Quilyan

He stares out over the ocean from the cliffs overlooking the brilliant blue waves. It is a fine Birdsong day, with a gentle sea breeze that teases his locks and pulls at his feathers, trying to lure him up into the sky. His hooves, though, remain solidly on land, his wings folded at his sides. He is deep in thought today, reminiscing on times past in an attempt to prepare for the future. They say that history repeats itself, and though he doubts that his history will be repeated here, he is afraid. Protection is his job now, protecting not only the herd but also the integrity of Helovia. The World's Edge, though no longer the Qian, still retains many of the values of equality that the old herd had known. They were values that he holds very close to his heart, now that it is his duty to ensure they were carried out.

A lone ivory cloud races across the sky, blown by a wind much stronger than those on the surface of the earth. He shakes his head, mussing his already windswept banner, and casts one last look at the sea. Far below his vantage point, teal waves crash onto grey rock, their song racing up the cliffs and into his pricked auds. Then he turns, walking into the woods. His pace is slow, but purposeful, and as he nears the meadow in which the herd meeting was held not so very long ago, he raises his own voice: "All those with the rank of sneak, or those who wish to have such a title, report to me." Waiting, he finds himself lost again in thought.

In his land, he had known a great many secrets. He had traveled among those in all walks of life, refusing to remain in the castle when there was so much life out on the streets. He flirted with the peasant girls, sparred with the soldier lads, exchanged philosophical questions with the keepers of the god-trees. He had paraded alongside the ladies-in-waiting, been presented to the nobles, and spoken as one of them more than once. His knowledge had stemmed from his ability to get anyone to like him. He wasn't sure that such an ability would be useful here. How was he supposed to know how to act when there was no ranking system, no castes? How was he supposed to interact as though he were one of them when there was no "them" to be a part of?

"Talk talk talk."

Words ::
Tag :: @[Hamaliel], @[Hotaru]

I’m still adjusting life within the Edge, the land itself is beautiful and my first meeting with Kahlua had been very positive. I’ve yet to feel as if I have purpose though. One such as myself is used to spending each day up to my neck in work and tasks to attend to, and that is the way I prefer it. Slowly I pace through the forest, trying to familiarize myself with this land. I plan on knowing it like the top of my own hoof, for if I am to be a sufficient collector of knowledge such a thing should be expected.

A call breaks through my silence, my head turns in the direction of it and my ears perk forward. It is a call, for the ones who slink in the shadows, for the diplomats and the spies. I move at a trot in the direction toward the one who had called, I’m coming to the assumption that this individual is my superior. As I approach I stop for a moment to study him. Like everyone within the Edge, his face is unfamiliar and I note his superior size, but most of all his wings. That familiar pang of envy strikes me and I remember the Sun God and the quest he had given me. Perhaps this stallion will be a giving soul. One feather wouldn’t be too great a loss would it?

I whicker as I approach, alerting him of my presence and I dip my head as I go in a greeting of respect. “I’m Lee, sleuth,” I say as I stop before my superior. “I don’t believe we’ve met.” I let myself fall silent and I contemplate whether to simply ask for a feather, but I decide to wait before pressing such a thing learning my superior’s name may be wise before I seek to take something off his body.

"blah blah blah"

Quilyan

He has a job, and it is quite simple: protect the herd. It has become his mantra, and though he is not much of a fighter and hasn't particularly excelled in battle - he remembers, with a wince, his broken wing, his feverish flight to save Resplendence, his too-close-for-comfort brush with death - he has found himself able to assist in other ways. Secrets are a trade with which he is familiar, having lived in quite the market for them in the Royal Palace of Th'orqui. He wonders if he could have been better, could have searched harder, could have uncovered the Anarchists if he had only known what to look for - but no. They avoided him, wouldn't have allowed him to catch a whiff of their plans even if he had known where to look, who to ask, what to listen for. Here, though, he is not restricted by his pedigree. Here, he can go where he wants, talk to who he wants, and they would never be the wiser for it. Here, he can be anyone he wants if it means saving his family.

He wonders if his family will ever grow. Of course, he has Resplendence, his mate (though they have yet to truly confirm the title, if you know what I mean); he has Kaj, who is the closest thing to a brother that he has anymore, and is in many ways closer to the deposed prince than his brothers by blood were; he has Nasreen, who is his true sister. And, of course, he has Zarina, his companion, the other half of his soul. She is now curled upon his withers, entangled in his banner to ensure she does not fall. Not that he would let her. His wings cup her gently, holding her in place. She has woken from her sleep, though, having sensed his discomfort, the way responsibility chafes at him, the way he doubts himself. You are perfect Specter, she assures him confidently. And you have me. He smiles slightly at that, and the gesture lifts his spirits.

A stallion slips into the small clearing in which the Specter has chosen to wait. The newcomer is only slightly shorter than the prince, and must have been a pegasus once, judging by the scars on his shoulders. Quilyan's mouth tightens almost imperceptibly; anyone who could cause such pain is an enemy, though of course he does not know the story behind the burns. For all he knows, it could have been a freak accident that took the steed's wings from him. In any case, he bows his head respectfully in return to Hamaliel's greeting, and when their eyes meet again, he smiles. "Well met, Lee," he says. "I am Quilyan, Specter. I suppose it is just you and I working in the shadows for now, hmm?" He chuckles softly, the sound full of easy warmth. "I would like to talk with you today about how we are to keep this herd safe. We do, of course, have warriors, but they are only useful when you know where to use them - which is where you and I come in.

"I'm sure you know that our job is to intercept any hidden threats. I would like to hear your opinions on how we can best do that. I have my own ideas, of course, but this is hardly a dictatorship, and I believe that it is important for us to both be on the same page. The most obvious of our duties is ensuring that our family remain in this land - none of our brethren will be taken captive on our watch." He frowns at this. "So to do that, we will need to monitor not only what goes on within our borders, but what goes on outside our borders. We will need to talk to everyone, to see everything - difficult with only two of us, but not impossible, not if we tap into other resources within the herd. Patrols can listen, explore, report back to me, even if they aren't quite in our line of work; that sort of thing. Do you have any thoughts?"

"Talk talk talk."

Words ::
Tag :: @[Hamaliel]

[I'm so sorry this took so long omg I fail so hard at life x.x]