Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the Pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.
The whispers of gods accompany their every stride up and up and up. Verenor ascends, a sword set to pierce the sky and Raum climbs its side like light along its hilt.
Do the gods lay wicked words upon him? Are they there in the hiss of the wind – in its wild howls as it corners the mountain and throws from it leaves and rocks that fall and fall into darkness and despair. If they were, Raum had long ago learned that the gods cared little for the deeds of individuals. So onwards he ascends, until the stars reach down to him and the moon trembles as clouds flee before it. The Ghost climbs until the sky is a ceiling, brought low enough to brush his silver crown.
Days had drifted idly by since he stole the Denoctian queen. Stars had fallen and suns had risen and moons had hung in lament. Their eerie light pooled like tears. It drowned Raum in poison mercury and as a fish he swam through the grim midnight.
Abel was ever a shadow beside him, his body helping to bear the limp torso of a bested queen. Long ago the skies had fallen silent and the wail of a dragon swallowed up by silence and distance. The sight, or cry, of such a monster should have filled him with terror, but how long had it been since the Crow felt any amount of fear or trembling at the sight of such a beast? Distaste was all he felt and it had been as bitter as ash as he watched dragons burn Denocte’s Mountain Pass. Was that the day that turned his heart as cold and firm as stone?
The place he brings Isra to is old and forgotten. It’s stone mouth is crumbled and partially shut. Inside its weathered maw is darkness upon darkness. Silence reigns and only silence speaks. Shadows keep their secrets here and they are old as time. A forgotten altar is cleaved in two, exposed bones tumbling forth, strung together by dusted cobwebs, heavy and thick.
Raum lets Denocte’s queen go and she falls to the cold stone, her body, black as ink, pouring out like a libation before the ruptured altar. The moon peers in through the small hole at the cave’s entrance and its light reaches for the poisoned unicorn. But if it found her, Raum wonders, who would come to the call of the moon?
The wind begins to roar and from the mountain’s peak, where Calligo’s altar rests, the Crow wonders if he hears her vehemence as her appointed queen lies broken and still at his feet.
In silence Raum moves to where Isra lies so still. Upon her lips he tips a vial, purple and potent. It is an antidote to the poison that laughs and sings in her veins. No longer will it numb her mind but fall away like clouds before the sun. Raum waits beside her, his electric gaze steady as a knife upon her skin. He waits for Denocte’s queen to rouse, like the sun after eternal night.
the air is cold, the night is long
I feel like I might fade into the dawn
Fade until I'm gone
Grey leaves the strange, glowing pool behind him, and yet still it seems to cling to him. The edges of his vision distort and blur, creating strange silhouettes and shapes that are not really there when he turns to look at them head on. The magic in this world has looked inside him and seen what he always knew was there: cowardice, failure. Disappointment. The strange magic, hot and bright as the sun had seen these things about him, seen who he truly was, and it laid its hands upon him and cursed him for it.
The unicorn walks, and walks, and eventually he leaves behind the tall swaying grasses of the plains and steps beneath the canopy of a forest, where the world is hushed and the night is ever dark. Every blurred shape, looming in the edges of his impaired vision is a danger. A danger that, when he turns to face it, has disappeared back among the trees. Every whisper of wind through the autumn leaves, every rustle in the underbrush, sets his mind on edge and yet he still never comes across any true danger. It is all within his mind conjured by the bane this world had placed on him.
Grey wonders if he will forever walk the world and fear the shadows at the borders of his vision.
He leaves behind the warmth the pool had promised him and wonders, perhaps, if he had partaken in its offer if he would have continued on better for it. It is too late to turn back, for he has committed to the frosted touch of his skin and knows that it is all he has truly earned in this life, if he even earned the love, the life which Amaranthus had so freely and so readily given him. The god has always believed in him, but the unicorn still feels unworthy of such conviction, even now as he follows Amaranthus’ words to find Novus, to find his purpose.
A breath escapes him, and it does not condense on the chilly autumn air like it should. He is walking death, walking dying. Perched evermore on the precipice of the afterworld, with frost crystals clinging to his blue-tinged skin. Then, Grey stops walking, as finds himself on the bank of a river cutting through the forest like a chasm. Grey stops, and he stands on the rocky outcroppings jutting out and around the rushing water. And he stares at his broken reflection and lets the shadows crawl out of the edges of his vision and he listens to the sounds of the night forest and wonders why. Why had he come?
Posted by: Evangelina - 03-02-2019, 09:49 AM - Forum: Archives
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the desert's song; a golden lullaby of hushed cajoles and endlessly, drifting sand, shifts over the barren dunes; the relentless wilderness; swimming with each hiss of hot indignation. is it fiery, sticky and sweltering, as cool sweat buries unto the young maiden's brow. the heat bathing into the ruinous earth. churning golden waves, while the savage blue sky sheds its piercing illumination across the lilac-dusted curves of little evangelina ysuelt. her limbs were numb from endlessly walking. her lips parched, thirsty. she could not remember the last time she had taken a decent sip of water, and with the sun, burning so fiercely across the funeral sky, gave her naught a moment's rest nor grace.
with the blazing heat mounting across the horizon, evangelina walks the desert alone. she is still resplendent and icy. a misted chill descends her curves. her steps emitting a frigid pulse of bright, bright azure. against the golden earth, her ice-blue fire pours in subtle waves of frost; curling around her bodice, like pulsating serpents of eden. our little winter-jezebel is among the desert wilderness. she slides through dunes, the sands shifting beneath her slender grace. a little phantom angel with sunlight and shadow falling around her visage; her ivory face, half-touched in the bronzed kiss of a shimmering halo.
she wanders, mind entrapped within a reverie; long, obsidian lashes dusting the soft curve of her porcelain cheekbone, to sweep away stray and running tears. the last words of her father were singed in her mind. the memory of the wound. the pain. the betrayal. the hurting buried beneath her breast, like a poisoned thorn, seeped in venom; o, how far had she run, run, run. driven by a hunger to escape the past. yet the thoughts of being imprisoned, of being caged, still haunted her mind like the baring teeth of a wild animal. would she ever be freed? her thoughts were a constant plague to her conscious, even as she drives forward into the harsh, blinding day; passing several scuttling scorpions that danced over the insufferably, hot sands, crawling in the shadow of her wake.
I was standing
You were there
Two worlds collided
And they could never tear us apart
”O’er the Arma, She searched for her love,
Blessed by the Seer in the Stars above,”
She sang in dulcet tones, sweet and mesmerizing to the audience around her even though she did not sing for them. Runaveig waltzed through the streets like a dancer, nimble, quick, and graceful, weaving her way and letting the clip of her hooves upon the ground set the tempo for the song she sung. It was a song she had grown up with, a melody forever ingrained within her head; a tale of love, loss, and finding that same love once more. How very romantic.
”And He, with a veil of Night,
And She, with the gift so Bright
Met beneath the dark of Night”
The markets weren’t particularly busy, at least not on this night. It wasn’t enough to cause Runa any discomfort to be singing so openly, so brazenly, letting the words escape her lips without self-doubt. Above her, Umbra continued his leisurely glide, the pygmy dragon keeping a watchful eye out upon the other denizens of the court as they meandered through the market stalls and various vendors. Surely they would not hurt their own, despite Runaveig’s relatively new status among them.
Runaveig would never grow tired of Denocte. It was beautiful. She glanced upwards to the stars glittering above, marveling at the vast galaxies that existed above their very own heads. Did everyone here understand how very grand and marvelous it was? Then her eyes focused on the path ahead, pausing in her song long enough to smile prettily towards a few passing strangers before picking up the notes once more.
”A rekindled Love, had upon the Shore,
Night and Day were united once More.”
A quick, happy ending for lyrics speaking of a profound love, heartache, and a rekindling romance. The twilight maiden wondered just what that must feel like. Pausing by a vendor selling tasty oat cakes, Runa slipped the kindly gentleman a few signos before taking one and enjoying the savory treat along her evening stroll.
“Would you care for some, Umbra?” She inquired, golden eyes flicking upwards towards the black dragon gliding lazily above her. He seemed to grin, sharp white teeth glistening in the moonlight, and shook his head.
’No. Those things are rather unpalatable. Enjoy it for me, if you would?’ Pale lips turned up in a genuine smile, warm and adoring, and Runaveig did just that. Finishing her treat, she continued gracefully along the streets, content to browse the wares and hum softly beneath her breath.
The Domain of the Delumine is a stark contrast and far cry from the Night Court. It is home to the first woman that greeted her. At least if she is remembering correctly, a woman that is made of ferocity and speckled with rust. Messalina is her name. Yes, Noctii still recalls their tense meeting. She remembers the bitter cold and the urgency of her voice. It is that voice that beckons her through the walls of the Dawn Court. Her hunger for knowledge is not sated by simply learning of her home. Noctii cannot bear to be in her home, not when there is a chance to find their beloved Queen. The Unicorn who is both a mermaid and whispers to dragons without fear. Noctii is not herself, she pays no mind to the rush of bodies. She feels the scorn of the sun here, for it is not the opposite of the sun. It is a part of the day, and as much a part of her old world that the Day Court is. She is here for two reasons, to see if she can find a trace of Isra, and to see what else she can learn here. The maiden who is made of seas of ivory and ash that is strewn across the canvas of the sun moves somewhat cautiously. Noctii is no stranger to peril, and she hears their gates creak shut above the symphony of shouts. Her heart races with excitement, and she is reminded of the inner rebellious youth that still lives within her.
Her breathing quickens as she hungrily dives into the shadows of the walls that shut out the sea of greens and reds. Noctii does not want to be noticed, she wants to simply hide and learn if she can. She wonders what dangers lie here for her, and part of this excites her. The events of late have awakened something in her that has been dormant for far too long. Her mind is ravenous for knowledge, for debate, and more importantly for the presence of Isra. She knows the love of the Unicorn who whispers of dreams and wields her smile like a dagger. Noctii wishes she was as beautiful and dangerous and magnificent as her Queen. She wants the night to love her as much as the sun has. In her excitement, she doesn't realize that she is quickly lost in the maw of Delumine. She dashes down alleys and through shadows where she can. She will not go unnoticed, no one racing through the shadows of streets with such urgency and excitement could possibly go undetected. But she is unknown, and she is within the walls before they closed their gates. Here she can be anything she wishes, whoever she wishes. Isra told her she could be anything, change anything she desires. Noctii believes her, but she has yet to see the outcome of her attempts.
"Speech"Thoughts
Notes: This isn't super great... and she's weirdly running around along the walls and alleys in the shadows because that's definitely inconspicuous.
Tags: @Eulalie
current events & announcements Winter has brought with it a a weight in the air that feels like something more than just frost and snow. Each night rises like a baited breath, a heavy inhale in which no one knows whether to sigh to scream. Every calm moment feels stolen. Denocte feels like it's resting in the center of a hurricane, the winds are swirling violently around Novus and they are still setting their gale-force eyes on the City below the mountains.
Isra has sent Moira a letter saying she's not coming back yet. There is a war brewing on the other side of the Arma mountains; Raum has taken Solterra for his own. And so the queen is staying away for just a little longer. War is calling. Read the letter Here
A gambling den is rising in popularity in the queen's absence. People have been whispering that fortunes can be made if the stars are smiling down on them. But they can be lost as well. Each night the name The White Scarab is being spoken by the merchants to their favorite (or least favorite) customers. Will you try to find it? Read about the lore made by the wonderful @rallidaeHere
Seasonal writing prompts This season there is are three prompts that will last for Winter of 503. Completion of a thread using this prompt before May 31st will result in a 150 signos bonus paid by the court account. However each post made in an unfinished thread before the end date will get a bonus 20 signos. Please tag all prompt posts with the tag {Winter} for ease of tracking. Also note that each prompt must be done on the correct board.
New this season! Completing all three prompt posts can be counted as participation in an IC event for some sweet EXP points!
The Castle of Ice and Color @ Vitreus Lake
There is an old stallion by the lake. His eyes are brighter than they should be and his back more swayed than his smile suggests. He's tired, this old artist, but when he looks at his masterpiece under a full moon he feels young again.
The castle towers over the willow tree by the lake and everyone joining the old stallion wonders how they didn't even know such a wonder was being sculpted night after night. Lanterns are hanging in the castle made of ice. The fire flickers like a living things in glass balls and each sways slowly like a dancer saying a prayer. When the orange glow hits the walls of sculpted ice shadows shift and glow and seem to be creatures made of magic waiting for the first brave soul to join them in place not of Novus.
But the loveliest part of the castle has to be the windows made of colored ice. Each window holds in its winter panes a story of sorrow and life. There is a stallion curled with a mare below a new constellation. There's a foal dancing in a meadow of heather and a dragon twisting around him like a string of dark soot. All around the castle there are depictions of life in Denocte. Some of them could break a heart.
But oh some of them could make a heart fly!
Lighting of the Leaf Lanterns @ Night Markets
No one knows where the lanterns made of leaves came from. The markets are alive with speculation but there is not a soul in the entire city that knows why the bonfires are circled with rings and rings of lanterns. But everyone knows what to do with the lanterns, after-all the Night Court has always been known to love a good pagan ritual to the night.
The musicians are playing a little louder in the markets tonight and the dancers seem more wild than usual in their movements. Everything feels both tense and free, like a storm promising a rainbow in the rain. The bonfires are all full of cedar and pine. Merchants have thrown spice packs into the flame and the smell of them mixes strangely together into a smell that has no name but magic.
And when all the lanterns start to lift into the sky, small dragons take flight with them. They float overhead, slow and lazy while the city below grows more wild by the hour.
Lunar Eclipse @ Sideralis Prairie
The shed-stars were the first to start whispering about the message the Night Sky was writing for the city. There is a eagerness in all of them making the air in all their temples electric with religion and faith. The fires outside their tents are burning brighter during the whole week leading up to the lunar eclipse. Singing can be heard from their prayer circles long into each night. It's almost impossible not to slip into their excitement. Can it be so bad to forget about the brewing trouble for just a little white?
The night of the lunar eclipse brings with it a snowstorm. When the red stars to creep across the silver moon the snow is falling in a gently flurry. It's strange to see it lit by only the stars and the bleeding moon. All the bonfires outside the capital have been put out so that the moon is the only real light in all of Denocte. The dimness makes the snow feel as if it's falling slower, and the fat flakes almost look like fireflies floating all around the city.
But when the eclipse is at its peak the snow starts to pick up and the wind holds in its chill the promise of a howl.
please message @Isra or @Nestle if you want any threads or news added and/or if you would like to see any particular prompt done.
She had been to the meeting. She had heard what Somnus was asking of them. And yet, the mare did not care for being told what to do and what not to do. Already she had told herself that she would go where she pleased and she would do so alone. Sloane had never been one for large groups, finding that too many times everyone wanted to be the leader and none of them were ever truly qualified. Everyone was always in each other’s business and it got exhausting. Sloane would just prefer to do things on her own - danger or not. She was confident enough in her skills to be able to get along well with herself.
It was nearing dusk, the forest having already grown a little darker as the sun as trying to set. No longer did it shine down through the canopy but instead, struggled to break through the dense trees. It didn’t bother Sloane that it was getting dark. After all, the darkness only aided in her ability to slink through the trees unnoticed.
Sloane settled herself beneath the protective limbs of a large oak tree, one that had been lucky and been saved from the fires of Delumine just weeks before. Eyes were kept open, ears erect and alert. She scanned the treeline, looking for any sort of movement that might be caused by whatever beast was.
There is a twig that snaps behind her and Sloane is immediately on the defensive. Ears flatten against the sound heard as she slowly begings to turn towards the noise. However, as she turns in the hopes of finding the beast, she is unfortunately met with the face of another Delumine citizen. Eye rolls as she hisses lightly. “You’re going to scare away the beast with all that racket.” She shakes her head almost impatiently as she turns back to resume her position, hoping the intruder will simply walk on. However, something tells me he/she won’t just leave her be.
ooc: I promise she won't bite...hard. This is for anyone wanting to participate in the little court event for signos!
Posted by: Mateo - 02-28-2019, 01:51 AM - Forum: Archives
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Mateo's opion-- and he's shared cups with just about everyone in Delumine who would let him-- is that as far as drinking companions go, you can't get much better than the monks. They were always thoughtful, even when plastered, and he liked that. And they liked to sing. Their tavern songs were different from the morning rituals, decidedly less serious and some would say less beautiful-- but when they sang they did so with soul, and that resonated with him.
Besides, they were like family to the young pegasus. They were like home, if you want to get sentimental. Which he does, because he's been drinking with them tonight. He grew up with the monks, all except the newest of them. They call him little brother, heckle him like one too, and sometimes they even treat him like a son.
It is the most precious gift for a boy without a father, and he could not ask for more.
He's wandering the court, walking the drink off before sleep. He's knee deep in his thoughts when he nearly walks sideways into "Pavvetta!" His smile is crooked. Does he sound drunk? (did I say her name right? It didn't sound right) Does he look drunk? Is she drunk too? What is she doing at this hour? Ten other scathingly self-aware questions cross his mind as he speaks. "The loveliest emissary in all the land!" He was good at that, talking sweetly while thinking of other things entirely. Planning what to say next, how to act. The compliment is hot air-- the truth, yes, but spoken playfully. It isn't exactly like there is a lot of competition. Word hasn't come to him of Moira's promotion, in fact he knows nothing of the fiery woman. Eik is the only other emissary to his knowledge, and, well... there are no songs sung of his beauty.
After his words he bows with startling grace for his condition. (was I too heavy on the greeting?) Bowing is second nature to him, as easy as blinking. He's done it all his life and he does it without thinking. (my thoughts are rhyming, heheheh) When he straightens he looks at her intently for a moment. (sweet oriens, she's pretty) "You're very pretty." This time it is not hot air at all.
throw the ashes to the wind sun sinking like a stone
Midday heat streams down on Seraphina’s back as she patrols the high ridges of the Elatus Canyon. The gold of her scarf glitters in the sunlight, shielding her features from the overwhelming heat. Alshamtueur is an ever-present weight at her side, and she is grateful for the fabric that separates her skin from the steel; the sword and its sheath always radiate a gentle warmth, but it can quickly rise to a scalding heat during a Solterran afternoon. Sweat dribbles down her sides and beads on her brow, but it isn’t as unbearable as it had been before she’d obtained her hood. Now that she has the light set of armor, she can’t help but wonder how she ever tolerated the heat before.
It occurs to her that it has been a very long time since she has been on patrol. To think that this was how she used to spend the majority of her days – solitary and roaming, with nothing for company but the endless dunes and the creatures that lurked within them! She feels like a different creature entirely; her strides are longer and more fluid, her militant rigidity fading for something animalistic and prowling, and she carries herself with the easy, unfettered confidence of some apex predator, unintimidated by the dangers that used to keep her fleeting and cautious. That is not to say that she is not wary, not watchful, - an ambush is always a threat, even if she can reasonably ram her arrow into the skull of most anything that could prove itself a danger – but neither is she mechanical.
She still knows the curving, maze-like walls of the canyon by heart, and that is a bizarre comfort; she remembers thinking that the sands would never change, during her fight with Raum, and, although everything else around her seems to have collapsed in on itself, she holds to the knowledge that that much was true. (She wonders if she will see them red-stained again. She knows that she will see them red-stained again.) Her fledgling rebellion has instated itself in the maze of caves carved into the walls of the Elatus, under the safety and shade of overhangs and within the relative protection that the winding pathways provided; however, they are still small in number, and precarious. For the moment, they will need to be cautious, to bide their time…
She can hear Alshamtueur hissing at her side. She knows that it does not want to wait for its vengeance – to burn, to tear, to bleed, to destroy.
But she will wait.
(She will not do it quietly this time.)
She presses on, then – she needed to finish her survey of the canyons and return to the base camp. “Fia” had precious little time to spare.
