[mature] Desolation comes upon the sky // Brunhild - Printable Version +- Beqanna (https://beqanna.com/forum) +-- Forum: Explore (https://beqanna.com/forum/forumdisplay.php?fid=1) +--- Forum: The Common Lands (https://beqanna.com/forum/forumdisplay.php?fid=72) +---- Forum: Forest (https://beqanna.com/forum/forumdisplay.php?fid=73) +---- Thread: [mature] Desolation comes upon the sky // Brunhild (/showthread.php?tid=22412) |
Desolation comes upon the sky // Brunhild - Scorch - 01-02-2019 Nerine became more stifling with every passing day. Against all odds, the arrival of more family members discouraged the matriarch from her usual position as second-in-command; perhaps not directly because of their blood relation, but because each of them could lay claim to her person without a second thought. While admittedly devoted to her role in the kingdom and in her family (for now, anyway), every passing day brought on more and more deviance in the once-Khaleesi’s behaviours. She’d fallen in love with another man and birthed him a daughter, only to realize that she had used his friendship as a bandaid for the gaping wound which stretched across the sensitive tissues of her heart. She’d allowed Nerine to fall into shambles at the turn of the year, watching as everyone failed to find guidance and thus dissolved into the insanity brought on by the onslaught of the contagion. She’d failed not only as a wife, but as an Amazonian, too; but her question, these days, is whether a woman can be a wife without a husband, and whether a woman can be an Amazon without a jungle. Deviance grew potent in her veins; she needed an out. Without Blue by her side to care for, and conveniently without one of the many creatures who, as I said, could lay claim to her (Leilan, Sarkis, Breckin, Brennen, Eurwen, Nalia, Ardashir, and the list goes on), she struck out to find just that. Initially, she gave no thought to identifying just what this out might look like; but on the other hand, why should she give a damn? Whatever she was looking for would find her, be it today or tomorrow or on the eve of her second death. She didn’t care; she just wanted to breathe. When she halted, she quietly took a moment to ground herself, head slowly pivoting atop the vertebrae of her neck. She’d just skirted the Loessian border, she decided, and had landed up directly north of the ocean. Yearning to see it, though she couldn’t fathom why, the mutilated creature crept out of the shade of the forest, and sunk her hooves deftly into the grey-sand beach she found opposite it. RE: Desolation comes upon the sky // Brunhild - brunhild - 01-04-2019 our demons are all around us and they don't come from hell every single one of them reminds us of ourselves Brunhild doesn’t know what she is without the comfort of the jungle and the vines. She is Rodrik’s, she knows that to her core, but is it enough? Is she enough? She feels like the pieces of her have been flung far and wide and the heart of her now rests wherever Beqanna has laid the lands of old to rest. She floats along now, as insubstantial as her body when it floated along the shadows. She feels fuzzy on the edges, lost—the whole of this world taking on a fuzzy, dreamlike quality. She returns to Beqanna, although it feels as if in a dream. She walks along the lands she doesn’t recognize and pays no mind to their borders. She has been born and raised in kingdoms, taught their rules since the first breath of air, but she can’t be bothered to adhere to them today. She is a relic, she thinks. A totem of a time long past. What should those alive today care about a ghost passing through the borders? Why should they care about an Amazonian Queen of old? Her wanderings take her far, her scarred body moving quietly until she reaches the forest, the shadows of it bringing an exhale to her lips. But it is the next sight that clenches her heart in her chest. At the familiar shape of Scorch, Brunhild’s breath catches in her throat, something like adrenaline slamming into her chest. It feels like home. It feels like a memory. It feels like a breath of life as it slips across her lips. She moves forward in a daze, her heavy-lidded eyes dark and bruised, the shadows playing along the harsh edges of her face. “Scorch,” her throaty voice wraps around the syllable, lets it rest there as she draws up to her side, feeling the space between them. “It’s been so long.” @[Scorch] RE: Desolation comes upon the sky // Brunhild - Scorch - 01-13-2019 WATCH THE FLAMES CLIMB HIGH INTO THE NIGHT Scorch Once Khaleesi of the Amazon Jungle RE: Desolation comes upon the sky // Brunhild - brunhild - 01-17-2019 our demons are all around us and they don't come from hell every single one of them reminds us of ourselves Scorch has long since been engraved into Brunhild’s dark and wandering heart. She is part of her—a sister, her successor, a woman who looked her in the eye and somehow saw within the shadows. She feels an ease standing next to her even as her nerves are drawn taut, even as instinct rattles in her veins and the heavy premonition of what is to come blows like smoke across her back. It winds her tight even as she relaxes, the juxtaposition of the two emotions at war and conflicting even as she finds stability. “Does it matter what I’m doing here?” her smoke voice rises to meet the dragon woman’s and she feels the space between them like a physical thing—a barrier, a wall. Is she no longer to be accepted as a fellow sister? She has never doubted herself before, not truly, but the shame of her weakness at the end of her reign has haunted her. She had spun apart beneath her injuries. She had barely held it together long enough to announce the change of crowns. And when it had been done, when she had forfeit it, she had been lost to the shadows. Her body had spun apart in the darkness, pulled thin. It had taken months to pull herself back together. Months of breaking and agony and healing. Months of rebuilding. And when the kingdom’s magic had finally dripped from her, when her body had been forced back together again, it had been too late. She was no longer Queen. She was barely herself. So in the shadows, in the belly of the jungle, she had stayed. Brunhild doesn’t waver beneath Scorch’s gaze, doesn’t falter or crumble. She stands strong, holding the mare’s studying look. “I am here now. For however long this is to last.” It still feels like a dream, the fog of the forest slowly crawling around her shoulders as her precious shadows used to do. “Would you send me away if I don’t have answers?” Her breath plumes in front of her, steady as she has always been. And yet—and yet—she wonders at the way it threatens to catch in her throat. @[Scorch] RE: Desolation comes upon the sky // Brunhild - Scorch - 01-27-2019 WATCH THE FLAMES CLIMB HIGH INTO THE NIGHT Scorch Once Khaleesi of the Amazon Jungle "@[brunhild]" this is what she insisted on saying, i hope it's okay. RE: Desolation comes upon the sky // Brunhild - brunhild - 02-03-2019 our demons are all around us and they don't come from hell every single one of them reminds us of ourselves Brunhild has never been one to be carried away with emotion. She has never been one to flicker between extremes, to fall prey to the leaching desires of the heart or to feel her throat fill with the saltwater of need. She has not been flirtatious or wanton; instead, she turned her mind to war and to the Amazons and to being what they needed. She was steady and even-keeled and maybe a better Khaleesi for it, but not a better friend or a better lover. It left her selfish, often. It left her alone, too. Despite this, she has managed to find the love of Rodrik, her scarred heart somehow accepted by the devilish once-King of the Chamber—and she does not regret it. She does not regret the weakness that he has opened up in her. The way that she finds herself hungering for the time spent by his side the same way that she has so many times hungered for the feel of the sword in her hand, the blood heavy on her tongue. But none of that changes the strange, dreamlike hunger that stirs in her now. None of it changes the way that her heavy-lidded eyes grow hazy and her tongue thick as she looks at Scorch. She doesn’t flinch beneath Scorch’s words or even grow resentful of the implication. She just nods her head. “I understand.” And she did. But she also doesn’t deny the growing tightness in her belly and the curiosity that darkens her eyes as she feels Scorch finally reach for her. She angles her head to lean into the touch and then takes a step closer, the two war-scarred bodies falling into the gravity of the moment. She doesn’t say anything, doesn’t think that Scorch needed nor wanted it. Instead her lets her teeth find the mare’s jaw, letting it linger there before trailing down the curve of it. The darkness presses in on all sides of them and she breathes it in. For a second, her tongue catches the flesh, tasting the brine of the Amazonian, and it settles like a drug into her system. She closes her eyes, feeling a rare hitch of breath in her throat. And she doesn’t resist the waves of it flood through her. She simply gives herself over to the strength that can be found in surrender. @[Scorch] RE: Desolation comes upon the sky // Brunhild - Scorch - 02-04-2019 WATCH THE FLAMES CLIMB HIGH INTO THE NIGHT Scorch Once Khaleesi of the Amazon Jungle "" RE: Desolation comes upon the sky // Brunhild - brunhild - 02-07-2019 our demons are all around us and they don't come from hell every single one of them reminds us of ourselves She doesn’t know what she expected when she walks up to Scorch—what liquid pull she had felt in her belly, drawing her further down the path of madness and need. She doesn’t know and she finds that she cannot bring herself to ask more questions. She cannot tear it further or pull it apart or try to make sense from something that is inherently designed to not be understood—to be felt, not consumed by the mind. Instead she becomes the shadows she had once been. She becomes nothing but a living flame of need and want, feeling that strange rush of it all, a heady feeling of rightness in the way that their bodies come together. It is like a battle, like a war cry, and she finds that she knows her Amazonian’s sister better than she might have ever guessed. They bloom together, bodies erupting and then pulling inward in implosion, as Brunhild’s chest heaves, her lungs dragging air, her vision blurry and mind dizzy with the fireworks of pure feeling within her. “Scorch,” she murmurs once into the mare’s neck, feeling a tightening in her belly, the taste of the mare thick on her lips. “Scorch,” again, this time wrapped into a growl that becomes a purr and then a moan. When it is over, when they are slick with it, she presses a kiss into the mare’s neck and closes her eyes, feeling a thrill of adrenaline through her—a feeling that lives outside of guilt or repercussion. “I will always be with you,” she finally says softly, her voice husky. “I will always be part of you.” She knows better than any how intertwined two souls can become—and when those souls are rooted in the jungle, the bond lives outside of time and space itself. In the morning, they will split apart and live their own lives—they will love their men and follow their paths, but that does not change this moment now, trapped and suspended eternal. @[Scorch] |