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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

Private - No Mercy
Isorath — Guest
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#1

I S O R A T H


The Regent knows he should stay away, he should run, as fast as his legs can carry him and as far as his wings care to keep him aloft in Calligo's eternal embrace. Yet, he cannot, something pulls at him, fickle fine threads with the strength of gods pull at him and he goes. There's a part of him screaming, but it's locked behind ivory bars, as thick as steel and twice as damning.

Below, beneath the steady beat of his painted wings there are still revelers in the middle of their celebrations. They danced on, unaware of the tumultuous heart which soared high above them, shrouded by the smoke of the bonfires. Some moved sinuously like the flames they twirl around, some as quick and sharp as the crackle of the wood to the fire. Others appeared content to merely sway, lost in their own thoughts and the sweet scents and sights which rolled out for miles around.

He should spin down and down, and join his people. Join the Pegasai in their sky dances, their ornate and dare devilish twists and turns to shape and guide the smoke and embers. Land and dance on delicate, porcelain hooves and laugh a musical, lilted thing that's lighter than he felt. He should. But he doesn't.

Something twists inside him, like a carefully aimed knife. It sliced between his ribs to the part of him which is star fire and a dragon's temper. Needled at the images of Reichenbach's face, the look he'd given him the moment they had met at the cliffs. The one he had flashed him as he'd left.

Indignation once more bloomed in his chest, a spark ignited into the very fury of the stars. Their fire and their capriciousness rolled into one.He cannot abide such hot and cold treatment, even if duty called for it, even if he hadn't looked back to see if just for a moment Reichenbach had searched him out. Isorath deserved kindness, some selfish part of him mourned, the part which had endured one painful heartbreak and wanted no more of it. Just as much as it wanted to love again, he desired the right to know if there was more than these idle games. The flirting, the gesture wrapped so tenderly around his antler.

His shattered heart roared against it's bindings and snapped free, his eyes glow with it in the night. Lilac stars threatening to burn and consume him like the pyre had seasons before, as that look of consternation flashed across his mind once more, like a whiplash upon his scaled back. He will know, he will throw himself upon a sword to know the answer to the agonizing question scalding his flesh and bones. Caught in a maelstrom of emotions, his wings carried him faster, more furiously toward his target. He had not spied Reichenbach in the fields, nor the Court. He must be at the Cliffs.

But if he is at the Cliffs..would he be alone?

It should of sent him sprawling to the earth, but he cannot back out now. He's burning from the inside out. He veered, sharply with all the elegance of a dragon, out into the ocean air with the waves beneath him now. Away from the safety of land to cushion him should he tumble.

It doesn't take him long at the cliffs to spot who he is looking for. There, in one of the coves, sheltered from eyes which peered from the sheer edge, he spots the King of Shadows and Thieves. Alone. White lined eyes flare, both in surprise and relief, to see the King without the Golden Queen. What happened when he left with Lysander? Where is the Monarch dressed in the trappings of spring with the youthful heart?

Now is his chance. Angling his lithe body, he drifted lower and lower, his heart thundering all the while and his fire raging.

How he longed to make it tangible, to feel the pulse of magic in his chest. He would feel more comforted if he could beckon in forward, he knows this to be true. Here he is wildly alone, out of his depth, naked beneath a splintered visage of mirrors, gold and stars. It makes him volatile, makes his blood boil and swirl wildly in his veins, like wailing stars falling across an ashen amarathine sky. How much more amiable and controlled would he be if he could just feel that power again, see the wafts of dreamy smoke plume from his nostrils, sense the starscape reaching forward protectively to give him their embers. Give him their form, their love, their power.

Painted wings soon fan, in long strokes to carry him within reaching distance of the sand. Porcelain hooves touched the white sand and sank deeply, followed by his front. Long hair falls around his face and his neck, down and down until it nearly caresses the floor with it's ethereal touch. The same goes for his tail, spanning across the white sand with it's moonstone rivers, iridescent in the light of Calligo's sky. He wanted to open his mouth and breathe fire, let Reichenbach know his wounded heart, his inflamed pride and his damnable emotions.

Yet, instead he settled for something else as he toed toward the shoreline. The halo behind his head glows onward, it's enchanted candles still burning, the godly visages etched into the wax staring onward.

Isorath should fly away again, like a star which had found it's wings back to the heavens. But he can't. He won't.

Porcelain hooves stop as they touch the tide, it's salty touch reaching toward the silver tresses to entwine them in it's briny grasp. He does not look at Reichenbach, but oh how he wants to. He wants the King of Thieves, the King Crow, Calligo's champion to look into his eyes and see the anger there. See the fires of dragons. The conflict of a Prince who cradles the remnants of his heart with every fiber of his being. Each one is precious, not to be given away freely, yet the man beside them is taking them all, piece by aching piece. Whether he knows or not, whether he cares about such a significant thing or could hardly care less. Most of all, he wants Reichenbach to look in his eyes and see everything that he'd never dare give the air to breathe.

"Shouldn't you be dancing?" He asked curtly, his lilted tone, one that he wore as well as his finery, withered in favor of an icy flatness. He should be filled with warmth, and yet the stars give him their aching void, the ice of planets lost.




@Reichenbach


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Reichenbach — Guest
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#2









YOU ARE THE LOVE
THAT CAME WITHOUT WARNING,









He felt everything.

It was his curse to bear, that volatile mess inside of him controllable by none — each emotion flaying him alive tonight. His skin felt close to bursting, his whole body feverous and pounding as it flushed with a confusing tangle of rage, love, lust and shame. This night... it had not gone as he had thought it would.

Earlier that evening he had been flush with excitement, his smile broad and catching, the stars glinting off of the brightness within his argent eyes. He had embraced the cold touch of winter with a roguish affection, thoughts touching repeatedly on the man waiting for him within Dusk's borders — it had made his steps quick, dancing, following his merry band of Crows into the waiting lights. He'd found him, and for a few precious minutes life had been full and joyous, each sound, smell and taste more vibrant... and then his traitorous heart had brought him back to earth with the arrival of his Queen.

Blood lingered subtly upon his black lips and splattered itself upon his strong, hard hooves. He hadn't bothered to wash it off, whether for the comfort of it or the pleasure, he wasn't sure. He'd known his heart pined for Isorath for a long time now — but had not acted upon the desire, despite each long glance and how loathe he was to look away. 

Yet Florentine had kissed Lysander. 

No touches, no betrayals save for the one he could not control... and now he was the one named heartbreaker. He'd tried to save Aislinn heartbreak by telling her of Florentine before anything could happen between them, and again, you broke my heart Reich.

Well, he was through trying to make the right choice by others. If Iscariot was to turn in his grave, so be it. King Crow was coming to play, and he was a lot darker than the King of Shadows and Stars. He took what he wanted and cared not for the consequences.

Reichenbach watched the dark sky above him, the stars glinting distantly, one shifting and moving, leaving a streak of burning flame in his retinas. 

Isorath.

Reich had never seen him in the air before, but the Regent moved like a dancer, graceful and utterly stunning against the starry backdrop. Silver eyes followed his path, a falling star coming straight for his pocket of beach — alighting gently, that beautiful moon-white hair trailing upon the salty water. Every line of Isorath spoke fury and demand, causing the King of Thieves to feel a responding tug within his own chest, the emotions that had been strangling him dropping away under the swell. 

The kirin did not look at him, emanating an icy coolness that could only have been learnt in those years being raised as a Prince. He couldn't help it — he smiled.

Not his usual roguish grin, or the one that promised violence, not even the faint smile he wore when he didn't intend to — this one spoke of a deep relief, an ecstasy, a welcome home. He'd thought when he saw Isorath he would feel that same awful feeling he had had almost all evening — shame, guilt, fury and panic. Instead, he felt calmer than he had for a long while. Calmer, save for the furious beating of his great heart. Even the icy tones and distance between them could not clean the smile from his black lips.

He hadn't beat up Lysander because he'd been suggestive of relations between he and Florentine, or even really because she'd kissed him — though that had certainly been present in his mind while he sought out the ex-God. No, he'd thrown himself into that fierce bloodthirst because he'd danced with Isorath, had flirted with Isorath. 

Isorath.

Because Isorath was his — and he'd rip the hands off of anyone who touched him without the porcelain princes consent. 

Though Isorath stared pointedly away from him, Reich allowed his silver eyes to settle intensely on the lines of the kirins handsome face as he said warmly, tentatively;

"I couldn't find the right partner."








YOU HAD MY HEART
BEFORE I COULD SAY NO.
@Isorath




Isorath — Guest
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#3

I S O R A T H



Usually, he did not chafe beneath the trappings of his princely blood. The fluctuation of being too cold and too sharp were as natural as breathing, as natural as the routine of braiding his har. Many had felt the icy brunt of his countenance and even more had felt the harsh whip of his tongue, without the Prince so much as batting an eyelash. Scoured to the bone beneath a tempestuous glare which silently threatened to shatter you from the inside out. It had never crossed his mind that he would aim even a fraction of the onslaught toward the Night King beside him now. Everything had been so natural, the shadowy game of cat and mouse in the dim candlelight and winding halls of the Night Palace.

He chafed beneath the icy cloak, desperate to shed it. Yet he held fast, he had to, if only for a little longer.

The water continued to wash against his delicate looking hooves, tangle it's sea salt grip against his wispy feathers and curled hair, pulling and tugging. Isorath had spent many a sunset staring out at the Ocean's grace, watching the tide and the sun dip on the horizon. Each one more beautiful than the last, each one more tragic. This wasn't the same though, he was not alone and his heart was far from the mournful mausoleum he once confessed it to be.

A single lilac eye dared to peer beneath the thick fan of snow lashes at the stallion beside him,  after the silence stretched, observing the smile that currently occupied the ruggedly handsome face he had come to adore. A bat of his long lashes passed between them and once more he stared out on the horizon, and just for a moment, a ghost of a smile pressed against his lips. A breath carefully exhaled caught somewhere between the start of a laugh and an ending of a sigh. If he had seen the blood which painted it, he had the decorum to not mention it, at least for now.

Instead, he relished the moment, tension and all. Allowed the silver gaze of the Crow King to wander and the smile to blossom as his heart similarly lurched and ignited within his chest. So much had transpired. So many questions threatened to roll off his tongue, followed by a thousand curses. The regent hadn't known what awaited him, what would await him in the days that followed. Rejection perhaps? He could endure a Sovereign's fury, but not that. Not again.

He had feared that Reichenbach might send him away, feared that he still would take wing and ascend back to the heavens. Neither things happened, and the tension which raised his scales slowly receeded, like the tide upon the shore.

I couldn't find the right partner.

"Is that so?" He replied softly, appeased and concerned all at once. "Could they not keep up? Or is there only one partner the Night King desires?" Words feather light, with a hint of teasing somewhere in their musical notes. Another beat and gradually the Kirin shifted, enough so he could tilt his frame toward the shadow crowned one beside his own. A silent boon, a subtle search for the affection that his fracture ridden heart sought.

"I must confess, I do not know any courtly dance that involves blood."


@Reichenbach <3


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Reichenbach — Guest
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#4









YOU ARE THE LOVE
THAT CAME WITHOUT WARNING,









That ghost of a smile was no small victory for the King of Thieves, and upon seeing it he felt his own smile grow — it was impossible not to smile, despite the evening and all its woes. His shoulders were weighted, his mind even more so, and his heart... oh his heart had taken a hammering! And yet... his heart still opened wide for the porcelain prince, incapable of doing anything else. Perhaps he loved too freely and too often, perhaps he was as hopelessly cruel as Aislinn seemed to think he was — but there was still this. This kernel of flaming truth... He could not help but to smile when Isorath was near. 

He would take whatever punishments were deemed appropriate by the others — but if Isorath asked, he'd grovel on his knees. He spoke not a word as he watched the beauty before him, his gaze ever-changing but always focused on Isorath — that flawless cheekbone, the line of his elegant wing, his frost-lashed lilac eyes.. 

His patience was rewarded by a teasing question, the slightest of inclines toward his shadow carved figure. 

"I must confess, I do not know any courtly dance that involves blood."
Reichenbach's responding grin was dangerous, his handsome head cocking a little as he replied simply;

"I had some educating to do."

Lysander had needed to learn just who he was insulting — and never to do it again. It would have been a rough evening for a God turned mortal, to realise that his body could be broken, could provide pain. Reichenbach hadn't realised how much he had missed feeling teeth break underneath his fist, or how freeing it was to not have to be a righteous and noble suitor. 

Florentine had never asked him to be as such, but she had been so gentle, so trembling and kind that he had been loathe to show her the darker sides of The Night King. 

He didn't have to hide those parts from Isorath, didn't want to.

The Night King moved toward his prince ever so slightly, careful not to push the boundaries of Isorath's forgiveness but wanting to be nearer, close enough to touch. His gaze softened, the brush of his lashes suddenly intimate against rough bones, his voice lowering into a husky murmur —

"I might have one dance left in me, if you'll have me."







YOU HAD MY HEART
BEFORE I COULD SAY NO.
@Isorath <3333 sorry for the wait!




Isorath — Guest
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#5




I S O R A T H
— the night has a thousand eyes —
but all I see is you.


Love was cruel, Isorath knew that first hand. Such a volatile, capricious emotion which cared little for whom it hurt — as long as it pierced true in the end. All those it had felled in the process, the pieces of him spared a long moment of reflection upon. Aislinn. Florentine. It had never been his intention to be caught in the crossfire, to be the painted target for a gilded arrow to strike him. It had, it had embedded deep between the ivory cage in his chest and his heart had grabbed onto it with abandon. It would not be ignored, it would not remain empty and bereft in it's confines again. Now, they stood among the burning hearts and stormborn emotions, the skies darkened on the horizon as the grains of sand continued to pour in the hourglass.

A storm was coming, Isorath had no doubt about that. In a World where the heart often ruled the head.

Amethysts watched the man born from shadows and woodsmoke, the glint of gold and moons for eyes. Hearts would rage for this, one which held blossoms in it's grasp and another who commanded the storms like the sea did. Would he end up like them? Would a trinity arise? Would he be doomed to the same ill-fated end. The more he thought, the more his heart decreed no. They had not withstood the man who stood beside him, but they were not forged from Dragon's blood and conquest. He was. In the marrow of his bones his Gods had forged his bones, struck them in dragon fire and tempered them in the rains of a hurricane whipped by leather wings.

He would burn anyone for the insult. Anyone who dared to tread over his heart accidental or not. Isorath was beautiful and fair, and oh so very full of grace, but he was also cruel. Unforgiving.

I had some educating to do.

"The lesson went well then?" A glance is given to the blood again, the ichor of a god laid low splattered carelessly upon a smoky canvas. "Too well." The Herald concluded after a moment of silence on his behalf, his gaze retreating to meet silver ones after they lingered on the sanguine smattered against too dark lips. He would never deny Reichenbach his instincts, the imperative need to be who he was. Chains no matter the metal or no matter the reasoning, were not his taste.

But there were consequences. Consequences Isorath would have him face, himself included.

He allowed the King to come closer, a bemused smile dancing on pale lips at the cautiousness of such a move. As if he was courting a serpent deciding to strike, a dragon keenly watching an interloper. Smart man, and for that another fond chord is struck between his ribs, another silent laugh laugh is exhaled into the night air.

"I am not Florentine." The words come easy, laced with embers with fire left to give. Ready to ignite into an inferno at the Prince's command. "And I am not Aislinn. I will not suffer the same treatment, accidental or not. I will not ask you to change for me, and I will not ask you to be something you are not." They are quiet words, made for them alone as he laid them out between them, lilted and soft, but as sharp and dangerous as a knife point. He cannot leave them unsaid, or for some point in the far future as a passing fancy.

"There will be troubles for this love, this dance of ours. Are you prepared for that? to love me? Unconditionally, and without measure? I am a selfish creature, greedy for love and greedier for the tenderness it brings. I will not stand for half-measures, and I will not stand for second or to be replaced." He paused, a snow white brow quirked as he wielded his words like his rapier in the thick of battle. He would not forgive, and a slight would be a slight met with fire. "But, I will adore you as you were made to be adored, Reich. I will love you without restraint, fiercely and unforgiving." He's looking at the King of Shadows and Night now, truly looking. Piercing as the arrow he had been pierced with, lilac into silver.

"If so, then I will dance with you, my love." His own voice dropped, it's song a sirens melody on the waves. Soft, sinous as if one might slide over satin and silk. A pale muzzle reached out for him, tentative in it's searching. After an age of starvation, this new found affection is strange and exhilarating. It pressed against the strong line of Reichenbach's cheek and lingered. "If you can keep up, and mind the fire, that is."


TAG: @Reichenbach



Reichenbach — Guest
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#6









YOU ARE THE LOVE
THAT CAME WITHOUT WARNING,








"The lesson went well then?"

Had he not been waiting on another answer, he would have laughed — and it was a callous thing, to laugh about the beating he and his Crows had given the old God, but he was ruthless, a King of Thieves, and he had not gained his position simply through charisma alone. Lysander would live, but his recovery would be a long one. No doubt there would be repercussions, but for now... well for now, the taste of blood on his lips was a victory long sought. 

"I am not Florentine. And I am not Aislinn."

Reichenbach felt his brows raise slightly, simultaneously pleased and concerned at the flame sparking in his lovers voice. 

"I will not suffer the same treatment, accidental or not. I will not ask you to change for me, and I will not ask you to be something you are not."

He remained silent, watching Isorath as his demands were laid out, the line he drew clear and clean and impossible to misinterpret — even as those words did hurt. Still, The Night King found it hard to come to terms with being a heartbreaker, disliked his new reputation intensely. It was not a reputation he intended on keeping. 

"There will be troubles for this love, this dance of ours. Are you prepared for that? to love me? Unconditionally, and without measure? I am a selfish creature, greedy for love and greedier for the tenderness it brings. I will not stand for half-measures, and I will not stand for second or to be replaced."

There were no words, not until Isorath had finished — not until he could pull that soft haired head close, finally press a kiss to his sensual lips. 

"But, I will adore you as you were made to be adored, Reich. I will love you without restraint, fiercely and unforgiving."

A vast grin split his black lips at the words, the promise that lay within them. Perhaps the chaos within him responded to the cool, cleanness of Isorath, where it had run amok with Florentine and Aislinn, here was a man that would both let it remain wild while at the same time held its leash. 

"If so, then I will dance with you, my love."

The Night King dared not moved as those soft lips came searching, his skin flushing as they brushed against his rough cheekbone, the scent of woodsmoke and jasmine released from the heat underneath his shadowy curls. 

"If you can keep up, and mind the fire, that is." 

All at once he turned, replacing his cheek with a reckless press of ebony lips against pink ivory. His wild heart thrummed at the sensation, at the intimacy that had been denied them so long as he pulled his dainty-boned kirin into an embrace. Isorath felt strong and unbreakable as Reichenbach twined his broad neck around the Kirin's slender, swan-like neck, inhaling the smell of him — like ice and dragonfire, lavender and stars above, tea.

His chest rumbled against the Kirin's porcelain skin as he spoke, his voice deep and dark;

"I will love you as no man ever has, and may I wither and die if I ever betray that promise."

He retreated, already missing the warm of Isorath's body pressed against his as he brushed another kiss over his lilac-eyed man — grinning now as he rumbled,

"I prefer it, if anything."







YOU HAD MY HEART
BEFORE I COULD SAY NO.
@Isorath <3333 



Isorath — Guest
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#7




I S O R A T H
— the night has a thousand eyes —
but all I see is you.


The air is near suffocating, as the words poured from his mouth and came to life around them. He can't remember the last time breathing was so hard, each lungful is heady and thick as he surged forward in his confession. His demand. Here upon the precipice where he prepares to fall, or fly — a hundred different emotions and actions, all dependent on the answer Reichenbach may or may not give him.

But Isorath has never abided half-love, half-emotions of twisted threads and snippets of things that he is greedy for, unspoken loyalty where there is a forcefully pulled leash than freedom to be given and received in return.

He's desperate for it all. He deserved to be loved, his soul cried with teeth bared, and it is Reich's love that he so wants.

The High Prince's words come to a punctuated end with a heavy breath, leaving his nostrils in a visible curl in the frosted night air. His heart crashed against his chest as the waves against the ragged cliffs did, their brine riddled fingers a harsh grip on the rocks which pulled and pulled and pulled.

It spiked in a deafening crescendo when a grin painted itself upon that dark and bloodied maw. A temperamental inferno reaching forward for the fuel it needed to blaze. A fine tremble crawled up his spine in a moment of unfiltered weakness, of starry hope and moon drenched want. He drank in the smell of jasmine, wood smoke and that age old smell of burnished and aged gold, metallic on his tongue and senses.

He hadn't expected the suddenness of which Reichenbach turned, hadn't expected to feel that velvet maw brush against his own. Heat and surprised flooded him, flashed freely across the porcelain lines of his face, danced within the swirl of his lilac eyes. He cannot help but fall into the embrace the King of Stars and Shadows pulled him into, or the way his eyes fell closed because finally, finally he has found someone who will love him. Perhaps it is also to shut out the crystalline tears which threatened to spill across satin cheeks, the relief too much as his cage doors are finally flung open and what's left inside is once again allowed to fly free. There is a smile though, a fine and delicate thing as bright as the stars, hidden and pressed close into the mess of shadowy coal coils, into those tendrils of darkness which tickle his face as he searched to lose himself in the moment.

I will love you as no man ever has, and may I wither and die if I ever betray that promise.

Lose himself into the declaration Reichenbach gave him in return, the most precious gift anyone had ever given him. Finer than the silks in his wardrobe, richer than the jewels he wore. Worth more than his worldly possessions could ever fetch. While he would be loathe to part with them, he would, if he could have this.

Turned out he didn't need to part with a thing.

Their first meeting had been on that cliff in the storm, and if someone would of said that they were fated to be lovers — that they would be stood upon the beach beneath those very same cliffs, confessing their love. He might have laughed, a wicked and veiled thing. Yet, here they are.

They separated, and the pang between his ribs is strange yet comforting. The vulnerability and joy is easily replaced by one of mischief, a lilted thing emphasized by the smirk which curled onto his pale maw even as Reichenbach stole another kiss.

"Good, I do so love a man who can handle fire without the fear of being burned. But come," He says with a gentle fondness, head tilted toward the sea which lapped at their hooves. His telekinesis easily reached out to pull at those ink strands he could find himself entwined in for hours, as he himself retreated into the waves.

"I doubt we have much time left, before consequence finds us. But, I would have one more memory of this night with you." He knew he cannot keep his Crow King here, that he must send him from Dusk before the Guards can come. Come they shall, on orders of a Queen spurned and a friend wounded. He too must also leave and face judgement.

Already he is adrift in the waves, far out enough that the waves can lift him in their embrace in a gentle rise and fall. Illuminated by the candles upon his halo, washing him in warmth while the moonlight painted him in her pale light. His hair ethereal tendrils curling above and beneath the waves, prepared to their jealous grip around everything that came close.



TAG: @Reichenbach





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