Hello, Guest! Register
Night Court Citizen
Send Message


4 [Year 501 Winter]










16.2 hh







Last Visit:

Yesterday, 09:09 PM


Signos: 395 (Donate)
Total Posts: 46 (Find All Posts)
Total Threads: 7 (Find All Threads)

“Stars, everywhere. So many stars that I could not for the life me understand how the sky could contain them all yet be so black.”
Perhaps it is easiest to start with all the ways Warset is still like a star.

Her eyes are the strangest of mercury, almost silver, almost iron, almost caught constellations. Some have called her shed-star when the fire-light makes they seem to shift and glow. But she knows, even though she has never had the courage to hint at the truth, that she is not shed but lost. No sky-mother chewed her out to give her life. Although, if the priestess's saw her blood, that runs as silver as moonlight, they would perhaps bled her dry no matter the truth, or lies she tries to tell.

The wings spanning from her shoulders are made for flying between the constellations and over fields thick with silvering blood. Warset, from her too large wings, to her hair that's long enough to feel gravity, to her neck that's more swan than horse, is made for flight. Even on the ground her hooves seems to skate over the loam, as if she's afraid that the smallest touch might make her grow roots to this world. Her coat, dusted with silver flakes, also suggests that she's better suited to the night sky that her wings have already started to forget the feel of. The star-dust makes her seem almost metallic at times in a way that might make it seem she's of Akhal-Teke blood instead of star blood. But those that think it would be wrong.

Her ears are desert-bred in shape, curled towards each other like flowers in a drought. The lines of her face are delicate, almost strangely so with her long legs. And perhaps the only part of her, that makes her seem more horse than star, is her simple black and white coloring. It's almost easy, until there is that shine of her diamond and garnet collar, to lose her in a thick daytime crowd.


“Space and silence are two aspects of the same thing. The same no-thing. They are externalization of inner space and inner silence, which is stillness: the infinitely creative womb of all existence.”

Can a star be anything but a dreamer? Can she be anything but bits of a girl stitched together in a pattern that does not wholly make sense?

Perhaps that is all Warset is: pieces of her experiences, her almost-gone memories, and the yearning for something her wings cannot carry her to anymore. She cannot name them herself, although through the voices of others she has discovered several things about herself.

One is that is she quiet, too quiet. But she knows this at least about herself. It's hard to remember the shape of words, and the sound of her voice, when half of her life is spent caught between tooth, claw, and fur. Sometimes she thinks she is quiet because her voice is too much of star-stuff to hide the truth of her blood (and she is afraid the world will take it from her). Other-times she thinks it's because there are moments, when she looks at certain things, that all she wants to do is roar. And in the moments, she knows, it's better to be silence than to be strange.

Once she overheard a merchant talking about the pegasus with the too-large wings. He was whispering of the strangeness of her form, the way she walks among the world like a combination of a lost-god and a child of war. Warset paused to listen and could not tell him which she was, she did not know (still does not know). But when she has to steal an apple just to soothe her hunger, she thinks it might be the latter more than anything.

Sometimes she is angry, so, so angry, at the gods living in the spaces she cannot see anymore. Sometimes when she dreams she is not flying above the wreckage of war and calling it pretty, sometimes she is there in the heart of it. Sometimes she is killing will all the others stars, killing until there are rivers of mercury running knee-deep around her. Those are the times she only knows wrath. The times when she is sleeping.

All the other times, every night and every day, there is only sorrow, and hunger, and longing. She wonders if this world will every know all the knowledge that might be discovered in her blood, her mind, her past that she can almost grasp. She wonders if she will ever discover her true voice.

And sometimes she dreams that she's in love. That she's anything but alone each night when her bones shift over and over again until she's choking on her own sobs. Sometimes she wishes there was someone, anyone, to wipe her tears away and brush back the fury of a wildcat into something softer (something that does not hunt). There never is.

There has never been anyone.

There are no other true stars.

“Across the sea of space, the stars are other suns.”

How strange it is that a star has the shape of a pegasus.

Warset still finds it strange, to walk among the others and brush their wings together in greeting. She still finds it strange to run, and run, and run on root and stone instead of over stardust and through the canyons of meteors. Everything about this place is strange to her, and it once was more strange, in the time before she was cast down from the dark places between the stars.

It started with a war. Everything starts with a war, with blood, with the death of too many to name, with ghosts banging their drums endlessly through the eons. Warset's story is the same as all the others, only she did not become a ghost (although sometimes when she cannot touch her nose to the moon, she wishes for soot and smoke instead of form). She did not die.

For eons she watched the gods of chaos battle. She danced to their cries simply because there was no other sound in the cosmos for her to listen to but violence. She flew over the battlefield, saw the silver-bloody corpses of the stars and the dust of dashed comets, and called everything beautiful because she knew nothing but looking at the aftermath of war. There were no parents to raise her, to touch their noses to her cheeks and wipe away the tears that she did not know to cry.

Stars never have parents. Or if they do they are trapped somewhere in a nebula she cannot find, her mind is to mortal now to think about it. Stars hardly have a moment between fire and form. They certainly do not have memories of a time before having wings, and hooves, and war in place of love. Warset is like the others in this aspect, there are times before that are nothing but sooty dreams and there is now with her wings that remember the touch of cosmos instead of northern wind. There is no peace with her eyes that remember the way a supernova makes every bit of flesh and bone ache to behold it.

There is only the Now. The After. The Curse.

There is only the curse.

She cannot fully remember why the chaos god Set turned his gaze to her. She cannot remember why he saw her dancing over the battlefields and between the stars and thought that she needed any form other than the one she had. But he had, oh he had. To this day she does not know the reason, perhaps she was meant to fight, perhaps she was meant to cry.

But all she did was fall.

And if it is punishment for a terrible crime she cannot remember it.

With the weight of the form he pressed into her marrow she fell from the cosmos. Perhaps looking up the world would have seen her as only a comet, or a meteor, or a wish burning up in their horizon. She has never been brave enough to ask any of them yet, or fool enough. There is magic in star-blood for those who know how to leech it, how to boil it, how to inject it into the space behind the eyes.

The only thing she has asked since she woken up in a crevice in the ground, with ash and burned feathers all around her is why, but the words have never tasted the edge of her lips. They have only lived in the darkest parts of her mercury eyes.

Active & Parvus Magic

“Trust your heart if the seas catch fire, live by love though the stars walk backward.”


At first Warset does not think her magic a gift. At first it is nothing more than another curse, another wound, another shard etched out of her heart.

It began with a hum, a memory of a cosmic war-ballad that she remembers from the time before this world. Then a star dies without a belly full of wishes or a halo ring of fire. It crashes at her side and sets the earth to trembling and her lung to choking on the dust.

She thinks, I thought I knew the sound of sorrow, and then, I was wrong..

But there is a certain beauty to the death that she discovers in the dark, damp belly of the earth. Because when she is suffering, and broken, should not the world break, suffer and sob with her? Is that not the holy right of a star?

Each stardust glimmer on her body has turned to a speck of light. She does not always glow or shine. But when her emotions run wild as wolves in the meadow her magic runs with it. When she’s afraid, or enraged, or flush with the thrill of love the glittering specks on her coat turn to silver star-light. And each fleck of light twinkles out a story that her heart has never forgotten.

i. discipuli

Her songs are no longer tales of warfields, or legends of her sisters, or forgotten gods buried in eons of light. She sings of death and destruction. No matter the melody on her tongue, or the wasp vibration of a hum on her lip, her music brings only death. There is no beauty in her song. Stars fall at the notes of her music and comets crack across the sky like firebirds.

She can not sing many stars to death. Only one or two might fall at the end of her song or a single comet might streak too low across the horizon. But what she does kill steals another shard of her broken heart from her chest. Now she does not sing as often as she used to.

ii. vexillum

The music in her throat does not always kill her once-sisters and her once-loves, not always. Sometimes they do not crash into the earth. Sometimes they linger in the noontime and the dawn. A single constellation might flicker beneath the sun and tease out a song in the clouds. The moon-mother might linger for an hour longer than she should after a song sung by Warset. But some, always some, still die and crash into the earth.

Once she had sung of the start-of-war, the middle-of-a-holocaust, the blood-rivers-of-the-gods, and now she sings of legends. Now her sisters tuck themselves into the universe to listen. And maybe, just maybe, they shine a little brighter in a hello to the star they’ll never dance with again.

iii. periti

A song brings the stars, and the moon, and the comets, closer than they should be to the earth. A comet might brush a mountain-top, a star might linger in the middle of a lake and send acres of mist into the air, the moon might drape herself above a temple and call herself a crown (and of course the seas rise when the moon travels too close to the mortal realm). She can sing down a multitude of constellations during the day when she lives as a pegasus and not a leopard. A comet might crash down at her war-cry if she is off to war or deeply lost to a memory of suffering.

And when she sings a song of sorrow and misery the daytime turns a little darker even at high-noon.

iii. dominus

When she sings, or hums, or loses herself to a note of music, the night can slip free from the pull of the sun. Warset can sing down the entire night sky. A family of comets might sweep down to the earth to listen to her song. A star might linger outside her home as she lingers between walls like a caught moon (in the winter it’s how she warms herself with a low star playing at being a sun.).

And if she wants to bring a constellation down it falls with nothing more than a sonnet melody.

The effect of her music might seem like an eclipse that never ends. But it’s really a devouring that lasts until her curse realizes that the night has come early and she must slip free from the form of a pegasus.

Passive Magic

“No great thing comes without a curse.”

Beneath the sun Warset is a pegaus. She is perhaps a little stranger than the others, but everything about her screams mortal, and horse, and she who lives in the sky. In the daytime she can talk to others and eat as a horse is supposed to eat. Beneath the sun, the strangest thing about her is the molten mercury of her blood and the way it's echoed in her eyes.

But at night, in the hour right after twilight, when the moon crests the horizon, Warset is no longer a pegasus. At night she is a beast. The changing comes suddenly (even though she should have learned the hour by now) and violently. There is nothing beautiful about the shift from pegasus to soot, black leopard. It's all cracking bone and dying feathers. It's painful, and awful, and she hardly knows how she can bear it night after night.

The worst part though, is not the pain. It is the silence.

The worst part is how she cannot speak as her other form can. She can do nothing more than wander amoung the horses and speak in the way of claw, eyes that are too clever for a wildcat, and a throat that knows how to roar better than it knows how to purr. For these reason she stays mostly locked away in the darkest of corners, trying desperately not to make the hunters of this world think she is anything more than a stray bonded of another horse.

But her desperation, her hope, sometimes fails her.

Someday she might discover the curse comes not from her blood but from the diamond collar around her neck that has never fallen off or untied despite the changes of her form and the tug of her natural magic. But then again, it is a curse from the gods of the cosmos and she was not given the memories to understand.

Bonded & Pets

Armor, Outfit, and Accessories

“I think that we are like stars. Something happens to burst us open;”

No matter her form, the collar around her neck is always the brightest part of her. It's brighter than the star-dust shine over her skin, and it's brighter than her eyes. The collar is more stone than fabric. Almost every inch of it is inlaid with diamonds clear as a shallow creek. No matter the hour they catch any light and refract rainbow patterns across the black hollow of her throat. And because of the diamonds the bloody, garnet shaped into the crescent moon is almost easy to miss. Warset had never forgotten it is there.

Agora Items & Awards

(View All Items)



Played by:

nestle (PM Player)


lovesome    //   


nestle #5513

Staff Log

01/20/20 Character application approved, character pass accepted, pending addition to the records -LAYLA
04/08/20 +6EXP for Nestle's 1st & 2nd Novus anniversaries -LAYLA
09/12/20 +2EXP for participating in IC Event, Island 505 Summer TID4823. -INKBONE
09/12/20 +2EXP for participating in IC Event, 505 Fall NC Event TID5054. -INKBONE
09/12/20 +3EXP for completing 5 threads, TID4823, 5054, 4602, 4718, 4774. -INKBONE
09/12/20 +3EXP for gaining (+1) and questing for (+2) magor agora item, TID4808. -INKBONE
09/12/20 Sent to Nestle - 120 signos for completing TID4823, 5054, 4602, 4718, 4774, 4808. -INKBONE
09/12/20 Active magic approved and added to records. Magic item swapped for Vexillum item. -INKBONE
09/16/20 +10 Health and +10 Attack for 25exp milestone. Already had Vexillum magic item. -INKBONE