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    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


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    everybody praying for the end of time. [claim]
    #11
    "Are you, are you, coming to the tree?"
    She steps away from him and it is visceral, the loss of her heat; but her magic remains embraced with his own and his flesh quivers with the ecstasy of it -- and he knows she is with him.

    There is a fire that burns deep in the belly of the recalcitrant stallion who comes now. The invasion spurs him and without qualm, he violates Leilan’s mind with his presence; perhaps it is the dragon bits that let him in. He has found that though the vast majority of the population is equine, the horse has been the most draining mind to enter; mutts are much easier.

    He allows Castile – it’s a name that he rips from the animal’s mind with little caution – to go on, his expression unreadable save for the amusement that dances in the deep gold of his eyes. His head tilts, the dreads of his mane falling to one side. It is interesting to him, this vehemence with which the dragon-stallion comes at him. How he seems to know so much for one – he pokes at the magic that burns there in the other’s chest, tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth in a moment of exploration, careful not to get burned – whose power cannot hope to rival his own is beyond him. Of course, his images of the meeting before – the one that the little blue roan had destroyed – are tainted by Niklas’ interpretation of his recollections. Castile’s agitation increases, obstinacy rolling off of him in such thick waves that even the least-magical among them can surely sense it. How easily these Nerineans are pushed to exasperation.

    The arctic ocean’s creatures shift and murmur, discomfited by the font of power that brushes against their collective consciousness. Set lends their whispers only the briefest of acknowledgments, his characteristic arrogance self-confidence keeping him preoccupied with the task at hand.

    Finally, the shifter’s tirade has ended. A breath, cold air filling his lungs; an exhale, warmth turned to bits of ice in a moment. The dual-colored stallion knows a lot for someone who has only just met him. “You,” without turning his head, his gaze flicks lazily to Leilan, then around to the others,“and you. The lot of you Nerineans. A safe haven, you cry; for the mothers and our children, you claim.” His mouth twists with the irony of it and his tongue heavy with the sweet bitterness of their hypocrisy. “It was you, Castile, who was willing to shed blood first, and another of your own who did their best to disintegrate those who offered a differing opinion.” He swings his head, a quick jerk, deceptively nonchalant. “But it is my intentions you do not trust?” The raspy tones of his voice shed light on how absurd he finds this line of thinking but those amber yellow eyes dance in open amusement. They are smart not to trust him, a truth that makes their resistance no less annoying.

    Ignoring the interloper’s adieu, his gaze now fixates on the black mare who has slipped in among them. My name is Caw, like that annoying sound crows make, she had said. Someone once told me that crows are all liars, he had answered. He wonders if she has discovered such to be true in the time that has passed. She’s angry – she mentions children – but rather than placate her, he winks and flashes a winning grin at her (a gesture that has, in the past, been the shovel to his metaphorical grave). No doubt the opposition will be all too eager to soothe her with honey-sweet apologies. No need to join their ranks.

    Ah, Brennen. That would explain the earlier disturbance. As the winged bay settles in between the dragon boys, Set’s head draws up. His ears prick forward, his nostrils flare wide, and something molten and dangerous curls in the depths of his gaze. If it were not for that, one might think he were preparing to greet an old friend, the apparent eagerness that floods his frame. The water-mage has more of the same to say; Set continues in his infuriating tradition of ignoring what he doesn’t care to hear and instead focuses on the bit that sends an incomparable thrill down his spine with a gleefully wicked tip-tap-click. “Brennen,” he starts, not surprised by anything he’s said, “What has it been, some fifty years? I see you’ve finally won an Alliance,” he finishes with a pointed grin to meet the other magicians bestial stare, the dig blatant. Phasus, interlinked as she is, will likely feel the clench in his belly, like talons gripped about a sweet, vulnerable neck. His decision is already made – he knows she will agree, this she who has slipped into his life with the flick of a cutting edge – and so it is with contemptuous impatience that he entertains the final three.

    Leilan misjudges him – over and over again, verbal and non. Set makes no move to correct him – few know of him, even fewer know him. Best to keep the upper hand, no? Then the leopard mare comes, perhaps the most reasonable among them, though the steel in her voice and her shallow smile belie the diplomacy of her words. Finally, Jesper, and it is the fox shifter’s arrival that cements it. I suppose we won’t win our island without a little bloodshed after all, the louse says in her ear again, Set’s voice rough with anticipation.

    The bright gold of his eyes darkens. Still feeding – adoring, caressing, worshipping – on their intimate link, there is a moment to blink and then great, black, feathered wings sprout from his shoulders, drawn up over his back. “I see now that reason is beyond you.” His eyes flick from one Nerine resident to the other before settling on Caw, lips twitching with a shadow of laughter. “For the sake of my island’s current residents, we will take our quarrels elsewhere.” Now he looks to Leilan – and there is no longer anything light in him. “Leilan, Camomila, we will meet you on the southern challenge plains, where the leader of Icicle Isle will be decided once and for all.” With that, he takes flight, fully expecting Phasus to join him.

    SET
    alliance champion, once king, mage
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