Beqanna - River

Saltwater tongues are calling me; any

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

starboard

make it pretty, but train it to kill

The Gods were not content to just make her attractive.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Word count: 280

Chaos and Whimsy; Tumult

Mon, 08 Dec 2025 19:27:31 +0000

She moves along the riverbank, silver hooves pressing into soft mud that smells faintly of rain and stone. The current whispers at her ankles, cold and deliberate, brushing against her skin in tiny, teasing pulses. Her patchwork coat glimmers faintly in the pale light, neon streaks of her mane catching every ripple of sunlight like sparks caught in fog. Her antennae quiver at each faint shift in the air, her elongated ears tilting toward every subtle splash, every soft rustle of reeds.

“Tumult?” The name slips softly from her lips, carried over the water like a secret she hopes he will catch. Lilies bloom slowly from her chest, petals trembling as though sensing her intent. Green foxfire curls around her legs, twirling with each careful step. The butterfly wings on her hindquarters shimmer faintly, fluttering with the rhythm of her heartbeat.

Her mind flickers back to the last time she had seen him, the weight of his presence, the pull she had not understood, the quiet tension that had made her chest ache in ways she could not name. She lets the memory brush against her now, a reminder of why she moves forward, why she calls.

The reeds shift in the gentle breeze, the river hissing against stones, and her antennae twitch at the faintest vibration. The pull in her chest strengthens, subtle but insistent, like a ship caught in a sudden storm, tugged toward something it cannot resist. Her heart beats steady, a warm coil of anticipation that dances beneath her skin, winding around the lilies, the foxfire, and the quiet hum of magic she has learned to trust.

This is bleh lol

with those bittersweet melodies

Thu, 20 Nov 2025 05:02:57 +0000

Tavani

Somewhere in the last few years, Beqanna had started to feel like home instead of a place Tavani was stuck. Her memories of where she had been before had a haze to them, turning many of them rosier than they really were.

There were still new things to discover, and it felt like almost every day she found something new, but these discoveries were now surprising and interesting instead of frightening.

She even has a few favourite spots.

It's a little early in the year for a swim but Tavani can't help it. There's enough of her Baltian mother in her that the chill doesn't get to her easily. So she finds her way to the widest, slowest part of the river, and eases in — the spring sunshine glittering on the surface. Her black wings fold behind her like a swan's, crowning her in dark feathers, while the bits of feather and skin and hair that come in contact with the water swirl with shades of blue and purple.

Her black-and-sky eyes are on the shore once she starts swimming leisurely, watching the comings and goings of whoever happens to pass by. Now that her anxieties over existing in this place have faded, there's more room for her to be aware of just how lonely she is. There's a sad sort of enjoyment out of watching others and imagining that they don't carry that same weight.

there’s a fire under the altar

Thu, 30 Oct 2025 07:03:53 +0000

Enough vanity exists in Tersias’ heart that he does not like to be seen by anyone new during the daylight. It’s one thing for his family to see the speckled scars scattered across his coat and face, and another thing entirely to consider approaching anyone who wasn’t used to them. Someone who might ask — and he has no practice at all trying to explain something that had been a part of him since birth. The scars were absolutely a piece of who he is the demon in Tersias’ heart truly feels whole under the moonlight.

When scar turns to a shimmering gold.

That’s the Tersias he is comfortable sharing with the world.

So that is when he wanders.

The moon tonight is a slender crescent, ready to disappear tomorrow before growing once more, but it is enough to light Tersias up with a soft golden glow. It adds colour to his shadowy presence, from the obsidian horns that crown him down to the black cloven hooves that leave strange prints behind him in the soft autumn mud.

There’s an ease to his gait under the moon, a sense of calm. There is so much that he doesn’t yet know about what he is capable of, just the tricks he’s learned when playing with his siblings or exploring, but something about this night tells him there is so much more to come. That his life in this peaceful Beqanna may change at any point.

And those thoughts bring a smile to his cold, golden eyes.

Open to any!

rivers and roads - fireheart

Sun, 26 Oct 2025 00:43:30 +0000

…and when dawn came, the ooze was gone.

The thick, ominous sludge that had swallowed the crystalline river — that winding lifeline through Beqanna’s fields and forests, had vanished. The sea had devoured it, displaced it, or perhaps carried it away to some darker place along its course. Whatever force had overtaken the water and them both was now only memory. The other girl — the one who had stood beside her in eerie stillness, trapped in the same green horror as it consumed them — was gone as well. Only Claudia remained, dripping riverlight and silence. Tybalt emerges from the brush, unharmed but bristling, wings half-flared in alarm. His confusion stirs something protective in her; she lowers her head to him, voice soft and melodic.

“I am fine,” she purrs, pressing her muzzle to his cheek.
“I do not know what that was, but… it may have tweaked something in my magic.” Her words are half to him, half to herself — a musing spoken into the morning air as the little dragon circles her, scales flashing blue beneath the newborn sun.

"Well, you don’t look any different,” Tybalt remarks after a moment, his tone caught between teasing and unease. Claudia exhales slowly, her breath curling like smoke in the cool dawn. The light catches her mane, molten gold against the wet sheen of her coat, and glitters across the now-clear river. It is as if nothing had ever happened. Yet the world feels thicker, heavier. The silence hums with something unseen. She steps into the shallows, the water whispering around her ankles. The river hums softly, like a creature dreaming beneath its skin. Tybalt hovers close above her, the rhythm of his wings steady and low.

“Let’s move,” she murmurs, glancing upstream — though her gaze drifts, half wary, half entranced, toward where the ooze had once crawled. Together they slip into the fog-damp woods, the scent of moss and brine heavy in the air. Behind them, the river runs clear again…

<3

climbed up on your cross, colby

Fri, 24 Oct 2025 01:10:51 +0000

bael

Ask him how much time has passed and he will tell you that none has passed at all.
He will tell you neither ice nor death know time.
And, because he is a monster, he does not either.

How meaningless the changing of the seasons, the passing of days.
Born an ugly thing, it is hard to tell that he has aged at all now that he’s an adult.
Nothing about him changes these days, Bael. Except that now he can touch the surface of a pool and watch as the whole thing freezes. Sometimes he will wait for some poor, unwitting creature to wade into the depths before he administers his kiss just to watch it writhe and squirm. The darkness in him is ancient and depthless.

The darkness in him is hungry.

He watches now as the ice splinters outward away from him, watches as the vegetation wilts and freezes. It has always been in his nature to destroy, understand. The first thing he brought to ruin was his voice when his mother, horrified by the ugly thing she had birthed, froze him in place with her own ropes of ice. He had screamed for her, frantic and starving, and she had left him there. The ice had softened more and more the further she got from him, until he could shake free of it. But she was already gone, Camellia, lost to him.

So now it is gravel, strangely stilted by the unnaturally beaked mouth. And only the first of many things he has wrecked.

Because he knows all about hunger.
He roams now, something wicked unleashed on the world more than something birthed into it, though there are much wickeder things here.

And he comes upon the river in his roaming and is just about to press his mouth into the water when he hears something, though he cannot identify the sound or its source. So he just pauses there, hovering above the river’s writhing surface, and listens.

( they won’t fix ya, they ain’t with ya )
( they won’t muzzle the mouth that just bit ya )

look how they shine for you [any]

Wed, 22 Oct 2025 20:02:49 +0000

She watches in awe, and terror, as the ooze replacing the river climbs from the banks. Her legs won't move beneath her as she tries to step back away from the green creeping closer, closer, closer. It touches her hooves and her muscles tense, her instincts telling her move back, run Starbry. Every piece of her being demands her legs move - but she is stuck. The ooze seeps up and over her hooves, slithering gently over her blue hide and sending a shiver through her body. The wisps in her mind reach desperately for the mind of the mare next to her but she can't seem to direct them and suddenly she realizes that she is alone. This stranger won't - can't - save her. Her yearning for company had brought her here to die. Her brown doe eyes close tightly in fear.

Her racing heart is sinking in her chest as she realizes this is going to be it. Is it going to be painful? To die? She has no one to remember her. There is no one that will come looking for her as creatures dine on her corpse, insects clean her bones, and she turns to dust. Nobody will mourn her. Dying as she was born - nothing. It feels like a sob tries to escape her chest but is silenced in her throat.

It feels like hours have passed as the panic consumed her, despite it only being moments. She opens her eyes to take one last look at the world around her. She needs to see the stars. Death may come for her, but the glittering sky will comfort her like a soothing blanket as it had all of these years. Perhaps that's where she will go. Maybe she was nothing on earth, but in death she can become a glittering star to help light the night. And perhaps another will find comfort in the stars, in her.

But when she opens her tear-stricken eyes, still facing the ooze that she was certain would be making its way up her legs to consume her - it's retreating. The feeling of bone chilling dread begins to leave her body. She is still shaking, trembling. Her breaths come in shallow waves as she watches the ooze float down the river, away, towards the vast expanse of the ocean. Something feels different, like something settling into her bones, but she's alive. Starbry then looked up at the sky. She needed to be sure that the stars were still there, and they were. She could count on them to always be there.

A sigh of relief left her and suddenly she felt so heavy. She wasn't going to die tonight, not yet anyways. The mare that had been next to her is forgotten. Starbry isn't sure if she died, ran away, or was still standing there - she couldn't force herself to look that direction to see what the stranger's fate had been. Her blue legs, tinged in remnants of the ooze, began to move and she stepped away from the river. She kept walking, noticing that dawn was arriving and the ooze had vanished from her legs. Had the grass wiped it away or had it disappeared? It didn't matter. She stopped in front of a giant oak tree and admired the autumn colors dripping from its branches. Her yearning for company had evaporated just as the ooze on her legs had seemed to do. She took a deep inhale, dipped her head, and closed her eyes to relish in the feeling of her heart beating, the morning breeze against her body, and the sun arriving to warm the earth.

The Ooze

Sat, 18 Oct 2025 04:10:33 +0000

Things have been going pretty well as far as random events in Beqanna go. A peaceful pair of ghosts, some sweet little baby bats. But you? You my friend are wandering near the River one night when you realize... that's not water that's coursing over the rocks. It's a vibrant green ooze that starts to glow a little brighter the closer you get to it. And it's definitely not running the way water does, more of a meandering slop than anything.

Seems super approachable, right?

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 there is still an open spot, players that had entered into the previous drops may do so again on Thurs Oct 23

I could come here and scream as loud as I want

Thu, 11 Sep 2025 20:02:16 +0000

FAZIA

There’s no one to blame for Fazia’s lack of progress with the tasks given to her on the mountain except herself — but that hardly matters. It’s so much more satisfying to blame everyone else. They’re not interesting enough to try to possess so what is she supposed to do? Lower her standards? Absolutely not.

She was interesting and she deserved to float around in some interesting minds. Or possess someone. However it worked. If she was going to exist in the body of someone else for a while they could at least spark something inside of her.

This evening, she decides to stop being the bait, hoping to lure someone in, and focuses on being the hunter. Taking a more active approach in this whole quest thing. You know, just in case it makes a difference.

Just in the small, miniscule chance the lack of progress is her fault.

The sun is just beginning to touch the horizon, the shadows long and cold as she walks along the bank of the river. Red light projects from her body, touching the frozen ground and water. She cannot wait for spring, when the water will flow once more and not be so stagnant and rigid. Water was her friend, it flowed around her in a caress. Ice? Slippery and incredibly rude.

There’s still enough immaturity in her that she gives into the temptation to pause and stick her tongue out at it, the indifferent ice, and give it what she thinks is an excellent snarl for good measure.

oh hi

the loyalty of a dog and its prey;

Tue, 09 Sep 2025 22:44:59 +0000

he must be wicked to deserve such pain;

He makes a promise.
It’s an old enough story. He is in love and he will do anything for her. There is no hell he would not endure for her. It is easy, to promise anything from himself to save Agetta. It is a promise he would make a hundred times.
The promise is fulfilled, or so he thought – the dark god thundered and Garbage’s head felt as if it would fracture into a thousand pieces, but pain was a currency he had no trouble spending.
But gods are fickle, aren’t they?

There is comfort in this – the promise doesn’t really matter. He got what he asked for. It does not matter that he paid his debt, because to a god, this does not matter. It was nothing but pomp and circumstance, when truth is, he was always going to be at the dark god’s whim. He’d been foolish to think otherwise.

He isn’t sure what happened, after – he remembers his head split, remembers pain and darkness, and then a terrible, insectile buzzing that seemed to permeate into his bones. There were flashes of images, glimpses of his terribly long life.
The images blur, come apart and stitch back together. There is a sense of something changed, but he does not know what it is.
His mind is easily to shape. He has lost himself before – more times than he cares to count – and somehow, it is almost familiar, this reset, the sense of memories stirring beneath the surface.

He is set back into the world, where it is quiet. He doesn’t mind – he is adrift, still. His mind is a blurred, drunk thing, but he walks like he has a purpose. Like there is somewhere he must be.

garbage

image credit

pony
I've never written a word in my entire life

Just another day

Thu, 20 Feb 2025 20:51:49 +0000

The young stallion made his way toward the edge of the river. He wasn't exactly sure what had brought him here. Maybe he was searching for a place to call home, or perhaps he was looking to find friends. He stopped once he reached the edge of the water he lowered his head and took a small drink of water. He had thought that he had heard something and looked in that direction.

I gave my soul to it, and it cannot be reclaimed; any

Sun, 26 Jan 2025 18:42:32 +0000

A dozen turns of the Moon, she’d told him, she would listen to his ideas after a dozen turns.

So he’d waited, achingly aware of each rotation, his own body aging as it waxes and growing younger as it wanes. He could have come to her weeks ago, haggard and grey. But he’d waited longer still, as the Moon became more slender and his own body more capable.

He limps still, the old injury remaining regardless of his current physical ability or phase of the Moon, and tonight he appears a mature stallion, the brilliant sunset shades of his youthful coat having been muted by pale dapples so that he is more of a clouded dawn.

Fortunately, he does not have to limp far.
She is waiting for him, just where they’d agreed.

He begins without preamble, spinning for the palomino mare a tale of moonlit visions and what they mean, or might mean, or might not. He is not entirely sure of anything at all, and makes no secret of that.

At first she seems dubious, skeptical that after all these moons he wants nothing more than a meaningless title and the opportunity to speak with her about the Moon. But eventually she’d conceded and he’d left her company not only as one who speaks to the Moon, but as the Moonspeaker.

He’d expected to feel different afterwards.
Yet as he watches his shimmering reflection in the water of the river, everything feels the same.
Ruhr takes a deep breath of the warm spring air, closing his eyes as he lifts his head to the bright afternoon sun.
It is a beautiful day, the Moon has been encouraging, and he has everything he wants.
But everything still feels the same.

Ruhr sighs, and turns away from the water in search of a conversation to distract himself.

i'll make a beast out of myself

Tue, 26 Nov 2024 02:48:27 +0000

Caught here in a fiery blaze, won't lose my will to stay
No oasis here to see, the sand is singing deathless words to me

The crisp morning breeze is accompanied by the sounds of bird song and the rushing waters of the river nearby. There’s a light drizzle that continues to coat his fur and his ears flicker irritably whenever a particularly large droplet lands on one of them. He treks doggedly alongside the river banks with a single intention – to find shelter amongst the branches of the gigantic oak that dwarfed the nearby smaller copses of trees.

There he could find a dry and secure spot to wile away his morning.

Munroe found he spent most of his time as a cat nowadays. He doesn’t remember much of his youth – only vague faces and voices occasionally swim through his memories. But he does remember that powerful feeling of fear and helplessness he had experienced as a newborn. Taking the form of a predator seemed to give him some feeling of security and some peace of mind.

Most importantly, this form allowed him to stealthily avoid others for the most part. He’s never yearned for companionship - the thought of strangers coming into his personal space instantly raised his hackles. Trust was hard-earned and if one wanted to survive then it could never be freely given.

There was a time he had trusted. A land that was full of stinging sands and golden as far as the eye could see. Big golden wings that enveloped him with a motherly embrace and sweet lullabies that soothed him to sleep – Ima.

The rain begins to pick up and he quickens his pace towards the large oak he can see within a short distance. Once his paws hit relatively dry dirt, he heaves his body into a quick shake and flings droplets of water onto the ground. Munroe raises hazel eyes to pinpoint a branch that would feasibly support his weight. Pausing to judge the distance correctly, he swiftly scales the large tree trunk before settling comfortably onto his haunches.

He watches the downpour and ignores the disgruntled songbirds that were forced to perch higher up amongst the crown of the oak. Softly, he hums a lullaby under his breath – one he couldn’t seem to remember the words to.

MUNROE

the lost wild child of nowhere

me and my ghosts, we had a hell of a time

Sat, 09 Nov 2024 19:31:35 +0000

FAZIA

The season of winter on land has not failed to both fascinate and horrify Fazia in equal measure. Although she is used to the cold water, the chill experienced on land is an entirely different animal - the teeth of it are irregular and erratic instead of the constant state of the current. Snow is beautiful, but at what cost?

So the translucent mare keeps as far south as she can - lingering in the bay and the ghostly remains of her home. The sun has returned today and it wakes her from where she sleeps among the coral, the blue-grey beams dancing across her eyelids. It is too early for spring but a rare moment of sunlight in this grey season is a good excuse as any to rise up to the surface. The memory of her quest haunts the back of her mind as well - reminding her that she must socialize in order to complete it.

Or at least find a body to practice with.

Fazia surfaces from the chilled water near the base of the river, where what is shore and what is riverbank blend together. The strength of the sun leaves something to be desired but it feels delightful all the same on her neck and the top of her back. Accustomed to the temperature of the water, she has not yet convinced herself to move any further up on shore - instead lingering in the brackish water here and doing her best to enjoy the best of the two worlds while her black eyes scan the area.

the pillar of myth still stands

Sat, 31 Aug 2024 11:50:08 +0000

Ruhr is dreaming. He knows this both because there is no pain in his foreleg as he trots along, and because the Moon hanging in the sky over his head takes up most of the mountainous horizon. She is as impressive as She is godlike, but he reassures himself that he is not deep enough in madness to mistake his subconscious with reality. This is a dream.

He is sure of it.

That he has not been able to wake himself is a bit of reality he pushes away. He often pushes reality away.

And as he does so, the Moon overhead returns to Her normal size.

Ruhr lifts his feathered head to look at Her, his brown eyes just a little too bright.

A long period of silence passes, and then the winged stallion sighs, and returns his gaze to the world around him rather than the one floating overhead.