07-12-2015, 08:36 PM
what is dead may never die;
Aletheia knows nothing of quests.
She should, considering her heritage (is Carnage not notorious, and did he not cause one of the more recent quests?) but she does not. In fact, she barely even understands the way that powers work here in Beqanna. Goodness knows, she doesn't consider what she has to be a power – if she were to think on it she might call it more a disease, a condition – it's simply something she was born with, and something that follows her, like a black cloud.
But luckily for her, Aletheia doesn't mind black clouds. Sunlight can be so very bright and draining.
Bright and draining as it can be, it's also a fact of life. And on this sun-soaked day, as she has so many others, she decides to head for the field. She may know nothing of the way the world works, but she knows that kingdoms thrive on warm bodies, and the Valley seems to be sorely lacking such.
The journey to the field does not take her long, even though it's quite a hike from the Valley. She leaves a trail of wilted plants in her wake, the legacy of her own little power-disease-condition, but the little bit of life she siphons from them strengthens her as she continues on the path that has become so familiar. She's seen more horses here, she muses, than she's seen in her own kingdom. But so it must be. She doesn't hesitate to work for the Valley. It's a trait she gets from her mother (and, arguably, from her father), not that she has any way of knowing that.
She pauses for a moment, surveying the field. There are so few horses here these days, it is hard to be particular. But it's not more than a moment before one catches her eye – literally. His colors are bright, almost impossibly bright, and the cracks that run through them brighter still. He stands out not just for the markings, not just for the color, but for the sheer sense of the unnatural that seems to waft from him.
Aletheia likes the unnatural. Aletheia is unnatural. She decides instantly that she is going to approach.
She's beaten to the punch by another unnatural, this one with wings. She lands and approaches before Aletheia can get there, and the girl watches with dull interest. She's developing a very solid blank stare, the kind that manages to look entirely uninterested even as it follows the brown and white and black mare's landing. She's close enough to hear the mare speak, and then introduce herself. When she reaches the little gathering she nods to each of them, her face still emotionless.
"You don't remind me of my son." she offers, so dryly it's impossible to tell whether she's joking or not. "But then again, I don't have a son." she offers with a slight shrug and a small smile. The plants at her feet wilt gently. "I'm Aletheia, from the Valley. What's your name?"
She should, considering her heritage (is Carnage not notorious, and did he not cause one of the more recent quests?) but she does not. In fact, she barely even understands the way that powers work here in Beqanna. Goodness knows, she doesn't consider what she has to be a power – if she were to think on it she might call it more a disease, a condition – it's simply something she was born with, and something that follows her, like a black cloud.
But luckily for her, Aletheia doesn't mind black clouds. Sunlight can be so very bright and draining.
Bright and draining as it can be, it's also a fact of life. And on this sun-soaked day, as she has so many others, she decides to head for the field. She may know nothing of the way the world works, but she knows that kingdoms thrive on warm bodies, and the Valley seems to be sorely lacking such.
The journey to the field does not take her long, even though it's quite a hike from the Valley. She leaves a trail of wilted plants in her wake, the legacy of her own little power-disease-condition, but the little bit of life she siphons from them strengthens her as she continues on the path that has become so familiar. She's seen more horses here, she muses, than she's seen in her own kingdom. But so it must be. She doesn't hesitate to work for the Valley. It's a trait she gets from her mother (and, arguably, from her father), not that she has any way of knowing that.
She pauses for a moment, surveying the field. There are so few horses here these days, it is hard to be particular. But it's not more than a moment before one catches her eye – literally. His colors are bright, almost impossibly bright, and the cracks that run through them brighter still. He stands out not just for the markings, not just for the color, but for the sheer sense of the unnatural that seems to waft from him.
Aletheia likes the unnatural. Aletheia is unnatural. She decides instantly that she is going to approach.
She's beaten to the punch by another unnatural, this one with wings. She lands and approaches before Aletheia can get there, and the girl watches with dull interest. She's developing a very solid blank stare, the kind that manages to look entirely uninterested even as it follows the brown and white and black mare's landing. She's close enough to hear the mare speak, and then introduce herself. When she reaches the little gathering she nods to each of them, her face still emotionless.
"You don't remind me of my son." she offers, so dryly it's impossible to tell whether she's joking or not. "But then again, I don't have a son." she offers with a slight shrug and a small smile. The plants at her feet wilt gently. "I'm Aletheia, from the Valley. What's your name?"
but rises again
Aletheia
harder and stronger
...She's so awkward. XD