Beqanna - All Forums

swear i'm awake...

Sat, 25 Apr 2026 22:28:12 +0000

it's not a prestidigitation

The aching was deep.

The rattle of his own skull and clinking of golden teeth echoing in his piked ears as he opened and shut his jaws, body searing with pain as he heaved himself off of the ground. He craned his neck and tipped his heavy horned head for hollow sockets to gaze at the dark fleshy wings that protruded from his sides. He strained as he stretched them in and out, feeling the awkwardness of sharp splayed finger-like limbs that helped to stabilize the sensitive leathery membrane between them. The cool air that brushed against the exposed skin made him cringe; he had never felt anything like this when he had his perfect feathered wings.

He hissed in a shaking breath as he remembered the events prior to his waking here...the price he paid for that gold. "Goddess be damned..." he snarled as his gold teeth clicked with the words that rumbled from deep within his chest. The sound a horrible clinking reminder of what she had done to him. Distorting him into this monster...he didn't care he had stolen from her. All he cared about was himself and what she had done to him, and he would never forgive her nor forget it either.

Porthos surveyed the forest around him, dark and filled with the heady scent of decaying leaves and damp soil. He had no idea where the goddess had sent him, and he knew this sure as hell was not the home he once knew. Slender black legs carried him forward at a slinking walk with his piked ears swiveling to take in the sounds of the forest, alert to the sound of potential company. Be it benevolent or malevolent. At this point he didn't care who he ran into, so long as they could tell him where the hell he was. Following a slender trail of brown and reddish leaves, he weaved through thick forest for what seemed like hours with seemingly no end in sight. He would fly if not for the thick canopy of the trees making it impossible to access the skies above. As well as the intense aching pain his body felt with each movement he made.

He had no idea if it were day or night with how dark it was here, and he wondered if this was some sort of never-ending forest the goddess had sent him to wander for eternity... the thought making his rage begin to boil. His silky black tail swished irritably, catching stray strands upon the grabbing thorny clutches of thorn bushes as he passed between them. Would this trail ever end?

porthos

image by myself

Porthos

Fri, 24 Apr 2026 21:01:04 +0000

Horse's Full Name: Porthos
Breed: Anglo-Arabian
Age: 10
Gender: Stallion
Color: Vivid blood bay with brindle
Player Out of Character Name: Queenie

Anything else you'd like to include: "Gold Cursed" (2 space trait) - A curse that causes him to have a monstrous form of membranous wings, horns, elongated ears, and exposed skull with gold teeth after trying to steal gold from a godly entity in his prior homeland. (Trait name/permission courtesy of Kyra and the other officers) <3

His reference - https://toyhou.se/27097213.porthos

I miss it here :,)

Wed, 22 Apr 2026 18:47:41 +0000

Horse's Full Name: Rainy
Breed: Welara
Age: Six
Gender: Mare
Color: Grey on dappled silver black tovero
Player Out of Character Name: Elle Belle
How did you find Beqanna? (optional):
Anything else you'd like to include: Pale blue eyes, joining with unicorn horn

skin to bone, steel to rust; repost

Tue, 14 Apr 2026 13:23:05 +0000

What am I supposed to do when I want to talk about peace and understanding
But you only understand the language of war?

“Do we have family?” Sol asked on a warm evening an eon ago.

They stood on a hill side by side, mother and daughter, admiring the golden rays of the setting sun; the stars were already poking holes through the sky, she could make out the faint outline of the moon among the pinks, oranges, and purples and didn’t miss the wistful look her mother had given it. As if she missed someone.

“We do.”

Sol blinked her mismatched eyes, having half-expected her mother to admit to being an orphan. Instead, she began reciting history—their history—and the young foal had listened closely to every tale she told with wild and wide-eyed fascination. Once she finished as much as she was willing to discuss in one evening, Sol’s mind whirred with a million different questions but all she managed to blurt out was: “Do they know me?”

“No, they do not.”

The roan filly’s ears splayed out to the sides and her head lowered slightly despite her best efforts.

Nocturnal snorted, trying not to laugh at her daughter’s expense. “Blood calls to blood, little one,” she teased, reaching over to bump her shoulder. “You’ll run into one of us eventually, there’s lots of us.”

~

Blood had certainly been calling to blood since The Chamber’s revival.

Sol hummed, trying to ignore the raven that was squawking above her; a few hours before that, she had made the mistake of squinting her eyes and following him from branch to branch with her gaze. For whatever reason, the surly blackbird had decided he didn’t like her after that, and he had been harassing her for the better part of the day.

“Quiet, please,” she said, stopping to stare up at him. “I didn’t mean to disturb you and I just want to—”

Suddenly, one of his comrades decided to divebomb her and she snorted in frustration—but then came the second, and the third, and the fourth, and so on, each of them pecking at her head, neck, and ears. She swung her head around wildly and narrowly avoided one of the birds as it went for her eyes. “Stop!” She shouted, her bottom lip starting to quiver though she tried her hardest to not start to cry. “I. Said. STOP!”

Hundreds of thousands of thin, sharp, white bony spikes grew from her flesh and as the birds dove down, they impaled themselves one right after the other. The air fell silent after one last surprised caw and Sol stood still, breathing heavily, her eyes wide and her mouth open in disbelief. Slowly, the spikes retracted themselves back down into her skin and slid easily out of their little bodies. They fell to the ground, each a duller thud than the last, their beady black eyes shiny and lifeless.

“I-I didn’t mean to, I don’t know—I don’t know how, I don’t know what I did…” She stood frozen in shock, breathing heavily.

sol

No Crosses Count x Nocturnal

no grave can hold my body down, I'll crawl home to her;

Mon, 13 Apr 2026 23:34:46 +0000

I think my father loved my mother.

He thinks I don’t notice when he flies away at night, a snowy white owl drifting across a starlit heaven on a cool breeze; when he returns, I pretend to stir—as if I haven’t been waiting. I tuck my body close to his and sigh, comforted by his warmth while he shivers at first against my chill. He grows a thick, woolly coat, then sprouts raven wings and shelters me under his right wing.

Nikolas, my father, has never stopped looking for my mother.
I don’t think he ever will.

Sometimes I wonder if he blames me.
Other times, I know that simply isn’t true.

He loves me as much as I think he loved her.

She had been confused when I was born.

For whatever reason, when I arrived, I didn’t move or make noise—I was stiff, cold to the touch, and in her anguish she simply… vanished.

Nereza, my mother, had very strange powers.
My father thinks it was her undoing.

He has been taking care of me ever since.
In his own way.

Sometimes we’re horses, other times we are birds; once, he had taught me how to shift into a wolf, and I had waited nearby and watched while he hunted down a doe for us to eat.

“Vegetation isn’t always available,” my father had explained afterwards when our bellies were so swollen that my tummy hurt, bloody from his face down to his chest and legs. “When it isn’t, we hunt.”
“We survive by any means necessary.”

I amble along aimlessly, my skunk-colored tail flicking to ward off the flies. I keep my head high, my ears twitching and swiveling towards whatever sound comes my way. For the most part, it’s just the wind and I sigh when what sounds like a wailing banshee is just a gust forcing its way between two large stones.

I’m not sure where my father is, exactly. I know he isn’t far, he never is, but I appreciate the fact he has decided to let me explore a bit on my own even if the land is… well, dead and barren, for lack of better words. He hadn’t wanted to take me to the Forest or the River, explaining that there were too many others present, and I sigh loudly at the memory.

Join - Nytheris

Sat, 11 Apr 2026 21:02:07 +0000

Horse's Full Name: Nytheris
Breed: Arabian
Age: 5
Gender: Female
Color: Black base with a deep plum overtone
Player Out of Character Name: Jacquey
Anything else you'd like to include: 0 space trait of Stars please

I have not added the trait to the character profile yet, I want to be sure I am not missing something in thinking one 0 space trait is okay to join with before I do. Please let me know!

I've bled for less {

Sat, 11 Apr 2026 12:56:02 +0000

I’ve bled for less, for sure, then best…

A soft breeze whisked through the pine boughs, a sound that seemed like a thousand hushed whispers to the dark queen's ears as she strode along the well worn trail toward the clearing. She needed time to stretch her legs in peace, without Nadja, her hellish imp of a daughter, pestering the absolute hell out of her brother. She was thankful Havelock was willing to keep the pair entertained while she took some time alone to survey the territory's borders and make sure all was well. A crashing sound above her head and the deep caws that followed alerted her to the presence of her clumsy raven companion. The bedragled creature thrashed against the pine branches with loud caws of protest before it freed itself, losing a few more feathers in the process. The dark queen rolled her eyes and kept walking, not bothering to spare it a glance as she mused, You are the most clumsy beast I have ever known. I assume you have found nothing out of the ordinary from above?"

The raven flapped clumsily up to perch on its usual place on the curved tip of her horn before letting out a low "gwoh" sound as if to say, "nope". Shadowmere huffed, whilst the peace was nice she was a chaotic creature at heart. She yearned for a but of danger, a chance to taste the metallic tang of her enemies blood as she sang her shrill cry of victory. It had been too long since she had found herself locked in battle, and even then it was with herself....and was also how she obtained the dark spiraling horns upon her brow.

She was lost in thought when she finally broke from the dark of the forest and into the open clearing of the Chamber's heart, wondering if maybe this lull was only the prelude to something big. Like a slumbering volcano that was only waiting for the right moment to boil over. She doubted another cataclysm would ravage the land again, but this must be some sort of calm before a storm...she had lived long enough to know that Beqanna was no land of fluff and happiness. No place of certainty and guaranteed safety. It was wild, untamed, and the fairies were mighty. She knew it was only a matter of time before something would happen to shatter this era of calm peace, and she would be ready for it.

~ s h a d o w m e r e

Image by Onvisera

Ooc: idk why my html is messed up, but I will attempt to fix it later

is it still grave robbing if you only take bones?

Thu, 19 Mar 2026 03:17:06 +0000

ABRUS

Abrus allowed time to continue to pass by him as he cycled between the now-familiar woods of the Forest and Chamber. He was still trying to learn how things worked here in Beqanna and the environment had been a much easier puzzle to solve, thanks to his affinities, than that of the population. It seemed peaceful enough, though he suspected that meant there was a bloody past.

He doesn't remember if there was a time where he had been good at conversation. He doesn't remember his youth, what he had been as a child, or even his parents.

Sometimes this is troublesome, but Abrus doesn't bother trying to delve into any of that. If he has forgotten something, he reasons, it was for a reason.

So any lessons on how to start a conversation have been lost, encouraging the grullo stallion to get creative.

It's late afternoon in the forest, the shadows under the trees growing cold as the sunlight begins to slip away. He finds what he is seeking by the base of a cluster of pines, the needle-litter sending up wafts of fragrant air as he disturbs it with his hooves. The branching, wooden antlers he usually sports are small today — and they twist and bend to avoid getting tangled with any branches as he moves about. His companion rests on a low, dead and broken branch of one of the pines — their eyes a matching glowing white as they share their vision.

Abrus does not need to see for this but he finds he wants to anyway.

He is not too deep into the forest, and finds that he is hoping someone will come along and wonder what he is up to as he reaches down into the soil with his magic and begins to tug on the bones he finds there, bringing them up to the surface.

lay all your troubles down, any

Wed, 18 Mar 2026 18:32:26 +0000

i’m a foolish, fragile spine—

This she knows for sure: she is loved. She knows it in her mother’s softness and the persistent worry in her father’s eyes. She knows it in the warmth of her mother’s embrace and how, though he never touches her, her father smiles like something secret.

And it is such a brilliant thing, to be loved. To find courage in the knowledge that, should she fall, her parents would be there to lift her back up. It makes her brave, curious. It makes her soft, too, to be loved. There’s a heart that beats strong in her chest, stronger than most, it is her father’s heart, and it is not immune to aching. This she has inherited from her father, this penchant for worry. But she smiles like her mother.

Leliel, she is such a stunning combination of the both of them, Israfel and Selaphiel. It is her mother’s innocence that saves her whimsy, it is her father’s seriousness that keeps her grounded. Her head is in the clouds, you see, but her feet are heavy on the ground. She laughs but there is some weight to it, because she is equal parts her mother and her father.

She has been wandering farther and farther from the safe glen of love in which she has spent her youth. Her legs are longer now, stronger, as is her desire to know the world beyond the light of her parents. Her father does not want her to go, but he understands that he cannot keep her. Selaphiel, he would not dream of dampening his daughter’s spirit, though sometimes he thinks he can smell death on her already.

It is warm in the meadow, the height of afternoon, and she delights in the way wildflowers slide past her knees, her belly. How delightful it is to be alive on an afternoon like this, she thinks. How splendid it is simply to be alive.

She thinks to nap here amongst the wildflowers, let the steady hum of wind lull her to sleep. But she is thirsty for knowledge, a glutton for learning. She wants to explore every corner of the world, keen to lay her eyes on every creature that calls this place home. And she finds some strange, some wondrous, some that do not appear to be creatures at all.

She has wandered farther than she ever has before and, as evening begins to creep in and shadows begin to lean down across the meadow, she realizes that she has lost her way back. She does not panic, though, only scans the horizon for a figure. And when she finds one, she approaches slowly, cautious only in the way she does not want to startle them. And she smiles without shyness when she asks, “excuse me, do you know the way back to the ruins?”

—i want all that is not mine

Saltwater tongues are calling me; any

Mon, 16 Mar 2026 18:38:40 +0000

starboard

make it pretty, but train it to kill

The Gods were not content to just make her attractive.

No, her creation had been a coming-together of their great Godly minds. They had plotted and schemed, talked and dreamed until finally, she was created.

She was not just attractive. She was beautiful, so beautiful it was nearly sinful. She moved in a way ill-befitting of her age, as if she was acutely aware of her soft curves and swaying hips. The smile on her face spoke of sweat-slicked skin devoured in the shadows. Even the reptilian slit of her bright eyes was alluring in a dangerous sort of way. To top it all off, they had added wings made of water. A small deception, something soft and demure to distract from the otherwise predatory traits.

Make it pretty, but train it to kill. That had been their mantra. And they had checked every box of those requirements.

The river calls to her like a siren. She slinks along the bank, her slit-pupiled gaze looking across the high flowing water. With a small smile she closes in on the river bank, sighing contentedly as the flow laps at her ankles. The warm spring rain falls quietly, adding to the swollen river. It does not cause her alarm, and she does not make any attempt to leave the rivers edge. Instead, she stands contentedly, the watery sunshine glimmering against her wings and scales. Even the venomous fangs in her mouth have stopped aching, lulled by the quiet power of the river.

To see her here, a quiet mare wrapped in sunshine and ethereal beauty, it would be easy to let ones guard down.

A mistake one should, and will, only make once.

Word count: 280

I think I'll take my whiskey neat; Cassi pony

Mon, 16 Mar 2026 17:16:05 +0000

Once upon a time, he had given his heart over to another. He had given it freely and without any expectations other than to be loved in return.

She had loved him in return. They had loved fiercely and without restraint, the kind of love sonnets were written about. The kind of love that shifted the heavens.

But as happens too often, their moment had been fleeting. It only made sense. After all, the stars that burn the brightest are the first ones to fall. And fall their star did, leaving nothing in the sky but velveteen black where once something beautiful had been. That had been years ago, and though the memories have faded some the sting still remains, firmly settled in the place where his heart had been.

He doesn't know why he returns, or even how long ago he had left. Something about home called to him though. A tingling at first that quickly became a bone-deep ache and a tightness in his chest. It was impossible to ignore and he was too tired to fight it, so he set about that familiar path to the place he was born. He recognizes no one, nor does he expect to. Even when this place had been the only thing he knew, his eyes were only for her, and she is long gone.

She took his love when she left, but she saw fit to leave his life alone. Small blessing indeed, if one could even consider it a blessing.

Word count: 251
Ooc- there will eventually be html and this will get better >.<

Holiday + Birthday trait

Mon, 16 Mar 2026 14:15:58 +0000

For christmas, I won "Glaciem Intus", which I would like to give to Devi.

In addition, I'd like to use my birthday trait (March 9!) to give him the trait/curse "Frozen Heart" <3

Thank you!

who am i to complain, sleaze

Sat, 14 Mar 2026 22:43:49 +0000

i finally got sewed up
Set a time and i showed up

Years have passed.
Decades, perhaps.

And yet Isakov remains, has always remained, quiet in the way he has lurked. A thing made for love, not from it, he has understood that his place is in the shadows. He’s known it in the way he has only hurt the things he himself loved. Sigrid, darling girl, has gone. She had always been more fond of Sleaze, as though she’d understood that there had been something dark about Isakov.

Has he changed all that much? He has not fashioned himself into anything more fanciful than a star-touched bastard in so long he is not certain he’d be able to if he tried. The illusion had come so naturally to him, once.

But it had not all been an illusion, had it? No, he had known what it felt like to love something honestly. It had not all been for show. It couldn’t have. He’d loved desperately and he’d let it destroy him. He’d let it chase him into the shadows.

He emerges now only because that color, that deep purple, it is as familiar to him as his own skin. He catches only a glimpse at first and thinks it must be Sigrid. But it is not Sigrid.

It is Sleaze.

And Isakov, old Isakov, he smiles, relieved. Sleaze, he calls, only to find that no sound has left his mouth. He has only thought it. He does not rush in his approach, only walks purposefully until their strides match and he settles into an amble.

“Sleaze,” he finally says and the shape of the name on his tongue alone is enough to relax muscles that have been tensed for decades.

isakov

I've lost the foreground watching the horizon; any

Sun, 08 Mar 2026 22:14:14 +0000

I’ll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies
tell you my sins so you can sharpen your knife

He longs for quiet, but not this kind of quiet.
He wants a quiet of the mind, of the soul – not of the world around him. It is not the stink of abandonment, but the gentle pressure of the quiet
(the dark)
inside.
Instead, he has this – a forest that feels bereft of life. Some things stir, sure – the susurrus of birds’ wings, the subtle shifting of leaves under a beetle’s foot. But mostly, it feels so goddamn quiet.

He does not know what is becoming – or has become – of him. He knows he is different, now, that something thrums under his veins. But he is so used to changing, see! His body has never truly been his, not for a long time. His body has too long been distorted at the whim of the dozen strange worlds he has been thrust into.
So how is this any different?
So what if the world seems to be falling apart?
(He never knows if the things he’s witnessed were his doing, or if they were even real at all. Things burst into flame, sometime. The rocks turn into tigers. A cackle screeches out into the darkness, emanating from nothing and everything at once.
But there is never anyone else around to react. And Sleaze does not trust his mind. He does not trust anything.)

He is hopeless in his movement, trudging along a path that has begun to disappear back to the forest. He feels a strange pang of sadness, then, and whether it is for the disappearance of a once-loved trail or for the new growth he crushes beneath his feet, I could not tell you.
(He must not be entirely hopeless, then – for he moves still. He moves still.)

Sleaze

I haven't written in a million years

Welcome to the World Little One

Thu, 26 Feb 2026 21:41:35 +0000

TW: Very lightly eluded to birth? I tried to keep it subtle and not in your face but this was the only way it came to me.

A hush settled over the clearing as Nelke’s first contraction tightened through her belly. She froze where she stood, breath catching in her throat, as if even the act of breathing too loudly might draw danger closer. The night around her felt impossibly large. The trees loomed like silent witnesses. No voices. No comforting presence. Only the wind and the soft rustle of grass beneath her trembling hooves.

She lowered her head, nostrils brushing the earth, grounding herself in the faint scent of dust and crushed leaves. Her sides quivered. Another wave of pressure rolled through her and she let out a tiny, apologetic sound, barely more than a breath. She had always been a quiet creature, gentle to the point of disappearing, and now the weight of being alone pressed as sharply as the pain itself.

Her ears flicked at every distant noise. A branch shifting. A bird settling. Each sound made her flinch, her body torn between instinct to flee and instinct to stay. "It's all right. Just Breathe, you can do this." She whispered to herself in soft, shaky exhales. The next moment of pain was a flash through her abdomen and she felt the rush of it all and the fact that this was It she was finally having her foal that had grown safely inside her. She was stronger now but she was still scared of the pain that rocked her.

Then the pressure broke. A small, wet weight settled into the grass behind her. Nelke lifted her head, breath shuddering, and turned. A colt lay there, slick and blinking, his first breath a tiny, uncertain sound. Wonder softened her fear. She reached out, touching her muzzle to his damp flank.

"Inerak. My little wonder." She said as she turned and stood slowly then began licking his damp fur and nickering softly to him. She was standing and trying to get her colt to do the same, he was her son and soon she'd run at his side.

When he finally found his shaky legs she gave a soft sound and nuzzled into him. "My son."

Word Count for 2026: 351
Total: 1,041