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Current Novus date and time is

▶ Year || 503
▶ Season || Spring
▶ Temp || 43℉ (8℃) - 70℉ (21℃)
▶ Weather || The weather radar really does seem to be off the charts lately...
I wonder what's going on? (#15-19)


Character of the Season

Member of the Season

Thread of the Season
A land of absence
and root and stone

Pair of the Season
Bexley and Acton

Quote of the Season
"And all the while her mind, her blood, her fierce and fearless heart was singing, singing, singing." — Shrike in We're under attack!

see here for nominations


Private - the vine & the rain & the light
Apolonia — Day Court Youth Signos: 30
▶ Played by RB [pm] Posts: 1 — Threads: 1
▶ Female [She/Her/Hers] Hth: 10 — Atk: 10 — Exp: 10
▶ 1 [Year 502 Spring] Active Magic: Perception Manipulation
▶ 15.1 hh Bonded: N/A

[Image: apolonia_by_erasvita_dcmlqry_by_beccazw-dcnhnsj.png]

Gods don’t have fathers. This does not matter. Apolonia’s own father is a ghost, a half-formed thought in the back of her head. He is a slice of night that does not belong in her desert and does not cross her mind, except past midnight when O sometimes leaves her tower to watch the white stars, stupid and curious, drowning in the dark sand.


Gods do not have fathers, but sometimes when O  wanders the court she hears Solterrans whisper about Acton, saying his name like it is a curse. (Bexley says it in the same way, most of the time.) When she catches her reflection in windows or puddles she sees only her mother, long-legged, evil, aureate and shining blue. Except that Bexley, gods blessed forever, does not have that strange, searing third eye marbled in the middle of her forehead, and that makes her wonder, as much as she tries not to, whether Acton has one too.


The desert is bitingly cold this late at night. Overhead, stars sing against the dim sky. A breeze shifts individual grains of sand to tumble over and over each  other. In the blue darkness Apolonia’s skin is more gold than yellow, a dull, sooty kind of metal, and the blackness of her hair makes her mostly invisible, so that the only thing that stands out against the velvet sand are the high white socks on her legs and the searing brightness of her eyes. In the soft silver light she stands perfectly still, head tilted the moon, and almost she could be a wolf, but for the sleekness of her body.


Acton — Night Court Commoner Signos: 845
▶ Played by Griffin [PM] Posts: 124 — Threads: 15
▶ Male [He/Him/His] Hth: 20 — Atk: 20 — Exp: 34
▶ 5 [Year 497 Summer] Active Magic: Illusion
▶ 15.3 hh Bonded: N/A

It had been a long time since he’d walked the sands of the desert at night.

Too long - long enough that the stars saw fit to play tricks on him, and as he went he forgot the slight ache in his knee (little more than a ghost, now, when the weather got too cold) and the current state of all the Courts and the fact that he was a father and still so, so adrift.

Instead it was a warm night coming from the bonfires, leaving Reichenbach and Raum and a few other Crows, off to make mischief of his own. Instead it was the night he’d stumbled on a stranger with pale hair and a wicked tongue who made him sick with want and hate and intrigue. Instead it was the newborn day he’d walked Bexley to the corner of her kingdom, only tonight he just kept on walking, not turning back as he had that day, swearing to himself till dawn.

So he was in the mood for ghosts when he saw her, and there was a split second where he thought it was Bexley, and stopped dead with his tracks trailing away in the sand behind him.

She had the same build, the same stockings right up above her knees, prim as a girl’s. The same swath of white on her face. Almost he called out - hey, Goldlocks - but he swallowed it just in time, and instead only stared.

The last time he’d seen her, she’d been just days old. Caligo’s tits, he was as worthless as a father as he was a Crow, lately - but it scared him, looking at her, seeing strange little pieces of himself. Scared him, too, to remember that first look at her (how beautiful she’d been, how perfect), then the blinking, slow-opening eye in the middle of her forehead…

His had always been a superstitious people. That eye did not bode well, not that he ever gave voice to those fears. He swallowed them, and he did still, thick and bitter as poison.  

“Dangerous out here alone, isn’t it?” he said finally, his voice carrying smooth over the cold sand. Acton found his feet again and drew near, enough to catch the scent of her, the glint of her eyes, the way the stars gleamed blue on the black of her mane. “At least that’s what you Solterrans are always saying.”

Almost it did feel dangerous, though it never had before - and yet he couldn’t tear his eyes from her. He wanted to drink her up, little Apolonia, his daughter. What a wonder it was, what a marvel, the best trick he would ever produce.

A miracle, even. So why did he feel so uneasy when her eyes caught him, searing?


these violent delights have violent ends


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