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    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


    aim your arrow at the sky; any
    #1
    bristol
    the past tense of regret is indecision
    wing appearance: black, feathery, and large
    It has been easier to live in Ischia before her sire had taken over. Brennen, perhaps, had been frustrated by Bristol’s lack of engagement but Krone and her kin had cared very little what Bristol did or didn’t do. She wasn’t entirely sure her kind-of Queen had even known that Bristol had existed – a glimpse of the girl in the sky, after all, was as like to be a glimpse of Brennen. Only someone with augemented vision would have been able to tell the difference when they were aloft, and even a first glance on the ground might give some people a feeling of déjà vu, if Bristol is (as she is now) letting her wings stay in the natural, huge black state.

    Of course, on a second glance, Bristol is just slightly taller and bulkier than her sire, due to her mother’s lack of arabian heritage. Each of her feet is also dipped in white, and she lacks her father’s white star. But the deep shade of red-bay, and the honey-brown eyes, those are the same. And while she feels ready to move on, to leave home for good, she is just nervous enough about it to choose to keep her wings black and large, the familiar piece of comfort from her father that she wraps along her sides after landing in Nerine like a sort of feathery blanket.


    The familiar smell of saltwater is also a comfort, though the chill autumn bite is something she hasn’t experienced since Brennen moved them to a tropical island. Ischia simply doesn’t get winter in any form, but it’s clear that Nerine will suffer from the fell season. The water, too, is different as she turns her gaze towards the ocean: it’s rougher, darker, and more dangerous than the mostly inland water of home. She has only ever seen water even a fraction this rough when the spring storms tore Ischia apart, and that wasn’t even quite like this. It’s like someone has dropped a gray filter over the world…and she likes it.


    Manners dictate she wait to be greeted, but she is creeping towards the open water as if mesmerized, or enthralled. This is what is left of her mother’s heritage, even if Prague had never set foot in this incarnation of her Amazons, and she likes what she has found.
    #2
    haze like a fever
    i fell like a dreamer for sweet tea and lemonade; it clings to my t-shirt it’s loud and it lingers, designed to suffocate. i light up to find what i’ve known all this time, there’s some beauty here yet
    Although she misses Tephra’s shores, Wishbone cannot deny the reckless beauty of Nerine’s landscape. Some days it is sunny and clear with white-washed cliffs and a peaceful ocean and other days it is brewing and seething with dramatic tides and intense winds. The worst of Nerine’s days have become Wishbone’s favorite.

    She finds herself thriving under the low-hanging clouds and among the gray, raging sea. It energizes her in a way she can’t describe, perhaps because the careless abandonment of the weather suits her own wild personality. Wishbone is racing again, just as she had been the first time she came to Nerine, on the edge of the cliff-side. She dodges around the weaker fringes of the border, but otherwise her feet run so near to the edge one wrong step could send her careening into the frothing ocean below.

    The mahogany girl slows when she spots a stranger in the distance. Although she hasn’t had much time to get to know the residents of Nerine, she’s familiar enough with them to recognize a foreigner. So her heels twist toward the figure in the distance. Wishbone approaches covered in a thin layer of sweat and salt-spray, smelling of rough winds and moist air. There’s a delirious smile on her face (one that could almost be frightening, but fits perfectly on her wild lips) as she comes to a halt.

    “Welcome to Nerine.” She isn’t even a true Nerinian, yet pride for the kingdom still seeks out the edges of her heart. “I’m Wishbone.” The girl gives a quick toss of her forelock, forcing the dark strands of hair out of her amber eyes. She’s nearly two years old, sewn with slender curves and sinewy muscle and long legs. But her eyes shine with a recklessness that will last into her maturity (perhaps even into death) as she looks over the newcomer. “How can I help you?”
    credit to eliza of adoxography.

    @[Bristol]
    #3
    bristol
    the past tense of regret is indecision
    wing appearance: large, black, and feathered.
    She isn’t expecting to go unnoticed for long, and that expectation is met when she hears hoofbeats across the rocks and sand and she turns away from the turbulent shores to watch the stranger approach, and for the first time feels the barest frissure of uncertainty; she had not been born in Ischia, that was true enough; and she had never seen the lands of Legend that her sire and the Amazons hail from despite that visions of them as they might have been haunt her dreams, but the islands have been home for years, and her family gracing its shores now in large quantities is a compelling reason to stay.

    But.

    The winged mare can barely remember living here, so briefly with Brennen when she was quite small, but she recognizes the turbulent sea from where it kicked at the edges of the fantasy jungle in her dreamscapes, where stories her sire told her about her mother and other Amazons played out behind closed eyelids. But of course in her dreams the Jungle abutts to a similarly dreamed up Tundra, with only a meadow containing a ridiculously large waterfall to separate the two. The old world of her dreams is ninety percent fantasy and stories, but it is the fuel that keeps her going, and she has always loved the sea of Nerine even when she didn’t realize that’s what it was.

    “Hello,” she responds as politely as the other’s greeting was offered. “I’m Bristol. I’ve come to join the sisterhood.” no beating around the bush here - nothing but a creature who has finally decided to follow the orders of her dream-self and try something new.
    #4
    haze like a fever
    i fell like a dreamer for sweet tea and lemonade; it clings to my t-shirt it’s loud and it lingers, designed to suffocate. i light up to find what i’ve known all this time, there’s some beauty here yet
    Wishbone lives out her life as though she were in a dream — not in the sense that she is light and floating, but in a way where her decisions are charged by a brash ignorance of death. A dreamer cannot truly die in their dreams for they will always wake up to the brisk chill of reality. While she knows about death (her fingers and legs twist with the shadowy being daily), she rarely acknowledges just how frequently she looks it in the eye and laughs in its face.

    The smile that pulls at her lips is one laced with that deliberate ignorance. While greeting a recruit at the border might look good on her resume, Wishbone is more-so proud of the growth Nerine is experiencing. Tephra might always be her birth home, but this granite kingdom is quickly anchoring itself into the tender corners of her heart.

    “I’m glad to hear that.” The mahogany girl turns aside, a clear invitation for the feathered mare to enter the kingdom. Although this is her first time welcoming a new Sister into the kingdom, Wishbone takes the task with ease. “Please, walk with me.” Her amber eyes glow with a wild warmth as she turns to walk deeper into the kingdom. Although the ocean rages just over the drop of the cliff, the wind is moderate today and Wishbone finds she doesn’t have to speak too loudly above the roar in her ears.

    “How did you find out about Nerine and the Sisterhood?”
    credit to eliza of adoxography.

    @[Bristol] / @[Hestia] or @[Scorch] might want to join since Wish isn't technically Nerinian and doesn't know a whole lot about the kingdom??
    #5
    bristol
    the past tense of regret is indecision
    wing appearance: large, black, and feathered.
    Bristol steps away from the edge of the cliff and the broiling waters below with reluctance, but interest in her new acquaintance. The sound of the crashing waves still rings in her ears as she gives the surf below a last, regretful look and vows to explore the water more in depth later. She is a winged creature, who should not be particularly partial to swimming, but yet at Brennen’s insistence she had learned to be a strong swimmer and she wants to test herself against the fierce waters of Nerine.

    Wishbone may be ignorant of death, but Bristol is irreverant to it. She taunts it with a laugh and a fierce look in her amber eyes.

    The bay mare steps away from the edge and into sync with Wishbone, keeping her dark wings folded against her sides. There is little use for them while walking beside a land-bound friend, and she is glad now that her father had also insisted that she spend time exercising on the ground and learning basic etiquette as well, despite her disdain for the subjects. Brennen had sympathized with his daughter’s affinity for the sky, himself a sky-creature, but nonetheless was firm on the point that they could not dwell entirely in the clouds, for a time would come when she would wish to be a part of society on the ground.

    Bristol had laughed at him, unknowingly her mother’s laugh, and Brennen had been quiet for a time; but in the end, he’d civilized his wild daughter at least a little.

    “I’m a daughter of Brennen and Prague, a sister from some time ago,” she says to Wishbone when questioned, and watches out of the corner of her eye to see if those names mean anything to her companion. “I grew up on stories of the Brotherhood and Sisterhood of old, and I see them in my dreams. My father’s Kingdom is nice enough, but I have never felt a true calling to serve the islands, despite dreaming of the sea. My father has always said I must have my mother’s soul to serve the sisterhood instead, if I can find no affinity to his order, so here I am to see if that is true.”
    #6
    haze like a fever
    i fell like a dreamer for sweet tea and lemonade; it clings to my t-shirt it’s loud and it lingers, designed to suffocate. i light up to find what i’ve known all this time, there’s some beauty here yet
    She’s grown up on the stories of the Old. She knows of the kingdoms before the Reckoning (the Tundra and the Jungle, the Gates and the Chamber, the Deserts and the Valley, the Falls and the Dale) and the histories that tangle and weave with one another. Although she couldn’t list the specific rulers from memory, their names ring bells vaguely in the back of her mind.

    A smile finds her mouth as Bristol mentions her parents. Brennen’s name is the most familiar to her memory, as his past his tangible and tied with her own. But her mother — Plague — is a distant, dreamy haze in the background of her mind, a name Scorch mentioned during the history lessons. But it is undeniable that Wishbone is much more familiar with the heritage of the Amazons (and now the Leviathans) than she is with any of the other kingdoms, so she is proud that she can even recall the name at all.

    She has, after all, caught herself daydreaming about swimming with whales or chasing seagulls or racing along the edge of the cliffs.

    “I’m sure we have what you’re looking for.” Even though they have known each other for these brief moments, Wishbone can tell Bristol will fit in well with the Leviathans. If their Kraken-counterparts do not suit her taste, perhaps the women will. She dares not call them feminine because, while some might be, there are far more women in their ranks who could be considered more masculine than some men.

    She nearly laughs aloud at that thought, but manages to restrain it to a wild smile. She’s about to ask another question (she’s not quite sure what it is yet, but it would come out regardless) when Scorch’s call for her rides on the breeze. It must be time for another lecture. Wishbone shoots a regretful look in her newfound friend’s direction. “Unfortunately, I’m being called.” Her amber eyes turn toward the distance in the direction of the call. “I hope we can talk again at a different time. I’ll leave you to explore Nerine on your own. If you have any questions, don’t hesitate to come and find me.”

    With that, she offers another reckless smile and turns to lope away, tangled locks tousled against her mahogany neck as she moves toward Scorch’s beckoning.
    credit to eliza of adoxography.

    @[Bristol]




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