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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 - hymns of salt and terror;
Amaroq — Night Court Citizen Signos: 240
▶ Played by griffin [PM] Posts: 3 — Threads: 2
▶ Male [He/Him/His] Hth: 10 — Atk: 10 — Exp: 10
▶ 8 [Year 495 Summer] Active Magic: Ice Manipulation
▶ 17 hh Bonded: N/A

in his own country
Death can be kind

For many days Amaroq keeps to the sea. 

Like a seal he spends the daylight hours idling in the shallows, occasionally diving deep to twine himself in the kelp, to wander across the seagrass without touching a hoof to the ocean bed. Only once the sun has set does he drift in with the tide, surging pale and quick as a wave and fading like a glimmer of moonlight into the forest to hunt. 

Though he loves the moonlight hours, though he suffers under the hot glare of the summer sun this far from his frigid home, it eats at the kelpie that it must be so. He should not be the one in hiding. But this place is still too new to him, and Amaroq can be as patient as a glacier until he understands if there is danger, and where it lies. 

It is a rare day that drives him further inland at last. 

A summer storm has swept in from the sea, a wailing wind that lashes the waves up against the coast. If it were not for the rain that came along with it Amaroq might have kept to the depths, but the downpour is cool against his shoulders and along his back as he stands amid the stones of shore, and he is ready to taste something other than salt on his tongue. 

There is no sound but the rain against the leaves as he disappears into the darkness of the forest, the air heavy with the smell of brine and petrichor and pine. He moves pale as a ghost beneath their boughs, silver as the rain and white as the foam of the waves. Despite the cool rain on his back, frost draws patterns on his skin, and his breath is a mist. 

No part of him blends in here, and yet he hunts. 

His prey do not know he is a predator; they smell only a horse, and only the sea. The saltwater washes the blood from his skin like a mother’s tongue. To the hare and the foxes and the deer he is only another unicorn - 

and oh, how the beasts of the forest love unicorns. 

So he can already taste the copper on his tongue when a doe crosses his path. She pauses midstep, uncertain in the rain, and turns her dark and liquid eyes on him. Amaroq arches his neck like a prince; the tip of his horn dips graceful as a saber. Her wariness falters, and she flicks her large ears at him. Between them, in the little current of rainwater washing back to the sea, ice begins to form filaments like pale cracks. 

“Come,” he says in a voice like new snow, “let me see you,” and she bobs her head but takes a step toward him. Still Amaroq does not smile, but regards her with his pale and empty eyes, and she halves the distance that separates them. Oh, he is ravenous now, and his teeth are sharp as he runs his tongue across them, waiting, patient. She is near enough he can make out her eyelashes, even in the rain. Overhead the wind is moaning still and if they had shadows they would soon meet - 

There is a crackling of limbs, the snap of a branch. The doe flinches and bounds away, her tail a flag behind her, never looking back with those dark-moon eyes, and Amaroq snarls like thunder and lashes his tail even as he turns toward the source of the noise. 

A figure stands there, equine, dark with the rain and the shadow of the trees. Though frustration and hunger flex leonine claws within him he only stands, silent and pale, as ice crackles around his feet. 

@Euryale if you want, otherwise open!


Euryale — Dusk Court Soldier Signos: 285
▶ Played by aurora [PM] Posts: 19 — Threads: 4
▶ Female [She/Her/Hers] Hth: 10 — Atk: 10 — Exp: 10
▶ 3 [Year 499 Winter] Active Magic: Aerokinesis
▶ 16.1 hh Bonded: N/A

sun's last breath of aureate light, pools, through the lavished, summer canopy; golden embers, lace wickedly  through the forest canopy in a filigree of immaculate shadows. the sun's golden moans, drips from the beachside banks of a stormy, terminus sea; drawing, the fiery sun to sigh its last breath and kiss its last kiss. breathing, a sweet lover's caress, against the gilded approach of dusk, that so ravages the forests and the oceans in a violent fire-color. the sky becomes a sudden floodlight of throbbing hues. splintering, the skyline in thick, flowing blades of red, orange, yellow, as they dance sharp as razors. flickering, eeriely, in the pagan light. piercing, the sky with the sudden hunger of angels and demons. stormy clouds, bursts in heavenly seas of malevolent orange, so that every live and dead thing, smothers so, so hotly beneath the last rays of unyielding heat. the final kiss, that ravages the land in a red, violent color of war and death and passion.

euryale calantha is their violent crimson song. the deep red of her toned flesh, singing through the wicked forests, sprawling in thick, luscious shadows. she moves with silent, predatory ease - the eternal grace of her feral bodice, twisting with lupine restlessness; feeling, the coarse, caressive ferns and loamy mangroves, brush warmly the curvature of her spine and flanks in sighs of hot, summer surrender. thick foliages of verdant green, sways hushed and hallowed breaths, against the passionate red of her body. the she-wolf prowls more upon stealthy paws than hooves, moving through the oiled sweat of ravenous, and salivating shadows. she weaves through the thick spell of the hungering blackness that so encompassed the dangerous forests, in a shroud of penetrative, blue-tinged veil. the sing-song tales of the approaching moon, glows, in fervid promise against the slim curve of her backline. lavishing, trails of soon-to-be silverlight, against every slender crimson inch of her. every arching, purring angle of her sleek, feral figure, that curls with lithe grace and glimmers in wolven supremacy.

she is out here, purring against the darkness of the forest. combing its ruins, with hungry eyes. but even after consuming several rabbits, euryale is still ravenous. betwixt, rough rows of CALIGINOUS, mighty trees; beneath the tangled lengths of curling, swarming ferns, our fiery euryale calantha, dances, dances, dances. an ephemeral demon, drenched in red light and voluptuous webs of arachnid ivory. and it is naught until the silver song of him, captivates the wild glint in her khol-lined, ruby eyes. till the silver song of threat, rings malevolently through the trees. the rough, masculine growl caressing her ears in a wild noise of hunger and delicious aggression. the she-wolf pauses as a doe from afar jumps, scattering deeper into the woodlands. the she-wolf gazes at him who stalks the forest along the oceanside.

it is the deathly, chilling silver of him, she spots first through the gilded whistle of a violent summer storm; a violent summer storm, that pours, and pours. singing a torrential shower of crystalline liquid, as the heavens open from up above, to drip below with thunderous fervency.  his muscles were thick. powerful. graceful. he moves with all that hunger of a silvery anaconda. his fur, sleek and leonine and wrathful, glows in the deathly pale of frost grey. as the air around them swells with liquid; euryale feels the heat of his chilling gaze, throbbing and metal and full of copper taste and feral promise. rain, pours through her damp, lilac curls; rainwater, streaming down her flanks in a gilded, watery hiss of violent deluge. euryale's voice is a soft murmur against the thrumming violence of raindance; her voice, a song of fire and ice, against the arctic shadows of him.

"you almost had her."


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