This land would stand not as a wasteland nor no-man's-land any longer. This was Solterra, a land yet to be christened by the demolition of hoof and quake of battle; why it stood so alone, timid, naked and baptised by fire was a mystery to many. Clarity was as present as snow over the Mors and Madness was as great as there were grains of sand upon its ridiculous expanse, and while in other courts they bimbled and lashed at each other's jugulars, the people of Solterra remained scattered. From the beating coast to the very edges of the continent they had fallen like leaves off an oak.
But not after the sun set on this day.
Maxence had grown tired of passing worthy warriors on the dunes and nodding from afar, wishing that the banner they should be uniting underneath had not been buried under what seemed like a century of sand. Solterra, The Day Court, even Solis - they all seemed so dead.
And that was exactly why it had struck the commander to revive them. With no sovereign to rally the remnants of the so-called nation, Maxence would take temporary measures.
To the Day Court he had romped, chest puffed and confident and adorned in leather and the skins of a bear and a lion - the uniform of a commander, a chief, the leader. The ruins of a former republic had called to him as the place to begin the next one (The acoustics also weren't too shabby) and as he clambered upon one of the lower-standing turrets to overlook the lay of the land below, it was only then that the thunder and brontide erupted from the commander. First it came in a stomp, one executed with a loud THWACK! of his right hoof against the stone beneath and secondly, a great bellowing nicker to the heavens - one with the plot to summon all near-by (or in the land if it reached that far) to heed his summoning.
The stallion waited, watching with a grim snarl upon his chops as he waited anxiously for someone (anyone) to attend. Someone had to be listening, he knew at least one must be, so without even waiting to see if anyone had approached he began his plea. "HARK!" Maxence had bellowed for all the kingdom to hear.
"This land is dust, it is ash! While those sons-of-whores in Delumine lay in poppy fields we wade across the most merciless terrain on the continent, and while the flute-players in bleeding Terrastella watch their sunsets we toil 'neath the blazing sun!-" The growling paused, the man it came from silencing to instead mutter the sentence he spoke next. "-Only Solis knows what those wankers do in Denocte..."
"Only we are fit for the protection of Solis. Only we can unite this soulless land!"
Rarely did Avdotya linger so close to the Capitol as she did on this particular day, but with the rumblings of horses now stepping into power, her curiosity had drawn her near. Her eyes took in the silhouette of the old acropolis on the horizon and a touch of disdain fell upon the crooks of her cracked lips; the memories, though old, still toiled in her mind as if they were weaved but a day before. Her last recollection of the place was the pool of royal blood she'd spilled upon pristine floors so many moons ago, when the halls were still brimming with activity and chaos had taken hold. Now, it was but a dormant shell of its glory days- a pity, really, though Avdotya was much more keen on seeing it as a musty old relic than a roost for a cockerel parading himself as a wolf.
Now, however, it seemed like the dust was about to be brushed from the Capitol floors and polished for a new leader. And how fortunate was she to be one of the first to hear his bellowing call roll across the dunes, inviting any willing to listen to his appeal. The woman puffed a cynical snort past her sand-ridden nostrils, but listened anyways. His pitch had flare, she could not deny him that.
Finally Avdotya came near enough to make something of the man, rather than just a winged figure in the distance. He appeared strong and able-bodied, but appearances meant little here. She slithered close, within his sights and then tipped her nose to the cloudless sky so her own eyes could meet his from her position down below. "And we are to follow you like sheep would their shepherd? Who is to say you won't lead us to slaughter like Sovereigns of old?" Her voice boomed back, sharp and biting, challenging him to convince her that his pretty head was worthy of the crown he sought.
Drama - ! Bexley can practically smell it. She’s spent the last few days dozing around the Day Court, sloughing through sand dunes, roasting in the sun, wondering why her home is so empty, and now here’s the answer, wrapped up in a neat little bow for her: rumors of someone finally stepping up to take the throne. She would’ve just done it herself if the timing wasn’t so unfortunate. Still, with someone ruling, there’s bound to be some kind of spectacle. Whether it’s a crowning or a riot, Bexley couldn’t care less. As long as there’s an audience, and ample opportunity for her to get involved, it’s bound to be a good time.
Eyes half-closed against the wet yellow sun, Bex flicks an ear to listen in on whatever’s about to happen. There’s something stirring, sure, but her information on the situation is lacking at best, and it seems smarter to wait it out than go plunging into the newly political abyss, so she remains leaning against the heat-drenched wall of the day court and stills, concentrating. A man’s voice rings out a minute later. Hark? Who the hell says hark anymore? Bexley’s nostrils flare with amusement; she shakes a chunk of curly hair from her face, pushes off the wall, and starts to trot unhurriedly toward the sound.
By the time she makes it there, their new sovereign’s speech has ended, and there’s someone else - a woman not too much older than her, darkskinned but covered in the silvery tracks of old, fading claw marks - standing across from what she can only assume is the self-proclaimed royalty. He’s not really Bexley’s type, but definitely not bad looking. Muscley, patchworked in red and white, huge wings pressed to his sides. That’s uncomfortable - Bexley has an innate distrust of anything with wings. But she flashes him an easy, beatific smile watches intently.
The woman next to her launches into a bitter spiel - lead us to slaughter… Bexley’s eyebrows shoot upward in surprise. “Lord,” she coughs, and looks at the pegasus. “Great start there, huh, buddy? Looks like you’re gonna be in charge of a tough crowd.”
私I AM IN A LOT OF PAIN AND IT'S STARTING TO FEEL LIKE VINEGAR TEETH AND WELTERING FLAME.
TRUTHFULLY, I DON'T EVEN KNOW WHAT I WANT OUT OF LIFE, NOT ANYMORE. I'M TOO OLD TO IMAGINE MYSELF OUT OF PLACE SAVE FOR IN PIECES OF SCALPEL SUTURE, STITCHES FOR A MENDED HAND. I HAVE SKILLS TO OFFER AND NOT ENOUGH TIME TO MAKE THEM LAST. PERHAPS ANOTHER WAR WAS ON THE HORIZON, NEEDING HIM YET.
HE SPEAKS, THE YOUNG THING UP THERE, NOW-KING, AND THE WORDS ARE GOOD AND SANGUINE. THEY WILL BE IN GOOD HANDS, WARM AND PROUD AND ANGRY AS THE DESERTS THEY LIVE IN.
I WALK TO HIM.
"MY LIEGE," HE SAYS, SOUNDING PLUME HOT, SUDDEN, AS BAPTISMAL FLAME-- TOO SERIOUS, FOR AN ALREADY SERIOUS ENVIRONMENT-- VOICES ECHOING AROUND HIM, THE RED WORLD AND ITS CANYON CHAMBERS ROILING IN ITS NATURAL DAY HEAT.
HE PICKS IDLY AT THE BRUSH GRASS LIKE AN OLD GOAT DISGRUNTLED FROM HAVING BEEN WOKE MORESO THAN THE DOCTOR-CARETAKER OF THEIR WOMEN AND MEN, HAVING ALREADY SEEN THE COMINGS AND GOINGS OF KINGS, POLITICS, AND BATTLEMENTS A HALF DOZEN TIMES OVER. POSTURE STONE STIFF, NECK BOWED, SCALED IN SCAR, MORE TIRED THAN HE CAN EVER SAY . . . AND LOOMING LIKE A THREAT TO WHICHEVER SIDE WASN'T ON THE ERR OF PEACE, THE MILKIER OF HIS EYES WANDERS ALONG THE COLLECTED FRAY, PASSING JUDGMENTS SILENT, SUBJECTIVE, SAFE IN THE FIELDS OF THEM.
"PEOPLE ARE UNIFIED WHEN CARED FOR," HE SAYS, THE CALM GREEN IN ALL THAT GOLD AND SAND, "THEIR CHILDREN, OUR FUTURES AND COMFORT. IF YOU MAKE IT SO, THEN WHERE YOU GO, YOU ARE FOLLOWED BY ME. WHERE YOU NEED MEN HEALED BODILY OR IN HEAD, PUT ME."
Wandering seemed to be a thing in his blood, something he did as he moved from place to place to place. Silly, really, he supposed, but it was something embedded in him since before his life altering meeting with some mischievous deities. A shake of his horned head, and he pushed the thoughts away, finding his hooves pressing in to hard loam as his good eye focused. There were scorching reds and yellows, the colors of a land that beat down upon its subjects and those that dare tread in to tame it. Hues that he could see out of his bad eye (somewhat), and many that he could see in the ruby red gaze that he held in his remaining eye. He had roamed far and wide and found himself in his newest home. Once upon a time, chains had kept him down, and attached heartstrings. But now?
Now he seemed to drift wherever he pleased most days, and though he was a member of the Day Court in Novus, he still found himself meandering in to neutral territories. Here at least, he could find some semblance of peace for the day. He'd had plenty of sparring earlier, and though his muscles didn't ache, his mind seemed to be slow on attempting to keep up with his motions. He needed a break, something to allow him to stretch out like a proverbial cat and bask in the sunlight.
Actually... that wasn't a bad idea. A torn ear perked, and he moved himself, only to pause as he got ready to settle in a lovely little spot where he could soak up the sun. There was a call across the lands, and the beast shook himself, nostrils flaring as he turned his scarred body away from what was surely to be a pleasant nap. Instead, he found himself wandering towards the call, where he heard others, and he wondered vaguely what this so called Sovereign would be like. Many were hot tempered and with the wilds in their heart, many leaders before had been stupid too. Leviathan could only hope that perhaps this one didn't fall in to either of those categories, but judging by his screams, well. There was a wrinkle that passed over his war torn features, and he came to a halt, kicking up dust that colored his feathering as he stood in silence. He would likely have to hold his tongue, at least for the moment.
As much as he loathed, he had to be patient. Or not. "Good speech." He finally groused out the words -- Leviathan was never known for staying on the good side of someone. "You're attempting to rile us when there is nothing to be riled for. Careful you keep your personal views on others out of this, hmm? It wouldn't be the first time I saw someone's own agenda take over that of the people and lead them to wars." He scoffed. He could care less what the other courts did or how they acted, they were, after all, all courts and beings that thrived and lived. Sure they got the hard end of the stick here but.. he didn't see why someone had to lash out at the others for it.
All the same, he leaned his head down, brushing a scarred nose over one of his front legs until he lifted once more, arching an invisible brow.
The first to remark his words was one with a voice just as thunderous as his own, yet feminine and with a world away from his own. "And we are to follow you like sheep would their shepherd? Who is to say you won't lead us to slaughter like Sovereigns of old?"
It was this comment that caused a vicious snort to rupture from behind his nares, the trumpet of anger and brutish ferocity threatening the challenging words pushed his way. "You misunderstand me, girl-" He came to bellow, lifting his wings from his flanks to flare them wide and create the shape of a true behemoth, an indomitable warrior, and before too long he had swooped down from the turret to stand among the gathering Solterrans.
It was the next voice that caused his ears to truly flatten against his neck; one so shrill it almost rotated his spine and curve his hooves, and oh what she spoke. It took every single fiber of inner strength not to snap, to break, to snarl and to bite like a wolf. Instead the man would ignore the silly runt, closing his eyes as he imagined what on earth such a doe was doing out here when surely she was only fit to wade around the likes of a brothel. "I have no intention of leading, of shepherding, or whatever tyrannous title you can pin beside my medals - I wish to unite the scraps of this decomposing nation not as a leader but as one of a team of many to save it and make it our own! Despite the bollocks you have heard or deigned to conjor up yourself, I seek NO crown and live among the mud and sand as you do"
The next man came, old and weary it would seem and his greeting immediately triggered a reaction from the commander. "I am not your Liege - I am your brother, one which toils in the sand beside you". He observed this man's iridescent coat and how it remained littered in all kinds of colour - it was mesmerising, though nto enough to distract him from the brute that next approached and gave his hoot of disproval.
"I have no quarrel with the other courts, fool, Only that they dally in luscious fields while we dwindle in the sweltering heat and remain scattered and godless - this is at no fault of theirs but yours and mine. The problem and sickness is among these sands; it is with you." the former commander boomed, his steps sweeping effortlessly toward the leathery goliath as he spoke, and then away upon finishing his sentence. His steps carried him toward the mare who had spoken first, one who appeared truly battle born and a shield maiden if ever there was one. Of all those gathered she had seemed the smartest, the most in tune, and after all they were wise NOT to trust him.
"You should lead us" He told her, looking her up and down for a moment before his head snapped in the direction of the scarred goliath once again to bellow a warning, though decided to hold his tongue. Does this one bark or will he bite?
It was not long before the crowd began to swell, although Avdotya's eye had fixated upon the delicate-looking mare to her side. She was not prone to embrace the irreverence of others and that much was clear in the choleric expression that overtook her face. "Perhaps you should learn to hold your tongue when you've got nothing of value to contribute." She hissed, her ears having laid themselves flat in the mare's sudden flash of displeasure. Her gaze only lingered for a few seconds more before it returned to where the winged stallion once stood, but the space he had occupied was now empty and instead he mingled among them in the hot sands below.
To his credit, he lacked the obvious egoism many men bore. It was enough to at least convince the woman to listen to his words, to consider them; there were no others out there tossing themselves into the fray to build Solterra up from the wasteland it had become, after all.
Avdotya remained still and silent while he attended to every doubt that had been voiced, assuring them each time that his conviction was not driven by gold upon his head but the desire to make a nation strong through its unity. She herself cared not for the details, but her mind was already putting together the many ways she could gain from a thriving Day Court- it was so busy, in fact, that Avdotya barely noticed the painted stallion approach her directly. His statement, however, was quick to draw her attention.
If there was one thing she could never master, it would be the art of picking up on subtle sarcasm. The mare was unsure of the seriousness with which he carried his words, but none would ever know it by the stony look she showed. Traces of an impish smile even pulled at one corner of her lip, finally leading her to snake her brawny neck ever-closer to the stallion. "How are you to know that I am no shepherd?" Her voice was low and most likely inaudible to those around them, but her words were woven like silk and danced to his ear effortless ease. Avdotya's eyes lingered on his cold blues for a moment more, then recoiled to the commotion of the horde they stood within.
It had been far too long since she last was able to stimulate her mind as she had in this hour- it was refreshing, truly.
Other court members start to trickle in; Bexley looks them over as they come, but says nothing, unfazed. She tilts her weight onto a back leg and relaxes. This may be her home, but it sure as hell isn’t going to run her over, Bexley just won’t let it happen, and by the looks of things no one here has the spine to do so anyway. Gaze level, she takes a glance at the crowd and then back to their “leader” as he responds. Mud - sand - and he seeks no crown, which Bexley hadn’t even accused him of, but doesn’t care enough to rebuke anyway, as his lack of levelheadedness becomes immediately, startlingly apparent, and her interest is lost. If he’s this upset over a few measly criticisms on his speech, he’s not going to last long in the Day Court of all places and Bex is curious how long it’ll take him to crash and burn.
What does spark a reaction, though, is the sudden virility of the woman next to her. Those strange amber eyes are blazing with hostility when they meet Bexley’s, and the venom of her voice is so potent it could very well be fatal when used on a weaker creature. Bexley can’t help her surprise, but the feeling is quickly replaced by anger. Her chest blazes with heat. Looking back at whoever the hell this is, she breaks into a hard smile, blue eyes narrowing, and says dispassionately: “Pleading guilty, your Honor, I do have a big mouth. Get used to it.” Get fucked would really be a better way to end, but Bexley keeps that to herself. Her plasticine smile remains perfectly in place.
Perfect. So at least two of her fellow court members are complete assholes, the rest of them are mute except to rag on the new royalty, and Bexley’s found her way to trouble within minutes, which means her time here is bound to just get rougher and rougher - she can’t say she’s surprised that her chance of a peaceful sink into luxury is already gone. She raises an eyebrow at the intimacy of the conversation that has sparked between her antagonists and watches with a flat gaze, hoping this meeting is headed in a direction that won't make her want to blow her brains out.
Days dragged on in a golden haze.
Seraphina ventured out more often than usual, searching for the relic, but she still spent many hours wandering the dunes, relying on the familiarity of routine to guide her on her unofficial patrols – contrary to what might be expected, she found nothing therapeutic in retracing her trails, nothing therapeutic in her own sense of aimlessness. She found something in her horribly empty, and she did not know how to fix it – it made her long for Viceroy in a way that she could not completely understand, for orders, to be told what she was meant to do. Seraphina did not understand what it meant to want; she did not know desire.
The howl of a summon from the Capitol was a welcome reprieve from stalking the dunes, and she had rushed to meet it. Her proximity from the Court brought her later than most of the rest of the group that seemed to be gathered in the hall, and the meeting seemed to be firmly underway when she finally arrived. Seraphina lingered outside of the hallway, ears twisted to catch the discussion within; she thought that she recognized some of the voices, though others – like that of the stallion who had called them – were foreign to her. She had arrived on the tail end of his initial speech, and caught most of the – discontent – discussion that followed. He responded with explosive vigor; whoever this one actually was, he was not a diplomat, though she’d gathered that from his initial assessment of the courts.
She only meandered into the room, quietly and purposefully, when the stallion had finished speaking again. Seraphina’s multicolored gaze darted across the room with professional accuracy, sizing up the crowd of familiar faces and strangers; Avdotya, a woman much like a sharpened knife, and Oz, the weary old fortress. A delicate, pale slip of a girl with a vicious smile. A massive, black-and-white goliath of a man, coated in scars. Her eyes final fell on the stallion she could only imagine was the source of this meeting, given his relatively central position among the gathering equines.
And who was this man?
She observed him with a gaze like a sharpened knife, dicing him apart to examine his pieces more carefully. Muscular build, just a breath taller than her if she disregarded the wings – but she was somewhat tall for a mare, and his feathered appendages were intimidatingly massive besides. Nothing spectacular to his chocolate brown coat or spray of white markings, though they were certainly more appealing than, say, those of Oz. More interesting, however, were his eyes. For their vibrant shade of blue, she noted that they felt quite cold as the grave, frigid as ice in spite of the sweltering heat. Seraphina was primarily concerned with his accent, in conjecture with the tone of his words, and the simple fact that she had never met this foreigner in her life. Who was he to think that he had the prowess to save Solterra, to draw it from its evident state of decay and disarray? Who was he to think that he could unite them, that they would simply fall into line in the hoofsteps of a foreigner who might know nothing of their lands?
(A twist of her stomach – most of those memories were fragmented, left in piercing shards in the wake of Viceroy’s magic. What did she remember of her younger days? The buzz of carrion flies. Smell of blood so thick it blotted out all other senses. Running until her stomach throbbed, and she tasted copper in the dryness of her throat. A scream. (Her scream?) The sensation of hooves against a her skull – shoving down, trampling, a flurry of limbs that succumbed to panic with the beat of wings. Viceroy tearing, the heat of flames against her throat. A mare crumpled, screaming, twitching – then gone. Blood on her hooves and teeth. Viceroy leaning in to brush his lips up against her ear, flicking his leonine tail to force her to watch. “This is what war feels like.”)
She corrected herself. He did not seem to desire to brandish the mantle of Sovereign, or so he said. (And yet, his mentality of decay still made her stomach knot.) In fact, his cold gaze finally fell upon Avdotya, and he pinpointed her as their next leader. The mare offered a sharp remark to the palamino who’d spoken earlier, then approached the stallion, smiling like the devil. She did not hear what the mare said, but she caught the movement of her lips. The dainty little wraith of a mare snapped back at Avdotya; Seraphina wondered if she had a death wish. For her part, she slipped among the gathering crowd, serene and seemingly unfettered by the tumultuous emotions spread thin throughout, multicolored eyes cold and collected as she surveyed each and every figure. Finally, she took a purposeful step towards the stallion that had called them all together. “And what,” Came that quiet, eerily calm voice, “do you know of these lands?” Her gaze swept the length of the stallion, perfectly cool and composed, though without a hint of accusation or interest – she was numb. “Forgive my assumptions, but your accent is foreign – what is your stake in Solterra? If this land is in such a state of decay, what is it to you? You are not bound to these lands.” Her eyes flickered up to stare intently into his own. “Why did you call us here? You say that you seek to find a leader…but we have been without a Sovereign, or a court proper, for months. If any of us truly desired the crown – or felt worthy of it-, it would have been ours to take. None of us have.” She paused, eyes narrowing just a fraction. “You say that you wish to toil among the sands, to see these lands returned to prosperity. And how would you suggest that be done?” Perhaps the stallion hadn’t recognized it himself, but calling the Court was a power play in and of itself. Frankly, she did not care who took up the mantle of Sovereign, but it was in the interest of the Court to attempt to parse the motivations of those who sought it, so parse she would. In the back of her mind, she wondered if she’d be next on the receiving end of his seemingly volcanic temper, but, buried even further below, she anticipated his answers to her little test with wolfish, hungry eagerness. For better or worse, this was motion.
resident ice cube has arrived - sorry that this is so long and probably incoherent. it's late. i shouldn't be writing, but i /need/ to get caught up.
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
06-29-2017, 11:26 PM - This post was last modified: 06-30-2017, 07:55 AM by Seraphina
I wander away from the oasis, leaving the young mare Victorina in my wake. My mind is blown. Granddaughter? What the lass had revealed had given me more shock than I'd received in a very long time. She claimed to be the daughter of Volterra - whom I'd heard of but never known - and Vitani - my own daughter. In my absence I'm Helovia I'd missed the entire life of my child, including the birth of my only grandchild! How old I feel now, though only six years of age. I'm a youngster, really, but so much has happened. Immediately upon learning of my relationship to the mare I felt protectiveness hit me like a tsunami. She is my granddaughter and I am possibly her only living relative. I must do everything I can to protect her, make her life the best it can be.
And yet I walked away, having found a need to clear my mind. My footsteps lead a lonely line in the sand. Reichenbach had asked me to join him in the Night Court of Denocte. I enjoyed Nora and Noah as well, and they also live there. The sand does not seem as welcoming as it had upon my arrival. The thought to leave and go to the Night Court was a weight on my mind and, though it took awhile, I realize it is something I desire. A sigh slips past my lips, for now the matter is complicated by Victorina's mere existence.
It doesn't take very long for me to reach the Day Court. As I approach I hear the call to arms of.. well someone. On the wind the voice does not sound familiar, and I travel closer to investigate. One stallion - Maxence the warrior pegasus - stands in the middle. Other members of the Day Court (presumably) start to gather around him, offering their own advice or criticism. I stay silent, feeling that I have nothing to offer to the conversation. This Maxence claims not to lead us but clearly would like to be the jump start in a plan of action. I grunt under my breath. There is quite a difference of opinion among those present, and I find more criticism than optimism. All I can think is that I don't like the sound of so heavily criticizing those of the other Courts - especially if the effort is to unite us! I move into position next to Seraphina, the one who spoke most recently, and stand in silence, taking in everyone around me. Something tells me this little gathering will be the deciding factor in my future travels.
