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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


    as the world falls down { any }
    #1

    through dangers untold and hardships unnumbered

    It was a quiet evening, stars speckle across a deep blue sky. The land slowly becoming sandy under hoof and thinner as the old bay man strode along what seemed to be a land bridge. The air that lightly blew over him ruffled his feathers lightly, the scent of jungle seeped into is nostrils. It reminded him of the old Amazon's Jungle back before the shift. He had met a few Amazon ladies when in the field, he remembered that thick tropical perfume that clung to their sleek coats. He had always wondered how it must have been to live in a tropical jungle. He himself once lived on a tropical beach, but there were mostly palm trees, no lush jungles. He missed his time in Paradise Beach, he missed his herd, his loving family. 

    He remembers it all like it was yesterday. But, these are memories he pushed aside as he slowly wanders into the lush island with curiosity in his soft old eyes.

    The scent of other equines washed over him, he became a little more hopeful. So far his journey from the forest to this island was a very long one. His old shaggy legs were becoming tired, but his greying dished head was still raised, his ears perked forward. He wondered who lived here, what kind of place this was. It had been so long since he had spoken to another, years almost. The last time he did anything spectacular was when that damned Grumblesnakes stole him for that torture filled clusterfuck of ridiculousness. The second he came back home, he told himself he was too old for crap like that.

    He shook his long, thick forelock from his large eyes before settling down by a large vine wrapped tree. He scanned the place from behind black curtains of forelock, admiring the sandy beach and forest around him. Inhaling deep, he let out a warm curious whinny. His tone was deep and old sounding. He shuffled his wings at his sides, as they were getting too warm in this humid climate. A single feather floated to the sandy ground...

    Old Fascade waited, hoping someone here would come greet him. With such scents of horses around, there must be some living here, and if so, who were they? And what was this place called? Hopefully, he could come to explore more here when morning rose. But for now, it was waiting time, for he did not want to overstep any boundaries if there were any. Being an old herd stallion, he knew to respect boundaries and wait for permission before waltzing into unfamiliar territory.

    f a s c a d e
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    #2
    BUT HOW COULD YOU KNOW THE SWEETEST SUFFERING
    OF MOVING ON
    It has become increasingly quiet throughout the island. Their numbers are seemingly dwindling as they fall stagnant and purposeless. Often Tiphon has wandered aimlessly as a means to occupy his time as well as acclimate himself to this new world. One reason would be the mistrust he has in the wings perched at his sides. Although they’ve proven themselves strong enough for ventures to the mainland he still doesn’t push himself. They are small in comparison to what he once had, but that time has long since ended. Has it already been over a year since Beqanna regurgitated itself? Have they been nestled comfortably on this island for so long? Isolated from the rest of the world?

    The solitary confinement is both a blessing and a curse, but he finds their home in the same predicament as the Dale: low numbers and silence.

    It’s this reason that he almost doubts his tracking ability and shrugs away the prospect that someone new has reached their shores. So few bother with the long trip through the ocean’s tide and across fickle sandbars. When he breathes, however, there is no dismissing the scent of unfamiliarity and curiosity. It lures him from his seclusion deep in the island’s embrace into the bright sunlight. The palm trees thin until it’s open beach with the rolling waves. A sigh slips from his lips as he musters the strength to travel the last few yards until he is in front of the graying male. ”Hello there,” his voice is deep but not quite as booming as it used to be; he is a shadow of his former self. ”The name is Tiphon. Is there anything I can help you with?” A home, political conversation, company.


    TIPHON
    STARLACE AND INFECTION




    this is awful. I'm so sorry lol
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    #3

    through dangers untold and hardships unnumbered

    When it came to low numbers and stagnancy, the old stallion was unfamiliar. When he lead his herd years ago he had a land full of activity and family. He even had another stallion living within the herd, his dear old friend, Incubi. Fascade was good at what he did, leading and bringing in more bodies. He lead with a firm yet loving hand. Never did he let harm come to his land, or nonsense. But, he loved all the residents of his land, young and old. Paradise Beach was a lively land with lively people, and that is how it stayed until a younger, much stronger stallion managed to challenge out old man and won his land...and his family. Most of them ended up trying to follow him, due to their love and loyalty to him. He was thankful for what he had when he had it. Though now, he spends his time looking back on what he had back then, and wishes so much to have it once more.

    His mind is reeling, and he shuffles his wings again to air them out. The warm hug of the humidity of this place was nice on his aging and tired muscles. He had traveled so far, his legs would fall off if he had traveled any farther. He was still waiting patiently by the large vine wrapped tree, waiting patiently for an answer to his call. It is not long before our man is finally addressed.

    A man, porcelain white with wings like his own, that looked as if he were dipped carefully in gold came sauntering toward Fascade. He sighs before speaking and our old graying stag can't help but notice a feeling almost like discontent in the man, of whom introduced himself as "Tiphon", before him. Instead of feeding off the feeling he sensed in Tiphon, he turned to the golden tipped man with a smile on his long whiskered muzzle. His voice was deep and gruff, but warm. His light eyes could barely be seen from behind his long, thick forelock. A scruffy mess over his face.

    "Good evening Tiphon. Nice to meet you, I am Fascade. Actually, there is something you could help me with. What is this place called? It's quite pleasant. I would like to know more about it.

    He keeps it short and sweet. To the point. His ears are tipped forward, awaiting the answer from his new found company. He was not one to babble on, though he did enjoy conversation from time to time. Though this man doesn't seem like he wants to be bothered by Fascade's boring stories, of which were probably better suited for boring foals. His life was a whole big cluster of confusing and jumpy. One day he is happy with a herd and family, the next he is alone, then he gets tortured and put out to battle strange creatures, then Beqanna flipped inside out. Now, here he is, with newly found wings and a strong urge to feel like he had another purpose. He hoped this place held his future.

    f a s c a d e
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    #4
    The kelpie makes land.

    He is a fearsome red thing with gills and a crimson tail, flopping onto the beach with a thud before a flailing motion turns fin to hoof and Ashley makes the bank once more. His body is riddled with barnacles and age—but he is happy. He has been to this place and found quiet solace among the vegetation and looks to make a home here. Ea has gone silent—there is nowhere for her to be seen, and still the amber colored man defends it. Tiphon has seemed to go the other way as well; and yet, as Ashley makes himself known, shaking the excess water from his pelt, and scratching off the sea-life with little effort—magician—he smiles an easy smile when he sees his friend. “Hello Tiphon. Been a long time.”

    Ashley’s normal gruffness is forgotten for the time being. Having just come from the sea—his only happiness and source of peace—he is not in a place to remember his anger at the world around him. The former King shakes his hair and watches the beads of saltwater go flying from his mane and tail. Having put his appearance to rights, Ashley flicks his ears to join the conversation, having just caught onto Fascade’s wish to know more about the island. In this moment, the Irishman becomes suspicious, his eyes embers from a long burning fire. “This is Ischia, and I am its Guardian. Home to the former residents of the Forbidden Dale and all those Loyal to Ea. Tiphon you have already met. I am Ashley.” He nods, but sees inside the male something that is not all that it appears to be. “What is your purpose for coming to these shores?”
    ashley
    I walked the path, it led me to the end.
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    #5

    Oh look! Her two favorite men in the same place at the same time again. But of course she would show where there might be interesting things happening. So it was with a wicked little dance in her boring brown eyes, and a swaying saunter in her gait that she arrived just in time to see Ashley shake his glorious self free of grimy little sea things. And there not far away was the perfect angel with porcelain skin. Damn, why did she have to be born so plain and dull.

    Even the stranger was rather fetching. Marvelous wings for everyone but her, it seemed. She gazed over each of them for a moment, lingering a little extra on Tiphon -Gods, men should not be so goddamn attractive-, then locked on the new man like a huntress to her prey.

    Well hello there. I'm Wallace. Are we all playing nice today? Lets not play so nice. It is so very drab. Her eyes laughed, trained on this new beastie as she edged in at Ashley's side. Mmm, she could smell him. While sand and debris tangled her messy brown mane, his tickled her nose with the tang of salt and mysteries below the sea. Oh, these men.

    She had to battle a pout though. This stranger stallion did not look fun at all, only so very pretty. She was bored, always so bored. Can't they ever be any fun? Where was the handsome Sabrael? He knew how to have fun, he was only so secretive about it. She'd break through to that one too one day. One step at a time, lovelies.


    Wallace


    goddamn wallace :|
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