girls of satin, girls of stone girls in dresses made of bone
♕
Her heart was a wild thing. It beat like a frightened sparrow's, quick and shallow and dreadfully mortal. Her attempts at slowing it with shuddering breaths only convinced the foolish thing to tremble harder. Her chest began to hurt.
The slip of a hoof through grass echoed towards Messalina's swiveling ears, and she swallowed. More are here. Her curiosity — a dangerous creature that she had only recently begun to obey — got the better of her, and delicately, the girl unfolded herself from the shadows of the oak and crept forwards.
Voices drifted over the gurgles of the tame autumn river, and she listened.
“Sloane.” She did not recognize the name, but the voice that uttered it — “Look at them: no blood, their hooves do not match the marks in the ground. Think.” Eulalie. Lady Eulalie was here.
A wave of guilt rippled through her and settled maliciously upon her shoulders. She had fled. A tenuous look at the carnage strewn before her and a stray hoofbeat was all it had taken to frighten her into the dark of the trees, cowering like a beaten mutt. The beast was still on the loose. No one was safe, despite the airs they were all putting on. (Even Sloane, the woman with the harsh voice whom Eulalie had addressed — even she must be unnerved. And if she isn't — Messalina's gaze darkened — then I will not let her slip away into the night as silently as she arrived.)
Her limbs ached from the exertion of fear when she pushed herself to her feet, rising from the shadows like a summoned specter. She did not care for the others. But if anything happened to Lady Eulalie, Messalina would never forgive herself.
Cerulean eyes chilled into chips of winter ice as she moved stiffly, steadily towards them. If one looked carefully enough, though, they would see that the tremble had not truly left her shoulders.
"Lady Eulalie. You are here." She lowered into a shallow bow when she reached the golden haired woman's side. She did not look at the others. She did not look at the remains, either, because she feared that all of her hastily gathered nerve would abandon her the moment she did.
"Whoever — whatever — did this, it is still somewhere in these forests. You are not safe," she murmured, her voice steady; but in her eyes there shone a panic she could not conceal. "We must send for guards immediately, ones that are armed." Her brow creased in an unspoken question when she noticed the absence of her lady's griffin, Tabbris, though her answer arrived moments later.
Somnus! There was no time for the girl to offer more than another hasty bow towards her king, before a flurry of words erupted from the mouths of everyone gathered. She caught snatches of each, her ice-shard eyes traveling from one stranger to another, her frustration only growing when she did not know whether to trust their words or not.
At the very least, Messalina knew that none of them were capable of performing such.... violence akin to what had been done this night. A shiver tingled down her spine. She winced when she shifted from leg to leg, feeling at last the gashes trailing down them both, blood still leaking out.
"King Somnus," she whispered, soft enough so that only he could hear. "You and Lady Eulalie cannot stay here unguarded. Please, let me return to the castle and bring reinforcements back to keep the both of you safe while you search for answers." Her eyes shuttered when they drifted haltingly to the blood, to the desecrated flesh of the pages'.
"I will not leave my king and his wife to meet the same fate."
Her breath, when it came, shook where her voice had not.
@Eulalie @Somnus @Sloane @Pan @Metaphor | "speaks" | notes: I love this thread <3
From the bushes came a rustling sound and Eulalie tensed, her dark eyes flashing over the foliage, but what came from the shadows was not a beast but a friend. Messalina, and for the chill in her pale blue eyes, Eulalie could see the tremors that claimed her skin. How long had she been there?
Messalina moved toward her, and she offered the pale woman a gentle smile. Eulalie was not royalty, and although the bow sat uncomfortably on her thoughts she did not correct Messalina. There were more important things here than the formalities that were offered to her. It worried her, that Messalina had been here without their knowledge. Had she been alone with this savagery, this destruction, for long? Messalina was gentle and kind, and no doubt was even more familiar with the pages than even she.
“We are not safe,” she says to Messalina, though it is a cold hard truth. None of them were safe if there was a creature capable of doing this, out here somewhere. “But you may be right, we may need guards if it decides to return or if we happen to come across it.” When Tabbris announced his return, Eulalie turned, watching him move through the trees with Somnus close behind. He stops, eyes fixated on the scene laid out before him before they slid shut. No doubt, she thought, he was asking Oriens to care for them.
When he turned toward her, speaking her name, his voice heavy with emotion, Eulalie stepped closer and reached out for him. She pressed her cheek gently against his neck, offering what comfort she could. “We haven’t found much, the only thing I can tell is that they have been dead for quite some time. Late last night, I would assume,” she says, trying not to think about what their last moments may have been like, how full of fear.
Then, they all begin to speak.
Sloane responds to her comment, scathing and cold, but Somnus speaks before she can, and Eulalie can only hope that of them all, the dark woman might listen to him. If she was not going to be of help then she could go, but they would not stand here and argue when there was more important work needing done. Pan speaks, his words choppy and broken, difficult to understand, whereas the man next to him is calmer and offers his services to them. She offers him a grateful smile, allowing Somnus to speak for them both as she agrees with his statement.
Eventually, when all is calmer again, she speaks. “Messalina is injured, and I fear Pan may be suffering from shock,” her dark eyes sweep over the two. She had noticed the blood dripping from Messalina’s legs, easy to spot as the red roses she wore in her hair. Pan, she worried, for his young age and the way his sentences had come together rather incoherently, was reacting badly to the gruesomeness he had stumbled upon. “They both need care.”
“As for the beast, I fear it is a creature the likes of which none of us have ever seen.” Eulalie looks at Somnus, her gaze suddenly quite serious, “Somnus, if we cannot figure out what has done this and somehow deal with it today, we should enforce a curfew.” There were perhaps some citizens, she thought, that would not like the idea of a curfew. One of them in fact happened to be standing right here, but Eulalie believed it was the best way to keep everyone safe. “Knowing what we know, we cannot risk more victims.”
Then, she finally looks up at the others. A man who claims he is headed for Denocte, a boy who calls the forest his home, a woman with obscure intentions, and another who is dear to her. They would all need protection, if they could not come to bottom of this today. Pan, perhaps, could move into the citadel temporarily. Metaphor, she assumed, would simply be able to move on to Night Court unless he chose to stay. Sloane might be safe on the island, but who knew if she would stay away from the forest at night if it was asked of her. Messalina, like all her people, she worried for their safety. Now, however, was not the time to worry. Now was a time for action.
“Can anyone tell where the tracks may have come from, or where they go to?” The bank had become a muddy mess, but perhaps if they were lucky they could find out where to begin their search. The forest was quite large, even for a beast big enough to kill two equines.
Though the boy shivered like a leaf, there is something which finally snaps within him, jolting him back into reality. He looks around, and though the others speak, he hears their voices like something far away. Immediately, all that he seems to hear is the incessant buzzing of flies, and he smells the putrid scent of death as it bloats the bellies of the fallen. This wasn’t the first time the boy had witnessed death, and as he stood with the small gathering, another memory hits him. It is a memory of somewhere far from here, cold as ice, painted with blood as angry war cries reverberate off the canyon walls. But as quickly as the picture comes to him, it is gone once again.
He draws his focus back as Somnus approaches, standing a bit taller so he wouldn’t be tarnished in the king’s eyes. After all, though Pan didn’t know the Pegasus to be the keeper of Delumine, he didn’t want to let his friend down. Nodding quietly at Somnus’ words, Pan takes a moment to preen as he reiterates that this place was Pan’s home too. A strangely warm sensation washes over him at the thought of home, a thing he’d wanted for so long. With a sigh, he continues to direct his focus toward the tasks at hand, pulling out of his stupor enough to make sense of what was happening around him.
I can help. It is the first sentence the boy says which makes any sense, but he pipes up at the suggestion that someone was hurt. I can help with healing, he repeats, drawing a homemade astringent from his satchel and offering it to the bleeding Messalina. Are you in pain? His voice is quiet and calm as he deftly produces a roll of gauzy leaves for her, intent to bind the her bleeding wounds if she should wish it. For though the chaos was still fresh and leaving them reeling, the more pressing issue to the boy was to ensure everyone living was alright.
Turning toward the golden mare, he offers a weak sort of smile. I… I’m fine… For though he was shaken, Pan didn’t want to seem weak to the others. And he certainly didn’t want to be sidelined when they needed all hands on deck. The mystery of the murders was intriguing, to be certain… but more than that, it was a dark omen of things to come… and even Pan knew better than to think this to be a one-time event. Instead, he knew it was only the beginning.
The red stallion turned toward Somnus as he approaches, aware that the stallion held a regal posturing here. He didn’t have to wonder if Somnus was the king, for the way that the mares deferred to him was notion enough that Metaphor bowed his head in a sign of respect. Leveler heads seemed to now be prevailing, and he appreciated the sense of order that arrived with the leader of Delumine. For a moment, Metaphor is reminded of the terrible fate of Sydan and then the Vale, which burned from the madness of the gods. He has to wonder what creature created such a bloody scene as well, though he doubts the gods of Novus would stoop to such trivial things as killing off a couple of mortals. In his experience, gods tended to focus on bigger matters than the lives of one or two.
I can only speculate that it was something of a demonic nature, for I have only seen tracks like these where demon blood was involved. Shivering at the thought, Metaphor hoped he was wrong… for hell’s creatures were not made to dwell among the living. If it was a demon, none of them were safe. Even their magics would be no match for the darkness, though he was certain this group would put up a valiant fight.
Staring again at the tracks, he nodded in agreement that they should find the source. Guards are a good idea. For truly, they could not be safe while such a creature was on the loose. I am happy to send for reinforcements from my court, should you wish some additional bodies. Even though Metaphor was new to the Night Court, he knew that they would fight. Katniss would, at least. He knew his beloved to be a valiant and honorable fighter… and if her quest to become leader of Denocte's soldiers came to fruition, Metaphor had no doubt that she could rally an army.
In the meantime, I am happy to trace the tracks, should it be of assistance. Maaemo’s orb glowed a bit brighter at the thought – reminding him of a lifetime ago where he had the blessing of the earth goddess upon him. With Maaemo at his back, Metaphor had known a life without fear… but he knew just as well that she was gone and far from this wild place. He knew, and yet he accepted the idea that his own life could be put in jeopardy. For if the beast had found its way to Delumine, it would only be a matter of time until Denocte could fall. The bodies in the forest could have easily been Katniss and himself… and he would not stand idly aside to see all that she’d built fall to ruin.
Sloane recognizes Pan the moment she sees him, and yet, she doesn’t act as if she does. She is much older now, and he appears as though he hasn’t aged at all. When they first met, she was nothing but a yearling, young and naïve when she arrived in Neverland. She had been irritated there, the place not a good fit for her, but she had no other choice. But now, now she was grown and he still appeared young and dumb. Only time would tell if he matured at all. Did he even recognize her? Not that it mattered, really.
She listens to Pan’s explanation, that he lived here along the river. She didn’t recognize him nor did she smell Dawn Court on him. He was a wanderer. He reeked of every court and every person in them. However, she knows that Pan could not have summoned such a beast that committed the murders. If memory served her correctly, then he was far too passive to do much of anything except exist.
And then the red fellow speaks, claiming that he was just passing through. Isn’t that what all serial killers say when questioned about why they were such and such place? He may not look like a killer, but perhaps he had led the beast into Dawn Court. But she says nothing for now, listening to him ramble on about the murders being unforgiveable and that he will help seek justice. That is something the guilty would say.
It was then that Somnus arrived and he too, did not like her tactics for getting information. She looked to him with a scoff. “When kind words and soft questions do not get you the answers you need, I’ll be waiting. Interrogation is rarely polite.” Sure, she was a little more brash than the others, but there was a little bit of truth to her words. Sometimes, it took some rough interrogation to get the answers that led them to the true killer. This sort of interrogation Sloane was good at - perhaps Somnus might see that in time.
However, their little meeting was interrupted once again but someone they called Messalina. She seemed far too eager to get the king and queen to safety, offering to take them herself. It seemed like a coward’s way out of danger, but she didn’t expect everyone to be so brave.
Eulalie speaks again, speaking of the injuries and shock, claiming that a curfew might fix more of those issues. A curfew? A curfew would not stop a beast. The beast would come hunting anyway and end up in the center of the court in the search for blood. But she said nothing. She would not abide by some curfew. She had a beast to find. “The tracks follow the river, then go east from here.” She had followed the tracks to this very location, but had yet to follow them east, further into the forest. “They head into the forest.” What they intended to do with this information was not known at the present time.
Pavetta was the last to arrive. She treaded through the group slowly, hardly daring to breathe until at last she could hold it no longer at the sight of the scene. Her breath unfurled slowly, like silver serpents in the cold, brisk air. She was no stranger to the gore and trauma of war; she had been a healer, after all, but somehow this was different. This was brutal. This was murder. This sort of thing just didn’t happen in fair Delumine, murder didn’t happen in fairy tales.
She almost felt as though she had been transported back to the Rift, back to the abyss of darkness and monsters and angry gods. This felt familiar in a chilling way. She thought she had left that world behind, but somehow…it had followed her here to haunt Delumine.
The voices rose and fell—pointed fingers and accusations. Fear and terror in the tremble of their voice, in their eyes. They too, were in disbelief and shock. Pavetta moved closer, careful not disturb any of the remains. Cloven prints and deep. Something big, something otherworldly, something hauntingly Rift-like.
Pomona, go. Pomona was crouched on a tree limb nearby, hissing softly in disgust, slit pupil eyes savage and feral in the dim light. Her elegant wings unfurled and she took flight in the mist, searching for a trail, for a twig out of place, another track in the damp forest floor.
There was talk of a hunting party, of deploying guards and escorting the king and his wife back to the castle. Pavetta glanced towards Eulalie and Somnus and nodded in agreement. “I think a curfew would be wise. I have sent Pomona to scout ahead, but she is young and overeager. Can you spare Tabbris, Eulalie? And Alba, Somnus? They may find something we would otherwise miss, with their keen eyes and aerial view.”
She turned back to the grisly scene before them. Something in her face changed, softened, cracked. “We must bury them,” Pavetta said quietly, her voice heavy and somber. What is left of them, anyway. She recalled the pretty smile of the lovely female page, who often relayed messages during the fires of Delumine, but much to Pavetta’s shame, she could not remember her name.
( Sorry, this is short and horrible but just wanted to jump in! Will be more detailed and acknowledging of others in the next one! )
a pearl in pigshit, a diamond on the finger of a rotting corpse,
creature in whom nothing, but nothing, remains of an elven woman ---
What had started out as a pleasant morning was soon to take a turn for the worst. He had been southbound to check the perimeter when a young mare in training had chased him down, explaining that something had happened along the Rapax River near the forest and that his presence was required at once. She explained that a murder had happened sometime in the night, and within seconds the roan was a fleet-footed streak of silver across the meadow as he went. On the edge of the forest he caught sight of Tabbris’ impressive form disappearing into the trees, and so that was where he headed.
He hears them first - about half a dozen others clamoring about just ahead, sounding as though they were arguing in firm tones more than anything else. Next, the rotten, putrid aroma of decay assaulted his nose. Wrinkling his nose, Ulric pressed on through the foliage, forgoing all forms of stealth so they would know he was there, and what he saw stole the very air from his lungs like he was suffocating in the fires all over again.
Moore and Casper had become fast, familiar faces to the Warden during his years here, both assisting him on occasion and always a delight to see during Delumine’s celebrations. Moore’s once gentle eyes were now spread wide with terror, frozen in the moment of death by whatever force had brought his untimely demise. Casper was in pieces – the remainder of her snow-like, flawless hide saturated in drying blood. Ulric’s gut twisted and his heart was in his throat, the rest of the world disappearing around him in that brief moment of inspection until Somnus’ voice breaks through the fog clouding his head and he comes back.
“I’ve never seen an attack quite like this,” he remarked, unwillingly casting his gaze across the bloody, wretched scene strewn out before them all. This wasn’t the first murder scene Ulric had seen, but any tragedy such as this would never grow easy to look at. “The only thing I can think that could cause such massive amounts of damage is a bear, but… they aren’t prone to attacking us, and Casper and Moore would have been able to get away. One of them, at the very least.” It had to be something else, but what?
Molten eyes shift then to a red stallion he had never seen before. A stranger having come across something like this was suspicious indeed, and honestly had Ulric wondering if they were perhaps being too lenient on controlling their borders. The trespasser didn’t seem particularly threatening, however, especially after offering his assistance along with that of his court’s, whichever it may be. For the time being, the man didn’t seem suspect. ”Demon blood?” He echoed, casting a circumspect look toward him, ”What do you mean by that?”
The Warden looked then to Somnus and opened his mouth to speak when Sloane’s scathing words pierce the space between them, and instantly his ears fell back, brow furrowed and lips taut. “I would mind your tongue,” he said bitingly, “Now isn’t the time to make assumptions. We need to work together to bring justice to Casper and Moore – not point fingers.”
His eyes fall then to Somnus, ribs expanding with a large breath and then receding as he exhaled heavily. “I’ll do whatever you see fit, Somnus. I can gather a search party to try and track down the monster that did this, or put together a group to take care of the remains. I’m with Eulalie and Pavetta, though – until we have answers, everyone should be inside before dusk.”
over the moaning bones
of those who quit and chose to remain
Most mornings have been full of peace during his stay in the quaint Court of Dawn, but this is not one of those day.
His first inkling that something is wrong comes when he spots the gilded form of his brother racing across the prairie after a gryphon he easily recognizes as Eulalie’s, that beast which had watched him like a statue any time he came close to Regis’ ill form. Perplexed he looks on from his place in the gardens, and before he completely realizes it, his feet are moving beneath him and carrying him after the unusual pair, for Atreus is nothing if not a helplessly nosy soul.
Coagulated blood stings his nose when he gets near enough, piquing his interest to new heights as he slinks like a leopard through the partially mangled forest. Up ahead he can pick out a handful of cacophonous voices, among them Eulalie and Somnus and the others foreign and grating on his ears. Drawing nearer, it’s impossible to miss the scattered, decimated remains of two unfortunate souls who hadn’t been quick enough to escape the cold, unforgiving hand of death.
“Oh, dear,” the words roll off of his tongue as he moved right up beside Somnus, bearing a frown as marred eyes looked on at the wreckage of spilled guts, spattered blood and missing limbs. “How absolutely dreadful.” There was a note of sincerity on his lips, a look of true regret shining in the depths of his inky gaze, yet there was something about the roan that might seem off to those who tried to look beyond the surface of his façade.
Craning his neck and regarding his brother as talk of searching for the unknown creature ran rampant, of which Atreus honestly had zero interest in, the potion master offered little as far as insight went, but he still offered his own form of assistance. “I can do nothing for them now, brother, but it would be a shame for them to lay out in the open like this for any longer than they already have. Let me help.”
The group around the scene grew more and more, and Metaphor shifted over with each new arrival to allow them room. In some ways, he feels like an intruder to a private moment, for it was strange that he’d been wrapped into such an unfortunate event. He could see where it could appear that he was involved, though certainly, the red stallion had been far from this place when the murders took place. Already, his name had been cleared of wrong doing, but it still didn’t curb the accusatory or confused stares being throw in his direction. He wanted to help, but perhaps the biggest way he could help right now was to leave the Dawn Court to their grieving.
Demon blood? What do you mean? the question breaks through his train of thought, and he turns to Ulric. Shuddering, Metaphor tries not to remember the satyr like creatures that were born from the darkest of magic. At Ravos, he’d seen the demons first hand. They’d shifted the magic into terrible things, tempting others to follow their dark and demonic plans. I have seen demons before. His voice is quiet, thoughtful even as he remembers, his eyes growing dark with concern. They are terrible beasts, born from the very darkness in hell… and some, some looked like this. Half man, half beast, walking on two cloven hooves. It was the stuff nightmares were made of. Still, this is only a theory of his.
I hope I am mistaken… for all of our sakes. The quiet stallion nods as if to reassure himself, slender crimson ears flickering toward the suggestion that they should bury the dead. Where he’d come from, they would burn the bodies… but every place had its customs. At least once they were buried, their bodies would stand as a testament to the evil that happened in this place, to the unfortunate circumstances that drew the Dawn Court together in unity.
Again, he would help to dig the graves should they wish it… but maybe his service was best applied elsewhere. Finding the opportunity to make an exit and hurry home to warn his own people, he turned to Somnus with a humble vow. If the tracks lead east, then I shall follow them as far as I am able. If I find anything, I shall send an eagle named Finnick with the message – and please, do not hesitate to call on your brothers in Denocte. We stand ready to help, be it with healing or with vengeance. He paused, trying to remember the lessons that Katniss had taught him of their lore, too new to know much… but the God of the Dawn Court’s name came to mind rather easily.
Oriens bless your people, and may he carry you through this difficult time. Nodding to the small gathering, and seeing that Pan was steady enough to stand on his own, the red stallion began to follow the tracks east into the forest, in search of the beast.
m e t a p h o r
MEDIC of the NIGHT COURT
@Sloane @Pan @Somnus @Messalina @Eulalie @Pavetta @Ulric @Atreus
ooc: seems like you've got quite a party now, but he's happy to help - just ping me and he can come back if needed. he's also a healer, so he can help with that too
So much was happening. As he stood attempting to help, more and more of the Dawn Court’s citizens began arriving. They stumbled on the scene with much more grace than the boy had, no doubt better equipped to handle a travesty (if for no other reason than that they were able to reason through their responses and keep emotions in check). As they jumped in with solutions, Pan began to feel more and more inadequate to help. What could he offer them, beyond a couple of flowers, encouragement, and a smile? In this moment of realization, the boy has never felt smaller.
Saying nothing, Pan pulled himself away from the others, inching toward Messalina and bending to wrap her wounded leg. For all that the boy seems inexperienced by the look of him, there is a surprisingly gentle and deft touch as he binds the wound, suggesting that in his past Pan had gone through some formal training as a healer. Indeed, it had been the woman of the swamp who had taught him about the herbs of Novus – who had given him the book which even now weighed down his satchel. Though he couldn’t remember her name, or the quest that he’d embarked on with Florentine so many years ago, the teachings had stuck with him.
He offers the pale mare a waning smile as hopelessness washes over him, creeping backward into the tree line as the others step up to carry the conversation. Surely, the boy would not be missed here, as he decided there was little more he could give to the people of Dawn Court. They needed time to grieve, and he needed time to make sense of the chaos which unfolded before them. A feeling of fear squeezes his heart, making it hard to breathe… but he had to get away, from the bodies and the scent of death that stung his nostrils.
There is a hospital, deep in Terrestella… if you need help, there are medicines much stronger than mine. His voice is a whisper meant for the wounded mare alone, before he turns with one last look at Somnus – at the place which he’d once called home… but now, the taint of death had ruined even that for the boy.
And Pan turns, running far from this place – running far from the horrors he’d seen.
