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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


    [open]  cold summers
    #1
    The air is kind around Naia when she wakes, though she does not care nor is she comforted by its perfect temperature. She rises solemnly, immediately awake through the rigorous training of her body she has so committed to. She shakes out her coat and peers to the left (trees), then to the right (more trees) - not another soul to be sensed. A gentle sigh and deep breathe then she is off to see more.

    Leaves and twigs still lingering from winter crunch beneath her calm gait. Each of the roan’s steps is purposeful, quiet and near militant. She does not utter a word; instead, her mouth is relaxed and totally noiseless, more fitting for one that likes to know any and all that may surround her. The early morning sun glints off each golden strand of her mane, glittering as if it is truly gold. Naia flicks her locks out of her eyes, irate with the beauty most would feel lucky to have.

    Naia has been wandering between the Common Lands over the last six months or so - ever since she left her mother (or rather, her mother disappeared). The lands call to her but at the thought of them she shows her first sign of emotion: nervous shuffling. She knows that her father and any extended family may reside there, though she is not certain she is ready to face them. Her mother only spoke his name: Leilan. She would say that certainly he has many other children when Naia would ask, though she never spoke ill of him.

    She wishes she did not grow up alone, just Thalassa and her. Naia is easy and social in her most comfortable form, but the lonely defense mechanisms she has built won’t allow that. For today, and maybe forever, she is no more than a trained warrior with only affection (even that is hesitant) for her mother.

    In the meadow she is the same: proud, poised, and so alone.

    open to anyone <3
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    #2



    Mary

    It had been a while since Mary has been out of Sylva, ever since the Plague she had been hard at work reaching for the crown. She had successfully accomplished her tasks and so the crown was rightfully hers, she just had to make sure that Sinner held up his end of the deal.

    She figured now that she had some free time on her hands she should visit the meadow, if not only to see how it is holding up. She was curious it equines still lingered, daring to be kissed by the plague, it was too late for Mary so she had nothing to lose. And of course, what a better reward than successfully recruiting another equine to the kingdom, she remembers Oraix who shortly disappeared. He was fun to toy with, but she needed dedicated kingdom members.

    The travels seemed to take forever, and perhaps it was because she grew weak quicker since being infected with the plague. Her body was beginning to lose a few small patches of fur, and she could only hope that it would grow back once she could be healed.

    As she reaches the meadow she casually looks about, It was certainly not as packed as it was before the plague. Though a few equines lingered here and there, she could only imagine them to be infected already, or nomads. No home to call there own, and then her eyes landed on a roaned filly. Her head tilts, she was curious as to why the filly was out and about on her own, and with no one else in sight she heads towards the young equine.

    Hello there she says in greeting, coming to a halt a few paces from the filly. What brings you to the meadow? Have you no home? With the plague lingering around there was no time to waste. This conversation could hold her fate, and she did not have time to waste on equines lurking the common lands.

    Long May She Reign


    @[Naia]




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    #3
    In the meadow she stands, the breeze ruffling her mane and tail in the most subtle ways: a strand wrapping around another, wild and thick and fluttering like a fairy. Naia is nothing like a fairy, though - her beauty a thin disguise for the rigid way she holds herself. She scans the meadow, eyeing the gray shadows and minimal amount of shuffling equines as the air around her spins ethereally.

    From across the way, a soft green mare approaches. The warrior watches silently, offering no immediate reaction; instead, she is quiet and statuesque, certain that this woman not much older than she had intentions for her. It is mere seconds before Mary arrives, but in that short time Naia is able to note little things about her. The pale woman is a bit taller, regal, and quick. She seems a bit antsy, questioning with almost no formality. The filly decides she could probably beat her in a fight, though that is trained instinct and no fault of the other.

    Naia likes Mary’s bluntness; she has never been one for small talk.

    Her eyes roll down the mare’s frame then slowly back up before replying, “This is where I stay most days - a home but not much of one.” It is true, the roan girl is intensely nomadic. She spends her days cycling between the four common lands, avoiding the kingdoms at all costs, pointless in all things except for her battle practice.

    “I suppose you are here to offer me one,” a simple statement, one Naia assumes to be true. The words are clipped and formal, masking the curiosity she senses stirring deep within. The chestnut watches Mary with a cool gaze, emotionless but not cruel.


    @[Mary]
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    #4



    Mary
    Mary had not time to waste, many equines like to have meaningless conversations before getting to the point when recruiting. It seemed pointless to Mary, either it was going to happen or not, why waste time? Every now and then it was interesting to set out and recruit for herself, and the one thing that really drew her to this filly was the fact that she was out and about during the plague. Either she had a target on her back from all the safe zones, or she did not fear the plague, and Sylva always had a spot for equines who did not fear the plague.

    The young mare glances over Mary before responding, This is where I stay most days. The meadow was perhaps a home Mary wanted when she was younger, mainly because she wanted freedom from her father, but she would not be caught dead without a kingdom. But she was dedicated to that life, something to live for.

    I suppose you are here to offer me one she says, the main reason why she does not bother with small chat. The common grounds are a breeding ground for recruiting, that was nearly the sole purpose besides a home for the nomads. She nods her head in response to the mares question If you want one, I won't beg you. Mainly because Sylva was not in dire need of members, but they could always do with some more.

    I live in Sylva, we all work hard and as long as you are looking for a kingdom that plays rough, we would be more than happy to have you. She knew how to be a good diplomat, how to make the kingdom sound appealing to all nomads, but wasn't it easier to be straight to the point? Why draw out the conversation with pointless details? It just leaves more room to get lost, her gaze finds the roan mares, awaiting a response.

    Long May She Reign


    @[Naia]




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    #5
    It is the scent of the forest that catches his attention, musty and dark. He has not thought of Sylva in years, but the slim mare that passes by carries the smell of his childhood home in the long sweep of her mane her thin and patchy coat. Sick, like so many others, but a predator prefers the weak and he leaves his shaded copse to interrupt the conversation that she begins with a brown-eyed roan. Though he had come up to Mary, the kelpie’s attention has already shifted to the girl that the plagued mare is attempting to recruit.

    He is forward in his inspection, golden eyes flicking lazily across Naia’s figure, but he does not hide the appreciation of what he has seen. On another man his grin might have been lecherous, but Ivar’s charm is omnipresent – as is the flash of sharp white teeth when he grins. Despite her apparent youth, the chestnut mare is hard muscled and clearly wary.

    A challenge then.

    Ivar has always enjoyed a challenge.

    “Who rules Sylva these days?” He asks Mary, glancing away from Naia to take another look at the green mare. From the way she holds herself, the kelpie suspects it might be this young mare’s parent. It doesn’t occur to him that it might be Mary herself (even though he’d met younger monarchs), and the idea of toying with Sylva by snatching away their princess is appealing. He’s interrupted Mary’s attempt to recruit Naia but it doesn’t occur to him to apologize for butting in – that is simply not in his nature.

    “We could use a few more warriors in Ischia,” he tells Naia casually. “You could come, look around.” There is little to sea but endless tropical paradise, sunshine, and the waves, but that is enough for Ivar. “You could come too,” he adds with a smile to Mary.

    @[Naia]
    @[Mary]
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    #6

    Leilan
    Glaciers melting in the dead of night
    and the superstars sucked into the supermassive
    One day forth, back in the same day.

    The strategy didn't quite hold up for faraway lands like the newly-made Brilliant Pampas, or perhaps Ischia, but then at least he could do the back-travelling at night. He couldn't stay away from the Isle for too long, yet. Too bad, but that was just being the case when a bunch of horses barged in at nighttimes, tried to be totally avoiding half of Nerine, then claimed it. What else were they up to? If anything happened and he wasn't back in time, that would be problematic.

    But his lack of word from the two colts was also disturbing. So, wingless as he was, he'd just have to make do. One morning he rose early, quickly checked if the southern half of the island was still fake-peaceful, and just trotted all the way south and swam the long swim across.

    The meadow, first.

    Thorgal might not be the showy type, but Roseen had once positioned herself in the Field, and she liked the long summer days to graze in peace. So who knew, perhaps she was around. Ophanim might also be found here - not if he was with Jenova, she was more elusive, evasive, rather in the forest he thinks. But Ophanim wasn't shy. Why did his children take after him so much? Did they have to get mostly bad sides of him?

    The only spot of blue in the meadow today however, isn't attached to a winged bay roan yearling's mane. Much richer in colour is Ivar's hide, and with splotches of white rimmed with gold at that. Well, well. Isn't that interesting. Isn't that the scumbag that marked his daughter. The one he'd warned before that he can't possibly have all the girls in the world.

    The grey figure he is talking to is also shockingly familiar. Light green shows through still even if patches of fur seem to detach; the infected girl takes after her parents. Quite a lot, even, since it seems she talks to a golden-haired yearling. Isn't that funny. He should tell her the story one day.

    Tempting, way too tempting, this gathering. So he wriggles himself into the conversation with the same ease he'd done it three years earlier - ah, with Ivar present then, too. The kelpie hadn't changed a bit. Leilan had changed instead; numerous times even. Scaled and pointy-toothed now, adorned with ice, and less notably, the colour-changing eyes. Magic was fickle, even that of a fairy. Though perhaps most his change was more inwardly, no longer as carefree. "Ah, so that's the fishy smell. Ivar recruiting young women to his harem." He scoffs as he looks the girls over. "Younger each time I meet you, it looks like. Or when when I don't see you, and you go behind my back." His facial expression darkens a little, giving the man he now knows to be a kelpie a dark-grey, near-black glare before turning his attention to the oldest of two still very young girls. No wonder Deiti had been googly-eyeing him back then; birds of a feather and all that. Now it seems he was trying to snatch his daughter away*. Still, the green-ish girl gets the rest of his words, in a more neutral tone and with the usual blue adorning his eyes once more. "I heard your father passed, so, condolences... Or congratulations, with a promotion perhaps." He shrugs, then frowns a little. "I do not think your mother is handling it well, though. Or maybe it's just Sylva itself." he shakes his head, as if the memory of seeing Rey on the Isle had bothered him - but now he lets it slide off his shoulders. It's out there; up to her if she wants to do anything with it. Looking from one horse to another, he can't help but notice the lean, muscled figure the roan girl has - as a yearling, she still has that lankiness about her, and perhaps not even full height, but she's definitely been training. A LOT. He wonders why, but something about her is familiar enough that he hesitates to ask her anything at all. So instead of opening his mouth, he just looks at her a moment like he wants to ask something, and then lets his gaze drift back to the kelpie stallion.

    If he knew Castile saw him as a brother, perhaps there might have been another way of confronting the predator, but now, he just wants him gone from his family. Have Ischia, fine. Lure all Leilan's baby girls there, nope. That's one big bone to pick with the sapphire figure. (And that even without knowing about Breckin.)

    you set my soul alight
    HTML by Vanilla Custard


    *Meaning Chryseis (:
    @[naia] @[Mary] @[Ivar]
    Two things I know I can make: pretty kids, and people mad.
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    #7
    Naia is listening to Mary’s offering with cautious openness, curiosity piqued by her mention of “playing rough.” That is certainly not something she minds, and it might give her an answer as to why she has been so terribly hard on herself. She does not respond immediately for she is interrupted by the calling grin and handsome voice of a much older stallion. The roan filly lifts her head much higher, immediately suspicious of the man’s charm, rejecting the enchantment he demands but not totally immune. She ignores his gaze, a growl building in the back of her throat for the attention of a man is totally foreign to her.

    “Perhaps,” is her only response to Ivar, cool brown eyes flicking harshly down his frame.

    The smooth arabian tilt of Naia’s head is angled to reply to Mary when yet another makes their entrance. She turns to his stocky frame with a mild start, first surprised then irritated that so many have gravitated toward her (and two of the three are giant stallions). She stares at him defiantly, ears flicking back and forth but still almost pressed back in agitation. The chestnut yearling curses her youth a moment later, angry that she cannot control the impulse of her age. Militant poise and height possessed, she softens her gaze and watches Leilan’s glimmering scales as he speaks.

    Naia notes the last one’s words, ever observant. She also does not fail to see the way he looks at her, different from Ivar but still unwelcome. The way he peers back to the kelpie without addressing her ignites the tiniest flame of anger in her chest: speak to the diplomats, but not a nomad? Even if that is not his intention, Naia is quick to jump to that conclusion under the stress of so many confident personalities.

    “Where are you from?” she directs at the scaled equine, eyes closing to slits that do not try to hide her displeasure. Will he not offer her a home, as well? The other two forgotten, she zeroes in on Leilan, only then recognizing the gold in his mane.

    Her eyes soften. Surely that is a coincidence.


    @[Mary] @[Leilan] @[Ivar]
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    #8
    Mary speaks of Sylva and before the roan mare can respond, another approaches. Great she thinks to herself, the blue and gold stallion approaches, his eyes happily linger of the other girl. She rolls her eyes at his behavior, when he turns back to Mary he speaks with no introduction, asking who it was that ruled Sylva.

    Mary cocks one eye to the stag who is more arrogant than his own good, I do she retorts. Of course she does with Sinner, but sometimes it is good to retain some information. The stallion then peers back to the roan, announcing his home in Ischia, stating she could come visit, the worst part was he turned and offered Mary a home in Ischia as well. She had just about had it with his immaturity, No thanks, I much prefer my throne in Sylva she snort and turns her attention back to the young girl, just about done standing beside this idiot.

    Perhaps she responds to the tobiano, not even bothering a response to Mary. She tenses slightly from the disrespect, but forces her body to relax, the young girl surely did not know any better, a nomad after all. Of course before she could speak another equine joined the trio, though this one took her by surprise. The roan stallion who looked much like the young girl had visited her fathers gravesight.

    The new stallion gives a sly comment to Ivar, one that makes a smirk tug at her lips before she calmly tucked it back away. The roan stallion then turns to her, offering his condolences. It is when he mentions her mother and Sylva that he ignites a fire within her belly. Yes, I don't think anyone would take the loss of there lover easily she snorts, a feeling she would never come to know  As for Sylva, we are striving more now than ever her gaze was hard before turning back to the young mare who inquires about the new stags home. Her gaze follows back, she could tell by the scent that clung to his pelt he must be from Nerine, but she allows him to respond. 

    @[naia] @[Leilan] @[Ivar] sorry it took so long!




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    #9
    The roan stallion sidles into the conversation much like he has in the past, attaching himself to the trio in a way Ivar internally likens to a barnacle. Irritating, but ultimately not worth bothering with. The kelpie is oblivious to whatever veiled insinuations Leilan attempts to make, and that is clear in the frown that wrinkles his pale forehead as he takes a step away from the scaled stallion (though not from the conversation - he merely wishes to be farther lest the barnacle attempt to attach itself more permanently) as Leilan begins by insulting him.

    As he does so, his golden eyes flick across the changes to the stallion's physique since they'd last met: scales and teeth and ice. It's a pity Deiti hadn't been permanently successful, Ivar thinks, but the idea of her attempt does a pleasant smile to the kelpie's face.

    "If you'd ever  like a demonstration of how those teeth are meant to be used, I'd be glad to show you." He responds to Leilan's rude insinuation about his smell. "But if you'd rather continue to hide behind petty insults every time we meet, I won't hold it against you." His tone is magnanimous, the pleasant smile never leaving his face.

    Leilan might be immune to death, but the idea of wedging his body between the coral so that he'd rise from the dead only to drown again is a rather delightful one that brings a wolfish light to Ivar's face.

    The roan filly is far less verbose than their companions, and when she answers with a single world, the scaled kelpie turns back to her somewhat more pensively than before. His smile remains - he is rarely without it long - but rather than press her for an answer he finds Mary is answering him.

    Haughty and proud - he might have pinned her as the queen rather than a princess. Her delight at Leilan's pettiness seems fitting with her aura, but Ivar is not deterred. "I know Sylva has it charms, but take it from someone who grew up there - Berqanna has much to offer than a forest of pretty trees." Mary's pride in her throne has doubtlessly cast an enthralling glow over the autumn woods, but the world will spin on and Ivar knows that her disenchantment is inevitable.

    He glances back at Naia when she asks Leilan where he is from. The scaled stallion smells of Nerine still but there is something more, and since Ivar would rather avoid whatever place Leilan has made his new nest, he is curious about where the sharp scent of ice that coats the roan's skin might have originated.

    ooc: i have been enlightened as to how old Naia is so Ivar is going to be less pedo-creepy now because that was totally not my original intent lol

    @[Naia]
    @[Leilan]
    @[Mary]
    Reply
    #10

    Leilan
    Glaciers melting in the dead of night
    and the superstars sucked into the supermassive
    It’s fascinating, to know how one could (partly) unintendedly, offend everyone present in one go. The grey girl seems offended when it comes to her mother (Leilan wonders how attached Rey really was to Arthas, having... ‘known’ her before, but he just shrugs a little as if perhaps she has a point). Ivar thinks his fishy comment was a petty insult, to which the roan raises his brow just a little. Sure, he didn’t like the tobiano, but he hadn’t thought anyone would take the comment so literally - well, it was meant figuratively-with-a-wink to being a kelpie, that’s all. Is he not a fish then? Still, the tone seems forgiving - for now - so perhaps he can pipe in a request then. ”I’d be more than glad, if that meant you would leave my daughters alone.” he says, more neutrally than he feels about it. ”I don’t think dragons and kelpies mix very well.” Leilan thinks to better add Oisin and Eurwen to that request, while he’s at it. Better safe than sorry.

    Of course, Chryseis would try to prove him wrong, although maybe, just maybe, her teenage love for Rhae is about enough to keep her from being drowned. Or used. But who knows, really. She’s stupid like him, and angry with him for that matter. He sighs softly, wondering if this means he’s already lost her forever.

    The roan girl seems cool under all this, simply asking where Leilan came from, and he turns his deep blue gaze to her, the colour changing to icy blue again when he considers her question. ”Ah, you must have been recruiting, too.” he looks to Arthas’ daughter, before returning to the chestnut roan, ”Nerine. Icicle Isle. Passed through Taiga, too, but that’s to be and stay a neutral herdland. I would think though, that to survive the coolness of the Isle, you’ll need to build much more of a winter coat. And to live with the former Amazons... well, I hope you’re as tough as you look.”

    He smiles, knowingly - it’s exactly the same challenge as Arthas’ girl posed, with her mentioning of Sylva striving to grow and all that. Which, come to think of it, there is something he doesn’t know yet. ”Honestly, I did not come here to recruit - Nerine’s famous enough, I think.” He looks to the grey girl. ”I think we didn’t properly introduce eachother yet - I met Ivar before, but I can’t say I know your names by heart. So. I’m Leilan. Please tell me, daughter of One-Who-Failed-To-Recruit-Me, what’s your name? I could call you Queen of Sylva all the time, but it’s quite a mouthful and I’ve never been a fan of titles.” He could add another array of titles for himself, too - Ice Prince, Isle Claimant, Prince Consort of Nerine, something like that, but it’s tiring him to add so many words to a simple introduction. Everyone who makes a name for themselves already gets makeshift titles (he’s quite fond of Icicle, like Kagerus mentioned, so maybe that’s a keeper - after all, carrying icicles had marked about a third of the scales on his body with exaclty that - an icy layer). He doesn’t need to collect them all for himself, even if at times it might sound impressive. He used to have an impressive title - Prince of Amazons - and it meant nothing. Better not have a title and mean something, than the other way around.

    There’s several titles he could add to Mary too. Daughter of my Mistress-Who-Failed-To-Recruit-Me-And-Resorted-To-Stealing-Because-He-Couldn’t-Impress-Me-Otherwise and One-I-Had-Before-Him, for example. He tilts his head, wondering if she colour-changes as well, but now content to await her answer, after which he would silently ask for the roan’s name as well. He suddenly recognizes her conformation - partly Arabian, partly something completely different. An the roan and gold... Perhaps that’s what had bothered him a while ago? Yet, he’s quite sure he would have been told if he’d sired other children.

    Quite, or perhaps not quite enough.

    you set my soul alight
    HTML by Vanilla Custard


    @[naia] @[Mary] @[Ivar]
    Two things I know I can make: pretty kids, and people mad.
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