 I S O R A T H THE LONE WOLF DIES // THE PACK SURVIVES
The air is filled with the smell of incense, the rich notes of myrrh & frankincense accenuated by undertones of vanilla, patchouli and lilac. Carefully tended to occasionally by a lone white figure in the cosiest nook of the vast library. Claimed with purpose, Isorath for all his splendor and vanity, enjoys privacy more often than not. Laid upon the plush pillows and cushions, decorated with constellations and silver tassels, the winged Kirin works with a careful tenderness not known to many. His hair ornaments lay glinting in the warm candlight, cast aside to allow the swathes of silver to cascade free like rivers of starlight across himself and the stone. Here he is relaxed, surrounded by time and history, her secrets his to find and rediscover. The Sage reads diligently from the time worn books, delving further into the intricate history of Denocte, silent except for the articulate scratch of quill against parchment. Thoughts a thousand miles away to the current happenings of Denocte and her sister and brother Courts. Like many unpleasant things, the uncomfortable itch persisted in the back of his mind, reminding him that he would be cursed to ponder over them soon enough. There is no escaping the mounting tension, the former king in him sneered, the exasperated advisor in him heaved a sigh instead. He has seen the rise and fall of nations, and sat in the gilded seat himself. He knows with crystal clarity the coming days will be anything but like they are now. The Sage will not be able to sit in this grand libary as he does now, a welcome guest. Isorath paused in his writing for a moment, Calligo's name freshly written upon the crisp paper, the beginning of his journey to articulate her ethereal power. His eyes instead found themselves glancing out of the window, past the three headed dragon who held the burning incense in it's grasp. It's later than he expected, he noted to himself idly, the moon is seated in her lofty throne. It had been sunset when he'd retired to the library with polite farewells and excuses. A break wouldn't be bad, he supposed, glancing back down to the neat stack of parchment filled with his writings, and at the tome he had sank himself into with abandon. Isorath has written enough to compose a codex, filled with his findings and flourished with his own thoughts and opinions. Occasionally, there is a drawing of a relic or an important face between the flowing ink. Shifting in place to prepare tea, his set up is cozy, but practical. A tea pot to brew with and a platter filled with delectable sweets to nibble at should the mood take him, pillows to relieve the ache and tension from being laid down too long. Designed with a long night in mind, adrift in the time ways and thoughts of others. As he waited for his tea to brew, his teke reached for one of the peach coloured sweets, popping it into his mouth as he returned his attention to Calligo's tapestry in the sky. @Reichenbach — hopefully this is okay! <3 |
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 REICHENBACH ROMMEL
The evenings were when Denocte awoke - when some of the more anti-social of his clan crept from their homes and turned wild and fierce, filled with the intoxication of Calligo's bright night. The stars set them all afire, regardless of where they had been born - some even claimed they had been born in other worlds. Reichenbach watched them from across the Prairie, returning from the somewhat tiring trek to the Dusk Court, where he had lounged in the wilderness with Florentine, humming to her as she lay against his broad chest. These times of peace were marred though, the thought of encroaching war turning his anger tempestuous, something he could barely control. It was always a relief to return to Calligo's lands, to the loving embrace of her shadows. The stars seemed to sing to him as he returned, dulling the raucous sounds of the gypsies that danced and laughed in the Prairie. Reichenbach flashed a grin in their direction, charming and daring, before moving on toward the Keep. The inner Court was not a place he spent much time in - though he had to admit the luxury of the palace was tempting when it came to weary bones. His own quarters had no roof, so that when he looked upward all he could see was open sky and stars - a relief for a man who spent most of his time outdoors. Yet he did not make his way to his own room, having caught sight of the light that shone from Isorath's loaned room. The porcelain stag had been given a room close to their vast library, a room adorned with the kind of luxury the glimmering man would have approved of. Denocte had much to offer that the other Courts did not - their trade with the other continents providing fabrics and treasures unknown to Novus. Reichenbach much preferred the treasures of secrets and stories, the new songs the foreign travelers brought. All of it was beneficial though, so he had little complaints. His step was quiet despite the vastness of the hallway, Isorath's door open and welcoming as it often was. "Isorath?" Echoed his low, musical voice. It was time to see how his favourite Dusk sage was getting on. @Isorath
 D enocte proved to be a bitter sweet land for him to dwell within. He thrived within the Night Court, that much he could not deny. There is an easy familial warmth which flowed through the stones, from the fragrant food scents which wafted from the kitchens, to even the perfume which clung to their svelte frames. It poured like golden rivers out of the souls of those that lingered within. Yet there was a painful echo that resonated within these halls that reminded him of home.Home, the word tugged painfully on his heart strings, enough to make the princeling wheeze a breath in dark of the night. That was the bitter pill he swallowed as he walked the halls, bedecked in finery with an otherworldly grace. To see Sunysia reflected in this night time World. Ah, Isorath could not even begin to fathom the words needed to explain such a feeling. Instead, he focused on the stars which glittered and shone outside of the window, his thoughts flying on leather wings over the rolling plains of home. Isorath? Lavender amethysts snapped to the mahogany figure in the doorway, startled back into the present by the rich baritone. The man is unmistakable, no one else exudes such strength and passion, even in silence. "Reichenbach? my King." He corrected after a moment, his tones a dulcet purr, gilded face dipped in a shallow bow. Reichenbach is the perfect picture of the Night Kingdom, with his coal curls and moonlight eyes. Isorath is not a blind man by far, he sees, and he sees well — mares and stallions alike would damn themselves to be in his presence. He himself, cannot help the way his eyes linger a little too long upon the monarch's frame, underneath the fan of his long white lashes, before they pulled back to his handsome face. "Please, do join me, I could use the company and I have just made tea." Gesturing to the plush pillows laid around the table he's lounged beside, hoping to coax the monarch further into the chamber he occupied. His teke once more reached out — this time for the tea pot — the amethysts wrapped around his frame sigh a featherlight song with the motion as he leaned forward to tend to the cups. "I trust all is well?" @Reichenbach REICHENBACH ROMMEL "Reichenbach? my King." He took it as an invitation, stepping through the marbled threshold with the ease of a man comfortable within his own skin. The Night King swallowed the space in the room despite it's vastness, the candles flickering as his dark body passed and settled against the wall, leaning casually against the stone as he surveyed the open books and scrolls. There was a meticulousness to the room, the arrangement of information made clean and calming underneath the ex-King's care. His silver gaze missed nothing, eyes sliding to Isorath at the offer of tea — he could not help but to recall another situation such as this one, so similar it had been. Camdis Lohir enjoyed tea in his chambers, too. Clearing the thoughts from his head, Reichenbach washed away any discomfort with another smile. "Well if there's tea..." He swept forward, lowering himself comfortably to the plush cushions below with a graceless plop. The skill with which Isorath handled the pot had the mahogany stallion smiling, impressed. "As well as can be expected in these tumultuous times," His baritone voice began, filling the room and pushing against the cool glass of the windows. Tumultuous times indeed... Day had made their hostility well known, even if it hadn't been Maxence personally that had terrorised their Warden. Then there was the concern of their alliance with Dusk — his gaze subtly lingered on Isorath, a man whom had picked Dusk as his chosen Court, then slipped unconsciously to the starry night outside. Florentine was from the Dusk Court too. Reichenbach tried not to think of the complications that would undoubtedly arise when relations between their two Courts grew tense. "You've heard of the Day and Dusk alliance, I presume?" He asked, almost too casually. Reichenbach was a man founded on loyalty — it was why he had such a strong bond with his Crows, with those he considered family. Isorath had earned that loyalty when he had chosen to step above the squabbles of the Courts and try to unionise them with knowledge. He was well versed in the difficulties of ruling, too. A good man to have close by when politics escaped his grasp. The Night King sighed, sniffing the air as the warm coils of steam from the tea curled around his black mouth. "It's like the country wants war.. and that's not excluding Denocte either. Denoctian's are fiercely loyal, they aren't taking kindly to Rostislav's treatment." He eyed the pale skinned man before him, admiring the pureness of his porcelain skin for a moment, so different to his own. Isorath seemed the kind of man that would have looked just as beautiful regardless of what he wore, where he was or how filthy his environment. Amongst the plush cushions and floating silks, the antlered man looked transcendent. He would have made an excellent Crow. All of his Crow girls were beautiful, and the boys handsome — Isorath would be a bewitching weapon, just as Mila and Lavinia were, beautiful and all the more deadly for it. "How are your studies going?" @Isorath <3 xx
A pleased hum escaped the winged kirin as Reichenbach accepted his invitation, a hint of delectation skittered across his bejewelled gaze, like the crack of lightning over head. It was there one minute, and gone with the next flick of his strikingly white lashes. Such meticulousness had been branded into his bones at a young age, where the common, rambuctious youths of Sunsyia bounded gleefully through the streets with wild abandon — his had been the ivory and gold tower. Even down to the way his starlit strands spilled down his shoulders, waterfalls of moonbeams against the stone — were a product of a life spent being groomed for perfection. Love, war, and even the book had been taught with the intention of creating effortless perfection. Well if there's tea... Isorath exhaled a breathless laugh at that, though he remained focused on seeing that the tea was properly poured and prepared. "It is a white tea I brought with me from Sunysia, with silver needles and Jasmine." Satisfied, the stallion offered one of the cups out toward the Sovereign with a smirk dancing upon his lips. Feather light but sharp as a knife. "I have a feeling we may need far more tea than we have before these times find an end." He agreed, a songbird's note of humor carefully laced within his words. His own cup is pulled close to his lips after he is sure Reichenbach has his, the steam curling over the soft pink of his nose as he inhaled softly. The Sage is not immune to the seriousness of the topic which is coming, the daggers hidden behind veils of black satin and silk. There is a weight to this meeting that neither of them can deny, but must be faced. He is prepared, and so he waited with a serene quietness until Reichenbach's lips parted with his next words. You've heard of the Day and Dusk alliance, I presume? "I have," Lavender gaze swept to a nondescript scroll to his right, unremarkable save for the broken wax seal of the dusk imprinted upon it, "I cannot say I'm a supporter of this development, either." He cannot and does not mask the displeasure which made his words bitter on the tongue. It's washed down with a sip of his tea, and the kirin takes a moment to simply enjoy the way it silkly washed down his throat. Heavy was the crown, especially in troublesome times, where duty conflicted with the affairs of the heart. Relationships, friendships. They weren't immune to the upheaval. A subtle tilt of his head followed, as he regarded Reichenbach silently for a moment, assessing those metallic silver eyes of his as he mulled over his next words. "Understandable, Denocte has long been a place who does not take kindly to having their own harmed. I too, would be demanding retribution for Rostislav's treatment. Solterra, well," he paused with a decisive breath. "Solterra, well, they are a land filled with warriors and a history of bloodshed. The conflict was unavoidable, it is what you do in these next moves on the board that will decide the outcome, whether it is war or something else." It reminded him too much of home, how many times had the southern nations clashed with the nomadic people of the plains? "You have my loyalty, Reichenbach." He began, sincerity branded into every syllable, forgoing his title deliberately. Lavender eyes do no dare leave the abyssal depths of molten silver they are caught within, handsome indeed. One stallion to another, a Sovereign to a Sovereign whose throne had rusts away beneath his hooves at the expense of others. Cup placed back against the dark wood as he shifted upon his makeshift throne of pillows and blankets, crystals and gold glittered in the low torchlight as the fire caught the many facets and polished links. "And my talents, even my opinions, if you so wish. I would not betray the Court who has become a second home." The change in topic doesn't throw him for a moment, he adjusted with well practiced ease. "They are going remarkably well, your sages have been kind and informative. Calligo is an interesting Goddess, just as your history is. Color me envious." @Reichenbach  REICHENBACH
it's dark, there's no need for lights when the fire in his eyes burns so bright
Sunysia. Reichenbach tilted his head minutely at the name of the unknown continent, peering through thick lashes with distinct interest. Denocte was a merchant city, a traders dream rich with diversity and history — It would be of no surprise to him to find the delicate tea offered in their many stalls, along with other treasures from Isorath's birth home. A traveller, like so many that had settled in Denocte. What had brought the decadent kirin to Novus? Reichenbach would have paid good coin to hear the truth, the real story behind the ex-King before him. "I have a feeling we may need far more tea than we have before these times find an end." He breathed in the aromatic tea, his keen argent gaze watching Isorath over the rim of his cup, considering each word carefully even as his lips quirked into an easy smile. The kirin's voice was something lovely, so different to the crassness used amongst the Crows and soldiers — a touch of class amid the wildness of Denocte. He watched the steam curl around the velvet pink of Isorath's lips for a moment, then flicked his gaze to the lavender of the sage's silver lashed eyes as he spoke. That intelligent, fluid voice had darkened in displeasure at the topic — and despite Reichenbach's regality, his kingly position, he could not help but to feel a flush of satisfaction in hearing it. Dusk had been their sister court, hovering along the lines of Night, gentle but strong, kind but stoic. Dusk had been their tentative ally for many years... and to ally with Solterra so soon after the slight against Denocte had served as a catalyst to war. A once carefully tended relationship had quickly become lopsided, and the Night Court had withdrawn almost completely from their Dusk neighbours. All that remained now were the personal ties — Isorath, Florentine... The name clanged through him like a wash of heat, the vision of her honeyed hair and intense eyes giving him cause to shift upon the silken cushions below him. He had not seen her since that fateful night when they had professed their love — she was a part of the Dusk Court too, though he'd secretly harboured hopes that she might live in Denocte with him as Isorath currently did. His black lips parted to respond to the ex-King's wise words — "You have my loyalty, Reichenbach." He barely noticed the drop of his title, unused to hearing formalities within the night-spun halls of his home. Their eyes met, lavender against silver, white lashes against black. Something flashed between the two, lightning fast, an understanding perhaps, or a hidden wanting. "As you have mine, Isorath." He watched the beautiful male shift on his throne of cushions, keen eyes catching the glimmer and glisten of firelight against his skin and scales. Gods, he was stunning. It was a wonder that the gypsy girls hadn't become enthralled with him, even the gypsy boys. Reichenbach wondered, curiously, which the porcelain man preferred before humming deeply, a rumble of thunder emanating from within his broad chest. "I am a lucky man, to have such a loyal and talented friend." The words rolled from his throat — enchanting, musical, masculine. Some said that Reichenbach had received his throne through charisma alone, the way he swallowed a room with his woodsmoke and jasmine scent, leaking from the windows like shadow. Others said Calligo had chosen him, formed him from the earth of Denocte and decorated him with shadows and stars. They were wrong, of course, but the legends grew nonetheless. Spread, he suspected, by his mischievous Crows. He chose to leave the politics behind, weary of the concerns that bore down upon his roguish head. Too easily, he left the troubles to be dealt with later — to be discussed later. A rough chuckle left his throat, eyes as bright as the stars beyond the walls. "Interesting is too soft a word for Calligo — tempestuous and feisty, perhaps." He laughed again, the sound as catching as wildfire. "I am glad," a pause stilled the air before Reichenbach continued, "More than glad, that our fair city has treated you well..." a gleam curved within his argent gaze as he looked sideways at his pristine companion, amusement playing about his black lips ".. Though I have yet to see you at the bonfires... perhaps you need a Denoctian to show you the way through one of those" One of the things The City of Starlight was famous for — it's parties. Isorath would be exposed to the truth of their country, the wild freedom of it. It could be a hard pill to swallow for those unused to the contagious nature of them, the easy persuasion that seemed to fall over the community. There were those that lost themselves completely to the night and the stars, to the pounding of drums, the bodies dancing and fighting. Reichenbach had decided that he should very much like to see the distinguished elegance of Isorath amongst that frenzy, to see the kirin gilded by flickering flame and stars. He flashed a grin, his enigmatic voice lingering in the air as he said: "I'll happily volunteer." @Isorath <3 sorry it took so long to reply!!
H ere and there, Isorath had caught a glimpse of Vectaeryn wares, when he found time to peel away from the library and the grand Court. The tea of the Capital City had just been one of the pleasant, nostalgia wrapped surprises he had glimpsed at. The fine silks of the Red Coast, with it's bay of Merchant Cities, he had spied as they flickered in the breeze — the familiar gilded dragons carefully embroidered on the expensive fabric, it's signature. Vectaeryn was a treasure trove, for merchants bold enough to do business with them. Fabric, spices, teas and for those truly who were both bold and brave — the shimmering dragon fire steel. He had mused that day, silver strands billowing in the sea breeze as he'd peered at the fabric. How far both he and the exotic wares had come, to be within the Night Court. To strange places and into strange faces, their stories a secret, they remained unquestioned and undiscovered. Except, no one had asked Isorath where he had come from. Where he had been. What had come before. Perhaps too many were afraid of the men dressed in gold and gemstones, with dragon blood in his veins and stars in his hair. Scared of what, though? That if they pulled back the veil they would shatter the ethereal figure they were so enraptured by, make him a mortal instead of holy. Or, that they would find something too wounded and tragic for their tastes? He savored the taste of home on his tongue, allowed it to wash away the displeasure at the circumstance he'd found himself in. Again. Preoccupied his thoughts with the easy smile Reich displayed, how his whole face warmed with it's appearance. The silver of his eyes was molten, the kind smelted by artisans blessed by the Gods of the Forge. Yes, getting wrapped up in the little things he observed in the Monarch was a far more appealing idea than the budding war which loomed over their head. An axe waiting for it's handler to swing, so it might bite and cleave it's way through friend and foe alike. Dusk and Night were symbolic, just as Dawn and Day. Vespera danced between the Sun and the Moon as Calligo ascended to her throne of stars. He cannot blame Reichenbach, nor the rest of the Denoctian's for reacting to the slight, as that was what it was, no matter how one might have tried to dress it better. Why would one venture into a place now filled with uncertainty when once it was one of welcome? Isorath, who had been welcomed and embraced the Night Court as though it's songs and blood was his own — felt the heat, it's a familiar sting and burn that licked against his scales and at the porcelain of his hooves. He's sure there are many who would have left the moment the raven carried them news of the alliance, self-preservation and Court loyalty clutched to their breast. It appeared to be the case, too. Not just idle musings. Isorath remained in the fire, unharmed and unafraid — pledging his loyalty to a King that was not his own. A crime, perhaps. Yet his soul and very essence felt not an ounce of guilt as summer lilac mixed with smoky silver. His fires have never been tamed by anyone, and gladly, they would burn those that tried for their arrogance. His fires are his own, and those he gave them to, were of his own choice. They were worthy, or they had stirred something within the ethereal man he'd long thought unobtainable. As you have mine, Isorath. It's his turn to smile, it's delicate but radiant. Spun on a silk loom, a bird feeling sun on it's feathers for the first time in forever. A breathless noise, caught somewhere between a hum and a laugh. The motion cause pieces off his too long forelock to shift forward, covering one of his eyes temporarily until he pushed it aside with one simple press of his teke. Flustered momentarily by the richness of the monarch's words, and how they hadn't faltered from hesitation. Such kindess... "You're too kind. You flatter me and you've yet to see all my talents, Reich." He responded with just a hint of mischief lacing the lilted tones of his sing song voice. Believable legends, Isorath had no trouble seeing where such stories came from. A man such as he was born destined to have songs and stories written about him. Immortalized in ink and the hearts of the enraptured. A man who stepped into a room and commanded very ounce of attention a mortal had to give, enraptured and enthralled by the melodic Reichenbach could of convinced stars to fall and the moon to weep. Interesting is too soft a word for Calligo — tempestuous and feisty, perhaps. "Forgive me for trying to be modest with my compliments." Isorath retorted in good mirth, eyes glittering in the firelight. "Passionate. Tempestuous. Feisty. Mysterious. Spirited. Free, and many many more words. Yet, I don't think they would do you, and yours justice." Each word that escaped his lips is like smoke on the water, and incense clasped delicately through the hair. Wispy, half-purred notes with sparks of fire between. "It was hard not to fall for the Denoctian charm, I just hope Denocte has been charmed by my presence in return, and want to keep me around." Isorath mused, sliding into a comfortable silence when Reichenbach mentioned that he hadn't witnessed the bonfires. It was almost a cardinal sin, to be in the land infamous for it's parties, and not have joined in. He's unable to help the sly look which crowned his visage, the idea of needing a denoctian to show him playing around in his mind, a dragon chasing it's own flame. He deliberately rose his cup to his lips, gemstone gaze once again settling with a mischievous glint upon the man opposite him. "Perhaps, I'm waiting for the right Denoctian to ask me to dance." He and whoever graced him to the bonfire reverie would be splendid. Bodies aglow in the firelight and illuminated by the stars. With no one but Calligo and her children as their witness as their bodies found the infectious rhythm of the music. Isorath, bedecked in his gold and diamonds, stars and fire caught in his mane and tail, would be moonbeams and sun glow made flesh and blood among them. Yet, the figure beside him was often obscured in his idle thoughts, a shifting shape of shadows and mist that dared not let him glimpse his partner for the night. I'll happily volunteer. The mischievous glint in his eye became positively impish, head tilted a fraction to the side as he regarded Reichenbach for a moment. Yes, the shadows and mist could easily have become Reichenbach. His splendid frame positively smouldering in the reflection of the fire. Was he was wild in the moment as his fellow Courtiers? Did he allow the passion of the drums and voices raised run through him like electricity and the wild wind? "It's a date then." Hummed with a wink, the kirin allowed it to turn thoughtful. "I will have to find something new to wear, something befitting Denocte and it's King. Any suggestions?" @Reichenbach — it's fine! you don't have to apologize at all. REICHENBACH
it's dark, there's no need for lights when the fire in his eyes burns so bright
Firelight flickered subtly about the room, laying loving fingers along Isorath's tentative smile, playing teasingly along the length of Reichenbach's lashes. Reichenbach shifted on his mound of plump cushions at the fragility of that smile, the release that seemed to hum in the air with it, watching each silken hair as they slid over the fine boned planes of Isorath's face. He had seen that smile before, or at least a version of it. In the eyes of his Crows as they were welcomed into the fold, into the family. Like light was being shone on them at last, or like they'd taken their first breath of air after too long underwater. He tucked that information into a nook within his vast chest, something to muse over, something to correct. Reichenbach vowed to see a day where that smile would be ever present, a constant reflection of the Kirin's happiness and grace. "All your talents?" He questioned with a raised brow, his own eyes sparkling with intimate mischief. It was a pleasure to see the ivory King so... animated. Reich could hardly keep the grin from his black lips as he listened to the lilt of Isorath's voice (the sound just as pleasurable as the sight of him), mirth lining his roguish face. "And what are these talents, pray tell?" He grinned, flicking his gaze over Isorath as if he were checking for weapons, or as if he could discover those hidden talents simply by scrutinizing the man — his silver eyes eventually sliding to a stop upon the lavender gaze of his companion. So regal, so gods-damned beautiful. He felt, all of a sudden, quite possessive of the Dusk Court Sage. His smile only grew at the compliments that fell from those velveteen lips: Passionate. Tempestuous. Feisty. Mysterious. Spirited. Free... Words that might not have been considered compliments in Solterra or Delumine, or even in Terrastella — but in Denocte were pleasing to the soul. Isorath spoke only truth — and, some may have argued, only spoke of the best of them. There was another side to Denocte and The Night Court, an underground that was violent and uncontrollable. Reichenbach was glad that Isorath had yet to see the darkest corners of their city. He tilted his dark haired head as his eyes slid to the window, murmuring: "If anything, Isorath," he turned back to the porcelain beauty "We'd want you to stay permanently — Denocte doesn't often extend invitations to outsiders, and we've grown quite fond of you." His smile returned, brushing off the implications that he might want to poach the Kirin from his home within Dusk. It was a risky thing to say, to speak the words that had been mulling within him for so long aloud. Isorath was no simple man without ties to his Court, he was important — a loss to any Court, should they be foolish enough to lose him. "I fear the day I find myself in the library without your guidance" he laughed, knowing full well Araxes knew her way around the library in the dark and backwards. He grinned as the air changed in the room, an electric pulse that spoke of mischief and temptation. It's a date then. This was dangerous territory, even for a King washed by shadow and chaos. He tucked that guilt behind an ebony curl, knowing that had it been Florentine in this position — with such a beautiful man laid out before her, offering a date... he would have lost himself in such a fury that he would have burned the world. Such was the nature of The Night King. A slow smile curled over his black lips once more, a sultry thing filled with temptation and promise. "Perhaps it's time to visit The Night Markets." @Isorath <3 eep!
S trange, how long had it been since he had allowed himself to be so gentle. So genuine, yet so very painfully tentative — for how could anything shattered not be? after it's initial break, he's desperate to keep the pieces shimmering and on the fragile strings laced around his ribs and their gilded thorns. Yet, all it took was a man who wore shadows and darkness so well, in a room filled with tea smoke and incense, where the fire bathed them in it's warmth and reflected in their eyes. A key in a lock that he hadn't known existed. Strange. But the strangeness was not as bad as he'd thought, the searing brand he had anticipated is far from a kiss of blistering fire on his charred bones. Instead it is a sparkle in silver eyes, a wicked grin and a baritone like velvet against his skin. Gods, protect him. Isorath responded with a smile that mirrored the smokeyness of his prior comment, as Reichenbach repeated his words back to him. More and more, it's hard to ignore how long it'd been since his bones had felt so light, since when had teasing words in a hundred different lilts passed his lips so effortlessly? How easy it is to sink beneath the blanket of stars and the smoulder, to indulge in a moment that could quickly become addictive. Long lashes flicked in the Sovereigns direction as a look of mock innocence glittered in them, flourished with the silver strands of hair which curled around him in falling waves. A waterfall of starlight and moondust. Against the melodic song of his voice and the smile which remained fixed upon his pale lips, it hardly looked genuine. "You will just have to wait and see. Telling you wouldn't be nearly half as fun." He paused, if only to let the Sovereign have a moment to glance at him, a dangerous gaze but it one that he finds himself preening beneath it. Isorath is a vain man, common knowledge he's sure of by now, to have mares and stallions turn his way with a balm as much as earning another perfect piece of jewelry to his collection. Yet, there is an undeniable hint of intoxication that came with drawing the gaze of such a powerful man. "You won't find them by looking either." Isorath added slyly after a moment, once more his head tilted, the gold and jewels shimmered as they moved effortlessly with the motion. So far, Denocte had been kind. It's mystery enchanting, it's people enthralling. He could not rule out that perhaps some would keep their terrastellan visitor from seeing the less than exhilerating faces and masks Calligo's children could often wear. Or, more than likely, Isorath had unintentionally missed vital points that could of wounded the flawless impression it had left, wrapped in his stone tower and ancient tomes. Here, Denocte was as beautiful as the lake beneath the stars, not a blemish or a ripple as far as the eye could see. We'd want you to stay permanently. One could anticipate, or muse on such words, but to hear them was always a surprise. To his credit, his smile did not falter, and neither did the glimmer in his lavender pools. Isorath is no fool, and he's not blind to the implications. It is a wicked thing, to poach a member of another Court. To steal them away and seduce them with the wonders they had come to love. It happened, of course. It always happened. For one reason or another, for love, for opportunity, for adventure or simply because. The heart and mind were fickle, as ever changing as the wind and the sea. "I would not mind that so much," he responded softly, his gaze fixed on his tea for a moment and then returned them back to the molten hues of silver, "I do rather like the view, a little too much and the people — and it would be so very unfortunate to let you loose in the library without an eye to watch what you're doing." It was an acceptance, or confirmation that he would stay given the chance. Carefully wrapped with a wistful voice, and just a touch of humor at Reichenbach's expense. Only the most naive would of missed the way the air changed at four simple words. Isorath is back to the sly smile, the too innocent gaze that sat out of place yet so perfectly on his lightly scaled features. A dangerous game dressed as a humored comment. An ivory piece carefully placed on the board, whether or not the players were aware. There just might have been a onyx piece that met it, perhaps, some hopeful sliver whispered. "Perfect." It's a pleased hum, excited and thrilled all at once. A songbird's summer song at dusk. "I must admit, haven't seen them fully." He confessed nonchalantly, a crime most definitely. It had been a fleeting pass through, hardly befitting such a wondrous place. @Reichenbach — <3 REICHENBACH
it's dark, there's no need for lights when the fire in his eyes burns so bright
"Perfect. I must admit, haven't seen them fully." "It's settled then" He raised his body in a single movement, sending the scent of jasmine and woodsmoke cascading through the air. Silver eyes alight, the Night King grinned down at the porcelain prince before him, energy thrumming through his mahogany skin. The Night Markets could be... difficult. Not to Reichenbach, King of Thieves, whom had spent most of his time there as both a child and a teen — he would still receive glances, but they would be looks of recognition, not of assessment. Isorath... he would stand out at the markets like a solid gold trophy, a rose among a sea of vines. He practically screamed wealth and perfection — and standing next to their tempestuous, shadow spun King Crow would only say more. Still, Reichenbach had a brazen confidence as he motioned for the beautiful Kirin to stand. "Coming?" @Isorath <3 feel free to do a short reply to this one and we can follow on to the market thread!
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