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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


    could i use you as a makeshift gauge; anyone
    #1

    I V A R
    i'll use you as a makeshift gauge of how much to give and how much to take
    A silver fish darts through the shallow water, sunlight reflected on its iridescent scales. It is stopped by a white barrier, and spins about to swim the other way. It makes it only a few feet before finding a sapphire wall block its escape, and spins about again.

    Back and forth, left and right. Ivar watches the little fish search futile for escape from the half-moon of water he's trapped it in with his legs and tail. The kelpie lies on the sun-warmed sand of his island’s beach, unperturbed by the distant movement he can hear in the trees. His brown-eyed focus is on the little fish. It finally slows, too many thwarted attempts at escape for its simple mind to process. Only then does Ivar stretch forward, snapping it between the sharp teeth of his elongated jaw and swallowing it whole. 

    His entertainment finished, the tricolored stallion rolls slowly to his feet, his sleek tail transforming to a pair of white legs as he stands. He shakes the drying sand from his sides and tosses a still damp lock of sapphire hair from his face, turning to face the sound of hooves he'd heard earlier. Ivar is hopeful it is another mare from the big island come to frolic in his waves, but as his amusement in the silver fish has indicated he is not particular choosy in his entertainment.



    and i'll use you as a warning sign
    that if you talk enough sense then you'll lose your mind
    Reply
    #2
    Wrena


    Every so often Wrena would find herself alone, without her dear sister’s ever vigilant company, and she takes to wandering. Wandering is what she does best; she is convinced of it, never staying in one place. She’s restless, harsh and darkly free spirited. She’s never really been held down by much save for her love for her mother and sister. 

    Today she soars over the north-western shores of Beqanna. Storms threaten at her back, swallowing Nerine slowly as the mare flies sway, down the coast toward the islands. Since Ivar had not been spotted in some time she really never came here much and she when she does, it is brief and she avoids contact with the locals. But today there is a familiar sapphire sparkle in the water below and it takes her no time to recognize the form bringing itself together on the warm sands. Her scaly wings whistle as she dives from a high altitude, sprawling her wings out near the end to land somewhere down the beach. She laughs loud enough for him to hear, that and the patter of her solid little toes will give her away before she calls out to him, “Ha! You’re alive!” moving his way with a bouncy trot. When she reaches him she reaches out for a nose bump, offering her warm breaths against his cold wet nose. “How the hell are you?” She coos softly with her nose close to his. 




    @[Ivar]
    Reply
    #3

    I V A R
    i'll use you as a makeshift gauge of how much to give and how much to take
    She is silhouetted against the sun for a moment, but the wind is in his favor.

    “Wrena,” Ivar breathes as she draws closer, a pleased smile drawing up the line of his pale mouth. He has seen the shadow of dragon-wings from time to time, dark shapes in the shallows, but there is little that lures the kelpie to the surface. The wings could have been Castile, or Mist, or any of the hoard of firebreathing beasts that have multiplied on the dry earth of Beqanna. Ivar lacks his sire’s distrust of the winged creatures, but nor is he especially fascinated by them. They can find him if they must – as Isobell does, and Mist – but such encounters have been minimal of late.

    The shifting seasons have drawn him out of the water in much the same way he draws in his prey, and there is a flicker of interest in his gold-flecked eyes as the winged mare comes close without hesitation.

    “Fine,” he tells her, never a brilliant conversationalist and distracted by the warmth of her breath against his scaled nose. “And yourself?” The kelpie does not especially care about her answer to this query, but as he takes a step forward to run his muzzle down the length of her jaw he asks a better one: “Will you be staying this time? Maybe if your sister came, you would.” Her sister has always s been her excuse – first when she would not come to Loess, and then when she’d slip out of his grasp just before he could draw her into staying.

    He has always enjoyed difficult hunts the best of all, and Wrena has been eluding him for years.



    and i'll use you as a warning sign
    that if you talk enough sense then you'll lose your mind


    @[Wrena]
    @[wrena]
    Reply
    #4

    -Adria-

    Some matters and most horses are best left to themselves, something Adria tries hard to tell herself when the dark shadow of wings disturbs an otherwise lovely day. She should leave well enough alone and go back to shell hunting with Ionia. Maybe go even further and visit Tephra or Island Resort again. Her son is an adept swimmer and hardly ever on shore anymore. Eva is branching out as a young mare blossoming into adulthood should. And Ionia, her little firebreather, has finally learned to swim well enough that Adria no longer fears her being sucked away by the riptide.

    All is well and it could stay that way if she let bygones simply be bygones.

    But this isn’t something in her nature. She’s always been the curious type.
    With a defeated sigh Adria converses briefly with her youngest filly and then branches away from her, purposefully slow when she sets off in the direction she’d seen the great shadow descending. Before now she’d been complacent enough to let the nomadic stragglers of this island keep to themselves. There were plenty signs of life on the smaller, sister lands of this particular colony.

    The Nereid wasn’t an idiot. She was just… nonconfrontational. Or she was willing to be, had the visitor not come directly to the heartland. That was something the new Dame couldn’t overlook. Not when her family was beginning to feel safe and uncontested.

    The look on her face when she parts through the last line of thick, jungle trees and steps out onto the warm sands of her home is one of alluring serenity. An expertly fixated line draws her slender mouth up into a partial curve. Her gait is leisurely and surprisingly elegant for her height despite the shifting ground underneath her. Thick tumbles of mane and tail roll past her smooth shoulders and drag behind her fine legs. There’s no mistaking her attitude for anything but how it looks: pure hospitality.

    In truth, she was elated to see the way these horses seemed so comfortable with one another. The picture of them engaging in easy, nearly amorous affection together is fitting given her designs for the quiet oceanic land. “My, what a lovely pair you make.” The Nereid compliments them at first. For a moment her gaze lingers on the stallion, finding it hard to turn away but she manages to with the bat of her eyelashes. Odd, she internalizes. “I won’t keep you long. Promise.”

    For the sake of keeping her wits in one place, Adria turns her sole focus onto the reddish-bay mare with leathery wings. No doubt the one who’d drawn her here in the first place. “My name is Adria, and it’s certainly my pleasure to be your host here in Ischia. You’re welcome to linger or stay as long as you’d like, of course. Will he… ” She braves a glance, “ ...be your guest?”

    Oh my love, don't forsake me; Take what the water gave me



    @[wrena] @[Ivar]
    Reply
    #5
    Wrena


    Tsss the flame meets the sea there is a sizzle in the atmosphere. It can’t be heard over the lapping of the waves, or the breathing and talking of either creature. It can be felt though, a ripple that shakes over them both. His question is as sweet and alluring and dangerous, like a mermaid – no, like a kelpie. She grins, about to carve a few clever words from her sharp-shooting lips when she is interrupted by the rustling of jungle fronds and patter of feet.

    She saunters on light toes, so elegant, such prudence in her steps and in the way she approaches them. Wrena pulls her nose away from Ivar to address the mare with her dark face slightly cocked, her black forelock tumbling to the side to reveal a jack-o-latern eye. The mare does not quite look delicate, like something made of paper, but more like she might be made of ivory – deceivingly strong with an unmatched intricate grace.

    A pair, eh? She ponders in silence, glancing to the side at Ivar at the mare’s introductory comment. Wrena listens on with nothing to say but a cold, observant look, letting the mare go on as she was sure to do. And she did. Her next string of lace-like words made the usual sarcastic look upon Wrena’s face wrinkle with confusion and she snapped her attention to Ivar. “Our host?” She mumbled under her breath, not loud enough to be clearly heard but not quiet enough not to be noticed. She brought her eyes back up to the mare, who know began to wrap it all up – she was as smooth as pearl, her voice, the way she moved, everything. Wrena could not decide if she was jealous in some pitiful way, or fascinated in some other more infatuating sort of manner….jury is out, still, I suspect.

    Oh,” the bay girl with the big black wings pulls her mouth into a wry half-smile, shooting another mocking glance to Ivar. “He’s my guest.” She tries to fix the crooked of her smile,  but stops trying after a few minutes. “Nice island you have here, Adria.” She pretends to look about briefly, bringing her orange eyes back to the mare, “I am Wrena.

    Ivar’s got a toothy mouth to introduce himself.



    @[Adria]
    @[Ivar]
    Reply
    #6

    I V A R
    i'll use you as a makeshift gauge of how much to give and how much to take

    The gentle pressure of his muzzle against her throat has just begun to increase, an attempt to push Wrena just a step closer to the sea. The kelpie does not need much of an opening. Wrena has usualy slipped out of his grasp entirely by this point, always on the move, always ready to leave, and the sapphire creature full intend to press this to his advantage. It has been a while since he’s had a meal more satisfying than slippery fish.

    When the sound of hooves on shifting sand announces they are not alone, Ivar swallows a growl low in his throat and turns to face the interruption. He half expects it to be the mysterious sister that keeps the bay mare from him, but instead it is a red mare who smells of the sea and bears no resemblance to Wrena. Though he turns to face her, he allows one scaled shoulder to brush against Wrena’s, keeping her near even as he meets the yellow eyes of the stranger.

    His smile is slow and lazy, inexplicably alluring despite a mouthful of predator’s teeth. He has always appreciated a confident creature, and while he’s no intention of letting Wrena out of his grasp, the kelpie decides that he surely has time for a second course. There is little else to do on his island after all, and with his mate absent for weeks at a time he is free to pass the days as he pleases.

    She promises not to keep them long and Ivar tilts his head, wondering how she intends to keep them at all. He has never been a gifted wordsmith and his mind immediately turns to force. The ruddy mare is a tall creature but does not look especially strong. A challenge, but not an insurmountable one. She will be their host in Ischia, Adria says, and the smile on Ivar’s pale face grows wider. He is not bothered by the inviataion to stay in a home he has dwelled in longer than the pale haired mare has been alive, but then – he is bothered by very little when it is done by a pretty face.

    Wrena’s half-whispered question of ‘Our host?’ is answered by a press of his shoulder to hers when he shrugs and a crinkle of his brown eyes that might be amusement. He is looking back at Adria by the time she asks if he will be Wrena’s guest, and he wonders if he’s found an answer to some of his idle suspicions about what the main island has become in his absence. The brotherhood had departed, but perhaps the tropical territory emits some siren call for those who prefer the company of a single sex.

    Ivar far prefers the idea of an island of women to one of men. 

    It’s good to know Ischia has not remained empty. I’ve not left my isle in some time, and assumed the parrots remained the only residents. This is not quite true, as he’s entertained a handful of mares the last few seasons, each of them have traveled the larger island to reach his own in the north. I’m Ivar. he says by way of introduction, and then gestures toward the island that rests not far from the crescent shore they stand upon. That is my island.



    and i'll use you as a warning sign
    That if you talk enough sense then you'll lose your mind



    @[Adria] @[wrena]
    i hate html and i'll fix it later D:
    Reply
    #7

    -Adria-

    Observant enough to notice that the stallion, Ivar, seemed to shift and curl himself into Wrena, Adria feels the beginnings of a suspicion tingle at the back of her thoughts. His confidence and stature are at once equal to Adria’s in their sense of self-importance, his smile a clear indication of his thoughts without words to accompany them. She believed he was the type who never took ‘no’ for an answer, and that inclination made this meeting all the more enjoyable to the Nereid.

    He gestures quickly - Adria’s eyes don’t follow - and then his claimant over one islet in particular gives the coral-colored mare a flourishing smirk as response, the tilt of her eyes towards each other in a plain expression of clear pity, and the most light bells of laughter, “Of course it is, dear.” She consoles his ego, exactly like she’d console a spoiled child.

    Then to Wrena, “This is a nice island we have, if you choose to make it so. Then your guest could stay at your preferred leisure.” Her focus is pointed but not rude or demanding. Curious, if anything. The way she speaks is for Wrena and Wrena alone; her attention is swept up by the way the dragonkin is so evidently magnetic. Adria is here for her, Ivar is clinging to her like a drowning man in need of a life raft. Wrena is center stage.

    “But I like to think myself a woman of honest word so I’ll leave you be. I apologize if my appearance was… ” Her sentence hangs, ripening while she moves comfortably around them and out toward the sea. Her path is predestined, but when she edges into the water it’s not exactly ‘in to’; her hooves move on top of and keep her suspended above the small, lapping shoreline. “Unexpected.” Adria finishes, glancing back at the couple.

    “We can speak further any time you’d like.” The Dame smiles. She hesitates briefly for the sake of any conversation that might follow, but if none comes then the waves will curl unnaturally up around her to grasp the mare in their embrace and pull her under.

    Oh my love, don't forsake me; Take what the water gave me



    @[wrena] @[Ivar]
    Reply
    #8
    Wrena


    We - the word resonates in her mind, simmering.

    She can feel Ivar next to her, even when their touch severs briefly he seems to have tentacles firmly around her. They grab her and clutch her like greedy roots, and the girl stands before her offering a bit of light. Could this be? An opportunity ringing itself true? She laughs with one half of her mouth and nods, letting the pair swoon over their island paradise…ah, well, let us be honest - her island paradise, right? It certainly seemed so.

    Is that the old bones of a long dead Amazon rattling beneath their feet? She could almost feel the hum up her legs and her smile broadened across her black lips, her leathery wings shuffling a bit. “I’ll find you later then, Adria; we can discuss my insertion into your ranks.” She is as polite as she can be, but the notion stands, she is thankful for the invitation and will indeed follow it up as she suggests.

    If she leaves just then, the pair will be alone. It is his opportunity to devour his long awaited meal. She is an elegant swimmer, but nothing to match his natural oily ease in the water. Even before he touches her again she can feel his teeth sink into her flesh, it both arouses her and terrifies her. As their interactions may deepen, left there on the beach all alone, her chest glows orange with molten dragonfire and her eyes shut to give way to the euphoric waves that threaten to carry her away.






    this is stupid late and i am sorry

    @[Adria] - YES wrena wants to join, for sure, i'll make a new thread for them
    @[Ivar] - YES wrena is going to fool around with ivar and wind up pregnant and come find him with the brat in a new thread <3

    THANKS and i am so sorry for the stupid stupid long wait
    Reply




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