They are the symphony of storms, the unrelenting fury of the heavens adrift on the winds, the howling lance of lightning across a forlorn sky. The melodious hum of the cavernous deeps, mysterious and unknowable, shadows ebbing and flowing.
They are the sonet of the moon and stars, starlight made liquid and moonglow dusted upon marble. Illuminating and unfathomable, slipping through fingers like smoke. The dream maddeningly out of reach and yet oh so close. A lover's breath upon the skin, the enemies snarling grin.
Porcelain hooves sigh against stone as the Kirin entered, drifting next to Reichenbach like silk and lace in the wind. The smile upon his features is cold and unfeeling. Sharp as any blade and winter's jagged fingers. Amethyst eyes pay each one a passing glance, and reveal nothing. There is not an ounce of kindness to be found within those lilac depths, just glacial indifference. He knows their hearts well enough, he has danced this game a thousand times and he will continue to dance it a thousand more. Until the sun refuses to rise and the seas devour the mountains in their rage, until he is nothing but a statue in some crypt, his likeness immortalized in marble and gold.
A glance is given to the Sovereigns and their Regime, it's gone as a sigh in the breeze in the next moment, diverted to the statue of Tempus at the head of all this. Once upon a time, he might have felt close to something for them all. But the actions of the seasons have turned those feelings black, a festering wound with teeth and claws. His Gods had murdered other Gods once, rended them from their divine thrones and left them broken and bleeding among their wailing masses. Dragons unfurling out of the heavens in foreign lands howling the song of ancients, he wonders, briefly, if that is how this might end.
Gods may have had time and wisdom upon their side, high upon their dias where they must look down at the world from a distance. They could move mountains and reshape reality, place pieces upon the board with intention, but the hearts of mortals were fickle and wild. Chaos in their plans they cannot control. Gods have been killed for less, mortals too.
Quite the party.
It’s only getting started.
The kirin smiles, and it's rows of sharp teeth as he leans into the solid presence of shadows and smoke at his side. Inhales the scent of jasmine and woodsmoke while a silent laugh rumbles in his chest. His gaze stays on Aislinn all the while, mirth glimmering beneath the icy surface.
"I look forward to it." He says simply. "What an interesting party this is."
Later, Eik might marvel at how such a simple, scarred stallion could come to stand as an equal among the eleven others in the sacred clearing. But for now, he has forgotten how out of place he should feel, he has forgotten his past and his body entirely, and he has become a vessel for the strength of his court.
The three wildly different representatives move together as one body. Together they are the heart of Solterra, and he is so unbearably proud to stand next to these two fierce women. They are a force of nature, and beside them he too feels like something more than just a man.
Into the grove they march, and with each step a sense of dread sinks deeper and deeper in his stomach. He reveals nothing of the nail-biting anxiety that threatens to break his stride and ruin the beautiful illusion of grace and strength. If Bexley Briar feels him subtly quivering beside her, he is grateful she makes no mention of it. It gets a little better once they enter and he sees a few familiar faces. Asterion, in particular, he looks at with the strength of a warm handshake, a silent affirmation of the bond between them.
Eik struggles to keep from fidgeting as representatives fill the space and the air thickens with heat and anticipation. One ear is pinned to the door in expectation of its closing, and the other is directed toward the statue before them. He looks at the floating rocks (nice trick) and does not say anything at all. He simply works to hide his dread behind a mask of impassivity, drawing strength from the resplendent women beside him.
It takes all his strength to continue standing tall and proud instead of stepping away into the background. The gods never seemed to care much for Eik, and with time the feeling became mutual. He sees no reason why this day should be any different.
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.
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!
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.
06-06-2018, 11:33 PM - This post was last modified: 06-06-2018, 11:36 PM by Bexley
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
06-07-2018, 02:29 PM
Played by
Sparrow [PM] Posts: 196 — Threads: 34 Signos: 25
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. “Indeed, our Courts often reflect upon our patron Deities. Is it not within the ancient workings of our very lands to uphold the notion that our mighty Gods instill upon us?” Somnus, however, was quick to go on, his gaze sharp as it darted about the gathered equines. “Yet, as mortals, we are inevitably fallible. We are guilty of crimes, of greed, of violence, and of deception… But also as mortals, we have the ability to look forward from past mistakes and learn from previous grievances. We have the ability to see the greatness in each of our lands. While we may not always agree with one another, we can make the conscience decision to respect and understand each other.”
“We achieve nothing by giving in to our anger or hiding ourselves away. We must be forthright and understanding. Agree to disagree, if you must, but to continue on in animosity?” Somnus paused momentarily and gave a roll of his shoulder in a leisurely shrug. Clearly he was unaffected by the tension that still rolled through the meeting space like an invisible wave. “It achieves nothing save cultivating more grief.”
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.
tag: all you lovely faces
"There is nothing noble in being superior to your fellow man; true nobility is being superior to your former self."
The god's voice makes Eik's teeth ache, and he is painfully aware of the green walls, green ceiling surrounding him. It is hard to keep his cool between the claustrophobia and the presence of a god, the god of time no less. Time has taken everything from him.
Bexley speaks first and beside him, her anger ripples like waves of heat. Despite the seriousness of the moment, and the danger of accusing a god, Eik almost smiles. If anyone could pick a fight with the gods and win, it would be Bexley Briar. He sees her point, too- history constantly repeats itself, Tempus of all gods should know that- but her venom puts him on edge. Where she is the fire of anger, he is steely caution.
Two dawn members speak next, and then he figures he should say something. It is not ideal to follow the eloquent reasoning of the dawn court sovereign, but Eik is not terribly concerned with sounding like an ass in comparison- it would not be the first time. He lowers his head in a gesture of respect, and then speaks his part. "I am a foreigner, so I can speak only of what I have witnessed in the past several seasons. It seems to me that change is already upon us. In Solterra, those who were once slaves now walk as free citizens."
(Some of them even become queens)
"Since Seraphina became sovereign, we have focused on rebuilding our own kingdom and maintaining peace, or pursuing friendship, with the others. And when our court was attacked." He comes to a sudden stop as he thinks of the reflection of Solis in the gleaming steel of Avdotya's spear. Solis who looked down, beaming. Was Tempus there, too? Watching?... Judging?
"Dawn and Dusk sent healers, and Night supplies." He nods graciously to the representatives before him. "Since then, I have met members of each court and would even call some of them close friends." A small private smile, as the grey thinks that Tempus would not understand how much that means to him.
"It is hard to break the pattern of history, but it is possible-- and it is slowly being done." Slowly but certainly, wounds are healing. Part of him is almost afraid that it will take a single unfortunate event to rip them open again... but what good ever came from fear? There is a foreboding sense of heaviness that hangs over them all after Tempus' words, and still he cannot bring himself be afraid. Let change come. Let it turn their comfortable world upside-down.
Eik looks around, clearly finished speaking and far more interested in listening to the others. The sheepish look on his face reads clearly: but what do I know?
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*
06-12-2018, 03:39 PM
Played by
Jeanne [PM] Posts: 399 — Threads: 81 Signos: 100
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?”
I'M IN A ROOM MADE OUT OF MIRRORSand there's no way to escape the violence of a girl against herself.☼please tag Sera! contact is encouraged, short of violence
06-14-2018, 10:26 PM - This post was last modified: 06-16-2018, 08:42 PM by Seraphina
