"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
Perhaps it wasn't time for her to wake, truly. It was easy to think Beqanna's tumult woke her too soon, the way the earth shifted and she lost her magick and awoke covered in vines and creepers in an entirely new home. And it was easy to think she should have joined the Sisterhood as they grew new roots in Nerine and made it their own.
These were all easy to think, but hard to comprehend, because she didn't feel it.
It? It.
The love. The compassion. The need to serve.
She would often drift to the side and let the flow and ebb of currents take over and let her drift. She astral projected (thanks to the horse that granted her abilities again), she mentally explored, until a great barrier hit her.
Bam! The mist!
But after some time the mist parted and her hooves had a mind of their own. They traced the edges of the land until they found heat, swaying plains. Beauty unlike anything she'd seen before.
So she makes it her own, and calls upon it to claim her as well.
SUNDAY
never put your faith in a prince. when you require a miracle, trust in a witch
OOC - my plan is to make this place like the anti-Pangea, where it's for everyone to come live in peace and harmony. New leader voted on every BQ year, hosting herds and anyone who wants peace. No real formal structure
my friend makes rings, she swirls and sings
she’s a mystic in the sense that she’s still mystified by things
She is as attuned to rifts as any.
She has walked through many of them – through time and life and consciousness – tattered edges of physical and scientific fabric, yawning open like great jeweled mouths. Hungry. They are always hungry when they open, sucking in deep for whatever they can catching in their drifts.
She drifts now, as she always does, in an aimless fashion. Searching. Wandering. Passing by things escaped from rifts – multicolored bears and flute-voiced pangolins – that crowd the outer edges of her vision. She does not notice the way she begins to lean-to, carried by a wind or caught by a hook she cannot see.
This rift pulls gently, it does not run her as that biting winter had – it calls her with the soft voice one would expect mist might have if could it talk, singing lullabies as it lifts in front of her weary, senseless nose.
She does not notice she is here, until she does.
She lifts her pretty, destroyed head, blinking her single golden eye—
She does not know where here is, but it hardly matters when one has no anchors to hold. No chains to grip. She is not scared, which is strange, because she is so often scared. So often frozen.
This place is warm, though, and as she wanders she thaws. She is more accustomed to forests, by far. This place hold a faint hint of desert and it stirs her. But the stirring is not violent – it doesn’t make her sick, as perhaps it should – it makes her pensive and quiet. She follows the tide, pushed forward by waves of yellow-gold grass tickling her belly, until she finds the bay mare, waiting, as if for a sign that only she could possibly feel.
“Hello.” She does not stutter, nor does she cry, though the calm makes her feel as if she could. She believes this place is real. It feels more real here than in the stagnant places she has been before. She cranes her neck to look around, turning on the spot to guide the unbroken side of her face in panorama. “Where am I?”
and I pray to blades of grass to find forgiveness in the weeds.
04-01-2017, 12:13 AM (This post was last modified: 04-01-2017, 12:42 AM by tannor.)
Without the knowledge to lead, so you just follow the sheep.
Making sure your lame swag is all polished and clean.
It has been a long time.
The change in Beqanna had been something he was ready for. Yet it had kept him in the shadows. He had torn himself from reality. Staring silently into the forest and up into the mountain had become a daily occurence besides keeping himself from prying eyes. He had lost the devil and the voices of those who raised him with the change and hadn't made the effort to seek them out. At least not yet... He wasn't ready for their return. He wasn't ready for the anger the silent beast helped him carry. All in all it was more peaceful to live his life this way. With a basic never ending life and a burden to no longer carry on thickly muscled yet heavily scarred shoulders.
The scent of lavender that once surrounded his presence was nearly gone and the bright shine of his silver coat had faded due to lack of nutrition and overall lack of care. Unlike the rest he hadn't just moved on. He had hid away, healing his wounds and contemplating how he must live his life for the rest of time. Who would he become? Would he be a peaceful resider amongst them, or continue on his path of hatred? For now it seemed like the first option was the best. It was on the day he made his choice that he stepped into the mist as it began to fade and walked with slow steps deeper into the unknown. The forms of other equines could be seen making their ways in other directions and yet he ignored them.
He wasn't on this path to make friends and to follow with uncertainty. For now he was simply in search of what felt right. Long silver legs churned through the tall grass, the soft sounds of hoofbeats in the dirt echoing his movements until finally he saw them in the distance surrounded by a land of beauty. It's wide open spaces with yellow and green tall grasses and gently trickling creeks and streams was easily a great sight to behold. With dark black eyes wide with curiosity he tilts his head slightly in wonder as he watches the pair. Maybe they too are in search of the same thing he is... A home, without condemnation, where peace is strong and the natural politics of power come to a halt. Wouldn't that be something? A home where he didn't have to worry about silly things like that? For as odd as it may sound, it's exactly what he wants. Peace and quiet.
A place where the misfit could maybe fit in.
He stands there silently, still watching, before finally taking a step forward and then another until he is walking towards the pair. He comes to a stop a few feet beside Nyxia before rolling his shoulders gently and placing his gaze upon Sunday. "My name is Tannor," his voice is deep and rough yet quiet as he does his best to address them both. "If you don't mind, I'd like to join you both here, if you'll allow it."
He wants nothing more than a quiet life and he has a feeling this is where he might find it. Yet were they to deny him, he would leave without a fight. He didn't want to step in on their discovery. Turning to look at Nyxia he nods before turning back to Sunday and waiting for their responses in silence.
Sunday did not have great expectations - that is a sign of someone who wants power. Any other might look at the small group of three and frown, a sign that this idea of hers would not bear fruit. They'd shuffle away, looking for something bigger. Something extra.
To Sunday it proved the opposite - such was needed. And as someone who did not long for power and did not enjoy what it did to those around her (corrupt creatures who slink and take and take) she is content with the quiet.
She stands among the plains and exists in such a state of peace she feels transcendent.
The first approaches - Sunday feels at once in harmony with her. She is wide eyed and confused like Sunday was when she first came, awoken from the turbulent ground to walk forward and follow...follow what? Sunday followed intuition, heart, anything. She simply went, and that's when the plains appeared.
The second joints shortly after, and Sunday can see his aura for the confusion it is. Dark speckles, bright lights - hope. Wanting.
This is the start of the Haven.
"This is home to everyone, it's home to all," she tells them both, smiling. "I am Sunday."
SUNDAY
never put your faith in a prince. when you require a miracle, trust in a witch
