• Logout
  • 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


    [open]  Crowns of flowers on our heads; a n y
    #1
    Briella
    isn't it lovely all alone? heart made of glass, my mind of stone. tear me to pieces skin to bone.

    Time is a quantified measurement of the sun rising and falling… of the progression of life; but the cruelty is simply that time only exists to those who care for it and those who seek to thwart it. Inescapable and violent, but in it’s own subtle way, and an enemy that none have conquered: not even the immortal.

    Briella, however, finds that she has escaped it once more- run free of the clutches and of the claws… side-stepped the perilous teeth all to run where time cannot go. In between the shadows of stars, and in the angles where darkness congregates the heaviest… she dances and drifts, the void’s ever reaching fingers coalescing around her and grasping as she sprang between the planes of reality.

    It’s a layered thing, the Abyss, a reflection of the world painted black and dressed in starlight… and it breathes just as the material plane breathes: thus is why she is born again from the Abyss, a breath. With echoing whispers and a curtain of black pulled aside, Briella steps forward and free- walks suddenly amidst the wild grasses and moonlight.

    Dark blue, almost black, and painted by a frosted varnish of pale blue and silver, she moves in a way that displays the stone hooves and gemstone eyes gleaning between icy strands of her tangled, curly mane that draped along the iberian neck and baroque face. Like some frosted winter sapphire plucked from a rock, she gleamed and shone in the light and her steps become all too heavy as she moved suddenly and sloppily.

    To her credit, she paced quickly and learned faster as grace joined her every step and she felt the muscles returning to their strength. Tall and well built she peered about, recalling names and faces… a thousand memories, and with her lips parted it was not to partake of the sweeter grasses or babbling waters nearby but to sigh and breathe as the night air swirled around her.

    Flicking an ear she looked around, studied and stood as she took it in: as she felt time bent away from her and agelessness settling in her forgotten bones.

    #2
    An old soul with young eyes, a vintage heart, and a beautiful mind


    Many would consider her reclusive, perhaps even narcissistic, because she rarely abandons the perch of her family’s cave in the western mountains. A fleeting sight, a rarity among the masses. Cyprin, on the other hand, merely considers herself shy.

    There is adoration when she wakes up in the mornings, surrounded by her kin. Most have wings that stretch exhaustedly with an accompanying yawn. She blearily blinks away the sleep and observes them each day but is often met with a reassuring glance from mother. They can all fly, she would sometimes mutter enviously to Nayl, but a mother’s warmth can always melt away insecurities. It’s why she remains among them, hidden from the world. They are kind and loving and complimenting.

    But they aren’t as fun.

    Each one of them wanders away to sate their own needs, leaving Cyprin alone at the mouth of the cave. With a dainty pout, she descends from the mountainside, utilizing a worn and rocky path. She is no longer such a gangly child. Beauty and maturity has blanketed across her bright eyes and youthful face and has elongated her legs and torso. The Mohawk and bottle-length tail she once had have since grown out and gracefully fall like silk. They lift with a frigid winter gale, rippling as she moves against the breeze to find herself, finally, among company.

    ”You’re very pretty,” she comments sweetly as her reptilian eyes flicker to a calming shade of blue, ”an embodiment of the season.” The ice encrusting the stranger’s locks catch the dappled sunlight and gleam like diamonds. It holds her attention for two long breaths before their gazes lock again. A honeyed smile lifts the edges of her mouth, a complimentary adornment to her introduction. ”I’m Cyprin,” her voice is velvet, softly spoken into the cold air between them. She knows, just by scent and observation, that the woman is not an inhabitant of Loess, but she doesn’t make an accusatory statement of it. Instead, she applies an amiable balm to their conversation, fascinated by winter’s daughter. ”Is there anything I can help you with while you’re in Loess?”


    Cyprin
    lior and nayl

    picture by Jiamin Zhu on pinterest


    @[Briella]
    #3
    Briella
    isn't it lovely all alone? heart made of glass, my mind of stone. tear me to pieces skin to bone.

    She is, and without, the self-same confidences she possessed before the tendrils of the Abyss… of the Void settled well into her bones and all the threads of fate around her. Blackened and strange the strings felt foreign on her limbs and she fretted easily, but where before there was a bleating youth: courageous and determined, she now stood with exhaustion and fatigue in her soul. Loosely postured and mindful she carried no more quickness, albeit grace still bore itself into her, and as such came to find her head turning slowly and those brilliant gemstone eyes wider suddenly and peering at the pale silver-blue girl… the gunmetal tones brilliant beneath the stars.

    Though gone is the fluff and baby hair, as she is not fully grown, patches of the thick curls in her mane and tail seem shorter than others: flecks of black and silver, of pale ice layering the hair. With her gaze leveled onto Cyprin there is a kind of softness to her and she moves her lips as if to speak but finds her tongue almost entirely frozen as the billowing breath clouds around her face and the smattered star-light pattern stretching across her body.

    Breathing in the sharp, wintry air she recalls her journey across the Island the Fairies had sent her to… the sickly body breaking and her death ever so close as she carried out the whim and will of creatures beyond her comprehension.

    To her newest Companion though, she finds herself nodding, gentle and speaking in a voice that betrays her age: a mellifluous and bewitching song as an accent older than Beqanna’s own lands touched each syllable and sound.

    “Briella,”  she responds with no sultry purr, merely childlike intrigue.  “I was here before… when the plague was rampant. An infected child, brought by my Father when the King stole him.”  the remark carries no malice, no hatred; but simple fact: commentary without accusation or anger. She blinks though, and smiles, saddened at the thoughts in her mind.  “Cyprin, your name is very beautiful… I, take it Dovev is no longer here? Wolfbane too? The last time I walked through the other world… it was almost one hundred years passed.”

    Questions plague her, but she slows herself, an ear flicking and her patience slowly settling in as she realizes the overwhelming burst of information.  “Apologies, I sometimes forget if I am over-speaking.”



    @[Cyprin]
    #4
    An old soul with young eyes, a vintage heart, and a beautiful mind


    Cyprin’s fascination climbs to greater heights when she notes the wisdom in the girl’s voice. It’s delicate and pure like youth, but the undertone indicates that she has seen so much in this vast world. Briella, she offers, and the gunmetal child regards her with brightened eyes. A tale quickly follows, and although it is brief, it is captivating. A fascinated hum vibrates through Cyprin’s body, her expression betraying her piqued interest and mild concern. ”A plague?” It sounds so familiar; perhaps it was once part of a bedtime story that mother whispered into the cool night until sleep lulled the girl into silence. ”Was it scary?” She assumes so, but it’s difficult to look across the cliffs and hills to picture a withering world where everyone coughed blood and trembled with exertion.

    A question often surfaced when Cyprin tried to picture it in her mind: would she have survived?

    But she doesn’t recall the thoughts now. Her conversation is far too uplifting to be weighed down by inconceivable worries.

    Inclining her head, she mulls over the question while her eyes roam across the landscape in contemplation. ”I’m afraid I do not know of Dovev,” her pretty face creases into a frown for a fleeting moment until recognition lifts her from uncertainty, ”but Wolfbane is familiar. He is the King’s Champion.” Although she has never met him, his name still carries significance. Conversations drift with the breeze only to be caught and heard by those listening. Cyprin cannot help to eavesdrop, truthfully. ”He took over Taiga, but still frequents here as well.” A friend, she recalls her brother suggesting. Wolfbane is a friend. Unfortunately, Cyprin does not yet know the intricacies of friendship as she has remained secluded in the confines of the family’s cave. It must involve complimenting, however, because she is still elated by Brielle’s opinion of her name. It’s a warm feeling that spreads across her like a blanket when her eyes level onto winter’s daughter. ”There is no need to apologize. I love hearing about your life and friends so far. Tell me more,” she takes pause as her head tilts inquisitively, ”Tell me about the other world.”


    Cyprin
    lior and nayl

    picture by Jiamin Zhu on pinterest


    @[Briella]
    #5
    Briella
    isn't it lovely all alone? heart made of glass, my mind of stone. tear me to pieces skin to bone.

     She has forgotten that time passes, that the plague once was and then was no more, and when cyprin speak… she finds herself taken back slightly as the notion that such has been that more time is again, lost to her. As if unsure how to answer, she crosses a leg atop the other and steadies herself first: curiously regarding the girl in her company and owlishly tilting her head before speaking up and calmly.

    “It was terrifying,”  she begins- her mind racing with thoughts.  “There was a great echo through the landa and the minds of all those within them: every since person. They were commanded to go to Pangea, and many did, but when they arrived they were brought into a trick by the Dark God Carnage… for he rallied them and lied to them. He said that they should kill a Magician, and when he struck down by the mob- all of his dark machinations came to life.”

    Taking a moment to allow her time to gauge and question, Briella continued as if it were a horrifying story, a tale to be told.  “Magic, hatred, and all manner of vice became a sickness and those who attacked were the first to be struck with it. Thus it began to spread as wildfires do, and only a few places were safe; but over time many went to the Faeries for help and their trials earned them reprieve in the end. Those who were withered, hungry, bleeding, sick, and always tired were cured: and death was forced back as the wounds were sealed and Pangea was cleansed.”

    Swallowing back her breath and the frog in her throat she recalled Icicle Isle and her own adventures… the faces of those she knew and met, and the punishment she wrought upon herself to assist, near death and still trying.  “But that was years ago, it seems.”  taking a moment to parse this she listens and studies Cyprin- her breath eased as she mulls over the various thoughts: over friends and family gone. Wolfbane, though, provokes in her a curiosity: intense and yet? Only enough to warrant a smile.

    To the intricacies of the other worlds, she narrows her eyes slightly- pensive and choosy of her words this time.  “The ‘other world’ is something I have come to know as the Void, it is a dark place- black and shadowy and a strange reflection of Beqanna. Often quiet, and so silent you can only hear your own heartbeat or feet on the ground… your own echo. Empty and without any for miles,it is so lonely, but there is no time there. No seasons and no day, no night- only strange creatures without a beginning or an end.”

    Nodding at this she shrugs as best she can, or metaphorically does so rather.

    “It is hard to get there and harder to leave; but it isn’t a place many stay. You- you must have family here, I don’t imagine they would enjoy you going there. It would be awfully frightening and they would miss you terribly, yeah?” 




    @[Cyprin] <3
    #6
    An old soul with young eyes, a vintage heart, and a beautiful mind


    Cyprin’s eyes twinkle with fascination and wonder as Briella dives headfirst into a tale that is far older than the child. Terrifying, the Dark God, kill. A chill cartwheels down the girl’s back as she inches barely closer, her ears standing sentinel to catch every word, every syllable, every breath. Briella’s voice, tethered with the tale, creates a dreamcatcher that traps Cyprin and unravels into a vivid scene every time she closes her eyes to blink. She can see the numbers flocking toward the Dark God and obeying his command. A whimper creeps from her chest whe she imagines the magician and his demise that polluted all of Beqanna. Still, she says nothing, too entranced by this woven epic to ever consider interrupting.

    Would she have survived? Would mother have shielded her from the infections that clawed at so many thoughts and minds? She recalls those evenings when mother or Castile mentioned what the day brought – bloody noses, hacking coughs, delusional thoughts – and Cyprin shudders to think herself in that type of world.

    So, she muses, that must make Briella a hero of sorts, or at least far braver than she could ever dream to be.

    The compliment flirts with the edges of her lips, but instead she finally murmurs, ”I’m happy you made it.” How tragic would it have been for the world to lose someone so beautiful and so kind? It isn’t just the plague that Briella endured, but also this second world that swallowed her into ab abysmal void. ”I cannot even imagine,” her head shakes and scatters her locks, ”I would miss everyone so much.” To not have her family, or even friends (despite how rare they are) sends an unsettling bristling throughout her body before her previous compliment for Briella finally surfaces and makes it past her obsidian lips. ”You are so brave and strong to have survived it all. That’s so amazing.” Her voice is sincere, still bubbling with wonder.



    Cyprin
    lior and nayl

    picture by Jiamin Zhu on pinterest


    @[Briella]
    #7

    you said you'd wait forever, but I blinked and the world was gone

     Calm as she’d been and terrified as she was to recall the memories and dreams, her small heart panged and ached… a kind of torment setting itself within her as Briella felt the sting of words and of soreness in her chest. To herself she recalled the freezing of her mane and tail, the failures that had become gifts; but to see the shifting emotions on Cyprin’s face was to see a wonder she had long lost.

    Childlike and curious.

    For this she finds herself smiling weakly, abashed and turning her head away as she chuckled dryly and allowed the singsong tone to again fill the air.  “Me too, I wouldn’t have been able to meet you and share this story.”  she paused, blinking and considering the girl as she was before nodding in sobered agreement with her.  “I’m sure others in your family know just as much as I do about this, many of us came together and many of us tried to help. Whole nations and lands working together for a goal of stopping the plague and curing all of Beqanna.”

    Noble as it sounded she focused.  “I’m only that way because of the others I encountered. Dovev, Heartfire, Santana, and so many more. They allowed for me to have a strength that I had not before…” she admitted. Patient, however, Briella took an opportunity to study Cyprin and to truly consider the full range of the wild imagination and magic she possessed… the wonder and wild of her mind.

    In some jealous manner she longed to have switched places, to be the girl hearing the story rather than the speaker; but Briella surmises that this is fine too and after a moment lifts a hoof to expose the dark gemstone and refracting surface… to shake the icicle strand of hair swept across her jewel-like eyes.  “All of these were granted by the Fairies, reminders of the story I told you: of the things I’ve done. I’ve heard others had similar things, but some faded.”

    Dropping them back and clearing her throat she noted the remark from before.  “If you don’t mind me asking, I… have never experienced a family. Perhaps you could tell me a story about yours? About your feelings on them… clearly you love them after all.” 

    BRIELLA



    @[Cyprin] I am a jerk and I'm sorry!




    Users browsing this thread: 1 Guest(s)