Music thrummed and carried through the air like the constant echoing scream of a banshee. That was, at least, how it seemed to the golden ears that seemed habitually flattened against Illo's golden skull. Diamond eyes flashed with the cold sincerity of distaste as she moved from the all too wanton and carefree dancing of complete strangers that surrounded her. It wasn't exactly that she disliked being around people. No, that would be the fault of the permanent being that rested in the back of her mind, scraping languidly at the veil of power that trapped the dragon in there. What irritated her dragon, often irritated her. So, with the clank of metal on cobblestone, she made a not-so-silent retreat from the street and ducked her scale covered head into a nearby tavern.
She determine the tavern was sufficiently empty, compared to the streets littered with half-drunk equine that seemed determined to either waste their money on more alcohol or ware that were more often than not, worth far less than was half-drunken equine were willing to pay. Her onyx tail slithered behind her, the sound of rock on wood perhaps not giving her the elusiveness she'd hoped. Indignant of the sound, she moved along the wall and found a corner table. Perhaps she was growing tired of the bustle far faster than she'd thought? Her hope was that a few drinks might change her mood.
These days, Illo didn't exactly have much to be happy about. Her kingdom was long gone and unknown to anyone she'd met in these lands. She'd learned early on that she didn't have the control of her dragon form, as she had before. Now her dragon lay trapped beneath the skin, constantly itching for release and Illo unable to supply her with it. There was, deep down, this ache for something familiar and she somehow knew she wouldn't find that here. No, nothing was going her way lately. Nothing seemed to inspire her the way she'd been before coming here. Her fierce nature was starting seem more like that of a crochety old mare, than it was anything like the fiery determination of a ruler with a plan it used to be.
So she brooded. Her pale gaze was cold and icy toward anyone who held it. She ordered, barely uttering beyond a whisper to do so. She'd started off today feeling awkward and unsure of her place in these lands or how to socialize with these strangers. Now, however, she was coming to life; just not the way she used to. Her ire was closer to the surface than her dragon and she was beginning to lose track of just who it belonged to.
i'm not a fortune teller
don't have a crystal ball
i can't predict the future
can't see nothing at all
There is a point in anyone's day, that they just need to wander.
Caelum had hit that point about five customers ago, who had the audacity to ask if she really knows that her tea only has the freshest ingredients. The look on their face as she quietly smiled, pulled out herbs from her satchel at her feet, casually pushed them forward, and explained as gently as she could that tea is made with dried herbs was obnoxious. He then had the audacity to further question if she could guarantee that the teas where what she advertised.
She had smiled wider, her eyes narrowed.
She had chopped the lemongrass, rose petals and eucalyptus in front of him, packaged it all up to be brewed in a cup, and kindly told him how he could have that package for free if he didn't stop by her booth again for the rest of the festival. She had a sneaking suspicion she wouldn't see him in her shop either, but the fae didn't mind. It had been the last bothersome interaction she could handle, however.
So she had left her little stall.
She glided through the air, fairy dust left in her wake, her smile soft, quiet, that slight painful clinch in her eyes visible as she flew through the heart of the festivals that brought a melancholic, bittersweet feeling to her heart. To be part of a festival where fae weren't dancing and laughing freely just felt so wrong. But she didn't pause, didn't hesitate, even as those purple hyacinth that had been growing in her hair since she stepped into this festivities, didn't stop appearing, didn't stop bleeding petals. She had faith few would see the flowers, and know what they meant in regards to her mood.
Arriving at the slower festival tents, her ears perk at the sounds of disenchanted individuals.
Words of complaint and skepticism, all because a fortune teller had told them what they hadn't wanted to hear. Her curiosity was perked, and it wasn't long for her to find the tent that must have caused them such distress. The fae hesitated before touching hoof to ground, wincing at the volley of flowers that sprang up as soon as her hooves made purchase. Ignoring them, the summer fae approached the opening to the tent, her hoof gently wrapping against a hard piece of wood, careful to not knock the tent down, but also garnering the attention of the teller inside.
She felt that awkwardness settle, an emotion the fae hadn't felt for a long time.
She stood still, iridiscent wings folding against her back, with a final shower of fairy dust that seemed to encourage the flowers that grow where her hooves step, forming a small circle around her, bluebells, and yellow zinnia. Small sprigs of oleander surrounded by white poppies and dark crimson roses. All intermingling with that purple hyacinth that grows so strongly, even in her own hair.
The fae gently shifts back ivory hair, a slight smile on her muzzle as she garners the other's attention.
"I apologize for the intrusion, I do not see a sign declaring if you are open to visitors at the moment? I was wondering if you would have the time for a simple reading. I don't need much . . ." There's a pause, her hoof scraping against flowers, pulling up a few, "I don't even know what I would ask . . . " She laughs then, the sound shier than she normally exhibits, proof of how uncertain she is, how she's second guessing herself for her curiosity that led her to approach.
She looks down, her heart swaying, before she found her voice again.
"Perhaps I'm just lost . . . and have only begun to realize I need to search for answers." The fae looks up again, brown eyes warm in that storm-tinted face, "Oh, I'm being so rude, asking for services with out even introducing myself. My name is Caelum . . . Caelum Knoxx . . . and well, like I said, I'm not even sure why I'm here . . . just that . . . it seemed right?" Still she kept at the door, not about to intrude with out permission.
Even as she hoped some answers may await her inside.
Throughout history, Spring has always been a harbinger of change and growth, it was no exception that a new founded festival was equally promising of prosperity and progress. All four courts – Solterra of Day, Terrastella of Dusk, Denocte of Night, and their host Delumine of Dawn – would gather together in hopes of kindling lifelong and healthy relationships with citizens of every walk of life.
Thomasin was surprised she managed to send her rsvp card, as she was a wreck at social events.
It was so hard to grab anyone’s attention, not because Thomasin wasn’t any less interesting than any of the passerby’s, but because she had grown so talented at invisibility; she was just a wallflower, a paper butterfly, a scholar of camouflage. This songbird had viewed the entirety of her life behind a cage, and with sudden freedom, she often found herself yearning to be back behind bars.
Life was easier there, where daydreams reigned supreme, where monsters are just shadows in the corner of a dark room and are effortlessly chased away by daylight.
The lamb was learning that outside the safety of her boundaries, monsters walked both at day and night.
Yet, she had also learned that monsters weren’t always wicked.
There were gentle monsters.
With a soft shake of her head, all thoughts and whims of monsters and maidens were dispelled, her attention returned to the finishing touches of her pastry stall. No banners or tapestry hung from the framework, for swaying linens were a fire hazard, and in the back sat a brick, pit-style oven. A few racks across a bed of coals, very simple tables up front with ornate tin trays that had been thrifted from the Night Markets. Thomasin had forgotten about a sign to advertise, or even a jar to collect donations, for she had been too carried away making sure she had stocked enough flour and sugar to get her through the length of the festival. The only décor was a glassware vase filled with nettle and wildflowers – ready for candying – and a plate with butter, honey, and a spreading knife.
“Cakes – “she’d offer, her voice a mere shiver in the wind, cold colored eyes clouded by heavy downturn lids. “Savory or sweet.”
Occasionally, she’d catch the attention of a foal, who would come over wide-eyed and wet-mouthed, and Thomasin’s heart would ache with a longing she was unfamiliar with. A warm smile on her pink lips as she hands them one of each, encouraging to eat them while warm, and watching as they bound off with fuller bellies and enlarging grins.
With a swat of her lion’s tail, she’d sit, enjoying the quiet tune of a lyre while watching the festival goers indulge in all the kingdoms had to offer.
jealousy, turning saints into the sea
swimming through sick lullabies, chocking on your alibis
but it's just the price i pay, destiny is calling me
open up my eager eyes, 'cause i'm mr. brightside
The atrocity that was this stallion's behavior was alarming. Vreis had been watching it from some time, the way the pretty dappled, veiled creature had seemed to want to run away, the way she had behaved. That poor man was NOT winning any brownie points with her. In fact, he was falling apart SO quickly, he was surprised she hadn't slapped him and ran away. But finally she did seem to give up, make an excuse. He could see the panic in her eye however, looking around, clearly not seeing the support she was searching for. Which meant now was as good of a time as any. The stallion paused, before turning in her direction, clearing his throat when he approached, expression gentle, concerned, his onyx eyes shining with compassion, "Forgive my intrusion miss, but I couldn't help but notice that . . . . interaction with the tall, pebbled fellow. Are you alright?" The knight was concerned, instincts budding up to offer her reassurances, even while in the back of the mind, the corrupted rebel leader was pondering on how he could turn this in his direction.
"I promise, I'm not out to shower you with uncalled for gifts, and force my attentions upon you. I'm just a knight passing through, who can't help but want to help protect a lady in distress." He adds, a touch of earnest to his tone, trying to keep her from assuming the worst on his approach, quickly dropping his head, "You can call me Vreis, I'm afraid my full name carries no weight in this world. Do you have a name I can call you by?" He had been close enough to here her pause, and having come from a world that feared magic, he knew the power behind a name, and had already altered his interactions accordingly, to soothe the peace, "Can I treat you to a tea, just long enough to see if that stallion loses focus on you? I'd hate to leave you alone, for him to approach again. There is many a merchant selling alcohol, and as a stallion myself, I am well aware of what alcohol can do to a mind. I promise to keep my muzzle to myself, and let you lead the conversation as well." He adds, still making sure to keep the space he had given her when he'd stopped a distance away, enough room for her to safely bolt away from him (if you ignore how fast he could move if he truly chose).
He grins then, youthful, boyish, and playful, "Though, I won't be shy to admit not minding sharing company with a pretty mare," He adds, his tone playful, light, winking to try and pull a smile from her, to see her relax, to see her loosen up, "Being a body guard until you feel certain that stallion won't encroach upon your person will certainly be no hardship to me. Pick a place, and place for a drink, or a meal; and I'll pay. If you would rather I leave, just say the word, and I'll be happy to do that as well." He promised, dipping his head towards her, waiting from that distance away for her to make the decision, all while keeping that friendly, boyish and charming smile upon his muzzle.
"Speech" Thoughts
@Torielle Notes: He's trying to be upfront about his purpose for approaching, while also trying to get her to relax by teasing her a bit. Fingers crossed he is playing his hand right haha, and will help her see stallions are awkward, not bad :P
do you believe in reinarnation?
'cause i thought i saw your soul
I have made it this far throughout my exploration of this stupid place.
As I moved deeper, I avoid certain areas - alters for the gods, filled with gifts and snacks. The individuals spouting gospel like it was meant to make their world seem easy to comprehend. Just in general the whole mess of bullshit, if you ask me. But, I'm biased against the idea of loving gods. What god loves me so much to make me live through lifetimes of pain and loneliness. But, I was curious. I hate being curious, it usually leads me to pain, to hurt. Curious if someone looks as nice as they seem - you make a friend that doesn't last into your next life. Curious if that stallion's hair is really as soft as it looks, three life time laters you'll wake up with the desire to run your muzzle through it, but not only does he not know you, he's married to another.
Yet, I've always wondered if I am a glutton for punishment.
So I approach the shop slowly, staring at the maiden who apparently can read the future with some sort of silly cards. She's with out a patron at the moment and I hover for a moment before I walk in. I've never thought to enter a place, why should I. Most are hacks, few could look at me and feel the age of my soul, could properly read what I've been through. What I've experienced. They just give the usual bullshit of 'love is around the corner' and 'you'll be rich and happy.' So as I stare with her in skepticism, it's not that I'm skeptic of the craft.
I am skeptical of her.
I enter with a slow swish of my hips, my shawl sitting just right on my shoulders, stupid gems and chains bouncing against my chest and face. You know how to use those, for real? I ask, uncertain now as I enter closer. I take a steadying breath, and suddenly, I feel as old as my soul, as if I've been dragging myself for years upon years (which in a way I had, I am one of the very first horses). I settle down across from her, Prove it. I challenge with out hesitation, my eyes locked onto her as if in a battle of wills, Prove your craft to me . . . I'm tired of always being disappointed. Not just from fools, but disappointed in life, disappointed in never dying, disappointed in never being allowed to have others remember me in another life. Never being able to forget the others in my next.
I hate how tired I've grown to become.
FROM THE MOUTH INSIDE THE MIND
@Nefertari Notes:: Yessssss
flashing and dancing on the horizon
shades of jade and emerald
The mare’s teal eyes were wide as she moved through the realm. She was so unused to not seeing shadows swirling around her hooves, to not be guarded and forced to the the proper lady that her sire wanted. She had been keeping her head down, trying not to draw attention. Grisha and Rhysand had even split up a bit to try to attract less attention.
She missed her brother, her twin. They were two halves of the same whole, but they needed to find themselves before they could be the pair that they wanted to be. Last she had spoken to Rhys, he had found the magic once again. There was a part of the mare that was dreading her own magic coming back to her as well.
As much as she was happy to be alone, to be away from her past, she missed being around others. Missed being part of a court that was thriving. She had spent so much time in the autumnal court of the fae that being out of it was hard. Flicking her tail, she headed out into the world.
She had heard of a festival, some sort of event being held in dawn. Even though she was in dusk, she wanted to go. And being as stubborn as she was, that meant she was going. Grisha traversed the courts and entered the festival grounds. There was music and chaos all around her. The music was magnetic, pulling her further.
Finding the source, she stood under a torch as the night fell around her. The flickering flames danced along her pelt, melting her shadows into chocolate and turning her copper red. The vibrant white stripes that danced along her form brightened as she swayed and hummed along with the music.
Posted by: Leto - 02-23-2022, 05:37 PM - Forum: The Dusk Court
- No Replies
These violent delights have violent ends
The salt of the ocean is still upon her. Dry and crystalline, it gleams like pearl. Above it, across her torso, are her painted sigils. Each time she rises out of the sea, monstrous, beautiful, she lays the white paint upon her skin as it dries. Every sigil whispers of ancient magic. There is a story of her people woven into all the swirls of paint.
The ocean roar fades to a whisper. Like a bonded it rages up across the beaches. Grasping, reaching, crawling its way after the girl it made, the girl it helped drown within its depths. Leto does not look back toward it. Not as the sound of his furious breakers fades to but a whisper. The cliffs of Terrastella are behind her, she has climbed and woven her way between them and only the citadel lies before her, shadowed by the gloaming.
Moonlight bleeds down across her torso. The stars blink awake and turn their white-hot faces to her. Her magic commands them and they obey. They tremble in their expanse of endless black. They rage and they keen. Like the sea.
The swamps groan as she passes them by. Upon the trees are the carvings of her people. The carvings she also made as a star-king beneath the wanton eyes of a once-king. But he had failed her, like they all do.
She reaches the gates of the citadel and lays her wants before the guards:
An audience with the king.
They pause, they are too slow and her lips twist into a terrible, radiant smile. The bells in her hair, the bones, they each toll. A warning, a calamitous warning. “I won’t wait.” And, oh, her star-bright eyes begin to glow. She is part star, after all. And so their fires alight in her blood and across her slim body she begins to glow. It is a warning as the stars above begin to rattle in their celestial places. This kelpie will pull each and every one out of the sky until they let her in.
And they do.
Steaming she moves toward the throne room. For she has known it all before. She has come before Solterran kings and queens, back when her teeth were blunt and clutching herbs and since they have turned wicked sharp holding stars, holding bones and flesh within their grasp; she is now the most monstrous thing within the Terminus Sea.
And when she reaches the throne room doors, when each door is opened for her she stands within their frame and says, softly, “Your Majesty.” And oh how those words snag and bleed upon her canine teeth.
@Liam
jealousy, turning saints into the sea
swimming through sick lullabies, chocking on your alibis
but it's just the price i pay, destiny is calling me
open up my eager eyes, 'cause i'm mr. brightside
Have you ever felt like the world was a lost cause. Like you had lost your way and couldn't remember the path back to where you were now. How the shadows you had long ignored are closing in, and you start to wonder when they had begun to meld with you? Somewhere along the way, this has become the season my life was in. The shadows I had valiantly kept back at sword point had become entangled around me. Whispering seductive notes of the power I can wield, the command I am given. It promises me greatness, it promises me more power, even as I feel my limbs buckle beneath the stress, the sheer weight of it all. But that rush is addicting. It is consuming. And I've grown to hide the quiver of my limbs. I hide the hesitation in my eyes. I hide the struggle to not give into the power, the command, the ill-earned gains this ability has garnered me.
It started out so honorably too. A cast aside knight, abandoned and branded a traitor by his King and Lord. Truly branded. I remember standing still and proud as the scar was branded into my skin, marking me for treason on charges I was innocent of. I had trusted my king, had ignored the cries of a woman I loved dearly, but was honor bound to deliver for witch craft. And instead of the apology and gentle reassurances that everything would be okay, that I did the right thing - I was vilified right next to her. My honor cast aside, my future in shambles, and most of all - my beloved King branding me and outcasting me.
The Rebellion had started simple enough. Like minded individuals who knew our King was wrong. And I had rose to the challenge, a former knight who would lead the rebellion to victory. But the weight of that leadership came heavier than I was ever prepared for. Power is all corrupting . . . and I've grown fond of the corruption. More than that . . . I do not believe I can escape it. He had the chance, when Ard and Erd had left; to turn his cheek, to let them go. But pride demanded the portal be rebuilt, no matter the costs. Pride demanded that he catch those who would abandon him. His birds had been just like his King, tossing him aside, abandoning him, forsaking him.
And he'd followed them. But now, he had been in Novus long enough that some of that corruption had lessened. With out those who you hold power over, the power is no longer so heavy on your mind, on your shoulders. And for the first time, the stallion felt a sense of peace as he relaxed beneath a tree in this grassy plane, all creams and browns despite the spring time that had snuck up in Novus. Large bison travelled in a massive herd many, many yards away, and the beast was content to just stand and watch, to simply feel the wrold around him.
Had he not sought revenge, could he have found a peace like this at home? Or was this special to this land? Did he even deserve peace? When so many of the citizens he swore to defend were hurting beneath the rule of a tyrant. Even now, settled, and relaxed, that poisonous power plagued his mind, prodding him to return, to take command, to take control, to take the thrown. To be powerful, all powerful, the most powerful . . . So Vreis stayed where he was, least he give into these poisonous thoughts that would further his undoing.
"Speech" Thoughts
@Liam Notes: Still figuring out much of his personality :D
let everything happen to you, beauty and terror, just keep going, no feeling is final
As he stands within the crowd, he remembers a girl who ran through a festival in Denote. She has ribbons in her hair, red as fire and gold as sunlight. As she ran she pretended she was a phoenix and ate from all the sugar stalls. To think of it, to remember it, brings a deep ache to the once-monk’s chest. When they disappeared, he went looking for that girl and never found her. The worlds were too vast, the times too eternal. She was gone.
So was his past.
Slowly Tenebrae rises up, out from his memory and lets this new festival, in another court, surround him. Spring scents, spring life is all around. Children still run, but none are like her… that child he almost began to see as is own, such was his love, his affection for her.
Yet like all things, that was gone too.
Tenebrae drowns in the noise, the feel, the taste of this new festival. He turns his unseeing eyes to Verenor. The peak would tower above them all, shrouded in black. As he stands, he waits, but he does not know for what. His heart is a heavy, broken thing, bound together with fraying string.
let everything happen to you, beauty and terror, just keep going, no feeling is final
The hazy golden light of lit torches illuminating stalls, fought off the moonlight as it ran along the cobbled path. Light lived and breathed and swirled and danced over the path as hundreds of feet passed along between the vendors’ booths. Tenebrae moves with the tide. Though he has been released from his pledge as a monk and a soldier, there is no freeing him from a life which has ingrained the behaviour into him. So he passes every stall that gleams with jewels, mysterious wares, arts and magics and sweet foods. Children run around him with sugar coated lips, smiles widening their mouths. He does not look to any of them, but his shadows sweep in, a shawl about his shoulders, draping along his spine in perfect, veiling black.
At the end of the row, pushed back, away from the fires, the dancing, the shouts of bartering, there is a line of stands. No, altars. Upon them are gifts to each of the five gods. There is only one that interests him and in ominous silence he walks to it. Jewels and foods and flowers all lie around her altar. He sees none of it.
Tenebrae had not seen the stalls, the lights, the children, the trinkets, the altars… He sees, nothing. His silver eyes are sightless, filled brimful with Caligo’s punishing magic, bestowed upon him by his brothers. This was her curse upon a man who was supposed to love her and honour his brothers above all others. But the heart, he has learned, is a wayward thing.
His shadows crawl to their creator’s altar, smother it in black. Like worship, like sorrow, like silent apologies. Before them Tenebrae stands sightless, trapped in the black of his own body. Always engulfed in his own darkness, his own shadows. In such darkness he can only think of her. That is why her monks took his sight.
Music thrummed and carried through the air like the constant echoing scream of a banshee. That was, at least, how it seemed to the golden ears that seemed habitually flattened against Illo's golden skull. Diamond eyes flashed with the cold sincerity of distaste as she moved from the all too wanton and carefree dancing of complete strangers that surrounded her. It wasn't exactly that she disliked being around people. No, that would be the fault of the permanent being that rested in the back of her mind, scraping languidly at the veil of power that trapped the dragon in there. What irritated her dragon, often irritated her. So, with the clank of metal on cobblestone, she made a not-so-silent retreat from the street and ducked her scale covered head into a nearby tavern.
