"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
all that we have amassed sits before us, shattered into ash
She’s alone, heavily pregnant, and terrified.
She had noticed a change at first light, when she had awoken and the Valley, where she had bedded down for the night, was gone. Instead she was woken up by the harsh light of the Meadow as her child kicked away merrily at her sides, and she groaned as she clambered to her hooves. How had she gotten here? She is sure that she had fallen asleep in the Valley, and she has never been prone to sleepwalking before. With a jolt, she realizes that she has no idea how to return home. It doesn’t make sense—perhaps it is just the pregnancy hormones—but she has no clue where the Valley is in relation to the Meadow. Has Beqanna changed overnight?
That is when the panic begins to set in. She is alone here, though there are plenty of other horses nearby. It is as if half the population of Beqanna has been dropped here overnight, and she is uncomfortable being surrounded by so many heavily pregnant mares, rowdy stallions, and half-grown youngsters. She begins to press through them, desperately searching for someone she knows. Where is Flamevein? Eight? Topsail? Surely if everyone else is here, they must be here too. She needs to find someone she knows. Surely they must know what is going on.
It is only then that she realizes that her flames have died in her throat, and she stops dead in her tracks, jaw working in confusion. The fire is… gone? The flames that she had hated for so long, and only recently learned to love… they’re gone. Once the realization hits, she wants to cry, even surrounded by strangers as she is right now.
He was no longer a king (as if that was ever something he was truly that good at). The Valley was no longer his (as if she ever truly belonged to anyone). And it seemed parts of him were no longer himself either (but perhaps that is a good thing). Gone – it was all gone. The land shredded and rebuilt, like a patchwork puzzle with missing pieces still gone. The Valley had been swallowed up – her howling wolves and her soft whispering pines and her tall and cragged walls – she was gone, a memory that would never fade. But her inhabitants? They were still here, they would still thrive.
No, he was no longer a king – but he would be lying if he said he didn’t truly care for the people that found their womb inside of Her. He was no longer their monarch, and perhaps no longer even their guardian - but there was no doubt that those who had lived inside of Her, Eight still held tightly, still felt some sort of debt to them, some sort of kinship.
And so he went back to the meadow, back to where he knew they would be – for where else would they go? The Mountain was too harsh to stay at for long, and the Valley was no longer a haven for them – there were few else places to go in this fogged and tender land. While they no longer had powers and traits and the fairy magic inside of them – he knew that they would find their own.
It was not long before he saw her – the once fire wielding mare, the one that was none too much of a fan of him (and who could blame her?). But now? Was now the time for burnt bridges? Would she still hold tightly to the distaste for Eight? It did not matter. She was a part of the Valley too, and it was likely that she felt as alone and confused as any. “Cress!” He called out, spotting her across the meadow, and swiftly broke into a trot to reach her. “Cress – you okay?” He looked over her quickly, and while there was no injury, there was the staunch realization of panic, loss, sorrow. His heart squeezed tightly in his chest. “Have you seen anyone else?”
∞
and now the storm is coming, the storm is coming in
In the moment of devastation Thorunn doesn't know what to do. She doesn't feel her abilities slip from her as others might have, she has no idea that her fleeting immortality or her ability to block mind reading (did she even know it was there to start?) was all gone. She knows one thing - the land has shifted.
The earth tilted, or tossed, or whatever.
What was up was now down, and the tree - the tree that symbolized her mother, her father, her entire past was gone.
Val was gone, too, and had been for a long time.
She was, again, helplessly alone.
She picks up these shards of herself and climbs from her hole of sorrow, down the side of the mountain, deep into the common area of Beqanna. It's the same but also shifted, changed - not as it once was. She can feel the weight of the air, feel the sores on her hooves - she feels it all. And those feelings multiply when she sees the one creature she recognizes - Eight.
"What happened?" she asks him, clearly unaware of the moment he's having with the pregnant mare, and clearly not caring.
It was devastation, wasn't it? Feeling your land torn away from beneath you- her earth cracking, her trees splitting in two, her jungles swallowed up- the face of her simply devastated. But was it devastating? Was the nakedness of each equine something to mourn? Was a clean slate not a good thing? Wouldn't you like a clean slate, Thorunn? A chance for the past to stay the past. You no longer had a mother tree, you are a solitary thing in the world- but the world is a thing of opportunity.
Before the fire kissed girl has a chance to respond, Eight hears the familiar voice- quiet and unsuspecting, but a lilt of strength and mischief riddled through. He turns toward the chestnut, you who has always been such a shadow- a lithe thing that fluttered on the edge of society. It was a relief to see you- while you rarely came about in the Valley, there was always the comfort of his magic to reach out and feel you there, the simplicity in knowing you were safe. And now? ”I can't quite say. “ He shrugs slightly with his shoulder to motion at the land around them. “I do know the magic is gone. She, Beqanna, must be angry. I have only found one place where the magic stays, the Mountain where I woke. Have you traveled elsewhere save for here?”
Time passes. He is unsure of how much time he spends in the mountain’s embrace. The air is thin at that altitude and though he could force his lungs to accommodate the lesser amount of oxygen it feels like a trick at this point. He knows that he will lose his abilities as soon as he leaves the rocky terrain. He knows he must leave - it is if the air itself is telling him to move on. But he does not know where to go. His Valley is gone. He has searched for her for what seems like hours. All through the night and until day breaks once more on the changed landscape. He can no longer feel her; he knows she is gone.
With eyes red from a night of sleepless searching the beast finally budges. His movements very intentional, almost as if he were descending into hell itself. He feels his power being stripped from him as he leaves the magical mountain; it wasn’t painful physically, but he feels his stomach turning from the thought of leaving them behind (would it be so bad to stay here and perish?). And what was this place without the Valley? Was it worth the effort?
But he knows he must try to find the magician. Perhaps he has retained his powers, he must keep a sliver of hope that the Valley’s guardian will be able to right this most previous wrong. He can no longer feel the magician as he could before, the vibration of his particular magic has vanished as well. Gunsynd feels the hope begin to seep away from his heart. But still, he must find him. He enters the meadow, where it seems the disheveled are all gathering and takes in the scene not unlike refugees waiting on a beach to be taken to the distant shore.
Then he hears it, the familiar voice. It catches his ear and he instinctively turns and moves towards it. He can see the stallion now. And although he does not recognize the two mares with him, they smell like the Valley and that calms him. The bulky male joins their group without infringing on the mares’ space and his eyes dig into the magician with the hope of a dying man. But he hears his words as they come forth and the hope is extinguished completely. He was helpless after all. How could this have happened? Words escape him for now - he simply stands, defeated, in their company.
I M J U S T A S U C K E R F O R P A I N
Gunsynd is currently pretending to be someone else! He is now 15hh, hybrid, flea-bitten grey with clear blue eyes and goes by the name of Ginkgo. He will not have use of his traits while he is in this form. Please play as if he is simply the other persona unless your character has some sort of mind-reading. Thanks! <3
09-02-2016, 08:51 PM (This post was last modified: 09-02-2016, 08:59 PM by Topsail.)
Though she would have gladly stayed on the mountain, instinct told her no. The air there was no meant to sustain; only to whet the appetite. Even before the close of their conversation, she had felt light headed and thick tongued. The others had to be feeling the same. Much like the Garden of Eden's forbidden fruit, the mountain was to be admired but it was not meant to taste from. Tasting from the tree had gotten them here to begin with.
With heavy heart and mind, she followed the two stallions. Despite being father and son, until now they had shared little more than common blood. Now they shared a responsibility, a burden has heavy as the world. Discord often brought an odd sense of peace, and that seemed to be the case. Despite all of their misfortune, seeing them shoulder to shoulder made her smile the smallest of smiles. It was something, and hopefully a promise for their future.
As they crossed the invisible barrier, Topsail felt the fist close around her throat and the voices washed from her mind. She no longer felt the tingle she had come to associate with Eights magic. She sighed, which was nothing more than a small wish of air, but there was no turning back. Eight had set them on track and Topsail felt certain he knew where he was taking them. They walked through herds of anxious horses, and though she saw familiar faces they weren't the ones she sought. Finally, she saw them. Somewhat dissheveled and all wearing confused looks, but they were the Valley. As Eight spoke she nodded along, feeling useless and even a bit helpless. She gave them all a sympathetic look, before slipping quietly up between Eight and their son. Hopefully, her silence was enough
The golden girl had certainly been a rebellious and restless spirit, but in the grand scheme of things, her independent streak was frail in the face of devastating change. The yearling had no idea where she was. She had fallen asleep, curled up at her father’s feet, content with the world and she had awakened to chaos.
There were no familiar faces amongst the crowd of stumbling, dazed strangers. They seemed almost in a strange trance, too shocked to grasp the mysterious change or to consciously notice a small girl in their pathways as they bumped into her. A particular push came about while the girl was trying to carefully weave herself amongst the bigger bodies. Some unknown body part knocked into her shoulders and sent her tumbling into the earth and left her with some bleeding cuts and bruising along her right side.
She sniffles and her eyes tear up, but she does not wallow. Instead, she braces herself once more and fervently scans the mass for at least one familiar face. Her eyes briefly settle upon a small group and a sense of relief nearly overwhelms her. She recognized these people, though she may not know the majority of them personally.
They were her family and heart – for the Valley lived through her people.
She remembers the palomino and the chestnut mares from the recent kingdom meeting. But the black stallion was a complete stranger to her. Despoine did not fear him because he was amongst those she knew meant comfort and protection. She is happy to notice that their queen was also safe and sound, surely she would guide them through these trying times.
But her amber eyes linger longest on Eight, for she had met him very recently.
He was their guardian, the knight who fought the evildoers away from their kingdom. He would surely bring wisdom and knowledge; he surely would bring the world to rightness once again. She stepped towards him with desperate, imploring eyes. Where was Daddy and Mommy? What had happened? How can we fix this?
She switches her young gaze back and forth among her fellow Valley people, an obvious question lurking in those amber depths.
"What happens now?
Regardless of the outcome, she is confident in the knowledge that they will survive and they will thrive.
09-03-2016, 12:12 AM (This post was last modified: 09-03-2016, 01:22 AM by Cress.)
all that we have amassed sits before us, shattered into ash
Despite her fear, she knows that she will not be alone for long. She knows that the other Valley members will find each other before long; they will all band together and they will rally around one another and they will find a solution. The Valley is strong and she will overcome. Cress cannot let her panic overwhelm her, for the sake of her kingdom and the child in her womb and for Flamevein, wherever he is. Will he come to her, too? Cress can only pray. She needs his comforting touch right now more than ever.
Eight, to her surprise, is the first to find her, and whatever their previous opinions, she is grateful now for his appearance. “Eight!” she cries out in relief, and they hurry towards one another. “I’m fine; I woke up here in the Meadow not long ago.” She looks around and trembles, and her foal rolls in her stomach. “I’ve not found anyone else as of yet,” she admits, and she wants terribly for Flamevein to appear on the horizon. This is a strange, cruel new world where nothing is the same, and she is scared to bring their new child into it. The Valley doesn’t exist anymore to protect it.
Another appears—Thorrun, she remembers—but she speaks only to Eight, so Cress has no words for her in turn. Eight responds to her, though, and Cress perks up at his words. “The magic is gone?” she asks, incredulous. “All of it? I felt that my flames had died…”
Her voice trails off as another joins them, and Cress offers him a sad smile. He’s lost everything, just like all of them, and looks all the more defeated because of it. “I’m Cress,” she offers him as well, and she finds herself relaxing as more of them join in. Soon even Topsail is here, though she says nothing—she cannot speak. This is going to be the hardest on her, and Cress feels her own voice catch in her throat. Oh, Topsail. How is she going to lead if she has no voice to speak for the Valley members?
Another joins them, asks them what happens. Is Cress supposed to speak now? She doesn’t know what’s going to happen; none of them know what’s going to happen. She’s as scared and defeated as the rest of them. “I think the Valley is gone,” she says quietly, and her eyes fall to the circle of grass between their hooves. “So what happens next? I think we should explore the new realm; perhaps we can have a new kingdom. And we should try to find the other members of the Valley, too.”
The gathering attracts more and more of them. They all bear the same sad and somewhat terrified countenance. There are several among them that he has never seen, though they smell strongly of his lost lover. None offer any real words of encouragement, especially Topsail who was now completely without means of communication. The male can’t say he will miss those intrusions into his brain, but a completely silent leader was even worse. Does he feel sorry for her? It’s hard to tell, maybe he just feels sorry in general.
There are those that would argue that the individuals collected here were what constituted the Valley. He knew better. The horses came and went, the Valley was a constant. Now they were nothing. A band of misfits looking for a place to call home. But it was more than a home or a kingdom that the beast needed. He needed his mistress. He would settle for nothing less. But there was something telling him deep in the back of his brain that he would need these gathered souls for that purpose. And so he stays.
The mare, Cress, offers him her name and he nods though his thoughts are elsewhere. He forgets to offer his name in return. She speaks of finding the remaining Valley members and this confounds him. There are already more here than he had met within the Valley’s borders. Where had they been lurking? But now they speak of moving on, where they go from here. It is so difficult to think of, he had just hours ago been harboring the seeds of his lover’s soul in his very DNA but now it was all gone - washed away. His eyes sting.
But he cannot remain silent. He must move into action or he will surely lose his game (He must convince himself that it is all just a part of her plan, her lovingly concocted game to entice him and lure him in further). He forces himself to stand upright and address them. “We must rebuild. If we can manage to gain a land then we can work towards regaining our power. If we regain our power, we can recreate the Valley.” His bloodshot eyes come to rest on Eight as he speaks. Ultimately this might come down to their power combined if they can manage to recapture it from the detestable mountain. “We will need as many recruits as we can get. Use whatever means necessary.” There were no other kingdoms to compete with for fresh blood, but surely their previous members were just as keen on rebuilding as they were. It would be a battle.
I M J U S T A S U C K E R F O R P A I N
Gunsynd is currently pretending to be someone else! He is now 15hh, hybrid, flea-bitten grey with clear blue eyes and goes by the name of Ginkgo. He will not have use of his traits while he is in this form. Please play as if he is simply the other persona unless your character has some sort of mind-reading. Thanks! <3
He recognized them, this mix of strangers. Despite spending his time on the border since joining the Valley, running with the wolves, he still knew some faces.
He didn't see the one he wanted, though.
His once ice-blue eyes had dulled, stripped of the magic that had lit him from within. Yet still he held his head high. He had never been one to depend on his ability, and so the loss did not affect him overmuch. He certainly felt bad for the ones that did, for their pain and anguish, but the Beqanna Mother was angry at them. And their abuse of her magics had caused this. They brought it upon themselves.
Ruan didn't believe for a moment he was better than anyone; he was not the only one in the land to use Her magic in the protection of others alone. They all carried the burden of the same punishment. Save for the few without a link at all to Her powers.
His face was turned to them, a charcoal black that also covered his legs and hair. The rest of him was lunar white, with plum-colored appaloosa spots. His wings, also pale and tipped in ink, were pinned to his sides like carefully sculpted armor. They were the newest addition, one he hadn't asked for.
He'd spoken with the Mother. And like many, he hadn't liked her choice to rob the powers from all. When asked which he would choose, wings, horn, or immortality, he'd chosen none. He vowed, also, that he would not be back to petition for his Cryokinesis until every last soul had their link to Her returned to them. She'd mocked his selfless nobility and seen to bestow him these bird's appendages regardless of his wishes.
Ruan shook out his mane in irritation, remembering that conversation. He hoped this one went much smoother. They seemed to be gathering the forces, growing in numbers, in a hurry to yet again control the Mother's lands. He did not think that was the point of Her actions, but he came when he heard the call for Valley members. He had been such; born there, then returned there recently in hopes his sister would find him. She would not. She was dead, he now knew.
He looked them over as he approached, silent and watchful thus far. Studying them, he still felt that tingle of someone else nested within him. It warmed him, and gave him an extra sense of security, a place of belonging no matter where he was. Out of this bunch, he knew Eight and Topsail most of all, but even still only briefly.
The dark bay stallion had made him wary with his constant displays of power, despite him being the Guardian and using them to keep the people safe. It still made him uncomfortable. To see him without it all flaring around him like a grand production was leaving Ruan more at ease. He was powerful and terrifying, and the appaloosa much liked them on more even ground, even being on the same "side".
He bowed his head low in respect to them, the former leaders, and nodded one at a time to each of the others.
"I will make this quick. I am needed elsewhere, at present.
My loyalties to the Valley are absolved, as it no longer exists. Most of you are strangers to me, and the others I've seen only very briefly.
Should you need me, seek me in the meadow. I am there for the time being, and I will come at your call.
When you see Kilter.."
He hesitated. There was an involuntary attachment to the colt, a kinship that was probably one-sided. But he'd loved the boy nonetheless. Watched him as he bounded with the wolves as he, too, often did. Finding family in the pack. Isolated from his siblings, and a bit sullen, he'd been a perfect little lad to Ruan. Perhaps without his siblings' powers he'd also find more even ground with them, and bond with them as he probably wished to.
"Tell the little wolf I will see him again."
He turned away from them with sadness in his eyes, and walked away. Sliding into a lope, he unfurled his new-found limbs and quietly took flight. He needed to return to her. Immediately.
