[open] I'm not old, I've just been young for a very long time

[assailant]

Assailant

It has been a while since he has truly left the Dale. Sure, he’s let himself wander every day, but he still hasn’t mustered the mental or physical strength to stray too far from her borders, still tethered by the desperate need to return to the lake’s edge every night. He can’t say that his hope is fading, but part of him knows that the situation looks bleaker with each rising of the sun.

So, with a sigh, he sets out in search of something once again. The skies are remarkably clear today, so he opts to spread his large dark wings and begin drifting south. At first, he has no destination in mind, letting the sharp yet gentle breezes guide him over the varied lands. He casts a sidelong glance at the Mountain as he passes, mild twinges pulling at random nerves as he once again thinks of his time there, of the changes that it had initiated. He drops some of the height he has gathered during his flight as he shakes his wings in mid-air, as though he could physically cast off his troubles by doing so.

This descent brings him over the Meadow’s border and as he quickly scans the mostly empty space, he decides this is as good a place as any to return to the ground. He skirts a few barren trees with ease, finally comfortable in navigating with the wings he had been gifted in the more recent past. There is no stealth in his movements today as the snow snaps and crunches beneath his feet, as he expels a heavy breath on impact, as his feathers rustle loudly as he tucks his wings to his sides.

Under normal circumstances, he would take the time to drink in his surroundings, to make himself aware of people in the vicinity. Today, he doesn’t care as much. So, he begins tramping through the snow aimlessly. He is lucky that the Meadow is scarcely populated today, for he might have run into any number of bodies as he wanders blindly, nearly wholly consumed by the thoughts rattling around his brain.

But one cannot be lucky forever and he comes uncomfortably close to bulldozing right over the other man. He pulls up short just in time to avoid the collision and a soft grunt of surprise cuts through the air. “Sorry about that, my mind seems to be elsewhere today.” He takes a moment to study the silver buckskin, curiosity creeping over him despite the fact that he’s not particularly interested in socializing today. Yet something compels him to stay, to learn more of this man that carries an essence about him, this man that somehow reminds him of days long since buried.

“Assailant.” He dips his head slightly as he speaks, indicating that this is his own name. “Who might you be?”

All journeys have secret destinations of which the traveler is unaware

--Martin Buber

image by HalwestIV

@cezanne @ Everclear

[Everclear]

EVERCLEAR

-- a dreamer neither lost nor found ;

Everclear has been in similar straits before, mind overcast by the swirling brew of uneasy thoughts, of worries far beyond his control and hindrances of a more tempestuous nature.

How many years of his life had he squandered here in the Meadow pining after a mare that had never looked at him twice? He had fallen for Prague when they were both young, when her crown was still new and when he was much too small for her to consider. He had never minced words with her, though – she was well aware of his affections and continuously rebuked them.

Thus he had devoted himself to other causes.

Thinking perhaps that bettering himself would catch her eye, he tried rising through the ranks of a kingdom and earning himself a title. The problem had been finding a place he’d fit, somewhere that felt right, and he’d eventually found himself in a slump. The Valley was his home then and it had seemed so impossible to maintain a foothold there.

But Heaven’s Gates – there he had found a true home. He had found love and devotion and, while they had not fully accepted him, he felt secure there.

Until the very same Prague, now gifted with magic and the support of others, sought to dethrone him and his queen. Only then had her hold over him truly vanished. He had seen her as a threat and an adversary while he himself had become, at least in his mind, an equal to her. Heaven herself truly knows how strongly he had tried to avoid the conflict, to divert the impending raid into more peaceable talks.

If only they had been true angels of Heaven then, like Spyglass so fondly considered their members. It is a fond light in his memory, the way she addressed everyone in the kingdom as equals, as ‘angels’ – it had been an uplifting notion. Perhaps, had they truly possessed such ethereal powers, they could have bonded their hopes together, they could have instilled a sense of togetherness and strength against their foes. Perhaps the war that had torn their home apart would not still trouble his mind as darkly as it does.

Such wishful what-ifs and never-weres are whisking through his thoughts today. What if he had had the power to convince them all that he was devoted to the Gates? That he had shirked his previous Valley home and devoted himself to the purity expected of a member of the Light.

That he, too, was worthy of the title ‘angel.’

Is it that wish which had led the fairy to grant him the halo of light that now crowns his head?

He is equally distracted by his thoughts as Assailant seems to be. Everclear meanders slowly through the rather empty Meadow where he often comes to think, happier to bring such pensive moods to a neutral ground rather than sullying his beloved home with sour memories. But as he moves, so too does the darker, winged stallion, until their paths converge and, nearly, their bodies.

The dappled gray’s dark head jolts up reflexively and he turns his shoulder toward the would-be collision, but they both have acted in time to avoid anything physical. He sighs softly with a faint smile and nods to the other’s explanation.

“Think nothing of it,” he says brusquely in return. It is a strange sort of coincidence that two of the few horses in the whole Meadow should nearly bump into one another, though, and for that mere observation alone, Everclear also lingers.

The dark-coated stallion offers his name and poses the general question of ‘who might you be?’ and Everclear shifts a little, casually relaxing from his prior stroll. “I am Everclear,” he responds amicably. “Your name is familiar…” He tilts his light-wreathed head in curiosity. “Perhaps we have crossed paths before?”

@assailant

[assailant]

Assailant

Unlike the dappled stallion, his time to reminisce is far more limited as his own flashbacks are far more vague, more muddied by time. Perhaps that is a testament to how unremarkable his past life had truly been. Still, the memory of Demise is one that has not fully faded from his mind. Most of the physical details are gone, but the senses and the emotions still linger. While he cannot picture how she looked, he can remember the feel of her when she pressed that obscured body against him. He knows they tried to stir up trouble wherever they went, but he cannot recall any significant events (or if there even were any) from their years together.

Surprisingly, even though he had never spent much time with their children, he can still recall their names. Occasionally, he wonders what became of them, what sort of lives they led in his absence. He supposes that there is a chance that their descendants may still survive in this present day, but he knows that it’s unlikely he would recognize them, nor they him. Even names would likely be useless, given how long ago even his last child had been born.

And yet, as he looks upon Everclear, there is an element of familiarity in the younger male’s face. Of course, it could merely be that they are of similar breeding; but something tugs at the back of his mind, tells him that there is another reason. He nods slightly, acknowledging the forgiving nature of the grey’s words. The nod turns to a tilt when he offers a vague recognition of Assailant as well.

“I haven’t met that many others recently, so it’s not likely to have been within the last few years. But I was never really the type to make long-lasting connections when I was young, so a lot of names and faces have slipped through the cracks in the time since. I suppose it’s still possible if you are of a certain age, as I am.”

He is fairly confident that his assumption is correct, that Everclear has also received the gift (if one can call it that) of a long life. The thought gives him pause, making him wonder just how long lives such as these might go on, if there is ever an end to it, that they might join those that they had once cared for so long ago.

He shakes his head to clear his mind before the thoughts become even more morbid. He refocuses on Everclear, so many questions beginning to form on the tip of his tongue. Where to even start? Rather than wait for the other to respond, he merely plunges forward with a bit of his own story.

“My prime was in the days of true kings and queens, when the lands were divided more clearly than they are today and wars were far more prevalent. I never served a king or queen, but I maintained a herd on lands controlled by what was known as the Chamber of Evil back then.”

There is no sentimentality in his voice as he relays this information, just the flatness of stating bare facts. All the while, he watches for Everclear’s reactions, looking for any indication that he might actually know the Chamber as it had once been, rather than remembering it as a vague part of Beqanna’s history.

All journeys have secret destinations of which the traveler is unaware

--Martin Buber

image by HalwestIV

@ Everclear 

[Everclear]

EVERCLEAR

-- a dreamer neither lost nor found ;

The meddle of age and time have fallen away like wilted leaves on the naked tree that Everclear’s life seems to have become. Such a relatively unremarkable existence he has borne, a steady pillar unwilling to wane or crumble amid a tempestuous ocean. He knows with clear certainty that he is by no means the only immortal roaming the lands, but he has never met one who rivals him in true age.

Assailant dismisses the coincidence of their having any prior encounter and the gray nods again in silent agreement. While the other’s name sounds familiar, Everclear does not recognize his face outright, nor his voice or even the most primal identifier of his scent. It must have been from some long-ago passing, some distant tale or rumor that the name had touched upon his ears.

“I have lived much longer than I likely deserve,” he admits with a veil of sobriety that masks his near-disdain for the fact. This momentary consideration of his immortality finds him confronted with the recall of his solitary brush with death in a flicker-still flash of memory. Perhaps he should have accepted it then, that resolute punishment at the hands of an indomitable adversary armed with a metal wing. The feathers like blades had sliced his throat, had carved sanguine paths into his flesh, and yet the assassin’s vigor had been in vain.

It had been hope, then, that had kept him alive.

The act had been swift and largely unseen during the throes of upheaval in Heaven; he’d been on his way to this very Meadow, having abdicated in what he’d hoped would be a peaceful turnover only to be met with more rejection and fury. Perhaps his unknown attacker had been among those angered by his choice of successor, perhaps it had been a mere random act goaded by the turmoil of the world at the time. Everclear will never know, and would be happy to shrug away such an abrupt and brutal memory.

But Assailant goes on to mention the past, painting a fuller picture into the gray’s mind just as he’d attempted to shut it out. The kingdoms of old, their monarchies and allegiances… the Chamber of Evil.

Its name still churns his stomach, raising a taste of bile to his throat. Despite having once declared himself a denizen of the Valley and thus aligning himself with the more evil-at-heart, in the eyes of everyone around him, Everclear had never quite felt any such dark devotion as seemed to be required of his home or its sister. He knows now that it had been some folly, or perhaps a wandering heart, that had led him to that place. It had been family that had kept him there.

And it had been love that rescued him from it.

But he cannot begrudge this unlikely stranger his past, just as he has always desired that others overlook his own mild transgressions.

“I remember those days,” he responds rather plainly, his eyes clearing from their briefly clouded state. “All too well, sometimes,” he adds with an almost sheepish smile which attempts to ward away the ghosts that had just passed through his mind once more. “I was born in the Amazonian Jungle, long before they allowed men to live there.” His gaze wanders over the Meadow again as he swishes his tail gently against his hocks. “My mother Alex served two queens but was still made to raise me outside of her own home. Seems a bit foolish now, given how readily Beqanna seems to accept change now.

“How do you find it, now that some of the old kingdoms have been returned?” he goes on, curious to know what another ageless soul like himself must think of this rebirth. “Although they are not the same as before… and I must wonder what will become of them next.”

@assailant   sorry it's kinda rambly x.x