• Logout
  • 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


    thy leaves have ripened to the fall; any
    #1
    aletta has never been one for attention. she isn't a shadow lurker, but she doesn't like the thought of being on display. and she has never seen a real meadow before. on her childhood mountaintop, there had been a few patches of long, willowy grass but nothing to really stretch your legs out. nothing to let you go so fast that all four of your legs are off the ground. but as the forest gives way to the meadow, she has second thoughts about doing that. she can sense the other bodies around her and her eagerness to see the meadow dwindles.

    her curiosity keeps her at the edge, where the long golden grasses sweep into the treeline and aletta lets her dark eyes absorb the sight before her. autumn has crept over the landscape, with the few trees crowning themselves in shades of red, orange, and gold. as she inhales the crisp breeze that goes sailing through the meadow, the grey mare takes a few tentative steps forward. and with each step, her gait becomes more animated.

    aletta lets herself look everywhere. she tries hard to not let herself go doe-eyed at some of beqanna's residents, but there are some things she has never seen before. and the same curiosity that drove aletta into the meadow now spins the gears in her mind. she finds a secluded space next to a small stream, taking another panoramic view of the meadow. she doesn't even know where to begin. 



    aletta
    the innocent and the beautiful have no enemy but time.


    ooc- to whoever responds, i'm so sorry this so everywhere. my first post in a few years. i promise it will get better as i get some more practice and get to know her better.
    Reply
    #2

    violence


    Attention is often a byproduct of Violence’s desires.
    She does not crave it, exactly, she would be as happy alone as she would be surrounded by a devoted throng. It’s more that her whims draw attention – the once-necromancer with a ghastly smile and a menagerie of bones at her side, a creature of her own making, striding along like some sick queen, the bone-thing’s jaws snapping and yawing open.
    Of course, now the necromancy was stripped from her and she is boring, she is left with naught but a strange horn on her head, glistening and sharp but ultimately so trite, she’d break it off in a moment for the return of her old powers.

    She has grown bored in Pangea, that dusty wasteland with its mad god-king, so she wanders out. The meadow was her haunt long before the kingdoms reshaped and will likely be her home soon enough, so she knows it well, knows how to navigate the throngs with as much or as little interaction as she needs.

    She sees a gray girl alone, placed picturesquely by a stream – a beautiful, pastoral image that causes Violence to diverge, creep closer. Violence is black and strange, even without the bones, even stripped of every piece of magic she’d so wholly taken inside of herself.
    Even without the bones, her smile is still ghastly, and her eyes still fever-bright.
    Even without the bones, she can be a danger.
    “Hello,” she sings out, “you look lost.”

    I’d stay the hand of god, but war is on your lips

    Reply
    #3
    aletta relaxes in her little spot - not that she has been uneasy or overanxious. but beqanna has its own unique hum of life that aletta wasn't familiar with. while her mountaintop had its consoling breezes and remote beauty, beqanna seemed to almost vibrate with life. but it seemed everywhere her eyes fell, there was another horse, some scene of life being played out before her.

    it was in those moments that something caught in her peripheral vision. for a brief moment, she thought it was a shadow. and then the shadow lost its blurry lines and emerged as something dark and solid. there was something off about the dark mare, and aletta couldn't place it. she was almost like a storybook character displaced into the wrong story. but her words came off soft and silken, and aletta found herself speaking. 

    "i'm not sure," she replies hesitantly. for what is she really to say? that this place drew her in like a moth to the flame, and now that she was here, she was as adrift as she she had ever been? her gaze flickers around the field again and rests back on violence. "i was once told that those who wander are never really lost." 

    aletta
    the innocent and the beautiful have no enemy but time.
    Reply
    #4

    violence


    She was born in the throngs of Beqanna, another creature from a long line of Beqanna-born. The land is in her blood, she knows nothing else – for all her wandering, she has never left the land itself, has only flowed from place to place within its confines. She does not think of other lands often – they are a vague, abstract concept to her, a thought that flits by quick as a bird’s wings, and then is gone.
    She needs no other land than these.
    (Her mother knows other places – her mother, who was a strange goddess behooved to a religion Violence does not care to understand – but Cthylla does not speak often of these places, and Violence doesn’t ask.)

    She smiles still, ghastly and strange, a contrast to the mare – the pale white of the girl and the stark black of Violence, standing near but not too close, not close enough to frighten (yet).
    “A lovely saying,” she says, “though perhaps ultimately a bit of a lie. I’ve been lost here dozens of times.”
    She laughs, but it’s raw, and strange.
    “My name is Violence,” she offers, “who are you?”

    I’d stay the hand of god, but war is on your lips

    Reply
    #5
    aletta offers the black mare a small smile, still slightly reluctant and unsure of it all. it's not only violence, but the murmuring of the land. as all new things can be strange, aletta has found beqanna both wonderful and almost overpowering. she has never been one for contrasts, but there is something dark and light, welcoming and ominous about the land she stands on. and she is so eager, almost too eager, to uncover what she can.

    "i've never liked to think of myself as lost," she replies. her eyes are like mirrors, and her thoughts read plainly in them. she almost wants to frown as she tries to describe what she thinks. "i've always simply thought i'm where i'm supposed to be." her smile warms a little, the wall she has built up slowly chipping the more she converses. "but of course, that is a bit fanciful."

    she focuses on violence, perking up a bit more. "aletta. lovely to meet you violence."


    aletta
    the innocent and the beautiful have no enemy but time.
    Reply
    #6

    violence


    She has lost much of her imminent strangeness, as her bone-magic was taken - ripped - from her. She walks alone, now, walks quiet without the clatter of her bone-creature at her side. She misses it, will always miss it (does not know if it will return, or if it is gone permanently).
    Thus, this mare cannot know the things Violence could once do, the necromancy. Once, Violence would have flaunted it, would have made bones dance until the girl’s eyes rolled back in her head from fear or delight, and Violence would have laughed and laughed.
    But now she is forced instead to stand idle and size up the girl alone.

    “I’m often lost,” she says, although the girl – Aletta – hadn’t asked, “especially now. The land ruined a lot of us. Were you affected?”
    So polite. It stings the tongue, like vinegar. Politeness does not come easy to her. She is much more suited to whim and fancy, her own Id-driven delights, than anything so mundane as this.
    “Does the meadow feel right, then?” she continues, although she doesn’t know where she’s continuing to, “does it feel like a home?”
    It was her home too, once – but now she is beholden to the dark god’s wasteland. For now, at least.

    I’d stay the hand of god, but war is on your lips

    Reply
    #7
    her eyes widen slightly as the mare says that this land, this place that hums and pulsates with life, with... something she isn't quite sure of. but this place has become embedded within her like a child, and she can't fathom this sacred place ruined. but then she had that the land had ruined them, and that has caught her unaware. "what do you mean.. the land ruined you?" her eyes search violence's, wanting some type of elaboration.

    part of her isn't as shocked as she appears, for all the life that she perceives from this place, of course it could ruin others. to her the land was almost tangible, almost breathing. "no, i wasn't.. i guess that was before i stumbled upon your borders." but she is curious too, for she doesn't see violence as something ruined. the mare seems whole, sane, healthy.

    aletta shakes her head gently, her mind going back briefly to what she had called a home. was this meadow comparable? here she was open to make her own choices, to do as she pleased without the thoughts of others. perhaps that was her description of home. it has been so long since she has stayed in one place that she isn't quite sure anymore."the meadow is.. quiet, open. i can go where i want without question. i don't really need much more than that." she smiles faintly, for some do require more. aletta feels a bit unusual in this but it's how she is. "does it feel different to you? after what happened?" what a silly question, she realizes after asking. 



    aletta
    the innocent and the beautiful have no enemy but time.
    Reply
    #8

    violence


    She knows many of them have turned craven, have gone to the land begging on their knees. She is not so repentant, hence why she fell in with the dark god, hence why she now resides in the wasteland amongst the other bloody-mouthed misfits.
    The ingrates.

    “Before,” she says, and the word is weighty - before - “before the lands shifted, I was magic.”
    She wasn’t, in truth – not in the way magic is conceived of here.
    “A necromancer,” she clarifies, and ah, she aches for that old power, for her bones.
    “The land took that away from me, left me empty.”

    A hollow she fills with madness, and with savage grins, and a wayfarer met uncouthly on random day, where she left bloody and he left dead.
    “Entirely different,” she says, answering the girl’s question. She thought of inviting her home, to present her to the dark god like some quaint present, but she does not.
    “I made something,” she says, “a bone-creature. It was a masterpiece, always walking beside me. Like a pet. I miss it dearly.”
    She thinks of the bones – left in a pile on the mountain’s borders, rotting.

    “I’ll get it back, though,” she says as if she is sure. As if she knows the future. Truth is, she doesn’t know, only hopes.

    I’d stay the hand of god, but war is on your lips

    Reply
    #9
    as quickly as her wall came down, the grey mare starts to feel weary again. violence has done nothing, said nothing to raise those flags, but she feels something tingle down her spine. before she says, as if the word held everything and nothing, as if it spoke of the beginning and the end (which it might have for some of beqanna's inhabitants). aletta hides her feelings behind thoughtful eyes, retaking in the sight of the black mare.

    and while she felt these eerie things, she is once more intrigued and captivated by the mare. she was or had been magic, and oh, the grey girl had a million questions that she could feel race through her. what was it to be magic, to be part of it? did that make violence part of the land herself? she listens, rapt with attention. she listens like a child given a new bedtime story, eager to hear the next chapter. and she asks with childlike prying, "but why did the land take your magic away?"

    this land that purrs and whispers to her, that has opened its borders like a lost parent, took her magic away. and aletta can't quite add up the equation. perhaps she should be afraid of violence, but she insteads feels a reverence for the mare who can conjure such things.

    her dark eyes grow a little wider, as she tries to picture walking creature. alive but not alive. and only someone like violence could do such a thing. but she senses the mare misses her creature, her creation. what an image the mare must have created, strolling along the borders of beqanna. such a way to be seen amongst the inhabitants. aletta almost smiles at that. and she says simply as surely as it must be, "of course you will." and aletta honestly wants to believe this, for violence and to believe that what is taken is also given back. 


    aletta
    the innocent and the beautiful have no enemy but time.
    Reply




    Users browsing this thread: 1 Guest(s)