Foro Beqanna

to become a melody without a name There is an untethered sort of peace held within the crashing waves and salt-laden scent of the ocean. It is a peace many have felt, and even more, admired. An overwhelming sense of dangerous freedom with each crest and roll of the unsettled water. The pull is undeniable, drawing creatures like locusts to a perfectly golden field of wheat. For Eridya, it is intimate. As much a part of her as the air is to the birds or the earth is to a worm. The sea is her birthright, linked so intricately to her that it may as well be the blood rushing inside her veins. So for her to leave it makes this day an auspicious one, even if few would ever know it. Auspicious, yet entirely unsurprising. Like the winter storms that tear through and ravage the lands, she rarely stays in one place long. For a creature of the sea, land holds an undeniable fascination in the same way the restless depths do for creatures of the land. Fortune must truly have smiled on her to allow her a freedom so few others have, for Eridya is a creature who can traverse one as easily as the other. Her translucent skin glimmers in the weak light of the sun, the water sluicing from her sleek form, sending rainbows cascading across each curve and hollow. Her tail swishes sharply as she steps fully from the lapping waves, a shower of seawater spreading across the beach with the practiced movement. Her slender gills flutter and widen as she familiarizes herself with breathing air once more. I

to become a melody without a name There is an untethered sort of peace held within the crashing waves and salt-laden scent of the ocean. It is a peace many have felt, and even more, admired. An overwhelming sense of dangerous freedom with each crest and roll of the unsettled water. The pull is undeniable, drawing creatures like locusts to a perfectly golden field of wheat. For Eridya, it is intimate. As much a part of her as the air is to the birds or the earth is to a worm. The sea is her birthright, linked so intricately to her that it may as well be the blood rushing inside her veins. So for her to leave it makes this day an auspicious one, even if few would ever know it. Auspicious, yet entirely unsurprising. Like the winter storms that tear through and ravage the lands, she rarely stays in one place long. For a creature of the sea, land holds an undeniable fascination in the same way the restless depths do for creatures of the land. Fortune must truly have smiled on her to allow her a freedom so few others have, for Eridya is a creature who can traverse one as easily as the other. Her translucent skin glimmers in the weak light of the sun, the water sluicing from her sleek form, sending rainbows cascading across each curve and hollow. Her tail swishes sharply as she steps fully from the lapping waves, a shower of seawater spreading across the beach with the practiced movement. Her slender gills flutter and widen as she familiarizes herself with breathing air once more. I

to become a melody without a name There is an untethered sort of peace held within the crashing waves and salt-laden scent of the ocean. It is a peace many have felt, and even more, admired. An overwhelming sense of dangerous freedom with each crest and roll of the unsettled water. The pull is undeniable, drawing creatures like locusts to a perfectly golden field of wheat. For Eridya, it is intimate. As much a part of her as the air is to the birds or the earth is to a worm. The sea is her birthright, linked so intricately to her that it may as well be the blood rushing inside her veins. So for her to leave it makes this day an auspicious one, even if few would ever know it. Auspicious, yet entirely unsurprising. Like the winter storms that tear through and ravage the lands, she rarely stays in one place long. For a creature of the sea, land holds an undeniable fascination in the same way the restless depths do for creatures of the land. Fortune must truly have smiled on her to allow her a freedom so few others have, for Eridya is a creature who can traverse one as easily as the other. Her translucent skin glimmers in the weak light of the sun, the water sluicing from her sleek form, sending rainbows cascading across each curve and hollow. Her tail swishes sharply as she steps fully from the lapping waves, a shower of seawater spreading across the beach with the practiced movement. Her slender gills flutter and widen as she familiarizes herself with breathing air once more. I

He wakes suddenly, and for a long moment he cannot tell if the thunder in his ears is that which persists from within the cage of his own chest, or the residue of a dream that has been his constant companion since childhood. His mistake is in considering the dream at all, as if acknowledging the thing is all it needs to sink those spindly fingers into the tender of his roiling gut. There will be no more sleep tonight. Tension tightens in the dark of his mouth as he heaves himself away from the tangle of deciduous trees, only looking upwards for the briefest moment to note the indigo black of a star strewn sky straining to find him through the branches above. Where once he had marveled at those tiny sparks of light, the same ones spilled over so much of his face and legs, he pretends they mean nothing to him - and maybe that is true, now, when the one he traced constellations with is forever sleeping beneath such violent fathoms of sea. He flinches, blinks once too slowly, disappears into the black of deep forest where the stars can’t find him. Where the dream, now fully awake and watching him, can’t show him the things he would otherwise prefer to lose to the blur of time since passed. He thinks the dark is safe, these places of deep forest where the moon can’t spill silver over the curve of his glittering spine, where there are so few faces that turn to watch him as he pours like shadow through the roots of ancient trees. But he is not paying attention, not hearing anything

He wakes suddenly, and for a long moment he cannot tell if the thunder in his ears is that which persists from within the cage of his own chest, or the residue of a dream that has been his constant companion since childhood. His mistake is in considering the dream at all, as if acknowledging the thing is all it needs to sink those spindly fingers into the tender of his roiling gut. There will be no more sleep tonight. Tension tightens in the dark of his mouth as he heaves himself away from the tangle of deciduous trees, only looking upwards for the briefest moment to note the indigo black of a star strewn sky straining to find him through the branches above. Where once he had marveled at those tiny sparks of light, the same ones spilled over so much of his face and legs, he pretends they mean nothing to him - and maybe that is true, now, when the one he traced constellations with is forever sleeping beneath such violent fathoms of sea. He flinches, blinks once too slowly, disappears into the black of deep forest where the stars can’t find him. Where the dream, now fully awake and watching him, can’t show him the things he would otherwise prefer to lose to the blur of time since passed. He thinks the dark is safe, these places of deep forest where the moon can’t spill silver over the curve of his glittering spine, where there are so few faces that turn to watch him as he pours like shadow through the roots of ancient trees. But he is not paying attention, not hearing anything

He wakes suddenly, and for a long moment he cannot tell if the thunder in his ears is that which persists from within the cage of his own chest, or the residue of a dream that has been his constant companion since childhood. His mistake is in considering the dream at all, as if acknowledging the thing is all it needs to sink those spindly fingers into the tender of his roiling gut. There will be no more sleep tonight. Tension tightens in the dark of his mouth as he heaves himself away from the tangle of deciduous trees, only looking upwards for the briefest moment to note the indigo black of a star strewn sky straining to find him through the branches above. Where once he had marveled at those tiny sparks of light, the same ones spilled over so much of his face and legs, he pretends they mean nothing to him - and maybe that is true, now, when the one he traced constellations with is forever sleeping beneath such violent fathoms of sea. He flinches, blinks once too slowly, disappears into the black of deep forest where the stars can’t find him. Where the dream, now fully awake and watching him, can’t show him the things he would otherwise prefer to lose to the blur of time since passed. He thinks the dark is safe, these places of deep forest where the moon can’t spill silver over the curve of his glittering spine, where there are so few faces that turn to watch him as he pours like shadow through the roots of ancient trees. But he is not paying attention, not hearing anything

https://beqanna.com/forum/showthread.php?tid=32141 427 words https://beqanna.com/forum/showthread.php?tid=32151 602 words https://beqanna.com/forum/showthread.php?tid=32035 419 words https://beqanna.com/forum/showthread.php?tid=31860 302 words https://beqanna.com/forum/showthread.php?tid=32049 529 words I'm giving the trait of Equus Ignis to Brinly! This is a new trait, the loose definition from Squirt is: A melding of horse and flame. They can range from being made of living flame to having cinder or burnt-like markings but there is typically something about them that glows. They can use the abilities of fire such as fire manipulation, fire breathing, fire armor, fire wings, smoke manipulation, or heat manipulation. Character may have up to four spaces of traits. The name and whatever else can be changed, its just suppose to be the fire version of the water one. She's going to have fire manipulation for her 4 spaces of traits. From her teg, I will be removing incendia intus and moving summer appearance to carried. tegteg [EQUUS IGNIS 4][FIRE AURA 1][summer appearance 0][infrared vision 1][venomous fangs 1][immortality 0]

https://beqanna.com/forum/showthread.php?tid=32141 427 words https://beqanna.com/forum/showthread.php?tid=32151 602 words https://beqanna.com/forum/showthread.php?tid=32035 419 words https://beqanna.com/forum/showthread.php?tid=31860 302 words https://beqanna.com/forum/showthread.php?tid=32049 529 words I'm giving the trait of Equus Ignis to Brinly! This is a new trait, the loose definition from Squirt is: A melding of horse and flame. They can range from being made of living flame to having cinder or burnt-like markings but there is typically something about them that glows. They can use the abilities of fire such as fire manipulation, fire breathing, fire armor, fire wings, smoke manipulation, or heat manipulation. Character may have up to four spaces of traits. The name and whatever else can be changed, its just suppose to be the fire version of the water one. She's going to have fire manipulation for her 4 spaces of traits. From her teg, I will be removing incendia intus and moving summer appearance to carried. tegteg [EQUUS IGNIS 4][FIRE AURA 1][summer appearance 0][infrared vision 1][venomous fangs 1][immortality 0]

The morning arrived comfortably warm, the rising sun still unyielding to the arrival of autumn. Still, time marches on, as was evidenced by the gilding around the edges of the leaves that rustled in the comforting breeze. Birdsong rode the gentle wind, a medley of voices that intertwined into the rest of nature’s backdrop. The young prince rubbed against the rough bark of a tree, letting out a final yawn as he began his day. A dark ear flicked, and he found himself absentmindedly naming the species - a warbler, a mourning dove, a flicker - and could occasionally make out a message within the chortle. His granddam had spent his first year teaching him about the birds, giving them names and what to listen for. He still had a long way to go to call it communication, however certain words stood out from the rest. . . . Berries . . . Stream . . . Fair winds . . . it was enough to point him in the direction of breakfast. As he began to amble through the unfamiliar forest, his mind wandered to what had been. He was named after a bird, his mother had told him. A rook is a black bird, a relative to crows and ravens. He had arrived to the world jet black, a mess of feathers and long limbs with white ticking on his face, immediately unafraid. Though he had greyed out to roan, his mother had never stopped calling him her “little bird,” much to his dismay in front of the other colts and fillies. Even on the day of his departure, she had mussied his forelock affectionately, wishing her lit

The morning arrived comfortably warm, the rising sun still unyielding to the arrival of autumn. Still, time marches on, as was evidenced by the gilding around the edges of the leaves that rustled in the comforting breeze. Birdsong rode the gentle wind, a medley of voices that intertwined into the rest of nature’s backdrop. The young prince rubbed against the rough bark of a tree, letting out a final yawn as he began his day. A dark ear flicked, and he found himself absentmindedly naming the species - a warbler, a mourning dove, a flicker - and could occasionally make out a message within the chortle. His granddam had spent his first year teaching him about the birds, giving them names and what to listen for. He still had a long way to go to call it communication, however certain words stood out from the rest. . . . Berries . . . Stream . . . Fair winds . . . it was enough to point him in the direction of breakfast. As he began to amble through the unfamiliar forest, his mind wandered to what had been. He was named after a bird, his mother had told him. A rook is a black bird, a relative to crows and ravens. He had arrived to the world jet black, a mess of feathers and long limbs with white ticking on his face, immediately unafraid. Though he had greyed out to roan, his mother had never stopped calling him her “little bird,” much to his dismay in front of the other colts and fillies. Even on the day of his departure, she had mussied his forelock affectionately, wishing her lit

The morning arrived comfortably warm, the rising sun still unyielding to the arrival of autumn. Still, time marches on, as was evidenced by the gilding around the edges of the leaves that rustled in the comforting breeze. Birdsong rode the gentle wind, a medley of voices that intertwined into the rest of nature’s backdrop. The young prince rubbed against the rough bark of a tree, letting out a final yawn as he began his day. A dark ear flicked, and he found himself absentmindedly naming the species - a warbler, a mourning dove, a flicker - and could occasionally make out a message within the chortle. His granddam had spent his first year teaching him about the birds, giving them names and what to listen for. He still had a long way to go to call it communication, however certain words stood out from the rest. . . . Berries . . . Stream . . . Fair winds . . . it was enough to point him in the direction of breakfast. As he began to amble through the unfamiliar forest, his mind wandered to what had been. He was named after a bird, his mother had told him. A rook is a black bird, a relative to crows and ravens. He had arrived to the world jet black, a mess of feathers and long limbs with white ticking on his face, immediately unafraid. Though he had greyed out to roan, his mother had never stopped calling him her “little bird,” much to his dismay in front of the other colts and fillies. Even on the day of his departure, she had mussied his forelock affectionately, wishing her lit

Horse's Full Name: Breed: Dutch Warmblood Age: 2 Gender: Stallion Color: Blue Roan with dark face and legs. He has a white badger marking on his face. Player Out of Character Name: How did you find Beqanna? (optional): I joined several years ago but never quite got started. I assume from an ad on another similar rpg page Anything else you'd like to include: Hoping to join with a Level 1 trait, "Bird Friend" (similar to "Fish Friend"), he can speak to and understand birds