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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


El Toro — Day Court Soldier Signos: 20
▶ Played by Muirgen [PM] Posts: 40 — Threads: 7
▶ Male [He/Him/His] Hth: 7 — Atk: 13 — Exp: 11
▶ 6 [Year 496 Summer] Active Magic: N/A
▶ 17.2 hh Bonded: N/A
horns of marble carry the sun

He feels like a colt, somehow, pride burning in his chest like half the oxygen he needs and twice the carbon dioxide, muscles taut as springs and the mending flank. There’s going to be a hunt tomorrow, a hunt, a hunt, a hunt, and he sees no one staring, maybe no one is, maybe everyone is but it doesn’t even cross his mind. El Toro slips through the crowds like anybody else and it makes him feel like a god in disguise. He is free. Free until the battle is waged on the snow-blanketed desert, free until he rips out the hearts of his enemies with horns of white marble and is known.

A folk hero.

He wanders the market now, its crowds thinned from fear and cold but it still smells like hot spices and burnt hair. Hunger is the only blade that cuts his joy; he looks for something fun, something interesting, because it is unlikely he will ever get a taste of home again. There’s a stand open, some plump old stallion flipping cakes turned orange by spice, his mind sending them into the air and back down again, flames licking too close to the colorful banner above. It smells like grass and the strange smells of this land. A pretty filly and her friends enjoy the cakes with some kind of dripping, honey-colored sauce, a hint of rose intermingling with the hot cake. He grins and winks at the girls, who giggle and look at the ground and each other. Toro says to the man, ”I’ll take one.”

this is between "shine bright like a--" and the next day. all welcome <3 

"What I say,"

What I think,
please always tag the proper character for replies

Elif — Day Court Citizen Signos: 50
▶ Played by griffin [PM] Posts: 9 — Threads: 2
▶ Female [Female [She/Her/Hers]] Hth: 9 — Atk: 11 — Exp: 10
▶ 3 [Year 499 Fall] Active Magic: Wind Manipulation
▶ 14.1 hh Bonded: N/A


She winds through the streets of Solterra with all the ease and familiarity of a hawk riding a thermal, but there is nothing predatory about Elif at the moment.

The pegasus, too, has been swept up in the excitement, burning through the court like a fire, like the idea of it alone might be enough to melt the snow. A hunt with Solis himself - and the thought that he had been here, present, is enough to make her thrill like a girl even though she hadn’t been present.

The streets today have a festival air. All that is left of the stores are on offer; few are worried about tomorrow, now their god is on their side. Around her music rises and the wind carries the beloved scents of her home, a stark overlay on the clean cold smell of snow.

She is drawn to the sight of the stallion as much as the scent of the stand he’s at - the swagger of him, the gleam of his horns, the healing slash along his flank. The net of gemstones draped across his hindquarters gleams like his eyes, and her curiosity and her hunger are both so very alive.

“Make it two,” she says as she draws next to him, and then flicks her gaze between the girls (one of whom she knows, and thinks a silly, vapid thing) and the big white stallion, standing proud as Solis himself. “I hope I’m not interrupting,” she adds, aiming for wryness but falling more sharp.

Elif has never been as deft and nimble with her words as she has her wings.

@El Toro

“Do not be afraid to bare your teeth -”

Caine — Day Court Scholar Signos: 515
▶ Played by rallidae [PM] Posts: 18 — Threads: 1
▶ Male [He/Him/His] Hth: 8 — Atk: 12 — Exp: 10
▶ 4 [Year 498 Summer] Active Magic: N/A
▶ 17 hh Bonded: N/A

i have made the obscene decision
to do something unforgivable.

he Illusionist steps out from the darkness of Solterra’s (recently rebuilt) library and shivers. He is not made for the cold.

A month of snow and ice — in the desert, of all places — has chilled Caine’s perpetually frigid mood to something so terrible and absolute, the citadel’s aging librarian had wondered, once, if the scowl had simply frozen solid along the boy’s obsidian maw. 

It could’ve, for all Caine cares. 

Scrunching his woolen cloak tighter against him, he glares into the frosted afternoon sun and watches in silence as his breath fogs into steam in front of him, a cloud of white against a sea of blasted snow. 

Never, in all his years, has Caine wished so desperately for one thing, and one thing only: everlasting warmth

Begrudgingly, he navigates through the icy streets, each footfall a rebellion against whatever madness the gods had released upon the land. He has heard the rumors. The gods are at fault - they are always at fault. Vectaeryn, Novus — the only similarity among the divine, Caine thinks, is their unsatiatable lust for chaos. 

The market gleams hazily in front of him as he nears, slivers of smoke curling into the sky from the bonfires blazing merrily in the square. 

They have acclimated, the Solterrans. A people of the sun and sand, and here they are, bustling like ants among the punishing frost. Their defiance cheers him, just slightly. The impending Hunt has raised everyone’s spirits, it seems, for the streets are more crowded than Caine has seen in weeks. He never used to care for being in a throng of bodies, but now he relishes the heat they provide.

His black scowl lightens, just slightly. 

The aroma is what draws him to them. Griddle cakes — is that what they call them? — flip lazily in the air, once, twice. Golden and honey-drenched and warm. He watches jealously, a raven in the shadows, as the white stallion brings one to his mouth, and the dark mare following suit. Swiftly, he draws a coin from the depths of his cloak and approaches the booth. 

“I’ll take one as well.” The old man beams at his patronage, and Caine gives a cool nod of acknowledgement. As he waits for the cakes to finish, thanking (not the gods, he hates the gods) the stars that the sizzling of the grill muffles the growling of his stomach, his silver gaze sweeps, cautious yet curious, towards the others. 

“A festive day today, isn’t it?” He offers, not quite smiling, but he is pleasant enough. He will be more pleasant when he sinks his teeth into that warm, oozing cake. “The hunt has worked all of Solterra into a tizzy. Not that I blame them.”

@El Toro @Elif | "speaks" | notes: caine loves griddle cakes more than he wants to admit
[Image: caine_nocturnalowlet_by_siliencely-dcds5v5.png]
even death has a heart.
♠︎ ♣︎ ♥︎
please tag in posts, contact encouraged


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