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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 don't have my head on straight, ANY
    #1
    Pangea has left him ill.

    For weeks he was too sick to even leave the cursed beach that had brought them to the land that he had helped rebirth; it took everything in him just to find sparse patches of grass and water that wasn’t contaminated with salt from the sea. Eventually he had found the strength to finally leave, though his progress was infinitesimally meager due to the ruin of his left foreleg.

    The gravel had left his lower limb a disaster, and though it has slowly begun to heal he knows that there will be permanent damage to the appendage. If not for his immortality it likely would have killed him, as catastrophic as it was. He had lain on that beach for days, seeing his hoof holding on by what looked like tendrils to him, though that may have been the fever he had spiked making it seem worse than it truly was. Either way, it has begun to heal. He can bear weight on it now (as little as possible) and move about and not just lay here and waste away.

    His steps are quiet and trailing, but nonetheless he covers the ground, leaving the blood-soaked beach behind him at least. The others are all gone, having vanished into thin air long before him, and he dearly hopes that he never has to see any of them again. He lost so much for Carnage’s sake and he never wants to dwell on that particular part of his past ever again. He will do very well to not remember it, thank you very much.

    What he doesn’t notice is the grass dying beneath his hooves, as weak and totally unaware as he is. He had never thought that their quest would leave him with a new ability, a way to destroy. Once—mere months ago, even—he would have been eager to test his new limits, but today he is too exhausted to even know it is there, let alone control it. And so, the grass withers beneath his feet but he continues dragging them along, unwilling to let anything stop the gentle lull of his steps. He has to keep going.
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    #2

    What a lovely way to burn

    She hadn’t meant to come back. Hell, she hadn’t meant to leave either, but shit happens.

    With a huff, she scowls down at the meadow, trying to decide if it’s even worth landing. Maybe she should just keep flying. Nothing for her here anyway. Except dad. Maybe. Hell, she never knows where he is anyway. She hasn’t seen him in ages. He sure as shit didn’t know how to raise a kid, so what the hell had they been expecting? They’d be one big happy family?

    Yeah, no. She’d left the minute she got a chance. Not like he’d been the most present parent anyway. But hey, she’s alive and that’s what counts right? Sure.

    She drifts along a draft, staring down at the distant land as she debates the actual benefits of stopping here. Maybe Hawthorn was around. Not that she knew him that well. Fuck, he’s her twin and she barely even remembers what he looks like anyway. Awkward.

    What the hell. Worth a look around she supposes.

    Banking, she presses her wings against her sides and allows herself to plummet, feet stretched forward. The sudden thrill sets her pulse to racing and brings a giddy joy to her breast. The one damn thing she could count on to make her happy. Danger. Maybe she is more fucked up than she’d been imagining.

    She is almost too close to the ground when she finally snaps her massive black wings wide, using them to break her fall. The wind whooshing past her as she backwings dramatically, she stumbles into a land, loping a few hard steps to release the pent up momentum of her fall. In the process, she nearly stumbles right into a rather banged up stallion. “Hey!” she shouts, jerking sideways to trot the last few steps past him, scowl returning to her lips.

    When she finally stumbles to a halt, she pivots eyes (odd eyes, one brown, one red) following the trail of death in his wake before the land on him with surprising ferocity. “Hey dickhead!” she shouts again. “Maybe leave some alive for the rest of us. A girl’s gotta eat y’know.”

    Large frame settling, she ruffles her wings against her dark sides as she takes a few steps forward. Maybe she should think twice about confronting a stallion who absently trails dead flora in his wake, but no one has ever accused her of having sense. Besides, she’s big and burly and a little mean looking. Somehow, she always manages to win the fights she picks.

    Element
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