• Logout
  • 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


    Thread Rating:
    • 1 Vote(s) - 5 Average
    • 1
    • 2
    • 3
    • 4
    • 5
    [open]  i'll burn it down; Rey & Any
    #11

    Leilan
    Glaciers melting in the dead of night
    and the superstars sucked into the supermassive
    He's not yet sure why exactly he wants the icecube, but Castile already managed to find him (perhaps drawn to the same gathering coincidentally), and at his remark, the scaled roan gives him a small grin, as if to say, sure, why not. But like the dragonic roan, the shifter also hasn't left the place, which means perhaps he doesn't really want to. "Or to cool us down, my friend." he quips easily, not offended by the words right now. They're relatively true, after all. He is the second - these people are still the third. And since Camomila is seriously considering Heartfire's offer, he doesn't think there will be much support for this third claim - aside from the two she has gathered.

    The eerie-winged female makes assumptions on the severity he puts in his voice, the same way he suspected they might want to put up another claim. He listens to her and hears only fear; that he might put her in close proximity to sick horses. He snorts, he may not have thought somebody might not trust the fairies, but he figures he might as well go with it for the sake of their conversation, if only a little.

    But when she just-not-yet calls him a fool, his eyes narrow at her. "I think you're not looking at the bigger picture. You'd lock yourselves in on this nearly uninhabitable place, instead of the other way around? I doubt this island is big enough for all healthy horses of the world." If that's the way she wants to go, then she should have considered the other thing... Chase the sick to those islands. If all the other safe havens would already welcome them; it would be easier to do, and Beqanna could be safe.

    Unless of course, she's too lazy for that. Only here to save her own sorry ass.

    He wouldn't do it either, but that's just because he thinks it's not the right way of going at it.

    Then a silver black stallion speaks up, telling them he raised Pangea, and that he has been ill. Now that is suspicious, and his ears fall back a second when the name comes up. "You're probably carrying." he concludes, and looks to the blue roan. "If this island isn't truly safe like you're implying, then we're all already doomed from this moment on."

    He already knows that it is safe, having spent some time with Heartfire and Briella on the island without contracting a disease, and neither has Castile or Camomila, or Ardashir. And perhaps having personally met a fairy before and knowing what she was capable of, helps with his trust in magic also. But if she needs prove: now it's just a matter of time.

    Being called a boy, he turns his attention back to Oxytocin, amused by his statements about kings, fools and princesses - maybe he should pick that as a title, Ice Princess. Nodding to him as if he wasn't just getting insulted a moment ago, he shrugs. "So nice to meet you, too. Please go ahead with that destroying, and we can stop the argument." Simplest solution ever, but he knows it is an empty threat, so he treats it with the emptiness it deserves. It would leave Oxytocin without this safe island, too, and then he would have to go elsewhere and risk travelling through the infected lands to get there. Somehow, Leilan doubts that he will. But if it's a genuine threat then it also solves the problem - sure, he wouldn't get to own a land but, that's less of a problem than having neighbours of such fear-induced intentions.

    He doesn't need to react to the man's statement of not letting the sick on the island, because Heartfire arrives. Already challenging Oxytocin and, oh, how ironic is this, clearly already one of those sick horses. Too late now to turn back the sick like you guys wanted. He knows Heartfire would disintegrate any of those three before she'd leave the isle; maybe even bite them to try and infect them. He ignores her outright threat - at the moment, he feels the same way, though he doesn't state so. His body language is neutral enough at this point, though it takes some effort not to go down the same road as his niece. It may be a family trait originating from his mother (her grandmother), that doesn't mean he always has to act on it. Not when it's important that he doesn't, after all.


    The third person in this gathering doesn't say much at all for a while. But when he does speak, it's clear who's opinion he thinks he must share. And that he's already had a run-in with Heartfire, some time ago. Well isn't that beautiful. But the flaw in their reasoning still stands - if they think that they're not safe from the sick here, then why would they be here? "Perhaps you should be surrounding yourself with a group of healers and magicians instead of coming to an island you don't think is truly safe, and where several sick horses have already arrived." Briella arrives and it only proves his point further. Makes him wonder which of them wants to even touch them to 'drive them out' or 'deny them entry'. "I believe Tephra has one, maybe Loess." At least that's where Leliana came from. He doesn't think they'd follow his directions, to be honest, even though Tephra is a known safe land; they seem to be about as stubborn as he. But he won't refer them to the ones that will probably come to live in Nerine either; he just doesn't trust these three.

    "Like I said, refugees would be welcome. You would be welcome - unless you threaten the other refugees and, since you seem to be, you're forcing us to take action against your interfering. Perhaps another of those safe havens suits your needs better."

    Oh, and you're outnumbered. But they can surely see that for themselves.

    you set my soul alight
    HTML by Vanilla Custard
    Two things I know I can make: pretty kids, and people mad.
    |
    Reply
    #12

    Rey

    One sweeping length of my stride leads me across the forests of Taiga where I’ve lingered in the aftermath. The next step I take is like one through an invisible door; every towering drove of trees replaced with a gray, churning sky and the crunch of hard-packed snow beneath my hooves.

    These occurrences are becoming less and less surprising, when they happen as often as a piss or pause.

    I sigh. My preference would certainly be to have a choice in the matter of where I end up, even if it’s not as perfect a transition as these mishap teleports seem to be. Accessing an internal power is much different than commanding a body part like wings. Where am I? my thoughts wonder, having no personal recollection of an isle totally encased in snow.

    A rising cadence of heated tones stop me dead-walk. I glance around the white expanse and into the southerlands, where the snow is not so high and sparse scrubland pokes out through the slush of frozen water, glancing to see a group of unfamiliar equines being lead in discussion by a faintly glinting stallion. Red roan. From where I stand he’s not recognizable, but when I change course and begin to edge closer to them, Leilan’s voice is clear and unmistakable. He’s berating another group of newcomers, telling them some bullshit about magicians and healers.

    Mentioning Loess.

    Would he ever learn to shut up? “Perhaps Nerine has bitten off more than she can chew.” I interrupt, cloaking my skin in pure white with ice blue dapples that ripple over the top-half of my body. My mane and tail dip-dye themselves navy, perhaps a side effect of my mood (or the fact that my pregnancy has begun to show itself, even this early) and I sidle up to the nearest horse I can find. His name is Bruise, though I don’t know it yet. “You all fled your homeland like weaklings and now you flaunt that power which should’ve been used to keep Nerine intact. The Leviathans abandoning their beloved cliff! HAH!” I bait them all - Leilan the outspoken, along with his two cronies and the sickly looking girl.

    “You should be the ones surrounding yourselves with a magician, if you’ve got one. Take your failsafe and go back to your rocky shores. The leftover jungle refuse has no greater right or claim to this place just because you all enjoy being hypocritical snobs. Let the safe lands go to those who actually need the protection.” I grind out, flint gray eyes gleaming wildly. Every now and then the expressive flash of my pearl white fangs accentuates a harsh word or two, but I’m left huffing with a rotten taste in my mouth. Each one of these so-called horses from the “greatest” kingdom in Beqanna was no more than a playground bully.

    I, Rey, am finally one step ahead due to my immunity and I, Rey, am finally tired of the great powers shoving others out their way. Screw Nerine.

    Wanna step to me better think twice, 'cause I look pretty but I ain't that nice



    @[Any]
    Immune to The Plague
    Helped raise Pangea
    Reply
    #13
    dovev

    She'd been sending him goddamn visions of his new baby getting sick, so of course he tracked them to this hell-hole of a fucking freezing ass place. What in the hell was she thinking bringing a baby here?? And sick. He'd hoped the visions had just been threats to get him back to her, but nope. There they are, both sick as hell and cold as hell. So fuckin stupid.

    "Are you fuckin crazy?" he snapped, followed with a wet, bloody round of coughing. He'd sized them all up and decided they're all worthless, or at least not worth the effort when they're all fuckin freezing to death. And he was covered in blood - some of it his, most of it not - which made him feel even more chilled, and random patches of hair were missing from the parts of him not guarded by bone.

    He was limping. Couldn't even remember why now. And his skin was burning up. He was nearly burning up from the inside out, really, like his blood was magma.

    He stopped, steely bloodshot eyes looking over Heartfire and openly ignoring every other idiot gathered here. Why the hell anyone would want to freeze to death was beyond him. "What the fuck happened to you? Damn, babe, you look like hell-- 

    "Are you fucking pregnant??" Oh geez. No. No, nope. Nuh uh. That's not his. Nope. Yeah, gonna ignore that. Not happening. Didn't do it. Gotta be someone else's. Time to go.

    He turned to drag his little baby girl in, holding her close without hesitation only because her babysitter sucks and let her get sick already. "C'mere, baby," he crooned softly, nudging her in and touching her neck gently with cracked lips. Goddamn, his legs were starting to shake. "You wanna leave, huh, baby? Too damn cold here. Let's find somewhere warm." With fewer idiots.

    He started walking away, scowling over his shoulder. "You gonna come or not?" Clearly, they had shit to talk about. And he wasn't going to freeze to death for it. She needed to fuckin eat too, looking all half-starved like that. Can't even take care of herself. Someone's gotta do it. "Get your ass over here." But he didn't watch to see if she listened. She probably wouldn't.

    we're slaves to any semblance of touch

    Lord, we should quit but we love it too much


    Reply
    #14
    I'll tell you my sins and you can sharpen your knife
    In the cold darkness, no one notices the shadows. Silent, creeping, they follow her, haunting each sure step, greedily drinking in her wonderfully macabre appearance. His spine shivers with the velvet purr of her voice … and the shadows edge closer.

    They part easily for him, the cold-soaked stallion, running intangible fingers along the thick sinew of his frame in admiring delight. A moment longer and another comes. Fear …, their reverent whispers leak into the frigid air, trembling in their eagerness to know him.

    Then the ice dragon interrupts their grasping inspection and they shrink back with an inaudible hiss, indignant in their retreat. He is the first of the resistance and it is here that Niklas begins to lose interest.

    Perhaps they notice him as he peels from the nothingness. Likely not. A waifish frame separates from the darkness molecule by molecule. The eyes are a pit of nothingness, obscure in their focus though it is she, the instigator, that holds his measure. A dry tongue darts forth to taste the wintry air.

    He knew The Plague. Oh how he knew the Plague. Don’t you know that all things – even the gods and faeries – are tainted by Hell? A mirthless chuckle rises in a cloud of vapor from lips, scarred and cracked so that they might think he is infected. Content in his own introspection from somewhere near the bone-winged spectre and the fanged teleporting one – my how they gleam -- it is clear this pupil-less devil has thrown his weight behind the more, let’s say, discerning crowd.

    Niklas
    The Demon
    Reply
    #15
    and underneath the layers, I find myself asking what's left
    a hollowed out form, the skeleton of a ghost, the pitiful echo of what once was
    It’s actually amusing how easily and quickly the entire situation escalates. Banter is tossed among the parties, hissing and insulting and threatening. Castile’s eyes are heavily trained on the primary mare, the ringleader of the circus. How entertaining it would be if they knew they were related, but alas, the ignorance and opposing perspectives drives a greater wedge between them. The languid manner to which she carries herself and the sweetened venom of her voice churns Castile’s stomach. His lip curls distastefully, but he is otherwise silent as their group continues to expand. Like vultures to a carcass, more arrive and slip their snide remarks and opinions into the conversation. The tension is elevating, thickening the cold air among them. Yet, amid all of it, there is Leilan snipping back but with some humor laced in his husky voice.

    Castile doesn’t hide the lopsided grin that stretches across his lips. Cool them off, yes, that is something they need.

    The agitation is a thorn burrowing into his side. He can hear his own racing heartbeat in his ears and feel it like a lump in his throat. Each breath he draws in deliberately is meant to settle the coiling monster inside him. None of them know what he is. They’ve noticed his slit eyes, but in the foray, they have since reverted, abandoning all indications of the reptilian counterpart he contains.

    (Kill)

    Among them, however, is an individual that weaves together the horrors of lives untold. It brushes across Castile’s consciousness, and his eyes clench shut beneath his forelock for a few long breaths. His muscles ripple as the underlying creature writhes anxiously, desperately screaming for release, but he battles and controls it – for now.

    ”What a grand idea,” his mismatched eyes have opened and found Oxytocin, ”destroy the land so no one can have it. Real genius,” a low, gravely chuckle rumbles from his throat, his head slowly shaking back and forth. It doesn’t end there of course. He glances to the porcelain doll, but rather than hiss or growl or even flash his own canines in response, Castile shrugs. ”Says the one who has also fled to a refuge. I guess we are all weaklings for having abandoned the mainland then.” But he takes pause here, refusing to feed more into the endless banter. Instead, he shifts idly to one side, yawning and exhaling into the frigid air.

    ”No one is backing down,” he looks across the faces of the Nerinians, then those in opposition, ”So, we can either fight or cohabitate. I’m sure the ice would look great with a little splash of red.”


    castile
    Reply
    #16

    A sick thought can devour the body's flesh more than fever or consumption.

    How delicious, she thinks — the way that they slink to her from all corners of the earth, like she is a magnet, like she is gravity.

    It would warm Infection, she knows, to see the size of the calamity unfolding in His name, in His honor. She would have liked to take longer to bask in it, undoubtedly, folding and unfolding her wings in a gentle stretch while admiring her own splendous capabilities — but as it stands she is too busy following her passions, nurturing them to fruition. The fact that it looks as though it’s unravelling does not worry her, not when she knows that cities need to fall in on themselves, collapse and become rubble, before they can be rebuilt.

    And this reassembly will be most glorious for those that stand with her.

    “Oxy,” she chides, a little too warmly after his outburst; it’s only a gentle slap against his wrist, only the duty-bound whistle made by the master of a dog that’s run too far, too quickly — all while inwardly she tingles with delight at his exuberant enthusiasm. “Nobody likes a heretic,” she reminds him, meeting his eyes then so that she might compel him silently, with only the cold flash of her own, to remember his tact. It is so much easier to make them believe this is for everyone —  that it is a clever, if not slightly radical idea, if she can wrap the concepts up like sugary treats before asking them to swallow.

    She suspects her task is harder now for his outburst.
    She isn’t wrong.

    They forget to see her story under a blanket of their own outrage, and every moment brings another of them creeping forwards and out of the night. Still, she holds her tongue while they throw idle threats. Still, even, as they tell her to leave, or die. Of course there is fear churning in her gut, but it isn’t them that stirs it. Phasus has known worse things than they are — she has been worse things than they are. They would have her slink back into the shadows now to lick her wounds, no doubt, but retreat is not bred into her bones, even if she does readily acknowledge that the effort of taking this isle has just become more than she’d lazily anticipated upon her whimful, spite-fueled claim.

    No, they will not be leaving.

    She doesn’t sway, even as the Fear pulses out of Bruise and it touches her, running an icy finger down the gentle arc of her neck and then the length of her back and prickling the skin that it finds. It only shows her what they stand to lose if the illness gains further ground (and it will, of this she is certain); emaciated children lurch forward, eyes leak blood, festering bodies are ripe with the rancid stench of decay and they all come to life on the backs of her eyelids with each and every blink. The Fear is frenzied, but she has been kept learned enough by Him to recognize this for what it is — magic.

    The slow curl of a smile creeps across her mouth replacing a feigned pout that she had conjured after Oxytocin’s outburst when she sees who is wielding it. There is magic crawling in her veins and now, here, she draws it out to tangle it with his just as she had done for Infection so many times before this. She sets the Fear alight and watches it grow and grow and grow, consuming them like the wildfires she so desperately yearns for. There are many things she admires about him, she thinks as she watches. She makes a list of many things, but keeps returning to the way he spits the words she wants to spit.

    More come, still.

    A child staggers forward, bleeding in ways that make Phasus’ stomach churn to look at — revolting, filthy, dangerous. It only reminds her of how worthy her cause is, and besides, to turn away from this isle now is to risk infection regardless so her back is firmly against this wall no matter how many horribly diseased children toddle out of the night.

    “Who will have mercy on your soul. Monsters.”
    Oh, but who will have it on yours, filth?

    And still, she bites her tongue. She is waiting for him to speak, perhaps they’ve noticed, how her eyes glaze over to keep from rolling in her sockets while the rest of them chatter. He is the key here.

    So, she is patient while she watches, waiting for the Fear to find him and expose in him something she can use — only, it doesn’t seem to affect him as he plunders on ahead in a stream of, in her opinion, poorly woven conclusions, more mule than horse. She wonders if he recognizes that he’s only brought this on himself, that before he had come to throw his weight around no one had made so much of a whisper of a claim (Though, admittedly, it was inevitable, wasn’t it? Of course it was.). She pauses her thoughts then, a delicious snarl of a smile cracking her lips as he mentions the isle is too small for her needs.

    “It’s certainly feeling rather tight with all of your ego’s here, now isn’t it? I think we’ll find, however, that there’s more than enough room once you leave.”

    It isn’t diplomatic, but she can’t help herself from flashing her teeth at least once. They aren’t here for discussion, and that much is made obvious by the way they keep presuming to know her agenda when they haven’t stopped bickering amongst themselves long enough to hear it in full.

    “He doesn’t speak for me, and contrary to his highly emotional outburst...” and here she gestures to Oxytocin, gambling that he will be willing to forgive and understand why she is making a sacrificial lamb of him now, in the name of their cause.

    “What I’m proposing isn’t unconventional, but I understand that logic can sometimes allude us. Let me explain this to you. The sick are free to wander the entirety of Beqanna. Every other safeland is allowing them entry. They will not be turned out without safety, despite the fact that we know nothing about this illness — not how it presents, not how it transmits, not it’s incubation period. If we allow the sick on this isle for any longer than they have already been here we are putting all of our eggs in a single basket. What I am proposing is an experiment of sorts — a backup plan, if you will, should the worst happen.”

    It takes everything inside of her not to wriggle with delight at her own cleverness.
    More come still as she is speaking, and if only she could trade places with them now — admire her handiwork from a different view.

    “I think,” she says, turning her cheek to look across her shoulders at her comrades, slowly, first to the right and then the left. She meets their eyes, one-by-one, and when she is finished she squares her shoulders and looks up at Leilan again from under the curl of her dark eyelashes. If she could purr aloud in this moment she would, switch her tail back and forth with blatant satisfaction; a spoiled house cat with a saucer of milk.

    “That despite your best efforts it’s become quite clear that we have no intentions of leaving.”

    “Who will have mercy on your soul. Monsters.”
    She smiles, a cruel twist of her pretty mouth, remembering the sound of those eight words.

    Are they monsters? Or are they just the ones who are able to do what the others are afraid of? The ones who will carry the weight of this choice like the world on their shoulders, like Atlas, so that the rest of them can say that they would never dream of reaching such conclusions — the scapegoats.

    They’ll call them cowards while never having harboured the courage to protect themselves in the first place.

    “We will not kneel to you, not when you can’t guarantee safety, and not when you have no plan. How about this? I’m feeling somewhat generous tonight, so I’ll let you have the northern end of the kingdom since you’re so enthralled with this — how did you put it, now? — oh right, this ‘fucking ice cube’. I suspect the cold might do your hot temper some good. If not, I agree, the red would look beautiful across the ice.”

    “Unless you have a better idea?”

    They might agree.
    Every now and then the world decides to flirt with genocide, and she has already been so lucky today.


    phasus



    *I apologize for the novel.
    *Phasus is using her power augmentation to brace Bruise’s fear induction and magnify it to make it stronger than it was previously. 
    *I’m using names in this post, even though realistically she will only know Oxy’s, simply because this is a gong show and I am not describing every one by colour. 
    *Now what? :|
    Reply
    #17
    hold me in this wild, wild world
    'cause in your warmth I forget how cold it can be
    He was going to return first to Nerine, rather than the new island, because the lands the fae has brought back were supposed to be safe; Breckin had sent some of her people to Icicle Isle, and though she was concerned about the weather, she hadn’t seemed concerned about the land itself. However, even as he starts to reach for the feeling of the familiar coast and cliffs of Nerine, something else tugs at the edges of his consciousness – perhaps it is the emotions running high in Leilan, someone he still half keeps tabs on, because the boy hasn’t been away from Ischia for long, and Brennen still feels some sort of loyalty and protectiveness towards him (he’s also the son of his longtime friend and new lover, complicating matters further). Perhaps it’s the cold and the ice – it feels much like the Tundra, to his heightened senses.


    Whatever it is, it redirects him mid-teleport, and though this is one thing he has practiced extensively and he usually makes no makes, he stumbles for just the briefest hair of a second on landing; so brief probably none of them saw, but enough to make him blink in surprise as he straightens and takes in the very combative group arrayed across the wintery landscape. Some familiar faces, many strangers; Brennen steps forward to stand beside Leilan, his dark wings folded tightly against his sides. He’s never been much to look at, on the surface, but in this case he hopes his reputation proceeds him. It would be tedious, to have to waste time proving his abilities – as a magician, or as a warrior.


    Brennen doesn’t have to make eye contact with Leilan, trusting that his solid stance beside the roan conveys his own intentions. He does lift his eyes across the group to attempt to make eye contact with Castile; he remembers the dragon man from the Alliance, and has no wish to add something with that volatility to the current situation. Perhaps a steady gaze, a calm gaze, will help him manage his monsters. Perhaps not. The more pressing issue is the magic he can feel in the air, the fear swirling around them. He can feel that it is not their own – it is from without, pushing in. Brennen frowns briefly, and then reaches out to the water surrounding the island for the power to shield the friendlies.


    Envisioning it as bubbles surrounding them, he first reaches for Leilan beside him, and Castile across the way. Then, a few breaths later, he adds Heartfire (recognizing her as a relation of Leilan’s) and the baby. Almost as an afterthought, he reaches for Dovev, an unknown but not overtly antagonistic. He’s unpracticed in this, and it might be a stretch of his raw magic without practice to guide him, but he believes he can shield them from outside influence. “Only an idiot would share half an island with a group of hostile invaders.” He says into the silence that follows the mare’s suggestion. “Furthermore, Nerine doesn’t share. I believe first claim to this land was made by another, and backed up by Nerine. I’d suggest you find your…misguided safe place elsewhere.” By now they must all feel it – there is so much magic in the air here, but they are limited in a way he simply isn’t. And grand, violent destruction would be so much easier than this careful magic he is trying to do now. Almost a relief. “Anyway, if you paid half so much attention to the fae as you did to your own powerhungry bigotry, you’d know nobody can catch the plague here. Not even if the infected choose to seek haven here.”


    Which is good, really, since he is one of the infected. He shows no symptoms yet, it’s too early, but hopefully he will realize before he tries to go to Nerine, where the people are not safe.
    hold me in this wild, wild world
    and in your heat I feel how cold it can get
    BRENNEN


    *Bren is using his magic to try and protect Leilan, Castile, Heartfire, Briella, and Dovev from any malicious magics including the fear induction
    Reply
    #18
    (just a head’s up that @Leilan wouldn’t know Oxy’s recovering from Pangea as he only said that before Leilan showed up ;])





    He quells under Phasus’s icy gaze, but the fire still churns white-hot in his gut.

    She calls him Oxy, something those closest to him had never dared, but somehow, he gets it. The nickname is a gesture of familiarity, something to cement that fact that the three of them are in this together and not just strangers driven together by the fact that they have the same goals. The others won’t realize this, of course; they had just intruded upon a small group staking their claims. For all the others know, they have been companions since birth.  

    Heartfire’s indirect challenge forces his dark gaze to land on her, but instead of responding he only narrows his eyes. Phasus has made herself into the ringleader—he will not speak now unless he absolutely must. He knows that Phasus is on his side, that she agrees with him; that is all he needs to be assured of. The first boy, the scaled one, tell him to make good on his threat and Oxytocin does just that—anything edible within the circle of horses begins to crumble as he catches Leilan’s gaze, expression unmoving. It is not a bluff; being immortal, the black stallion requires no sustenance to live on.  

    If Bruise’s Fear tries to trickle its way down Oxytocin’s back, he doesn’t notice.
    There is nothing left for him to fear. They’re all dead anyways and he has never feared death.

    A girl joins them next, and the man cannot help but to curl his lip in disgust as he takes in her bloody nose and feverish appearance despite the cold. No, he doesn’t fear them or the plague—they are simply impure and the impurity of their flesh disgusts him. Does that make him a monster? Fine. He can live with that diagnosis.

    Suddenly there is another in their midst and she laughs as she interrupts Leilan, trying to bait him into anger. He smirks at her words as she challenges the others that have gathered; she is right. They have no claim to this land just because they were neighbors on the rocky shore and were here first, or second, or last. In a world where disease runs rampant, only the strong are going to survive—and you can’t be strong if you are knocked down by a plague. If they want a safe haven for the ill, they can go back to a land where the plague runs rampant already, or they can fuck off to hell for all he cares.

    He hardly notices the stallion that comes to collect the plague-ridden mare and foal, but it is impossible to not notice the threatening chuckle that comes from a newcomer, standing between Phasus and Rey. Oh, how the resistance grows. He does not know this newcomer—he doesn’t think that any of them do—but there is a darkness in him, a darkness that Oxytocin is glad to have on their side and he grins without humor as the conversation starts back up again.

    He listens as Phasus weaves her web, a convincing narrative that they will find hard to deny. What if the fairies fail? What if the plague beleaguers even the supposedly safe lands? Gods know the fairies have failed in their promises and protection before. She is spinning a story in their minds that will lay the first seeds of doubt.

    Yet another wings their way onto the Isle, dropping to the snow next to the roan dragon-child. “You’re right,” he says in agreeance to the winged magician, finally finding his voice again. He looks to Phasus, but he has nothing inflammatory to add this time, so hopefully she will be content. He is not angry with her for using him as her scapegoat—it was clever, he has to admit, and cleverness was never his strong suit. Just brutal force. “We would be idiots to share our island with a group of hostiles.”

    He turns his dark gaze back to the group assembled before them. They may think themselves the stronger here, but to Oxytocin it seems fairly evenly matched if it does come down to a battle. Luck might even reign on their side if the ill ones leave. “We came only to make a safe haven for the healthy and it was your friends who brought the hostility. We only want to be safe here, without the plague.” He speaks of the fairies and what they promised, and Oxytocin barks out a laugh, white tail flicking over his haunches.  

    “And you trust the fairies’ word? Against a plague brought upon us by a god? You truly are a fool, my boy.”

    OXYTOCIN

    I don't have my head on straight

    immune.
    Reply
    #19

    They don’t listen. Of course the don’t, more the fools they. Instead, they dig in their heels. She would have done the same, it’s true. But in games like these, it always comes down to who wields the most power. The time for negotiation has passed. It is clear they would not be swayed from their course, and Leilan and Castile only waste their breath.

    But Bruise, he does recognize her, and a poisonous smile stretches his lips. Her own gaze darkens dangerously, but he is not clever enough to notice. She can feel deft fingers tugging at old chords, plucking a tune that stirs not just fear, but rage. She stiffens, head jerking upright as murderous intent fills her blue gaze. He is seconds from death and he is too stupid to realize.

    Around her, the world begins to fall apart.

    She lashes out at him, gaze narrowing until the only thing that matters is erasing him from existence. He could run or die, she didn’t care. He would know what fear tasted of.

    Anything that was fool enough to stand in the wave of destruction she punches towards him would deserve what came to them. The only thing that draws sanity back into her consciousness is the arrival of Briella. She whips her head around towards the girl, her protective instincts instantly coming to the fore. As the dust settles, she steps closer to the child, leaning protectively over her as her eyes dare anyone to make a move.

    And… Dovev?

    She barely has time to think, her head beginning to swirl beneath the onslaught of presences. The fear tangles with delirium as words begin to wash over her. Then another, a magician, a small, still sane part of her thinks. And as the fear lessens, that incredible fury rises to take its place. They would come here, to her land, make threats upon her people. It is untenable. They could all die, for all she cared.

    She had warned them, hadn’t she?

    Blood trickles from her nose, dripping onto the ground. Staining the snow red. They had said it would look pretty in red. They could see it painted in the color if that was their wish. And she thinks that must be their wish.

    She had warned them, after all. She does not give warnings twice.

    Perhaps it is the delirium or the rage, or some combination thereof, but even Brennen’s calming influence cannot soothe the inferno they had unwittingly stoked. Briella is here, and she must protect her at all costs. With a growl, she steps forward, eyes alight with the anger and the fevered delirium bubbling to the surface, fueling the inevitable explosion.

    And their words of intolerance are the match that lights the flame.

    Leave or die.

    It is with an almost concussive force that the power escapes her, draining every ounce of her reserves along with it. The snow and ice and earth around them shatters into dust, bringing with it anyone fool enough to stand in its way. Perhaps, if he hadn’t stoked the fear in her breast, it might have been different. Perhaps, if the sickness hadn’t stroked fingers of delirium across her consciousness, it might have been different. But it hadn’t.

    As the dust billows around her, she nearly falls to her knees. A cough wracks her too thin frame, and she tries to piece together her thoughts through the chaos. Dovev had been here. Briella.

    Briella.

    She turns and stumbles. She had to find her. Dovev had tried to extract her from the chaos. Hadn’t he demanded she come? She couldn’t remember. She stumbles forward, nearly falls. Forces herself to continue, leaving the rubble and chaos behind her. Let them sort it, what did it matter? They were dead, weren’t they? Did it matter?

    “Briella,” she whispers, the hoarse sound stirring the rattle in her chest, sending her into another fit of cough. Blood spatters the ground before her.

    Paint it red, they said. She had.

    i see your sins
    and i want to set them free

    Reply
    #20

    Rey

    Something about the chaos seems so beautiful to me. I’ve barely thrown my weight into the middle of things, only offered a few (true) statements which seem to irk more than a couple Nerinians. Just a small dose, merely a fraction of the distaste I have for those who claim they fight in the names of “justice” or “righteousness”. A drop in the ocean, but it happens to be the drop which causes a flood.

    An infected thing enters and coddles a nearly grown foal as if she were his lover (I’m disgusted even more with these so-called northerners) barking out for the blue roan female to follow in his wake. She promptly ignores him, leaving just cause for the others to pipe up and enough time for a shadow creature to make himself known. I’m feverish with excitement that our small gathering seems to upset the Leviathans, my dark hooves hardly able to remain in one place as I dance eagerly beside the great horned stallion, Bruise, when a thrill of fear begins to grip me in its palm.

    God it’s been … how long has it been since I’ve felt anything?

    I suppose I should scream - it’s what I feel like doing when a lame magician arrives to strong-arm us - but instead I feel nearly elated at the choking power of terror. I’m a sick, twisted thing now that Carnage is done with me (marked and yet, better) so the sensation that takes me right back to those hours spent in sunken Pangea is one I’m beginning to cherish. I actually enjoy that heart-pounding, trembling sort of anxiety. “Curse Nerine! I wail, “The southern lands would never… !” and that seems to do the trick.

    One of their own and not ours finally breaks.

    It’s the roan mare with death in her eyes. She clips my whiskers and trims one hoof I throw out in defense before instinct gives control to my gift, reeling me away in a dizzying teleport.

    When I settle again the brittle refuse of Sylva’s canopy, thousands of fiery leaves, stir around all four of my planted hooves and I find that I’m huffing, snorting in disgusted angst. I know two things for certain: that magicians were a crutch and altogether terrible, and that I wanted - no, needed - to feel that delectable taste of horror again.

    Wanna step to me better think twice, 'cause I look pretty but I ain't that nice



    Today on: who’s turn is it anyways? Rey leaves.
    Immune to The Plague
    Helped raise Pangea
    Reply




    Users browsing this thread: 2 Guest(s)