<![CDATA[Beqanna - The Ruins]]> https://beqanna.com/forum/ Fri, 24 Apr 2026 23:52:13 +0000 MyBB <![CDATA[no grave can hold my body down, I'll crawl home to her;]]> https://beqanna.com/forum/showthread.php?tid=32119 Mon, 13 Apr 2026 23:34:46 +0000 Vermithor]]> https://beqanna.com/forum/showthread.php?tid=32119
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.]]>
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.]]> <![CDATA[everything that's mine is a landmine, zohariel]]> https://beqanna.com/forum/showthread.php?tid=32049 Mon, 22 Dec 2025 07:11:45 +0000 Ryatah]]> https://beqanna.com/forum/showthread.php?tid=32049

Ryatah
WHEN I WAS SHIPWRECKED I THOUGHT OF YOU
IN THE CRACKS OF LIGHT I DREAMED OF YOU
The thought of calling his bluff had crossed her mind, sharp and undeniable, but bright red like a warning.

If it had been anyone else, she would have.
There has always been a sick part of her that relished in exactly this—in their leaving, so that she might splinter and break around the ache of it. It was a high she couldn’t get anywhere else, a rush that only the aftermath of self-destruction could bring, and she hates herself for being able to admit that she has never regretted doing it a single time.

She might miss them—she might spend nights wondering what if, what if, what if, while all the scars across her heart flared to life—but nothing healed her shattered heart quite like letting it fall in love with someone else.

But Carnage is different; she knows he means what he says.
And for all the twisted, wicked games they have played, never before has he threatened to leave.

She believes him when he says it, just as she believes that she would never even be given the chance to beg him to stay.

Instead of quieting the panic that had taken root in her chest, she let it blossom.
She needed that quickened pulse and that desperation, she needed the image of stars collapsing in on themselves, and black holes she will never find her way out of, because she needs to think that is what is waiting for her on the other side of this should she fail, should he leave.

She goes to the Ruins, because she likes the haunted, graveyard feel of it. They are well into the thick of the night, the sky a near-black and glittering with stars in the space between the soft gray wisps of clouds, and the quiet around her feels taut. She doesn’t know how she will choose; she only knows that she is not made for this, and she hesitates.

She hesitates, and something alights in her veins, the thread that binds her magic to him suddenly like a livewire, and instead of being afraid she wants more, wants him.
She cannot fail, not this time.

And since she is not made for this, she makes herself into something that could be, something divinely terrifying and unrecognizable.

The stark, glowing white of her skin remains, but that usually amber-soft glow of a halo disappears into a nearly blinding light, enough to obscure her face and make her difficult to look at for too long. From her back erupt two sets of wings, golden and showering stardust, but across their entire expanse are innumerable pairs of nearly-black eyes, just like her own, some staring, some blinking slowly. Every scar that had once marked her body—her chest where her own heart had been ripped, a jagged slice across her throat, Carnage’s brand on her hip—bleed a glittering gold, leaving tracks down her porcelain-white skin.

She finds her, the girl carved from night, and simultaneously knows she is the one while wishing she weren’t.
Memories flood her mind unbidden, of someone else she had known that had seemed to be crafted of the night itself, of the way he had whispered angel into her neck countless times, and how she had broken every promise she ever made to him.

“Don’t be afraid,” she tells her as she approaches, and her usually soft voice seems to split a hundred different ways, the sound dissonant and jarring as the vocals layer on top of each other, the seraphic glow seeming to chase away the dark. “I knew someone who looked like you, once.”


AND IT WAS REAL ENOUGH TO GET ME THROUGH —
BUT I SWEAR YOU WERE THERE



]]>

Ryatah
WHEN I WAS SHIPWRECKED I THOUGHT OF YOU
IN THE CRACKS OF LIGHT I DREAMED OF YOU
The thought of calling his bluff had crossed her mind, sharp and undeniable, but bright red like a warning.

If it had been anyone else, she would have.
There has always been a sick part of her that relished in exactly this—in their leaving, so that she might splinter and break around the ache of it. It was a high she couldn’t get anywhere else, a rush that only the aftermath of self-destruction could bring, and she hates herself for being able to admit that she has never regretted doing it a single time.

She might miss them—she might spend nights wondering what if, what if, what if, while all the scars across her heart flared to life—but nothing healed her shattered heart quite like letting it fall in love with someone else.

But Carnage is different; she knows he means what he says.
And for all the twisted, wicked games they have played, never before has he threatened to leave.

She believes him when he says it, just as she believes that she would never even be given the chance to beg him to stay.

Instead of quieting the panic that had taken root in her chest, she let it blossom.
She needed that quickened pulse and that desperation, she needed the image of stars collapsing in on themselves, and black holes she will never find her way out of, because she needs to think that is what is waiting for her on the other side of this should she fail, should he leave.

She goes to the Ruins, because she likes the haunted, graveyard feel of it. They are well into the thick of the night, the sky a near-black and glittering with stars in the space between the soft gray wisps of clouds, and the quiet around her feels taut. She doesn’t know how she will choose; she only knows that she is not made for this, and she hesitates.

She hesitates, and something alights in her veins, the thread that binds her magic to him suddenly like a livewire, and instead of being afraid she wants more, wants him.
She cannot fail, not this time.

And since she is not made for this, she makes herself into something that could be, something divinely terrifying and unrecognizable.

The stark, glowing white of her skin remains, but that usually amber-soft glow of a halo disappears into a nearly blinding light, enough to obscure her face and make her difficult to look at for too long. From her back erupt two sets of wings, golden and showering stardust, but across their entire expanse are innumerable pairs of nearly-black eyes, just like her own, some staring, some blinking slowly. Every scar that had once marked her body—her chest where her own heart had been ripped, a jagged slice across her throat, Carnage’s brand on her hip—bleed a glittering gold, leaving tracks down her porcelain-white skin.

She finds her, the girl carved from night, and simultaneously knows she is the one while wishing she weren’t.
Memories flood her mind unbidden, of someone else she had known that had seemed to be crafted of the night itself, of the way he had whispered angel into her neck countless times, and how she had broken every promise she ever made to him.

“Don’t be afraid,” she tells her as she approaches, and her usually soft voice seems to split a hundred different ways, the sound dissonant and jarring as the vocals layer on top of each other, the seraphic glow seeming to chase away the dark. “I knew someone who looked like you, once.”


AND IT WAS REAL ENOUGH TO GET ME THROUGH —
BUT I SWEAR YOU WERE THERE



]]> <![CDATA[this picture's frozen and I can't get out]]> https://beqanna.com/forum/showthread.php?tid=31988 Sat, 25 Oct 2025 04:51:16 +0000 Razaranje]]> https://beqanna.com/forum/showthread.php?tid=31988

this picture's frozen and I can't get out

She has been wandering, trying to collect memories of a life that seems to have been a million years ago. Searching to find a place that triggers something familiar. She knows there is something to who she is. The blank slate she woke to was once full of memories that she just can't dig out of the heavy fog in her mind. Her dreams have been wrought with flashes of blood and ear-piercing shrieks. Memories of a war that she knows must have existed. Fuzzy visions of her mother, green like her, but harsher and cold. She knows she has siblings. Or had siblings? A pink sister, a brother with tattered wings, and several siblings in varying shades of green. Likely all long gone, as home seemingly was.

Dead land and the stench of death accompany the shrieks and blood of a war rattled land that she must have once called home. There isn't a feeling of fear that comes with these flashes of memories and dreams, though. Her mother, she is certain, thrived in the conditions. A death pit. Sacrifices. Strange and wicked ideas. Things that should make her uneasy, sick, fearful - she feels no such thing in her memories. Did she enjoy those things as a child?

She has wandered through the meadow, found a river that spread to the ocean, and now has found her way to the ruins, green legs carrying her over the terrain carefully. The land feels haunted. She could swear she can hear whispers of those gone past. She stops, swishing her black tail across her green haunches as she scans the area. She can smell death, feel it slicking over her skin on the breeze, but this isn't home. Or at least it doesn't call to her like she thinks home should. The ruins scattered across the plain don't feel familiar or look familiar.

Razaranje knows this is the world she was born into, but it is also not. She closes her dark eyes and takes a deep inhale, allowing the strange scent to fill her lungs in hopes another memory might come out of the depths and into the light of her mind. As she exhales, though, the land is no more familiar than it was before. On top of the smell of death and pain oozing from the earth she picks up on the scent of another stranger. She turns to look, curious who else may be wandering this strangely haunting ground.

razaranje

Photo
]]>

this picture's frozen and I can't get out

She has been wandering, trying to collect memories of a life that seems to have been a million years ago. Searching to find a place that triggers something familiar. She knows there is something to who she is. The blank slate she woke to was once full of memories that she just can't dig out of the heavy fog in her mind. Her dreams have been wrought with flashes of blood and ear-piercing shrieks. Memories of a war that she knows must have existed. Fuzzy visions of her mother, green like her, but harsher and cold. She knows she has siblings. Or had siblings? A pink sister, a brother with tattered wings, and several siblings in varying shades of green. Likely all long gone, as home seemingly was.

Dead land and the stench of death accompany the shrieks and blood of a war rattled land that she must have once called home. There isn't a feeling of fear that comes with these flashes of memories and dreams, though. Her mother, she is certain, thrived in the conditions. A death pit. Sacrifices. Strange and wicked ideas. Things that should make her uneasy, sick, fearful - she feels no such thing in her memories. Did she enjoy those things as a child?

She has wandered through the meadow, found a river that spread to the ocean, and now has found her way to the ruins, green legs carrying her over the terrain carefully. The land feels haunted. She could swear she can hear whispers of those gone past. She stops, swishing her black tail across her green haunches as she scans the area. She can smell death, feel it slicking over her skin on the breeze, but this isn't home. Or at least it doesn't call to her like she thinks home should. The ruins scattered across the plain don't feel familiar or look familiar.

Razaranje knows this is the world she was born into, but it is also not. She closes her dark eyes and takes a deep inhale, allowing the strange scent to fill her lungs in hopes another memory might come out of the depths and into the light of her mind. As she exhales, though, the land is no more familiar than it was before. On top of the smell of death and pain oozing from the earth she picks up on the scent of another stranger. She turns to look, curious who else may be wandering this strangely haunting ground.

razaranje

Photo
]]> <![CDATA[i'm breaking down and you're breathing slowly, israfel]]> https://beqanna.com/forum/showthread.php?tid=31983 Fri, 24 Oct 2025 03:34:19 +0000 Selaphiel]]> https://beqanna.com/forum/showthread.php?tid=31983

these days i don’t pray when i close my eyes—

He has grown numb to it, the stench of death.
It has so fully infiltrated his senses that it has gone from something worth noticing to simply the way the world smells. For how many times could he punish himself for all the things he could not change before he grew numb to that, too?

He had not been able to save Mazikeen. He had not been able to save his mother. And now there have been so many countless others that perhaps he cannot make each of them as important as the last.

Which is all to say that he is tired, Selaphiel.
He is tired of the grief of it. The split-bone agony of knowing and never knowing.

See how it has taken its toll. See how there had once been hope in those eyes, see how it’s gone dark. He had been so alive with fear once that he couldn’t sit still with it. It had sent him to pacing, sticking to the shadows where perhaps they wouldn’t find him. Perhaps they wouldn’t send him away.

And he sticks to the shadows now, too, for the same reasons. Perhaps they won’t find him. Perhaps he won’t have to pretend. Perhaps he won’t have to dig up whatever energy he has left for a smile, a conversation, prolonged eye contact.

He has always been a solitary creature, Selaphiel, but this is a specific kind of estrangement. He has not seen his mother since he’d apologized for not being the one to protect her. He has seen Mazikeen’s daughter–his niece–more recently than he’s seen her. He hasn’t seen Este since before he’s seen any of the others.

Could he bear to look any of them in the face now?
Probably not.

So he loiters where perhaps they won’t find him. He lingers in the Ruins, as he has for years. Because it smells so strongly of death here that he has convinced himself that this is simply the reality of the world.

—I just bite my tongue a bit harder

]]>

these days i don’t pray when i close my eyes—

He has grown numb to it, the stench of death.
It has so fully infiltrated his senses that it has gone from something worth noticing to simply the way the world smells. For how many times could he punish himself for all the things he could not change before he grew numb to that, too?

He had not been able to save Mazikeen. He had not been able to save his mother. And now there have been so many countless others that perhaps he cannot make each of them as important as the last.

Which is all to say that he is tired, Selaphiel.
He is tired of the grief of it. The split-bone agony of knowing and never knowing.

See how it has taken its toll. See how there had once been hope in those eyes, see how it’s gone dark. He had been so alive with fear once that he couldn’t sit still with it. It had sent him to pacing, sticking to the shadows where perhaps they wouldn’t find him. Perhaps they wouldn’t send him away.

And he sticks to the shadows now, too, for the same reasons. Perhaps they won’t find him. Perhaps he won’t have to pretend. Perhaps he won’t have to dig up whatever energy he has left for a smile, a conversation, prolonged eye contact.

He has always been a solitary creature, Selaphiel, but this is a specific kind of estrangement. He has not seen his mother since he’d apologized for not being the one to protect her. He has seen Mazikeen’s daughter–his niece–more recently than he’s seen her. He hasn’t seen Este since before he’s seen any of the others.

Could he bear to look any of them in the face now?
Probably not.

So he loiters where perhaps they won’t find him. He lingers in the Ruins, as he has for years. Because it smells so strongly of death here that he has convinced himself that this is simply the reality of the world.

—I just bite my tongue a bit harder

]]> <![CDATA[The Ghosts]]> https://beqanna.com/forum/showthread.php?tid=31942 Fri, 03 Oct 2025 16:40:14 +0000 Random Event]]> https://beqanna.com/forum/showthread.php?tid=31942
If you look close, their translucent bodies are mangled. Showing signs that their deaths were anything but peaceful. They seem to be, though.

So is it worth the chance on approaching them?


Happy Spooky Season!
- this drop is open to the first two characters to reply (only one per player)
- gifts will be randomized but autumn-themed
- if you miss out, don't worry! Keep your eyes open every Friday this month for more chances.]]>
If you look close, their translucent bodies are mangled. Showing signs that their deaths were anything but peaceful. They seem to be, though.

So is it worth the chance on approaching them?


Happy Spooky Season!
- this drop is open to the first two characters to reply (only one per player)
- gifts will be randomized but autumn-themed
- if you miss out, don't worry! Keep your eyes open every Friday this month for more chances.]]> <![CDATA[life's a beach]]> https://beqanna.com/forum/showthread.php?tid=31870 Mon, 24 Feb 2025 16:13:19 +0000 Neiko]]> https://beqanna.com/forum/showthread.php?tid=31870 quick. He can keep up with the seals and play with the porpoises, but before, not too long ago, the seas had him by the collar. He was punished by the cold and dark depths rather than intrigued by them. He could not shake the very organic fear of drowning, which is natural to his earth-bound body… but to fear the water is to deny his heritage, to deny his Gods given magics, his gifts.

And overcome it he did. Through sheer will and determination (and a bit of force), he boldly conquered the shadowy corners of his mind where his fears dwelled. He now, very proudly, moves with confidence through Beqanna’s lively waters. Most of his time is spent in Baltia, a haven for the water creatures, a world away from those bound to the land.

Today seems like as good a day as any to wander away from his comfortable ocean spaces and find his way back onto land. It’s been a while since he’s let his hooves have touched beach, months since he’s shed away his scales for sleek golden and blue fur. He shakes, sewing up his form to let go of anything Nereid; embracing his fully equine form as he ventures off of the beach and up into the gloomy timberland ahead.

It’s a stormy afternoon, a gray sky choking out the sunlight and threatening rain. Soon a drizzle will start and the mists moving between the big trees will get thicker. He’s comforted by the presence of water all around him still, even as he moves farther and farther from the sea.

 

he's walking through the misty forest around the ruins, i figure they can "bump" into each other out here somehow lol]]> quick. He can keep up with the seals and play with the porpoises, but before, not too long ago, the seas had him by the collar. He was punished by the cold and dark depths rather than intrigued by them. He could not shake the very organic fear of drowning, which is natural to his earth-bound body… but to fear the water is to deny his heritage, to deny his Gods given magics, his gifts.

And overcome it he did. Through sheer will and determination (and a bit of force), he boldly conquered the shadowy corners of his mind where his fears dwelled. He now, very proudly, moves with confidence through Beqanna’s lively waters. Most of his time is spent in Baltia, a haven for the water creatures, a world away from those bound to the land.

Today seems like as good a day as any to wander away from his comfortable ocean spaces and find his way back onto land. It’s been a while since he’s let his hooves have touched beach, months since he’s shed away his scales for sleek golden and blue fur. He shakes, sewing up his form to let go of anything Nereid; embracing his fully equine form as he ventures off of the beach and up into the gloomy timberland ahead.

It’s a stormy afternoon, a gray sky choking out the sunlight and threatening rain. Soon a drizzle will start and the mists moving between the big trees will get thicker. He’s comforted by the presence of water all around him still, even as he moves farther and farther from the sea.

 

he's walking through the misty forest around the ruins, i figure they can "bump" into each other out here somehow lol]]> <![CDATA[Take the past with you]]> https://beqanna.com/forum/showthread.php?tid=31863 Tue, 18 Feb 2025 04:47:00 +0000 Tiasa]]> https://beqanna.com/forum/showthread.php?tid=31863
The ocean gives Tiasa up reluctantly beneath a sliver of an autumn moon. Beqanna is dark and the vegetation on shore looks eerie. Uninviting? No, not exactly. It’s become an unknown for her but that doesn’t make her want to turn away. It draws her in - this world she was born into. Isolation gave her everything she wanted. She lived the life she had dreamed of, free of ties and free of others.

And then, like a chill creeping up the back of her spine, she realized it was not what she wanted anymore. She was lonely. Which was such an embarrassing thought she had put off doing anything about it for years.

But now she was here.

Discomfort settled in a thick coat, leaving an itchy residue that made walking onto shore a greater task than it should have ever been. Small puddles fill up the prints left behind her in the sand, black pools glittering with that thin silver light.

When sand gives way she stops. Not because she’s afraid (though she is) or because she doesn’t know how to deal with her discomfort (that’s what ignoring things is for).

She simply just does not know where to go.

Did she have a home here? She must have been born in one place or another, must have had somewhere she preferred to linger. But there is nothing, no memories swimming up to guide her. It’s not that she doesn’t remember anything of course - there are memories - there just isn’t anything significant. No emotional pull driving her one way or another. This place is a blank slate for her. Fitting, she supposes, since she is one too.

TIASA


Open to any!]]>
The ocean gives Tiasa up reluctantly beneath a sliver of an autumn moon. Beqanna is dark and the vegetation on shore looks eerie. Uninviting? No, not exactly. It’s become an unknown for her but that doesn’t make her want to turn away. It draws her in - this world she was born into. Isolation gave her everything she wanted. She lived the life she had dreamed of, free of ties and free of others.

And then, like a chill creeping up the back of her spine, she realized it was not what she wanted anymore. She was lonely. Which was such an embarrassing thought she had put off doing anything about it for years.

But now she was here.

Discomfort settled in a thick coat, leaving an itchy residue that made walking onto shore a greater task than it should have ever been. Small puddles fill up the prints left behind her in the sand, black pools glittering with that thin silver light.

When sand gives way she stops. Not because she’s afraid (though she is) or because she doesn’t know how to deal with her discomfort (that’s what ignoring things is for).

She simply just does not know where to go.

Did she have a home here? She must have been born in one place or another, must have had somewhere she preferred to linger. But there is nothing, no memories swimming up to guide her. It’s not that she doesn’t remember anything of course - there are memories - there just isn’t anything significant. No emotional pull driving her one way or another. This place is a blank slate for her. Fitting, she supposes, since she is one too.

TIASA


Open to any!]]> <![CDATA[the stars a bright tonight]]> https://beqanna.com/forum/showthread.php?tid=31837 Sun, 17 Nov 2024 16:56:31 +0000 Random Event]]> https://beqanna.com/forum/showthread.php?tid=31837
Two stars - hmm, are they stars? - dance strangely close to the ground, darting too and fro. They seem to be beckoning anyone who might dare to explore here tonight, calling them closer. If you dare to answer their call, they dart away and the game becomes clear. It is a game of tag, and the stars want to play.

***

First come, first serve for the first two characters to reply. Must be a “real” post catching an orb but no word minimums.]]>
Two stars - hmm, are they stars? - dance strangely close to the ground, darting too and fro. They seem to be beckoning anyone who might dare to explore here tonight, calling them closer. If you dare to answer their call, they dart away and the game becomes clear. It is a game of tag, and the stars want to play.

***

First come, first serve for the first two characters to reply. Must be a “real” post catching an orb but no word minimums.]]> <![CDATA[i swallow the sound and it swallows me whole]]> https://beqanna.com/forum/showthread.php?tid=31832 Sat, 09 Nov 2024 20:19:06 +0000 Fazia]]> https://beqanna.com/forum/showthread.php?tid=31832
FAZIA
The Fazia that had climbed the mountain in search of something more, in search of a way to become the daughter she believed her mother deserved out of her, had not done a very good job so far of taking steps towards those goals. She had lingered the spring, summer, and fall away and now that it was cold everywhere her ambition was at war with itself. Yes, it was time to make a move but also yes, she wanted to just wait out the chill in the warmer waters of Baltia and deal with all of this in the spring.

And then, how can she bravely call herself the daughter of a general when she allows such thoughts to take control of her?

So despite her discomfort, Fazia returns to the surface. The sun is already drifting towards the horizon again even though it feels like it just rose, and the glow of her translucent body begins to shine a little brighter on the stones and thin snow blanket of the Ruins. She stands out here so easily, deep red and purple and the gleam of her diaphonized body.

This time, she does not want to be noticed just yet.

This time, she finds herself some shadows created by the ruins and allows herself to become invisible there. And then - well she just tries it. She reaches out her mind, seeking any potential host in the area, and just tries to possess them. As if it is as easy as that.




open to any!]]>
FAZIA
The Fazia that had climbed the mountain in search of something more, in search of a way to become the daughter she believed her mother deserved out of her, had not done a very good job so far of taking steps towards those goals. She had lingered the spring, summer, and fall away and now that it was cold everywhere her ambition was at war with itself. Yes, it was time to make a move but also yes, she wanted to just wait out the chill in the warmer waters of Baltia and deal with all of this in the spring.

And then, how can she bravely call herself the daughter of a general when she allows such thoughts to take control of her?

So despite her discomfort, Fazia returns to the surface. The sun is already drifting towards the horizon again even though it feels like it just rose, and the glow of her translucent body begins to shine a little brighter on the stones and thin snow blanket of the Ruins. She stands out here so easily, deep red and purple and the gleam of her diaphonized body.

This time, she does not want to be noticed just yet.

This time, she finds herself some shadows created by the ruins and allows herself to become invisible there. And then - well she just tries it. She reaches out her mind, seeking any potential host in the area, and just tries to possess them. As if it is as easy as that.




open to any!]]> <![CDATA[drown my daring heart]]> https://beqanna.com/forum/showthread.php?tid=31805 Tue, 24 Sep 2024 12:57:29 +0000 Claudia]]> https://beqanna.com/forum/showthread.php?tid=31805

Graves. So many of them. Stone pillars, mimicries, structures and whatever else – all dedicated to those beyond the veil, constructed by those broken hearted souls they left behind. Tragedy after tragedy piled so neatly on display. In the ruins there lies many things, many forgotten nooks and crannies, many abandoned gardens and haunted mazes of dilapidated walls. Claudia is never far from the water, but here, among the shambles of history, she is also at home.

The tall bay moves with feline grace, stalking over ad under and through until she’s at the center of the graveyard. The old crypt entrance howls with underground wind, moaning through the opening as if it is daring the mare to slip inside.

She snorts in response to such a beckon…It is not I that would be so daring – not alone, anyway. She laughs to herself, creeping around in the darkness to read more graves and admire more sad statues. The midnight hour, only a half moon to light the land below; it is a perfectly spooky spring night.


- - - - -
C L A U D I A
ivar x wrena
8
]]>

Graves. So many of them. Stone pillars, mimicries, structures and whatever else – all dedicated to those beyond the veil, constructed by those broken hearted souls they left behind. Tragedy after tragedy piled so neatly on display. In the ruins there lies many things, many forgotten nooks and crannies, many abandoned gardens and haunted mazes of dilapidated walls. Claudia is never far from the water, but here, among the shambles of history, she is also at home.

The tall bay moves with feline grace, stalking over ad under and through until she’s at the center of the graveyard. The old crypt entrance howls with underground wind, moaning through the opening as if it is daring the mare to slip inside.

She snorts in response to such a beckon…It is not I that would be so daring – not alone, anyway. She laughs to herself, creeping around in the darkness to read more graves and admire more sad statues. The midnight hour, only a half moon to light the land below; it is a perfectly spooky spring night.


- - - - -
C L A U D I A
ivar x wrena
8
]]> <![CDATA[[hic sunt leones]]]> https://beqanna.com/forum/showthread.php?tid=31720 Wed, 19 Jun 2024 01:57:35 +0000 Nocturnéa]]> https://beqanna.com/forum/showthread.php?tid=31720
Nocturnéahic sunt leones
One land dies, another springs forth from its ashes. That was the way of eternity.

Night lay thick on Bequanna's ruins, casting everything in sharp contrast of moon and shadow. Deep within the darkness, the lady formed once more. Tendrils of shadow twisted, writhed, and came to life in the form of the dark goddess. For the first time in years, golden eyes blinked away the haze of sleep. Nocturnéa rolled her shoulders, letting her claws stretch and rake the rubble beneath her paws. A shake of her head tossed long locks of ebony against her thick neck, revealing the curling rams horns that twisted about her crown. The last tendrils of shadow became a long lion's tail that swung languidly against her hocks.

Oh, how she had missed being corporeal.

Those shrewd golden eyes, slitted and cat-like, looked with interest and disdain upon this strange new land. All around her, the realm bore the marks of great battles lost and won over the ages. Beneath her feet, the leftovers of a once great castle were little more than pebbles and moss-covered cobblestones. A quiet whisper of wind echoed hauntingly through the abandoned place. In the distance, she could hear the crash of mighty waves against a rocky shore and the taste of sea salt settled upon her tongue.

"Well well well... where have the gods deposited me now?
"Vocalization." | Actions | Companion
OOC | The queen of the night descends upon Bequanna! feel free to come and bother her.
]]>
Nocturnéahic sunt leones
One land dies, another springs forth from its ashes. That was the way of eternity.

Night lay thick on Bequanna's ruins, casting everything in sharp contrast of moon and shadow. Deep within the darkness, the lady formed once more. Tendrils of shadow twisted, writhed, and came to life in the form of the dark goddess. For the first time in years, golden eyes blinked away the haze of sleep. Nocturnéa rolled her shoulders, letting her claws stretch and rake the rubble beneath her paws. A shake of her head tossed long locks of ebony against her thick neck, revealing the curling rams horns that twisted about her crown. The last tendrils of shadow became a long lion's tail that swung languidly against her hocks.

Oh, how she had missed being corporeal.

Those shrewd golden eyes, slitted and cat-like, looked with interest and disdain upon this strange new land. All around her, the realm bore the marks of great battles lost and won over the ages. Beneath her feet, the leftovers of a once great castle were little more than pebbles and moss-covered cobblestones. A quiet whisper of wind echoed hauntingly through the abandoned place. In the distance, she could hear the crash of mighty waves against a rocky shore and the taste of sea salt settled upon her tongue.

"Well well well... where have the gods deposited me now?
"Vocalization." | Actions | Companion
OOC | The queen of the night descends upon Bequanna! feel free to come and bother her.
]]> <![CDATA[Be the Anchor [Deiti]]]> https://beqanna.com/forum/showthread.php?tid=31683 Fri, 24 May 2024 02:14:58 +0000 Embark]]> https://beqanna.com/forum/showthread.php?tid=31683 Nothing is as it once was. 

When mother and father died, I found it was the perfect time to retreat into my safe space. The cave - one that mother had inhabited until her death - once had seemed comforting and familiar. When chaos broke out across the land, I did what my mother did - hide. She was an agoraphobic, that woman, barely stepping out into the sunlight, save for the occasional meal. Perhaps that's why I decided to tuck myself away for so long - it was in my blood. 

Though, I always knew that wasn't the only thing that coursed through my veins. I was a child of the Wraith - the one who raped my mother, the one who terrorized these lands for years before I came to be. The one I never met, but whose red eyes haunted me - because I shared them with him. I heard his name in mother's nightmares before she died. I watched my father - the one who truly raised me - gently awaken her and then hold her. Well, perhaps, that's why I decided to go into hiding - if I bore the blood of a devil, it was only a matter of time before I became one myself. 

There was another whose blood I shared, however. My sister - who in reality wasn't my sister at all - Deiti. I thought of her in my seclusion, I dreamed of her during the day, I talked to her at night. I had always wished to be more like her...brave, adventurous, cunning. All things I hoped to be, but failed miserably at. I looked back at our childhood fondly; our made up games, our midnight gossip, our longing to be anywhere but...there. Mother and father loved us, perhaps too much - they hovered. Only Deiti found the courage to leave though, while I stayed to care for mother, and then stayed even as she rotted because I knew nothing else. 

Maybe that's why I found myself here, in the ruins and rubble of what once was. I had always struggled with change, where Deiti sought it out. The unnatural silence is all too familiar to me...I was used to the quiet, used to only my thoughts to keep me company. I can feel the pain that lingers here, the echoes of hurt that refuse to subside. I understand their agony, as I lived it for decades. How can you claim to be anyone when you've lost everyone? 

"Deiti!" I scream suddenly, listening as her name reverberates off the rock formations. I'm not sure why I call for her; all I know is my heart aches and it has since we departed. My sister...she was the only one who truly understood me. "DEITI!" I scream again, this time through sobs.

 I beg the wind to carry my call to her as I listen to my own torment - the only sound for miles.  


]]> Nothing is as it once was. 

When mother and father died, I found it was the perfect time to retreat into my safe space. The cave - one that mother had inhabited until her death - once had seemed comforting and familiar. When chaos broke out across the land, I did what my mother did - hide. She was an agoraphobic, that woman, barely stepping out into the sunlight, save for the occasional meal. Perhaps that's why I decided to tuck myself away for so long - it was in my blood. 

Though, I always knew that wasn't the only thing that coursed through my veins. I was a child of the Wraith - the one who raped my mother, the one who terrorized these lands for years before I came to be. The one I never met, but whose red eyes haunted me - because I shared them with him. I heard his name in mother's nightmares before she died. I watched my father - the one who truly raised me - gently awaken her and then hold her. Well, perhaps, that's why I decided to go into hiding - if I bore the blood of a devil, it was only a matter of time before I became one myself. 

There was another whose blood I shared, however. My sister - who in reality wasn't my sister at all - Deiti. I thought of her in my seclusion, I dreamed of her during the day, I talked to her at night. I had always wished to be more like her...brave, adventurous, cunning. All things I hoped to be, but failed miserably at. I looked back at our childhood fondly; our made up games, our midnight gossip, our longing to be anywhere but...there. Mother and father loved us, perhaps too much - they hovered. Only Deiti found the courage to leave though, while I stayed to care for mother, and then stayed even as she rotted because I knew nothing else. 

Maybe that's why I found myself here, in the ruins and rubble of what once was. I had always struggled with change, where Deiti sought it out. The unnatural silence is all too familiar to me...I was used to the quiet, used to only my thoughts to keep me company. I can feel the pain that lingers here, the echoes of hurt that refuse to subside. I understand their agony, as I lived it for decades. How can you claim to be anyone when you've lost everyone? 

"Deiti!" I scream suddenly, listening as her name reverberates off the rock formations. I'm not sure why I call for her; all I know is my heart aches and it has since we departed. My sister...she was the only one who truly understood me. "DEITI!" I scream again, this time through sobs.

 I beg the wind to carry my call to her as I listen to my own torment - the only sound for miles.  


]]> <![CDATA[I would hold on for all it's worth]]> https://beqanna.com/forum/showthread.php?tid=31625 Mon, 29 Apr 2024 20:36:03 +0000 Clopin]]> https://beqanna.com/forum/showthread.php?tid=31625

Not even he could say what had roused him from his hazy existence. The earthquakes hadn’t done it, or the floods, the tornado, the eclipse, or any number of natural or chaotic-character-caused disasters that had rattled this world since the moment of his birth.

Okay - that makes it sound like he had caused any or all of those disasters which - for the record - he hadn’t even caused a single one of them. His disasters were more of the personal variety and even then they were relatively small in the grand scheme of things.

Whatever the triggering event had been, though, Clopin had crawled his way out of hazy obscurity and was now here. Alive and awake and... relatively interested in re-integrating himself into the world at large. He wouldn't say he was particularly ambitious about doing so - there were no fantastic dreams about becoming king or anything like that. There was not even any intention of swooping into some land and causing political unrest - unless things got really, really boring. He just wanted something new. The absolute vagueness about that desire intrigued him. He would not know until it happened whether he was satisfied with the new thing being something small or something large - for now, the only thing that mattered was that it was different.

There was a general sense that his talents were wasted just harassing his family from time to time and it was time to see what the generations were up to now.

Like any good recluse, Clopin does not just waltz right into the thick of it and try to make a friend with the first horse he sees. He does some reconnaissance first. As a bronze eagle, because even if he's spying he might as well do so in style. In this form Clopin spends a few days soaring around Beqanna. Watching the horses move around in their little lives, being absolutely fascinated by the utter ridiculousness of the coat colours that existed - any and every shade he could ever think of! He was old enough to remember when the population had been various shades of brown, white, and black. And that was about it. It had been shocking to see his first purple horse, or to see the small flecks of colour that decorated his sister’s (and his own) face, but beneath the boughs of one of the oak trees stood a vibrant, galaxy-painted mare and another with flames dancing on the top of their horns walked on by as though this were an every day occurrence.

And, apparently it was.

When Clopin needed a break from spying he would explore. Some lands were familiar, which he appreciated, and others were interesting and new. He spent some time harassing the less-pretty eagles roosting in the mountains, where they were preparing for the coming of spring. One awkward moment occurred where he seemed to be coming in the middle of a mated pair - and he is forced to teleport out of there before he is forced to either choose between them or become a third in their couple.

Without caring where he appears on the other side of the teleport, just so long as it gets him away from the bickering couple, Clopin finds himself flying head-first into a stony ruin. The shock of the impact sends him falling to the earth, landing in the snow and sending a small cloud of flakes up into the afternoon air. He is too stunned to do anything but lay there, wings spread and still in his bronze eagle form, and stare with blurry brown eyes up at the offending structure.



1/2 for an autoquest

and also open for anyone to reply to!]]>

Not even he could say what had roused him from his hazy existence. The earthquakes hadn’t done it, or the floods, the tornado, the eclipse, or any number of natural or chaotic-character-caused disasters that had rattled this world since the moment of his birth.

Okay - that makes it sound like he had caused any or all of those disasters which - for the record - he hadn’t even caused a single one of them. His disasters were more of the personal variety and even then they were relatively small in the grand scheme of things.

Whatever the triggering event had been, though, Clopin had crawled his way out of hazy obscurity and was now here. Alive and awake and... relatively interested in re-integrating himself into the world at large. He wouldn't say he was particularly ambitious about doing so - there were no fantastic dreams about becoming king or anything like that. There was not even any intention of swooping into some land and causing political unrest - unless things got really, really boring. He just wanted something new. The absolute vagueness about that desire intrigued him. He would not know until it happened whether he was satisfied with the new thing being something small or something large - for now, the only thing that mattered was that it was different.

There was a general sense that his talents were wasted just harassing his family from time to time and it was time to see what the generations were up to now.

Like any good recluse, Clopin does not just waltz right into the thick of it and try to make a friend with the first horse he sees. He does some reconnaissance first. As a bronze eagle, because even if he's spying he might as well do so in style. In this form Clopin spends a few days soaring around Beqanna. Watching the horses move around in their little lives, being absolutely fascinated by the utter ridiculousness of the coat colours that existed - any and every shade he could ever think of! He was old enough to remember when the population had been various shades of brown, white, and black. And that was about it. It had been shocking to see his first purple horse, or to see the small flecks of colour that decorated his sister’s (and his own) face, but beneath the boughs of one of the oak trees stood a vibrant, galaxy-painted mare and another with flames dancing on the top of their horns walked on by as though this were an every day occurrence.

And, apparently it was.

When Clopin needed a break from spying he would explore. Some lands were familiar, which he appreciated, and others were interesting and new. He spent some time harassing the less-pretty eagles roosting in the mountains, where they were preparing for the coming of spring. One awkward moment occurred where he seemed to be coming in the middle of a mated pair - and he is forced to teleport out of there before he is forced to either choose between them or become a third in their couple.

Without caring where he appears on the other side of the teleport, just so long as it gets him away from the bickering couple, Clopin finds himself flying head-first into a stony ruin. The shock of the impact sends him falling to the earth, landing in the snow and sending a small cloud of flakes up into the afternoon air. He is too stunned to do anything but lay there, wings spread and still in his bronze eagle form, and stare with blurry brown eyes up at the offending structure.



1/2 for an autoquest

and also open for anyone to reply to!]]> <![CDATA[A God's Creation]]> https://beqanna.com/forum/showthread.php?tid=31536 Sat, 23 Mar 2024 21:46:12 +0000 Deiti]]> https://beqanna.com/forum/showthread.php?tid=31536

From the time I had left the rivers waters near the meadow I had hardly looked back.  I would not dwell on the past and what once was any longer.  Ischia was gone and with it the waterfall and my pool. Gone. Those that I once knew; Leilan, Ivar, Jesper, Imperial, Kuma, Embark, all gone.  I look now to the future and what can be.  I will find a new home.  I will make new friends.  

I follow the river's edge, using it as my guide through the lands.  From The Chamber to the Meadow, the River and now here.  My delicate face looks left, then right.  Where is here?  I could make out tattered piles of stone, lain out in unnatural shapes.  My slitted eyes squint as I look past them.  It was a familiar sight.  One I hadn't thought about in quite some time.  I close my eyes now, feeling the salt licked breeze on my face.  It calls to me like a song, tempting me back into her liquid embrace.  I resist, my eyes now opening with a narrowed glare.  No!  My mind shouts, but the creature within me stirs, restless and weary. Yes!  It hisses a most awful high pitch sound.  My ears ring as I cringe in pain.  It is of a crippling sort, bringing me to my knees.  "Ahhhhh...." I cry out in agony, a ripping sort of pain courses along my neck.  

It is then that I begin to gasp for air.  My lungs trying to fill with a deep inhale, but the air does not come.  The pain subsides and there is a fluttering now along my neck where the pain had been.  I can't tell if the ringing has stopped or if it is just muffled by the faintness that begins to come over me.  Go now!  The creature calls out.  I get up enough to stumble forwards, towards the oceans ridge.  I gasp again, a dry choking sound coming from my lungs.  Another step, another stumble, but I was almost there...

D
eiti
A God's Creation | Carnage X Dynast


Just playing with my gills "defect".  If someone has the muse to save a dying fish pony by helping her into the water so she can breathe she'd be forever thankful XD]]>

From the time I had left the rivers waters near the meadow I had hardly looked back.  I would not dwell on the past and what once was any longer.  Ischia was gone and with it the waterfall and my pool. Gone. Those that I once knew; Leilan, Ivar, Jesper, Imperial, Kuma, Embark, all gone.  I look now to the future and what can be.  I will find a new home.  I will make new friends.  

I follow the river's edge, using it as my guide through the lands.  From The Chamber to the Meadow, the River and now here.  My delicate face looks left, then right.  Where is here?  I could make out tattered piles of stone, lain out in unnatural shapes.  My slitted eyes squint as I look past them.  It was a familiar sight.  One I hadn't thought about in quite some time.  I close my eyes now, feeling the salt licked breeze on my face.  It calls to me like a song, tempting me back into her liquid embrace.  I resist, my eyes now opening with a narrowed glare.  No!  My mind shouts, but the creature within me stirs, restless and weary. Yes!  It hisses a most awful high pitch sound.  My ears ring as I cringe in pain.  It is of a crippling sort, bringing me to my knees.  "Ahhhhh...." I cry out in agony, a ripping sort of pain courses along my neck.  

It is then that I begin to gasp for air.  My lungs trying to fill with a deep inhale, but the air does not come.  The pain subsides and there is a fluttering now along my neck where the pain had been.  I can't tell if the ringing has stopped or if it is just muffled by the faintness that begins to come over me.  Go now!  The creature calls out.  I get up enough to stumble forwards, towards the oceans ridge.  I gasp again, a dry choking sound coming from my lungs.  Another step, another stumble, but I was almost there...

D
eiti
A God's Creation | Carnage X Dynast


Just playing with my gills "defect".  If someone has the muse to save a dying fish pony by helping her into the water so she can breathe she'd be forever thankful XD]]> <![CDATA[everything that dies makes its way back, ryatah]]> https://beqanna.com/forum/showthread.php?tid=31463 Sun, 11 Feb 2024 03:07:37 +0000 jarris]]> https://beqanna.com/forum/showthread.php?tid=31463
i was ready to die for ya, baby
doesn’t mean i’m ready to stay
How spectacularly the world has changed.
He has watched from the meadow, which has remained largely untouched, as the lands of old have risen again. The Chamber, the Gates, the Dale. And he had ached for the Tundra, his beloved Tundra, but there had been absolutely no sign of it when the dust had settled so it had been easy to pretend as if nothing had changed at all.

(He has watched Beqanna shudder through so many dozens of metamorphoses now. He has watched her shed her skin and shrug on a new one time and time again. He has watched her take his Tundra and he has watched her unearth new, unexplored lands. He has watched dark gods cobble together deserts and all the while he has yearned for the ice.)

Perhaps it is the meadow he should love most. (But Jarris has never loved the things that have loved him most, has he? He has tried, certainly. But the heart has always been a wanderer. And yet, he has stayed. And yet, she has forgiven him. And yet, he is here still.)

This is as far as he’ll let himself wander now: the Ruins. He picks his way through the wreckage and wonders about the world it had been. He has seen so many places, near and far, but never anything like this. 

And as he moves, he leaves a trail of gold. Gold that cuts rivers down his cheeks, splashes underfoot. And he grimaces, too, against the thorns that bite into the flesh and pollutes those gold rivers with his blood.

What a sorry sight he is as he goes, teeth gritted, breath labored against the pain of it. But when he looks up, something inside him lurches. It is not the heart but something deeper, something that rattles in the marrow of his bones. He tilts his head and exhales. “You,” he says, “don’t I know you?” 

It does not matter how she’s changed: the pulse of life in his veins knows exactly who it belongs to. 


— Jarris

]]>
i was ready to die for ya, baby
doesn’t mean i’m ready to stay
How spectacularly the world has changed.
He has watched from the meadow, which has remained largely untouched, as the lands of old have risen again. The Chamber, the Gates, the Dale. And he had ached for the Tundra, his beloved Tundra, but there had been absolutely no sign of it when the dust had settled so it had been easy to pretend as if nothing had changed at all.

(He has watched Beqanna shudder through so many dozens of metamorphoses now. He has watched her shed her skin and shrug on a new one time and time again. He has watched her take his Tundra and he has watched her unearth new, unexplored lands. He has watched dark gods cobble together deserts and all the while he has yearned for the ice.)

Perhaps it is the meadow he should love most. (But Jarris has never loved the things that have loved him most, has he? He has tried, certainly. But the heart has always been a wanderer. And yet, he has stayed. And yet, she has forgiven him. And yet, he is here still.)

This is as far as he’ll let himself wander now: the Ruins. He picks his way through the wreckage and wonders about the world it had been. He has seen so many places, near and far, but never anything like this. 

And as he moves, he leaves a trail of gold. Gold that cuts rivers down his cheeks, splashes underfoot. And he grimaces, too, against the thorns that bite into the flesh and pollutes those gold rivers with his blood.

What a sorry sight he is as he goes, teeth gritted, breath labored against the pain of it. But when he looks up, something inside him lurches. It is not the heart but something deeper, something that rattles in the marrow of his bones. He tilts his head and exhales. “You,” he says, “don’t I know you?” 

It does not matter how she’s changed: the pulse of life in his veins knows exactly who it belongs to. 


— Jarris

]]>