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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


    i'll pick the world up | anyone
    #1

    Between apologizing to women constantly and chasing tail in the other bits of spare time he has, he’s had hardly any time to himself. No time to fuddle with thoughts of leaving the River, letting it go for good. He’s been reluctant to accept that it is not a perfectly suitable home, trying to lure woman back, trying to find secluded little hidey-holes for himself – the camel’s spine finally gave way to a piece of feather weight wheat when a band of yearlings came crashing through while he and a ‘friend’ were starting to get cozy in one of his favorite spots.

    Fuck this. After the girl made some excuse and trotted off, he’s left with only that thought. Fuck. This. Time for a new place to live, eh? A common land is no place to take up camp and although beautiful, it becomes crowded and there is often nowhere untouched. The mossy banks of the rushing water show signs of Chem and his months of lurking. Cairns line his pathways, scars left on tree trunks and certain plants cultivated, others trampled. He’s tried to make it a home, sort of, but thus failed and must leave his comforts and little sigils, stone piles, & markings behind.

    Quite unceremoniously he makes his way westward to the mountains. A cold breeze rushes off the peaks, the water makes the air chillier, and the freshness of the mountain-top melt water can be smelled on the swaying winds. He’s in Hyaline within a few hours, the lake slowing coming into view. He followed a swampy path, likely made by tapirs, or deer or some such travelling vegetarian. It carved a way through the sentinel mountains and into its emerald palace. The evening light catches against blooms of all kinds, flourishing greenery and fat healthy flower-buds hanging among the lushness.

    A wisteria, bright and dancing in the soft flow of wind, catches his eye. Long fluttery ferns along with smooth river stones line a gravelly pathway up to the giant, ancient vine tree. It swallowed a large stone, pointed and about 20 feet high from its base. The trunks of the vine have melded and become a twirling case of wood and leaf wrapping the old stone. No one will ever know what the stone means, or meant, or if it might be an old carving – only the wisteria knows.

    He is staring up at the tangle of root, wood and stone while the sun sets at his back. Birds call out, the sea crashes in the distance, but so far he stands alone as his eyes thoughtfully run over the purple-bloomed knot of old vine.



    c h e m d o g

    in absentia luci, tenebrae vincunt








    he just decided to go this direction and bam
    #2
    if there's a light at the end, it's just the sun in your eyes

    Hyaline, with unmatched persistence, has already begun to regrow itself in this first spring following the Lost Boys' attack. The wisteria (Amet's favorite) are blooming majestically in the springtime dusk, their purple boughs only broken up by intermingling branches of red maple, and the lush emerald grasses have finally begun to sprout from the moist earth that had been ravaged and turned upon itself last autumn. On the eastern side of their crystalline lake, there is still a more obvious sign that their lake sanctuary had been invaded: Amet's favorite wisteria, alone just a few yards from the lake's shoreline, stands charred and black. He doubts it will ever repair itself, lest he find a mage powerful enough to breathe life into the tree once more, but he still stands, sentinel, beneath it nonetheless.

    His home is quiet this evening, a peaceful reprieve from the diplomatic visits from the last few months. Offspring's visit still weighs heavily on the dragon King's mind, with Nayl's anger drawing more anxiety from the Akhal-Teke than Offspring's confession had. He is still pleased with the way the meeting had turned out, with the prospect that Tephra could be an ally in the future (his own friend, Tang, is even staying there with her newborns for the time being).

    Their visit to Loess had proven to be equally as fruitful, with an official alliance agreed upon by both he and Heda before the young King had returned to Hyaline.

    Amet hums pleasantly, his amber eyes roving the crystalline lake when a gentle breeze brings an unfamiliar scent to the leather-plated stallion. He is moving without hesitation, hooves falling rhythmically against the earth as he rounds the lake and heads towards a copse of wisteria near the base of one of their mountain peaks, dragon scales glinting with a hint of orange beneath the setting sun.

    Amet finds a black stallion with birdcatcher spots gazing up at a large boulder and its wisteria crown, somewhere between the border of his home and the lake that sits in the middle of it. He smiles pleasantly at the unknown man, pulling his narrow frame to a halt a few yards away. "Hello there, friend," the young King greets amicably, "Welcome to Hyaline." The stallion smells of the River, a place that Amet had visited a few times before, first when he had met Molotov and then when he had discovered that Sakir had followed he and Iset to Beqanna. Yes, the River is wrought with interesting memories for the dragon King.

    "My name is Amet. Is there something I can do for you?"
    Amet


    @[Chemdog]
    #3

    The King’s approach was silent enough, but the padding of his feet against green earth could still be heard and felt. The vibrations tremble through the feathering spiraled over the ground and up through his knees, to his belly and chest. He does not spin around; he can tell by the sound and the feel of the air that this is no attack from behind. One would expect a peaceful approach at least, if not an aggressive one, so the stranger is greeted with a quaint smile as he slides into view. It takes Chemdog a moment to drift his teal eyes over the sparkle of scales beside him, but when he does he nods in hello. “To be truthful I’ve come for a place to rest my laurels. And the laurels of my kin, my tribe.” His decides not to mention that he only has the pair of mares at the moment, he cares not to divulge only to see a response in the stallion’s demeanor.

    It is blunt to ask such a thing, he’s aware, but there is no sense in letting the moment linger on as if the spotted stallion came here with no motives. He has motives indeed, intent, and to say clearly his intentions is the best route, he assumes. “My name is Chemdog and I needn’t much – just a corner for me and mine.” He draws in a breath and casts a thoughtful look toward the blooming stone. “I’m practiced in espionage, but no reasonable man would expect a King to employ a spy he does not know, so I’ll offer my combative and stealth skills instead.” he blows a throat clearing snort, “Any task, my friend, I shall do without question.” He meets his eyes with Amet’s, the King he has yet to know but offers all. It is a feeling that drew him here and more of a feeling that keeps him standing here, that beckons him to ask a favor in exchange for favors from a King he has yet to know.



    c h e m d o g

    in absentia luci, tenebrae vincunt






    @[Amet]
    #4
    if there's a light at the end, it's just the sun in your eyes

    The stallion's teal eyes slide from the wisteria-covered boulder to lock gazes with Amet, who remains a few yards away with a curious smile. The dragon King has grown used to visitors over the last two years of his reign - many of them wish to see the crystalline lake that had blossomed from nothing, gifted to the residents of Beqanna by the faceless Fairy; some sought refuge, and others sought destruction, as had been the case of the Lost Boys. He has always greeted them with a smile, though, determined to never be a leader comparable to Him, the one they'd run from in the Dunes.

    This time is no different, and as the teal-eyed stallion turns to face Amet, the scaled Akhal-Teke listens intently, his smile never faltering. His ears twitch with interest and he nods his narrow head in an acknowledgement of Chemdog's request, amber eyes roving the beauty that surrounds them for just a moment before returning to the vagrant visitor. "My hope for Hyaline is that it will become a sanctuary and place of learning for Beqanna's youth. My original intention was to foster relationships with skilled educators outside of Hyaline that the youth here could be paired with for training purposes."

    He pauses for a moment, his amber eyes still regarding the birdcatcher stallion warmly, "With that being said, I believe we could use more in-house protection. If you are willing to act as an educator for those children who wish to learn about warfare and espionage, you and your tribe are more than welcome to join us here. I hope that it is something you will be interested in," he finishes with a sheepish shrug, and then waits politely for Chemdog to consider the offer.
    Amet


    @[Chemdog]
    #5


    Chem lets the King answer, giving him the air with respectful silence as he keeps his eyes to the horizon for now. The thought digests, Amet’s counter offer hangs on the chilly wind and smile begins to crease the edges of Chem’s coal-black muzzle. He lays an ear to the scaled stallion standing some distance off still, his eyes sliding slowly to meet his once again. “A fair trade, certainly.” His grin is crooked and is almost obviously devious, but at the moment it is accompanied by honesty – it is a rare moment of purity for him. He recalls stories from his grandfather, stories of an old world and the patriarch’s wild origins. Mohan came from a world of wars and armies, great halls and mischievous Gods, rampant magic and murderous Kings & Queens of all types and powers. Among those many things of this mysterious old world his grandfather spoke of his family’s hall. A great place carved of stone and living trees, roots, vines and other earthly things to make up a strong castile to house a hundred or more generations (sometimes once!). This was a place of sanctuary for Mohan’s relatives and allies. There they trained for combat and espionage, schooling scholars and history – this particular detail Chem tries to recall in this moment now as Amet speaks of teaching…

    Professors, they were called, he runs this thought through his mind and casts his eyes back to the horizon.

    Chem sucks a cold breath into his lungs, through his teeth and rolling freely down into his chest and exhaling gently through wide-brimmed nostrils. “I’ll call a gathering then, of whomever wants to learn – I may need a half-season or so to get it together, but I’ll get started as soon as’m able, Amet. And then report to you.” His eyes find the dragon-stallion again to read him carefully. “And I’ll always have my eye out for threats to our great lake home.” He adds this in a cool low tone, almost as if it is for himself more than Amet. Home; a place for his children, himself, the rest. He cannot help but let a sense of pride tingle in the stem of his brain. It’s been a while since he’s felt a part of something, and this something seems more real than anything that has come before it. Perhaps this is the beginning archway in his path, his destined path, the one his ancestors prefer him on.





    chemdog
    astra inclinant, sed non obligant.


    @[Amet]
    #6
    if there's a light at the end, it's just the sun in your eyes

    Amet takes a quick penchant for the speckled Chemdog, whose easy grin and mischievous teal eyes remind him of Iset - on a good day. The Dragon King's heart aches for a short moment at the thought of his younger sister but the gilded stallion does his best to return his attention to the present, his mind erecting a mental partition to keep Iset from resurfacing, at least for now. Chemdog gives him an easy grin (a fair trade, certainly) and Amet can't stop himself from returning the gesture easily.

    "Welcome to Hyaline, then," he offers with a pleasant chuckle, "Chemdog, Professor of Warfare." The Akhal-Teke swells with pride, the feeling warm and fulfilling in his narrow chest. He'd never imagined himself as the ruler of a territory - in fact, he'd never really pictured himself doing anything except escaping the Dunes. The young colt, with only his metallic bay coat at that time, had been shortsighted in a way that kept him obsessively focused on finding a way for he, Iset, and Sakir to leave the strict confines of their homeland. Now, though, his aspirations are far-reaching. They are daunting. And yet... it excites him, the young King, who now has his first true Professor to aid in Hyaline's growth.

    "Thank you, Chemdog. I look forward to seeing how you make this rank your own."

    He pauses for a moment, his lips curled up into an excited grin. "Shall I leave you to explore, or would you like to know more about Hyaline?"
    Amet


    @[Chemdog]
    #7
    "I'd love a look around and a little bit of education on my new home..." A wry grin covers his black lips and he steps aside to gesture for the other stallion to lead the way.




    HEY! Sorry i let this sit for so long. Can we assume Amet let him in on everything he'll need to know and showed him around? Chem will call a meeting of the Warfare Pupils (lol) soon. Maybe him and Amet can have a friendly spar and be total bros? XD pm me if ya need




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