"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
11-06-2018, 07:59 PM (This post was last modified: 11-06-2018, 08:08 PM by Set.)
"Don’t you ever tame your demons; but always keep them on a leash. "
It had not been his intention, to make his move so near the hour of his return.
The Plague. A contagion seeping across kingdom and commonland alike, the dark promises of some ancient pestilence. It had spurred him from his (relatively) indolent existence to put together the foundation of his plan, but it is Niklas’ actions that have urged him to motion. His self-serving son had gone to the north, no doubt attracted to the ice-capped isle for its near-perpetual darkness. A link, like a drawn out strand of spider’s silk, keeps the piebald mage constantly cognizant of the demon’s comings and goings. It is down this tensile length that Set senses the emotional tremors – the kingdom in the north facing off against the wicked resistance on a newly – to most of them, at least – raised isle. Brennen – his gold-colored eyes roll with slavering anticipation when the bay magician inserts himself into the anxious gathering – and Phasus are the only ones that he recognizes through the void of Niklas’ eyes.
He groans in anticipation, low and trembling, locking his jaw together and drawing on one of his oldest magicks. It is through the bodies of strangers that he teleports, undiscerning in species as he skips northward from one soul to another, only careful to avoid the infected. Through the dense Forest – a tail unfurled for balance as he leaps from one tree to another, the hough-hough of a badger fortifying her den, the wild heartbeat of a small mouse running for it’s life. Rolling hills and another forest pass beneath him in a blur before he plunges into the frigid waters surrounding the island. The waters are thick with silence. He can hear only the sound of his own breath as he twists and churns around the ice floes, leaving the seal’s body for the orca’s just as predator snatches prey.
Warm blood reddens the water before quickly coagulating in grotesque ropes around his head. An explosion rocks the waters above him – the top has blown off the quarreling crowd, he suspects – and the black and white whale he possesses turns back toward open water. With the ease of an acrobat slipping from one bar to another, Set leaves the sea for his son’s body. He is normally loath to possess Niklas – he’s never encountered a mind as dark as he and Ana’s creation – but it is a temporary necessity and it’s through his eyes that he surveys the incident. Someone (he does not expend the energy to find out) has disintegrated a small swathe of the island’s shore. Niklas had exhaled a wall of darkness, the thickly layered, armored sort, but had not bothered to remain tangible long enough to see if his defense had protected anyone. He had sunk back into the shadows. It is here Set finds him, surveying the damage, though the dust is still too thick to see much of anything. Rather than materializing himself, the mage grasps ahold of his son’s essence and drags the darkness along with him.
The lemmings are waiting there, milling aimlessly about the icy shore of the pond near the center of the island. Niklas, uninterested in leaving his shadow form just yet, drifts off into the thick willows. Set watches him go – not far, just there – and then turns his attention to the arctic rodents. A genuine smile softens his mouth as he tasks them. Chirruping excitedly, they set off to find their charges at land speeds rivaling a cheetah’s.
The lemmings will attempt to find each of Icicle Isles claimants – Camomila, Leilan, Phasus, any other with an official claim – and deliver their cheeky message. “Our Friend would like to discuss your claims on his land,” they’ll say, in a common tongue. "By the pond, near the willows," they will quip after your pause of hesitation, and when you look into their dark little eyes, you may feel strongly the importance of your attendance, perhaps if only to satisfy your curiosities. Or suspicions. Stretched out behind them is a path that will lead you back to where you will find him, should you choose to follow.
SET
alliance champion, once king, mage
ooc - I kept trying to stick him in the other thread and so I wasn't sure where to go with this, but, Set wants to play -shrugs-
A sick thought can devour the body's flesh more than fever or consumption.
Patience is a virtue, or so the saying goes.
Phasus, however, is wrought with iniquities and so it is of no surprise to know that her patience is really rather limited in supply. Out there across the ice a nerve had been struck in her, and she can still feel it as it oscillates through every atom of every molecule that she is made of. The explosion had been a culmination of uncalculated weakness; wildly childish, and even by her own standards.
Regardless, it had left her reeling.
She had been close to its epicentre, shrouded by smoke and falling debris when the darkness had wrapped her close again and cradled her. Rock and ice flew towards her in shards but were met with resistance in the form of thick veil of shadow that seemed to stop them in their tracks. Cocooned in shadow, she had not hesitated in making a hasty retreat. After all, a mission in the name of self-preservation is hardly won if, instead of sickness, you’re removed by other methods, now is it?
Now, on her back and hips is the faint smattering of island that coats her skin like ash. She can shake it loose with the switch of her hips, but decides against it — like it is, in itself, a trophy earned by her survival this far. For a moment then, she wonders about her comrades. She doesn’t know if they’ve survived the blast, or the events transpired immediately after it, but she takes a moment to mourn them all the same.
More so, perhaps, because it means she has more seats to fill if she is to see her newly found vision to fruition.
She is wearing the detritus like a medal as she stews, contemplating a violent retaliation when the lemmings reveal their cheeky message. There is never any doubt that she will obey the beckon, not when curiosity eats her alive like a plague from the inside out, but the paths they highlight are a welcome gift. How convenient, she muses, pleased to pieces when the alternative is a jaunty hike through the snow. Phasus has never been one to look a gift horse in the mouth.
So she goes, and when she sees him at last beneath the leafy veils of a weeping willow a slow smile curls across her mouth.
Of course she had known he would be something to behold. The lemmings alone had given her every indication, mewling up at her with wide, witless eyes. She doesn’t expect it to radiate off his flesh though, like waves of heat out into the atmosphere — like there is so much of it that if he chose to contain it all his skin might rip just apart at the seams.
Oh, the things that she could do with him.
To him, even.
Though her eyes are hungry, though they drink down every inch of him as though he is red wine, and she, a lush, she stills remembers why she has come. She draws her body parallel to his, and she draws it close - closer still, until the pointed-bone tips of her wings threaten to graze against his mottled flank. Until she feels the heat radiate off his skin, and with it — magic. She reaches inside herself to tangle her own magic with his to see if she can see it pulse and tremble under the weight of its own might.
“Will you be joining us in the ring, then?” She asks as she drops anchor, a kittenish expression on her ever-so-slightly dished face as she simpers.
11-07-2018, 04:38 AM (This post was last modified: 11-07-2018, 02:51 PM by Leilan.)
Leilan
Glaciers melting in the dead of night and the superstars sucked into the supermassive
Life, especially for those that live forever, was never meant to be overly serious. And that’s how he lived, how he copes; not take everything too seriously. Because it will hurt if you do.
Hurt, however is exactly his state of mind, and it’s been like that for longer than this plague. Perhaps that’s why he lashed out a little at the prospect of a third claimer, who had this air about her that he didn’t quite like. And when she threatened to throw out all the sick horses, that meant his family (Heartfire, her husband, her adoptive daughter and the unborn child she carried), and -gods forbid it happened- if Breckin got sick then she would not be allowed to come here to give birth to their child and prevent the sickness to spread in the newborn.
Of course that got him upset.
Everybody needed a safe place to go to, and this one was the closest to Nerine - for most Nerinians the only place they could reasonably turn to. Those who would refuse them, or even just one of them, met with his teeth, end of story. He had a whole kingdom to back him up. Yet, four horses decided that this must be the island to wreck havoc on. The one closest to Nerine. The one closest to the kingdom that, with the combined forces of Krakens and Leviathans, would fight them. This meant war.
He doesn’t want a war, but it starts to look like they do.
He’s not the type to back out now. Not when his friends and family’s safety are compromised.
He’s a stubborn idiot after all - better live up to that name.
So when the lemmings find him, with their message of a fourth claimer, he rolls his eyes. But takes a deep breath, following the path anyway. Perhaps this one can be reasoned with like Camomila. He would have been happy with co-ruling (in fact, might have left her to it if she proved to be worth it, some time).
But more than two - it is too many, especially if one of them wants to kick out some of their supposed-subjects.
He’s silent when he arrives, because Phasus asks the question already. Perhaps Camomila has a more peaceful solution than he (or Heartfire). He’s willing to die over and over again to keep this claim standing, until he gets voted out by his own, but he wants to know what Number Four is like. A deal is better than war, but if it’s war they want then they will get it. Nerine needs this place as an extension of their kingdom or aa a free-for-all, leaderless herdland, to keep their loved ones safe. It’s really that simple. Nerine can’t very well ask anyone, magician or healer, to constantly heal their subjects after all.
you set my soul alight
HTML by Vanilla Custard
@[Camomila]
OOC note.
I had put up a lot of explanation here (you can message me if you still want to read it) but I’m just gonna leave it as this proposal; I was hoping we could just do an IC voting instead of continue ‘bickering’ IC? Because that’s going to be repetitive I think?
Two things I know I can make: pretty kids, and people mad.
11-09-2018, 05:06 AM (This post was last modified: 11-09-2018, 09:07 AM by Set.)
"Strange things did happen here ..."
He rests while he waits for them.
The sun is only just beginning its faithful ascent into the welcome arms of day. It starts as a faint glow on the horizon, staining the low-slung clouds a dull gray, several shades lighter than the gray-brown of the glacial waters surrounding the island. The light though, weak as it is, is turned back at the forest behind him, rolling upward and spreading out in its search for a weakness in the wall of shadows Niklas projects. It won’t find one. The demon thrives in the darkness.
Throughout Set’s long life (though it is considerably shorter than some others who have returned to Beqanna), he has encountered many who deign to postulate on the subject of good versus evil. Such terms – distinctions – mean little to Set. He has always done what is in his best interest. Is it evil to take what he wants? To satisfy himself, even if it causes another's suffering? An old friend once told him that it was simply an appropriate response to a harsh and unfair world. Nothing more, nothing less.
Set’s ears, one white, the other black, twist back and then forward again. The wind has died down, the lemmings gone back about their lemming business, and it is the light footsteps of the black mare with bone-tipped wings that his gaze swings to first.
Phasus. There may have been a time that they had crossed paths, in the past. Clearly, though, it had not been a memorable encounter. Yellow eyes trace the swing of hip, the riveting conviction with which she carries herself. He certainly won’t forget her now. Rather than stopping in front of him, as strangers are wont to do, she slips ever closer, seemingly undaunted by the power vibrating beneath his skin. He inhales slowly, supping on her unique perfume – power, intellect, calculated recklessness. Infection’s daughter; but he might forgive her that. A sudden smile, devilish in natures, splits his mouth at the same moment that his eyes roll up to meet hers. Her magic tangles with his like a hungry lover and his body thrums with the high of it, eliciting a short, low groan from his throat. He was going to enjoy her.
Interrupting them – he says nothing, only invades (of course, Set asked him here but those are details he can’t be bothered with) their space, drawing the piebald’s head around. Leilan.
The barest of scowls traces his brow, smoothed by laughter a moment later when Niklas huffs from his place in the shadows and a choking cloud of black, yellow-eyed gnats plagues the air around Leilan’s head. They seek the soft parts with their sharp little teeth, likely a slightly painful annoyance more than anything. Clouds of darkness roll out from underneath the knotted willows an alders, the physical manifestation of Niklas' merriment. Set has yet to form a full opinion on the silver and gold-marked stallion. Obnoxious is a word that comes to mind as he sifts through Niklas’ memories of the encounter by the shore. Fierce, hypocritical, resilient, impulsive; some qualities the mage might admire, were Leilan not so tiresomely insistent upon standing in the way of Set’s claim on the island. The mini-plague of gnats melds back into the shadows from whence they had come as the last of them, Camomila, arrives.
She is young, a stranger to Beqanna, once a Queen, her throne and magic forcefully taken; by someone close to her, he thinks. Information gleaned from his Friends is at times left to his interpretation. The striking filly had made an agreement with Leilan that Set has little intention of upholding. Once she’s settled, he addresses them, the lines of his face cast in a boyish role, a sharp contrast to the steel in his voice.
“Phasus,” he turns back to her with a winsome smile, “you will lead alongside me, this free, plague-less island.” He does not search her mind and thus is unaware of her truth – her plans to make Infection’s name known, once again – but in her he recognizes a kindred spirit, a creature unafraid to seize her wants, fixed on keeping the sickness at bay. His weight shifts from one side to the other, scarred skin brushing against her macabre wings. He suspects she is not one to roll over and take orders, this self-assured mare, and it is a singular louse who breathes in her ear with Set’s voice, undetectable to any but she. Patience …
“Leilan will renounce his claim on my island .” An unyielding stare clashes with the baroque mutt’s, though the smile never leaves his mouth. “In exchange for your cooperation, I will heal any agreeable Nerinean who comes to our shore.”. He yawns before shifting another puzzle piece into place. “Camomila. You want to earn back what was stolen from you.” The fact that he is privy to this information should be enough to demonstrate the power that lies within him. Power that he had fought for - bled for. It is easy enough for him to admire the adamancy that the sweat of her brow, rather than contents of her blood, will restore her to her former self. “I can help you with that. And then some. This island’s boundaries do not end at its shores.” Though cold and treacherous, the ocean surrounding Icicle Isle is teeming with life; the strongest sort of life, thriving in one of nature’s coldest extremes.
His attention turns back to Leilan, his expression gone contemplative. “Nerine does not need a subkingdom.” He had heard one of them say that, somewhere. Some time. A mental shrug. “Icicle Isle will be an independent, free state. I have no interest in posing a threat to the kingdoms across it’s waters,”. His gold-colored eyes go bright then, ears flicking forward in his eagerness as his neck draws up, the scars on his shoulders rippling with the motion. "Ah, yes." He's suddenly remembered something. "I am Set."
SET
alliance champion, once king, mage
ooc - can we please see where this thread goes before making any final decisions? get in some character development ^^
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
”Comical,” he snaps as his mismatched eyes dance among the faces, eventually falling on Set, ”Real comical.” The process has been drawn out too long, far too long. An opportunity to fight arose, but the group prefers a diplomatic approach to settle the dispute, it seems. Unfortunately, it therefore prolongs this as no party backs down. ”It’s truly hilarious how you appear out of nowhere, um, Set, you said? And you are the fourth one to try claiming the island, but assume that makes you priority?” Castile’s wings shuffle against his sides as a humored snort is expelled into the frosty air. Although a great part of him finds the situation more than it’s worth, Castile is stubborn. His pride refuses to cower and submit, his family providing waves of strength each time he is tempted to abandon the annoyances and seek solitude in a quieter land. This place of unrest remains unfit for his children and Sabra.
Yet the group humors all those who have secondary claims – irrelevant ones – that spur the continuation of this heated nonsense. They remain rooted here, adding more fuel to the fire when the easiest thing to do would be to drown it.
”An agreement has already been made with Camomila and the Nerinians – the first and second claims on this island, aka the priorities,” the increasing agitation is stemmed by the situation more than the individuals sprouting across their numbers with endless banter and opposition. His muscles coil, snake-like, underneath his taut skin while his gaze drifts among them heatedly. ”And I’ll be damned if I believe you would leave Nerine alone after you’ve already approached us like this,” the evidence is against Set in his offer, and yet he continues to try, desperate to cloak their eyes and smother their better judgment with deceit and false claims. Unyielding, Castile slowly shakes his head, his eyes aflame. ”You offer a lot for someone who has nothing.” The land is littered with prizes, he implies, should he be accepted here with no qualm. A silly man Set seems to be.
With an exasperated sigh and a sideways glance to those favoring Nerine, a final shrug ripples through his shoulders. ”The first two claims refuse to stand down, making the subsequent two null and void and pointless.” With a raise of his chin, he adds with finality, ”Have a nice day somewhere else.”
A sick thought can devour the body's flesh more than fever or consumption.
No, she doesn’t remember him.
Though likely it is of little fault of her own. Infection had required a devoted instrument for His own occasional application rather than a daughter. Phasus, obligingly (devout servant that she is), had become all that was ever asked of her — a wicked, pretty thing that would remember Him above all else. There are memories, certainly, that she keeps close. She collects them like dust-covered albums in an attic, though the songs will always be the same. He is still the sun, and she a planet in dutiful rotation, governed by gravity itself to obey this endless cycle.
Time doesn’t change it.
Even now, without Him here to whisper against her pretty ears and the heat of a magician so close against her own skin that she can feel his warmth seep down through her flesh and ignite her, she is remembering Him. Perhaps the way that their magic tangles together now in such a complementary way is reminder enough.
(Like that day at the beach, when father and daughter had tangled together to crumble an angel’s magic like it was nothing, only ashes.)
Veiled behind a set of dark eyes that smolder she is drawing comparisons between them. After a moment, and when her head tilts gently to look at him aslant, she has come up with few and subtle differences (if she only knew). Already she teeters the line, capable of falling into old habits and finding her place at his left flank. Isn’t this what she has always wanted? Here she is crumbling under the weight of his potential, her eyes taking beyond their fill and still left unsatiated. Of course he is going to enjoy her. Let him exploit her. Let him use her up until there is nothing left.
This is what she has been made for.
She should be so lucky.
He comes to them, then, just as she is ready to buckle, the one with gold and silver in his hair that reeks of self-satisfaction in the name of a kingdom and its queen. And there it is again, that familiar tingle of a singular nerve as it rocks her bones like waves against a dinghy at sea. From nowhere gnats are forming a dark cloud around his head, and oh, how she’d like to feed them but decides against it when she realizes she’s not yet ready to untangle herself from the piebald stranger standing parallel to her, at least not for such small, petty pleasures. Instead she leaves her magic to mingle, inwardly still writhing at the notion of its strength, and it is begrudgingly at best that she then steps sideways from the magician lest someone notice the gravity between them and assume it collusion rather than a sick, raw attraction.
Rather than a festering compulsion, bred into her like depravity.
She looks away from them then, both of them, and it isn’t until she does so that she notices the familiar shape in the shadows wielding the gnats. It’s the same shadow that had enveloped her before the explosion, and so she casts a warm, half-lidded gaze towards it though she says nothing.
And she is still observing shadows, trying and failing when it comes to identifying the being enveloped by them, when Camomila slips in among the crowd. A small huff from her chest confesses her defeat with her task on her behalf and she looks forwards again, directing a feigned but gentle smile at the newest arrival to assure her that there are no hard feelings regarding her gently refused deal. Perhaps there are, but while it may have delighted her to have a kingdom fall into her lap so easily, she can hardly begrudge her refusal to lay down and quit until the world is safe. When is it ever safe?
“Phasus,” the magician says to her then, with a smile that reminds her of cities lain to waste. She doesn’t question how he’s come to know her name — perhaps he’s used his magic, perhaps she’s told him already while their skin was almost touching and she was drinking in his power, forgetting herself. It doesn’t matter anyways.
“You will lead alongside me, this free, plague-less island.”
And there, at the end of his breath, a single word makes its home at the crook of her ear. ‘Patience,’ it breathes, not knowing that she is already beside him — that he is exactly the shark she has been waiting for. She wants to curl against him, a display of her loyalty but also her own greed manifested into something physical, but it isn’t time. She hasn’t come this far to forget her tact now.
He asks that Leilan (ah, a name at last) renounce his claim in exchange for an offer that would surely expose himself to refuse. To Camomila he divulges an opportunity as well, though Phasus is not privy to exactly what shape that will take. She doesn’t know that she cares either way, now that her passions are channeled elsewhere.
“Ah, yes. I am Set.”
The fourth comes then, just as he had the first time, and her body is humming again. He is as incendiary now as he was only hours ago, lighting flames where fire is not needed. It is likely that he is still reeling from their previous aggressions, and she cannot fault him for it, not when she still feels those fuses lit herself. She meets his eyes for only a moment, and then turns her focus to Leilan.
“Leilan,” she says then, tasting the sound of it as last. She draws the syllables out a fraction longer than she should. “Perhaps it would make sense to dismiss your companion at this time so we can have a rational discussion. This doesn’t need to concern our friends, at least not while we are just exploring options.”
There is nothing inflammatory about the way she says it, no sweetened version that drips with honey and poison in equal measures.
Let him see what a clever, pretty, patient thing she can be.
“Set, your proposal is agreeable to me. Perhaps it would soothe Nerine to know that I am not left to my own devices given how much they seem to mistrust my intentions.”
‘Patience.’
The sound of it makes her skin prickle with delight.
so give me hope in the darkness that I will see the light 'cause oh that gave me such a fright
He’d gone, briefly, back to Nerine to check in with those who’d stayed at home. But when he’d left Ischia, he’d rewoven his mental ‘net’ around Nerine and Icicle Isle, and the presence of the new power source had not gone unnoticed. Nor could it go uninvestigated. As soon as he can be spared from Nerine, he takes himself back to Icicle Isle – this time by the sky, joyfully stretching his wings. It seems a relatively tame meeting so far, and he can always zap himself from the air to the group if that changes. Otherwise, the simple pleasure he gets from flying the short distance from the cliffs of his new home to the island are completely worth it.
Still, he doesn’t want to arrive and know nothing of the situation, so he reaches into the water and then out, to listen from afar. When he arrives is a soft shuffle of dark feathers and graceful legs, it is between Castile and Leilan, facing off against the font of the power that had alarmed him. Brennen can feel the tenseness of the pied stallion at his one side, but at least he’s not the one who exploded every-fucking-thing the last time they all spoke. Castile is a formidable opponent and one he will be glad to have at his side if this comes to violence, but he has more self-control than the mare had. His amber eyes are considering, his head tilted, and his voice when he speaks is matter-of-fact. He honestly mostly ignores Phasus, choosing instead to take in the measure of the newcomer, but his first words are to the mare who tries to get Leilan alone. “He’s not that stupid. And even if he was,” he pauses to glance at Leilan, and his expression is briefly fond, the fact that he doesn’t think the boy is stupid momentarily clear in his bright eyes, “We’re not leaving him alone with a magician and a power augmenter. Family, kingdom loyalty, the whole shebang.”
With a shuffle of his wings, the equivalent of a careless shrug, he turns to Set and another overheard snippet of information to address. “Nerine doesn’t need you to heal anyone. We have healers of our own. Nor do we need your empty promises of peace – the declaration that only one land in an area will be a Kingdom is clear, and it will be Nerine. I don’t trust you to maintain this land as a mere herd, either of you, and thus you are a threat to us. You may defer to Leilan and Camomila as co-rulers of this Island, you may leave, or you can fight us to claim the island.”
His gaze slides sideways to meet Castile’s, and the understanding he can find in the dragon’s eyes when they meet makes his expression when he turns back to Set and Phasus slightly feral. Though there are certainly those amongst the people who call Nerine home who would rather this not end in bloodshed, the mage and the dragon have come to understand that it might be the only way forward. There’s a part of Brennen, a large part, that doesn’t even find that fact all that unfortunate; a part of him that has been restrained since the Alliance and would welcome a return to the plains of battle.
The last piece of the puzzle is Caw, and when he looks to her, his eyes are softer. He can’t help himself. “We’ll endeavor to make the process short,” he says in a gravelly drawl. “But it is the future and safety of our own loved ones and children at risk in the deal, so it must be done with gravitas and not overmuch rushed. Still, I apologize for disturbing your young ones. I’d be happy to shield them, if you’d like, from the noise and the poor vibes we are creating.”
but I will hold as long as you like just promise me we'll be alright
Glaciers melting in the dead of night and the superstars sucked into the supermassive
He's silent for the most part, thinking he doesn't have to open his mouth for them to understand that what is being proposed is total bull, to him. Of course, Phasus would agree - in this proposal she gets to be queen consort, nearly as good as what she wanted, and most of all, with the option to kick out anyone she wants. He doubts this salt-and-pepper guy would intervene.
After all, a good swing of the hip and a nice-enough looking smile (for now) - well, he knows those tactics. Been there, done that, to be honest. Mares were easy enough in the figurative palm of his hand, should he want to; even Phasus most likely - she would prove a challenge, of course, having her eyes set on this bigger price, but if she thought she had something to gain from courting him instead, he has no doubts she would do it. He could probably make her believe it was her own plan, as a means to drive him away from Nerine.
So, he gives Phasus a crooked, knowing smile; looking at the way she clings to the newcomer, he doesn't have any illusions for her motives. He recognizes in her, what he was himself not long ago - not long enough to forget. She is fortunate, then, to have found someone willing to... indulge with her, one who is physically or mentally attracted to her in a way - one who can protect her from the Plague; and of course, it isn't enough for her.
Any more than this knowing gleam in his eyes to her, however, is void when he gets surrounded by a blackness of little insects near his face - forced to shut his mouth, pull back his ears, and shake his head in mild irritation until they go away. A diversion of sorts, only here to mess with him. As if such would change his mind. An look to the retreating darkness, somewhere between annoyance and amusement. Brought a pet, then. he thinks a moment; then, he straightens his face to listen to the stallion who'd called him here. Camomila appears too, though silently.
Set's ridiculous offer is then given, and with each word, there is less ice blue in his eyes and more dark grey. He scoffs softly at the word agreeable - probably none of the Nerinians will be allowed on the island, then. He's about to bluntly say 'no' and leave, for there seems to be no negotiating with this guy, not on starting terms like these - but Castile arrives, waylaying the reasons why Leilan would say no - something the dragon-mimicker wouldn't have bothered with, any more.
But the most important reason, hidden away somewhere, is that he never had been given anything, and has finally found something worth fighting for, and so he does, stubborn as he is. Holding on to what little ice he can claim as his, because he belongs here more than anyone currently present. Born to an Amazon queen, there were literally no options to do anything of sustenance in his birth kingdom, except find a female to attach to and be her slave until forever, perhaps sire some good Amazons like his father had (maybe they should have stopped after Ea) - so he'd left and, upon return, still a normal horse in all accounts, had taken every opportunity to prove himself to be worth more than that; whatever was cast down towards the Beqannians by a goddess, and later by the fairies.
Not something he'd let go off easily - just like this claim. He'd earned all of it, now was a chance to do something with it instead of just hang around with friends; a chance to develop himself personally - and these people would deny him that. Deny him the opportunity to grow, reject his offer to include them in the circle of people he'd do anything to keep safe. Their loss, then.
Refusal, rejection - things he would not stand for. Not any more. Too much trouble had come from letting go of something he wanted, years of ago - a period of sombering, attacking, mocking, chasing, challenging fairies. And to think that Phasus was feeding off this probably-powerful stallion, a position of fortune thrown into her lap so easily because she was 'looking interesting' - it was laughable to see someone claiming to be so neutral and powerful, succumb to her whims so quickly. Power in body, he might have alright - but hardly any, mentally, it seemed. Or if he had, he was pretty good at ignoring it anyway, for lust, and perhaps a faint idea of power. Which he would not get, not here, not now.
He's drawn back that here and now by Phasus asking him to 'dismiss' his friend. "Thanks to you, he's not mine to dismiss." He throws her a humoured look, before extending that to the dragon shifter as well, which in good understanding should mean that he wouldn't dismiss Castile even if he had that kind of power; his friend has his own opinions and can say whatever he wants. It is then that another woman arrives, highly irritated just by the fuss of all things, and his dark grey (near black) eyes lighten a little, much more navy blue, when he looks at her, when she tells about her upset children. She had arrived like Set - silently. But she held no interest in claiming the land, which was what he had expected of this Set figure as well, earlier on in the day. The problem now presenting itself was, that if Set hadn't claimed, by now things would have been settled. So, then - a reasonable request, in other circumstances - and he nods at her. Not saying he agrees with her, but that she will be considered. Has been heard. This didn't need to last long if he could help it.
That, in the end, is the only reason he doesn't walk away right now to call everybody to arms and fight these three no-gooders off the island. Tooth and nail, for all he cares.
But he can be patient, too, if the need arises.
He stares at the black-and-white with a considering look. What could he possibly gain from Phasus, besides the fact that she would not challenge his claim? Just her warm body? He doubts it would be warm for long. She'd probably find an opportunity to kick him out, or switch roles.
Camomila hasn't got much to say right now, but she doesn't really have to. She already dismissed Phasus' ideas earlier, and she doesn't need to reinstate that. Much like he himself doesn't have to reinstate the fact that he doesn't want Phasus as a neighbour in a million years.
The winged bay appears out of nowhere, like last time, right by his side. He'd be humoured by this in any other circumstance, probably would have said something about being attracted to bay roans (like his mother); but Brennen is here to subtly make clear that they are in fact, dealing with a magician and a power-augmenter. Ah. Funny business.
Whatever Leilan had needed to say to sound convincing to Set, or whatever argument he has for standing ground; it's already been waylaid by both Castile and Brennen, at this point, so he doesn't bother much with argumentation for his rebuttal.
"Here's my offer, then." He looks straight at the black-and-white for a moment. "It is you and Phasus who renounce your claims, because an alliance had already been made between the first two claimers by the time you arrived, and you seem unwilling to add to it but rather challenge it. This island wouldn't even need be a subkingdom, more of a herd-land would be fine." They had just assumed that's what it would be under his claim, and hadn't bothered to ask. Sure, he'd have preferred it to be loyal to Nerine, but independence was fine, too, as long as it would not be a challenge to the coastal kingdom - much like Taiga. "So I would not kick you off the island if you still wish to stay with your little herd,"though it is highly doubtful she'll want to stay anywhere near me, "but if you're looking for a little something to claim, to lead, be satisfied with a herd and hiding yourself away from whomever is sick on this island, or, I'm sure you could teleport yourself to any other of the safe lands which will likely not give you as much trouble as we will. Your name and your promises mean nothing to me. So far you have done everything opposite of what could make me trust you. And, since I don't trust you, there's no such thing as me renouncing my claim." Set has himself to blame for the latter. He could have sought Leilan out individually, explain his reasons, and perhaps he could have shared the land, let him in as a second, make this place being lead by a council of three - the roan is as thick-skulled as they come, yes, but also only pretending to be stupid (a ways of self-preservation, truth be told). That option was long gone, by now.
Because instead of working things out, Set now seems to cling to the first-best arrogant girl he can find, just because she has a little something of power enhancement. But the fact is that the two (maybe three, counting the black thing) are outnumbered at this point; surely the man isn't so arrogant that he thinks that she can augmentate his power so much that he would win a war against the now-combined Nerine?
you set my soul alight
HTML by Vanilla Custard
hey hey, look, we'll make a diplomat of him - someday. maybe. perhaps a tiny bit.
xD
Two things I know I can make: pretty kids, and people mad.
Again she spanned the water gap between Nerine and the Isle, thinking naively that there was an off chance that the second time around might prove to make it easier since she knew what to expect. But it didn't. Maybe under normal circumstances, her theory would have proven true, but the knowledge of pregnancy was lost to her, and she internally cursed the unrelenting exhaustion that seemed to accompany it.
She had begun to move further inland to search for the ones she recognized. Concern began to wriggle its way into her thoughts with the more ground she gained, wondering how she could've made it this far north without so much as passing someone. But her senses are assailed with voices and scents of familiarity when she takes another step into the frozen gale.
Thankfully, there are no explosions to inhibit her approach and she finds a place between Leilan and Brennen without objection. Her dark gaze sweeps towards those she knows first, meeting their eyes in a subtle acknowledgment before turning towards the pale green mare she could easily assume to be Camomila; to her, she offers the shadow of a faint smile before her fleeting stare moves towards the unknown black mare obviously not staking claim to either side, before falling towards the pair that so that apparently harbored Nerine's opposition.
The leopard mare hadn't heard the majority of the discussion, only what was issued by her Champion and Leilan, but with the knowledge of meetings, and others visions and memories, she is quick to fill in the small gaps. Brennen's kindness is admirable, laying the option of three choices before them. And Leilan's diplomatic approach is surprisingly beautiful. But it is her belief, in that present time, that only one of the three options Brenne offered would truly be beneficial to her people in the grander scheme of things.
"You should leave. There are other safe havens you might attempt to claim." the even tone of her voice passes through her lips on the rolling drift of white vapor. Her expression placid, she regards the duo in careful assessment. Normally she'd offer her name, but would it even matter at this point?
"None of Nerine's residents seem to be taking kindly to your motivations or your ideas and I'm hard-pressed to believe that any of them will be able to relax with your presence here, whether they live here directly or on the shores of our homeland. You simply being here would only serve to cause disruption now and foster greater chaos long-term. And I find it hard to believe you will be forever placated by living amongst us." She pauses briefly, to tilt her head thoughtfully while the press of her lips slope upward into a shallow smile. She can make no claim to the Island, as she already leads one herself but she offers her opinion nonetheless, unable to foresee there actually being any 'peace' should these people remain."And admittedly, I have an appreciation of peace and quiet."
The idea of bloodshed is not ideal in her opinion, but the length of time these debates were harboring had gone well beyond the line between acceptable and ridiculous. So perhaps that would be the only path to quicker resolve, should these strangers choose the like.
The ebony steed enjoyed his time as a canine while it lasted. As a new gift, Jesper had not yet mastered controlling it. He would, in due time; however, now dry and safely on land - a strange land - he thought it in his best interest to explore in the body he was born into. Aware that Leilan inhabited Icicle Isle, the stallion could not help but wonder if other familiar faces are here as well. Solid hooves navigate the icy, rocky terrain with a steady placement. Refined limbs execute an easy, strolling stride to carry stallion down the coast. Hock-kissed tucks itself between buttocks to avoid a draft sneaking in and full-length tresses cascade, from crest, down both sides of his muscled, arched nape. Aquamarine gaze looks out from beneath ebony forelock to search the landscape in front of him. At first, nothing really captures his attention and then, his sensitive olfactories pick up the fragrance of Leilan, and, that of the nameless, white fox, and, among others not yet known to him, his grandsire!
Jesper accelerates into a balanced canter and, swiftly approaches the gathered equines. His pace holds steady until he eyes a hole to the right of Brennen. He abruptly pivots and draws up into a halt. Nostrils flare as stallion recovers his breath, his exhaled warm whuffs like puffs of smoke from a dragon's nose. Lobes rotate frantically in an attempt to pick up what is being discussed. Quick on the uptake, Jesper could easily detect the tension against the roaning black mare and the mostly black tobiano (whom bore the same scent as the nameless white canine that came to his cave). Beside him stood Brennen, Breckin, and Leilan, confident, proud and resolute. On the far side, stood another tobiano stallion. Although, he did not know his name, Jesper recognized his body posture and alignment as an ally. Lastly, a sturdy, solid black mare stands to demand a solution to avoid disturbing her brood any further. The black desert-bred remains silent, studying the situation while holding his ground. He did not need to add more words to the mix. He would stand with his brothers and sisters now, just as before. Without a single word, Jesper lifts his poll and his gaze to indicate that his allegiance could not be budged from where he stood. The tension between both sides of the argument is enough to cause the ends of his tail to flick rhythmically left-to-right and back again. Jesper remains tense and alert, watching and waiting for someone to make the next move.
jesper
carnage x bethanie
devin's∇designs
I would like to apologize for whatever this is. Just wanted Jesper to pick his side.
Set
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Jesper