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Current

Current Novus date and time is

▶ Year || 502
▶ Season || Fall
▶ Temp || 35℉ (℃) - 69℉ (℃)
▶ Weather || The heat of the summer has begun to wane and cooler weather is spreading across Novus. Frost glistens in the morning light of some regions and the trees have shed their lush shades of green for those of red and orange. It is Fall now, but winter will soon be fast upon its heels.

Spotlight

Character of the Season
Eik

Member of the Season
Katherine

Thread of the Season
A Midsummer Night's Dream

Pair of the Season
Acton and Bexley

Quote of the Season
"If Reich had been the gunsmoke, Rhoswen was the gun - their youth swayed like washing in the wind, peaceful and unassuming, as though if they tried hard enough they might be able grab hold of it. Wasn't that the deceit of peaceful things? They drifted like butterflies just out of your reach." — Rhoswen in she was always meant to be a star

see here for nominations


DISCORD

All Welcome - Broken Runaways and Sandy Dreams
Tamran — Guest
▶ Played by [pm] Posts: N/A — Threads:
▶ [] Hth:Atk:Exp:
▶ 501 [Year ] Active Magic:
▶ hh Bonded:
#1
fragile is the soul spun of beautiful glass       Tamran


   He had to keep moving, she might be right behind him. He had to keep moving, he couldn't go back. He had to keep moving, even when he stumbled and fell onto his knees on burning hot sand. He had to keep moving... because to go back was not an option. He kept moving, despite the harsh rasp of his breath in his throat, despite the fact he could barely walk his legs felt so weak, despite the searing sun beating down on his back. He hadn't eaten, hadn't drank, couldn't remember when cool soft grass had turned to harsh grains between his toes.

   He looked up, and in the distance he saw salvation, a spot of green in the barren orange landscape that wavered and rippled as if dancing in mockery of his wretched state. Far, it was so far... He placed his feet one after the other, nose nearly brushing the hot sand. He had to keep moving, because to stop was to die and leave his bones to bleach in the sun. He didn't want to die. Tamran raised his head once more, bleary eyes focusing on that oasis, that salvation... and found another, a dark shape approaching, crossing the dunes. Tamran took one step, two, before his knees buckled and sent him crashing to the sands, skidding down the sand dune, the grains rubbing his coat raw. He tried to get back to his weakened legs, to surge towards that salvation, but his legs buckled again.

   He could see that shape moving closer, staring down at him, and he clawed at the sands to try and reach it, his head raised up in plea. Tam tried to croak for help, to beg and plead, that yes he'd go back if only they would give him water, just a little bit, just enough that he'd regain some strength in his legs. He tried to beg, but no sound came out before his head dropped onto the sand, sides heaving with exertion.

this is so short im so sorry // @Seraphina @Siavax 
code ©inkbone -- headshot, texture



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Siavax — Night Court Sage Signos: 35
▶ Played by inkbone [pm] Posts: 6 — Threads: 0
▶ Male [He/Him/His] Hth: 9 — Atk: 11 — Exp: 10
▶ 3 [Year 499 Fall] Active Magic: N/A
▶ 18.1 hh Bonded: N/A
#2
tags: @Seraphina @Tamran // code © inkbone
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It was not often that the young stallion of night and day graced the Solterran territory. Truth be told, there was not much for him here - a father that was almost never present in his life, and such was it. He was sure, like in Denocte, he was not much more than an outcast with a shaky, untrusted parentage. Who wanted to deal with a colt whose heritage was as stark and contrasting as the dueling colors on his coat?

But still, for the sake of saying he tried, he would trek the week long journey. Through the mountain passages of Arma, through the dark and brooding forests that lay between, and out towards the stretching sands. At one point, his father had found him wandering the Mors desert... alone, dehydrated, and on the brink of passing out and being left for the buzzards. He had picked him up begrudgingly, muttered something about doing his mother a favor, and brought him to the Oasis - which he was a mere hundred or so yards from - to replenish him. And there they sat, talking for hours on end.

To date, that was probably the most sincere conversation they'd shared among themselves. Torstein - Warden of Solterra, the unbudging force behind the Regime's words - was never one for small talk or familial affection, he made that clear. Siavax was so conflicted about his father... in some aspects, he looked up to him for being so strong. At other times, he hated him for just that... for his strength left a wall between himself and his son.

Sia longed for a normal father-son relationship, but that would never be possible. He knew that, Torstein knew that... but it made Sia bitter and cold. He was robbed not only of the parental bonds he yearned for, but of the respect of his own Court because of such things. How was it his fault, in any manner, who had bore him? Did he ask to be part of a fucked up family?

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But here he stood, at the very Oasis that he and his father had lounged last time. Except this time, his father was not here like he said he would be. This, unfortunately, did not surprise Sia, but it hurt him all the same.

Raven locks had all been tightly braided and tied back for this journey, in preparation for the sun and the sand, with several draped across the impressive mass of horns that graced his head. Even in the winter, the desert was grossly hot... except at night, when the sands offered no protection from the chilling cold. Somehow, the Oasis was always just the right temperature, even in all times of the day and night.

A sigh left his lips, and cold eyes wandered away from the calm palm trees, date palms, and rippling water... and out towards the Mors. It looked menacing and foreboding even from this angle, an endless wave of sand and death.

An ear pricked, and his head pulled up high. Eyes strained, and in the distance, he saw something staggering in the sands. Both ears were now at fully attention, his breath caught in his throat, as he stared out into the distance, trying to decipher what it was.

Then, it fell.

He felt a gasp get catch in his throat, and immediately hooves kicked off of the compacted limestone and rocks that littered the borders of the oasis. Sand sprayed, and the hard impact of the stone of his hooves turned to grainy liquid as he crossed from the safety of the Vitae Oasis to the deadliness of the Mors Desert.

Sides heaved as the exertion gripped his body, sweat damping his skin. It felt like an eternity before he was within feet of the sand-colored figure that had collapsed among the dunes.. an eternity before his limbs were able to slow to a stop. Blue eyes stared down at the other in the sand as they looked up to him with vivid, entrancing purple eyes. Siavax quickly glanced around.

Well, shit. He was here... but what on earth was he supposed to do now?

"Um," he murmured, and dropped his head down to cautiously nose at neck of the heaving body on the sand. "Can... can you stand?"

What a stupid question, why would you ask that? His ears twitched nervously, and he shifted his weight on his hooves. He glanced around himself again, wondering if he was truly alone with this individual who very well might die at his feet.

He remembered his father, who had forced his gargantuan head underneath his own neck, and hoisted him up from the sands. Weight shifted upon his hooves again, nervousness creeping up the tendons. His head dropped down again, and he nosed it underneath the tawny figure's neck gently. "Come, I'll help you," he whispered into the other's ear, "There's water up ahead, I'll bring you to it. Lean on me."



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