09-14-2016, 08:09 PM
<center><link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Cinzel+Decorative|La+Belle+Aurore" rel="stylesheet"><div style="width: 500px; background: url('http://i.imgur.com/bqlx36Q.png'); padding-top: 10px; background-position: top; background-repeat: no-repeat; background-color: #171721; border-radius: 0px 0px 0px 0px; box-shadow: 0px 0px 20px #000000;"><center><div style="width: 460px; margin-top: 540px; margin-bottom: 5px; margin-left: 10px; margin-right: 10px; padding: 10px; background-color: #98a6ba; font-family: Times; letter-spacing: 0px; color: #282530; font-size: 9pt; line-height: 140%; text-align: justify; border-left: 1px dotted #494949; border-right: 1px dotted #494949; border-top: 1px dotted #494949; border-bottom: 1px dotted #494949; border-radius: 0px 0px;"><div style="font-family: 'La Belle Aurore', cursive; color: #10101c; font-size: 12pt; text-align: center; padding-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 3px; line-height: 15pt; letter-spacing: .5px; ">sweet as sugar, hard as ice. <br>if you hurt me once, i'll kill you twice.</div><center><div style="width: 440px; border-bottom: 1px dotted #545971; margin-top: 5px; margin-bottom: 0px;"></div></center>
She watches the sisters as they interact, every last one of them has an opinion, they all voice their opinions, they bicker, and sort through issues, until a conclusion is reached. One that satisfies everyone, because even through the bickering, they care for each other and refuse to leave any woman behind. This is why Hestia has come to love them so dearly. She hates this love, mainly because of her self-indulging love of her precious Valley, the place that she grew up in as a diplomat for the Jungle. Growing under the shadow of Jadis had not been an easy task, part of her despised the loyalty of her mother, and another part of her clung to that same loyalty stoking the fire to become all that her mother wanted from her. As the eldest of the Jadis line the importance of family and kingdom were ingrained into her just as the tattoos that she had borne for the Jungle.
She begins the climb, head dipping low as she prepares herself for what may come. She doesn’t know exactly what to expect, but what she does know is that it is high, something she has never done well with before. Avoiding heights had been her life time goal, now though is the second time she has traversed the mountain and its terrible climatic range. A loose rock gives way beneath her, and terror clutches at her chest, looking down, listening to the echo of the never ending fall she begins to tremble slightly. This is no the worst of it though, she turns her face back to follow the others, each step harder to lift, each step bringing the whispers she had blocked out louder, and harder to shut out.
Apparently even if down there all she had were the distant memories of other horse’s tales, here the magic of the ritual still existed, the blood of ancient sisters connects her to the physical memories, their anguish, their rage, their love, their never ending hunger for the blessed touch of Beqanna. Through the pain, and the headache of the rushing forces she begins to feel something, once again she feels the ground under her, not as a separate entity, no, now it feels as though it welcomes her once more. Almost like it recognizes her, just as it had before the worlds shift. She chokes back the tears, relief floods her soul, soothing her aching need for connection to Beqanna and her sisters.
Here she can caress the land and feel a faint heartbeat, she can sense it, just barely a wisp of something more than just rock and leaf. A warmth of something existing beyond that which only the eye can see. Part of her smiles, and she looks to the sky basking in this moment. Yes she had done wrong, she had selfishly left the sisters to fend for themselves, just as the sisters of her own era had done, after the anarchist, after prague, after the demons, when all had settled and the weary souls no longer needed her, she had slipped into the shadows, she had traveled to find her Valley and later the man that she would give children too. She didn’t press the importance of the Jungles memories, the lessons that they had learned when the Jungle had banned them, she didn’t tell anyone of blood oath she took to pass those memories on to another generation. No she had waited, prideful, waiting for someone to express desire for the past, for the traditions. To remember how they gave of themselves, gave their blood, and their souls to bind themselves to Beqanna. Giving Beqanna justice, for the weak, for the wrongs others had done against her.
There was no one there to tell them, to warn them where greed, power mongering, and unnessecary bloodshed would take them. <i>Beqanna gives, when we give. Beqanna takes, when we take.</i> It was words that she had, had drilled into her head from the time she was a small child. Yet even after death had taken her, even after all the wrongs she had committed… <i>Beqanna blessed me with life once more, even though I was already passed from this world, tied to it as a ghost. Even though I royally screwed up everything I had bound myself to. She still gave me life. Please listen to hearts, and allow us to have a home to call our own.</i> Beqanna had already forgiven her sins, she knows this without a doubt. She was not a cruel fairy/god; she wouldn’t bring Hestia back just to torture her. Hestia knows her purpose, knows that she must fulfill it. She also knows what a dangerous world it can be, not of Beqanna’s making, but of those who would stain her with rape and bloodshed. Things that prove to be difficult to prevent unless in a home. She would know, as a victim of murder, even with a home, safety cannot be guaranteed, but it can reduce the risks.
</div><center><div style="font-family: 'Cinzel Decorative', cursive; font-size: 55px; color: #3f4a61; line-height:30pt; padding-top: 15px; padding-bottom: 20px; align:center; text-shadow: 0px 0px 8px #13171e;">Hestia</div></center></div></center>
She watches the sisters as they interact, every last one of them has an opinion, they all voice their opinions, they bicker, and sort through issues, until a conclusion is reached. One that satisfies everyone, because even through the bickering, they care for each other and refuse to leave any woman behind. This is why Hestia has come to love them so dearly. She hates this love, mainly because of her self-indulging love of her precious Valley, the place that she grew up in as a diplomat for the Jungle. Growing under the shadow of Jadis had not been an easy task, part of her despised the loyalty of her mother, and another part of her clung to that same loyalty stoking the fire to become all that her mother wanted from her. As the eldest of the Jadis line the importance of family and kingdom were ingrained into her just as the tattoos that she had borne for the Jungle.
She begins the climb, head dipping low as she prepares herself for what may come. She doesn’t know exactly what to expect, but what she does know is that it is high, something she has never done well with before. Avoiding heights had been her life time goal, now though is the second time she has traversed the mountain and its terrible climatic range. A loose rock gives way beneath her, and terror clutches at her chest, looking down, listening to the echo of the never ending fall she begins to tremble slightly. This is no the worst of it though, she turns her face back to follow the others, each step harder to lift, each step bringing the whispers she had blocked out louder, and harder to shut out.
Apparently even if down there all she had were the distant memories of other horse’s tales, here the magic of the ritual still existed, the blood of ancient sisters connects her to the physical memories, their anguish, their rage, their love, their never ending hunger for the blessed touch of Beqanna. Through the pain, and the headache of the rushing forces she begins to feel something, once again she feels the ground under her, not as a separate entity, no, now it feels as though it welcomes her once more. Almost like it recognizes her, just as it had before the worlds shift. She chokes back the tears, relief floods her soul, soothing her aching need for connection to Beqanna and her sisters.
Here she can caress the land and feel a faint heartbeat, she can sense it, just barely a wisp of something more than just rock and leaf. A warmth of something existing beyond that which only the eye can see. Part of her smiles, and she looks to the sky basking in this moment. Yes she had done wrong, she had selfishly left the sisters to fend for themselves, just as the sisters of her own era had done, after the anarchist, after prague, after the demons, when all had settled and the weary souls no longer needed her, she had slipped into the shadows, she had traveled to find her Valley and later the man that she would give children too. She didn’t press the importance of the Jungles memories, the lessons that they had learned when the Jungle had banned them, she didn’t tell anyone of blood oath she took to pass those memories on to another generation. No she had waited, prideful, waiting for someone to express desire for the past, for the traditions. To remember how they gave of themselves, gave their blood, and their souls to bind themselves to Beqanna. Giving Beqanna justice, for the weak, for the wrongs others had done against her.
There was no one there to tell them, to warn them where greed, power mongering, and unnessecary bloodshed would take them. <i>Beqanna gives, when we give. Beqanna takes, when we take.</i> It was words that she had, had drilled into her head from the time she was a small child. Yet even after death had taken her, even after all the wrongs she had committed… <i>Beqanna blessed me with life once more, even though I was already passed from this world, tied to it as a ghost. Even though I royally screwed up everything I had bound myself to. She still gave me life. Please listen to hearts, and allow us to have a home to call our own.</i> Beqanna had already forgiven her sins, she knows this without a doubt. She was not a cruel fairy/god; she wouldn’t bring Hestia back just to torture her. Hestia knows her purpose, knows that she must fulfill it. She also knows what a dangerous world it can be, not of Beqanna’s making, but of those who would stain her with rape and bloodshed. Things that prove to be difficult to prevent unless in a home. She would know, as a victim of murder, even with a home, safety cannot be guaranteed, but it can reduce the risks.
</div><center><div style="font-family: 'Cinzel Decorative', cursive; font-size: 55px; color: #3f4a61; line-height:30pt; padding-top: 15px; padding-bottom: 20px; align:center; text-shadow: 0px 0px 8px #13171e;">Hestia</div></center></div></center>
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