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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


    you can't bargain with smoke - anyone
    #1

    How quickly things had changed.

    Anaxarete, for one, certainly was not complaining. 

    She wasn't one to frequent the meadow.  She never had been throughout her extensive history. Social calls weren't particularly her thing.  But that was before.  Now everything had changed.  Beqanna had changed.  

    The shadow-mare had been awakened.

    Who would she become upon this awakening?  The cold woman was an enigma of sorts - poorly defined by any number of stereotypes.  But she didn't truly live up to any of them. She was the cold, icy creature most of the world knew who could be set aflame in a moment's notice.  She was a conquerer and one who sought to restore order.  She was known for keeping the company of violent, bloodthirsty alien creatures - creatures that she single handedly kept from running rampant in Beqanna.  She was merciful and merciless at the same time.   She was strange.  She was undefinable.  

    She simply was.  

    And now she was alive.  She was no longer content to live the mechanical, automatic existence that she had for so long.  She would have purpose now.  Because for the first time in so long, her home had once again opened its embrace to her.  That feeling of completion tore through her like an infection - setting her very cells aflame.

    The shadows swirled around her legs, discontent to lay flat against the ground.  Grasses bent out of her way as she moved and fell back into place as she passed.  Aside from that, she looked perfectly ordinary.  She wasn't bathed in flashy colors or shrouded in sparks.  She was simply a small, scarred, gray mare providing the container for many lifetimes worth of secrets. Cold eyes that once only held ice and cold flickered with life and light.

    Those eyes flickered across the meadow with limited interest before she slipped beneath the branches of a sprawling oak and drew herself to a halt.  She was content just to watch.

    For now.


    A N A X A R E T E

    MAGIC. IMMORTAL. PSYCHOKINETIC. ALLIANCE WINNER. THREE TIMES A QUEEN.

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    #2
    joscelin

    She is not sure why she is here again. Does not really know what she is searching for. Her life had been ripped apart and pieced back together. Her entire perspective had changed. Where once a happy, carefree girl frolicked, a wholly broken, sparking woman now lingers. Her fractured body had been glued back together by magic, her soul knit whole again by sheer will. But once unencumbered thoughts now wallow in doubts. She knows only that she is searching for something to make sense of this new world, but she knows not what.

    This is how she finds her. The one of light meets the one of shadow. She is as unusual in appearance as the gray mare is plain. Her odd appearance is certainly not one of choice however. Though her coloring is plain enough, a bright bay fading into white extremities, she stands out by the cracks that cover every inch of her petite frame. A bright light occasionally flickers along the countless breaks in her skin, a leisurely line of bright white traveling across her body. Where once she had enjoyed standing out, now that she wishes only to fade into the shadows, her body refuses to obey.

    Her pace is slow, meandering. She has no particular goal in mind. But when her golden gaze fixes upon the mare, she approaches without hesitation. There is nothing in particular about this mare that stands out, nothing that draws the eye, but she is drawn nonetheless. She notes the odd way in which the shadows react to her with faint curiosity. A small hint of her once exuberant inquisitiveness.

    Once she stands before the mare, she isn’t quite sure why she had made the decision to approach. Tilting her small head slightly, she gazes at her with an uncommon frankness.

    Hello.

    there's a song in your lung and a dream in your eye



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    #3
    sorry not sorry, I have no idea what this is.

    I call her the devil
    cause she makes me wanna sin

    Shaytan begged and pleaded and swore to be a good little Chamberling once she got out toyboxfuntime hell.If she ever got out of there.  

    And while she would much rather be the capricious type who goes back on their word because of a whim, Princess Nerissa is fucking terrifying and she isn’t willing to tempt whatever power sent her to the alternate universe. She will not give it any reasons. No reasons whatesoever. Nope. Nuh-uh. Shaytan will work hard now, they’ll all see. 

    Alas, it seems that the ordeal has affected Shaytan more than she knows - or wants to admit. She has yet to look at her reflection in the water, and if she did, she might find herself disgusting. Huge. Crimson flesh, with a white and blue streaked mane and tail. She looks like someone took a couple of buckets of paint to her, in an attempt to cover up her freckles. Or someone knew she had a secret bloodlust and called her out on it, perhaps intending to give her a scarlet letter for shame - and then forgetting all sense of self-restraint. It would be fitting, for Shaytan herself seems to have very little self-restraing. Full of Id, lacking conversation skills, fixated on bunnies and blood, and a sense of humor that has yet to be discovered.

    Yes, yes… she’ll be the perfect red-headed stepchild of the Chamber. The one secretly in love with her stepmother.

    Her hunger is all-encompassing, turning the dark monster inside of her (literally - she's pregnant, and doesn't seem to realize it, nor remember the act itself. But something in her demands to be fed) into some rabid, stumbling creature that knows only one thing: kill bunnies. Consume bunnies. Nevermind that this may or may not be what a good Chamberling does, she has staved it off long enough and like an addict, the need is both psychological and physical.This first part, the hunt, it takes all her concentration and willpower to stand still in the Meadow and let them come to her. Every success is a test of her skills, a testament to how long she can hold back her quivering, aching legs (which did standing become so tiresome? was it before or after the fire?) for the trap to spring shut. But oh, that crunch is sigh-inducing and bliss floods her mouth. She can only do so much with her blunt teeth (it is not the flesh she wants, just the metallic tang), and she often wished she had sharper teeth.

    All the better to eat you with my dear…

    In her satiated, post-feeding bliss (and with a mouth that is only slightly darker than the rest of her, though she reeks of blood), Shaytan wanders the field aimlessly. She has no concept of personal space, especially when she feels so damn good. She is an inappropriate drunk amongst a sober crowd. To the Chamber! To the Chamber! To Straia...

    God help the child within her. 

    Shaytan

    and every time she knocks
    I can't help but let her in

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