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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


    [private]  Damn your love, damn your lies || Brennen
    #1

    Astarael
    herald of death

    It had nearly been a lifetime ago that Astarael had called the sands of Ischia her home. Stoic upon the shell ridden shores once more bathed in the navy of midnight. Glowing blue phytoplankton danced in the shallows their ethereal blue glow breaking through the fog that surrounded her. The sticky salt of the ocean spray clung to her wings and fur, sand rubbing against her skin uncomfortably. Her childhood had been wasted there, stranded upon the small mass of land that seemingly jutted up from the middle of the ocean. Apart and yet somehow different, Ischia almost appeared an entity of its own. Her father had crowned himself king, thus naming her his bastard. His other children, Aemar, Raelyx, Belgaer, Mosrael and, even, tiny little Khaeli were all royalty, true born children of the king and his queen. The very thought disgusted her. Discarded and outcasted, when she had left not one member of her family had gone looking for her. Seamlessly she had disappeared into the darkest realms of Beqanna, becoming the very thing Brennen had fought to protect her. Immortal, though he was, the king of Ischia still had many flaws.
     
    Galili was only his latest choice of consort. Even despite his favor for her, he had no qualms with whoring himself out every season. In turn producing a myriad of fatherless children scattered throughout the land. Astarael was nothing more than a product of his lust. Discontent to sit upon his shelf of conquests she had set out to make something of herself. Now, she was hardly recognizable from the innocent filly she had once been.
     
    She reveled in the thought that her own father would not even recognize her anymore. Wing broke through the soft skin of her back, their leathery span stretching almost the length of her body. In a short time, they would soon be strong enough to carry her across the sky of Beqanna. The crown of horns upon her head were more than just a mark of the demonic spirit she now possessed. She was every bit the queen she’d hoped to become. Tangled about her legs, the glow of her fear aura broke through the still of night hungrily searching for its next target. Crustaceans and birds fled from her, frightened at the sight and feel of her. The fairies had finally answered her prayers, and, in return, they had transformed her into more than she could have ever anticipated. Stretching beyond the change in her appearance, she had found a purpose as the Demon Queen of Sylva. She ruled with terror and purpose. Even the highly esteemed king himself feared and adored her.
     
    Returning to Ischia had been something weighing heavily upon her mind for some time. Not to remember but to forget. To spit in the face of everything that had sought to hinder her progress and to keep her firmly within the clutches of those who would see her be nothing but ordinary. She was bigger than that now. Greater than anyone could ever have anticipated.

    Darling, you have no idea what's possible...


    @[Brennen] Enjoy
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    #2
    Brennen had noticed when his second-youngest daughter went missing, but he had not gone searching for her. While he is quite fond of his many children, the bay stallion doesn’t try to keep them tethered to him or the life he chooses - in fact, he’s never met some of them at all, by the choice of their dams. Astarael was an adult now, and he hadn’t been stupid enough to see her discontent with him, their family, or the land he’d taken for the Brotherhood. He would not keep her from seeking her own way.

    He didn’t, though, realize the depths of her disdain for him. Brennen has always upheld the creed of the Brotherhood and his own moral compass, but he isn’t (as she has noticed) perfect. Still, he would object to her characterization of him as a womanizer if he knew it; he makes no secret that he likes pretty women and often offers himself to sire the children he so adores, but he has never forced a mare who wasn’t willing or even eager to copulate with him, and contrary to Astarael’s beliefs he has never cheated on a mare to whom he had promised himself exclusively. Even Galilee; their relationship was not as serious once as it is now, and they had never been exclusive before recently. With Galilee now and other mares in the past, he has been extremely loyal if it was requested of him.

    Despite the changes to her physical appearance, he is quick to recognize his daughter when she steps onto the shores once more, and he nickers a warm greeting and approaches her at a trot. “Astarael,” he says her name with a smile, reaching out to touch her shoulder paternally even as his amber eyes roam the changes to her form. The horns and wings catch his eye in particular, though the faint red glow is noted and filed away. It’s only as he is reaching to touch her that Brennen recognizes the scent of Sylva on her coat, and his nose crinkles in distaste even as his eyes and his voice grow worried. “Is everything okay?” He has recently had Jesper returned to him, and he can only imagine what might have befallen Astarael in the same place.

    What he can’t imagine is his daughter ever condoning such acts of violence against her nephew.
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    #3

    Astarael
    herald of death

    Her father’s figure was unmistakable in the distance. The mahogany winged stallion wasted no time in greeting her, his throaty nicker rushing to meet the soft of her ears. Although she had been born there, Ischia felt unfamiliar beneath the tread of her hooves and the strangeness only added to her contempt. It always had, which was why she had fled the moment the opportunity had presented itself. Keeping her eyes firmly upon her father, she watched as her aura moved to envelope him within the fold of it’s terrifying embrace. He smiles despite her obvious shift against him and his eyes drink in the fullness of her transformation.  The question that trails behind her name encourages a laugh.
     
    I have never been better, father.
     
    It goes beyond the realms of his comprehension to think that one of his own could be apart of the deepest of darkness. He asked she was okay, assuming that she had fallen prey to it just as Jesper had. She was not some weak minded captive or slave of the clown, forced to remain at his side for his benefit. Rather, she was the queen of it – the puppet master.
     
    Her purpose there was nothing more than a trifle, an itch that needed to be scratched. Brennen’s opinion of her mattered little to her and his assumptions were hilariously misinformed.

    Darling, you have no idea what's possible...


    @[Brennen]
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