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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


    bottom of the deep blue sea; gryffen,any
    #1

    isobell

    The sky is bruised with deep blue, black and purple lights. She moves almost like a ghost with the white of her skin nearly floating. The young mare had been invited by a frivolous mare, moving lightly, drunk on sunshine and the threat of autumn chill. "Come one and all to the great Autumn Celebration is Sylva! It begins at sun down on the Autumn zenith!" Isobell had picked her head up from graze to catch the lucid woman's words with little mind paid to them...

    Except she had.

    The svelte form of the Nerinian princess splits the great trees, her steps follow that of many horses before her (or so she can tell by the prints) There is a giddiness in her belly, excitement in the depths of her silver eyes. Tonight is a night of celebration and for the mare (who has seen very little outside of Nerine) the overhead lights, the food, the flower crowns and masks cause a smile to glide across her lips, her face beautiful beneath the lights.

    Horses were dancing, laughing, touching. Isobell smiles shyly as she feels like she is bearing witness to some rather private things. After all, she had just left Nerine for the first time only a few days ago. her brother would have allowed her to go but as far as she can see (as she scans faces quickly) he is not here and able to disapprove.

    i'll wait for you inside the bottom of the deep blue sea




    ((please no rape. i don't want her to fall in love and die from peen usage))
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    #2
    a ghost in the darkness.
    Their faces are shadowed, masked, hinting at what lay beneath but only barely giving way to what was beyond the surface. The scent is strong with the coming of autumn, of mares in heat.  They are drunk and intoxicated with the headiness of the smell, of the taste of fermented apples on their tongues. The stallions aroused, testosterone overriding their moral compasses, and most of their consorts are more than willing.

    It was everything he had wanted. The families that would be torn asunder by wandering eyes, relationships ended thanks to the menage a trios in the corner or catching their significant others in the act with someone else. They feast on the bounty Minerva had provided, they drink deeply from the dark streams until their thirst is quenched and the craving for soft skin beneath them returns.

    After planting the seed of doubt in his sister, leaving her to the wolves, he weaves between the partygoers. Partaking in the sins of flesh and drunkery. And then suddenly the crowd moves and she is there. Perhaps it’s the mix of alcohol that makes her a vision before her. Filled with youth, excitement alight in the depths of her eyes as she looks to the twinkling lights above. The curves of her painted body illuminated beneath the pale sky. He doesn’t bother to glamour before her, not yet anyways. Let her see him in his glory, a King in the rightful place amongst his people at his party.

    As he comes closer, through the fog of heavy scents, he gets a whiff of brine and ocean air. Oh my, another Nerinian. Had she seen his sister bound and displayed? Was that why she was here? The way she looks around her, almost shyly and embarrassed, makes him think not. He will keep her from finding Liz, will keep her for himself. Her innocence is intoxicating and he will take it for his own.

    ”What a beautiful girl…” Velvet words falling smoothly from his lips as his ghostly figure closes the distance between them. ”I’m Gryffen, welcome to my party.” Crimson eyes glittering as he drinks her in, boldly letting his muzzle find her cheek and pressing it against the warmth of her flesh. If only he knew she was a princess, what trouble she would be in then.

    Gryffen
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    #3
    Isobell
    i'll wait for inside the bottom of the deep blue sea
    He is like demon god among mortals. Isobell, without substance or alternation, stops in her place when the red eyes feast upon her tender sides, the quiver of her dark lips. It is as though he sucks the air from the very space around him yet offers rejuvenating life in the bountiful foods and drinks that the horses seem to crave, their body pulsing and throbbing beneath a fat stone moon.

    The clutch of her breath in her throat is involuntary but not unreasonable. She had seen more in the moments she placed a hoof in Sylva than ever anywhere in her life before. She was a queen in training...and queens were not suppose to consort with heathens and pagans. The man has braked his motion only momentarily and Isobell feels the world slow down. The rambling voices, the pants of jagged breaths, the moans not far away, are all ignored as she can not look away from the creature that watches her from beneath his ghostly brow with eyes that smolder like coals.

    "Gryffen." She repeats his name, knowing it from some possible story book, a conversation had in a starlit conclave? Isobell does not yet offer her own as his words are honeyed and she is young. Praise would always be a thing welcomed as she still sees herself as an ugly little duckling despite the way the man moves to press against her cheek. Her breath catches again as she can taste his scent on her tongue. Ceder wood and earth after spring rainfall. She has never encounter much more than the salt air and black sands of Nerine but she knows the names of these things despite only have them described to her by the elder horses.

    "Your party..." She begins before being shoved by a drunken passerby, her body thrown against his momentarily, her silver eyes flashing with anger at the booze-hound but she resets herself, steps away from Gryffen, pale stranger with the hungry red eyes. "I'm Isobell." Her mouth forms the words prettily (though she is sure to leave out who she truly is), her name proper and feminine upon her pink tongue. She is named well and strong, unlike some of the poor creatures that roamed Beqanna.

    Poor creatures indeed.
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    #4
    a ghost in the darkness.
    The entrance he wanted to make has worked, he can see it in the way her eyes lock on him. The way she tenses slightly, suddenly on high alert. As he drinks in the freshness of her, she in turn is deciphering the subtle notes of death he carries. Cedar and soil, it’s his new signature sent since he had gained his newest ability. One he has not explored yet but he will not use any of his abilities on her, not yet.

    His sweet words find hold, he can see it in the slight twitch of her mouth as she gazes at him, stars in her eyes. His touch lingers against the soft curve of her jaw, just enough to make her pulse race a little bit faster. To make her question what his intention was.

    He is only just withdrawing when she is shoved into him. Catches the flash of anger and while feeling her against him is most welcomed, he must play the part of the dashing gentleman. To further lure her in. ”Take care!” He bites, his teeth snapping at the clumsy horse in warning. Looking back to her as she regains her control. ”My apologies. Drunken fools the lot of them.” He laughs softly, the smoldering stare returned to lock into her own.

    ”Yes, my party. I rule here.” He replies pleasantly, allowing his gaze to shift over the forest and everyone in it with satisfaction. Returning once she speaks her name and if she had a hand, he would take it and kiss it lightly. Instead he is bolder, letting her feel his desire as his hungry eyes devour the length of her body. Stepping closer and bringing his muzzle closer to her until their breath intermingles. ”Enchanting Isobell. Have you come alone?”

    Gryffen
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    #5

    I V A R
    i'll use you as a makeshift gauge of how much to give and how much to take
    This clear autumn night is excellent for star-gazing.

    The moon is a bright sphere above the southern woods, and it illuminates the stallion’s path along the edge of the kingdom. Ivar has left Heda, sleeping and satisfied, but he is not yet weary. His mind turns back to her, aided by the gentle tickle of a navy feather that had become entangled in his mane sometime during the course of their activities. The love she’d given him (the emotional sort, though they’d certainly shared the physical as well) still thrums through his veins. It is not natural for a kelpie; he is physiologically unable to activate neurons in such a way to create the emotion himself. The only source he has is Heda, and the constant refreshing she gives him keeps the sensation blazing.

    There are times when it dims, of course, whether by time or distance or purposeful forgetting. He’d not felt it as he covered Karaugh, or the glowing angel mare, or the little pink unicorn Flit. They’d moaned beneath him and consumed his entire focus, leaving him with only his physical satisfaction in the aftermath. That was always when he’d gone to find Heda, sure to sink a while in the bubbling springs beforehand. She’d fill him again, and it would be enough…until the next time.

    The soft smile on his face still remains, even when he catches a familiar scent during his patrol. At first he thinks nothing of it; Isobell had been visiting for a while. Perhaps she’s out for a nighttime stroll. It is faint though, very faint, and as he turns his head toward the south, realizes that it is no coming from Loess. No, thinks the scaled stallion with a growing dread in the pit of his stomach, she’s in Sylva.

    Sylva is having their festival, a disaster he’d intended to avoid entirely. Yet Isobell is there, probably alone, because he cannot fathom Castile allowing his sibling to go at all.

    Very briefly, Ivar considers moving on. There will be less-than-savory acts beneath the Sylvan canopy tonight, and he wonders if she’ll partake in them. It is not the first time he’s imagined such a thing, but that had always been in theory. There’d been no danger to her in his fantasy, and there is certainly danger now. With a sigh, he heads into Sylva.

    It is not difficult to find his way through the woods; there are only a few places in the kingdom suited to such revelry, and following the sound is easy once he is close enough. The coupling, the raging, he passes it all by. This is far from anything he might desire, and his pale mouth curls up in distaste as he makes his way through the crowd.

    The crowd parts, and suddenly there she is.

    She is not alone, but her company is the very danger that Ivar had anticipated.

    “No,” Ivar says, stepping up beside the svelte mare with a scowl. “She is not alone.” He considers driving her away, or even simply commanding her to leave, but they are in unfamiliar territory, surrounded by unfamiliar figures. Ivar has no doubt of his own safety, but Isobell is far from protected.



    kelpie mimicry | dragon scales | tactile hypnosis

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    #6
    Isobell
    i'll wait for inside the bottom of the deep blue sea
    He stares at her with the intensity of a wolf eyeing a sleeping lamb. All but the pink of his tongue gliding over sharp teeth and scarred lips is felt in that gaze. She caught a glimpse of them when he snaps at the horse, pushing back the darkness of her mane, silver eyes flash in the reflection of harvest moonlight. She suddenly feels very small and hesitates with her hind leg hovering near the heat soaked soil  in response if she should turn a go but the pale man is gliding closer to her, he grins wickedly with smooth words and a gilded tongue.

    He divulges that he is king of Sylva, ruler of the party, taster of blood and wine. The pied mare attempts to say something to break his ravenous gaze but her mouth has grown dry till the scent of rain shakes her from the haze of her mind and of Gryffen's hovering presence. Isobell feels the smooth scales touch her hip and float against her skin as he crawls up her side, taller and shielding her away. "Ivar." She breathes his name with surprise but it is not unwelcomed. Silently, the petite moonlight and moondark mare is thankful he has appeared. Mercury filled eyes note the twisted expression, the low primal growl that curls from between his ivory lips. Isobell had never seen Ivar assert himself so and wonders if the men knew something she did not.

    Isobell moves to take Ivar's shoulder as she wonders what company the pale king offered but knowing Ivar was safer, Ivar would keep her away from what glinted deep in the burning embers of Gryffen's eyes. The pewter eyes believe that they almost catch the slip of Gryffen's mask but perhaps it was just the lights above that were playing tricks upon her.
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    #7
    a ghost in the darkness.
    Despite the common sense in her head, she is starting to drown in him. Recoiling from his darkness and yet there’s something in her eyes…. Curiosity? That sick fascination with death and all that’s bad, just wanting to experience it.. Just once. Just a taste. Before his lips can explore the sweetness of her skin, someone interrupts. The irritation that flickers in the depths of red fades when he realizes who has joined them. Oh, this is good. This is… Better.

    The slow grin finds his pale lips as Isobell slips away towards Ivar’s side. He doesn’t mind, bringing himself closer to the scaled stallion. Chuckling lowly, looking him over with quiet satisfaction. ”I didn’t expect you to accept my invitation. I’m pleased you did.” He murmurs softly, taking in the scowl and laughing it off easily. ”It’s a party Ivar, lighten up.” Glancing around them, looking for the little sad winged mare that had been part of their argument before.

    ”Did you come alone?” The dots begin to fall in line, taking in his protectiveness of the pretty thing he had been talking to. The way she almost curls into his side. A thought dawns and the grin seems to spread even wider, curling and twisting farther then seems normal. A glimmer of a skeletal smile although he does not shift, not yet. ”Oh…. Oh very interesting…” Crimson flicks between the two as he sidles closer to Ivar, his muzzle hovering mere inches from the glimmering scales of the stallion’s neck as he finds the privacy of his ear. ”Strayed away have we? What would she think I wonder….”

    Pulling away to move closer to Isobell, reaching out to touch her lightly on the shoulder. ”An upgrade I agree. But we can’t be greedy now can we?” Moving back before them, his gaze hard once he finds the kelpie’s face. ”One or the other.” A demand, not a question.

    Gryffen


    @[Ivar] @[Isobell]
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    #8

    I V A R
    i'll use you as a makeshift gauge of how much to give and how much to take
    Ivar does not look away from Gryffen, even when he feels the familiar warmth of Isobell at his side. He hadn’t intended to accept the invitation, but the situation had called for it, and he meet’s Gryffen’s request to lighten up with an even deeper scowl. Ivar is far from being humorless, but tonight is feeling less and less like a laughing matter.

    Rather than flinch away from the wraith’s nearness, Ivar remains still, watching the other stallion without turning his head. There is no danger, at least physical, and Ivar’s dark ears flick to catch what the king has to say. He names Ivar’s actions, though the scaled stallion finds no wrong in them. It’s only nature, after all, and Heda is simply of a different nature. One that needs to be shielded, protected. She does not understand but she is still good. Ivar hasn’t really strayed – not when he has every intention of returning – but he is also reasonable enough to understand that his queen might not feel the same.

    So he does not snap back, does not attempt to argue with the white stallion’s eerie grin.

    He does move at last when Gryffen turns toward Isobell. He lays his head across her withers, pulling her closer as he glowers at Gryffen.

    “Mine.” He says firmly, unwilling to part with what he considers his. Some part of him is aware that Isobell, with her independent streak, will dislike being referred to as such, but Ivar doesn’t care. This is for her own good, after all. Gryffen would take more than sexual satisfaction from Isobell, he knows, there would be blood. (The same could be said of Ivar, of course, but that’s inconsequential).

    “I’m taking you back to Nerine.” He says to Isobell, though he does not look away from the wraith’s red eyes. “It’s a long trip.” It will take them some time, especially if he makes an effort to be sure she remains there. Then there is the trip back, and the patrols he might take. The weight of his words – as inconsequential as they might seem – is significant. Yet, even as he says them, he is not sure if it is a load to be carried or to be let down. It feels like both, and neither at once.


    kelpie mimicry | dragon scales | tactile hypnosis

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    #9
    Isobell
    i'll wait for inside the bottom of the deep blue sea
    She had taken the pied man's side as an act of familiarity. She was not a fragile creature by any means but she allows Ivar to take possession for she is also not a stupid mare. There is a thick heat in the rising mist as early morning is threatening to wake them all from the spell. Gryffen and Ivar are nearly at one another throats and Isobell is surprised to see the response in both of them though she keeps quiet and is pressed further into Ivar when he physically draws her away from the pale stallion. 'One or the other.' Gryffen remarks with the curl of his lips. Isobell does not understand what it is all in reference to...who was the other?

    'Mine.' Isobell shoots a look towards Ivar as her only defiant act, brows furrowed momentarily out of surprise to have a claim laid upon her but once again, she is not a stupid mare. There was a time and place for discussion but as the stallions size one another up, she stills under the careful clasp of Ivar's neck and jaw over her spine. She is not sure how to response, if even she is expected to, but does anyway as she is not one to lay down and let a quarrel unfold simply out of a huff of testosterone and inebriation. "Come, Ivar." The words are spoken and the black and white mare is slipping from beside him with solid limbs and a small nod to the king as it is respectful but her silver eyes linger for a moment to remember his face for Isobell could easily estimate that there would be a time and place she would meet the pale man again. Her gaze flickers to the scaled stallion as looks to see if he would follow or tell her to go on.


    We can take this where ever you like! Not sure if you are all okay with the time line Smile but this is certainly interesting!
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    #10
    a ghost in the darkness.
    ”Mine.” One little word that has so much impact. The word that Thana had used after he had taken her body as his own, instilling that mutual understanding between them. That bodies were merely bodies, to enjoy and discard after use. What they held was more important, to be put on a pedestal and god help either of them if it was knocked from it’s rightful place. The low  claim on the pretty painted girl was vaguely familiar and a knowing look, smug as it crawls across his face, meets the unwavering gaze of Ivar. ”Done.” He growls softly, the other’s fate neatly signed. All with a single word.

    There is confusion in Isobell, he does not miss it when she looks to Ivar, but she stays mostly silent. The red of his gaze finds her defiant one’s and he merely smiles hauntingly at her. Their thoughts mirroring each other. It was only a matter of time before their paths crossed, what the circumstances would be remained the only mystery. ”Till we meet again.” He whispers to her before turning his back on them both and melting into the writing bodies and shadows of his party.

    Gryffen


    Quick little wrap up <3
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