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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


    Don't get too close, it's dark inside
    #1
    Her dark silhouette is scarcely visible against the midnight sky, the shadows cast over the land. Her pelt is as dark as the sky, as though it has been silk dyed in the midnight abyss of an onyx pool. Afire Atnight is but a hazy image against the night sky; the star on her forehead is the only beacon in an ocean of darkness.

    Her amber eyes flicker as she gazes around her surroundings casually. She's always been an aloof little mare, distant and somewhat stoic to everything she meets. However, she has always loved the stars, and she gazes up to the heavens. The stars flicker like fireflies, and she takes a brief moment to observe them before she lowers her head again.

    Off her hooves went, continuing their solitary, endless journey. The young midnight wanderer continues on her way, going nowhere in particular. She's like a shark in that way; she has to continue moving. She's never been comfortable staying in one place. After the betrayal of her last herd, after her wrongful incrimination and eviction, she's lost trust in everyone, and has relied solely on herself.

    She's not sure what she'll do should someone approach her, though. She's been alone for so long that she's not sure she even remembers how to socialize. Not that she was ever good at it anyways. Afire halts and gazes over her shoulder, her amber orbs burning into darkness, before she continues to move forward again, her muscles rippling fluidly beneath the midnight silk of her coat.
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    #2
    born to be a king, I ask for one thing

    The trickster has always enjoyed the silent presence of the stars. Although he cannot say he loves them as much as the shadows (the shadows are his friends, the shadows are his allies, the shadows are the things he croons to when chaos is sleeping, the shadows are his partners in crime), there is something eerily comforting in their glittering, powerful ways. Some might say the stars are powerful beings, capable of flying down to the earth and spreading light and goodness and peace. The trickster thinks the stars are lonely, in his own honest opinion – up there in a sky of darkness with only their own light to keep them company, millions of miles away from the nearest friend, too far away to notice that they are not alone.


    The shadows speak to his chaos and the stars speak to his loneliness.

    He finds that the best place to observe the stars is in the field. Although the Valley has a few places of relative clarity from the suffocating trees and forests and shadows, the field is a wide clearing fringed and splattered with random trees and a crystalline lake to mirror the sky. It’s also peaceful at night, when the screaming mares and the heated stallions all retire home for sleep.

    He isn’t alone, during this night, however, and the trickster’s eyes (blue and white, blue and black) glimmer in the darkness with interest. They are both silent beings but he is perhaps more-so (mostly due to the fact that he deafens her ears to the grass hitting his legs and the sound of his breaths and the movement of muscle over bone and replaces it with the natural symphony of nighttime) as he approaches closer. And then he halts the soundtrack of the faux music in her ears and allows the natural, real sounds of night to take over.

    They are soon silenced with the sound of his voice. “It’s not safe for a dainty thing like you, babe, to be out here so late. Especially at this time of the year…”

    Lokii

    the tricky god of chaos

    a front seat to watch earth burn
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    #3
    She continues quietly through the grass, the stalks rippling around her legs. She doesn't bother to be stealthy like she usually does. It must be past midnight—who else would be out here? She's aware of the season that it is, which makes her extremely wary. She feels a prickling on her spine, like someone is watching her. But all she hears is the grass rustling the wind whispering in her ears, toying with her raven mane.

    She takes another step forward, and that feeling surges up inside her again. She eyes her surroundings with trepidation, instinctively pinning her ears and tucking her tail. She turns as a stallion makes his presence clear to her, and her eyes narrow at his words.

    She has nothing to say in return. She knows that it's not safe, especially because of the season and her less-than-optimal physical strength, but there is no way that she can rectify the situation. She has nowhere to go and no one to turn to, though she certainly won't let this stranger know that. Amber eyes glow in the darkness as she watches him carefully, and eventually she finds her voice to speak.

    "I've noticed," comes her dry reply. She's a bit embarrassed that she'd been so scatterbrained so as to not realize that he was following. But there is nothing she can do about it now, and her teeth catch her bottom lip as she nibbles it thoughtfully.
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    #4
    The Field calls to her at the worst of hours. The stars are already appearing over the Jungle's vast canopy when a twist in the Queen's gut tells her that she will be needed in the Field. Call it instinct, call it fate, call it thirty years of serving the Jungle. Call it what you will, but Scorch obliges. She turns her body (one completely made of tattooed fire) and sprints to the Field. The need to be there increases the nearer she becomes.

    Sweat glistens clearly on her hairless fire-skin, made evident by the silver light of the moon. She's arrived on the border of the Field, and just in time, it would seem. The breeding season has come upon them, and some foolish mare has tempted fate. She's a looker - all Arabians are, though Scorch, being a tank, wouldn't really know that - and she's attracted exactly what she probably wasn't looking for. A man.

    Snorting and making her presence known, the sixteen hand tall warrior stalks forward until she's beside the gorgeous midnight woman and slightly in front of her, shoulders rolling and ears laid back. It's not surprising that she chooses to stand against the approaches of such scum - she is the leader of a kingdom made solely of women, she's this age's epitome of a woman's right's activist.  But only Lokii might know this.

    "He won't do you any harm, miss." She says in her husky voice, the consonants hard, clipped. Razor sharp teeth peek from beneath her lips as she speaks. "I'm Scorch, Queen of the Amazon. You're safe with me, though I don't doubt your ability to protect yourself against men made brainless by the season." Violet dragon eyes turn to meet the Arabian's amber ones, their depths hard but protective. A small nod of solidarity is given, as though a promise has mentally passed from Queen to Newcomer. Then her eyes shift back to Lokii (whom she has met before, and not well) and she sneers, "Though I'm certain that you've kept your brain this season."
    [Image: scorch2.png]
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    #5
    Afire watches the stallion warily. Though she is sure that he is not stupid enough to try anything, one can never be too cautious during this season. It's dangerous for young mares like her, so everyone says. It is true that she is young and beautiful, but naïve and childish she is not. Though one would think her soft and susceptible to manipulation, she's barely three years old, and she's already gone through what many may experience in a lifetime. So she is in no way gullible or naïve, that is for sure.

    She pricks her ears as another horse gallops over to them, and she glances rather casually at the hairless mare, covered almost entirely in tattoos that look rather foreign to Afire Atnight. She does not seem to mind them, though. In fact, one could say that she's rather careless. They don't bother her, nor does the fact that the much taller mare is bald.

    What does bother her is the way that the other mare stands in front of her, as if protecting her from an enemy. Well, perhaps she should not be so indignant. This other stallion, whose name she has not heard yet, could be dangerous. After all, who wanders around at midnight when they have a herd to seek solace in?

    Apparently... Scorch, this mare is called...and the stallion.

    She listens intently to Scorch's words, feeling an air of authority swamping the air around the taller mare. Something tells her that this is a woman that she better not defy, and the little black girl nods in return, acknowledging the words that Scorch has said to her. She speaks to the stallion as though he is an enemy. Maybe he is. Afire is uncertain of their relationship. Oh well. Time will tell, and then she will surely find out more.
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    #6
    born to be a king, I ask for one thing

    He laughs when they overestimate him. He laughs when they underestimate him. In any circumstance, the trickster has been judged and accused and underestimated and overestimated. They know the stories of him (they’ve experienced some of them with him) and they shy away from him or they jump at his throat. But more often than not they are either sorely disappointed or utterly surprised or ruffled under the feathers.

    When the fire queen comes blazing into the field (pun intended), the trickster doesn’t shy away from her. She huffs and puffs and jumps into a situation she knows little about and he chuckles at her assumption that he intended to take care of the black mare’s empty womb. The Amazons always have a twisted image of the stallion’s brain and thought processes and ways of working (whether from experience with one stallion, whether from stories told by their elders, whether from simple interactions) and whenever they jump into a situation with the wrong perspective he finds himself laughing.

    The fire queen sneers in his direction and the trickster’s sloping shoulders roll into an expression of a shrug. “Haven’t you heard of being friendly, Scorchie?” he asks plainly, tenor tunes echoing after the presence of her angry snorting and heavy panting. “She’s obviously a newcomer – maybe her original homeland doesn’t work the same way as Beqanna.”

    He resists the urge to roll his bruised eyes and instead turns his attention toward his original interest. Stepping around the Amazon queen (and pinning his ears and giving her a stare if she tries to guard his way) the trickster nods toward the new mare. “The name’s Lokii. I’m from a kingdom called the Valley… And we don’t make harsh accusations before knowing the situation fully.” A charismatic smile dances across his thin lips.

    “What’s your name?” Settling down slightly (although one ear remains twisted in the fire queen’s direction), the trickster casually pulls out a miniature sandstorm to wind between his ankles like a comforting kitten against its owner’s heels.

    Lokii

    the tricky god of chaos

    a front seat to watch earth burn
    Reply
    #7

    WATCH THE FLAMES CLIMB HIGH INTO THE NIGHT

    The small black mare returns Scorch’s nod, which the Queen appreciates. While she’s often neither over nor under estimated (she tries to keep them guessing) it’s nice to have recognition at all. Not that she doesn’t get any – it is more so that she rarely gets any positive recognition. That being said, the fire-woman isn’t all that certain that the Arabian’s wordless reply is positive at all. But when has Scorch ever been a worrier (always, that is. But no one happens to know that)?

    Scorch rolls her eyes back to Lokii as he begins his monstrous attempt at humiliating her. He knows nothing, and whatever he thinks he knows, so does everybody else. Even this stranger could probably have realized that Scorch hasn’t heard of being friendly, or at least, she ignores it when the topic comes up. ”It would do you well to learn that shining a bad light on Beqanna really isn’t the way to entice newcomers in.”

    Lokii pins his ears and steps around her, to which Scorch steps back and gives him a glare. While he is not necessarily the enemy, the woman has seen him and his trickster ways. He’s completely untrustworthy, and a slight lunatic, too. It pains her to even think of this black Arabian going with him – but then again, he’s probably thinking the same thing. So be it.

    ”I’d question that statement, considering the Valley has a history of murdering innocents on a whim.” She’s had enough of this bullshit, and doesn’t care to bring up the past. Even if the Valley has stopped their blasphemous ways, they’ll always have the potential to go back down that hellish roads.

    Allowing Lokii to speak to the Arabian without further interruptions, Scorch studies her. While small, Scorch can tell that she has a fiery side to her. Perhaps not as fiery as Scorch – har har – but a little spark can make a large flame.

    ”While you’re talking about yourself, let me ask you this: have you a mind of peace or war? Each kingdom has a caste of each, though they’re not mutually exclusive. If you’re leaning towards joining one of us, those would be your role in the kingdom.” She grins, her sharp teeth glimmering in the moonlight. ”And I might add that the Jungle is a women of only women, though men may live there. That – among a few other things – is the only difference between us and the other seven kingdoms.”

    Scorch

    Khaleesi of the Amazon Jungle

    [Image: scorch2.png]
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    #8
    Afire watches their interaction with casual golden orbs. Though it may appear that she is entirely uninterested, the black fae has learned over time just how to perfect that puzzling poker face. She shows no emotion, and stands so still that she may as well be made of stone.

    It's clear to her that Scorch is the more hot-tempered one of the two, and Lokii reminds her of a viper, suave and sly, yet ready to strike at a moment's notice. She can't help but look down at the sand wreathing around his ankles, which only cements the image in her mind.

    One ear twists forward as Lokii speaks of his home. The Valley. What could a place such as that be like? she can't help but wonder. Then, Scorch's voice is resonating in her ear, and she turns her head to give the fiery mare her attention. She listens to her words and purses her lips, though whether it is from disgust or thoughtfulness is uncertain. Murdering innocents, huh? She doesn't really take what either horse says into account at the moment, because in her eyes, it seems that all they're doing is putting one another down and exposing each other's flaws, probably to sway her onto their side.

    And then they're speaking to her. Time to end the observations, and answer them.

    "Afire Atnight," she responds simply to Lokii. She's not sure how to answer Scorch. Some icebreaker; no one has ever asked her such a question before. She lets it hang for a moment as she thinks, and she's sure that her response is pleasing to neither party. "If I can avoid war, I will, but I won't hesitate to defend my home or my allies." She is careful with her wording, as she's not much for friends. Well, not anymore.
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    #9
    born to be a king, I ask for one thing

    He doesn’t reply to the fire queen’s retort about shedding a bad light on Beqanna. Although he might be doing such a thing, he doesn’t really care. One’s opinion on a land can be swayed easily by the ways of words and debate, but a true opinion comes from what one sees and experiences themselves. All three of them know this to be true, but the trickster doesn’t see any point to say it aloud when their conversation carries them in a different direction.

    The fire mare is quick to accuse and retort against his words about his kingdom and the trickster’s ears instinctively pin in her direction. “A history, perhaps – but that does not mean we do so now. A kingdom is only as good as its ruler, Scorchie.” He resists the urge to roll his bruised eyes and instead turns his attention back to the mare, ears pricking upon hearing her name. It is long and interesting, but the trickster has never thought much for names. It is the personality, rather, that he cares about.

    “The Valley also offers a position of which you are neither war nor peace, but can still work for the better of the kingdom. It doesn’t offer much room for improvement, but at least it is a place for the indecisive.” The fire queen speaks more about her own kingdom and then the trickster listens to the black mare’s answer. It’s a curious thing, her answer – one that gives no leeway toward either of their sides. The bruised-eyed stallion shifts his weight, growing bored quickly of this back-and-forth motion of their conversation.

    “Well, if you would like to see the Valley, I would love to show you the way and give you a tour. However, if you want to wait and go with the Amazons or perhaps wait for another bite, I’m going to find something else to amuse myself.” He winks slyly toward the fire queen before licking his lips slowly. With that, whether she follows or doesn’t, the trickster turns and departs with a charismatic nod toward each of the mares.

    Lokii

    the tricky god of chaos

    a front seat to watch earth burn


    if afire atnight wants to go to the valley, just post there with lokii's name in the subject and he'll pop up. nice chat, ladies. ;D
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    #10

    WATCH THE FLAMES CLIMB HIGH INTO THE NIGHT

    Where Lokii seems to have better places to be, bigger fish to fry, Scorch devotes her time and energy to Afire Atnight. Although diplomacy has by far been her weakness, recruiting has, is, and will be something that she excels at, simply because she is dedicated. There are few moments where her attentions are not on the recruit, and fewer moments still when she is leaving simply because another mare has walked into the field. If she had done that, half of the Jungle wouldn’t be there today.

    All of her will power is utilized not to roll her purple dragon eyes when Lokii makes his excuses and thus departs. Instead, she turns said eyes to Afire, eager to address what she has said. ”It sounds as if the war caste would suit you. We are currently at war with no one, but to learn the art of fighting is never a loss, especially with the current set of rulers.” She doesn’t explain further, deciding it too difficult to explain herself, Camrynn, Eight, Typhon, Errant, and Straia. The power players, though in a few short weeks, she’s certain that their number will dwindle.

    ”While working for a kingdom is good and well, I can also offer a home and family for you to defend. The Jungle has a magic which binds those who take the oath together, in sisterhood. Each of the sisters sports the vine-and-rose, as well as their own personal tattoo.” Her eyes twitch into a sickly yellow colour as a bitter tone comes to her voice. ”While ignorant people may call us a cult and binding, this is not so. There is absolutely no pressure to take the oath – if you wish to serve without dedicating yourself to the Jungle, that is entirely okay.”

    Sinking her weight into one hip, Scorch gazes at the elegant black Arabian with interest. Lagertha would like this woman, she thinks, as would Malka. ”Afire Atnight, would you have any interest in meeting the members of my kingdom? The walk is not long from here.”

    Scorch

    Khaleesi of the Amazon Jungle



    If you want to reply here that is fine, or you can reply in the Jungle and Scorch will have "walked with her to the Jungle." So just continuing this thread, but in the jungle Smile
    [Image: scorch2.png]
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