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  • Beqanna

    COTY

    Assailant -- Year 226

    QOTY

    "But the dream, the echo, slips from him as quickly as he had found it and as consciousness comes to him (a slap and not the gentle waves of oceanic tides), it dissolves entirely. His muscles relax as the cold claims him again, as the numbness sets in, and when his grey eyes open, there’s nothing but the faint after burn of a dream often trod and never remembered." --Brigade, written by Laura


    I'm just a sucker for pain [topsail + any]
    #1
    Gunsynd
    I wanna chain you up       I wanna tie you down
    He is just a shadow moving slowly into the familiar land, blending into the mists that often form in the depths of the valley. Even upon closer examination there does not seem to be a firm boundary between himself and the mist, but the two seem to simply merge into one another. Only his dark eyes seem to be fully there, gleaming out of the fog. Heavy hooves carry him towards the typical meeting places of his memory, though they do not make a sound. His entire presence is eerie; like a bad dream.

    He does not see any inhabitants on his journey and this makes his lips curl in disgust. The valley is a proud place that has, in its history, been a powerhouse of talent and ambition. This emptiness sets an acid to curdling in his gut. He becomes more and more solid as his thoughts and his patience run away from him. As if taking its cue, the mists dissipate from around him and finally he is left fully there, his thick black body imposing as always, dark hair falling haphazardly in front of his eyes. 

    Anxiously he tosses back his head and lets out a deep, guttural call for the ruler and whoever would like to accompany them. The anger and impatience is visible in his eyes even from behind his tangled locks. 

    He's back. Home.
    I M   J U S T   A   S U C K E R   F O R   P A I N
    Gunsynd is currently pretending to be someone else! He is now 15hh, hybrid, flea-bitten grey with clear blue eyes and goes by the name of Ginkgo. He will not have use of his traits while he is in this form. Please play as if he is simply the other persona unless your character has some sort of mind-reading. Thanks! <3
    #2
    the cure for anything is salt water:
    sweat, tears or the sea
    The bay woman has yet to see or speak to another. The scent of horses was faint on the breeze, old and trampled down. All was lost in her mind. First the Gates, her father. Gone. Then to the Valley to seek her sister. She too seemed to be gone. All was lost to the young woman.

    On this particular spring afternoon, as she moves through the dappling of sun through trees twisted and gnarled with age, Seastory finds herself with company. How long as she lived alone along the fringe of this land? Lost with no place else to go? Hope still bloomed in her chest to find her sister but on this day...there was something different.

    A rather masculine blast of sound tears through the canopy of foliage, the birds taking flight. Seastory's attention is ripped from her grazing to peer off at the source. With a heavy snort and on a keen hip does she turn and thread towards the epicenter of tones.

    A bit of time passes before she finally catches sight over scent of the stallion. He is dark, the skin of the mamba. He moves with such precision and assertion that Seastory thinks he may be of royalty. And so she calls to him with her own voice of soprano vocals. "Hello." She knows he will hear her, see her but it is what she wants. Finally the solitude and monotonous repetition of day after day will change

    Seastory



    i know it's short but wanted to get something to gunny <3
    #3

    I was in the darkness; so the darkness I became.


    She knew too well the hold the Valley has.

    It was a powerful force; something to be touched and held, but never to be tamed. With the commanding fog and the looming trees, it was a haven for dark souls and cravers of chaos alike. The valley craved the occasional bloodshed like a drunk craves the last slug of wine, but that last taste had been one too many. They had been broken by their hunger; a hunger that was never theirs to start with. Merely there to pick at the crumbs as opposed to indulging in a slice of the pie, and now they were left with nothing but crumbs of their home. It was for Tannors own good, really, that she no longer had the teeth of a raptor. It was likely they would find their way into his useless flesh. She would be sure to spit it out though; she had no stomach for cowards.

    It was darker in the trees, cooler, a luxury she needed to afford herself right now. Heavily pregnant and highly irritable, she was not a beast to cross these days. So when the stallions call reaches her ears she grimaces, ears going back to lay on her pretty head. She was in no mood for demands but duty called. “I hear you.” she sent through the trees, her voice searching for the stallion who demanded her presence. A sheen of sweat broke out over her neck as she picked up the pace. She finds him easily enough, but he is not alone. Her sister stands there as well, dipping her head in a formal greeting. The way he moved led Topsail to believe he had been here before; a ghost from the kingdoms past. “Welcome back to the Valley.” she said softly, her voice probing into his mind. His name was easy enough to pick out (Gunsynd)) though she did not let loose all that she knew. His frustration bled from his skin like a noxious gas, and it was a frustration she shared. As the wolf pups whined at her heels, she allowed her gaze to wash over him curiously. “Topsail.”



    Topsail

    Queen of the Valley
    #4
    Gunsynd
    I wanna chain you up       I wanna tie you down

    He feels the valley stir as his call echoes through her. It quivered and he smiled as birds took flight from her damp pines. He had fucked many females, but never loved a single one. But he loves this valley, or as close to love as his dark and twisted heart can manage. He interacts with her like a lover, and relishes how she responds to him. He knows all to well its bloodlust, its insatiable need for anarchy and action. He feels it too, its a part of his blood.

    The man is not surprised when the sound of a female’s voice reaches his thick ears. He had felt her approaching, the vibrations caused by her hoof falls echoing ever so quietly on the rock walls. He turns his head to observe her, his dark eyes becoming entangled in the young bay female’s curves. He breathes her scent in deeply as if to ensure he can taste her. She does not smell of his valley, but of other, less seductive lands. Her eyes show her youth, her innocence, her naivety. If only he weren’t awaiting another he would claim her as his own; break her, make her scream and beg for mercy, make her regret taking him so lightly - kill whatever innocence was left in those eyes. Be careful though, sweetheart… it’s addictive. 

    Luckily for her, his animalistic sneer is broken by the entrance of words forming in his mind that are not his own. They steal his attention and he knows their source is the one he is seeking. When she appears his dark eyes examine her and her engorged sides with disgust as he was want to do with pregnant females. He had sired too many children to count, he was certain - but he had never seen any of the females again after the act to verify. For all he knows, he could be the father or grandfather of the women before him but this doesn’t affect him. 

    Again words wash into his mind uninvited and he curls his lips up in a snide smile which does not seem to affect the judgmental look in his eyes. He knows this to be the ruler he had sought, yet he does not sense that the woman is as heavy with power as she is with child and he cannot trust this. The valley is hiding a powerful creature, he is sure of that. But surely it is not this female before him. Her eyes show the anger, the lust for discord that he expects, but that is where it ends. Perhaps there was more to her than meets his groping eyes, but that is yet to be determined. 

    “What has happened here.” His words come forth from some place deep in his throat, raspy, almost like a growl. He addresses Topsail but his eyes glint basely at the other who has clearly not bled for this kingdom. There is not a threat in his question, just a desire to know what had become of his homeland in his absence. He had not thought to fear for the valley’s well-being and yet he wonders now if that had been foolish.

    I M   J U S T   A   S U C K E R   F O R   P A I N
    Gunsynd is currently pretending to be someone else! He is now 15hh, hybrid, flea-bitten grey with clear blue eyes and goes by the name of Ginkgo. He will not have use of his traits while he is in this form. Please play as if he is simply the other persona unless your character has some sort of mind-reading. Thanks! <3
    #5

    no matter what they say, I am still the king

    The world was waking up. The fervor and magic on the battlefield seemed to stir the loins of the reckless souls who had wandered away.  The decree of the Fairies seemed to carve out a space for the old to return again. In the past year, it seemed that the shackles of time had shaken off – that the dead had ruptured the cragged earth from where they lay and shaken off the dust to rise again. The stagnant wasteland was bursting forth in a bloom of bodies – and the Valley was no stranger to greeting them. It was no surprise that the Kingdoms of Beqanna took a hold of a soul – they wrapped their arms around it and held tightly. You could wander, you could roam – you could even venture to hell and back –and yet you always came home.
    The Valley was no different. She was a Nightmother, a dark lusting vengeance on your soul. She kissed you with an open mouth and ignites a lust in your body that will never die out. It may fade, the years may pass and you realize that lust is just another deadly sin – another way to die. But it will never extinguish – and the moments you hear her calling (her sweet, rough voice an orchestra in your heart), you will come running. And you, Gunsynd, are not immune. You have come to ruminate on that fiery bursting in your body once again.
    Eight had guarded the Valley for the last twelve years – for most of which he had spent making love to the shadows, carving out a home in the tall and course walls of the mountains. He was a figment, something felt but not seen – an idea but not an idol. He had been useful, his magic a tally of might and power – to throw up protective walls, to hush the Valley from outside ears, and most recently to drive Yael to a loss so powerful that her magic had obliterated her own self in her very hands. More than anything, he seemed to be a weapon – an ace card up the Valley’s sleeve, her very own God in play.
    The Valley was his snow globe – a little world that he peered down upon and shook up whenever he saw fit- and so as you were birthed from the air into the Valley’s heart, Eight watched from above.  The new soul Seastory approached first – demure and delicate, a soft flower to be plucked (but aware; each flower may have thorns). And then, Topsail, her heft like a solid warship biting through the storm. Inside her lay the three gifts Eight would lay upon the world- no doubt fighting tooth and nail for the position of first to come out. We have all fucked and fleed – all lain our seed without adhering to what may come (Eight was no stranger in this animalistic act) – but to create a dynasty is no time for absconding. The three would need Eight’s power in order to learn their own, and so he had stayed.
    The tension below is bitter, a taste that Eight can eke out from the skies above. Topsail had not been keen as of late for any diplomacies or elegances – and you, Gunsynd, exuded the very tang of female revulsion and pretentiousness. There was no menace in your stature – no pulsing desire to reign mighty among the lands or even to inflict harm upon the two before you – you were, for all intents and purposes, innocent in your return. And for this, Eight remained above. Yes, you were quite a creature, malicious in persona, but no malcontent in your desires. But the fervor in your voice, the glint in your eye, that radiating thirst to feast yourself on the power of the Valley – now  that was what called Eight to the milky soft grounds of the Valley floor.
    He appears with a sudden thrust of air and the electric of magic pushing outwards in a circle, walking quietly up through Seastory and Topsail. “What has not happened here.” He has never met Seastory, and the last moments with Topsail had been on the edge of the plains, conjuring the trio inside her – he gives a small throb of magic to them, acknowledgement to them both (because of course, the magician could never be rude), the magic crawling inside them before dissipating quickly.   He is Gunsynd.- he sends the information towards Seastory, knowing that communication with a telepath was none too easy, best to keep her in the loop.
    “The throne has changed hands thrice in the past decade, although Topsail has stayed steady throughout the past five years. Raiding has demolished the Deserts. The magic of the Kingdoms has diminished. The Kingdoms are rebuilding from dust and ash.” Was this enough justice to the past decade of Beqanna? Did these clipped sentences truly encompass all that these souls had seen? You have been gone, cavorting far away from the tremors of the Valley – from the trials and tribulations that her weathered walls have seen. “And what, pray tell, has happened to you?”

    and now the storm is coming, the storm is coming in

    #6
    the cure for anything is salt water:
    sweat, tears or the sea
    The feeling in her gut after having met the hulk of black sends it spiraling. The way his face crinkles, the etch of scarring, the curl of lips over sharp teeth makes her shiver. She feels as though she has placed herself in the viper pit. Slender limbs are drawing her to a halt as she can feel the crawl of inky eyes coiling and slithering along her skin.

    Sea can feel him entering her without touching her, stealing away her essence. Sea can not say anything but thankfully the spell is broken by the approach of Topsail. Lashes flutter over her eyes, flicking away the fog that had confused her so.

    Topsail's words break the silence with fine cracks. She is unnerved by the dark stallion. Unwavering. Strong. The filled roundness of her belly does not sway the respect she commands and Topsail edges closer to her. Dark eyes observe the exchange of her name then a retort of him asking what had happened. Seastory feels, small and out of place. She wants to leave the gathering but she would not leave Topsail on her own with this stallion. A roll of her shoulders straightens the young mare, he gaze fixing and hardening as she eyes the dark male.

    The soft sound of hooves catch the bay's attention. A stallion, unnamed, is approaching and Seastory moves to make way for him. The words 'He is Gunsynd' slides into her brain and her attention meets the gaze of the darker bay, she remains wordless as she listens to the deep tones of the winged equine. It was best for the young mare to remain quiet but aligned with the others. The dark walnut stallion talks of Topsail and her efforts and energy given to Valley. There is pride in his voice as it roils like thunder on a hot summer sky.

    The soft cocoa pools slip from Eight to Gunsynd while her sister stays steeled, unmoved by the rippled that the black stallion was attempting to make.

    Seastory

    #7
    Gunsynd
    I wanna chain you up       I wanna tie you down

    Magic has a feel, a certain vibration not unlike the quiet hum of life itself. Gunsynd knows this, is familiar with the silent orchestra of magic although his own is limited, so very limited, compared to the beast that lurks within the valley’s walls. And although he has no claim to such power, having some of his own allows him to listen ever so closely for the changes in tune, in pitch that tell him that the valley’s silent guardian is approaching. This excites him, makes his dark eyes glisten. And then he appears, from the skies he descends onto their group like the archangel himself on his fall from heaven. The black male watches the event like an interested spectator, notices the little greetings and formalities between the beast and the two women. A smile curls his lips once more: so then, this was his valley’s protector. 

    He listens with rapt attention as his guardian speaks, drinking in his words with the thirst of the dying. So this ruler had won Eight’s approval; Gunsynd is unsure if that had been won from her own virtue, or a certain womanly charm that had attracted the mage’s attentions. He would see in time for himself and decide what path to take at that point. For now, the subject for him was tabled. And now the powerful stallion inquires about Gunsynd. He is not surprised, it is only fair that they be curious.

    But how to describe what has happened to him? Perhaps best not described in words, but in images; it is fortunate that the majority of this little party can see the insides of his mind. Usually he resists the intrusion into his head with the training he has given himself and whatever magic runs through his blood, but today he opens himself up to their probing. It can only help in this case. But because there is one who will not violate his thoughts, he decides to be a gentleman and narrate as best he can as well. 

    “I was given this quaint little gift by a fairy during my last quest - phasing I believe she called it. Well I was keen to explore that trick but as is usually the case with these things, it was more than I first expected.” Black eyes glint in the shadows as he shows them, puts the images before them like a slideshow. Himself being endowed with the magical gift, attempting to become more and less solid, losing control. Suddenly his being is nothing but particles - atoms, neutrons, protons, electrons. He is floating endlessly in the chasm of never-ending space, unable to force himself back together. He must learn each of his parts, each atom down to its quarks and hadrons. Slowly, so very slowly, like the creation of the universe itself he forms himself once more. Piece by piece he rebuilds himself, putting the puzzle together in the nothingness. There were so many times he made mistakes and felt the ultimate distress of falling apart once more, unsure of his ability to put himself back together again. Time was immeasurable. Distance was an unknown. There was only nothingness and his essence, trying desperately to create its home. 

    “It took ages, I’m unsure of the actual amount of time because for me, time had stopped. But I got the hang of it eventually”. He says with a nonchalant shrug. But the images continue, an unstoppable tide of attempting and failing, getting close - so close and then starting over from square one. And then one day, he was back. His body was whole, exactly where he had left it after the quest. His body was unchanged, but his mind had changed. He was intimately acquainted with everything that constructed him. He could change his construction at will. He could make any and all of his self suddenly disappear and reappear somewhere else. He could change his consistency so that he was like the mists themselves. And then bring himself back together again. It looked so seamless, so effortless. And it was, now. But it had been a long and tortuous process and he was glad that it was over.

    He had paid the price of his gift. He had lost himself and time. He had been forced to leave his valley’s side for uncountable years. And now that he was back, there was no way to make up for that lost time. But at least he had been able to show them, however - what they would make of the jumbled images was ultimately up to them. He lets his eyes wander over the three of them now, the souls of the valley. And now he moves on. “Now all that remains…” he pauses, taking a moment to enjoy the bay female’s nervous shuffling “is to ask where we go from here.” Eyes finally come to rest on the ruler, the queen of his valley. 

    I M   J U S T   A   S U C K E R   F O R   P A I N




    Hanna: I’m not sure if Eight ever met Gunsynd before, so I’m playing it as if he at least -knows of- Eight from before. If they have a more established relationship let me know and I’ll change it up


    Also, this may be the first time I have a really solid excuse for a character going MIA for a while and it wasn’t even my character to begin with :’)
    Gunsynd is currently pretending to be someone else! He is now 15hh, hybrid, flea-bitten grey with clear blue eyes and goes by the name of Ginkgo. He will not have use of his traits while he is in this form. Please play as if he is simply the other persona unless your character has some sort of mind-reading. Thanks! <3




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