alliances were forged, plans were set into places, and old faces rose from the woodwork. Yes, any day now the time would come.
    So of course, with war just on the horizon, why shouldn’t dear Eight take a stroll to the forest?
    When he reaches the edge, he stops, his dark eyes scanning the thickets of trees and brush – searching, waiting, for just the right thing.
    Languidly he rousts a small flower from the blanket of snow – it’s petals reaching upwards and it’s vivid bloom opening to the sky – a flower like a fly trap - waiting, waiting.

    and now the storm is coming, the storm is coming in

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    #2
    he laid low the warriors of old
    While the season of winter is often signified of death, it truly was the beginning of a new birth and experience for the young colt. Rome has lived his entire life in the sandy kingdom of Deserts. He doesn’t yet know about the harsh winters of Beqanna, such as the northern kingdom faces almost yearly. The sun was something he has only known. However, his mother, Lucrezia, never failed to mention and teach him things outside of the Deserts. Lucrezia wanted her son to be well-informed of the world and curious of it just as she had been. She had not failed to spark Rome’s curiosity. He often wanted to go outside the borders of the sandy kingdom and Lucrezia never said no to him. However, Rome has often wanted to go off and explore on his own.

    It is not a surprise that he has left the side of his mother. He was curious just as much as his mother had been as a foal. Lucrezia agreed that he was old enough to go out and explore, after all she had been about the same age when she went off to explore Beqanna herself. She did not see a problem in the matter. Winter perhaps had been a poor choice, but Lucrezia knew if something happened to the boy she would know – whether it was just her own motherly instinct that or something maybe in the sandy kingdom's magic, she knew she would find out. Rome in this matter doesn’t care. He is here in the forest now, eyes wide open as he stares in awe of the scene before him.

    Rome has never seen snow before – at least not as much as this. There had been bits and pieces here and there on the way to the meadow, but this was more striking than anything he had ever seen before. He shivers severely when a small wind crawls up his spine. Rome has not acquired a winter coat this year and probably never will during his stay at the Deserts. However, the cold does not stop him. Rome prowls forward, a curious fellow since birth.

    He is quick in his movements, mostly due to his physique. Rome is the first of his kind – an ocelot horse. He is of gold champagne coloring, with heavy panagre and spots. He has paws instead of hooves and a cat-like tail instead of a horse’s tail. If anything, Rome is quick to draw the eyes of others for his unique look and difference among the others in Beqanna. His father is actually somewhat similar but Kreios was not truly Rome’s father – another story for a different time.

    The young colt slides through the deep parts of snow at the edge of the forest, where thickets of trees and brush lay. He doesn’t care if he might be cold, or catch some sort of sickness because of it, since he is having too much fun in this new thing called winter. It is for a long time that he does this, searching and learning of the world and experiencing it all. However, the sight of a small flower in the blanket of snow is peculiar, especially in the winter time. His mother had told him that the flowers die in winter and in the spring they grow back. This confused Rome greatly. So, he peers at it curiously, nose sniffing it and inhaling its unknowing, yet curious scent. Rome has no idea that perhaps this might be a trap, instead he is curious and naïve of such things in this world (despite even his mother’s conversation of the world holding wickedness in it).  
    ROME
    tarnished x lucrezia
    html © venge | character info: here | character reference: here
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    #3
    Oh to be young again! To have never seen the outside world - to have been sheltered and cajoled, hidden away from life’s tragedies and troubles. To have that spark of curiosity for each and every new venture - a story waiting to unfold. And isn’t that what this is? Dear Rome’s true story is about to begin - a blank page, beyond the swirling sand of the Deserts and the haven of mother. Here, there was no safety net to catch you when you fall.


    Yes, winter perhaps had been a poor choice. But more than that, perhaps it was a slightly worse off choice to let your child fly free moments before the wild rumpus began. To Lucrezia’s credit, at least she let you roam - most mothers kept their young close by, free to roam, but never too far. Rome, you seem to have free reign - a final release into the big, wide world. Welcome, little feline - are you ready to write your story?


    Eight watches you enter - your wide eyes and his unfamiliarity with the thick blanket beneath him. Why, you are like a scene from a snow globe. Oh what a shame it would be for someone to shake it up, no?


    What luck for Eight to have something so.. eccentric as you. True, Beqanna was full of intricate traits -fire benders and mind readers, horses that could heal with a touch. But none so much as an ocelot child. How peculiar it must feel to be the lone one in the world - no other soul with traits quite like yours.


    Your child like innocence is stark in the quiet forest. Luckily, there is no other soul around. Most have heard of the break of war - they had seen, smelled the flames that wafted from the various kingdoms, or they had their respective magicians peek into their minds and spill the spoils of war. But you? Well you were in your solid little snow globe - a land of your own, fueled by that ever growing curiosity. How does that go? Curiosity killed the cat? Lucky for you, you’re an ocelot equine.


    You are never far from Eight’s sight - your anomaly of a figure floating in and out of the picture in his head. He knows you’ll come - there is no stopping you now, a child set in his curious ways. Your snowglobe is only so big - the flurry will eventually bring you here.


    And so it does- your lithe form breaking at the end of the copse of trees, your eyes landing quite quickly on the flower flowing from Eight’s magic. And he knows you will not stray now. Although you are no stranger to the magic and might of Beqanna - have you ever quite met a magician?


    Eight steps quietly from the thick of the trees - growing the flower as he goes, vines reaching outwards, tickling at the mid of your legs, like small hands grasping for you to hold.

    “Beautiful, no? How something can thrive even in the darkest of times.”

    He steps further closer, finally ceasing the growth of the flower before you. “Rome, isn’t it?” He looks down to the flower at your feet, and it begins to transform - growing upwards into a cat o’ nine tails - except it’s pattern is that of yours, an ocelot o’ nine tails, perhaps? “The only one of your kind.” And with a small bob of his head, Eight vanishes the flora before you.

    “Eight.” He says, and he turns towards the forest of trees, giving you a glance behind him before he enters the thick of it.
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    #4
    he laid low the warriors of old
    The world is a bright and beautiful place through the very eyes of a newborn. In some ways it was a blessing to be born, unknowing of the world in its mixed ways of beauty and disaster. As all lives begin, you were born with a clean slate, a past that did not hold you down or obligation to keep you in one place. However, these are circumstances that shape and rip at this blank canvas, the stroking of the brush against the purity and naïvetés, creating a masterpiece or a mere disaster. There are many opportunities for when you are merely a blank canvas.

    As for Rome, he had been one of the lucky ones. He was born with two parents who shared a close friendship and cared deeply for one another since childhood. The Deserts, his home currently, was warm and beautiful, which shared a positive attitude towards the world. His mother surely played a role in his upbringing as she shared stories to him about the world and everything it entailed. However, she barely mentioned her family beyond the ones he knew in the Deserts. Lucrezia had her own reasoning, but for now Rome is clueless of the brokenness of his mother’s family. It had not been ideal for the young cub to grow up knowing his foundation of family was full of lies. After all, his mother wanted to ensure he stood upon a foundation that was strong even if it was built on top of lies (but she cleverly planned it together as best as she could, as best as her father, Rodrik, had taught her to).

    The young cub is unaware of the presence of the magician. He is too naïve to take in the scene before him and logically find the allure of this trap. It is with such a situation as this that a young mind learns of the world, whether this was intentional for wickedness or not. Rome eventually would learn; he will remember this moment specifically if all is to go sour. He can only play off of what his mother has taught one but certainly he forgets these lessons because his curiosity does get the best of him. Rome forgets his mother’s tales about those that deceive and manipulate others. He forgets about the warning signs, the times where he needs to be cautious and pay attention to details. Rome is a child though, overly interested what he doesn’t know and naïve in his decision making. And unfortunately, he will pay the price for being this way.

    Rome’s nutmeg eyes analyze the flower. A curious grin draws wide and large across his muzzle. He is unware of the black bay approaching due to the flower’s now blossoming movements. A burst of noises expressing such as “Wow!” and “Awe!” escape through his lips as his eyes remain wide in amazement still. Rome jumps back in surprise when the vines of the plant reach out to him. The vines are quick to reach his long, foal legs before he can escape out of distance. He laughs when the vines tickle mid-way on his legs. It is a laugh of poor joy, a laugh that doesn’t have a care in the world. The laugh is natural and good – almost a beautiful song that is hardly heard by those that know of the world’s wicked ways.

    When Eight speaks, the ocelot foal jumps in fear. His laugh becomes silenced quickly. Rome’s nutmeg gaze quickly takes in the presence of the magician. Naturally, he swallows hard as the presence of the stallion was unexpected but truly not unwelcomed. The colt’s ears flick forward as he listens to the words Eight says. A grin grows across his lips. “My mother says flowers die in the winter. So, why is this one growing?” Rome asks in a confused voice and puzzled look takes over his grin. He feels mislead by the information his mother gave him, almost hurt by the unintentional lie. Yet, his expression turns into an even more perplexed look when Eight mentions it. “How do you know my name?” His head cocks to the side, naturally curious but the feeling of fear edges forward.

    He turns his gaze down when Eight does, noticing the flower has stopped growing, and watches as it blooms into a something quite like him. “OH! It looks just like me!” Rome says loudly with a gleeful voice. He looks up when Eight mentions he is the only one of his kind. The colt doesn’t seem to understand, simply unaware that he was the only one. Wasn’t his father just like him? Perhaps in some form he was but Rome doesn’t entirely know that. The flora disappears out of the corner of his eye, but he saw Eight bob his head gently. “Where did the flower go? Did you just do that?” He asks quickly.

    “Ate? Eight?” He questions, confused by the stallion’s one word. Rome flicks his tail slowly, still feeling quite puzzled by everything at the moment. He has had none of his questions answered yet and the black bay is already walking away from him. Rome snorts in anger. “WAIT!” He yells towards Eight and quickly scampers off on the trail Eight went. “I SAID WAIT FOR ME!” Rome is then lost in the thick trees of the forest.
    ROME
    tarnished x lucrezia
    html © venge | character info: here | character reference: here
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    #5


    kreios

    don't you tame your demons, but always keep them on a leash

    With war on the horizon and the Deserts heavily involved, I’ve left behind my tiny kingdom. I intend to return, of course, but before I can settle into the comfortable neutrality of the falls, I need to be sure that Lucrezia and Rome are safe. I’d like them to come back to the Falls, and am rehearsing a convincing plea for the strong-willed Lucrezia when I stumble across a scent that does not belong where I find it.

    I’m only halfway to the Deserts, but I catch of whiff of someone familiar with my enhanced senses.

    Rome?

    What is he doing in the Forest?

    The winter snow holds scent well, and soon enough I am following the small pawprints of my youngest son as they lead me farther into the woods. I hear the sound of shouting and break into a run, barely noticing the third set of prints that Rome seems to have been following. The trees are thick around me – I have never been this deep into the woods – but I weave around them with feline dexterity until I can see the black and yellow pattern of my son ahead through the trees.

    “Rome!” I shout, “Rome, slow down!”

    The trees are too close together for me to gather much speed, though I am sure that the boy ahead is having no trouble slipping between them.



    i hope it is okay that Kreios is being "dad to the rescue" dad D:
    if not feel free to ignore this Big Grin
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