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  when you've come this far
Posted by: Tuolouse - 9 minutes ago - Forum: Praistigia Cliffs - No Replies

home is behind the world ahead
there are many paths to tread

The crashing of the waves fill his ears, as the ocean reaches hungrily up towards them. Toulouse frowns down at it, and with a flick of his telekinesis he sweep his hair back and secures the bulk of it in a bun. A few stray curls still float around his face, irritatingly close to his eyes, but he can ignore those now. The ocean never has agreed with me…

He had been on an island only once before Novus, a small little thing that the locals claimed had treasure buried along his shores. His brother had laughed at the wind and the waves, and had playfully suggested they chop their manes off and rid themselves of the inconvenience. Toulouse had hardly believed he could be serious - cut off their hair? The hair they had spent years upon years growing out, and brushing, and plaiting, and imbuing with oils until it curled perfectly and bounced lightly against their shoulders - and in the end, they had reached an impasse, and the hair had stayed.

And it had taken them no less than a week to comb the mats and the dreadlocks that had formed out. In the end their manes had been remarkably thinner than when they had started; but their pockets were full, and his brother said it was well worth the sacrifice. Toulouse had not been so sure.

He shakes his head, brushing the strands from his face, and gestures out at the sea. “And how, pray tell, are we supposed to get from here to there?” The island bobbed like a ship out at harbor, and he was far less than confident in his swimming abilities. “You might be able to fly there easily enough, but I cannot.”

True enough, it would be a simple thing for her to fly there and report back to him… but that alone would be far too dissatisfying. No, Toulouse wanted to see for himself whether they were right or wrong.

@Juniper @redandblack


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  So we meet again
Posted by: Callynite - Yesterday, 08:34 PM - Forum: Eluetheria Plain - No Replies

A quiet, early day; that was what Cally thought in regard to the coolness of the morning. The air was fresh, and crisp, with a slight lingering chill that was already starting to warm up. Off of the eastern horizon, the first rays of sun was touching the sky, and splitting the heavens with the softest hues of color. Pinks, and red and purples as the dark black gave way to the dawn hues. A soft huff of a sound left the little female at that sound, not quite a laugh but almost there. A little dawn court doe purposely noting the start of dawn time. How ridiculous. She shook her head but shifted her shoulders, realigning her cloak over her shoulders. At her side, holding her cloak back slightly on that side, was the satchel that already contained a growing handful of berries should hunger strike her while she was out and about. Attached to the satchel, hooked through loops on either side of it rested her new bow, and a quiver full of arrows, mix-matched feathers adorning each of the shafts. To some it seemed chaotic, to Cally it was a useful system to tell the arrowhead tipped arrows from those that were merely sharpened branches.

The doe moved calmly through the plains, her head held high as she traveled, her frame slight and graceful like the doe she was before she hit this odd-half mix stage she was in now. Even after so long of being in the odd form, the doe still had a hard time recognizing it as her own. Her forehead was too smooth, her ears too small, and her coloration too new. But it was starting to grow on her. Instead of seeing what she once was, she was starting to accept the odd looks as her own, and as she did so, so was she accepting that growing darkness into her heart. That desire for revenge that had cut the druid off from her magic. That desire to show them that she wasn't going to sit meekly and become a horse. She was a doe first, and she'd remain that way.

So she held her head high, her eyes determined, and the set of her jaw gave no waiver to her pre-existing plans to make the gods rue the day the portal placed her in the world, and the magic placed upon this land corrupting and locking her own magic away. Whether it was truly the fault of the gods, Cally couldn't know . . . but she placed it firmly in their jurisdiction. It was their land, their land's magic. And it had corrupted what she had been. Twisting her appearance. Twisting her magic. And slowly, twisting the very doe into a creature some from her home lands may not recognize. Gone was the playful and caring creature she had been, and in its' place was a heavy hearted doe out for revenge for her stolen magic.

She was beginning to feel like she was walking on more steady hooves now that she was starting to gain back items formerly lost. Nothing was as strong and reassuring to herself as having a bow at hand. The gold and emerald engraved bow had been a gift, and a treasured one at that. The bow gleamed from a daily polish, the bow string oiled frequently to ensure a quick release when in use. Each arrow for the bow was crafted by Cally's careful hoof, not trusting others with what she considered to be a life-line to her past. It was a reassuring feeling, knowing she had a bow at hand - even if her magic was still kept out of reach. For now. Cally was determined to gain it back, and when she did . . . . all of Novus would know the wrath of a druid scorned, and the Gods would feel it as the quaked to their bones. There were many things Cally could function with out . . . but not that, not her magic. It's what had made her, her. And with out, the ex-druid was finding her heart darkening with negativity towards the gods, and only the tempering of that darkness with new friendships and small favors and gifts (such as the bow) was keeping the ex-druid from truly going dark.

But that's a topic for the future, Cally knew the task of reawakening the magic within her would not be an easy one, and until that day came she would continue to see what the world of Novus held, learn a little more about the land, which is what had led her to Eluetheria Plain on this early morning. She looked up at the sky, the sun starting to climb, beginning it's ascent into the heavens. Morning was upon her, the sky now shifting to the soft blues of day. The druid, sorry ex-druid, squared her shoulders once more before moving across the plains, keen eyes taking in every plant and burrowing creature she passed, but not pausing. She didn't know what had led her to choosing to come to the Plains on this day, but she was keen to explore it, and see what she could find.


Let's jump on the sun and ride it to tomorrow together, where everything is brighter and sure to be better.

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Posted by: Sebastian - Yesterday, 03:41 PM - Forum: Pending - No Replies

Character Application

Player: Elle
Referred By: 
Are all characters active? 
When was your last character approved? 
Have you filled out the "OOC Account ID" Field? Yes

Name: Sebastian
Age: 10
Birth season: Winter
Court: Dawn
Rank: Scholar

Health: 10
Attack: 10

Items: None
Incentives: Joining with restricted item Character Pass
Other: Passive magic approved by Sid.


i think i did this one right!

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  ager romanus
Posted by: Senna - 09-13-2019, 09:36 PM - Forum: The Dusk Court - Replies (2)

A prison. So the cuffs rising out of the waves carved onto the tombstone hadn't been symbolic. It had been literal.

Cautiously, Senna moved around the hollowed-out cavern and lowered his muzzle to the rusted iron bars of a cell. "Did you know about this place?" he asked absently, glancing over his shoulder at the spectral-pale form of Theodosia. 

Before he could meet her eyes, however, his gaze snared upon the two sets of hoof prints scored into the thick film of dust and ash. It looked recent, perhaps left just a few days before. 

He thought back to the skincrawling feeling of being watched when he'd stood over Santiago's upturned grave. He wondered, not for the first time, what sort of magic was required to make the dead walk again.

They moved further through the prison, peeking into every cell for scratches gouged into the wall, messages painted in blood. 

Sinister things, Senna thought, befitting of this ever darkening... hunt

It waited for them in the very last cell.

Another message—written in a dark, brackish liquid that looked suspiciously like yet strangely unlike blood—greeted them:
One great eye gazes out from the ocean.
Laid to waste by that which eats but has no mouth,
Always hungry, fed by those black of heart. 
Roman greensward west by south.

He read it over three times, silently, to himself. That which eats but has no mouth. The Solterran in him answered the riddle immediately: sand. How the sands of the Mors ate all that ventured within, bones and all, unless the traveller sated the desert's bloodthirst with a freshly killed sacrifice. A bird, a deer, an enemy. 

Or so the ancient legends said. He'd never tried it for himself, thinking it about as barbaric as he'd expect Solterran legends to go, and the Mors hadn't minded his transgression. 

The old man he'd bought the Halcyon scrolls off of had slipped a thin wedge of a book containing an account from a Deluminian explorer named Agreus, who had ventured to the abandoned Ager within the last few decades. In it, Agreus had recounted how the desiccated halls had been all but swamped with sand and choked through with invasive plants. Plants eat with no mouth, as well.

Turning back to the writing, he ignored the third line—black of heart could mean a vexingly many things—and read over the fourth and final line once more. Until—

"It's the Ager." The name had always struck him as vaguely familiar. 

["Ager Romanus: the old territory of the civilization who called themselves Romans. An ancient people believed to have originated far to the West of Scarab, though their existence has never been confirmed by scholars," read a passage he'd skimmed years ago, when he'd attempted to best Sova in tactics by studying the history of all the foreign nations he could unearth scrolls in the Great Library about.] 

Greensward—green field—west by south. The little island beneath Terrastella; which was, tellingly, the location of the Ager. 

There was no question about it. Like an ouroboros, the hunt was swallowing its own tail. 

Back to the beginning of all things.


The remaining stretch of beach, once they'd squeezed their way out of the abandoned prison, led quickly towards a passageway leading into the Terrastellan citadel. From there, they set off towards the island skimming the horizon, reduced to a black, craggy mass by the brilliance of the rising sun.

As they flew, Senna glanced weightily towards the Halcyon pegasus. They hadn't explicitly agreed to work together, and he certainly wouldn't go so far as to call it that, but what was to happen when they arrived?

Ever since the beginning Senna had known, despite Theodosia's feigned restraint, that she would never let him take Prudence peaceably. He wondered briefly if she knew of his arrangement with her Commander. But even then, that was between him and Marisol, not the Halcyon unit in its entirety. 

If it came down to it, he would not fight her.

"How long will your surveillance of me last, Champion?" he asked instead, voice insouciant as his brow arched upwards in feigned amusement.

What will you do once we reach the Ager?

@redandblack @Theodosia | "senna" nestor | notes: try as I might senna's clue posts always go on FAR longer than necessary please excuse me
rallidae | art

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  daphne burns down her laurel tree
Posted by: Boudika - 09-13-2019, 08:05 PM - Forum: The Night Court - No Replies

There is something very strange about approaching the castle for the first time with the intent of entering. Her hoof-steps sound too loud, resounding in the garden, clicking off the moonstone-struck cobblestones. Boudika feels small. 

The closet thing Oresziah had to a castle had been the Old Town, a collection of three or four buildings with two stories and dark, large stone architecture. There had been a library, and a Great Hall for occasions of state and politics. Boudika knows her sentence had been decided in the flame-lit alcoves of the Great Hall, with a number of stallions standing her judges and executioners, men she had served with and for, men she had known her entire life. 

However, the Great Hall was only a shadow of the Night Court’s castle. The keep is grand, but not in the way that the Great Hall had been grand. The Great Hall of her old life was dark, very dark, and abandoned by the gods that had once imbued it with magic—the stones had risen as though cutting at the sky, savage, glorious. An affront. A challenge. Defiance, in the form of architecture that did not bow.

 In contrast, the Night Court cuts a sharp silhouette, but not an unfriendly one. The warmth of firelight flickers along the stone from large torches, and flocks of small dragons take flight from the ramparts. The castle is the silent and watchful vigil of the Court itself; the solemn guardian that rises above the other buildings to stand protective watch. There are small intricacies that bely the building as Isra’s own; rubies where there ought to be flowers and beds of gleaming copper where there ought to be grass. Boudika walks into the magic, bare of all belongings save her trident. It is all she has

There are pearls on trees and crystalline formations budding from the roots where they rise and bump along the surface of the earth. A pathway weaves toward the entrance, with stones shined to the iridescence of nacre—or perhaps it is nacre? The path leads through tangles of night jasmine and evening primrose. There are moonflowers and gardenia Augusta and Japanese wisteria, blooming in the languid summer heat, and Boudika walks through the flowers as though she herself has bloomed from them. The scents—sweet, summertime—show her a world she has never known. 

There are trees with leaves that glint the colours of ammolite, gleaming like dragon-scales in the firelight. Boudika marvels at them, and their heavy fruits. She has never seen the castle look the same twice, even from a distance, and tonight is no exception. There are fireflies and luna moths, and a dusting of stars far, far above. In these tender, quiet moments, as she steels her courage… Boudika thinks of everything Caligo is. She thinks of the stories she has been told of a kind goddess, a fierce goddess, and she marvels at the land that worships a woman of darkness. She thinks of what Caligo’s siblings had feared, that the darkness over which she resided would consume her, and Boudika wonders if some kind of darkness had threatened her in the same way.

Boudika contemplates the goddess’ anguish, how she launched her world into years of night and turmoil. How her pain was so great, it afflicted all of Novus. Boudika thinks of how it was only for the wellbeing of her brothers—the very ones who caused her such great pain—that she agreed to end that everlasting night. 

It terrifies her to take another step. 

To do it, means she is letting go.

The night is silent around her. The weight of her trident is familiar, and comforting—but the thing she faces is not. It is the acceptance that she can never go back. To take another step, to reach the door of the great castle… means Boudika must acknowledge that she has moved on, that there will be no turning back toward her old life. This is it. She is staring forward. 

It is to say: Orestes is gone.

It is to say: I will never go home.

It is to say: This is my future.

And Boudika’s future, stretching out in front of her—with her new obligations, with her new community, her new family—is overwhelming. It is too much. It is unbelievable. This is never where she expected to be. No… she was meant to be in Oresziah… a captain, or a major, and now… she is in a world of magic and monsters and men she had never imagined, never even contemplated. But you never belonged there, a thought whispers to her. And it sounds like Orestes, as though he is beside her again, whispering through the bars of their shared prison. You were never meant to spend a lifetime caged. A lifetime in a lie. You were meant to be so much more. 

He’s right.

Boudika takes another step forward. And another. 

Then she is pushing open the castle doors, and stepping inside. 

"Speaking." @Isra

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  The Dawning of Solterra [SOVEREIGN AUDITIONS]
Posted by: Official Day Account - 09-13-2019, 05:19 PM - Forum: The Day Court - No Replies


searching the void

Two Months in the Future:

Solterra’s King is gone.

In the city the castle stands empty as a ruin. Its windows are dark. Across the face of the fortress are painted slurs directed at a violent, hated king. 

Yet all through Solterra whispers are spreading. They speak of the signs that have been appearing. One above the palace door that asks if any are strong enough to stand up and rule. And the other, in Mors Desert, where the sand swells and gathers like the waves of the sea. It swells and falls as though a great monster swims beneath. It tracks every creature that passes and rises before them, behind them, beside them, crowding them in upon every side. It traps them as it rises, great and monstrous. Its maw asks every traveller in a voice of slithering sand, ‘Are you brave enough to swallow the sand, sinking a peasant and rising a Sovereign?' The message is found spattered in blood across the arena of the Colosseum. Every time they clear the message it floods back as if all Solterra’s dead gladiators are pooling their spilled blood into one crimson question,‘The Solterran Seat is empty. Who is brave enough to fill it now?’

The pool in Vitae Oasis is restless. Water laps with sighs upon the banks, it hisses and bubbles and invites all to come and wash the dust from their skin. But harken, that water sounds as if a siren lurks within its depths, ready to drag down any who are foolish enough to step into the water. The Oasis pool watches those who come and gather and asks each one, just who might be brave enough to die a peasant and rise a Sovereign?

In the heart of the Canyon a teryr screams into the sky, day and night, over and over. Its cry forms the same questions, the same words: ‘is it you? Is it you? Is it you?’ You can search the whole of Elatus Canyon and never find the teryr that screams its gurgled cry. Its disembodied voice simply echoes and echoes and echoes off each and every wall.

Every single message is a call for all Solterrans and the whole of Novus. But no message is more striking than that within the heart of Solterra's Palace itself. For those brave enough to step within the black, emptiness of the castle’s keep, they will hear the lick and hiss of flame. Flames that make the throne room's windows glow an ominous flickering red-gold. It is a fire that lures all to where they consume the doorway into the throne room. The throne sits beyond them, vacant and still, illuminated by the flames that roar in open archway. The fire rises like a door, blocking all from entering into the throne room.

Guarding the blazing doorway a lion lies forged of raging sunlight. It’s burning eyes watch for any brave enough to heed the summons of water, sand and stone. It speaks to those who come, it laughs like a god and speaks like sand and water and stone. It is deafening and yet altogether silent. It asks in the mind of its beholder and throughout the whole court, “Solterra will burn the unrighteous. This fire is Solterra. Do you really believe you are called by Solterra? What makes you think that her fires will not burn you? Fools!'

And how those flames cackle and roar like the leonine sun until the throne beyond is obscured by fire and justice and vengeance.

That neither schools nor priests, 

Nor Kings may build again
A people with the heart of beasts

Made wise concerning men
Whereby our dead shall sleep

In honour, unbetrayed,  
And we in faith and honour keep
That peace for which they paid.

~Rudyard Kipling

The very earth of Solterra is calling for a new kind of monarch. Its throne has been tainted but Solterra is rising to reclaim its throne and its name. Stand up and prove yourself before the lion of Justice and walk through the fire if you dare. You will either become ash, or claim and throne and rise a mighty monarch appointed by Solterra herself.

Rules to Apply

Before filling out the form found at the bottom of the page, you must read the rules and guidelines below, as well as everything posted on this page! Please ask us if you have any questions or concerns at all!

  • Character Requirements:

    • You can audition both existing characters and brand new characters, however both are required to make an IC post responding to this post! This thread has been temporarily opened so that both OOC, pending, and accepted IC accounts may make their replies for the audition.

    • Anyone from any Court can apply.

    • Your character must be at least three years old.

    • You do not have to create a character account unless you are chosen. In the event that you are chosen as Sovereign, you will have 2 weeks to create your character's profile (it should be easy, since all of the information is already required to fill out the audition form).

    • You can try out with as many characters as you'd like! However, each needs a fully separate post and application in this thread.

  • General rules and requirements regarding Sovereigns:

    • Regarding Sovereign vulnerability: Sovereigns will be deemed Vulnerable if you make 10 IC posts or less per month (this means that it will be extremely easy for anyone to win a Challenge against you), and posted absences only make you immune for 2 weeks.

    • Sovereign activity requirements: To promote activity within their respective Courts, the Sovereign must setup 1 IC event every other season.

    • Once you are selected and your profile approved, your first duty will be to create a Court Rules thread in your respective Court forum. Read this thread for things you can do as Sovereign.

  • Regarding this audition:

    • All auditions are due by 11:59PM EST on 09/27/19. Novus-standard time is listed in the sidebar.

    • You must make an IC post replying to this post AND post the OOC audition form! Both must be included in the same post, with the IC post first and the OOC audition form underneath it.

    • Please, only reply to this thread if you are auditioning for Sovereign.

    • The IC post can have your own personal coding and art - but that will not affect the outcome.

    • All responses to this thread will be considered complete, whether they are actually finished or not. Please do not post Work in Progress auditions!

    • Please do not alter the OOC audition form itself. Although we love to see special coding and pretty pictures, we want to be as impartial as possible - and as much as we'd like to say we're fairly objective, special coding and pretty pictures can impress us! We want these to be bare-bones.

    • As you're filling out the audition form, pretend you're filling out an actual profile. Make sure you adhere to all Character Rules set out here.

    • We'll be judging on writing quality and how well your character fits into Solterran ideals.

If you have read through the rules, understand the requirements, and still want to audition for Sovereign, please make an IC reply to this post and put your completed OOC audition form (below) underneath it!

<button class="acc_ctrl"><h2>Click here to see this character's OOC audition form!</h2></button><div class="acc_panel">

<div class="tcat"><font style="font-size:20px; font-weight:bold;">About the RPer</font></div><blockquote><blockquote>

<span class="sidebarheaders" style="font-size:12px;">Thanks for auditioning! Let's start with your name.</span>
What is your OOC name?

<span class="sidebarheaders" style="font-size:12px;">Great! How old are you?</span>
How old are you?

<span class="sidebarheaders" style="font-size:12px;">Have you ever held a Position of Power before?</span>
Have you ever had any characters in a leading position, on or off-site? What did you like about it? What did you not like about it?

<span class="sidebarheaders" style="font-size:12px;">Have you read the Sovereign Rules?</span>
Yes/No - if No, please read the rules above and follow the links to the rules regarding Sovereigns and Courts

<span class="sidebarheaders" style="font-size:12px;">What aspect of Novus are you most excited about?</span>
Tell us something that stood out to you when you read the Guidebook, or something about the site in general.


<div class="tcat"><font style="font-size:20px; font-weight:bold;">Sovereign Questions</font></div><blockquote><blockquote>

<span class="sidebarheaders" style="font-size:12px;">Why would your character be a good candidate to lead Solterra?</span>
Tell us why your character would be a good choice to be Sovereign of this Court. Match up their ideals and values with Solterra and Solis. 

<span class="sidebarheaders" style="font-size:12px;">What would be their goals as Sovereign? What would they do with their new power?</span>
What are your plans for the Court? Do you have a vision for Solterra? What rules would your character set? Would they hold any events to garnish activity? If so, what?

<span class="sidebarheaders" style="font-size:12px;">You've got us convinced. Is there anything else you'd like to add?</span>
Here's your chance to add anything else at all!


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  ' ' one by one the ants go marching down *
Posted by: Juniper - 09-13-2019, 02:20 PM - Forum: The Dusk Court - Replies (1)

- - - 

The world spins as waters rise and bodies gather, it never ceases to spin, but for the pale goddess at the top of the shores, she seems to shrink away from crashing waves and endless ocean for but a moment. Green eyes avoid the great expanse, long, fluttering threads upon her head shiver and quake, but her feet move forward. A‌ trail along the cliff leads downward, zig-zagging back and forth, a saw-tooth track until those without wings are upon the sands.

‌ Although she has wings, Juniper uses the land like a crutch near the sea, clinging to rock’s edge until it scratches her dove-colored sides, until she is sure that she has reached the beaches below. Only then does the breath, pent up for far too long, the entire duration of her downward trek, come out in a great whoosh as she nearly gulps for more of the precious gas. Once the muscle within her breast stops racing, once blood cools and settles into niches and organs again, once the imminent threat of death at the hands of the great unknown passes, only then does the land-bound goddess seem to move. Vespera’s priestess is a sight in the sky, and equally fair on sand as she floats above it. Hoof prints mar pebbled surfaces, grains sullied and pushed too far down, leaving traces of those that come and go. They lead her to the single pair that enters into a cave so narrow her great, lovely grey and white wings must be tucked in tightly against sparrow-boned ribs.

‌ Soon, the passage ends. Soon, there is a light from somewhere that illuminates the pathway. Further back it goes, into the recesses, past cells, until only one is before her.

‌Footsteps behind alert the priestess his presence first, and then a horned man is near enough her shoulder in these confined spaces that she can feel his body’s heat. Green eyes tilt up toward him briefly, dismissing the wingless man to read the message left for them all.
    One great eye gazes out from the ocean.
    Laid to waste by that which eats but has no mouth,
    Always hungry, fed by those black of heart.
    Roman greensward west by south.
Brows rise up and she smiles, thinking of possibilities.

"Have you any idea?“ She asks innocently, dulcet tones a mixture of sweetness and curiosities, overlain with tones suggesting of something more. So few things rise from the ocean - but islands do. Oh yes, islands do. "We go to the end of these lands, to the bottom of the world. You’re recruited because I’ll need help and you’ll provide it if you’ve any interest of finding Prudence.”

@Toulouse @redandblack | "speaks" | notes: Well she just adopted him for this, onward and upward! we goin to the island at the end of dusk

rallidae | art

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  a litany
Posted by: Michael - 09-13-2019, 03:07 AM - Forum: Vitreus Lake - No Replies

I swear to god
I wasn't born to fight.
Maybe just a little bit.
Enough to make me sick of it.
A voice in the sun: a bird, or a fox, or the girl with the blonde hair that fell in curls around her shoulders - each scattered freckle was a star to wish on, each cheek a constellation from which you could never tear your eyes. The voice says, "come home. I know you are sad and you are guilty and your heart is dead lump of meat in your chest. Still you should come home."

So, here it is: home.
This jagged, bleeding wound. Another wound tossed on the wood pile to burn for winter.
Another mouth that grits its teeth. The voice says, "come home. I know you are a coward and you have been running."

The voice says, "I know you are a coward," and Michael knows in his heart that it is true. If fear is a church Michael is robed in silk at the pulpit, belting hymns at the top of his lungs. If reluctance is a bell his is clangorous and clear in the hazy summer, the one shard of him that is not smeared or splintered. It chimes in him day and night, and on this, the day he birthed again into the heart of summmer, it rings loud and fast (an alarm) with the pounding of his heart.

Michael does not know what he will find. He does not know what will be waiting. He knows only that he has been running his whole life and that he had run again though he doesn't know to where or from what - just that his most recent memories of Denocte are streets wreathed in flame, of a dragon with rage in his belly and a queen with rage in every bit of every cell. And Michael had run. Because Michael is a coward.

He is standing alone, baked honey gold in the sun, listless and heavy. His heart is a solemn prayer for peace. The voice in the sun says he is hungry. The voice in the sun tugs at his long mane and beckons him forward, but Michael cannot for the life of him will his body into motion. It is only when he sees her, dark against the grass and the lake reflecting the summer sky, that he remembers to breathe at all.

"Hey stranger," he mumbles through some attempt at a nervous smile. He is clawing desperately for something to hold on to, something that makes him feel real and brave and alive. He greatly doubts there are such things left in the world. "I'm... sorry. I went... away."
michael, a wound at the heart of the world

@Isra but anyone else is welcome to join :)

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  it's the thought that counts
Posted by: Corrdelia - 09-12-2019, 07:52 PM - Forum: The Dusk Court - No Replies

After the Court meeting, Corrdelia felt hollow inside. She had gotten to know Asterion better than Florentine or Lysander, but Terrastella still felt lonely without the three. The lingering emotions from her Court still clung to her. It's a mix of sadness, anxiety and some frustration, like the stages of grief in their own way. It makes her feel everything at once and it's a bit overwhelming.

Back at her home afterwards, she had sat down and started to craft. Hāsta looked on at her curiously as she wove some string and wire, wrapping stones and feathers together into a necklace. It almost resembled her own, but with different stones and no skulls. This necklace had a different purpose and would not be for her. In the end it still looked fairly crude as she wasn't the best at this type of work, but the thought would still count.

She carries this necklace with her today as she makes her way back towards the Court keep with Hāsta flying overhead. Corr has a good feeling about it and being able to find Marisol somewhere here. The woman is bringing the necklace as a small gift since it's the least she can do to try and help. As much as she wishes her magic was stronger, it doesn't quite have the capability of changing someone's emotions just yet. She's still working on that, so for now, gifts are all she knows.

When she makes her way toward the citadel, she can see the cliffs in the background, reminding her just how beautiful this land is. The sun continues to shine down, still in its strange not-setting state. It certainly makes the summer even stronger with the bright light and heat, so she left her cloak at home to keep cool. Thankfully, there is decent shade inside and the stone walls provide a sense of coolness.

As Corr suspected, she sees the figure of Marisol a little further down at a window. She does not know the woman too well yet, but perhaps this will be a good a time as any.

"Marisol," she calls, trotting over to the newly appointed Sovereign. The gift necklace hangs around her neck over her own and the stones make a clacking noise while she moves. Hāsta perches above them on a light post, deciding not to be very involved.

"How are you doing, dear?" she asks and offers a warm smile to the other mare. Corr figures she'd check on her first before giving her a gift in case it turns out not to be an appropriate time. Either way she hopes the woman isn't feeling too overwhelmed today.

@Marisol <3

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  and after all that I've been told;
Posted by: Asterion - 09-12-2019, 05:14 PM - Forum: The Dusk Court - No Replies


“Perhaps there is,” he tells his companion, and thinks that maybe it isn’t such a bad thing, to have mysteries yet in the home he’s made. He is not so arrogant to think he knows all of Dusk’s secrets, and if there is some great eye, watching from the sea - how is he to see it?

They walk together toward the heart of the court, and the grasshoppers make their summer music, and the wildflowers nod their heads as the two pass by. The king is open to talk, and as content to travel in amiable silence; if the cast in his dark eyes is curious when he looks her way, he says nothing of it. He’s glad for the company, glad for the assistance in these riddles - even if it means he must ignore, for now, the concern and disdain that had colored Mariol’s voice when she mentioned all the strangers sure to descend on Terrastella.

Cirrus is off somewhere, hardly a wisp of white amid the blue, but her voice cuts clear across their connection. The volcano looks a little like an eye.

They are walking southwest, and the cliffs are beginning to level into beaches, and the inner continent is a map of green rolling away from them all the way to the swamp. But the stallion pauses, to look out over the water, and there in the distance is the green smudge of island, the shoulders of a peak a dark suggestion and nothing more. I’ll take your word for it, he thinks back, wry, but his heartbeat quickens just a little at the thought his guess might not be so far off.

Soon (too soon, as he normally when coming in from the fields and cliffs to the maze of the city, though the hunt has him more eager) they reach the borders of the capitol. The roofs make their own rough line against the sky, and the sound of the sea is not far away, quiet as a sigh.

Asterion pauses, and almost touches Camillia’s shoulder - instead he offers her a little smile, and nods toward the city. “I think we’d best split up here,” he says. “I can begin at the keep - if there’s anyone black of heart they’d likely be there, where the politicking happens.” For a moment his expression slips into a grin, but when he meets the mare’s eye then (so dark, those eyes; a void) he wears nothing but sincerity.

“Good luck, Camillia. I hope I’ve not led us too astray.” And with a last nod he turns away, running at a smooth canter until he’s swallowed up by the sun-drenched, sea-smelling buildings of his court.

king of dusk.

@redandblack @Camillia asterion in and asterion out! a pleasure threading with you, I can't wait to see where she goes <3

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