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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


    Oh, what fickle flame (Jenger Pony)
    #1

    That dirty rat bastard.

    Every time Tiberios got a single good glimpse of him through the void he’d wished to the Gods above that he would be granted one second of passage so he could rip that slimy little shit’s face off. Life hadn’t been over for the old Falls King, it had just begun, and that seafoam green freak had reached out a single finger and swiped it all away from him. He’d missed his children’s birth, he’d missed holding Talulah close to him in those hours following, he’d missed on connecting once again with the sibling he never knew. Instead he was granted few-and-far between snippets of them as they grew and changed. While others around him had strayed far from the shores of Beqanna, disappearing to who knows where in order to rest their spirits eternally, Tiberios had stuck stubbornly behind, scowling with his half-scarred face and pacing like a restless beast encaged.

    There was no peace for him anymore.

    There were, however, perks. Hunger no longer clawed at him, he needed no rest. He was never bothered, never approached by the other spirits about him. In fact, he wondered if they saw him at all. The living certainly didn’t. He would be ashamed to admit how long he’d spent pushing himself into the fog of what was once the Dale, trying effortlessly to catch Talulah’s attention. Months, if you were curious. No - things worked differently around here. You could, in essence, wander Beqanna. Though now that he had crossed the divide, everything was slate grey and black, covered in a thick fog that caused him to walk as if he were wading through mud, and the further he tried to ingress into the heart of the living realm, the more he began to fade and forget. Eventually, he’d given up and returned back to the misty shores of his resting place to watch his body decompose into nothingness - the waves of life eventually reaching out to gather his bones and deposit them somewhere on the seafloor.

    He hadn’t gotten the chance to be reunited with his dam, Miraposa. He assumed that she had traveled to the beyond, to connect with her ancestors and find eternal peace. But he couldn’t leave - couldn’t go just yet. There was still so much of life he clung to, and even in death it killed him to realize this. It was times like these that the hairless brute plodded aimlessly through the expanse of the netherworld, never stopping to try and hold conversation with any other being left behind. They all seemed so sad to him, and he understood why. With a sigh the black-and-white stallion lets his defenses down, raises his head, and screams his frustration to a deaf world, “I’m so BORED!”

    Tiberios

    king of the falls


    Reply
    #2

    with her sweetened breath and her tongue so mean
    she's the angel of small death and the codeine scene

     

    There was very little that Bright did not automatically know, very little that was able to escape the reach of her small, strange magic. Except now. The last thing she could remember was a sudden sleepiness, a haze that fell around her like starshine swallowing her whole. She thinks she might even remember the way it felt when her soul had been pried from the mortal confines of her bright purple body, a strange buzzing in her bones and deeper, an ache that swelled until finally there was only nothing. She had succumbed to unconsciousness, her body a crumpled heap of amethyst and white falling away beneath her as she was whisked away to something plain and gray and lonely.

    She woke weak and still without her physical form, with most of her recent memories stripped bare like flesh from sun-bleached bones. She could remember war but not the name for it, could remember the clash of fleshy bodies and blood spilled over flesh like water over stone. The memories she did have had remained jumbled at first, pieced together backwards and inside out until she had cast them away impatiently for the way they made her head ache. Eventually the memories returned, the bits of war and death and the horrified expression on her half-sisters face as the ever-impervious Bright had crumpled like a dead wasp.

    But the why was not for her to know yet, nor did she think to look for her twin Woolf who would be here somewhere also. It was death that had done this to the mage twins, not their death but the accumulation of so many others during that wretched war. It had unhinged their magic and turned it against them. Only in the afterlife would they heal, and only after they healed would they be allowed to return.

    For the most part those in the afterlife ignored the arrogant purple mare, thinking her no different than themselves. They were boring and complacent, wallowing in their deaths and she resented them for it. So when she hears his voice break the silence, catching the sound of it in the swivel of curved ears, a thin smile curls across her pale mouth. She finds him easily enough, pausing briefly to inspect the burns stretched grey and pink across most of his left side. A story lives there, she thinks, and she hates the way her magic lies dormant somewhere in her skin and she cannot use it to steal the story from him. So instead she approaches and though she knows his frustration for the way it boils inside her, she is languid and casual when she appears beside him, that thin smile deepening against her lips. “Oh yes,” she says, though her voice lacks much of the edge it had carried before coming to this place, “yes that is very constructive.”


    bright

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    #3

    At least they have one thing in common. Tiberios knows what it is to be stripped of your power, to feel that strange emptiness it leaves behind once it’s gone. Unlike the purple mare, though, he’d been born without his gift - and just like anything in life that’s given, it can just as easily be taken away. The loss of his white flame wouldn’t have served much purpose here anyways, but he would never have used it to destroy the earth in the manner that the foolish, cannibalistic stallion had. Such terror and loss … it was a shame. Life is cyclical however and Tiberios knows that in the end it’ll come back to bite the shifter in the butt - just as it had bitten him. Funny thing, karma.

    In the silence that follows his outcry something unusual happens; for the first time since he’d been here a voice speaks up in reply to him. His head snaps around, golden eyes narrowing with suspicion at the amethyst-painted mare. Her smile does anything but comfort him. What she says doesn’t help the matter, his ears flattening against his skull. “Right, because naturally what you’re doing here seems to be progressing things right along, doesn’t it?” He retorts, head shaking with mild disgust before he turns away from her. With a flick of his dark tail he tries to sweep her away, slow footfalls echoing into the eternal silence as he plods along the edge of the beach, in no general direction. She could follow or stay behind, neither mattered to him.

    “And just what are you doing here anyways?” He calls out, knowing decisively that she’s probably following. Good fun is in short supply around these parts. His side itches, the massive scar twitching with the first sensation he’s had since death. A surprised look glints in his eyes and he halts, neck curving to the side so he can glance back at her. “Who are you?” He asks pointedly, tone falling flat with a mixture of mild curiosity and apprehension. This is the most alive he’s felt in ages.

    Tiberios

    king of the falls


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