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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.

Spotlight

Character of the Season
El Toro

Member of the Season
Griffin

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


DISCORD

Private - head full of fantasies, dying like a martyr
Marisol — Dusk Court Soldier Signos: 30
▶ Played by RB [pm] Posts: 61 — Threads: 9
▶ Female [She/Her/Hers] Hth: 10 — Atk: 10 — Exp: 19
▶ 4 [Year 498 Fall] Active Magic: N/A
▶ 16 hh Bonded: N/A
#1





WITH SWORD AND SALT -
Marisol does not wear a mask, other than the look of complacency always turning down her lips. It is an irreparable wrong, she thinks, to lie like that -  to put one face over the next - never mind that she does it on a daily basis to protect herself, her cadets, her king.

There is a difference in lying for fun and lying for necessity. There has to be. Right?

She tries not to pay too much attention to the part of her that says no, and under that, even smaller, even darker, the part of her that looks for Isra in the sea of tens like a drowning sailor seeks a shore. The look in her eyes is forlorn, almost desperate. The crowd and the lights and the masquerade itself is insufferable to Marisol and yet she stays. 

There is a little voice in her that waits patiently for the Night queen to emerge, a little part that begs to stay just a minute longer, look just a degree closer: she has to be here, she has to, or what is the point?

A soft song plays through the air and Marisol twitches in response. It is the same shudder that hits her when she spends too long alone, when she meets Asterion’s eyes in any kind of darkness, when she stands in the solitude of Dusk’s library and casts her eyes on the glowing spines of hundreds and thousands of books.  It gnaws at her stomach and prickles at the spaces between the vertebrae in her spine. It burns and burns and burns against her skin.

Her wings spread a little and the feathers flutter against her skin in a nervous tic; it would take a keen eye to see it, though, or the way her slate-gray eyes watch the room like she’s looking for a god.



<3
aimless | kokovi
"a burnt child loves a fire."


Reply
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)
#2
Isra who holds her breath

"seal all the windows, because I've gone to war"



Isra, as she stands shrouded in gold silk and silver webbing, feels (as she almost always does) uneasy in her own skin. Her bones feel like bars of metal and her skin nothing more than a lovely shadow to cover up a gilded cage. And not for the last time, Isra thins that she's a lie, a lie of a queen, a lie of a unicorn.

Tonight she still can feel the rage simmering low in her chest each time she lifts head to smile and her throat starts to ache.

A harp wails and a flute starts to whisper and Isra blinks and tries to forget how everything seems broken and strange now. She's watching the crowds from above and watching Fable cavort aimlessly above them all. Careful She warns with a smile, as the young dragon dives low enough that his tail might hang only a few inches above the heads of dancers.  

I am always careful. Fable replies and Isra's laughter rings out over the crowds like a bell chime. He's never careful, young enough that he cannot see the similarities between himself and the stories that Isra always tells him (at night with the moon rises) about how dangerous it can be to be a dragon in this world.

Just as Fable rises back toward the ceiling Isra catches a glimpse of dark feathers and flashes of white then those feathers ruffle as the sides of-- Marisol. All her laughter dies in her throat, swallowed by the clatter of her heart in her chest.

Then she's rushing down the stairs, a ghost of gold and silver fabric. She could be a shooting star for how wild she seems rushing through the crowds with Fable swooping behind her like a comet's tail. Isra runs because the last time all her frantic running brought Marisol to her.

And when she finally reaches Marisol her lungs heave a little harder than they should and her smile seems paler than it should (shrouded in so much silk). “I hope you've come to see me.” Isra says honestly, because words she knows, are the only true thing she has left to give.

She ignores the way most of the crowd turns to watch the queen who has finally stopped running and the dragon who settles across her back.


@Marisol



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Marisol — Dusk Court Soldier Signos: 30
▶ Played by RB [pm] Posts: 61 — Threads: 9
▶ Female [She/Her/Hers] Hth: 10 — Atk: 10 — Exp: 19
▶ 4 [Year 498 Fall] Active Magic: N/A
▶ 16 hh Bonded: N/A
#3





WITH SWORD AND SALT -


For all her anxiety, even someone standing right next to her would be hard-pressed to recognize how much effort it is taking to act normal. It is not the kind of nervous that makes her muscles twitch or her head shake, not the kind of nervous that swishes her tail against her hind legs - Mari has been trained better than that. And so though her mind moves a million miles an hour and her heart thrashes against her ribs like it wants to scream, it is impossible to know that the shine in her eyes is not merely the intense glare of duty. It is impossible to know that the way she stands straight-backed and square-legged is not just a display of power. It is impossible to know that the stony lines of her face are not merely the mask of a well-broken commander.

She thinks that Isra might be the only one in the world who could tell otherwise. It scares her a little.

Kind of a hush settles over the crowd, and Mari raises her chin to look over the sea of bodies, and lo and behold there she comes, Isra dressed in silver and gold and rushing down the staircase like water rushes over rocks. Relief blooms in her throat, coupled with apprehension. The feeling is so overwhelming, so bright-white and sparkling, that it takes her a moment to realize it’s not just Isra coming down the steps. A dragon winds serpentine around her spine, dressed in shades of green and blue like moss-covered rocks at the bottom of a lake; she should be scared of it, maybe, but instead she looks at him with guarded affection, recognizing that he is still a child, as much as any monster can be.

The thought of that tugs at her a little bit, at the closed space of her throat, but she pushes it down with ease. As Isra closes the space between them she feels the pressure in her chest ease like a stone has been lifted from her lungs, and an almost-smile breaks over her lips. For all Isra’s glamour, her mask, her robes, Marisol still sees nothing brighter than the blue of her eyes or more attention-grabbing than the sharp spiral of her horn.

Of course, she says, and the smile cracks open deeper and wider. I wouldn’t travel all this way for anything else.

<3
aimless | kokovi
"a burnt child loves a fire."


Reply
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)
#4
Isra of the forgotten herd

"If we knew everything we would only be disappointed that there was not one more secret to uncover.”



There is nothing else in this place that reminds her of home more than Marisol does.

Isra looks at all the feathers and muscles honed for war and she cannot help be recall all the nights she slept, curled around all the others mares. Their tear-stained cheeks pressed tightly together and their lips trembled with stories and hope and things that they only dared to whisper when the night was at it's darkest. In that place their skin had been only a weakness and it was the hearts beneath that bones that held on their secret souls.

Sometimes she still wonders where she keeps all her secrets in this world, if she even has them anymore. And if there are any left they surely must be blazing like sun-glare in her ocean eyes when she looks are Marisol.

Fable, who can feel the  riot of things clamoring in Isra's mind, watches the Commander with a sharp, hot gaze that is friendly for all its intensity. All Isra's dreams of fangs, steel and blood have taught him early on the difference between the fires of fear and the fires of something else. As for what the else is, that he's still too young to understand.

“I'm glad.” she whispers and means it down to the very core of her that misses all the desert nights of her old brutal world. Suddenly she wonders what Marisol would think of her old skin, gold and sunshine and bones made for breaking. She wonders if the Commander would have come for her then.

Isra's smile makes all her silver and golden silk seem pale, it feels as if she has swallowed the sun. Her lips sting and she reaches up to brush them against Marisol's cheek just to ease the ache of them. Tonight if feels wrong to think they are still strangers, knowing nothing more about each other the pattern in which the other breathes.

She could count the spaces between Marisol's inhales and exhales, she could write poetry to beat of them.

“I never asked you what you think of my home.” She turns to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with Marisol, close enough that the heat pouring off them feels like something sentient in the tiny gap between them. “Do you think that you'll miss it, even just a little bit?” Isra asks in something almost softer than a whisper. But what she really wants to say is...

Will you miss me?



@Marisol



Reply
Marisol — Dusk Court Soldier Signos: 30
▶ Played by RB [pm] Posts: 61 — Threads: 9
▶ Female [She/Her/Hers] Hth: 10 — Atk: 10 — Exp: 19
▶ 4 [Year 498 Fall] Active Magic: N/A
▶ 16 hh Bonded: N/A
#5





WITH SWORD AND SALT -
When Isra brushes her lips across Marisol’s cheek, it is a kiss filthy as dirt and sweet as cherries and it makes her heart constrict in her chest like it is trying to contain the fist she’s put it in. Military as ever, she hides her smile fully. But something deep inside her trembles and twists, and she’s not quite gathered enough to keep a little shudder from riding partway up her spine. (She’s not sure she even cares now.)

Isra’s smile is fleeting and gorgeous and it makes Marisol think (too quickly) of how it feels to fly. The white sparkle of the stars, clouds swirling against the true-blue of the sky, and the way cool air rushes like water into the tiny spaces between her feathers and lifts her wings so high - it is ridiculously familiar. She thinks then of Asterion, and how he asked her what it was to fly, and almost feels foolish for not saying it feels like this.

She watches the Night queen with dark, dark eyes, shining like moons from the soft blackness of her face. Marisol’s gaze is always bright - scintillating and flickering in the light with all the rapidity of liquid quicksilver - but this is something different. something watchful and intensive. It’s beautiful, she says, and that in itself is not a lie. But what she doesn’t say - that it could never be hers. no matter how hard she tried - is much, much truer.

Honest she is, but for all her honesty the Commander is not so foolish - or so cruel - as to inflict pain where not strictly necessary. So she swallows her qualms and looks around the room, trying to fall into the magic of the night and the lights and the music and not into the black hole swirling against her ribs.

Maybe, she answers, and a mischievous smile twists at the corner of her lips. (On Marisol it is almost as good as a laugh.) Will you miss us, when we leave? And she gestures sort of sheepishly to the emblem of a setting sun marked on her flank in red paint, so bright and so bold it could not be mistaken for anything but a sign of loyalty.

But- and she thinks about this often - the paint itself is fragile - only her willpower, but a gossamer thread, now, keeps her from washing it off.

<3
aimless | kokovi
"a burnt child loves a fire."


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