02-21-2021, 10:57 PM
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<div class="basic_message"><font color="#84a6cc">She feels the call.
It feels (at first) no different than the previous one; when the fog in Taiga had shifted into some kind of veil, lifting to reveal a glimmer of a past Desert kingdom. The prickling sensation that creeps along her spine is almost familiar, now.
But the Magic goes deeper than her chestnut skin and she can feel it pouring the quiet places in her mind, filling the spaces of memories (<i>a willow tree that protected them against summer storms, the bubbling laughter of a brook as it races along, the scent of too many flowers alongside a riverbed that held too much laughter</i>). These are memories of brighter, happier times. In a world gone dark, this is how Lilliana retains what little she has left of her glow.
(The chestnut mare keeps them close and even as the night drags eternally on, they are the kindling that keeps her burning. Taiga, her children, and their descendants, all become part of the flame that keeps her moving forward.)
Lilliana pushes it away. She tries to let it get lost in the tangles of her wild mane. She pins her ears in an attempt to ignore it. She stomps a slim foreleg. If she doesn't hear it, it isn't real. But the cry from the Mountain pushes back and goes to the edges of a mind where logic yields to the fantastic. It lingers there, long enough that she can feel the weariness behind the tired voice. It's a feeling she knows all too well. And while some part of her longs to beg their forgiveness, to ask them to choose another, the flame-marked woman knows she will go. There is something faint, something so weak behind the fragments of Magic in the air, she knows she will go. What she hears coming from the heart of the Beqanna is a plea; a cry for help.
<i>Magic always has a price,</i> she reminds herself.
They had been fortunate in Taiga. There had been enough forage provided by Borderline and Memorie to sustain the Northerners. The chestnut cautioned her family against venturing outside their protected home (but that has been her way for some time, where else would Lilliana go besides Tephra?). There was safety in numbers and together, they stood a chance of surviving the nefarious attacks of shadows and teeth. (There had even been rumors of horses disappearing altogether. Had that happened to Neverwhere? Would that explain why the former Khaleesi had vanished so suddenly?) One monster had nearly claimed a granddaughter and hadn't the beast been thwarted, thanks to those who surrounded her?
The more miles she puts between herself and Taiga show dire the situation has become. Even though winter's chill has remained, what she sees as she travels through the Common Lands is nothing like when the land sleeps. It isn't a stillness that comes from resting; this is a predatory one. This Eternal Night is filled with too-many yellow eyes, with too much swallowing silence. The birds have long flown away. What prey that might have occupied the hunters has moved on and Death grips the land, evident from the stench that wafts on the wind and the decay that rots from the bloated bodies to the mildewing leaves above her.
Warden had prophesized this, had seen it and yet to experience it, to walk among so much loss, nearly numbs her.
There is only one relief on this journey: the monster she leaves behind.
It hasn't been in Taiga for weeks but there had been one that lurked and skittered between the Sequoias, different than the rest. Her eldest child bears a scar (not unlike his grandfather) that runs from the front of his chest and reaches almost his left-wing from where it had torn him apart. It had grounded the young pegasus but he would have stayed anyway, he'd said. Until it was gone. Until someone had purged it from the Northern Forest or had trampled it back to the Hell it must have come from. (<i>'Mama,'</i> Roselin had said, <i>'Do you hear it?'</i> It had intercepted her memories, had somehow gleaned them from her mind and the creature had tried to mimic them. <i>'Lass!'</i> it called out one night with a borrowed brogue, <i>'Where are ye'?'</i> Another night, she caught the golden shape of her father. <i>'Lilliana,'</i> false-Valerio called out in a too shrill voice, <i>'come home. You can come home, love.'</i> When Rosey had been nearby, it had imitated Elena. <i>'Help me, Lilli.'</i> she said before Lilliana had enough time to recede the memory of their Hyaline nights. <i>'I got lost. I got lost.'</i>)
The monster never drew them out. But after the third night (day? how many hours passed?), Lilliana had started to wonder if it felt the despair that flooded the air. If it felt her pain. If it delighted in it.
(There is so much she doesn't know about these creatures. But it had - thankfully - gone.)
When she finally reaches the base of the Mountain, she is not alone. Some of the silhouettes are hazy but some she knows. Her heart skips when she sees her youngest son here. <b>"Reave,"</b> she murmurs worriedly. Ama and Cheri and Memorie are here (<i>Lilliana rarely follows her own advice, but why hadn't they listened? There will be a cost for this, she is certain. Are they prepared to pay it? Is she?</i>). Her heart twists again but settles at the sight of Leilan and Wishbone when she glances their way.
The only thing left to do is to look up and wait, to listen for the Mountain to cry out again.<br><br>
<div style="width:480px;height:1px;background:#fff;margin-top:0" align=left></div><p align=right><img src="https://img.nickpic.host/3Slkzp.png" width="10%" style="float:right;padding:0px"><i>Remember when our songs were just like prayers
Like gospel hymns that you caught in the air?<br></i></div>
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<div class="basic_container">
<div class="basic_message"><font color="#84a6cc">She feels the call.
It feels (at first) no different than the previous one; when the fog in Taiga had shifted into some kind of veil, lifting to reveal a glimmer of a past Desert kingdom. The prickling sensation that creeps along her spine is almost familiar, now.
But the Magic goes deeper than her chestnut skin and she can feel it pouring the quiet places in her mind, filling the spaces of memories (<i>a willow tree that protected them against summer storms, the bubbling laughter of a brook as it races along, the scent of too many flowers alongside a riverbed that held too much laughter</i>). These are memories of brighter, happier times. In a world gone dark, this is how Lilliana retains what little she has left of her glow.
(The chestnut mare keeps them close and even as the night drags eternally on, they are the kindling that keeps her burning. Taiga, her children, and their descendants, all become part of the flame that keeps her moving forward.)
Lilliana pushes it away. She tries to let it get lost in the tangles of her wild mane. She pins her ears in an attempt to ignore it. She stomps a slim foreleg. If she doesn't hear it, it isn't real. But the cry from the Mountain pushes back and goes to the edges of a mind where logic yields to the fantastic. It lingers there, long enough that she can feel the weariness behind the tired voice. It's a feeling she knows all too well. And while some part of her longs to beg their forgiveness, to ask them to choose another, the flame-marked woman knows she will go. There is something faint, something so weak behind the fragments of Magic in the air, she knows she will go. What she hears coming from the heart of the Beqanna is a plea; a cry for help.
<i>Magic always has a price,</i> she reminds herself.
They had been fortunate in Taiga. There had been enough forage provided by Borderline and Memorie to sustain the Northerners. The chestnut cautioned her family against venturing outside their protected home (but that has been her way for some time, where else would Lilliana go besides Tephra?). There was safety in numbers and together, they stood a chance of surviving the nefarious attacks of shadows and teeth. (There had even been rumors of horses disappearing altogether. Had that happened to Neverwhere? Would that explain why the former Khaleesi had vanished so suddenly?) One monster had nearly claimed a granddaughter and hadn't the beast been thwarted, thanks to those who surrounded her?
The more miles she puts between herself and Taiga show dire the situation has become. Even though winter's chill has remained, what she sees as she travels through the Common Lands is nothing like when the land sleeps. It isn't a stillness that comes from resting; this is a predatory one. This Eternal Night is filled with too-many yellow eyes, with too much swallowing silence. The birds have long flown away. What prey that might have occupied the hunters has moved on and Death grips the land, evident from the stench that wafts on the wind and the decay that rots from the bloated bodies to the mildewing leaves above her.
Warden had prophesized this, had seen it and yet to experience it, to walk among so much loss, nearly numbs her.
There is only one relief on this journey: the monster she leaves behind.
It hasn't been in Taiga for weeks but there had been one that lurked and skittered between the Sequoias, different than the rest. Her eldest child bears a scar (not unlike his grandfather) that runs from the front of his chest and reaches almost his left-wing from where it had torn him apart. It had grounded the young pegasus but he would have stayed anyway, he'd said. Until it was gone. Until someone had purged it from the Northern Forest or had trampled it back to the Hell it must have come from. (<i>'Mama,'</i> Roselin had said, <i>'Do you hear it?'</i> It had intercepted her memories, had somehow gleaned them from her mind and the creature had tried to mimic them. <i>'Lass!'</i> it called out one night with a borrowed brogue, <i>'Where are ye'?'</i> Another night, she caught the golden shape of her father. <i>'Lilliana,'</i> false-Valerio called out in a too shrill voice, <i>'come home. You can come home, love.'</i> When Rosey had been nearby, it had imitated Elena. <i>'Help me, Lilli.'</i> she said before Lilliana had enough time to recede the memory of their Hyaline nights. <i>'I got lost. I got lost.'</i>)
The monster never drew them out. But after the third night (day? how many hours passed?), Lilliana had started to wonder if it felt the despair that flooded the air. If it felt her pain. If it delighted in it.
(There is so much she doesn't know about these creatures. But it had - thankfully - gone.)
When she finally reaches the base of the Mountain, she is not alone. Some of the silhouettes are hazy but some she knows. Her heart skips when she sees her youngest son here. <b>"Reave,"</b> she murmurs worriedly. Ama and Cheri and Memorie are here (<i>Lilliana rarely follows her own advice, but why hadn't they listened? There will be a cost for this, she is certain. Are they prepared to pay it? Is she?</i>). Her heart twists again but settles at the sight of Leilan and Wishbone when she glances their way.
The only thing left to do is to look up and wait, to listen for the Mountain to cry out again.<br><br>
<div style="width:480px;height:1px;background:#fff;margin-top:0" align=left></div><p align=right><img src="https://img.nickpic.host/3Slkzp.png" width="10%" style="float:right;padding:0px"><i>Remember when our songs were just like prayers
Like gospel hymns that you caught in the air?<br></i></div>
</div>
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