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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


    I sold my soul for this ~Modicum Mortem~
    #1

    "I am the least of the gods. Why would you trust me with this?"
    "You're the last and most important of them all" I replied.

    There are many things a queen can do. Many things a queen will do, they have limits however. Lines they will not cross. Things they will never do for their kingdoms. A mother on the other hand, has a very different aspect on life. A boundless reserve of willingness to do anything for her child. A limitless ability to fill that willingness. She is unhindered by worries of right and wrong, good and evil. All that consumers her mind is her love for her child. A mother gives no thought, where a queen makes a choice.

    Now a mother who’s lost her children, a mother given a second chance… well limitless and boundless loose their meaning in the face of that mother. It’s never discussed, the pain of loosing a child. It’s incomprehensible, there are names for every type of pain. A person who loses their spouse is called a widow/widower. A child who loses it’s parents is called an orphan, but a parent that loses a child? There is just no word for that. Hestia has been given a second chance. After losing her children, yes, plural. She’s birthed a demon, taken in Porcia, and now? Now her belly grows, swelling with the seed of her lover planted there. A single night, she thought it had been safe, that the season had not come upon her. She thought… it was not so.

    At first she didn’t know how to react, she couldn’t celebrate, couldn’t bring herself to be happy. He still does not know, blissfully unaware, wondering Nerine. She does not tell him. She has no duty, no allegiance to inform it’s father the consequences of that night. She would raise it. She would make sure it survived into adulthood. This time she would succeed. With this double dose of motherly instinct, with her choice to be queen, simply put, she will be a force to reckon with. The kingdoms should be careful with who they cross. She’s heard of the newest rulers in Beqanna, they are shiny and attractive to the recruits for now. Give it time, all will dwindle down to embers once more. Glowing with the spark of life, waiting to be poked at and brought back to blazing fire.

    Nerine hasn’t died back though, it’s an ever-consuming inferno of heat and life exploding with the passion of warrior blood. Her wings crackle in their blaze, her eyes filled with the flames of her soul. Her skin still black as coal does not yet glow with the flames that reside just beneath the surface. She approaches the border. The queen meanders through the trees approaching the borders she’d not a year ago crossed over. What was the leaders name again? She pauses, tilting her head in thought. Oh yes, Sabra. Really an unremarkable sort of female, though she held no feelings or judgements on the leader. Theirs had been a… mutual understanding. Now that things have changed, since residents have scampered to Nerine in request of shelter she must travel. She must perform her duties and come to a clear understanding with this new leader.

    They come and they go with the wind, no leader stays long, and those that do fall to the wayside. They dissolve into the mist until some young and hot-headed challenger takes it upon themselves to exact the change that waters the lands quenching their thirst for blood. They all rise and they all fall. It won’t be long before she forgets their names, just as she had Sabra’s. They are children, and before she can consider them adults, their bones will be dust on the ocean shores. She’s all to aware of how insignificant life is here. Even her own.

    HESTIA

    @[Modicum Mortem]
    [Image: 345k45w.jpg]
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    #2
    He’s lost a lot in his life.

    The only difference between him and a majority of the population is that he didn’t care what he lost. All he cared for is what he could gain, what he could win.

    Feelings were as foreign to him as her scent in his nostrils. She smells of sea salt and sand (but it is different from the smell of Ischia or Tephra...no, it isn’t as prominent), and he figures she must dwell from the coast of Nerine.

    She is older (not that it was really noticeable), he could tell by the look in her eyes and how she held herself. His normal facade of niceness would not work on her, he knew this, so he didn’t even bother. He’d act “diplomatic,” but that would be his best.

    “I’m Modicum Mortem,” He does not bother with welcomes, because she’s not welcome here. “What brings you to Sylva?” He is straight to the point. There’s no sense wasting time on niceties. Get her in and show her out, so she’d have no more information than the blood stained trees and the feeling of eyes watching her.

    @[Hestia] he’s an ass. I’m sorry I’m advance XD
     

    |Proceed with Caution|


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    #3

    "I am the least of the gods. Why would you trust me with this?"
    "You're the last and most important of them all" I replied.

    Feelings, it’s such an interesting term. Feelings, emotions, belief; at their true baseness striped of all the expectations and complex assumptions philosophers put on ‘feelings’. They are simply the awareness of our cells reacting from chemical reactions to stimuli. Ah hell, trying to wrap a mind around that can be difficult. So maybe an example is better for the simplicity; a needle pricks the finger, the nerves in the finger experience negative stimuli, the person is aware of this stimulus, thus the awareness of the person reacts to the reaction of the stimuli. Now the awareness remembers this sensation in the future it will experience fear leading them to avoid pricking themselves with needles in the future. Unless of course they’ve got some super fucked up feelings and end up liking those sensations. Still there is a feeling regardless of if it is positive or negative. It’s just impossible to be foreign to the concept of such things. If it was a foreign concept, there would be no way one could make it to adulthood. Even if they managed that, they would be incapable of social interaction all together. They would be… in truth nothing more than dumb animals. Aware of nothing that an intelligent creature must experience to be called such.

    But enough on the mind-boggling philosophy, that was not the reason that Hestia came to Sylva. An alliance once held with this kingdom, and she would not be the one to break it. But then again, she didn’t need to did she? Clown nose here had already done that for her. Even if she’s not been made aware of this just yet. Having lost enough that she has cared about in her life, well it gives her an edge that others do not have. At least mortals, and the young immortals who’ve yet to step from their foalish ages wouldn’t understand. Those her age and older, they would understand, and much like her often choose the reclusive lifestyle watching the buzzing of the mortals humdrum lives pass them by in a blink of an eye. Occasionally stepping forward, either to meddle and cause chaos, or set them on a better path. This time Hestia is choosing the later. Maybe next time it would be the side of chaos that she takes. Only time would tell.

    His voice sounds flat to her ears, and the one flicks towards him with her green gaze steadily roaming over the trees that sprawl over the land before them. She doesn’t look to him, not answering him just yet. Her mind reveling in the beauty of Beqanna. She never ceases to amaze. Her words are quiet, distant even. Not truly speaking to him. Her tail flicks listlessly in the wind, while her mane and forelock are played with in the breeze. He seems impatient, his question comes so abruptly. Hmm, a low hum from her throat replies. I could ask you the same Modi. You don’t mind if I call you Modi do you?… her lips slide over the words easily enough, finally she turns her gaze to match his, cold in their poison. Of course you don’t. She finishes before he can interrupt. She begins to walk, a twitch ghosting her lips for a moment before turning her attention to the path before her. Show me why don’t you Modi? Show me… hmm, why I was… brought. Here as you say. Her flaming wings rustle against her swelling belly, insolating her and the child that grows in her from the bitter winter that rages around them.

    HESTIA

    @[Modicum Mortem]
    [Image: 345k45w.jpg]
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