[P] Dew in the Valley - Printable Version +- [ CLOSED♥ ] NOVUS rpg (https://novus-rpg.net) +-- Forum: Realms (https://novus-rpg.net/forumdisplay.php?fid=5) +--- Forum: Ruris (https://novus-rpg.net/forumdisplay.php?fid=6) +---- Forum: Archives (https://novus-rpg.net/forumdisplay.php?fid=96) +----- Forum: [C] SUMMIT (https://novus-rpg.net/forumdisplay.php?fid=107) +----- Thread: [P] Dew in the Valley (/showthread.php?tid=2265) |
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RE: Dew in the Valley - Isorath - 06-02-2018
RE: Dew in the Valley - Eik - 06-02-2018 <3 RE: Dew in the Valley - Cyrene - 06-04-2018 CYRENE mother, why do fireflies die so young?
T he doors to Tempus stood open, the darkness beyond swirling like a rip in the fabric of time. She wanted to laugh at the absurdity of it all; a dry, bitter laugh coated with sand and disbelief. Divine intervention. Such a strange, fathomless thing for Cyrene to grasp. The power of the gods had always been arranged like flowers into poetic myths and heroic hymns, sung to the beat of drums. Toasted with blood red wine. Her gods had been bedtime stories, tales of ancient worlds and crumbling relics brought to life by her mother's melodic, grecian voice. Her gods had never returned to the mortal world. She ran her tongue over red-hot lips, her blood pulsing a frantic, staccato beat. She was not afraid. She had never been afraid. You will learn to be afraid, a voice in her head promised, and Cyrene shuddered at the sobering prophecy. And what if it is too late to learn? Their hooves thudded against the earth like rain sent from the heavens. And one by one, court by court, they stepped into the jaws of divine will. Day, Dawn, Dusk, Night. Crimson skin slid silkily against gold as she bumped shoulders with the fae queen as the path drew to a needle's point. Florentine was a beacon in the darkness eternal, a naiad's pool of strength and vitality. She wielded time like a metalsmith and his ores, bending it to her will, shaping it until it was just the color, just the shape. Florentine was a goddess clothed in a mortal's skin. But Cyrene... mortality was sewn into the very fabric of her being. She knew death like an old friend, pain like a fresh memory — but nothing, nothing had prepared her for this. The pillars stood like frozen sentinels, loyal until the end of time. She looked to the glowing statue and felt like a child again, and realized how far she was from home. Until she remembered, with sharp melancholy, that her home was as lost as her childhood gods. "speaks" | notes: -shoves cyrene in- RE: Dew in the Valley - Random Events - 06-05-2018 At Seraphina's acknowledgement, the statue simply blinks in return, each of the four eyes closing in unison before returning to their original state. They stare at the gathered equines, waiting as they file in silently. As the last of the Regimes walk through the opening and take their place at the table, the wooden doors slide to a shut with a groan, sealing away the 12 equines. “Dawn, Day, Dusk and Night.” Tempus spoke with the same voice he had when summoning the Sovereigns—but this time, it did not travel beyond the clearing. This meeting was for the Regimes and the god, and no one else. “How long has it been since the Sovereigns stood in the same room together?” Of course, the god of time already knew the answer; the answer was years. Decades. Such a thing had not occurred in any of the mortals’ lifetimes. Such a thing had not occurred since his children had separated centuries ago. He had waited. He had watched. He had dared to hope. And still, over centuries, the Courts had been unable to reconcile their differences. They were prone to bickering and misunderstanding, simple wrongs that turned into complicated hurts. Despite the time separating these four Sovereigns from their patron deities’ separation, Tempus was unable to overlook how similar their circumstances were. How reflective the Sovereigns were of his own children. His eyes wandering around the faces in the room, light shining upon each of the Sovereigns and their Regimes. Disappointment is plain in his voice, the statue's gaze piercing and accusatory. ”What is the cause of these squabbles? What do you have to say for yourselves?” After a prolonged pause filled with murmuring and uneasy glances, the statue shook both of its heads in deliberation. It would seem his creations were unable to reconcile themselves on their own, a fact he had tried in vain to overlook for generations. It was time for a gentle nudge; for he feared if the Courts could not come together, neither could his children. ”Do you know why you’re here?” The statue speaks without moving, its mouth as frozen and immobile as it had been on the peaks of Veneror. ”Or have you come without understanding? The world is about to change, and you need to be ready.” His question was posed to the Sovereigns, but he knew their Regimes would have plenty to add. The floor was open; each Court had been filled with hurt and anger since equines had first been allowed on Novus, a pain that had only seemed to deepen with distance. It was time for the conversation to be started for them. The god already knows how the discussion will go, and how it will inevitably end. It pained him to intercede, to meddle with time and fate—but he knew it to be necessary. For their sakes, and for the Courts. Since everyone got their posts in early, the next round is also starting early! This round will end on June 14th, 11:59 PM EST. Again, you are each allowed a maximum of 500 words for your post, in which your character can air their concerns to the god and to each other. Your character does not need to speak; however, a reply is still required! Each character is guaranteed one post in this round, to ensure your voice/reaction gets heard. The Sovereigns do not have to reply first—but once each of the Sovereigns have replied, you may start additional replies for your character if you’d like! The topic: why do you think the Courts are so fractured? What does your character want to see in terms of court relations? What do you have to say to one another, and to Tempus? If your character has any grievances, now is the time to share them! Gonna retag the sovereigns instead of all 12 of you: @Somnus @ RE: Dew in the Valley - Bexley - 06-06-2018 DEATH ON ALL FOURS TURN YOUR RABID INTO RUSH - For all her practiced composure, Bexley can’t help jumping when the statue speaks. It is the utterance of one god or a hundred, a multitude of sonorous voices overlapping, chilling the regent’s blood to a hibernation-inducing deep-freeze, sending a vicious, nauseating electric pulse up her spine. Bex’s breath catches in her chest and sticks so hard it becomes painful. For a moment she thinks she might faint, swaying on her feet in the feeble wind as that telltale blackness, so soft, so warm, creeps into the edges of her vision. Then she regains herself. What is the cause of these squabbles? What do you have to say to yourselves? What do you have to say to yourselves? For a moment the group stands in stunned silence. Bexley flicks a glance to Seraphina, finding only her expression of usual stoniness: the expressions of the other Sovereigns (she passes over Reichenbach with a slight scowl) are unreadable. Gentle as ever, the trees sway overhead. Gentle as ever, the breeze kisses her skin. And as quickly as awe overtook her a moment ago, so anger does now. Morality is a costly luxury, Bexley seethes. All of a sudden she is a living thing of anger and heat, rage running like a flame across that gilded skin, lip curled in disgust, blue eyes fervid and feral. And even costlier when we moralize in ruins. Think, for a moment, about the land these Sovereigns inherited - already soaked in blood, already rent with distrust - why do you expect us to disregard a history you yourself created? Bexley pauses for a moment, sucking in a breath so gritty it nearly hurts, and for a moment she wavers in her fortitude - thinks this may have been a bad idea, arguing with the god of gods - and then, stubborn as ever, disregards that doubts. Do not blame us for a hatred that your own children instilled in their courts. Her nostrils flare, and the rise and fall of her chest picks up speed. Is it not the nature of mortals to worship their gods? And is it not the nature of our gods to quarrel? Trembling with just-contained anger, Bexley bows her head. Do not forsake Novus for following the path that you have pushed us toward. With the slick movement of a narrow shoulder, she shifts a wave of loose, pale hair to show Tempus her scar. It could almost be an offering, if the violence in her eyes wasn’t so palpable. RE: Dew in the Valley - Orion - 06-07-2018
ORION
exiled prince The tension is palpable, so thick in the air it can be cut. Orion's ears only twitched as he heard the mighty wooden doors close, sealing all of the regimes in with the father of gods, and his heart suddenly slowed. It was a slow and easy beat, as he drew in breaths, felt himself simmer and relax despite how everything in the air seemed to crackle and zap like electricity. It seemed to all focus around the statue too, as it moved and spoke, mouths unmoving but voice heard in the clearing. Orion doubted anyone outside would hear, and he took in slow breaths as the first to react, did. A Day Court member, sharp tongue and righteousness. She seemed to step up to Tempus without fear, an admirable feat. Orion doubted that she would be hurt. The god had asked for this, after all. He was willing to listen. "The Day Court Regent is right. We have not chosen these paths for ourselves. Every court has a history that runs deep with its respective deity, and we have all grown biased with our own. Stories told growing up and spoken by mouth through the lands. Though we should know better ourselves, there is nothing like the instilled fear of upsetting your deity to keep you in their line." His voice was soft, a mere rumble. The deities were not at fault entirely, it was also them, the mortals. The ones that so blindly followed. "We blindly follow them thinking they are right, but it is time to open our eyes, isn't it?" He trailed it slowly, before clearing his throat. "We are here because you have summoned us, and it's likely due to the tensions we have all felt. The crackle of hostility that wordlessly seeps between all of us, even if we don't realize it." Orion turned his milky gaze for a moment, focusing on his own sovereign and regent, before gazing upon the other three courts as well. He held no accusation in his tone, and he hoped that there was no offense taken by his words. It was a delicate situation all around, he knew. "You say the world is about to change. In what way?" Would Tempus himself finally get involved in what his children had created? oh boy RE: Dew in the Valley - Somnus - 06-11-2018 "Oh, but my tongue is a weapon." Four eyes blinked, the heavy wooden doors shut, and then it all started.
Tempus’ voice, so deep that he could feel it reverberating into the depths of his very core, captivated his attention and Somnus’ keen emerald eyes remained rooted upon the statue. The dunalino’s mouth remained firmly shut through it all, listening, watching, and waiting. A tactician as he was, melded and created for the purpose of these very intricate events, Somnus was no stranger to the tension that permeated the air, so palpable that he could nearly taste it. Squabbles, indeed. He knew of the transgressions and incidents from the other Courts by experience and by word of mouth. However, what truly caused uneasiness to curl in his breast was Tempus’ final line; ”The world is about to change, and you need to be ready.” The Dawn King’s gaze drifted then from the statue, taking in the expressions of the others who had gathered; Day, Dusk, Night. An ear flicked forward as the discussions began, the voices of the other Courts rising up, one by one. At his side, Orion gave his own piece, and his choice of words was odd to hear. Somnus offered his Emissary a sidelong glance, that same aloof and stoic expression upon his face. Interesting. Clearing his throat politely amidst the uneasy din, the Dawn King spoke, the elegance of his accent soft and patient. And finally, Somnus grew quiet, glancing momentarily then to Ipomoea. Reassuringly, almost. From that point onward he did not wish to hear about previous squabbles and disagreements. From that point onward, he wished to only direct his attention and energy to what truly mattered, and that was Tempus’ warning. ”The world is about to change, and you need to be ready.” Indeed they did. RE: Dew in the Valley - Eik - 06-11-2018 eh RE: Dew in the Valley - Asterion - 06-12-2018 Though he retains his composure as the doors swing shut, enclosing them, his skin still shudders as it might beneath a fly. And when the god speaks – though Asterion has expected it, though he has spoken face-to-face with gods before, who after melted into mist or vanished into the sea – he still flinches. He has seen stranger things, but not for some time, and his senses still try to deny the truth of it. An ear twitches, uneasy, at the god’s questions. Invisible but accessible - that is how Marisol had described Tempus, but now Asterion wonders so many things. Does the god not know the cause? Does he not wonder that his most devout are the quickest, the proudest, to sin? He is not the only one to wonder. He only watches, dark-eyed and still, as first Bexley speaks, and then the others. Their words stir his blood (hers especially), a palpable anger he imagines he could taste. Each of them speak in generalities, saying nothing specific of recent events, until Eik. He is glad to follow after his friend, though he does not smile as he looks from the pale man to Reichenbach. The memory of his admiration lives in him still, curled in the hollow of his lungs. For a long moment his gaze lingers on the Night King, though the way his heart stutters and trips is not for him but for the gypsy girl who stands beside him. He cannot forget that wicked curve of lips, how different her voice sounded now from the times it had shaped his name. He sees no need to tally sins; all those gathered know, and if the god does not, surely he is no god at all. Asterion turns his attention back to the statue of Tempus. What is the cause of these squabbles? “It is hard to forgive when a transgressor will not acknowledge their wrongdoing.” His words are slow, and quiet, and seem to him to be caught like gossamer in the tight circle of trees and earth and too many bodies. He thinks that it would not matter where they stand; any place would be stifling in the presence of such a god, such a gathering. “But I don’t think there’s anyone here who does not desire peace.” Especially, he thinks, if the world is to change. Asterion has seen changes before, strange things the gods of Ravos themselves had not understood, and could not control. He knows, now, what those changes had led to – a land sick with magic, diseased with it. Dying and starving and ready to take. Almost he shivers, but he thinks of Florentine, of Calliope, of Cyrene and Raymond and Eik. Of all the horses he counts as friends, fierce and brave, and he among them, unafraid. ooc: mm yes long and pointless rambling if you'll be my star* RE: Dew in the Valley - Seraphina - 06-14-2018
☼ s e r a p h i n a ☼
someone will remember us I say even in another time As she stares into those empty silver eyes, they blink back. Acknowledgement. Is that what you have spent your life chasing, like a hound after a rabbit? You dig yourself into a burrow on unsteady ground, and you cling to what remains in the wake of ash and flame, and you spend your life in a state of blind, blind trust and faith in those some part of you knows do not deserve it, and, at the end of every single day, you tell yourself that this is okay, this is righteous, this is the way it must be, and you tell yourself that you believe it. Tell me – when you look into the eyes of your god, and you see him looking back, do you believe it? He speaks of their quarrels, and of a future that promises change; that change sends a tremor down her spine. There are some that look to the future clear-eyed and eager, and she sees that reflected in some of the faces that crowd around her; Seraphina is always looking towards change, but she has realized, in an awkward, unsteady, and often painful manner that change is not always so simple, and it is never easy. (Growing pains, really. She always wanted time to move more quickly as a child, for things to be over quickly - and now she just wishes that they would stay the same for a moment.) Bexley is wildfire. Her comments are met with a gentle brush of silver skin from Seraphina; that is no surprise. The surprise is the agreement of the sole member of this gathering that she has not previously encountered – Dawn’s Emissary. Somnus is a voice of quiet peace and authority. Eik – Eik is tempered steel and quiet optimism, and, as she edges forward to speak, she brushes her withers against his side in quiet thanks. Asterion…his quiet words make it clear that Dusk is still licking its wounds. “It is true,” Seraphina says, finally, “that a foundation of conflict often breeds more unrest. However, we make our own decisions, and they are our burden to bear. Our fate is our own to craft.” Perhaps the gods had set them on a path, but she refuses to believe that it was one they had to follow. Seraphina has never believed in destiny. “We have had our quarrels with the other courts,” She admits, then, “but we have discussed them, and, as Eik said, they all came to our aid when we needed them the most. To share a land between such diverse nations will always be a struggle, and to wish for some perfect tranquility would be naïve – but we are not so divided that we cannot speak.” Her gaze turns, then, and she addresses the god directly. “I do not think that you have come to forsake us for our quarrels, however – this feels like a warning. The world is changing. What do you mean? What do we need to prepare for?” ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- tags | <3 notes | laaaaAAAAAaate post. also, barely managing to stay within the word limit, RIP. |