<![CDATA[Beqanna - Meadow]]> https://beqanna.com/forum/ Fri, 01 May 2026 11:02:14 +0000 MyBB <![CDATA[lay all your troubles down, any]]> https://beqanna.com/forum/showthread.php?tid=32114 Wed, 18 Mar 2026 18:32:26 +0000 leliel]]> https://beqanna.com/forum/showthread.php?tid=32114

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

]]>

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

]]> <![CDATA[I think I'll take my whiskey neat; Cassi pony]]> https://beqanna.com/forum/showthread.php?tid=32111 Mon, 16 Mar 2026 17:16:05 +0000 Devi]]> https://beqanna.com/forum/showthread.php?tid=32111
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 >.<]]>
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 >.<]]> <![CDATA[Welcome to the World Little One]]> https://beqanna.com/forum/showthread.php?tid=32103 Thu, 26 Feb 2026 21:41:35 +0000 Nelke]]> https://beqanna.com/forum/showthread.php?tid=32103
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]]>
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]]> <![CDATA[shatter every window 'til its all blown away; harrowed]]> https://beqanna.com/forum/showthread.php?tid=32086 Tue, 13 Jan 2026 16:48:17 +0000 Wayfair]]> https://beqanna.com/forum/showthread.php?tid=32086
0ea2b7bb67fb0a7832033253e6e59373

batten down, baby, its a hell of a storm


In every young girls life, there comes a time when she learns the truth of the world. A time when the silly notions she had of prince charming and his happily ever after are thrown out the door. A time when her eyes are peeled open and she's forced to see that monsters are more common than princes, and that happily ever after is the biggest lie ever told.

Wayfair has had her time, at the top of the Mountain and in the depths of that jungle Hell. Her eyes weren't just opened; they were plucked from her skull like fruit, heavy and ripe for the plucking. There was no prince in that place to rescue her, only a Dark God and his wicked creations. There certainly wasn't a happily ever after, though she supposed being alive is happy enough. Branded, scarred, and damaged...but alive.

Alive, but changed.

Stronger, both mentally and physically. It is amazing what one will do when their back is against the wall, even a doe-eyed young thing like herself. She is young, but she comes from a long line of monsters. She quickly learned that darkness comes easily to her. She is not her mother or father, but there is something fierce lying beneath her skin, some beast that will fight when it is cornered. She is thankful for that beast.

The Meadow is quiet as she makes her way through it, the snow falling lightly and melting against her ivory coat. The birds have gone, and the woodland creatures have taken to the warmth of their dens. She is the only soul around, and only the warm mist rising from her nostrils betrays her as a living thing. As the solitude closes in, she waits. For what, she doesn't know. But she's surely meant for more than fighting for her life in a Dark Gods hellscape.




Wayfair

]]>
0ea2b7bb67fb0a7832033253e6e59373

batten down, baby, its a hell of a storm


In every young girls life, there comes a time when she learns the truth of the world. A time when the silly notions she had of prince charming and his happily ever after are thrown out the door. A time when her eyes are peeled open and she's forced to see that monsters are more common than princes, and that happily ever after is the biggest lie ever told.

Wayfair has had her time, at the top of the Mountain and in the depths of that jungle Hell. Her eyes weren't just opened; they were plucked from her skull like fruit, heavy and ripe for the plucking. There was no prince in that place to rescue her, only a Dark God and his wicked creations. There certainly wasn't a happily ever after, though she supposed being alive is happy enough. Branded, scarred, and damaged...but alive.

Alive, but changed.

Stronger, both mentally and physically. It is amazing what one will do when their back is against the wall, even a doe-eyed young thing like herself. She is young, but she comes from a long line of monsters. She quickly learned that darkness comes easily to her. She is not her mother or father, but there is something fierce lying beneath her skin, some beast that will fight when it is cornered. She is thankful for that beast.

The Meadow is quiet as she makes her way through it, the snow falling lightly and melting against her ivory coat. The birds have gone, and the woodland creatures have taken to the warmth of their dens. She is the only soul around, and only the warm mist rising from her nostrils betrays her as a living thing. As the solitude closes in, she waits. For what, she doesn't know. But she's surely meant for more than fighting for her life in a Dark Gods hellscape.




Wayfair

]]> <![CDATA[The only song I know that I would ever even wish to sing]]> https://beqanna.com/forum/showthread.php?tid=32038 Wed, 17 Dec 2025 19:27:06 +0000 Lillia]]> https://beqanna.com/forum/showthread.php?tid=32038
Within the warmth of her nest, tucked along the tree line encircling the meadow and between a small series of bushes and rocks, Lillia eventually grew comfortable enough to slip into a light sleep. An angelic nap, if you will. Her grumbles came out as short warblings and snorts, snores, and twitches of her feathery wings which canopied and hid her cremello figure in its downy nest. Just as Lillia felt her consciousness slipping into that syrupy-sweet place where she might exercise her connection to time to fast forward through this bitter autumn gale, it happened.

Snap!

With an enormous jolt and an affronted squeal-snort combo, Lillia erupted her haloed head from between her wings to glare into the face of whoever dared to stomp through her nest and disturb her misery sleep. With her forelock tangled in her eyelashes, her feathers befrumpled and askew, and her halo in true danger of falling off her crown for its sideways lean, she made quite the sight; ears pinned, nostrils flared, and challenging sounds issuing from her usually docile, if not - ahem - angelic, self.]]>
Within the warmth of her nest, tucked along the tree line encircling the meadow and between a small series of bushes and rocks, Lillia eventually grew comfortable enough to slip into a light sleep. An angelic nap, if you will. Her grumbles came out as short warblings and snorts, snores, and twitches of her feathery wings which canopied and hid her cremello figure in its downy nest. Just as Lillia felt her consciousness slipping into that syrupy-sweet place where she might exercise her connection to time to fast forward through this bitter autumn gale, it happened.

Snap!

With an enormous jolt and an affronted squeal-snort combo, Lillia erupted her haloed head from between her wings to glare into the face of whoever dared to stomp through her nest and disturb her misery sleep. With her forelock tangled in her eyelashes, her feathers befrumpled and askew, and her halo in true danger of falling off her crown for its sideways lean, she made quite the sight; ears pinned, nostrils flared, and challenging sounds issuing from her usually docile, if not - ahem - angelic, self.]]> <![CDATA[bring a bucket and a mop]]> https://beqanna.com/forum/showthread.php?tid=32033 Wed, 03 Dec 2025 21:13:19 +0000 Layland]]> https://beqanna.com/forum/showthread.php?tid=32033 Beqanna may be quiet nowadays, but you know who's not quiet?
Layland. Layland isn't quiet. Never has been, never will be. Ain't in his playbook or wheelhouse or any of those other weird places that emotions and manners are stored. He's also never seen the need for storing emotions, when you can just let them out. Let the world know what you're up to instead of leaving them guessing, ya know? He's also never really seen a need for manners, so there's that. Manners are boring, and a hot pink tobiano DUDE can't possibly be boring.
It's never steered him wrong, anyways. Or maybe he just hasn't been steered. Steering would mean being conscious of avoiding collisions, and Layland has always been more of a go with the flow kinda guy, collisions or not. Or be the flow if you can't go with it. Either way, avoid steering. Unless you're gonna let Jesus Take The Wheel, he's probably OK at steering.
Today, Jesus steers him right to the Meadow. The few faces here are minding their own business, but remember what I said about Layland and his lack of manners. He doesn't slink in, nor does he saunter or slip. Thats what quiet, mannerly horses do. No, he charges. Like those poor stupid domesticated horses that do the weird dancing thing, he plows forward, knees high and his magnificent plume flag flying behind him.
(I told him no one calls a tail that anymore, but the fool insisted, and who am I to tell him no?)
It isn't hard for him to find an empty spot to stop. The whole place is pretty much empty. But either how way, he slides to a stop, putting every effort into being as dramatic as possible. Again, doing stuff that the stupid domesticated horses do, just better than them 'cause hes a wild and free hot pink guy. They clearly learned from talented individuals like Layland himself, they were just too dumb to run away from two-leggeds.
So basically, if you want to talk to a fabulous relic about the olden days and his love and admiration for female rappers, then Layland is probably your guy! If you enjoy talking about serious world matters, anything related to Carnage (Layland is not-so-secretly terrified of him.), or the weather, he is not your guy.

OOC - Blame peer pressure for his return. Seriously, he's an absolute fool. Proceed with that knowledge in mind >.<
]]> Beqanna may be quiet nowadays, but you know who's not quiet?
Layland. Layland isn't quiet. Never has been, never will be. Ain't in his playbook or wheelhouse or any of those other weird places that emotions and manners are stored. He's also never seen the need for storing emotions, when you can just let them out. Let the world know what you're up to instead of leaving them guessing, ya know? He's also never really seen a need for manners, so there's that. Manners are boring, and a hot pink tobiano DUDE can't possibly be boring.
It's never steered him wrong, anyways. Or maybe he just hasn't been steered. Steering would mean being conscious of avoiding collisions, and Layland has always been more of a go with the flow kinda guy, collisions or not. Or be the flow if you can't go with it. Either way, avoid steering. Unless you're gonna let Jesus Take The Wheel, he's probably OK at steering.
Today, Jesus steers him right to the Meadow. The few faces here are minding their own business, but remember what I said about Layland and his lack of manners. He doesn't slink in, nor does he saunter or slip. Thats what quiet, mannerly horses do. No, he charges. Like those poor stupid domesticated horses that do the weird dancing thing, he plows forward, knees high and his magnificent plume flag flying behind him.
(I told him no one calls a tail that anymore, but the fool insisted, and who am I to tell him no?)
It isn't hard for him to find an empty spot to stop. The whole place is pretty much empty. But either how way, he slides to a stop, putting every effort into being as dramatic as possible. Again, doing stuff that the stupid domesticated horses do, just better than them 'cause hes a wild and free hot pink guy. They clearly learned from talented individuals like Layland himself, they were just too dumb to run away from two-leggeds.
So basically, if you want to talk to a fabulous relic about the olden days and his love and admiration for female rappers, then Layland is probably your guy! If you enjoy talking about serious world matters, anything related to Carnage (Layland is not-so-secretly terrified of him.), or the weather, he is not your guy.

OOC - Blame peer pressure for his return. Seriously, he's an absolute fool. Proceed with that knowledge in mind >.<
]]> <![CDATA[in dreams]]> https://beqanna.com/forum/showthread.php?tid=32026 Sat, 15 Nov 2025 21:40:56 +0000 Harrowed]]> https://beqanna.com/forum/showthread.php?tid=32026
harrowed
The second light Harrowed faced in the labrynth ended up being salvation rather than more torture, though the pale stallion finds little relief in realizing he is back in Beqanna. This may mean the trials are over but exhaustion settles so heavily upon him he cannot bring himself to rejoice whatsoever. The intoxicating scent of fear is no longer here so he assumes the others have scattered or are still battling their own demons.

If they experienced as much despair as he did, the bodach would have a feast unlike any other, and yet Harrowed doesn't linger. He takes on the singular focus of getting off the mountain, stumbling and distracted down the slopes as he thinks of his family and the driving need to check on them. To make sure those were just nightmares and not those he loved trapped in that terrible place.

A day is beginning overhead which feels wrong. He should at least have the relief of night, of pretending the world wasn't quite ready to move on until he found himself again. But it doesn't. It pushes on without mercy and Harrowed's desire to find his parents and brother cannot win over this level of exhaustion. He collapses just within a copse of trees and sleep claims him with a force he has never experienced.


]]>
harrowed
The second light Harrowed faced in the labrynth ended up being salvation rather than more torture, though the pale stallion finds little relief in realizing he is back in Beqanna. This may mean the trials are over but exhaustion settles so heavily upon him he cannot bring himself to rejoice whatsoever. The intoxicating scent of fear is no longer here so he assumes the others have scattered or are still battling their own demons.

If they experienced as much despair as he did, the bodach would have a feast unlike any other, and yet Harrowed doesn't linger. He takes on the singular focus of getting off the mountain, stumbling and distracted down the slopes as he thinks of his family and the driving need to check on them. To make sure those were just nightmares and not those he loved trapped in that terrible place.

A day is beginning overhead which feels wrong. He should at least have the relief of night, of pretending the world wasn't quite ready to move on until he found himself again. But it doesn't. It pushes on without mercy and Harrowed's desire to find his parents and brother cannot win over this level of exhaustion. He collapses just within a copse of trees and sleep claims him with a force he has never experienced.


]]> <![CDATA[Chaos and Whimsy; any]]> https://beqanna.com/forum/showthread.php?tid=32025 Fri, 14 Nov 2025 18:16:06 +0000 Tipitina]]> https://beqanna.com/forum/showthread.php?tid=32025
She blinks hard, trying to anchor herself. The labyrinth’s shadows still cling to her thoughts, but the world feels too vivid to ignore. Her skin is softer than memory, her mane threaded with faint luminescent strands of neon green that catch the pale light like wandering fireflies. The lilies between her shoulders rise and fall as she breathes, quiet and eerily calm, as if they have always been part of her.

It’s strange to feel changed but still carry the echo of who she was. A familiar shape held together by something new. She presses a hoof into the snow, feeling it crunch and crumble beneath her weight. Solid. Cold. Real. For a moment, she lets relief settle into her bones.

Then a flutter stirs behind her.

She freezes as panic fires down her limbs, sinking into the pit of her stomach. The movement isn’t wind. And to her surprise—it’s her. Neon green butterfly wings unfurl just above her tail, enormous and delicate, swaying like a living ribbon. When she inhales, they lift. When fear ripples through her, they tremble.

A thin, unsteady laugh slips out, half in wonder and half in disbelief. “I’m… different.”

The beetle brand on her shoulder answers with a sudden hot pulse, pain burrowing deep through barely healed flesh. She gasps, the sharpness grounding her all over again. Not a dream. Not mercy. A mark that will never let her forget what happened in the maze and what she has become.

She looks down at the snow, watching her breath feather across its surface, her pulse echoing in her throat. “I don’t know what I am now..” she hushes beneath her breath.]]>
She blinks hard, trying to anchor herself. The labyrinth’s shadows still cling to her thoughts, but the world feels too vivid to ignore. Her skin is softer than memory, her mane threaded with faint luminescent strands of neon green that catch the pale light like wandering fireflies. The lilies between her shoulders rise and fall as she breathes, quiet and eerily calm, as if they have always been part of her.

It’s strange to feel changed but still carry the echo of who she was. A familiar shape held together by something new. She presses a hoof into the snow, feeling it crunch and crumble beneath her weight. Solid. Cold. Real. For a moment, she lets relief settle into her bones.

Then a flutter stirs behind her.

She freezes as panic fires down her limbs, sinking into the pit of her stomach. The movement isn’t wind. And to her surprise—it’s her. Neon green butterfly wings unfurl just above her tail, enormous and delicate, swaying like a living ribbon. When she inhales, they lift. When fear ripples through her, they tremble.

A thin, unsteady laugh slips out, half in wonder and half in disbelief. “I’m… different.”

The beetle brand on her shoulder answers with a sudden hot pulse, pain burrowing deep through barely healed flesh. She gasps, the sharpness grounding her all over again. Not a dream. Not mercy. A mark that will never let her forget what happened in the maze and what she has become.

She looks down at the snow, watching her breath feather across its surface, her pulse echoing in her throat. “I don’t know what I am now..” she hushes beneath her breath.]]> <![CDATA[still singing here above the ground]]> https://beqanna.com/forum/showthread.php?tid=32022 Fri, 14 Nov 2025 06:59:24 +0000 Starros]]> https://beqanna.com/forum/showthread.php?tid=32022
Winter nears its end and like the tide Starros is pulled back to where he has been before. His endless wandering has a rhythm to it now over the years and he finds comfort in seeing the same places in Beqanna at the same time of year. The silver-moon cove where he enjoys the summer, the autumnal painting that the forest becomes, the sweet winters of the south and quiet cold of the ruins. Spring tugs him towards the meadow, with the long grasses and slow-budding trees that erupt first in a faint whisper of green then grow louder and louder with it as the season ages.

Today, though, it is still cold and frosty here beneath the early morning sky where the inky blue hues are only just beginning to lighten. He has hopes for this spring, feels as though there is a chance to thaw himself from the seclusion he has walled himself within over the years. But even if it doesn’t, the winds will change and he will follow the migration path he has adopted for himself and move on.

It’s a comfort to know those habits will always be there to catch him should the secret hopes inside of his heart prove to be just as impractical this year as they have been since he was young.

Without the light of the sun, the self-made sunlight is dim around his feathered wings – appearing just as a gentle glow that catches on the soft metallic feathers.

He daydreams beneath a barren oak, resting after his travels and content to spend this first morning in the meadow quietly. But daydreaming has always been an active thing for Starros and though his light tricks are weaker, just ghosts of what they can be in the daylight, his mind still conjures those ghosts. Two pale, phantom-light deer bound through the frosted grass nearby and he watches them without seeing – allowing his mind to wander wherever it wishes.



STARROS


]]>
Winter nears its end and like the tide Starros is pulled back to where he has been before. His endless wandering has a rhythm to it now over the years and he finds comfort in seeing the same places in Beqanna at the same time of year. The silver-moon cove where he enjoys the summer, the autumnal painting that the forest becomes, the sweet winters of the south and quiet cold of the ruins. Spring tugs him towards the meadow, with the long grasses and slow-budding trees that erupt first in a faint whisper of green then grow louder and louder with it as the season ages.

Today, though, it is still cold and frosty here beneath the early morning sky where the inky blue hues are only just beginning to lighten. He has hopes for this spring, feels as though there is a chance to thaw himself from the seclusion he has walled himself within over the years. But even if it doesn’t, the winds will change and he will follow the migration path he has adopted for himself and move on.

It’s a comfort to know those habits will always be there to catch him should the secret hopes inside of his heart prove to be just as impractical this year as they have been since he was young.

Without the light of the sun, the self-made sunlight is dim around his feathered wings – appearing just as a gentle glow that catches on the soft metallic feathers.

He daydreams beneath a barren oak, resting after his travels and content to spend this first morning in the meadow quietly. But daydreaming has always been an active thing for Starros and though his light tricks are weaker, just ghosts of what they can be in the daylight, his mind still conjures those ghosts. Two pale, phantom-light deer bound through the frosted grass nearby and he watches them without seeing – allowing his mind to wander wherever it wishes.



STARROS


]]> <![CDATA[tangled up in marigold]]> https://beqanna.com/forum/showthread.php?tid=32010 Mon, 03 Nov 2025 18:33:27 +0000 eludora]]> https://beqanna.com/forum/showthread.php?tid=32010
a little peace, a little love
a little bliss, is that enough?
She was born from a dream.
Eludora awoke from her mother’s dream tangled in the earth, in vines and roots. She stood on spindly legs next to her sister, white and gold and pink with branches in her mane and tail that would later bloom into cherry blossoms. Crania. She is beautiful.
The jungle plants bent towards their mother, reaching for her as though they were her children too, and flowers bloomed under Crania’s touch. Dora remembers wondering how Crania and Isilya could be so grounded while she felt so far away. Even in her first moments, she felt different. Felt the need to escape the ground.
It didn’t take long for her to understand her affinity for the sky. She, of course, couldn’t see the clouds reflected on her body: pure white on a beautiful summer day, gray and murky during a rain storm, the purples and pinks of a sunset. She couldn’t see how her edges blur, how her mane and tail were just wisps, nearly intangible.
But she knew when she took a leap on a particularly foggy day and landed precariously on a cloud that quickly deposited her deeper into the jungles of Tephra. She knew when she confronted a cloud sheep who had been following her a little too closely. Just as her mother and sister were of the earth, she was of the skies.
She was born from a dream, birthed in the earth, but lives in the clouds.

“Cirri?” Dora searches, rolling lazily out of a low-hanging cloud and onto the hard ground of the meadow. It’s early winter in Beqanna, and yellow-tinged morning clouds linger overhead.
“Oh, there you are,” she says, yawning. Her breath hangs in the air, a fleeting ghost of warmth.
The cloud sheep floats nearby; he has always preferred hovering to standing on his own feet. She does too, to be honest, but after forgetting how to walk following a full year of never touching the ground as a young girl, she has also learned the importance of stretching her legs. He is quiet. She chats enough for the both of them — chirping on about the cold, or the dirt, or how sad the trees look without leaves, or wondering when the first snow will fall this year. Poor Cirri is used to being talked at by now, offering little in return.
Dora has gotten her fill of stretching after a few hours. The sky has mostly cleared and the sun beams overhead; she stretches her neck and raises her head, eyes closed, breathing in the crisp air, the stillness of the meadow. She calls for one of the white pillowy clouds, and when it arrives she steps into it gently. She nearly disappears into it altogether when she lies down, her body white and soft.
“Perfect for a snack,” she exhales, holding the cloud close enough to the ground that she can reach for the long, brown grass.

]]>
a little peace, a little love
a little bliss, is that enough?
She was born from a dream.
Eludora awoke from her mother’s dream tangled in the earth, in vines and roots. She stood on spindly legs next to her sister, white and gold and pink with branches in her mane and tail that would later bloom into cherry blossoms. Crania. She is beautiful.
The jungle plants bent towards their mother, reaching for her as though they were her children too, and flowers bloomed under Crania’s touch. Dora remembers wondering how Crania and Isilya could be so grounded while she felt so far away. Even in her first moments, she felt different. Felt the need to escape the ground.
It didn’t take long for her to understand her affinity for the sky. She, of course, couldn’t see the clouds reflected on her body: pure white on a beautiful summer day, gray and murky during a rain storm, the purples and pinks of a sunset. She couldn’t see how her edges blur, how her mane and tail were just wisps, nearly intangible.
But she knew when she took a leap on a particularly foggy day and landed precariously on a cloud that quickly deposited her deeper into the jungles of Tephra. She knew when she confronted a cloud sheep who had been following her a little too closely. Just as her mother and sister were of the earth, she was of the skies.
She was born from a dream, birthed in the earth, but lives in the clouds.

“Cirri?” Dora searches, rolling lazily out of a low-hanging cloud and onto the hard ground of the meadow. It’s early winter in Beqanna, and yellow-tinged morning clouds linger overhead.
“Oh, there you are,” she says, yawning. Her breath hangs in the air, a fleeting ghost of warmth.
The cloud sheep floats nearby; he has always preferred hovering to standing on his own feet. She does too, to be honest, but after forgetting how to walk following a full year of never touching the ground as a young girl, she has also learned the importance of stretching her legs. He is quiet. She chats enough for the both of them — chirping on about the cold, or the dirt, or how sad the trees look without leaves, or wondering when the first snow will fall this year. Poor Cirri is used to being talked at by now, offering little in return.
Dora has gotten her fill of stretching after a few hours. The sky has mostly cleared and the sun beams overhead; she stretches her neck and raises her head, eyes closed, breathing in the crisp air, the stillness of the meadow. She calls for one of the white pillowy clouds, and when it arrives she steps into it gently. She nearly disappears into it altogether when she lies down, her body white and soft.
“Perfect for a snack,” she exhales, holding the cloud close enough to the ground that she can reach for the long, brown grass.

]]> <![CDATA[it's just me and the curve of the valley]]> https://beqanna.com/forum/showthread.php?tid=32007 Mon, 03 Nov 2025 05:24:14 +0000 Avior]]> https://beqanna.com/forum/showthread.php?tid=32007
“Heaven is not fit to house a love like you & I.”


There was something about the winter he found to be almost peaceful.

The night sky felt larger, clearer — as if it had expanded to swallow up more of the universe and rolled it all across the meadow. The air had an edge to it, a sharp bite when a gust of wind blew across the flat fields, but he did not mind. He tucked his wings closer to his body, trapping the warmth against his ribs. He liked the way it all went quiet in the colder months, the electric buzz of summer having lowered to a dull, background hum. The illusion that everything has slowed down feels like the unraveling of a knot in his chest, and it loosens a sigh from his lips, his breath pluming before him like smoke as he glances up to the starlit sky.

There is nothing in particular that he is looking for tonight. While he would not consider himself fond of solitude, he also did not mind it. If all he had was his thoughts and the stars, that was enough to keep him occupied until morning.

He finds himself ascending a small knoll, the cold breeze lifting at his tangled mane. There is no snow, yet, and the sky was too clear for there to be a chance of any tonight, but the air had that feel to it that some might arrive soon. And up there, from a certain angle, he nearly melds perfectly with the sky above him, save for the starlit halo casting a glow across his dark face.


— A V I O R —


]]>
“Heaven is not fit to house a love like you & I.”


There was something about the winter he found to be almost peaceful.

The night sky felt larger, clearer — as if it had expanded to swallow up more of the universe and rolled it all across the meadow. The air had an edge to it, a sharp bite when a gust of wind blew across the flat fields, but he did not mind. He tucked his wings closer to his body, trapping the warmth against his ribs. He liked the way it all went quiet in the colder months, the electric buzz of summer having lowered to a dull, background hum. The illusion that everything has slowed down feels like the unraveling of a knot in his chest, and it loosens a sigh from his lips, his breath pluming before him like smoke as he glances up to the starlit sky.

There is nothing in particular that he is looking for tonight. While he would not consider himself fond of solitude, he also did not mind it. If all he had was his thoughts and the stars, that was enough to keep him occupied until morning.

He finds himself ascending a small knoll, the cold breeze lifting at his tangled mane. There is no snow, yet, and the sky was too clear for there to be a chance of any tonight, but the air had that feel to it that some might arrive soon. And up there, from a certain angle, he nearly melds perfectly with the sky above him, save for the starlit halo casting a glow across his dark face.


— A V I O R —


]]> <![CDATA[The Pumpkin Patch]]> https://beqanna.com/forum/showthread.php?tid=32006 Sat, 01 Nov 2025 04:13:16 +0000 Random Event]]> https://beqanna.com/forum/showthread.php?tid=32006
Happy Spooky Season Finale!
- this drop is open to the first two characters to reply (only one per player)
- gifts will be randomized but autumn-themed
- if there is still an open spot, players that had entered into the previous drops may do so again on Thurs Nov 6

and thank you everyone who has replied to these drops this month!]]>
Happy Spooky Season Finale!
- this drop is open to the first two characters to reply (only one per player)
- gifts will be randomized but autumn-themed
- if there is still an open spot, players that had entered into the previous drops may do so again on Thurs Nov 6

and thank you everyone who has replied to these drops this month!]]> <![CDATA[here I don't have to be quiet]]> https://beqanna.com/forum/showthread.php?tid=32001 Thu, 30 Oct 2025 03:49:31 +0000 Fazia]]> https://beqanna.com/forum/showthread.php?tid=32001
FAZIA
This translucent mare had been enjoying her quest, the little tendrils of the new power and testing out how far the boundaries of her abilities were. And the routine she had formed up where she would wander and browse the other inhabitants of the common lands, looking for someone interesting to try possessing. She didn’t want to be mucking about in just any old brain now.

Soon winter would be here and she’d leave the surface in favour of the less-fickle waters where she wouldn’t have to worry about disgusting things like snow and ice.

Ugh.

Right now, though, Beqanna was rather lovely and the falling foliage made it a little easier to spot potential guinea pigs. Like this colourful mare and her… Woah. Fazia stops dead in her tracks as soon as she spots the little cat in the tree. She didn’t have a whole lot of experience with felines – didn’t even know the silver-slit appearance of her eyes mirrored those carnivores. She had seen a few in the distance here in Beqanna but that was totally different.

Distance could be shrugged off. Not a problem.

But this little creature was much closer and something in Fazia’s heritage let loose a little primordial warning. Nevermind that she wasn’t really a fish and she certainly was a fair bit bigger than this particular cat.

Curiosity draws her closer “What is that?” She asks the winged mare, thinking the animal to be wild and their proximity just a coincidence.

Can she possess it?

Oh, what an interesting thought.

Distracted, forgetting she had asked a question, Fazia tries. Why not! She wants the little creature closer so she can get a better judge of whether it’s a threat or not.

Her hold on this temporary power isn’t very strong so there’s no telling if it will work but she tries to get the ocelot to hop out of the tree.




]]>
FAZIA
This translucent mare had been enjoying her quest, the little tendrils of the new power and testing out how far the boundaries of her abilities were. And the routine she had formed up where she would wander and browse the other inhabitants of the common lands, looking for someone interesting to try possessing. She didn’t want to be mucking about in just any old brain now.

Soon winter would be here and she’d leave the surface in favour of the less-fickle waters where she wouldn’t have to worry about disgusting things like snow and ice.

Ugh.

Right now, though, Beqanna was rather lovely and the falling foliage made it a little easier to spot potential guinea pigs. Like this colourful mare and her… Woah. Fazia stops dead in her tracks as soon as she spots the little cat in the tree. She didn’t have a whole lot of experience with felines – didn’t even know the silver-slit appearance of her eyes mirrored those carnivores. She had seen a few in the distance here in Beqanna but that was totally different.

Distance could be shrugged off. Not a problem.

But this little creature was much closer and something in Fazia’s heritage let loose a little primordial warning. Nevermind that she wasn’t really a fish and she certainly was a fair bit bigger than this particular cat.

Curiosity draws her closer “What is that?” She asks the winged mare, thinking the animal to be wild and their proximity just a coincidence.

Can she possess it?

Oh, what an interesting thought.

Distracted, forgetting she had asked a question, Fazia tries. Why not! She wants the little creature closer so she can get a better judge of whether it’s a threat or not.

Her hold on this temporary power isn’t very strong so there’s no telling if it will work but she tries to get the ocelot to hop out of the tree.




]]> <![CDATA[look how they shine for you [kylan]]]> https://beqanna.com/forum/showthread.php?tid=31999 Wed, 29 Oct 2025 01:49:46 +0000 Starbry]]> https://beqanna.com/forum/showthread.php?tid=31999

look how they shine for you

look at the stars

Autumn is nearing an end; she knows soon snow will fly and cover the world in a soft white comforter. She doesn't mind the changing of seasons and has always appreciated the way nature bends and adapts to the weather. She has been avoiding wandering during the night, though. The ooze from the river that she was certain was going to kill her had left behind a strange new form underneath her skin. When the sun set and the world went dark, her body would change drastically. The ooze had left behind magic causing her skin and muscle to melt away with the daylight and when night settled on the land, Starbry would be a skeleton. She wasn't sure if it was permanent or even controllable, but it happened and she had come to terms with it. Kind of.

She weaved through the thick grass of the meadow, keeping her eyes open for any new company. She spotted a stranger in the distance and made her way towards him. Starbry decided recently that she didn't want to spend her entire life daydreaming and stargazing and perhaps it was time to meet some others. As she approached, she slowed, trying not to startle the new stranger.

"Hello," she said softly. "I'm Starbry."

starbry

Image by Pexel
]]>

look how they shine for you

look at the stars

Autumn is nearing an end; she knows soon snow will fly and cover the world in a soft white comforter. She doesn't mind the changing of seasons and has always appreciated the way nature bends and adapts to the weather. She has been avoiding wandering during the night, though. The ooze from the river that she was certain was going to kill her had left behind a strange new form underneath her skin. When the sun set and the world went dark, her body would change drastically. The ooze had left behind magic causing her skin and muscle to melt away with the daylight and when night settled on the land, Starbry would be a skeleton. She wasn't sure if it was permanent or even controllable, but it happened and she had come to terms with it. Kind of.

She weaved through the thick grass of the meadow, keeping her eyes open for any new company. She spotted a stranger in the distance and made her way towards him. Starbry decided recently that she didn't want to spend her entire life daydreaming and stargazing and perhaps it was time to meet some others. As she approached, she slowed, trying not to startle the new stranger.

"Hello," she said softly. "I'm Starbry."

starbry

Image by Pexel
]]> <![CDATA[look how they shine for you [fazia]]]> https://beqanna.com/forum/showthread.php?tid=31998 Tue, 28 Oct 2025 03:26:07 +0000 Starbry]]> https://beqanna.com/forum/showthread.php?tid=31998

look how they shine for you

look at the stars

She inhales slowly, taking in the scent of the dwindling fall season. Soon snow will likely be falling and coating the world in a soft, white blanket to sleep away until Spring brings life back. Starbry has never particularly had a favorite season. There is something about all of them that she is fond of. Fall smells crisp and cool, the rustling of dry leaves as they fall is soothing white noise. The white silence of an empty plain in the winter as snow falls softly is one of the most peaceful moments she could possibly imagine. Everything whitewashed under a night sky, glowing beneath the moon and sparkling stars. Just perfect.  Spring is beautiful as the grayscale of winter gives way to color and rebirth of the world. If she had to pick a least favorite, it would be Summer. Not that there is anything particularly wrong with summer, it just doesn't have the standout features she finds in the other seasons.

Starbry drifts through the thick grass of the meadow, admiring how it keeps its green color despite the fiery hues of fall enveloping the rest of the land. It has always filled her with wonder, the changing of the seasons. The leaves gradually exchange their lively green colors for reds and oranges as the grass grows less and less. Then the leaves fall, coating the ground with their fire bright colors. As the leaves fall and the temperature drops, snow trades places with the rain until the fiery autumn colors are washed away by white. Snow is replaced with rain that melts the earth, softening it to allow green grass and brightly colored flowers to spring forth. Then the heat of summer blazes away the rain, and autumn comes again. Rinse and repeat.

A rock under her hoof causes a misstep and pulls her from her daydreaming and back into reality. She catches her balance, gathering her blue legs underneath her dark brown body and reorienting herself. She didn't know how long she had been aimlessly wandering and pondering the seasons, but she was quite far into the meadow now. There is a stranger not too far off, and Starbry begins in that direction.

As she nears, she notices that this mare is rather interesting. She has never quite seen anything like her before. Starbry slows as she approaches and gently reaches out to the stranger's mind to see if she can get a feel for her. "Hello," she said softly with a gentle smile, "I'm Starbry." As she introduces herself, she remembers what a mare she met recently had told her - it's not the monsters you can't see that you should worry about. It's the monsters in pretty wrappers that will eat you whole. And with that memory, her smile falters slightly.

starbry

Image by Pexel


]]>

look how they shine for you

look at the stars

She inhales slowly, taking in the scent of the dwindling fall season. Soon snow will likely be falling and coating the world in a soft, white blanket to sleep away until Spring brings life back. Starbry has never particularly had a favorite season. There is something about all of them that she is fond of. Fall smells crisp and cool, the rustling of dry leaves as they fall is soothing white noise. The white silence of an empty plain in the winter as snow falls softly is one of the most peaceful moments she could possibly imagine. Everything whitewashed under a night sky, glowing beneath the moon and sparkling stars. Just perfect.  Spring is beautiful as the grayscale of winter gives way to color and rebirth of the world. If she had to pick a least favorite, it would be Summer. Not that there is anything particularly wrong with summer, it just doesn't have the standout features she finds in the other seasons.

Starbry drifts through the thick grass of the meadow, admiring how it keeps its green color despite the fiery hues of fall enveloping the rest of the land. It has always filled her with wonder, the changing of the seasons. The leaves gradually exchange their lively green colors for reds and oranges as the grass grows less and less. Then the leaves fall, coating the ground with their fire bright colors. As the leaves fall and the temperature drops, snow trades places with the rain until the fiery autumn colors are washed away by white. Snow is replaced with rain that melts the earth, softening it to allow green grass and brightly colored flowers to spring forth. Then the heat of summer blazes away the rain, and autumn comes again. Rinse and repeat.

A rock under her hoof causes a misstep and pulls her from her daydreaming and back into reality. She catches her balance, gathering her blue legs underneath her dark brown body and reorienting herself. She didn't know how long she had been aimlessly wandering and pondering the seasons, but she was quite far into the meadow now. There is a stranger not too far off, and Starbry begins in that direction.

As she nears, she notices that this mare is rather interesting. She has never quite seen anything like her before. Starbry slows as she approaches and gently reaches out to the stranger's mind to see if she can get a feel for her. "Hello," she said softly with a gentle smile, "I'm Starbry." As she introduces herself, she remembers what a mare she met recently had told her - it's not the monsters you can't see that you should worry about. It's the monsters in pretty wrappers that will eat you whole. And with that memory, her smile falters slightly.

starbry

Image by Pexel


]]>