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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


    [private]  somebody get me through this nightmare
    #1

    Assailant

    He knows he shouldn’t stray too far from the Meadow, lest his party return, only to discover his absence, but he cannot resist the urge to wander, at least for a while.

    The skies are nearly as cloudy as his mind today, and for this reason, he opts to forgo his preferred method of travel. The scents of damp soil and mild decay weigh down the crisp morning air as he trudges over the leaf-strewn ground. The air itself nips at his skin and puffs of vapor swell and dissipate quickly with each breath he exhales. He looks up at the dark skies and rumbles a quiet dissent, for he would rather not be near others just now.

    On its own, the earthiness of this time of year is not unwelcome, but when mingled with the unmistakable smell of breeding season, it is something he cannot quite bear. At least, not now. Every time he passes by a woman, she unwittingly sends out a plaintive appeal to his ignoble past, much like a bright light calling to the hapless moth. But at the heart of his displeasure is not the fact that such longing still lies beneath the still-thin veneer of the changes he has made.

    No, it is the fact that there is still enough of his former self to want to submit, to give in to the craven desires, not for his own pleasure, but to spite her for what he viewed as her intractability. While Demise had been similarly headstrong as Adriana, the former had rarely fussed about a lack of fidelity, and when she did, he had always pulled another woman into his embrace just to stoke her anger.

    But that was a different era with different expectations, and he has come to accept this, so that is why the surfacing of his old habits bothers him so.

    He does his best to turn his thoughts elsewhere, but since he cannot seem to shake the traces of the kelpie girl from the webs of his mind, visions of a future in which Tephra has returned begin to form. He thinks of Savior, born to defend the land they seek to raise, and he wonders what his own role will come to be.

    He is not sure that he could assume a similar post, as nothing in his life had ever required much protection beyond simple border patrolling. Yet, even if he had acquired any physical skill, how would that compare to the types of magic that run wild today? There had been a small taste of greater power when he’d been part of the group that had mended the Baltian/Stratosian rift, but that had faded once he had returned to Beqanna. He recalls the celestial images that Ryatah had painted to better illustrate her tales of the past; something tells him that her magic could do far more than produce pretty pictures.

    On the other hand, how much of a diplomat could he be? When given the chance in the Baltian/Stratosian past, he had done little to inspire peace between the warring countries. Though it could be a more natural path for him, given his lack of offensive abilities; and learning peacemaking might be easier than throwing himself into innumerable skirmishes or even petitioning for new magic. He wonders briefly what kinds of defensive or pacifist abilities might also be out there, which leads him to also wonder about Famkee’s clairvoyance and how she might use that on either side of the fence.

    While pondering all of these branches of magic, he cannot help but think of Adriana’s water wings and the frosted scales of her skin and a tongue of fiery hunger flares up so strongly that he can nearly feel the heat radiate from his chest. For a moment, he longs for a flame of his own, if only to melt his way through her icy exterior, but then perhaps to incinerate anything that threatens her well-being.

    As this thought dawns, he realizes that maybe it is best that he has no potential for tangible destruction; he might not be able to control himself under certain circumstances. He then realizes that he has traveled much further than he intended to and that he is near enough to smell the ocean air once again. He stares out over the shimmering horizon, aware that he is still looking for her and, so infuriated that he is letting her consume him so completely, that he is of half a mind to abandon the quest for Tephra entirely.

    But he knows he can’t, so he grinds his teeth in annoyance and wheels around so that he might head back to see if the others have gathered in the Meadow yet.

    All journeys have secret destinations of which the traveler is unaware

    --Martin Buber

    image by HalwestIV

    @Adriana 
    Reply
    #2
    i showed him all my teeth & then i laughed out loud,
    because i never wanted saving, i just wanted to be found

    At first she had clung to her stubbornness like a lifeline, but recently it had felt more like an anchor.

    The flame of her anger had long since lost its fervor, but the cold ashes left behind still lingered, coating her no matter how she tried to brush them away. Her mind was a pendulum that could not stop swinging, vacillating between wanting to find him and wanting to continue to avoid him. She doesn’t know what she would do even if she did see him; somewhere in the back of her mind there is an apology forming, only she does not know if it will ever find its way to her tongue. She isn’t even entirely sure what she would apologize for; she cannot apologize for her hurt, and doesn’t think that she should have to.

    But she is sorry that she leapt to reacting rather than listening, and that she had fled so far that he could not follow even if he had wanted.

    All of these emotions — the jealousy and the regret and the longing — were still too new to her, but she had come to the realization a few days ago that all the solitude in the world was not going to bring her any clarity.

    She doesn’t know what kind of string must be tying the two of them together when the very place she decides to surface happens to be where he is just walking away from. She didn’t think herself the type to believe in fate, and even then, fate did not always mean a happy ending. Perhaps they were only fated to destroy each other.

    His back is to her, and she knows that if she wanted she could slip back into the depths, undetected. But before she even realizes it her hooves have found solid ground, and with every step she takes the ocean drops further around her, until the waves are only rolling at her ankles. Her crimson-red mane is far more tangled than it has ever been from spending so long in the salted sea, and her usual fierce confidence is somewhat quieted, feeling suddenly exposed in the open air.

    “Wait,” she says, the word itself feeling cracked and dry on her now rarely used tongue, and she isn’t even sure if she said it loud enough for him to hear her.
    A D R I A N A


    @assailant
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