As the meeting between healer and sovereign had seemingly disintegrated, the two envoys had quickly murmured their excuses and taken their leave -- whatever history that Atreus and Somnus had, it wasn’t any of her business, and their duty had been completed when they had handed off their saddlebags of supplies to Somnus’ trusted people. Their hooves clicked companionably upon the gleaming cobblestones of the Dawn Court, and if one ignored the lingering smell of smoke on the winds, it could almost be considered perfect.
“Care for a coffee?” She asked her companion, tilting her head towards a nearby cafe with a hand-lettered sign, the paint bright and cheerful and beckoning. The two pegasi take up a table on the patio, the sunshine at their backs, and the service is impeccable -- before long, the hostess has two steaming cups before them, flavored to individual taste. It’s easy enough to each out her teke and float the cup closer to her, taking a careful sip and offering @Israfel a friendly smile.
“Asterion had recommended that I seek the position of Champion of Battle,” She starts, cutting to the point efficiently with her attention focused on the Warden. “He suggested I should talk to you about what requirements you might have for the position.”
It’s a strange thing, being awake before Eros. Eros was the light sleeper, the one who usually woke him up (or at least, tried) with soft kisses and promises of a good day. Now though it’s Aion who stirs easily, happily awake before the sun and anxious to start the day.
He has an idea then, and he leans down to press his lips to Eros’ back. He’s still amazed at how warm he is: Aion had hardly noticed the way his own body temperature continued to drop, how cool he now was to the touch. It was an effect of his newfound magic, he supposed; but he hadn’t stopped to consider what his beloved would think of it.
The glow on the horizon continues to grow, bathing the lovers in soft, rose-colored light. The cooing of an owl gives way to the chirping of blue jays and cardinals and tree sparrows. It’s intermittent at first, almost shy; but gradually the trills grow louder and more numerous, until the very air seems to come to life with the birds’ music. Aion could almost sing along with them for how happy and content he is.
He presses on as the sun continues to rise, trailing his lips first to Eros’ shoulder, then up along the ridge of his neck. Here he pauses at the blue ink dyed into his mate’s crest, his kisses turning to nuzzles.
“Frø-ya,” he almost whines, his head falling heavily over the other man’s back. Of all days, of course it would be today that Eros would sleep in.
He stretches beside him, brushing one wing along his sleeping lover’s side. That was another thing that would take getting accustomed to: Aion hadn’t had wings since before he’d met Eros. It was like relearning how to use them, not that he minded.
He closes his eyes with a sigh, feeling particularly dramatic.
Today, he had determined, was going to be wonderful.
"I don't want to remember more
now that I remember so much"
At first, the tables seemed about to collapse on themselves from the weight of all that punch.
At first, he walks the halls without adornment. No mask to hide his grey-tipped face, no silks to cover his scars. He takes a drink (it is the same blue as Isra's eyes) and moves on surprisingly light feet, ghost-like, from room to room. The court is nearly beyond recognition- you would have had to seen the water marks before to recognize them now, camouflaged by paint or smoke or the light reflected off floating orbs of water. In one room the tables are on the ceiling, covered in decadent food perpetually out of reach. He returns to the front and takes another drink (it is the color of the Mors at sunset).
He moves quickly through a room filled with music so sad it draws tears to his dark eyes, and slowly through a room filled with music that almost makes him feel like he knows how to dance. He takes another drink (it is violet, just violet) and a stranger drags a line of gold paint down the center of his face and it tickles, so he laughs. He enters a room that is illuminated by a beautiful golden light that hangs in the center like a small, gentle sun. It is full of pillows of different shapes and sizes, and the heavy feel to the room reminds him of the opium den. Horses sleep together with childlike smiles on their faces and he almost joins them-- almost.
But first, another drink. It is the grey-green of the fields of his youth.
("She's here. She's here!" the shadows whisper, and they melt as soon as he turns to face them)
The sleeping room is forgotten when he feels with sudden conviction that the night queen is close. This time he crookedly pours a drink into a cup-- to share with Isra-- and walks off sideways in search of her. He doesn't feel drunk at all, but judging by the fuzz on the edge of everything, he must be.
"I remember everything
but I don't want to remember"
He is always drawn to the strange and the magical, but tonight there is too much of both and he does not make it to the maze until the moon is low in the sky. Already the dancers have begun to move with the delirious quality of either an intoxicant or the other side of sleep. Eik feels like a voyeur watching others dance so he hardly looks at the benevolent that twirl like strange birds, even when their movements grow ever stranger, even when they spin violently between longing and elation and misery.
He never really understood dancing and so he does not understand what he does not see. Instead his attention rests on the maze, which at first seems huge and solid. The longer he looks at it the more details he notices-- he starts to see flowers, and feathers, and shards of glass, some sharp as a blade and others smooth as river pebbles. The center of the maze seems to call to him in pulses, not unlike a heart. He is so transfixed that he loses track of time, just staring.
It is not the music or the dancers that break his attention but the jeweled stallion-- El Toro-- whose tail catches the lamplight not unlike the shards of glass in the hedge wall. They are not friends, but that is not really saying much. They are not strangers, and they are not enemies, and despite how their last encounter made him hate himself just a little, Eik catches the other man's attention with a soft nicker. "Are you going to seek the heart of the maze." He asks in a cautious way that somehow suggests he would not be offended at all if the other man just walked away-- in fact it would be better that way, if that is what Toro desired.
* I have let myself go where the dust
E I K Has the color of nothing
"I am the one thing in life I can control. I am inimitable, I am an original."
With renewed vigor the rambunctious pair made their way from the main citadel, breaking away from the side of whoever it was that was supposed to be watching him without a second care. He zipped from one stall to the next, browsing everything he could given his lack of height before moving on. There was dazzling jewelry, extravagant outfits, exotic fragrances that tickled his nose and caused him to sneeze, and even a place selling sweets. Maybe once his parents had returned from their solo stroll he would try and bring them back here and ask if he and Milo could get something.
As Prince and fox weaved through the crowd, they stopped periodically to watch the myriad of performers, politely wedging their way into the front if at all possible. The sword-swallowers were impressive but frightening, the haunting voices of the singers awe-inspiring, but what captivated Regis the most were the tiny dragons that blew fire and flew through the air with more finesse than any Pegasus he’d ever seen. There were whoops and hollers from the crowd around them as they looked on, and Regis joined in with a cheerful shout of his own, followed by a joyful bark from Milo.
Once the performance had ended and the crowds began to disperse, Regis had been interested in going up to see if he could meet one of the dragons, but had backed out at the last second when the trainers turned their backs to him. He frowned, discouraged, but not wanting to bother them, he decided to continue their adventure through Denocte’s infamous bazaar.
Regis nearly missed the tent, the ruby glimmer of its canvas catching his eye before it was too late. Coming to a stop, he inspected the entrance quizzically for a moment before casting his gaze down to Milo for his opinion. “You wanna go see what’s in there, Milo?”
Ever eager, the young fox’s mouth parted, tongue lolling to the side in a sort of smile. "Let’s go!" It was the only answer Regis needed to hear in the depths of his mind – a phenomena he still couldn’t really explain, but didn’t care to.
Passing between the two blazing fires, Regis was mildly surprised to find that the tent was lacking of any wares for sale, save for a pile of lavish looking pillows. The mare he would have previously assumed was a shopkeeper ordered him to sit, and not thinking much of it, the Prince did just that. ”Okay,” he said as he bedded down on the pillows with Milo curling up beside him, back pressed into his side, and once settled Regis looked on at the silver-eyed mare with dual-colored eyes of equal parts wonder and confusion.
”I didn’t know cards could speak,” he said with a furrowed brow, but he was curious nonetheless. It took a brief explanation before he truly understood what was being asked, which was followed by an understanding ’oooh’. Lips pursing, Regis thought long and hard; a single question was so hard! But with a bit of time, he finally decided on something.
“… Oh, I know!” He exclaimed at last, ”How can I make sure all my friends and family are happy?” It was, after all, the only thing he had ever wanted in his short existence.
"I am the one thing in life I can control. I am inimitable, I am an original."
The journey from Delumine to Denocte was not a particularly easy one for Regis to make given his state, but he had been ecstatic for it the moment he learned of the celebration they were to throw. His parents and the other denizens of their home had spoken of a grand masquerade among a slew of other things such as a maze, daring feats, exquisite treats, a market full of wares that couldn’t be found anywhere else and so much more. It was nearly overwhelming for the colt to absorb so much information, let alone imagine experiencing it, but with each new thing he learned, his excitement grew until he was counting down the days until their departure.
Traveling had taken quite a bit out of the still sickly colt, his hide slick from long days and summer heat, but duller than it should have been. His belly ached and oftentimes he was reluctant to eat, but his thirst was always great. His sides were sunken and thin in clear indication of his poor state, yet somehow the little Prince continued to carry on and fight in spite of his unusual, worsening condition.
A week or so prior, however, the man colored like the evening sky had arrived from Terrastella and begun to treat him. Not even Delumine’s medics had been able to offer him much reprieve from his unyielding sickness, but somehow he was already showing a bit of progress from the weird smelling concoctions that left a bad taste in the back of his throat.
Then, there was the recent addition of his russet companion he had dubbed Milo, the little fox who had never strayed from his side since that afternoon they had met and played ‘sticks’ together. Without anyone else to play with in the Kingdom that was of a similar age, Regis seemed to perk back up a little more in Milo’s company; together they curled up for naps, and the little Prince was even more eager to get up and move his legs. Perhaps most importantly, his appetite had increased, too.
Upon first entering Denocte’s capitol, the first thing Regis noticed was the shimmering veils which covered the countless tables. From where he stood near his parents’ sides, the youth watched curiously as other patrons plucked something from the tables and affixed them to their faces. When one such equine turned and he saw the extravagant mask which resembled a raven, Regis gave a gasp and stepped forward, chest pressing into the edge of the table as he examined each and every mask. Oh, there were so many! Some sported flowers, others feathers, several resembling other animals and a few that were minimal. Shuffling around the table as he searched for the perfect one, the colt eventually gave a soft gasp. “That one,” he spoke aloud, gazing up at his parents with a bright smile as he motioned to one in particular, too far out of his reach. Young as he was, he hadn’t quite mastered the art of telekinesis like everyone else. “It looks like Milo. Can I have that one, please?”
As his bonded picked out a mask, Milo himself leapt up onto Regis’ back, still too young himself to view everything with ease on his own, and placed his paws against the back of the colt’s neck for a better look. With a chuckle, Regis took one of the mask’s carefully between his teeth and turned his head to show his newest friend the one which resembled a rabbit. “You should wear this one, Milo!”
And to that the kit gave a gleeful yip of mutual agreement.
Night in and night out, the waves were never at rest.
They push and they pull, locked in an eternal dance with the moon as their partner. The currents stirs, the beach sings, and all the stars gathered in attendance each night to watch, silent and shimmering, as mother nature ran its course. Every breath of wind is a sigh of delight, a whisper of encouragement to the water below.
It is a dance for the ages, for it seems tonight there is a special energy from within the waves, sparkling visibly in every current and rip curl. The ocean has a goal tonight, a secret to uncover, a certain desperation in the way it froths and dances and rages,
And from within the dark and dreary depths, something bright and shimmering begins to emerge.
It comes forth with a purpose, as if this night is the night it has been waiting for.
As if she is what the ocean has been waiting for.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The stone has not been moved for ages, resting as it was at the bottom of the ocean. For years the watery halls were its home, a dark and quiet world of exile, but a home nonetheless.
Until one day the currents seem to shift - drawing the barnacle-crusted pearl out of the depths and into the light. Each wave is progress, little though it may be at once. But even small steps will eventually lead to one’s destination, so long as they don’t give up.
Bit by bit, inch by inch, wave by wave.
It will be a clear night when the stone finally washes up on the shores of Denocte, seaweed and barnacles and other deep-sea wonders clinging to its smooth surface. There’s something eerie about the way it will shine in the moonlight, as though the light seems to come from within the stone itself.
But it’s only a stone; it must be a trick of the light, a brilliant refraction upon its smoothed surface.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The pull upon Isra’s heart will be strong, its whisper in her ear as loud and clear as if Caligo herself were standing there beside here: come to the waves, for there you will find what you are looking for. It’s an ancient and powerful magic that runs deeper than blood, unspoken and undiscovered but there all the same. Even if she tries to resist, the tug will become stronger and more insistent as time goes on.
It might even seem as if a part of her is missing, has been missing, as if all her life relies on going to the beach tonight.
She will arrive at the beach with perfect timing as prophecy has foretold, with mere moments to spare before the pearlescent stone washes upon the shore at her hooves. It stands out amongst the dark sands of the beach, despite the seaweed covering most of its surface. The parts of the stone that are visible are smooth and bright, pearlescent even despite the object’s size.
As Isra investigates the stone, something will simply feel right within her, as if this is the missing piece of herself that she has been looking for.
And the stone will respond to her touch, if she is brave enough to hold it. A ripple of energy, a shake coming from deep within, a spark of electricity transferring from the egg to the Sovereign. For it is an egg - a dragon egg at that, forgotten deep within the sea.
Even before the dragon hatches, Isra will know. It's her own story, after all.
@Isra will be drawn to the beach by an internal connection to the stone, arriving just as it washes up on the shores of Denocte. There’s something inherently off about it, and when the Sovereign investigates it she will realize it is not a stone, but an egg washed up upon the ocean.
But what kind of creature is in the egg? Isra will have to wait for it to hatch to find out - but perhaps a part deep within her already knows.
Isra has met her Bonded.
(You can choose to have the egg hatch here on the beach, or Isra can take it home for it to hatch at a later date!)
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It was incredibly refreshing to work with a concrete idea on this, thank you so much
and, when the friendly sunshine smil'd,
and she would mark the opening skies,
i saw no Heaven—but in her eyes
Eulalie was enchanted by the Night Markets. It was the first she'd ever seen them, and they are all torch fire and shadows and intrigue. Each stall boasts a unique ware, jewelry that sparkled in the firelight, spices that left a warm fragrance in the air, and all manner of other things. The golden haired woman paused at a few to admire the craftsmanship she sees, and wishes it were possible to bring home a little bit of it all with her to Delumine.
"It's all so beautiful," she said to Somnus, who was with her as they walked side by side beneath the stars. Regis had begged to come along, though he was off someplace in the hands of Ipomoea. No doubt the two boys were well enjoying themselves. Tonight it was only about the pair of them, the first true night they'd had alone in a long while. Eulalie turned to the gilded, green eyed man at her side and brushed her muzzle against his cheek, walking close enough that her side brushed against his wing.
Then her gaze alighted on something just past him, and a curious, mischievous glimmer lit her deep brown eyes. The tent was shrouded in shadows, breathing them, even, despite the bonfires on either side. From this distance Eulalie could barely make out the shine of something woven into the fabric. Immediately she turned toward the tent, "Let's go this way," Eulalie said, beckoning Somnus after her as she went.
The flickering light of the flames turned her ivory skin to gold as she drew closer. It was difficult to see beyond the dark opening of the tent, and the mystery only made her curiosity climb. Tugging gently on a bit of Somnus' mane with a bubbling laugh, Eulalie pushed her way past the flaps separating them from the inside.
And inside, inside was a woman who looked like she was made of the night sky with eyes as silver as stars. There were pillows of ruby red and in the woman's possession is a deck of cards. "Sit," she summons them, and Eulalie looks toward Somnus with wide, bright eyes. She wondered what he thought of this, wondered what she could possibly ask. What was it that she desired to know?
She thought of Regis, her beloved son, who often seemed to be doing so well but then his health might take 3 steps backward. She thought of Somnus, her love, and the shock he'd experienced at seeing his brother alive, the tension, the history, the anger there. In the end she had one question, and if any could tell her what she sought maybe this woman could. Eulalie waited for Somnus to inevitably join her before she spoke, "How can we remain strong in the face of our challenges?"
The punch bowl is still just punch, or at least the ones he’s been drinking from are. It’s not always so bad to be aware, he thinks, standing in a room like the ocean. How lovely is it to be in the water and breathe air, clear as daylight and perfumed with all manner of flowers and woods, frankincense and jasmine, myrrh and cinnamon. The horned stallion makes his way to a globe filled with a particularly shimmery fish, circling aimlessly in its minute orb of existence. I wonder where they got you from. Were these fish swimming freely hours early? Or were they created for this moment, illusions only, set to expire at the night’s conclusion? It was almost a sad thought, thinking that these fish, so beautiful, and seemingly so alive, could be gilded lies, dead at dawn. El Toro makes his way to another globe, filled with only water, but it lacks the interest of a living thing. Looking upon a fish makes him ask questions, looking upon contained water makes him bored. The seed is planted; the question of illusion or reality disturbs his fun. ”I oughtta get a real drink.” He no longer wishes to be aware.
A party in which he was not himself. It was the best kind of party, Toro thought, because in it he could be the strange gilded man with horns of fabric and dripping jewels, filigree twisting into a soldier’s breastplate into silken shimmering fabric into the white shine of his shaven neck. He looked dashing, must have, because everyone looked at him at least once. If you weren’t worth looking at, you didn’t get looked at. Such is the way of things.
He felt very self absorbed on this particular evening, and oh-so-proud was he, floating between the fabric walls and dancing through the dreamers’ music. The white stallion thinks perhaps there are one thousand performers and each in a different corner of the palace, but then there is a drink here and a drink there and he hardly thinks at all. Floating in the headspace of hot-air honeysuckle and whatever delightful thing sloshed in this latest flute, it was of no surprise that he stumbled into a fellow partygoer unawares. ”Oh, sorry,” he mumbled.
With renewed vigor the rambunctious pair made their way from the main citadel, breaking away from the side of whoever it was that was supposed to be watching him without a second care. He zipped from one stall to the next, browsing everything he could given his lack of height before moving on. There was dazzling jewelry, extravagant outfits, exotic fragrances that tickled his nose and caused him to sneeze, and even a place selling sweets. Maybe once his parents had returned from their solo stroll he would try and bring them back here and ask if he and Milo could get something.
