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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


    something takes a part of me; any
    #1
    Sharp, searing pain stabbed through his eye to the back of his head, and Ironfire let out a roaring scream as white flame wrapped around him, a pyre burning hot and high, reaching into the night sky like a beacon shouting his agony to the heavens. He couldn’t see, though whether it was the pain in his head or the fire he couldn’t tell - all he could see was the white hot blinding flash as it seated through him in knife-sharp bursts. The light swallowed him down, dragging him under into gleaming oblivion.

    And when he woke, it was to a dull,  echoing silence in his head, cavernous halls of white sounding with nothing but a single name: Ironfire. All he knew was it was his, though where it had come from was anyone’s guess. A mother? Perhaps, though the word brought no face to mind, no scent to curl up or tuck himself into, no name to tell strangers who he belonged to. Whose blood ran in his veins.

    Perhaps his blood didn't matter, though the thought itself felt like heresy in some horrified little corner of his mind. Some visceral piece of him that knew more than just the white light fading from his vision, bleeding out from the inside until he could see again. And what he could see was utterly unfamiliar, striking in the way no part of him recognized it.

    A strange wasteland carved from red and yellow sandstone, sparse vegetation sporadically dotting the land with bits of color, a river winding through the center of the canyon, cutting slowly but irrevocably deeper into the earth as it flowed. “Where the fuck am I?” he asked no one in particular, dragging his...apparently purple ass off the ground and getting to his feet to look around. He started to wander, following the river upstream more out of the general stubborn feeling that going against the current was more fitting somehow than out of any inherent sense of direction.

    Maybe it was the lingering effects of that vicious headache that put a little extra stomp to his walk and a scowl on his face. Or maybe it was just his shining, effervescent personality. He couldn’t quite tell yet. One way to find out. He’d just have a little stroll ‘til he found someone and then ask where the everliving hell he’d wound up. Handy if they happened to recognize him and know more, but he wasn’t naive enough to bother hoping.
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    #2
    Blood has caked and crusted around her nostrils. She is wracked by cough and fatigue, and fever is hot on her heels. This is punishment in the form of plague - punishment for her part in unleashing this pestilence upon the earth. Had she not heeded that strange call to come, to maim, to kill… but she had, and she had shifted her fluffy fledgling wings into thorny weapons that slashed and stung. 

    She knew that hers’ had not been the killing blow; just one in a myriad clash of hooves and teeth, magic and horn. Against him, the chestnut that had fallen beneath their frenzied onslaught. Now this, the excessive sweating and the labored breathing. The chills that possess her as she longs for the warmth of her master’s muscled side. Yet he is not there… Pangea is, the place that she had been commanded to - find him, kill him.

    It echoes inside her, that sick slithery voice that she had instinctively obeyed. She knew master would be proud, beneath his anger at her disobedience and disappearance because she had defied him and master is not to be defied. Especially not by a little girl with eyes as brown as mud that has intrinsically mastered that look of obedience and innocence. Master might punish her, delicious little nips that made Shroud’s heart spark a little more inside her. 

    Or he might not. The plague might be punishment enough as it fells her step by agonizing step through this beautiful wasteland. She raised her head just enough to glimpse a bit of purple that caught her limited attention. Shroud stopped, grateful for the distraction and focused on him. She found his color and look fascinating despite the apparent grumpiness he used as a shield against them all. 

    @[Ironfire] <3
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    #3

    Carnage had buried the whole of Pangea beneath the sea once, protected it and catered to it as leviathan and krane, and shark alike stalked the grounds and as all the vast creatures of the ocean manifested in its wonders and shadows. She has, walked in it, traversed the caverns and rocks: clung to the walls and feasted upon the sands; but most of all, she had seen and felt the pulse of magic.

    In the months and weeks of change after, Yidhra has lurked and crawled: waited with severity and self-imposed rule. The Archon’s massive tendrils spreading through every mystery and enigma; but today was different, a resonance and strangeness: a shadow of movement through the mess. Smells and all manner of whisper and life became anew and it was then she peered from the darkness of the waterlogged sands.

    Brine and oil, rot and rancor: Pangea is a fetid place that stinks of dead sea life, and it’s breezes rattle the bones of whales and beasts alike that have decayed across the whole of it after the rise. It has been years enough to make to that the impact is lessened; but it has not made the infection better: not caused the plateaus and rocks to become more lively.

    Oh no,  that was in part because of the wandering children and shadows: the beasts that dwelled.

    So to Shroud and Ironfire she walks, draped in her own tendrils and mindful to stay a distance from them… spattered with a varnish of white and grey: her black and blue body painted with porous skin and a lack of hair. Salt shimmers and the sea drips from her.

    She speaks and her voice echoes through the vast reaches of Pangea: watery and heaving, rattling as the tendrils on her face drip with sea and blue-blood. “Precious creatures,” she purrs. “You are in Pangea- a land to the east.”

    Factual and poignant she draws closer, stopping a few feet away to give them the full reality of her mutilated and Kraken-esque form. “I am Yee tho rah (Yidhra), the Archon of these lands. It is ashame you have come at this time, the sickness is rampant: infection and plague. Come now, are you truly lost? Or are you here for a reason my Darlings.”

    Yidhra



    @[shroud] & @[Ironfire]
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    #4
    @[Ironfire] has been infected by the plague for visiting Pangea.
    He will show symptoms (rolled a 2).
    He will not express a trait (rolled a 4).
    Reply




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