Although usually measured in increments of distance, Thomasin - the budding dryad - would measure this quest not by the number of footsteps, or the hours that would pass, but by counting how many times she would fall apart in a meltdown.
The first time? She cried over tripping over her own feet as she scaled the treacherous heights of the Arma Mountains – the fall had scraped up her knees and knotted the length of her tail. She persevered through the tears, decided to braid her tail to keep it out of her way, kissed her own boo-boos like her father would have, and then set out to continue her journey.
But shortly after the sun slipped away to sleep, she found herself in tears again as the wind had extinguished her torch and left her alone in the dark; even though she was a Denoctian and naturally enamored with the night, the unfamiliar territory had rendered her terrified, so she had snuck under the gargantuan roots of an ancient tree, curled up and cold, a sniffling and weeping mess until morning had come.
As daylight breached, she chose courage – what little she could muster – and pushed herself to reach Terrastella. The lamb’s map was muddied by the flurries of snow that trickled from the clouds, and she found herself in the bordering tree-line of a vast field. The sky was a pillow soft gray, but it was soon giving away to a bleached, sunny sky. The snow had stopped falling, leaving these fields in a ladled blanket of white.
Like a deer with an innate sense of doom, she waited in the shadows of the winter brush, quietly watching. Thomasin knew better than to just walk out into the open, especially when she was such a sickly, fragile thing. She had to be still and observant before crossing the wide -
A large growl caught her by surprise.
Alas, it was only the festering hunger of her own stomach.
With a sigh, she peeked back to the basket she was carrying. She had forgotten to bring herself rations for the trek, but to be fair, she was supposed to have been in Terrastella last night. And, obviously, that didn’t happen. In fact, the bread was supposed to be a gift to a friend she had promised to visit. A pang of guilt flicked her heart as she longed for the meal so conveniently laid out for her. “A bite won’t hurt,” she whispered.
She tore the loaf in half, admiring the structure of the crumb she had created, before the water began to well in her overcast eyes. The crust was perfect, the sponge inside soft and simple – though no longer warm – still delicate, still smelling of yeast, rosemary, and salt.
Vampires probably wouldn’t like bread anyways. Stupid choice.
Thomasin bit her lower lip in a desperate attempt to stifle herself, her ears pinned to the back of her head as she caved to take a bite. With each bite, a fat tear ran down the curve of her toffee-colored cheeks.
A bit lost, and eating the gift she was supposed to have brought last night, she felt very overwhelmed.
A flock of birds had abruptly seized her attention, and not wanting to be selfish, she chose to start tearing up the remainder of the loaf.
“At least someone will appreciate my bread.” She mused quietly, a pained smile growing on her rose petal lips. She softly called out to the birds as she began tossing pieces, “I have plenty to share – “
The distance between Denocte and Terrastella was, approximately, three meltdowns.
☾✩☽
"talking."
tagged: @Odile - and anyone else feel free to join!
I'm ready to bleed to make amends And sleep in this dirt we call our bed So tell me your secrets And join me in pieces
To fall and rewrite the bitter end
His breath came in visible huffs and puffs. Even in this strange cold climate it was necessary to stretch his muscles and burn off energy. He could feel his fitness growing. There had been no open spaces to run at home. No places like this, where it was safe, free and open. It was a freezing winter night and the warmth of the court was a welcome one. He carefully shook a few twigs and grass from his body before stepping inside.
The buildings of Novus continued to take his breath away. There was much to learn about his new home. He was eager to learn more about the deity that was responsible for these lands. There was surely some connection or reason that the volcano had chosen to eject him to this very place? To this very herd? Perhaps life was more random than that, just a random connection of circumstances. Everything Aeon knew about the world was challenged daily on Novus. There was magic and mystery at every turn.
He had heard others praising and worshiping Vespera here. But he still wasn’t entirely sure who or what that was. He gazed over paintings, statues and art decorating the inside. Perhaps someone here would be able to help put together the information for him. He still hadn’t learnt how to read the written language that those on Novus used. He hoped that soon he would get to learn that and more!
ooc: @Odile - sorry its a bit brief! Trying not to waffle <3
I'm ready to bleed to make amends And sleep in this dirt we call our bed So tell me your secrets And join me in pieces
To fall and rewrite the bitter end
The chill in the winter’s night whipped his sensitive healing flesh. Patches of charred skin could still be seen clinging onto his skin. It was healing, gradually. It would be some time before the true appearance of the growing colt would be seen. His feathers remained ragged but fewer, they had steadily been falling out. He didn’t miss them. They were a reminder of his continual struggle for survival. He had seen the mountains in the distance, some bizarre yearning for familiarity had pulled him towards them. He didn’t miss his previous situation, but he missed the structure he had built for himself.
He had spent his days fighting for survival, scavenging for food and avoiding the ire of his superiors. He was a blight to his herd - incapable of flight. Unable to rise high into the sky to meet his kin truly. He rarely wondered how possible it would be to fly back when his feathers regrew and his wings caught up to his body size. He hadn’t bonded with them particularly, due to being ostracized. It didn’t make for good relationship building.
He found himself meandering and picking his path carefully amongst the loose rocks. He wanted to stand on the top of the mountain and get a better view of the landscape. Of what else Novus had to offer. Or perhaps to imagine with the roaring wind what it might like to fly. He wasn’t sure how much he’d be welcomed in this particular place. He hadn’t made any contacts that were anything but friendly. Social interactions weren’t really his concern at this moment.
He stopped for a break halfway up the mountain. His lungs were used to climbing the lower ledges of his previous home; but the frozen and slippery landscape made the trek much more difficult and precarious. This mountain was almost the direct opposite of his previous home. Frozen and chilly, reaching very high but climbable to those that were brave enough.
I'm ready to bleed to make amends And sleep in this dirt we call our bed So tell me your secrets And join me in pieces
To fall and rewrite the bitter end
The whispering of the trees welcomed him back into their embrace. The tree branch hanging down provided a welcome scratch to his growing horns. The flickering lights and the musty smell had not changed since his last visit. He had agreed to meet the others here, to learn some more about the world he was living in. Observing shelves of books, they remained as much a mystery as before. The symbols on the pages were mysterious and taunting. His herd; as far as he was aware, didn't use any written language. There were some cave paintings in the higher up tunnels, but he had never personally seen them. Lore foretold that these paintings preceded his herd, they were painted by the ancients themselves.
Aeon was excited to learn more about the lives of others. Torielle had mentioned that stories were recorded in the books. What hidden knowledge was there to gain? The questions that had buzzed his brain previously had not yet been answered. What was to stop someone altering the history they recorded? How much of it was true?
What kind of existence did someone lead that was interesting enough to write down anyway? Was there magic to learn in the books? He had wondered if anyone had ever been to visit his herd and written down their stories. The worlds seemed so far apart he doubted that he would find stories about it here. He felt like that maybe the trees themselves would have stories to tell, but they seemed to speak only in whispers of rubbing branches and welcomes to Aeon.
Finding almost the same exact position in the library he settled his aching body down. His wounds were healing but it took a long time to replace the vast majority of your flesh, frankly he was lucky to be alive. He gazed around again briefly wondering if there was anyone else here he hadn’t noticed. He intended to make the most of his situation, he was also looking forward to seeing Torielle again.
Posted by: Liam - 01-15-2022, 03:26 AM - Forum: The Dusk Court
- No Replies
BUCKY & LIAM,
Nervously, the great captain paced the floor of his quarters. Sure, he and Bucky had taken to sharing a room again, a habit left over from their days in the military and sharing a tent. But even before then, before the military and before getting separated over and over again, they shared an apartment, a room, a bed. They'd whispered more and more secrets to each other in the darkest of nights, listened to each other breathing after fights between them. More often than once, Liam had been unable to sleep whenever Bucky was out gallivanting around with dames, and he found himself immediately falling asleep once the other colt was snoring peacefully beside him. With all these memories and all the information he knew about Bucky, why was he so nervous? Was it because he was wanting to take the next step in their relationship? Was it because he was afraid of what Bucky's answer was going to be? Part of him thought that. But the darker stallion had never once turned a hair of disgust toward the copper-burnished captain, something that Liam found himself able to take solace in. Still, that didn't keep the nerves from settling in.
They hadn't talked much, not about their future. More focused on the now, Liam didn't think about what would happen if his feelings were reciprocated. If they were reciprocated. He had to keep reminding himself about that. He hadn't talked to Bucky about it yet, and he didn't want to assume. There was a shaky inhale taken by the Sovereign, his heart hammering away in his chest. During their tenure together in Novus, they'd already adopted several other equines into their lives. There was Odile, the horse cursed to be a swan during the day. Then there were the twins, Ard and Erd. Who could forget about Asta, their wayward adopted daughter, the one who escaped the Citadel using windows instead of the front door? Aeon, who was a recent new addition to Novus, Dusk Court, and their family, had been slightly injured when Bucky had stumbled upon him in Susurro Fields, and when they'd come home, Liam didn't hesitate a moment to bring him into their little oddball family. Last but not least, if Liam could remember all the children he'd welcomed under his care, there was sweet, sweet Elain. Albino and blind, the filly was the sweetest thing on four legs, and Liam adored her completely.
That's not even counting the ones Liam took into his life as adoptive siblings. Uzuri, Mernatius, Israfel, Valan all sprung to mind, and they would be completely and irrevocably supportive in what he wanted to do. Continuing to pace, Liam heard nothing but the sound of his own heart roaring in his ears. He couldn't even hear his advisor, Sekhar, try to get his attention. Nor did he hear his own hoofbeats hitting against the paved stone that made up the Citadel. Nearly impenetrable, Liam felt safer here than anywhere else in Novus. That is, until this very moment. Every nerve ending of the stallion was alight with some sort of anxiety, and it was driving him nearly mad. He knew the reason behind the anxiety, but he couldn't stop it, couldn't find a way to calm himself down.
As he got lost inside his own mind again, he failed to listen to his advisor leaving and coming back. It wasn't until Liam heard that voice that he finally stopped and looked up, his expression breaking out into one of pure and utter delight. Stepping forward, heart calming in a way he didn't think was possible, Liam touched his nose to Bucky's, taking in that familiar, crisp scent that was sharpened by the whipping winter winds outside. "Buck—" Liam breathed, voice catching as he delighted in having the stallion so close, so near.
"Liam Speaks."
Notes;; Soooooo Liam is going to be confessing his fEELINGS in this thread. <3
Tag;; @Buchanan
Voice claim;; Chris Evans
Word count;; 641
he flow of time could be immensely cruel, unforgiving to the living. Specially for those who lost everything, whatever the time between then and now was. And that was what Salazar felt, he the lost of his home yet to fresh, to real. He could still hear the screams, the usurper's teet on his skin, the laughing of his enemies, of the foes who took away not only his crown but his family as well. Despite the months, the years from that incident, the mental and emotional wounds were far from healed. But he never let others notice that, to find his inner weakness. Masking it in rudeness, keeping others away in whatever means. Snapping, attacking those who lurked way too deep into his mind, into his life. He didnt trust anyone's empty words, fake smiles, all wasn't real, hiding more traps, more pain.
The night was falling, and the once prince walked alone through the meadows, eyes cold, blank. Ears up and moving as noise came into his era canals. His mane flew with the cold breeze, feeling the snow crunching under his hooves. It was cold, as winter held in thigh the Delumine's terrains. He was of course covered by a mantle. He kept with his solitary walk, away from others, seeking the safety of being alone, of keeping to himself. He didnt need no one, he didnt need more fakery, more risks.
I'm tugging at my hair
I'm pulling at my clothes
I'm tryna keep my cool
I know it shows
The air was still, silent.
It'd been still and silent for a while. A landscape of ivory. Perfect. Untouched. Unblemished. Pure, and innocent. Vibrant and full of life. Hiding death and deceit. Winter was the cruel hand of fate, tricking you with the way the snow glimmers like diamonds to obscure the way the world dies, animals struggle to make it through with limited food. The proper time of when only the strong, and the prepared make it. Caelum knows she's 'strong and prepared' because her species aren't victims to their intentions, their baser urges. They think, and speak, and plan and do. While others are shocked by the turn of the season, and that first snow, horses, equine - they prepare for the approach of winter. Herbs were gathered in advance by medics. Artisans stocking up on their goods. Stores of food so none go without.
Yet, all Caelum sees is what's beneath.
Beneath that picturesque scape, the ground is barren. As the snow drifts down, so romantically, so peacefully; small animals shiver, quiver, trying to stay warm to not freeze to death. Small animals, so desperate for survival. Caelum finds little joy in winter because she's seen the less fortunate who struggle to make it through. She had walked upon the less fortunate equine once upon a time. Draping blankets over tiny backs, offering food to those already weak from an escaped life of slavery. Winter had been the hardest time them . . . Winter had always been hard. Winter had been when she'd lost it all too. She had come to find no beauty in this time. Where others saw a white blanket of unbroken snow, beautiful, vibrant, pure. Caelum remembers walking into the heart of the Summer Court. She remembers seeing those lumps buried under snow, the knowledge that the ivory coating was proof before she'd even seen them, that her parents had passed with most of their citizens. While a ruler of Summer sat on the throne, the land was in a constant state of Summer. The moment her father had perished, so had that connection to Summer.
Did her people panic, or mourn, when the first snow fell?
She wanders deeper through these non-court lands. She doesn't know what she'll find, but . . . she just needed time away. So she'd set off. Set off, and meandered. What had been morning, had turned into afternoon, and now was approaching evening. Soon, the night would fall, the moon would rise, and when it did, the world would seem aglow by the snow reflecting the light of the moon. As bright as day, in a way only snow could produce. She didn't care to see it, she wouldn't find it beautiful, because her memories cast shadows in the snow, and that pure light turned into a blood bath the longer she stared. Her gaze was conflicted behind her ivory mane, wondering if perhaps she should head back home, to Night Court, settle into her beloved shop, close the doors against the snow, curl up beneath a blanket, and wish for warmth, for summer.
If she would just embrace it, she could have it.
But her heart refused to acknowledge her birthright. Her people may call her Queen of Summer, but she wasn't ready to be the embodiment. Not yet. That was still supposed to be her father. Delicate hooves clicked against stone, and she pauses, as if only just now realizing she'd stopped flying at some point. The snow was high around her knees, cold, chilling. She glances back and can see the path of flowers that had grown up with each step, already they were collecting snow, being buried, suffocated, frozen. Was she just as bad? Growing these flowers just for them to succumb to the snow before the next morning? Her gaze turns away, wings tucking against her back, the delicate filmy appendages being carefully folded down to ensure they wouldn't tear. Her eyes focus on the opening in the side of the mountain.
A brief moment of curiosity flares within her.
A cave system? Had she heard of this? Maybe? She wasn't sure. Ears perked forward as she looked around slowly before delicate, long limbs stepped free of the snow and carried her into the entrance of the tunnel system. Her ears remain perked, swiveling as if to catch anything that might let her know if she was about to come across a hybernating bear. She steps further in, out of the snow and it's only from the red glow of the gem around her neck that she can see as well as she does in these caves. She's not afraid of the dark, she'd learned to embrace it long ago, when she'd fallen for a demon. And so she journeyed further, to see what may await her with in the depths of these caves.
"Speech" Thoughts
Open to Any Notes: Wanted a Cael Post. Anyone welcome, good, evil, nice, not nice. Those who want to say hi, or those that go 'oh, you're in the abigo caves, can I steal you away and keep you?' xD
I'm staring at my feet
My cheeks are turning red
I'm searching for the words inside my head
y golden shoes press softly into the soil of the cliffside, marring the earth with a fierceness saying “I am here, I was here, I will still be here long after you are gone,” as I push myself further and further away as the sun sets over the ocean. These hours belong to Vespera and Vespera abandoned me when I pressed myself, willingly, selfishly, beneath the burning skies of Solterra to a girl with blood on the brain. So, I turn my face from the setting sun, the sight so many others have gathered with their lovers to watch, gathered with their solitude, and with every ounce of belief and faith and devotion they can muster. It is a devotion I no longer know if it is soul-deep or surface-deep when I wear it anymore.
None of it matters as I enter the capitol where dirt turns to cobbled streets and the houses sparkle with stars and colors of a dying light that will never truly die. Merry denizens laugh as their shoulders clink together like flutes of wine Miriam would bring me.
The beast inside growls.
In her anger, in our seclusion, she would choose murder and mirth. Clumsily I shake her claws from my stomach, letting it loosen and relax once more, pushing aside the simmering rage, ignoring the knots that would keep me from health if I paid them mind. She hurls herself against walls built by years of practice, and I know I cannot ignore her for long. Soon we will hunt, and soon her thirst will be sated.
With a roll of my eyes that matches the roll of my shoulders, loosening muscles long tense under a cold sun and frosted fields. Ducking under a crooked sign, a door opens as I slip into the Drinking Dove. Nary an eye turns towards me, the other soldiers knowing me well enough, and I weave through the bodies that have trained me and molded me, and in turn been hardened by my horn pressed to their flesh, by my teeth so near their bones, until I reach the counter. Behind it, Della smiles brightly at me and blows a kiss.
Silently I ask her for my usual, and she comes back with something that smells like death. “All out of the usual, dollface. Winter’s tough on trade.” Huffing, I look to the men to my left, they grimace back. ”Perhaps our sovereign could look into that. Our taps are an important thing,” I say with a smile and matching grimace, sipping from the tankard of ale. “You’d best let someone else sweettalk him then, sweetheart. I don’t think he’s into tails like yours.”
Scattered laughter from those who listen rings alongside my own. This would do for now. This would warm our bellies and keep my little monster at bay for a while at least. Nothing is different or changed. It is another night that Henry will ignore me, hidden in his room; another night my father will say nothing when I slip into the house in the wee hours of the morning; another night of muddied clothes and restless wandering and restless thoughts that won’t let me be even in my dreams.
It’s just another day, another sunset, another night.
weat drips as blood down my neck, winding further and further away from pale, braided hair. It is tight along the arch of my neck, pressed into skin, pulled into a shape meant more for war than mere practice or daily life. The only indication of who I am, what I am (for I am starlight, I am terror incarnate, I am Death), is the golden circlet pierced by a single arrow just behind my ears. My father places it there daily when I do not, but by now it is more ritual than anything to put it in my hair.
Everyone in my family wears something along these lines. Some bear constellations, some insignias of battle, but all of us are star-forged and fierce. Ready for when the Courts turn against one another once more. Ready for when another tyrant rises and must fall. Ready for when the skies scream and monsters rain down onto all that we know.
The Dumas will not let Terrastella fall.
Years before, they stood strong by Vespera. They whispered her words into the world as they came to the battlefields, they prayed to her for glory and life, they prayed to her for victory. Their prayers were answered generation after generation. Even now, we pray to her still.
And it is her body of dusk that coats my home in swarthy shades of starlight and sunsets. They mingle flirtatiously on the walls that are far from the fields I now train in.
Another pull of my muscles as I thrust forward. The man before me is nameless, near faceless. I do not need to know him to defeat him. When we fight, we will not know those we kill so intimately, so I do not care for him before me now.
Satisfaction purrs through me when I hear his labored breathing, the flash of triumph is quick and biting as he falls to the ground with a cry, and I am sure the smile on my lips is all teeth with nothing gentle nor friendly. ”Well fought,” I intone, leaning down to pull the man up regardless of his namelessness, his lack of station.
In these fields where bodies press against bodies, coming together in a thunderous show, we are all Warriors of Vespera. I let that settle gladly in my stomach, let it curl over the ashy thoughts of a brown and red woman that could look like any one of these soldiers, let Solterra fade like the sun in the sky.
Everything I've done, I've done for you. I move the stars for no one.
Sol groaned as he landed. His wing was still aching and not completely healed, though he didnt want to push this off any further. He needed to speak to the mare that held his heart. The solar stallion had sent messages to her to let her know he wasnt hiding. To remind her of his feelings for her. But it wasnt enough. He needed to have the conversation that had been plaguing him since that exclamation during the hunt.
He was a bit out of the swamp, but his wing was completely done with trying to fly for the moment. Tucking it tightly to his side, he strode over the terrain. Shaking his head slightly, he entered the swamps and began to keep an eye out for the glow or sounds or scents that would give away her position. Once he was far enough into the swamp, he paused to gaze around him.
"Bel?" He called out, eyes and ears straining for any sign of the mare. It had been more time than desired since he had seen her face. Hidden in a small satchel on his back, a gift was waiting for her. This was the time that he had been waiting for. The time to see exactly what their relationship was to become. And he was excited.
"My heart belongs to one of the sea... and I cannot wait to see what happens." He murmured to himself as he continued seeking her.
