"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
05-22-2015, 06:33 PM (This post was last modified: 05-29-2015, 03:09 PM by Weir.)
The freckled clay pot hued stag trotted into the field,head held high while he kept his ears forward and alert. The night sky was littered by a canopy of stars, some twinkling in and out as if determined to further exhaust their glow. The moon cast a smudgy illumination over the many paths, the air was heavy and estrus clung to the soft night breeze. To this Weir shook his head,flaring his nostrils with a whuff reclaiming the sanity the mare smell could cause one to lose. It was maddening, he had hoped to reach a new destination before the breeding season was upon them, and had instead arrived when it had almost ended all together. He had managed thus far to retain his thoughts, as well as correct his course when need be.
His trot slowed as he gained ground, finding himself smack dab in the center of what seemed to be a mass gathering place. A few others could be seen milling about, he avoided gazes as best he could feeling their eyes shift in his direction. He was thankful for the cover the night brought, he could not imagine the displeasure of entering this field in the middle of the day. All the questions, all the stares, mares flicking their tails in attempts to catch the breeze and signal their mates. He shook his head, rust colored mane flowing down his neck like a thick velvet curtain. His amber pools search the dim lit paths that branched out in several directions, he wasn't sure which he should choose and let out his frustration with a grunt.
Breeding season is probably not the exact best time for her to be venturing out into the field (especially when it’s night), but she’s going to risk it. First because, as usual, the Gates is in desperate need of new members, and second, because she very much doubts that any stallion would see her as a desirable target. It’s the one area where her mutilated face gives her an advantage, so she might as well make use of it.
She’s still a little nervous however, and her steps through the field are tentative. As unattractive as her destroyed face is, there could always be a sicko out there looking for a little fun. Her orange eye darts about, looking for anyone threatening.
No one seems to take any notice of her however. The few stallions that are here are far more interested in the pretty mares, and the pretty mares are of course far more interested in the stallions.
She wanders for a bit, looking for any that seem lost, before her eye settles on a red stallion. He’s alone, unlike the other stallions in the field, and appears to be contemplating the many paths that run out of the herdless territory.
She hones in on him, plastering a crooked smile on her face. The usual fear of rejection at the sight of her face rears its ugly head, but she forces it down, pushing it to the back of her mind. It’s become easier to do that lately.
The night air is cool against her skin as she floats through the air, all the while admiring the crystal clear sky of black, studded with gem-like stars. A soft sigh escapes her dark lips as she admires the beauty, lost in thought as she is. It takes her a moment to realize that her aimless meandering has brought her much farther afield than she had realized. When she glances down at the distant ground, she recognizes the familiar topography of the field. Night is generally not a great time for recruiting, but just as she is about to turn and fly home, her gaze catches on a lone stallion wandering into the field.
Curiosity drives her down, her own inquisitive nature as well as her ever present desire to expand the Dale calling her from the sky. She lands a short distance from the roan stallion, a smile forming easily on her dark lips. The fact that it is breeding season is the furthest thing from her mind. Oh, she is perfectly aware of the dangers facing a lone mare wandering these parts during this time. But then, protecting herself from the overly amorous has not been an issue for her for a very long time. It shows in her confidence, in her utter lack of fear in being here alone. Not so much in her build, for she is relatively small, seemingly delicate, but in the air that surrounds her. It seems to say, quietly and without flair, ‘there is power here.’
As she approaches, she notes that another lingerer seems to have found the newcomer as well. She halts a comfortable distance from the duo, her smile warm and welcoming. Her russet eyes shine brightly, curiosity in their depths. She dips her head towards the mare, who had just introduced herself as Fiasko, in greeting. When she speaks, her voice is light and friendly, a pleasure to listen to.
“Hello! I am Elysteria, of the Dale. Can I ask your name?”
05-23-2015, 11:16 AM (This post was last modified: 05-29-2015, 03:14 PM by Weir.)
Before he had even turned his russet head, or focused his amber oculars in the direction of the decidedly female voice, Weir side-stepped away. His quiet pondering broken by a fae's friendly introduction. Her mare smell, bombarded his nostrils with a wicked intent..He was unsure what he had done to be tested by the gods so cruelly, but surely he was sorry for it. Adjusting his weight, and correcting his stance he turned his sorrel head to face her. A milky hued blaze separated two amber pools,their gaze critical as they adjusted to take in the form of a two toned mare. The vague, gauzy light provided by the moon, granted him enough vision to discern the night and day coloring of the sabino patterned seraph. His spheres made a quick dance over the eyeless and mutilated right side of her face, and he made a hurried attempt to wipe the shock from his facade. It was a shock to see such carnage ravage the face of a nymph,such markings usually were only bestowed on the losing stag of a fearsome fight in his experience. erhm erhm he cleared his throat before responding to her, "Evening", his tone rather indifferent. He gave her a small nod in greeting, sienna locks falling to briefly cover his eyes, before they once more parted across his temple.
It was then that another doe happened upon their small and unintended gathering, an auburn feather floating down from the night sky. Her slender frame touched down, bringing an odd sensation to the stags neck. A fine prickling that he associated with his leg falling asleep, an odd sensation to be experiencing now, his coat rippled with movement as he tried to rid himself of the feeling. Her tinkling of words reached his lobes with a greeting followed by a name and an inquiry. It was a friendly lot he found here, though he could not be sure of what kind of expectations were held for him, the breeding season clouded many minds and broke just as many hearts. He turned to face upwind, though this left him awkwardly facing north and thus needing to turn his cranium and neck to speak to them both. Despite this, it brought a tremendous relief to his burning nose and throat that had cried out for a surrender. " A pleasure to meet you both," he cooed continuing his returned greetings"My name is Weir," he dipped his dial, "It is a pleasure,ladies, I am sure." His tone was as tense as his body, a rigid board held firm as he set his jaw, appearing to barely breathe. "To what do i owe the audience?" he was unsure why the females had approached him , if they were looking for a herd they hadn't come to the right place, because he certainly did not have one. If they were looking to mate, he was not so inclined to breed with strangers.
05-24-2015, 04:03 PM (This post was last modified: 05-24-2015, 04:07 PM by Fiasko.)
fiasko
She’s come to expect the reactions to her face by now, but the look on the stallion’s face still makes her want to cringe away and run. He covers his shock however, and she stands strong, repeating her father’s words in her head. “I love you exactly how you are and if they don’t, then they aren’t worthy of being in your presence.” The stallion's reaction is not the worst she's ever experienced, after all. She wonders if her father had realized how important those words would become to her. They’ve often helped her in moments like these.
She’s about to inquire if he’s lost, when she notices the red stallion’s eyes moving to look into the sky, high above their heads. She follows his gaze, and is amazed to see a bay mare ascending quietly from the sky above. Her jaw threatens to drop, but she controls herself. She’s heard of mythicals of course (it would be bizarre if she had not), but in her sheltered life in the Gates, she has seen little of those gifted with such wondrous traits. And this ability in particular (flight without wings!) seems quite spectacular.
The mare drops to the earth beside them, and Fiasko abruptly becomes even more uncomfortably aware of her own appearance. This mare is slender and pretty, and, after that display, clearly powerful. Fiasko on the other hand is, well, hideous. Not that there’s much she can do about that.
She nods in polite greeting to the mare (and is unsurprised when the creature mentions she’s from a mythical kingdom), then turns back to look at the red stallion. He doesn’t appear to be entirely sure what to make of the fact that he’s been approached by a pair of mares and places him upwind, likely trying to avoid their scents. “A pleasure to meet you as well.”
He asks after their purpose, and she fumbles for the words. What else would she be here for, really? “Well, I saw that you looked a bit lost. And this being the herdless territory, I wondered if you might be in search of a home.”
05-26-2015, 05:36 PM (This post was last modified: 05-28-2015, 04:22 PM by Elysteria.)
love is a temporary madness...
She hadn't noticed the mare's scarred visage at first. The moonlight was kind to her, providing a soft light that did not draw the eye immediately to imperfections. When she did see it, her only reaction was a moment of sadness. It was there in her expression fleetingly, before being expertly hidden. She could not help the reaction. This mare reminded too much her of her own daughter. The beautiful, bright child had come home so recently, shattered and scarred. Her ordeal had been written indelibly on every part of her. She had yet to open up to Elysteria about it, and the reminder broke her heart all over again.
But she is not here to reminisce on things she could do little about. No, she is here for the Dale. Instead, she turns her attention back to the stallion, a smile curving her lips. And though it may have been slightly less bright, it was still as warm as ever. Her features are once again calm, her usual quiet restored. Her words, when she speaks, come in that soft, lilting voice.
"It is a pleasure indeed."
Her equilibrium restored, she pauses a moment, listening to Fiasko as she speaks. She nods her agreement at the words, adding her own explanation when the mare is through.
"Earlier, when I said I am of the Dale, it was to say that I hale from the Forbidden Dale. The Dale is one of several kingdoms here. If you would care to hear more, I would be happy to tell you anything you would like to know about the Dale."
elysteria
image c nadyabird.deviantart.com; html c Insane
OOC: apologies for lack of HTML :/ I'm on my phone right now. I will make it pretty later
05-26-2015, 06:36 PM (This post was last modified: 05-29-2015, 03:16 PM by Weir.)
The roan stag blinked, and looked carefully at the two mares before him. Amber pools took in both their forms as he listened to their responses, his ears flickering at the notes that they each emitted. They were both so very different, he could tell, and not only in their appearance. Both looked intent on their purpose that was for sure, how odd it was to him that their herds should send mares, or was that kingdoms? Now that was a new thought, a kingdom Had they not been content with just a territory here? He wondered what all a kingdom entailed and how it differed from the common herd he was accustomed to.
"A home? Well yes I suppose I'll need a place to stay, can't go wandering aimlessly" How funny it was to him that the mares intentions were the exact opposite of what he had been expecting, though it hadn't really occurred to him where he would be staying, he just knew he should go. He took note that he had not so successfully hidden his reaction to the marred facade of the black and white that stood in their party. He would have to work on that more, he thought to himself. A faint afterglow of what he was sure was once a glorious smile, struggled to achieve the same glory on the bay. The warmth it intended was felt, but the crease at the corners of his oculars deepened as he wondered what it was masking.
Funny it was how that prickle would creep up into ones barrel, pushing or pulling them to go somewhere or do something,winding one's path along its course like a obstacle in the river. Weir didn't know why he had come, just that he should...and that was good enough for him,for now anyway."I'd be interested in hearing more",he conceded."It's not too often I'm propositioned by a mare to be truthful, not that that's a bad thing", he hurriedly righted his possible indignation of the two. All the while, he still strained his neck in its awkward curve, allowing him to converse without the assault on his nares. He shifted the weight of his chassis, attempting to relieve his discomfort. He would attend to their words, though that familiar feeling in his gut had likely already charted his course.
As primed as she is to other horse’s reactions to her face, she notices the look on the mare’s face when she finally realizes what Fiasko looks like. She tries to ignore it, but still feels a little twinge of discomfort. But she needs to get over herself - the reaction is nothing new, and she is sure to see it many times in the future. She’s going to need to get used to it if she wants to help the Gates.
The mare offers to tell more of the Dale, and Fiasko’s ears perk up. She too wants to hear more - she knows little of the other kingdoms, especially the mythical kingdoms. But first she should tell him about her home. “Well, I’m from the Gates. In Beqanna it’s considered the ‘light’ or ‘good’ non mythical kingdom.” Though she’s not exactly sure how accurate the ‘good’ and ‘evil’ designations are for the other kingdoms, she believe the ‘good’ designation of the Gates is accurate.
“I’ve lived there since some members took me in as a child. Personally I think it’s a wonderful place.” She’s biased of course, but understandably so. Kaelie and Finnley had saved her life when they had adopted her. “We are a small kingdom, but warm and friendly. We’re also protected by a tree that a magician created for us. We call it the Mother Tree.” A welcome gift it has been too. The Gates would not have recovered as quickly as it had after the wildfires, if not for the Mother Tree. “Where are you from Weir? If you don’t mind me asking …” Except for when she skirted about the outlands, she’s never been outside of Beqanna. She’s curious to know more.
She is watching him closely, and easily catches the surprise, followed by the curiosity that her words had caused. She is very well aware of how different Beqanna is from other lands. Though she had been born here many, many years ago, she had left at an early age and wandered through numerous different places. But she had returned, drawn by the call of her homeland. The Dale had become her home in truth, a home she now knew she would always return to. But her travels had given her an immense appreciation for this unique place they live in. She could easily understand how different, how shocking, newcomers found Beqanna to be.
She grins at his words. It is rather odd to be propositioned by a mare, she has to admit. Her black tipped ears flick towards Fiasko as she speaks, her cinnamon gaze quickly following. Her curiosity is peaked as she speaks of the Mother Tree. Elysteria had never before had the opportunity to visit the Gates, so she is naturally interested in the kingdom. She listens attentively, allowing a moment to pass once the mare’s explanation is complete before turning her gaze back to Weir, her own words flowing easily.
“It is a bit odd, I know. In a kingdom, everyone helps. It is even possible for mares to become queens. Actually, I believe the Gates is currently led by a female.”
A smile once again touches her lips as she nods her head in the direction of Fiasko.
“The Dale has a king though; an angel, actually. There are several types of kingdoms. Where the Gates is a non-mythical kingdom, the Dale is a mythical kingdom, and tends to remain neutral. We have two castes, the war caste and the peace caste. The war caste, as you might guess, is made up of warriors: those who fight on behalf of our kingdom. The peace caste is made up of diplomats. They are the ones who negotiate treaties and alliances for the kingdom. If you choose to join the Dale, you could enter into either, or both, of these castes and work your way up the ranks. Or neither, if that is your choice.”
She pauses, taking a breath after her lengthy description, adding her final words almost as an afterthought.
“I, personally, am a member of both the peace and war castes.”
05-29-2015, 03:03 PM (This post was last modified: 05-29-2015, 03:06 PM by Weir.)
There was more information than he had expected offered by the two vixens. They had been surprisingly well versed in the natures and in and outs of their respectful dwellings.
So there he had it, on one hand, a Kingdom known as the Gates a non mythical light or good habitation. A small kingdom with a "Mother tree", he was sure that would be an interesting curiosity. He was not unfamiliar with lands that had "places of power" as he liked to refer to them as, but each one was unique in its own way. On the other hoof were the lands of the Dale a mythical territory that remained neutral. He internally worked out that mythical was perhaps the title they used for those that had "talents" as he liked to refer to them as, the special little quirks that some equine possessed. His expression was indifferent to the information that some were set up as a matriarchy, this was not unheard of, so did not astound him. Though he raised a quizzical brow (if he had any) at the notion of an Angel presiding over the latter of the two domains. Perhaps she had only meant it as an analogy, though one could never assume. He simply nodded at the mention of castes, adjusting his weight as the conversation turned full circle back to himself.
He laughed, a pleasant noise unforced and with good intent."I do wonder how one manages to be both of war and peace" He responded to the statement of being both a warrior and a diplomat. That had to make life interesting, if not paradoxical. " I was born in what is named Gregor Valley, though I've wandered here and there most of my life. Parts of Trist and Nunnely Hill between lesser establishments, to be more exact. "He conversed rather pointedly and matter of fact, stating the certainties and leaving little room for fluff. "Merely territories run by a male that claims and oversees the land, and their protections. The Head Mare usually leading the others between the summer and winter grazing locations. Few that are led by a Head Mare alone, nothing fancy."Had he shoulders he would of shrugged, as if to say nothing out of the ordinary here. "Of those lands we have a mixture of both equine with and without talents, I myself posses a rather precarious attribute." He ended his talking spell with the little tidbit most were interested in him for, the reason he was allowed in and out of so many realms on good graces, allowing him to build a rapport with otherwise fierce equines.
Though after he offered no more it was evident that he wasn't entirely forthcoming in a specific explanation. He didn't boast of his talents, he didn't go showing off or running around announcing to the world his practice. No he reserved that for when it was necessary to save his skin, or protect those with whom he had grown close to.
