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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


    [private]  Golden Boy
    #1
    PHAEDRUS
    This little trip could be considered his first diplomatic assignment since he had joined the Dale….. yea ok it WAS his first diplomatic mission since he joined the Dale. He was traveling across Beqanna for it, which gave him lots of time to think, and get nervous. The lumbering fool was awkward at best, and downright clownish on a normal day, he could only imagine how he would be on this sort of day. The blue hued stallion had taken note of how Ramiel had pointedly ignored the part about the Tundra. Phaedrus wasn’t stupid enough to question. Figuring that the Tundra had taken sides with their enemies. Oh well this couldn’t really be helped.

    This was an area of the world that he was not so familiar with, thus he takes to the skies reaching the forested border of the Dale. Two deep sounding beats and he is airborne, it’s only after he has risen high enough to see the expanse of the plains that he decides on which route to take. There are no mountains or trees to maneuver around so it is a simple enough flight. Arriving where the dry grasses meet sands he begins to circle overhead, the black dot of a vulture slowly making his way to the ground below. After a few minutes of this his landing is heavier than usual, but still he is steady on his feet giving a shake of his mane to release any lingering feeling of the skies on his coat. As much as he adored his trips in the air, the feeling of being light weight and out of place is not comfortable when tied by gravity. Nor is the sensations of being tied to gravity when navigating the skies comfortable either.

    Land is land, and air is air, trying to combine the two has a feeling of bad chemistry, and forced physics. It just didn’t work. With a deep breath he begins to fold in his wings trumpeting a call to the Desert leaders, Ea had said that she found them agreeable so that at least doesn’t cause him tension. What does cause his nerves to go into overdrive is the simple fact that he was worrying about stumbling over his words. Patiently he waits, standing as he always does, the stiff soldier guarding what belongs to him. While some find it silly, he finds it to be a natural stance, one that he can’t resist even when he tries to relax. The sun, though hot in this area, is to his back this allows him to see anyone that approaches. But as it takes time to get from one place to another, its not an immediate thing that he sees, hears, or smells.
    i'll carry this flag, to the grave if i must


    @[Vanquish]
    @[Ea]
    #2
    The smell of field-grass and dale-wood that Phaedrus carried upon his skin reaches his nose and quakes his heart well before the stallion’s call rings in the king’s ears. Even though those memories wore the dust of too many years passed, that smell was still Lyric’s and it still caused his soul to quiver just as poignantly as it ever had. A slight smile tugs at the sides of his black mouth as he lets his thoughts sway in the memories for a breath, but then a warm rush of sorrow comes and washes it away.

    Above the Deserts is a cloud-speckled sea of blue, its picturesque pattern reaching unbroken until the king comes to drag his long dark shadow across its bright face. The Deserts had been quiet, as they always had, but the dragon and the golden rose were never too far. And so Vanquish allows the pleasure of company to show across his handsome, gothic face as he steps from the sky. “Welcome to the Deserts,” the wraith-king says, the huge dragon bone wings at his sides folding neatly against his sides.

    At first glance Vanquish takes Phaedrus for the changeling fox-girl that hovered in queen Lagertha’s shadow, with his black skin and blue mane and tail. But Phaedrus’ is heavy where Lagertha’s girl’s was dainty and he carries the Dale’s smell, not the Jungle’s. “And you are?” The Percheron asks, a wing indicating his invitation across the border as he speaks.

    .

    vanquish

    black king of the deserts





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