It is as bone-deep as the cough that rattles her chest, no longer able to be ignored with their people safely nestled within the walls of Denocte, without the guise of duty to keep her on her feet and constantly moving. It is with quiet solemnity that she weaves through the few equines still scattered throughout the Night Court streets, offering a weary smile to those who glance her way but never pausing, never offering the chance to be waylaid.
She aches for company, for the brush of skin-on-skin to remind her that they are alive and safe now, and damn any sort of propriety that says she shouldn’t, that it is some sort of bad idea to seek comfort from the only person she wants it from -- the only person as war-torn as she is, who understands the continuous ache in her soul for their people and for their Court.
“Commander,” Her voice is hoarse from coughing, from shouting orders and cursing every single God she knows, and yet it is still so soft as it cradles the name on her tongue when she finds the mare alone. She doesn’t pause, only presses herself close, one wing slinging over Marisol’s back and her forehead glued to the other mare’s cheek, drinking in the strength the commander has always exuded while offering what’s left of her own.
He was back in the desert. The homogeneous expanse of solid white laid out before him; a sheet of something he could get lost in. He shivered. Quickly El Toro had fled the city; there were too many eyes that traveled along his fresh scar and his jewelry and his horns, too many ears that swiveled at the wheeze; his lips were too brittle to raise at every comment or side-eye, real or imagined. It was too much like home. Out here, there was nothing; nothing but the vague memory of a mare who must’ve laughed at him getting lost for no reason, because he could, because he was angry. He was always angry, except when he was tired, and in this particular moment he wavered on some border between the two. He wanted to get lost again, knew he shouldn’t, though the walls were at his back and he could turn tail if he thought he’d die out here.
Two tails swished against the cold. He stepped forward. It was a tiny moment, largely irrelevant to anyone or anything around, but in some way it felt enormous and heavy and like there was something waiting, just right out there, if only he’d take a few more steps out. If only he’d disappear into the white. For what it was worth, he tried.
It is her curiosity about this new land that brings her out from the shadows of the Dawn Court. In fact, she’s not even sure what ‘The Dawn Court’ means. She has no loyalties to anyone, no one to pledge her allegiance to. She came here and was pointed in that direction – plain and simple. She didn’t seek out that place intentionally and she chooses not to stay there long. She chooses to meander and explore, something the young mare has done all too well. She knows loneliness. She knows what’s it’s like to survive on one’s own and it is a life she embraces.
And so, the mare wanders.
Her travels take her here and there, everywhere and yet nowhere. She finds herself in the most disgusting prairie. The hills are rolling, the flowers blooming, and there’s not a damn tree in sight. She prefers the shadows, it’s where she feels the most safe. And yet here she finds herself in a while open area and the thought that someone might be watching her is not lost on her. She can smell others and she knows she’s the intruder here. Briefly she wonders if this land is accepting of strangers, or if she is immediately defined as a threat. While she might not be a warrior seeking to take her claim on this area, she can’t deny her lust after knowledge.
She stands in the middle of the prairie, her eyes looking up to the sun. The clouds are rolling above her and she can feel the afternoon heat baking against her black hide. She feels exposed, open and exposed. And there’s a feeling she cannot shake. Someone is watching her. Someone is staring at her, waiting to make their move. She can feel their eyes on her, their breath on her skin. Perhaps it’s just the wind. “Who’s there?” When Sloane asks the question, she expects and answer.
She halts, her body language relaxed and yet, she can feel the muscles of her legs at the ready. She is not here to ruin her hide with a fight. She’s more of a flight risk than anything. Scars were unbecoming. “Show your face.” Her confidence exudes her and her eyes scan the horizon looking for the one who watches her. She is not afraid and her voice shows that. She hates people who stare and say nothing. Then again, she’s really that same type of individual. Perhaps she is the only exception to her hate.
Bedraggled and weary, with the cold breath of winter on their heels, they came to the Night Court.
Only when they reached the ruins of the Dragon Gate did Asterion’s face register anything beyond grim resignation. There he paused, wondering, but the skies were darkening and threatening snow and there was no time to spend among lengthening shadows and crumbled stone.
But perhaps his steps were lighter after that, as they descended from the pass into Denocte.
It was a different city than the last that had greeted him. Then he had been a fleeting shadow in the darkness and driving rain, with no thought but for Aislinn; he had noticed none of the markets, none of the performers, none of the things that made the capital the City of Starlight they claimed it as.
Now, with the first stars emerging through the thinning clouds and the sharp, familiar tang of the sea, he took a long look at their temporary home.
Denocte had not escaped the last months unscathed; there were still markers of the tsunami that had swept in, the storms that had raged. But there were lanterns lit all down the cobblestone path to the keep, and bonfires threw sparks and the smell of sweet woodsmoke to the sky like an offering.
Asterion closed his eyes and inhaled, quieting his grieving heart. And then with his people he went down into the city.
@Isra and any of Night Court/Dusk Court who wanna be a part of the temporary re-homing! This is set somewhere after the disasters where the Dusk Court is still flooded and muddy and in the midst of winter, so the injured of Dusk/anyone who wishes to is seeking temporary shelter in Denocte.
The days pass one after the other in ceaseless repetition: at morning the waves recede, revealing the ocean’s floor and all the treasures it hides. The thunderbirds swarm angrily overhead, lightning flashing between their talons as their massive wings create wind and storms with every beat. Occasionally two will face off against one another, and the colliding winds set off a hurricane of swirling rain and fury. By evening the waves come crashing back in to reclaim the shores, sweeping into the Court like a thief in the night.
It is when the sky grows dark, and the waters finally begin abate after the recent tsunami, that she arrives.
She emerges from the sea, seaweed and seashells and pearls tangled in her hair, so that it appears even more a chaotic and untameable mess than it already is. The miniature stars painted across her skin sparkle brilliantly, seeming to glow with intensity with each step that brings her closer to her Court.
But it is her eyes that shine the brightest, as brilliant as identical moons set in the galaxy of her body.
Caligo wanders the streets of Denocte, leaving no street or pathway untraveled. Every face she sees she beckons to her with a smile and a gesture. “Come, follow me,” becomes her mantra - and soon enough, half the Court is following the demigoddess. She says little else, trusting in them to keep faith.
When a sufficient number of followers have answered her call, she heads back to the ocean. The sand gives way beneath her hooves, water from the earth pooling in her hoofprints. Soon enough she climbs an outcrop of rock that looks out over the ocean and comes to a stop, letting the horses of Denocte crowd around her.
Overhead, the thunderbirds circle - but past them, the stars begin to wink into existence one by one.
“Look,” she tells the children of the Night Court. “Look above, and tell me what you see.”
Some guidelines:
- Please get your first replies in by Saturday, September 22nd. The RE will post again on Sunday the 23rd!
- No limit to replies, no strict order is enforced, but we ask that you be considerate towards others getting their own posts in!
- This is a group thread, try to interact with others! <3
- Have fun! Even if your character isn't c;
Night Court's patron goddess is in Denocte on a mission: but what is that mission? You'll have to follow her to find out!
The ground whispers as she passes through the meadow, grass and flowers alike reaching out to her with their blades and leaves and petals as she walks amongst them. The goddess’ very presence seems to bring life back to the drowned and sunken Susurro Fields, the plants brightening and straightening with renewed vigor. Vespera smiles to herself.
She’s a speck of color on the muddied fields, her coat without stain or blemish. In her wake fresh grass sprouts, its new green blades splitting the surface of the earth and straining for the skies like a million tiny green hands. But the rest of the fields are torn and barren, holes small and large littering the earth every few meters. The place looks like a war zone, but Vespera knows the true fight lies underground.
She wanders aimlessly through the heart of the Dusk Court, spreading energy and life - until a cry catches her attention. It is soft and high in pitch, and the goddess knows at once that it does not belong to an equine.
Turning a corner, she comes upon the gopher.
He’s smaller than the others that roam here, but still far larger than any normal gopher has a right to be. His fur is a dusty tan, with streaks of gold as brilliant as the sun running from nose to tail. Or he would have stripes, she knew, if it weren’t for the mound of dirt that has collapsed on top of him, trapping him in the sinkhole.
“Easy, my friend,” she soothes him with her voice, arriving at his side in an instant. Bit by bit, little by little, she eases him out of the dirt until finally the rodent collapses - free - at her feet.
Still whispering sweet reassurances, the goddess of twilight scoops him up in her telekinesis and heads south, patting his soft fur the whole way.
She leaves him just outside the Court’s gates, building a soft nest for him woven from grass. “They’ll come for you soon,” she promises the creature as he slips into a restless sleep. “And they’ll help you.”
A minute later she is gone - leaving a pillar of light next to the rodent, a beacon calling the residents forth.
Some guidelines:
- Please get your first replies in by Saturday, September 22nd. The RE will post again on Sunday the 23rd!
- No limit to replies, no strict order is enforced, but we ask that you be considerate towards others getting their own posts in!
- This is a group thread, try to interact with others! <3
- Have fun! Even if your character isn't c;
Vespera has rescued a strange looking gopher from Susurro - but he doesn't seem to be in the best of conditions. The beacon she's left behind seems a call for help... will you answer?
Suffice to say, the God of Day was not a fan of the snow.
He missed the warmth of the sand beneath his hooves and the sun upon his back, missed gazing upon the Mors Desert. He missed gazing out over his lands and seeing nothing but dunes, stretching for miles upon miles, changing shape and form at the will of the wind. The Court he walked through now was a stranger to him, his own personal hell of snow and ice and cold.
It’s time for this Winter to end.
And soon rather than later. Solis enters the Court in a flourish of light, bringing the sun itself back into Solterra. Gold drenches the streets and buildings, melting the snow beneath his hooves. Heat radiates off of his skin in such fervor that if one were to close their eyes, it might feel to them like Summer again.
He stops in the very center, right before the castle, raising his boyish voice to be heard above the wind, booming throughout the Court.
“What’s the matter, doesn’t anybody want to know where all this snow came from? Or how to get rid of it?”
The god tosses his head, his smile as arrogant and easy going as always. He’s indifferent to any anger they might greet him with- he’s the God of Day after all, what could mortals do to him? And more importantly, why should he care?
“I might tell you a little secret... if I feel like it.”
Some guidelines:
- Please get your first replies in by Saturday, September 22nd. The RE will post again on Sunday the 23rd!
- No limit to replies, no strict order is enforced, but we ask that you be considerate towards others getting their own posts in!
- This is a group thread, try to interact with others! <3
- Have fun! Even if your character isn't c;
Everybody's (least) favorite god is back! Love him or hate him, he might just be the key to getting this strange weather sorted out... and at least he brings the gift of warmth with him?
Because of the efforts made by the Dawn Court, the fire shrinks by the hour. Strips of blackened earth separate the capitol from the Viride forest, and the ground smolders and smokes underfoot. The air is still thick with the scent of burning wood, the skies darkened with grey - but for the time being, the world seems as though it is righting itself once more.
On the front lines, a figure can be seen stepping in and out amongst the flames, disappearing one moment only to reappear the next, dancing alongside the fire. He hides in the shadows the wildfire casts, but the sun inscribed upon his forehead has never seemed brighter. With every step he takes, another flame finds itself smothered into nonexistence, extinguished by the god of the dawn.
The sun rises on a new world, war-torn and ravaged, smoke curling through every corner of Delumine.
As the morning light shines upon the Dawn Court, Oriens leaves the burned forest behind him. It takes the better part of a day to reach the capitol - for he stops frequently, gathering new followers all along the way. He moves like a ghost, hardly seeming to breathe, never daring to speak, an air of mystery surrounding him. The very air thrums and cracks with energy that seems to be coming from the god himself - and also taking its toll. Oriens head hangs low, his shoulders stooped, his once brilliant mane and tail sooty with ash, his coat dull and lackluster. Only the sun upon his forehead continues to glow.
When he finally enters the courtyard of the castle, it seems a wonder he does not collapse in exhaustion.
“Dawn Court,” he calls out, but his voice is soft and dull. “Come, my children, gather.” He leaves it to the citizens to spread the word and come round. Time seems to pass agonizingly slowly as he waits for the Court to respond.
He will wait, as only one borne of Time itself can, for the Court of the Morning Sun to arrive.
Some guidelines:
- Please get your first replies in by Saturday, September 22nd. The RE will post again on Sunday the 23rd!
- No limit to replies, no strict order is enforced, but we ask that you be considerate towards others getting their own posts in!
- This is a group thread, try to interact with others! <3
- Have fun! Even if your character isn't c;
Oriens has arrived back to the Dawn Court after surveying the fires in Viride. Perhaps he has some information to share with you regarding the disasters?
The phrase repeats itself over and over again in Ipomoea's mind, a play on a childhood tune he remembers hearing a lifetime ago. No matter how hard he tries to forget it sticks in the back of his mind, a grim and foreboding reminder of the current events occurring within the Dawn Court.
It had been Po the Orphan Boy who had listened to that story, once upon a time. But it was Ipomoea the Regent who stood here today.
"Ahem." He clears his throat, shifting his weight uncomfortably. Below the raised stone step he stands upon, a sea of Delumine faces stare up at him. Po tries to smile, but he's afraid it may look more like a grimace and gives up.
"Thank you all for gathering today, I know there are... pressing matters you might wish to return to." It takes all of his diplomatic training to keep his voice warm and steady, trying with all his might to appear reassuring. "I will try to keep this meeting succinct."
He takes a breath, an excuse to have a moment to scan the amassed crowd, to look the faces in their eyes. Many are familiar - and many are not. He tries in vain to root out the faces of his friends, but there isn't time. 'Maybe they didn't come.'
"Firstly, I wish to introduce you all to @Pavetta. Many of you know her as a Caretaker - but she has graciously come forward in the absence of Orion, and has been granted the role of Emissary in his place. Be welcomed Pavetta, let this be the first step to a successful running." His smile is genuine - as it always is - as he points out the striped and dappled mare from their ranks. 'It's always best to start on a lighter note,' he reflects to himself, watching the crowd react to the promotion. 'Pavetta will fit the rank well, I think.'
After that, there's little time for him to think.
"I know we have suffered, both as a Court and as a family. I will take the time now to thank all of those who have aided in the fires, evacuations, and other emergency preparations. Your valor and devotion has not gone unnoticed. We thank you. It is because of you that we stand here still today." Another pause, this time to wait for the small reactions and applause from the crowd. 'They are as tired as they look,' he realized. He couldn't blame them; it was turning out to be a long and painful winter.
"Reports tell us the fire is controlled in part, but continues to grow. Our need for volunteers becomes greater each day. Please, if you are willing and able, we ask that you join the front lines - we need horses to gather food and haul water, to care the wounded, to clear a perimeter about the fire... and to fight the fire itself. We are a family, and now is the time to act as one, together. We are strong with each other's support." Ipomoea scans the crowd once more. "If you wish to help, speak to any of the Regime or Counsel to find out how."
He glances at his list, mentally checking off the topics in his mind. It gives the appaloosa a chance to recollect himself - and spares him a minute from addressing the crowd. Ipomoea fears he will become distracted if he looks at them for too long, for their emotions are all in raw display in front of him. He has always been an emotional equine; what he sees today makes his heart ache. But he was determined to appear strong - if only for them.
He clears his throat again, painfully aware now of how much smoke lingers in the air. The sky is nearly grey - but remarkably lighter and clearer than the skies over Viride, he knew. Still, he wished he could see the sun.
"For those of you who have been hurt, or displaced from your homes by the fires, we have shelter for you at the capitol. Beds, food, fresh water - we have plenty for all. Please, spread the word so that everyone will feel welcomed. We will also accept those from other Courts who find themselves in Delumine during these troubling times. Any in need of a home, we have room for you."
And with that being said, he dips his head and closes his notebook, shifting nervously once more. "That is all I have for you today. Stay safe, Delumine. If you have any questions or matters of importance to discuss, I will answer as best I can."
hearts are breaking
wars are raging on
you’ve got me nervous
i’m at the end of my rope
hey, man, we can’t all be like you
i wish we were all rose-colored too
my rose-colored boy
@everyone ! this isn't mandatory, but the Regime is addressing the recent disasters! if your character has any questions, has need or assistance, or would like to volunteer, feel free to post!
also congratulating @pavetta / @Pres on becoming our new Emissary! c:
”here am i!“
For a long time before he penned the letter he paced his quarters, as the evening turned to night and the moon tried its best to shine in the window, puddling its light on the floor. Often it was obstructed by tattered clouds, the remnants of the storms that had sought to beat them to nonexistence. His candles guttered in the thin winter wind, and it seemed to him he could hear the sighing of the castle, full of ghosts and refugees.
Cirrus was silent, her head tucked below her wing, and he was otherwise alone. At last he set to writing, and the words spilled out in a flurry of ink that dotted the page like tears.
Queen Isra,
Please forgive me, that the first time we speak directly I must ask of you something I wish to have never had cause to give thought to.
I know disasters have befallen your Court. Terrastella has fared no better – perhaps worse, from what little I have heard. Our stores are not enough to get through winter; we have lost many to flooding and the ground collapsing away, and many more have been injured and can do no more than rest and recover. I know not what sins we may have committed, to be thus punished; I only know that if we stay through the winter there will be no one left to sow what spring fields we may have remaining.
I must ask you, then, for sanctuary. For my people – the sick and injured, and perhaps for what others of us are willing to leave, for the thickest snows have not yet come and still we are shivering and half-starved.
I don’t know what history you’ve been told between our Courts. I know I have been…reserved in my dealings with Denocte, but I think it’s fair to see we’ve both been preoccupied.
I do not wish to beg. Please, Your Majesty, ask of me what you will but shelter my people, if you are able, if you are willing. I love them and I cannot see them starved, and washed away, and swallowed by the earth. In return I offer you anything we are able to give.
I offer you myself, and what meager gifts I have.
Sorrowfully, hopefully, solemnly yours,
Asterion, Sovereign of the Dusk Court
He could not bring himself to read over what he had written, poured out onto paper like the cries of a madman; he only nudged Cirrus awake with the soft velvet of his nose and met her keen, dark gaze in silence.
From the window he watched her go with the moonlight on her wings.
