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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


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    [open quest]  round one: and with strange aeons, even death may die.
    #7
    <link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Bilbo+Swash+Caps|Cambay&display=swap" rel="stylesheet"><style>#Waverly{width:700px;}#picWaverly{position:relative;z-index:0;width:700px;height:700px;border-radius:350px 350px 350px 350px;overflow:hidden;border:3px #d3bb05 groove;box-shadow:0px 0px 10px #def3f4;}#wrapperWaverly{position:relative;z-index:1;width:580px;margin-top:25px;background:#28595e;padding-top:60px;padding-bottom:50px;padding-left:60px;padding-right:60px;border-radius: 350px 350px 350px 350px;border:3px groove #d3bb05;box-shadow:0px 0px 10px #def3f4;}#textWaverly{color:#def3f4;font-family: 'Cambay', sans-serif;font-size:14px;margin-bottom:0px;margin-top:70px;}#nameWaverly{font-family: 'Bilbo Swash Caps', cursive;color:#739797;font-size:90px;margin-top:30px;margin-bottom:0px;}#quoteWaverly{font-family: 'Bilbo Swash Caps', cursive;color:#739797;font-size:22px;line-height:14px;margin-top:20px;margin-bottom:0px;}</style><center><div id="Waverly"><div id="picWaverly"><img src="https://i.postimg.cc/3x1HcnzP/Waverly-HTML.jpg"/></div><div id="wrapperWaverly"><p id="quoteWaverly" align="center">your heart, it's like a drum<br>the chase has just begun</p><p id="textWaverly" align="justify">The rush and slap of the waves as they curl beneath the distant face of the moon fills the night air, easily masking any small splash or gurgle that might give away the surfacing of a watery beast. She is not entirely certain what had drawn her up, but she does not question it. She rarely questions her instincts.

    Only the flat spanse of her features rise above the surface, white and gold glinting wetly beneath the faded white light of the moon. Golden not-quite-equine eyes follow the trail of a distant shooting star as it races across the midnight blanket above, remaining eerily unphased as it draws ever nearer. She follows it with her gaze as it disappears into the distance. Moments later, it’s crash resonates subtly through the land, sending ripples across the water and a curious vibration through the depths.

    Were she a lesser being, she might have ignored it easily. But curiosity tugs her. And though she hesitates for several long minutes, debating the wisdom of investigating such a clearly powerful celestial object, in the end, she cannot deny her baser nature.

    As she sinks back beneath the waves, only a brief stream of bubbles betraying where she’d been, she cuts easily through the water. Diving deep, her scaled body and finned limbs, perfectly designed for her environment, aid her in effortlessly crossing the distance between her most frequented hunting grounds and the distant cove in which the strange object had crashed.

    When she surfaces once more, it is to find a heavy fog lying low over the eerily calm waters of the bay. In that fateful moment, she nearly turns and leaves. She might have, were it not for the faint trace of blood lingering on the air like a passing stranger’s perfume.

    And so, she creeps forward, gaze warily searching the dense fog as the follows the faint siren call of life promising something intriguing at its end. Predator and prey all at once, if only she knew.

    When she begins to rise from the shallows, it is not a beastly thing with a too-wide smile and sharp, crooked teeth, but a lovely woman of shimmering teal splashed with gilded white.The long strands of her mane cling damply to distinctly feminine curves, water sluicing from flawless skin as she slips gracefully to the beach with barely a splash or disturbed wave.

    A pretty face to hide the monster lingering just beneath the surface.

    The cave is ahead, the gentle waft of blood leading unerringly within. She approaches with caution, nostrils flaring and steps hesitant. Her delicate ears twitch uncertainly atop her head, tangling in the damp strands of her hair. She would vastly prefer to remain within easy reach of the water. It is her home and her salvation. And it is where she seeks her prey.

    But the trail leads in. Peering into the dark, gaping maw of the cavern, she draws to a halt, wondering if perhaps this is not a thing worth pursuing. Until the faint, babbling wail emerges, a lure from the depths. It draws the predator forth, teeth erupting as her grin widens, breath hissing almost gleefully through jagged teeth. Anticipating the hunt to come.</p><p id="nameWaverly" align="center">Waverly</p></div></div></center>
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    RE: round one: and with strange aeons, even death may die. - by Waverly - 02-03-2020, 12:38 AM



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