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Beautifully drawn by Sid (Erasvita@DA)!
Current Novus date and time is

▶ Year || 503
▶ Season || Summer
▶ Temp || 74℉ (23℃) - 100℉ (37℃)
▶ Weather || The end of Spring brings about, once more, the warm embrace of Summer. While some flourish in the comfortable glow of the sun, others take shelter from its sweltering midday heat. Even so, it is now that the continent bustles with life - for it won't be long until a cool chill returns.


Character of the Season
El Toro

Member of the Season

Thread of the Season
Bring Me Thunder; Bring Me Steel

Pair of the Season
Eik and Isra

Quote of the Season
"Her mother lives all in day, her father all in night, and Apolonia straddles the thin, dusky line halving her heart with not so much grace - startling awake in the middle of the night or at the crack of dawn, trying to find some way to compromise." — Apolonia in
The Vine & The Rain & The Light

see here for nominations


All Welcome - in dreams of darkest creation
Rhoswen — Day Court Citizen Signos: 205
▶ Played by Kezz [PM] Posts: 91 — Threads: 16
▶ Female [She/Her/Hers] Hth: 11 — Atk: 9 — Exp: 23
▶ 7 [Year 496 Summer] Active Magic: N/A
▶ 16 hh Bonded: N/A
[Image: commission9-by-ameameridian-dchoc51-by-o...chp7gz.png]
In the heavy blue she moved. The cacophonous red pacing of her unholy heart thrashed against the silence that held a finger to her lips, ONE-TWO-THREE-FOUR, over and over again in the heartbreaking hum of a collision that unfolded before her eyes a thousand times and back again. Where did her mind end and the blood begin? What, in this chaos - in this solitude, had she become? It was a question she could not face for fear of the answers that lay in its wake. The glasshewn threads holding her together glinted in the moonlight, revealing a skeleton filled with a cyclonic emptiness that rattled between the hollow of her bones, left alone to scream into the night without a soul to hear its plight. For was not that the nature of grief? To drain the very light from one's life and leave them with only the husk of their flesh and skin, damned to wander this dark barren earth with only their perforated honeycomb memories. 

The mountain had been calling her name. Rhoswen, it whispered at the birth of every new moon, Rhoswen, it hummed in the floodlight of the sun. At first it had been easy to ignore: it had been nothing but an itch at the back of her neck. But slowly it had grown into a plague that set her body aflame. And for the first time in a long time the woman felt something beyond the eternal grey torpor that had woven its way into her very essence. What that feeling was she could not, would not, name. And from the shadows she had come; patiently, obediently. The violet blush of a new dawn had begun to bloom by the time she reached Veneror's foothills, and the kaleidoscopic light fractured in such a way behind the mountain's crest that it almost broke her heart to gaze upon it. 

"I am here. I have come."

ooc -- uhhh so this is tiny and all over the place (like me atm) but pls bear with me! rhos has been awol up till now, anyone feel free to jump in!

Seraphina — Day Court Sovereign Signos: 4,315
▶ Played by Jeanne [PM] Posts: 226 — Threads: 40
▶ Female [She/Her/Hers] Hth: 17 — Atk: 23 — Exp: 50
▶ 5 [Year 498 Spring] Active Magic: N/A
▶ 16 hh Bonded: N/A
☼ s e r a p h i n a ☼

and I'm faded away
you know, I used to be on fire

Seraphina is not in the business of chasing after ghosts.

She tried to, once. She tried to cling to her past – to what she thought she was, or what she thought that she needed to be – when it seemed that everything around her was spiraling out of her control, but she had drained through her own grasp like water out of a cup with a hole in it. She’d learned, very slowly and very unhappily, that she couldn’t remain stagnant in the face of a world that changed as quickly and viciously as the desert wind; she had learned that the only way to live was to find some way to change, to press forward regardless.

Ghosts. Little fragments; sometimes she still looks into a darkened hallway and sees Viceroy’s luminescent golden eyes peering back, twin lanterns in the shadows.

She hadn’t intended to return to Veneror, but she slips out of the bitter chill of Solterra in the darkest depths of a cloudless night, her charcoal lips pulled into a worried frown. (Would they find a way to end the strange, relentless winter that had swallowed her desert homeland like a voracious snake? It was hard to know – but the gods might, and if they would not come to her, she would go to them.) She ascends the mountaintop just as dawn, a dusky swath of violet paling to blush at its tips, begins to break the horizon. She moves quickly and mechanically, exertion breaking a cold sweat over her brow; her breath clouds in the cool of early spring as she climbs higher and higher, to where the statues of the gods were what felt like so long ago.

And, as she reaches the peak, her gaze catches on another figure.

She sees a lost woman, the red twines of her hair like fire in the pale blush of the dawn. She sees a woman who lost her brother to the night he served, a woman who lost her lover to flame, a woman who’d been homeless – torn between smoke and stars and sun and scald – for far too long. Rhoswen. There was something frantic and tragic and horribly, horribly lonely about her silhouette, a paleness cast dark against the rising sun. Seraphina takes one step towards her, tentatively, then another and another; she almost calls out to her. Where have you been where have you been where have you been. She hasn’t seen her since the gods returned; she hasn’t seen her since the Denoctian regime disappeared; she hasn’t seen her since her kingdom froze over. A part of her wondered if she, like her brother, was lost to the void.

But there she stands – solid as polished sandstone but hazy and flickering in the dusty light.

I am here. I have come.

She bridges the distance between them slowly, and she does not speak until she stands at her side. “Rhoswen…” She trails off. How many times has the red woman found her, torn asunder, a girl carved in the shape of a banshee’s wail? And now it is she that looks at her with a dreadful sort of quiet, the bright chips of her eyes gleaming in the haze of early dawn. “What are you seeking, Rhoswen?”

What do you hope to find here, on this holy mountain abandoned by its gods?


tags | @Rhoswen
notes | <3


are always "forgive me"

please tag Sera! contact is encouraged, short of violence


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