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 Year || 503
 Season || Winter
 Temp || -10℉ (-23℃) to 55℉ (12℃)
 Weather || Winter has left a blanket of pristine white snow in many parts of Novus. Only Solterra remains mostly untouched by the season's frosted hold, but even the desert may feel a cold breath of wind now and then. With Winter now settled across the continent, dreams of Spring dance in the minds of many.


Spotlight

Character of the Season
Seraphina

Member of the Season
E-cho

Thread of the Season
Coloring outside the lines

Pair of the Season
Moira and Asterion

Quote of the Season
"There is something to be said for how soothing habit could be, when one was trying to avoid words they shouldn’t say." — Theodosia in
Cinderblock gardens

see here for nominations


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  where no one goes
Posted by: Mathias - 8 hours ago - Forum: Elatus Canyon - No Replies

if you wanna start a fight, you better throw the first punch


He spends most of his days in the canyons, now that Raum has seized the crown, and even Teiran does not follow him into the winding paths as often as she used to, too occupied with the death of the Queen.

He is...indifferent. Time will depose Raum, he is sure, and the world will keep turning around the sun. He has seen many other dictators claim the throne, had once grasped the crown with blood-stained hands himself, and always the people would rise up against the leaders with the stolen crowns and blood in their mouths.

It was inevitable, and he had no plans to get himself tangled up in the whispers of war that rippled throughout the court, nor the rebellion that loomed above the sands like a teryr looking for its next meal. So he retreats to the maze of canyon walls and he follows the path that leads towards what he calls home -- a small, hidden cave, just large enough to store his battered armor and to cover his body when it rained, tucked far enough into the canyons that he is left in peace.

It is here he intends to wait out this war.

credits


@Only

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  Novus Easter Egg Hunt!
Posted by: sid - Today, 12:04 AM - Forum: Announcements - No Replies


Novus Easter Egg Hunt!


How many of y’all have noticed the eggs being hidden? c;



Happy holidays Novus!! To celebrate the beginning of spring (for most of us), staff have hidden some fun easter eggs @Katherine was kind enough to make for us around the site for you to find! And as with any easter egg hunt, there are some fun prizes in store if you choose to play along!

Interested? Read on to find out how to participate c;



How it Works:


Easter eggs have been hidden around the site! Find one, you’ll earn some signos! Find them all, you’ll earn a prize!
  • The eggs are hidden in various places around Novus!

  • 15 eggs will be hidden at a time! However, 3 sets of eggs will be hidden; that means there will be a total of 45 eggs to find!
  • You have 1 week to find each set of eggs! That means this event will be running for 3 weeks total. c:



We are currently on Round 1!
The first 15 must be found by: Sunday, April 28th, at 11:59 PM EST




Prizes:


  • Each egg will also be an imbedded link; this link will take you to its prize page!

  • Prizes are awarded according to difficulty! There are 3 tiers:
    • Tier 1: Easy
        10 signos per found egg
    • Tier 2: Intermediate
        50 signos per found egg
    • Tier 1: Hard
        100 signos per found egg

    • Find all 45 eggs:
        Receive one free Restricted Item for any one character and a special golden easter egg badge to display in your profile!

  • Out of each set, there will be 10 easy eggs, 4 intermediate eggs, and 1 hard egg!

  • This means that if you complete each set, you will get 400 signos per set (1200 total!!) plus a free restricted item and a super cool badge!


  • Rules:


    • Once you've found an egg, please PM @sid or @aimless on Novus or on Discord!
      • To avoid spamming us, we ask that you wait until you've found as many eggs as you think you'll find before sending us a message, that way we can review them all at once! c:

    • Please don’t cheat!! We’re trusting you all to be good and honest sports. c:
      • If we find you cheating, we will be forced to revoke your rewards and bar you from further participating in this contest! :c This applies to both parties (those who show others where to find eggs, and those who ask where to find them.)

    • If you find an egg hidden in one of your profiles or posts…
      • Please be a good sport and leave them where you found them, so that others may also find them. c;

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  Meridoc
Posted by: Meridoc - Yesterday, 10:50 PM - Forum: Pending - No Replies

Character Application

Player: Bird
Referred By: ---
Characters: @Aakesh @Deimos
Are all characters active? No
When was your last character approved?Eons ago
Have you filled out the "OOC Account ID" Field? yep

Name: Meridoc
Age: 10
Birth season: Winter
Court: Dusk
Rank: Warrior

Health: 10
Attack: 10

Items: Enchantment + Weapon
Restricted Item Redemption Post: Enchantment & Weapon
Incentives: Dusk Court Incentive - Outfit
Other: Hi yes meet the grump dad


~~~

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  and his skin went pale;
Posted by: Tuolouse - 04-19-2019, 07:56 PM - Forum: The Night Markets - No Replies

TOULOUSE


He knows he shouldn’t be here - not now, not tonight, not when he knows what was coming soon. Perhaps it was his insatiable curiosity, his need to be around like-minded gamblers such as these that brought him back to Denocte, and back to the White Scarab tonight. Perhaps it was the heat of Solterra, forcing him out of the deserts in search of cooler weather. 

Or maybe he just enjoyed toeing the line a little.

The familiar whirr of the beetle’s wings was welcoming, and the palomino slipped through the doors like a golden ghost. It took his eyes only a moment to adjust to the darkness, but only one; he was used to the darkness. It was arguably the best thing to be greeted with, after all the brightness of Solterra. 

The light of a hundred candles flickers against the vaulted ceiling, casting shadows that spun and danced down to the floor below. Easily the brightest lighting inside, they shine subtly yet brilliantly into the darkness of the Scarab. They remind him of golden stars, shimmering and twinkling; but he was also golden, and a wolf was no less a star in his own eyes. 

Even after he’s adjusted to the darkness, Toulouse waits by the entrance. His eyes rove across the floor, with its scattered tables, dealers, and patrons. For half a second, he’s tempted - it’s been a long time since he’s tested his luck with gambling. He can hear the soft music the coins make when they exchange hands, can see the stacks piling up on the nearest table. There’s a lot of gold being thrown tonight, gold that would line his pockets well when he won. 

You already have gold, though, his mind whispers to him, and he can’t deny it. There’s something else to be won here.

He weaves through the tables slowly, hardly looking at them as he passed. Tonight he’s set aside his green silk for red, and it’s turned as dark as blood beneath the soft lighting, dark against his pale body. The tassels bounce gently at his sides with every movement, the weight of his scarves pressing against his back. Toulouse walks as if he owns the place, his stride commanding. He goes out of his way to pass by as many tables and gamblers as he can, feeling well at home on the floor.

And all the while, his ears are turning this way and that way, flicking to catch the end of every sentence, every bet, every whisper. 

But his walk takes him to the edges of the room, and a board hung on the wall catches his eye. Toulouse pauses, his green eyes narrowing slightly as he looks over the bits of parchment pinned there. 

He’s seen the board before, and each time it’s different, yet the same: the messages pinned there change, but each time he finds them nigh unreadable. 

He moves closer, as if expecting to find a hidden message written between the lines. Toulouse stamps one pale hoof into the carpet, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. 

It isn’t until he’s all but ready to turn away and try his luck at the tables after all when he hear hoofbeats approaching him from behind.

And when he turns, it’s the green-eyed girl he sees standing behind him.

"Good evening."

His voice is low and charming, but his eyes are sharp. A smile, at odds with his eyes, stretches slowly across his lips. "I don’t suppose you can tell me what these are?" he asks, gesturing at the bulletin board.

He knows better than to expect her to tell him - but he’s been here enough times, he’s starting to feel like he deserves to know.

But perhaps he can make it worth her while to tell him?






the motherland don't love you,
the fatherland don’t love you.
so why love anything?

the faithless; they don't love you
the zealous hearts don’t love you.
and that's not gonna change.

ut deo.

@Aghavni  
ahh ignore the slightly crappy starter, i hope this is alright c'':


enfanir art

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  A sea the color of illusion
Posted by: Eik - 04-19-2019, 04:11 AM - Forum: Veneror Peak - No Replies

The image of that fallen cave will haunt him forever. Never had a single sight encapsulated all his shortcomings. (A smell, yes-- ash and burning flesh-- but never a sight-- his eyes had been closed, then) He stared at the rubble until his eyes burn and water, and still be does not blink. How long had she been there? In the belly of the mountain, in the dark, alone-- or worse than alone-- in the company of those crooked men. Where was he? Stumbling through rooms stuffed full of strangers? What was he doing when she was taken? Pretending to be someone he was not, as though a mask would hide his scars? Enjoying himself?  

"Isra..." He says her name in the way he always does, the way that gives that one word a hundred meanings. Most, but not all, are variations of love. He wraps around her, placing gentle kisses all over her, cheek and neck and shoulder, elbow and belly and hips. Inhaling the scent of violence, dried blood (like a rusty blade) and fresh blood and something foul and herbal and sticky-- poison? And when he buries his muzzle in her hair he can smell her, pure Isra, sweet and certain and wrapped in broken glass.

They've made weapons of themselves, and he knows,

He knows this is the start of a war.

"I'm so sorry."

I should have been there-- What they did to you--

Of course, she did not need saving. It doesn't matter. His uselessness aches like an old and angry scar, rubbed the wrong way. He hates his magic, he wants the power to set something on fire or shake the earth or rip and tear and tremble the world in some way. He wants, for once, to destroy with something more effective than tooth and hoof.

He makes a soft sound of disgust and turns to the dragon. "Thank you--" the name comes to him without needing to be grasped for. Maybe he always knew, like the way he loved Isra, impossibly, before they had even met. Like the way he loves her now, so definitely, without even knowing any of the things the other lovers know about each other. (But oh-- he knows more!)

"Thank you Fable." He takes a step toward the Dragon as if to embrace him too, but stops inches away feeling uncertain (how exactly does one embrace a dragon) and instead closes his eyes and opens his magic and shares his gratitude the clear way, one without words to bungle its meaning. Surely his anger and fear and violence fill all the fractures in the emotion he projects, but that's the thing about opening his mind-- there is nothing to hide behind. He hopes the dragon takes it for what it is: a promise.

When Eik turns back to his queen, he pauses. There is something wild in her eyes, something that makes him wonder where this war will lead them, and if there will be any coming back from it.

*
OOC: @Isra <3

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  Softly, the waves sigh
Posted by: Eik - 04-19-2019, 04:07 AM - Forum: Terminus Sea - No Replies

The sun and its consistency was equal parts mocking and reassuring.

He began, finally, to think he understood why so many worshipped the sun god with such fanaticism. It was nothing as simple as what he had once assumed. It was not about asking for kindness, for deliverance from the worst of the scorching summer days or a kiss of warmth in winter. It was not about stupidity, not the natural conclusion of a downtrodden and illiterate people scrambling for something-- anything-- bigger than themselves.

He came to think the sun God was so compelling to the people because of consistency. Because the world could unwind itself into madness and filth and chaos and the same sun would continue to rise every day. Indifferent. Consistent. It was a taste of the infinite, a puzzle we hoped to solve with faith.

His thoughts on the matter changed very slowly, so slowly that he had not realized they were changing, had not realized they were there at all until he was changing, all of him passed over in great big brushstrokes of colors he had never before considered, for he quite liked the stark beauty of the world in greyscale. He had a lot of time to think these days, alone (so very, neatly, sharp-edged alone) and outcast from his country, whose king he meant to kill.

Hunger has driven Eik to the seaside cliffs, where scrawny grasses manage to... well,not fluorish but survive, at least, thanks in no small part to the fog that rises off the water each morning. The pickings are slim and hard won, but make a far easier meal than skinning and eating a cactus. At first he does not notice the eyes on him, until they stare and stare and he slowly drifts toward them as he forages and eventually there is nothing he can do except to notice those strange, intelligent eyes. He meets them with his own depthless black gaze, and finally snorts with a shake of his head. "Yes?"

*
OOC:@Nizizi I hope this is okay <3 unfortunately Eik is a grump these days. feel free to throw Only at him if you'd prefer! Set in Solterra at some seaside cliffs.

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  to hear you call me companion
Posted by: Boudika - 04-18-2019, 08:16 PM - Forum: Arma Mountains - No Replies

WERE I IF I COULD, I WOULD ERASE YOUR ARMOUR RIGHT WHERE YOU STAND, BURNISHED HEAD TO HEEL BY SUN, A VERITABLE GOD. I WOULD TAKE THE SPEAR AND RETURN THE LYRE, but i can only stare at your golden back as you march off to the dance of war--

Boudika was angry, but it more; much more, than just anger. It was the kind of rage that closely resembled both desperation and grief and changed colour like a chameleon, blending one moment to one sentiment and then the next to the other. It was a rage that struck her to the core, wordless and strange. It was a rage that altered her very disposition, transforming her from sullen and brooding into a hurricane, a creature with flushed skin, disheveled hair, blood-shot and exhausted eyes. Oh, how she wished to be a force of nature; the very sort of think that wrecked indiscriminately, a force of fate and fight, unrestricted by the confines of mortal space or morality. Boudika wanted to be a storm and then, like a storm, she wanted to dissolve.

The injustice of this was the world did not reflect her tumultuous state. Instead, a placid serenity covered Denocte. Snow, an expansive blanket of white, encompassed the breadth of the territory. It was silent, aside the resolute crunching of her hooves as they broke through the crusted surface of the snow. It was at least a foot deep in most places, as a storm had covered the land the night before—a blizzard, even, that dusted the few trees in snow and ice. Last night, during her restless slumber and unfavored dreams, Denocte decided to refer her later mood of fury.  Perhaps there was irony there; perhaps something she could discern, had she the mind to do it. Perhaps. But there was no reason to discover that irony, when she was awake and furious. Her run had been hindered to the point it had become a walk. Thus she trudged, resolutely and with simmering rage, toward the mountain range.

It had been weeks, or months, since she had arrived on Novus—beaten by the sea, bruised and chaffed by salt and iron bonds. She had awoken somewhere on the Solterra coast and wandered until she met the old stallion, telling her of courts. Solterra had been too similar to her homeland; too brazen; too harsh. Boudika shunned those ideals, now, despite her boiling blood. So she chose, instead, to become a dancer.

That thought came tinged with bitterness. A dancer, chimed her thoughts. As though you have any right to be a dancer. She knew what blood tasted like. How it looked at it congealed, sanguine and dark, on a battle-torn beach. 

But those were not even her dreams, as of late. Her dreams were of Vercingetorix, with his dark head and alabaster body, dappled in glimmering, semi-translucent gold. She thought of him with his smile, with his soft whispers, with the way he had called her brother in a way more intimate than the word had any right becoming. You are my brother, he had said during the long days and nights when Bondike—not Boudika—had tended him. 

Brother, brother, brother. 

And then, when his feelings kindled for her--or him, as Boudika had been then, disguised always as Bondike--then, he was companion, and the word Vercingetorix used was full of love, a synonym, even, for a warrior who could not bring himself to say the sentiment. 

Boudika fumed. Boudika hated. She was so much a companion he betrayed her when her love came to light and, with it, her identity. Vercingetorix had shunned her—sudden vinegar and salt, a cruelty Boudika had always believed belonged only to enemies. 

Those were her thoughts as she climbed the mountains. Those were her thoughts as her muscles strained and her breath fogged the air and the frost froze to the winter-long fur on her chest and legs. Boudika was partaking on an odyssey. She thought, if only she could get far enough from the sea… if only she could surmount some obstacle, greater than she had ever known… then she would be free of him and his heavy ghost, all that it represented. He was in the back of her mind as an oppressive, vindictive shadow. He loomed like her island's devil, a cruel pagan thing, which whispered her transgressions. You were a woman among men. You pretended to be something you were not. You pretended to be good enough. And the cruelty, there, was that she had been. She had captured the Prince of a Thousand Tides. She had bound him for Oresziah--and they had banished her, sentenced her to death, sworn her away as an enemy against them.

All because of something she could not change. All because she was a general's daughter, rather than a son. 

The hours passed and the sun grew warm on her back, but did not melt the snow, nor Vercingetorix's shadow. She climbed the treacherous mountains until she found a cliffside and could see the whole of Denocte and then, and only then, did she begin to scream her rage. 

“Speaking.”
credits

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  ' ' you and me and all other people *
Posted by: Moira - 04-18-2019, 03:02 AM - Forum: The Dusk Court - No Replies

  
  
    Moira Tonnerre
  
  
    i will burn and burn and burn again, and you will come home safely
  
  
  
    We are here, we are here, we are here,

It is the drumming of her heart, the hammering of her thoughts. She can no more stop the words pummeling her from every direction, the plea of her blood reaching for him over and over and over than she can stop the moon from rising and the revelries from halting. No. The phoenix never could stop a party in full swing save for with the fire of her.

Somewhere, Florentine has slipped into the crowds, a goblet of wine quick to come to her, and amethyst eyes glittering wickedly.

Somewhere, there is a King who stamped his name on her heart as he stamped his name on so many letters between them and so many words left unsaid.

Somewhere, Neerja stalks the halls of Denocte to protect the people as Moira brought Terrastella's former sovereign home into the arms of her people.

And now, the phoenix burns. Flora had asked when it was she would set fire again, and her tongue begged to whisper soon, oh so soon. But she could not. Not when looking into bruised eyes that smiled too easily and yet held wells of emotions and stories and history that the Tonnerre girl hoped to discover one day. Those horrors, those pleasures, those memories are meant for the future, not the tittering of girls in front of a mirror.

Instead, she'd braided the golden girl's hair, the Time-girl's hair, and told her of the styles of her own house. The gowns. The towering hairstyles. The many braids. Oh, the glory of it all was almost ineffable, yet she told it all the same while Florentine had stroked Neerja. Much to Moira's surprise, the tigress let another touch her skin, let the two lost-girls comfort one another in a mirror and eye to eye.

That time has passed. Her own hair still hangs loose in its waterfall braid, showing sharp cheeks and sharper eyes. There is no point trying to go home now when the day has already waned into night, when exhaustion would make her vulnerable on empty roads late at night.

So she plucks up her own flute of champagne, simmering and smoldering and ready to combust, stalking through the crowds not as an Emissary, not as a healer, but as an artist whose soul screams and rages for that muse which it has been denied. As a jilted lover in a tragedy of her own making. Moira Tonnerre tips the flute high, lets its bottom reach for the heavens as glasses did once so long ago in another life of hers, lets it burn its way down her throat and burn alongside the fire and fury of her. Oh, there is warmth now in her glacial fire. Warmth and courage and endless feminine charm as she grabs another glass and grabs a brush.

The night is young and her heart is shattering even as it mends in the halls of Terrastella.


@anyone | "moira" "neerja" | notes: this was not supposed to happen ovo ; for the drinking & drawing festival part !
  

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  I once heard honest words;
Posted by: Asterion - 04-17-2019, 11:25 PM - Forum: Praistigia Cliffs - No Replies

in sunshine and in shadow



Asterion stands high upon the cliffs above the thrashing sea, his breath billowing out like a ragged spirit, haloed by the bonfire at his back. Above him, sparks leap up to meet the stars; below him the waves spill foam onto black rocks. It is silent but for the crackle of flame and snap of wood and the constant sighing of the sea. 

He is warm from drink and from the fire, from a night of revelry with the people he has come to love. But in this moment he is grave as he stands alone and the winter wind rakes its fingers through his dark hair. The king has only a moment before he must rejoin them; beside him is folded a scrap of rough paper, and in a rougher hand yet a wish is scrawled. Let me not fail them. 

If he desired, he could call up a creature of saltwater and magic to deliver his slip of paper to the depths below. But the bay only breathes in, deeply and greedily, tasting the salt and brine on his tongue like medicine, like sacrament. And then he presses his eyes closed and casts his wish to the water far below. 

It is already lost when he opens his eyes, but Asterion wills it to find the crest of a wave, to fill and sink and go to - where? He is wise enough to know, now, that no gods are listening; not Vespera, not No or Selke. Maybe there is some creature in the deeps who eats his fill desires each year on this night, but the boy does not think so. 

They are alone, for better or for worse. 

But he is smiling when he turns away, and the fire is warm against his face. There are others waiting and he nods his head to them but says nothing, only slips away until he is in the shadows once again, blue with snow and starlight. Halfway down the cliffs there is another fire, this one leaping and merry and full with song and companionship. For now he does not join them, only watches, caught with a happiness that feels keen and wistful as sorrow. 

Until a shadow red as the heart of the flames catches his eye, crossed with a strip of lightning like a kiss from a storm. 

Asterion is surprised to see her there, but more than that he is glad - he had wondered, after that day beside that pool so golden and so hot, whether she would stay or whether, like the little phoenixes, she was a wild thing, a drifting thing, a leaving thing. 

Only for a moment does he hesitate before going to her, leaving soft footprints in the softer snow, little moons to melt away. She is on the edges, her back to the pines; when he stops he reaches for her the way he might a doe with eyes so dark and wide as to hold the whole night in their reflection.

“Thana,” he says, but it sounds like wish. 




@Thana


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  a blazing, dead secret--
Posted by: Random Events - 04-17-2019, 11:12 PM - Forum: Arma Mountains - No Replies


bright, dead and falling to the earth 


For months the stars trapped on earth kept their eyes trained towards the stars trapped in the black web of night. For thirty nights they gathered at the highest peak in the mountains, their sides sides slick with sweat from the pilgrimage. For twenty-nine days they curled up to sleep in the alpine zone with rocks holding up their heads while they dreamed of darkness. 

It was on the last night of summer that their waiting was rewarded. 

On the last night, as darkness fell, when they all looked up gaunt ribbed and hungry, the stars in the sky looked back at them from the blackness and started to fall like rain. That night the moon wept and the black was alive with her silver sorrows. All the trapped stars knew that she was crying for them, crying because her children that were chewed out of her belly could never return.

They sang to her, their mother, they sang and they danced. Each movement they made said, we miss you and the words singing out of their mouth were we understand.

We understand. We understand. We understand.

Hour by hour the stars and the meteors fell faster and thicker until the sky above the tallest peak was more silver than black. Sometimes the sky almost looked like the moon rising over the sea, brightness for miles and miles. It was a brightness that promised to burn the eyes even as it blessed them. 

One star, chewed out from the darkness, looked down at the mountain as it was falling to the earth. It looked and it forgot to fall straight towards the sea. With a trail of silver it fell blazing and bright towards the mountain. 

The mountain trembled when the star dashed itself on the rock and moss. The entire word trembled with that bit of dead star even as it glowed as bright as the sun with white-fire for a single moment. The silence sighed--

And that star sat dead and cold on the mountain waiting for the trapped stars to turn their eyes back towards the earth and discover it's fresh gave.

The fallen star might be dead but it still had secrets to share. 





@Azrael is with all the shed-stars that have gone on a pilgrimage to the peaks of the Arma Mountains. They've been waiting for a month to see the meteor shower that the shed-stars priests have known about for years. When the night finally comes the weather is brisk with the bite of the coming autumn. The stars have been failing for hours and each hour is brighter with falling stars than the last. 

But then one stars falls to the mountain. 

Will Azrael will brave enough to explore the fallen star's grave? Might there be magic the dying star has to share before all the light of it finally dies?

Thread requirements: 1 reply, 500 words. Please tag the RE account in your reply.
How to tag this account: @*'Random Events' without the asterisk!
Once you respond, you may post to claim the quest EXP

I had so much fun playing with this lore <3

Enjoy! -nestle

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