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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


    Like a Thorn to the Holy Ones [Offy]
    #1

    Nymphetamine

    Nymph had left the meeting to wander the sulfuric lands in reflection of the meetings events. Lu had stepped down, leaving Offspring uncontested for “the crown.” In doing so he had asked the Bay to lead the diplomats. An unexpected gesture, one that Nymph was glad to accept. The dark stallion had always been someone he respected, he seemed fair and just, he had taken Vaughan and help him find his true potential, and in every one of their diplomatic dealing the elder stallion was balanced but calculated. He further Tundras interests but also grew the alliance in all his choices. He wasn’t afraid to switch things up.  Nymphetamine had always admired him, and he was honored to serve him now. The blood bay stallion had struggled in the past, to feel like he had a purpose he could be proud of, but he felt the familiar drive and mental acuity that came with pride in one’s work returning to his thoughts once more.   His walk had given him time to think on how best to help Tephra, as well as give the new ruler some time to address all the congratulatory conversations and questions that he was surely bombarded in.
     
    The late summer air was hot against his skin and the sulfur seemed to be particularly heavy. Surely there was a reason for it, but he knew not.  The trees were sparse in the particular section of Tephra where the once necromancer walked, so the grasses were yellowed from the sun beating down on them all summer long and crunched slightly beneath his hooves. He looked around for any sense of where his new king...ruler...leader, whatever the black stallion wanted to be called, was holed up.  Nymph thought he caught the other stallion’s scent so he went off deeper into to the wooded lands of Tephra. After several minutes of poking around, it was obvious Offspring was somewhere around. The russet stallion stopped and called for the leader, flicking his black forelock out of his eyes in the process. His voice was calm, sure to make clear this was not an urgent matter. It rang through the thinning canopy of the trees above, a request for the black stallion’s presence.
     
    In many ways, Nymphetamine was the opposite of Offspring. Where nymph was thin boned, lankier in stature; Offspring was more draft like, with thicker bones and muscular legs. Nymphetamine had a sarcastic and humorous exterior, while Offspring seemed to be much more stoic.  Yet somehow, they had always found common ground when they met, he hoped that this pairing would be just productive, as Tephra had a lot of ground to cover.  The newly appointed diplomat stayed alerted for Offspring’s approach, ready to get down to business.

    Like a thorn to the Holy Ones

    [Image: nymphetamine_zpsmlx48otf.gif]
    #2
    you can have my isolation,
    you can have the hate that it brings.
     The heat is stifling against his skin, with humidity hot and slick against the puckered pink scarring that lay strewn across the blank canvas of his form – but he does not flinch; not as he once might have. No longer does he pine for the frigidity of winter, nor its spindly fingers touching the surface of his skin, soothing the embers flickering deep inside of him. The everlasting burn of the growing fire trapped within his chest, enveloping his lungs with every rise and fall of his steady breathing, plucking at his heartstrings with every perpetual beat of his heart – it is as much a part of him as the thick lining of sinewy muscle in his body.

      Time had whittled away at his resolve, and where he once felt bitterness and self-loathing for the blistering fire, there was now indifference – not acceptance, but tolerance. He could not deny the way his skin burned hotly, even beneath the cover of darkness, nor could he suffocate it as he had before, forcing a façade that was simply not worth the effort, nor worth his time.

      His mind is preoccupied, focused elsewhere and anywhere, with the solid, fine ridge of his brow line furrowed deeply in thought, his stern gaze set somewhere off in the distance where the unyielding, still too-bright summer sun is still bathing him in its warmth (but he is warmer inside, and so he does not notice). His attention is only drawn from the setting sun by the slightest of movements to his left; a subtle shifting of a slender, yet defined figure – as vividly crimson as his own eyes, which stare pointedly.

      Inside, the fire burns – and he tries to suppress it, tries to rein it in, as he always does.

      No longer looking towards the bleak haze of the western sunset, his heavily muscled legs carry him towards the familiar face and source of the echoing call to attention. Rivulets of sweat trickle down the length of his body, and his dark, matted tresses cling to the hard, defined line of his jaw, as his gaze searches his – and though there is no outwardly warm and sociable greeting, there is a warmth within the gleam of his eyes – an understanding shared between them; a familiarity of a different time and a different place.

      ”It’s been a while, Nymphetamine,” he murmurs carefully, casting a glance towards the looming shadow of the volcano, and its lustrous plumes of smoke. ”I miss Killdare, as I am certain that you do – rest his soul,” he pauses, a straying red eye settling upon him again. ”I have entrusted you with diplomacy because I know that he trusted you. I am giving you an opportunity. I do not desire to ally with anyone at the current time – it is too soon, and our structure is not yet settled. ”

      A low, rumbling grumble stirs from his throat.

      ”There have been rumors of an empire building, crafted by a once-Amazonian. I want information, as to who is involved. I’d like to also find out the affairs of the other lands, kingdoms or what have you. Meet with the emissaries, and dispatch those you trust to go alone, and take those you do not with you. Make it clear no alliances are to be made at this time.”

      His burning red eyes are boring into his, then.

      ”Will you do that for me?”
    you can have my absence of faith,
    you can have my everything.
    OFFSPRING
    #3

    Nymphetamine

    Nymphetamine came upon Offspring and their conversation seemed to start without pleasantries. A seemingly natural comfort between them, though there was a greater formality to Offspring. He spoke in a way that the blood bay couldn’t quite glean the inner thoughts of his new commander. His eyes not showing the inner workings of his mind, his posture more firm and unyielding to the thoughts that swirled inside his head. Working alongside Offspring would be an adjustment, but nothing would be like working with Killdare, that was once in a lifetime. That isn’t to say working with Offspring would grow into a great friendship, one he looked forward to curating.

    The larger stallion was sweating, more so than Nymphetamine..more than normal. Nymphetamine eyed him cautiously, concern showing on his brow as his eyes crinkled shut slightly under the weight of his concern. Nymphetamine didn’t flutter about fretting but something seemed off from how he remembered the slate stallion. Tephra was hot, and the air was saturated with water he could almost drink it. Late summer here was particularly sweltering, and it was evident his companion. Nymphetamine felt the heat but managed without as noticeable side effects due to his thin skin and heritage. Offspring turned his head away from the volcano in the distance from time to time as he spoke, his words flowing smoothly from his sweat-soaked maw, before turning away to look into the distance once more. Nymphetamine listened carefully as he spoke about Killdare. The diplomat’s heart panged hard against his chest at the mention of his dear friend, whom he missed daily. When Offspring ended his statement, Nymphetamine smiled softly, his whiskers twitching at the effort. ”He is surely missed by all who knew him, especially those who knew him best. I think of him daily, and will do my best to make him proud through our work.”

    Nymph held off on discussing the concern he held for the ruler just yet, but he would keep an eye on the stallion. It was a genuine concern, but also came from the fact that Nymph believed that whoever held the position of top diplomat was also meant to be a confidant for the ruler they served beside. Offspring’s next words shook his thoughts from their internal spiral and gave him a new focus, the job at hand. Offspring detailed his wishes while Nymph nodded along in confirmation. All things were pretty routine for new leadership, though he would want to pick his leader's brain about ally qualities and wishes at some point, that would be held off for a time. ”Of course I will take on the task, I’ll meet with the others shortly and develop a plan...” He tailed off as the conversation came to a natural lull. Offspring had consistently turned back to the smoking volcano at Tephra’s heart. The furrowed brow from earlier returned as Nymph watched drafty hybrid brood at the formation in the distance. The words seemed to come from his throat before he could stop them, his duty for his leader's wellbeing trumping his self-control. ”Offspring, I know we don’t really have the closest personal relationship… but is everything ok?” His question is more stop-start that he would have liked but there was no stopping it. It needed to be said in the end.

    Like a thorn to the Holy Ones

    [Image: nymphetamine_zpsmlx48otf.gif]
    #4
    you can have my isolation,
    you can have the hate that it brings.
      He was rigid; a barrier place between he and any he might interact with.

      A barrier between the heat stirring within his chest and what might become burnt; singed by the concealed flame that wavers and flickers somewhere within him. He did not like to have many close to him – once, he might have, but he is no longer willing nor able to be so open with anyone at all. While his body has been marred with scar tissue for longer than he can remember, there is deep, insidious wounds dug in deeply where no prying eyes can see – memories that haunt him; visions that stir a wretched nausea in his belly and bloodlust somewhere in his bones. He is torn, between who he has been, and who he will become – alas, what is left of him is left in the middle. Uncertainty had become as much a part of him as the fire itself, it seemed.

      He preferred his isolation. The edges of the darkness that have been slowly creeping upon him leave him breathless, and faltering – and the façade of stoicism, and of indifference protect both himself and those his heart (his darkening, blackening heart) cares for. He can feel his eyes boring into him, searching the depths of his startlingly dark, crimson eyes – the hardened lines of his face for any sign of weakness, for any semblance of humanity, but he will find none there.

      He is quiet. Rigid.

      Apathetic.

      Or so it seemed.

      His mind drifts away for a moment to a different time, to a different place – to his companionship with Brynmor (a brotherhood he would never share with Nymphetamine; no different than his kinship with Killdare), to his broad, lively kingdom of ice and snow. Still, a pang stirs within his heart, as longing rises to the surface. He longed for days long since passed. Days that were nothing more than memories.

      He says nothing upon his affirmation (he knew that he would heed his request), allowing the silence to fill to the stagnant and heavy air, his gaze averted elsewhere to the adjoining island where the volcano stirs and rumbles once more. It is not unlike him – rolling, unpredictable, dangerous. The fire burns brighter, causing the corners of his eyes to flinch – but only slightly.

      His gaze searches his then – burning, as his brow line becomes furrowed in thought – in contemplation. He hardly knew Nymphetamine. He had given him a heavy task, knowing that the weight of it would not be too much for him as it might be for anyone else, knowing that he, too, longed for a gentle reminder of what had been lost in the aftermath of the Reckoning. However, it did not mean that he would – or could – trust him.

      Not yet.

      Not now.

      ”In time, perhaps we will have a closer relationship. As it stands in present time, my personal life will remain just that. Personal.”

      I’m angry, he doesn’t say. I’m hurting. I’m falling apart, he won’t say.

      Not yet.

      Not now.

      ”I appreciate your time, Nymphetamine. See to it that what I have asked is done, and you will have my gratitude.”
    you can have my absence of faith,
    you can have my everything.
    OFFSPRING
    #5

    Nymphetamine

    The bay felt the wall that was between them, felt the distance, the disconnect. Sure they were cordial, but the sincerity of their words was forced. A professional film that covered his tongue and made him unsure of the reality of their feeble kinship. He wasn’t naive. Kinship took time, took risk, took trust. None of which had been invested between the two stallions. Their relationship had been diplomatic, and it wouldn’t change overnight just because he had given him title and task. But the hardness in Offsprings was impenetrable. Nymphetamine wouldn’t force his way through, but there would come a time where Nymph would need the sincerity, need some level of trust to be able to do his job. Diplomacy could be an intimate thing, the trust and kinship formed from strong alliances was to share vulnerability on a certain level. That day would come, and when it did he hoped the black draft would open up a bit.

    Even with his understanding, even with his wisdom, Offspring’s harsh reply to his simple inquiry stung. He didn’t recoil from it, but it made it clear that the basic level of trust the necromancer placed in the leader from their shared alliance from before was not returned. The concern that was in his eyes before hardened. Personal. Fine, personal it would be. Nymphetamine could be separate, he could do his job and not care for more with Offspring. The bay wasn’t a telepath but if he was he would think, “that’s right” Offspring was not Kildare, Tephra was not Chamber, or Tundra, or even the Valley. And they assuredly did not have a kinship, brotherhood and certainly not trust. Guess it is for the best they couldn’t dive into the depths of each other's minds. Their apparently fragile relationship wouldn’t make it.

    Nymphetamine looked away, towards the volcano top that bubbled and spat droplets of molten rock, he watched the droplet arch through the air and seemingly disappear as it sank into the surface. It reminded the bay of Kildare and he ached for the connections he had lost that day Beqanna reigned her fury down. His voice came out hard, not abrasive but it matched the stern and impenetrable nature that Offspring had spoken moments before. ” I just asked if you were ok. I didn’t pry for details or expect an instant friendship just because you gave me a job to do. Keep your details….” His voice softened then, Still driven by the hurt, the proverbial line in the sand but his purpose was pure, he didn’t intend to hurt or anger, just to inform, to lay it out for Offspring to do as he will with. ”I just thought that we had a basic level of trust- trust from an alliance strong enough to withstand the reckoning and then build Tephra. A basic trust that would have allowed you to say, “I’m fine, or I’ll be fine,” or whatever. But Thank you for informing me. I will keep it my concerns to that of Tephra’s standings with the other territories.”

    The ambassador didn’t look back to the once ice king, his voice had given away to the hurt, despite his efforts. Disappointment was a better term really, he had looked up to Offspring and that was all there really was to it. Maybe he had been disillusioned but that all there really was to say about it, looking at the draft wasn’t going to suddenly tear down the wall he had between them. Nor would it suddenly cause it to fissure so he didn’t need to look at him. ”Don’t worry, I will complete your task to the best of my ability. You have my word…..” But his back was already turned, his feet already compressing the sponge-like grass in a slow but steady retreat from their hollowed out grounds. His head held high, not in spite of the black stallion but in his assurance of his abilities despite him.

    ” ...even it I don’t have your trust,” was but a whisper that fell from his lips.

    Like a thorn to the Holy Ones

    [Image: nymphetamine_zpsmlx48otf.gif]




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