"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
i suddenly feel like a different person from the roots of my soul comes a gentle coercion
So much has seemed to happen in a matter of weeks. Marlyn had taken Sylva, removed the caste structure and replaced it with her own. A new home for the weak and weary, a sanctuary for those who did not fit nice and neat in the cookie cutter shapes of good and evil...light and dark. Sylva was for those who wanted peace and solitude when it seemed as if the basic needs of horse kind was at it's very edge...
But now, in her good fortune, she had met with the fairies. Perhaps her 'wrong place, wrong time' was indeed exactly as it should be. The mystics had granted Marlyn her gifts back and in return had tasked her with the very same abilities. A small but hopeful smile moves across her lips as she is quiet about the secret.
Amber pools drift around as the mare looks upon the small groups of equines, some were indulging in quiet conversation while others chewed grasses or drank from the icy stream. Small coils of steam form frosted clouds with each exhale as the leggy mare stands amid the falling flakes from above. With the return of her traits, no longer did she shiver in the cold. Her spotted skin remains unflinching even when the sharpest cut of cold attempts to steal her breath. Mar pays it no mind as she continues her search. She wonders briefly of the stallion that had been granted the same ability and how she was uneasy about the way he smirked and spoke.
Marlyn would use this chance to spread the good in Beqanna. She would use this small gift to those who appreciated the generosity of the fairies. Marlyn would be sure to pass along the gospel for she was not a magician amongst horses and this power was granted by the great fairies. Marlyn was not a goddess amongst her kind. No, she is but a humble creature doing the bidding of a great power.
marlyn
yes this is same thread starter as the others. don't yell at me
They had gone into a stasis. The coming of this world—the one that they all shared, where her blessed body was no more than a blank canvas for the taking of the horizon—was indeed a Reckoning, and the slow madness that was overtaking her was coming. A reckoning of her own.
Epithet would remember herself as she pulled through, awakening to a new day with her little pitch daughter Leola trailing behind her, the girl growing ever more weary of seeing her mother losing herself into the magic of her blood. For without her gifts, Epithet was no more special than she was insane… and as this writer is learning, the level of her madness has yet to fully be discovered. And so the wind blows and the snow falls, and the ponds and creeks have frozen over. Epithet blinks, her lashes sifting through the snowflakes, looking for some sense of clarity and finding none.
Leola also looks around, her body growing a thick fuzzy blanket to deal with the chilling winter—much like the one from last year, when she was much smaller. She could tell that there was power in her own blood, even if she could not quite remember what it was. All she knew was, she wanted her father to fix her mother. She wanted someone to care.
i suddenly feel like a different person from the roots of my soul comes a gentle coercion
Amber eyes are curiously watching the pair in the meadow. Marlyn has found lately that she enjoyed the solitude of the meadow, watching horses drift by like the very snowflakes falling dizzily from the sky. She is sleek skinned and healthy despite the cold but the return of her power is what had really saved her.
The young mare is currently draped in the gray and white pallet of winter. Various points of her body splotched with brown. A frown creases her features as she see the light mare and dark child struggle and shiver despite the cold. Marlyn could not let them suffer. Limbs pull her away from her backdrop, a shake sends the thin layer of snow flying as her normal spotted self banishes the camouflage. "Hello there." Marlyn approaches with warmth in her voice, her head nodding to the mother and smiling for the child. "Did you lose anything in the Reckoning?" Marlyn does not introduce herself yet but instead asks a question and hopes for a true answer. Yes, it was odd for a once hidden horse to just appear and ask such an open inquiry but this was Beqanna and surely could not seem that odd.
Epithet had lost far more than she had bargained for in the reckoning. Epithet had lost her sanity. And so it seems that the curse of Charlemagne has descended upon Epithet in such a way that she could barely escape. Just like the drawing away of winter had given in to a cold, damp spring—for yes, it is spring—Epi found that she was still clinging to something deeper, looking for something to make sense within the brain that she now felt melting down, down, down. Deeper still, she felt that she was not as good as she thought herself to be. The madness was drawing these tiny little black thoughts inside her head. Thoughts that, perhaps, being bad might even be…well—fun. She looked back and forth at the girl who suddenly appeared to appear out of nowhere with her… appearance. She was so sweet, and so unassuming. Epithet wished she knew the girl, and looked back at Leola, and smiled a weak smile. The look of desperation clinging to her lips like poorly drawn makeup.“I have lost my heart. My blood—it pumps dust into my veins. The magic…it is gone. It is all gone. And the girl—she doesn’t even know the powers she has… because she’s never had them. I’ve failed us both.” She smiles right through Marlyn, looking at a friendly face; convinced its not there. Nobody cares about Epithet. Epithet fades into obscurity. No royal halls for this woman. Nobody likes poor Epithet. In her mind, she is rocking back and forth, but all Epithet can do is stand there, pacing, swaying side to side slightly, looking for an anchor to call home… Because nothing made sense anymore. And poor Leola—if she discovered she had powers and had never been able to use them… well it would be all Epi’s fault. Isn’t it always Epi’s fault? Isn’t that why they always leave? They always leave.
The woeful pale woman. The lost and scared creature. She is raw and so very vulnerable.
The words seem to spatter against Marlyn and the air around her like an artist wildly throwing paint against a canvas of endless possibilities. Marlyn can feel a heavy tug in her chest as she witnesses what she felt she should not have. The porcelain woman, her distraught child, Marlyn was no one important to have been allowed such expression.
The spotted woman wants to do something fun, enlightening for the restoration but no...no this was not appropriate. The white masked mare moves silently over the moss and dirt and simply -taps- the shorter mare with a gently, warm touch before standing back. Marlyn can feel the magic leak from her to the other in that simply act, a slow drain of a once full glass. "There. What was once lost is now found." Her words are low and honest as she intends no mockery and honestly hopes the restoration of magic would help the wretched soul.
