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Beautifully drawn by Sid (Erasvita@DA)!
Current Novus date and time is

▶ Year || 503
▶ Season || Summer
▶ Temp || 74℉ (23℃) - 100℉ (37℃)
▶ Weather || The end of Spring brings about, once more, the warm embrace of Summer. While some flourish in the comfortable glow of the sun, others take shelter from its sweltering midday heat. Even so, it is now that the continent bustles with life - for it won't be long until a cool chill returns.


Character of the Season
El Toro

Member of the Season

Thread of the Season
Bring Me Thunder; Bring Me Steel

Pair of the Season
Eik and Isra

Quote of the Season
"Her mother lives all in day, her father all in night, and Apolonia straddles the thin, dusky line halving her heart with not so much grace - startling awake in the middle of the night or at the crack of dawn, trying to find some way to compromise." — Apolonia in
The Vine & The Rain & The Light

see here for nominations


All Welcome - like a black stone falling,
Isra — Night Court Sovereign Signos: 1,645
▶ Played by nestle [PM] Posts: 152 — Threads: 21
▶ Female [she/her/hers] Hth: 20 — Atk: 20 — Exp: 33
▶ 5 [Year 497 Winter] Active Magic: Transformation
▶ 15.1 hh Bonded: Fable (Sea Dragon)
Isra of the wordless tale

“I can't go on, I'll go on.”

Of course she is in the room that looks like the sea. 

Everyone is looking for her in the gardens, at the mask covered tables or perhaps in a corner weaving a story to anyone brave enough to listen. Only those who know her closely might thing to look here, but tonight they are all off weaving their own adventures. 

Tonight Isra is alone. 

Although perhaps, she thinks, this room feels a little like home and a little like drowning in gold and green and strange, shifting light. The silk winding about her neck (hiding the still there wounds) and flowing down over her shoulders before pooling at her side looks as if it is made from the walls of this room. Each stitch glitters in the low-light, and there are a million of them, and each stitch curves to make a scale. The sheer fabric ripples like fish-skin as she moves beneath the hanging aquariums. 

Each ring of her hooves across the marble rings like a bell. She fills the room with a melody that only she knows the words too. Over and over she moves between the walls with the light streaming through the suspended orbs of water reflecting on her horn. Eventually she starts to hum a low, sad tune and her skin feels alive with the electricity of it. 

Isra hums and thinks of the sun and how a dune of sand might swelter and burn beneath it. She thinks of metal flowers and blood as red, red, red as the color of her heart. Ghosts, dragons, thunderbirds and drowning: she thinks of so many things and each makes her tune a slower and lower. A tear falls down and glistens faintly on the fabric rippled around her hooves and her dance falters just a little. 

“How strange,” she sobs to the quiet room with only fish to keep her company,. “that I have no words for this story.” There is nothing here but shadows and scale to answer her back, not that Isra expected any reply at all. 

But then, there is the sound of hoof-steps in the hallway and she blinks back her sorrow and her song and tries so very hard to look like a queen instead of a unicorn hiding the mark of teeth across her throat. 


Moira — Night Court Medic Signos: 1,095
▶ Played by e-cho [PM] Posts: 77 — Threads: 8
▶ Female [she/her/hers] Hth: 13 — Atk: 7 — Exp: 10
▶ 5 [Year 498 Spring] Active Magic: N/A
▶ 15.2 hh Bonded: N/A
Moira Tonnerre

Doubt never darkens horizons so lit with the bright light of a life devoted to others. Moira does not know what it is to regret the decisions she's made to be a healer, to save a life rather than take it, to feel the blood upon her hands and bathe in it until all filth and grime and stains are washed from her patient's being. But times like these, she wonders what it would be like to have chosen something her mother once enjoyed.

Gizelle Tonnerre. Not a Tonnerre by blood, merely the aristocratic daughter from the kingdom over - the kingdom with winged creatures and their floating houses and castles, the kingdom of artistry and beauty and laughter, the kingdom that never slept when the moon was high. Passion was a fire in her blood, pushed the drumming of her heart ever faster, further along. How she once would weave between the Estate's pillars in a merry stream of scarves that would fly about her as though lifted by invisible hands! Moira remembers when her mother would still paint and come to read stories covered in colors that she could not yet name as a girl. Surfacing still are the gowns and gypsy attire that Gizelle once wore when she flew across the stage to perform for the great family.

All watched her mother, and while they did not like her for her wings, her talent was unequivocal.

Music is a thrumming in Moira's own heart, stroking the strings until she moves and sways with the sun and moon left upon her face from a young prince still so gentle in his youth. As the halls pass her by, the sounds follow her like a shadow, clinging to her like a second skin unwilling to be removed.

She remembers another festival full of laughter and dancing. There, flowers were woven into her hair and a starry eyed man stood beside her. Sweet wine tasted like sugar on her tongue and only the stars remained sober and bright enough to ever see her secrets and sins. Here, corridors block out the moonlight, but rooms and mazes are set up to enthrall and wow any who visit their home.

If Thunderbirds did not kill their brave and brazen court, then a gala where gypsies that Gizelle would adore and hearts sigh happily should be the least of her concerns.

She roams like a ghost through the halls, dodging away from the crowds that laugh and bellow, the bonfires blazing into the night, the tinkling of glasses and jewelry alike, to breathe for a moment in solitude and contemplation. Rumors flew more swiftly that the swallows when Springtime comes, and breezily her mind floats to the unicorn who fell asleep in a pile of rags and stories with her. Isra. Her sweet Isra had been attacked - that's what her court says. A throat now raw and red, a wound she tended to just hours after it happened to stave off infection. Oh, she's been so careful when dressing it and applying her salves, never ready to disrupt the calming complexion of Denocte's mighty queen.

Tonight, she should have gone to clean it once more, but Moira had been pulled in too soon by little Reggie and Milo before she could make her rounds for the day. Now, it is the sound of tears and bittersweet sorrow that guide her to a door.

Upon the frame whirlpools and dolphins play, dancing in the woodwork, a living story before her eyes. Of course the absent queen would be within these walls where the sea calls to her soul. In a way, Isra reminds the phoenix woman of Asterion - both drawn to the sea, both stormy and soft in equal measure, both so dear to her heart she could burst from it all. Slowly the Tonnerre child opens the door, pushing inward until she gasps at the floating ponds with koi and goldfish staring back at her. Among it all, through distortions of water and moonlight, Isra stands with a brightness to her eyes that betrays her.

How the Pegasus rushes forward! Red in the room, burnt orange upon the ground, a sunset flying to meet the night and embrace it so tenderly with wings hesitantly folding about them once more. Only with Isra does she let her wings move, allow them to flex and extend without fear or reprimand. There are no words as the healer holds her queen, nothing but a soft sigh and a kiss to her cheek.

"I never saw to your throat today," is all that she offers, brows raising infinitesimally. But she does not pull back or withdraw from the embrace, does not comment on the sadness which is a perfume upon the air. A healer does not pry like that, they do what is necessary for their patient with what they know is wrong. If comfort is all she can provide, then comfort shall be given. After all, even the strongest of stones erode with the passing of time.


@Isra >.> <.< I regret nothing


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