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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


    [open]  Approach, Appear [magnus, Any]
    #1
    Akkadian
    "Awk-ay-dee-Uhn"
    I seek the truth
    He could almost feel them dying, though he was distant as he had run from the reality-shattering truth. With each of their deaths his heart was speared violently; the king, the queen, the heir, the child princess. His speed could not carry him swift enough, and he was too late to save them. Murdered and mutilated in his absence. He had failed them.
    And he vowed vengeance for the only family he knew.


    Akkadian had traveled a bit before coming here, opting to explore his surroundings further before setting roots. What he had heard in passing about his potential future home during this time was unsettling. It seemed there were troubles boiling within the lands that he had been told were so peaceful. The black stallion smirked. And where was this solicitor now? Another rumor had been that he fled the lands, but he didn't seem the type; Akkadian had to see that for himself.

    The sound of his steady galloping hooves sounded muffled to his ears as he seemed to glide over the grassy dunes of the Gates. Similar and yet so unlike the sand dunes of his homeland, this emerald sea, where hoof-beats would sigh through the drifting particles like little breaths of movement. And nothing like the dry cracked earth of the less sanded parts, where hooves clapped loudly against the hard-packed earth like bold firecrackers.

    The copper glow of the setting sun licked at his hide, the air clear and cool. Mixed with the smell of grasses and trees was an underlying panic; an angry stirring of upheaval in the lands that had once been so "peaceful". A safe haven, the one called Magnus had said. But he could use help keeping it that way, he had also said, which had interested Akkadian.

    As second-born prince in his homeland, he had been shaped and trained for battle from childhood, his sole duty to protect his brother-heir with his life. In a poorly timed -or possibly orchestrated- moment of truth, his childish reaction had led him to fail absolutely in his duty. His father-king told him he was not of their blood; not a son, not a brother, not a prince at all (though he had never truly felt as a prince but only a bodyguard). He had been found and taken in, given a name that was more a job description than any kind of a calling.

    Akkadian-Shakkad.
    Guardian of His.
    A possession of the true prince, with no other purpose but to keep his royal heart beating.

    He was once proud of his name. It had seemed such a powerful one at the time, for in meeting him others would know instantly to fear him, to never cross him. But with the revelation of his birth, he doubted the words. What once was mighty power, looked more like veiled slavery. He was not some legendary warrior, but a bastard child taken in for no other purpose but to protect the real prince.

    Akkadian shook these thoughts from his mind as he crested a rise of one of these hills, halting gently at the summit. He knew his family had loved him. Didn't they? Running from the truth had scarred his heart, dishonored his family; got them all killed. He would make up for it in his future. He couldn't bring them back, he could only atone for his fatal error by honoring all the training they had given him, keep the purpose they had crafted for him. He had done his mourning, it was time for his penance.

    MAAGNUUS!!
    He challenged the fire-lit skies, standing tall on his perch like a reigning king. He didn't believe the whispered words he'd heard; that the Guardian of the Gates had abandoned post. If it was truth, he knew there must be a grave reason for the soldier to do so, and he intended to find out for himself. He had recognized a fellow warrior in that stallion, a thin bond of kinship connected him now. He would get to the bottom of this hearsay.

    @[magnus]
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    #2

    It was impossible to ignore the thunderous gallop in the distance. Not for a single moment did Cerva consider turning a cheek. Her curious eyes gleam with hope as they follow the noise with her ears erected to pull in that sound of promise. A smile wants to tremble across her lips, but it’s premature and crumbles away. Is it an intruder, or the king, or even an older Gates resident? Her stomach clenches and ties into knots, but she urges herself forward to sate her curiosity as it clouds her other thoughts, her other senses.

    A biting wind gust nips at her heels as she ascends a small knoll only to stand on its crest and look across the scarlet sunset. An incline of her head gives a newer angle that she further admires of the kingdom’s landscape, but the adoration is short-lived and distracted by a loud bellow into the winter air. It’s a stallion, of that she is sure, but when she registers who he is calling, Cerva flinches. Her eyes blink and her pretty face grimaces. She remembers watching Magnus flee; he hasn’t returned and she has long since released her bated breath that he would. With the weeks having turned to months Cerva has come to the realization of how lonely she truly is now in the kingdom.

    It isn’t long until she finds him. His inky silhouette contrasts against the colorful backdrop of the rising sun. Her heart flutters in her chest as her eyes are cast down in preparation. With having been alone Cerva has had to adopt some confidence and authority otherwise the Gate’s safety could be jeopardized. She doesn’t want anyone to know how empty the kingdom actually is.

    ”Excuse me,” she says after having drawn in his unfamiliar scent, ”but etiquette would have you wait at the border rather than gallivant around when you don’t currently live here.” That much she learned as a child being raised in the Valley; however, she doesn’t entirely fault the stallion. His scent is foreign and transcends much deeper than just the field, or even just Beqanna. When she reaches him, the level of her voice softens as do the lines in her face. ”Magnus is gone,” she says this unhappily as though not willing to accept that truth, ”but is there anything I can help you with?” A slow, cold breath is pulled into her lungs where they tremble against winter’s touch. ”I’m Cerva.”


    Cerva

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