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Novus closed 10/31/2022, after The Gentle Exodus
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13 [Year 497 Fall]








Mustang X


14.3 hh







Last Visit:

09-17-2022, 08:18 PM




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'tell me, my little bird... why do you sing?'

I was screaming. I could taste blood on my tongue from the might of it. My body was stained with frothy sweat as I struggled and fought to get away, to break free. I was screaming, and yet no one came.

’No! Let me go!’ They wouldn’t, their grip merciless and cruel, and I was helpless before their combined strength. My cries and pleas and demands fell on deaf ears. ’The Prince will have your heads for this!’ The threat was an empty one, for the Prince could not even lift himself from his sickbed. They took me away from everything I knew and loved. They took me away from my home, my family, my friends… They took me away from him.

I was screaming… But no one came.

I am not so grand as those who I have spent my life around. I am unable to even be compared to the exquisite gallery of masterpieces so dutifully crafted around me, who parade and show off and spend their evenings bickering as siblings are wont to do. A shadow is all I am, the trailing silent shadow of an ethereal, fae-like princeling, a darkness to follow in his lighter footsteps. A contrast to bring out his beauty, perhaps?


I have always been of average size and build. My bones are sturdy, my stance sure. I am not the tallest of those around me, but I’ve used my demure stature to my advantage on numerous occasions. Listen, watch, and learn. I am to be seen, but not heard. Perhaps my darker colors are to thank for the ease in which I am capable of doing such a thing.

I do not share the lighter skin and fanciful, regal colors of those I have come to intimately, yet sometimes reluctantly, know. I am not the buckskins or duns of the common Solterran folk, but a rich, blue medley. My body is a canvas of blues; darks to pales to darks again, mottled with a faint smattering of contrasting stripes and faint dappling. Handsome, some might say, if it was within my right to be regarded as such.

(To those who are curious, it isn’t. I can't help but wonder though, what you see when you look at me. Do you see me, the true me, the real me? Cold and aloof as you can be, I try not to let myself imagine the two of us together; dark and light, ethereal and mundane, a contrast so striking and beautiful that I weep.)

My eyes are of differing colors, a common trait in this world. My left is a strong violet, my right a pale blue akin to ice. While I do my best to keep my hair at a respectable length, I have found that it grows at a considerable rate of speed and I am oftentimes forced to have it trimmed. The dark tresses are stained only by a few collections of pure white locks.

I weep, as I think of you. The last time I saw you will forever be stained at the forefront of my mind. It is the vision I see every time I close my eyes. Even now, locked away as I am in shackles in a stone prison with nothing but darkness as my friend, mistreated, victimized, exploited, molested, and neglected, I think only of then.

I left your lyre upon your duvets. You watched me from your sickbed. I will forever feel the weight of your weak stare upon me. The faint notes of the lyre, the last thing I heard of you, is my mournful lullaby.

When I despair, I think of you... And I smile.

'is it because you yearn for what you cannot have? do you sing for the home you were taken from?'

I am exhausted. I swear that I will never move again.

My heart is heavy and I wish for nothing more than for death to take me, as it surely has taken you. Then would I see you again? Is that the only way we will be reunited?

Will you care? Will you be as aloof and cold as you were in life? Or will you be free from the shackles of propriety, the mantle of expectation, hyper-conscience as you are (were?) of the many eyes upon you, watching and judging your every move? I likened them to wolves circling their prey, hungry and greedy and salivating. You never disagreed with me.

All I can think of when I close my eyes is you. Even now, barely breathing, having given everything to this pitiful sense of duty and uncouth physical labor, all I see is how your eyes appear beneath the clear moonlit skies of Solterra. Oh, but I could spend hours and count the constellations in your stare...

Despite everything, I think of you and I smile. Soon, even you won't be enough.

I truly, honestly, do not know what you want me to say. Since when has anyone cared much for what I think? Not in the last few months, at least... So why don't we start before? Before my home became a prison cell, and my hell became living.

Opinionated. Oh, but there is no doubt that I'm incorrigibly opinionated. Why wouldn't I be? Have you met the individuals I'm surrounded by on a daily basis? Just as well, I do my best to remain pragmatic at the best of times, and downright unrelenting and petulant at the worst.

I am, and always have been, loyal to a fault. Although I could suspect that such a loyalty is rather one-sided, and it is more to an individual person opposed to a unified cause or faction... But, semantics, right? Such loyalty has gotten me into trouble, certainly. I've lost count of how many tongue-lashings I've received for my hotheaded fealty. I showed no hesitation when valiantly (was it 'valiantly'? some say that it was 'foolishly') defending Adonai's name in the wake of his parents' funerals.

Foolish, hard-headed, stubborn, opinionated, loyal... I am witty, on occasion, and sharp-tongued when the need shows itself. After all, living such a courtly life, one must be keen to survive.

There is no doubt I try to keep the peace, however. I care not a lick for violence, not if it can be avoided, and I try not to let the more poisoning emotions cloud my judgement. Of course, I've experienced hate. Who hasn't? Yet I won't list for who I feel it towards. Jealousy? Oh, certainly, for I detest the pretty ladies that so deftly and doggedly try and captivate Adonai's attention.

But, oh, how I wish I could be them, flirting so unabashedly to Ieshan's prized fae-Prince. My heart yearns for it, truly, to be so open, so honest, so wholly and completely his. I will love him to my last breath, but... Those feelings are mine and mine alone. They will always be mine and mine alone.

Lovesick, some say. They would most definitely be right. My heart belongs to a man who will never be mine, and I will not speak a single word of protest. For if only Adonai could be hearty and well, if he will be happy, I will stand by and see to it that he is supported through it all. If he is happy, then that will be enough.

(Will it, though? Will I be able to let him go when the day inevitably arrives? Will he let me go, his most loyal and steadfast companion? But my heart burns in the best ways when he looks at me, when he seems to know, when he seems to understand. Gods, but he could take me apart with simply his stare alone and I could die a happy man.)

Of course, life has a way of changing everyone. For me, demure, quiet, down-to-earth, realistic me... Life spared me no mercy.

Months of unjust imprisonment and cruelty have hardened me in a terrible way. I am not the same man who was dragged from Solterra, kicking and screaming. Not quite. I do not care much for the silence anymore, nor do I care much for the noise. I exist in a place where the sound of rattling chains cause me fright, the grate of stone-upon-stone enough to give me feverish chills. I will not speak of what I endured those six or so months I was taken away from my home, from Adonai... But they have changed me, and that is all you need to know.

'oh, but do not worry, my little dove; i will take good care of you. now, sing again for me, i so do love the sound of your voice.'

I was screaming. I was asleep, but I was screaming.

My captors would have none of it. The night was heavy with darkness and a downpour of rain. So close to winter, the temperature was well below freezing and the frigid late-autumn thunderstorm brought with it the promise of a cruel, unforgiving winter. I knew that I would not survive it. I had wasted away. I was naught but skin and bones. I could hardly stand. I had given it all, and yet it would never be enough. This was my prison and my crypt, and I would die here.

My life has been a medley of simply living in the shadows of my betters. Ever since I can remember, my life has never truly been my own. (Or has it, and I simply choose to give and give and give until there is nothing left, giving the illusion of a lack of choice?) I digress; such a debate should not be had here.

I regret to inform you that the story of my youth has already been told once before. One must simply seek out Adonai if you wish to know it, but I fear he would tell you very little. Even before his illness ravaged him so completely, such a tale would be held close to his chest. Now it would just be cruel to ask him. No, leave him to his peace and I will tell you what I dare, but if this tale leaves you wanting, I don’t have the energy to care.

I was only a youngling when my father became the esteemed tutor to House Ieshan. Or, more specifically, the young Prince Adonai. I’ll admit that I was a bit nervous for such a partnership; my father was not known for his patience, you seen. He was a good man but tended to be stern and incredibly set in his ways, and I can count and recite a plethora of situations where he had given me such a vile tongue lashing that I felt as though a blow across the chin would have been far less painful.

He wasn’t a cruel man, but he could be a lot... Though at the end of it all, I suppose I had him to thank for the bountiful blessings that followed.

We were given a humble cottage on the outskirts of House Ieshan’s property. I loved it fiercely. I become quite familiar with Prince Adonai and his wide array of siblings, but Adonai would always be my favorite. I became his shadow and his most steadfast companion, but I was always terrified to think of myself as his ‘friend’.

Time passed, and we grew. We matured, the two of us, and despite the fact that I was a year older, he quickly grew taller. I didn’t mind; his height accentuated his fae-like appearance, all nimble grace and eloquence, his face like that of a girl’s. He was beautiful and set my young heart ablaze like no other. That spark never dampened, and only grew into a roaring inferno as I realized what this emotion was.

Love. Oh, by the grace of the Gods, I loved him. It was a shame that I could never tell him.

I was dreaming. I was asleep, and I was dreaming.

Even after the passage of time, I remembered the Oasis clearly. We visited there often when we were younger, Adonai and I, reclining at the water’s edge. That was how I saw him now; free from the lines of stress and worry that so often plagued his feminine face, free of the pallid, terrible sickness and the kiss of death that had been so out of place.

Boldened by this dream, for something so sweet and kind could never be real, I allowed myself weakness and I pressed my face to his shoulder. ’I hope to never wake,’ I admitted to him, for my life had become nothing but anguish and torment and cruelty, ’If this is the last moment I have of the living, I am glad it is with you.’

Adonai, still and silent as a statue, did not answer me yet he did not pull away. My heart sang.

It exhausts me to go into these details, to bring up the memories of a better time, so forgive me as I skim by them. They aren’t important anymore, anyway.

I stated before that my life was never really my own, and I meant it. My life became Adonai. My Prince became everything to me. I assisted where I could, holding his council and sharing his troubles and listening to him vent about his siblings, mostly Pilate, but as he grew older and the mounting weight of responsibility rested so heavily upon his shoulders, he began to slip further and further from my grasp. Our private moments together became fleeting seconds that I selfishly clung to, holding tight and hiding them away like little fleeting treasures. Then his parents died, and responsibility gripped him like a vice, his burden becoming heavier.

Life is cruel, and it was not yet done with us.

In this dreamscape, with the moon heavy and full above us and the Solterran night sky alive with burning stars, I was content. I was at peace. I was ready.

Something pierced my neck. Tiny jaws latched onto the skin, fangs digging deep, depositing something foul within my veins. A second bite, a third, a fourth. I pulled away from Adonai, bewildered with horror, and I felt something inside of me drop heavy, falling, falling, falling, as I realized I was not looking at Adonai, but Pilate. I could not speak. My legs seemed frozen, my body stock-still, restrained in the worst of ways.

Above us, the moon melted. The stars fell. The cosmos shifted. Pilate stared, and then he smiled wickedly, his eyes gleaming as the world fell down around us. He leaned forward and whispered in my hear, and his breath reeked of venom. “He will never be yours.”

And then I was falling. Pilate shoved me into the Oasis and I was falling, drowning, unable to move, my lungs filling with sour water and my body turning to stone. I was drowning, and using the last of my air I screamed for the only salvation I had ever known.


The news spread like wildfire; Prince Adonai was ill, and I realized that I had never before experienced the true meaning of fear. The best physicians and healers could not find out what was wrong with him. I pressed for information where I could, but I was rebuffed more times than I was informed. “We’re doing all we can,” was the common answer, but I felt as though it was petty and untrue. “All we can do is make him comfortable,” another said, and I damned them quite cruelly before storming away. They had given up on the Prince, but I could never. I visited as often as I could, but his siblings seemed keen on not letting me close, especially Pilate.

I didn’t care. They could take their propriety and choke on it. My Prince needed me, and I would be there for him.

In actuality there was very little I could do for him. I fussed like the lover I wished I could be, but I spent time with him in silent company as a friend could until I was ushered away. ’Adonai,’ I beckoned to him. He would look to me, and I knew he saw me… But how long until he no longer did? How long until I was a stranger? ’Mernatius…’ The sound of my name on his lips would forever be a sound I cherished, but I would have given everything to see him well and whole again.

As most things in my life, the choice was taken from me.

After a silent visit where I delivered Adonai’s lyr to his bed and felt the heavy weight of his stare upon me, I left. I could hear the final few notes weakly played as I departed. I wish I had known it would have been my last time seeing him… Oh, the things I would have said.

I was waylaid on my way back to the cottage. A group of four or five individuals, soldiers, perhaps, or hired help, forcibly removed me from the premises of the Ieshan estate. What follows is… Painful. I beg your indulgence that I do not go into detail.

I was stolen away from Solterra as a prisoner and traded as a slave destined for hard labor. For months, all I knew was cruelty and hard work, my body chafed raw and bleeding from the leather straps of the harness used for pulling. My body withered. I was sure I would die. Seasons changed, and winter approached. Somehow, against all odds, I escaped.

I was screaming. It was raining, and I was screaming.

My captors, my ‘masters’, dragged me from my cell by the shackles holding my ankles together. Perhaps they thought me mad and gone, screaming like a banshee and wailing into the raging storm, into the night sky.

They released my bindings. I did not even try to move. One of my masters lifted a large axe used for chopping wood, intending to end my mindless shrieking and bring silence to the work yard once more. I had half the mind to let him... And then.

Salvation. A bright light streaked across the dark sky. I saw Adonai's face; his handsome jaw, narrow cheekbones, long lashes, his eyes... Oh, in that moment he was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. He had always been the most beautiful thing that I had ever seen. 'Mernatius.' My name on his lips, a whisper in the rain, a beckoning to come home.

Mighty pillars of lightning lit up the sky and struck the tower in which I had been kept, raining rubble and flames down upon us. The masters recoiled. One of them was crushed by falling debris. I did not mourn him. Instead, the strength that had been lost from me for months seemed to be reborn, a determination bred by desperation.

'Adonai...' A prayer upon my lips, but I would not squander this opportunity. I fled into the storming night, and even if it killed me I would return to the side of my Prince.

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Sparrow (PM Player)


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09/21/20 Character application approved, +20 signos for visual ref -LAYLA
10/05/20 +3 EXP for sparrow’s 1st anniversary. -SID
10/05/20 +3 EXP for sparrow’s 2nd anniversary. -SID
10/05/20 +3 EXP for sparrow’s 3rd anniversary. -SID
01/09/21 Moved to inactive from Day Court Citizen per member request. -INKBONE
09/06/21 Moved to Day Court Citizen from Inactive per member request. -SPARROW