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

▶ Year || 503
▶ Season || Fall
▶ Temp || 35℉ (℃) - 69℉ (℃)
▶ Weather || Summer's iron grip has slowly faded into the gentler Fall embrace. The morning dew frosts over in the early morning hours and melts by the time the sun hits high in the sky. Many of the trees have traded their lush, vivid green for a more suitable array of red and orange hues. But don't blink, for Winter's cold embrace is fast upon Fall's heels.


Character of the Season

Member of the Season

Thread of the Season
r.i.p. to my youth;

Pair of the Season
Atreus and Fiona

Quote of the Season
"Are there lines she's crossing? Should she toe them or touch them with a pole and stay away wholly? But to avoid such a storm he offers, such a taste of life; to withhold herself from the chance to taste starlight, to love satin and silk and swallow pomegranate seeds not yet offered... She should be stronger." — Moira in
Small as a wish in a well

see here for nominations


All Welcome - bent, but also broken
Ianthe — Night Court Citizen Signos: 215
▶ Played by eleven [PM] Posts: 2 — Threads: 1
▶ Female [She/Her/Hers] Hth: 8 — Atk: 12 — Exp: 10
▶ 2 [Year 501 Spring] Active Magic: N/A
▶ 14.1 hh Bonded: N/A
High above flew a Swift herd – just passing through. They won’t land here, in this place of heretics, where they have never claimed a roost of their own. They will talk to no one, make no contact. Here and gone again on their migration path.

Below them shudders a girl.

Like Swifts above so below: Ianthe had never meant to land here. She was meant to be like a passing cloud, a whisper of wind, the herd above. And yet she stands in an open field of lush grass just now browning with the oncoming winter, her heart in her ears and an ache all through her.

Her right wing drapes to the ground, the bone closest to her body pushing against her skin where it’s been broken a little more than halfway down. She knows what happens to limbs healed wrong – has seen Swifts with once broken legs struggle to land and walk – but she doesn’t know how to fix it (doesn’t think she can fix it). A grounded Swift is a dead one.

And she can’t fly.

A breath that would have been a scream, if only she could muster up the energy for it, punches from her chest, and she stumbles on solid ground. The earth hasn’t been able to lay solid claim on her since she was two months old and leaping off a ledge. To now be here, knowing that she can’t reach the sky plunges a knife under her heart, driving pain through her with every beat.

It’s a wonder she hadn’t broken herself against the earth, coming in as uncontrolled as she did, with a wing only half responsive. She wonders if, had the bone broken through skin, it would have torn muscle and tendon until it ripped- until it snapped clean off- and promptly stops wondering.

The gods are cruel, but not like this: that she’s alive must mean something. What god could have been moved by pity enough to let her survive but not fly? What had the Fates weaved for her? Already she is nothing to her herd, as so many others have been nothing to her, and she doesn’t know what to do with the pressure in her chest or the unanswered questions or the wing useless at her side.

Aion — Dawn Court Doctor Signos: 1,460
▶ Played by sid [PM] Posts: 43 — Threads: 9
▶ Male [He/Him/His] Hth: 20 — Atk: 20 — Exp: 26
▶ 11 [Year 491 Winter] Active Magic: Frostbite
▶ 17 hh Bonded: N/A

it's breaking up my bones

If Aion could fly forever and never tire, never need to land - he would. He supposed it would make up for a lifetime of being grounded, the years during which he couldn’t fly. For so long he had had  only the scars on his back as a testament to his race, proof of his heritage and his lost flight.

It was a horrible thing, being a bird with sawed-off wings. ’But no longer.’ 

All those thoughts were left on the ground, hundreds of feet below and behind. All that mattered now was the wind in his feathers, pushing him, guiding him, carrying him. His flight was shakier now than it had been when he was younger - he was missing years of experience, after all - but he was still airborne.

He knew he couldn’t stay up in the clouds forever; his wings would grow tired and fade and so too would his heart ache for his other half (it really was only a matter of which would drive him home first.) But until then, it was only him, his wings, and the wind.

And for now, that was all that mattered.

But he wasn’t alone, not quite - ahead passed a shadow, flying faster than he could hope to match. Aion tried anyway, his wings beating heavily, clumsily, but still the distance between them grew greater. He had never seen a herd of Swifts before - was not even aware they existed - and unable to catch up, they would still remain a mystery.

When his lungs began to burn and his breath came in painful rasps, he gave up the chase. He was just beginning to turn wing and head home when another shadow, a smaller one, caught his attention.

Only this one was falling from the sky.

There was a moment of hesitation, in which he silently debated continuing home and pretending to not have seen. After all, it was just a passing glance - was he really sure that was a person falling from the sky? It was easy to ignore, to write it off as a diving bird.

But his better nature reared its head and chastised him, turning him back around in a neat 360 turn. And just like that, he too was falling from the sky, following the shadow. Wind tore tears from his eyes, clawing at his wings in an attempt to hold him back, but he persisted. On and on he went, until it seemed he would crash into the ground if he continued - only then did he flare his wings out, straining against gravity, keeping himself aloft. And there below him is a girl, striped and winged, crumbled into the ground.

And breathing.

“You’re alive!” he cries out, stumbling across the ground less-than-gracefully in his hurried attempt to land. How are you alive?” It’s a million dollar question, and almost as tactful as his landing… but at least he hadn’t abandoned her?

@Ianthe !
walk. "talk."
aimless art

Ianthe — Night Court Citizen Signos: 215
▶ Played by eleven [PM] Posts: 2 — Threads: 1
▶ Female [She/Her/Hers] Hth: 8 — Atk: 12 — Exp: 10
▶ 2 [Year 501 Spring] Active Magic: N/A
▶ 14.1 hh Bonded: N/A
Helios does not pull the sun alone. Is the first thing Ianthe thinks, staring breathlessly at the stallion coming in on wings made of light.

Heretic! Screeches soon after, for he is white and black and feathered in all the ways no Swift has ever been, and Daphne had been very clear on what that means.

And yet still he bares wings fashioned from sunlight. Perhaps they are a boon from Helios in return for aid in wheeling the sun across the sky, or maybe it’s some sign of Apollo’s divine favor. In the end, it isn’t truly her business what god had granted him his feathers, just that they had. Just that he isn’t like all the others the Swifts have crossed paths with before.

And how fortunate that this god-favored stallion should find her in this land of heretics! Oh, he may play at being shocked all he likes – Ianthe isn’t about to tell someone with the god’s ear what to do – but Ianthe is now certain that the gods have been moved to pity for a reason. Why else would they have sent one of their favored to deliver her?

His landing leaves something to be admired, but Ianthe can forgive that. His eagerness to obey his gods’ direction and assist her more than make up for his lack of grace. And my! what a talented actor he is! If she hadn’t already sorted what he was about she surely would have thought him to be a surprised passerby.

Not, of course, that she can treat him like any other passerby. No Swift worth their wings would bother with a grounded flier, only heretics are so attracted to weakness, but to treat a god-favored like a heretic! No, that simply wouldn’t do.

With only one recourse she tosses her head a bit haughtily. “The gods must have seen fit to preserve me,” obviously, goes unsaid, but not entirely unheard in her dry response. She’ll admit that she really is not the best of actresses, but she does smile at him to make up for the lack, encouraging him to share in the secret.

After a seconds too long pause, she reminds herself that heretics – and he’s not a heretic, she needs something better to call him, perhaps outsider? – outsiders (yes, that’s much better) are so fussy about their names and personal connections. For all that he’s not a heretic he is very obviously not a Swift either, and as a god-favored she really ought to cater to his sensibilities. “My name is Ianthe.” It feels a little unnatural to introduce herself so brazenly.

@Aion - walk. "talk" ||| Hi! I look forward to threading with you :) Ianthe has gotten the entirely wrong idea, but with confidence! Also, a day after I posted this I realized I could have titled the thread 'pride comes before the fall', and now I'm disappointed in myself, lol.


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